Plato’s theory of Forms, his Republic and his Seventh Letter

Plato says in the Seventh Letter that when he was young he desired to enter politics as soon as he would come of age (324b8-c1), but that the more he advanced in years and the more he considered the men who were engaged in politics, the more difficult it appeared to him to enter the political life in any meaningful way (325c-e): ‘Finally (teleutȏnta de) it became clear to me that all existing communities are misgoverned (noȇsai peri pantȏn tȏn poleȏn hoti kakȏs sumpasai politeuontai) … and I was compelled to say (legein te ȇnankasthȇn), in my praise of the right philosophy (epainȏn tȇn orthȇn philosophian), that by it (hȏs ek tautȇs) one is enabled to discern all forms of justice both political and individual (estin ta te politika dikaia kai ta tȏn idiȏtȏn panta katidein); there will therefore be no cessation of evils for mankind (kakȏn oun ou lȇxein ta anthrȏpina genȇ) until either the class of those who are right and true philosophers attains political supremacy (prin an ȇ to tȏn philosophountȏn orthȏs ge kai alȇthȏs genos eis archas elthȇi tas politikas), or else the class of those who hold power in the States (ȇ to tȏn dunasteuontȏn en tais polesin) by some divine dispensation (ek tinos moiras theias) become true philosophers (ontȏs philosophȇsȇi).’ (326a2-b4)

Plato reached this realisation in the fifth book of the Republic, where he argues that only the true philosophers can see the truth (horan, 476b10, kathoran 476d1), that is the Forms, so that only they can govern the States well (475e-480a).

***

The refusal to see the Phaedo as an account of Socrates’ last day, as it is presented by Plato, leads to serious misrepresentation of Plato. Bertrand Russell writes: ‘I do not think we really possess the idea of absolute equality that Plato supposes us to possess. But even if we do, it is clear that no child possesses it until it reaches a certain age, and that the idea is elicited by experience, although not directly derived from experience. Moreover, unless our existence before birth was not one of sense perception, it would have been as incapable of generating the idea as this life is; and if our previous existence is supposed to have been partly super-sensible, why not make the same supposition concerning our present existence?’ (Russell, History of Western thought, Routledge Classics 2004, pp.138-139)

Pace Russell, Plato does not suppose us to possess the idea of absolute equality. Socrates does not possess it and does not think we possess it; he thinks we possess only its memory, which is indeed elicited by experience and can be deepened and made more vivid by philosophic discussion. Plato does not ‘possess’ it, he is deeply convinced he can see it, just as he is convinced he can see other Forms, such as absolute beauty, justice, courage, good, and wisdom. The Seventh Letter testifies to the depth of his conviction.

***

On his first journey Plato met Dion in Syracuse, a young aristocrat whom he inflamed with his idea of State governed by philosophers: ‘For Dion in truth (Diȏn men gar dȇ) …  hearkened to me with a keenness and ardour (houtȏs oxeȏs hupȇkousen kai sphodra) that I have never yet found in any of the youth whom I have met (hȏs oudeis pȏpote hȏn egȏ prosetuchon neȏn).’ (327a5-b1, tr. R. G. Bury)

Some twenty years later, when the tyrant Dionysius died, Dion did his best to enthuse Dionysius the younger with Plato’s idea of the State governed by philosophers: ‘Dion persuaded Dionysius to summon me (Diȏn epeise metapempesthai Dionusion eme); and he himself sent a request (kai autos edeito pempȏn) that I should by all means come with all speed (hȇkein hoti tachista ek pantos tropou), before that any others (prin tinas allous) should encounter Dionysius (entuchontas Dionusiȏi) and turn him aside to some way of life other than the best (ep allon bion auton tou beltistou paratrepsai) … so that now, if ever (hȏste eiper pote kai nun), all our hopes will be fulfilled (elpis pasa apotelesthȇsetai) of seeing the same persons at once philosophers and rulers of mighty States (tou tous autous philosophous te kai poleȏn archontas megalȏn sumbȇnai genomenous).’ (327d7-328b1, tr. Bury)

Plato was full of apprehension (tȇn d’ emȇn doxan … eichen phobos, 328b2-3): ‘Therefore, I pondered the matter and was in two minds (hothen moi skopoumenȏi kai distazonti) as to whether I ought to listen to entreaties and go (poteron eiȇ poreuteon kai hupakousteon), or how I ought to act (ȇ pȏs); and finally the scale turned in favour of the view that (homȏs errepse dein), if ever anyone was to try to carry out in practice my ideas about laws and constitutions (ei pote tis ta dianoȇthenta peri nomȏn te kai politeias apotelein encheirȇsoi), now was the time for making the attempt (kai nun peirateon einai); for if only I could fully convince one man (peisas gar hena monon hikanȏs), I should have secured thereby the accomplishment of all good things (panta exeirgasmenos esoimȇn agatha). With these views and thus nerved to the task (tautȇi men dȇ tȇi dianoiai te kai tolmȇi), I sailed from home (apȇra oikothen).’ (328b6-c4, tr. J. Harward)

