Questions: June 2017

Friday, June 30, 2017

5d Plato’s Charmides in the light of its dating, with reference to his Phaedrus and Apology

Critias continues: ‘Indeed, I’d almost say that is what sôphrosunê [D.W. ‘self-control’] really is (schedon gar ti egôge auto touto phêmi einai sôphrosunên), knowing oneself (to gignôskein heauton). I agree with the man who dedicated the inscription to that effect at Delphi (kai sumpheromai tô̢ en Delphois anathenti to toiouton gramma). The fact is, I think that the inscription was dedicated to serve instead of “Hail”, as a greeting from the god to the people entering the temple (kai gar touto houtô moi dokei to gramma anakeisthai, hôs dê prosrêsis ousa tou theou tôn eisiontôn anti tou Chaire), as though the god felt that this form of greeting wasn’t correct (hôs toutou men ouk orthou ontos tou prosrêmatos, tou chairein), and that they ought not to recommend that to one another (oude dein touto parakeleuesthai allêlois), but rather sôphronein [D.W. ‘self-control’] (alla sôphronein). So this is how the god speaks to the people who enter his temple (houtô men dê ho theos prosagoreuei tous eisiontas eis to hieron) … Sôphronei [D.W. “Be self-controlled”] … because, as the inscription implies and as I maintain, “Know yourself” and Sôphronei {D.W. “Be self-controlled”] are the same thing (to gar Gnôthi sauton kai to Sôphronei estin men t’auton, hôs ta grammata phêsin kai egô).’ (164d3-165a1)

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In the Phaedrus Socrates proclaimed: ‘I can’t as yet (ou dunamai pô) “know myself”, as the inscription at Delphi enjoins (kata to Delphikon gramma gnônai emauton); and so long as that ignorance remains it seems to me ridiculous (geloion dê moi phainetai touto eti agnoounta) to enquire into extraneous matters (ta allotria skopein, 229e5-230oa1, tr. Hackforth).’

I ended ‘5b’ with the following exchange: Socrates: ‘So it’s not the man who does the bad things, but the man who does good things who sôphronei [‘self-controls’] (Ouk ara sôphronei ho ta kaka prattôn, all’ ho agatha;)?’ – Critias: ‘Don’t you think so, my good fellow (Soi de, ô beltiste, ouch houtô dokei;)?’ – Socrates: ‘Never mind (Ea), let’s not consider what I think just yet (mê gar pô to emoi dokoun skopômen), but rather what you’re saying now (all’ ho su legeis nun).’ (163b2-e7)

With Critias defining sôphrosunê as ‘knowing oneself’ (to gignôskein heauton), are we entering the stage in which Socrates will subject to investigation his to emoi dokoun, ‘what I think’?

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Critias went on to say: ‘I let you have all we said before’ (ta men emprosthen soi panta aphiêmi, 165a8-b1)

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Jowett translates: ‘My object is to leave the previous discussion.’ Critias says: ‘All that was said before, I let go.’ The enclitic soi (the dative of the personal pronoun su ‘you’) doesn’t mean here ‘to you’, i.e. ‘I’m leaving it to you’, as Watt’s translation appears to be suggesting, but simply gives Critias’ words a personal touch.

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Critas continued: ‘perhaps you were more right there (isôs men gar ti su eleges peri autôn orthoteron), perhaps I was (isôs d’ egô), but nothing of what we said was absolutely clear (saphes d’ ouden panu ên hôn elegomen). Now, however (Nun d’), I am willing (ethelô) to explain this fully to you (toutou soi didonai logon), unless you do agree (ei mê homologeis) that sôphrosunê is (sôphrosunên einai) knowing oneself (to gignôskein auton heauton).’ – Socrates: ‘But (All’), Critias (ô Kritia), you’re treating me as if I’m maintaining that I know what I’m asking about (su men hôs phaskontos emou eidenai peri hôn erôtô prospherê̢ pros me), and as if I’ll agree with you if I really want to (kai ean dê boulômai, homologêsontos soi). But it’s not like that (to d’ ouch houtôs echei). In fact (alla), I’m going along with you in investigating (zêtô gar aei meta sou) whatever proposition is made (to protithemenon), because I myself am in ignorance (dia to mê autos eidenai). So, when I’ve considered it (skepsamenos oun), I’m prepared to tell you (ethelô eipein) whether or not I agree with you (eite homologô eite mê). But wait (all’ episches) until I’ve considered it (heôs an skepsômai).’ – Cr. ‘Consider it (Skopei), then (dê).’ – S. I am (Kai gar skopô). If indeed sôphrosunê is knowing something (ei gar dê gignôskein ge ti estin hê sôphrosunê), it will obviously be a knowledge (dêlon hoti epistêmê tis an eiê) and a knowledge of something (kai tinos), won’t it (ê ou;)?’ – Cr. ‘Yes (Estin), of oneself (heautou ge).’ – S. ‘Now (Oukoun), isn’t medicine the knowledge of what is healthy (kai iatrikê epistême estin tou hugieinou;)?’ – Cr. ‘Yes, certainly (Panu ge).’ – S. ‘Well then, if you asked me (Ei toinun me eroio su), “What use is medicine to us, inasmuch as it is the knowledge of what is healthy (iatrikê hugieinou epistêmê ousa ti hêmin chrêsimê estin)? What does it produce (kai ti apergazetai)?”, I’d say (eipoim’ an) that it is of considerable benefit (hoti ou smikran ôphelian) in that it produces health, a splendid product, for us (tên gar hugieian kalon hêmin ergon apergazetai). Do you accept that (ei apodechê̢ touto)?’ – Cr. ‘I do (Apodechomai).’ – S. ‘Well, if you then asked me what product I say the art of building, which is the knowledge of building, produces (Kai ei toinun me eroio tên oikodomikên, epistêmên ousan tou oikodomein, ti phêmi ergon apergazesthai), I’d say buildings (eipoim’ an hoti oikêseis); and the same for the other arts (hôsautôs de kai tôn allôn technôn). Now, since you say that sôphrosunê is the knowledge of oneself, you ought to be able to tell me the answer in the case of sôphrosunê, when I ask (chrê oun kai se huper tês sôphrosunês, epeidê phê̢s autên heautou epistêmên einai echein eipein erôtêthenta), “Critias (Ô Kritia), what splendid product worthy of the name does sôphrosunê, in so far as it is knowledge of oneself, produce for us (sôphrosunê, epistêmê ousa heautou, ti kalon hêmin ergon apergazetai kai axion tou onomatos;)?” Come on then (ithi oun), tell me (eipe).’ – Cr. ‘But (All’) Socrates (ô Sôkrates), your method of investigating the question is wrong (ouk orthôs zêteis). It isn’t like the other knowledges (ou gar homia hautê pephuken tais allais epistêmais), and they aren’t like one another either (oude ge hai allai allêlais); but you’re conducting the investigation as if it were (su d’ hôs homoiôn ousôn poiê̢ tên zêtêsin). For tell me (epei lege moi), what is the product of the art of arithmetic or geometry, in the way the house is the product of the art of building (tês logistikês technês ê tês geômetrikês ti estin toiouton ergon hoion oikia oikodomikês), a cloak of the art of weaving (ê himation huphantikês), or many other such products of many arts which one could point to (ê alla toiaut’ erga, ha polla an tis echoi pollôn technôn deixai;)? Can you point to any such products of those arts (echeis oun moi kai su toutôn toiouton ti ergon deixai)? You won’t be able to (all’ ouch hexeis).’ (165b1-166a2)

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Doesn’t Critias have a point? Or are we to qualify the observation that Socrates’ investigation goes wrong as a manifestation of Critias’ ‘lacking in sôphrosunê’ and of his being ‘quite ignorant of its meaning beyond a superficial acquaintance with its conventional use within his aristocratic circle’, as D. Watt characterizes Critias’ performance in his ‘Introduction to Charmides’ (Plato, Early Socratic Dialogues, Penguin Books, 1987, p. 167)?

On my dating of the Phaedrus and the Charmides, the readers, who had just read the former, must wonder what’s going on. In the former Socrates clearly considered knowing oneself, enjoined by the Delphic inscription, as the most important knowledge one can aspire to, and the greatest task for himself personally. How can he now question its usefulness and its benefit?

Those who subscribe to the dominant twentieth century dating of the Phaedrus – Plato’s late dialogue, written after the Republic – and of the Charmides – an early dialogue, written after the death of Socrates as all the other dialogues – may rejoice. Don’t they have here a good reason to reject my dating of these two dialogues?

