Why does Socrates think that the body is an impediment to the soul?
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OMEGA, Vol. 61(1) 71-84, 2010
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES: A HOLISTIC
RE-EXAMINATION
SAM SILVERMAN, PH.D., J.D.
Lexington, Massachusetts
ABSTRACT
Socrates’ death, as portrayed by Plato, and commonly accepted, is seen as the
virtuous choice of a philosopher of death in preference to ignominiously
evading an unjust verdict of the jury. Xenophon’s portrayal, the only other
contemporaneous account, shows Socrates as being tired of life, seeing noth-
ing worthwhile in hanging on to a continuously declining life, and deliber-
ately choosing death. In more recent years I. F. Stone has discussed in depth
the political context surrounding the trial of Socrates. In this article I discuss
the various personal factors, his awareness of aging, his vision of declining
relationships with others, his marriage and family life, the political context of
the times, and his disbelief in democracy, at a time when the Athenian democ-
racy had only recently been restored, but was still under threat by the
oligarchs; and the influence of his daimon, a personal spirit who spoke to him
only when opposing an action he was considering. The sum of these various
factors presents a fuller and more complete picture of Socrates’ choice of
death over life.
“It is one of the noblest functions of reason to know whether it is time to walk out
of the world or not,” said the second century C.E. Roman Emperor Marcus
Aurelius (cited by Critchley, 2008). The right of an individual to choose the time
and the method of his death remains today a current issue in thanatology.
Typically, this relates to one suffering from a terminal illness, and thus pre-
sents a one-dimensional situation. But there may be other factors involved in an
71
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doi: 10.2190/OM.61.1.d
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individual’s decision, and we should rather be approaching the question
holistically. But what other factors can be involved, other than the illness? The
death of Socrates, the eminent Greek philosopher, presents an instructive case in
this regard, with a reasonable amount of background material. Typically, the death
of Socrates is presented one-dimensionally, the factor chosen depending on the
picture of Socrates the author wishes to make. But Socrates’ decision to choose
death involved a number of factors, both personal and social, and it is the purpose
of this article to examine these.
Socrates, the man, his philosophy, his personality, and, finally, his death, are
known primarily through the extensive dialogues of Plato, and, to a much lesser
extent, some writings by Xenophon (Memorabilia; Oeconomicus; Symposium;
Apology, 1923). Here I do not wish to examine the philosophical ideas of Socrates,
but his death, and its context, and to suggest that Socrates was ready to die and
both invited and collaborated in the events leading to his death. In this I am in
accord with Xenophon’s treatment rather than with Plato’s. Throughout this
discussion I will use the name “Socrates” for the character so called in the writings
of Plato and Xenophon, though we are seeing a personality through their eyes, and
thus as they would want us to see the man. In the following I use the numbering
system given in the Loeb Classical Library (Harvard University Press) translations
to identify citations. In the references, the Loeb Classical Series Number,
identifying the order in which the translations were originally published, even if
later revised, is also given.
From the point of view of Socrates the man, the most dramatic events are those
surrounding his trial and death in 399 B.C.E. These are described in four dialogues
of Plato (1914), Euthyphro, The Apology, Crito, and Phaedo. Euthyphro begins
with a mention of the indictment of Socrates, and discusses piety and holiness. The
Apology presents Socrates’ defense before the jury of 501. Crito describes a
conversation of Socrates with his lifelong friend Crito a day or two before his
death, with Socrates’ justification for accepting the death sentence, and for carry-
ing it out. Phaedo takes place on the day of his death. Surrounded by his friends,
Socrates discusses the immortality of the soul, and his contentment with dying.
One could wish that we had the opportunity to engage Socrates in the flesh and
argue with him, but having only these writings, which are hearsay at best, we
do not have that luxury. Socrates, in an insightful comment in the Platonic
dialogue Phaedrus argues that a spoken discourse is better than a written one.
Socrates says (275D):
Writing, Phaedrus, has this strange quality, and is very like painting; for the
creatures of painting stand like living beings, but if one asks them a question,
they preserve a solemn silence. And so it is with written words; you might
think they spoke as if they had intelligence, but if you question them, wishing
to know about their sayings, they always say only one and the same thing.
And every word, when once it is written, is bandied about, alike among those
who understand and those who have no interest in it, and it knows not to whom
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to speak or not to speak; when ill-treated or unjustly reviled it always needs its
father to help it; for it has no power to protect or help itself.
SOCRATES’ DAIMON: REASON ISN’T EVERYTHING
As a threshold matter I note the matter of Socrates’ Daimon—an inner voice
that speaks to him at certain critical moments, and which he always listens to,
putting aside any thought of testing the commands by reason. This is important to
note, since it shows that there may well be occasions where his reasoned argu-
ments are in fact rationalizations of what he knows by methods other than logical
reasoning. This is in contrast to his often stated arguments of reason as necessary
to curb the appetites (lusts), which cannot be trusted to always act sensibly, and to
provide a guide to right thinking and action.
As examples where reason is set aside, we have in Plato’s Crito, for example,
Socrates noting a capacity for prophecy (44A), contradicting Crito on when the
ship will arrive, based on a dream that he had. The dialogue does not say whether
his dream was correct or not. Elsewhere he also talks of having a Daimon, with
him from childhood, who sometimes spoke to him in his mind and stopped him
from doing something (Plato, Apology, 1914, 31D): “I have had this from my
childhood; it is a sort of voice that comes to me, and when it comes it always holds
me back from what I am thinking of doing, but never urges me forward. This it is
which opposes my engaging in politics.” In the Loeb translation by Fowler, of
Plato’s Phaedo (1914, 107D) the daimon (translated variously in other works) is
called the “tutelary genius of each person, to whom he had been allotted in life . . .”
(see also Plato, Phaedrus, 1914, 241C; Xenophon, Apology, 5; Plutarch, 1959,
Moralia: On the Sign of Socrates, especially at 588B ff; the dialogue Theages,
wrongly attributed to Plato; for a recent discussion of Socrates’ Daimon, see Joyal,
2000).
SOCRATES’ ARGUMENT FOR NOT ESCAPING, AND
FOR ACCEPTING DEATH
To return to Plato’s Crito (1914), Socrates is in prison waiting for the ship to
Delos to return. When it does he will have to take the poison. Crito is trying to talk
him into escaping to Thessaly, where he will be welcomed and protected (Plato,
1914, 44F). Socrates demurs. They then discuss whether this decision is a correct
one. There are some threshold questions. Should one listen to the one man with
knowledge, or to the many who have no special knowledge. Obviously to the one
who is right; that is, the one with knowledge. Is it ever right to do wrong? Is it right
to requite wrong with wrong, or evil with evil? The answer to these questions is
“no.” So we must now decide whether the proposed action, escaping from prison
after having been convicted by a duly constituted court is right or wrong.
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES / 73
The laws and the Commonwealth, personified by Socrates, say (Plato, 1914,
50A):
Tell me, Socrates, what have you in mind to do? Are you not intending by this
thing you are trying to do, to destroy us, the laws, and the entire state, so far as
in you lies? Or do you think that state can exist and not be overturned, in
which the decisions reached by the courts have no force but are made invalid
and annulled by private persons?
What if the case was decided wrongly? Further, says the State (Plato, 1914,
51C), we have nurtured you, educated you; you have the right to go elsewhere if
you are dissatisfied with our ways and laws; you have every opportunity to present
your case and convince us that we are wrong. Then it would be impious to do what
you are proposing. Our city pleased you—you never went anywhere else except
on military service. At your trial you could have offered exile as a penalty. But you
said you preferred death to exile. Will you then break your compact with us? And
anywhere you go you will be seen as a destroyer of law, and will have to listen to
many things that would be a disgrace to you. You will live as an inferior and a
slave to everyone. And what about all your talk about justice and virtue?
So the basic question here is the relation of man to society. Socrates assumes
there is a compact, an agreement between the two. Without law, which defines the
agreement, there will be anarchy. Compare Judges, in the Hebrew Bible, the last
sentence of which says: In those days there was no king in Israel, everyone did as
he pleased. There has been much written about this compact—by such as Hobbes,
Locke, Rousseau, not to mention Marx and such. Our Constitution is such a docu-
ment. We must look beyond Plato (in the Republic and the Laws) and ask our-
selves what is a proper, perhaps better said, sensible, relationship between man
and society. Our society values the individual, and freedom to think, to speak, to
write. Other societies do not. Islam (if Qutb (2000) is representative) sees the
individual only as one submissive to the laws of Allah. Any freedom he has is
constrained by the revelations of Muhammad. The Catholic church relies on faith
and canonic law, acting as strong constraints on the individual’s ability to act as he
sees fit. So do ultra-orthodox Jews, and many other adherents of various religions.
In the United States, as in Classical Greece, there are many communities with
diverse degrees of limits on what the individual can do. And, as the Athenian
community said to Socrates, in his words, you have the right to go live in a
different community with different rules. So can we—you can escape the
liberalism of Massachusetts by going to the conservatism of Ohio or much of the
Midwest. These are all interesting questions.
Socrates never really argues the points raised by his personified Common-
wealth. He agrees with all of them. So he will go to his death. And death does not
frighten him—it is not the end, it is merely a passage to another world by the soul,
now free of the body, which, in any event, has always been a hindrance to
thinking rationally and defining reality. These latter questions, the immortality
74 / SILVERMAN
of the soul, the description of the other world, are treated in detail in Plato’s
dialogue, Phaedo (1914).
THE POLITICAL CONTEXT
Socrates and his followers were uneasy with the concept of a pure democracy,
as practiced in Athens. Socrates often makes the point that if one goes to sea in a
ship one does not want the captain to be chosen by lot from the entire populace, nor
do we want our armies commanded by generals chosen by lot. We want those in
charge trained in those professions. And our political leaders should also be those
who have studied statecraft. For Plato this led to the concept of the Philosopher-
Kings. The Socratics favored the oligarchical, disciplined systems of Sparta. Now
Sparta and Athens had been at war for 27 years (the Peloponnesian war), from 432
B.C.E. to the final defeat of Athens in 404 B.C.E. Sparta had imposed an oli-
garchical rule at Athens after the defeat, and this government, the Tyranny of the
Thirty, had carried out a brutal oppression, executing many, banishing many
others, and confiscating property. Among the leaders of the Thirty were such as
Critias and other former pupils of Socrates. Critias and Charmides, both of whom
died defending the Oligarchy when it was overthrown in 404 B.C.E., were
related to Plato. An amnesty was declared by the victors. Those of the Oligarchic
party who still retained their oligarchical principles were allowed to settle in
the nearby district of Eleusis. But in 401 B.C.E. a new plot by the oligarchs to
regain power was uncovered and suppressed. In the words of Xenophon
(Hellenica, 1918, 2: 4.43):
. . . at a later period, on learning that the men at Eleusis were hiring mercenary
troops, they took the field with their whole force against them, put to death
their generals when they came for a conference, and then, by sending to the
others their friends and kinsmen, persuaded them to become reconciled. And,
pledged as they were under oath, that in very truth they not remember past
grievances, the two parties even to this day live together as fellow-citizens
and the commons abide by their oaths.
It is not surprising then that the atmosphere, 2 years later, would still have
included an uneasy fear of further attempts by the oligarchic faction to regain
power. This faction included many, perhaps most, of the followers and friends of
Socrates. Crito (Plato, Crito, 45C) urges Socrates to escape to Thessaly, where, he
says, “I have friends there who will make much of you and will protect you, so that
no one in Thessaly shall annoy you.” The context here, not given by Plato, is that
Critias, later the brutal oligarch, had been much involved in affairs in Thessaly
(see Westlake, 1969, p. 48). After the death of Socrates, Plato and his fellow
Socratics left Athens for Megara, a city just outside Athens (for the volatile history
of Megara in that period, see Legon, 1981), which had been allied with Sparta
during the war. It is clear that the sympathies of the Socratics had been, and were,
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES / 75
with Sparta. The trial of Socrates would then have provided an object lesson to all
members of this faction.
Stone (1988) has given an extensive discussion of the anti-democratic, pro-
Spartan, views of Socrates and his friends. He argues that Socrates’ conviction
was a political matter. The Athenian government had been taken over after the
Spartan victory by a severe, oppressive tyranny, one of the more prominent mem-
bers of which was Critias, a former student of Socrates and a cousin of Plato (for
the high regard in which Critias was held see Stone, 1988, p. 163). In their reign of
about 8 months before being overthrown, they had executed some 1500 Athenians
and banished some 5000 others, some 10% or more of the total population of
Athens—men, women, children, and slaves. Socrates remained in Athens the
entire period of the tyranny, and did not speak out against it. Both Socrates and
Plato were anti-democratic. A reflection of this is found in Plato’s dialogue, Crito
(1914, 44F) in which Socrates comes out on the side of the one man who is
right against the opinions of the mob. In Stone’s view, the trial and conviction of
Socrates was then a response to the actions of The Thirty, the oligarchic,
dictatorial regime.
HIS FAMILY
It is striking that nowhere in the writings of Plato and Xenophon is there any
mention of family connections of Socrates other than his parents. There is no
mention of any siblings, any aunts or uncles, or any cousins. There is, in addition,
no mention of his wife’s family. Her parents, siblings, other relations, are all
completely unknown, except for the name of her father, Lamprocles. Thus
Socrates clearly had no family support network. This is an important element in his
later decision to die.
SOCRATES MARRIAGE
His marriage to Xanthippe appears to have come in his later years, say in his
50s. The account of his last day has her coming to the prison with a child in her
arms, another young child and one a bit older. If she was as old as 40 when her
youngest was born, then Socrates was some 30 years older, at least. The oldest,
Lamprocles, was likely a teenager, let us say about 15. If he was born at the
beginning of the marriage, Socrates would have been about 55 at the time.
I am struck by certain things about this marriage. First the age difference
between the oldest and the two younger ones. It is as if he married and had
conjugal relations more as a duty to provide an heir, then stopped, and only some
time later was induced to have conjugal relations to provide more heirs. The
marriage could only have been one of convenience. We rarely, or ever, read of his
having friends over to dinner at his home, and discussions there. The dinners of
the Symposiums (Plato’s and Xenophon’s) were at someone else’s house. Socrates
76 / SILVERMAN
is always wandering around (wherefore the term “peripatetic philosopher”)
discussing things with whomever he chances to meet. This is true even after his
marriage. So his habits before and after his marriage did not change.
His sons were described by Aristotle (Rhetoric, 1390b30-32) as unremarkable,
silly tots. His oldest son, Lamprocles, is reputed to have died very young (Plutarch,
1959, Moralia: On the Sign of Socrates, 590A). At the time of Socrates’ death he is
perhaps in his mid-teens at most. There is no record of his accompanying Socrates
on any of his walks. Xenophon does report (Memorabilia, 1923, II.2.1-14) a
conversation of Socrates and Lamprocles in which Socrates admonishes his son
for being cross with his mother, and details the various reasons for which he
should be grateful to his mother, and for his obligations to her. On the day of his
execution he does talk and give directions (we are not told what they are) to his
children and the women of the family (Plato, 1914, Phaedo, 116b).
Xanthippe has gotten a bad press as a shrew. Her son Lamprocles says (Xeno-
phon, 1923, Memorabilia, II.2.7) “no one could put up her vile temper,” and “she
says things one wouldn’t listen to for anything in the world.” Socrates, however,
tells him that “there is no malice in what your mother says to you; on the contrary,
she wishes you to be blessed above all other beings.” His wife is never present on
Socrates’ walks, nor, perhaps any other woman. He does not think much of women
anyway, with some exceptions—he praises the courtesan Aspasia as a match-
maker (Xenophon, Memorabilia, II.6.36) and as knowledgeable in household
management and the division of labor between husband and wife (Xenophon,
Oeconomicus, 1923, 3.14), and one otherwise unknown person, Diotima, as his
source on the nature and varieties of love between a man and a woman (Plato,
Symposium, 1923, 201d ff). But when Xanthippe comes on his last day and cries,
he sends her away for acting like a woman (Plato, Phaedo, 60a)—not properly
philosophic about her husband being about to die. In Xenophon’s Symposium
(2.10), Socrates does not take issue with Antisthenes statement that Xanthippe “is
the hardest to get along with of all the women there are—yes, or all that ever were,
I suspect, or ever will be,” but replies that if he can get along with her, he can get
along with anyone. The 3rd century C.E. gossip-monger, Diogenes Laertius, in his
Lives of Eminent Philosophers (1925), passes on several other stories of uncertain
provenance, which I will not give here.
Socrates’ marriage to Xanthippe may very well have been for economic rea-
sons. The traditions give the occupation of Socrates father, Sophronicus, as a
maker of statues, and Socrates, at least in his younger days, as carrying on this
profession, and as the sculptor of the Graces at the entrance to the Acropolis (see,
e.g., Pausanias, Description of Greece, 1.22.8, 9.35.7), though that may have been
a different Socrates. In any event, we know that Socrates did military service for
Athens, and fought as a Hoplite at Potidaea (432 B.C.E.), at Delium (424 B.C.E.),
and at Amphipolis (422 B.C.E.) (Plato, The Apology, 28e). Hoplites had to
provide their own armor and weapons, and would have had to be sufficiently
wealthy to do this (Wikipedia). Thus, even if we assume that he used the
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES / 77
same equipment at Delium and Amphipolis, Socrates himself or through his
family must have possessed some affluence when he was about 37 years old, at the
time of the battle of Potidaea, and that he may have still possessed means for some
years thereafter, possibly through an inheritance. We do not know precisely his
age when he turned to philosophy, and became an exponent of frugality. In his
early days he studied Anaxagoras’ writings, but found these unsatisfactory (Plato,
Phaedo, 1914, 97c ff). It is quite possible, then, that it was only in middle age that
he adopted a philosophy of frugality allowing him the freedom to do as he would:
“Come then, let us consider together what hardship you have noticed in my life. Is
it that those who take money are bound to carry out the work for which they get a
fee, while I, because I refuse to take it, am not obliged to talk with anyone against
my will?” (Xenophon, Memorabilia, 1923, I.6.5).
It seems likely that Socrates was possessed of a small inheritance, and lived off
the interest on this. Or so, at least, says Plutarch (ca. 45-120 C.E.) (Life of
Aristides, 1923, 1:9), citing a work by Demetrius: “. . . Socrates owned not only his
house, but also seventy minas out at interest with Crito.” Diogenes Laertius (1925)
(probably early half of the third century) cites a different author (Lives of Eminent
Philosophers, Socrates, 2:20): “Aristoxenus, the son of Spintharus, says of him
that he made money; he would at all events invest sums, collect the interest
accruing, and then, when this was expended, put out the principal again.” In this
manner, his inheritance, on a life of frugality, may well have lasted for many years,
especially if, as has been often speculated, he received assistance from the
generosity of friends. Certainly they were willing to provide the funds needed to
facilitate his escape from prison (Plato, Crito, 1914, 45 a,b). In the tumultuous
period in the last years of the Peloponesian war, however, this source of income
may well have dissipated. I would suggest then another possibility at that time, a
marriage in which his basic needs would be met in return for his satisfaction of
conjugal duties with the daughter of one needing an heir. This would explain the
marriage of an older man in his fifties, physically unattractive, with no visible
means of support, to a young woman in her twenties, with a temper making her an
undesirable mate. Perhaps no one else could be found to marry her because of her
temper, and her father wanted an heir. I would speculate that this would then have
been a marriage of convenience, to provide Socrates with a home and meals, and
Xanthippe with a husband and a family. There is no indication that Socrates ever
took much interest in the marriage, or that he played any role in the upbringing and
education of his sons. To the contrary, it would seem that he was pretty much
self-centered and cared only for his philosophizing.
We also know nothing at all about Xanthippe’s father, other than his name, and
we know that only because of the name of her oldest son. He does not appear
among those surrounding Socrates, or at the death of Socrates, or at any other time.
His only function in the writings of Plato and Xenophon, is as the presumptive
nominee of Xanthippe’s eldest son. Xanthippe herself is only mentioned in Plato
78 / SILVERMAN
as being present for a short time on the day of Socrates’ death (Plato, Phaedo,
1914, 60a,b; 116b). Clearly the marriage was not important to Socrates.
Considering the nature of her marriage, I am not surprised at her occasional
irritation and reputation for shrewishness—Socrates clearly gave her no attention,
no affection, no love, nor did any of his friends or companions.
We may also note that in the discussions between Socrates and his friends
there is no mention of providing any economic assistance to Xanthippe and
her children. Crito, trying to persuade Socrates to escape, argues only an obliga-
tion to bring up his children and educate them, though he does state that “their
fortunes in life will be whatever they happen to meet with, and they will probably
meet with such treatment as generally comes to orphans in their destitution.”
(Plato, Crito, 1914, 45d).
Taken all in all, then, it is a reasonable inference that Socrates’ marriage late in
life was one of convenience, a bargain struck between Socrates and Xanthippe’s
father, with Socrates carrying on as usual after having fulfilled his minimal
conjugal relations.
SOCRATES AND BEAUTIFUL BOYS
That Socrates was attracted to beautiful boys, that he was most comfortable in
the company of men, is undeniable. Interestingly, it is only when he discusses the
nature of love that women enter: Aspasia, a courtesan in Athens, and in Plato’s
Symposium, devoted to the question of love, where Socrates ascribes his knowl-
edge of the subject to one Diotima, a woman of Mantinea, otherwise unknown.
In Plato’s dialogue Charmides (1927) Socrates has just returned from the battle
of Potidaea, the opening of the Peloponnesian war, is sitting at a wrestling school
talking to, among others, Critias, and asks whether any of the young men were
distinguished for wisdom or beauty, or both (153D). Critias notes that his cousin,
Charmides, coming in shortly, is known as the greatest beauty. Charmides enters,
Socrates says that “he appeared to me a marvel of stature and beauty; and all the
rest, to my thinking, were in love with him, such was their astonishment and con-
fusion when he came in, and a number of other lovers were following in his train.”
Chaerephon comments that he has a fine face, “Yet if he would consent to strip,
you would think he had no face, he has such perfect beauty of form.” (154D)
Charmides approaches amidst many, and, says Socrates, “I saw inside his cloak
and caught fire, and could possess myself no longer; and I thought none was so
wise in love-matters as Cydias, who in speaking of a beautiful boy recommends
someone to ‘beware of coming as a fawn before the lion, and being seized as his
portion of flesh’; for I too felt I had fallen a prey to some such creature” (1927,
155D). Clearly, Socrates here may be seen as a pedophile.
Whether this extended to physical contact is not so clear. Some time later at a
banquet (Plato, 1925, Symposium) a drunken Alcibiades appears. Socrates says,
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES / 79
. . . I have found my love for this fellow no trifling affair. From the time when I
fell in love with him I have not had a moment’s liberty either to look upon or
converse with a single handsome person, but the fellow flies into a spiteful
jealousy which makes him treat me in a monstrous fashion, girding at me and
hardly keeping his hands to himself.
Alcibiades notes that Socrates is amorously inclined to handsome persons (216D).
But Socrates, at least by this time of his life, has learned self-discipline and
avoids physical contact. Alcibiades recounts his unsuccessful attempt to seduce
Socrates (217A f). Xenophon (Memorabilia) cites Socrates as saying of sensual
passion, “Avoid it resolutely; it is not easy to control yourself once you meddle
with that sort of thing” (I.3:8). Self-control is the foundation of all virtue, and a
man who is the slave of his pleasures is in an evil plight, body and soul (Xenophon,
1923, I.5:5).
What we have here is a picture of Socrates as a lover of beauty, exemplified best
in the young. All men, Diotima has told him, at a certain age yearn to beget, but
cannot do so with an ugly person (Plato, Symposium, 1925, 206C). It is the beau-
tiful, rather than the ugly that is welcomed (209B). And one learns to recognize the
beautiful by boy-loving (Plato, 1925, 210B).
Socrates sees himself as ugly. He has “an unduly large paunch” (Xenophon,
Symposium, 2:19). Socrates is taken as resembling the Satyrs, with their coarse
features (Xenophon and p. 574, n.1). His eyes bulge out, his nostrils “are wide
open and turned outward” (Xenophon, 5:5, 6), he has thick lips (Xenophon, 5:7).
But Socrates argues for the primacy of spiritual over carnal love (Xenophon,
8:passim). Nevertheless we can easily infer that as Socrates aged he became more
sensitive to what he could see as increasing ugliness, and thus as his being less
appealing to the young. This, taken together with his oligarchic sympathies, would
tend to alienate him from the democratic sympathies of the majority of his fellow
citizens after the overthrow of the Thirty Tyrants in 404 C.E. His siring of two
young children in the years immediately preceding his death, perhaps a decade or
so after his first child, supports the inference that his circle had narrowed to a few
of his older colleagues, that his contacts with the young had been significantly
reduced, and that he had then turned to his wife for such comfort as he could find.
SOCRATES AGING: DID SOCRATES WANT TO DIE?
There were apparently several near-contemporaneous accounts of the last days
of Socrates. Thus Xenophon notes the existence of several such writings (Apology,
1): We have today only the four dialogues of Plato, noted above, and that of
Xenophon. The witnesses given as the sources are different, so that we are seeing
different aspects of Socrates’ behavior and thinking in these last days. Plato’s
focus is on the thought of Socrates on the immortality of the soul, of the need to
obey the laws of the community, of the importance of inculcating virtue in the
young. He seems indifferent to the fact of his forthcoming death: “I go to die, and
80 / SILVERMAN
you to live; but which of us goes to the better lot, is known to none but God” (Plato,
The Apology, 1914, 42). Xenophon’s Socrates, however, welcomes death.
Xenophon indeed notes his lofty statements and their probable reality, but adds a
more human factor:
It is true that others have written about this, and that all of them have
reproduced the loftiness of his words—a fact which proves that his utterances
really was of the character intimated—but they have not show clearly that he
had now come to the conclusion that for him death was more to be desired
than life; and hence his lofty utterance appears rather ill-considered.
(Xenophon, Apology, 1-2)
Socrates could easily have prepared a defense which would have led to an
acquittal, or at least something less than death, say a fine or banishment. Quintilian
(ca. 35–ca. 100), the first century Roman author of an influential tome on the
education of orators (at that period primarily advocates in court cases), says:
Who is there who does not realise that nothing would have contributed more
to secure the acquittal of Socrates than if he had employed the ordinary
forensic methods of defence and had conciliated the minds of his judges by
adopting a submissive tone and had devoted his attention to refuting the actual
charge against him? But such a course would have been unworthy of his
character, and, therefore he pleaded as one who would account the penalty to
which he might be sentenced as the highest of honours. The wisest of men
preferred to sacrifice the remnant of his days rather than to cancel all his past
life. And since he was but ill understood by the men of his own day, he
reserved his case for the approval of posterity and at the cost of a few last
declining years achieved through all the ages life everlasting. And so although
Lysias, who was accounted the first orator of that time, offered him a written
defence, he refused to make use of it, since, though he recognised its
excellence, he regarded it as unbecoming to himself.” (Quintilian, Institutio
Oratoria, XI.1:9f)
Socrates’ reasoning, however, is better given in Xenophon’s Apology. Hermo-
genes, Xenophon’s witness, asks whether Socrates has given some thought to
preparing a defense, and he replies: “I have tried twice already to meditate on my
defense, but my divine sign [daimonion] interposes, “ and then, “Do you think it
surprising that even God holds it better for me to die now? Do you not know that I
would refuse to concede that any man has lived a better life than I have up to
now?” (Xenophon, Apology, 5), and then adds,
But now, if my years are prolonged, I know that the frailties of old age will
inevitably be realized—that my vision must be less perfect and my hearing
less keen, that I shall be slower to learn and more forgetful of what I have
learned. If I perceive my decay and take to complaining, how could I any
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES / 81
longer take pleasure in life? Perhaps God in his kindness is taking my part and
securing me the opportunity of ending my life not only in season but also in
the way that is easiest. For if I am condemned now, it will clearly be my
privilege to suffer a death that is adjudged by those who have superintended
this matter to be not only the easiest but also the least irksome to one’s friends
and one that implants in them the deepest feeling of loss for the dead. For
when a person leaves behind in the hearts of his companions no remembrance
to cause a blush or a pang, but dissolution comes while he still possesses a
sound body and a spirit capable of showing kindliness, how could such a one
fail to be sorely missed? It was with good reason that the gods opposed my
studying up my speech at the time when we held that by fair means or foul we
must find some plea would effect my acquittal. For if I had achieved this end,
it is clear that instead of now passing out of life, I should merely have pro-
vided for dying in the throes of illness or vexed by old age, the sink into which
all distresses flow, unrelieved by any joy. As Heaven is my witness,
Hermogenes, I shall never court that fate; but if I am going to offend the jury
by declaring all the blessings that I feel gods and men have bestowed on me,
as well as my personal opinion of myself, I shall prefer death to begging
meanly for longer life and thus gaining a life far less worthy in exchange for
death. (Xenophon, Apology, Ibid., 5-9)
An extensive discussion of this point can be found in Chapter 14 of Stone (1988).
CONCLUSIONS
Considering the foregoing, we may ask, what did Socrates have to live for at the
age of 70? He had no family support to speak of, no siblings, no immediate blood
relations are mentioned. Life expectancy was shorter then than now, he pre-
sumably was beginning to develop the ills of age. He was on the wrong side of the
dispute with the Thirty Tyrants, thus with a diminished reputation and standing.
Perhaps his economic support also lessened, though it appears that Crito and his
friends would have been glad to have supported him—but this could very well
have offended his pride. He would no longer be attractive to the young boys and
men of whom he spoke so lovingly—see, for example, Plato’s Phaedrus, for his
feelings about man-boy love. All in all, he must have been tired, disillusioned
and generally depressed by how things had gone and by his age. In the words of
one song, “I’m tired of living, and afeared of dying.” In such a condition suicidal
thoughts would be likely. But, near the beginning of Plato’s Phaedo, there is a
short discussion of suicide (1914, 61D–62C), not followed up by the usual logical
discourse of such a topic. Socrates says there that suicide is not permitted (1914,
61C), so this is not an option for him.
In recent years a syndrome called “suicide by cop” has been identified, in which
someone whose scruples or fear or whatever prevent him from killing himself, sets
up a situation where he provokes the police, by, for example, brandishing a
82 / SILVERMAN
weapon at them, providing them with a reason for killing him (see, e.g., Lindsay &
Lester, 2004) I suggest that this is what Socrates did. He provided a very insuffi-
cient defense, he did not suggest an alternative sentence, such as banishment, the
jury (in a close verdict) then sentenced him to death. Socrates also provided the
rationale for himself, that of the immortal soul, and his going to a better place. And
he also rationalized acceptance of the verdict in terms of not destroying the foun-
dations of society by ignoring its laws. In the end I cannot but think that Socrates
invited and collaborated in his death, and that the rest was rationalization.
To summarize: Plato presents a picture of a philosophical Socrates, resigned to
his death so as not to challenge the laws of the state, bolstered by his knowledge of
his own goodness, and of the immortality of his soul. Xenophon, by contrast, gives
a Socrates facing the disabilities of old age and seeking death. That Socrates
desired death is supported by an examination of his personality and the political
and social context of his life at the time. His social support network was crumb-
ling. He had no immediate family, no siblings, no aunts, uncles, cousins, to pro-
vide familial support. He was a lover of beautiful bodies, mostly of young men, but
was himself physically unattractive, unlikely to be appealing to others. His mar-
riage came late in life, and appears to have been more one of convenience than of
love—in fact, his sense of what a relationship between a man and a woman appears
to have come from two women, Aspasia and Diotima, rather than his own feelings
and observations. That he was a pederast, at least, seems certain, and was com-
fortable only in the company of men. But this circle too, in the aftermath of the
defeat of Athens by Sparta in the Peloponnesian War, and the consequent political
upheavals, was most likely narrowing, reduced to a group of pro-Spartan, philo-
sophically oligarchical old friends in an emotionally charged anti-Spartan,
democratic environment. His earlier services to the Athenian state, such as his
military service as a Hoplite infantryman in several major battles, had been either
forgotten or no longer considered of any account. And to add to these, his age
could only lead him to contemplate increasing physical disabilities—his sight and
hearing declining, his cognitive abilities fading away. These factors are not
usually considered as a whole in the accounts of his acceptance of death. But taken
together they give a picture of a man, his support systems crumbling, to whom, at
that moment, the prospect of death was more appealing than a few more short
years of life. His inner voice, his daimon, supported him in this decision, pre-
venting him from mounting a defense. And, finally, his undoubted philosophical
gifts could provide a rationalization of this decision.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I am indebted to one of the reviewers for the reference to Critchley, and his book,
a fascinating and fun compendium of the circumstances surrounding the deaths of
philosophers, including in this category such as saints, rabbis, mystics and others.
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES / 83
REFERENCES
Aristotle. (1947). The Art of Rhetoric. J. H. Freese (Trans.) Cambridge, MA; London, UK:
Harvard University Press. c. 1926.
Critchley, S. (2008). Learning how to die—Socrates. In The book of dead philosophers
(pp. xx-xxiv). New York: Vintage Books.
Diogenes Laertius. (1925). Lives of eminent philosophers. R. D. Hicks (Trans., vol. 1).
Cambridge, MA; London, UK: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library 184.
Joyal, M. (2000). The platonic theages. Stuttgart: Steiner.
Legon, R. P. (1981). Megara: The political history of a Greek city-state to 336 B.C.. Ithaca,
NY; London, UK: Cornell University Press.
Lindsay, M., & David L. (2004). Suicide by cop: Committing suicide by provoking police to
shoot you. Amityville, NY: Baywood.
Pausanias. (1918-1935). Description of Greece. W. H. S. Jones (Trans.) Cambridge, MA;
London, UK: Harvard University Press.
Plato. (1914). Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Phaedrus. Harold North Fowler
(Trans.). Cambridge, MA; London, UK: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical
Library 36.
Plato. (1925). Lysis, Symposium, Gorgias. W. R. M. Lamb (Trans.). Cambridge, MA;
London, UK: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library 166.
Plato. (1927). Charmides, Theages. W. R. M. Lamb (Trans.). Cambridge, MA; London,
UK: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library 201.
Plutarch. (1914). Life of Aristides, in Lives. Bernadotte Perrin (Trans.) Cambridge, MA;
London, UK: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library 47.
Plutarch. (1959). On the sign of Socrates. In Moralia (vol. VII, p. 405). P. H. De
Lacy & B. Einarson (Trans.). Cambridge, MA; London, UK: Harvard University
Press, Loeb Classical Library 405.
Quintilian, M. F. (1922). Institutio oratorica. H. E. Butler (Trans.). Cambridge, MA;
London, UK: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library 127.
Qutb, S. (2000). Milestones. Damascus, Syria: Dar al-Ilm.
Stone, I. F. (1988). The trial of Socrates, Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company.
Westlake, H. D. (1969). Thessaly in the fourth century B.C. Groningen: Bouma’s Boekhuis
N.V. Publishers.
Xenophon (1918). Hellenica. Carleton L. Brownson (Trans.). Cambridge, MA; London,
UK: Harvard University Press, 1918, Loeb Classical Library 88.
Xenophon (1923). Memorabilia, Oeconomicus. E.C. Marchant, (Trans.); Symposium,
Apology. O. J. Todd (Trans.). Cambridge, MA; London, UK: Harvard University
Press, Loeb Classical Library 168.
Direct reprint requests to:
Sam Silverman, Ph.D., J.D.
18 Ingleside Road
Lexington, MA 02420
e-mail: [email protected]
84 / SILVERMAN
Death and Grief in the Greek Culture (MYSTAKIDOU, KYRIAKI).pdf
OMEGA, Vol. 50(1) 23-34, 2004-2005
DEATH AND GRIEF IN THE GREEK CULTURE
KYRIAKI MYSTAKIDOU, MD, PH.D.
ELENI TSILIKA, BSC, MSC
EFI PARPA, BA, MA
EMMANUELA KATSOUDA, MD
LAMBROS VLAHOS, MD, PH.D.
Areteion Hospital, School of Medicine, University of Athens, Greece
ABSTRACT
None would disagree that death is the great separator. Death has many
meanings, and they change with culture and society. In the Greek mythology,
the dead journeyed to the Afterlife, ruled by Hades. Death was not perceived
as an end in and by itself, but rather as another “world” to belong to. By
Classical times there was a rise to burial rituals and commemorative practices,
carried out throughout the centuries. Christian religion attempted to change
the way the dead were mourned, and preached the immortality of the soul
and resurrection of the dead. Nevertheless, the way people grieved and
buried their dead has not changed much. The only change is a difficulty in
the receptiveness of burial procedures, observed in large cities and in younger
population. Today in Greece, the perceptions and practices on grief and
death derive both on the ancient and the Christian Orthodox traditions.
INTRODUCTION
Experiences of illness and death, as well as grieving process, are influenced
by culture which shapes human experience throughout life (Thomas, 2001).
Although grief responses are a universal response to death, it appears that the
way these are expressed depends upon some unique characteristics in every
23
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culture. The way someone reacts to a loss depends on, among other factors, the
cultural context where he/she lives, the ways by which he/she relates to other
individuals, and the meanings he/she attributes to life and death. Not only is the
individual influenced by a loss, but the social environment too, that through
bereavement and the dead’s monument gets reorganized in a new form that is
defined by the absence of the dead. A funeral helps the community reconfirm its
own continuum in spite of the forces that almost disturb its cohesion. As a result,
through the ritual of funeral the community obtains self-catharsis (Redfield,
1992). Where fear of death exists, it is, usually, fear of expecting death, rather than
fear of the event itself. This is especially so among terminally ill patients
(Neuberger’s study (as cited in Doyle, Hanks, & MacDonald, 1995)). People in
Western civilizations receive no preparation, until it is too late, for the only thing
that everyone is going to face: death.
In the Greek history, death and grief have always played an important role in
people’s lives. A careful examination of the Greek culture can help us comprehend
the attitudes and traditions preserved through time. The word “end” (“telos”)
in the Greek language has two meanings: termination and purpose. Death is,
therefore, the termination, but also the final goal of our life (Graves, 1970;
Liadinis, 1992). The course of life brings us to realize, justify, and restore the
moment of our death. Greeks were the first to elaborate in depth the concepts
of faith and misfortune. In Iliad’s “X” rhapsody, the individual is found at
the bottom of the hierarchy of life, followed by the Gods, while at the top of
the scale is placed “Fate,” which plays the most essential role in life and is
thought to be the destination of humans (Homer, 8th century B.C.; Kazantzakis
& Kakridis, 1997). While in other cultures melancholy gave birth to religions,
in Greece it was transformed to art (8th century B.C.). The art work is thought
as the catharsis of experience. Art, when imitating life, can make situations
that in true life could never be comprehended as easy to perceive (Redfield,
1992). This transformation of fear of death into art conversed from denial
to strength and the desertation to endurance. It became a pleasant pessimism
(Liadinis, 1992).
MYTHOLOGY—ANCIENT TIMES
Mythology
In Greek mythology (until 12th century B.C.) there was a definite belief that
death is a journey (Graves, 1970). The person who dies is thought as someone who
leaves for a trip. He/she departs for a trip on which alive people feel like
accompanying him/her (Redfield, 1992). The significance of the idea that the dead
go to another world follows the idea that death is neither an end (“telos”) nor the
destruction of the human existence (Graves, 1970; Liadinis, 1992).
24 / MYSTAKIDOU ET AL.
Homeric Era
Later in Homeric times (700 B.C.) this belief gave way to the concept of a
shadowy afterlife peopled by disembodied souls (Sellers, 2003). At the moment
of death, man stops functioning and cannot be a source of help or damage
anymore. Nevertheless, his/her identity still exists. The identity of the dead
survives even after death, but is strengthless and is located somewhere far
away from the actual world (Redfield, 1992). For the epic poet Homer,
“Sleep” was considered the brother of “Death” and dreams were like death—
they were part of one’s life and were considered as a gift from the Gods (Ancient
Greek Literature Series, 1992). The concept and terminology of death as sleep
went on for almost 2000 years into modern funerary usage (Ancient Greek
Literature Series, 1992).
The dead were said to travel to another realm, the Afterlife, ruled by some
type of divinity, Hades (Graves, 1970). Hades as the eternal plight of humans
is described in the Homerian epics and in the ancient tragedies (Homer, 8th
century B.C; Patakis, 1985; Tsopanakis, 1964/1990). The existence of a soul
in Hades is not referred as a continuum of personal life, but instead is thought
a monument of the fact that a personal life once existed. Souls still survive
in a way, but in an inactive state. Even in Odyssey, where Ulysses is able to
appeal to souls and where dialogues of dead are registrated, the world of the
souls is thought as a world of memories (Redfield, 1992). Homer had argued
that the best for humans would be never to be born, or die soon after birth,
since the reward of life cannot balance the price of death. This is the bitterest
view to be found on the study of death. Nevertheless, death is not a problem
for the Homeric hero. Instead, it completes the hero’s history and fulfills
his/her destiny (Redfield, 1992). In Iliad’s “�” rhapsody there is the grief
of Achilles for his dead friend Patroclus described in great lyricism (Kazantzakis
& Kakridis, 1997). When Achilles farewells his friend, he sets his hands
on the chest of Patroclus’ corpse, as if he could forcibly approach his dead
friend’s conscious. According to Homer, the most perfect bereavement would
be suicide, which is faced as a true possibility, a possible fact. Instead of com-
mitting suicide, the person bereaving could also suspend his life, just like Achilles
did, when abstained from food, sleep, cleanliness and sexual life (O rhapsody
129-131) (Redfield, 1992).
In “Odyssey,” the citizens of the utopic island “Sirii” had the privilege of a
quick and painless death. They did not suffer from any diseases or poverty, but
when they were growing old the ancient Greek God Apollo arrived in their
island to hasten their death with his arrows. Many centuries later, a quick and
pain free death following old age without the burden of any serious disease was
still considered as one of the greatest human virtues (Ancient Greek Literature
Series, 1992).
DEATH AND GRIEF IN THE GREEK CULTURE / 25
Philosophers and Tragic Poets
Aristotle (384-322 B.C.), Ploutarchus (50-120 A.D.), and Sofokles (496-406
B.C.) were followers of Homer’s beliefs about death (Moulakis, 1995). According
to them, the dying persons and their families used to react to death with mourning
and wails, with an intensity that depended on their education, their faith in gods,
their cultural background, the way they lived their life, and finally their personal
courage. Grief does not describe the way the dead, or the person about to die, is
when alive, but, instead, describes the way things are after his/her departure and
the difference that his/her absence makes. Death itself is a living experience of
people left behind. The person who dies survives in their minds through his/her
absence. His/her face remains in the memory of those who must live without
him/her (Redfield, 1992). Bereavement manifestations were especially vivid in
women (Spiridakis, 1972). Hair and blood were considered the carriers of soul.
This Faith explains some acts such as pulling off the hair and skinning off
the cheeks, which occurred during lamentations (“myroloyia”). Tragedy itself
originated from the sad and mournful dithyramb to honor God Dionysus, a god
who represented the circle of life from birth and the joy of growth, to the pain
of death, and back to rebirth (Spiridakis, 1972).
The tragic poet Euripides, (480-406 B.C.) stated: “In vain old people wish to die,
accusing themselves of old age and longevity, because when death comes near,
none of them wants to die” (Moulakis, 1995). It is worth noting the belief held by
Socrates (5th century B.C.), in his Plea: “. . . for someone to fear death is nothing
else but to think that someone is wise when he/she is not, to think that one knows
what he/she does not know. Although no one really knows death, he is afraid of it
as if he knew it was the greatest evil/misfortune.” Death, according to Socrates,
either has no sensation for the deceased, resembling sleep with no dreams,
or transforms the soul and transacts it to another better place (Ancient Greek
Literature Series, 1992). By the Classical times (5th–4th century B.C.) various
secret mystery cults promised their initiates a post-death state of blessedness
(Gika, Drakopoulou, & Roma, 1995). From early on, concerns on what happens
after death gave rise to a rich assortment of burial rituals and commemorative
practices. The important role of death in the Greek culture has been the cause of a
very strict protocol being carried out throughout the centuries. Earth burial was
practiced early with cremation later becoming the vogue (Sellers, 2003).
Although the followers of the materialist philosophy (5th–3rd centuries B.C.)
accepted the physical immortality of the soul, they also subtracted from this
belief every ethicoreligional meaning, expressing the opinion that the soul is a
complex that dissolves with death (Enriques & Mazziotti, 1982). This opinion was
also reasoned by philosopher Epicure (4th–3rd century B.C.) who claimed that
the body and soul, composed of atoms, simply disintegrate at death. Thus, there
is no difference between afterlife and life. He argued that the experience or
reality of death must not be terrifying to humans (Moulakis, 1995).
26 / MYSTAKIDOU ET AL.
Concerning Aristotle, mind is characterized as immortal, since its “Principle” is
universal and, thus, eternal. As the person is not actually living, two other entities
start existing, that of the body and that of the soul. The dead’s partition into soul
and body indicates his/her decomposition in a physical and cultural context
(Redfield, 1992).
Only some philosophers, like Hippocrates (460-370 B.C.), did not consider
necessary the man’s survival in another life. According to them, humans should
accept their non-existence for which they should not feel any fear in advance
(Spandagou, Spandagou, & Travlou, 1996).
Later on, Stoics (3rd-2nd century, B.C.) defined philosophy as the study of
death (Spiridakis, 1972). The determining factors in the Stoic understanding of
death were, inevitably, its cosmology and its theory of man. Apart from the
objective evaluation of death, they argued that there is also an existential aspect
since every individual is confronted on his/her own with the reality of death
(Spiridakis, 1972). Stoics see no punishment or harm in or after death (Seneca,
n.d). Thus Epictetus follows Diogenes the Cynic in saying. “Death is not an evil,
since it is not dishonorable” (Diogenis Laertius, n.d., Dis. 1.24.6). To him it is
better to die than to live badly (Stoics’ study (as cited in Lewis, 2000-2003)).
Death is both inevitable and natural, as death is natural, whatever age it comes
(Seneca, n.d.). The Stoics accept the traditional view of death as the separation of
the soul from the body (Plutarch, n.d.). The soul can in fact be defined as “that
substance which by its departure causes the living being to die” (Zeno, n.d.). Death
is the dissolution of the temporary coalition of elements which have made up the
person as body and soul. Although the soul might exist as a separate entity for a
short while, it will then diffuse and become part of the great soul of the universe,
God or Nature (Servius Sulpicius, 45 B.C.). The subject of grief and the proper
response to the death of a loved one is extensively dealt with by the later Stoics.
Strong grief is a “passion,” an excessive emotion which is inappropriate given our
understanding of Nature (Epictetus, Ench 11).
PRE- BYZANTINE (ROMAN) TIMES
In 146 B.C., Greece fell to the Romans (Veggeti, 2000). Up until the 3rd A.D.,
the Epicurean and Stoics’ philosophy continue to influence the Greeks while
gaining even more recognition in Ancient Rome (Novo, 2002; Rist, 1978).
BYZANTINE TIMES
In 313 A.D., Constantine the Great, Emperor of the Roman Empire (306-337
A.D.) officially declared religious freedom and introduced the concept of the
Christian Church (Veggeti, 2000). The same year he passed the law of the “Eddict
of Toleration,” and since then burial within city walls was given tremendous
impetus. This gave rise to the church grave yard. He also prohibited cremation
DEATH AND GRIEF IN THE GREEK CULTURE / 27
according to the Christian religion’s rigidly compelling doctrine. The emergence
of the Christian Church from persecution gave primitive burial practices an
imposing dignity that better expressed the church’s importance (Sellers, 2003).
In 330 A.D., the Emperor moved the Capital of the Roman Empire to
Constantinople, founding the Eastern Roman Empire, which was renamed
Byzantium (Veggeti, 2000).
By the late 5th century A.D., the dead used to be brought to the church for
a religious mass (Sellers, 2003). From the 6th century A.D., the Emperor of
Byzantium, Justinian, promoted the Christian religion, teaching, and culture
(Zoras, 1970). In 529 A.D., he closed the Philosophical Academy in Athens, while
his legal reforms also included the introduction of laws against the polytheistic
real and others who did not embrace Christianity. He prohibited the creation
of sections or even discussions other than those of the official religious dogma
(Neelin, 2002; Zoras, 1970).
In 1054 (11th century A.D.), the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople
Bartholomew, alluded to the Great Schism, which split Christianity into the
Eastern Orthodox Church and Roman Catholic Church (Karmiris, 1946; Vlastos,
1896). The Christian Orthodox Church inherited from the Greek culture an attitude
towards death that did not include the element of fear (Gika et al., 1995). Death
was viewed as a collective faith, and, therefore, did not produce fear (Gika et al.,
1995; Spiridakis, 1953). The intervention of the Christian church resulted in a shift
of the popular beliefs from an earthly to a metaphysical level. The punishment in
eternal hell is an expression of that shift, which is not the same as the accusation of
the horrible life in the Underworld expressed in lamentations, but rather a
metaphysical threat for those who do not live according to the Christian ethics
(Samartzi, 1994). Therefore, excessive grief should be restrained in order not to
have such an influence among people, especially if resurrection is seriously
considered and kept in remembrance. However, mourning isn’t altogether
forbidden and somehow needs to be moderated. It forbids people to grieve in the
manner of unbelievers, because unbelievers look upon death as final destruction
and imagine that everything that is taken out of the world perishes. It speaks of the
dead as asleep, a term by which the bitterness of death is mitigated, for there is a
great difference between sleep and destruction. It refers, however, not to the soul
but to the body, for the dead body lies in the tomb until God raise up the man
(Calvin, 1999). Moreover, for the Christian Orthodox church the commemoration
masses might be perceived as an experiential continuum through the “Society of
Saints” (Liadinis, 1992).
OTTOMAN YOKE
In the year 1453 (15th century), a long period during which Greece was
under the Ottoman yoke (1453-1821) began. Greek people lived under conditions
of harsh oppression, isolated from the historical movement of Renaissance in
28 / MYSTAKIDOU ET AL.
Western Europe (Veremis, 1998; Vrionis, 1971). Even though this state of
oppression and isolation influenced greatly the free expression of the Greek
customs and manners, their attitudes toward life and death where strengthened to
the direction of self-sacrifice and endurance (Kastelan’s study (as cited in
Kargakos, 2000)). There are manuscripts describing the Greek’s attitudes during
that period. This is best illustrated in the Greek guerilla fighters (“Armatoli” &
“Kleftes”) during the Turkish occupation (Meraklis, 1986). They did not tolerate
the Turkish tyranny and their lives were a constant battle that ended only by their
death during conflict. They were the vision of the people, and their names became
legends and songs (Kargakos, 2000). Their attitudes to death had even impressed
Claude Fauriel, who dedicated a special section in the introduction of his well
known edition on the popular songs (Meraklis, 1986). What is also worth noting
is the mass suicide of the women in the area of Souli who preferred to die by
jumping in a precipice called Zaloggos rather than live under the Turkish pillage
(Finley’s study (as cited in Kargakos, 2000)).
MODERN TIMES
From the introduction of Christian Orthodox religion until now, there is a
co-existence of the Christian Orthodox burial rituals with the ancient Greek ones
(Mastrodimitris, 1991). A typical example are the folk poems (Samartzi, 1994).
They express the inner world of the Greek people, through the music and the
lyrics, dancing and rhythm (Politis, 1916). Their roots are found in the Ancient
Years went right through the Byzantine period and finally became strong during
the Turkish Occupation, when written speech was forbidden (Kargakos, 2000).
Claude Fauriel (1772-1844) claims that the folk poems were first cited with the
current forms in 8th century A.D. and argues that the neohellenic popular songs
saved the continuum of the ancient folk poems (Fauriel, 1824-1825). Another
researcher, S. P. Kyriakides (1887-1964) concluded that the neohellenic folk
poems are indirectly connected to the 5th-4th century B.C. and directly to the
1st century B.C.–1st century A.D. (Kyriakidis’ study (as cited in Mastrodimitris,
1991)). Lamentations forms a major category of the folk poems, which accord-
ing to D. Petropoulos, are divided in two categories: those that talk about the
deceased, and those that refer to Death (“Charos”) (Petropoulos’ study (as cited in
Mastrodimitris, 1991)).
Their practice is still evident in many parts in Greece (Gika et al., 1995;
Spiridakis, 1953). In the large area of Mani located in Southern Greece, for
example, when someone died, the relatives went to the deceased’s house and
shouted his name as they were approaching at the porch. This custom had the
meaning of the soul’s ability to come out of the body by recalling the deceased’s
name (Homer, 8th century B.C.). It has been carried out from the ancient years, as
it has also been described in Homer “Iliad” (Z, 500 & �, 721), over the Byzantine
period, until today (Spiridakis, 1972; Zoras, 1970). The next day, Mani’s women
DEATH AND GRIEF IN THE GREEK CULTURE / 29
start the lamentations; they pull their hair and skin their cheeks till they made
them bleed, strike their breasts and heads with their hands with urge, and tear
apart their clothes showing off their breasts. Men pull their beard and roll to the
ground. Then, they all participate in lamentations recalling their dead relatives
and send messages through the deceased (Pasagiannis, 1928). In Mani, there are
found many lamentations that constitute the famous Manis’ folkloral literature
(Spiridakis, 1972). In general, lamentations continue to exist in some areas as a
social duty; it is contempt to the dead to be buried without vivid manifestations
(Ikonomidis, 1965-1966; Liakakos, 1957; Spiridakis, 1972).
Another example of the continuation of these customs is the island of Crete,
where the wife and sister(s) of the deceased cut their hair as a symbol of strength,
to cover the dead body (Spiridakis, 1972). This action was first described in the
Homerian epics (Kazantzakis & Kakridis, 1997). For one year the Cretan family
mourns deeply, expresses grief by wearing black clothes, while men grow beards.
They do not celebrate Christmas by preparing the traditional food, and they do not
color the Easter eggs (Koukoule, 1951; Spiridakis, 1972; Zafirakopoulos, 1911).
As part of the customs, the confession and the Holy Communion are from the
first actions to be taken (Samartzi, 1994). Then follows the care of the dead body,
although in the large city centers this is a procedure often undertaken by the funeral
offices. The closure of the eyes is an act kept from the ancient times, and has been
preserved until today. While in the past the coffin was kept open during the
ceremony, today it is less common, since the relatives argue that they cannot stand
the view of their loved one dead, or to be seen by others (Samartzi, 1994). The
rituals following the burial extend over different time periods: the third day after
the funeral, the ninth day, the fortieth day, after six months, nine months, and
finally every year. On these memorial services the family prepares boiled wheat to
be offered to relatives and friends. Boiled wheat represents the reciprocity and
solidarity between the dead and the living, and is a routine kept from the ancient
years in order to remit the dead’s sins and has the meaning of fertility and
renaissance (Ikonomidis, 1965-1966; Loukatos, 1978).
The customs have three purposes: a) to help the soul of the deceased in the
transitory course from life to death, without complaints and to be in peace with
the other dead, through commemoration masses, charities, etc., to assure God’s
forgiveness (for all his sins); b) to protect the living from the dead’s possible
hostility; and c) to pursue familiar and social protection (the latter explains the
public’s participation in funerals) (Loukatos, 1978).
These cultural customs were introduced in the Hellenic society, in order to
prevent complicated grief reactions (Ikonomidis, 1965-1966; Loukatos, 1978).
They aimed to facilitate coping with death and bereavement, and have proven
effective for thousands of years. The funeral and memorial services articulate
these in ways that the dead person is perceived both incontrovertibly dead
and more mystically sacred. By making death grand the funeral invests it with
meaning, and beautifies the ugliness of death (Loukatos, 1978; Megas, 1940).
30 / MYSTAKIDOU ET AL.
Although in modern Greece, the attitudes, beliefs and traditions regarding death
and grief have their roots in the ancient times and the Christian Orthodox customs
(Homer, 8th century B.C.; Spiridakis, 1953; Spiridakis, 1972), these attitudes do
not remain uninfluenced over time; they result from: 1) people’s need to deny
death and illness has been reinforced during the past years from the technological
advancements and their application in medicine. The technological progress
brought us to the point to believe that we are not going to die; therefore, denying
death altogether; 2) there has been many social changes, so that the family is
isolated within the community. The concept of the extended family, although still
very important to the Greek society, is nowadays, somehow, threatened. The
exposure to death is decreasing, and the manifestations become rather “private”
rather than public in big cities. Consequently, there is less familiarity with the
concept of death and the procedures of bereavement and grief. (Mystakidou,
Liossi, Vlachos, & Papadimitriou, 1996).
This is further supported from the tendency of the social environment to
“protect” the dying person depriving him/her the knowledge of the seriousness of
his/her disease. To further understand how this tendency first appeared we need
to keep in mind two factors: a) the attitude of non-acceptance of others’ death; and
b) the establishment of a new relationship of trust between the dying patient
and his/her family. People are less exposed to death and dying (Evans & Walsh,
2002). Some even argued that we live in a “death denying” or “death avoiding”
society (Field’s study (as cited in Evans, Walsh, 2002)). These changes, as
expected, influence also the funeral traditions. The meanings of some customs
have changed, since they are expected to become private and discrete and should
not function as initiators of intense emotions (Sifakaki’ s study (as cited in
Potamianos, 1995)). A possible explanation of the reluctance to discuss death,
could be the need for happiness and the social obligation for participation
in this collective happiness (Aries, 1975/1988). In small towns and villages,
more families prefer to care for the dying at home than in the large cities
(Mystakidou et al., 1996), where the number of patients dying in the hospitals
has increased. Thus, rituals, like the confession and especially the Holy
Communion often take place in that setting (Ikonomidis, 1965-1966;
Loukatos, 1978).
OVERVIEW
From the above analysis becomes evident that from Greek mythology there
was a definite belief of death being a journey to another realm, the Afterlife,
ruled by Hades. For Homer, dreams and death were part of one’s life and were
considered as a gift from the Gods. Death for philosopher Socrates either has
no sensation for the deceased, resembling sleep with no dreams, or transforms
and transacts the soul to another better place. Stoics accepted the view of death
as the separation of the soul from the body. The way Greeks perceived death
DEATH AND GRIEF IN THE GREEK CULTURE / 31
was influenced by the establishment of the Christian religion as the only dogma
(6th century A.D.). Christians inherited from the ancient Greek culture an attitude
that viewed death as a collective faith and preaches the immortality of the
soul. Although the Christian Church embrace the way the dead were mourned,
many rituals still continue to exist in Greece as was first described in Homerian
epics. In contemporary Greece, both in rural and urban settings, the traditions
and attitudes surrounding death and grief harmonically co-exist with the Christian
Orthodox doctrine.
The way that people deal with death informs us on their attitudes and philosophy
of life as well as death while they receive support from the rituals that originate by
their cultural and religious affiliations. Therefore, the cultural differences are of
outmost importance and must be born in mind in the process of grief and dying.
Health care professionals need to respect these variations and how they affect
the ways individuals might wish to be treated.
In closing, the phrase from the legislator Solon (640-560 B.C.) is quoted:
“The end of life, meaning death, one should always have it front of his eyes”
(Ancient Greek Literature Series, 1992).
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Kyriaki Mystakidou, M.D., Ph.D.
Assistant Professor in Palliative Medicine
Pain Relief and Palliative Care Unit
Areteion Hospital School of Medicine
University of Athens
76 Vas. Sofias Ave.
115 28 Athens, Hellas
Greece
e-mail: [email protected]
34 / MYSTAKIDOU ET AL.
Philosophy and Politics BY HANNAH ARENDT.pdf
Philosophy an(d Politics BY HANNAH ARENDT
On February 19, 1954, Hannah Arendt wrote to Karl Jaspers that she was "in a bit of a hurry" because she was "preparing another lecture series for Notre Dame University" and that she was "deeply engulfed in the work." What follows is an edited version of the third and final part of those lectures. The entire series originally bore a subtitle, "The Problem of Action and Thought after the French Revolution." That subtitle has not been used here, as it is misleading without the first two parts of the lectures. The manuscript exists in two versions, one of which was heavily revised by Arendt. The later, revised version is published here for the first time. A brief selection from the earlier version was published in French in Cahiers du Grif in 1986.
1 HE GULF between philosophy and politics opened histori- cally with the trial and condemnation of Socrates, which in the history of political thought plays the same role of a turning point that the trial and condemnation of Jesus plays in the history of religion. Our tradition of political thought began when the death of Socrates made Plato despair of polis life and, at the same time, doubt certain fundamentals of Socrates' teachings. The fact that Socrates had not been able to persuade his judges of his innocence and his merits, which were so obvious to the better and younger of Athens's citizens, made Plato doubt the validity of persuasion. We have difficulty in grasping the importance of this doubt, because "persuasion" is a very weak and inadequate translation of the ancient peithein, the political importance of which is indicated by the fact that Peitho, the goddess of persuasion, had a temple in Athens. To persuade, peithein, was the specifically political form of speech.
Copyright © 1990 The Hannah Arendt Literary Trust.
SOCIAL RESEARCH, Vol. 57, No. 1 (Spring 1990)
74 SOGIAL RESEARCH I
and since the Athenians were proud that they, in distinction to the barbarians, conducted their political affairs in the form of speech and without compulsion, they cbnsidered rhetoric, the art of persuasion, the highest, the truly political art. Socrates' speech in the Apology is one of its great examples, and it is against this defense that Plato writes ih the Phaedo a "revised apology" which he called, with iroijiy, "more persuasive" {pithanoteron, 63B), since it ends with a imyth of the Hereafter, complete with bodily punishments and rewards, calculated to frighten rather than meriely persuade |the audience. Socrates' point in his defense before the citizens and judges of Athens had been that his behavior was in the best interest of the city. In the Crito he had explained to his friends that he could not flee but rather, for political reasons, ^must suffer the death penalty. It seems that he was not only lunable to persuade his judges but also could not convince his friends. In other words, the city had no use for a philosopher, and the friends had no use for political argumentation. This is part of the tragedy to which Plato's dialogues testify. j
Closely connected with his doubt about the validity of persuasion is Plato's furious denunciation of doxa, opinion, which not only ran like a red thread through his political works but became one of the cornerstones cif his concept of truth. Platonic truth, even when doxa is not mentioned, is always understood as the very opposite of opinion. The spectacle of Socrates submitting his own doxa to th6 irresponsible opinions of the Athenians, and being outvoted by a majority, made Plato despise opinions and yearn for absolute standards. Such standards, by which human deeds could be judged and human thought could achieve some measure {j)f reliability, from then on became the primary impulse of his political philosophy, and influenced decisively even the purely philosophical doctrine of ideas. I do not think, as is often maintained, that the concept of ideas was primarily a concept of standards and measures, nor that its origin was political. But this interpretation is all the more understandable and justifiable because Plato himself was
PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICS 75
the first to use the ideas for political purposes, that is, to introduce absolute standards into the realm of human affairs, where, without such transcending standards, everything remains relative. As Plato himself used to point out, we do not know what absolute greatness is, but experience only some- thing greater or smaller in relationship to something else.
Truth and Opinion
The opposition of truth and opinion was certainly the most anti-Socratic conclusion that Plato drew from Socrates' trial. Socrates, in failing to convince the city, had shown that the city is no safe place for the philosopher, not only in the sense that his life is not safe because of the truth he possesses, but also in the much more important sense that the city cannot be trusted with preserving the memory of the philosopher. If the citizens could condemn Socrates to death, they were only too liable to forget him when he was dead. His earthly immortality would be safe only if philosophers could be inspired with a solidarity of their own which was opposed to the solidarity of the polis and their fellow citizens. The old argument against the sophoi, wise men, which recurs in Aristotle as well as in Plato, that they do not know what is good for themselves (the prerequisite for political wisdom) and that they look ridiculous when they appear in the marketplace and are a common laughing stock—as Thales was laughed at by a peasant girl when, staring up at the skies, he feel into the well at his feet—was turned by Plato against the city.
In order to comprehend the enormity of Plato's demand that the philosopher should become the ruler of the city, we must keep in mind these common "prejudices" which the polis had with respect to philosophers, but not with respect to artists and poets. Only the sophos who does not know what is good for himself will know even less what is good for the polis. The sophos, the wise man as ruler, must be seen in opposition to the current ideal of the phronimos, the understanding man whose
76 SOCIAL RESEARCH
insights into the world of human affairs qualify him for leadership, though of course not to rul6. Philosophy, the love of wisdom, was not thought to be the same at all as this insight, phronesis. The wise man alone is concerned with matters outside the polis, and Aristotle is in full agreement with this public opinion when he states: "Anaxagoras and Thales were wise, but not understanding men. Theyiwere not interested in what is good for men [anthropina agatha]."^ Plato did not deny that the concern of the philosopher was with eternal, nonchanging, nonhuman matters. But he did not agree that this made him unfit to play a political role. He did not agree with the polis's conclusion that the philosopher, without concern for the human good, was himself in constant danger of becoming a good-for-nothing. The notion of good (agathos) has no connection here with what we mean by goodness in an absolute sense; it means exclusively good-for, beneficial or useful (chresimon) and is therefore unstatjle and accidental since it is not necessarily what it is but can always be different. The reproach that philosophy can deprive citizens of their personal fitness is implicitly contained in Pericles' famous statement: philokaloumen met' euteleias kai philosophoumen aneu malakias (we love the beautiful without exaggeration and we love wisdom without softness or unmanliness).^ In distinction from our own prejudices, in which softness and unmanliness are rather connected with the love of the beautiful, the Greeks saw this danger in philosophy. Philosophy, the concern with truth regardless of the realm of human affairs—and not love of the beautiful, which everywhere was represented in the polis, in statues and poetry, in music and the Olympic games—drove its adherents out of the polis and made them unfit for it. When Plato claimed rulership for the philosopher because he alone could behold the idea of the good, the highest of the eternal essences, he opposed the polis on two grounds: he first claimed
' Nic. Eth. 1140 a 25-30; 1141b 4-8 . 2 Thuc. 2. 40.
PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICS 77
that the philosopher's concern with eternal things did not put him at risk of becoming a good-for-nothing, and, second, he asserted that these eternal things were even more "valuable" than they were beautiful. His reply to Protagoras that not man but a god is the measure of all human things is only another version of the same statement. ̂
Plato's elevation of the idea of the good to the highest place in the realm of ideas, the idea of ideas, occurs in the cave allegory and must be understood in this political context. It is much less a matter of course than we, who have grown up in the consequences of the Platonic tradition, are likely to think. Plato, obviously, was guided by the Greek proverbial ideal, the kalon k'agathon (the beautiful and good), and it is therefore significant that he made up his mind for the good instead of the beautiful. Seen from the point of view of the ideas themselves, which are defined as that whose appearance illuminates, the beautiful, which cannot be used but only shines forth, had much more right to become the idea of ideas.'' The difference between the good and the beautiful, not only to us but even more so to the Greeks, is that the good can be applied and has an element of use in itself. Only if the realm of ideas is illuminated by the idea of the good could Plato use the ideas for political purposes and, in the Laws, erect his ideocracy, in which eternal ideas were translated into human laws.
What appears in the Republic as a strictly philosophical argument had been prompted by an exclusively political experience—the trial and death of Socrates—and it was not Plato but Socrates who was the first philosopher to overstep the line drawn by the polis for the sophos, for the man who is concerned with eternal, nonhuman, and nonpolitical things. The tragedy of Socrates' death rests on a misunderstanding: what the polis did not understand was that Socrates did not
•* For an elaboration of this matter, see The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1970), pp. 225-226 and n. 65. —Ed.
78 SOCIAL RESEARCH
claim to be a sophos, a wise man. Because he doubted that wisdom is for mortals, he saw the irofly in the Delphic oracle that said he was the wisest of all men: the man who knows that men cannot be wise is the wisest of them all. The polis did not believe him, and demanded that he!admit that he, like all sophoi, was politically a good-for-nothing. But as a philosopher he truly had nothing to teach his fellow citizens.
The Tyranny of Truth I
The confiict between the philosopher and the polis had come to a head because Socrates had made new demands on philosophy precisely because he did not claim to be wise. And it is in this situation that Plato designed his tyranny of truth, in which it is not what is temporally goocl, of which men can be persuaded, but eternal truth, of yhich men cannot be persuaded, that is to rule the city. What had become apparent in the Socratic experience was that only rulership might assure the philosopher of that earthly immortality which the polis was supposed to assure all its citizens. For| while the thought and actions of all men were threatened by their own inherent instability and human forgetfulness, the thoughts of the philosopher were exposed to willful oblivion. The same polis, therefore, which guaranteed its inhabitants an immortality and stability which they never could hope for without it, was a threat and a danger to the immortality pf the philosopher. The philosopher, it is true, in his intercourse with eternal things, felt the need of earthly immortality less than anybody else. Yet this eternity, which was more than earthly immortality, came into conflict with the polis whenever the philosopher tried to bring his concerns to the attention of his fellow citizens. As soon as the philosopher submitted his j truth, the reflection of the eternal, to the polis, it became immediately an opinion among opinions. It lost its distinguishing quality, for there is no visible hallmark which marks off truth from opinion. It is as
PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICS 79
though the moment the eternal is brought into the midst of men it becomes temporal, so that the very discussion of it with others already threatens the existence of the realm in which the lovers of wisdom move.
In the process of reasoning out the implications of Socrates' trial, Plato arrived both at his concept of truth as the very opposite of opinion and at his notion of a specifically philosophical form of speech, dialegesthai, as the opposite of persuasion and rhetoric. Aristotle takes these distinctions and oppositions as a matter of course when he begins his Rhetoric, which belongs to his political writings no less than his Ethics, with the statement: hS rhetorike estin antistrophos te dialektike (the art of persuasion [and therefore the political art of speech] is the counterpart of the art of dialectic [the art of philosophical speech]).5 The chief distinction between persuasion and dialectic is that the former always addresses a multitude {peithein ta pUthe) whereas dialectic is possible only as a dialogue between two. Socrates' mistake was to address his judges in the form of dialectic, which is why he could not persuade them. His truth, on the other hand, since he respected the limitations inherent in persuasion, became an opinion among opinions, not worth a bit more than the nontruths of the judges. Socrates insisted in talking the matter through with his judges as he used to talk about all kinds of things with single Athenian citizens or with his pupils; and he believed that he could arrive at some truth thereby and persuade the others of it. Yet persuasion does not come from truth, it comes from opinions,'^ and only persuasion reckons and knows how to deal with the multitude. To persuade the multitude means to force upon its multiple opinions one's own opinion; persuasion is not the opposite of rule by violence, it is only another form of it. The myths of a Hereafter with which Plato concluded all his political dialogues, with the exception of the Laws, are neither
Rhet. 1354 a 1. Phaedrus 260A.
80 SOCIAL RESEARCH
truth nor mere opinion; they are desigrled as stories which can frighten, that is, an attempt to use violence by words only. He can do without a concluding myth in the Laws because the detailed prescriptions and even morej detailed catalogue of punishments makes violence with merel words unnecessary.
Although it is more than probable that Socrates was the first who had used dialegesthai (talking something through with somebody) systematically, he probably did not look upon this as the opposite or even the counterpart 'to persuasion, and it is certain that he did not oppose the results of this dialectic to doxa, opinion. To Socrates, as to his fellow citizens, doxa was the formulation in speech of what dokei \moi, that is, of what appears to me. This doxa had as its topic not what Aristotle called the eikos, the probable, the ; many verisimilia (as distinguished from the unum verum, the one truth, on one hand, and the limitless falsehoods, t h | faba infinita, on the other), but comprehended the world as it opens itself to me. It was not, therefore, subjective fantasy and arbitrariness, but also not something absolute and valid f6r all. The assumption was that the world opens up diffeijently to every man, according to his position in it; and that the "sameness" of the world, its commonness (koinon, as thp Greeks would say, common to all) or "objectivity" (as we would say from the subjective viewpoint of modern philosophy) resides in the fact that the same world opens up to everyone and that despite all differences between men and their positions in the world—and consequently their doxai (opinions) —"both you and I are human." i
The word doxa means not only opinion but also splendor and fame. As such, it is related to the political realm, which is the public sphere in which everybody can appear and show who he himself is. To assert one's ownl opinion belonged to being able to show oneself, to be seen and heard by others. To the Greeks this was the one great privilege attached to public life and lacking in the privacy of the household, where one is neither seen nor heard by others. (Tjhe family, wife and
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children, and slaves and servants, were of course not recognized as fully human.) In private life one is hidden and can neither appear nor shine, and consequently no doxa is possible there. Socrates, who refused public office and honor, never retired into this private life, but on the contrary moved in the marketplace, in the very midst of these doxai, these opinions. What Plato later called dialegesthai, Socrates himself called maieutic, the art of midwifery: he wanted to help others give birth to what they themselves thought anyhow, to find the truth in their doxa.
This method had its significance in a twofold conviction: every man has his own doxa, his own opening to the world, and Socrates therefore must always begin with questions; he cannot know beforehand what kind of dokei moi, of it-appears-to-me, the other possesses. He must make sure of the other's position in the common world. Yet, just as nobody can know beforehand the other's doxa, so nobody can know by himself and without further effort the inherent truth of his own opinion. Socrates wanted to bring out this truth which everyone potentially possesses. If we remain true to his own metaphor of maieutic, we may say: Socrates wanted to make the city more truthful by delivering each of the citizens of their truths. The method of doing this is dialegesthai, talking something through, but this dialectic brings forth truth not by destroying doxa or opinion, but on the contrary reveals doxa in its own truthfulness. The role of the philosopher, then, is not to rule the city but to be its "gadfly," not to tell philosophical truths but to make citizens more truthful. The difference with Plato is decisive: Socrates did not want to educate the citizens so much as he wanted to improve their doxai, which constituted the political life in which he too took part. To Socrates, maieutic was a political activity, a give and take, fundamentally on a basis of strict equality, the fruits of which could not be measured by the result of arriving at this or that general truth. It is therefore obviously still quite in the Socratic tradition that Plato's early dialogues frequently conclude inconclusively.
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without a result. To have talked something through, to have talked about something, some citizen's doxa, seemed result enough.
Dialogue Between Friends
It is obvious that this kind of dialogue, which doesn't need a conclusion in order to be meaningful, is most appropriate for and most frequently shared by friends. Friendship to a large extent, indeed, consists of this kind of talking about something that the friends have in common. By talking about what is between them, it becomes ever more coinmon to them. It gains not only its specific articulateness, but! develops and expands and finally, in the course of time and lift, begins to constitute a little world of its own which is shared in friendship. In other words, politically speaking, Socrates tried to make friends out of Athens's citizenry, and this indeed was a very understand- able purpose in a polis whose life consisted of an intense and uninterrupted contest of all against | all, of aei aristeuein, ceaselessly showing oneself to be the best of all. In this agonal spirit, which eventually was to bring the Greek city states to ruin because it made alliances between them well nigh impossible and poisoned the domestic life of the citizens with envy and mutual hatred (envy was the National vice of ancient Greece), the commonweal was constantly threatened. Because the commonness of the political world was constituted only by the walls of the city and the boundaries of its laws, it was not seen or experienced in the relationships between the citizens, not in the world which lay between therri, common to them all, even though opening up in a different way to each man. If we use Aristotle's terminology in order to understand Socrates better—and great parts of Aristotle's' political philosophy, especially those in which he is in explicit ^opposition to Plato, go back to Socrates—we may cite that part of the Nicomachean Ethics where Aristotle explains that a community is not made
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out of equals, but on the contrary of people who are different and unequal. The community comes into being through equalizing, isasthSnai.'^ This equalization takes place in all exchanges, as between the physician and the farmer, and it is based on money. The political, noneconomic equalization is friendship, philia. That Aristotle sees friendship in analogy to want and exchange is related to the inherent materialism of his political philosophy, that is, to his conviction that politics ultimately is necessary because of the necessities of life from which men strive to free themselves. Just as eating is not life but the condition for living, so living together in the polis is not the good life but its material condition. He therefore ultimately sees friendship from the viewpoint of the single citizen, not from that of the polis: the supreme justification of friendship is that "nobody would choose to live without friends even though he possessed all other goods."^ The equalization in friendship does not of course mean that the friends become the same or equal to each other, but rather that they become equal partners in a common world—that they together constitute a community. Community is what friendship achieves, and it is obvious that this equalization has as its polemical point the ever-increasing differentiation of citizens that is inherent in an agonal life. Aristotle concludes that it is friendship and not justice (as Plato maintained in the Republic, the great dialogue about justice) that appears to be the bond of communities. For Aristotle, friendship is higher than justice, because justice is no longer necessary between friends.^
The political element in friendship is that in the truthful dialogue each of the friends can understand the truth inherent in the other's opinion. More than his friend as a person, one friend understands how and in what specific articulateness the common world appears to the other, who as a person is forever
'' Nic.Eth. 1133 a 14. ^ Nic. Eth. 1155 a 5. "^ Nic. Eth. 1155 a 20-30.
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unequal or different. This kind of understanding—seeing the world (as we rather tritely say today) from the other fellow's point of view—is the political kind of insight par excellence. If we wanted to define, traditionally, the 6ne outstanding virtue of the statesman, we could say that it consists in understanding the greatest possible number and variety of realities—not of subjective viewpoints, which of course also exist but which do not concern us here—as those realities open themselves up to the various opinions of citizens; and, at the same time, in being able to communicate between the citizens and their opinions so that the common-ness of this world becomes apparent. If such an understanding—and action inspired by it—were to take place without the help of the stateman,' then the prerequisite would be for each citizen to be articulate enough to show his opinion in its truthfulness and therefore to understand his fellow citizens. Socrates seems to have believed that the political function of the philosopher was to help establish this kind of common world, built on the understanding of friendship, in which no rulership is needed.
For this purpose, Socrates relied on two insights, the one being contained in the word of the Delphic Apollo, gnothi sauthon, know thyself, and the other related by Plato (and echoed in Aristotle): "It is better to be in disagreement with the whole world than, being one, to be in disagreement with myself." 10 The latter is the key sentence for the Socratic conviction that virtue can be taught and'learned.
In the Socratic understanding, the Pelphic know thyself meant: only through knowing what appears to me—only to me, and therefore remaining forever' related to my own concrete existence—can I ever undersjtand truth. Absolute truth, which would be the same for all men and therefore unrelated, independent of each man's existence, cannot exist for mortals. For mortals the important thing is to make doxa truthful, to see in every doxa truth and to speak in such a way
I
'" Gorgias 482C. !
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that the truth of one's opinion reveals itself to oneself and to others. On this level, the Socratic "I know that I do not know" means no more than: I know that I do not have the truth for everybody, I cannot know the other fellow's truth except by asking him and thereby learning his doxa, which reveals itself to him in distinction from all others. In its ever-equivocal way, the Delphic oracle honored Socrates with being the wisest of all men, because he had accepted the limitations of truth for mortals, its limitations through dokein, appearances, and because he at the same time, in opposition to the Sophists, had discovered that doxa was neither subjective illusion nor arbitrary distortion but, on the contrary, that to which truth invariably adhered. If the quintessence of the Sophists' teaching consisted in the dyo logoi, in the insistence that each matter can be talked about in two different ways, then Socrates was the greatest Sophist of them all. For he thought that there are, or should be, as many different logoi as there are men, and that all these logoi together form the human world, insofar as men live together in the manner of speech.
For Socrates the chief criterion for the man who speaks truthfully his own doxa was "that he be in agreement with himself"—that he not contradict himself and not say contradic- tory things, which is what most people do and yet what each of us somehow is afraid of doing. The fear of contradiction comes from the fact that each of us, "being one," can at the same time talk with himself (eme emauto) as though he were two. Because I am already two-in-one, at least when I try to think, I can experience a friend, to use Aristotle's definition, as an "other self" {heteros gar autos ho philos estin). Only someone who has had the experience of talking with himself is capable of being a friend, of acquiring another self. The condition is that he be of one mind with himself, in agreement with himself ihomognomonei heauto), because somebody who contradicts himself is unreliable. The faculty of speech and the fact of human plurality correspond to each other, not only in the sense that I use words for communication with those with
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whom I am together in the world, [ but in the even more relevant sense that speaking with myself I live together with myself.' • I
The axiom of contradiction, with \yhich Aristotle founded Western logic, can be traced back to this fundamental discovery of Socrates. Insofar as I am one, I will not contradict myself, but I can contradict myself because in thought I am two-in-one; therefore I do not live only with others, as one, but also with myself. The fear of contrjadiction is the fear of splitting up, of no longer remaining ope, and this is the reason why the axiom of contradiction could become the fundamental rule of thought. This is also the reasbn why the plurality of men can never entirely be abolished arid why the escape of the philosopher from the realm of plurality always remains an illusion: even if I were to live entirely by myself I would, as long as I am alive, live in the condition of plurality. I have to put up with myself, and nowhere doeŝ this I-with-myself show more clearly than in pure thought, always a dialogue between the two who I am. The philosopher who, trying to escape the human condition of plurality, takes his flight into absolute solitude, is more radically delivered to this plurality inherent in every human being than anybody else, because it is the companionship with others which, calling me out of the dialogue of thought, makes me one again—one single, unique human being speaking with but one voice and recognizable as such by all others. '
Together with Oneself
I
What Socrates was driving at (and what Aristotle's theory of friendship explains more fully) is thkt living together with others begins with living together With oneself. Socrates' teaching meant: only he who knows how to live with himself is
I
" Nie. Elh. 1166 a 10-15;1170 b 5-10. i
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fit to live with others. The self is the only person from whom I cannot depart, whom I cannot leave, with whom I am welded together. Therefore "it is much better to be in disagreement with the whole world than being one to be in disagreement with myself." Ethics, no less than logic, has its origin in this statement, for conscience in its most general sense is also based on the fact that I can be in agreement or disagreement with myself, and that means that I do not only appear to others but also to myself. This possibility is of the greatest relevance to politics, if we understand (as the Greeks understood) the polis as the public-political realm in which men attain their full humanity, their full reality as men, because they not only are (as in the privacy of the household) but appear. How much the Greeks understood full reality as the reality of this appearance, and how much it mattered for specifically moral questions, we may gauge from the ever-recurring question in Plato's political dialogues of whether a good deed, or a just deed, is what it is even "if it remains unknown to and hidden before men and gods." For the problem of conscience, in a purely secular context, without faith in an all-knowing and all-caring God who will pass a final judgment on life on earth, this question is indeed decisive. It is the question whether conscience can exist in a secular society and play a role in secular politics. And it is also the question whether morality as such has an earthly reality. Socrates' answer is contained in his frequently reported advice: "Be as you would like to appear to others," that is, appear to yourself as you would want to appear if seen by others. Since even when you are alone you are not altogether alone, you yourself can and must testify to your own reality. Or to put it in a more Socratic way—for although Socrates discovered conscience he did not yet have a name for it—the reason why you should not kill, even under conditions where nobody will see you, is that you cannot possibly want to be together with a murderer. By committing murder you would deliver yourself to the company of a murderer as long as you live.
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Moreover, while engaged in the dialogue of solitude in which I am strictly by myself, I am not altogether separated from that plurality which is the world of men and which we call in its most general sense humanity. This humanity, or rather this plurality, is indicated already iri the fact that I am two-in-one. ("One is one and all alone and evermore shalt be" is true only of God.) Men not only exist in the plural as do all earthly beings, but have an indication of this plurality within themselves. Yet the self with whom I am together in solitude can never itself assume the same definite and unique shape or distinction which all other people have for me; rather, this self remains always changeable and somewhat equivocal. It is in the form of this changeability and equivocality that this self represents to me, while I am by myself, ;all men, the humanity of all men. What I expect other pebple to do—and this expectation is prior to all experiences an.d survives them all—is to a large extent determined by the ev^r-changing potentiali- ties of the self with whom I live together. In other words, a murderer is not only condemned to the permanent company of his own murderous self, but he will $ee all other people in the image of his own action. He will live in a world of potential murderers. It is not his own isolated act that is of political relevance, or even the desire to commit it, but this doxa of his, the way in which the world opens up to him and is part and parcel of the political reality he lives in! In this sense, and to the extent that we still live with ourselves, we all change the human world constantly, for better and| for worse, even if we do not act at all. i
To Socrates, who was firmly convinced that nobody can possibly want to live together with a murjderer or in a world of potential murderers, the one who maintains that a man can be happy and be a murderer, if only nobody knows about it, is in twofold disagreement with himself:' he makes a self- contradictory statement and shows himself willing to live together with one with whom he cannot agree. This twofold disagreement, the logical contradiction; and the ethical bad
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conscience, was for Socrates still one and the same phenome- non. That is the reason why he thought that virtue can be taught, or, to put it in a less trite way, the awareness that man is a thinking and an acting being in one, someone, namely, whose thoughts invariably and unavoidably accompany his acts, is what improves men and citizens. The underlying assumption of this teaching is thought and not action, because only in thought do I realize the dialogue of the two-in-one who I am.
To Socrates, man is not yet a "rational animal," a being endowed with the capacity of reason, but a thinking being whose thought is manifest in the manner of speech. To an extent this concern with speech was already true for pre-Socratic philosophy, and the identity of speech and thought, which together are logos, is perhaps one of the outstanding characteristics of Greek culture. What Socrates added to this identity was the dialogue of myself with myself as the primary condition of thought. The political relevance of Socrates' discovery is that it asserts that solitude, which before and after Socrates was thought to be the prerogative and professional habitus of the philosopher only, and which was naturally suspected by the polis of being antipolitical, is, on the contrary, the necessary condition for the good functioning of the polis, a better guarantee than rules of behavior enforced by laws and fear of punishment.
Here again we must turn to Aristotle if we wish to find an already weakened echo of Socrates. Apparently in reply to the Protagorean anthropos metron panton chrematon (man is the measure of all human things or, literally, of all things used by men) and, as we have seen, Plato's repudiation that the measure of all human things is theos, a god, the divine as it appears in the ideas, Aristotle says: estin hekastou metron he arete kai agathos (the measure for everybody is virtue and the good man).^2 yhe standard is what men are themselves when they
h. 1176a 17.
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act and not something which is external like the laws or superhuman like the ideas.
Nobody can doubt that such a teaching was and always will be in a certain conflict with the polis, which must demand respect for its laws independent of personal conscience, and Socrates knew the nature of this confiict full well when he called himself a gadfly. We, on the other hand, who have had our experience with totalitarian mass organizations whose primary concern is to eliminate all p'ossibility of solitude— except in the nonhuman form of solit;ary confinement—can easily testify that if a minimum amount of being alone with oneself is no longer guaranteed, not only secular but also all religious forms of conscience will be abolished. The frequently observed fact that conscience itself no longer functioned under totalitarian conditions of political organization, and this quite independent of fear and punishment,, is explicable on these grounds. No man can keep his conscience intact who cannot actualize the dialogue with himself, that is, who lacks the solitude required for all forms of thinking.
The Doxa Destroyed,
Yet Socrates also came in another, less obvious way into conflict with the polis, and this side of the matter he seems not to have realized. The search for truth in the doxa can lead to the catastrophic result that the doxa is altogether destroyed, or that what had appeared is revealed as an illusion. This, you will remember, is what happened to King Oedipus, whose whole world, the reality of his kingship, went to pieces when he began to Jook into it. After discovering the itruth, Oedipus is left without any doxa, in its manifold riieanings of opinion, splendor, fame, and a world of one's own. Truth therefore can destroy doxa, it can destroy the specific political reality of the citizens. Similarly, from what we know of Socrates' influence, it is obvious that many of his listeners must have gone away, not
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with a more truthful opinion, but with no opinion at all. The inconclusiveness of many Platonic dialogues, mentioned before, can also be seen in this light: all opinions are destroyed, but no truth is given in their stead. And did not Socrates himself admit that he had no doxa of his own, but was "sterile"? Yet was not, perhaps, this very sterility, this lack of opinion, also a prerequisite for truth? However that may be, Socrates, all his protests not to possess any special teachable truth notwithstanding, must somehow already have appeared like an expert in truth. The abyss between truth and opinion, which from then on was to divide the philosopher from all other men, had not yet opened, but it was already indicated, or rather foreshadowed, in the figure of this one man who, wherever he went, tried to make everybody around him, and first of all himself, more truthful.
To put it differently, the confiict between philosophy and politics, between the philosopher and the polis, broke out because Socrates had wanted—not to play a political role—but to make philosophy relevant for the polis. The confiict became all the sharper as this attempt coincided (yet it probably was no mere coincidence) with the rapid decay of Athenian polis life in the thirty years which separate the death of Pericles from the trial of Socrates. The confiict ended with a defeat for philosophy: only through the famous apolitia, the indifference and contempt for the world of the city, so characteristic of all post-Platonic philosophy, could the philosopher protect him- self against the suspicions and hostilities of the world around him. With Aristotle the time begins when philosophers no longer feel responsible for the city, and this not only in the sense that philosophy has no special task in the realm of politics, but in the much larger sense that the philosopher has less responsibility for it than any of his fellow citizens—that the philosopher's way of life is different. Whereas Socrates still obeyed the laws which, however wrongly, had condemned him, because he felt responsible for the city, Arisotle, when in danger of a similar trial, left Athens immediately and without
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any compunction. The Athenians, he is reported to have said, should not sin twice against philosophy. The only thing that philosophers from then on wanted wiljh respect to politics was to be left alone; and the only thing they demanded of government was protection for their freedom to think. If this flight of philosophy from the sphere of human affairs were exclusively due to historical circumstjances, it is more than doubtful that its immediate results—the parting of the man of thought from the man of action—w(!)uld have been able to establish our tradition of political thought which has survived two and a half thousand years of the most varied political and philosophical experience without being challenged over this fundament. The truth is rather that in the person as in the trial of Socrates another and much deepeif contradiction between philosophy and politics appeared than is apparent from what we know of Socrates' own teachings. '
It seems too obvious, almost a banality, and yet it is generally forgotten that every political philosophy first of all expresses the attitude of the philosopher to the affairs of men, the pragmata ton anthropon, to which he, too, belongs; and that this attitude itself involves and expresses the relationship between specifically philosophical experience and our experience when we move among men. It is equally obvious that every political philosophy at first glance seems to face the alternative either of interpreting philosophical experience | with categories which owe their origin to the realm of human affairs or, on the contrary, of claiming priority for phil(|)sophic experience and judging all politics in its light. In the latter case, the best form of government would be a state ' of affairs in which philosophers have a maximum oppor'tunity to philosophize, and that means one in which everybody conforms to standards which are likely to provide the best conditions for it. Yet the very fact that only Plato of all philosophers ever dared to design a commonwealth exclusively from the viewpoint of the philosopher and that, practically speaking, this design never was taken quite seriously, not even by philosophers, indicates
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that there is another side to this question. The philosopher, although he perceives something that is more than human, that is divine (theion ti), remains a man, so that the confiict between philosophy and the affairs of men is ultimately a confiict within the philosopher himself. It is this confiict which Plato rational- ized and generalized into a confiict between body and soul: whereas the body inhabits the city of men, the divine thing which philosophy perceives is seen by something itself divine— the soul—which somehow is separate from the affairs of men. The more a philosopher becomes a true philosopher, the more he will separate himself from his body; and since as long as he is alive such separation can never actually be achieved, he will try to do what every free citizen in Athens did in order to separate and free himself from the necessities of life: he will rule over his body as a master rules over his slaves. If the philosopher attains rulership over the city, he will do no more to its inhabitants than he has already done to his body. His tyranny will be justified both in the sense of best government and in the sense of personal legitimacy, that is, by his prior obedience, as a mortal man, to the commands of his soul, as a philosopher. All our current sayings that only those who know how to obey are entitled to command, or that only those who know how to rule themselves can legitimately rule over others, have their roots in this relationship between politics and phi- losophy. The Platonic metaphor of a confiict between body and soul, originally devised in order to express the confiict between philosophy and politics, had such a tremendous impact on our religious and spiritual history that it overshadowed the basis of experience from which it sprang—just as the Platonic division itself of man into two overshadowed the original experience of thought as the dialogue of the two-in-one, the eme emauto, which is the very root of all such divisions. This does not mean to say that the confiict between philosophy and politics could smoothly be dissolved into some theory about the relationship between soul and body, but that nobody after Plato had been as aware as
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he of the political origin of the confiict, [nor dared to express it in such radical terms. I
In the Cave
Plato himself described the relationship between philosophy and politics in terms of the attitude of the philosopher toward the polis. The description is given in tile parable of the cave, which forms the center of his political philosophy, as it does of the Republic. The allegory, in which Platjo means to give a kind of concentrated biography of the philosopher, unfolds in three stages, each of them designated a turning point, a turning- about, and all three together form that periagoge holes tes psyches, that turning-about of the whole humad being which for Plato is the very formation of the philosopher. The first turning takes place in the cave itself; the future philosopher frees himself from the fetters which chain the caVe dwellers' "legs and necks" so that "they can only see before them," their eyes glued to a screen on which shadows and images of things appear. When he first turns around, he sees in the rear of the cave an artificial fire that illuminates the things in the cave as they really are. If we want to elaborate on the story, we could say that this first periagoge is that of the scientist who, not content with what people say about things, "turns around" to find out how things are in themselves, regardless of the opinions held by the multitude. For the images on the screen, to Plato, were the distortions of doxa, and he could use metaphors taken exclusively from sight and visual perception because the word doxa, unlike our word opinion, has the'strong connotation of the visible. The images on the screen at yhich the cave dwellers stare are their doxai, what and how things appear to them. If they want to look at things as they really are, they must turn around, that is, change their position because, as we saw before, every doxa depends and corresponds to one's position in the world. i
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A much more decisive turning point in the philosopher's biography comes when this solitary adventurer is not satisfied with the fire in the cave and with the things now appearing as they really are, but wants to find out where this fire comes from and what the causes of things are. Again he turns around and finds an exit from the cave, a stairway which leads him to the clear sky, a landscape without things or men. Here appear the ideas, the eternal essences of perishable things and of mortal men illuminated by the sun, the idea of ideas, which enables the beholder to see and the ideas to shine forth. This certainly is the climax in the life of the philosopher, and it is here that the tragedy begins. Being still a mortal man, he does not belong and cannot remain here but must return to the cave as his earthly home, and yet in the cave he can no longer feel at home.
Each of these turnings-about had been accompanied by a loss of sense and orientation. The eyes accustomed to the shadowy appearances on the screen are blinded by the fire in the rear of the cave. The eyes then adjusted to the dim light of the artificial fire are blinded by the light of the sun. But worst of all is the loss of orientation which befalls those whose eyes once were adjusted to the bright light under the sky of ideas, and who must now find their way in the darkness of the cave. Why philosophers do not know what is good for them—and how they are alienated from the affairs of men—is grasped in this metaphor: they can no longer see in the darkness of the cave, they have lost their sense of orientation, they have lost what we would call their common sense. When they come back and try to tell the cave dwellers what they have seen outside the cave, they do not make sense; to the cave dwellers whatever they say is as though the world were "turned upside down" (Hegel). The returning philosopher is in danger because he has lost the common sense needed to orient himself in a world common to all, and, moreover, because what he harbors in his thought contradicts the common sense of the world.
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It belongs to the puzzling aspects of ithe allegory of the cave_ that Plato depicts its inhabitants as frozen, chained before a screen, without any possibility of doing anything or communi- cating with one another. Indeed, the two politically most significant words designating human activity, talk and action (lexis and praxis), are conspicuously absent from the whole story. The only occupation of the cave dwellers is looking at the screen; they obviously love seeing for its own sake, independent from all practical needs, ̂ î The cave dwellers, in other words, are depicted as ordinary rnen, but also in that one quality which they share with philosciphers: they are repre- sented by Plato as potential philosophers, occupied in darkness and ignorance with the one thing the philosopher is concerned with in brightness and full knowledge. The allegory of the cave is thus designed to depict not so much how philosophy looks from the viewpoint of pohtics but how politics, the realm of human affairs, looks from the viewpoint of philosophy. And the purpose is to discover in the realm of philosophy those standards which are appropriate for a jcity of cave dwellers, to be sure, but still for inhabitants who, albeit darkly and ignorantly, have formed their opinions concerning the same matters as the philosopher. |
Wonder i
I
What Plato does not tell us in the stor'y, because it is designed for these political purposes, is what distinguishes the philoso- pher from those who also love seeing fbr its own sake, or what makes him start out on his solitary adventure and causes him to break the fetters with which he is cbained to the screen of illusion. Again, at the end of the stbry, Plato mentions in passing the dangers which await the 'returning philosopher, and concludes from these dangers that the philosopher—
I '^ Cf. Aristotle Metaph. 980 a 22-25. I
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although he is not interested in human affairs—must assume rulership, if only out of fear of being ruled by the ignorant. But he does not tell us why he cannot persuade his fellow citizens, who anyhow are already glued to the screen and thereby in a certain way ready to receive "higher things," as Hegel called them, to follow his example and choose the way out of the cave.
In order to answer these questions, we must recall two statements of Plato which do not occur in the cave allegory, but without which this allegory remains obscure and which it, so to speak, takes for granted. The one occurs in the Theaetettis—a dialogue about the difference between episteme (knowledge) and doxa (opinion)—where Plato defines the origin of philosophy: mala gar philosophou touto to pathos, to thaumadzein; ou gar alle arche philosophias he haute (for wonder is what the philosopher endures most; for there is no other beginning of philosophy than wonder . . .)M And the second occurs in the Seventh Letter when Plato talks about those things which to him are the most serious ones {peri hon ego spoudadzo), that is, not so much philosophy as we understand it as its eternal topic and end. Of this he says, rheton gar oudamos estin hos alia mathemata, all' ek polles synousias gignomenes . . . hoion apo pyros pedesantos exaphthen phos (it is altogether impossible to talk about this as about other things we learn; rather, from much being together with it . . . a light is lit as from a flying fire).'^ In these two statements we have the beginning and the end of the philosopher's life which the cave story omits.
Thaumadzein, the wonder at that which is as it is, is according to Plato a pathos, something which is endured and as such quite distinct from doxadzein, from forming an opinion about something. The wonder that man endures or which befalls him cannot be related in words because it is too general for words. Plato must have first encountered it in those frequently
'•* 155D.
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reported traumatic states in which Socrates would suddenly, as though seized by a rapture, fall into complete motionlessness, just staring without seeing or hearing anything. That this speechless wonder is the beginning [of philosophy became axiomatic for both Plato and Aristode. And it is this relation to a concrete and unique experience which marked off the Socratic school from all former philosophies. To Aristotle, no less than to Plato, ultimate truth is beyobd words. In Aristotle's terminology, the human recipient of truth is nous, spirit, the content of which is without logos (hon ouk esti logos). Just as Plato opposed doxa to truth, so Aristotle opposes phronesis (political insight) to nom (philosophical spirit).^^ This wonder at everything that is as it is never relates to any particular thing, and Kierkegaard therefore interpretedl it as the experience of no-thing, of nothingness. The specific generality of philosoph- ical statements, which distinguish them Ifrom the statements of the sciences, springs from this experience. Philosophy as a special discipline—and to the extent that it remains one—is grounded in it. And as soon as the speechless state of wonder translates itself into words, it will not begin with statements but will formulate in undending variations what we call the ultimate questions—What is being? Who is man? What meaning has life? What is death? etc. ̂ all of which have in common that they cannot be answered! scientifically. Socrates' statement "I know that I do not know" expresses in terms of knowledge this lack of scientific answers. But in a state of wonder this statement loses its dry negativity, for the result left behind in the mind of the person who has endured the pathos of wonder can only be expressed as: Now I know what it means not to know; now I know that I do no't know. It is from the actual experience of not-knowing, in \;̂ hich one of the basic aspects of the human condition on earth reveals itself, that the ultimate questions arise—not from the rationalized, demonstra- ble fact that there are things man 4oes not know, which
c. Eth. 1142 a 25.
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believers in progress hope to see fully amended one day, or which positivists may discard as irrelevant. In asking the ultimate, unanswerable questions, man establishes himself as a question-asking being. This is the reason that science, which asks answerable questions, owes its origin to philosophy, an origin that remains its ever-present source throughout the generations. Were man ever to lose the faculty of asking ultimate questions, he would by the same token lose his faculty of asking answerable questions. He would cease to be a question-asking being, which would be the end, not only of philosophy, but of science as well. As far as philosophy is concerned, if it is true that it begins with thaumadzein and ends with speechlessness, then it ends exactly where it began. Beginning and end are here the same, which is the most fundamental of the so-called vicious circles that one may find in so many strictly philosophical arguments.
It is this philosophical shock of which Plato speaks that permeates all great philosophies and that separates the philosopher who endures it from those with whom he lives. And the difference between the philosophers, who are few, and the multitude is by no means—as Plato already indicated— that the majority knows nothing of the pathos of wonder, but much rather that they refuse to endure it. This refusal is expressed in doxadzein, in forming opinions on matters about which man cannot hold opinions because the common and commonly accepted standards of common sense do not here apply. Doxa, in other words, could become the opposite of truth because doxadzein is indeed the opposite of thaumadzein. Having opinions goes wrong when it concerns those matters which we know only in speechless wonder at what is.
The philosopher, who, so to speak, is an expert in wondering and in asking those questions which arise out of wondering—and when Nietzsche says that the philosopher is the man about whom extraordinary things happen all the time, he alludes to the same matter—finds himself in a twofold confiict with the polis. Since his ultimate experience is one of
100 SOGIAL RESEARCH - j
speechlessness, he has put himself outside the political realm in which the highest faculty of man is, precisely, speech—logon echon is what makes man a dzoon politikon, a political being. The philosophical shock, moreover, strikes man in his singularity, that is, neither in his equality with all others nor in his absolute distinctness from them. In this shock, man in the singular, as it were, is for one fleeting moment confronted with the whole of the universe, as he will be confronted again only at the moment of his death. He is to an extent alienated from the city of men, which can only look with suspicion on everything that concerns man in the singular. ,
Yet even worse in its consequences is the other conflict that threatens the life of the philosopher. Since the pathos of wonder is not alien to men but, on the contrary, one of the most general characteristics of the human condition, and since the way out of it for the many is to form opinions where they are not appropriate, the philosopher will inevitably fall into conflict with these opinions, which he, finds intolerable. And since his own experience of speechlessriess expresses itself only in the raising of unanswerable questions, he is indeed in one decisive disadvantage the moment he returns to the political realm. He is the only one who does riot know, the only one who has no distinct and clearly defined doxa to compete with other opinions, the truth or untruth cif which common sense wants to decide, that is, that sixth sense that we not only all have in common but which fits us into, and thereby makes possible, a common world. If the philosopher starts to speak into this world of common sense, to ;which belong also our commonly accepted prejudices and judgments, he will always be tempted to speak in terms of non-sense, or—to use once more Hegel's phrase—to turn common sense upside down.
