Socrates' Daimonic Art: Love for Wisdom in Four Platonic Dialogues [First paperback edition] 9781107007581, 1107007585, 9781316628874, 1316628876

Table of contents :
Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues --
Part I. Socrates and Two Young Men: 1. 'Your love and mine': Erôs and self-knowledge in Alcibiades I
2. 'In love with acquiring friends': Socrates in the Lysis --
Part II. Erôs and Hybris in the Symposium: Introduction to Part II: the narrators of the Symposium
3. In praise of Eros: the speeches in the Symposium
4. 'You are hubristic': Socrates, Alcibiades and Agathon --
Part III. Love and Friendship in the Phaedrus: Introduction to Part III: the erotic art in the Symposium and Phaedrus
5. The lover's friendship
6. The lovers' dance: charioteer and horses --
Conclusion.

Citation preview

S O C R AT E S’ D AI M O N I C A RT

Despite increasing interest in the figure of Socrates and in love in ancient Greece, no recent monograph studies these topics in all four of Plato’s dialogues on love and friendship. This book provides important new insights into these subjects by examining Plato’s characterization of Socrates in the Symposium, Phaedrus, Lysis and the often neglected Alcibiades I. It focuses on the specific ways in which the philosopher searches for wisdom together with his young interlocutors, using an art that is “erotic,” not in a narrowly sexual sense, but because it shares characteristics attributed to the daimon Eros in the Symposium. In all four dialogues, Socrates’ art enables him, like Eros, to search for the beauty and wisdom he recognizes that he lacks and to help others seek these same objects of erˆos. Professor Belfiore examines the dialogues as both philosophical and dramatic works, and considers many connections with Greek culture, including poetry and theater. e l i z a b e t h s . b e l f i o r e is Professor Emerita of Classics at the University of Minnesota, where she taught from 1980 to 2010. She is the author of two books, Tragic Pleasures: Aristotle on Plot and Emotion (1992) and Murder Among Friends: Violation of Philia in Greek Tragedy (2000). Her numerous articles and book chapters on a wide range of topics in Greek literature and ancient philosophy include many influential studies of Plato’s views on poetry.

SOCRATES’ DAIMONIC ART Love for Wisdom in Four Platonic Dialogues

ELIZ ABETH S. BELFIORE

cambridge university press Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, S˜ao Paulo, Delhi, Mexico City Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge cb2 8ru, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107007581 c Elizabeth S. Belfiore 2012  This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2012 Printed in the United Kingdom at the University Press, Cambridge A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data Belfiore, Elizabeth S., 1944– Socrates’ daimonic art : love for wisdom in four platonic dialogues / Elizabeth S. Belfiore. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-1-107-00758-1 1. Plato. 2. Socrates. 3. Platonic love. 4. Friendship – Philosophy. I. Title. b398.l9b45 2012 184 – dc23 2011049196 isbn 978-1-107-00758-1 Hardback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

For Peter

Contents

Preface Acknowledgments Abbreviations

page xi xv xvii

Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues 1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5

1 1 8 13 18 21

Erˆos and Philosophia Erˆos, sex and interpersonal love Technˆe Setting and characterization The erotic dialogues in context

part i socrates and two young men 1 “Your love and mine”: erˆos and self-knowledge in Alcibiades I 1.1 Puzzles about eroˆs 1.2 Acquiring the greatest power Stage i Stage ii Stage iii Stage iv Stage v Stage vi Stage vii 1.3 Erˆos for the greatest power and interpersonal erˆos 1.4 The eye and the soul 1.5 Erˆos the stork

2 “In love with acquiring friends”: Socrates in the Lysis 2.1 Impasse as success 2.2 Linguistic and conceptual issues 2.2.1 Greek friendship terms

31 31 34 36 38 41 43 45 48 50 51 56 65

68 68 74 74

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Contents 2.2.2 Philos and philein in the Lysis 2.2.3 To like wisdom (philo-sophein) 2.3 Socrates’ daimonic art 2.3.1 “I am inferior and useless” 2.3.2 “I am in love with acquiring friends” 2.3.3 “This has been given to me by god” 2.3.4 “This is how one should converse with one’s beloved” 2.4 Socrates and his interlocutors 2.4.1 Hippothales: the lover 2.4.2 Lysis: the beloved 2.5 Conclusion

77 82 88 89 89 93 96 98 98 103 108

part ii er oˆ s and hybris in the symposium Introduction to Part II: the narrators of the Symposium 3 In praise of Eros: the speeches in the Symposium 3.1 Victories in words 3.2 The first five speakers: the best and most beautiful of the gods 3.2.1 The symposiasts and the poets 3.2.2 Phaedrus: courage 3.2.3 Pausanias: education 3.2.4 Eryximachus: medicine 3.2.5 Aristophanes: comedy 3.2.6 Agathon: tragedy 3.3 Socrates: Eros the philosopher 3.3.1 Interlude: Socrates and the Gorgon 3.3.2 Socrates and his teacher 3.3.3 Pregnant men on ladders: the Lesser and the Greater Mysteries The Lesser Mysteries (201e8–209e4) The Greater Mysteries (209e5–212a7) 3.4 “I am persuaded and I try to persuade others”

4 “You are hubristic”: Socrates, Alcibiades and Agathon 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6

Alcibiades’ Silenus-statues Disdain, hybris and satyrs Agathon Alcibiades Three men on a couch Socrates as daimˆon and satyr

110 117 117 120 120 122 125 127 131 134 137 137 140 146 146 150 155

161 161 163 168 177 180 187

Contents

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part iii love and friendship in the phaedrus Introduction to Part III: the erotic art in the Phaedrus and Symposium 5 The lover’s friendship 5.1 Lysias’ speech 5.2 Socrates’ first speech 5.3 Socrates’ second speech 5.3.1 Divine madness and the arousal of the lover 5.3.2 Lover and beloved The search for remembered beauty (passage A: 252c3–253c6) Persuasion, love, and friendship (passage C: 255a1–256e2) 5.4 Socrates and Phaedrus

6 The lovers’ dance: charioteer and horses 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5

Introduction Charioteer and horses (passage B: 253c7–255a1) Horses, satyrs and Socrates Dancing with the gods Conclusion

Conclusion Glossary Works cited Index

198 211 211 215 222 222 228 230 232 239

247 247 250 257 264 270

272 274 276 297

Preface

This study examines Plato’s characterization of Socrates in four dialogues: Symposium, Phaedrus, Lysis, and Alcibiades I (“the erotic dialogues”). It focuses on the specific ways in which the philosopher is represented as searching for wisdom together with his young interlocutors, using an art that he himself calls the “erotic art” (erˆotikˆe technˆe) in the Phaedrus (257a7– 8). In focusing on Socrates’ erotic art, I hope to shed light on a number of important dramatic and philosophical issues, including: the relationship between erˆos and philosophy; the interconnection between love of wisdom and interpersonal love; Socrates’ treatment of his interlocutors and their responses to this treatment; the relationship between Socrates’ claims to have knowledge or wisdom about ta erˆotika (erotic matters) and his recognition of his own lack of wisdom. Above all, I hope to demonstrate that Plato’s Socrates is not represented as a figure associated with erˆos merely because this association was a traditional theme in the works of many ancient writers, and one that provided considerable dramatic interest. In Plato’s erotic dialogues, Socrates is not a philosopher who happens to have erotic interests, but rather a man whose erˆotikˆe technˆe is skill in practicing philosophy. An Introduction provides an overview of Socrates’ erotic art. I argue that it is not craft-knowledge, but another kind of art or skill, based on both experience and reason, and that it has five distinct, but interrelated, components. I also claim that Socrates’ art is erotic, not in a sexual sense, but in that it is closely associated with the characteristics of the philosopherdaimˆon Eros in the Symposium. This Eros, like every daimˆon, is a being neither god nor mortal, but in between both (202d8–e1). Neither wise nor ignorant, he is a marvelously skilled hunter after the good things he recognizes that he lacks and passionately desires to obtain (Symp. 203c1– 204c6). Socrates’ art can thus be called “daimonic” as well as “erotic.” The chapters of this study show how, in each of the erotic dialogues, Socrates practices this art in response to different dramatic situations and interlocutors. xi

xii

Preface

My work is indebted to many previous studies, whose methodology it follows in some important respects. Partly in reaction against the influence of Gregory Vlastos and others, who concentrated on the arguments in the dialogues, many scholars in recent years have emphasized the importance of studying Plato’s dialogues as literary works, in which “literary” and “philosophical” aspects are inseparably interrelated.1 They hold that the dialogues are, above all, works with characters who speak and act, dramas with settings, plots, and narratives. Attention to the dramatic aspects of the dialogues has also encouraged many scholars to argue that we cannot assume without question that any character in them, even Socrates, speaks for Plato.2 I have been influenced by these scholars in many ways. I do not assume that any character speaks for Plato; I pay particular attention to the characterization of Socrates, and I study the dialogues as both philosophical and dramatic works, considering many connections with Greek culture, especially poetry and theater. I hold, moreover, that the Socrates of the erotic dialogues sincerely avows ignorance and disclaims craft-like knowledge, even though he has beliefs and opinions, and sometimes even claims to have god-given true belief. I therefore disagree with those scholars who argue that these disavowals are ironic or insincere. I also disagree, at least as far as the erotic dialogues are concerned, with those who claim that the author Plato makes use of Socratic aporia (impasse) in order to promote his own, more positive, views.3 My views, then, are closer to those of Michael Frede and Debra Nails4 than to those of Gregory 1

2 3

4

Vlastos 1991 has been especially influential. Among the few recent monographs that successfully combine philosophical with literary approaches are Blondell 2002; Blundell 1989; Ferrari 1987; Nightingale 1995 and 2004. Helpful surveys of approaches to Plato’s dialogues include those of Annas 2003; Corlett 2005; Gerson 2006; Gonzalez 1995a and 1998: 1–16; Nails 1995: 3–31 and “Socrates,” section 2, with bibliography; Osborne 2006; Press 1996 and 2007: 39–54; Ralkowski 2007. Good introductions to this issue are the essays in Gonzalez 1995c, in Griswold 1988, and in Press 1993 and 2000. For example, Penner and Rowe 2005: 184 state: “[O]ur view is that there is no Platonic dialogue that is ‘genuinely aporetic’ in the way specified. We suppose that Plato’s general aim, when writing in ‘aporetic’ mode, is that we come to see for ourselves the kinds of ideas that he wishes, at the time, to promote.” Frede writes: “[T]here are a large number of reasons why Plato may have chosen to write in such a way as to leave open, or to make it very difficult to determine, whether or not he endorses a particular argument. It seems that these reasons are at the same time reasons against writing philosophical treatises . . . the dialogues are not philosophical treatises in disguise” (1992: 219). According to Nails, the dialogues are “occasions to philosophize further, not dogmatic treatises,” and they demonstrate a principle of “double open-endedness,” according to which “it is not only the conclusions of philosophical argument but the assumptions on which those arguments are based that must remain radically open to further challenge” (1995: 3 and 218–19). Opinions similar in some respects to those

Preface

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Vlastos. 5 However, it is beyond the scope of this study to enter into the debate over “dogmatic” or “non-dogmatic” interpretations of Plato’s dialogues.6 The focus of my work, however, differs in two main respects from that of previous studies of the erotic dialogues. First, I concentrate on the character Socrates in all four dialogues. Even though the secondary literature on these dialogues, and especially on the Symposium and Phaedrus, is very extensive, surprisingly few scholarly monographs focusing on Socrates and erˆos in these dialogues have been published in the last hundred years.7 Many books are concerned with one or more of the erotic dialogues only as part of a broader study of themes or characteristics of the dialogues as a whole.8 Other books concentrating on erˆos in Plato’s dialogues do not discuss all four dialogues, and are not primarily concerned with the persona of Socrates.9 Some monographs concerned with Plato’s Socrates discuss the erotic dialogues only tangentially, if at all.10 Second, my study differs from those that are concerned generally with the literary aspects – including Plato’s characterization of Socrates – of one or more of the erotic dialogues.11 I focus on a single aspect of Plato’s protagonist: his possession of an erotic or daimonic art that helps to make him unique, and to explain his philosophical activities. Taken together, the four erotic dialogues, I argue, create a coherent portrait of this man. My interpretation differs in still another respect from that of many scholars. Gregory Vlastos has been especially influential in arguing that

5

6

7

8 9 10 11

of Nails and Frede are expressed by Gonzalez 1998; Hadot 2002; Krentz 1983; Meinwald 1991: esp. 8–11 and 170–1 and 1992: esp. 371 and 390–1; Nehamas 1998; Peterson 2011; Roochnik 1987 and 1996: 233–51; Wolff 1997. Vlastos holds that Plato’s Socrates says “whatever he – Plato – thinks at the time of writing would be the most reasonable thing for Socrates to be saying just then in expounding and defending his own philosophy” (1991: 50, emphasis in original, quoted by Beversluis 2006: 88). Note the very similar language used by Penner and Rowe 2005, quoted above n.3. Recent surveys of this highly controversial issue are given by Beversluis 2006; Corlett 1997. Many modern scholars reject a dichotomy between “dogmatic” and “skeptical” interpretations. See, for example, Press 2007: 90, and Scott and Welton 2008: 24. Among these, my approach is closest to that of Scott and Welton 2008, in that they also are concerned with philosophy as an “erotic art.” However, their interpretation of Socrates’ “art” differs from mine in important respects (see Introduction nn.15 and 17). Moreover, they focus on the Symposium alone, and are concerned with the psychological, epistemological and metaphysical ramifications of this art. In contrast, I concentrate on Plato’s characterization of Socrates as a practitioner of this art, within the context of Greek culture. For example: Arieti 1991; Friedl¨ander 1969; Guthrie 1975; Kahn 1996; Lutz 1998; Nichols 2009; G. A. Scott 2000. For example: Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan 2004; Gould 1963; Hunter 2004; Osborne 1994; Price 1989; Robin 1908; Santas 1988; Sheffield 2006a. Blondell 2002 does not discuss these dialogues; Clay 2000 discusses them tangentially. For example: Nussbaum 1986; Rutherford 1995.

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Preface

Socrates never wins over an opponent,12 and that, far from being friendly, Socrates is guilty of a “failure of love”: “there is a last zone of frigidity in the soul of the great erotic.”13 More recently, John Beversluis writes of the Socrates of the “early dialogues”: “His humor is always at someone else’s expense – usually demeaning, often unkind, and occasionally cruel.”14 My focus on Socrates’ erotic art in these four dialogues provides counterexamples to these claims, and support for those who argue that Socrates has a positive effect on his interlocutors.15 I hold that in portraying Socrates as practicing an erotic art, Plato represents him as succeeding, at least to a significant degree, in enlisting his interlocutors, with whom he establishes friendly relations, in his own search for wisdom. This book is intended primarily for specialists and advanced students of both classics and ancient philosophy. It is also written so as to be accessible to all serious readers who have an interest in the ancient world. Translations of the Greek and a glossary of commonly used Greek words are provided. Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own, and I use the following texts: Plato: Duke et al. (1995), for Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Cratylus, Theaetetus, Sophist and Statesman; Slings (2003), for Republic; Burnet (1900–1907), for other dialogues; Euripides: Diggle (1986–1994); Iamblichus: Dillon (1973); Olympiodorus: Westerink (1956); Proclus: Segonds (2003); Sophocles: Lloyd-Jones and Wilson (1990). 12 14 15

13 Vlastos 1971: 16–17. Vlastos 1971: 2, quoted by Beversluis 2000: 5. Beversluis 2000: 259. Gill 2001 provides some helpful criticisms of Beversluis’ views, noting, for example (317), that Socrates varies his mode of discourse to match that of his interlocutor. Opinions differ greatly about the effects of Socrates on others. Those who argue that Socrates fails to benefit his interlocutors include: Beversluis 2000: 34–6; Blondell 2002: 125–7 (citing passages in n.78), who notes (126) that sympathetic or youthful interlocutors are treated less harshly; Nehamas 1998: 65–6. Positive results are emphasized by, for example: Brickhouse and Smith 1994: 16–29; Michelini 1998; Rossetti 2000. Clay 2000: 179–89 contends that the elenchus (cross-examination) has a positive effect on Plato’s readers, although not on Socrates’ interlocutors within the dialogues. G. A. Scott 2000: 4 argues that Socrates achieves “some degree of success” in the two exceptional cases of Lysis and Alcibiades. Teloh 1986: 20–3 claims that Socrates fails because of the defects of the culture in which he lives. I hold that Socrates’ success is to be measured not only by his use of the elenchus, but also by his interactions of many other kinds with his interlocutors.

Acknowledgments

This book could not have been written without the help and encouragement of many people. I am indebted to Julia Annas for encouraging me to write about ancient views on love and friendship, and to Frank Lewis for introducing me to Socrates, many years ago, and for his continued support even as our interests have diverged. I thank my colleagues and students in Minnesota for providing a community that fostered stimulating discussions of philosophical ideas, and for reading drafts of all or part of my book. Among these are Norman Dahl, Gene Garver, Richard Graff, Christopher Moore, Sandra Peterson, Del Reed and William Vann. Many other scholars have helped me to understand particular issues and provided insightful comments on earlier drafts. For discussions about the Symposium I owe thanks to Ruby Blondell, Jill Gordon, Christopher Rowe and Constance Meinwald; for insights into the Phaedrus I am indebted to Paul Dotson, John Finamore and Richard Seaford. Gale Justin and George Rudebusch gave me valuable suggestions concerning the Lysis, and David Konstan provided much stimulating discussion about issues concerning friendship in this and other dialogues. I am indebted to David Leitao and Marilyn Skinner for help with issues concerning sex and gender, and to Jill Frank for providing me with new perspectives on many issues. My husband, Peter Belfiore, provided encouragement, good-humored willingness to keep hearing about Socrates, and valuable editorial assistance as I wrote and rewrote many successive drafts. I also benefited greatly from the opportunity to present papers at Columbia University (2002), the University of Minnesota (2005), University College London (2009), the Arizona Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy (2002 and 2006), the annual meeting of the American Philological Association (2003), the annual meeting of the Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy and of the American Philological Association (2004), the annual meeting of the Classical Association of the Middle West and xv

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Acknowledgments

South (2005), and the annual Minnesota Conference on Ancient Philosophy (2002, 2005 and 2006). Grants from the University of Minnesota in 2001–2002, 2004 and 2009 supported research for this book. I am deeply grateful to the anonymous readers for Cambridge University Press for their careful analyses of an earlier draft of this book, and for their many insightful suggestions and constructive criticisms that have helped me to improve it in many ways. I owe special thanks to the Classics editor, Michael Sharp, for helping me to make good use of the readers’ comments in order to clarify my views about many issues, and to present them more effectively, and for his patient, expert assistance at every stage. I am also grateful to my other very helpful editors at Cambridge University Press: Elizabeth Hanlon, Jodie Hodgson, Josephine Lane, and to my copy-editor, Elizabeth Davison. Earlier versions of parts of this book have been previously published. Chapter 6 is a substantially revised version of Belfiore 2006, and Chapter 3 contains some material of which an earlier version was published as Belfiore 2011.

Abbreviations

For ancient works, I usually adopt the abbreviations used in the Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd edn., eds. S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth (Oxford, 1996). Some exceptions are, for Platonic works: Lys. Lysis Sts. Statesman For the works of Aristotle: NE Nicomachean Ethics EE Eudemian Ethics For modern journals, I follow those of L’Ann´ee Philologique. Other abbreviations are the following: ARV 2 DK LSJ SSR

Attic Red-Figure Vase-Painters, ed. J. D. Beazley (Oxford, 1963, 2nd edn.) Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, eds. H. Diels and W. Kranz, 3 vols. (Berlin, 1951–1952, 6th edn.) A Greek-English Lexicon, eds. H. G. Liddell and R. Scott (Oxford, 1940, 9th edn.), with a revised supplement, ed. P. G. W. Glare (Oxford, 1996) Socratis et Socraticorum Reliquiae, ed. G. Giannantoni, 4 vols. (1990)

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Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues

1.1 er oˆ s and philosophia Of the three speeches in the first half of the Phaedrus, the first is delivered by Phaedrus, who attributes it to Lysias, while the second and third are given by Socrates. Socrates’ first speech argues, like Lysias’ speech, that a lover is harmful to his beloved, and that a boy should grant his sexual favors to a man who is not in love instead of to a lover. However, Socrates recants in his second speech, which praises the lover. At the end of this second speech, Socrates prays to Eros not to take away the “erotic art” (erˆotikˆe technˆe) that is essential to his philosophical activities: This palinode, dear Eros, has been given and offered in payment to you, the most beautiful and the best I am able to make, especially considering that it had to be spoken in a somewhat poetic style, for Phaedrus’ sake. In forgiveness for my previous words, and in gratitude for these, be kind and gracious, and do not in anger take away or weaken the erotic art [erˆotikˆe technˆe] that you gave me. Allow me to be held in honor by the beautiful even more than now . . . [And as for Lysias,] turn him toward philosophy . . . so that his lover here [sc. Phaedrus] may no longer be of two minds, as he is now, but dedicate his life wholly to erˆos together with philosophical words. (257a3–b6)1

Erˆos is also a major theme in the Socratic dialogues–those in which Socrates is protagonist – of many ancient writers other than Plato. Some characterize Socrates’ concern with erˆos in a positive way. For example, in the Alcibiades of Aeschines, Socrates claims to have benefited Alcibiades “by means of erˆos” (di‡ t¼ –rn).2 In the works of other writers, however, Socrates’ connection with erˆos is represented in a very negative fashion. For example, Phaedo’s 1

2

Following Rowe 1988, on 257b6, I read “erˆos,” not “Eros.” Throughout this study I leave erˆos untranslated or I translate it as “love” or “passionate desire.” On the different senses of the Greek term see further below I.2. Aeschines, Alcibiades: SSR, frag. VI A53, quoted by Kahn 1996: 21, whose ch. 1 provides an excellent survey of the theme of erˆos and philosophy in the Sokratikoi logoi.

1

2

Socrates’ Daimonic Art

dialogue Zopyrus opposes Socrates’ erotic tendencies to his devotion to philosophy. Here, the physiognomist Zopyrus, reading Socrates’ character from his physical appearance, states that he is stupid and a womanizer. Socrates says that Zopyrus is right: these are his natural weaknesses, but he has overcome them by the study of philosophy.3 In Plato’s own dialogues, as in the passage from the Phaedrus just quoted, erˆos is often associated with philosophy in a positive way. In other passages and dialogues of Plato, however, erˆos is opposed to reason and philosophy. In the Phaedo, Socrates says that erˆos is among the affections of the body that impede wisdom (phronˆesis) and philosophy (64c4–68c3, especially 66c2–8). In the Republic, Cephalus quotes with approval Sophocles’ characterization of sex (t‡ ˆfrod©sia) as a mad master (1.329b8–d2), Glaucon agrees that the pleasures of sex are mad (3.403a4–6), and Socrates agrees with those who characterize Eros as a tyrant (9.573a4–575a7). According to Timaeus, erˆos is among those things that a just person must conquer (Ti. 42a6–b2), and it is one of the terrible and necessary affections of the mortal soul (69c5–d6). In Laws 6.782d10–783b1, the Athenian Stranger associates erˆos with madness and hybris and says that it is a disease that needs restraint.4 Such passages appear to suggest that a philosopher would need, like the Socrates of Zopyrus, to attempt to overcome erotic inclinations. How, then, can Plato’s Socrates claim, as he does in the Phaedrus, that erotic art is not only compatible with, but actually necessary to, philosophical activities? I argue that Plato answers this question in a group of four dialogues: Alcibiades I, Lysis, Symposium and Phaedrus.5 I refer to these four dialogues as “the erotic dialogues,” in part because ordinary erˆos (desire for sexual or other objects such as wealth or power) is a central concern in all of them. The Symposium contains a series of speeches in praise of Eros, followed by Alcibiades’ praise of Socrates, his beloved. The Phaedrus begins with three speeches about the relationship between lover and beloved – speeches that are the subject of subsequent discussions about rhetoric – and in the Alcibiades I Socrates represents himself as the lover of Alcibiades. Although the central philosophical concern of the Lysis is the question of what a friend is, the dramatic framework of this dialogue concerns Socrates’ demonstration to Hippothales, a young man in love with Lysis, of how a lover should treat a 3

4 5

filosof©av Šskhsin: Rossetti frags. 10 (Alexander of Aphrodisias, De fato 6) and 6 (Cicero, De fato 10). The texts relevant to Zopyrus are collected in Rossetti 1980, and discussed in Blondell 2002: 72–4, and Kahn 1996: 11. On Socrates’ physical appearance see further Chapter 4 at 4.6 and Chapter 6 at 6.3. Br`es 1968: 215–32 gives a helpful survey of negative attitudes toward erˆos, in the sense of desire for sexual pleasure, expressed in Plato’s dialogues. I take Alcibiades I to be Plato’s own work, for reasons given in Chapter 1 n.1.

Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues

3

beloved. Most important, all of these dialogues are erotic in that they depict Socrates as practicing an art or skill that is itself erotic because it shares certain characteristics attributed to the daimˆon Eros in the Symposium. In all four dialogues, Socrates’ art enables him, like Eros, to be marvelously skilled in the philosophical activities of searching for wisdom and beauty, and of helping others to seek these same objects of erˆos. A central component of the erotic art is Socratic erˆos: a passionate desire for the wisdom, beauty and other good things that one recognizes that one lacks.6 Socrates’ claim to have an erotic art is explicit in his prayer to Eros in the Phaedrus, quoted above. Here, Socrates states that he has a special relationship to Eros, the god who has given him erotic art. He also claims in this passage to have used his art, in the recantation speech he has just made, to exhort Phaedrus to devote himself to the life Socrates’ second speech has represented as best, and to which he himself is devoted: a life that combines philosophical words with erˆos (cf. 249a1–2 and 256a7–b1).7 The nature of the erotic art, and of the relationship between erˆos and philosophy, is clarified in the Symposium. Socrates’ teacher, Diotima, says that erˆos in a broad, or generic, sense is desire for any of a number of good things. For example, one kind of erˆos is desire for wisdom (philosophia: literally, liking, or love, for wisdom).8 According to Diotima: “Wisdom [sophia] is among the most beautiful things, and erˆos is concerned with beauty [or the fine: to kalon], so that it is necessary for Eros to be a philosopher” (204b2–4). Diotima goes on to substitute “the good” for “the beautiful” (204e1–3, 205e7–206a12), and to define erˆos as “desire for good things” (205d1–3). According to Diotima, then, philosophy is one kind of erˆos, erˆos for wisdom, something that is not only good, but also among the most beautiful things.9 This view of philosophy as one kind of erˆos is clarified by Diotima’s further characterization of Eros, the personification of erˆos. Eros is neither god nor mortal, but a great daimˆon (202d13), who is not the beloved but the lover (erˆon: 204c1–3). He desires to become wise (sophos: 204a1–2) because he realizes that he lacks wisdom. Moreover, Eros is a marvelously skilled plotter and hunter (qhreutŸv dein»v: 203d4–6) after the good and the beautiful things he recognizes that he does not possess 6 7 8 9

I am indebted to an anonymous reader for Cambridge University Press for suggesting the helpful terms “ordinary erˆos” and “Socratic erˆos.” Some complexities concerning the nature of philosophy in the Phaedrus are discussed in Introduction to Part III. See 205d1–8, discussed further below I.2. Cf. Resp. 3.402d6: “the most beautiful is the most lovable.” The relationship in Symp. between the good and the beautiful is close but not necessarily identical: see Rowe 1998, on 201c1–2, 204e1–2, 206e2–3. On erˆos as desire for the good see especially Chapter 1 n.9 and Chapter 2 n.68.

4

Socrates’ Daimonic Art

(203d4–204c6). Thus, philosophy, as practiced by Eros, is not simply one kind of erˆos. It also includes marvelous skill in searching for the objects of erˆos. Socrates concludes his speech with a declaration of his own devotion to this Eros and to ta erˆotika, matters with which Eros is concerned: Diotima spoke and I am persuaded. Being persuaded I attempt to persuade others that . . . one could not easily acquire a better co-worker for human nature than Eros. And so I say that every man should honor Eros, and I myself honor ta erˆotika and am especially devoted to these matters, and I urge others to be so also. Both now and always I praise the power and courage of Eros as much as I am able. (Symp. 212b1–8)

In this passage, Socrates claims to be especially devoted both to Eros, the daimˆon who provides the greatest benefits for humans, and to ta erˆotika, and he urges others to be similarly devoted. Elsewhere in this dialogue Socrates claims to have an erotic art, just as he does in the Phaedrus, saying that he is marvelously skilled in ta erˆotika (dein¼v t† –rwtik†: 198d1–2), and that he knows (–p©stasqai) nothing other than ta erˆotika (177d7–8). In the Symposium Socrates does not explicitly claim to have been given erotic art by Eros. However, the claim, unusual for him, to have knowledge, and his special devotion to the philosopher-daimˆon whom he himself resembles suggest that Eros may be his patron here, just as he is in the Phaedrus. Although Plato’s Socrates does not explicitly claim to have erotic art in the Lysis and Alcibiades I, he is nevertheless characterized as practicing it, especially by being particularly devoted to erˆos and by exhorting and advising others in respect to ta erˆotika. In the Lysis, Socrates represents himself as devoted from childhood to a particular object of erˆos (›cw . . . –rwtikäv): the acquisition of good friends (211e2–3). He also states that, although he is inferior in other respects, a god has given him the ability to recognize lover and beloved (204b8–c2). Socrates implicitly claims to have an erotic art when he tells Hippothales how someone who is wise (sophos) in ta erˆotika treats a beloved (206a1–2), and says that he might be able to give a demonstration of this treatment by questioning Lysis (206c5–7, 210e2–5). He does not need to exhort Hippothales to become devoted to erˆos, as he exhorts his audience in the Symposium, for he knows that the young man is already far gone in love (204b5–8). In giving his demonstration, however, Socrates is portrayed as using erotic art to show Hippothales how to become wise concerning ta erˆotika.

Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues

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In Alcibiades I, Socrates is himself in love with a particular individual, for he claims to be the only lover of Alcibiades’ soul (131d1–e5, 131e10–11). He is so devoted to this object of love that he has closely and continually observed Alcibiades for many years before speaking to him (103a1–4, 106e4– 9). Socrates’ erotic art is shown in this dialogue in large part by means of his unique ability, as the lover of Alcibiades’ soul, to help the young man acquire the object of Alcibiades’ passionate desire: the “greatest power” in the city, which, Socrates demonstrates, is conferred not by tyranny, but by self-knowledge and self-care (105b4, d3–4, e4–5, 124a7–b6). He exhorts Alcibiades in respect to ta erˆotika when he urges the young man to become as beautiful as possible (131d7) in soul, and says, moreover, that by doing so Alcibiades will remain Socrates’ beloved (131d1–132a2). Socrates does not explicitly say that Eros has given him erotic art, but he does claim to have received divine encouragement to approach Alcibiades (103a4–b2, 105e5). In the Lysis and Alcibiades I, the term philosophia and its cognates play a much less important role than they do in the Symposium and Phaedrus. Nevertheless, philosophy in the Lysis and Alcibiades I, as in the Symposium and Phaedrus, is represented as requiring Socratic erˆos, a passionate desire to attain as much wisdom as it is possible for one to attain.10 In the Lysis, those who “philosophize” are said to be people who desire (epithumein: 217e7–9) one kind of good: wisdom. These people are those who, like Eros in the Symposium, do not think they know what they in fact do not know (Lys. 218a2–b3). That this desire can be passionate is shown by the association of erˆos with epithumia (desire) at Lysis 211d7–e8, 221b7–8 and 221e7–222a7. When Socrates uses his erotic art to question his young interlocutors, he induces aporia (impasse), which leads them to recognize that they lack wisdom. He thereby encourages them to desire passionately to acquire this good thing. While the term “philosophia” and its cognates do not occur in Alcibiades I,11 in this dialogue also love for wisdom is an important concept. Socrates uses his erotic art to persuade his beloved, Alcibiades, that the true object of Alcibiades’ erˆos is the power conferred by self-knowledge and selfcare (epimelein), that is, by caring for the soul and striving to know oneself (for example, 124a7–b3). Self-knowledge and self-care, like philosophia in other dialogues, require a passionate desire (e.g., proqumoÓ: 131d7–8) to acquire as much wisdom and virtue as one can. In each of the four erotic dialogues, then, Socrates is characterized as practicing what is called in the Phaedrus an “erotic art,” or “skill” that 10 11

Good recent surveys of the vexed question of the possibility of attaining wisdom are provided by Detel 2003 and Yonezawa 2004: 1–6. A detailed discussion is beyond the scope of this study. According to Brandwood 1976.

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Socrates’ Daimonic Art

is essential to his philosophical activities.12 It is this erˆotikˆe technˆe that distinguishes Plato’s Socrates from the sophists, who claim knowledge they do not have; from ordinary lovers of boys, horses, gold and honor; and from the Socrates portrayed by other Socratic writers. Plato’s Socrates is a uniquely powerful and fascinating figure in large part because of his unique erotic skill. There are five components to Socrates’ “art,” or “skill,” emphasized to different degrees in the erotic dialogues: (1) Socrates claims to be under the patronage of, or devoted to, Eros and to ta erˆotika: the wisdom, beauty, and other good things that are the objects of the passionate desire (erˆos) that is the sphere of this god or daimˆon. (2) He recognizes that he himself lacks wisdom and other good things. (3) Under the influence of erˆos (see (1)), he has a passionate desire (Socratic erˆos) for the wisdom and the other good things he recognizes that he lacks. (4) He is marvelously skilled (dein¼v t‡ –rwtik†: Symp. 198d1–2) in the search for as much wisdom and other good things as he can attain. (5) As an essential part of the skill he has in pursuing his own search, Socrates is also marvelously skilled at helping others to acquire erotic art. That is, Socrates is skilled in helping others to become devoted to Eros and ta erˆotika, to recognize their own lack of wisdom and other good things, to desire these good things passionately, and to become skilled both in seeking to attain as much of them as they are able, and in helping others to acquire the erotic art. These five components are all closely interconnected. The preoccupation with beauty and other good things associated with Eros (component (1)) induces in Socrates, first, the recognition of his own lack (component (2)), followed by the desire to repair the lack (component (3)); finally, the desire and the lack together are complemented (components (4) and (5)) by his skill in prosecuting his own search, which also includes the skill of enlisting others in the same search.13 By exhorting others and helping them to recognize their own lack of wisdom, and to desire passionately the wisdom they lack, as component (5) requires, Socrates is himself engaging in a passionate striving to attain as 12 13

Socrates’ erˆotikˆe technˆe differs significantly from lovers’ hunting by means of gifts that is called erˆotikˆe technˆe in Soph. 222d10–e3. I disagree with Balansard 2001: 232 in connecting the two. His skill includes the ability to affect others, but is not limited to this, as suggested by Yunis 2005: 121: “Socrates’ claim to be an erotic expert (–rwtik»v) . . . refers to his ability to affect men like Alcibiades, Charmides, and perhaps Phaedrus with his passion for inquiry and philosophy.”

Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues

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much wisdom as possible. The way in which he seeks wisdom is by examining himself and others by means of question and answer (dialectic), as he explicitly states, for example, in Alcibiades I 127e4–7. Dialectic, moreover, is a non-competitive and mutually beneficial activity that requires, and helps to create, friendly relationships among interlocutors.14 In helping others to search for wisdom, Socrates creates or increases the friendly feelings that are an especially important issue in the Lysis and Phaedrus.15 Socrates’ art, then, is essentially both philosophical and erotic together, in that it helps him to seek the wisdom and other good things that are the objects of his passionate desire. However, philosophy, as Socrates is represented as practicing it in the erotic dialogues, is not simply one form of erˆos.16 Instead, Socratic erˆos (component (3) above) is one of several components of the erotic art that allows Socrates, like Eros, to practice philosophy with marvelous skill. The kind of skill involved in component (5) also has a dimension more closely connected with ordinary erˆos for another person. To help someone else seek wisdom is to benefit and act as a friend to the person examined, and also can, but does not always, lead an older partner to become or continue to be the erastˆes (lover) of an individual young person who has a beautiful soul. Thus, in Alcibiades I, Socrates, the erastˆes of Alcibiades’ beautiful soul, says that his own love will not cease as long as Alcibiades goes on improving (131d4–132a2). In this dialogue, Socrates’ erˆos for Alcibiades’ soul helps the young man to become better. Socrates’ art can be characterized as “daimonic” as well as “erotic” in that each of the five components of this art is associated with the characteristics attributed to the philosopher Eros in the Symposium.17 This daimˆon, a being 14 15

16

17

On the differences between dialectic and eristic see below n.51 and Chapter 2 n.47. My account, arrived at independently, of Socrates’ erotic art is similar in some respects to the characterization given by Scott and Welton 2008 of Socratic philosophy as “an art of love” (136), although my approach to this topic is very different (see Preface n.7). However, I disagree in two major respects with Scott and Welton’s views on Socrates’ erotic art. First (190), they identify Socrates’ erotic art with the “true art” of rhetoric, whose practitioner can explain all it does with reference to the good of the subject (Grg. 464–465a). I argue below (I.3 and Introduction to Part III) that Socrates’ erotikˆe technˆe differs significantly from craft-knowledge of this kind. Second, Scott and Welton claim that in the Symposium “Socrates’ awareness of his ignorance is inseparable from some partial recollection of the Forms” (186). I believe that this view relies too heavily on material from dialogues other than the Symposium (see below n.17). On philosophy as a form of erˆos see Kahn 1987: 96–7; Nehamas 2007a: 6–7 and 2007b: esp. 131; Pakaluk 2004: 108; Ruprecht 1999: 103; Sier 1997: 82–3; de Strycker and Slings 1994: 64; Wohl 2002: 160–1 and n.91, on Grg. 481d3–5. According to Rowe 2009: 139 “erˆos, properly understood, is philosophy.” The interconnections among Eros, Socrates and philosophy are discussed at length by Scott and Welton 2008, who argue that “philosophy is fundamentally erotic” (3). I agree with much of what

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Socrates’ Daimonic Art

neither god nor mortal, but in between both (202d8–e1), to whom Socrates claims to be devoted (212b6), is himself devoted to, and passionately desires, ta erˆotika: the beauty, wisdom, and other good things he recognizes that he lacks (203e4–204a7); he is a “marvelously skilled hunter” after these things (203d4–8); and he is the best co-worker for human nature in its striving to attain wisdom (212b2–4). Indeed, Socrates is portrayed in these dialogues as a daimonic figure, who, like Diotima’s Eros (Symp. 202d13), is called daimonion (Alcibiades, at Symp. 219c1). He resembles not only Eros, but also a satyr, a being who, like Eros, is a daimˆon.18 1.2 er oˆ s , sex and interpersonal love The daimonic qualities of Socrates’ art can help to clarify further the sense in which it is erotic. In the first place, his skill is not erotic in a sexual sense. As James Davidson points out, the English term “erotic” has acquired sexual connotations not present in the Greek terms erˆotikos and erˆotika, which refer instead to “love” in a broad sense.19 With this difference in mind, I begin with Diotima’s discussion of erˆos in the Symposium, in which she first calls attention to the fact that the term “erˆos” and its cognates are used in two senses: we separate off one kind of erˆos and apply to it the name which belongs to the whole; we call it “erˆos,” and for the other kinds we use other names. (205b4–6)

Diotima then defines “erˆos”: To sum up, the whole of desire for good things and for happiness is “the supreme and treacherous erˆos,” to be found in everyone; but those who direct themselves to it in all sorts of other ways, in business, or in their love of physical exercise, or in philosophy, are neither said to be “in love” nor to be “lovers,” while those who proceed by giving themselves to just one kind of erˆos have the name of the whole, “erˆos” – and they’re the ones who are “in love,” and “lovers.” (205d1–8)20

18 19

20

they say about the intermediate state of all three entities, although my own interpretation differs in many respects. In particular, I question their attempt, explained at length in their Appendix, to fill out the account of Eros given by Diotima in the Symposium by means of psychological and metaphysical theories drawn from other dialogues. On Socrates’ resemblance to Eros see Chapter 4 at 4.6; on his satyr-like characteristics see 4.2, 4.6 and Chapter 6 at 6.3. Davidson 2007: 35, who comments further: “Socrates is the archetype of the erˆotikos man because he is permanently besotted (with knowledge, with handsome young men) and never manages to achieve a finality, not because he was ‘an erotic philosopher’ in the modern sense of the term – someone who converses about sex, or who gives lectures wearing fishnet stockings and a red silk basque” (36). Rowe’s translations, 1998, adapted.

Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues

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According to Diotima, then, “erˆos” has a broad sense, referring to desire for good things of all kinds, and a more restricted sense, used of only one kind of desire. Scholars often refer to these two senses of “erˆos” as “generic” and “specific,” respectively.21 Diotima gives helpful examples of generic erˆos in the passage quoted above, but in characterizing specific erˆos she simply refers to the way in which people speak. Although there are many disagreements about how to interpret Diotima’s distinction, most scholars agree that specific erˆos in this passage has a sexual component.22 However, Diotima’s distinction is not simply one between desires with and without a sexual component, as Paul Ludwig’s recent detailed analysis of Greek usage helps to show. In Homer, “erˆos” does not necessarily refer to sexual desire, or even to a particularly strong desire, but includes the desires to eat (e.g., Il. 1.469), weep, dance and make war: “Homeric eros seems to mean mere desire of any kind, for any object or aim, no matter how mundane, no matter how intense or lacking in intensity.”23 According to Ludwig, then, Diotima’s generic erˆos resembles Homeric erˆos in referring to a “mere desire of any kind.”24 Her specific erˆos, however, differs from the Homeric kind of generic erˆos not only in its association with sexual desire, but also in being intense and passionate.25 According to Ludwig, there is also a third category of usage, one “transferring (literally or metaphorically) the passionate intensity of the specific eros to a wider range of objects found only in generic eros.”26 For example, in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon 341–2, Clytemnestra says: “Let not an eros first fall upon the army . . . to ravage what they ought not.”27 Ludwig’s third category, then, would seem to include cases comparable to the English use of “lust” to characterize passionate desire for such non-sexual objects as power and wealth. In interpreting individual passages, Ludwig concludes, it is important, but often difficult, to distinguish sexual from broader uses of “erˆos,” and to determine what degree of passionate intensity is involved.28 What Ludwig calls the “transferred” sense of “erˆos” can help us to understand the sense in which Socratic erˆos is “erotic.” Plato often uses the term “erˆos” and cognates to refer to passionate desire for non-sexual objects. The Laws mentions erˆos for wealth (831c4, 870a2–6), and a “divine erˆos” for temperate and just pursuits (711d6–7). In the Republic Plato writes of 21 22 23 24

For example, Bury 1932: xiii and 106, on 205a; Ferrari 1992: 254; Ludwig 2002: 127 and 145–6; Santas 1988: 32–9. See Ferrari 1992: 254; Rowe 1999a: 243; Santas 1988: 33; Sier 1997: 213. Ludwig 2002: 124–6; quotation: 126. In quoting, I preserve Ludwig’s use of italics to refer to the Greek word “eros,” and his lack of italics in using the modern English word “eros” (7 n.5). 25 Ibid. 127. 26 Ibid. 128. 27 Ibid. 133, his translation. 28 Ibid. 128. Ibid. 127; cf. 145.

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Socrates’ Daimonic Art

lovers (erastas) of rule (521b4) and of erˆos for poetry (607e7, 608a5), while in the Phaedrus Socrates says that his interlocutor, Phaedrus, is in need of a fellow “lover [erastou] of speeches” (228c1–2). In Theaetetus 169b5–c2, Socrates states that he has a strong “sickness,” consisting in a “terrible erˆos” for discussions. Alcibiades is said to have erˆos for renown (Alc. I 124b3–6), and in the Statesman, the Eleatic Visitor discusses erˆos for peace (307e5–6). The contexts of these passages suggest that the term “erˆos” is used by Plato to indicate an intensity of desire for non-sexual objects that is closer to sexual passion than to a “generic” desire for such objects as food. Especially when Plato uses “erˆos” and cognates to refer to love of wisdom or truth the term is often used of an intense desire that is explicitly compared to sexual passion. The vision of the lover who arrives at the sight of truth in the Symposium is described in sexual terms (211e4–212a7), as is the lover’s eagerness to see the “plain of truth” (248b6) in the Phaedrus (251a1–252c2). The Phaedo compares “lovers [erastai] of wisdom [phronˆesis]” to lovers of sexual objects (66e2–3, 68a2–8). In the Republic, Socrates characterizes an erˆos of reality (490a8–b7) by means of an elaborate metaphor of sexual intercourse and generation that lends sexual overtones to a later passage in which he speaks of the “erˆos for true philosophia” that comes “from some true divine inspiration” (499b8–c1), and asks if philosophers are not lovers (erastas) of being and truth (501d1–2). In the erotic dialogues, then, Socrates’ erˆos for wisdom and other good things is a desire as passionate as sexual desire. His art is erotic in part because it includes this passionate desire. In the erotic dialogues, Plato also uses erotic vocabulary and themes in adapting for his own purposes Greek conventions concerning interpersonal love. One especially important convention is that of the “erotic-educational relationship,” in which an older lover (erastˆes) seeks to educate and improve a younger beloved (erˆomenos) in exchange for the younger man’s sexual favors. This relationship is reflected especially clearly in the speech of Pausanias in the Symposium.29 The negative aspects of this convention are highlighted in the first two speeches of the Phaedrus – that attributed to Lysias, and Socrates’ first speech. In both speeches, a lover is said to seek only his own physical pleasure, while harming the object of his lust.30 29

30

I borrow the phrase “erotic-educational relationship” from Gill 1999: xv. On Pausanias’ speech as exemplifying one kind of Greek love, “Athenian love,” see Davidson 2007: 418–45. In his discussion of the multiplicity of homoerotic relationships in ancient Greece, Davidson decisively refutes the view, argued for in Dover’s influential study (1989, originally published 1978), that a single kind of relationship constitutes “the” norm. Skinner 2005 also calls attention to the great variety of love relationships in antiquity. See further Chapter 5.

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Plato also represents the relationship between erastˆes and erˆomenos in a more positive light, as he uses and adapts the erotic-educational convention in his portrayal of Socrates throughout the four dialogues. While Socrates resembles the erastˆes of convention in being concerned with the education of beautiful young men, his motives are very different. The Alcibiades I, which comes closest to representing Socrates in the role of an older erastˆes in love with a younger erˆomenos, whom he educates, also shows how greatly Socrates differs from the erastˆes who seeks sexual favors. Socrates says that he is in love with Alcibiades’ soul instead of his body, and he does not use his erotic skill for sexual seduction. He explicitly denies that he seeks pleasure from physical beauty when he says that he has remained as the lover of Alcibiades’ soul, even after the young man’s physical “bloom” has faded (131c5–e11). The Socrates of the erotic dialogues also differs from the erastˆes of Pausanias’ speech in providing another kind of education, one that does not involve claims to teach. Socrates disclaims wisdom himself (component (2) of the erotic art), and he seeks to make others aware of their own lack of wisdom (component (5)). Plato emphasizes this last difference when his Socrates shows Hippothales in the Lysis that the way to “capture” a beloved is not by praising, but by humbling him (206a1–3, 210e2–5), and when Socrates leads Alcibiades to agree that he has “long been in a shameful state without realizing it” (Alc. I 127d7–8). Finally, Socrates differs from the erastˆes of Pausanias’ speech in that he leads others to become lovers in turn.31 For example, Alcibiades I ends with Socrates’ suggestion that his own love may have hatched a new love in Alcibiades (135e1–3). This love is both Socratic erˆos for wisdom and other good things and, in the Alcibiades I, erˆos for Socrates himself. Sexual desire also plays a more positive role in the erotic dialogues than it does in the Greek erotic-educational convention. Although Socrates’ art, and the love he himself has for Alcibiades, are not erotic in a sexual sense, Socrates nevertheless recognizes that sexual desire need not be mere lust, but can instead play an important and legitimate role in relationships between those who search together for wisdom. The lover who has been initiated into the “Lesser Mysteries,” which are preparatory to the “Greater Mysteries,” experiences sexual desire, which he satisfies at least in part, by “touching . . . the beautiful one, and associating with him” (Symp. 209c2– 3). In the myth in Socrates’ second speech in the Phaedrus, the lovers who occasionally complete the sexual act (dieprax†sqhn: 256c4–5) are said to be more vulgar and less philosophical than those who refrain from sex. 31

I am indebted to Eugene Garver for pointing this out.

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Socrates’ Daimonic Art

Nevertheless, these second-best lovers, like the others, win many advantages through erotic madness (256b7–d6). Another important difference between the conventional eroticeducational relationship and the educational relationships portrayed in the erotic dialogues is that the latter may, although they do not always, involve interpersonal love. What is essential to the common search for wisdom is not interpersonal erˆos, but the good will and affection that make dialectic possible. This is true even in the Alcibiades I (see below 1.4). In the Symposium, Socrates is concerned with the welfare of Alcibiades, but he never claims to be in love with him, or to desire sexual favors. Instead, Socrates spends the night in the arms of the beautiful and willing young Alcibiades just as though Socrates were a father or an older brother (Symp. 219b3–d2). In the Lysis, Socrates helps Hippothales to acquire the erotic art that can lead him to become liked by his beloved, the beautiful and noble Lysis (Chapter 2). If Hippothales succeeds in becoming an accepted lover, he and Lysis may go on to search for wisdom together. His success will increase interpersonal love, but there is no suggestion that it will lead to sexual relations. Within the dialogue, moreover, it is the older Socrates and the younger Lysis and Menexenus who actually engage in the search for wisdom. These people have good will and affection, but they are not in love with one another. In Diotima’s account of the Lesser Mysteries, interpersonal love makes it possible for a lover to “give birth in beauty” (Symp. 206e5, 208e5–209e4). These Lesser Mysteries prepare a lover for initiation into the Greater Mysteries (210a1–2), the first stage of which is love for a particular beautiful body and beautiful soul (210a4–c3). However, this narrative leaves open the extent to which interpersonal love continues as the lover ascends the ladder toward the vision of beauty itself. Moreover, the way in which Socrates presents Diotima and her speech encourages his audience to question and examine her views, without accepting them as authoritative. The possibility is left open that there are other ways of searching for wisdom and beauty, in which interpersonal love plays other roles, or no role at all (Chapter 3). Interpersonal love is given particular importance and emphasis in the Phaedrus (Chapters 5 and 6). The myth of the charioteer and horses in Socrates’ second speech is a vivid dramatization of the way in which a lover possessed by erotic madness creates with his beloved the mutual erˆos and friendship that allows them to search together for the divine beauty that is the object of Socratic erˆos. In this poetical myth, moreover, interpersonal erˆos is itself portrayed as a form of Socratic erˆos, for the physical beauty of the beloved is a reflection of divine beauty. There are also indications in

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this dialogue, however, that Socrates’ myth, composed so as to appeal to Phaedrus, does not represent the only way in which the search for divine beauty can be conducted. Indeed, in the Phaedrus, as in the Symposium and Lysis, Socrates himself is represented as using his erotic art to search for wisdom and beauty, together with others for whom he has good will and affection, without being in love with a particular individual. 1.3 technˆe Socrates’ art, then, is erotic and daimonic in that it has five specific components associated with the characteristics of the philosopher-daimˆon Eros in the Symposium, who is both philosopher and lover. But in what sense is it art (technˆe)? One answer to this question specifically concerns Socrates’ use of the term technˆe in the Phaedrus. In the passage from his second speech, quoted at the beginning of this Introduction (257a3–b6), Socrates’ use of the phrase erotikˆe technˆe distinguishes his own art from (1) a “true technˆe” of rhetoric (rhetorikˆe), and from (2) an atechnos diatribˆe, a “practice without art” (260e2–6, 261a7). He says that the true technˆe of rhetoric is to the soul what the technˆe of medicine is to the body. Just as the practitioner of the art of medicine understands by means of technˆe the nature of the body, and how to make it healthy and strong, so the person who has rhetorikˆe technˆe must understand the nature of the soul, and know how to produce persuasion and virtue within in (270b1–9). The “practice without art,” on the other hand, aims at pleasure rather than the good. It is directed toward pleasing “fellow slaves” rather than “good masters,” that is, mortals instead of gods (273e9–274a2), and is used, for example, by experts in seduction in order to gain physical pleasure. Socrates’ erotic technˆe differs from the atechnos diatribˆe in not seeking pleasure, and from the true technˆe in not being craft-knowledge. It nevertheless resembles true technˆe in having the goal of pleasing gods rather than mortals, as indicated by the passage quoted at the beginning of this Introduction, and of striving, and helping others to strive, to attain as much craft-knowledge as they can. These similarities help to explain why Socrates uses the term technˆe in characterizing his own erotic art in this dialogue.32 A more general answer to the question about the sense in which Socrates’ erotic art is a technˆe takes into account a range of passages concerning technˆe in many dialogues. Socrates frequently uses the term technˆe to refer to a 32

On these distinctions see further Introduction to Part III.

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Socrates’ Daimonic Art

kind of craft-knowledge that is, in the characterization of Julia Annas: (1) “teachable,” (2) “demands a complete understanding of the relevant field,” and (3) requires that the person with skill “be able to ‘give an account’ [logon didonai] of what it is that she is expert in [and] . . . can explain why she is doing what she is doing.”33 As an example of (2), Annas states that an understanding of French requires knowledge of grammar, syntax and vocabulary. She argues that this requirement “can be seen as an expansion of the demand, already seen, that our understanding of a subject matter should unify the various beliefs that we have about that subject matter.”34 For example, “[u]ntil we understand what it is that we understand bravery to be, we will not understand why we recognize the examples of bravery that we do.”35 Or, “[i]n the case of the productive skills, exercise of the skill produces a unified object whose organization reflects the expert’s unified grasp of her skill and its requirements.”36 Other scholars have also given good accounts of technˆe in Plato’s dialogues.37 However, that of Annas best fits Socrates’ characterization of technˆe in the Phaedrus. As I will argue in the Introduction to Part III, those who have rhetorical technˆe are said to be able (1) to teach their skill to others (e.g., 266c2–5, 271b1–5); (2) to understand their subject as a whole, by practicing collection and division, and by understanding the nature of the soul to which particular speeches are suited (277b5–c6); and (3) to give an account of their skill, by explaining the causes why one speech is able to persuade and another one is not (271b4–5), and by submitting their work to questioning and examination (278c4–7). In the erotic dialogues, Socrates sometimes expresses strong convictions and even claims knowledge about ta erˆotika, but he sincerely denies that his art has any of these characteristics of craft-knowledge. He says that 33

34 36

37

Annas 2001: 244. As examples of teachability, Annas cites (n.20) Meno 89eff. (which refers to doctors, cobblers and pipe players), and Prt. 319eff. (see the entire discussion at 319a–320c, with the examples of house and ship building: 319b5–c1). As an example of (3), she cites (n.22) Grg. 465a and 501a, which give medicine as an example. 35 Ibid. 241, discussing Lach. 191c–e. Annas 2001: 244. Ibid. 244 n.21, citing Grg. 503d–504b. In this passage, painters, builders and doctors are said to arrange things according to a certain order, and to compel one part to be suitable and fitting to another, so that the whole is composed as an arranged and ordered thing (503e4–504a4). Other helpful accounts of the criteria for technˆe include those of Brickhouse and Smith 1994: 5–7, whose first three criteria are essentially the same as those of Annas; Reeve 1989: 37–45, who states (39) that craft-knowledge is “explanatory,” “teachable,” and “luck-independent;” Woodruff 1990, who lists as necessary conditions “teachability,” “specialisation,” and “completeness” (70–2). Roochnik 1996 provides a helpful survey that includes (17–88) pre-Platonic criteria for technˆe. Less useful is Balansard 2001, whose bibliography does not cite Brickhouse and Smith 1994, Reeve 1989, Roochnik 1996, or Woodruff 1990, and who draws from Phdr. 269a1–3ff. the unwarranted inference that “authentic poetry” is said to be a technˆe (128–30, 139).

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Diotima “taught” (–d©daxen) him about ta erˆotika (Symp. 201d5), but that he himself only tries to “persuade” others (212b2–3). In the Lysis, he responds to Hippothales’ request for advice about how a lover can become liked by a beloved by saying that this is not an easy thing to tell (e«pe±n), that is, to give an account of, but claims that he might perhaps be able to give a demonstration (epideixis) by talking to Lysis (206b9–c7). And in the Phaedrus, he attributes his technˆe not to an understanding of ta erˆotika that he has acquired by his own efforts, but to a divine gift (257a7–9), which is also the source for his “knowledge” (o²da) that Hippothales is in love (Lys. 204b7–c2).38 One important way in which Socrates’ erotic art differs from craftknowledge is that an important aspect of erotic art is recognition of one’s own lack of wisdom (component (2) of the erotic art).39 In the erotic dialogues, Socrates is represented as recognizing that he lacks wisdom in two important respects. First, in two passages he explicitly states that he knows nothing except ta erˆotika: Symposium 177d7–8 (cf. the spurious Theages 128b1–6) and Lysis 204b8–c2, where Socrates claims to be inferior and useless in matters other than the ability to recognize lover and beloved.40 Socrates’ avowals of ignorance in other passages in the four dialogues also suggest that he knows only about ta erˆotika, and that his knowledge fails him in other respects. In the Lysis, for example, Socrates says that he does not know how to acquire the good friend, the possession of which is the object of his erˆos (212a4–6), and he is in fact unable to say who or what the friend is (222e6–7) that is the object of his search in this dialogue. In Alcibiades I, he states that he and Alcibiades need self-care more than all other people, and that he does not differ from Alcibiades in his own need for education and self-care (124b10–d5). The Socrates of the Symposium claims that his own wisdom (sophia) is “inferior and questionable, like a dream” (175e2–4), and he warns Alcibiades that he, Socrates, may be worth nothing (219a1–2). In the Phaedrus, Socrates says that only a god should be called “wise” (sophos); a human can be, at most, only a “lover of wisdom” 38

39

40

On divine inspiration cf. Resp. 499b8–c1. I will argue that the kind of “knowledge” Socrates claims to have been given by a divine source is true belief. On support from divine sources for Socrates’ beliefs see Brickhouse and Smith 1994: 189–201, and 1989: 105–7; Forster 2007. A discussion of the many complex and controversial epistemological issues surrounding the status of the kinds of knowledge Socrates claims and disclaims in the dialogues generally is beyond the scope of this study. However, I agree with Benson 2000: 168 about the impossibility of determining the precise nature of the knowledge Socrates disavows in the “early dialogues.” Helpful surveys of the controversy surrounding Socrates’ claims to and disclaimers of knowledge are provided by Forster 2007; Reeve 1989: 53–62; Wolfsdorf 2004a; Yonezawa 1995. Insightful interpretations of Socrates’ claim to know ta erˆotika include those of Blondell 2006; Detel 2003; Roochnik 1987 and 1996: 233–51; Scott and Welton 2008. See also Chapter 4 at 4.6 and n.81.

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(philosophon: 278d3–6). In this dialogue, when Socrates says that he spoke at length because of his own longing (p»q) for things seen in a former life (250c7–8), he implies that he, like the fallen souls in his speech, has forgotten the truth he once glimpsed. Another way in which Socrates recognizes his own lack of wisdom is by claiming to have only limited knowledge even of ta erˆotika; that is, he does not have the “complete understanding of the relevant field” which would be required by craft-knowledge, according to Julia Annas’ characterization quoted above. Specifically, he claims to have only the kind of skill that is gained from his own personal experience.41 This skill, however, is not the kind of empeiria (experience) disparaged in the Gorgias, by means of which cookery, for example, aims at producing pleasure, without the use of reason, and without having considered the nature or cause of pleasure (Grg. 501a3–b1).42 Socrates’ art instead includes, but is not limited to, the use of reason to consider what the natures and causes of things might be, and to arrive at the conclusion that he lacks knowledge about these matters.43 His ability to recognize his own lack of wisdom (component (2) of the erotic art) is gained from his experience, as are the four other components of this art. Socrates has experience in being devoted to the daimˆon Eros or to ta erˆotika (component (1)), and in passionately desiring to attain as much as he can of wisdom and other good things (component (3)). His experience in searching for the wisdom he realizes he lacks (component (4)) is represented in two different ways in the erotic dialogues. First, the dialogues make frequent use of a pun on eran (“to love”) and erˆotan (“to question”) in order to emphasize Socrates’ use of human reasoning to examine and question (erˆotan) others.44 In so doing, he strives, together with the people he questions, to attain the object of his erˆos; that is, to become as wise and good as it is possible for him to become (for example, Alc. 1 127e5–7). Second, Socrates searches by using certain 41

42 43 44

Cf. English adjective “expert” (from the Latin experior, “to try” or “experience”), used of someone who has tried or experienced something: see Oxford English Dictionary Online, s.v. “expert,” adj (accessed September 12, 2011). Brickhouse and Smith 1994: 9 correctly deny that this kind of empeiria is necessary or sufficient for the use of the elenchus. See Resp. 9.582a4–5, where Plato writes that we judge by means of empeiria, phronˆesis and reason. This passage was drawn to my attention by Frank 2007: 460. Griswold 1986: 116, notes that “Socrates’ ‘erotic art’ ([Phdr.] 257a7–8) is the dialectical rhetoric that uses the power of questioning” to lead the soul to insights (emphasis in original); Reeve 2006a: 135 writes of “[t]he identification of the craft of love with that of asking questions,” and Roochnik 1987: 128 states that “the paradigmatic form of philosophical discourse is the question, which itself is erotic in structure.” I hold that the art of questioning is an important aspect of erotic art, but not identical with it. On the connection between loving (eran) and questioning (erˆotan) see below, 2.3.4 and n.93.

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god-given abilities, which do not depend on reasoning, to attain true belief. He claims, for example, to have a god-given ability to recognize lovers and beloveds (Lys. 204b7–c2, discussed further in Chapter 2). Socrates also has experience in exhorting others to acquire erotic art (component (5)). An important aspect of his exhortation of others involves leading them to recognize that they lack wisdom.45 In giving his demonstration of how to produce friendliness in a beloved, Socrates leads Lysis to agree that Lysis lacks wisdom (phronein) and needs a teacher (210d4–8). Moreover, the Lysis ends in aporia about what the friend is (222e1–7). In the Alcibiades I, Socrates shows his ambitious young beloved that he, Alcibiades, lacks selfknowledge and needs to care for himself (for example, at 124b7–9, 127d6– 8), while in the Symposium, Socrates induces Agathon to agree that he did not know what he was talking about when he gave his speech about Eros (201b11–12), and he leads Alcibiades to be ashamed of his own deficiencies (216a4–b3). In the Phaedrus, Socrates shows his young interlocutor that the speech of Phaedrus’ beloved, Lysias, is inferior in both content and style (234c6–235a8, 263d5–264e3), thus implying that Phaedrus did not know what he was talking about when he expressed admiration for it. Socrates’ erotic art, then, is not craft-knowledge, but is instead “erotic” or “daimonic” in that it, like its possessor, the daimˆon Eros in the Symposium, is always in a state in between wisdom and ignorance.46 A passage in the Cratylus (397d10–398c4) supports interpreting this daimonic state as a kind of skill that is based on experience rather than on knowledge of the truth. Socrates begins his discussion of “daimones, and heroes, and daimonic humans”47 by quoting Hesiod’s account of the daimones as the golden race of humans who, after their death, become guardians of mortals. Hesiod, he says, named them “‘daimonas’ because they were wise [phronimoi] and experienced [daˆemones]” (398b6–7).48 In Homer, daˆemˆon means “skilled, experienced,” and the verb daˆo means “to acquire practical knowledge of or skill in.”49 This connection of daimˆon with daˆemon is appropriate to the Eros of the Symposium. As the son of Resource (Poros: 203b3), Eros is “a schemer after the beautiful and good, courageous, impetuous, and intense, a marvelously skilled hunter, always weaving new devices, both passionate for wisdom and resourceful in looking for it, philosophizing through all his 45 46 47 48 49

This aspect of Socrates’ use of dialectic is well analyzed by Frede 1992: 210. Cf. Roochnik 1996: 239–40, Scott and Welton 2008. My translation of 397d9–e1 includes the words bracketed by Duke et al. 1995. At 397e12–398a2, Socrates quotes Hesiod, Op. 121–3, with slight variations from our texts. On the Cra. passage see Clay 1972 and 2000: 51–9; West 1979: 153–4. Cunliffe 1963.

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life, a marvelously skilled magician, sorcerer, and sophist.”50 Socrates, like Eros, is daimonic in that he recognizes his own lack of wisdom, and has the kind of art that allows him to be a marvelously skilled hunter for wisdom. Like the daimones of the Cratylus, he is daˆemon, skilled or experienced. 1.4 setting and characterization Two dramatic elements that contribute to Plato’s representation of Socrates’ successful and friendly use of his erotic art are the settings of the erotic dialogues and the characterization of his interlocutors. These dialogues are not set in a public place, such as the Lyceum, which is the setting of the Euthydemus, or the entrance to the law courts, where the Euthyphro takes place, but in a private or secluded location. Such a setting is conducive to conversations with younger people, who are, from the beginning, friendly and sympathetic toward Socrates. Absent are adult antagonists like the sophists, who engage in eristic (contentious) competition.51 In the Alcibiades I, Socrates is alone with Alcibiades, a young man who is not quite twenty years old, being just past the “bloom” of adolescence (131e11) and soon to address the Assembly for the first time (105a7–b1).52 We are not told exactly where they are, but Socrates stresses the fact that they are alone (118b5).53 Alcibiades is sympathetic to Socrates from the beginning of the dialogue, saying that he would have approached Socrates if Socrates had not first approached him (104c7–d3). He is sometimes exasperated by Socrates’ questioning (for example, at 114d7, where he calls Socrates hubristic), but is always friendly and cooperative. In the Lysis, Socrates is alone with a group of boys and young men (203a3–5, 207a1) in a wrestling school (palaistra: 204a2). Their distance from the adults with whom these young people often associate is emphasized by the fact that the only adults who appear are slave attendants (pedagogues), who are characterized as drunken barbarians and whose removal by force of Lysis and Menexenus puts an end to all conversation (223a1–b3).54 All of the interlocutors are friendly toward Socrates: Hippothales invites him to enter the palaistra (203b3–4); Lysis is eager to listen to the conversation (207a5–6); Menexenus comes to sit down beside Socrates and willingly answers the latter’s questions 50 51 52 53 54

Symp. 203d4–8: Rowe’s translation, 1998, adapted. Coventry 1990: 174–84 provides a good discussion of the difference between dialectic and eristic. Denyer 2001: 94, on 105a7, notes that citizens could address the Assembly at age twenty. Cf. Forde 1987: 222. The adult trainer who interrupts the conversation at 207d2–3 remains “off stage” and sends an unidentified person to summon Menexenus.

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(207a7–c12). The Phaedrus is set in the countryside, outside the city of Athens and its crowds of bystanders (230c6–d5).55 Moreover, Socrates is alone with the younger Phaedrus, a sympathetic interlocutor who shares Socrates’ love of speeches like a “fellow Corybant” (228b7).56 Phaedrus is in fact characterized, toward the beginning of the dialogue, as “another self” in Socrates’ statement: “If I do not know Phaedrus I have also forgotten myself” (228a5–6, cf. 236c4–6). In the story narrated by Apollodorus in the Symposium, Socrates is at first alone in the street with his lover or “fan” (erastˆes), Aristodemus (174b1–4), and is afterwards an invited guest at the house of Agathon. The symposiasts create further privacy by sending the aulos (pipe) player away at the beginning of the dialogue (176e6–9). Moreover, before telling the story of his attempted seduction of Socrates, Alcibiades orders the servants to shut their ears (218b5–7).57 In this narrative, Alcibiades repeatedly stresses that he was alone with Socrates (m»nov m»n: 217b3–4, cf. 217d7–e1) when the events occurred. Socrates has a large number of sympathetic interlocutors in the Symposium. According to Alcibiades, all of the guests named in the dialogue share with Socrates a “philosophical madness and Bacchic frenzy” and have been bitten by philosophical words that seize upon a young and noble soul and make it do and say anything at all. Alcibiades specifically mentions Phaedrus, Agathon, Eryximachus, Pausanias, Aristodemus and Aristophanes, and says that he himself experiences these same things (217e6–218b5). The symposiasts also share Socrates’ interest in erˆos (177d6–e3). Not all of them are young, but one of Socrates’ main interlocutors, Agathon, is a youth (neaniskos: 198a2), and Alcibiades tells a story about the relationship that he had as a young man with Socrates. The symposiasts compete in praising Eros, but they do so as friends, and Socrates does not subject them to the harsher treatment he reserves for the sophists in other dialogues. The only elenchus (cross-examination) narrated, that with Agathon, ends in a friendly way, for Socrates addresses the young man as “beloved” (201c8). Socrates is able to use his erotic art successfully in large part because of these private settings and young, sympathetic interlocutors. In contrast to dialogues in which Socrates does not succeed in changing his interlocutors’ minds, in these four dialogues, he is represented as producing, 55 56

57

On the setting of the dialogue see the excellent discussion of Ferrari 1987: 1–36. Phaedrus explicitly states that they are alone in a deserted place and that he is younger than Socrates (–sm•n d• m»nw –n –rhm© . . . –gÜ kaª neÛterov: 236c8–d1). According to Nails 2002: 232 Phaedrus is in his mid-twenties. Nails, 2006: 204 rightly notes, however, that there are some indications that the conversation is overheard by non-participants: women and slaves.

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at least temporarily, positive changes in others. His success is shown, in part, by the erˆos or friendly feelings he arouses in his interlocutors. At the end of the Alcibiades I, Alcibiades says that he will be Socrates’ attendant (pedagogue) and begin to study justice. Socrates then speculates that his own erˆos may have hatched a new erˆos in the young man (135d7–e3). Although Socrates expresses fears about his own future and that of Alcibiades, he also states that he does not distrust Alcibiades’ nature (135e6–8). The Lysis ends in aporia (impasse) about what the friend is, but within this dialogue Socrates successfully demonstrates to Hippothales his ability to create friendliness in a beloved (206c4–7 with 210e1–5). Lysis, the subject of the demonstration, is humbled by Socrates. Far from being angry, however, Lysis addresses him in a friendly manner (211a3). By the end of the dialogue, all of the interlocutors give the impression of being friends with one another (223b5–7). In the Symposium, Agathon yields gracefully to Socrates’ criticisms of his speech about Eros. When, in the final scene, he gets up to sit next to Socrates in order to be praised by him, Agathon clearly indicates that he does not object to receiving more of the same kind of critical treatment (223a3–5). Alcibiades in this dialogue is benefited at least temporarily by his association with Socrates, for he feels shame and agrees with all that the philosopher says (215e7–216b6). Moreover, the behavior of Socrates that Alcibiades calls “hybris” (219c5) leads him to fall in love with Socrates (222b3–4, c2–3), and Alcibiades warns Agathon against doing so also (222b4–7).58 In the Phaedrus, Socrates’ interlocutor, Phaedrus, seconds his prayer to Eros (suneÅcomai: 257b7) that both Phaedrus and Lysias may turn their lives toward erˆos and philosophical words. At the end of the dialogue, Phaedrus joins in another prayer made by Socrates, this time to Pan, and remarks that “friends have possessions in common” (279c6–7). This is not to deny that Socrates’ success, as the examples just noted make clear, is also due to his ability to arouse emotions very different from friendliness. In showing his interlocutors that they lack the wisdom and other good things they think they have, Socrates gives them a beneficial humbling that is necessary for the removal of false beliefs and for the arousal of love for wisdom.59 He acts, moreover, in ways that sometimes appear to his interlocutors to be offensive, or even hubristic. In the Symposium, 58 59

I leave untranslated the Greek term hybris (often rendered as “insolence”) because its meaning is controversial. See detailed discussion in Chapter 4 at 4.2. Cf. the end of the Apology (41e1–42a2), where Socrates asks the jurors to give his sons the same “punishment” Socrates has given the Athenians, if his sons appear to care more for wealth or anything else than for virtue. On the beneficial effects of shame see further Chapter 1 at 1.2 and n.23.

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both Agathon and Alcibiades tell Socrates: “You are hubristic” (ËbristŸv e²: 175e7, 215b7). Alcibiades compares the man to an hubristic satyr and his words to the skin of an hubristic satyr (215b3–8, 221e2–4). Even though they occur in a friendly and playful atmosphere, these accusations of hybris highlight an important aspect of Socrates’ use of erotic skill in helping others to acquire it also: his ability, like that of the daimonic satyr, to arouse shame. Indeed, Alcibiades says that Socrates is the only one who can cause him to feel shame (Symp. 216a8–b3). Socrates gives Alcibiades a similar humbling in Alcibiades I by, for example, showing the young man that he knows even less than the women of his adversaries (124a5–7), and that he is in the most shameful state (127d6–8). As a result, Alcibiades says, just as he does in the Symposium: “You are hubristic” (Alc. I 114d7). The humbling of Lysis in the company of his friends could also be seen as offensive, and it makes Lysis’ lover, Hippothales, very uncomfortable (Lys. 210e5–6). In the Phaedrus, Socrates speaks disrespectfully of a speech that was much admired by Phaedrus, thereby in effect showing the young man that he did not know what he was talking about when he admired this speech (234c6–235a8). Thus, my focus on Socrates’ erotic art helps to explain some puzzling features of Plato’s Socrates. In the erotic dialogues, at least, Socrates is more successful in persuading others, and more friendly towards them, than he is often represented as being by those scholars who emphasize his use of the harsh elenchus against adversaries.60 His friendliness, however, does not prevent him from arousing painful emotions in those who require the beneficial humbling that is conducive to their recognition of their own lack of wisdom. Not only does the youth of Socrates’ interlocutors contribute to his comparative success in the erotic dialogues, it also helps us to understand the emphasis on erˆos in these dialogues, as the next section will argue. 1.5 the erotic dialogues in context In other dialogues also, Socrates’ practice of philosophy is represented as having characteristics similar to those portrayed in the erotic quartet. He is devoted to divine matters; he desires to attain the wisdom he recognizes he lacks, and he helps others to do the same. Erˆos, however, has a much less prominent role in other dialogues, nor is Socrates represented as practicing an erotic art. While the emphasis on erˆos in the erotic dialogues increases 60

For examples see Preface nn.12–15.

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dramatic interest, it also serves crucial philosophical purposes. Comparison with another quartet, the trial and death dialogues (the Apology, Euthyphro, Crito and Phaedo) helps to clarify what these purposes are. In the erotic quartet, Socrates’ practice of philosophy is represented as the education of passionate young men for a life devoted to Socratic erˆos for wisdom. In the trial and death dialogues, in contrast, philosophy is a preparation for death of older people, and of Socrates in particular as he nears death. Three thematic aspects of the erotic dialogues are especially important for an understanding of the emphasis on erˆos in this quartet as a whole. First, as discussed above (I.2 and I.4), all four are concerned with education of the young. In this context, it is appropriate for Socrates to use and adapt the erotic-educational conventions of his social and literary culture. Each dialogue makes use of these conventions, partly in order to appeal both to Socrates’ young interlocutors and to Plato’s own audience, and partly in order to highlight the contrast between the ordinary erˆos of convention and Socratic erˆos. Second, Plato makes use of the traditional association of erˆos with mystical initiation in representing Socratic education as an initiation into the mysteries of Socratic erˆos.61 The initiatory role of erˆos is explicit in Diotima’s speech in the Symposium. According to this account, initiation into the Lesser Mysteries, in which ordinary erˆos plays an essential role (208e– 209e), is necessary preparation for initiation into the Greater Mysteries of erˆos for true beauty (209e5–212a7: Chapter 3 at 3.3.3). In the Phaedrus also, when he uses the language of the Mysteries in the myth of his second speech, Socrates portrays erˆos as a madness and enthusiasm accompanying mystic initiation (248a–257a: Chapter 5 at 5.3 and Chapter 6). As in the Symposium, ordinary erˆos is represented as contributing to an initiation that leads a lover toward Socratic erˆos for true beauty. Although the Lysis and Alcibiades I do not use mystical terminology, Socrates’ activities in these dialogues may nevertheless be considered initiatory in that the education with which they are concerned helps young men to begin to live the same kind of life that is described in the language of the Mysteries in the Phaedrus: a life turned toward erˆos together with philosophical words (Phdr. 257b6), in which lover and beloved are also friends (255b6–7, 256c7). In the erotic dialogues, then, Plato adapts erotic-educational conventions and religious traditions very effectively so as to represent Socrates’ art as 61

Erˆos and initiation: Seaford 1994: 284–5, citing Soph. Aj. 685–6 and 693 (›frix ì ›rwti), Eur. Bacch. 813, and Plato’s Phdr. 251a. Philosophy as initiation: Morgan 1990 and 1992: esp. 235.

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including the proper guidance of ordinary erˆos so that it becomes a powerful and positive motivational force in the search for the wisdom and beauty that are the objects of Socratic erˆos. As Socrates says, there is no better helper than Eros for human nature (Symp. 212b2–4). Third, Socrates’ interlocutors in the erotic dialogues are passionate by nature and deeply concerned with ordinary erˆos. These young men, unlike the sophists in other dialogues, are capable of being motivated by ordinary erˆos to strive to acquire Socratic erˆos for beauty and wisdom. It is Alcibiades’ erˆos to acquire “the greatest power,” a power that he at first mistakenly believes to be renown and tyranny (Alc. I 105c3–4, 124b4–6, 134e8–135b5), that makes it possible for him to acquire erˆos for what is truly “the greatest power,” namely, the power conferred by wisdom in the form of self-knowledge and self-care. In the Symposium, Alcibiades’ preoccupation with ordinary erˆos is evident in his attempt to seduce Socrates (217a–219d), in the theme of his sexual jealousy of Socrates (213c–d, 222c– 223a), and in Aristodemus’ statement that Alcibiades still seems to be in love with Socrates (222c2–3). This is so, even as Alcibiades’ description of his own strong emotional reactions to Socrates’ philosophical words (215e–216c, 218a2–7) suggests that his passionate nature makes it possible for him to be drawn, however temporarily, toward Socratic erˆos. Agathon, who benefits greatly from his association with Socrates, is characterized by Eryximachus as, like Socrates, “marvelously skilled in ta erˆotika” (Symp. 193e5). The young poet’s speech demonstrates his skill in praising an Eros who is the patron of many activities, including the composition of love poetry (196d6–e6), that are erotic in the ordinary sense. The first two speeches in the Phaedrus are evidence of the interest of both Socrates and his interlocutor in ordinary erˆos. At the end of his second speech, Socrates claims to have used erˆotikˆe technˆe (257a7–8) in an attempt to lead Phaedrus from his interest in ordinary erˆos to a life motivated by Socratic erˆos, just as the lover within his speech is led by erotic enthusiasm from love of physical beauty in this world to love of heavenly beauty. In the Lysis, Hippothales’ erˆos for Lysis drives the dramatic action, in which Socrates demonstrates his erotic skill by showing how a lover can become liked by his beloved (206b9–c7) if the two engage in the common search for the wisdom that is the object of Socratic erˆos. In the trial and death dialogues, in contrast, Socrates and his interlocutors are preoccupied not with erˆos but with death. This difference is especially evident in the use of initiation language in the Phaedo, where Socrates compares “true philosophers” to initiates into the Mysteries who prepare

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for a better afterlife (69d3–e3, 81a8–9).62 The other three dialogues may also be said to represent Socratic philosophy as a kind of initiation, in a non-mystical sense, that prepares one to face death courageously. This “training for death” (Phd. 81a1–2) emphasizes the avoidance of wrongdoing rather than the passionate striving toward the objects of Socratic erˆos. These different philosophical purposes of the two quartets help to explain why erˆos is all but absent from the trial and death dialogues. Socrates makes his defense in the Apology by emphasizing his lack of wisdom about divine matters, his pious obedience to the divine, and the ways in which he has benefited others. He thus resembles the Socrates of the erotic dialogues in many respects. However, the absence of erˆos from this dialogue corresponds to a notable difference in his philosophical purposes.63 Socrates represents himself as devoted to a god very different from the daimˆon Eros: Apollo, the god of the oracle, who is associated not with passionate striving toward beauty and wisdom, but with the restraint that comes from knowing one’s own limits.64 Socrates is also obedient to his daimonion, the divine voice that, like Apollo, urges restraint, and that may in fact be the sign of Apollo.65 Unlike the daimˆon Eros in the Symposium, who provides the impetus that moves lovers toward the objects of erˆos (Symp. 203d4–8), the daimonion is a divine voice that always turns him away (apotropei) from doing something wrong, and never turns him toward (protrepei) anything (Ap. 31c8–d4). Socrates claims, as he does in the erotic dialogues, to lack wisdom of the kind only a god has (19b4–c6, 20d9–e2, 21b4–5, 23a5), and instead to possess a kind of human wisdom (20d7–9) that consists in knowing that a human being is worth nothing with respect to wisdom (21d4–8, 23b2–4). However, Socrates is not represented as eagerly striving for the wisdom and beauty that he recognizes that he lacks, but as searching more narrowly to discover what the oracle means (21b2–7, e5), in obedience to Apollo (23b4–c1, 29a4, 29d3–4, 30a5–7). This search is not passionate striving, but a “labor” (p»nouv: 22a6–8), undertaken with “great reluctance” (m»giv p†nu: 21b8), that has aroused hatred and enmity (21d–e, 23a, 23e–24a, 28a–b) instead of the mutual philia Socrates’ 62

63 64

65

I am concerned here only with the fact that Plato uses the language of initiation in the Phaedo, and am unable to consider many controversial issues. See Bussanich 2006; McPherran 1996: esp. 268–71; Morgan 1990: 55–79 and 1992; Peterson 2011: ch. 6. Erˆos and cognates do not appear in the Apology. The presence of Apollo is also felt in the Phaedo, in which the god’s festival delays Socrates’ execution (58b–c), and Socrates calls himself the servant of Apollo (85a9–b5), to whom he composes a hymn (61b2–3). On the association of Apollo with Socrates see McPherran 1996: 166, 217–18, 226–9; Morgan 1992: 231; Reeve 1989: 28–37. Bussanich 2006: 203; McPherran 1996: 137, 140.

Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues

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common search creates in the erotic dialogues. Socrates represents himself as skilled in, or at least uniquely fitted to conduct, this search when he says that he himself is a gift from the god that cannot easily be replaced (30d6–e6). Socrates benefits others by means of his search, specifically by helping them to recognize their own lack of wisdom and to be ashamed of placing higher value on things that are in fact of lesser value (29d7–30c2). In so doing, however, he does not represent himself as educating the young, but as serving the god and providing the greatest good to the city (36c4). In describing his obedience to Apollo, Socrates appropriately characterizes himself not as an erotic, but as an heroic figure, explicitly comparing himself to Homer’s Achilles (Ap. 28c1–d4). Socrates avoids wrongdoing by thinking little of death and danger, and placing the highest value on the affairs of the god (21e2–4, 28b6–c1), on justice (32e2–5), and on remaining at the post where the god placed him (28e4–29a2). He cares nothing for death, and everything about doing whatever he can to avoid acting unjustly or impiously (32d1–4). An attitude more consistent with an erotic striving toward what is both good and pleasant, appears, significantly, only after the verdict, when Socrates looks fearlessly toward death and the possibility of an afterlife. He then says that “the greatest good for a human being” in this life is to converse about virtue (38a2–3), and that doing so in Hades would be a great good, something “not unpleasant,” and an “immeasurable blessing” (41c3–4). In living the philosophical life that has prepared him to face death courageously, Socrates has also prepared himself to receive blessings in the afterlife, if in fact the soul goes to another place after death (40c6–10). In the Euthyphro, Socrates’ search for wisdom is represented as motivated not by Socratic erˆos, but by fear of acting impiously. Indeed, erˆos and cognates are absent, as in the Apology, from discussions about the search for wisdom.66 Socrates tells Euthyphro that Meletus has indicted Socrates on the charge of corrupting the young by inventing new gods (3a9–b4). Socrates is well aware of the dangers to which this charge exposes him (3c6– e4). He shows no fear of death, however, but is instead deeply concerned, as he has always been, with knowing about divine matters (5a6–7). What he fears is acting impiously, through ignorance of these matters (15e5–16a4). To avoid this great evil, Socrates claims that he desires (epithumˆo: 5c5) to learn from Euthyphro.67 Euthyphro, Socrates says, clearly has knowledge about 66

67

It is disputed whether or not cognates of erˆos occur, at 14c4, in the context of a general remark about leading and following. Duke et al. 1995 read –rwtänta . . . –rwtwm”n; Burnet 1924, on 14c3 defends –ränta . . . –rwm”n. See also 5a3–9, 11e3–4, 12e1–5, 14b8–c3, 14d4–6, 15c11–16a4.

26

Socrates’ Daimonic Art

what is holy, because he has no fear (oÉ fob¦‚) of doing something impious when he prosecutes his own father (4e4–8). If he did not have this knowledge, Socrates says, fear (›deisav) of the gods and shame before humans would have prevented him from taking the risk of doing something wrong (15d4–8). Although his motivation differs, Socrates has characteristics that are similar to those in the erotic dialogues. He is devoted to learning about divine matters so as to avoid acting impiously. He also recognizes that he lacks wisdom about divine matters, and he desires to obtain this wisdom (sophia: 14d4). In attempting to learn, Socrates uses the question and answer method, in which he claims to have skill. When Euthyphro complains that Euthyphro does not know how to say what he means, and that Socrates makes Euthyphro’s statements “move around” (11b6–8), Socrates replies that he must, then, be more “marvelously skilled” (deinoteros . . . tˆen technˆen) than his ancestor Daedalus (11d3–4). Socrates uses his skill in a vain attempt to help Euthyphro recognize that Euthyphro lacks wisdom about what is holy, and so to experience fear and shame at the possibility of wrongdoing. In the Crito, Socrates’ friend Crito arrives at the prison to bring Socrates the news that his death is imminent and to persuade him to flee (43c5–44c5). This dialogue represents Socrates as using his reason to make a courageous decision to avoid acting unjustly. He says that one should value living well rather than merely living (48b4–5), and that death and suffering are of no concern compared with doing injustice (48d3–6; cf. 54b3–5). In contrast to the pain and grief of Crito, Socrates remains calm and fearless in the face of death (43b3–c8). He claims to revere and honor those arguments he has followed in the past, arguments that have always persuaded him to obey the reasoning that appears best to him. He cannot, he says, cast out these arguments in his present circumstances, through fear of death (46b3–c6). Specifically, Socrates listens to and obeys the arguments telling him that it is best to obey the laws of his country (50a–54e), who are his parents and masters (50e2–4). In so doing, Socrates indicates that he acts in obedience to the divine, for he characterizes his country and its laws (51a2–5) as having divine qualities, being more honored and revered and holy than father and mother, in the eyes of gods and humans (51a9–b4). The dialogue concludes: “Let us act in this way, since the god leads us in this way” (54e1–2). The Crito shows Socrates using his accustomed question and answer method, when he answers the questions put to him by the Laws (50c9–10), and persuades Crito that it would be unjust to escape. Socrates, then, is portrayed in the Crito as devoted to the divine, in that he obeys the laws of his country, which have divine qualities. His recognition of his own lack of wisdom about justice and other virtues,

Introduction: overview of the erotic dialogues

27

and his search for wisdom about matters that do not directly concern his present crisis, are not issues in this short and sharply focused dialogue. Socrates is also portrayed as placing the highest value on avoiding injustice and obeying the laws, as skilled in searching for what justice is in his present circumstances, and as helping Crito to value acting justly, and to search for what justice is by means of reasoning. Erˆos is never mentioned in this dialogue concerned not with Socrates’ eager pursuit of wisdom and beauty, but with his decision to turn away from doing injustice, even in the face of death.68 In the Phaedo, Socrates’ companion, Phaedo, narrates the death of this man whose practice of philosophy has prepared him to die “fearlessly and nobly” (58e4–5). Socrates spends his last hours in philosophical conversation, just as he has done all his life. He notes that the topics of discussion, death and the afterlife, are “appropriate” (pr”pei: 61e1; cf. 70b10–c2) for this occasion. The Phaedo, however, is exceptional among the trial and death dialogues in using erotic terminology to refer to love for wisdom. “The argument shows,” Socrates says, that only after death might we be able to obtain “that which we desire [–piqumoÓm”n] and that of which we say we are lovers [erastai]: wisdom [phronˆesis]” (66e2–4). It would be “very illogical,” he says, if “the true philosophers,” those who “practice dying,” should fear to go where “there is hope of obtaining that which they have loved [¢rwn] throughout life – and what they have loved [¢rwn] is wisdom” (67e5–68a2). “Someone truly loving [–rän] wisdom,” he says, and who hopes to find it nowhere else than in Hades, will not grieve when he dies (68a7–b6).69 One explanation for this exceptional use of erotic vocabulary is that, in the Phaedo, philosophy is explicitly compared to initiation into the Mysteries, just as it is in the Phaedrus and Symposium, and, as noted above, erˆos is associated with the Mysteries. The one who has practiced philosophy correctly, Socrates says, is like the initiate into the Mystery rites (teletas) who is described at Phaedo 69c3–d3. This philosopher is not profane and uninitiated (ˆmÅhtov kaª ˆt”lestov), but, being purified (kekaqarm”nov) and initiated (tetelesm”nov), will dwell with the gods after arriving in Hades. The account of erˆos and initiation in the Phaedo, however, differs significantly from that of the Symposium and Phaedrus. In the Phaedo, the initiate prepares not for a life devoted to erˆos together with philosophical words (b©on: Phdr. 257b6), but for death. Moreover, the erˆos for physical beauty that is portrayed very positively in the erotic dialogues, 68 69

As is the case in the Apology, erˆos and cognates do not occur in the Crito. Cognates of erˆos are also used in this dialogue to refer to ordinary erˆos associated with the body (66c2, 81a7, b3), and to lovers reminded of their beloveds (73d6).

