5a C. J. Rowe’s arguments for a late dating of the Phaedrus – the second part of the Phaedrus, with reference to the Republic and the Laws

Christopher Rowe calls his article ‘The argument and structure of Plato’s Phaedrus’, but although the second part of the dialogue plays a central role in his reinterpretation of the Phaedrus, he says very little, if anything, about its structure, which is rich and varied and worth attending to. In my last post I discussed its first section, which is devoted to Socrates’ defence of writing, triggered by Phaedrus’ fear that Lysias might stop writing his speeches because a politician reproached him for being a speech-writer. Socrates ended his defence of writing by stating that ‘in itself writing of speeches is not something shameful’. He went on to say: ‘What is shameful, I think (All’ ekeino oimai aischron ȇdȇ), is speaking and writing not in an acceptable way (to mȇ kalȏs legein te kai graphein), but shamefully and badly (all’ aischrȏs te kai kakȏs, 258d4-5, translations from the Phaedrus are C. J. Rowe’s).’ When Phaedrus agreed, Socrates asked: ‘So what is the way to write acceptably and not acceptably (Tis oun ho tropos tou kalȏs te kai mȇ graphein;)?’ Do we need (deometha ti), Phaedrus (ȏ Phaidre), to examine Lysias on this subject (Lusian te peri toutou exetasai), and anyone else who has so far written anything (kai allon hostis pȏpote ti gegraphen), or will write anything (ȇ grapsei), whether it is a composition relating to the city’s affairs (eite politikon sungramma), or a private one (ȇ idiȏtikon), and whether he writes as a poet, in verse (en metrȏi hȏs poiȇtȇs), or in plain man’s prose (ȇ aneu metrou hȏs idiȏtȇs;)?’ (258d7-11)

With this question Socrates opened the main subject of the second part of the Phaedrus. His suggestion that they should investigate what is the way to write beautifully (kalȏs)’, and what is its opposite, filled Phaedrus with enthusiasm: ‘You really ask if we need to (Erȏtais ei deometha;)? What would one live for, if I may put it as strongly as that, if not for such pleasures as this (tinos men oun heneka k’an tis hȏs eipein zȏiȇ, all’ ȇ tȏn toioutȏn hȇdonȏn heneka;)?’ Not, I think, for those (ou gar pou ekeinȏn ge) which have to be preceded by pain (hȏn prolupȇthȇnai dei) if one is to enjoy pleasure at all (ȇ mȇde hȇsthȇnai) – a feature possessed by nearly all the pleasures relating to the body (ho dȇ oligou pasai hai peri to sȏma hȇdonai echousi); which is why indeed they are rightly called slavish (dio kai dikaiȏs andrapodȏdeis keklȇntai, 258e1-5).’

Socrates appears to have dampened his enthusiasm with his reply: ‘We have plenty of time (Scholȇ men dȇ), it seems (hȏs eoike, 258e6)’. But the English translation is deceptive, for Rowe’s ‘plenty of time’ stands for scholȇ, and for Socrates scholȇ was the time for philosophy, time for his enquiries. The term figures prominently in the opening scene of the dialogue. Socrates surmised that in the morning Lysias entertained his friends with his speeches, and Phaedrus suggested: ‘You’ll find about that (Peusȇi), if you have the leisure (ei soi scholȇ) to walk along and listen (proïonti akouein).’ Socrates replied: ‘What (Ti de;)? Don’t you think I shall be likely to regard it – to quote Pindar (ouk an oiei me kata Pindaron) – as “a thing above even want of leisure” (kai ascholias huperteron pragma poiȇsasthai) to hear how Lysias and you spent your time (to sȇn te kai Lusiou diatribȇn akousai)?’ (227b8-11) At this point Socrates’ insistence on having scholȇ appears to be tinged with irony, but it soon reappears in its unmistakably Socratic significance. Phaedrus asks him whether he believes in the local myth: ‘wasn’t it from somewhere just here that Boreas is said to have seized Oreithuia from the Ilissus? (ouk enthende mentoi pothen apo tou Ilissou legetai ho Boreas Ōreithuian harpasai, 229b5-6) … do you believe this fairy-tale true (su touto to muthologȇma peithȇi alȇthes einai; 229c5)?’ Socrates replies that he has no scholȇ to investigate such things (emoi de pros auta oudamȏs esti sholȇ): ‘I am not capable (ou dunamai pȏ), in accordance with the Delphic inscription (kata to Delphikon gramma), of “knowing myself” (gnȏnai emauton); it therefore seems absurd to me (geloion dȇ moi phainetai) that while I am still ignorant of this subject (touto eti agnoounta) I should inquire into things which do not belong to me (ta allotria skopein, 229e4-230a1). The Phaedrus in its entirety is thus presented by Plato as Socrates’ endeavour to make progress in his ‘knowing himself’. How can this be, Plato indicates a few lines later. Socrates gives an expression to his enchantment by the place they found to stop – ‘how welcome it is, the freshness of the place, and very pleasant (to eupnoun tou topou hȏs agapȇton kai sphodra hȇdu); it echoes with a summery shrillness to the cicadas’ song (therinon te kai liguron hupȇchei tȏi tȏn tettigȏn chorȏi) … So you have been the best of guides for a stranger (hȏste arista soi exenagȇtai), my dear Phaedrus (ȏ phile Phaidre, 230c1-5).’ When Phaedrus remarks that Socrates really behaves like a stranger on a visit, Socrates explains: ‘You see, I’m a lover of learning (Philomathȇs gar eimi), and the country places (ta men oun chȏria) and the trees (kai ta dendrea) won’t teach me anything (ouden m’ ethelei didaskein), as the people in the city will (hoi d’en tȏi astei anthrȏpoi, 230d3-5). In the Phaedrus Plato engages Socrates in an arduous pursuit of self-knowledge.

