Socrates in Plato’s Meno, and a remark on my forthcoming protest in Prague

In my preceding post I referred to David Bostock’s Plato’s Phaedo. I quoted his claim that in the Meno version of the recollection argument ‘Plato had himself drawn the conclusion that we never did learn it [i.e. that we never learned what we know now, J.T.], but must have had the knowledge always, i.e. for all the time that there has been (Meno 85d).’

I remarked: ‘This did not make sense to me, for it not only contradicts Socrates’ not-knowing, but the ‘recollection argument’ in the Meno, as far as I remembered it, allows Socrates to point out that we have knowledge that we could not have derived from our present-life’s experience, i.e. we must have brought it into this life from our existence before we were born, but nothing more.’

I looked up Meno 85d and found that in that paragraph Socrates maintains that we must either have acquired knowledge we now have, or always possessed it. And so I asked how it happened to Bostock that he turned Socrates’ ‘And this knowledge he must either have acquired (ȇ oun elaben pote) or always possessed (ȇ aei eichen)’ into the claim that ‘in the Meno Plato had himself drawn the conclusion that we never did learn it, but must have had the knowledge always, i.e. for all the time that there has been (Meno 85d)’. I speculated: ‘My only explanation is that he opened his Oxford text and his eyes got fixed on aei eichen, ‘always possessed’, and he did not register the preceding ȇ oun elaben pote ‘either have acquired’.’ My speculation was too rash, Bostock got just his reference wrong; he must have based his claim on Meno 86a-b.

***

In the preceding few days I was preoccupied with sending the ‘information’ about my forthcoming protest in Prague (see my preceding post) to Czech academics. I sent the ‘information’ to all academics at the Faculty of Arts (filozofická fakulta) at Charles University, and since I intend to send it to as many Czech academics as possible, I looked up other faculties. The first on the list was the Catholic Theological Faculty. I could get no access to any emails: ‘They obviously don’t want to be disturbed by emails in their contemplation of the divine,’ I thought. And so I tried the Protestant Theological Faculty, then the Hussite Theological Faculty. The same problem. The same explanation? And so I went on to the Faculty of Law, then the First Faculty of Medicine.

The same problem, but the same explanation obviously did not apply. Was my ‘information’ so noxious that the Rector of the University (to whom I sent the ‘information’ before I began sending it to other academics) decided that the academics at Charles university must be protected against it? I tried the Philosophy Institute at the Czech Academy of Sciences. Its Members were ‘unprotected’, and so I spent the whole of yesterday sending my ‘information’ to them. Towards the evening I had just about enough of it, read a bit of Jeffrey Archer’s Cometh the Hour and spent some time with a textbook of German (my son is learning German at school and many times I am embarrassed by his questions). This morning I have realised I could not resume my task of informing Czech academics about my forthcoming protest; I need some time with Plato to recover from that tedious task.

Just as a matter of interest, I have now looked at the English version of the Charles University website. The same problem. I know nothing about computers, and so I ask, could a clever technician disable just my laptop from accessing any emails of academics at Charles University? If not, I wonder how long the Czech academics at that renowned university will tolerate their emails having been made inaccessible.

***

And since I was not quite sure whether I did not do injustice to David Bostock, I decided to reread the Meno. I have got as far as 86c, and realised – as I had realised many times before – that it is very perilous to talk about any dialogue without reading it afresh, not just a bit of it, but the whole of it.

I immediately trespass against this principle, for, as I have just said, in my present reading I have got only as far as Meno 86c. But that’s enough for my being able to shed more light on Bostock’s claim and on my rash remark concerning it.

Let me return to the discussion Socrates and Meno had about Meno’s slave who, prompted by Socrates’ questions, ‘recollected’ the solution of a mathematic-geometrical problem with which Socrates confronted him. I am resuming the discussion at 86a6.

Socrates: ‘And if there have been always true thoughts in him, both at the time when he was and was not a man (Ei oun hon t’an ȇi chronon kai hon an mȇ ȇi anthrȏpos, enesontai autȏi alȇtheis doxai), which only need to be awakened into knowledge by putting questions to him (hai erȏtȇsei epegertheisai epistȇmai gignontai), his soul must have always possessed this knowledge (ar’ oun ton aei chronon memathȇkuia estai hȇ psuchȇ autou), for he always was or was not a man (dȇlon gar hoti ton panta chronon estin ȇ ouk estin anthrȏpos)? – Meno: ‘Obviously (Phainetai ‘It appears so’).’

At this point I must take issue with Jowett’s translation, for he put the question mark where is a full stop, and a coma where in the original stands a question mark. But more importantly, his ‘always possessed’ (86a8) does not do justice to memathȇkuia. So let me attempt to rephrase 86a8-9 ar’ oun ton aei chronon memathȇkuia estai hȇ psuchȇ autou; ‘isn’t it so that his soul will always be in a state of having learnt [what it knows]?’ (In the Ancient Greek the semicolon stands for the question mark.)

Soc. ‘And if the truth of all things always existed in the soul (Oukoun ei aei hȇ alȇtheia hȇmin tȏn ontȏn estin en tȇi psuchȇi), then the soul is immortal (athanatos hȇ psuchȇ eiȇ). Wherefore be of good cheer, and try to recollect what you do not know, or rather what you do not remember (hȏste tharrounta chrȇ ho mȇ tunchaneis epistamenos nun – touto d’ estin ho mȇ memnȇmenos – epicheirein zȇtein kai anamimnȇiskesthai).’ (86b1-4)

I must again interrupt Jowett’s rendering of Socrates. Socrates’ words at 86b1-4 are just one sentence in the original, and the sentence ends with a question mark.

Meno: ‘I feel, somehow, that I like what you are saying (Eu moi dokeis legein, ȏ Sȏkrates, ouk oid’ hopȏs).’ – Soc. ‘And I, Meno, like what I am saying (Kai gar egȏ emoi, ȏ Menȏn). Some things I have said of which I am not altogether confident (kai ta men ge alla ouk an panu huper tou logou diischurisaimȇn ‘and the other things I have said I would not affirm with confidence’). But that we shall be better and braver and less helpless if we think that we ought to enquire (hoti d’ oiomenoi dein zȇtein ha mȇ tis oiden beltious an eimen kai andrikȏteroi kai hȇtton argoi), than we would if we indulged in the idle fancy that there was no knowing and no use in seeking to know what we do not know (ȇ ei oioimetha ha mȇ epistametha mȇde dunaton einai heurein mȇde dein zȇtein); – that is a theme upon which I am ready to fight, in word and deed, to the utmost of my power (peri toutou panu an diamachoimȇn, ei hoios te eiȇn, kai logȏi kai ergȏi).’ (86a6-c2, tr. B. Jowett)

So must I withdraw the remark I had made concerning Bostock’s claim concerning the recollection argument, that ‘Plato in the Meno had himself drawn the conclusion that we never did learn what we know now, but must have had the knowledge always, i.e. for all the time that there has been’? I remarked that Bostock’s claim not only contradicts Socrates’ not-knowing, but that the ‘recollection argument’ in the Meno allows Socrates to point out that we have knowledge we could not have derived from our present-life’s experience, i.e. we must have brought it into this life from our existence before we were born, but nothing more? I think my remark holds even face to face with Meno 86a6-c2.

From Bertrand Russell on Plato’s Phaedo and Meno to my forthcoming protest in Prague

Russell writes in his History of Western Philosophy that in the Phaedo and the Meno Socrates applies his method of questioning to geometrical problems, and that in doing so ‘he has to ask leading questions which any judge would disallow’. In my preceding post I pointed out that he is wrong concerning the Phaedo, and I made a few remarks on the Meno based on a chapter I wrote on this dialogue in The Lost Plato, some ten years ago. And since I have in my possession David Bostock’s book on Plato’s Phaedo, which ‘stems from a course of lectures designed for undergraduates at Oxford’ (quoted from the opening sentence of the ‘Preface’, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1986), I looked at it. In Chapter IV on ‘The Recollection Argument’ Bostock writes: ‘Why must it be supposed that there ever was a time when we learnt what we now know? Indeed in an earlier version of this argument in the Meno Plato had himself drawn the conclusion that we never did learn it, but must have had the knowledge always, i.e. for all the time that there has been (Meno 85d).' (p. 61)

This did not make sense to me, for it not only contradicts Socrates’ not-knowing, but the ‘recollection argument’ in the Meno, as far as I remembered it, allows Socrates to point out that we have knowledge that we could not have derived from our present-life’s experience, i.e. we must have brought it into this life from our existence, before we were born, but nothing more. And so I have looked at Meno 85d, to which Bostock refers. In that paragraph Socrates and Meno discuss Mino’s slaves’ ‘recollection’ of a solution to a geometrical problem. I shall begin at 85b8.