So let me point to the Apology, to the passage in which Socrates sheds light on his philosophic not-knowing. He says that his friend Chaerephon went to Delphi to ask the oracle ‘whether anyone was wiser than I was’ (ei tis emou eiê sophôteros), and that ‘the Pythian prophetess answered that there was no man wiser’ (aneilen oun Puthia mêdena sophôteron einai, 21a5-7): ‘When I heard the answer (tauta gar egô akousas), I said to myself (enethumoumên houtôsi), What can the god mean when he says that I am the wisest of men (Ti pote legei ho theos)? And what is the interpretation of this riddle (kai ti pote ainittetai)? For I know that I have no wisdom, small or great (egô gar dê oute mega oute smikron sunoida emautô̢ sophos ôn). What then can he mean (ti oun pote legei) when he says that I am the wisest of men (phaskôn eme sophôtaton einai;)? And yet he is a god, and cannot lie (ou gar dêpou pseudetai ge); that would be against his nature (ou gar themis autô̢). After long perplexity (kai polun men chronon êporoun ti pote legei), I thought of a method of trying the question (epeita mogis panu epi zêtêsin autou toiautên tina etrapomên). I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser than myself, then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I should say to him (êlthon epi tina tôn dokountôn sophôn einai, hôs entautha eiper pou exelenxôn to manteion kai apophanôn tô̢ chrêsmô̢ hoti), “Here is a man who is wiser than I am (Houtosi emou sophôteros esti); but you said that I was the wisest (su d’ eme ephêstha).” Accordingly I went to one who had the reputation of wisdom, and observed him (diaskopôn oun touton) – his name I need not mention (onomati gar ouden deomai legein), he was a politician (ên de tis tôn politikôn); and in the process of examining him and talking with him, this, men of Athens, was what I found (pros hon skopôn toiouton ti epathon, ô andres Athênaioi, kai dialegomenos autô̢). I could not help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and still wiser by himself (edoxe moi houtos ho anêr dokein men einai sophos allois te pollois anthrôpois kai malista heautô̢, einai d’ ou); and thereupon I tried to explain to him (k’apeita epeirômên autô̢ deiknunai) that he thought himself wise (hoti oioito men einai sophos), but was not really wise (eiê d’ ou); and the consequence was (enteuthen oun) that he hated me (toutô̢ te apêchthomên), and his enmity was shared by several who were present and heard me (kai pollois tôn parontôn). So I left him, saying to myself as I went away (pros emauton d’oun apiôn elogizomên): Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really worth knowing, I am at least wiser than this fellow (hoti toutou men tou anthrôpou egô sophôteros eimi, kinduneuei men gar hêmôn oudeteros ouden kalon k’agathon eidenai) – for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows (all’ houtos men oietai ti eidenai ouk eidôs); I neither know nor think that I know (egô de, hôsper oun ouk oida, oude oiomai). In this little point, then, I seem to have advantage of him (eoika goun toutou ge smikrô̢ tini autô̢ toutô̢ sophôteros einai, hoti ha mê oida oude oiomai eidenai). Then I went to another (enteuthen ep’ allon ê̢a) who had still higher pretensions to wisdom (tôn ekeinou dokountôn sophôterôn einai), and my conclusion was exactly the same (kai moi t’auta tauta edoxe). Whereupon I made another enemy of him, and of many others beside him (kai entautha k’akeinô̢ kai allois pollois apêchthomên). Then I went to one man after another (Meta taut’ oun êdê ephexês ê̢a), being not unconscious of the enmity which I provoked, and I lamented and feared this (aisthanomenos men kai lupoumenos kai dediôs hoti apêchthanomên): but necessity was laid upon me (homoiôs de anankaion) – the word of God, I thought, ought to be considered first (edokei einai to tou theou peri pleistou poieisthai). And I said to myself, Go I must to all who appear to know, and find out the meaning of the oracle (iteon oun, skopounti ton chrêsmon ti legei, epi pantas tous ti dokountas eidenai).’ (21b2-22a1, tr. B. Jowett)

As can be seen, self-knowledge was central to Socrates’ philosophic activities.

But what if one dated the Apology really late, took it as Plato’s imaginary piece about his imaginary Socrates? Can’t D. Watt’s thesis that Plato in the Charmides ‘is endeavouring to show that Socrates tried to educate Critias and Charmides in sôphrosunê, but failed. But by trying, he saved himself from any possible accusation of responsibility for their later crimes’ (Plato, Early Socratic Dialogues, Penguin Books, 1987, p. 167.), be thus preserved?

How is Socrates supposed to try to educate Critias and Charmides in sôphrosunê by casting doubt on the usefulness and benefit of self-knowledge?

On any dating of the dialogue, there is a problem. Will the further discussion of self-knowledge, which follows 165c-d, help us understand what’s going on in this dialogue?

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

5c Plato’s Charmides in the light of its dating, with reference to his Republic

Critias: ‘Well (Alla mentoi), I’m saying that it is not the man who doesn’t do good things but does bad who is self-controlled (ton mê agatha alla kaka poiounta ou phêmi sôphronein), but that it is the man who does good things (ton de agatha) and not bad (all mê kaka) who is (sôphronein). That is, I define sôphrosunê [D.W. ‘self-control] quite plainly as doing good things (tên gar tôn agathôn praxin sôphrosunên einai saphôs soi diorizomai).’ – Socrates: ‘There’s probably no reason why that shouldn’t be true (Kai ouden ge se isôs kôluei alêthê legein). However, I am surprised (tode ge mentoi thaumazô) that you believe that men who are self-controlled do not know that they are self-controlled (ei sôphronountas anthrôpous hêgê̢ su agnoein hoti sôphronousin)’.’ – Cr. ‘But I don’t (All’ ouch hêgoumai).’ – S. ‘Weren’t you saying a short while ago (Ouk oligon proteron elegeto hupo sou) that there was no reason why craftsmen shouldn’t be self-controlled, even when making other people’s things (hoti tous dêmiourgous ouden kôluei kai au ta tôn allôn poiountas sôphronein)?’ – Cr. ‘I was (Elegeto gar), but what of it (alla ti touto;)?’ – S. Nothing (Ouden). But tell me whether you think that a doctor (alla lege ei dokei tis soi iatros), when making someone healthy (huguia tina poiôn), does what is beneficial not only to himself but also to the man he is curing (ôphelima kai heautô̢ poiein kai ekeinô̢ hon iô̢to;)?’ – Cr. ‘I do (Emoige).’ – S. ‘Is the man who does that doing what he should (Oukoun ta deonta prattei ho ge tauta prattôn;)?’ – Cr. ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S. ‘Isn’t the man who does what he should self-controlled (Ho ta deonta prattôn ou sôphronei;)?’ – Cr. ‘He certainly is (Sôphronei men oun).’ – S. ‘Then must a doctor know (ê oun kai gignôskein anankê tô̢ iatrô̢) when his curing is beneficial (hotan te ôphelimôs iatai) and when it’s not (kai hotan mê;)? Must every craftsman know (kai hekastô̢ tôn dêmiourgôn) when he’s likely to profit (hotan mellê̢ onêsesthai) from whatever work he does (apo tou ergou hou an prattê̢) and when he’s not (kai hotan mê;)?’ – Cr. Perhaps not (Isôs ou).’ – S. ‘So sometimes (Eniote ara) the doctor does something beneficial or harmful (ôphelimôs praxas ê blaberôs ho iatros) without knowing which he has done (ou gignôskei heauton hôs epraxen). And yet, according to what you say, in doing what is beneficial, he has done what is self-controlled (kaitoi ôphelimôs praxas, hôs ho soi logos, sôphronôs epraxen). Wasn’t that your point (ouch houtôs eleges;)? – Cr. ‘Yes, it was (Egôge).’ – S. ‘Then it would appear that sometimes (Oukoun, hôs eoiken), when he does what is beneficial (ôphelimôs praxas), he does what is self-controlled (prattei men sôphronôs kai sôphronei), though he does not know (agnoei d’ heauton) that he is being self-controlled (hoti sôphronei)? – Cr. ‘But that could never happen, Socrates (Alla touto men, ô Sôkrates, ouk an pote genoito). Still (all’), if you think that that must follow as a result of what I admitted earlier (ei ti su oiei ek tôn emprosthen hup’ emou hômologêmenôn eis touto anankaion einai sumbainein), I’d rather retract part of that admission (ekeinôn an ti egôge mallon anatheimên) – and I’d not be ashamed (kai ouk an aischuntheiên) to say that I was wrong (mê ouchi orthôs phanai eirêkenai) – than ever allow that a man who does not know himself is self-controlled (mallon ê pote sunchôrêsaim’ an agnoounta auton heauton anthrôpon sôphronein).’ (163e8-164d3)

Donald Watt writes in the introductory note to this section: ‘Socrates … turns to the question of whether it is possible for the self-controlled man to be ignorant of his being self-controlled. His argument is as follows: (i) self-control is doing what one should; (ii) doing what one should is doing good; therefore, by implication, (iii) self-control is doing good; but (iv) one may do good without knowing it; therefore (v) one may be self-controlled without knowing it. Critias consequently abandons this line of argument. The implication of this section, of course, is that self-control is doing good knowingly: self-control is the knowledge of (the doing of) the good.’ (Plato, Early Socratic Dialogues, Penguin Books, 1987, p. 190.)

If Watt is right, then Plato accomplished a remarkable developmental journey from the Charmides to the Republic, for in the former both Socrates and Critias assume that craftsmen (tous dêmiourgous) can be ‘self-controlled’ (sôphronein), which on Watt’s interpretation means that those of them, who are self-controlled, have ‘the knowledge of (the doing of) the good’. But in the Republic ‘the Form of the good is the highest knowledge’ (hê tou agathou idea megiston mathêma, 505a2), which can be acquired only by true philosophers; it is this knowledge that entitles them to rule. But is Watt right? In my view, he misconstrued the argument.

Critias defined sôphrosunê as ‘doing good things’ (tên tôn agathôn praxin, 163e10-11). Socrates then asked whether a doctor must know (ê oun kai gignôskein anankê tô̢ iatrô̢) when his curing is beneficial (hotan te ôphelimôs iatai) and when it’s not (kai hotan mê), and every craftsman (kai hekastô̢ tôn dêmiourgôn) when he’s likely to profit (hotan mellê̢ onêsesthai) from whatever work he does (apo tou ergou hou an prattê̢) and when he’s not (kai hotan mê,164b7-9). When Critias admitted that there was no such necessity (Isôs ou, 164b10), Socrates concluded that ‘sometimes (Eniote ara) the doctor does something beneficial or harmful (ôphelimôs praxas ê blaberôs ho iatros) without knowing which he has done (ou gignôskei heauton hôs epraxen, 164b11-c1)’, which means that ‘sometimes, when he does what is beneficial (ôphelimôs praxas), he does what is self-controlled (prattei men sôphronôs kai sôphronei), though he does not know (agnoei d’ heauton) that he is being self-controlled (hoti sôphronei, 164c5-6).’

