Plato in his Laws

My New Year resolution: I shall read again Plato’s Laws. I have properly read the Laws only once, a quarter of a century ago. That reading made me realise that in the Laws, the work of his last years, Plato reflected on all his writings with pleasure and pride, and that his thoughts most often turned back to the Phaedrus, his first dialogue.  As a result, I wrote ‘Joining the Beginning to the End’, which I presented in 1997 at the first international Platonic symposium held in Prague. (It was published by OIKOYMENH in Prague 1998, and it is available on my website).

The Athenian Stranger – Plato viewed himself as an Athenian stranger when abroad, and in between his second (346 B.C.) and third journey to Sicily (361 B.C.), with his mind turned towards Syracuse and its ruler Dionysius II whom he attempted to transform into a philosopher king, he presented himself as an Eleatic Stranger (in the Sophist and in the Statesman) – opens the Laws by asking his two fellow-travellers whom do they credit with giving them their laws: ‘Is it a god or a man (Theos ȇ tis anthrȏpȏn;)?’ Cleinias answers: ‘A god (Theos), sir (ȏ xene), a god (theos) – and that’s the honest truth (hȏs ge to dikaiotaton eipein). Among us Cretans it is Zeus (para men hȇmin Zeus); in Sparta (para de Lakedaimoniois) – which is where our friend here hails from (hothen hode estin) – they say it is Apollo (oimai phanai toutous Apollȏna). Isn’t that right (ȇ gar;)?’ – Megillus: ‘Yes, that’s right (Nai).’ – Athenian: ‘You follow Homer, presumably (Mȏn oun kath’ Homȇron legeis), and say that every ninth year Minos used to go to a consultation with his father Zeus (hȏs tou Minȏ phoitȏntos pros tȇn tou patros hekastote sunousian di’ enatou etous), and laid down laws for your cities on the basis of the god’s pronouncements (kai kata tas ekeinou phȇmas tais polesin humin thentos tous nomous;)?’ – Cleinias: ‘Yes, that’s our Cretan version (legetai gar houtȏ par’ hȇmin), and we say that Mino’s brother (kai dȇ kai ton adelphon ge autou), Rhadamanthus (Radamanthun) – doubtless you know the name (akouete gar to onoma) – was an absolute paragon of justice (dikaiotaton gegonenai).’ (624a1-625a1, tr. Trevor J. Saunders)

The Athenian Stranger suggests that they occupy their journey discussing constitutions and laws: ‘I’ve heard it said that from Cnossus to Zeus’ cave and shrine is quite a long way (pantȏs d’ hȇ ge ek Knȏsou hodos eis to tou Dios antron kai hieron, hȏs akouomen, hikanȇ), and the tall trees along the route provide shady resting-places which will be more than welcome in this stiflingly hot weather (kai anapaulai kata tȇn hodon, hȏs eikos, pnigous ontos ta nun, en tois hupsȇlois dendresin eisi skiarai, 625b3).’ Cleinias adds: ‘And as you go on, sir, you find (Kai mȇn estin ge, ȏ xene, proïonti) tremendously tall and graceful cypress trees in the sacred groves (kuparittȏn en tois alsesin hupsȇ kai kallȇ thaumasia); there are also meadows (kai leimȏnes) in which we can pause and rest (en hoisin anapauomenoi diatriboimen an.’ (625b1-c2, tr. Saunders)

In the Phaedrus too the discussion takes place in the countryside, Socrates and Phaedrus enjoy the shade of a lofty tree (230b). Socrates is enchanted by the scene in which the dialogue takes place: ‘By Hera (Nȇ tȇn Hȇran), a fine stopping place (kalȇ ge hȇ katagȏgȇ)! This plane-tree is very spreading and tall (hȇ te gar platanos hautȇ mal’ amphilaphȇs te kai hupsȇlȇ), and the tallness and shadiness of the agnus are quite lovely (tou te agnou to hupsos kai to suskion pankalon) … From the figurines and statuettes, the spot seems to be sacred to some Nymphs and to Achelous (Numphȏn te tinȏn kai Achelȏou hieron apo tȏn korȏn te kai agalmatȏn eoiken einai) … it echoes with a summery shrillness of the cicadas’ song (therinon te kai liguron hupȇchei tȏi tȏn tettigȏn chorȏi). Most delightful of all is the matter of the grass (pantȏn de kompsotaton to tȇs poas), growing on a gentle slope and thick enough to be just right to rest one’s head upon (hoti en ȇrema prosantei hikanȇ pephuke kataklinenti tȇn kephalȇn pankalȏs echein). So you have been the best of guides for a stranger (hȏste arista soi exenagȇtai), my dear Phaedrus (ȏ phile Phaidre).’ – Phaedrus: ‘You extraordinary man (Su de ge, ȏ thaumasie) – you strike me as the oddest person (atopȏtatos tis phainȇi). You really do seem like a stranger on a visit, as you say, and not a local (atechnȏs gar, ho legeis, xenagoumenȏi tini kai ouk epichȏriȏi eoikas).’ (230b2-d1, tr. C.J. Rowe)

The Athenian Stranger speaks about ‘stiflingly hot weather’ (pnigous ontos ta nun) in which the three are going to have their discussion on constitutions and laws. Socrates’ ‘it echoes with a summery shrillness of the cicadas’ song’ tells us that the discussion in the Phaedrus was taking place in summer, but for the exact parallel we must go to the second part of the Phaedrus, where in the stifling heat of the midday (en tȏi pnigei, 258e7) Socrates and Phaedrus are to discuss the merits and demerits of the speech of Lysias that had been read by Phaedrus, and of the two speeches given by Socrates. The Athenian Stranger speaks from what he had heard about the journey from Cnossus to the cave of Zeus, Cleinias complements the picture from experience; his reference to sacred groves reminds the reader of Socrates’ ‘the spot seems to be sacred’, ‘meadows in which we can pause and rest’ recall Socrates’ ‘most delightful of all is the matter of the grass … just right to rest one’s head upon’. But there may be more to Cleinias’ meadows. Since the reader has been reminded of the Phaedrus, Cleinias’ ‘meadows’ (leimȏnes) turn his thoughts to the ‘meadow’ (leimȏnos) on ‘the plain of truth’ (to alȇtheias pedion) in Socrates’ second speech, the Phaedran Palinode. In their discussion the Athenian and his two friends will aim at finding the truth concerning the right constitution and laws. For the Cretan and the Spartan it is the excellence in war at which a good constitution aims; in the Athenian’s view it is peace.