In the second part, having expressed his satisfaction that Phaedrus’ response makes it clear that they have scholȇ to discuss the subject he proposed, Socrates emphasizes the importance of scholȇ for their forthcoming discussion by narrating a myth of cicadas: ‘We have plenty of time (Scholȇ men dȇ), it seems (hȏs eoike); and I think, too, as the cicadas sing above our heads in their usual fashion in the heat (kai hama moi dokousin hȏs en tȏi pnigei huper kephalȇs hȇmȏn hoi tettiges aidontes), and converse with each other (kai allȇlois dialegomenoi), they look down on us too (kathoran kai hȇmas). So if they saw us as well (ei oun idoien kai nȏ), just like most people (kathaper tous pollous) at midday (en mesȇmbriai), not conversing (mȇ dialegomenous) but nodding off (alla nustazontas) under their spell (kai kȇloumenous huph’ hautȏn) through lazy-mindedness (di’ argian tȇs dianoias), they would justly laugh at us (dikaiȏs an katagelȏien), thinking that some slaves had come to their retreat (hȇgoumenoi andrapod’ atta sphisin elthonta eis to katagȏgion) and were having their midday sleep around the spring, like sheep (hȏsper probatia mesȇmbriazonta peri tȇn krȇnȇn heudein); but if they see us conversing (ean de horȏsi dialegomenous) and sailing past them unbewitched by their Siren song (kai parapleontas sphas hȏsper Seirȇnas akȇlȇtous), perhaps they may respect us and give us the gift which they have from the gods to give to men (ho geras para theȏn echousin anthrȏpois didonai, tach’ an doien agasthentes).’ (258e1-259b2)

In ‘Plato’s first two dialogues’ (on my website) I argued that Plato wrote the Phaedrus in response to the choric song in which Aristophanes disparaged Socrates and his well known, though unnamed, disciple, who for the sake of ‘sitting around Socrates in idle talk’ (Sȏkratei parakathȇmenon lalein) ‘had thrown away the art’ (apobalonta mousikȇn) ‘wearing away time in fruitless activity’ (diatribȇn argon poieisthai, Frogs, 1491-8). To this choric song the myth of the ‘cicada-choir’ (ho tȏn tettigȏn choros, 230c2-3) presents a reply. Socrates opened the preamble to it with his emphasis on scholȇ, the free time he and Phaedrus are to enjoy together in their discussion, which directly responds to Aristophanes’ invective of ‘idle talk’, and ‘fruitless activity’. The myth itself, which follows, answers Aristophanes’ invective of ‘having thrown away mousikȇ’; for in the light of the myth, discussing philosophy with Socrates is the greatest mousikȇ, the greatest art.