This danger arose with the beginning of our great philosophical tradition, with Plato and, to a lesser extent, with Aristotle. The philosopher, overly conscious, because of the trial of Socrates, of the inherent incompatibility between the fundamental philosophical and the fundamental political
PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICS 101
experiences, generalized the initial and initiating shock of thaumadzein. The Socratic position was lost in this process, not because Socrates did not leave any writings behind or because Plato willfully distorted him, but because the Socratic insights, born out of a still-intact relationship to politics and the specifically philosophical experience, was lost. For what is true for this wonder, with which all philosophy begins, is not true for the ensuing dialogue of solitude itself. Solitude, or the thinking dialogue of the two-in-one, is an integral part of being and living together with others, and in this solitude the philosopher, too, cannot help but form opinions—he, too, arrives at his own doxa. His distinction from his fellow citizens is not that he possesses any special truth from which the multitude is excluded, but that he remains always ready to endure the pathos of wonder and thereby avoids the dogmatism of mere opinion holders. In order to be able to compete with this dogmatism of doxadzein, Plato proposed to prolong indefinitely the speechless wonder which is at the beginning and end of philosophy. He tried to develop into a way of life (the bios theoretikos) what can be only a fieeting moment or, to take Plato's own metaphor, the fiying spark of fire between two flintstones. In this attempt the philosopher establishes himself, bases his whole existence on that singularity which he experienced when he endured the pathos of thaumadzein. And by this he destroys the plurality of the human condition within himself.
That this development, of which the original cause was political, became of great importance for Plato's philosophy in general is obvious. It is already manifest in the curious deviations from his original concept to be found in his doctrine of ideas, deviations due exclusively, I believe, to his desire to make philosophy useful for politics. But it has of course been of much greater relevance for political philosophy properly speaking. To the philosopher, politics—if he did not regard this whole realm as beneath his dignity—became the field in which the elementary necessities of human life are taken care
102 SOCIAL RESEARCJH
of and to which absolute philosophical standards are applied. Politics, to be sure, never could conform; to such standards and therefore, by and large, was judged, to be an unethical business, judged so not only by philosophers, but in the centuries to come by many others, wheh philosophical results, originally formulated in opposition to common sense, had finally been absorbed by the public opinion of the educated. Politics and government (rulership) were identified and both considered to be a reflection on the wickedness of human nature, as the record of the deeds and sufferings of men was seen as a reflection of human sinfulness. Yet while Plato's inhuman ideal state never became a reality, and the usefulness of philosophy had to be defended throughout the centuries— because in actual political action it prOved utterly useless— philosophy rendered one signal service to Western man. Because Plato in a sense deformed philosophy for political purposes, philosophy continued to provide standards and rules, yardsticks and measurements with which the human mind could at least attempt to understand what was happening in the realm of humari affairs. It is this usefulness for understanding that was exhausted with the approach of the modern age. Machiavelli's writings are; the first sign of this exhaustion, and iri Hobbes we find, for the first time, a philosophy which has no use for philosophy but pretends to proceed from what common sense takes for granted. And Marx, who is the last political philosopher of the West and who still stands in the tradition that began with Plato, finally tried to turn this tradition, its fundamental categories and hierarchy of values, upside down. With this reversal, the tradition had indeed come to its end. i
Tocqueville's remark that "as the past has ceased to throw its light upon the future, the mind of man (wanders in obscurity" was written out of a situation in which the philosophical categories of the past were no longer sufficient for understand- ing. We live today in a world in which not even common sense makes sense any longer. The breakdown of common sense in
PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICS 103
the present world signals that philosophy and politics, their old conflict notwithstanding, have suffered the same fate. And that means that the problem of philosophy and politics, or the necessity for a new political philosophy from which could come a new science of politics, is once more on the agenda.
Philosophy, political philosophy like all its other branches, will never be able to deny its origin in thaumadzein, in the wonder at that which is as it is. If philosophers, despite their necessary estrangement from the everyday life of human affairs, were ever to arrive at a true political philosophy they would have to make the plurality of man, out of which arises the whole realm of human affairs—in its grandeur and misery—the object of their thaumadzein. Biblically speaking, they would have to accept—as they accept in speechless wonder the miracle of the universe, of man and of being—the miracle that God did not create Man, but "male and female created He them." They would have to accept in something more than the resignation of human weakness the fact that "it is not good for man to be alone."
Soma_Sema_The_Body_as_a_Prison_for_the_S.pdf
1
Soma Sema: The Body as a Prison for the Soul
Cratylus, 400c, Phaedo, 61e-62c, Gorgias, 493a, Republic IX 586a
“…being permitted as initiates to the sight of perfect and simple and calm and happy apparitions, which we
saw in the pure light, being ourselves pure and not entombed in this which we carry about with us and call the
body, in which we are imprisoned like an oyster in its shell.”
(Plato, Phaedrus 250c)
Synthesis:The article deals briefly with the mystic notions of Plato, Pythagoras, and the Egyptians about
the psyche being “imprisioned” in the material body. We make some analogies between notions of a
“netherworld” (Hades/Duat) between greek and egyptian spiritual culture and focus on the notion of a psychic
dimension of consciousness which is beyond sensorial awareness.
1) Coming Forth to Daylight
One of the best known phrases in ancient Greece regarding
the mysteries taught by Pythagoras and Plato is “soma-sema”. It
is a short play of words which literally means “body-prison”,
and it exposes the archaic notion that "the body is the prison of
the soul". Now, as we know that Plato and Pythagoras were
initiated in Egyptian mysteries, it is difficult to see a “Greek
origin” for the notion, even though we might contemplate the
Orphic mystery cults of ancient Greece in search for answers.
There are texts surviving from way before Pythagoras and
Plato which already impose the idea of soma-sema as a
fundamental teaching in Pharaonic mysticism. In Egyptian
mystery cults, the concept of "a tomb" or "a sepulcher" always
refers to the material body, and not to the actual tomb that
archeologists explore and uncover from the desert sands every
now and then.
This association between the material body and a “tomb” or
“sepulcher” is a fact that makes the understanding of Egyptian
texts and mystery doctrines something very hard to follow for
the “scientific” or naturalist-literalist mentality as a whole, because it is blind to spiritual allegory and parable:
the very instrument of the mystic teaching. In other words, if we are not able to see the allegory and parable
encoded in the mysteries, we will not understand the hidden meaning and thus never learn anything from it,
but rather come to make silly excuses of ancient ignorance in order to conceal our own blindness on the
matter. The reading of the Sacred Science demands a penetration into the symbolic expressions, and this is
true for any ancient texts, be it the Bible, the Vedas, or the Pyramid Texts.
A good example of how the Ancient Egyptians managed their use of terms in an esoteric and occult
fashion instead of demanding a literary and explicit reading may be appreciated in one of the chapters of the
Egyptian Book of Coming Forth to Day. Chapter 92 is entitled "Chapter of Opening the Tomb to the Soul
and Shadow". It reads:
The place of bondage is opened,
That which was shut is opened,
And the place of bondage is open to my soul
[According to the bidding of] the Eye of Horus.
I have bound and established glories
Upon the brow of Ra.
2
[My] steps are made long,
[My] thighs are lifted up;
I have passed along the great path,
And my limbs are strong.
I am Horus, the avenger of his father,
And I bring the ureret crown to rest upon its place.
The path of souls is opened [to my soul]. 1
This “place of bondage” is a reference to the material body or khat. The analogy follows the Soma-
Sema principle found in Platonic, Pythagorean, and Orphic mysteries of ancient Greece.
However, one might make the mistake of believing that the opening of the “place of bondage” means
death: the inevitable moment when the soul is supposed to be liberated from the body so as not to return.
However, this is another mistaken supposition which one might follow as long as we are not acquainted with
initiatory religion and the archaic symbolism of “death and rebirth”.
It is not only by death that the soul or ba finds this type of liberation so as to follow “the path of souls.” On
the contrary, it is by a renewed life, a spiritual life acquired by initiation and revelation of spiritual truths
(archetypes).
2) A Practice of Dying
In Plato’s Phaedo, where Socrates deals with the immortality of the soul, we find a mention to the true
philosophy in itself as a “practice of dying”:
“And does not the purification [katarsis] consist in this which has been mentioned long ago
in our discourse, in separating, so far as possible, the soul from the body and teaching the soul
the habit of collecting and bringing itself together from all parts of the body, and living, so
far as it can, both now and hereafter, alone by itself, freed from the body as from fetters?”
(…) the true philosophers practice dying, and death is less terrible to them than to any
other men. 2
(…) the truth is much rather this—if it [the soul] departs pure, dragging with it nothing of
the body, because it never willingly associated with the body in life, but avoided it and
gathered itself into itself alone, since this has always been its constant study—but this means
nothing else than that it pursued philosophy rightly and really practiced being in a state of
death: or is not this the practice of death?” 3
The idea here is that the “practice of death” for the philosopher consists in “separating” the physical body
from the soul. Now, the analysis of being or ontology is literally a separation of the components of the human
being in order to perceive their own nature. We have analyzed, for example, the ancient cosmology and this
has revealed an inherent notion of being as consisting in three principle forms: Cosmic Mind, Cosmic Soul,
and Cosmic Body, to which we associated three numbers: 3,5 and 8: numbers which conform to a Golden
Ratio and Golden Proportion discussed before that is related in the ancient cosmology to consciousness as the
mean term or “golden bond” between Unity and all multiplicity of units.
The mystic act of separating the body from the soul implies first of all a state of consciousness: an
awareness that being human is being a composite of elements, primordially supernatural or metaphysical
elements which are coagulated into a material unit with temporal limit that makes for the biological
experience of life. The cosmology discussed before evokes an idea of being where the physical body is but a
temporal container for the soul and the intellect, the ba and the khu of Pharaonic philosophy. The idea that the
soul may escape the physical body while we live and experience the biological reality of being human is no
secret in a cosmology where a Cosmic Soul fills all space, and where there is a cosmic medium which is
consciousness itself. It is a well known fact that shamanic cultures continuously recall the voyages of the soul
beyond the physical body, but perhaps it is not so well known that Platonic philosophy recalls this adventure
repeatedly.
1 Wallis Budge, The Egyptian Book of the Dead, p.319.
2 Plato, Phaedo, 67c-d;e
3 Ibid, 80e-81a
3
1787 painting by Jacques-Louis Davidin, La Mort de Socrate (“The Death of Socrates”).
3) Allegories and Shadows
It is interesting to evoke the famous Allegory of the Cavern in Plato's Republic 4 , for example, which Plato
uses to express the condition of the soul’s entrapment in a false reality of purely sensorial perception of
“shadows,” and how the soul is eventually able to escape this cavern and imprisonment in order to perceive a
higher reality beyond its natural bondage. According to the Allegory of the Cavern from Plato, the soul of
man is entrapped and bound in an underground cavern in which the psyche is only capable of contemplating
the shadows of material existence.
The allegory tells how many inhabitants of a cavern are bound since birth by their hands and feet, while
their head is also shackled in such a way that they are only to contemplate what is directly ahead of them, on a
great wall. Behind these unfortunate beings, and higher upon a platform, there is a great fire blazing whose
brilliance projects the shadows of free men and women who come and go with objects in their hands. The
fire’s light projects images of these passersby and it is the shadows of these figures that the prisoners below
contemplate in their bondage. Naturally, it is this reality of shadows on the wall, a projection of images in
front of them that the prisoners take for the
absolute reality in itself. Spending their lifetime
in this state of slavery, the people of the cavern
grow and learn to appreciate only the shadows of
something else: shadows which Plato makes
analogous to the sensorial reality of matter in the
allegory.
The parable continues and we hear that a
fortunate prisoner manages to free himself from
the shackles, and as soon as he is librated, he
turns around and is able to contemplate the
reality of that blazing fire and the people which
pass before its light. At first, the freed prisoner is
blinded by the sight of the brilliant fire: he has
never seen such a thing and his eyes need time to
adapt, but very soon his vision adapts and allows him to perceive that it is but the shadows which his fellow
prisoners and he himself was contemplating under the constraints and bondage of his iron shackles.
Plato goes on to tell how the prisoner, now freed from that illusion of the shadow world, is able to discern
another light in the cavern, different from that of the blazing flames and found at the end of an ascending
passage by which the people which carry objects come and go in and out of the cave. The freed prisoner
ascends towards this light, and when he is able to make his way out, he is once again completely blinded by
the splendor of the light of day in the exterior realm. Here also, his vision needs time to accommodate itself to
the new environment, but after a while, he is able to perceive the outer world and the reality of how things are
4 Plato, Republic, Book VII 514a
4
beyond the cavern altogether. It is here, under the light of day, that the freed prisoner is able to perceive how
much different indeed the real world is compared to that former shadow world of the prison, and greater even
the outside world is compared to the one he knew under the light of the fire inside.
Now, this “coming forth to day” sounds very much like the original title of the Egyptian Book of the Dead
which is the Book of Coming Forth By Day… In a mystic scenario, the “dead” are those who observe
shadows and believe in their hearts that shadows in a cavern are the truest of realities. In other words,
the Egyptian Book of Coming Forth By Day may be said to be a book for the “dead”, but it is not the deceased
dead, but “consciously dead”… This kind of philosophy seeks to awaken those who, unaware of higher
realities, live as though asleep, It is a philosophy intended to bring back to life the unconscious “dead” who do
not realize the physical body to be the prison of the soul and the mind to be the artisan of sensorial shadows.
Plato is careful, however, in observing that vision and sight of the higher realms, that is, the contemplation of
higher realities as Ideas which are beyond sensorial experience, take a while to be assimilated by the initiate.
The Egyptian formula quoted above which speaks of the soul being “released from bondage” repeats the
idea saying that the soul of man is liberated from its ties by the Eye of Horus: a symbol which invokes a type
of "seeing" that is symbolic of an intellective appreciation of reality. This kind of “vision” evoked by the Eye
of Horus is one will go over later on when we attend the wedjat symbol itself and the cognitive functions it
signifies in Man.
In Plato's Allegory of the Cavern, the soul ascends and departs from the enclosure of the cavern and enters
the outside world where the Sun is shining and things can be perceived in plain daylight. Thus the soul
realizes, after its ascent into daylight, that the “reality” appreciated by most through pure sensorial awareness
is nothing but a shadowy image of another True Reality or Eidos. The Sun in this higher dimension of reality
is the Agathou Idea or the Idea of the Good, which is the Idea of God in Plato, the Idea of ideas. The light
shining forth from that Sun in the Sprit World of the Eidos is Truth (Aletheia).
When the soul is said to “come forth to daylight”, we are no doubt speaking in parables and allegories.
The shadows represent material forms, and the bondage represents the physical constraint of consciousness
which is limited by incarnation to an awareness of sensorial stimuli. The intellect or Nous is thus reduced to
cerebral intelligence, the kind most common to us by nature. The highest reality of “daylight” is symbolically
associated to the light of the sun, but this “Sun” is a noetic sun. The Idea of the Good shines its light of Truth
in the Eidos, and existence there is purely noetic, from Nous, meaning Cosmic Intellect or Spirit. Such a thing
is impossible to perceive in itself from the darkness of the cavern, and never appreciable or imaginable under
the constraints of consciousness in the Sethian or Titanic prison.
In the Republic, the allegory of the Cavern is first preceded by two other allegories, the Allegory of the
Sun, and the Allegory of the Line. These preceding allegories are well known by Platonists as they are the
ones that evoke a vertical cosmology of higher and lower realms of conscious experience. These are later
made into the parable of the cave and the experience of the prisoner. In the Allegory of the Sun, Socrates
relates a comparison between the light of the sun and that of the Supreme or Absolute Unity shining in the
allegorized “light of day”:
“And again, we speak of a Self-Beautiful and of a Good that is in itself good, and so, in the
case of all the things that we then posited as many [i.e. the realm of shadows or material
multiplicity], we turn about and postulate each as a single Idea [i.e. an archetype or “god” in
the archaic language], assuming it to be a unity and call it that which each one really is. (…)
And the one class of things we say can be seen but not thought, while the Ideas can be thought
but not seen.
(...) Have you ever observed –I said– how much closer to perfection the creator of the
senses has made the faculty of seeing and being seen? (…) Though vision may be in the eyes
and its possessor may try to use it, and though color be present in things, without the presence
of a third thing specifically and naturally adapted to this purpose, you are aware that vision
will see nothing and the colors will remain invisible. “
–“What is this thing of which you speak?” –he said.
–“The thing –I said– that you call light. (…) This bond, then, that yokes together visibility
and the faculty of sight is more precious than that which binds the other senses, if light is not
considered something insignificant. (…)
Apply this comparison, also, to the soul in this way. When it is firmly fixed on the domain
where truth and reality shine resplendent it apprehends and knows them [i.e. the Ideas] and
appears to possess reason; but when it inclines to that region which is mingled with darkness,
5
the world of becoming and passing away, it has an opinion only and its edge is blunted, and it
shifts its opinions hither and thither, and again seems as if it lacked intellect. (...)
This reality, then, that gives their truth to the objects of knowledge and the power of
knowing to the knower, you must say is the Idea of Good, and you must conceive it as being
the cause of Knowledge, and of Truth in so far as it is knowable. Yet fair as they both
Knowledge and Truth are, in supposing it [i.e. the Idea of Good] to be something better still
than these, you will think rightly of it.
But as for knowledge and truth, even as in our illustration it is right to deem light and
vision sunlike, but never to think that they are the sun itself, so here it is right to consider
these two their counterparts, as being like the Good, but to think that either of them is the
Good in itself is not right. Still higher honor belongs to the condition of the Good.” 5
Socrates compares the light, as the mean term between the
faculty of sight and visibility, to the Idea of the Good: the name
Plato gives to the Absolute or One Supreme God. The sun, as a
source of light for this world is compared to the Unity shining in
the highest reality of the Eidos, the intelligible realm beyond the
cavern. Knowledge and Truth, Socrates says, are not that
Supreme Unity of Godhead Itself, but the functions of perception
which allow for the contemplation of this “noetic light”. In
Egyptian mysteries, Knowledge and Truth (both divine) were
represented as Toth and Maat, while that Idea of the Good would
be Ra.
The Eidos where this mystical Light shines and enlightens
the soul is a world of Archetypal Forms or Ideas (ἰδέα) which
Plato presents as the cosmic functions and principles that his
contemporary Greeks knew as “gods” (theoi) and the Egytpians
called neteru. The lesson in the allegory is that the true Reality is
only clearly appreciated beyond the prison of the material cavern,
this enclosure of bondage for the spirit. It is clearly explained that
it is only the soul or psyche which is able to contemplate this
Eidos or higher reality which is allegorically that “light of day”,
and yet it must ascend or perform a shamanic “magic flight”
beyond the sensorial cavern.
4) Mystic Ideas
Platonic philosophy is in every sense mystic, because it is a constant invitation to the perception of things
hidden from plain sight and existent beyond sensual perception where the intellect gets lost in the spheres of
opinion by contemplating only the illusion of multiplicity. Platonic philosophy is an invitation for the soul to
journey out of the cavern, not by literal death, but by a mystic practice of contemplation empowered by a
spiritual power of the Cosmic Intellect or Nous.
Plato invites the philosophical nature in man for the sight of cosmic principles (Forms or Ideas) which are
cosmic functions and universal principles governing all things from a sphere of reality which can only be
intellectually grasped, and yet only as long as there is a true love for wisdom or philo-sophia. The Eidos is of
course invisible (haides), yet it is intelligible (noetic). Thus we read in this Allegory of the Sun that “the one
class of things we say can be seen but not thought, while the Ideas can be thought but not seen.”
It is worthwhile to note that the word "idea" (so common in our language of today) is actually introduced
by Plato to the western world, and yet it is possible to trace the linguistic roots of this word “idea”, as it has an
Indo-European root from *weid meaning “to see". The Germanic word “wizard” from and the Sanskrit “veda”
fall into the same linguistic root which evokes the concept of “seeing”. 6 The Greek Hades, commonly
5 Plato, Republic, Book VI, 507b-509a.
6 In Plato, Cratylus, 403a, Socrates tells that the prefix “a” in “aides” signifies a privation of vision (eidenai), so a-eides
(the root for the word Hades and haides) means a negation of vision or sight.
6
regarded as the “underworld” or “netherworld” and thought to be inhabited by the dead, is actually the same
as the Platonic Eidos, and Plato alerts his readers that the Hades or Eidos is indeed the invisible (haides)
aspect of reality: which Man may explore, in life, by that mystic “practice of dying”. It is also worth
mentioning that Plato will speak of Hades not as a place to be feared, but rather a world worth exploring and
knowing, as its archetypal forms (Ideas) have a significant influence upon this reality, just as the figures of
passersby in the cavern would on the shadows projected on the wall that the prisoners contemplate.
Now, it is customary to think that ancient Egyptian formulas such as the one quoted earlier where the soul
is said to escape it’s “bondage” are meant to serve the deceased (not the living) in their journey in the
"underworld" or "netherworld". Unfortunately, here we have another arrangement of modern prejudice and
error in our hands concerning the esoteric and mystic science of old. It is enough to see this when we look at
the several "locations" referred to in the Egyptian texts which are unanimously translated as "underworld" or
"netherworld" in modern translations. Terms such as Neter-Khert, Duat, Akhert, Re-Stau, etc., are simply
translated as "the underworld" or "the netherworld" in practically all translations… However, on occasions,
certain translators such as Wallis Budge and Faulkner are kind enough to leave the original Egyptian words
and hieroglyphs, and it is through this hieroglyphic reading that we are reminded that a simple and common
translation of a variety of metaphysical “places” is insufficiently evoked as “the underworld" or the like.
What becomes quite clear from the beginning is that the Egyptians had a collection of terms in relation to
the "underworld" that we have no parallel terminology to amend in moderns translations. Platonic philosophy
–which we must remember to be initiatory and soaked to a high extent in Plato’s own initiation in Egypt for
over a decade– is extremely helpful if not necessary to understand Egyptian mysteries in all their complexity.
What is lacking for us is not just terminology, but science: actual knowledge of the psychological
processes of initiation which leads one to experience the “underworld” as one would the Platonic Eidos. And
we must face the reality that the initiatory texts are meant for the human who lives, not intended to be read
somehow by the dead as an instruction manual of what is in the “underworld”. The instruction is always for
the living human, for the initiate, for the purpose of unbinding his Osirian nature from the constraints of Seth.
5) Beyond the Psychic
Considering this general lack of understanding in our modern times about ancient “gods” and all that is
spiritual and metaphysical, it would be interesting to make an analogy between Plato's Eidos and the
Egyptian "Duat", as it is well acknowledged that the Duat is the place where the soul enters after death (i.e.
leaving the body) in Egyptian texts, much like the Hades of Greek mythology. But the question of exploring
this hidden reality of “Duat” whilst we live must remain open if we are to find any real privilege in examining
the ancient texts and sacred literature. The mystic formulas were written for the living, to read and examine;
for our enlightenment and insight into the great mysteries of life and being human.
Indeed, Plato's Eidos is a “place” of consciousness where archetypal Ideas may be contemplated once the
soul is released from its material prison. In this sense it is actually one and the same “place” as the legendary
Hades of Greek mystery cults, and so the platonic Eidos seems to be analogous to our Egyptian Duat.
In the dialogue Cratylus, Plato makes notice that the etymology of Hades is related to the word edienai
meaning "knowledge/knowing" 7 , and it is not difficult to see that our platonic Eidos –as the invisible yet
intelligible reality of archetypal Ideas, shining in the “light of day”– is one and the same as the Egyptian Duat.
Otherwise, how are we to understand that the “Book of Coming Forth By Day” is relating occurrences in the
Duat? Certainly, this kind of “day” is allegoric and expresses that the “underworld” of the Duat is quite bright
and resplandescent inasmuch as it is inhabited by spiritual powers such as the neters and even Ra (our Idea
of the Good) himself…
7 Plato, Cratylus, 404b. Here Plato says that the name of Hades does not refer so much to its invisible quality, but rather
because one is able to know (eidenai) all things beautiful.
7
As we have seen, the Neter-Khert, is a concept speaking of a state of consciousness more than a “place”,
and it is a reality where the human being is in possession (kheru) of the neters or “gods”. Such an event in
the ancient texts of Egypt is firstly registered in the Pyramid Texts, when the initiate is “embraced” by the Supreme Being Atum.
Oh Unas, your messengers go forth.
Your heralds run towards your Father, towards Atum.
Oh Atum, rise forth towards yourself,
Embrace [ ] him in your arms. 8
(…)
Oh Atum, may this Unas come close to you,
Elevate him, embrace [ ] him with your arms.
For he is your son, son of your body,
For all Eternity. 9
In like manner, only a certain state of consciousness –elevated to what is religious– can produce the full
potential in Man which is this apotheosis of Unas (“Being”). The Neter-Khert –which we get as “underworld”
in modern translations– cannot be anything else than the spiritualization of Man conceded by a Supreme
Being with Omnipotence. By His (Atum’s) control and lordship over the neteru or “gods”, does Pharaoh
obtain spiritualization, he becomes an akh (“spirit/shining”). His spiriualization is told as the acquisition of
the Ka, a theme we have written about elsewhere. 10
Man, in his apotheosis, becomes the living image of God, mortal, but blessed by His Power. The
Urmonotheismus or “Primitive Monotheism” of the Pyramid Texts and the Pharaonic revelation is significant.
The power to dominate oneself, as an image of God, comes by the revelation of a Supreme Being, for as His
image, Man has the “gods” as his vital functions, like his intellect or nous. The encounter with Toth (Hermes)
is a contact with the Intelligence of God, his contact with Ra is with the Truth of God or God’s Light (Plato’s
Aletheia). Such an Idea is registered in the old Caananite religion with the “god” Uri’El, the archangel we
know by that name is “The Light of God”.
The upper realm was opened for us in the lower realm, that we might enter the hidden
realm of truth. This is what is truly worthy and mighty, and we shall enter through symbols
that are weak and insignificant. 11
8 The Pyramid Texts, Utterance 215.
9 Ibid., Utterance 222.
10 See: Irigaray, Christian, The Ka of His Mother: Mistic Symbolism of the Ka and Min (Link)
https://www.academia.edu/27605356/3.5_-_The_Ka_of_His_Mother_Mystic_Symbolism_of_the_Ka_and_Min 11
The Gospel of Phillip, NHC II, 3, 84,20–85,21 (Nag Hammadi Scriptures, p.185)
Bostock Soul and Immortality in Platos Phaedo.pdf
XVIII
THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN PLATO'S PHAEDO
DAVID BOSTOCK
A. PRELIMINARIES
The discussion of the main topic of the Phaedo, i.e. the immortality of the soul, begins at 63e8 with Socrates offering a further 'defence'. Like the defence that he offered at his trial it is intended to justify the way he has lived, but more particularly it is intended as a justification of his present attitude in the face of death. His main theme is that the true philosopher has been practising for death all his life. As he develops this theme we begin to learn what he takes a 'true philosopher' to be, and what he thinks is actually going to happen to him at his death. Throughout this part of the dialogue (63e-6ge) the immortality of the soul is simply assumed-of course, the rest of the dialogue will be devoted to proving it-and we may regard the discussion here as mainly an exposition of what has to be proved. In particular, I shall concentrate on the question what exactly it is that Socrates calls a 'soul' and takes to be immortal.
He begins by defining death as the separation of soul and body, and the state of being dead as the state in which soul and body exist separately from one another (64c4-8). The second part of this definition is somewhat careless, for there is obviously no reason to insist that a man's body must go on existing all the time that he is dead (as is later recognized, e.g. at 80b-c). Those who are sceptical of immortality will evidently say the same of the soul. Setting this aside, another point worth observing is that the definition is somewhat vague about what it is that can be said to die or be dead. For the most part Socrates speaks of a person dying or being dead, meaning thereby that his soul and body have separated. But on one occa- sion he also speaks of a body dying (106e6), which we can understand as
From David Bostock, Platos Phaedo (Clarendon Press, 1986),21-41. The version printed here has been revised for inclusion in the collection. Reprinted with permission from Oxford Uni- versity Press and the author. Co py ri gh t © 1 99 9. O xf or d Un iv er si ty P re ss ( US ). A ll r ig ht s re se rv ed . Ma y no t be r ep ro du ce d in a ny f or m wi th ou t pe rm is si on f ro m th e pu bl is he r, e xc ep t fa ir u se s
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 405
a matter of that body being separated from its soul, and three times he speaks of a soul dying or being dead (77d2-4, 84b2, 88a6), which is pre- sumably to be taken in the same way. Death as separation, then, can easily be understood as applicable to persons and to bodies and to souls. But this last usage is somewhat awkward, for in the Final Argument Socrates will claim that souls 'do not admit death'. (His position, obviously, is that souls can be separated from bodies, but cannot be destroyed. Perhaps he should have admitted that the word 'death' has other meanings than that which is here assigned to it.) But for the present these problems are hardly serious, and I turn instead to the much more fundamental problem that underlies this definition: what is meant by a 'soul', and in particular a soul 'separated from the body'?
One must of course begin with the observation that the Greek word 'ljJVX17 (psyche) is not very well translated by the English word 'soul'. I shall continue to use 'soul' as a purely conventional translation, but the English word has several unfortunate associations. (For example, it is often reserved for use in religious contexts, which is by no means the case with the Greek word. In more idiomatic speech 'soul' is often associated with emotion and feeling, in opposition to reason or intellect, but again there is no hint of this with the Greek.) What, then does the Greek word mean?
B. ACTIVITIES OF THE SOUL
The Greek word has many meanings. At its widest it simply connotes life, in a very general sense. For example, the living and the non-living are con- trasted in Greek as the things with soul and without soul (dl E,Ll'IjJvxa and dJ. a'IjJvxa), and in this dichotomy it is by no means unusual to count plants as things with soul,just because they can reasonably be called living things. Thus Aristotle, who explicitly recognizes a variety of different kinds of soul, has what he calls the 'nutritive' soul (TO ¢VUKOV) as his lowest kind, and this is the kind of soul that plants have. His point is that they exhibit life by taking in nourishment and so growing, and because this is some- thing that only living things can do there must be a corresponding kind of soul responsible for their doing it. All ordinary! living things have this 'nutritive' soul, but many will also have other kinds of soul in addition. For example, animals typically have 'locomotive' souls, which just means that they also exhibit life by moving around, and so on.
The general principle behind Aristotle's approach is clearly to begin by
1 For Aristotle, the stars are alive, and they have 'locomotive' souls but no 'nutritive' souls. God is a living thing with neither of these ki~ds of soul.
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406 DAVID BOSTOCK
classifying the different kinds of activity that living things exhibit, and in virtue of which we class them as living, and then to associate a different kind of soul with each. It will be best if we too begin with this line of approach, listing some of the activities that can be credited to souls, so that we can sidestep the awkward question of what kind of a thing the soul is, and concentrate rather on what it does. (Equally, I shall begin by being somewhat careless over the question whether it is quite right to say that the soul itself does this or that, or whether we ought strictly to say that it is the person who does these things, by virtue of the soul that he has. I shall take up later the question of the relation between the person and his soul.)
First, then, we should note that 'soul' may be invoked to account for any activity typical of living things, including those more or less biological activities that human beings share with even very 'lowly' living things, for example nutrition and growth, reproduction, locomotion, and so on. But without attempting any more detailed list here, I shall pass straight on to what we may call conscious activities, for consciousness seems to us a very important ingredient in the typical activities of men (and higher animals), and most distinctive of their lifestyle. Within this general area there are still a wide variety of activities which can usefully be distinguished.
(i) Perception is perhaps the most simple form of conscious activity, as when one feels hot or cold, or hears a loud bang, or sees a blue sky. But it should be noted that we also speak of perception when much more sophis- ticated activities are concerned, for example seeing that the approaching bus is a no. 7. One cannot have this kind of perception without (in this example) some knowledge of what buses are, and of the significance of this way of classifying them; so altogether more complex mental apparatus is involved. Along with simple perceptions one might include feeling pain, which seems just a special kind of perception. In a different direction, many have sought to assimilate memory to perception, and one might also wish to add the peculiar phenomena of dreaming, hallucinating, and so forth.
(ii) Perception very often leads to action because we have goals, or desires, e.g. the avoidance of pain. Desires again range from very simple kinds, such as hunger or thirst, which are quite naturally called 'bodily', to much more sophisticated kinds. Consider, for example, the differences between wanting a drink, wanting to watch television, wanting to be prime minister, wanting to know who put the drawing-pin on the chair, wanting to understand differential equations, and so on and on indefinitely. Clearly there is scope for all manner of classifications of different kinds of desire. Along with desires we might mention the enjoyment or pleasure one may get from satisfying a desire (or in other ways), and the unpleasantness of pain or hunger, or again of continuing to be baffled by differential equations.
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 407
(iii) Desires are in some ways similar, and in other ways dissimilar, to emotions such as fear, love, hatred, compassion, and so on. Some emotions (such as fear or embarrassment) are typically short-lived states, involving special kinds of feelings, and often with marked physical manifestations (e.g. sweating, blushing). Others are long-lasting states of mind with no such accompaniments, and shade off towards those states of mind or dis- positions which we count as part of a man's character. (Compare pride, which is sometimes counted as an emotion, and humility, which usually is not, with, for example, meanness or generosity.) Along with the emotions we might perhaps mention moods such as boredom, hilarity, depression, exhilaration, and so on.
(iv) Most perceptions, desires, and emotions inevitably presuppose knowledge of some kind, or at least belief. Some beliefs arise fairly directly from perception ('This is water'), some are based on past perception and memory ('Water satisfies thirst'), some are due to reasoning of various kinds ('Drinking-water is colourless. This water is dark green. So it prob- ably isn't fit to drink'). Reason, again, may be classified into various forms. In one aspect (just hinted at), reason is often thought of as controlling our desires and emotions, and therefore directing our actions. But in another aspect it may be seen as operating 'itself by itself', as when we work out a sum simply because we want to know the answer, and with no intention to act on it. This is often called 'theoretical reason', contrasted with 'prac- tical reason', and I shall have more to say about it as we proceed, since it is clearly important to the Phaedo.
This little catalogue of conscious activities (and states) makes no claim to completeness, but does illustrate the wide variety of forms of con- sciousness: we are typically conscious of almost all the activities and states just listed, and since the soul is specially connected with consciousness they can all be credited to the soul. (On the face of it, they could almost all occur unconsciously too; whether they should then be attributed to the soul is perhaps a matter for debate, which I shall not enter into.)
C. THE DISEMBODIED SOUL (63E-68C, 80C-84B)
When it is claimed that a man's soul is immortal, or anyway that it goes on existing in separation from the body, this claim implies that some at least of these (or similar) activities continue in the separated state. Perhaps this is not strictly necessary. One might be able to make sense of a theory according to which when the soul was separated from the body it remained dormant, and nothing at all happened in it. But clearly Plato's theory is not of this kind. He holds that the separated soul does indeed remain conscious
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408 DAVID BOSTOCK
and active. What kinds of activities, then, does he think do continue in the separated state?
When one reads Socrates' Defence (63e-6ge), one is inevitably given the impression that the only activities of the soul that can survive separa- tion are the activities of the true philosopher. The philosopher, we find, averts his attention from such pleasures as food and drink and sex (64d4-7), and does not desire material possessions (64d8-e6). Such desires concern the body, and such pleasures come by way of the body, whereas the philosopher has no concern with things bodily. The implication appar- ently is that since in the separated state there is no body, these desires and pleasures cannot then occur. Next we find that the philosopher despises perception and the use of his bodily senses, eyes and ears and so on (65a9-b7). They are merely a hindrance to what he is interested in, and they too, one presumes, will not occur when there is no body. Similarly, the body distracts him by needing to be looked after, by filling him with irrele- vant lusts and desires, and with fears (and presumably other emotions) (66b7-c5). Again the point seems to be that when the body falls away, these desires and emotions will fall away with it, and in the separated state there will be no such things. What the philosopher is concerned with is called 'reasoning' (TO }.OY[~Ea{}m; 65c2) and described as reaching out for the forms 'by pure intellect alone' (clAlKptvl}C; ouxvow, avrij KU{)' uvr~v; 66a2). Pursuing this goal, the philosopher is already separating his soul from his body as much as he can, and in that way practising for the complete sep- aration that death will bring. We must presumably infer that pure reason- ing will continue into the separated state, but nothing else will.
Before proceeding, I should add a few notes on what we have had so far. First, we are not here offered any very good explanation of why the philosopher despises his senses (65a9-b7). It is claimed that they are not accurate or clear, but no argument is offered for this, and it is anyway not much of a ground for rejecting them as a source of knowledge. But as we read on it becomes clear that the real complaint about them is not that what they tell us is inaccurate, but that what they tell us about-the phys- ical world-is something that is of no interest. For the philosopher's concern is with forms, and forms are not to be grasped by the senses anyway, but by pure intellect. There is no explanation at this point of how one can pursue an intellectual enquiry into anything if one cannot at least start from information supplied by the senses, and indeed this would seem to be a difficult problem. For centuries philosophers have supposed that all knowledge must begin with experience, for what other starting-point is there? But Plato clearly does not agree. He thinks that genuine knowledge is always knowledge of what he calls 'forms', and is to be attained by a
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 409
quite different method, i.e. the 'method of hypothesis' (explained mainly at 94d-IOOa and 10Id-e). I cannot discuss these topics here, so I simply accept for present purposes what Plato has to say about forms and our knowledge of them.
A second point worth making here is that Plato is not saying, as a first reading might suggest, that while it is the soul that engages in reasoning it is the body that perceives, desires, fears, and so on. If that were his view, it would be difficult to explain how the body's doing these things could so upset the soul, or why getting rid of these desires and emotions should count as purifying the soul. (It would also be difficult to explain the dif- ferent view of the disembodied soul that we shall meet shortly.) Rather, it is the soul than actually does these things, but it does them when it is in a body, and because of the body it is in. Thus when it sees it sees through the eyes of the body, and will no longer see when it has no body to furnish eyes. Similarly when it wants food it does so because of the feeling which it gets from the body's empty stomach, which again is a feeling it will be free of when it has no body. Generally, while it is in a body it will be sen- sible of what happens in that body, and this sensibility will inevitably give rise to perceptions, desires, and emotions of all kinds. They happen in the soul, but they would not happen if there were no body for the soul to be sensible oU
This brings me back to the main point that I wish to make. Although there is no direct statement in the Phaedo that it is only the faculty of pure reason that survives into the disembodied state, that must surely be the implication of Socrates' Defence. The philosopher is described as one who attempts to separate his soul from his body as much as he can, and in effect what this comes to is that he concentrates all his efforts on pure reason- ing and pays as little attention as possible to the perceptions, desires, and emotions which arise only because he has a body. This is said to be prac- tising for death, which is the complete separation of soul from body. It must surely follow that in death the soul has no such perceptions, desires, and emotions; it rejoices always in pure reason and nothing else.
But it is now time to look at some of the other activities which are else- where credited to disembodied souls. We have not completely described even the state of the dead philosopher, for we have omitted to mention that he will be happy, and will enjoy the society of other gods and (pos- sibly) other men (63b-c, 6ge, 8Ia). But with ordinary n.on-philosophers our
2 In 94b-d it does appear to be the body which has desires and emotions and not the soul, but the passage is in any case a suprising one. I add a brief comment on it in my final section.
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description has been way off target, for it seems that they practise pure reason no more after their deaths than before. Rather, they fear Hades (Slcll), they retain their desires for things bodily (Slel), and they keep their characters as virtuous or vicious, social or anti-social, mild or cruel, temperate or gluttonous, and so forth (Sle-S2b). If we may add the evi- dence of the closing myth, they also retain a memory of their past lives (10Sb), and can meaningfully be punished and rewarded (133d-e). Dead souls can appeal to one another, persuade one another, forgive one another, and so on (114a-b). In these passages it appears that disembodied souls are capable of pretty well all those conscious activities that embod- ied souls are capable of: they can perceive (though presumably without eyes), they can feel pain (though without nerves), they can be frightened (though without adrenalin), etc. I do not wish to imply that this picture is self-contradictory-I do not think it is-but certainly it seems rather less plausible than the more economical picture we had first.
It may be suggested that Plato does offer some explanation of how this could be so: when a non-philosopher dies, he suggests that the soul is not after all completely separated from the body, but remains 'interspersed with a corporeal element' (Slc4). But this is surely not an explanation that we should take seriously (and its application to ghosts is presumably humorous). If we do take it seriously, then it will imply that the non- philosopher's soul is in life extended throughout his body, and retains this shape after death, with some material particles somehow 'clinging' to it. We can then contrast this with the spatial language which is sometimes used of the philosopher's soul, which is said to 'assemble and gather itself together, away from every part of the body, alone by itself' (67cS; ct. SOeS). The philosopher's soul is perhaps squeezed into a tight ball, so dense that there are no gaps or chinks where a material particle might be embedded, and so smooth of surface that none can stick to it. The theory can then be tested by accurate weighing of bodies just before and just after death: we expect to find that a non-philosopher's body suffers some weight loss at death, while a philosopher's body does not. But obviously this interpreta- tion of the Phaedo is absurd. It treats the soul as if it were made of some quasi-material stuff, and just the kind of thing that might be blown apart by the wind, especially if you happened to die in a storm (77el). It is not what Plato means to suggest at all, and when he spoke of a soul being 'interspersed with a corporeal element' he obviously meant to be under- stood as speaking figuratively. His point was just that the soul retains its desires for things bodily.
The belief in a reasonably 'full' mental life after death is common, and from Homer onwards (Odyssey 11) all those who have pictured it have
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 411
pictured the souls of the dead as having the shape of human bodies, and as doing just the kind of things that ordinary living human beings do. Upon reflection one has to admit that this picture is not to be taken literally, but we continue to use it because we do not know any better picture to sub- stitute for it. Plato is no exception. He has no explanation of how disem- bodied souls can continue with very much the same range of conscious activities as living humans have, but he evidently believes that they do, and so he pictures them as if they were living human beings. We do him an injustice if we think he took the picture seriously.
The Phaedo, then, contains two distinct views of life after death. One, which is very much a philosopher's view, and is applied to the philosopher's death, supposes that at death all those aspects of conscious activity which depend upon the soul's awareness of its body will fall away, and as a result the disembodied soul will be capable of pure reasoning but nothing else. The other, which is the more usual religious view, and is applied to other deaths, supposes that pretty well all the conscious activities of ordinary living human beings will persist into the disembodied state. The two are reconciled by a religious doctrine, which Plato took over from Orphics or Pythagoreans, a doctrine of sin, purgatory, reincarnation, and eventual purification and release from 'the wheel of rebirth'. In more detail, the doc- trine is that when you die then you are punished for your sins either by a longish period in purgatory (as in the Myth), or by a brisk reincarnation in a less pleasant form of life (as in the elaboration to Socrates' Defence), or by first one and then the other, which seems to be Plato's standard version (as in the myth of the Republic). So the object is to live a life that avoids sin-or, if one such life is not, enough, then sufficiently many (usually three, according to the myth of the Phaedrus). This is 'purification' (Kxi{}apali;), and will release you from the wheel of rebirth and admit you to bliss everlasting. To obtain our reconciliation, all we have to do is to adapt this religious doctrine. We take bliss everlasting to be the philosophic afterlife, in which the soul pursues pure reason and nothing else, and we take the life of purification to be the philosophic life, in which the body and all its works are held in contempt, and all energies are concentrated on the life of pure reason, The point here is that pure reason can be pursued in complete independence from all things bodily, and it is there- fore the most admirable feature of the soul. (As Aristotle was to stress later, it is also the feature in which human beings most differ from other animals.) It will then follow as a corollary that sin must be equated with paying attention to bodily things. If killing others, injuring others, and behaving violently towards one's parents are to count as sins (114a), that
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must be because they are cases of paying attention to bodily things, for the scheme now requires that that and nothing else be the criterion of sin.
Now that we have the full doctrine before us, a point that may be observed in parenthesis is that Socrates' Defence is misexpressed. Socrates says simply that he has spent his whole life practising for death, but he does not mean that he has been practising for what happens to all men when they die. On the contrary, he has been practising for a very special kind of death, the death that admits you to bliss everlasting. That is not, however, a very serious criticism. It is more important to consider the implications which this scheme has for morality, implications which Plato himself points to in 68c5-69d2.
D. IMPLICATIONS FOR MORALITY (68C5-69D2)
Socrates begins with the claim that what is commonly called bravery (dvopda) belongs especially to philosophers, and what is commonly called temperance (oOJ¢poovv'Yj)3 belongs only to them (68c). Both these claims may be questioned, because Socrates seems to have misidentified what are commonly called bravery and temperance. Bravery he takes to be simply a matter of fearlessness in the face of death (68d), and no doubt it is fair to claim that the philosopher does have this characteristic. But in fact we com- monly think that there are many other situations in which bravery may be displayed, e.g. by standing up to physical or mental torture, by being pre- pared to risk life or health or goods in a noble cause, or simply by being calm or cheerful in conditions of pain or adversity. (Plato had discussed the question 'What is bravery?' in the Laches, and he there saw a much wider range for it.) There seems to be no special reason why the philosopher should display these other sorts of bravery as well. With temperance the objection is rather different. We can grant Plato that what is commonly called temperance concerns those kinds of desires that he calls 'bodily', but ordinarily temperance is taken to require moderation or well-orderedness in the pursuit of these desires (§XclV 1(oopiOJr; 1rcpi avrar;), and not scorning them altogether (§XclV OAlYWpOJr;) (68c8-10). The philosopher, it seems, is a single-minded ascetic who suppresses all his bodily desires, and this is not what is ordinarily called temperance (or moderation, or self-control) at all.4
3 owr/JpoavvT/ is a notoriously untranslatable word. It combines the notions of temperance, moderation, and self-control, and often shades off into meaning just 'good sense'.
4 Aristotle would regard it as a vice opposed to temperance, which he calls avaw8T/o[a (EN l107b6-8). C op yr ig ht ©
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 413
(Nor is there any reason to suppose that only philosophers have it: misers and power-seekers may have it too, as our text appears to recognize at 82c5-8.)
Socrates goes on to say that there is something strange and illogical (Ci:W7fOV, 68d3; dDvvawv, 68e3) about ordinary bravery and ordinary tem- perance. Ordinarily, he says, a man is 'brave through fear'-fear of some- thing he regards as worse than death, perhaps shame, or dishonour. Similarly the ordinary temperate man is 'temperate through being over- come by pleasures', in so far as he abstains from pursuing some pleasures only because he desires others. (For example, he abstains from drinking too much tonight because he wants the 'pleasure' of a clear head tomor- row.) There is actually nothing strange or illogical about this, but it is made to seem strange when the claim that the brave man is brave 'through fear' ( of greater evils) is re-expressed as the claim that he is brave 'through cow- ardice' (68d12), and similarly when the claim that the temperate man is temperate through his desire for other pleasures is put as his being over- come by these other pleasures, and hence as his being temperate 'through intemperance'. So apparently these virtues are 'caused' by their opposite vices. But both these extensions are illegitimate.
Intemperance is not a matter of being led by any desire-e.g. by the desire for health-but rather of giving in to immoderate desires, and espe- cially immoderate bodily desires, when one ought not to. Similarly, cow- ardice is not a matter of being led by any fear. Plato himself earlier specified the relevant fear as specifically the fear of death, and on this account being led by fear of shame or dishonour would not be cowardly. But anyway Plato's simple characterization obviously will not do. Suppose I am thirsty, but abstain from drinking the weedkiller through fear of death, and instead go off to get a drink of water. Surely that is not a case of cowardice? Perhaps a better suggestion might be this: just as intemper- ance is giving in to immoderate desires, so perhaps cowardice is giving in to unworthy fears, when one ought not to.5 The ordinary temperate man, according to Plato, resists his immoderate (bodily) desires only because he has other desires too that he wants to satisfy, but there is no reason why these other desires should also be immoderate bodily desires. Similarly, the ordinary brave man may resist his unworthy fears only through fear of something else, but again that other fear need not be an unworthy one. Some distinctions such as these are certainly required, for otherwise, if we
5 But are courage and cowardice always concerned with fears? Neither the child who cries when he is mildly hurt, nor the child who bites back his tears when he is badly hurt, need be afraid of anything.
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adopt Socrates' way of talking, every rational action whatever will be done through cowardice and through intemperance. If it is a rational action, there will be some purpose that the agent is trying to achieve, and we can always say that he acts out of a desire for the pleasure of achieving that purpose, and out of a fear that unless he so acts it will not be achieved. This applies even to the philosopher: he wants the pleasure of philoso- phizing and fears to be deprived of it. But Socrates would not like us to conclude that he is therefore intemperate and cowardly.
Although we can in this way remove the 'illogicality' that Plato professed to find in the ordinary man's behaviour, we have not touched the main complaint that he has against it, namely that its motivation is purely hedo- nistic: it consists in trading off one pleasure against another, and has as its object just the all-:round maximization of pleasure (69a6 ff.). Clearly he is thinking here of more or less bodily pleasures; at any rate he is certainly excepting the pleasure of philosophy. But it would appear that once we add that into the account, the position of the philosopher is not essentially different. He is equally bent on maximizing pleasure, we might say, and his life differs from others only because he enjoys philosophy (or 'wisdom'; ¢p6vYjal~) much more than anything else. So he obtains his greatest plea- sure by putting all his energies into philosophy and paying no heed to the things of the body, but for all that it still seems to be pleasure that he is pursuing. Perhaps, indeed, he is pursuing it more efficiently than others, because he is also taking into account the fact that his way of life will lead swiftly to bliss everlasting, while other ways will not. His hedonism, there- fore, takes the longer view, and is very much better thought out. But is it not still hedonism?
Perhaps some light would be shed on this if we could follow out the con- trast between 'what is commonly called' a virtue and the corresponding 'true virtue', for Plato evidently intends such a contrast, but seems to lose sight of it: One expects him to say that whereas ordinary bravery consists in overcoming the fear of death with the help of some other and counter- vailing fear, the 'true bravery' which is characteristic of the philosopher consists in his not having the fear of death in the first place. Equally the philosopher's 'true temperance' will consist in his not having the tempta- tion to indulge in bodily desires, whereas ordinary temperate men do have such temptations but overcome them (when they are immoderate) with the help of other desires. I think, indeed, that this is what he means to say about true temperance and true bravery at 69b8-c3 .. Can we extend this idea to explain in the same way the notion of 'true justice' (oll<:awavvYj) and the generalization to 'all true virtue' (Kat av},J.fj{JoYjV dAYj{)~~ apCL~;
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 415
69b3)?6 If so, then the thought will be that ordinary men are tempted away from virtue because of their interest in things bodily, and consequently if they do continue to act virtuously it can only be by resisting these temp- tations with the help of some countervailing 'temptation'. By contrast, the true philosopher never is tempted away from virtue in the first place.7 Plato is claiming, then, that the only reason why men are tempted from the path of virtue is that they pay too much attention to the body and all its works. But once a man sees that the only valuable thing is wisdom, and devotes himself single-mindedly to this, then all vicious temptations will fall away and his conduct will automatically be virtuous. That is what counts as 'true virtue'. (Admittedly this interpretation goes somewhat beyond anything that is to be found in our text. The very obscure characterization of 'true virtue' as a matter of recognizing that wisdom is the only 'right coin' (69a9-10) is a decidedly inadequate way of making the point I am here attributing to Plato.)
Supposing that that is Plato's doctrine, then he is doubly wrong: there are other temptations from the path of virtue than those which stem from the body, and the single-minded pursuit of wisdom will not preserve one from them. Indeed if we pursue wisdom in so devoted a fashion that this pursuit governs our every action, then there will be many virtues that we will lack. Plato has made out a case for saying that our single-minded philosopher will have a kind of courage, and that he will have a kind of temperance (though his 'courage' seems limited to one particular situa- tion, and his 'temperance'-which seems more the asceticism of a fanatic- is far removed from the ordinary virtue). But consider now some virtues that he will not have. We can, in fact, begin with justice: why should it be supposed that one whose whole ambition is the pursuit of 'wisdom' should treat others justly and fairly? How would that help him in his one over- riding pursuit? Why, indeed, should he be kind, considerate, loyal, merci- ful, generous, helpful, forgiving, and so on? How would that assist his intellectual enquiry? The answer must be that it would not. The demands of other people are just as unwelcome distractions to him as are the demands of his own body, and he will withdraw from them as much as he can. Yet morality, as we think of it, is primarily a matter of how one behaves towards others. The virtues of courage and temperance are in fact untypical, and are often distinguished as 'self-regarding' virtues, since they
6 Gallop translates 'and, in short, true goodness', using 'goodness' (instead of the more usual 'virtue') for aper~. Evidently, a generalization to all true goodness-or-virtue is intended. (Phaedo, ed. D. Gallop (Oxford, 1975).)
7 In Aristotle's language ordinary men can at best attain 'self-control' (fY Kpama), which Aris- totle ranks below 'virtue'.
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can perfectly well be manifested in actions which do not affect other people. But most virtues are 'other-regarding', and essentially concern one's behaviour to others. These virtues it seems that our philosopher will lack altogether. At any rate the temptation to act only with his own ends in view is a temptation he will certainly have, and apparently he will see no reason to resist it.
In short, the morality which our 'true philosopher' lays claim to is thor- oughly egocentric. Perhaps it need not be classed as a kind of hedonism. At any rate, our dialogue lays no stress on the pleasure to be got from the pursuit of wisdom, though this is something that Plato does stress elsewhere (notably Republic 9, 580d-588a). Perhaps we could say that so far as the Phaedo is concerned wisdom is to be pursued for its own sake, and irrespective of any enjoyment that its pursuit may bring. But still, the philosopher clearly pursues his own wisdom.8 That is the one thing he wants, and the one thing that will get him where he wants to be, off the cycle of reincarnation and away to bliss everlasting. To this one overriding ambition everything else is subordinate, not only the demands of his own body but also all sympathy for others, all concern for justice, and in short practically everything that we consider important to morality. For this to be at all acceptable as an account of 'true virtue', it would have to be argued that a concern for others is in fact needed as a prerequisite for the efficient pursuit of one's own intellectual goals, and Plato does indeed try to argue in this way in his Republic. I cannot discuss that argument here, but I think it is obvious that the proposition to be argued for is, at least on the face of it, very implausible.
After this digression on morality, let us return to our proper subject, the soul.
E. THE SOUL AND THE PERSON
We have seen that, so far as the ordinary person is concerned, Plato's view is that in its disembodied state the soul retains pretty much the same range of conscious activities as the person enjoyed when alive, including many which we naturally think of as due to the happenings in the body. Of course
x One could imagine a modification of Plato's doctrine, in which the pursuit of wisdom was recognized to be a co-operative endeavour, and the object was to make as much wisdom as pos- sible available to the human race. There would still be objections to be raised to this view, though they would not be quite the same objections. But anyway, this would be quite a drastic modifi- cation to the religious doctrine of sin, purification, and release from the wheel of rebirth, which was our starting-point. That religious doctrine was always egocentric.
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 417
the soul will no longer be performing its function of animating a body- neither such unconscious functions as keeping the heart beating nor such (normally) conscious functions as moving the limbs-but a very good range of its activities will survive. Moreover, the dead soul is thought of as keeping the memory of its life on earth, much the same desires, skills, char- acter, and dispositions, and most of what we regard as contributing to a man's personality. It is therefore very reasonable to say that we can regard what survives as still the same soul, and indeed to identify the soul with the person and count it as the continuing existence of that same person. When I die, I do not cease to exist, and what survives still counts as me, though now I have lost my body much as in life I might lose a limb.
But what happens when my soul is reincarnated in a new body? In what sense does that new body have the same soul as I had? What makes it the same? Certainly no new child will be born already equipped with my mem- ories, my knowledge, my character, and so on. It may be tempting to imagine that the new child has a soul made from the same lump of 'soul- stuff' as mine was, in the kind of way in which the same lump of gold may be moulded into first one shape and then another. But the difficulty here is that souls are supposed to be immaterial things, and the notion of an immaterial stuff does not seem to make much sense. When we conceive the soul as capable of existing in isolation from matter, we are conceiving it as a centre of consciousness, and there seems to be no sense in which the newborn child will have the same consciousness as I now have.
One might perhaps make some headway with the idea of a latent propensity for certain activities. For example, if I am good at mental arith- metic, perhaps my soul will easily (re )acquire this skill when it is next incar- nated, though obviously it will not be born with it. We may extend this idea to other features of my personality. Those who believe in reincarnation have often wished to say that memory too is carried over in a latent form, though in this case it will practically always remain latent, and never come to the surface. (There are just a few cases of people who claim to remem- ber a previous life, but they form an infinitesimal proportion of mankind.) Since the idea of a permanently latent memory is somewhat suspect, one might take it as part of the theory of reincarnation that the memories will come to the surface again when the soul is next discarnate, and in that state a soul will enjoy memories of all its previous lives-or, if that seems too overwhelming, at least of its fairly recent lives. (Memories may fade with time, but for discarnate souls the time-span will be very long.) However, it must be admitted that this is not how Plato himself seems to envisage it.
The reason why memory seems so important in this issue is that nothing
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else seems adequate to ensure the identity of an immaterial centre of con- sciousness over time. A soul at one time may surely have all the same ambi- tions, skills, character, and personality as some other soul did earlier, and the two need not on this account be the same soul. Unfortunately, the same may be argued to be true of memory as well: though it does not in fact seem to happen, there is surely nothing impossible in the suggestion that two souls which are indeed different souls should nevertheless each seem to remember doing exactly the same things. You may reply that only one of them can be genuinely remembering, and the other must be suffering from a delusion of some kind, but then you are faced with the difficulty of distinguishing between genuine and apparent memory in a way which does not presuppose that we can already attach some content to the idea of being the same soul. Since the issues here become very complicated, I shall have to leave this question unresolved.
For the sake of argument, let us suppose that the question is satisfacto- rily settled, and that we can make adequate sense of the idea that the same soul may occupy now one body and now another, with periods of discar- nate existence in between. I shall leave aside the further question whether we have any reason to think that this theory is true, or whether on the con- trary it has been upset by facts which Plato knew nothing of (such as the age of the earth and the growth of population). For there is still a further philosophical question which needs raising, namely as to the relation between the soul and the person. On Plato's theory, an ordinary living person is a combination of soul and body, and at his death that combina- tion is destroyed. Must not that be the destruction of him, the person? Perhaps, indeed, his soul will live on earth again in another body, but that is surely not the same as to say that he wi11live again. I think it would be generally agreed that if, when I die, your brain is transplanted into my body and the heart is started up again and the body made to live once more, then that may be another life for that body, but it will not be another life for me. Assuming the liaison between brain and consciousness that we nor- mally do assume, the resulting person would have your consciousness and my body. But I am not to be identified with my body, and though the body may live again it does not follow that I shall. Why should we not say exactly the same thing about the soul?
The answer is implicit in the example I have just introduced. If your brain is transplanted into my body, and as a result your memories, your mental capacities, your character and personality change from one body to another, then indeed the resulting person is not I. But surely it is you? We are familiar with the idea that you might have a kidney transplant or a heart transplant, and this seems merely to be the extreme case of a whole-
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 419
body transplant. As one might say, where your consciousness is, there also are you. Generally, if a person is a combination of a soul, conceived as a centre of consciousness, and a body, then the soul is the dominant partner so far as the identity of that person is concerned. Admittedly, we have seen that there are problems in understanding the notion of 'same conscious- ness', problems which are partly sidestepped in my example by bringing in the brain,and assuming that if we have the same brain then we shall have the same consciousness. But if these problems can be favourably resolved, then it does not seem unreasonable to identify the person with his consciousness.
But now notice that it is crucial to this theory that being the same soul should be a matter of continuity of consciousness, for if we adopt any other account of being the same soul it will no longer be reasonable to identify the person with his soul. For example, suppose we think of a soul merely as a kind of animating agent that makes a body live, and not specially con- nected with consciousness, much as an engine may 'animate' a car. The same engine may be transferred from one car to another-cars of very dif- ferent shapes and sizes, and very different performance on the road-and there is no temptation to say that these cars are all really 'the same car', just because they have the same engine. (On the contrary, a car may be given a new engine and still remain the same car.) Similarly for souls. If what now animates me will one day animate an astronaut, but there is no continuity of consciousness between me and that astronaut, then it is quite unreasonable to regard his life as another life for me. I am not my 'ani- mating agent' on this view, and I shall never be an astronaut.
With these points in mind, let us consider Plato's own version of the theory of reincarnation. When I die, then since I am an ordinary person who has not spent his life withdrawing from all things bodily, it will be reasonable to say that I do survive into the disembodied state. For in the case of ordi- nary persons Plato does provide as· much continuity of consciousness as one could ask between the embodied and the disembodied soul. But the difficulty comes when we consider the next transition back to the embod- ied state, for here Plato seems to provide no continuity of consciousness at all. Indeed he envisages :my soul returning to earth to inhabit a donkey, a hawk, or an ant, and it is impossible to see how the consciousness of such a creature could still be my consciousness. (When Apuleius told how he was transformed into a donkey, he convinced us that the donkey was indeed he by allowing it to retain his memories, his desires, and his per- sonality. That made it a very unusual donkey.) Perhaps one can find some sense in which it is still my soul that will be animating these later creatures,
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but in that case I am not my soul, and though my soul may be immortal, I am not.
In the case of ordinary people, then, it is the transition from the disem- bodied state back to be next embodied state which creates the greatest problem, but this problem at least does not arise for the 'true philosopher'. When he dies, his soul never does return for a further earthly life. But here we have another problem: does enough of his soul survive death for it to be reasonable to say that he survives? At a first glance it appears that the answer must be 'no', for the only thing about him that persists beyond his death is his capacity for abstract reasoning, reasoning which does not in any way depend on what he has learnt through his body. This appears to be so small a part of his total personality that it is unreasonable to iden- tify it with him, and difficult to say in what sense it can even be identified with his soul. Are we to suppose that at least his soul will remember its experiences on earth, even though it has no use for such memories? Since Plato gives us no information on such points, it seems rash to speculate. But perhaps we can just say this: during his life the philosopher has as it were 'identified himself' with his capacity for pure reasoning, in so far as that is the only thing he has been interested in, and that may make it seem reasonable to say that he survives. On the other hand, my own conscious- ness of myself as distinct from others seems not to play any role in the kind of abstract reasoning that Plato envisages, so perhaps it should be regarded as one of those things that the philosopher loses at death. But in that case what survives is not even self-conscious, and if so then it surely cannot be identified with the person it has survived from.
Of course Plato speaks, throughout the Phaedo, in terms of personal sur- vival. Socrates says 'Cheer up! This is not the end of me. I am going from here to a better place.' It would surely be less comforting if he had said 'This is, after all, the end of me, but some bits of me will still survive: my bones will last for a little while yet, and my reasoning capacity will be dis- porting itself elsewhere.' But although it is clearly a personal survival that Plato envisages, we can only say that he has not really seen the problems that this involves.
Since Plato seems never to have abandoned the doctrine of reincarnation, he can never have seen the problem of personal survival properly. But it is connected, as we observed, with the question how much of the soul is supposed to survive death, and on this he certainly did have further thoughts. Indeed the Republic poses the question more sharply by explic- itly distinguishing three different parts which together make up the whole soul. The 'top' part is the reasoning part (7:0 AOytOitKOV), and this both Co py ri gh t © 1 99 9. O xf or d Un iv er si ty P re ss ( US ). A ll r ig ht s re se rv ed . Ma y no t be r ep ro du ce d in a ny f or m wi th ou t pe rm is si on f ro m th e pu bl is he r, e xc ep t fa ir u se s
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pursues theoretical reasoning (about forms) and has the job of controlling the desires. The 'bottom' part is called the desiring part (7:0 brt{}VflrJil 1<:0 v) , and this is responsible for the bodily desires and for such longer-term desires as spring from the bodily desires, such as the love of money. In the Republic there is less emphasis on the role of the body in prompting these desires, and more emphasis on the point that the desires are themselves desires of the soul. Finally, the 'middle' part is called the spirited part (7:0 (}vflOetoe~), and to some extent it seems to represent emotions, such as anger or self-reproach, while to some extent it seems to be the seat of another kind of desire, the desire for honour and glory and success in public life. It is accounted a 'natural ally' of the reasoning part. There are some problems with the precise delimitation of the functions of these three parts, which I do not intend to go into, but one must applaud Plato's recog- nition that the soul is not after all such a simple and unitary thing as the Phaedo seems sometimes to suggest.
Like the Phaedo, the Republic also argues that the soul is immortal, but seems curiously undecided as to how much of it is immortal. The argument itself (which is quite unlike any argument in the Phaedo) speaks simply of 'the soul', and appears to apply to the whole soul (608d-610e). But then there is a passage-reminiscent of the Affinity Argument in the Phaedo- which suggests that since the soul is immortal it cannot really be compos- ite, but must merely appear composite because of its association with the body (611b-612a). However, the question is not further explored there, and it seems that Plato continued to remain uncertain over it. The three parts of the soul reappear in the Phaedrus (likened to a charioteer con- trolling a white horse and a black horse), and in the Timaeus (located in the head, the breast, and the belly, respectively). In the Phaedrus it cer- tainly seems to be implied that the compound of all three parts is immor- tal, but in the Timaeus we are clearly told that only the reasoning part is immortal.
Viewed in terms of the later doctrine of parts, the Phaedo's position is that only the reasoning part is, strictly speaking, immortal. The other parts will standardly survive from one incarnation to the next, but they can be made to wither away by living a suitably philosophic life, and when that happens the reasoning part is freed from the wheel of rebirth and never comes back to earth again. (But then the question arises: how did the soul acquire those other unwanted parts in the first place? Perhaps the Phae- drus reflects Plato's uneasiness over this question.) Ideally, we should of course hope to determine how much of the soul is immortal by seeing what is proved to be immortal by the arguments for immortality, and this brings me at last to a consideration of those arguments.
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422 DAVID BOSTOCK
F. THE ARGUMENTS FOR IMMORTALITY
There are essentially four arguments, namely the Cyclical Argument (6ge-72d), the Recollection Argument (72e-77d), the Affinity Argument (77e-80b), and the Final Argument (95e-106e). But between the third and the fourth there comes an Interlude (84c-95e), which is highly relevant to our topic. I take them in order.
The Cyclical Argument aims to show that the cycle of death and rebirth must go on for ever, since otherwise everything would end up dead, which is assumed to be impossible (72a-d). (This is quite a curious assumption, from our point of view. It is also at odds with Plato's own view that philoso- phers can after all escape the cycle of death and rebirth, for why should not every soul end up as a philosopher?) It is clear that what Plato is think- ing is that souls must oscillate perpetually between the state of being 'alive' (i.e. conjoined with a body) and 'dead' (i.e. separated from a body), but this by itself tells us very little about what kind of thing a soul is supposed to be.
The Recollection Argument is perhaps the most interesting argument in the book, and I cannot discuss it properly hereY But one can certainly say at least this: it aims to show that some understanding which we have in this life can be explained only by supposing that we did not acquire it in this life, but were born with it. The relevant understanding is understanding of forms, and the argument presumes that we can be born with this under- standing only if in a previous existence our souls enjoyed something like a 'direct acquaintance' with the forms, and now (dimly) remember it. This does tell us something about the soul: it is where understanding resides, and it has memory. We may fairly generalize this to the claim that what Plato later calls 'the reasoning part' must have had a previous existence, but it tells us nothing about the previous existence of desires or emotions.lO
A similar conclusion follows from the Affinity Argument, which claims that the soul more resembles the invisible, unchanging, and eternal forms than it does the visible, changing, and perishable objects that we perceive in this world. The support offered for this (implausible) claim is that the soul is at rest when contemplating forms, but 'wanders' and 'is confused' when perceiving the objects of this world (79c-e). So again it is the 'affin- ity' between souls and forms that is being relied on, which presumably applies only to the reasoning part of the soul. But Plato further adds a comparison between souls and the immortal gods, on the ground that in
9 For discussion of this argument, see Vol. i, Ch. III, by Dominic Scott. 10 Compare Phaedrlls (249b-c), which says that no soul can be reborn as a human soul unless
it has seen the forms. and so can understand language.
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THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY IN THE PHAEDO 423
each case their nature is to 'rule', where the thought is that the soul does- or anyway should?-rule the body (80a). In Aristotle's terms, it is 'practi- cal reason' rather than 'theoretical reason' that is here in question, so there has been something of a shift. But our present passage says little about the nature of this 'ruling', and for that we must look rather to the ensuing Interlude.
In this Interlude the defects of the two preceding arguments are clearly recognized: ll the Recollection Argument shows only that the soul existed before birth, but not that it will also exist after death, and the Affinity Argument draws analogies in one direction, but there are equally good analogies to be drawn in the opposite direction (84c-88b). More relevant from our point of view is that the suggestion is raised that the soul is not the kind of thing that could exist without a body, for Simmias proposes that the soul should be regarded as a 'harmony' (or 'attunement') of the physical elements of the body (85e-86d). Against this Plato uses once more the idea that the soul rules the body, and for that reason cannot be just a 'harmony' of its elements (92c-93a, 94b-95a). But in the development of this idea it becomes clear that what he is mainly thinking of is the point that (practical) reason rules (or should rule?) the desires and emotions. So if this is to be an objection to Simmias' original proposal, we must take it that he is here construing desires and emotions as physical elements from which the body is composed. Taken literally, this is simply grotesque. More charitably we may say that the tendency of this argument is to associate desires and emotions very strongly with the body, and to contrast them with (practical) reasoning, which is to be construed as due to the soul and not the body.
Yet Plato interweaves with this argument another, which appears to tend in the opposite direction (93a-94b). This begins with the thought that a soul cannot be a harmony, since being a soul is not a matter of degree, whereas being a harmony is. But it goes on to suggest that souls differ from one another according to their own (internal) harmony, a good soul being more harmonious and a bad soul less harmonious. One therefore asks: what distinct elements are there in the soul between which this internal harmony mayor may not subsist? Our text can hardly be said to be explicit on the point, but if we may borrow from the Republic the answer seems clear: it is the three parts of the soul (roughly, desire, emotion, and reason) that mayor may not be 'in harmony' with one another. So one may fairly protest that one of these objections to Simmias' proposal treats desires and
11 No defect in the Cyclical Argument is pointed to, and in fact there is no further mention of this argument (here or hereafter). It is natural to infer that it drops out of consideration because Plato was not fully satisfied with it.
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424 DAVID BOSTOCK
emotions as 'parts' of the body, while the other treats them as parts of the soul. One can only conclude that while Plato may be on the way to his mature theory, he has not yet got a clear view of it. But in any case these objections have no clear implications for immortality, which we must now return to.
The Final Argument begins with a long and interesting preamble, which focuses on the notion of a cause (or explanation), proposes various con- ditions on what can properly be counted as a cause, and concludes that the simplest and most straightforward examples are the forms. Thus the cause of a thing's being or becoming F can always be given as (its participation in) the form of F-ness (95e-102a). One reason why this kind of cause is especially satisfactory is that the form of F-ness is itself a thing that is F, and one that cannot be or become not-F, and this is the point that is mainly relevant to the argument. For it is then claimed that there are also other examples of causes which satisfy all the conditions (102b-105c), and this is applied to the idea that the soul is the cause of life (105c-106e). The con- clusion drawn is that the soul, as cause of life, must itself be alive, and cannot be or become not alive, which is apparently to say that it is immor- tal. (This conclusion does not in fact follow; all that follows is that a soul cannot both exist and be not alive, but that does not mean that it cannot cease to exist.)
Unfortunately this argument, which Plato eventually (in this dialogue) relies on, quite upsets the view of the soul which has been prevalent hith- erto. For amongst his conditions for being a proper cause he has claimed that causes must be both necessary and sufficient for their effects, and so we must suppose that this too applies to the soul as cause of life. Thus what- ever has a soul is alive, and whatever is alive has a soul, and this holds not only for man, and for the donkeys, hawks, and ants previously mentioned, but also for things which surely have no 'reasoning part', e.g. aphids, jellyfish, oak trees, cabbages. By this argument, all of these will have immortal souls, so it cannot be essential to an immortal soul either to be capable of reasoning, or to have desires and emotions, or even to be con- scious. 12 One presumes that Plato failed to notice this point. If he had done, he might have started from the premiss, not that the soul is the cause of life, but that it is the cause of consciousness, or of reasoning, or something else of this sort. That would certainly have clarified his conception of the soul (but it would not have improved the logic of his argument).
1~ Cf. Phaedrus (249b-c), cited above, n. 10. But what, in that case, corresponds to the chari- oteer and his two horses, of which every immortal soul consists?
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2002giannakopoulouphd.pdf
Plato on Soul and Body
A Dissertationfor the Ph. D. Degree submitted to the Faculty ofArts,
University of Glasgow
b Maria Giannakopoulou y
Glasgow, April 2002
-
Abstract
This thesis examines the development of Plato's thought on the subject of the soul-body
relation. I will not attempt to cover ever3ýing that Plato says about the soul - for
example I will discuss 'proofs' of immortality only in so far as they have a bearing on
the interpretation of soul and body. In this life at least human beings have both a soul
and a body; as a result, the soul by necessity interacts with the body. This interaction,
though, is not simply an interrelation between two completely different and separate
entities; rather the relation between soul and body is far more complicated.
The purpose of the introduction is to present a preliminary view of the soul, in that way
we could better understand the background that Plato had to take under consideration.
Within the introduction the Apology is used so as to show the importance of the idea of
the soul in Socratic ethics, and to indicate that the Socratic idea that we should care for
the soul rather than the body, becomes crucial within Plato's philosophy. The dialogues
that follow, the Gorgias and the Meno, provide early indications of the complex relation
required between soul and body, for Plato's moral, metaphysical and epistemological
concerns. Thus, although Plato, in these dialogues, does not give us a clear definition
of the soul's nature and its relation to the body, the perplexity and ambiguity concerning
the soul's nature leads to the more detailed analysis of it in later dialogues.
The Phaedo appears to offer a view of the soul as a simple immaterial entity wholly
distinct from the body. Even within this dialogue, though, there are signs that this
simple view of the soul is not adequate for Plato's moral and metaphysical concerns,
this becomes evident as well in the Symposium.
i
The first dialogue where the notion of the tripartite soul is introduced is the Republic.
The chapter concerned with the relevant books of the Republic - books IV, IX, and X-
shows that the tripartite soul is in accord with Plato's moral and metaphysical concerns.
The soul is explicitly presented as tripartite and because of this, it requires a close
relation to the body. What is not yet achieved, though, in this dialogue'is the
presentation of the particular relation required between soul and body. Although the
tripartite theory implies a close relation between the lower parts of the soul and the
body, Plato does nothing to explain exactly how the soul and the body are related. This
is the task that the next chapter is set to accomplish. This is done through looking at the
Timaeus. In the Timaeus I look at the detailed construction of the human being. The
parts of the soul are located in the body. There is also some account of how bodily
events affect the soul, and how the soul affects the body. The language used by Plato
shows that soul and body cannot be treated as simply two elements that are accidentally
connected. The relation portrayed then between the two is that of mutual dependence.
In the final chapter, thus, I am concerned with the crucial question whether Plato is a
dualist or not. To argue that Plato cannot fall under the category of Cartesian dualism, I
discuss Descartes and Aristotle's views on the soul-body relation to show their
differences. In particular by using Aristotle's view as an intermediate one, and by
bringing forward a number of points discussed earlier in the thesis regarding Plato's
view, I show that the key notion of Cartesian dualism cannot apply to Plato's theory.
ii
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my supervisor, Professor Richard F. StalleY, for his guidance and
constructive criticism. His patience and tolerance taught me not only how good a
professor he is, but also what a valuable person to know.
My family who have been a constant source of encouragement. My parents for caring
enough to let me pursue my dream, my grandmother for her belief in me, and my sisters
for establishing that family bond not affected by distance.
Numerous are the persons whose help was more than valuable during these years and I
thank them wholeheartedly:
Sakura Kamimura helped me to adjust through the first very important year of my
research.
My former flatmates and good friends Alexandros Alexiou, Eunice Stefanou and
Nikolas Magriplis for being present in good and bad times.
My dear friends Kalli Mantala, Ekaterina Dimopoulou and Nikos Kosmas whose help
proved as valuable as their friendship will always be.
I would like to thank Dr. Constantine Hajivassiliou and Mrs. Eva, for their support and
understanding. A big thanks goes to Danae and Maria for their love. Through their
innocent eyes they have shown me a better way to look at things.
I would also like to thank my Scottish 'mother' Mrs. Nancy Dickinson who, like a true
mother, was there for me whenever I needed her. A special thanks has to be given to
Mr. Ian Dickinson for his patience, kindness and consideration.
iii
Finally, I would like to thank Rev. C. Papageorgiou and his family for all their help and
support throughout these years.
iv
Contents
1. Introduction
2. Soul and Body in the Gorgias
2.1 Socrates and Polus: Health Analogy 2.2 Punishment
2.3 The Treatment Against Wickedness 2.4 Socrates and Callicles: Harmony/Order Within Oneself
2.5 Death 3. Meno
3.1 Virtue 3.2 The Recollection Argument
3.3 Virtue and Knowledge
3.4 Conclusion
4. Phaedo 4.1 The Cyclical Argument
4.2 The Recollection Argument
4.3 The Affinity Argument
4.4 Simmias and Cebes' Objections 4.5 Socrates' Reply to Cebes 4.6 The Final Argument 4.7 Plato's Myth 4.8 Conclusion
5. The Tripartite Notion of the Soul in the Republic 5.1 Republic IV
5.2 Republic IX
5.3 Republic X
5.3.1 The Myth of Er
5.4 Conclusion
1
19
19
23
29
38
49
52
53
55
68
72
74
75
81
92
100
108
112
115
117
123
123
136
152
162
169
V
6. Timaeus 178
6.1 Introduction 178
6.2 Doctrine of Creation 178
6.3 World-Body and World-Soul 183
6.4 The Created World and The Human Being 191
6.5 Human soul-body Relation 196
6.6 Conclusion 215
7. Is Plato a Dualist? 221
7.1 Introduction 221
7.2 Descartes' Dualism 222
7.3 Aristotle on Soul-Body Relation 228
7.4 Plato, Aristotle and Descartes 230
7.5 Conclusion 239
Bibliography 242
vi
Introduction
Writing a thesis on Plato's view about the relation of soul and body, one has firstly to
examine Plato's view of the soul. Plato, throughout the dialogues, presents us with a
number of possible readings regarding the soul's nature, but a more detailed reading of
the dialogues can show that there is a development of thought from a simple soul, that
is seen as reason, towards a tripartite soul. This change from a simple soul to a
tripartite one may be seen as a random one, but I would like to argue that Plato's
thought progressed towards the tripartite soul because of his metaphysical and
epistemological concerns. Plato's notion of soul moreover, as it progresses, shapes his
view of the relation between soul and body. To talk about the soul-body relation, then,
requires also to establish the philosophical background in so far as it concerns the
various views on the soul, qmXT). Such a background will show views that directly or
indirectly influenced Plato.
One of the essential beliefs of the ancient Greeks regarding the soul, OXTI, is that OXTI
is what makes something 'living'; the possession or not of soul determines what is
animate and what is inanimate. A characteristic example of the notion that soul is the
source of life is Thales' philosophy. He held that whatever exhibited some kind of
motion must have possessed soul: 'Thales, too, seems from what they relate, to have
supposed that the soul was something kinetic, if he said that the [magnesian] stone
possesses soul because it moves iron' (Aristotle de anima A2,405al9, K. Rý S. 89)'.
But there is much more than this to the notion of qw '. Within the philological XTI
tradition, the first reference to soul as an aetherial element is that given by Homer. One
All the quotations regarding the Presocratics are taken from G. S. Kirk, J. E. Raven and M. Schofield, The Presocratic Philosophers Cambridge University Press 1983, unless otherwise stated.
I
might ask what is the need for presenting Homer's notion of the soul. Well, although
Homer does not strictly belong to the philosophical background of Plato, his works
were considered as authoritative teachings among the ancient Greeks. Moreover,
Plato's insistence on using the Homeric epics to draw examples, and his usual
argumentation against the validity of Homer's teachings in relation to moral concerns,
indicates that Homer is a valid reference as regards the shaping of people's view of the
soul. Homer, then, refers to soul as that which distinguishes the living from the dead.
In particular, he treats the soul as a ghost-like shade. In fact, as Gulley puts it, any
thought of survival after death was naturally associated with soul, since it was the soul,
as the breath of life, which deserted the body at deathý. A striking feature of the
Homeric view of soul is that the souls are dream-like shadows which in order to show
any mental capacity, need to drink blood. A view of this kind implies that the souls,
although they are immaterial representations of the people they were before they die,
they are not fully conscious after death. As Bernard Williams says, 'psyche stands for
Homer as something that is mentioned only when someone is fainting, dying, or dead.
When the person is dead, it is pictured as existing in a very flimsy, deprived, and
unenviable condition A. His argument goes finther; he argues that the fact that the
figures encountered in the underworld bear the names of dead people does not show
that they are, straightforwardly, those peoples. This view holds because the soul for
Homer cannot be identified with the self As Adkins puts it, the Homeric man's psyche
is not his self, or his personality. This is so, because as Adkins says: 'the psyche is
composed of a very tenuous stuff, which resides in the body while the individual is
Norman Gulley, ne Philosophy ofSocrates, 1968, p. 194. 3 The soul as drinking blood is fast mentioned by Circe in Odyssey 10-536-7 (s%ýOd 11.49-50); of greater interest, however, are the references made by Odysseus himself at Od. 11.95-6,152-54. 4 Bernard Williams, Shame and Necessity, University of California Press, 1994, p. 23. 5 Williams, p. 175, note 3.
2
alive, flies away through some orifice at death and goes down to HadeS, 6 .A finther
point for supporting the claim that for Homer the psyche is not the self, is the fact that
Homer makes no systematic reference to retribution in after-life. Thus, for Homer the
issue of personal survival, in the full sense of the word, does not arise.
Moving, now, to the strictly philosophical background of Plato, a view on the soul's
survival after death that influenced Plato immensely is offered by the Pythagoreans.
They believed in the soul's personal survival after death, its immortality and
transmigration. In detail, the Pythagorean doctrine can be surnmarised as having two
main components; namely the soul's immortality, and the universe's orderly structure.
The Pythagorean view of the soul would include the notion that the soul is immortal,
reincarnated, and ultimately released into a better existence: 'On the subject of
reincarnation Xenophanes bears witness in the elegy which begins: "Now I will turn to
another tale and show the way. " What he says about Pythagoras runs thus: Once they
say that he was passing by when a puppy was whipped, and he took pity and said:
"Stop, do not beat it; for it is the soul of a friend that I recognized when I heard it giving
tongue. " (Xenophanes Fr. 7, K. R. S. 260). As Kirk, Raven and Schofield say, it is very
likely that Pythagoras himself expressed the doctrine of reincarnation in terms of OX4,
SOU17.
Evidence of that could be found in Pindaes second Olympian ode (56-77):
'Those of the dead that are lawless in mind pay the penalty straightway here - but the
sins committed in this realm of Zeus are judged below the earth by one who pronounces
sentence with hateful necessity. The good upon whom the sun shines for evermore, for
6 A. W. H. Adkins, From the Many to the One, London 1970, pp. 14-15. 7 See farther Kirk, Raven and Schofield, p. 220.
3
equal nights and equal days, receive a life of lightened toil, not vexing the soil with the
strength of their hand, no, not the water of the sea, thanks to the ways of that place; but
in the presence of the honoured gods, all who rejoiced in keeping their oaths share a life
that knows no tears, while the others endure labour that none can look upon. And those
who, while dwelling in either world, have thrice been courageous in keeping their souls
pure from all deeds of wrong, they traverse the highway of Zeus to the tower of Kronos,
where the ocean-breezes blow around the Island of the Blest... ' (Pindar Olympians II
56-77, K. R. S. 284).
The implication of such a view is the thought of living beings as composed of bodies
and souls, and of the soul as more important than the body. Placing emphasis on the
soul's immortality and its transmigration, as Richard D. McKirahan says, implies that
our interests extend beyond ourselves and beyond this lifetimes. This is finther
supported by G. S. Kirk, J. E. Raven and M. Schofield, who hold that Pythagoras'
eschatological theory taught that after death the soul is subject to a divine judgement.
According to Pythagoras, punishment follows in the underworld for the wicked, but a
better place for the good, who if they remain free from wickedness in the next world
and in a fin-ther reincarnation in this, may at last reach the isles of the blessed9.
The Pythagoreans sought to explain the world on the basic principle that number is of
fundamental importance in the world. As Richard D. McKirahan argues, the main
philosophical interest of their discussion of the universe is in its account of the origin,
in which the KOSMOS resembles number, geometrical figures, and the musical intervals
8The influence of the Pythagorean philosophy to Plato's views of the soul's immortality, its transmigration, and the theory of harmony will be pointed out in the discussion of particular dialogues. 9See Kirk, Raven and Schofield, p. 238.
4
by being the product of the imposition of limit on the unlimited'o. These notions are
found in Philolaus' theory. He held that: 'Nature in the universe was harmonised from
both unlimiteds and limiters - both the universe as a whole and everything in it'
(Diogenes Laertius VIII, 85, K. R. S. 424). Philolaus hence combines the idea of
unlimiteds and limiters, to that of harmony; 'About nature and harmony this is the
position. The being of objects, being eternal, and nature itself admit of divine, not
human, knowledge - except that it was not possible for any of the things that exist and
are known by us to have come into being, without there existing the being of those
things from which the universe was composed, the limiters and the unlimiteds. And
since these principles existed being neither alike nor of the same kind, it would have
been impossible for them to be ordered into a universe if harmony had not supervened -
in whatever manner this came into being... ' (Stobaeus Anth. 121,7d, K. FL S. 429).
Tbus, a major part in the formation of such a view is played by the notion of harmony;
for the Pythagoreans everything in the world is ordered according to numerical
relations: 'All the so-called acusmata fall into three divisions: some of them signify
what a thing is, some of them what is the most such and such, some of them what one
must do or not do. Examples of the "what is it? " sort are: What are the isles of the
blessed? Sun and moon. What is the oracle at Delphi? The tetractys: which is the
harmonia in which the sirens sing. Examples of the 'What is the most ... ?' sort are:
What is the most just thing? To sacrifice. What is the wisest? Number; but second the
man who assigned names to things. What is the wisest of the things in our power?
Medicine. What is the fmest? Harmonia. What is the most powerful? Knowledge.
What is the best? Happiness. What is the truest thing said? That men are wicked'
1ORichard D. McKirahan, Jr., Philosophy before Socrates, Hackett Publishing Comp. 1994, p. 115. Moreover, Kirk, Raven and Schofield (p. 324) show that according to Diogenes Laertius (viii, 85) the notion of the unlimiteds (E4 a'TTEI'PCaV TC) and the limiters (TrEpa[VOVTCOV) is introduced by Philolaus, the Pythagorean philosopher of the fifth century, but the meaning remains oblique.
5
(larnblichus Vita Pythagorae 82, K. R. S. 277). The Pythagoreans' teaching about
harmony and the numerical ratio is recognised by Kirk, Raven and Schofield as
deriving from Pythagoras himsele'. What should be noted, here, though, is that there is
not a clear indication as to what extent, if at all, Pythagoras himself combined these two
main doctrines, the soul's immortality, and the universe's orderly structure, into a
unified view of world and man. Similarly, E. Zeller when he refers to the Pythagorean
theory, talks about: 'order and harmony through which the totality of things is combined
into a beautiful whole, a cosmos, and ... is chiefly perceptible to us in harmony of tones,
and in the regular motion of the heavenly bodies' 12 . That Plato used the idea of the
soul's judgement after death, as well as the idea of harmony is apparent throughout his
dialogues. He constantly identifies beauty and goodness with harmony and in the
Phaedo 85e ff. He criticises the idea that the soul is a harmony. The notion that the soul
will face judgement after death for its way of life appears in his eschatological myths
throughout his works.
An important thinker who not only discusses the soul's nature after death, but also
argues for its place within the world, is Heraclitus. Although Heraclitus' thought is
known as obscure, his aim is to generate a view of the world of which men are part. He
places emphasis on Logos and how men can reach Logos through observation and
understanding: 'Of the Logos which is as I describe it men always prove to be
uncomprehending, both before they have heard it and when once they have heard it. For
although all things happen according to this Logos men are like people of no
experience, even when they experience such words and deeds as I explain, when I
distinguish each thing according to its constitution and declare how it is; but the rest of
"See Kirk, Raven and Schofield, pp. 233-234. 12 Edward Zeller, Outlines ofthe History ofGreek Philosophy, London, 1886, p. 5 1.
6
men fail to notice what they do after they wake up just as they forget what they do when
asleep. ' (Sextus adv. math. VII, 132 K. R. S. 194). Logos, though, is treated as an
actual component of things and so, co-extensive with the primary cosmic constituent;
fire: 'God is day night, winter summer, war peace, satiety hunger [all the opposites, this
is the meaning]; he undergoes alterations the way that fire, when mixed with spices, is
named according to the scent of each of them' (Hippolytus Ref. IX, 10,8 K. PL S. 204).
As Kirk, Raven, and Schofield hold 13 , Heraclitus regards fire as the motive point of the
cosmological processes. 'This world-order [the same of all] did none of gods or men
make, but it always was and is and shall be: an everliving fire, kindling in measures and
going out in measures' (Clement Strom. V, 104,1 K. P, S 217). His view on cosmology,
now, is important because it unites his physical theory of change among the three world
masses: water, and earth, with the Logos, which again is the measure and regularity of
large-scale cosmological change. 'All things are an equal exchange for fire and fire for
all things, as goods are for gold and gold for goods' (Plutarch de E. 8,388D K. PL
S. 2 19)14. Connecting, then, the large-scale cosmology to the role of man, Heraclitus
holds that the soul is composed of fire, of fiery aither. 'For souls it is death to become
water, for water it is death to become earth; from earth water comes-to-be, and from
water, soul' (Clement Strom. VI, 17,2 K. FL S. 229). His treatment of the soul as fire
then, as Kirk, Raven and Schofield state, implies that the soul plays a part in the great
cycle of natural change. The soul has some kind of Physical affmity, and therefore
connection, with the cosmic fire 15 .
This point leads us to Heraclitus' objective; namely to show that man's life is bound up
with his surroundings. Since the soul is a representative portion of the cosmic fire,
13 For a. detailed analysis of Heraclitus, philosophy see Kirk, Raven and Schofield, pp. 181-212. 14 Kirk, Raven and Schofield, pp. 198-200. "Kirk, Raven and Schofield, pp. 204-206.
7
intellect is placed in the soul. Such a notion leads to the discussion of man's soul and
its relation to the body. Heraclitus describes the waking and the sleeping states of man:
In the waking state men 'become intelligent by drawing in this divine reason [logos]
through breathing', and when asleep, men become forgetful because 'the channels of
perception are shut, our mind is sundered from its kinship with the surroundings, and
breathing is the only point of attachment to be preserved... ' (Sextus adv. math. VIL 129.
K. R. S. 234). Thus, Kirk, Raven, and Schofield argue that Heraclitus treats the
intelligent - awake - condition as consequent upon the apprehension of Logos". Soul,
when man is awake, can reach Logos through perception. The Heraclitean view of
death, now, is important because it seems to suggest that certain souls survive death:
'For better deaths gain better portions' (Clement Strom. IV, 49,3 K. PL S. 235). The
implication then, pointed out by Kirk, Raven and Schofield is that not all souls become
water, some leave the body and are reunited with the aitherial fire 17 . It should be noted,
here, that Heraclitus does not talk of personal survival, but rather of absorption of soul
by the cosmic fire. Thus, Heraclitus' theory seems to favour explanations of soul in
general and perception and thought in particular, in terms of material phenomena. Such
an attempt, although it provided a unified view of the workings of the world, cannot
give an account of personal identity. The soul is treated as stuff and therefore is not
adequate for outlining the self Plato's objective like Heraclitus is to show what is the
soul's part in the world' 8, but the constitution of soul for Plato is neither fire nor Logos.
Plato is much more interested in the individual soul and its relation to the body.
16 See further Kirk, Raven, Schofield, pp. 205-6, on the analysis of fragment 234. 17 See Kirk, Raven and Schofield, pp. 207-208. ' 80n the soul's relation to the world see the Timaeus discussion regarding the connection between World- Soul and human soul.
8
Another pre-Socratic philosopher, who is concerned with the place of man in the world,
is Empedocles. Through his two poems, On Nature and Purifications, two accounts
emerge; a materialistic account and a religious one respectively. In his poem On
Nature, Empedocles introduces four 'roots of all things'. These are four primary
elements -. air, fire, water, earth - which form the substances that constitute the world:
'Hear first the four roots of all things: shining Zeus, life-bringing Hera, Aidoneus and
Nestis who with her tears waters mortal springs' (Aetius 1,3,20 K. PL S. 346). The
mixture of substances, then, whether they come together or separate is brought about
due to Love and Strife. This is a dual process that recurs ceaselessly; '... And these
things never cease their continual interchange, now through Love all coming together
into one, now again each carried apart by the hatred of Strife. So insofar as they have
learned to grow one from many, and again, as the one grows apart grow many, thus far
do they come into being and have no stable life; but insofar as they never cease their
continual interchange, thus far they exist always changeless in the cycle' (Sirnplicius in
Phys. 158,1. K. P- S. 348)19. The mixing of these elements take the forms of man,
animal, plant; 'the various species of animals were distinguished by the quality of the
mixture in them' (Aetius V, 19,5, K. R. S. 375)20. Man, then, is treated by Empedocles
as part of this materialistic account of the world's creation. His detailed explanation of
perception is indicative. In order to explain perception, he uses the doctrine of pores
and effluences. Man perceives when certain effluences, which stream from objects,
encounter the fitting pores in the body: 'Empedocles has the same theory about all the
senses, maintaining that perception arises when something fits into the passages of any
of the senses. This is why one sense cannot judge the objects of another, since the
passages of some are too wide, of others too narrow for the object perceived, so that
'9See flifther Kirk, Raven, and Schofield, pp. 286-288. 2OFor a detailed analysis of Empedocles' cosmology see Kirk, Raven, and Schofield, pp. 300-305.
9
some things pass straight through without making contact while others cannot enter at
all' (Theophrastus de sensu 7, K. Rý S. 3 91)21. Such a theory then, as R. J. Hankinson
argues, implies firstly that these physiological processes are all there is to perception;
no room is left for immaterial souls, and secondly this materialist account of perception
leads to a materialist account of cognition in generaI22. Thus, we see how Empedocles
can hold that it is with blood that men thhk His materialistic explanation of the world
and of man though seems to contradict his religious account of man's destiny, as
becomes clear from his poem Purifications.
In his poem Purifications Empedocles seems to be influenced by mystery religions that
argue for incarnation: 'Among beasts they are bom as lions with lairs in the hills and
beds on the ground, and as laurels among fair-tressed trees' (Aelian Nat. anim. MI, 7,
K. R. S. 408). Similarly, 'But at the end they come among men on earth as prophets,
bards, doctors, and princes, and thence they arise as gods highest in honour, sharing
with the other immortals their hearth and their table, without part in human sorrows or
weariness' (Clement Strom. IV, 150,1 and V, 122,3. K. R. S. 409). It is worth noticing
that Empedocles does not refer to souls that incarnate but to daimons. His reference to
man as a daimon indicates firstly that man is still part of the world, and secondly, that
there is an affinity between gods and men. This is due to the capacity for thought. The
main problem here is the inadequacy of explanation of the relation of the daimon to the
human body. Plato could have been influenced by Empedocles' view of perception, or
21 On a detailed analysis of Empedocles' theory of effluences and pores see Kirk, Raven, and Schofield, pp. 309-310. For evidence that Empedocles' theory is physiological see Andre Laks, 'Soul, sensation, and thought', in A. A. Long (ed), The Cambridge Companion to Early Greek Philosophy, Cambridge University Press, 1999, esp. pp. 250-251, and R. J. Hankinson, 'Greek medical modes of mind', in Stephen Everson (ed. ), Companions to Ancient Thought 2: Psychology, Cambridge Univ. Press, 1991, pp. 198-199. 22Hankinson, P. 199.
10
by his view that the daimon goes beyond the human form and is still part of the world23,
but he would still have to provide a solution to Empedocles' obscurity that arises
concerning the personal identity issue; whether what survives is the same T as the one
that lives in the human form.
The fact, then, that there is not an agreed doctrine of the soul to be found before Plato,
makes it even more difficult for him to establish what the soul is, and thus explain the
soul's relation to the body. However, a point of reference for the development of
Plato's thought regarding his moral philosophy, epistemology, psychology and
metaphysics, is obviously the teachings of Socrates. Since Socrates left no written
work, the sources of our knowledge of his teachings are the writings of Xenophon 24 and
Plato himself. Although it may seem that Xenophon's picture of the Socratic
philosophy is different to that of Plato's, in the essential points they remain consistene'.
Socrates' main concern is with the reform of moral life by true knowledge. Based on
this conviction, Socrates argues that men should concentrate on the care of their souls.
This notion is found both in Xenophon's Memorabilia 26 and in Plato's Apology" and
Crito. To care for the soul is important because the soul is treated as what contains
reason, the intellect. According to Xenophon, Socrates, while conversing with
23 Empedocles' workings of mixtures in the body could be parallel to the Platonic idea of the workings of the eye in the Timaeus, or Empedocles' falling daimon could be seen as similar to the view in the Timaeus that soul leaves the stars and enters the human form. 24 R. B. Rutherford (ne Art of Plato, 1995, p. 29) argues that Xenophon's Defence of Socrates is later than Plato's and does not rest on first hand authorial knowledge. For the relation between Xenophon's works and Plato's see further Rutherford, pp. 47-56. 21ZeHer (p. 104) argues that if, with the help of Plato and Aristotle, we penetrate the meaning of the Socratic doctrine we can form from the accounts which Xenophon gives his teaching and method a consistent picture, which answers to the historical position and importance of the philosopher. 26 All the quotations used for Xenophon are from Amy L. Bonnete, Xenophon Memorabilia, Cornell University Press, 1994. 27 The Apology is treated as involving doctrines that are traditionally accepted as Socratic, although presented, enhanced by Plato.
11
Aristodemus, argues that the universe is the product of divine wisdom. When
Aristodemus objects that he does not see the governors of the universe, Socrates replies:
'Nor do you see your own soul, which is in authority over your body; so that, in this
way, at least, it is possible for you to say that you do nothing by design but everything
by chance' (Xen. Memorabilia Book I, chapter 4, section 9). The emphasis then is
placed on the existence of intelligence, both in the world and in the human being;
intelligence directs the world and the human being.
In Plato's Apology Socrates also argues for the care of the soul over that of the body;
this is what Socrates holds for himself and at the same time wants to teach to his fellow
citizens; this is his mission2s. Socrates' primary belief in the importance of leading a
good life, of choosing right over wrong. This is stressed by pointing out to the
Athenians that although they are eager to possess wealth, fame and honour, they do not
care for wisdom, truth, and the best possible state of their souls. In Plato's words: 'are
you not ashamed of your eagerness to possess as much wealth, reputation and honors as
possible, while you do not care for nor give thought to wisdom or truth, or the best
possible state of your soulT 'xpTjpaTCOV PEV OýK aiaVvll EmpAoupwos o'TrcA35 cot icrTat
q Ca5 7TX6crra, Kai 6OgTj5 Kai TIPfiS, #OVTjGECa! 9 6i Kalt aXTJOStag
Kal Tfis qiuAs 67rca!; 6g
PEXTim E*aTat OU'K EITIPEXfi OU'5E' #OMPýEIS; " (29e). In order to clarify that caring for
the soul is more significant than wealth or anything material, Socrates says that 'wealth
does not bring about excellence, but excellence makes wealth and everything else good
for men both individually and collectively'. 6OU'K EK XpllpdTWV C'XPCIT'l ylp'YVETat, aXX Eý
"For Socrates' mission as the care of the soul see G. Vlastos, 'The Paradox of Socrates', Ae Philosophy ofSocrates, New York, 1971, p. 9. See also, W. K. C. Guthrie, Socrates, Cambridge Univ. Press, 1971, p. 147; P. Duncan, 'Socrates and Plato', Philosophy 15,60 (1940) p. 342; C. D. C. Reeve, Socrates In the Apology, Cambridge, 1989, p. x; R. Hackforth, The Composition of Plato's Apology, Cambridge Univ. Press, 1933, p. 91, and D. Gallop, Plato Defence of Socrates, Euthyphro, Crito, Oxford Univ. Press, 1997, p. xviii.
12
ape-rrig XpTjpaTa Kai Ta aXXa c'xya6a TCý15 CX'V6pCSTrOIS a"TraVTa Kall 'ISiq Kal 81, poclq.,
(30b). Hence, the belief held by Socrates that the care of the soul is connected to the
notion of acting rightly, is important because it points towards a moral theory which
holds that to act rightly is to do the best possible action to keep the soul righteous.
The soul, then, becomes important for its ability to acquire moral excellence. The soul
becomes the seat of morality as well as knowledge". As Vlastos says 'the soul is
, 30 improved morally by right action, and intellectually by right thinking . The
significance of the 'good, just life' is also evident in Plato's Crito where Socrates asks:
'... is life worth living for us with that part of us corrupted that unjust actions harm and
just actions benefitT (Crito 47e). Socrates' belief on leading the good, just life, no
matter the costý becomes apparent when he claims that: 'We should not then think so
much of what the majority will say about us, but what he will say who understands
justice and injustice, the one, that is, and the truth itself. So that, in the first place, you
were wrong to believe that we should care for the opinion of the many about what is
just, beautiful, good, and their opposites. ' (Crito 48a 6-10) Thus, Socrates' answer to
the argument 'the many are able to put us to death' (Crito 48a 10- 11), is that: '... the
most important thing is not life, but the good life' (Crito 48b 4-5). Thus, although
Socrates does not explicitly refer to the soul, it is clear that he does believe that the
health of the soul is of supreme importance and that this is harmed by injustice.
The Socratic belief in the value of the good life leads us to his belief regarding the issue
of death. Xenophon in his Defence of Socrates reports that: 'it was his [Socrates'] full
persuasion, that death was more eligible for him than life at such a season'. This is so,
29According to Burnet ('The Socratic Doctrine of the Soul', Proceedings of the British Academy 1915- 1916, Oxford Univ. Pr., 1916, especially p. 245) Socrates is the first to treat the soul thus. 30VIaStOS, 1971, p. 6.