And so Plato left Athens and his Academy: ‘Well then, I came for good and just reasons so far as it is possible for men to do so (all’ ȇlthon men kata logon en dikȇi te hȏs hoion te malista); and it was because of such motives (dia te ta toiauta) that I left my own occupations (katalipȏn tas emautou diatribas), which were anything but ignoble (ousas ouk aschȇmonas), to go under a tyranny (hupo turannida)  which ill became, as it seemed, both my teaching and myself (dokousan ou prepein tois emois logois oude emoi).’ (329a7-b3, tr. Bury)

When Plato arrived in Syracuse, all was wrong: ‘On my arrival (Elthȏn de) I found Dionysius’ kingdom all full of civil strife (heuron staseȏs ta peri Dionusion mesta xumpanta) and of slanderous stories brought to the court concerning Dion (kai diabolȏn pros tȇn turannida Diȏnos peri) … three months later (mȇni de schedon isȏs tetartȏi), charging Dion with plotting against tyranny (Diȏna Dionusios aitiȏmenos epibouleuein tȇi turannidi), Dionysius set him aboard a small vessel (smikron eis ploion embibasas) and drove him out with ignominy (exebalen atimȏs). After that all of us who were Dion’s friends were in alarm (hoi dȇ Diȏnos to meta touto pantes philoi ephoboumetha) lest he should punish any of us on a charge of being accomplices of Dion’s plot (mȇ tina epaitiȏmenos timȏroito hȏs sunaition tȇs Diȏnos epiboulȇs); and regarding me (peri d’ emou) a report actually went abroad in Syracuse (kai diȇlthe logos tis en Surakousais) that I had been put to death (hȏs  tethneȏs eiȇn) by Dionysius (hupo Dionusiou) as being responsible for all the events of that time (hȏs toutȏn hapantȏn tȏn tote gegonotȏn aitios).’ (329b7-d1, tr. Bury)

But Dionysius changed tack, asked Plato to stay and by housing him in the Acropolis in fact prevented him from leaving. And so the rumour spread that ‘Dionysius is wonderfully devoted to Plato’ (hȏs Platȏna Dionusios thaumastȏs hȏs aspazetai). ‘But what were the facts,’ (to d’ eichen de pȏs) Plato asks: ‘For the truth must be told (To gar alȇthes dei phrazein). He became indeed more and more devoted as time advanced (ȇspazeto men aei proiontos tou chronou mallon), according as he grew familiar with my disposition and character (kata tȇn tou tropu te kai ȇthous sunousian), but he was desirous that I should praise him more than Dion (heauton de epainein mallon ȇ Diȏna ebouleto me) and regard him rather than Dion as my special friend (kai philon hȇgeisthai diapherontȏs mallon ȇ ‘keinon), and this triumph he was marvellously anxious to achieve (kai thaumastȏs ephilonikei pros to toiouton). But the best way to achieve this, if it was to be achieved (hȇi d’ an houtȏs egeneto, eiper egigneto, kallista) – namely, by occupying himself in learning and in listening to discourses on philosophy and by associating with me – this he always shirked (ȏknei, hȏs dȇ manthanȏn kai akouȏn tȏn peri philosophian logȏn oikeiousthai kai emoi sungignesthai) owing to his dread of the talk of slanderers (phoboumenos tous tȏn diaballontȏn logous), lest he might be hampered in some measure (mȇ pȇi parapodistheiȇ) and Dion might accomplish all his designs (kai Diȏn dȇ panta eiȇ diapepragmenos). I, however, put up with all this (egȏ de panta hupemenon), holding fast the original purpose (tȇn prȏtȇn dianoian phulattȏn) with which I had come (hȇiper aphikomȇn), in the hope that he might possibly gain a desire for the philosophic life (ei pȏs eis epithumian elthoi tȇs philosophou zȏȇs); but he, with his resistance, won the day (ho d’ enikȇsen antiteinȏn).’ (330a1-b7, tr. Bury)

Plato closes this opening section of the letter with the words: ‘These, then, were the causes which brought about my visit to Sicily and my sojourn there, on the first occasion [367-6 B.C.] (Kai ho prȏtos dȇ chronos tȇs eis Sikelian emȇs epidȇmias te kai diatribȇs dia panta tauta sunebȇ genomenos). After this I went away (meta de touto apedȇmȇsa te), and I returned again [in 361 B.C., that is after five years in Athens] (kai palin aphikomȇn) on receiving a most urgent summons from Dionysius (pasȇi spoudȇi metapempomenou Dionusiou).’ (330b8-c3, tr. Bury)

Plato’s 361-360 B.C. visit was a complete disaster. But through all this, Plato’s conviction that he belonged to ‘the small class’ (genos brachu ti, Timaeus 51e6) of those, who saw the Forms and were therefore entitled to govern, remained unshaken.