Phaedrus asks what is the gift the cicadas give: ‘I don’t seem to have heard of it.’ Socrates replies: ‘It certainly isn’t appropriate (Ou men dȇ prepei ge) for a man who loves the Muses (philomouson andra) not to have heard of things like this (tȏn toioutȏn anȇkoon einai). The story is (legetai d’) that these cicadas were once men (hȏs pot’ ȇsan houtoi anthrȏpoi), belonging to a time before the Muses were born (tȏn prin Mousas gegonenai), and that with the birth of Muses (genomenȏn de Mousȏn) and the appearance of song (kai phaneisȇs ȏidȇs) some of the men of the time were so unhinged by pleasure (houtȏs ara tines tȏn tote exeplagȇsan huph’ hȇdonȇs) that in their singing (hȏste aidontes) they neglected (ȇmelȇsan) to eat (sitȏn te) and drink (kai potȏn), and failed to notice that they had died (kai elathon teleutȇsantes hautous); from them (ex hȏn) the race of cicadas (to tettigȏn genos) was afterwards born (met’ ekeino phuetai), with this gift from the Muses (geras touto para Mousȏn labon), that from their birth they have no need of sustenance (mȇden trophȇs deisthai genomenon), but immediately sing, without food or drink (all’ asiton te kai apoton euthus aidein), until they die (heȏs an teleutȇsȇi), and after that go and report to Muses (kai meta tauta elthon para Mousas apangellein) which among those here honours which of them (tis tina autȏn timai tȏn enthade). To Terpsichore (Terpsichorai men oun) they report those who have honoured her in the choral dance (tous en tois chorois tetimȇkotas autȇn apangellontes), and make them dearer to her (poiousi prosphilesterous); to Erato (tȇi de Eratoi), those who have honoured her in the affairs of love (tous en tois erȏtikoios); and to the other Muses similarly (kai tais allais houtȏs), according to the form of honour belonging to each (kata to eidos hekastȇs timȇs); but to Calliope, the eldest (tȇi de presbutatȇi Kalliopȇi), and to Ourania who comes after her (kai tȇi met’ autȇn Ouraniai), they announce those who spend their time in philosophy and honour the music which belong to them (tous en philosophiai diagontas te kai timȏntas tȇn ekeinȏn mousikȇn angellousin) – who most of all the Muses have as their sphere both the heavens and talk both divine and human (hai dȇ malista tȏn Mousȏn peri te ouranon kai logous ousai theious te kai anthrȏpinous), and whose utterances are the most beautiful (hiasin kallistȇn phȏnȇn). So there are many reasons why we should say something (pollȏn dȇ oun heneka lekteon ti), and not sleep (kai ou katheudȇteon) in the midday heat (en tȇi mesȇmbriai).’ (259b3-d8)

Socrates resumed the discussion where he had left it before the interlude of the myth: ‘So (Oukoun) we must consider what we proposed for consideration just now: in what way it is acceptable to make and write a speech, and in what way it is not (hoper nun prouthemetha skepsasthai, ton logon hopȇi kalȏs echei legein te kai graphein kai hopȇi mȇ, skepteon).’ – Phaedrus: ‘Clearly (Dȇlon).’ – S.: ‘Well then, for things that are going to be said well and acceptably, at least, mustn’t there be knowledge in the mind of the speaker of the truth about whatever he intends to speak about (Ar’ oun ouch huparchein dei tois eu ge kai kalȏs rȇthȇsomenois tȇn tou legontos dianoian eiduian to alȇthes hȏn an erein peri mellȇi;)?’ (259e1-6)

What does Socrates mean with his question ‘mustn’t there be knowledge in the mind of the speaker of the truth about whatever he intends to speak about’? Is he referring to the truth of which he spoke (peri alȇtheias legonta, 247c5-6) in the first part of the dialogue, in his second speech, truth which he declared as ‘being that really is’ (ousia ontȏs ousa, 247c7), which in the light of the Republic can be seen as the Forms?

In view of Rowe’s article this can hardly be the case, for he claims that the ‘idea of separated Forms’, presented in Socrates’ second speech, doesn’t  play ‘any obvious role in the second part of the dialogue, which for the most part considers only the form of the three speeches in the first half, not their content’ (p. 106-121).

This appears to chime with Phaedrus’ reply to Socrates’: ‘What I have heard about this (Houtȏsi peri toutou akȇkoa), my dear Socrates (ȏ phile Sȏkrates), is that there is no necessity for the man who intends to be an orator (ouk einai anankȇn tȏi mellonti rȇtori esesthai) to understand what is really just (ta tȏi onti dikaia manthanein), but only what would appear so to the majority (alla ta doxant’ an plȇthei) of those who will give judgement (hoiper dikasousin), and not what is really good (oude ta ontȏs agatha) or fine (ȇ kala) but whatever will appear so (all’ hosa doxei); because persuasion comes from that (ek gar toutȏn einai to peithein) and not from the truth (all’ ouk ek tȇs alȇtheias).’ (259e7-260a4) According to the accepted view of rhetoric as technȇ (Hackforth’s ‘art’, Rowe’s ‘science’), echoed by Phaedrus, knowledge of the truth is not what a rhetorician must have in mind if he is to speak well. But since Phaedrus in his response speaks of the instances of ‘what is really just’ (ta tȏi onti dikaia), which can be properly understood only with reference to the ‘justice itself’ – of which Socrates spoke in his second speech – and of instances of ‘what is really good (ta ontȏs agatha) or beautiful (ȇ kala)’, which can be properly understood only with reference to the good itself or beautiful itself, he thus prepares the affirmative answer to Socrates’ question, which Socrates’ response to Phaedrus’ suggestion will imply: There must be knowledge in the mind of the speaker of the truth about whatever he intends to speak about, if he is to speak well.