13
because it is god who thinks this to be the best time for Socrates to die. The claim that
the god decides when it is best for Socrates to die illustrates Socrates' religious beliefs.
At the same time it may seem to imply that Socrates' faith in god is so great that makes
him hold that death is not destruction. Towards the end of the Apology, Socrates claims
that death is either a dreamless sleep or a change from here to another place (40c-d). At
40c Socrates takes the absence of a divine sign to indicate that death is a good thingý'.
Similarly, at 41c-d he argues that the good man cannot be harmed. The most natural
way to take these references is that they imply a life after death in which goodness is
somehow to be rewarded. But Socrates does not explicitly commit himself to this. In
fact, at 40c he says that death is either nothingness or migration to another place. He
even argues that extinction may be a good thing - like a dreamless sleep. Some
scholars therefore insist that Socrates is agnostic about life after death, and may even
think that he inclines to the extinction view.
On the other hand, the idea that the soul survives death makes it easier to see how
Socrates could believe that 'a good man cannot be hanned"'. It is also notable that he
describes the life after death at some length, which suggests that he takes it seriously".
Crito 54b-c also assumes that the soul survives death. There is reason therefore to
agree wi these scholars who think that the general tendency of the Apology suggests
that the soul probably does survive death'. But this does not help us very much in
determining the view of the historical Socrates. The account of life after death could be
a Platonic embellishment on Socrates' own position.
31 See fin-ther Duncan p. 344; Elmmark, 'Socrates and the Immortality of the Soul', Eranos 44 (1946) pp. 117-119. 32 From 41d one could infer that what is implied is the notion of personal survival after death. See further, Ehnmark p. 120. 33 See further E. de Strycker, Plato's ApoloSy ofSocrates, Leiden, 1994, p. 229. 34 Guthrie, 1971, p. 160.
14
, Socrates' teachings, then, could be summarised as follows: Firstly, Socrates' emphasis
on virtue and honour is reported both by Xenophon and Plato: Xenophon in the
Memorabilia reports: '... he rid many individuals of these things, after making them
desire virtue and providing them with hopes that if they attended to themselves they
would be gentlemen (noble and good)' (Xen. Mem. 1,2, section2). In the Apology,
Plato argues that Socrates would not consider the dilemma of life or death, but rather
consider if one is acting in a right or a wrong manner (Apology 28b-c). What such
statements imply is a strong moral code, a code, which Socrates believes, everyone
should live according to. Socrates holds that determining what is right and what is
wrong is the first and foremost crucial point of living one's life. Secondly, Socrates
insisted on the care of the soul. According to Xenophon, Socrates 'educated both his
soul and his body in a regimen such that one using it would live confidently and
securely... ' (Xen. Mem. iii. 5,1-4). As mentioned above, in Plato's Apology the
emphasis remains on the care of the soul over that of the body (29e). This does, of
course, imply that the soul can in some way be distinguished from the body even if it
cannot survive the death of the body. What should be noted here is that the notion of
the care of the soul does not only show the possibility of the improvement of one's soul,
but it also implies the possibility of the decline of one's soul. Although Socrates does
not mention the soul's decline as a possibility, the fact that he holds that the soul can
change, requires him to give an account of the source of such a change, whether that is
for the best or for the worst. The implication, thus, that the soul can be affected either
positively or negatively reveals traces of a theory concerning the soul-body relation that
is yet to be developed by Plato.
15
The primary aim of this thesis is to show that all the way from the middle period
dialogue Phaedo to the late dialogue Timaeus one can observe both a continuity in
Plato's thought on the relation between soul and body, and most importantly, a progress
towards a view that pays more focus on the interrelation between the two. This
treatment of Plato's dialogues will require an understanding not only of the middle and
late period dialogues, but also of the early ones as the basis of Plato's views. In this
thesis it will be held that since Plato is the author of the dialogues, the way the
dialogues' themes develop is Platonic35. Such a statement is made not so as to
disregard Socrates' importance as a philosopher, but rather so as to indicate one line of
thought. I will regard the dialogues as being Platonic, and at the same time, Socrates'
due will be given by stating that he is not only Plato's teacher, but also, as argued
before, the inspiration of Plato's philosophy. Since he wants to stress his interest in
Socratic ethics 36 , Plato uses Socrates as the main character for his dialogues. Plato uses
Socratic ethics as the basis for his epistemology as well as for his metaphysics. Plato
feels that it is his obligation to bring the Socratic beliefs on morality forward, towards a
more elaborate philosophical view.
The need to elaborate on the early dialogues as well as the later ones, originates from
the thesis' main objective, namely to show how Plato's theory of soul-body relation
develops. The development hypothesis, though, requires a discussion concerning the
chronological order of the dialogues. Plato's dialogues are customarily divided into
three periods early, middle and late. In this thesis I will present two early dialogues;
Gorgias and Meno, two middle dialogues; Phaedo and Republic, including a reference
35For an account of the debate between advocates of 'unity' and separatists, see E. N. Tigerstedt, Interpreting Plato, Uppsala 1977. 36For the influence of Socratic ethics on the development of Plato's philosophy as a whole, see, for example, de Strycker, p. 12. See further Duncan, p. 346; J. H. Randall, Plato Dramatist of the Life of Reason, Columbia Univ. Pr., 1970, p. 97.
16
to the Symposium and the Phaedrus, and the late dialogue Timaeus. The chronological
arrangement of the dialogues, thus, is of concern since it can indicate the degree of
development of Plato's thought. The fact that the Gorgias and the Meno belong to the
early Platonic dialogues is widely accepted, similarly the Symposium the Phaedo, the
Republic and the Phaedrus-" belong to the middle period. Again the Timaeus is treated
as being one of the late dialogues.
Although this arrangement is widely accepted 38 , problems arise for the particular
relation of dialogues within the same period. For the aim of this thesis the relative
chronological arrangement between Gorgias and Meno as well as Phaedo and
Symposium is in question. Although it is not easy to find any clear grounds for dating
the Meno and Gorgias relative to each other, most scholars hold that the Gorgias is
earlier than Men039. Since as L. Brandwood argues, little can be said on the sequence
of dialogues in the early group, and division into subgroups seems out of the question4o,
the order that is followed in this thesis is adopted purely for expository reasons. The
same goes for the middle dialoguee'. Thus, so far as the middle dialogues are
37 Whereas I'm inclined to think that the Phae&-us may be later than the Republic - the doctrine of division of the soul indicates that it is late within the middle dialogues - their exact chronological order is of no concern. This is so because the Phaedrus does not have much that adds on the specific issues that concern this thesis. 38For a good summary on various approaches on the issue of chronology, mainly concerning the middle and the late period dialogues, see Leonard Brandwood, 'Stylometry and Chronology', in R. Kraut (ed), Yhe Cambridge Companion to Plato, Cambridge University Press, 1992, pp. 90-120. For a detailed argument concerning the chronological order of the early and the middle dialogues see Charles H. Kahn, 'Did Plato write Socratic DialoguesT, in Hugh H. Benson (ed), Essays on the Philosophy of Socrates, Oxford University Press, 1992, pp. 35-51. A chronological table of the dialogues in relation to relevant historical events is provided by Rutherford, pp. 35-36. 39Brandwood (p. 109) refers to Ritter as holding that Gorgias is prior to Meno, but it is pointed out that this is only a probability. Kahn (1992, p. 36) treats Meno as 'a curtain-raiser for the middle dialogues. In the same article he refers to Guthrie who again presents Gorgias as prior to Meno, although he hesitates about their relative date. Another scholar who places Meno at the end of the early dialogues is Terence Irwin, Plato's Moral Themy, the Early and Midd7e Dialogues, Oxford Univ. Press 1977, pp. 291-293. 'Brandwood, p. 115. 41 For the date of the Symposium see K. J. Dover, 'The Date of Plato's Symposium, Phronesis 10 (1965) pp. 2-16. See further H. B. Mattingly Phronesis 3 (1958) 31ff; J. S. Morrison, Classical Quarterly, n. s. 14 (1964) pp. 45-46.
17
concerned, I believe that the account of the soul of the Phaedo is probably prior to that
of the Republic. This is consistent with the views of most scholars about the relative
dating of these dialogues". Therefore, the analysis of each dialogue will be a self-
contained one and at the same time traces of ideas that develop from one dialogue to
another will be indicated accordingly.
42 See further the list provided by D. W. D. Ross, Plato's Theory ofIdeas, Oxford 195 1, p. 2.
18
Soul and Body in the Gorgias
The next dialogue I shall consider is Gorgias'. My main concern will be to explore its
implications for the doctrine of soul and body through its use of the health analogy and
its discussion of punishment. Although the health of the body, at a basic level, may
seem as implying a mere parallel picture to the condition of the soul, the way that the
ways the soul affects the body and the body affects the soul, lead us to think that Plato's
view of the soul-body relation goes beyond a mere parallelism. Similarly, Plato's view
of punishment as a means to improving the soul implies that the soul is at least
indirectly influenced by the condition of the body. These issues will be discussed here
so as to show how they develop, in Plato's middle and late dialogues, into a coherent
system of body-soul interaction.
Socrates and Polus
Health Analogy
The first passage I shall examine is at 463e ff. where Socrates uses the analogy of the
healthy state for both body and SOU12, in describing his own view about the nature of
oratory. Socrates' account of oratory is based on a distinction between spurious and
'Although the chronology of Gorgias in relation to the Meno is doubtful, for the purposes of this thesis I shall treat the Gorgias before the Meno. This is so because the Gorgias'theme is mainly moral, while the Meno is involved with epistemological notions, and introduces the notion of recollection. On the chronological order between the two dialogues see further E. R. Dodds, Plato: Gorgias: A Revised Text with Introduction and Commentaq, Clarendon Press, 1959, pp. 18-19; W. K C. Guthrie, A Histo? y of Greek Philosophy IV, Cambridge, 1975, p. 236; PL W. Sharples, Plato Meno, Aris and Phillips, 1985, p. 6. 2Anthony Kenny (The Anatomy Of The Soul, Blackwell, 1973, p. 1) argues that it was Plato who developed in the Gorgias the 'healthy mind' metaphor in unprecedented detail and in the Republic crossed the boundary between metaphor and philosophical theory.
19
genuine arts. The genuine arts aim at the good and use reason, while the spurious aim
at gratification and are mere empirical knacks; they can render no rational account of
their procedure 3. Within each of these categories there are some that apply to the body
and some to the soul. The cmft concemed with the soul is politics divided into two
parts: legislation and justice, and the craft concerned with the body is gymnastics and
medicine. Moreover, Plato sees a parallel between the crafts concerned with the soul
and those concerned with the body: 'the counterpart of gymnastics is legislation, and
the part that corresponds to medicine is justice' (464b-c). Gymnastics, legislation,
medicine, and justice are the four crafts, then, which: 'provide care for both body and
soul, with a view to what is best' (464b-c), and rest on scientific knowledge of good
and evie. On the other hand, the knack or flattery that wears the mask of medicine is
pastry baking, while cosmetics is the kind of flattery that corresponds to gymnastics,
sophistry is the kind of flattery that corresponds to legislation, and oratory is the kind of
flattery that corresponds to justice (465b-c). The conclusive distinction, thus, between
an art and a mere knack is that the former aims at the good of its subject, while the latter
does not. As E. R. Dodds puts it: 'The four spurious arts are distinguishable in two
ways from the genuine - by their aim, which is merely pleasure, and by their empirical
character which means that they cannot give any rational account of their procedure'
(465a)5 . This distinguishes them from genuine arts, which, as Henry Teloh suggests,
must satisfy the following conditions: An art (1) discerns the nature of its subject, so
that (2) it may see the good of its subject, and, then, (3) it seeks the best means to
achieve its desired end which is the good of its subjece.
3paUl Shorey, What Plato Said, University of Chicago press, 1933, p. 138. 4 Held by A. E. Taylor, Plato: The Man and his Work, London, 197 1, p. I 11. 5 Dodds, 1959, on 463e5-466a3. 6 Henry Tcloh, Socratic Education in Plato's Early Dialogues, University of Notre Dame Press, 1986, p. 131.
20
The point of the distinction between gymnastics and medicine, as Allen points out',
seems to be that the former maintains bodily health and equilibrium while the latter
restores the body to equilibrium. Similarly, legislation seems to maintain equilibrium in
the soul while justice restores it. The correspondence between the above pairs points to
the idea that soul and body are parallel to one another; namely, both the soul and the
body are able to acquire either a healthy or an unhealthy state of being. When the body
is in an unhealthy state it is obvious that it needs to be restored through medicine. The
fact, though, that the soul - when in a similar state - needs to be restored, is both an
innovation of Plato as well as a very crucial point for his theory concerning the body-
soul relation. The underlying assumption is that the soul is vulnerable to wickedness
and needs to be taken care of; this is the role ofjustice. Since justice normally involves
the infliction of punishment, this must be used as the means to improve the soul.
Another important point about the above division is that Plato a) presents the soul as
being the one that governss the body: 'If the soul didn't govern the body but the body
governed itselý and if pastry baking and medicine weren't kept under observation and
distinguished by the soul, but the body itself made judgements about them... then the
world according to Anaxagoras, would prevail.... all things would be mixed together in
the same place, and there would be no distinction between matters of medicine and
health, and matters of pastry baking' (465c-d ). Allen rightly argues that: 'This is an
important argument for the Socratic thesis that not only are body and soul distinct, but
soul - that is, mind - must govern body even with respect to the excellence proper to the
'PL E. Allen, The Dialogues ofPlato, vol. 1, Yale University Press, 1984, p. 196 $It is not made clear yet, whether Plato believes that the soul should govern the body, or whether it actually does govern it. Perhaps what Plato assumes is that the soul is largely successful in governing the body - otherwise there would be no order - but that it is not wholly successful - that -is why there is vice and disease.
21
body, which is health'9. Thus, although the first part of this particular speech of
Socrates appears to treat the soul and the body as being parallel to one another, in fact
these last lines indicate that the soul-body relation is much more complicated than a
simple parallel direction. The fact that Plato takes the soul to govern the body is
indicative that he considers that the soul, though different from the body, is capable of
affecting it.
It is interesting to mention here that Plato seems to attribute to. the body the ability to
judge. At the same time, though, he makes it clear that he does not value the body. He
says that: 'If the soul didn't govem the body but the body governed itself, and if pastry
baking and medicine weren't kept under observation and distinguished by the soul, but
the body itself made judgements about them, making its estimates by reference to the
gratification it receives, then.... there would be no distinction between matters of
medicine and health, and matters of pastry baking' (465c-d). The situation presented is
highly hypothetical. Although one cannot say with certainty. whether Plato was
seriously contemplating the idea of attributing judgements to the body, or whether he
was just referring to the body having those desires as part of its nature, it seems that
Plato does not seriously attribute to the body the ability to judge. He rather argues that
it is the body's nature to be driven by certain desires. The soul is treated as being
superior to and as governing the body, partly, because Plato needs a ground to base the
importance of the differentiation between a real and an apparent state for anything. If
the soul did not govern the body, if one was left to make judgements based only on the
body's desires, there would be no way to differentiate the real from the apparent. As in
the distinction between real arts and mere knack - real arts can render a rational account
while knack cannot - the distinctive point between soul and body is determined by
Wen, P. 197. 22
knowledge. Since it is driven only by its desires, the body cannot by itself differentiate
the real, the good, from the apparent, the pleasurable. It cannot, therefore, render a
rational account of anything; it cannot have knowledge.
Thus Plato treats the soul as the ruling element, but he also wants to show that the
distraction that any person may face occurs due to the conflict of soul and body within
that personlo. The opposition between soul and body, thus, holds because the soul here
seems to represent reason, while the body represents the desires. What Plato does not
make apparent here is the point that a failure of the soul to govern the body results in
vice, which is sickness of the soul, and disease, which is sickness of the body. The
soul, then, is chosen to be superior over the body because the soul is the reasonable part
in man, the one able to have knowledge. Socrates concludes this passage by saying
that: "Oratory is the counterpart in the soul to pastry baking, its counterpart in the body"
(465d-e), emphasising once more that oratory is not a real art because it does not
involve knowledge.
Punishment
Having shown that the real art for the soul's well being is justice Socrates tries to show
the important role of punishment for the soul's improvement. According to Socrates,
happiness is determined by education and justice (470e). On the other hand, injustice is
connected with misery: 'A man, who acts unjustly, a man who is unjust, is thoroughly
miserable, the more so if he doesn't get his due punishment for the wrongdoing he
commits, the less so if he pays and receives what is due at the hands of both gods and
`Ihis notion of a person being confused in the Timaeus will be attributed to the soul's embodiment.
23
C men9 a5IKC3V TE Kal 0 aSIK05 navTco5 pEv aeXiog, aOXICO'TEP05 PEVTOI EaV Pil 615Cý
6IqV JIT15C TUyXaVll TtPCOPM5 aBIKCSV, ýTTOV 5c dexios iav 6, w s; K71V Kati 'ruyXddvTj 11 EI
51KTIS ýTTO' 6ECSV TE Kali dv6p6mov. 9 (472e). Socrates holds that: 'Of two miserable
people one could not be happier than the other, but the one who avoids getting caught...
is the most miserable one' (473d-e).
Even from this early stage, one has the feeling that Socrates' notion of happiness, and
consequently his belief on the significance of punishment, is not in accordance to the
popular notion of it. The Greek word eudaimonia has connotations that the English
word happiness does not entail; it can be related to words like blessed". Perhaps the
main difference in meaning between eudaimonia and happiness is that shown by
Vlastos; namely, eudaimonia places emphasis on the attainment of well being, while the
English word happiness can also be defined as the state of pleasurable content 12
. For
Socrates, being happy is not a matter of degree; it is not liable to quantitative
measurement, and punishment is treated as the necessary means to improvement, not an
end in itself. The implication at this point is that Socrates, unlike those who adopt the
hedonistic approach to happiness, associates happiness with self-conti: ol. The principle
13 that Socrates seems to hold here is, as Vlastos states , that happiness is desired by all
human beings as the ultimate end of all their mtional acts. Given such a principle, one
has to consider the relation between happiness and the good which, in turn, leads to the
relation between happiness and virtue. Happiness and the good are terms used
14 interchangeably , while the relation between happiness and virtue seems more
"For the association of the word happiness to words like blessed, see Phaedrus 250b-c, and Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics 11 78b 9-10 and 20-3. "Gregory Vlastos, 'Happiness and Virtue in Socrates' Moral Theory', in G. Fine (ed) Plato 2, Oxford University Press, 1999, p. 107. 13VIaStOS, 1999, p. 108 and n. 14. 14VIastos, 1999, p. 109, n. 20; regarding Gorgias 494c495b, p. 128 and n. 82.
24
complicated. What Socrates makes clear about the relation between happiness and
virtue is that one will have happiness if and only if one has virtue'5. This point is
finther supported by the earlier Socratic comment: '... the honourable and the good man
and woman is happy the unjust and wicked miserable' (470e 9-11). The implication,
then, is that for Socrates there is a correct standard, when one reaches that standard, one
then reaches virtue and thus happiness 16 .
In order to stress his point that happiness cannot be achieved without virtue, Socrates
moves into a more detailed argument: 'You and I and everybody else consider doing
what is unjust worse than suffering it, and not paying what is due worse than paying it'
(474b). Here Socrates introduces principles governing the comparison between two
admirable things, and between two shameful things: 'Whenever one of two admirable
things is more admirable than the other, it is because it surpasses the other in one of
f t17, these, pleasure or bene I or in both' and 'Whenever one of two shameful things is
more shameful than the other, it will be so because it surpasses the other either in pain
or in badness' (475a-b). In other words, he establishes specific criteria for what is more
admirable and what is more shameful. Socrates tries to determine whether doing what
is unjust is more shameful than suffering it: 'Now if doing what is unjust is in fact more
shameful than suffering it, wouldn't it be so either because it is more painful and
surpasses the other in pain, or because it surpasses it in badness, or bothT (475b), and it
is obvious that doing what is unjust is not more painful than suffering it. He concludes
`Vla. stos, 1999, p. 126. '611e point that happiness is associated with self-control will be discussed towards the end of Socrates' argument with Polus, at 478d-e, as well as in the discussion between Socrates and Callicles at 491 e-492e. The relation between happiness, justice, virtue, and good living will be further explored within Socrates' discussion with Callicles at 506c-507c. 17 For various references of what is beneficial within the Platonic dialogues see Vlastos, 1999, p. 134 note 100.
25
that since doing what is unjust surpasses suffering it in badness, doing what is unjust is
worse than suffering it (475c). The argument is structured as follows:
PI doing what is unjust is more shameful because it either surpasses suffering it in pain
or badness.
P2 doing what is unjust is not more painful than suffering injustice.
Conclusion 1: Doing what is unjust is more shameful because it surpasses it in badness.
Conclusion 2: So, because it surpasses it in'badness, doing what is unjust would be
worse than suffering it.
The usual objection to this argument is that Polus should either have argued that doing
injustice is not aiiaXpov, or else he should have denied that what is ailaxpOv is bad. He
could then have insisted that pain is the only evil and that doing injustice is therefore
better for us than suffering it.
Another problem that Socrates seems to face here is that he is not strictly entitled to
claim that doing injustice is more shameful than suffering injustice, as he does at 475b.
It has been agreed that if A is more shameful than B that must be because A surpasses
B in badness or in pain. But, even if doing injustice surpasses suffering it in badness, it
is clear that suffering injustice surpasses doing injustice in pain. So, based on one
criterion, suffering injustice turns out to be more shameful while, based on the other
criterion, doing injustice turns out to be more shameful. This discrepancy could be
solved by assuming that Socrates presupposes here that the evils of the soul count more
than the evils of the body. My argument here then is that the above idea implies the
superiority of the soul's virtue over that of the body. In other words, between the two
evils, pain and badness, the former is of less importance for it is bodily, while the latter
is of greater value since it is of the soul.
26
Within the framework of this idea that the soul has greater worth than the body, Plato,
thus, argues for the value of punishment. The question Socrates raises is 'Whether a
wrongdoer's paying what is due is the worst thing there is, or whether his not paying it
is even worse' (476a). It is important to note that Socrates makes Polus accept that
paying what is due and being justly disciplined for wrongdoing are the same thing.
This point is essential for it connects with Plato's above belief that punishment is
treated as the necessary means to improvement's. Furthermore, in order to explain this
view of punishment, Plato introduces what looks like a simple logical point: 'If
somebody acts upon something, there also has to be something that has something done
to it by the one acting upon iff '&Pa Ell T15 T1 ITOIEý1, aVaYKII TI gival Kal TracXov Ono'
TOUTOU TOO Troi0OVTOS; ' (476b), then, 'is paying what is due a case of being acted upon
or of acting upon something? ' 'T6 61KT)V Movat ITOTEPOV TraC)(SIV T1 ECITIV 11 1T01aV; 9
(476d), Polus answer then is that 'It must be a case of being acted upon... by the one
administering discipline " Avayq TraoXEiv... UITO YE TOO KoXa; OVT05' (Gorgias 476d).
The conclusion then is that since one who disciplines correctly disciplines justly (476e),
'... the one being disciplined is acted upon justly when he pays what is due ...... 0'
KOXaý6PEV05 51IRV 6160ý5 6IKaia ndcrXEO (476e). Plato here assimilates paying what is
due, with being disciplined. This makes it much more plausible to suppose that
punishment is good for those on whom it is imposed. Although Plato does not, in this
passage, provide us with a reason why being disciplined is good for us, he makes it
clear at 505b9 that discipline restrains our desires and thus brings about order within us.
"According to Mary Margaret Mackenzie (Plato On Punishment, University of California Press, London, 1981, p. 179), Plato proposes that punishment is the means by which we may acquire the good fortune of a virtuous disposition.
27
Socrates concludes his discussion of this view of punishment by saying that: 'one of
these men does admirable things, and the other, the one being disciplined, has
admirable things done'to him, and if they are admirable they are good. For they are
either pleasant or beneficial' (476e-477a). Since punishment is evidently not pleasant,
this statement apparently shows that punishment is something beneficial for the one
who is being disciplined. Clearly this argument is fallacious since even if one concedes
that acting justly is beneficial, there is still a question about who receives the benefit.
One could argue that it is the person who imposes the punishment and society at large
that benefits. Socrates ignores this point and states that: 'the soul is improved if it is
justly disciplined. Hence, one who pays what is due gets rid of something bad in his
soul' (477a). Therefore, punishment is the means to improvement, to the ultimate result
of happiness". To show that punishment benefits the soul, Plato returns to the body-
soul analogy discussed in 464a-465d. Plato here compares the badness of body to the
badness of soul; concerning a person's physical condition, what is bad consists of
'weakness, disease, ugliness, and the like' (477b), and the corrupt condition of the soul
has to do with "injustice, ignorance, cowardice and the like" (477b). The most
shameful state of wickedness, now, among poverty, disease, and injustice, is injustice
since 'It's the source either of the greatest pain, or of harm, or of both' (477c). Socrates
here concludes that: 'The reason that corruption of one's soul is the most shameful of
them all is that it surpasses the others by some monstrously great harm and astounding
badness, since it doesn't surpass them in pain' (477d-e).
it is important to note here that Socrates seems to take the wickedness of the soul to be
worse than anything else because of the soul's superiority over anything else. Then as
Mackenzie puts it: 'The worst evil that a man can suffer is neither material nor physical
19This will be analysed towards the end of the discussion between Socrates and Polus. 28
misfortune, but psychological disorder, which is corrected by the art of justice
According to the body-soul analogy, punishment is the medicine of wickedness -
painful, but useful to effect a cure; when it succeeds, it makes us more temperate and
just, therefore we should seek punishment just as we consult a doctor'20. Although
there is a strong analogy here between the role of medicine and that of punishment, to
argue that: 'We should seek punishment just as we consult a doctor', produces a kind of
circularity since it requires some degree ofjustice already existing in us. Someone who
is able to recognise that he has done wrong and so is motivated to seek punishment
would not have an unjust soul. He would not, therefore, need punishment as a cure of
injustice. Plato implicitly recognises this point by assimilating punishment and self-
discipline; someone who is basically just might undertake self-discipline to improve his
character or to avoid becoming corrupted.
The Treatment against Wickedness
The argument, now, becomes twofold; Socrates proceeds to show how a treatment
against wickedness can be either imposed by the judges, or by the person himself. The
parallel between body and soul still holds. Getting medical treatment is beneficial
because those who receive it 'are getting rid of something very bad, so that it is worth
their while to endure the pain and so get well' (478c). In other words, the pain caused
by the doctors is not the end result, it is the means to something far more important, the
health of the person. Here Socrates reintroduces happiness, eudaimonia. He argues
that although it is important for one to get rid of something bad either in his body or in
his soul, the happiest man, concerning his body, is he who does not need to be treated
since he is not sick. The claim made is the following: 'Happiness evidently is not a
2OMackenzie p. 183.29
matter of getting rid of something bad; it is a matter of not even contracting it to begin
with' (478c). He applies this idea to those that are not treated. He applies the idea that
the most miserable one is he who is not treated to the soul as well as to the body: 'Of
two people, each of whom has something bad in either body or soul, the most miserable
is the one that is not treated and does not get rid of the bad thing' (478d).
Socrates, then, shows how punishment is directly related with the issue of happiness:
'The happiest man is the one who does not have any badness in his soul... and second, I
suppose, is the man who gets rid of it' (478d-e). Referring, then, to the second,
Socrates says: 'this is the man who gets lectured and lashed, the one who pays what is
due' (478e). These points indicate that the soul is improved through both education and
corporal discipline. The notion of the soul's improvement through education and
punishment is finther developed in the Republic. In books II and III Plato describes an
education, which will bring the souls of the guardians to order. Then, in book IV he
claims that 'it is more profitable to act justly, live in a fme way, and be just' (445a)
rather than 'to act unjustly and be unjust, provided that one doesn't pay the penalty and
become better as a result of punishment' (445a). Plato, once more, is trying to establish
that both education and punishment are beneficial for the soul. Returning to the
Gorgias text, Plato treats punishment as one way that an unjust man can be improved.
This is significant for this thesis, since it indicates that the soul is capable of being
improved by action on the body. If, as seems likely, Plato is here thinking of corporal
punishment, this indicates that the soul is affected due to bodily changes; the body is
punished so that the soul is benefited. It is implied, then, that the relation between the
soul and the body is not merely parallel, but rather an interdependent one.
30
Hence, man. by facing punishment, is paying what is due, and as a result he gets rid of
wickedness 21. Trying to avoid punishment or physical treatment, is a result of
ignorance: 'they focus on its painflilness, but are blind to its benefit and are ignorant of
how much more miserable it is to live with an unhealthy soul than with an unhealthy
body, a soul that is rotten with injustice and impiety' (479b-c). Once again it becomes
apparent that the greater value of the soul as compared with the body is considered self-
evident.
The discussion between Socrates and Polus concludes with a summary of the main
points of the argument: A) '... what a man should guard himself against most of all is
doing what is unjust, knowing that he will have trouble enough if he does' (480a), in
other words a man should always be just. B) 'And If he or anyone else he cares about
acts unjustly, he should voluntarily go to the place where he will pay his due as soon as
possible; he should go to the judge as though he were going to a doctor, anxious that the
disease of injustice should not be protracted and cause his soul to fester incurably'
(480b), the health analogy then still holds. Q '... So that he may pay his due and get
well; and compel himself and the others not to play the coward, but to grit his teeth and
present himself with grace and courage as to a doctor for cauterisation and surgery,
pursuing what is good and admirable without taking any account of the pain' (480c),
one should prefer, therefore, the improvement of the soul over the bodily pain. D) 'He
should be his own chief accuser, and the accuser of other members of his family, and
use his oratory for the purpose of getting rid of the worst thing there is, injustice, as the
unjust acts are being exposed' (480d). Along with punishment, one should use oratory
as an educational tool towards the main goal, the improvement of one's soul. Socrates'
reference to oratory here seems to be a paradox since his earlier claim that rhetoric is
VA point similar to that is made in Laws book )CI, 934b. 31
part of flattery (462e). This might suggest that he could not mean the passage seriously.
But an alternative view is possible. The passage may be seen as looking forward to
503a ff. where Socrates begins to talk about the genuine orator who seeks the good of
the people. Similarly, in this passage, he may, as Rutherford puts it, be tying to
redefine rhetoric so that it resembles dialectic. In an ideal world, the philosophic orator
would ensure the proper workings of justice and made certain that he and all he cared
for received the treatment they needed even if it must be painful and unpleasant22. Such
an analysis of the way Plato uses the paradox could be ftu-ther supported by the cave
image in the Republic. In particular, when Plato refers to man's descent from the sun to
the cave, he argues that this is done so that he can 'spread happiness throughout the city
by bringing the citizens into harmony with each other through persuasion [my italics]'
(519e). Here Plato talks about the philosopher's difficult task of persuading everyone
to study the good. Thus, for Plato the true orator uses his power of persuasion to lead
men to the good and so to happiness. This seems to be effective, though, only in an
ideal city.
There are, then, a number of points in the discussion between Socrates and Polus that
imply interrelation between soul and body. The discussion indicates that the good of
the soul is more valuable than that of the body. Emphasis is also placed on the notion
that the soul should govern the body. Moreover, Plato's parallel between justice for the
soul and health for the body suggests that one could refer to both as being 'healthy' or
'unhealthy'. In making these points Plato not only shows a parallelism between soul
and body, but also indicates that there is an essential interaction between the two. This
becomes apparent if one brought forward the following points: firstly, Plato argues that
if the soul failed to properly govern the body, the body will become diseased.
22Rutherford, p. 156.32
Secondly, he holds that indulgence of the body may lead to disease in the soul. In other
words, both body and soul will be damaged if the body becomes dominant. Thirdly, he
introduces the notion that punishment - imposed either by oneself or by an outside
authority - may restore the soul to health; a punishment which in the first instance
affects the body, may improve the SOU123.
Through the health analogy, then, Plato shows that since the soul could be in an
unhealthy state, there must be ways to restore it. One effective way to bring health back
to soul is punishment, either corporal or by imposing penalties. The healthy state of
soul, then, is achieved by bringing order back to the soul. In other words, the argument
for the role of punislunent seems to be as follows:
PI The healthy state of the soul is justice.
P2 Justice is a kind of order; if someone is just and virtuous, there is an order in him, he
is happy.
P3 The unhealthy state of soul is injustice.
P4 If someone is unjust, the order within him is disrupted.
P5 Education and punishment's role is to restore order in the soul.
//C Therefore, the soul's return to its healthy state is achievable through education and
punishment.
"A detailed analysis of how soul and body interact will be developed in the Timaeus. What is of importance here is that the Gorgias can be portrayed as the first dialogue that such issues pointing toward an interrelation become apparent.
33
Socrates and CaUicles
Harmony/Order within Oneself
When Callicles questions whether Socrates is serious in the claims he is making,
Socrates begins his reply by comparing his own love for Alcibiades and philosophy
with Callicles' love for the people (demos) and Demos the son of Pyrilampes (481d).
This dichotomy of love does not create problems for Socrates because his love for
philosophy is above all. It does, though, create difficulties for Callicles because he does
not stay firm in his beliefs but changes his views according to what the objects of his
love want to hear (48ld-e). Socrates concludes his point by saying that: '... it is better
to have my lyre or a chorus that I might lead out of tune and dissonant, and have the
vast majority of men disagree with me and contradict me, than to be out of harmony
with myself, to contradict myself, though I'm only one person' (482b-c). This shows
that Socrates values philosophy because only through philosophy does he achieve
harmony within himself4 . Here Socrates lays the traces for a theory that will be
25 developed by Plato
Callicles, however, presents quite a different ideal, that of the strong man whom he
eventually describes as follows: 'by the ones that are the superior I do not mean
cobblers or cooks, but those who are intelligent about the affairs of the city... And not
only intelligent, but also brave, competent to accomplish whatever they have in mind,
"'The idea of harmony as order within oneself obviously alludes to the Pythagoreans, and is further developed in the Gorgias 507e-508a. The relation of excellence, happiness and the love of philosophy are also discussed in the Symposium. '5 Ilie development of Plato's notion of happiness becomes apparent in the Symposium as well as in the Republic, and it will be analysed accordingly. For the points that Gorgias lacks see further Charles Kahn, Plato and the Socratic Dialogue, Cambridge University Press, 1996, esp. pp. 144-145, including n. 24.
34
without slackening off because of softness of spirit' (491b). Callicles claims that these
'Should be the ones who rule their cities, and what is just, is that they, as the rulers,
should have greater share than the others, the ruled' (491c-d). Socrates changes the
direction of the conversation by asking whether the strong persons admired by Callicles
will exercise self-control or not. By self-control Socrates refers to 'Being self-
controlled and master oneself, ruling the pleasures and appetites within oneself (49ld-
e). Although Plato does not yet provide us with a clear explanation of which part of
man these pleasures refer to, there is a definite suggestion that he has in mind relations
of conflict and control between soul and body. This is so because the pleasures and
appetites must surely be closely related to the body.
Callicles' objection is that a man could not prove to be happy if he is enslaved to
anyone, and the man who lives correctly is the one that allows his own appetites to
grow and not be restrained (49le492a). What Socrates cleverly adds to Callicles' view
is that such a way of living is considered by Callicles to be 'excellence' or 'virtue'
(492e). Socrates wants to distinguish between what Callicles would accept as
excellence, and his own conception of moral excellence.
Socrates, then, refers to the religious idea that life is death and to the myth of the jars.
In Plato's own words, there is a view that: 'we are now dead and our bodies are our
tombs, the part of our souls in which our appetites reside is actually the sort of thing to'
%W- be open to persuasion and to shift back and forth, 'fi&l Ydp TOU EwycayE Kal 71KOUCa TCaV
Co#3V 65 OV ýPiIS TeveaPEV* Kal T6 Piv ac3pa iCrTIV 111Rv ofilia, -rfis 6E EV qluXfiS TOGTO
ca ai Emeuptat Elm' TuyXavEi 6v olov dvanvieEc6al K(X'1 PETaTrITrTEiv aVCa KaTCa9 (493a). L
The imagery of the body as a tomb seems to imply that it acts as a restraining power on
the soul. The same picture seems to be drawn in the Cratylus and the Phaedo. In
35
Cratylus 400c Socrates attributes to some people the idea of the body being the tomb of
the soul, or as a sign because the soul signifies whatever it wants by means of the body.
But he then seems to prefer another explanation of the naming of the body. According
to the Orphic tradition, the body is treated as the prison of the soul since it is being
punished for something. In the Phaedo Plato presents us with an image of the body as
the prison of the soul; the soul is being 'imprisoned in and clinging to the body...
forced to examine other things through it as though a cage and not by itself (82e), but
the purpose of this quotation is to show that the soul is tied up with the body and that at
most it examines things outside itself; it is involved with desireS26 . Another reference
to the idea that while we are in the hmnan fbým our souls are dead is attributed by
27 Sextus Empiricus to Heraclitus . Within the Gorgias context, though, no further
discussion is made concerning the body as tomb of the soul image. Since it is
mentioned only briefly in the Gorgias, it may be no more than a metaphor. But if it
were taken seriously, it would suggest a distinctive view of soul and body. The body as
a tomb image would suggest that embodiment is not essential to the soul; it does not
affect its functioning and does not change its nature. Neither is it essential to the body
that it is animated. We have thus a view'of the soul and body as separate in that neither
is really essential to the other. We shall find other passages in Plato which on the
surface at best appear to support this extreme dualism, 28, though, there are of course
many passages which suggest different views. Thus, we are left to consider is whether
Plato arTived at a consistent view on these points.
The idea, now, that the soul contains an element that is like a jar and is open to
persuasion, is one passage that suggests a quite different view to the extreme dualistic
26 A detailed analysis of this image is made in the Phaedo chapter. 27 See further Dodds, 1959, on 492elO-I I and 493a 2-3. 28 For instance the affinity argument in the Phaedo.
36
position implied by the body as the tomb image. Within the image of the jars, the
important contrast is between a better and a worse element within the soul. It thus hints
at the Platonic parts of the soul developed as a theory later on in the Republic. This
image is introduced in order to persuade us to choose the orderly life over the disorderly
one; Socrates wants to persuade Callicles to '... concede that the orderly life is better
than the undisciplined one' (494a). According to the myth, the part where the appetites I
reside is presented as a jar [pithos], on account on its' being persuadable (493a).
Similarly, the fools, the uninitiated 29, are like people whose jars are leaking (493b) and
the most miserable ones are those that are trying to carry water into the leaking jar using
another leaky thing, a sieve that symbolises the disordered soul. This image is also
difficult to interpret. At a superficial level it may seem clear enough. Those who lack
self-control are constantly trying to satisfy their desires. But this attempt is doomed to
frustration because the desires, like leaking jars that can never be filled, can never be
satisfied. But the detail of this image poses more problems. The sieve, with which the
most deprived characters try to fill their jars, is said to represent the soul. The point of
the comparison with the sieve is that the souls of these people are unable to hold
anything because of their unbelief and forgetfulness: '61 amaTiaV TE Kall meTiv, (493c). 'So, these people's misery seems to stem not only from their unsatisfied desires, but also
from their lack of knowledge. In 493b the desires that are represented as jars are said to
be part of the soul, but almost immediately the sieve is identified with the soul. As Ivan
M. Linforth argues, Plato here likens the sieve to the whole soul, but if he were
following the fully developed doctrine of the parts of the soul as it appears in the
Republic and the Timaeus, he would have likened the sieve to the rational part of the
29The reference to the uninitiated again shows Plato's knowledge and influence by Orphic and Pythagorean doctrines.
37
SOU130. In that manner, a leaky sieve would be the rational part of a disorderly soul. If,
then, the rational part is not in its proper state itself, is not guided by one goal - that of
moral excellence and happiness - its relation to the appetitive part would be affected - it
would be easily persuaded by the appetites; it would 'shift back and forth'. As a result,
the soul as a whole would be disorderly. Such an argument, though, in order to be
complete, requires a detailed analysis of the soul's nature, which is to be provided only
later in the Republic. Hence, within the image of the jars and the sieve, Plato seems as
if he is trying to distinguish between two views. According to the first, the appetites are
part of the soul, while there is a separate part that is the location of knowledge and
belief. According to the second view, the appetites are distinct from the soul,
presumably because they belong to the body. Thus, it is not yet clear whether the
appetites are seen as part of the soul or as external to it. However we take the image,
though, it clearly represents a quite different way of thinking about the nature of the
soul to that implied by the tomb image. The desires, presumably, come at least in part
from the body. So the jars image suggests a complex interaction between soul and
body, one which affects the nature of both.
Plato uses the above image in a further attempt to persuade Callicles to choose the
orderly life, 'the life that is adequate to and satisfied with its circumstances at any given
time instead of the insatiable, undisciplined life' (493c-d). For this purpose Plato uses
another example that involves the jars imagery, that of two men, each of who has many
jars. The first man is satisfied when his jars are full, while the other one needs to keep
on filling his jars continuously because they are leaky and rotten, and thus he suffers
extreme pain (493d-494a). The point is that happiness comes through self-control
30IVan M. Linforfth, 'SouI and Sieve In Plato's Gorgias', University of California Publications In Classical Philology 12 (1944) p. 302.
38
rather than through being undisciplined. Still, even after Socrates' second example,
Callicles is not persuaded that the orderly life is better than the undisciplined one.
According to Callicles living pleasantly consists of 'having as much as possible flow in'
(494b). An important distinction for Socrates is that between what is pleasant and what
is good: 'The good is not just unrestricted enjoyment' (495b)31. In order to make this
distinction valid, Socrates claims that good and evil are opposites. We cannot therefore
have both at the same time (495e). So, he claims that: 'If we find things that a man
both gets rid of and keeps at the same time, it's clear that these things wouldn't be
what's good and what's bad' (496c). By using the instances of hunger and thirst, then,
Socrates makes Callicles admit that: 'every deficiency and appetite is painful' (496d).
But by arguing that drinking and eating are pleasant if one has the relevant appetite
(496d-e), Socrates concludes that: '... it turns out that good things are not the same as
painful ones, and bad things are not the same as painful ones. For pleasant and painful
things come to stop simultaneously, whereas good things and bad ones do not, because
they are in fact different things. How then could pleasant things be the same as good
ones and painfid things the same as bad onesT (497d). Thus, good things and pleasant
things are not the same.
Socrates' ultimate point is for Callicles to agree that all things are done for the sake of
what is good (499e)32 . The requirement that Plato introduces is that not everyone can
fmd out which of the pleasures are good and which are bad. This is the task of a
craftsman. By going back to the distinction between arts and knacks, showing the
practice of the good and the practice of the pleasant respectively, Socrates stresses once
"Plato's insistence on choosing what is good instead of what is pleasant was pointed out earlier in relation to the issue of happiness. See the analysis of 470e473e and 475a-C. 32From this point onwards Callicles is no longer an effective contributor to the dialogue.
39
more the significance of giving an account instead of acting irrationally. Socrates, asks
Callicles whether: '... it is for every man to pick out which kinds of pleasures are good'
ones and which are bad ones, or does this require a craftsman in each case' (500a). By
summarising the main points of the argument, which concern the differences between
arts and knack, Socrates shows Callicles that, considering the soul, the gratification of
pleasures is 'a kind of flattery... in which a person may wait upon a pleasure without
any consideration of what is better or worse' (5 01 c).
The argument then continues with Socrates clarifying his point by arguing that: 'a man
should satisfy those of his appetites that, when they are filled up, make him better, and
not those that make him worse, and that this is a matter of craft... " (503c-d)33 . The
important addition to this is that: Me man who speaks with regaid to what's best says
whatever he says not randomly but with a view to something' (503 d-e). This
'something' is nothing else but order and organisation. Having shown that being
orderly is actually good for objects as well as for bodies, Socrates asks Callicles: 'What
about the soul? Will it be a good one if it gets to be disorganised, or if it gets to have
certain organisation and orderT (504b). The name that is given to what comes into
being in the body as a result of organisation and order is 'lawful' and 'law'. Thus Plato
returns to the crucial issue ofjustice and self-control within the soul. We should notice
here that Plato's treatment of the soul, as having the capacity to be orderly or not,
implies that the soul itself is complex. If we are to talk about something being
disorganised or on the other hand, self-controlled, there must be at least two elements
within it so as to cause these dynamics. According to the Republic IV 443 c-e and IX
3'7be idea that man should satisfy those appetites that make him better is developed in the Republic IX 571b, and it will be discussed accordingly.
40
586d-e, self-control, is shown when the lower elements of the soul follow reason; such
an arrangement within the soul is seen as orderly and therefore as good.
In the Gorgias, now, Socrates states that: 'as long as it's [the soul] corrupt, in that is
foolish, undisciplined, unjust, and impious, it should be kept away from its appetites
and not be permitted to do anything other than what it will make it better' (505b).
Socrates here seems to assume that when someone is wicked, he is so in all respects.
We should note here the suggestion that in order for the soul to be disciplined, its
appetites should be restrained: 'Now isn't keeping it away from what it has an appetite
for, disciplining iff (5O5b9). This indicates that either the appetites are restrained from
within the person himself, by the reasonable part of the soul, or by the 'craftsman' who
is able to distinguish what is good from what is bad. If one accepts that Plato has in
mind the first alternative, then one should once more accept the existence of a double
complexity within the SOU134 ,a complexity that will give prevalence of the reasonable
element over the appetitive element. If however the second alternative applies, the
connection between an undisciplined person and the 'craftsman', the expert is stressed.
The suggestion then is that only those who are brought up under the guidance and
governance of the wise can hope to be virtuous. An issueworth mentioning is that
Plato seems not to have clarified whether a) each and every person is competent to
direct himself, b) this is always the task of an expert, or c) whether virtue comes about
through the co-operation of the individual and the expert.
Socrates' argument with Callicles somehow restates and reinforces most of the points
made in the argument with Polus, but it also suggests some important new themes. The
3'Even if there are only appetites within the soul, the soul has a certain complexity. By supposing that, in addition, a source of order is needed within the soul, an extra layer of complexity is added.
41
main idea presented in Socrates' argument with Callicles is that the good of the soul
consists of virtue, an element that must be sharply distinguished from pleasure.
Pleasures are presented as bodily repletions with no real value because bodily desires
cannot ever be satisfied. What is crucial, though, is that in developing these ideas,
Socrates also seems to attribute the desires to a part of the soul. This implies that the
soul is complex, but it also raises questions about how these desires relate to the body.
To make matters more complicated, Socrates introduces the idea of the body as a tomb
for the soul, an idea that seems to imply that soul and body are totally separate entities
that are accidentally coexistent. At the saine time though, Socrates refers to the myth of
jars, which explicitly points toward the idea that the soul is complex and that since the
desires are partly bodily, soul and body interact.
Continuing, Socrates presents the argument as a whole: a) He distinguishes the pleasant
from the good once again: 'Is the pleasant the same as the good? - It isn't as Callicles
and I have agreed' (506c). b) He stresses the necessity for order: 'But the best way in
which the excellence of each thing comes to be present in it... is due to whatever
organisation, correctness, and craftsmanship is bestowed on each of them' (506d-e). c)
Finally he shows that a self-controlled soul is orderly and therefore good: '... an orderly
soul is a self-controlled one? ... So a self-controlled soul is a good one' (507a).
Socrates thus states, once more, that: 'if the self-controlled soul is a good one, then a
soul that is been affected the opposite way of the self-controlled one is a bad one. And
this ... is the foolish and undisciplined one' (507a). In what follows, Socrates lists the
things that one would necessarily possess if one is self-controlled: one would be just,
pious, brave, and completely good, blessed, and happy (507b-c). From the above it is
42
easy for Socrates to conclude that: 'A person who wants to be happy, must evidently
pursue and practice self-control' (507c).
In order to strengthen his argument, Socrates brings about the authority of 'wise men'
who claim that there is an overall world-order: '... wise men claim that partnership and
friendship, orderliness, self-control, and justice hold together heaven and earth, and
gods and men, and that is why they call this universe a world order ... and not a world-
disorder' (507e-508a). Although little is made of this point in the context, it seems to
be the first passage that mentions an idea that will become crucial in Plato's later
works; that is the idea that the order of the just soul reflects the order of the universe at
large 35 . Evidently, Plato's idea that there is an order common to, shared by the universe
and the soul seems to derive from earlier cosmologies. The Pythagoreans talked about
the existence of harmony in the world and in the human soul, Heraclitus talked about
order that comes from opposites, and Empedocles talked about the bonds of the world
due to love. What is important about Plato's theory is that he parallels the order of the
universe to that of the complex soul. He thus emphasises that there should be order in
the soul like that existing in the world. In order for the soul to be orderly, as he has
already stated, the soul should be self-controlled. The self-controlled soul is good
(506e-507a), and if one is self-controlled, he will be happy (507c).
From 508b until 513d Socrates repeats both that one should be just if he is to* be 'an
orator in the right way' (508c), as well as his previous argument that doing injustice is
worse than suffering it. He concludes his point on politics by arguing that the older
politicians were no better than the new ones, and that what they did was that: 'they
"T'he notion of world order and its relation to order displayed within the human beings will be further discussed in the Timaeus chapter.
43
proved to be better servants than the men of today, and more capable than they of
satisfying the city's appetites' (517b).
Socrates, then, continues by repeating the 'twofold activity related to both body and
SOU1936: '... and that one of these is menial and by it can be provided food, if our bodies
are hungry; drink, if our bodies are thirsty; and if they are cold, clothing, bedding,
shoes, or anything else that our bodies come to desire' (517d). What Socrates stresses,
here, is the superiority of gymnastics and medicine over other arts, because: '... Of its
knowledge of what food or drink is good or bad for bodily excellence, a knowledge
which all the others lack' (517e). Applying the same concept now to the soul, Socrates
searches for 'justice and self-control' (5 19a).
Socrates then returns to the issue ofjustice and in particular to the question why it pays
to be just. At 522e he states, as in the Apology, that: 'for no one who isn't totally bereft
of reason and courage, is afraid to die; doing what's unjust is what he's afraid of. For
to arrive to Hades with one's soul stuffed full of unjust actions is the ultimate of all bad
things'. He thus introduces the myth of judgement after death as a paradigm for this
notion.
The Gorgias is the first dialogue that ends with an eschatological myth of judgement;
two more dialogues conclude in the same manner; the Phaedo and the Republic4'. The
main framework is the judgement of souls after death. Although it is very difficult to
decide how much of the myth Plato wants his readers to take literally, it seems safe to
3'For 517d I am using the W. D. Woodhead's translation of Gorgias in E. Hamilton (ed), ne Collected Dialogues OfPlato, 1996. 371t should be noted that the myth in the Phaedrus is often treated as offering a fourth eschatological myth. It is not discussed here, though, because it is not a myth of judgement and it is not placed at the end of the dialogue.
44
argue that the myth is drawing an ideal picture of reward or payment and retribution
according to the way one lived one's life. Since Plato wants to show how men should
live their lives, by choosing the just, orderly life instead of the unjust one, he takes the
myth as being literally true and presents it as ffirther evidence to his argument. The
obvious objection that one could raise at this point is that to treat the myth, as being
literally true, is only one of the interpretations possible for the myth. Two more
interpretations would be to treat the myth as a tool of persuasion, or to consider it as an
analogy.
According to the literal truth view, Plato believes the main features of the mythical
story; namely, that our souls are judged and punished after death. The myth thus
provides an additional reason for following the life of virtue. The obvious objection to
that is that Plato actually provides no reason for believing the myth; it cannot provide
any rational support for Plato's moral and metaphysical views. Of course if Plato's
audience already believed in such a myth, referring to it would give them a reason for
following the life of virtue. But, it is clear that belief in a life after death in which the
wicked are punished and -the good rewarded was far from universal in Plato's day.
Those who did not hold such a belief would not be impressed by Plato's myth, while
those who did believe it would need little reminding of it. A possible response to this is
that there are rational grounds for believing in rewards and punishments after death
although he does not make these grounds very clear in the Gorgias. In Laws X 887-
907, for instance, he argues that the order of the universe shows that it is under the
control of a divine mind which does care about human affairs. We may therefore be
sure that ultimately the good will prosper and the bad will suffer. In the Gorgias 507e-
508a Socrates links his moral beliefs to the claim that the universe is an orderly whole
45
under the direction of divine wisdom. He might well take that to imply that there must
be rewards and punishment after death.
The second interpretation to consider is that the myth is a device designed to win over
people to the life of virtue, rather than to imply literal truth. It would thus be a device
used by the genuine omtor, who seeks the good of his subjects, even though it might
even be false in a literal sense. Rutherford seems to adopt this view. He argues that
'here we see, perhaps, a kind of pure rhetoric, a persuasive use of myth in the service of
philosophy, but it is neither conclusive nor argumentative'38 .
The third interpretation of the myth, is that of taking it as a different way to
philosophical argument of conveying the same truth. For instance, according to
Penelope Murray 'dialectic and myth can be viewed as different modes of explanation
for Plato, without the one being superior to the other, and neither mode being self-
sufficient 939 . Christopher Rowe, now, takes the above point further. He argues that to
the extent that Plato envisages the use of mythoi as an alternative to rational argument,
in order to inculcate beliefs and attitudes in the non-philosophical, there is also a clear
sense in which the contrast between mythical and non-mythical corresponds to that
between rational and irrational. His point, thus, is not that the mythical is simply
defmed by irrationality, but rather that: 'story-telling, by virtue of the simplicity and
directness of its appeal, may be used as a means of control in the context of people for
whom other means are inappropriate by virtue of their own inadequate degree of
rationality 40 . But it is difficult to see what this claim of two ways of conveying the
"Rutherford, P. 175. '! Penelope Murray, 'What is a Mythos for PlatoT, in Richard Buxton (ed), From Myth to Reason? Oxford Univ. Press, 1999, p. 261. 4OChristopher Rowe, 'Myth, 11istory, and Dialectic in Plato's Republic and Tirnaeus-Critias', in Buxton, 1999, p. 278.
46
truth really amounts to. It is not obvious how two accounts whose literal meaning
seems to be different convey the same truth. Of course, one could use an analogy or a
metaphor to illustrate a point, as Plato often doeS419 but the myth of the Gorgias does
not seem to be a mere analogy or metaphor. Both the philosophical account and the
myth imply that it is in our interest to be just, but if the myth is merely a way of
emphasising this point, it is really just a rhetorical device.
The way in which we interpret the myth has a bearing on our interpretation of the soul-
body relation. If the literal meaning is true, the soul is a separate entity, capable of
independent existence, although it does seem to be affected by its involvement with the
body. If, on the other hand, the myth is simply a rhetorical device, or if it is a means of
conveying the same truths that are conveyed in the philosophical arguments, then it can
add nothing to the account of soul and body contained in the dialogue. The soul is
important but that does not necessarily imply that it is capable of independent existence.
would like to argue though that the fact that the Gorgias myth is not the only reference
to life after death and to the souls being rewarded or being punished, seems to imply
that it contains some literal truth.
The Gorgias' myth then, bears some common elements to the myths of the Phaedo and
of the Republic42, but it also has characteristic differences. The similarities among the
three myths can be identified as being the following: a) all three myths are placed at the
end of the dialogues. b) All three myths refer to the souls' survival after death. c) All
three emphasise that souls are influenced during their embodied lives, and thus that it is
important to live a just life rather than an unjust one, and d) all three treat the souls as
41 For example see the complex beat image in Republic IX. 42 Both the Phaedo's and the Republic's myths will be discussed in detail in the respective chapters of this thesis.
47
being liable to judgement, including the idea of being rewarded or punished. On the
other hand, there are a number of differences that are indicative for each dialogue. For
example, the Gorgias makes no reference to the issue of reincarnation, which is
essential for both the Phaedo and for the Republic. Another point of contrast between
the Gorgias and the Republic is that within the elaborate description of the Republic's
myth, the issue of personal choice is developed; an issue not mentioned in the Gorgias.
Hence, it seems to me, that Plato's insistence on the soul's survival as a moral agent,
which implies the possibility of the soul's change, is not a point that he accidentally
repeats, but is a point that bears significant implications for his theory. Thus I would
have to disagree with Fritz Craf s view that in Plato's four eschatological myths it is
impossible to discern a set of shared features, or that these myths cannot be combined to
produce a larger picture 43 . Craf accepts that these myths exhibit thematic affmities, but
argues that each of them stands alone: myth cannot capture the truth, only hover about
it". Taking into account their similarities I would like to argue that the three myths
could be combined to form a larger picture, if not every detail is taken into account.
Like his philosophical arguments, Plato's myths develop so as to give to his audience
and to us readers a complete view of Plato's belief in life after death.
Returning to the Gorgias' myth, then, Socrates describes two different places for those
who die. Those who lived ajust and pious life go to the Isle of the Blessed, while those
who lived -in an unjust and godless way go to the prison of payment and retribution;
Tartarus. During Cronus' and Zeus' time men faced living judges while they were still
alive, but their cases were badly decided because they were judged when fully clothed.
Thus, Zeus decided that everyone must be judged when they are stripped naked of all
11 Fritz Craf, Greek Mythology, John Hopkins University Press, 1993, p. 188. 44 Craf, p. 188.
48
these things for they should be judged when they are dead. The judge should also be
naked and dead. So that, only with his soul he should study the soul of each person
immediately upon his death, when he is isolated from all his kinsmen and has left
behind on earth all that adornment, so that the judgement may truly be a just one. If we
compare this myth with the view of afterlife presented in the Apology, the one thing
that strikes as obvious is that in the Apology Socrates did not want to confme himself in
any particular view concerning the souls' survival after death. In the Gorgias, on the
other hand, it seems that only a view of afterlife that directly results from the embodied
life is at issue. The souls' condition after death depends on the moral aspects of one's
life during embodiment. This is the view that Plato wants to stress when he refers to
death.
Death
Having introduced the myth and presented it as true, Socrates surnmarises what death 45
is: 'Death ... is nothing but the separation of two things from each other, the soul and
the body. So, after they're separated, each of them stays in a condition not much worse
than the one they were in when the person was alive. The body retains its nature and
the care it had received as well as the things that have happened to it, are all evident. ...
All that's in the soul is evident after it has been stripped naked of the body, both things
that are natural to it and things that happened to it, things that the person came to have
in his soul as a result of his pursuit of each objective' (524b-d). Plato's treatment of
death, here, as the separation of two things, is important since it implies that within the
"51t should be emphasised here that this is a very specific definition of death that does not include the vagueness of the Apology's attempt to define death. In the Apology, since Plato shows what Socrates must have thought, Plato does not want to be specific about what death is. Here, on the other hand, since he wants to place emphasis on the moral, good, happy life, his remarks are rather conclusive.
49
human fi-ame two things are involved; for the soul to survive death, it ought to be
ontologically separate from the body. At the same time, though, the soul is treated as
the bearer of one's moral character. This in turn implies that the soul's relation to the
body cannot be that of an accidental coexistence; in order to be influenced by the body,
the embodied soul must be linked to the body. What I would like to stress here is that
Plato's reference to the survival of the soul after death is the first instance of several
ones to follow in his dialogues. This raises the same kind of issue that we saw when
comparing the image of the tomb and of the jars. The fact that Plato indicates not only
that the soul is something separate from the body, but also that it needs to be in an
interrelation to it, requires an effort to show that these two Platonic points do not
necessarily negate one another. I will later argue that the tension can be solved, if one
keeps in mind the tripartite notion of the soul particularly as it is developed in the
Timaeus.
The point that the soul is the bearer of one's character is implicit in Plato's account of
punishment after death. Socrates brings back the issue of punishment with a very
important addition, the distinction between the curable and the incurable. He points out
that 'those who are benefited, who are made to pay their due by gods and men, are the
ones whose errors are curable; even so their benefit comes to them, both here and in
Hades, by way of pain and suffering, for there is no other possible way to get rid of
injustice' (525b). Plato seems to treat the issue of punishment as the means for one's
correction either in this life or after death. This is important for one's understanding of
what Plato thinks a person consists of. The fact that punishment can benefit the soul
both in life and after death shows that Plato treats the soul as the essence of
spersonality'.
50
The dialogue concludes with Socrates' statement that: 'I think about how I'll reveal to
the judge a soul that's as healthy as it can be ... by practising truth, I really try ... to be
and to live as a good man, and when I die, to die like that' (526d-e). Thus, Socrates
stresses which way of living is best: to practice justice and the rest of excellence
both in life and in death' (527e).
Tbus, although the Gorgias could be seen as not bringing forward a specific view of
soul-body relation, my attempt was to show that three main issues indicate and require a
particular interrelation between soul and body, namely a) Plato presents punishment as
beneficial for men. He holds that through punishment of the body, the soul benefits.
Like the idea that soul should govern the body (465c-d), such a notion cannot stand
without the notion that soul and body are not simply in parallel states but affect each
other. Ultimately, soul and body are not accidentally coexisting; the order, the health of
the one affects the order, the health of the other. b) His use of the image of the leaking
jars, now, is so ambiguous that does not allow us to talk about a complete division of
the soul's elements and the bodily elements. Plato explicitly refers to appetites as being
located to the part of the soul characterised as undisciplined, which indicates that there
should be at least another part jhat will not be characterised as undisciplined, and again
it seems obvious that the appetites reside in the body. The only possible interpretation
of this passage could be that it indicates a kind of interaction between the complex soul
and the body. c) Finally, when Plato refers to the soul's surviving death and having a
particular character that is partly innate and partly due to the previous embodiment, the
obvious inference would have to be that soul and body, while in the human form, do
interact. This is fiulher stressed if one bore in mind that Plato describes the punishment
of the soul after death in physical terms.
51
Meno
The Meno is often considered as one of the later dialogues of Plato's early period. For
example, W. K. C. Guthrie says that the Meno serves to introduce Plato's own thought,
and even identifies the point where we can see the transition [from Socrates to Plato]
taking place [in 81 a]'. Vlastos sees the mathematical interests apparent in the Meno as
demonstrating that here 'we see Plato well started on the course that will take him to the
other extreme from the convictions he had shared with Socrates in the elenchus
,2 dialogues . Similarly, R. W. Sharples' view is that Meno marks a transitional stage
between the early dialogues and the middle ones, and it can, therefore, provide an
insight into some of Plato's thoughts that led to the views of the middle period 3. In
particular, the knowledge-as-recollection. theory, which plays an important part in the
dialogues of Plato's middle period, is carefully explained and demonstrated as if Plato
4 were introducing his readers to it for the first time
want to follow these authors and suggest that the appearance of the recollection
argument - with the implied theory of Forms - as well as the belief vs. knowledge issue
are the two points that indicate a shift from the exposition and elaboration of the
Socratic ethical beliefs to Plato's metaphysics and epistemology.
However, my interest in this dialogue is based not so much on the epistemological
points, but rather on the effect that the issue of true belief vs. knowledge has on Plato's
1W. K. C. Guthrie, Plato: Protagoras andMeno, Middlesex, 1986, p. 24. 'Gregory Vlastos, 'Elenchus and Mathernatics', in H. Benson (ed), Essays On The Philosophy Of Socrates, New York, Oxford University Press 1992, pp. 146-7. 3 Sharples, p. I 'See further Guthrie, 1986, pp. 17-18 5P. Woodruff writes that in the Meno the theory of learning as recollection, and the distinction between knowledge and true belief, are new; see 'Plato's Early Theory of Knowledge', in Benson, p. 102.
52
concept of the person. The second point of interest is the role of sense-experience in
the recollection process. These two notions will indicate ftuther problems in specifying
the precise relationship between soul and body. The Meno's account, which implies
firstly that the soul has existed prior to its present embodiment and secondly that
knowledge is not acquired through the senses but is recollected, may seem to imply that
there is a minimal interconnection between the soul and the body. The soul seems not
to depend on the body for its existence, and its central activity does not seem to require
a body. What I would like to argue, though, is that, although on a superficial reading
soul and body can be seen as completely separate entities, such a reading would be
misleading. If we examine the text closely, we will see that the Meno's account of
knowledge gives a central role to the senses.
Virtue
The first question asked in the Meno is: 'Can virtue be taughtT (70a). Socrates answers
. that he is 'so far from knowing whether virtue can be taught or not that I do not even
have any knowledge of what virtue itself is' (71 a). The issue that arises from Socrates'
answer is crucial for Plato's philosophy. Socrates claims that he has no knowledge
about what virtue is. What he does not explicitly state though, is that he does have
beliefs about virtue. Although Socrates claims not to know anything about virtue, he
implicitly shows himself to have beliefs about it. The elenchus relies on such beliefs
and on the assumption that they must contain some truth, which can be brought out by
questioning.
Socrates asks Meno to tell him what is virtue. He says: 'But Meno, by the gods, what
do you yourself say that virtue is ... so that I may have spoken a most unfortunate untruth
53
when I said that I had never met anyone who knew, if you and Gorgias are shown to
know' (71d). Thus, although Socrates indeed disclaims knowledge, at the same time,
he does not deny that Meno may be able to tell him what he thinks virtue is. In other
words, Socrates says that one cannot know anything about virtue if one does not know
what it is, but evidently he has some beliefs about virtue. In the course of the elenchus,
it emerges for example that Socrates and Meno, share the belief that, men, women and
children can all be virtuous (72e-73a), and that the virtuous are temperate and just
(73b). Thus, Socrates must hold that beliefs about virtue are enough to enable one to
speak about it.
If both Socrates and Meno have beliefs about virtue we would expect at least some of
those beliefs to be true. Moreover, a set of beliefs that was largely false would not help
in talking about virtue or anything else. Socrates evidently assumes most of one's
beliefs about virtue to be true. So, although Socrates claims that there cannot be
knowledge without a definition, this does not contradict the assumption that some
beliefs may be reliable. Rather, one needs this assumption in order to be involved in the
elenchus.
Socrates hopes to move from beliefs about instances of virtue to a definition of virtue.
This can be seen a little later where Socrates asks Meno to give him, not instances of
virtue, but that form which makes all cases of virtues what they are (72c). What
Socrates wants to distinguish here is the difference between instances of virtue and that
common factor that makes all the particulars what they are; he is looking for 'one
54
description to fit them all' (73d)6. The important point, then, about the early pages of
the Meno is that although Socrates does not claim to have knowledge, he has beliefs.
This is Plato's answer to the paradox, which Meno introduces at 80e, that we either
have knowledge of something or we can not say anything about it: 'a man cannot search
either for what he knows or for what he does not know? He cannot search for what he
knows - since he knows it, there is no need to search - nor for what he does not know,
for he does not know what to look for'. The recollection argument that follows, then,
acts as an example in, determining the nature of Plato's view of the knowledge - belief
relation. Moreover, I shall argue that the fact that Plato sees the relation of knowledge
and belief in this way has an important bearing on the relation between soul and body.
The recollection argument
Socrates disagrees with Meno in that he believes that he can look for something if he
does not know what it is. Plato supports this view by introducing two main ideas: the
inimortality of the soul, and the notion of recollection; his account of the soul and his
epistemology are thus interconnected. Socrates could have answered Meno by saying
that, although he does not know what he is looking for, he has beliefs about it. But as it
stands such a claim would not be adequate because not all beliefs are related to
knowledge, they do not all lead to knowledge. What Plato seems to hold, though, is
that some beliefs are related to knowledge by the fact that both these beliefs and
knowledge derive from the soul. In order to make such a claim; he needs to introduce
the idea of the soul's immortality and the recollection theory. He introduces the former
6As Kahn says (1992, p. 42), Plato uses here phrases like "the same of all cases"- which hint at the theory of Forms - but he does not clarify the ontological status of these forms. As we will see later on, Plato's commitment to the theory of Forms occurs in the Phaedo.
55
by referring to the sayings of priests and priestesses. He claims: Mie soul is immortal,
has been bom often and has seen all things here and in the underworld, there is nothing
which it has not learned, so it is in no way surprising that it can recollect the things it
knew before, both about virtue and other things' (8 1 c-d). Plato obviously influenced by
previous theories - probably Pythagorean - of soul's transmigration and reincarnation,
presents a picture according to which the soul not only survives death, but also carries
with it knowledge acquired before. If such a picture is correct, the suggestion is that
when man forms a true belief about something, he is in fact recollecting it. The
validity, therefore, of a belief is based on whether it is recollected or not; and this is
tested through fin-ther questioning. Thus, Plato introduces the slave-boy example to
show Meno how the boy does not learn but recollects (8 1 e). Another important point is
that Plato's account of knowledge through recollection implies a process with several 7
stages between sheer ignorance and knowledge . It thus contrasts with the underlying
assumption of Meno's dilemma that complete knowledge and complete ignorance are
the only alternatives.
To explain his view of recollection Socrates asks a slave-boy how to construct a square
with double the area of a square with its sides being two feet long and an area of four
square feet. It is notable here that recollection is seen as a process; Plato recognises
stages within the recollection: The first stage is the slave-boy's wrong conviction that
the double square will have a double side: 'Obviously Socrates it will be twice the
length' (82e). The second stige is reached when the slave-boy is shown that his answer
was wrong, and he is reduced to ignorance: 'by Zeus, Socrates, I do not know' (84a).
The third stage of the recollection is where the slave-boy, by responding to Socrates'
7Guthrie, 1986, p. 112
56
questions, reaches the true belief that: 'the double figure would be that based on the
diagonal' (85b).
Thus, Socrates proves to Meno that although the slave-boy did not know the correct
answer, he managed to reach the correct opinion without being told the answer by
Socrates or anyone else: 'so these opinions were in him' (85c). But, there is still
another stage if the slave-boy is to reach knowledge; as Socrates says: 'If he [the slave]
were repeatedly asked these same questions ... in the end his knowledge about these
things would be as accurate as anyone's' (85d). In other words, it seems that repeated
questioning is both necessary and sufficient to move one from belief to Knowledge.
These are then the different stages of recollection that enable Plato to deny Meno's
paradox.
The recollection theory in Meno is presented to provide an answer to the question how
does one know about something. Socrates' discussion with the slave-boy provides an
example of how one can reach knowledge. For the purposes of this thesis, it is
important to consider the question whether sense perception should be considered a
necessary condition for recollection or not. Although this may seem a purely
epistemological point, for my purposes, its importance lies in the implications it has for
the body-soul relation.
Although Plato in the Meno is not primarily dealing with the body-soul relation, I shall
argue that the role of the senses in the recollection argument has important implications
for this issue. When Plato says that through the process of recollection we are all.
capable of reaching true beliefs, he implies that the process by which we reach true
beliefs starts with the senses. Tbis, in turn, implies that the soul is the seat both of
57
knowledge and of sense perception. One's soul is the element that enables one to form
beliefs about concepts - like virtue - or geometrical notions, because it is the soul that
'has seen all things here and in the underworld'. However, Plato seems to argue not
only that in this embodied life these beliefs are realised by starting off with the senses,
but also that the same beliefs are innate. It is this that gives them the potential to
become knowledge. In order to grasp, therefore, Plato's view of the particular relation
between soul and body, one must firstly understand his view of knowledge.
The recollection argument involves the following central claims: A) the soul exists prior
(and after) the body and thus acquires knowledge. This implies that the soul is
something separate from the body, capable of existing in an independent way. B) The
soul, while in this embodied state, is able to form beliefs, to recollect what it once
knew, the soul is in a way operating along with the body; the body is the recipient of
any sensory stimulus which the soul categorises through recollection. Q Thus, the
embodied soul is able to turn true beliefs into knowledge 'through fin-ffier questioning'.
if one considers these points carefully, one will come up with a very interesting
problem. When Plato refers to the soul as being able to acquire knowledge before birth,
he definitely has in mind that this knowledge does not come about by sense-experience.
On the other hand, Plato seems to refer to knowledge acquired before embodiment as
being recollected'in this life by the soul. The soul, though, does not straightforwardly
recollect knowledge; rather it first recollects beliefss that can be turned into knowledge
through further questioning. These beliefs, as the recollection example indicated, are
formed with the help of the senses, but the Socratic need for definition shows Plato's
' This might seem to suggest that the soul when disembodied is capable of beliefs not knowledge. This is not the case though. In fact, if my reading of the text is correct, Plato's point must be that although, the soul when disembodied has knowledge, in this life, due to the embodiment it first reaches beliefs that have been triggered off by the senses.
58
conviction that the senses cannot be the source of knowledge. The point seems to be
that judgements based on sense perception are fragmented; they can tell us about
particular instances of virtue but not about virtue as such. These two points might seem
contradictory, but the one does not necessarily negate the other. Plato can argue that the
senses are not sufficient for reaching true belief, but that in this embodied life they are
necessary. Plato's insistence on the fact that beliefs based on the senses are insufficient
for knowledge suggests that one should go beyond the senses. That claim, though, does
not suggest that one is able to completely dissociate oneself from the senses9.
If Socrates held that the senses are both necessary and sufficient for acquiring
knowledge, then he would not be able to avoid Meno's paradox. If the senses were
both necessary and sufficient for knowledge, then one would either know something or
not. But, the recollection argument refutes this. Plato manages to combine the role of
the senses with a theory of knowledge, which is not an empirical one. Although one
reaches knowledge through recollection, the beliefs that one uses as a basis to start
recollecting are realised through the senses. Because one is embodied, one needs to
start off one's awareness from this world of sense-experience.
Tbus, the distinction between belief and knowledge is not a sharp one, the same person
through the same process acquires belief and knowledge but at different stages of it;
through the. recollection process one first acquires true beliefs and then knowledge. It is
crucial, then, that in passing from true beliefs to knowledge, one is not moving to
something altogether different, rather one's true beliefs become knowledge through
I Thus, although Plato, as indicated in the Phaedo, wishes that men could disregard the senses in order to reach knowledge, this does not mean that he holds that sensual deprivation is achievable in this embodied life.
59
further questioning. In that manner, Plato combines his epistemology with his
metaphysics and his cosmology.
Another question that arises now in Meno is what sort of beliefs Plato had in mind as
being able to become knowledge through finther questioning. It is clear that for his
recollection theory Plato needs two kinds of beliefs. As D. Scott says, 'Plato breaks our
thoughts into two components; those that derive from perception, and those that derive
from the memories of the soul"O. At the same time one may hold a number of beliefs,
based on sense-perception, which are not and will never become knowledge for the
reason that they are not innate. Tbus, in this life one may have beliefs that are formed
purely through sense perception and beliefs that arise from the senses but which are in
fact recollected, and which it is possible to turn into knowledge. Iberefore, the
recollection process shows that although some of one's beliefs, true or false, are gained
through the senses, the beliefs that are of any philosophical value for Plato are those
that are proven to be true through recollection because through it these beliefs have the
possibility to become knowledge. What this implies then is the existence of something
that is able to acquire knowledge. If we read this in the light of the later dialogues, we
will take it to imply the existence of the Forms and of a soul able to reach to these
Forms. Hence, recollection of the Forms can prove something true, while questioning
helps one to recollect.
At this point it may be helpful to consider a passage near the end of the dialogue which
may, seem to suggest that perception alone can be enough for knowledge. At 97a
Socrates is facing a difficulty for the idea that virtue is knowledge. Great men seem to
"Dominic Scott, Recollection andExperience, Cambridge Univ. Press, 1995, p. 17.
60
have virtue but the fact that they cannot teach it suggests that what they have cannot be
knowledge. Socrates meets this point by claiming that if we wanted to go to Larissa
true belief would be as good a guide as knowledge. Similarly, great men may owe their
success to true belief. If we take this passage seriously, it would imply that there is
some knowledge that is based wholly on sense perception and does not require
recollection of a previous existence. This does not create difficulties for the main
argument of the Meno. Socrates could claim to have shown that knowledge of what
virtue is and knowledge of mathematical truths could not be derived solely from
perception. There are therefore forms of knowledge that require recollection of our
previous existence, which in turn implies a distinction between soul and body. This
argument would not be undermined by the assumption that there are other forms of
knowledge that do not require pre-existence. On the other hand, the road to Larissa
example does suggest more general problems for Plato's epistemology. One would be
that of distinguishing between knowledge and belief in cases like this. Perception itself
cannot provide the sole criterion since someone who made the trip to Larissa a long
time ago may be a less reliable guide than someone who has not been there hitnselý but
has carefully questioned other travellers. A more serious problem is that the admission
that there is knowledge of particulars, such as the road to Larissa, seems to contradict-
the Republic's claim that knowledge is of the Forms. It looks as though the only way
Plato could solve this would be by distinguishing genuine, scientific' knowledge from
what passes for knowledge in ordinary life. He would have to accept that on talking
about someone knowing the road to Larissa, he was using the word in a loose popular
sensell.
" It should be noted here that in the Republic Plato takes a stronger view, namely that the only kind of knowledge possible is that of the Forms, especially of the good, and such knowledge is never actually realised in this human life. The significance of it will be examined in the analysis of the Republic.
61
One of the issues that arise from the recollection argument is the question: 'when does
recollection occur'. D. Scott argues that: 'if Meno sees the boy recollecting false
judgements, Socrates' program is completely ruined. If we can derive from within
ourselves false as well as true judgements, we shall need to decide which are which.
But how are we to make this decision? Is there to be another process of recollection to
help us find out? If so, we have an infinite regress on our hands 02 . One way to
overcome this problem is by claiming that if something is not a genuine recollection, it
can be proven as false by further questioning, There is, in other words, a kind of
coherence in true recollection. It is important, though, that Plato's recollection theory
shows that it is the beliefs themselves that turn into knowledge. After the slave-boy
example, Socrates argues that: 'the man who does not know has within himself true
opinions about the things that he does not know' (85c). Socrates concludes that: 'These
opinions have now just been stirred up like a dream, but if he [the slave-boy] were
repeatedly asked these same questions in various ways, you know that in the end his
knowledge about these things would be as accurate as anyone's" (85c-d). This provides
Socrates with an answer to Meno's dilernm : we can search for things we do not know
if we have true beliefs about them.
To prove that even indirect reliance on the senses is unnecessary for Plato's argument in
the Meno, Vlastos has argued against the claim that the knowledge aroused in the slave
boy is empirical. This claim is of course different from the one I have made. To say
that a form of knowledge is empirical is to say that sense perception is both necessary
and sufficient for that form of knowledge. All I have argued is that sense perception
plays an essential role in arousing the beliefs that become knowledge. I have not
suggested that sense perception is sufficient for knowledge or that it is essential to its
'2Scott, 1995, pp. 37-38 62
justification. Vlastos asks us to imagine a situation where the slave-boy is able to add
two numbers at a time but can do so only when the numbers are no greater than 10.
Socrates asks him to add 13 to 7. By simplifying the number 13 to 10 +3 and by
adding 3 to 7, instead of asking how much is 13 +7 he asks the boy how much is 10 +
10. Vlastos holds that the boy, then, can give the answer. He argues that his example
could actually replace the one provided by Plato without affecting the purpose of
13 Plato's argument
Vlastos' argument is that the boy would have reached the correct answer through
recollection, but without using the senses. Although on Vlastos' example, the answer
to the question 'what is 13+7? ' does not directly start off through the senses, on Plato's
own example, recollection, as a process, begins with the use of the senses. If Plato had
wished to avoid giving the impression that the process of recollection must involve
sense perception, he could have used an example of this kind. The fact that he chose
not to suggests, at the very least, that he was not worried about giving this impression.
Moreover, the fact that the particular arithmetical problem described by Vlastos could
he handled without reference to sense perception, does not disprove the claim that sense
perception plays an essential role in the recollection of mathematical truths. Plato could
have argued that we learn to count by counting perceptible objects. Thus, without
perception we could not grasp what the numbers are; we could not recollect the
numbers. Once we have recovered knowledge of the numbers, there is no further need
for perception.
Vlastos argues that reliance on the evidence of the senses is not a general feature of the
'recollecting' envisaged by Plato but is, at most, a special feature of the example of it he
13 G. Vlastos, 'Anamnesis in the Meno', Dialogue 4 (1965) 145-146. 63
happened to use in the Meno 14 . My disagreement with Vlastos' view is based on the
examples of recollection that Plato provides us with, both here in the Meno and in the
recollection argument of the Phaedo (74c-75e). There is no doubt that in the Meno he
used the senses as a preliminary part of the process of recollection. For instance, when
Socrates talks about the four-foot square he points to the diagram that he draws and the
slave-boy can see (83 c-d). Plato uses phrases like: 'On this line we have a square that
0 is four times bigger, do we notT 'OU'XII aITO' PEV TaU'nl! g TETpa7TXdcFiov; 9 (830), or
'Now this four-foot square is based on this line here, half the lengthT 'TETpa7rouv 6E
dTTO' TfiS TIPICEa5 TaUTqCII TOUTtF; 9 (836), or 'The line on which the eight-foot square is
based must then be longer than this one of two feet, and shorter than that one of four
feet? - It must be. ' 'AE7 dpa 6V TOO O'KTCO'TrO5O5 xwpipou ypappýv PEIýCL) pEv Elvai TfiCBE TTI
Tfi5 617TO505, EXaTTCa 66 Tfig TETPdIT0605. - AE71.9 (83d4-6). This language suggests
that he relies on the fact that the boy can see the diagrams. Thus, according to J. Klein
the passage under discussion reads as 'the size of this space here [pointing to figure 1]
is two feet long. What will be that of the other space which is doubleT (82e). Again:
land if you don't want to count, just show from what line [the double square will
result]' (84a) 15. Similarly, Guthrie argues that: 'what shows the slave-boy his errors,
and the right answers, is not so much Socrates' questions as the diagrams themselves.
When the square on the three-foot side is drawn, he can see at once that it contains nine
square feet, not eight' 16 . Such a display of language then, explicitly shows that Socrates
uses diagrams so as to enable the slave-boy to recollect. Thus, although the senses are
not a reliable source for knowledge, the recollection process begins with the use of the
senses; the senses are the means to start the process of recollection.
"Vlastos, 1965, pp. 148-149. 15J. Klein, A Commentary On Plato's Meno, Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1965, p. 10 1. "Guthrie, 1986, p. 109.
64
Vlastos' second example is what he refers to as a 'familiar conundrum' by which a man
replies when asked what is his relation to the subject of a portrait. The answer provided
is' Brothers and sisters have I none; but this man's father is my father's son. Vlastos
argues then that: 'Had Plato used an example of this sort; in the Meno, no one would
have even dreamed of saying that the recollecting process gets results by relying on the
evidence of the senses' 17 .I would like to raise two objections to this point. Firstly it
should be noted that Plato did use the senses as part of his argument, here again,
therefore, it is idle to speculate about the implication of an example he did not use.
Secondly, Vlastos does not describe this example in sufficient detail to explain how it
might be relevant to the specific problems of the Meno. He does not give us an
imaginary dialogue between Socrates and the slave boy using this example. Neither
does it make it clear quite how the example would relate to the recollection theory. He
may be relying on the modem assumption that logical truths can be assimilated to
mathematical truths. This would indeed imply that if the slave-boy could be brought to
understand logical truths without perception, he could come to acquire knowledge of
mathematical truths in the same way. But this line of argument would not be open to
Plato because he did not have the concept of a logical truth. A more Platonic way of
putting the point might be to suggest that Socrates use the conundrum to remind the
slave-boy of the forms 'father', 'son', 'brother' and 'sister'. But Socrates could argue
that solving the conundrum requires that one already have recollected these forms and
that this recollection required perception. To put it in another way, it is easier to see the
conundrum as part of the questioning that turns belief into knowledge rather than as
part of the process of recollection.
17VIastos, 1965, p. 148.
65
A finther objection to my argument for the senses would be Comford's view. He quite
rightly takes the Forms as Plato's solution to Socrates' attempt to define universal
terms; but he says that knowledge of them can not be distilled or extracted from the
changing things of sense, but recovered out of a memory always latent in the soul'8.
Thus, on Cornfbrd'ý view, to suppose that sense perception is a necessary condition of
knowledge undermines the whole basis of Plato's epistemology. My reply to this is that
although knowledge of the Forms is always innate, the element that triggers memory to
start recollecting is the senses. Thus, although what the slave-boy recollects is not
given by the senses, the senses nevertheless play as essential a part in the process as
they would if the knowledge of the Forms was 'extracted' from the senses.
Consequently, although Plato's ultimate goal in the Meno is to prove that deductive
knowledge is free from dependence on sense-experience, 19 one can see that sense-
experience is Plato's starting point.
One has to note here that I do not claim that in this dialogue Plato was interested in
describing exactly the role of the senses. But if Plato did not take into account the role
of the senses in a more detailed way that is because he did not need to for the purposes
of the Meno. I do not wish to claim that the senses are essential for the possession of
knowledge, what I claim is that they play an essential role in the process of acquiring
knowledge. In this life one would not be able to acquire knowledge at all if one would
not take into consideration the role of the senses 20 . In other words, the senses are
treated as means for achieving a ftulher end.
"F. M. Comford, 'Anamnesis', in Brown, M. (ed), Plato's Meno, New York, 1971, pp. 119-120 19VIastos, 1965, p. 161. 20This point will be pursued finther in Phaedo and in Timaeus.
66
The question that arises now is whether Plato was aware of the importance of sense-
experience in the process of recollection. The arguments I have used suggest that J. T.
Bedu-Addo is correct when he disputes the view that in the first part of the slave-boy
experiment Socrates could have dispensed completely with sensible diagrams. In his
own words, Socrates seems to consider that sensible diagrams are an indispensable aid
in the boy's recollection of what the enquiry is about, the square itself".
Similarly, he says that, the slave-boy experiment, with its conspicuous use of sensible
diagrams, is Plato's way of preparing his readers for what is to come in the Phaedo; that
sensible particulars are images of Forms, and that we obtain all our conceptions of the
Forms from no other source than from sense-cxpcrience (Phaedo 75a)22. Furthermore
Addo argues that what Plato says in the Phaedo is that careful questioning indicates that
knowledge is innate and can be recollected, but that this is so is shown most clearly
when visible aids are introduced to supplement this questioning. Thus, the Phaedo
indicates that Plato in the Meno was conscious of the importance of sense-experience in
the process of recollection 23 . While we do not need to accept the implication that the
Meno is designed as a preparation for the Phaedo, Bedu-Addo is clearly right to point
out that in both dialogues recollection is triggered by sense perception. The
resemblance between the two dialogues on this respect can hardly be a pure
coincidence.
21J. T. Bedu-Addo, 'Sense Experience And Recollection In Plato's Meno', American Journal of Philology 104 (1983) 238. 22Bedu-Addo, p. 240. 23Bedu-Addo p. 243.
67
Virtue and Knowledge
This interpretation is confirmed by the last part of Meno where Socrates discusses again
the issue of whether virtue can be taught. Since, he claims, we do not know either what
it is or what qualities it possesses, he proposes to investigate whether it is teachable or
not by means of a hypothesis. The first question then is: 'Among the things existing in
the soul, what sort is virtue, that it should be teachable or noff (87b-c). He asks in
other words, what sort of attribute of the soul virtue must be, if it is to be teachable. In
posing this question he makes it clear that being teachable and being recollectable come
to the same thing. Meno readily agrees that if virtue is knowledge, it will be teachable,
while if it is some other kind of thing it will not be teachable. Socrates claims that all
things either benefit or harm us, because of the soul's direction (88 c-d), and that: 'all
other human activities depend on the soul, and those of the soul itself depend on
wisdom if they are to be good' (88d). Socrates then argues that virtue is a good thing
and must therefore be beneficial. So, he concludes that virtue must be wisdom and that
it is therefore knowledge.
Socrates' next pointý in connection with his and Meno's original hypothesis, is to see
whether they would be right to accept this conclusion; that virtue is knowledge (89d).
Socrates uses as a necessary condition for virtue to be knowledge, the fact that there
should be -people who teach it and people who learn it. It should be noted, however,
that Socrates' need for such a condition can be resolved by claiming that if by teachable
we mean recollectable, then the relation between a teacher and a learner is not
necessary. At 84c-d Socrates explicitly denies that be is teaching the slave-boy, so,
evidently teaching is not necessary for recollection. Moreover, the fact that there are no
68
teachers or learners of something does not necessarily imply that the subject cannot be
taught - or recollected, it only shows that it is not in fact taught.
Socrates then includes Anytus in the discussion. Anytus holds that: 'Any Athenian
gentleman he [Meno] may meet, if he is willing to be persuaded, will make him a better
man than the sophists would' (92e). This claim of Anytus is supported by his belief
that there are many good men in this city [in Athens]. The crucial distinction made
here, is that although Anytus sees the Athenians as 'good men' in general, Socrates
specifies it; they seem 'good at public affairs' (93a). What needs to be noticed, here, is
the distinction between the general term 'good' - what Plato later will define as the
Form of good - and a particular instance of goodness; good at public affairs. This is
significant since it enables one to clarify what might seem a contradiction between the
conclusion that Socrates reaches at 94e: 'Virtue can certainly not be taught', with his
earlier point that: 'If virtue is a kind of knowledge, it is clear that it could be taught'
(87c). The fact that there are no teachers of virtue suggests that virtue is distinct from
any ordinary TEXV11. But Plato may be determining that there is some other kind of
knowledge.
After stating again that virtue cannot be taught (96c), Socrates claims that: 'It is not
only under the guidance of knowledge that men succeed in their affairs, and that is
perhaps why the knowledge of how good men come to be escapes us' (96e). Then,
what Socrates says that is incorrect is his and Meno's agreement that: 'one cannot guide
correctly if one does not have knowledge' (97a). What Plato tries to show here is that
for everyday, ordinary activity one does not need knowledge to be able to guide
correctly. This is proven by his example of the road to Larissa where it is shown that
true opinion is in no way a worse guide to correct action than knowledge. Hence, the
69
only difference between the true opinion and knowledge in practical affairs is that the
former is not stable; does not 'remain', while the later does.
The Meno concludes with a very important remark. When Socrates says that: 'because
it cannot be taught, virtue no longer seems to be knowledge' (99a), he is not interested
in virtue as the Form, but in what all men are capable of possessing; instances, true
opinions of virtue. This point becomes clearer at the very end of the dialogue: 'Virtue
would be neither an inborn quality nor taught, but comes to those who possess it as a
gift from the gods which is not accompanied by understanding, unless there is someone
among the statesmen who can make another into a statesman. If there'were one, he
could be said to be among the living as Homer said Tiresias was among the dead,
namely, that "he alone retained his wits while the others flitted about like shadows ... 24
(99e-100a)25. Plato's argument, then, points to the fact that true virtue is not simply a
TEXvTj acquired by experience, at the same time though, it is something we reveal in on
everyday life as embodied beings. So, virtue requires that we are neither purely souls
nor purely matter.
Thus, although the soul-body relation is not discussed at all in the Meno, through the
recollection argument as well as the belief-knowledge distinction Plato indicates the
need for an agent that will be able a) to combine the use of the senses and the actual
recollection of something other than what is given through the senses, and b) to be
involved in both beliefs formed due to sense-experience, and in knowledge acquired on
its own. The soul is thus required if Plato wants to find something able to be in contact
with both the Forms and the senses.
24 Odyssey x 494-95. 25This can be used as a comparison with Republic Book VII 514-517, the cave image.
70
What is in fact happening in the Meno is that Meno's attempts to describe virtue in
every day terms are proven not to work. So, he prepares the ground for Socrates to
move to a different level; that of virtue as an objective value. At the same time, though
these two levels cannot be distinct; man needs to be in contact with both. It seems then
that we are left perplexed.
Hence, although in this dialogue, Plato does not refer explicitly to the Forms, when
Plato refers to the soul's existence before birth, what the soul is in connection with, is
something outside sense-experience. At the same time, although the soul exists
independently of whether it is embodied or not, when embodied it is in interaction with
the body; during this embodied life it is the soul which is capable, by using the senses,
to trigger its memory and start recollecting. In other words, it is the soul along with the
help of the body that enables one to acquire true beliefs and ultimately knowledge. So,
if Plato accepts man to be the intermediate between the world of the Forms and the
material world, he needs to attribute to man a soul, a soul able to use sense perception
as the first step to reach knowledge 26 .
26ThiS issue will be explained finther on the chapter on Timaeus.
71
Conclusion
To conclude, this chapter dealt with these two early dialogues of Plato so as to show
that they help as a preliminary illustration of Plato's view on the soul-body relation as
an interaction. Although neither of the above dialogues explicitly refers to the issue of
soul-body interrelation, both dialogues seem to stress the need for a soul that acts as the
agent. The soul is the only one able to combine this world with whatever exists after or
beyond it.
In particular, in the Gorgias a number of passages raise questions about the nature of
the soul and its interrelation with the body. Firstly, through the discussion on the roles
of gymnastics and law giving for one's life, what is emphasised is the preservation and
enhancement of the equilibrium for soul and body. Under this spectrum medicine and
judicial justice are discussed; they have to do with restoring equilibrium when it is
disturbed. Moreover, through the distinction between real and apparent states of health
for both soul and body, Plato not only points towards the existence of a kind of order in
general, but also indicates that there is a relation between soul and body; that of the
former governing the latter. This notion is ffirther explored under the issue of
punishment where it is indicated that the body is punished for the improvement of the
soul. Finally, the self-control notion, as is further stressed through the jars image,
implies the existence of a soul that is complex; since in order to talk of something as
being organised or disorganised, that something must consist of at least two elements.
In that way Plato needs the soul to interact with the body, due to appetites, but at the
same time introduces the notion of the soul itself being complex, which will lead to his
tripartite notion of the soul in the Republic.
72
In the Meno, now, Plato's arguments not only suggest the existence of a soul, but also
need the soul to be in close contact with the body, on the one hand, and able to acquire
knowledge - of the Forms - on the other. In particular, the recollection argument shows
that the senses play an essential role in the slave-boy's recall. Although Plato does not
yet attribute sense-experience to the soul, it is evident that even if one's beliefs about
ethical or mathematical notions are innate, in this life they are not realised until one uses
perception. In other words; although Plato states that it is the soul that is in contact with
the beliefs when disembodied, he also needs the soul, when embodied, to start from the
senses and reach knowledge. Hence, although the soul is something distinct from the
body; capable of existing in an independent way, it is still operating along with the
body; the body is the recipient of any sensory stimulus, which the soul categorises
through recollection. Thus, the importance of the uses of the senses within the
recollection argument lies on the fact that the senses show that a particular relation is
required between the soul and the body.
If my hypothesis that recollection as a process necessarily starts from a sensory stimulus
is correct, then, the gap between the body, through which the senses are realised, and
the soul, that recollects, cannot be a wide one. Plato through the recollection argument
argues for a soul that is in contact both with this sensory world and with a world
before/after death. This is not achievable though if we are talking about a completely
immaterial soul that happens to be 'placed' in a body. Plato faced the same difficulty
that of relating an immaterial soul to a body in the Gorgias, but there the problems that
arose were of an ethical nature. The question then of how the soul relates to the body,
that is found in both the dialogues discussed as well as in the Phaedo dialogue that
follows, Plato is set to solve in the Republic and the Timaeus.
73
Phaedo
Plato's Phaedo, since it involves more than one notion of the soul, is one of the most
controversial dialogues for the body-soul relation in Plato. As a result, searching for a
coherent view about the body-soul relation seems rather unpromising. What I intend to
achieve in this chapter is precisely to point out the different notions of the soul and to
give a particular interpretation of the soul-body relation as it emerges from the Phaedo.
The main goal therefore will be to show that the different concepts of soul invoked in
Phaedo indicate that the relation between soul and body cannot be as simple as one
might understand it to be from a first reading of the dialogue. A traditionally dualistic
view of the relation between body and soul cannot adequately incorporate Plato's view
about body and soul. Thus, the emphasis will be laid on showing that Plato requires a
relation that in a sense goes beyond one that treats soul and body as separate substances
that happen to be together.
Socrates, in order to answer Cebes and Simmias' point regarding the issue of death, he
is set to defend his view that death is the separation of soul and body (64c). He thus
states that 'a man who has truly spent his life in philosophy is probably right to be of
good cheer in the face of death and to be very hopeful that after death he will attain the
greatest blessings yonder' (63e). He, thus, moves to his next point; namely, that the
body is a hindrance to the search for knowledge. The body is 'an obstacle when one
associates with it in the search of knowledge' (65b). Hence, he argues that: 'the soul
reasons best when none of these senses troubles it... but when it is most by itself, taking
leave of the body and as far as possible having no contact or association with it in its
search for reality' (65c). In other words, Socrates claims that the philosopher should
welcome death because he seeks true wisdom, which is knowledge of the Forms (65d-
74
r 66a). This, in effect, sets out the view of the soul that Socrates is to defend in much
more detail. So far as we are concerned it implies that body and soul are distinct, that
they are capable of independent existence, that the soul alone can achieve genuine
knowledge, and that the sensations and feelings of the body can be a hindrance to
knowledge.
The Cyclical Argument
When Socrates is challenged to defend the claim that the soul exists and possesses
intelligence after death (70b), the first argument he offers is the so-called 'cyclical
argument'. To show that the souls of men who have died exist in the underworld, he
refers to an 'ancient theory': 'souls arrive in the underworld from this life and then
again they arrive here from the dead' (70c). The concept of a cycle, from being bom to
being dead and then reborn, reminds us the Heraclitean idea that there is an absolute
continuity of change in everything; 'Upon those that step into the same rivers different
and different waters flow... They scatter and ... gather ... come together and flow
away... approach and depart' (Arius Didymus ap. Eusebium P. E. xv, 20, K. R. S. 12)1.
Plato could also be influenced by the Pythagorean eschatology according to which the
soul is not only subject to death and rebirth, but it is also liable to judgemene. This is a
repeatedly used idea in Plato's eschatological myths.
Presumably under the influence of the above views, Plato aims to prove the soul's
existence both before birth and after death. As Gallop points out, this commits him to
'For the Heraclitean idea of the necessity of change in order to achieve total balance in the world; see Kirk, Raven and Schofield, pp. 193-195. 2 For the Pythagorean view see Kirk, Raven and Schofield, pp. 235-238.
75
F"T the possibility of the soul's separate existence 3, or as Socrates puts it: 'if it is true that
the living come back from the dead, then surely our souls must exist there, for they
could not come back if they did not exist' (70c-d). In order to prove that life comes
from death and death from life, Socrates first argues that all things come to be from
their opposites. This alludes directly to'the Heraclitean doctrine of opposites; fragments
like 'the path up and down is one and the same' (Plutarch Cons. ad Apoll. 10,106e, K.
FL S. 200) indicate the connection between opposites that was important for Heraclitus'
view of the world4. Plato, then, being influenced by the above mentioned view,
examines: 'whether those that have an opposite must necessarily come to be from their
opposite and from nowhere else' (70e). To illustrate this point, Socrates uses pairs of
opposites such as 'the beautiful' and 'the ugly', 'the just' and 'the unjust'. In the same
way that what becomes smaller must previously have been larger so the better must
come from the worse and the more just from the more unjuse. In each case, there are
two kinds of change. For example between larger and smaller there is increase and
diminution (71b). Socrates develops this point by means of a parallel between 'living'
and being awake', and 'being dead' and 'sleeping'
(71c). Socrates gives to Cebes one of the above pairs along with the two processes
involved, and asks Cebes to provide the other pair and its processes. The opposites are:
being dead and being alive, and they come to be from one another; from being alive
' D. Gallop, Plato: Phaedo, Clarendon press, Oxford 1975, p. 104. 4 See further Kirk, Raven and Schofield, pp. 188-190. 5 Although Plato introduces his argument about opposites with the examples of 'the beautiful' and 'the ugly', 'the just' and 'the unjust', he goes on to illustrate it with comparatives. The examples used are the following: A) Ile smaller comes to be from the larger. B) The weaker comes to be from the stronger. Q The swifter comes to be from the adjectives actually strengthens Plato's argument: 'Socrates could hardly infer from a thing's coming to be weak that it must previously have been strong, for it might have been neither. But he can plausibly argue that if a thing comes to be weaker (than it was before), it must previously have been stronger (d= it is now)'. But, as Gallop himself states, no argument relying entirely upon comparatives could support the claim that 'all things come to be in this way, opposites from opposites' (71 a), since there are some opposites (odd and even) which have no comparatives.
76
comes being dead, and from being dead comes being alive (71d). Thus, Socrates
concludes firstly that: 'living creatures and things come to be from the dead' (71d), and
secondly that: our souls exist in the underworld' (71e). Having argued then for the one
of the processes; the process of dying, Socrates provides Cebes with the second* one;
coming to life again (71e). Since Socrates and Cebes agreed that: 'the living come from
the dead in this way no less than the dead come from the living' they think that the
above is: ' ... a sufficient proof that the souls of the dead must be somewhere whence
they come back again' (72a). There is a striking parallel here with Heraclitus' fragment
88: 'And the same thing there exists in us living and dead and the waking and sleeping
and young and old; for these things having changed round are those, and those having
changed round are these' (K. R. Sc. 202).
One difficulty that arises from these examples is how to defme the opposites: as
contrary or as contradictory objects. Gallop argues that the opposites that Plato uses
should be treated as contrary opposites rather than contradictory. In other words, they
may not be truthfuRy asserted of a subject at the same time, but they may both trutllfiiUy
be denied. This is relevant to the argument about 'living' and 'dead'. Gallop holds
that 'living' and 'dead' may both be truthfully denied of a subject. Thus to say that
something is not alive does not imply that it is dead. We cannot therefore infer that the
living come from the dead. He uses the example of 'married' and 'divorced' as an
analogy to living and dead. He argues that just as someone not yet married cannot be
divorced, so something not yet living cannot be dead. Tbus, although living and dead
are in a sense, opposites, it does not follow that the living must come from the dead.
Gallop, 1975, p. 7.
77
Although I agree with Gallop that the Tving' and 'dead' opposites should be treated as
contrary opposites I think that when Plato talks about the living coming from the dead,
T'-j
he has in mind a picture of afterlife within which the souls are not completely reduced
to nothing. But such an explanation of 'living' and 'dead' brings up another problem
for Plato, namely that of begging the question. If 'living' and 'dead' are not
contradictory opposites, and the not yet living is not dead, Plato's argument is shown to
be fallacious because it could be possible for something to be neither living nor dead.
So, Plato begs the question to which he is supposed to be giving an answer.
In order to prove that: 'the souls of men who have died exist in the underworld' (70c),
Plato makes an important addition. He argues that there should be a process of
becoming from each opposite into the other. He says: '... between each of those two
pairs of opposites there are two processes: from one to the other and then again from
the other to the first; between the larger and the smaller there is increase and
decrease... " (71b). The example that Plato uses is a parallel between 'living' and
'being awake', and 'being dead' and 'sleeping' (71c). Socrates gives to Cebes one of
the above pairs along with the two processes involved, and asks Cebes to provide the
other pair and its processes. The opposites are being dead and being alive, and from
being dead comes being alive (71d). Thus, Socrates concludes firstly that: 'living
creatures and things come to be from the dead' (71 d), and secondly that: 'our souls exist
in the underworld' (71e). Having argued then for the one of the processes-; the process
of dying, Socrates provides Cebes with the second one; coming to life again (71e).