Socrates: ‘What do you say of him (ti soi dokei), Meno (ȏ Menȏn)? Were not all these answers given out of his own head (estin hȇntina doxan ouch hautou houtos apekrinato)?’ – Meno: ‘Yes, they were all his own (Ouk, all’ hautou).’ – Soc. ‘And yet, as we were just now saying, he did not know (Kai mȇn ouk ȇidei ge, hȏs ephamen oligon proteron)?’ – Men. ‘True (Alȇthȇ legeis).’ – Soc. ‘But still he had in him those notions of his (Enȇsan de ge autȏi hautai hai doxai) – had he not (ȇ ou)?’ – Men. ‘Yes (Nai).’ – ‘Then he who does not know (Tȏi ouk eidoti ara) may still have true notions of that which he does not know (peri hȏn an mȇ eidȇi eneisin alȇtheis doxai peri toutȏn hȏn ouk oide)?’ – Men. ‘He has (Phainetai).’ – Soc. ‘And at present (Kai nun men ge) these notions have just been stirred up in him, as in a dream (autȏi hȏsper onar arti anakekinȇntai hai doxai hautai); but if he were frequently asked the same questions (ei de auton tis anerȇsetai pollakis ta auta tauta), in different forms (kai pollachȇi), he would know as well as any one at last (oisth’ hoti teleutȏn oudenos hȇtton akribȏs epistȇsetai peri toutȏn)?’ – Men. ‘I dare say (Eoiken).’ – Soc. ‘Without any one teaching him (Oukoun oudenos didaxantos) he will recover his knowledge for himself, if he is only asked questions (all’ erȏtȇsantos epistȇsetai, analabȏn autos ex heautou tȇn epistȇmȇn)?’ – Men. ‘Yes (Nai).’ – ‘And this spontaneous recovery of knowledge in him (To de analambanein auton en heautȏi epistȇmȇn) is recollection (ouk anamimnȇiskesthai estin)?’ – Men. ‘True (Panu ge).’ – Soc. ‘And this knowledge (Ar’ oun ou tȇn epistȇmȇn) which he now has (hȇn nun houtos echei) must he not either have acquired (ȇ oun elaben pote) or always possessed (ȇ aei eichen)? – Men. ‘Yes.’ (85b8-85d10, tr. Jowett)

How did it happen to Bostock that he turned Socrates’ ‘And this knowledge he must either have acquired (ȇ oun elaben pote) or always possessed (ȇ aei eichen)’ into the claim that ‘in the Meno Plato had himself drawn the conclusion that we never did learn it, but must have had the knowledge always, i.e. for all the time that there has been (Meno 85d)’? My only explanation is that he opened his Oxford text and his eyes got fixed on aei eichen, ‘always possessed’, and he did not register the preceding ȇ oun elaben pote ‘either have acquired’. If so, a similar thing happened to Vlastos, who in his Socrates maintains that the hedonic philosopher Aristippus was ‘mentioned as present at the death-scene by Plato’ (Phaedo 59c2-3). (Vlastos, Socrates, Cambridge University Press 1991, p. 204, n. 19) In fact, in Phaedo 59c4 Aristippus’ presence is strongly denied. At 59c3 Echecrates asks ‘What about Aristippus and Cleombrotus? Were they there (Ti de; Aristippos kai Kleombrotos paregenonto;)?’ At 59c4 Phaedo replies: ‘No, they weren’t (Ou dȇta) they were said to be in Aegina (en Aiginȇi gar elegonto einai).’ If one reads 59c3 with a full stop instead of a question mark, it makes a straightforward statement: ‘Aristippus and Cleombrotus were present.’ That’s how Vlastos must have read it, and he must have read it only in the original; his eyes never slipped to the next line, line 59c4.

***

Since my arrival at Oxford in 1980 I have appealed to my Oxford and Cambridge colleagues again and again for an opportunity to discuss Plato, in vain. The present Master of Balliol could simply reply to me: ‘It is not I fear possible to give you a platform in Balliol’, without any explanation. In fact, until today I have received no explanation from anybody, unless I view as an explanation Jonothan Barnes’ proclamation in Nick Cohen’s ‘The Pub Philosopher’ (on my website): ‘Jonathan Barnes, Professor of Ancient Philosophy at Balliol College, Oxford, impatiently brushed aside the suggestion that the Conservatives’ reduction in funding for British philosophy since 1980 might explain why there was never an academic post for Tomin at Oxford. “That’s not the point at all,” he said. “He would not be accepted as a graduate here, let alone be given a teaching job. He’s like a recalcitrant student who can’t admit he’s wrong.’

This year, in February, I spent a month in Prague, during which I wrote two papers in Czech: ‘Plato’s defence of Forms in the Parmenides’ and ‘Plato and Dionysius’, I offered these two papers for presentation to the Director of the Institute for Philosophy at the Faculty of Arts (Filosofická fakulta) of Charles University. As the Master of Balliol had done, the Director refused my offer without any explanation.

***

From 16-18 November I shall stage ‘Three days with a pub philosopher devoted to philosophy’ in front of the Faculty of Arts of Charles University. I have been informing about my protest the Czech academics, but my protest will be equally directed at Oxford and Cambridge academics. So let me give the text of the ‘Information’ in English:

Dear colleague,

On November 16-18 I intend to stage ‘Three days with a pub philosopher devoted to philosophy’ in front of the Faculty of Arts on Palach’s square. The recommended texts: ‘The Pub Philosopher’ and ‘The Pursuit of Philosophy’; both these texts are available on my website.

On Nov. 16 I shall read ‘Self-reflection as an imperative’, on Nov. 17 ‘Plato’s defence of the Forms in the Parmenides’, on Nov. 18 ‘Plato and Dionysius’; the texts are on my website. Time: 10-12 am. I intend to stage the ‘Three days’ as a celebration and as a protest. I shall celebrate the start of the Velvet Revolution [November 17, 1989], for without that revolution it would be impossible for me to stage the ‘Three days’ in front of the Faculty of Arts. I shall protest against my exclusion from any meaningful cooperation with philosophers in the Czech Republic and in the world at large. ‘The Pub Philosopher’, published a day after the Velvet Revolution began, i.e. on Nov. 18, 1989, testifies to it.

In preparation for the ‘Three days’ I put on my website a letter written by Radovan Richta to Professor Diemer, the President of FISP, published in tvorba on October 15, 1980, that is shortly after I left Prague for Oxford. This letter pre-determined all my subsequent existence and work: ‘Tomin is a man who is worth nothing in philosophy … It is self-evident that Mr. Tomin would not find the means to live for a single week if he were interesting merely for what he did in philosophy.’ These words of Radovan Richta are worth comparing with the words of Jonathan Barnes, Professor of Ancient Philosophy at Balliol College, Oxford, which Nick Cohen quoted in ‘The Pub Philosopher’ published in The Independent Magazine on Nov. 18, that is a day after the Velvet Revolution started: “He [i.e. Tomin] would not be accepted as a graduate here, let alone be given a teaching job.’

Furthermore, I put on my website Roger Scruton’s ‘A catacomb culture’ published in February 1990, in the wake of the Velvet Revolution. It well describes the role that Oxford philosophers played after I left Prague for Oxford and my open philosophy seminar was supplanted by ‘secret’ activities. As I was typing Scruton’s article on my notebook, with every paragraph I had to think: ‘And during all those years I was excluded from any normal cooperation with philosophers in my field of interest, although I devoted all my efforts to enlarging and deepening my knowledge of ancient philosophy and Ancient Greek culture.’ Prompted by this thought, I shall stage the ‘Three days’ on November 16-18.

Needless to say, I should much rather present the three papers at the Institute for Philosophy and Religion at the Faculty of Arts. I shall therefore buy the air-ticket at the last moment, just in case the Director of the Institute were to invite me to give the proposed lectures at the Institute at a mutually convenient time.

***

Let me end by quoting the letter from The Editor of the TLS from November 18, 1991: ‘We would, of course, be very happy for you to use Roger Scruton’s article in whatever way you wish. I enclose two photocopies of the article. I have a great deal of sympathy with the difficulty you have experienced in steering Oxford philosophers into answering your argument, but I do not see how any contribution from us would compel a response from those who do not wish to respond. I am sorry not to be able to help more.’

Bertrand Russell on the Theory of Recollection in Plato’s Phaedo and Meno

Russell writes in his History of Western Philosophy, in the chapter on Socrates: ‘Socrates, in Plato’s works, always pretends that he is only eliciting knowledge already possessed by the man he is questioning; on this ground, he compares himself to a midwife. When, in the Phaedo and the Meno, he applies his method to geometrical problems, he has to ask leading questions which any judge would disallow. The method is in harmony with the doctrine of reminiscence, according to which we learn by remembering that we knew in a former existence.’ (Russell, p. 97-98)

Russell extrapolates from the Meno to the Phaedo. For in the Phaedo Socrates does not apply his method of questioning to geometrical problems, although his having been doing so on previous occasions is strongly affirmed in the dialogue.

