On Plato: Euthydemus, Lysis, Charmides: Selected Papers from the Vth Symposium Platonicum 3896651439, 9783896651433

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International Plato Studies Published under the auspices of the International Plato Society Series Editors: Luc Brisson (Paris), Tomas Calvo (Madrid), Livio Rossetti (Perugia), Christopher J. Rowe (Durham), Thomas A. Szlezak (Tübingen)

Volume

13

PLATO Euthydemus, Lysis Charmides Proceedings of the V Symposium Platonicum Selected Papers

Edited by THOMAS M. ROBINSON and LUC BRISSON

Academia Verlag à

Sankt Augustin

Illustration on the cover by courtesy of the Bodleian Library, Oxford, MS. Ashmole 304, fol. 31 v.

Die Deutsche Bibliothek — CIP-Einheitsaufnahme Plato: Euthydemus, Lysis, Charmides : proceedings of the V Symposium Platonicum ;

selected papers / ed. Thomas M. Robinson and Luc Brisson. -Sankt Augustin : Academia-Verl., 2000 (International Plato studies ; Vol. 13)

ISBN 3-89665-143-9

l. Auflage 2000

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Thomas M. Robinson, Luc Brisson

Preface

1. Papers on the Euthydemus Rosamond Kent Sprague

The Euthydemus Revisited

Hayden Weir Ausland

The Euthydemus and the Dating of Plato’s Dialogues ....... ie

...........

3 20

Annette Hiiffmeier

Warum heisst Platons Euthydemos Euthydemos?

Louis-André Dorion

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques? 0... eee

35

Walter Mesch

Der sophistische Umgang mit der Zeit in Platons Euthydemos .........iii ee

SI

David Hitchcock

The origin of professional eristic

_..................-

59

Roslyn Weiss

When Winning is Everything: Socratic Elenchus and Euthydemian Eristic ...................

68

Thomas C. Brickhouse and Nicholas D. Smith

Making Things Good and Making Good Things in Socratic Philosophy ..........

76

Charles H. Kahn

Some Puzzles in the Zuthydemus

...........

88

Livio Rossetti

La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo 1... ss

98

Samuel Scolnicov

Euthydemus’ Philosophy of Language

Shinro Kato

The Crito-Socrates Scenes in the Euthydemus: A Point of View for a Reading of the Dialogue ........ ui

123

Christopher Gill

Protreptic and Dialectic in Plato’s Euthydemus ui

133

Graciela E. Marcos de Pinotti

Las Falacias en torno a la Falsedad. Una lectura de Eutidemo 283e-286b a la luz de la Soluciön del Sofista .......... ui

144

Michael Bordt, S. J.

The Unity of Plato’s Lysis

157

Beatriz Bossi

Michel Narcy

Is the Lysis Really Aporetic? nennen 172 Le Socrate du Lysis est-il un sophiste? ............. 180

James L. Siebach and Mark Wrathall

Socratic Elenchus in Plato’s Lysis — More than just Consistency Testing

ΞΕ

27

............. 115

2. Papers on the Lysis nennen

................. 194

VI

Contents

Christopher Rowe

The Lysis and the Symposium: aporia and euporia? ........ ii

Wilfried Kühn

L'examen de l’amour intéressé (Lysis 216c—-220e) ..... iii Qualité et Qualifié: A Propos du Lysis 217b-218a ... ee

Maria Isabel Santa Cruz

204 217 226

3. Papers on the Charmides Noburu Notomi

Critias and the Origin of Plato’s Political Philosophy iene rene rene

Harold Tarrant

Naming Socratic Interrogation in the Charmides iii

251

Mauro Tulli

Carmide fra poesia e ricerca

ui

259

R. F. Stalley

S6phrosuné in the Charmides

wise

265

Luc Brisson

L’incantation de Zalmoxis dans le Charmide (156d-157C) Luo

278

David J. Murphy

Doctors of Zalmoxis and Immortality in the Charmides μεν ea

287

Thomas M. Tuozzo

Greetings from Apollo:

woe

237

Charmides

164c-165b, Epistle III, and the Structure of

the Charmides

ie

296

4. Comprehensive papers Edward Halper

Is Knowledge of Knowledge Possible?: Charmides 167a-169d ........ ii

309

Matthias Baltes

Zum Status der Ideen in Platons Frühdialogen Charmides, Euthydemos, LYSIS ins

317

Alvaro Vallejo

Maieutic, epöde and myth in the Socratic dialogues ......... iii

324

Thomas Alexander Szlezäk

Die Handlung der Dialoge Charmides und Euthydemos iii

337

Glen Lesses

Socratic Friendship and Euthydemean Goods _.....cneeenennsersensneeenennnnenennennntsnn nano 349

Bibliography...

358

Index Locorum

382

Lui

Subject Index.

400

PREFACE This volume contains ἃ selection of papers read at the Fifth Symposium Platonicum of the International Plato Society held at Trinity College, University of Toronto, August19-23,

1998. It differs from other volumes

in the series in that, in addition to

the papers, it contains an Index Locorum (in which the editors have done their best to achieve completeness, knowing full well that in enterprises of this order one invariably falls slightly short of the ideal), a Subject Index, and a consolidated Bibliography. It will be noticed that no attempt has been made by the editors to reduce to some sort of uniformity features of the articles that tend to differ from culture to culture, such

as the manner in which the names of classical authors and the titles of classical works are abbreviated; or the way in which books and articles are referred to (where the range is from near-total capitalization of titles to almost no capitalization at all). The same general policy has been applied to the compilation of the Subject Index. Given the multilingual nature of the volume, references — especially where they are sole references — have been for the most part left in the language of the article in question. We have also had to limit the number of references in this section, in order