Since Socrates and Cebes agreed that: 'the living come from the dead in this way no
less than the dead from the living' they think that the above is '... a sufficient proof that
the souls of the dead must be somewhere whence they come back again' (72a). It
should be pointed out, though, that the process of coming-to-be seems to introduce a
78
finther argument to show that the living are born from the dead 7. Gallop's objection to
Plato is that: 'from a thing's coming to be alive, the proper inference is not that it was
previously dead, but that it did not exist previously at all'. He further argues that: 'the
sense of 'come to be alive' required for the argument is not that in which a living thing
comes into being, but that in which a soul 'becomes incarnate' in a living body. Yet it
cannot do this unless it already exists before birth or conception. And whether it does
so or not is just what is at issue's. Thus Plato's argument, as was shown before, is
fallacious. The point that is of interest for this thesis, however, is not so much whether
Plato's argument is fallacious or not, but rather that in fact it implies the inherent
Platonic belief that the soul exists before being incarnated. This in turn implies that,
whatever the soul is, it is capable of existing in complete independence from any body.
Plato, thus, seems to treat the soul's connection to any particular body as a contingent
and temporary matter.
Plato then introduces a finther point of argument in favour of the circularity of the two
processes of becoming: 'If the two processes of becoming did not always balance each
other as if they were going round in a circle, but generation proceeded from one point to
its opposite in a straight line and it did not turn back again... all things would ultimately
have the same form, be affected in the same way, and cease to become' (72b). In
particular, Plato wants to argue that if everything that partakes life were to die and
remain in that state and not come to life again, everything would ultimately have to be
dead and nothing alive (72c-d). If that. were the case: 'Even if the living came from
another source, and not all that Iived died, how could all things avoid being absorbed in
deathT (72d). If we assume that there is a finite number of souls T or a finite quantity
7 Gallop, 1975, p. 109. 8 Gallop, 1975, pp. 109-110.
79
ý711"
of material out of which souls are to be made - then Plato would be right. If that were
the case, it would follow that either souls pass from one body to another or that there
will come a point when there are no more souls waiting to come into life. One could of
course argue against Plato's conclusion by saying either that souls do not have to be
created out of anything, or by taking a materialistic view; arguing that coming to life
and dying are physical processes which simply involve the rearrangement of material
elements". But neither position seems to express Plato's view. Although in the Phaedo
he is not concerned with such implications, in later dialogues he seems aware of them
and tries to present a view where the soul could be treated as finite immaterial
4substance'lo.
The upshot of this is that the cyclical argument commits Plato to saying that the soul
can exist separately from the body, but, unforttmately, does not provide us with a clear
view of what is the nature of the soul that reincamates. Moreover, he says nothing
conceming its embodfinent, whether, and how, the soul is supposed to interact with the
body. He does not even explain what comprised the personality of each individual,
whether the soul is the person or the combination of a particular body to the soul. It is
made clear, though, that the soul cannot be identified with any particular body. It
mostly seems to suggest a view of 'soul' as a substance of which there is a finite
quantity, and is reincarnated. Plato's first argument thus seems to be incomplete. The
unanswered questions seem to be picked up in the next argument of the Phaedo.
9PIato solves the above vagueness in the Timaeus where the souls are created by, the demiurge but not out of the same matter as the body and the lower parts of soul. "Namely, in the Republic he holds that the souls arc reincarnated, but only the souls of the laymen, not the philosophers'. In the Timaeus - where the soul is part of the universe - all souls are made by the demiurge and arc as many as the stars.
80
r The Recollection Argument
The main objective of this thesis is to evaluate the relation of body and soul as it stands
for Plato. Therefore, the analysis and interpretation of the recollection argument is of
major importance because it links the theory of Forms with the notion of the
immortality of the soul; it is supposed to show that we existed before birth. What
makes this evident, is that there is something which we know and which we could not
have learned after birth; namely the Forms. Another important feature of the argument
is that it implies the need for a particular relation between the world of the senses and
that of the Forms. This in turn has certain implications for the relation between body
and soul.
The argument begins with the claim that: 'if it is true that learning is no other than
recollection; ... we must at some previous time have learned what we now recollect.
This is possible only if our soul existed somewhere before it took on this human shape.
so, ... the soul is likely to be something immortal, (72e-73a). The first point of
reference to support the above-mentioned claim is the argument that: 'when men are
interrogated in the right manner, they always give the right answer... they could not do
this if they did not possess the knowledge and the right explanation inside them. 17hen
if one shows them a diagram or something else of that kind, this will show most clearly
that such is the case' (73a-b). This argument directly refers back to Meno (Meno Me
where the slave-boy is shown to recollect through the use of diagrams. Its
significance then has to do with the assumption of acquisition of knowledge before
birth, but even more so with the implication of the role of the senses after birth. As was
argued in the analysis of the Meno, for one to recollect in this life what one once knew,
one has to start from the senses. The senses are the necessary means in this life for
81
r recollection. Evidence for this interpretation will be provided by my analysis of the recollection argument as Plato sets it up.
The recollection argument does not only seek to prove the soul's existence before birth,
but it also implies a specific definition of knowledge. That is, it makes both a
metaphysical and an epistemological point. The fact that within the recollection
argument Plato implies a particular definition of knowledge is shown in the following
passage. When Plato says: 'a man sees or hears or in some other way perceives one
thing and not only knows that thing but also thinks of another thing of which the
knowledge is not the same but different, are we not right to say that he recollects the
second thing that comes to mindT (73c-d), he implies that there are two different kinds
of knowledge, one coming directly from sense perception, the other emerging through
means different to the senses. The following examples illustrate recollection not only
from like things but also from unlike, for example: a) the recollection of a man on
seeing his lyre, b) the recollection of Cebes on seeing Simmias, c) the recollection of
Simmias himself on seeing a picture of Simmi s (73d-e). Plato argues that in the case
of recollection from like things, one should 'consider whetherthe similarity to that
which one recollects is deficient in any respect or complete' (74a). The argument
proceeds with the aff=ation that there is such a thing as an absolute equality, the
Equal itself. The crucial question then is: 'Whence have we acquired the knowledge of
it? ' (74b). Therefore, the distinction is made between things that sometimes appear
equal and sometimes unequal, and Equality itself. 'Do not equal stones and sticks
sometimes, while -remaining the same, appear to be equal to, one and unequal to
another? ", "dp' OU' MeOt PEV 1001 Kal gýXa EVIOTE TaýTd 6VTa TCý pEv Tica ý=E`ral, Tfý
o5; 1(74b). The precise meaning of this sentence is unclear. It could read either 'seems
equal to one person and not to another', or 'seems equal to one thing but not to
82
another" 1. Since the text itself is ambiguous, either interpretation is possible. I am
inclined to hold, though, the second one, because it seems to fit better with what
follows. The next question that Socrates asks is whether the equals themselves have
ever appeared unequal to Simmias, or Equality to be Inequality (74c). If Plato wanted
to argue for the first alternative, that of equal stones and sticks appearing equal to one
person and not to another, he would have formed the question that follows in a different
way. Namely, if the former question had been a matter of different perspectives,
similarly the latter would have been too. Thus, since Socrates does not challenge
Simmias' second answer, one can assume that Plato must have had in mind the second
reading of the 74b passage12. The importance of this passage for this thesis, though,
lies mainly in the relation that Plato portrays between particular cases of equal sticks
and stones and the Form of Equality.
With the use of this example, Plato shows both that equal things and the Equal itself are
not the same, and that, at the same time, one has grasped the knowledge of equality
from the equal things. He argues: 'But it is definitely from the equal things, though
they are different from the Equal, that you have derived and grasped the knowledge of
equality' (74c). Thus, not only is one provided with two kinds of knowledge. - one
concerning the equal things and the other having to do with Equality - but also with the
need for a kind of relation between the two. This is implicit in Plato's claim that from
the former, one can reach the latter. This need is fin-ther emphasised by the realisation
" There is also a variant reading, which would give the meaning 'seems equal at one time but not at another'. See fin-ther R. S. Bluck, 'Plato's Form of Equal', Phronesis 4, no. I (1959) 5.11. On the general ambiguity concerning 'a6Ta Ta Tica' see for example David ApollonL 'Notes and Discussions: A Note on Auta Ta Isa at Phaedo 74', Journal of the History ofPhilosophy 27 (1989) 127-134; Richard P. Haynes, 'The form of equality, as a set of equals: Phaedo 74b-c, Phronesis 9 (1964) 17-26; K W. Mills, 'Plato's Phaedo, 747-6% Phronesis 2, no. 1 (1957) 128-147; Nicholas D. Smith, 'The Various Equals at Phaedo 74b-c, Journal ofthe History ofPhilosophy 18 (1980) 1-7. 12 The second reading, 'seems equal to one thing but not to another', is also supported by evidence found in the Symposium and the Republic. See finther David Bostock, Plato's Phaedo, Clarendon Press, oxford 1986, pp. 72-78, and Gallop, 1975, pp. 120-123.
83
F,! l that equal things fall short of Equality: 'Whenever someone, on seeing something,
realises that that which he now sees wants to be like some other reality but falls short
and cannot be like that other since it is inferior, the one who thinks this must have prior
knowledge of that which he says it is like, but deficiently so' (74d-e). It should be
noted here that Plato explicitly states that since one's sense perception makes him
realise that evenything perceived through the senses is striving to reach that which is
Equal but falls short of it, the knowledge of the Equal itself must have been possessed
before one began to see, hear, or perceive in any way (75b). What Plato indicates then,
is that sense perception is not adequate to provide one with knowledge thus one needs
something more. This is the path through which Plato reaches the conclusion that: a)
firstly one had knowledge of all things to which one can attach the word 'itself before
birth, b) secondly lost it at birth, c) and later through the use of the senses one recovered
the knowledge he had before (75d-e). Plato's argument seems to indicate that in order
to be able to recollect one must use his senses; recollection would not be possible
without the use of the senses. The process he describes is one that makes it 'possible
for someone to see or hear or otherwise perceive something, and by this to be put in
mind of something else which he had forgotten and which is related to it by similarity or
difference' (76a). 'A point to note here is the ambiguity created from the above phrase.
As I read the text it says that the use of the senses starts one recollecting; it does not
suggest that anything other than the senses can trigger off recollection. What Plato
seems to have in mind here is that through the use of the senses, which is what man
always does in this life, there are times that ones starts of the process of recollection;
namely, there can be no other way to start recollecting.
The last claim made is that our souls acquire the knowledge of the Forms before birth:
'Then before we began to see or hear or otherwise perceive, we must have possessed 84
knowledge of the Equal itself if we were about to refer our sense perceptions of equal
ob . ects to it, and realised that all of them were eager to be like it, but were inferior. '
(75b). The argument continues, 'but we began to see and hear and otherwise perceive
right after birth... we must then have acquired the knowledge of the Equal before this'
(75b-c). This is how Plato concludes that our souls must have existed before they were
in the form of man and they had intelligence: '... our souls also existed apart from the
body before they took on human form, and also they had intelligence' (76c). This is
then how Plato treats the recollection argument.
In order to interpret the argument analysed above, one has to consider two main points:
a) the notions that Plato accepts as already presupposed, and b) the difficulties created
by these assumptions. The first point that Plato seems to take for granted is the
existence of the Forms. When Socrates asks Simmias: '... the Equal itself. Shall we say
that it exists or noff Simmias' answer is: 'Indeed we shall ... most definitely" '... al)T6
T67CYOV #3pb TI ElVal ý PT15EV; " 64)CSPEV PEVTOI Vý At", iiýlj 0 lililmaS, BaupaaTcSS yE. '
(74a-b). Since Plato's concern is to show that the world of the senses is not adequate
for knowledge, this is an important prerequisite for his theory. For Plato, then, to start
thinking of such a case, he must at least consider the possibility of the existence of
something beyond the senses to enable one to attain knowledge. This was already
presupposed when he said that: 'For if it is impossible to attain any pure knowledge
from the body, then one of two things is true: either we can never attain knowledge or
we can do so after death. Then and not before, the soul is by itself apart from the body'
(66e-67a).
Plato's claim is quite complicated at this stage and needs special attention; the first
implication is that if one does not recognise the Forms, one would not be able to attain
85
knowledge. If the senses cannot provide one with the certainty required for knowledge,
and if there is nothing else to compare the information that one gets from the senses
with, then knowledge would not be possible. Therefore the existence of the Forms is
necessary for one to have knowledge. But, this presupposition of Plato creates
difficulties for the validity of the recollection argument: If the body is the part of man
that deals with the senses, and if the information provided by the senses is not adequate
for knowledge, then one needs another element; the soul, that will enable him to attain
knowledge. It is implied then that the soul exists as something different from the body.
At this point, then, I am faced with what is most probably the greatest difficulty in
Phaedo; Plato is faced with the fallacy of circular argument. In the Recollection
argument Plato wants to prove the soul's existence before birth through the help of the
Forms, but as was pointed out above one's awareness of the Forms' existence can come
only through the soul; to know the Forms one should be able to detach oneself from
anything material, and that implies the existence of the soul separate from the body.
This is so, because as Plato argued earlier, 66e-67a, either we can never attain
knowledge or we can do so after death. Thus, only the soul is able to know the Forms
and only after death. The way the Forms are presented by Plato, as being completely
distinct from the material world, makes it impossible for 'one, in this life, to have
knowledge 13 . Whether, thus, one is able to know the Forms in this life, is a question
that remains unanswered.
The first question that should be examined, then, within the recollection argument is
what is the particular relation between sense perception and knowledge. If one takes
recollection as a process, the role of the senses within it is crucial 14 . The notion of
" As Bostock aigues (p. 90), 'it is we who want to know what the Form is, and we who should therefore like the particulars to tell us. But that they can not do, simply because they are not the form. 14A similar point is held in the Meno.
86
recollection, the remembering act, seems to indicate the existence of a different kind of
knowledge, it implies a mental activity that is distinct from the acquisition of anything
through the senses; the knowledge of the Forms. On the other hand, when Plato refers
to seeing a lyre, seeing Simmias, seeing the picture of a horse or seeing the picture of
Simmias, he talks about knowledge that comes straight from empirical means; the
senses. Hence, there is an important transition made within the recollection process; the
senses are necessary as the stimuli to recollect, but they do not provide one with
knowledge of the fmal recollected object. Because recollection involves being
reminded of something by perceiving something else, in order to be able to recollect,
one needs the senses as a starting point. Hence, the distinction made by Plato between
two different kinds of knowledge is important: 'When a man sees or hears or in some
other way perceives one thing and not only knows that thing but also thinks of another
thing of which the knowledge is not the same but different, are we not right to say that
he recollects the second thing that comes to mindT (73c). Here Plato makes an explicit
distinction between the knowledge which one acquires by perceiving something,
empirical knowledge, and the knowledge which comes to one's mind by thinking
something.
It should be noted here then, that recollection is to be seen as a process, and that the
senses are the means that trigger off this process. Therefore, the important point for this
thesis is that recollection cannot be achieved without the necessary stimuli provided by
the senses. This, though, does not mean that recollection is achieved by the use of the
senses alone. Statements like that would not be meaningful for Plato, since his main
87
concern is to show that there are two kinds of knowledgels. Following Plato's
examples closely, one can see the difficulty that arises in distinguishing two kinds of
knowledge. For instance, Gallop argues that in the cases of a) seeing a man's lyre and
remembering the man, and b) seeing a picture of Simmias and being reminded of
Simmias, the question that arises is whether the thing thought of and the thing perceived
are objects of 'another knowledge'. In the case of recognising the lyre, he argues
whether 'recognising' consists merely in recognising the instrument as a lyre, or as its
owner's lyre. If one recognises the lyre as its owner's lyre, he argues, then one must be
already thinking of the boy [the owner] in recognising the lyre as his. The same point is
made for the example of Simmias and his picture. In recognising the picture as one of
him, it seems that one should necessarily be thinking of Simmias himself. Gallop then
raises the question whether the thing thought of and the thing perceived are in this case
objects of 'another knowledge' 16 , and claims that this bears on the latter suggestion that
sensible equals 'remind' us of Equality. His claim then is that the Form and its
instances would not then be objects of 'another knowledge' and the conditions for our
being reminded of the former by the latter would not be met.
Gallop's objection can be met, though, if one brings in mind Plato's examples:
'-whenever they see a lyre ... that their beloved is accustomed to use, they know the
lyre, and the image of the boy to whom it belongs come into their mind' (73d).
Likewise, Plato argues that by 'seeing a picture of Simmias, recollect Simmias himself
(73e). Therefore, Gallop seems to disregard Plato's emphasis on the role of the senses.
Plato is not distinguishing between recognising the lyre and thinking of its owner, nor
15SCott (1995, p. 62, and notes 9&10) argues that although perception is necessary condition for thinking of the Form, we need not - and should not - take this as saying that perception instils knowledge of the Form, merely that use of the senses is a necessary condition for gaining knowledge, i. e. that to start the process ofL we must have our memories jogged by sensible stimuli. 16 Gallop, 1975, p. 116, note on 73c4-dI 1.
88
does he distinguish between recognising Simmias' picture as his and recollecting
Simmias. What he is distinguishing between, is seeing the lyre and the picture, which is
knowledge acquired from perceiving the empirical data, and being reminded of the
lyre's owner and of Simmias himself; the acquisition of a particular reasoning that goes
beyond sense-percepiion.
The recognition of the lyre, as the owner's lyre, as well as the recognition of Simmias'
picture as his, can be taken as belonging a step further from the sense perception within
the recollection process. The sense-stimuli provide one with one kind of knowledge
while the recognition along with the recollection provides one with another. If I were
to analyse Plato's examples, two points would be of importance. Firstly, by looking at
the example of being reminded of Simmias by his lyre, there seem to be three stages; a)
pure sense perception, I see something, b) conceptualisation - that is a lyre, and C)
recollection - that is Simmias' lyre. The same stages apply to the example of seeing
Cebes and being reminded of Simmias. Presumably, though, Plato really thinks that the
conceptualisation involves recollection of the Form. Bostock, in an attempt to explain
the workings of the recollection argument, brings forth a distinction between
description and evaluation so as to argue that, terms such as 'good' or 'just, or
'beautiful' cannot be terms whose meaning is given directly by paradigrn examples. He
thus, states that, to this extent, it seems to him that Plato was entirely right 17 . Bostock,
though, does not commit himself in accepting that we must have born with an
understanding of the relevant concepts". In other words, he does not want to commit
himself on whether Plato was right to claim that in this world our sole source of
knowledge is perception. I would like to argue though, that Bostock here pays no
17 Bostcwk, p. 109. 'a Bostock, P. 109.
89
-
attention to the fact that what Plato seems to be thinking as a solution, is the
introduction of the Forms. Thus, although Plato does not himself provide us with a
process that involves the three stages, sense perception, conceptualisation and
recollection, he seems to have something like it in mind. The introduction of the
Forms, thus, is Plato's solution to making the transition, from the one stage to thenext,
possible. Unfortunately, though, the recollection argument does not by itself explain
the relation between the knowledge gained through the senses and that obtained through
reasoning. What it states is that from the senses one can reach the object of reasoning.
But even this statement is quite vague, since the only thing that one knows is that the
senses act as the stimuli for recollection. What one needs therefore, is a common
element, something that would make it possible to combine sense perception and
reasoning.
This need for a combination between sense perception and reasoning is further
emphasised by Plato's claim that knowledge of the Forms in this life is derived and
grasped from particulars. He argues that: 'it is definitely from the equal things, though
they are different from that Equal, that you have derived and grasped the knowledge of
equality' (74c). Similarly: 'Then surely we also agree that this conception of ours [the
Equal] derives from seeing or touching or some other sense-perception, and cannot
come into our mind in any other way, for all these senses... are the same' (75a). Plato
firstly takes as given the existence of the Form of Equality: '... we say that there is
something that is the Equal itself' (74a), and argues that: 'From seeing sticks or stones
or some other things that are equal, we come to think of that other [Equality] which is
different from them' (74b), and insists that one grasps knowledge of the Forms from
particulars. When he asks: 'When have we acquired the knowledge of it? '(74b), one
must keep in mind both Plato's concern with the way in which one gets knowledge of 90
the Forms in this life, as well as with the significance of the role of the senses to the
acquisition of knowledge of the Forms. Socrates says that we acquire knowledge of the
Forms through the senses, and Gallop suggests two interpretations. The first is that we
acquired the concept of Equality from sensible equals. But he objects that this would be
a jejune answer to a complex empirical question; 'Much more would need to be said
about how we learned to compare and measure sensible things in order to judge them
equal'19. The second interpretation is that Socrates is talking about the philosophical
clarification of concepts. To this Gallop objects that his insistence that we could
acquire knowledge of the Form 'Equal' only from sensing particular equals must seem
surprising 'in view of his continual disparagement of the senses 20 . He appears to see
the senses as 'nothing but a hindrance in the quest for Forms, 21 - The solution that I
intend to propose in this thesis could be seen as a way to escape the above two
difficulties. By sensing the particulars one can indeed acquire knowledge of the Forms,
but in an indirect way. The recollection argument provides one with the opportunity not
to disparage the senses and at the same time not to accept them as both the necessary
and sufficient means to knowledge of the Forms. The sensing of the particulars enables
one to start the process of recollection; they do not immediately provide one with
knowledge of the Forms. Thus, by seeing equal sticks or stones, one can recollect the
Fonn of Equality. It should be pointed out, though, that since one needs sense
perception to gain knowledge of the Forms, Plato's theory needs an element able to
make the transition from sensing particulars to knowing the Forms. If then, as it was
indicated, it is the soul that has knowledge, then it is the soul that must have sense
perception, which will enable it to recollect the Fonns.
19 Gallop, 1975, p. 121. " Gallop, ibid. 21 Gallop, ibid.
91
Taking the soul as the common element, though, would require a particular notion of
the soul: one needs to accept that the soul is the only medium for one to attain
knowledge; it is necessary for the soul to be in direct relation with the Forms. This is so
because the Forms are for Plato the existences that are unchangeable, whereas
everything in this world is changeable. This is also the reason why for Plato the soul
should be immortal: 'we must then have acquired the knowledge of the Equal before
this... It seems then that we must have possessed it before birth' (75c). At the same
time, the soul is that which during this life recollects: 'It was seen to be possible for
someone to see or hear or perceive something, and by this to be put in mind of
something else which he had forgotten and which is related to it by similarity or
difference. One of two things follow, ... either we were bom with the knowledge of it,
and all of us know it throughout life, or those who later ... are learning, are only
recollecting, and learning would be recollection' (76a). The recollection process, then,
indicates the direct relation between the soul and the Forms as well as the relation
needed between the soul and the senses, which by extension requires a specific relation
of interdependence between the soul and the body.
The Afrinity Argument
The affinity argument is introduced by Plato to answer Cebes' fear that even if the soul
exists before we are born, it might still be destroyed when we die. As Socrates puts it,
he fears that: 'The wind would really dissolve and scatter the soul as it leaves the body'
(77d-e). This is the third argument of Plato in favour of the immortality of the soul. To
begin with, Socrates distinguishes that which is composite and therefore liable to be
split up, from that which is non-composite and not likely to be split up (78c). The
second point made, is to recognise that: 'The things that always remain the same are
92
most likely not to be composite, whereas those that vary from one time to another and
are never the same, are composite' (78c). He thus moves to the Forms and argues that
the equal itself, the beautiful itself, each thing in itself, the real, cannot be affected by
change (78d). On the other hand, the beautiful particulars do not ever remain the same
as themselves or in relation to each other (78e).
The second difference introduced, then, between Forms and particulars is that the
particulars could be touched, seen, perceived by the senses, but the Forms can only be
grasped by the reasoning power of the mind, they cannot be seen; are invisible (79a).
So, Plato assumes two kinds of existence: the visible and the invisible. The invisible
always remains the same, whereas the visible changes (79a).
Plato's argument, then, to separate the Forms from the particulars is based on three
characteristics for each: the Forms are unchangeable, non-composite, and invisible,
while the particulars are liable to change, composite, and visible. The difference
between Forms and particulars, based on the above attributes, is essential for the
distinction between body and soul. Plato needs the Forms as existences separate from
anything visible so as to argue in favour of the soul's being indestructible. He believes I
that man is both body and soul: 'One [part] of ourselves is body another [part] is soul'
4wf-I-%%-09A%I aXXO TI TipcA)v allTCA)V TO pEv acalia ECTI, TO 6E q/UXTI; " (79b). This presupposition, then,
that one part of man is body and the other soul, although taken for granted, can be
explained. Gallop says that: 'The assumption that we are part body and part soul... is
simply posited and accepted without demur 922 . In order to show that the soul is
indestructible, he has to show that there is something beyond the physical, material, and
2'Gallop, 1975, p. 140.
93
therefore visible world. By this argument Plato does not only recognise two parts in
humans, but he also claims that they belong to different existences; the body is visible
and therefore it belongs to the visible class of existence, while the soul is invisible and
therefore more like the invisible realm, that of the Forms (79b-c). It, thus, plays an
essential role in establishing Plato's view of soul and body. Although the phrasing:
6more like the invisible' is quite vague23, Plato's interest is to distinguish effectively the
soul from the body, and as a result prove its immortality. Plato implies then that if the
only kind of destruction is being broken up, and the soul by being akin to the Forms is
not composite, the soul is indestructible and therefore immortal.
Emphasis then is placed on the soul itself. In particular, Plato distinguishes between the
soul being by itself, and the soul being embodied: '-when the soul makes use of the
body to investigate something, be it through hearing or seeing or some other sense... it
is dragged by the body to the things that are never the same, and the soul itself strays
and is confused and dizzy, as if it were drunk .... .... . OT1 ý 0)ý, O'TaV 11EV TCS cca'paTl
TrpoCr)(PfiTat EIS T6 CFKOTr6V T1 ý 61a T05 6paV h 61a TOG aKOU'EIV ý St' a)AIIS TIV65 71 71 T1
a, IC6ýCFEG35 - TOTE PEV eEXKETai 6Tr6 TOO c6paTo5 EIS T& Oý&TrOTE KaTa TdTa E"XOVTaj
%%%%p%*- ep p
Kai auTil TrXavaTai Kai TapaTTETal Kai Et tyyta coaTrEp pE uouca, ... ' (79c). On the
contrazy, 'when the soul investigates by itself, it passes into the realm of what is pure,
ever existing, immortal and unchanging, and being akin to this, it always stays with it
whenever it is by itself... its experience then is what is called wisdom' (79d). In that
way Plato concludes that: 'The soul resembles the divine and the body resembles the
mortal' (80a). By distinguishing, however, between the soul being by itself and the
soul being embodied, Plato needs to provide one with a specific relation between body
and soul. In other words, for the soul to be affected by the body one needs the soul and
23 Gallop, ibid. 94
the body to be distinct, but, more importantly, one needs to establish an interrelation
between the two. As presented by Plato, the soul cannot just happen to be embodied;
such an embodiment cannot be seen as just an imprisonment. When embodied, the soul
is affected by the body and that cannot be achieved unless it is in a close relation to the
body. Plato argues that the embodied soul uses the senses and that results in its being
distracted. Such a point, though, raises the question of how the soul can be unchanging.
He parallels this state of the soul with the state of drunkenness, and such a metaphor
implies that the body's influence on the soul is a negative one. What should be noticed,
though, is firstly that Plato does not tell one explicitly what is that makes the soul
distracted by the body, and secondly how is the soul able to use the senses, if the senses
are bodily, and the soul is not. He does not explain in other words, the specific relation
between body and soul. Since soul is said to be distracted by thý body - due to the use
of the senses - the soul needs to be in close relation to the body.
What is discussed next is the soul when it is by itself. In that state the soul is in contact
with a different realm, that of the Forms, which results in its being wise. Indeed, part of
Plato's argument may be that in order to know the Forms our souls must belong in the
6 924 same realm . Our souls cannot therefore be capable of distraction. The statement
that the soul is wise when in association with the Forms suggests that Plato must have
believed that the senses are a hindrance for the soul to acquire wisdom 25 . It seems to
stress the point that no one is wise while embodied, which is to say while using the
senses (66a and 79c). Such a claim could be supported if one bring forward the
24VVhat seems to be implied here is the notion of 'like knows like'. Taking that for granted, if the Forms belong in a different order of being, then what knows them must at least have access to this order. ' Bostock (p. 98) makes a similar point; he argues that the role of the Form is to be a clear and - unambiguous example of X, an example that is not also an example of non-X. He thus argues that Plato supposes that if all ordinary sensible examples are thus ambiguous, then an unambiguous example would have to be non-sensible.
95
example of the Line used in the Republic. In this example, Plato divides between two
kinds of things; nmnely, the visible and the intelligible (509d). But, such an inference
seems to contradict what is said in the recollection argument, where the senses are not a
hindrance but a means to knowledge. Perhaps this discrepancy could be resolved if one
takes wisdom to mean ultimate knowledge. On the other hand, knowledge through
recollection would be knowledge gained in this life, and somewhat inferior. This is so
because in this life the soul, when recollecting, uses the particulars as stepping stones to
the Forms but is not in direct contact to the Forms.
A further argument used by Plato to hold that the soul is more like the divine, is that of
the soul being the ruler of the body 'when the soul and the body are together, nature
orders the one to be subject and to be ruled, and the other to rule and be master. Then,
again, which do you think is like the divine and which like the mortaW (80a). The
reply then is that: "Obviously, Socrates, the soul resembles the divine, and the body
resembles the mortal" (80a8-9). Having established then that: Me soul is most like the
divine, deathless, intelligible, uniform, indissoluble, always the same as itselt whereas
the body is most like that which is human, mortal, multiform, unintelligible, soluble,
and never consistently the same' (80a-b), Plato asks if the soul, being of this kind, will
be scattered and destroyed on leaving the body (80d). What should be noted here is the
implication that the soul ruling the body has for the relation of the two. If the soul rules
the body, they must obviously be connected. The significance for this thesis, then, lies
on the particular way that soul and body are connected. If, on the one hand, one takes I
the language of ruling literally, it implies that the body understands and obeys the
commands of the soul. This would imply that the body is not unthinking matter but
shares an understanding with the soul. On the other hand, the case could be that the
soul is not so much the source from which the principles that govern the body arise, but
96
it is those principles. What I would like to argue, though, is that Plato's idea is that soul
and body are actively involved. Although such a notion is problematic, it enables one
to see how Plato moves from it to a more elaborate notion of interaction between the
parts of the soul and the body, without having to hold that body is anything more than
matter26.
Plato, then, divides souls into those that are pure and those that are impure after death.
If the soul is pure and drags nothing bodily with it, it can be happy, and truly spend the
rest of time with the gods (8 1 a). On the other hand, if the soul is impure, having always
been associated with the body, it becomes heavy and is dragged back to the visible
region (8la-c). Plato seems to introduce here a distinction between souls that are
mainly, if not utterly, involved in reasoning, in knowing the Forms, and in souls that are
so much influenced by the bodily needs that do not aspire to the Forms. So far, Plato
talked about a soul being deathless, intelligible, uniform, indissoluble, always the same
as itself (80a8-9), but the distinction between pure and impure souls suggests otherwise.
In order to be able to distinguish between pure and impure souls, Plato at least seems to
commit himself to a view of the soul according to which the soul is not indissoluble and
not always the same to itself. It seems that here Plato is constructing a view of the soul
similar to the one presented in later dialogues where the soul is presented as being
composite. The composite soul can partially answer the question 'what does Plato
mean by pure/ impure soul. The composite embodied soul could be seen as impure
because, being associated with the body, it is involved in activities other than reasoning.
But for a soul that is simple, there are no criteria offered for distinguishing between
pure and impure souls. Even if we accept that Plato could define a pure soul as a soul
that concentrates on the pursue of knowledge, and an impure one as a soul that is
I'Tbis idea will be explored in the Republic and the Timaeus. 97
satisfied with the experiences gained through the senses, the question that remains
unanswered is whether it is possible to talk of a pure soul in this human life. The
evidence provided in the Recollection argument would seem to suggest that there could
never be a pure soul within this realm.
Plato argues ftuther that the pure soul moves to a different realm; that of the gods, while
the impure soul, due to its association with the body, is 'imprisoned' again in a body
(81c). He therefore distinguishes between the souls of the philosophers - who have as
little contact with the body as possible - and the souls of ordinary men - who according
to Plato are bewitched by the bodily, desires and pleasures. Moreover, the souls of
'inferior' men are reincarnated according to their character: '... they are then ... boundto
such characters as they have practised in their life' (8 1 e).
The distinction between the soul's purity and impurity after death is another important
point for the relation between body and soul. Plato argues that the soul is impure
because of its association with the body. What is not explained, though, is how the soul
can be affected by the body. Although Plato's talk is metaphorical and it is difficult to
see its literal meaning, Plato is facing the need to establish a close relation between soul
and body, and this is essential for this thesis. This need will lead to the notion of
interrelation of soul and body in the Timaeus where he not only refers to the soul being
impure, but also shows exactly how the soul can be affected by its embodiment.
The distinction, now, between the philosopher and ordinary men is based upon how
'close an association there is between the soul and the body. Plato goes on in showing
the role that philosophy plays for men. After having distinguished between 'lovers of
learning' and ordinary men, Plato says that philosophy enables the soul to understand 98
that the soul is tied up to the body: Me lovers of learning know that when philosophy
gets hold of their soul, it is imprisoned in and clinging to the body, and that it is forced
to examine other things through it as through a. cage and not by itself, and that it
wallows in every kind of ignorance' 'YIYV6CYKOUCI YC'(p, ý8 '05,01 ýAopaeits O'TI
irapaXapoýca all'TCSV 'V 0 'V ý ýIXOCOýIa dTEXVC35 &acF. F&, uZMYEV TCý cxýpaTl Kal TTI Xn
irpoamo, U)YAFIRM avaYKa; opEvijv 6s rASGITEP 61a EIPYP05 81(1 T06TOU CKOTr6c6al Ta
W OVTa aMa 11) a6 )v 61 aiýýg, Kal Ev iTdaq dpaeiq KuXiv6oupEvnv' [my italics] (82e). TI T11 I
But, according to Plato, the worst thing about this restraint is that the soul examines
things outside itself-, it is involved with desires: 'Philosophy sees that the worst feature
of this imprisonment is that it is due to desires, so that the prisoner himself is
contributing to his own incarceration most of all' 4Ka'I TOU- EIPYP09 T7)V 661VOTTIT(X
KaTl6o5cya O*TI 61' i'Trieuptas EaTiv, 65 av paMaTa dTO'g 6 WEIIEVOS CrUXX4TrTC, 3P ETTI
T09 Mickt' (82e). Although the language in 82e is complex, Plato seems to argue
that the soul is tied up - diadedeme/nhn - and glued or fastened - TrPOCrKEKO)ATIIIEVTIV - to
the body. It seems, then, as if the soul sees reality as though through bars of a cage -
Bia Eipypou - knowing that it is the cause of its own binding. Such imagery, thýs,
implies that the soul is not merely imprisoned to the body like a prisoner in a cell, but
rather that the body distorts the soul's judgement; it is the desires that 'bind' or
I imprison' the soul.
Therefore, the role of philosophy is to: 'persuade the soul to withdraw from the senses,
in so far as it is not compelled to use them, and bids the soul to gather itself together by
itself, to trust only itself and whatever reality existing by itself, the soul by itself
understands, and not consider as true whatever it examines by other means, for this is
different in different circlim tances and is sensible and visible, whereas what the soul
itself sees is intelligible and invisible' (83b). In other words, philosophy persuades the
99
soul to 'gather itself by itself otherwise it - by experiencing pleasure or pain - is welded
to the body (83d). This seems to imply that if Plato held soul and body to be distinct,
then he wouldn't need to argue in favour of philosophy. On the contrary Plato says that
the soul, when not concentrating on philosophy, is made corporeal (83d). Since 'it [the
soul] is always full of body when it departs, so that it soon falls back to a body and
grows with it.... ' (83d-e), the soul seems unable to reach a pure state. It should also be
mentioned here that Plato could not treat the soul as something completely non-
physical, because if he did he wouldn't be able to hold that the souls of ordinary men
are 'full of body'. The Affinity argument finishes with Plato's claim that: 'The soul of
the philosopher achieves a calm from such emotions [pleasures and pains]; it follows
reason and ever stays with it contemplating the true, the divine which is not the ob ect
of opinion' (84a). What such a quotation indicates, then, is not that soul and body are
completely separate from each other, but rather that the soul is able to concentrate on
itself. This is how Plato says that one 'should live ... and after death, arrive at what is
akin and of the same kind' (84b). Plato concludes that: '... after such nurture there is no
danger that one should fear that, on parting from the body, the soul would be scattered
and dissipated by the winds and no longer be anything anywhere' (84b).
Simmias' and Cebes' Objections
Following the Affinity argument, are Simmias' and Cebes' objections. Simmias
discusses the soul as being parallel to the attunement of a lyre (85e ff. ), and Cebes
compares it with the weaver of a series of cloaks (87a-88b). Both objections have to do
with the fact that the soul although it was shown to exist prior to death, can perish at
100
death".
To show the inadequacy of Socrates' argument he argues that: '... a harmony is
something invisible, without body, beautiful and divine in the attuned lyre, whereas the
lyre itself and its strings are physical, bodily, composite, earthly and akin to what is
mortal' (85e-86a). Simmias, then, uses the characteristics attributed to the soul in the
afrmity argument to draw a parallel between the soul and harmony or attunement. He
ftuther argues that someone who accepts the affinity argument, would also be obliged to
hold that; if the lyre is destroyed, 'the harmony must still exist ... because it would be
impossible for the lyre and the strings, which are mortal, still to exist when the strings
are broken, and for the harmony, which is akin and of the same nature as the divine and
immortal, to be destroyed before that which is mortal... ' (86a-b). The argument, thus, is
that the properties ascribed earlier to the soul -unseen, incorporeal, and divine - belong
also to the attunement. But just as an attunement does not outlast lyre and strings, so
the soul's possession of these properties need not entail that it outlasts the body.
Simmias goes on to claim that: '... as the body is stretched and held together by the hot
and the cold, the dry and the moist, and other such things, and our soul is a mixture and
harmony of those things when they are mixed with each other in due measure' (86b-c).
Simmias here implies that the soul is the balance needed among the physical elements
of the body. In that way, he presents the parallel between soul and harmony as a direct
one. The soul is a 'mixture' of the basic, physical elements, and harmony is a mixture
of notes. He thus claims that: 'if then the soul is a kind of harmony, when our body is
relaxed or stretched without due measure by diseases and other evils, the soul must
immediately be destroyed... ' (86c). There are two main points that should be raised
27 Gallop, 1975, p. 146. 101
here; firstly, although it is tempting to suppose that Sinunias brings forth a Pythagorean
view, as Bostock rightly points OUj28' this can be challenged if one bears in mind that
the Pythagoreans also believed in the immortality of the soul. It should be noted then
that although the Pythagoreans may have combined the notion of harmony to the
reincarnation of the soul, there is no evidence that in fact they treated the soul as
harmony or as harmonious 29. At best, one can argue that taken Pythagoras' view of the
world as exhibiting order, harmonia, and his belief that the soul is part of the world, one
could hold that the two views can be combined, as F. M. Comford argues, the same
order that is found on a large scale in the universe could be found on a small scale in
individualS30. Therefore, as Bostock quite rightly argues, it would be more plausible to
draw a parallel between a man's health and attunement, rather than between the soul
and attunemen0l.
The second point is that for a parallel between soul and attunement to work, the soul
will have to consist in a balance or harmony among the elements of something. Plato
nowhere in the dialogue suggests such a view. On the contrary, according to the
Affinity argument, in order for the soul to be immortal, Plato needs the soul to be
simple, non-composite, and distinct from the body. Having said that, though, one
cannot but ask how Plato's argument would hold against the attunement parallel if the
soul were composite 32 .A possible answer to such a question would have to be that the
soul although composite involves more than a mixture of bodily elements. The fact that
28 Bostock (123) does not want to commit himself in such a view, because, as he says, maybe such a belief was held by some Pythagoreans. The same point is held by Gallop, 1975, p. 148. 2'There is reasonable ground to claim that Simmias' view actually goes beyond the Pythagorean view of harmony. See further F. M. Cornford, 'Mysticism and Science in the Pythagorean Tradition, Classical Quarterly 16 (1922) 145-148; IL B. Gottschalk, 'Soul as Harmonia', Phronesis 16, pp 192-193. 30 Cornford, 1922, pp 142-143. 31 Bostock, p. 124 32 The composite soul is discussed in later Platonic dialogues; the dialogues that I will examine, which involve such a view, are the Republic, the Phaedrus and the Timaeus.
102
Plato does not see the soul as depending on the combination of material elements is
made evident by the view of soul as it is presented in the recollection argument and is
also held in the Republic and Timaeus. Plato presents the soul, or part of it, as
something that has the ability to know the Forms. To know the Forms requires the soul
to be something other than the body. The theory of Forms requires the soul to be in
contact with this physical world, and therefore with the body, but at the same time it
requires that the soul has the ability to know the Forms; a kind of knowledge that
cannot come from this world. Although such a view creates various problems for Plato,
the point that cannot be refuted is that if one combines the recollection argument with
the afflinity argument, the attunement parallel is weakened.
Another objection to S immias' point is that harmony is explicitly dependent on the lyre,
whereas the soul, in Plato's view, is not dependent on the body; rather, the body in
order to be alive depends on the soul. Thus, even if the soul is not separate from the
body, Plato nowhere holds that it is a result of the body" . So, although the soul's
possession of the previously mentioned properties need not entail that soul outlasts
body, at the same time, the possession cannot by itself indicate that the soul will be lost
after the body's destruction, just like harmony will be lost after the destruction of the
lyre.
The dialogue continues with the presentation of Cebes' objection. Cebes holds that
although the argument sufficiently proved the soul's existence before its being
embodied, it did not prove its existing somewhere after our death (87a). To explain this
point, Cebes uses the example of the old weaver: '... as if one said at the death of an old
331. C. Plato rejects any view of the soul as supervenient on the body.
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weaver that the man had not perished but was safe and sound somewhere, and offered
as proof the fact that the cloak the old man had woven himself and was wearing was
still sound and had not perished... But... That does not mean that a man is inferior and
weaker than a cloak. The image, then, is that the weaver wears out many cloaks. But
the fact that one cloak still exists when he dies, does not prove that he still exists.
Similarly, even if the soul outlasts any particular body, that does not prove that it is
immortal' (87b-d). Cebes thus concludes: "we cannot trust this argument and be
confident that our soul continues to exist somewhere after our death" (87e-88a). Cebes
therefore needs a further premise in order to be able to hold that the soul survives bodily
death. '... But if having granted all this, one does not further agree that the soul is not
damaged by its many births and is not, in the end altogether destroyed in one of those
deaths, he might say that no one knows which death and dissolution of the body brings
about the destruction of the soul, since not one of us can be aware of this' (88a-b).
Socrates' task, then, would be to prove that the soul is altogether immortal (88b).
Socrates' Reply to Simmias
Socrates' first point against Simmias' harmony argument is to ask both Simmias and
Cebes whether they accept the recollection theory. Both Simmias and Cebes reaffhm
that they accept that 'learning is recollection' and that 'our soul must of necessity exist
elsewhere before us, before it was imprisoned in the body' (9le-92a). What is worth
noticing, at this point, is the emphasis that Plato places on the acceptaneq of the
recollection argument. This emphasis is significant since it implies the deep belief of
Plato on the notion that souls exist independently of the body.
Hence, since Sinimias accepts the above, Socrates is able to bring forward the first
104
counterexample against the harmony argument. If Simmias holds that: 'a harmony is a
composite thing and that the soul is a kind of harmony of the elements of the body' he
cannot maintain that: 'a composite harmony existed before those elements from which it
had to be composed' (92b). Socrates, in other words, argues that Simmias' claim is
laiat: PIA harmony is a composite thing.
P2 The soul is a kind of harmony of the elements of the body.
P3 A composite harmonY cannot exist before the elements that it is composed of.
This would imply the conclusion:
//C Soul cannot exist before body.
But, as Simmias has already agreed, according to the recollection argument the soul
exists before the body.
In that way, Plato shows that the harmony theory is in conflict with the recollection
theory. Socrates shows that soul cannot be harmony, since harmony cannot exist prior
to its instruments, whereas soul can exist prior to body. In Socrates' own words: 'A
harmony is not like that to which you compare it, ... the harmony is composed last of
all, and is first to be destroyed' (92b-c). Simmias, then, abandons the harmony theory
because it is inconsistent with the recollection theory.
The next difference between harmony 34 and soul, as Socrates clearly shows to Simmias,
is that harmony is directed by the elements it is composed of (93a). Socrates shows
such a point by arguing that 'Po you think it is natural for a hannony, or any other
composite to be in different state from that of the elements of which it is composedT
(92e-93a). He, thus, forces Simmias to admit that harmony and the elements it is
347be Greek word translated as either harmony or attimement is appow a.
105
composed of have to be in the same state. Such a point Will become clear later at 94b.
The next argument of Plato against the harmony theory is considered to be complicated
and not easy to be analysed 35 . Socrates asks: 'Does not the nature of each harmony
depend on the way it has been harmonised? ' (93a). Since Simmias says that he does not
understand Socrates' question, Socrates asks: 'Will it not, if it is more and more fully
harmonised, be more and more fully a harmony, and if it is less and less harmonised, it
will be less and less fiilly a harmony' (93a-b). And this is another difference between
harmony and soul, since the above does not apply to soul. One cannot say that: '... one
soul is more and more fully a soul than another, or is less and less fully a soul, even to
the smallest extent' (93b). The problem with the above distinction is that one cannot
say explicitly what it is meant by a harmony if it is more or less harmonised, being more
or less a harmony36 . The importance, though, for this thesis is that the souls do not
admit of degrees. Souls can be distinguished into those that have intelligence and virtue
and are good, and those that have folly and wickedness and are bad (93c). Socrates
states that the good souls are harmonious while the bad ones are inharmonious. Those
who claim, then, that soul is harmony must say either that there can be a harmony of a
harm ony, or that being a soul is a matter of degrees - that one can be more or less of a
soul. But, since neither of these suggestions is acceptable, the soul as harmony theory
has to be re . ected. Plato's statement that good souls contain attunement, and bad souls
contain nonattimement (93c3-8) would be incompatible with Simmias' attunement
theory, but also with Plato's suggestion that soul is non-composite 37 . Gallop further
claims: 'if attunement or non-attunement can be obtained only by that which is
35According to Gallop (1975, p. 157), the section that follows, namely, 93al 1-94b3 is extremely difficult, and its analysis Ternains highly problematic. 36Gallop, 1975, pp. 159-160. 37Gallop, 1975, p. 161.
106
composite, they would require a different account of the soul from that which the
Phaedo suggests'38 .
What should be taken under consideration, next, is that Plato elsewhere in the Phaedo
treats the soul as being incomposite. For example, in the recollection theory an in the
affinity argument. The harmony argument, on the other hand, shows that Plato could
not speak of the soul as being harmonious unless it was composite. But could Plato
hold that the soul is composite without abandoning his idea that the, soul is distinct from
the body? A solution to such a problem would be viable if Plato held two different
views on what is composite. Thus, the soul could be composite without being the
mixture of hot, cold, dry or moist as Simmias holds. The soul is composite at both the
Republic and the Timaeus. Gallop says that Plato recognises and tries to resolve the
conflict between the doctrine of a composite soul and that of immortality at Republic
39 611alO-612a7 . What I would like to addto it is that the wayPlato treats the soul in
the Timaeus - as being composite and being able to achieve harmony - indicate finther
that he did not disregard the harmony theory altogether.
Socrates' last point against harmony (94b-95a) is related to the point made earlier - that
harmony is directed by its elements (93a). ' Here again Plato argues that the soul rules
man and that it opposes the affections of the body (94c). Plato, here, attributes to the
body qualities like thirst and hunger. What this concept implies is that the soul is
considered as only the reasoning element. Tbus, as Gallop states, the harmony differs
from the soul in -that 'a lyre's attunement depcnds wholly upon the state and
relationship of its material components, whereas they in no way depend upon it. The
38Gallop, ibid. 39Gallop, ibid.
107
causal relation is in one direction only. By contrast, the soul is not only acted upon by
the bodily elements, but acts upon them. This is the point at which the attunement
theory breaks down. '40. What should be stressed once more, though, is that, what I
would follow from Plato's argument is that the soul is not an attunement of bodily
feeling, not that it is not an attunement at all4l.
Socrates' Reply to Cebes
Socrates summarises Cebes' objection. He says that Cebes thinks: '... the soul must be
proven to be innnortal and indestructible... to prove that the soul is strong, that it is
divine... all this... does not show the soul to be immortal but only long-lasting' (95c).
Socrates then treats Cebes' objection as requiring an 'investigation of the cause of
generation and destruction' (96a). Socrates thus refers to 'natural science' which
enables one to find the 'causes of everything' (96a). The important question raised here
is whether people think with their blood or air or fire or none of these and whether the
brain provides people with their senses (96b), and whether: '... the brain provide our
senses of hearing and sight and smell, from which come memory and opinion, and from
memory and opinion which has become stable, comes knowledgeT '6 6 iYKE#XO!;
9%I- E=V 6 TC(5 aitaffilcrEis napiXCAW TOO dKOUEIV Kai opaV Kall &#a'tvec0ai, & TOUTCOV 6i
yI, yVOITO 11VTI'PYI Kali 66ga, EK 5E PV11'PTIS Kal 6o'gTjs XaPOURS T6 ý11EPIE71V, . KaTa TaOTa
yiyvcaOai Ema-rýpqv; ' (96b). These questions are important for this thesis since
Socrates is clearly raising the possibility of a materialistic account of the human mind.
Realising that he did not know the cause of things, Socrates moves into providing one
'Gallop, 1975, p. 167. 41GaHop, ibid. For an analysis of soul as harmonious see further the Timaeus image of soul's circles.
108
with another method: 'I do not any longer persuade myself that I know why a unit or
anything else comes to be, or perishes, or exists by the old method of investigation, and
I do not accept it but I have a confused method of my own' (97c). Plato in that way
introduces a teleological explanation; namely, the idea of everything being done for the
good. Socrates says according to Anaxagoras' doctrine: 'it is Mind that directs and is
the cause of everything', '... voG! g iaTtv o 6taKOC111CSV TE Kal -rrdv-rcav alIT105" (97c).
What Socrates is looking for in Anaxagoras" saying is to see how anything that comes
to be or perishes does so for the best (97d). Socrates' objection to Anaxagoras is that
although he uses 'Mind' as directing everything, he brings in other 'causes than that it
was best for them to be as they are' (98b). Anaxagoras, according to Socrates, 'made
no use of Mind, nor gave it any responsibility for management of things, but mentioned
as causes air and ether and water and many other strange things' (98b-c). Socrates,
hence, cannot accept this doctrine, because he finds it inconsistent. Socrates believes
that once Anaxagoras 'had given the best for each as the cause for each and the general
cause of all' (98b), he should have gone on 'to explain the common good for all'. Tbus,
Socrates is looking for something that would enable him to explain everything
according to what is best for them. It is crucial then to notice that Socrates here seems
to almost equate the claim that the universe is directed by vo0s to the claim that
everything is directed to the best. This, in turn, points toward a notion that the fact that
we have mind implies that our actions must be explained by reference to what we think
as good. There is then a parallel between human action and the universe. The human
mind is seen as either having something analogous to the divine vous, or as
participating in the divine vo5s that governs the universe. Such a view is important
since it seems to raise questions about the relation of the hinnan soul and this voGs. It
looks as though the soul is identified with that element of vo5s that is in humans.
109
Furthermore, although there is no implication that mind must be separate from body,
Socrates argues strongly that, bodily explanations are inadequate. To explain this point,
Socrates uses the example of himself sitting in prison; Socrates' argument is that the
reason he is in prison is not because of his body; due to the way it consists of bones and
sinews (98c-d). Socrates says that: 'these sinews and bones could long ago have been
in Megara or among the Boetians, taken there by "my" belief as to the best course, if I
had not thought it more right and honourable to endure whatever penalty the city
ordered rather than escape and rim away' (99a). Thus, Socrates' concern is about the
'true cause'. It is important to note, here, that due to the ambiguity of the textý there are
two ways to read the above quotation. Tirstly, following the above translation of
Grube, the distinction between a physical cause and a teleoldgical explanation seems to
be quite straightforward. Secondly, if one looks at the Gallop's translation - 'these
sinews and bones would long since have been off in Megara or Boetia, impelled by
their [my italics] judgement of what was best... ' - the text is taken as literally implying
f 42. that the body can have belie s 7bus, the ambiguity is apparent. I would like to hold
that although the text is not taken literally, it does suggest that what we would think
best can be determined by whether we are dominated by the body or not. Socrates'
main purpose is to explain things in terms of the best. Hence, he provides one with the
distinction between a physical efficient cause, and a teleological explanation that
derives from something different; namely thinking. In turn, such a distinction implies
the recognition of both a soul and a body within men. This is also shown later on the
dialogue where Plato does not disregard the role of the bones and the sinews altogether,
he truly recognises that they are necessary, but he places emphasis to the point that they
cannot act as the cause of Socrates' actions: 'If someone said that without bones and
sinews and all such things, I should not be able to do what I decided, he would be right,
42Gallop, 1975, p. 51. 110
but surely to say that they are the cause of what I do, and not that I have chosen the best
course, even though I act with my mind, is to speak very lazily and carelessly' (99a).
Socrates would not be able to act out his decision without his body - for example, if his
body had a severe handicap. But, what is of importance, as it was pointed out earlier, is
that the decision is not made by the body. The key distinction then is between a cause
and that without which it could not be a cause. Thus, Plato's voý!; is distinct from the
body due to its teleological function.
Thus, having established that his interest lies in finding 'the real cause' (99b), Socrates
claims that he: 'must take refuge in discussions and investigate the truth of things by
means of words' (99e). When Socrates talks about 'the real cause', it seems that he
wants to explain things in non-physical terms; but, in order to do so, he needs to
incorporate in his doctrine an entity which will be able to see what is the best. One
could argue that Socrates' insistence on the 'real cause', on finding what is the best;
what is the ultimate good for everything individually and collectively, implies that he
wants to explain everything in terms of intentionality. He wants to separate reason
explanations from causal explanations. The former is based on the soul's beliefs,
intentions, while the latter is based on bodily elements. Although, then, an intentional
explanation may not be incompatible with physicalism, Plato's view implies a separate
status for the reasoning element of the soul. An intentional explanation is part of a
wider pattern of a teleological explanation for the universe as a whole. Such an
explanation is bound up with the Forms and in particular the Form of the good. As
Plato has already argued, one's knowledge of the Forms presupposes that there is
ill
something in one that belongs to the realms of the FormS43. Plato, then, recognises that
he starts with the hypothesis about the existence of the Forms: '... assume the existence
of a Beautiful, itself by itself, of a Good and a Great and all the rest' (100b). Having
got Cebes' agreement on the above hypothesis, Socrates states that the cause that
something is, for example, beautiful is because it shares in beauty: '... if there is
anything beautiful besides the Beautiful itself, it is beautiful for no other reason than
that it shares in that Beautiful and I say so with everything' (100c). So, for Plato the
'cause' of something being beautiful is that it shares in that Beautiful. Cebes then
agrees with Socrates that: '... it is through beauty that all beautiful things are made
beautiful... ' (100e), and such a relation between the Form of something and particular
things applies also to big things, small things, and the like.
The Final Argument
Plato in the final argument, now, shows a difference between the Forms and particulars:
i... not only Talhiess itself is never willing to be tall and short at the same time, but also
that the tallness in us will never admit the short, or be overcome, but one of two things
happens: either it flees and retreats whenever its opposite, the short, approaches, or it is
destroyed by its approach' (102e). Although such a statement seems to contradict the
previous claim that opposites come to be from opposites, Plato clarifies it by
distinguishing between things with opposite qualities and the opposite itself. In Plato's
words: 'we were talking of things that have opposite qualities and naming these after
"'Tbe relation between the soul and the Forms is another indication that the soul should be a separate entity. In order for one to know the Forms, one needs something beyond the bodily, and this is the soul. In other words, the soul functions as the element that bridges the gap between the physical world and the Forms. It should be stressed here that the existence of the Forms is of necessity taken for granted.
112
them, but now we say that these opposites themselves, from the presence of which in
them the things got their name, never can tolerate the coming to be from one another'
(103 b-c).
Having established that 'an opposite will never be opposite to itself' (103c), Plato uses
two examples to clarify his point: The first deals with the opposites of hot and cold and
fire and snow. Hot is something other than fire and cold is something other than snow,
but fire will never admit cold, nor will snow admit hot. The second example is that of
Odd and number three and Even and number two. Plato says that: 'that is the nature of
three and of five, and of half of all the numbers; each of them is odd, but it is not the
Odd. Then again, two and four and the whole other column of numbers; each of them,
while not being the same as the Even, is always even' (I 04a-b). Plato by showing that
three could never admit of the Even (104e) generalises and claims that: 'Not only does
the opposite not admit its opposite, but that which brings along some opposite into that
which it occupies, that which brings this along will not admit the opposite to that which
it brings along' (105a). Such a statement is then crucial for Plato's analysis of the soul
that follows. Socrates asks: '... what is it that, present in a body, makes it living? '
(105c). The answer that he gets is 'a soul' (105c). According, then, to the example of
three and Odd, Socrates investigates the nature of the soul:
PI Whatever the soul occupies, it brings life to it (105 d).
P2 The soul will never admit the opposite of that which it brings along [i. e. life] (I 05d).
HC Therefore, the soul does not admit death (105e).
Thus, Plato proves that 'the soul is deathless' (I 05e). Plato, now, shifts the argument in
showing the soul to be indestructible. Socrates argues that: 'if the uneven were of
necessity indestructible, surely three would be indestructible' (105e-106a). The same
claim is made for the non-hot, and the non-cold (I 06a). Plato then asks: 'must then the
113
same not be said of the deathless? If the deathless is also indestructible, it is
impossible for the soul to be destroyed when death comes upon it' (I 06b).
The argument seems to be as follows:
PI The presence of soul makes a body alive (105c).
P2 So, whenever a soul enters a body, it is accompanied by life.
P3 The soul cannot admit the opposite of what accompanies it.
P4 The opposite of life is death (105d).
HC I So, the soul cannot admit death (105e).
//C II So, the soul is deathless.
//C III So, the soul is immortal.
There are two objections that can be raised here. Firstly, the first two premises show
that soul brings life to the body. A body that has soul cannot, therefore, be dead. But it
does not follow that soul must itself be alive. One could argue that souls could neither
be alive nor be dead. One could also ob ect to the passage from deathless to immortal. j
Saying that the soul cannot admit death means only that so long as the soul exists, it
cannot be dead, but that does not imply that a soul cannot cease to exist.
Such a claim, therefore, is essential for trying to understand what notion of the soul
Plato is taking under consideration. Firstly, Plato seems to have in mind that soul is
analogous to 'Ihe largeness that is in us'. But, such a view is very confusing. On the
one hand, it could suggest that the soul is a property-instance. This would imply that to
have a soul is simply to possess a property. But, such a view could not hold that the
soul is a separate entity from the body, or that it is able to survive death, two notions
114
that are of importance for Plato". Thus, the status of property-instances within Plato's
theory of Forms is very obscure. Some of the phrasing might suggest that 'the
largeness that is in one is a 'portion' of the Form of largenesS45. If one was to fliink
towards that direction, two points are insinuated: A) Each soul is a portion of Soul. In
that way soul is treated as a kind of 'stuff' that each possesses a portion of. B) Soul is a
Form or like a Form. But these ideas do not seem to connect very well. Although Plato
sometimes seems to think of soul as 'stuff, he is more inclined to think of human souls
as containing a particle of divine reason. But, that would imply that neither soul nor
reason could be a Form. They have to be what knows the Forms.
Secondly, the fmal argument seems also to show traces of the notion that soul is
analogous to heat. Among Plato's predecessors there was a widespread idea that the
hot, the cold, the dry and the moist were power-stuffs. The fire is by itself hot and
makes other things feel hot, in much the same way that water is both moist itself and
makes other things moist. It would not be unnatural then to think of soul in that way,
but that view would be very difficult to reconcile with other Platonic ideas, particularly
the view that soul belongs to the realm of the Forms which is distinct from the physical
realm. Overall, the final argument does not -seem to suggest a single coherent view of
the soul, but rather, as has been shown, suggests a number of different and probably
incompatible views.
Plato's Myth
Plato finishes his argument with a myth that includes the two key ideas throughout
44 A property instance cannot exist without that of which it is a property. For example my smallness cannot exist when I cease to exist any more than it can when I have grown tall. 'Parmenides 13 1 a-e seems designed to refute this view of Forms and particulars.
115
Plato's dialogues; namely, the notion that soul is immortal, and the notion that the soul
is the bearer of moral characteristics. The myth reads: 'now that the soul appears to be
immortal, there is no escape from evil or salvation for it except by becoming as good
and wise as possible, soul goes to the underworld possessing nothing but its education
and upbringing, which are said to bring the greatest benefit or harm to the dead right at
the beginning of the journey yonder (107d). What is of interest, at this point, is that
again Plato puts forward a notion of the soul that implies it is influenced by the
embodied life. Moreover, Plato distinguishes between the well-ordered souls and those
souls that are attached to the body and therefore face difficulties in leaving the bodily
forin (10ga-b). In particular, he describes in detail the 'fate' of the souls in the
underworld. Firstly, the dead are judged according to their penalties in their embodied
lives. The souls are separated into those committing incurable and those committing
curable crimes (I l3e), which determine the punishment that will be imposed upon
them. On the other hand, those who 'have lived an extremely pious life are freed and
released from the regions of the earth as from prison; they make their way up to a pure
dwelling place' (1 14c). This category incorporates the philosophers. Such a point is
made clear when Plato says that: 'those who have purified themselves sufficiently in
philosophy live in the future altogether without a body' (I 14c) implying, in other
words, the distinction between souls reincarnated and the philosophers' souls.
After clarifying that the above described situation may not be exact, Plato claims: 'that
is the reason why a man should be of good cheer about his own soul, if during life he
has ignored the pleasures of the body and its ornamentation as of no concern to him
but has seriously concerned himself with the pleasures of learning, and adomed his soul
not with alien but with its own ornaments, namely, moderation, righteousness, courage,
freedom and truth, and in that state awaits his journey to the underworld' (I 14e- I 15a).
116
Finally, the dialogue concludes with Socrates advising his interlocutors to take good
care of themselves (I 15d), and he makes the important remark about him leaving this
world: '... after I have drunk the poison I shall no longer be with you but will leave you
to go and enjoy some good fortunes of the blessed' (I 15b). So, Socrates says to Crito
that: 'You must be of good cheer and say you are burying my body, and bury it in any
way you like and think most customary' (115d-116a). After the above instructions
Socrates drinks the poison. His death follows.
Conclusion
Trying to establish what is the particular notion of the soul, and consequently the
relation between soul and body, with which Plato is concerned in the Phaedo, proves to
be a very challenging task. The Phaedo, as one of the main dialogues of Plato dealing
with the soul, involves a lot of arguments that are not always valid, coherent, or easy to
explain. It is generally treated as the dialogue with the most clearly dualistic
orientation. Due to Plato's insistence on proving the soul's irmnortality, the dialogue is
thought to emphasise the separation of the soul from the body. In this chapter, though,
an attempt was made to show that the separation between soul and body couldn't be a
sharp one because of the relation between the senses and knowledge. Although Plato
does not present one with a specific view of the soul, throughout his arguments he
implies that: a) a soul is required to be separate from the body, in order to be able to
know the Forms, and b) at the same time, the soul is interdependent with the body when
in the form of man. 117
The central doctrine of the Phaedo can be traced mainly in the recollection and the
affmity arguments. Both arguments imply that the soul belongs in the world of the
Forms. This would suggest a view of the body as the soul's prison from which it must
escape. So, the message of the Phaedo may seem to be very dualistic: Soul and body
are utterly distinct and belong to different reahns. The salvation of the soul lies in
disregarding the body. But, even within the recollection and affinity arguments, there
are elements that indicate that this view is not entirely accurate: A) Firstly, recollection
comes about through the senses. This implies that the senses play an important role in
the salvation of the soul. But the senses involve the body. So it seems that body and
soul cannot be utterly separate, and that soul needs the body in working out its own
salvation. B) Secondly, moral evil comes from the body. The bad person is the one
whose soul is too closely attached to the body and which allows its opinions to be
shaped by the body. But the soul is also the bearer of moral responsibility and must
suffer punishment for the misdeeds committed while it was in the body. So, again the
extreme dualistic body-as-prison view seems misleading. Q Tbirdly, the discussion of
Anaxagoras' view suggests a view of soul as divine vo5s. This may be associated with
the recollection and the affinity arguments, but leaves unsolved problems about soul
and body. Socrates draws a parallel between a) the relationship of Mind to the world in
Anaxagoras and b) the relation of himself to the body. This might seem to suggest that
Socrates identifies himself with his soul and regards that as voug.
Additionally there are elements in the Phaedo that do not fit at all with the recollection
and the affinity arguments. The cyclical argument seems to reflect a view of the soul as
something that has to be constantly recycled, that notion seems to imply that the soul's
embodiment is an accidental event. It could also be seen as holding that the soul is
118
really the person, the self, as it stands though, the cyclical argument is incomplete. The
fmal argument, now, seems to reflect several different views of the soul: as a property-
instance, seen as something that brings life to the body, and as a Form or like a Form
due to the soul's contact with the Form of life (105c). Soul as stuff or as power does
not make much sense of personal immortality. If the soul is like a portion of a Form,
one faces the same difficulty along with problems concerning the dividing up of a
Form. Both views seem inconsistent with the central views of the soul being influenced
by the body, or of the soul as a bearer of moral responsibility. Hence, the Phaedo
demonstrates the difficulty of finding an acceptable account of soul and body rather
than providing one with a solution. What does seem to become apparent, though, in the
Phaedo is that Plato treats perception as a kind of 'ladder', as the necessary means to
acquiring Knowledge.
This notion of perception being the stepping-stone to knowledge, this gradual progress
from the bodily to the spiritual, is a common theme in Plato"s dialogue. It is implied in
the Symposium, and it is made explicit in the Republic and the Timaeus. It is
interesting, thus, to compare the account of the soul in the Phaedo with the account
S OSiUM46 implicit in the YMP . where different aspects of love are treated as the necessary
means to reaching love of Beauty and the Good. Love of Beauty and the Good is
treated as equivalent to knowledge of Beauty and the Good.
Although philosophical commentary on this dialogue tends to concentrate on Socrates'
speech, it is important to see it in the context of the dialogue as a whole. As 1.
Sykoutris holds, Socmtes' narration is not the last step to a series of speeches towards
46"Me Symposium seems to belong chronologically to the middle dialogues.
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truth, but rather a reconstruction in which the previous speeches are used only as the
basic materia l47. Phaedrus, who speaks first, emphasises the notion of living well. He
holds that love provides the guidance needed if we are to live well (178c-d). Thus,
although when Phaedrus talks about love he has in mind sexual attraction, he indicates
that love is a tool that can help men 'gain virtue and blessedness whether alive or dead'
(I 80b). Interpreting this notion one can see that love, which could be characterised as a
strong desire, helps us acquire knowledge of the Form of Beauty and the Good, a claim
made later by Diotima. in 206a. Next, Pausanias' speech stresses the fact that heavenly
love is not simply a bodily attraction, but is expressed as an attachment and a
partnership. for life (183e-184a). This idea, too, will be finther explored in Diotima's
speech through the notion of 'being pregnant' in soul (209a). Giving birth to ideas is a
step closer to actually attaining knowledge of Beauty and the Good. Eryximachus, now,
although he treats love as that which holds the basic elements of the body together",
argues that love is something more than the physical attraction of two human beings.
He argues that love should be treated as a universal phenomenon (186b). This idea,
then, of broadening the notion of love will. be used by Diotima so as to indicate that the
true purpose of love is to attain absolute beauty. The issue that Aristophanes
underlines, is the issue of 'becoming whole'. He argues that love, which is the desire to
become whole, leads humans to happiness (193d). This is another point that will be
chosen by Diotima to elaborate on. She argues that: 'a lover does not seek the half or
the whole, unless, it turns out to be good as well' (205e). In other words, Plato points
out that humans do not look for what belongs to them in general, but they look for the
good (205e-206a). The final speaker before Socrates is Agathon. Agathon's speech
"I Sykoutris, TTXýTCOVOI; IUIITr&tov, Athens 1949, pp. 78-79 [my translation]. . 49 TjjiS idea alludes to the Presocratics. The notion of a principle of all things was a common one; for Tbales this principle is water, for Anaximander is apeiron, for Heraclitus is fire and for Empedocles there are four elements within a cycle of change characterised by love and strife. See further Kirk, Raven and Schofield.
120
does not provide material that will be used by Diotima, but it does provide us with the
grounds for contrast the commonly praised characteristics of a man within the Athenian
society, and Socrates' notion of what is beautiful and good. The contrast becomes
obvious later in Alcibiades' praise to Socrates (212e ff. ), where Plato once more praises
the beauty of soul over that of the body - through the image of Silenus (215a-b),
through direct reference to Socrates' behaviour (216e); through his words and deeds
(21ge-219a). Alcibiades, thus, emphasises the importance of love as presented by
Diotima, as Sykoutris argues, the speech of Alcibiades does not therefore depart from
the theme of the dialogue, but it is the natural and completely necessary continuation to
the subject. It is the climax of the Symposium were the revelations of Diotima become
alive in Alcibiades' memories, the words become deeds, love, thus, becomes the human
soul's major drama".
Going back, though, to the ascent to reaching knowledge of Beauty, one sees that this
ascent is important because it indicates a gradual progress from something bodily to
something spiritual. In particular, it indicates that in order for one to reach knowledge
of Beauty, one has to start from observing beautiful things, realising that there must be
something beyond them, and thus reach Beauty. Thus, as A. - W. Price says: 'it is the
physical beauty of the loved one, which is the starting point of the ascent (210a), that
first reminds the lover of Beauty itself, which is the apex of the ascent' (2 1 Oe-21 I e) 50 .
It should be noted here, then, that when Plato talks about the first stages of the above-
mentioned ascent, he talks about humans as placing emphasis in different aspects of
their characters. The body, therefore, is not treated as something disconnected from the
character. This becomes obvious if we look at the dialogue itself. The ascent starts
49 See Sykoutris, pp. 145-146. 50 A. W. Price, 'Loving Persons Platonically', Phronesis 26 (1981) 28.
121
according to Diotima by coming closer to 4KaXa ocz'paTa' (210a), the word 'KaXa'
means both beautiful and good, with all the connotations that refer to someone's
character rather than simply to his body. Thus, from the first level of the ascent the
emphasis is placed on the person as a whole, body and soul5l. In fact the two, soul and
body, seem to be inseparable 52 . We thus move through the different levels to the
Beauty and the Good itself (211 c).
This ascent, then, is parallel to the approach of acquiring knowledge in the recollection
argument in the Phaedo. In the recollection argument one is reminded of a Form by
looking at particular instances of that Form: "But it is definitely from the equal things
though they are different from the Equal, that you have derived and grasped the
knowledge of equality" (74c). Thus, again by seeing an instance of something one is
able to think of the Form. In the recollection argument, Plato shows that in this life to
reach knowledge, one has to start from the instances provided by the senses. In a
similar manner, in the Symposium, in order to reach the 'mystery of love', in order to
reach the Beauty and the Good, one starts from loving another human being, first due to
physical attraction and then due to attraction to his soul. Plato, in other words,
recognises stages in achieving the ultimate beauty and good. The same idea, though,
that of recognising that in order to achieve happiness one has to pass a number of
stages, is further explored in later dialogues. This, as we shall see, becomes apparent in
the Republic, in the example of the ascent from the cave to the sun, and in the Timaeus
in the example of the function and purpose of eyesighel.
51Sykoutris (p. 174, n. 2) notes that the word 'ccýpa`ra' is used by the ancient Greeks to refer to persons or individuals. 52 Ile differentiation between soul and body will follow in a higher level of the ascent. 53 See further the relevant passages in the chapters where the Republic and the Timaeus are discussed.
122
The Tripartite Notion of the Soul in the Republic
The Republic can be read with the emphasis being placed on its political ideas, on
epistemology, or - as in this thesis - on the doctrine of the soul. As it is understood,
such a diversity of issues may raise conflicting views. The focus, though, for this thesis
is the developments that the Republic offers in relation to Phaedo concerning the soul-
body relation. In particular, through the tripartite notion of the soul, Plato shows that
the relation between the tripartite soul and the body has to be that of mutual interaction
and interdependence. The tripartite soul enables Plato to escape the problems that the
simple soul of the Phaedo faces. Hence, what will become manifest, as early as from
book IV, is that Plato has already in mind the notion that the soul is complex and at the
same time one. This point, in turn is important because of the bearing it has on the
soul-body relation.
Republic IV
In book IV of the Republic Plato uses the analogy between city and soul to search for
justice. Commentators, who have discussed the analogy, have concentrated largely on
the issue ofjustice. In particular, it has been argued by some that Plato's doctrine of the
tripartite soul was designed primarily to show that the same account of justice could be
found in the soul as in the state. What this chapter proposes to do, though, is to show
that by introducing the three parts of the city, Plato provides one with a kind of model
for the soul. As the city is presented as a unity, being one in its complexity, the soul can
be seen as both one and tripartite.
Plato in determining the structure of a just city wants to establish a criterion for the just
soul. From the beginning of book IV of the Republic, the emphasis is placed on the city 123
as a whole; Plato wants not to 'make any one group outstandingly happy but to make
the whole city so, as far as possible' (420b). Such a notion - quite apart from the
political significance that it bears - is of importance for the analogy to the soul. The
soul will also be treated in a holistic way; the interest is on the whole soul, not on
individual parts i. e., the well being of the soul does not consist in each part doing well
in isolation. The same notion is explored in Plato's example of a statue in order to
show how the guardians should be treated: 'You mustn't expect us to paint the eyes so
beautifully that they no longer appear to be eyes at all, and the same with the other
parts. Rather you must look to see whether by dealing with each part appropriately, we
are making the whole statue beautiffil. Similarly, you mustn't force us to give our
guardians the kind of happiness that would make them something other than guardians'
(420c-d). What the analogy with the statue suggests, is that the city is treated as a unity
also. Plato seems to imply here that by taking care of the city as a whole, by
establishing a just city its individuals will be happy to a certain degree determined by
nature. Therefore, each part finds its own welfare in fiilfilling its role as part of a large
whole. Taking such a notion into the account of the soul, Plato will not simply be
concerned to show that the soul has parts, but he will also be concerned to show that it
is a unity that has to be achieved; it is not something given to the soul.
Hence, concerning the city, Plato emphasises on the role of education and upbringing.
He says: '... each of the other citizens is to be directed to what he is naturally suited for,
so that, doing the one work that is his own, he will become not many but one, and the
whole city will itself be naturally one not many' (423d). Plato here seems to have in
mind a different sense of oneness from that in the Phaedo where the soul is by
definition simple. His view seems to be that the soul is complex but if it becomes a
124
unity, the whole city will benefit. Tbus, at 425c he talks of the 'single newly finished
person' as the outcome of education.
Plato continues by claiming that the city he described is wise because '... it has good
judgement' (428b). By arguing, now, that good judgement is a kind of knowledge
(428b), Plato defines guardianship as some knowledge that judges about the whole city:
'I... some knowledge possessed by some of the citizens in the city we just founded that
doesn't judge about any particular matter but about the city as a whole and the
maintenance of good relations, both internally and with other cities' (428c-d). As will
be shown later on, this is an essential point for one's understanding of the analogy
between city and soul. The guardians judge what is best for the city internally and
externally; similarly, the reasoning part of the soul is the one that judges what is best for
itself and for the other two parts.
Plato, now, tries to fmd in the city wisdom, courage, moderation and justice. In
particular, he refers to moderation as a kind of order: 'Moderation is surely a kind of
order, the mastery of certain kinds of pleasures and desires. People indicate as much
when they use the phrase self-control and other similar phrases... ' 'K6cpos TrO6 TIS, 4V
6' jyca', ý cca#ocrUVTJ CIOTIV Kal ý5ovc3v TIVCaV Kal EITIBUPICSV iYKPdWa, GS'S ýacl
KPEITTCA3 6ý aLToG dmýaIVOVTES OýK 016' O*'VTIvaTP6TrOV, Kall aXXa a"TTa TMOTa
cacTrEp iXvq aýýs MYETat' (430e). Plato raises here though a very interesting point; he
says: 'Yet isn't the expression self-control ridiculous? The stronger self that does the
controlling is the same as the weaker self that gets controlled, so that only one person is
referred to in all such expressions' (43 Oe43 I a). This point indicates a particular view
about the personal identity issue. Plato's notion is that there is only one person that
does the controlling and is controlled. What should be emphasised then is that Plato
125
does not treat the lower parts of the soul as alien to the true self. His position here is
thus different from that in the Phaedo where the desires are attributed to the body m
which the soul - the true self - is imprisoned. Plato's conception, of recognising only
one person that does the controlling and is controlled, further indicates that there is a
natural hierarchy among the parts of the soul. ' This is expressed as follows: '... in the
soul of that very person, there is a better part and a worse one and that, whenever the
naturally better part is in control of the worse, this is expressed by saying that the
person is self-controlled or master of himself (43 1 a)'.
Next, Plato distinguishes between desires that are diverse, and those that are 'simple,
measured, and directed by calculation in accordance with understanding and correct
belief (43lb-c)2 - Hence, Plato argues that '... the desires of the inferior many are
controlled by the wisdom and desires of the superior few' (431c-d), and such a city is
'... in control of itself and of its pleasures and desires ... and, therefore, also moderate'
(43ld-e). The emphasis then is placed on moderation being spread throughout the
whole city and, likewise, throughout the whole soul. Such a state is achieved through
unanimity or agreement among the parts - of the soul or of the city - as to which should
rule.
Plato, then, applies the talk about the city to the soul: 'So, let's apply what has come to
light in the city to an individual, and if it is accepted there, all will be well' (434d). He
continues: 'then a just man won't differ at all from a just city in respect to the form of
justice; rather, he'll be like the city' (435a-b), and 'a city was thought to be just when
'The issue of hierarchy among the soul's parts will be discussed later in relation to 44le and it is also seen in book IX of the Republic. 'A similar distinction is made at the beginning of book M 57 1 a-b.
126
each of the three natural classes within it did its own work3, and it was thought to be
moderate, courageous,. and wise because of certain other conditions and states of theirs'
(435b). Thus, the argument continues by asking about the parts of the soul with which
we learn, get angry, and desire the pleasures (436a). Plato's concern here is to
determine '... whether these parts are the same or different' (436b). In order to do so,
he introduces an axiom: 'It is obvious that the same thing will not be willing to do or
undergo opposites in the same part of itself, in relation to the same thing, at the same
time' (436b). For example, it is impossible for 'the same thing to stand still and move
at the same time in the same part of itself (43 6c). If someone stands still while moving
his head and arms, one ought to say not that he is both moving and standing still but
that 'one part of the person is standing still and another part is moving' (436c).
This principle is then applied to the appetites: 'Then won't we say that there is a class
of things called appetites and that the clearest examples are hunger and thirstT (437d).
Plato here points out that: '... thirst itself will never be for anything other than what it is
in its nature to be for, namely, drink-itself, and hunger for food' (437e). Plato clarifies
these points about thirst and hunger by comparing knowledge itself with a particular
kind of knowledge, knowledge of something. The text reads: 'Knowledge itself is
knowledge of what can be learned itself (or whatever it is that knowledge is oO, while a
particular sort of knowledge is of a particular sort of thing' (438c). Plato, thus, returns
to the example of thirst: 'hence the soul of a thirsty person, insofar as he's thirsty,
doesn't wish anything else but to drink... ' (439a-b) and '... if something draws it back
when it is thirsting, wouldn't that be something different in it from whatever thirsts and
drives it like a beast to drink? ' (439b). In that way Plato separates between rational
calculation - being unwilling to drink - and feelings -being thirsty. As Stalley points
3Doing one's own, which is the best, is a notion ex lored also in book K 585d-e. M
out, Plato does not say explicitly that being unwilling to drink is equivalent to not being
thirsty nor does he say anything that implies this. What he does say is that being
unwilling to drink is the opposite or contrary, 'ivdvTtov' of being thirsty4, in other
words, there is a positive desire not to drink. By implication, Plato distinguishes
between the desire for a drink and the desire for a good drink. The first could be
characterised as an impulse, while the second is a reasonable judgement. In that way
Plato does not hold the idea that 'all desires are for the good', which, in tun, requires
more than one part in us; a part that involves the impulse of drink and another one for
making a judgement whether a drink is for the good. Subsequently, Plato talks as
though there are different parts within the soul: 'Isn't it that there is something in their
soul, bidding them to drink, and something different, forbidding them to do so, that
overrules the thing that bidsT (439c). Following Stalley's argument, Plato's language
here suggests very strongly that he sees this as a case in which there are two distinct
entities, not as one in which something is affected in two different respects5. Thus,
Plato concludes: 'We'll call the part of the soul with which it calculates the rational part
and the part with which it lusts, hungers, thirsts, and gets excited by other appetites the
irrational appetitive part, companion of certain indulgences and pleasures' 'To' pEv 4
XOYI; ETat XOYICFTIKO'V 7TPO(3CXYOPEUOVTES TTIS q/V)(fiS, T6 SE 4 EPQ-( TE Kai ITE14 Kalt 6iqifl
Kai ITEPI Tas a)Aas EmOuptas E'lTTOTITai dX6YIGT6V TE Kal ETrIeUP71TIK6V, TrxTlpca'GEC#3'V
TIVCaV Kai ý60VC3V ETC61POV' (439d). Hence, Plato makes it clear that although there are
different elements involved in mental conflict, they are nevertheless parts of a single
thing; namely, the soul. Although the argument for the soul's division looks plausible,
it is difficult to make sense of something non-physical having parts. A further difficulty
is that it depends on physical analogies. Some scholars have thought that Plato really
4 R. F. StalleY, "Plato's Argument for the Division of the Reasoning and Appetitive Elements witym the Soul', Phronesis 20 (1975) 120. 5Stalley, 1975, p. 116.
128
wants to make a distinction between motivations, but 436a and the language used in the
argument rules this out. So, one is left with the puzzle of how something non-physical
can have parts. What is more, one of the parts - the appetitive - is described in terms
that link it closely to the body. These difficulties could be solved if the parts of the soul
had physical locations. Unfortunately, such a solution is not provided in the Republic.
A question that could be raised then is whether we can infer that Plato was thinking of
the soul's parts as being spatially located or not. Although there are no direct
references where the soul's parts are located in particular parts of the body, the fact that
Plato does not deny such a possibility may be seen as indicating that he have not
worked out the details for such an argument. This is clearly argued at length in the
Timaeusý
Tben, Plato introduces the third part of the soul; the spirited part, by which 'we get
angry' (439e). Although Plato does not analyse at any length the role of the spirited
part, it is implied that without it Plato would not be able to argue for a unified,
harmonious soul. The appetites are described as being opposite to reason, and reason
does not have any emotional force over the desires. Thus, in a case of two conflicting
points, the spirit functions as the part that is able to help reason overcome desires. Plato,
thus, has proven that there are in the soul three different parts just as there are in the
city: 'We are pretty much agreed that the same number and the same kinds of classes as
are in the city are also in the soul of each individual' (441c). The spirit, thus, unlike
some scholars who hold that spirit was introduced purely to prove an analogy between
city and soul, is treated as essential for Plato's moral psychologY7. What should be
noted, though, is that the presence of the spirited part creates a further complexity
'rbe soul's parts are spatially located within the bodily fimne in the Timaeus. 'Another point supporting the view that the role of the spirit goes beyond the political analogy is that it is referred to in the Phaedrus and the Timaeus where no political issues are discussed.
129
regarding the nature of a soul, since it is far from clear how it fits into the soul-body
dichotomy. It is unclear because although the desires could be treated as bodily, and
reason as immaterial, the spirited part can be seen as belonging to neither or both.
What remains, now, to be discovered is what makes a soul just: 'And we surely haven't
forgotten that the city was just because each of the three classes in it was doing its own
work' (441 d), and 'Then we must also remember that each one of us in whom each part
is doing its own work will himself be just and do his own' (44 1 d-e). In like manner,
Plato argues that: 'isn't it appropriate for the rational part to rule, since it is really wise
and exercises foresight on behalf of the whole soul, and for the spirited part to obey and
be its allyT (441e). What one should note at this point, is that Plato not only talks
about the different parts of the soul, but most importantly presupposes a hierarchy
within the soul. The reasoning part is rightfully ruling the other parts since it is the only
one that can 'exercise foresight' for the whole soul. In other words, reason knows what
is best not only for itself, it is best for the soul as a whole, and therefore for the other
two parts each in its own ývays. As Peters puts it, according to Plato, reason must grasp
the good of the soul, understood both collectively and distributively, in order to govern
well9. In a similar manner, Stocks maintains that in the perfect life there is still triplicity
of function though there is unity of direction or motive. Thus the three forms are no
longer alternatives: '... they are all present together, united for the first time after a
fashion which is described by the metaphor of ruler and subject"O. Plato's view is,
thus, that the soul is a natural unity in the sense that it becomes a unity when each of its
parts functions correctly. But this unity is not automatic. If the parts do not fiinction
correctly, then the soul is 'pulled apart', and we have three competing elements rather
37be issue of 'hierarchy' within the soul is seen throughout the Republic. 9james Robert Peters, 'Reason and Passion in Plato'sRepublic', Ancient Philosophy 9 (1990) p. 175. 10J. L. stocks, 'Plato and the Tripartite Soul', Mind 24 (1915) 215.
130
than a single unified personality. This indicates that if this order is maintained the soul
is just. If I may compare, now, the above passage with 425c, here also Plato seems to
imply that only the just soul is truly one.
Plato, though, faces here a major problem for the whole of the Republic regarding the
soul-body relation; he does not distinguish clearly the relation between the three parts of
the soul and the body. In other words, he does not clarify in what way and how far the
parts of the soul are affected by the body. He does argue that the rational and the
spirited part - when properly nurtured - will govern the appetitive part. But at the same
time he says that: 'they'll watch over it to see that it isn'tfilled [my italics] with the so-
called pleasures of the body and that it doesn't become so big and strong that it no
longer does its own work but attempts to enslave and rule over the classes it isn't fitted
to rule, thereby overturning everyone's whole life, '0 T71PýCYETOV Pý TCý TripTAadat
TC3V Mpli TO' CCSPa KaXOUPEVCA)V ýBOVCSV TrOXý KC('1 ICVPOV YEVOPEVOV OUK a5 Ta a6TOG
TrpCiTTU, aXXa KaTa6ouXcS'acxc6a1 Kalt JpXEIV iTrIXEIPTICTO CSV Oý TrpOa6Kov aU'TCý YiVEI,
Kai aupTravTa Tov plov TrdvTcav dva`rpi", $ (442a-b). Such a quotation suggests that
although the appetites are part of the soul, there is a special relation between them and
the body, which can affect the other parts of the soul. Plato's phrasing of 'filling up'
the appetitive part with the pleasures of the body suggests that the appetitive part of the
soul cannot be separated completely from the body. A difficulty that is raised here is
that Plato does not have a clear view regarding the variety of desires that are included
under the appetitive part. The problem is evident from the fact that Plato treats the
desire for drink and the desire for money, in a very general way, under the same part.
While the desire for drink is clearly bodily, the desire for money is not.
131
Plato concludes his discussion of justice by stating what the just man does; a) he is
concerned with what is truly himself and his own (443d), b) he puts himself in order; he
harmonises the three parts of himself (443d), and c) he brings together those parts; he
becomes entirely one, moderate and harmonious. Although the 443d passage can not
be taken literally since it seems to confuse the self with his reasoning part and at the
same time to consider the self as something altogether different to its parts, if one looks
at the city a helpful parallel can be drawn. One might talk of the city pursuing, or
failing to pursue, the right values, setting itself in order or uniting itself The point I
would not be that particular parts did these things, nor that each part separately did the
same thing. Rather, when the city acts as a whole, each part plays its appropriate role.
Similarly, the talk of the soul putting itself in order is not equIvalent to saying that
reason brings the other elements to order. Each part plays a role in the reorganisation of
the soul. Thus, although it seems that Plato identifies the reasoning part with the true
self, in fact his emphasis is placed on the unity achieved due to reason being in control
over the other two parts. He has already claimed that reason is the one that rules
naturally, so by claiming now that the just man brings the parts of the soul together, he
underlines the importance of the self being a unity. Because the soul of the just man is
properly ordered, the man as a whole is truly one and harmonious.
After having argued for the just city and the just man, Plato moves to the discussion of
injustice. He argues: 'Surely, it must be some kind of civil war between the three parts,
a meddling and doing of another's work, a rebellion by some part against the whole
soul in order to rule it inappropriately' (444b). The above quotation indicates that since
injustice is a matter of inappropriate ruling, thenjustice is appropriate ruling. The point
that should not be overlooked is that Plato's talk about a 'rebellion' is metaphorical. A
literal rebellion implies that the rebels have a reasoning capacity, which by definition
132
the two lower parts of the soul are lacking. One could hold here, then, that Plato's
emphasis is placed on one part doing the work of another, which would disturb the
presupposed hierarchy. Hence, the notion of rebellion is a rather misleading one. In
truth, what Plato has in mind is not that the appetites literally 'take control' on ruling
the soul, but rather that the appetites are allowed to distort reason's judgements. But
what exactly does Plato have in mind with this notion of distorting reason's judgement,
and what does it entail? Perhaps it would be helpful to remember Plato's example of
thirst. Thirst is obviously an appetite, and as such it is 'a companion to indulgences and
pleasures' (439d). Usually, then, it is reason that determines whether one should fulfil
that appetite. There are cases though where the appetite is so strong, or the reason is so
weak, that the person does not employ reason but follows the appetites. In that sense,
the presupposed correct hierarchy is lost.
Plato, then, introduces an analogy between the effect of healthy and unhealthy things on
the body and that ofjust and unjust actions on the soul: 'Because just and unjust actions
are no different for the soul than healthy and unhealthy things are for the body' (444c).
Tie analogy is stated as follows: 'To produce health is to establish the components of
the body in a natural relation of control and being controlled, one by another, while to
produce disease is to establish a relation of ruling and being ruled contrary to nature'
(444d). 'Then, isn't to produce justice to establish the parts of the soul in a natural
relation of control, one by another, while to produce injustice is to establish a relation of
ruling and being ruled contrary to natureT (444d). What is emphasised, then, is that for
both health and justice there is a natural relation among the parts involved, while
disease and injustice is a disturbance of that relation. The idea of the natural order
within the soul is here taken for granted. This notion is further explored through the
notion that each one should do what is the natural work for him. As Stalley argues, 133
justice in the state is fmally discovered to be a matter of each man doing his own
thing... So an important part of Plato's defence of justice is the claim that it is the
natural state both in cities and in individuals". Therefore, Stalley concludes that in
Plato's view justice and health are genuinely alike in that they both exemplify the
fundamental natural order of the universe 12 . Two points need to be stressed here.
Firstly, the analogy between the body's health or its disease and the soul's justice or
injustice alone does not indicate a connection between mental and physical health. An
important distinction on the way mental health differs from physical health is that the
establishment of the body's parts in a relation of control is not done by any of those
parts, but from something else; the person. On the other hand, the establishment of the
parts of the soul in a relation of control is done by the soul as a whole. The Republic
itself, then, does not provide one with the necessary argument in holding that the
relation between them [mental and physical health] is closer than a mere analogy.
Book IV concludes with the question whether it is more profitable to act justly, or to act
unjustly (444e-445a). Plato states: 'So even if someone can do whatever he wishes,
except what will free him from vice and injustice and make him acquire justice and
virtue, how can it be worth living when his soul - the very thing by which he lives - is
ruined and turmoilT (445b). The problem that should be raised here is that of a
different notion of the soul than the one presented earlier in the book. In particular,
Plato refers here to the soul as the life principle. What he confuses then, is the soul as a
moral agent - doing what is best, what is directed by reason - with the soul as the
element that brings life to whatever it occupies. The worthy life is different from life, a
notion that although Plato seems to recognise, he often merges. In other words, he
"See Stalley, 1975, p. 112. 12Stalley, 1975, p. 113.
134
moves from the notion of a worthy life to the notion of life without paying much
attention to the moral and metaphysical consequences of that assimilation.
135
Republic IX
In book IX of the Republic Plato refers to the tyrannical man - both in his private and
his public life - and compares him with the other types of men. Although such a
discussion might seem not to have any bearing on this thesis, I want to argue that the
discussion in this book has important implications for Plato's view of the soul and its
relation to the body. In particular, the issues that arise are the following: a) the question
of whether man is in control over the three parts of the soul as something external, or
the three parts of the soul are aspects of the man. In other words, how is one to
interpret Plato's metaphorical talk about what constitutes a person. b) How far the
parallelism between city and person influences Plato's ethical view about the soul's
hierarchy. c) What kind of view of the soul arises from Plato's discussion about the
pleasures corresponding to the three parts of the soul, along with his talk of pleasure
and pain. Finally, d) how is the issue of injustice, and the imagery of the beast, the lion,
and the human to relate to the soul-body question.
Plato's account of the tyrannical man is based on the distinction - already mentioned in
554a and 559d - between two types of desires the necessary and the unnecessary. At
571b Plato finther distinguishes the unnecessary desires into those that are lawless and
those that are lawful: 'some of our unnecessary pleasures and desires seem to me to be
lawless. They are probably present in everyone, but they are held in check by the laws
and by the better desires in alliance with reason' (571b). What such a distinction
indicates is that for Plato there is a standard, by which desires are to be judged, he
considers the desires of which reason approves best and the ones that are contrary to
reason, worse. He claims that the worse desires are those that awake in sleep, when the
rest of the soul rests: 'Then the beastly and savage part, full of food and drink, casts off
136
sleep and seeks to find a way to gratify itself You know that there is nothing it won't
dare to do at such a time, free of all control by shame or reason' (571c). This passage
raises important questions since Plato apparently refers to dreams and implies that there
are unconscious desires, but it is not clear how he could account for the unconscious13.
Since, within Plato's theory, reason cannot be identified with consciousness 14 the
conscious/unconscious distinction cannot fit his tripartite notion of the soul. Plato's
primary concern is to distinguish appetites from reason as well as from the body;
appetites are not directly linked to the body, and at the same time they are something
other than reason. In that way, Plato is able to describe the healthy and moderate man
as placing emphasis on the elevation of reason. Before going to sleep: '... he rouses his
rational part and feasts it on fine arguments and speculations; second, he neither starves
nor feasts his appetites, so that they will slumber and not disturb his best part... third, he
soothes his spirited part in the same way' (57ld-572a). Plato, here, not only recognises
three parts in the soul that have to be interrelated, but also argues that the appetites and
the spirited parts can disturb the rational part of man from getting on 'with its
investigations' (572a). Moreover, the claim that the reasoning part needs to be left
alone, pure and by itself (572a), implies both that it has the potential to do so, and that it
is, in practice, disturbed by the other two parts.
In Plato's view, the tyrannical man is one whose reason is disturbed by the other parts; I
he is full of intense desires, shameless and without moderation: 'then this leader of the
soul adopts madness as its bodyguard and becomes frenzied. If it finds any beliefs or
desires in the man that are thought to be good or that still have some shame, it destroys
131t should be noticed that the emphasis will not be placed on whether Plato had any notion of the unconscious mind. "The desires of appetite and spirit generally appear conscious and there is no suggestion that those who are dominated by their lower elements lapse into the unconscious.
137
them and throws them out, until it's purged him of moderation and filled him with
imported madness' (573a-b). The implication is again that 'originally, a person is good
and moderate. But, although man is naturally good and moderate, and therefore
governed by reason, the desires are able to influence him in such a degree so that he is
destroyed, he becomes corrupt. It should be stated here that Plato must have had in
mind that something better could not develop out of something worse; thus he talks
about 'decline' of the natural goodness and moderation of man due to desires. Hence,
the effect of desires on the person is partially held responsible for the person's
development. What one should notice here is Plato's distinction between bad habits
acquired from outside, and those emerging from within, those that are shaped by the
environment, and those that are so due to nature. But such a distinction, indicates that
the person is affected both from external and inner influences; the desires, that are
distinct from reason and the body but at the same time connected with both, are liable
for the whole person's condition. Such a point reveals that the person cannot be
identified with the reasoning part of the soul, but must be something more composite".
Plato's account of the tyrannical man, therefore, is important because it indicates a
presupposed idea about the definition of the 'healthy' man; there should be a certain
hierarchy within the soul; reason has to be in control, while the appetitive and the
spirited parts can achieve only partial satisfaction. The emphasis, then, lies on
moderation. Plato, as regards desires, is not thinking of maximising uncontrolled
"This point will be discussed in more detail in relation to the image of the beast the lion and the human in 588c-d.
138
satisfaction, but rather satisfaction of the desires that are good". Such a point, again,
implies a need for a hierarchy within the soul.
The above issue of hierarchy is finther examined through the city-person analogy: 'And
won't the relations between the cities with respect to virtue and happiness be the same
. yrrannical man: 'if man as those between the menT (576c). Thus, Plato says about the V
and city are alike, mustn't the same structure be in him too? And mustn't his soul be
full of slavery and unfreedom, with the most decent parts enslaved and with a small
part, the maddest and most vicious, as their masterT (577d). And he concludes: 'Then
a tyrannical soul - I'm talking about the whole soul - will also be least likely to do what
it wants and forcibly driven by the strings of a dronish gadfly, will be full of disorder
and regret' (577d-e). An issue that arises here is that of what exactly Plato had in mind
when he claimed that the tyrannical man is not doing what he wants. For Plato, what
anyone really wants has to be what is good for him. Based on that, he then argues that
the tyrannical man is not doing what he as a whole person wants, but what the distorted
self makes him believe that he wants. This point can be seen also in Gorgias; Socrates
denies that orators and tyrants 'do what they want' (467b), they simply do what seems
fit. Plato's argument could be read in the following way:
P. 1 If someone does A for the sake of B, it is not A which he really wants but B.
P. 2 People do things that are not good themselves for the sake of the good.
//C I So, if someone does something that is not good itself, what he really wants is the
good.
X2 So, if someone does something thinking it good, when it is in fact bad, he is not
doing what he really wants.
16, Ms will be also seen in relation to Plato's argument for the most just and happy man in 580b-c. Ile notion that complete satisfaction of desires is not good is further explored in Philebus where it is argued that goodness comes with limit, Philebus 24e-29c.
139
The Gorgias example although complicated, points out that for Plato what one wants is
something different from what seems fit for him to do. In other words, both in the
Gorgias' text and here Plato takes for granted that what one wants is what is good. It is
implied, thus, not only that the tyrant lacks the soul's natural order, but also that the
tyrant's soul, because does, not do what is really good, only what seems good, does not
do what it really wants. Plato presupposes here that the true soul is the soul that is ruled
by reason, where the other parts achieve partial satisfaction. For Plato, the lower parts
of the soul are seeking what is good for them, but they can only achieve that when they
are under the direction of reason 17 . Similarly, Schiller argues: Me soul of the Republic
is not pictured as an entity imprisoned in the body, but rather as the seat of all the
activities of the body"s.
On the other hand, the tyrannical soul, and the tyrant as a person - since he does not
function correctly - is less truly a man than the one who does". Ile tyrant, like the city,
must always be poor and unsatisfiable, full of fear and find more wailing, groaning,
lamenting and grieving than in any other soul and city (578a). The discussion about the
tyrant concludes with a very important passage: 'The most just, and the most happy is
the most kingly, who rules like a king over himself, and that the worst the most Unjust
and the most wretched is the most tyrannical, who tyrannises himself and the city he
rules' (580b-c). This shows Plato's argument to be that the reason should act as the
king of the soul. The emphasis is again placed on the hierarchical order of the soul.
171his notion is discussed finther in relation to 586d-e. I 8J. Schiller, 'Just Men and Just Acts in Plato's Republic', Journal of The History ofPhilosophy 6 (1968) P. 5- I'Such a view though faces the paradox of claiming that the tymnnical man is not a true man, which most of all creates a serious personal identity issue for Plato. It is as if he implies a particular definition of man in which the tyrant cannot fit into.
140
This point is also used by Schiller. He argues that: 'It is absurd to ask why a just soul is
more Worthwhile than an unjust one because, by definition, a just soul is one in which
the rational element is in control over the other elements, and thus, is able to fulfil all its
functions adequately 20 . Hence, the emphasis is placed on the presupposed notion of
how a man should be in order to be considered just. In other words, the soul's natural
hierarchy is essential not only for saying what constitutes a just man, but for what
constitutes a man2l. The tyrannical man, then, is treated as someone who lacks a
unified personality. Thus, Plato's argument seems to be that the true self is not the
reason. Rather, we acquire a single identity when our whole nature is organised under
the control of reason.
From this point, 580d, until 588b Plato is concerned with the pleasures corresponding
to the three parts of the soul: 'it seems to me that there are three pleasures
corresponding to the three parts of the soul, one peculiar to each part, and similarly with
desires and kinds of rule' (580d). He distinguishes three parts of the soul: the money-
loving paA22, the honour-loving part, and the learning-loving and philosophical (58 1 a-
b). Each part, now, rules some people's souls (58lb-c). Thus, the person is
characterised according to which part of his soul rules the whole soul. Such a notion
again indicates that each individual part of the soul is capable of affecting the soul as a
whole, which in turn requires a certain interrelation between each of the soul's parts and
the whole soul. Plato's argument continues; there are: 'also three forms of pleasure one
assigned to each of them [three types of people]' (581c). Moreover 'since there is a
20Schiller, p. II 21A similar point, regarding the analogy between a just city and a just man is made in Republic IV 443e- 444a. 22plato's talk of the money-loving part, is confusing since Plato attributes more to the appetites tl= what we get from the body. A possible explanation of what Plato means is not that we have an appetite for
money, but that appetites motivate the man to pursue money.