Cleinias says that ‘what most men call “peace” (hȇn kalousin hoi pleistoi tȏn anthrȏpȏn eirȇnȇn) is really only a fiction (tout’ einai monon onoma), and that in cold fact (tȏi d’ ergȏi) all states are by nature fighting an undeclared war against every other state (pasais pros pasas tas poleis aei polemon akȇrukton kata phusin einai). If you see things in this light, you are pretty sure to find (kai schedon aneurȇseis, houtȏ skopȏn) that the Cretan legislator established every one of our institutions, both in the public sphere and the private, with an eye on war (ton Krȇtȏn nomothetȇn hȏs eis ton polemon hapanta dȇmosiai kai idiai ta nomima hȇmin apoblepȏn sunetaxato), and that this was the spirit in which he gave us his laws for us to keep up (kai kata tauta houtȏ phulattein paredȏke tous nomous). He was convinced that if we don’t come out on top in war, nothing that we possess or do in peace-time is of the slightest use (hȏs tȏn allȏn oudenos ouden ophelos on oute ktȇmatȏn out’ epitȇdeumatȏn, an mȇ tȏi polemȏi ara kratȇi tis), because all the goods of the conquered fall into the possession of the victors (panta de ta tȏn nikȏmenȏn agatha tȏn nikȏntȏn gignesthai).’ The Athenian asks Cleinias to clarify: ‘The definition you gave of a well-run state (hon gar horon ethou tȇs eu politeuomenȇs poleȏs) seems to demand that its organization and administration should be such (dokeis moi legein houtȏ kekosmȇmenȇn oikein dein) as to ensure victory in war over other states (hȏste polemȏi nikan tas allas poleis). Correct (ȇ gar;)?’ – Cleinias: ‘Of course (Panu men oun), and I think our companion supports my definition (oimai de kai tȏide houtȏ sundokein). – Megillus: ‘My dear sir, what other answer could one possibly make (Pȏs gar an allȏs apokrinaito, ȏ theie), if one is a Spartan (Lakedaimoniȏn ge hostisoun;)?’ (626a2-c5, tr. Saunders)

The Athenian asked whether the same principle governed the relation of one village to another village, and of one man to another man. When Cleinias said that it did, the Athenian asked what of ‘a man’s relation with himself (autȏi pros hauton)’? Cleinias answered: ‘Everyone is an enemy of everyone else in the public sphere (polemious einai pantas pasin dȇmosiai te), and each man fights a private war against himself (kai idiai hekastous autous sphisin autois) … This (K’antautha), sir (ȏ xene), is where a man wins the first and best of victories – over himself (to nikan auton hauton pasȏn nikȏn prȏtȇ te kai aristȇ). Conversely, to fall a victim to oneself is the worst and most shocking thing that can be imagined (to de hȇttasthai auton huph’ heautou pantȏn aischiston te hama kai kakiston). This way of speaking points to a war against ourselves within each one of us (tauta gar hȏs polemou en hekastois hȇmȏn ontos pros hȇmas autous sȇmainei).’ (626d1-e5, tr. Saunders)

The Athenian reversed the argument: ‘You hold that each one of us is either “conqueror of”, or ”conquered by” himself (epeidȇ gar heis hekastos hȇmȏn ho men kreittȏn hautou, ho de hȇttȏn esti); are we to say that the same holds good of household, village and state (potera phȏmen oikian kai kȏmȇn kai polin echein t’auton touto en hautais ȇ mȇ phȏmen?’ Cleinias said: ‘Wherever the better people subdue the many (en hoposais men gar hoi ameinones nikȏsin to plȇthos), their inferiors (kai tous cheirous), the state may rightly be said to be “conqueror of” itself (orthȏs an hautȇ kreittȏn te heautȇs legoit’ an hȇ polis), and we should be entirely justified in praising it for its victory (epainoito te an dikaiotata tȇi toiautȇi nikȇi). Where the opposite happens, we must give the opposite verdict (t’ounantion de, hopou t’anantia).’ – Athenian: ‘I understand your position to amount to this (to hupo sou legomenon manthanȏ nun): sometimes evil citizens will come together in large numbers and forcibly try to enslave the virtuous minority, although both sides are members of the same race and the same state (hȏs pote politai, sungeneis kai tȇs autȇs poleȏs gegonotes, adikoi kai polloi sunelthontes, dikaious elattous ontas biasontai douloumenoi). When they prevail (kai hotan men kratȇsȏsin), the state may properly be said to be “inferior to” itself (hȇttȏn hȇ polis hautȇs orthȏs hautȇ legoit’ an) and to be an evil one (hama kai kakȇ); but when they are defeated (hopou d’an hȇttȏntai), we can say it is ”superior to” itself (kreittȏn te) and that it is a good state (kai agathȇ). (626e6-627b8, tr. Saunders)

To make clear his objection, the Athenian suggested: ‘Let’s look at this point again (kai tode palin episkepsȏmetha): suppose a father and mother had several sons (polloi adelphoi pou genoit’ an henos andros te kai mias hueis) – should we be surprised if the majority of these brothers were unjust (kai thaumaston ouden tous pleious men adikous autȏn gignesthai), and the minority just (tous de dikaious elattous)? … Those brothers I’ve just mentioned (toutois tois arti legomenois adelphois) – they’d have a judge, I suppose (genoit’ an pou tis dikastȇs;)? … Which of these judges would be the better (Poteros oun ameinȏn), the one who would put all the bad brothers to death (hostis tous men apoleseien autȏn hosoi kakoi) and told the better ones to run their own lives (tous de beltious archein autous hautȏn prostaxeien), or the one who put the virtuous brothers in command (ȇ hode hos an tous men chrȇstous archein), but let the scoundrels go on living in willing obedience to them (tous cheirous d’ easas zȇn archesthai hekontas poiȇseien;)? And we can probably add a third and even better judge (triton de pou dikastȇn pros aretȇn eipȏmen) – the one who will take the single quarrelling family in hand and reconcile its members, without killing any of them (ei tis eiȇ toioutos hostis paralabȏn sungeneian mian diapheromenȇn, mȇte apoleseien mȇdena, diallaxass de eis ton epiloipon chronon); by laying down regulations to guide them in the future (nomous autois theis), he will be able to ensure that they remain on friendly terms with each other (pros allȇlous paraphulattein dunaito hȏste einai philous).’ – Cleinias: ‘Yes, this judge – the legislator – would be incomparably better (Makrȏi ameinȏn gignoit’ an ho toioutos dikastȇs te kai nomothetȇs).’ – Athenian: ‘But in framing these regulations he would have his eye on the exact opposite of war (Kai mȇn t’ounantion ge ȇ pros polemon an blepȏn autois tous nomous dianomothetoi).’ Cleinias: ‘True enough (Touto men alȇthes).’ (626c3-628a8, tr. Saunders)

In the light of this example, the Athenian turned to the state: ‘But what about the man who brings harmony to the state (ho tȇn polin sunarmottȏn)? In regulating its life, will he pay more attention to external war, or internal? This “civil” war, as we call it, does break out on occasion (pros polemon autȇs an ton exȏthen blepȏn ton bion kosmoi mallon, ȇ pros ton polemon ton en autȇi genomenon hekastote, hȇ dȇ kaleitai stasis;), and is the last thing a man would want to see in his own country (hon malista men hapas an bouloito mȇte genesthai pote en hautou polei); but if it did flare up (genomenon te), he would wish to have it over and done with as quickly as possible (hȏs tachista apallattesthai)?’ – Cleinias: ‘He’ll obviously pay more attention to the second kind (Dȇlon hoti pros touton).’ (628a9-b5, tr. Saunders)

As long as the Athenian discusses the state along the lines outlined in the given example, Cleinias agrees with him: Everybody would prefer that a civil war ended in reconciliation, peace and friendship, rather than the destruction of one of the opposing sides. But when he turns from the given examples to the principle of legislation, Cleinias is not ready to follow.