‘to keep the length of the volume within manageable limits. Major responsibility for the editing of the papers in the volume fell to Thomas M. Robinson, and for the compilation of the Indexes and Bibliography to Luc Brisson, though each was involved in the final proof reading of the entire manuscript. We must also signal our thanks to Frédéric Plin, Wilfried Kiihn, Michel Christiansen and

José M. Zamora in Paris for the help they gave Luc Brisson in the correcting of the proofs of the Indexes and Bibliography; and to Inna Kupreeva, Sarah Hoffman and Will Buschert in Toronto for the help they gave Thomas M. Robinson in the preparation and proof reading of the papers. Finally, we should like to extend our heartfelt thanks Philosophy, University of Toronto, for very welcome publication of the volume.

to the Department of financial aid towards

Thomas M. Robinson, Toronto Luc Brisson, Paris June, 2000

Papers on the Euthydemus

The Euthydemus Revisited Rosamund Kent Sprague When, in 1952, the late J.B. Skemp published his translation of Plato’s Statesman in

the Routledge collection entitled “Rare Masterpieces of Philosophy and Science,” he felt obliged to the Foreword describe any ‘infrequently

comment on the appearance of the dialogue in that particular series. In to the translation he wrote as follows: “It may well seem strange to dialogue of Plato as ‘rare’, but if this may be taken to mean edited in English’ there may be some justification for applying that

adjective to the Politicus.”! I fee] sure that you have already guessed my reason for selecting this particular remark to quote. It is of course, that the Euthydemus at the same period of the early fifties could equally well have appeared in the Routledge series under the designation ‘rare‘. Not only had there been no English edition since that of E. H.

Gifford,? but the dialogue appeared to find little or no place in current discussion of Platonic themes. That much has been done to rectify this situation is well-known to the present audience. The Euthydemus was the subject of one of G. E. L. Owen’s famous reading groups at Oxford in 1965, although, as far as I could see, with no

immediately discernible result. There was a Symposium devoted to the Euthydemus at the Joint Session of the Mind Association and the Aristotelian Society in 1977. We have had book-length studies of the dialogue by Hermann Keulen (1971),

Michel Narcy (1984), Monique Canto (1987), and Thomas Chance (1992), as well as a full commentary by Ralph Hawtrey (1981). Substantial sections of other books have been devoted to the dialogue, as by, for instance, Henry Teloh (1986), Samuel Scolnicov (1988), Richard Rutherford (1995), and David Roochnik (1996). An early article by Gerard Hinrichs (1951) has been followed by other substantial papers, by ! Skemp (1952). 2 Gifford (1905).

4

The Euthydemus Revisited

Thomas Szlezäk (1980), Richard Mohr (1984), George Klosko (1983 and 1987), Robin Jackson (1990), Mary Margaret McCabe (1993) (who is also writing a monograph on the dialogue) and others. Fresh translations have begun to appear, by

Robin Waterfield into English (1987), Monique Canto into French (1989), Fernanda Decleva Caizzi (into Italian) (1996) and Adriana Nogueira into Portuguese, this a first. I have even heard on good authority that in 1992 the Euthydemus had achieved the status of a set book at Cambridge.’ There remains, however, much more to be accomplished, not only in the study of the Euthydemus

itself,

but

in

consideration

of its repercussions

on

other

dialogues,

particularly on later dialogues such as the Parmenides and Sophist, and, indirectly, on the Timaeus. What I wish to do in this paper is, first, to spend a little time with some of the issues in Platonic scholarship prominent in the fifties and sixties, with a view to demonstrating that a greater familiarity with the Euthydemus would have altered the character of these discussions, in some cases quite radically. This is not, by the way, mere antiquarianism on my part: a number of the misapprehensions arising from the disease of Euthydemus-neglect still linger on.* My second project is more positive, and will be identified later.

I Take, for instance, the controversy over the redating of the Timaeus, stemming from the 1953 paper of G.E.L. Owen The motive behind this proposed redating appeared to be the conviction, on Owen’s part, that the theory of forms had been

abandoned by Plato as a result of some species of self-criticism in the Parmenides. Thus the Timaeus, where the theory recurred in its familiar guise and was, indeed,

the metaphysical grounding of the cosmology there expounded, could hardly, Owen supposed, be subsequent to the Parmenides; it must, therefore, be earlier. An unstated assumption behind this argument seemed to be that Plato’s supposed dissatisfaction with the theory of forms was both late and sudden. It is just here that

the Euthydemus

should have been taken into account. At 300Eff.

we

find an

intriguing passage in which Plato has allowed the eristic sophist Dionysodorus to

? For details on

the above

see the Bibliography at the

end of this

volume.

The Nogueira

translation, however, I should add, I have not been able to see, The article by Leo Strauss ‘On the

Euthydemus’ (Interpretation 1 [1970]) strikes me as too perverse to be regarded as a positive contribution, ending as it does with the remark that “In the Euthydemus Socrates takes the side of the two brothers against Ktesippos and Kriton”! | 4 To take an example at random, White ([1976], 173) writes that “The Sophist contains a long and involved effort to show

that false belief is, after all, possible.

where it was left in Theaetetus 200.” concemed with epistemology. 5 Owen (1953).

In other

In effect, it takes up the issue

words, he sees the

Sophist as primarily

5

Rosamond Kent Sprague

satirize the theory. Eliciting from Socrates the admission that there are beautiful things, the sophist then puts to him the Eleatic question, “And were they different

from the beautiful or were they the same as the beautiful?” (301A). This question, Socrates says, “put him in a terrible fix.” Why?