In the chapter on Plato’s Theory of Immortality Russell writes: ‘To return to the Phaedo: Cebes expresses doubts as to the survival of the soul after death, and urges Socrates to offer arguments. This he proceeds to do … The first argument is that all things which have opposites are generated from their opposites … Now life and death are opposites, and therefore each must generate the other. It follows that the souls of the dead exist somewhere, and come back to earth in due course.’ (p. 137)

In the dialogue, at this point Cebes intervenes: “‘Yes, and besides, Socrates,’ Cebes replied, ‘there’s also that theory (Kai mȇn, ephȇ ho Kebȇs hupolabȏn, kai kat’ ekeinon geton logon, ȏ Sȏkrates) you’re always putting forward (hon su eiȏthas thama legein), that our learning is actually nothing but recollection (hoti hȇmin hȇ mathȇsis ouk allo ti ȇ anamnȇsis tunchanei ousa); according to that too (kai kata touton), if it’s true (ei alȇthȇs estin), what we are now reminded of we must have learned at some former time (anankȇ pou hȇmas en proterȏi tini chronȏi memathȇkenai ha nun anamimnȇiskometha). But that would be impossible (touto de adunaton), unless our souls existed somewhere (ei mȇ ȇn pou hȇmin hȇ psuchȇ) before being borne in this human form (prin en tȏide tȏi anthrȏpinȏi eidei genesthai); so in this way too (hȏste kai tautȇi), it appears that the soul is something immortal (athanaton hȇ psuchȇ ti eoiken einai.’

‘Yes, what are the proofs of those points, Cebes?’ put in Simmias (Alla, ȏ Kebȇs, ephȇ ho Simmias hupolabȏn, poiai toutȏn hai apodeixeis). Remind me (hupomnȇson me), as I don’t recall them very well at the moment (ou gar sphodra en tȏi paronti memnȇmai).’

‘One excellent argument,’ said Cebes (Heni men logȏi, ephȇ ho Kebȇs, kallistȏi), ‘is that when people are questioned (hoti erȏtȏmenoi hoi anthrȏpoi), and if questions are well put (ean tis kalȏs erȏtai), they state the truth about everything for themselves (autoi legousin panta hȇi echei) – and yet unless knowledge and a correct account were present within them (kaitoi ei mȇ etunchanen autois epistȇmȇ enousa kai orthos logos), they’d be unable to do this (ouk an hoioi t’ ȇsan touto poiȇsai); thus, if one takes them to diagrams (epeita ean tis epi ta diagrammata agȇi) or anything else of that sort (ȇ allo ti tȏn toioutȏn), one has there the plainest evidence that this is so (entautha saphestata katȇgorei hoti touto houtȏs echei).’

‘But if that doesn’t convince you, Simmias,’ said Socrates (Ei de mȇ tautȇi ge, ephȇ, peithȇi, ȏ Simmia, ho Sȏkratȇs), ‘then see (skepsai) whether maybe you agree if you look at it this way (an tȇide pȇi soi skopoumenȏi sundoxȇi). Apparently you doubt (apisteis gar dȇ) whether what is called “learning” is recollection (pȏs hȇ kaloumenȇ mathȇsis anamnȇsis estin)?’

‘I don’t doubt it’, said Simmias (Apistȏ men egȏge, ȇ d’ hos ho Simmias, ou): ‘but I do need to undergo just what the argument is about (auto de touto, ephȇ, deomai pathein peri hou ho logos), to be “reminded” (anamnȇsthȇnai). Actually, from the way Cebes set about stating it, I do almost recall it (kai schedon ge ex hȏn Kebȇs epecheirȇse legein ȇdȇ memnȇmai) and am nearly convinced (kai peithomai); but I’d like, none the less (ouden ment’an hȇtton), to hear (akouoimi) now how you set about stating it yourself (nun pȇi su epecheirȇsas legein).’

‘I’ll put it this way (Tȇid’ egȏge, ȇ d’ hos). We agree (homologoumen gar), I take it (dȇpou), that if anyone is to be reminded of a thing (ei tis ti anamnȇsthȇsetai) he must have known that thing at some time previously (dein auton touto proteron pote epistasthai)?’” (Phaedo 72e3-73c2, tr. David Gallop)

The way, in which Socrates is about to prove that ‘what is called “learning” is recollection’ has nothing to do with geometrical problems, it is concerned with the Forms. Socrates proves the point concerning the notion of equality, and then he says: ‘Our present argument concerns the beautiful itself, and the good itself, and just and holy, no less than the equal (ou gar peri tou isou nun ho logos hȇmin mallon ti ȇ peri autou tou kalou kai autou tou agathou, kai dikaiou kai hosiou); in fact, as I say (kai, hoper legȏ), it concerns everything on which we set this seal (peri hapantȏn hois episphragizometha), “what it is” (to “auto ho esti”), in the questions we ask (kai en tais erȏtȇsesin erȏtȏntes) and in the answers we give (kai en tais apokrisesin apokrinomenoi, 75c10-d3, tr. Gallop).’

***

It is worth noting that the ‘proof’ or the Theory of Recollection by questioning a person concerning geometrical problems, ‘if one takes them to diagrams or anything else of that sort’, is accepted neither by Cebes, nor by Simmias, as valid. Cebes qualifies it with the words ‘if it’s true’ (ei alȇthȇs estin, 72e4). Simmias is only ‘nearly convinced (kai schedon ge peithomai, 73b8-9), and Socrates expects him to be unconvinced – ‘but if that does not convince you’ (ei de mȇ tautȇi ge peithȇi, 73b3), while his own belief in its validity appears to be unshaken.

In the opening paragraph I am quoting Russell’s ‘When, in the Phaedo and the Meno, he [i.e. Socrates] applies his method to geometrical problems, he has to ask leading questions which any judge would disallow.’ On any dating of these two dialogues I have come across, Plato’s publication of the Meno precedes that of the Phaedo. On the generally accepted dating both were written after Plato’s first journey to Italy and Sicily, where Plato got in contact with the Pythagoreans: the Meno with its Theory of Recollection is the first result of that acquaintance, the theory of Forms developed in the Phaedo comes next. On that dating, one might speculate that when Plato wrote the Phaedo he became aware that in the Meno his Socrates ‘has to ask leading questions which any judge would disallow’, and that this is why he presented Cebes and Simmias as unconvinced by it.

In The Lost Plato in Chapter 10 entitled ‘Plato versus Anytus’ I argue that Plato must have written the Meno prior to the indictment and death of Socrates: ‘In 401, two years before Socrates died, Meno took part in the ill-fated attempt of Cyrus the younger to dethrone the Persian king Artaxerxes. He joined Cyrus’ army at the head of a mercenary contingent from Thessaly (Xenophon, Anabasis I.ii.6) and after Cyrus fell he became instrumental in the capture of the Greek commanders by the Persians (Xen. An. II.iii-vi). In the Meno, Socrates in his closing words exhorts Meno to persuade Anytus, Meno’s host, of all that he himself has been persuaded by Socrates in their discussioin (su de ta auta tauta haper autos pepeisai peithe kai ton xenon tonde Anuton), so that he might become more gentle (hina praioteros ȇi): ‘if you succeed in persuading him, you will benefit the Athenians’ (hȏs ean peisȇis touton, estin hoti kai Athȇnaious onȇseis, 100b7-c2). If Plato wrote the Meno after the death of Socrates, as is currently believed, both he himself and his readers were bound to think of Anytus first and foremost as the principal accuser of Socrates, and of Meno as the scoundrel (hȏs ponȇros, Xenophon, Anabasis II.vi.29) who betrayed the Greek army commanders to the Persians. I cannot see how Plato could have written the Meno in these circumstances. This is why I date the dialogue prior to Meno’s involvement in Cyrus’ military expedition.’

On my dating of the Meno, this dialogue with its ‘leading questions which any judge would disallow’ couldn’t but stand in the way of Cebes’ and Simmias’ accepting Socrates’ prowess in discussing geometrical problems as a convincing proof of the Theory of Recollection.

Plato’s Parmenides, Phaedo, Symposium and Republic

R. E. Allen maintains that the theory Socrates has outlined in the Parmenides ‘is substantially that of the Phaedo and the Republic.’ He says: ‘In the Phaedo (74a-c), equal things are distinguished from Equality on the ground that they are equal to one thing but not to another, whereas Equality cannot be Inequality, nor things just equal unequal (cf. Symposium 211a, Epistle VII 343a-b). At Republic V 479a-c, the chief ground for positing the existence of Ideas is that sensible objects are qualified by opposites.’

These considerations led Allen to the following hypothesis concerning the origin of the Theory of Forms: ‘The structure of the Parmenides, then, suggests that difficulties in explaining qualification by opposites, difficulties of the sort Zeno’s paradox raises, were an important motive of origin for the theory of Ideas. This is confirmed by the Phaedo and the Republic.’ (Plato’s Parmenides, translated with Comment by R.E. Allen, Yale University Press, 1997, p. 90)

In the dialogue, Parmenides has a very different theory about the origin of Socrates’ Theory of Forms: ‘I imagine that the way in which you are led to assume one idea of each kind is as follows (Oimai se ek tou toioude hen hekaston eidos oiesthai einai): – You see a number of great objects (hotan poll’ atta megala soi doxȇi einai), and when you look at them there seems to you to be one and the same idea in them all (mia tis isȏs dokei idea hȇ autȇ einai epi panta idonti); hence you conceive of greatness as one (hothen hen to mega hȇgȇi einai).’ – ‘Very true, said Socrates (Alȇthȇ legeis, phanai, 132a1-5, tr. Jowett).’