This Critias cannot accept, for in his view self-reflection is a necessary constituent of sôphrosunê.

It may be argued, in support of Watt’s interpretation, that in my abbreviated version of the argument I omitted Socrates’ introduction of ‘doing what one should’ (ta deonta prattein). The fact is that Socrates’ two questions concerning this point, and Critias’ responses to them, which I marked with the bold script, can be taken away without any detriment to the argument, which consists in Socrates’ refutation of Critias’ definition of sôphrosunê as ‘doing good things’. It does not mean that the definition of sôphrosunê as ‘doing what one should’ is otiose within the framework of the dialogue, for it harks back to the definition of sôphrosunê as ‘doing one’s own business’ (to ta heautou prattein), clarifying it without losing the self-reflection implied in ‘one’s own’ (ta heautou): any doctor and any craftsman who does what he should do, knows that he should do it.

Why is this important definition brought in by Socrates, yet left without being discussed? Consider Socrates’ investigative not-knowing, to which all the other definitions of sôphrosunê in the dialogue fall prey, on the one hand, and on the other hand the closing section, in which Charmides does not accept Socrates’ self-professed ignorance, resolves to be ‘charmed’ by Socrates day by day, Critias concurs with his resolve, and Socrates complies with it.

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

5b Plato’s Charmides in the light of its dating

Referring to his discussion with Charmides concerning his attempt at defining sôphrosunê as to ta heautou prattein – for which see the preceding post – Socrates narrates: ‘Now Critias had clearly long been champing at the bit in his eagerness to impress Charmides and the others present (Kai ho Kritias dêlos men ên kai palai agôniôn kai philotimôs pros te ton Charmidên kai pros tous parontas echôn). He had only with great difficulty managed to restrain himself up to then (mogis d’ heauton en tô̢ prosthen katechôn), and this was the last straw (tote ouch hoios te egeneto). (162c1-4)

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Watt’s ‘last straw’ marks Socrates’ reference to the end of his discussion with Charmides on the definition of sôphrosunê, which Charmides remembered to have heard from ‘some wise man’. Socrates asked Charmides: ‘So what on earth would doing one’s job be (Ti oun an eiê pote to ta hautou prattein; echeis eipein;)?’ – Charmides replied: ‘Heavens, I don’t know (Ouk oida, ma Dia, egôge). I dare say there is no reason why even the man who said it should have the slightest idea of what he meant (all’ isôs ouden kôluei mêde ton legonta mêden eidenai hoti enoei).’ – ‘And as he said that (Kai hama tauta legôn), he gave a little smile (hupegela te) and looked at Critias (kai eis ton Kritian apeblepen)’, Socrates observed. (162b8-11)

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Socrates continues: ‘I think it’s absolutely certain (dokei gar moi pantos mallon alêthes einai) – as I assumed at the time (ho egô hupelabon) – that it was from Critias (tou Kritiou) that Charmides had heard (akêkoenai ton Charmidên) this answer (tautên tên apokrisin) about sôphrosunê (peri tês sôphrosunês). So Charmides (ho men oun Charmidês), who did not want to explain the answer himself, but to have Critias do it (boulomenos mê autos hupechein logon all’ ekeinon tês apokriseôs), kept trying to provoke him (hupekinei auton ekeinon) and pointing out that he had been refuted (kai enedeiknuto hôs exelêlegmenos eiê). This was too much for Critias (ho d’ ouk ênescheto). It appeared to me as though he had got irritated with Charmides (alla moi edoxen orgisthênai autô̢), just as a poet might do (hôsper poiêtês) with an actor (hupokritê̢) who treated his poetry badly (kakôs diatithenti ta heautou poiêmata). So he gave him a look and said (hôst’ emblepsas autô̢ eipen), “Is that what you think (Houtôs oiei), Charmides (ô Charmidê)? That if you don’t know (ei su mê oistha) what on earth the man meant (ho ti pot’ enoei) who said that doing one‘s own job was sôphrosunê (hos ephê sôphrosunên einai to ta heautou prattein), he doesn’t know either (oude ekeinon eidenai;)?” (162c4-d6)

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Socrates’ insistence on attributing the provenance of the principle of ta hautou prattein to Critias is striking; consider the initial rebuke from Charmides concerning Socrates’ inquisitiveness. When Socrates said to Charmides: ‘You heard that from Critias here (Kritiou toude akêkoas auto), Charmides reposted: ‘But what difference does it make (Alla ti diapherei), Socrates (ô Sôkrates), who I heard it from (hotou êkousa;)?’ Socrates at that point conceded that it made no difference: ‘None at all (Ouden).’ (161b8-c5)

In view of the importance of to ta hautou prattein in Plato’s political thought – in the Phaedrus it figures as the principle which is observed by the gods in their administration of the world (247a4-6) – it seems that in this way, free from flattery, Plato expressed his indebtedness to Critias for it, and at the same time emphasized its importance in the days to come, in which, as he had hoped, the aristocrats ‘would administer the State by leading it out of an unjust way of life into a just way’ (ek tinos adikou biou epi dikaion tropon agontas dioikêsein tên polin, Seventh Letter 324d-5)

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Socrates: ‘Why (All’), Critias, my dear fellow (ô beltiste Kritia), it is not at all surprising that at his age Charmides doesn’t understand it (touton men ouden thaumaston agnoein têlikouton onta); but, of course, it’s natural for you to possess that knowledge (se de pou eikos eidenai) in view of your age (kai hêlikias heneka) and your devotion to study (kai epimeleias). So if you agree (ei oun sunchôreis) that sôphrosunê is (tout’ einai sôphrosunên) what Charmides says it is (hoper houtosi legei), and are willing to take the argument over (kai paradechê̢ ton logon), I’d much rather investigate with you (egôge polu an hêdion meta sou skopoimên) whether what we said is true or not (eit’ alêthes eite mê to lechthen).’ – Critias: ‘Well (Alla), I do agree (panu sunchôrô), and am willing to take it over (kai paradechomai).’ – Socrates: ‘That’s very good of you (Kalôs ge su toinun poiôn). Tell me (kai moi lege), do you also agree with what I was asking a minute ago (ê kai ha nundê êrôtôn egô sunchôreis), that all craftsmen (tous dêmiourgous pantas) make something (poiein ti;)?’ – Cr. ‘I do (Egôge).’ – S. ‘Well then (Ê oun), do you think (dokousi soi) they make only their own things (ta heautôn monon poiein) or other people’s things too (ê kai ta tôn allôn;)?’ – Cr. ‘Other people’s things too (Kai ta tôn allôn).’ – S. ‘Then are they self-controlled (Sôphronousin oun) in so far as they’re not making only their own things (ou ta heautôn monon poiountes)? (162d7-163a4)’

***

Watt’s ‘Then are they self-controlled’ stands for sôphronousin oun, where sôphrosunê figures in a verb form, as an activity: ‘do they self-control?’

***

Critias: ‘What objection is there (Ti gar kôluei;)?’ – Socrates: ‘None as far as I’m concerned (Ouden eme ge). But watch (All’ hora) that there is not one for the man (mê ekeinon kôluei) who assumes (hos hupothemenos) that doing one’s own job is sôphrosunê (sôphrosunên einai to ta heautou prattein), and then (epeita) says that there is no objection (ouden phêsi kôlueien) to those who do other people’s jobs being self-controlled too (kai tous ta tôn allôn prattontas sôphronein).’ – Cr. ‘I suppose I’ve agreed (Egô gar pou touth’ hômologêka) that those who do other people’s jobs are self-controlled (hôs hoi ta tôn allôn prattontes sôphronousin), by agreeing that those who make other people’s things are (ei tous ta tôn allôn poiountas hômologêsa).’ (163a5-12)

***

Jowett tries to make sense of Critias’ last response by interpreting instead of translating it: ‘Nay, did I ever acknowledge that those who do the business of others are temperate? I said, those who make, not those who do.’ It was Socrates who introduced the term ‘make’ (poiein) at 162e8-9: ‘do you also agree with what I was asking a minute ago (ê kai ha nundê êrôtôn egô sunchôreis), that all craftsmen (tous dêmiourgous pantas) make something (poiein ti;)?’ To which Critias replied positively: ‘I do (Egôge).’ Then, in the last exchange, Socrates took the two terms – ‘doing’ (prattein) and ‘making’ (poiein) – as equivalent, and thus ‘saw an implicit difficulty’ concerning Critias’ definition of sôphrosunê; Critias insists on their difference, thus refusing to accept any inconsistency in his argument.

***

Socrates: ‘Tell me (Eipe moi), don’t you call “making” and “doing” the same thing (ou t’auton kaleis to poiein kai to prattein;)?’ – Critias; ‘No, I don’t (Ou mentoi), nor for that matter (oude ge to) “working” (ergazesthai) and “making” (kai to poiein). I learned that (emathon gar) from Hesiod (par Hêsiodou), who said (hos ephê), “Work is no disgrace (ergon d’ ouden einai oneidos).” Now, do you suppose (oiei oun) that if he had been calling the sort of thing you were speaking of a minute ago “works” and “working” and “doing” (auton, ei ta toiauta erga ekalei kai ergazesthai kai prattein, hoia nundê su eleges), he would have said there was no disgrace in being a cobbler (oudeni an oneidos einai skutotomounti) or selling salt fish (ê tarichopôlounti) or being employed in a brothel (ê ep’ oikêmatos kathêmenô̢;)? (163b1-8)

***

Jowett translates 163b5-8 similarly: ‘Now do you imagine that if Hesiod had meant by working and doing such things as you were describing, he would have said that there was no disgrace in them – for example, in the manufacture of shoes, or in selling dried fish, or sitting for hire in a house of ill fame?’