Because he could see that either

reply would result in destroying the distinction he wished to maintain between the form Beauty and the particular things with the same name. To choose sameness would be to end up in Eleatic monism; to choose difference would produce the same

result by a different route, since either the particulars or the form could be made by the skilful sophist to disappear into the abyss of non-being. The reply of Socrates is thus a mediating one, clearly reminiscent, say, of the introduction of becoming in Republic Ν, or of numerous other passages in which Plato argues for the

introduction of ontological intermediates. He says, “I answered that [the particular

beautiful things] were different from the beautiful, but at the same time there was some beauty present with each.” Plato goes on, as you probably remember, to allow Dionysodorus to make a joke on the idea of “presence with”, saying, “Then if an ox is present with you, you are an ox?” In other words, he allows Dionysodorus to

ignore the dualism of the theory in favor of a crude physicalism. Let me say quite frankly that by calling attention to a passage presumably a good deal earlier than the Parmenides in which the theory of forms is represented as being under attack, I am attempting to embarrass the Timaeus-moving party. What I want to say to them is something like this: since Plato appears to be indulging in metaphysical self-criticism as far back as the Euthydemus, are you prepared to accept the implied consequences? That is, are you willing to place the Timaeus (and

any other dialogues in which the forms are rampant) before the Euthydemus? The implications are staggering, to say the least.6 I believe, therefore that this passage in the Euthydemus, especially when combined with the remarks on safety in such a supposedly metaphysical stronghold as the Phaedo’, ought to have thrown considerable cold water on the self-criticism view of the Parmenides, and thus made it unnecessary to contemplate a re-dating of the Timaeus. I think, too, (and have made this point elsewhere®), that the proponents of the selfcriticism theory have not always considered sufficiently just what sort of

philosophical problem the theory of forms was intended by Plato to address. Are we to be, in essence, Heraclitean and Protagorean relativists, or are we to posit some

stable thing on which to fix our minds?’

Either position has its difficulties, and this

is why, in the familiar words of Republic 532D, the theory is both “hard to accept,” and “hard to reject,” or, as he says in the Parmenides itself, at 135BC, € Cherniss ([1957], 19) points out that on Owen’s view it might be necessary to move both the Theaetetus and the Cratylus as well as the Timaeus.

7 See Sprague (1968a), 632-35.

8 Sprague (1977), 261-72. 9 This remark takes its tone from Paul Shorey (1903), 28.

6

The Euthydemus Revisited

if, in view of all these difficulties and others like them, a man refuses to admit

that forms of things exist or to distinguish a definite form in every case, he will have nothing on which to fix his thought, so long as he will not allow that each thing has ἃ character that is always the same, and in 80 doing he will completely

destroy the significance of all discourse. (Cornford) It is impossible for me to believe that a philosopher who spent much of his mature intellectual life considering how to delineate the relationship between the eternal and the temporal was unaware that however he chose to express this relationship, whether as one of partaking, participation, presence, or imitation, he would never arrive at a formulation that was philosophically impregnable. He shows this awareness especially clearly in the Phaedo 100D when he gives to Socrates the following words: If someone tells me that the reason why a given object is beautiful is that it has a gorgeous color or shape or any other such attribute, I disregard all these other explanations - I find them all confusing - and I cling simply and straightforwardly and no doubt foolishly to the explanation that the one thing that makes that object beautiful is the presence in it or association with it... of absolute beauty. I do not go so for as to insist on the precise details - only upon the fact that it is by beauty that beautiful things are beautiful. This, I feel, is the safest answer for me or anyone else to give. (Tredennick)

Now if Plato had been content to express the relationship between forms and their instantiations by means of a simple instumental dative, not insisting, as he says, “on the precise details,” perhaps the theory would have been, as he also suggests, much

“safer.” But even this rather bland formulation (one later characterized by Socrates as “safe but stupid,” 105B) can be attacked by a really determined opponent, as Plato

had already pointed out in the “taller by a head” passage at 96D.

Plato decided to

choose a more adventurous route and to utilize a variety of more distinctive expressions, even though, in so doing, he laid himself open to the attacks of various sophists, and, I might add, to those of proponents of a crisis theory of the Parmenides.

What I am saying, among other things, is that it is not solely a dialogue such as the Parmenides, or even, as we shall see later, the Sophist, that ought to be read in the

light of the Euthydemus, but also the Phaedo, as we have already seen, and parts of the Republic. I have in mind the familiar passage in Book VII 539B, where the young men who have had a first taste of disputation “delight like puppies in pulling about and tearing with words all who approach them” (Shorey). Comparable remarks occur in the Parmenides 129C, and in the Philebus 15B,D. In fact, I might as well confess to a conviction that all the dialogues of Plato should, as much as is humanly possible, be read in the light of all other dialogues. So although I have

Rosamond Kent Sprague

7

been and am particularly concerned that the Eufhydemus should receive its share of scholarly attention, I would not advocate the neglect of any part of the Platonic

corpus. A scholar who, in the early fifties, did give some significant consideration to

Euthydemus

was, perhaps

somewhat

surprisingly,

the late A. L. Peck.

the

(I say

“surprisingly” because Peck is probably best known for his editing and translation, in the Loeb Classics, of several of the biological works of Aristotle.) Dr. Peck once

told

me

that

he

had

read

the

Euthydemus

as

a boy

at the

Perse

School

in

Cambridge!°, and I would here like to pay tribute to his teacher W. H. D. Rouse for his perceptiveness in selecting this particular dialogue as just the one to appeal, in the eristic sections at least, to a certain level of school-boy humor. Rouse in fact liked the dialogue well enough to translate it himself; his version appears in the Collected Dialogues edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns, although unfortunately altered by his cousin, Philip Rouse, so that the mechanics of the fallacies containing the phrase fa onta have been obscured.!!

Let me be provocative, then, and suggest that this choice of reading assignment at the Perse had its repercussions for Plato scholarship in the series of articles published by Peck in the fifties and early sixties. Conversely, let me also suggest that failure to appreciate (or perhaps even read) the Euthydemus could well have been

responsible for the failure of Peck’s work to make many converts. I think it quite possible, in fact, that I may be almost his only convert!!? In the early fities Peck published a dense but brilliant paper entitled ‘Plato and the

megista gene of the Sophist: A Reinterpretation’.!? paper

was

not primarily

devoted

As is evident from its title, this

to the Euthydemus.