Pace Rowe, this section of the second part of the Phaedrus cannot be properly understood without its relation to Socrates’ second speech. The notion of the truth played an important role in it, and Socrates’ and Phaedrus’ discussion on this theme in the early stage of the second part of the dialogue links the two parts to each other in a manner which is philosophically significant. But there is a problem: In his second speech Socrates spoke of the ‘justice itself’ (autȇ dikaiosunȇ, 247d6) and of the ‘beautiful itself’ (auto to kallos, 250e2), but not of the ‘good itself’, to which Phaedrus in his entry points in the same breath. Can Socrates’ response to Phaedrus shed any light on his having omitted it in his second speech?

Socrates responds to Phaedrus’ suggestion with biting irony: ‘”Not to be cast aside” (outoi apoblȇton epos, Illiad 2, 361)”, Phaedrus, must apply to whatever wise people say (einai dei, ȏ Phaidre, hon an eipȏsi sophoi) … let us consider it like this (Hȏde dȇ skopȏmen auto) … If I were persuading you (Ei se peithoimi egȏ) to defend yourself against the enemy by getting a horse (polemious amunein ktȇsamenon hippon), and neither of us knew what a horse was (amphȏ de hippon agnooimen), but I happened to know just so much about you (tosonde mentoi tunchanoimi eidȏs peri sou), that Phaedrus thinks a horse is that tame animal which has the largest ears (hoti Phaidros hippon hȇgeitai to tȏn hȇmerȏn zȏiȏn megista echon ȏta)’ – Phaedrus: ‘It would be ridiculous, Socrates (Geloion g’ an ȏ Sȏkrates, eiȇ).’ (260a5-b5) … S.: ‘Well then, isn’t it better (Ar’ oun ou kreitton) to be ridiculous and well-intentioned (geloion kai philon) than to be clever and full of hostile intentions (ȇ deinon te kai echthron;)? … So when an expert on rhetoric who is ignorant of good and evil (Hotan oun ho rȇtorikos agnoȏn agathon kai kakon) finds a city in the same condition (labȏn polin hȏsautȏs echousan) and tries to persuade it (peithȇi), not by making a eulogy about a miserable donkey as if it were a horse (mȇ peri onou skias hȏs hippou ton epainon poioumenos), but about what is evil (alla peri kakou) as if it were good (hȏs agathou), and having applied himself to popular opinions (doxas de plȇthous memeletȇkȏs) actually persuades the city to do evil (peisȇi kaka prattein) instead of good (ant’ agathȏn), what harvest do you think rhetoric reaps after that from the seed it sowed (poion tin’ an oiei meta tauta tȇn rȇtorikȇn karpon hȏn espeire therizein;)?’ (260c3-d1)

In his response to Phaedrus’ suggestion Socrates put knowledge of what is truly good into the centre of the rhetorical, that is of political activity (in the Athenian political life the two were inseparable). In its light the omission of ‘the good itself’ in Socrates’ second speech cannot be accidental. Within the framework of the second speech the ‘being that really is’ (ousia ontȏs ousa) is accessible only through memory that reaches back to the time when the soul was intact, that is prior to its first incarnation. The politician who is to persuade the city of what is truly good cannot rely on memory, on reminiscence, on recollection; he must know what is truly good. He must therefore reach a higher level of philosophical awareness than the lover in Socrates’ second speech, for ‘the good itself’, which is only hinted at in his response to Phaedrus, is on a higher level than the ‘being that really is’, which is discussed in the second speech.

It may be pointed out that in reading the Phaedrus in this way I am interpreting it in the light of Republic VI: ‘The good may be said to be not only the author of knowledge to all things known (tois gignȏskomenois toinun mȇ monon to gignȏskesthai phanai hupo tou agathou pareinai), but of their being and essence (alla kai to einai te kai tȇn ousian hup’ ekeinou autois proseinai), and yet the good is not essence (ouk ousias ontos tou agathou), but far exceeds essence in dignity and power (all’ eti epekeina tȇs ousias presbeiai kai dunamei huperechontos, 509b6-10, tr. B. Jowett).’

I don’t deny it; I simply cannot understand in any other way the omission of ‘the good itself’ in Socrates’ second speech, and Plato’s gesturing towards it in Socrates-Phaedrus discussion in the opening stage of the second part of the dialogue.

But if this is so, how can I view Plato’s first dialogue through the prism of a much later dialogue? Here I must refer to what Plato says, undoubtedly with reference to himself, in Laws V: ‘Truth is the beginning of every good thing, both to Gods and to men (alȇtheia dȇ pantȏn men agathȏn theois hȇgeitai, pantȏn de anthrȏpois); and he who would be blessed and happy, should be from the first a partaker of the truth (hȇs ho genȇsesthai mellȏn makarios te kai eudaimȏn ex archȇs euthus metochos eiȇ), that he may live a true man as long as possible (hina hȏs pleiston chronon alȇthȇs diabioi), for then he can be trusted (pistos gar, 730c1-4, tr. B. Jowett).’