28

Socrates’ Daimonic Art

as preparatory to initiation into Socratic erˆos for true beauty, is represented in the Phaedo as a hindrance to attaining the wisdom that is achieved only by separation, or purification, of the soul from the human body (64c– 69e), which fills us with (ordinary) erˆos, desire and fear, and thus prevents us from “hunting for the truth” (66c1–4). The characteristics of Socrates’ practice of philosophy in the Phaedo differ from their counterparts in the erotic dialogues in large part because of this difference in the way in which Socratic erˆos is represented. In the Phaedo, Socrates expresses and enacts his devotion to the search for wisdom, a divine good that can be obtained, if anywhere, only among the gods in Hades. He does not emphasize his own lack of wisdom, but his statement that there is no hope of obtaining wisdom anywhere else than in Hades (67e5–68b5) makes it clear that he recognizes that he now lacks it, as does his exhortation to his interlocutors to examine more closely the first assumptions of his arguments (107b4–6). Socrates also has a passionate desire, called erˆos, to obtain wisdom of the kind that results from purification of the soul from the body. He demonstrates his skill in searching for wisdom by his use of the question and answer method (78d1–2) to present a number of arguments for immortality. Socrates also helps others, by argument and exhortation, to share his own devotion to and desire for wisdom so as to “do everything so as to participate in virtue and wisdom in life” (114c7–8), and thus to have hope of gaining a better afterlife as well (107c1–d5). As he nears death, Socrates and his interlocutors turn away from life in this world. He no longer needs a daimonic, erotic art that mediates, like the daimˆon Eros, between mortals and gods, for he now speaks of the hope of going to live not with mortals and daimones, but with gods, who do not desire the wisdom they already possess (see Symp. 204a1–2, Lys. 218a2–4).

part i

Socrates and Two Young Men

c h a p ter 1

“Your love and mine”: erˆos and self-knowledge in Alcibiades I

1.1 puzzles about er oˆ s The Alcibiades I, a dialogue I take to be authentic, was long thought to be a good introduction to Plato’s philosophy.1 It is also an excellent introduction to Plato’s characterization of Socrates as a man who practices erotic art. At the beginning of the dialogue, Socrates approaches Alcibiades as his first and only remaining lover (103a1–3) and at its end, he declares that his own love is like a stork, if it has indeed hatched a new love in Alcibiades (135e1–3). In the course of the dialogue, Socrates accomplishes what has been described as a “philosophical seduction,”2 thus demonstrating that his erotic art is superior to the expertise in sexual seduction possessed by the many lovers who failed to persuade the young man (103b4–5). This dialogue, unfortunately, has been neglected in modern times, and what attention it has received has tended to focus on issues concerning authenticity, religion or psychology rather than on its erotic aspects.3 As a result, important and puzzling questions about erˆos have not been adequately addressed. One question concerns Socrates’ love for Alcibiades, who might appear to be an 1

2 3

This view of the Alcibiades I was expressed in antiquity over many centuries by a wide range of sources, including Olympiodorus (10.18–11.6) and Proclus (11.1–21), both cited by Denyer 2001: 14; Iamblichus (frag. 1), cited by Pradeau 2000: 22; and Segonds 2003, vol. i, “Introduction”: xxiv. The dialogue’s authenticity was not questioned until Schleiermacher in 1836 (Schleiermacher 1973: 328–36); see Denyer 2001: 14–15 and Pradeau 2000: 24–5. Pradeau 2000, “Annexe I”: 219–20 provides a useful survey of positions taken on the question of authenticity from Schleiermacher to 1997. I add to this list, on the side against authenticity: Gribble 1999: 260–2; Joyal 2003; Slings 1999: 163–4; Smith 2004, and on the side for authenticity: Allen 1962; Annas 1985 and 2006: 41–4; Denyer 2001: 14–26; Giannantoni 1997: 363–73; Gordon 2003; Grote 1867: 132–69; Johnson 1999: 1; O’Connor 1999: 35; Pangle 1987a; Pradeau 2000: 22–9 and 81; G. A. Scott 2000: 205–7 n.1. I am convinced by the arguments of many scholars that there are no sound reasons, internal or external, for suspecting this dialogue. Denyer 2001: 5–9; Gordon 2003. Exceptions include Denyer 2001: 5–9; Forde 1987; Friedl¨ander 1921: esp. 20; Goldin 1993: 14–16; Gordon 2003; Wellman 1966. In antiquity the erotic aspects of the dialogue were studied extensively by Proclus (for example, 26–37, 47–67, 233–4) and Olympiodorus (for example, 13.10–23 [on 103a], 42.7–43.8 [on 104c–105c], 215.22–5 [on 130d–133c]; 232.16–17 [on 135e]).

31

32

Part I Socrates and Two Young Men

unlikely love object for Socrates. He is a wealthy young man from a noble and powerful family (104b1–c1), whose arrogance (103b4–104a1, 104c2) has led him to repulse his many lovers. Socrates characterizes Alcibiades’ political ambition as a desire for tyranny (135b3–5).4 What is more, he has now lost the youthful bloom (131c11–12, e11–12) which is said, in other dialogues, to be attractive to Socrates.5 Why does Socrates love this kind of person? A second puzzle concerns Alcibiades’ love for Socrates. When Socrates refers at the end of the dialogue to Alcibiades’ erˆos for him, is he merely using a figure of speech, or are we to understand that Alcibiades really loves the older and physically unattractive man who rebukes him and shows him his own deficiencies? If he does love Socrates, what kind of love is this? A third question can be raised about the relationship between interpersonal erˆos and the self-knowledge and self-care that are major issues in the dialogue.6 Is Socrates’ erˆos for Alcibiades merely a conventional theme that adds dramatic interest, or does it play a significant role in acquiring self-knowledge and in caring for oneself? If interpersonal erˆos does play a role in self-care and self-knowledge, in what specific ways does Socrates, as erastˆes (lover), differ from a conventional erastˆes, like that of Pausanias’ speech in the Symposium, who also educates his erˆomenos (beloved)?7 In this chapter I address these and other issues about erˆos in this dialogue. The Alcibiades I represents Socrates as the lover, not of Alcibiades’ body, but of the young man’s beautiful soul (131c5–e4). The souls of both Alcibiades and Socrates are beautiful and lovable for two reasons: they are beautiful by nature, and they also have a passionate desire to use this nature to become as good as they are able to be.8 That is, they desire to obtain the greatest power that it is possible for a human being to obtain. Indeed, Socrates and Alcibiades, unlike the erastˆes and erˆomenos of Pausanias’ speech, come to share, by the end of the dialogue, a reciprocal love for each other, in part because they share another kind of erˆos: a passionate desire to acquire this greatest power. Just as Alcibiades hopes to obtain the greatest power in the city, so Socrates hopes to acquire the greatest power with Alcibiades by 4 5

6

7 8

Noted by Denyer 2001, on 135b3. Plato’s Socrates is represented as attracted to physical beauty, for example, in Chrm. 153d4–5, 155c5–e2, Lys. 204b1–2 and e5–10, Symp. 211d4–8, although he loves beauty of soul rather than physical beauty (see Introduction at I.2). “Self-care” or “care for oneself” translates t¼ —autoÓ –pimele±sqai: 127e9, and passim. I agree with Annas 1985: 118 and Friedl¨ander 1964: 236–7 that self-care and self-knowledge are ultimately the same thing: see below stage v, part 3 at 1.2. Pradeau 2000: 46–53 argues instead that self-knowledge is one of the conditions for self-care. Many of the close connections of erˆos with self-care and self-knowledge are well brought out by Gordon 2003: 22–4. On the erastˆes of Pausanias’ speech see Introduction at I.2 and n.29. See below 1.3.

“Your love and mine”: erˆos and self-knowledge in Alcibiades I

33

demonstrating that Alcibiades cannot gain the power he desires without Socrates’ help (105d7–e5). He does so by showing Alcibiades that the young man is mistaken about the object of his own desire.9 Alcibiades at first believes that “the greatest power in the city” (105b4) is tyranny, the ability to do whatever he wants to do in private and political life (134e8–135b5). Socrates, however, shows Alcibiades that the greatest power in the city is in fact the same kind of power that Socrates himself desires: the power to act well (pr†xein ½rqäv kaª kaläv: 134b11–c1) that is conferred by wisdom in the form of self-care and self-knowledge. In order to know and care for oneself, one must first realize that one lacks a good thing, wisdom, about oneself and other matters (component (2) of the erotic art). Only then can one acquire Socratic erˆos, the passionate desire to obtain as much wisdom as one can (component (3)). The power conferred by self-knowledge and self-care is greatest because it makes possible every other good thing, including political power that Alcibiades desires and also power in the private sphere that Socrates hopes to obtain, in his relations with Alcibiades (134c5–7). At the end of the dialogue, Alcibiades, with the help of Socrates’ erotic art, comes to understand that he and Socrates really desire the same kind of power.10 Their love for each other is based in part on this common desire and on the ability each has to help the other to attain it. For the self-knowledge that confers the greatest power can only be gained by looking into the soul of another (133b7–10), who must, at least in Athens, also be a lover. The dialogue dramatizes Socrates’ use of his erotic art to nurture the growth of these two interdependent kinds of erˆos shared by Alcibiades and Socrates: erˆos for the greatest power that is conferred by wisdom, and erˆos for one another. 9

10

On the idea that what people really desire is the good, even if this good is different from what they believe it to be, see Brickhouse and Smith 1994: 86–8; Penner and Rowe 2005: esp. 146–8 and 205–30; Reshotko 2006: esp. 21–56; Weiss 2006a: 82–5, discussing Grg. 466a9–468e10. This idea is not directly addressed in Alc. I, and 115e1–5, where Alcibiades agrees that he desires things because he believes them to be good, might suggest that in this dialogue people are represented as desiring what they believe to be good rather than what is really good. Wolfsdorf 2008: 29–85 offers a recent defense of this kind of “subjectivist” theory of desire. However, what Alcibiades desires at 115c1–e7 is something that is in fact good, courage, and throughout the dialogue he desires what is in fact good: the greatest power. He is simply mistaken, at first, about what this power is. On the greatest power see below 1.2, stage vi at 133c18–135c11, and 1.3. I would not characterize Socrates as redirecting Alcibiades’ desires (Gordon 2003: 14–17), or as inflating his political ambition in order to increase his sense of the value of what Socrates can offer him (O’Connor 1999: 36–7), or as alternately arousing and humbling him (G. A. Scott 2000: 101), but rather as showing him that he is mistaken about the true object of these desires (cf. Lutz 1998: 114–19). This point is made by Olympiodorus, who notes that Socrates loves Alcibiades both because he despises the things he now has and would rather die than go on having these things only (42.7–43.8, on 104c–105c), and because he does not really desire those things but greater things (49.10–13, on 105a).

34

Part I Socrates and Two Young Men 1.2 acquiring the greatest power

In this section, I trace the successive stages of Socrates’ use of component (5) of his erotic art in the Alcibiades I.11 Socrates uses his art to approach Alcibiades effectively, and to help the young man make progress in acquiring the erotic art for himself. In so doing, Socrates also makes progress in accomplishing his stated goal, that of acquiring the greatest power with Alcibiades by showing him that he, Alcibiades, cannot obtain what is in fact the greatest power without Socrates’ help (105e2–5). In addition to passionate desire for what is in fact the greatest power, Alcibiades acquires erˆos for Socrates himself. I also discuss three kinds of claims made by Socrates and Alcibiades. Some claims are represented as assertions made by Alcibiades rather than by Socrates because they are Alcibiades’ answers to Socrates’ questions. As Alcibiades agrees early in the dialogue, when one person asks questions and another answers, it is the answerer and not the questioner who asserts that something is the case (113a7–10). I distinguish Alcibiades’ assertions from two kinds of claims made by Socrates.12 Some of Socrates’ claims concern the kinds of matters about which he often denies that he has knowledge. These are explicitly said to need more rigorous demonstration or to be conditional.13 Other claims (including exhortations that are in fact claims that something should be done) are made by Socrates with confidence and on his own authority. Claims in this second category are erotic in that they are associated with one or more of the components of the erotic art. They are consistent with Socrates’ recognition of his own lack of wisdom concerning matters about which only a god could have knowledge. In this chapter I use lower case Roman numerals in bold (for example: stage i) to mark the stages in Socrates’ use of his art, and I indicate the erotic claims made by Socrates at each stage by using a combination of Roman numerals 11

12

13

On these components see Introduction at I.1. Olympiodorus and Proclus divided the dialogue into a prologue (103a–106c) and three sections: (1) 106c–119a, (2) 119a–124a, (3) 124a–135d (or 135e): see Segonds 2003, vol. i, “Introduction”: xlviii and lxxii and Dillon 1973: 230–1. My first three stages correspond to the prologue and first two sections of Proclus and Olympiodorus. Cf. Annas 2006: 41–4, who argues that the dialogue contains two kinds of views: those of Alcibiades that are expressed in the course of Socrates’ ad hominem arguments, and Socrates’ own positive views. For example, arguments about the identity of the soul and the human being are said to be made “not exactly but moderately well” (mŸ ˆkribäv ˆll‡ kaª metr©wv) at 130c7–d1, and Socrates adds a qualification at 131b4 when he says, “if sˆophrosynˆe is to know the self.” These and other qualifications lead me to disagree with those who hold that Socrates is uncharacteristically dogmatic in this dialogue: see, for example, Smith 2004: 101–2; de Strycker 1942: 142–3; Weil 1964: 81. This view is challenged by Gordon 2003: 15; Johnson 1999: 6–7 n.13; Pradeau 2000: 57 n.1. On the issue of Socrates’ disclaimers of knowledge see Introduction at I.3 and n.39.

“Your love and mine”: erˆos and self-knowledge in Alcibiades I

35

and lower case letters in italics (for example: claim i.a). Below is an outline of these stages and claims. Socrates’ use of the erotic art in Alcibiades I Stage i. Socrates approaches Alcibiades (103a1–106c3). claim i.a Socrates is Alcibiades’ first and last lover. claim i.b The “daimonic opposition” to Socrates’ approach has been withdrawn. claim i.c Socrates loves Alcibiades because he knows that Alcibiades hopes to obtain the greatest power in the city. claim i.d Socrates hopes to acquire the greatest power with Alcibiades. claim i.e Alcibiades cannot obtain what he desires without Socrates. claim i.f Socrates is able to demonstrate that what he has said is true if Alcibiades is willing to answer questions. Stage ii. Alcibiades agrees that he lacks wisdom, but does not yet have sufficient motivation to search for it (106c4–119a7). claim ii.a Alcibiades is living with the greatest lack of understanding. Stage iii. Alcibiades is convinced that he needs to care for himself, and he asks Socrates for advice (119a8–124b9). claim iii.a Socrates is vexed on account of “your love and mine.” claim iii.b In Athens only a lover cares about a person’s education. claim iii.c Alcibiades does not heed the lover who tells him to care for himself. claim iii.d Alcibiades needs to know and care for himself in order to obtain what he loves. Stage iv. Socrates and Alcibiades engage in a common search for improvement (124b10–127e8). claim iv.a Socrates and Alcibiades need education and care. claim iv.b Alcibiades will have “epiphany” only through Socrates, with the help of the god. claim iv.c Alcibiades must answer Socrates’ questions. claim iv.d If Alcibiades answers, he and Socrates will become better. Stage v. Alcibiades accepts Socrates as the only lover of his soul, who alone can help him to become better (127e9–133c17). Stage v, part 1. Alcibiades agrees that to care for himself he must know his own soul (127e9–131c4). Stage v, part 2. Alcibiades accepts Socrates as the only lover of his soul (131c5–132a6). claim v.a Socrates is the only lover of Alcibiades’ soul. claim v.b Socrates’ love will continue if Alcibiades is not corrupted.

36

Part I Socrates and Two Young Men

claim v.c Alcibiades must strive to improve; by doing so he will retain Socrates’ love. claim v.d Socrates is lovable. Stage v, part 3. Alcibiades agrees that he can improve by looking into another soul (132a6–133c17). claim v.e Alcibiades must care for himself. Stage vi. Alcibiades agrees that self-knowledge confers the greatest power (133c18–135c11). claim vi.a Socrates pledges that if he and Alcibiades know themselves, they will act well and be happy. Stage vii. Alcibiades offers to exchange roles with Socrates (135c12–e8). Stage i. Socrates approaches Alcibiades. He claims to be his only lover, and the man without whom Alcibiades cannot obtain what he desires. Alcibiades agrees to listen to Socrates and to answer his questions (103a1–106c3).

When the dialogue opens, Socrates approaches Alcibiades for the first time and asserts (claim i.a) that he is the young man’s first and last lover (103a1– 4, 104c5). Socrates’ explicit declarations of his love (cf. 131e10 and 135e1) and his long and assiduous care in following Alcibiades about and paying close attention to him (103a1–3, 104d1–3; cf. 106e8–9) are evidence of his special devotion to ta erˆotika (component (1) of the erotic art). He also explains (claim i.b) that his reason for approaching Alcibiades now is that the “daimonic opposition” has been withdrawn (103a4–b2). Previously, Socrates thinks, “the god” did not allow him to converse with Alcibiades so that he would not speak in vain with the young man (105e6–106a1). Here, as in other dialogues, Socrates’ claims that his erotic activities are divinely sanctioned (cf. Lys. 204b8–c2; Phdr. 257a6–9) help to characterize him as especially devoted to ta erˆotika. Indeed, some scholars go so far as to argue that “the god” at 105d5–106a1 stands for the erotic impulses.14 Alcibiades immediately shows that he has a nature suited to the search for wisdom, for he says that he was going to question Socrates about why he “annoys” Alcibiades; he expresses wonder (qaum†zw: cf. 103a1) about what the older man hopes to gain in doing so, and says that he would be glad to learn (puqo©mhn) what Socrates means by taking such care (–pimel”stata) to follow him around (104d1–5).15 His curiosity is aroused, in part, by Socrates’ strangeness, or “outlandishness” (atopia). Alcibiades says: “Now that you’ve started to speak, Socrates, you seem much more outlandish [ˆtopÛterov] 14 15

Joyal 2000: 98–9, citing Proclus, 62.16–17, 63.13ff. Alcibiades’ wonder and its connection with philosophy are noted by Laurent 2002: 81–9; Olympiodorus 13.12–16 and 24.21–25.7 (on 103a); Proclus 42.5–43.5.

“Your love and mine”: erˆos and self-knowledge in Alcibiades I

37

than when you followed me in silence” (106a2–3). This interest in Socrates contrasts with Alcibiades’ arrogant rejection of his other lovers (103b4–5), and, as Socrates remarks, it makes Alcibiades willing to listen to Socrates (104d6–8; cf. 106a1). Socrates explains (claim i.c) that he has not gotten rid of his love long ago (104e6–105a1) because he does not merely conjecture but knows well (eÔ o²da: 105c6–7) that Alcibiades has the hope (–lp©v: 105a7, c6, d7) and desire (–piqume±v: 105e5) of obtaining the greatest power (m”giston dunžsesqai: 105b4, d7–e2) in the city of Athens and among non-Greeks as well (105b4– 7). Indeed, he thinks that Alcibiades would rather die than go on living without being able to acquire more than what he now has (105a3–6). Just as Alcibiades hopes to acquire the greatest power in the city, so Socrates hopes to acquire the greatest power with Alcibiades (claim i.d, at 105e2–3). He asserts, moreover (claim i.e), that it is not possible for Alcibiades to achieve what he desires without Socrates (105d2–4), and that no one else is able to give Alcibiades the power he desires (105e3–5).16 Alcibiades then asks Socrates: “Assuming that I do have these thoughts, how will I achieve these things through you, and could not do so without you?” (106a6– 8). Socrates replies that he is not able to make a long speech but (claim i.f) that he would be able to demonstrate that what he has said is true if Alcibiades will do him the service (Ëphretsai) of answering his questions (106b1–10). As Nicholas Denyer notes, this verb has sexual connotations.17 In this context, however, it is the first hint of the very different kind of erotic service that Socrates wants from his beloved. When Alcibiades agrees to do this service for Socrates (106b5–10), his statement: “Ask” (ìErÛta: 106b10) is also an invitation to Socrates to keep on loving (–rn) him.18 Socrates’ erotic claims at this stage concern his special devotion to erotic matters (component (1) of the erotic art), as shown by his assertions that he loves Alcibiades (claims i.a and i.c), a love for which he claims divine sanction (claim i.b). They also concern his own and Alcibiades’ erˆos for the greatest power (claims i.c, i.d and i.e).19 This power, closely associated

16 17 18

19

Proclus 156.10–13 makes the insightful observation that Socrates does not say that Alcibiades will attain his goals with Socrates’ help, but only that he could not attain them without this help. Denyer 2001, on 106b4 The close connection in Alc. I between eran (to love) and erˆotan (to question), noted by Laurent 2002: 78–9, citing (78 n.2) Lacan 1991: 138 (sic: correct citation is 141), is one of the bases for the analogy between eye and soul, discussed below 1.4. The pun in Plato’s dialogues is discussed in Chapter 2 at 2.3.4 and n.93. With claim i.c, Socrates’ claim to know what Alcibiades desires (105c6–7), compare Socrates’ claim in Lys. 204c1–2 to know who is the lover and who is the beloved.

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with Socrates’ erˆos for Alcibiades in this passage, turns out to be the power to act well in public and private life that is conferred by wisdom in the form of self-knowledge and self-care (see below stage vi). In desiring the greatest power, then, Socrates also desires the wisdom that confers this power (component (3)). Claim i.f is concerned with erˆos for the greatest power and with the way in which this power is acquired: by means of the skill in questioning (erˆotan) and answering that is, in this dialogue, not only included in components (4) and (5) of the erotic art (skill in seeking to acquire wisdom and in helping others to become similarly skilled), but also closely associated with erˆos for another person (see below stage v). For his part, Alcibiades shows that he has qualities well-suited to acquiring the erotic art. When Socrates says that he thinks that Alcibiades would rather die than live with what he now has (105a3–6), he indicates that Alcibiades recognizes his own lack of things that Alcibiades himself believes to be good, and that he passionately desires to obtain them. These qualities can help prepare Alcibiades to acquire components (2) and (3) of the erotic art, once he understands that the good he desires is in fact conferred by wisdom. In order to help Alcibiades arrive at this understanding, and to convince him that he cannot accomplish what he desires without Socrates’ help, Socrates must first show the young man that he lacks wisdom, and that in order to achieve his goals he needs to acquire wisdom in the form of knowing and caring for himself. Socrates does this in stages ii–iv. Stage ii. Alcibiades agrees that he lacks wisdom about the most important things, that he thinks he knows about them when he does not, and that it would be shameful not to be able to answer questions about things he claims to know. He nevertheless does not yet have sufficient motivation to search for wisdom (106c4–119a7).

In answer to Socrates’ questions Alcibiades says that he intends to counsel the Athenians about matters in which he is more knowledgeable than they are (106c4–d1). Next, he makes three preliminary admissions. Alcibiades first admits that he would never have learned anything from another or discovered anything for himself if he did not wish to do so. Second, he admits that he would not wish to discover or learn things that he thought he knew. Third, Alcibiades admits that there must have been a time when he did not know the things he thinks he now knows (106d7– e3). In response to Socrates’ questions, Alcibiades next admits that there are many matters about which he does not know (107a10–c12, 108c6–10, 108d9–e4), including justice and injustice (113b8–c1, 114b1–5), and that

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he “wanders” (112d7–10) in respect to these latter things.20 After further questioning, Alcibiades agrees that it would be shameful (aischron) for him not to be able to answer questions about things he claims to know (108e5– 109a4). At one point, Alcibiades is exasperated with Socrates to the point of calling him hubristic (ËbristŸv e²: 114d7), just as he does in the Symposium (215b7), and threatening to refuse to answer questions (114d11–e1). He soon agrees, however, that answering questions is the only way to be persuaded of something (114e2–6), saying: “I must answer. I don’t think that I shall be at all harmed” (114e10–11). He then agrees to continue to provide the service of answering questions that Socrates requested at 106b1–10. Next, Alcibiades freely admits his own deficiencies, thereby showing that he has made progress. When Socrates asks whether Alcibiades would laugh at someone who makes the contradictory statements about justice that Alcibiades has made (116d7–e1), the young man finally admits that he himself shares the “outlandishness” (atopia) that he previously attributed to Socrates: “By the gods, Socrates,” he says, “I don’t know myself what I am saying, but I am simply like someone in an outlandish state [›oika ˆt»pwv ›conti]. When you question me I sometimes think one thing, sometimes another” (116e2–4). That is, Alcibiades understands that he has now arrived at aporia (impasse).21 This is an important stage in acquiring self-knowledge, which, whatever else it may include, must begin with the recognition of one’s own lack of wisdom (component (2) of the erotic art).22 Socrates now asserts (claim ii.a) that Alcibiades is living with the greatest lack of understanding (amathia), and that Alcibiades’ own statements have convicted him of this (118b4–8). Socrates’ statement shows that he has used his erotic art to help Alcibiades recognize his own lack of wisdom. He has thus made an important step in demonstrating that Alcibiades cannot obtain what he desires without the help of Socrates. As Alcibiades has admitted, thinking that one does not know something is a necessary condition for desiring to search and learn. Desiring to search and learn, and thus to take care of oneself, is, in turn, a necessary step toward the goal 20 21

22

Alcibiades later agrees that “wandering” involves thinking that one knows what one does not know (118a15–b3). On aporia see below 2.1. On the relationship between atopia (strangeness, being out of place, outlandishness) and aporia, and on Socrates’ atopia see Blondell 2002: 73 n.102 and 2006: 177; Guldentops 2001: 67; Lefka and Motte 2001: 148; Montiglio 2005: 154–5, 166–71; Opsomer 2001: 43. Noted by Gordon 2003: 21–2. On self-knowledge in the Alcibiades I see Annas 1985; Brunschwig 1996; Foucault 1988: 16–30; Pradeau 2000: 47–53. See also Rappe 1995 on self-knowledge in Plato generally.

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of acquiring the greatest power that is the true object of erˆos for both men (see below stage iii). However, recognition of his own lack of wisdom does not by itself provide Alcibiades with sufficient motivation to search and learn, for, as his statements at stage iii will make clear, Alcibiades does not yet understand how education can help him to achieve his goals (119b1–c1). What is needed, in addition, is the shame that results from being shown that he is inadequate with respect to what he values most.23 Socrates begins to arouse shame at stage ii, in a somewhat indirect manner, by making hypothetical statements and by asking questions about what is shameful. Socrates uses conditionals (e«: 108e5; –‡n: 109a2) in asking Alcibiades if it would not be shameful, and he would not be ashamed, if he had nothing to say when someone asked him questions about the things he claims to know (108e5–109a3). Alcibiades assents (109a4), but he does not begin to connect this idea with strongly held personal values until Socrates asks him what price he would accept for being deprived of courage (115d5–6). Just as Socrates had said earlier that Alcibiades would rather die than fail to acquire greater things than he now has (105a3–6), so Alcibiades himself now states that he would rather die than be a coward (115d7). His reply reveals that Alcibiades has strong views about what is shameful, and a strong desire to avoid doing things he believes are shameful. Alcibiades’ personal values are also apparent in his agreement that cowardice is evil and shameful (115d8–116a5), and in his denial that shameful things can be just (115a6–8). Socrates uses Alcibiades’ own values concerning courage and cowardice to lead him to self-contradiction in an elenchus (cross-examination) in which Alcibiades first agrees that some just things are beneficial (sumf”rein) and others are not (115a1–3), and then that (all) just things are beneficial (116d3– 4). Socrates then asks another hypothetical question concerned with shame when he asks if Alcibiades would not laugh at (katagelhv ‹n) someone who contradicts himself in the way Alcibiades has done (116d7–e1). The fact that Alcibiades’ response is an admission of aporia (116e2–4) shows that he is moved by this appeal to his sense of shame. In stage ii, then, Socrates begins to bring out into the open and to appeal, somewhat indirectly, to Alcibiades’ sense of shame. He uses it to 23

I am indebted to Woodruff’s account of “Socratic shame.” This involves “a full awareness that one has betrayed values that are entirely one’s own. Feeling such shame brings on two discoveries about oneself – that one is truly committed to these values, and that one is not living up to them” (2000: 144). On the positive role of shame in Socrates’ philosophical methods, explained in Soph. 230b4–d4, see also Belfiore 1992: 331–5; Gordon 1999: 22–9; Kahn 1996: 137–42; McKim 1988; Renaud 2002; Seeskin 1987: 14–15; Teloh 1986: 1, 11, 23, and passim.

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lead Alcibiades to care about his own self-contradictions, realizing that they may not only incur the shame of being laughed at, but also have practical consequences for the noble actions he cares about (116b2–c12). Socrates does not make other erotic claims in this passage, nor does he mention erˆos. He does, however, invoke the god of friendship (m‡ t¼n F©lion: 109d7) and he addresses the young man as “dear” (f©le: 109d1, 116e5, 117b11). In accord with this friendly attitude, he invites Alcibiades to join in a common search for the knowledge he lacks (117c2). Stage iii. Alcibiades is convinced that he needs to care for himself, and he asks Socrates for advice (119a8–124b9).

Even though Alcibiades has realized that he has arrived at aporia (stage ii: 116e2–4) concerning matters he cares about, he is still not convinced that he needs to take care of himself in order to achieve the greatest power that he passionately desires. When Socrates asks Alcibiades whether he intends to stay as he is or to take some kind of care (119a8–9), the young man shows that he has made progress by saying that this is something that they must consider together. Alcibiades then states, however, that most of those involved in politics are uneducated and that he is superior by nature to these people. He therefore does not see how education can help him to achieve his goals (119b1–c1). Socrates then exclaims (claim iii.a) that these statements are unworthy of Alcibiades and that he, Socrates, is vexed on account of “your love and mine” (119c2–5).24 Because his erˆos for Alcibiades depends, in part, on the young man’s desiring what is in fact the greatest power (see claim i.c, at 104e6–105a1), it is threatened by Alcibiades’ apparent willingness to settle for less than he is able to achieve. Socrates now shows Alcibiades, both by asking questions and in a long speech, that his true rivals, the Spartans and Persians, are in fact superior to him in birth, wealth and education (119c7–124b6). Friedrich Schleiermacher took this speech to represent Socrates’ own claims about the virtues of these people, and used it as evidence against the authenticity of the dialogue.25 However, this long speech is not represented by Socrates as containing the truth, and it is not dialectically tested.26 Instead, the speech is best interpreted as a kind of myth, with many ironic and comic elements, that reflects Alcibiades’ own aspirations to political power among Greeks 24 25

26

The text and interpretation of 119c5 are discussed below 1.3. Schleiermacher 1973: 330–4; cf. Vlastos 1975: 156 and n.91; Weil 1964: 80. Croiset 1949: 51 and Friedl¨ander 1964: 235–6 also take the claims seriously, although they do not share Schleiermacher’s doubts about authenticity. Noted by Denyer 2001: 172.

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and barbarians, and aims at discrediting them.27 In this speech, Socrates again uses his erotic art to arouse shame in Alcibiades, thereby motivating him to desire to become better. Socrates begins by stating that Alcibiades’ ancestry would appear laughable (g”lwta ½fle±n) in comparison to that of his Spartan and Persian rivals (121b1–4), and he attributes to a comic poet the idea that no one pays attention when an Athenian is born (121c7–d2). That Socrates’ speech is not to be taken as representing his own views about the Persians and Spartans is shown by his statement that the nurses and tutors of the Persians are those who “seem” best (121d4, e6) and by the fact that theology takes the place of knowledge and wisdom in his account of their education (121e5–122a3). Wisdom is also notably absent from the list of Spartan virtues.28 Socrates again appeals to Alcibiades’ sense of shame when he says that Alcibiades would be ashamed of himself if he compared his own wealth to that of the Persians (122b8–c4). In this speech, Socrates also focuses on the Spartan and Persian women in a way that is both comic and particularly humiliating to Alcibiades. The Persians are so wealthy that the resources of large tracts of their land are devoted to supplying adornment (k»smwn) for the queen (123b1–c3), while Alcibiades’ mother has adornment worth at most fifty minae (123c6– 7). For this reason (ãstì: 123c3), Socrates says, the Persian queen would wonder what advantages Alcibiades could possibly rely upon in competing with her son, and she would conclude that these could only be care and wisdom (–pimele© te kaª sof©: 123c8–d4). If she learned that Alcibiades is entirely without education, and that, when his lover says that he must learn and care for himself, he does not wish to do so, but says he is well enough as he is, the queen would not only wonder, but think him mad (123d4–e7). The Spartan queen, who is daughter, wife and mother of kings, would also wonder at Alcibiades (123e7–124a4). “Does it not seem to be shameful,” Socrates concludes, “if the women of our enemies know better than we ourselves what kind of people we need to be in order to compete with them?” (124a5–7). In addition to arousing shame in his myth about Alcibiades’ rivals, Socrates also makes a number of erotic claims. He states (claim iii.b) that in Athens only a lover cares about (m”lei: 122b5–8) a person’s upbringing and education, but (claim iii.c) that Alcibiades does not heed the lover who 27

28

Myth: Forde 1987: 228 n.4; irony: Annas 2006: 41 n.25 and Giannantoni 1997: 370; comic elements: Pradeau 2000: 54 and Forde 1987: 231; reflection of Alcibiades’ aspirations: Gordon 2003: 26; aims at discrediting them: Pradeau 2000: 55 and G. A. Scott 2000: 209 n.15. These points are noted by Pradeau 2000: 55–6.

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says that he must take care of himself (–pimelhq”nta: 123d7–e2). Socrates also urges Alcibiades to know himself, in obedience to Socrates and the Delphic precept. For Socrates says to him (claim iii.d) that there is only one way in which Alcibiades can achieve the renown that Alcibiades loves (eran) more than anyone loves anything. That way is by knowing himself, and by taking care and acquiring skill (technˆe: 124a7–b6). All of these claims demonstrate Socrates’ marvelous skill in helping Alcibiades to recognize his own deficiencies and to desire passionately to correct them, with the help of the lover who cares about these matters (component (5) of the erotic art). After Socrates’ speech, Alcibiades realizes that he needs to care for himself in order to attain the object of his erˆos: renown (that is, political power; cf. 105c3–4). He not only says that Socrates has spoken the truth but also asks him to explain what kind of care he needs (124b7–9). This marks a new stage in Alcibiades’ progress, for it is the first time that he asks Socrates for advice.29 In so doing, Alcibiades heeds the lover who says that he must care for himself (see claim iii.c). He does not yet understand, however, what the greatest power really is or how it can be acquired, and he does not yet admit to feeling shame. Socrates has more work to do. Stage iv. Socrates and Alcibiades engage in a common search for improvement. Alcibiades asserts that he is in the most shameful state, and agrees that he must continue answering questions in order to care for himself (124b10–127e8).

Socrates replies to Alcibiades’ request for advice by saying that they must consider together the way in which they can become better (124b10–c1, d9). He also states (claim iv.a) that both he and Alcibiades need education and care more than all other people (124c1–3, d2–3) and that (claim iv.b) Alcibiades will have “epiphany” (–pif†neia) only through Socrates, with the help of the god who now allows him to engage in dialectic with the young man (124c9–10).30 Alcibiades shows his willingness to heed Socrates’ advice by saying that he, Alcibiades, certainly needs care, and by asking Socrates what they should do (124d2–6). In answer to Socrates’ questions, Alcibiades then attempts to define friendship and like-mindedness (126b8– 127c10). After he does so, Socrates says that the young man has made inconsistent assertions about these very things (127d1–5). Alcibiades then 29 30

Denyer 2001, on 124b7–126a4. Denyer 2001, on 124c10–11 (apparently following Olympiodorus 175.22–176.1) notes that –pif†neia is ambiguous, referring either to the renown that Alcibiades hopes to gain, or to the revelation of the god to whom Socrates refers at 124c5–9. In my view the term is also an anticipation of the visual analogy, in 132d1–133c17, of soul and eye (note –mfa©netai [“appears in”] at 133a1).

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exclaims: “By the gods, Socrates, I don’t know myself what I am saying, and it’s likely that for a long time I have been in the most shameful state without realizing it” (127d6–8). He asks Socrates what he should do about this (127e4). Socrates replies (claim iv.c) that he must answer Socrates’ questions (erˆotˆomena: 127e5). He then says (claim iv.d): “If you do this and god wills, if my divination is trustworthy, you and I will become better” (127e5–7). After this, Alcibiades agrees to continue answering questions (127e8). Socrates’ claims are all associated with the components of his erotic art. He recognizes his own lack of wisdom (component (2); claim iv.a), and claims to have marvelous skill in helping Alcibiades become better (component (5); claims iv.b and iv.d; cf. claim i.e). In stage iv, Socrates claims, specifically, to be able to help Alcibiades to become better by engaging in dialectic, that is, question and answer (claims iv.b and iv.c). Socrates also claims to be skilled in seeking to become better himself (component (4); claim iv.d). This same claim also exhibits his passionate desire to acquire the wisdom he recognizes that he lacks (component (3)). Socrates claims to have a special kind of devotion to erotic matters (component (1)) when he invokes the god (claim iv.b; cf. claim i.b), and mentions his own powers of divination (claim iv.d). Socrates’ erotic claims in this passage are also linked to erˆos for Alcibiades. Socrates is able to help Alcibiades to become better (claims iv.b and iv.d) because, as Socrates has claimed, in Athens only a lover is concerned with education and self-care (claim iii.b), Socrates alone is Alcibiades’ lover (claim i.a), and therefore Socrates is the only one who can help him to achieve what he desires (claim i.e). The idea of love for Alcibiades is playfully emphasized by Socrates’ statement: “Answer the questions” (127e5), in which the term erˆotˆomena puns on the verb eran (“to love”). The common search and Socrates’ erotic claims help to reinforce the lesson Alcibiades learned in stage iii, that he needs to care for himself in order to achieve his goal. Stage iv also reinforces the appeals to shame made in stage ii and stage iii. At 127d6–8, Alcibiades admits that he does not know what he is talking about, just as he admitted in stage ii, at 116e2–4, that he sometimes thinks one thing and sometimes another. Now, however, Alcibiades explicitly admits that he feels shame: “for a long time I have been in the most shameful state without being aware of this” (127d7– 8). He emphatically asserts this himself, rather than merely responding affirmatively to Socrates. Alcibiades thus shows that he has made progress in acquiring component (2) of the erotic art.

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During the next stages in Socrates’ use of the erotic art, Alcibiades will show that he has learned this lesson well. After stage iv, when his attempts to define friendship and like-mindedness fail, he no longer claims to know things he in fact does not know.31 In response to Socrates’ questions he says, for example: “You speak the truth” (128e3, 131b3, c8, 133a4, b1, 134c8, 135a4, b6), or “You speak correctly” (129b4), remarks that he doesn’t understand (128a7, b4), or is unable to say (128d12, 129e10), and asks for an explanation (132b4–5). In his most positive assertions after stage iv, Alcibiades expresses doubt (129a5–6: sometimes it seems easy to know oneself, sometimes hard), asks Socrates not to leave (131d6), says that he will strive to become better (131d8), and states that Socrates is a safe guarantor (134e3). At the end of the dialogue, however, when Alcibiades confidently asserts that he will become Socrates’ pedagogue and start from this moment to care for justice (135d7–10, e4–5), Socrates suggests that the young man may once again be too self-confident. Socrates’ love, says Socrates, will be like a stork if, having hatched a new love in Alcibiades, it will in turn be cared for by this love (135e1–3), and he expresses fears about the future (135e6–8). Socrates expresses doubts, then, that Alcibiades has fully recognized his own lack of wisdom. Stage v. Alcibiades accepts Socrates as the only lover of his soul, who alone can help him to become better (127e9–133c17).

At this stage, Socrates establishes, and Alcibiades acknowledges, that Socrates has an erotic art that can benefit Alcibiades. As the only lover of Alcibiades’ soul, Socrates is the only one who can help Alcibiades to care for himself and to achieve self-knowledge. I divide stage v into three parts. Stage v, part 1. Alcibiades agrees that in order to care for himself he must know his own soul (127e9–131c4).

In the first part of stage v, Alcibiades, as answerer, makes important claims about the soul, the self and self-care. Alcibiades first gives answers that constitute an argument showing that the skills that care for us and make us better differ from the skills that care for things belonging to us (127e9– 128d10). Socrates concludes: “It has been agreed [Þmol»ghtai]” that the skill that makes us better is not the one that makes anything belonging to us better (128e1–2). Alcibiades agrees (128e3). As the questioning proceeds, 31

Olympiodorus 190.12–14, on 127d notes that Alcibiades moves from double to simple ignorance when he agrees that he is ignorant. See also 128.22–129.6, on 116e, where Olympiodorus writes that Alcibiades moves from double ignorance to an intermediate state.

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however, Socrates carefully qualifies his own views about self-knowledge and care for the self, avoiding claims to have knowledge about these matters, although he does appear to agree with the conclusions arrived at. He says: “It’s like this: if we know it [sc. ourselves] perhaps [t†cì ‹n: cf. ‹n t†cì: 129b2] we would know the care of ourself, but not knowing [ourselves] we would never do so” (129a8–9). After further questioning, Socrates asks if a clearer demonstration is needed to show that the soul is the human being. Alcibiades replies that this seems to have been adequately demonstrated (130c5–7). Socrates, however, qualifies his own views by saying that this conclusion has not been proven in a strict sense (ˆkribäv), but only “moderately well” (metr©wv), because they have not yet investigated what the “itself itself” (aÉt¼ t¼ aÉt¼) is (130c8–d6).32 Nevertheless, Socrates says, this argument will perhaps suffice (­swv –xark”sei: 130d5; cf. –xarke±: 130c8), because “we could speak of nothing more authoritative than the soul” (130c8–d6). Socrates does not, then, claim certainty, but only that the argument suffices to further Alcibiades’ progress in caring for himself.33 Later in the dialogue, at stage v, part 3 (132b6–c2) Socrates sums up, in similarly qualified terms, the conclusions arrived at earlier. He says: “What we are [that is, that we are the soul] has been agreed reasonably well [–pieikäv Þmol»ghtai: 132b6–7]” and “after this [it was agreed reasonably well] that the soul must be cared for” (132c1).34 Socrates qualifies his opinions yet again when he says: “If sˆophrosynˆe is to know the self” (131b4). Socrates’ opinions about the soul, then, are not stated with the same confidence and authority as are his erotic claims, none of which are made in stage v, part 1. He nevertheless appears to agree, in qualified terms, that the soul is the self that must be cared for, and that self-knowledge is the same as, or closely associated with, self-care. Stage v, part 2. Alcibiades accepts Socrates as the only lover of his soul (131c5–132a6).

After laying the groundwork by means of the arguments made “reasonably well” Socrates continues to question Alcibiades. First, Alcibiades asserts, in answer to Socrates’ questions, that the lover of the soul, unlike the lover of the body, will not depart as long as the soul improves (131c5–d3). After 32 33 34

I follow Gill 2007: 102 in translating the phrase in this way. On the text and interpretation of 130d4 and 129b1 see also Allen 1962; Annas 1985: 130–3; Brunschwig 1996; Goldin 1993. Cf. Denyer 2001, on 130d6. It was agreed, at 128d11–e3, that we must care for ourselves, and not for what merely belongs to us, and at 130c5–7 that the soul is the human being.

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this, Socrates does not ask questions, but makes several erotic claims that give evidence of his special devotion to erotic matters, including his love for Alcibiades’ soul. He states (claim v.a) that he alone has remained as the lover of Alcibiades’ soul (131d4–5, e1–4, e10–11; cf. claim i.a, at 103a1–4). In making this claim, Socrates also claims to be the only one who can help Alcibiades to care for himself, for he has previously said that in Athens only a lover cares about a person’s education (claim iii.b, at 122b5–8). Socrates also states (claim v.b) that he will not depart as long as Alcibiades does not become more shameful-and-ugly35 (a«sc©wn) in soul (132a1–2), and he exhorts (claim v.c) Alcibiades to be eager to be as beautiful as possible in soul, so that (to©nun) he may retain Socrates’ love (131d7), as well as making progress toward acquiring the object of his desire. In response to these claims, Alcibiades says: “You did well, Socrates. Don’t depart” (131d6) and states that he will indeed be eager to be as beautiful as possible (131d8). Socrates’ enduring love for Alcibiades’ soul has led the young man not merely to allow Socrates to question him, as he did in stage i, at 106b10, but to ask him not to leave. Alcibiades thus expresses a more positive willingness to accept both Socrates’ love (eran) and his questioning (erˆotan). Moreover, Alcibiades’ desire to have Socrates remain as his lover has helped to make him eager to be as beautiful in soul as possible. Socrates makes one more erotic claim when he says (claim v.d) that he, Socrates, is lovable (ˆgapht»v: 131e3). Alcibiades’ assent to this statement (131e5) is some evidence that he is beginning to love Socrates in return.36 Stage v, part 3. Alcibiades agrees that he can improve by looking into another soul. The implication is that, in Alcibiades’ case, this soul must be that of his only lover, Socrates (132a6–133c17).37

As the accepted lover of Alcibiades’ soul, Socrates uses component (5) of his erotic art in exhorting (claim v.e) Alcibiades to “exercise” (132a6–b3) 35

36

37

Proclus 210.1–211.5, on Alc. I 108e5–109a4 perceptively connects shamefulness of soul with ugliness (a²scov) of soul. As the comparative of a«scr»v, a«sc©wn means both “more shameful” and “more ugly” (LSJ s.v. a«scr»v). Olympiodorus 215.22–25, on 130d–133c, notes that when he asks Socrates not to leave, Alcibiades begins to return Socrates’ love. Cf. Denyer 2001, on 131e2–3. On Alcibiades’ love for Socrates see below 1.3. The authenticity of 133c8–17 has long been suspected and the passage is bracketed by Burnet 1900– 1907; Carlini 1964; Croiset 1949; Denyer 2001. Arguments in favor of retaining the passage are given by Havet 1921 and Bos 1970 (in Dutch: I rely on the favorable review of Westerink 1974). Bos holds, however that the dialogue is not Platonic. The arguments for excision given by Carlini 1963: 174–7; Linguiti 1981; and Pradeau 2000: 221–8 are more convincing. I offer additional support for excision at the end of 1.4. However, my argument does not depend on the status of this passage.

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in taking care of himself. Alcibiades asks Socrates to relate how they can take care of themselves (132b4–5). Socrates begins by summing up their previous agreements about what we are (that is, the soul), and that the soul must be cared for (132b6–c2). Socrates then asks how they might know the soul and themselves most clearly (132c7–9), thus suggesting that self-care is the same as, or closely related to, self-knowledge. Next, Socrates offers a way of interpreting the Delphic precept to know oneself (132c9–133c17; cf. 124a8–b1 and 130e8–9, where the precept is also mentioned). Just as an eye can see itself only by looking into a mirror or another eye, so the soul can only know itself by looking into another soul. Socrates’ initial statement, “I will tell you what I suspect [ËpopteÅw] this writing says and counsels us” (132d1–2), marks the interpretation of the precept as Socrates’ own proposal, while at the same time indicating that he does not claim to have the knowledge about this that only a god, for example, the god in Delphi, could have. The analogy of soul and eye is merely “likely” (kinduneÅei: 132d2), and Socrates uses conditionals in speaking of the way we might see ourselves (‹n ­doi: 133a6–7, e« . . . bl”poi: 133a9, e« m”llei: 133b2), in discussing the way in which the soul might know itself (e« m”llei: 133b7–8, ‹n gno©h: 133c6, crmeq’ ‹n: 133c14, ‹n ¾rmen: 133c15), and in making theological claims (133c4–6, c13–14). Socrates’ suggested interpretation, then, is not an erotic claim made with confidence, but opinion concerning psychological and theological matters about which only a god could have knowledge. It does, however, have implications for erotic matters. First, it implies that the soul in which Alcibiades sees himself must be that of a lover, because in Athens only a lover cares enough about education (claim iii.b, at 122b5–8) to provide the requisite soul-gazing. Second, Socrates’ interpretation concerns the psychology that explains the specific way in which erotic art can be used to seek wisdom in the form of self-knowledge and self-care, and to help others do so also. These issues are discussed below 1.4. Stage vi. Alcibiades agrees that self-knowledge confers the greatest power (133c18–135c11).

At this stage, Socrates concludes his demonstration, promised at the beginning of the dialogue (claims i.e and i.f, at 105e2–106b10) that Alcibiades cannot achieve the greatest power without Socrates’ help. Socrates has already demonstrated (stage v) that Socrates alone can help Alcibiades care for and know himself. He now demonstrates that self-knowledge is necessary for virtue and happiness.

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In response to Socrates’ questions, Alcibiades agrees that: (1) Self-knowledge is sˆophrosynˆe (133c18–20).38 (2) Someone who does not have self-knowledge and sˆophrosynˆe lacks political knowledge, errs, fares badly in private and political affairs, and is wretched (133e4–134a12). (3) Therefore (Šra), unless one has sˆophrosynˆe and is good (ˆgaq»v), one cannot be happy (134a13–b1). (4) If one is going to act correctly and well in the city, one must impart excellence (aretˆe: that is, from agreements (1) and (3), above, the goodness and the sˆophrosynˆe that are the same as self-knowledge) to the citizens (133b11–c1). (5) Therefore (Šra), because one cannot give what one does not have, excellence must first be acquired by someone who is going to engage in private and political affairs (134c3–8). (6) Therefore (Šra), it is not the power of doing whatever one wishes (that is, tyranny: 135b3–5) that must be acquired by the person who is going to rule in the city, but justice and sˆophrosynˆe (134c9–12). (7) Therefore (oÉkoÓn), those who know themselves “act well” or “fare well” (eÔ pr†xete: 134d7–11). According to this argument, if self-knowledge (sˆophrosynˆe) is necessary for political knowledge, that is, for the ability to rule well in the city, and for happiness, it is self-knowledge rather than tyranny that confers the greatest power, that is, the power to act well in both private and public affairs. In agreeing with the statements listed above, Alcibiades shows that he believes that self-knowledge confers the greatest power. His belief is reinforced by the erotic claims make by Socrates. To the assertions made by Alcibiades listed above, Socrates adds his own promise (claim vi.a). He pledges or guarantees (–q”lw –ggužsasqai) that if he and Alcibiades act in this way (that is, in the way mentioned just previously, in agreement (7) in the list above) they will be happy (134e1– 2). Socrates’ claim, linking self-knowledge to happiness, gives evidence of his passionate desire to seek wisdom in the form of the self-knowledge he realizes that he lacks (component (3) of his erotic art), and to help Alcibiades do the same (component (5)). In making this claim, he also shows that he agrees with the conclusions of the argument, without claiming to have knowledge that they are true. Indeed, this argument is anticipated 38

This claim is not argued for, but at 131b4–6 Alcibiades agreed to Socrates’ conditional statement: “If sˆophrosynˆe is self-knowledge.” On the equation of sˆophrosynˆe with self-knowledge see Denyer 2001, on 131b4, and Annas 1985.

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by Socrates’ statement (claim iii.d, at 124a7–b6) that the renown (that is, political power: 105c3–4) that Alcibiades desires can only be gained by means of care and skill. When Alcibiades says that Socrates is a safe guarantor (134e3), he shows that he has at last come to see that the power he desires is really the same as the object of Socrates’ desire: the power to act well that is conferred by self-knowledge and self-care. Socrates goes on to reinforce Alcibiades’ agreements with another appeal to shame, and in response to Socrates’ questions, Alcibiades agrees that he is in a slavish condition (135c10–11). Socrates has now completed the demonstration which he undertook to give at 106b1–4, that Alcibiades cannot obtain the power he desires without Socrates. In having convinced Alcibiades that this is true, Socrates has begun to realize his own hope of acquiring the greatest power with him (105e2–5). Alcibiades has asserted, by answering questions, that if he wants to acquire the greatest power, he first needs to know and care for himself, and that Socrates alone, as the lover of his soul, can help him to do this. In addition to asking questions, the answers to which are the opinions of Alcibiades, the answerer (112e1–113a10), Socrates has made on his own authority many positive statements associated with his erotic art. The dialogue, however, does not end with Socrates’ successful demonstration. Stage vii. Alcibiades offers to change roles with Socrates (135c12–e8).

At the end of the dialogue, Alcibiades first says that he will change roles with Socrates and become his attendant (pedagogue: 135d7–10). Socrates then states that his love is like a stork if it has hatched a new love in Alcibiades (135e1–3). Alcibiades says that he will begin right away to take care about justice, but Socrates expresses fears that the power of the city may overcome both of them (135e4–8).39 This short final section of the dialogue dramatizes Alcibiades’ response to Socrates’ successful demonstration, and Alcibiades’ own further progress in acquiring erotic art. Alcibiades has already acknowledged that he lacks wisdom (component (2)), and his agreement that he is in a slavish condition indicates that he now has a passionate desire to acquire wisdom in the form of self-knowledge (component (3)). His statement that he will begin to care about justice indicates a similar desire. By answering Socrates’ questions, Alcibiades has also begun to acquire skill in searching for wisdom (component (4)). His statement that he will act as Socrates’ pedagogue shows his desire to acquire the skill in helping others attain wisdom that is 39

This important concluding section of the dialogue is discussed further below 1.5.

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included in component (5). Socrates’ unrefuted statement about Alcibiades’ love is an indication that the young man has also made progress in becoming devoted to erotic matters (component (1)). Nevertheless, the fact that the dialogue concludes with Socrates’ use of the conditional (“if”: 135e2) in speaking of Alcibiades’ love for him, and of Socrates’ own fears about the power of the city, are indications that Alcibiades still needs a great deal of practice in the erotic art. The preceding summary of the stages in Socrates’ use of his erotic art provides the foundation for a deeper understanding of the relationship in this dialogue between erˆos for the greatest power and erˆos for another person. These topics are the concern of 1.3 and 1.4. 1.3 er oˆ s for the greatest power and interpersonal er oˆ s At the beginning of his encounter with Alcibiades, Socrates tells the young man that they both have similar hopes: “Just as you have hopes in the city [sc. to gain the greatest power in the city: 105b4], so I also have hopes to gain the greatest power with you.”40 Alcibiades at first mistakenly believes that the greatest power is tyranny, the ability to do whatever one wishes (134e8– 9, 135b3). In the course of the dialogue, however, he comes to agree with Socrates that it is instead the power to act well that is conferred by wisdom in the form of self-knowledge and self-care. Self-knowledge confers the greatest power because it makes it possible for one to rule well, and to take care in both private and public matters (134c5–7).41 When Socrates desires to acquire the greatest power with Alcibiades, then, he desires the power to rule well and to take care in his private affairs, including caring for the soul of his beloved, Alcibiades. And when Alcibiades desires to acquire the greatest power in the city, the real object of this desire is not tyranny, but the power to rule correctly (½rqäv) in the city, by imparting excellence to the citizens (134b11–c1). When he comes to understand, guided by Socrates’ questions, the true nature of the greatest power, Alcibiades also begins to acquire Socratic erˆos for the wisdom that confers this power. Alcibiades is represented as having a passionate desire for the greatest power from the very beginning of the dialogue, even though the term 40

41

ãsper g‡r sÆ –lp©dav ›ceiv –n t¦‚ p»lei, oÌtw kˆgÜ par‡ soª –lp©zw m”giston dunžsesqai: 105d7–e3. I translate Carlini’s text (1964, defended in 1963: 177–8), omitting –nde©xasqai . . . dunžsesqai (d7–e2). In this passage, Socrates uses the term “excellence” (aretˆe) rather than “self-knowledge.” It has previously been agreed, however, that excellence is self-knowledge (sˆophrosynˆe) and goodness. See above 1.2, stage vi.

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erˆos is not used of this desire until 124b4–6.42 When he first meets Alcibiades, Socrates says that the young man desires (–piqume±v: 105e5) power to such an extent that he would rather die than fail to acquire greater things than he now has (me©zw: 105a4–5), and that he desires to have the greatest power (m”giston dunžsesqai: 105b4) not only in Athens, but also among other Greeks and the barbarians (105b4–7). Socrates characterizes Alcibiades’ desire for political power as a passionate desire for renown, saying that Alcibiades would not wish to live if he failed to fill the world with his name and power (e« mŸ –mplžseiv toÓ soÓ ½n»matov kaª tv sv dun†mewv: 105c2–3). He uses the term erˆos for this passionate desire when he says that Alcibiades has more erˆos for renown than anyone else (toÓ ½nomast¼v gen”sqai . . . 0Õ moi doke±v –rn Þv oÉdeªv Šllov Šllou: 124b4–6). Socrates’ use of the term “hope” (elpis) to refer to Alcibiades’ desire to acquire the greatest power (105a7, c6, d7, e6) also helps to characterize the young man’s desire as ordinary erˆos for power. The term elpis is frequently associated with erˆos in Greek literature, where both are said to be the cause of harm and deceit.43 In Alcibiades’ case, hope and love are indeed deceitful, leading him, at first, to mistake the greatest power for tyranny. Like Alcibiades, Socrates hopes to attain the greatest power (105d7–e3, quoted above, at the beginning of 1.3). His hope is evident in the very first lines of the dialogue, where Socrates says that he is hopeful (eÎelpiv: 103b1) that the divine opposition will no longer oppose his conversing with Alcibiades. Socrates’ hopes are mentioned again, at 104d2, where Alcibiades says that he was going to question Socrates about what he hopes for in annoying Alcibiades. Socrates’ hopes, like those of Alcibiades, are associated with erˆos, for Alcibiades and for wisdom. Unlike Alcibiades, however, Socrates is not deceived by his hopes. In helping Alcibiades to understand that the greatest power is that conferred by self-knowledge, and that without Socrates he cannot acquire this greatest power, Socrates 42

43

Forde’s (1987: 232) claim that 124b4–6 represents a change in Alcibiades, who only becomes erotic after talking to Socrates (cf. Lutz 1998: 119; G. A. Scott 2000: 87) is challenged by Gordon 2003: 17 n.9. Blitz 1995: 349 does not provide sufficient evidence for his claim that Alcibiades is not erotic but desires only mastery. For example, Plato, Ti. 69c8–d6; Thucydides (3.45.5): “Elpis and erˆos, the one leading and the other following, and the one thinking out a plan while the other suggests the ease of success, cause the greatest harm.” On elpis in Thucydides see Cornford 1971a: esp. ch. 12, on the association of erˆos and elpis with Alcibiades, and Rutland 1984. In Sophocles’ Antigone (discussed by Cornford 1907), the chorus says that elpis can benefit people, but can also deceive them with fickle loves (‰ g‡r dŸ polÅplagktov –lpªv pollo±v m•n Ànhsiv ˆndrän, pollo±v dì ˆp†ta koufon»wn –rÛtwn: 615–17. On the ambivalence of elpis in Hesiod and elsewhere see Montiglio 2005: 66–7 and n.18; Vernant 1989: 78–86; Zeitlin 1996: 64–7.

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actually begins to acquire the object of his desire: the greatest power with Alcibiades. The term erˆos is not used of Socrates’ desire to obtain the greatest power with Alcibiades, but the dialogue in fact represents that desire as erotic in a Socratic sense. Socrates’ erˆos for wisdom leads him to enlist others in the search to obtain it (component (5)). If he acquires the greatest power with Alcibiades he will achieve this erotic goal. Socrates’ erˆos for the greatest power differs from that of Alcibiades not only in being divorced from deceitful hopes, but also in receiving encouragement from divinity. His references to the aid of a god (105e5, 124c8–10, 127e5–7, 135d6) suggest that his erˆos is in part a divine gift.44 These references also suggest that Socrates claims to have a special, divinely sanctioned, relationship to erˆos (component (1) of his erotic art). Moreover, Socrates says that he differs from and is superior to Alcibiades in only one way: his guardian is the god (124c2–10).45 It is likely that this god is the one who also encourages Socrates to pursue his erotic goals.46 The fact that Socrates has a divine guardian helps to explain why he, unlike Alcibiades, does not require the stimulus of shame in order to desire passionately to acquire as much as he can of the wisdom he realizes that he lacks (component (3)). In the Alcibiades I, erˆos for the greatest power is closely associated with erˆos for another person. Socrates’ erˆos for Alcibiades depends, in part, on Alcibiades’ having erˆos for the greatest power. Socrates says: “If I saw that you were content with the things I just recounted and that you thought you should pass your life with these things, I would long ago have gotten rid of my erˆos” (104e6–8). As long as Alcibiades continues to have this desire for the greatest power, and does not become merely a lover of the people of Athens (dhmerastžv: 132a3), he will continue to improve and Socrates will remain his lover (131d1–132a3). Alcibiades, in turn, makes progress in acquiring the power he desires because of the love he and Socrates have for one another. This interconnection between erˆos for the greatest power and erˆos for another person needs further clarification.47 First, it is important to understand that the Alcibiades I does not support the view that an individual is loved only as instrumental to a higher object 44 45 46 47

A similar idea is suggested in the Lysis: see Chapter 2 at 2.3.2. See also Resp. 499b8–c1, where Socrates states that erˆos for philosophia may be given by divine inspiration. Denyer 2001, on 124c3–4 notes that diaf”rw means “be superior” here. Pradeau 2000: 208 n.106 sees an allusion here to the daimˆon of 103a–106a. I am sympathetic to Dorion’s view (2004: 208) that mutual aspiration to the good is the basis for love and friendship in Alc. I (131d) as in Lys. but I hold that this is only one of the bases for loving (philein, eran) in both dialogues. On the Lysis see Chapter 2 at 2.2.3.

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of Socratic love.48 Alcibiades’ desire for improvement makes him wellsuited to engaging with Socrates in the common search for self-knowledge by means of which both partners will become better (127e4–7). However, Socrates does not love Alcibiades merely because the young man is a means to his own self-improvement, but also because Alcibiades has a beautiful soul that is in itself an object of love. Erˆos is caused by beauty, either physical, like that of the beautiful body that inspires erˆos in Alcibiades’ other lovers, or psychic, like that of the beautiful soul that arouses Socrates’ love (131c5–d7).49 Alcibiades’ soul is beautiful for two reasons. First, it has a beautiful nature (physis 119c1, 123e5, 135e7), one that is capable of becoming better and more beautiful. Physis in these passages refers to “a good natural endowment” that needs learning and care in order to improve.50 The beautiful nature of his soul, however, could also make Alcibiades capable of tyranny if it were corrupted. As David O’Connor has noted, the nature that is suited to philosophy can also, if corrupted, be used to acquire the greatest tyranny.51 Second, Alcibiades’ soul is beautiful because it has, in addition to a beautiful nature, erˆos for the greatest power, that can, with proper guidance, also lead him to acquire Socratic erˆos for the wisdom that confers this power. That Alcibiades’ physis is distinct from his desire is clear from the fact that he might lose his desire while still retaining his physis (see, for example, 119b5–c5, 135e6–8). This desire helps to make Alcibiades’ soul capable of striving to improve.52 It depends, in part, on the realization that he lacks what he desires. Even before meeting Socrates, Alcibiades is aware that he lacks what he desires, for he would rather die than remain living with only the possessions he now has (105a3–6). Socrates strongly emphasizes this fact when he states (claim i.c) that he does not merely conjecture that this is so but knows it 48

49

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51 52

This view of Socratic love, associated most often with Vlastos 1973, is recently defended by Penner and Rowe 2005, who write that in the Lysis “Socrates construes all love and all desire . . . as involving a means-end . . . hierarchy, culminating in a single ultimate end, which end . . . is then asserted by Socrates to be the sole thing loved or desired” (248). Cf. Phdr. 250c8–251a7, 255c4–d3, where erˆos is said to be caused by beauty, and Symp. 201a9–10, e5, 204b3, d3, where erˆos is said to be of or concerned with beauty. Denyer 2001, on 131d1, notes that the statement “loving the soul” is without exact parallel in Plato or Xenophon. Denyer 2001, on 119c1, citing Phdr. 269d. See also Resp. 6.485a–502b, listing qualities specific to the philosophical nature, especially courage, high-mindedness, facility in learning and good memory (esp. 490c9–11; cf. 487a2–5 and 494a10–b2). A contrast between physis and upbringing is explicitly mentioned at Alc. I 120e3–4, although trophˆe in this passage is not the same as paideia (Denyer 2001, on 120e5; Pradeau 2000: nn.76 and 84). O’Connor 1999: 36–7, quoting Resp. 494b1–496c5. Cf. Gordon 2003: 28; Gribble 1999: 219–21; Olympiodorus 173.2–9. On this idea in the Lysis see Chapter 2 at 2.4.2. On the idea that Alcibiades’ high thoughts make him worthy of love see Proclus 99.6–100.6, 137.3–138.9, 148.10–150.27.

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well (105c6–7). Alcibiades’ soul, then, is not only beautiful, but also lovable because of its beautiful nature and its desire to acquire the good things that it realizes that it lacks. These qualities, as noted above (stage i, 1.2), help to prepare Alcibiades to acquire components (2) and (3) of the erotic art. Socrates says that he will love Alcibiades’ soul as long as it continues to become better, and he urges the young man to try to be as beautiful (in soul) as possible (131d1–7). By the end of the dialogue, Alcibiades comes to love Socrates’ soul for the same two reasons. When Socrates says that he himself is ˆgapht»v, worthy of love (claim v.d, at 131e3), the implication is that he is worthy because he also has a beautiful soul, one that has a beautiful nature, and a passionate desire for the self-knowledge that confers the greatest power. These qualities also make Socrates’ soul beautiful and lovable. The close relationship in this dialogue between erˆos for the greatest power and erˆos for an individual can help to illuminate 119c5, a line that presents difficult textual and interpretive problems. After Alcibiades questions his need for improvement, saying that his nature alone will make him superior to his competitors (119b5–c1), Socrates states, according to the manuscripts: “I am vexed on account of your love and mine” (ˆganaktä Ëp•r te toÓ soÓ kaª toÓ –moÓ ›rwtov).53 Whose erˆos is referred to in this passage? According to Nicolas Denyer, the text just quoted (with te toÓ soÓ) implies that Socrates and Alcibiades love each other. He objects, however, that “it would be far too presumptuous of Socrates to assume that, at this stage, Alcibiades has already come to love him,” and instead interprets Socrates to mean “on your account, and on account of the love that I have [sc. for you].”54 Such an interpretation, however, requires emending the text.55 Modern editors do so on the basis of Olympiodorus’ text: ˆganaktä Ëp•r soÓ kaª Ëp•r –mautoÓ (“I am vexed on account of you, and on account of myself”). Olympiodorus explains: “On your account because you are small-minded [smikroprepžv] and on mine because I love what is small-minded.” Olympiodorus, however, goes against the manuscripts in omitting te toÓ.56 53 54 55

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Codicil T. Cf. Codicil B: ˆganaktä Ëp”r te toÓ soÓ kaª toÓ –mautoÓ ›rwtov (“I am vexed on account of your love and my own”). Denyer 2001, on 119c5. Burnet 1900–1907; Carlini 1964; Croiset 1949; and Denyer 2001 read: ˆganaktä Ëp”r te soÓ kaª toÓ –mautoÓ ›rwtov. Cf. Lamb 1927: ˆganaktä Ëp”r te soÓ kaª toÓ –moÓ ›rwtov, who translates: “I am grieved for you, and for my love.” Hutchinson 1997 and Marboeuf and Pradeau 2000 translate similarly. Olympiodorus 147.11–13 (who also omits ›rwtov).

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The manuscript readings (with te toÓ) can be preserved if we interpret Socrates as referring to the two kinds of love shared by Socrates and Alcibiades: love for the greatest power and love for one another. If one way in which love is created is by gazing into the beautiful soul of another, and if soul gazes at soul by asking and answering questions, then Alcibiades has already begun to reciprocate Socrates’ love by falling in love with his beautiful soul.57 Socrates also refers to the love they both share for the greatest power. Socrates is grieved on account of both kinds of love. He fears that if Alcibiades is willing to settle for lesser objects he will no longer have a passionate desire to attain the greatest power and his soul will be less beautiful. If this happens, Socrates’ love for Alcibiades will cease and, in turn, Alcibiades’ developing love for Socrates’ beautiful soul will be overcome by his desire for lesser objects. 1.4 the eye and the soul Another controversial passage helps to shed light on the relationship between Socratic erˆos and erˆos for another person in this dialogue. Socrates explains the process by means of which a person can gain self-knowledge by drawing an analogy between the eye and the soul at 132a6–133c17 (at stage v, part 3, discussed above 1.2). I argue that in this highly controversial passage Socrates suggests (ËpopteÅw: 132d1) that self-knowledge is gained by means of dialectic with the most god-like part of the soul of another person, who, at least in Alcibiades’ specific case, must also be a lover. He thus provides further support for his earlier claim that he alone, as the only lover of Alcibiades’ soul, is able to help the young man to acquire the object of his desire. Alcibiades has agreed that in order to care for himself he must know his own soul (stage v, part 1, at 127e9–131c4), and that Socrates alone is a lover of Alcibiades’ soul (stage v, part 2, at 131c5–132a6). He then asks Socrates to show him how they might care for themselves (stage v, part 3: 132b4–5). After summing up the agreements previously arrived at (132b6– c2), Socrates asks how we can know the soul most clearly (132c7), and says that he will say what he “suspects” (ËpopteÅw) the Delphic precept to mean (132d1–2). At 132a6–133c7, Socrates and Alcibiades agree that if soul is to know itself, it must look into (another) soul (133b7–8), just as an eye could see itself by looking into another eye (133a5–7). Moreover, the soul must look into the most divine part of another soul, that in which the 57

See 130d8–e6, with 132d1–133c17, discussed further below 1.4.

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excellence of a soul, wisdom (sophia), comes to be, and into anything else that is like this part (133b8–c3). Socrates concludes: “This part of the soul, then, resembles god, and by looking into it and coming to know all that is divine, that is, the god and wisdom [phronˆesis], one could best come to know oneself also” (133c4–6).58 Before considering the significance of Socrates’ highly controversial statements about the “divine” and “the god” in this passage, it will first be helpful to consider the theory of vision that is operative in this passage. To “see oneself” (132d6) according to Socrates’ interpretation of the Delphic precept, one looks into a mirror, or something similar, in which the eye sees itself (132d7–e3). The eye itself can serve this same purpose (132e4–5). In this latter case, one sees an image (eidˆolon) of oneself in the eye of another person: “Do you recognize that the face of the one looking into an eye appears in the pupil [opsei] of the person opposite as if in a mirror, and we call this [sc. the reflection of the face] the ‘doll’ [korˆe], being a kind of image of the person looking into the eye?” (ìEnnen»hkav oÔn Âti toÓ –nbl”pontov e«v t¼n ½fqalm¼n t¼ pr»swpon –mfa©netai –n t¦‚ toÓ katantikrÆ Àyei ãsper –n kat»ptr, Á dŸ k»rhn kaloÓmen, e­dwlon Àn ti toÓ –mbl”pontov: 132e7–133a3). My translation follows the interpretation of Jacques Brunschwig, who argues that opsei refers to the pupil, while the korˆe is the “doll,” the little image of a person’s face reflected in the eye. The antecedent of Á (“this”) is, then, the reflection of the face (pr»swpon) of the person looking into the eye of another.59 Interpreted in this way, the passage states that the pupil, the best part of the eye, that with which one sees (133a5–7, 133b2–5), also contains a “doll” that is an image of the face, the best part of the body of the person looking into the eye.60 There is, moreover, a very close connection between the pupil and the reflection in ancient Greek theories of vision, according to which sight is caused by the reflection of objects on the pupil.61 According to the Timaeus, when we see something, an inner “fire,” or ray of light, coalesces with a similar fire from outside (45b2–46a2). Reflections are a particular case of this general principle (46a2–b3). It is the coalescence, or “intercourse with each other” (koinwn©av ˆllžloiv: 46a5), 58 59 60 61

Reading q”on te kaª fr»nhsin (133c5) with the MSS., Burnet 1900–1907; Croiset 1949; and Denyer 2001. Suggested emendations are noted by Carlini 1964 and 1963: 176. Brunschwig 1973: 25–8, followed by Denyer 2001, on 133a7 and Pradeau 2000: 213–14 nn.143 and 144. Opsis clearly refers to the pupil at 133b5. In the Timaeus the head is said to be the best and most divine part of the body (44d5–6, 45a1, 69d6–e3, 85a6). Brunschwig 1973: 24–5. A recent discussion of ancient theories of vision, with bibliography, is provided by Nightingale 2004: 10–12.

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of the inner and outer fires on a smooth, bright surface that allows us to see the reflection of a face (pr»swpon: 46b2) in a mirror. A. E. Taylor explains: “[T]he ray of light proceeding from my eye and the light reflected from the real face of the person whom I ‘see in the glass’ coalesce at the surface of the mirror and the united ray is then thrown back from it.”62 In the Timaeus, then, it is the surface of the mirror that allows the ray of light from the eye to unite with the ray of light from the face that is reflected in it. If, as seems probable, the Alcibiades I relies on this same theory of vision, what Socrates means at 132e7–133a3 is that one sees one’s face in a mirror or in the pupil of another eye because this mirror or pupil allows the ray from one’s own eye to unite with the ray reflected from one’s face. The two united rays are then thrown back from the mirror or the pupil. The kind of reflection discussed in the Alcibiades I, however, is more complex than that outlined above. Socrates goes on to say that, just as we can see our face reflected in the eye of another person, so an eye can see itself by looking into the best part of another eye, that part with which it sees. This part is the pupil (133a5–b5). Because it is also the pupil that looks into another eye, Socrates’ statements imply that the eye sees itself by looking at the reflection of its own pupil within the pupil of another eye. When this happens, according to the theory of vision discussed above, the ray of light proceeding from the pupil of the gazer unites, within the pupil of another person, with the ray reflected from the gazer’s own pupil. Nicholas Denyer perceptively remarks: “Hence, when an eye sees itself by seeing its reflection in a pupil, it is seeing itself by seeing how another sees it.”63 The image of soul looking into soul can be better understood within the context of the theory of vision just discussed. Just as we see an image of the best part of our eye (the pupil) reflected in the best part of the eye of another person, so we see the best part of our soul reflected in the best part of the soul of another person. This best part of the soul, corresponding to the pupil of the eye, is that part in which wisdom comes to be (133b7–10). It might be thought that one difference between the two cases – that of the pupil-mirror and that of the soul – is that we see our soul in a medium that is active rather than passive. However, not only are pupils active,64 according to Aristotle, mirrors are not passive but are changed by what is reflected in them.65 Some support for the idea that Plato held a similar 62 63 65

Taylor 1928: 286–7. A similar theory of mirrors is given at Soph. 266b9–c4. 64 Noted by Gill 2007: 108; Linguiti 1983: 6. Denyer 2001: 233. On Dreams 2.459b23–460a26 states that when a menstruating woman looks into a mirror it takes on the red tinge with which her eyes are colored. Sprague 1985 makes the intriguing suggestion that the mirror in this passage represents an eye.

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view of mirrors is provided by Phaedrus 255c1–d6, where the beloved is said to see, as in a mirror, the flood of his own beauty reflected back from the lover in a process that changes both lover and beloved. This theory of vision helps to explain the mechanism by means of which one sees oneself, according to Socrates, but it does not tell us how to interpret Socrates’ statements about the god and the most divine part of the soul. Scholars have proposed two main explanations. According to the “theological” interpretation, we acquire self-knowledge by looking into the best and most divine part of another soul, because in so doing we see the “god” that is our true self. This is the rational, impersonal soul that is the same in each person.66 This interpretation, however, does not take into account the emphasis on interpersonal communication in this dialogue. The gaze has erotic connotations (discussed below), and the focus throughout is on dialectic between two people. It is by asking and answering questions that one becomes better (127e5–7), and to associate (prosomile±n) with one another by means of words is to address soul with soul (130d8–e5), that is, to engage in dialectic (130e3). A second, “humanist,” interpretation focuses on dialectic, arguing that to look into another soul is to converse, asking and answering questions.67 Scholars who hold this view, however, do not adequately explain the emphasis on “the god” and the “divine” in this passage (133c1, c4, c5, and, in the lines of doubtful authenticity, 133c13).68 However, “the god,” or a god, plays an extremely important role in this dialogue, as Socrates’ guardian, who did not allow him to engage in dialectic with Alcibiades until this day (124c5– 10; cf. 105e5–106a1), and by whose will Socrates and Alcibiades can become better by asking and answering questions (127e4–7; cf. 135d6). Moreover, in introducing the analogy of eye and soul as an interpretation of the “Delphic writing” (that is, “know thyself”: 132c9–d2; cf. 124a8–b1), Socrates alludes to the god Apollo. An interpretation of the analogy, then, must take into account both elements: the interpersonal and the divine. A third interpretation, recently proposed by Christopher Gill, does just this. Gill argues for a “‘triangular’ model, in which both psyches are related to each other (as active capacities for knowing), and in which this (shared) active capacity is also god-like. That is, the psyches are related to each other at one ‘axis,’ while their converging axis is directed to god . . . the 66 67 68

This view is held by Annas 1985: 130–3 and Brunschwig 1996: 72–80, who both note the Neoplatonic sources for it. Johnson 1999: 9; Linguiti 1981: 264–5 and 1983: 1–8. The term “humanist” is used by Brunschwig 1996: 72. On the authenticity of 133c8–17 see above n.37.

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god-like element is shared or common to the two psyches, and . . . selfknowledge . . . is knowledge of this shared, common element.”69 According to Gill, then, “the part of the soul in which excellence comes to be” is a god-like capacity for knowing that is shared by two souls. Gill does not provide a more detailed account of his model, but I suggest that other passages in the dialogue allow us to make some plausible inferences about this shared, god-like part of the soul. Just as that part of the eye with which it sees is the best part of the eye (b”ltiston: 133a6), so, according to the analogy, the best part of the soul is that concerned with knowing and wisdom (phronein), in which wisdom (sophia) comes to be (133b7–c2). Now the best part of the soul is also the most beautiful (131d2: b”ltion; 131d7: k†llistov) and therefore the most lovable (131d1–2). As I argued above at 1.3, Alcibiades’ soul is beautiful and lovable, both because it has a beautiful nature, one that is capable of becoming better and more beautiful, and because it has a passionate desire to acquire the greatest power. His soul is also similar to Socrates’ own soul in these respects. There is reason to infer, then, that the best part of the soul in the analogy is in fact its beautiful nature and desire for the greatest power. This nature and this desire make it possible for the soul to strive to acquire the self-knowledge that confers the greatest power. The soul does this by using dialectic to look into the best part of another soul that has the same nature and desire. “The god” has an appropriate place in this analogy for two reasons. A beautiful nature and erˆos for the greatest power might reasonably be thought to be god-like, and, according to Socrates, desire for the greatest power is closely associated with divinity. The god who is Socrates’ guardian allows him to converse with Alcibiades only after the young man acquires this desire, and Socrates hopes that this god will help both Socrates and Alcibiades to achieve the objects of their desires (105e2–106a1, 124c5–10, 127e5–7). There is nothing impersonal about either the god-like part of the soul or about the process of gazing. This part of the soul can be used in different ways by different people; for example, in public affairs by Alcibiades, and in private matters by Socrates. Moreover, the dialectic by means of which self-knowledge is obtained in soul-gazing varies considerably depending on the people involved. The questions Socrates asks Alcibiades have to do specifically with his particular desire for political power. To see one’s soul by looking into the soul of another, then, is to engage in the dialectic in which Socrates and Alcibiades have participated throughout the dialogue in a mutual striving for self-knowledge,70 an activity that is god-like and encouraged by a god, but that is also specific to the individuals involved. 69

Gill 2007: 109.

70

Cf. Goldin 1993: 14–16.

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If this interpretation is correct, self-knowledge results more from answering than from asking questions, for it is the answerer who gives his opinions (112e1–113a10) and who, as a result, becomes persuaded (114e2–9). If the mirror analogy can be pushed yet further, we might say that to answer questions is to see one’s own opinions most clearly, reflected in the mirror of the soul of the questioner, who responds by asking more questions. To ask questions, on the other hand, is to provide something analogous to the surface of the mirror on which the two rays of light coalesce. In asking questions, questioners do not state their own opinions and so do not come to know themselves in the same way that answerers do. However, in testing the opinions of answerers, questioners also test opinions that they might hold themselves, or consider holding. To the extent that questioners share the opinions of answerers, they question themselves as well as their interlocutors. Questioners might also come to know that they would not be justified in holding opinions that do not stand up to scrutiny when others assert them.71 In addition to suggesting that dialectic is the means by which soul looks into soul, the mirror analogy has yet another dimension, for in Greek art and literature gazing into the eyes of another has intensely erotic connotations.72 Socrates is, famously, inflamed when he sees inside Charmides’ cloak (Chrm. 155d3–4). Equally important, but less often noted, is the fact that the encounter in the Charmides begins with a gaze of eye into eye: “He looked at me with his eyes in an indescribable manner,” Socrates says (155c8–d1). Moreover, mirrors themselves have erotic connotations.73 The gaze of soul into soul, then, explicitly said to be analogous to the gaze of eye into eye or mirror, would certainly have had erotic connotations for Plato’s original audience.74 This passage in the Alcibiades I has rightly been compared with the mirror passage of the Phaedrus.75 In that dialogue, a stream of beauty flows from the beloved to the lover’s eyes, where it enters and fills him to overflowing. The stream then rebounds and enters the beloved through his eyes, filling him in turn with an image of love that is a “counterlove” 71

72

73 74 75

It is also possible to ask questions of oneself; see, for example, Hp. mai. 298b11–c2 and 304b7–e9. On questioning oneself as well as others see Griswold 1986: 172–3, citing Tht. 189e[–190a], Soph. 263e[–264a], and 215–16. Denyer 2001: 229 cites many examples in Greek literature, although he misses the erotic implications of the Alc. I passage that are noted by Gill 2007: 109 and Goldin 1993: 16. On the erotic connotations of the gaze see Calame 1999: 20–3; Skinner 2005: 85–7. On the gaze in the visual arts see also FrontisiDucroux 1996: esp. 82 (“sight is the medium of Peitho”). Frontisi-Ducroux 1996: 89–90; Stewart 1996. Forde 1987: 236; Goldin 1993: 14; Gordon, 2003: 12–13. See Annas 1985: 132 n.52; Clark 1955: 238–9; Friedl¨ander 1921: 44–6; Johnson 1999: 14–15; SoulezLuccioni 1974: 204–6. On Phdr. 255c1–e2 see Chapter 5 at 5.3.2.

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(255c1–e1). Thus, the beloved sees his own beauty reflected in the lover and falls in love with it. In some ways, the psychology of the Alcibiades I is less complex than that of the Phaedrus. In contrast to the elaborate description of the three capacities of the soul in the myth of the charioteer and horses in the Phaedrus, the soul in Alcibiades I is merely said to have a part that reasons. Socrates also acknowledges individual differences more explicitly in the Phaedrus when he says that different lovers and beloveds follow different gods, each pair following that god whose nature (physis: 252e3, 253a1) it shares.76 In other respects, however, the image of the Alcibiades I is more complex than that of the Phaedrus, in which the beloved sees only the reflection of his own beauty. Alcibiades sees reflected in Socrates’ soul that part of his own soul that is best and most beautiful. The term korˆe, used of the image reflected in the eye (133a2), also means “votive image” of a divinity, and this sense is in the background here.77 If, as in the Phaedrus, the beloved of the Alcibiades I sees the best part of himself in the eyes of the lover, he sees his soul as the lover sees it, as beautiful and god-like.78 In addition, unlike the beloved of the Phaedrus who sees only the beauty of his own soul with which the lover is in love, the beloved of the Alcibiades I also sees and falls in love with the beauty of soul of his lover. Moreover, the gazer in Alcibiades I also sees the reflection of his own defects. By engaging in dialectic with Socrates, Alcibiades gains knowledge that he is at risk of becoming ugly in soul. Immediately before the mirror passage, Socrates urges Alcibiades to be eager to be as beautiful (in soul) as possible (131d7) and warns him against becoming a«sc©wn (more ugly-and-shameful: 132a2: see above stage v, part 2). After the mirror passage, Socrates questions Alcibiades and concludes by asking him, “Do you perceive what state you are in now? Is it a state worthy of a free man or not?” Alcibiades answers: “I think I see very well indeed” (135c10–11). One thing that Alcibiades has seen by answering Socrates’ questions is that he needs to care for himself in order to avoid shame and ugliness, and that Socrates alone can help him to do this. The mirror passage does not tell us into whose soul one must gaze. Paul Friedl¨ander’s view that the soul must be that of Socrates alone has been opposed as too restrictive by many scholars. David Johnson offers a broader interpretation, according to which “the important thing is that the 76

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Johnson 1999: 14–15 rightly notes that there are multiple gods in the Phaedrus, which also contains a psychology that is more complex in some respects. On the psychology of the Phaedrus see Chapters 5 and 6. 78 Phdr. 255a1–2, Alc. I 133c1–6. Pradeau 2000: 75 n.2, citing Phdr. 230b[8].

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other person be a friend or lover.”79 There is some truth in both positions. Taken as an analogy with general applications, what is required is the good will, affection or love that makes dialectic possible. This is in accord with Socrates’ description of his practice in the Apology, where he says that he has affection and love (ˆsp†zomai m•n kaª filä: 29d3) for the Athenians, that he goes around to each person “like a father or older brother, persuading [him] to care for virtue” (31b3–5), and where he asks the jury to admonish his own sons if they seem to care for anything more than for virtue (41e1– 42a2).80 This broad interpretation is also consistent with the account of other erotic dialogues, in which interpersonal love is not represented as being necessary to the practice of the erotic art. However, as applied to the specific case of Alcibiades in the Alcibiades I, the only soul available is that of Socrates. Socrates alone is the lover of Alcibiades’ soul (claim v.a, at 131d4–e11), and in Athens “almost no one”81 except a lover cares about a person’s education (claim iii.b, at 122b5–8). Socrates’ mention of Athens provides an important qualification. He does not say or imply that progress in education can be made only if there is interpersonal love between two people; he says that this is usually (“almost no one”) the case in Athens. In Persia, in contrast, the king’s son is educated by four men who are reputed to be the best in wisdom, justice, sophrosynˆe and courage, but who are never said to love their pupil (121e–122a). Socrates helps to explain why only a lover can help Alcibiades to improve when he says that the lover of Alcibiades’ soul will not depart when physical beauty fades, but will remain as long as the beloved keeps on becoming better and more beautiful (131c11–132a2). Alcibiades’ soul-lover, this statement implies, desires to associate with the beautiful soul that is the object of his erˆos, just as the lover of the body desires to associate with the object of his desire. However, the soul-lover’s erˆos is more lasting because its object, unlike physical beauty, does not necessarily fade, but can become more beautiful over time. In helping it to do so, the lover makes his object more lovable as well as more beautiful. For in the Alcibiades I, as in the Phaedrus, the sight of a beautiful object creates erˆos.82 The soul-lover, however, must himself be lovable (ˆgapht»v: 131e3), having a beautiful nature and a desire to improve, if he is going to help his beloved to become better. Now 79 80 81 82

Friedl¨ander 1923: 14 and 1964: 351–2 n.15; and Johnson 1999: 9. Friedl¨ander’s restrictive view is also opposed by Bluck 1953: 49 n.6; Clark 1955: 238; Linguiti 1983: 7–8; Wellman 1966: 17. I thank Sandra Peterson for calling this parallel to my attention. Þv ›pov e«pe±n (“so to speak”) is used in “qualifying a too absolute expression”: LSJ s.v. ›pov, 4. See above n.49. However, I disagree with Friedl¨ander 1923: 26–8, who holds that erˆos in the Alcibiades I must begin with the sight of physical beauty.

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Part I Socrates and Two Young Men

Socrates has long been in love with Alcibiades’ beautiful soul, even before conversing with the young man, and his love, we may assume, increases as he engages in dialectic with Alcibiades, thereby gazing into his soul and helping it to become more beautiful. Alcibiades, in contrast, comes to love Socrates in the first place as a result of soul-gazing. When Alcibiades returns Socrates’ psychic gaze, by seeking self-knowledge through dialectic of soul with soul, he not only sees himself, reflected in Socrates’ soul, he also sees and falls in love with the best part of Socrates’ soul. The mirror passage, like the end of the dialogue, contains a warning to Alcibiades, this time in the form of a literary allusion. In Sappho 31, an observer watches a man sitting opposite (–n†ntiov: 2) a woman and listening to her speaking and laughing. This man appears to the observer to be equal to the gods (fa©neta© moi knov ­sov q”oisi: 1). In contrast, when the observer briefly looks at her beloved (Þv g‡r ›v sì ­dw br»ceì: 7) she loses control of the heart in her breast (kard©an –n stžqesin: 6), which is, in Greek thought, the seat of thought as well as feeling. She is no longer able to hear, speak or see (7–12) and is close to death (15–16).83 The poem thus implies that it is god-like to be able to look at, speak with and listen to the person one loves, while still retaining one’s physical and intellectual senses. Similarly, in the Alcibiades I passage, the person who looks at (blept”on: 133b8) the soul of another who is opposite to him (katantikrÅ: 133a1) comes to resemble a god in that he might come to know “the god and wisdom [phronˆesis]” (133c5). Significantly, if we exclude the doubtful lines 133c8–17 the passage is bracketed by –mfa©netai (“appears in”: 133a1) and fa©netai (“It appears so”: 133c7, cf. 133a8). Now fa©netai (“He appears”) is the first word of Sappho’s poem, and would have been quoted in references to this poem.84 When Alcibiades uses the word at 133c7, this educated young man, who is deeply concerned with erˆos in the ordinary sense, picks up and caps Socrates’ poetic allusion at 133a1 (“appears in”).85 In alluding to Sappho, Socrates is implicitly contrasting the love of soul he offers Alcibiades, as a result of which the beloved comes to know himself, with the love of physical beauty described by the poet, as a result of which one loses one’s senses and comes close to death. Socrates 83 84 85

Sappho 31, Lobel-Page 1955. The older lyric poems were usually referred to by their opening lines: Maehler 1996: 251. Alcibiades has learned to read and write, play the lyre, and to wrestle (106e5–6). Learning to play the lyre included learning lyric poetry (Denyer 2001, on 105e6). Alcibiades also says fa©netai (“It appears so”) in other passages (for example, 131c13, 134b6, 134c12, 135b10), but the use of this word has a particular significance in a passage that recalls Sappho’s poem in other respects. There are also allusions to Sappho 31 in Phdr. 251c1–5: see Chapter 5 n.34. On Plato’s use of literary allusions see further Chapter 3.

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is also contrasting the kind of self-knowledge that he urges Alcibiades to cultivate with the knowledge of her own senselessness that Sappho’s observer expresses. 1.5 er oˆ s the stork The love Socrates offers Alcibiades also differs from that of Sappho’s observer, and from that of the conventional erastˆes, in another respect: the lover will become a beloved. The end of the dialogue makes this transformation explicit. Socrates says: “My love will be no different from a stork, if, after having hatched a winged love in you, it will in turn be cared for by this love” (pelargoÓ Šra ¾ –m¼v ›rwv oÉd•n dio©sei, e« par‡ soi –nneotteÅsav ›rwta Ëp¼ toÅtou p†lin qerapeÅsetai: 135e1–3). In this passage, as at 119c5 (above 1.3), the erˆos in question is both erˆos for the greatest power and erˆos for another person. Socrates’ erˆos for the greatest power that only self-knowledge and self-care can confer, and his erˆos for Alcibiades have, in turn, created in Alcibiades both the erˆos for the greatest power that is conferred by self-knowledge, and erˆos for Socrates, without whom he cannot obtain the object of his desire. Alcibiades says that he and Socrates will change roles (135d7–9), but the end of the dialogue does not simply represent a role reversal, for the love that has been created in the beloved is a reciprocal erˆos, in which both partners love and are loved.86 Socrates remains a lover, who is now permitted to help Alcibiades care for himself. Alcibiades remains a beloved, but he also becomes a lover of Socrates who may now be able, in turn, to help Socrates acquire greater self-knowledge. This interpretation helps to explain a puzzling passage at the end of the dialogue. Alcibiades says: “There is no way I will not be your pedagogue from this day on, and that you will not have me as your pedagogue” (oÉ g‡r ›stin Âpwv oÉ paidagwgžsw se ˆp¼ tsde tv ¡m”rav, sÆ dì Ëpì –moÓ paidagwgžsh‚: 135d9–10). The verb paidagwge±n (literally, “child-lead”) does not simply mean “attend on,” or “follow,” as some scholars claim.87 It refers instead to the reciprocal education between the two men: Alcibiades says that he will now, in turn, become Socrates’ pedagogue.88 86

87 88

On this idea see Halperin 1986: 69–70. Role reversal is stressed by Friedl¨ander 1921: 38–42. Davidson 2007: 475–7 discusses examples of life-long relationships between same-sex couples in ancient Greece, although he denies that Greek erˆos can be both mutual and concurrent (23–32). Alc. I, I contend, is a counter-example to this view. For example, Denyer 2001, on 135d9–11; Lamb 1927: 220 n.1. Pradeau 2000: 218 n.165 notes that the verb paidagwge±n means both to follow and to instruct a child. Gordon 2003: 23 states that Alcibiades could become “as erotically expert as Socrates.”