Nevertheless,

it was

the

Euthydemus that provided the author with the key to his reinterpretation of the Sophist: let me explain. At 254D the Eleatic Visitor (as Peck preferred to call the Stranger) undertakes to increase the triad of gene consisting of Being, Rest, and Motion to the number of five, by adding Same and Other. In his analysis of this difficult passage, Peck points out that the two predicates first appear in their complete form: that is, Plato writes “is other than the remaining two, and “is the same as itself”. Peck then goes on to show that “the qualifying part of the predicate in each case is then dropped, giving “is other,” and “is the same”, and out of these two truncated statements the two further gene are erected, known as fauton and thateron.” In other words, the Eleatic 101} wish here to thank Dr. F.H. Stubbings of Emmanuel College, Cambridge for providing me with information about Dr. Peck’s time at the Perse. !l See the note to Rouse’s translation by Philip G.Rouse in Hamilton and Cairns (1961), 420. 121 think it only honest to report that Cherniss regarded Peck’s interpretation of the Sophist as “entirely mistaken” ([1957], 23, n.17).

13 Peck (1952).

8

The Euthydemus Revisited

Visitor has, by sophistic sleight of hand, added two spurious gene to the group. Concerning this procedure, Peck writes as follows: The illegitimate step is taken in stage 2, where the qualifying part of the two

predicates is quietly dropped. This is, of course, a regular eristic trick,well known to us from other dialogues. It is exactly parallel to the trick used by Dionysodorus in the Euthydemus, where he ‘proves’ that Ctesippus is the son of a dog (298d,e) and that Cleinias’ friends wish for his destruction (283d)....(46) After spelling out the mechanics of these arguments (to which, by the way, he could well have added the move from knowing some one thing to knowing absolutely at 293Bff.), Peck goes on to apply this analysis to the Sophist, saying, The procedure of the E[leatic] V[isitor] is invalid in precisely the same way,

because he is deliberately working

. . . on precisely the same lines as the

sophists. .. . He drops the qualifying words in the the same as itself,” i.e. as Motion; giving “Motion the same as itself,” i.e. as Rest, giving “Rest is statements making a common attribution (viz. of Rest. There is, of course, no common attribution;

two statements [1] “Motion is is the same”; [and] [2] “Rest is the same,” and treats these as ‘the same’) to both Motion and the common attachment of the

word fauton is obtained only by omitting the remainder of the phrase in each case. (47)

Peck goes on to trace out (and here I spare you the details) the similar method by which

the distinction between

fo on and thateron is manipulated to give rise to

thateron as the fifth of the megista gené, concluding that “both these gené, thateron and tauton, are based on the same sophistic trick of suppressing an essential part of the attribution, and therefore are invalid.” (49) In titling

his

paper on the Sophist, Peck

used

the

word “reinterpretation.” The

word was characteristically modest; he implied something much more revolutionary. In his concluding paragraph he expresses surprise

that the view has ever been entertained that the business of the true philosopher, as described in the Sophist (253d-e), is illustrated by the argument about the megista gené. The philosopher’s work. . . is surely much more closely represented by the making of ‘Divisions’, of which semi-serious examples are given in the earlier part of the dialogue, than by the discussion about the megista

gené . (56) As

supporting

positive

evidence

he

cites 253D,

where

Plato

writes,

“Dividing

according to kinds, not taking the same form for a different one or a different one fot the same - is that not the business of the science of dialectic?” And to this he could well have added that when the Eleatic Visitor readies himself for the final definition of the sophist, he says, “let us recall our earlier divisions by forms” (2648).

9

Rosamond Kent Sprague

As I take it to be the privilege of the elderly to be anecdotal, let me illustrate the difficulty of Peck’s task in attempting to challenge received opinion on the

interpretation of the Sophist by relating a personal incident.

In the first flush of my

enthusiasm for the article, I gave an account of its thesis to the late Gregory Vlastos,

and urged him to read it. Remarking that “he could not believe that all that about the megista gené was just sophistry,” he refused to do so. As you can see, I have not forgotten my youthful outrage! (I should perhaps add here that I had known Gregory since I was a school-girl, and was quite accustomed to giving him pieces of my mind, an experience that, on his part, he always endured with great cheerfulness and

patience.) Peck had, of course, like many of us here, been brought up on Cornford’s Sophist as it appeared in 1935 bound up with the Theaetetus together with a running commentary on both dialogues under the title Plato’s Theory of Knowledge."

Interestingly, as Cornford tells us in his Preface, the addition of the Sophist was something of an afterthought. The book was originally intended to contain the Theaetetus only, and the title had already been announced before he decided to include the Sophist. Thus what might be called something of an editorial accident resulted in a focussing of attention on the more epistemological aspects of the dialogue, and directed it away from what I believe to be its true subject, namely, metaphysics. Plato

himself does

of course

lend

great plausibility

to the

linking

of the

two

dialogues (and again to the linking of both with the Statesman) by reason of his remark at the end of the Theaetetus, “But tomorrow morning, Theodorus, let us meet

here again” (210D), and its companion remark at the beginning of the Sophist, “Here we are, Socrates, faithful to our appointment of yesterday.” My objection is not to the close association of the two dialogues, as, say, in the 1921 Loeb text of Fowler, but to Comford’s title. After all, the section of the Sophist which has attracted the most attention from interpreters with epistemological interests, the one in which Plato illustrates the problem of false statement with the two sentences “Theaetetus

sits” and “Theaetetus flies,” does not even begin until the dialogue is very nearly over, at 261C. And even when we do arrive at this discussion, we find it firmly tied to the sophist’s denial of the existence of not-being (261AB), to a metaphysical question, that is. Furthermore, although the sub-title of Cornford’s volume announced “The Theaetetus and the Sophist of Plato translated with a running commentary”, the translation of the Sophist was grievously incomplete: Cornford chose to omit the

long section 218D-230E containing the six divisions in which the various sophists are defined, remarking that although “the method was new to Plato’s public,” “the modern reader familiar with classifications all ultimately derived from the model !4 Comford (1935).