Does it then mean that Critias viewed as disgrace such activities as making of shoes, selling dried fish – named by him – and activities named by Socrates, to which he refers in the same breath, such as pupils learning to write and read, teachers teaching pupils to read and write, furthermore healing, building, weaving, and producing any piece of skilled work whatsoever (161d-e)? Although Critias was a sworn aristocrat, I find it difficult to accept, and the text militates against Jowett’s and Watt’s interpretation. They both fail to take into account Critias’ oudeni ‘for no one’. Since the principle of ta heautou prattein was an important principle in Plato’s political thinking, I presume that by putting the oudeni into Critias’ mouth he wants to say something important: for those, who are best fitted and best skilled to make shoes, making shoes is no disgrace; by making shoes they do their job – ta heautôn prattousi.

***

Critias continues: ‘Don’t you believe it (Ouk oiesthai ge chrê ‘It’s not to be believed’), Socrates (ô Sôkrates). Hesiod too, in my opinion, considered making to be different from doing and working (alla kai ekeinos oimai poiêsin praxeôs kai ergasias allo enomizen). A thing which was made sometimes brought disgrace (kai poiêma men gignesthai oneidos eniote) when it lacked beauty (hotan mê meta tou kalou gignetai); ((163b8-c2)

***

Watt’s ‘when it lacked beauty’ for Critias’ hotan mê meta tou kalou gignetai, literally ‘when it does not happen with the beauty,’ is hardly appropriate. Jowett translated: ‘when the employment was not honourable’; in doing so Jowett attempted to express the fact that Critias’ meta tou kalou does not refer only to the beauty of the object made, but to the circumstances in which it was made, the maker, his/her qualification, motives, application to the work at hand etc.

***

Critias continues: ‘while a work could never be any disgrace at all (ergon de oudepote ouden oneidos). Things that are beautifully and beneficially made (ta gar kalôs te kai ôphelimôs poioumena) he called “works” (erga ekalei), and such “makings” he called “workings” and “doings” (kai ergasias te kai praxeis tas toiautas poiêseis). It must be stated (phanai de ge chrê) that he believed only things like that to be a man’s proper business (kai oikeia mona ta toiauta hêgeisthai auton), while everything that was harmful was other people’s business (ta de blabera panta allotria). So we must conclude that both Hesiod (hôste kai Hêsiodon chrê oiesthai) and any other knowledgeable person (kai allon hostis phronimos) call the man who does his own job sôphrona [Watt: ‘self-controlled’] (ton ta hautou prattonta phronimon).’ – Socrates: ‘Critias (Ô Kriria), the minute you begin to speak (kai euthus archomenou sou) I was pretty sure of your thesis (schedon emanthanon ton logon) – that you called what is proper to a man and what is his own job good things (hoti ta oikeia te kai ta hautou agatha kaloiês), and what you called the “makings” of good things (kai tas tôn agathôn poiêseis) “doings” (praxeis). I have heard Prodicus drawing his innumerable distinctions between names, you know (kai gar Prodikou muria tina akêkoa peri onomatôn diairountos). But I give you my permission to assign each name as you wish (all’ egô soi tithesthai men tôn onomatôn didômi hopê̢ an boulê̢ hekaston); only do make it plain (dêlou de monon) to what you are applying whichever name you use (eph’ hoti an pherê̢s t’ounoma hoti an legê̢s). Now then (nun oun), go back to the beginning again (palin ex archês) and give us a clear definition (saphesteron horisai). Are you saying that this doing or making, or whatever you like to call it, of good things is sôphrosunê (ara tên tôn agathôn praxin ê poiêsin ê hopôs su boulei onomazein, tautên legeis su sôphrosunên einai;)?’ – Critias: ‘I am (Egôge).’ – S. ‘So it’s not the man who does the bad things, but the man who does good things who sôphronei [a verb form: ‘who self-controls’, D. Watt: ‘is self-controlled’] (Ouk ara sôphronei ho ta kaka prattôn, all’ ho agatha;)?’ – Cr. ‘Don’t you think so, my good fellow (Soi de, ô beltiste, ouch houtô dokei;)?’ – S. ‘Never mind (Ea), let’s not consider what I think just yet (mê gar pô to emoi dokoun skopômen), but rather what you’re saying now (all’ ho su legeis nun).’ (163b2-e7)

***

Socrates’ mê gar pô to emoi dokoun skopômen ‘let’s not investigate what I think just yet’ is intriguing. Does it mean that at some point in the forthcoming discussion Socrates and Critias are going to investigate Socrates’ own thinking: ‘what I think’ (to emoi dokoun, 163e6)?

Saturday, June 24, 2017

5a Plato’s Charmides in the light of its dating, with reference to his Phaedrus and Republic

Donald Watt writes in his ‘Introduction to Charmides’: ‘Part of Plato’s purpose in this dialogue is to exculpate Socrates from any responsibility for the crimes of his former companions … By showing Critias as both quite lacking in sôphrosunê and quite ignorant of its meaning beyond a superficial acquaintance with its conventional use within his aristocratic circle; by representing Charmides as equally unaware of its true purport, despite his possession of the natural sôphrosunê of youth, which he will lose when he reaches adulthood; and by portraying Socrates as trying his best to discover with them the true meaning of sôphrosunê, and as failing to elicit answer from them, though possessing the virtue himself – by all these means Plato is endeavouring to show that Socrates tried to educate Critias and Charmides in sôphrosunê, but failed. But by trying, he saved himself from any possible accusation of responsibility for their later crimes.’ (Plato, Early Socratic Dialogues, Penguin Books, 1987, p. 167.)

Let us examine the validity of Watt’s characterization of the dialogue by focussing on Charmides, Critias, and Socrates in their interactions; the translation will be D. Watt’s, but I shall use sôphrosunê for his ‘self-control’.

Charmides presented to Socrates his third and last attempt at defining sôphrosunê as follows: ‘But give me your considered opinion of this statement about sôphrosunê (tode de skepsai ti soi dokei einai peri sôphrosunês), which I have just remembered (arti gar anemnêsthên) I heard from someone once (ho êdê tou êkousa legontos): the sôphrosunê might be doing one’s own job (hoti sôphrosunê an eiê to ta heautou prattein). Give me your considered opinion (skopei oun touto). Was the man who said that right (ei orthôs soi dokei legein ho legôn)?’ – Socrates: ‘You wicked boy (Ô miare), you heard that from Critias here (Kritiou toude akêkoas auto) or from another of our clever fellows (ê allou tou tôn sophôn).’ (161b4-c1)

***

Watt’s ‘or from another of our clever fellows’ for Socrates’ ê allou tou tôn sophôn is hardly appropriate, for it simply means ‘or from another of the wise men’. In the Phaedrus, which on my dating preceded the Charmides, Plato’s Socrates gives the principle of ‘doing one’s own work’ a divine status: ‘Now within the heavens are many spectacles of bliss upon the highways (pollai men oun kai makariai theai te kai diexodoi entos ouranou) whereon blessed gods (has theôn genos eudaimonôn) pass to and fro (epistrephetai), each doing his own work (prattôn hekastos autôn to hautou, 247a4-6, tr. R. Hackforth).’

***

Critias: ‘It must have been from someone else (Eoiken allou ‘It seems from someone else’). It certainly was not from me (ou gar dê emou ge, ‘for surely not from me’).’ – Charmides: ‘But what difference does it make (Alla ti diapherei), Socrates (ô Sôkrates), who I heard it from (hotou êkousa;)?’ – Socrates: ‘None at all (Ouden). In any case, the question we’ve got to consider is not who said it (pantôs gar ou touto skepteon, hostis auto eipen), but whether or not the statement is true (alla poteron alêthes legetai ê ou).’ – Charmides: ‘You’re quite right (Nun orthôs legeis).’ (161c2-7)

***

Watt’s ‘You’re quite right’ for Charmides’ Nun orthôs legeis misses Charmides’ criticism of Socrates’ ‘you heard that from Critias here’ (Kritiou toude akêkoas auto), which is implied in his Nun: ‘Now you’re right.’

***

Socrates: ‘Of course (Nê Dia), all the same, I should be surprised if we actually will discover what exactly its status is (all’ ei kai heurêsomen auto hopê̢ ge echei, thaumazoim’ an). It appears to have a sort of cryptic meaning (ainigmati gar tini eoiken).’ – Charmides: ‘How is that (Hoti dê ti ge;)?’ – Socrates: ‘Because presumably he did not really mean quite what his words conveyed (Hoti ou dêpou hê̢ ta rêmata ephthenxato tautê̢ kai enoei) when he said (legôn) that sôphrosunê was doing one’s own job (sôphrosunên einai to ta hautou prattein). Or do you believe that the writing-master does not do something (ê su ouden hêgê̢ prattein ton grammatistên) when he reads or writes (hotan graphê̢ ê anagignôskê̢)?’ – Charmides: ‘No, I do believe he does something (Egôge, hêgoumai men oun).’ – Socrates: ‘Then do you think (Dokei oun soi) it’s only his own name that the writing master reads and writes (to hautou onoma monon graphein ho grammatistês kai anagignôskein), or teaches boys to (ê humas tous paidas didaskein;)? Or did you write your enemies’ names just as much as your own and your friends’ (ê ouden hêtton ta tôn echthrôn egraphete ê ta humetera kai ta tôn philôn onomata;)’?’ – Charmides: ‘Just as much (Ouden hêtton).’ – Socrates: ‘Well then, were you meddling (Ê oun epolupragmoneite) – that is, were you without sôphrosunê (kai ouk esôphroneite) in doing that (touto drôntes;)?’ – Ch. ‘Not at all (Oudamôs).’ (161c8-e2)

***

Socrates’ ‘were you meddling (Ê oun epolupragmoneite) – that is, were you without sôphrosunê (kai ouk esôphroneite)’ implies that Socrates himself in fact understands sôphrosunê as to ta hautou prattein, for he views it as the opposite of polupragmonein ‘to be busy about many things’, mostly in bad sense as ‘interfering’, ’being meddlesome’ (Liddle&Scott).