Athenian: ‘Now surely, every legislator will enact his every law with the aim of achieving the greatest good (Ara oun ou tou aristou heneka panta an ta nomima titheiȇ pas;)?’ – Cleinias: ‘Of course (Pȏs d’ ou;).’ – Athenian: ‘The greatest good, however (To ge mȇn ariston), is neither war (oute ho polemos) nor civil war (oute hȇ stasis) – God forbid we should ever need to resort to either of them (apeukton de to deȇthȇnai toutȏn) – but peace and goodwill among men (eirȇnȇ de pros allȇlous kai philophrosunȇ). And so the victory of a state over itself, it sems (kai dȇ kai to nikan, hȏs eoiken, autȇn hautȇn polin), does not after all come into the category of ideals (ouk ȇn tȏn aristȏn); it is just one of those things in which we have no choice (alla tȏn anankaiȏn). You might just as well suppose that the sick body which has been purged by the doctor was therefore in the pink of condition (homoion hȏs ei kamnon sȏma iatrikȇs katharseȏs tuchon hȇgoito tis arista prattein tote), and disregard the body that never had any such need (tȏi de mȇde to parapan deȇthenti sȏmati mȇde prosechoi ton noun). Similarly (hȏsautȏs de), anyone who takes this sort of view of the happiness of a state or even an individual (kai pros poleȏs eudaimonian ȇ kai idiȏtou dianooumenos) will never make a true statesman in the true sense  – if, that is, he adopts foreign warfare as his first and only concern; he’ll become a genuine lawgiver only if he designs his legislation about war as a tool for peace, rather than his legislation for peace as an instrument for war (houtȏ tis out’ an pote politikos genoito orthȏs, pros ta exȏthen polemika apoblepȏn monon kai prȏton, out’ an nomothetȇs akribȇs, ei mȇ charin eirȇnȇs ta polemou nomothetoi mallon ȇ tȏn polemikȏn heneka ta tȇs eirȇnȇs).’ – Cleinias: ‘What you say, sir, has the air of having been correctly argued (Phainetai men pȏs ho logos houtos, ȏ xene, orthȏs eirȇsthai). Even so, I shall be surprised if our Cretan institutions (thaumazȏ ge mȇn ei ta te par hȇmin nomima), and the Spartan ones as well (kai eti ta peri Lakedaimona), have not been wholly orientated towards warfare (mȇ pasan tȇn spoudȇn toutȏn heneka pepoiȇtai).’ (628c6-e5, tr. Saunders)

The Athenian agrees that both the Cretan and the Spartan legislators orientated their legislation wholly towards warfare. But instead of ‘harshly attacking their views’ (sklȇrȏs autois diamachesthai), he suggests that they subject to questioning poet Tyrtaeus, who proclaimed: ‘I’d not mention (out’ an mnȇsaimȇn) a man, I’d take no account of him’ (out’ en logȏi andra titheimȇn, 629a7) … unless his prowess in war were beyond compare (hos mȇ peri polemon aristos gignoit’ aei).’ To Cleinias he says: ‘Doubtless you too have heard these lines (tauta gar akȇkoas kai su ta poiȇmata); Megillus here knows them backwards, I expect (hode men gar oimai diakorȇs autȏn esti, 629b4).’

Athenian: “Tyrtaeus, you are a poet, and divinely inspired (Ō Turtaie, poiȇta theiotate). We are quite sure of your wisdom and virtue (dokeis gar dȇ sophos hȇmin einai kai agathos), from the special commendation you have bestowed on those who have particularly distinguished themselves in active service (hoti tous men en tȏi polemȏi diapherontas diapherontȏs enkekȏmiakas). On this point we – Megillus here, Cleinias of Cnossus and I – find ourselves, we think, emphatically in agreement with you (ȇdȇ oun tunchanomen egȏ te kai hode kai Kleinias ho Knȏsios houtosi [69c3] sumpheromenoi soi peri toutou sphodra, hȏs dokoumen); but we want to be quite clear that we are talking about the same people (ei de peri tȏn autȏnlegomen andrȏn ȇ mȇ, boulometha saphōs eidenai). Tell us (lege oun hȇmin): do you clearly distinguish, as we do, two sorts of war (ara eidȇ duo polemou kathaper hȇmeis hȇgȇi kai su saphȏs)? Or what (ȇ pȏs;)?” I fancy that in reply to this even a man far less gifted than Tyrtaeus would state the facts of the case (pros taut’ oimai k’an polu phauloteron eipoi Turtaiou tis t’alȇthes) and say “Two” (hoti duo). The first would be what we all call ‘civil’ war (to men ho kaloumen hapantes stasin), and as we were saying just now, this is the most bitterly fought of all (hos dȇ pantȏn polemȏn chalepȏtatos, hȏs ephamen hȇmeis nundȇ); and we shall all agree, I think, in defining the other type of war (to de allo polemou thȇsomen oimai genos hapantes) as the one we fight when we quarrel with our foreign enemies from outside the state (hȏi pros tous ektos te kai allophulous chrȏmetha diapheromenoi). It is a much less vicious war than the other (polu praioteron ekeinou).’ – Cleinias: ‘I agree (Pȏs gar ou;).’ (629b8-d6, tr. Saunders)

***

Let me interrupt the Athenian’s questioning of Tyrtaeus and turn attention to two lines in the previous paragraphs: 1. ‘Megillus here knows them backwards, I expect’ (hode men gar oimai diakorȇs autȏn esti). 2. ‘we – Megillus here, Cleinias of Cnossus and I’ (egȏ te kai hode kai Kleinias ho Knȏsios houtosi). Saunders’ ‘Megillus’ is in both cases an interpretation of Plato’s hode [‘this’, ‘this here’].

Malcolm Schofield writes in the ‘Introduction’ to Tom Griffith’s translation of the Laws: ‘It will take a couple of pages before it is established for the reader that the speaker of the opening sentence is from Athens (I. 626d). The Athenian is never named; it is not until we are five pages into the dialogue that we learn the Cretan’s name (Cleinias: 629c); another thirteen pages will elapse before the Spartan is self-identified as Megillus (642a).’ He remarks that this is a ‘deviation from the Platonic norm. The identity of speakers is usually made explicit in the first few snatches of conversation.’ In the accompanying note he says: ‘It was not ancient writing practice to specify identity of speakers other than through indications in the text of their speech itself, together with use of a symbol marking change of speaker.’ (Plato Laws, Cambridge University Press 2016, p. 2).

Schofield’s remark – that this is a ‘deviation from the Platonic norm. The identity of speakers is usually made explicit in the first few snatches of conversation’ – is true concerning the Phaedrus, in which we learn the identity of the speakers in the first two lines. The dialogue opens with Socrates’ ‘My dear Phaedrus (Ō phile Phaidre), where is it you’re going (poi dȇ), and where have you come from (kai pothen;)?’ Phaedrus answers: ‘From Lysias (Para Lysiou), son of Cephalus, Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates, tou Kephalou).’ But it is not true concerning the Symposium. There the narrator opens the dialogue addressing his audience ‘Concerning the things about which you are to be informed I believe that I am not ill prepared with an answer (Dokȏ moi peri hȏn punthanesthe ouk ameletȇtos einai). For the day before yesterday I was coming from my own home at Phalerum to the city (kai gar etunchanon prȏiȇn eis astu oikothen aniȏn Phalȇrothen), and one of my acquaintance (tȏn oun gnȏrimȏn tis), who had caught a sight of me from behind (opisthen katidȏn me), calling out playfully in the distance (ekalese, kai paizȏn hama tȇi klȇsei), said: “Apollodorus, o thou Phalerian man, halt!” (“Ō Phalȇreus,” ephȇ, “houtos Apollodȏros, ou perimeneis;”) So I did as I was bid (K’agȏ epistas periemeina); and then he said (Kai hos), “I was looking for you, Apollodorus, only just now (“Apollodȏre,” ephȇ, “kai mȇn kai enanchos se ezȇtoun), that I might ask you about the speeches in praise of love, which were delivered by Socrates, Alcibiades, and others, at Agathon’s supper (boulomenos diaputhesthai tȇn Agathȏnos sunousian kai Sȏkratous kai Alkibiadou kai tȏn allȏn tȏn tote en tȏi sundeipnȏi paragenomenȏn, peri tȏn erȏtikȏn logȏn tines ȇsan). Phenix, the son of Philip, told another person who told me of them (allos gar tis moi diȇgeito akȇkoȏs Phoinikos tou Philippou); his narrative was very indistinct (alla gar ouden eiche saphes legein), but he said that you knew (ephȇ de kai se eidenai) … And first tell me (proteron de moi eipe”)”, he said (ȇ d’hos), “were you present at this meeting (“su autos paregenou tȇi sunousiai tautȇi ȇ ou;”)”?” – “Your informant, Glaucon”, I said (K’agȏge eipon hoti), “must have been indistinct indeed (Pantapasi eoike soi ouden diȇgeisthai saphes ho diȇgoumenos), if you imagine that the occasion was recent (ei neȏsti hȇgȇi tȇn sunousian gegonenai tautȇn hȇn erȏtais); or that I could have been one of the party (hȏste kai eme paragenesthai).” – “Why, yes,” he replied, “I thought so” (“Egȏ ge dȇ,” ephȇ).’ (172a6-c3)