141
dispute between the different forms of pleasure and between the lives themselves, not
about which way of living is finer or more shameful better or worse, but about which is
more pleasant and less painful, how are we to know which of them is speaking most
trulyT (581e). What Plato wants to achieve here is to establish criteria for judging
something to be more truly pleasant than something else is. In Plato's own words: 'how
are we to judge things if we want to judge them well? Isn't it by experience, reason,
and argumentT 6TIVI Xpý KpivEc6al Ta PE)AOVTa KaXCS! g KPIOýcrEc6aq dp' OýK E111TEIPIQ(
I #OV'GE1 Kai X' ;' (582a). TE Kai T) OYCI?
The argument continues: 'A philosopher has of necessity [my italics] tasted the other
pleasures since childhood, but it isn't necessary for a profit-lover to taste or experience
the pleasure of learning the nature of the things that are and how sweet it is' (582b).
And Plato concludes: 'Then a philosopher is far superior to a profit-lover in his
experience ofboth theirpleasures [my italics]', 'TToXu' d'pa &#Epsl TOO YE ýIXOKEPSOOS
6 ýJXOC405 EpTrElpiq( apýOTEPCJV TCSV ýSOVCSV' (582b). A difference between the
Phaedo and the Republic seems to be raised here. In the Phaedo the philosopher is
represented as needing to be disassociated from the body, from anything physical:
'Philosophy then persuades the soul to withdraw from the senses in so far as it is not
compelled to use them and bids the soul to gather itself together by itself, to trust only
itself and whatever reality, existing by itself, the soul by itself understands, and not to
consider as true whatever it examines by other means, for this is different in different
circumstances... whereas what the soul itself sees is intelligible and invisible' (Phaedo
83b). This need for the soul to be essentially disembodied is somehow unavoidable in
Phaedo since Plato presents a simple soul being placed in a body. What should be
noticed, though, is that Plato in the Phaedo seems to suggest that ideally we would turn
our backs completely on bodily desires. The Republic, on the other hand, seems to
142
suggest that the just man will enjoy these in so far as they are compatible with the rule
of reason.
Another striking point is that the philosopher has necessarily learned through
experience. As it is said in 582a, experience is necessary to decide between lives.
There is, in other words, a process, through experience, that the philosopher followed,
in order to achieve his present state - that of superiority - due to the use of leaming the
nature of the things that are'. This is further developed in the Republic with the notion
of the tripartite soul. This is seen when Plato says: 'Then, as far as experience goes, he
[the philosopher] is the fmest judge of the three' (5 82d), and is further supported by the
next sentence: 'And he alone has gained experience in the company of reason' (582d).
Plato's emphasis, thus, is placed in the rule of reason, but having passed through
experience. The implication then is that both reason and experience are necessary for
one to reach truth. Moreover, the philosopher's experience is best exactly because of
the search for truth. As J. L. Stocks says, in the Republic an attempt is made to show
that in knowledge there is both honour and profit, so that in a sense exclusive attention
to one of these three sides of our nature results in the satisfaction of all three, while
exclusive attention to any other brings misery and disaster 23
- And he continues:
'knowledge does bring with it true pleasure and true honour: for the whole soul is
content and at peace when knowledge is attained 924 .
From 583b onwards, Plato presents one with what he calls the 'third proof, concerning
the just person's superiority over the unjust one. Plato holds that 'apart from those of a
knowledgeable person, the other pleasures are neither entirely true nor pure but are like
23StoCkS, p. 211. 24Stocks, ibid.
143
a shadow-painting' (583c). Thus, he starts by separating pleasure, pain, and the
intermediate feeling, that of calm of the soul (583c). Although it seems that such a state
can be, under certain conditions, both pleasant and painful, in truth it only appears to be
so. The examples used by Plato are the following: sick people say that: 'nothing gives
more pleasure than being healthy, but that they hadn't realised that it was most pleasant
until they fell ill' (583d). On the other hand, 'And haven't you also heard those who
are in great pain say that nothing is more pleasant than the cessation of their suffering? '
(583d). Plato continues: 'Then the cahn we described as being intermediate between
pleasure and pain will sometimes be both' (583e). He, then, asks: 'Then how can it be
right to think that the absence of pain is pleasure or that the absence of pleasure is
painT (584a). Plato wants to show, here, that being in the intermediate state; feeling
neither pain nor pleasure is different from the true and pure pleasure of someone being
knowledgeable. T'hen, Plato refers to the pleasures that are not preceded by pain so as
to show that pure pleasure is not relief from pain and that pure pain is not absence of
pleasure (584b-c). Plato, in order to support finiher his argument, claims that: 'Is it any
surprise, then, if those who are inexperienced in the truth have unsound opinions about
lots of other things as well, or that they are so disposed to pleasure, pain and the
intermediate state that, when they descend to the painful, they believe truly and are
really in pain, but that, when they ascend from the painful to the intermediate state, they
firmly believe that they have reached fulfilment and pleasureT (584e-585a). Tlerefore,
the emphasis is placed again on the 'inexperienced' having 'beliefs' which are not true.
The argument that follows, 585b-e, seems odd because it interrupts the main line of
argument and seems to involve a different view of the soul and its pleasures: 'And
aren't hunger, or thirst, and the like some sort of empty states of the bodyT (585b), and
'Aren't ignorance and lack of sense empty states of the soulT (585b). The argument 144
continues, 'And wouldn't someone who partakes of nourishment or strengthens his
understanding be filledT (585b). The crucial question, then, asked by Plato regards
'which kinds [of filling up] partake more of pure being' (585b). Plato claims that:
'That which is related to what is always the same is far more [true]' (585c). Similarly,
he asks: 'And isn't it generally true that the kinds of filling up that are concerned with
the care of the body share less in truth and being than those concerned with the care of
the soulT (585c-d). The argument, then implies that the soul has an ontological priority
over the body because it is in contact with the Fonns. It is, thus, close to the Phaedo
doctrine. But this notion does not fit at all well with the tripartite doctrine assumed in
the rest of book IX. Although it wants to stress the soul's superiority over the body, in
fact it is only able to stress the reason's superiority over the other parts of the soul and
the body. Although throughout the Republic Plato emphasises the importance of the
hierarchy among the three parts for the person's benefit in fact here he places emphasis
to the reasoning part having priority over anything else. In a sense, Plato moves from
his claim of hierarchy among the soul's elements to the metaphysical point of reason
being superior due to being able to know the Forms.
Plato concludes to the above: 'Therefore, those who have no experience of reason or
virtue, but are always occupied with feasts and the like, are brought down and then back
up to the middle, as it seems, and wander in this way throughout their lives never
reaching beyond this to what is truly higher up, never looking up at it or being brought
up to it, and so they aren't filled with that which really is and never taste any stable or
pure pleasure' (585e-586a).
Despite the discrepancies in the argument, it is clear that: a) firstly, Plato associates
reason and virtue with truth, and b) secondly, he takes the existence of objective truth 145
for granted, he talks about the 'stable and pure pleasure', the existence of something
that really is. Moreover, this objective truth can be reached only through reason, and
only then one is able to 'taste any stable or pure pleasure' (586a). The argument
implied then is:
PI There is something that really is, the objective truth.
P2 This objective truth is reached only by reason.
P3 Objective truth, when reached, gives one stable or pure pleasure.
//C Reason is a source of pure and ; table pleasure.
'Mus, Plato offers an image of the way men who are driven by their appetites act: 'For
the part that they're trying to fill is like a vessel full of holes, and neither it nor the
things they are trying to fill it with are among the things that are' (586b). In this
respect, there is a contrast with the Gorgias. It resembles the Gorgias in using the
leaky jars idea, but it also introduces the idea of true pleasures. in Gorgias the relevant
passage reads: '... part of the souls of fools where their appetites are located is their
undisciplined part, one not tightly closed, a leaking jar, as it were' (Gorgias 493b), and
I... the uninitiated ones would be the most miserable. They would carry Water into the
leaking jar using another leaking thing, a sieve' (Gorgias 493b). As in Gorgias, Plato's
emphasis here is placed on the role of the appetites. In particular, the appetites are
presented as being unlimited and dissociated from reason. Moreover, both in the
Gorgias 493b and in the Republic 586b the language of 'filling' and 'emptying' implies
that Plato treats the appetites in a rather physicalistic way, due to their close relation to
the body.
What is striking, though, about the above argument is that of the reference to the 'things
that are' (586b). It implies that Plato has in mind a model, a particular idea of 146
permanency. In other words, Plato has in mind the Forms. Ile existence of the Forms,
being presupposed, is necessary for Plato to hold that there is an objective truth.
Plato continues his argument: 'Then can't we confidently assert that those desires of
even the money-loving and honour-loving parts that follow knowledge and argument
and pursue with their help those pleasures that reason approves will attain the truest
pleasures possible for them, because they follow truth, and the ones that are most on
their own, if indeed what is best for each things is most its ownT (586d-e). Thus, the
distinction between the desires that follow reason, and those that are on their own,
becomes more evident.
A problem to notice here is what Plato means with the sentence 'if indeed what is best
for each thing is most its own' (586e). Does Plato argue here that what is best for the
appetites is most their own or does 'own' means what is most appropriate to them? It
seems as if there is a discrepancy here between the appetites' own - their own fulfilment
- and what is best for them. Such an inconsistency could be overcome if one assume
that for Plato there is no possibility for the lower parts of the soul to exist
independently. Although the appetites, and the spirit, could theoretically achieve
complete satisfaction, that would ultimately lead to the soul's destruction, due to the
whole soul becoming disorderly.
Thus, Plato says: 'when the entire soul follows the philosophic part, and there is no civil
war in it each part -of it does its own work exclusively and is just, and in particular it
enjoys its own pleasures, the best and truest pleasures possible for it' (586e-587a).
What is again underlined here is the relation of each part of the soul to the philosophic
part and therefore to the truth. The best pleasures for each part have to be related to 147
knowledge, the philosophic part and therefore to truth. As regards the above quotation,
R. W. Hall writes: the proper functioning of the three parts of the soul which results in
each part attaining its proper virtue as well as the whole soul's gaining justice implies
that the individual knows how each part should function in relation to itself and to the
other parts. Through 'knowledge how', the rational element 4T6 XOYICITIKOV' guides the
proper functioning of the lower elements so that each part Mfils its function, gains its
appropriate pleasure, and contributes to the well being of the whole 25 . Also concerning
the point of the soul achieving its best through hierarchy; with the philosophic part
being 'in control', J. R. Peters claims; Plato asserts unequivocally that the philosopher
will in fact aim at the harmony and fulfilment of the entire SOU126 . He further supports
his point by saying that, even though their [the lower elements'] pleasures are inferior to
reason's own, for its part, reason accepts the limitations of being connected to
temporally bound desires and seeks to transform the entire system of psychic impulses
into a unified organism. As part of this system, reason pursues the complete unity of
the whole personalitY27. Peters' analysis helps one to see more clearly that Plato's talk
of unity also gives rise to a particular notion of personal identity. In detail, reason's
pursuing what is best for the whole, suggests that the person cannot be something
distinct from the unity of the soul's parts.
Plato continues by comparing the life of a tyrant to that of a king (587b-e), and
concludes that: 'Then if a good and just person's life is that much more pleasant than
the life of a bad and unjust person, won't its grace, fineness, and virtue be incalculably
greaterT (588a). In that way, Plato returns to the original discussion about inj ustice;
'Since we've reached this point in the argument, let's return to the first things we said
`F- W. Hall, 'Justice and the Individual in the Republic', Phronesis 6, no. 10 959) p. 154. 26Peters, p. 18 1. "Peters, ibid.
148
injustice profits a completely unjust person who is believed to be just' (588b). Thus,
Plato wants to fashion '... an image of the soul in words' (588b). This image follows:
'... fashion a single kind of multicoloured beast with a ring of many heads that it can
grow and change at will - some from gentle, some from savage animals' (588c), then,
'... fashion one other kind, that of a lion, and another of a human being. But make the
first much the largest and the other second to it in size' (588d). The argument
continues: 'Now join the three of them into one, so that they somehow grow together
naturally' (5 8 8d), and finally, 'Then fashion around them the image of one of them, that
of a human being so that anyone who sees only the outer covering and not what's inside
will think it is a single creature, a human being' (588d-e).
The image could be read as saying that the beast with the many heads is the appetitive
part of the soul, and it is many-headed exactly because the appetites are multiform.
Another point indicating that the beast is the appetites, is that it is said to 'grow and
change at will' which indicates an irregular, disorderly growth similar to the unlimited
appetites. The lion, now, has to be the spirited part of the soul since it alludes to power
and honour-loving inclinations. The third element, that of the human being, needs to be
examined in a more detailed way. In particular, Plato uses the word 'human being',
avepconoT, in 588d, 588e, 589a, and in 589b. What such a use could indicate then is
that a) Plato falls into a fallacy of including in the hypothesis what he wants to prove.
He talks of 'the human being within the human being', 'TOý a'VOpCA3'TroU 0 EVT6T
jvepcaTro! gl (589a) while he wants to defme what man is. If man here means a whole
human being, with a three-part soul, Plato would be faced with an infinite regress. B)
An alternative could be that Plato has a different view of 'human being' in mind than
the one that he stated. The Complex creature represents what a human being is in this
149
life, while one can assume that the 'man' is the most distinctively human element, the
one that survives death.
The fust altemative seems to be such an obvious problem, that it would be difficult for
one to accept that Plato did not notice it. The second alternative, though, unfortunately
requires one to assume more than what is actually given in the text. Plato's talk about
the 'human being within this human being' (589a) is crucial. Plato argues: 'But, on the
other hand, wouldn't someone who maintains that just things are profitable by say' g,
first, that all our words and deeds should insure that the human being within this human
being has the most control; second, that he should take care of the many-headed beast
as a farmer does his animals, feeding and domesticating the gentle heads and preventing
the savage ones from growing; and third, that he should make the lion's nature his ally,
care for the community of all his parts, and bring them up in such a way that they will
be friends with each other and with himself? ' (589a-b). The emphasis is placed on the
'human being' part to control the 'beast' part and the 'lion' part. Plato's image of the
'himan being' taking care of the gentle 'heads' and keeping under control the savage
ones reminds one of the passage where Plato describes the healthy and moderate man
going to sleep (57ld-572b). What is to be assumed here is that Plato when he talks
about the 'human being' implies the rational part of man, reason. In turn, such an
assumption implies that Plato takes reason to be the true self At the same time, though,
it is indicated that the human being is all three parts; thus the image of the beast. As it
was stated above, this claim might seem to contradict the one that reason is the true self,
but such a contradiction is avoided if Plato presupposes that the true self is different
when in itself and when in this form of life.
150
In other words, Plato needs to hold that the image of the beast, the lion, and the human
being form a human being in this life. Such a claim could be supported if one bore in
mind Schiller's point about how the picture of the just composite beast refers to man; it
has the appearance of a man but in which the growth of all elements is fostered. The
just man is a man, not a congeries of dissociated desires. As such he realises the
advantages of a man, because this is precisely what it means to be juses. At the same
time, reason remains the most important partý the part that is able to exist outside this
human form. A notion like that implies that the appetites and the spirit are parts of a
human being as long as it is embodied, and the true human being is reason but not as
disconnected from the lower parts. What should be stressed here, though, is that
although the above argument seems plausible, it is inconsistent with what Plato holds
elsewhere -in the dialogue. In the Republic, as in the Phaedrus, where the emphasis is
placed on Plato's moral psychology, the tripartite soul is not treated as able to be
separated.
Plato concludes book IX by summarising what a person should do in order to attain the
best nature of his soul: 'Then won't a person of understanding direct all his efforts to
attaining that state of his soul? First, he'll value the studies that produce it and despise
the others' (59lb-c), 'second, he won't entrust the condition and nurture of his body to
the irrational pleasure of the beast within or turn his life in that direction, but neither
will he make health his aim or assign first place to being strong, healthy, and beautiful,
unless he happens to acquire moderation as a result' (591c). Such a person would: '...
always cultivate the hannony of his body for the sake of the consonance in his soul'
(591c-d).
2gSchiller p. II- 151
Republic X
In the middle books of the Republic Plato makes it clear that the senses are not a source
of knowledge. He contrasts the philosopher with the lover of sensory experience, and
the intelligible world with the visible world. The objects of sight stand to the Forms as
reflections and shadows do to physical objects. At the same time, although Plato talks
about the importance of the soul's unity, by describing the soul as having three
elements, he gives very little indication of how the senses are related to the soul. Some
light is cast on this question, through the discussion of art in the first part of book X. In
the first part of that discussion Plato attacks imitative art because it produces only
imitations of imitations, and is thus far from the truth. But at 602c the attention shifts to
the question 'on which part of the person imitation exercises its power'.
In other words, Plato wants to establish which part of the person is the one affected by
painting and poetry. Although Plato does not explain, at the moment, the emphasis is
going to be on the different parts of the soul. Plato starts by talking about deceiving
appearances that cause confusion in the soul. He says: '... something looks crooked
when seen in water and straight when seen out of it, while something else looks both
concave and convex because our eyes are deceived by its colours, and every other
similar sort of confusion is clearly present in our soul' (602c). One should notice, here,
the talk about one being confused by the senses. In particular, the eyes can give false
information and so confuse the soul. Plato does not specify though where the source of
confusion arises; is it because the eyes themselves just perceive something but the
understanding of the truth of that thing depends on something more than mere sight,
namely reason? The role of sense perception is also analysed in the Theaetetus. Tbcre
152
Plato holds that sense-perception cannot provide one with truth: 'Perception... has no
share in the grasping of truth... ' (Theaetetus 186e).
In the Republic, Plato continues by saying that: '... it is because they exploit this
weakness in our nature that... painting, conjuring, and other forms of trickery have
powers that are 'little short of magical' (602d). The implication here is that the soul is
confused when affected by appearances. But, although the soul is influenced by
perception, Plato does not yet clarify the required distinction between sensation and
judgement. Such a differentiation is important, since it points towards a body-soul
relation that can not be sharply dualistic. By referring to Theaetetus, again, one could
argue that through Plato's treatment of the notion of perception, one's understanding of
the body-soul relation becomes clearer. Firstly, Plato argues: '... soul or whatever one
ought to call it, which all these converge - something with which, through those things,
if they were instruments, we perceive all that is perceptible' (Theaetetus 184d). It is
indicated here, then, that one perceives with the soul through the instruments of the
body, which in turn shows that the soul is in close relation to the body. A difference,
though, that should be of interest is that in the Republic the soul is composite while in
the Theaetetus it is not. This difference is crucial for, although in the Theaetetus the
relation between soul and body is that of interrelation, in the Republic, where the soul is
tripartite, the relation between soul and body becomes more complicated. The
reasoning of the Theaetetus is the following: a) one uses the senses, which are bodily
(I 84e), b) all the senses converge to the soul, and it is implied that c) the soul elaborates
them; is the part of man that does the thinking. On the other hand, in the Republic,
plato still tries to specify which part of the soul is affected by appearances and which is
not. This is why he introduces calculating, measuring, and weighing: 'And don't
measuring, counting, and weighing give us most welcome assistance in these cases, so 153
that we aren't ruled by something's looking bigger, smaller, more numerous, or heavier,
but by calculation, measurement or weighing? ' (602d).
Thus, Plato infers that: 'and calculating, measuring, and weighing are the work of the
rational part of the soul' (602d-e). This notion by itself implies that there should be at
least another part of the soul. Then Plato states that, since it is impossible 'for the same
thing to believe opposites about the same thing at the same time' (602e), then 'the part
of the soul that forms a belief contrary to the measurements couldn't be the same as the
part that believes in accord with them' (602e-603a). In the Theaetetus, now, Plato
differentiates the soul investigating by itself from the soul investigating through the
bodily powers: '... while the soul considers some things through the bodily powers,
there are others which it considers alone and through itself (7heaetetus 185e). What,
then, remains constant to both the Republic and the Theaetetus, is the permanence of
reason. In the Timaeus, Plato indicates again that soul and body are in a relation of
interdependence by referring to the example of the usefulness of the eyes: '... our sight
has indeed proved to be a source of supreme benefit to us, in that none of our present
statements about the universe could ever have been made if we had never seen any
stars, sun or heaven. As it is, however, our ability to see the periods of day-and-night,
of months and of years, of equinoxes and solstices, has led to the invention of number,
and has given us the idea of time and opened the path to inquiry into the nature of the
universe' (Timaeus 47a-b).
In the Republic it is inferred not only that there is a need for at least two parts of the
soul, but also that: 'the part that puts its trust in measurement and calculation is the best
part of the soul' (603a). In other words, it is taken for granted that the rational part of
the soul is superior. What I would like to point out, though, is that when Plato talks 154
about 'the best part' he is making this assumption based on the part's participation in,
on contact with the truth. That is why he then claims: 'Tberefore, the part that opposes
it [measurement] is one of the inferior parts in us' (603a). What should be discussed,
then, is the particular view of the soul that is implied from the above. The first point of
consideration would have to be the role of perception in the Republic. It was already
said that in the Yheaetetus and the Timaeus perception is connected with the body29. In
the Republic, though, Plato does not clarify to which part of the soul perception
belongs. Moreover, he seems to talk as though there are just two parts of the soul, the
rational and the irrational3o. Although Plato implies that perception belongs to the
lower part, he does not explain how the soul - as a whole - can be affected by the
senses. In other words, if the soul is essentially non-bodily, and the senses are bodily,
there can be no other way for the soul to be influenced by the senses, unless it is in a
close relation to the body. A similar conclusion came forward in the Phaedo
discussion, in the analysis of the recollection argument, where it was shown that Plato
must have had in mind a kind of process, a step by step explanation of how one reaches
to knowledge from perception. Plato distinguished between seeing something - the
lyre, which is perceptible - and being reminded of its owner - which is the acquisition of
a particular reasoning that goes beyond sense perception. The recognition of the lyre,
as the owner's lyre, can be taken to be a step finiher from sense perception. Tbus, for
the soul to be influenced by the senses, the soul has to be in close relation to the body.
29'j-he Yheaetelus' view has to do with an interreMon between a simple soul and the body; while the 7-1maeus recognises three parts in the soul, but they are made along with the body by the lower gods and am located in the body. 30Talking vaguely of the 'irrational' part enables Plato to avoid associating perception specifically with either appetite or spirit It thereby helps to conceal the fact that perception has no clear place in the tripartite soul as presented in the Republic.
155
The next move of Plato. 's, is to check whether what he said about imitation applies also
to the imitations we hear; namely poetry (603b). The first point to note is that since
poetry imitates either pleasure or pain, it is said to be far from truth. The role of poetry
then is to encourage the lower parts of the soul by appealing to emotions (603e-608a).
So, again we have a distinction between the rational soul and the irrational elements
including desire, emotion, and sensation. These are all treated as part of the soul
though of course they are all closely connected with the body.
From this point onwards, Plato is concerned to prove that 'Our soul is immortal and
never destroyed' (608d). This notion, though, creates various problems for Plato since
the notion of being indestructible becomes involved in the question what exactly is a
soul. Plato begins with the assumption that: 'the bad is what destroys and corrupts, and
the good is what preserves and benefits' (608e). The argument, then, begins with the
question whether there is a good and a bad for everything (608e). By clarifying that,
Plato asks: 'And when one of these [badness, sickness] attaches itself to something,
doesn't it make the thing in question bad, and in the end, doesn't it disintegrate it and
destroy it whollyT (608e), and he adds: 'if they don't destroy it, nothing else will, for
the good would never destroy anything, nor would anything neither good nor bad'
(609a-b). Plato, then, goes on to say: '... if we discover something that has an evil that
makes it bad, but isn't able to disintegrate and destroy it, couldn't we infer that it is
naturally incapable of being destroyedT (609b). Plato here talks about intrinsic evils
that they are the only ones able to desuW the thing that possesses them. This implies
that external evils are not in a position to destroy anything. And that, in turn, implies
that the soul can only be destroyed by its own evils, not by the body's evils. Although
the idea that each thing has its own proper evil sounds odd, it would seem plausible to
ancient Greeks who noticed that things tend to decay, rot or rust away with no obvious
156
external cause. Influenced by this way of thinking Plato can hold that things can be
destroyed by their intrinsic evils. This view fits also with the Timaeus' view3l that I
things left to themselves turn to disorder and chaos.
To prove that the soul's intrinsic evil cannot destroy it, Plato argues: 'What about the
soul? Isn't there something that makes it bad? Certainly all the things we were
mentioning injustice, licentiousness, cowardice, and lack of learning' (609b-c). He,
therefore, asks: 'Does any of these disintegrate and destroy the soulT (609c), ... 'Do
injustice and the other vices that exist in a soul - by their very presence in it and by
attaching themselves to it - corrupt it and make it waste away until, having brought it to
the point of death, they separate it from the bodyT (609d). Plato assumes here that
what applies to natural things must also apply to the immaterial soul. He also assumes
that the soul's evils are not enough to destroy it. These assumptions are made plausible
under certain conditions; it should be taken for granted that, in the case of the soul, the
evils that are natural to it are not able to destroy itý2. Moreover, one is faced here with a
distinction between the 'substance' disintegration of the soul that separates it from the
body, and the spiritual disintegration. Plato's claim is that physical things can be
destroyed as a result of internal defects. The defects, vices of the soul, on the other
hand, are not defects on its structure. The soul by definition is not material; thus, its
evils cannot destroy it, and it cannot be pulled apart. The argument that is implied,
then, is the following:
PI If something's intrinsic evil cannot destroy it, nothing can.
P2 The intrinsic evil of the soul is injustice.
P3 Injustice cannot destroy the souL
"See further Timaeus 33a. 32 This is so according to 609a.
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//C Soul cannot be destroyed by anydiing.
Thus, Plato restates: '... For if the soul's oum evil and badness isn't enough to destroy
it, an evil appointed for the destruction of something else will hardly kill it' (610e).
From the above Plato concludes: 'Now if the soul isn't destroyed by a single evil,
whether its own or something else's then clearly it must always be' (6 1 Oe-61 I a). What
is now added to this argument is the claim that: '... if it is so, then you realise that there
would always be the same souls' (61 la). What Plato probably implies here is that there
always be the same number of souls, a notion that will appear also in the Timaeus 33 .
Plato, then, says: 'It isn't easy for anything composed of many parts to be immortal if it
34 Got isn't put together in the finest way, yet this is how the soul now appeared to us' .U ý46tov, ýv 6 iyca', at'Biov dvai CPMETOV TE EK 1TOXXCSV Kal Pý T6 KaWlaTTI KEXPTIPEVOV
cruveicv, 65 v0v ýýriv ri; ýavq ý tpuX, 4. ' (61 1b), and 'Yet our recent argument and others
as well compel us to believe that the soul is immortal' (611 b).
There are two possible interpretations of this passage. - The first being that the
composite soul cannot be immortal, which in turn implies that the true soul must be the
reason. J. Adam, for example, argues that according to the theory which is rather
suggested (612a) than fully worked out in this chapter, the so called lower 'parts' are
not of the essence of soul at all, but only incidental to its association with body, and
33 See Timaeus 41 d-e. The same notion is implied in Phaedo 70c-72e. 34Paul Shorey translates this controversial passage, 61 lb, as: 'It is not easy, said 1, for a flag to be immortal that is composed of many elements not put together in the best way, as now appeared to us to be the case with the soul'.
158
consequently perishable 35 . For the alternative view, 611 b says that 'it is hard for
something composite to be immortal unless it is put together in the best way'. This
leaves open the possibility that the composite soul is immortal. Looking at the text for
evidence as to what was Plato's notion of the soul's true nature, is not an easy task.
This is so, since it contains an implicit contradiction between his belief that a) what is
composite cannot be immortal, and his conviction that b) the soul that survives has a
moral character and is liable to punishment. This can be true only if the soul after death
includes the lower elements. I would be inclined to argue that, at this point, Plato is
faced with an inconsistency that is at the heart of his account of the soul. The
inconsistency then, is present throughout book X. In particular, the notion that the
soul's unity is something that one has to strive for, as well as the idea - within the myth
of Er - that after death the soul chooses the type of person or animal that it will become
in its next incarnation, indicate that the soul's true nature cannot be a simple one.
Moreover, the Phaedrus indicates that Plato had in mind a soul that is naturally
composite. In the Phaedrus, Plato likens the soul to the "natural union of a team of
winged horses and their charioteer" (246a). This likeness implies that the soul is
naturally tripartite. Furthermore, Plato talks about the 4soul's steersman' (247c-d), this
image in tam implies not only that the soul is composite, but also that the reasoning
element is responsible for the condition of the soul as a whole 36
35 J. Adam, The Republic of Plato 2 Cambridge, 1965, p. 427, n. 12. On the same interpretation see further Francis Macdonald Comford (The Republic ofPlato, Oxford University Press, 1945, p. 345): 'We are th; nking just now of the soul as composed of a number of parts not put together in the most satisfactory way; and such a composite thing could hardly be everlasting'; see also, Julia Annas, An introduction to Plato's Republic, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1981, p. 346; S. Halliwell, Plato Republic 10, Aris and Phillips 1988, pp. 79 and 164; G. M. Grube, Plato's 7hought, London, Methuen, 1935, pp. 138. 139. B. Jowctt and L. Campbell bring forth both views; see B. Jowett, L. Campbell, Plato's Republic, Oxford, 1894, p. 463. On the view that the composite soul survives see further T. M. Robinson, 'Soul and Immortality in Republic X', Phronesis 12 (1967), especially pp. 149-150. 36 On the image of the charioteer and his horses see further Phaedrus 246a-248e.
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The Timaeus, now, provides us with a more coherent view regarding the nature of the
soul. The reasoning part of the soul, like the World-Soul, is by nature immortal, but at
the same time it has to be placed in a body and so acquire two more parts: the appetitive
and the spirited. The main addition to the Republic, then, is that the lower elements of
the soul are linked to the body and therefore mortal (42a-b, 69c-70e). Plato holds, thus,
that the reasoning part of the soul is immortal, while the embodied soul contains both
immortal and mortal elements: 'weave what is mortal to what is immortal, fashion and
beget living things' (41d). Thus, the Timaeus favours the view that it is the reason that
is immortal. What should be emphasised though is that after the first incarnation the
reasoning element is linked to the lower elements and consequently to the body in a
way that enables it to be distorted. In other words, the Timaeus takes the immortal soul
to be the reasoning faculty. Treating the immortal soul as a faculty of reason, enables
Plato to hold the idea that reason can be distorted, without being faced with the
inconsistency of the Republic 37 .
Returning to 61 1b, it should be noted that although Plato argues that the soul cannot be
destroyed by the body's evils, he mentions nothing about whether the body's evil can in
any way affect the soul. This point is essential for one's understanding of the relation
between body and soul. It allows the soul to be influenced by either its intrinsic evils or
the evils of the body, but, at the same time, it keeps its immortality. This is achieved by
taking for granted that the soul cannot be destroyed by its natural evils, and therefore
cannot be destroyed by external evils either. And at the same time, by not eliminating
the possibility of the soul being affected by either internal or external evils. This point
has also an important bearing on Plato's view of the afterlife. As will be discussed
37PIato's notion of the soul in the Timaeus will be analysed further in the following chapter. Plato is able to treat the immortal soul as a reasoning faculty because of a) the link between reason and the circular motions, and b) the abandonment of the idea of punishment.
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later, on the analysis of the myth of Er, this open possibility, of the soul being
influenced, can be used as an explanation of the different characters of the souls after
death.
The description of the soul in its purest state, 61 lb-e, is of interest because it again
refers to the soul as being akin to the Forms, and at the same time, it doesn't present the
soul as being necessarily simple as is implied in the Phaed038 . The soul being
presented as composite can be further argued through Plato's phrasing 'its whole being'
(611 e). To talk about the soul's whole being implies a composite being. He continues
by saying that in order to determine the soul's true nature, one would be able to
'determine whether it has many parts or just one and whether or in what manner it is put
together. But we've already given a decent account, I think, of what its condition is,
and what parts it has when it is immersed in human life' (612a). This last quotation
implies further that Plato has in mind a view of the soul independently of the body and
another view of the soul while in human form. Although, as was said previously, it is
difficult for Plato to be coherent in holding both that the soul is composite and
immortal, he seems to argue for both. Plato can argue that the soul, while on its own, is
irnmortal, and while embodied, is composite, but for the argument to be complete, he
needs to show how the disembodied soul is different to the embodied one. Such an
attempt is made in the myth of E? 9.
"Phaedo 78c. 31jt is also of importance to my analysis of the Timaeus.
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The Myth of Er
Plato concludes book X of the Republic by telling a myth of judgement. These last
pages of the Republic, although a myth, make some important points about the soul-
body relation. In particular, Plato uses the myth so as to show that a) the soul survives
death, and b) it is affected by its embodiment, and is therefore different from the soul as
pure reason depicted in the earlier dialogues. Such a notion is implied so that it enables
Plato to establish the importance of being just; it points towards the importance of
moral choice. According to the myth, Er was thought to be dead and so prepared for
the funeral, but after twelve days he revived. Thus, he described what he saw in the
underworld: 'He said that, after his soul had left him, it travelled together with many
others until they came to a marvellous place, where there were two adjacent openings in
the earth, and opposite and above them two others in the heavens, and between them
judges sat' (614b-c). After the judges' decision, the just souls go upwards, into the
heavens (614c), while the unjust travel downward (614c). Er, thus, acts as a messenger:
he said that 'the souls were departing after judgement through one of the openings in
the heavens and one in the earth, while through the other two souls were arriving'
(614d). The souls that came up from earth were covered with dust and dirt, while the
souls that came down from the heavens came down pure (614d-e). This account might
seem useful for one's understanding of the souls' constitution. It might be taken as
implying that the souls when in this state of disembodiment are pure, but the souls that
come from the earth, that where recently embodied, are carrying with them the
influences of such an embodiment.
The myth continues with the emphasis being placed on the penalties of the unjust: 'For
each in turn of the unjust things they have done and for each in turn of the people they 162
had wronged, they paid the penalty ten times over, once in every century of their
journey. Since a century is roughly the length of a human life, ... they paid a tenfold
penalty for each injustice' (615a-b). Similarly, Plato talks about the penalties inflicted
to tyrants. Although one is not presented with details, the main point seem to be that
tyrants are the most unjust, and therefore incapable 'to go up' (615e). The first point
that should be noticed here is Plato's argument that the unjust are to be punished. Since
Plato is not talking about a physical punishment, one must assume that the soul is
punished for its previous embodied life. At the same time it is implied that the soul is
in a position to benefit from punishment. The notion of punishment, then, shows that
the soul is not pure reason, if it were it wouldn't bear any responsibility for what the
person did in his embodied life. In other words, we could argue:
PI the souls of the unjust are punished in afterlife according to their wrongdoings while
embodied.
P2 Pure reason is not affected by embodiment.
//C Therefore, soul is not pure reason.
It is interesting to notice here that the punishments inflicted on the souls depend on the
severity of their wrongdoings, and that the tyrants are considered to be the worse
sinners and therefore incurable. Such a point might mean that the tyrants' souls while
embodied were so corrupt that it is impossible for them now to reform; they arc no
longer in a position to distinguish right from wrong, and thus they can not easily
improve themselves.
The next point of the myth is to unravel the pattern of the souls'joumey: 'Each group
spent seven days in the meadow, and on the eighth they had to get up and go on a
journey. On the fourth day of thatjoumey they came to a place where they could look
down from above on a straight column of light that stretched over the whole of heaven
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and earth. After another day, they came to the light itself' (616b). In a like manner,
Plato presents a picture of a spindle and eight whorls: '... eight whorls altogether lying
inside one another, with their rims appearing as circles from above, while from the back
they formed one continuous whorl around the spindle... ' (616d-e) and 'The spindle
itself turned on the lap of necessity... And there were three other beings sitting at equal
distances from one another, each on a throne. These were the Fates, the daughters of
Necessity: Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos' (617b-c). These final lines about the Fates
are an important addition to the myth because they are going to be in juxtaposition to
the individual soul's choice. The Fates are considered the ones to regulate the past, the
present, and the future respectively (617c).
The souls' next step, then, is to present themselves to Lachesis who tells them that they
are entering 'the new beginning of another cycle, that will end in death (617d). As
Armas says, 'what death reveals to Er is that he and everybody else is on a cycle of birth
and rebirth; there is no fmal judgement'40 . This is an issue that will be discussed in
detail concerning Plato's view of the soul of the philosopher. What is of interest here,
though, is firstly, as H. S. Thayer says, that 'there is no choice about whether to choose
or not; the souls must make a choice'41 , and this is so of necessity, determined by the
Fates. Secondly, the souls are to choose their daemon or guardian spirit themselves.
'Your daemon or guardian spirit will not be assigned to you by lot; you will choose
him' (617d). Consequently, the main interest here is on the issue of personal choice.
The souls are responsible for the choices they make; 'The responsibility lies with the
one who makes the choice; the god has none' (617e). As Thayer says, 'in the myth the
operation of choice is portrayed as directed to a "life" (bios), a network or pattern of
40julia Annas, 'Plato's Myths of Judgement', Phronesis 27 (1982) p. 13 1. 41H. S. Thayer, 'The Myth Of Er', Histo? y ofPhilosophy Quarterly 5 (1988) p. 372.
164
contained and ensuing actions 942 . Thayer further claims that it is taken for granted that
choice is possible. He, moreover, argues that Plato departs from a tradition in Greek
thought - according to which the gods in various ways and degrees cause moral
blindness and evil in human conduct - by stating the fact of choice and assigning
responsibility to the one who chooses, rather than to divine agencieS43. The choice,
thus, lies on the soul. The soul is responsible for the life it chooses.
The process followed then is like this: the lots are thrown to everyone to choose, and
then the models of lives are presented to the souls (617e-618a). An interesting detail
here is that the models of lives are far more than the souls present (618a). This is of
importance for it makes the scope of choice wider and therefore, more fair. Another
interesting point is that, for the first time, Plato includes in the models those of
animals44. What should also be noted is Plato's claim that '... the arrangement of the
soul was not included in the model because the soul is inevitably altered by the different
lives it chooses' (618b). Thayer notes that 'the soul itself, before choosing a life, is
unqualified and simply "a pure choosee,. The choice is of a life-pattern: and once the
choice is made the choosing soul and the character or quality of the life it selects are
fUSed'45.
On the other hand, J. Annas believes that one cannot be held responsible for his life and
so either punishment or reward in the afterlife is of no point. Therefore, she argues that:
'However, to the extent that my present life is the product of past lives and their
afterlife requitals, it becomes hard for me to think seriously that I should be rewarded or
'2, lliayer, p. 370. 43Tbayer, p. 371. 4'This point is also discussed in the Timaeus 42c and 91 e. 45Tbayer, p. 372.
165
punished. A conviction that the responsibility for my character and actions does not go
back to me and then stop, but can be traced in large part to previous lives which I do not
remember is bound to undercut the feeling that I am responsible for what I have
done'46. Thus, Annas' argument is that one does not have control over what one does.
Annas further argues that 'the free choice of the souls between lives can have
significance for me only if there is some way in which the free choice of my life by a
soul on the cycle of rebirths implies that within my life I have freedom to choose and so
am truly responsible for what I choose to do. Yet this seems not to be the case'47 . In
other words, Annas argues that the souls do not choose a character, rather they choose a
fully worked-out blueprint, so there is nothing that the souls could have done to alter
it". It should be noticed here, though, that Plato's major concern is to show why one
should choose the just life. The myth enables him to show a further benefit due to such
a choice. Even if we assume that what a soul chooses is a fully worked-out life, there is
still room for improvement. To choose wisely, for instance, can make an important
difference on the life that one is assigned with. Thus, despite the reincarnations, Plato
holds that the core of the personality; the reasoning element, remains the same; he
implies that the soul is the reason. It seems then that what Plato argues for is that the
soul is in d position to make itself better. The soul is affected by the embodiments, but
that does not mean that it has no control over them. Plato's claim implies that despite
the choice, the embodied life - whatever that may be - is ultimately going to affect the
soul's development. But the important point is that there is always the possibility of
change no matter how bad or good a choice is. Plato, thus, says to Glaucon that '...
each of us must neglect all other subjects and be most concerned to seek out and learn
46Annas, 1982, p. 132. 47AnnaS, 1982, p. 133. 4SMnaS, 1982, p. 134.
166
those that will enable him to distinguish the good life from the bad and always to make
the best choice possible in every situation' (618b-c). This advice of Plato's, in a way,
verifies the element of personal choice. By making oneself more aware of what is good
and what is bad, one will make the best choice.
Hence, Plato continues: 'And from all this he will be able, by considering the nature of
the soul, to reason out which life is better and which worse and to choose accordingly,
calling a life worse if it leads the soul to become more unjust, better if it leads the soul
to become more just, and ignoring everything else' (618d-e). At this point, the
emphasis is placed on choosing the just life. What is the crucial addition, though, is to
choose the just life through reason, to choose the just life is not a matter of inclination
or urge, it is a reasoning process. This does not mean though that reason is pure; the
judgement of reason is presumably corrupted by the influences of the lower soul in
previous lives. Plato's claim is then that 'we must always know how to choose the
mean in such lives and how to avoid either of the extremes, as far as possible, both in
this life and in all those beyond it. This is the way that a human being becomes
happiest' (619a-b). Thus, the essential point here is not only the personal choice it is
the best choice possible. This is accented by the following: 'There is a satisfactory life
rather than a bad one available even for the one who comes last, provided that he
chooses it rationally and lives it seriously' (619b).
After the example of a soul choosing a tyrannical life, Plato refers specifically to those
who pursue philosophy: 'However, if someone pursues philosophy in a sound manner
when he comes to live here on earth and if the lottery doesn't make him one of the last
to choose, then, given what Er has reported about the next world, it looks as though not
only will he be happy here, but his journey from here to there and back again won't be
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along the rough underground path, but along the smooth heavenly one' (619d-e). The
emphasis is placed again on the use of reason; one who pursues philosophy is in a
condition to choose more wisely and therefore better than those who do not pursue it,
are. An interesting point raised by Annas, here, is that Plato does not allow to the
philosopher to escape reincarnation. As Annas puts it: 'Even if in some unexplained
way a good, innocent soul always avoided a bad choice of life, it is still condemned to
endless embodiment, and so there is no final judgement and permanent reward. Life
and judgement, life and judgement keep on coming endlessly round'49. Although such
an example could create a difficulty for Plato, it can also be overcome by establishing
Plato's goal. Plato's goal - at this case - is not to talk about ultimate judgement and
reward, but the circle of the soul in a better way; the soul by following a philosophical
way of life is benefited despite the reincarnations. As Annas recognises, 'the myth
serves as a symbolic expression of the Republic's main moral argument. For the
original demand was that justice be shown to benefit the agent both in being the kind of
thing it is and for its intrinsic consequences, rewards being left out of the account'so.
Book X concludes with Plato arguing that '... if we are persuaded by me, we'll believe
that the soul is immortal and able to endure every evil and every good, and we'll always
hold to the upward path, practising justice with reason in every way ... like victors in the
games who go around collecting their prizes - we'll receive our rewards. Hence, both
in this life and on the thousand-year journey we've described, we'll do well and be
happy' (621c-d). These last words of the Republic show that what Plato has in mind is
to show that the best life is the just life; that justice is beneficial both for its
consequences and for itself
'"Annas, 1982, p. 136. 5OAnnas, 1982, p. 13 7.
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Conclusion
To conclude, the emphasis in the chapter based on the Republic is placed on the
introduction of the notion of the tripartite soul because of the solutions that it provides
to Phaedo's ethical considerations. In other words, one of Plato's main difficulties in
the Phaedo is that by presenting a soul as being simple and therefore separate from the
body, he is not able to give an adequate ethical theory respecting the soul's
improvement. Although the emphasis placed in Phaedo proves Plato's seriousness
about the soul's immortality, at the same time Plato insists on the notion of the care of
the soul which itself proclaims a moral theory that would allow the soul to change; to
become either better or worse. That point, in turn needs a soul that will not be
completely separate from the body.
Another point in the Phaedo is that the soul, being pure reason, tries to reach
knowledge without being distracted by the body. The question that arises from such a
view is that if the soul has nothing to do with the body, why is the soul affected by it,
why does the soul have to struggle to be left pure? It is implied here that the relation
between soul and body cannot be that of a sharp dualism. In other words, if the soul is
simply reason, Phaedo can not give an adequate account of the relation between soul
and body regarding its epistemology. This is an issue that Plato seems to realise even
within the Phaedo; in the recollection argument the role of the senses is important for
one to achieve knowledge, but it is not solved.
A finther difficulty that Plato faces in the Phaedo is that the philosopher is
distinguished from the other humans in that he lives a life of practising death. He treats
sense-experience as a hindrance to his development, he is not interested in anything
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bodily, he rather he strives to achieve immortality. Such a notion contradicts Plato's
moral beliefs. Plato, wants to show that one's moral advancement depends on how
much the soul is affected by the body, the bodily sense organs provide the first step for
one to achieve knowledge, but at the same time, Plato refers to the philosopher as if he
can dissociate himself from anything bodily. An apparent contradiction that can be
solved if one accepts that the soul-body relation cannot be that of a sharp dualism.
These are the problems that the tripartite soul of the Republic is set to solve.
Hence, in the Republic, Plato introduces the notion of the tripartite soul. The first thing
that is achieved by this notion of the soul is that the soul-body relation is no longer
sharply dualistic. Even as early as in book IV, through Plato's talk about the education
of the guardians, one sees that what Plato aims for is a balance within the soul. Plato,
throughout the Republic, wants to achieve a kind of unity within the soul's parts as well
as between soul and body. The three parts of the soul enable Plato to talk about the
soul's improvement or decline. By starting from the assumption that there are different
motivations for different things, Plato tries to locate them in different parts of the soul.
This move enables him to have conflicting drives in the soul. By dividing the soul in
three parts, he is able to locate in the soul various Motivations that could not- be
included under the simple soul of the Phaedo5l. So, the tripartite theory of the soul
provides the means for an ethical view to be held, and as a result, for a closer relation
between soul and body to be achieved. In particular, in order to hold that the body is
able to affect the soul, the soul has to be something more than reason. Plato's ethical
point in the Republic, therefore, is that the soul can be improved or degraded according
to the influences that it has from the body. These influences, now, are not straight from
"This notion arises from Plato's belief that two opposite things cannot be derived from one and the same source at the same time.
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the body to reason, rather the lower parts of the soul; appetites and spirit, which are in
close connection to the body, are the ones that can alter the soul's character. Through
the tripartite soul then, Plato is in a position to hold that a person is not simply reason,
something that was implied in the Phaedo, but rather that a human being is a unity;
consists necessarily of the soul as a whole; being tripartite, and the body.
This theory, however, faces a number of problems. One difficulty is that the relation
between the lower parts of the soul and the body has to be illustrated in detail52. J.
Schiller correctly says that the soul of the Republic is not pictured as an entity
imprisoned in the body, but rather as the seat of all the activities of the bod? 3. The
distinction that is proposed here, then, is that between the soul's imprisonment in the
body, and the embodiment of the soul. In the first place the soul is seen as something
completely different from the body, that was accidentally put in it. On the other hand,
the notion of embodiment leaves open the possibility of mutual interdependence
especially between the lower parts of the soul and the body. Although the Republic
does not provide one with the necessary information for such a notion to be accepted in
full, the notion of the tripartite soul is an improvement over the Phaedo, where the soul
was thought to be simple.
An extension to the above problem is that neither in the Phaedo nor in the Republic
does Plato give an adequate account of how reason and perception interact. But, in the
Repuhlic, the problem is at least taken under considerýtion. Plato tries to show that man
is in a position to synthesise his knowledge of the Forms with the data that he gets from
52Tbis is done in the Timaeus, where the lower parts of the soul are spatially located within the body's framework (Timaeus 69d-70a). "Schiller, P. S.
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the senses. Reason and perception are related; and this is so due to the soul's nature.
This, I shall show, is indicated by a) Plato's cave image, b) his talk of which part is
influenced from imitation in book X, and c) from his notion on punishment in the myth
of Er, conceming afterlife.
Firstly, the cave image, along with the significant political connotations, points towards
an ftnportant epistemological issue; as J. Malcohn says it represents the educational
progress of the SOU154; it shows the necessity of having reason in a close relation to
perception. What is of interest, thus, is the ascent from the cave to the sun as well as
the descent back to the cave. The ascent shows how one can reach knowledge by
passing through the perceptions. On the other hand, the descent is of importance too
since it indicates why reason cannot be left by itself-, it implies the significance of the
notion of the soul as a unity.
In detail, then, the first state in the cave presents one with the image of the prisoners
who are tied down and are able to see only the shadows: 'the prisoners would in every
way believe that the truth is nothing other than the shadows of those artefacts... ' (515c).
These are the men that consider appearances to be the truth; they form false beliefs
based only on sense-perception, reason has no role to play yet. The image's next stage
is that of the gradual adjustment when one looks up towards the light: 'When one of
them [the prisoners in the cave] was freed and suddenly compelled to stand up, turn his
head, walk, and look up toward the light, he'd be pained, and dazzled and unable to see
the things whose shadows he'd seen before' (515c). Plato continues in a like manncr:
'And if someone compelled him to look at the light itself, wouldn't his eyes hurt, and
IJ. Malcolm, 'The Line and the Cave', Phronesis 7 (1962) p. 39.
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wouldn't he turn around and flee towards the things he is able to see, believing that
they're already clearer than the ones he's being shown' (515d-e). What should be noted
here is that Plato realises that such a process is not an easy one.
Plato argues, thus, that after different stages in his way upwards towards the sun, one is
able to see the things in the world above, and ultimately the sun itself. 'Finally, he'd be
able to see the sun, not images of it in water or some alien place, but the sun itself, in its
own place, and be able to study it' (516b). This is then the process from the cave
upwards to the sun. Trying to apply it to the soul's progress towards knowledge then,
one sees that Plato does not give one an absolute jump from perception to knowledge;
he assumes that there is a continual Progress of how one is to attain knowledge. This
point is of essence since it indicates a complex relation between soul and body.
Perception is not treated as completely bodily, and therefore having nothing to do with
knowledge; rather, one needs perception so as to reach knowledge. Plato in the cave
image, hence, claims that for one to reach knowledge, one has to start by the senses. As
A. S. Ferguson says, the prisoner who is dragged from his spectacle (the cave) to the
sunlight is like a soul that is turned from dnai&ucla to knowledge". Ferguson further
argues that dnai&uTot or #povE5, upon being faced with the problems of
mathematics, as Plato conceives it, pass through a stage of aTropta and unbelief before
they learn to apprehend the Forms56. Such a notion is important if one bears in mind
that Plato's emphasis is on the progress from sense perception to knowledge. Thus the
cave image, like Meno's slave example, the recollection argument of the Phacdo, and
Socrates' speech in the Symposium, is Plato's way of showing that to achieve
knowledge one has to pass through perception. The same kind of continuity is pointed
51A. S. Ferguson, 'Plato's Simile of Light Again, Classical L? Uarlerly 28 (1934) p. 202. 36Ferguson, p. 204.
173
out in the example of the divided line (509d ff. ). Although the line does not have a
progress, it does suggest that there is a kind of continuity among the different sections.
This can be supported by the general claim that Plato refers to one line for both the
visible and the intelligible. Although he wants to stress the difference between the two
main divisions, the visible from the intelligible, he argues that man, at least in principle,
is able to move from the one to the other. That there is continuity within the divided
line is further indicated through Plato's example of mathematics. Plato argues that
when people use 'geometry, calculation, and the like' (5 1 Oc), 'although they use visible
figures and make claims about them, their thought isn't directed to them but to those
other things that they are like' (5 1 Od). The claim thus is that there cannot be completely
distinct stages among the line because even those stages that involve knowledge
presuppose perception. Thus, as Plato says: 'This, then, is the kind of thing that, on the
one hand I said is intelligible, and, on the other, is such that the soul is forced to use
hypotheses in the investigation of it, not travelling up to a first principle... but using as
images those very things of which images were made in the section below, and which,
by comparison to their images, were thought to be clear and to be valued as such'
(511 a).
Returning to the cave image then, the descent from the sun back to the cave is
significant for it implies that in this embodied life reason cannot exist by itself. In other
words, the man has to function as a unity not only for the individual's sake but also for
the whole of the state. In particular, Plato says that the one that has seen the sun, has
achieved knowledge of the Forms, has to return to the cave to: 'spread happiness
throughout the city by bringing the citizens into harmony with each other through
persuasion and by making them share with each other the benefits that each class can
confer on the community' (519e). If one applied, again, such a talk to the soul, one
174
could argue that [if one assume that reason is the part of the soul that achieves
knowledge of the Forms] Plato's claim is that in this embodied life reason cannot be by
itself, it has to work along with the lower parts so as to achieve unity. That Plato has in
mind the soul's unity can be fiather supported by Ferguson's argument. He maintains
that the allegory is an experience, 'Tra'Oog' of changing from firelight to fiill sun and
back to firelight, which is applied to illustrate the gulf between 7Ta i 5c ia and d Tra i 6cua ia
(514a) and to show that the gulf may, with difficulty, be bridged 57
Secondly, in book X Plato tries to show that the lower part of the soul is the one
confused when affected by appearances. The complication created then is that Plato
does not provide one with the particular relation between reason and perception, and he
cannot therefore provide one with the specific relation required between the tripartite
soul and the bodyss. If perception is bodily, and reason is completely separate from
perception, appearances cannot affect reason. But, when Plato talks about the soul, he
talks about three parts being interconnected with each other, and the whole being
interrelated to the body, in such a way that perception and reason have to be combined.
Finally, in the myth of Er Plato's talk about punishment indicates that there is a close
relation between reason and perception. If the soul after death is reason alone, then
when Plato talks about the punishment of a wicked soul, he cannot refer to physical
punishment, the soul cannot suffer physically. So, what Plato says indicate that reason
in a way is influenced by the perceptions the person had while embodied, and that
results in the soul being judged accordingly, otherwise, to talk about the soul's rewards
or punishment after death would have been meaningless. The myth of Er, then,
57 Ferguson, p. 209. 58See further the discussion for book X of the Republic.
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intended to summarise the message of the Republic. It is designed to emphasise the
notion of choice, a notion that suggests parallels with previous passages.
Another question that arises is that of how the three parts of the soul are interrelated,
and what bearing such a relation has on the soul. In other words the relation among the
soul's parts, leaves one perplexed about the soul's true nature and its immortality.
Tliroughout the Republic the soul is presented to be tripartite with the reason as the part
which ought to be in control. At the same time, though, the reasoning part can be, and
sometimes is, influenced by the lower parts. Thus, the soul is presented as being
necessarily tripartite. Although it is made clear that the soul, while embodied, cannot
be other than tripartite, in the afterlife the soul still remains simple. What is, though,
implied by 'simple' here is important for the soul's immortality. As T. M. Robinson
argues; 'although J. Adam may be right in arguing that Plato seems to imply that the I
soul in its true nature is 'monoeides', this is not to say that such a soul is simply the
, 59 logistikon . The main difference hence between the soul in afterlife in the Republic
and that in the Phaedo is that in the Republic what survives is the reasoning part shaped
by the influences of the embodiment. In other words, what is immortal is one's
character. This point again is not discussed in detail, but it is mentioned in book X, in
the myth of Er.
Finally, if one wants to have a clearer understanding of the soul-body relation, as it is
presented by Plato, one has to progress; to move from the Republic to the Timaeus.
This is of necessity since as it was shown although the Republic is an advancement to
the Phaedo's idea of soul-body relation, it is not yet complete as a view. In particular,
59T. M. Robinson, 'Soul and Immortality in Republic X', Phronesis 12 (1967) p. ISO.
176
although the soul is shown to be tripartite, it is not yet explained in what way something
immaterial - the soul - can be connected to something material - the body. In like
manner, the soul is presented to be composite and at the same time immortal; a notion
that as it stands is not accurate; Plato himself does not give us a sufficient answer to the
above contradiction. Moreover, Plato presents one with a view of the soul as the bearer
of one's moral character, both in this embodied life and after death, which in turn
implies that the soul - in whatever state of being - cannot be purely reason. Finally, he
presents the philosopher as somehow superior to the rest of human kind, but at the same
time cannot release him from the ongoing circle of reincarnations. These are then
issues for which the Timaeus is set to provide answers.
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Timaeus
Introduction
In order to understand Plato's notion of the soul in the Timaeus, we need, I believe, to
investigate four main issues. These are: a) Plato's teleology as it appears within the
creation story, b) The relation of World-Soul to World-Body, and the association
between the World-Soul and reason, c) The afflinity between the created world and the
human being, including that between the World-Soul and the human soul and d) The
human soul-body relation.
Doctrine of Creation
To begin with, Plato's teleology becomes apparent in the creation story, which includes
the creation of the World-Soul as well. as the human soul. The account of the universe'S*
creation is based on the notion that everything created must have a cause'. In Plato's
own words: 'Now everything that comes to be must of necessity come to be by the
agency of some cause, for it is impossible for anything to come to be without a cause'
(28a). Through his imagery of the demiurge early in the dialogue (30a), Plato attempts
to give an account of how the world came to be. Thus, within the creation story, the
demiurge creates the universe - which is comprised of the World-Soul and the World.
body - by giving order to materials that already exist. The demiurge means to create a
universe that would be a good, orderly one. 'The god wanted everything to be good and
nothing to be bad as far as that was possible, and so he took over all that was visible -
not at rest but in dissonant and disorderly motion - and brought it from a state of
disorder to one of order, because he believed that order was in every way better than
'As G. E. F- Lloyd argues ('Plato As A Natural Scientist', Journal ofHellenic Studies 88 (1968) pp. 82, 84 and 90), Plato's main motive for doing what we should call cosmology and natural science (physics and biology) is to reveal the operations of reason in the world.
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disorder' (30a). Thus, the demiurge is said to take over materials that were already
present. As F. M. Cornford puts it: 'Plato's. Demiurge like the human craftsman in
whose image he is conceived, operates upon materials which he does not create [my
italics], and whose inherent nature sets a limit to his desire for perfection in his work t2 .
This is also how H. J. Easterling reads the text: 'At the cosmic level the doctrine of the
Timaeus is that in the act of creation - whether this was an actual event or not - the
demiurge took in hand and worked upon a substratum which was not created by him but
was already in existence, exhibiting disorderly motion and other properties of its own'.
It is clear, therefore, that the demiurge works on pre-existing materials.
Plato, thus, in order to explain philosophically the workings of the universe presupposes
the existence of a cause, and the notion that this cause is an agent that acts for the best.
It seems as though Plato presupposes the existence of an intelligent agent so as to put
the materials already present in nature in order, and thus provide us with the ordered
universe that we have. In other words, Plato's belief in the necessity of the existence of
the demiurge, is based on one of his fundamental convictions that both the universe and
human action cannot be explained in purely physical terms; they must have a 'telos'.
The notion of 'telos' within Plato's creation talk, thus, is of prime importance -for it
shows why Plato uses the derniurge as his agent. Still, in talking about Plato's
teleology, one firstly has to pay attention to a very important divergence in the meaning
applied to the word 'cause'. The modem conception of 'cause', which derives from
Newton, assumes that the word 'cause' indicates the relation between two events; one
event causes another. Such a relation is generally explained in terms of strict physical
2 F. M. Comford, Plato's Cosmology, London 1935, p. 37. 3H. J. Easterling, 'Causation In the Timaeus and Laws X', Eranos 65 (1967) p. 32.
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laws. On the other hand, in older views the idea of a 'cause' is less precise. The word
aition is used in an unrestricted way to include anything that may be cited in
explanation of an event or of something's existence. Aristotle argues that the soul is the
cause or source of the living body, and explains the different senses of the word cause.
The soul for Aristotle is a) the source or origin of movement, b) the end (the telos), and
c) the essence of the whole living body4. Plato's model, now, in the Timaeus is that
things come. to a state of relative order out of a state of relative disorder so, later in the
dialogue, he speaks of two main 'causes' in nature; namely Reason and Necessity. In
this early section of the dialogue, the demiurge apparently embodies Reason 5 and the
elements that lack order embody Necessity. It is thus consistent with the passage where
Timaeus says: 'For this ordered world is of mixed birth: it is the offspring of a union of
Necessity and Intellect. Intellect prevailed over Necessity bj persuading it to direct
most of the things that come to be toward what is best... ' (48a). Although Plato's talk is
mythological, it is indicative of what he thought about the workings of nature: The
universe is necessarily an ordered one. This is so because the Forms act as a model. In
Timaeus' words: 'whenever the craftsmaný (671ptoupyo'5) looks at what is always
changeless and, using a thing of that kind as his model, reproduces its form and
character, then, of necessity, all that he so completes is beautiful' (28a-b). In such a
manner, Plato not only presupposes the existence of a rational, good demiurge, but he
also presupposes the existence of the realm of the Forms, that is treated as a pattern, as
a model for the creation of the world. The realm of the Forms is: 'that which is
changeless and is grasped by a rational account, that is, by wisdom' (29a). The
4 See further Aristotle De Anima book 11, chapter 2,4 1 Sb5-10. It should be pointed out, though, Ithat Aristotle does not recognise a universal, World-Soul like Plato. 5H. -G. Gadamer (Dialogue and Dialectic: Eight Hermeneutical Studies on Plato, trans. by P. Christopher Smith, Yale University Press, 1980, p. 163), thus, rightly states that 'the demiurge in the Timaeus symbolises nothing more than the conversion of a condition of disordered movement into a condition of order'. 6As far as the creation myth is concerned, the existence of the craftsman is taken for granted.
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existence of the raw materials, found in a state of disorder, is also taken for granted.
The assumption that the Forms and the 'raw' materials by themselves - without an agent
- would never be able to provide one with a universe is implicit in this whole account.
The Forms and the raw materials are necessary for the formation of the universe, but
they could not bring it into existence without an agent. The act of creation requires an
agent that possesses reason, and neither the Forms nor the 'raw' materials are treated as
agents that possess reason.
Thus, as far as the creation myth is concerned, the existence of the craftsman is taken
for granted. There are, though, a number of questions that arise from such a claim. To
what extent are the demiurge and the creation story to be taken as mythological? What
are the points within the myth that Plato treats as conveying philosophical truths?
Although the existence of the derniurge as the creator and craftsman7 of the world
cannot be proven, Plato has serious reasons to treat both the demiurge and the creation
story as, at least, approximating to truth as much as possible. Firstly, regarding the
derniurge, as Giovanni Reale says, 'the Demiurge or supreme intelligence is he who
fully actualises the One and Measure at all levels of reality and SO is measure in the
personal sense. The Good-One is Measure as the supreme model; the Demiurge is
Measure as the perfect way to make that model actual's. If my reading of Reale is
correct, he seems to argue that the fundamental truth that Plato seems to convey here is
that measure is imposed on disorder, on chaos; the universe is structured for the Good,
in an orderly way. The question thus is not whether the demiurge exists or not but
7 John Sallis (Choroloýy on Beginning in Plato's Timaeus Indiana University Press, 1999, P. 52) argues that according to Plutarch (Plato Quest IL 1) Plato's demiurge is both a maker and a father. ' Giovanni Reale, 'Plato's Doctrine of the Origin of the World, With Special Refcrence to the Timaeus', in T. Calvo - L. Brisson (eds), Interpreting the Timaeus - Critias Proceedings of the IV Symposium platonicum, 1997, p. 161.
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rather why Plato introduces a demiurge9. The answer is provided by the text. For Plato
to introduce reason to the world, an agent is required who would act upon mindless
matter and bring order to it. Hence, although the demiurge and the creation story as
described by Timaeus are parts of a myth, a likely mythos -a point that is admitted by
Timaeus before he starts the narrative (29c-d)1O - Plato treats them as essential elements
in the search for truth rather than as alternatives to the truth. In other words, the whole
dialogue uses the mythological and the philosophical as tools for an account of the
world's creation. Thus, Christopher Gill argues that, 'as regards the genesis (coming to
be or becoming) of the universe, we must be content if we can achieve 'likelihood', and
so the status of the account is presented as being, at best, a 'likely story' (eikos mythos
29d2)"'. John Sallis follows a similar line of thought. He treats the Timaeus'
discourse as 'a likely discourse, but only provided one understands likely by reference,
not to some abstract concept of probability, but to the character of that which the likely
discourse is about, its character as a likeness, an image' 12 . Having shown, thus, the way
the whole dialogue is to be interpreted, there remains to separate the particular parts of
the creation story that are obviously mythological, from those that can help as tools in
conveying the truth. These will be indicated accordingly as the creation story
progresses.
' E. R. Dodds ('Plato and the Irrational', Journal of Hellenic Studies 65 (1945) p. 23) argues that it is Plato's religious feeling that created the figure of the benevolent and mighty (though not omnipotent) Father-god, father and maker of gods and men and of the world itself. 1OIn 29c-d Timaeus claims that 'if we can come up with accounts no less likely than any, we ought to be content, keeping in mind that both L the speaker, and you, the judges, are only human. So, we should accept the likely tale on these matters'. He thus indicates that although the account is mythological, they should accept it as a possible one. II Christopher Gill, 'Plato on Falsehood - not Fiction', in C. Gill - T. P. Wiseman (eds), Lies and Fiction in the Ancient World, University of Exeter Press, 1993, pp. 58-59. " See Sallis, p. 55. See also Kathryn A. Morgan, Myth and Philosophyfirom the Presocratics to Plato, Cambridge University Press 2000, p. 277. -
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World-Body and World-Soul
The universe, now, is made out of World-Soul and World-Body. Thus, it is a living
organism that is always changing. Timaeus claims that since it was impossible for an
unintelligent thing to be better than anything that possesses intelligence (30b), and
nothing could possess intelligence except soul (30b), the demiurge: 'put intelligence in
soul, and soul in body, and so he constructed the universe... as a truly living thing,
endowed with soul and intelligence' (30b-c). The original claim of the above quotation
is that the universe is intelligent and living exactly because it has soul. It should be
noticed, though, that Timaeus talks about a created soul. Such a notion, thus, implies a
revision from Plato's earlier theory that held not only that soul is eternal but also that it
is outside the world of change 13 . Here, the World-Soul is created by the demiurge
precisely because he wants to make a perfect world 14 .A perfect world needs to be self-
sufficient, and in order to be so, it must contain a rational power that can maintain its
order. Furthermore it is also important that the world is 'living'. If the world is to be
complete, operating on its own with no external influences, it has to be living. Thus,
the world is treated as a living organism and as such it requires soul. Hence, Plato
assumes that the universe must be perfect and unique by implying that:
PI nothing can be intelligent, without having soul.
P2 nothing can be orderly, without having soul.
P3 nothing can be 'living', without having soulls.
"See further Phaedo 66e. "Ile point that soul is created but at the same time eternal, will be discussed further later on. 15 The same view is held by Aristotle, the soul's mainfimction is that it brings life to body. In De Anima, Aristotle says: 'the soul must be a substance in the sense of the form of a natural body having life potentially within it. ' (DA. 412a 19-21). He thus claims that 'if, then, we have to give a general formula applicable to all kinds of soul, we must describe it as the first grade of actuality of a natural organised body, (DA. 412b 4-7).
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P4 The world is intelligent, orderly, and living.
//C The world has a soul.
Here again we might question the necessity of the demiurge. Premises 1-3 could be
true independently of whether one accepts the demiurge's existence or not. So one
could claim that Plato does not need the demiurge for holding that anything intelligent,
orderly, living has to have a soul. He could have arrived at premise 4 on empirical
grounds, by observing the pattern in living beings and in the universe. It might
therefore be possible to reach the conclusion that there is a World-Soul on purely
empirical grounds, but from Plato's point of view it would not be enough merely to say
that the order of the universe shows that there is a World-Soul. Plato believes that the
world is as it is because that is best. He uses the story of the demiurge to make this
point. The universe is not only orderly but can be understood in teleological terms. As
it will be shown later in the discussion by the example of eyesight, Plato thought that
'the inquiry into the nature of the universe', namely astronomy, 'has given us
philosophy' (47a-b). Thus, we have the ability to observe the workings of Reason and
order that take place in the universe, and infer that the World has a World-Soul. Tbus,
G. R. Carone argues that 'from a metaphysical perspective, and because of its
ontological constitution, the World-Soul serves to mediate between the indivisible and
the divisible. This World-Soul (or the universe that it animates) is a god; itself has a
mathematical structure and rules over the motions of the divine stars and planets,
which, from an ethical perspective, human bcings are encouraged to learn. This
learning of astronomy involves mainly the exercise of intellectual functions and is based
on the apprehension of mathematical relationships' 16 . Thus one of the World-Soul's
` Gabriela Roxana Carone, 'The Ethical Function of Astronomy in Plato's Timaeus', in T. Calvo - L. Brisson, p. 342.
184
main function within the universe is to provide us with a teleological explanation of the
workings of the universe.
The World-Soul, then, is placed by the demiurge within and around the World-Body, a
placement that implies the completeness of the universe: '... he who formed it [the
World-Soul] went on to fashion inside it all that is corporeal, and, joining centre to
centre, he fitted the two together. The soul was woven together with the body from the
centre on out in every direction to the outermost limit of the universe, and covered it all
around on the outside. And revolving within itself, it initiated a divine beginning of
unceasing, intelligent life for all time' (36e) 17 . Hence, Plato takes for granted that the
universe is the union of World-Soul and World-Body, since, in order for the universe to
be complete, the demiurge needs to give it a soul. Plato assumes that orderly motion
must be the work of reason. He therefore requires the World-Soul to be the seat of
reason. He also appears to assume that reason (nous) is an activity, which must be
achieved by - performed and sustained by - some sort of agent's. Since there cannot be
order without reason, it follows that an ordered universe must possess a rational soul.
Plato's argument, thus, could be stated as follows:
PI The universe is complete.
//C I It cannot therefore be dependent on something outside itself (from 1).
P3 The universe is orderly.
P4 Order is always the product of reason.
17 The use of language here, that the soul is woven to the body, although obviously mythological, shows Plato's attempt to indicate the interconnection between the World. Soul and the World-Body in order to form the world as a whole. "Edward N. Lee ('Reason and Rotation: Circular Movement as the Model of Mind (Nous) in Later Plato'. Facets of Plato's Philosophy supplementary vol. 11 1976, p. 89) holds that nous must exist gv qmXý (30b, 37c, 46d) that is, that nous is itself an activity, one which must be achieved by - performed and sustained by - some sort of agency or agent. In other words, Lee argues that one cannot have reason without soul.
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HC II The universe must therefore be governed by reason (from 3 and 4).
P5 Reason must always be in a soul.
P6 The World-Bo is matter.
X III The universe therefore must have its own rational soul.
The Timaeus, thus, combines two basic ideas concerning the soul which appear within
Plato's works; namely, that the soul is necessarily the seat of reason, and the seat of
motion19. This union is achieved through the World-Soul's construction out of the
circles of the Same and the Different. In particular, Plato, through the description of the
movements of the circles in the World-Soul, indicates that the World-Soul is the cause
of orderly movement. The demiurge 'made the movement of the Same revolve toward
the right by way of the side, and that of the Different toward the left by way of the
diagonal, and he made the revolution of the Same, i. e., the uniform, the dominant one in
that he left this one alone undivided, while he divided the inner one six times, to make
seven unequal circles' (36c-d). Thus, Hackforth argues that Plato's mixture of Being,
Sameness, and Difference described at 35a is clearly to be taken as an analysis of the
cosmic soul's faculties of cognition and motion2o.
The movements of the Same and the Different are linked with the notion of making
judgements, a process that involves reasoning. In Timaeus' words: 'Because the soul is
a mixture of the Same, the Different, and Being, because it was divided up and bound
together in various proportions, and because it circles round upon itself, then, whenever
it comes into contact with something whose being is scatterable or else with something
19The soul being the seat of reason is held in the Phaedo, while the soul as the seat of motion is held in
the Phaedrus and later in the Laws X. It should be noted that although both Plato and Aristotle hold that the soul is the seat of motion, Plato treats the soul in as a self-moving mover. On the other hand, Aristotle argues that the soul cannot 'partake in movement' because if it would, it would have to have a Z lace, something that Aristotle denies (DA. 406a 20-22). This leads to two quite different views on soul.
Hackforth, 'Plato's Cosmogony (Timaeus 27D ff. )', Classical Quarterly, rL S. 9 (1959) p. 20.
186
whose being is indivisible, it is stirred throughout its whole self It then declares what
exactly that thing is the same as, or what it is different from, and in what respect and in
what manner, as well as when, it turns out that they are the same or different and are
characterised as such' (37a-b). Thus, the World-Soul is able to combine opinion with
knowledge 21 . In other words, although the objects of opinion are different from the
objects of knowledge, it is the World-Soul that can make any judgements about them;
'whenever the account concerns anything that is perceptible, the circle of the Different
goes straight and proclaims it throughout its whole soul. This is how firm and true
opinions come about. Whenever, on the other hand, the account concerns any object of
reasoning, and the circle of the Same runs well and reveals it, the necessary result is
understanding and knowledge' (37b-C)22. In that manner, the World-Soul is portrayed
not only as the cause of orderly motion, but also as being able to exercise reason. As
Timaeus says 'it is impossible for anything to possess intelligence apart from soul,
(30b). Similarly, in describing the world's creation, he claims that the world is 'a
divine beginning of unceasing, intelligent life for all time' (36e), because it has Soul.
Tberefore, the fact that the World-Soul is both the seat of reason and the cause of
motion shows why soul is the cause of everything within the ordered universe.
Another point of interest concerning the World-Soul is that Plato treats it as both
created and eternal. Such a notion is essential because it indicates that since the World-
Soul is 'made' and at the same time cannot undergo any change, such as those that
matter undergoes, it belongs neither to the realm of the Forms nor to the constructed
21 For Aristotle the reasoning part of soul is the one that 'is capable of receiving the form of an object; that is must be potentially identical in character with its object without being the object' (DA. 429al5. 17). I According to Gretchen Reydam-Schils ('Plato's World Soul: Grasping Sensibles Without Sense- Perception', in T. Calvo - L. Brisson, pp. 262-263) the two fimctions of the World-Soul, knowledge and opinion, are essentially cognitive. The World-Soul can have a true grasp of the sensible realnL
187
world. As Hackforth argues, Plato conceives this soul as something which comes upon
the scene only when the K6CP05 comes into being, and only though the action of the
demiurge. He then concludes that Soul makes its appearance in the universe, as well as
in the creatures with which the universe comes to be populated, including the stars and
planets and human kind, as a feature of the &aKOCPTjCIg. But not, like the body, as the
result of an ordering or re-fashioning of a pre-existent material or substrate23. Thus, the
World-Soul is already thought to be between the two realms.
Being between the two realms, though, does not mean that it is separate from them;
rather, the World-Soul combines the two worlds. This is achieved through the manner
the Soul is constructed; it is created as a mixture of the two kinds of being, the changing
and the unchanging. The Soul consists of an 'intermediate form of being' (35a), also
'the soul came to be as the most excellent of all the things begotten... ' (37a), and '... the
soul is a mixture of the Same, the Different, and Being' (37b). But how are we to
understand this particular way of the World-Soul's creation out of the three above-
mentioned elements? This passage is generally characterised as a most difficult one 24 9
and various interpretations have been attempted 25,
Without anyone being free from
difficulties. Despite the fact that we cannot have a clear idea of what the Same, the
Different and the Being entail, it is interesting to see what we can infer from them.
Plato, thus far, has presented us with a picture of the World-Soul as something that is
created, eternal, and the cause of motion and reason in the world. But the question that
seems to linger in our minds is how can something be both created and eternal. Within
the myth, Timaeus argues that the World-Soul and the gods - along with the stars and
planets - will never cease to exist because this is the demiurge's will. This is a valid
23 See Hackforth, 1959, p. 20. I See A. E. Taylor, Commentary on Plato's Timaeus, Oxford 1928, p. 106. 2-5 See Sallis, pp. 65-70.
188
answer within the boundaries of mythology, but what happens when we try to explain it
through logical arguments? Plato's answer seems to be that the World-Soul consists of
the above-mentioned elements. The emphasis, though, should be placed on the element
of Being. Plato treats the intermediate Being as a necessary requirement for the World-
Soul, and later on for the human soul, to be both created and eternal. This assumption
though, does not actually explain what the World-Soul's nature is; at most it says that it
is neither a Form, nor a purely material entity. This view of the World-Soul can be
compared with Xenophanes' notion of god. In particular, Xenophanes held that god
'shakes all things by the thought of his mind' (K. R. S. 171,25). In other words, he
argues that thought or intelligence can affect things outside the thinker without the
agency of limbs 26 . Botýi the World-Soul and Xenophanes' god impose intelligence on
the world. Xenophanes' view of god at least shows that Plato is not alone in the search
for something to connect the immaterial to the material. As Kirk, Raven, and Schof*Ield
argue, 'Xenophanes' god has a body because totally incorporeal existence was
inconceivable, but that body apart from its perceptual - intellectual activity, was of
secondary importance, and so perhaps was its location'27 .
But, although for Xenophanes' theology the case may be that the god's spatial location
was of no importance, for Plato's cosmology, the World-Soul's spatial location is
essential for explaining its nature, and cannot be so easily dismissed. David Sedley,
discussing the revolutions of the World-Soul, argues that 'in themselves the world soul
and its revolutions are incorporeal (36a6), but when illumination is added the combined
effect is somediing bodily. The incorporeal thus differs from the corporeal, not by
necessarily being altogether non-spatial, but by lacking essential characteristics of body,
26 See Kirk, Raven, and Schofield p. 170. 27 See Kirk, Raven, and Schofield p. 172.
189
such as visibility and tangibility. There is no reason why an incorporeal should not
have a circular motion, even though its invisibility and intangibility make this
undetectable to the senses'28. The World-Soul, since is presented by Plato as being
both immaterial, and located in space, is faced with a discrepancy that for Aristotle is
not solvable. Aristotle denies that soul naturally partakes of movement (DA. 406a2l),
and claims that 'it is a mistake to say that the soul is a spatial magnitude' (DA. 407a3-
4). Tbus a characteristic difference is stated between the two philosophers. For Plato
the World-Soul is the cause of reason and motion, while itself being self-moving. For
Aristotle the soul cannot be spatially located because it not a matter but rather 'a ratio'
(414al2).
Next, the World-Body is made by the demiurge to be 'a symphony of proportion' (32c).
This is so due to its being created out of the four primary elements: fire, earth, water,
and air. 'Hence the god set water and air in between fire and earth, and made them as
proportionate to one another as possible, so that what fire is to air, air is to water, water
is to earth' (32b). Another interesting point here is that the elements that the demiurge
uses for the construction of the World-Body, are used completely: 'Now each one of the
four constituents was entirely used up in the process of building the world' (33a), this is
so because the demiurge wanted the world to be 'a single whole, composed of all
wholes, complete and free of old age and disease' (33a). This is necessary because the
universe must be complete and self-sufficient. Similarly, the point that the World-Body
is made into a rounded shape, also indicates Plato's need for a complete, self-sufficient
universe: 'Ile appropriate shape for that living thing that is to contain within itself all
the living things would be the one which embraces'within itself all the shapes there are.
" See further David Sedley 'Becoming like god in the Timaeus and Aristotle'. in T. Calvo -L Brisson, pp. 329-330.
190
Hence he gave it a round shape... ' (33b). Thus, because the universe is complete it is
discharged from outside influences - unlike the human being.
The Created World and the Human Being
In order for one to understand fully Plato's notion of soul in the Timaeus, one has to
examine the significance of the resemblance between the created world and the human
being. The first, rather general, point that should be examined is Plato's insistence on
talking about a created world that is one, unique, and at the same time, a diversity of
elements. Treating the world as such both shows Plato's belief about the structure of
the world, and more especially allows Plato to use it as an example for explaining the
structure of the human being. Plato's intention is to demonstrate that the human being
is also created as one and at the same time as having various elements within
Another important characteristic of the world, which is essential for the human being as
well, is that the world is treated as a living being. The soul is necessary for any living
thing, and therefore, as was shown earlier, since the world is a living being, consisting
of body and soul, and since body is made out of inert matter, it is the World-Soul that
makes the world a living thing. But the World-Soul is the cause of motion as well as of
cognition. Thus, the world is not only 'living' but also 'intelligent' due to the existence
of the World-Soul. Accepting that there is a parallel in Plato's way of thinking, the
claim that soul is the cause of life as well as of motion and reason for the world implies
that the human being, which is both soul and body, will have the same properties. The
human soul, the reasoning part in particular, will be considered as the cause of motion
and cognition, while its body will be the necessary matter.
29This point will be discussed in the passage concerning the human soul-body relation.
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Two additional points should be considered here: Firstly, as the world is a unity of
world-body and World-Soul, the human being will be a unity of body and soul. Since
there is no other way for the world, there will not be another way of having a human
being. As J. V. Robinson argues, 'if embodiment is good enough for the World-Soul,
which is in every way better than the human soul, then it is good enough for the human
SOU1930. Secondly, the idea that both the World-Soul and the human soul are the cause of
life, motion and reason plays an important role in the structure of both the world and the
human being. Since the World-Soul is the source of life, motion and reason, and as a
result, there can be no world without a World-Soul, it can be inferred that neither can
there be a human without a soul. More importantly, as the World-Soul governs the
universe, the human soul governs the body. As J. V. Robinson puts it, 'since the human
soul is presented as a lesser version of the World-Soul, and the World-Soul governs a
body, one would expect the human soul to also have this responsibility. This
expectation is strengthened by the fact that the Demiurge created the World-Soul so that
the order of the universe could be maintained Al .
in detail, now,. a point that is crucial for one's understanding of Plato's notion of the
soul concerns the similarities that can be found between the World-Soul and the human
SOU132 . The first common characteristic between the World-Soul and the human one is
that they are both made out of the same ingredients. 'He [the demiurge] turned again to
the mixing bowl he had used before, the one, in which he had blended and mixed the
30j. V. Robinson, 'The Tripartite Soul in the Timaeus', Phronesis 35 (1990) p. 106. 31j. V. Robinson, P. 106. 321t should be acknowledged that the similarity is not between the World-Soul and the hurnan soul as a whole. The World-Soul is taken to be both created and eternal. Likewise. the reasoning part of the human soul is taken to be both created, and eternal. Again, the World-Soul as being between the realm of the Forms and the created world, is parallel to the reasoning element of the human soul, which is the only one able to combine the two.
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soul of the universe. He began to pour into it what remained of the previous ingredients
and to mix them in somewhat the same way, though these were no longer invariably and
constantly pure, but of a second and third grade of purity'; 'aKTIpaTa 8E OMT1 KaTa
TaýT& CýCMUTCZ5, coAd 5EUTEpa Kall TPITa' (41d). Thus, in describing the way the
demiurge creates the immortal part of the human soul with the same ingredients that he
used for the World-Soul, Plato attributes to it the same characteristics as in the World-
Soul, that of being created and at the same time being eternal.
This notion indicates that both the World-Soul and the reasoning part of the human soul
belong neither to the realm of the Forms, nor to the constructed world, exactly because
they are 'made' and at the same time cannot undergo any changes, similar to the one
that matter undergoes. Thus, already both the World-Soul and the reasoning part of the
human soul are thought to be between the two realms. Being between the two realms,
though, does not mean that they are separate from them; rather, they combine the two
worlds. What Plato tries to establish here concerning both the World-Soul and the
immortal part of the human soul is that although they are an integral part of the world
and the human being respectively, they both are not 'immortal', like the Forms. At the
same time they are not corporeal, like the World-Body and the human body. Tbis, in
turn, shows that Plato's construction of both the world'and the human beings does not
fall under a mind/body dualism, but rather a dualism of being and becoming with soul
somehow bridging the gap. Plato, thus, tries to achieve a theory of oneness.
Another important point that arises from the particular construction of the World-Soul
as weU as the reasoning part of the human SOU133 is that because they consist of both the
Although Plato refers to the human soul in a general manner, it should be noted that what he has in mind is the reasoning part of the human soul that can be compared to the World-Soul.
193
intermediate Sameness and the intermediate Difference they are able to combine
opinion with knowledge. It is made clear from the text that the World-Soul is involved
in both; '... whenever the account concerns anything that is perceptible, the circle of the
Different goes straight and proclaims it throughout its whole soul. This is how firm and
true opinions come about. Whenever, on the other hand, the account concerns any
object of reasoning, and the circle of the Same runs well and reveals it, the necessary
result is understanding and knowledge' (37c). Thus, the World-Soul is portrayed not
only as the cause of any motion in the physical realm, but also as the only one able to
exercise reason. By implication, then, one has to argue that the immortal part of the
human soul will be able to exercise reason as well.
Furthermore, the notion that the reasoning part of the human soul is of a lesser degree
of purity than the World-Soul: 'of a second and third grade of purity', '@Ad &6`rEpa
Ka I TP I Ta' (41 d), is rather puzzling. It may indicate that although the same ingredients
are used, the human-soul's weaknesses are due to the way the human being is
structured 34 . It is not explained, though, to what extent these weaknesses are due to its
nature or to its embodiment. The text seems to suggest that the weakness is determined
by its elements. One could argue that the elements' inferiority makes the reasoning part
of the human soul less able to control its body, and liable to be influenced by the body.
This is so, because the human being, which consists of both the immortal part of the
soul as well as of body and the mortal parts of the soul, is an organism that is constantly
affected by its environment. Hence, it may seem that the lack of purity comes before
the body's creation - and as such cannot result from the structure of the human being.
In fact, though, the reasoning part of soul is - in its making - less pure because it is
" Comford (1935, on 41d) writes that the human souls are inkrior, because they can do wrong of their own wUls.
194
going to be placed in a body, and has to interact with the environment. The case seems
to be that the reasoning part of the human soul is less pure than the World-Soul because
it will function as part of a complex whole. We are left then perplexed as to the nature
of the reasoning part of human soul in particular and its relation to the mortal parts and
therefore the body. As the reasoning part is portrayed, although it is immaterial by
nature, also by nature it is linked to the mortal parts of the soul and therefore to the
body. As Christopher Gill puts it, 'the psyche, while not itself physical, is integrally
linked with the body in the universe as a whole and in human beings. It follows from
this that the specific character of the body necessarily has an effect on the psyche with
which it is linked 935 . The question that remains unanswered, though, is how can
something immaterial be integrally linked to something material? Trying to answer this
I would like to argue that in Plato's mind the distinction between the two is not sharp.
Plato does hold that the reasoning part is immortal, and not made out of matter, but at
the same time he holds that it cannot exist outside its environment, it has to be spatially
located. The problem that arises for us, the modem readers, is that we are influenced by
the Cartesian tradition, we equate reason to the Cartesian self. For Plato, though, the
reasoning part of the human soul is just that, an essential but not the only part in
constituting the human being. At best, the reasoning part is also the part that makes
something living.
A further point of interest is that the reasoning parts of human souls are assigned to the
same number of stars: '... he [the demiurge] divided the mixture into a number of souls
equal to the number of the stars and assigned each soul to a star' (4ld-e). The point
here seems to be that the reasoning part of human souls, like the World-Soul, is treated
35 Christopher Gill, 'The body's fault? Timaeus on psychic illness', in M. R. Wright (ed), Reason and Necessity, Duckworth and the Classical Press of Whales 2000, p. 64.
195
as being necessarily spatially located. The claim that the reasoning part of soul should
be located somewhere, firstly to the stars and then to the human bodies, indicates that it
cannot exist apart from a body. What is indeterminate, though, is the difference
between being located to a star and being located to a human body. While in the stars,
they neither affect nor are affected by the star; they are in the stars but do not animate it.
On the other hand, that the reasoning parts of the human souls are part of the universe is
due to them being spatially located in the stars. The reason for Plato's view seems to be
that, since the reasoning parts of the souls are everlasting, they must always exist. That
implies that when one dies his soul must either immediately move to a new body, or go
somewhere else. Plato may have thought that an immediate move to a new body is
implausible, so he allocated the souls to the stars.
As stated earlier, the soul's purpose is to animate a body. This holds both for the
World-Soul as well as for the immortal part of the human soul. What is of interest is
that, by placing emphasis on the soul being 'extended' in space, Plato implies not only
that the world-body and the human body require a soul, but also that the World-Soul
and the human soul require a body. This, in turn, shows Plato's intention to present a
view of the soul that cannot be categorised as a sharp dualism. Plato, thus, would have
to argue that the human soul, while forming a human being, is not independent of the
human body.
Human soul-body- relation
The passage at Timaeus 42b ff. is probably Plato's fullest account of the human soul-
body relation. Although there are references to the issue from Plato's early dialogues,
196
his view about how the human soul is related to the human body is nowhere else as
definite as it is in the Timaeus 36 . The progress found in the Timaeus, by comparison
with to the earlier dialogues, consists in the fact that in it, Plato not only presents the
soul as having three parts, but also gives a detailed physiological and psychological
account of the human being as a whole.
Timaeus describes the way human beings were constructed as follows: He, firstly,
refers to the htunan souls' initial birth, and their reincarnations: 'They would all be
assigned one and the same initial birth, so that none would be less well treated by him
than any other' (41e). The first fonn that the demiurge chooses for the souls is that of
man. This is done so that everyone would be equal, and so that their reincarnations
would depend on the way humans will lead their lives; whether they live good, just
lives or unjust ones (42b). In a more general way, Plato links his metaphysics with his
moral philosophy. His theory of the soul provides reasons to justify the choice of a
good, just life over an unjust one. While in the human form, the human being must live
well. 'So, once the souls were of necessity implanted in bodies, and these bodies had
things coming to them and leaving them, the first innate capacity they would of
necessity come to have would be sense-perception, ... the second would be love,
mingled with pleasure and pain. And they would come to have fear and spiritedness as
well, ... And if they could master these emotions, their lives would be just, whereas if
they were mastered by them, they would be unjust' (42a-b). Thus, in order for the soul
to 'return to his dwelling place in his companion star, to live a life of happiness that
agreed with his character' (42b), while in the human form, the human being must live
well.
3117he Republic is the first dialogue where Plato introduces the tripartition of the soul, but the relation between soul and body is not clearly describedL
197
Two points are important here; firstly, Plato implies that there is a life after death does
not talk simply about the relation of this life to the life after death, but is doing so for
every soul as an individual. Plato talks not merely of 'soul' as immortal, but of
individual souls. Plato's reference to individual souls is fin-ther stressed by his claim
that everyone has the potential either to move upwards toward his star or to move
downwards taking the form of a woman or an animal. He says: 'But if he failed in this
[to live a good life], he would be born a second time, now as a woman. And if even
then he still could not refrain from wickedness, he would be changed once again, this
37 time into some animal that resembled the wicked character he had acquired' (42b C)
This passage, then, implies continuity between human beings and animals.
Secondly, although no specific details are given, the implications about the human soul-
body relation are of interest. This passage (42a-c implies that the human soul, in its
embodiment in a human body, is not only the part given to the mortal gods by the
demiurge, but by necessity, it acquires additional capacities. Plato recognises that
emotions are acquired by the soul only due to its human nature; being in a human body.
The human soul, thus, both affects and is affected by its body. One's life is shaped
according to one's actions, and one's actions have to do with one's character, which is
shaped both by one's given part of the soul, but also from the influences that it receives
from the environment. Ilis passage in a way is set to deal with the idea that one's
character is partly innate but also partly acquired, which in turn implies that although
external factors help to shape one's character, one is responsible for the life one chooses
to five.
"Ibe notion of acquired character and reincarnation due to that character, is also seen in the myth of Er in Republic book X 198
A finther point of interest, then, is that both the human body and the lower parts of the
soul are made by the mortal gods: The demiurge's last act is that of assigning to mortal
gods the task of 'weaving mortal bodies' and whatever else the human souls required:
'After the sowing, he handed over to the young gods the task of weaving mortal bodies.
He had them make whatever else remained that the human soul still needed to have,
plus whatever goes with those things. He gave them the task of ruling over these mortal
living things and of giving them the finest, the best possible guidance they could give,
without being responsible for any evils these creatures might bring upon themselves'
(42d-e). As Comford notes, the subordinate divinities must add the body and those
mortal parts of the soul which temporary association with the body entails 38 .
The creation of the mortal body, thus, is a task for the mortal gods. The mortal gods:
'borrowed parts of fire, earth, water and air from the world, intending to pay them back
again, and bonded together into a unity the parts they had taken, but not with those
indissoluble bonds by which they themselves were held together. Instead, they
proceeded to fuse them together with copious rivets so small as to be invisible, thereby
making each body a unit made up of all the components' (42e-43a). Again two points
are of significance in the above quotation; Firstly, the materials used by the mortal gods
are 'borrowed', and they are going to be 'paid back'. Ibis could only imply that the
materials that constitute the body, 'when the human dies, will be returned to nature.
Thus, for Plato the human being when alive is both soul and body, but when it dies
what is preserved is the soul. What this fin-ther implies is that, the lower parts of the
38See Comford, 1935, p. 146.
199
soul are not part of the immortal soul"'. In that respect, the Timaeus differs from the
Phaedrus and some passages of the Republic. Secondly, the body's bonds are not as
strong as that of the soul's since there are given by the mortal gods. Thus, although the
unity of the soul depends solely on the demiurge, the bonds of the body, and
consequently that of the human being, can be destroyed by various influences.
The body, then, is connected with the soul: 'And they went on to invest this body - into
and out of which things were to flow - with the orbits of the immortal soul' (43 a). The
description that follows is that of the soul's confusion when first embodied. The picture
here is, as Comford says, that of the immortal principle of reason being plunged for the
first time into the turbulent tide of bodily sensation and nutritionýo.
Plato here talks about human growth, and how age determines a person's intelligence.
When a soul is first put in a body, there is a lot of confusion due to the various
sensations: 'The motions produced by all these encounters would then be conducted
through the body to the soul, and strike against it' (43c). 'They mutilated and disfigured
the circles in every possible way so that the circles barely held together and though they
remained in motion, they moved without rhyme or reason, sometimes in the opposite
direction, ... ' (43e). This passage indicates that the sensations have the power to distort
the reasoning part of the soul; the sensations, which are bound up with the body, affect
the soul. The same point is also made clear in Plato's talk about the lack of rhyme or
reason for the human being due to the lack of unity among the soul's circles; where
these are 'mutilated and disfigured' (43e). Thus, it becomes apparent that for Plato the
"Aristotle, although he does not elaborate on the poinL seems to hold that mind 'seems to be widely different kind of soul... it alone is capable of existence in isolation from other psychic powers' (DA. 413b 25-27). 'See Comford, 1935, p. 147.
200
reasoning part of the soul is identified with the moving circles of the soul. In turn the
notion that the reasoning part of the soul is linked to the soul's circles, implies that
whenever these circles are deformed, the reasoning part of the soul is disturbed by the
body's sensations. Hence, the mutual dependence between human soul and body is
proclaimed.
This interdependence between the human soul and body is further explored a little later
in the dialogue. 'As the stream that brings growth and nourishment diminishes and the
soul's orbits regain their composure, resume their proper courses and establish
themselves more and more with the passage of time, their revolutions are set straight, to
conform to the configuration each of the circles takes in its natural course. They then
correctly identify what is the same and what is different, and render intelligent the
person who possess them' (44b).
Plato's concern at this point is to show how the soul was put in the body. In the
construction of the human body, then, Plato places emphasis on the head, because it is
going to be the seat of the soul's immortal part4l. Hence, Plato claims that the head is
the most divine part of humans and controls the rest of the body: 'the gods bound the
two divine orbits into a ball-shaped body, the part that we now call our head. This is
the most divine part of us, and master of all our other parts. They then assembled the
rest of the body and handed the whole of it to the head, to be in its service' (44d). It
should be noted here that the head is of a rounded shape. In that way, it is as self-
contained as possible.
4'See further Comford, 1935, p. 1 50. 201
At the same time, though, the head exists within the universe and so it has to be in
contact with it. As Tracy argues, the human head, unlike the cosmic body, is not unique
but exists within the cosmos and must cope with the environment, it needs the help of
other organs for local motion, sensation, respiration, nutrition, etc. This determines the
structure and functions of the rest of the body42 . Therefore, the gods have to add to it
the rest of the body so as to hold and support the head (44e-45a)43. Consequently, the
discussion of the construction of the head is of importance because it shows that the
reasoning part of the soul is spatially located within the head, within the human frame.
Plato says, then, that the head is '... carrying at the top the dwelling place of that most
divine, most sacred part of ourselves' (45a). The way the human body is constructed,
hence, is intentional. The particular shape given to the body is thought of as the best
one possible to fulfil the soul's needs. As Tracy says, for Plato the entire body is the
physical organ of the rational soul. Its ultimate purpose is to serve as the mortal
container and vehicle for the immortal soul, and this TAOC determines its general
structure44. So, Plato not only introduces a physiological account of the human body
but also the 'cause' for it having this specific structure.
This combination between physiology and teleology is best displayed in Plato's account
of the eyes. Firstly, Plato describes the 'sensation of seeing': He talks about the way
the light of the eyes relates to that of the environment: 'And because this body of fire
has become uniform throughout and thus uniformly affected, it transmits the motions of
whatever it comes in contact with as well as of whatever comes in contact with it to
and through the whole body until they reach the soul. This brings about the sensation
42 Theodore James Tracy, Physiological Theory and the Doctrine ofthe Mean in Plato and Aristotle, The Hague, 1969, p. 102; also, on man being influenced from the environment, see Harold W. Miller, 'Aetiology of disease', Transactions ofthe American Philological Association 93 (1962) p. 179. 43 See further, Comford, ibid. 44 See Tracy, p. 102.
202
we call "seeing"' (45c-d). It should be noted here that the example of the workings of
the eyes pays equal attention to the physiological, mechanistic, and therefore necessary
function of the eyes as well as to their intelligent purpose.
Plato, then, refers to the above-mentioned mechanism of the eyes as: '... the auxiliary
causes that gave our eyes the power which they now possess' (46e), and moves to
discuss: '... that supreme beneficial function for which the god gave them [the eyes] to
us' (47a). He, thus, moves from the auxiliary causes to the intelligent one; necessity's
role is a mechanistic one, while intelligence is directed towards the idea of achieving a
higher goa145 . He says: 'As my account has it, our sight has indeed proved to be a
source of supreme benefit to us, in that none of our present statements about the
universe could ever have been made if we had never seen any stars, sun or heaven. As
it is, however, our ability to see the periods of day-and-night, of months and of years, of
equinoxes and solstices, has led to the invention of number, and has given us the idea of
time and opened the path to inquiry into the nature of the universe. These pursuits have
given us philosophy... the supreme good our eyesight offers us' (47a-b).
As Steven K. Strange points out, both necessity and intelligence play essential roles
here: 'One must discover the operation of Necessity before gasping the work of
Reason.... understanding of the divine causes can only be obtained through grasp of the
lower kind... One must study phenomena through their material causes to see how these
are ordered, for only then will one be able to see how they are ordered for the best 946 . The notion that the human being is made with a view to the best shows further that a
45 See further Tracy, p. 103. 'Steven K. Strange, 'The Double Explanation in the Timaeus', Ancient Philosophy 5, no. 1, p. 30.
203
mechanistic explanation of the world cannot be perfeCt47. Thus, for Plato, the eyes are
the bodily organs that not only enable one to see, but also provide one with the means to
move from seeing to understandi ng. As Comford rightly argues: 'the account of
eyesight has brought us to the point of contact between the knowing soul and the
external world of visible bodies '48. In other words, Plato shows that sight as a sense
provides the soul with the necessary material source to turn from looking at the stars, to
the invention of numbers, and so to a purely intelligent act, that of thinking" (47b). As
Comford says, 'Plato singles out the sense of sight, firstly because it is useful for
locomotion, and secondly because sight and hearing are the two senses which above all
reveal the harmony of the world'so. It is important to note, then, that Plato sees a need
for both auxiliary and primary causes. Human action needs to be interpreted in terms of
reasoning purposes as well as in physical terms. As Comford asserts, 'we need to study
all physical transactions, but they will not reveal the true reason or explanation (diTt' a)
of vision, the purpose it is rationally designed to serve. They tell us "how" we see, but
not "why .. 51. J. E. Boodin makes the same point, he argues that: 'the naturalistic point
of view has a place, though it misses the main point - that of creative intelligence in the
universe'52 . It may be tempting to take Plato to be saying that reason explanations and
explanations in terms of physical causes are quite distinct so that one could give a
complete physical explanation of someone's act without invoking reason, and a
complete reason explanation without invoking physical mechanisms. But this is not
Plato's view. The auxiliary causes give one a mechanistic account and at the same time
"in a similar way, Glenn R. Morrow ('Necessity and Persuasion in Plato's Timaeus', Philosophical Review 59 (1950) p. 148) says that the man's soul is lodged in a bodily frame that exposes him to innumerable distractions and passions, yet still provides means to facilitate the victory of intelligence over disorder. 48COMford, 1935, p. 156. 49PIato's ultimate purpose is to pursuit philosophy. See especially Phaedo 82e, 83b, Republic 619d-e, Timaeus 47b. "See finther Cornford, 1935, pp. 15 1 -152. 51See Comford, 1935, p. 157. 5'J. E. Boodin, 'Cosmology In Plato's Tbought', Mind 39 (193 0) p. 64.
204
, provide one with the necessary means for reaching the primary function, the rational
account. The implication of this seems to be that reason can direct physical movements
in one way or another without violating nature.
In this way, Plato points out that the human being, and by implication the world, is
governed by two causes necessity and intelligence, with intelligence being the primary
one. The fact that both the human being and the world as a whole are treated as
combining reason and necessity is essential for this thesis since it points towards the
important notion that both the human being and the world are neither Forms nor simply
material.
Plato then attempts to re-describe the way the world operates: 'For this ordered world is
of mixed birth: it is the offspring of a union of Necessity and Intellect. Intellect
prevailed over Necessity by persuading it to direct most of the things that come to be
toward what is best... ' (48a). Although Plato's talk of Intellect persuading Necessity is
mythological, it is indicative of what he thought about the workings of nature. As
Morrow states: 'to say that the cosmos comes about by persuasion means that it results
from the workings of the powers inherent in the materials of which it consists in, each
of them bringing into being the effects natural to itself, and none of them being under
any constraint by a power outside nature 53 . Thus, although both necessity and
intelligence are operating within the human frame and within nature, intelligence is
taken to be of more value since it provides the purpose of everything. In regard to the
above quotation, Strange claims that although Reason and Necessity are co-ordinate
53 See further Morrow, pp. 156-157.
205
causes in the making of the world, reason is somehow prior or superior to Necessity, ...