***

Socrates: ‘And yet you were not doing your own job (Kai mên ou ta humetera ge autôn eprattete) if reading and writing are “doing something” (eiper to graphein prattein ti estin kai to anagignôskein).’ – Charmides: ‘They most certainly are (Alla mên estin).’ – S. ‘And, my friend, healing (Kai to iasthai, ô hetaire), building houses (kai to oikodomein), weaving (kai to huphainein) and producing any piece of skilled work whatsoever, by any skill whatsoever (kai to hê̢tinioun technê̢ hotioun tôn technês ergôn apergazesthai), are all presumably “doing something” (prattein dêpou ti estin).’ – Ch. ‘Of course (Panu ge).’ – S. ‘Well then (Ti oun), do you think (dokei an soi) a state would be well run (polis eu oikeisthai) by a law like this (hupo toutou tou nomou), which commands (tou keleuontos) each person to weave his own coat (to heautou himation hekaston huphainein) and wash it (kai plunein), and make his own sandals (kai hupodêmata skutotomein) and oil-flask (kai lêkuthon) and scraper (kai stlengida) [Watt notes: ‘After exercise, it was customary to cover the body with oil, which was then scraped off, taking the dirt and sweat with it.’] and everything else (kai t’alla panta) on the same principle (kata ton auton logon) of each person’s keeping his hands off what is not his own (tôn allotriôn mê haptesthai), and working at and doing his own job (ta de heautou hekaston ergazesthai te kai prattein;)?’ – Ch. ‘No, I don’t (Ouk emoige dokei).’ – S. ‘Nevertheless (Alla mentoi), a state run on the principle of sôphrosunê (sôphronôs ge oikousa) would be run well (eu an oikoito).’ – Ch. ‘Certainly (Pôs d’ ouk;).’ – S. ‘Then, sôphrosunê would not be doing one’s own job when it’s of that sort and done in that way (Ouk ara to ta toiauta te kai houtô ta hautou prattein sôphrosunê an eiê).’ – Ch. ‘Apparently not (Ou phainetai).’ – S. ‘Then it looks as if, as I was saying just now, the man who said that doing one’s own job was sôphrosunê was speaking cryptically (Êinitteto ara, hôs eoiken, hôsper arti egô elegon, ho legôn ta hautou prattein sôphrosunên einai), since I don’t suppose he was so simple-minded as that (ou gar pou houtô ge ên euêthês). Or was it some fool that you heard saying this (ê tinos êlithiou êkousas touti legontos), Charmides (ô Charmidê;)? – Ch. ‘Far from it (Hêkista ge). He seems to be a pretty clever fellow, you know (epei toi kai panu edokei sophos einai).’ (161e3-162b3)

***

Again, Watt’s ‘He seems to be a pretty clever fellow, you know’ does not properly render Charmides’ epei toi kai panu edokei sophos einai, which means ‘for he appeared to be very wise indeed’. Socrates’ response indicates that he did not take Charmides’ words as if spoken in irony.

***

Socrates: ‘Well, as far as I can see, he propounded this as a deliberate puzzle for us (Pantos toinun mallon, hôs emoi dokei, ainigma auto proubalen), for no other reason than that he thought it would be difficult for us to find out what on earth doing one’s job is (hôs on chalepon to ta hautou prattein gnônai hoti pote estin).’ – Charmides: ‘Possibly (Isôs).’ (162b4-7)

***

Again, Watt misinterprets. Jowett’s ‘Then I am quite certain that he put forth his definition as a riddle’, for Socrates’ Pantos toinun mallon, hôs emoi dokei, ainigma auto proubalen, is much better, as is Jowett’s ‘thinking that no one would know the meaning of the words “doing his own business Socrates”’ for Socrates’ hôs on chalepon to ta hautou prattein gnônai hoti pote estin. Within the framework of the dialogue to ta hautou prattein remains an unsolved ainigma (‘riddle’).

Socrates’ ‘do you think (dokei an soi) a state would be well run (polis eu oikeisthai) by a law like this (hupo toutou tou nomou, 161e10-11)’ … ‘Nevertheless (Alla mentoi), a state run on the principle of sôphrosunê (sôphronôs ge oikousa) would be run well (eu an oikoito, 162a4-5)’ suggests that Plato was fully aware of the political implications and significance of the principle ta hautou prattein; when he in the end gave up on politics in Athens, he built the ideal state in the Republic on this principle understood as the principle of justice.

***

Socrates: ‘So what on earth would doing one’s job be (Ti oun an eiê pote to ta hautou prattein; echeis eipein;)?’ – Charmides: ‘Heavens, I don’t know (Ouk oida, ma Dia, egôge). I dare say there is no reason why even the man who said it should have the slightest idea of what he meant (all’ isôs ouden kôluei mêde ton legonta mêden eidenai hoti enoei).’ And as he said that (Kai hama tauta legôn), he gave a little smile (hupegela te) and looked at Critias (kai eis ton Kritian apeblepen). (162b8-11)

***

Again, Watt’s ‘I dare say’ is not an appropriate rendering of Charmides’ all’ isôs, which means ‘but perhaps’, ‘probably’, ‘but possibly’, ‘but most likely’.

I’ll end this post by discussing the introductory paragraph of Watt’s prefatory note to this section:

“‘Doing one’s own job’ or, more literally, ‘doing one’s own things’ is the definition of justice given at Republic 433a. There it means ‘each man performing the one function in the state for which his nature most suits him’. Here, however, Socrates takes it to mean the opposite, by interpreting the frase as ‘each man doing (or making) everything for himself’: each man should weave his own clothes, wash his own clothes, make his own shoes, etc. (This is the form of social organization rejected at Republic 369e ff.)” (Plato, Early Socratic Dialogues, Penguin Books, 1987, p. 186.)

Watt’s note is misleading, for Socrates does not ‘take’ to ta hautou prattein ‘to mean the opposite’ of what it means at Republic 433a. He takes it ‘as the words were said’ (hê̢ ta rêmata ephthenxato, 161d1), i.e. ‘to do one’s own things’. Throughout the whole passage, from161b5 to 162b11, the definite article ta functions as a demonstrative pronoun. The words to ta hautou prattein taken ‘as they were said’ do signify (not ‘are taken to signify’) the opposite of what they will mean in the Republic.

When Plato wrote the Charmides, getting ready for the role he was expected to play in the new aristocratic administration, he did view to ta hautou prattein along the lines he later developed in the Republic. For the principle is implied in Socrates’ final attempt to define sôphrosunê:

‘If indeed (ei men gar), as we were supposing at first (ho ex archês hupetithemetha), the sôphrôn would know (ê̢dei ho sôphrôn) what he knew and what he did not know (ha te ê̢dei kai ha mê ê̢dei), that he knows the former (ta men hoti oiden) and that he does not know the latter (ta d’ hoti ouk oiden), and would be able to recognize another man in the same state (kai allon t’auton touto peponthota episkepsasthai hoios t’ ên), it would be of a great advantage to us to be sôphrones [nom. pl. of sôphrôn ‘to be wise’] (megalôsti an hêmin ôphelimon ên sôphrosin einai); for we would live our life without making mistakes (anamartêtoi gar an ton bion diezômen), both we, who would be having the sôphrosunê (autoi te hoi tên sôphrosunên echontes), and all those who would be governed by us (kai hoi alloi pantes hosoi huph’ hêmôn êrchonto). For neither should we (oute gar an autoi) attempt to do what we did not know (epecheiroumen prattein ha mê êpistametha), but finding those who know (all’ exeuriskontes tous epistamenous) we would give it over to them (ekeinois an paredidometha), nor should we allow others (oute tois allois epetrepomen), whom we governed (hôn êrchomen), to do anything else than that which they would do well (allo ti prattein ê hoti prattontes orthôs emellon prattein), and this would be (touto d’ ên an) of which they had knowledge (hou epistêmên eichon); and thus a house under the rule of sôphrosunê (kai houtô dê hupo sôphrosunês oikia te oikoumenê) would be beautifully ordered (emellen kalôs oikeisthai), and a state administered (polis te politeuomenê), and everything else that sôphrosunê governed (kai allo pan hou sôphrosunê archoi); for with error eliminated (hamartias gar exê̢rêmenês), and rightness in charge (orthotêtos de hêgoumenês), men, who are in this state, must do nobly and well in all their doings (en pasê̢ praxei kalôs kai eu prattein anankaion tous houtô diakeimenous), and those who do well (tous de eu prattontas) must have happiness (tous de eu prattontas eudaimonas einai). (171d2-172a3)

Friday, June 23, 2017

4 Plato’s Charmides in the light of its dating, with reference to his Apology, Phaedrus and Seventh Letter, and to Xenophon’s Memorabilia

I ended my preceding post with the words ‘If I were to view the Charmides as written after the death of Socrates, I could not see it otherwise than as an attempt to make Socrates responsible for the crimes of his former companions,’ clearly implying that it is out of the question. But why is it out of the question? If Plato realised that because of his influence on Critias and Charmides in their early days Socrates was partly responsible for their misuse of power during the rule of the Thirty Tyrants, it was only right to give expression to this side of his activities, it might be argued. In my view, Plato’s Apology and his Seventh Letter preclude such possibility.

To make this point, I must return to the closing exchange between Socrates and Charmides. Socrates says to Charmides: ‘Once you’re intent on doing something (soi gar epicheirounti prattein hotioun) and are resorting to the use of force (kai biazomenô̢), no man alive will be able to resist you (oudeis hoios t’ estai enantiousthai anthrôpôn).’ – Charmides: ‘Well then (Mê toinun), don’t you resist me either (mêde su enantiou).’ – Socrates: ‘I won’t resist you then (Ou toinun enantiôsomai).’