Allen completely misses the importance of this short exchange between the aging Parmenides and the young Socrates: ‘Abstracting for the moment from the reference to Socrates’ beliefs, and examining the content of what it is he is said to believe, the argument is that if a plurality of things is large, then there is some one Idea that is the same over all of them; if there is some one Idea that is the same over all of them, then Largeness is one. The function of the one over many premise, in its context, is not to provide an argument to show that Largeness exists; the existence of Ideas generally, and of Largeness specifically, has already been assumed. The premise is used to provide a reason for supposing not that Ideas are but that they are one.’ (Allen, p. 153)

Since Allen assumes that Socrates in the dialogue is just Plato’s fiction, he is blind to what Parmenides is asking Socrates about. He is making a conjecture that the basis on which Socrates came to the assumption that there is some one Idea that is the same over all of the many things that carry its name was his observing that all those things carried that same Idea or Form.

Allen is right when he sees a close resemblance concerning the theory of Forms developed in the Phaedo and the theory of Forms subjected to Parmenides’ criticism in the Parmenides. I agree with Allen’s relative dating of these two dialogues: Plato wrote the Phaedo before writing the Parmenides. But as I have argued in a number of entries on my blog devoted to this theme, and in ‘Plato’s defence of the Forms in the Parmenides’ on my website, Plato’s insistence that the set-up outlined in the dialogue is historical is to be taken seriously, which means that we must view the Parmenides, as to its content, as preceding the Phaedo.

In the Parmenides Socrates introduces the Forms as follows: ‘But tell me, Zeno (tode de moi eipe), do you not further think that there is an idea of likeness in itself (ou nomizeis einai auto kath’ hauto eidos ti homoiotȇtos), and another idea of unlikeness, which is the opposite of likeness (kai tȏi toioutȏi au allo ti enantion, ho esti anomoion), and that in these two (toutoin de duoin ontoin), you and I and all other things (kai eme kai se kai t’alla) to which we apply the term many (ha dȇ polla kaloumen), participate (metalambanein) – things which participate in likeness (kai ta men tȇs homoiotȇtos metalambanonta) become in that degree and manner like (homoia gignesthai tautȇi te kai kata tosouton hoson an metalambanȇi); and so far as they participate in unlikeness become in that degree unlike (ta de tȇs anomoiotȇtos anomoia), or both like and unlike in the degree in which they participate in both (ta de amphoterȏn amphotera)?’ (128e6-129a6)

Then Parmenides asks Socrates: ‘And would you make an idea of man apart from us and from all other human creatures, or fire and water (Ti d’, anthrȏpou eidos chȏris hȇmȏn kai tȏn hoioi hȇmeis esmen pantȏn, auto ti eidos anthrȏpou ȇ puros ȇ kai hudatos)?’ – Socrates: ‘I am often undecided, Parmenides, as to whether I ought to include them or not (En aporiai pollakis dȇ, ȏ Parmenidȇ, peri autȏn gegona, potera chrȇ phanai hȏsper peri ekeinȏn ȇ allȏs).’ (130c1-4) … Parmenides: ‘That is because you are still young (Neos gar ei eti); the time will come, if I am not mistaken, when philosophy will have a firmer grasp of you (kai oupȏ sou anteilȇptai philosophia hȏs eti antilȇpsetai kat’ emȇn doxan), and then you will not despise even the meanest things (hote ouden autȏn atimaseis, 130e1-3, tr. Jowett).’

In the Phaedo Socrates fulfilled Parmenides’ prophesy, pushed aside his quibbles concerning the Forms – just as Plato did in the Parmenides (see the preceding post on my blog) – and envisaged the Forms as true causes.

***

There is another ‘prophecy’, if a doubt can be viewed as prophecy, which appears to be fulfilled in the Phaedo. In Plato’s Symposium the wise Diotima says to Socrates: ‘These are the lesser mysteries of love (Tauta men oun ta erȏtika isȏs), into which even you, Socrates, may enter (ȏ Sȏkrates, k’an su muȇtheiȇs); to the greater and more hidden ones (ta de telea kai epoptika) which are the crown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit, they will lead (hȏn heneka kai tuta estin, ean tis orthȏs metiȇi), I know not whether you will be able to attain (ouk oid’ ei hoios t’ an eiȇs, 209e5-210a2, tr. Jowett).’

Jowett’s ‘the greater and more hidden ones’ is a very poor attempt of translating into English Diotima’s ta de telea kai epoptika. Telos means ‘the end or purpose of action’, ‘fulfilment’, ‘attainment’; teleos is an adjective that expresses the perfections of telos. Epoptikos is explained in LSJ as ‘initiated to the highest mysteries’, but the word suggests ‘seeing that which is to be seen’; presumably, the initiated were supposed to actually see the divine, which it certainly means in Plato’s Symposium. For in what follows, Diotima describes the assent to the actual seeing of absolute Beauty: ‘He who has been instructed thus far in the things of love (hos gar an mechri entautha pros ta erȏtika paidagȏgȇthȇi) and who has learned to see the beautiful in due course and succession (theȏmenos ephexȇs te kai orthȏs ta kala), when he comes towards the end (pros telos ȇdȇ iȏn tȏn erȏtikȏn) will suddenly perceive (exaiphnȇs katopsetai ti; ‘he will suddenly see something’) a nature of wondrous beauty (thaumaston tȇn phusin kalon), and this (touto ekeino), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), is the final cause of all our former toils (hou dȇ heneken kai hoi emprosthen pantes ponoi ȇsan) – a nature which in the first place is everlasting (prȏton men aei on), knowing no birth or death (oute gignomenon oute apollumenon), growth (oute auxanomenon) or decay (oute phthinon), secondly (epeita), not fair in one point of view (ou tȇi de kalon) and foul in another (tȇi d’ aischron), or at one time or in one relation or at one place fair, at another time or in another relation or at another place foul (oude tote men, tote de ou, oude pros men to kalon, pros de to aischron, oud’ entha men kalon, entha de aischron) as if fair to some (hȏs tisi men kalon) and foul to others (tisi de aischron), or in likeness of a face (oud’ au phantasthȇsetai autȏi to kalon hoion prosȏpon ti) or hands (oude cheires) or any other part of a bodily frame (oude allo ouden hȏn sȏma metechei), or in any form of speech or knowledge (oude tis logos oude tis epistȇmȇ), or existing in any individual being (oude pou on en heterȏi tini), as for example (hoion), in a living creature (en zȏȏi), whether in heaven, or in earth (ȇ en gȇi ȇ en ouranȏi), or anywhere else (ȇ en tȏi allȏi); but beauty absolute (all’ auto kath’ hauto), separate (meth’ hautou), simple (monoeides), and everlasting (aei on), which is imparted to the ever growing and perishable beauties of all other beautiful things, without itself suffering diminution, or increase, or any change (ta de alla panta kala ekeinou metechonta tropon tina toiouton, hoion gignomenȏn te tȏn allȏn kai apollumenȏn mȇden ekeino mȇte ti pleon mȇte elatton gignesthai mȇde paschein mȇden). He who, ascending from these earthly things under the influence of true love, begins to perceive that beauty (hotan dȇ tis apo tȏnde dia to orthȏs paiderastein epaniȏn ekeino to kalon archȇtai kathoran [‘to see’]), is not far from the end (schedon an ti haptoito tou telous).’ (210e2-211b7, tr. B. Jowett)

As the Phaedo testifies to it, this vision of Beauty itself was never given to Socrates. For him the Forms remained a hypothesis: ‘Well, here is what I mean (All’ hȏde legȏ); it is nothing new (ouden kainon, 100b1), but what I have constantly spoken of both in the talk we have been having and at other times too (all’ haper aei te allote kai en tȏi parelȇluthoti logȏi ouden pepaumai legȏn). I am going to attempt a formal account of the sort of cause that I have been concerned with (erchomai dȇ epicheirȏn soi epideixasthai tȇs aitias to eidos ho pepragmateumai), and I shall go back to my well-worn theme (kai eimi palin ep’ ekeina ta poluthrulȇta) and make it my starting-point (kai archomai ap’ ekeinȏn); that is, I shall assume the existence of a beautiful that is in and by itself (hupothemenos einai ti kalon auto kath’ hauto), and a good (kai agathon), and a great (kai mega), and so on with the rest of them (kai t’alla panta); and if you grant me them (ha ei moi didȏs te) and admit their existence (kai sunchȏreis einai tauta), I hope (elpizȏ) they will make it possible for me to discover and expound to you the cause of the soul’s immortality (soi ek toutȏn tȇn aitian epideixein kai aneurȇsein hȏs athanaton psychȇ).’ (100b1-9, tr. R. Hackforth)

Socrates considered it the best hypothesis, but hypothesis nevertheless: ‘And if anyone were to fasten upon the hypothesis itself (ei de tis autȇs tȇs hupotheseȏs echoito), you would disregard him (chairein eȏiȇs an), and refuse to answer (kai ouk apokrinaio) until you could consider the consequences of it (heȏs an ta ap’ ekeinȇs hormȇthenta skepsaio), and see whether they agreed or disagreed with each other (ei soi allȇlois sumphȏnei ȇ diaphȏnei). But when the time came for you to establish the hypothesis itself (epeidȇ de ekeinȇs autȇs deoi se didonai logon), you would pursue the same method (hȏsautȏs an didoiȇs): you would assume some more ultimate hypothesis (allȇn au hupothesin hupothemenos), the best you could find (hȇtis tȏn anȏthen beltistȇ phainoito), and continue until you reached something satisfactory (heȏs epi ti hikanon elthois).’ (101d3-e1, tr. Hackforth)

With this Theory of Forms, Plato could never have conceived the Republic.