Necessity counts as a cause in so far as it co-operates with Reason's purposes 54 . Plato,
then, introduces along with the forms and matter, the receptacle as an important element
for the world's creation: 'that which keeps its own form unchangeable, which has not
been brought into being and is not destroyed, which neither receives into itself anything
else from anywhere else, nor itself enters into anything else anywhere, is one thing...
The second thing is that which shares the other's name and resembles it. This thing can
be perceived by the senses, and it has been begotten... And the third type is space,
which exists always and cannot be destroyed. It provides a location for all things that
come to be' (52a-b). Hence, Plato introduces a third element that stands as the only
possible medium to combine reason and necessity. This becomes obvious when Plato
likens the receptacle to a mother: 'It is in fact appropriate to compare the receiving
thing to a mother, the source to a father, and the nature between them to their offspring,
(50d).
The workings of Necessity, in nature, are best seen in Plato's discussion of perception.
It is important for this thesis to see how Plato treats perception, since his view provides
us with a clear notion of the way perception is linked to the reasoning part of man. This
in turn indicates the interdependence between the rational soul and the rest of the
human being. Plato talks in the following way about sense-perception; about how men
come to characterise something as hot, cold, hard, soft, heavy light, smooth, rough. He
says: 'we notice how fire acts on our bodies by dividing and cutting them. We are all
well aware that the experience is a sharp one... It is this substance, more than any other,
that divides our bodies throughout and cuts them up into small pieces, thereby giving us
the property that we now naturally call hot' (6ld-62a). In a similar, physiological
I'Sawge, p. 29.206
manner the rest of the bodily perceptions are described, for example; 'Hard we call
whatever our flesh gives way to; soft, whatever gives way to our flesh' (62b). Then,
Plato tries to relate the above perceptions to pleasures and pains. He says that one must
understand pains as 'an unnatural disturbance that comes upon us with great force and
intensity' (63d), while pleasure is the return to the original state: 'leading back to the
natural state' (63d).
The point of interest in this analysis of perceptions is its implication for the role of
perception in the soul-body relation. In particular, it should be noted that when Plato
talks about Perception, he does not attribute it to the body. His point is rather that the
various senses deliver perceptions to the human being, but it is reason that has to pass
judgement on them. In other words, perception provides one with appearances, while
reason provides one with judgement. This is made clear from what Plato implies earlier
in 42a-b, but also from what he says in 61e. He says: 'O'TI PEV Y&P O'gý T1 T6ndeo5,
TraVTE5 M56'v alcOavop6a. '; 'We are all aware that the experience is a sharp one'55.
This sentence indicates a very interesting distinction between the perception, the
experience or pathos of something being sharp and one's awareness of ie 6. Thus,
firstly, one cannot have any perception without having a body to experience it through,
and secondly, perceptions are not merely bodily, but that they are the means for the
human being to reach particular judgements about the world. Michael Frede develops
this idea of perceptions not being merely bodily further 57 .
55 Comford (1935, p. 259) translates the passage: "we are all aware that the sensation is a piercing one". 56 See further Comford, 1935, p. 261. 57Nfichael Frede (Terception in Plato's Later Dialogues', in G. Fine (ed), Plato 1, Oxford Univ. Press, 1999) discusses perception mainly through the Theaetetus where the main issue is to find a definition of knowledge.
207
According to Frede, the term 'aisthanesthai' came to have the meaning of sense-
perception in Plato". He further argues that 'Plato thinks that our beliefs and our
knowledge about the physical world involve a passive affection of the mind, but he also
thinks that they go much beyond this passive affection'59. This passive affection is
perception. The example used by Frede is whether the question whether A is red or not,
can be settled by perception. 'We may be passively affected by the colour red, but to
form the belief that something is red presupposes and takes a great deal of activity on
the part of the mind... Thus, even the simple judgement that something is red... is not
given to us by perception, but only by reflection on what we perceive 60 . Hence, the
point of interest both for Frede's purposes and this thesis' is that perception is the
passive affection of the soul, which by itself cannot yield knowledge. At the same time
though, for the reasoning part to judge something as appearing to be something,
perception has to come first. Thus, through the notion of perception, Plato's implicit
distinction is not between soul and body, but between reason and the mortal elements of
the human being. Perception belongs to the mortal elements but the judgement we
make on perceptions belongs to reason.
The notion that perception passes through the body, and comes in contact with the
reasoning soul becomes also apparent in 64a where Plato refers to pleasure and pain.
'The most important point that remains concerning the properties that have a common
effect upon the body as a whole, pertains to the causes of pleasures and pains in the
cases we have described as well as all cases in which sensations are registered
throughout the bodily parts, sensations which are also simultaneously accompanied by
pains and pleasures in those parts' (64a).
"See fiu-ther Frede, 1999, p. 379. 59 Frede, ibid. 'See Frede, 1999, P. 382.
208.
The next point of interest conceming the human soul-body relation is that of the way
the body and the lower parts of the soul are constructed. This discussion falls under
Plato's discussion of the co-operation of reason to necessity. Plato once again mentions
that the mortal body as well as the lower parts of the soul are made by the created gods:
'They imitated him: having taken the immortal origin of the soul, they proceeded next
to encase it within a round mortal body [the head], and to give it the entire body as its
vehicle. And within the body they built another kind of soul as well, the mortal kind,
which contains within it those dreadful but necessary disturbances... ' (69c-d).
Within the detailed description of the construction of the body and the lower parts of
the soul, the emphasis should be placed on the significance of the localised placement
of the lower parts within the body. Plato says that although, of necessity, the immortal
soul is related to the body and the mortal soul, there is still a need to spatially separate
the divine soul from the rest. Thus '... they provided a home for the mortal soul in
another place in the body, away from the other, once they had built an isthmus as
boundary between the head and the chest by situating a neck between them to keep
them apart. ' (69e). Although at the beginning it may seem that this separation between
the immortal soul and the rest of the soul along with the body is emphasised merely so
as to show that the former is distinct in nature from the latter, in fact Plato's point is to
stress the significant teleological priority of the one over the other. The immortal soul
is located in the head and is separated from the body, and from the other two parts,
since it is the part that exercises reason, while the rest of what comprises a human being
is the necessary means. In a sense, the immortal part of the soul is placed in the body
but can - at least in principle - exist outside it, while the mortal parts of the soul are
209
necessarily embodied; they exist only as long as the body exists. Thus, the immortal
soul is located in the head so as to minimise contamination from the mortal elements.
Tben, the mortal soul is placed in the body: 'Now the part of the mortal soul that
exhibits manliness and spirit, the ambitious part, they settled nearer the head, between
the midriff and the neck, so that it might listen to reason and together with it restrain by
force the part consisting of appetites, should the latter at any time refuse outright to
obey the dictates of reason coming down from the citadel' (70a). The second part of
the mortal soul now is located as far from the head as possible: 'the part of the soul that
has appetites for food and drink and whatever else it feels a need for, given the body's
nature, they settled in the area between the midriff and the boundary toward the navel. '
(70e).
Another point that is worth noticing within the discussion of the body's construction is
that of the marrow. It is characterised as carrying life's chains: 'For life's chains, as
long as the soul remains bound to the body, are bound within the marrow, giving roots
for the mortal race' (73b). What is important is that the marrow is to be found both in
the head, which contains the immortal part of the soul, and in various other parts of the
body; 'Each living thing was at its completion to have a head to function as a container
for this marrow. That, however, which was to hold fast the remaining, mortal part of
the soul, he divided into shapes that were at once round and elongated, all of which he
named "marrow... (73d). This statement implies that marrow is the component that
connects the immortal soul to the mortal soul. The marrow binds together the soul as a
whole and consequently the soul to the body. This is made clear from the following:
'And from these as from anchors he put out bonds to secure the whole soul and so he
proceeded to construct our bodies all around this marrow... ' (73d).
210
The particular construction of the body - and especially the way the head was covered
with 'a sparse layer of bone and not with flesh and sinew' (75c) - explains also the
human beings' life span. Humans could have had a longer life span if their heads had
been fleshier, but the particular construction of the head, by allowing them to be more
responsive to the various sensations, gives them a shorter but superior life. For, as
Plato says: '... there is no way that anything whose generation and composition are a
consequence of Necessity can accommodate the combination of thick bone and massive
flesh with keen and responsive sensation. ' (75a-b). But the body, is not just the
container of the soul anymore, it plays a crucial role in the formation and life of a
human being.
Within the discussion of the construction of the human frame and its significance for
one's understanding of the soul-body relation, there is the supplementary issue of death.
Tbroughout his dialogues Plato holds that death is the separation of soul to bod Y61 , but
in the Timaeus, a detailed rather physiological description is attempted. Plato presents
us with a natural process of growth and decay, since the body functions according to the
'interlocking bonds' of life which tie soul and body (8 1 d). Natural death, then, occurs
because the bodily bonds are loosened, and therefore the bonds of the soul are loosened
too and the soul departs: 'Eventually the interlocking bonds of the triangles around the
marrow can no longer hold on, and come apart under stress, and when this happens they
let the bonds of the soul go. The soul is then released in a natural way, and finds it
pleasant to make its flight. ' (8 1 d-e). On the other hand, if the death happens to occur
due to a disease or injury it is a painful one. The original point, then, in this dialogue is
61 See further ApoloSy 40c, Gorgias 524b, Phaedo 67d, andRepublic 614c.
211
that Plato does not simply state that death is the separation of soul from body, but he
also provides one with an account of how the bonds that connect soul to body break up.
At the same time, since death is presented as a process in which both body and soul are
involved, the role of the soul is of significance. The fact that Plato distinguishes
between a natural, pleasant death and an unnatural, untimely, painful death indicates
that the soul - being the one that realises pleasure and pain - is actively involved in the
process of death. The account, then, is not that of the soul waiting as if from a distance
to be released from the body, like a bird from its cage, but rather that the processes
involved in dying also affect the soul. In other words, what happens to the soul during
dying is the consequence of what happens to the body, and the human being dies as a
result of the soul's release 62 .
The final point of interest within the Timaeus is that of the way the diseases of both
body and soul are treated, as well as the remedy suggested by Plato. The discussion of
the bodily diseases is mainly physiological; it shows how the body can get sick, but
what is of interest for this thesis is that Plato treats the diseased marrow as the worst
case of bodily disease; he says: 'But the most extreme case of all is when the marrow
becomes diseased, either as a result of some deficiency or some excess. This produces
the most serious, the most critically fatal diseases, in which all bodily processes are
made to flow backwards. ' (84c). What should be noted, here, is that Plato considers the
situation where the marrow is diseased as the most serious one because the marrow is
connected to the whole body. What could be implied also at this point is that since the
marrow connects the soul as a whole to the body, its becoming diseased has an effect to
62Similar to Plato's view, is Aristotle's. He holds that death is the release of soul to body, 'the soul holds the body together, at any rate when the soul departs the body disintegrates and decays' (DA. 411 b5). The emphasis for both Plato and Axistotle is that one dies due to the soul's departure. This follows because both philosophers treat the soul as what brings life to the body.
212
the human being as a whole; since the marrow is what holds body and soul together, the
disease of the marrow is most likely to cause death.
After the diseases of the body, Plato discusses those diseas sult from es of the soul that re
a bodily condition. Plato recognises mindlessness - aivoiav - as the soul's disease, and
divides it into two kinds namely, madness - paviav - and ignorance - apaeiav: '...
mindlessness is the disease of the soul, and of mindlessness there are two kinds. One is
madness, and the other ignorance' (86b). What is of interest is that these diseases of the
soul are due to the body's condition: '... if the seed of a man's marrow grows to
overflowing abundance like a tree that bears an inordinately plentiful quantity of fruit,
he is in for a long series of bursts of pain, or of pleasures, in the area of his desires and
their fruition' (86c). Moreover, the soul's diseases are related to excessive pleasures or
pains, which in turn indicates the interdependence between soul and body.
As it was discussed in the passage of the construction of the body, it is obvious that
Plato insists on relating the soul to the body in a way that the condition of the one
affects the condition of the other. In particular, cases like madness and ignorance are
conditions of the diseased soul, but they refer to the soul as a whole; the soul that is
interconnected to the body. In other words, Plato does not refer to the reasoning part of
the soul being sick by its own and on its own; rather the soul becomes sick because it is
embodied. The picture drawn here seems to be that of a kind of circle; badness of the
soul leads one to follow the wrong kind of life, this causes disruption of the body,
which, in turn, affects the soul. It should be noted, then, that Plato does not claim that
all diseases of the soul result exclusively from the sickness of the body, his point is that
due to the embodiment both the soul and the body affect each other.
213
Furthermore, the fact that Plato argues that no one is wilfully evil (86e) shows that the
reasoning part of the soul is not evil by itself In Plato's own words: 'A man becomes
evil, rather, as a result of one or another corrupt condition of his body and an
uneducated upbringing. No one who incurs these pernicious conditions would will to
have them. ' (86e). Moreover, Plato argues that there are two causes for one's .
condition. These are one's parents and teachers: I... all of us who are bad come to be
that way - the products of two causes both entirely beyond our control. It is the
begetters far more than the begotten, and the nurturers far more than the nurtured, that
bear the blame for all this' (87b). In that way it can be explained how one came to lead
the particular life that he leads; one can explain his particular condition 63
. What is
important, though, for the Timaeus is that Plato insists that if one's way of life affects
the balance between his soul and body, then he too is responsible for his life: 'Even so,
one should make every possible effort to flee from badness, whether with the help of
one's upbringing, or to the pursuits or studies one undertakes, and to seize its opposite'
(87b). So, from the above quotation, it becomes apparent not only that the body affects
the souL but also that the souL the reasoning part, is able to affect the body through the
proper education. Thus, although ultimately all diseases of the soul come from its
embodiment, the soul is still able to affect the body, and so cure itself.
The fact that the soul, too, affects the body, leads then to the discussion of 'how to treat
our bodies and states of mind and preserve them whole' (87c). Plato says: 'Hence we
must take it that if a living thing is to be in good condition, it will be well-proportioned'
(87c). Plato's notion of proportion, then, is important since it stresses the mutual
dependence between soul and body; it refers to the human being as a whole. When
Plato says 'In determining health and disease or virtue and vice no proportion or lack of
"See further Republic 424a-b. 214
it is more important than that between soul and body' (87d), he makes an important
claim for the relation between soul and body. It seems that he does not treat the issue of
health as merely physical and the issue of virtue as merely mental, but rather as the one
shaping the other". This, in turn, indicates that soul and body are combined. In Plato's
own words: '... that combination of soul and body which we call the living thing' (87e).
Thus, one can not talk about the human being without referring to the combination of
soul and body. Moreover, it is of significance to note that the above mentioned
combination is one that involves due proportion; if one is to be healthy, neither the soul
nor the body can be more powerful than one another (87e-88b) can. - Plato's suggestion
then is not to exercise the one without the other. The text reads: '... there is in fact a
way to preserve oneself, that is not to exercise the soul without exercising the body, nor
the body without the soul, so that each may be balanced by the other and so be sound. '
(88b-c). What is important, thus, from the above is the assumption that Plato's
treatment of the human being as being comprised of soul and body, is mostly developed
having in mind what is the best for the human being. The notion of proportion between
soul and body is not necessary only for the composition of a human being; it is also
necessary for the human being to lead a good life; both healthy and virtuous.
Conclusion
As was shown in the Timaeus the relation between soul and body is clearly one that
does not fit within the traditional mind/body distinction, it rather offers a complex
'Me analogy between health - virtue and disease - vice is also discussed in the Republic IV 444c-c.
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account of the relation between soul and body. Although throughout Plato's dialogues
the soul-body relation is of major concern, in the Phaedo as well as in the Republic
Plato is puzzled about how exactly soul and body are related. In the Phaedo the picture
seemed to be that the soul is separate from the body (79b-c), and one should avoid
anything bodily and concentrate on the soul by itself (80e). This was shown to be the
case because the soul was treated as being simple and therefore akin to the immaterial
Forms. Even within such a picture, though, there were indications that Plato's view
could not be that of a strong dualism because although soul and body were treated as
two separate entities, specific operations of the human being required soul/body
interaction. The recollection argument, for instance, implied that any kind of
knowledge in this embodied life is 'recollected' through the use of the senses (75e).
This in turn implied a kind of interconnection between soul and body that was not yet
clarified by Plato's arguments. Thus, one is left perplexed as to what exactly was
Plato's view on the relation of soul and body. In the Republic Plato's view progressed
towards the tripartite notion of the soul; the soul consists of three 'parts', the rational,
the appetitive, and the spirited (439e-441a). In that way one is not faced with the
difficulty found in the Phaedo as to how something completely immaterial, the soul,
can relate to something material, the body. The tripartite soul is more easily related to
the body, because the lower parts of it are closely related to the body. The problem that
remains unsolved, though, is that although the tripartite soul requires a closer relation
between it and the body, although it is implied that the tripartite soul is immanent within
the body, the particulars of such a relation are hinted at rather than stated. This creates
a further discrepancy; the soul is clearly tripartite while in the human form, but its
structure prior to and after death is imprecise. This is so due to Plato's conviction that
the soul after death retains its moral character, and is punished or rewarded accordingly.
Such a conviction cannot stand if one holds that the only part of the human soul that
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survives is reason. Reason alone cannot display any character and cannot be affected
by being punished or rewarded.
The Timaeus, then, by holding that the soul/body relation is a complex one, tries to
solve some of the above mentioned difficulties. This is done though the discussion of a
number of important issues. The first issue that helps us understand Plato's view on
soul/body relation, is the resemblance of the reasoning part of the human soul to the
World-Soul. The likeness of the reasoning part of the human soul to the World-Soul is
essential since it enables Plato to hold that the reasoning part is created by the derniurge
and, therefore, is immortal. The association of the reasoning element of the human soul
to the World-Soul fiuther indicates a close relation between the orderly circles of the
universe and the reasoning faculty of the human soul. At the same time, this likeness
places emphasis on the reasoning part being spatially located. Plato demonstrated that
since the rational part of the human soul cannot exist without a body, it has to be united
with one - either the stars or a human body. Although, then, the reasoning part of the
soul is not physical it is located in time and space and is thus capable of interacting with
the physical world. An example of this interaction is seen in Plato's talk about the
reincarnation of the souls. He refers to reincarnation as a natural process, not as an
upgrading or decline towards something outside this world, as he does in the Republic.
The second advancement point to the previous dialogues is that the reasoning part by
being spatially located is easier to be linked with the mortal parts of the soul. Although
the exact status of the mortal parts of the human soul is unclear, they are clearly closely
bound up with the body while also able to affect the reasoning part. Because the
reasoning part is affected by the body, it is capable of being disrupted by the body and
thus is capable of making false judgements. Thus, the reasoning part of the human soul 217
cannot be identified with reason as such. The view of the Timaeus is better understood
if contrasted to those views which see human beings as having within them a small part
of incorruptible divine reason, and which explain vice and error by saying that the
bodily desires have overcome our true nature. The latter view could be read as being
suggested by some passages in the Republic.
Plato's main concern in the Timaeus, then, is to talk about the human being, not the
immortal soul. Thus, the emphasis on our interpretation of the Timaeus should be
placed on the reasoning part as just that, a part of the human soul. Plato, within the
description of the human being, presents the reasoning part as affecting and being
affected by the rest of the human being, and ultimately seems to imply that the soul that
survives death is the reasoning part as it has been shaped due to embodhnent. Tbus,
although it is only the reasoning part of the human soul that survives, this is shaped by
the embodiment in such a degree that it is not the same as the reasoning part that Plato
described in the begirming of the creation story. In a sense, Plato, in order to be able to
hold both that the reasoning part of the soul is immortal, and that there is a complex
relation between the soul as a whole and the body, needs to abandon the idea of the soul
as a whole being able to exist independently of the body. For Plato's theory to hold,
Plato has to argue that the human soul, qua human, cannot survive the body. The part
of the human soul that survives the body cannot characterise any individual's survival.
Perhaps Plato was more than aware of such a difficulty and that is the reason why in the
Timaeus he does not refer to any issue of punishment and retribution as he does in the
Republic where he refers to personal survival65.
11 Unfortunately though this is just a speculation. All the information we get from the Timaeus is that difficult to interpret, let alone understand; passage in 41d, and the limited passage in 42b-c where he is concerned with reincarnation.
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To conclude, although the Timaeus tries to combine the two essential ideas of Plato,
that of the soul's immortality, with that of the soul acting as a principle of life, order
and reason for anything that animates, the important question of what exactly is the soul
for Plato remains unanswered. Although Plato came closer to a satisfactory analysis for
our modem standards of how the complex human soul relates to the human body, the
soul that survives the human body remains still something obscure. The Timaeus then
faces a number of problems: Firstly, Plato does not explain the notion of spatial location
of the soul as a whole and especially of the reasoning part. Because of that, we do not
have a worked out view to work with. The notion of spatial location, if it were made
into a fully worked out view, would have been a very powerful tool in interpreting Plato
as a non-Cartesian dualist. Unfortimately, though, we are left with a notion, which at
best is taken on faith. Secondly, he insists that the reasoning part is able to exist
independently of the body, and thirdly, he does not distinguish between the reasoning
part as first created by the demiurge, before being placed in a body, and the reasoning
part that survives the body. The second difficulty is a problem that is shared with
Aristotle. For Plato, the insistence on the reasoning part's existence, prior to and after
the human existence, is strongly linked with his epistemology. Plato's theory of
knowledge requires the existence of an element that is able to go beyond the human
existence. Moreover, the fact that he does not explain the difference between the initial
creation of the reasoning part, before it is placed in a human body, and the reasoning
part that survives death, creates difficulties for his theory. The reasoning part, which is
created in order to be assigned to a star, and then to a human being, is treated as being
pure reason. On the other hand, the reasoning part that survives bodfly death is
structured by the embodiment, it 'carries' with it elements that has acquired due to the
embodiment. The difference, then, between the two states is that the former has
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nothing to do with notions of self, of personality, while the latter does involve such
notions. It should be noted though that Plato must have been at least aware of such a
discrepancy in his view. This becomes apparent if one bears in mind that in the Timaeus
Plato insisted on the reasoning part of the human soul being spatially located, if not in a
human body, then to a star. Thus, his view on the separate existence of the soul
changes somewhat from the earlier dialogues. In the Phaedo he insisted on the soul's
ability to exist *independently of the body. In the Republic, although the reasoning
element is part of a tripartite soul, is still able to exist outside a body. In the Timaeus,
though, the reasoning part, being part of the tripartite soul, has to be spatially located.
Thus, from the image of a soul that should exist independently of a body, we move into
a view that the soul, the reasoning part has to be spatially located. The Timaeus'
account obviously raises many problems but it is clear that Plato was engaged seriously
with the mind/body problem, and he was aware of its complexity.
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Is Plato A Dualist ?
Introduction
The main concern of this chapter is to examine whether we should place Plato under
the category of dualism', whether we are right in treating Plato as a dualist. This
question results from the attempt to explain how the soul-body relation developed
within Plato's dialogues. As was shown in the previous chapters and especially on the
Timaeus, for Plato the human being consists of both soul and body. Seeing, then, that
the soul's relation to the body is not a simple coexistence, but rather a complex two-
way interaction, a mutual interdependence, one is fascinated by the particulars of such a
relation, which inevitably leads to the question whether or not Plato could be treated as
a dualist of some kind. In order to answer this question in the most adequate way
possible, I shall consider four main points: Firstly, I shall discuss Descartes' view as the
most familiar form of dualism. Secondly, I shall examine Aristotle's notion of soul,
based on the De Anima. Thirdly, I shall give an analysis of what Plato says in the
Timaeus in so far as it bears on the question of dualism. Finally, through the indication
of the similarities and differences among the three philosophers, I shall use Aristotle's
theory as an intermediate between Plato and Descartes' views. This investigation will
help in clarifying Plato's view of the soul-body relationship, and thus enable us to form
a clearer idea as to whether Plato should be treated as a dualist or not.
Dualism is defined as follows: Any view that postulates two kinds of thing in some domain is dualistic. The most famous example of contrast is mind-body dualism. The definition is from The Oxford Dictionary ofPhilosophy edited by Simon Blackburn, Oxford University Press, 1996.
221
Descartes' Dualism
To see whether Plato can be treated as a dualist like Descartes 2, one has to start with
Descartes' theory itself. For the purposes of this thesis two Cartesian texts will be
discussed, namely, the Meditations and the Passions of the Soul. A limited reference
will be also made to the 'Letters to Elizabeth 93 . The Meditations and the Passions of
the Soul are selected because they provide us with in understanding of Descartes' view
of soul-body relation4. In the former Descartes seems to adopt a rather simplistic view.
Mind and body are separate entities. The self is the mind and the body is the physical
mechanism with which it is connected. In the latter, he provides us with a more
complex account of interaction between the mind and the body, without deviating,
though, from his basic belief that the self is a thinking thing.
Descartes argues in his Meditations that his first indisputable belief is that the mind is
the real self. Within this general idea, he treats the senses as an unreliable source for
knowledge, 'Whatever I have up till now accepted as most true I have acquired either
from the senses or through the senses. But from time to time I have found that the
senses deceive, and it is prudent never to trust completely those who have deceived us
2 Cartesian dualism is defined as the separation of mind and matter into two different but interacting substances. The explanation for such an interaction is assigned to divine dispensation. The definition is taken from the Oxford Dictionary ofPhilosophy ed. by Simon Blackburn, Oxford Univ. Press, 1996. 3 Descartes' theory is going to be discussed in a very fragmented way-, the interest in this thesis is just to show why Plato' view of soul-body cannot be considered to be the kind of dualism that Descartes' theory belongs to. The translations used for this thesis' purposes are John Cottingham's Rene Descartes Meditations on First Philosophy, Cambridge University Press, 1986, and Stephen Voss' 7he Passions of the Soul Rene Descartes, Hackett Publishing Company, 1989. The 'Letters to Elizabeth' are from Descartes Philosophical Writings, translated and edited by Elizabeth Anscombe and Peter Thomas Geach, the Open University, 1970. 41t should be noted that Descartes does not distinguish between the soul and the mind; in fact, he uses the two terms interchangeably.
222
even once' (1,18). Such a deception according to Descartes is possible if one suppose
that there is an evil demon, 'some malicious demon of the utmost power and cunning
has employed all his energies in order to deceive me' (1,20). If there were such a
demon, the beliefs he derives from the senses would be false, they cannot therefore be
beyond any doubt. Descartes' doubt about the reliability of the senses is
methodological. He tries to doubt everything in order to discover what he can know for
certain. By casting doubt on the validity of the senses as means of achieving
knowledge, Descartes establishes those beliefs that could resist the sceptics. So, as was
mentioned above, Descartes held that the belief in one's own individual existence could
resist any sceptic's challenge: 'If I convinced myself of something then I certainly
existed' (11,25). Thus, his argument is that the very fact that one can ask whether one
exists is conclusive that one does exist, because one has to exist in order to think. In
Descartes' words: 'I am, I exist, is necessarily true whenever it is put forward by me or
conceived in my mind' (H, 25)5. Descartes' argument, then, is that mind and body are
completely distinct since his mind is essentially a thinking thing while body is
essentially extended. For Descartes the 'I am' refers only to a thing that thinks, a
thinking thing (11,27). The body, on the other hand, is 'whatever has a determinable
shape and a defmable location, and can occupy a space in such a way as to exclude any
other body'. The body 'can be received by touch, sight, smell, and can be moved in
various ways, not by itself but by whatever else comes into contact with it' (11,26).
A ffirther reference to the distinction between mind and body, which also shows
Descartes' conviction that there is an interrelation between the mind, the self and the
. body, is found in Descartes' sixth meditation. He shows how the body relates to the
5The problem that Descartes' theory faces, then, is that although he is based on the existence of God as a non-deceiver to prove his mind's existence, the idea of God is said to be in his mind. In that way he is faced with a circular argument
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self. 'As for the body which by some special right I called 'mine', my belief that this
body, more than any other, belonged to me had some justification. For I could never be
separated from it, as I could from other bodies; and I felt all my appetites and emotions
in, and on account of, this body; and finally, I was aware of pain and pleasurable
ticklings in parts of this body, but not in other bodies external to it' (VI, 76). This
notion, though, of Descartes is taken on faith: 'it is true that I have a body that is very
closely joined to me. But nevertheless, on the one hand I have a clear and distinct idea
of myself, in so far as I am simply a thinking, non-extended, thing; and on the other
hand I have a distinct idea of body, in so far as this is simply an extended, non-thinking
thing. And accordingly, it is certain that I am really distinct from my body and can
exist without if ' (VI, 78). Descartes, hence, on the one hand recognises that by feeling,
having sensations he cannot be completely separate from his body, but on the other
hand he still holds that the self is something dilstinct from the body. He argues: 'nature
also teaches me, by these sensations of pain, hunger, thirst and so on, that I am not
merely present in my body as a sailor is present in a ship, but that I am very closely
joined and, as it were, intermingled with it, so that I and the body form a unit' (VI, 8 1).
At the same time, he holds that '... it is certain that I am really distinct from my body
and can exist without it' (VI, 78).
Another element in Descartes' thoughtý which suggests that the mind and the body are
only coincidentally relatedjs his claim that the mind is indivisible while the body is
divisible. Me first observation I make at this point is that there is a great difference
between the mind and the body, inasmuch as the body is by its very nature always
divisible, while the mind is utterly indivisible. For when I consider the mind, or myself
in so far as I am merely a thinking thing, I am unable to distinguish any parts within
myself; I understand myself to be something quite single and complete. Although the
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whole mind seems to be united to the whole body, I recognise that if a foot or arm or
any other part of the body is cut off, nothing has thereby been taken away from the
mind' (VI, 85-86). Again, here, Descartes talks about mind versus body. The mind is
indivisible, while the body is divisible 6. Descartes thinks of the self as single and
complete, the self cannot be seen as one in plurality. Moreover, he implies that this
particular body, although linked to the self, is not a necessary part of it.
In order to fully appreciate and understand Descartes' position on the soul-body
relation, though, one has to look into Yhe Passions of the Soul, and into his letters to
Elizabeth. In Yhe Passions of the Soul Descartes provides one with a detailed analysis
concerning the nature of man. He distinguishes the functions of the soul from those of
the body. In a very crude way, this distinction is that the functions that can be equally
attributed to inanimate bodies should be attributed to the body alone, while the
functions that are incapable of belonging to a body should be attributed to the soul
(article 3,329 5-10). Based on such a distinction, Descartes attributes every kind of
movement to the body, and every kind of thought to the soul (article 4,329 15).
Despite the fact that such a distinction may appeal as plausible, Descartes' view faces
difficulties in explaining in a satisfactory way the relation of soul to body. The
problem that Descartes faces concerns the relations among the brain, the soul, and the
animal spirits. In particular, Descartes holds that all bodily movements; movements of
the muscles, as well as all the senses depend on nerves. These nerves come from the
brain, which contains a very fine air, namely the animal spirits (article 7,332 25-30).
He then distinguishes between movernents occurring in the brain that create sensations
to the soul, and movements that cause the spirits to cause movement on bodily
members (article 13,338 15-25). At the same time, Descartes claims that the functions
6AIthough Descartes' view here is sirailar to the view Plato seemed to hold in the Fhaedo 79a.
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of the soul are its thoughts, which he categorises into its actions and its passions (article
17,342 10-15). What is of importance, though, in Descartes' distinction between the
actions of the soul and those of the body, is that the actions of the soul necessarily
involve volition, will, while the bodily actions are done automatically, mechanically. A
characteristic example of this distinction is Descartes' reference to dreams. He claims
that imaginations 'arise because the spirits, agitated in various ways and coming upon
traces of various impressions which have preceded them in the brain, haphazardly take
their course through certain of its pores rather than others. Such are the illusions of our
dreams' (article 21,344 20- 345). Thus, although the brain process may be the same,
what characterises it as an action of the soul or as one of the body is volition. If I have
willed for it, is an action of the soul otherwise it is one of the body.
This point in turn points towards Descartes' view that the person, is the conscious self,
the part that wills. This view is finther supported by Descartes' insistence on the soul's
nature as non-extended. He argues that the soul is 'of a nature which has no relation to
extension, or to the dimensions, or other properties of the stuff the body is composed
of, but only to the whole collection of its organs - as becomes apparent from the fact
that one cannot in any way conceive of a half or a third of a soul, or of what extension
it occupies... ' (article 30,351 10-20). This leads us perhaps to the most difficult claim
of Descartes' regarding the soul-body relation, the soul's relation to the pineal gland.
Descartes claims: '... even though the soul is joined to the whole body, there is
nevertheless one part in [the body] in which [the soul] exercises its functions in a more
particular way than in all the others... a certain extremely small grand' (article 31,352
1-15). The difficulty that we are faced with, here, in explaining the particulars of
Descartes' theory, is that although he wants to distinguish soul from body, he also
wants to explain the relation between the two. His solution is that the soul moves the
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little gland that causes the movement of the animal spirits that in turn cause a chain of
physiologically explained reactions to the body. In Descartes' words: 'the whole action
of the soul consists in this: merely by willing something, it makes the little gland to
which it is closely joined move in the way required to produce the effect corresponding
to this volition' (article 41,360 1-5).
There is though a question that remains unanswered 7, how can pure will move the little
gland? This question was raised by princess Elizabeth to Descartes: 'how the human
soul can determine the movement of the animal spirits in the body so as to perform
voluntary acts' (Letter IX A, Princess Elizabeth to Descartes). Descartes' answer
seems to be that along with the notion proper of the body, which is extension, and along
the notion proper to the soul, which is consciousness, he recognises a notion proper of
the soul and body together, the notion of their union. In an attempt to explain the
notion of union between soul and body Descartes talks about the qualities or powers
that enable the soul to move the body. His example is gravity. He says that 'Now I
hold that we misuse this notion by applying it to gravity... but that it has been given to
us in order that we may conceive of the way that the soul moves the body' (Letter IX B,
Descartes to Princess Elizabeth). The question though remains unanswered. As
princess Elizabeth argues, she cannot 'understand the idea by means of which we are to
judge of the way that the soul, unextended and immaterial, moves the body, in terms of
the idea you used to have about gravity' (Letter X A). Descartes' answer then was that
6matter and extension to the soul is nothing else than to conceive the soul as united to
the body' (Letter X B). Unfortunately though, such an answer is not a satisfactory one,
because to say the least it begs the question. How is one to explain the notion of the
7 Peter Remnant ('Descartes Body and Soul', Canadian Journal ofPhilosophy 9,3 (1979) 3 81-82) holds that although Descartes promises to answer the above question in his Treatise of Man, in fact he never does.
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soul-body union with the idea that the matter and extension of the soul is its union to
the body?
Thus, although Descartes' basic line of reasoning is that of the soul and body being
intermingled, he still holds that the self is the soul while the body is something
altogether distinct. He strongly argues that the self is the soul, and consequently he
cannot provide one with the necessary details for the required interrelation between
soul and body, he thus, does not adequately explain how the soul that is not extended is
linked to the body.
Aristotle on Soul-Body Relation
We can now turn to Aristotle's theory of soul-body relation. In the De Anima, Aristotle
attempts to explain scientifically the workings of the human being as an -organism in
nature. Aristotle like Plato holds that the soul is what animates the body. But for
Aristotle, the soul is not a separate entity able to exist on its own; rather, he treats the
soul as the 'form' of the body, which is matter: 'soul is an actuality or formulable
essence of something that possesses a potentiality of being besouled' (11,2,414a26-28).
He thus holds that body without a soul is not a human being, and claims that soul
cannot exist independently of body. In his own words, 'the body is the subject or
matter... hence the soul must be a substance in the sense of the form of a natural body
having life potentially within it' (DA 11,1,412al7-21). Tbus, despite the fact that both
philosophers treat the soul as that which animates the body, Aristotle's view differs
from Plato's in a very significant point, namely, the soul's independent existence. For
Plato if the soul is to animate the body, it must exist independently and even be prior in
time to the body. On the other hand, Aristotle treats the soul as a kind of essence that
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cannot be distinguished from the body that it animates. Ibus, as M. Frede argues,
when Aristotle introduces the notion of essence, he is not introducing a new entity.
Frede argues that: 'when Aristotle is insisting on es$ences or natures, he is insisting that
objects, natural objects, human, beings, are not just configurations of more basic
material constituents and hence should not just be conceived in this way's. A point,
which marks off Aristotle's view from any modem theory of supervenience is that he
treats the soul as the form of the body, and hence as the formal cause of the body.
Moreover, he recognises at least one part of soul that is capable of existing
independently of body, namely intelligence. Aristotle's view on the active intellect is
that it is immortal, an issue that seems to come in opposition to his claim of the soul
being the form of the body 9.
What can we make then of Aristotle's notion of intelligence and consequently of the
soul? In the De Anima Aristotle explicitly claims that: 'we have no evidence as yet
about mind or the power to think; it seems to be a widely different kind of soul' (DA 11,
2,413b24). The thinking part of soul is said to differ from the rest because it is eternal
while the rest are perishable, 'it alone is capable of existence in isolation from all other
psychic powers' (DA 11,2,413b26-27). Thus, both Aristotle and Plato hold that there
must be something in the human being that is capable of being immortal. For Aristotle,
though, the immortality of intelligence does not indicate personal survival, while for
Plato, throughout the dialogues, what survives death must contain more than pure
reason. In particular, as K. V. Wilkes says, Aristotle's immortal and eternal psychic
power 'would be nothing like me that survives bodily death"o. On the other hand,
Plato's view is that although it is the reasoning element that survives death, it is so
8 Michael Frede, 'On Aristotle's Conception of the Soul', in M. C. Nussbaum - A. Oksenberg Rorty (eds), Essays on Aristotle's De Anima, Clarendon Press Oxford 1992, p. 95. 9 This is discussed further in the comparison among Plato, Aristotle and Descartes that follows. 10See K. V. Wilkes, 'Psuchi versus the Mind', in M. C. Nussbaum - A. Oksenberg Rorty, p. 125.
229
formed by the embodied state that it 'carries' with it personality traits, in other words,
the element of soul that survives death for Plato is not purely intellect". Thus, as
Wilkes argues, Aristotle's idea of immortality is 'more like that of Heraclitus than that
of contemporary Christianity, we do not survive as ourselves, but something else does:
12 the Heraclitean fire, or the Aristotelean light of intellect
Plato, Aristotle, and Descartes
Having thus drawn an outline of the two philosophers' views on the soul-body relation,
I will attempt to show the similarities and differences among the views of Plato
Aristotle and Descartes, so as to show why Plato's theory of soul-body relation cannot
be treated as a Cartesian dualism. Through this process of comparison and contrast, it
will be indicated that Aristotle's view in some respects acts as an intermediate position.
The first point that shows a significant difference between Plato and Descartes is that
Plato, in the Timaeus, holds that the soul is the cause of reason and motion, in other
words, the soul is what animates the body and what brings intelligence to it. The notion
of the soul being the cause of motion is an essential one for Plato. In the Laws, Plato
says about the soul: 'it is one of thefirst creations, born long before all physical things,
and is the chief cause of all their alterations and transformations' (892a). Moreover, the
soul is defined as 'motion capable of moving itself (Laws 896a). In a similar manner,
Plato holds in the Phaedrus that the soul is self-mover that moves everything else:
&every soul is immortal. That is because whatever is always in motion is immortal,
while what moves, and is moved by, something else stops living when it stops moving.
"This issue is clearly stated in the Republic Xwithin the myth of Er 618b, in the Timaeus 42b-c, and in 90e-91c. 12 See further Wilkes, p. 126.
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So it is only what moves itself that never desists from motion, since it does not leave
off being itself In fact, this self-mover is also the source and spring of motion in
everything else that moves' (Phaedrus 245c-d).
For Descartes, though, the soul cannot be seen as something that animates the body,
since he insists on the soul being a thinking thing and the body an extended thing. For
Descartes the soul happens to be connected to a particular body that is a perfectly
functioning mechanism. A clear indication of this is that Descartes denies soul to
animals who are clearly self-movers. Descartes' view then of how the soul, the mind,
which is a thinking thing can relate to a body, which is an extended thing, is unclear.
Although, as was discussed at the relevant section of this chapter, he introduces the idea
that the soul affects the pineal gland, and from there all possible movements of the
body start, he does not give us the details of this relation. In The Passions of the Soul
Descartes claims that 'the whole action of the soul consists in this: merely by willing
something, it makes the little gland to which it is closely joined move in the way
required to produce the effect corresponding to this volition' (article 41,360 1-5). At
best, his view seems to be that the soul in a mysterious way can affect a body, soul is
not the source of animal motion but somehow affects it by altering the flow of animal
spirits, but there is no particular reason why it affects this particular body. In a sense,
Descartes' view of the soul affecting the pineal gland could hold even if the brain were
imaged to be separated from the body. There is no obvious reason why my soul should
affect the pineal gland in my brain rather than the one in someone else's brain. This
Cartesian view, then, could be associated with Dennett's thought experiment 13 where a
brain in a vat is linked to a body, which is situated some way away. My soul could
affect the pineal gland in the brain in the vat and that in turn could, in principle, be
13 Daniel C. Dennett, 'Where am IT, in D. PL Hofstadter - D. C. Dennett (eds), The Mind's I Fantasies and Reflections on Selfand Soul, 198 1, pp. 217-229.
231
--I -- -
linked to a distinct body. The sense in which this body belongs to my soul is simply
that my soul can, directly or indirectly, affect that body and the body in turn, directly or
indirectly, affects the soul. No close relation is required.
Another way that the relation between the soul and the pineal gland could be explained
is the one proposed by Sara Broadie. She argues that the explanation of the link
between mind and body cannot be that the mind wills such a union, for 'without sense
experience we could not have an idea, either definite or indefinite, of a particular
body' 14 . According to her reading then, 'only God, a third being of infinite power, can
cause by his will a union between substances of such mutually alien natures as mind
and body'15. Although Broadie's conclusion is a correct one, based on Descartes'
ideas, unfortunately it is one that is taken as a matter of faith and not as proven
philosophically.
Thus, the first point of difference between Plato and Descartes is that of the soul acting
as a life-principle. What remains to be seen is Aristotle's position on this issue. As
was mentioned previously, Aristotle like Plato holds that the soul acts as the animating
principle of a body. He characterises the soul as the form of the body. But what is
exactly Aristotle's view on the issue, and why is his view to be treated as an
intermediate of Plato and Descartes' views? Firstly, Aristotle like Plato assigns to the
soul the role of the animator. Without the soul the body cannot be characterised as a
human body, it is just inert matter, matter without form. On the other hand, unlike
Plato, Aristotle holds that the soul is a form, and therefore is not something that comes
to be, and it is not divisible. Thus, as Christopher Shields argues, the fact that Aristotle
14 Sara Broadie, 'Soul and Body in Plato and Descartes', The Aristotelean Society Proceedings 101 (200 1) p. 301. 15 See further Broadie, ibid.
232
is committed to the immateriality of souls is due to the following arguments: 'a) First,
the soul cannot be moved by itself (DA, 1,3). Every magnitude can be moved kath'
hauto (de Galeo 268bl5-16). Therefore the soul is not a magnitude. b) Second, the
soul, as a form of the body, is not generable (Metaphysics VII, 8). This is so since
whatever comes to be has form as well as matter, but form is not a compound (Meta
VH, 8). Therefore, the soul does not have matter. c) Third, ýhe soul is not divisible
(DA 411b27). But whatever is not divisible is not a magnitude (Physics 219al I,
237al 1). Therefore the soul is not a magnitude. d) Fourth, the soul is neither one of
the elements nor from the elements (de Generatione et Corruptione 334alO-I 1)16.
There is, in other words, a crucial distinction between Plato and Aristotle, namely, that
of the soul's separate existence. For Plato the soul's inunateriality is a proof to its
existence prior to body. For Aristotle on the other hand, the soul's immateriality does
not prove its separate existence. As a matter of fact, from most of what Aristotle says
in the De, 4nima, the body is io much necessary for a human being as the soul is. As K.
V. Wilkes argues not all complex systems can provide the 'matter' (hardware) for a
psuchi-competence. Form puts constraints on matter and vice versa 17 . She thus goes
on to claim that the body is a necessary condition for thinking in general and the active
intellect in particularls.
This is, thus, the point according to which we can differentiate Aristotle's position to
that of Descartes'. As it was indicated earlier, Descartes holds that the soul is not the
cause of the body; the body is a perfect mechanism that operates according to its own
rules. The soul, therefore, happens to be related to the body and thus interact with it.
For Aristotle, though, the body on its own, is nothing but inert matter. Likewise, the
16 Christopher Shields, 'Soul and Body in Aristotle', Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 6 (1988) F'Sle!: 4ýVilkes,
p. 124. That is why Aristotle's view cannot be seen as a kind of functionalism. "See Wilkes, p. 126.
233
soul's existence depends on the body's existence. Thus, as Shields argues, Aristotle
cannot be treated as a Cartesian dualist, because he denies that the soul is separate from
the body. In Shields' words: 'it is clear that Aristotle is no sort of Cartesian... he
regards souls as ontologically dependent on bodies... Aristotle denies Cartesianism but
he does not thereby deny dualism'19.
Another point that indicates that neither Plato nor Aristotle could be treated as
Cartesian dualists, is the issue of the soul's spatial location. Plato holds that the soul,
whether he refers to the reasoning element, or to the tripartite soul, cannot exist outside
space. It has to be spatially located, but that does not mean that it always has to be
located in a human body. Plato does not explain the exact relation between the mortal
parts of the soul and the body - perhaps because he lacks the means to make the
requisite distinction. What could be argued here on Plato's behalf is that he does not
think of the mortal parts as ontologically distinct from the body, the mortal parts
couldn't exist without the body. Having said that, though, it is not clear what the
particular relationship is. It cannot be an identity because of the language used. Plato
insists on terminology that indicates that the mortal parts are placed within bodily parts,
not that they are tautologous to them: 'they provided a home for the mortal soul in
another place in the body' (69e). Further examples of this kind of language are the
following: '... they settled nearer the head' (70a) and 'they assigned it its position
there... ' (70e). Similarly, the relation of the mortal parts to the body cannot be that of
supervenience because the mortal parts are created along with the body, they are not the
result of the body's constitution. That the soul occupies 'space', then, implies, at least,
that for Plato the soul is not a substance totally and completely separate from the body.
It rather indicates that by necessity there is no sharp distinction between soul and body,
the soul is interconnected to the body for the human being to live. In other words, there
19 Shields, pp. 131-132.234
can be no human being without the existence of both soul and body, the result, the
human being, is what determines the relation between the soul and the body. So, for
the human being's existence it is irrelevant whether the soul is able to exist
independently of the body, because a human being cannot exist without both a soul and
a body.
Aristotle, now, holds that the soul's existence depends on the body'O. The soul is
necessarily located in space; it is embodied. This position of his, though, differentiates
him from both Plato and Descartes' views. Aristotle, unlike Descartes, recognises the
soul's embodiment to a particular body as the only one possible. In other words, the
soul's existence and the body's existence are determined by the human being. Shields
treats this claim as pointing towards a view of supervenient dualism. He argues that:
'Aristotle affmns that mental states depend in an intimate way on physiological
states'21, and thus claims that the best overall consistent interpretation of Aristotle is
that he is a supervenient dualist22. It should be noted here that Shields does not treat
Aristotle as being a materialist; the interpretation that he proposes is a different kind of
dualism to that of Descartes. He claims that 'given his analysis of form and soul
Aristotle cannot be regarded as any sort of materialiSt'23 . Alan Code and Julius
Moravcsik also support the view that Aristotle cannot be seen as being a materialist.
They argue that 'if materialism is a view according to which principles goveming the
matter of a natural/physical entity are sufficient for all the behaviour and changes it
undergoes qua natural/physical thing, then neither his [Aristotle's] psychology nor his
24 physics is materialist' . Their argument, thus, is that although Aristotle's
207be intellect though is excluded. 21 Shields, pp. 133-134. 22 Shields, P. 134. 23Shields, pp. 105-106. 24 Alan Code, Julius Moravcsik, 'Explaining Various Forms of Living' in M. C. Nussbaurn - A. Oksenberg Rorty, p. 13 1.
235
hylomorphism is committed to the existence of physical/natural structures underlying
perception and cognition, it is a mistake to see these structures as arising from the
powers of inanimate matter25.
Another point of difference between Plato and Aristotle on the one hand, and Descartes
on the other is the way they treat the issue of death. For Plato and Aristotle death is
defined as the separation of soul from body. Plato argues in the Timaeus that death
occurs when the bonds that hold soul and body together are broken, either in a natural
or an unnatural way. The actual process is described as follows: 'the interlocking bonds
of the triangles around the marrow can no longer hold on, and come apart under stress,
and when this happens they let the bonds of the soul go. The soul is then released in a
natural way, and finds it pleasant to take its flight' (81d). This is how Plato treats the
process of a natural death. An unnatural death, on the other hand, is 'a death that is due
to disease or injury, (81e) and is seen as 'painful and forced' (81e). Plato's distinction
between natural and unnatural death shows that the former is due to the natural decay
of the elements of the body, and therefore the bonds between the soul and the body,
while the latter is due to a sudden, unexpected separation of the-soul from the body. A
point that should be stressed here, then, is that Plato does not hold that it is the structure
of the body that enables the soul to inhabit the body. He rather holds that to have a soul
is to have a certain something, the animating principle for the body. The soul's
structure, though, within the body shows also that it is influenced by the body's
condition. This, in turn, indicates that the bonds of soul to body, the relation between
the two is such that when in a particular proportion they constitute the human being.
When the proportion is loosened or destroyed, then the soul leaves the body, and death
occurs. In other words, Plato seems to argue that because the bonds between the soul
2SSee further Code & Moravcsik, p. 133.
236
and body become inadequate, death comes about. The significance of this description
of death is that it does not treat soul and body as two elements that exist side by side,
rather the soul can coexist with the body only when the latter is in an appropriate state.
Aristotle, now, although in the De Anima does not provide us with a definition of death,
holds like Plato that someone dies because the soul is separated from the body. This is
so because the soul is the element that animates the body, the soul is what determines
whether something is living or not26. On the other hand, Descartes claims that death
occurs due to the malfunctioning of the body mechanism. Descartes argues that: 'the
soul departs when someone dies only because that heat ceases and the organs used to
move the body disintegrate' (De An. Article 6,33015-20). He thus argues that 'death
never occurs through the fault of the soul, but only because one of the principal parts of
the body disintegrates' (article 7,330 23-25). In that way Descartes describes the body
as a machine and compares it to automata. One might observe here that the definitions
of death provided are not that distinct. Indeed all three philosophers treat death as the
separation of soul from body. The main difference, though, between Plato and
Aristotle and Descartes is that Plato and Aristotle recognise the soul as the cause of life,
and therefore its loss as the cause of death. Descartes on the other hand, thinks that
death occurs because the body is not working properly, and this has as a result the
soul's release.
The last point of difference among Plato, Aristotle and Descartes is their notion of
perception. Perception is a characteristic example of the relation between soul and
body. Plato in the Theaetetus argues that perception is different from knowledge in that
there is no judgement involved in perception. For Plato 'knowledge is to be found not
26 As J. P. Vincenzo states ('Plato and Aristotle on the Soul', Philosophia 19-20 (1989-1990) 276), Aristotle conceives of soul as the cause of life witilin organic natural bodies possessing potential life.
237
in the experiences but in the process of reasoning about them' (Theaetetus 186d). To
illustrate the point that 'it is in cases where we both know things and are peTceiving
them that judgement is erratic' (I 94b), Plato introduces the wax image. He assumes
that the block of wax is in the soul and its function is to take 'impressions of everything
we wish to remember among the things we have seen or heard or thought of ourselves'
(191d). In that way he can argue that there are cases of false judgements. These are
cases where being mislead by perception, we, our souls, do not 'bring together the
proper stamps and records' (I 94b) and thus judge falsely.
Aristotle on the other hand, uses the same example, the wax tablet, as a model of
perception. Aristotle argues that 'by a sense is meant what has the power of receiving
into itself the sensible forms of things without the matter' (De Anima 11,12,424al6).
Aristotle claims that like the impressions of a signet of bronze or gold, the sense is
affected by what is coloured or flavoured or sounding, but it is indifferent to what in
each case the substance is... ' (De Anima 11,12,424a24). In that respect, as M. F.
Burnyeat says ' It is striking that Aristotle should apply to perception a model which
Plato used for judgement in contrast to perception... Plato had contrasted perception
with judgement. He had argued that there is no awareness in perception itself, just a
causal interaction with sensible qualities in the environment.... Aristotle's applying the
wax-block model directly to perception is a way of insisting, against Plato, that
perception is awareness, articulate awareness, from the Start, 27. TbUS, in Plato's
account, perception is just the physical stimulation; it does not on its own involve
judgement, while for Aristotle perception is the awareness.
27 See fin-ther, M. F. Burnyeat, 'Is Aristotelean Philosophy of Mind Still Credible? ' (A Draft), in M. C. Nussbaum - A. Oksenberg Rorty, p. 2 1.
238
Descartes, now, distinguishes two causes of perception. Perception can be caused by
mental or bodily events, what differentiates the two is volition (The Passions of the I Soul, article 19,343 10-25). What should be noted, therefore, is that although both
Plato and Aristotle treat perception as the first level of a process that can lead to
knowledge, Descartes seems to categorise perception according to the will.
Conclusion
Tbroughout this thesis the emphasis was placed in trying to determine Plato's notion of
the soul-body relation. As we have seen, Plato's view changes somewhat from the
early dialogues to the late ones. This change, though, it has been argued, was not
drastic enough to alter Plato's view on the soul-body relation, rather it helped him
modify his theory and present us with a more detailed view. In particular, from the idea
of a single soul, Plato moves into the view that the soul is tripartite. This enables him
to hold his initial position that the soul is immortal and at the same time to show in a
detailed way the soul's relation to the body so as to form a human being. Thus, the soul
cannot be treated as something altogether separate from the world and therefore is
treated as being part of it.
Thus, although the Timaeus solved a lot of the questions that were raised concerning
the soul-body relation in the early and middle dialogues, there are other questions that
remain unanswered. The one that I attempted to examine was whether Plato could be
considered a Cartesian dualist or not. As it was indicated in the previous chapter, and
in this one, Plato could not be treated as a Cartesian dualist for a number of points.
Namely, A) for Plato the soul along with the body compose a human being. Although
the soul is tripartite, one part is immortal and therefore somehow quite distinct from the
body and the other two are formed along with the body, the whole soul is treated as a
239
in the experiences but in the process of reasoning about them' (7heaetetus 186d). To
illustrate the point that 'it is in cases where we both know things and are perceiving
them that judgement is erratic' (I 94b), Plato introduces the wax image. He assumes
that the block of wax is in the soul and its function is to take 'impressions of everything
we wish to remember among the things we have seen or heard or thought of ourselves'
(191 d). In that way he can argue that there are cases of false judgements. These are
cases where being mislead by perception, we, our souls, do not 'bring together the
proper stamps and records' (1 94b) and thus judge falsely.
Aristotle on the other hand, uses the same example, the wax tablet, as a model of
perception. Aristotle argues that 'by a sense is meant what has the power of receiving
into itself the sensible forms of things without the matter' (De Anima 11,12,424al6).
Aristotle claims that like the impressions of a signet of bronze or gold, the sense is
affected by what is coloured or flavoured or sounding, but it is indifferent to what in
each case the substance is... ' (De Anima 11,12,424a24). In that respect, as M. F.
Burnyeat says ' It is striking that Aristotle should apply to perception a model which
Plato used for judgement in contrast to perception... Plato had contrasted perception
with judgement. He had argued that there is no awareness in perception itself, just a
causal interaction with sensible qualities in the environment.... Aristotle's applying the
wax-block model directly to perception is a way of insisting, against Plato, that
perception is awareness, articulate awareness, from the start 27 . Thus, in Plato's
account, perception is just the physical stimulation; it does not on its own involve
judgement, while for Aristotle perception is the awareness.
21See finiher, M. F. Burnyeat, 'Is Aristotelean Philosophy of Mind Still CredibleT (A Draft), in M. C. Nussbaum - A. Oksenberg Rorty, p. 2 1.
238
Descartes, now, distinguishes two causes of perception. Perception can be caused by
mental or bodily events, what differentiates the two is volition (The Passions of the
Soul, article 19,343 10-25). What should be noted, therefore, is that althoýgh both
Plato and Aristotle treat perception as the first level of a process that can lead to
knowledge, Descartes seems to categorise perception according to the will.
Conclusion
Throughout this thesis the emphasis was placed in tying to determine Plato's notion of
the soul-body relation. As we have seen, Plato's view changes somewhat from the
early dialogues to the late ones. This change, though, it has been argued, was not
drastic enough to alter Plato's view on the soul-body relation, rather it helped him
modify his theory and present us with a more detailed view. In particular, from the idea
of a single soul, Plato moves into the view that the soul is tripartite. This enables him
to hold his initial position that the soul is immortal and at the same time to show in a
detailed way the soul's relation to the body so as to form a human being. Thus, the soul
cannot be treated as something altogether separate from the world and therefore is
treated as being part of it.
Thus, although the Timaeus solved a lot of the questions that were raised concerning
the soul-body relation in the early and middle dialogues, there are other questions that
remain unanswered. The one that I attempted to examine was whether Plato could be
considered a Cartesian dualist or not. As it was indicated in the previous chapter, and
in this one, Plato could not be treated as a Cartesian dualist for a number of points.
Namely, A) for Plato the soul along with the body compose a human being. Although
the soul is tripartite, one part is immortal and therefore somehow quite distinct from the
body and the other two are formed along with the body, the whole soul is treated as a
239
unity that is a necessary part of the human being. B) Plato argues that the soul is
spatially located, it is a part of the world. In that respect, it differs to Descartes' notion
of the fundamental natures of soul and body; the soul for Descartes is an essentially
thinking thing, while the body is an essentially extended thing. C) Also, for Plato, the
soul is the cause of motion and reason, two notions that cannot fit Descartes' idea of the
separate existences, the mind existing independently of the body. Hence, although
Plato like Descartes holds that the soul is not identical to the body, for Plato the self,
the human being is composed of a soul and a body. On the other hand, Descartes holds
that in principle at least the mind the soul is the real self, the body is just an automaton
that accidentally happens to be interrelated to a soul. This distinction is more than
adequate so as to conclude that Plato should not be treated as a Cartesian dualist.
Finally, even after the changes on his theory of soul and body, as they were presented
in the Timaeus, Plato does not provide us with a conclusive view of the soul's nature.
He cannot be seen as a Cartesian dualist, since without a soul Plato claims the body
couldn't function. Plato, thus, emphasises the mutual interdependence between soul
and body. The desires for instance that are attributed to the soul, are at the same time
treated as partly belonging to the body. Another example of this relation of
interdependence is that of love. In the Symposium, Plato talks about love as a desire
and moves from the love of a beautiffil body, the purely physical desire, to the love of
the Forms of Beauty and Good. If he held that reason is something completely separate
to the bodily desires, he wouldn't be able to talk of a process of advancing from the
merely physical to the intellectual. In general terms, if Plato thought that reason is
something altogether separate from anything material, then he couldn't avoid being
treated as a Cartesian dualist, but throughout his dialogues he tries to emphasise the
relation of mutual interdependence between soul and body. Although, then, Plato's
240
Descartes, now, distinguishes two causes of perception. Perception can be caused by
mental or bodily events, what differentiates the two is volition (The Passions of the
Soul, article 19,343 10-25). What should be noted, therefore, is that although both
Plato and Aristotle treat perception as the first level of a process that can lead to
knowledge, Descartes seems to categorise perception according to the will.
Conclusion
Throughout this thesis the emphasis was placed in trying to determine Plato's notion of
the soul-body relation. As we have seen, Plato's view changes somewhat from the
early dialogues to the late ones. This change, though, it has been argued, was not
drastic enough to alter Plato's view on the soul-body relation, rather it helped him
modify his theory and present us with a more detailed view. In particular, from the idea
of a single soul, Plato moves into the view that the soul is tripartite. This enables him
to hold his initial position that the soul is immortal and at the same time to show in a
detailed way the soul's relation to the body so as to form a human being. Thus, the soul
cannot be treated as something altogether separate from the world and therefore is
treated as being part of it.
Thus, although the Timaeus solved a lot of the questions that were raised concerning
the soul-body relation in the early and middle dialogues, there are other questions that
remain unanswered. The one that I attempted to examine was whether Plato could be
considered a Cartesian dualist or not. As it was indicated in the previous chapter, and
in this one, Plato could not be treated as a Cartesian dualist for a number of points.
Namely, A) for Plato the soul along with the body compose a human being. Although
the soul is tripartite, one part is immortal and therefore somehow quite distinct from the
body and the other two are formed along with the body, the whole soul is treated as a
239
unity that is a necessary part of the human being. B) Plato argues that the soul is
spatially located, it is a part of the world. In that respect, it differs to Descartes' notion
of the fundamental natures of soul and body; the soul for Descartes is an essentially
thinking thing, while the body is an essentially extended thing. Q Also, for Plato, the
soul is the cause of motion and reason, two notions that cannot fit Descartes' idea of the
separate existences, the mind existing independently of the body. Hence, although
Plato like Descartes holds that the soul is not identical to the body, for Plato the self,
the human being is composed of a soul and a body. On the other hand, Descartes holds
that in principle at least the mind the soul is the real self, the body is just an automaton
that accidentally happens to be interrelated to a soul. This distinction is more than
adequate so as to conclude that Plato should not be treated as a Cartesian dualist.
Finally, even after the changes on his theory of soul and body, as they were presented
in the Timaeus, Plato does not provide us with a conclusive view of the soul's nature.
He cannot be seen as a Cartesian dualist, since without a soul Plato claims the body
couldn't function. Plato, thus, emphasises the mutual interdependence between soul
and body. The desires for instance that are attributed to the soul, are at the same time
treated as partly belonging to the body. Another example of this relation of
interdependence is that of love. In the Symposium, Plato talks about love as a desire
and moves from the love of a beautiful body, the purely physical desire, to the love of
the Forms of Beauty and Good. If he held that reason is something completely separate
to the bodily desires, he wouldn't be able to talk of a process of advancing from the
merely physical to the intellectual. In general terms, if Plato thought that reason is
something altogether separate from anything material, then he couldn't avoid being
treated as a Cartesian dualist, but throughout his dialogues he tries to emphasise the
relation of mutual interdependence between soul and body. Although, then, Plato's
240 1 aLäscow U LMMM 71 22
Fear and Death in Plato (1).pdf
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All Theses and Dissertations (ETDs)
January 2009
Fear and Death in Plato Emily Austin Washington University in St. Louis
Follow this and additional works at: https://openscholarship.wustl.edu/etd
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Recommended Citation Austin, Emily, "Fear and Death in Plato" (2009). All Theses and Dissertations (ETDs). 27. https://openscholarship.wustl.edu/etd/27
WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY IN ST. LOUIS Department of Philosophy
Dissertation Examination Committee: Eric Brown, Chair
Anne Margaret Baxley Dennis Des Chene
John M. Doris Cathy Keane George Pepe
FEAR AND DEATH IN PLATO
by
Emily A. Austin
A dissertation presented to the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences
of Washington University in partial fulfillment of the
requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy
August 2009
Saint Louis, Missouri
ii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This dissertation would have never come to fruition without the help of many
people. First, I thank my advisor, Eric Brown, whose exuberant teaching persona and
keen intellect motivated me to make the radical shift from the study of Wittgenstein and
Quine to the study of Plato. I thank him especially for his unflagging efforts to help me
focus my wide-ranging thoughts and his consistent enthusiasm about the project. To
whatever extent this dissertation expresses the virtue of cohesion, he is to be praised.
Second, I thank John Doris, who has kept me level-headed and confident, and
who continues to keep me focused on where the project needs to go next. Though he
does not believe in character, he exhibits an exceptional one.
I also thank the other members of my committee—Anne Margaret Baxley, Dennis
Des Chene, Cathy Keane, and George Pepe—both for their willingness to serve in that
capacity, and for their welcome comments and assistance.
The fact that I have so many great friends who are also wonderful colleagues has
made it possible to get through this long process. They have helped me talk through and
muscle through some of these ideas in the office, in their homes, and in bars. In
particular, I thank Sarah Robins, Clerk Shaw, Mariska Leunissen, and Emily Crookston.
I owe a debt of gratitude to my undergraduate advisor, Mark Schantz, who
initiated my death obsession. If I had not taken his seminar on the history of death in
America, I would neither benefit nor suffer from this morbid curiosity.
From an institutional standpoint, I am very happy to have completed my degree at
Washington University in St. Louis, which has provided outstanding support during my
iii
graduate career. I thank the graduate school for my first-year fellowship and the Dean’s
Dissertation Fellowship. I thank Mark Rollins for his impressive skills as chair of the
philosophy department and his consistent advocacy for graduate students. He saved me
from a shockingly large amount of library fines, among other things.
Finally, I thank my husband, Brian, who more than anyone else, has sustained me
through the ups and downs of this project and life at-large. Above all, though, I thank my
parents, Tony and Jo Ellen Austin, to whom this dissertation is dedicated.
iv
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgements 2 Abbreviations of Ancient Works and Authors 5 Introduction 6 Apology: Prudence and the Fear of Death 15 Apology: Security, Attachment, and the Fear of Death 46 Phaedo: The Philosophical Life and How to Die 68 Republic: Auxiliaries and the Problem of Early, Violent Death 112 Republic: Lawless Desires, Grief, and the Indifferent Philosopher 134 Works Cited 163
v
ABBREVIATIONS OF ANCIENT WORKS AND AUTHORS
PLATO Ap. Apology [Ax.]* Axiochus Chrm. Charmides Cri. Crito Epin. Epinomis Euthphr. Euthyphro Grg. Gorgias Hp. Ma. Hippias Major La. Laches Lg. Laws Men. Meno Mx. Menexenus Phd. Phaedo Phdr. Phaedrus Ptr. Protagoras R. Republic Smp. Symposium Tht. Theatetus *Dialogues in brackets indicate that scholars generally agree that Plato is not the author of the dialogue.
ARISTOTLE EN Nichomachean Ethics Pol. Politics
HOMER Il. Iliad Od. Odyssey
EPICURUS
KD Key Doctrines Ep. Men. Letter to Menoeceus
WELL, YOU JUST WELL TO GET READY, YOU GOT TO DIE.
-BLIND WILLIE MCTELL
2
INTRODUCTION
Plato should have something to say about the fear of death. First, Plato intends to
offer an account of how to live well, and it does not take much imagination to see that the
fear of death can affect the course of one’s life. Second, for Plato, courage is a necessary
condition for living well, and the courageous person is distinguished by her ability to
stand firm in the face of death. Finally, courage is as necessary for a well-ordered polis
as for a well-ordered soul. In a political environment marked by frequent war, plagues,
and the imminent possibility of violent regime change, death is an ever-present concern.
Any polis with a hope of survival must reckon with death in order to preserve itself.
Once one recognizes that Plato should say something about the fear of death, one
will discover that he says quite a lot, and what he says is interesting and contentious. At
the most general level, Plato consistently argues the following: 1) a virtuous person will
not fear her own death; 1 2) a virtuous person will not fear or grieve the death of her
family and friends; 2 and 3) a virtuous political organization will train its citizens not to
fear death and will prohibit public manifestations of grief. 3 It is by no means self-
evident, however, that ridding oneself of the fear of death, even if possible, is ethically or
psychologically beneficial. I organize this dissertation, then, around three questions:
1 Ap. 28b-29b, 35a-b, 37b, 40a-42a; Phd. 63e-64a, 67e, 68b, 68a-69a, 84d-85b, 117a; Grg. 522de; R. 3: 386ab, 6:486a 2 Phd. 116a; 115e-116a; 117d-e; R. 3:387c-388d; 3:397d-e, 10:603e-606c 3 R. 3: 387c-388d, 9: 578a, 10:603e-606c; Ap. 35ab; Mx. 247c; Lg. 12: 958c-960b, 12:949b, 7: 732c, 7:800c-e,
3
1. Why does Plato think that the fear of death is ethically
inappropriate?
2. What are the impediments to removing the fear of death?
3. Why does he think acquiring and sustaining the appropriate
attitudes towards death depends on favorable political
circumstances?
I address these questions within the individual context of three dialogues—the Apology,
Phaedo, and Republic. In this introduction, I briefly motivate the questions at a more
general level, provide a chapter outline, and discuss my methodological approach to
Plato’s dialogues.
OVERVIEW OF THE CENTRAL QUESTIONS
The fear of death is an ethical concern for Plato for two reasons. First, Plato, like
most ancient ethicists, thinks the aim of a good life is achieving a harmonious soul, which
is comprised of a coherent set of beliefs and desires that manifest themselves in action. It
depends, in short, on psychological health. Thus, our contemporary thought that one’s
attitudes towards death are a matter of psychological health makes it de facto an ethical
question for the ancients.
Second, an inharmonious soul is an unvirtuous soul. The fear of death not only
threatens the unity of the soul, then, but it makes agents prone to unvirtuous acts. For
Plato, I argue, the fear of death makes unjust activities appear prudent, as injustices both
great and small can prove sufficient to save one’s own life or the lives of those for whom
4
one cares. In addition, since the traditional conception of courage involves standing firm
in the face of death, an extreme fear of death compromises one’s ability to act
courageously, whether in battle, in sickness, or on the sea. The fear of death can also
foster intemperance, since life’s finitude tempts individuals to maximize pleasures, and
one might seek to unjustly amass wealth and power with the hopes that they will protect
one against violence. Finally, for Plato, the fear of death keeps one from gaining
wisdom, not only because wisdom rises and falls with the other virtues, but also because
the avid pursuit of goods and security cuts in on time that should be spent in study.
Even if the fear of death compromises virtue, however, one might nevertheless
contend that it is hard-wired into our psychology and that many manifestations of the fear
of death are not open to alteration. In this dissertation, I argue that Plato believes that the
fear of death, though it can be masterfully controlled, can never be eliminated, because it
feeds on two desires that are beyond the reach of rational persuasion. First, human
beings have a natural desire for protection against the violence of others. Second, we
foster and enjoy attachments to people and projects, and death serves as the ultimate
threat to those attachments. In an unstable political environment, a host of anxieties
accompany efforts to defend oneself and those for whom one cares against violence and
to extend the length of one’s life for the sake continuing one’s relationships. Success
often depends on one’s willingness to act unjustly.
Thus, I argue that Plato organizes the Republic’s ideal city with these two
ineliminable desires in mind. First, the ideal city is distinguished by its freedom from
faction—it is perfectly safe and secure. Citizens do not fight or seek protection against
5
one another’s violence. Second, individuals are educated from the outset in a way that
fosters the appropriate attitudes towards death. The educational program conditions
children’s emotions and teaches them that they should not fear death or grieve the death
of others. I offer a novel interpretation of the material conditions of the upper classes,
under which the collective possession of children and the absolute prohibition against
possessing any money ensure political stability and diffuse emotional attachments,
thereby lessening the fear of death and diminishing the desire to grieve.
OUTLINE OF CHAPTERS
The first two chapters take the Apology as their principal text. In Chapter One, I
examine Socrates’ two attempts to convince his audience that they should not fear death.
I argue that Socrates does not intend to convince his audience that they can eliminate
their fear. Rather, he intends to lessen the extent to which they fear death and to
convince them that risking death is always better than committing injustice. He argues
that the greater a person’s fear of death, the more willing she is to commit unjust or
cowardly acts. My interpretation makes two contributions to the standing literature on
the problem. First, some commentators argue that Socrates’ two arguments are
inconsistent, and I show that they are not inconsistent; second, many commentators argue
that the second argument is a dismal failure, and I show that it does not fail.
In Chapter Two, however, I argue that Socrates’ chances of convincing his
audience that a minor injustice is worse than risking death are seriously challenged by
two powerful human desires. First, most people desire security against violence. I show
6
that Socrates believes that gaining security requires injustice, so according to his
argument, making oneself an easy target for violence is better than the injustice required
to protect oneself. Second, most people desire to form and sustain intimate relationships
with friends and family, to whom they grow emotionally attached. This attachment
increases their fear of death, Socrates suggests, because death serves as the ultimate
threat to the continuation of personal relationships. In addition, the greater the emotional
attachment, the more injustice one is willing to commit to continue enjoying one’s
relationships. Socrates, I contend, indicates through the course of his defense that he has
left these two desires unsatisfied, and that it has led to his unjust prosecution and his
inability and unwillingness to protect himself and his family. I conclude that most of
Socrates’ audience prefers to satisfy these desires, even though it will increase their fear
of death and require them to act unjustly.
In Chapter Three, I turn to the Phaedo. In the Phaedo, Socrates addresses a group
of philosophically-minded youth, all of whom admire his way of life and grieve his
impending death. I challenge the standard interpretation that Socrates is fearless before
death, and I contend that the antagonism between the body and the soul makes it
impossible for any embodied human to be fearless. For this reason, Socrates employs a
set of strategies to control his fear of death rather than eliminate it, and he recommends
each strategy to his distressed friends. First, he claims that the philosopher must
completely avoid some external goods (money and power) and strongly devalue others
(relationships with friends and family). Second, he believes one should regularly
rehearse arguments in support of the soul’s immortality, preferably until one truly
7
believes them. Third, one should speculate about the benefits of the afterlife by telling
myths and stories. Without all three strategies, Socrates would be unable to minimize
and control his fear. If his young interlocutors fail to reduce their worldly attachments or
remain unconvinced about the soul’s immortality, their fear will intensify. I argue that
the text suggests they will fail.
The final two chapters concern the Republic. In the fourth chapter, I address the
attitudes towards death of the auxiliary, or second, class in the ideal city, who are
required to prepare themselves to die early on the battlefield. I argue that the
mechanisms by which auxiliaries control their fear of death are largely social in nature, or
features about the political organization that are external to them and mostly beyond their
control. First, I point out the elements of the educational program that foster the
appropriate attitudes towards the fear of death, especially the religious education, which
encourages hope for a desirable afterlife. Second, I argue that the most important
mechanism for controlling the auxiliaries’ fear of death and desire to grieve, somewhat
surprisingly, is the prohibition against possessing private external goods like children and
property. Since Plato thinks private property leads to faction and political instability,
providing the community with a sense of security from violence significantly lessens the
desire to seek protection through unjust means. The community of wives and children
keeps any soldier from leaving behind an orphan or widow, and the death of a child is
never a private misfortune and does not leave anyone childless. Without these political
mechanisms in place, I argue that the childhood education of the auxiliaries would prove
insufficient to control their fear of death and their temptation to act cowardly and
8
unjustly.
In the fifth chapter, I consider whether the philosophers-rulers, unlike the
auxiliaries, are able to eliminate rather than simply control their fear of death. I argue
that the philosophers, too, cannot eliminate negative emotions like grief and fear. My
argument depends on an interpretation of Socrates’ two discussions of “lawless desires”
in Book IX. I use these two passages to set up my argument that the desire to grieve is a
“lawless desire,” then I defend my conception of “lawless desires” as natural and
ineliminable against two competing conceptions. I then turn to the philosopher’s fear of
death. I argue that philosophers control their fear by hoping for an afterlife, and they,
like the auxiliaries, desire immortal honor from the ideal city. Thus, I offer a somewhat
deflationary account of the ability of the philosophers to vanquish negative emotions.
However, I concede that the philosophers, with one significant exception, exercise perfect
control over their emotions, even if the ideal city crumbles. I close by considering the
advantages of thinking of the philosopher’s psychology as a scene of struggle.
METHODOLOGY
In each chapter, I focus on a single dialogue. However, since my dissertation is
to some extent a thematic enterprise, I cannot fully skirt the methodological issues. My
methodology is spartan. I am concerned to draw connections between the key dialogues
of my dissertation only by way of what is on the surface of the text. There is no
substantive reason, then, to jump into the fray concerning background issues that arise
from other ways of connecting Plato’s dialogues. To borrow from Chris Bobonich [2002:
9
483n8], “my claims about the content of particular dialogues are argued for on their own
merits, and do not depend on a specific chronological order.” I will also not be
concerned with whether Plato may have changed his mind, and if so, when he might have
done so. I remain agnostic about the extent to which the protagonist Socrates resembles
his historical counterpart and about the relationship between the protagonist Socrates and
the beliefs of Plato himself. None of the questions of my dissertation turn on these
matters, so I do not plan to seek out complications.
TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS
Translations, unless otherwise noted, are my own. I refer throughout to the
standard Oxford Classical Texts. For Vol. 1, I use the revised text by Duke, et. al.
[1995]. For all other references to the Platonic corpus, I use the Burnet volumes [1900-
1907]. I have availed myself of a number of excellent commentaries. For the Apology, I
primarily consulted Burnet [1924], Strycker and Slings [1994], Adam [1910], and Dyer
[1893]. For the Phaedo, I consulted Burnet [1911], Geddes [1885], and Wagner [1894].
For the Republic, I used Adam [1894]. I supply the Greek in the notes, though short
passages are in the body of the text.
10
CHAPTER ONE
APOLOGY: PRUDENCE AND THE FEAR OF DEATH
In Plato’s Apology, Socrates argues that the members of the Athenian jury could
greatly benefit from fearing death less. He is especially concerned with the effect of an
extreme fear of death on an individual’s motivation to act virtuously. In particular, a
marked fear of death makes cowardice and injustice tempting, as a petty injustice can
fend off threats to one’s person and may at times prove sufficient to save one’s life.
Socrates, then, in order to explain his current predicament and justify his refusal to save
himself by committing injustice, must convince his audience that risking death is a better
choice than committing a minor injustice. He must convince them that they should
imperil themselves in similar fashion. This is no small task. Socrates offers two
arguments for this effort. The first I call the “Argument from Uncertainty” (29a5-b6) and
the second is the infamous “Two Things Argument” (40c5-41c6).∗
At the most general level, commentators have raised two objections to Socrates’
arguments regarding the fear of death. First, they seem mutually inconsistent, since the
second argument breaches the epistemic modesty upon which the first argument depends.
Second, the “Two Things Argument” is a mess, leading scholars to judge it either a very
bad argument or no argument at all. Instead of an argument, those donning the banner of
∗ All references in chapters one and two in which the dialogue is unspecified refer to the Apology.
11
charity argue that Socrates intends only to offer his audience “consolation” or “reasons
for hope.”4 Thus, the standard means for resolving the inconsistency is to undermine
Socrates’ commitment to the second argument, thereby preserving his emblematic
epistemic modesty and protecting him from the charge of arguing poorly. I argue that the
arguments are in no way inconsistent, since Socrates is entitled to his breach of the
epistemic modesty of the first argument. In addition, I argue that he is fully committed to
his final argument, and he has good reason to believe it is sound.5
First, though, it is useful to see how Socrates appears to contradict himself. The
crucial premise of Socrates’ “Argument from Uncertainty” is that no one knows whether
death is a harm rather than a benefit. He offers the argument in response to an imaginary
objector, who wonders why Socrates is not “ashamed” [αἰσχύνῃ, 28b3] to continue
philosophizing, since doing so endangers his life. Socrates responds:
For to fear death, gentlemen, is nothing other than to think
oneself wise when one is not, to think one knows what one
does not know. For no one knows whether death might not
be the greatest of all goods for a human being, but people
fear it as if they knew well that it is the greatest of evils.
4 Among those who argue that the “Two Things Argument” is not intended to be read critically as an argument are Brickhouse and Smith [1989: 260-1, 267] and [1989b 156- 57], Reeve [1989: 182], Armleder [1966: 46], and Strycker and Slings [1994: 216-7]. Roochnik [1985, 219-20] concludes that Socrates willfully offers his audience a bad argument with the intent of duping the less-philosophical among them in order to comfort them (falsely, it seems). 5 My allies in principle are McPherran [1996] and Rudebusch [1999]. The details and extent of our differences will become clear in the course of the paper.
12
And how is this not the most blameworthy ignorance to
believe one knows what one does not know? On this point
and in this respect, gentlemen, I perhaps differ from most
people, and if I were to claim that I am wiser than anyone
in anything, it would be in this, that because I do not
adequately know about things in the house of Hades, so I
do not think I know (29a5-b6).6
In other words, Socrates suspects that he is wiser than his fellow death-fearing citizens
because he is epistemically responsible.
However, in his parting speech to those who voted to acquit him, it seems he
reneges on his claim of ignorance by arguing that death is a benefit. First, he reflects on
the silence of his spiritual guide, or daimonion, in the proceedings that have led to his
death sentence:7
6 τὸ γάρ τοι θάνατον δεδιέναι, ὦ ἄνδρες, οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἐστὶν ἢ δοκεῖν σοφὸν εἶναι μὴ ὄντα· δοκεῖν γὰρ εἰδέναι ἐστὶν ἃ οὐκ οἶδεν. οἶδε μὲν γὰρ οὐδεὶς τὸν θάνατον οὐδ’ εἰ τυγχάνει τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ πάντων μέγιστον ὂν τῶν ἀγαθῶν, δεδίασι δ’ ὡς εὖ εἰδότες ὅτι μέγιστον τῶν κακῶν ἐστι. καίτοι πῶς οὐκ ἀμαθία ἐστὶν αὕτη ἡ ἐπονείδιστος, ἡ τοῦ οἴεσθαι εἰδέναι ἃ οὐκ οἶδεν; ἐγὼ δ’, ὦ ἄνδρες, τούτῳ καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἴσως διαφέρω τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ εἰ δή τῳ σοφώτερός του φαίην εἶναι, τούτῳ ἄν, ὅτι οὐκ εἰδὼς ἱκανῶς περὶ τῶν ἐν Ἅιδου οὕτω καὶ οἴομαι οὐκ εἰδέναι· 7 There is no easy way to deal with the daimonion, but the fact is that, whatever it is, it plays an essential role in Socratic ethics and piety. I am not wedded to any particular conception of the daimonion, so long as the basic details remain: with respect to morality, it has an evaluative component, and Socrates considers its evaluations to be true and thereby action-guiding. For a sustained treatment of the daimonion and Plato’s reliance on other sorts of religious divination, see Vlastos [1999], especially “Socratic Piety,” and the special issue of Apeiron, 48/2 [2005].
13
This thing that has happened to me is likely to be a good
thing, and those of us who believe that being dead is an evil
cannot be thinking rightly. I have a great proof (µέγα µοι
τεκµήριον) of this, for my customary sign necessarily
would have opposed me if I had not been about to do
something good (40b7-c4).8
With this conclusion in hand, Socrates offers his audience the “Two Things Argument,”
in which he contends that regardless of what happens when one dies, death will be a
benefit, perhaps even the greatest benefit [τί μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν τούτου εἴη ἄν, 39e6-7]. He is
far from claiming ignorance about the value of death, and it would seem that he is
contradicting his earlier epistemic modesty.
I argue that the inconsistency disappears upon reexamination of Socrates’ aims
and his changing predicament. I contend that both arguments should be read as
prudential in nature, meant to explain and justify Socrates’ dedication to choosing justice 8 κινδυνεύει γάρ μοι τὸ συμβεβηκὸς τοῦτο ἀγαθὸν γεγονέναι, καὶ οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὅπως ἡμεῖς ὀρθῶς ὑπολαμβάνομεν, ὅσοι οἰόμεθα κακὸν εἶναι τὸ τεθνάναι. μέγα μοι τεκμήριον τούτου γέγονεν· οὐ γὰρ ἔσθ’ ὅπως οὐκ ἠναντιώθη ἄν μοι τὸ εἰωθὸς σημεῖον, εἰ μή τι ἔμελλον ἐγὼ ἀγαθὸν πράξειν. There are some who would contest my translation of τεκµήριον as proof (cf. Strycker and Slings [1994: 383] and Vlastos [1991: 283-4n2]). I side with Brickhouse and Smith [1989: 237] and McPherran [1996: 255]. For the most part, those who want to downplay the strength of τεκμήριον do so because they prefer that Socrates have a confidence that depends upon a transparant, rational argument, or they seek to lessen his confidence in order to save him from a breach of epistemic modesty. As I argue that the strength of the daimonic warrant gives Socrates the right to breach his earlier epistemic modesty, I am content to render what I take to be appropriate power to his epistemic confidence. Regarding the role of the daimonion, see n.3.
14
at the risk of death.9 The first is a prudential argument to the effect that it is best for one
to choose justice when doing so puts one at risk of death, even if one does not know
whether death is beneficial. Death is the better bet. The second argument follows three
marked changes in Socrates’ circumstances. First, instead of risking death, he faces it.
Second, he directs his statements to a smaller audience that is composed of those who
voted to acquit him. Third, he has new evidence from his daimonion. His new
circumstances and new evidence enable him to argue that if one faces death as a result of
consistently just action, even though one does not know the nature of death (annihilation
vs. immortality), one can see death as a benefit. Choosing justice gives one the
advantage of facing death confidently, while choosing injustice does not. For Socrates,
acquiring and acting in light of reasonable attitudes towards death makes one less anxious
about living and, when push comes to shove, dying.
II. Epistemically Modest Risk Assessment
According to Socrates’ first argument (29a5-b6), to fear death justifiably, one
must know that death is a harm. Since no one has sufficient knowledge that death is
harmful, no one is justifiably afraid. However, knowledge that death is a benefit is also
unattainable. If death were a benefit, especially if it were the “greatest of benefits,” then
one might justifiably look forward to death, as one looks forward to receiving tenure or
finishing the day with a tumbler of whisky. According to Socrates’ argument, though, we
are not entitled to make any claim about what death is or whether it is good for us. To
9 This prudential interpretation is dismissed by Rudebusch [1999: 66].
15
believe that we can make such claims, and that such claims are the justifiable bases for
our actions or emotions, is to be epistemically irresponsible.10
Though one might think that Socrates aims to convince the jurors that they should
not fear death, this cannot be his aim. If it were, his argument would be a dreadful failure
for two reasons. First, for Socrates, fear is the anticipation of harm; people fear those
things they believe to be future harms.11 To convince his audience that their fear of death
is unjustified, Socrates needs to convince them that death is not a harm. However,
Socrates insists that no one knows or can know whether death is a harm or a benefit. The
only way he could convince the jurors that they have no reason to fear death is to prove to
them something that would undermine his claim of ignorance. Socrates is not, one hopes,
employing the garden-variety fallacy of advancing a positive claim from ignorance.
Second, the jurors may heartily admit their uncertainty about whether death is a
harm, yet consider this uncertainty further reason to fear and avoid death. Given a choice
between certain and uncertain results, if I place high value on the certain results (life is
overall pretty good), and have no desire to discover the uncertain results (death is
possibly very bad), I may have little desire to venture into the unknown. When the loss
of life is at stake, risk aversion generally passes for prudence. If you tell me that an 10 Throughout this paper, I treat Socrates as a cognitivist about emotion (in the sense that emotions depend on judgments), who also believes that one’s judgments about death are open to revision in light of reasoned argument. This is, I think, in line with the standard view that in the “Socratic dialogues,” Socrates denies the existence of an irrational part of the soul that cannot (at least in some instances) be altered via a change in beliefs alone. 11 I use fear and anxiety interchangeably in this discussion, since the Apology does not necessitate any distinction, but it should not be overlooked that the distinction can be usefully employed and, I argue elsewhere, is useful when working with later Platonic works which feature an irrational element of the soul.
16
elective medical procedure might benefit me or it might kill me, it would be strange for
me to experience no trepidation, especially if there are a number of desires that might be
satisfied if I stay alive (i.e. raising my children, finishing my book). If I choose the
surgery, I cannot very well be expected to do so fearlessly.
Socrates’ argument, then, does not aim to convince his audience not to fear death.
It does, however, challenge the Athenian jurors’ blind assumption that death is harmful,
and, more importantly, it undermines the degree to which they fear it. Though Socrates
consistently refers to his own death as a risk, he thinks others tend to view death not
merely as a risk or a possible harm, but as the “greatest of evils” or the “ultimate risk”
(Ap. 29a9-b1, 34c7, 40a9-b1; cp. Grg. 522de). He thinks this is a grievous mistake. For
if death really were the worst thing that can happen to one, everything else that is bad
pales in comparison. The greater one’s fear of death, then, the greater the injustice one is
willing to commit in order to avoid it. If an agent believes death is the worst thing, even
if she grants that it is indubitably bad to heedlessly kill her enemies, betray her city, or
bribe the jury, then she should prefer to kill, betray, or bribe in order to avoid death.
Such is the ordinary prudence of opting for the lesser evil (cp. Phd. 68d5-9). On this
view, anyone who pursues any number of activities at the risk of death seems perversely
imprudent. This, of course, is exactly the way Socrates seems to his imaginary objector.
If one cannot be certain that death is even a harm, however, much less the greatest
of harms, then the demands of prudence change. Provided an opportunity to avoid death
by betraying her city to the enemy or bribing the jury, it is no longer clear that she should
err on the side of injustice. Before, when her options were to suffer the greatest of evils
17
or do something unjust, injustice was the lesser evil. Now, however, she is certain that
injustice is bad but recognizes her uncertainty about death. In this circumstance, Socrates
plausibly maintains that it is unreasonable to do something that is clearly bad in order to
avoid something that could be good. He chooses an ethical certainty over a metaphysical
uncertainty.
I contend that Socrates’ argument is compelling if his objective is to change his
audience’s conception of what counts as prudent action when death is a risk. Socrates’
numerous anecdotes in which he is forced to decide between justice and risking death
make it clear that he understands the argument’s objective in this way. He introduces the
first of these anecdotes by saying:
Listen to what has happened to me, so that you may know
that I will not yield to anyone contrary to what is right, for
fear of death, even if I should die at once for not yielding
(32a5-8).12
At the close of his first anecdote, in which he resists the demands of the Council
to unjustly prosecute the generals from the battle of Arginusae for not retrieving the dead,
he reiterates:
…but I thought I should run any risk on the side of the law
and justice rather than join you, for fear of prison or death,
12 ἀκούσατε δή μοι τὰ συμβεβηκότα, ἵνα εἰδῆτε ὅτι οὐδ’ ἂν ἑνὶ ὑπεικάθοιμι παρὰ τὸ δίκαιον δείσας θάνατον, μὴ ὑπείκων δὲ ἀλλὰ κἂν ἀπολοίμην.
18
when you were engaged in an unjust course. (32b9-c2).13
In the second anecdote, Socrates is ordered to unjustly deliver Leon of Salamis to the
Thirty Tyrants, and he again refuses, explaining that:
Then I showed again, not in words, but in deed, that, if it’s
not fairly crude to say, death is not a concern for me, but
my whole concern is to do nothing unjust or impious
(32d1-d4).14
In later passages, Socrates reiterates the theme. He recognizes that he might save
himself if he resorted to begging for his life by crying and parading his family and friends
before the court. He thinks doing such things is at odds with the justice of the courts, so
he refuses to secure his release from death in that fashion: “but I will do none of these
things, even though I may seem to be running the ultimate risk” (34c5-7).15 And finally,
after he is sentenced to death, he justifies his decision not to beg for his life, saying, “I
did not think it necessary to do anything unfit for a free man because of the danger”
(38e2-3).16 In none of these passages does Socrates deny that death might be harmful.
Instead, he thinks it is worth risking harm when justice demands it.
13 μετὰ τοῦ νόμου καὶ τοῦ δικαίου ᾤμην μᾶλλόν με δεῖν διακινδυνεύειν ἢ μεθ’ ὑμῶν γενέσθαι μὴ δίκαια βουλευομένων, φοβηθέντα δεσμὸν ἢ θάνατον. 14 τότε μέντοι ἐγὼ οὐ λόγῳ ἀλλ’ ἔργῳ αὖ ἐνεδειξάμην ὅτι ἐμοὶ θανάτου μὲν μέλει, εἰ μὴ ἀγροικότερον ἦν εἰπεῖν, οὐδ’ ὁτιοῦν, τοῦ δὲ μηδὲν ἄδικον μηδ’ ἀνόσιον ἐργάζεσθαι, τούτου δὲ τὸ πᾶν μέλει. 15 ἐγὼ δὲ οὐδὲν ἄρα τούτων ποιήσω, καὶ ταῦτα κινδυνεύων, ὡς ἂν δόξαιμι, τὸν ἔσχατον κίνδυνον. 16 ἀλλ’ οὔτε τότε ᾠήθην δεῖν ἕνεκα τοῦ κινδύνου πρᾶξαι οὐδὲν ἀνελεύθερον
19
III. Beyond Epistemic Modesty?
At the end of the dialogue, however, Socrates is not risking death. The sentence
has been handed down, and he is given no choice but to confront death. He now sheds
his epistemic modesty. Instead of claiming that death is a known unknown, Socrates
argues that it is “something good,” perhaps the greatest benefit. Before, he claimed that
one should not let one’s fear of death outweigh one’s dedication to justice. Now,
however, he claims he has no reason to fear death.
Still, I maintain that he is not contradicting himself, nor should a reader resolve
the conflict by lessening Socrates epistemic confidence. He has new evidence and a new
audience. Justice in the face of death is now prudent for another reason. I contend that
his new evidence permits the claim that death is a benefit for the just. It does not warrant
any claims about what happens when one dies, but Socrates does not make any claims of
that sort. Instead, Socrates aims to convince a subset of the jurors that the best way to
deal with death is to do as he has done, to choose justice, because only the just face death
with the same equanimity with which he faces it. The borders of his epistemic limitations
are justifiably expanded, but he stays well within them.
Socrates’ newfound confidence that death is nothing to fear depends on the
silence of his daimonion. He acknowledges, as he has numerous times in his defense,
that he risks suffering “what one might think, what is commonly thought to be, the worst
of evils” (40a9-b1).17 Yet his daimonic sign has not opposed any of the actions that have
17 ταυτὶ ἅ γε δὴ οἰηθείη ἄν τις καὶ νομίζεται ἔσχατα κακῶν εἶναι·
20
led to his death. Since his daimonion reliably prevents Socrates from doing something
unwise, he concludes that he has done nothing unwise, even though he has brought on his
death sentence. His death must not be a bad thing, so he has no reason to fear it. 18
There is another marked difference in Socrates’ circumstances. Namely, he
significantly reduces his audience for his final speech. He directs the earlier argument to
the entirety of the Athenian jury, whereas he now addresses only those who voted to
acquit him, whom he can “rightly call judges” (40a3) and “friends” (40a1). This is no
small point. For instance, when Socrates tells the jurors that “those of us who consider
death to be a bad thing are clearly mistaken” (40b8-c1), there is good reason to interpret
‘those of us’ to refer only to the people Socrates is addressing. 19 Socrates does not say
that it is a mistake for anyone to consider death a bad thing. He says that those who have
acquitted him, whom he has reason to believe are disposed to choose justly, have no
18 There is a sizable literature that seeks to walk a fine line concerning the epistemic warrant of the daimonion. On the one hand, if it always stops Socrates from doing what is wrong, then Socrates must know more than he claims to know. At the least, he would have ready knowledge of what is wrong simply by trying to do it and knowledge of what is right on the basis of its noninterference. Many, if not all, of his claims to ignorance, then, would be false or ironic. However, if the daimonion does not always tell Socrates what is wrong, then it seems he cannot be confident of his conclusions based on daimonic silence in any particular instance. It could simply be taking the day off. In the case at hand, then, Socrates would not be entitled to his claim that death is not bad for him. Brickhouse and Smith [1989: 250-57] argue that the number of unchecked steps required for Socrates to complete the very complex action of offering a defense provides sufficient inductive grounds for concluding that his death will not be a bad thing. For them, the complexity and particularly of Socrates action also prohibits him from generalizing to other cases; thus, he does not undermine his disavowal of knowledge. Reeve [1989: 181- 2] argues that, though the daimonion might overlook small evils, it would certainly intervene if Socrates were about to experience “the greatest of evils.” 19 οὐκ ἔσθ' ὄπως ἡμεῖς ὀρθῶς ὑπολαμβάνομεν, ὅσοι οἰόμεθα κακὸν εἶναι τὸ τεθνάναι
21
reason to consider death harmful.
While speaking to this audience, then, Socrates claims that death is a benefit, and
he offers two nested arguments. The first is his argument from daimonic silence, and the
second is the “Two Things” argument. I contend that both arguments are of a piece
because Socrates’ evidence from the daimonion is necessary to explain his confidence in
the success of the “two things” argument. So, his increased confidence in the final
speech is tied closely to his changed epistemic standpoint and his new audience, and his
claims about the benefits of death do not contradict the limited confidence of his earlier
discussion.
But I need to do some work to sustain this reading of the later passage. Most
scholars distinguish sharply between Socrates’ appeal to his daimonion and his “Two
Things” argument, and they do not think that both arguments represent Socrates’
considered views.
There are a number of reasons commentators are eager to separate the arguments.
Perhaps the chief argument against generalizing Socrates’ lessons is that the daimonion is
private. Privacy poses two difficulties. First, since the audience has no direct access to
Socrates’ daimonion, they might require more convincing evidence in order to accept
Socrates’ claims about death. Thus, Roochnik contends that “since no one else is privy
to its messages,” the “two things” argument is required in order for “his audience to think
through the situation logically with him.”20 Other commentators are not particularly
concerned with who has access to the daimonion’s prohibitions; they are concerned to 20 Roochnik [1985: 212]; also McPherran [1996: 255].
22
establish only that its lesson, at least in this instance, is restricted to Socrates alone. Thus,
the resounding silence daimonic silence offers Socrates a proof or indication that his own
death will be good, but it has no bearing on whether the death of others will be good.
According to Reeve, since the conclusion applies to Socrates alone, the second argument
is unconnected. It is also less compelling, as Socrates can only offer his audience “good
hope” about their own death.21
The second reason the arguments are separated is that, while some have defended
Socrates’ conclusion in the argument from daimonic silence, the “two things” passage
troubles most commentators, and not only because it threatens to cast Socrates into a
contradiction that is the focus of this paper. It is so difficult to render the “two things”
argument respectable that many readers pursue a charitable route by claiming that it is
meant merely as consolation to his sympathetic, distressed audience. In short, they are
willing to cede the failure of the “two things” argument, and they hope to isolate it from
the argument they take to be successful.
I think separating the arguments is a mistake. First, as a textual point, Socrates
evidently believes that the conclusion to be drawn from his daimonion applies to all those
listening, at least, as I have argued, to those with a penchant for justice. Remember that
the take-home lesson from his daimonion’s silence is that “those of us” who think death
is bad are wrong. Though charity may be the reason motivating some commentators to
scrap the “two things” argument, they do so at the risk of undermining Socrates’ belief
that his first argument applies generally. They swap one brand of charity for another.
21 Strycker [1994: 216-7]; Reeve [1989: 182]; Brickhouse and Smith [1989: 258].
23
Second, the transition from the daimonion argument to the “Two Things
Argument” contains no marked textual clues to differentiate Socrates’ degree of
commitment to the two arguments. Though commentators appeal to Socrates’
introduction of the phrase “good hope” [πολλὴ ἐλπις, Ap. 40c5] as a mark of
differentiation, I contend this phrase does not do as much work as they might intend.22
Commentators contend that the silence of Socrates’ daimonion provides him with a
“proof” [τεκμήριον] that death will not be bad for him, whereas the “good hope” he
offers his audience is significantly less weighty. However, those who separate the
argument on these grounds need to account for the body of evidence that Socrates
himself, even with his proof in hand, never claims to face death with anything more than
“good hope.” Throughout the Platonic corpus, regardless of the presumed date of the
dialogues, Socrates describes his own attitude towards death as one of “good hope”
[πολλὴ ἐλπις, Phd. 67b8, 70b1; εὔελπις, Phd. 63c5; ἡ ἐλπὶς μεγάλη, Phd. 114c9; μετὰ
22 ἐλπις is a relatively rare word for Plato. He uses some form of ἐλπις about 30 times, and a majority of the instances refer to some relation a person holds towards death as a future state. It is unclear, however, how much epistemic strength is involved in Plato’s conception of “hope.” It is clearly not an idle wish. However, he offers only one sustained definition of ἐλπις, (L. 1: 644c10-d4), and he uses it to cover all beliefs about the future [δόξας μελλόντων]. When one has a belief that something will be bad, one fears it, and when one has a belief that something will be good, one is “confident,” “courageous,” or even “without fear.” [θάρος, 1: 644d1]. It is quite bizarre, though, that both states would be a variety of ἐλπις, and the epistemic strength involved remains unclear.
24
ἀγαθῆς ἐλπίδος, Phd. 67c1; μετὰ καλῆς ἐλπιίδος, R. 496e2].23 There is reason to think,
then, that in his second argument, he is boarding the same boat as his audience.
Finally, though this may be a bit of a stretch for some readers, there is reason to
think that many in the audience would take seriously the lessons of Socrates’ daimonion
from piety. If we were to follow the wealth of testimony that Socrates was brought up on
charges of impiety at least in part because of the daimonion, then the audience to whom
he is speaking has acquitted him of the charge.24 The daimonion, then, does not conflict
with their established religious beliefs. They need not be Socrates’ followers, they may
not even like him, yet they still might think that he could be some sort of mantic,
especially at the end of his life, when “men prophesy most” (39c2-4). One should by no
means doubt that Athenians believed in prophets, even in the most unlikely form.
Still, those scholars who want to distinguish sharply between Socrates’ two
arguments and downplay his commitment to the “two things” argument have charity on
their side so long as the “two things” argument appears unredeemable. In what follows,
then, I will recast the “two things” argument as a successful prudential argument in light
of Socrates’ new evidence and audience. I cannot, of course, render it unassailably
sound, but I can defend it from the major objections raised by detractors.
23 Though it is not in the mouth of Socrates, the Athenian in Epinomis (973c) notes that a good person cannot expect much to go well in life, but can, if she has lived well, face death with “good hope” [καλὴ δὲ ἐλπὶς, Epin. 973c6]. 24 For evidence that Socrates’ impiety involves or is exhausted by his daimonion, see Ap. 31c8-d2, Euthphr. 3b5-7, and Xenephon’s Apology. Burnet [1924], on the other hand, believes Socrates is brought up on charges of impiety because of his involvement in the Orphic cults.
25
The structure of the “two things” argument is simple and formally valid. It begins
with a disjunction: “to be dead is one of two things: either the dead person is nothing and
has no perception of anything, or [death] happens to be, as it is said, a change and a
relocation or the soul from this place here to another place” (40c6-9).25 Socrates next
aims to establish two conditionals, one for each disjunct: (1) if there is no afterlife, then
death will be a “wondrous advantage” [θαυμάσιον κέρδος, 40d1-2] and (2) if there is an
afterlife, then death will be the greatest benefit (40e6-7). If the disjunctive premise and
the two conditionals are true, then Socrates is entitled to conclude that death will be
beneficial. Unfortunately, each of the three premises is dubious.