In the light of the Phaedrus, Plato held not only his theory of ‘being that really is’, i.e. of the Forms, prior to writing his first dialogue, but his theory of the good as well.

5 C. J. Rowe’s arguments for a late dating of the Phaedrus – the second part of the Phaedrus

In my preceding post I argued that Plato wrote the first part of the Phaedrus independently, and circulated it among his friends as such. In the enthusiasm with which he wrote Socrates’ second speech, the Palinode, he included in it passages for which he, and Socrates, might be accused for introducing new deities. This compelled him to write the second part, in which Socrates downplayed the Palinode as a childish play, maintaining that the only important thing in it was the application of the two principles of dialectic in composing it. In this post I shall discuss the second part, and begin with its beginning. But this means that I must start with the end of the first part.

Socrates’ second speech ends with his prayer to Eros: ‘Turn Lysias to philosophy (Lusian … epi philosophian … trepson), so that his lover here (hina kai ho erastȇs hode autou) may no longer waver as he does now between the two choices (mȇketi epamphoterizȇi kathaper nun), but live for Love in singleness of purpose with the aid of philosophic discourse (all’ haplȏs pros Erȏta meta philosophȏn logȏn ton bion poiȇtai)’. The first part ends, in my view, with Phaedrus’ immediate response to it: ‘I join in your prayer (Suneuchomai soi), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), if indeed it is better for us (eiper ameinon tauth’ hȇmin einai), that it becomes so (tauta gignesthai).’ (257b2-c1; translations from the Phaedrus are C.J. Rowe’s)

The second part begins with what Phaedrus says next: ‘For some time I have been amazed at how much finer you managed to make your speech than the one before (ton logon de sou palai thaumasas echȏ, hosȏi kalliȏ tou proterou apȇrgasȏ); so that I’m afraid (hȏste oknȏ) Lysias will appear wretched to me in comparison (mȇ moi ho Lusias tapeinos phanȇi), if he really does consent (ean ara kai ethelȇsȇi) to put up another in competition with it (pros auton allon parateinai, 256c1-4).’

What makes me think that the second part begins with the words of Phaedrus that appear to follow seamlessly the words with which he joined Socrates’ prayer? What Phaedrus says next brings in quite a new point: ‘For the fact is, my remarkable fellow, that just recently one of our politicians was railing at him and reproaching him on this very score (kai gar tis auton, ȏ thaumasie, enanchos tȏn politikȏn tout’ auto loidorȏn ȏneidize), constantly calling him a speech-writer (kai dia pasȇs tȇs loidorias ekalei logographon); so possibly we shall find him desisting from further composition to preserve his reputation (tach’ oun an hupo philotimias  epischoi hȇmin tou graphein, 257c1-7).’ The words that follow Phaedrus’ joining in Socrates’ prayer were needed to connect with the first part of the Phaedrus this new point, with which the theme of rhetoric, i.e. the main theme of the second part, actually begins. That the second part begins at this point is indicated in the closing section of the dialogue, where Socrates says: ‘Then now, Phaedrus, we can decide those other issues (Nun dȇ ekeina ȇdȇ, ȏ Phaidre, dunametha krinein), since we have agreed about these (toutȏn hȏmologȇmenȏn, 277a6-7).’

‘Since we have agreed about these’ signify the issues concerning ‘the propriety and impropriety of writing’ (To euprepeias graphȇs peri kai aprepeias, 274b6), discussed in 274b6-277a5, i.e. the section that begins with Socrates’ ‘Egyptian myth’ on the invention of writing and ends by contrasting the written speeches ‘which are incapable of speaking in their own support (adunatȏn men hautois logȏi boȇthein), and incapable of adequately teaching what is true (adunatȏn de hikanȏs t’alȇthȇ didaxai)’, with the spoken ‘words accompanied by knowledge (met’ epistȇmȇs logous), which are able to help themselves and the man who planted them (hoi heautois tȏi te phuteusanti boȇthein hikanoi), and are not without fruit (kai ouchi akarpoi) but contain a seed (alla echontes sperma) … and making the one who has it as happy as it is possible for a man to be (kai ton echonta eudaimonein poiountes eis hoson anthrȏpȏi dunaton malista, 276e7-277a4)’.