***

In Republic V, 473c-d, Socrates tells Glaucon that only true philosophers can properly rule the cities and states. To justify this claim, Socrates characterizes the true philosophers as ‘those who love seeing the truth’ (tous tȇs alȇtheias philotheamonas, 475e4). To see the truth meant seeing the Forms, as Socrates explained in the discussion that followed.

Glaucon: ‘But I should like to know what you mean (alla pȏs auto legeis)?’ – Soc. ‘To another I might have a difficulty in explaining (Oudamȏs raidiȏs pros ge allon); but I am sure that you will admit a proposition which I am about to make (se de oimai homologȇsein moi to toionde).’ – ‘That since beauty is the opposite of ugliness (Epeidȇ estin enantion kalon aischrȏi), they are two (duo autȏ einai)? … And inasmuch as they are two (Oukoun epeidȇ duo), each of them is one (kai hen hekateron)? … And of just and unjust (Kai peri dȇ dikaiou kai adikou), good and evil (kai agathou kai kakou), and of every other form (kai pantȏn tȏn eidȏn peri), the same remark holds (ho autos logos): taken singly, each of them is one (auto men hen hekaston einai); but from the various combinations of them with actions and bodies and with one another (tȇi de tȏn praxeȏn kai sȏmatȏn kai allȇlȏn koinȏniai), they are seen in all sorts of lights and appear many (pantachou phantazomena polla phainesthai hekaston)? … And this is the distinction which I draw (Tautȇi toinun diairȏ) between the sight-loving, art-loving, practical class which you have mentioned (chȏris men hous nundȇ eleges philotheamonas te kai philotechnous kai praktikous), and those of whom I am speaking (kai chȏris au peri hȏn ho logos), and who are alone worthy of the name of philosophers (hous monous an tis orthȏs proseipoi philosophous).’ – Glauc. ‘How do you distinguish them (Pȏs legeis)?’ – Soc. ‘The lovers of sounds and sights (Hoi men pou philȇkooi kai philotheamones) are, as I conceive, fond of fine tones and colours and forms and all the artificial products that are made out of them (tas te kalas phȏnas aspazontai kai chroas kai schȇmata kai panta ta ek tȏn toioutȏn dȇmiourgoumena), but their mind is incapable of seeing or loving absolute beauty (autou de tou kalou adunatos autȏn hȇ dianoia tȇn phusin idein te kai aspazesthai) … Few are they who are able to attain this ideal beauty and contemplate it (Hoi de dȇ ep’ auto to kalon dunatoi ienai te kai horan [‘able to see’] kath’ hauto ara ou spanioi an eien).’ (475e5-476b11, tr. Jowett) – These few, and only these few are true philosophers; it is because they can see the Forms that they, and only they, can properly rule the cities and states, as Plato believed when he finally came to the conclusion that the political situation in Athens was incurable, and that there was no part for him in politics in his native city. With this thought he left Athens for his first journey to Italy and Sicily (Plato, Seventh Letter 326a-b); he was forty when he undertook it (schedon etȇ tettarakonta gegonȏs, SL 324a6).

***

In the first paragraph of this post I quoted Allen’s ‘At Republic V 479a-c, the chief ground for positing the existence of Ideas is that sensible objects are qualified by opposites.’ To consider or look for any ‘ground for positing the existence of Ideas’ by Plato is fundamentally wrong: Plato was firmly convinced that he could see the Forms.

Let me end this post by reviewing Republic V 479a-d, to which Allen refers, and consider its import. Instead of finding there any ‘ground for positing the existence of Ideas’, we shall find there Plato’s viewing the totality of what we can perceive with our senses as posited between true being (the Forms) and nothingness.

Soc. ‘I would ask the gentleman who is of opinion that there is no absolute or unchangeable Idea of beauty (legetȏ moi kai apokrinesthȏ ho chrȇstos hos auto men kalon kai idean tina autou kallous mȇdemian hȇgeitai aei men kata t’auta hȏsautȏs echousan), but only a number of beautiful things (polla de ta kala nomizei) – he, I say, your lover of beautiful sights (ekeinos ho philotheamȏn), who cannot bear to be told that the beautiful is one (kai oudamȇi anechomenos an ti hen to kalon phȇi einai), and the just is one (kai diakion), or that anything is one (kai t’alla houtȏ) – to him I would appeal, saying, Will you be so very kind, sir, as to tell us whether, of all these beautiful things (Toutȏn gar dȇ, ȏ ariste, phȇsome, tȏn pollȏn kalȏn), there is one which will not be found ugly (mȏn ti estin ho ouk aischron phanȇsetai); or of the just (kai tȏn dikaiȏn), which will not be found unjust (ho ouk adikon); or of the holy (kai tȏn hosiȏn), which will not also seem unholy (ho ouk anosion)?’ – Glauc. ‘No (Ouk); these things must, from different points of view, be found both beautiful and ugly (all’ anankȇ kai kala pȏs auta kai aischra phanȇnai); and the same is true of the rest (kai hosa alla erȏtais).’ (478e7-479b2) … Soc. ‘If so, can any one of those many things be said to be rather than not to be (Poteron oun esti mallon ȇ ouk estin hekaston tȏn pollȏn), that which we happen to have termed it (touto ho an tis phȇi auto einai, b9-10)? … Can they have a better place than between being and not-being (Echeis oun autois hoti chrȇsȇi, ȇ hopoi thȇseis kalliȏ thesin tȇs metaxu ousias te kai tou mȇ einai)? For they are clearly not in greater darkness or negation than not-being (oute gar pou skotȏdestera mȇ ontos pros to mallon mȇ einai phanȇsetai), or more full of light and existence than being (oute phanotera ontos pros to mallon einai) … Thus then we seem to have discovered (Hȇurȇkamen ara, hȏs eoiken) that the many notions which the multitude entertains about the beautiful (hoti ta tȏn pollȏn polla nomima kalou te peri) and about all other things (kai tȏn allȏn) are tossing about in some region which is half-way between pure being and pure not-being (metaxu pou kulindeitai tou te mȇ ontos kai tou ontos eilikrinȏs)?’ – Glauc. ‘We have (Hȇurȇkamen).’ (479c6-d5, tr. Jowett)

2 Bertrand Russell on Plato’s Theory of Immortality and Socrates in the Phaedo

In Chapter 12 of his History of Western Philosophy entitled ‘Plato’s Theory of Immortality’ Russell brilliantly summarizes Plato’s Phaedo 77c-95a: ‘The doctrine of reminiscence being considered established, Cebes says: “about half of what was required has been proven; to wit, that our souls existed before we were born: – that the soul will exist after death as well as before birth is that other half of which the proof is still wanting [77c1-5, this and the following references are mine].” Socrates accordingly applies himself to this. He says that it follows from what was said about everything being generated from its opposite, according to which death must generate life just as much as life generates death [77c6-d5]. But he adds another argument, which had a longer history in philosophy: that only what is complex can be dissolved, and that the soul, like the ideas, is simple and not compounded of parts. What is simple, it is thought, cannot begin or end or change. Now essences are unchanging: absolute beauty, for example, is always the same, whereas beautiful things continuously change. Thus things seen are temporal, but things unseen are eternal. The body is seen, but the soul is unseen; therefore the soul is to be classified in the group of things that are eternal. The soul, being eternal, is at home in the contemplation of the eternal things, that is, essences, but is lost and confused when, as in sense perception, it contemplates the world of changing things.’