Against the disjunctive premise, Roochnik argues that Socrates’ two options are
not exhaustive. When Socrates contends that death is either a dreamless sleep or a
departure for somewhere else, he overlooks options. At the most general level, though, it
should be clear that the disjunction holds: there is an afterlife, or there is not. As for the
possibilities Socrates considers, I cannot imagine what the absence of an afterlife would
be except the absence of perception, so I consider him safe on that score. However, there
are problems concerning Socrates’ assumptions about the afterlife.
These problems threaten not the disjunctive premise itself so much as the second
conditional that assumes the afterlife is a benefit. Roochnik suggests that, far from being
good, the afterlife could consist in pushing rocks up hills or having one’s liver eaten daily
25 δυοῖν γὰρ θάτερόν ἐστιν τὸ τεθνάναι· ἢ γὰρ οἷον μηδὲν εἶναι μηδὲ αἴσθησιν μηδεμίαν μηδενὸς ἔχειν τὸν τεθνεῶτα, ἢ κατὰ τὰ λεγόμενα μεταβολή τις τυγχάνει οὖσα καὶ μετοίκησις τῇ ψυχῇ τοῦ τόπου τοῦ ἐνθένδε εἰς ἄλλον τόπον.
26
by vultures.26 Indeed, the possibilities are endless. Setting aside the details, why should
Socrates assume that the afterlife is even good?
Socrates, I argue, assumes the afterlife will be good because to think otherwise
would be at odds with his conception of piety. If there are gods, they are good by
definition, and that is his guiding constraint. In addition, he believes that he is addressing
the limited audience of the ostensibly pious, and thus, he likely believes that they agree.27
Socrates believes, then, that the gods would not force a good person to have her liver
eaten over and over by vultures. It is an unresolved and troubling question whether
Socrates believes these might be worries for an unjust person, and I will address that
worry below. However, Socrates clearly does not believe the afterlife would be unjust
and heedlessly cruel. So, although this conditional premise is not unassailable, Socrates
has good reason to accept it, and his limited audience could hardly deny it except by
making wholesale changes in their core commitments to the goodness of the gods.
Let us turn to the first conditional, that if death is a lack of perception, or
something like “a dreamless sleep,” then death is a benefit. Socrates here draws on a
26 Roochnik, 213 27 There is some concern that jury members who accept a number of traditional myths might be unable to believe the gods are good or just. The myths that are at the center of Greek religion include tales of gods harming humans for spite or fun. Presumably, however, Socrates thinks the acceptance of these stories is at odds with more central beliefs that the gods are good. Think, for instance, of the trouble Euthyphro makes for himself. If I am correct that for Socrates, pious beliefs are integral in facing death fearlessly, then he believes no one will gain the appropriate attitudes toward death without resolving this tension. Those who believe the stories of the gods acting unjustly cannot properly rid themselves of the fear of death.
27
traditional conception of “the slumber of death,”28 and he says,
If it is a lack of perception, but like the slumber when one
sleeps but does not dream, then death would be a wondrous
advantage. For I think that if someone had to pick out that
night which he slept this way without dreaming and if,
putting the other nights and days of his life next to that
night, he had to inquire and say how many nights and days
he had lived better and more pleasantly in his life, I think
that not only a private citizen but also the Great King
would find them easy to count compared to the other days
and nights. If death is like this, I say it is an advantage for
all time appears in this way to be no more than a single
night (40c10-e30).29
The problem with this argument concerns the relationship between pleasure and
28 Both Homer and Hesiod use the word ‘slumber’ [ὕπνος] to describe death. (See Il. XI and Hesiod fr. 160). In Hesiod’s Theogony, Sleep and Death are twins born of Night. In the Iliad, these twins carry Sarpedon’s body off at the behest of Zeus. 29 καὶ εἴτε δὴ μηδεμία αἴσθησίς ἐστιν ἀλλ’ οἷον ὕπνος ἐπειδάν τις καθεύδων μηδ’ ὄναρ μηδὲν ὁρᾷ, θαυμάσιον κέρδος ἂν εἴη ὁ θάνατος̶ἐγὼ γὰρ ἂν οἶμαι, εἴ τινα ἐκλεξάμενον δέοι ταύτην τὴν νύκτα ἐν ᾗ οὕτω κατέδαρθεν ὥστε μηδὲ ὄναρ ἰδεῖν, καὶ τὰς ἄλλας νύκτας τε καὶ ἡμέρας τὰς τοῦ βίου τοῦ ἑαυτοῦ ἀντιπαραθέντα ταύτῃ τῇ νυκτὶ δέοι σκεψάμενον εἰπεῖν πόσας ἄμεινον καὶ ἥδιον ἡμέρας καὶ νύκτας ταύτης τῆς νυκτὸς βεβίωκεν ἐν τῷ ἑαυτοῦ βίῳ, οἶμαι ἂν μὴ ὅτι ἰδιώτην τινά, ἀλλὰ τὸν μέγαν βασιλέα εὐαριθμήτους ἂν εὑρεῖν αὐτὸν ταύτας πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας ἡμέρας καὶ νύκτας̶εἰ οὖν τοιοῦτον ὁ θάνατός ἐστιν, κέρδος ἔγωγε λέγω· καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲν πλείων ὁ πᾶς χρόνος φαίνεται οὕτω δὴ εἶναι ἢ μία νύξ.
28
perception. It is somewhat standard fare that pleasure requires perception, when
perception requires some bare minimum of consciousness, human or animal. If sleep is
like a dreamless sleep, and a dreamless sleep entails the absence of perception, then it
cannot be pleasant.30 It would seem that if Socrates is to argue that the lack of perception
is pleasant, then he must have a notion of pleasure that is independent of an awareness
that one is experiencing pleasure.
George Rudebusch steps in to offer Socrates a new variety of pleasure that does
not depend upon perception. He imports an Aristotelian distinction between two types of
pleasures, “modal” and “sensate” pleasures. The pleasures that would render Socrates’
argument a failure are “sensate” pleasures, which depend on conscious awareness.
Rudebusch grants, then, that dreamless sleep cannot be pleasant in this sense. “Modal”
pleasures, on the other hand, are pleasures that are not experienced in particular
instances; rather, they “happen in a certain way.” Marks of this sort of pleasure include
activities that (1) “are done or happen effortlessly or without boredom, or (2) are
approached in a certain way, or (3) have a particular value to a person.”31
His key example of a “modal” pleasure is borrowed from Gilbert Ryle and
involves a golfer who spends the day on the course. Though the golfer may experience a
number of “sensate” pleasures during his game (for instance, when he sinks a difficult
30 The claim that pleasure and pain require perception is the chief premise in Epicurus’ argument that death is nothing to fear. (KD 2, Ep. Men. 124-5). This premise, however, leads Aristotle to the opposite conclusion, namely that if there is no benefit or harm once a person is dead, then we have every reason to fear death (EN 3:6: 1115a25-27). 31 Rudebusch [1999: 68].
29
putt), his experience of the game or activity as a whole is a “modal” pleasure. Likewise,
the “modal” pleasure can obtain even if the agent experiences a number of “sensate”
pains (for instance, if his partner were responsible for their loss to some professors from a
different department). In either case, the golfer can experience “modal” pleasure
throughout the course of the game without being aware of the activity as a pleasure, while
consciously experiencing a wide spectrum of sensate pleasures and pains. Rudebusch
supplements Ryle’s example with one of an avid reader of fiction who becomes so
absorbed in her novel that she is “barely aware” of the world around her, perhaps even
forgetting that she is reading.32
Though I consider this a resourceful solution, we should hesitate to attribute it to
Socrates. First, there is scant evidence that Socrates ever recognized such a distinction,
and those ancients who did recognize such a distinction would likely object to
Rudebusch’s use of it. Rudebusch gets his textual evidence for the modal/sensate
pleasure distinction from Aristotle, primarily because neither Socrates nor Plato ever
draws such a distinction. Aristotle himself uses the distinction to talk about two different
kinds of activity, and those familiar with Aristotle’s conception of a life of virtuous
activity must know that Aristotle’s primary example of a life that is not active is a life
through which one remains asleep (EN 1:8: 1099a).
One might think, though, that even if Socrates did not intend to speak of “modal
pleasure,” and even if Aristotle would object to sleep as a “modal pleasure,” we should
be in favor of the distinction in order to make the argument work. However, I argue that
32 Ibid. 69-70
30
the distinction is unconvincing as a solution to the problem and that we can get Socrates
out of this puzzle without talking about the pleasures of sleep at all.
Rudebusch makes a convincing case that there are a number of pleasures of which
we are not aware, many of them taking place over a significant expanse of time. It would
be difficult post-Freud to deny that a great many pleasures are “subconscious” or
“preconscious,” and we might even be willing to grant Rudebusch the idea that some
conception of subconscious pleasures fits into a Socratic or Platonic framework. The
problem is that awareness-blind or subconscious pleasures will not do enough to bring
pleasure to the “sleep of death.” For, in each example of subconscious pleasure offered
by Rudebusch, there is at least the possibility that one could become aware of one’s past
pleasure. One finishes the novel or someone asks whether one enjoyed one’s golf game.
Even in the case of the most subconscious of pleasures, there is the possibility that those
pleasures could manifest themselves, if not in conscious awareness then in behavior. In
death, however, there is no affirming or denying the status of one’s pleasure. There is not
even the possibility of becoming aware of the pleasure of one’s golf game or novel
reading. In each of Rudebusch’s examples, the agent is conscious, she is just not
attending to or aware of the pleasure she experiences.
A more economical reply to Roochnik’s objection does not require importing a
new conception of pleasure at all, for I contend that Socrates does not claim that the lack
of perception is pleasant at all. He claims that death is an advantage [κέρδος; 40d1-2,
40e2-3] and that most of one’s days and nights are not better and more pleasant than
being dead. These claims do not require the thought that a dreamless sleep or a state of
31
lacking perception is pleasant. Socrates need only think that most days and nights are
actually painful and that it is an advantage to be free of such pains. 33
Though this offers a dismal view on the quality of human life, it is not out of tune
with conceptions of the value of life in other Platonic dialogues,34 and it is certainly a fair
representation of the picture painted by the epic poets, tragedians, and historians.35 As
cultural background to this evaluative stance towards life, one can easily go as far back as
Hesiod, but the paradigmatic account of the dismal view is in the first book of Herodotus.
In his famed discussion with Croesus, Solon claims the second happiest life is
exemplified by two brothers, Cleobis and Biton. On the day that they received fame
because of their devotion to their mother, she asked the gods to reward them with
33 The choice of κέρδος here is a bit puzzling, as one might expect ᾽όφελος. κέρδος is rarely used by Plato, and almost always in the context of deriding individuals who organize their lives around external goods—lovers of money or profit. In the corpus, the great majority of instances appear in the spurious dialogue Hipparchus, in which Socrates and Hipparchus attempt to define greed. However, in the Gorgias, Socrates and Gorgias agree that being refuted if one holds a false view is κέρδος (461a), which clearly has more of a positive, Socratic ring to it. 34 In the Platonic corpus, this dark sentiment is most clearly displayed in the Epinomis, in which the Athenian claims that life is full of sorrows from beginning to end. That is, excepting one point in the middle of life in which the pains are “tolerable” [μέτριον, 974a3] for a few people. This rare period, however, is fleeting and followed by old age, which is the worst of all. No one, he concludes, “would want to come to life again, unless he happens to be full of childish belief” [ὅστις μὴ τυγχάνει παιδικῆς δόξης μεστὸς ὤν, 974a5-7]. Though the Epinomis is thought to be dubious by some and spurious by others (see introduction to the dialogue in Cooper’s Complete Works, 16-17), I follow the arguments for its authenticity offered by A.E. Taylor [1927: 497-8]. One should also not think this view of life is merely ancient. For a very elegant and very dark contemporary defense of this view, see Benatar [2006], Better Never to Have Been. 35 I share this reading of Socrates’ claims about the relative pleasure of sleep when compared with the sorrows of life with McPherran [1996: 257-8].
32
“whatever is best for a man to win”. They were rewarded evening feasting, after which
they fell asleep and never awoke. With this reward, Solon says, “the god showed
thoroughly how much better it is for a man to be dead than alive.”36 The misfortunes of
life make death an advantage. The only life better, according to Solon, is to live a long,
unremarkable life, raise a lot of children, and then die courageously in battle.
Socrates might provide a bit more content to this thought by reflecting on the
painful effects of desires, especially unsatisfied desires. A desire manifests the lack of
some object that is perceived as good, and the lack of the desired object is a sort of pain.
Thus, “the pain of desire.” The more desires one has, the more pain one experiences. In
addition, the more one worries about one’s ability to satisfy those desires in the future,
the greater one’s anxiety. As anxiety, like fear, is another species of pain, one is pained
not only by one’s desire, but also by one’s insecurity about consistently procuring even
the most basic of one’s desires. In sleep, on the other hand, especially dreamless sleep,
one experiences no sense of pain at all, no need for anything. Death, if it were a
dreamless sleep, would be perennially free of desire, thus perennially free of pain and
anxiety (cp. Grg. 492e-494b; Phd. 66b-67b). This removal of pain, then, would itself be
a benefit without being pleasant.
It is true that the amount of pain that desire causes for each individual depends
upon, among other things, the degree to which an individual is temperate. The more
desires she has, the more unfilled desires she is likely to have at any given time; thus, the
more pains she experiences at any given time. On this model of desire, it is advantageous 36 I. 31, trans. Greene [1987]
33
while living to pare down the demands of one’s desires in order to decrease one’s pain,
and there is also reason to limit one’s desires to those that are easily attainable in order to
minimize anxiety. We should assume that Socrates’ new audience is various—some
have more unfulfilled desires than others. Those with wildest and most untamed desires,
like perhaps the King of Persia, may stand to benefit the most from death, for they will be
relieved of the most pain (cp. Phd. 107cd). We can make sense, then, of the idea that
death is better than most of the days of one’s life, regardless of whether one is a common
citizen or a powerful tyrant.
Thus far, I have defended the first conditional by showing how death as a
dreamless sleep could be construed as beneficial, and I have defended the expected
benefit of the second conditional on grounds of piety. In addition, I contended that once
one recognizes the changes in Socrates’ circumstances, the “two things” argument agrees
with his earlier insistence that no one knows whether death is a harm or a benefit. But it
might nevertheless seem that Socrates flouts his earlier epistemic modesty not by
insisting that death is a benefit for the just—for this, he has the new evidence provided by
his daimonion’s silence—but by insisting that death is a harm for the unjust. Socrates
surely suggests this in his elaboration on the second conditional. He says,
If, though, death is some sort of change from here to
another place, and if the things that are said are true,
namely that all who have died are there, what greater
blessing could there be, jurymen. If anyone arriving in the
house of Hades will have escaped from those who call
34
themselves judges here, and will find those true judges who
are said to sit in judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus
and Aeacus and Triptolemus and the other demi-gods who
have been upright in their own life, would that be a poor
kind of change? (40e10-41a6).37
It seems that the afterlife brings a desirable change in judges only for those who are just.
“Those who call themselves judges here” and embrace their injustice will not be so keen
on facing Minos and his fellow true judges. Such is the clear implication of Socrates’
words. But how does he have new evidence for this? He has evidence for benefit, not for
harm. Is he not overstepping his epistemic bounds?
First, it is evident that Socrates is committed to the spirit of his sketch of his
afterlife, not to the letter. Socrates’ strings together his conception of the afterlife with a
series of conditional statements. When he introduces his discussion of the afterlife, he
says “If, though, death is some sort of change from here to another place, and if the things
that are said are true, namely that all who have died are there, what greater blessing could
there be, jurymen?” (40e4-7). His further statements regarding the judgment of just gods
are likewise conditional, as is his notion that he will be able to continue his philosophical
examination of those who claim to know things which they do not know. Socrates does
not insist that this is in fact what happens if there is an afterlife. 37 εἰ δ’ αὖ οἷον ἀποδημῆσαί ἐστιν ὁ θάνατος ἐνθένδε εἰς ἄλλον τόπον, καὶ ἀληθῆ ἐστιν τὰ λεγόμενα, ὡς ἄρα ἐκεῖ εἰσι πάντες οἱ τεθνεῶτες, τί μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν τούτου εἴη ἄν, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί; εἰ γάρ τις ἀφικόμενος εἰς Ἅιδου, ἀπαλλαγεὶς τουτωνὶ τῶν φασκόντων δικαστῶν εἶναι, εὑρήσει τοὺς ὡς ἀληθῶς δικαστάς, οἵπερ καὶ λέγονται ἐκεῖ δικάζειν, Μίνως τε καὶ Ῥαδάμανθυς καὶ Αἰακὸς καὶ Τριπτόλεμος καὶ ἄλλοι ὅσοι τῶν ἡμιθέων δίκαιοι ἐγένοντο ἐν τῷ ἑαυτῶν βίῳ, ἆρα φαύλη ἂν εἴη ἡ ἀποδημία;
35
Nevertheless, even if the spirit is all to which we need pay attention, it might be
objected that there is plenty for the unjust to worry about in the spirit alone, and if so,
Socrates oversteps his bounds. In other words, it might be overstating the conditional
nature of Socrates’ picture of the afterlife to think he is not committed to the claim that
someone who is unjust, should the afterlife be just, is in a worse position than someone
who enters the afterlife having lived her life as justly as she could (cp. Phd 107c; Grg.
523a-524b; Tht. 176a-177b). Surely, if the afterlife is ordered and just, there is
something to fear for the unjust in the idea that they could be treated as they deserve.
One might think, as Brickhouse and Smith have argued [1989b], that in the same
way that the King of Persia could stand to benefit most from the removal of the pain
caused by his excessive desires, the unjust who enter the afterlife may stand to benefit the
most from the true justice of the afterlife. If we are to take seriously the solidly Socratic
commitment that just punishment is beneficial to the one receiving the punishment, then
the unjust person stands to benefit quite a lot from the judgment of Minos et. al. (cf. Grg.
525b, 478d-480e).38 It might seem odd, but this could very well commit Socrates to the
idea that the more unjust one is, the more one stands to benefit from just punishment.
The King of Persia, or some other paradigmatically wicked tyrant like Archelaus, benefits
from the cessation of his excessive desires and from whatever corrective treatment might
alter his beliefs and desires in accord with temperance and justice. Thus, Socrates is not
committed to the idea that the unjust are harmed in the afterlife, since they benefit at least
as much as the just. 38 The most systematic treatment of Socrates’ claim that punishment benefits the punished is Mackenzie’s Plato on Punishment [1985].
36
Now, however, we might wonder why Socrates singles out those individuals who
voted for his acquittal when he claims that it is mistake to think death is a bad thing. I
have argued that Socrates chooses a particular audience and that his choice of audience is
crucial for understanding his argument. If everyone stands to benefit from death, and the
unjust may stand to benefit the most, why choose justice over injustice while living? If I
can live recklessly and nevertheless stand to benefit regardless of whether the soul is
immortal, then why choose justice?
I argue that the primary advantage of choosing justice is that regardless of what
death offers, the just can face death without fear, in the same way that Socrates faces
death without fear. The just not only benefit from death, but they are able to see death as
a benefit, at least to some degree. The unjust, on the other hand, even if they too benefit
from death, will be unable to face death fearlessly, and this, I contend, has all sorts of
ramifications for their ability to live a good human life.
To illustrate the point, let’s revisit the first prong of the “two things” argument.
Though death removes the pain caused by the King of Persia’s excessive desires, as well
as his anxiety about continuing to secure the objects of those desires, there is reason to
think his unruly desires will leave him with a much greater fear of death than those who
are more temperate. Since the principal aim of his life is to continue securing the objects
of his many desires, he will fear death as the ultimate threat to his ability to obtain those
pleasures. As he takes himself to have more pleasures to lose by dying than others have
to lose, he takes himself to be more justified in fearing death. Death, then, as the
cessation of his ability to achieve the objects of his many, many desires, is a terrible
37
prospect.39 In addition, the tyrant’s ability to secure his pleasures likely increases his
anxiety about death at the hands of others who desire his resources in order to secure the
objects of their own desires. So he fears losing his many pleasures by death, whether that
death is natural or violent.
The second prong of the “two things” argument should cause the unjust individual
even greater consternation, as it is likely that the prospect of punishment is not something
she happily contemplates. If there is an afterlife, despite the Socratic claim that she
might be most improved by just punishment, there is little reason to think she would look
upon any of the variations of the afterlife Socrates might entertain with anything less than
resistance and fear. Simply being rebuked and corrected might cause a wealth of anxiety.
Regardless of the outcome of death, then, the average unjust and intemperate individual
recognizes little reason to think her death will be beneficial and a host of reasons to fear
it.
A significant fear of death, though, causes all sorts of problems. If one assents to
Socrates’ first argument about the fear of death and prudence, then the fear of death
undercuts one’s ability to choose justice when doing so requires that one risk one’s life. If
the unjust and intemperate have a greater fear of death, they will be more likely continue
acting unjustly in order to avoid death. Belief that death is a great harm, if not even the
“the greatest of harms,” makes choosing to act unjustly in order to secure pleasures or
39 The argument that death is bad, as it deprives a person of her many pleasures and projects, has been recently defended by Nagel [1979] and Williams [1973], but less recently by Aristotle (EN 3:9: 1117b). Those who do not believe this is a reason to think death is bad include Rosenbaum [1986, 1989], Nussbaum [1994], Epicurus, and now, it seems, Plato.
38
safety seem the best option. Choosing injustice, in turn, makes death more fearsome by
introducing a feedback mechanism. The fear of death motivates one to choose injustice,
but choosing injustice increases one’s fear of death. Most importantly, since anxiety
indubitably compromises one’s ability to live a good life, and the unjust and intemperate
will be rife with anxiety, they have greatly diminished their chances for living a good life.
Those who choose to act justly, on the other hand, gain two advantages. They are
better able to face death confidently, and because of this, they are better able to
consistently choose justice at the risk of death. Their ability to choose justice in the face
of death institutes a feedback mechanism that helps undercut the fear of death. The just,
then, can face death with the same equanimity with which Socrates faces death. Most
importantly, insofar as we take the absence of anxiety to be a benefit in itself, then it
seems that the just individual is better off in life regardless of whether death is the loss of
perception or holds the promise of an afterlife. She acknowledges the relative benefits of
death and lives a less painful life.
However, a final objection to Socrates’ argument remains: why does Socrates not
consider the possibility of an afterlife in which none of the “things that are said” are true,
an afterlife in which there is no justice, no gods, or in which the gods torment the just
exactly as they are tormented by the unjust in this life?40 If this were the case, there
40 Rudebusch responds to this objection by arguing that Socrates need not be committed to the justice of the afterlife. Even if the afterlife is not just, the good man will still be fine because Socrates believes “no harm can come to a good man.” Thus, if the afterlife is filled with pain, the good man will experience “no harm.” It is difficult to believe this is what Socrates intends, though, when he contends the afterlife is a great benefit. One might doubt that surviving a host of torments, even if the good man may do so with aplomb, would be that great a benefit.
39
would be reason for everyone, just or unjust, to fear the afterlife. It should be clear now
that the answer must be the same as it was to Roochnik’s objection to the disjunction.
Any sketch of the afterlife would be acceptable insofar as it did not deviate from
Socrates’ pious commitment to the goodness of the gods, a commitment he believes his
audience shares. If there is an afterlife, then justice will reign there, as it does not in
Athens, primarily because the gods rule justly, and the gods rule the afterlife.
Socrates’ commitment to piety is in fact the chord that runs through both passages
concerning the fear of death, as neither argument gets off the ground if the gods are
patently unjust. As I have argued, the justice of the gods is a necessary assumption
driving Socrates’ conception of the afterlife in the “two things” argument. It is clear,
though, that the first argument must depend on an implicit commitment about the gods as
well. For the fear arising from the uncertainty of death could very well override the call
to justice if there were not good reason to think that it is the gods who require one to act
justly, and that what the gods require is what is best. Socrates makes this explicit
immediately after he insists on his ignorance about death, for he adds, by way of contrast,
“I do know that this is unjust and shameful, to do what is unjust and to disobey one’s
superior, whether god or human” (29b6-7).41 It may be that the gods require one to act
justly without a reward, and that doing so may get one killed. It cannot, however, be that
the gods call on one to act in accordance with virtue because they want to torment
humans for fun.
41 τὸ δὲ ἀδικεῖν καὶ ἀπειθεῖν τῷ βελτίονι καὶ θεῷ καὶ ἀνθρώπῳ, ὅτι κακὸν καὶ αἰσχρόν ἐστιν οἶδα.
40
In conclusion, I contend that the upshot of Socrates’ arguments is that those who
choose injustice cause themselves a wealth of anxiety in the course of their life and in the
contemplation of their own death. They choose injustice because of a miscalculation of
what is fearful, with the result that they do themselves a great deal of psychological harm.
The fact that acting unjustly is self-harm is perhaps the most paradigmatically Socratic of
claims, and in this instance, Socrates argues that unjust individuals harm themselves by
increasing their fear of death exponentially. On the other hand, those who choose justice
live less anxious, less painful lives, and they have reason to see death as a benefit. For
Socrates, the choice is obvious.
41
CHAPTER TWO
SECURITY, ATTACHMENT, AND THE FEAR OF DEATH
In the previous chapter, I argued that Socrates aims to convince the jury that they
should always risk death rather than commit an unjust act. In this chapter, though, I
contend that Socrates recognizes that his arguments run up against two extremely
powerful human desires that must remain unsatisfied if one intends to control one’s fear
of death in the way he recommends. First, one cannot satisfy a desire for physical safety
and protection from unjust violence, either for oneself or for those one loves. Second,
one must avoid forming strong emotional attachments to people and projects, since
nothing human has true value, and attachments increase one’s fear of death.
These two desires share a common denominator, since both illustrate a link
between external goods and the fear of death. First, security is an external good, and the
desire for security against a violent death is arguably the most basic manifestation of the
fear of death. Since gaining security often depends on acquiring other external goods
(money, allies, walls, and weapons), the desire for security can be readily linked to the
desire for many other external goods as well. Second, both desires indicate the human
tendency to develop strong emotional attachments to external goods like personal
relationships and life projects. The desire to ensure safety for those one loves and the
desire to stay alive long enough to enjoy relationships and complete projects increase the
fear of death, since death threatens to deprive one of all external goods irreparably.
42
First, then, I show that the desire for security and protection from unjust violence
is indeed a concern for Socrates in the Apology and that he believes certain external
goods are conducive to providing security from unjust violence. However, he also thinks
that obtaining these goods of security and protection requires injustice, and I offer an
account of why he likely believes this is the case. Since Socrates refuses to commit
injustice, he admits that he has left himself and his family without sufficient defense
against unjust prosecution and death.
However, in the third section, I note that Socrates thinks that some external goods
can be obtained without committing injustice. In particular, forming friendships and
having a family do not generally necessitate unjust actions. Nevertheless, I argue that
Socrates thinks emotional attachment to these relationships increases the fear of death,
which then increases the temptation act unjustly in order to avoid losing the relationship
at death. During the course of his defense, Socrates expresses disdain for such people,
since committing even a minor injustice is, again, worse than acting in a way that permits
one to continue one’s relationships and protect one’s family.
In the final section, I argue that leaving their desires for security and for personal
attachments intentionally unsatisfied will be impossible for most, if not all, of Socrates’
audience. These desires are too powerful to ignore without extreme difficulty, and, more
importantly, it remains unclear that they are best eliminated. If Socrates thinks one must
fight them in order to convince oneself that risking death is better than a minor injustice
and that death is even a benefit, then some people may quite reasonably prefer to engage
in minor injustice at the cost of a moderate fear of death.
43
SECURITY AND EXTERNAL GOODS In this section, I marshal the textual evidence that indicates that Socrates links the
fear of death and the desire for security. I highlight passages in which Socrates claims
that the pursuit of a certain class of scarce and competitive external goods is conducive to
protection against death, and I tease out his three basic commitments:
(C1) Pursuing and maintaining competitive external goods
requires injustice.
(C2) People without competitive external goods are
defenseless against an unjust death.
(C3) Using external goods to escape an unjust death requires
injustice.
Given (C2), those invested in staying alive have a vested interest in procuring some
external goods, and fast. The problem for Socrates, who might otherwise prefer to stay
alive, is posed by (C1) and (C3); one cannot acquire and use external goods to avoid
death without injustice. One must be willing to commit injustice to acquire goods one
needs for protection, and one must be willing to use external goods unjustly in order to
stay alive. An individual who insists on justice, then, must avoid the pursuit of protective
external goods and prepare to be killed. I argue, then, that Socrates believes a certain
class of external goods, in particular goods that are scarce and competitive, is off-limits to
anyone who wants to be just, and that same class of external goods is desirable to those
who fear death.
44
(C1)
In the course of his defense, Socrates repeatedly justifies his lack of political
involvement and his disinterest in pursuing economic and social gain. He claims, in short,
that if he had pursued external goods, he would have long been dead. Since he is a “good
man” (32e3), and he is “too decent” [τῷ ὄντι ἐπιεικεστερον, 36c1], he could not have
pursued external goods without being killed. Given that he addresses a body of people
who have pursued those external goods without as yet meeting a bad end, his self-
assessment suggests he does not consider his audience particularly good or honest.
Socrates fails to endear himself to the jury in many ways, but one might think this a
particularly stellar insult.
Three passages show that Socrates believes attempts to gain external goods justly
would eventually result in an unjust death. The first passage is one of the most famous in
the dialogue. Having just reminded the jury that he has a “divine sign,” which he claims
has prohibited him from taking part in public affairs, he provides a rationale for the
daimonion’s prohibition:
For know well, men of Athens, that if I had long ago tried
to do political things, I would have died long ago and
benefited neither you nor myself. And do not be angry
with me for speaking the truth; for there is no human being
who will save himself from death if he genuinely opposes
45
either you or any other crowd and prevents many unjust
and illegal things from occurring. But it is necessary for
someone really fighting for justice, if he wants to save
himself from death for a little time, to live a private life, not
a public one. (31d6-32a3).42
Socrates does not think his daimonion’s prohibition against political action applies to
himself alone. First, Socrates does not believe he would survive, but he also does not
think any other human being would survive under similar political circumstances. Second,
he allows that others might be “really fighting for justice,” and he believes they, too,
would meet the same end if they sought political influence. The lesson of the daimonion
is that anyone who refuses to commit injustice or to sit idly by while others commit
injustice is not safe from the threat of an unjust death.
Socrates follows this claim with a few examples of his dedication to justice despite
the risk of death. The first anecdote concerns his refusal to try the generals from the
battle of Arguinusae, and the second anecdote narrates his refusal to deliver Leon of
Salamis to his death at the hands of the Thirty. Both anecdotes featured in the previous
chapter, but what matters for the moment is the conclusion he draws as a result of the
42 εὖ γὰρ ἴστε, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, εἰ ἐγὼ πάλαι ἐπεχείρησα πράττειν τὰ πολιτικὰ πράγματα, πάλαι ἂν ἀπολώλη καὶ οὔτ’ ἂν ὑμᾶς ὠφελήκη οὐδὲν οὔτ’ ἂν ἐμαυτόν. καί μοι μὴ ἄχθεσθε λέγοντι τἀληθῆ·οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ὅστις ἀνθρώπων σωθήσεται οὔτε ὑμῖν οὔτε ἄλλῳ πλήθει οὐδενὶ γνησίως ἐναντιούμενος καὶ διακωλύων πολλὰ ἄδικα καὶ παράνομα ἐν τῇ πόλει γίγνεσθαι, ἀλλ’ ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστι τὸν τῷ ὄντι μαχούμενον ὑπὲρ τοῦ δικαίου, καὶ εἰ μέλλει ὀλίγον χρόνον σωθήσεσθαι, ἰδιωτεύειν ἀλλὰ μὴ δημοσιεύειν.
46
anecdotes. Specifically, he reiterates his claim that any person who aims to be just cannot
be politically active without risking death.
Do you think, then, that I would have survived so many
years if I had been active in city affairs and, acting in a way
worthy of a good man, came to the help of justice and, as
one ought, considered this the most important thing? Far
from it, gentlemen of Athens; nor would any other person
(32e2-33a1).43
These passages demonstrate that Socrates believes any effort to pursue political power or
engage in political affairs justly would result in his death and the death of anyone else like
him.
Socrates, though, does not think that the pursuit of political influence is the only
external good that would lead to his death. Later in the trial, the list of life-threatening
activities increases significantly. After the jury finds Socrates guilty, Meletus requests
that they sentence him to die (36b). Socrates is then called upon, as is customary, to
propose a counter penalty, after which the jury must decide which of the two
punishments is most appropriate. As a prelude to his proposal, Socrates asks:
What am I worthy to suffer or pay because I have
43 Ἆρ’ οὖν ἄν με οἴεσθε τοσάδε ἔτη διαγενέσθαι εἰ ἔπραττον τὰ δημόσια, καὶ πράττων ἀξίως ἀνδρὸς ἀγαθοῦ ἐβοήθουν τοῖς δικαίοις καὶ ὥσπερ χρὴ τοῦτο περὶ πλείστου ἐποιούμην; πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι· οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν ἄλλος ἀνθρώπων οὐδείς.
47
deliberately not kept quiet during my life and did not care
for the things the many care for: moneymaking, household
affairs, generalship, public orator, or the other offices, the
political clubs and factions that arise in the city? I thought
myself too honest to save myself from death if I had
recourse to those things (36b5-c3).44
Thus, Socrates believes someone who pursues external goods justly or honestly can have
little confidence that he will not die at the hands of others. External goods of this sort
include (but are not limited to) political power, military leadership, wealth, maintaining a
large household, and gaining political allies.
What, though, makes Socrates believe that such goods cannot be pursued justly
without risking death? The clearest reason is that a just person will always meet with, in
44 τί ἄξιός εἰμι παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτεῖσαι, ὅτι μαθὼν ἐν τῷ βίῳ οὐχ ἡσυχίαν ἦγον, ἀλλ’ ἀμελήσας ὧνπερ οἱ πολλοί, χρηματισμοῦ τε καὶ οἰκονομίας καὶ στρατηγιῶν καὶ δημηγοριῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀρχῶν καὶ συνωμοσιῶν καὶ στάσεων τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει γιγνομένων, ἡγησάμενος ἐμαυτὸν τῷ ὄντι ἐπιεικέστερον εἶναι ἢ ὥστε εἰς ταῦτ’ ἰόντα σῴζεσθαι I follow Burnet [1924: 154] in the translation of εἰς ταῦτ' ἰόντα σῴζεσθαι as “to have recourse to them” as opposed to Strycker, who suggests “take to” or “engage in.” Strycker [1994: 153] objects to Burnet’s rendering, claiming that “Socrates dos not mean that he is too honest to have recourse to either economic or political activities in order to remain safe, as if such pursuits were a means to an end, namely safety; they are ends in themselves.” This, I think, begs the question. That they can be ends in themselves does not mean that they are not often pursued for instrumental purposes, and Burnet is right to point out that some of these items, especially “political clubs and factions,” have an express purpose of helping one escape prosecution and death.
48
Strycker’s words, “unscrupulous adversaries.” 45 This is inevitable, I argue, because
goods like power and money are scarce and competitive, so one must be willing and
prepared to commit injustice to get one’s share. When resources are limited, someone
who refuses to use deadly force is defenseless against someone willing to shed some blood
if necessary. Those who pursue competitive external goods will inevitably be required to
commit injustice simply to protect themselves from unjust competitors. Even individuals
who succeed in procuring external goods without committing injustice will have trouble
maintaining their goods and protecting themselves against “unscrupulous adversaries”
who are out to unjustly usurp the goods of others.46
(C2)
Not only can the just pursuit of such goods lead to death, but lacking them also
leaves one prey to unjust violence. It does not require a reconstruction of the mores and
political circumstances of Classical Athens to establish that the possession of external
goods increases one’s ability to escape threatening jams. People with money and allies
can use those external goods to escape death or punishment. Money still pays lawyers’
45 Strycker [1994: 368]. 46 Strycker claims that there is no evidence that it would be difficult to avoid death as a just businessman in Athens [1994: 368]. However, I think that the presence of “unscrupulous adversaries” is just as likely in business as in the political arena. And protecting one’s money would likely require injustice, since people like rich foreigners had a tendency to end up dead with their fortunes confiscated.
49
fees, power can get one’s son out of combat, and the temptation to bribe judges and
intimidate witnesses is timeless.
Socrates lacks these resources, and he makes sure everyone present knows it. He
begins his defense by admitting that he lacks the rhetorical ability possessed by his
accusers (17b). In fact, on a literal reading of the passage, he claims never to have even
visited a law court, a place where oratorical ability is the coin of the realm (17d).47 Since
gaining and exercising oratorical skill is a skill of the political arena, his lack of experience
no doubt tracks his belief that political involvement would prove lethal. Socrates grants
that proficiency in oratory would offer him an advantage, as orators are much more likely
to secure an acquittal for the falsely accused. In fact, guilt and innocence need not concern
a true orator, since the distinguishing mark of an excellent orator is his ability to argue
convincingly in support of whatever he chooses.48 Socrates, then, because he lacks the
external good of public speaking and cares more for truth than style, is at a much greater
47 As Burnet [1924: 73] rightly notes, “this is not be taken too seriously.” Brickhouse and Smith object that Socrates must have visited a law court, if only because he later says he has seen other people parade their children before the court in order to secure their acquittal [1989: 49-59]. I see no reason to insist on anything stronger than that he has never practiced what he is currently doing. One might suppose he has at least been called up for jury duty. Yet those who prefer a Socrates who is never “ironic” must explain this away. 48 A key theme in Socrates’ discussion with Callicles in the Gorgias is Socrates’ inability to protect himself from unjust violence due to his refusal to, among other things, practice oratory. Callicles repeatedly insists that this is a failure of prudence, while Socrates repeatedly insists that avoiding injustice is far more important than securing one’s life (see esp. Grg. 508c-509c, 511b-d, 521b-e).
50
risk of being killed unjustly, and he knows it.49
Money is another external good that would be helpful for saving Socrates’ life.
By the standards of an Athenian citizen, though, Socrates was poor, and he admits this
quite openly (31c, 36d). For example, he offers his poverty as evidence against his
accusers’ claim that he takes money from the young men who study with him (31c). As
he concludes his proposal for a counter penalty, Socrates says:
For if I had money, I would have proposed as much money
as I could pay, for that would not hurt me. But as it is
now, I don’t, unless you want me to propose as much as I
am able to pay. Perhaps I would be able to pay you one
mina of silver. So that is my proposal (38b1-4).50
Though one mina is not a ludicrously small amount of money, it is nevertheless woefully
49 I was asked at one point whether rhetorical skill qualifies as an external good. There is a sense in which it is not, since it is not an object or person that is external to the possessor of the skill. However, if education is an external good, then an education in rhetoric is an external good. Or, if an external good is something that is only good when used by a virtuous person, then rhetorical skill is an external good. Perhaps my best reply is to borrow the rhetorical response to the question offered by a classicist friend of mine: “Is a gun an external good?” 50 εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἦν μοι χρήματα, ἐτιμησάμην ἂν χρημάτων ὅσα ἔμελλον ἐκτείσειν, οὐδὲν γὰρ ἂν ἐβλάβην· νῦν δὲ οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν, εἰ μὴ ἄρα ὅσον ἂν ἐγὼ δυναίμην ἐκτεῖσαι, τοσούτου βούλεσθέ μοι τιμῆσαι. ἴσως δ’ ἂν δυναίμην ἐκτεῖσαι ὑμῖν που μνᾶν ἀργυρίου· τοσούτου οὖν τιμῶμαι.
51
insufficient to placate the jurors.51 Granted, a fine of one mina is less ridiculous than his
initial suggestion that he should be celebrated as if he were an Olympic victor and
awarded public support at the Prytaneum because he is a “poor benefactor” [πένητι
εὐεργέτῃ, 36d4; cp. R. 5:465d]. However, it is still only a fraction of the amount that
might be a reasonable alternative to the death penalty. Both proposals—free meals at the
public expense or a paltry fine—highlight Socrates’ belief that the life he leads is
incongruous with making and possessing wealth. Without money, though, he again finds
himself at a greater risk of being killed unjustly.
Thus, Socrates’ lack of political and military power, allies, money, and oratorical
skill leave him prey to unjust violence and with few resources to defend himself.
(C3)
Obviously, Socrates cannot use the goods he does not possess to escape unjust
violence. Some goods, though, are not scarce and competitive, and one need not commit
injustice in order to attain or maintain them. Though Socrates lacks oratorical flair,
power, and money, he does have two external goods that appear on many standard lists
of desirable external goods—friends and family (cf. EN 1:8: 1099b; 1:7: 1097b). He has a
wife, three sons, two of them young, and he reminds the jurors that he is a family man
51 Burnet [1924: 160] cautions against thinking of a mina as the equivalent of £4 in 1924. Instead, one might appeal to Aristotle to establish that it “was recognized as a fair ransom for a prisoner of war” (EN 5: 7: 1134b21).
52
(34d3-8). His friendship with and influence over numerous young men is a chief reason
he has been indicted in the first place. Since one can, under most circumstances, have a
family and friends without committing injustice, Socrates lacks principled reason to avoid
pursuing them.
It may seem unclear, though, that family and friends (not factious political allies)
can play a role in the quest to stay secure and avoid unjust violence. Socrates notes
twice, though, that when one is on trial for one’s life, friends and family can be handy for
winning an acquittal or lessening the penalty. In another of his backhanded castigations of
the jurors, he notes his unwillingness to use his friends and family for advantage, even in
order to save his life. He says:
Perhaps one of you might be angry as he recalls that when
he himself stood trial on a less dangerous charge, he begged
and supplicated the jury with many tears, bringing forward
his children and many of his family and friends, in order to
be pitied as much as possible, but that I will do none of
these things, even though I may seem to be risking the
ultimate risk (34b7-c7).52
The “ultimate risk” is Socrates’ recurring reference to the risk of death (Ap. 29a9-b1, 52 τάχα δ’ ἄν τις ὑμῶν ἀγανακτήσειεν ἀναμνησθεὶς ἑαυτοῦ, εἰ ὁ μὲν καὶ ἐλάττω τουτουῒ τοῦ ἀγῶνος ἀγῶνα ἀγωνιζόμενος ἐδεήθη τε καὶ ἱκέτευσε τοὺς δικαστὰς μετὰ πολλῶν δακρύων, παιδία τε αὑτοῦ ἀναβιβασάμενος ἵνα ὅτι μάλιστα ἐλεηθείη, καὶ ἄλλους τῶν οἰκείων καὶ φίλων πολλούς, ἐγὼ δὲ οὐδὲν ἄρα τούτων ποιήσω, καὶ ταῦτα κινδυνεύων, ὡς ἂν δόξαιμι, τὸν ἔσχατον κίνδυνον
53
34c7, 40a9-b1; cp. Grg. 522d-e). Many people who stand trial for their life, Socrates
suggests, are willing to use their family to protect themselves from death by arousing pity
for the wife they will widow and the children they will orphan. They hope that the jury
will also pity the accused, who will be deprived of his close personal relationship and
who fears the fate of the people he loves.
Socrates, though, is not a man of pity or a man who wants pity. Defendents who
attempt to use their children to avoid a death sentence, for Socrates, behave unjustly
because they fear death. He claims that they are a “shame” [αἰσχρὸν, 35a3] and “no
better than women” [γυναικῶν οὐδὲν διαφέρουσιν, 35b3]. Their behavior, he claims, is a
“disgrace”:
Yet I have often seen some who act just like this when on
trial, men who are thought to be somebody, doing amazing
things, since they think that they will suffer something
terrible if they die, as if they would be immortal if you did
not kill them (35a4-7).53
Socrates echoes this claim when he addresses those who voted to put him to death. He
accuses them of killing him because he refused appeal to their pity, or “to say or do
53 οἵουσπερ ἐγὼ πολλάκις ἑώρακά τινας ὅταν κρίνωνται, δοκοῦντας μέν τι εἶναι, θαυμάσια δὲ ἐργαζομένους, ὡς δεινόν τι οἰομένους πείσεσθαι εἰ ἀποθανοῦνται, ὥσπερ ἀθανάτων ἐσομένων ἂν ὑμεῖς αὐτοὺς μὴ ἀποκτείνητε·
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everything necessary to avoid my sentence” (38d4-5).54 They wanted him to see him, he
says, “lamenting and mourning and my other things that are, as I say, unworthy of me,
but that you have been accustomed to hear from others” (38d9-e2).55
These passages may at first suggest that Socrates merely thinks that appeals to
pity are unseemly or shameful rather than that that he condemns them as unjust or
unvirtous in some other respect. However, first, and most simply, one might think it
unreasonable to be ashamed of something that is not deficiently virtuous—embarrassed
maybe, but not ashamed. Second, and on textual grounds, Socrates follows his claim that
such displays are shameful with the judgment that they are “not fine or just or pious”
[καλὰ εἶναι μήτε δίκαια μήτε ὅσια, 35c8-d1]. He thinks the jury should never acquit or
lessen the sentence of anyone because of pity, since to judge on the basis of emotional
factors is unjust. He refuses to encourage them to behave unjustly, because such
encouragement would itself be unjust and impious. Thus, appeals to pity are not only
shameful, but unjust.
Death, he contends, is not nearly so harmful as using rhetoric to appeal to emotion
or obscure the truth, or as placating the jury by offering money in exchange for justice.
He lacks money, and he lacks the requisite oratorical skill, but he does not lack the means
with which he could appeal to pity—his children and his wife.
54 δεῖν ἅπαντα ποιεῖν καὶ λέγειν ὥστε ἀποφυγεῖν τὴν δίκην 55 θρηνοῦντός τέ μου καὶ ὀδυρομένου καὶ ἄλλα ποιοῦντος καὶ λέγοντος πολλὰ καὶ ἀνάξια ἐμοῦ, ὡς ἐγώ φημι, οἷα δὴ καὶ εἴθισθε ὑμεῖς τῶν ἄλλων ἀκούειν.
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In the course of his defense, then, Socrates makes a set of claims about his refusal
to gain the means with which he could protect himself and his refusal use his available
goods to fend off an unjust death. This dogged determination to avoid injustice, he thinks,
explains to his audience why he appears so willfully imprudent and so unable to secure
his own safety. In the course of this explanation, he accuses those who protect
themselves by acquiring and using such goods of acting unjustly.
In the final section of this chapter, I consider to what extent he can reasonably
expect people to ignore their own physical security and, perhaps more importantly, the
security of their friends and family. One might, for instance, wonder why emotional
appeals in service of a fair verdict are prohibited, even if one concedes the injustice of
emotional appeals in order to secure a false acquittal. A reader should never lose sight of
the possibility that Socrates may not always be a character worth emulating. For now,
though, I set aside the question of protection from unjust or violent death in order to
explore Socrates’ connection between the fear of death and emotional attachment to
external goods.
ATTACHMENT AND THE FEAR OF DEATH
As I mentioned in the previous section, some external goods are open to those
who refuse to commit injustice. Personal relationships with friends and family, for
instance, are not generally pursued solely for the sake of security. This is not to say that
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they could not be pursued solely as instrumental to security, like cohorts in a political
faction.56 Children can provide some economic security through their free labor and their
protection when one grows old and weak. Socrates clearly thinks children can be helpful
when on trial for one’s life, at least if one is willing to parade those children through court,
wring one’s hands, and weep. When used for such purposes, children can be remarkably
instrumental to security, and one could theoretically have children for this reason alone.
We tend to think there are some personal relationships that we pursue with an
understanding that they are part of living a good life or because they offer opportunities
for exercising some variety of virtuous behavior (generosity, for instance). Socrates
presumably has children and friends for something like this reason. He does not befriend
Crito and Plato for the sake of security, even if they could be used that way. So, perhaps
he does not think goods pursued from motives other than security contribute to the fear
of death.
I contend, however, that Socrates connects people’s attitudes towards their
children and family with their fear of death in a different way. Strong attachment to any
56 There was a raging Hellenistic debate about friendship. One worry was whether hedonists like the Epicureans could be friends without one of them abandoning the other whenever the other became no longer pleasant. So, opponents claimed, Epicureans were only fair weather friends. On one common reading of the Epicureans, they formed friendships for the sake of mutual security and stayed friends with people who caused them displeasure because to abandon these friends would make them insecure in the future. Many authors, especially Cicero, quite reasonably objected that friendship only for mutual advantage seems a poor sort of friendship. Evans [2004] has defended it as a very reasonable way of thinking about friendship.
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external good breeds the fear of death, because death is the greatest threat to the continued
enjoyment of those things to which one is attached. The greater one’s attachment to the
goods of this life, the more one resents and fears death. If one wants to minimize one’s
fear of death, then, a prescription might be to lessen one’s attachment to relationships and
other external goods. Socrates, it seems, recommends precisely this strategy, not merely
because it is a handy trick for combating the fear of death, but because, I argue, he truly
believes these goods lack significant positive value.
Think, first, of the defense I offered in Chapter One of the first prong of
Socrates’’ “Two Things” argument. I argued that the charitable interpretation of
Socrates’ claim that a “dreamless sleep” would be better than almost all of the days and
night of one’s life requires the background assumption that life is overall really bad. Life
is full of pain, and death serves as a release from that pain. Some of life’s pain,
presumably, comes from physical suffering and misfortune, but I suggested that the
consistent, daily pain of life must arise from unsatisfied desires for pleasure. An
unsatisfied desire causes pain and anxiety, and the more unsatisfied desires one has at any
given time, the greater the pain. In addition, the desire to continue to satisfy one’s desires
in the future, as well as the worry that one will be unable to satisfy them, increases the
pain. Death, for Socrates, is a release from this pain and worry.
Socrates’ reasoning, then, rests on the assumption that death does not deprive one
of anything of significant, positive value. Instead death frees one from a lot of pain. We
may falsely believe, as the tyrant does, that certain objects of desire have positive value,
and so we may resent and fear death as a deprivation of our ability to enjoy them.
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Convincing people that their desire for a well-stocked wine cellar and a long life to empty
it is a questionable reason to fear death, though, might be significantly less difficult than
convincing them that they should rid themselves of a desire to establish and maintain
lasting personal relationships that would be cut short by the death of either partner.
Socrates could be correct that human desires are trivial and painful and that life is full of
suffering—but it is worth noting that desires for and attachments to personal relationships
must go into the pile of disposable items.
There are four straightforward ways that attachment to relationships can increase
one’s fear of death, two of which concern one’s own death, while the other two concern
the death of those one loves. One can fear one’s own death because it deprives one of the
future enjoyment of relationships, or one can fear one’s own death because of the pain
and grief that it will cause others. This latter fear increases if one has young, dependent
children. However, one can also fear the death of others, both for the deprivation they
will suffer and the pain and grief that one will suffer at their death. Each of these fears
increases the more one values the current and future enjoyment of one’s relationships.
Thus, attachment to others breeds worry, fear, grief, and pity.
Pity and sympathy are what the paraders of children seek most of all. The accused
understand that no one in the audience would want to be deprived of their children, and
for that reason, they hope to secure acquittal by appeal to the attachments of others. The
jury, they hope, will realize that in similar circumstances, they would also seek pity.
When this wins the defendant an acquittal, it is a large number of people on the jury think
that attachment to one’s children and friends serves as sufficient motivation to avoid
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death, perhaps even at the cost of unsavory, “womanish,” or less than fully virtuous
behavior.
Socrates, however, thinks their behavior is “womanish” because he thinks
emotional attachment is not a good reason to fight to stay alive. He does not consider the
loss of his friends and family to be sufficient reason to act unjustly, whether that means
begging for an acquittal against false charges that will end in his unjust death or arranging
to escape prison, both of which were common and relatively minor injustices in Athens at
the time. It is not sufficiently important to him that he continue to enjoy the pleasure of
his friends’ company, or that they continue to enjoy the pleasure of his company.
Other dialogues about the death of Socrates indicate that his friends and family
find this component of Socrates’ refusal to avoid death perplexing and frustrating. In the
Crito, for instance, Crito urges Socrates to consider escape because his continued
livelihood is important to his friends, but more importantly to his children’s care and
support (45c-e). The fact that Socrates will orphan his children especially frustrates
Crito, and he claims that Socrates’ refusal to escape for his children’s sake is “unjust”
[οὐδὲ δίκαιόν, 45c5] and cowardly. Socrates, he thinks, “betrays” [προδιδόνα, 45c9] his
children, since orphans do not fare well. Socrates, however, denies the significance of
any of these relationships in his decision-making, telling Crito,
As for those questions you raise about money, reputation,
the upbringing of children, Crito, those considerations in
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truth belong to those people who easily put men to death…
I mean the majority of men (Cri. 48c).57
Socrates’ friends, Cebes and Simmias, who in the Crito are reported to have come to
Athens with the express purpose of springing Socrates from jail, initiate a discussion of
death in the Phaedo by objecting that Socrates, in their words, “bears leaving us too
lightly” (Phd.63a). I examine this conversation in detail in the next chapter.
So, if the jury does not understand Socrates’ detachment, neither do his friends.
His ability to care more for justice than his continued relationships with his family,
though, is an important factor in his ability to face death fearlessly, and this results in a
difficult tension between the desire to get rid of the fear of death and a Socratic
conception of the value of life.
CONCLUSION
In the previous sections, I have explored two background assumptions on which
the success of Socrates’ arguments that death is better than injustice depends. I have also
demonstrated the role that Socrates’ acceptance of both of these assumptions plays in his
defense. First, his consistent refusal to commit injustice, whether small or large, explains
why he lacks the resources necessary to protect himself from an unjust prosecution that
57 ἃς δὲ σὺ λέγεις τὰς σκέψεις περί τε ἀναλώσεως χρημάτων καὶ δόξης καὶ παίδων τροφῆς, μὴ ὡς ἀληθῶς ταῦτα, ὦ Κρίτων, σκέμματα ᾖ τῶν ῥᾳδίως ἀποκτεινύντων καὶ ἀναβιωσκομένων γ’ ἄν, εἰ οἷοί τ’ ἦσαν, οὐδενὶ ξὺν νῷ, τούτων τῶν πολλῶν.
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will lead to his death. It has also left him powerless to protect his friends and family
should they find themselves in similar circumstances. His audience, in short, must accept
that even a minor injustice is worse than gaining the means to security against unjust
violence for oneself and one’s family.
Second, his audience must accept that the loss of their personal relationships at
death does not count as a significant harm, and that any attachment they form should
never override the call to act justly. They should avoid growing attached to external
goods like projects and people. In order to rid themselves of their fear of death, and
certainly to see death as a benefit, they must believe that death does not deprive them of
anything of value, especially anything of value that outweighs the harm of a minor
injustice.
One might think that it is impossible for humans to live like Socrates, even if it
would make them more just and lessen their fear of death. The desire for protection
against violence may be a good candidate for a hard-wired desire that we share with
animals because we are animals. One might make a similar case for our emotional
attachment to our young. However, unless we are to believe that Socrates is divine,
Socrates intends for his audience to believe that ignoring the desire for security and
avoiding strong attachment to others is possible for a human being sufficiently committed
to justice and to attaining the appropriate attitudes towards death.58
58 It could be argued that the introductory conditional of this sentence is satisfied. Socrates may in fact be divine, or rather, his ability to act as he does may be a result of
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Even if one concedes that such attitudes can stand up to worries about descriptive
plausibility (i.e. it is the case that they are possible to attain for humans), there looms a
normative question. Is it really better for us to adopt this stance? First, one might think,
as Crito does, that protecting oneself for the sake of one’s young overrides the
prohibition against minor injustice. An even stronger argument can be offered in support
of committing injustice in order to protect one’s child from violence.59 Socrates is
probably right that one’s personal relationships do not matter enough to justify a grave
injustice, but what about a request for pity and an attempt to avoid an unfair death that
will orphan one’s children? Second, developing attachments to personal relationships and
life projects may be worth increasing one’s fear of death. Socrates may simply be wrong
that external goods like relationships lack genuine positive value and that the desire to
lessen one’s fear of death is a good reason to convince oneself otherwise. A little fear of
death may be ethically and psychologically healthier.
So, the debate issues in an open question: security, attachment, minor injustices,
and some fear of death vs. insecurity, absence of attachment, a pure commitment to
justice, and no fear of death. I presume with some confidence that most non-
philosophers in Socrates’ audience (as well as myself and many of the people I know), divine dispensation that is not granted to almost anyone else. First, Socrates has a special, singular daimonion, which suggests that he is dear to the gods. Second, Plato has Socrates argue in the Republic that only someone with a divine dispensation could be philosophical in a non-ideal city. Socrates then identifies himself (as well as a few others with gifts from the gods) as a philosopher in a non-ideal city (R. 6: 496a-e). 59 This, of course, is a stock objection to absolutisms of the Kantian variety.
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will opt for a little fear of death and a little injustice in exchange for a sense of security
and emotional attachment to goods that are external to them and beyond their control.
Things may be different in the Phaedo, however. Socrates’ audience is winnowed
down to admirers with a philosophical nature, who may be more willing and able to adopt
a Socratic lifestyle. In the next chapter, then, I consider whether it might be possible for
the young men who want to be like Socrates to eschew security and attachment for the
sake of justice and courage, with the added benefit of getting rid of the fear of death.
More importantly, I consider how the picture changes once philosophical wisdom and a
strong commitment to the immortality of the soul get thrown into the mix.
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CHAPTER THREE
THE PHILOSOPHICAL LIFE AND HOW TO DIE
The Apology and the Phaedo share a mission—convincing the present audience
that they should not fear death. In the Phaedo, Socrates intends to persuade his friends
and, to some extent, himself, that a philosopher should face death confidently, even
eagerly. His young friends, quite naturally, are distressed that he will die before the day
is out, and they are confounded by his own apparent lack of distress. He sets out to
change their attitudes towards death in three steps. First, he offers a conception of the
philosopher such that fearing death is contrary to her nature and desire for wisdom.
Second, he and his two principal interlocutors run through a series of arguments for the
immortality of the soul. Third, mixed among the arguments, he provides a couple of
myths that bolster his belief that death is a benefit for the just and pious. Then he takes
the poison.∗
The Phaedo’s overabundance of material about death and immortality requires
that I set aside many interesting facets of the dialogue. Thus, I will not address the
strengths and weaknesses of the arguments for immortality, 60 or the role of the theory of
the Forms in Plato’s epistemology and metaphysics, whether in the Phaedo or elsewhere.
∗ All citations in this chapter in which the dialogue is unspecified reference the Phaedo. 60 I find Gallop [1975], Hackforth [1955], and Bostock [1986, 1999] especially helpful regarding the arguments for immortality in the Phaedo. Bostock and Gallop focus almost exclusively on the arguments, devoting very little attention to dramatic elements or the myth.
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These matters feature in the discussion only insofar as they are instrumental to
determining why Plato thinks people fear death and how he believes they can control it.
In this chapter, I argue for two big-picture theses. First, I contend that in the
Phaedo, Plato argues that everyone, philosophers included, fears death. Philosophers fear
death far less than non-philosophers, but they are not without some recalcitrant fear of
death. This is the case for two reasons: 1) Human beings are embodied creatures, and
bodies are full of fears; 2) the philosopher’s central desire is for wisdom, which will,
Socrates contends, remain forever frustrated unless the soul is immortal. Since
immortality is something of which no one can be certain, the soul suffers anxiety about
never satisfying its central desire. Nevertheless, the philosopher fears death less than the
non-philosopher, since she reduces and controls her body’s fears and has a greater
confidence in the immortality of the soul. Keeping her fear of death in check has a
significant positive impact on her ability to live a good human life, since she lives
virtuously and dies with limited confidence and minimal fear.
Second, I argue that the philosopher uses three strategies to keep her fear of death
in check. Socrates, I contend, not only offers these strategies to his friends, but he
rehearses them through the course of the Phaedo in order to calm himself before he
drinks the hemlock. The first strategy, the adoption of a strong brand of asceticism, aims
to minimize fear given the possibility that the soul is not immortal. The second strategy
depends upon some degree of confidence that the soul is immortal, and the final strategy
tames the remaining, exceptionally recalcitrant fears through myths and stories. Socrates
distances himself from his friends and family, runs through arguments for the soul’s
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immortality, and offers two eschatological myths. The first strategy, I argue, targets fears
in the body, the second targets a fear in the soul that is specific to philosophers, and the
myths target the residual fears of both the body and the soul.
The Body as Insurmountable Obstacle
For Plato, we fear death because we are regrettably embodied. Every human has
a body, and that body ushers in a host of anxieties and attachments, great and small. The
body is the soul’s prison [φρουρᾷ, 62b4; διαδεδεμένην ἐν τῷ σώματι, 82e], and there is
no escape from the body’s needs until death (64c, 67e), since death is, by definition, the
separation of the soul from the body (64c). The body makes “adequately” knowing the
truth impossible (66b5-7), because it constantly deceives us about what is “true”
[ἀλήθειάν 65b2; 65b9-11; 66a6] and “real” [τι τῶν ὄντων, 65c2-3, 66a3]. It is always
present, so that “seeing true things is not possible because of it” [ὥστε μὴ δύνασθαι ὑπ’
αὐτοῦ καθορᾶν τἀληθές, 66d6-7]. It is even a nagging impediment to learning, since it
requires that we take time to eat (at least occasionally) and buy clothes and shoes. Its
diseases can keep us from study altogether (66c1-2). Worse, the body is full of needs and
desires, so that “as is said, truly and in reality no thinking at all ever comes to be for us
from the body” (66c2-6).61 The body’s needs and desires are the cause of war within the
61 ἐρώτων δὲ καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ φόβων καὶ εἰδώλων παντοδαπῶν καὶ φλυαρίας ἐμπίμπλησιν ἡμᾶς πολλῆς, ὥστε τὸ λεγόμενον ὡς ἀληθῶς τῷ ὄντι ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ οὐδὲ φρονῆσαι ἡμῖν ἐγγίγνεται οὐδέποτε οὐδέν. Burnet notes that τὸ λεγόμενον, as it often does, indicates that this phrase is proverbial (rendered by Burnet as “we don’t even get a chance of thinking for it”). He, however,
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city and without (πολέμους καὶ στάσεις καὶ μάχας), since they “require” (ἀναγκαζόµεθα)
us to seek wealth for their satisfaction. The desire for wealth causes all wars (66c5-d2).62
In short, the body is full of fears and needs, and philosophers have a body.
The worst thing about the body, though, is that it keeps the philosopher from
gaining wisdom, her greatest desire. Socrates, noting the body’s constancy during life,
concludes that human life itself serves as a persistent obstacle to gaining wisdom. He
claims:
And then, so it seems, that which we desire and of which
we claim to be lovers, wisdom, will be possible for us when
we will be dead, as the argument shows, and not while we
live. For if it is not possible to know anything purely in the
company of the body, then one of two things is the case—
either it is never possible to acquire knowledge, or it is
possible for us when we will be dead. For then, the soul
cannot determine to what proverb Socrates might be referring [1911: 36]. Geddes calls this “an iteration of a cardinal principle,” though he leaves it unclear whose “cardinal principle” is under discussion [1885: 33]. The whole phrase is meant to be emphatic, though, especially with the conjunction of ὡς ἀληθῶς and τῷ ὄντι. Even if it is proverbial, then, it seems that this does not lessen Socrates’ apparent commitment to its conclusion. 62 In the Republic, soldiers, or “guardians,” only become necessary after the first city is abandoned for a city that includes luxury goods. When luxury goods are introduced, Socrates claims that war is inevitable (R. 2: 373e-374a).
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itself will be by itself apart from the body, and not before.
[66e2-67a2].63
Socrates reiterates that death brings a release from the body and the opportunity to
finally achieve wisdom:
If [philosophers] have been altogether at odds with the
body, and they desire to have the soul itself by itself, then
would it not be a complete irrationality, if, when this
happens, they were to be fearful and resentful, if they did
not go gladly to that place where there is hope for those
arriving to attain that which they were loving throughout
their lives—loving wisdom—and where there is hope to be
63 καὶ τότε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡμῖν ἔσται οὗ ἐπιθυμοῦμέν τε καί φαμεν ἐρασταὶ εἶναι, φρονήσεως, ἐπειδὰν τελευτήσωμεν, ὡς ὁ λόγος σημαίνει, ζῶσιν δὲ οὔ. εἰ γὰρ μὴ οἷόν τε μετὰ τοῦ σώματος μηδὲν καθαρῶς γνῶναι, δυοῖν θάτερον, ἢ οὐδαμοῦ ἔστιν κτήσασθαι τὸ εἰδέναι ἢ τελευτήσασιν·γὰρ αὐτὴ καθ’ αὑτὴν ἡ ψυχὴ ἔσται χωρὶς τοῦ σώματος, πρότερον δ’ οὔ. A third option, of course, is that there is an afterlife in which wisdom remains unattainable. One might think that Socrates can ignore this possibility for the same reason that he ignores the possibility of a torturous afterlife at the close of the Apology— piety rules it out. However, just as in the Apology, Socrates would be epistemically unjustified in committing himself to details of the afterlife outside of its basic desirablity, and the afterlife could be desirable in a number of ways that do not include gaining wisdom. Nevertheless, if the gods are extremely beneficient, they will award philosophers wisdom, and the afterlife remains the only place philosophers can hope to attain it. This hope may be sufficient to make philosophers content to die and find out what happens.
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released from the company of that with which they have
been at odds? (67e7-68a3).64
Socrates concludes that the philosopher should look forward to the afterlife, “for he
believes this intensely—that he will discover wisdom purely no other place but there”
(68a).65
So, Socrates believes full wisdom is unattainable in this life because of the body.
Only in the afterlife will the philosopher be able to gain full wisdom, since only then will
she be completely free the body’s persistent disruptions, desires, and fears. The
philosopher, then, must believe that the soul is immortal if she is to avoid fearing that she
can never attain the thing she most desires. That alone is a significant hurdle to getting
rid of the fear of death. However, dealing with the fear of death requires more than
simply believing in the existence of an afterlife in which the philosopher gets what she
has always wanted. The philosopher must arrange her life in order to be “least” troubled
by fears (67e5-6), so that she can get as “close as possible” to wisdom while she is alive
(65e4, 67a3). She requires, then, strategies to squelch the body’s fears as much as they
can be squelched (64e1, 65a1-2, 65c8, 66a3-5 67a3-4). Obviously, the unruly body that
64 εἰ γὰρ διαβέβληνται μὲν πανταχῇ τῷ σώματι, αὐτὴν δὲ καθ’ αὑτὴν ἐπιθυμοῦσι τὴν ψυχὴν ἔχειν, τούτου δὲ γιγνομένου εἰ φοβοῖντο καὶ ἀγανακτοῖεν, οὐ πολλὴ ἂν ἀλογία εἴη, εἰ μὴ ἅσμενοι ἐκεῖσε ἴοιεν, οἷ ἀφικομένοις ἐλπίς ἐστιν οὗ διὰ βίου ἤρων τυχεῖν̶ ἤρων δὲ φρονήσεως̶ᾧ τε διεβέβληντο, τούτου ἀπηλλάχθαι συνόντος αὐτοῖς; 65 φρονήσεως δὲ ἄρα τις τῷ ὄντι ἐρῶν, καὶ λαβὼν σφόδρα τὴν αὐτὴν ταύτην ἐλπίδα, μηδαμοῦ ἄλλοθι ἐντεύξεσθαι αὐτῇ ἀξίως λόγου ἢ ἐν Ἅιδου, ἀγανακτήσει τε ἀποθνῄσκων καὶ οὐχ ἅσμενος εἶσιν αὐτόσε; οἴεσθαί γε χρή, ἐὰν τῷ ὄντι γε ᾖ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, φιλόσοφος· σφόδρα γὰρ αὐτῷ ταῦτα δόξει, μηδαμοῦ ἄλλοθι καθαρῶς ἐντεύξεσθαι φρονήσει ἀλλ’ ἢ ἐκεῖ.
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Socrates describes cares nothing for theoretical arguments about the immortality of the
soul, so the philosopher must do battle with some other weapon.
Fighting Back the Body
Socrates claims that the philosopher manages her fear better than everyone else,
or that she fears death “least” (67e5-6). How, though, does she do it? Socrates’ reply to
Simmias’ final objection to his arguments for immortality is a good place to begin, since
it not only provides evidence that the philosopher best manages, rather than eliminates,
her body’s fears and desires, but it also casts light on the multitude of strategies the
philosopher should use to tame her fears.
Simmias objects to Socrates’ conception of the soul as an immaterial thing that
does not depend on the material body by offering a competing theory according to which
the soul is a sort of “harmony” [ἁρμονίας, 85e3] that depends upon the material form of
the thing that produces the harmony. For instance, a harmony might depend upon a lyre,
both its wood and the proper tuning of the lyre’s strings. When the body weakens as a
result of age or sickness, then the strings weaken or break, and the harmony is destroyed.
The wood eventually rots. Since the soul is the harmony, the destruction of the lyre is the
destruction of the soul.
Socrates offers two replies to Simmias’ conception of the soul as a harmony. The
first is an ad hominem that relies on Simmias’ firm belief in the process of recollection.66
66 The Theory of Recollection is introduced in order to show that the soul must have had a pre-natal existence, since we often learn what seem to be new things by being “reminded” of things that we must have known before birth (72e-77a). Simmias assents
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Socrates shows Simmias that he cannot believe both that the soul is a harmony and that
recollection is possible. Though Simmias proves unwilling to abandon recollection,
someone else (i.e. most of us) might be willing to ditch recollection in order to maintain
that the soul is a harmony. Thus, Socrates needs an additional argument for those not
terribly convinced by the theory. In his second argument, then, Socrates shows Simmias
that the “harmony conception” cannot account for a few common beliefs about souls. It
cannot account for disagreement within the soul, it cannot account for the idea that some
souls are more or less virtuous, and it entails that one soul can be more or less a soul,
insofar as it is more or less a harmony (93b-94a).
Most importantly, the “harmony conception” renders it impossible to account for
the obvious truth that even the best souls are constantly at war with the body, vigilantly
staving off the body’s desires and fears. Absent opposition of this sort, Socrates claims,
the soul might reasonably be a harmony, but given that the soul is always fighting the
body, it cannot reasonably be a harmony. Instead, as Socrates says, the soul constantly
employs an array of strategies to squelch and control desires and fears,
opposing almost all of them throughout the whole of life,
mastering all their ways, sometimes punishing them rather
harshly and with pains, by both exercise and medicine,
sometimes more gently, sometimes promising them and to the theory very early, but often does not seem to realize what his assent entails. Thus, he is interested to discover that his earlier assent to Recollection defangs his later objection. The other dialogue in which Recollection plays the largest role is the discussion with the slave boy in the Meno (80d-86c), and it also makes an appearance in the Phaedrus. For discussion of Recollection in the Phaedo, see Gallop [1975] and Bostock [1986].
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other times warning them, speaking with them as one to
another (94d1-6).67
Socrates tells Simmias that denying such tension would not only contradict the poets, but
also themselves [ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς, 95a2]. Everyday experience suggests that a philosopher
must fight and monitor her body’s emotions in order to do what her soul deems best.
Which strategies are particularly good for dealing with the fear of death, though?
Speaking of the vast number of the emotions and desires of the body, Socrates
recommends situational strategies, sometimes warnings or promises, sometimes exercise
and medicine. One, some, or all of these strategies may be useful for combating the fear
of death specifically. If the philosopher recognizes she must minimize her fear of death,
then she needs to determine which strategies are most useful for controlling a fear that
proves especially obstreperous.
Socrates knows well the impediments to controlling the fear of death. As I
mentioned at the outset, I argue that Socrates uses three strategies, though two of the
strategies depend on confidence that the soul is immortal. Some contemporary readers
are uncomfortable with or hostile to Plato’s discussion of immortality and myth, and they
think Plato should accomplish his philosophical tasks without recourse to stories about
the afterlife or promises of eternal reward. Before turning to Socrates’ contentious
67 ἐναντιουμένη ὀλίγου πάντα διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου καὶ δεσπόζουσα πάντας τρόπους, τὰ μὲν χαλεπώτερον κολάζουσα καὶ μετ’ ἀλγηδόνων, τά τε κατὰ τὴν γυμναστικὴν καὶ τὴν ἰατρικήν, τὰ δὲ πρᾳότερον, καὶ τὰ μὲν ἀπειλοῦσα, τὰ δὲ νουθετοῦσα, ταῖς ἐπιθυμίαις καὶ ὀργαῖς καὶ φόβοις ὡς ἄλλη οὖσα ἄλλῳ πράγματι διαλεγομένη;
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eschatology, then, we should examine and evaluate Socrates’ strategies for combating the
fear of death should the soul turn out to be mortal through and through.
Death and the Mortal Soul
For all of Socrates’ attention to the immortality of the soul in the Phaedo, he has
what seems to be a perfectly good explanation for why philosophers fear death least—
they are ascetics, and ascetics have less to lose by dying. If an individual becomes
attached to her body and the things her body desires, then death threatens to deprive her
of everything she values. This is a grave problem for the non-philosopher. As Bobonich
[2002: 15] puts it:
The differences between philosophers’ and non-
philosophers’ attitudes towards death are thus explained by
more basic differences in their goals and ultimate ends. All
non-philosophers are afraid of death because the goods that
they value are conditions of the body or at least require
embodiment.
Since death, regardless of the eternal state of the soul, is the loss of the body, the
non-philosopher has reason to fear the loss of what she loves. The greater her attachment
to the body, the more she stands to lose by death and the greater her fear.
Those who disdain the body, though, among them philosophers, have little reason
to fear the loss of the body at death (67d-e). If an increase in asceticism leads to decrease
in fear, then the philosopher reduces her fear by minimizing her attachment to pleasures.
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On this reasoning, ascetics have less fear than the power-hungry, sex-obsessed,
gluttonous tyrants. Or, for that matter, than people who want to write a book or go to
Europe next year. Thus, the philosopher should have an advantage over everyone else
when facing death, regardless of whether the soul is immortal.
So why does Socrates not merely offer his interlocutors an argument for
philosophical asceticism and consider it sufficient to make the philosophers fear death
less than everyone else? First, we should get clear about what kind of asceticism
Socrates recommends. Raphael Woolf [2004], in “The Practice of the Philosopher,”
distinguishes two competing conceptions of asceticism. On the first conception, the
person completely spurns and deprives herself of as many external goods as possible,
including money and fine food, personal relationships, the pursuit of individual security,
and any desire for social respect and honor. He calls this the “ascetic stance.” On the
second conception, the philosopher does not deprive herself of external goods, but affects
the appropriate philosophical attitude towards her external goods. She affords them no
value, or in Woolf’s words, she adopts “a scornful or belittling,” “Kiplingesque” attitude
that is not at odds with engaging in “the usual range of human activities.”68 This, he calls
the “evaluative stance.” Thus, a philosopher can pursue and enjoy personal relationships,
money, and security, so long as she disdains them.69
68 Woolf, 100 69 It may be worth considering the following: an unjust person can be an ascetic on either conception. She may be attached to none of the great wealth she acquired through injustice, and thereby be an evaluative ascetic. Likewise, she might be an unjust person who does not pursue goods of the body at all. She may lack the resources, ability, or even desire to pursue external goods, while remaining a vile and unhappy individual.
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Woolf argues that Socrates must be advocating the “evaluative stance” as the
philosopher’s way of life. Woolf appeals to the historical Socrates’ own apparent choice
of the “evaluative stance” as supporting evidence. We know, for instance, that Socrates
lived an active life in the city, married and had children, fought in wars, and formed
many friendships with attractive, young men. Therefore, if Socrates serves as the model
ascetic, Plato must recommend the sort of asceticism that allows a person to marry, have
children, and, at least to some extent, get involved in the city’s business. Socrates, then,
does not mean to tell his friends that they should not pursue goods; rather, they should
not develop strong attachments to their goods, such that being deprived of friends, family,
or a romantic conquest counts as a significant harm. Otherwise, Socrates would advocate
a form of asceticism he has not pursued, and this would undermine his claim to have
practiced for death as best he possibly can.70
We should, I think, reserve judgment about whether Socrates, either historically
or as represented in the Phaedo, is the ideal philosophical ascetic. The ideal human
ascetic, just like the fully wise philosopher, may prove non-existent. Or we might have
good reason to think Socrates has in fact failed to prepare for death as best he could, and
that his involvement in the life of the polis and his family were mistakes.
Woolf says something brief about this: “if someone never indulged in bodily pleasures but still thought that the material world was reality, one would score no points as a philosopher” (104). He is surely right that they would not be philosophers, but one might nevertheless wonder whether they would be able to control their fear of death just as well as a philosopher. With respect to the fear of death, then, the ascetic stance may not sufficiently differentiate the philosopher from the non-philosopher. 70 Woolf, 98-100.
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Woolf is surely right, however, that the philosophical ascetic must pursue some
goods, just as the philosopher must make some use of her deceiving bodily senses. But,
the number of acceptable external goods open to a philosopher may be much smaller than
Woolf suggests, and the strictures of Socrates’ indifference should not be overlooked.
With respect to the asceticism that mitigates the fear of death, I think we should ask three
questions, and the answers to these questions should make some room for both ascetic
stances. First, if asceticism is “preparation for death,” what particular goods must a
philosophical ascetic relinquish in order not to fear death? Perhaps some goods should be
rejected wholesale. Second, does her “evaluative” stance towards the goods she can
pursue (if any) require that she assign no significant positive value to them, so that, for
instance, a philosopher permits herself, but only so long as she remains indifferent to
their continued existence? Finally, to what extent can we expect embodied humans, even
philosophically minded ones, to adopt this stance?
In response to the first question, the philosopher must surely abandon any and all
goods that conflict with the pursuit of wisdom and virtue. Obvious candidates for goods
that conflict with virtue include honor and power won by political intrigue, safety that
requires injustice, and material goods won from unfair gain. One might suppose, though,
that the injustice required to acquire or to maintain many such external goods is
contingent on non-ideal political circumstances like those of imperialist Athens. In ideal
political circumstances, then, it might be possible to gain safety, win honor, or protect
one’s children without injustice. If there were, however, a class of goods that require
injustice independent of political circumstances, then those goods are absolutely
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prohibited to the philosopher. A primary candidate for such a good, one might think, is
money.
One might nevertheless think that goods that can be acquired justly could distract
one from the intense study necessary to gain wisdom. The fact that one can pursue such
goods justly does not entail that they are not at odds with the pursuit of wisdom. For
instance, marrying and having children might fall into this class of goods on some
interpretations of philosophers like Epicurus and Plato. We should not forget that
pursuing wisdom and acting justly might require absolute deprivation and avoidance of
some external goods, not simply a detached attitude towards them.
Thus, Woolf’s idea that a philosopher adopts the “evaluative stance” seems right,
with the caveat that she adopts it only towards justly acquired and justly maintained
goods that do not distract her from the pursuit of wisdom. Speculation about how many
goods remain available will likely depend upon political circumstances and the
conception of wisdom at stake. Regardless of whether the historical Socrates pursued all
of his external goods justly, though, and regardless of whether he would prefer upon
reflection to have deprived himself of his wife and children, he clearly adopts the
evaluative stance towards them in the Phaedo—he is not sorry to lose his children,
friends, family, or continued life. This, no doubt, makes it a good bit easier to die.
However, moving to the second question above, even if we assign an “evaluative
stance” to Socrates in the Phaedo, we should not lose sight of his extreme indifference to
those few external goods he possesses. His level of emotional detachment frustrates his
friends and family, and could strike readers as surprising, strange, and even unethical.
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Getting clear on the nature and extent of Socrates’ detachment is important for
considering whether his young interlocutors will be able to adopt it, and to what extent
they will be able to similarly control their own fear of death.
Socrates’ detachment from his human relationships is evident from the outset of
the prison scene. When his friends arrive in the morning, Socrates banishes his crying
wife and infant son from his presence. Though some, including Hackforth, Burnet, and
Taylor have argued that this is a gentle, caring gesture, meant to save Xanthippe from
further sorrow, it is more likely that Socrates simply finds her a nuisance.71 He later
expresses his distaste for women who cry about the death of their loved ones, shaming his
friends for their own tears, accusing them of engaging in womanly “offensiveness”
[πλημμελοῖεν, 117e1]. They should shape up, since such behavior is “the reason [he]
sent the women away” [ἕνεκα τὰς γυναῖκας ἀπέπεμψα, 117d8].72 His friends are
shamed into silence.
Socrates, though, also displays an absence of concern about leaving behind his
good friends. Remember that his initial “defense” is a response to Cebes’ quite natural
charge that Socrates “bears leaving [them] lightly” [ῥᾳδίως φέρεις καὶ ἡμᾶς ἀπολείπων,
71 Hackforth, siding with Burnet, casts Socrates’ dismissal of Xanthippe as sympathetic (33n1). Taylor [1927, 178] calls charges that Socrates’ is uncaring “absurd.” I have trouble believing that she will cease grieving simply because she has left the prison, so I am inclined to think Socrates is more concerned to save himself from her grieving. 72 Grief, for Plato, is the purview of women (cf. Ap. 35b, R. 3:387e; 10:605d-e; Phd. 60a- b,), which is for him very much an insult. Women were often hired to grieve publicly for the death of those they did not even know (see Pomeroy [1975]). However, men were also prone to express strong grief, especially in Homeric epic and vicariously when watching tragic theater. I address grief and the philosopher in the final chapter.
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63a8-9, cp. Cri. 43b8-10]. In other words, they want him to display a strong enough
attachment to them that he will, at least to some degree, “resent” [ἀγανακτεῖν, 62d4,
62e6] dying. This is not to say that Socrates does not care for the welfare of his friends.73
He wants them to become philosophers, which he considers the best life. He wants them
to adopt a philosophical attitude towards his and their own deaths, which he believes will
be to their benefit. He does his best to comfort them with stories, physical affection, and
arguments. He does not, however, express any regret that he is leaving them, his
children, or his wife behind him.
Even at the end of the dialogue, by which point Socrates must have told Crito
many, many times about his eagerness to die, Crito again asks Socrates for direction
about how to care for his children (114b). As the day ends, Socrates calls for the poison.
Crito, however, notes that some daylight remains, so that Socrates has plenty of time to
delay his death. Others, Crito says, delay taking the poison in order to “converse with
those they happen to love” [συγγενομένους γ’ ἐνίους ὧν ἂν τύχωσιν ἐπιθυμοῦντες,
116e4-5].74 Crito still does not understand that Socrates does not prefer to spend any
additional time with friends when the gods have granted him permission to die. Socrates
declines, claiming that he would not benefit from any more time. He does not consider,
73 Woolf, 104 74 One might be tempted to translate and read this as Crito’s suggestion that Socrates share a more “biblical” sense of intimacy with his wife or some lover, for instance, instead of further conversation with his friends. I think that since Socrates had already sent the women, and since I doubt (but cannot prove, obviously) that he has made a habit of sexual relations with anyone in the prison, I think it must be Crito’s request that Socrates delay taking the poison for the sake of those assembled.
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however, whether Crito, his friends, his children, or his wife would benefit from that
time. In short, Socrates remains perfectly comfortable leaving his children and his
friends feeling like “orphans” (116a8).
Socrates makes clear that his asceticism is a key reason that he is so calm and
collected about his impending death, and he intends to encourage his audience to
cultivate the same attitudes and detachment. Since his audience wants to be virtuous, and
the fear of death serves as an impediment to virtue, Socrates has given them good reason
to think that minimizing their fear of death through ascetic deprivation and emotional
indifference is a strategy worth considering.
The Insufficiency of Asceticism
His hard sell of asceticism, though, has two problems. First, the majority of those
listening to his conversation will likely prove unwilling or unable, whether from
incapacity or unfavorable circumstances, to choose the way of life that enables Socrates
to remain detached. Second, even if they could become philosophical ascetics, they
recognize that deprivation and indifference is a flawed strategy for convincing oneself
that death should not be feared, avoided, and “resented.” The soul, they rightly insist,
must be immortal.
There are three reasons to think that Socrates’ friends will likely fail to adopt
Socrates’ asceticism. First, they have strong personal attachments. In particular, they are
extremely attached to Socrates. In the Crito, Cebes and Simmias have, Crito says, just
arrived in Athens with the funds necessary to spring Socrates from jail, should Socrates
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feel bad about accepting Crito’s money (45b). No doubt the friends are all still a bit
frustrated that Socrates turned down their offer. When Socrates dies, even if they are
convinced by his arguments for immortality (and I will argue that most of them are not),
their copious weeping suggests that they remain very attached to Socrates. Of course,
they must realize their attachment is not equally reciprocated. Socrates, who accepted no
offers for assistance, would also make no offers should they themselves be falsely
accused. They could also not very well expect Socrates to weep should they be forced by
others to die an unjust death. Socrates, again, is not the sort to grow attached.
Second, his friends cannot quite understand Socrates’ lack of concern for his
children or Xanthippe. This indicates that they would have trouble detaching themselves
from their future children in a similar fashion. True, Socrates expresses confidence that
his friends will take care of his children, and true, Socrates’ commitment to justice may
be the only impediment to protecting his own children and raising them with attention
and care, but his general failure to express any worries or particular concern for the future
welfare of his children consistently baffles his friends. In the Crito, Crito thinks Socrates’
responsibility to care for his children and the unsavory prospect of their fate as orphans
require Socrates’ escape. Socrates disagrees (45d). At the close of the Phaedo, Crito
asks Socrates again for any final advice or guidance on the care of his children. We are
told that he has inquired on the topic a number of times by the fact that Socrates tells him
that he has nothing new to say (115b).
Powerful familial and political influences provide the third reason that Socrates’
young friends will likely fail to become Socratic ascetics. They will be urged or even
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required to pursue external goods and protection for their families and the city. The
young men’s desire to protect Socrates from an unjust death indicates a tendency to
protect those for whom they care, and their families and children may need protection in
the future. Unlike Socrates, though, their friends and families will not only accept
assistance, but also expect it. One can reasonably suspect that Simmias would not reject
Cebes’ offer to bribe the guard and escape prison, and Cebes would just as happily offer
to spring Simmias as Socrates. In non-ideal political circumstances, then, their
attachments will be at odds with justice and the pursuit of wisdom.75
So, most, if not all of Socrates’ interlocutors will have trouble living ascetically
(or with the appropriate “evaluative stance”). Their various attachments will increase
their fear of death and will tempt them to act unjustly. Even if, however, they lose their
attachment to each other and their families, and even if they prove as competent at ascetic
detachment as the Socrates of the Phaedo, the Socratic stance on the value of external
goods will prove insufficient for ridding them of their fear and resentment of death. For
there is one attachment they seem to share with Socrates, and this attachment has
legitimate value that even Socrates cannot not deny. Namely, they all value the life of
philosophy and the pursuit of wisdom. This shared attachment, I argue, requires the
discussion of the immortality of the soul, and without immortality, everyone involved in
the conversation has reason to fear death.
75 The perversion of philosophical talent by family and political influence plays a central role in the Republic’s treatment of true and false philosophers and proper philosophical education. I address these concerns more fully in the Republic chapters. Another useful point of comparison is Callicles’ indictment of Socrates’ powerlessness to protect himself, his family, and his friends in the Gorgias.
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The Deprivation of Philosophy objection
Socrates introduces his belief in immortality as part of his reply to Cebes’ first
objection, and unless he can provide a convincing proof of the soul’s immortality, the
objection stands. If the objection stands, though, Socrates would be unable to salvage his
claim that the philosopher should not resent death, much less his stronger claim that the
philosopher should eagerly anticipate death. The objection is simple. Like Socrates,
Cebes and Simmias believe that philosophy is the best way of life. Thus, they consider
death a deprivation because it deprives them of their of their ability to continue practicing
philosophy. Their attachment to philosophy is a good reason to resent death, and they
think Socrates is mistaken to refuse to escape an unjust death in order to, among other
important things, continue doing philosophy.
Cebes raises the objection in response to Socrates’ early discussion of the
permissibility of suicide.76 Socrates argues that, though the philosopher is in fact better
off dead than alive, she must wait until the gods either kill her or place her in a situation
in which they clearly condone her killing herself. Socrates believes his own death, which
is under one description self-inflicted, satisfies the latter condition. The philosopher,
then, looks forward to the gods killing her or granting her permission to die.
Though hesitant to trouble Socrates on his death-day, Cebes objects: if it is true
that the philosopher’s life is better than the lives of others, since, among other things, the
philosopher recognizes that her life is governed by beneficent gods, then why does she 76 See especially Brickhouse and Smith [1989b], Cooper [1999: 515-541] and Miles [2001].
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not have more reason to resent death than the non-philosophers, since she loses a life of
genuine value (62e, cp. EN 3: 9: 1117b). Even if the philosopher is materially poor and
socially ridiculed, her life itself is objectively better. Thus, the philosopher alone actually
loses by dying, since death deprives her of the best, and perhaps the only genuinely
valuable, human activity.
This objection has bite. There is no point at which Plato in any dialogue denies
that some ways of life are better than others. If the philosopher’s life has positive value,
then she stands to lose something of true value by dying—her ability to continue doing
philosophy. One might think that as the value of a person’s life increases, so does the
amount of value of which death deprives her. Even if only one kind of life were to have
value, then death deprives that life of its value. If, on the other hand, no lives have any
positive value, then the philosopher and the non-philosopher both stand to benefit or at
least not lose positive value by dying.
While I have argued that this latter option is a viable interpretation of the first
disjunct of the “Two Things Argument” in the Apology, the Phaedo does not readily lend
itself to this interpretation. I argued that the Socrates of the Apology thinks that death
can be a benefit even if there is no afterlife. This is the case because life is overall full of
pain. On this picture, the philosopher might live philosophically as the best way of
dealing with a bad situation (i.e., life), but she still stands to gain by death because she
loses a great deal of pain. She might simply be distinguished by the fact that she is able
to recognize that life is all-around bad and that death is a benefit, while non-philosophers
falsely believe death is harmful. In the Phaedo, Socrates seems to concede that the
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philosophical life does have genuine positive value; thus, he needs a further account of
why the philosopher should not resent being deprived of a valuable life.
Socrates grants that Cebes’ argument is a good one, and he claims that he would
in fact be upset to leave a life of servitude to the gods through philosophy, if he did not
expect an afterlife:
For I, he said, O Simmias and Cebes, if I did not believe I
would come first to other wise and good gods, then also to
men who have died [who are] better than those here, wise
and good, I should be wrong not to resent dying…because
of these things, I am not so resentful, because I am of good
hope that something exists for people who have died and,
just and as it has been said long ago, that it is much better
for the good than the bad (63b5-c7).77
It is only natural that Cebes and Simmias should insist on a proof of the
immortality of the soul; Socrates has just admitted that his “good hope” for an afterlife is
the reason he does not resent dying. Before they even get around to challenging him on
77 ἐγὼ γάρ, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, εἰ μὲν μὴ ᾤμην ἥξειν πρῶτον μὲν παρὰ θεοὺς ἄλλους σοφούς τε καὶ ἀγαθούς, ἔπειτα καὶ παρ’ ἀνθρώπους τετελευτηκότας ἀμείνους τῶν ἐνθάδε, ἠδίκουν ἂν οὐκ ἀγανακτῶν τῷ θανάτῳ· νῦν δὲ εὖ ἴστε ὅτι παρ’ ἄνδρας τε ἐλπίζω ἀφίξεσθαι ἀγαθούς̶καὶ τοῦτο μὲν οὐκ ἂν πάνυ διισχυρισαίμην̶ὅτι μέντοι παρὰ θεοὺς δεσπότας πάνυ ἀγαθοὺς ἥξειν, εὖ ἴστε ὅτι εἴπερ τι ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων διισχυρισαίμην ἂν καὶ τοῦτο. ὥστε διὰ ταῦτα οὐχ ὁμοίως ἀγανακτῶ, ἀλλ’ εὔελπίς εἰμι εἶναί τι τοῖς τετελευτηκόσι καί, ὥσπερ γε καὶ πάλαι λέγεται, πολὺ ἄμεινον τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς ἢ τοῖς κακοῖς.
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the point, Socrates has mentioned the afterlife six times.78 He repeatedly claims that the
afterlife is a sufficiently large benefit to outweigh any loss a philosopher suffers by
dying.
With each objection, his interlocutors insist that unless the soul is immortal, the
philosopher should fear and resent death. Cebes even threatens Socrates with the epithet
of fool at the close of his Weaver Objection (85e-86e). Though Cebes grants the
possibility that the same soul travels cyclically through life and death, birth and re-birth,
he denies that Socrates has offered a proof against the possibility that any given soul
might eventually wear itself out and go out of commission. Given the possibility that this
life could be one’s last life, he says:
… it is not fitting for anyone who is confident about death
not to be confidently foolishly, who is not able to
demonstrate that the soul is an altogether immortal and
indestructible thing. If he cannot, it is necessary for a man
who is about to die to fear for his soul, in case it is utterly
destroyed in this current separation of the soul from the
body (88b3-8). 79
78 Phd. 63b5-c7; 63e8-64a3; 67b7-c3; 67e10-68a3; 68a9-b2; 69d. 79 εἰ δὲ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, οὐδενὶ προσήκει θάνατον θαρροῦντι μὴ οὐκ ἀνοήτως θαρρεῖν, ὃς ἂν μὴ ἔχῃ ἀποδεῖξαι ὅτι ἔστι ψυχὴ παντάπασιν ἀθάνατόν τε καὶ ἀνώλεθρον· εἰ δὲ μή, ἀνάγκην εἶναι ἀεὶ τὸν μέλλοντα ἀποθανεῖσθαι δεδιέναι ὑπὲρ τῆς αὑτοῦ ψυχῆς μὴ ἐν τῇ νῦν τοῦ σώματος διαζεύξει παντάπασιν ἀπόληται.
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Before addressing Cebes’ objection, Socrates restates it. Cebes, he notes, calls the
philosopher who cannot prove that the soul is immortal “simple-minded and a fool”
[ἀνόητόν τε καὶ ἠλίθιον θάρρος θαρρήσει; 95c4].80
You say it makes no difference whether it goes into a body
once or many times, as far as the fear of each of us is
concerned. For it is fitting for someone to be afraid, unless
he is simple-minded, who does not know or have an
argument to give that it is immortal, (95d5-e1).81
Clearly, Socrates’ young friends require a proof of immortality if they are to
believe that death is not a harm. It is tempting to believe that Socrates, however, does not
need the soul to be immortal. Perhaps Socrates only uses immortality for educative,
protreptic purposes. In other words, one might believe he uses it to calm novice
philosophers, but that nothing about his own attitudes towards death depends on a belief
that the soul is immortal. Tempting, but false.
Absent customary worries about Socratic disingenuousness, textual evidence
suggests that Socrates agrees with his interlocutors that the soul must be immortal for his
attitude towards death not to be foolish. In his initial “defense,” he grants that if he did
80 ἔστι δὲ δὴ τὸ κεφάλαιον ὧν ζητεῖς· ἀξιοῖς ἐπιδειχθῆναι ἡμῶν τὴν ψυχὴν ἀνώλεθρόν τε καὶ ἀθάνατον οὖσαν, εἰ φιλόσοφος ἀνὴρ μέλλων ἀποθανεῖσθαι, θαρρῶν τε καὶ ἡγούμενος ἀποθανὼν ἐκεῖ εὖ πράξειν διαφερόντως ἢ εἰ ἐν ἄλλῳ βίῳ βιοὺς ἐτελεύτα, μὴ ἀνόητόν τε καὶ ἠλίθιον θάρρος θαρρήσει. 81 διαφέρειν δὲ δὴ φῂς οὐδὲν εἴτε ἅπαξ εἰς σῶμα ἔρχεται εἴτε πολλάκις, πρός γε τὸ ἕκαστον ἡμῶν φοβεῖσθαι· προσήκει γὰρ φοβεῖσθαι, εἰ μὴ ἀνόητος εἴη, τῷ μὴ εἰδότι μηδὲ ἔχοντι λόγον διδόναι ὡς ἀθάνατόν ἐστι.
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not believe in the immortality of the soul, “it would be wrong not to resent death”
[ἠδίκουν ἂν οὐκ ἀγανακτῶν τῷ θανάτῳ, 63b9]. Second, in the brief interlude in which
everyone involved fears that Socrates’ arguments have been undone, Socrates, who has
consistently admonished his friends for their grief, admits that the death of the argument
would be a sufficient reason for everyone to grieve. If the argument dies, and his
confidence about death proves false and foolish, Socrates vows to cut his own hair as a
sign of grief (89b, cp. Od. 4: 208-9). He reiterates his agreement—he is a fool if the soul
is not immortal—at 91b, in a passage that I consider in the final section the chapter.
Is Anyone Convinced that Socrates is not a Fool?
One might wonder, then, whether Cebes and Simmias conclude the dialogue
believing that Socrates has died a fool. For they are not, I argue, convinced that the soul
is immortal. Simmias and Cebes face some theoretical impediments to accepting
Socrates’ conclusion.
Simmias has two worries. The first lies in the nature of the question at hand, and
the second is a more general concern about the philosophical enterprise altogether.
Simmias expresses an extreme pessimism about the possibility of proving the soul’s
immortality and other questions of a metaphysical nature. To have clear, or manifest,
knowledge about questions like the nature of the soul is “impossible or most difficult in
this present life” [τὸ μὲν σαφὲς εἰδέναι ἐν τῷ νῦν βίῳ ἢ ἀδύνατον εἶναι ἢ παγχάλεπόν,
85c3-4; cp. 88c6-7]. Even though the odds are stacked against finding the answer,
though, Simmias thinks the question is sufficiently important that one should nevertheless
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endeavor to advance and refute arguments about immortality. The extreme likelihood of
failure should not be a deterrent, and one should not give up. He says,
One should, concerning these matters, accomplish one of
these things: either one can learn somehow or discover, or
if these things are impossible, one can, taking up the best
and most irrefutable of human arguments, sail through life
supporting oneself upon it as if taking risks on a raft, unless
one is able travel more safely, taking fewer risks upon a
sturdier vehicle of some divine doctrine (85c7-d4). 82
Simmias, then, thinks one should seek out the best arguments, though those
arguments will generally fail to prove anything conclusively. It seems that the best of
these arguments, the one “safer” [ἀσφαλέστερον] than the others, might manage to prove
sufficient for getting one through life’s “risks.”
Socrates’ reply to his objection does not fully assuage these worries, as Simmias
holds to his skepticism and remains troubled. When Cebes offers Simmias a chance to
discuss any final worries or objects, Simmias replies:
82 δεῖν γὰρ περὶ αὐτὰ ἕν γέ τι τούτων διαπράξασθαι, ἢ μαθεῖν ὅπῃ ἔχει ἢ εὑρεῖν ἤ, εἰ ταῦτα ἀδύνατον, τὸν γοῦν βέλτιστον τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων λόγων λαβόντα καὶ δυσεξελεγκτότατον, ἐπὶ τούτου ὀχούμενον ὥσπερ ἐπὶ σχεδίας κινδυνεύοντα διαπλεῦσαι τὸν βίον, εἰ μή τις δύναιτο ἀσφαλέστερον καὶ ἀκινδυνότερον ἐπὶ βεβαιοτέρου ὀχήματος, λόγου θείου τινός, διαπορευθῆναι. There is a manuscript debate that affects whether the divine doctrine is a disjunct or an appositive. Thus, the divine doctrine is the sturdier vehicle, or the vehicle could be another argument instead. If it is appositive, and Socrates claims it is the safest thing he can offer, one might argue that Socrates considers the Forms a “divine doctrine.”
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But I myself do not have further grounds for doubt after
what was just being said. However, because of the
importance of the things about which these discourses are,
and my contempt for human weakness, I am forced yet to
have [ἔχειν παρ’ ἐμαυτῷ] doubts within myself about the
things which have been said (107a8-b3).83
The difficulty, then, lies not only in the epistemic hurdles that arise from the question
itself, but also in the tendency of humans to offer and believe weak or even false
arguments.
What of Cebes, though? Simmias has already warned Socrates that Cebes resists
accepting arguments more than anyone else he knows (77a). During the course of
Socrates’ final argument, Cebes twice suggests that he remains unconvinced, and perhaps
even evidences some frustration. Simmias, remember, abandons his conception of the
soul as a harmony because it is inconsistent with his acceptance of the Doctrine of
Recollection. Socrates’ reply to Cebes’ objection also relies on a basic starting
premise—the Doctrine of the Forms. Cebes, though, does not express Simmias’
eagerness to accept the fundamental premise of the argument. He does not openly deny
the existence of the Forms, but when Socrates makes it clear that the argument depends
on his acceptance of their existence, Cebes responds: “Take it that I grant you this, and
83 Ἀλλὰ μήν, ἦ δ’ ὃς ὁ Σιμμίας, οὐδ’ αὐτὸς ἔχω ἔτι ὅπῃ ἀπιστῶ ἔκ γε τῶν λεγομένων· ὑπὸ μέντοι τοῦ μεγέθους περὶ ὧν οἱ λόγοι εἰσίν, καὶ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην ἀσθένειαν ἀτιμάζων, ἀναγκάζομαι ἀπιστίαν ἔτι ἔχειν παρ’ ἐμαυτῷ περὶ τῶν εἰρημένων.
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hasten to your conclusion” (100c1).84 Granted, the group is under time constraints, and
Cebes may simply not want to get Socrates excited.
Later, though, Cebes shows a similar discomfort. When someone interrupts
Socrates and Cebes with an objection, Socrates responds briefly, then asks Cebes whether
the objection “troubles” him. Cebes replies that the objection has not troubled him, but
then adds that “I do not say, though, that many things do not trouble me” (103c5-6).85
Cebes, especially given his noteworthy stubborness, likely remains unconvinced.
The whole group’s behavior at the death of Socrates, though, provides the
strongest evidence that everyone remains unconvinced. Crito asks Socrates how he
wants to be buried, and Socrates recognizes that Crito would not ask such a question if he
understood that Socrates’ soul was not part of his body. Socrates responds to Crito and to
everyone else: “I do not persuade Crito” [Οὐ πείθω Κρίτωνα, 115d]. His various
attempts to persuade Crito that death is followed by an afterlife in which philosophers can
expect to fare well has failed. “I seem to myself,” he says, “to be saying all these things
84 ὡς διδόντος σοι οὐκ ἂν φθάνοις περαίνων Following Burnet [1911: 110]. One might think that this is a pro forma response of the sort that Socrates gets all the time. The request for the premise and the response certainly make clear that the argument turns completely on Cebes admitting the premise and that Socrates thinks it must be “given” to him. Since Socrates himself has only faith in the existence and causal power of the Forms, he surely cannot expect Cebes to take it as more than a central posit. A more pro forma exchange would have gone more like this: “Don’t we say that there is a form of the Beautiful and the Equal,” with a response of, “Certainly!” 85 οὔτι λέγω ὡς οὐ πολλά με ταράττει.