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Part I Socrates and Two Young Men

Earlier in the dialogue Socrates says that both he and Alcibiades are especially in need of education (124c1–3), and that they both very much need to care for themselves (124d2–3). In the course of their conversation, the two men have joined in a common consideration (koinŸ boulž: 119b1, 124b10; skept”on koin¦‚: 124d9) about how to become educated. Socrates believes that he is benefiting himself no less than Alcibiades in asking the questions the young man answers (127e5–7) in the course of this common consideration. It is obvious how Alcibiades benefits from answering Socrates’ questions. He gains self-knowledge, both about his own defects and about his true beauty, by seeing the best part of his own soul as he looks into Socrates’ soul, and by realizing that wisdom alone, in the form of selfknowledge and self-care, can help him to acquire the greatest power that is the true object of his erˆos. He also gains by acquiring a worthy love object when he falls in love with Socrates’ soul. Socrates also benefits from his conversation with Alcibiades. He achieves greater self-knowledge and cares for himself by testing and rejecting Alcibiades’ belief that tyranny confers the greatest power.89 He also makes progress toward acquiring the greatest power with Alcibiades by enlisting the young man in the common search for wisdom, and by demonstrating that he alone is able to help the young man know and care for himself. In so doing, he helps to make Alcibiades’ soul more beautiful and more lovable, for as Alcibiades’ self-knowledge increases, so does his beauty of soul, the object of Socrates’ love. Finally, Socrates gains Alcibiades not only as a beloved, but also as a lover of Socrates’ soul, who engages to educate Socrates. At the beginning of the dialogue, Socrates asked Alcibiades to question him or to make a speech by himself. Alcibiades, however, said that he did not know if he would be able to make a speech to Socrates (114b2–5), did not seem to be willing to ask questions, and even hesitated briefly before agreeing to answer them (114d11–e11). The image of erˆos as stork suggests that now, at the end of the dialogue, Alcibiades may finally be able to take an active role in questioning Socrates. In this way he will care for Socrates and be his pedagogue.90 The stork image also suggests that the love between Socrates and Alcibiades is, like the counterlove of the beloved in the Phaedrus, not only erˆos, but also 89

90

On the idea that Socrates gains self-knowledge by testing others see Brickhouse and Smith 1994: 14 n.23 (citing Chrm. 166c7–d4, Grg. 486d2–488b1, Prt. 348c5–d5, Resp. 336e2–337a2, 348a7–b4); G. A. Scott 2000: 103–4; Weiss 2006b: 248; Yonezawa 2004: 12–18. Friedl¨ander 1964: 233–4 notes that in this dialogue we witness “for once” someone undergoing a profound change (cf. Forde 1987: 222–3). As G. A. Scott 2000: 83 points out, Friedl¨ander does not notice that Lysis changes in a similar way. Guthrie 1971: 75 misses the change in Alcibiades when he writes of Socrates’ “erotic delusion” about the possibility of converting Alcibiades. The conversion may be temporary, but it is real.

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a kind of philia (Phdr. 255d6–e2). Just as storks were thought to return the care they received from their parents by caring for them in old age, so the younger Alcibiades will care for the older Socrates as for a father. Of course, the dialogue ends before Alcibiades actually plays this more active role of questioner. Socrates uses the conditional, “if,” in referring to the care he may receive (135e2). Moreover, the future tense is used by both men to refer to Alcibiades’ activities of being a pedagogue and caring for Socrates (135d9–10, e3) and it is used again when Alcibiades says that he will begin to take care about justice (135e4–5). This future, Socrates suggests in his last words about his fears (135e6–8), may never come to pass. Instead, just as Socrates fears, the great strength of the city will in fact overcome both Alcibiades and Socrates. The city has power over Alcibiades because the young man is tempted by erˆos for the people of Athens (132a2–5), a senseless love similar to that described in Sappho 31. The dialogue concludes, then, with a reminder of the sad historical future, in which Alcibiades is in fact corrupted by his love of the demos, and Socrates’ questioning is silenced by death.91 It also gives us a brief and tantalizing glimpse of an alternate future, in which Alcibiades and Socrates do in fact care for and know themselves and each other by means of reciprocal erˆos for the soul. In this dialogue, Plato indicates that Socrates, aided by “the god” (105e5, 124c8–10, 127e5–7, 135d6), used his erotic art to do everything possible to bring about this better future. Socrates is represented here as a lover of both Alcibiades and of wisdom, as he is in the Gorgias (481d3–4), and as someone who has a passionate desire to obtain wisdom because he recognizes that he lacks it. He is also portrayed as a man who has marvelous skill in using his erotic art. Socrates, unlike all of the lovers of Alcibiades’ body, is able to persuade the young man not only to accept him as lover, but also to return his love, and to acquire Socratic erˆos for the wisdom he recognizes that he lacks. Socrates is not responsible for the fact that Alcibiades will again be overcome by ordinary erˆos for tyranny. This dialogue, then, is an apology not only for Socrates in his relationship with Alcibiades, but also for an erotic art that desires and strives to attain wisdom rather than sexual pleasure.92 91 92

Friedl¨ander 1964: 232–3. For the idea that the dialogue is an apology for Socrates see Denyer 2001: 13–14; Weil 1964: 76–7. On the relationship between Alc. I and Symp. see Chapter 4 at end of 4.5.

c h a p ter 2

“In love with acquiring friends”: Socrates in the Lysis

2.1 impasse as success The failure of the Lysis to arrive at a positive conclusion frequently induces in its readers the kind of dizziness Socrates reports that he himself experiences as a result of the inconclusive discussions that take place (e«liggiä Ëp¼ tv toÓ l»gou ˆpor©av: 216c5–6). During a large part of the dialogue, Socrates and two young interlocutors, Lysis and Menexenus, attempt to answer the question: “What is the friend (philos)?”1 A number of possible answers are proposed, to all of which objections are raised. Near the end of the dialogue, Socrates says: “We are as though drunk with the argument” (222c2), and he sums up the difficulties: “If none of these is the friend, I no longer have anything to say” (222e6–7).2 Socrates concludes that he and his young interlocutors will be ridiculed (katag”lastoi) by the bystanders for not having been able to discover what the friend is (223b4–8). What can Socrates’ interlocutors and Plato’s readers learn from these conversations that, according to Socrates’ own admission, do not arrive at a positive conclusion about the topic of discussion? As the history of scholarship shows, each of the proposals about what the friend is contains 1

2

Âti ›stin ¾ f©lov (223b7); cf. perª tän f©lwn, o° tugc†nousin Àntev (214a3); –xhuržkamen Á ›stin t¼ f©lon (218b7); perª f©lou, Á ›stin (222b5). Against the view that the Lysis is a dialogue of definition (e.g., Justin 2005; Levin 1972: 239; Robinson 1986: 63) Sedley 1989 (followed by Dorion 2004: 172) argues that it instead attempts to discover what the relationship is between those who are friends. Bordt 1998: 76–8 correctly notes that it is fruitless to choose between these two interpretations. Indeed, the “Lysis is about the term f©lov,” which “describes a relation” (Mackenzie 1988: 26). In this chapter, I reserve the translations “love” and “to love” for erˆos, eran, and cognates, and I use English terms cognate with “friend,” “like” and “dear” to translate Greek phil- words. “To like,” however, is a much weaker term than the Greek philein, which can refer to affection as intense as love, although usually without an erotic component. See further below 2.2.1. Moreover, lack of an English equivalent forces me to translate the nominal forms philos (masc.) and philon (neut.) as “friend,” even though both can be used to refer to things, as well as to persons, that are objects of affection. When Socrates asks, “What is the friend?” he is not necessarily referring to a human being, as the English “friend” would usually imply.

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important insights into the nature of friendship. It is, however, a mistake to interpret the dialogue as containing a “hidden message” concealed within what merely appears to be aporia (impasse).3 I will argue that aporia itself plays an important and positive role in this dialogue, a role that can be better understood within the context of Socrates’ erotic art. In the Lysis, as in the other erotic dialogues, Socrates recognizes his own lack of wisdom and other good things (component (2) of the erotic art). At the same time, he also claims to be marvelously skilled in searching for wisdom and the good things he desires (component (4)), and in helping others to join in this same search, by leading them, in the first place, to recognize that they lack wisdom and other good things (component (5)). Inducing aporia in his young interlocutors is an important part of this process.4 It is, then, essential to take seriously Socrates’ explicit statements that an impasse has been reached. In the last words of the dialogue he says: “These people will say that . . . we have not yet been able to discover what the friend is” (223b5–8). However, aporia has a positive function in many of Plato’s dialogues, for it is a necessary condition for further inquiry. In the Meno, Socrates asks: “Do you think that he [sc. the slave] would attempt to search for or learn that which he thinks he knows but does not, before he fell into aporia and, thinking that he did not know it, longed to know it?” (prªn e«v ˆpor©an kat”pesen . . . kaª –p»qhsen t¼ e«d”nai: 84c4–6). After the slave arrives at aporia, Socrates says, he “would gladly search” (zhtžseien ‹n ¡d”wv) for what he does not know (84b10–11). According to S. R. Slings, these passages are evidence that “[a]poria is a necessary and sufficient condition for ‘attempting to search and learn’ (84c4–5); in other words, one who is ‘thrown into aporia’ will automatically ‘feel a desire to know’ (cf. 84c5–6).”5 As Chapter 1 has shown, however, aporia is not a 3

4 5

“Hidden message”: Bossi 2000: 172. Although few are as explicit as Bossi, most scholars claim that Socrates or Plato actually endorses a particular view about issues that are represented in the dialogue as leading to aporia. They include: Adams 1995; von Arnim 1914: 61–3 and 1916: 371; Bordt 1998: esp. 89–93 and 2000: esp. 158–9 (Bordt’s approach is criticized by Murphy 1999 and Rudebusch 2002); Dorion 2004: esp. 11–15 and 214–20; Fraisse 1974: 143–4; Gonzalez 2000; Jenks 2005; Kahn 1996: 281–91; Narcy 1997: 217–18; Penner and Rowe 2005: esp. 182–4; Pohlenz 1913: 367–71, 1916: 251–61 and 1917; Reshotko 1997; Rudebusch 2004, 2006 and 2009: ch. 8; Taylor 1956: 73; Teloh 1986: 77–81; Versenyi 1975; Westermayer 1875: 92–101. Rudebusch 1999: 9–17 provides a thoughtful defense of this position. Among those who hold that the Lysis and other dialogues contain genuine aporia are Krentz 1983; Matthews 1999: 27–30; Nails 1995: esp. 218–19; Robinson 1986 and no date; Wolfsdorf 2004b: 23–7; Yonezawa 2004. A helpful survey of interpretations of aporia in Plato’s dialogues is provided by Wolfsdorf 1997: 1–21. On the components of the erotic art see Introduction at I.1. I agree with Weiss 2006b: 252 that “[f]or Socrates, definition is not an end in itself.” Cf. Weiss 2006a: 3–4. Slings 1999: 140–1. Mackenzie 1988 also appears to hold that aporia, in at least one sense, is both a necessary and a sufficient condition for desiring to learn. She writes that “puzzlement is productive

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sufficient condition for desiring to obtain wisdom. Alcibiades agrees that he would not wish to discover or learn things that he thought he knew (106d10–12). He also admits that he sometimes thinks one thing, sometimes another, as a result of Socrates’ questioning (116e2–4).6 Thus, even though he does not use the term “aporia,” he admits that he has in effect arrived at this condition. Nevertheless, Alcibiades is still not convinced that he needs education, since, as he states, his competitors in politics are also uneducated (119b1–c1).7 Before he arrives at a desire to become educated and acquire wisdom, Alcibiades also needs, in addition to aporia, to experience shame resulting from the recognition that he is inadequate with respect to what he values most.8 Only then is he able to experience the “aporia . . . [that] is a fertile self-awareness of ignorance that . . . works together with eros [to compel] the philosophic soul to seek and find a path towards truth.”9 In the case of arrogant people, like Alcibiades, shame is needed to help produce this Socratic erˆos for the good things that they believe they lack. A gentler humbling, that does not produce shame, is all that is needed by interlocutors like Lysis, who have less pride to overcome. In the Lysis, as in other dialogues, aporia stimulates fruitful philosophical reflection in Socrates’ interlocutors and in Plato’s readers because it leads them to become aware of their own lack of wisdom about issues that are genuinely puzzling and of real importance to them. This awareness, together with the desire to obtain wisdom, helps them to become philosophers (literally, “wisdom-likers”) in respect to these matters.10 The Lysis dramatizes this kind of success when it represents Socrates and his interlocutors becoming fellow searchers for wisdom about what the friend is. The dialogue also dramatizes another way in which impasse leads to success, for the dramatic framework within which the aporetic conversations take place represents a successful demonstration by Socrates

6

7 9 10

and progressive . . . since it constitutes both an awareness of [one’s] own ignorance, and the desire to inquire further” (20). She states that “aporia” in one sense does not merely refer to lack of knowledge of an answer but “characterises a deeper sense of puzzlement whereby we recognise and admit our puzzlement, and realise its source, but find ourselves inextricably committed to the inquiry’s continuing by our inability to extricate ourselves from the ˆpor©a” (23). Mackenzie’s conclusions about aporia are supported by Opsomer 2001: esp. 59. See also Politis 2006, who distinguishes a “cathartic” from a “zetetic” aporia that leads one to seek solutions to particular problems. See Chapter 1 at 1.2, stage ii. According to Opsomer 2001: 37 and 47, aporia and cognates occur only once in Alc. I: at 110b3. In that passage, Socrates uses the term to characterize a state like that at which Alcibiades arrives at 116e2–4. 8 See Chapter 1 at 1.2, stage ii and n.23. See Chapter 1 at 1.2, stage iii. Nightingale 2004: 106; see further 114–16. On erˆos and aporia see also Sheffield 2006a: 55–74. On the effects of aporia on Plato’s readers see Gordon 1999: 43–61.

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of what a lover should say to a beloved (206c1–7).11 Socrates meets a young man, Hippothales, who is in love with Lysis, a boy whom he has not been able to persuade to accept him as lover. Hippothales asks Socrates to give him advice about what someone might say or do in order to become liked (prosphilˆes) by his beloved.12 Socrates replies that it is not easy to explain this in so many words, but that he might be able to demonstrate, by conversing (dialegesthai) with Lysis, what a lover should say to a beloved (–pide±xai: 206b9–c7). Socrates then demonstrates, by means of dialectic with Lysis, that humbling and restraining a beloved is the best way to make him friendly (210e2–5). Socrates leads Lysis to confess that he is still without sense and needs a teacher (210d4–8), but instead of becoming angry with Socrates, as so many interlocutors do in the dialogues, Lysis responds in a friendly way (filikäv: 211a3). Socrates’ demonstration in the Lysis, then, is similar in many respects to his successful demonstration in the Alcibiades I (–ndeix†menov: 105e3) that Alcibiades cannot obtain the greatest power without Socrates. In both dialogues, Socrates’ use of his erotic art to help others recognize their own lack of wisdom also produces affection in his interlocutor. Moreover, Socrates’ demonstration is a success from Hippothales’ point of view also. When Hippothales blushes with pleasure after Socrates says that the genuine lover must necessarily be liked (file±sqai) by his beloved (222a6–b2), he appears to believe that he himself is, or is able to become, this genuine lover, who has learned how to become liked by his beloved. An interpretation of the Lysis must take into account not only the aporetic search for what the friend is, but also Socrates’ successful demonstration of how to create friendliness. Insights into both success and impasse can be gained through close study of an important distinction that has been neglected by scholars: in the Lysis, aporia arises from the search for what the friend is or for what friendly relationships are, and not from questions about what it is to like.13 This fact is reflected in a difference in linguistic usage. Socrates normally uses nominal and adjectival forms of Greek phil- words (masculine, philos; 11

12 13

This point is made by Narcy 1997: 213–14. Others who stress the importance of taking into account both the arguments and the actions represented in the dialogue include Bossi 2000; Brumbaugh 1962: 41–4; Friedl¨ander 1964: 92–104; Gadamer 1980; Gonzalez 1995b; Hoerber 1945–1946 and 1959; Renaud 2002: esp. 185; Tessitore 1990; Tindale 1984; Westermayer 1875. Nichols 2009: 159 notes that Hippothales’ use of the term prosphilˆes contains an “intimation of a desire for a friend” that “influences Socrates’ agreement to Hippothales’ request.” Two exceptions are Robinson 1986, who, after a discussion of the Greek terms philein (to like), philos (friend or dear), and philia (friendship), notes that “the main discussion in the Lysis is done almost entirely by the use of the word f©lov [friend]” (68), and Glidden 1981: 43, who writes that the dialogue ignores questions about affection and focuses instead on what makes someone philos. On the topic addressed by the dialogue see above n.1.

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neuter, philon: “friend” or “dear”) in framing questions about the subject being investigated: what the philos (“friend,” whether person or thing: see above n.2) is. On the other hand, Socrates and his interlocutors often use verbal and participial forms (philein: “to be friendly” or “to like”; philˆon: “being friendly” or “liking”) to make statements, that are accepted without being questioned, about friendly feelings and relationships. For example, Socrates asks: “When someone likes (philei) someone, who is the friend (philos) of whom, the one liking of the one liked, or the one liked of the one liking?” (–peid†n t©v tina fil¦‚, p»terov pot”rou f©lov g©gnetai, ¾ filän toÓ filoum”nou £ ¾ filoÅmenov toÓ filoÓntov: 212a8–b2). Here and elsewhere in the dialogue Socrates asks questions about who or what the friend is, but merely asserts that he and his interlocutors like certain people or things, without examining the nature of liking. Moreover, his successful demonstration of how to make a beloved friendly assumes that it is possible to like (philein) and to induce others to like without knowing what the friend (philos) is, or what “liking” is. This important distinction between the philos, that is the subject of investigation, and philein, that is not examined, can help to illuminate the dialogue in two philosophically important ways. First, the fact that neither Socrates nor his interlocutors ask questions about philein is an important clue to an avenue of investigation that could help to resolve the aporia about what the philos is. In particular, the last arguments of the dialogue (220e5–222b2) suggest that we cannot understand what the philos is without also examining the nature of philein, loving, and epithumein (desiring). Second, attention to the distinction in linguistic usage helps to illuminate the nature of Socrates’ erotic art by demonstrating how skill in liking and loving is compatible with recognition of one’s own lack of wisdom. In the Lysis, Socrates, the narrator, portrays himself as claiming both that he does not know what the friend is (222e3–7) or how to acquire a good friend (212a4–6), and that he has skill in loving and liking.14 He also says that he is erotic with respect to the acquisition of friends (›cw pr¼v d• tŸn tän f©lwn ktsin p†nu –rwtikäv: 211e2–3), and that he is such a companion-liker (philetairos: 211e8) that he would rather have a good friend than anything else (211d7–e8). Moreover, Socrates claims to have a god-given ability to recognize lover and beloved, although he is inferior in other respects (204b8–c2). Socrates also represents himself as having skill in liking and loving when he tells Hippothales how someone who is wise 14

That is, he claims to an “expert” in the sense of someone who has knowledge that comes from having tried or experienced something. See Introduction at I.3 and n.41. For a more detailed discussion of the connection between Socrates’ claims and the specific components of his erotic art see below 2.3.

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(sophos) in erotic matters treats a beloved (206a1–3), and when he claims to be able to demonstrate how a lover can become liked by his beloved (206b9–c7). The Lysis demonstrates how Socrates’ assertions that may appear to be inconsistent – his claims to have skill in philein and loving, and his acknowledgement of his own lack of knowledge about the philos that is the subject or object of philein – are in fact closely connected: philein is a necessary condition for philosophein (wisdom-liking). To like and to love a good thing that we believe we lack necessarily leads us to like and love wisdom about this object. Moreover, people who engage in a common search for wisdom must necessarily like one another, in the sense of cooperating in a friendly way instead of competing. Finally, the experiences of liking and loving invite examination into the nature of these important activities themselves. One of the questions that is not asked in the Lysis – what is loving? – will be the main topic of the Symposium. The two aspects of the Lysis, then – aporetic search and successful demonstration – are associated with different components of the same erotic, or daimonic, art, in which recognition of one’s own lack of wisdom (component (2)) is compatible with marvelous skill in searching for what one lacks (component (4)) and helping others to do so also (component (5)). The dialogue is a demonstration of the essential interconnection of aporia and success. As the preceding discussion has suggested, loving and liking are closely related in the Lysis, and erotic skill is also skill in philein. Even though the philos is the explicit topic of the Lysis, this dialogue is equally concerned with erˆos.15 The dramatic framework represents Hippothales’ ordinary erˆos for Lysis, and Hippothales’ request for advice about love from Socrates, a request that leads to a demonstration of Socrates’ erotic skill in inducing a beloved to like a lover. Socrates’ god-given ability to recognize lover and beloved is also represented as an ability to recognize at least one category of those who like (212b8–c1: see below 2.3.3). Moreover, the acquisition of a good friend is the object of Socrates’ erˆos and of his passionate liking (Socrates is philetairos: 211e8) that is not essentially different from erˆos.16 In this chapter, I first discuss (2.2) some important linguistic and conceptual issues about liking and the friend, and argue that they provide the background necessary to an understanding of the two philosophically 15

16

There is an extensive literature on the relationship between erˆos and philia in this dialogue, beginning with the dispute between Pohlenz (1913, 1916, 1917 and 1921) and von Arnim (1914 and 1916), summarized by Bolotin 1979: 201–25. Surveys of the issue are also given by Gonzalez 2003: 27 n.32 and Levin 1972: 240–2. The wider ramifications of this question are beyond the scope of my study. See Ludwig 2002: 205 n.116.

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important issues noted above: aporia about the philos, and the compatibility of skill in loving and liking with recognition of one’s own lack of wisdom. I then analyze (2.3) the specific claims Socrates makes about his own erotic art. I conclude (2.4) by focusing on one important way in which Socrates’ skill is manifested: his friendly interactions with his interlocutors, Hippothales and Lysis, whom Socrates recognizes at the beginning of the dialogue as lover and beloved. 2.2 linguistic and conceptual issues 2.2.1 Greek friendship terms Socrates uses phil- terms in a confusing variety of senses and linguistic forms in the Lysis. For example, he uses a rhetorical figure known as polyptoton when he plays on different cases of the noun philos and on the inflections of the verb philein.17 Socrates also exploits the ambiguities to which philcompounds and the nominal and adjectival forms of philos can easily give rise. Philos (masc.; pl. philoi) and philon (n.; pl. phila) can be adjectives, referring to someone or something liked or dear, or, especially in Homer, to something that is one’s own. They can also be nouns, meaning “friend.”18 It is, however, often difficult to distinguish between adjective and noun because the two are identical in form. Sometimes, but not always, an article distinguishes the noun (ho philos) from the adjective (philos).19 Socrates plays on these ambiguities when he says to Menexenus: “And so nothing that does not like in return is philos to the one liking” (OÉk Šra –stªn f©lon t filoÓnti oÉd•n mŸ oÉk ˆntifiloÓn: 212d4–5). This statement can mean either (1) “Nothing that does not like in return is a friend” or (2) “Nothing that does not like in return is dear.”20 To further complicate matters, the noun philos can have either an active sense, referring to the 17

18

19

20

Examples: t¼ filoÅmenon Šra t filoÓnti f©lon –stin (212e6); t¼ filoÓn ‹n e­h f©lon toÓ filoum”nou (213b5–6); poll†kiv f©lon e²nai mŸ f©lou . . . Âtan £ mŸ filoÓn tiv fil¦‚ £ kaª misoÓn fil¦‚ (213c1–3); í Eneka Šra toÓ f©lou t¼ f©lon f©lon (219b2–3, omitting Burnet’s addition of toÓ f©lou; the passage is by discussed by Robinson 1986: 69); f©lon toÓ f©lou t¼ f©lon g”gonen (219b6–7). Philos and cognates are also commonly used to refer to kinship relations. (For arguments against Konstan’s view [1996 and 1997: esp. 53–6] that “philos” does not normally mean “kin” in the classical period see Belfiore 2000: 19–20.) In the Lysis, however, philos is never used to refer exclusively to “kin,” although kin may be included among those who are called philoi (e.g., 210d1–4). Helpful discussions of philos and related words include those of Adkins 1963; Benveniste 1969; Bordt 1998: 50–60; Dirlmeier 1931; Hooker 1987; Konstan 1996 and 1997: 28–31, 53–9; Landfester 1966; Robinson 1986: 65–8. The ambiguities in 212d4–e4 are discussed by Bolotin 1979: 115.

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one who likes, or a passive sense, referring to the one who is liked or dear. This distinction between the active and passive senses of philos is one issue in Socrates’ question to Menexenus: “Who is the philos of whom, the one liking of the one liked, or the one liked of the one liking?” (212a8–b2).21 Another kind of ambiguity arises in the case of compound words formed by a phil- prefix. These compounds can be either verbal (“liking”) or nominal (“friend of”). For example, Manfred Landfester argues that philoptolemos is to be interpreted as “philˆon (ton) polemon” (war-liking) but that philanthropos means “philos (tou) anthrˆopou” (friend of a human being). He notes, however, that there is much disagreement about how these compounds are to be interpreted in particular passages.22 A problem about how to interpret compounds arises at 212d5–e4, where Socrates asks Menexenus about people who are philippoi, philortuges, philokunes, philoinoi, philogumnastai and philosophoi, and about the objects they like – horses, quail, dogs, wine, gymnastics and wisdom. His use of both verbal forms (antiphilei, philousin) and of nominal or adjectival forms (phila, and, in the quotation, philoi) in this passage makes it difficult to decide whether the terms philippoi and philosophoi mean “horse-liking” and “wisdom-liking” or “friends of horses” and “friends of wisdom.”23 The many linguistic ambiguities in this passage would have been even harder to disentangle in the oral conversation dramatized within the dialogue, or when reading Plato’s written words aloud, as was the usual practice in antiquity.24 When Menexenus simply answers Socrates’ questions by saying, “It doesn’t seem so” (212d5, e5) he shows that he is unaware of these difficulties. Lysis’ outburst at 213d2–3, however, suggests that his liking for wisdom (philosophia), to which Socrates calls attention (213d7), has given him, among other benefits, a better understanding of the need to disambiguate usage. It is important to understand that these ambiguities only arise with regard to nominal and adjectival forms of phil- terms and in the case of phil- compounds. As has been noted, the same word, philos or philon, 21

22 23 24

Scholars disagree about the uses to which Socrates puts the ambiguities to which philos and philein can give rise: see Annas 1977: 532–3; Bolotin 1979: 114–15; Bordt 1998: 153–7; Glidden 1980 and 1981: 40–4; Levin 1972: 244–5; Penner and Rowe 2005: 51–61; Price 1989: 3–4; Robinson 1986: 66–9; Shorey 1933: 115. Landfester 1966: 109–73; examples: 173, a. and b. Similar interpretive issues arise in connection with Solon (23 West = 13 Diehl), whose lines Socrates quotes at 212e3–4, and the very similar lines in Theognis 1253–6. See Landfester 1966: 121–2 and 124. Whether or not Plato’s dialogues were performed in the Academy (discussed by Blondell 2002: 22–7; Sayre 1992: 223–36), reading aloud was the usual practice in the ancient world: see Balogh 1927; Harris 1989: 35–6; Hendrickson 1929; Knox 1968; Svenbro 1988: chs. 3 and 9, and, on reading in Plato: 218–38; Thomas 1992: 91–3; Turner 1954: 14.

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can be either noun or adjective, active or passive, and phil- compounds can be interpreted as either verbal or nominal. In contrast, the verbal and participial forms of phil- terms (philein, philˆon) are in most cases clearly distinguished from one another by the ordinary rules of inflection. When the same word (for example, fil¦‚) can be parsed in different ways, the correct parsing can usually be determined by grammar and context. These differences between noun and verb are one reason why aporia arises more easily in the case of philos than concerning philein. Other kinds of problems arise concerning the meanings of Greek philterms. The verb philein can be used impersonally, of things as subjects or objects, to mean “be fond of doing” and in other, more specialized senses.25 Two of the dictionary definitions are especially important and especially relevant to the Lysis: (I.1) “love, regard with affection, opp. mise±n [hate]” and (I.2) “treat affectionately or kindly, esp. welcome, entertain a guest.”26 Scholars have long debated the relative importance of these two aspects – emotional and practical – that philein shares with other Greek phil- terms. According to Arthur Adkins, “file±n [philein] is an act which creates or maintains a co-operative relationship; and it need not be accompanied by any friendly feeling at all: it is the action which is all-important.”27 This view has been challenged by David Konstan, who argues convincingly that “the verb philein . . . signifies various kinds of love and affection.”28 There seems to be general agreement, however, that both emotions and actions are important elements in the concepts of philos and philein. Even Adkins admits that philos can often be translated as “dear” and that the term has a powerful emotive aspect.29 And, according to Konstan, being a philos depends not only on sentiments, but also on actions: “friends are defined by good will . . . [which is] manifested in beneficial actions.”30 Indeed, those who have friendly emotions tend to express them in various ways and this expression is itself evidence of friendly emotion.31 In the Lysis, in which questions about the philos are unanswered, the meaning of the term philos cannot be determined. However, because the 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

LSJ, s.v. fil”w: of things as subjects: I.6; of things as objects: I.5; “be fond of doing”: II. LSJ, s.v. fil”w. Adkins 1963: 36, emphasis in original. Similar ideas about the concepts referred to by means of philterms are expressed by Bordt 1998: 53 and Landfester 1966: 72–3. Konstan 1997: 55–6. See also Konstan 1996; Mitchell 1997: 32–3; Robinson 1990. Adkins 1963: 32–3. Konstan 1997: 55–9, quotation: 58. Cf. Konstan 2006: 175–6 and 182. The importance of both actions and feelings is also stressed by Blundell 1989: esp. 26–59. A good account of the interconnection of emotion with action in the concepts of philos and philein is given by Normann 1952: 49, as cited and quoted by Landfester 1966: 109.

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verbal and participial forms are not subjects of philosophical investigation, it is reasonable to give them the meanings they have in ordinary Greek usage. These forms fall into three categories that are not easily confused with one another. (1) Most often, they refer to experiencing friendly emotions that are expressed by acting in friendly ways. For example, Lysis’ parents like him very much (207d6), and they show this by doing all they can to promote his happiness (207e3–5). (2) In other passages, the verb is used with things as subjects (e.g., “the body is compelled by disease to welcome and like medicine”: 217b3–4). (3) In a third category the verb is sometimes used as the equivalent of “to be a friend.” In these passages its meaning is problematic because it depends on the meaning of the noun (philos or philon).32 2.2.2 Philos and philein in the Lysis The preceding analysis can help the reader to understand a philosophically important distinction made in the Lysis. As noted above, questions about the subject of investigation, the friend, are usually framed by means of nominal and adjectival forms of Greek phil- words (philos, philon). On the other hand, Socrates and his interlocutors often use verbal and participial forms (philein, philˆon) to make statements, which are not examined, about liking, and about acting in a friendly way. These verbs and participles are used in their ordinary Greek senses, to refer to common human experiences familiar to Socrates and his interlocutors. Instead of investigating these experiences themselves, Socrates uses them as starting points, or hypotheses, from which to search for what the philos is.33 This distinction in usage between the noun philos, referring to the friend that is the object of investigation, and the verb philein, referring to things that are not themselves subjected to investigation, is apparent from the beginning of the discussion about what the philos is. Socrates asks Menexenus: “When someone phileˆı [likes] someone, who is philos [friend] of whom?” (212a8–b1). His question explicitly raises issues about what it is to be philos (“Who is philos of whom?”), but it assumes that both Socrates 32 33

See below 2.2.2 and n.35. Socrates’ treatment of the experience of philein is in some respects similar to the procedure of geometers in Resp. 6.510c2–d3. They “treat as known the odd and the even, the figures, three forms of angles, and other things akin to these in each kind of inquiry. These things they make hypotheses and don’t think it worthwhile to give any further account of them to themselves or others, as though they were clear to all. Beginning from them, they go ahead with their exposition of what remains and end consistently at the object toward which their investigation was directed.” Translation: Bloom 1968.

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and Menexenus understand what philein refers to (“When someone likes someone”), and it does not ask about what the verb philein means or what it is to like. When Socrates notes that an impasse has been reached, he also makes it clear that the subject of inquiry is what the friend is, and not what it is to like.34 After his discussion with Menexenus, Socrates remarks: “What shall we do if neither those liking are friends [philoi], nor those who are liked, nor those both liking and liked?” (213c5–7), and at the end of the dialogue he states: “If neither those liked, nor those liking, nor the similar, nor the dissimilar, nor the good, nor the kindred, nor the other cases we went through . . . if none of these is the friend [philon], I no longer have anything to say” (222e3–7). The same distinction in usage between philos and philein appears throughout the dialogue. After asking whether the philos is the one liking or the one liked (212a8–b2), Socrates goes on to use nominal or adjectival forms in discussing many other possibilities. He considers, for example, whether: (1) the similar is philon to the similar (214b3–4); (2) the opposite is philon to the opposite (215e3–4); (3) the neither good nor bad is philon to the good (216c2–3); (4) the neither bad nor good is philon to the good, because of the bad and for the sake of the good (219a6–b2); (5) there is a first philon for the sake of which all other things are phila (219c7–d2); (6) the good is philon (220b7); (7) that which desires is philon to that which it desires, at the time when it desires, and that which was previously said about the philon was nonsense (221d3–5); (8) that which lacks is philon of that which it lacks (221e1–2). In examples (1)–(8) above, Socrates’ use of neuter forms (philon, phila) emphasizes the impersonal nature of the subject being investigated in this section of the dialogue. That is, he does not assume that these “friends” are persons (see above n.2). When Socrates does appear to frame the discussion by using forms of philein, he appears to be employing the verb as equivalent to philon einai (“to be a friend” or “to be dear”). For example, at 221c2–d5, Socrates shifts from “the” (or “a”) cause of being some friend (toÓ f©lon ti e²nai: 221c2), to “another cause of philein and phileisthai [to like and to be liked]” (221d1– 2) and then, at 221d4–5, he shifts back again to “is a friend” (f©lon –stin) and “to be a friend” (f©lon e²nai). In other passages also, forms of philein are freely interchanged with forms of “to be a friend.”35 In all of these 34 35

Cf. Glidden 1981: 43. See, for example: f©lon e²nai at 215d5 and file±n at 215d7; file±n at 217b4 and f©lon g©gnetai at 217b5. At 220b6–e5 verbal forms (file±tai [220b8]; –filoÓmen [220d2]; file±tai [220d5]) are interchanged with nominal and adjectival forms followed by “to be” or equivalent (–stin f©lon [220b7]; f©la ›famen e²nai [220e1]; f©la k”klhtai [220e2]; f©lon . . . fa©netai [220e3]; f©lou . . . ˆnef†nh ¿n [220e4]; ›sq ì ¡m±n f©lon [220e5]).

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passages the context shows, as it does throughout the dialogue, that the subject of investigation is not what it is to like but what the philos is. The use of philein as equivalent to philon (or philos) einai is especially noteworthy at the end of Socrates’ opening conversation with Lysis. He begins by asking the boy: “Do your father and mother like [philei] you very much?” (207d6) and goes on to state that if they do like him they want him to become happy (207e3–5). Lysis readily agrees with both of these statements. Socrates then questions Lysis at length about how his parents treat him, without, however, making philein the subject of investigation. For example, he does not consider such issues as how liking a son and wanting him to be happy can be consistent with preventing him from doing what he wants, with putting others in control of him and with punishing him (207e1–209a4). In fact, this conversation, that begins with a question about philein, does not, unlike all of the succeeding ones about the philos, end in aporia.36 At the end of the conversation, however, Socrates begins to elicit responses from Lysis that could lead to aporia because they appear to conflict with earlier statements. It is at this point that Socrates first uses nominal or adjectival forms of philos interchangeably with verbal forms: “Will we be friends [philoi] to anyone and will anyone like [philˆesei] us in those matters in which we are useless?” (210c5–6); “neither your father nor anyone else likes you in so far as you are useless” (210c7–8); “everyone will be your friends” (210d1); “neither anyone else nor your father will be your friend” (210d3–4). These statements, taken together with the many statements in this conversation about the ways in which Lysis is useless, might appear to call into question Lysis’ earlier assertion that his parents like him very much (207d6). How can they do so if he is useless? Socrates, however, does not pursue these issues. Socrates also avoids asking important questions about philein in his first conversation with Menexenus. Socrates assumes that philein can be either one-sided (212b5–c2, 212e7–213a3, 213c1–3, 213e8) or reciprocal (212c7–d3, 213c6–7), but neither he nor Menexenus asks questions about what it is to like.37 In other passages, Socrates says that lovers philein as much as possible (212b8–c1), and his interlocutor agrees that it is not possible for a man who desires (epithumounta) and loves (erˆonta) not to philein that which he desires and loves (221b7–8). However, these ideas are not questioned, and do not lead to any examination of the relationships among philein, eran and 36 37

Noted by Narcy 1997: 215. On the different kinds of relationships in question in this passage cf. Bordt 1998: 78–9; Justin 2005: 82–4.

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epithumein.38 Socrates’ argument that the good cannot be friends because they do not long for each other when they are absent (215b3–c1) could also lead to important questions about philein, and indeed, the argument is preceded by the statement that “the one who is not philˆon [liking] is not philos” (215b2–3). Once again, however, questions about liking are not asked. The dialogue consistently focuses on the question of what the friend is and does not subject statements about liking and related affective states to examination. The distinction observed in the dialogue between the experience of philein, which is not examined, but assumed to be understood by speakers of Greek, and the search for the philos that leads to aporia, can help us to understand the ending of the dialogue.39 In the final sentence, Socrates says: “As they go away, these people will say that we think we are friends of one another – and I count myself among you – but that we have not yet been able to discover what the friend is” (223b5–8). “These people” (o¯de) are the bystanders referred to in 223a6 (o¬ periestätev), who have been listening to the whole conversation. These people, who include the boys (pa±dav: 206e4) and youths (nean©skoiv: 207a1) who approach Socrates along with Menexenus and Lysis (206e3–207b7), are said to arrive at conclusions both negative (“that . . . we have not yet been able to discover what the friend is”) and positive (“that we think we are friends of one another”). The final sentence of the dialogue, then, distinguishes between beliefs about being friends and lack of knowledge about what the friend is.40 If people think that they themselves are friends, or if they are thought to be friends, this is likely to be because they are thought to philein: to have friendly emotions that lead them to act in friendly ways. Socrates’ statement that he counts himself among the boys implies that he, like the boys, philei (likes), but does not know what the friend is.

38 39

40

The attempt by Hyland 1968: 36–8 to draw conclusions from this passage about Plato’s use of these terms is rightly criticized by Cummins 1981: 12–13. Westermayer 1875: 102–3 calls the ending a farce and compares it to a satyr play. Most modern scholars have less negative views, arguing, for example, that a positive outcome of the dialogue is friendship among Socrates and his interlocutors (Narcy 1997: 212–14 and 2000: 184–6; G. A. Scott 2000: 80); that Socrates competes with parental authority in forming friendly relationships with the boys (Bolotin 1979: 65–7 and 197–9; Gonzalez 1995b and 2000; Tessitore 1990: 126–7), or that the reference to the “bystanders” points toward a larger community that will continue the discussion (Nichols 2009: 191). On this distinction see Narcy 1997: 211 and 2000: 182. Narcy, however, makes a common mistake in mistranslating the sentence: “Socrate dit: nous croyons eˆtre amis” (1997: 211). Bolotin correctly notes: “Socrates does not say, in regard to himself, that he even supposes he is the boys’ friend; he merely claims that the others will say so as they go away” (1979: 199).

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Attention to this distinction between the philos that is the subject of investigation and philein, that is not examined, can help Socrates’ interlocutors, and Plato’s readers, to understand that an analysis of the nature of philein could help toward resolving the aporia about what the philos is. The questions, noted above in this section, that are not asked about philein could all help to do this. For example, examination of whether Lysis’ parents like him only because he is useful could help to answer questions about whether the philon must be useful. The importance of examining philein is particularly evident near the end of the dialogue. The passage at 221b7–e4, just before the final aporia, contains unexamined ideas about philein and related terms referring to affection that vitiate the arguments that desire (epithumia) is the cause of friendship, and that erˆos, philia and desire are for the kindred (oikeion). These views are presented as those held by Socrates’ interlocutors, who respond affirmatively to his questions. (1) Socrates asks: “Is it possible for someone desiring [epithumein] and loving not to like [philein] that which he desires and loves?” Menexenus replies: “It does not seem so to me” (221b7–8).

In answering in this way, Menexenus assumes that there is a close, but unspecified and unexamined, relationship among desiring (epithumein), loving and liking. According to Terry Penner and Christopher Rowe, epithumein is “virtually interchangeable” with philein,41 and they speculate that epithumia (desire) is the genus of which philia and erˆos are species.42 This view, however, is not supported by the text, in which no attempt is made to examine the nature of liking, loving and desiring, either separately or in relation to one another. (2) Socrates then asks: “Is it the case, as we were saying just now, that desire [epithumia] is a [or “the”] cause of philia, and the one desiring [epithumein] is philon of that which it desires . . . ?” “It’s likely,” replies Menexenus (221d2–6).

Menexenus assents too readily, however, because the nature of epithumein has not been investigated. It might be argued, following Penner and Rowe’s interpretation of assertion (1), that philein is interchangeable with epithumein and can be substituted for it at 221d2–4. However, this substitution would imply that the statement: “The one desiring is philon” is 41

42

See Penner and Rowe 2005 (110, 113 n.37, 115 n.44, 249 nn. 34–5, 269, quotation: 249 n.34), who do not distinguish between the nominal and verbal forms of these terms. Others who argue that there is little or no difference among the terms for affection include Dorion 2004: 294 n.174 and Renaud 2002: 189 n.23. Penner and Rowe 2005: 190 and 249 n.35.

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equivalent to the statement: “The one that philei is the philon,” which was said to be false at 213a4 (OÉk Šra ¾ filän f©lov), and which will be rejected again at 222e3–4. (3) Socrates next asks two questions: “That which desires desires what it lacks, doesn’t it?” and: “Is that which has a lack, then, philon to that which it lacks?” (221d7–e2).

In answering both questions in the affirmative, Menexenus commits himself to the view that if something desires, it has a lack, and if something has a lack it is philon to that which it lacks. The idea that desire is for what one lacks is supported by Socrates’ own assertions about this matter earlier in the dialogue (see below 2.3.2). However, the same problems about the relationship between desire and the philon arise for this view as for (2). (4) Socrates then states the conclusion that follows from Menexenus’ previous affirmations: “Then, as it seems, erˆos and philia and epithumia are for the oikeion [kindred], as it appears.” Menexenus and Lysis agree (221e3–4).

Not only does this conclusion introduce a new and unexamined term, “the kindred,” it also does not follow in any obvious way from the other steps in the argument.43 Socrates’ repeated use of qualifying terms (“as it seems,” “as it appears”) suggests that he views it as problematic. Among the problems, we may infer, is the failure to examine the nature of eran, philein and epithumein before drawing conclusions about the objects of these feelings. Unexamined views about friendly feelings, then, help to create serious problems for the arguments that desire is a (or “the”) cause of philia, and that erˆos, philia and epithumia are for the kindred. These problems provide further reasons for taking as genuine the final aporia (222e1–7), in which “the kindred” is listed among the things that have turned out not to be the philos. 2.2.3 To like wisdom (philo-sophein) In addition to providing clues about how to make progress in resolving the aporia about what the philos is, attention to the distinction between the 43

I agree with Rowe 2000 that: “the argument Socrates uses is not only poor but appalling” (211) and that “[t]here are no grounds for Socrates’ implicit claim that the position arrived at in 216d–221d amounts to, or implies, that it is what is akin that is philon” (212). However, Penner and Rowe 2005: 153–60, defend the argument. The defense of Rudebusch 2004 appeals unconvincingly to an “unstated premise” (72).

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usage of philein and that of philos helps us to understand how the erotic art, skill in liking and loving, includes recognition of one’s own lack of wisdom about the philos. The Lysis and Plato’s other dialogues support the view that philein arises in us prior to, and is a necessary condition for, seeking wisdom about its object: the philos (neuter: philon). Young children are capable of pleasure and liking, pain and hatred, before they are able to reason.44 This is why, in the Laws, the earliest education is said to train the emotions by means of music and dance, leading children to love and hate correctly. It thereby prepares them to form true opinions when they are older (653a8) about which objects are lovable or hateful.45 Because philein arises naturally in all humans and is something that we all experience from earliest childhood, we easily understand ordinary language referring to it, and it does not tend to give rise to questions about what it is to philein. However, philein does lead us, after we become able to reason, to ask questions about the objects we like and believe to be good, especially when we do not think we possess these objects (see Lys. 217e4–218c2), or fear that we might lose them. When we like something good that we believe we lack, we naturally want to learn everything we can about it and to find out how to keep or acquire it. In this way, the experience of philein leads us to desire wisdom about the object we like, the philos (the “friend,” or the “dear”). That is, philein leads us, especially when we are guided by someone who has erotic skill, to philosophize, literally, to like wisdom: philo-sophein.46 This process, once started, builds on itself. As will be seen shortly, the aporia to which the search for wisdom about the philon naturally leads increases our doubts about whether we possess or will continue to possess the object we desire. This in turn increases our liking and desire for the philos, and our liking for wisdom about what it is and how to acquire it. More generally, philosophein leads us to desire and seek wisdom about other objects, including philein. Philein is also closely related to philosophein in another way. An important aspect of Socrates’ marvelous skill in helping others to love and search for wisdom involves his extraordinary ability to create friendly relations among fellow searchers. The search for wisdom is a cooperative endeavor, a “shared search” that proceeds by means of question and answer (dialectic). 44

45 46

Lys. 212e7–213a3 states that young children like and hate. According to Laws 2.653b2–4: “pleasure and philia and pain and hatred could come to be in a correct way in souls that are not yet able to receive reason.” Laws 2.653a5–654c4; cf. Resp. 3.401d4–402a4. On musical education in the Laws see Chapter 6 at 6.4. On the interconnections between philosophein and loving or liking see further Chapter 3 at 3.3.3 with n.125.

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Friendly, non-competitive cooperation with others is necessary for dialectic to take place, and the activity of searching for the wisdom one lacks creates and increases reciprocal friendliness among fellow searchers.47 In the Alcibiades I, the shared search for wisdom in the form of self-knowledge and self-care creates or reinforces mutual erˆos between two searchers, and erˆos for the object of their search. In the Lysis, in which interpersonal erˆos is not represented as necessary to the common search, a similar idea is expressed in terms of philein rather than erˆos: the shared search for wisdom about the philos helps to create and reinforce liking for fellow searchers and for wisdom. In all of these ways, then, philein is conducive to philosophein which, in turn, requires and is conducive to philein. The interconnections are well stated by Ludovic Dugas, although I disagree with his characterization of what Socrates does as “instructing” or “communicating wisdom”: “Philosophical instruction is based upon friendship; moreover, it takes the form of friendship. To teach is to like [or ‘love’: aimer]; it is to like wisdom; it is to like those to whom one communicates wisdom . . . Finally friendship . . . itself becomes one of the objects of this instruction.”48 These relationships between the experience of philein and philosophein are not explicitly discussed within the Lysis. Instead, they are enacted within it. The subject of the inquiry, “What is the philos?” is particularly well suited to create a liking for wisdom in Socrates’ young interlocutors, who have a deep personal interest in this topic, concerning which they lack wisdom. Hippothales is in love with Lysis but does not know how to induce the boy to become friendly in return. Lysis and Menexenus claim to be friends (206d4–5, 207c8–9), but in the course of answering Socrates’ questions they reveal that they sometimes disagree (207c2–4), and they learn that they do not really know what the friend is. Lysis, moreover, agrees that he is much liked by his parents (207d6), but Socrates’ questioning suggests that they also have good reasons for not liking him (210c5–d1). In having a passionate interest in love and friendship, and doubts about acquiring or keeping the objects they like or love, these young men resemble Socrates himself, who is in love with acquiring friends, but who claims that he does not even know 47

48

Dialectic, in contrast to eristic (“contentious”) argument, is frequently said to require friendly, non-competitive cooperation among the participants; for example: Meno 75c8–d7, Prt. 337b1–3, Tht. 146a5–8 and 167e3–168b2, Grg. 486e6–487b7, 499c2–4 and 500b5–c1, where Socrates invokes Zeus of Friendship. On the “shared search” see Gill 1996: esp. 283–96 and 2002: esp. 149–53. Good analyses of the close connection between friendship and dialectic are also provided by Dugas 1976: 21–74; Fraisse 1974: 151–67; Halliwell 1995: 91–4; Wolff 1997. On this idea in the Lysis in particular see Gonzalez 1995b and 2000; Narcy 1997: 207–18; Tessitore 1990. Dugas 1976: 50 and 60.

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how people become friends (211e2–3, 212a4–6).49 These characteristics of Socrates’ interlocutors make them especially receptive to discussions about what the philos is. Socrates increases their interest when he states that he has desired to possess a friend “from boyhood” (211d7–8), thus establishing a connection between himself and his young interlocutors.50 The topic of discussion, moreover, is one that naturally leads to aporia and philosophein. As Socrates states, the concept of friendship presents considerable difficulties (213e4), and people disagree radically about it.51 For example, some poets and those who write about nature think that similar is friend to similar (213e5–214b5), while Hesiod and others hold that opposite is friend to opposite (215c4–216a1). In the course of his conversations with the young men, Socrates makes use of these and other conceptual difficulties, and of linguistic ambiguities, not because he wants to take advantage of his young interlocutors, as some scholars claim, but in order to induce in them a fruitful philosophical aporia.52 His motives are indicated by the fact that he participates fully in the search, sharing in the “dizziness,” “drunkenness” and aporia (216c5, 222c2, 222e6–7) of the young men.53 Socrates explicitly reveals his goal at the end of the dialogue. After summarizing the impasse to which the search for what the friend is has led, and concluding that he doesn’t have anything more to say, Socrates remarks that he has said these things in order to stir up (kine±n: 223a2) one of the older people, that is Hippothales, or one of the bystanders (222e1–223a6).54 The progression from philein (or eran) to philosophein is enacted by Socrates and each of his interlocutors. Hippothales’ unrequited love leads him to seek Socrates’ advice (206b9–c3). Socrates, for his part, is philetairos (211e8), someone who has friendly feelings for acquiring good friends. His 49

50 51 52 53

54

The friendly relationships represented by the characters in the dialogue are discussed by Bashor 1968: 273; Brumbaugh 1962: 41–5; Friedl¨ander 1964: 92–104; Gadamer 1980; Hoerber 1945–1946 and 1959; Morris 1986; Robinson and Hermann no date, “Lysis 1. Arguments and Theses 1. 203a–207b”; Westermayer 1875: 20–5. I owe this suggestion to David Konstan, in correspondence. Gonzalez 1995b: 70, correctly notes that “the aporia is rooted in the very nature of friendship.” Among those who claim that Socrates makes use of eristic arguments are Bordt 1998: 148–9; Friedl¨ander 1964: 95; Gadamer 1980: 9; Guthrie 1975: 147; Tejera 1990; Teloh 1986: 74–5. Note the frequent use of first person plural verbs in passages where Socrates discusses difficulties in the arguments: e.g., crhsÛmeqa (213c5), fžsomen (213c8), –zhtoÓmen (213d2), –skopoÓmen (213e2), kinduneÅomen (218c8), –ntetucžkamen (218d3), meqÅomen (222c2), crhsa©meqa (222e1), –gen»meqa (223b8). On e«liggiä (“I am dizzy”: 216c5) see Bordt 1998: 186–7, who notes that this verb and cognates are used in other dialogues to refer to an intellectually dizzying situation from which there seems to be no way out. Bordt cites Grg. 486b1 and 527a2, Prt. 339e2, Letter 7.325e3 and Laws 892e7. Cf. Resp. 329e1 (called to my attention by Sandra Peterson) where Socrates “stirs up” Kephalos in order to get him to say more, and Aristophanes Clouds 477, where the Clouds tell Socrates to stir up (diak©nei) Strepsiades’ mind.

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passionate desire (–piqume±: 211e1; ›cw . . . –rwtikäv: 211e2–3) to acquire good friends, combined with his belief that he does not have them and does not know how to acquire them, leads him to search, together with his interlocutors, for the wisdom he does not have. He does this by questioning Menexenus, who claims to have a friend (207c8–9, 212a6–7), about how one person becomes the friend of another (212a4–7). Although Menexenus is characterized as eristic (“contentious”: 211b8–9), he does not respond angrily when Socrates raises objections to his statements, but readily admits that he has reached an impasse (oÉ p†nu eÉporä: 213c9). Socrates’ questioning of Menexenus then leads his companion, Lysis, who had been paying keen attention (213d4–5), to burst out with a statement (213d2) that reveals, according to Socrates, his philosophia (213d7). Lysis’ friendly feelings for wisdom are apparent throughout the dialogue, from the beginning, when Socrates’ questioning leads him to desire the wisdom that will help him to acquire friends (210a9–d8), to the end, where his silence (222a4) indicates that he is reflecting about the argument.55 Socrates’ interactions with his interlocutors also dramatize how philosophein requires and increases friendliness toward other people. Socrates acts in a friendly, non-competitive way toward his interlocutors, thereby producing friendly feelings in them. In demonstrating to Hippothales how the lover can cause the beloved to become friendly, Socrates engages in dialectic with Lysis. His treatment of the boy is a process of beneficial humbling (210e2–4) that produces in Lysis a recognition that he lacks knowledge. It also helps to create in him a desire to gain the knowledge that he lacks, for he agrees with Socrates that he needs a teacher (210d4–8). As a result, Lysis comes to like Socrates, whom he addresses in a friendly way (philikˆos: 211a3), and the boy has increased friendly feelings toward Menexenus, whom he wants Socrates to punish in conversation, just as Lysis himself has been punished (211a2–c9). The dialogue ends with a suggestion that Hippothales, if he is a genuine lover, will be liked by his beloved, Lysis (222a6–7). That is, we may infer, if Hippothales is able to acquire Socrates’ skill in dialectic, he, like Socrates, will also be able to create friendliness in Lysis.56 The interconnections, discussed above, between philein and philosophein indicate that interpersonal friendship is based, in part, on a mutual desire for the good. In this respect, the Lysis resembles the Alcibiades I, where the mutual erˆos of Socrates and Alcibiades is based, in part, on their 55 56

Cf. Seech 1979: 12. There is no indication that Lysis is reflecting about his own relationship with Hippothales, as is held by Bolotin 1979: 185 and Gonzalez 1995b: 84–5. On Hippothales, see further below 2.3.3 and 2.4.1.

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mutual desire for “the greatest power,” and the Phaedrus, in which the lover loves a particular beloved because both partners followed the same god in another existence (see Chapter 5). It is important to note, however, that the Lysis, unlike the other two dialogues, contains no explicit statement of this principle. The reader, and Socrates’ audience within the dialogue, are instead shown, by means of Socrates’ demonstration, that a mutual striving to attain the good in the form of wisdom about what the philos is requires, and helps to increase, a mutual liking or loving in the interlocutors. Many studies of the Lysis provide important insights into this principle. For example, Terry Penner and Christopher Rowe argue: “The picture we see of the truest form of erˆos in the Phaedrus is of a friendship between lover and beloved that is based upon a joint seeking of wisdom . . . That is exactly what we . . . find in the Lysis.”57 Michael Bordt makes a similar claim when he writes: “The deeper a friendship is the better it seems the two friends can help each other to realise the Good in living a good life. The better and closer one knows ones [sic] friend who is aiming at the Good, the better one gets to know the Good oneself.”58 Many scholars, however, including Penner and Rowe and Bordt, attempt to find theoretical underpinning for this view of friendship in the Lysis by appealing to Socrates’ statements about the first friend or about the kindred. In doing so, they err both in reading more into the text than it contains, and in explaining away the explicit final aporia. Penner and Rowe argue that “the only thing we love in itself is the ‘first friend.’” “Nevertheless,” they write: “Why would that stop it being the case that one . . . may love a person . . . in given circumstances: namely, those in which that person and his happiness are a really best means to the ‘first friend’?”59 The “first friend,” according to Penner and Rowe, can be identified with wisdom or knowledge, with happiness, and with “the Form of the Good.”60 Their arguments for these views are long and intricate and I cannot address them in detail.61 These identifications, however, and many of their other conclusions, go beyond what is explicitly stated in the text, as they are the first to admit. In interpreting the passage at 221c5–d6 as an argument that desire for the good is the cause of friendship, they state: “All of this, or much of it, we are left to work out for ourselves. And this is quite characteristic of the Lysis as a whole.”62 In addition to 57 58 61 62

Penner and Rowe 2005: 312. See also Dorion 2004: 208–11 and 295 n.179; Gonzalez 2000 and 2003. 59 Penner and Rowe 2005: 257 (emphasis in original). 60 Ibid. 211. Bordt 2000: 170. Dancy 2006 provides some excellent arguments against identifying the first friend with the Form of the Good, or goodness with knowledge. Penner and Rowe 2005: 155.

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asking readers to work out for themselves things that are not in the text, Penner and Rowe require them to ignore what is explicitly stated: that none of the suggestions about what the philos is have been found satisfactory (222e1–7). Similar objections apply to Michael Bordt’s attempt to construct a theoretical account of friendship based on inferences about the first friend and the kindred. In summarizing Plato’s “model of friendship” in the Lysis, Bordt states that (1) two people, a and b, are friends, or love one another, because they both love F, and (2) a and b can only be friends if F is the Good, which is kindred to both of them, and if a and b love F as their individual first friend.63 In arguing for this theory, Bordt claims that the final refutation of a thesis about what the friend is, at 222b3–e7, takes place only on the level of the dialogue, and not on the level of facts. Plato doesn’t really believe that the good cannot be friends: he believes that friends can be good when they both desire the same goal, the good, which is also the first friend and the kindred. According to Bordt, Plato does not give an argument for this view but instead indicates what form a solution must have.64 This kind of interpretation is, as George Rudebusch puts it, not exegesis but eisegesis.65 The text simply does not tell us what the first friend is, and it explicitly denies that the kindred is the friend (222e5). 2.3 socrates’ daimonic art Aporia in the Lysis, then, is not only genuine, but philosophically important. By producing or increasing the recognition that one lacks a good thing, aporia also produces or increases philein, the liking for something good that is a necessary condition for wisdom-liking (philosophein). When he induces in others an aporia that he himself shares, Socrates employs component (5) of his erotic art, which is represented in this dialogue as skill in both loving and passionate liking (above 2.1). The Lysis also provides important information about Socrates’ daimonic, or erotic, art by means of a number of explicit claims that he makes. This section examines in detail these claims and the ways in which each is linked to one or more of the five components of his erotic art or skill. 63

64 65

Bordt 2000: 158, summarizing the thesis of his 1998 commentary. Other scholars who identify the oikeion with the good in some way include Bolotin 1979: 188–95; Dorion 2004: 216–20; Gonzalez 2000: 393–5; Kahn 1996: 266 and 289–91; Taylor 1956: 72–3. Bordt 1998: 231: “Platon . . . deutet an, wie eine L¨osung auszusehen hat, aber bringt kein Argument daf¨ur.” Rudebusch 2002: 180.

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2.3.1 “I am inferior and useless” In a number of passages, Socrates denies that he has wisdom, thus claiming to have component (2) of the erotic art. He says: “I am inferior and useless in other matters” (that is, matters other than the ability to recognize lover and beloved: 204b8–c2). He also claims that he is so far from having a good friend that he does not even know how one person becomes the friend of another (212a4–6).66 Socrates also disclaims wisdom when he places himself (“we”) in the category of those who are in a state between the good and the bad (220d5–6). Finally, Socrates concludes his search by admitting that he has arrived at aporia, stating that if none of the candidates considered is the philos, then he has nothing more to say (222e6–7). 2.3.2 “I am in love with acquiring friends” At 211d6–212a7, Socrates says that from boyhood he has desired (–piqumän: 211d7, –piqume± 211e1) the possession of friends just as others desire to have horses, dogs, gold, honor, quails or roosters. Socrates claims to be very erotic (›cw . . . p†nu –rwtikäv) with respect to the acquisition of friends (211e2–3) and he says that he is philetairos (a companion-liker) to such an extent that he would rather have a good friend than anything else. Nevertheless, he says, he is far from possessing a friend (212a4–5).67 These statements provide important information about components (1), (2) and (3) of Socrates’ erotic art. Socrates’ statement (1) that the object of his desire is to have a good friend (211e3) helps to support the view that, according to Socrates, desire is for the good.68 He says (2) that he does not have the good thing that he desires, and that he does not have wisdom about how to acquire it (212a4–6). This statement supports the view, explicitly stated at 221d7–e1, that in the Lysis, as in the Symposium, desire is for what one lacks. Statements (1) and (2), 66

67

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The objection of Tejera 1990: 183 (cf. Dorion 2004: 273–4 n.84) that Socrates’ statement that he does not have a friend cannot be taken seriously because his company is sought by young people and he is friendly to Lysis, does not distinguish between Socrates’ liking and being liked (philein) and his lack of the philos, the object that he likes. However, Jenks 2005: 69–70 points out that Socrates’ claim to have no friends might be false, since he also denies that he knows what a friend is. Contrast Xen. Mem. 1.6.14, where Socrates says: “Just as another man takes pleasure in a good horse, or a dog, or a bird, so I take pleasure even more in good friends.” Bandini and Dorion 2003: 163 n.314 correctly note that Xenophon’s Socrates says that he takes pleasure in having friends, while Plato’s Socrates states that he would take pleasure in having them. Rowe 2004: 270 n. 12 states that the Lysis “contains the most extended treatment of the theory [that all humans desire the good] to be found anywhere in the dialogues,” a view that is defended in detail in Penner and Rowe 2005. See also Chapter 1 n.9.

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then, are claims that Socrates has component (2) of the erotic art, for he recognizes his own lack of good things, and component (3), because he passionately desires to obtain these good things. The idea that Socrates desires the good that he recognizes he lacks is further supported by his statements about those who like wisdom (philosophize). He asserts: “We would say that those who are already wise [sophoi] no longer like wisdom [philo-sophein], whether they are gods or humans” (218a2–4). These people do not desire wisdom, for they already possess this good thing. Nor, says Socrates, “does anyone philosophize who is bad and lacking in understanding” (218a5–6). Those who philosophize are instead those “thinking that they do not know what they in fact do not know” (218b1). Only these people, those who are neither good nor bad (218b2), believe that they lack a good thing and so desire to obtain it. This characterization of people who philosophize is never questioned in the Lysis.69 Moreover, it is remarkably similar to the characterization of Eros as a daimˆon and philosopher in the Symposium.70 In claiming to be erotic with respect to acquiring the good friend he desires more than anything else, Socrates also claims to have component (1) of the erotic art, devotion to the good things that are the objects of loving and liking (ta erˆotika). Moreover, his statement that he has had this desire “from boyhood” (–k paid»v: 211d7), just as other people desire other things, suggests that the desire is a part of his nature. It might, then, be the gift of a god, like his ability to recognize the one who loves and the one who is loved (204c1–2), or like his erotic skill in the Phaedrus (257a7–8).71 If this is the case, Socrates’ passionate desire is evidence that he is under the patronage of Eros. Furthermore, if he has had this desire from boyhood on, and if desire is for what one realizes that one lacks, from this same period, then, he must also have had the belief that he lacks a good friend. If the desire is a part of his nature and the gift of his patron god, the same may also be true of the belief that he lacks this good thing. Thus, whether or not Eros is his patron, Socrates is by nature a companion-liker, and he is erotic with respect to acquiring a good friend, just as Eros in the Symposium is 69

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Immediately after this passage Socrates says that he fears he has spoken falsely (218c4–d4). What he finds wrong in his previous statements, however, is not the characterization of those who philosophize, but the idea that in every case (pantacoÓ) the neither bad nor good is philon of the good because of the presence of the bad (218b8–c2). There may in fact be another cause of liking and being liked (221c5–d2). Symp. 203e4–b5. Compare especially Symp. 204a1–2: qeän oÉdeªv filosofe± oÉdì –piqume± sof¼v gen”sqai – ›stin g†r – oÉdì e­ tiv Šllov sof»v, oÉ filosofe± and Lys. 218a2–4: fa±men ‹n kaª toÆv ¢dh sofoÆv mhk”ti filosofe±n, e­te qeoª e­te Šnqrwpo© e«sin oÕtoi. Cf. Phdr. 278d3–6. These three passages are discussed by Burkert 1960: 165–6. See further below 2.3.3.

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a lover and a philosopher by nature (fuse±: 203c3; cf. 203e3, 204b7) and by birth (g”nesiv: 204b6). Although Socrates is not called a philosopher in the Lysis, he in fact resembles Eros the philosopher in the Symposium in that he readily admits his own ignorance (Lys. 212a4–6; cf. 204b8–c2) and engages in a passionate search for the good things he believes he lacks.72 The Socrates of the Lysis, then, is daimonic, like Eros. The connection between Socrates’ being a companion-liker and his being a philosopher helps us to understand his use of the two phil-compounds: philetairos and philosophein. Walter Burkert has shown that phil- compounds often indicate intimacy with something that is present: the philoptolemos is someone who enjoys fighting real battles, not someone who longs for battle without finding it, and the philippos possesses a horse.73 In the same way, philetairos usually refers to someone who likes the companions he already has. Socrates, however, cannot be using the term in this usual sense, for he denies that he has any companion.74 The phil- prefix in this word, then, is best interpreted as verbal (“companion-liking”) rather than nominal (“friend of a companion”).75 Similarly, philosophein in the Lysis does not mean “to be a friend of wisdom” that one already has, but “to like wisdom” that one does not have, and to be philosophos is to be wisdom-liking with respect to what one lacks, not a friend of the wisdom one possesses.76 This interpretation of the meaning of the term philosophos in the Lysis allows us to give a positive answer to the question Socrates asks Menexenus at 212d5–e5: Can people be philosophoi (wisdom-likers) if wisdom does not like them in return? The relationship between people and the objects they like need not be reciprocal. That Socrates in fact desires, as he claims, to acquire the good friend he believes he lacks is shown by his friendly, non-competitive speeches and actions. Indeed, the search for wisdom about the good friend requires him to be friendly toward others who are able to reciprocate his friendly actions and to participate in the search for wisdom.77 At the beginning of 72 74 76

77

73 Burkert 1960: 172–3. Cf. Dorion 2004: 199. 75 On these compounds see above 2.2.1. Cf. Bolotin 1979: 56 n.34. “Philosophos” originally referred to someone who was devoted to and possessed knowledge in a broad sense (Burkert 1960: 173–4; Chroust 1947: 23–5; Nightingale 1995: 14–15 and 2004: 29–30). In Plato, it sometimes has a narrower sense, being used, in contrast to sophos, to refer to someone who desires but does not have the kind of knowledge that only a god can possess (Burkert 1960: 165–6, citing Lys. 218a, Symp. 203d, Phdr. 278d; against whom Gottschalk 1980: 27–9 argues unconvincingly that this contrast does not play a major role in Plato’s dialogues). On the origin and history of the term “philosophos” see also Chroust 1964; Granger 2004: esp. 246–55; Guthrie 1962: 164–6; Jaeger 1948: 432–3; Joly 1956; Morrison 1958. These characteristics of Socrates’ interlocutors are discussed below 2.4. On Socrates’ need for friendly relations with others see Dugas 1976: 50–74, and above 2.2.3.

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the dialogue, Hippothales invites Socrates to enter the wrestling school, saying that it is worth his while (Šxion). When Socrates questions him, Hippothales replies that many beautiful young men engage there in discussions in which they would be glad to have Socrates participate. Socrates replies: “You are doing a fine thing” (203b3–204a4). He thus represents himself as friendly toward beautiful young men who engage in conversation. Socrates develops a more specific friendly interest in a particular beautiful young man and particular conversations after he questions Hippothales and learns that Hippothales is in love with a noble boy (204b1–e10). He shows this interest by continuing to question Hippothales. When Socrates says that Hippothales is “laughable” (205d5; cf. 206a1), the young man, unlike so many of Socrates’ interlocutors, does not become angry with Socrates, but instead asks him to explain: “What’s the fact of the matter?” (t¼ d• päv ›cei: 205d10). After this friendly response, Socrates tells Hippothales, whom he addresses as “friend” (or “dear”: å f©le: 206a1), that in praising Lysis before he has “captured” him, Hippothales is treating Lysis in a way in which someone who is wise (sophos) in ta erˆotika would not treat the boy (206a1–4).78 When Hippothales continues to accept this and other criticism without becoming angry, Socrates gives further proof of his friendliness toward the young man by agreeing to give a demonstration of how a lover should talk to a beloved (206a5–c7). Thus, Socrates’ interactions with Hippothales demonstrate the beginning and further growth of friendly relations between Socrates and the young man. Socrates also addresses Lysis and Menexenus in a friendly way. Toward the end of his first conversation with Lysis, during which the boy shows himself to be cooperative and willing to learn, Socrates says, echoing Hippothales’ words to Socrates, “Here’s how it is, dear Lysis” (oÌtwv Šra ›cei . . . å f©le LÅsi: 210a9; cf. “companion” at 214d4 and 216a1). Socrates also addresses Menexenus as “dear companion” (å f©le —ra±re: 213b3), in the course of a conversation in which the young man is cooperative and admits having arrived at aporia (213c9), and as “dear” at 217d7, after Menexenus says that he does not understand (217d1). Significantly, however, Socrates does not represent himself as having one kind of erotic experience: love for a particular individual. Aristotle defines erˆos as excessive philia for one person (NE 1171a11–12; cf. 78

I agree with Halliwell 1995: 91 that å f©le is “a marker of [Socrates’] tendency to show amity towards, and to foster intellectual closeness with, his partners in argument.” In contrast, Dickey 1996: 109–19, argues that this and other friendship terms in Plato indicate the dominance of the speaker rather than being complimentary to the addressee.

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1158a11–13), a definition that could be applied to the Lysis.79 Socrates says that lovers like very much (212b8–c1), and the fact that he assumes that lovers usually love only one individual at the same time is apparent from the opening exchange between Socrates and Hippothales. When Hippothales tells Socrates that there are very many beautiful young men in the wrestling school (203b8), Socrates asks him who the beautiful one is (t©v ¾ kal»v), and further explains that he wants to know who seems beautiful to Hippothales (204b1–4). Socrates thus indicates that he assumes that one person is a particular object of interest to Hippothales. In the Lysis, however, Socrates himself never shows this kind of interest in a particular individual. In not having erˆos for one person, the Socrates of the Lysis differs importantly from the Socrates of the Alcibiades I, who repeatedly calls attention to his love for Alcibiades.80 The Socrates of the Lysis expresses only reciprocal friendliness toward other people, and neither the unreciprocated erˆos that Hippothales has for Lysis, nor the reciprocal erˆos that Socrates comes to share with Alcibiades (Alc. I 135e1–3).81 In the Lysis, Socrates expresses Socratic erˆos only for what he also likes: he is in love (›cw . . . –rwtikäv) with respect to the acquisition of a good friend, and he is a companion-liker (philetairos: 211e2–8). His erˆos for acquiring a good friend, however, resembles the erˆos of Aristotle’s definition in being excessive philia for one object. Socrates is philetairos to such an extent that he would rather acquire a good friend than anything else. His exclusive erˆos for this object leaves no room for any other love, although it is conducive to liking other people and wisdom. 2.3.3 “This has been given to me by god” At the same time that he disclaims wisdom, Socrates also claims to have a special, god-given, ability. He tells Hippothales: “I know (o²da) that you are not only in love, but that you are already far gone in love. I am inferior and useless in other respects, but this has somehow been given me by god: to be able to recognize (gnänai) quickly the one loving and the one loved” (204b7–c2).82 The dialogue also suggests that, in recognizing 79 80 81 82

Similar ideas are expressed at Laws 837a6–9, and Symp. 179c1–2, cited by Renaud 2002: 189 n.23. For example, at 103a1–2, 104e8, 119c5, 131e10, 135e1. On reciprocal and non-reciprocal relationships in the Lysis see Gonzalez 2003: 23; Justin 2005; Kahn 1996: 264–5; Konstan 2000: 157–61. Planeaux 2001: 62 and Tejera 1990: 175 both find this claim uncharacteristic of the Platonic Socrates. It is, however, consistent not only with Socrates’ claim in Phdr. 257a7–8 to have erˆotikˆe technˆe given him by Eros, but also with his claim in Symp. to have knowledge (–p©stasqai) of nothing else except ta erˆotika (177d7–8), and to have an inferior kind of wisdom (sophia) in other respects (175e2–4; cf. Symp. 193e4–5, 198d1–2).

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those who love, Socrates is able to recognize at least one category of those who like, for he asserts that lovers (erastai) are “people who like as much as possible” (filoÓntev . . . Þv o³»n te m†lista: 212b8–c1). The fact that Socrates claims to be able to gain knowledge about lover and beloved quickly and by means of a gift of god indicates that he does not do so by means of human reasoning and a lengthy process of questioning like that in which he engages with Lysis and Menexenus.83 Socrates’ ability to recognize lovers and beloveds, then, differs significantly from his skill in demonstrating how one should speak to a beloved (206c5–7). Socrates’ statement that god has given him his ability to recognize lovers and beloveds deserves to be taken seriously.84 In mentioning “god,” Socrates claims that his identification of lover and beloved is correct, even though he cannot give an account of it. That is, Socrates claims to have true beliefs, backed up by divine authority, about lovers and beloveds, even though he does not claim to have knowledge in the sense of being able to give an account.85 In the Lysis, Socrates does not identify a particular god who has given him this skill. In the Phaedrus, however, Socrates addresses Eros as the god who gave him erotic skill (257a3–8) and the reader of the Lysis might well think of Eros also. Moreover, as noted above (2.3.2), Socrates’ god-given ability might be connected with the love and liking he has had since boyhood for acquiring a good friend (211d7–8). That is, it may be part of his nature, assumed to be given him by a god, to like and love, and to recognize others who do so also. In any case, Socrates’ unique, god-given ability is, like his passionate desire to acquire a good friend, evidence of his special devotion to erotic matters (component (1)). Moreover, this godgiven ability contributes to his marvelous skill in seeking wisdom about the friend (component (4)) and in helping others to do so also (component (5)), for it allows him to identify those who are able to acquire his own skill.86 In sum, Socrates’ claim to have this god-given ability is evidence of his own daimonic qualities, and of his daimonic, erotic skill. Toward the end of the dialogue, Socrates makes another statement that is relevant to an understanding of his ability to recognize lover and beloved. 83

84 85

86

Cf. Bordt 1998: 123, on 204c1, who notes that just because Socrates has a divine gift does not mean that he can give an account of it. On Socrates’ ability in Tht. to recognize individuals without being able to give an account see Roochnik 2002: esp. 41–3. It is not merely ironic, as Penner and Rowe claim (2005: 4–5 n.7). The idea that wisdom comes from god is traditional: Hadot 2002: 18–19. Cf. McPherran 2005: 16–17, who writes that the daimonion is a source of “non-expert moral knowledge (or justified belief );” cf. 20 n.26 and 1996: 199. I am indebted to Gale Justin for helping me to understand that Socrates’ claim to have god-given abilities implies a claim to have true beliefs. Cf. Tht. 151a3–5, where Socrates says that his daimonion allows him to associate only with those people who are able to make progress by means of this association.

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He says that it is necessary for a genuine lover, someone who is not merely pretending, to be liked by his beloved ( A ì nagka±on Šra t gnhs© –rast¦‚ kaª mŸ prospoižt file±sqai Ëp¼ tän paidikän: 222a6–7). Scholars have long debated how to interpret this statement, and, in particular, the meaning of “the genuine lover.” According to Paul Friedl¨ander, the genuine lover is someone who is kindred to his beloved.87 However, the premise that the friend is what is kindred or belongs to one (oikeion: 221d6– 222b2) is questioned at 222b3–d8 and rejected in the summary at 222e3–7 (mžte o¬ o«ke±oi . . . f©lon –st©n). Another interpretation holds that the genuine lover, like the lover in Socrates’ second speech in the Phaedrus, is simply someone who really loves and does not merely pretend to love, and that someone who is the genuine lover of a particular beloved really loves that individual.88 One problem for this view is that it distinguishes between the genuine and the pretending lover solely on the basis of feelings.89 If this were the case, however, Hippothales would already be liked by Lysis, and would have no need to ask Socrates’ advice. As I interpret the phrase, a genuine lover must not only love, but also have the erotic skill that enables him to become liked by his beloved. This view is consistent with Socrates’ claim to be able to give a demonstration of how someone who is wise (sophos) in ta erˆotika converses with a beloved so as to become liked by him (206a1–c7, 210e2–5). Thus, when Socrates says that he knows, on the basis of his god-given ability, that Hippothales is very much in love (204b5–c2), he recognizes Hippothales as someone who loves, and who has the ability to become a genuine lover by acquiring erotic skill. Socrates claims to be able to recognize not only the lover, but also the beloved (gnänai –ränta te kaª –rÛmenon: 204c2). This statement has been taken to mean that Socrates is able to discover the identity of a particular beloved.90 However, Socrates is not represented as finding out that Lysis is Hippothales’ beloved by means of his god-given ability, but because Ktesippos tells him so. After Ktesippos first mentions Lysis (204d1), Socrates replies that he does not recognize (oÉk ›gnwn: 204e2) the name. It might be argued that Socrates says he is able to recognize the beloved merely because a lover necessarily has a beloved. Against this view, however, is the fact that the Socrates of the Lysis has an intense interest in the beloved, first wanting to learn who seems beautiful to Hippothales (204b1–4), and 87 88 89

Friedl¨ander 1964: 100–1. A more complex relationship is proposed by Bordt 1998: 224–5 and 2000: 158, on which see above, end of 2.2.3. Robinson and Hermann no date, on 222a6–b2, write: “The noble lover, i.e. the one who does not pretend but is genuinely attracted to his beloved, will inevitably himself be loved by his beloved.” 90 Bolotin 1979: 72. Noted by Bordt 1998: 224–5.

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then who Lysis is and how Hippothales treats him (204e7–205b3). Socrates’ claim is best interpreted as indicating that he has the ability to recognize a beloved who has lovable qualities, including the ability to learn to like a genuine lover. Socrates’ readiness to demonstrate to Hippothales how to treat a beloved suggests that he thinks Lysis is an appropriate object for this young man, whom he recognizes as someone who has the potential to become a genuine lover. That is, just as Socrates claims in the Theaetetus that “the god” or the daimonion (Tht. 150c7–8, d4–5, d8–e1; 151a4, d1, d5) helps him in midwifery and match-making (Tht. 150b6–151d6), so in the Lysis, Socrates claims to have the god-given ability to recognize which beloved is a worthy object for a genuine lover and to have true beliefs about this matter.91 2.3.4 “This is how one should converse with one’s beloved” In addition to his god-given ability, Socrates also explicitly claims to have another, more human, kind of skill.92 He asks Hippothales to demonstrate (–p©deixai) what he, Hippothales, says to Lysis, “so that I might know if you understand (¯na e«dä e« –p©stasai) what a lover should say about the beloved, to him and to others” (204e10–205a2). After learning what Hippothales says to Lysis, Socrates makes a claim about how a wise person treats a beloved: “Whoever is wise [sophos] in ta erˆotika, friend, does not praise the beloved until he captures him.” Someone who praises a beloved, Socrates continues, fills him with pride and makes him harder to capture (206a1–7). Hippothales next asks Socrates to advise him about what the lover should say or do to the beloved so as to become liked by him (206c1–3). Socrates replies that this is not easy to tell (e«pe±n), but that he might be able to demonstrate (–pide±xai) how a lover should converse (dial”gesqai) with a beloved (206c4–7). After giving his demonstration, by questioning Lysis, Socrates as narrator says that he was about to tell Hippothales: “This is how one should converse with one’s beloved” (oÌtw crž . . . to±v paidiko±v dial”gesqai: 210e2–3). He did not speak because he remembered that Hippothales, who had been listening without being seen, did not want to call attention to his presence (210e1–211a1). In these passages, then, Socrates, claims to have practical knowledge about how a lover should converse with a beloved so as to create friendliness in him, and he claims to be able to demonstrate this practical knowledge to others. The dialogue provides specific details about Socrates’ skill in 91

On recognizing the beloved see further below 2.4.2.

92

Cf. Bolotin 1979: 74.

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treating a beloved. First, it includes skill in conversing and questioning. This idea is brought out by the association in this dialogue of the terms eran (to love) and erˆotan (to question). Socrates knows that Hippothales loves (–rv: 204b6, 7; ›rwtov: 204b8), and Hippothales reveals his love by blushing when he is questioned (–rwthqe©v: 204b5; –rwtÛmenov: 204d7– 8) by Socrates.93 Second, being able to create friendliness in someone is not the same as knowing how to acquire a friend, for Socrates denies that he has this latter kind of knowledge (212a4–6). Third, Socrates’ skill in creating friendliness differs significantly from his ability to recognize lover and beloved. He is able to recognize lover and beloved quickly, by means of a divine gift and without the use of reason. His demonstration of how to converse with a beloved, on the other hand, involves lengthy questioning of Lysis and reasoning about a specific issue. Fourth, Socrates claims that his questioning humbles and restrains Lysis instead of puffing him up and pampering him (210e3–5), and it is characterized by Lysis himself as punishment (211c3). Fifth, Socrates’ claim to have this kind of skill is shown to be justified. The fact that Lysis addresses Socrates (211a3) in a friendly way (filikäv) and in the fashion of a child or a boyfriend (paidikäv means both94 ) shows that Socrates has succeeded in making him friendly by means of his questioning that is a kind of beneficial punishment. Punishment, then, can actually produce friendliness instead of the hatred it sometimes produces in young children (212e7–213a3).95 In demonstrating how to produce friendliness in a beloved, then, Socrates also demonstrates how to benefit the beloved. Finally, Socrates’ success with Lysis, with whom he is not in love, shows that skill in creating friendliness in a beloved is the same skill that creates friendliness in someone who is not a beloved. 93

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The pun in the Lysis was drawn to my attention by Sandra Peterson. Cognates of eran and erˆotan also occur at the beginning of Socrates’ conversation with Menexenus: –rwtv (211d5), ›rwmai (211d7), –rwtikäv (211e3). That Socrates plays on these words in Symp. 177d8–9 and 199b8–e6 is noted by Reeve 1992: 92–3, who also calls attention to the explicit word play in Cra. 398c5–e5, where the word ¤rwv (herˆos) is said to be derived either from ›rwtov (“love”), because heroes were born from the love of gods and mortals, or from –rwtn (“to question”) because they were “wise [sophoi] and clever rhetors and dialecticians, being able to question [–rwtn]” (398d1–7). Cf. Reeve 2006a: 135 and 2006b: 294–5, who writes (294): “Socrates knows about the art of love in that – but just insofar as – he knows how to ask questions.” Roochnik 1987: 127–8 notes (127): “Philosophical discourse . . . is forever the love, and not the possession, of wisdom . . . [It is] fundamentally interrogative” (emphasis in original). The pun on eran and erˆotan also occurs at Alc. I 106b10 (on which see Chapter 1 at 1.2 and n.18); Chrm. 155d1, e2; Prm. 137a4 with c2; Euthphr. 14c4–5 (where the MSS vary between forms of the two verbs.) Bordt’s translation (1998) captures the double meaning: “ganz wie ein Liebling und ein Freund.” Renaud 2002: 198 writes that Lysis is one of the few interlocutors who is genuinely thankful for the humbling given him by Socrates. G. A. Scott 2000: 70 also notes that Lysis reacts positively to this “humbling that borders on humiliation.”

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Skill in conversing with a beloved is demonstrable and, unlike Socrates’ ability to recognize lover and beloved, it depends on the use of reason. It is not, however, craft-knowledge, for Socrates does not claim to “have a complete understanding of the relevant field,” or to be able to teach, or to give an account of his field and his skill. In fact, Socrates says that it is not easy to tell (e«pe±n), that is, teach or explain to, Hippothales how to speak to his beloved, but that he can perhaps give a demonstration (206c4–7).96 Socrates’ demonstration shows that his knowledge (–p©stasai: 205a1) and wisdom (sophos: 206a1) about how to treat a beloved is practical wisdom about how to create friendliness by benefitting someone in a particular way. It is skill in questioning an interlocutor so as to induce a recognition of lack of wisdom, together with a desire to obtain this good thing. That is, Socrates’ skill induces philosophein.97 His wisdom about how to treat a beloved, then, is component (5) of the erotic art: skill in helping others to acquire this same art. Even though Socrates believes that he is inferior and useless in other respects (204b8–c1), he demonstrates that he is justified in claiming that he himself has this skill, and that he is able to demonstrate it to others. Through dialectic, Socrates also expresses friendliness toward others and creates reciprocal friendliness in them. He is useful and therefore likable (210d1–3) in so far as he has erotic skill. However, Socrates’ success in producing friendliness in others, for wisdom and for other people, depends on their having certain characteristics. Socrates’ god-given ability to recognize lover and beloved includes, I argue in 2.4, the ability to recognize these characteristics. 2.4 socrates and his interlocutors 2.4.1 Hippothales: the lover When Socrates says that it is necessary for the lover who is genuine and not merely pretending to be liked by his beloved (222a6–7), Hippothales’ reaction – he turns all kinds of colors because of pleasure (222b2) – suggests that he takes himself to be this genuine lover. Most scholars, however, agree that Hippothales is not the kind of “genuine lover” Socrates has in mind, but instead an inferior lover, fundamentally selfish or misguided, or a 96 97

I follow the criteria for craft-knowledge given by Annas 2001: 244. On Socrates’ technˆe see Introduction at I.3 and nn.33–7. Cf. Rudebusch 2006: esp. 197, who argues that Socrates is portrayed in Lys. as trying to convert his interlocutors to philosophy by bringing them to a state of awareness of their lack of wisdom, and Reeve 2006a: esp. 134.

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pretending lover.98 Socrates’ criticism of Hippothales’ treatment of his beloved (205d5–206b8) might appear to support this view. If Hippothales is not the genuine lover, however, why does Socrates help him, by giving his demonstration, to become liked by his beloved? Is Socrates merely an unscrupulous pander? Is he himself the genuine lover who is pleading his own cause?99 Or is he simply mistaken about Hippothales? I argued above (2.3.3) that Socrates’ phrase, “the genuine lover,” refers to someone who not only loves, but has also acquired the erotic skill that enables him to become liked by his beloved This skill includes the ability to converse with this beloved in the way in which Socrates converses with Lysis.100 That is, the genuine lover knows how to engage in dialectic in a common search for wisdom, a search for which friendly feelings are necessary, and which in turn increases these feelings (see above 2.2.3). My interpretation provides support for the view that Socrates aids Hippothales because his god-given ability leads him to recognize that the young man has the potential to acquire the erotic art, and thus to become a genuine lover. His demonstration is also an initiation into this art. There are a number of indications that Hippothales is represented as someone who has the potential to become a genuine lover, and that he begins, in the course of the dialogue, to acquire erotic skill. That he has at least the potential to become devoted to ta erˆotika (component (1) of the erotic art) is suggested by the statements that he is “far gone in love” (204b7–8), to the point of being mad (205a7–8), with a beautiful beloved, about whom he is always speaking, composing poems and even singing (204c5–d7). The young man’s ordinary erˆos for someone with a beautiful body is not in itself a sign that his motive is merely pleasure, for in Greek thought, physical beauty is closely associated with beauty of soul.101 Moreover, Socrates’ exclamation at 204e9–10 (“how noble . . . in every way is this love you have found”) indicates that Lysis has beauty of soul as well as physical beauty, and suggests that Hippothales loves the boy 98

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Such views are held by Bolotin 1979: 76–8; Bordt (who holds that Hippothales is really in love, but that emotion is not the criterion for a genuine lover) 1998: 224–5 and 2000: 159–60; Dorion 2004: 161; Gonzalez 1995b: 85–6 and 2003: 23–36; Hoerber 1959: 19–22; Nightingale 1993: 116; Penner and Rowe 2005: 168–9; G. A. Scott 2000: 72; Teloh 1986: 72 and 80–1; Tindale 1984: 104–5. One of the few to argue that Hippothales is the genuine lover is Kuiper 1909: 98 and 106. Gonzalez 1995b: 85 writes: “While pretending to advance Hippothales’ cause, Socrates has been seducing Lysis for himself.” On Socrates as the genuine lover see also Friedl¨ander 1964: 100 and 315 n.12; Gonzalez 2003: 23–36; Penner and Rowe 2005: 169–70 and 191; Teloh 1986: 72–81; Tindale 1984: 104. 101 On the connection see Nehamas 2007b: esp. 106–7. Cf. Justin 2005: 81–2.

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for both reasons.102 Moreover, there is no indication in this dialogue that Hippothales’ motive is sexual pleasure.103 His request to Socrates (206c2–3) indicates that he simply wants to be liked by Lysis. Hippothales also shows the intense liking for speech (logoi) which is a first step toward becoming skilled in searching for wisdom (component (4)) by means of dialectic. At the beginning of the dialogue, Hippothales accosts Socrates and asks him to enter a wrestling school Hippothales himself frequents, in which there are many beautiful young men whose chief occupation is speech (logoi: 204a2–3), and where the teacher (did†skei: 204a4) is Mikkos, an admirer of Socrates (203a5–204a5).104 In saying that he spends time in this school (203b7), Hippothales shows that he shares Socrates’ liking not only for beauty, but also for speech. He is, however, misguided in having learned about speech from Mikkos. Hippothales says that this Mikkos is a companion and praiser of Socrates (204a5), but Socrates himself casts doubt on both characterizations. When he calls Mikkos an “able sophist” (204a6–7) and characterizes himself as “inferior and useless” in everything except ta erˆotika (204b8–c2), Socrates suggests that the kind of “wisdom” (sophia) Mikkos would be likely to praise is very different from the erotic skill Socrates himself possesses.105 Either Hippothales has misunderstood Mikkos, or Mikkos is himself wrong about Socrates. Moreover, when Socrates later denies that he has a friend (212a4– 6), he in effect denies that Mikkos is his companion. The opening of the dialogue, then, represents Hippothales as very much interested in speech, but as having learned about it from the wrong kind of teacher. His speeches (katalog†dhn: 204d3) and poems about Lysis are also, as Socrates will soon point out, indications of his lack of wisdom. Hippothales, however, demonstrates that he is capable of learning, with Socrates’ help, to recognize his errors about both speech and love. In so doing, he shows that he has acquired component (2) of the erotic art. When Socrates asks who is beautiful to him (204b1–4), Hippothales reveals his love by blushing (204b5, c3, d8) and confesses that Lysis is his object (205a4–5). Hippothales’ blush not only reveals that he really is in love, it also indicates that he is modest and, at least in the presence of Socrates, subject to shame.106 His shame, like that of Alcibiades, makes him more 102 103 104 105 106

Justin 2005: 81–2 perceptively notes that Hippothales apparently loves Lysis for his good character traits as well as for his physical beauty. As Wolfsdorf claims (2008: 70–1). Contra: Ludwig 2002: 228–9. Nothing certain is known about this Mikkos as an historical figure: Nails 2002: 206. Cf. Symp. 175e2–6, where Socrates contrasts Agathon’s bright wisdom with his own “inferior and doubtful” kind of wisdom. Noted by Hoerber 1945–1946: 272; cf. Bolotin 1979: 72–5.