10

The Euthydemus Revisited

here set up, might be wearied by a translation.” (170 ) Cornford was, incidentally,

equally cavalier in his translation of the second part of the Parmenides, where he omits the majority of the responses of the young Aristoteles, remarking that “since Aristoteles contributes nothing, nothing is gained by casting the arguments into the

form of question and answer.” (109) I am sure that I am not alone in protesting that if Plato

wants

to be boring,

we

should

allow

him

to be so in his own

way,

particularly when this particular decision by the translator has the effect of making the work in hand more like a treatise and less like a dialogue.

I wish, however, to

call more particular attention to Cornford’s mutilation of the Sophist, since it became influential in a way that he probably did not intend.!5

I think, for instance, of the lectures on the Sophist given by Gilbert Ryle at Oxford in 1963, which were prefaced by him with the remark that since the “philosophical meat” of the dialogue ran from 237A to 264C, he would confine himself (except, he

said, for a brief look at the three concluding Stephanus pages which was in fact not forth-coming) to this section.

He therefore began even later than Cornford (and with

him omitting the six divisions) and broke off even sooner, just at the passage in which the Stranger says, “then let us not lose courage for what remains to be done.

Now that these matters are cleared up, let us recall our earlier divisions by forms” (264B). In other words, he shut up shop at just the point at which Plato was about to utilize his entire discussion of to me on, together with his correct interpretation of Same and Other, to define the sophist as an image-maker.

I have my notes on Ryle’s lectures, all twelve of which I attended, and they contain some rather startling remarks. Although he granted some historical interest to the omitted sections, they were, in his view, “philosophically uninteresting.” Here he differed consciously with Cornford, who, he said, thought division important in

spite of having left it out of his translation. The charge of lack of philosophical interest was extended even to the dialogue’s announced purpose of defining the sophist; it was, Ryle claimed, “just for practice,” an exercise beneficial to the young. Since the dialogue contains an example, that of the angler, which really is identified by Plato as being a practice paradeigma, 218D, he thus failed to give any weight to

either the likenesses or the differences between the angler and the subsequent divisions concerning the sophist. He added, furthermore, that if Plato wanted to talk about simulacra, “lots of other

topics would have provided just as good a lead.” In other words, by not only ejecting Plato’s project of defining the sophist as of “no philosophical interest,” but also by

failing

to see,

or at least

mark,

a connection

between

this

philosophically

15 This type of dismemberment of Platonic dialogues, particularly late dialogues, was of course typical of the fifties and sixties, the most notorious instance probably being the avalanche of papers on the third man argument in the Parmenides, in which a small number of lines were selected for analysis, and the rest of the dialogue was left to shift for itself.”

Rosamond Kent Sprague

11

uninteresting project and the status of images, he effectively closed his mind to the relationship, emphasized by Plato, between the metaphysical problem of not-being

and an important type of sophist.!® The type I have in mind is of course the Euthydemian sort; these are generally agreed as being referred to in the passage about “late-learners” at 251BC, but we should also note the passage at 254B in which Plato says that this sort of sophist “runs away into the darkness of not-being, feeling his way in it by practice, and is hard to discern because of the darkness of the place.” (Fowler) Plato’s own expertise in following this kind of sophist into the darkness in which he hopes to

escape capture is highlighted, not only by the Euthydemus itself, but by the much more sophisticated analysis of the Sophist, where we observe him gathering his forces for a final effort when he says “as for the sophist, it is clear that we must not relax our efforts until we have a clear view of him” (254B). As you will remember. the sophist is ultimately defined in terms of an art which is described as the imitative kind of the dissembling part of the art of opinion which is part of the art of contradiction and belongs to the fantastic class of the image-making art, and is not divine, but human, and has been defined in arguments as the juggling part of productive activity (268CD). (Fowler) A reader familiar with the Euthydemus has no difficulty in recognizing what persons are being described: who but Euthydemus and his brother qualify as imitative contradiction-mongers, jugglers who have opinion rather than knowledge, and who, in spite of the heavy irony that praises them as some species of divine beings (288A, 293A, 303B), are all too human? There is a sense, then, in which Ryle’s remark that the definitions of the sophist have been “just for practice,” was unintentionally correct, if we think of the first six as being preparatory for the important final seventh. Plato had, after all, been breaking

the ground for this final definition since at least 234A, where the topic of imitation is first introduced. If the dialogue is studied as a whole rather than being dismembered

to suit the interpreter’s special interests, its culmination in the definition of “the absolutely real and actual sophist” (268C) as being of the Euthydemian kind is unmistakeable.

Now it could quite reasonably be said that I am being unfair to Ryle and others in that they had of course a perfect right to concentrate on those parts of the Sophist that were found by them to be of philosophical interest even if these parts were not altogether the same

Perhaps I am

simply

as those regarded as having

such interest by Plato himself.

demonstrating that I have a personal

preference for the

16 The following description of Ryle’s attitude to historical figures may be of interest: “The works of great philosophers were not, for him, sacred scriptures. They were the grapplings of powerful but fallible intellects with live problems that agitated them” (Gallop [1993], 226-30).