Follows a lengthy quotation in Jowett’s translation [in his note on Ch. 11, ‘Socrates’, Russell notes: ‘In quotations from Plato I have generally used Jowett’s translation.’ (p. 92)]: ‘The soul, when using the body as an instrument of perception, that is to say, when using the sight or hearing or some other sense (for the meaning of perceiving through the body is perceiving through the senses) … is then dragged by the body into the region of the changeable, and wanders and is confused; the world spins around her, and she is like a drunkard, when she touches change [79c2-8] … But when returning into herself she reflects, then she passes into the other world, the region of purity, and eternity, and immortality, and unchangeableness, which are her kindred, and with them she ever lives, when she is by herself, and is not let or hindered; then she ceases from her erring ways, and being in communion with the unchanging is unchanging. And this state of the soul is called wisdom [79d1-7].’

Then Russel resumes his summarizing of what follows: ‘The soul of the true philosopher, which has, in life been liberated from the thraldom of flesh, will, after death, depart to the invisible world, to live in bliss in the company of the gods. But the impure soul, which has loved the body, will become a ghost haunting the sepulchre, or will enter the body of an animal, such as an ass or wolf or hawk, according to its character. A man who has been virtuous without being a philosopher will become a bee or wasp or ant, or some other animal of a gregarious and social sort. Only the true philosopher goes to heaven when he dies. “No one who has not studied philosophy and who is not entirely pure at the time of his departure is allowed to enter the company of the Gods, but the lover of knowledge only [82b10-c1].” That is why the true votaries of philosophy abstain from fleshly lusts: not that they fear poverty or disgrace, but because they “are conscious that the soul was simply fastened or glued to the body – until philosophy received her, she could only view the real existence through the bars of a prison, not in and through herself [82d9-e4], … and by reason of lust had become the principal accomplice in her captivity [82e6-83a1]”. The philosopher will be temperate because “each pleasure and pain is a sort of nail which nails and rivets the soul to the body, until she becomes like the body, and believes that to be true which the body affirms to be true [83d4-6].”

[There are discrepancies between the translation quoted by Bertrand Russell and Jowett’s translation in R. M. Hare & D. A. Russell’s edition of Jowett’s Plato. E. g. Russell’s Jowett: ‘until philosophy received her’, R. M. Hare & D. A. Russell’s Jowett: ‘until philosophy took her in hand’. I checked with Jowett’s Plato’s Phaedo in ‘Great Books of the Western World’, which one of my students donated to me when I was teaching philosophy at the University of Hawaii in 1969-70; Russell is true to the Jowett he had in his hands.]

Russell continues: ‘At this point, Simmias brings up the Pythagorean opinion that the soul is a harmony, and urges: if the lyre is broken, can the harmony survive? Socrates replies that the soul is not a harmony, for a harmony is complex, but the soul is simple. Moreover, he says, the view that the soul is a harmony is incompatible with its pre-existence, which was proved by the doctrine of reminiscence; for harmony does not exist before the lyre.’

The last paragraph is a very good summary of Phaedo 84d-86d (Simmias’ objection) and 91c-95a (Socrates’ reply to Simmias); but what follows is a fudge: ‘Socrates proceeds to give an account of his own philosophical development, which is very interesting, but not germane to the main argument. He goes on to expound the doctrine of ideas, leading to the conclusion “that ideas exist, and that other things participate in them and derive their names from them” [102b1-2]. At last he describes the fate of souls after death: the good go to heaven, the bad to hell, the intermediate to purgatory.’ (B. Russell, op. cit. pp. 139-140.)

***

Russell is wrong when he says that Socrates’ account of his own philosophical development is not germane to the main argument; he omitted to mention Cebes’ argument, which occasioned it. Socrates sums it up as follows: ‘You want to have it proven to you (axiois epideichthȇnai) that the soul is imperishable and immortal (hȇmȏn tȇn psuchȇn anȏlethron te kai athanaton ousan), for otherwise the philosopher, who meets death confidently in the belief that he will fare better in the world below than if he had led another sort of life, must be the dupe of a vain and foolish confidence (ei philosophos anȇr mellȏn apothaneisthai, tharrȏn te kai hȇgoumenos apothanȏn ekei [‘there’] eu praxein diapherontȏs ȇ ei en allȏi biȏi bious eteleuta, mȇ anoȇton te kai ȇlithion tharros tharrȇsei): and you say that the demonstration of the strength and divinity of the soul, and of her existence prior to our becoming men, does not of necessity imply her immortality, but only that she is long-lived, and has known and done much in a former state of immense duration (to de apophainein hoti ischuron ti esti hȇ psuchȇ kai theoeides kai ȇn eti proteron, prin hȇmas anthrȏpous genesthai, ouden kȏluein phȇis panta tauta mȇnuein athanasian men mȇ, hoti de poluchronion te estin psuchȇ kai ȇn pou proteron amȇchanon hoson chronon kai ȇidei te kai epratten polla atta). Still she is not on that account immortal (alla gar ouden ti mallon ȇn athanaton); and her entrance into the human form may itself be a form of decease which is the beginning of dissolution (alla kai auto to eis anthrȏpou sȏma elthein archȇ ȇn autȇi olethrou, hȏsper nosos), and she may be sorely vexed during her earthly life (kai talaipȏroumenȇ te dȇ touton ton bion zȏiȇ), and sooner or later perish in what is called death (kai teleutȏsa ge en tȏi kaloumenȏi thanatȏi apolluoito). And whether the soul enters the body once only or many times, does not, as you say, make any difference in the fears of individuals (diapherein de dȇ phȇis ouden eite hapax eis sȏma erchetai eite pollakis, pros ge to hekaston hȇmȏn phobeisthai). For any man who is not devoid of sense must fear (prosȇkei gar phobeisthai, ei mȇ anoȇtos eiȇ), if he has no knowledge (tȏi mȇ eidoti) and can give no account of the soul’s immortality (mȇde echonti logon didonai hȏs athanaton esti).’ (95b9-e1; like Russell, I use Jowett’s translation, but in R. M. Hare & D. A. Russell’s edition; the text I brought from Hawaii is too dilapidated, and I cherish it.)

What Cebes asks for is an enormity: he asks Socrates on his last day, face to face the approaching death, to overcome his not-knowing, or else, if he can’t do it, he is to face death as a foolish man, if he is happy to die. No wonder it took Socrates a long time before he decided to answer: ‘Socrates paused for a long while (Ho oun Sȏkratȇs suchnon chronon epischȏn), and seemed to be absorbed in reflection (kai pros heauton ti skepsamenos). At length he said: You are raising a tremendous question, Cebes (Ou phaulon pragma, ephȇ, ȏ Kebȇs, zȇteis), involving the whole nature and cause of coming into being and ceasing to be (holȏs gar dei peri geneseȏs kai phthoras tȇn aitian diapragmateusasthai), about which, if you like, I will give you my own experience (egȏ oun soi dieimi peri autȏn, ean boulȇi, ta ge ema pathȇ); and if anything which I say seems helpful to you (epeita an tis soi chrȇsimon phainȇtai hȏn an legȏ), you may use it to overcome your difficulty (pros tȇn peithȏ peri hȏn dȇ legeis chrȇsȇi).’ (95e7-96a4) … When I was young, Cebes (egȏ gar, ephȇ, ȏ Kebȇs, neos ȏn), I had a prodigious desire to know that department of philosophy which is called the investigation of nature (thaumastȏs hȏs epethumȇsa tautȇs tȇs sophias hȇn dȇ kalousi peri phuseȏs historian); to know the causes of things, and why a thing is and is created or destroyed, appeared to me to be a lofty profession (huperȇphanos gar moi edokei einai, eidenai tas aitias hekastou, dia ti gignetai hekaston kai dia ti apollutai kai dia ti esti, 96a6-10) … at last I concluded myself to be utterly and absolutely incapable of these inquiries (teleutȏn houtȏs emautȏi edoxa pros tautȇn tȇn skepsin aphuȇs einai hȏs ouden chrȇma, 96c1-2) … but I have in my mind some confused notion of a new method, and can never admit the other (alla tin’ allon tropon [tȇs methodou] autos eikȇi phurȏ, touton de oudamȇi prosiemai, 97b6-7).’