Jowett named Glaucon too soon, the ancient readers learnt Glaucon’s name in Apollodorus’ reply: “Impossible (Pothen),” I said, “Glaucon (ȇn d’egȏ, “ȏ Glaukȏn, 172c3), are you ignorant that for many years Agathon has not resided at Athens (ouk oisth’ hoti pollȏn etȏn Agathȏn enthade ouk epidedȇmȇken); and not three have elapsed since I became acquainted with Socrates, and have made it my daily business to know all that he says and does (aph’ hou d’ egȏ Sȏkratei sundiatribȏ kai epimeles pepoiȇmai hekastȇs hȇmeras eidenai hoti an legȇi ȇ prattȇi, oudepȏ tria etȇ esti;). There was a time when I was running about the world (pro tou de peritrechȏn hopȇi tuchoimi), fancying myself to be well employed (kai oiomenos ti poiein), but I was really a most wretched being (athliȏteros ȇ hotououn), no better than you are now (ouch hȇtton ȇ su nuni). I thought that I ought to do anything rather than be a philosopher (oiomenos dein panta mallon prattein ȇ philosophein)”.’ (172c3-173a3, tr. Jowett)

As can be seen, Plato let the reader wait before he revealed ‘the acquaintance’s’ name. He let him wait on purpose. The reader who had read the Republic must have been mightily surprised when he learnt the name of Glaucon as part of Apollodorus’ sharp criticism of him. For Glaucon, Plato’s younger brother, is Socrates’ main interlocutor in the Republic because of his passionate interest in philosophy. The ‘waiting time’, which arouses the readers curiosity, emphasises the import of Apollodorus’ introductory narrative. Glaucon knew nothing about the philosophy that permeated those speeches, culminating in Socrates’ speech. He was interested in those speeches only in so far as he heard that they were in praise of love. It was the power of those speeches, narrated to him by Apollodorus, that transformed Glaucon into a man interested in philosophy. For the readers of the Republic Agathon’s introductory speech provides an interesting biographic detail concerning Glaucon. But for those, who only heard about the Republic and about Glaucon’s role in it, and like Glaucon heard ‘about the erotic speeches’ (peri tȏn erȏtikȏn logȏn, Symp. 172b2) in the Symposium, Apollodorus’ ‘Introduction’ provides a powerful impetus to become interested in philosophy.

Similarly, in the Laws, when Plato makes the reader wait for quite a long time before he reveals the Spartan’s name, he does so for a purpose. The reader who was reminded of his having to wait for Apollodorus’ disclosure of Glaucon’s name in the Symposium, and who couldn’t but think of the dramatic context in which Apollodorus revealed it, was presumably expecting – was supposed to expect – a similarly dramatic disclosure of the Spartan’s name. When I am saying ‘was supposed to expect’, I’m thinking of the way in which Plato heightened the curiosity/expectations of his readers; when the Athenian named to Tyrtaeus the Cretan’s name, he referred to the Spartan only by a pronoun hode ‘this’, ‘this man here’, as if the reader should know to whom he thus referred. In his discussion with Tyrtaeus the Athenian argues that peace is the proper aim of the legislator: ‘Surely, he must mean Megillus, who in his youth came to Athens to negotiate peace after the Athenians won the naval battle at Arginusae [in 406 B.C.].’

While waiting, let us return to the Athenian’s questioning of Tyrtaeus.

***

Only now, in revising this article, I became aware that Plato refers to Megillus by the pronoun hode in Cleinias’ answer to the Athenians opening question: ‘Tell me, gentlemen, to whom do you give the credit for establishing your codes of law? Is it a god, or a man? (Theos ȇ tis anthrȏpȏn humin, ȏ xenoi, eilȇphe tȇn aitian tȇs tȏn nomȏn diatheseȏs;) Cleinias answers: ‘A god (Theos), sir (ȏ xene), a god (theos) … in Sparta (para de Lakedaimoniois) – which is where our friend here hails from (hothen hode estin) – they say it is Apollo (oimai phanai toutous Apollȏna). The readers’ curiosity – ‘Who this hode is supposed to be? Plato expects me to guess.’ –  is thus aroused at the very beginning of the dialogue. The reader is given a clew at 626c3 in Cleinias’ appeal to Megillus: ’I think our companion supports my definition’ (oimai de kai tȏide houtȏ sundokein). [Tȏide is the dative of hode.] With these words Cleineas replied to the Athenian’s request: ‘But explain this point to me rather more precisely (tode de moi phraze eti saphesteron): the definition you gave of a well-run city (hon gar horon ethou tȇs eu politeuomrnȇs poleȏs) seems to me to demand that its organization and administration should be such (dokeis moi legein houtȏ kekosmȇmenȇn oikein dein) as to ensure victory in war over other states (hȏste polemȏi nikan tas allas poleis). Correct? (ȇ gar;).’ Megillus, appealed to by Cleinias using the pronoun hode, which implied that both Cleinias and Athenian knew his name – and that the reader ought to guess – addressed his reply to the Athenian: ‘My dear sir, what other answer could one possibly make (Pȏs gar an allȏs apokrinaito, ȏ theie), if one is a Spartan (Lakedaimoniȏn ge hostis oun;)?’ The epithet theios (‘divine’), which Megillus uses, expresses deep regard, appreciation, and reverence, which Saunders’ ‘My dear sir’ fails to convey. Griffith ‘avoids’ the difficulty by translating Megillus’ address to the Athenian as follows: ‘An inspired guess! What other answer could any Spartan possibly give?’ Griffith got it wrong. The Athenian’s ‘But explain this point to me rather more precisely …’ expresses his misgivings: How could ‘ensuring victory in war over other states’ be the definition of ‘a well-run city’, if its legislation is supposed to be derived from Zeus in Crete and Apollo in Sparta. In the ensuing discussion the Athenian demonstrates to Cleinias and Megillus that such definition of a well-run city is wrong. And he claims success, presenting himself and his two friends to Tyrtaeus with the words egȏ te kai hode kai Kleinias ho Knȏsios houtosi (‘I and this [this Spartan] and Cleinias of Cnossos’ (629c3).