12

The Euthydemus Revisited

interpretation of Plato ex Platone. Nor

can

Ryle

be

accused

of

ignoring

the

Euthydemus:

the

dialogue

has

a

considerable role to play in Plato’s Progress 17 (a work which, to be anecdotal again, he once described to me as his “naughty book”), but the dialogue is pressed into service primarily in support of his theory concerning “eristic moots.” His familiarity with it certainly did not keep him from espousing the self-criticism interpretation of the Parmenides, a theme to which he devotes a final chapter. Ò Dr.Peck

had

observation

something

to

contribute

to

this

discussion

that the eristic trick of the truncated

as

predicate

well,

in

Euthydemus might provide a key to the reinterpretation of the Sophist utilized by him in a series of equally independent-minded, and, as I think, reinterpretations of the Parmenides. (These papers appeared in the Quarterly 1953 and 1954!8, and were followed up by other papers on

theme in subsequent years.)

that

occurring

his

in the

was also successful Classical the same

|

To characterize Peck’s general approach to the Parmenides, I quote from the first paragraph of his Classical Quarterly paper: In modern work on the Parmenides it is commonly supposed that in the First Part of the dialogue Plato’s main concern is criticism of his own (or Socrates’)

doctrine of Forms... and that the criticisms have some sort of validity... It is thus often assumed that Plato’s purpose is to make the reader ask himself, ‘Where is Plato (or Socrates) wrong...?’ This is no doubt partly due to the fact that no reply is offered to the criticisms, and partly to the fact that they are put into the mouth

of Parmenides,

for whom,

(it is alleged)

Plato

had

a very

great respect.

Nevertheless, Plato can hardly have had a greater respect for Parmenides than he

had for Socrates; and therefore on general grounds it is at least as likely that he intends us to ask inadequate ?’

Now

ourselves

the

question,

‘Where

is Parmenides

wrong

or

the Euthydemus is not specifically mentioned in Peck’s interpretation of the

Parmenides, but the dialogue makes a clear contribution to, for instance, his interpretation of the notorious “Third Man.” The parallel I have in mind is best cited from his paper in The Philosophical Review, entitled ‘Plato Versus Parmenides’.'? Peck first points out that the account of the Theory of Forms given by Socrates at

Parmenides horômena)

130A is traditional in distinguishing “the things which are seen” (ta from “the things apprehended by reasoning” (ta logismöi

lambanomena). He then proceeds to demonstrate that the Parmenides of the dialogue

ignores this distinction. The version of the theory that Parmenides presents to

17 Ryle (1966). 18 Peck (1953), 126-50 and (1954), 31-45. 19 Peck (1962), 159-182.

Rosamond Kent Sprague

13

Socrates is that “When you see a number of large things, you posit a single Form, ‘the large’.” Peck then goes on to comment, The statement in its completeness would, of course be: “When you see a number of large things seen, you posit a single Form, the large apprehended by reasoning.” But if the statement were actually completed in this way, as it should be to do justice to what Socrates has said, it would at once wreck

Parmenides’ argument. He would not be able to proceed because he could not then pretend that when the Form is added to the particulars we have simply a

group of large things increased numerically by one, all of them large in exactly the same manner --as he can do if he ignores Socrates’ distinction. (161) It may be readily observed that such an approach to the “Third Man” when combined as it is by Peck with his analysis of Parmenides’ other attacks on the theory of Forms, has the general effect of undermining the self-criticism interpretation of the dialogue. We are being encouraged, as he suggested, to ask not, “What is wrong with Plato (or Socrates)?,” but “What is wrong with Parmenides?” This position, had it been taken seriously, would have had far-reaching consequences for the scholarship of the fifties and sixties, and is still not without

implications for our own. That Peck was prophetic in perceiving that this would be the case may be seen from his address to the Cambridge Philological Society in 1953 entitled “Plato’s Alleged Self-Criticism in the Parmenides: Some Recent Views”.2° In this paper he attacks. the self-criticism thesis by showing in detail the awkward lengths to which such scholars as Cornford, Ross, and Robinson found it necessary to go in order to maintain that the criticisms are somehow damaging but not fatal. No one of these

scholars was prepared to say that Plato gave up the theory of forms; the first part of the Parmenides thus constituted for them a well-nigh insoluble enigma. At the conclusion of a brief paper in Hermes in 1968, in which 1 attempted to show that Plato was quite conscious of difficulties in the language of the theory of forms

not only in the Euthydemus but also in the Phaedo, I wrote as follows: the truth is that Plato was much more interested in eristic than most of his interpreters have been. He had to be; he was hammering out the theory of forms, an essentially dualistic theory, at a time when the descendants of Parmenides had become expert in the sophistical defense of monism.” (635)?! To this remark I might add that it is precisely because Plato took up the cudgels against neo-Eleatic sophistry that we are, for the most part, enabled to concentrate on Platonic matters of more positive interest. But Plato’s success in this area does

not absolve us from making

20 Peck (1952/3), 21-36. 21 See above, n. 27.

the imaginative

effort to enter into the historical

14

The Euthydemus Revisited

difficulties he found it necessary to face. u I said earlier that there would be two parts to this paper, but did not reveal the nature of the second, to which I now tum. I wish to try out the thesis that the dialogue that should have been bound up with the Sophist was not the Theaetetus but, you will perhaps not be surprised to hear, the Euthydemus. Had this been the case, the scholarship of the last forty or fifty years might have looked somewhät different. Obviously I cannot offer a detailed commentary on the Sophist here; I merely select

a few important points. The first of these is quite clearly the appearance of the Eleatic Stranger.

Although

he is introduced as “a man who is very much a philosopher” (mala de andra philosophon, 216A), his provenance rouses an immediate suspicion in the mind of Socrates that he might tum out to be some kind of “god of refutation” (theos. . .tis elenktikos, 216B). In other words, Socrates has the not unnatural anxiety that he might be encountering, if not another Zeno (and Plato seems here to be playing on the word for “stranger”), then at least another Euthydemus or Dionysodorus. Hence the necessity for the reassuring words of Theodorus: “this is not the Stranger’s way, Socrates, but he is more reasonable than those who are devoted to contentious arguments (fas eridas, 216B).”

‘The fact that the very mention of Elea calls for an exchange of this kind could well be an occasion, in my imaginary commentary, for some remarks on Plato’s attitude to Parmenides.