In the Apology Socrates imagines that the Jury might let him go if he gave up philosophy, to which he would have to reply: ‘While I have life and strength (heôs an empneô kai hoios te ô) I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy (ou mê pausômai philosophein, 29d4-5).’ He then goes on to say: ‘I can give you convincing evidence of what I say (Megala d’ egôge humin tekmêria parexomai toutôn), not words only (ou logous), but what you value far more (all’ ho humeis timate) – actions (erga). Let me relate to you a passage of my own life (akousate dê moi ta sumbebêkota) which will prove to you (hina eidête) that to no man should I wrongly yield (hoti oud’ an heni hupeikathoimi para to dikaion) from fear of death (deisas thanaton), and that I should in fact be willing to perish for not yielding (mê hupeikôn de alla k’an apoloimên) (32a4-8) … when the oligarchy of the Thirty was in power (epeidê de oligarchia egeneto), they sent for me and four others into the rotunda (hoi triakonta au metapempsamenoi me pempton auton eis tên tholon), and bade us bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis (prosetaxan agagein ek Salaminos Leonta ton Salaminion), as they wanted to put him to death (hina apothanoi). This was a specimen of the sort of commands which they were always giving (hoia dê kai allois ekeinoi pollois polla prosetatton) with the view of implicating as many as possible in their crimes (boulomenoi hôs pleistous anaplêsai aitiôn); and then I showed again, not in word only but in deed (tote men oun egô ou logô̢ all’ ergô̢ au enedeixamên), that, if I may be allowed to use such an expression, I care not a straw for death (hoti emoi thanatou men melei, ei mê agroikoteron ên eipein, oud’ hotioun), and that my great and only care is lest I should do an unrighteous and unholy thing (tou de mêden adikon mêd’ anosion ergazesthai, toutou de to pan melei). For the strong arm of that oppressive power did not frighten me (eme gar ekeinê hê archê ouk exeplêxen, houtôs ischura ousa) into doing wrong (hôste adikon ti ergasasthai); and when we came out of the rotunda (all’ epeidê ek tês tholou exêlthomen) the other four (hoi men tettares) went to Salamis (ô̢chonto eis Salamina) and fetched Leon (kai êgagon Leonta), but I went quietly home (egô de ô̢chomên apiôn oikade). For which I might have lost my life (kai isôs an dia tauta apethanon), had not the power of the Thirty (ei mê hê archê) shortly afterwards come to an end (dia tacheôn kateluthê).’ (32c4-d8, tr. B. Jowett)

In his old age, in the Seventh Letter Plato points to this incident as the decisive reason after which, he says, ‘I became indignant (eduscherana te) and I withdrew myself (kai emauton epanêgagon) from the evils of those days (apo tôn tote kakôn, 325a4-5)’.

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Xenophon tells a following story: ‘When the Thirty (epei gar hoi triakonta) were putting to death many citizens of the highest respectability (pollous men tôn politôn kai ou tous cheiristous apekteinon) and were encouraging many in crime (pollous de proetreponto adikein), Socrates had remarked (eipe pou ho Sôkratês): “It seems strange enough to me (hoti thaumaston hoi dokoiê einai) that a herdsman (ei tis genomenos boôn agelês nomeus) who lets his cattle decrease and go to the bad (kai tous bous elattous te kai cheirous poiôn) should not admit that he is a poor cowherd (mê homologoiê kakos boukolos einai); but stranger still (eti de thaumastoteron) that a statesman (ei tis prostatês genomenos poleôs) when he causes the citizens to decrease (kai poiôn tous politas elattous te) and go to the bad (kai cheirous), should feel no shame (mê aischunetai) nor think himself a poor statesman (mêd’ oietai kakos einai prostatês tês poleôs).” This remark was reported to Critias and Charicles, who sent for Socrates (apangelthentos de autois toutou, kalesante ho te Kritias kai ho Chariklês ton Sôkratê), showed him the law (ton te nomon edeiknutên autô̢) and forbade him to hold conversation with the young (kai tois neois apeipetên mê dialegesthai) (Memorabilia I.ii.32-33) … “Well then,” said Socrates (Kai ho Sôkratês), “that there may be no question raised about my obedience (Hina toinun, ephê, mê amphibolon ê̢, hôs allo ti poiô ê ta proêgoreumena), please fix the age limit below which a man is to be accounted young (horisate moi, mechri posôn etôn dei nomizein neous einai tous anthrôpous).” “So long,” replied Charicles (Kai ho Chariklês, Hosouper, eipe, chronou), “as he is not permitted to sit in the Council (bouleuein ouk exestin), because as yet he lacks wisdom (hôs oupô phronimois ousi). You shall not converse (mêde su dialegou) with anyone who is under thirty (neôterois triakonta etôn).” (Memorabilia I.ii.35, tr. E. C. Marchant)

It is worth noting that the order prohibited Socrates to discuss philosophy with Plato who was in his twenties. The law was presumably formulated by Critias to enable him to ‘free’ Plato from Socrates’ influence. Plato says that when the Thirty took power ‘they invited me at once to join their administration, thinking it would be congenial’ (kai dê kai parekaloun euthus hôs epi prosêkonta pragmata me, 324d2-3), instead, he says, ‘consequently (hôste), I gave my mind to them very diligently (autois sphodra proseichon ton noun), to see what they would do (ti praxoien, 324d6, tr. Bury)’. What he says about his ‘withdrawal from the evils of those days’ nevertheless suggests that he became involved, although he did not join them in their administrative practices. On my dating, he was writing the Charmides. The dialogue can be read as his formulating the conditions under which he wanted to become actively involved: You accept Socrates as the moral and spiritual guide, Socrates will accept your authority as political leaders.

Concerning Critias’ motivation in formulating the law forbidding the teaching of rhetoric Xenophon says the following: ‘Nevertheless (All’), although Socrates was himself free from vice (ei kai mêden autos ponêron poiôn), if he saw and approved of base conduct in them [in Critias and Alcibiades] (ekeinous phaula prattontas epê̢nei), he would be open to censure (dikaiôs an epitimô̢to). Well, when he found that Critias loved Euthydemus (Kritian men toinun aisthanomenos erônta Euthudêmou) and wanted to lead him astray (kai peirônta chrêsthai kathaper hoi pros t’aphrodisia tôn sômatôn apolauontes ‘and tried to use him as those do who erotically enjoy the bodies’), he tried to restrain him (apetrepe) by saying (phaskôn) that it was mean (aneleutheron te einai) and unbecoming in a gentleman (kai ou prepon andri kalô̢ k’agathô̢) to sue like a beggar to the object of his affection, whose good opinion he coveted (ton erômenon, hô̢ bouletai pollou axios phainesthai, prosaitein hôsper tous ptôchous), stooping to ask a favour that it was wrong to grant (hiketeuonta kai deomenon prosdounai kai tauta mêdenos agathou ‘begging and asking to be given what was nothing good’). As Critias paid no heed whatever to this protest (Kritiou tois toioutois ouch hupakouontos oude apotrepomenou), Socrates, it is said, exclaimed in the presence of Euthydemus and many others (legetai ton Sôkratên allôn te pollôn parontôn kai tou Euthudêmou, eipein) “Critias seems to have the feelings of a pig (hoti huikon autô̢ dokoiê paschein ho Kritias): he can no more keep away from Euthydemus than pigs can help rubbing themselves against the stones (epithumôn Euthudêmô̢ prosknêsthai hôsper ta hudia tois lithois ‘desiring to rub against Euthydemus as pigs rub against the stones’),” Now Critias bore a grudge against Socrates for this (ex hôn dê kai emisei ton Sôkratên ho Critias); and when he was one of the Thirty and was drafting laws with Charicles (hôste kai hote tôn triakonta ôn nomothetês meta Charikleous egeneto), he bore it in mind (apemnêmoneusen autô̢). He inserted a clause (kai en tois logois egrapse) which made it illegal “to teach the art of words” (logôn technên mê didaskein).’

Xenophon explains: ‘It was a calculated insult to Socrates (epêreazôn ekeinô̢), whom he saw no means of attacking (kai ouk echôn hopê̢ epilaboito), except by imputing him the practice constantly attributed to philosophers (alla to koinê̢ tois philosophois hupo tôn pollôn epitimômenon epipherôn autô̢), and so making him unpopular (kai diaballôn pros tous pollous).’ He adds: ‘For I myself never heard Socrates indulge in the practice, nor knew of anyone who professed to have heard him do so.’ (Memorabilia I.ii.29-31, tr. E. C. Marchant)

Xenophon’s explanation doesn’t make much sense, especially since Critias himself had philosophic ambitions (See fragments in Diels and Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, vol.II, 88 ‘Kritias’), but the story itself, which he gives, makes sense when we see it against the background of Plato’s Phaedrus. What Socrates wanted to achieve in Critias’ relationship to Euthydemus, and failed, this the philosopher achieves in the relation to his beloved in the Phaedran Palinode, Plato’s ode on Love.