‘Those other issues’ signify the discussion of rhetoric that began with the reproach aimed at Lysias and ended with Socrates’ discussion on rhetoric with Tisias, conjured up from the dead, at 274a5. Phaedrus asks ‘What are they (i.e. what are ‘those other issues‘ referred to by Socrates),’ (Ta poia; 277a8), and Socrates answers: ‘The ones we wanted to look into (Hȏn dȇ peri boulȇthentes idein), which brought us to our present conclusion (aphikometha eis tode): how we were to weigh up the reproach aimed at Lysias (hopȏs to Lusiou te oneidos exetasaimen) about the writing of speeches (tȇs tȏn logȏn graphȇs peri), and speeches themselves (kai autous tous logous), which were written scientifically and which not (hoi technȇi kai aneu technȇs graphointo).’ (277a9-b2)

There are some additional reasons for seeing the Phaedrus divided – and interconnected – in this manner. In the discussion that preceded Socrates’ second speech there was no mentioning of any reproach raised against Lysias’ engagement in writing of speeches. Socrates: ‘… and I advise Lysias too (sumbouleuȏ de kai Lusiai) to put in writing as quickly as possible (hoti tachista grapsai) that one should grant favours to the lover rather than to the man who is not in love, in return for favours received (hȏs chrȇ erastȇi mallon ȇ mȇ erȏnti ek tȏn homoiȏn charizesthai).’ – Phaedrus: ‘You can be sure (All’ eu isthi) that that’s how it will be (hoti hexei touth’ houtȏ): once you have given your praise of the lover (sou gar eipontos ton tou erastou epainon), there will be every necessity (pasa anankȇ) for Lysias to be compelled (Lusian hup’ emou anankasthȇnai) to write a speech in his turn on the same subject (grapsai au peri tou autou logon).’ (243d5-e1)

Phaedrus’ words at 256c1-4 – ‘For some time I have been amazed at how much finer you managed to make your speech than the one before; so that I’m afraid Lysias will appear wretched to me in comparison, if he really does consent to put up another in competition with it’ – appear to be directly responding to the discussion that preceded Socrates’ second speech. Why don’t I view the first part as ending with these words of Phaedrus? As an addition to Phaedrus’ joining in Socrates’ prayer to Eros these words would have made a very poor ending to the first part. Furthermore, after adding the second part, Plato ends the whole dialogue similarly. Socrates prays: ‘Dear Pan (Ō phile Pan te) and all you gods of this place (kai alloi hosoi tȇide theoi), grant me that I may become beautiful within (doiȇte moi kalȏi genesthai t’andothen); and that what is in my possession outside me (exȏthen de hosa echȏ) may be in friendly accord with what is inside (tois entos moi einai phila). And may I count the wise man as rich (plousion de nomizoimi ton sophon); and may my pile of gold be (to de chrusou plȇthos eiȇ moi) of a size which only a man of moderate desires could bear or carry (hoson mȇte pherein mȇte agein dunaito allos ȇ ho sȏphrȏn). Do we still need anything else (Et’ allou deometha), Phaedrus (ȏ Phaidre;)? For me that prayer is enough (emoi men gar metriȏs ȇuktai).’ Phaedrus joins in: ‘Make the prayer for me too (Kai emoi tauta suneuchou); for what friends have they share (koina gar ta tȏn philȏn).’ – Socrates adds just one word: Iȏmen (‘Let’s go).’

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In ‘The argument and structure of Plato’s Phaedrus’ Rowe critically evaluates ‘the short but excellent introduction to Thompson’s edition of the Phaedrus, published in 1868’, ‘which provides for the proper integration of Socrates’ second speech into the structure of the whole’: ‘The key point of Thompson’s interpretation is that Socrates’ second speech is to be understood as an example of the kind of oratory which is described in the Politicus: “that part of oratory which persuades people of what is right, and so helps to guide behaviour in cities in partnership with the art of kingship”, and which “persuades the mass of people, the crowd, through muthologia rather than teaching” … This rhetoric, as understood by the Politicus and the Phaedrus, “was to be the handmaid at once of Philosophy and Political, or what in the ancient view was the same thing, of Ethical Science”.’ (pp. 107-8)

Let me confront this Rowe & Thompson’s view with Plato’s own view on rhetoric as expressed in the Phaedrus and in the Politicus. Concerning the former, Plato’s view on rhetoric comes to the fore in the opening section of the second part of the dialogue. In response to Phaedrus’ statement that ‘one of our politicians was railing at Lysias and reproaching him on the score of writing speeches, constantly calling him a speech-writer’ Socrates replied: ‘An absurd idea, young man (Geloion g’, ȏ neania, to dogma legeis); you much mistake your friend (kai tou hetairou suchnon diamartaneis), if you think him so frightened of mere noise (ei auton houtȏs hȇgȇi tina psophodea). But perhaps you really think that the man who was abusing Lysias meant what he said (isȏs de kai ton loidoroumenon autȏi oiei oneidizonta legein ha elegen).’ Phaedrus replied: ‘He seemed to (Ephaineto gar), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates); and I think you know yourself  (kai sunoistha pou kai autos) that the men with the most power (hoti hoi megista dunamenoi) and dignity (kai semnotatoi) in our cities (en tais polesin) are ashamed to write speeches (aischunontai logous te graphein) and leave compositions of theirs behind them (kai kataleipein sungrammata heautȏn), for fear of what posterity will think of them (doxan phoboumenoi tou epeita chronou) – they’re afraid they’ll be called sophists (mȇ sophistai kalȏntai).’ (257c8-d8)

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Hackforth notes: ‘The implication is that most prose works hitherto had come from the pens of Sophists; and a glance at the relevant testimonia in Diels-Kranz, Vors. II, makes this easy to believe.’ Dating the Phaedrus after the Republic, Hackforth does not realise the chronological implications of Phaedrus’ words.