***

Having heard that Dionysius ‘has since written about what he heard from me’ (gegraphenai auton peri hȏn tote ȇkouen, 341b3-4), Plato says in the Seventh Letter: ‘There neither is nor ever will be a treatise of mine on the subject (oukoun emon ge peri autȏn esti sungramma oude mȇpote genȇtai). For it does not admit of exposition like other branches of knowledge (rȇton gar oudamȏs estin hȏs alla mathȇmata); but after much converse about the matter itself and life lived together (all’ ek pollȇs sunousias gignomenȇs peri to pragma auto kai tou suzȇn), suddenly (exaiphnȇs) a light, as it were, is kindled in one soul by a flame that leaps to it from another, and thereafter sustains itself (hoion apo puros pȇdȇsantos exaphthen phȏs, en tȇi psuchȇi genomenon auto heauto ȇdȇ trephei).’ (341c4-d2, tr. Harward)

Plato substantiates this proclamation by the most concise and most important discussion on the Forms, which follows:

‘There is an argument (esti gar tis logos alȇthȇs) which holds good against the man who ventures to put anything whatever into writing on questions of this nature (enantios tȏi tolmȇsanti graphein tȏn toioutȏn kai hotioun); it has often been stated by me (pollakis men hup’ emou kai prosthen rȇtheis), and it seems suitable to the present occasion (eoiken d’oun einai kai nun lekteos).

For everything that exists (estin tȏn ontȏn hekastȏi) there are three instruments by which the knowledge of it is necessarily imparted (di’ hȏn tȇn epistȇmȇn anankȇ paragignesthai, tria); fourth, there is the knowledge itself (tetarton d’ autȇ), and, as fifth (pempton d’), we must count the thing itself (auto tithenai dei) which is known (ho dȇ gnȏston te) and truly exists (kai alȇthȏs estin on). The first is the name (hen men onoma), the second the definition (deuteron de logos), the third the image (to de triton eidȏlon), and the fourth the knowledge (tetarton de epistȇmȇ). If you wish to learn what I mean, take these in the case of one instance (peri hen oun labe boulomenos mathein to nun legomenon), and so understand them in the case of all (kai pantȏn houtȏ peri noȇson). A circle is a thing spoken of (kuklos estin ti legomenon), and its name is that very word (hȏi tout’ auto estin onoma) which we have just uttered (ho nun ephthegmetha). The second thing belonging to it is its definition (logos d’ autou to deuteron), made up of names and verbal forms (ex onomatȏn kai rȇmatȏn sunkeimenos). For that which has the name “round”, “annular”, or “circle”, might be defined as that which has the distance from its circumference to its centre everywhere equal (to gar ek tȏn eschatȏn epi to meson ison apechon pantȇi, logos an eiȇ ekeinou hȏiper strongulon kai peripheries onoma kai kuklos). Third (triton), comes that which is drawn (de to zȏgraphoumenon te) and rubbed out again (kai exaleiphomenon), or turned on a lathe (kai torneuomenon), and broken up (kai apollumenon) – none of which things can happen to the circle itself – to which the other things mentioned have reference (hȏn autos ho kuklos, hon peri taut’ estin tauta, ouden paschei); for it is something of a different order from them (toutȏn hȏs heteron on). Fourth (tetarton de), comes knowledge (epistȇmȇ), intelligence (kai nous) and right opinion (alȇthȇs te doxa) about these things (peri taut’ estin). Under this one head we must group everything which has its existence (hȏs de hen touto au pan theteon), not in words or bodily shapes, but in soul (ouk en phȏnais oud’ en sȏmatȏn schȇmasi all’ en psuchais enon) – from which it is clear (hȏi dȇlon) that it is something different (heteron te on) from the nature of the circle itself (autou tou kuklou tȇs phuseȏs) and from the three things mentioned before (tȏn te emprosthen lechtentȏn triȏn). Of these things intelligence comes closest in kinship and likeness to the fifth (toutȏn de engutata men sungeneiai kai homoiotȇti tou pemptou nous peplȇsiaken), and the others are farther distant (t’alla de pleon apechei). The same applies to straight as well as (t’auton dȇ peri te eutheos hama kai) to circular form (peripherous schȇmatos), to colours (kai chroas), to the good (peri te agathou), the beautiful (kai kalou), the just (kai dikaiou), to all bodies whether manufactured (kai peri sȏmatos hapantos skeuastou te) or coming into being in the course of nature (kai kata phusin gegonotos), to fire (puros), water (hudatos te), and all such things (kai tȏn toioutȏn pantȏn), to every living being (kai zȏiou sumpantos peri), to character in souls (kai en psuchais ȇthous), and to all things done and suffered (kai peri poiȇmata kai pathȇmata sumpanta). For in the case of all these no one, if he has not some how or other got hold of the four things first mentioned (ou gar an toutȏn mȇ tis ta tettara labȇi hamȏs ge pȏs), can ever be completely a partaker of knowledge of the fifth (oupote teleȏs epistȇmȇs tou pemptou metochos estai). Further (pros gar toutois), on account of the weakness of language these attempt to show what each thing is like, not less than what each thing is (tauta ouch hȇtton epicheirei to poion ti peri hekastou dȇloun ȇ to on hekastou dia to tȏn logȏn asthenes). For this reason (hȏn heneka) no man of intelligence (noun echȏn oudeis) will venture to express his philosophical views in language (tolmȇsei pote eis auto tithenai ta nenoȇmena hup’ autou), especially not in language that is unchangeable (kai tauta eis ametakinȇton), which is true of that which is set down in written characters (ho dȇ paschei ta gegrammena tupois).