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ready to recognize his lack of wisdom. Socrates next questions Hippothales to learn whether he knows how a lover should speak (legein: 205a2) to his beloved, asking the young man about the ideas expressed in the poems and speeches he makes to Lysis (204e10–205b3). Because of modesty and shame, Hippothales does not respond himself, but refers Socrates to Ktesippos.107 According to Ktesippos, Hippothales praises Lysis for his ancestors, among whom were wealthy men who won victories in athletic contests and played host to their relative, Heracles (205b4–d4). According to Ktesippos, Hippothales’ songs and words are “ridiculous” (katag”lasta: 205b7, c2). Socrates then proceeds to show that Hippothales is as laughable as his poems. He addresses the young man as “ridiculous Hippothales” (205d5), and by questioning leads Hippothales to agree that when he praises his beloved before capturing him, he shows himself not to be wise (sophos) in ta erˆotika, but to be an inferior hunter of his beloved (206a1–11). In response to Socrates’ questioning, Hippothales further agrees that he is uneducated (“unmusical”: 206b2–3), makes himself obnoxious to everyone (206b5–6) and harms himself (206b6–8). However, instead of taking offense at what could be construed as public humiliation, Hippothales immediately agrees that what he has been doing is very unreasonable (pollŸ . . . ˆlog©a) and says that for this reason (di‡ taÓta) he wants to ask Socrates’ advice about how to speak with and act toward his beloved (206b9–c3). This last statement clearly reveals that Hippothales has come to recognize that he lacks wisdom, in addition to lacking his beautiful beloved (component (2) of the erotic art). It also indicates that he passionately desires to acquire these good things (component (3)). His erˆos for Lysis and for speech led him to question (erˆotan) Socrates. When he asks Socrates for advice, Hippothales also takes a first step toward becoming skilled in searching for wisdom together with others (components (4) and (5)). It is noteworthy that he now asks Socrates how he might converse (dialegomenos: 206c2) with Lysis, rather than how he might make speeches (logoi) to the boy. He is now interested in a kind of speech different from the logoi associated with Mikkos. In asking for Socrates’ advice, Hippothales also indicates that he is willing to admit that his way of courting – by praising the beloved’s ancestors as the epinician poets do – is inferior to Socrates’ philosophical method.108 107 108

Shame: Bolotin 1979: 75. Hippothales’ positive response to Socrates’ criticisms is not usually noticed. Scholars argue that this scene reveals that Hippothales has selfish motives (Bolotin 1979: 78); that his love is really self-love, and that he is unwilling or unable to enter into a dialogue with Socrates (Bordt 1998: 116–20); that he is a “fundamentally selfish” character, whom Plato uses to criticize the traditional

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Another indication of Hippothales’ desire to acquire the wisdom he recognizes that he lacks, and to become skilled in searching for it, is his silent presence throughout Socrates’ lengthy questioning of Lysis and Menexenus. Before he consulted Socrates, Hippothales never stopped speaking. According to Ktesippos, Hippothales tortures and deafens his hearers by speaking so often about his beloved (204c5–d1, 205b5). After Socrates asks him about his love, however, Hippothales does not speak, but blushes (204b5, c3, d8), and he lets Ktesippos do almost all of the talking about Hippothales’ love.109 Hippothales’ longest speech (206c8–d6) merely gives information about how Socrates can enter into conversation with Lysis. After this, Hippothales is silent. His extremely attentive presence, however, is referred to on three significant occasions. After Lysis joins Socrates’ group, Hippothales stands behind the rest of the bystanders, where he thinks he won’t be seen by the boy. Socrates comments: “Standing thus, he listened” (207b4–7). Socrates calls attention to Hippothales’ silent presence for a second time after Lysis, in response to Socrates’ questioning, admits that he is without sense and needs a teacher (210d4–8). As narrator, Socrates remarks that he almost made a mistake when he looked at Hippothales and was about to say that this is the way to treat a beloved, humbling and restraining him and not, as Hippothales does, pampering and puffing him up. However, Socrates says that he checked himself and did not speak, for he saw that Hippothales was in agony and disturbed, and he remembered that Hippothales did not want to be noticed by Lysis (210e1–211a1). Why is Hippothales distressed? There is no indication that he reacts in this way because he is jealous of Socrates.110 Nor is he distressed because he is afraid that Socrates will reveal his presence. Hippothales does not react in response to fears about what Socrates will say or do, but “because of what is being said” (Ëp¼ tän legom”nwn: 210e6), that is, Socrates’ conversation with Lysis. Hippothales is disturbed on Lysis’ account because of the lesson Socrates has just given the boy, a humbling that Lysis himself refers to as “punishment” (211c3).111 Hippothales’ distress gives evidence of his emotional involvement with

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concept of erˆos (Gonzalez 2003: 24); and that Hippothales’ treatment of Lysis, in contrast to that of Socrates, corrupts the boy (Nightingale 1993: 116 and 1995: 107–10). Vann 2006 provides a rare positive interpretation of Hippothales’ response, as well as an excellent analysis of the parallels between Socrates and Hippothales. Hippothales says that Ktesippos will speak for him at 205b4–5, and Ktesippos does so at 204c3–d8 and 205b6–d4. Hippothales’ remark at 205a3 indicates that Ktesippos is also the speaker at 204e3–6 and e8. As suggested by Bordt 1998: 132–3. G. A. Scott 2000: 58 and 197 n.17 suggests that Socrates comes at least close to committing hybris in his treatment of Lysis.

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Lysis, just as his blushing indicates the strength of his love. The fact that he does not stop Socrates, in spite of his anguish, shows the intensity of his desire to acquire wisdom about erotic matters. At the end of the dialogue, Socrates calls attention to Hippothales’ silent presence for the third time. After Socrates says that the genuine lover must necessarily be liked by his beloved (222a6–7), Hippothales turns “all kinds of colors because of pleasure” (222b2). Hippothales blushes, just as he did at the beginning of the dialogue when Socrates asked him whom he considered beautiful (204b4–5). Now, however, he blushes for a very different reason. The young man is pleased because he correctly understands that in order to become liked by his beloved he must first acquire Socrates’ erotic skill, which includes the ability to engage in dialectic in a common search for wisdom. After listening to Socrates’ demonstration and the ensuing conversations, Hippothales believes that he will be able to become a genuine lover, because he has made progress in acquiring erotic skill.112 In the course of the dialogue, he goes from blushing in shame, to distress and agony at Socrates’ humbling of his beloved, and finally to blushing with pleasure. These silent indications of emotion are evidence of his intellectual progress, and correspond to important stages in it. Hippothales is not mentioned by name again after his last blush, but it is possible to see an allusion to him in Socrates’ remark after his summary of the difficulties of the argument: “Saying these things, I had it in mind finally to stir up someone of the older people” (223a1–2). It is likely that Socrates includes Hippothales among these older people. If the conversation had not been interrupted, Socrates suggests, Hippothales would at last have taken an active part in the philosophical discussion, conversing with both Socrates and Lysis. In so doing, Hippothales would have continued to make progress in acquiring the erotic art. 2.4.2 Lysis: the beloved I argued above (2.3.3) that when Socrates says he is able to recognize the beloved (204c1–2) he does not merely claim to be able to recognize the identity of someone’s particular beloved. Nor does he include the beloved in his statement merely because a lover necessarily has a beloved. Socrates is instead claiming that he can recognize a beloved who has qualities that make him lovable for his own sake, including the ability to learn to like a genuine lover, with whom he shares a mutual desire for the good. 112

Renaud 2002: 191 correctly notes that Socrates examines and guides both Lysis and Hippothales.

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This interpretation is supported by Socrates’ reaction when he learns that Lysis is Hippothales’ object. After hearing the boy’s name mentioned (204d1), Socrates conjectures that Lysis is young, because he does not recognize his name (204e1–2). Ktesippos then tells Socrates that Lysis is the oldest son of a very well-known father, Democrates, and that Socrates cannot be ignorant of the boy’s beautiful form (204e3–8). More information about Lysis’ relatives is given shortly afterwards, when Ktesippos reveals that they are famed in the whole city for having achieved victories in athletic contests and for hospitality to their kinsman, Heracles (205c2– d3).113 Socrates confirms that he thinks Lysis is not only beautiful, but also noble, in appearance (sÛmatov . . . genna©ou: 209a1–2). Socrates also indicates that he believes Lysis to be noble in other respects when he remarks that the boy appears to be “beautiful and good” (kal»v te kˆgaq»v: 207a3). Moreover, after Ktesippos explains who Lysis is, Socrates exclaims: “O Hippothales, what a love you have found, noble [or “true born”] and vigorous [genna±on kaª neanik»n] in every way!” (204e9–10). The term neanik»v (“vigorous” or “spirited”: 204e9) is used, significantly, in the Republic to refer to people who have the superior natural qualities that can be trained either for great good or great evil.114 Since Socrates does not know Lysis, he presumably calls him “vigorous” because he believes that the boy is likely to have inherited superior natural qualities from his father. Socrates, then, calls Lysis a “noble and vigorous” love-object because he is young and beautiful, and is the noble or true-born oldest son of a family well known for its achievements and noble ancestry.115 These qualities make Lysis a worthy object of affection for his own sake, both to the parents who like him very much (sf»dra file±: 207d6), and to a lover.116 In being noble or true-born (genna©ov), Lysis is a proper love-object for a genuine, or legitimate (gnžsiov: 222a6) lover.117

113 114

115 116

117

The historical evidence about Lysis’ family is collected by Nails 2002: 195–7. In Resp. 491e2–6 Socrates says that great injustices do not come from an inferior nature, but from one that is “vigorous” (neanikv fÅsewv), but has been corrupted by education. This vigorous nature is the philosophical one (492a1). Cf. Resp. 503c2–7, where Socrates states that those who are both intellectually superior and “vigorous” (neaniko©) do not usually want to live in an orderly, quiet and stable way. On the application of this idea to Alcibiades in Alc. I see Chapter 1 at 1.3. Cf. Chrm. 154e1–3, where Socrates remarks that it would be fitting for Charmides to have a soul that is good by nature (eÔ pefukäv), since he comes from the house of Kritias. Westermayer 1875: 34 notes that Lysis is characterized in this dialogue as an especially lovable boy. This characterization tells against the interpretation of Penner and Rowe 2005: 151–2, 167, 251–60 that love for individuals is purely instrumental. A non-instrumentalist view of friendship is defended by Dorion 2004: 208. Seech 1979: 11 n.1 notes that gnžsiov can mean “legitimate” as well as “genuine.”

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In being beautiful and from a noble family Lysis resembles Alcibiades in the Alcibiades I.118 This comparison can help us to understand why Lysis’ natural and social superiorities make him an interesting object not only to lovers but also to Socrates. Plato’s contemporary readers might also make the connection between Lysis and Alcibiades because Democrates, Lysis’ father, was Alcibiades’ lover.119 Moreover, the term used to characterize Lysis, neanik»v (“vigorous,” or “spirited”: 204e9), is also used to characterize the family of Alcibiades (neanikwt†tou: Alc. I 104a6). As discussed in Chapter 1, Alcibiades’ advantages give him a very high opinion of himself (megalofr»nwn . . . Ëperblhqeªv t fronžmati), and he rejects all lovers, thinking that he has no need of anyone for anything (103b4–104a2). To correct this arrogance, Socrates gives Alcibiades a beneficial humbling, one that also leads the young man to love him in return (135e1–3). Unlike Alcibiades, Lysis has not yet become arrogant. Indeed, as Hugh Benson points out, Lysis is the only interlocutor in Plato’s early dialogues who does not claim to have wisdom and who is not reputed to be wise by others.120 However, Lysis’ natural and social superiorities put him at risk of becoming arrogant. For one thing, they subject him to flattery, which, as Socrates says, puffs up and pampers a beloved (210e4–5). Because of all his advantages, Alcibiades is given to boasting (megalaucoÅmenov: Alc. I 104c2), and Socrates warns Hippothales that praise fills the beloved with arrogance and boasting (fronžmatov . . . kaª magalauc©av: Lys. 206a4). Just as Socrates corrects Alcibiades, so he counteracts the flattery Lysis receives from Hippothales and others by showing him that he has no reason to have a high opinion of himself (m”ga frone±n: 210d5; megal»frwn: d7) and that he needs a teacher (210d6). He thus helps Lysis to become more aware of his own lack of wisdom (component (2) of the erotic art).121 This treatment will not only benefit Lysis by humbling him, it will also make him, like Alcibiades, more able to return affection. As Socrates later states, no one likes something if he does not need it (215a7–b2). In the course of this dialogue, Lysis, like Alcibiades, shows that he is able to submit to and learn from the humbling process, and thus become able to like the person who benefits him in this way.122 Lysis is able to do so because he, like Alcibiades, already has a desire to improve, in addition to 118 119 120 121 122

See especially Alc. I 104a6–b6. On Socrates’ similar treatment of the two young men cf. O’Connor 1999. Plut. Alc. 3, cited by Nails 2002, s.v. Democrates I. Benson, 2000: 28; cf. Dorion 2004: 182 and 270 n.65. Dorion 2004: 270 n.67 notes that Socrates’ treatment has the effect of preserving Lysis’ moderation. Cf. Renaud 2002: 197 and Versenyi 1975: 197–8.

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an excellent nature (physis). He, like Alcibiades, is lovable in part because he has this desire. Alcibiades has erˆos for the greatest power, although he at first mistakenly believes that this power is tyranny. His ordinary erˆos, however, helps Alcibiades to acquire Socratic erˆos (component (3) of the erotic art), once he understands, aided by Socrates’ erotic skill, that the greatest power is in fact conferred by wisdom in the form of self-knowledge.123 Similarly, Lysis has an intense liking, but is at first mistaken about the object he likes. Before Socrates meets Lysis, Hippothales states that the boy has an exceptionally strong liking for listening (filžkoov . . . diafer»ntwv: 206c10), that he is, literally, “a liker of listening.” The same term is used in the Republic of people who run about to every Dionysian festival but have no interest in philosophical conversations (5.475d1–e1). In the Lysis passage also, the term suggests that Lysis is indiscriminate in what he likes listening to, just as Hippothales at first likes the wrong kind of speeches (logoi). Just as he helps Alcibiades understand the true object of his love, so Socrates helps Lysis to recognize that what he really likes listening to is not just any kind of speech, but the philosophical conversation that can help him to acquire wisdom. Socrates begins by noting Lysis’ liking for speeches, when he says that the boy wants to approach when he sees that Socrates and Ktesippos are conversing (dieleg»meqa: 207a3–6). He then says that Lysis is perplexed (“at an impasse”:  p»rei) and reluctant to approach (207a6–7), referring to the boy’s praiseworthy reserve, and also using a verb, cognate with aporia, that has connotations of fruitful philosophical impasse.124 When Socrates converses with Lysis, the boy is responsive to his questioning, readily admitting that he does not yet have sense (210d4–8), and becoming friendly to Socrates as a result of this questioning (211a3). Lysis’ responsiveness leads Socrates to address Lysis as phile (“friend” or “dear”: 210a9) toward the end of their first conversation. Finally, Lysis is able to become an active seeker of wisdom in the conversations he likes listening to. After the boy breaks into Socrates’ conversation with Menexenus (213d1–3), Socrates says that he is pleased by Lysis’ philosophia, his liking for wisdom (¡sqeªv t¦‚ filosof©: 213d7). He thus indicates that the boy has come to understand, by listening to Socrates’ conversations, that the true object of his liking is wisdom. Lysis, then, acquires components (2) and (3) of Socrates’ erotic art by recognizing that he has a passionate liking for the wisdom he recognizes that he lacks. In the process, he becomes friendly toward Socrates, who helps him to arrive at this understanding. 123

See Chapter 1 at 1.2, stage vi.

124

Reserve: cf. Dorion 2004: 264 n.34.

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Lysis’ friendliness and his progress in acquiring the erotic art are also evident in his relationship with Menexenus. Lysis is “very much a companion” (m†lista —ta±rov) to the young man (206d4), and he demonstrates this by following and sitting beside Menexenus (207a6–b3). Lysis also shows that he likes his companion when he asks Socrates to give Menexenus the same “punishment” he himself has just received from Socrates (211a2–c3). Lysis does not want Socrates to punish his companion because he is resentful of the treatment he himself has received from Socrates, but because he likes Menexenus.125 Lysis has just told Socrates that his mother, who likes him very much, would beat him if he touched her weaving (208d7–e2), and Socrates will go on to say that young children are most of all liked (philtata) by their parents when these parents punish them (212e7–213a3). Socrates’ punishment of Lysis, then, is like that of a father, who expresses his friendship by correcting and improving his child.126 Lysis wants Menexenus, who is eristic (contentious: 211b8–9), to receive the same beneficial punishment.127 Moreover, when Lysis asks Socrates to use dialectic to correct Menexenus’ eristic tendencies (211c7–8), he shows that he is beginning to acquire Socrates’ own erotic skill in searching for wisdom (component (4)), and that he has the desire to help others acquire this skill also (component (5)). Socrates indicates that the boy has already acquired some of this skill when he tells Lysis that Lysis has paid such close attention to his own conversation with Socrates that the young man is now able to question others (211a6–b5). In being able to question, Lysis has become lovable not only for his own sake, but also because he can be instrumental in helping others to acquire this good. Lysis, then, resembles Alcibiades in the Alcibiades I in being able to help others. Lysis, however, has begun to acquire erotic skill more quickly and with less resistance, and Socrates expresses no fears about his future. Socrates, then, correctly identifies Lysis as a beloved, someone who is lovable for his own sake, and who has the ability to learn to like a genuine lover, a person who not only loves, but who has also acquired the erotic art. Lysis has the potential to like Hippothales, provided that this lover 125

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Bolotin 1979: 105–6 argues unconvincingly that Lysis responds to his humiliation by loving Socrates and by turning his resentment for his humiliating treatment against Menexenus, whom he wants Socrates to punish. Cf. Fraisse 1974: 151–2, who notes that the Lysis contains an example of Socratic friendship, in which the wiser person makes the less wise aware of his imperfections by means of a certain humiliation. Socrates is also said to act like a father or older brother in Ap. 31b3–5 and Symp. 219c6–d2. Menexenus is a cousin of the Ktesippos (206d3–4) who imitates eristic techniques in Euthydemus (303e7–8). Gonzalez 2003: 20–2, interprets Lysis’ request that Socrates punish Menexenus as part of the competition for wisdom and virtue in which the philosopher engages Lysis and Menexenus. I would characterize the activity Socrates encourages as a shared search rather than competition.

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acquires Socrates’ art. In the course of the dialogue, Lysis and Hippothales have made progress in establishing the basis for a new kind of relationship (sunous©an: 223b3), in which a beloved is “captured” (™lh‚: 206a2), not by listening to ridiculous words of praise, but by participating in philosophical conversations in which lover and beloved search together for wisdom. In emphasizing the aporia at which they have arrived, Socrates encourages them to do just this. 2.5 conclusion The Lysis represents Socrates as sharing the dizzying puzzlement of his young interlocutors, as he examines and finds objections to many statements about what the friend (philos) is. It also represents him, however, as someone who has skill in loving (eran) and liking, and who recognizes his own deficiencies. Socrates uses his skill to show his young interlocutors how a lover can question his beloved so as to lead this beloved to become aware of his own lack of wisdom and to reciprocate friendliness, so that lover and beloved may engage in the dialectic that is an expression of liking both for wisdom (philosophein) and for each other. In so doing, he initiates them into the erotic art. These conversations may lead to aporia about a particular subject, but they are worthwhile (Šxion: 203b3) for their own sake, in part because aporia helps to produce a fruitful awareness of one’s own lack of wisdom. The conversations also help to create the reciprocal liking that is necessary to the common search for wisdom. In this dialogue, then, Socrates does not arrive at a definition of philos, but he does raise important questions about who or what the philos is, and he encourages the search for wisdom among people who need not be lover and beloved, but who must be friendly.

part ii

Erˆos and Hybris in the Symposium

Introduction to Part II: the narrators of the Symposium

The Symposium has the extremely complex formal structure of a dramatic dialogue in which narratives are nested within narratives.1 In the introductory framework (172a1–174a2), Apollodorus says that he will comply with the request of some unidentified friends (172a1) to tell them about the speeches made at a symposium in honor of Agathon’s victory with his first tragedy (173a5–6), and an unnamed Companion speaks a few lines (173d4–10, 173e4–6). The rest of the Symposium takes the form of a long narration by Apollodorus. Within his narration is another narration, for Apollodorus, who was not present at Agathon’s symposium, reports what the eyewitness Aristodemus told him. The reader is constantly reminded of this narrative frame by Apollodorus’ use of indirect discourse (“He said that . . . ”: e.g., 174a3).2 Moreover, within Apollodorus’ narration of Aristodemus’ narration are still other narrations, for Apollodorus narrates Aristodemus’ narration of what the symposiasts said, including the speeches some of them made in praise of Eros. Furthermore, two of these speeches themselves narrate speeches made by still others: Socrates narrates what Diotima said, and Alcibiades narrates what Socrates said. Of course, still another narrator – Plato – tells the entire story to the reader. This narrative complexity corresponds to, and helps to produce, an equally complex characterization of Socrates. The multiple narrators portray him as an erastˆes, an erˆomenos, a man who is marvelously skilled concerning ta erˆotika, and as a figure who resembles the daimˆon Eros of Diotima’s speech. Socrates is also represented as both hubristic and virtuous, comic and serious, wise and lacking wisdom. According to Alcibiades, Socrates spends his life “playing,” but is also capable of being deeply serious (216e4–6). Alcibiades’ Socrates has the virtues of moderation (sˆophrosynˆe), courage, wisdom (phronˆesis) and endurance (219d4–7), but is also guilty of 1 2

On the narrative frame see, among many others, Gill 1999: xviii–xix; Halperin 1992; Hunter 2004: 22–4. Indirect discourse: Dover 1980, on 174a3–175e10.

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disdain, mockery, hybris and arrogance (219c3–6; hybris: cf. 215b7, 222a8). In Alcibiades’ narrative, Socrates himself disclaims wisdom (218d6–219a4), just as he does in his initial conversation with Agathon (175e1–4). Agathon, like Alcibiades, thinks that Socrates is wise (sophos: 175c8), but also accuses him of hybris (175c7). Taken together, all of the narrators create a perplexing, composite portrait of the philosopher who is said to play roles – erotic, ethical and dramatic – that are usually thought to be incompatible.3 Like Alcibiades (216c3), many of Plato’s readers have not known what to do with this man. The narratives within the Symposium, then, present readers with puzzles that encourage them to “open up” Plato’s representation of Socrates, just as Alcibiades claims that Socrates himself needs to be “opened up” in order to be understood (216e5–7). Part II of this study does just this. I argue that a focus on Socrates’ daimonic art can help to illuminate the many puzzling, even apparently incompatible, accounts given by the narrators of the Symposium, as well as many other aspects of the dialogue. Indeed, the subject of Plato’s Symposium is not erˆos but Socrates.4 This man is the main concern of Apollodorus and Aristodemus. In the opening passage, Apollodorus tells his unnamed friends, who want to learn about the speeches on love made by Socrates, Alcibiades and others at Agathon’s symposium: “I think that I am not unpracticed [ˆmel”thtov] in the things about which you ask” (172a1–2). We learn shortly afterwards, however, that the business of Apollodorus’ life, for the last three years, has been to become practiced (–pimel”v), not about erˆos, but “in knowing what he [sc. Socrates] says and does” (172c3–6). Moreover, Apollodorus has gotten his information about the symposium from Aristodemus, a man whom he identifies as a “lover” (–rastžv: 173b3), that is, an admirer, of Socrates.5 That Socrates is the main subject of the Symposium is also emphasized by the structure of Aristodemus’ narrative as reported by Apollodorus. It begins as Aristodemus first meets Socrates (“He said that Socrates met him”: 174a3) and then follows him to the symposium, and it ends as Aristodemus again follows the philosopher, as is his custom (223d10), after the party is over. Moreover, of the dialogue’s fifty-one Stephanus pages, Socrates dominates more than thirty. He is the topic of conversation in the introductory 3

4 5

Clay 2000: 143 notes that Socrates was characterized as dimorphos (two-formed) by an anonymous comic writer (citing SSR I.A.17, vol. i: 7). On the ambiguity of Socrates’ persona cf. Blondell 2002: 69–80 and 2006: 177; Blundell 1992: 128–30; Corrigan 1997; Hunter 2004: 9–10; Nehamas 1998: esp. 59–69; Ziolkowski 1999: 30–1. Cf. Bury 1932: lxv. Sheffield 2006a: 8–9 notes that the Symposium itself is a narrative passed on by the lovers of Socrates.

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dialogue (172a1–175e10); he converses with Agathon at 193e3–194e3, and plays an important role in the general discussion reported 176a1–178a5. The entire last section of the Symposium (198a1–223d12) is concerned with Socrates, who refutes Agathon, makes his own speech about Eros, is the subject of Alcibiades’ speech, and is the protagonist in the concluding drama. Not only is Socrates the subject of Plato’s dramatic dialogue, he also dominates the other characters within the drama, defeating Agathon and Aristophanes in debate (223d3–6), and being crowned by Alcibiades as “victor in speech over all people . . . for all time” (213e1–6). More specifically, the Symposium is concerned with Socrates’ practice of the daimonic, erotic art. He is portrayed both by himself and by the other characters in the dialogue as being marvelously skilled in ta erˆotika (deªnov t‡ –rwtik†: 198d1–2; cf. 193e4–5), and claiming to have “knowledge” about these matters (–p©stasqai: 177d7–8). He is also represented as a lover (211d3–8, 213c8–d1, 216d2–3, 218c7, 222b3–4, 222d1–2), as a beloved (173b3, 217c7–8, 222b3–4) and as someone who shares many of the characteristics of Diotima’s Eros.6 He resembles the philosopher-daimˆon Eros in being a lover of wisdom (component (3) of the erotic art), who recognizes his own lack of wisdom (component (2)), who is marvelously skilled in seeking to attain as much wisdom as he can (component (4)) and in helping others to acquire his own erotic art (component (5)). Socrates is also represented as being devoted to Eros and to ta erˆotika (component (1)), and as urging others to become similarly devoted (212b5–8). These characteristics all contribute to Plato’s representation of Socrates in this dialogue as a man who has all five components of the erotic art.7 One aspect of Socrates’ use of his erotic art that is especially emphasized in the Symposium is his profound emotional effect on a variety of other people. In this dialogue, Socrates does not influence others primarily by means of argument. He does not engage in dialectic in response to Agathon’s request to share the “wisdom” he has acquired in solitary thought (175c6–e6), nor in response to Alcibiades’ proposal to exchange wisdom for physical beauty 6

7

For the specific shared characteristics see Chapter 4 at 4.6. Scott and Welton 2008 argue at length that “the nucleus of the Symposium is the association of philosophy, in the person of Socrates, with Erˆos” (13). Gould 1963: 58 refers to Socrates as “the great expert on love.” Others connect Socrates’ knowledge of erˆos with his knowledge of his own ignorance: see, for example, Nightingale 1995: 129 (quoting Lowenstam 1985: 88, and citing Reeve 1992: 93); Roochnik 1987. On Socrates as lover and beloved see Blundell 1992: 123–30 (citing [123 n. 17] Halperin 1986: 68–70 and 1990: 132–3); Edmonds 2000. For Socrates as Eros see Bacon 1959: 424; Brisson 1998: 52–4; Bury 1932: xlii and lx–lxii; Clay 1972: 58 and 1975: 248–9 (with n. 18, citing Maximus of Tyre, Philosophoumena 18. 84b [Hobein], and Ficino, Commentaire sur le Banquet de Platon, ed. Marcel [Paris 1956]: 242); Osborne 1994: 93–101; Robin 2002: ci–cix. On these components, see Introduction at I.1.

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(218c7–219a4), although he offers to consider with Alcibiades in the future what the best thing to do about this matter might be (219a8–b2). What little dialectic the Symposium contains or refers to is usually interrupted, forgotten or not reported.8 When engaged in thinking, Socrates turns inward, paying no attention to Aristodemus (174d4–7), or to his fellow soldiers at Potidaea (220c1–d5), and he does not reveal the subject of his thoughts. Socrates’ questioning of Agathon is interrupted by Phaedrus (194d1–8), and most of his concluding debate with Aristophanes and Agathon is forgotten or missed by Aristodemus, who falls asleep (223c6–d2). The only example of a complete dialectical exchange between Socrates and another symposiast is that with Agathon at 199c3–201c9. There, however, Socrates casts doubt on the conclusions he arrives at by saying that it is not hard to refute Socrates (201c8–9). The philosopher’s own speech, in which he claims to report what Diotima has taught him, is not dialectic but an unexamined account of what the prophetess taught Socrates (201d5) after an elenchus that he does not report, other than to state that it resembled his own elenchus of Agathon (201e6–7). When Socrates says that his speech about Eros aimed to persuade people, he uses wordplay like that of the sophist Gorgias: p”peismai . . . pepeism”nov . . . peirämai . . . pe©qein (212b1–3). This speech is good rhetoric, and it is praised by the rest of the symposiasts. However, the fact that it is not dialectic is emphasized when Aristophanes is prevented from questioning Socrates by the arrival of Alcibiades (212c4–8). Alcibiades, moreover, crowns Socrates as victor in words (213e1–6), but also calls him a liar (214d1–2). Socrates’ words, however, have profound emotional effects on others. According to Alcibiades, all of the symposiasts – Phaedrus, Agathon, Eryximachus, Pausanias, Aristodemus, Aristophanes and Socrates himself – have shared in philosophical madness and Bacchic frenzy (218a7–b4), and Socrates, more than any rhetorician, is responsible for producing this effect on others (215e4–5).9 When we hear Socrates’ words, says Alcibiades, “we are stunned and possessed” (215d5–6). He uses the word –kpeplhgm”noi, whose cognates are used elsewhere in the dialogue to refer to the effects of sexual passion (192b7–c1, 211d5, 216d3). As for Alcibiades, his heart pounds, he weeps, is confused, pained, enslaved and ashamed, to the extent that he thinks life is not worth living in his present condition of self-neglect (215e1–216c2). According to Alcibiades, no matter who hears them, and 8 9

On this point see Plochmann 1972: 330 and 333; Wardy 2002; Warner 1992: 158. Unlike Rowe 1998, on 218b2, I see no reason to doubt that the symposiasts have all been strongly affected by Socrates’ philosophical words. This does not imply, however, that they have become philosophers in the sense that Socrates is a philosopher.

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even if they are reported by someone very inferior, Socrates’ words nevertheless produce the same powerful effects (215d3–6). These effects are due to Socrates’ use of component (5) of the erotic art: his ability to use words to persuade others to recognize their own ignorance and to desire to seek wisdom. Socrates also produces another kind of emotional effect on those who associate with him, many of whom become his “lovers.” Aristodemus, as noted above, is a “lover” of Socrates (173b3), and after Alcibiades’ speech, the symposiasts laugh because Alcibiades seems to them still to be in love with the older man (–rwtikäv ›cein: 222c2–3). Alcibiades confirms that he is in love when he says that Socrates deceives people into thinking that Socrates is a lover, when he is actually a beloved. In addition to himself, Alcibiades names Charmides, Glaucon, Euthydemus, Diocles “and very many others,” and he warns Agathon against suffering the same fate (222a8–b7). The narrative structure of the dialogue is ideally suited to portraying the ways in which the philosopher affects others, for the reader is always aware of seeing Socrates through the eyes of the narrators on whom he has these powerful emotional effects. This structure, however, also contributes to the difficulties of interpretation, for each of the narrators has a different point of view, and none is represented as completely reliable. In particular, and as Apollodorus readily admits, neither Apollodorus nor Aristodemus provides a narrative that is complete, accurate and objective: “All that each person said, Aristodemus did not entirely remember, nor did I remember all that he said. But I will tell you what he remembered best, and what seemed to me most worth remembering in the speech of each person” (178a1–5).10 Apollodorus claims to have verified Aristodemus’ report: “I asked Socrates about some of the things that I heard from him [Aristodemus], and he agreed that it was as he [Aristodemus] said” (173b5–6). This very statement, however, is an admission of bias, for Apollodorus asked Socrates about only some of the things that happened at Agathon’s symposium, and he questioned Socrates only about what Aristodemus said, without attempting to fill in the gaps in this story. Apollodorus apparently did not, for example, ask Socrates about the speeches that occurred between those of Phaedrus and Pausanias, that is, the speeches, given by “some other people,” that Aristodemus “did not entirely remember” (180c1–2), or about Socrates’ final discussion, during most of which Aristodemus was asleep (223b8–d2). In addition to being selective and forgetful, Apollodorus and Aristodemus are also represented as biased due to their individual natures and ways 10

I discuss these two narrators in greater detail in Belfiore 1984.

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of imitating Socrates.11 Apollodorus shows himself to be disdainful and quarrelsome in the introductory section of the dialogue. He tells Glaucon that, before becoming a follower of Socrates, he, Apollodorus, used to be “more wretched than anyone, no less than you are now” (173a2). His low opinion of others is also evident in his statement that he enjoys exceedingly (Ëperfuäv Þv ca©rw) hearing speeches about philosophy, and that when he hears other kinds of speeches, especially those of wealthy moneymakers, he is annoyed (Šcqomai) and feels pity for the speakers (173c2–7). Apollodorus is, paradoxically, very confident that his recognition of his own defects makes him superior to others: “Perhaps you believe that I am unfortunate, and I think that you are right. But I do not just think that you are unfortunate, I know it well” (173d1–3). That Apollodorus uses the elenchus in a combative way is evident in the exchange at 173d4–e4. According to the unnamed Companion, Apollodorus reviles (kakhgore±v) and is harsh to (ˆgria©neiv) himself and all others except Socrates (173d4–10). “My very dear friend,” Apollodorus replies, “is it clear that I am mad and out of my senses to have this opinion about myself and you?” The Companion responds: “It’s not right to quarrel [–r©zein] now about these things, Apollodorus.” Apollodorus appears, then, to be like the young imitators of Socrates mentioned in the Apology, who lack real understanding, but take pleasure in listening to Socrates’ public refutations and in engaging in these activities themselves (23c2–6, cf. Resp. 7.539b1–6).12 Aristodemus is a different kind of imitator of Socrates. He is a “lover” or “fan” (erastˆes), not of wisdom, but of Socrates (173b3–4), and we know from 223d10 that he makes a practice of following Socrates about.13 He even imitates the philosopher in going unshod (173b2, 174a3–4, 220b6). Aristodemus is “small” (173b2), and his low social status corresponds to his physical stature. Aristodemus’ inferior social status is suggested by the fact that he needs to be described in detail (173b1–2), unlike the wellknown figures Agathon and Alcibiades, and by the fact that he does not make a speech and is otherwise ignored by the others.14 That Aristodemus has a low opinion of his own social and intellectual status is apparent 11

12 13 14

The view of Osborne (1994: 86–101) that the two narrators are philosophical guides is refuted by G. A. Scott 2000: 4, 22–3, 180–1 n.7, and Scott and Welton 2008: 28–31. On the two narrators see also Arieti 1991: 96–7, 107–8; Babut 1980; Blondell 2006: 147–52; Blundell 1992: 131; Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan 2004: 8–18; Halperin 1992; Hunter 2004: 24–9; Kofman 2002: 48; Nightingale 1995: 117–18; Penwill 1978: 166–7. On Apollodorus in Plato and in the Socratic literature see Burnet 1911, on Phd. 59a9; Nails 2002: 39–40; de Vries 1935. On lovers as “fans” see Davidson 2007: 24–6. These characteristics of Aristodemus are noted by Rowe 1998, on 173b2–3, and 2001.

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from his statement that, in going to Agathon’s party uninvited, he will be an inferior man going to visit a wise man (faÓlov àn –pª sofoÓ ˆndr¼v: 174c7). Moreover, the fact that he goes to the symposium uninvited (Šklhtov: 174b1, c7, c8) by his host, and is put in the “ridiculous” (gelo±on: 174e2) position of arriving without Socrates, who invited him, would have reminded Plato’s audience of the akletoi, the uninvited hangers-on of inferior social, physical and ethical status, who earned a dinner by providing comic entertainment for the invited guests.15 Instead of imitating Socrates by using the elenchus in a combative way, as Apollodorus does (173e4), Aristodemus yields to Socrates’ authority, telling him, “I’ll do whatever you order” (174b2), and instead of defending himself against the charge of being an uninvited guest, he asks Socrates to do this for him (174c7–d1). In keeping with his humble opinion of himself, Aristodemus, unlike Agathon, Alcibiades and the “very many others” Alcibiades mentions (222a8–b3), never aspires to be an erˆomenos of Socrates, but is represented from the beginning as an erastˆes. Apollodorus and Aristodemus, then, are unreliable narrators, who imitate Socrates’ words and deeds but are not able to acquire the erotic art that is essential to his practice of philosophy. The stories told by these narrators, and by the narrators within their narratives, serve to remind the reader that the dialogue cannot be accepted as an historically accurate transcription of “what Socrates said and did” (172c6), that it is fiction, and that it requires critical evaluation.16 Part II analyzes these puzzling narrations of what Socrates “says and does” (172c6), first, in Chapter 3, by contrasting Socrates with the first five speakers, and then, in Chapter 4, focusing on his interactions with Agathon and Alcibiades. 15 16

Akletoi: Fehr 1990; Halliwell 2008: 143–4; Wilkins 2000: 71–86. Clay 2000: 31, writes that the narrative framework suggests that “the memory of Socrates cannot be independent of the character of his memorialist.”

c h a p ter 3

In praise of Eros: the speeches in the Symposium

3.1 victories in words The Symposium is set within the context of a number of competitions. At a symposium honoring Agathon’s victory in a dramatic competition (173a5–6), six speakers compete in praising Eros, and a seventh, Alcibiades, praises Socrates. Before this competition begins, Agathon says that he and Socrates will soon be judged by Dionysus concerning their wisdom (sophia: 175e7–9). Socrates is explicitly represented as winning a victory not just once but six times.1 First, like Perseus killing the Gorgon, he overcomes the Gorgianic power of Agathon’s words that threaten to reduce him to silence (198b1–c5). Second, he defeats Agathon in an elenchus, at the end of which the poet admits his own lack of wisdom (199c3–201c9). Socrates is awarded a third victory by Alcibiades, who crowns him, declaring that this man wins the victory in words over all people, “not just the other day, like you [sc. Agathon], but always” (213e1–6). At the end of the Symposium, Socrates wins two more victories in words. He wins a fourth victory by persuading Agathon, the most beautiful man present, to sit beside him in order to receive Socrates’ praise (223a3–5). And in a fifth victory, Socrates compels Agathon, the tragedian, and Aristophanes, the comic poet, to agree that a comic poet who has skill also knows how to compose tragedies (223c4–d6). Most importantly, Socrates wins a sixth victory in the competition ( gÛnisai: 194a1) in praising Eros proposed by Eryximachus (177a1–d5). That his speech is the best is not explicitly stated in the dialogue. There are, however, several indications that Socrates in fact wins the victory. For one thing, his speech receives the most enthusiastic responses from the other symposiasts. After Phaedrus’ speech, we are merely told that Pausanias 1

I discuss some of these victories in detail below. Socrates’ first victory is the subject of 3.3.1 below, his second that of Chapter 4 at 4.3, and his fourth and fifth victories are analyzed in 4.5. Socrates’ sixth victory is discussed throughout Chapter 3.

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criticized Phaedrus’ view that there is only one Eros (180c1–d1), while Pausanias’ own speech is followed by Eryximachus’ criticism of the last part of this speech (185e6–186a2). Eryximachus’ speech is accompanied by Aristophanes’ comic attempts to stop his own hiccups (185c4–e5) and followed by Aristophanes’ jokes about this speech (189a1–b2). Aristophanes’ speech receives only slightly better treatment, for Eryximachus, after politely saying that it was pleasantly spoken, states that he knows that the next speakers, Agathon and Socrates, will not be at a loss since they are marvelously skilled in ta erˆotika (193e3–7). Agathon’s speech receives applause (ˆnaqorubsai) from everyone for having been spoken “appropriately” (prep»ntwv: 198a1– 3). Socrates, however, suggests that this speech, like all the others, paid no attention to the truth (198d3–e4). He then praises the beginning of the speech (199c3–6), but goes on to demonstrate that Agathon did not know what he was talking about, an assessment with which Agathon himself agrees (201b9–12). Socrates’ speech receives by far the most positive reactions, for everyone except Aristophanes is said to “praise” it (–paine±n: 212c4). This verb and its cognates are used, significantly, to characterize the praises of Eros that the speakers give (for example, 177b3, 6, d2; 198d7; 199a5). Aristophanes does not join in praising Socrates’ speech because he is about to discuss a point that Socrates made about Aristophanes’ speech (212c4–6). He is, however, interrupted by the entrance of Alcibiades, who gives Socrates part of the victory crown he had intended for Agathon, declaring the philosopher to be the victor in words, not just on one occasion, but over all people at all times (213d8–e6). Socrates is represented as winning these victories because he really has marvelous skill concerning ta erˆotika, in contrast to the other speakers, who falsely claim to have expert knowledge that they lack. The first five speakers – Phaedrus, Pausanias, Eryximachus, Aristophanes and Agathon – all claim to be experts on erˆos, each according to his own kind of skill.2 Aristophanes tacitly accepts Socrates’ statement that Aristophanes’ whole occupation is concerned with Dionysus and Aphrodite (177e1–2), and he prefaces his speech by saying that his audience must learn from him and teach others (189d3–6). Phaedrus and Pausanias discuss the role of erˆos in political virtue, stressing military and intellectual virtue respectively (178e3–179b3, 182a7– d4, 184c4–e4). They claim to have superior knowledge in these areas when they confidently make long speeches and criticize the views of others. The 2

Bacon 1959: 429 writes that “each man sees love in terms of his own profession”; Reeve 1992: 91 views the speakers as “representatives of conventional wisdom.” Scott and Welton 2008: 43 hold that each speech is an expression of one kind of love. Sheffield 2006a: 215–16 n.8, argues convincingly that each of the first five speakers can be associated with one of the Muses.

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physician Eryximachus speaks as an expert when he argues that medicine is an erotic science (186c5–e3), as does the tragedian Agathon, when he contends that the god Eros is a wise (sophos) poet, who is able to make others wise also (196e1–3). Each of these speakers happens to make some good points about erˆos, as scholars have often noted.3 However, because they do not examine their claims critically, each is in fact characterized by amathia, lack of understanding, about erˆos. According to Socrates’ Diotima, amathia is the condition of someone “who is not fine and good or wise [phronimos] but thinks that he is adequate” in these respects (204a4–6).4 Socrates’ remarks after Agathon’s speech indicate that he believes that all the speakers have exhibited this amathia. He says that all of the previous speakers5 seem to have thought that the task set by Eryximachus was to represent Eros “so that he might appear to be as beautiful and good as possible [Þv k†llistov kaª Šristov], to the ignorant, clearly – certainly not to those who know” (198e6–199a2). This comment refers most immediately to Agathon’s statement that Eros is “most beautiful and best” (k†llistov kaª Šristov: 197c2, 195a7), but it is a criticism of the other speeches as well, each of which represents Eros as the best and most beautiful of the gods. This view of Eros, as Socrates will show in his speech, is a result of amathia. In addition to Socrates’ explicit criticism of these speeches, Plato uses other techniques to portray the first five speakers as lacking understanding. Their speeches contain internal inconsistencies, make a selective and uncritical use of literary authority, and fail to give an adequate account of the good things they claim Eros gives to humans. Socrates, like the other speakers, represents himself as having skill concerning erˆos. He says that he knows nothing except ta erˆotika (177d7–8), and claims to be marvelously skilled in these matters (198d1–2). He also claims to have learned about erˆos from a “wise woman” (sophˆe), Diotima (201d1–5). Socrates’ claims, however, are justified by his possession of the erotic art. Socrates is wiser than his competitors because he does not lack understanding, but recognizes that he lacks wisdom (ˆgnoe±: 216d3–4). He 3

4

5

Detel 2003 (85–8, with bibliographical survey n.18) and Sheffield 2006a (15–39 and 207–24, with bibliographical survey 212 n.2) and 2006b discuss the positive contributions of all of the speeches. Friedl¨ander 1969: 23–8 and Sedley 2006 emphasize Agathon’s speech in particular. For amathia as “lack of understanding” see LSJ, Supplement s.v. ˆmaqžv. Plato does not always use the term in this sense, however. Brickhouse and Smith 1994: 126 n.41 point out that Socrates uses it of his own ignorance at Grg. 488a3, and I note in Introduction to Part III n.1, that he also uses it in this sense at Phdr. 235c2–8. On the comic aspects of the speakers’ “false conceit of wisdom” see Patterson 1982: esp. 84–90 (quotation: 82). This is suggested by “each of us” at 198e3. Plurals are also used at 198e5, e6.

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demonstrates this component of the erotic art (component (2)), not only by criticizing the false pretense to wisdom of the other speakers, but also when he suggests, in part through his characterization of Diotima, that he did not acquire wisdom from Diotima in the form of truths contained in a body of teachings that are to be accepted without critical examination. Socrates’ speech also exhibits the other four components of his erotic art, especially (5): his marvelous skill in persuading his audience to devote themselves to ta erˆotika, to recognize their own lack of wisdom and other good things, to desire these things passionately, and to seek to attain as much of them as they can. In making a speech that appeals to each of the self-styled “experts” with whom he competes, Socrates uses his daimonic art very effectively to persuade his audience that the philosopher-daimˆon Eros described by Diotima is the best helper for humans (212b2–4). 3.2 the first five speakers: the best and most beautiful of the gods 3.2.1 The symposiasts and the poets One way in which each of the first five speakers exhibits amathia is by appealing uncritically to the Greek literary tradition, especially poetry.6 This tradition is explicitly mentioned at the moment when the contest in making speeches about Eros is proposed. After the initial sparring between Socrates and Agathon (175c7–e10), the guests dine and agree to drink only as much as each man pleases (176a1–e6). The physician Eryximachus then makes a proposal about the kind of entertainment they will enjoy: “I propose that we let the aulos-player who just now came in go and pipe to herself or, if she wishes, to the women inside, and that today we spend our time with each other in talk” (176e6–9). After all of the guests enthusiastically agree to decline the woman’s services, Eryximachus proposes, specifically, that they compete in praising the god Eros (177a1– d5). In proposing Eros as a topic for competitive speaking, Eryximachus reports the complaint of Phaedrus that neither poets nor prose writers have yet made an encomium of Eros (177a5–b1). Prodicus, Phaedrus said, praised Heracles,7 and another man praised salt for its usefulness, but no one has 6

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As far as I know, this aspect of the theme of rivalry between poetry and philosophy in the Symposium has never been discussed. A good, recent account of this theme from another perspective is that of Scott and Welton 2008: esp. 35–43, 151–3, 181–2 and 191–3. Bury 1932, on 177b, notes that Prodicus’ story about Heracles’ choice of Virtue is recounted in Xen. Mem. 2.1.21ff.

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adequately praised Eros (177b1–c4). The salt example suggests that the kind of encomium Phaedrus and Eryximachus have in mind is one that praises something or someone for qualities that are useful to humans. Phaedrus’ complaint, then, while perhaps an exaggeration, is an accurate reflection of much of Greek literature, in which erˆos is often represented as more to be feared than praised, a destructive force causing sickness and madness.8 Eros is also frequently associated with hybris, a term that has connotations of violence, lust and dishonor.9 There are indeed hymns to Eros in tragedy that are encomiastic in that they represent the god as a powerful force.10 In another respect, however, these passages are not encomia, for they attribute to Eros a power destructive to human beings. In Sophocles’ Antigone, Eros is addressed in these terms: “You who make unjust the minds of even just people, to their ruin, you have stirred up this quarrel of kindred men” (Ant. 791–4), and in Euripides’ Hippolytus the god is called: “Eros, the tyrant of men . . . destroying mortals and sending all misfortunes to them when he comes” (Hipp. 538–42). In giving his encomium, then, each speaker is asked to remedy what is presented as a deficiency in the literary tradition, by praising Eros for the good things he gives to humans. One way in which the first five speakers do this is by their use of quotations and allusions to show that, even if the poets and prose writers have not made formal encomia of Eros, their works do in fact praise the god for his beneficence. Despite having agreed to entertain one another with their own words and to dispense with the musical entertainment provided by another person, the aulos-player, each of the first five speakers in effect invites others to speak for him when he quotes extensively from poets and prose writers.11 The symposiasts’ competitive use of quotations is itself a traditional sympotic game, and an activity at which Plato’s Socrates excels, as will be seen below 3.3.1.12 In the context of the Symposium, however, 8 9

10

11

12

Numerous examples, especially in archaic poetry, are given by Calame 1999 and Cyrino 1995. Examples of the association of erˆos with hybris are given by Fisher 1992: esp. 104–11; Lattimore 1969: 23 and 81–2 n.24; and MacDowell 1976: 17. On hybris and violence see Lattimore 1969: 23. Hybris and dishonor are discussed in Chapter 4 at 4.2. Sophocles’ Antigone 781[–801] and Euripides’ Hippolytus 525[–564] are cited by Bury 1932: 19. Cf. Soph. Trach. 441–5, where Eros is said to be a sickness and to rule gods and humans. In lyric poetry, Alcaeus (frag. 327 Voigt 1971 = Lobel and Page 1955) characterizes Eros as dein»taton (“most terrible”) without attributing beneficence to the god (cited by Rowe 1998, on 177b1–2). Friedl¨ander 1969: 10 cites evidence for the worship of Eros. Brandwood 1976: 991–1003 provides a useful “Index of Quotations” in Plato, although it has limitations noted by Halliwell 2000: 95 n.4. Brownson 1920: 22–73 and “Tables”: 159–65 collects and discusses Plato’s quotations of and references to the poets. Tarrant 1951 is also helpful. A good survey of each speaker’s use of rhetorical figures is given by Brisson 1998: 49–51. See Halliwell 2000 on “the general Greek practice of invoking and citing poetic texts to formulate, illustrate, or reinforce a point of view” (95), and on Plato’s portrayal of and reaction to this practice.

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the reliance on, and selective use of, quotations and allusions by the first five speakers reveal not only their own lack of understanding about erˆos, but also the inadequacies of the Greek literary tradition itself. When the symposiasts quote or cite literary works without examining critically the views these “authorities” express, they implicitly claim expertise they do not in fact have. Poetry is itself full of contradictions.13 Moreover, as Socrates notes in the Protagoras, it is not possible to question the poets, whose works can be interpreted in different ways by different people. To quote poetry, he says, is to act like inferior people who invite aulos-players to their symposia.14 The first five speakers, then, demonstrate not only their own amathia, but also the accuracy of this assessment of the poets and other literary authorities. 3.2.2 Phaedrus: courage According to Phaedrus, Eros is a great god (178a7) who is the cause of the greatest goods for us (178c2–3). His encomium follows Greek conventions in idealizing an asymmetrical relationship between two men, the older erastˆes, “lover,” and the younger erˆomenos, “beloved” (178e1–2, 180a4–b5). Eros is a benefactor because he inspires the lover with shame in regard to shameful things and with love of honor (philotimia) with respect to what is noble (178d1–2, 178e6). Phaedrus is almost exclusively concerned with only one aspect of Eros: the god’s role as a source of courage in facing death either in battle or in other circumstances.15 More specifically, courage leads the lover to protect (179a6) or even to die for the beloved (179b4). Eros inspires even the most cowardly man with the virtue of courage (›nqeon poižseie pr¼v ˆretžn . . . m”nov –mpneÓsai), so that he becomes like someone who is by nature bravest (179a7–b3). Phaedrus holds that courage is conducive to political virtue. An army or city of lovers and beloveds, he says, would be

13

14 15

Competitive quotation of poetry at symposia is discussed by Lissarrague 1990b: esp. 135, and in several of the chapters in Murray 1990, Lukinovich, esp. 264, Pellizer, esp. 179–80 and R¨osler. Vetta 1983 provides an excellent introduction to the role of poetry in the Greek symposium. Of particular interest is his discussion of metapoiˆesis, the correction or transformation of a poem known to an audience (xxx–xxxi). Halliwell 2000: 102 cites Laws 4.719c–e, Meno 95d–96a and Prt. 339aff. for Plato’s view that selfcontradiction is a fundamental characteristic of mimetic poetry. Two poets may also contradict each other. For example, in Plato’s Lys., Homer and Hesiod are cited in support of opposite views: Lys. 214a6 quotes Od. 17.218, on the attraction of like to like, and Lys. 215c5–d1 quotes Hesiod, Op. 25–6 on their enmity (noted by Vicaire 1960: 19–21). Prt. 347b8–348a9, noting that different people have different interpretations of poetry; cf. Phdr. 275d4–e5. Military terminology is used at 178e4 (strat»pedon), 179a1 (mac»menoi), 179a3–4 (lipÜn t†xin, Âpla ˆpobalÛn).

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best governed, for they would refrain from all shameful things and compete with each other in love of honor (178e3–179a2).16 There are, however, indications that Phaedrus lacks understanding when he makes these claims. For one thing, he seriously compromises his own thesis when he attributes the same virtues to the beloved, who is not inspired by Eros, as he does to the lover, who is so inspired. According to Phaedrus, the beloved, like the lover, experiences shame and loves honor, and he fights courageously in the presence of his lover (178e1–179a2). The beloved is even capable of dying for his lover, as Achilles dies to avenge his lover Patroclus by killing Hector (179e1–180a4).17 Indeed, Phaedrus suggests that the beloved who acts courageously has virtue superior to that of the lover precisely because he is not inspired by love: “[T]he gods . . . marvel and admire more . . . when the erˆomenos has affection for the erastˆes than when the erastˆes has affection for his boyfriend. For the erastˆes is more divine than the boyfriend, since he is inspired” (›nqeov g†r –sti: 180a7–b4).18 If the beloved acts virtuously without the inspiration of Eros, however, it would appear that the god is not, after all, the cause, or at least the sole cause, of the greatest goods for us, as Phaedrus claims (178c2–3).19 Another weakness in Phaedrus’ account is that he appeals uncritically to sources that could also be used to undermine his claims. In support of his view that Eros is the oldest of the gods, Phaedrus quotes from Hesiod, Theogony 116–20: “Hesiod says that first Chaos came to be, ‘but next [came] broad-breasted Earth, the ever steadfast seat of all things, and Love’” (178b3– 7). However, he leaves out any negative associations and attributes when he omits Hesiod’s reference to Tartarus (119) and stops just before the poet’s lines attributing destructive powers to the god: “Love . . . the loosener of limbs, who overcomes sense and prudent counsel in the breasts of all gods and humans” (Theog. 121–2).20 Phaedrus also quotes Homer selectively 16 17

18 19 20

Bury 1932, on 178e notes that this principle was exemplified in the sacred band of the Thebans and cites a parallel in Xenophon, Symp. 8.32. Phaedrus follows Aeschines (1.142: Against Timarchus) and Aeschylus, Myrmidons (frags. 228, 229 Mette 1959 = 135, 136 Radt 1985) in representing this relationship as an erotic one, although he departs from Aeschines in portraying Achilles as the erˆomenos (noted by Dover 1989: 53 and 197). Dover 1980 on 180a4 suggests that Aeschylus may have been the first to represent Achilles as the erastˆes. Unlike Phaedrus, Xenophon’s Socrates (Symp. 8.31) denies that there is an erotic element in Homer’s representation of this relationship (Dover 1989: 199). Davidson 2007: 255–84 argues that the relationship was erotic even in Homer. I borrow the translation “boyfriend” from Gill 1999. Cf. Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan 2004: 53–4 and Rowe 1998, on 180a7–b4. On the omission of 121–2 cf. Hunter 2004: 40–1. Theog. 119 is bracketed by Solmsen 1990 and by Mazon 1951, who cites Plato in support of the excision. The line is, however, accepted by West 1966, and Phaedrus’ omission of Tartarus is consistent with his omission of Theog. 121–2.

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when he argues that Eros inspires courage in lovers. According to Homer, says Phaedrus, “a god ‘breathed battle-strength’ into some of the heroes” (179b1–2). Phaedrus, however, omits the name of the god who does this in Iliad 10.482: Athena, a virgin goddess, whose domain is not erˆos but wisdom.21 The passages omitted by Phaedrus, then, suggest that wisdom is more desirable than erˆos. His use of the example of Achilles and Patroclus reinforces the same idea. In stating that Achilles gave aid to his lover Patroclus by taking vengeance on Hector (179e1–180a7), Phaedrus omits the fact that it was Achilles’ mistake in judgment that caused Patroclus’ death in the first place. Indeed, Achilles blames himself for his companion’s death when he speaks the well-known lines in the Iliad: I must die soon, then; since I was not to stand by my companion when he was killed. And now, far away from the land of his fathers, he has perished, and lacked my fighting strength to defend him. Now, since I am not going back to the beloved land of my fathers, since I was no light of safety to Patroklos, nor to my other companions, who in their numbers went down before glorious Hektor, but sit here beside my ships, a useless weight on the good land, I, who am such as no other of the bronze-armoured Achaians in battle, though there are others also better in council. (Il. 18.98–106)22

According to these lines, courage without wisdom leads to disaster. Moreover, Phaedrus’ example of Alcestis, the lover who “so excelled in philia [‘friendship’] because of erˆos” (179c1–2) that she was willing to die for her husband, Admetus, is also questionable. At least in Euripides’ play, Alcestis appears to be motivated by philia rather than by erˆos.23 It is instead Admetus who exhibits sexual passion for his wife, saying that he will embrace a model of her in bed (348–52). Admetus’ erˆos does not make him courageous, however. He allows his wife to die for him because he is a coward (Alc. 954–7), and because of a mistake in judgment that he later recognizes (Šrti manq†nw: 940). A more comprehensive survey of the passages Phaedrus quotes, then, suggests that, according to the very tradition to which he appeals, the association of erˆos with courage is a dubious one, and that erˆos and courage without judgment lead to disaster. One way in which Phaedrus shows his amathia, then, is by failing to ask questions about the relationship between erˆos and courage represented in these passages. 21 22 23

In Il. 15.262 the phrase is used of Apollo, another god associated with wisdom. References are given by Bury 1932, on 179b. Translation: Lattimore 1951. Lines 105–6, often suspected, are ably defended by Edwards 1991. Noted by Rowe 1998, on 179b5–6. See especially Alc. 279: sŸn g‡r fil©an seb»mesqa (“I honor your friendship”).

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3.2.3 Pausanias: education Pausanias departs from Phaedrus in distinguishing two kinds of Loves and two kinds of lovers. The inferior lover, governed by the Eros who is the son of the vulgar Aphrodite, loves women as well as boys, bodies more than souls, and foolish more than sensible people, being concerned only with “accomplishing the act” (181a7–b6). The statement that the heavenly Aphrodite, the mother of the superior Eros, “has no part in hybris” (Ìbrewv ˆmo©rou: 181c4) suggests that, in contrast, the inferior Eros and lover are indeed hubristic. When they are governed by the inferior Eros, both lover and beloved act shamefully and give rise to negative judgments in others, who blame this kind of erˆos and think it shameful for a beloved to yield to a lover of this kind (182a1–3, 183c4–d3). Pausanias is primarily concerned with the superior lover, inspired by the superior Eros, who is the son of the heavenly Aphrodite. This man loves only males, who are by nature stronger and more sensible (181c2–6), and he loves “good character” (¢qouv crhstoÓ: 183e5) more than body. Superior lovers “love with the intention of being together and living in common for life” with their beloveds (181d3–5). Aside from positing two Loves, Pausanias accepts much of what Phaedrus says, including the idealization of the relationship between older erastˆes and younger erˆomenos, and the assumption that Eros is a god (180d3). Pausanias also agrees with Phaedrus in holding that the superior Eros inspires virtue. The superior lover educates (pa©deusin: 184e1) the beloved, who in turn gratifies his lover sexually (184c7–e4). Like Phaedrus (see 178e3–179a2), Pausanias is concerned with virtue within a civic setting. He stresses the importance of law and custom, and favorably contrasts Athens with other cities.24 Pausanias, however, stresses the intellectual virtues that are conducive to political virtue, whereas Phaedrus emphasized love of honor and courage. Pausanias’ beloved gratifies the lover in order to acquire “philosophy and other virtues” (filosof©an kaª tŸn Šllhn ˆretžn: 184d1) or “wisdom [phronˆesis] and other virtues” (fr»nhsin kaª tŸn Šllhn ˆretžn: 184d7–e1). Closer examination of his speech, however, reveals that Pausanias lacks those intellectual virtues that he himself emphasizes, for his account of the two Loves depends on a dubious way of distinguishing noble from shameful 24

The word n»mov (“law”) and cognates appear at 181d7, e3; 182a5, a7, b2, b7, d3, d4, e2; 183b4, c2, c3, d3; 184a1, a6, b5, b7, c4, d4, e3. Davidson 2007: 418–45 provides an insightful analysis of Pausanias’ speech as a source of information about distinctively Athenian customs.

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acts.25 Pausanias states that an act is not noble or shameful in itself, but that it is noble if done well, shameful if done shamefully (180e4–181a4; 183d4–6). He also claims that it is noble to do anything whatsoever for the sake of virtue (185b1–5). These statements entail that superior lovers who act for the sake of virtue can act nobly even while engaging in activities that would be thought shameful in other circumstances. They can, for example, resort to entreaties, swear oaths, lie in doorways (183a4–6) and in other ways endure a kind of voluntary slavery (183a6–7, 184b7–c1). According to Pausanias, superior beloveds, like their lovers, can also act nobly even while doing things that might appear to be shameful. Pausanias holds that it is right for the beloved to endure even voluntary slavery in gratifying the lover (184c2–7), and to serve him in any way whatsoever if the beloved will thereby become “wise [sophos] and good” (184d5–7).26 Even if the beloved is deceived and his lover turns out to be a bad man, his deception is a noble one (kalŸ ¡ ˆp†th), for he has shown that for the sake of virtue he is ready to do anything for anyone (pn . . . pantª), and to do anything in any way (pn p†ntwv: 185a5–b5). These last statements in particular, with their repetition of “any,” can be taken to imply that license is justified if it promotes virtue.27 They thus risk collapsing Pausanias’ distinction between the vulgar Eros and the heavenly Eros. At the very least, their phrasing suggests that Pausanias’ views need to be supported further. Pausanias also shows his own lack of understanding about erˆos in another way. According to his account, one kind of lover is superior because he is able to educate his beloved, by giving him wisdom (phronˆesis) and the other virtues (184c7–e4). What really distinguishes the superior from the inferior lover, then, is not erˆos of a certain kind, but virtue and wisdom. Like Phaedrus, Pausanias uses quotations to support his criticism of the inferior lover, whose oaths are no oaths (183b7) and who “goes flying away” (183e3–4).28 In referring to the genealogies of the two Aphrodites, the heavenly and the vulgar (180d6–e1, 181b8–c4), who are the mothers of the two Loves, Pausanias does not name his sources, but his fellow symposiasts would have recognized them as Hesiod and Homer.29 25 26 27 28 29

Bury 1932: xxvi–xxvii notes that Pausanias is sophistic in taking the side of law against nature, and in being inconsistent and self-contradictory. In contrast, Socrates in Euthydemus 282b3–6 restricts the slavery of the beloved to “noble service”: ¾tioÓn . . . Ëphrete±n tän kalän Ëphrethm†twn. Cf. Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan 2004: 60–1; Nichols 2009: 42–3; Rosen 1987: 81–2; and Rowe 1998, on 185b3–4. Bury 1932 notes that the statement at 183b7 is a proverbial expression with a number of poetic versions and that 183e3–4 recalls Il. 2.71. Dover 1980, on 180d6–9 cites Hesiod Theog. 190ff. (daughter of Ouranos) and Il. 5.370–430 (daughter of Zeus and Dione).

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Pausanias also resembles Phaedrus in using literary sources selectively, omitting those lines that tell against his distinction between the two Loves. Specifically, he omits important details of the Hesiodic account of the birth of Ouranian (Heavenly) Aphrodite. According to Hesiod’s well-known story, Ouranos hates the children Gaia bears him and hides them deep within her, causing her pain. Gaia then persuades her son, Cronos, to castrate his father, and Aphrodite grows from the severed genitals (Theogony 154–200). The circumstances surrounding Aphrodite’s birth in Hesiod’s poem might well lead Pausanias’ audience to question his view that she has no share in hybris (181c4). The outrage Ouranos commits against Gaia could be considered hubristic, as could Cronos’ dishonoring violence against Ouranos. Hesiod’s Aphrodite, then, does share in hybris, at least in so far as her birth is the result of hubristic acts by her father and brother.30 Pausanias also fails to mention Hesiod’s statement that deceit is included in Aphrodite’s portion (mo±ran . . . –xap†tav: Theog. 203–5). Nevertheless, his contention that the superior beloved may be deceived (ˆp†th: 185b1, cf. 185a1, a7) might well remind his audience of this characteristic, of dubious morality, attributed by Hesiod to the heavenly Aphrodite. The Greek literary tradition to which Pausanias appeals, then, suggests that the son of the heavenly Aphrodite may, like his mother, have some share in hybris and deceit. If this is so, the superior Eros may not be very different from the inferior Eros, the son of the vulgar Aphrodite. It appears, then, that the literary sources to which Pausanias appeals could equally well be used to support the view that there is no distinction between the two Loves. His selective and uncritical use of these sources is one indication that Pausanias lacks understanding of his subject. 3.2.4 Eryximachus: medicine The physician Eryximachus agrees with Pausanias in holding that Eros is a god (186b1) who is “double” (186a2–3) and in idealizing the Eros who inspires virtue and lacks hybris. The common association in Greek literature of erˆos and hybris is downplayed in both of these encomia of a non-hubristic Eros.31 The physician also resembles his predecessor in failing to give adequate criteria for distinguishing the two Loves, thereby demonstrating his lack of understanding in the very field in which he claims expertise. 30

31

The circumstances of one’s birth were thought to influence character. For example, in Plato’s Laws 775d4–e2, the Athenian states that people who commit hybris or injustice before conception “stamp” these effects upon the souls of their children. For the association see above n.9.

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Eryximachus distinguishes the noble, heavenly (187d7) and orderly (188a3, c3) Eros, who acts with sˆophrosynˆe (“moderation”) and justice (188d5– 6) from the shameful (186d1) and vulgar Eros (p†ndhmov: 187e1), who is hubristic and unjust (¾ met‡ tv Ìbrewv ï Erwv . . .  d©khsen: 188a7–8). He does not limit the god’s effects to human relationships, a topic he mentions only briefly (186a3–4), holding instead that Eros has power over all human and divine affairs (186b1–2), and over medicine in particular (186e4–187a1). The hubristic Eros produces greed and disorder, plagues, diseases of animals and plants, and bad weather (188a7–b5), while the noble Eros creates philia and community (koinwn©a: 188c1) among humans, and between humans and gods (188b6–d9). Medicine is the science of distinguishing (diagignÛskwn) the noble from the shameful erˆos in the case of the body, and the most accomplished physician is someone who knows how to create the former instead of the latter (186c5–d5).32 Other sciences – music, gymnastics, agriculture (187a1) and divination (188b7) – know how to do this with respect to other things. Far from telling us how to distinguish the noble from the shameful erˆos, however, Eryximachus does not even explain why the shameful erˆos should be called erˆos at all, rather than hostility. The science of medicine knows how to make things that are most hostile (›cqista Ànta), that is, the opposites in the body (for example, the cold, the hot, the wet and the dry), become friends and have erˆos for one another (186d5–e1). Similarly, the science of music knows how to produce erˆos and agreement (187c3–4) between high and low sounds that were formerly in disagreement (187a8–b2). In both cases, then, the skilled physician does not replace a shameful with a noble erˆos, but rather produces erˆos instead of hostility and disagreement. The doctor adds further confusion when he recommends making judicious use of the vulgar and shameful Eros: “One must take care in applying this Eros to those to whom one does apply him, so as to provide benefit from the pleasure he brings without producing licentiousness” (187e1–3). In making this surprising concession to the shameful Eros, Eryximachus fails to distinguish science from the shameful gratification of appetite, and undercuts his own fundamental distinction between the noble and the hubristic erˆos.33 It seems, then, that because Eryximachus does not 32 33

In this passage, diagignÛskwn (cf. 187c7) is “used almost in the technical sense of making a medical diagnosis” (Bury 1932, on 186c). Cf. Rosen 1987: 115–16. Attempts to justify Eryximachus’ statement do not satisfy. Konstan and Young-Bruehl 1982: 42 write: “It is permissible . . . to take advantage of the baneful desires, so long as they are not permitted to gain the upper hand.” Rowe 1998, on 187e1–2 (cf. 1999b: 62–4) argues that Eryximachus addresses Aristophanes and refers to comedy.

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have the knowledge that would enable him to make an accurate diagnosis by distinguishing the noble from the shameful erˆos, he is not a good physician, according to his own definition (186c7–d1). Moreover, his failure to recognize that he is ignorant in these matters is an indication of his amathia.34 In support of his views about music, Eryximachus does not, like his predecessors, appeal to poetic authority, but instead quotes the prose of the philosopher Heraclitus. Music, he says, is governed by Eros: as perhaps Heraclitus means to say, although he doesn’t say it well with his words. He says that the one “being at variance with itself agrees with itself,” “like the harmony of bow and lyre” [“diafer»menon aÉt¼ aËt sumf”resqai,” “ãsper ‰rmon©an t»xou te kaª lÅrav”]. It is very illogical to say that harmony is at variance or is composed of elements that are still at variance. But perhaps this is what he meant to say: that harmony has come into existence, by means of musical skill, from things that were previously at variance (that is, the high and the low) and then later came to be in accord. (187a3–b2)

The text of the Heraclitus passage quoted by Eryximachus is problematic. Fragment 22 B51 DK reads: “they do not understand how, being at variance with itself it is in accord [homologeei] with itself; there is a back-turned [palintropos] harmony like that of bow and lyre.”35 Kirk, Raven and Schofield (1995), on the other hand, read sumpheretai (“agrees”) instead of homologeei (“is in accord with”) on the basis of Symposium 187a5, and they read palintonos (“back-stretched” or “counter-stretched”) instead of palintropos (“back-turned”). They translate: “being at variance it agrees [sumpheretai] with itself . . . there is a back-stretched [palintonos] connexion, as in the bow and the lyre.”36 They convincingly argue that palintonos, which has as much support in ancient sources as does palintropos, gives better sense, referring to something “tending equally in opposite directions. A tension in one direction automatically produces an equivalent tension in the other; if not, the system collapses.”37 The texts of both DK and Kirk, Raven and Schofield, then, indicate that Eryximachus misquotes Heraclitus, adding “the one” before “being at variance,” and leaving out “back-stretched” 34 35 36 37

McPherran 2006 argues that Eryximachus’ speech is philosophical in that it places erˆos within the context of the universal. He does not, however, address the concerns noted above. oÉ xunisin Âkwv diafer»menon —wutäi ¾molog”eiá pal©npropov ‰rmon©h Âkwsper t»xou kaª lÅrhv. Kirk, Raven and Schofield 1995: 192, frag. 209: oÉ xunisin Âkwv diafer»menon —wut xumf”retaiá pal©ntonov ‰rmon©h Âkwsper t»xou kaª lÅrhv. Kirk, Raven and Schofield 1995: 192–3; quotation: 193 n.2.

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(or “back-turned”).38 The addition is of little significance for present purposes, but the omission, as will be seen below, has serious philosophical consequences. The doctor not only misquotes, but also radically misinterprets Heraclitus.39 One problem is that Eryximachus is concerned with harmony between musical notes, while Heraclitus focuses on the very different kind of equilibrium that exists within a single physical object.40 Heraclitus’ palintonos harmonia is a “back-stretched connection” in which two opposite tensions – that produced by the strings of a bow or lyre and that produced by the curved arms of these artifacts – are balanced so as to create a single unified effect.41 According to Heraclitus, this kind of “war” and “strife” between opposites produces order in the cosmos: “One must know that war is common and justice is strife, and all things happen according to strife and necessity” (DK 22 B80). Eryximachus, however, calls this principle of equilibrium of opposites “very illogical” (187a6–7), and he reinterprets Heraclitus so as to eliminate it. What Heraclitus really means, according to Eryximachus, is that a harmony cannot exist where there is variance. He then uses his corrected version of Heraclitus to support his own view that medicine and music produce erˆos, friendship and harmony between things that were previously enemies and in disagreement (186c5–187c5). Eryximachus’ correction of Heraclitus contains playful elements.42 However, it can also be taken as symptomatic of this physician’s lack of understanding of his own science (epistˆemˆe: 186c6) of medicine. There is considerable evidence that many medical writers, from Alcmaeon on, held a Heraclitean view of health as a krasis (blend) of opposing powers in the body (for example, the hot, the cold, the wet and the dry). In this dynamic equilibrium, no opposite was suppressed: it retained its own power, but was restrained by the corresponding opposite.43 The fact that Eryximachus simply calls this theory “illogical” and omits the word “back-stretched,” which characterizes the kind of harmony constituted by a dynamic 38 39 40 41 42 43

DK vol. i, 162 n.3 note Diels’s suggestion that ¾mologe± ™n (“the one agrees”) is a possible reading, quoting Symp. 187a. Pace McPherran 2006: 80, who provides (n.27) helpful bibliography on the issue. Cf. Konstan and Young-Bruehl 1982: 41; Nehamas and Woodruff 1989: 21 n.24. I follow Kirk, Raven and Schofield 1995: 192–3. Hunter 2004: 53–9, and Rowe 1999b: 62 and n.34. Alcmaeon, DK 24 B4. On ancient medicine see Vlastos 1947: esp. 156–8, citing Alcmaeon, and Tracy 1969: 22–76: esp. 23–4 and 67: “Health . . . is . . . a dynamic equilibrium maintained through the active interplay of opposing forces” (24: emphasis in original). I argue in Belfiore 1986, 2006 and Chapter 6 at 6.4 that psychological health is also said to depend on an equilibrium of opposites in Plato’s dialogues.

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equilibrium, suggests that Eryximachus has neither the medical knowledge he claims, nor an adequate understanding of Heraclitus. Another indication of Eryximachus’ lack of understanding is provided within the dramatic framework by Aristophanes, who was prevented by the hiccups from speaking in his proper turn. Throughout Eryximachus’ speech, Aristophanes hiccups and applies the remedies prescribed by the doctor: holding his breath, gargling with water, and tickling his nose in order to sneeze (185d6–e5). When he finally stops, after applying all of these cures, he remarks that he is surprised that the orderliness of the body desires such noises and ticklings (188e4–189a6). In actions and words, then, Aristophanes ridicules (gelwtopoie±v: 189a8) the doctor’s speech.44 3.2.5 Aristophanes: comedy As befits a comic poet, Aristophanes presents his encomium in the form of a humorous myth. Humans, he says, were originally “whole people,” with two heads and two sets of limbs, who, when they moved quickly, went rolling around like giant beach-balls with appendages (189e5–190a8). After Zeus cut them in two as punishment for their attack on the gods, each half longed for and sought after its other half (191a5–6). Eros, then, is desire and pursuit of the whole (192e10–193a1). If we succeed, with the help of Eros, in becoming reunited with our other halves, we will return to our former condition as whole people and so become blessed and happy (193d1–5). Although it has more comic aspects, this account resembles those of the first three speakers in idealizing Eros as a god (189c8, 193c8) who benefits humans. Aristophanes states that Eros “is the most people-loving of the gods, an ally of humans and a healer of those things the healing of which would be productive of the greatest happiness for the human race” (189c8–d3; cf. 193d4–5). Like Phaedrus and Pausanias, he values most highly an asymmetrical relationship between an older man and a young boy (191e6–192b3). He agrees with Eryximachus in characterizing Eros as a physician and healer, arguing that erˆos is an innate part of our nature as half-people, beings who lack what is needed to make us whole, and that the god provides a remedy for the defects of human nature (189d1–3, 191c8–d3, 193d5). Aristophanes’ erˆos, like that of Phaedrus and Pausanias, is a civilizing force. Satisfaction of desire allows lovers to practice “husbandry and the other means of subsistence”45 (191c7–8) instead of being idle in 44 45

On the hiccups see Bury 1932: xxii–xxiii; Clay 1975: 241–2; Lowenstam 1986; Plochmann 1972: 334; Scott and Welton 2008: 57; and Wardy 2002: 19–20. Translation: Bury 1932, on –pª t‡ ›rga (191c).

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these matters due to frustrated desire, as was the case before Zeus made sexual intercourse possible (191a8–b1). Eros also contributes to political life, according to Aristophanes, for boys who enjoy embracing men are the only ones who turn to political affairs in later life. These boys, he says, are not shameless, but brave and manly (192a2–7).46 Aristophanes’ Eros, then, like the Eros of Phaedrus, is a single entity having nothing to do with shame, instead of being a double god, like the Eros of Pausanias and Eryximachus. Aristophanes begins his speech by explicitly claiming to have superior knowledge of Eros. Because people have entirely failed to recognize the power of erˆos (189c4–5), Aristophanes says, he will try to initiate the symposiasts into an understanding of this power.47 They in turn will be teachers (did†skaloi) of others if they first learn (maqe±n) from Aristophanes (189d3–6). In using the term didaskaloi (“teachers”), Aristophanes elevates his own art, for the term can also mean “producers” or “trainers of a dramatic chorus.”48 In spite of his authoritative claims, Aristophanes, like the previous speakers, does not really have the wisdom he claims, for he does not give an adequate account of how the god benefits humans. He fails to explain how reunion with our other halves is good for us, or how erˆos can help us to achieve the union that may in any case be an unattainable ideal (193c5–8). Whatever the good is that the two halves of the whole people want from each other, Aristophanes says, it is certainly not sex (192c4–d2). Indeed, far from being the greatest human good, sex in Aristophanes’ myth is a thoroughly ridiculous affair. The whole people were the reverse of the beast with two backs, resembling in some respects two modern people joined at the back. Their faces and genitals were turned outwards (189e5–190a4), and they reproduced not in each other but within the earth, like cicadas (191b7–c1).49 Aristophanes leaves the exact nature of this laughable sexual act to the imagination of his audience. The sexual practices of the halfpeople are even more comical. When the whole people were first cut in two, the face of each half was turned around toward the cut (190e2–5), but the genitals remained in their former position, at what is now the back or, more accurately, the buttocks.50 These half-people embraced one another 46 47 49

50

Ludwig 1996 and 2002: 27–68, takes these statements seriously; others interpret them as irony or humor, for example: Dover 1980, on 192a1–7; Hug 1876: 91 n.4; and Rowe 1998, on 191e8–192a3. 48 LSJ, s.v. did†skalov, II. e«shgžsasqai (189d3) means “initiate into”: Bury 1932. The exact shape of the whole people is open to debate. See Ludwig 2002: 72–3 and Morrison 1964: 46–9. The comparison with cicadas concerns only means of reproduction (Bury 1932, on 191c) and does not extend to ethical qualities, as Dorter claims (1969: 220–2). Cf. Ludwig 2002: 73 n.10.

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(191a7), but were unable to have sexual intercourse because their genitals were in the wrong position. They therefore continued to reproduce within the earth, like the whole people (191b7–c1). Finally, Zeus had pity on the half-people and turned their genitals around to the front, so that they could reproduce and relieve their frustration by means of each other (191b5–c8). These half-people are us, and the juxtaposition of their sexual practices with the practices of the whole people, and with those of the half-people before their genitals were turned around, brings out the comic aspects of our own sexual acts.51 The greatest good that Eros could give us, then, according to Aristophanes, would not be the ridiculous act of sexual intercourse, but a return to our original nature as whole people (193c2–5, d4). In fact, Aristophanes supposes that Hephaestus might offer literally to fuse lovers together in order to make them whole (192d2–e5). This story, unfortunately, recalls Homer’s myth of Aphrodite and Ares, who were chained together in bed by Hephaestus as a shameful punishment for adultery, while the other gods stood around laughing (Odyssey 8.266–366). Indeed, the comic poet fails to explain how a return to our former whole state will benefit us, anymore than being chained together helped Aphrodite and Ares. The whole people were licentious (ˆselga©nein: 190c6), incontinent (ˆkolas©av: 190c8), arrogant (fronžmata meg†ga) and attacked the gods (190b6). Aristophanes identifies them with, or compares them specifically to, Homer’s Giants, Ephialtes and Otus (190b7),52 and more generally to the Giants of myth (190c3–4).53 The half-people are too weak to have these defects, but Aristophanes does not rule out the possibility that the Eros who could return them to their ancient whole nature would also make them licentious and arrogant again.54 Aristophanes says that humans must be pious if they are going to return to their ancient whole nature (193d3–5), but he does not explain how, if they do become whole again, they will be different from the original whole people, who were notably impious. Indeed, if satisfied erˆos could make people more vicious, it is hard to see how it could be a true healer of human nature or lead to happiness. The poetic sources to which Aristophanes alludes, then, could also be used to support the view, contrary to his own, that being whole is a bad 51 52 53 54

Nussbaum 1986: 171–6 gives a good account of the humorous aspects of sex in Aristophanes’ speech. Dover 1980, on 190b7 cites Il. 5.385ff. and Od. 11.307–20. Sources include Pindar, Nem. 1.67–9, Eur. HF. 177–80 and Ion 206–18, cited by Gantz 1993, vol. i: 445–54. Ludwig 2002: 107 makes a good point, although he expresses greater certainty than the text warrants: “If eros . . . aims at reconstituting the natural man in each of us, then the fulfillment of eros would entail becoming lawless once more.”

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thing. Socrates later takes him up on this very point, when his Diotima argues that erˆos is not of the half or the whole unless these are good (205d10– 206a1). While Aristophanes can tell a good story, then, he does not give evidence of being able to answer important questions about erˆos, which, according to Socrates, is one of the main subjects of his plays (177e1–2). 3.2.6 Agathon: tragedy According to the tragic poet, Agathon, Eros is the most happy, most beautiful, best (195a6–7, cf. 197c2) and youngest of the gods (195a8, c1). He is the embodiment of good things, and he gives them to humans. Eros is delicate (195c7), and he flees the hard character in order to settle in the soft one (195e5–7). The god is gracious (¯lewv), good (agathos) and a giver of gentleness, good will and attachment (o«kei»thtov), a god who removes ill will, harshness and alienation (ˆllotri»thtov) (197d1–5). Eros creates friendship and peace among the gods (195c5–6), and to humans he brings peace and, when we are grieving, sleep (197c5–6). For good measure, Agathon also attributes to the god the virtues of courage (196c8), justice (196b6), moderation (196c3) and especially the wisdom (sophia: 196d5) that has enabled people, under love’s guidance (›rwtov ¡gemoneÅsantov), to invent crafts (197a6–7), including Agathon’s own art of poetry (196e1–2). As is suitable for a poet, Agathon’s views about erˆos depend, more than those of any other speaker, on the literary tradition. His speech is full of quotations and allusions to poetry and prose writers, and the end of his speech employs an extraordinary variety of metrical forms.55 Agathon quotes and echoes Homer,56 and he adapts a line from Sophocles, substituting “Eros” for “necessity.”57 He also quotes the rhetorician Alcidamas,58 Euripides,59 and a poetic source unknown to us.60 Agathon’s statement that Eros lives among flowers (katì Šnqh d©aita: 196a8) recalls a common theme in literature and, of course, the title of Agathon’s own play, The 55 56 57

58

59 60

Dover 1980: 124. Bury 1932 notes that 195b5 (Âmoion ¾mo© ˆeª pel†zei: “like always draws near to like”) is derived from Od. 17.218, and that the couplet at 197c5–6 recalls Od. 5.391[–2] = 12.168[–9]. “Not even Ares withstands Eros” ( ï Erwti “oÉdì *rhv ˆnq©statai”: 196c8–d1). Bury 1932; Brandwood 1976: 992 #338 and 1002 #261; and Vicaire and Laborderie 2002: 42 n.3 cite Soph. Thyestes, frag. 235; Nauck 1964 (= 256 Radt 1977). “‘The laws, kings of the city,’ are just” (“o¬ p»lewv basilv n»moi” d©kaia e²nai: 196c2–3). Aristotle, Rh. 3.1406a18–23 attributes a similar phrase to Alcidamas: cited by Bury 1932; Hug 1876: 105 n.3; and Brandwood 1976: 992 #337 and 995 #51. Eros is said to make everyone a poet “even if he is previously unmusical” (k‹n Šmousov §‚ t¼ pr©n: 196e2–3): Eur. Stheneboea, frag. 663 Nauck 1964, cited by Bury 1932 and Brandwood 1976: 996, #84. “To govern gods and humans” (kubernn qeän te kaª ˆnqrÛpwn: 197b3) is possibly from a tragedy of Agathon (Bury 1932 and Brandwood 1976: 994, #49) or Aeschylus (Renehan 1990: 125–6).

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Flower.61 Agathon uses other terms that are common in poetry when he speaks of Eros as “enchanting” (q”lgwn: 197e4) gods and humans, and says that Eros is “the father of charms, yearning, longing” (car©twn, ¬m”rou, p»qou patžr: 197d7).62 Moreover, Eros is himself a poet, who inspires other poets (196d6–e6). However, Agathon leaves out lines, in the very passages he quotes, that cast doubt on the beneficence of Eros. Agathon implicitly claims to be Homer’s equal when he speaks at length about the delicacy (‰palÛtaton: 195e8) of Eros and argues that a poet like Homer is needed to show us this delicacy (195c6–196a1). Agathon first quotes the lines in which Homer states that Atˆe (Delusion) is delicate because she walks on soft things (195d4–5, quoting Il. 19.92–3). He then offers a similar proof for the delicacy of Eros, saying that Eros lives in the softest things. However, Agathon omits the words immediately preceding and following those he quotes: “Delusion . . . the destructive, who deceives all . . . harming people” (Il. 19.91–2, 94).63 Homer’s lines, then, could be used to support the view that delicate things like erˆos can be harmful. In other respects also Agathon uses the literary tradition selectively, omitting ideas that call his own views into question. The tragic poet says that Eros hates old age, which he flees (195b1–4), and he also states that there is always war between Eros and ugliness (196a6–7). Not only does Agathon fail to explain how the god of love, who brings peace and friendship (195c5– 6, 197c5), can also hate and engage in war, he also makes statements that are contrary to both the Greek literary tradition and everyday experience. Indeed, old people as well as young fall in love, and one person’s beloved may be considered ugly by others.64 Diotima’s statement that a person can love someone with a beautiful soul, even if the beloved has only a small amount of bloom (literally, “flower,” anthos: 210b8–c1) will later correct Agathon’s view that Eros and ugliness are opposed, perhaps with a pun on the title of his play, The Flower. Moreover, poetry is full of instances that contradict Agathon’s claims that erˆos is just, commits no violence, and is always served willingly (196b6–c2).65 Indeed, immediately after Agathon’s 61 62 63 64 65

Eros and flowers: Calame 1999: 153–64. On Agathon’s play, Anthei, see L´evˆeque 1955: 105–14. Examples are given by Calame 1999. See subject index s.v. thelgein, pothos, himeros, kharis. Omissions are noted by Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan 2004: 87–8; Dorter 1969: 225; and Rosen 1987: 179. Old age: Plato, Prm. 136e9–137a4, referring to Ibycus frag. 287 Page 1962; traits considered ugly: Resp. 5. 474d4–475a2. Dover 1980, on 196b7 cites Sappho frag. 172 [Lobel and Page 1955], in which Eros is said to give pain, and Theognis 1353–6. See also Ibycus 287.7 (force) and above nn.8–10. Inadequacies in Agathon’s arguments about the virtues of Eros are noted by Robin 2002: lxviii–lxix.

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speech, Socrates reminds his audience of the deceits practiced by lovers and of the disasters erˆos can cause when he quotes Hippolytus’ famous line in Euripides’ play: “My tongue swore but not my heart,” spoken by Hippolytus when he threatens to break his oath and reveal Phaedra’s incestuous love for him.66 After Agathon finishes his encomium, Socrates delivers a harsh criticism, remarking that, apparently, in giving an encomium, one should make the subject appear as good and beautiful as possible, without regard for the truth (198d8–e2). In his elenchus of Agathon and in the teachings he attributes to Diotima, Socrates argues that Agathon’s portrayal of Eros is inaccurate in a number of respects. In fact, according to Socrates and Diotima, Eros is not a god (202b10–c2); he lacks good and beautiful things (201c4–5, 202d5), and he is himself neither beautiful nor good (202b2–3). Whether or not all of Socrates’ arguments in his conversation with Agathon are valid, and whether or not all of Diotima’s views are adequately supported by argument, the issues they raise about erˆos (or Eros) show that Agathon has not subjected his own ideas, or those of the authorities he quotes, to critical examination. For example, Agathon has not asked the questions he needs to ask before attributing all good things to Eros. The poet’s account of a perfect and wise god does not explain how erˆos can be compatible with perfection, or how the wise can love the wisdom they already have, a question raised by Diotima at 204a1–2. Moreover, in claiming that Eros is erˆos of beauty (197b3–9), Agathon does not address the issues Diotima raises about why we love beauty (204d3–9) or what the function (ergon) of erˆos is (206b1–4). Agathon’s speech, then, demonstrates that neither he nor the tradition within which he claims expertise is able to give a satisfactory account of the benefits of erˆos. There are, however, two indications that Agathon’s amathia is less serious than that of the other speakers. When he cites Hesiod and Parmenides, Agathon questions their veracity, saying: “If they spoke the truth” (195c2–3). This statement suggests that he may be open to engaging in critical examination of his authorities. Second, Agathon concludes by saying: “Let this speech from me, Phaedrus . . . stand as my dedication to the god, sharing as it does partly in play, partly in a modest seriousness [spoudv metr©av], to the best of my personal ability.”67 Agathon’s modesty is consistent with his ability to admit mistakes in his later conversation with Socrates (201b11–12). Moreover, Agathon’s explicit acknowledgement that 66 67

199a5–6 uses nearly the same words as Eur. Hipp. 612. On Plato’s use of Hippolytus in the Phaedrus see further Chapter 6 at 6.3. 197e6–8. Translation: Rowe 1998.