***

The Athenian continues his questioning: “Well now (Phere dȇ), Tyrtaeus, which category of soldiers did you shower with your praises and which you censure? Which was the type of war they were fighting, that led you to speak so highly of them (poterous, kai pros poteron epainȏn ton polemon, houtȏs huperepȇinesas, tous de epsexas tȏn andrȏn;)? The war fought against foreign enemies, it would seem (eoikas men gar pros tous ektos) – at any rate, you have told us in your verses (eirȇkas g’oun hȏde en tois poiȇmasin) that you have no time for men (hȏs oudamȏs tous toioutous anechomenos) who cannot (hoi mȇ tolmȇsȏsin men) “stand the sight of bloody butchery (horan phonon haimatoenta) and do not attack in close combat with the foe (kai dȇiȏn oregoint’ enguthen histamenoi)”.

‘So here is the next thing we would say (oukoun ta meta tauta eipoimen an hȇmeis hoti): “It looks as if you reserve your special praise, Tyrtaeus (Su men epaineis, hȏs eoikas, ȏ Turtaie, malista), for those who fight with conspicuous gallantry in external war against a foreign enemy (tous pros ton othneion te kai exȏthen polemon gignomenous epiphanies),” I suppose he’d agree to this, and say “Yes” (phaiȇ taut’ an pou kai homologoi;)?’ – Cleinias: ‘Surely (Ti mȇn;).’ (629d7-e8, tr. Saunders)

With this admission – that he praised those who distinguished themselves in external war – the questioning of Tyrtaeus ends. In what follows, the Athenian contends that virtue that Tyrtaeus praises is only a part of virtue.

Athenian: ‘Our position, by contrast, is that, good as these people are (Hȇmeis de ge agathȏn ontȏn toutȏn), better still – and much better – are those who most distinguish themselves in that war which is most important (eti phaimen ameinous einai kai polu tous en tȏi megistȏi polemȏi gignomenous aristous diaphanȏs). We too have a poet we can call as witness (poiȇtȇn de kai hȇmeis martur’ echomen), Theognis (Theognin), citizen of Megara in Sicily (politȇn tȏn en Sikeliai Megareȏn). What he says is (hos phȇsin):

“Cyrnus, in time of bitter civil strife/ A loyal man is worth his weight in gold/ And silver (pistos anȇr chrusou te kai argurou anterusasthai/ axios en chalepȇi, Kurne, dichostasiȇi).”

‘This man, we say, in the harshest of wars, is very much better than the other (touton dȇ phamen en polemȏi chalepȏterȏi ameinona ekeinou pampolu gignesthai) – to roughly the same extent (schedon hoson) that the combination of justice, self-control, and wisdom with courage is better (ameinȏn dikaiosunȇ kai sȏphrosunȇ kai phronȇsis eis t’auton elthousai met’ andreias) than courage alone, by itself (autȇs monȇs andreias)’. (630a5-b2, tr. Griffiths)

[Malcolm Schofield says in the accompanying note: ‘This is the Athenian’s first statement of the conception of human goodness he will assume and articulate in different ways throughout the dialogue, first developed below at 631c, and culminating in a discussion of the unity of the four cardinal virtues in Book 12. 963a-965e.]

The Athenian points out that any lawgiver who is any use will have in view the greatest virtue (tȇn megistȇn aretȇn), the combination of justice, self-control, wisdom and courage, as he prescribes his laws. The virtue that Tyrtaeus praises so highly, is only fourth in rank; in order of merit it comes after wisdom, self-control, and justice. Casting his eye at the beginning of the whole discussion, the Athenian says that Cleinias was right in starting with virtue as the aim of the laws, but wrong in doing so with reference to only one part of virtue, and the smallest part at that.

After this appreciation and criticism of Cleinias the Athenian presents his view of the aim of the laws; to make his foundation of the laws more acceptable, he presents it as a correction of Cleinias’ presentation of Cretan constitution:

‘”My friend (Ō xene),” you should have said (echrȇn eipein), “there is good reason for the laws of Cretans to be held in the highest possible regard among all the Greeks (hoi Krȇtȏn nomoi ouk eisi matȇn diapherontȏs en pasin eudokimoi tois Hellȇsin). They get it right because (echousin gar orthȏs) they bring happiness to those who live under them (tous autois chrȏmenous eudaimonas apotelountes), providing them with everything that is good (panta gar t’agatha porizousin). Now, good things are of two kinds (dipla de agatha estin), human (ta men anthrȏpina) and divine (ta de theia) – the human being dependent on the divine (ȇrtȇtai ek tȏn theiȏn thatera).

***

Schofield notes: ‘This division of goods into two classes recapitulates a line of thought familiar from Socratic dialogues such as the Meno (87c-89a) and Euthydemus (279e-281e), and most succinctly in Apology (30b), where Socrates claims that “it is not from possessions that human excellence comes, but from human excellence possessions and all other goods that humans enjoy in both private and public domains.” The idea is not that moral goodness is what makes someone rich or healthy, but that when people are healthy or good-looking or strong or wealthy that will only truly be beneficial for them if they are morally good – if their use of such resources and attributes is guided above all by wisdom.’

***

“Anyone who gets the greater (kai ean men dechȇtai tis ta meizona polis) gains the lesser as well (ktatai kai ta elattona) – otherwise (ei de mȇ) he loses both (steretai amphoin). The lesser goods are (esti de ta men elattona): first, health (hȏn hȇgeitai men hugieia); second, good looks (kallos de deuteron); third (to de triton), strength in running (ischus eis te dromon) and in all other bodily activity (kai eis tas allas pasas kinȇseis tȏi sȏmati); fourth (tetarton de dȇ), wealth (ploutos) – which is not blind (ou tuphlos), but perceptive and acute (all’ oxu blepȏn), provided it follows wisdom (anper ham’ hepȇtai phronȇsei). Turning to the divine goods, first place goes to (ho dȇ prȏton au tȏn theiȏn hȇgemonoun estin agathȏn) wisdom (hȇ phronȇsis); second (deuteron de) is a rational state of soul characterized by self-control (meta nou sȏphrȏn psuchȇs hexis); third would be justice – the combination of the first two with courage (ek de toutȏn met’ andreias krathentȏn triton an eiȇ dikaiosunȇ); and fourth (tetarton de), courage (andreia).

***

Writing these lines, could Plato fail to dwell in his mind on the lines he wrote in his early twenties in his first dialogue? The Phaedrus, in which he described with enthusiasm the divine nature of the plain of truth (alȇtheias pedion, 248b6) with the meadow (leimȏnos, 248c1), on which the soul beholds ‘justice (dikaiosunȇs) and self-control (kai sȏphrosunȇs) and the other things which are of value to souls (kai hosa alla timia psuchais, 250b1-2), of all of which the foremost is ‘wisdom’ (phronȇsis). We cannot see the clear likeness of wisdom through the eyes of the body, ‘for the feelings of love it would give us would be terrible (deinous gar an pareichen erȏtas), if it allowed some such clear image of itself to reach our sight (ei ti toiouton heautȇs enarges eidȏlon pareicheto eis opsin ion) … This has been ordained for beauty alone (nun de kallos tautȇn esche moiran), to be most manifest to the sense and most lovely (hȏst’ ekphanestaton einai kai erasmiȏtaton, 250d4-e1).’

***

“All these (tauta de panta), in natural order of things, rank above the human goods (ekeinȏn emprosthen tetaktai phusei), and that is how the lawgiver too must rank them (kai dȇ kai tȏi nomothetȇi takteon houtȏs). The next thing (meta de tauta) is for the citizens to be encouraged to believe it is to these goods that all their other regulations look (tas allas prostaxeis tois politais eis tauta blepousas autois einai diakeleusteon), and that among these goods (toutȏn de) the human (ta men anthrȏpina) look to the divine (eis ta theia), and the divine (ta de theia) all look to intelligence, which is their guide (eis ton hȇgemona noun sumpanta blepein).