Before Socrates returns to his ‘confused notion of a new method’ and clarifies it, he makes a digression: ‘Then I heard someone reading, as he said, from a book of Anaxagoras (All’ akousas men pote ek bibliou tinos, hȏs ephȇ, Anaxagorou anagignȏskontos, kai legontos), that mind was the disposer and cause of all (hȏs ara nous estin ho diakosmȏn te kai pantȏn aitios), and I was delighted at this notion (tautȇi dȇ tȇi aitiai hȇsthȇn te), which appeared quite admirable (kai edoxe moi tropon tina eu echein to ton noun einai pantȏn aition), and I said to myself (kai hȇgȇsamȇn): If mind is the disposer, mind will dispose all for the best, and put each particular in the best place (ei touth’ houtȏs echei, ton ge noun kosmounta panta kosmein kai hekaston tithenai tautȇi hopȇi an beltista echȇi); and I argued that if anyone desired to find out the cause of the generation or destruction or existence of everything, he must find out what state of being or doing or suffering was the best for that thing (ei oun tis bouloito tȇn aitian heurein peri hekastou hopȇi gignetai ȇ apollutai ȇ esti, touto dein peri autou heurein, hopȇi beltiston autȏi estin ȇ einai ȇ allo hotioun paschein ȇ poiein), and therefore a man had only to consider what was best and most desirable both for the thing itself and for other things (ek de dȇ tou logou toutou ouden allo skopein prosȇkein anthrȏpȏi kai peri autou ekeinou [‘both concerning the man himself’] kai peri tȏn allȏn all’ ȇ to ariston kai to beltiston), and then he must necessarily also know the worse (anankaion de einai ton auton touton kai to cheiron eidenai), since the same science comprehends both (tȇn autȇn gar einai epistȇmȇn peri autȏn). Arguing in this way (tauta dȇ logizomenos), I rejoiced to think that I had found in Anaxagoras a teacher of the causes of existence such as I desired (hasmenos hȇurȇkenai ȏimȇn didaskalon tȇs aitias peri tȏn ontȏn kata noun emautȏi, ton Anaxagoran).’ (97b8-d7) … How high were my hopes, and how quickly were they lost to me (Apo dȇ thaumastȇs elpidos, ȏ hetaire, ȏichomȇn pheromenos)! As I proceeded [in reading his book] (epeidȇ proiȏn kai anagignȏskȏn) I found my philosopher altogether forsaking mind (horȏ andra tȏi men nȏi ouden chrȏmenon) and making no appeal to any other principle of order (oude tinas aitias epaitiȏmenon eis to diakosmein ta pragmata), but having recourse to air, and ether, and water (aeras de kai aitheras kai hudata  aitiȏmenon), and many other eccentricities (kai alla polla kai atopa). I might compare him to a person who began by maintaining generally that mind is the cause of the actions of Socrates (kai moi edoxe homoiotaton peponthenai hȏsper an ei tis legȏn hoti Sȏkratȇs panta hosa prattei nȏi prattei), but who, when he endeavoured to explain the causes of my several actions in detail (k’apeita epicheirȇsas legein tas aitias hekastȏn hȏn prattȏ), went on to show that I sit here because my body is made up of bones and muscles (legoi prȏton men hoti dia tauta nun enthade kathȇmai, hoti sunkeitai mou to sȏma ex ostȏn kai neurȏn); and the bones, as he would say, are hard and have joints which divide them (kai ta men osta estin sterea kai diaphuas echei chȏris ap’ allȇlȏn), and the muscles are elastic (ta de neura hoia epiteinesthai kai aniesthai), and they cover the bones (periampechonta ta osta), which have also a covering or environment of flesh and skin which contains them (meta tȏn sarkȏn kai dermatos ho sunechei auta); and as the bones swing in their sockets (aiȏroumenȏn oun tȏn ostȏn en tais autȏn sumbolais), through the contraction or relaxation of the muscles (chalȏnta kai sunteinonta ta neura) I am able to bend my limbs (kamptesthai pou hoion t’ einai eme nun ta melȇ), and this is why I am sitting here in a curved posture (kai dia tautȇn tȇn aitian sunkamphtheis enthade kathȇmai) – that is what he would say; and he would have a similar explanation of my talking to you (kai au peri tou dialegesthai humin heteras toiautas aitias legoi), which he would attribute to sound, and air, and hearing, and he would assign ten thousand causes of the same sort (phȏnas te kai aeras kai akoas kai alla muria toiauta aitiȏmenos), forgetting to mention the true cause (amelȇsas tas hȏs alȇthȏs aitias legein), which is (hoti), that the Athenians have thought it better to condemn me (epeidȇ Athȇnaiois edoxe beltion einai emou katapsȇphisasthai), and accordingly (dia tauta dȇ) I thought it better and more right to remain here and undergo my sentence (kai emoi beltion au dedoktai enthade kathȇsthai, kai dikaioteron paramenonta hupechein tȇn dikȇn hȇn an keleusȏsin); for I strongly suspect that these muscles and bones of mine would long ago have been in Megara or Bootia (epei nȇ ton kuna, hȏs egȏ’mai, palai an tauta ta neura kai ta osta ȇ peri Megara ȇ Boiȏtous ȇn), borne there by their own idea of what was best (hupo doxȇs pheromena tou beltistou ‘born by the opinion of what is best’), if I did not think it more right (ei mȇ dikaioteron ȏimȇn) and honourable (kai kallion einai) to endure any penalty ordered by the state, instead of running away into exile (pro tou pheugein te kai apodidraskein hupechein tȇi polei tȇn dikȇn hȇntin’ an tattȇi).’ (98b7-99a4)

Socrates goes on to say: ‘That it is really the good and the right which holds and binds things together (kai hȏs alȇthȏs to agathon kai deon sundein te kai sunechein), they never reflect (ouden oiontai). Such then is the principle of causation which I would fain learn if anyone would teach me (egȏ men oun tȇs toiautȇs aitias hopȇi pote echei mathȇtȇs hotououn hȇdist’ an genoimȇn). But as I have failed either to discover it myself, or to learn it of anyone else (epeidȇ de tautȇs esterȇthȇn kai out’ autos heurein oute par’ allou mathein hoios te egenomȇn), I will exhibit to you, if you like, the method I have followed as the second best mode of inquiring into the cause (ton deuteron ploun epi tȇn tȇs aitias zȇtȇsin hȇi pepragmateumai boulei soi, ephȇ, epideixin poiȇsȏmai, ȏ Kebȇs).’ (99c5-d2)

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Burnet in his note ad loc. says: ‘the paroemiographers [collectors of proverbs] say this expression is used epi tȏn asphalȏs ti prattontȏn, kathoson hoi diamartontes kata ton proteron ploun asphalȏs paraskeuazontai ton deuteron [‘concerning those who do something safely, in so far as they did something wrong during their earlier journey (voyage, sailing) and prepare for a safe second one’]. According to this, the reference would be rather to a less adventurous than to a ‘second best course’. See, however, Eustathius in Od. p. 1453, 20 deuteros plous legetai hote apotuchȏn tis ouriou kȏpais pleȇi kata Pausanian [‘second voyage is said about those who takes to the oars in the absence of wind, according to Pausanias’]. … In any case, Socrates does not believe for a moment that the method he is about to describe is a pis aller or “makeshift”. The phrase is ironical like eikȇi phurȏ (Jowett’s ‘some confused notion’, 97b7).’

Hackforth notes: ‘We should not regard it as ironical here: relatively to a discovery of the sort of cause which he had hoped to find worked out by Anaxagoras that which he is going to describe is second best; if there were also a suggestion that it is second-best relatively to the method of physicians (which I do not believe), that no doubt would be ironical.’ (Hackforth, Plato’s Phaedo, Cambrige University Press, 1955, p. 127, n. 5)

So let us see how Socrates describes it: ‘Well, here is what I mean (All’ hȏde legȏ); it is nothing new (ouden kainon, 100b1), but what I have constantly spoken of both in the talk we have been having and at other times too (all’ haper aei te allote kai en tȏi parelȇluthoti logȏi ouden pepaumai legȏn). I am going to attempt a formal account of the sort of cause that I have been concerned with (erchomai dȇ epicheirȏn soi epideixasthai tȇs aitias to eidos ho pepragmateumai), and I shall go back to my well-worn theme (kai eimi palin ep’ ekeina ta poluthrulȇta) and make it my starting-point (kai archomai ap’ ekeinȏn); that is, I shall assume the existence of a beautiful that is in and by itself (hupothemenos einai ti kalon auto kath’ hauto), and a good (kai agathon), and a great (kai mega), and so on with the rest of them (kai t’alla panta); and if you grant me them (ha ei moi didȏs te) and admit their existence (kai sunchȏreis einai tauta), I hope (elpizȏ) they will make it possible for me to discover and expound to you the cause of the soul’s immortality (soi ek toutȏn tȇn aitian epideixein kai aneurȇsein hȏs athanaton psychȇ).’ (100b1-9) … It appears to me (phainetai gar moi) that if anything else is beautiful (ei ti estin allo kalon) besides the beautiful itself (plȇn auto to kalon) the sole reason for its being so is that it participates in that beautiful (oude di’ hen allo kalon einai ȇ dioti metechei ekeinou tou kalou); and I assert that the same principle applies in all cases (kai panta dȇ houtȏ legȏ, 100c4-6). …  It follows that I can no longer understand nor recognize those other learned causes which they speak of (Ou toinun eti manthanȏ oude dunamai tas allas aitias tas sophas tautas gignȏskein); if anyone tells me (all’ ean tis moi legȇi) that the reason why such-and-such a thing is beautiful (di’ hoti kalon estin hotioun) is that it has a bright colour (ȇ chrȏma euanthes echon) or a certain shape (ȇ schȇma) or something of that kind (ȇ allo hotioun tȏn toioutȏn), I take no notice of it all (ta men alla chairein eȏ), for I find it all confusing, (tarattomai gar en tois allois pasi) save for one fact, which in my simple, naїve and maybe foolish fashion I hug close (touto de haplȏs kai atechnȏs kai isȏs euȇthȏs echȏ par’ emautȏi): namely that what makes a thing beautiful is nothing other than the presence or communion of that beautiful itself (hoti ouk allo ti poiei auto kalon ȇ hȇ ekeinou tou kalou eite parousia eite koinȏnia eite hopȇi dȇ kai hopȏs prosgenomenȇ) – if indeed these are the right terms to express how it comes to be there: for I won’t go so far as to dogmatize about that, but merely affirm that all beautiful things are beautiful because of the beautiful itself (ou gar eti touto diischurizomai, all’ hoti tȏi kalȏi panta ta kala kala). That seems to me the safest answer for me to give whether to myself or to another (touto gar moi dokei asphalestaton einai kai emautȏi apokrinasthai kai allȏi); if I hold fast to that (kai toutou echomenos) I feel I am not likely to come to grief (hȇgoumai ou pote pesein); yes, the safe course is to tell myself or anybody else that beautiful things are beautiful because of the beautiful itself (all’ asphales einai kai emoi kai hotȏioun allȏi apokrinasthai hoti tȏi kalȏi ta kala kala).’(100c9-e3, tr. R. Hackforth)