Certainly

there should

be reference

made

to Theaetetus

183E,

the

passage normally cited as evidence of Plato’s extreme reverence for the Presocratic. As you no doubt remember, it runs like this: (Socrates is speaking).

I shall not comply with the request

of Theaetetus [namely, that they should

investigate the party of rest as well as the party of motion]....because I have a reverential fear of examining in a flippant manner (phortikos) Melissus and the others who teach that the universe is one and motionless, and because I reverence

still more

one

[being]

[another philosophical

pun]

Parmenides.

Parmenides

seems to me to be, in Homer’s words, “one to be venerated” and also “awful.” For I met him when I was very young and he was very old, and he appeared to me to have an absolutely noble depth of mind. (Fowler) There is indeed material here to substantiate an attitude of reverence toward Parmenides on Plato’s part. But there are also hints, no bigger than a man’s hand, that this is not the whole story. Why, for instance, does Socrates appear to be worried lest he treat Melissus and Parmenides in a flippant manner? And why do we

have, just here, one of Plato’s rather impish philosophical puns, that there is “one being” whom he particularly admires? If we cease to read the passage at just this point, my case against an extreme Parmenidean reverence would not, I admit, be

Rosamond Kent Sprague

15

very strong, merely suggestive. But better things are to come; let us read on: So I am afraid we may not understand his words and may be still farther from

understanding what he meant by them; but my chief fear is that the question with which we started, about the nature of knowledge, may fail to be investigated, because of the disorderly crowd of arguments (tén epeiskomadzontôn logön) which will burst in upon us if we let them in (184A). (Fowler) Now what are these “disorderly arguments” that Socrates fears may arise if the party

of rest should be allowed to have its day and which would distract us from our project of investigating the nature of knowledge? The student of the Euthydemus, well-schooled in arguments against the possibility of learning, has no difficulty in recognizing them: they are the eristic gambits with which Euthydemus and Dionysodorus attack the young Cleinias, the stock-in-trade, that is, of those who are

referred to at Theaetetus

199A as finding it amusing “to drag the expressions

“know” and “learn” one way and another.” In the Euthydemus itself these arguments culminate in the embarrassing query (described incidentally as a phortikon erôtema) put to the sophists by Socrates in the following words: “if no one of us makes mistakes either in action or in speech or in thought. . .what in heaven’s name do you two come here to teach?” ( 287A) An echo of the passage just cited from the Theaetetus occurs in the Sophist, when, at 259C, the Stranger makes reference to persons who “take pleasure in dragging words about and applying them to different things at different times:” we may, I

think, be reminded of the dark saying of Dionysodorus at Euthydemus 301A, “in what way... can the different be different just because the different is present with the different?”

To speak more generally, Plato has not lost sight of neo-Eleatic

arguments in the Sophist; he is, in fact preparing to give them the coup de grâce. The person of the Eleatic Stranger appears to me to reflect the ambivalent attitude of Plato towards Parmenides. On the one hand, I believe he did revere the philosopher whose clear delineation of being provided the attributes he needed for the forms. He renders thanks to him for this gift in, for instance, the Symposium, where the

language descriptive of the form of beauty is remarkably Parmenidean, as Solmsen and others have pointed out.?? On the other hand, he quite clearly regarded the Way of Truth as an incomplete description of reality, as is evidenced by his persistent efforts to give some respectable ontological status to becoming, most notably,

perhaps, at the end of Republic V. Further, and this point is crucial in the present context, he deplored the neo-Eleatic antics of such men as Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, for which he held Parmenides ultimately responsible. Because the Euthydemus has not received the attention it deserves, and perhaps also because neo-Eleatic sophistry receives no official recognition in the relevant section 22 Solmsen (1971), 62-70, and Sprague (1971), 26.

16 of

The Euthydemus Revisited Diels-Kranz’s

Euthydemus

and

Fragmente

der

Dionysodorus

Vorsokratiker?

were

historical

it

may

persons,

be

and

forgotten

that

that their public

behaviour was a matter calling for philosophic action. If their arguments appear to

be beneath the notice of a Plato, we need to recall that the announced purpose of these arguments is protreptic. To Socrates’ request at 273D, “For heaven’s sake, tell me what this splendid occupation is,” Euthydemus replies, “Virtue, Socrates, is what

it is..., and we think we can teach it better than anyone else and more quickly.” These sophists, in other words, as more famous sophists such to corrupt the youth. The aim person here of Cleinias, should

are Socrates’ protreptic rivals, and it is they, as well as Protagoras, Prodicus, and Hippias, who are likely of Socrates in the dialogue is that the youth, in the not be corrupted; as he says of him at 275B,

he is young, and we are anxious about him, as one naturally is about a boy of his age, for fear that somebody might get in ahead of us . . .and ruin him. We

have,

in the Euthydemus,

then,

a clash between

two

types

of paideia,

the

Socratic and the eristic: behind the latter stands the shadowy figure of Parmenides. It might

appear

that the Sophist

would

protreptic, but this is not the case.

have

If we

little to contribute

to the subject

look at the first two

of

experimental

definitions, we find, in the first, a reference at 223A to “the class which proposes to carry on its conversations for the sake of virtue and demands its pay in cash,” followed, in the summary, by the coinage doxopaideutiké, or “the claim to educate.” Again we find, in the second definition, under the heading of “merchandising in knowledge,” a distinction between “the part that has to do with the knowledge of the other arts,” and “that which has to do with virtue” (224C). The proponent of this

latter type of merchandising is described as one who “trades in virtue” (aretes poietikos, 224D). The subsequent fourth (or, by an alternative numbering the fifth) definition, summarized at 226A as “the money-making class of the disputatious, argumentative, controversial, pugnacious, combative, acquisitive art,” has much more obvious Euthydemian connections, but the protreptic pretensions of the sophistic. brothers appear to be glanced at in definitions one and two, and should not

be ignored. (I’m afraid I’m mean enough to say that the scholars who have omitted or glossed over the preliminary definitions are bound to ignore these connections.) Even the definition known as that of “the noble sophist” could be brought into the