“As for their marriage unions with one another (peri te gamous allȇlois epikoinoumenous), and after that (meta te tauta) in the birth and upbringing of children (en tais tȏn paidȏn genȇsesin kai trophais) – male (hosoi te arrenes) and female (kai hosai thȇleiai), and when they are young (neȏn te ontȏn) and when they come to more advanced years (kai epi to presbuteron iontȏn), right up to old age (mechri gȇrȏs) – the right way for the lawgiver to manage things is by approval and disapproval (timȏnta orthȏs epimeleisthai dei kai atimazonta) … And he must apportion blame and praise correctly by means of the actual laws (psegein te orthȏs kai epainein di’ autȏn tȏn nomȏn) … until finally, when he is completing the system (mechriper an pros telos hapasȇs politeias epexelthȏn), he should turn his attention to the dead (idȇi tȏn teleutȇsantȏn) – how they are to be buried (tina dei tropon hekastois gignesthai tas taphas) and what honours should be paid to them (kai timas hastinas autois aponemein dei).

“Then the lawgiver will review his laws (katidȏn de ho theis tous nomous), and appoint guardians to watch over all these things (hapasin toutois phulakas epistȇsei); some of these guardians will be guided by wisdom, others by true opinion (tous men dia phronȇseȏs, tous de di’ alȇthous doxȇs iontas), so that intelligence can nit all these arrangements together (hopȏs panta tauta sundȇsas ho nous) and to make it clear that they follow self-control and justice (hepomena sȏphrosunȇi kai dikaiosunȇi apophȇnȇi), not wealth (alla mȇ ploutȏi) or ambition (mȇde philotimiai).” (631b3-632d2, tr. Griffith)

***

The Athenian’s questioning of Tyrtaeus recalls – and implicitly rejects – the passage in the Phaedrus, where Socrates maintains: ‘Writing has this awful feature (Deinon tout’ echei graphȇ) … you might think (doxais men an) that the offspring of painting/writing (hȏs ta ekeinȇs ekgona) spoke as if they had some thought in their heads (hȏs ti phronountas an legein), but if you ever ask them about any of the things they say (ean de ti erȇi tȏn legomenȏn) out of a desire to learn (boulomenos mathein), they preserve a quite solemn silence (semnȏs panu sigai, cf. Phaedrus 275d4-9).’

But there are other sections in the Phaedrus, in its second part, of which the reader is thus reminded. I have in mind Socrates’ suggestion that a rhetorician with his blinkered view of rhetoric should go to Sophocles and Euripides boasting of his technȇ (‘craftsmanship’/ ‘science’). Socrates speaks on behalf of Sophocles and Euripides in the Phaedrus, as the Athenian speaks on behalf of Tyrtaeus in the Laws: ‘But I don’t think they would abuse him coarsely (All’ ouk agroikȏs ge oimai loidorȇseian); just as a musical expert (all’ hȏsper an mousikos), if he met someone who thought he knew all about harmony (entuchȏn andri oiomenȏi harmonikȏi einai) just because he happened to know (hoti dȇ tunchanei epistamenos) how to produce the highest and the lowest notes on a string (hȏs hoion te oxutatȇn kai barutatȇn chordȇn poiein), would not say fiercely (ouk agriȏs eipoi an) “Your off your head, you wretch (Ō mochthȇre, melancholais)”, but, being a musician (all’ hate mousikos ȏn), more gently (praioteron hoti), “My dear fellow (Ō ariste), the person who is going to be an expert in harmony must certainly know that (anankȇ men kai taut’ epistasthai ton mellonta harmonikȏi esesthai), but there is nothing to prevent someone in your condition from having not the slightest understanding of harmony (ouden mȇn kȏluei mȇde smikron harmonias epaïein ton tȇn sȇn hexin echonta); for what you know is what has to be learned before harmony itself (ta gar pro harmonias anankaia mathȇmata epistasai), not the elements of harmony as such (all’ ou ta harmonika).” (Phaedr. 268d6-e6, tr. C.J. Rowe)

Plato writes these lines on the basis of Sophocles’ and Euripides’ tragedies, not on the basis of his personal acquaintance with them; they were both dead when he wrote the Phaedrus. But it might be objected that on the dramatic date of the dialogue – during the Peace of Nicias, 416 B.C. at the latest – Sophocles and Euripides were still alive, and Socrates knew Euripides personally. So, let me point to another passage in the same section of the Phaedrus.

Socrates: ‘Then do you think it possible to understand the nature of the soul satisfactorily (Psuchȇs oun phusin axiȏs logou katanoȇsai oiei dunaton einai) without understanding the nature of the whole (aneu tȇs tou holou phuseȏs;)? – Phaedrus: ‘If one is to place any reliance on Hippocrates the Asclepiad (Ei men Hippokratei ge tȏi tȏn Asklȇpiadȏn dei puthesthai), one can’t understand about the body either (oude peri sȏmatos) without this procedure (aneu tȇs methodou tautȇs).’ – Socrates: ‘And he’s right, my friend (Kalȏs gar, ȏ hetaire, legei), but besides Hippocrates we should examine our account to see if it agrees with him (chrȇ mentoi pros tȏi Hippokratei ton logon exetazonta skopein ei sumphȏnei).’ –Phaedrus: ‘Agreed (Phȇmi).’ – Socrates: ‘Well then, on the subject of nature (To toinun peri phuseȏs), see (skopei) what Hippocrates and the true account say about it (ti pote legei Hippokratȇs te kai ho alȇthȇs logos).’ (270c1-10, tr. Rowe)

The harmony between the Tyrtaeus passage in the Laws and the corresponding passages in the second part of the Phaedrus on the one hand, and the dissonance of both with the passage quoted from the third part of the Phaedrus, is easy to understand under the assumption that the first two express Plato’s views, the passage from the third part of the Phaedrus expresses the view of Socrates.

But there are passages in the third part, which Socrates derived from the experience of Plato as a writer: ‘His garden of letters (tous en grammasi kȇpous), it seems (hȏs eoike), he will sow and write for amusement (paidias charin sperei te kai grapsei) … and he will be pleased as he watches their tender growth (hȇsthȇsetai te autous theȏrȏn phuomenous hapalous); and when others (hotan de alloi) resort to other sorts of amusement (paidiais allais chrȏntai), watering themselves with drinking-parties (sumposiois te ardontes hautous) and the other things (heterois te) which go along with these (hosa toutȏn adelpha), then he (tot’ ekeinos), it seems (hȏs eoiken), will spend his time amusing himself with the things I say, instead of these (anti toutȏn hois legȏ paizȏn diaxei).’ (Phaedr. 276c3-d8, tr. C.J. Rowe)

***

Having concluded his outline of legislation, the Athenian said: ‘That (houtȏs), my friends (ȏ xenoi), is what I would have liked from you – what I want from you now, come to that – an explanation (egȏge ȇthelon an humas kai eti nun boulomai diexelthein) how all this is contained in the laws attributed to Zeus [in Crete] and Pythian Apollo [in Sparta], the work of the two lawgivers Minos [in Crete] and Lycurgus [in Sparta] (pȏs en tois tou Dios legomenois nomois tois te tou Pythiou Apollȏnos, hous Minȏs te kai Lykourgos ethetȇn, enestin panta tauta, 632d1-4, tr. Griffith).