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his speech is partly serious, partly play indicates a self-awareness shared by none of the other five speakers. Each is in fact playing a game, but one in which he has a serious stake, as a self-proclaimed expert on the topic. I have argued in 3.2 that each of the first five speakers lacks understanding of erˆos in that each claims to be an expert on this topic when in fact he is not. The speakers show their amathia by expressing ideas, supported by a selective use of literary quotations and allusions, without questioning or examining these ideas. According to Socrates, they give encomia by making Eros appear to be “the most beautiful and best” (199a1) without regard for the truth (198e1–2). Specifically, the speakers claim that Eros is a god, that he possesses beauty and virtue, and that he gives good things, including the virtues, to humans.68 After their speeches, Socrates agrees with the other speakers that Eros is the cause of good things (212b2–4). In other respects, however, he calls their views into question. Before doing so, he wins his first victory in words, aided by means of his skillful manipulation of poetic allusions. 3.3 socrates: eros the philosopher 3.3.1 Interlude: Socrates and the Gorgon Socrates prefaces his elenchus of Agathon (199c3–201c9) with a brief interlude (198b1–199b5) in which he comments on the poet’s speech and contrasts his own manner of giving encomia with that of the other symposiasts. When he describes his reactions to Agathon’s encomium, Socrates alludes to Homer: Indeed, thinking that I myself would not be able to say anything anywhere near as fine as this, I almost ran away out of shame, and would have done so if I’d had anywhere to go. For the speech reminded me of Gorgias, so that I really had the experience recounted by Homer. I was afraid that Agathon would end by sending against my speech the head of Gorgias, who is terribly skillful at speaking, and turn me to stony speechlessness. (198b6–c5)

The reference to Homer in this passage indicates that Socrates is alluding to the Gorgon’s head Odysseus fears encountering in the Underworld: 68

Eros is a god: Phaedrus (178a7), Pausanias (180d3), Eryximachus (186b1), Aristophanes (189c8 and 193c8–d1), Agathon (195a5). Eros possesses beauty: Pausanias (181a5–6), Agathon (195a7 and 197c2). Eros possesses virtue: Agathon (196b4–197b3). Eros gives good things to humans: Phaedrus (179a3–b3), Pausanias (185b5–c1), Eryximachus (188d4–9), Aristophanes (193c8–d5), Agathon (197c1–e5).

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[G]reen fear took hold of me with the thought that proud Persephone might send up against me some gorgonish head of a terrible monster up out of Hades’. So, going back on board my ship, I told my companions also to go aboard, and to cast off the stern cables.69

The image of the Gorgias’/Gorgon’s head, placed exactly in the middle of the dialogue,70 has a wider resonance, however. For one thing, it recalls the common sympotic motif of the Gorgon’s head on the inside of drinking cups. As Franc¸oise Frontisi-Ducroux points out, the Gorgon, the aulos-playing satyr and Dionysus are often presented frontally on the inside of drinking cups, staring at the drinker and presenting him with representations of both the divine and the bestial aspects of his own nature under the influence of wine.71 Socrates’ punning allusion to the Gorgon’s head would also remind his audience of the story of Perseus and Medusa. In Pindar’s Pythian 12, Perseus kills the Gorgon Medusa in order to use her head to turn his enemy, Polydectes, to stone. Pindar’s story has sympotic and musical associations, for Athena invents the aulos as a way of imitating the cries of the Gorgon.72 Socrates’ image of the Gorgias/Gorgon head brings with it all of these associations: Homeric, Pindaric, musical and sympotic. At this symposium, the philosopher does not play the role of Homer’s Odysseus, who leaves Hades in fear, but that of Perseus, who appropriates the powers of the Gorgon’s head for his own use. After hearing Agathon’s poetic and Gorgianic eloquence, Socrates “almost” runs away (198b7–c1). But of course he does not do so, and far from being turned to stony speechlessness (198c5) he proceeds to speak at great length. Indeed, according to Alcibiades, Socrates resembles an aulos-playing satyr, who, rather than being turned to stone by others’ eloquence, immobilizes people with his words and leads them to examine their own lives (216a2–8). The image of the Gorgias/Gorgon head in the middle of the dialogue, then, is a good example of Socrates’ erotic skill in persuading his audience to search for wisdom. Its sympotic imagery appeals to his fellow symposiasts, and it also functions, like the images in drinking cups, as an invitation to Socrates’ audience to search for the truth about themselves that is reflected within the speech that Socrates is about to give. Socrates’ use of this image also serves as a skillful and persuasive warning against the amathia of the first five speakers, demonstrating that truth cannot be found by merely citing literary sources, for these authorities must always be subject to philosophical 69 70 71

Od. 11.633–7. Translation: Lattimore 1951. Symp. 198 is 26 Stephanus pages from the beginning of a dialogue 51 pages long. 72 Sympotic associations: Belfiore 1992: 14–19. Frontisi-Ducroux 1989: esp. 156 and 163.

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interrogation.73 Like Perseus killing the Gorgon, the philosopher must overcome any servile dependence on literary authority that his traditional education has given him. He must learn to use others’ words for his own purposes, as Perseus does when he uses the Gorgon’s head to kill his enemy, and as Athena does when she uses its cries to create the art of aulos-playing. Socrates goes on to contrast his own manner of speaking with that of the other symposiasts. When he agreed to give an encomium, he explains: “I thought in my foolishness that it was necessary to speak the truth about each aspect of the thing praised, and with this as a foundation, picking out the finest of these things, to arrange them as suitably as possible” (198d3– 6). Accordingly, he thought highly of his ability to speak well (198c6–d3, d6–7). After the others have spoken, however, Socrates changes his mind. According to the previous speakers, he says, the way to praise something is: to attribute to the subject that which is greatest and most beautiful, whether this is true or not. If it’s false, it doesn’t matter. It was proposed, so it appears, that each of us should seem to praise Eros, not really to praise him. For this reason, I think, you call up everything that can be said and attribute it to Eros, and you say that he has such and such qualities and is the cause of so much, so that he might appear to be as beautiful and good as possible, to the ignorant, clearly – certainly not to those who know – and your praise is beautiful and awe-inspiring. (198d8–199a3)

Socrates refuses to give this kind of encomium, saying that he had agreed to give one without knowing what was expected (199a3–5). He now says that he will speak the truth about Eros, in his own way, leaving the arrangement of words and phrases to chance (199a6–b5). At the same time that he undertakes to tell the truth, however, Socrates also raises questions about whether or not he will in fact do so. In refusing to keep an agreement he made in ignorance, Socrates quotes Euripides’ line, “My tongue swore but not my heart” (Hipp. 612, quoted at 199a5–6). In so doing, he not only suggests that he might be a liar, he also gives a strange preface to his praise of Eros, by reminding the audience of Phaedra’s disastrous passion for her stepson. Indeed, at the end of his speech he does not quite claim to have given an encomium: “If you wish, Phaedrus, take this speech to have been spoken as an encomium to Eros, or call it whatever you please” (212b8–c3). Furthermore, Socrates concludes his elenchus of Agathon by stating that, although Agathon cannot contradict 73

On philosophy and poetic authority see Halliwell 2000: 104–9. Cf. Hunter 2004: 39, and Ford 2002: ch. 9, who argues that Plato uses quotations in Resp. 1 and 2 to “illustrate the unreliability of taking poets as founts of wisdom or sources of technical knowledge” (216).

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the truth, it is not difficult to contradict Socrates (201c8–9). He thus suggests, and modern scholars have been quick to agree, that there are flaws in his arguments.74 Alcibiades will later confirm that Socrates is a liar: “Does Socrates persuade you of anything he said just now? Don’t you know that it’s entirely the opposite of what he said?” (214c8–d2).75 This interlude between Agathon’s speech and Socrates’ elenchus of the poet, then, not only casts doubt on the truth of the claims made by the previous speakers, it also raises questions, as do passages later in the dialogue, about the truth of what Socrates himself says. The conflicting claims made by Socrates in this interlude are Gorgon-like in that they warn and invite the reader to examine critically the ideas he will present in his speech. They also prepare his audience to consider the possibility that the views he attributes to Diotima may, like the speech of Agathon (197e7), and like the character Socrates himself (216e4–6), combine play with seriousness. 3.3.2 Socrates and his teacher After his elenchus of Agathon, Socrates begins his own speech by saying that he will tell what he himself was once told by Diotima, who taught him about ta erˆotika (201d5–8). With a pun on “mantic” (prophetic), Socrates characterizes her as “a Mantinean woman” (201d2).76 Diotima was wise (sophˆe) in many things, and on one occasion, she used her wisdom about divine matters to help the Athenians delay a plague for ten years by means of sacrifice (201d3–5).77 Socrates’ speech is both playful and serious in that he introduces her as an authority by whom he claims to have been persuaded (212b1–4) and taught (201d5), while at the same time presenting her in such a way as to suggest that her teachings cannot be accepted uncritically, in the way in which the other speakers accept the views of the literary authorities to whom they appeal. 74

75

76 77

Szlez´ak 1985: 256 n.16 points out that the phrase at 201c8–9 is ambiguous, meaning either that Socrates does not tell the truth or that Agathon should think much less of Socrates than of the truth. Logical difficulties in the elenchus of Agathon are discussed by Allen 1966 and Payne 1999. Alcibiades is alluding to Socrates’ statements at 213c6–d6, but his use of pe©qei (“persuades”) also reminds his audience of Socrates’ recent statement (not heard by Alcibiades) that Socrates attempts to persuade people about Eros (212b1–4). As Bury notes (1932: xxxix and on 201d), Diotima’s characterization as Mantinikv (Mantinean) recalls the “mantic” (prophetic) art, and Cod. W reads mantikv (mantic). Rowe 1998, on 201d1–204c8, notes that the passage represents her as having “powers of intervention with the gods,” and that she, like a seer, has “an understanding of things, past and present as well as future, which is superior to that possessed by ordinary human beings.”

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Socrates’ Diotima first discusses the nature of Eros (201e3–204c6) and then talks about his deeds, that is, his usefulness to humans (204c7– 212a7).78 Her teachings correspond to the two stages of initiation into the Mysteries of Eleusis: the “Lesser Mysteries” (discussed at 201e8–209e4) and the “Greater Mysteries” (described at 209e5–212a7).79 She begins by rejecting ideas about Eros held by all of the first five speakers. They claimed that Eros is a god who possesses beauty and virtue, and who gives good things to humans.80 According to Diotima, however, Eros is not a god but a daimˆon, a being between god and mortal (202d13–203a8), who lacks good things (201e6–7, with 201c4–5). Eros is not evil and ugly, nor is he beautiful and good, but between the two states (202b1–5). He is also in a state between amathia and wisdom (sophia), and his realization that he lacks good things is a necessary condition for his desiring to acquire them. Eros is therefore a philosopher and a lover instead of a beloved (203e5–204c6). Moreover, Diotima denies that erˆos is desire for the whole (205d10–206a1), as Aristophanes claimed (192e10–193a1), or for beauty, as Agathon held (197b3–9), saying instead that it is a desire to “generate in beauty” (206e2– 5).81 She goes on to explain that erˆos is a desire for generation, because generation is a kind of immortality for mortals, and that all people desire immortality together with the good (206e7–207a4, 208b2–6, 212a2–7). Diotima further explains the connection between erˆos and immortality by claiming that people may be pregnant not only in body but also in soul, giving birth to spiritual children who live on after their parents are gone (208e1–209e4). In the last part of her speech, she also says that it is necessary (de±) for the successful initiate into the Greater Mysteries of love to proceed in the correct way (210a4–5, 211b7–c1). This person must ascend as though climbing a ladder from lower to higher objects of erˆos, in order to attain, at last, the sight of “divine beauty” (211e3), in which he can give birth to true things (211e4–212a7). It is a common view that Plato, or the Socrates of the Symposium, or both, endorse at least a significant part of Diotima’s teachings, in particular the views expressed in the passage about the ladder of love. Charles Kahn suggests “that we read the final section of Diotima’s speech as Plato’s selfinterpretation of the philosophical and pedagogical intention of his earlier 78 79 80 81

The distinction between the nature of Eros and his deeds is made at 201e1–2 and 204c8. At 199c3–6, Socrates compliments Agathon for having followed this same procedure. On the division into these two stages Brisson 1998: 69–71 agrees with Riedweg 1987: 21. I discuss the two stages of initiation below 3.3.3. See above end of section 3.2 and n.68. It is often difficult to distinguish Eros the daimˆon from erˆos, passionate desire, in Socrates’ speech. I agree with Payne 1999: 238–9, that the ambiguities may be deliberate.

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work. The ladder of love is here the path that leads from the Socratic elenchus to the doctrine of Forms.”82 According to Kurt Sier, this passage is a “revelation of the ‘truth’”.83 The idea that Diotima, or anyone else in the dialogues, speaks for Plato has been sufficiently refuted by the arguments of many scholars.84 It is more difficult to determine the extent to which Socrates represents himself as endorsing the ideas Diotima expresses. It is true that Socrates says that he has been persuaded by Diotima (212b1–2), thus indicating that he agrees with at least some of what she says. Diotima also employs question and answer with Socrates, just as Socrates does with Agathon.85 Moreover, the first part of Socrates’ conversation with her (201e3–7) recapitulates his own previous discussion with Agathon, in which the two men came to agreement about certain things (201d5–7).86 On the other hand, that discussion ends with Socrates’ statement that it is not difficult to refute Socrates (201c8–9), thus calling attention to possible flaws in his argument (see above 3.3.1). In other respects also, Socrates’ Diotima is characterized so as to raise rather than answer questions. First, she is a woman who praises pederasty, a relationship between an older and a younger male, and she is a female expert on erˆos and birth who, as far as we know from Plato’s dialogue, has never borne a child. These incongruities would lead Socrates’ audience to question her knowledge and experience about erˆos and reproduction, and to wonder why such a figure should idealize male homoerotic love.87 Another strange thing about Diotima is the fact that this teacher differs so radically from the philosopher-pupil who reports her words. As noted above, Diotima is a prophet (201d1–5), who, by definition, has knowledge of a kind that is inaccessible to ordinary mortals. Socrates underscores this idea when he replies to one of her statements: “It would need prophecy to know what you mean” (206b9). Diotima is not only a prophet, but also, as Deborah Nails notes, the priestess of a mystery religion, from whom 82 83 84 85 87

Kahn 1996: 271; cf. Santas 1988: 25, who writes that Socrates’ speech is “usually taken to present Plato’s own theory of eros.” “Im Unterschied zu den a¨lteren Dialogen aber folgt hier die Aufdeckung der ‘Wahrheit’”; “mit 209e5 ¨ der Ubergang vom Bereich der d»xa zur ˆlžqeia erfolgt” (Sier 1997: 3 and 270). See, for example, the essays in Gonzalez 1995c and Press 2000. 86 Cf. Sheffield 2006a: 36. The last point is made by Blondell 2006: 152. David Leitao, in correspondence, called my attention to the fact that, in being childless, Diotima is unlike the midwife of Plato’s Tht. 149b4–c3. On the issue of Diotima’s childlessness see Hobbs 2006: 264–5. Plato may have had good reasons for making Diotima a woman (Halperin 1990; Saxonhouse 1984: 19–22; and Sier 1997: 10–11), but her gender raises many questions. Arieti 1991: 105 calls the introduction of Diotima “subversive.” Gill 1999: xxix remarks that “Plato’s use of this figure is paradoxical and surprising.”

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one should not expect profound philosophy.88 Indeed, Socrates’ speech repeatedly calls attention to her unphilosophical characteristics. If Diotima really is “wise” (sophˆe: 201d3, cf. 208b8), as Socrates states, she cannot be a philosopher, who, according to her own account, is not wise, and who recognizes his or her own lack of wisdom (204a1–7). If, on the other hand, she merely speaks “like the accomplished sophists” (sophistai: 208c1), she may be deceitful.89 Diotima’s claims to “teach” Socrates (peir†soma© se did†xai: 204d1–2; cf. 201d5, 207a5, c6) also imply a claim to have the kind of wisdom that her own philosopher-Eros lacks. Socrates, in contrast, states that he persuades rather than teaches (212b1–3), and repeatedly acknowledges his own lack of wisdom. The philosophical life of examination that he is represented as leading is very different from the mystical contemplation advocated by Diotima.90 Moreover, although Diotima’s teachings as reported by Socrates begin with a question and answer procedure like the one that Socrates uses with Agathon (201e2–7), much of what she says, and especially her account of pregnancy and the ladder of love (208c1–212a7), is in the form of a long speech, uninterrupted by questions and unsupported by arguments. Not only does Diotima differ significantly from Socrates, she also disparages him, laughing at what he says (202b10) and suggesting that he may be unable to understand her teachings so as to become “marvelously skilled in ta erˆotika” (207c2–4; cf. 204b1, 209e5–210a2), as he claims to be in this dialogue (177d7–8, 198d1–2). She warns him, in particular, that he may not be capable of being initiated into the Greater Mysteries of love (210a1–2).91 Why does Socrates represent his teacher as laughing at him? It has been suggested that one reason why Diotima ridicules Socrates is that the Socrates to whom Diotima speaks is young and has not yet completed his initiation. According to Frisbee Sheffield, Socrates plays two roles in his speech: that of his own youthful self, who resembles Agathon, and that of the resourceful Diotima, who is his “alter ego.”92 At the time of his conversation with Diotima, Socrates had advanced only part way up the ladder of erˆos. The text, however, does not give clear indications that Socrates, at the time of the Symposium, has in fact arrived at the top of Diotima’s ladder. The great variety of opinions about how far Socrates 88 89 91 92

Nails 2006: 184–5 and 192–3. 90 Nails 2006: 192–3. For this translation of Socrates’ phrase see Rowe 1998, on 208c1. Sier rightly notes that Diotima’s remarks are similar to traditional comments made by Muses (e.g., Hes. Theog. 26), although I do not agree that Diotima’s remarks are merely ironical (1997: 12). Sheffield 2006a: 66–9. She argues (69 n.38) that Diotima makes disparaging remarks about Socrates because the latter is playing the role of Agathon. Socrates’ youth at the time of his conversation with Diotima is also discussed by Blondell 2006: 162–3; Ludwig 2002: 219, 313–15; and Sedley 2006.

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has advanced are in themselves some evidence that we are given no clear indications about how far he has advanced, if in fact he has done so at all.93 Indeed, Socrates never says that he has been initiated, nor does he, as Aristophanes claims to be able to do (189d3–4), attempt to teach others the knowledge he has acquired from Diotima. He is never represented as following the specific itinerary of Diotima’s ladder of love.94 Diotima’s use of the subjunctive at 211d3 (“if you ever see it”) indicates that he has not seen the objects at the top of the ladder at the time of his conversations with her, and there is no suggestion that he is contemplating them at a later time, for example, when he is represented in the Symposium as standing and thinking.95 Moreover, Socrates says that he does not know (204d10–11, 206b5–6, 206b9–10, 207c2) and needs teachers (207c5–6), and he continues to disparage his own wisdom, even after he has been “taught” by Diotima (175e2–4, 219a1–2). Socrates’ responses to Diotima also indicate that he questions rather than accepts much of what she says, and that, in particular, he has doubts about her teachings concerning pregnancy and the ladder of erˆos. The metaphor of pregnancy is introduced at the Lesser Mysteries stage of Diotima’s teachings. At 206b7–e5 she defines the function of erˆos as “birth in beauty, with respect to body and soul” (206b7–8). Socrates expresses the puzzlement shared by readers of the dialogue when he puns on Diotima’s epithet, “Mantinean” (201d2), in stating that divination (manteia) would be required to understand what she means and that he doesn’t understand (ou manthanˆo) what she is talking about (206b9–10). The pun also marks with a note of humor the introduction of Diotima’s metaphor of male pregnancy. Socrates’ puzzlement is especially noteworthy because up to this point, he, like Agathon in his conversation with Socrates,96 has indicated agreement with Diotima’s teachings about Eros as a daimˆon who lacks and desires beauty and wisdom. Socrates says in response to Diotima: “You speak the truth” (202a10, 205a4, c3, c10, d9); “You speak well” (204c7), and finally, “You speak most truly” (206a13). After Diotima introduces the metaphor of pregnancy at 206b, however, Socrates ceases to express this kind of 93

94 96

Among those who hold that Socrates is at or near the top of the ladder are Anton 1974: 288; Friedl¨ander 1969: 30–1; Nussbaum 1986: 195; and D. Scott 2000: 32. That Socrates has not been initiated into the Mysteries is argued by Lutz 1998: 108; Nails 2006: 184–5; and Reeve 2006a: 135–6. Lowenstam 1985: 94–6 believes that Socrates has ascended many times, and Blondell 2006: 174–8 agrees with him, while also contending that Socrates occupies all of the steps at the same time. 95 As is claimed by D. Scott 2000: 31–2. Br`es 1968: 248. Agathon says: “Certainly” (P†nu ge or oÔn: 199d8, e8, 200a4, e1, e6); “You speak the truth” (200b8); “Yes” (201a1, b3), and “Necessarily” (201b5).

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agreement. He asks: “What then?” (206e4); says: “Well then” (206e6); states that he does not know (207c2); says that he needs teachers, and asks her to explain (207c5–7). His last reported words in his conversation with Diotima express wonder and ask if the things she has said about reproduction are true: “And I having heard her speech marveled and said: ‘Really,’ I said, ‘O most wise Diotima, are these things truly so?’” (208b7–9). He then reports that she answers ãsper o¬ t”leoi sofista© (208c1), a phrase that can mean either “like the most perfectly wise people,” or “like the accomplished sophists.” It is likely that Socrates puns on both senses, just as he punned shortly before on “Mantinean” and “manteia” (206b9–10). Significantly, this phrase occurs just before her detailed account of spiritual pregnancy (208e5–209e4), with its comic image of pregnant males.97 This marked change in Socrates’ responses, before and after Diotima begins her account of pregnancy, indicates increased difficulty in following and accepting her views. Diotima, then, is characterized in such a way as to call attention to her strangeness as a teacher of Socrates. As priestess and prophet, she is not a philosopher, but instead the possessor of a kind of god-like wisdom that cannot be acquired by ordinary mortals, who, like Socrates in the Apology, are wisest when they realize that they lack wisdom.98 Her differences from Socrates strongly suggest that she is not Socrates’ alter ego in the sense of someone who has acquired wisdom that the mature Socrates of the Symposium has also come to possess. This mature Socrates does not have wisdom, but the daimonic art of the philosopher who recognizes his own lack of wisdom and desires passionately to acquire as much of it as he can. Why, then, does Socrates introduce this extraordinary figure as his teacher about ta erˆotika? One clue is provided by Diotima’s ridicule of Socrates. As noted above, she laughs at what he says (202b10), and disparages him on a number of occasions, just as Socrates also disparages his own wisdom, in the Symposium and in other dialogues. Stephen Halliwell insightfully connects Diotima’s ridicule with the self-mockery in which Plato’s Socrates sometimes engages, on occasion using an alter ego for this purpose.99 According to Halliwell, Diotima is an alter ego, not in that 97

98 99

See further below. Rowe 1999a: 250–1 gives an excellent account of this phrase as an introduction to the following passage, with its ironical tone and questionable ideas. Cf. Rowe 1998, on 208b8–9 and c1. “That one of you . . . is wisest who, like Socrates, recognizes that his wisdom is worth little or nothing” (Ap. 23b2–4). Halliwell 2008: 291–5, citing Hp. mai. 286c and 298b–c. See also Chapter 4 at 4.2 and n.21.

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she expresses specific doctrines that Socrates endorses, but because she ridicules “those who merit [ridicule] through their dialectical arrogance or self-ignorance – which piquantly includes [Socrates] himself.”100 One use that Socrates makes of his character Diotima, then, is to contrast the erotic art that he himself has acquired with the wisdom that only a god – or an inspired prophetess and priestess – could possess, and to ridicule those who believe that they themselves can actually attain such extraordinary wisdom. This does not mean that Socrates rejects Diotima’s teachings: rejection as well as acceptance would imply a certainty that he disclaims. He represents himself as having a more complex attitude towards them. Socrates treats Diotima’s detailed accounts of male pregnancy and of specific steps up a ladder as fruitful ways of thinking about erˆos that deserve further investigation, rather than as truths to be accepted because they are stated by an authority. Only a prophet, he suggests, could know that these things are true, and any ordinary mortal who claims to have this knowledge deserves ridicule. When Socrates says that he has been persuaded by Diotima, then (212b2), he does not mean that he has been persuaded that her detailed account of the ascent up the ladder of love contains authoritative truth. Diotima’s views about the nature of Eros as daimˆon and philosopher have a different status, however, for her Eros is a personification of the erotic, daimonic art that Socrates himself has acquired. What Diotima persuades Socrates about, then, concerns the erotic art, an important component of which is the recognition of one’s own lack of wisdom, even about ta erˆotika.101 Diotima herself is not a philosopher who practices this daimonic art, but instead has a status similar to that of the god from whom Socrates acquires true belief in the Lysis (see Chapter 2 at 2.3.3). Socrates also reveals an important aspect of his erotic art in characterizing Diotima’s teachings as initiation into the Mysteries of erˆos. The acquisition of erotic art is, like the Mysteries of Diotima, a kind of initiation in which ordinary erˆos for physical beauty is a necessary preparation for Socratic erˆos for true beauty and wisdom. 3.3.3 Pregnant men on ladders: the Lesser and the Greater Mysteries The Lesser Mysteries (201e8–209e4) After Socrates remarks that divination is needed to understand what she means in saying that the function of erˆos is to give birth in beauty 100 101

Halliwell 2008: 293; Diotima as alter ego: 292. Cf. Scott and Welton 2008: 88, who argue that Socrates learned awareness of his own ignorance from Diotima. I disagree, however, with their view that she also teaches the philosopher to achieve a partial recollection of the Forms (99 and 136).

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(206b1–10), Diotima proceeds to explain. She says: “All people [anthrˆopoi], Socrates, are pregnant [kuousin] in body and soul, and when they reach a certain age our nature desires to give birth” (206c1–4). According to Diotima, “the intercourse of a man and a woman is the giving of birth” (206c5–6). Later on (208e1–209e4), now speaking exclusively of males, she provides a more detailed explanation of the two kinds of pregnancy – that of body and that of soul. Men who are pregnant in body are erotic with respect to women because they desire to beget children (208e1–5). Other men, she says, “are pregnant in soul still more than in body” (208e5– 209a2), and the beloved they seek is beautiful in both body and soul (209b2–7). Touching and consorting with the beautiful beloved, the lover who is pregnant in soul “gives birth to and generates that with which he has long been pregnant,” and brings up the offspring together with his partner (209c2–4). Their offspring are not human children, but discourses about virtue (209b8). The relationship between these two parents is a reciprocal one in which both experience a “much greater community” and “more steadfast philia [friendship]” than do parents who raise human children together, because they “share in more beautiful and more immortal children” (209c5–7). These parents produce “many and beautiful [poll‡ kaª kal†] works, giving birth to all kinds of virtue [gennžsantev panto©an ˆretžn]” (209e2–3). For Diotima, as for the first five speakers, the ideal erotic relationship is one between an older and a younger male. The lover who produces offspring of the soul is not explicitly characterized as exclusively homoerotic, but he is contrasted with the lover of women and is said to have educational goals (209c1–2) that are most appropriate to the pederastic relationship between Greek males of different ages. In this part of her speech, then, Socrates’ Diotima presents an idealized relationship between lover and beloved that is, in some respects, like that portrayed in Socrates’ second speech in the Phaedrus (discussed in Chapter 5 at 5.3.2). Here also, Socrates describes a relationship of reciprocal philia, in which both partners value the soul more than the body, and share in what is more divine. The differences, however, are instructive. Instead of providing a detailed and original psychology of love to support and clarify her views, as Socrates does in the Phaedrus, Diotima uses vague expressions and poetic language that remind Socrates’ audience of the first five speeches of the dialogue. The phrase quoted above (gennžsantev panto©an ˆretžn, “giving birth to all kinds of virtue”: 209e2–3) recalls language used in two earlier passages. Socrates referred to Agathon’s encomium, in which there were many

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falsehoods, as a “beautiful and variegated speech” (kal¼n . . . kaª pantodap¼n l»gon: 198b3), and Eryximachus used the phrase “manifold and variegated” (poll‡ kaª pantodap†: 193e6–7) to characterize the speech of his rival, Aristophanes.102 Moreover, the spiritual children of those who are pregnant in soul are said to include the poems of Homer and Hesiod, and the laws of Lycurgus and Solon, but philosophical discourses are not mentioned (209d1–7). Indeed, Diotima in this passage, like the first five speakers, appeals to poetic and mythological tradition without subjecting this tradition to critical examination. She mentions Homer and Hesiod (209d1), refers to the mythological figures Alcestis, Achilles and Patroclus, who were also mentioned by previous speakers (208d2–3), and she echoes Archilochus in calling intercourse of a man and a woman “the divine thing” (qe±on t¼ prgma: 206c6).103 Diotima alludes to poetic sources unknown to us in quoting a hexameter at 208c5–6, and in referring to “the most great and deceitful erˆos” (doler¼v ›rwv: 205d2–3).104 This last reference, to a “deceitful erˆos,” is especially striking, containing, like Socrates’ earlier quotation of Euripides’ Hippolytus (above 3.3.1), a hint that some of what the speaker says about Eros might itself be deceitful. It has been argued that the emphasis on poetry and laws in this part of Diotima’s teachings is due, at least in part, to the fact that she is here discussing the Lesser Mysteries. At this stage, people are inspired by erˆos in the generic sense of a desire for good things, as well as by erˆos in a specific sense that has a sexual component (205d1–8), but not by love of wisdom (philosophia).105 Accordingly, in this part of her teachings, Diotima emphasizes love of honor (philotimia: 208c3) and desire for glory (208d2– e1), and she praises poets and lawgivers.106 One problem with this view, however, is that Diotima does not explain how the poems of Homer and Hesiod could be even a first step toward philosophy. To do so, she would need to discuss in more detail her inclusion of these poems in the vague category of “all kinds of virtue,” and to explain how their authors exhibit the recognition of their lack of wisdom that Diotima attributes to the philosopher-daimˆon Eros. 102 103 104

105 106

On 198b3 see Chapter 4 at 4.3 with n.34. Archilochus, frag. 196a.15 West 1989–1992: t¼ qe±on crma (noted by Dover 1980, on 206c5). For the hexameter see Bury 1932 and Sier 1997: 250. On “deceitful erˆos” see Bury 1932, who compares Sappho 1.1–2: %fr»dita . . . dol»ploke, and Sier 1997: 212, who notes that the meter was probably iambic tetrameter. On generic and specific erˆos see Introduction at I.2. See Ferrari 1992: 255–6; Sheffield 2001: esp. 3–4 and 10, and Sier 1997: 125. A positive interpretation of Diotima’s emphasis on honor and fame is provided by Nichols 2009: 64–70, who argues that in so doing she places humans within the context of the political community.

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Another problem in this passage is how to interpret Diotima’s strange and comic metaphor of male pregnancy. Plato frequently uses sexual imagery to characterize a passionate desire for wisdom (see Introduction at I.2). The metaphor in the Symposium in particular has stimulated Plato’s readers to produce many fruitful philosophical ideas of their own.107 It does not, however, accord with the basic facts of biology. Males do not become pregnant or give birth, and sexual intercourse is not the same as giving birth, as 206c5–6 appears to state, but precedes parturition.108 Moreover, as scholars have noted, the verb kuˆo used at 206c1 (quoted above, beginning of 3.3.3) usually refers to female conception or pregnancy, in contrast to tiktein and gennan, that can be used of both sexes.109 Socrates’ audience at the symposium would have found the idea of male pregnancy to be comic as well as strange. In Euripides’ Bacchae, Teiresias asks Pentheus if he laughs (diagelv: 286) at the story of Dionysus’ “double birth.” According to the myth recounted by the Chorus, Zeus killed Semele with a thunderbolt when she was pregnant with the god. Zeus then fastened the fetus into his own thigh in order to hide it from Hera and eventually gave birth (›teken: 99) to Dionysus (Bacch. 88–103). What really happened, Teiresias punningly explains, is that Zeus broke off (çžxav) a piece of the ether that surrounds the earth and gave it to Hera as a hostage (Âmhron). In time, people twisted the words around and came to say that the child was sewn into the thigh (çafnai . . . mhr) of Zeus (Bacch. 286–97). Not only is Teiresias’ story highly sophistical, as E. R. Dodds comments: “The thigh-birth lent itself too easily to ribald humor.”110 In other contexts, the idea of male pregnancy was not only comic, but also offensive to the Greeks. To suggest that a man in a homoerotic relationship was pregnant was a serious insult, attributing to him the passive, feminine role in intercourse, considered to be disgraceful for males. Whether or not the incident actually occurred, Plutarch’s story of Periander 107

108

109 110

For example, Irwin 1995: 309, holds that generation in beauty refers to “propagation of the valuable aspects of myself in a person who will exist in the future.” Kosman 1976: 65 and n.29, writes that the meaning of “birth in beauty” is that love “calls the other to be his true self.” According to Price 1989, “all love is a kind of pregnancy, whose goal is the creation of another life that will be an extension of the lover’s” (227, cf. 25–9). There is little agreement among scholars about how to interpret Diotima’s views on reproduction. Discussions include those of Burnyeat 1977; Halperin 1985: 180–2 and 1990: 139–41; Hobbs 2006; Morrison 1964: 51–5; Pender 1992; Plass 1978; Pradeau 2007; Reeve 2006a: 128–9; Rowe 1999a; Santas 1988: 37–9; Sheffield 2001 and 2006a: 75–111; Vlastos 1973: 19–22. The strangeness of her account is well brought out by Konstan 1999: 264–5. Noted by Dover 1980: 147; Hobbs 2006: 264; and Sheffield 2001: 14–15. Dodds 1960, on Bacch. 286–97, citing Lucian, Dialogi Deorum 9 and the Old Comedy poet Polyzelus, author of “The Births of Dionysus” [frag. 5, Kassel and Austin 1983–2001].

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is a good indication of Greek attitudes. When the sixth-century tyrant asked his erˆomenos: “Aren’t you pregnant yet?” the young man was so angry that he killed Periander.111 Diotima’s idea that it is the erastˆes who is pregnant could be seen as even more offensive, for it casts in a ridiculous and humiliating light the active partner in the relationship that is idealized by Diotima herself, as well as by the symposiasts, who not only praise but participate in such relationships. Moreover, the metaphor might be taken as specifically ridiculing Pausanias and his erˆomenos Agathon (193b6–c2), the tragedian who might be said to be “pregnant” with poetry, like Homer, Hesiod and the other “good poets” (poiˆetas . . . agathous: 209d1–2), mentioned by Diotima.112 Diotima’s comic metaphor is playful, then, but it also comes close to the division, often difficult to demarcate in Greek society, between harmless laughter and aggressive, hubristic mockery.113 We cannot, then, fully appreciate Socrates’ use of this metaphor without acknowledging and attempting to explain its comic aspects. Why, in the metaphor of the pregnant lover, is erˆos represented ambiguously, as both the source of our highest aspiration and as involving absurdities greater than those associated with Aristophanes’ half-people, who at first reproduced in the earth by means of genitals attached to their buttocks? The comic aspects of Diotima’s metaphor serve, like her laughter at Socrates, as a form of self-mockery, directed against those who claim, as Socrates might be thought to be doing in presenting the teachings of this authority, to have more wisdom than they are in fact able to obtain. At the same time, this striking image invites Socrates’ audience, and Plato’s readers, to examine and question ideas that are based, in large part, on Greek erotic-educational conventions. It therefore helps to induce recognition of their own lack of wisdom about erˆos, and the desire to obtain as much of this wisdom as they can. The Greater Mysteries (209e5–212a7) The account of the Greater Mysteries given by Socrates’ Diotima is also constructed so as to stimulate desire for wisdom, while disclaiming authoritative knowledge. When she teaches Socrates about the stages necessary 111

112

113

Plutarch, Amatorius 768f, cited by Dover 1989: 107 n.101 and Plass 1978: 51. That this story is also cited by Aristotle, Pol. 1311a39–b2, shows that it was current in Plato’s time (David Leitao, in correspondence). For the pun on Agathon’s name see Chapter 4 at 4.3. I disagree with Hobbs 2006: 267, who writes that Alcibiades is the only character in the Symposium who might find the metaphor of male pregnancy offensive. On this distinction within Greek society generally, see Halliwell 2008: 19–38, and, in the case of Plato’s Socrates in particular: 276–302.

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for initiation into the Greater Mysteries of erˆos (t‡ d• t”lea kaª –poptik†: 210a1), Diotima uses the metaphor of climbing a ladder (211c3) to describe the ascent from lower to higher objects of erˆos. The lover goes from erˆos for one beautiful body, to erˆos for all beautiful bodies, to love for beautiful souls, then to beautiful practices and laws, next to beautiful sciences, and finally to a vision of “divine beauty itself” (211e3). Diotima’s description of the lover’s ascent raises important questions about the nature of love, the soul, metaphysics and epistemology. Socrates does not, however, represent it as providing definitive answers to these questions. One reason for believing that Socrates does not represent himself as accepting Diotima’s account as conveying authoritative truth is the fact that the comic image of male pregnancy is retained throughout, from the lowest to the highest level. The Lesser Mysteries are said to be “for the sake of,” that is, preparatory to, the Greater Mysteries (210a1–2). This, together with the birth terminology in both passages, indicates that the lover in the Greater Mysteries passage is, like the lover of the earlier passage, a pregnant male. We are now asked to imagine that pregnant men climb the ladder of erˆos, balancing their ungainly bodies on its steps, while having intercourse with various partners and giving birth to various offspring. Terms for giving birth are used throughout. The lover is said to generate (gennn) beautiful discourse in a beautiful body (210a7–8), to give birth to (t©ktein: 210c1) discourse in a beautiful soul and to give birth (t©kt¦‚) within “boundless philosophy” (210d3–6).114 Diotima’s language even suggests that, at the highest rung of the ladder, the lover has sexual intercourse with the highest form of beauty: he gives birth (t©ktein, tek»nti), not to images of virtue, but to true things, because he touches what is true (212a3–7).115 If this literal interpretation is rejected as absurd, what is it that is supposed to happen at the top of the ladder? Diotima, like the initiates in the Eleusinian Mysteries, whose images this passage borrows,116 keeps the secret. The sexual imagery is also puzzling at the lower rungs of the ladder, where Diotima states that the lover must become “a lover of all beautiful bodies” (210b4–5). If she 114

115

116

Cf.  p†lai –kÅei t©ktei kaª genn: 209c3. A good discussion of the meaning of the phrase –n filosof© ˆfq»n (“in boundless philosophy”) is provided by Gregory and Levin 1998, although I do not agree with all of their conclusions. Pender 1992: 81–2 argues that the image is of the lover having intercourse with the Forms. This idea might find some support from the fact that, according to one source, the Eleusinian Mysteries included a “sacred marriage” between hierophant and priestess: see Burkert 1983: 284. As Nightingale 2004: 115 notes, a similar metaphor is used in Resp. 490a–b. There, however, the metaphor does not occur within the context of an extensive and detailed discussion of erˆos and reproduction that itself invites questions. See Riedweg 1987: 2–29.

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is advising the lover to become sexually promiscuous, the Socrates of the Symposium does not appear to have followed her advice.117 Another reason to believe that Socrates presents Diotima’s account in such a way as to raise stimulating questions without providing authoritative answers is the fact that the Greater Mysteries passage fails to give sufficient information about the negative attitudes it emphasizes. In Diotima’s account of the Lesser Mysteries of love, ugliness, which makes the lover frown, feel pain, shrivel, turn away and roll up without generating (206d5–7), is contrasted with beauty, which produces the opposite effect. In the Greater Mysteries passage, however, negative attitudes and reactions are an important aspect of desire, for erˆos for each new object involves a corresponding disdain for inferior objects.118 When the lover learns to love all beautiful bodies, he relaxes intense love for one beautiful body, disdaining and thinking this love to be of little worth (katafronžsanta kaª smikr¼n ¡ghs†menon: 210b5–6). Then, when he progresses to love for beauty of soul, he thinks this kind of beauty to be of more worth than physical beauty (timiÛteron ¡gžsasqai toÓ –n t sÛmati: 210b7). Next, the lover loves beautiful practices and laws and, compared to them, thinks little of physical beauty (t¼ perª t¼ säma kal¼n smikr»n ti ¡gžshtai e²nai: 210c3–6). When the lover goes on to contemplate “the great sea of beauty” (210d4) he is no longer, like a worthless slave, attached to the beauty of one person or one practice (ãsper o«k”thv . . . douleÅwn faÓlov §‚ kaª smikrol»gov: 210c7–d6). This statement implies that the object loved by the “slavish” lover is itself inferior and worthy of disdain in relation to “the great sea of beauty.” Finally, the lover who associates with divine beauty itself will not give birth to images of virtue, because he is not touching an image (212a4). It is clear that love of higher beauty involves disdain for inferior objects. Diotima does not, however, specify exactly what disdain involves: complete rejection or a proper valuation in relation to higher things?119 Most notoriously, the Greater Mysteries passage raises without answering the question about whether or not the disdain felt by the ascending lover is compatible with interpersonal love. Only at the bottom of the ladder is the lover said to experience erˆos in the specific sense of love for a particular 117 118 119

Promiscuity: Nussbaum 2001: 490–1. Noted by Moravcsik 1972: 289. On the use of negatives in this passage see Sier 1997: 282–4. The phrase at 210b5–6 (“disdaining and thinking this love to be of little worth”; cf. 210c5–6) is interpreted as “scorn” by Gagarin 1977: 31–2, as “putting in its place, not turning out of doors” by Price 1989: 44, and as “keeping the former interests and adding to these newer ones” by Moravcsik 1972: 293. Pakaluk 2004 has helpful remarks on the close association between “contempt” and virtue in other dialogues of Plato.

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individual. The references to “pederasty” (211b5–6), to beautiful boys and youths (211d4), and to boyfriends (211d6) imply that the relationship in question at the early stages of the ascent resembles the erotic-educational relationship between two males of different ages that is depicted in Pausanias’ speech.120 The erastˆes of Diotima’s account loves one beautiful body (210a7), and he loves and cares for (kždesqai) a beloved with a beautiful soul, whom he attempts to educate by giving birth to and seeking those words that make the young man better (210b8–c3). Diotima’s main concern, however, is not with interpersonal love, but with a very different kind of erˆos: love for beauty itself. Moreover, her teachings about the Greater Mysteries contain no reference to reciprocal philia between lover and beloved of the kind said to be shared by those initiated into the Lesser Mysteries (209c2–7), although the lover initiated into the Greater Mysteries is once said to “care for” the person who has beauty of soul (210c1). Aside from Diotima’s address to Socrates as “dear” (f©le: 211d1), phil- words occur only twice: philosophia (210d6) and theophilei (“god-loved”: 212a6). The lover has philia for wisdom and in turn is loved by the gods. Nor is anything said, even in the account of the lowest steps on the ladder, about the physical contact between lover and beloved that led, in the Lesser Mysteries passage, to generation (209c2–3).121 Diotima uses sexual vocabulary (“being with,” “giving birth” and “touching”: sun»ntov, t©ktein, –faptom”n: 212a2–5) to characterize the lover’s contact with divine beauty instead of with a human beloved, and we are not told what role, if any, interpersonal love has at the top of the ladder, where all of the lover’s emotions appear to be directed toward higher objects. Further confusion is added by the fact that the Lesser Mysteries, in which interpersonal love has a very positive role, are said to be “for the sake of” the Greater Mysteries (210a1–2). Moreover, the ascent up the ladder in the Greater Mysteries passage is said to proceed “by means of correct pederasty” (211b5–6). Love for one body and for one soul, however, are said to characterize only the lower stages of the ascent up the ladder of love, and these lower stages are said to be “for the sake of” the final vision of true beauty (210e5–6). It would appear, then, that unless the lover first experiences passionate desire for another person, the lover will not be able to progress up the ladder. Yet, in order to progress, the lover must acquire 120 121

See Introduction at I.2, especially n.29. Moravcsik 1972: 291 and Patterson 1991: 197 argue that the ascent begins at a stage beyond that of mere sexual desire. This is one possible interpretation, but it is not supported by explicit statements in the text.

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disdain for love of one body (210b5–6) and no longer be “enslaved” to one boy and one human being (210d1–3). Socrates’ Diotima, then, does not provide a clear and unambiguous account of the role played by interpersonal love in the ascent. In interpreting her statements, scholars have tended to emphasize either the positive or the negative statements about interpersonal love, while downplaying the importance of other apparently inconsistent statements.122 The fact is, however, that the text simply does not supply clear and explicit information about such important issues as whether or not the lover discards lower objects, whether sexual relationships continue after the lover turns to beauty of soul, or what prompts the lover to turn from bodies to souls.123 On the other hand, precisely because it is not represented as containing a body of authoritative teachings, the Greater Mysteries passage, like the metaphor of pregnancy in the Lesser Mysteries passage, leads the audience to recognize their own ignorance and to desire wisdom about erˆos and its object, beauty. This is one way in which his speech, like Socrates himself in the Apology, is wiser than the other speeches: it recognizes its own lack of wisdom. Indeed, Diotima’s characterization of Eros – as a philosopher who desires beauty and wisdom because he realizes that he lacks these good things – is consistent with a general principle in the Greater Mysteries passage, if not with specific steps on a ladder. As noted in Chapter 2 at 2.2.3, loving or liking (eran or philein) is a necessary condition for desiring and searching for wisdom about the objects one loves or likes. When we love something and recognize that we do not possess it, we ask questions about this object and attempt to find out how to acquire it. That is, loving leads people to like wisdom: philo-sophein. Similarly, in the Greater Mysteries passage, love for one beautiful object leads the lover to desire and search for as much wisdom about beauty as he can acquire, and to love other beautiful objects as he comes to understand them.124 This process culminates in philosophia (210d6), a state in which we desire to grasp the truth about the beauty we love (212a2–5), including what it is to love this 122

123 124

Those who stress the negative statements about interpersonal love in Diotima’s account include Ferrari 1992: 258; Kahn 1996: 258–64; Nussbaum 1986: 176–84; Rutherford 1995: 193–7; Santas 1988: 44; and Vlastos 1973. Others argue that the account of ascent up the ladder is compatible with interpersonal love: Irwin 1995: 310–11; Kosman 1976; Nye 1990; Patterson 1991: esp. 205 n.8; Price 1989: 45–9; Rowe 1998: 7 and 195, on 210c2; and Sheffield 2006a: 154–82. Gill 1990 argues that some of the disagreement is due to mistaken assumptions about Plato’s concept of what it is to be a person. Noted by Nehamas 2007b: 114–15 and 122–3, who shows an unusual awareness of the ways in which this passage fails to give a clear account of interpersonal love and other matters. Note the cognitive terms used throughout this passage: katanosai: 210a8; –nnožsanta: 210b4; ¡ghs†menon: 210b6; ¡gžsasqai: 210b7; ¡gžshtai: 210c6.

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beauty. As Alexander Nehamas notes: “love and beauty are inseparable from the effort to understand what we love or – what is the same – to understand why we love it. As long as love persists, no answer will ever be complete . . . This forward-looking element in the perception of beauty, the sense that beautiful things are constantly drawing us forward, is the deep truth in the lover’s ascent in the Symposium.”125 More specifically, the Greater Mysteries passage can be interpreted as a mythical account of initiation into Socratic erˆos. When guided correctly, a passionate young man can progress from ordinary erˆos for physical beauty (see 210a4–7) to Socratic erˆos for true beauty and wisdom (see 210d3–e1). Like the myth of the charioteer and horses in the Phaedrus, the story of the ascent up the ladder of love is a mythical hymn to Socrates’ master, Eros, a not entirely unpersuasive speech, that contains some truth (Phdr. 265b6–c3). 3.4 “i am persuaded and i try to persuade others” Even though Socrates represents himself as questioning many of Diotima’s teachings, he nevertheless concludes his speech by saying that he has been persuaded by this “wise woman”: Diotima spoke, and I am persuaded [p”peismai dì –gÛ]. Being persuaded I attempt to persuade others also that one could not easily acquire a better co-worker for human nature in acquiring this possession126 than Eros. And so [di¼] I say that every man should honor Eros, and I myself honor ta erˆotika and am especially devoted [diafer»ntwv ˆskä] to these matters, and I urge [parakeleÅomai] others to be so also. Both now and always I praise the power [dÅnamin] and courage of Eros as much as I am able. (212b1–8)127

When Socrates says that he has been persuaded, he cannot mean, like the Socrates of the Crito, that he has been persuaded by arguments.128 With the exception of the elenchus she is reported as having given Socrates when he expressed views similar to those of Agathon (201e2–7), Diotima’s teachings are unsupported by arguments. Socrates means, instead, that he has been 125 126 127 128

Nehamas 2007b, 120. Cf. Scott and Welton 2008: 93: “desire prompts one to think of the desired object.” That is, in becoming as god-loved and immortal as it is possible for a mortal to be (see 212a5–7). I follow the interpretation of Dover 1980 and Rowe 1998, both on 212b3–4. diafer»ntwv can mean “especially” or “differently.” That the latter sense might be applicable here was suggested to me by Sandra Peterson. “Not now for the first time, but always, I am the sort of man who is persuaded by nothing in me except the argument that seems best to me when I reason”: Cri. 46b4–6. Insightful discussions about Socrates’ use of persuasion in the Crito and other dialogues are given by Moore 2008.

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given true beliefs about those matters that are also the concern of his own erotic art. The Symposium contains five important sources of information that, taken together, provide a consistent account of what Socrates finds persuasive in Diotima’s teachings: (source 1) the passage just quoted (212b1–8); (source 2) Socrates’ conversation with Agathon (199c3–201c9), and his summary at 201d5–e7 of conclusions agreed upon by Agathon, Socrates and Diotima; (source 3) his questions and answers during his conversation with Diotima; (source 4) the views he expresses before his conversation with Agathon; and (source 5) other aspects of Plato’s characterization of Socrates. In the passage just quoted (source 1), Socrates says that he has been persuaded that Eros is the best co-worker for human nature, that he himself is devoted to Eros, that he urges others to be similarly devoted, and that he praises the power and courage of Eros. These statements, obviously referring to the Eros of Diotima’s speech, indicate that Socrates agrees with at least some of her account of the nature of Eros, and of his deeds, that is, his usefulness to humans.129 Further information is given in Socrates’ summary (source 2) of the conclusions about which he, Agathon and Diotima agree (201d5–e7).130 All three agree that Eros is erˆos of 131 beauty (201e5, referring back to 201a9), and that Eros lacks beauty and other good things (201e7, referring back to 201b4 and 201c4–5). Before his conversation with Agathon also (source 4), Socrates implies that he believes Eros to be neither beautiful nor good, when he criticizes the symposiasts’ disregard for the truth in their attempt to present Eros as “the most beautiful and the best” (198d8–199a2). In his summary (source 2), Socrates also questions the idea that Eros is a great god when he links this idea to the view, refuted by Diotima, that Eros is beautiful and good (201e5–7). Because Diotima’s later statement that Eros is a daimˆon (202d13) is consistent with the idea that he is not a god, it is reasonable to suppose that Socrates agrees with this idea also.

129 130

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These two aspects of Eros are mentioned at 199c5, 201d8–e2 and 204c8. As noted above 3.3.1 and n.74, Socrates’ statement at 201c8–9, that it is not hard to refute Socrates, suggests that there may be flaws in his previous arguments. The specific ideas I discuss here, however, are stated repeatedly in the dialogue and are never questioned. Or, perhaps more accurately, “concerning” (per©). Diotima will later claim that erˆos is not love of beauty, but of generation in beauty (206e2–5), and for this reason she states that Eros is “concerning” (per©) beauty (203c4, 204b3), attributing the view that Eros is of beauty to Socrates (204d3). These distinctions do not affect my main point here. As Rowe notes (1998, on 206e2–3), if “the good is also beautiful, then in a way erˆos is still of beauty.”

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Socrates’ responses to Diotima (source 3) give further information about what Socrates agrees with. In answer to Socrates’ question about the power (dÅnamin: 202e2) of Eros, Diotima characterizes him as a courageous and clever hunter after the beautiful and the good (203d4–8), a being in a state between wisdom and lack of understanding, who philosophizes and desires to become wise because he realizes that he lacks these things (203e4–204a7). Socrates indicates that he agrees with this account of the power and courage of Eros by saying: “You speak well” (204c7), and by his repetition of the words “power” and “courage” (212b8) at the end of his speech (source 1). That he also agrees with Diotima’s account of generic erˆos as “the desire for good things and for happiness” (205d1–3), and as the desire to possess good things forever (206a11–12) is indicated by his responses (source 3) at 205c3, c10, d9 (“You speak the truth”) and 206a13 (“You speak most truly”). Moreover, Socrates’ criticism of the symposiasts’ disregard for truth (198d8–199a2) just before his conversation with Agathon (source 4), and his positive responses (source 3) to Diotima’s characterization of Eros as lacking beauty and goodness make it reasonable to infer that he agrees with Diotima in characterizing Eros as unlike anything described by the literary sources who are cited as authorities by the first five speakers. Diotima does not attack these authorities directly, but her use of them is revealing. As noted above 3.3.3, in the Lesser Mysteries passage she, like the first five speakers, uses examples that occur in literary works without explicitly examining and questioning them. Her use of these sources, however, differs in several ways from that of the other speakers. First, she does not quote selectively, leaving out passages that might support opposing points of view. Some might question her interpretations, for example, the extent to which Alcestis and Achilles are represented in literary sources as motivated to die for those they love by the desire for immortal fame (208d1–e1). Whatever the motivations of these characters, however, it is undeniable that they do in fact achieve glory in Euripides’ Alcestis (e.g., 435–54 and 995–1005) and Homer’s Iliad. Second, Diotima never suggests that poets and prose writers are authorities on Eros. She begins by teaching Socrates about the birds and the beasts, that have, she claims, the same natural desire for immortality that humans have (207a5–d6). Nature, she implies, has more to teach us than literature. Finally, the Greater Mysteries section of her teachings characterizes beauty itself by giving examples of what it is not. Beauty, she says, neither comes to be nor passes away, nor is it beautiful in one respect, ugly in another. It does not appear like a face or hands, or anything that participates in body, nor is it any particular discourse or kind of knowledge. The

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negative particles ou, oude or oute occur fifteen times within the space of eight lines (211a1–8). Diotima goes on to tell Socrates that true beauty will not seem to him to be like gold or clothes or the beautiful boys and youths at whose sight he now experiences intense emotion (211d3–8), that it is not “full of human flesh and colors and much other mortal nonsense” (211e2–3), and that the person who associates with it will not give birth to images of virtue because he is not touching an image (212a2–4). These negatives make it clear that the lover who is initiated into the Greater Mysteries has an experience unlike any in the literary tradition. Moreover, Diotima avoids any quotation from or explicit mention of literary sources in this part of her teachings. Although her characterization of beauty in negative terms recalls the language and thought of Parmenides, she presents the views as her own, without citing him as an authority, leaving it to the audience to notice literary parallels.132 Plato’s characterization of Socrates in other respects (source 5) is itself the most compelling reason for believing that Socrates has been persuaded by Diotima’s account of Eros as a philosopher-daimˆon, unlike anything in the literary tradition, who is the greatest helper for human nature. This is because her Eros personifies the erotic art that Socrates himself is represented as possessing. The Socrates of the Symposium is represented as possessing erotic art in that he, like Eros, is devoted to ta erˆotika: the wisdom, beauty and other good things that are the objects of erˆos (component (1) of the erotic art). Like Eros, Socrates realizes that he lacks these good things, and especially wisdom (component (2): 175e2–4, 219a1–2). That Socrates, like Eros, also desires passionately to acquire this divine (204a1–2) possession (component (3)) is evident from the constant search for wisdom that leads him, for example, to stand thinking about something for a day and a night (220c1–d5). Like Eros (203d4–8), Socrates is marvelously skilled in seeking to attain as much wisdom as he can (component (4)), by, for example, becoming Diotima’s student over a long period of time (206b5–6, 207a5–6), and by skillfully questioning others and engaging them in dialectic (194d1–4). Socrates also helps to create in others a desire for divine wisdom, in particular by leading them to understand that they lack it (component (5)), both by general exhortations, like the one at the end of his speech (212b1–8, quoted above beginning of 3.4), and in more specific ways, for example in his elenchus of Agathon at 199c3–201c9 and in the conversations reported by Alcibiades 132

Sier 1997: 284 quotes Parmenides DK 28 B8. Solmsen’s (1971) argument that this passage is indebted to Parmenides was anticipated by many German scholars: see Palmer 1999: 3 n.1, who also cites numerous later studies.

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(for example, at 216a4–b5). In thus initiating others into the erotic art, Socrates resembles the daimˆon who helps mortals to commune with the gods to the extent that they can (202e3–203a8), and who is of use to mortals (204c8) in leading them to desire the good (205d1–3). Socrates’ marvelous skill in urging others to devote themselves to ta erˆotika is apparent in his strong effects on others throughout this dialogue.133 When he claims to know nothing other than ta erˆotika (177d7–8, 198d1–2), then, Socrates refers to his lack of knowledge and to his art, both of which are erotic and Erotic.134 The speech in which Socrates reports his conversations with Diotima is an especially powerful demonstration of component (5) of the erotic art. Just as, in the Phaedrus, Socrates uses his erotic art to create poetic language that can help to turn Phaedrus toward erˆos together with philosophical words (257a3–b6), so, in the Symposium, Socrates creates a speech that appeals to each member of his audience of symposiasts. Diotima’s discussion of love of honor would appeal to Phaedrus, whose speech emphasized the role of erˆos in producing this kind of love (philotimia: 178d1–2, e6; 208c3); her emphasis on education would resonate with Pausanias, who discussed the lover’s ability to educate the beloved (pa©deusin: 184e1; paideÅein: 209c2). In representing Eros as facilitating prophecy and the communion of humans with gods (202e3–203a8) Diotima’s teachings recall Eryximachus’ representation of Eros as governing prophecy and allowing gods and humans to commune with and be friends of one another (188b6– d9).135 Moreover, her mention of “craftsmen” (209a5) recalls Eryximachus’ description of physicians as “craftsmen” (186d5). Diotima’s characterization of Eros as lacking good and beautiful things interests Aristophanes, and the comic elements in her teachings would appeal to him also.136 The solemn language of the Greater Mysteries passage is of a style that would impress the tragic poet Agathon, as would her inclusion of “poets” among those who give birth to wisdom (phronˆesis) and virtue (209a3–4). Thus, in making a speech that contains both comic and solemn (or “tragic”) elements, Socrates demonstrates in practice what he will later prove by argument: that the man who creates by means of technˆe, that is, erotic art, is able to create both comedy and tragedy (223c4–d6). 133 134 135 136

See Introduction to Part II and Chapter 4. On Socrates’ resemblance to Eros see further Chapter 4 at 4.6 and Introduction at I.1. On this parallel see McPherran 2006. At 212c4–6, Aristophanes is about to mention his own view that love is desire for the whole (192e10–193a1), criticized by Diotima at 205d10–206a1.

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Socrates’ speech is also persuasive because, when Diotima discusses those who are pregnant in soul, she describes people who resemble the symposiasts. Those pregnant in soul, she says, give birth to “wisdom [phronˆesis] and the other virtues137 that are generated by all the poets and those craftsmen who are said to be inventors. And far the greatest . . . and the most beautiful part of wisdom is that concerning the governance of cities and households, whose name is moderation and justice” (209a3–8). In creating a character who emphasizes the areas in which each speaker claims expertise – political virtue, poetry, craftsmanship – within the context of the conventional love of erastˆes for erˆomenos that each praises, Plato’s Socrates uses his erotic art to attempt to persuade the symposiasts to devote themselves to another kind of erˆos and another kind of art.138 And in winning their praise (212c4), Socrates shows himself to be at least partly successful. Before going to Agathon’s symposium, Socrates dresses himself up so that he can “go as a beautiful man to visit a beautiful man” (174a3–9). In a similar way, Socrates dresses up his beliefs about his erotic art with mythical and poetic elements that help to make them beautiful and persuasive to his audience. Plato appeals to his own audience in a similar way, by writing a passage that has been one of the most influential in the entire history of Western thought.139 137 138 139

fr»nhs©n te kaª tŸn Šllhn ˆretžn; cf. Pausanias 184d7–e1: fr»nhsin kaª tŸn Šllhn ˆretžn. Parallels between the symposiasts and those pregnant in soul are noted by Rowe 1998, on 209a3–4 and a4–5, and Sheffield 2001: 10 and n.10. Sier 1997, 147 and Nehamas 2007b: 133. Good accounts of the influence of the Symposium are provided by Clay 2006 and Lesher 2006.

ch a p ter 4

“You are hubristic”: Socrates, Alcibiades and Agathon

4.1 alcibiades’ silenus-statues Chapter 3 discussed Socrates’ uses of the erotic art to persuade his fellow symposiasts to devote themselves to Eros. I focus in Chapter 4 on Socrates’ interactions with two young men in particular, Alcibiades and Agathon, as he attempts to initiate them into this art. Both men greatly admire Socrates, but both also tell him: “You are hubristic” (ËbristŸv e²: Agathon at 175e7, and Alcibiades at 215b7). As noted in the Introduction to Part II, Socrates is portrayed by the narrators of Plato’s Symposium as having a puzzling variety of characteristics, some of which appear to be incompatible. Especially in Alcibiades’ speech, he is represented as both hubristic and virtuous, comic and serious. In order to understand this outlandish (atopos) figure, it is necessary to examine these apparent inconsistencies. One suggestion about how to understand Socrates is given by Alcibiades in his representation of Socrates by means of comic images that have the serious purpose of revealing the truth (215a4–6). Socrates, he says, resembles the hollow statues of sileni (or satyrs)1 that open up to reveal images of the gods (215a6–b3, 216e5–217a1). He looks like a ridiculous, hubristic and lustful satyr, but he also, like the satyr Marsyas, plays divine tunes on the aulos (pipe: 215b3–c6, 216d2–6). Socrates’ words, like the man himself, appear laughable, like the skin of an hubristic satyr, but when opened up these words are “most divine and contain the most images of virtue” (221d7–222a6). As evidence that his comic image represents the truth about Socrates, Alcibiades tells a story about how the philosopher exhibited both hybris and virtue in his relations with Alcibiades by resisting the young man’s sexual attractions. Modern scholars often take Alcibiades’ image to represent what Plato considered to be the truth about his Socrates: that the outer satyr is a 1

The terms “satyr” and “silenus” were used interchangeably at this period: Seaford 1988b: 6. On Socrates as satyr see also Chapter 6 at 6.3.

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deceptive appearance concealing the inner truth.2 This is a plausible interpretation of the views of Plato’s character, Alcibiades. However, the dialogue gives the reader many reasons for believing that Alcibiades, who admits that Socrates reduces him to perplexity ( p»roun: 219e3), and who was not present during Socrates’ speech, may not fully understand the philosopher. The image of the silenus-statue itself requires opening up by the reader, who has more information about Socrates than its inventor does. Alcibiades’ portrait of Socrates can be better understood in light of the philosopher’s complementary, but less often studied, interactions with Agathon.3 Agathon, like Alcibiades, attributes to Socrates a superior wisdom that the young man seeks to acquire by touch (175c7–d2; cf. 218c7–d5) and, like Alcibiades, Agathon accuses Socrates of hybris after failing in this attempt (175e7; cf. 215b7, 219c5–222a8). Alcibiades and Agathon, however, react differently to the similar treatment they receive from Socrates. When he listens to Socrates, Alcibiades experiences such shame and other painful emotions that he holds his ears and runs away (215e1–216b3). Agathon, on the other hand, submits gracefully to Socrates’ criticisms and, at the end of the dialogue, gets up to sit beside the philosopher in order to receive more of the same treatment (223a3–5). Thus, Socrates’ success in using his erotic art depends in large part on the characters of his interlocutors. Agathon is in some ways an ideal interlocutor, who can be led by Socrates to acquire component (2) of the erotic art by recognizing his own lack of wisdom, without experiencing the shame and painful conflicts that Alcibiades suffers. However, Agathon’s less passionate nature makes him less able to acquire the other components of the erotic art, and in particular, Socrates’ own passionate desire for wisdom and other good things (component (3)). By comparing the interactions between Socrates and each of the two men, we can also arrive at a better understanding of the truth that lies behind Alcibiades’ image of the silenus-statues. Socrates’ “outer” and “inner” characteristics are only apparently inconsistent, for Socrates, like Diotima’s philosopher-daimˆon Eros, resembles both the satyr and the inner, divine images. Socrates resembles a satyr in behaving in a disdainful and unconventional way toward possessions that Agathon and Alcibiades each value highly. At the same time, however, he reveals the “divine images” 2

3

For example, North 1994: 92–3; Fisher 1992: 462; Gagarin 1977: 30; Scott and Welton 2008: 200; Sheffield 2006a: 188–91; Usher 2002: 217–19. This interpretation has a long history: see Erasmus (d. 1536), Praise of Folly (1974–2008, vol. 27: 102–3) and The Sileni of Alcibiades (vol. 34: 262–82); Thomas More (1515), “Erasmus’ ‘The Sileni of Alcibiades’” (1999: 169–91). Against this interpretation see Blundell 1992: 128–9. Scott and Welton 2008: 43–4 note the importance in the dialogue of Socrates’ relationship with each of these two men, although their analysis differs significantly from my own.

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he contains in that he acts as he does in order to help these men recognize their own lack of understanding (amathia), and not, as the hubristic person does, in order to get pleasure by harming others and showing his own superiority. Socrates’ satyr-like characteristics, then, are also “divine images,” and both are manifestations of his daimonic art. 4.2 disdain, hybris and satyrs Alcibiades accuses Socrates of both hybris and disdain: “He disdained and laughed at my beauty, and committed hybris against it” (katefr»nhsen kaª kateg”lasen tv –mv ãrav kaª Ìbrisen: 219c4–5). Disdain (kataphronˆesis) is linked with hybris in Greek thought generally, as it is in this passage. A survey of the Greek concepts of slighting, hybris and disdain will give us a better understanding of how Socrates’ behavior in Plato’s dialogue might have appeared to a Greek audience. A key text for an understanding of these concepts is Aristotle’s Rhetoric 2.2. After defining anger (orgˆe) as “desire, accompanied by pain, for retaliation because of what appears to be slighting [½ligwr©an]” (1378a30–31), Aristotle defines “slighting” as “an expression of an opinion about something as apparently of no account” (1378b11).4 He then lists three kinds of slighting: disdain (kataphronˆesis), spite (–phreasm»v), which is not relevant for present purposes, and hybris (1378b14–15). Aristotle explains why disdain is a form of slighting: “The person who disdains slights. For people disdain things they think are worth nothing, and they slight things that are worth nothing” (1378b15–17). His account of hybris is more detailed: The man committing hybris also slights: for hybris is doing and saying things at which the victim incurs shame, not in order that one may achieve anything other than what is done but simply to get pleasure from it. For those who act in return for something do not commit hybris, they avenge themselves. The cause of the pleasure for those committing hybris is that by harming people they think themselves to be superior (that is why the young and the rich are hybristai; they think they are superior when committing hybris).5

Aristotle goes on to explain that slighting causes anger when those slighted think they ought to be highly esteemed by those who are inferior in whatever respect they themselves are far superior, for example, in birth, power, virtue, wealth, ability to speak well or to rule. They are also angry at slights from those by whom they think they have a right to be treated well, for example, those whom they have benefited or desire to benefit 4

Trans. Grimaldi 1988, on 1378b10.

5

Rh. 1378b23–29. Trans. Fisher 1992: 8.

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(1378b35–1379a9). Aristotle also writes that people are angry at those who laugh at, mock or make fun of them, for these people are committing hybris (1379a30–32). David Konstan gives a good account of the connection between slighting, anger and the desire for revenge: “Aristotle envisages a world in which self-esteem depends on social interaction: the moment someone’s negative opinion of your worth is actualized publicly in the form of a slight, you have lost credit, and the only recourse is a compensatory act that restores your social position. Anger is precisely the desire to adjust the record in this way.”6 Aristotle’s passage supports the view of Nicholas Fisher and Douglas Cairns that there is a close connection in Greek thought between hybris and dishonor. According to Fisher, “hybris is essentially the serious assault on the honour of another, which is likely to cause shame, and lead to anger and attempts at revenge,” and it involves “the committing of acts of intentional insult, of acts which deliberately inflict shame and dishonour on others.”7 Cairns differs from Fisher in putting a greater emphasis on the disposition of the agent who commits hybris, and he contests Fisher’s view that Plato’s usage is a departure from tradition. Like Fisher, however, Cairns stresses the association of hybris with dishonor, arguing that “the most fundamental of all significances of hybris, [is] the idea that hybris involves a disposition in the agent which overvalues self and undervalues others.”8 The person who commits hybris shames another and is himself shameless.9 Socrates’ behavior in the Symposium meets Aristotle’s criteria for slighting (Rh. 1378b11, quoted above) in that he is represented by the narrators as showing disdain (a form of slighting) for things that appear to him to be worth nothing, even if these things are highly valued by those who possess them.10 According to Alcibiades, Socrates’ words and deeds show that he disdains Alcibiades’ beauty, wealth and honors (216d7–e2, 219c4). Alcibiades also notes that Socrates’ fellow soldiers look askance at him, thinking he is showing disdain for them (Ëp”blepon aÉt¼n Þv katafronoÓnta sfän) when he walks barefoot on ice more easily than they do shod (220b6–c1). In his first encounter with Agathon (175e1–7), and in his elenchus of the poet (199c3–201c9), Socrates also shows that he 6 9

10

7 Fisher 1992: 1 and 148. 8 Cairns 1996: 26. Konstan 2006: 74–5. Fisher 1992: 112–13 notes that hybris “is opposed to aidˆos [reverence] as well as to sˆophrosynˆe [moderation] and linked to the performance of what is shameful, aischron.” Cf. Cairns 1996: 26–31, on hybris in Plato, citing, for example, Phdr. 250e (p. 26) and Laws 649c–d (p. 28). Cf. Tht. 175b4–6, where philosophers are said to appear arrogant (Ëperhf†nwv) to the many because they do not value what others honor.

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thinks little of the kind of “wisdom” Agathon values highly: the ability to speak pleasingly before a crowd. Socrates acts disdainfully, then, but does he also commit hybris, a more serious form of slighting? And are the accusations of hybris made by Agathon and Alcibiades represented as “humourously exaggerated,” or as seriously intended?11 The analysis just given of hybris, disdain and slighting can help to answer these questions. Socrates’ behavior toward Agathon and Alcibiades meets some of the criteria for hybris in Fisher’s definition: “the serious assault on the honour of another, which is likely to cause shame, and lead to anger and attempts at revenge.”12 That Socrates says and does things “because of which the victim incurs shame” (Rh. 1378b24) is clear from Alcibiades’ admission that Socrates makes him ashamed of himself (216a8–b3). Moreover, Alcibiades threatens revenge when he first says that he will punish Socrates (213d8), and then in effect brings him to trial when he refers to the symposiasts as “jurymen” (219c5–6). Agathon makes similar threats when he says that he and Socrates will be judged by Dionysus (175e7–9). I will argue that Socrates does not, however, make a “serious assault on the honour of another,” even though he slights and shows disdain for the things others value. Nor does Socrates meet other important criteria for hybris, according to Aristotle’s account, for he does not slight others in order to get pleasure from harming people and demonstrating his own superiority (Rh. 1378b23–29). Indeed, Socrates does not disdain other people at all, as Alcibiades charges (216e2– 4). When Socrates shows Agathon and Alcibiades that they lack the good things they claim to have, he does not want to get pleasure from dishonoring them, but to benefit them by using his erotic art to remove their amathia, thus helping them to desire what is truly worthy of honor: wisdom. Agathon and Alcibiades are annoyed by Socrates’ disdainful behavior toward the possessions they value. At the same time, their positive reactions indicate that they do not believe that he intends to harm them. In charging him with hybris, then, his interlocutors playfully exaggerate while at the same time calling attention to behavior that is in fact disdainful. 11

12

“Humourously exaggerated”: Fisher 1992: 454. Similar views are expressed by Dover 1980, on 175e7 and 219c5; Hug 1876: 182 n.7; Hunter 2004: 13; Rowe 1998, on 175e8, and 206, on 215a5–222b7. The charges are taken seriously by Anton 1974: 291; Duncan 1977: 287–8; Gagarin 1977; Mason 1980: 122–4; Nightingale 1995: 114–17; Penwill 1978: 159 and 166–8; Rosen 1987: 20–8 and 1965: 456–59; G. A. Scott 2000: 140–5. Halliwell 2008: 295–8, discusses evidence for a similar debate in antiquity about whether or not Socrates commits hybris. Fisher 1992: 1. This is Fisher’s definition of the “central meaning” of the Greek concept of hybris, of which, he believes, Aristotle’s account in the Rhetoric “is an essentially accurate representation” (7).

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Alcibiades’ image is of interest not only because it charges Socrates with hybris, but also because it compares him specifically to an hubristic satyr: “And I say, moreover, that he is like the satyr Marsyas. That you are like these things [sc. silenus-statues and Marsyas] in appearance, at least, Socrates, not even you would contest. Next, listen to how you resemble them in other respects also. You are hubristic, aren’t you? If you don’t agree, I’ll furnish witnesses” (215b3–7). In myth, the satyr Marsyas was hubristic in challenging Apollo to an aulos contest, a crime for which he was flayed.13 There is a suggestion that Socrates rivals the gods at 214d2–4, where Alcibiades says that Socrates will not allow him to praise anyone, god or human, other than Socrates himself. Moreover, as Helen North points out, the idea of opening the silenus-statue recalls the flaying of Marsyas.14 However, not only is this aspect of the myth never explicitly mentioned, Alcibiades’ statement that Socrates’ words resemble “the skin of some hubristic satyr” (221e2–4) suggests that he thinks Socrates is satyr-like in a more general way. Satyrs are typically represented as shameless creatures, who violate and invert social norms.15 The very appearance of these half-human, half-bestial creatures is transgressive. Satyrs are often represented as drinking excessively and in other ways violating sympotic norms.16 Their sexual behavior is also unconventional. Far from observing the conventions for the behavior of erastai (lovers) that were intended to avoid dishonoring erˆomenoi (beloveds), satyrs frequently commit such sexual offenses as attempted rape, a particularly salient example of hybris that dishonors another.17 In transgressing social norms in this and other respects, satyrs are hubristic in that they put gratification of their own desires ahead of the honor of others.18 Satyrs also arouse laughter, a characteristic notably exploited in the satyr play. Satyrs are themselves objects of laughter, but they may also hubristically direct laughter at others. Indeed, mockery is a form of hybris in Greek culture, and to make someone an object of laughter is to shame and dishonor that person. Conversely, to dishonor someone is to make that person an object of laughter. For example, after Homer’s Odysseus gives Thersites “dishonoring blows” (Il. 2.264), all the other men laugh 13 14 15 16 17 18

Flaying: Solon frag. 33.7 (West 1989–1992), Herodotus 7.26, Pl. Euthydemus 285c9–d1. North 1994: 95; cf. Gagarin 1977: 31, who connects Socrates’ hybris with that of Marsyas. Lissarrague 1990a: 234–5 and 1993: 220; Seaford 1988b: 30. Examples: Lissarrague 1990b: esp. 13–14 and 91. Norms of behavior: Golden 1984. Satyrs attempting rape and committing other transgressive sexual acts: Lissarrague 1990c and Dover 1989: 97. Rape as hybris: Fisher 1992: 105–11 and passim. Satyrs represented as hubristic: Fisher 1992: 121 n.248 and 505 n.55.

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at Thersites (270).19 Someone who commits hybris often does things that appear ridiculous, as Conon does when he crows like a cock over his victim (Demosthenes 54 [Against Conon] 9), but it is the victim who is the real object of laughter. Similarly, in behaving transgressively and violating the honor of others, satyrs make their victims the objects of laughter. Alcibiades’ Socrates is satyr-like in that he transgresses social norms in some of the ways that satyrs do. He violates convention in physical appearance, for he looks like a satyr (215b3–6, 216d4), and in behavior, when, for example, he disdains Alcibiades’ beauty (219c2–d2). Alcibiades’ Socrates is also silenus-like in having an erotic nature (216d2–4), and he violates sexual conventions in appearing to play the role of both erastˆes and erˆomenos toward the same people (222b3–4), roles that are normally separated. Socrates also resembles a satyr in arousing laughter.20 According to Alcibiades, he laughs at (kateg”lasen) Alcibiades’ beauty (219c4–5).21 However, Socrates himself is also an object of laughter. Alcibiades says that he will praise Socrates instead of Eros (214d2–8), and then asks if he should attack and punish Socrates in his speech (214e1–3). Socrates replies: “What do you have in mind? To make a joke in praising me?” (–pª t‡ geloi»ter† me –pain”sai: 214e4–5). Alcibiades’ speech in fact turns out to be a “satyric and silenic drama” (222d3–4) that arouses laughter (g”lwta: 222c1). The silenus image is itself laughable, and Alcibiades states that an inexperienced and foolish person would laugh at (katagel†seien) Socrates’ words, which at first appear ridiculous (gelo±oi), like the skin of an hubristic satyr, being concerned with such subjects as pack-asses and tanners (221e1–222a1). When Alcibiades first arrives at the symposium, he also makes perceptive remarks about Socrates as an object of laughter. Alcibiades accuses the 19

20

21

Mockery: Arist. Rh. 1379a30–34 and Top. 144a5–7, discussed by Fisher 1992: 11–12. On the aggressive quality of laughter in the Greek “shame culture” see Arnould 1990: 31–50; de Vries 1985; Halliwell 2008: 19–38; Kullmann 1995; Stewart 1994. Hybris and the ridiculous are closely linked in Pl. Cra. 426b6 (Ëbristik‡ . . . kaª gelo±a), Prt. 355c8 and Hp. mai. 286c5–e2. Hybris, laughter and sex are associated in Pindar Pyth. 10.36: “He laughs, seeing the upright hybris of the beasts” (gel qì ¾rän Ìbrin ½rq©an knwd†lwn), where hybris refers to the erections of donkeys: Cairns 1996: 24 and Race 1997a: 362–3 n.1. As Clay notes (2000: 142–3), Socrates throughout the dialogues resembles a character from Attic comedy in being a figure of lower class status, who often provokes laughter. Philosophers are said to be objects of ridicule to the many in Tht. 175b4–5 and Grg. 485a6–7 (cf. Resp. 516e7–517a2, 517d4–6 and Grg. 474a1, 485a4–7). On the philosopher as an object of laughter see Mader 1977: 36–40. Patterson 1982 provides an excellent discussion of Socrates and the comic in Symp., and Halliwell 2008: 276–302, gives an insightful analysis of laughter and Plato’s Socrates. On Socrates as satyr see also Clay 2000: 69–76 and Sheffield 2006a: 196–201. In other dialogues also, Socrates, or a Socrates-like questioner, laughs at those whom he refutes: Prt. 355c8, Hp. mai. 286c5–e2, 291e5–292a4, Tht. 200a12–b1, Grg. 509a4–7. This is consistent with the idea in Phlb. 48c4–49c7 that what is truly laughable is the pretense of wisdom.

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philosopher of ambushing him (213b9), and suggests that Socrates would most appropriately sit beside Aristophanes or “someone else who is ridiculous [gelo±ov] and wants to be so” (213c2–4). Within the context of the self-mockery in which Socrates engages in the Symposium (see Chapter 3 at 3.3.2), this statement suggests that Socrates not only appears ridiculous to others, but also that he invites their laughter, and laughs at himself. Socrates’ willingness to do so places him in the same category as those he laughs at, and thus helps to mitigate any abusive qualities his laughter might otherwise have. Thus, although Alcibiades does not completely understand Socrates, his comic image of the philosopher as hubristic satyr captures an important aspect of the truth about Socrates’ interactions, not only with Alcibiades himself, but also with Agathon. The very “hybris” of which Socrates is accused helps both of his interlocutors begin to acquire the erotic art, by, in the first place, recognizing that they lack wisdom (component (2)). Each man, however, arrives at this recognition in a different way. 4.3 agathon Unlike Alcibiades, Agathon does not experience shame and painful aporia (216a8–c3, 219e3) in response to Socrates. Instead, he shows by his words and actions throughout the dialogue that he is able to benefit, by recognizing that he lacks wisdom, from the treatment he calls “hybris” in his first encounter with Socrates. In portraying the gentle and “good poet” in this way, Plato represents him as an ideal interlocutor in many respects. The reason for the symposium is significant for an understanding of Socrates’ behavior there. On the previous day, Agathon, who won first prize in a tragic competition, sacrificed together with the chorus in honor of the occasion (173a5–7). Now he has invited a few friends to a celebratory dinner and symposium. Because of his victory, Agathon has every reason to think he is superior in his ability to speak well and every reason to expect praise and good will from his friends, especially since he has invited them to dinner. Agathon would, then, according to Aristotle’s account (Rh. 1378b35–1379a9), be ready to see any suggestion that he lacks the ability to speak well as a slight on the part of these friends (above 4.2). Socrates’ unconventional treatment of Agathon shows that he does indeed slight Agathon’s ability to speak well, especially in his role as playwright. Socrates’ manner of arrival and his first conversation with Agathon (174a2–175e10) slight his host, as does his conversation with Agathon just before the poet’s speech (194a1–e3). Socrates also slights Agathon in the

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remarks he makes to the symposiasts after this speech (198a1–199c2), and in the elenchus of Agathon that immediately follows these remarks (199c3– 201c9). In the first place, the philosopher is a very rude guest at Agathon’s celebratory party.22 Although, contrary to his usual custom, Socrates has bathed and put on shoes in honor of the occasion (174a3–4), he nevertheless brings along an uninvited guest, Aristodemus, who is “always unshod” (173b2).23 Socrates then allows this uninvited and inappropriately dressed follower to arrive alone, while he himself stops along the way in order to think about something (174d4–7). Worse, he ignores his host’s requests to arrive in time for dinner. After asking Aristodemus where Socrates is, Agathon sends a slave to bring Socrates to his house. When the slave reports that Socrates is standing in a neighbor’s porch and refuses to leave, Agathon calls this behavior “outlandish” (atopon: 175a10), and tells the slave to return to Socrates and take no refusal.24 However, the uninvited guest, Aristodemus, countermands his host’s order, telling the slave to leave Socrates alone (174e12–175b3). Repeatedly (poll†kiv), Agathon attempts to send his slave to fetch Socrates and is prevented from doing so by the uninvited follower of Socrates. Not until the middle of dinner does the philosopher finally arrive (175c2–6). Socrates’ behavior is not only rude to Agathon, it also puts Aristodemus in the embarrassing and ridiculous (174e2) position of arriving at the party uninvited by his host and without the guest who invited him.25 Socrates’ rude behavior as guest is highlighted by Agathon’s contrasting behavior as the model host.26 Agathon tells Aristodemus that he had intended to invite Aristodemus (174e4–8), and he asks Socrates to sit beside him when the philosopher finally arrives: “Come here . . . and recline beside me, Socrates, so that I can also benefit, by touching you, from the piece of wisdom [tou sophou] that came to you in the porch. You’ve clearly found it and have it. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gone away” (175c7–d2). Socrates, instead of responding to his host’s request and apologizing for being late, replies: 22 23

24 25 26

Cf. Plochmann 1972: 330; Rosen 1987: 27–8; and Scott and Welton 2008: 34. Blondell 2006: 148 writes: “by bringing along an uninvited guest [Socrates] challenges symposiastic exclusivity and decorum.” Cf. Arieti 1991: 97. That the traditional symposium is alien to Socrates is noted by Tecus¸an 1990: 241–2. On Socrates’ outlandishness (atopia), see Chapter 1 n.21. On Aristodemus’ position as uninvited guest see Introduction to Part II. Agathon’s courtesy is noted by Blanckenhagen 1992: 60; Bury 1932: xxxiv–xxxv; Dover 1980, on 174e5–6; and L´evˆeque 1955: 42.

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It would be a good thing, Agathon, if wisdom [sophia] were the kind of thing that flows from the fuller to the emptier of us, if we touch one another, just as water flows through a piece of wool from fuller to emptier cups. If wisdom also is like that, I place a high value on reclining beside you. For in that case, I think, I will be filled with your great and beautiful wisdom. My own wisdom may be something inferior or questionable, like a dream, but yours is brilliant and growing rapidly. Though you are young, it shone out so intensely and clearly the other day, before more than thirty thousand Greek witnesses. (175d3–e6)

Socrates’ words are disdainful, according to Aristotle’s criteria, for they indicate that Socrates thinks little of his host’s wisdom.27 He makes a joke of Agathon’s idea that wisdom can be transmitted by touch, and suggests that the young poet has greater wisdom than his own because it shone brightly before a crowd of thirty thousand people. Coming from Socrates, who told Aristodemus that he stayed away from Agathon’s victory party on the day before because he feared the crowd (174a6–7), this is not praise of Agathon’s wisdom, but disdain. Socrates’ mention of Agathon’s youth (175e5) may also be a disdainful allusion to Agathon’s lack of the mental insight (diano©av Àyiv) that, as Socrates tells Alcibiades, comes with age (219a2–4). In behaving in this way, Socrates slights the ability to speak well of which Agathon thinks highly. His disdainful words are not what a host would normally expect from a guest, and they might be expected to cause shame and to lead to attempts at revenge.28 Agathon’s reply is an expression, playfully exaggerated, but with serious overtones, of the desire for revenge he would be justified in feeling in response to this kind of slighting: “You are hubristic, Socrates . . . As for that, a little later you and I will go on trial concerning wisdom [sophia], with Dionysus as judge” (175e7–9). Socrates also slights Agathon’s ability to speak well in his conversation just before the poet’s speech (194a1–e3). After Socrates says that he fears he will be at a disadvantage after Agathon’s encomium, Agathon responds that Socrates is trying to bewitch (farm†ttein) and disturb him before he speaks (194a1–7).29 Socrates then expresses surprise that Agathon could be disturbed at the thought of speaking before a few people when he was not at all frightened before the crowd in the theater (194a8–b5). Agathon replies that it is more terrifying to speak before a few who have sense than before a crowd of the foolish (194b6–8). Socrates then replies: “I know well that if you should meet any people you consider to be wise [sophous], you’d be more concerned about them than about the many. But I suspect that we 27 29

28 See Fisher 1992: 1, discussed above 4.2. Disdain: Rh. 1378b15–17: see above 4.2. Dover 1980, on 194a5 farm†ttein, notes that “excessive praise or over-confident prediction was felt to incur the jealously of supernatural forces,” citing Phd. 95b.

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are not those wise people – for we were present there [sc. at the theater] and were among the many” (194c2–5). In saying this, Socrates slights Agathon’s wisdom by implicitly accepting the latter’s statement that the audience applauding Agathon at the theater was made up of fools. By including the symposiasts among this crowd of fools, he slights their wisdom also. Socrates then begins to question Agathon, who agrees that he would be ashamed before wise [sophoi] people if he thought he were doing something shameful (194c5–8). Socrates then asks him if he would not be ashamed before the many if he thought he were doing something shameful (194c9– 10). At this point, however, Phaedrus prevents Agathon from replying, telling him to give his encomium of Eros before conversing with Socrates (194d1–8). Agathon complies, saying: “Nothing prevents me from speaking. I’ll often be able to converse with Socrates again” (194e1–3). In this way, Agathon accepts the invitation of his audience, represented by Phaedrus, to speak beautiful and pleasing words about erˆos instead of examining his own behavior and joining with Socrates in a common search for wisdom. The cross-examination, however, is merely postponed; it resumes after Agathon’s speech. Moreover, the text invites the reader to fill in the gaps in the argument, after considering how Socrates’ line of questioning could have led Agathon to admit even greater lack of wisdom than he actually does. I fill in the gaps below, indicating in italics what Socrates and Agathon might have said. s o c r a t e s : Wouldn’t you be ashamed before the many if you thought you were doing something shameful? (194c9–10) a g a t h o n : Certainly I would, Socrates. s o c r a t e s : Do you consider it shameful to claim to know things that you don’t know? a g a t h o n : Yes, I do. s o c r a t e s : Then you would be ashamed to speak before the many and the few, claiming that you know about things you in fact know nothing about? a g a t h o n : Yes, I would. s o c r a t e s : Well, Agathon, do you know something about Eros? a g a t h o n : Certainly I do. s o c r a t e s : And do you speak about this topic before the many? a g a t h o n : Yes, I do, Socrates, when my plays are performed. My poetry is full of this subject.30 s o c r a t e s : Come, then, Agathon. Tell me what Eros is like. a g a t h o n : Well, that’s just what I’m going to do. Here’s my encomium. 30

The very scanty evidence for Agathon’s tragedies is assessed by L´evˆeque 1955: 85–114. Agathon’s characterization in the Symposium and the title of his tragedy, “The Flower,” suggest that erotic motifs figured prominently in at least some of his plays.

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[Agathon makes his speech (194e4–197e8), and Socrates, after some general remarks to the symposiasts (198a1–199c2), resumes questioning, this time completing his elenchus (199c3–201c9).] s o c r a t e s : Come, then, tell me this about Eros. (199c6–d1) [In response to Socrates’ questioning at 199d1–201b8, Agathon agrees that Eros lacks beauty, and that what lacks beauty is not beautiful (200b4–8).] s o c r a t e s : Do you still agree that Eros is beautiful, if these things are so (201b9– 10)? a g a t h o n : It seems likely, Socrates, that I didn’t know anything I was talking about then. (201b11–12) s o c r a t e s : Yet, when you presented your plays you spoke about this topic before the many, thereby claiming to know something about it. Not only that, but just now you made a speech about Eros to us few, claiming knowledge before us also. a g a t h o n : Yes, you’re right, Socrates. s o c r a t e s : But didn’t you just now agree that you would be ashamed to speak before the many and the few, claiming that you knew things you in fact knew nothing about? a g a t h o n : I did. s o c r a t e s : Then it follows that you should be ashamed of your poetry about Eros and of the encomium you gave just now.

As can be seen from the steps in the elenchus that I have filled in above, the text implies that Socrates convicts Agathon of doing something Agathon himself considers shameful, and thus demonstrates that the young man ought to be ashamed of himself.31 He thereby slights Agathon’s wisdom, showing that the achievement of which he is most proud – his ability to make speeches that appear beautiful to the many – is actually something shameful. When he leads Agathon to admit his ignorance (201b11–12) and his inability to refute Socrates (201c6–7), Socrates wins a very public victory over his host, at the poet’s own victory celebration, in the trial concerning wisdom that Agathon earlier said would take place (175e7–9). Socrates’ remarks to the symposiasts at 198a1–199c2, immediately after Agathon’s speech and before the elenchus, also indicate disdain for the poet’s ability to speak well.32 Like his praise for Agathon’s wisdom in their first encounter, Socrates’ applause after Agathon’s speech and his extravagant praise, when he remarks, for example, on the marvelous beauty of the last part of the speech (198b3–5), express disdain rather than approval.33 Indeed, after joining all (p†ntav: 198a1) the other symposiasts in applauding Agathon’s speech, Socrates proceeds to criticize that very speech, thereby 31 32 33

Cf. Anton 1996: 215–16 (quoting Cobb 1993: 68); Rowe 1998, on 194d1–2; and Scott and Welton 2008: 72. On this passage see also Chapter 3 at 3.3.1. On Socrates’ use of extravagant praise see Nightingale 1995: 113–19.