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to him in vain, in my attempts to comfort you all and myself at the same time (115d5-
6).”86
Once Socrates leaves to bathe before taking the poison, the group gives further
indication that they remain unconvinced by gathering together and, Phaedo says,
“questioning what had been said, and then talking about the great misfortune that had
befallen us. We all felt as if we had lost a father and would be orphaned for the rest of
our lives” (116a-b).87 Their copious weeping as Socrates dies, which is checked only by
the shame Socrates brings down upon them by calling them women, most clearly
indicates that, regardless of whether they are convinced, their emotions do not conform to
the conclusion for which Socrates has argued.
Simmias, then, doubts his current agreement with the conclusion, and Cebes never
fully assents to the crucial premise in which Socrates expresses faith and upon which the
last argument depends. The rest of the company grieves excessively, even if they claim
to be persuaded. Does this mean that they must believe Socrates to be a fool? No, for
two reasons. First, though they are not convinced, they also cannot prove he is wrong.
At worst, they are at a standstill or an impasse. Simmias may even suspect that he has
just encountered the “most irrefutable of human theories,” or the “safest raft.” He may
think that Socrates’ Forms serve as a divine doctrine that is even better than an irrefutable
theory (85c-d). Even though Simmias and Cebes are far short of certain, then, they lack
86 ταῦτά μοι δοκῶ αὐτῷ ἄλλως λέγειν, παραμυθούμενος ἅμα μὲν ὑμᾶς, ἅμα δ’ ἐμαυτόν. 87 διαλεγόμενοι περὶ τῶν εἰρημένων καὶ ἀνασκοποῦντες, τοτὲ δ’ αὖ περὶ τῆς συμφορᾶς διεξιόντες ὅση ἡμῖν γεγονυῖα εἴη, ἀτεχνῶς ἡγούμενοι ὥσπερ πατρὸς στερηθέντες διάξειν ὀρφανοὶ τὸν ἔπειτα βίον.
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grounds for rejecting the starting posits of the arguments. Second, though they are not
convinced, they want to be convinced. They want to believe the soul is immortal, not
simply because they do not want their friend to be a fool, but also because they
themselves do not want to fear death. Thus, they agree to continue working through the
arguments, presumably with some hope of determining that Socrates is right, or, for those
who already think he is right, with the hope of conforming their emotions to their
judgment.
At some points in the dialogue, though, Socrates does not seem particularly
concerned with whether they are convinced that the soul is immortal. In a somewhat
bizarre passage before he begins his final replies, he claims that his true purpose is to
hold to his own belief that the soul is immortal. Securing his interlocutors’ agreement
would be merely a welcome side effect. He says:
I will not be eager that what I say seem to be true to those
present, unless incidentally, but I will be eager that it seem
very much so to me myself. (91a).88
This short passage raises two questions. First, one might wonder quite simply
whether Socrates persuades himself. Second, one might also wonder whether would
Socrates would be “eager” to believe that the soul is immortal regardless of whether he is
able to establish that it is immortal. In other words, does he recognize prudential benefits
to believing something that he admits could be false? I set aside this question of the
prudential benefits of dubious beliefs until the close of the chapter. 88 οὐ γὰρ ὅπως τοῖς παροῦσιν ἃ ἐγὼ λέγω δόξει ἀληθῆ εἶναι προθυμήσομαι, εἰ μὴ εἴη πάρεργον, ἀλλ’ ὅπως αὐτῷ ἐμοὶ ὅτι μάλιστα δόξει οὕτως ἔχειν.
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To what extent, then, is Socrates himself convinced that the soul is immortal? He
may not insist on Cebes and Simmias’ whole-hearted affirmation because he has his own
limited doubts. In fact, he repeatedly hedges his bets. Apart from the Phaedo’s recurrent
theme that wisdom is unattainable in this life, there are other clues that Socrates’
confidence is tempered.
First, when Simmias admits to having doubts, Socrates encourages him to
reexamine the starting premises. If he continues to puzzle them through, Socrates says,
he will “follow the argument as far it is possible for a human to follow it, and if the
conclusion is clear, [he] will look no further” (107b7-8). 89 A claim that there is only so
far a person can follow the argument squares with Socrates’ constant claim that there are
significant limits on one’s ability to gain knowledge while embodied. It also shows that
he recognizes that the starting premises upon which his argument depends are premises in
which one can only believe, but which one cannot prove.
One of these hypotheses, obviously, is the existence of the Forms, and Socrates
recognizes that his belief in the Forms is not amenable to proof. It is, rather, the “safest”
answer [ἀσφαλέστατον, 100d8; ἀσφαλὲς 100e1], to which he “simply, naïvely, and
perhaps foolishly” holds fast.90 At the close of the Cyclical Argument, Socrates tells
Simmias that if the Forms do not exist, “then this argument is in vain” [ἄλλως ἂν ὁ λόγος
οὗτος εἰρημένος εἴη, 76e4-5]. Since both the Cyclical Argument and the final argument
89 ἀκολουθήσετε τῷ λόγῳ, καθ’ ὅσον δυνατὸν μάλιστ’ ἀνθρώπῳ ἐπακολουθῆσαι 90 ἁπλῶς καὶ ἀτέχνως καὶ ἴσως εὐήθως ἔχω παρ’ ἐμαυτῷ [cp. ἔχειν παρ’ ἐμαυτῷ , 107a]
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for immortality depend upon his posit that Forms exist and are causes, he admits that his
arguments depend upon a firm belief that is no better than “very safe.” He may, he
admits, be naïve and foolish.
Second, if Socrates, unlike Simmias, has reached the very limit to which the
argument can take him, that distance is not sufficient to give him more than “hope.” His
epistemic confidence about the immortality of the soul has not appreciated since he first
claimed to have “good hope” that his death will usher in a new afterlife. The discussion,
then, has in no way thwarted his hope, but it also has not increased it. He has managed to
hold his epistemic confidence steady, but his starting premises are no more established
than when he began.
Socrates, then, believes his fundamental starting premises, but he recognizes he
cannot offer a proof for them. His confidence allows for the possibility that he is wrong,
and he cannot fully convince himself or others that he is not dying a fool.
However, the most complex indication that Socrates has some residual worries is
that he twice discusses the importance of charming or incanting away one’s fear of death
[ἐπᾴδειν αὐτῷ, 77e9; 114d7]. These two discussions of charms, I argue, have less to do
with Socrates’ arguments for immortality, though, than with Socrates’ third and final
strategy for keeping one’s fear of death in check—the telling of myths.
The Charms and What They Do
In the previous sections, I have argued that Socrates employs two strategies to
control the fear that arises at the prospect of death. First, he believes living ascetically
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lessens one’s fear of death, makes it easier to live virtuously, and enables one to practice
philosophy “in the right way” (69d). However, he also grants that a philosopher must
have reason to believe that the soul is immortal if she is not to resent losing her valuable
philosophical life. Socrates, I contend, clearly believes he has the best arguments he can
make for immortality, even if they depend on fundamental premises that cannot be
proven. So, if Socrates has reasonable confidence that the soul is immortal, and he lives
as ascetically as possible, are these two strategies sufficient to make him die with the
least fear possible?
Perhaps. The text leaves the question slightly open, I think, but in what follows, I
offer some reason to think that Socrates needs one more strategy—the telling of myths. 91
Though some may resist my argument that Socrates needs the myths to calm his own
fear, I insist that Cebes, Simmias, and Socrates’ other young friends must have the myths.
The myths, I argue, are meant to tame the recalcitrant fears that asceticism and the
prospect of immortality are unable to control. Since no one can ever be fully ascetic, and
no one can be certain that the soul is immortal, there remains a bit of residual fear, both
of the soul and of the body. The myths, I argue, contribute a final weapon to the arsenal
with which the philosopher wages war against her fear of death. Since I argue that
91 The exhaustive text about Plato’s myth of late has been Brisson [1998]. The much older canonical text is Stewart [1905]. For a short and excellent summary of Plato’s distinction (or lack thereof) between muthos and logos, I recommend Edmonds [2004: 161-171]. Edmonds argues that the final myth in the Phaedo illustrates the journey to discover the Forms in a three-stage process. Also of interest is Betegh [2009], who, like Edmonds, defends an account of the narrative arc of Platonic myth; Betegh, though, focuses on Socrates’ comments about Aesop at the beginning of the Phaedo (61a-d). A collection of articles about Plato’s myth has just been released, edited by Partenie [2009]. I have no doubt that it contains interesting work that I have not yet examined.
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Socrates’ audience will likely fail to be ascetics and have greater doubt about immortality
than Socrates, the myths will far more integral to their psychology than to Socrates’. I
contend, but do not insist, that the myths play a role, though a much less integral role, in
taming Socrates’ resistant fears.
Much of my argument about the purpose of the myths depends upon an
interpretation of the myths as “charms.” The content and role of the ‘charms,” however,
is a bit contentious, and there is actually very little discussion of them in the literature,
despite the growing literature on the myths themselves. I structure my discussion around
two questions. First, are the ‘charms’ the myths, the arguments for immortality, or both?
Second, do the charms target the body, the soul, or both?
Socrates first mentions charms after he combines the Cyclical Argument (69e-
72d) and the Argument from Recollection (72e-77d) in order to conclude that the each
soul must have existed before it was born, must exist after it dies, and must never cease to
exist. Cebes, however, who Simmias claims is “most difficult of humans with respect to
distrusting arguments” [καρτερώτατος ἀνθρώπων ἐστὶν πρὸς τὸ ἀπιστεῖν τοῖς λόγοις;
77a8-9], has further worries about the soul’s existence after death. Before Socrates replies
by launching into a discussion of the nature of the soul, though, he jokes that they seem
to have a “childish fear” [δεδιέναι τὸ τῶν παίδων] that the wind would scatter and carry
away their soul. If one had a soul of that sort, it would be especially dangerous to die in a
high wind. Acknowledging Socrates’ joke at his expense, Cebes laughs, and replies:
Socrates, try to persuade us otherwise, as if we were afraid.
Or not as if we were afraid, but perhaps there is even in us
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some child who fears such things. Try to persuade him not
to fear death, as if it were a bogey (77e4-8).92
Cebes offers Socrates two candidate fears in this passage, the adult Cebes’ fear, and the
fear of the child in Cebes, who fears death as if it were a “bogey”. Before returning to
the arguments for immortality, which Socrates directs at the adult in Cebes, he offers a bit
of advice for dealing with Cebes’ inner child: “You should sing a charm over him each
day until you have charmed it away [ἐπᾴδειν αὐτῷ ἑκάστης ἡμέρας ἕως ἂν ἐξεπᾴσητε,
77e9-10].” Cebes responds that Socrates is the best charmer alive, and he worries that his
frightened child will become unruly once Socrates is not around to play charmer.
Socrates, however, encourages Cebes to search for a surrogate, perhaps even among his
peers.93 After Cebes promises to seek out a new Socrates, everyone returns to
conversation at a level at which the child cannot participate. They resume the “argument
where [they] left it.”
92 Καὶ ὁ Κέβης ἐπιγελάσας, Ὡς δεδιότων, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, πειρῶ ἀναπείθειν· μᾶλλον δὲ μὴ ὡς ἡμῶν δεδιότων, ἀλλ’ ἴσως ἔνι τις καὶ ἐν ἡμῖν παῖς ὅστις τὰ τοιαῦτα φοβεῖται. τοῦτον οὖν πειρῶ μεταπείθειν μὴ δεδιέναι τὸν θάνατον ὥσπερ τὰ μορμολύκεια. For another instance of “persuasion” through myth, see R. 3: 414d. The NeoPlatonists make good use of this passage and the idea of “child in us.” However, I need to be convinced that the NeoPlatonists were much more privileged interpreters than the rest of us in order to treat their word with greater than average authority. 93 White [1989] notes that it is bit strange that Socrates would encourage them to pay to do philosophy, especially since Socrates in other dialogues refuses to take money for his services and suggests that those who do charge money are swindlers. I cannot help but wonder whether this is subtle advertising for the school of one of their philosophical peers who was not present that day.
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The second mention of charms follows the closing myth, and it complicates the
picture. In particular, Socrates seems to admit that he needs to be charmed as well. He
acknowledges that he cannot possibly “insist” [διισχυρίσασθαι, 114d1, διισχυρίζομαι,
100d7; cp. Men. 86b-c] that his myth is correct in detail, but he thinks it right in spirit. He
embraces his account of the afterlife, then, saying that “the soul appears to be immortal,
and one should incant these things to oneself, which is why I am just now prolonging the
myth” (114d6-8).94 Socrates again claims that the “charm” should be repeated over and
over, presumably daily, as he recommended to Cebes. In short, it wears off. For
Socrates, then, all or part of the discussion has been part of an incantation for himself.
This, at least, is a very straightforward reading, even if it commits the reader to a
Socrates who needs to tell himself stories before he dies—twice, even, in one afternoon.
Those tempted to resist a myth reliant Socrates, though, have a few options.
First, one might claim that the “charms” are only the arguments for immortality,
so that what Socrates encourages is the repetition of arguments without the involvement
of myths. Socrates does not need myths; arguments suffice. This seems to be
Hackforth’s position in a note on the first charm passage:
Socrates is an ‘expert charmer’ in the eyes of Cebes not
merely because he can produce ‘good arguments’ (καλοὶ
λόγοι) with which Zalmoxis is said in the Charmides
(157a) to have identified his 'επαῳδαί, but also because by
94 ἐπείπερ ἀθάνατόν γε ἡ ψυχὴ φαίνεται οὖσα, τοῦτο καὶ πρέπειν μοι δοκεῖ καὶ ἄξιον κινδυνεῦσαι οἰομένῳ οὕτως ἔχειν̶καλὸς γὰρ ὁ κίνδυνος̶καὶ χρὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα ὥσπερ ἐπᾴδειν ἑαυτῷ, διὸ δὴ ἔγωγε καὶ πάλαι μηκύνω τὸν μῦθον.
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his courage and serenity he has plainly shown himself
devoid of the ‘childish’ fear which lurks in his friends
(79n1).
I have already offered number of reasons to think that Socrates cannot be “devoid” of
fear unless he is divine. Given that he has a body, any case for his divinity would
encounter at least one hurdle. In addition, since I have argued that he cannot prove that
the soul is immortal, he recognizes that he cannot be fully justified in fearlessness. For
these reasons, I argue that Socrates needs the charms. However, if the charms are not
myths, but arguments, I doubt anyone would seriously object to the idea that Socrates
needs arguments to quell his fear of death to whatever extent that it can be quelled.
Hackforth’s claim that the ‘charms’ are arguments, though, encounters
difficulties. First, he depends heavily on the Charmides, reading καλοὶ λόγοι at 157a as
“good arguments” instead of, for instance, “beautiful words.” I do not intend to delve
into the role of the “charms” in the Charmides. However, it should be noted that
Hackforth refers to only this one additional dialogue, and perusing the role of charms in
dialogues outside the Phaedo offers a wealth of evidence that charms are often songs and
stories that contain truths.95 I think concluding that the charms are arguments by appeal
95 In addition to the Charmides passage, “charms” show up in a few other dialogues. In the Laws, everyone is required to sing daily in choruses, and they sing charms they learned as children to the city’s children (Lg. 2: 664b). Perhaps most interestingly, the Athenian claims that the charms must be constantly varied so that no one gets bored with them (Lg. 2: 665c), which could explain why Socrates tends to tell myths with the same upshot but different details. At 666c6, the Athenian claims that charms make old men young in order to make them less irritable. Later, he notes that the Guardians of the Laws will select only the charms that evoke the right emotions in order to charm the young people (Lg.7: 812c). In the Republic, in a passage that I discuss in my fifth chapter,
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only to the Charmides does not account for the wide variety of other instances of
“charms” that suggest they can sometimes be something other than arguments.
Within the Phaedo itself, the conception of charms as arguments has its own
problems. First, Socrates recommends giving the charm or incantation to oneself as one
would to a child. Charming a child by arguments, though, provides the child with a
number of sophisticated reasoning capabilities. Children do not understand the Forms or
the Theory of Recollection. In addition, the second discussion of ‘charms’ follows
immediately upon the close of the final myth. Socrates explains the prolongation of his
myth “just now” [πάλαι, 114d7]. There is no mention of argument. He has been
prolonging a “muthos” that he introduced as a “muthos” at 110b4. Finally, the entire
discussion about whether death is a harm or benefit is launched after Socrates claims that
it is appropriate for someone about to die, like himself, not only to “examine”
[διασκοπεῖν, 61e1] what is said about death, but also to “tell stories” [μυθολογεῖν, 61e2]
about it.96
White’s conception of the charm as both the arguments and the myths, then,
seems not only less restricting, but makes room for some account of the myth’s presence
and squares with the wealth of evidence from dialogues other than the Charmides that the
charms are songs and stories that contain accepted truths. However, if myths that contain Socrates tells Glaucon that they should “incant” their “argument” against tragedy whenever tempted by its allure (R. 10: 607e-608b). In the Theaetetus, when Socrates compares himself to a midwife, he claims that midwives control the birthing process by using drugs and “singing incantations” (Tht. 149d). 96 cf. Protagoras’ choice of a tale over an argument in the prelude to the Great Speech. He notes that tales are better for the young and more entertaining, while suggesting that the lesson of both will be the same (Ptr. 320c).
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truths are a crucial part of the recommended charms, and those myths are directed at an
inner child, then we are left with a Socrates that tells his own inner child a story to abate
his final, residual fears.
I have no problem with the notion that Plato thinks everyone, Socrates included,
has an inner child that needs to hear stories. Those who prefer a Socrates who does not
need myths, though, have another available refuge. Even if one grants that myths are part
of the charm, one might deny that Socrates is telling the myth for his own benefit.
Rather, he is “prolonging the myth” for the benefit of Cebes and Simmias, who remain
unconvinced by the arguments and need a charm to motivate them to continue working
through the arguments. Or, if he does not provide it for Cebes and Simmias, then Socrates
might provide the myth for the remaining young men in the audience, for they are clearly
less philosophically sophisticated than the chief interlocutors. Thus, when Socrates says
that one ought to repeat these charms to oneself, he does not consider himself one of the
people who ought to do so. When he claims it is appropriate for him to mythologize, he
believes he should tell stories to others. In short, Socrates does not use but makes myths.
There is no principled reason, though, to think that Socrates cannot be both a
myth-maker and someone who needs myths. Even the cobbler wears shoes. There
remains one persistent, very principled reason to think that Socrates needs myths, though.
The constant nuisance of the human body stands in the way of interpretations that isolate
Socrates from strategies employed by the soul to keep the body in check. If the myths are
designed to tame and control fears in the body, either fears that cannot be tamed by
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asceticism at all, or fears that cannot be tamed by asceticism alone, then Socrates must
use myths, as he is embodied.
The basic fact that myths are stories rather than theoretical arguments weighs in
favor of thinking they are intended to quell the fears of the body. The body, like a child,
does not have the capacity to handle theoretical arguments. Textual evidence,
specifically Socrates’ second reply to Simmias’ “Harmony Objection,” supports this
interpretation. Recall Socrates’ argument that the soul cannot be a harmony because it
constantly struggles against the body’s desires and fears; if the soul were a harmony, such
struggle would be unnecessary. Socrates employs a stock example for illustrating this
conflict between the soul and the emotions—Odysseus’ labor to repress his desire to
slaughter Penelope’s maids on their way to sleep with the suitors. Odysseus “rebukes” his
heart and saves his slaughter for later, using one of the many possible strategies for
controlling the body’s “desires, passions and fears.” Other strategies include “punishing
them rather harshly and with pains, by both exercise and medicine, sometimes more
gently, sometimes promising them and other times warning them, speaking with them as
one to another.” The myths, one might reasonably think, fall into the class of “promises
and warnings.” They are part of the consolation (παραμυθούμενος) that Socrates offers
his friends and himself (115d).
One might also think, though, that the myths target the residual fears of the soul.
I have argued that Socrates and his interlocutors are not and cannot be fully convinced
that the soul is immortal. They may have a nagging suspicion that its belief is foolish. In
addition, they cannot be confident that, even if the soul proves immortal, that they will
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get the wisdom they desire. Perhaps humans are fated never to achieve wisdom, even
after they have died. By what means does Socrates recommend that these residual fears
be controlled? If the arguments for immortality prove insufficient, then one might
speculate that a useful option is to tell it a story in which it gets what it wants.
I have argued that the charms include myths and that the myths target residual
fears of the body and soul that asceticism and argument alone cannot assuage. Socrates is
as ascetic as possible, believes confidently if not certainly in the soul’s immortality, and
has created a myth intended to calm himself and his friends. He needs and employs three
strategies, and after using them, he dies.
Final Point of Interest
We are left, though, with a question I tabled earlier, and I left it until the end
because I cannot answer it. Namely, one must wonder whether Socrates thinks it matters
whether the soul is actually immortal. If believing that the soul is immortal has
prudential benefits, namely that it is instrumental to controlling a pernicious fear and to
living what Socrates considers to be philosophical life, is it worth believing something
that cannot be proven and telling oneself stories about it? Can these advantages outweigh
the prospect of folly? Again, I cannot answer this question, but I conclude with a passage
that suggests that Plato entertains the idea that life is better when one believes the soul is
immortal, even if the soul is altogether mortal. These advantages are not postmortem
advantages, but psychological advantages for a person still alive.
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Socrates twice grants that he could very well be a fool. Remember that he
acknowledges that his belief in the Forms could be wrong. He more fully entertains the
possibility of his folly, though, during the interlude before he addresses the friends’ final
objections. Here, he considers the positive effects of having lived and died as a fool.
Believing in immortality, he suggests, even if falsely, has made it possible for him to face
death nobly and without grief. He says,
For I am calculating, O beloved friend, see how greedily,
see in how contentious a spirit—if what I say happens to be
true, to be persuaded is a fine thing; if, on the other hand,
there is nothing for the one who has died, at least for this
time before death, I will be less distasteful to those present
as I am lamenting, and that foolishness of mine will not
continue with me to the end, for that would be a bad thing,
but in a little time it will cease to exist (91b1-7)97
So, if Socrates remains persuaded that the soul is immortal, and it is, he believes
something true and beneficial. If he remains convinced that the soul is immortal, and it is
not, then he at least manages to die nobly without distress, which he believes benefits
everyone involved. Remaining convinced until he dies is a win-win, or, as Burnet puts it,
“heads I win, tales you lose” [1911: 92].
97 λογίζομαι γάρ, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε̶θέασαι ὡς πλεονεκτικῶς̶εἰ μὲν τυγχάνει ἀληθῆ ὄντα ἃ λέγω, καλῶς δὴ ἔχει τὸ πεισθῆναι· εἰ δὲ μηδέν ἐστι τελευτήσαντι, ἀλλ’ οὖν τοῦτόν γε τὸν χρόνον αὐτὸν τὸν πρὸ τοῦ θανάτου ἧττον τοῖς παροῦσιν ἀηδὴς ἔσομαι ὀδυρόμενος, ἡ δὲ ἄνοιά μοι αὕτη οὐ συνδιατελεῖ̶κακὸν γὰρ ἂν ἦν̶ἀλλ’ ὀλίγον ὕστερον ἀπολεῖται.
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Socrates, then, thinks there are a few advantages to living and dying a fool. These
prudential advantages may turn out to be a final tipping point in Socrates’ attempts to
convince his interlocutors to take the immortality of the soul seriously. In Simmias’
words, believing in immortality may be the best way to get through life, born upon it “as
if on a raft” (85d), as calm before death as one can expect to be.
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CHAPTER FOUR
REPUBLIC: AUXILIARIES AND THE PROBLEM OF EARLY DEATH
Kallipolis, the ideal city of Plato’s Republic, has three social classes: the
philosophers, the auxiliaries, and the multifarious third class. This chapter concerns the
auxiliaries, or the second class, whose special task is to serve as warriors and protectors
of the city. Of the four civic virtues, the auxiliaries represent the virtue of courage
(4:429a-d), and courage requires that they stand firm in the face of death. ∗ Their craft
requires them “to fear death least” [ἥκιστα τὸν θάνατον δεδιέναι, 3:386a7], primarily
because they are quite likely to die on the job, often violently and young. However,
auxiliaries are non-philosophers, so to whatever extent they possess virtue, it will always
be volatile, since they lack wisdom and internally regulated, stable characters.98 Even
∗ All citations in chapters four and five in which the dialogue is unspecified are to the Republic. 98 I operate in this chapter under the assumption that the auxiliaries do not possess true, or psychic, courage, since non-philosophers cannot possess any true, or complete virtue. True courage requires two things, neither of which non-philosophers possess. First, it requires wisdom achieved through knowledge of the Forms, and only philosophers possess wisdom. Second, it requires what Irwin [1995] calls “counterfactual reliability,” or moral consistency across a wide-range of circumstances (see esp. 230-234). Instead, the non-philosophers possess “political courage” (πολιτικήν, 430c3) because they hold firm to “true belief” about what is fearful. Irwin argues that only wisdom and true virtue ensures “counterfactual reliability,” so the auxiliaries will lose their “political courage” if the city crumbles. Kamtekar [1998] makes an interesting case for the possibility that the first generation of soldiers would remain courageous during the first devolution of the ideal city into an oligarchy. Again, though, Kamtekar concedes that auxiliaries never possess true courage. Commentators greatly disagree about whether complete virtue
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after they, like all members of the upper two classes, have been trained and educated,
their environment continues to make or break them.
In this chapter, then, I argue that the mechanisms by which auxiliaries both
acquire and sustain the appropriate attitudes towards death are largely social in nature, or
features of the political organization that are external to them and generally beyond their
control. I contend that the most important mechanism for controlling their fear of death,
somewhat surprisingly, is the prohibition against possessing private external goods like
children and property. I devote the greater portion of the chapter to a defense of this
claim.
I divide the argument into two sections. In the first section, I address the
straightforward role that religious belief and immortality of the soul play in controlling
the auxiliaries’ fear of death. Piety is not a listed as cardinal virtue of the city or the soul
in Kallipolis, but Plato thinks that the right beliefs about the gods are a necessary
component of controlling the soldier’s fear of death. 99 Nevertheless, I argue that
“advantageous” (380c) beliefs about the possibility of an afterlife will prove insufficient
to combat many varieties of the fear of death.
admits of degrees and whether political virtue can make one incompletely happy I do not weigh in on these questions. 99 McPherran [2006] claims that the “key obstacle to understanding the place of piety in the Republic is Plato’s decision in Book IV no longer to count piety as a cardinal virtue” (90). He argues that the absence of piety is not a problem at all, since it is the same thing as justice, but “aspectually differentiated” with relation to the gods, and justice has certainly not disappeared from the Republic (91). That may be true, but I cannot find much textual support for his claim.
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In the second section, then, I revisit a theme from the second chapter—the link
between security, external goods, and the fear of death. I argue that commentators have
overlooked the important role that the strange material circumstances of the auxiliaries
play in controlling their fear of death and desire to grieve. In particular, auxiliaries (as
well as rulers) are prohibited from having private wives and children and are absolutely
prohibited from even touching money (3: 417a). The only private external good
auxiliaries receive is immortal honor, and they receive it solely on the basis of their
willingness to risk death. I argue that outside of these circumstances and without these
incentives, the auxiliaries’ fear of death skyrockets, and their desire and capacity to act
courageously diminishes accordingly.
PIETY, COURAGE AND THE AFTERLIFE
In the first chapter, I argued that the success of Socrates’ arguments about the fear
of death in the Apology depend on some background assumptions about piety and the
gods. Those same assumptions must also be at work in Socrates’ representation of the
afterlife in the Phaedo, since Socrates never considers the possibility of an afterlife that
would be anything short of highly desirable for a philosopher. The central component of
this Socratic (and Platonic)100 conception of piety is that the gods are perfectly good.
Every other feature of the nature of the gods is an entailment.
Absent a Socratic conception of piety, however, the gods become an
unpredictable source of anxiety for humans. Consider Euthyphro, who snares himself in 100 See, for instance, in Book X of the Laws and the Theatetus (176c); also the Timaeus, in which the world is designed providentially by a divine craftsman, and Phd. 97b-98b.
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a contradiction. He thinks, on the one hand, that the gods are supremely good (Eu. 6a).
On the other hand, he believes a number of traditional stories about the gods in which
they judge arbitrarily or commit what would be unjust and illegal acts if perpetrated by a
human being (Eu. 6b-c). Even if the gods do act fairly and justly in some or most
instances, their unpredictable behavior renders a person completely uncertain about
whether the gods will on this particular occasion choose to act beneficently and fairly.
The prospect of an afterlife ruled by unpredictable, unjust gods does not inspire
confidence. The gods might judge the dead arbitrarily or incorrectly (cf. Grg. 523a-
524a). They might favor the rich and unjust, or they might simply make everyone
miserable indiscriminately. The afterlife could be dark, dank, and no fun, as it seems to
be in Homer. Clearly, the prospect of an unfair and miserable afterlife contributes to the
fear of death. Worse, fear and worry motivate a person to pursue all available avenues
for avoiding death, even if doing so requires acting cowardly and unjustly.
Given that he wants courageous soldiers, then, it should be unsurprising that Plato
makes Socratic piety the belief of the realm in Kallipolis and that any undesirable
representation of the afterlife is strictly prohibited. Education about the nature of the
gods is, in fact, the first priority in the childhood training of the future auxiliaries and
guardians. Socrates and Glaucon agree that all representations of the gods must adhere to
two key rules that follow from the gods’ perfect goodness: gods cannot cause harm (2:
379b), and they cannot make themselves worse by altering their nature and form (2:
380d).
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Thus, the gods must not lie, and they must not alter their appearance in order to be
deceptive (2: 379a-382a). They do not fight amongst themselves or laugh at one
another’s expense (3: 389a). In addition, the gods do not accept bribes (3:390d-e), grieve
(3: 388b-d), or engage in wild sexual exploits (3: 390b-c).101 Absolutely no one in the
city can tell or hear a story that violates these requirements, since it would be both
“impious and disadvantageous” (3: 380c).
Any portrayal of the afterlife in the ideal city that features gods must also
represent it as just and fair. After Socrates opens Book III with the claim that no one
“becomes courageous if he has the fear of death in him,”102 the nature of the afterlife is
the first matter of record, since soldiers must be told the stories that make them fear death
“least” (3: 386a). Socrates asks Glaucon whether anyone “who believes Hades’ domain
exists and is terrible will be fearless in the face of death and choose death in battles above
defeat and slavery” (3:388b4-6).103 Glaucon quite reasonably agrees that they will not,
so the two run through a laundry list of unacceptable portrayals of the afterlife in popular
literature.
101 Plato thinks that the belief that the gods can be bribed is perhaps the greatest source of impiety. In the Laws, private sacrifices are outlawed for fear that people will use them in an attempt to bribe the gods (Lg. 10: 910a-c). Adeimantus worries that there is little reason to be just if the gods can be appeased with gifts (R. 2: 365e; cp. Lg. 10:888c). There is some debate about whether Socrates’ opening discussion with Cephalus in the Republic suggests that Cephalus has been offering a private sacrifice in order to propitiate the gods in recompense for a life of injustice. 102 γενέσθαι ἀνδρεῖον ἔχοντα ἐν αὑτῷ τοῦτο τὸ δεῖμα 103 τἀν Ἅιδου ἡγούμενον εἶναί τε καὶ δεινὰ εἶναι οἴει τινὰ θανάτου ἀδεῆ ἔσεσθαι καὶ ἐν ταῖς μάχαις αἱρήσεσθαι πρὸ ἥττης τε καὶ δουλείας θάνατον;
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The first and most famous text to be censored is Achilles’ exchange with
Odysseus in Hades. Before Odysseus can finally return to Ithaca, the gods force him to
visit Hades, and with much despair, he carries out the errand. In the course of his visit,
he talks with many sorrowful heroes from Troy about their postmortem existence and
answers their questions about the current state of the living (particularly the condition of
their sons and fathers). Achilles, the greatest hero of Troy, who chose a preordained,
glorious death over a long, but inglorious life, offers the darkest rumination on death.
Odysseus congratulates Achilles on the fact that everyone in Hades reveres him, treating
him as if he ruled the dead. He replies, though, that he would rather “slave on earth for
another man—some dirt-poor tenant farmer who scrapes to keep alive—than rule down
here all the breathless dead.”104 Not a ringing endorsement of death from the hero who
most represents the courageous death. The subsequent texts censored by Glaucon and
Socrates are almost all from Homer, though common terms for features of the afterlife
must also be dropped from the language—for instance, “Cocytus” and “Styx” (387b).105
At first, it seems that Socrates leaves open the option that the poets could simply
write that the afterlife does not exist at all. Perhaps he rules out stories which claim that
104 Od. 11: 556-558 (trans. Fagles). Cp. Ecclesiastes 9: 4, “Indeed, for any among the living there is still hope: a live dog is better off than a dead lion.” (NAB). 105 Oddly, Socrates uses both Styx and Cocytus in his description of the afterlife in the myth at the close of the Phaedo (113c). One gets the impression that none of Socrates’ eschatological myths (in the Gorgias, Phaedo, or Republic) would be permitted in the ideal city. Perhaps the key to determining why Plato permits Socrates to be inconsistent is to be found in Socrates’ throwaway remark at the close of the censorship of stories about the afterlife. He says that scary stories may be good “for other purposes” (R. 3:387c). There are a number of interesting things to say about this comment, but this is not the place.
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it both “exists and is terrible,” so they writers could simply claim it does not exist.
Socrates, though, not only prohibits negative representations, but he requires positive
ones. The poets must “praise the things in Hades” (τὰ ἐν Ἅιδου ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον ἐπαινεῖν,
386b10). Plato clearly thinks that soldiers need the promise of a beneficial afterlife in
exchange for their courage and valor.
There are doubtless people for whom the prospect of a good afterlife is sufficient
to rid them of any fear of death, and this confidence may make some soldiers rush
headlong into danger and certain death. However, this strategy is insufficient to rid most
people of their fear of death, either because they find themselves unable to believe there
is an afterlife at all, or because they recognize the very basic fact that there are many
other reasons to fear death. People fear death not only because they believe they will
gain nothing by dying, but more often because they know they will lose things of value.
EXTERNAL GOODS AND THE FEAR OF DEATH
The auxiliaries are ascetics, though not of their own choosing. However, I argue
that this enforced asceticism is a key component of their ability to be courageous and
control their fear of death. There are three interesting elements of the auxiliaries’
material culture, the second a great deal more bizarre than the others, and I address the
role that each plays in controlling the fear of death. First, auxiliaries are prohibited from
touching money, setting up private households, or possessing any political power. In
short, they are prohibited from pursuing any external goods that are scarce and
competitive. Second, they do not have any private familial relationships—their wives
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and their children are shared. Third, the only private external good they are promised is
honor and immortal fame if they die doing their job correctly.
Faction and Fear
Given that the auxiliaries receive the best education Socrates and Glaucon can
imagine, which is designed especially to motivate them to care for and protect their
fellow citizens, it comes as a bit of a surprise when Socrates closes out their education
with the claim that the possession of money will cause them to ruin the city. Their
education, it seems, is insufficient to stave off the effect of money on an imperfect soul.
So strong is the effect of money that soldiers, neither the ones who rule nor their
auxiliaries, cannot even touch it (3: 417a2-3).
Socrates claims that if the strong but insufficiently virtuous soldiers possessed
wealth and rich estates, they would have the means with which they would inevitably
oppress and kill those weaker than them. Money would make them
despots and enemies instead of allies of the other citizens;
hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted against,
they will lead their whole lives fearing enemies at home far
more than those abroad (3: 417b1-5).106
Private wealth brings the fear of violence and death too close to home. It makes even the
best-educated non-philosophers fight amongst themselves and terrorize the weak. 106 δεσπόται δ’ ἐχθροὶ ἀντὶ συμμάχων τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν γενήσονται, μισοῦντες δὲ δὴ καὶ μισούμενοι καὶ ἐπιβουλεύοντες καὶ ἐπιβουλευόμενοι διάξουσι πάντα τὸν βίον, πολὺ πλείω καὶ μᾶλλον δεδιότες τοὺς ἔνδον ἢ τοὺς ἔξωθεν πολεμίους
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In Book V, Socrates repeats that the possession of private property by would
destroy the city. If an auxiliary were to foolishly decide he cannot be happy without
private possessions, Socrates claims, “he will hasten by means of his power to make all
the things in the city his own” bringing destruction not only to the city, but to himself as
well [ὁρμήσει αὐτὸν διὰ δύναμιν ἐπὶ τὸ ἅπαντα τὰ ἐν τῇ πόλει οἰκειοῦσθαι, 5:466b8-c1].
In Book VIII, the first result of the devolution of the ideal city is the reintroduction of
private property and households, and the guardians and auxiliaries forthwith “enslave and
hold as house servants those who previously were being guarded by them as free friends
and food providers” (8:547c1-3).107
Freedom from faction and fear of violence at the hands of one’s neighbor depends
on those who possess weapons not possessing wealth. Why? I think Plato simply
believes that money lets loose the appetitive beast in human nature. For Plato, the
appetitive part of the soul wants money above all, and it wants as much money as it can
get (580e-581a). Thus, in order to “overreach” what it needs, the appetitve part will drive
individuals to compete with others in order to seize what they have. Other people,
though, are also out to “overreach.” As I argued in the second chapter, the problem with
goods like money and power is that they are always scarce and competitive. Injustice and
violence naturally arise from competitions of this sort because one will inevitably cross
paths with someone more committed to winning and getting more than to winning fairly.
Thus, one must be willing to commit injustice or stay out of the way of the person who is
107 τοὺς δὲ πρὶν φυλαττομένους ὑπ’αὐτῶν ὡς ἐλευθέρους φίλους τε καὶ τροφέας, δουλωσάμενοι τότε περιοίκους τε καὶ οἰκέτας ἔχοντες
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willing to commit it. Once one possesses goods, one must be willing to protect what one
has from those who want it, so both parties must be prepared for violence. Anyone who
refuses to engage in the competition, and who avoids external goods in order to abstain
from injustice, leaves themselves especially defenseless against anyone who finds them a
nuisance or obstruction. In short, once the auxiliaries are permitted to give the appetitive
part what it most wants, and the objects of desire are scarce and competitive, Plato thinks
the natural result is insecurity, faction, and fear of violence. This theory, of course, was
also at work in the Phaedo, in which Socrates claimed that the pursuit of money to gratify
the body is the cause of all wars and faction (Phd. 66c).
The quest for security against violence is in itself an attempt to control a very
basic form of the fear of death. Insofar as the prohibition against touching money
ensures everyone’s mutual security, the complete absence of money helps control the fear
of death of everyone involved. Money and competition breed insecurity, and insecurity
breeds the fear of death.
Non-Competitive goods of Attachment
Socrates claims that the community of wives and children is the “cause of the
greatest good for the city” [Τοῦ μεγίστου ἄρα ἀγαθοῦ τῇ πόλει αἰτία, 5: 464b5-6; cf.
457d]. Though he introduces the collective family early in Book IV (423e-4244a), it is
not until the opening of Book V that his interlocutors interrupt him and require that he
justify such a seemingly absurd claim. They actually challenge two related claims: that
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women can be warriors and guardians, and that the guardians’ family should be
communal.
The auxiliaries famously lack any children of their own. The rulers of Kallipolis
devise a systematic program to keep all children communal, so that no child knows the
identity of her biological parents, and no parent knows the identity of her biological child.
Mates are chosen by a “rigged” lottery, so that the best matches are assured, and
everyone who is not assigned a mate or is assigned a less than desirable mate considers
their fate a matter of luck (5: 460a). As children are born, the infants are taken
immediately from their mothers and mixed together by the nurses (5: 460c). Thus, the
child-bearing members of the auxiliary class treat all of the children of a certain age as
their children, and all the children, in turn, recognize many parents (5:457d; 5:461d).
What, though, makes private children so problematic?
In some sense, children and women are like money, and Socrates tends to refer to
women and children as “possessions” (5: 451c; 10: 603e).108 Mates, under certain
circumstances, can be scarce. One might think, then, that Plato makes children and wives
communal property in order to rid the city of the cutthroat competition that leads to
insecurity. One passage suggests he has this in mind. When Socrates sums up the
advantages of the communal possession of women and children, he claims that it makes 108 Okin [1977, 349-350] explores this in her excellent article on community of wives and children in the Republic. Okin is a bit more optimistic about Plato’s thoughts on equality of women than Annas [1999], and Annas is far more optimistic than others because she thinks Plato takes the passage seriously. Strauss [1964] and Bloom [1968] think the whole idea is an attempt to one-up Aristophanes’ Ecclesiazusae. Burnyeat [1999], agrees that it is a reference to the Ecclesiazusae and that it is supposed to be absurd; however, he argues that the absurdity is in the service of making people take the idea seriously.
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the guardians “free from faction, insofar as human beings divide into factions over the
possession of money, children, and relatives” (5: 464d9-e2).109
However, there are three important differences between money and children in the
Republic. First, there is the simple point that auxiliaries are permitted to have children,
while they are prohibited from touching money or having any power. Second, children
are natural products, and most animals are motivated to procreate, while money is
artificial and not common in the animal kingdom. People tend not to horde children, as
they would money, and they tend not to steal other people’s children (issues with slavery
excepted). Third, and perhaps most importantly, children are dependent on their parents,
parents feel responsibility for the care of their children, and children can die or be
orphaned.
In other dialogues, Plato claims that most people have a natural, animal-like
desire to have “their own” children (Smp. 208b5; cp. R. 1: 330c). In the Symposium, for
instance, Socrates recounts the speech of Diotima, who tells him that all people desire to
be immortal, and most people pursue immortality through children. Unlike immortality
of the soul, this “immortality by proxy” is achieved by producing something that persists
after one’s death. So, when all goes right, parents have healthy children who survive
their parents. Since children represent their immortality, people have a strong personal
investment in the care and protection of their children, and they tend to be partial to their
109 ὅθεν δὴ ὑπάρχει τούτοις ἀστασιάστοις εἶναι, ὅσα γε διὰ χρημάτων ἢ παίδων καὶ συγγενῶν κτῆσιν ἄνθρωποι στασιάζουσιν;
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own “offspring” [ἀποβλάστημα, 208b5].110 In the Laws, the first law of Magnesia
requires that citizens have children, since human beings are “provided by nature” with a
desire to not “lie nameless in the grave.” People most readily participate in immortality
by having children, and the Athenian lawgiver argues that “no one should deny himself
this prize” (Lg. 4:721b7-c8).111
In the Republic, though, Plato clearly believes there is some reason auxiliaries
should be forced to challenge this natural desire to have “their own” child by
collectivizing children. I suggest that Plato does it for two reasons, both of which
contribute to each soldier’s ability to fight fearlessly and face an early death.
First, collective children make it easier to provide for the security and protection
of one’s children and parents, especially if one should die early. I argued in Chapter Two
that worry about the care and upkeep of one’s family is one of the great motivations to
commit injustice and avoid an early death. In the Apology, Socrates expresses disdain
for people who parade their soon-to-be orphaned children before the court, appealing to
the somewhat reasonable pity aroused by the fate of orphans (Ap. 34c-35b). Even though
Socrates seems impervious to such concerns, the continued care and protection of one’s
children seems a reasonable worry for the average member of an Athenian jury. Crito, in
the dialogue bearing his name, argues that Socrates is in fact “wrong” to refuse to escape
prison and his death sentence in order to take care of his family (Cri. 45d), and in the
Phaedo, Crito continues to inquire about Socrates’ children (Phd. 115b). This 110 This is a very rare word; Plato only uses it here, and he is among a very small class of writers who use it at all. It seems positively biological. 111 trans. Saunders, Cooper [1997] volume.
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indifference to the fate of one’s children is not possible for most people, and Plato surely
thinks it beyond the reach of non-philosophers.
Elderly parents also need care and protection. Soldiers who risk dying early in
battle may worry about their parents as well as their children, and this is yet another
reason to avoid death. Homer’s heroes are full of this sort of anxiety and grief. For
instance, in the Odyssey, Achilles laments that his early death has left his father without
the respect or protection that a son normally provides (Od. 2: 562-73). Likewise,
Odysseus comes home to find his father, Laertes, neglected and grief-stricken (Od.
1:119-125; 24:274-284) and his son, Telemachus, in danger of his life. In the Iliad,
Hector knows that he will die, and must come to the grips with leaving his father, wife,
and son unprotected. In Plato’s Hippias Major, Hippias defines “the fine” as burying
one’s parents and being buried by one’s children (Hp. Ma. 290d-293c).
An important ramification of the communal sharing of children and parents,
though, is that the death of a soldier or child renders no child an orphan and no parent
childless. Given that both children and parents alike are liable to die in battle or even
from sickness, having many children makes it more likely that each surviving parent or
child has many remaining parents and children.
Plato shows a great deal of concern about the fate of orphans and childless parents
in other dialogues, especially the Menexenus and the Laws. At the close of the
Menexenus, in which Socrates offers an imaginary eulogy of Athens and its fallen
soldiers, he assuages the grief of both the fathers and the sons of fallen soldiers. He
encourages the fathers not to grieve excessively, since their sons have died valiantly (Mx.
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247e). He also promises the warriors that the city will care for their orphans and bereft
parents as they themselves would have. Those leaving behind orphans should know that
“the city itself raises their children, eager that their orphanhood be as unknown to them as
possible” (Mx. 249a3-4).112 With respect to both the bereft fathers and orphans, Socrates
claims: “for those having died she stands as son and heir, for their sons as a father, for
their parents as a guardian; giving complete assistance to all for all time” (Mx. 249b7-
c3).113
Likewise, in the ideal city of the Laws, where children are not collective, the
highest elders take care that the orphans of fallen soldiers do not fall to a bad lot and,
whenever possible, hide the very fact that they are orphans. The elders police the
treatment of orphans, “believing orphans to be a great and sacred trust” (Lg. 11:927c2-
3).114 Though the education of orphans does not usually differ from that of other
children, the Athenian lawgiver notes that with respect to “public esteem and the amount
of attention the children receive, orphanhood is usually much less desirable” (11: 927e-
928a).115 Therefore, the elders must ensure that those who adopt orphans give the “child
112 τοὺς δὲ παῖδας συνεκτρέφει αὐτή, προθυμουμένη ὅτι μάλιστ’ ἄδηλον αὐτοῖς τὴν ὀρφανίαν γενέσθαι 113 ἀτεχνῶς τῶν μὲν τελευτησάντων ἐν κληρονόμου καὶ ὑέος μοίρᾳ καθεστηκυῖα, τῶν δὲ ὑέων ἐν πατρός, γονέων δὲ τῶν τούτων ἐν ἐπιτρόπου, πᾶσαν πάντων παρὰ πάντα τὸν χρόνον ἐπιμέλειαν ποιουμένη. 114 παρακαταθήκην εἶναι μεγίστην ἡγούμενοι καὶ ἱερωτάτην 115 trans. Saunders.
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who has had the misfortune of bereavement no less affection than his own children, and
be just as zealously concerned for his ward’s property as he is for his own” (11: 928a).116
What better way to ensure such affection and protection than to make many
people the parents of many children? The philosopher-rulers of Kallipolis need not
concern themselves to police the treatment of orphans and bereft parents, since there are,
in some sense, no such persons. Thus, the fear that one will leave one’s children without
the care that can only be offered by parents disappears.
The fear that one’s death will impact the continued care of one’s family and that
they will be pained by grief, though, concerns the way that one’s death will harm others.
Some people are a bit more worried about harm to themselves. First, they might fear that
death will end their ability to enjoy their personal relationships and, second, that the death
of others will cause them grief. In the first case, a person fears not continuing the
completion of a project or seeing her children reach adulthood; in the second case, she
worries that her child will die. The community of wives and children, I argue, helps with
the second fear, but not the first.
Again with a standard theme: if one is particularly attached to something, one
does not want to lose it. Since people tend to grow very attached to children, the death of
a beloved child may be the best candidate for the highest grief. Plato, at least, seems to
think this is the case. Though I discuss Plato’s treatment of grief in the Republic at
length in the next chapter, what matters for the moment is that Plato thinks one should be
as self-sufficient as possible, avoid emotional attachment to things and people, and grieve 116 μὴ χεῖρον ἀγαπάτω τῶν αὑτοῦ τέκνων τὸν τῆς ὀρφανικῆς μετειληφότα τύχης
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their loss and death as little as possible (3:387d1-e1; cp. Mx. 247e6-248a7). I contend
that Plato also designs the community of wives and children to lessen the auxiliaries’ fear
of the death of their children and their grief when a child dies.
In the opening discussion of the Republic, Socrates asks Cephalus, the wealthy
merchant in whose house the whole of the Republic takes place, whether he made his
own money. Socrates explains his untoward curiosity by invoking a distinction between
two types, or degress of value—if one makes “one’s own” money, children or art, one
cares about it far more than if one considers it of only instrumental use, not having made
it oneself (3: 330b-d). Socrates claims that people who make “their own product”
[ἔργον ἑαυτῶν], whether a child, a piece of art, or a fortune, are insufferable
conversationalists because they “love it too much” [σφόδρα ἀγαπᾶν]. Children, money,
and art, he seems to suggest, should have only instrumental value. This indicates that
Plato may think one can lessen people’s emotional attachments by keeping them from
having “their own” children.117
Amongst the auxiliaries, there are no private children, so no private losses. The
grief is shared, and no one parent is singularly attached to any particular child. This
communal, generalized sharing of joy and grief is in fact what Socrates claims to be the
“greatest good for the city,” and this unity is evidenced when “to the greatest extent 117 Cephalus then argues that the best use of the money is to fight the fear of death (3: 330-d-331c). This claim raises all sort of interpretive questions that I would like to answer but cannot in this dissertation. For instance, how close does Socrates mean to draw the connection between art, children, and money? Should we think that Cephalus’ response suggests that all three could or should be used to combat the fear of death? Is this related to Diotima’s discussion of varieties of “immortality by proxy” through art, fame, and children?
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possible, all the citizens alike rejoice and grieve at the same births and deaths” (5:
462b).118 Since many young soldiers will die young, and children in antiquity tend to get
sick and die, a collective response may turn out to be less grevious for everyone. In
addition, one might think parents would benefit from having a generalized attachment in
the first place, since general attachments might occasion less grief.
However, the communal family may do little to tame the fear of death occasioned
by the prospect of the end of one’s own conscious enjoyment of life, pleasures,
relationships, projects, etc. Plato may seem to have very little to offer on this front,
which would be a shame, since this may be the fear most troubling to many people. The
auxiliaries value human, external goods, and as such, death will deprive them of the
things they value. They value far fewer goods than they would outside the city, but they
still have attachments to their children and each other. Though the afterlife might take up
the slack here for many people, since it promises the ability to continue conscious
awareness in some other place, the “immortality of the soul” remains uncertain, and death
still ends current pleasures. In the next section, I argue that one remaining consolation
for the auxiliaries is that death compensates them with what they want most—immortal
honor. They are “honor-lovers,” and a noble death brings them the highest human honor
118 Οὐκοῦν ἡ μὲν ἡδονῆς τε καὶ λύπης κοινωνία συνδεῖ, ὅταν ὅτι μάλιστα πάντες οἱ πολῖται τῶν αὐτῶν γιγνομένων τε καὶ ἀπολλυμένων παραπλησίως χαίρωσι καὶ λυπῶνται I follow Shorey in what I think is a very straightforward translation of the participals γιγνομένων τε καὶ ἀπολλυμένων. Reeve [2004] renders them as “successes and failures,” Waterfield [1998] as “gains and losses,” and Griffith [2000] as “any particular gain or loss.” Bloom [1968] goes with the very literal ‘coming into being and perishing” that seems to lean more towards Shorey and myself.
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to which they can aspire. I conclude, however, that even immortal honor can only do so
much.
Immortal Honor
Auxiliaries want very much to be honored by the city, since the most powerful
part of their soul is the spirited, or honor-loving part. Given that they are educated in the
ideal city, they only want to be honored for the right things rather than for anything at all,
unlike indiscriminate “honor-lovers” (5: 475a-b, 6: 485b). They want the highest honor
from the city to which they can aspire. Thus, they want to be remembered and honored
forever. Hero status and immortal honor are persistent themes in Greek epic poetry and
myth, and the instances and variations are too numerous to recount.119 However, it often
goes unnoted how important immortal fame is to Plato in the Republic.
Most commentators with interest in the question of fame look to the Symposium.
Though Diotima notes that the easiest way to gain immortality is to have children,
children live only so long—fame lives much longer. She claims that the desire for fame
lies behind all acts of valor, whether Alcestis’ decision to die in place of her husband or
Achilles’ revenge of Patroclus. Both Alcestis and Achilles die “believing the memory of
their virtue will be immortal” [οἰομένους ἀθάνατον μνήμην ἀρετῆς πέρι ἑαυτῶν ἔσεσθαι,
208d4-5]. Immortal status and fame plays a significant in other dialogues, as well. In
the Menexenus, Socrates closes his imaginary eulogy to the fallen soldiers with the
119 See Vernant [1991, 50-74] for an excellent examination of Homeric conceptions of the glorious death and immortal fame.
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reminder that “the dead themselves the city never fails to honor” (249b). In the Laws, in
addition to having children, the first law of Magnesia mentions fame as the other way to
avoid lying “nameless in the grave” (Lg. 4:721b7-c8)
Immortal honor for soldiers is all over the Republic. With respect to the
auxiliaries,120 Socrates claims that their honor will span the course of their lives and long
past their deaths.
The victory they win is the preservation of the whole city,
and they are crowned with support and everything else
necessary to life—both they themselves and their children
as well; and they get prizes from their city while they live,
and when they die they receive a worthy burial (5:465d7-
e2).121
Socrates claims that brave soldiers who die in battle become members of the “golden
class,” [τοῦ χρυσοῦ γένους, 5:468e5-6],122 and in the manner dictated by the oracle, they
120 I address the immortal honor assigned to the philosophers-rulers in the next chapter. 121 νίκην τε γὰρ νικῶσι συμπάσης τῆς πόλεως σωτηρίαν, τροφῇ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσιν ὅσων βίος δεῖται αὐτοί τε καὶ παῖδες ἀναδοῦνται, καὶ γέρα δέχονται παρὰ τῆς αὑτῶν πόλεως ζῶντές τε καὶ τελευτήσαντες ταφῆς ἀξίας μετέχουσιν. 122 Plato alludes to Hesiod’s history of the Five Ages in Works & Days a few times in the Republic. According to Hesiod, there was once a golden race of men, who were far superior to any subsequent generation. The next generation was Silver, then came the Bronze, and finally the Iron generation. After members of the golden generation died, they began to wander the earth ensuring justice. In addition to this reference to the golden generation, Plato clearly alludes to the division in races when he creates the Myth of Metals to justify the class system of the city. For more on the role of Hesiod in Plato, see O’Connor [2007: 78-87].
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are buried “how the daemonic and god-like should be buried.” [πῶς χρὴ τοὺς δαιμονίους
τε καὶ θείους τιθέναι, 5:469a3-4]. Once buried, Socrates notes, “for the rest of time we
will care for and worship at their tombs, as at those of daemons” (5:469a7-b1).123 This
reward falls not only to those who die in battle, but also to those who fight valiantly
throughout life but die at an old age (5:469b1-3).
Immortal honor depends on the soldiers giving up a number of things: private
possessions and attachments, as well as freedom to travel and do as they please (4: 419-
420b). Nevertheless, Socrates thinks that the promise of immortal celebration
compensates them, at least in part, for these deprivations. In light of all of these rewards,
he asks Adeimantus whether the soldiers could possibly envy the life “of cobblers or any
other craftsmen or of farmers,” who possess their own houses and children (5:466b1-
2).124 The auxiliaries, then, are promised one final reward as a prize for their willingness
123 Καὶ τὸν λοιπὸν δὴ χρόνον ὡς δαιμόνων, οὕτω θεραπεύσομέν τε καὶ προσκυνήσομεν αὐτῶν τὰς θήκας; 124 Some writers, Aristotle for instance, have claimed that Plato does not make clear that the craftsmen have different material conditions than the upper classes (Pol. 2.5: 1264aff.]. It is true that Plato tells us very little about the third class, which contains craftsmen and merchants (and possibly servants), though some authors have used various methods to speculate. I find some of these avenues interesting. For instance, Reeve [1988: 176] has argued that the First City, or City of Pigs, represents the craftsmen “made as happy as it is possible for them to be.” Rachel Barney [2001: 217] also considers this possibility. Even without speculating about the First City, though, I think Plato tells us a few important things. For instance, the craftsmen have private property and private houses. When Socrates explains the conditions under which the soldiers will be housed, he explicitly differentiates them from housing “for money-makers” [στρατιωτικάς γε, ἀλλ’ οὐ χρηματιστικάς, 415e9]. At the close of Book III, Socrates claims that at the moment soldiers have “private land, houses, and currency, they will be householders and farmers instead of guardians” (3: 417a6-7; also 421c ff). Given that the craftsmen do not
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to die—they are celebrated as heroes by their city. Given the auxiliaries’ love of honor,
such a promise is clearly a consolation. Immortal honor will likely prove insufficient to
eliminate the auxiliaries’ fear of being deprived of their conscious pleasures, but Socrates
never claimed that the soldiers eliminate their fear. These strategies taken together,
though, make courage easier and cowardice less tempting.
CONCLUSION
In this chapter, I have argued that the matter of central importance for the
auxiliary psychology is controlling the fear of death. Plato recognizes that this is a
difficult task, not only because the fear of death is complex and takes many forms and
objects, but also because of the particular nature, desires, and limitations of the auxiliary
psychology. He offers three strategies: 1) a desirable conception of the afterlife; 2)
material conditions that minimize attachment to material goods and personal
relationships; 3) the prospect of immortal hero status. All of these strategies, however,
depend on cultural luck and political features out of the control of the auxiliaries
themselves. Since the ability to act courageously depends on the city, the auxiliaries’ fear
of death will increase the moment that the city begins to devolve. In the next chapter, I
consider whether the internal regulation of emotions that the philosopher-rulers achieve is
sufficient to eliminate their fear of death and whether they also rely on features of the
political enviroment to achieve and sustain the appropriate attitudes towards death.
share houses, land, or money, it is unlikely, though not impossible, that they share wives and children.
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CHAPTER FIVE
REPUBLIC: LAWLESS DESIRES, GRIEF, AND THE PHILOSOPHERS
In this chapter, I argue that the philosopher, even in the ideal city, cannot
eliminate her fear of death and her desire to grieve. In the Republic, then, Plato thinks
that the most virtuous humans imaginable must control their attitudes towards death by
vigilantly employing a set of strategies. I argue that these strategies are almost
indistinguishable from those employed by non-philosophers and that the philosophers are
superior only in their facility at employing them.
The argument proceeds in three stages. In the first section, I consider the extent
to which the philosophers-rulers, like the auxiliaries, depend on “cultural luck.” Outside
of the ideal city, their nature would almost certainly be perverted, and they would not
attain virtue and the emotions appropriate to virtue. Thus, even though they have a
philosophical nature, they cannot avoid fearing death outside of the ideal city.125
In the subsequent two sections, I consider the philosopher in the ideal city. First, I
argue that philosopher-rulers control rather than eliminate their desire to grieve the death
125 Before anyone gets worked up, I concede at this early stage that Socrates and other divinely gifted individuals manage to become philosophers of a sort in a non-ideal city (6: 496a-e). However, I remind the reader, first, that they are rare and divine. Second, the majority of them are only philosophers because they are not physically able to be politically involved, which means they would not be suitable as philosopher-rulers. Third, as I argue below, they must work very hard to fight the unfortunate effects of their poor education, especially with respect to fear and grief. Most importantly, one should not lose sight of the fact that they cannot possess wisdom and knowledge of the Forms, while the philosopher-rulers can. Socrates never receives the right education, as should be clear from the outline of philosophical education in Book VII.
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of others. Much of my argument depends on an interpretation of Plato’s conception of
“lawless desires,” which I contend are natural to all humans and must be controlled rather
than eliminated.126 I focus on three passages. The first is Socrates’ introduction of
“lawless desires” at the opening of Book IX. The second is the illustrative image of the
tripartite soul as three beings: a small man, a lion, and a many-headed beast (9: 588b-
590c). I use these two passages to set up my discussion of the third passage, in which
Plato suggests that desire to grieve the death of people to whom one is emotionally
attached is a “lawless desire.” Thus, I argue that it is natural and must be controlled.
Some will object to my conception of a natural and lawless desire, though, since
there are at least two other ways that a desire might be natural to humans. Natural desires
may be present in everyone but eliminable for a select few; or they may be natural to
humans but only under non-ideal political and educational circumstances. With
significant “cultural luck,” they may never arise.127 While I note that one piece of textual
evidence leaves open the possibility that a few of the most “savage” of the lawless desires
can be eliminated by a few people, I argue that the images and argument Socrates offers
about the desire to grieve make it clear that it always arises and must be constantly
controlled.
126 These should not be mistaken for natural and necessary desires like the desire for food and drink, which also cannot be eliminated. Since Plato’s “lawless desires” include the desire to sleep with one’s mother and murder, it would be a difficult case to make that such desires are necessary. I know the argumentative nature of philosophers, so I want to emphasize that that case would be “difficult.” 127 These two additional conceptions of “lawless desires” are borrowed from Deslauriers [2001], further discussed below.
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In the final section, I consider whether the philosophers need strategies to control
the fear of their own fear death in addition to their desire to grieve the death of others. I
argue that they, like the auxiliaries, control their fear of death by hoping to be immortal,
and they desire immortal honor from the city in which they rule.
Since my argument significantly narrows the gap between philosophers and non-
philosophers, I conclude by considering the important way that philosophers are superior.
Though some readers may consider my account of the philosopher’s emotions unhappily
deflationary, I suggest that a philosopher who cannot eliminate her fear and grief presents
a preferable conception of the philosopher’s psychology.
PHILOSOPHERS AND CULTURAL LUCK
All things considered, the philosophers of Kallipolis have a lot in common with
the citizens they rule. Before they receive the mathematical, practical, and dialectical
education that makes them philosophers and rulers, they do not possess any singular
education. They are products of the same religious education, and they are culled from a
warrior class that has received the physical education that makes them highly qualified to
fight and die on the battlefield. Like everyone in the city, then, they are educated to
believe that the gods are good, do not deceive, and do not cause evil;128 like the soldiers
128 This is not the place for a protracted defense of this claim, but I think that all citizens, even the third class, must receive the religious education, though not the physical education suitable for war. Commentators on both sides of the debate have text to support their position. Given that there is so little text on the third class, Plato’s apparent vacillation is annoying. I side in spirit, if not in detail with Vlastos [1973, 137-8] and Cornford [1941] over Hourani [1949] and Reeve [1999, 186-91 and n. 7 and 8].
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they rule, they are excellent warriors. They do not possess any private property, and they
do not know the identity of their children.129
Socrates makes it clear that the philosopher-rulers, like the auxiliaries, rely of
“cultural luck.”130 Without the city, their nature would almost certainly be warped. Their
virtue, then, depends on a crucial external good—an education in the right political
environment.
Socrates expresses this dependence most forcefully in his defense of the claim
that the ideal city can only come into existence when philosophers rule (5: 473c-d).
Glaucon warns Socrates that most people will think him a fool. One cannot quite fault
the citizenry, Adeimantus suggests, for thinking the suggestion ridiculous. Their basic
powers of observation make it clear that philosophers would make poor rulers—
philosophers are at worst hacks, and at best useless to the city (5: 487b-d). Socrates,
129 The sages of some ancient schools intentionally avoid having children. The Epicureans prefer not to have children, though they will raise the children of others if necessary and might even have children themselves in dire circumstances (see Brown [2009]). Democritus, the famous atomist, was exceptionally blunt: “I observe in the acquisition of children many great risks and many griefs, whereas a harvest is rare, and even when it exists, it is thin and poor.” (DK 68 B276, trans. Freeman [1983]). He thought that if one insists on raising a child, one should take one’s pick from the children of a friend in order to make sure one gets a child one likes (B277). The Stoic sage indifferently prefers to have children. The philosopher of Kallipolis, though, must have children, if only for the simple reason that she spends a long time as a soldier and because she is, unsavory though it sounds, an ideal specimen for the city’s eugenic program. Philosophers will also never know the identity of their children, since they are too young during their prime years to be among the philosopher-rulers that fix the lottery. 130 I borrow this term from Lear [1992]. For a defense of the position that becoming a virtuous philosopher does not depend on political circumstance, see Annas [1999: 72-95]. She is fighting a difficult battle on that front.
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then, needs some justification for the sorry state of philosophy such that the philosophers
of the ideal city would be neither hacks nor useless.
Socrates responds by shifting the blame for the sorry state of philosophy to the
current state of political affairs. The city prohibits the youth with natural philosophical
talent from pursuing philosophy as it should be pursued. Thus, almost everyone who
pursues philosophy lacks the necessary talent, and for this reason they do it poorly, with
results that range from embarrassing to vicious. These guys are the hacks. On the other
hand, those few people who practice philosophy “in a way that is worthy” do so only by
divine dispensation or because some physical deformity keeps their nature from being
perverted by political activity (5: 496a). These guys are people like Socrates, who seem
useless to everyone because their philosophizing depends on staying out of politics.
Worse, the non-ideal city not only keeps those with a philosophical nature from
becoming philosophers, it corrupts and ruins them. For, though only the philosophical
nature has the potential to save the city, only the philosophical nature has the potential for
“great injustices and pure wickedness” (5: 492e). The philosophical skill set can be
employed either for good or ill, and the non-ideal city ensures that it will be the latter.
The quick story about the perversion of philosophic talent in Classical Athens
goes like this: sophists teach talented youths to pander to the needs and desires of the
majority in order to gain power. Relatives, recognizing that they can use a youth’s
natural talents to their own devices, encourage him to study with the sophists. The
relatives and sophists flatter him until he believes himself capable of great acts of
statesmanship. However, since he lacks knowledge about the city’s affairs and wisdom
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about what is true and good, he fails, often with spectacularly bad results.131 And, of
course, he may be murdered by rivals along the way.
Those with a philosophical nature, then, have little or no hope of a good life
outside the ideal city, just as the auxiliaries would be fearful, insecure, and unjust in a
dangerous political climate. The fact that both the philosophers and non-philosophers
depend on the city to fulfill their nature, though, does not entail that when their nature is
fulfilled, the philosophers fear death to the same extent as the auxiliaries or control it by
the same means. Though the non-philosophers will never be able to eliminate their fear
because they value human goods and require assurances of immortal fame and hope for
an afterlife, the philosophers may afford no significant value to human honors or desire
an afterlife. I consider the philosopher’s desire for honor and immortality in the final
section. In the next section, I argue that the philosophers cannot avoid becoming
emotionally attached to other people whose death they fear and grieve; the desire to
grieve is “lawless” and cannot be eliminated.
LAWLESS DESIRES
Socrates claims at the beginning of Book IX that the tyrant’s waking life
resembles everyone else’s disturbed sleep. He illustrates the psychological state of the
tyrant with a general claim about desires. He tells Adeimantus:
Of the unnecessary pleasures and desires, there are, it
seems to me, some that are hostile to law and that probably 131 This narrative arc of the corruption of the youth runs through the Platonic corpus, most notably in the Gorgias, Alcibiades I, and Protagoras.
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exist in everyone; but when checked by the laws and the
better desires, with the help of argument, in some human
beings they are entirely gotten rid of or only a few weak
ones remain, while in others stronger and more numerous
ones remain (9:571b4-c1).132
Socrates claims that we know that we have these desires because at night, while the
“calculating, tame, and ruling part” of the soul sleeps [λογιστικὸν καὶ ἥμερον καὶ
ἄρχον], the “beastly and wild part” runs rampant [θηριῶδές τε καὶ ἄγριον, 9: 571c4-5].
The desires of “beastly part” run the gamut, from the desire to sleep with one’s mother or
kill someone to eating whatever one wants. None of these actionswould be permitted by
a healthy ruling part, and all these desires are successfully suppressed by the temperate
person when awake.
The individual “who has a healthy and moderate relationship with himself”
[ὑγιεινῶς τις ἔχῃ αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ καὶ σωφρόνως, 9: 571d6] suffers disruption from these
desires “least” [ἥκιστα, 572a8], due to a set of nighttime rituals. Before sleeping, she eats
just the right amount of food, rehearses a few arguments, and soothes the spirited part’s
anger and aggression (571d-572b). Socrates abruptly ends his discussion with a take-
home message: “surely some terrible, savage, and lawless form of desires is in every
132 τῶν μὴ ἀναγκαίων ἡδονῶν τε καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν δοκοῦσί τινές μοι εἶναι παράνομοι, αἳ κινδυνεύουσι μὲν ἐγγίγνεσθαι παντί, κολαζόμεναι δὲ ὑπό τε τῶν νόμων καὶ τῶν βελτιόνων ἐπιθυμιῶν μετὰ λόγου ἐνίων μὲν ἀνθρώπων ἢ παντάπασιν ἀπαλλάττεσθαι ἢ ὀλίγαι λείπεσθαι καὶ ἀσθενεῖς, τῶν δὲ ἰσχυρότεραι καὶ πλείους.
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person, even in those of us who seem to be ever so measured” (9: 572b4-6).133
Adeimantus agrees, and the discussion returns to the tyrant.
These “lawless desires” resurface later in Book IX, when Socrates illustrates the
inner life of a virtuous person. He asks Glaucon to fashion, as would a sculptor, three
beings that reside within the body of a man. The first being is a “colorful, many-headed
beast” [θηρίου ποικίλου καὶ πολυκεφάλου]. Some heads of the beast are
“tame”[ἡµέρων], and others are “savage” [θηρίων, 9: 588c7-9]. The second being is a
lion, and the third is a small human being. While the unjust person allows the small
person to be enslaved by the many-headed beast and the lion, the just person, with the aid
of the lion, controls the “many-headed beast—like a gardener, nourishing and cultivating
the tame heads, and hindering the growth of the savage ones” (9: 589b2-4).134
Rachel Barney [2001], in her essay “Platonism, Moral Nostalgia, and the City of
Pigs,” argues that Plato believes the “lawless desires” are natural to all humans and
ineliminable.135 The image of the gardener, she claims, indicates that the many-headed
beast is in everyone, and even the just person must constantly tend the garden of the
133 δεινόν τι καὶ ἄγριον καὶ ἄνομον ἐπιθυμιῶν εἶδος ἑκάστῳ ἔνεστι, καὶ πάνυ δοκοῦσιν ἡμῶν ἐνίοις μετρίοις εἶναι· 134 ὥσπερ γεωργός, τὰ μὲν ἥμερα τρέφων καὶ τιθασεύων, τὰ δὲ ἄγρια ἀποκωλύων φύεσθαι 135 Barney uses this conception of “lawless desires” to support her argument that the First City, or City of Pigs, is impossible, since it rests on a conception of human nature that does not take account of the savage desires. Since its citizens will of necessity have these desires, and since they do not have the philosophical apparatus with which they can control them, the First City could not possibly sustain itself.
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appetites and lawless desires. Barney seems to think of the “lawless desires” as hearty
and wily weeds that the rational part must vigilantly fight. She grants that hard work and
a great education may make it possible to rid oneself of some of these desires, but she
rightly notes that the image makes clear that education is insufficient to keep the weeds
from growing in the first place. They arise naturally and are suppressed or starved with
effort. However, she contends that even starvation and “riddance’” can never be “more
than a holding action.”136
Barney thinks that Plato considers the desire for wealth and gain to be the most
powerful “lawless desire.” In what follows, I argue that Plato recognizes another
significant lawless desire that must be controlled because it cannot be eliminated—the
desire to respond to death as something “terrible” and to grieve the death of others.
The Lawless desire to Grieve
The problem with tragedy, Socrates claims, is that it “nurtures and waters” [10:
606d4] the part of the soul that desires “by nature to lament and grieve” [10: 606a4-5],137
while it weakens the part that is “best by nature” [φύσει βέλτιστον, 606a7], which follows
“law and reason” [λόγος καὶ νόμος, 10: 604a10; ὁ νόμος, 10: 604b6-7, 604b9; cf. 9:
587a, 587c].
136 Barney, 219 137 τοῦ δακρῦσαί τε καὶ ἀποδύρασθαι ἱκανῶς καὶ ἀποπλησθῆναι, φύσει ὂν τοιοῦτον οἷον τούτων ἐπιθυμεῖν
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Though Socrates earlier divided the soul in Book IV, in Book X he uses the desire
to grieve in order to again demonstrate that the soul must have parts. Socrates invokes a
“decent man” [ἐπιεικὴς]138 who suffers a misfortune like the death of a child. He and
Glaucon agree that under such circumstances, the “decent man” will find it “impossible”
[ἀδύνατον, 10:603e8] to avoid grieving at least a little bit. However, he will also desire
not to grieve. Since a soul cannot have two contrary desires about the same thing at the
same time in the same part of itself, his competing desires to grieve and to not grieve
entail that he has two parts (10: 604b3-4; cp. 4: 436b). One part follows “law and
reason,” and the other part is “irrational” [ἀλόγιστόν, 10: 604d9].139
As the temperate person does before sleep, the decent man employs a set of
strategies in order “to bear up under misfortunes most quietly” [μάλιστα ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν ἐν
ταῖς συμφοραῖς, 10: 604b9-10]. He reminds himself that it is difficult to distinguish bad
events from good ones, that grieving does not change matters, that human things are not
important, and that grieving impedes sound reasoning and recovery (10: 604b-c).
Regardless of whether we think these strategies are helpful, Plato clearly thinks they are
138 “Decent” is by no means a term of art in Greek, though it is rare in Plato, and he uses it almost exclusively to describe the proper attitudes towards death and misfortune. [cf. ἐπιεικεῖ 1:331b1, 1: 387d5, 8: 554c12 ἐπιεικεῖς 1: 347c6, 3: 398e4, 3: 409a8, 6:489b5,8: 568a5, 10: 605c7]. 139 There are some puzzles that arise when one compares the division of the soul in Book X with the division of the soul in Book IV. For instance, one might wonder whether Socrates here divides the soul into two rather than three parts, and even whether this divison of the soul occasioned by grief is the same as the one offered earlier in Book X with respect to the confusions of perception. See Annas for a statement of the problems [1981, 339-340], and Lorenz [2006, 59-73] for a defense of the claim that all three instances of soul division are consistent.
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necessary. The bereaved father must fight back the lawless desire to grieve in order to
grieve “least.”
Socrates suggests repressing the desire to grieve requires focus and energy—it is
“held down by force,” [τὸ βίᾳ κατεχόμενον, 10:606a3] and tragic poetry makes those not
properly educated “relax the guard over the mourning part” [ἀνίησιν τὴν φυλακὴν τοῦ
θρηνώδους τούτου, 606a8-b1]. One must “battle with the pain and hold out against it”
[τῇ λύπῃ μαχεῖσθαί τε καὶ ἀντιτείνειν, 10: 604a2].
One preemptive way to fight the desire is to completely avoid situations that
encourage and “nourish” it, even if avoiding them requires a struggle. Socrates tells
Glaucon that “even the best of us” [βέλτιστοι ἡμῶν, 605c10] enjoys tragic theater, which
has the ring of Socrates’ claim in Book IX that lawless desires are found in “even those
of us who seem to be ever so measured” (9: 572b). Nevertheless, he and Glaucon, unlike
others, understand that attending tragedies weakens one’s resolve to fight grief when one
suffers a real misfortune (10: 606b5-7). Thus, Socrates says that they must never attend
tragedies, keeping themselves away “by force” [βίᾳ μέν, ὅμως δὲ ἀπέχονται, 607e].
They should respond as though they found themselves unable to avoid loving someone
they should not love—avoid the person altogether (10: 607e). In a return of the Phaedo’s
“incantation,” when they encounter tragic poetry, they should respond by “incanting this
argument we’re making to ourselves as a charm, taking care against falling back into this
love, which is childish and belongs to the many” (10: 608a3-5).140
140 ἐπᾴδοντες ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, ὃν λέγομεν, καὶ ταύτην τὴν ἐπῳδήν, εὐλαβούμενοι πάλιν ἐμπεσεῖν εἰς τὸν παιδικόν τε καὶ τὸν τῶν πολλῶν ἔρωτα.
140
Thus, Plato, I argue, thinks that the desire to grieve is a standard human desire
that is housed in the lower part or parts of the soul that oppose “reason and law,” and he
thinks controlling the desire requires a set of strategies, including rational arguments,
incantations, and situational avoidance. This evidence suggests, at the very least, that the
desire to grieve is common, powerful, and irrational. It does not, however, justify the
claim that it is present in everyone or that it is ineliminable.
OBJECTION
Marguerite Deslauriers [2001] protests that “lawless desires” are not ineliminable.
She might allow me the claim that the desire to grieve is natural and lawless, powerful
and common. However, she would contest the idea that it arises of necessity in everyone.
The desire to grieve may arise naturally in humans, but that only under non-ideal political
circumstances. A person might hold, for instance, that people have a natural desire to
murder when educated incorrectly, but the ideal citizens of Kallipolis would never have a
desire to murder. If the desire to grieve were natural and lawless in this way, then the
problem with Socrates, Glaucon, and the “decent man” is that they were educated in the
wrong city. In the right city, they would not fight a desire to grieve because they would
never suffer from it. However, even if the desire to grieve does arise naturally in
This is another instance of a “charm” that seems to indicate that charms are sometimes the somewhat rote repetition of arguments. Here, the charm seems to be an argument that staves off desires. Again, though, the Laws passages [Lg. 2: 664b, 2: 665c, 2:666c6, 7:812c] suggest that charms are popular songs, and the fact that they are mostly directed at children indicates that they must be in a number of instances something other than theoretical arguments.
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everyone, irrespective of political circumstances, Deslauriers might further object that it
could still be eliminable. She would object to the claim that, in Barney’s words, any
“riddance” of lawless desires is only a “holding action.”141 There may be evidence that a
select few people can eliminate some, if not all of their lawless desires. If a few select
people can eliminate them, then surely these select people must be philosophers. I think
each of these alternate conceptions of lawless desires can garner a little textual support,
but I contend that there is more evidence that lawless desirescannot be eliminated, and I
argue that Plato has good independent reasons to reject the alternate conceptions, at least
with respect to the desire to grieve.
That it Might Never Arise
One of the difficulties of the Republic is that Socrates seems to move back and
forth between the attitudes and pleasures of people educated in the ideal city and people
educated outside of it. He does this, for instance, in the passage about grief in Book X.
When Socrates argues that he and Glaucon must struggle with themselves to stay away
from tragedy, he blames their intense desire for watching it on their upbringing under
non-ideal political circumstances. Since they were exposed to the wrong literature in
their youth, their desire came into existence and is ineliminable (10: 607e-608b). Their
desire arose because of their childhood education, so it must be controlled by force.
141 Deslauriers would contest this claim because she did contest it in her comments on Barney’s paper at the Boston Area Colloquium, where Barney’s paper was delivered (229).
142
One would think, then, that this desire to grieve would never arise in the ideal
city, since children would never watch tragedies and would be taught to disapprove of
such displays. Thus, no one would grapple with the desire to grieve. Contemporary
Athenians, Socrates included, must control by avoidance and extreme effort, but
philosophers in the ideal city would be immune.
There are reasons to worry about this possibility. First, remember that tragedy
does not create the grieving part—it “feeds” it. Socrates employs gardening verbs when
he talks about the desire to grieve, as he did when he discussed the proper control of the
many-headed beast. He claims that poetry “nurtures and waters” the desires of the
grieving part, when they should be “unwatered” [τρέφει γὰρ ταῦτα ἄρδουσα, δέον
αὐχμεῖν, 606d4-5]. There is something already there, then, to nourish or starve. Second,
the problem with those who have not been adequately educated by their city is that they
“relax their guard over the mournful part” when they hear tragedy [ἀνίησιν τὴν φυλακὴν
τοῦ θρηνώδους, 606a8-b1]. The point of difference, then, might be that those who have
been educated properly will never “relax their guard.” They do not need the charm, but
only because their sentry is never tempted to leave the guardhouse.
A third reason to reject the possibility that the desire to grieve never arises in the
ideal city is that it suggests that the philosopher has a unified soul from childhood. If the
philosopher never has these sorts of desires contrary to reason, she seems no longer to
have a human soul with competing impulses and multiple parts that need to be ruled,
“persuaded,” and harmonized. Harmonizing a divided soul has been the aim of much of
the discussion of the Republic, and, more germane, a central feature of the passage about
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grieving in Book X. Since a soul without tension is a soul without parts, the philosopher
who has never experienced a desire to grieve is a philosopher without a partite soul or a
many-headed beast to conquer. She either no longer has a human soul, or her soul is
divine and, more bizarrely, has been for the course of her life. So even the philosopher
must at some point possess the desire to grieve the loss of attachments.
The fourth and final reason to reject the claim that the desire may never arise
under ideal circumstances turns on the identity of the mysterious “decent man.” For the
decent man of Book X, who finds it impossible not to grieve at all, is the same “decent
man” of Book III, who grieves “least” (3: 387d-e). The decent man, then, is likely a
creature of the ideal city or, at the very least, he is an exceptional person outside the ideal
city who serves a model for the education of the guardian class in the ideal city. In both
passages he grieves because he has lost a friend, a child, or some other “prized
possession” (10: 603e). Since he is less attached to his children than many other people,
he grieves less than other people. He does, however, grieve. The desire, then, arises
even in those with an ideal city education.
That Some People Can Eliminate It
Even if the philosopher must at some point possess the desire to grieve, this does
not entail that she cannot eliminate it. She may be better than the “decent man,” who is
educated in the ideal city but unable to eliminate his desire, and who must control it using
a set of strategies. The fact that Socrates and Glaucon cannot eliminate their existing
desire may depend on their early education in a non-ideal city in addition to the fact that
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they are not philosophers (or, at least, full philosophers).142 However, the theoretical
education that the philosophers receive in the ideal city may eliminate their existing
desire.
Plato at one point leaves open the option that some of the more “savage” of the
“lawless” desires may be “gotten rid of” by a select few people. When Socrates
introduces the desires to murder others and sleep with one’s mother, he notes that they
are “probably present in all of us” [αἳ κινδυνεύουσι μὲν ἐγγίγνεσθαι παντί] but he further
hedges his already hedged claim by speculating that “in some human beings they are
entirely gotten rid of or only a few weak ones remain” (9: 571b4-c1).143 The claim that in
some people they are “entirely gotten rid of” does suggest something stronger than
Barney’s notion of a “holding action.” However, Socrates again confesses that he
himself suffers from these lawless desires, when he says that lawless desires are “in
everyone, even in those of us [ἡμῶν ἐνίοις] who seem to be entirely moderate and
measured” (9: 572b4-6). Nevertheless, Socrates has often admitted that he is not the ideal
philosopher, not only because he loves tragedy. So it might make sense that some ideal
philosophers (better even than Socrates) could eliminate the most savage desires and skip
the nightly rituals.
What, though, of the more garden-variety lawless desires, like the desire for
money and grieving? Again, I argue that the idea that the philosopher’s constant
vigilance over the harmony of the parts of her soul indicates that the philosopher rules
142 Cp. Lorenz [2006, 64-65] 143 ἐνίων μὲν ἀνθρώπων ἢ παντάπασιν ἀπαλλάττεσθαι ἢ ὀλίγαι λείπεσθαι
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these desires rather than eliminates them. At the end of Book IX, for instance, Socrates
indicates that the person who wants to have a balanced soul must be constantly on guard
against upsetting the harmony, which means that if she grows inattentive, her lawless
desires and the “many-headed beast” will grow unruly (9: 591e). If the desires were fully
eliminated, then there would be no reason to be on guard against upsetting the balance.
Thus, the philosopher is not so much the person who eliminates these “lawless desires,”
but the person whose can always evaluate how to best keep them from getting in her way,
weed them and leave them unwatered. With grief, then, she masterfully employs the
strategies that Socrates suggests in Book X whenever she encounters tragedy, and avoids
external conditions that tempt her to “relax her guard.” The many-headed beast may be
tame, but inattention will make it feral.
WHAT ABOUT FEAR?
Most of this chapter has been about grief, though, which concerns reactions to the
death of others to whom one is emotionally attached. It may seem that the philosopher’s
fear of her own death has dropped out of the picture. Perhaps she requires strategies to
control her lawless desire to grieve, but her fear of death is simply eliminated rather than
controlled. I argue otherwise.
Recall that the decent man of Book III, in addition to grieving less than everyone,
fears death least, since “he doesn’t think that death is a terrible thing for someone decent
to suffer” (387d). Again, though, we cannot conclude much on the basis of the “decent
man,” since the philosopher may be better than him. In the previous chapter, I argued
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that the auxiliaries require a number of mechanisms to control their fear of death, and
absent ideal circumstanes, their strategies will fail. In the next section, I argue that the
philosophers rely on a number of these mechanisms. I argue, then, that they must also
control rather than eliminate their fear of death, even though their strategies consistently
work inside and outside the city. I contend that like the auxiliaries, the philosophers hope
their soul is immortal, and if afforded the opportunity to receive immortal honor from the
city, they welcome the prospect. However, I consider a final objection—why does the
philosopher’s failsafe control not count as elimination?
Immortality of the Soul and by Honor
In the previous chapter, I noted that Plato thinks a key reason that soldiers tend
toward cowardice is their fear of the afterlife. Thus, soldiers must believe that they will
gain a beneficial afterlife in exchange for their courageous death. One gets the sense that
Plato thinks the belief in a beneficial afterlife is merely a useful fiction employed by the
lawmaker as an instrument for creating a soldier willing to die for the city and for
keeping everyone else in line for fear the gods will smite them. Some people think that
Plato has this instrumental view of religion as “opium for the masses,” and they maintain
that, at the very least, Plato himself could not have controlled his fear of death with a
belief in the afterlife.144 The philosopher should not need useful fictions. However, I
144 This view is most commonly attributed to the writings of Straussians, though I have heard it suggested by many people who do not fancy themselves Straussians. Straussian methodology turns on the idea that Plato communicates at many levels. This, in itself, is not necessarily a problem. Generally, though, they consider Plato to be a highly ironic deceiver. With respect to religion, then, they think that Plato includes religious bits in
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think the text shows that the philosopher-ruler does hope for an afterlife and uses this
hope to control her fear.
One passage seems to provide some support for the other position, since it
suggests that the philosopher’s ability to control her fear of death has nothing to do with
the afterlife and everything to do with a philosophical understanding of death. When
Socrates separates the philosophers from the other guardians and auxiliaries, he identifies
a few features of the philosophical nature. Philosophers love learning and their love of
learning and wisdom minimize their bodily desires (6: 485d). They are not “lovers of
money.” In addition, they will not “believe that death is something terrible” (6: 486b).
Though this is the same belief ascribed to the “decent man” in Book III (3: 387d), here
Socrates ofers a new reason that a person with a philosophical nature will not think death
terrible. He asks Glaucon:
To an understanding endowed with magnificence and the contemplation of
all time and being, do you think it possible that human life seem anything
great?
Impossible, he said.
Then will a man of this sort believe that death is something terrible?
dialogues in order keep philosophy out of trouble with the non-philosophical, ignorant religious masses (Strauss [1952]). Plato actually disdains the beliefs of the masses, and this is hidden, but accessible to the truly philosophical who pay close attention to the argument (for this view in the Phaedo, see Ahrensdorf [1995]). For a response to Ahrensdorf, see Roochnik [1997]. For a critique of Straussian methodology wholesale, see Burnyeat [1985].
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Least of all.145 (6: 486a8-b2)
The philosopher, then, does not fear death because she understands the value of human
life in the grand scheme of things. Since this perspective is attributed only to an
“understanding endowed with magnificence,” we have reason to think this outlook on
human affairs is peculiar to philosophers.
Thus, one might argue that the philosopher does not fear death because she alone
is ascetic and assigns no value to goods of this life. The non-philosophers attach their
hopes to external goods like children and honor, they fail to affect the right disdain for
human affairs, and they fear the loss of the things they value at death. The philosophers,
on the other hand, do not care about life, so they lack reason to fear death. This brand of
fearlessness makes no use of immortality.
If my argument about grief succeeds, then we already have reason to think that
the philosopher affords some value to the life of those for whom she cares, so she must
think some human things are valuable. However, independent of my argument, other
evidence suggests that the philosopher thinks a number of human activities and honors
are valuable.
First, learning and doing philosophy is itself immensely valuable, so at least one
human activity has genuine value. Second, I argue that Plato thinks that philosophers
145 Ἧι οὖν ὑπάρχει διανοίᾳ μεγαλοπρέπεια καὶ θεωρία παντὸς μὲν χρόνου, πάσης δὲ οὐσίας, οἷόν τε οἴει τούτῳ μέγα τι δοκεῖν εἶναι τὸν ἀνθρώπινον βίον; Ἀδύνατον, ἦ δ’ ὅς. Οὐκοῦν καὶ θάνατον οὐ δεινόν τι ἡγήσεται ὁ τοιοῦτος; Ἥκιστά γε.
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pursue some human honors and consider them genuinely valuable because such honors
are consonant with wise activity.
That the philosophers receive the highest honor is clear; that they desire it may at
first seem contentious. Before Socrates introduces the idea that philosophers must rule
the ideal city, he grants the greatest share of “immortality by proxy” to the “true
guardians.” Having weeded out and turned into auxiliaries the youths who cannot hold
fast to their true beliefs when tempted or after suffering misfortune, he claims that those
who can preserve their beliefs should be rulers (3: 412b-414a). Socrates claims that the
most resilient must become a
ruler of the city and guardian, and he must be given honors,
both while living and having died, and must be allotted the
greatest prizes of burials and of other monuments. (3:
414a1-4).146
Socrates refers back to this passage when he begins the discussion of the importance of a
wisdom for the city’s rulers and the philosophical education necessary to achieve it. He
reminds Glaucon of the standard by which they had earlier sorted the rulers from the
ruled and of their agreement that the one chosen to rule “must be given gifts and prizes
both while he is alive and after he has died (6: 503a3-7).147
146 ἄρχοντα τῆς πόλεως καὶ φύλακα, καὶ τιμὰς δοτέον καὶ ζῶντι καὶ τελευτήσαντι, τάφων τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων μνημείων μέγιστα γέρα λαγχάνοντα· τὸν δὲ μὴ τοιοῦτον ἀποκριτέον. 147 ἐν πόνοις μήτ’ ἐν φόβοις μήτ’ ἐν ἄλλῃ μηδεμιᾷ μεταβολῇ φαίνεσθαι ἐκβάλλοντας, ἢ τὸν ἀδυνατοῦντα ἀποκριτέον, τὸν δὲ πανταχοῦ ἀκήρατον ἐκβαίνοντα ὥσπερ χρυσὸν ἐν
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Socrates, though, recognizes that the introduction of the philosophers has further
narrowed the field of candidates for ruling. Some of those earlier dubbed rulers will need
to be rejected because they are not suitable for academic rigor. Now it is the philosopher-
rulers who receive the greatest honors at death, both from the city and from the gods in
the afterlife.
The philosopher-ruler’s political honor twice coincides with her fate in the
afterlife. After her lengthy education, both practical and theoretical, she finally becomes
a ruler at the age of fifty (7: 540a). During the course of her service to the city, her
freedom to contemplate the truth is severely limited by practical necessity. Time spent
ruling takes away from time spent studying. However, once the philosopher-rulers have
passed on their craft to a new generation, they are finally permitted to engage in
philosophy without distraction. After they are
beyond political and military duties, at this time they ought
to be let loose to graze and do nothing else, except as a
spare-time occupation—those who are going to live happily
and, when they have died, crown the life they have lived
with a suitable lot in that other place (6: 498b8-c4).148
πυρὶ βασανιζόμενον, στατέον ἄρχοντα καὶ γέρα δοτέον καὶ ζῶντι καὶ τελευτήσαντι καὶ ἆθλα. 148 πολιτικῶν δὲ καὶ στρατειῶν ἐκτὸς γίγνηται, τότε ἤδη ἀφέτους νέμεσθαι καὶ μηδὲν ἄλλο πράττειν, ὅτι μὴ πάρεργον, τοὺς μέλλοντας εὐδαιμόνως βιώσεσθαι καὶ τελευτήσαντας τῷ βίῳ τῷ βεβιωμένῳ τὴν ἐκεῖ μοῖραν ἐπιστήσειν πρέπουσαν.
151
Later, Socrates claims that the “city makes public memorials and sacrifices to them as to
daemons, if the Pythia is in accord; if not, as to happy and divine men” (7: 540b7-c2),149
and when they die, they “go away to live on the Isles of the Blessed” (7:540b6-7). 150
Again, though, the fact that the philosophers receive the greatest honor, both in
this world and in the afterlife, does not entail that they actively seek or care about honor,
nor does it entail that they desire an afterlife. Set aside the afterlife for the moment,
though, and consider the human honors. In some instances, the philosopher’s honor
depends on not actively seeking or desiring it. Since the best rulers do not want to rule,
and philosophers do not want to rule, they certainly cannot pursue rule for the sake of
honor (1: 347a-d; 7: 521a-b).151 In addition, the philosopher will never pursue any honor
that leads to disorder in her soul, so many human honors are ruled out by necessity—
honor for great wealth, for instance (9: 592a).
149 μνημεῖα δ’ αὐτοῖς καὶ θυσίας τὴν πόλιν δημοσίᾳ ποιεῖν, ἐὰν καὶ ἡ Πυθία συναναιρῇ, ὡς δαίμοσιν, εἰ δὲ μή, ὡς εὐδαίμοσί τε καὶ θείοις. 150 εἰς μακάρων νήσους ἀπιόντας οἰκεῖν 151 The fact that the philosophers would choose to do something they do not want to do— namely, rule—causes a puzzle that has issued in a sizable literature. The problem is that if the philosopher realizes that the city will benefit from her rule, and that it is the right thing to do, then she should want to do what is right. However, in this instance, she cannot want what is right, since the best rulers are the rulers who do not want to rule. Either the philosopher always has a fully harmonious soul and wants to rule, or she does not always have a harmonious soul and does not want to rule. For various solutions to this puzzle, see especially Kraut [1991], Irwin [1995], and Brown [2000]. Kraut and Irwin both think that the philosopher willl desire to express her inner harmony by ruling. Brown thinks that any explanation of this sort does not account for the fact that the philosophers must be compelled to rule. He argues that the philosophers must be following a legal order to rule, and they follow it because their inner hamony makes them the sort of people who follow just laws.
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Other honors, though, certainly do not lead to disorder in the soul, so one might
reasonably think that an array of honors remains open to the philosopher in the ideal city.
In fact, some honors should be pursued. At the most basic level, those engaged in a
philosophical education desire the successive honors they receive from the city when they
move on to the next stage of their education (7: 537b9, 537d4, 540e1). Socrates closes
out Book IX with the claim that in the ideal city, the supreme political honor will not
disturb the order and balance of the philosopher’s soul. Thus, in the ideal city, the
philosopher will “readily share in and taste” the honor of the citizens of the ideal city
(τῶν μὲν μεθέξει καὶ γεύσεται ἑκών, 9: 591e-592a). She should pursue the honors, then,
that will win her immortal recognition, but only in the city in which philosophers rule.
Socrates clearly does not mean to suggest, then, that philosophers do not fear death
because they think nothing in life is valuable, such that death deprives them of nothing at
all.
One might object, though, that Socrates does not deny that the person with
“magnificent understanding” will afford human life “some value,” or even that immortal
honors might be worth pursuing when it does not compromise one’s virtuous character.
Rather, his point is that human life has little value when compared with all time. The
value of one individual life is negligible in the great expanse of time. The philosopher,
then, fears death less that other people because she recognizes that her life lacks
importance in the grand scheme of things. Honors may be nice, and life may be pleasant,
but overall, one individual life is a drop in the bucket of the organized cosmos.
153
It would be interesting to explore this option and interesting to determine whether
this stance offers any consolation (rather than despair) to your average person who fears
death. That is a matter for another time, though, since that is not what Socrates means
when he discusses the philosopher’s understanding of time. I argue that Plato thinks the
philosopher who has an understanding of being and time does not fear death because she
understands that souls are immortal and exist continuously and forever. Just like the non-
philosophers, the philosopher does not fear death because she looks forward to an
afterlife. She, however, has underlying principles to prove it.
The chief evidence to support this claim is the prelude to the proof of the
immortality of the soul. Before Socrates recounts the final myth, or Myth of Er, he
returns the the “prizes, and gifts, and wages” (613e), which had been stripped away from
the just person in order to prove to Adeimantus and Glaucon that justice is intrinsically
good, independent of rewards. The returned human rewards, including the best
marriages, a good reputation, and the highest offices, are negligible, however, by
comparison to the greatest rewards (614a), which depend on the immortality of the soul.
Glaucon gets excited. Socrates asks him:
“What that is great could come to pass in a short time? For
surely the whole of time from childhood to old age would
be short when compared with all time.
“It’s nothing at all,” he said.
“What, then? Do you think that an immortal thing ought to
be serious about so short a time and not about all time?”
154
“I don’t think so, “ he said. “But what do you mean by
this?”
“Have you not perceived, I said, that our soul is immortal
and is never destroyed?” (10: 608c).152
The Republic’s argument for the immortality of the soul commences. As in the passage
at 486a, the philosopher cannot be “serious” about life when thinking about all time, but
only because one individual human life is simply a short time, a small drop in the bucket
of that particular soul’s immortality.153 So, the “magnificent understanding” does not
fear death because the soul is immortal, and if the afterlife resembles the Myth of Er, then
she believes that she stands to benefit a great deal.
One might, of course, object that the argument for immortality and the myth are
offered in a particular context to individuals who are not philosophers, and that they
152 Τί δ’ ἄν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔν γε ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ μέγα γένοιτο; πᾶς γὰρ οὗτός γε ὁ ἐκ παιδὸς μέχρι πρεσβύτου χρόνος πρὸς πάντα ὀλίγος πού τις ἂν εἴη. Οὐδὲν μὲν οὖν, ἔφη. Τί οὖν; οἴει ἀθανάτῳ πράγματι ὑπὲρ τοσούτου δεῖν χρόνου ἐσπουδακέναι, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὑπὲρ τοῦ παντός; Οἶμαι ἔγωγ’, ἔφη· ἀλλὰ τί τοῦτο λέγεις; Οὐκ ᾔσθησαι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἀθάνατος ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ οὐδέποτε ἀπόλλυται; 153 As in the Phaedo chapter, I am not interested in evaluating the strength of the arguments for immortality. The argument in the Republic has been criticized and even ridiculed, though it has been defended by Brown [1997]. He argues that the argument is formally valid, which means, of course, that anyone interested in derailing the argument must demonstrate that one of the premises is false. Brown argues that the premises themselves are not as indefensible as some have argued, and that those who deny any of the premises risk jettisoning commitments that are at the heart of the Platonic ethical project. Since many people who consider the argument a failure are not willing to abandon these tenets of Plato’s ethical project, he argues they have reason to take the argument seriously.
155
alone need to believe in the myth. Since Glaucon, Adeimantus, and Socrates have not
been educated in the ideal city, they benefit from instrumental religious beliefs that are
similar to those of the auxiliaries. The fact that Socrates discusses his own attitude
towards death with his standard “good hope” (6: 496d-e) indicates that he, too, expects an
afterlife just as he did in the Phaedo. Again, though, he is not the ideal philosopher.
My argument, then, requires that I lean heavily on the connection between these
two passages, the first concerning a philosopher in the city and the second, possibly
though not certainly, concerning a philosopher outside the ideal city. Nevertheless, I
think the connection can bear some heavy weight. If Plato were to believe that the
afterlife is a useful fiction, he seems to think it is useful for just about everyone, even for
those with a more perfect understanding of “time and being” (6: 486a8).
Now, however, I seem to have provided a somewhat deflationary account of the
philosopher’s emotions. She controls her attitudes towards death in roughly the same
way as the auxiliary: she depends on the city to fulfill her nature; she must fight the
desire to grieve, since she grows attached to others; she values immortal honor, and
desires an afterlife.
There is one significant difference between the two classes that I am happy to
acknowledge—once educated, philosophers become self-regulating and are able to
sustain the tenuous stability of their soul, while the auxiliaries will never be self-
regulating. So, the philosophers use the same strategies as the auxiliaries, but the
philosphers are “counterfactually reliable” across situations. Attaining the right attitudes
depends on the city; sustaining them does not.
156
A final worry might trouble some readers. If adult philosophers in the ideal city
become fully virtuous, their virtue persists after regime change, and they exercise
masterful control over their desires and emotions, why does this expert control not pass
for elimination? After all, philosophers can stave off any pernicious effect that these
emotions could have on their souls.
In some sense, I grant that it appears for all intents and purposes as elimination,
since her emotions are so disempowered that they cannot alter the course of the ideal
philosopher or upset the balance of her soul. Nevertheless, I contend that anything over
which one must constantly rule is not eliminated. For instance, if the philosopher lost
control over her rational part, perhaps through senility, madness, or some other
diminishment of her rational capacities, these desires would pop right back up. A
contingency of this sort, I suggest, indicates that the philosopher’s perfectly executed
control is nevertheless always a“holding action.”
CONCLUSION
The inherently irrational, “lawless” nature of human attitudes towards death is the
thread running through both of my chapters on the Republic. These desires and attitudes
arise and persist because of the creatures we are, and philosophers are human just like
non-philosophers. They fight off the same urges that spring up from the fertile soil of
their irrational soul. It should be unsurprising that they are better gardeners, and that
wisdom makes their jobs far easier.
157
Plato, though, never seems to think that attachment and grief are healthy. They are
always weeds, and they always threaten virtue, and if the philosopher had her way, Plato
thinks she should eliminate them permanently. Whether this is the best conception of the
emotional life of an “understanding endowed with magnificence” is an open question, but
not, I think, merely a matter of taste. Plato comes down solidly against powerful
attachments because they cause psychological pain, increase fear, increase grief, and
tempt one to commit injustice. All things considered, those are pretty good reasons to
avoid attachments and fight the irrational part of the soul. On the other hand, the benefit
of becoming attached to other people and seeking out some protection from injustice may
be worth a mildly unbalanced soul and the willingness to commit a few injustices. This
dissertation is not the place to settle the matter, however.
158
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