Again you must learn the point which comes next (touto de palin au to nun legomenon dei mathein). Every circle (kuklos hekastos), of those which are by the act of man (tȏn en tais praxesi) drawn (graphomenȏn) or (ȇ) even turned on a lathe (kai torneuthentȏn), is full of that which is opposite (mestos tou enantiou estin) to the fifth thing (tȏi pemptȏi). For everywhere it has contact with the straight (tou gar eutheos ephaptetai pantȇi). But the circle itself, we say (autos de, phamen, ho kuklos), has nothing in it, either smaller or greater, of that which is its opposite (oute ti smikroteron oute meizon tȇs enantias echei en hautȏi phuseȏs). We say also that the name is not a thing of permanence for any of them (onoma te autȏn phamen ouden oudeni bebaion einai), and that nothing prevents (kȏluein d’ ouden) the thing now called round (ta nun strongula kaloumena) from being called straight (euthea keklȇsthai), and the straight things (ta te euthea dȇ) round (strongula); so for those who make changes and call things by opposite names, nothing will be less permanent (kai ouden hȇtton bebaiȏs hexein tois metathemenois kai enantiȏs kalousin). Again with regard to the definition (kai mȇn peri logou ge), if it is made up of names and verbal forms, the same remark holds that there is no sufficiently durable permanence in it (ho autos logos, eiper ex onomatȏn kai rȇmatȏn sunkeitai, mȇden hikanȏs bebaiȏs einai bebaion). And there is no end to the instances of the ambiguity from which each of the four suffers (murios de logos au peri hekastou tȏn tettarȏn hȏs asaphes); but the greatest of them is (to de megiston) that which we mentioned a little earlier (hoper eipomen oligon emprosthen), that, whereas there are two things (hoti duoin ontoin), that which has real being (tou te ontos), and that which is only a quality (kai tou poiou tinos), when the soul is seeking to know, not the quality, but the essence (ou to poion ti, to de ti, zȇtousȇs eidenai tȇs psuchȇs), each of the four, presenting to the soul by word and in act that which it is not seeking (to mȇ zȇtoumenon hekaston tȏn tettarȏn proteinon tȇi psuchȇi logȏi te kai kat’ erga), a thing open to refutation by the senses (aisthȇsesin euelenkton), being merely the thing presented to the senses in each particular case whether by statement or the act of showing (to te legomenon kai deiknumenon aei parechomenon hekaston), fills, one may say, every man with puzzlement and perplexity (aporias te kai asapheias empimlȇsi pasȇs hȏs epos eipein pant’ andra).

Now in subjects in which (en hoisi men oun), by reason of our defective education, we have not been accustomed even to search for the truth (mȇd’ eithismenoi to alȇthes zȇtein esmen hupo ponȇras trophȇs), but are satisfied (exarkei de) with whatever images are presented to us (to protathen tȏn eidȏlȏn), we are not held up to ridicule by one another (ou katagelastoi gignometha hup’ allȇlȏn), the questioned (hoi erȏtȏmenoi) by questioners (hupo tȏn erȏtȏntȏn), who can pull to pieces and criticize the four things (dunamenȏn de ta tettara diarriptein te kai elenchein). But in subjects where we try to compel a man to give a clear answer about the fifth (en hois d’ an to pempton apokrinasthai kai dȇloun anankazȏmen), any one of those who are capable of overthrowing an antagonist gets the better of us (ho boulomenos tȏn dunamenȏn anatrepein kratei), and makes the man, who gives an exposition in speech or writing or in replies to questions (kai poiei ton exȇgoumenon en logois ȇ grammasin ȇ apokriseesin), appear to most of his hearers to know nothing of the things on which he is attempting to write or speak (tois pollois tȏn akouontȏn dokein mȇden gignȏskein hȏn an epicheirȇi graphein ȇ legein); for they are sometimes not aware (agnoountȏn eniote) that it is not the mind (hȏs ouch hȇ psuchȇ) of the writer (tou grapsantos) nor speaker (ȇ lexantos) which is proved to be in fault (elenchetai), but the defective nature of each of the four instruments (all’ hȇ tȏn tettarȏn phusis hekastou, pephukuia phaulȏs). The process however of dealing with all of these (hȇ de dia pantȏn autȏn diagȏgȇ), as the mind moves up and down to each in turn (anȏ kai katȏ metabainousa eph’ hekaston), does after much effort give birth in a well-constituted mind to knowledge of that which is well constituted (mogis epistȇmȇn eneteken eu pephukotos eu pephukoti). But if a man is ill-constituted by nature (kakȏs de an phuȇi), as the state of the soul is naturally in the majority (hȏs hȇ tȏn pollȏn hexis tȇs psuchȇs) both in its capacity for learning (eis te to mathein) and in what is called moral character (eis te ta legomena ȇthȇ pephuken), or it may have become so by deterioration (ta de diephthartai), not even Lunceus (oud’ an ho Lunkeus) could endow such men with the power of sight (idein poiȇseien tous toioutous).