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In the Phaedrus Socrates proves the immortality of the soul (245c5-246a2), and then he says: ‘As to the soul’s nature (peri de tês ideas autês) there is this that must be said (hôde lekteon): what manner of thing it is (hoion men esti) … a god alone could tell (theias einai diêgêseôs); but what it resembles (hô̢ de eoiken), that a man might tell (anthrôpinês) … Let it be likened to the union of powers in a team of winged steeds and their winged charioteer (eoiketô dê sumphutô̢ dunamei hupopterou zeugous te kai hêniochou) … it is a pair of steeds that the charioteer controls (hêmôn ho archôn sunôridos hêniochei); moreover (eita) one of them is noble and good (tôn hippôn ho men autô̢ kalos te kai agathos), and of good stock (kai ek tôn toioutôn), while the other has the opposite character, and his stock is opposite (ho d’ ex enantiôn kai enantios). Hence the task of our charioteer is difficult and troublesome (chalepê dê kai duskolos ex anankês hê peri hêmas hêniochêsis)’ (246a2-b3) … The natural property of a wing is (Pephuken hê pterou dunamis) to raise that which is heavy and carry it aloft (to embrithes agein anô meteorizousa) to the region where the gods dwell (hê̢ to tôn theôn genos oikei, 246d6-7) … and the divine (to de theion) is beautiful (kalon), wise (sophon), good (agathon), and everything of that kind (kai pan hoti toiouton, 246d8-e1) … within the heavens (entos ouranou) … each god is doing his own work (prattôn hekastos autôn to hautou), and with them are all such as will (hepetai de ho aei ethelôn) and can follow them (kai dunamenos, 247a5-7) … But when (hotan de dê) they go to their feasting and to banquet (pros daita kai epi thoinên iôsin), then they travel to the summit of the arch of heaven (akran epi tên hupouranion hapsida poreuontai pros anantes), and easy is that ascent for the chariots of gods (hê̢ dê ta men theôn ochêmata râ̢diôs poreuetai), but for the others it is hard (ta de alla mogis); the steed that partakes of wickedness weighs them down, pulling them towards the earth with his weight (brithei gar ho tês kakês hippos metechôn, epi tên gên repôn te kai barunôn), if the driver has not educated him well (hô̢ mê kalôs ên tethrammenos tôn hêniochôn). Here (entha dê) the harshest toil and struggle awaits the soul (ponos te kai agôn eschatos psuchê̢ prokeitai, 247a8-b6) … for the souls that are called immortal (hai men gar athanatoi kaloumenai) … stand upon the back of the heaven (hestêsan epi tô̢ tou ouranou nôtô̢), and as they stand there (stasas de autas) the revolving heaven carries them around (periagei hê periphora), and they look upon the regions outside the heaven (hai dê theôrousi ta exô tou ouranou, 247b6-c2) … It is there that true Being dwells, without colour or shape, that cannot be touched; reason alone, the soul’s pilot, can behold it, and all true knowledge is knowledge thereof (hê gar achrômatos te kai aschêmatistos kai anaphês ousia ontôs ousa, psuchês kubernêtê̢ monô̢ theatê nô̢, peri hês to tês alêthinês epistêmês genos, touton echei ton topon). Now even as the mind of a god is nourished by reason and knowledge (hat’ oun theou dianoia nô̢ te kai epistêmê̢ akêratô̢ trephomenê), so also is it with every soul (kai hapasês psuchês) that has a care (hosê̢ an melê̢) to receive her proper food (to prosêkon dexasthai); wherefore when at last she has beheld Being (idousa dia chronou to on) she is well content (agapa̢ te), and contemplating truth (kai theôrousa t’alêthê) she is nourished (trephetai te) and prospers (kai eupathei), until the heaven’s revolution brings her back the full circle (heôs an kuklô̢ hê periphora eis t’auton perienenkê̢, 247c6-d5) … And this is the life of gods (Kai houtos men theôn bios), but the other souls (hai de allai psuchai, 248a1) … Whatsoever soul (hêtis an psuchê) follows in the train of a god (theô̢ sunopados genomenê), and catches sight of some of the true things (katidê̢ ti tôn alêthôn), shall be kept from sorrow until a new revolution shall begin (mechri te tês heterâs periodou einai apêmona, 248c3-4) … But when she is unable to follow (hotan dê adunatêsasa epispesthai), and sees none of it (mê idê̢I, 248c5-6) … sheds her wings (pterorruêsê̢ te) and falls to the earth (kai epi tên gên pesê̢); then it is the law (tote nomos) that in her first birth she shall not be planted in any animal nature (tautên mê phuteusai eis mêdemian thêreion phusin en tê̢ prôtê̢ genesei), but the one that saw the most of Being (alla tên men pleista idousan) shall be planted in a seed of a man (eis gonên andros) who shall become (genêsomenou) a philosopher (philosophou, 248c8-d3).’

Armed with this image of the soul, Socrates depicts the philosopher’s attraction to his beloved, and the ensuing struggles of love: ‘Now when (hotan d’ oun) the driver (ho hêniochos) beholds the beloved’s eye (idôn to erôtikon omma), and the ensuing sensation suffuses his whole soul with warmth (pasan aisthêsei diathermênas tên psuchên), he begins to experience a tickling or pricking of desire (gargalismou te kai pothou kentrôn hupoplêsthê̢); and the obedient steed (ho men eupeithês tô̢ hêniochô̢ tôn hippôn), constrained now as always by sense of shame (aei te kai tote aidoi biazomenos), restrains himself (heauton katechei) from leaping upon the beloved (mê epipêdan tô̢ erômenô̢); but the other (o de), heeding no more the driver’s goad or whip (oute kentrôn hêniochikôn oute mastigos eti entrpetai), leaps and dashes on (skirtôn de bia̢ pheretai), sorely troubling (kai panta pragmata parechôn) his companion (tô̢ suzugi te) and his driver (kai tô̢ hêniochô̢), and forces them to approach the loved one (anankazei ienai te pros ta paidika) and mention to him (kai mneian poiêsein) the delights of erotic activities (tês tôn aphrodisiôn charitos). For a while the two resist (tô de kat’ archas men antiteineton), indignant (aganaktounte) that he should force them to monstrous and forbidden acts (hôs deina kai paranoma anankazomenô); but at last (teleutônte de), finding no end to their evil plight (hotan mêden ê̢ peras kakou), they follow his lead (poreuesthon agomenô) yielding (eixante) and agreeing (kai homologêsante) to do his bidding (poiêsein to keleuomenon). And now they’ve got quite close to him (kai pros autô̢ t’ egenonto) and beheld the sight of the beloved flashing with light (kai eidon tên opsin tên tôn paidikôn astraptousan). As the charioteer sees him (idontos de tou hêniochou), his memory is carried to the nature of Beauty (hê mnêmê pros tên tou kallous phusin ênechthê), and he sees her again (kai palin eiden autên) enthroned by the side of Sôphrosunê upon her holy pedestal (meta sôphrosunês en hagnô̢ bathrô̢ bebôsan); and in seeing her (idousa de; in Greek, the subject is the memory, hê mnêmê, which is feminine, identified with the charioteer) in awe and reverence he falls upon his back (edeise te kai sephtheisa anepesen huptia), and therewith (kai hama) is compelled (ênankasthê) to pull the reins (eis t’oupisô helkesthai tas hênias) so violently (houtô sphodra) that he brings both steeds down on their haunches (hôst’ epi ta ischua amphô kathisai tô hippô), the one willing (ton men hekonta) for he is not resisting (dia to mê antiteinein), but the wanton (ton de hubristên) sore against his will (mal’ akonta).’ (253e5-354c3) … And so, if the victory be won by the higher elements of mind guiding the lover and the beloved into the ordered rule of the philosophic life (ean men dê oun eis tetagmenên te diaitan kai philosophian nikêsê̢ ta beltiô tês dianoias agagonta), their days on earth will be blessed with happiness and concord (makarion men kai homonoêtikon ton enthade bion diagousin); for the power of evil in the soul has been subjected, and the power of goodness liberated: they have won self-mastery and inward peace (enkrateis hautôn kai kosmioi ontes, doulôsamenoi men hô̢ kakia psuchês enegigneto, eleutherôsantes de hô̢ aretê, 256a7-b3).’ [In translating these passages form the Phaedrus I am much indebted to Hackforth’s and Rowe’s translations.]

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After delivering the Ode on Love, Socrates discusses with Phaedrus its oratory merits, as well as the merits and demerits of the two previous speeches on Love: Lysias’ speech, in which a non-lover, who is interested only in sex, propositions a beautiful boy, arguing that love is a noxious complication, and Socrates’ rival speech, in which the lover is interested in seducing the boy of his desire as effortlessly as possible, and enjoying his sexual favours as long as he is interested in having sex with him. Such lover is of necessity devoid of reason (hup anankês anoêtos, 241b7), faithless (apistos), peevish (duskolos), jealous (phthoneros), disagreeable (aêdes), harmful to the physical condition (blaberos pros tên tou sômatos hexin), and by far the most harmful to the education of the boy’s soul (polu de blaberôtatos pros tên tês psuchês paideusin, 241c2-5).

Xenophon says that Critias bore a grudge against Socrates ever since the latter berated him for his attempts to seduce Euthydemus, and that that’s the reason why he drafted a law that made it illegal to teach rhetoric (logôn technên ou didaskein), thus abusively threatening Socrates (epêreazôn ekeinô̢, Mem. I. ii. 29-31) Xenophon’s explanation that Critias thus tried to calumniate Socrates ‘imputing to him a practice constantly attributed to philosophers’ (to koinê̢ tois philosophois hupo tôn pollôn epitimômenon epipherôn autô̢) doesn’t make much sense, especially in the light of Xenophon’s own remark: ‘I myself never heard Socrates indulge in the practice, nor knew anyone who professed to have heard him do so (ibid.).’ Xenophon’s narrative nevertheless makes sense when we view it against the background of the Phaedrus.

As I have argued, Plato wrote the Phaedrus in 405/404, during the siege of Athens (‘4 Dating of the Phaedreus’ posted on January 15, 2017). Critias was at that time in exile in Thessaly ‘in company with men who put lawlessness before justice’ (ekei sunên anthrôpois anomiâ̢ mallon ê dikaiosunê̢ chrômenois, Xenophon, Mem. I. ii. 24); Socrates in the Crito speaks of Thessaly as the country ‘in which there is (ekei gar dê) the greatest disorder (pleistê ataxia) and licentiousness (kai akolasia, 53d3-4)’.