Cleinias asked, how the discussion should proceed. The Athenian suggested that they should go back to the beginning and consider activities which promote courage. Megillus, the Spartan, suggests that the Athenian should begin by examining (krinein) the admirer of Zeus, i.e. Cleinias, the Cretan. The Athenian replied: ‘I’ll try to examine (Peirasomai) not only him, but you and myself as well (kai se te kai emauton) – we all have a stake in the discussion (koinos gar ho logos, 633a3-4, tr. Saunders).

The Athenian asked about the common meals (sussitia) and gymnastic exercises (gumnasia): ‘have they been invented by your legislator for the purpose of war (pros ton polemon exȇurȇsthai tȏi nomothetȇi;)?’ – Megillus: ‘Yes (Nai).’ The Athenian asked what other activities were invented for the purpose of war. Megillus named ‘hunting’ (thȇran) as third, and as fourth he added ‘training in the endurance of pain’ (to peri tas karterȇseis tȏn algȇdonȏn). (633a-b).

The Athenian praised the Spartan’s answers, but then he asked whether courage was to be defined in terms of ‘a fight against fears and pains only (pros phobous kai lupas diamachȇn monon), or do we include desires and pleasures (ȇ kai pros pothous te kai hȇdonas).’ Megillus answered that it should be defined as struggle ‘against all those things’ (pros tauta hapanta). (633c8-d4). So the Athenian asked where in their codes of law was an institution or provision that makes the same people courageous in the face of pains and pleasures alike (634a-b). Megillus replied that he had no difficulty in naming laws that were designed to counteract pains, but that he could not say the same concerning pleasures. (634b7-c2). And yet, the Athenian maintains, ‘when people are looking into the question of laws (nomȏn de peri diaskopoumenȏn anthrȏpȏn), then pretty well the whole enquiry is to do (oligou pasa estin hȇ skepsis) with pleasures and pains (peri te tas hȇdonas kai tas lupas), whether in cities (en te polesin) or in the behaviour of individuals (kai en idiois ȇthesin, 636d5-7).’ Megillus admits that ‘it sounds well and good (legetai men tauta kalȏs pȏs), though when it comes to knowing exactly how to reply, we’re at a loss for words (ou mȇn all’ aphasia g’ hȇmas lambanei ti pote chrȇ legein pros tauta).’ He nevertheless thinks that the lawgiver in Sparta was right ‘to instruct us to avoid pleasure’ (to tas hȇdonas pheugein diakeleuesthai) …  [Drinking of liquor] the thing which, more than any other, causes people to fall the victim to the greatest pleasures (hou gar malist’ anthrȏpoi kai megistais prospiptousn hȇdonais) and excesses (kai hubresi), and every kind of folly (kai anoiai hapasȇi), has been banished by our law from the entire country (tout’ exebalen ho nomos hȇmȏn ek tȇs chȏras hapasȇs).’ (636e4-637a4, tr. Griffith)

The Athenian does not accept this as the right solution: ‘I’d like to discuss this same subject, getting drunk, in a different way (tropon de allon ethelȏ legein peri autou toutou, tȇs methȇs, 638e2-3).’ – Megillus: ‘Well, if there is a correct method of enquiring into this kind of thing available to us (Kai mȇn ei tina echomen orthȇn skepsin tȏn toioutȏn), we certainly need to have no hesitation about listening to what you have to say (ouk apoknȇteon akouein, 638e7-639a1, tr. Griffith).' After a prolong discussion about the correct way of enquiring into the subject concerning which different people and different nations have so different opinions, Cleinias says: ‘That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out – your opinion about the things which at present we can’t agree on (Tout’ auto dȇ peirȏmetha to soi dokoun peri tȏn nun amphisbȇtoumenȏn katamathein).’ – Athenian: ‘That’s what we have to do, then (Alla chrȇ poiein houtȏs), straining every sinew in the attempt – you to follow the argument, and me somehow or other to make it clear (humas te epi to mathein kai eme epi to dȇlȏsai peirȏmenon hamȏs ge pȏs, sunteinai, ton logon) … which really is a long discussion (tauta de pampollȏn esti logȏn). Maybe we should forget about this question for now (horate oun ti poiȏmen ei tauta men easaimen en tȏi paronti), and pass on to some other topic in the realm of law (metekbaimen d’ eis heteron tina nomȏn peri logon).’ – Megillos: ‘You may not be aware, my Athenian friend (Ō xene Athȇnaie, ouk oisth’ isȏs), that my family is in fact an honorary consulate of your city (hoti tunchanei hȇmȏn hȇ hestia tȇs poleȏs ousa humȏn proxenos). And what happens with all children, I suspect (isȏs men oun kai pasin tois paisin), when they are told they are consuls for some city (epeidan akousȏsin hoti tinos eisin poleȏs proxenoi), is that each of them straight away, from earliest childhood, becomes a supporter of that city (tautȇi tis eunoia ek neȏn euthus enduetai hekaston hȇmȏn tȏn proxenȏn tȇi polei), regarding it, after his own city, as a second fatherland (hȏs deuterai ousȇi patridi meta tȇn hautou polin). Certainly, to take my own present case, that’s exactly what has happened to me (kai dȇ kai emoi nun t’auton touto engegonen). Right from childhood I used to be told (akouȏn gar tȏn paidȏn euthus), if the Spartans were criticising – or even commending – the Athenians (ei ti memphointo ȇ kai epainoien Lakedaimonioi Athȇnaious, hȏs), “That’s your family city (Hȇ polis humȏn), Megillus (ȏ Megille),” they’d say (ephasan), “not doing right by us”, or “doing right by us” (hȇmas ou kalȏs ȇ kalȏs errexe). Well, being told this (tauta dȇ akouȏn), and fighting your battles for you (kai machomenos pros auta huper humȏn) every time against those who were running your city down (aei pros tous tȇn polin eis psogon agontas), I became an out-and-out supporter (pasan eunoian eschon); I love the Athenian accent (kai moi nun hȇ te phȏnȇ prosphilȇs humȏn), and the generally held view (to te hupo pollȏn legomenon) that “good Athenians, when you find them (hȏs hosoi Athȇnaiȏn eisin agathoi), are good in a rather special way (diapherontȏs eisin toioutoi)”, is in my view absolutely true (dokei alȇthestata legesthai). It’s because they are the only people who by some divine dispensation are good naturally, and not by compulsion, truly, not artificially (monoi gar aneu anankȇs autophuȏs, theiai moirai alȇthȏs kai outi plastȏs eisin agathoi). So as far as I’m concerned, you needn’t worry (tharrȏn dȇ emou ge heneka). Feel free to speak at whatever length you please (legois an tosauta hoposa soi philon).’ (641d10-642d2, tr. Griffith).

It is in this speech that the ancient readers of Plato’s Laws learnt the Spartan’s name. Until now the Athenian referred to him as ‘Spartan visitor’ and ‘my Spartan friend’, as Griffiths translates Lakedaimonie xene at 635e5 and 633c8, thus teasing his Athenian readers, who should have realised Megillus’ name by then, for the Athenian in his discussion with Cleinias and Megillus focussed attention on peace as the aim of legislation. Earlier on he referred to him simply with a pronoun hode (‘this’, 629b4 and c3), which suggested that the given context indicated to whom he was thus referring.