In one word (heni de logȏi), the man who has no natural kinship with this matter (ton mȇ sungenȇ tou pragmatos) cannot be made akin to it by quickness of learning (out’ an eumatheia poiȇseien pote) or memory (oute mnȇmȇ); for it cannot be engendered at all in natures which are foreign to it (tȇn archȇn gar en allotriais hexesin ouk engignetai). Therefore (hȏste), if men are not by nature and kinship allied to justice and all other things that are honourable (hoposoi tȏn dikaiȏn te kai tȏn allȏn hosa kala mȇ prosphueis eisin kai sungeneis), though they may be good at learning and remembering other knowledge of various kinds (alloi de allȏn eumatheis hama kai mnȇmones) – or if they have the kinship (oud’ hosoi sungeneis) but are slow learners (dusmatheis de) and have no memory (kai amnȇmones) – none of all these (oudenes toutȏn) will ever learn to the full the truth about virtue (mȇpote mathȏsin alȇtheian aretȇs eis to dunaton) and vice (oude kakias). For both must be learnt together (hama gar auta anankȇ manthanein); and together also must be learnt, by complete and long continued study, as I said at the beginning, the true and the false about all that has true being (kai to pseudos hama kai alȇthes tȇs holȇs ousias, meta tribȇs pasȇs kai chronou pollou, hoper en archais eipon). After much effort (mogis de), as names, definitions, sights, and other data of sense, are brought into contact and friction one with another (tribomena pros allȇla autȏn hekasta, onomata kai logoi opseis te kai aisthȇseis), in the course of scrutiny and kindly testing (en eumenesin elenchois elenchomena) by men who proceed by question and answer without ill will (kai aneu phthonȏn erȏtȇsesin kai apokrisesin chrȏmenȏn), with a sudden flash there shines forth understanding about every problem (exelampse phronȇsis peri hekaston, 344b7), and an intelligence  whose efforts reach the furthest efforts of human powers (kai nous sunteinȏn hoti malist’ eis dunamin anthrȏpinȇn). (342a3-344c1, tr. Harward)

Bury translates 344b7 more to the point: ‘there bursts out the light of intelligence and reason regarding each object (exelampse phronȇsis peri hekaston), for Plato speaks about perceiving the Forms by the human intelligence, not about ‘understanding about every problem’. Cf. the statement with which Plato started this whole discussion: ‘For everything that exists (estin tȏn ontȏn hekastȏi) there are three instruments by which the knowledge of it is necessarily imparted (di’ hȏn tȇn epistȇmȇn anankȇ paragignesthai, tria); fourth, there is the knowledge itself (tetarton d’ autȇ), and, as fifth (pempton d’), we must count the thing itself (auto tithenai dei) which is known (ho dȇ gnȏston te) and truly exists (kai alȇthȏs estin on, 342a7-b1). 

Can the past be transformed? – reflections on my forthcoming protest in Prague

In the ‘Information’ about my forthcoming protest in Prague (see ‘From Bertrand Russell on Plato’s Phaedo and Meno to my forthcoming protest in Prague’ posted on Oct. 11) I wrote: ‘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.’

In his article Scruton wrote: ‘Following the example set by Kathleen Wilkes – an Oxford philosopher of intrepid character – academics began to visit their Czechoslovak colleagues, many of whom they met in the seminar organized by Julius Tomin … Four of the philosophers who had visited Dr Tomin’s seminar – Kathleen Wilkes, Alan Montefiore, Bill Newton-Smith and myself – used this money to establish an educational trust. We decided that, although our purpose was charitable, and in violation of neither English nor Czechoslovak law, it should not be openly pursued, and that we could henceforth best help our Czechoslovak colleagues by working secretly … One visitor – Jacque Derrida – was even imprisoned on fabricated charges … Many of our visitors were extremely well known in their own countries: Richard Rorty, Alain Finkielkrout, C. H. Sisson, David Pryce-Jones, Michael Berkeley, Judith Weir, Julian Mitchell, Jean-Paul Vernant, Jürgen Habermas, Leon Krier, Quinlan Terry, Peter Fuller, Carol Rumens, Thomas Nagel, Steven Lukes, David Selbourne, and many others. Each would travel with books, tapes and transcripts while, through independent channels, we would smuggle printing equipment, photocopiers, binding machines, and the countless other requirements of the “catacomb culture” … Of course, “education” can always be a mask for politics; as it was in Czechoslovak schools and universities over the past twenty years.’

***

Barbara Day writes in The Velvet Philosophers: ‘After Tomin had refused permanent emigration, the police offered a 5-year visa, which, after some delay, he accepted. The visa was valid for the UK and Australia; he attributed the latter to the recent visit of David Armstrong, a philosopher from Australia, who had visited Prague in July (ostensibly on trade business) and talked to the Tomins on several occasions.’ (The Claridge Press, 1999, pp. 64-65).

The truth was very different. After the police had disrupted the Master of Balliol’s lecture on Aristotelian Ethics (April 12, 1980) in my flat in Prague, we, my students and I, tried for several more weeks to meet. Each attempt ended with our imprisonment and 48-hour detention in a police cell. In the end I told the police that I would make no more attempts to hold my seminar, and asked for permission to leave the country for five years. The man in charge said: ‘Mr Tomin, I’ve never heard of any such thing. But if you want to emigrate, you will get the passport in a week.’ A few weeks later I was told that my request had been granted; I was given permission to leave the country for five years. I knew that if one applied for more than six countries, one got permission to visit all countries in the world. And so I applied for permission to go to Britain, Germany, France, Italy, Greece, and USA.