It might be argued that Phaedrus’ statement must be taken as referring to the dramatic date; Phaedrus fled into exile in 415, having been accused of sacrilege by profaning the mysteries (Debra Nails, The People of Plato, p. 232). But this does not explain Socrates’ emphatic rebuttal of Phaedrus’ suggestion. Was it not Plato himself who on account of the first part of the Phaedrus became exposed to the reproach of having become a writer of speeches instead of devoting himself to his desired political career? On the dating I have proposed for the Phaedrus Plato wrote it in 405, at the time when his desire to ‘enter into public life’ (epi ta koina tȇs poleȏs ienai, Letter VII, 324b9-c1) was the strongest.

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Socrates: ‘You are unaware (lanthanei se) that the proudest of politicians (hoti hoi megiston phronountes tȏn politikȏn) have the strongest desire to write speeches (malista erȏsi logographias te) and bequeath compositions (kai kataleipseȏs sungrammatȏn); why, whenever they write a speech (hoi ge kai epeidan tina graphȏsi logon), they are so pleased to have admirers (houtȏs agapȏsi tous epainetas) that they put in a special clause at the beginning with the names of the persons who admire the speech in question (hȏste prosparagraphousi prȏtous hoi an hekastachou epainȏsin autous).’ – Phaedrus: ‘What do you mean (pȏs legeis touto;)? I don’t understand (ou gar manthanȏ).’ – Socrates: ‘You don’t understand (Ou manthaneis) that when a politician begins a composition the first thing he writes is the name of his admirer (hoti en archȇi andros politikou sungrammatos prȏtos ho epainetȇs gegraptai). – Ph.: ’Is it (Pȏs;)?’ – S.: ‘Yes, he says may be “Resolved by the Council” (“Edoxe” pou phȇsin “tȇi boulȇi”) or “by the People” (ȇ “tȏi dȇmȏi) or both (ȇ amphoterois): and then “Proposed by so-and-so” (kai hos eipen) – a pompous piece of self-advertisement on the part of the author (ton hauton dȇ legȏn mala semnȏs kai enkȏmiazȏn ho sungrapheus); after which he proceeds with what he has to say (epeita legei dȇ to meta touto), showing off his own wisdom to his admirers (epideiknumenos tois epainetais tȇn heautou sophian), sometimes in a very lengthy composition (eniote panu makron poiȇsamenos sungramma); or does such a thing seem to you to differ from a written speech (ȇ soi allo ti phainetai to toiouton ȇ logos sungegrammenos;)?’ – Ph.: ‘Not to me (Ouk emoige).’ – S.: ‘Then (Oukoun) if the speech holds its ground (ean men houtos emmenȇi), the author leaves the ground rejoicing (gegȇthȏs aperchetai ek tou theatrou ho poiȇtȇs); but if it is blotted out (ean de exaleiphthȇi), and he loses his status as a recognised speech-writer (kai amoiros genȇtai logographias te kai tou axios einai sungraphein), he goes into mourning (penthei autos te), and his friends with him (kai hoi hetairoi).’ – Ph.: ‘Quite so (Kai mala).’ – S.: ‘Which clearly implies (Dȇlon ge) that their attitude to the profession is not one of disdain (hoti ouch hȏs huperphronountes tou epitȇdeumatos), but of admiration (all’ hȏs tethaumakotes).’ – P.: ‘To be sure (Panu men oun).’ (257e2-258b9)

At the beginning of the second part of the Phaedrus, in his defence of writing within the framework of rhetoric and politics, Plato brings us into the midst of the Athenian political life. Let us see what he says on politics and on rhetoric in the Politicus. Towards the end of it the Eleatic stranger says that ‘all alien (eoike … ta men hetera) and uncongenial matter (kai hoposa allotria kai ta mȇ phila) has been separated from political science (politikȇs epistȇmȇs apokechȏristhai), and what is precious and of a kindred nature has been left (leipesthai de ta timia kai sungenȇ); there remain the nobler arts of the general (toutȏn d’esti pou stratȇgia) and the judge (kai dikastikȇ), and the higher sort of oratory which is an ally of the royal art (kai hosȇ basilikȇi koinȏnousa rȇtoreia), and persuades men to do justice (peithousa to dikaion), and assists in guiding the helm of States (sundiakubernai tas en tais polesi praxeis, 303e8-304a2, tr. B. Jowett).’