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We know from Aristotle’s Athenian Constitution that in 406 B.C., after the naval battle of Arginusae, which the Athenians won, Sparta sent an embassy to Athens to negotiate peace. The embassy failed because of Cleophon’s intervention. The way in which Plato presents Megilus in the Laws suggests that Megillus led the Spartan negotiation team. We learn that Megillus was a peace negotiator from Xenophon.

Xenophon does not mention the embassy of which Aristotle’s Athenian Constitution informs us. To mention that Sparta was eager to negotiate peace after the naval battle they lost would have been too painful for his Spartan and pro-Spartan readers. But he writes about the Spartan desire to make peace with Athens just prior to the battle of Arginusae. In 406 B.C. the Spartans sent Callicratidas to take the command of the fleet. Callicratidas went to Cyrus and asked for pay for the sailors, but Cyrus told him to wait for two days. Angry at being put off, Callicratidas declared ‘that the Greeks were in a sorry plight (athliȏtatous einai tous Hellenas), toadying to barbarians for the sake of money (hoti barbarous kolakeuousin heneka arguriou’, and said ‘that if he reached home in safety (an sȏthȇi oikade), he would do his best (kata to hautou dunaton) to reconcile the Athenians and the Spartans (diallaxein Athȇnaious kai Lakedaimonious) … dispatching triremes to Sparta to get money (pempsas triȇreis eis Lakedaimona epi chrȇmata).’ (Hellenica I.vi.6-7)

Before the battle at Arginusae, Callicratidas was advised by the pilot of his ship to sail away, ‘for the triremes of the Athenians were far more numerous (hai gar triȇreis tȏn Athȇnaiȏn pollȏi pleious einai). Callicratidas, however, said (Kallikratidas de eipen) that Sparta would fare none the worse (hoti hȇ Spartȇ ouden mȇ kakion oikȇtai) if he were killed (autou apothanontos), but flight, he said, would be a disgrace (pheugein de aischron ephȇ einai). After this (Meta de tauta) they fell to fighting, and fought for a long time (enaumachȇsan chronon polun) … But when Callicratidas (epei de Kallikratidas te), as his ship rammed an enemy (embalousȇs tȇs neȏs), fell overboard into the sea and disappeared (apopesȏn eis tȇn thalattan ȇphanisthȇ) … then began a flight of the Peloponnesians (enteuthen hȇ phugȇ tȏn Peloponnȇsiȏn egeneto).’ (I.vi.32-33)

Xenophon mentions Megillus as one of the commissioners sent to negotiate peace between the Persian satrap Tissaphernes and the Spartan king Agesilaos. Like the embassy sent to Athens, this mission was unsuccessful: ‘Tissaphernes straightway violated the oaths which he had sworn’ (ho men dȇ Tissaphernȇs ha ȏmosen euthus epseusato, III.iv.6, tr. from Hellenica C.L. Brownson).

Learning the Spartan’s name in the Laws, the reader was reminded of the following passage in the Phaedrus: ‘Of speaking (tou de legein), saith the Spartan (phȇsin ho Lakȏn), a genuine science (etumos technȇ), without a grasp of truth (aneu tou alȇtheias hȇphthai), neither exists (out’ estin) nor will come into existence in the future (oute mȇ pote husteron genȇtai, 260e5-7, tr. Rowe).’ And thanks to it, we may identify the laconic Spartan in the Phaedrus as the peace negotiator Megillus.

It was not the lack of Megillus’ rhetorical skill that occasioned the failure of his peace mission. Aristotle’s Athenian Constitution gives us a picture of the peace negotiation and its failure: ‘After the naval battle at Arginusae (genomenȇs tȇs en Arginousais naumachias) … when the Spartans were willing to evacuate Decelea (boulomenȏn Lakedaimoniȏn ek Dekeleias apienai) on terms of both parties retaining what they held (eph’ hois echousin hekateroi), and to make peace (kai eirȇnȇn agein), though some persons were eager to accept (enioi men espoudazon), yet the mass of the people refused to consent (to de plȇthos ouch hupȇkousen), being completely deceived by Cleophon (exapatȇthentes hupo Kleophȏnos), who prevented the conclusion of peace (hos ekȏluse genesthai tȇn eirȇnȇn) by coming into the assembly (elthȏn eis tȇn ekklȇsian), drunk (methuȏn) and wearing a corslet (kai thȏraka endedukȏs), and protesting that he would not allow it (ou phaskȏn epitrepsein) unless the Spartans surrendered all the cities (ean mȇ pasas aphiȏsi Lakedaimonioi tas poleis)’ [i.e. those cities that the Spartans had taken in the war]. (XXXIII, 34, 1, tr. H. Rackham).

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Rackam notes on Cleophon ‘drunk and wearing a corslet’: ‘i.e. with his courage artificially stimulated and with armour to protect him against assassination (unless we adopt the conjecture that methuȏn kai thȏraka endedukȏs (‘drunk and wearing a corslet’) is a mistaken paraphrase of some original record giving thȏraka echȏn (‘having a corslet’) in the slang sense of “well primed with liquor,” cf. Aristoph. Ran. 1504).’ The reference to Aristophanes’ Frogs 1504 is strange, for the lines 1500-1514 contain the speech of Pluto, the lord of the Underworld, who advises Aeschylus what he is to do on getting to Athens. At 1514 Pluto says: kai dos touti Kleophȏni pherȏn (‘and carrying this, give it to Cleophon’); the Scholiast remarks: schoinion epididȏsin autȏi ho Ploutȏn pros anchonȇn ‘Pluto gives him a halter [for Cleophon] to hang himself’. Pluto does not give Aeschylus a mug of liquor to make Cleophon drunk.

We can find the clue to Cleophon’s wearing a corslet in the choric song with which Aristophanes’ Frogs end. The chorus is asking ‘the powers that are ruling below the earth (daimones hoi kata gaias): give the triumphant poet [Aeschylus] a good journey on rising up to the light (euodian agathȇn apionti poiȇtȇi es phaos ornumenȏi dote), grant that he find for the city good counsels to guide her aright (tȇi te polei megalȏn agathȏn agathas epinoias) so we at last shall be freed from the anguish, the fear, and the woe (panchu gar ek megalȏn acheȏn pausaimeth’ an houtȏs), freed from the onsets of war (argaleȏn t’ en hoplois sunodȏn). Let Cleophon now and his band battle, if battle they must (Kleophȏn de machesthȏ k’allos ho boulomenos toutȏn), in their own fatherland (patriois en arourais).’

With these last two lines, with which the Frogs end, Aristophanes conjures up the image of Cleophon as he stood drunk in front of the Assembly wearing the corslet as a symbol: he was going to fight until Sparta surrendered all the cities which it had taken in the war. ( ‘Let Cleophon now and his band battle, if battle they must, in their own fatherland’ points to Cleophon’s Thracian origin. Cf. Frogs 678-681).

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If we identify the laconic Spartan in the Phaedrus (at 260e) as Megillus, then we may expect to find there a reference to Cleophon as well. I believe that Plato refers to him at Phaedrus 260c6-d1: ‘Then when a master of oratory (Hotan oun ho rȇtorikos), who is ignorant of good and evil (agnoȏn kakon kai agathon), employs his power of persuasion on a community as ignorant as himself (labȏn polin hȏsautȏs echousan) … and when by studying the beliefs of the masses (doxas de plȇthous memeletȇkȏs) he persuades them to do evil instead of good (peisȇi kaka prattein ant’ agathȏn), what kind of crop do you think his oratory is likely to reap from the seed thus sown (poion tin’ an oiei meta tauta tȇn rȇtorikȇn karpon hȏn espeire therizein;)?’