Then I was visited by David Armstrong; his visit was announced to me as forthcoming by Kathy Wilkes during her stay in Prague in May. He invited me, my wife, and our two children to Hanavský pavilion, one of the nicest restaurants with a brilliant view of Prague. After a gorgeous meal David invited me to his hotel. As we were entering the lift, he told me: ‘Julius, when you get to Oxford, write to me and ask me to find you a place in Australia.’ I said: ‘David, you know nothing about me. I was promised two years in Oxford. During those two years I shall do my best to get better in my subject. I shall be informing you about my progress. If during those two years you come to the realization that I could be of any use in Australia, write to me and invite me.’ Armstrong replied: ‘Julius, it seems there will be a lot of trouble with you in the West.’ I said: ‘David, it seems there will be a lot of trouble with me in the West.’

A few days later I received a letter from the Ministry that my passport was ready. All countries I applied for were crossed out with the exception of Britain and USA; one country was added, which I did not ask a permission to visit: Australia.

***

During those two years at Oxford I did my best to get better in my chosen subject, but it became clear that the better I became in my study of the Ancient Greeks, the less likely it became that I might ever get accepted within academic circles. And since every university should endeavour to get as good specialists in any subject taught at the university as the money they have at their disposal can buy, the only way to deal with the situation with which I presented my colleagues was that of Nick Cohen’s ‘The Pub Philosopher’ (published in The Independent Magazine a day after the Velvet Revolution began, i.e. on Nov. 18, 1989; now available 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.’

The only way this could work was never to allow any possibility for me to have an open discussion on Plato with Oxford philosophers (or any other philosophers in the West), and after the Velvet Revolution, with Czech philosophers as well.

Scruton wrote: ‘We were obliged by our trust to support educational and cultural activities in Czechoslovakia … Is our work now finished? We were half-inclined to hope so. But our Czech and Slovak colleagues had other ideas. Their educational system, standing for decades on the brink of annihilation, has at last been placed in the hands of the people who can save it. But they need expertise, books and equipment; they need to rebuild the curriculum in all those subjects where Marxism was an obstacle to learning, or where party privilege ensured that only favoured children could be accepted for study. They need to restore those disciplines – law, economics and political science – which were effectively stifled by political decrees. Our work, they tell us, is not ending but beginning.’

In my ‘Information’ I wrote: ‘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.

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.’

If Jakub Jirsa, the Director of the Institute for Philosophy and Religion at the Faculty of Arts, invites me to give the three lectures at the Institute, and my views on Plato and on the human nature (‘Self-knowledge as an imperative’) are properly challenged in open discussions – my views on these subjects differ radically from the views held by philosophers at the Institute – he will transform the past involvement of academics from Oxford and other Western universities in my country; for if it happens, the genuine desire to help to promote education in my country, by which, I hope, many of those who took part were motivated, will finally assert itself. But it will take all that was genuine in that endeavour to make it possible.

Socrates’ Forms in Plato’s Meno, Euthyphro, Parmenides, Greater Hippias and Phaedo

On the generally accepted developmental theory of Plato’s thought – generally accepted when I came to Oxford in 1980 – there are no Forms in the Meno, only the theory of recollection. As Bostock puts it: ‘the Meno was written before Plato had reached his theory of forms’. (David Bostock, Plato’s Phaedo, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1986, p. 71). This theory has led to an impoverished view of Plato’s early dialogues, impoverished view of Socrates, and thus to an view of Plato’s thought and work.

When Socrates asks Meno what virtue is, the latter answers: ‘There will be no difficulty (All’ ou chalepon), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), in answering your question (eipein). Let us take first the virtue of a man (prȏton men, ei boulei andros aretȇn) … A woman’s virtue, if you wish to know about that (ei de boulei gunaikos aretȇn) … Every age, every condition of life, young or old, male or female, bond or free, has a different virtue (kai allȇ estin paidos aretȇ, kai thȇleias kai arrenos, kai presbuterou andros, ei men boulei, eleutherou, ei de boulei, doulou).’ (Meno 71e1-72a1) – Socrates points out that virtues, ‘however many and different they may be (k’an ei pollai kai pantodapai eisin), they have all common nature (hen ge ti eidos t’auton hapasai echousin) which makes them virtues (di’ ho eisin aretai); and on this he who would answer the question “What is virtue” would do well to have his eye fixed (eis ho kalȏs pou echei apoblepsanta ton apokrinomenon tȏi erȏtȇsanti ekeino dȇlȏsai, ho tunchanei ousa aretȇ).’ (Meno 72c6-d1, tr. B. Jowett)