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implying that the audience of symposiasts was, like the theater crowd, foolish to applaud an ignorant speaker. Socrates employs mock-solemnity in addressing Eryximachus as “child of Akoumenos,” and he parodies Agathon’s rhetorical style, with its alliterations like those of the sophist Gorgias, when he asks the physician if he, Socrates, “feared a fearless fear” (ˆde•v . . . d”ov dedi”nai) in being afraid to speak after Agathon (198a5). The phrase “head of Gorgias” (Gorg©ou kefalŸn: 198c3), punning on “Gorgon’s head,” also parodies Agathon’s style, as do the words “to speak in the speech” (l”gein –n t l»g: 198c4). Socrates’ statement that Agathon’s speech was “beautiful and variegated” (kal¼n . . . kaª pantodap¼n: 198b3) is also a form of criticism.34 Moreover, in adapting Euripides’ famous line – “my tongue swore but not my heart” (199a5–6, Hippolytus 612) – Socrates casts doubt on Agathon’s characterization of Eros by alluding to notorious counter-examples to the gentleness and justice Agathon attributed to Eros in his speech: Phaedra’s disastrous passion for her stepson and the deceptive nature of promises in erotic contexts. When he states that apparently it makes no difference to the symposiasts whether an encomium is true or false (198e1–2), Socrates implies once more that Agathon did not tell the truth. In many ways, then, Socrates shows disdain for Agathon’s wisdom in speaking. Nevertheless, Agathon’s interactions with Socrates in their first conversation, when the poet asks to share Socrates’ wisdom (sophia: 175a6– e10), his admission of error after Socrates’ elenchus (201b11–12), and his readiness, at the end of the dialogue, to undergo an experience that is very similar to his first encounter with Socrates indicate that he learns, in the course of the dialogue, that what he at first calls “hybris” is in fact beneficial, for it helps him to overcome his own amathia. His ability to admit error is consistent with the view, discussed in Chapter 3 at 3.2.6, that Agathon’s amathia is less serious than that of the other first five speakers. As a guest of Agathon, Socrates acts in an outlandish, unconventional, way (atopon: 175a10), arriving late and allowing Aristodemus to precede him. However, Agathon’s unfailing courtesy and his request to share Socrates’ wisdom (tou sophou: 175c8) show that he does not believe that Socrates acts in this way because the philosopher enjoys, as a hubristic person would, dishonoring his host and putting Aristodemus, the uninvited guest, in an embarrassing situation, but because Socrates is deeply engaged in thought (see 174d4–5), which he values more highly than obeying social 34

These examples of parody and “mock-solemnity” are given by Bury 1932, on 198a–c. On mockery as a form of hybris see above 4.2 and n.19. Eryximachus uses the phrase poll‡ kaª pantodap‡ (many and variegated) to characterize the speech of his rival, Aristophanes, at 193e6–7.

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conventions. In fact, Socrates’ reply to Agathon’s request differs from that of an hubristic person in that it slights his own wisdom as well as Agathon’s. In saying that his own wisdom is inferior, or questionable, like a dream (175e2–4),35 Socrates engages in the self-mockery that he displays elsewhere in the dialogue. When Agathon accuses Socrates of hybris, then, he shows that he is annoyed, and does not fully understand the philosopher. However, Agathon is not seriously angry with Socrates, partly because he is a gentle person and partly because the sympotic occasion is friendly and playful.36 Socrates’ interactions with Agathon before the poet gives his encomium (194a1–e3) demonstrate more clearly his respect for Agathon and his desire to benefit him by helping him to recognize his own deficiencies. When Agathon says that it is more terrifying to speak before a few who have sense than before a crowd of the foolish (194b6–8), Socrates’ reply, “I certainly wouldn’t be acting nobly, Agathon, if I thought you were at all boorish” (194c1–2), indicates genuine respect for the young poet. And, just as he slighted his own wisdom in their first conversation, so Socrates includes himself among the fools at the theater (194c2–7), thus tempering his criticism with self-mockery. After Agathon makes his speech, Socrates, like a good teacher, prefaces his elenchus with praise: “Indeed, dear Agathon, it seemed to me that you began your speech well, saying that it is first necessary to demonstrate what characteristics Eros has, and after that to discuss his deeds. I very much admire this beginning” (199c3–6). That this praise is sincere, unlike Socrates’ previous extravagant praise of Agathon’s speech (198b1–5), is shown by his explicit statement that Agathon has followed the correct procedure when he made his speech (201d8–e2). The interaction between Socrates and Agathon at the end of the elenchus provides further evidence that Socrates benefits Agathon in slighting his wisdom and, moreover, that Agathon has come to realize this: And Agathon said, “It seems likely, Socrates, that I didn’t know anything I was talking about then” [that is, when he made his speech]. “But indeed you spoke beautifully, Agathon,” he said. “But tell me one little thing more. Don’t good things [tagatha] seem to you to be beautiful also?” “They do.” 35 36

Cf. Sts. 277d2–3, where the Stranger says: “It’s likely that each of us knows everything as if in a dream.” Konstan 2006: 74 cites Aristotle, Rh. 2.3.1380b2–5 for the idea that people are not inclined to anger when they are in certain states, for example, when enjoying themselves at parties or feeling prosperous.

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“If, then, Eros is deficient in beautiful things [as Agathon agreed at 201b4], and good things are beautiful, he would also be deficient in good things [tˆon agathˆon endeˆes].” “I wouldn’t be able to contradict you, Socrates,” he said, “but let it be just as you say.” “You aren’t able to contradict the truth, beloved37 Agathon,” he said, “but it’s not difficult to contradict Socrates.” (201b11–c9)

This exchange ends in a remarkably friendly way. Agathon does not react to the elenchus as so many of Socrates’ interlocutors do, by becoming angry with Socrates, nor does he repeat his earlier charge of hybris. Instead, he readily acknowledges his own lack of wisdom and agrees with Socrates’ conclusion. Agathon admits that he cannot contradict Socrates (soª oÉk ‹n duna©mhn ˆntil”gein: 201c6), just as Alcibiades does (ˆntil”gein m•n oÉ dunam”n: 216b3). However, unlike Alcibiades (216b5–6), Agathon does not run away. Socrates implicitly acknowledges the young man’s ability to benefit from Socrates’ treatment when he addresses Agathon as “beloved” (201c8), and goes on to recount his own interactions with Diotima, in which he himself was refuted after saying things about Eros similar to those Agathon has just asserted (201e3–7).38 Moreover, in the passage just quoted, Socrates concludes his elenchus with a punning compliment to Agathon. The young poet had portrayed Eros in his own image, as most beautiful (195a7), most delicate (‰palÛtatov: 196a1, 195e8, cf. 195d1), living among the softest things (–n malakwt†toiv tän malakwt†twn: 195e8, cf. 195d7, e3, e7), and producing friendship, gentleness and good will among humans (197d1–5).39 In punning references to his own name, Agathon said that Eros is “good” (agathos: 197d5), a “good poet” (poietˆes . . . agathos: 196e4), and a god who “takes care of the good” (epimelˆes agathˆon: 197d7–8).40 The same pun was introduced at the beginning of the dialogue, when Socrates, on his way to Agathon’s house, quoted the proverb: “The good [agathoi] go of their own accord to the feasts of the good [agathˆon]” (ˆgaqän –pª da±tav ­asin aÉt»matoi ˆgaqo©: 174b4–5).41 In the context of these precedents, 37 38 39 40 41

Reading filoÅmene, defended by Dover 1980, on 201c9, and (with caution) Rowe 1998, on 201c8–9. Socrates also addresses Agathon as “dear” (f©le) at 222d5. Socrates’ “tact” is noted by Bury 1932: xxxix; Cornford 1971b: 122; and Warner 1992: 170. Ancient sources attribute these characteristics to the historical Agathon himself: L´evˆeque 1955: 35–48. The last pun is noted by Rowe 1998, on 197d8. Reading ˆgaqän of the manuscripts with most modern editors. Burnet 1900–1907 prints Lachmann’s %g†qwnì. On this passage see Bury 1932: 8–9; Hug 1876: 12–13; Lowenstam 1985: 86–7; and Rowe 1998, on 174b3–c5. The pun was well established in antiquity, to judge from Aristophanes, Frogs 84, where Agathon is referred to as “a good poet [agathos poiˆetˆes] and longed for by his friends” (ˆgaq¼v poihtŸv kaª poqein¼v to±v f©loiv).

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when Socrates says that Eros is deficient in (or needs) good things (tˆon agathˆon endeˆes: 201c5), he is simultaneously refuting Agathon and paying him a compliment, by stating that Eros is in need of Agathon. This pun also helps to explain why Socrates addresses Agathon as “beloved.” In identifying him with the things Eros needs, Socrates casts Agathon in the role of beloved, a role that Agathon’s speech already gave to his soft and delicate Eros (see 204c1–5). Agathon’s response, “I wouldn’t be able to contradict you, Socrates . . . but let it be just as you say” (201c6–7), shows that he accepts the compliment as gracefully as the refutation. In addition to being a good host and poet, Agathon is a good interlocutor, in that he learns from his mistakes.42 That Agathon has learned from his interactions with Socrates is also apparent in the final scene of the Symposium. When he enthusiastically accepts Socrates’ invitation to sit beside him, in order to be praised by the philosopher (223a3–4), Agathon is about to put himself, literally and figuratively, in the same position he occupied in his first encounter with Socrates (175c6–e10). On that occasion, Agathon called Socrates “hubristic” after the philosopher mockingly praised the poet’s ability to speak well at the theater. In being eager to receive Socrates’ praise once again, even though he has learned that it is mixed with criticism, Agathon shows that be believes this criticism to be helpful rather than hubristic. In showing disdain for Agathon’s wisdom, then, Socrates uses his erotic art to produce a beneficial humility and awareness of lack of wisdom that is a necessary condition for a passionate desire to acquire as much wisdom as one can. Socrates treats Agathon just as he does Lysis (Lysis 210d4– e5) and Alcibiades (Alcibiades I, Symposium 216a4–b5), inducing humility as an antidote to amathia. Agathon’s speech and his pride in his recent victory indicate that he lacks understanding in that he believes that finesounding rhetoric and the praises of thousands are in themselves good things. In showing Agathon that he does not know what he thinks he knows, Socrates applies the lesson he will later say he himself learned from Diotima. She says (204a4–7) that amathia is harmful because it leads one to think that one is noble, good and wise (phronimos) without being so, and because people desire what they lack only if they recognize that they 42

Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan 2004: 87 correctly note that Agathon “is remarkably open-minded.” The negative assessment of Sedley 2006: 51, that Agathon functions “as an unwitting and passive conduit of ideas preparatory to Socrates’ own,” is too harsh. Closer to the truth about Agathon’s defects is Sier 1997: 3 n.2, who remarks that Agathon, in contrast to Socrates, does not go on to ask further questions, thereby revealing his failure to attain self-knowledge. I argue below 4.5, that what Agathon lacks is the passion that could help him to become a lover of wisdom.

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are deficient (–ndeŸv). Just as Socrates leads Alcibiades to admit that he is very deficient (polloÓ –ndeŸv: 216a5), so he shows Agathon that he lacks the beauty of speech he thought he had. He thus attempts to produce in the poet a passionate desire to become able to speak words that are truly beautiful because they are true. 4.4 alcibiades According to Alcibiades’ story, Socrates also shows disdain in his interactions with Alcibiades. Socrates never contradicts Alcibiades’ statements, although he is invited to do so (214e10–215a1). In telling of his own previous attempted seduction of Socrates, Alcibiades describes a situation that is, in some respects, very similar to the philosopher’s first encounter with Agathon. Just as Agathon wants to sit next to Socrates in order to share his wisdom, so Alcibiades wants to use sexual intimacy in order to get a share of Socrates’ wisdom.43 When Alcibiades offers his own physical beauty, of which he is marvelously proud (217a5–6), in exchange for help in becoming as good as possible (218c7–d5), Socrates replies, “very eirˆonikˆos, and very much in his accustomed manner” (218d6–7):44 You must see in me some extraordinary beauty, and entirely superior to your own fine form. If you do see this and are trying to get a share of it, exchanging beauty for beauty, you intend to cheat me not a little. You’re trying to pay for true beauty with its appearance, and what you really have in mind is an exchange of “gold for bronze.” But, my good friend, take a better look, so that you don’t fail to notice whether I’m worth nothing. (218e2–219a2)

Just as Socrates disdains Agathon’s ability to speak beautifully, so he disdains that of which Alcibiades is most proud: his physical beauty. And just as Socrates tells Agathon that physical proximity cannot convey wisdom, so he does not accept Alcibiades’ offer to enter into a conventional eroticeducational relationship by giving sexual favors in exchange for wisdom. The philosopher not only shows that he thinks little of Alcibiades’ physical beauty, he also suggests that Alcibiades is trying to cheat him by exchanging his “bronze” for Socrates’ “gold,” and that the young man is so lacking in mental insight that he cannot see that Socrates may be lacking in beauty of mind. Like Agathon, Alcibiades does not understand the self-mockery that is contained in Socrates’ suggestion that he, Socrates, may be worth 43 44

Cf. Babut 1980: 17. Tarrant 1958 suggests that Plato appeals to a common belief in influence by touch. On the meaning of eirˆonikˆos, often translated as “ironically,” see below 4.6, and n.62.

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nothing. Socrates’ disdainful behavior leads Alcibiades, like Agathon, to accuse Socrates of hybris (ËbristŸv e²: 215b7), and just as Agathon says that he and Socrates will be judged by Dionysus (175e7–9), so Alcibiades brings Socrates to trial before a jury of the symposiasts (219c2–6). Alcibiades accuses Socrates of hybris in large part because of the sexual humiliation he believes that the philosopher inflicts.45 The young man behaves like both the lover and the beloved of convention in his attempted seduction of Socrates, and is frustrated in both roles. In Alcibiades’ story, he challenges (proukaloÅmhn: 217c146 ), attacks (–piqet”on: 217c5), and plots against (–pibouleÅwn) Socrates “just as a lover plots against a beloved” (217c7–8; cf. 217d3). Alcibiades also acts like the beloved, however, in attempting to “wound” Socrates when he offers his sexual favors (219b3– 4), and in thinking that Socrates cares seriously about his beauty and will, in exchange for sex, tell him all that he knows (217a2–5). Moreover, he refers to Socrates as his erastˆes, who can help him to become as good as possible, and he tells Socrates that he is ready to gratify him sexually (car©zesqai: 218c7–d5). Socrates, however, does not respond to the young man’s advances, but, by refusing the role of the conventional erastˆes, reduces him to a state of slavery (219e3–5). Alcibiades experiences aporia (oÎte . . . hÉp»roun: 219d8–e1;  p»roun: 219e3) in his interactions with Socrates, for he thinks himself dishonored, but also admires Socrates: he can neither be angry with Socrates nor win him over (219d3–e1). Humiliated by the philosopher’s resistance to his beauty, Alcibiades concludes that although Socrates appears to have erˆos for beautiful young men, and to be stunned by them (–rwtikäv di†keitai tän kalän . . . kaª –kp”plhktai: 216d2–3), he really disdains (katafrone±: 216d7–e1) their beauty. Alcibiades thought that Socrates was serious (–spoudak”nai) about Alcibiades’ beauty (217a2–3), but it turned out that the philosopher instead disdained it (katefr»nhsen: 219c4–5). Indeed, according to Alcibiades, Socrates has disdain not only for physical beauty, but also for wealth and honor, and “he thinks that all these possessions are worth nothing and that we are nothing” (216d7–e4). In response to these slights, Alcibiades accuses Socrates of dishonoring him (219d4), and says that the philosopher disdained and laughed at his beauty, and committed hybris (219c4–5). Alcibiades also tells how, on many other occasions, the philosopher leads him to agree that although he, Alcibiades, is very deficient (polloÓ –ndeŸv àn), he neglects himself, and instead takes care of the affairs of the 45 46

Fisher 1992: 31 remarks on “the consistent expression of hybris . . . in sexual humiliation.” “Challenge”: Dover 1980, on 217c7.

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Athenians (216a4–6). Socrates, moreover, produces in Alcibiades something of which no one would have thought him capable: shame (216a8–b3). Alcibiades’ shame produces painful aporia similar to that he experienced on the occasion when Socrates rejected his physical beauty (219d8–e1, 219e3). Like Agathon (201c6–7), Alcibiades is not able to contradict Socrates. However, instead of continuing to listen to the philosopher, as Agathon does, Alcibiades holds his ears and flees like a runaway slave, overcome by desire for honor from the many, only to feel shame when he sees the philosopher again (216a6–b6). As a result, Alcibiades often wishes that Socrates were dead. He realizes, however, that this would cause him even more pain, and he concludes: “I don’t know what to do with this man” (216c1–3). At the end of the Alcibiades I, Alcibiades says that he will exchange roles with Socrates and become his pedagogue (135d7–10). Alcibiades charges Socrates with another, less positive, kind of role reversal at the end of his speech in the Symposium. He first tells the symposiasts that he has given Socrates praise mixed with blame in his speech, by recounting the ways in which Socrates treated him with hybris. Furthermore, he says, Socrates has done the same thing to “very many others,” deceiving them into thinking that Socrates is a lover, while turning out to be a beloved instead. Alcibiades specifically warns Agathon against suffering this same experience: “So I tell you also, Agathon, not to be deceived by this man, but to watch out, learning from my experiences. Don’t, as the proverb says, learn like a fool by suffering” (222a7–b7). The experience to which Alcibiades alludes is that recounted in his story of the attempted seduction: according to Alcibiades, Socrates seems to play the role of lover (216d2–3), but in rejecting Alcibiades’ sexual advances he acts more like an erˆomenos than an erastˆes. Alcibiades’ aporia results in part from his admiration for what he refers to as Socrates’ virtues. After recounting the story of his attempted seduction of Socrates, Alcibiades says that Socrates has moderation (sˆophrosynˆe), courage, wisdom (phronˆesis) and endurance (karteria) (219d5–7).47 His courage is shown by his fearless actions in war (220d5–221c1), and his endurance is attested by his extraordinary resistance to pleasure and pain. Socrates resists the effects of wine (220a4–6, confirmed by Eryximachus at 176c3–5), the need for sleep (220c3–d5, confirmed at 223d6–12), the temptations of money (219e1–2), and the effects of hunger (219e8–220a1) and cold (220a6–c1). His moderation is evidenced by his remarkable ability to 47

The term aretˆe is used at 222a4. Rowe 1998: 206 notes that the traditional virtue of justice is not included in this list because Alcibiades charges Socrates with hybris.

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spend the night in Alcibiades’ willing arms without having sexual relations with the beautiful youth (219b3–d2). Above all, Alcibiades attributes to Socrates an exceptional wisdom (phronˆesis: 219d6) that he himself wants to acquire (217a2–5, 218d1–3). Alcibiades also acknowledges Socrates’ intellectual superiority when he says that he cannot contradict Socrates (216b3–4). Moreover, according to Alcibiades, Socrates uses his virtues to benefit Alcibiades. His courageous acts save the life of the young man, along with his weapons, and he gives up to Alcibiades the prize for valor that he, Socrates, deserves (220d6–e4). That Socrates’ moderation benefits Alcibiades, even though the young man characterizes it as a form of hybris (219c5), is suggested by the latter’s statement that Socrates’ relations with him are like those of a father or older brother (219c7–d2).48 Indeed, in the Apology, as Plato’s readers will recall, Socrates neglects his own affairs, going around to each man in private like a father or an older brother, persuading the Athenians to take care of virtue (31b3–5). The philosopher does not share his wisdom with Alcibiades as a conventional lover imparts wisdom to a beloved but, according to Alcibiades’ story, he uses wisdom in caring for the young man as a friend. Like the Socrates of the Alcibiades I, Socrates in the Symposium compels Alcibiades to agree that he is neglecting himself while engaging in political affairs (216a4–6; cf. Alc. I 113b7–c7, 118b6–8). In so doing, Socrates would have conversed frequently with the young man. Indeed, according to Alcibiades, Socrates converses with Alcibiades and spends the day with him (217b6–7), converses with him far into the night (217d4), and shares meals with Alcibiades at Potidaea (219e7). He also offers to consider with him the best course of action when Alcibiades proposes to exchange his sexual favors for Socrates’ wisdom (219a8–b2). The shame that Alcibiades feels as a result of his many conversations with Socrates is beneficial in that it leads him, at least temporarily, to recognize his own deficiencies and to want to change his way of life (215e7–216a6).49 Just as he does in the Alcibiades I, Socrates uses his daimonic art to help Alcibiades acquire this art, by recognizing that he lacks wisdom. However, Alcibiades’ recognition, unlike that of Agathon, is arrived at by means of intense shame, and it is a temporary state involving continued, painful conflict. 4.5 three men on a couch Important additional information about Socrates’ relationships with Agathon and Alcibiades is provided by two comic scenes that frame Alcibiades’ speech. In the first scene (213a3–e6), just before Alcibiades’ 48

Cf. Nails 2006: 195.

49

On the shame aroused by Socrates, see Chapter 1 at 1.2 and n.23.

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speech, Alcibiades and Socrates play on Greek conventions in exchanging accusations about each other’s erotic relationships with Agathon, while in the second (222c1–223b2), just after the speech, Alcibiades acknowledges defeat in an erotic contest over Agathon. In both scenes, all three men recline together on the same couch. A more detailed analysis of these scenes reveals that Alcibiades’ aporia, and his passionate responses to Socrates, make him, in some ways, better able than Agathon to benefit from Socrates’ erotic art. He, unlike the “beloved” poet, has qualities, like those of the Alcibiades in the Alcibiades I, that could enable him to become a passionate lover of wisdom. In the first scene (213a3–e6), Alcibiades arrives, drunk, and is about to sit on Socrates, whom he does not notice, when the philosopher moves over to make room for him between himself and Agathon (213a3–b2). After Agathon calls his attention to Socrates’ presence (213b4–5), Alcibiades accuses the philosopher of ambushing him (213b9), and exclaims that Socrates always contrives to sit beside the most beautiful person (that is, Agathon). He asks Socrates why he does not instead sit beside Aristophanes “or anyone else who is ridiculous [gelo±ov] and wants to be so” (213c3– 5). Socrates responds in kind: “Ever since I came to love him [ r†sqhn: 213d1],” he says, he has greatly feared Alcibiades, whose jealousy, madness and affection for his lover (philerastia: 213d6)50 will not allow Socrates to look at or converse with any other beautiful person, and who, moreover, reviles Socrates and can scarcely keep his hands off him (213c6–d6). Alcibiades will later state that the truth is just the opposite of what Socrates has said: Socrates can hardly keep his hands off Alcibiades if the latter praises anyone, whether god or human, except Socrates (214d1–4). Socrates asks Agathon to defend him against Alcibiades if the latter tries to commit violence against him (bi†zesqai: 213d5). Alcibiades replies that there is no truce between himself and Socrates, but that he will take vengeance another time (213d7–8). The young man’s vengeance will take the form of his speech about Socrates, in which praise and blame are mixed (222a7–8). In contrast to the passionate, if comically exaggerated, outbursts of Alcibiades and Socrates, Agathon, the object of their dispute, is remarkably calm, taking no part in the erotic banter. Moreover, after silently accepting a victory crown from Alcibiades (213b3), he makes no comment when Alcibiades later takes part of it away and gives it to Socrates (213d8–e6). 50

Following Hug 1876: 161–2 n.8, I take ¾ toÅtou ›rwv toÓ ˆnqrÛpou (213c7) to refer to Socrates’ love for Alcibiades, while tŸn toÅtou . . . filerast©an (213d6) characterizes Alcibiades’ affection for Socrates.

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In the second scene (222c1–223b2), which immediately follows Alcibiades’ speech, Socrates and Alcibiades again play with Greek conventions when they engage in an erotic contest over Agathon. Socrates states that Alcibiades’ real purpose in giving his speech about Socrates was to make trouble between Agathon and Socrates by giving the young poet the warning against Socrates’ alleged role reversals with which the speech concluded. What Alcibiades really wants, says Socrates, is for Socrates to love Alcibiades alone, and for Agathon to be loved by Alcibiades alone (222c4–d3). Socrates then calls on Agathon to see to it that Alcibiades does not succeed in setting Socrates and Agathon at variance (diab†llein: 222d1, 222d4–6). These statements recall the earlier framing scene, in which Alcibiades resented Socrates for sitting beside Agathon, the most beautiful person in the room (213c4–5), and Socrates claimed that Alcibiades was jealous if Socrates so much as looked at or spoke to any other beautiful person (213d1–2). In that scene also, Socrates called upon Agathon for help (213d4–5). Agathon plays a role in the second scene that is more active in a literal sense, by initiating a game of musical chairs. In response to Socrates’ call for help, he accuses Alcibiades of attempting to separate him from Socrates by sitting between them. Agathon then offers to come and sit beside Socrates, who invites him to do so (222d7–e5). Agathon, Alcibiades and Socrates have been reclining on the same couch, in that order. In the new arrangement, the order would be: Alcibiades, Socrates, Agathon. Alcibiades reacts passionately, exclaiming that Socrates intends to get the better of him in every way, and suggesting that Agathon instead sit between them. Socrates, however, objects on the grounds that he needs to sit to the left of Agathon in order to praise him, something he very much wants to do. Agathon, delighted at the prospect of being praised by Socrates, gets up to sit beside him.51 In his last words in the dialogue, Alcibiades admits defeat in the contest over Agathon, saying that no one else can get a share of the beautiful men when Socrates is present, so resourceful is he in inventing persuasive words. Agathon then gets up in order to sit beside Socrates (222e6–223b2). Socrates, then, accuses Alcibiades of being jealous in this second scene, just as he did in the first framing scene. He now makes it clearer, however, that Alcibiades is jealous for two reasons. Like a conventional erˆomenos, he is jealous of Socrates’ alleged erotic attentions to Agathon, and like a conventional erastˆes, he is jealous of Agathon’s acceptance of Socrates’ favors. Just as he did in the story recounted in his speech, Alcibiades behaves 51

On the seating arrangement and the order of the speeches, see Bury 1932, on 222e.

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as both lover and beloved, and is frustrated in both roles (see above 4.4). In contrast to the passionate Alcibiades, Agathon remains calm throughout this scene. Far from resenting Socrates’ mocking praise of his wisdom that led him to charge the philosopher with hybris in their first conversation (175d3–e7), he is eager to put himself in a position to receive more of the same treatment. Just as Socrates’ cross-examination of Agathon was interrupted by Phaedrus (194d1–8), now Socrates is prevented from praising Agathon by the arrival of a crowd of revelers, who compel the symposiasts to drink much wine (223b2–6). As a result, instead of praising Agathon, as he said he was going to do, Socrates is shown to be victorious in the trial concerning wisdom, to be judged by Dionysus, to which Agathon referred at 175e7–9. Indeed, Socrates shows his superiority in three Dionysian activities: erˆos, drinking and drama. Before the interruption, Socrates demonstrated the superiority of his erotic art by persuading Agathon, the most beautiful man present, to sit beside him (222e10–223b2). After the revelers arrive (223b2–d12), Socrates drinks all the rest of the symposiasts under the table, demonstrating the truth of Alcibiades’ statement that the present occasion would be a test (elenchus) of Socrates’ ability to withstand the effects of wine (220a4–6). Socrates also shows his superiority in dramatic skill when he compels Agathon and Aristophanes to agree that the man who is able to compose tragedies by means of skill (t”cnh‚) is also able to compose comedies (223d3–6). They, who compose in only one dramatic genre, do not do so by means of skill; it is instead Socrates who is able to combine the comic with the serious.52 He does so by means of his erotic art, which uses laughter for the serious purpose of leading people to recognize their own lack of wisdom. Once again, then, Socrates not only slights Agathon’s ability to speak well, but also demonstrates his own superior skill in persuasive speaking. Far from resenting this defeat, however, Agathon shows that he still desires to benefit from conversing with Socrates. After many of the others have left (223b6–8), and first Aristodemus (223b8–c1) and then Aristophanes (223d7–8) have fallen asleep, it is Agathon who remains conversing with Socrates until dawn (223d7). Agathon, then, is characterized in this final scene, as he is in the rest of the dialogue, as a soft and compliant young man, who is proud of his success at the theater, but also ready to admit his own lack of wisdom. Socrates’ interactions with Agathon throughout the dialogue show that he thinks that the young poet is worthy of his philosophical attention. Significantly, 52

Noted by Rowe 1998, on 223d2–5.

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Agathon is the only one of the symposiasts with whom he engages, however briefly, in dialectic. On the other hand, the fact that Agathon responds so mildly, without expressing passion or conflict, suggests that he shares less than does Alcibiades in the “philosophical madness and Bacchic frenzy” that, according to Alcibiades, characterizes a philosopher (218b3–4) who is a passionate lover of wisdom. Agathon is portrayed throughout not as a lover, but as a beloved. Agathon, then, comes to recognize his own lack of wisdom (component (2) of the erotic art), but lacks the more passionate nature that could lead him from the ordinary erˆos that is the concern of his tragedies to Socratic erˆos for wisdom (component (3)). This may be one reason why Socrates, who, in the Alcibiades I, loves Alcibiades in part because the young man has a passionate desire to acquire the greatest power, does not claim to be in love with Agathon, but instead treats him with friendly affection. That Alcibiades, in contrast, has a passionate nature, is indicated by his own vivid descriptions of his reactions to Socrates (especially at 215d1– 216c3). He represents himself as experiencing a wide range of emotions: a state of enchantment and being stunned (215d5–6), shame (216b2–6), desire for revenge for insults (213d8, 219c2–6), admiration (219d4), confusion and pain (215e6), and, not least, ordinary erˆos. He acts like a jealous lover in the two scenes that frame the speech in which he admits to acting like a lover of Socrates (217c7–8). Moreover, the narrators of the dialogue say that he still seems to be in love with Socrates (222c2–3). Even though Alcibiades has the passionate nature that could help him to acquire Socratic erˆos for wisdom, and even though he recognizes his own lack of wisdom, Alcibiades notoriously fails to benefit permanently from his association with Socrates. Scholars have held widely differing views about why this is so, and about whether Alcibiades or Socrates bears more responsibility for the failure.53 Although there is no suggestion in the text of either the Symposium or the Alcibiades I that the two dialogues are complementary, the stories they tell are not incompatible. One interpretation of what happens in the Symposium, then, is that this story begins where that of 53

Those who condemn the philosopher as lover or teacher include Anton 1974; Blanckenhagen 1992: 66–7; Gagarin 1977; Lear 1998: 148–66; Nussbaum 1986: 184–99; and Penwill 1978: 163–8. Vlastos’ influential statement that Socrates is guilty of “a failure in love” (1971: 16; cf. 1973: esp. 30–4) is retracted in 1991 (44 n. 82), where Vlastos gives a more positive account of Socrates’ treatment of Alcibiades (41–4). The defenders of Socrates include: Arieti 1991: 110–11; Blundell 1992: 124–5; Bury 1932: lx–lxv; Gill 1990: 81; Nails 2006; Price 1991: 294–8; Rowe 1998: 6–7 and 205–6; Schein 1974: 166; G. A. Scott 2000: 119–57; Szlez´ak 1985: 262–70 and 1999: 91–3.

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the Alcibiades I leaves off.54 According to this interpretation, Socrates is at first a lover of Alcibiades’ soul, in part because of the young man’s passionate desire for the greatest power. By means of this love and his erotic art, Socrates leads the Alcibiades of the Symposium, like the Alcibiades of the Alcibiades I, to recognize his own lack of wisdom and to desire to improve, thus acquiring, at least temporarily and to some extent, components (2) and (3) of the erotic art. The young man, however, does not remain with Socrates, which is what he promises to do at the end of the Alcibiades I, but instead runs away, and, as Socrates feared then, is overcome by desire for honor from the many (Alc. I 135e6–8; Symp. 216b5). This pattern, Alcibiades indicates in his speech, is often repeated (poll†kiv: 215e7). Thus, by fleeing Socrates, Alcibiades returns to the position of the Alcibiades of the Alcibiades I, who recognizes his own deficiencies, but does not heed his lover’s advice to care for himself (123d7–e2: see Chapter 1 at 1.2, stage iii).55 However, Socrates’ erotic art has only temporary and limited success in the Symposium, not only because Alcibiades is overcome by love of the demos, as Socrates fears in the Alcibiades I, but also because Alcibiades fails to remain with Socrates long enough to know and understand him. Alcibiades, of course, arrives after Socrates’ speech, and thus does not hear, as do the other symposiasts, Diotima’s account of the kind of erˆos to which Socrates is devoted and in the service of which he attempts to enlist Alcibiades. There are many other indications that Alcibiades fails to listen or pay attention to Socrates. He gives no detailed account of the philosophical discussions that he has had with Socrates, or of the arguments the philosopher used to show him his deficiencies (216a4–6), no example of the words of Socrates that appear laughable but contain divine images of virtue when opened up (221d7–222a6). The only words of Socrates that Alcibiades reports are those he does not heed, in which Socrates warns Alcibiades, who offers to exchange sexual favors for virtue, that he, Socrates, may be worth nothing (218d7–219a4). Most importantly, Alcibiades deliberately refuses to listen to Socrates, because he experiences intense and painful conflict (aporia) about him (219e3). Aporia can lead to an awareness of one’s own lack of wisdom that is necessary to the search for wisdom (see Chapter 2 at 2.1). Alcibiades, 54

55

Scholars dispute the relationship between the two dialogues, often within the context of a debate about the authenticity of the Alcibiades I. The similarities are emphasized by Friedl¨ander 1923: esp. 26–8 and 1964: 242–3; Motte 1961: 27–8. Those who stress the differences include Johnson 1999: 1–2; Smith 2004: 100–5; and Weil 1964: 81. On the relationship between the two dialogues cf. Scott and Welton 2008: 168–9.

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however, attempts to resolve conflict by force rather than reason. “Even now,” he tells the symposiasts, he would experience shame and be forced (ˆnagk†zei) to acknowledge his deficiencies if he were to listen to Socrates. He therefore forcibly (b©) holds his ears and runs away (216a2–7). Alcibiades also prefers force to persuasion in the scene of attempted seduction. When the young man asks Socrates to be a helper in his attempt to become as good as he is able to become (218d1–3), and offers sexual favors in return, the philosopher warns Alcibiades that he may be mistaken if he thinks that Socrates has within him an “extraordinary beauty” (218d7– 219a4). “In the future,” Socrates says, “after consideration, we will do whatever appears best to us, about these and about other matters” (219a8– b2). Alcibiades does not reply, but acts: “[H]aving shot my weapons, I thought I had wounded him. Getting up, without allowing him to say anything more, I wrapped my thick cloak around him – for it was winter – and lay down under his short cloak. Throwing my arms around this truly daimonic and amazing man, I lay beside him for the entire night” (219b3–c2). This time, Alcibiades does not apply force to his own ears, but to Socrates. He thus justifies Socrates’ earlier statement that Alcibiades can scarcely keep his hands off Socrates, and Socrates’ fears that the young man will use force (bi†zesqai) against him (213d3–5, discussed above). Alcibiades’ painful conflict concerning Socrates is clearly indicated in the text, as are the friendly relations between Socrates and Agathon. Socrates’ feelings toward Alcibiades, however, are much more difficult to determine. There are some suggestions that Socrates loves, or once loved, Alcibiades, whose passionate nature and desires are necessary conditions for Socrates’ love in the Alcibiades I (104e6–105a1). According to Alcibiades, Socrates appears to be “erotically disposed toward the beautiful” (216d2), and both Diotima (211d3–5) and Alcibiades (216d2–3) state that he is “stunned” by beautiful young men. Socrates suggests that he once loved the beautiful Alcibiades in particular, and implies that he still does so when he says: “from the time when I came to love him” (213c7–d1). Moreover, even after Alcibiades offers his sexual favors to Socrates, the philosopher never explicitly denies that he loves Alcibiades. The fact that Socrates is accustomed to converse and spend the day with Alcibiades (217b5–7) also suggests that he has a preference for Alcibiades that is consistent with love. On the other hand, except for the single statement made within the context of a comic scene (213c7–d1, quoted above), Socrates does not explicitly state that he ever loved Alcibiades, as he does in the Alcibiades I, and he does in fact refrain from having sexual relations with him.

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Here again, comparison with the story in the Alcibiades I can help us to arrive at some plausible conclusions. If, in the Symposium, as in the Alcibiades I, Socrates’ continuing love for Alcibiades’ soul depends on this soul’s becoming more beautiful, rather than being overcome by the power of the many (Alc. I 131e10–132a3), by the time of the Symposium, Socrates’ love will have been weakened or destroyed not only because Alcibiades is overcome by love of honor from the many, but also because the young man refuses to listen to Socrates. This refusal, which has overtones of force, has a counterpart in the opening scene of the Republic. When Polemarchus threatens to use force to make Socrates remain with him and his companions, the philosopher asks if it would not instead be possible for Socrates to persuade them to let him go. Polemarchus replies that it is not possible to persuade those who won’t listen (Resp. 1.327c9–14). Alcibiades, then, belongs to this category of people who cannot be persuaded because they will not listen. It is Alcibiades who, in refusing to listen to Socrates, is guilty of a “failure in love.”56 4.6 socrates as daim oˆ n and satyr Just as Socrates produces aporia in Alcibiades, who says that he “does not know what to do with this man” (216c3), so the Socrates of the Symposium provokes in the reader aporia that is at the same time a source of pleasure and an instigation to further examination.57 However else modern scholars may disagree about the Socrates of the Symposium, most agree with Alcibiades about one thing: the philosopher is so unique and outlandish (atopia: 215a2, 221d2) as to be unlike any other human model, ancient or modern (221c4–d6). Socrates cannot be compared to Achilles, Nestor or Antenor (221c6–8), and he is much more invulnerable than Ajax (219e1–2). Alcibiades’ Socrates is also superior to everyone in his ability to play the aulos. This instrument was banished at the beginning of the Symposium, when Eryximachus proposed sending the aulos-player away (176e6–7), but it is heard again in the background when Alcibiades arrives (212c8).58 Now Alcibiades not only returns the aulos to the symposium, he also gives it to the Socrates of his comic image. When the young man 56 57 58

See above n.53. Similarly, as Griffith 1990: 200 notes, two different, even incompatible, versions of a story are frequently a source of pleasure in poetry. On the banishment and return of the aulos cf. Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan 2004: 39; Friedl¨ander 1969: 28; and Reeve 2006b: 306.

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compares Socrates to the satyr Marsyas, he hastens to add that the philosopher is a “much more marvelous” aulos-player (215b8), for the enchantment that Marsyas produced by means of musical instruments is produced by Socrates with “bare words” (yilo±v l»goiv: 215c7), that is, words without musical accompaniment.59 With his own unaccompanied words Socrates affects Alcibiades much more strongly than Pericles and other good orators (215e4–216a2). In describing Socrates’ behavior, Alcibiades quotes Aristophanes, whose Socrates walks “swaggering and casting his eyes about.”60 The fact that Aristophanes’ verse is a description of Socrates himself indicates that the philosopher does indeed resemble Achilles and Ajax in one respect: he has been immortalized in poetry. Alcibiades’ quotation helps to show that Socrates sets his own standards and makes his own traditions. The outlandish man of Alcibiades’ speech disdains the things others value: beauty, wealth, honor (216d7–e4). However, he also employs selfmockery in slighting his own wisdom and virtue (218d7–219a2). In rejecting a prize he deserves for valor in battle and allowing it to be given to Alcibiades instead (220e2–7), Socrates might be said to deny that he has courage; he certainly shows that he himself does not desire honor. According to Alcibiades, Socrates claims to be ignorant of everything and to know nothing (216d2–4). Socrates himself recounts Diotima’s slighting remarks about his ability to understand (204b1, 207c2–4, 209e5–210a4). He refers slightingly to Agathon’s wisdom (sophia: 175e2) when he praises it extravagantly, but he also calls his own wisdom inferior or doubtful (175d3–e6). When Socrates denies that Agathon’s audience was made up of wise people, he includes himself in the number of fools (194c1–5). Moreover, the superior insight of maturity to which he alludes in his conversation with Alcibiades is that of knowing one’s own worthlessness (219a1–4). Socrates may also be said to disclaim the virtue of moderation when he states that Alcibiades, in offering his sexual favors, may be trying to exchange bronze for gold (218e3–219a1). If Alcibiades’ beauty is mere bronze, Socrates suggests, there is little virtue in resisting it. How, then, are we to understand this outlandish and unique persona? According to Alcibiades, the outlandishness of Socrates and his words can only be captured in the images of the sileni and satyrs (221d1–6), which 59

60

Bury 1932, on 215c, cites Laws 669d in interpreting yilo±v l»goiv to mean “‘in prose,’ devoid of metrical form as well as of musical accompaniment.” However, England 1921, on 669d7, argues that the words at Laws 669d mean “without music (or tune)” rather than without meter, and this sense fits the Symposium passage well. brenqu»menov kaª tÝfqalmÜ parab†llwn (Symp. 221b3) adapts Clouds 362: “You swagger . . . and cast your eyes about” (brenqÅei tì –n ta±sin ¾do±v kaª tÝfqalmÜ parab†lleiv).

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represent the philosopher as having a deceptive (–xapatän: 222b3) outer, hubristic, satyr-like aspect, and a true, inner aspect that consists of “divine images of virtue.” According to him, in order to understand Socrates, we must open him up in order to see the inner beauty (216e5–217a2). As Melissa Lane notes, Alcibiades’ image suggests that Socrates conceals his inner attributes by feigning to have the outer attributes.61 She argues convincingly that Alcibiades also charges Socrates with “concealing by feigning” when he says that the philosopher deceives people into thinking that he is a lover (222b3–4), while actually being a beloved, and when he uses cognates of eirˆoneia (a noun often translated as “irony”) in saying that Socrates spends his life eirˆoneuomenos (216e4–5), and that the philosopher speaks “very eirˆonikˆos” (218d6) in saying that he, Socrates, may really be worth nothing (218d7–219a4). To speak eirˆonikˆos, she contends, does not mean to speak “ironically” in the sense of saying something with the intent to convey a different meaning, but to “conceal by feigning.”62 Alcibiades’ view that Socrates conceals his virtues by feigning to have other, satyr-like characteristics must itself be opened up and examined. Indeed, the dialogue gives the reader good reasons for questioning his understanding of Socrates, although not the fact that the incidents he reports actually occurred.63 Alcibiades says that he is telling the truth (214e6, 215a6), and he frequently challenges Socrates to correct him if he is wrong (214e10, 217b2–3, 219c2, 220e4), something that Socrates never does. When Alcibiades says that he is in a state of aporia about Socrates, then, he is telling the truth, based on his own real experiences of Socrates’ words and deeds. Just as the perplexity of Socrates’ interlocutors in other dialogues is the result of an inability to reconcile apparent inconsistencies, so Alcibiades’ aporia results from the failure to understand the combination of apparently hubristic and apparently virtuous behavior that he observes in Socrates. In comparing Socrates to a silenus-statue that opens up to reveal divine images, Alcibiades grasps part of the truth. His audience within the dialogue, however, and Plato’s readers, who, unlike Alcibiades, have heard Socrates’ speech about Eros, are in a better position than is Alcibiades 61 62 63

Lane 2006: 72. See also North 1994 and the scholars cited above, n.2. Lane 2006: esp. 71–7. The interpretation of eirˆoneia as “irony” is defended most notably by Vlastos 1991: 21–44. I agree with Lane 2007: 47 that “Plato’s text encourages his readers to adopt a hermeneutic of suspicion towards Alcibiades’ interpretation of Socrates, but not towards the veracity of the incidents that he recounts.” Cf. Nightingale 1995: 123: “Since Alcibiades’ character distorts his perceptions, we must be especially wary when he claims to reveal the ‘inner’ Socrates.” I have now revised the views about Alcibiades’ reliability expressed in Belfiore 1984.

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himself to understand the way in which the image of the silenus-statue represents the truth about Socrates. Alcibiades’ image has long puzzled readers.64 No examples of the silenusstatues have survived.65 Another question concerns the identity of the gods Alcibiades says are inside the silenus-statue (215b3, 216e6–217a1). Two candidates are prominent in the dialogue. As the god of the symposium and of the theater, Dionysus presides over the symposium in honor of Agathon’s theatrical victory. This god is invoked as judge by Agathon (175e9), and Socrates says that Aristophanes’ entire occupation concerns Dionysus and Aphrodite (177e1–2). Moreover, the followers of Dionysus are satyrs.66 Another divinity, however, is much more important in the Symposium: Eros, the subject of the first six speeches in the dialogue. Eros is also appropriate in this context because Alcibiades, instead of praising Eros like the other speakers, makes Socrates the subject of his encomium (214d6–10), within which the philosopher is characterized as an erotic figure. It is a plausible inference, then, that Alcibiades intends his audience to identify one of the gods within the statue as Eros. The symposiasts, who, unlike Alcibiades, heard Socrates’ speech, have still other reasons for identifying one of the figures inside the silenus-statue with an Eros whom the Socrates portrayed by Alcibiades resembles.67 As has often been noted, Alcibiades’ Socrates has much in common with Eros in the speech attributed to Diotima.68 Both are daimonion,69 lack beauty,70 are unshod,71 and live outside and in doorways.72 Socrates and Eros both contrive plots so as to associate with the beautiful.73 Both are courageous74 and resourceful,75 and both are characterized as magicians and spellbinders.76 Diotima’s Eros, with his absurd birth story (203b1–d8), is a figure from comedy,77 while Socrates’ satyr-like physical appearance (215b4–6, 216d4) is comic, and his words arouse laughter 64 65 66 67 68 69 71 73 74 75 76 77

One intriguing recent account is that of Reeve 2006a: 128, who argues that Alcibiades imagines Socrates as pregnant with embryonic virtue. Dover 1980, on 215b2–3. Eisner 1982: 114 argues that Dionysus is one of the gods within the statue. See Szlez´ak 1985: 263–4 on the symposiasts’ superior knowledge. See also above, Introduction to Part II, and n.6. 70 Eros: 203c6–7, Socrates: 215b4–6 and 216d4. Eros: 202d13, Socrates: 219c1. 72 Eros: 203d1–3, Socrates: 220c3–d4; cf. 175a7–9. Eros: 203d1, Socrates: 220b6; cf. 174a4. Eros: 203d6 (pl”kwn mhcan†v), Socrates: 213c4 (diemhcanžsw) and 223a6–9. Eros: 203d5; cf. 212b8, Socrates: 219d5 and 220d6–221c1. Eros: 203d7 (p»rimov), Socrates: 223a8 (eÉp»rwv). Eros: 203d8 (dein¼v g»hv kaª farmakeÅv), Socrates: 215c1 (–kžlei) and 215d5–6 (–kpeplhgm”noi –sm•n kaª katec»meqa); cf. 194a5 (farm†ttein). Penia, the mother of Eros in Diotima’s story, was personified in Aristophanes’ Plutus, produced in 388, shortly before Plato wrote the Symposium (Dover 1980, on 203b4).

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(221e1–222a1).78 Moreover, just as erˆos causes people to desire what they lack (205a5–7, with 204a6–7), so Socrates causes Alcibiades to desire to remedy his deficiencies (215e7–216a6, 218c7–d5). The symposiasts, however, would also have recognized differences, of which Alcibiades himself cannot be aware, between Socrates as portrayed by Alcibiades and Diotima’s Eros. According to Diotima, Eros is not the erˆomenos but the lover (204c1–6). He is a daimˆon and not a god, and he therefore lacks not only beauty, but also the wisdom (sophia) and goodness that the gods are said to have (202c4–d5, 203e4–204a7). It is true that Eros is characterized by Diotima as “courageous” (ˆndre±ov: 203d5), but in this passage the term does not refer to true virtue, a good thing that Eros lacks, but, as the words immediately following show, means “energetic and impetuous” (­thv kaª sÅntonov).79 Eros is only “courageous” in that he “goes after” beauty, just as the lover goes toward («”nai: 210a4–5) and pursues (diÛkein: 210b2) beauty.80 That Diotima’s Eros lacks virtue is shown, above all, by his characterization as a philosopher, someone who is between wisdom (sophia) and amathia, and who recognizes his own deficiencies (203d7–204b5). In contrast, Alcibiades says that Socrates is not the lover, but the erˆomenos (222b3–4; cf. c2–3), who contains very beautiful (p†gkala: 217a1) images of virtue (ˆretv: 222a4). Alcibiades attributes to Socrates the god-like virtues of extraordinary courage (219d5, 220d6–221c1), endurance (219d7, 220a1), wisdom (phronˆesis: 219d6) and moderation (219b3–d2, d5). When he characterizes the “inner” Socrates as beautiful and virtuous, then, Alcibiades, who was not present when Socrates recounted Diotima’s characterization of Eros as the lover instead of the beloved, shows that he misunderstands the Socrates to whom he attributes erotic characteristics. According to Socrates’ own account, including his words as reported by Alcibiades, Socrates resembles Diotima’s Eros, in being neither virtuous or wise, and in lacking the “extraordinary beauty” (218e2) that belongs to an erˆomenos. He is instead in a state between virtue and vice, wisdom and amathia. One thing that Socrates means when he says that he knows nothing except ta erˆotika (177d7–8), is that, like Eros, he knows that he is deficient (175e2–4, 219a2).81 Socrates, like Eros, is a philosopher (218a2–b2), 78 80 81

79 The courageous are also said to be “energetic” (­tav) at Prt. 349e2–3. See above n.19. Cf. Bury 1932, on 203d. Cf., among many others, Gould 1963: 44–5; Osborne 1994: 93–4; Rowe 1998, on 177d7–e1; and Scott and Welton 2008. Indeed, if virtue is knowledge, Socrates cannot be virtuous if he lacks knowledge: Guthrie 1971: 146; Brickhouse and Smith 1994: vi–vii, 60 and 123–36; Nightingale 1995: 123–9, esp. 129: “[I]f Socrates is like Eros, then he too must be lacking in virtue and wisdom; he too must be

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whose recognition that he lacks wisdom is a necessary condition for his desiring and seeking to acquire as much of it as he can. What Alcibiades calls Socrates’ ignorance (ˆgnoe±), then, is not merely a schema (216d3–4), a deceptive outer covering, but an essential component of his daimonic art. Although Alcibiades mistakenly attributes to Socrates the virtues that only a god could have, he does grasp an important part of the truth about Socrates. Just as the philosopher has an inferior (faÅlh) and doubtful kind of wisdom (sophia: 175e2–4), so he possesses other inferior, distinctively human kinds of virtues.82 Socrates has the kind of courage that Diotima’s daimˆon Eros has, in that he desires and pursues the beautiful and good, thinking little of other things, including conventions and physical danger. He has endurance in that his disdain for inferior objects leads him to resist the pleasures and pains associated with them. Socrates also has human wisdom in that he recognizes his own lack of the kind of wisdom only a god could have, and encourages others to recognize their own deficiencies. He has moderation in that he has little regard for physical beauty compared to wisdom and beauty of soul. There is reason to believe, then, that Alcibiades intends his audience to identify one of the figures within the silenus-statues with an Eros whom Socrates resembles. However, Alcibiades is mistaken about the nature of both Eros and Socrates when he attributes to Socrates the beauties of an erˆomenos, and the virtues of a god. Socrates instead resembles Eros in being a philosopher who is neither wise nor lacking in understanding. Alcibiades’ mistakes about Socrates are apparent in his narration of the attempted seduction (see above 4.4). When the young man asks Socrates to be a helper (sullžptora) in his attempt to become as good as he is able to become (218d1–3), and offers sexual favors in return, the philosopher replies that Alcibiades may be mistaken if he thinks that Socrates has within him an “extraordinary beauty” (218e2), and offers to consider these matters with him (219a8–b2). Because he mistakes the erastˆes of wisdom and beauty for the virtuous and beautiful erˆomenos, Alcibiades fails to recognize that this “shared search” for wisdom is in fact the very help he has asked for.83 Indeed, in the exhortation Alcibiades did not hear, Socrates explained that Eros is a co-worker (sunerg»n: 212b3) of humans in their search for the object

82 83

situated somewhere between ignorance and knowledge, vice and virtue.” On the vexed question of Socrates’ disclaimers of knowledge in Plato’s dialogues see Introduction at I.3 and nn.39–40, on knowledge of ta erˆotika. Cf. Lane 2007: 45. On the idea of the shared search see Gill, 1996: esp. 283–96 and 2002: esp. 149–53. See Chapter 2 n.47.

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of their desires (212b2–4). In offering to consider erotic and other matters with Alcibiades, then, Socrates acts like Eros the co-worker and offers to assist the young man by means of his erotic art. Alcibiades, however, refuses to listen to Socrates (above 4.5). In contrast to his lack of specificity about the identity of the gods within the statue, Alcibiades explicitly identifies the “outer” Socrates with a satyr or silenus and, in particular, with the satyr Marsyas. Socrates, he says, resembles the satyr Marsyas (215b3–4), in being hubristic (215b6–7; cf. 221e3–4), and in being an aulos-player who enchants people, invents tunes and teaches them to others (215b8–d1). Alcibiades also links Socrates’ satyr-like characteristics to his erotic nature and his ignorance: “You see that Socrates is erotically disposed toward the beautiful, and that he is always around them and stunned by them, and again that he is ignorant of everything and knows nothing, as far as his appearance goes. Isn’t this silenus-like?”84 Punctuated in this way, with a full stop after Þv t¼ scma aÉtoÓ (“as far as his appearance goes”) instead of after oÉd•n o²den (“knows nothing”), the phrase Þv t¼ scma aÉtoÓ (“as far as his appearance goes”) is a commentary on what precedes: as far as his appearance goes, Socrates is erotic and ignorant. The phrase toÓto oÉ silhnädev; (“Isn’t this silenuslike?”) characterizes as silenus-like Socrates’ physical appearance that marks him as both erotic and ignorant. With this punctuation, Alcibiades can be interpreted as making a statement about Socrates’ satyr-like physical appearance (scma), which, according to Greek theories of physiognomy, is an indication of stupidity (or “ignorance” [ˆgnoe±: 216d3] in Alcibiades’ account), and lechery.85 In contrast, physical beauty is associated with wisdom and virtue in Greek thought.86 In characterizing Socrates as satyr-like in outward appearance, however, Alcibiades once again grasps only part of the truth. The young man, who missed Socrates’ speech, cannot recognize that the same satyr-like traits he 84

85

86

216d2–4. I translate the text and punctuation of Bury 1932 and Rowe 1998: ¾rte g‡r Âti Swkr†thv –rwtikäv di†keitai tän kalän kaª ˆeª perª toÅtouv –stª kaª –kp”plhktai, kaª aÔ ˆgnoe± p†nta kaª oÉd•n o²den, Þv t¼ scma aÉtoÓ. toÓto oÉ silhnädev; Burnet 1900–1907 punctuates with full stop after o²den (“knows” [nothing]). The evidence relevant to the physiognomist Zopyrus is collected by Rossetti 1980, who quotes (185: frag. 6) Cicero, De fato 10, where Socrates’ appearance is said to indicate that he is stupidum and mulierosum. On Socrates’ physical appearance see Blondell 2002: 73 (and 58–62 on ancient physiognomy); Kahn 1996: 11; Zanker 1995: 32–9. For characteristics like those attributed to Socrates cf. Arist. [Phgn.] 807b19–21 (a fleshy neck is a sign of dullness of sense), 811b2 (a snub nose indicates lechery), 811b23 (protruding eyes signify imbecility). See further Chapter 6 at 6.3. Alain 1932: 69–70; Blondell 2006: 167; Nehamas 2007b: 97–107; Patterson 1991: 199–202, citing Resp. 400d–401a.

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attributes to Socrates also characterize Diotima’s Eros.87 Like Eros (202d13) and Alcibiades’ Socrates (219c1), a satyr is commonly represented as a daimˆon.88 All daimones, according to Diotima, mediate between mortals and gods (202e3–203a8), for example, by means of initiations (teletas) and enchantments, and Eros in particular provides initiation into his own Mysteries. According to Alcibiades, Socrates resembles Marsyas in playing tunes that enchant and point out those who require the gods and initiations (teletˆon: 215b8–d1). Furthermore, according to Alcibiades, Socrates’ silenuslike appearance indicates that he is erotic and knows nothing (216d2–4), and Eros lacks wisdom, being in a state between amathia and wisdom (sophia: 203e5). Eros lacks beauty (203c6–7), and so do the satyrs that Socrates resembles. Socrates’ words appear laughable, like a satyr’s skin (221e1–222a1), and Diotima’s Eros is a comic figure (203b1–d8). Eros is a resourceful contriver (p»rimov: 203d7), and Socrates is resourceful in speaking persuasive words (eÉp»rwv: 223a8), and, like the satyr Marsyas, in inventing tunes (215c2–3).89 Eros is shoeless, homeless and sleeps out of doors (203d1–2), and Alcibiades’ Socrates is shoeless and spends an unusual amount of time outside (220b6, c3–d4). These are also essential traits of satyrs, half–bestial creatures who have hooves instead of feet and who live in the wild.90 Diotima’s Eros is a bold, impetuous, clever hunter who plots and contrives against the beautiful and good (203d4–6), and satyrs are bold pursuers of sexual objects.91 Socrates, according to Alcibiades, is also a pursuer of the beautiful (213c4–5, 216d2–3, 223a6–9). Furthermore, according to Alcibiades, Socrates is also satyr-like in being hubristic (215b6– 7). Although his alleged hybris differs from that of satyrs in that it shows itself in a disdain for physical beauty (219c3–5), rather than in taking pleasure in dishonoring another, it resembles the disdain for the beauty of one body experienced by Diotima’s lover as he ascends the ladder (210b5– 6). Because the daimˆon Eros is identified with the lover (t¼ –rän: 204c1–6), it is consistent with Diotima’s account for him to experience this disdain in his pursuit of beauty.92 Alcibiades’ audience and Plato’s readers, then, are able to recognize what Alcibiades cannot, that the satyr of Alcibiades’ image does not in 87

88 89 90 92

As far as I know, satyrs are not associated elsewhere with Eros, who, unlike them, is never represented with an erection: see Lissarrague 1993: 214, citing Greifenhagen 1957, a work that contains numerous illustrations of an erˆomenos-like Eros. Seaford 1988b: 32 and 197 on Eur. Cyc. 495–502. On the daimonic qualities of satyrs see further Chapter 6 at 6.3. Satyrs as inventors: Seaford 1988b: 36–7 and Lissarrague 1993: 218–19. 91 Lissarrague 1993: 214. Seaford 1988b: 30. On the role of disdain in Diotima’s account of the Greater Mysteries see Chapter 3 at 3.3.3.

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fact differ from the gods inside the statue. Socrates resembles both Eros and Marsyas, daimˆon and satyr, because he is a philosopher, who has the erotic, daimonic art. His devotion to Eros (component (1)) leads him to resemble this daimˆon. Socrates’ recognition of his own lack of beauty and wisdom (component (2)) leads him to desire these things passionately (component (3)). He is, moreover, resourceful and energetic in pursuing them (component (4)), with a satyr-like disregard for convention, and a disdain for such inferior objects as Alcibiades’ physical beauty, the rhetorical beauty of Agathon’s speech and Socrates’ own inferior and doubtful kind of wisdom and virtue. This disdain leads Alcibiades to charge him with hybris (219c5) and to compare him to an hubristic satyr (215b6–7). Finally, because Socrates, like Eros and Marsyas, has daimonic characteristics, he is marvelously skilled at helping others to attain as much wisdom as they can (component (5)). One particularly significant way in which Alcibiades’ Socrates resembles both Eros and Marsyas is in being a magician.93 The philosopher uses binding spells (katec»meqa: 215d6, cf. 218a5–7) to enslave (215e6–7, 219e3– 5), give pain (218a2–5) and produce shame (216a8–b3). More specifically, Socrates’ words are a kind of love magic; they seek to create, in a young man’s soul that has natural ability (n”ou yucv mŸ ˆfuoÓv: 218a6), not ordinary erˆos for an individual but Socratic erˆos for wisdom and virtue.94 When Alcibiades listens to Socrates, he falls under the philosopher’s spell and thinks that his present life is not worth living (215e1–216a2). In thus recognizing his own deficiencies (polloÓ –ndeŸv àn: 216a5), a lesson reinforced by what Alcibiades later calls Socrates’ hybris, Alcibiades himself comes to resemble, for a time, the philosopher-daimˆon Eros, whose recognition that he is deficient (–ndeŸv e²nai: 204a6) makes it possible for him to desire to become as wise as he can. Socrates’ love magic, however, can also produce another result in those who fail to understand him: ordinary erˆos for a Socrates who is thought to be wise and virtuous. The philosopher has many lovers in the Symposium. Alcibiades seems to be still in love with Socrates (222c2–3); Aristodemus is “very much a lover” (erastˆes) of Socrates (173b3–4) and according to Alcibiades’ account, Charmides, Glaucon, Euthydemus, Diocles, and “very many others” have thought Socrates to be a beloved (222b1–4). There is 93 94

Eros 203d8, Marsyas and Socrates: 215c1–d1. On Socrates as a magician see Belfiore 1980 and Gellrich 1994. Sheffield 2006a: 191 n.21 points out that the magician was a prominent character in satyr-plays. On love magic and binding spells see Faraone 1999, who notes (1–2, 10, 157) the portrayal by Xenophon of Socrates as a practitioner of love magic. On Socrates’ “erotic pedagogy” cf. Renaud 2002: 197.

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no indication that any of these people love Socrates for the true beauty of soul he possesses, including, in the first place, his recognition of his own lack of wisdom. Alcibiades warns Agathon not to be deceived by Socrates (222b4–7). It is Alcibiades’ own story, however, that contains the deceptive image of Socrates as wise and virtuous erˆomenos. Neither Agathon nor anyone else at the symposium attempts to examine this image critically: Alcibiades’ speech is followed by laughter (222c1–2), not analysis. It is left for Plato’s readers to experience an aporia, like that of Alcibiades, concerning the puzzling portrayal of Socrates in the Symposium, and as a result to desire to open up the image of the silenus-statues. By leading us to aporia without satisfying our desire to resolve the issues it raises, the dialogue suggests that if we do open up Alcibiades’ image we may, perhaps, arrive at a better understanding of the philosopher than is provided by the symposiasts in the story, or by Apollodorus and Aristodemus, the narrators who tell that story.

part iii

Love and Friendship in the Phaedrus

Introduction to Part III: the erotic art in the Phaedrus and Symposium

The first part of the Phaedrus contains three speeches: one delivered by Phaedrus, who attributes it to Lysias, and two by Socrates. At the end of his second speech, Socrates claims to have been given erˆotikˆe technˆe by Eros. One way in which this second speech demonstrates Socrates’ erotic art is by means of a vivid, mythical representation of the initiation of a lover into this art. In contrast, the first two speeches represent lovers and self-proclaimed “non-lovers” who lack this art. All three speeches help to illuminate the nature of the erotic art, especially by emphasizing the friendship that the common search for wisdom and beauty (component (5)) helps to create between lover and beloved, and between those who, like Socrates and Phaedrus, share Socratic erˆos for wisdom without being lovers of each other. That Socrates himself has erotic art is also shown by his relationship with Phaedrus, whom he persuades to dedicate his life to “erˆos together with philosophical words” (257b5–6). These topics are discussed in Chapters 5 and 6. The Introduction to Part III compares the erotic skill Socrates is represented as practicing in the Symposium with the erˆotikˆe technˆe he explicitly claims to have in the Phaedrus (257a7–8). I argue that erˆotikˆe technˆe in the Phaedrus differs from the technˆe of the philosopher who has craft-knowledge, and from the “practice without art” used for sexual seduction by the lovers and “non-lovers” of the first two speeches. One especially important aspect of this art is the ability to combine erˆos with friendship. At the end of his second speech in the Phaedrus, in which he recants his impious characterization of the lover as someone who desires only physical beauty, Socrates prays to Eros: “Be kind and gracious, and do not in anger take away or weaken the erotic art [erˆotikˆe technˆe] that you gave me” (257a7–8). In this dialogue, as in the Symposium, Socrates is represented as someone who has erotic art in that he (1) is devoted to Eros and to ta erˆotika, (2) recognizes his own lack of wisdom and other good things, (3) passionately desires the good things he recognizes that he lacks, 198

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is (4) marvelously skilled in the search for as much wisdom and other good things as he can attain, and (5) is marvelously skilled in helping others to acquire the erotic art. Just as he does in the Symposium, Socrates makes speeches about erˆos in a competitive context, and he addresses a beautiful young man (243e9) with whom he engages in erotic banter. Moreover, as in the Symposium, he argues that erˆos is the cause of the greatest good for humans. In the Phaedrus, Socrates’ devotion to Eros is especially evident in his prayer to Eros, whom he calls his “master” (265c2), addresses as “dear” (257a3), and from whom he claims to have received erotic skill. In this dialogue, Socrates explicitly represents himself as under the patronage of Eros. He is also devoted to ta erˆotika in that he has an erotic nature that shows itself above all in his love for words. At the beginning of the dialogue, Phaedrus remarks that Lysias’ speech is appropriate to Socrates because it is erotic (227c3–5). Socrates refers to himself as a friend of words (filol»g: 236e5), as a man [love-]sick for hearing words (t nosoÓnti perª l»gwn ˆkožn: 228b6–7), as a lover of words (toÓ tän l»gwn –rastoÓ: 228c1–2) and of the “collections and divisions” (266b3–4) that facilitate discourse. He even compares his enthusiasm for words to that of a celebrant of the rites of the Corybantes (228b6–c1). Just as the Socrates of the Symposium claims to have only an inferior kind of wisdom (175e2–4), so, in the Phaedrus, he shows awareness of his own lack of wisdom. Socrates says that he has no time for the allegorical study of myth because he is not able to know himself; he therefore studies himself rather than the monsters of myth (229e4–230a6). Socrates also states that it is fitting to call only a god “wise” (sophos), while a human should instead be called a wisdom-liker (philosophos: 278d3–6; cf. Symp. 204a1–2, Lys. 218a2–4). However, the Socrates of the Phaedrus, unlike the Socrates of the Symposium, does not claim to have even as much human wisdom as a philosopher (278b2–4, with 266b3–7 and 278d3–6). Recognition of human limitations is also apparent in Socrates’ second speech, in which he says that lovers imitate a god to the extent that this is possible for humans (253a1–5), and that they make their beloveds as similar as possible to this god (253a7–b1). Socrates also says in the Phaedrus that he knows his own amathia (ignorance1 ) about the love matters that are discussed by the poets (235c2– 8). His first speech, he claims, was a false tale (244a3) derived from the 1

Because Socrates says that he is aware of his amathia, the term means “ignorance” in this passage and does not, as in Symp. 204a4–6 and Lys. 218a2–b3, refer to lack of awareness of ignorance.

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Muses (237a7–b1) or from some other source outside himself (235c8–d1), and he is aware that he erred against divinity in giving it (242b8–c6). Even in his second speech, composed by means of the erˆotikˆe technˆe given him by Eros (257a7–8), Socrates does not claim to tell a “true story,” or to have knowledge of the truth about love, any more than he does in the Symposium.2 Instead, he tells a story that, like the myths told to children in Republic 2 and 3, is as much like the truth as he can make it. In the Republic, Socrates says that people can create stories (mythologia) that are useful, even if they are false in a literal sense, by “likening what is false as much as possible to the truth, because we don’t know the truth about ancient things” (2.382d1–4). That is, stories can be useful if they convey true beliefs about moral and religious matters, for example, that the gods are the cause of good things only (2.380c7–10).3 A similar distinction helps to explain Socrates’ statements about Eros and the soul in the Phaedrus. His story does not tell what the soul is, which would be the task of a divine and lengthy narrative, but only what it is like (246a3–6). When Socrates says that no poet in this world ever will hymn adequately the things in heaven, he means, among other things, that no human can know the truth about these things. Nevertheless, Socrates says, “one must dare to speak what is true, especially when one is speaking about the truth” (247c3–6). Such a story, that is, must convey true beliefs about Eros, who, because he is either a god or something divine, cannot be evil (242e2–3). A similar kind of distinction between knowledge of the truth and true belief is suggested at 252b4–c2, where Socrates says that one may or may not believe what some poets claim, that the divinity called Eros by mortals is called Pteros (Winged One) by the gods. Nevertheless, he affirms that the experience of the lover “happens to be this very thing” that he has just described in his mythical account. Later in the dialogue Socrates explicitly refers to his myth of the charioteer and horses as a kind of game (265c8–9) that may nevertheless grasp some of the truth: We created a likeness of erotic passion, perhaps grasping something true, but maybe also carried off in another direction. Mixing together a not entirely unpersuasive speech, we played a mythical hymn in reverent measure to my master and yours, Phaedrus, Eros. (265b6–c2)

Socrates’ story, then, is not represented as expressing knowledge of the truth, but instead as giving a plausible account, based on god-given true beliefs, of Eros and the psychology of the lover. For example, it is a myth 2

Cf. Dorter 2006: 271.

3

I discuss these ideas in detail in Belfiore 1985.

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that illustrates, as does another mythical hymn – Diotima’s metaphor of the ladder of love – the general principle that desire, eran or philein, is a necessary condition for seeking wisdom.4 It might be objected that Socrates, according to the account he himself gives in the second half of the dialogue (262a5–b1, 273d4–6), cannot know what is like the truth if he does not know the truth.5 However, in the Phaedrus, as in other dialogues, Socrates can consistently claim to have true beliefs, given him by a god, while still disclaiming knowledge of the kind that only a god can have. The erotic skill given him by Eros (257a3–9) allows Socrates to express some true beliefs in telling his story about what Eros and the soul are like (246a3–6). Similarly, in the Lysis, Socrates claims to have the ability, given by a god, to recognize lover and beloved (204c1–2), and, in the Theaetetus, to have the art of midwifery (technˆe: 149a4, 150c1), given by a god (150c7–8, d8–e1), that allows him to test that which others bring to birth, without himself giving birth to wisdom (sophia: 150c4–7).6 In the Phaedrus, as in the Symposium, Socrates passionately desires the good things he recognizes that he lacks. After describing, in his second speech, a former life in which human souls obtained a glimpse of the truth (248a1–c2), Socrates says that he spoke at length about this because of his own longing (p»q) for the former life (250c7–8). His desire for the good things he lacks is also suggested by his statements that the best life and nature are those of philosophers (248d2–3, 249a1–5, 252e2–3, 256a7–b7, 278d3–6), and by his self-description as a lover of learning (filmaqžv: 230d3) and of words (228b6–7, 236e5, 266b3–5), that is, philosophical words. Socrates’ skill in searching for the wisdom he recognizes that he lacks is shown, as it is in the Symposium, by his continual questioning and examining of ideas and speeches, his own as well as those of others. The Phaedrus also resembles the Symposium in focusing on the fifth characteristic of Socrates’ erotic art: his marvelous skill in helping others to acquire his own erotic art. In the Symposium, Socrates helps Agathon and Alcibiades to recognize their own lack of wisdom, and he helps many others to desire passionately to attain as much wisdom as they can. In the Phaedrus, Socrates persuades Phaedrus to desire to attain as much wisdom as he can, and to devote his life to Eros. He also exhorts the young man to persuade others, especially Lysias, to do these same things. In other respects, however, the Socrates of the Phaedrus differs, or has been thought to differ, from the Socrates of the Symposium. First, he narrates 4 6

5 This problem was called to my attention by Christopher Moore. See Chapter 3 at end of 3.3.3. On Socrates’ god-given true beliefs see Chapter 2 at 2.3.3 and n.85.

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stories that have been interpreted as containing incompatible views about interpersonal love. As noted in Chapter 3 at 3.3.3, Diotima’s account in the Greater Mysteries passage of the Symposium appears to make interpersonal love a necessary condition for beginning the ascent up the ladder of love, while also requiring, for continuing the ascent, that the lover come to feel “disdain” for this kind of love and its objects. Socrates’ second speech in the Phaedrus, however, not only represents interpersonal love as conducive to the highest kind of erˆos – the love of beauty and truth – but, as I will argue in Chapter 5, it never suggests that the lover must advance beyond interpersonal love in order to attain this highest kind of erˆos. Indeed, according to many scholars, the Phaedrus represents a revision of the ideas presented in the Symposium, to allow, for example, greater scope for interpersonal love.7 However, as I argued in Chapter 3 (3.3.2 and 3.3.3), Diotima does not in fact give a clear and unambiguous account of the role of interpersonal love in the Greater Mysteries, and, moreover, Socrates distances himself from her “teachings.” We cannot conclude that either Plato’s Socrates or Plato himself holds different views in the two dialogues. Any apparent differences in the accounts of interpersonal love can be plausibly explained by differences in the dramatic aspects of the dialogues. In the Symposium, Socrates is concerned with creating a speech that appeals to five different men, each of whom claims to be an expert on erˆos, according to the skills of his own profession. Interpersonal love is only one of many concerns in this speech. In the Phaedrus, however, Socrates attempts to persuade a single, friendly interlocutor, within the context of a dialogue that emphasizes friendship. Accordingly, he provides in the Phaedrus an account of interpersonal love that is more detailed, but not necessarily incompatible with the views expressed by his Diotima in the Symposium. A second difference between the two dialogues lies in the characterization of Socrates. In the Symposium, Socrates disdains those things of which his interlocutors are most proud, and he is accused of hybris by Agathon and Alcibiades. In the Phaedrus, however, Socrates consistently acts in a much more gentle and friendly way toward Phaedrus, who never charges him with hybris. This difference in characterization can also be plausibly explained 7

See, for example, Nussbaum 1986: 200–33 and Price 1989: 55–102. The view that the Phaedrus revises some ideas in the Symposium is opposed by Dorter 1996: 291–3; Ferrari 1992: 268 and 1987: 132; Griswold 1986: 19; Irwin 1995: 310 and 390 n.31. Robin 1908 argues that the Phaedrus represents “progress” over the thoughts of the Symposium (53), without mentioning interpersonal love, and he provides a detailed analysis of the chronology of the Lysis, Symposium and Phaedrus (53–120). In contrast, Moore 1973 argues that the Symposium is a correction of ideas in the Phaedrus.

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by differences in the dramatic aspects of the two dialogues – their narrative formats, settings, emphases and interlocutors. Even though the events of the Symposium take place in a private setting, Socrates’ words and actions are observed and reported by multiple narrators, and he interacts with many people. Moreover, competition, however friendly and playful, is emphasized throughout the Symposium, in which Socrates competes with others in making speeches.8 In contrast, the Phaedrus emphasizes in a number of ways the more complete solitude of the two interlocutors. In the first place, it consists entirely of dramatic dialogue, without narration, between two people.9 Second, the Phaedrus has no audience, not even that of an unnamed narrator. Third, the unusual setting, in the countryside, calls attention to the fact that Socrates is removed from his usual audience of interlocutors and bystanders, and from the competitive atmosphere they foster.10 One consequence of this solitude is that Phaedrus is not subject to the influence of an audience and the competition it encourages. Because he does not need to defend his views before an audience, Phaedrus can more easily be persuaded to change them. Competition with others is also minimized in another way. While Socrates at first competes with Lysias in making speeches about love, Lysias is represented only by a written text that cannot be humiliated by defeat in the way in which a living speaker can lose face before an audience. Socrates’ interlocutors are also very different in the two dialogues. Unlike Alcibiades, who thinks highly of his physical beauty, and Agathon, who is proud of his ability to speak well, Phaedrus is portrayed as a lover of speeches who is already conscious of his need to learn more about them. He has spent a great deal of time listening to Lysias and memorizing his speech (228a5–b5), but he is also eager to hear a better speech from Socrates (235d4–e1). Moreover, the friendship between the two men is emphasized throughout the dialogue.11 These features of the Phaedrus – the absence of a narrative frame and of an audience, and the unassuming and friendly character of Socrates’ interlocutor – help to create the conditions in which Socrates, like the god who has given him erotic skill, can be “kind and gracious” (eÉmenŸv kaª ¯lewv: 257a7) toward Phaedrus.12 Another important difference between the Socrates of the Phaedrus and the Socrates of the Symposium is related to the fact that the Phaedrus, 8 9 10 11 12

Competition: Symp. 175e7–9, 177e3–5, 189b3–c1, 193e3–194a7. See Chapter 3 at 3.1. Ferrari 1987: 2–3. On these differences in narrative style among Plato’s dialogues and on the narrative structure of the Symposium in particular, see Halperin 1992. On the role of the audience in Plato’s dialogues see Rossetti 2000: esp. 257–8. See Chapter 5 at 5.4. On the role of Phaedrus see Coventry 1990: 184–96 and Rutherford 1995: 262–7.

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unlike the Symposium, is deeply concerned with the theory and practice of rhetoric. In the Symposium, Socrates claims to know (epistasthai) nothing except ta erˆotika (177d7–8), and to be marvelously skilled (deinos) in these matters (198d1–2), but he never claims to have a technˆe. In the Phaedrus, however, Socrates explicitly claims to have what he calls an erˆotikˆe technˆe (257a7–8). This claim is especially significant because of the emphasis on technˆe in the second half of the dialogue. Specifically, in this second half, Socrates contrasts a “true technˆe” (etymos technˆe) of speaking with what he refers to as a “practice without art” (atechnos diatribˆe: 260e2–7) and as a “practice and expertise” (tribˆe . . . kai empeiria: 270b5–6). This “practice” is used by Lysias and other orators and speech-writers (266c1–7, 278b7–d1). In both the first and the second half of the dialogue (234e5–235a8, 264c7– e2), Socrates criticizes the lack of rhetorical technˆe (t çhtorik: 235a1; that is, the “true technˆe of speaking”) in the speech Phaedrus attributes to Lysias. He thus implies that this speech in particular is an example of the “practice without art.” When Socrates refers to his own erˆotikˆe technˆe, then, he implicitly contrasts his own possession of technˆe with Lysias’ lack of art. If erˆotikˆe technˆe differs from “the practice without art,” neither is it the same as the “true technˆe of speaking,” for Socrates denies that he possesses the latter when he states: “I have no share in any art of speaking”: 262d5–6 (cf. 264b5–6, 266b3–c1, 278b2–4). Instead, Socrates has an erotic art like that of the person possessed by “divine love” (266a7) in his own second speech, who is represented as acquiring all five components of this art. Not only Lysias, but also the lovers and self-proclaimed “non-lovers,” whose words are reported in the speech attributed to Lysias and in Socrates’ own first speech, lack this erotic art. One way in which the dialogue is unified, then, is by means of a contrast among Socrates’ erotikˆe technˆe, the “true technˆe” of speaking, and the “practice without art.”13 In order to understand the erotic art Socrates claims to possess in this dialogue, then, we must examine how it differs from the “true technˆe” and from the “practice without art.” After contrasting a “true technˆe” of speaking with a “practice without art” (atechnos diatribˆe: 260e4–6), Socrates says that the true technˆe of speaking is a rhetorical technˆe (261a7), which is identical with or at least makes use of, the dialectical technˆe, the technˆe (265d1) of using the method of collection and division to define the whole 13

Another way in which the dialogue is unified is, as Rowe points out (2009: 145), supplied by Socrates himself: “his way of loving is precisely through logoi [words].” Recent surveys of opinions on the vexed issue of unity are those of Dorter 2006: 259–60 and Werner 2007.

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and divide it into parts (265c8–266c5).14 Socrates also claims that the person who uses the dialectical technˆe (276e5–6) is called a philosopher (278d3–6). The relationships among the true or rhetorikˆe technˆe, dialektikˆe technˆe and philosophy are not clearly defined in the text.15 However, at least by the end of the second half of the dialogue, they are so closely related that it is difficult to distinguish among them.16 In the following pages I use the terms “rhetorical technˆe,” “true technˆe” and “dialectical technˆe” interchangeably. Most important for present purposes is the fact that Socrates denies that he has a true technˆe of speaking.17 His second speech, he says, expressed the principles of collection and division “by chance” and not by technˆe (265c8–d1). Instead, Socrates prays to become the kind of person who has the dialectical technˆe (278b2–4).18 When, shortly after his prayer, Socrates says that it is most fitting to call the person with this technˆe a philosopher (278d3–6), he strongly suggests that he himself is not a philosopher of this kind.19 As Socrates’ claims suggest, the philosopher in the Phaedrus, who has knowledge, differs considerably from those who are said to philosophize in the Symposium (204a1–7, b4–5) and the Lysis (218a2–b3) precisely because they recognize that they lack the wisdom and knowledge they desire. In the Phaedrus, philosophers, in the sense of those who have dialectical technˆe, are said to know the truth20 about the things they discuss, to be able to come to the aid of their spoken or written words by submitting them to cross-examination (278c4–7), and to be able to teach what necessarily causes different speeches to persuade different souls (271b4–5). Philosophers with dialectical technˆe are also able to practice collection and division. In addition, they are able to understand the nature of the soul, and to discover which kind of speech is suitable to which kind of soul (270c1–272b4, 273d2– 274a5, 277b5–c6). Those who become philosophers with rhetorical technˆe need to have a “rhetorical nature,” and they need to acquire, in addition, 14 15 16 17

18 19 20

Technˆe of words or speaking: 260d4–e7, 262d5–6, 266c2–3, 267d7–8, 272b4; rhetorikˆe technˆe: 261a7, 263b6, 266d1–4, 269c9–d1; dialectikˆe technˆe: 276e5–6; cf. 266b8c8. On these controversial relationships see, for example, the debate between Heath (1989) and Rowe (1986 and 1989). Nehamas and Woodruff 1995: xli; Gill 1992: 167–8; and Piccone 1992: 262. See above. The fact that Socrates does not claim to be a philosopher who has dialectical technˆe is strong evidence against the view of Griswold 1986: 116 and 214–15 that his erˆotikˆe technˆe is the same as dialectikˆe technˆe. On Socrates’ “philosophical” prayers in the Phaedrus see Jackson 1971: 23–30. Gill 1992: 167 notes that “Socrates does not present himself even as a sub-divine dialectical philosophos.” e«du±an t¼ ˆlhq•v: 259e4–6; cf. 262b5–c3, 273d2–e4, 277b5–c6, 278c4–5.

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knowledge (epistemˆe) and practice (269d4–5).21 Like other craftsmen, they are able to teach their skill to others.22 That is, these philosophers meet the criteria for technˆe that are set out in other dialogues, for they are able to understand their subject as a unified whole, to give an account of why they do what they do, and to teach this skill to others.23 In the Phaedrus, however, the kind of knowledge that the philosopher with the true technˆe of speaking possesses is not the wisdom that only a god can have (278d3–4). It is instead a kind of human craft-knowledge that Socrates compares to the technˆe of medicine. Just as medicine needs to understand by means of technˆe the nature of the body, and what kinds of foods and medicines to apply to it so as to produce health and strength, so the true rhetorician needs to understand the nature of the soul by technˆe, and to know which words to apply to it so as to produce persuasion and virtue (270b1–9). In the Phaedrus, then, the philosopher with true technˆe does not merely love the wisdom he recognizes that he lacks, as he does in the Symposium and the Lysis. He has already acquired some wisdom, in the form of craft-knowledge. However, in the Phaedrus, not only does Socrates deny that the philosopher with dialectical technˆe has divine knowledge, he also suggests that human craft-knowledge of this kind may not in fact be attainable: the “philosopher” may be only an ideal.24 Socrates says that he himself is only a lover of collection and division, and that if he finds someone able to practice the dialectical technˆe he follows him as if he were a god (266b3–c1). When Phaedrus remarks that the technˆe concerning words (273d7) is a fine thing, if anyone should able to acquire it (274a6– 7), Socrates replies: “It is a fine thing for someone even to attempt fine things, and to experience whatever happens as a result” (274a8–b1), that is, whether one succeeds or fails.25 In other ways also, Socrates shows an awareness of human limitations. He remarks, for example, that the rhetorician has technˆe only to the extent that this person is able to acquire it.26 A person can become technikos only “as far as possible” (271c6–8), and “as much as is possible for a human being” (273e3–4, 277a3–4). He is able to please the gods only “as much as he is able” (273e6–8). 21 22 23 24 25 26

On these three requirements and their relationship to Pericles (269e1–2) see the analysis of Brisson 1992. Ability to teach: 266c2–5, 268b3–4, 269b3, c6–8, 270d1–7, 271b1–5. These are the criteria given by Annas 2001: 243–5, discussed in Introduction I.3 with nn.33–36. A good discussion of these issues is provided by Gill 1992. Success or failure: Hackforth 1952: 154 n.5. oÉ pr»teron dunat¼n t”cnh‚ ›sesqai kaqì Âson p”fuke metaceirisqnai t¼ l»gwn g”nov: 277c3– 5, taking p”fuke to refer to the nature of the dialectician (Hackforth 1952: 161: “within human limits”) rather than to the nature of speeches (de Vries 1969, on 277c3–6). De Vries, on 277c3–6 notes that the consciousness of human limitations is given especially strong expression in the Phaedrus.

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A distinction between the philosopher with dialectical technˆe and the person who has erotic technˆe is not explicitly made in the first half of the Phaedrus. Such a distinction, however, is consistent with the account, in Socrates’ second speech, of the process by means of which mad lovers attain erotic art. All lovers who experience divine erotic madness are able, at least to some extent, to acquire the erotic art by means of which they can capture their beloveds. However, only some of these lovers have other characteristics that enable them to become winged and return to the divine realm most quickly. They must, to the extent that they are able, always have memory of divine things, be able to use these reminders correctly (249c4–8), and live a philosophical life (249a1–5, cf. 256a7–b7). The correct use of reminders involves, as the passage immediately preceding 249c4–8 indicates,27 the ability to make accurate use of the method of collection, which is said, in the second half of the dialogue, to require the technˆe of dialectic that the philosopher possesses. All humans, says Socrates, are able to practice collection to some extent (249b6–c4), but only the philosophical mind is able to do so correctly (249c4–8), that is, as we learn in the second half of the dialogue, by technˆe (265c8–e3; 266b3–c1). Thus, Socrates’ second speech suggests that only those lovers who succeed in living a philosophical life together with their beloveds (256a7–b7) acquire the dialectical technˆe that is said, in the second half of the dialogue, to be possessed by the philosopher. Those who, like Socrates, acquire erotikˆe technˆe strive to live a philosophical life and to resemble the philosophical lover, but have not necessarily achieved this goal. In denying that he is a philosopher with craft-knowledge, then, Socrates in the Phaedrus nevertheless maintains that he, like those who philosophize in the Symposium and the Lysis, has a passionate desire to attain as much as he is able of the wisdom he recognizes that he lacks. Even though Socrates’ erotic art does not require craft-knowledge, it is not merely the practice without art used by contemporary orators and speech-writers. It differs in having the goals of pleasing a god instead of fellow-slaves (273e9–274a2; cf. 257a3–b6), and of striving to attain craftknowledge as a lover of words (228c1–2) and as a lover of collection and division (266b3–4). Socrates also differs from speech-writers like Lysias in recognizing his own lack of wisdom. Above all, in the Phaedrus, Socrates is portrayed as possessing erˆotikˆe technˆe in that he uses his art to help others acquire it also. His prayer to Eros, at the end of his second speech, tells us 27

Passage 249b6–c4, discussing “collection,” is linked to the passage about memory by the connecting di¼ (“wherefore”) at c4.

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explicitly that this technˆe allows him to be honored by the beautiful (257a9), and it implies that he uses his technˆe to strive to accomplish the goal for which he prays: turning Phaedrus to a life dedicated to Eros together with philosophical words. The prayer also implies that Socrates has used his erˆotikˆe technˆe for this purpose in the recantation speech he has just made. In helping others to acquire this art, Socrates helps them to go on, in turn, to help still others. This is apparent at the end of the dialogue, when he says that he will convey a message to Isocrates about the topics he and Phaedrus have discussed, and asks Phaedrus to do the same for Lysias (279b1–3). In helping others to acquire and pass on the erotic art, Socrates resembles the man with dialectical technˆe whom he prays to become (278b2–4). This man sows in another soul words accompanied by knowledge, that can in turn be passed on to still others. He is thus immortal to the extent that this is humanly possible (276e4–277a4). In Socrates’ own case, erotikˆe technˆe is god-given and thus, as noted above, can provide him with some true beliefs. In all of these respects, Socrates’ erotic art differs from the practice without art used by Lysias the speech-writer. It also differs from this same practice used by the self-proclaimed “non-lover,” whose attempt to seduce a beautiful boy is reported in the speech attributed to Lysias, and in the first speech of Socrates, that was inspired by Lysias (257b2). These “non-lovers” blame lovers for desiring only physical beauty (232e3–5, 238b7–c4), and for acting as enemies rather than friends in harming the objects of their lust. The speeches allow us to infer, however, that the “non-lovers” in fact have the same desires as the lovers they criticize, and that they are even more harmful to the objects of their desire. They thus show that they, like the lovers whom they criticize, lack the erotic art that creates friendship between lover and beloved. In contrast, those possessed by “divine love” in Socrates’ second speech have a passion so intense that it is characterized as a kind of madness. Instead of ordinary erˆos for physical beauty, these lovers have Socratic erˆos for the divine beauty of which they are reminded by the beauty of the beloved. They use erotic art in seeking to obtain as much of this true beauty as they can, in part by persuading their beloveds to join in the same search and to reciprocate their friendship. Thus, the Phaedrus, like the Lysis, demonstrates the essential connection between erotic art and the friendly feelings that are a necessary condition for the common search for wisdom, beauty and other good things that are the objects of Socratic erˆos. As previously discussed (Introduction at I.1 and Chapter 2 at 2.2.3), the question and answer method (dialectic) by means of which one seeks

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wisdom is a mutually beneficial activity that requires, and helps to create, friendly relationships among interlocutors. The Phaedrus does not, like the Lysis, contain any theoretical discussion of what the friend is. However, friendship plays a significant role throughout the Phaedrus. In the first two speeches, a “non-lover” falsely claims to have friendship for his beloved, whereas, in Socrates’ second speech, lover and beloved combine mutual interpersonal erˆos with mutual friendship. Friendship is also dramatized in the relationship between Socrates and Phaedrus. This emphasis on friendship within an erotic context is an especially important way in which the Phaedrus differs from the Symposium. Lysias’ speech and the first speech of Socrates divorce interpersonal erˆos from friendship by arguing that it is better for a boy to have an erotic relationship with someone who is not in love than for him to yield to a lover. In Lysias’ speech, a man who claims not to be in love argues against a lover’s claim that those who have erˆos have most friendship. The self-proclaimed “non-lover” contends instead that the boy is more likely to acquire enmity than friendship from a relationship with the lover (231b7–c7, 232d1–4). The “non-lover” in Lysias’ speech claims that sexual relationships with “non-lovers” who were friends before they had these relationships will, in contrast, increase friendship between the pair (232d7– e2, 233a1–4). In Socrates’ first speech, made, in response to Phaedrus’ request, on the same subject as Lysias’ speech (235d4–e1), friendship is explicitly said to be the most important consideration. The speaker, a man who claims not to be in love, states at the beginning of his address to a boy: “Since the question lying before you and me is whether one should enter into friendship with lover or non-lover” (237c6–8). This “non-lover,” like the one in Lysias’ speech, argues that a lover cannot also be a friend. In both speeches, however, the “non-lover” claims to be a good friend but gives no evidence that he acts as one. The only people who act as friends in these speeches are kin and others who do not have an erotic relationship with the object of their affections. Both Lysias’ speech and Socrates’ first speech, then, far from being primarily exercises in rhetoric for its own sake, raise important substantive questions about whether or not any erotic relationship is compatible with friendship.28 28

Many analyses of the first two speeches emphasize rhetoric: Brown and Coulter 1971; de Vries 1969: 23–4; Robin 1994: xl–xli; Rutherford 1995: 243–4; Sinaiko 1965: 26–30; Thompson 1868: xiv–xxii. Those who argue that the speeches have serious philosophical content include Ferrari 1987: 86–112 and Griswold 1986: 45–73.