The Stranger undertakes to clear away these three arts from the science of the statesman, beginning with the oratory. He asks: ‘To what science do we assign the power of persuading (tini to peistikon oun apodȏsomen epistȇmȇi) a multitude (plȇthous te kai ochlou) by pleasing tale (dia muthologias) and not by teaching (alla mȇ dia didachȇs;)?’ – His interlocutor, the younger Socrates answers: ‘That power, I think, must clearly be assigned to rhetoric (Phaneron oimai kai touto rȇtorikȇi doteon on).’ – Stranger: ‘And to what science do we give the power of determining whether we are to employ persuasion or force towards any one, or to refrain altogether (To d’ eite dia peithous eite kai dia tinos bias dei prattein pros tinas hotioun ȇ kai to parapan hȇsuchian echein, tout’ au poiai prosthȇsomen epistȇmȇi;)?’ – Y. Socr.: ‘To that science which governs the arts of speech and persuasion (Tȇi tȇs peistikȇs archousȇi kai lektikȇs).’ – Str.: ‘Which, if I am not mistaken, will be politics (Eiȇ d’ an ouk allȇ tis, hȏs oimai, plȇn hȇ tou politikou dunamis).’ – Y. Socr.: ‘Very good (Kallist’ eirȇkas).’ – Str.: ‘Rhetoric seems to be quickly distinguished from politics (Kai touto men eoike tachu kechȏristhai politikȇs to rȇtorikon), being a different species (hȏs heteron eidos on), yet ministering to it (hupȇretoun mȇn tautȇi).’ – Y. Socr.: ‘Yes (Nai).’ (304c10-e2, tr. B. Jowett)

As can be seen, ‘rhetoric, as understood by the Politicus and the Phaedrus,’ as Rowe puts it when quoting Thompson, derives from and corresponds to Plato’s view of rhetoric in the Politicus, but it has nothing in common with the Phaedrus, in which politics, the art of the judge, of the lawgiver, and rhetoric are not separated. Socrates goes on to say: ‘Well then (Ti de;) – when he becomes an orator or king (hotan hikanos genȇtai rȇtȏr ȇ basileus) capable of acquiring the power of a Lycurgus, a Solon, or a Darius, and achieving immortality as a speech-writer in a city (hȏste labȏn tȇn Lukourgou ȇ Solȏnos ȇ Dareiou dunamin athanatos genesthai logographos en polei), doesn’t he think himself equal to the gods even while he is alive (ar’ ouk isotheon hȇgeitai autos te hauton eti zȏn), and don’t those who come later (kai hoi epeita gignomenoi) think the same of him (t’auta tauta peri autou nomizousi), when they observe his compositions (theȏmenoi autou ta sungrammata;)?’ – P.: ‘Indeed so (Kai mala).’ (258b10-c6)

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The discussion of the reproach against Lysias on account of his being a speech-writer ends by its rejection. Socrates asked: ‘So do you think that anyone of that kind (Oiei oun tina tȏn toioutȏn), whoever he is (hostis), and however ill-disposed towards Lysias (kai hopȏstioun dusnous Lusiai), reproaches him on this count (oneidizein auto touto) – that he is a writer (hoti sungraphei)?’ – Phaedrus replied: ‘It is not very likely (Oukoun eikos ge), from what you say (ex hȏn su legeis); if he did, it seems he would be reproaching what he himself desires (kai gar an tȇi heautou epithumiai, hȏs eoiken, oneidizoi).’ – Socrates concluded: ‘This much, then, is clear to everyone (Touto men ara panti dȇlon), that in itself, at least, writing of speeches is not something shameful (hoti ouk aischron auto ge to graphein logous).’ (258c7-d2)

This straightforward rejection of the reproach chimes strangely with the closing section of the dialogue, in which the question of the reproach is renewed, and can be resolved only thanks to the section devoted to the devaluation of writing.

It seems that when Plato wrote the opening section of the second part of the Phaedrus, his view on writing differed from the view he expressed in the closing section. I can’t help conjecturing that the second part originally ended, and thus the whole dialogue in its second edition, with Plato’s exposition of rhetoric founded on the principles of dialectic. What compelled him to add the part devoted to the criticism of writing was, I believe, the dramatic change of circumstances brought about by the disastrous battle at Aigos Potamoi, later in 405, which brought about the military collapse of Athens. In the ensuing months of the Spartan siege it became clear that the democracy could not survive and the only hope of the survival of the city was for aristocracy to be installed under the protection of Sparta. The question of writing, presumably viewed with misgivings in aristocratic circles interested in politics, became acute, and what is more, the section devoted to rhetoric, which was written in democracy and was profoundly marked by it, needed a drastic and credible downplaying as a mere play, just for amusement, which the closing section of the Phaedrus provided.