In the Euthyphro Socrates asks Euthyphro: ‘Is not piety in every action always the same (ȇ ou t’auton estin en pasȇi praxei to hosion auto hautȏi)? and impiety, again (kai to anosion au) – is it not always the opposite of piety (tou men hosiou pantos enantion), and also the same with itself (auto de hautȏi homoion), having, as impiety, one notion or form which includes whatever is impious (kai echon mian tina idean kata tȇn anosiotȇta pan hotiper an mellȇi anosion einai)?’ – Euthyphro: ‘To be sure (Pantos dȇpou), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates).’ – Soc. ‘And what is piety (Lege dȇ, ti phȇis einai to hosion), and what is impiety (kai ti to anosion)? – Euth. ‘Piety is doing as I am doing (Legȏ toinun hoti to men hosion estin hoper egȏ nun poiȏ); that is to say, prosecuting anyone who is guilty of murder, sacrilege, or nay similar crime (tȏi adikounti ȇ peri phonous ȇ peri hierȏn klopas ȇ ti allo tȏn toioutȏn examartanonti epexienai …’ (5d1-10) – Soc. ‘Remember (Memnȇsai oun) that I did not ask you (hoti ou touto soi diekeleuomȇn) to give me two or three examples of piety (hen ti ȇ duo me didaxai tȏn pollȏn hosiȏn), but to explain the general form (all’ ekeino auto to eidos) which makes all pious things to be pious (hȏi panta ta hosia hosia estin). Do you not recollect saying that one and the same form made the impious impious, and the pious pious (ephȇstha gar pou miai ideai ta te anosia anosia einai kai ta hosia hosia, ȇ ou mnȇmoneueis)?’ – Euth. ‘I remember (Egȏge). – Soc. ‘Tell me what is the nature of this form (Tautȇn toinun me autȇn didaxon tȇn idean tis pote estin ), and then I shall have a standard to which I may look, and by which I may measure actions (hina eis ekeinȇn apoblepȏn kai chrȏmenos autȇi paradeigmati), whether yours or of anyone else, and then I shall be able to say that such and such action is pious (ho men an toiouton ȇi hȏn an ȇ su ȇ allos tis prattȇi phȏ hosion einai), such another impious (ho d’ an mȇ toiouton, mȇ phȏ).’ (6d9-e6, tr. Jowett)

In the Parmenides Socrates asked Zeno: ‘Do you not acknowledge that there exists (ou nomizeis einai), alone by itself (auto kath’ hauto), a certain Form of similarity (eidos ti homoiotȇtos), and an opposite one to it (kai tȏi toioutȏi au allo ti enantion), that of dissimilarity (ho estin anomoion), and that of these, being two (toutoin de duoin ontoin), you and I (kai eme kai se) and all other things, which we call many, get a share (kai t’alla ha dȇ polla kaloumen metalambanein)’? (128e6-129a3)

Then Parmenides began to question Socrates: ‘Do you think, as you say, that there are certain Forms (einai eidȇ atta), of which these other things (hȏn tade ta alla) having a share get their names (metalambanonta tas epȏnumias autȏn ischein)? As for example, things that get a share of similarity become similar, of largeness large, of beauty and justice beautiful and just?’ (130e5-131a2) When Socrates agreed, Parmenides pointed out that the theory of the many sharing in the Forms, thus stated, cannot be right. For each thing that gets a share must get a share of the whole Form or of a part of it. If the whole Form is to be in each of the many, then being one and the same it would be present at once as a whole in things that are many and separate, and thus it would be separate from itself. If only a part of the given Form is to be in things that share in it, then the Forms themselves become divisible (merista). (31a-e) And so Parmenides conjectured: ‘I think that you came to think (oimai se oiesthai) that each Form is one (hen hekaston eidos einai) from the following (ek tou toioude); when many things appear to you to be large (hotan poll’ atta megala soi doxȇi einai), there seems to be one Form perhaps (mia tis isȏs dokei idea einai) which is the same as you look on all of them (hȇ autȇ einai epi panta idonti), whence you believe that the large is one (hothen hen to mega hȇgȇi einai).’ Socrates replied: ‘What you say is true’ (Alȇthȇ legeis, 132a1-5).

Having correctly diagnosed how Socrates arrived at his Forms, Parmenides pressed on with his objections: ‘And what about the large itself (Ti d’ auto to mega) and the others, which are large (kai t’alla ta megala), if in the same way you look on them all with your soul (ean hȏsautȏs epi panta tȇi psuchȇi idȇis), will not there appear again some one large (ouchi hen ti au mega phaneitai), by which they all appear to be large (hȏi tauta panta megala phainesthai)? … So another Form of largeness (Allo ara eidos megethous) will have made its appearance (anaphanȇsetai), that came to be alongside largeness itself (par’ auto te to megethos gegonos) and the things which have a share of it (kai ta metechonta autou), and upon all these another (kai epi toutois au pasin heteron), by which all these will be large (hȏi panta tauta megala estai); and so you will not have one of each Form (kai ouketi dȇ hen hekaston soi tȏn eidȏn estai), but they will be infinite in number (alla apeira to plȇthos).’ (132a6-b2)

Having exposed the Forms to more trenchant criticism, Parmenides said to Socrates: ‘Do you see, then (Horais oun), how great the perplexity is (hosȇ hȇ aporia), if someone were to define Forms that are alone by themselves (ean tis hȏs eidȇ onta auta kath’ hauta diorizȇtai)?’ (133a8-9) … And yet (Alla mentoi), if someone (ei ge tis dȇ), on the other hand (au), will not allow Forms of things to be (mȇ easei eidȇ tȏn ontȏn einai), in view of all these and other such difficulties (eis panta ta nundȇ kai alla toiauta apoblepsas), and will not define some Form of each thing (mȇde ti horieitai eidos henos hekastou), he will not even have whither to turn his mind (oude hopoi trepsei tȇn dianoian hexei), since he will not allow a Form of each thing to be ever the same (mȇ eȏn idean tȏn ontȏn hekastou tȇn autȇn aei einai); and so he will utterly destroy the power of discourse (kai houtȏs tȇn tou dialegesthai dunamin pantapasi diaphtherei). Of this sort of consequence (tou toioutou men oun), it seems to me (moi dokeis), you are only too well aware (kai mallon ȇisthȇsthai).’ – Socrates: ‘True (Alȇthȇ legeis).’ (135b5-c4)

Parmenides with his criticism thus left the young Socrates in a situation of philosophical not-knowing; he could not ontologically determine the Forms, yet he could not abandon them in so far as he found them to be essential in all his philosophic discussions.