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Socrates’ second speech is an explicit recantation of his first speech. He now rejects the idea that a lover cannot be a friend and shows, instead, how a particular kind of interpersonal erˆos is not only compatible with, but necessary to, the greatest and best kind of friendship. The ideal partners are not only lover and beloved (erastˆes and erˆomenos), but also friend and befriended (f©lou . . . filhq”nti: 253c5). Socrates’ speech indicates that this lover is able to be a friend because he is also a lover and friend of beauty and truth. This interpersonal erotic relationship is unlike the conventional, asymmetrical erastˆes-erˆomenos relationship represented in the first two speeches in that the partners are also friends who share goods higher than pleasure and material gain, and who acquire erotic technˆe by imitating the same god. Like the lover of his own second speech, Socrates is portrayed as having an erotic art that makes it possible for him to be both lover and friend. Socrates’ love is not for speeches of the kind Lysias writes, but for philosophical words, and he shows his friendship for Phaedrus by using his erotic technˆe to turn the young man toward these kinds of words (257b4–6). The idea that erˆos can be combined with friendship by someone who has erotic art is reflected, then, in the relationship between Socrates and Phaedrus, who, as I will argue in Chapter 5, are friends in part because they are lovers, not of each other, but of philosophical words. Just as in the Lysis and the Alcibiades I, mutual erˆos for a higher good helps to create love and friendship.29 29

Cf. Rosen 1988: 81, and, on friendship based on mutual erˆos for the good in the Lysis, Gonzalez 2003: 33. On erˆos as desire for the good see above, especially Chapter 1 n.9 and Chapter 2 n.68.

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5.1 lysias’ speech Socrates criticizes the speech Phaedrus attributes to Lysias (230e6–234c5) as having little rhetorical merit, claiming that it says the same thing two or three times (235a4) and that its parts do not fit together appropriately (264c2–e1, 264c5). He also claims that Lysias, like other contemporary speech-writers and orators, lacks the “true technˆe of speaking,” and has only a “practice without art” (260e5: see Introduction to Part III). Modern scholars have often agreed with Socrates’ negative evaluation, stating, for example: “This tedious piece of rhetoric deserves little comment.”1 However, to focus exclusively on the rhetorical defects of the speech and on the question of authorship (Plato or Lysias) is to ignore the evidence in the text that these very defects, as well as the subject and arguments of the speech make a positive contribution to the discussions of erˆos within the dialogue.2 The detailed analyses in this chapter demonstrate how this, and the two speeches of Socrates, are carefully constructed so as to be rhetorically and philosophically effective within the dialogue. As Phaedrus notes, erˆos is a fitting topic for its audience, Socrates (227c3– 5). Socrates, who claims that he was paying attention only to the rhetorical elements in Lysias’ speech (235a1–2), nevertheless acknowledges that the subject of erˆos is important to him when he states that he has heard better things spoken about love from Sappho, Anacreon or prose writers (235b1– c4).3 He further demonstrates that his concerns are philosophical as well as rhetorical by making not just one but two speeches about erˆos. The specific arguments in Lysias’ speech also have important rhetorical and philosophical functions within the dialogue, for they help to strengthen 1 2 3

Hackforth 1952: 31. Rowe 1988: 144 characterizes it as a plaything, not to be taken too seriously. Cf. White 1993: 24. Pender 2007: 1, argues that “Plato names and praises Sappho and Anacreon . . . in order to acknowledge their influence on his thought on love.” Cf. Fortenbaugh 1966. Poetic language has an especially important function in Socrates’ second speech, on which see further Chapter 6.

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arguments made in Socrates’ second speech. Socrates states that any speech in favor of gratifying a “non-lover” rather than a lover must necessarily (236a1) assume, as does the speech attributed to Lysias, that the lover is without sense. When he agrees to make his first speech and argues in favor of the “non-lover,” Socrates yields to Phaedrus’ request to say more and better things starting from this same assumption (235d4–236b4). Socrates’ second speech will then be able to defeat the strongest case that can be made against the lover.4 Lysias’ speech also makes a positive contribution to another topic discussed in the dialogue in that it exemplifies a lack not only of “the true technˆe of speaking,” but also of erˆotikˆe technˆe. Instead of Socratic erˆos for wisdom and true beauty, both the “non-lover” who speaks and the lover he criticizes have only ordinary erˆos, in the sense of sexual passion. In particular, these men both show that they lack the ability, possessed by the person who has erotic skill, to create friendship between lover and beloved. In the speech attributed to Lysias, the speaker is a man claiming not to be in love, who urges a boy to yield to him sexually rather than to a lover, stating that the lover is sick, rather than sound-minded (231d2–3). The lover’s sickness, he says, makes him a bad friend. According to the self-proclaimed “non-lover,” the lover’s claim to have most friendship for the beloved (231b7–c2) is false, because the lover does not treat the beloved as a friend during the love affair, and because his friendship ceases when his desire does. It is difficult for any kind of friendship to last (232b5–6), according to Lysias’ “non-lover,” and the friendship of the lover is especially transient. The lover desires the body before he knows the character of the beloved, so that it is unclear whether or not he will still want friendship when desire ceases (232e3–6). Lovers enjoy the youth and beauty of the beloved (234a1– 2), but are in earnest for a short time only (234a5–6). Their desire ceases (234a7) when the beloved loses this bloom of youth (234a2, 8), or even before, if the lovers turn to other beloveds (231c4–5). At that time, they repent of the things they did while in love (231a2–3; 231d4–6). When lovers turn to a new beloved they will treat the former beloved badly (231c6), and when their desire ceases they will seek a pretext for enmity (234a7–8). The “non-lover” concedes in a general way that the lover confers benefits (231a2, 231a8) as long as love lasts. He admits that lovers, like other people in need, feel affection (ˆgapžsousin)5 for those who gratify them, that 4 5

A similar point is made by Friedl¨ander 1969: 225. Rowe’s translation, “treat . . . fondly” (1988), is preferable to that of de Vries, “appreciate” (1969, on 233e3). That this verb implies affection here is supported by parallels in Symp. 180b2 and 210d2.

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they are grateful, and that they pray for the beloved to have many good things (233e1–5). Lovers are themselves ready to gratify the beloved by hating other people and by treating their former beloveds badly (231c2–7). It is left vague what actual benefits are conferred, although the statement that lovers care for their own interests badly (231a7) might imply that they spend more money on the beloved than they can afford. According to the “non-lover” in Lysias’ speech, however, the harm the lover does greatly outweighs any benefits he provides. He acts more like an enemy than a friend in treating the boy badly after love ceases and in doing damage even while the relationship lasts. The lover harms the reputation of the beloved because he boasts of his conquest (231e3–232a4) and because he is suspected of satisfying his desire any time he is seen with the beloved (232a6–b2). It is probably because of the power the lover has to damage the beloved’s reputation that quarrels with lovers are said to be especially harmful to the beloved (232b5–c3).6 A lover also harms his beloved by praising and flattering him inordinately, fearing that he will otherwise be hated by the beloved (233a5–7). Lovers also act like enemies in being ready to quarrel with their beloveds. They are disturbed by many things that cause no pain to others, for example, by the beloved’s association with rich or educated men (232c3–8, 233b2–3). They even quarrel with the beloved if he considers his own interests (232d3–4). Small things arouse strong enmities in lovers (233c2–3), especially when their desire ceases (234a7– 8). Lovers also incur enmities with others in order to gratify the beloved (231c2–4). They quarrel with their relatives (implied by 231b2–5) and they are admonished and blamed by friends and relations, who try to dissuade them from doing wrong (234b2–3). Lovers not only fail to act as friends to the beloved, they also deprive him of other sources of friendship. They have ill will toward those who associate with the beloved (implied by 232d5). The lover’s jealousy, moreover, leads him to turn the beloved away from anyone who might be superior to the lover in some respect, depriving the beloved of friends and making him an object of hatred to them (232c4– d2). The beloved, then, loses friends and acquires enemies as a result of his relationship with the lover. The “non-lover” of Lysias’ speech claims that he, unlike the lover, has lasting friendship for the boy. The pair were already friends before the sexual relationship began, and the good things they get from the affair will increase their friendship (233a1–4). “Non-lover” and boy will be friends 6

The reputation of the beloved was at stake because a male suspected of prostitution risked losing his citizenship: Dover 1989: 103–4; Fisher 1992: 109–11.

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throughout life (234a6–7), and the “non-lover” will show his virtue when the boy’s bloom ceases (234a8–b1). The “non-lover” argues that erˆos is not necessary for strong friendship, citing as examples the friendship between parents and children, and between “faithful friends,” all of whom become friends not because of desire (epithumia), but because of “other pursuits” (233c6–d4). Lysias’ “non-lover” makes the general claim that he will provide more benefits to the boy than the lover. He begins by saying, “You have heard that I think this benefits us” (230e6–7) and concludes with the statement that profit comes to both (234c3–4). The “non-lover” looks to future profit, not just present pleasure (233b6–c1). He does good willingly and not because of the “necessity” of erˆos (231a4–6); he does what pleases the boy (231b6– 7), and he pays back favors (233e7). Little is said, however, beyond these generalities. The “non-lover” claims that he improves the boy more than does the lover, who flatters him (233a4–b1), but he does not say how he will make his partner better.7 Only one specific benefit is mentioned: he will share his goods (ˆgaqän), that is, his wealth,8 when the boy is older (234a2–3). Other specific benefits mentioned are actually absences of harm. The “non-lover” is said to be less likely to damage the boy’s reputation than is the lover (232b2–5, 234a4–5); he is less likely to quarrel (233c2–5), and to deprive the boy of his other friends (232d4–e2); he does not repent, for love has not impaired his ability to care for his own interests well (231a3– 6), and his kin do not blame him for making bad judgments about his own interests because of love (234b3–5).9 It is significant, however, that the “non-lover” never claims to have the affection he attributes to the needy lover (233e3). Moreover, “non-lovers,” like lovers, have an unfriendly state of mind toward third parties. They, however, unlike jealous lovers, hate those who do not wish to associate with the boy, thinking that they are looked down on by these people (232d6–7). In what way, then, are the boy and the “non-lover” friends? The two are said to be friends before the sexual relationship begins, and, according to the “non-lover,” it is not likely that the benefits they share will lessen their friendship (233a1–4). However, the “non-lover” gives the boy no reason to believe that a sexual relationship will strengthen friendship. Indeed, the “non-lover” does not even examine the nature of friendship. The relationship is based on a transaction in which the boy exchanges sexual favors for wealth, and, although the “non-lover” portrays this as a mutually advantageous exchange (230e7, 234c3–4), he appears to believe that the 7 9

8 “Wealth”: LSJ, s.v. ˆgaq»v, II.4, on the plural. Cf. Hackforth 1952: 31. In translating “because of love” I follow Scully 2003.

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advantage is all his own. Just as happens in a relationship with a lover, the boy gives up what he values most (232c1), that is, his chastity, and he risks his reputation if the affair is discovered. In exchange, the “non-lover” gives material goods (231a5–6, 234a2–3). The commercial nature of this transaction reduces the “non-lover’s” expression of friendship to the giving of money.10 The “non-lover” claims that he achieves his goal of establishing a sexual relationship because of his own virtue (232d4–5), and says that he is worthy of the friendship and sexual favors given him (231e1–2, 234a1), but he provides no proof of his virtue and worthiness. Furthermore, he must be lying when he says that he is not a lover (erastˆes), for the only reason he could have for seeking a sexual relationship is erˆos, in the sense of sexual desire, or lust.11 In misrepresenting his motives and in getting more advantages than he confers, the “non-lover” does not act as a true friend. Nor does he give any evidence of having the affection of a friend. His speech gives the boy no reason to give up what he values most and to risk his reputation by sexually gratifying the “non-lover” instead of cultivating his non-sexual relationships with kin and friends, including the “non-lover,” who claims to be a friend before the relationship begins (233a1). What the speech attributed to Lysias actually suggests, then, is that an erotic relationship is incompatible with friendship, since neither the lover nor the self-proclaimed “non-lover,” who must in fact really feel ordinary erˆos, has friendship for the boy. The lover has affection (233e3) for the short time his love lasts, but he does not treat the boy as a friend even during this period. The “non-lover” is even worse. Like the lover, he is motivated by sexual desire, but, unlike the lover, who is at least honest, he deceives the boy about this fact. Moreover, the “non-lover” is never said to feel affection. The conclusion that the audience of Lysias’ speech might be expected to draw is that friendship is necessarily absent from all kinds of erotic relationships. Indeed, in this speech, the conventional erotic-educational relationship praised by Pausanias in the Symposium is portrayed as a sordid exchange of money for sex. 5.2 socrates’ first speech Socrates’ first speech (237b7–241d1) also represents the conventional relationship between erastˆes and erˆomenos in a very negative light. In this speech also, lover and self-proclaimed “non-lover” desire only the physical beauty 10 11

Ferrari 1987: 92–3 notes the commercial nature of the proposed transaction and the absence of a discussion of friendship. Cf. Rosen 1988: 89–90. This point is made by Griswold 1986: 48; Rosen 1988: 89–90; and Rowe 1988, on 230e6. Note that the speaker in Socrates’ first speech is in fact a lover who has persuaded his beloved that he is not in love (237b3–5). See further below 5.2.

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that is the object of ordinary erˆos. They lack Socratic erˆos for true beauty and wisdom, and erotic skill in creating the friendship that is essential to the common search for these good things. Indeed, the two speeches have much else in common. In both, a man who claims not to be in love makes a speech that attempts to persuade a boy to gratify him sexually instead of a lover. This man, who is really a lover pretending not to be in love (237b3–5), bases his arguments on the same premise as that of the “non-lover” in Lysias’ speech, namely, that the lover is sick (236a8–b1), and he makes many points about the relationship between erˆos and friendship that are similar to those made by Lysias’ “non-lover.” In both speeches, arguments for and against a sexual relationship are based on a calculation of benefit as opposed to harm.12 In Socrates’ speech, the boy is explicitly asked to consider whether a relationship with the lover or the “non-lover” brings benefit or harm (237d2–3; cf. 238e1–2, 239e1). The “nonlover” claims that the lover is not profitable (239c1) to the beloved and is instead harmful to his possessions, to his body and to his soul (summarized at 241c3–5). Like Lysias’ “non-lover,” the “non-lover” in Socrates’ speech argues that love does not last (240e8–9), that the lover desires only the beautiful body of the beloved (238c2), and that the lover fails to keep his promises (240e8–241b5). Just as Lysias’ lover is said to deprive the beloved of friends, so the lover in Socrates’ speech is said to wish the beloved to be deprived of kin and friends (239e2–240a2). Moreover, this lover, like the lover in Lysias’ speech, is guilty of jealousy, suspicion, excessive praise (240e2–4) and ill will (239a7, 240a5). Unlike the “non-lover” in Lysias’ speech, Socrates’ “non-lover” says nothing about the damage to the reputation of the boy caused by the lover, or about neglect of the lover’s own interests, or about quarrels while the relationship lasts. In most respects, however, the lover in Socrates’ speech is even more harmful than the one in Lysias’ speech. In the first place, the lover is said to be concerned only with his own physical pleasure. The “non-lover” in Socrates’ speech first defines hybris: “When desire [epithumia] draws us without reason to pleasures and rules in us, its rule is given the name of hybris” (238a1–2). He then defines erˆos as that kind of hybris that draws us toward the pleasure of enjoying physical beauty, having conquered judgment that moves us toward what is right (238b7–c4). Socrates will later condemn this kind of erˆos as slavish (243c8) and inferior (266a3–6). There is no suggestion that this hubristic erˆos can, like the hubristic tendencies of the black horse in Socrates’ second 12

Noted by Rowe 1988, on 238d8–241d1.

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speech, be tamed and harnessed so as to pursue the good (see Chapter 6). The hubristic desire for pleasure of the lover in Socrates’ first speech is innate (237d7) and irrational (238a1), ineradicably tied to the body and opposed to wisdom-liking (philosophia: 239b4). Indeed, the lover’s desire for pleasure is emphasized throughout. The lover is said to be an egoist, wanting only what is most pleasant to himself (238e4). He cares only for present enjoyment, to the extent of taking pleasure in the inferiorities of the beloved that increase his own sexual opportunities (239a1–7). He takes his pleasure at the expense of the pleasure of the beloved, who finds the lover extremely unpleasant (240b5–c1), is forced to look at an older man and to do things for him that are unpleasant even to hear about (240d6–e2). A second way in which the lover described in Socrates’ first speech does more harm than the lover in Lysias’ speech is that he confers no benefits, even of a material kind, in the present. The beloved is led to accept the association only because he hopes for goods, that is, wealth,13 in the future (241a1–2). Yet, when that future arrives, he is compelled to pursue his former lover, entreating the return of favors (241a5) that the lover no longer wants to give (241b3–5). Third, the lover in Socrates’ speech deprives the beloved of more than does the lover in Lysias’ speech. The greatest harm he does is to keep the beloved from the “divine philosophy” by means of which he could become most sensible (phronimotatos) and thus come to despise his lover (239b1–5), who himself lacks sense (235e7–236a1).14 He also prefers a soft and beautiful body, suited to giving sexual pleasure, to a body hardened by physical training. The lover, that is, desires a beloved whose physical condition, in times of war and danger, gives courage to his enemies and creates fear in his friends and lovers (239c3–d7). The lover in Lysias’ speech merely wishes the beloved to be deprived of the family and friends he already has (232d2). The lover in Socrates’ speech, in addition to wishing the beloved to lose father and mother, wants him to remain unmarried, without children or household of his own (239e2–240a8).15 Finally, the lover in Socrates’ speech has more power to inflict harm, for he has authority over the boy (239c1, c4), and the two spend the day together (240b6). He abuses this authority, however, by guarding the boy suspiciously, and giving him excessive and inappropriate praise and blame (240e2–5). 13 14 15

See above n.8 for this meaning of ˆgaqän. This play on “sense” (or “wisdom”) is noted by Rowe 1988, on 239b3–4. Cf. Sinaiko 1965: 27, who notes that Socrates’ speech treats family and friends as more valued possessions than does that of Lysias.

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At the beginning of Socrates’ first speech, the “non-lover” asks the boy to consider whether he will enter into friendship with lover or “non-lover” (237c6–8). As far as it concerns friendship with the lover, however, the question is misleading, for it turns out that there can be no real friendship between lover and beloved. If, as the “non-lover” says, equality in age and pleasure creates friendship (240c1–3), the younger boy cannot be a friend of the unpleasant, older lover. Moreover, in inflicting harm, the lover acts more like an enemy than the friends with whom he is contrasted (239d6, 239e2–240a2). As noted above, the lover deprives the boy of present goods and fails to give him the future goods he promised. He is also untrustworthy, irritable, jealous, unpleasant, and harmful to the boy’s property, to his body and to his soul (241c2–5). In sum, the friendship of the lover is without good will (eunoia: 241c7–8), in contrast to that of the beloved’s kin, who have most good will (239e4).16 It resembles the “friendship” a person has for food, or the “affection” the wolf has for the lamb (241c7–d1).17 The friendship of the lover is like the love people feel for the inanimate objects they use for their own satisfaction without expecting love in return.18 In Socrates’ first speech, then, just as in Lysias’ speech, a relationship between lover and beloved is portrayed as lacking in friendship on both sides. The lover does not treat the boy as a friend, but as an object for which he feels no affection, and from which he desires only sexual pleasure. The boy, for his part, makes a commercial transaction, in which he accepts an unpleasant association for the sake of future gain, which he never receives. What about the other half of the question asked by the “non-lover” (237c6–8)? Can there be friendship between the “non-lover” and the boy of his speech? Unlike Lysias, Socrates does not praise the “non-lover” in his speech and, when questioned by Phaedrus about this, he merely says that the “non-lover” has all the good qualities that are opposite to the bad ones the lover has (241e5–6). We are asked to infer, then, that the “non-lover” is sound-minded (sˆophrˆon) rather than sick and hubristic, being ruled by “judgment that draws us toward what is best, by means of reason . . . whose name is sˆophrosynˆe” (237e2–3). Presumably, the “non-lover” will do the opposite of the lover in following the good instead of pleasure (239c4–5), thereby making the boy as good as possible, rather than most pleasant to himself (238e4). He will want the boy to be superior in mind and body, 16 17 18

In Socrates’ second speech, good will also characterizes the inspired lover who is also a friend (255b4). Þv lÅkoi Šrnav ˆgapäsi, âv pa±da filoÓsin –rasta©: 241d1. Cf. Robin 1994: lxxxix: “une amiti´e sans r´eciprocit´e.” In arguing that friendship is reciprocal (NE 8.1155b27–31), Aristotle writes that people who have a fondness for inanimate objects, wine, for example, are not said to have friendship for these objects.

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wealthy and surrounded by family and friends. The “non-lover” will also be opposite to the lover in having friendship accompanied by good will (241c7–8), and in being trustworthy, good-tempered, without jealousy, pleasant and beneficial to the beloved (241c2–3). The text, however, casts doubt on these inferences. The “non-lover” states that “non-lovers” as well as lovers desire physical beauty (237d4–5), thereby suggesting that both are motivated by lust, and before he makes the speech, Socrates calls this “non-lover” “wily” (a¬mÅlov: 237b4).19 Worst of all, Socrates tells Phaedrus that the speaker is lying when he pretends not to be in love (237b4–5). Indeed, someone who does not feel erˆos, in the sense of lust, would have no reason to wish to enter into a sexual relationship in the first place.20 It would seem, then, that the “non-lover,” in addition to having all the defects of the lover, is false and deceptive. Even if we accept at face value the statements of the “non-lover,” his argument that the lover is unpleasant to the beloved also applies to the “non-lover” himself (240b5–e7). If the “non-lover” does the opposite of the lover, he will not praise and blame unseasonably, but in other respects it will be just as unpleasant for the boy to gratify the one as the other. In both cases the boy will have to look at the unpleasant sight of an older man, and will have the distasteful task of gratifying him sexually (240d6–e2). Even if friendship of some kind is produced by the benefits given to the boy by the “non-lover,” the friendship that comes from equality of age and pleasures will be lacking (240c1–3). Why should the boy accept the unpleasantness of a sexual relationship with an older man if he already has what the “non-lover” himself calls “possessions most dear, with most good will, and most divine,” that is, “father and mother and kin, and friends” (239e3–6)? This high praise for the friends with whom the boy does not have sexual relationships suggests that non-erotic friendships benefit the boy much more than does any erotic relationship. The logical conclusion of Socrates’ first speech, then, like that of Lysias’ speech, is that the boy has no reason to enter into an erotic relationship with either lover or “non-lover,” a relationship that will be unpleasant as well as harmful in other ways. He would instead do best to cultivate his non-erotic friendships. The lover is not friendly but hostile to the best 19

20

The word a¬mÅlov excludes any idea of good will, according to Brown and Coulter 1971: 418–19, who argue against the view of Hackforth 1952: 40, that the “non-lover” is a true, Socratic lover in disguise, who has real concern for the boy’s welfare. Hackforth is followed by de Vries 1969, on 237b4–5. Others who argue that Socrates’ “non-lover” is morally superior to his counterpart in Lysias’ speech include Ferrari 1987: 99 and Sinaiko 1965: 31. See above 5.1 and n.11.

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interests of the beloved, and the boy can have no friendship for him that is based on anything other than material interests. On the other hand, the “non-lover,” who is actually a lover in disguise, combines deception with the other disadvantages of the openly avowed lover. The “non-lover” of Socrates’ first speech, then, argues more persuasively than does the “nonlover” of Lysias’ speech that the lover is sick and therefore cannot be a friend to the beloved. However, the arguments of the speech are skillfully constructed so as to persuade a perceptive audience that, contrary to the claims of the “non-lover,” he himself is even more harmful than the lover he condemns. The fact that the parts of Socrates’ speech fit together appropriately also helps to make it more persuasive than that of Lysias, especially to a lover of speeches like Phaedrus. When Socrates compares his own first speech with that of Lysias (262c5–264e2), he states that a good speaker must (1) first define disputed terms, and then (2) narrate the rest of his speech in accord with this definition (263d8–e2), (3) giving it a clear beginning, middle and end (264c2–5). Lysias, who did none of these things, is without technˆe (atechon: 262e5) in this respect. Of his own speech, Socrates merely says that it defined love (263d1–4), but it can also be seen to meet the other two criteria for a good speech. After (1) defining love as a kind of hybris (238b7–c4, d8–9: see above beginning of 5.2), Socrates’ “non-lover” goes on to (2) discuss the profit or harm that is likely to result from gratifying the man who loves, according to this definition of love (238d9–e2). Socrates’ speech also has (3) a clear beginning, middle and end. The speaker first considers the harm the lover does to the boy while his love lasts, narrating, in order, harm to the mind (239a4–c2), to the body (239c3–d7), and to possessions (239d8–240a8), and the unpleasantness of the lover himself (240a9–e7). The “non-lover” then discusses the harm the boy will suffer when love ceases (240e8–241c1), and concludes with a summary of his argument (241c1–d1). Although Socrates’ speech is better constructed and more persuasive than that of Lysias according to rhetorical criteria, Socrates himself claims to have no share of the technˆe of speaking (262d5–6; cf. 264b5–6), which requires knowledge of the truth.21 Socrates also disclaims this technˆe when, after giving this speech, he makes it clear that it does not represent his own views, but was instead the result of the influence of Phaedrus: Socrates was “drugged” by Phaedrus, and it was Phaedrus’ speech that came through 21

See Introduction to Part III with n.20.

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his mouth (242d11–e1). Many other features of the dialogue also serve to distance Socrates from the ideas expressed in his first speech. For example, he invokes the Muses before speaking (237a7–b1); he interrupts his speech to say that he risks being possessed by the Nymphs as he continues to speak (238c9–d2, 241e3–5), and to claim that while speaking he has already had what he calls a “divine experience” (238c5–6), that is, something caused by a force outside himself.22 At the end of his recantation, Socrates calls Lysias the “father of the speech” (257b2), thus indicating that his first speech was inspired by Lysias. Socrates also distances himself from the views expressed in his first speech when he begins to speak with his head covered out of shame (237a4–5), and when he says, after the speech, that the divine sign prevents him from departing before he has purified himself after having wronged the divine (242b8–c9). Moreover, Socrates says that both he and Lysias spoke impiously and falsely in attributing evil to Eros, who is a god or something divine (242d7–e4).23 Socrates’ first speech, then, is not constructed by means of the “true technˆe” of speaking that requires knowledge of the truth. This does not mean, however, that it is made by a “practice without art,” as was the speech attributed to Lysias. Socrates shows that his speech, unlike that of Lysias, is the product of erotic art by the use he makes of it. Within both Lysias’ speech and Socrates’ first speech the speaker attempts to persuade a boy to give him sexual favors. However, Socrates’ speech has a function within the dialogue as a whole that Lysias’ speech does not, for it contributes to the attempt to persuade Phaedrus to turn his life toward erˆos together with philosophical words. This speech appeals to the strong interest in ordinary erˆos that the young man already has. It also presents in an extremely unattractive light the lust divorced from philosophy and friendship that characterizes both lover and “non-lover” in Lysias’ speech. Moreover, Socrates explicitly calls attention to the false and impious nature of the views about erˆos represented in his speech. Specifically, Socrates says that both his speech and that of Lysias erred in stating that lovers create great enmities because of small things, and are jealous and harmful to beloveds (243c5–6). Accordingly, we expect that Socrates’ recantation speech will not only argue more generally that a lover benefits a beloved but also, in particular, that lover and beloved are friends. This is in fact what happens. 22 23

On this distancing effect of inspiration cf. Dixon 2008. Calvo 1992: 47–50 makes an intriguing, but unconvincing, argument that Socrates’ first speech is not impious.

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Socrates’ second speech (243e9–257b6) adapts Greek erotic-educational conventions in portraying a lover, who, in contrast to the lover and “nonlover” of the first two speeches, is also a friend to his beloved. In 5.3, I discuss in detail specific ways in which this skillfully constructed second speech represents a lover as acquiring the five components of the erˆotikˆe technˆe that Socrates shows himself to possess in creating this speech to persuade Phaedrus. First (5.3.1), Socrates portrays erˆos as a kind of divine madness and enthusiasm, as a result of which the lover has an experience like that of sexual arousal. In becoming aroused, the lover becomes devoted to ta erˆotika (component (1)); realizes that he has lost the beauty and other good things that he once glimpsed (component (2)), and passionately desires to regain as much of these things as he is able (component (3)). Next (5.3.2), Socrates addresses the relationship between lover and beloved, recounting how the aroused lover becomes skilled in seeking beauty and truth (component (4)), together with his beloved, whom he helps to acquire his own erotic art (component (5)). This last skill involves, in particular, the ability to create friendship between himself and his beloved. Socrates uses the striking image of an interactive mirror to illustrate the way in which the friends and lovers share in the common search for beauty and truth. Throughout this speech, Socrates uses Mystery terminology and imagery to represent the search as an initiation into erotic art. 5.3.1 Divine madness and the arousal of the lover (249d4–252c2) Socrates begins his second speech by stating: “This story is not true that says that when a lover is present one should gratify a non-lover instead, because the lover is mad, but the non-lover is sound-minded” (244a3–5). Socrates argues that a beloved should gratify a lover because some kinds of madness are divine gifts and the cause of the greatest goods for us (244a6–8, c3, 249d4–e4, 256b5–7). Erotic madness gives us the greatest good of all: the ability to practice “erˆos for boys together with philosophy” (paiderastžsantov met‡ filosof©av: 249a1–2) in such a way that lover and beloved are friends of each other as well as lovers of truth and beauty. This inspired lover (–nqusi†zwn: 249d2; cf. 249e1, 253a3) is also an “inspired friend” (›nqeon f©lon: 255b6–7). Erotic madness is, paradoxically, also the most rational of human activities, because it is necessary to the search for beauty and wisdom in which lover and beloved engage together.

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Socrates gives his account of divine madness within the context of a myth comparing three elements in the soul to a charioteer and two horses, one of which is good, beautiful and white, and the other is ugly, disobedient and black (245a6–b3, 253c7–e5). In a previous existence, Socrates says, each human soul was winged and traveled in the heavens, following one of the gods in initiation rites that he compares to a cosmic dance.24 The best souls were carried highest, and their charioteers saw, although with difficulty, the things in the heavens (248a1–5), while the other souls saw only some things, or were not able to raise themselves at all (248a5–b1). The souls who did not rise at all must be those who are incarnated as animals (see 249b3–5), for Socrates later states that all humans have seen something of the truth (249b5–6, 249e4–250a1). All souls, Socrates says, eventually lost their wings and fell to earth (248c5–8). After the fall, each of the best souls, those who had seen most, was incarnated as a “philosopher, or lover of beauty, or some musical and erotic person” (248d2–4). Scholars are divided about whether or not all of these characteristics belong to the same person.25 Socrates’ account of the philosopher in this myth also raises other questions. In the second half of the dialogue, he restricts the name “philosopher” to someone who has acquired the craft-knowledge of dialectic (278d3–6), and he denies that he himself is such a person (278b2–4). In the first half of the Phaedrus, however, Socrates includes himself among those who are followers of Zeus (250b7: “we”) because they have a philosophical nature (252e1–3). These two accounts are not inconsistent, however, for Socrates states, in the second half of the dialogue (269d4–5), that knowledge and practice are needed in addition to the “rhetorical nature” possessed by the philosopher. Someone who has a “philosophical nature” may, like Socrates, still lack these other two requirements. Moreover, the distinctions among the followers of different gods made in the first half of the dialogue are consistent with the distinction (discussed in Introduction to Part III) made in the second half between the philosopher with technˆe and the person with erotic skill. All human souls, Socrates says, share to some extent in the desire for seeing the “plain of truth” by means of which the wing is nourished (248b5–c2), and all have some ability to recollect what they have seen in a former existence (249b5–c4). Socrates also says that the followers not only of Zeus, but also of other gods – Hera (253b1), Apollo (253b3), Ares (252c4), or some other god (253b3) – can 24 25

See further Chapter 6 at 6.4. Hackforth 1952: 83, followed by de Vries 1969, on 248d3–4, holds that all characteristics belong to the same person. Nehamas and Woodruff 1995: 35 n.81, hold that they designate three different groups.

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achieve the happiness of someone who is truly in love (253c2–6). Some mad lovers, however, are able to become winged and return to the heavens more quickly than others. Those who are able to do so most quickly include those who “practice philosophy without guile [ˆd»lwv]”26 or combine the love of boys with philosophy (249a1–5), and those who lead a philosophical life together with their beloveds (256a7–b7). These people have a “philosophical mind” (dianoia), are always (ˆe©) as close to divine things as memory allows them to be, and they use reminders of these things correctly (249c4–8). They are among the few who have sufficient memory of the things seen previously (250a5) because initiation is still fresh in them, and because they have seen much in a previous existence.27 The correct use of reminders involves the ability to make accurate use of the method of collection (249b6–c4) which, together with that of division, is said, in the second half of the dialogue, to require the technˆe of dialectic that the philosopher possesses (265c8–266b7). Socrates thus suggests that all humans are capable, through a series of reincarnations, of returning to the heavens, because all share, to some extent, in the erotic madness that most strongly possesses the followers of Zeus, who have a philosophical nature.28 All humans, then, are capable of acquiring erotic skill at least to some extent, although only a few can acquire the philospher’s technˆe. Madness begins, according to Socrates, when humans see beauty in this world, and are thereby reminded of the true beauty they once saw. They then start to become winged again and want to fly away, but are unable to do so. Because they then care nothing for the things below, they are said to be mad (249d4–e4). The madness of these lovers is a form of enthusiasm (249d2, e1), possession by a god, a state in which the soul remembers and longs for the divine chorus in which it formerly danced. Once they become possessed, this passage indicates, lovers have already acquired the first three components of the erotic art: being devoted to ta erˆotika to the extent of being enthusiastic and possessed (component (1)); realizing that they have lost the beauty and truth they once glimpsed (component (2)), and passionately desiring to regain them (component (3)). Divine madness, unlike human insanity, is in accord with reason. Mad lovers are capable of recollection (anamnˆesis: 249c2). That is, they are able 26 27 28

Contrast this philosopher “without guile” with the “wily” (a¬mÅlov: 237b4) “non-lover” of Socrates’ first speech. ¾ d• ˆrtitelžv, ¾ tän t»te poluqe†mwn: 251a1–2; cf. “newly initiated” (neotelžv: 250e1). On these terms see Riedweg 1987: 42. Cf. Sinaiko 1965: 82. Dyson 1982 provides a good survey of many of the difficulties presented by the association of Zeus with philosophy. He concludes that Socrates’ account is less consistent than I hold it to be.

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to “comprehend what is said universally, arising from many sensations and being collected together into one through reasoning.”29 Recollection is a rational process, but it is set in motion by the strong emotions aroused by the beautiful objects in this world that remind us of true beauty. According to Socrates, when lovers “see some likeness of the things there [sc. in the heavens], they are stunned and no longer in control of themselves” (250a6– 7). This is especially true in the case of beauty, which alone of realities we saw clearly in our journey through the heavens (250b1–6, c8–d1), and whose images we now see most clearly by means of the clearest and keenest of our bodily senses (250d2, 4). When we see earthly images of beauty and recollect (249d6) true beauty, we experience erotic madness (249d4–e4). If, Socrates states, the images of wisdom (phronˆesis) could be seen through the bodily senses, they would produce “marvelous loves” (deinoÆv . . . ›rwtav) in us, as would the images of “the other things that are lovable” (Âsa –rast†). As it is, beauty alone can be seen through the senses, and as a result it is “most clear and most lovable [–rasmiÛtaton]” (250d3–e1).30 According to Socrates, then, the reasoning process involved in recollection is set in motion by a strong emotional reaction to beautiful objects, and recollection itself produces erˆos for true beauty. It follows from this account that emotion is necessary to set the reasoning process in motion and that erˆos is an essential part of what Socrates will later call the philosophical art of dialectic. Thus, just as in the Symposium, eran (loving) is a necessary condition for philosophizing. After providing a general account of erotic madness, Socrates gives a long and detailed description of the way in which the sight of the physical beauty of the beloved reminds the lover of divine beauty, and thereby nourishes the wings of his soul, which raise him toward the divine realm (251a1–252c2). This passage makes use of the imagery and vocabulary of erotic poetry to describe a lover quite unlike the hubristic lover in Socrates’ first speech who pursues only physical pleasure. Even though the inspired lover reacts physically to physical beauty, the arousal Socrates describes takes place primarily in his soul, and he desires divine more than physical beauty. 29

30

249b6–c1: Rowe’s translation, 1988, who explains (on 249c1–2): “[W]e perceive many things, which through reasoning or calculation . . . we bring together into a unity, i.e. as belonging to the same class or type; and this process (of bringing the many together into one), whenever it occurs, is a matter of recollecting or being reminded (by the things perceived) of the things which our soul once saw.” Good accounts of the importance of sensible beauty in Phdr. are provided by Lear 2006: 117–18 and Nightingale 2004: 157–68.

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The arousal of the lover is marked out in an explicit sequence and described by means of graphic sexual imagery. In particular, Socrates’ image of the wing recalls, throughout his second speech, the images of winged phalloi frequently represented in Greek art and graffiti.31 It also recalls the experience of the initiand, who shudders with erˆos for the mystic rite.32 (1) When the lover sees the beloved, he first (präton) shudders and experiences fear (›frixe, deim†twn: 251a1–4). (2) Then (e²ta) he feels reverence (s”betai) for the boy as for a god (251a4–7). (3) Next (dì ), he is seized by sweat and fever (¬drÜv kaª qerm»thv) and, receiving a flood of beauty coming through his eyes, he is warmed (–qerm†nqh) by the beauty that waters his wings (251a7–b3). (4) Then (d•), the shafts of his feathers melt (–t†kh: 251b3–5). (5) Next (d•), when nourishment flows in, the shafts of his feathers swell ( dhse) and begin to grow beneath the entire soul (251b5–7).33 (6) Finally (oÔn), the whole soul boils and throbs violently (ze± . . . kaª ˆnakhk©ei), having an experience (p†qov) like that of teething, which causes itching and irritation (knsiv, ˆgan†kthsiv). At this last stage of arousal, Socrates reemphasizes, the whole soul boils, and is irritated and tickled as the feathers grow (ze± te kaª ˆganakte± ka© gargal©zetai fÅousa t‡ prer†: 251c1–5).34 Socrates goes on to describe in more detail the pleasure mixed with pain (251d7) experienced by the aroused lover (251c5–252a1). The lover has pleasure in seeing the beloved and in remembering him (g”ghqen: 251d1, 7), but in his absence suffers anguish from unsatisfied desire. When the lover is away from the beloved, the shoots of the lover’s feathers, which are shut up inside his soul together with desire (¬m”rou), leap like beating pulses (phdäsa o³on t‡ sfÅzonta) and prick (–gcr©ei) at the opening, so that the whole soul, being goaded (kentoum”nh) all around, is stung and pained (o«str ka© ½duntai: 251d1–6). The soul of the lover is in anguish (ˆdhmone±), mad (lutt, –mmanŸv) and at a loss (ˆporoÓsa) because of the strangeness of the experience (p†qouv), and is unable to rest due to its longing (poqoÓsa). When it sees the beauty of the beloved, the lover’s soul, drawing into itself the stream of desire, releases what was shut up before, and gets a respite from the goads and birth pangs (k”ntrwn te 31 32 33 34

See Arrowsmith 1973: 164–7, with illustrations. Seaford 1994: 284–5, citing Aeschylus frag. 387, and other passages, including Phdr. 251a. The telestic connotations of fr©ssw (shudder) are also noted by Riedweg 1987: 42–3 and 60–7. This passage describes the growth of feathers rather than wings: Ferrari 1987: 154 and 265 n.20. The evocation of Sappho 31 in this passage is discussed by Ferrari 1987: 153–4; Pender 2007: 37–46; and Foley 1998: esp. 46–7.

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ka© Ýd©nwn), enjoying the sweetest pleasure (251d7–252a1).35 In addition to experiencing emotions like those attributed to the erastˆes in Greek love poetry, Socrates’ mad and possessed lover acts like this erastˆes. He forgets family and friends, neglects his possessions, is ready to be a slave and sleep as close as possible to the object of his longing (p»qou), who is the physician for his greatest labors (p»nwn) (252a1–b1).36 This graphic description is, of course, part of the poetic language of a speech calculated to appeal to Phaedrus (257a5–6). However, the imagery also has important philosophical implications. Instead of stressing that the body is a hindrance to the soul, as he does in the Phaedo, Socrates in the Phaedrus attributes to the soul a capacity for the same kind of arousal experienced by the body, and he characterizes this arousal in positive terms, as being the result of divine erotic madness.37 Thus, he does not reject but appropriates and embraces an erˆos that is described in physical terms. Arousal results from a vision of physical beauty, and it has an effect on the lover’s soul that resembles physical arousal. In fact, although we are not explicitly told anything about the lover’s body, Socrates’ imagery leaves no doubt that it also is aroused. The mad lover is not only a lover of the kind of beauty that is grasped by the soul, he is also a creature of flesh and blood, who responds to physical beauty as other men do. The imagery of arousal, in which the distinction between body and soul is blurred, helps to prepare the audience for the idea, expressed later in the speech, at 254e5–255a1, that all of the three elements in the soul, represented by the charioteer and the two horses, can work together toward a common goal. Socrates’ description of the arousal of the mad lover, then, reinforces the idea of harmony and friendship between body and soul. Socrates will 35

36

37

The image of drawing the stream into oneself (literally, irrigating oneself with it: –poceteusam”nh: 251e3, on which see Thompson 1868: 65) is opposite to that of normal male sexual release. The “release” referred to at 251e3 is that of the shoots of the feathers, whose continued growth represents increased excitement. Ferrari 1987: 156–9 argues convincingly that orgasm is absent from Socrates’ story. On the image of the stream see Lebeck 1972: 274–6. An excellent survey of Plato’s use of themes from poetry in Socrates’ second speech is that of Pender 2007: 19–55. On Plato’s use of love poetry in Phdr. see also Nightingale 1995: 158–62 and Fortenbaugh 1966. Specifically, Socrates’ description of the lover’s symptoms contains many words and ideas characteristic of erotic literature: longing (p»qov, on which see Calame 1999: 30–1 and n.36, citing Archilochus 196 and 193 West, Sappho 22.11ff. and 48 Voigt); madness (Calame 1999: 18, quoting Anacreon 428 Page; Pender 2007: 19–20); desire (¯merov: Calame 1999: 30–2, citing Archilochus 188 West, Sappho 31.5ff. and 96.15ff. Voigt); goad (Padel 1992: 118, citing Eur. Hipp. 39 and 1303); sting (o²strov: Padel 1992: 121–2, citing Eur. Hipp. 1300); lying in doorways (Phdr. 252a6–7, cf. Symp. 183a6, Headlam 1966, on Herodas, Mime 2.34–7, citing Ar. Eccl. 963). Phaedo 64c–69e. Foley 1998: esp. 57–8 and Nussbaum 1986: 213–23, also note the importance of the body and physical desire in Phdr. On Nussbaum’s views see further Chapter 6 at 6.1

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further blur the distinction between body and soul when he goes on to state that the lover is attracted not only by physical beauty, but also to a beloved whose soul has a particular nature (252e1–5, discussed below 5.3.2, passage A). 5.3.2 Lover and beloved After becoming aroused, and acquiring the first three components of the erotic art, the lover in Socrates’ story becomes marvelously skilled in seeking the true beauty that he recognizes he has lost (component (4)), in the company of the beloved whom he helps to acquire his own erotic art (component (5)). In the process of acquiring these skills, the lover first establishes friendship among the three elements in his own soul, and then creates friendship between himself and his beloved. The relationship between this lover with erotic skill and his beloved is one of mutual erˆos and mutual friendship, in which happiness is given “by the friend who is maddened by erˆos to the one befriended” (Ëp¼ toÓ diì ›rwta man”ntov f©lou t filhq”nti: 253c4–5). This pair, then, are not only erastˆes and erˆomenos, but also friend and befriended. In this section, I discuss the ways in which, according to Socrates’ myth, a lover and beloved acquire erotic skill, and become both lovers and friends of each other. I first discuss lines 252c3–253c6 (hereafter, passage A), in which lover and beloved renew together the initiation in rites in which they once danced in the heavens, following one of the gods. Next, I analyze lines 255a1–256e2 (hereafter, passage C), in which Socrates first discusses the way in which the beloved is persuaded to enter into an erotic relationship with the lover, and then considers two possible kinds of erotic relationships, one between a pair that strictly follows a philosophical life, and a second, inferior relationship between partners who are more vulgar and honorloving. In Chapter 6, I focus on lines 253c7–255a1 (hereafter, passage B), which describes the struggle within the soul of the lover.38 I depart from the order of Socrates’ narration by first discussing two nonconsecutive passages, A and C, both of which are concerned with the erotic relationship between lover and beloved. Passage B is best treated separately, within the context of the psychological and religious ideas expressed by the myth of the charioteer and horses. Before discussing the ideas in these passages, however, it is important to note carefully the way in which Socrates’ complex narrative is constructed. 38

I borrow the phrase “struggle in the soul” from Ferrari 1987: esp. 185–203.

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Socrates begins, in passage A, by narrating the ways in which lover and beloved renew their initiation (teletž: 253c3) together. This passage concludes, however, with the statement that the initiation just described occurs “if the beloved is captured” (253c4–6). This implies that at least some of the events recounted in passage A cannot occur until after the “capture.” Indeed, this “capture” is explicitly mentioned, but not discussed, earlier in passage A, at 253b5 (“when they capture [him],” Âtan ktžswntai: 253b5). Moreover, immediately after saying: “if the beloved is captured” (253c5– 6), Socrates states, in the last sentence of passage A: “the one captured is caught in this way” (253c6). This statement at first appears to be an introduction to an immediately following detailed description of a “capture” in which the lover persuades the beloved to participate in an erotic relationship. What actually follows this statement, however, is a narration of a struggle within the soul of the lover, by means of which he establishes harmony within his own soul, in particular, by taming his black horse (passage B). The narration of the way in which the lover persuades the beloved to associate with him does not occur until passage C, beginning at 255a1. In constructing his speech in this way, Socrates does not, as might at first appear, interrupt his narrative of the “capture” of the beloved, but instead emphasizes that this “capture” itself has two steps, the first of which begins within the soul of the lover. Only when the lover has established friendship within his own soul (the first step of the “capture”) can he enter into a relationship with the beloved in which erˆos is combined with friendship (the second step in the “capture”). In placing his description of the struggle within the lover’s soul (passage B) between two passages (A and C) that discuss the erotic relationship between lover and beloved, Socrates emphasizes the fact that victory in this struggle within the lover’s soul is a precondition for a friendly relationship between lover and beloved.39 If the lover does not succeed in creating friendship within his own soul, especially by taming his black horse so that the whole soul will be able to follow the beloved with reverence and fear (254e8–255a1, at the end of passage B), he will not be able to serve him as he would serve a god, as he does at the beginning of passage C (255a1–2).40 Passage C then begins by narrating the second step in the “capture” of the beloved. 39 40

On this precondition cf. Griswold 1986: 133 and Sinaiko 1965: 52. I take this service (qerape©a) to refer to specific actions, in contrast to the passive reverence (s”betai) that takes place at first sight of the beloved (251a5–7).

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The search for remembered beauty (passage A: 252c3–253c6) In passage A, Socrates first notes that each lover imitates (mimoumenos: 252d2) that god whom he followed in his previous existence (252c3–e1), and then gives a detailed account of the stages, listed below, by means of which lover and beloved renew their initiation together, thus becoming skilled at seeking the true beauty they have lost. (1) Passage A, at 252e1–3. The lover begins by searching (zhtoÓsi: 252e2; cf. 253b2, b4) for a beloved whose soul (252e2) has a nature like that of the god previously followed by the lover himself. Socrates portrays a new kind of relationship, different in three main respects from those described in the first two speeches, and by the poets whom he mentioned before his first speech. First, in his narrative, love does not come as an irrational force from outside but is instead deliberately and rationally sought.41 Second, lover and beloved have the same nature (fÅsin: 252e3, 253a1, pefuk”nai: 253b4), one that corresponds to the nature of the god whom both once followed. Third, the idea that the lover loves a beloved who shares with him a psychic nature like that of a god (252e1–2) indicates that the beauty to which the lover is attracted is not merely the physical beauty that is the object of ordinary erˆos, as was suggested in Socrates’ earlier reference to sensible beauty (250c8–d4). It is instead Socratic erˆos for divine beauty that is grasped by the soul, and of which the physical and psychic beauty of the beloved are images. (2) Passage A, at 252e4. When they find their beloveds, the lovers fall in love (–rasqäsin: 252e4). At this stage, we may assume that the lovers experience the erotic reactions described at 251a1–252b1 (above 5.3.1). It is now clear that they do so in response to beloveds who share their own natures. (3) Passage A, at 252e4–5. Next, the lover “captures” the beloved. Socrates does not explicitly state that this happens. Instead, he says that lovers “do everything in order to make the beloved similar” to the god both follow. This brief statement alludes to the imitative process described more fully in stage (5) below. Equally important, however, it implies that the “capture” of the beloved has already taken place, for a lover can only “do everything in order to make the beloved similar” if his beloved cooperates with him as an accepted lover. Indeed, the “capture” is explicitly mentioned at stage (5) below (“when they capture [him]”: 253b5). As noted above, the “capture” itself has two steps: the creation of harmony within the lover’s 41

On the poets’ portrayal of erˆos as a force coming from outside see Cyrino 1995: esp. 2, 8–9, 46, 56, 91–2, 142.

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soul (narrated in passage B), and the persuasion of the beloved (described in passage C). (4) Passage A, at 252e5–253a6. If they have not already done so before (252e5), the lovers search within themselves for the nature of their own god (252e6–253a1). In contrast to their previous lack of resources (ˆporoÓsa) in response to erˆos (251d8), they now have many resources (eÉporoÓsin) for discovering the nature of their god, “for, being compelled to look toward the god eagerly, they grasp him in memory, and in their enthusiasm [–nqousiäntev] they take their habits and manner of life from him, to the extent that it is possible for a human to share in god” (253a1–5). That is, the lovers imitate the god (253b5: stage (5) below). They believe that the beloved is responsible for this experience, and so they feel still more affection for him (ˆgapäsi: 253a5–6). (5) Passage A, at 253a6–c6. Finally, lovers, like possessed Bacchantes, draw inspiration from their god and pour it onto the soul of the beloved, making him as similar as possible (Þv dunat¼n ¾moi»taton) to their god (253a6– b1; cf. 252e4–5 in stage (3) above).42 That is, “When they capture [him], imitating [mimoumenoi] the god themselves, they lead the beloved into the manner and type of life [–pitždeuma kaª «d”an] of the god, persuading [the beloved] and harmonizing [çuqm©zontev] him [with this manner of life].”43 They do not act grudgingly (phthonˆoi) or with illiberal ill will (ˆneleuq”r dusmene©), but try to make their beloved like themselves and like their god (253b5–c2).44 By this stage, the lover who is mad with love is also a friend to his beloved (f©lou t filhq”nti: 253c5). This passage describes in poetic fashion the lover’s use of his erotic skill to help the beloved to acquire this same art. In passage A, then, lovers learn to acquire component (4) of the erotic art, which enables them to seek true beauty. They do so by (1) searching for a beloved who shares with them the nature of a god, (2) falling in love with this particular beloved, (3) “capturing” the beloved, and (4) searching for the nature of their own god, and imitating this god. The lover also learns to become skilled in helping the beloved to acquire erotic art (component (5)) when he (5) helps the beloved to imitate the same god. [Passage B: 253c7–255a1, discussed in Chapter 6 at 6.2.] 42 43

44

Cf. Plato, Ion 534a4–5. Thompson 1868: 70, on 253b, explains çuqm©zontev (“harmonizing”) as “shaping or conforming them to the mode of life and the moral standard proper to the god they serve.” The verb captures the idea of ethical education by means of the dance, on which see Chapter 6 at 6.4. On the absence of phthonos in a philosophical life cf. Symp. 210d6.

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Persuasion, love and friendship (passage C: 255a1–256e2) After describing the ways in which lover and beloved renew their initiation together (passage A), Socrates tells the story of the struggle in the lover’s soul (passage B), a struggle that is in fact the first step in the “capture” of the beloved. In passage C, Socrates returns to the erotic relationship between lover and beloved. He first recounts the way in which the beloved is persuaded to enter into an erotic relationship with the lover, thereby describing the second step in the “capture” of the beloved. It is noteworthy that in the lover erˆos precedes and helps to create friendship, while in the beloved, the process is reversed: friendship comes before and helps to produce erˆos. In both partners, however, erˆos is not different in kind from friendship, but is itself the best and greatest friendship. Socrates’ account of the way in which the lover persuades the beloved to enter into an erotic relationship with him begins when the lover has both erˆos and friendship for the boy. The persuasion of the beloved has five clearly defined stages. (1) Passage C, at 255a1–6. The lover, after having attained victory in the struggle within his soul (passage B), serves the boy, who is “by nature a friend to the one who serves him” (aÉt¼v àn fÅsei f©lov t qerapeÅonti: 255a3–4).45 In this context, the statement does not mean that a person who is served will naturally be a friend to the one who serves him, but that this particular beloved is a friend to this particular lover, because they share the same nature: both are followers of the same god (252e1–3).46 As a friend by nature, the boy has the potential to reciprocate the lover’s friendship, even though he may at first, influenced by his companions, repulse the lover (255a4–6). (2) Passage C, at 255a6–b2. Because lover and beloved are both good (ˆgaq¼n . . . ˆgaq), that is, capable of striving to imitate their god, it is necessary and fated (creÜn . . . e¯martai) that the two will become friends as time passes and the boy matures (¡lik©a) into his own nature.47 At stage (2), the boy reciprocates friendship by associating (¾mil©an) with the lover. (3) Passage C, at 255b3–7. When the beloved associates and speaks with the lover, the lover’s good will (eunoia; cf. 256a3) comes close and stuns (–kplžttei) the beloved, who recognizes that all his other friends and relations put together have no friendship like that given him by his “inspired friend” (›nqeon f©lon). Thus, the good will that was lacking in the lover 45 46 47

I follow almost all editors in omitting, after f©lov, the words that are missing from some manuscripts: e«v taÉton Šgei tŸn fil©an: see de Vries 1969, on 255a3–4. I disagree with de Vries 1969, on 255a3–4, who takes t to be generic. I follow the account of “maturity” given by Ferrari 1987: 174–5.

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in Socrates’ first speech (241c7–8) plays an extremely important role in the relationship between the partners of his second speech. Significantly, in characterizing its powerful effect on the beloved, Socrates uses the same verb, “stun” (–kplžttei: 255b4) that he used earlier, in his narration of the lover’s arousal, to characterize the effect of the sight of beauty on lovers (–kplžtontai: 250a6). As a result of the lover’s good will, the boy now realizes that the lover is not just one friend among others, but that he has an extraordinary degree of friendship. He recognizes, that is, that the lover has the excess of friendship for one person that Aristotle calls erˆos.48 In realizing this, and in continuing to reciprocate friendship by associating with the lover, the beloved has himself taken a step toward reciprocating the extraordinary friendship that is erˆos. (4) Passage C, at 255b7–c7. As time goes on, the lover comes still closer to the beloved. Now the two not only associate with, but also touch each other (255b7–8). This physical closeness allows the stream of beauty that flows from the boy to enter the lover, to overflow, and to be carried back to the beloved. (5) Passage C, at 255c7–e3. When it enters the boy, the stream of beauty causes the feathers of his soul to grow, and it fills him with erˆos. The boy loves, but is at a loss (ˆpore±) to say whom he loves, not realizing that he sees himself in the lover, as though in a mirror: 255d6).49 The beloved now has a counterlove (anterˆos), an image (eidˆolon) of erˆos that he calls not erˆos, but friendship. He now desires, although less strongly, the same kind of physical contact that the lover also desires; that is, he desires to see, touch, kiss and lie down together with his lover. The boy calls what he experiences “friendship,” not because he is still influenced by convention, but because this kind of divine madness really is indistinguishable from the greatest friendship.50 In stage (5) of passage C, Socrates uses an image of a mirror to portray a kind of friendship in which each partner helps the other to know himself, and to become a better, and more divine, self.51 In some respects, then, they are like those friends that Aristotle calls “other selves.”52 Socrates states: 48 49 51 52

NE 1158a10–13 and 1171a11–12; cf. Pl. Laws 837a6–9. I thank Eugene Garver for calling my attention to the importance of the parallel in Aristotle. 50 Convention: Ferrari 1987: 178. Cf. the lover’s aporia at 251d8. Good accounts of this process are given by Price 1989: 86 and Ferrari 1987: 173. Cf. Arist. [Mag. mor.] 1213a20–24: “Just as when we wish to see our own face we see it by looking into a mirror, in the same way, when we want to know ourselves we could do so by looking at a friend. For the friend is, as we say, another self.” The phrase “other self” also occurs at NE 1166a31–2, 1170b6–7, EE 1245a29–30, 34–5. On this concept see Belfiore 2001: 118–26.

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[T]he stream of that flood, which Zeus, in love with Ganymede, called “desire,” is carried with great force toward the lover. Some of it enters him, while the rest, when he is filled to the brim, overflows outside. And just as a wind or some echo rebounding from smooth and hard objects is carried back again whence it rushed forth, so the flood of beauty enters the beautiful one again through the eyes, by which means it naturally goes to the soul. Arriving and giving new wings to the soul, it waters the roots of its feathers, stirs it to grow feathers and fills the soul of the beloved in turn with love. Indeed he loves, but is at a loss about what he loves. He neither knows what he has experienced, nor can he tell, but, like someone who has caught a disease of the eyes from another and cannot say what the cause of it is, he does not know that he sees himself in the lover as if in a mirror [ãsper d• –n kat»ptr –n t –ränti —aut¼n ¾rän l”lhqen]. When his lover is present his pain ceases, just as the lover’s does, and when the lover is absent, the beloved, just like the lover, longs and is longed for, having a counterlove that is an image of love [e­dwlon ›rwtov ˆnt”rwta ›cwn]. He calls this, however, and believes it to be, not love but friendship. (255c1–e2)

As Socrates had previously stated, the flood of beauty that flows from the eyes of the beloved causes the feathers of the lover’s soul to sprout and grow (251b1–7). The beauty in question is physical, perceived by the bodily senses (250c8–d4), but there is good reason to believe that it is also beauty of soul, perceived by the soul, that resembles (¾mo©wma: 250a6, b3) the divine beauty of the god followed by both lover and beloved. According to the passage just quoted, that part of the flood that cannot be absorbed by the lover is turned back from his eyes as light is reflected from a mirror. In this mirror, the eyes of the lover that are the entrance to the soul (255c6– 7), the beloved sees himself, and from this mirror he absorbs the reflection of his own beauty that is a reflection of divine beauty. The beloved then loves in turn, with a love that he calls friendship, and he, like the lover, sprouts feathers. Socrates’ mirror image implies that there is not just a single reflection, but an infinite series of reflections. For if the reflected stream of beauty is not merely seen by the beloved, but also waters the feathers of his soul, it will make him still more beautiful in soul, thus increasing the stream of beauty he sends out. This in turn will increase the reflection of beauty that the beloved receives back from the lover. The reflected stream of beauty nourishes the soul of the beloved, helping to create a new and more beautiful self, which, in turn, nourishes the soul of the lover. Lover and beloved are thus defined and created by the love they create in each other. The stream of beauty not only helps to create a new self in lover and beloved, it also increases their love for one another. This mutual interpersonal love cannot be separated from love for divine things, but is itself a

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form of Socratic erˆos.53 As each partner inspires the other to remember and imitate their god, each loves the other still more (see 253a5–6), so that each is yet more inspired. Moreover, as lover and beloved imitate their god, they become more divine, more lovable, and more able to inspire one another to imitate the god. Finally, as they imitate the same god, lover and beloved become still more like each other and therefore love each other more. The image of the mirror differs in an important respect from that of the man with dialectical technˆe who sows in another soul words accompanied by knowledge that can in turn be passed on to another soul (276e4–277a4). In the mirror image, and in the imitative process it illustrates, there is no suggestion that a way of life is transmitted from lover to beloved, who in turn will transmit it to his own beloved.54 Instead, according to my interpretation, the beloved is an active partner, who affects the lover as much as the lover affects him. The process is thus interactive, like the soul-gazing that is compared to looking into a mirror in the Alcibiades I. In both dialogues, moreover, the partners gain self-knowledge and knowledge of the divine.55 In the Alcibiades I, Socrates claims that, just as an eye sees itself by looking into another eye as if into a mirror, so a soul, by looking into the most divine part of another soul, might know not only itself, but also god and wisdom (132e2–133c6). Similarly, in the Phaedrus, each partner gains self-knowledge as he gazes into the other as into a mirror. By seeing his reflection in the lover’s eyes, the boy comes to know his own beauty and to see that it is a reflection of divine beauty. He also comes to know the lover, for he recognizes that the lover loves not merely physical beauty but also divine beauty, which is within the lover, as well as within the boy. In the same way, the lover comes to know his own beauty of soul by gazing at the beautiful beloved, whose nature resembles his own and that of the god both imitate. The mirror in the Phaedrus, then, is an image of a relationship in which lover and beloved interact with each other in such a way as to become more beautiful in soul, as each imitates the divine beauty he sees reflected in the other. Moreover, as each partner takes into himself (that is, imitates) what is most beautiful in the other, namely, the beauty that is derived from the god whom both follow, each imitates (mimoumenoi: 253b6) this god. 53 54 55

I disagree with Gooch 1992: 311 and Pradeau 2007: 153, 165–6, who argue that interpersonal love in Socrates’ myth is merely instrumental to love for higher things. On the idea of transmission of lives see Price 1989: 25–35 (on Symp.), 95–102, 226–8, criticized by Ferrari 1991, to whom Price (1997) replies. See Chapter 1 at 1.4 for a discussion of Alc. I 132a6–133c17 and for a comparison of the passages in the two dialogues. One notable difference is that in Alc. I soul-gazing leads to knowledge of the ugliness as well as the beauty of one’s soul.

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The mirror image in passage C uses a visual image to convey the ideas that were expressed in passage A, at 252e5–253c6 (above, stage (4)): the lover uses his erotic skill to imitate his god, that is, to search for true beauty, and to help his beloved do so also. This earlier passage uses metaphors of exchange of liquids to express the idea of imitation: the lovers draw drafts of inspiration (ˆrÅtwsin: 253a6) from their gods and pour them onto the soul of the beloved (–pantloÓntev: 253a7). Similarly, in the mirror passage, the flood of beauty waters the roots of the feathers in the soul of the beloved (255c6–d1). In the mirror image, however, there is good reason to believe that this exchange is interactive, unlike the passive transfer of wisdom like water through a siphon (Symp. 175d3–7). Reflection and re-reflection in the mirror is an image of mutual imitation, which is also imitation of a god. In summary, then, according to Socrates’ account of the beginnings of the erotic relationship (passage C, stages (1)–(5)), interpersonal erˆos and the greatest kind of friendship are not only compatible with, but also necessary to one another. Moreover, this interpersonal erˆos is also Socratic erˆos for the divine beauty that is reflected in the physical and psychic beauty of the beloved, and in the psychic beauty of the lover. The lover’s erˆos leads him to have friendship for the beloved, after having first established friendship within his own soul so that his hubristic tendencies are tamed, and he follows the beloved with reverence (passage B, at 254e5–255a1), serving him as he would serve a god (passage C, at 255a1–2). The fact that the boy and the lover have the same nature predisposes the boy to reciprocate the lover’s friendship. The boy begins to do so when he associates with the lover, increases this association (passage C: ¾mil©an: 255b1, b3; ¾mil©aiv: 255b8), and permits physical closeness (passage C: –ggÅqen: 255b3, plhsi†zh‚: 255b7). This proximity allows the boy to perceive and be powerfully affected by the extraordinary nature of the lover’s friendship and good will, to reciprocate it still more, and finally to acquire from the lover the erˆos that is an excess of friendship. The idea of reciprocal erˆos is certainly significant in this passage.56 Equally important, however, is the concept of reciprocal friendship within an erotic relationship. Friendship with the lover plays an important role in helping the boy to acquire erotic skill. As discussed in the previous paragraph, it is the lover’s friendship that creates erˆos in the beloved. Just as the arousal of the lover is described in terms of the growth of feathers (5.3.1), so, when the stream of beauty enters the soul of the beloved boy and fills him with erˆos, this 56

Halperin’s view that erˆos is reciprocal (1986 and 1990: 131–2, citing [n.119] Foucault 1985: 239–40) is challenged unconvincingly by Calame 1999: 189–90. Price 1989: 86–7, notes the difficulties involved in interpreting Socrates’ account.

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stream is also said to cause the feathers of his wings to grow (255c5–d3). We may infer, then, that the aroused beloved, like the aroused lover, has acquired the components of erotic skill that lead him to be devoted to ta erˆotika (component (1)), and to desire passionately to attain as much as he can of the true beauty that he realizes he lacks (components (2) and (3)). Because of his friendship with the lover, moreover, the beloved is receptive to the older man’s guidance in the search for true beauty. After discussing the persuasion of the beloved (passage C, stages (1)–(5)), Socrates next relates what happens after the beloved has been persuaded to enter into an erotic relationship with the lover whose erˆos he returns (stages (6) and (7)). After first narrating the preliminary reactions of lover and beloved, Socrates discusses the two possible kinds of lives that they may go on to live. (6) Passage C, at 255e4–256a6. The partners now act on their desires, doing what the beloved desired in stage (5) of passage C (at 255e2–3). That is, they look at, touch and kiss each other, and lie down together. Socrates’ language leaves no doubt that the boy, like the older man, feels sexual desire. The black horse of the boy’s soul, “swelling and being at an impasse [ˆporän], embraces and kisses [file±] the lover,” and is ready to gratify him if he asks for this (256a1–5). A struggle in the souls of both lover and beloved now takes place, as the charioteer and white horse resist with reverence and reason the desires of the black horse (256a5–6). The struggle in the soul described in this passage is a second one, subsequent to the first struggle in the lover’s soul described at length in passage B. This new struggle is more difficult than the first. Once the beloved comes to feel erˆos and permits physical contact, the lover’s black horse once again attempts to seize control, asking the charioteer to allow it some enjoyment in exchange for the “many pains” it endured during the previous struggle (255e4–256a1). In this new struggle, however, the lover’s black horse has an ally in the black horse of the beloved and the lover must not only control his own black horse but also help the beloved to control his. If he has not gained control over his black horse in the first struggle he will not be able to do this. This passage, then, like passage B (see poll†kiv: 254e6), suggests that the struggle in the soul is frequently renewed, and that the human soul requires continual re-education. (7) Passage C, at 256a7–e2. At this point, two outcomes are possible. If the forces for good win the struggle, the partners live an ordered and philosophical life, one that is blessed and characterized by concord. Throughout their lives, these partners are orderly and self-controlled, “having enslaved that by means of which evil of soul attempted to enter,” and when they

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die they are winged (256a7–b7). However, if the partners lead a more vulgar, unphilosophical and honor-loving life (256b7–c1), the black horses take control of their souls when they are drunk or neglectful for some other reason, and they commit the sexual act. These honor-loving partners continue to have sex, although they do so rarely, because they do what is not approved by their whole mind. They live as friends (f©lw), although they are friends to a lesser degree than the philosophical partners. Their friendship lasts as long as interpersonal erˆos does, and continues even after erˆos ends, for the love-pledges they have received prevent them from becoming enemies. After death, they leave their bodies without yet being winged, but with the desire to become winged. They travel together in the journey under the heavens, and when they do become winged, their feathers are alike (¾mopt”rouv) because of their love for one another (256b7–e2).57 The philosophical pair and the honor-loving pair have more in common than is often realized.58 Up to the point at which the beloved comes to feel a counter-erˆos, philosophical and honor-loving partners have had the same experiences: the inspired lovers have tamed their black horses and “captured” their beloveds. In so doing, they have acquired erotic skill. One way in which the honor-lovers differ from the philosophical pair is that they let their guard down on occasion (span©: 256c6). That is, we may infer, they do not always retain the memory of divine things, to the extent of their ability, nor use the reminders of these things correctly (249c4–8), nor do they pass their lives in philosophizing without guile, and in combining boy-loving with philosophy (249a1–5, 256a7–b7). That is, the honor-lovers have not acquired what Socrates later characterizes as the craft-knowledge of dialectic that allows them to know the truth. They do, however, desire to become winged (256d4), and will eventually achieve this goal, even though they cannot do so in this life (256d6–e2). In desiring to become winged, they may be said, like Socrates (278b2–4, with 278d3–6), to pray to become philosophers. Another difference is that philosophical lovers have greater friendship than do the honor-lovers because they have greater concord (¾monohtik»n: 256b1). Each partner of this philosophical pair has concord within his own soul, being self-controlled and orderly (256b1–2), and lover and beloved 57 58

The fact that these partners are characterized by love of honor (philotimia) suggests that the white horse is dominant in them. See Chapter 6 at 6.2. I disagree with Robin’s view that the honor-lovers share “an erotic madness in which philosophy has no part” (1994: cxxv).

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have concord with each other, agreeing that this is the best kind of life. Each member of the honor-loving pair, in contrast, lacks complete inner concord, and hence these partners occasionally do things that their whole minds do not agree to. We may thus infer that they also lack complete concord with one another. Socrates’ account of the two possible lives could also be taken to imply that the honor-loving partners have less erˆos than do the philosophical partners, for Socrates says that the erˆos of the former eventually ceases (256d1: kaª ›xw genom”nw). Indeed, the erˆos of the philosophical partners need not, like that of the honor-loving partners, cease when the boy’s beauty fades. The physical beauty of the boy will fade, but, as the boy recollects the true beauty he saw in a former life, his beauty of soul will increase, thus increasing his attractiveness to the lover. The Socratic erˆos that all lovers and beloveds have for the true beauty they once saw contributes to the erˆos each has for the beautiful soul of the other. This erˆos for the soul is likely to be stronger and more lasting in the philosophical partners than in the honor-lovers. The fact that Socrates does not explicitly tell us whether or not the philosophical partners continue to have erˆos for each other is, however, significant. His myth about erotic madness ends not with erˆos, but with friendship, thus emphasizing, as have all three speeches in the Phaedrus, the importance of friendship within an erotic relationship. In concluding his second speech with a discussion of friendship, Socrates also creates an effective link to the prayer that immediately follows (257a3–b6). Here also, Socrates emphasizes friendship, for he asks “dear [phile] Eros” to turn Socrates’ friend, Phaedrus, to a life that combines philosophical (literally, “wisdom-liking”) words with erˆos. 5.4 socrates and phaedrus I have argued that Socrates demonstrates his own erotic art in the Phaedrus by making two speeches that help to persuade Phaedrus to become devoted to erˆos together with philosophical words. In persuading Phaedrus, Socrates helps to establish with his interlocutor a friendly relationship that reflects, in some respects, the relationship between lover and beloved in Socrates’ second speech, who share a mutual erˆos for true beauty. Similarly, Socrates and Phaedrus come to share, in the course of the dialogue, a friendship that is based, in part, on mutual devotion to erˆos together with philosophical words.59 59

See Introduction to Part III n.29.

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There are many indications that Socrates’ appeal to Phaedrus is that of a friend rather than a lover.60 This is apparent from the use made of terms for friendship throughout the dialogue, and from the absence of indications of a love relationship between the two men.61 Significantly, the first words of the dialogue are “dear Phaedrus” ( öW f©le Fa±dre: 227a1), and it ends with the statement that friends have possessions in common (koin‡ g‡r t‡ tän f©lwn: 279c6–7). During their conversation, the two friends, Socrates and Phaedrus, have created the possession they now have in common – a devotion to erˆos together with philosophical words – which they will go on to share with their respective “beloveds,” Lysias and Isocrates (279b1–3). The last word of the dialogue is Socrates’ statement: “Let us go” ( ï Iwmen: 279c8). Socrates does not merely address Phaedrus as “friend” (f©le), as he frequently addresses interlocutors in other dialogues.62 He also tells him, “You are most dear” (f©ltatov e²: 235e2), calls him “dear one” (å fil»thv: 228d6), “dear head” (f©lh kefalž: 264a8), and says that he likes Phaedrus very much (–gÛ se p†nu filä: 228e1). In turn, Phaedrus addresses Socrates as “dear Socrates” (å f©le SÛkratev: 259e7, å f©le: 236b9) and appeals to “Zeus, god of friendship” (pr¼v Di¼v fil©ou: 234e2) in addressing him. That these two are friends rather than lovers is also made clear by the fact that each has a “beloved.” According to Socrates, Phaedrus is the erastˆes of Lysias (236b5, 257b4–5, 279b1–3), while Socrates’ own “boyfriend” is Isocrates (279b1–2). All of this is evidence against the view of some scholars that an erotic relationship between Socrates and Phaedrus is alluded to in the passage, immediately preceding Socrates’ second speech, in which he asks for “the boy to whom I was speaking,” and Phaedrus replies: “Here, beside you” (243e4–8).63 Just as, in Socrates’ second speech, the friendship of the lover with erotic skill arouses the beloved so that he becomes devoted to ta erˆotika (component (1) of the erotic art), and desires passionately to attain as much as he can of the true beauty he realizes that he lacks (components (2) and (3)), so the friendship of Socrates, who has erotic skill, arouses in Phaedrus the same devotion and desire. Moreover, just as the lover in Socrates’ speech 60

61 62 63

Gooch 1992 argues cogently that the relationship between Socrates and Phaedrus is predominantely one of friendship, not love, as Nussbaum claims (1986: esp. 211 and 229). Others who characterize Socrates and Phaedrus as lover and beloved include Asmis 1986: 159 and 163; Coventry 1990: 185–6; Lebeck 1972: 280–3; Rutherford 1995: 245 and 262. Partridge 1999 argues that Socrates begins as lover and then changes roles. Cf. Gooch 1992: 310. Socrates addresses Phaedrus as f©le at 227a1, 229e5, 230c5, 238c5, 243a3, 271b7, 275b5, 276e4, 279a9. On Socrates’ use of this term in other dialogues see Chapter 2 n.78. Good arguments against this interpretation of the passage are given by de Vries 1969, on 243e7–8.

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leads the beloved to imitate the god whose nature both share (253b5–c2), so Socrates leads Phaedrus to imitate the god both men are by nature suited to follow: Zeus, the god of philosophers (250b7, with 252e1–3) and of friends (Di¼v fil©ou: 234e2).64 Socrates and Phaedrus strive to imitate this god as they engage together in philosophical discourse, especially in the second half of the dialogue. To the extent that they succeed, they become skilled in searching for beauty and wisdom, and in helping each other to do so also (components (4) and (5)). In the first half of the dialogue, Socrates persuades Phaedrus by making a poetical, mythical speech that appeals to him emotionally as well as intellectually. When he discusses rhetoric in the second half of the dialogue, Socrates uses instead a more purely rational means of persuasion. There is still another way in which Socrates persuades Phaedrus to dedicate his life wholly to erˆos combined with philosophical words: he enacts the role of another self (see 228a5–6, 236c4–5), that is, a second Phaedrus who is attracted to shameful, Lysianic words, and who must, in consequence, undergo purification. Socrates plays this role of another self in his interactions with Phaedrus throughout the first half of the dialogue. He claims that his first, shameless (243c1) and impious (242d7) speech was really spoken by Phaedrus, through Socrates’ mouth (242d11–e1). Afterwards, Socrates gives his second speech, a recantation that serves as a purification for those who have erred concerning “story-telling” (mythologia: 243a4) about Eros (243a2–b7). These people who need purification include Phaedrus, Lysias and Socrates himself, as the speaker of his first, impious speech.65 Socrates’ role-playing, however, is not merely a pretense, for he, like Phaedrus, is a lover of words (228b6–c2, 236e5), who really has been and still is tempted by non-philosophical words, especially when he meets a fellow enthusiast, and who therefore frequently needs to renew the harmony within his soul.66 He does not, after all, claim to be the philosopher who has dialectical technˆe, but only prays “to become like such a man” (278b2– 4). Socrates thus enacts, partly in play and partly seriously, a role that is not entirely alien to him. 64

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I take “we” at 250b7 (“We, following after Zeus”) to allude to Socrates, and not to Plato, as Hackforth suggests (1952: 93 n.2). Socrates includes Isocrates in this category when he says that this man has “by nature . . . a certain philosophia” (279a9–10). When he prays that Phaedrus may be turned entirely toward philosophy (257b1–6), Socrates implies that this young man also has a nature suited to philosophy. Cf. Nichols 2009: 95–6, who also notes that the historical Phaedrus was exiled on charges of impiety. I disagree with Asmis 1986 and Schenker 2006: 72, who see (mere) role-playing in Socrates’ madness and expressions of enthusiasm for Lysias’ speech.

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Socrates’ role as another Phaedrus is introduced at the beginning of the dialogue, where both men are represented as lovers of words. When Socrates meets Phaedrus, the conversation immediately turns to a speech of Lysias that Phaedrus has heard. Socrates, eager to hear this speech, says he knows that Phaedrus has not only memorized it, but has also borrowed the scroll on which it is written. Socrates prefaces these remarks by stating: “If I don’t know Phaedrus, I have forgotten myself” (228a5–6), thus referring to Phaedrus as a second self, with whom Socrates shares a passion for words (228b6–7).67 Phaedrus reciprocates this sentiment when he urges Socrates to make a speech, saying: “If I don’t know Socrates, I don’t know myself” (236c4–5). Phaedrus’ love of words is not limited to passive enjoyment, but is active and creative. According to Socrates, Phaedrus has caused more words – his own and those of others – to come into being than almost anyone else in his time (242a7–b5). These words are the children he has begotten (261a3).68 Within the Phaedrus, he is the cause of both Socrates’ first speech (242d11–e1) and of his second (242b4–5). The young man’s fertile erˆos for words shows itself in comic fashion when he hides the scroll containing Lysias’ speech under this cloak. Socrates remarks on this, asking him, like the Socrates character in Aristophanes’ Clouds, to show “what you have in your left hand under your cloak.”69 Although the two men share erˆos for words, they love different kinds of words. Phaedrus, who admires the speeches of Lysias, is said to be the lover of Lysias (257b1–5; cf. 236b5, 279b2–3), while Socrates claims to be attracted to the words of Isocrates (278e4–279b3), whom he calls his “boyfriend” (279b2). These two writers are associated in the dialogue with different kinds of words. Lysias not only lacks technical skill (235a1–8, 263d5–264e3), he also speaks shamelessly (243c1) in making a false and impious speech (242d7–243a2). Lysias therefore does what is shameful and deserving of reproach (258d4–5, 277d1–e3). On the other hand, Socrates says that Isocrates is capable of better things because his mind has by nature 67 68

69

Noted by Ferrari 1987: 6–7. On Socrates’ passion for words see beginning of Introduction to Part III. On this interpretation of kall©paid† te Fa±dron see de Vries 1969, on 261a3 n.2. In Symp. 177d5 also Phaedrus is called “father of the speech.” Cf. Symp. 209d1–3, where the words of Homer and Hesiod are said to be their “offspring.” t© Šra –n t¦‚ ˆrister ›ceiv Ëp¼ t ¬mat©: 228d6–7. Cf. Aristophanes, Clouds, 733–4, where Socrates asks Strepsiades, who is wrapped up in bed, what he is holding. Strepsiades replies, “Nothing but my penis in my right hand.” In Lysistrata 982–92 jokes are made about the erection of the Spartan messenger, which he tries to hide under his clothing, and which he claims is a messenger stick (skut†la: 991, on which see Sommerstein 1990). Svenbro 1988: 220–1 discusses some erotic connotations of the Phaedrus passage.

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a certain philosophical impulse (279a3–b3).70 Neither Lysias nor Isocrates has dialectical technˆe (276e4–277a4). Isocrates, however, appears to have a philosophical nature, and is therefore attractive to Socrates, who is devoted to philosophical words. Love of shameful words leads Phaedrus to do shameful things in the first part of the dialogue. The shameful nature of his love for Lysianic words is graphically represented by his hiding the scroll under his cloak. The young man’s erˆos for words is shameful partly because it leads to threats of violence, as is apparent in his manipulation of Socrates.71 Instead of examining Lysias’ speech with Socrates, he attempts to force Socrates to compete with Lysias.72 Phaedrus first tries bribery (235d8–e1), and then suggests that he will use physical force (236c8–d3). Finally, Phaedrus resorts to threats, saying that if Socrates does not speak, Phaedrus will never again make a speech in his presence (236e1–3). Phaedrus, however, is also susceptible to love for philosophical words, as evidenced by his favorable reaction to Socrates’ second speech (257b7–c2). As a result, he is at odds with himself (–pamfoter©zh‚: 257b5). In some respects, then, the relationship between Socrates and Phaedrus resembles that between Socrates and Alcibiades in the Alcibiades I. In both relationships, Socrates builds on the erˆos a young man already has in order to lead him to love the same objects loved by Socrates himself. At the beginning of the dialogue, Socrates plays the role, that is partly his own, of someone who, like Phaedrus, is at odds with himself because he is attracted to two different kinds of words: shameless, Lysianic words, and philosophical words. He says that he is eager to listen to the Lysias’ speech (227d2–5), and when Phaedrus threatens not to report any more speeches to him, Socrates says that Phaedrus has found a way to compel a lover of words to do whatever he orders (236e1–8). In playing the role of someone who loves even shameful words, Socrates, like Phaedrus, does shameful things. He gives a speech of which he is so ashamed that he covers his head while speaking (237a4–5). He also threatens not to let Phaedrus go until he recites Lysias’ speech (228c6–9), and he forces the young man to reveal the scroll hidden beneath his cloak (228d6–e2). In fact, this Socrates, who is lovesick (nosoÓnti: 228b6) for words, resembles the sick (nosoÓnti: 238e4) lover in his own first speech. When he yields to Phaedrus and gives his first speech, Socrates plays the role of this lover who is ruled, contrary 70

71

Hackforth (1952: 168) argues convincingly for taking the praise seriously. Others find irony (Robin 1908: 102–6, following Raeder 1905: 274–8; Rowe 1988, on 278e5ff.), or sarcasm (de Vries 1969 on 279a9). 72 Competition: Coventry 1990: 193–4. Ferrari 1987: 103–12, calls this “a manipulative affair.”

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to reason, by the desire for pleasure which, according to the definition of Socrates’ first speech, is a kind of hybris (238a1–2). In being a lover of words (fil»log: 236e5), then, Socrates resembles the man ruled by gluttony, drunkenness or lust (238a1–c4) in his first speech, or the untamed hubristic black horse in his second speech.73 Unlike Phaedrus, however, Socrates is aware of the shameful nature of the attraction to inferior words that he and Phaedrus both experience, and he recognizes, moreover, that these words are attractive to him now in large part because of the influence of Phaedrus. He thus resembles the lover in his second speech, who has been victorious in the struggle within his soul (passage B, discussed in Chapter 6 at 6.2), but must undergo a new internal struggle after capturing the beloved (passage C: 255e4–256a6). Socrates frequently calls his own self-awareness to Phaedrus’ attention. After Phaedrus reads Lysias’ speech, Socrates remarks that he was stunned (me –kplagnai: 234d1), not by the speech itself, for which he has a very low regard (234e1– 235b9, 262e1–264e3), but by Phaedrus’ enthusiasm: “I experienced this because of you, Phaedrus, when I looked at you, for you seemed to me to glow with delight because of the speech while you were reading it . . . and following along, I joined in the Corybantic rites [suneb†kceusa] together with your divine self” (234d2–6).74 Phaedrus, whom Socrates calls “divine” and “marvelous” concerning words (242a7–8), compels Socrates to speak (237a9–10, 242d5). Socrates represents himself to Phaedrus as someone who makes a shameful speech because he is drugged (katafarmakeuq”ntov: 242e1; cf. f†rmakon: 230d6).75 However, unlike most people who are drugged, Socrates appears to be fully aware of the nature of the drug and how it affects him. He criticizes Lysias’ speech immediately after hearing it (234e5–235a8), and he says that he is ashamed of his own first speech even before he makes it (237a4–5). Socrates further distances himself from this speech by breaking off in the middle to call attention to its dithyrambic qualities and to state that he is afraid of being possessed by the Nymphs (238c9–d3). After the speech he says that these Nymphs will lead him to speak not just dithyrambically, but also enthusiastically if he continues (241e1–5). Socrates’ self-awareness is particularly evident in his statement that his “accustomed sign” did not allow him to depart without purifying himself, after having wronged the divine (242b8–d2). In these ways, Socrates shows that he differs from Phaedrus and the lover in the first two 73 74 75

Dorter 1971: 283 sees part of the truth when he characterizes Socrates as hubristic. On the ecstatic Corybantic rites see Chapter 6 at 6.4. The “poisonous drug” to which he is susceptible is not that of physical pleasure, as Ferrari claims (1987: 112) but the drug of inferior words, combined with the influence of Phaedrus’ enthusiasm.

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speeches in being aware of his own deficiencies. Thus, he has already made an important step toward overcoming his shameful impulses. Socrates’ second speech enacts, partly in play and partly seriously, the purification needed by the person who is attracted to shameful and impious words, and who therefore has a soul that is not in harmony with itself. Just as the lover of beautiful boys must repeatedly tame his black horse in order to bring his soul into harmony with itself, so the lover of Lysianic words must undergo purification in order to bring his erˆos under the control of reason. Accordingly, in giving his second speech, Socrates demonstrates how erˆos for words can be used for philosophical purposes, and he concludes this speech with a prayer that Phaedrus may devote his life entirely to erˆos combined with philosophical words. Socrates also prays on his own behalf to be forgiven for his first speech, and he dedicates his recantation speech to Eros (257a3–b6). He thus suggests that his second speech was a purification that has restored harmony and friendship to his own soul. At the end of the dialogue Socrates makes another prayer, this time to Pan, the god he resembles, to make him beautiful within, and to create friendship between his inner and outer qualities (279b8–c3).76 Although the sense of “inner” and “outer” is disputed, this prayer also suggests the idea of psychic harmony.77 In addition to restoring harmony to his own soul, Socrates creates greater friendship between himself and Phaedrus. Beginning with his second speech, he uses persuasion instead of the threats and force he earlier used (228c6–9, d6–e2) to get Phaedrus to recite or read Lysias’ speech, and he shows his friendship by leading Phaedrus in a gentle way to see the defects of the Lysianic words he loves, without subjecting the young man to the harsh elenchus. Phaedrus, in turn, shows his agreement with Socrates, and his new lack of ambivalence, by joining in the older man’s prayers (suneÅcomai: 257b7, suneÅcou: 279c6) and remarking that friends hold their possessions in common (279c6–7). The Phaedrus, then, ends in prayer instead of aporia, and, instead of hostility or avoidance, in friendship and cooperation between the interlocutors who share the passionate devotion to erˆos together with philosophical words that characterizes the person who has erotic skill. Chapter 5 has shown that even though the gentle and friendly side of Socrates predominates in the Phaedrus, the dialogue contains suggestions that this complex persona has another, more hubristic, aspect that is 76 77

As Motte 1992: 322–3 notes, prayers occur at important moments throughout the dialogue. On the connections between Socrates and Pan see Chapter 6 at 6.3. Insightful interpretations of this difficult passage are provided by Clay 1979 and Gaiser 1989.

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more prominent in the Symposium. In making his first, shameless speech, Socrates plays the role of the shameless, hubristic lover of Lysianic words. A second suggestion appears in the middle of Socrates’ second speech, when he sketches a little self-portrait in describing the black horse, who is a companion of hybris, as “snub-nosed” and “short-necked” (253e1–5). Chapter 6 analyzes this self-portrait within the context of the psychology represented throughout Socrates’ second speech, and especially in the image of charioteer and horses.

c h a p ter 6

The lovers’ dance: charioteer and horses

6.1 introduction Socrates’ second speech in the Phaedrus contains a powerful image in which the soul is compared to a “winged team and charioteer” (246a7). The horses of the gods’ souls are good and obedient, while mortals have one horse that is beautiful, good and white, and one that is ugly, unruly and black.1 The charioteers of the gods drive around the vault of heaven and see divine sights, and in a previous existence, mortals followed them as initiates in the rites of the gods. After a time, however, the charioteers of mortals were unable to control their horses, and in the confusion that followed, mortal souls lost their wings and fell to earth. According to Socrates, they can become winged once more and return to the rites of the gods if their charioteers succeed in the difficult task of controlling their ill-matched teams while the soul is under the influence of erotic madness. This myth of charioteer and horses contains a vivid representation of the way in which a lover, in the process of acquiring erotic art, creates friendship within his own soul. After becoming aroused and maddened by the sight of beauty, the lover acquires the first three components of erotic skill, becoming devoted to ta erˆotika (component (1)), realizing that he has lost the beauty, wisdom and other good things he glimpsed in a former life (component (2)), and passionately desiring to regain as much of these good things as he can (component (3)). After this, the lover is ready to acquire skill in searching for beauty and truth (component (4)), together with his beloved, whom he helps to acquire the erotic art (component (5)). Before he can engage in this common search, however, the lover must “capture” the beloved. The first step in this “capture” is the creating of harmony within his own soul, while the second step is the persuasion of the beloved 1

Commentators correctly note that Socrates does not explicitly state that the gods’ souls have two horses: Finamore 2005: 48; Hackforth 1952: 69 n.3, followed by de Vries 1969, on 246a7; Rowe 1988, on 246a6–7.