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The ‘beautiful itself’ as ‘the cause’ within the framework of Socrates’ life-long philosophic activities – ever since his failed attempt to fix his ‘Forms’ ontologically as a challenge to Parmenides’ ‘all is one’, when in his youth he met Zeno and the aging Parmenides, for which see ‘Plato’s defence of the Forms in the Parmenides’ on my website – is just a notional cause. This is why he can say that ‘the safe course is to tell myself or anybody else that beautiful things are beautiful because of the beautiful’. That this is so becomes apparent when Socrates comes to the point of overcoming ‘the safe course’ by a new safe course, derived from the first one by giving the Forms real causal function: ‘The course of our argument has led me to discern a different kind of safety from that which I mentioned originally (legȏ dȇ par hȇn to prȏton elegon apokrisin, tȇn asphalȇ ekeinȇn, ek tȏn nun legomenȏn allȇn horȏn asphaleian). Thus, if you were to ask me (ei gar eroio me) what must come to be present in a thing’s body to make it hot (hȏi an ti en tȏi sȏmati engenȇtai thermon estai), I should not give you that safe, stupid answer “heat” (ou tȇn asphalȇ soi erȏ apokrisin ekeinȇn tȇn amathȇ [not ‘stupid’, but ‘unlearned’, ‘unsophisticated’], hoti hȏi an thermotȇs), but a cleverer one now at my disposal (alla kompsoteran ek tȏn nun), namely “fire” (hoti hȏi an pur).’ (105b6-c2, tr. Hackforth)

Hackforth’s ‘now at my disposal’ stands for ek tȏn nun, which means ‘from those now’, i.e. ‘from those things we have now discussed’. So let me give a relevant piece of what was discussed. Socrates: ‘Do you speak of “hot” and “cold” (thermon ti kaleis kai psuchron)?’ – Cebes: ‘I do (Egȏge).’ – Soc. ‘Meaning by them the same as “snow” and “fire” (All’ hoper chiona kai pur)?’ – Ceb. ‘Why no, of course not (Ma Di’ ouk egȏge).’ – Soc. ‘That is to say, the hot is different from fire (All’ heteron ti puros to thermon), and the cold from snow (kai heteron ti chionos to psuchron).’ – C. ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S. But I think you would agree (Alla tode g’ oimai dokei soi) that what starts as snow (chiona g’ ousan) cannot ever, as we were saying just now, admit the hot and still be what it was (dexamenȇn to thermon, hȏsper en tois prosthen elegomen, eti esesthai hoper ȇn): still be snow and also hot (chiona kai thermon); on the approach of the hot (alla prosiontos tou thermou) it will either withdraw or perish (ȇ hupekchȏrȇsein autȏi ȇ apoleisthai).’ – C. ‘Quite so (Panu ge).’ – S. ‘Again fire (Kai to pur ge au), when the cold approaches it (prosiontos tou psuchrou), will either get out of its way (ȇ hupexienai) or perish (ȇ apoleisthai); it will never bring itself to admit coldness (ou mentoi pote tolmȇsein dexamenon tȇn psuchrotȇta) and still be what it was (eti einai hoper ȇn), still be fire and also cold (pur kai psuchron).’ (103c11-d12, tr. Hackforth)

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Aristotle says in Metaphysics A: ‘In the Phaedo the case is stated this way – that the Forms are causes both of being and of becoming (en de tȏi Phaidȏni houtȏ legetai, hȏs kai tou einai kai tou gignesthai aitia ta eidȇ estin, 991b3-4, tr. W. D. Ross.’ In De Generatione et Corruptione (On Coming-to-be and Passing-away) Aristotle says: ‘But some people have thought the nature of the “forms” was enough to account for coming-to-be (all’ hoi men hikanȇn ȏiȇthȇsan aitian einai pros to gignesthai tȇn tȏn eidȏn phusin). Socrates, for instance, did so in the Phaedo (hȏsper ho en Phaidȏni Sȏkratȇs); for he (kai gar ekeinos), after finding fault with the other philosophers for having made no pronouncement on the subject (epitimȇsas tois allois hȏs ouden eirȇkasi), lays it down (hupotithetai) that some of the things which exist are “forms” (hoti esti tȏn ontȏn ta men eidȇ) and others “partakers in the forms” (ta de methektika tȏn eidȏn), and that each thing is said to exist in virtue of the “form” (kai hoti einai men legetai hekaston kata to eidos) and to come-to-be in virtue of its participation in the “form” (gignesthai de kata tȇn metalȇpsin) and to pass-away because of its rejection of it (kai phtheiresthai kata tȇn apobolȇn). Hence he thinks that, if this is true, the “forms” are necessarily the causes of both coming-to-be and passing-away (hȏst’ ei tauta alȇthȇ, ta eidȇ oietai ex anankȇs aitia einai kai geneseȏs kai phthoras).’ (335b9-17, tr. E. S. Forster) – Forster translates Aristotle’s hȏs ouden eirȇkasi ‘for having made no pronouncement’, which is wrong; Socrates in the Phaedo speaks at length about foolish pronouncements of other philosophers concerning the causes of things. H. H. Joachim translates better: ‘Thus Socrates in the Phaedo blames everybody else for having given no explanation.’ – If someone were speaking a whole day, yet what he said made no sense, the Greeks would say: ‘he said nothing’ (ouden eirȇke).

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In the Parmenides Socrates introduces the Forms as follows: ‘But tell me, Zeno (tode de moi eipe), do you not further think that there is an idea of likeness in itself (ou nomizeis einai auto kath’ hauto eidos ti homoiotȇtos), and another idea of unlikeness, which is the opposite of likeness (kai tȏi toioutȏi au allo ti enantion, ho esti anomoion), and that in these two (toutoin de duoin ontoin), you and I and all other things (kai eme kai se kai t’alla) to which we apply the term many (ha dȇ polla kaloumen), participate (metalambanein) – things which participate in likeness (kai ta men tȇs homoiotȇtos metalambanonta) become in that degree and manner like (homoia gignesthai tautȇi te kai kata tosouton hoson an metalambanȇi); and so far as they participate in unlikeness become in that degree unlike (ta de tȇs anomoiotȇtos anomoia), or both like and unlike in the degree in which they participate in both (ta de amphoterȏn amphotera)?’ (128e6-129a6)

Then Parmenides asks Socrates: ‘And would you make an idea of man apart from us and from all other human creatures, or fire and water (Ti d’, anthrȏpou eidos chȏris hȇmȏn kai tȏn hoioi hȇmeis esmen pantȏn, auto ti eidos anthrȏpou ȇ puros ȇ kai hudatos)?’ – Socrates: ‘I am often undecided, Parmenides, as to whether I ought to include them or not (En aporiai pollakis dȇ, ȏ Parmenidȇ, peri autȏn gegona, potera chrȇ phanai hȏsper peri ekeinȏn ȇ allȏs).’ (130c1-4) … Parmenides: ‘That is because you are still young (Neos gar ei eti); the time will come, if I am not mistaken, when philosophy will have a firmer grasp of you (kai oupȏ sou anteilȇptai philosophia hȏs eti antilȇpsetai kat’ emȇn doxan), and then you will not despise even the meanest things (hote ouden autȏn atimaseis, 130e1-3, tr. Jowett ).’

In the Phaedo Socrates fulfilled Parmenides’ prophesy, pushed aside his quibbles concerning the Forms – just as Plato did in the Parmenides (see ‘Plato’s defence of the Forms in the Parmenides’ on my website) – and envisaged the Forms as true causes.

The more I think about it, the more likely it seems to me that when Plato returned to Athens from his second Sicilian voyage, with Dionysius’ promise that he would invite him back and his own promise that he would return, the first dialogue he wrote for his students in the Academy – who were to do without him after he left – was the Phaedo, followed by the Parmenides.