In the Phaedo Socrates says that in his youth he had a great desire ‘to know the causes of each thing, what is the cause of its coming into being and what is the cause of its perishing and what is the cause of its being’ (eidenai tas aitias hekastou, dia ti gignetai hekaston kai dia ti apollutai kai dia ti esti, 96a6-10). Unable to find such causes (96c1-2), he conceived of a different method: ‘Then I no longer understand nor can I recognize those other wise reasons (Ou toinun eti manthanȏ oude dunamai tas allas aitias tas sophas tautas gignȏskein); but if anyone gives me (all’ ean tis moi legȇi) as the reason why a given thing is beautiful (di’ hoti kalon estin hotioun) either its having a blooming colour (ȇ chrȏma euanthes echon) or its shape (ȇ schȇma) or something else like that (ȇ allo hotioun tȏn toioutȏn), I dismiss those other things (ta men alla chairein eȏ) – because all those others confuse me (tarattomai gar en tois allois pasi) – but in a plain, artless, and possibly simple-minded way, I hold this close to myself (touto de haplȏs kai atechnȏs kai isȏs euȇthȏs echȏ par’ emautȏi): nothing else makes it beautiful except that beautiful itself, whether by its presence or communion or whatever the manner and nature of the relation may be (hoti ouk allo ti poiei auto kalon ȇ hȇ ekeinou tou kalou eite parousia eite koinȏnia eite hopȇi dȇ kai hopȏs prosgenomenȇ) as I don’t go so far as to affirm that, but only that it is by the beautiful that all beautiful things are beautiful (ou gar eti touto diischurizomai, all’ hoti tȏi kalȏi panta ta kala kala). Because that seems to be the safest answer to give both to myself and to another (touto gar moi dokei asphalestaton einai kai emautȏi apokrinasthai kai allȏi); if I hang on to this (kai toutou echomenos) I believe I’ll never fall (hȇgoumai ou pote pesein); its safe to answer both to myself and to anyone else that it is by the beautiful that beautiful things are beautiful (all’ asphales einai kai emoi kai hotȏioun allȏi apokrinasthai hoti tȏi kalȏi ta kala kala).’(100c9-e3, tr. David Gallop)

It is the safest answer, for everyone Socrates approaches readily accepts that beauty makes equal things equal, holiness makes holy things holy, courage makes courageous people courageous, justice makes them just. This simple-minded answer nevertheless allows the question ‘Is it then something’ (Oukoun esti ti touto)? Socrates asks this question in the Greater Hippias, to which Hippias readily answers ‘Of course’ (Panu ge). This answer allows the next question ‘What is this?’ which in the Greater Hippias Socrates  asks concerning beauty, and fails to obtain from Hippias and fails himself to find the answer. (287c4-d3)

This simple awareness of the Forms that make things what they are – in that simple-minded way, not as real causes, but as merely notional causes – combined with the inability to find a satisfactory answer to the ‘What is?’ question is the basis of Socrates’ theory of recollection.

In the Phaedo Socrates asks Simmias: ‘If a man knows things, can he give an account of what he knows or not (anȇr epistamenos peri hȏn epistatai echoi an dounai logon ȇ ou?’ – Simmias: ‘Of course he can (Pollȇ anankȇ), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates).’ – Soc. ‘And do you think everyone can give an account of those objects we were discussing just now (Ê kai dokousi soi pantes echein didonai logon peri toutȏn hȏn nundȇ elegomen) – [about the beautiful itself (peri autou tou kalou), and the good itself (kai autou tou agathou), and just (kai dikaiou) and holy (kai hosiou), 75c11-d1]? – Simmias: ‘I only wish they could (Bouloimȇn ment’an), but I’m afraid that, on the contrary, this time tomorrow (alla polu mallon phoboumai mȇ aurion tȇnikade) there may no longer be any man (ouketi ȇi antrȏpȏn oudeis) who can do so properly (axiȏs hoios te touto poiȇsai).’ – Soc. ‘You don’t then think that everyone knows these objects (Ouk ara dokousi soi epistatsthai ge pantes auta}? – Sim. ‘By no means (Oudamȏs).’ – Soc. ‘Are they then reminded of what they once had learned (Anamimnȇiskontai ara ha pote emathon)?’ – Sim. ‘They must be (Anankȇ).’ – ‘When did our souls get the knowledge of those objects (Pote labousai hai psuchai hȇmȏn tȇn epistȇmȇn autȏn)? Not, at any rate (ou gar dȇ), since we were born as human beings (aph’ hou ge anthrȏpoi gegonamen).’ (76b5c7, tr. David Gallop)