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to enter into an erotic relationship. The lover’s struggle to create agreement among the three elements within his soul – charioteer and two horses – is the subject of Phaedrus 253c7–255a1 (hereafter, passage B).2 Socrates’ image has been the subject of much controversy, especially concerning the role of the black horse. According to some scholars, this horse represents an ineradicable evil in the soul, the cause of the original fall from the heavens to earth, and an impediment to the soul’s return to the gods.3 However, this interpretation fails to account for the fact that it is always the black horse who initiates movement (254a5–6, 254d4–7: see below, 6.2). Other scholars attribute some good qualities to the black horse, but do not give a sufficiently clear and detailed analysis of the nature of these qualities and their functioning within the soul.4 Martha Nussbaum, for example, argues that the black horse represents the independent motivational and cognitive role of emotion and appetite: “The role of emotion and appetite as guides is motivational: they move the whole person towards the good. But it is also cognitive: for they give the whole person information as to where goodness and beauty are, searching out and selecting, themselves, the beautiful objects.”5 However, it should be noted that information about beauty does not come from the horses but from the charioteer, who first sees the beloved object on earth (253e5), and who alone is reminded by it of the beauty he has previously seen in the heavens (254b5–7).6 Moreover, the black horse does not move the soul “towards the good.” His desire, before being tamed, is for physical pleasure (254a5–7, d5–6), and he has no conception of any good apart from this. The most illuminating analysis of this difficult passage is given by John Ferrari, who argues that the charioteer’s task is not to repress or eradicate the desires represented by the black horse, but rather to learn from them and to integrate the whole soul by allowing these desires to find their proper place within it.7 I build on Ferrari’s interpretation to argue that two aspects of Socrates’ second speech – the imagery of the dance and the satyr-like characteristics given to the black horse – can help to elucidate both the kind of “integration” of the soul toward which the charioteer strives, and the roles of the two horses in this process. When Socrates describes the black horse as 2 3 4 5 7

The arousal of the lover is discussed in Chapter 5 at 5.3.1; his relationship with the beloved in 5.3.2, on 252c3–253c6 (passage A) and 255a1–256e2 (passage C). For example, Hackforth 1952: 107–8; Lebeck 1972: 277–8; McGibbon 1964: 60–1; Robinson 1970: 117, 122; Rowe 1990: 234, 241 and 2009: 146; White 1993: 104–5, 160–1. See Bluck 1958: 157–8; Burger 1980: 65–6; Griswold 1986: 121, 136; Stoeber 1992: 277; Thompson 1868: 73. 6 Rowe 1990: 236–7, makes similar objections to Nussbaum’s views. Nussbaum 1986: 215. Ferrari 1987: 185–203, esp. 194. On “integration,” cf. Griswold 1986: 135.

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having a number of satyr-like characteristics (253e1–4), he does not merely characterize it as bestial and ugly, but also suggests that it shares in the daimonic qualities of satyrs. This horse is not purely evil, but resembles a satyr in being a mixture of the bestial and the divine, with an important role in helping the soul return to the rites of the gods. My interpretation is supported by the fact that the satyr-like black horse has characteristics of Socrates himself, for example, a snub nose and short neck (253e1–5). In portraying the black horse as a caricature of himself, Socrates uses poetic language to create a playful self-portrait that appeals emotionally to Phaedrus, while also conveying important information about his own daimonic art. In this self-portrait, Socrates represents himself as a man who, like the lover in his myth, has the erotic skill that includes a recognition of his own deficiencies. Like this lover, Socrates has a black horse, and therefore needs to repeat the struggle again and again in order to tame the unruly aspects of his own soul, for example, his love for Lysianic words. Finally, in portraying himself as a satyr-like black horse, Socrates calls attention to the daimonic, satyr-like characteristics that are essential to component (5) of the erotic art that includes the ability to lead others to recognize their own deficiencies. The dance imagery in Socrates’ second speech also supports the view that the black horse plays a positive role within the soul. When he characterizes the rites of the gods as initiatory dances (qe©ou coroÓ: 247a7, teletän: 250a8), Socrates suggests that the task of the charioteer is to guide both horses in the orderly movements of a dance inspired by the gods. In so doing, the charioteer produces in the soul an equilibrium between the opposing tendencies of restraint, represented by the white horse, and bold movement, represented by the black horse. Each of these tendencies is harmful when excessive and lacking proper guidance, but necessary and useful to the soul when properly trained and balanced by the opposing extreme. The story in passage B of how the charioteer learns to guide the two horses so that they move in orderly fashion represents the psychic education, mediated by erˆos, of the entire soul. This education is characterized as an initiation that produces within the soul a rhythm and harmony derived from the gods.8 Similar concepts of psychic equilibrium appear throughout Plato’s dialogues and are explained in especially helpful detail in the account, given in the Laws, of education by means of the dance. In learning to dance, then, the lover maddened by erˆos acquires erotic 8

For the Neoplatonic view that that the horses represent movement, irregular in itself, that can be regulated by intellect so as to become movement around a center, see Robin 1908: 163–4.

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skill that he uses to control the disparate elements in his own soul. After creating harmony within his own soul in this way, he becomes able to help his beloved to attain psychic equilibrium also. I first analyze the psychology expressed in allegorical form in the myth of the charioteer and horses in Socrates’ second speech (6.2). Next, I discuss the satyr-like characteristics of the black horse (6.3), and examine the imagery of the dance in the Phaedrus, arguing that it is based on psychological principles similar to those explained in more detail in the Laws (6.4). 6.2 charioteer and horses (passage b: 253c7–255a1) Even before passage B, Socrates characterizes all three elements in the souls of humans as having a combination of good and evil qualities. When he introduces the image of the charioteer and horses, Socrates says that the soul is a compound of three different capacities (sumfÅt dun†mei: 246a6–7), represented respectively by the charioteer and the two horses. Socrates does not explain what these capacities are, nor does he give many details about how they differ from one another until passage B. Before passage B, however, he characterizes the entire mortal soul as a mixture of good and evil, in which all three capacities have a divine, winged element, and all three are to blame for the loss of this element and for the evil that subsequently fills the entire soul. Of all bodily things, Socrates says, the wing is that which most shares in what is divine: that is, what is beautiful, wise and good (246d6–e1). Now the entire mortal soul was once winged (251b7), and after it has lost its wings and fallen to earth (248c8), erˆos causes feathers to grow again under the “whole form of the soul” (251b6–7), that is, under every part of it. Socrates’ statements imply that all three capacities of the soul, including that represented by the black horse, originally shared, and are capable of coming to share again, in the divine qualities – beauty, wisdom and the good – associated with the wing. All mortal souls, Socrates says, are also deficient (psai . . . ˆtele±v: 248b4), and in all of them the differences between the two horses makes driving difficult (246b1–4). In even the best soul, the charioteer has difficulty seeing the things that are, because he is disturbed by both of the horses (248a1–5).9 The fall, therefore, is also caused by the bad driving of the charioteers (248b2), who are not sufficiently competent to control the horses. The soul falls when these defects in horses and drivers are combined with some misfortune that 9

The plural at 248a4–6 is noted by Price 1989: 83 and 1995: 77–9.

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weighs the soul down with forgetfulness, fills it with evil, and causes it to lose its wings (248c5–8). When Socrates returns to the image of the charioteer and horses in passage B, each of the three capacities in the soul continues to be represented as having both positive and negative characteristics. The charioteer is, at first, unable to drive the horses so that they pull the chariot toward the beloved in orderly fashion. Instead of providing proper guidance, he sometimes yields to the black horse (254b3), and at other times punishes it severely (254d7–e5). Indeed, the charioteer, as Ferrari has shown, not only uses the violence of whip and goad (253e4, 254a3–4) on the horses, he is also characterized in equine terms, as feeling the goad of desire (254a1) and rearing back (254b8) like a horse.10 Moreover, although the charioteer has the ability to remember the beauty seen in a previous existence (254b5– 7), he cannot, without the help of the horses, approach the object that reminds him of it.11 The horses were previously said to represent capacities in the soul that are opposed to each other (246b3), and the black horse was simply characterized as “opposite” to the white horse, who was said to be “beautiful and good” (246b2–3). Socrates now provides a more detailed characterization. Before being tamed, the black horse is licentious (literally, “unpunished,” ˆk»lastov: 255e5) and a companion of hybris (253e3), having a tendency to move forward and cry out without order. He pulls the chariot toward the beloved (254a4–6, 254d4–7), leaping (254a4) and neighing (254d4). Even before being tamed, however, as Ferrari points out, the black horse uses and is amenable to reason, and is capable of coming to an agreement with the white horse and charioteer (¾mologžsante: 254b3, ¾molog©an: 254d1, sunecÛhrsen: 254d2).12 Moreover, his tendencies to leap about have positive aspects, for it is always the black horse who pulls the chariot toward the beloved, allowing the soul to approach beauty.13 The black horse is said to be licentious, not because he is ineradicably vicious, but because his shameless tendencies are “unpunished,” like those of a child. The punishment he receives is severe and bloody, but a necessary part of his education.14 10 12 13

14

11 Cf. Dorter 2006: 265 and Nichols 2009: 114–15. Ferrari 1987: 186–90. Ferrari 1987: 186–9. See also Nichols 2009: 114–15 and Nightingale 1995: 142–3. Noted by Ferrari 1987: 192; Burger 1980: 65–6; and Stoeber 1992: 277. Rowe 1990: 241 objects that it is the wings, not the horses, that carry the chariot forward and that the black horse contributes nothing but trouble. This interpretation does not take into account the clear indications in passage B that the black horse initiates movement: see further below. Punishment is described, for example, at 254e2–5. The charioteer presumably uses a bit “hardened” by spikes or wheels: Xen. On Horsemanship 10.6–11; Vigneron 1968, vol. i: 62–76; and Delebecque 1950: 173–7. According to Pl. Grg., akolasia, the state of being unpunished, is the greatest of evils

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The white horse also has a mixture of positive and negative qualities throughout Socrates’ second speech. He is said to be “noble and good” at 246b2–3, and at 253d6–e1 he is characterized in apparently positive terms, as obedient and as a lover of honor together with sˆophrosynˆe and aidˆos (moderation and reverence). There are, however, clear indications that he also has significant defects, including, in particular, a tendency toward excessive love of honor (timv –rastžv: 253d6) when he is not properly trained. In even the best souls, both horses cause trouble to the driver before the fall.15 The most inferior souls, those that cannot raise themselves at all, act like animals, trampling and running into one another (248a8), and they are also characterized as engaging in activities associated with excessive love of honor: wanting to be first, and engaging in competition and struggle (248a8–b2). Love of honor is certainly better than hybris, but it is significant that Socrates’ second speech attributes it to the secondbest partners, those who are more vulgar, less philosophical and more honor-loving (filot©m d• cržswntai: 256c1) than are the philosophical pair.16 The white horse, moreover, has the hubristic desire to leap upon the beloved, but he restrains this desire by force (biaz»menov: 254a1–3) rather than reason. Another potentially negative characteristic of the white horse is a tendency toward restraint that can, when excessive, prevent the movement that is necessary for the dance.17 Indeed, the white horse holds himself back (254a2–3), pulls against the black horse (254a7), and only moves forward when compelled by the black horse (254a5, 254d5). The fact that the white horse, as well as the black, has defects means that the driver must work to control both horses and not only the black.18 This characterization of all three capacities as mixtures of good and evil suggests that the image of charioteer and horses is based on a more holistic

15 16

17 18

(477e), and just punishment is beneficial (476a–477a, 505b, 507d–e). On this idea, in Grg. and other dialogues, see Mackenzie 1981: esp. 179–206. See above n.9. The connection between the honor-loving pair and the white horse is noted by Nichols 2009: 119. On the honor-lovers see Chapter 5 at 5.3.2, stage (7) of passage C, at 256a7–e2. In the Republic also, honor-lovers are said to be less than fully virtuous. They are educated by force rather than persuasion and philosophy, take pleasures in secret (8.548b4–c2), love honor, victory and war, are obedient to rulers (548d8–549b7), and are influenced by both reason and desire (550b1–3). Rowe 1988: 189, on 256b7–e2 notes the connection between the second-best partners and the honor-lover of the Republic. Sheffield 2001: 10 and 2006a: 91–3 observes that the lovers in the Lesser Mysteries passage in Plato’s Symposium (208c3) are also honor-lovers. On the connection between love of honor and injustice in Plato’s dialogues see Pakaluk 2004: 111. As Statesman 310d10–e3 makes clear, there can be too much aidˆos in the soul. The charioteer and white horse are not “one in purpose and function” (Hackforth 1952: 107) nor is the white horse a mere foil to the other two, who learns nothing from his experience (Ferrari 1987: 192 and 194).

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view of the soul than are passages in other dialogues – in the Phaedo, for example.19 All three capacities, and not only a rational part of the soul, are given an essential and positive role in striving toward the good and the beautiful, and each capacity is represented as having certain defects. Although the three capacities have some similarity to the three parts of the soul in Republic 4 – reason, appetite and spirit – it is debatable to what extent they should be equated with these parts, and I prefer to characterize them differently.20 The charioteer represents a guiding principle in the soul, with desires of its own. The black horse represents an impulse to move in bold and disorderly fashion toward erotic objects, while the white horse represents the impulse to stand still and to resist these objects. Both horses are able to use and to follow reason, and are therefore capable of being trained by the charioteer, who must also train himself to guide the horses without imposing excessive restraint or yielding to the impulse to move forward without any restraint. In this image, all three capacities of the human soul have divine, winged qualities, and all three also have bestial characteristics. The black horse, then, is not innately evil, but can be a force for good if he is properly trained. Without the guidance of the charioteer, the black horse moves in shameless and disorderly fashion, bending his head, stretching out his tail, taking the bit in his teeth, and dragging the chariot shamelessly forward in pursuit of an erotic object (254d6–7). After he is tamed, however, the black horse helps to move the chariot toward the beloved in an orderly way, that is, with reverence and fear (a«doum”nhn te kaª dediu±an: 254e9). In Socrates’ narrative of the struggle in the soul (passage B), erˆos sets the chariot in motion by activating all three capacities of the soul. Under the influence of erˆos, the black horse at first moves in disorderly fashion toward the object of desire, unrestrained by fear or the law (254a3–b1), while the white horse forcibly restrains himself from leaping upon the object of desire (254a1–3). The charioteer, seeing the beloved, remembers true beauty, and experiences fear and reverence (254b5–8). As a result of the charioteer’s vision, the soul becomes aroused, acquiring divine erotic madness and enthusiasm (249d4–e4: see Chapter 5 at 5.3.1). The lover then attempts (passage A, discussed in Chapter 5 at 5.3.2) to rejoin the gods, by imitating 19 20

On Phd. 64c–69e, where the body and its desires are said to hinder the soul from attaining wisdom and virtue, see Introduction at I.5. It has often been claimed that the charioteer and horses correspond to the three parts of the soul in Resp. 4. See, for example, Dorter 2006: 264 and n.10; Finamore 2005; Hackforth 1952: 72; Robin 1994: cxxxix; Rowe 1988, on 246b1–3; Thompson 1868: 45. Ferrari 1987: 185–203 and White 1993: 89–93 argue against too exact a correspondence.

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the god he used to follow in the dance (252d1), and by helping the beloved to follow the rhythm of the same dance (253b5–7). In order to succeed in these endeavors, the charioteer, guided by the rhythm and harmony of the god he imitates, must temper, with the restraint of the white horse, the tendency of the black horse to make disordered movements. If he does so, the whole soul will follow the beloved with fear and aidˆos (254e8–255a1).21 This state of soul is one of equilibrium, in which the impulse to move in disorderly fashion is opposed by an impulse toward restraint. My interpretation of the psychology upon which the myth of the charioteer and horses is based finds support in the fact that similar ideas are expressed in other dialogues as well. As noted in Chapter 3 at 3.2.4, the physician Eryximachus in the Symposium supports his misguided medical views by misquoting and misinterpreting a passage in Heraclitus that in fact attributes harmony to the balance of opposites. Psychic equilibrium of this kind is described in more detail in the Republic. According to Republic 3.410b10–412a7, a correct mixture of music with gymnastics in education softens the spirited part of our nature and hardens the philosophical nature in order to produce a soul that is both moderate and courageous (410e10–411a1). The Statesman also stresses the need for correct education of different dispositions so as to counteract any tendencies toward harmful extremes. If the courageous soul receives a good education, it is made gentle; if not, it inclines toward the bestial nature. Good education makes the orderly nature moderate and wise, but lack of education renders it simple-minded (309d10–e8). According to the Statesman, the right kinds of marriages also help to produce a correct mixture in the dispositions of children. Over many generations, intermarriage among people who have dispositions that are courageous, without any admixture of the moderate nature, produces madness. On the other hand, the race that is too filled with aidˆos becomes dull and is crippled (310d6–e3). Similar views about marriage are expressed in Laws 6. In a well-ordered state, people who are too eager and hasty should marry those who are slower (773a7–c8). This mixture of different dispositions is compared to the krasis (“mixture”) of wine with water: “a city should be mixed like a wine bowl, in which mad wine boils when poured in, but when it is punished by another sober god [sc. water] and joins in a good combination, makes a fine and measured drink” (773c8–d4). As I will show in 6.4, the idea of psychic equilibrium is especially prominent in Plato’s Laws.22 21 22

Price 1995: 78–9, incorrectly attributes the fear to the black horse and the reverence to the white horse. Socrates’ point is that all three capacities in the soul learn to experience these emotions. Similar ideas about psychic equilibrium are expressed in Laws 5.731b3–d5 and in the passages cited by des Places 1951, on Laws 5.728e: Resp. 6.503c–d, Tht. 144a–b, Sts. 306c–308b, Epin. 989b–c.

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The preceding analysis makes it easier to understand what happens in the different stages of the process by means of which the lover’s soul is said, in passage B, to achieve equilibrium. (1) The process begins when the charioteer sees the beloved and causes a sensation of heat to suffuse the entire soul, which is filled with tickling and desire (253e5–254a1).23 Although the stimulus comes first to the charioteer, this passage implies that all three parts of the soul have the same emotional response, characterized earlier as a boiling and tickling (251c4–5), resulting from the growth of the feathers, which affects the entire soul (251b6–7). (2) The three parts of the soul react differently in response to the same emotional stimulus. The white horse “compelled then and always by aidˆos, restrains himself from leaping upon the beloved” (254a1–3). The black horse, however, is himself carried away by force and in turn compels (254a5, b1) the white horse and the charioteer to approach the beloved and to mention the pleasures of sex (254a3–7). They at first resist (254a7–b1). Finally, however, the white horse and charioteer yield and agree to do what the black horse orders, and they approach the beloved (254b1–4). (3) When forced to draw near to the beloved, the charioteer sees his beauty and remembers the true beauty he saw in a previous existence (254b4–7). That is, he once again has the experience that was said earlier (249d4–e4) to be the madness and enthusiasm of the lover, who, seeing beauty here, is reminded of beauty in the heavens. As a result of this vision, the charioteer experiences reverence and fear (254b7–8).24 (4) Approach is followed by retreat. The charioteer is now compelled by his reverence and fear to pull back strongly on the reins, so that both horses sit back on their haunches. The white horse obeys willingly and without resisting; the black horse obeys, but much against his will. The two horses then retreat (254b8–c4). (5) The two horses react differently after the retreat. The white horse experiences shame and terror, and it waters the whole soul with sweat (254c4–5). This horse experiences not aidˆos, the good kind of shame that restrains him from leaping upon the beloved, but aischynˆe, shame at having done wrong in yielding to the black horse.25 When the black horse recovers from the pain caused by the bit and the fall backwards, he becomes angry and abusive, and tries, without success, to force the others to approach the beloved again. Finally, the black horse grudgingly agrees with the others to 23 24 25

My translation of 253e5–6 (“causes . . . soul”) follows Hackforth 1952: 103 n.3, and de Vries 1969, on 253e6. An excellent account of the charioteer’s vision of the beautiful boy and subsequent experiences is provided by Nightingale 2004: 160–8. Noted by de Vries 1969: 169–70 and Price 1995: 78–9.

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postpone a second approach (254c5–d2). This stage of the conflict ends in a temporary truce. (6) The whole process of approach and retreat is repeated a second time (254d2–e5) and many times (poll†kiv: 254e6) thereafter. The black horse again compels the others to approach, pulling shamelessly toward the beloved, and the charioteer again pulls back on the reins. On these subsequent occasions, however, the charioteer’s experience of reverence and fear before the vision of beauty is more powerful (›ti mllon: 254e1), and he pulls more strongly on the reins of the hubristic horse (›ti mllon: 254e2). The white horse is not mentioned. (7) At last the black horse is tamed (tapeinwqe©v). He ceases from hybris and obeys the charioteer, feeling extreme fear at the sight of the beloved (254e6–8). (8) At the end of the process, the whole soul of the lover follows the beloved with aidˆos and fear (254e8–255a1). This process results not only in the taming of the black horse, but also in a permanent – or at least semi-permanent – agreement of all three parts of the soul. The charioteer is in command and the two horses obey willingly. The whole soul now experiences both the aidˆos that was at first a characteristic of the white horse alone, and the fear (254e9) that the charioteer originally experienced when he was reminded of true beauty by the sight of the beloved (254b7), and that the black horse experienced while being tamed (254e8). The motion toward the beloved that the black horse once forced upon the others has now been imparted to the whole soul so that it follows the beloved in orderly fashion. In this way, the lover, having transformed disorder into order in his soul, creates inner friendship and begins to follow his god. In creating his story of the horses and charioteer, Socrates exhibits his erotic skill in two important ways. First, as just discussed, he creates a myth about a lover who, in the process of acquiring erotic skill, creates harmony within his own soul. Second, Socrates uses poetic language in order to persuade Phaedrus to dedicate his life to erˆos together with philosophical words (257a4–6, b4–6). Because the addressee is Phaedrus, a lover of speeches who responds to them with the enthusiasm of the Corybantes or the Bacchantes (228b6–c2, 234d1–6), Socrates uses the emotionally charged language of poetry to appeal to him (257a5–6).26 Socrates’ myth also has emotional appeal because it tells a story in which the personification of the parts of the soul and conflict among them provide dramatic interest. In the 26

Rowe 1988, on 257a5–6 notes that poetry is the language of emotion, citing Resp. 603bff. and Arist. Rh. 1408b10ff. Cf. Yunis 2005: 112.

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rest of this chapter I analyze two important aspects of the poetic imagery in Socrates’ myth: that of horses and satyrs (6.3), and that of the dance (6.4). 6.3 horses, satyrs and socrates The horse is an erotic symbol in Greek literature, representing both lover and beloved. For example, in a poem of Ibycus, paraphrased in Plato’s Parmenides, the lover compares himself to an aged race horse forced to compete against his will.27 Greek literature, as Jacqueline de Romilly has shown, also contains many images of a combat between charioteer and horses.28 She calls attention to some striking verbal parallels between the description of the runaway horses that cause their master’s death in Euripides’ Hippolytus and the story of the struggle in the soul of the Phaedrus.29 My account below elaborates on her ideas. In Euripides’ play, Hippolytus refuses to honor Aphrodite, who punishes him by causing Phaedra, Hippolytus’ stepmother, to fall in love with him. When Hippolytus discovers that she loves him and reacts with horror, Phaedra kills herself after writing a letter to Theseus accusing his son of rape. Theseus exiles Hippolytus, calling on his father Poseidon to punish the supposed adulterer. Poseidon does this in a particularly appropriate way. Hippolytus, whose name means “one who unbinds, or unharnesses, horses,”30 and who is devoted to horses (Phaedra calls him “the son of the horse-loving Amazon,” fil©ppou . . . ëIpp»lutov: 581–84), is killed by these same horses. As Hippolytus drives a chariot on his way to exile, Poseidon sends a bull from the sea (1213–48). This bull strikes “terrible fear” (dein¼v . . . f»bov: 1218) into the horses, “maddening with fear the four-horse chariot” (f»b t”trwron –kma©nwn Àcon: 1229). Hippolytus “grasps the reins with his hands and pulls them as a sailor pulls an oar, letting his body hang backwards on the reins [™lkei . . . ¬msin –v toÎpisqen ˆrtžsav d”mav]. But the horses, biting . . . onto the bits [–ndakoÓsai 27

28 29 30

Ibycus frag. 287 (Page 1962), paraphrased in Plato, Prm. 136e–137a. The beloved is compared to a horse in Theognis 1249–52 and 1267–70, and in Anacreon frags. 360 and 417. An excellent, recent survey of Plato’s use of images of horses drawn from lyric poetry (including the passages just cited) is that of Pender 2007: 20–7, who also discusses earlier studies. Young girls about to be married are often compared to horses that need to be tamed: Calame 1997: 238–44; O’Brien 1993: 184–8; and Seaford 1988a. Romilly 1982: 108–12, citing Hom. Il. 23, Soph. El. 680–763, Aes. Cho. 1021ff., and “Isocrates,” To Demonicus 32. Romilly 1982, who notes (109) the following verbal parallels in Hipp: ™lkei (1221), –iv toÎpisqen (1222), –ndakoÓsai st»mia (1223), b© f”rousin (1224). On Hippolytus’ name see Burkert 1979: 112–13.

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st»mia] forged in fire, carry him away by force [b© f”rousin]” (1220– 4). The horses pay no attention to their master, but race on until the bull brings down and overturns (›sfhle kˆneca©tisen: 1232) the chariot. At this point “everything is confounded together” (1234) and the man is dragged by the reins, “breaking his flesh” (qraÅwn te s†rkav: 1239), although he calls out to the horses, who were reared in his stables, not to destroy him. The story of the struggle in the lover’s soul in the Phaedrus also represents a driver trying to control unruly horses. The black horse, under the influence of erˆos, “is carried away by force” (b© f”retai: 254a4) and approaches the beloved. The charioteer is afraid (›deise: 254b7) and falls backwards (ˆn”pesen Ëpt©a: 254b8), being compelled to pull back on the reins (e«v toÉp©sw —lkÅsai t‡v ¡n©av: 254b8–c1) so strongly that the horses sit back on their haunches. After an interval, the black horse once again bites the bit (–ndakÜn t¼n calin»n: 254d7), and the charioteer once again falls back (ˆnapesÛn) and pulls the bit by force from the horse’s teeth (254e1–3). At last the driver controls the black horse, who “dies with fear” (f»b di»llutai: 254e8) whenever he sees the beloved. The verbal echoes and the striking image of the charioteer bending backwards as he pulls the horses down to the ground with the reins strongly suggest that Plato had Euripides’ passage in mind when he wrote the Phaedrus.31 He has, however, modified it for his own purposes. The god-sent madness that causes the trouble is not destructive, as it is in the tragedy, but beneficial. Fear, in the myth recounted by Socrates, is not felt by the horses in response to the vision of a monster, but is induced in them after first being experienced by the charioteer (254b7) when he remembers true beauty. (See above 6.2 for the stages in this process). Most important, as de Romilly notes, the charioteer gains control of the horses rather than being destroyed by them.32 There is indeed a crash, when the horses of many souls trample and run into each other, and the charioteers drive badly (248a6–b3). All of this causes many souls to have their wings broken (pter‡ qraÅontai: 248b3, cf. qraÅwn te s†rkav: Hipp. 1239), and eventually all souls fall to earth (248c6–8). In Socrates’ myth, however, the charioteer is able to recover from the fall, under the influence of erˆos. The charioteer does just what Hippolytus does, bending backward to pull on the reins but he, unlike Hippolytus, gains control of his horses. Socrates’ story of the struggle in 31

32

Romilly 1982: 106 notes that the gesture of bending backwards while pulling on the reins also occurs in Xenophon, The Cavalry Commander 3.14 [Ëpt©ouv ˆnapeptwk»tav –laÅnein], but that the gesture in Phdr. of pulling the horses to the ground is without parallel. Romilly 1982: 112–13.

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the soul, then, uses the language and imagery of poetry and alludes to poetic precedents, but it describes a process in which erˆos is not destructive but controlled by reason.33 Socrates’ myth contains allusions to comic, as well as tragic, precedents. The description of the growth of the lover’s feathers (251b1–d7) and the punning etymology Eros/Pteros (Love/Winged One: 252b8–9) are humorous.34 Moreover, the explicit sexual imagery resembles the obscenity of Old Comedy, while the description of the relationship between lover and beloved (255a1–256e2), which emphasizes interpersonal love, has a romantic interest like that of New Comedy. Still another comic element is provided by the outlandish figure of the black horse. Scholars have not noticed, as far as I know, that the black horse resembles a satyr or silenus, a hybrid creature with human form and horse’s tail, ears and sometimes hooves.35 This allusion is apparent from Socrates’ description: “The other [horse] is crooked, big, with limbs put together at random, strong-necked, shortnecked, snub-nosed, black, with gray and bloodshot eyes, companion of hybris and boastfulness, shaggy around the ears, deaf, barely yielding to the whip together with the goad” (253e1–5). Descriptions of satyrs are rare in extant literature, but images abound in the visual arts.36 They are typically represented as big, misshapen creatures, with snub noses, high foreheads, shaggy hair, thick, short necks, large eyes, and large, erect phalluses.37 The black horse not only looks but also acts like a satyr, being characterized by hybris and lack of restraint, especially in sexual matters, and in failing to achieve his sexual goals.38 Just as satyrs are usually represented in motion, so the black horse leaps about and pulls the chariot forward.39 The chariot pulled by the satyr-like black horse also has parallels in vase-paintings, a number of which represent two satyrs harnessed to chariots.40 Of particular 33 34 35

36 37

38 39 40

Cf. Pender 2007: 46–54. Insightful comments on the compatibility of rationality and erˆos in Phdr. are also provided by Nehamas and Woodruff 1995: xx–xxvi. On the winged phallus see Chapter 5 at 5.3.1 and n.31. That Socrates’ speech has comic aspects is noted by Coventry 1990: 187–8; Rowe 1988: 8–10; and on 251c5 and 252b2–4; Rutherford 1995: 265. On the satyr/silenus see Brommer 1937; Lissarrague 1990a and 1993; Kuhnert 1992; Seaford 1988b. Because little distinction is made between satyr and silenus at this period (Seaford 1988b: 6), I use the term “satyr” generically, to refer to horse-human hybrids. On satyrs see also Chapter 4 at 4.2 and 4.6. Kuhnert 1992: 444–5 and Belfiore 2006: fig.1. That horse-ears, high foreheads and snub noses were sufficient to designate a satyr is apparent from the fact that the Pronomos vase (ARV2 1336) represents these features on the masks worn by actors in a satyr play. See Lissarrague 1990a: 228–9. Hybris: Phdr. 253e3, 254c3, 254e2, e6; failure to achieve sexual goals: 254b8–c3, 254e2–5. On satyrs’ lack of restraint and frustration in sexual matters see Lissarrague 1993: 214 and Seaford 1988b: 38–9. Black horse: Phdr. 254a3–6, 254d6–7; satyrs in motion: Lissarrague 1993: 212. Satyr chariots: Lissarrague 1987: 115 and Carpenter 1997: 25–8, with illustration, plate 6B. See Belfiore 2006: fig. 2.

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interest is a cup discussed by Thomas Carpenter which represents, on the inside, Zeus mounting a chariot, while a chariot pulled by satyrs is depicted on the outside. According to Carpenter, this satyr-chariot is a parody of the god’s chariot represented on the inside of the same cup.41 Similarly, in the Phaedrus, the chariot with the satyr-like horse can be seen as a comic counterpart of the winged chariots of the gods (246e–247e). Satyrs are not merely comic hybrids of human and animal, however: they also, like the daimones in Plato’s Symposium, have a status intermediate between mortals and gods.42 The idea that satyrs are superior to humans is illustrated by the story of Midas’ capture of a satyr in order to acquire his more than human wisdom.43 Yet, satyrs are not fully equal to the gods. They accompany Dionysus as subordinates rather than equals,44 and are frequently separated from him. In the only extant satyr play, Euripides’ Cyclops, the chorus of satyrs, after being captured, separated from their god and made to serve a harsh master, are liberated and reunited with Dionysus. This theme of captivity, servitude and temporary separation from Dionysus, followed by liberation, was characteristic of satyr plays.45 In another story illustrating the ambiguous status of satyrs, the satyr Marsyas, to whom Socrates is compared in the Symposium, challenges Apollo to an aulos contest, something no mortal would dare to do, and is punished in a way no god could be, by being flayed.46 Like the daimones in the Symposium, satyrs mediate between humans and gods.47 One important way in which they do so, as Richard Seaford has shown, is through their role in initiation.48 Seaford cites Laws 815c, where Plato discusses “Bacchic dances and the like, which (the dancers allege) are an imitation of drunken persons they call Nymphs and Pans and Sileni and Satyrs, and which are performed during purifications and initiations [telet†v tinav ˆpoteloÅntwn].”49 Although other literary evidence is relatively late, support for an association of satyrs with initiation prior to Plato is provided by representations on black-figure vases of satyrs in ritual contexts.50 41 42 43 44 46 47 48 49 50

Carpenter 1997: 25–6 with plates 4A and 4B. See Belfiore 2006: figs. 3A and 3B. Seaford 1988b: 32 and 197, on Eur. Cyc. 495–502. In Symp. the daimonion is a being between god and mortal (202d13–e1). On satyrs as daimones see Chapter 4 at 4.6. Seaford 1988b: 7, citing Herod. 8.138 and Arist. frag. 44 Rose. On this story and satyric imagery in Symp. see Usher 2002. 45 Seaford 1988b: 33–6 and Ussher 1977: 291–4. Lissarrague 1993: 214. On the flaying of Marsyas see Chapter 4 at 4.2 with nn. 13–14. In Symp. 202e–203a the daimonion is said to make possible many kinds of interactions between gods and mortals, including prophecy and initiation (telet†v: 202e8). Seaford 1976 and 1988b: 8–9. Laws 815c2–5, cited by Seaford 1988b: 8; trans.: Saunders 1970, adapted. The text presents major difficulties but the general sense is clear. Hedreen 1992: 168–70.

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The association of the satyr with initiation rites makes the image of the satyr-like black horse especially appropriate in the myth of charioteer and horses in the Phaedrus. In narrating the way in which the soul-chariots of mortals attempt to return to the choruses of the gods in which they danced as initiates (250b6–c1) before falling to earth and becoming “deficient,” or “uninitiated” (ateleis: 248b4), Socrates recounts a story similar to the motif in satyr plays of separation from Dionysus followed by reunion. He also makes extensive use of terminology used in connection with the Mystery rites celebrated in Eleusis and elsewhere.51 The combination of Mystery and satyric imagery in Socrates’ myth of charioteer and horses supports the view that the black horse, who resembles a satyr physically, and who acts like a lustful satyr, also has the daimonic characteristics of a satyr. This horse is ugly and bestial like a satyr, but he also has the divine, winged element shared by all three capacities of the soul. Moreover, it is his impulse to move toward erotic objects that forces (ˆnagk†zei: 254a5; cf. b1) the charioteer to approach near enough to the beloved to be reminded of divine beauty seated on the throne together with moderation (254b3–7). Like a satyr, then, the black horse mediates between the human and the divine. Not only is the black horse satyr-like, he also resembles Socrates.52 As noted above, satyrs are big, misshapen creatures, with snub noses, high foreheads, shaggy hair, thick, short necks, large eyes, and large, erect phalluses. Except for this last feature, they look like visual representations of Socrates. Paul Zanker, comparing a bust of Socrates and an image of a satyr on a coin, writes that portraits of Socrates “all follow the basic analogy with Silenus iconography, especially in the flat, strangely constricted face, the very broad, short, and deep-set nose, the high-set ears and bald head, and the long hair descending from the temples over the ears and the nape of the neck.”53 In these images, Socrates appears big-bellied and ungainly, with a short, thick neck, a snub nose, and long hair falling about his ears.54 Similarly, the black horse is big (polÅv) and ungainly (skoli»v, e«k¦‚ sumpeforhm”nov), with a strong and short neck (krateraÅchn, bracutr†chlov); he has a snub nose (simopr»swpov), and 51 52

53 54

Mystery terminology occurs at Phdr. 250b6–c4, quoted below 6.4, and throughout Socrates’ second speech: see Riedweg 1987: 30–69 and Seaford 1994. Other scholars sometimes note that the black horse looks like Socrates (e.g., Arieti 1991: 192; Dorter 1971: 284; and Burger 1980: 65) but no one else, to my knowledge, has analyzed the broader implications of this resemblance for an interpretation of the myth of charioteer and horses. On Socrates as satyr in Symp., see Chapter 4 at 4.2 and 4.6. Zanker 1995: 34. See Belfiore 2006: figs. 4 and 5. Richter 1965: 109–19, provides a comprehensive survey of the visual representations of Socrates. Lapatin 2006 is also useful. See Belfiore 2006: fig. 6.

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is shaggy about the ears (perª åta l†siov: 253e1–4). Literary descriptions of Socrates also give him satyr-like characteristics, many of which correspond to the features of the black horse in the Phaedrus. Socrates looks like a satyr (Plato, Symp. 215a6–b6, 216d4; Xen. Symp. 4.19, 5.7). He has a big belly (Xen. Symp. 2.19) and is so ungainly that everyone laughs at him when he says that he will dance (Xen. Symp. 2.17). He is thick-necked (Cicero, De fato 10), and has a snub nose (Plato, Tht. 143e8–9, 209c1; Meno 80a5–6; Xen. Symp. 5.6; scholiast on Aristophanes Clouds 223).55 According to Alcibiades in Plato’s Symposium, Socrates, in addition to looking like a satyr, resembles the satyr Marsyas in being hubristic (215b7, 221e3–4). Hybris is also characteristic of the black horse (Ìbrewv . . . —ta±rov: 253e3, ËbristoÓ ¯ppou: 254e2).56 Why would Socrates give the black horse features characteristic not only of satyrs but also of himself? In portraying himself as a satyr-like black horse, Socrates calls attention to the hubristic, satyr-like qualities explicitly attributed to him by Alcibiades in the Symposium (for example, 215b3–d1, 216d2–4), and suggested by his portrayal in the Phaedrus, where Socrates is characterized as erotic (227c3–5), plays the role of a shameless lover, ruled by hybris, and criticizes Phaedrus’ “boyfriend,” Lysias. These qualities have comic aspects, but they also have a serious role in Socrates’ activities as a man with daimonic skill. They enable him, like a satyr, to desire passionately to attain as much as he can of beauty and the other good things he recognizes that he lacks (component (3)). Moreover, Socrates, like a daimonic satyr, mediates between the human and the divine, by seeking to acquire for himself as much divine beauty as he can (component (4)), and by helping others also to desire and strive to attain as much divine beauty as they can (component (5)). He does so, in the first place, by making others aware of their own deficiencies, in ways that can lead to charges of hybris. Finally, Socrates’ self-portrait playfully mocks himself, thus showing his recognition of his own deficiencies. Socrates’ satyr-like qualities are also closely linked to his erotic characteristics. In the Symposium (see Chapter 4 at 4.6), Alcibiades contrasts the philosopher’s satyr-like exterior with the divine things within his soul. He fails to understand, however, that both “inner” and “outer” characteristics are essential aspects of the person who has daimonic art, and that Socrates resembles both the satyr Marsyas, and Eros, a daimˆon who is neither god nor mortal, but in between both, and who therefore mediates between gods 55 56

The literary descriptions of Socrates are collected by Bury 1932, on Symp. 215b; and Richter 1965: 109. The hubristic tendencies of the black horse differ from the hybris of the non-lover of Socrates’ first speech (Chapter 5 at 5.2) in that they can be tamed.

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and mortals (202d13–203a8). Eros in the Symposium is neither beautiful nor ugly, neither wise nor lacking in understanding, but a philosopher, who desires wisdom because he knows that he lacks it (203d4–204c6). In the Phaedrus also, as Diskin Clay has shown, Socrates is represented as a daimonic and erotic figure, who, like Eros in the Symposium, has both a higher and a lower nature.57 That Socrates is associated with Eros is apparent from his prayer at the end of his second speech in the Phaedrus (“Dear Eros”: 257a3). After arguing, in his first speech, that the “non-lover” is superior to the lover, Socrates was prompted to recant by his inner daimonion (242b8– c3) and by his fear of offending Eros (243d4). Socrates now prays that Eros will not take away the erotic skill he has given him, beseeching the god to accept his recantation and to forgive him for what he said in his first speech (257a3–8). Clay argues that Socrates is also associated with Pan, whose presence is felt throughout the Phaedrus. Pan, like Eros in the Symposium, is a daimonic and erotic figure, a divinity who is satyr-like in having both human and animal characteristics.58 He is mentioned at 263d5–6, in connection with the Nymphs, and he was thought to produce a panic fear at the noon hour (e.g., Theocritus, Idyll 1.15–18), the very time at which Socrates’ daimonion and his fear of Eros prevent him from leaving before giving his recantation speech. Moreover, Socrates’ address to Pan at the end of the Phaedrus (“Dear Pan”: 279b8) echoes his earlier prayer to Eros. Just as he prayed to Eros to make him still more honored by the beautiful (257a9), so Socrates, who is not physically beautiful, prays to Pan, the god he resembles, for inner beauty (279b8–c3).59 The prayer to Pan also echoes the prayer to Eros in alluding to love of wisdom: “May I consider the wise man [sophos] to be rich” (279c1). With these words, as B. Darrell Jackson notes, Socrates “asks not to seem wise or to be wise but to value the wise man.” The prayer to Pan, he argues, is thus in effect a prayer to be the philosopher to whom Socrates referred at 278d3–6, a man who cannot, like a god, be called wise, but only a lover of wisdom (philo-sophos).60 Socrates, then, is associated with all three figures – Eros, Pan and the satyr-like black horse – because Socrates, like them, has daimonic qualities. The image of the charioteer and horses indicates, moreover, that daimonic qualities are present to some extent in every human soul, and are necessary to the psychic harmony that allows mortals to acquire daimonic skill and to return to the region of the gods. 57 58 59

Clay 1979: esp. 346–51. Clay 1979: 347 quotes Pl. Cra. 408d1, where Pan is called difužv (“double-formed”), having a smooth upper body and rough, goat-like lower limbs. 60 Jackson 1971: 29. The resemblance of Socrates to Pan is noted by Friedl¨ander 1969: 240.

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The satyr-like characteristics of the black horse, then, play an important role in Socrates’ portrait of the lover’s soul. The complex ambiguity of the satyr, a being with characteristics like those of beasts, humans and gods, makes it an appropriate image of one capacity of the soul. The satyr-like aspects of the human soul, if they are not tamed and trained, can drag us down to bestiality, wrecking the chariot of the soul, just as the horses destroy Hippolytus in Euripides’ tragedy. When yoked to the sˆophrosynˆe and aidˆos of the white horse, however, and given proper guidance by the charioteer, these same aspects in the soul have beneficial effects. In urging us to pursue erotic objects, the capacity of the soul represented by the satyr-like black horse can help us to rejoin the chorus of the gods. This essential role of the black horse is clearer within the context of the imagery of the dance in Socrates’ myth of the charioteer and horses in the Phaedrus. 6.4 dancing with the gods Choral imagery and terminology figure prominently in the myth of the charioteer and horses. With the exception of Hestia, goddess of the hearth, who stays home, Zeus, along with each of the other principal gods, leads the soul-chariots of other gods and daimones in one of eleven companies (246e4–247a4).61 Each of the principal gods is a leader in a “divine chorus” (qe©ou coroÓ: 247a7), moving through the heavens in an orderly choral arrangement (kat‡ t†xin: 247a3).62 Before it fell to earth, the soul-chariot of every human was a dancer (coreutžv: 252d1) in a chorus (cor: 250b6) led by one of the gods. The mortal lover attempts to rejoin this chorus in which he used to dance, imitating his own god and educating his beloved to follow the rhythm (çuqm©zontev) of the same god (253b5–6). Socrates’ statement that Hestia remains home (247a1–2) while the other gods move around her in a circle (247d4–5) reflects the common idea that the stars are gods moving in a circular cosmic dance around a center.63 61

62

63

247a1: kat‡ ™ndeka m”rh. Eleven, not twelve, gods lead the companies, because the twelfth, Hestia, remains at home: Guthrie 1975: 403; Nehamas and Woodruff 1995: 32 n.71; Robin 1994, “Notice”: c. t†xiv can be used of the arrangement of a chorus (e.g., Aes. PV 128, cited LSJ, I.4). See Calame 1997: 38–9. In late sources, “leader” (¡gemÛn: 246e4, ¡goÓntai: 247a3) can mean “choral leader”: LSJ, s.v. ¡gemÛn, II.b; Calame 1997: 44. Hestia: Hackforth 1952: 73–4. coreÅw means to dance a round dance: LSJ, s.v. coreÅw. On the chorus as a circle around a center and the circular form of the lyric chorus and the dithyramb, see Calame 1997: 34–6. The movement of the stars is called core©a in Plato’s Ti. 40c3 and Epin. 982e3–6, and the stars are said to be gods in Resp. 508a4. The cosmic dance is referred to in many passages in Greek literature, including Soph. Ant. 1146–8, Eur. Ion 1078–81 and El. 468, Lucian, The Dance 7. In Plato’s Statesman 269d5–e5, circular motion is said to be the most divine. England

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Indeed, many of the words used by Socrates in this passage have astral connotations.64 More specifically, the dances performed by the soul-chariots are similar in many respects to one particular circular dance: the dithyramb.65 Socrates’ playful remarks in his first speech, that he is speaking in dithyrambic language (238d3, 241e2), prepare the reader for the serious use made of this poetic genre in his second speech. From the archaic period to the mid fifth-century b.c.e. dithyrambs were circular dances led by an exarchos, and danced and sung by a chorus of fifty men or boys to orgiastic, Phyrgian flute music.66 These dances had a Dionysiac character, as evidenced, for example, by the invocation of Dionysus as Dithyrambos in Euripides’ Bacchae 526. There is also evidence that the dithyramb was performed in satyr costume on some occasions.67 Moreover, it is possible that the poet who won a dithyrambic victory was escorted home in a chariot.68 There may also be a dithyrambic parallel to the principal twelve gods (the eleven who lead companies and Hestia, who remains at home) alluded to in Phaedrus 247a2–3. In what may well be a reference to the altar of the twelve gods in the Athenian agora, a fragment of a dithyramb by Pindar invites the gods to attend the chorus, addressing them as the gods who come to the Athenian agora.69 This choral imagery has important religious implications, for the dance in ancient Greece was an important part of initiation rites. In Plato’s Euthydemus 277d6–9, initiation into the ecstatic Corybantic rites is said to involve choreia (dance and song), and in the Laws, the rites of the Corybantes involve dancing (790d–791a). In fact, according to Lucian, all ancient initiations included dancing.70 In the myth of the Phaedrus, initiation and the dance are closely linked. In their previous existence, the human followers of the choruses of the gods experienced initiation (–teloÓnto tän teletän . . . Ýrgi†zomen . . . muoÅmenoi) and saw a “blessed sight” 64

65 66 68 69 70

1921, on Laws 716a1, notes that the scholiast says that the circle is a kind of immortality. Helpful discussions of the cosmic dance include Boyanc´e 1952; Koster 1951; and Lawler 1960. Astral terminology includes: “rotation” (peri»d: 247d5), “arrangement” (t†xin: 247a3), “pathways” (di”xodoi: 247a4), “revolves” (–pistr”fetai: 247a5), “revolution” (perifor†: 247d4–5, 248a4). Cf. Laws 809c5–d2. Phdr. 238d3, 241e2. For the suggestion that these dances are dithyrambs, I am indebted to an anonymous reader for AJPh of an earlier draft of Belfiore 2006. 67 Ibid. 4–7, 20, 33–5. Pickard-Cambridge 1962: 31–2. Ibid. 36–7, citing (15) Simonides’ reference to N©kav ˆgla¼n Œrmì (“the bright chariot of Victory”) in frag. 145 Bergk 4th edn., 79 Diehl. Cf. Œrma (“chariot”) in Phdr. 246e5. Pickard-Cambridge 1962: 38, with 21, where he quotes Pindar frag. 63 Bowra, 75 Snell. Cf. Race 1997b: 311 n.1. The Dance, 15: teletŸn oÉdem©an ˆrca©an ›stin eËre±n Šneu ½rcžsewv, quoted with other evidence for the connection between dance and initiation by Riedweg 1987: 58. See also Calame 1997.

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(makar©an Àyin . . . –popteÅontev –n aÉg¦‚ kaqar: 250b6–c4). Divine erotic madness allows humans on this earth to participate, to the extent that mortals can, in the rites celebrated by the choruses of the gods. When the human soul sees beauty in this world, and remembers the beauty it saw in a previous existence (249c–e), it is once again initiated into these rites (teletž: 253c371 ), enthusiastic (249d2, e1; 253a3), mad (249d2, d8; cf. 251d8, 253c5) and possessed (255b6) by a particular god, from whom, like the Bacchantes, it draws its inspiration (253a6). These passages clearly indicate that the philosopher is and remains mad: madness leads to recollection (249d5–6), an essential activity of the philosopher. However, this madness, unlike the ordinary kind, is inspiration that involves rational control (see above 6.2 and 6.3). His enthusiasm allows the lover to imitate his god and to educate his beloved, persuading him to follow the rhythm of this same god (253b5–6). The dances in the myth of charioteer and horses, then, are characterized so as to evoke initiation rites. To drive one’s chariot skillfully is to attempt to return to the choruses of the gods, remembering, in a renewed initiation here, the initiation one received in a former existence. The dance imagery in the Phaedrus is also significant for an understanding of the psychology dramatized in the story of the struggle in the soul (passage B). I argued above (6.2), that the charioteer strives to produce an equilibrium between opposing tendencies. This idea of psychic balance, mentioned in other passages throughout Plato’s dialogues (see above, 6.2), is explained in detail in the account of the dance given in his Laws. The use of the Laws to elucidate the psychology of the dance in the Phaedrus is also justified because the later dialogue reflects the Greek idea, generally accepted from archaic times on, that the dance plays an essential role in education and acculturation. Claude Calame cites the Laws in arguing that chorus members were given a “true education, with the aim of making the chorus participants not only good dancers and singers, but also accomplished men and women.” The Laws also reflects the view, held by the Greek tradition generally, that the chorus of the gods is the model for human choruses. As Calame notes, the ideas about the role of the dance in education that are expressed in the Laws are of particular interest, because they are based on Cretan and Lacedaimonian realities.72 Calame cites evidence from Crete, Sparta, fifth-century Athens and Lesbos that choral 71

72

Most editors follow corr. Par. 1808 in reading teletž. On the textual question see de Vries 1969: 164. teleutž (BT) is defended, with some hesitation, by Rowe 1988, on 253c3. teletž finds support in the Mystery terminology used in the rest of Socrates’ second speech: Riedweg 1987: 44. Calame 1997: 222–3; quotation: 222. On choral training as a form of acculturation see also Ford 2002: 197–8. Armstrong 2004: 178–9 discusses the close connection between cosmology and the Muses in the Laws.

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activity taught specific rules of behavior embodied in myth, and that it prepared boys for war and girls for marriage.73 Although Calame does not adduce any parallels to the psychic equilibrium said to be taught by choreia in Plato’s dialogues, he does note that in Sparta “the mimetic value of the dances accompanying the songs gave the citizen-soldiers a sense of order, discipline, and harmony.”74 There are good reasons, then, for believing that the choruses led by the gods in the Phaedrus are intended to have an educational role, similar in some respects to that found in actual Greek society and reflected in the Laws, for the human souls who join them. According to the Laws, the dance provides training for the soul as well as the body. Choreia, which includes both singing and dancing (2.664e8– 665a3), involves the imposition of ordered movements, derived from the gods, upon disordered movement in body and soul. This principle is evident in Plato’s account of three very different kinds of choreia: Corybantic dances, the musical education of children and the re-education of older adults at symposia.75 Plato’s account of all three kinds of choreia depends on psychological principles similar to those expressed in the myth of the Phaedrus. In the Laws, dancers need to have a sense of order, derived, as is the charioteer’s recollection of true beauty, from the gods. When they move in the rhythm of the dance, the dancers use this sense of order to achieve an equilibrium between an impulse toward movement, like that of the black horse, and an impulse toward restraint, like that of the white horse. These orderly physical movements help to produce movements in the dancers’ souls that also attain equilibrium between opposing tendencies. Those officiating in the rites of the Corybantes are said to perform actions like “the cures of the mad Bacchantes, that make use of . . . motion, together with dance and music” (7.790e2–4).76 In the Corybantic rites, internal, mad movement (manikŸn k©nhsin: 791a3) is calmed by the application from outside of ordered movement: When someone applies a shaking from outside to these kinds of emotions, the motion applied from outside masters the internal fearful and mad motion. When it has gained mastery, the motion makes apparent in the soul a peaceful calming, something entirely desirable, of the hard pounding of the heart in each person. The motion makes some sleep, and it makes those who are awake dance and play the aulos with the gods to whom each sacrifices with good omens, giving them sane dispositions instead of mad. (Laws 790e8–791b1) 73 75 76

74 Ibid. 1997: 234. Calame 1997: 222–38. I restrict my discussion to this function of the symposia without analyzing their equally important role as tests of dispositions (1.649d4–650b4). My translation follows the reading of Linforth 1946: 131–2.

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In these rites, an evil disposition of the soul (™xin faÅlhn tv yucv: 790e9) that produces disordered internal movement is cured by the ordered movement of the dance.77 Plato appears to have taken the Corybantic rites seriously and to have had a positive opinion of them. He refers to the rites in a number of other passages throughout the dialogues, including the Phaedrus, where Socrates says that Phaedrus saw in him a fellow participant in these rites (sugkorubantiänta: 228b7). In the Symposium, after comparing Socrates to the aulos-playing satyr Marsyas (215c1–3), Alcibiades says that when people listen to Socrates, they are affected like the participants in the Corybantic rites (215e1–3).78 In none of the dialogues is there a suggestion that the rites were themselves the cause of the disease that they were thought to cure.79 Choreia not only cures diseased souls, it is also essential to the emotional and ethical education of normal children. In the Laws, the Athenian Stranger defines first education (paideia) as the production of that part of virtue, correct training concerning pleasures and pains, of which children are capable before they are able to reason (2.653a5–c4). Choreia is the whole of education (672e5–6, cf. 654a9–b1) because it leads children to take pleasure in what is good and to hate what is not good (654c–d).80 According to the psychology of the Laws, choreia is educational because it has the power to impose upon disordered movements rhythm and harmony derived from the gods: Every young thing . . . is unable to keep calm in body or in voice but always seeks to move and cry out, some springing and leaping, as though dancing with pleasure and playing together, others crying out with every kind of sound. The other animals do not have perception of order (t†xewn) or disorder (ˆtaxiän) in movement, the name of which is rhythm and harmony. But the gods whom we said were given to us as fellow-dancers are the ones who have given us pleasurable perception of rhythm and harmony. By means of this, they move us and lead us in dances (corhge±n). (Laws 653d7–654a3)81 77

78 79 80

81

Verdenius 1962: 137 compares this process, by means of which internal movements are dominated and calmed by external motion, to that in which streams of beauty from the beloved penetrate the eyes of the lover in Phdr. 251b and 255c–d. Linforth 1946: 121–44 discusses these passages and Plato’s Euthydemus 277d–e, Crito 54d, Ion 533e– 534b and 536c. Linforth 1946: 144. Helpful discussions are provided by Moutsopoulos 1959: 97–156 and Morrow 1960: 302–18. Socrates has a similar concept of musical education in Resp. 3: “The best education is given by music, for rhythm and harmony sink most deeply into the interior of the soul and most strongly attach themselves to it, bringing grace and making it graceful also, if someone is brought up correctly” (401d4–e1). Cf. 672c1–6 and 673c9–d5. At 664e3–665a6, the gods are also said to be fellow-dancers (qeoÆv . . . sugcoreut†v) and choral leaders (corhgoÅv).

The lovers’ dance: charioteer and horses

269

The mad dispositions and fiery natures (ma©netai: 672c4, –mman . . . ™xin: 666a7, di†purov: 664e4) of children lead them to desire to move about and cry out. Children, that is, have shameless tendencies, like those of the black horse.82 Just as the black horse of the Phaedrus leaps (skirtän: 254a4), neighs (cremet©zwn: 254d4), and shamelessly pulls the chariot forward (254d7), so the children in the Laws leap about (ˆll»mena kaª skirtänta: 653e1–2), and make disordered movements and cries (fq”ggoito dì ˆeª ˆt†ktwv kaª phd: 664e6). In the Laws, these tendencies of young children to move and cry out are far from being an ineradicable evil. They are a necessary condition for education because they provide the impetus that allows children to move in rhythm and sing in harmony, once they have learned to use their god-given perception of order and disorder.83 A third kind of choreia – that practiced by older adults in a renewal of the education they received as children – also involves the imposition of order upon disorder.84 According to the Laws, people become moderate by combating (diamac»menon) the pleasures and desires that incite them to shamelessness (1.647c7–d7). Wine arouses shameless desires and for that very reason helps people to practice combating shamelessness (649a–650b) when they drink in carefully controlled symposia. That is why the symposium is a safeguard for education (2.652b3–653a3). Young people under eighteen should not drink wine at all because they have naturally fiery dispositions (666a3–7). Older people, having lost this natural fire, have become dry, despondent and stiff (666b5–c1); as a result, their education in pleasure and pain is weakened and corrupted (653c7–9). The older and more moderate they are, the more ashamed they become to participate in the choreia (665d9–e3), in which the whole city must join (665c2–7). To remedy this, Dionysus provides initiations and play for older people (tŸn tän presbut”rwn teletŸn Œma kaª paid©an: 666b4–5) that make them less ashamed to sing (¨tton a«scun»menov: 666c4). His gift of wine is a medicine (pharmakon) that temporarily gives older people the mad and fiery disposition of the young, and thus makes them more easily molded (666b7–c2) by a wise and sober symposiarch (1.640d4–7). That is, wine 82

83

84

The Athenian Stranger does not explicitly say that children are shameless, but this is the clear implication of his statement that the lawgiver should guard against the mad disposition of the young and not pour fire into fire by allowing them to drink the wine (666a3–7) that increases shamelessness (649a1–b6). Similar ideas are expressed in Pl. Ti. 43b1–5, where young children are said to make disordered movements, and 47b5–c4, where sight is said to enable us to use the rotations in heaven to regulate the rotations within us. This dialogue also shares with Phdr. the concept of a soul-chariot (41d8–e2). My account here is similar to that of Belfiore 1986, although I would now characterize the desires and emotions aroused by wine as shameless rather than anti-rational.

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gives older people a temporary and artificial disorder in the soul, upon which, under the guidance of the sober symposiarch, they can impose order. It thus makes it possible for them to repeat the process by means of which they learned choreia as children. Wine, then, is a medicine to produce aidˆos in the soul (2.672d7–8) by, paradoxically, first creating shamelessness.85 It thus helps to produce in the soul tendencies to make shameless movements, like those made by the untamed black horse in the Phaedrus. These tendencies counteract the opposing tendencies toward restraint that characterize both older people in the Laws and the white horse of the Phaedrus. Just as the charioteer controls both horses so that they move toward the beloved with aidˆos (Phdr. 254e8–255a1), so the symposiarch guides the drinkers as they combat the renewed shamelessness in their souls. According to the Laws, then, all three kinds of choreia help to produce in the soul a proper balance between an impulse toward movement, like that represented by the black horse of the Phaedrus, and an impulse toward restraint, like that of the white horse. To learn to dance is to impose order upon disorder, creating a psychic equilibrium like that represented in the myth of the charioteer and horses in the Phaedrus. 6.5 conclusion In the second half of the Phaedrus, Socrates says that this myth is in part a game (265c8–9). When he concludes his second speech with his prayer to Eros (257a3–b6), however, Socrates reveals the serious purpose of this playful recantation speech offered to the god. His second speech itself shows that he has the erotic skill he prays to retain. Socrates demonstrates his understanding of erotic skill when he creates the myth of charioteer and horses. In this vivid dramatization, the lover of true beauty strives to create friendship, in the form of a harmonious equilibrium of opposites, within his own soul. This inner friendship is essential to the lover’s skill in searching for beauty and truth (component (4) of the erotic art). It is also a necessary condition for helping his beloved to acquire the erotic art (component (5)), and for engaging with him in a common search for divine beauty and truth. In representing this search as an initiation, mediated by erˆos for divine beauty, Socrates places the relationship between lover and beloved within a cosmic context, far transcending the narrow confines of the conventional Greek erotic-educational relationship. Moreover, in representing himself as 85

Aidˆos is the fear of wrong-doing that opposes shamelessness (1.647a4–b1) and wine provides practice in resisting shameless impulses by first arousing them (649a1–d2).

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the daimonic, satyr-like black horse, Plato’s Socrates suggests that his own erotic impulses are not, like those of the Socrates of Zopyrus, weaknesses that he has overcome by means of philosophy, but strengths that he has harnessed in the service of philosophy.86 Socrates also demonstrates erotic skill by using the poetic language that is most persuasive to Phaedrus (257a5–6), and that exhibits, in a virtuoso performance, the many literary manifestations of Eros. The image of the horse is associated with erotic lyric poetry, while the story of the driver attempting to control unruly horses alludes to a scene in Euripides’ Hippolytus, a well-known tragic example of the destructive power of Eros. Like many Greek comedies, Socrates’ story of the lover who “captures” his beloved ends in a kind of marriage.87 Graphic sexual imagery in Socrates’ account of the arousal of the lover recalls the obscenity of Old Comedy, while the emphasis on interpersonal love reminds the audience of New Comedy. The satyr-play is alluded to in the description of the physical and ethical attributes of the lustful, satyr-like black horse. Socrates also makes extensive use of language associated with Greek choral poetry, especially dithyrambic poetry. Just as Eros reveals himself in a wide variety of forms, each of which can lead the soul to true beauty, so Socrates uses all of the resources of language and imagery to persuade Phaedrus, his fellow erastˆes of words (228b6–c2), to use the beautiful words of his second speech as a reminder of the beauty of the other world. The fact that Phaedrus joins Socrates’ prayer (SuneÅcomai), and says that he marvels at the beauty of Socrates’ speech (257b7–c2) suggests that the prayer has been answered.88 86 87

Zopyrus is discussed in Introduction at I.1 and n.3. 88 Pace Coventry 1990: 193. Noted by Nichols 2009: 116.

Conclusion

This study has argued that Socrates is characterized in four Platonic dialogues as practicing an art or skill that is “erotic,” or “daimonic,” not in a narrowly sexual sense, but because it shares characteristics attributed to the philosopher-daimˆon Eros in the Symposium. As the chapters of this book have demonstrated, a focus on this aspect of Plato’s characterization of Socrates helps to illuminate many significant philosophical and literary issues in each of the four dialogues. I also hope to have shown that Plato accomplishes several important philosophical purposes in the quartet as a whole. First, he provides his own, unique, version of the theme, common in the Socratic writings, of Socrates’ deep concern with erˆos. Plato’s Socrates is an erotic figure not because he has ordinary erˆos for beautiful young men, but because he has marvelous skill in searching for the objects of Socratic erˆos: wisdom, beauty and other good things. Plato also appeals to his audience and provides dramatic interest, just as his Socrates does within the dialogues, by representing Socrates as practicing the erotic art within the context of the Greek convention of erotic-educational relationships between older and young males. Plato’s adaptations of this convention also serve an important apologetic purpose. Instead of exchanging wisdom for sexual favors, as the conventional erastˆes claims to do, Socrates helps his interlocutors to become skilled in searching for the wisdom they recognize that they lack. The four dialogues represent this educational process as an initiation of passionate young men, at the beginning of their lives, into the mysteries of Socratic erˆos. By demonstrating that Socrates’ successful use of his art is dependent on the characteristics of his interlocutors, and on external circumstances, the quartet also helps to explain why Socrates did not achieve greater success, even among friends in his own city. Sometimes, external forces interrupt or threaten to put an end to his conversations. At the end of the Lysis, the discussion is forcibly interrupted by drunken, barbarian slaves (223a1– b3), and the conversation at the end of the Symposium is stopped by the 272

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arrival of revelers, who force the symposiasts to drink too much (223b2–6). Ominously, the Alcibiades I ends with Socrates’ expression of his fears about the power of the demos (135e6–8), which will, in historical fact, corrupt Alcibiades and silence Socrates by means of death. In the Symposium, the shame that Socrates induces in Alcibiades has only temporary effects, in part because the young man refuses to listen. Alcibiades blocks his ears and runs away instead of listening to the arguments he is unable to contradict (216a4–c3). Even the Phaedrus, which ends on a note of agreement between friends, contains suggestions that this concord is contingent on the unusual setting of the dialogue: it takes place outside the walls of Athens, where Socrates seldom goes and where he is very much “out of place” (230c6–e4). As he speaks the last word of the dialogue, “Let us go” ( ï Iwmen: 279c8), Socrates sets out to return to the city, where agreement may be more difficult, in part because of the competitive atmosphere fostered in Athens. This last word, however, also resonates with Plato’s audience, for whom it has more positive implications. As Alcibiades says, if we listen to Socrates’ words, even if reported by an inferior speaker, we too, whether we are women, men or young people, become “stunned and possessed” (Symp. 215d3–6). If we listen long and attentively, without covering our ears and running away, like Alcibiades, we can, like Socrates himself, become possessed by erˆos for the wisdom we recognize that we lack, and skilled in searching for it together with others who share our love.

Glossary

aidˆos: reverence amathia: lack of understanding; failure to recognize one’s own ignorance aporein: to be at an impasse, at a loss, without resources, perplexed aporia: state of being at an impasse aretˆe: excellence atopos: out of place, strange, outlandish atopia: state of being atopos aulos: pipe daimˆon: a being with a status between god and mortal elenchus: cross-examination, refutation, test epithumein: to desire epithumia: desire eran: to love erastˆes (pl. erastai): lover eristic: contentious (adj.); contentious speech (n.) erˆomenos (pl. erˆomenoi): beloved erˆos: love, passionate desire erˆotikˆe technˆe: erotic art or skill hybris: violence, lust, dishonor, insolence oikeion: kindred philein: to like philia: friendship, kinship philos (masc. sing.; pl. philoi; neut. sing. philon): the friend, the dear (n.); dear (adj.) philosophein: literally, to like wisdom; to philosophize philosophia: philosophy; literally, love or liking for wisdom phronˆesis: wisdom phronimos: wise, sensible physis: nature sophia: wisdom 274

Glossary sophos: (masc.; fem. sophˆe): wise sˆophrosynˆe: moderation, sound-mindedness ta erˆotika: erotic matters; matters with which the daimˆon Eros is concerned technˆe: art, skill

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Index

Achilles as beloved, in Symp. 123 and desire for glory 148, 157 and Socrates 25, 187, 188 Adkins, Arthur 76 Aeschines, Alcibiades of, on erˆos 1 Aeschylus, term “erˆos” in Aga. of 9 Agathon (see also amathia, elenchus, shame, symposium) character in Symp. 20, 23, 117–19, 134–7, 162, 168–77 compared with character Alcibiades (in Alc. I) 176; (in Symp.) 162, 168, 176–8, 179, 180–7 historical figure 134, 135, 171 aidˆos (reverence) in Laws 270 opposed to hybris 164n9 in Phdr. 229, 236, 237, 252, 253–4, 255–6, 264 in Statesman 254 Ajax, and Socrates 187, 188 Alcibiades character in Alc. I passim ch. 1 character in Symp. 161–2, 177–96; passim ch. 4 historical figure 105 see also Agathon, Alc. I, amathia, aporia, atopia, beauty, elenchus, honor, Lysis, shame Alcibiades I (Alc. I) passim ch. 1 authenticity of 31, 31n1 term “erˆos” in 10 see also Alcibiades, Athens, gods, hybris Alcidamas 134 Alcmaeon 130 amathia (lack of understanding) of Agathon 136, 163, 165, 173, 176 of Alcibiades 39, 163, 165 meaning of term 119, 119n4, 199, 199n1 of Socrates 199

and speeches in Symp. 118–22, 137, 138; passim ch. 3 ambiguity in Diotima’s speech 154, 202 of erˆos, in Diotima’s speech 150 linguistic 74–6, 85 of persona of Socrates 111n3, 161–3, 167, 189 in status of satyrs 260, 264 Anacreon, and erˆos 211 Annas, Julia 14, 16 Aphrodite and Dionysus 118, 190 in Eur. Hipp. 257 mother of Eros 125–7 see also Homer Apollo and Delphi in Alc. I 43, 48, 56–7, 59 in Ap. 24 and Marsyas 166, 260 in Phdr. 223 Apollodorus 110–16, 196 Apology (Ap.) characterization of Socrates in 24–5, 63, 145, 154, 180 daimonion in 24–5; see also daimonion and erotic dialogues 24–5 imitators of Socrates in 115 see also Apollo, Athens aporia (impasse) of Alcibiades 39, 40, 41, 69–70, 162, 168, 178–9, 181, 185–6, 187, 189 in Lys. 5, 17, 68–74, 106, 108; passim ch. 2 in Phdr. 231, 233, 237, 245 of Plato’s readers 70, 187, 190, 196 Plato’s use of xii, 69–70 see also Meno Archilochus, on erˆos 148 Aristodemus 110–16, 169, 173, 196 Aristophanes character in Symp. 117–18, 131–4

297

298

Index

Aristophanes (cont.) historical figure 188 Socrates in Clouds of 242, 262 Aristotle on erˆos, in NE 92, 93, 233 on friendship, in ethical works 233, 233n52 on hybris, disdain and slighting, in Rhet. 163–5, 168, 170 on mirrors, in On Dreams 58, 58n65 art (technˆe) as craft-knowledge, criteria for 14, 206 of medicine 13, 206 see also erotic art; rhetoric, theory and practice of Athena and aulos 138, 139 and courage 124 Athens in Alc. I 42, 44, 47, 48, 52, 63, 67 in Ap. 63 and setting of Phdr. 19, 273 atopia (outlandishness) of Alcibiades 39 of Socrates 36–7, 161, 169, 173, 187, 188 aulos (flute) at Agathon’s symposium 19, 120, 121, 187 and Corybantic rites 267 in Greek art and literature 138–9 and Marsyas 166, 188, 193, 194, 260, 268 and Socrates 122, 138, 187–8, 193, 194, 268 beauty of Alcibiades 47, 54–6, 60, 62–4, 66, 177–9, 187, 188 creates erˆos 3, 3n9, 23, 54–6, 63–4, 225, 233–5 in Diotima’s speech 141, 151–5, 194 Greek attitudes toward 99, 193 in myth of charioteer and horses 61–2, 224–8, 230–6; passim ch. 6 of Socrates 55, 60, 64, 160, 177, 186, 189, 191, 192, 196 Benson, Hugh 105 Beversluis, John xiv Bordt, Michael 87–8 Brunschwig, Jacques 57 Burkert, Walter 91 Cairns, Douglas 164 Calame, Claude 266–7 Carpenter, Thomas 260 charioteer and horses, myth of, in Phdr. 223–39; passim ch. 6 and the dance 223, 224, 228, 249–50, 254, 264–70 and Greek art and literature 257–60

imitation of gods in 62, 199, 210, 223–4, 230–6, 240–1, 249, 253, 256, 264–6 interpretations of 248 and satyrs 248–9, 259–64 Socrates’ self-portrait in 246, 249, 261–2 souls of gods in 247 taming of black horse in 237–8, 245, 251, 253–6, 258–9 three capacities of soul in 248–56 and true belief 200–1 two lives in 237–9, 252 see also aidˆos, beauty, honor, hybris, initiation, interpersonal love, Phdr., shame, sˆophrosynˆe Charmides (Chrm.), erˆos in 61 children and childhood education of 83, 200, 266–9 in Plato’s dialogues 4, 85, 89, 90, 94, 97, 107, 254 see also madness, shame Cicero, Socrates in De fato of 262 Clay, Diskin 263 collection and division 14, 199, 204–7, 224 comedy, Greek 259, 271 see also Aristophanes, tragedy comic elements in Greek art 259–60 in Greek literature 149–50 in Plato’s dialogues 118, 130, 131–3, 180–3, 242 in Plato’s portrayal of Socrates 110, 161, 190 use of, by Socrates 42, 144–5, 149–52, 159, 259–60, 262 see also laughter and ridicule Corybantes 199, 244, 256, 265, 267–8 Cratylus (Cra.), daimones in 17–18 Crete, and the dance 266 Crito and erotic dialogues 26–7 and persuasion by arguments 155 daimˆon, daimones 17–18 see also Cratylus, Eros, satyrs daimonic art see erotic art daimonion as characteristic of Socrates 8, 190 and Socrates’ divine sign 24, 36, 96, 221, 244, 263 dance see charioteer and horses, Corybantes, Zeus Davidson, James 8 Demosthenes, on hybris, in Against Conon 167 Denyer, Nicholas 37, 55, 58 dialectic absence of, in Symp. 112–13, 184

Index as art (technˆe), in Phdr. 204–8, 223, 224, 225, 235, 238, 241, 243 and erotic art 7, 43, 44, 56–65, 71, 83–4, 86, 98, 99, 100, 103, 107, 108, 158 see also rhetoric dialogue form see Plato Dionysus god of drama 117, 165, 170, 178, 183, 190 god of wine and symposium 183, 190, 269–70 and satyrs 138, 190, 260, 261, 265 see also Aphrodite, Euripides Diotima 140–60 defines erˆos 8–9, 144, 157 as prophet 140, 142, 144, 145, 146 as teacher of Socrates 3–4, 119–20, 140–6, 155–60, 175, 176, 188 as woman 142 see also ambiguity, beauty, Eros, honor, interpersonal love, sophists dithyramb in Greek culture 265 and Socrates’ first speech in Phdr. 244, 265 Dodds, E. R. 149 Dugas, Ludovic 84 eirˆoneia (“irony”) 177, 189 elenchus (cross-examination) of Agathon 19, 113, 117, 136, 137, 139–40, 158, 164, 169, 171–7 of Alcibiades 40 in Plato’s dialogues 21, 115, 116, 142, 245 of Socrates 155, 183 see also dialectic equilibrium of opposites in medicine 129–31 in soul 249–50, 254–6, 266–70 see also Alcmaeon, Heraclitus erˆos and the gaze 48, 56–65, 235 and Greek art 226 and Greek conventions 10–13, 22, 32–3, 122, 125, 131, 147–50, 153, 160, 177–82, 210, 215, 222, 270, 272 in Greek linguistic usage 8–10 in Greek literature 52, 64, 120–2, 127, 135–6, 257–9, 271 in Plato’s trial and death dialogues 21–8 and questioning (erˆotan) 16, 37n18, 37–8, 44, 47, 97, 97n93, 101 reciprocal 32–3, 55–6, 65–7, 93, 147, 228, 233, 234–6 and sex 2, 8–12, 125, 132–3, 147–54, 209, 212–19, 227, 237–8, 255, 259, 272

299

Socratic 3, 5–7, 9–10, 22–3, 24, 28, 33, 51–6, 67, 70, 106, 155, 184, 195, 198, 208, 212, 216, 230, 235–6, 272 in Socratic dialogues 1–2 see also ambiguity, beauty, Diotima, Eros, erotic art, friendship, hybris, initiation, interpersonal love, madness, philosophia, shame, and specific authors and works Eros, the god or daimˆon passim ch. 3 as daimˆon xi, 3–8, 17–18, 28, 90, 141, 144, 146, 156, 191–5, 262–3 in Diotima’s speech 141, 154–60, 190–4 in first five speeches of Symp. 117–37, 172, 175 and Socrates 1, 3–4, 6–8, 90–1, 146, 155–6, 158–9, 162, 187–95, 198–201, 239, 262–3 Socrates’ praise of, in Symp. 119–20 see also Aphrodite, erˆos, erotic art, Hesiod, magic, Phaedrus, satyrs, sˆophrosynˆe, tragedy erotic art (erˆotikˆe technˆe) and characters of interlocutors 4, 18–21, 23, 84–5, 162, 181, 183–6, 203, 272–3 components of 6–7 contrasted with art (technˆe) in sense of craft-knowledge 13–18, 98, 198, 204–7, 212, 221 contrasted with practice without art 198, 207–9, 221 daimonic qualities of xi–xiii, 7–13, 17–18, 21, 28, 73, 88–96, 112, 145–6, 163, 192, 195, 249, 262 and Eros 1, 3–7, 94, 112, 146, 158–60, 198, 262–3 in erotic dialogues, overview of passim Preface, Introduction, Conclusion; (in Alc. I) 35–6; (in Lys.) 69, 72–3; (in Phdr.) 198–9, 222, 247–8, 256–7, 270–1; (in Symp.) 112, 119–20, 158–60, 195 and friendship passim ch. 2; 7, 17, 18–21, 24, 41, 63, 71, 73, 82–8, 91–2, 96–8, 108, 198, 208–10, 216, 222, 239–45, 247 and true belief 17, 94, 146, 156, 200–1, 208 see also dialectic, shame erotic dialogues, compared and contrasted overview 18–23, 272–3 Alc. I and Phdr. 61–2, 63, 66–7, 235, 243 Lys. and Alc. I. 71, 84, 93, 105–7 Lys., Alc. I and Phdr. 36, 86–7 Lys. and Symp. 90–1 Phdr. and Symp. 147, 155, 159, 198–210, 236, 254, 262–3 Symp. and Alc. I 179–87 see also erotic art, in erotic dialogues

300

Index

Euripides chariot and horses in Hipp. of 257–9, 264, 271 Cyclops of 260 desire for glory in Alc. I of 157 Dionysus in Bacch. of 149, 265 on erˆos 134 erˆos and friendship in Alc. I of 124 erˆos in Hipp. of 121, 136, 139, 148, 173 Euthydemus initiation in 265 setting of 18 Euthyphro and erotic dialogues 25–6 setting of 18 Ferrari, John 248, 251 Fisher, Nicholas 164, 165 Forms, Plato’s theory of 142 Frede, Michael xii Friedl¨ander, Paul 62, 95 friendship (philia) passim ch. 2 within family 77, 79, 84, 107, 209, 214–15, 216, 217–19 and interpersonal love 7, 12–13, 67, 73, 84–5, 128, 130, 147, 153, 198, 208–10, 212–39 between Socrates and Phaedrus 202, 203, 209, 239–45 within soul passim ch. 6, 228, 229, 230, 238–9, 241, 245, 247–50, 256, 263, 270 see also erotic art Frontisi-Ducroux, Franc¸oise 138 Gill, Christopher 59–60 god(s) competition with 166, 260 gifts to Socrates of 1, 3–4, 17, 53, 72, 73, 90, 93–6, 146, 198–9, 201 as guardian of Socrates, in Alc. I 36, 37, 43, 53, 59, 60, 67 images of, in Alcibiades’ speech in Symp. 161–2, 189–96 Socrates’ devotion to 4, 6, 13, 24–6 and the soul, in Alc. I 56–65 wisdom of 15, 24, 28, 34, 48, 90, 134, 145, 146, 191, 199, 206 see also charioteer and horses, daimonion, Phdr., specific gods good will (eunoia), of lover 218, 219, 232–3, 236 Gorgias (Grg.) experience (empeiria) in 16 Socrates as lover of Alcibiades in 67 Gorgias (the sophist) 113, 137–8, 173 Gorgon, and Socrates 117, 137–40, 173 see also Homer, Pindar

Halliwell, Stephen 145–6 Hera, in Phdr. 223 Heraclitus 129–31, 254 Hesiod Aphrodite, in Th. of 126–7 daimones, in Op. of 17, 17n48 on Eros 136 Eros, in Theog. of 123 on friendship 85 as poet 148 Hestia, in Phdr. 264 Hippothales, as lover 4, 71, 85–6, 92, 95, 96, 98–103 Homer Aphrodite, in Il. of 126 Aphrodite and Ares, in Ody. of 133 courage, in Il. of 123–4 and the term “daimˆon” 17 use of term “erˆos” by 9 Giants in 133 Gorgon, in Ody. of 137 as poet 148 and Socrates 137–8 Thersites, in Il. of 166 use of, by Agathon 134–5 see also Achilles honor and renown, love of by Alcibiades 43, 50, 52, 179, 185, 187 in Diotima’s speech in Symp. 148, 159 in myth of charioteer and horses 228, 238–9, 252 in Phaedrus’s speech in Symp. 122–3, 125 and Socrates 6 see also Euripides horse, in Greek literature 257–8, 271 see also charioteer and horses hybris and black horse, in myth of charioteer and horses 251, 256, 262 and erˆos 121, 125, 127–8, 216–17, 220–5 Greek concept of 163–4 and laughter 150, 164, 166–7 and shame 163–5, 166 and Socrates, in Phdr. 202, 244, 245–6, 262 Socrates charged with, in Alc. I 18, 39 Socrates charged with, in Symp. 20–1, 111, 161–70, 173–4, 175, 176, 178–80, 183, 189, 193, 194–5 see also Aristotle, aidˆos, Demosthenes, satyrs Ibycus, on erˆos 257 impasse see aporia initiation and erˆos, in Plato’s erotic dialogues 22, 272 in Greek ritual 260

301

Index in Laws 260, 265, 269 in Lys. 99, 108 in Phdr. 198, 222, 223, 224, 226, 228–31, 249, 261, 265–6, 270 in Plato’s trial and death dialogues 23–4, 27–8 in Symp. 141, 143–4, 146–55, 158, 194 see also Euthydemus, Lucian interpersonal love passim ch. 1 and desire for the good see also Lysis 86–8, 103, 106 in erotic dialogues, overview of 10–13 in first two speeches of Phdr. 211–21 in myth of charioteer and horses 201–2, 228–39, 259 role of, in Diotima’s speech 147, 152–4, 201–2 see also erˆos, friendship, Hippothales, Socrates Isocrates, in Phdr. 240, 242–3 Jackson, Darrell B. 263 Johnson, David 62 Kahn, Charles 141 Kirk, G. S., J. E. Raven, and M. Schofield 129–30 Konstan, David 76, 164 Landfester, Manfred 75 Lane, Melissa 189 laughter and ridicule in Greek literature 166–7 Socrates as object of 68, 143, 167–8, 185, 194 by Socrates, at others 101, 163, 169–70 by Socrates, at self 145–6, 150, 168, 174, 177, 188 in Symp. 114, 116, 131, 196 see also comic elements, hybris Laws erˆos in 2, 9 psychology in 83, 249–50, 266–70 see also aidˆos, initiation, Phdr. love see erˆos, interpersonal love Lucian, on initiation 265 Ludwig, Paul 9 Lycurgus 148 Lysias as orator 204, 207, 208, 211 and Phaedrus 201, 240–5, 262 speech attributed to, in Phdr. 198, 203, 208–9, 211–15, 241–5 Lysis as beloved 95–6, 103–8 compared with Alcibiades 105–7, 176 philosophia of 75, 86, 106 Lysis passim ch. 2 desire in 5, 72, 79–80, 81–2, 89–91

first friend (proton philon) in 78, 87–8 genuine lover in 71, 86, 95, 98–9, 103, 107 interpretations of 68–9 oikeion (the kindred) in 81–2, 87–8, 95 see also aporia, Lysis, Hippothales Mackenzie, M. M. 69n5 madness of children 269 and erˆos 2 of Hippothales 99 of lover, in Phdr. 12, 207, 208, 222–7, 228, 231, 239, 247, 253, 255, 258, 266 philosophical 19, 113–14, 115, 184, 266 in ritual 22, 267 magic and Socrates 170, 190, 195 and Eros 190, 194, 195 Marsyas 166 see also Apollo, aulos, satyrs Meno aporia in 69 Socrates described in 262 Midas 260 Mikkos 100, 101 mirror and Greek theories of vision 57–9 image of, in Alc. I and Phdr. 48, 57–65, 222, 233–6 moderation see sophrˆosynˆe Muses 200, 221 Mysteries see initiation myth passim ch. 6 and allegory 199, 250 conveys true belief 200 and Diotima’s speech 155 and Socrates’ long speech in Alc. I 41 and Socrates’ recantation, in Phdr. 241 see also charioteer and horses, myth of; Republic Nails, Debra xii, 142 Nehamas, Alexander 155 Nightingale, Andrea 70n9 North, Helen 166 Nussbaum, Martha 248 Nymphs 221, 244, 260, 263 O’Connor, David 54 Olympiodorus 55 Pan 20, 245, 260, 263 Parmenides 136, 158 Parmenides 257 Pericles 188

302

Index

Penner, Terry and Christopher Rowe 81–2, 87–8 Persia 41–2, 63 Phaedo, Socrates in Zopyrus of 1–2, 271 Phaedo erˆos in 2, 10, 27–8 and erotic dialogues 27–8 initiation in 23–4, 27–8 psychology in 27–8, 253 see also Phaedrus Phaedrus characterization of, in Phaedrus 203, 239–45 in Symposium 122–4 see also friendship, Lysias, Phaedrus Phaedrus (Phdr.) passim Part III compared with Laws 254, 266–70 compared with Phaedo 227–8, 253 compared with Resp. 253, 254 compared with Sts. 254 psychology in 200, 222–39, 247–50, 253–4, 266–70; passim ch. 6 recollection in 223–5, 225n29 Socrates’ prayer to Eros in 1, 3, 94, 198, 205, 207–8, 239, 245, 263, 270, 271 see also charioteer and horses, dialectic, erotic dialogues; compared and contrasted, Phaedrus, rhetoric, specific topics phil-terms in Greek usage 68n2, 91 in Lys. 71–3, 74–88 in Symp. 153 see also philosophia, philosophos philia see friendship philosophia passim Introduction and erˆos, in erotic dialogues 3–4, 5, 73, 148, 153, 154, 217 in Resp. 10 see also Lysis philosophos, meaning of term 75, 91, 91n76, 199, 205–7, 223–4, 263 Pindar gods of agora in 265 Gorgons in 138–9 Plato beliefs of, and dialogues xii, 142, 202 dialogues of, as dramatic works xii, 18–21, 70–1, 73, 75, 110–16, 131, 202–3, 228–9, 270–1 as narrator 110 philosophical purposes of 22–8, 272–3 works of see specific dialogues Plutarch, on Periander 149–50 poets and poetry Alcibiades’ use of, in Symp. 188 in Alc. I 42, 64 and first five speeches in Symp. 23, 120–37

in Lys. 85, 99, 101 Socrates’ use of, in Phdr. 199, 200, 211, 225–7, 230, 231, 241, 249, 256–9, 265, 271 Socrates’ use of, in Symp. 137–9, 147–50, 157–8, 159, 160 see also erˆos, specific poets Protagoras, on poetry 122 reproduction Greek terms for 149, 151, 153 imagery of 141–2, 144–5, 146–55, 160, 201, 226, 235 see also women Republic (Resp.) erˆos in 2, 9, 10 force and persuasion in 187 imitators of Socrates in 115 “likers of listening” in 106 myth in 200 psychology in 253, 254 on superior natures 104 see also Phaedrus, philosophia reverence see aidˆos rhetoric in Socrates’ first speech, in Phdr. 220–1 in speech attributed to Lysias, in Phdr. 204, 211–15 theory and practice of, in Phdr. 13, 204–9, 220, 241 see also dialectic Romilly, Jacqueline de 257, 258 Rowe, Christopher 225n29 Rudebusch, George 88 Sappho, on erˆos 64, 211 satyr play 166, 167, 260, 261, 271 satyrs and sileni Alcibiades’ statues of, in Symp. 161–3, 166, 188–96, 262–3; passim ch. 4 as daimones 8, 194, 249, 260–1 and Eros 193–5, 262–3 in Greek art and literature 259–60 and hybris 161, 166–8, 193, 259–62 and sex 166, 194, 259 and Socrates 8, 21, 138, 161–3, 166–8, 187–95, 249, 261–3 see also ambiguity, charioteer and horses, Dionysus, Marsyas, Zeus Schleiermacher, Friedrich 41 Scott, G. A. and W. A. Welton 7n15, 7n17 Seaford, Richard 260 shame and the shameful and Agathon 168, 171–2 and Alcibiades 11, 38–41, 42, 43–4, 47, 50, 62, 70, 162, 165, 179, 180, 184, 186

Index and black horse in Phdr. 251, 253, 256 and children 269 and erˆos 122–3, 125–6, 128–9, 132 and erotic art 38–41, 100 and Lysis 70 and Phaedrus in Phdr. 241, 242–3 and Socrates 21, 26, 53, 221, 241, 243–5, 246, 262 and “Socratic shame” 40n23, 40–1 and the symposium 269–70 and white horse in Phdr. 255 see also hybris Sheffield, Frisbee 143 Sier, Kurt 142 skill see art Slings, S. R. 69 Socrates as beloved, in Alc. I 11, 20, 32–3, 45, 47, 50–1, 64, 65–7 as beloved, in Symp. 19, 114, 115–16, 179, 184, 189, 191–2, 195–6 characterization of, in erotic dialogues xiii–xiv, 4–6, 18–21, 31, 272–3 characterization of, in Phdr. 202–4, 211–12, 239–46 characterization of, in trial and death dialogues 24–8 characterization of self, in Lys. 72–3, 89–98 as competitor 112, 117–20, 172, 183, 199, 203, 243 disclaims wisdom (in erotic dialogues) xii–xiii, 6, 11, 14–18; (in trial and death dialogues) 24–5, 26, 28; (in Alc. I) 34, 48; (in Lys.) 69, 89; (in Phdr.) 198, 199, 201, 207, 220, 249, 262; (in Symp.) 111, 143–6, 150–5, 170, 174, 188, 191–2, 195, 196 and human virtue 192, 199 as lover 5, 7, 11–13, 44, 92–3, 178, 179, 181–7, 189, 240, 262; passim ch. 1 physical characteristics of 261–2 portrayal of, by Alcibiades in Symp. 177–96 portrayal of, by narrators within Symp. 110–16, 161, 196 see also specific topics Solon 148 sophists absence of, from erotic dialogues 18, 23 contrasted with Socrates 6, 100 and Diotima 143, 145 see also Gorgias Sophocles on erˆos, in Ant. 121 Thyestes of 134

303

sˆophrosynˆe (moderation) and beauty, in Phdr. 261 definition of, in Phdr. 218 of Eros 128, 134 opposed to hybris 164n9 and self-knowledge 46, 49–50 of Socrates 110, 179, 188, 191, 192 and the symposium 269 and white horse, in Phdr. 252, 264 Sparta in Alc. I 41–2 and the dance 266–7 Statesman (Sts.) erˆos in 10 madness in 254 psychology in 254 symposium of Agathon 110, 117, 160, 168–70 competition at 121 imagery of 138 as renewal of education 267, 269–70 see also aulos, Dionysus, shame, sophrˆosynˆe Symposium (Symp.) passim Part II influence of 160 interpretations of 141–6, 161–2, 184–5 narrative structure of 110–11, 114–16 puns in 175–6 subject of 111–12 see also specific topics Taylor, A. E. 58 technˆe see art Theaetetus (Tht.) erˆos in 10 midwifery in 96, 201 Socrates described in 262 Theocritus, Pan in Idylls of 263 Timaeus erˆos in 2 theory of vision in 57–8 tragedy and comedy, composition of 117, 159, 183 Eros in 121 see also Aeschylus, Agathon, Euripides, Sophocles Vlastos, Gregory xii–xiii women in Alc. I 42 Greek attitudes toward 149 in Symp. 120, 147 see also Diotima, reproduction Woodruff, Paul 40n23

304

Index

Xenophon, Socrates in Symp. of 262 Zanker, Paul 261 Zeus in Aristophanes’ speech in Symp. 131, 132, 133 and the dance 264

in Eur. Bacch. 149 of friendship 41, 240 and Ganymede 234 and philosophers 223, 224, 241 and satyr chariot, in visual arts 260 Zopyrus see Phaedo