Xenophon’s story suggests that Socrates’ attempt to deflect Critias from his erotic propositions to Euthydemus was well known, and the whole affair provides – and provided for Plato and his readers – a good background to Socrates’ two speeches on love in the Phaedrus. Socrates’ subsequent discussion of their oratorical merits turned into an ambitious outline of scientific rhetoric, founded on dialectic, which, as Plato undoubtedly hoped, was to become the main political tool in rebuilding the Athenian society after the war ‘so as to lead men from an unjust way of life into a just way’ (ek tinos adikou biou epi dikaion tropon agontas dioikêsein tên polin, Seventh Letter 324d4-5).

When Critias returned from exile after the final surrender of Athens, he could not have found the Phaedrus a very pleasant read. His drafting a law that forbade teaching rhetoric, aimed as a threat at Socrates, can be seen as his response to Plato’s Phaedrus.

Friday, June 16, 2017

3 Plato’s Charmides in the light of its dating, with reference to his Seventh Letter

Platonic scholarship of the twentieth century rejected the ancient biographic tradition according to which Plato began to write his dialogues during Socrates’ lifetime. How can Platonic scholars view the Charmides as a dialogue written after the death of Socrates? Donald Watt writes in his ‘Introduction to Charmides’:

‘Charmides and Critias were not simply Athenian aristocrats but were, more importantly, members of Plato’s own aristocratic family. Charmides was his uncle on his mother’s side; Critias, his mother’s cousin. Both belonged to Socrates’ circle, though Critias had mixed with the sophists, and in this dialogue, to some extent, he represents their ethical standpoint and methods of argumentation.

Why should Plato have chosen these two members of his own family to be Socrates’ interlocutors in this dialogue? Why should he have honoured them with such praise of their noble ancestry, which was also his own ancestry, as he does at the beginning (157e-158b)? The answers lie in the two men’s subsequent careers. Critias went on to become the extremist leader of the Thirty Tyrants, who imposed a reign of terror on Athens at the end of the Peloponnesian War in 404-403, in their attempt to impose their oligarchy on the citizen body. Charmides too became one of the Thirty, meeting his death, with Critias, in battle against the democrats. Part of Plato’s purpose in this dialogue is to exculpate Socrates from any responsibility for the crimes of his former companions. Xenophon, in Memorabilia I. 2. 12 ff., also comes to Socrates’ defence against the same charge, stating that Socrates had taught Critias sôphrosunê in his youth and had spoken out so strongly against his later behaviour that he had taken grave offence. By showing Critias as both quite lacking in sôphrosunê and quite ignorant of its meaning beyond a superficial acquaintance with its conventional use within his aristocratic circle; by representing Charmides as equally unaware of its true purport, despite his possession of the natural sôphrosunê of youth, which he will lose when he reaches adulthood; and by portraying Socrates as trying his best to discover with them the true meaning of sôphrosunê, and as failing to elicit answer from them, though possessing the virtue himself – by all these means Plato is endeavouring to show that Socrates tried to educate Critias and Charmides in sôphrosunê, but failed. But by trying, he saved himself from any possible accusation of responsibility for their later crimes.’ (Plato, Early Socratic Dialogues, Penguin Books, 1987, p. 167.)

Donald Watt covers a lot of territory in these two paragraphs. In this post I shall limit myself to his question ‘Why should he have honoured them with such praise of their noble ancestry, which was also his own ancestry, as he does at the beginning (157e-158b)?’, and to his answer: ‘Part of Plato’s purpose in this dialogue is to exculpate Socrates from any responsibility for the crimes of his former companions’. Since the main purpose of my entries on Plato in this blog of mine is to view Plato in the looking glass of his texts, let me begin with his praise of Charmides in the Charmides.

Critias tells Socrates: ‘Well then, rest assured (Eu toinun isthi) that he is regarded as far and away the most self-controlled of the present generation (hoti panu polu dokei sôphronestatos einai tôn nuni) and, for his age, second to none in everything else too (kai t’alla panta, eis hoson hêlikias hêkei, oudenos cheirôn ôn).’ – In response, Socrates says to Charmides: ‘Indeed it’s only right (Kai gar kai dikaion), Charmides (ô Charmidê), that you should surpass the rest (diapherein se tôn allôn) in all things like that (pasin tois toioutois). I don’t think there is anyone else here (ou gar oimai allon oudena tôn enthade) who could easily point (ra̢diôs an echein epideixai) to any two Athenian families (poiai duo oikiai), apart from those from which you come, whose union might be expected to produce anyone better or more noble (sunelthousai eis t’auton tôn Athênesin ek tôn eikotôn kalliô an kai ameinô gennêseian ê ex hôn su gegonas). Your father’s family (hê te gar patrô̢a humin oikia), that of Critias (hê Kritiou), Dropides’ son (tou Dropidou), has been eulogized by Anacreon [‘A famous lyric poet, born in Teos c. 570’, notes D. Watt], Solon and many other poets (kai hupo Anakreontos kai hupo Solônos kai hup’ allôn pollôn poiêtôn enkekômiasmenê), and has been presented to us by tradition (paradedotai hêmin) as pre-eminent for beauty (hôs diapherousa kallei te), virtue (kai aretê̢) and everything else that is called happiness (kai tê̢ allê̢ legomenê̢ eudaimonia̢). The same is true of your mother’s family too (kai au hê pros mêtros hôsautôs): no one in the continent of Asia is said to have been considered more handsome or taller than your uncle Pyrilampes [‘A friend of Pericles, famed for his breeding of peacocks, who became Plato’s stepfather’, notes D. Watt] (Purilampous gar tou sou theiou oudeis tôn en tê̢ êpeirô̢ legetai kalliôn ê meizôn anêr doxai einai), whenever (hosakis) he went as ambassador to the Great King or anyone else in the continent (ekeinos ê para megan basilea ê para allon tina tôn en tê̢ êpeirô̢ presbeuôn aphiketo). That whole side of the family (sumpasa de hautê hê oikia) is in no way inferior to the other (ouden tes heteras hupodeestera). So it’s natural that, coming from such people (ek dê toutôn gegonota), you should be first in everything (eikos se eis panta prôton einai). Now, from what I’ve seen of your looks (ta men oun horômena tês ideas), dear son of Glaucon (ô phile pai Glaukônos), I don’t think you fall short of any of your forebears in anything (dokeis moi oudena tôn pro sou en oudeni hupobebêkenai); and if you are sufficiently endowed with self-control and the other qualities, as Critias maintains (ei de kai pros sôphrosunên kai pros t’alla kata ton toude logon hikanôs pephukas), your mother bore a blessed son in you, my dear Charmides (makarion se, ô phile Charmidê, hê mêtêr etikten).’ 157d6-158a4, tr. D. Watt)

I do not see how this eloquent praise of Charmides’ and Critias’ noble ancestry can be viewed as part of Plato’s purpose to exculpate Socrates from any responsibility for the crimes of his former companions. Written in the early days of the aristocratic revolution, when Plato hoped that the Thirty would ‘so administer the State as to lead it out of an unjust way of life into a just way’ (ek tinos adikou biou epi dikaion tropon agontas dioikêsein dê tên polin, Seventh Letter 324d4-5), the praise expresses Plato’s hope, if not confidence, that this is how the Thirty ought to act, true to their vocation as aristocrats. That he was not sure about it can be inferred from the words that follow: ‘so I focussed my mind on them very closely to see (hôste autois sphodra proseichon ton noun) what they would do (ti praxoien, Seventh Letter 324d6).

At this point it could be argued that the same explanation, with added force, could be proffered by Donald Watt and by all those who view the dialogue as written after Socrates’ death: With his praise of Charmides’ and Critias’ noble ancestry Socrates did his best to compel them to become worthy of their noble ancestry, of which they in the end proved to be unworthy.

Against this explanation militates the closing section of the dialogue, to which I devoted the preceding post, and from which I shall now quote only the closing exchange between Charmides and Socrates.

Charmides realizes that he needs to be charmed by Socrates every day. Critias tells him that this is the best proof that he is wise, that he has sôphrosunê, and he commands him to be true to his resolve and not to disappoint Socrates in any way. Charmides promises to obey his command. At this point Socrates addresses Critias and Charmides: ‘What are you two plotting to do (Houtoi, ti bouleuesthon poiein;)?’ – Charmides: ‘Nothing (Ouden), we’ve done our plotting (alla bebouleumetha).’ – Socrates, addressing Charmides: ‘Are you going to resort to the use of force (Biasê̢ ara), without even giving me a preliminary hearing (kai oud’ anakrisin moi dôseis)?’ – Charmides: ‘I certainly am (Hôs biasomenou), since Critias here orders me to (epeidêper hode ge epitattei) – which is why you should plot what you’ll do (pros tauta su au bouleuou hoti poiêseis).’ – Socrates says to Charmides: ‘But there’s no time left for plotting (All’ oudemia leipetai boulê). Once you’re intent on doing something (soi gar epicheirounti prattein hotioun) and are resorting to the use of force (kai biazomenô̢), no man alive will be able to resist you (oudeis hoios t’ estai enantiousthai anthrôpôn).’ – Charmides: ‘Well then (Mê toinun), don’t you resist me either (mêde su enantiou).’ – Socrates closes the dialogue by answering Charmides: ‘I won’t (Ou toinun enantiôsomai, ‘I won’t resist you then’).’ (176c5-d5, tr. D. Watt)

If I were to view the Charmides as written after the death of Socrates, I could not see it otherwise than as an attempt to make Socrates responsible ‘for the crimes of his former companions’, as Watt puts it.