Euthydemian fold if, in consideration of the dialogue’s broad effect, we think of it as a “purification through /ogoi” administered by the truly noble sophist, Socrates. The final point of comparison I wish to make between the Euthydemus and the Sophist is once again related to Plato’s attitude to Parmenides, which was, as I have already suggested, ambivalent: this attitude does much, I think, to explain the distinctive

mixture

of play

and

seriousness

in the Euthydemus,

a mixture

less

23 In The Older Sophists (Sprague [1972]) I tried to redress the balance by adding an appendix devoted to Euthydemus.

Rosamond Kent Sprague

17

prominent in the Sophist but by no means absent from that dialogue either.

A brief inspection of the Euthydemus

will show, first of all, that this contrast

functions like a structural tie-rod, penetrating the entire work. In the outer frame, at

273B, we see the sophists repudiating their former military and forensic activities as being ones about which they are “not any longer in earnest.” Instead they announce a project which, in their own view as well as in Plato’s, is the most serious that could be imagined: they propose to teach virtue.

When, however, their implementation of this project turns out to be nothing but play (paidia 278C2), Socrates continues to assume that their intentions are still serious and still protreptic. “You must think of their performance,” he says to Cleinias, “as

having been mere play, but after this they will doubtless show you serious things (fa spoudaia 278C).” This remark occurs at the end of the first eristic scene, but we should note that Socrates returns to this expected seriousness at or near the end of

every scene in the dialogue. At the end of Scene II (the first Socratic scene) Socrates says, “I paid particular attention to what should come next and watched to see just how. . . they would start

persuading the young man to practice wisdom and virtue” (283A). This is followed by a passage in which Socrates reflects that the sophists must have supposed that he was joking earlier when he expressed concern over the education of Cleinias, and that is why they “made a joke of it and failed to take it seriously” (2838).

At the end of Scene III (the second eristic scene) we have Socrates saying to Ctesippus, Ctesippus, let me say to you the same things I was just saying to Cleinias, that

you fail to recognize how remarkable the strangers’ wisdom is. It’s just that the two of them are unwilling to give us a serious demonstration, but are putting on conjuring tricks in imitation of the Egyptian sophist Proteus. So let us imitate Menelaus and refuse to release the pair until they have shown us their serious side. I really think some splendid thing in them will appear whenever they begin to be in earnest, so let us beg and exhort and pray them to make it known

(288BC). And Socrates adds his hopes that “out of pity and commiseration for my exertions they may be earnest themselves” (288D). At the end sophists as spoudasai, have if we Even

earnest

of Scene IV (the second Socratic scene) Socrates calls upon the two upon the Heavenly Twins to make every earnest attempt (panti tropéi 293A) to “make plain what this knowledge can be which we ought to are going to spend the rest of our lives in the right way.”

in the final eristic scene,

Scene

V, where

the antics of the sophists

have

reached the highest pitch of frivolity, Socrates chides Cleinias for laughing at “such

18

The Euthydemus Revisited

serious and beautiful the last page of the between Socrates and to philosophers rather

things” (spoudaiois pragmasin kai kalois, 300E). It is only on dialogue, in the resumption of the outer frame-conversation Crito, that we find the expression hoi spoudaioi finally applied than to sophists.

Plato’s ironic pretense throughout the dialogue that the sophists will ultimately become serious is intended, I think, to indicate how serious the subjects under

discussion actually are. To give a firm philosophical basis to the possibility of learning, for instance, involves the defense of the whole notion of process, and this in turn requires, if not a solution of the problem of not-being, at least a demonstration of the unwelcome results of its non-solution. If we turn now to the Sophist, where we do have the needed solution, the first passage of interest occurs in the second definition (224A), where mention is made of

things that affect the soul as being “sold partly for entertainment and partly for its serious needs.” These words appear just prior to the description of sophist number

two as a “trader in virtue.” The

preliminary

definitions being over,

the

Stranger

starts preparations for the

important final one. by introducing the notion (233D) that someone might claim to know how “to do and make all things.” Theaetetus’ reaction to this claim is to say, “this must be some joke of yours” (paidian legeis tina, 234A). The exchange continues as follows: Str. And when a man says that he knows all things and can teach them to another for a small price in a little time, must we not consider that a joke? Th. Surely we must. Str. And is there any more artistic or charming kind of joke than the imitative

kind? Th. Certainly not. . . . (Fowler)

As we shall see, the Stranger’s strategy is to categorize as imitators just such persons as deny (as loyal descendants of Parmenides must) that there is such a thing as imitation. Such persons belong to the frivolous class of entertainers; they are

jugglers (235A) and wonder-workers (235B), similar to the two brothers in the Euthydemus who are described (288B) as “putting on conjuring tricks in imitation of that Egyptian sophist Proteus.”

What the Stranger needs to do, then, is to compel the disciples of Parmenides to cease regarding imitation as a joke, and to take it seriously. This means they must face up to the philosophical basis of imitation, which means that they must give serious consideration to the problem of not-being. Thus we find the Stranger asking Theaetetus,

Rosamond Kent Sprague

19

If, then, not merely for the sake of discussion or as a joke, but seriously, one of [Parmenides’] pupils were asked to consider and answer the question “To what is

the designation ‘not-being’ to be applied?” how do you think he would reply to his questioner, and how would he apply the term, for what purpose, and for what object? (237BC). (Fowler) The answer to this question is not forth-coming for twenty more Stephanus pages, not until we read, at 257D, “when we say not-being, we speak, I think, not of something that is the opposite of being, but only of something different.” With this matter cleared up, the art of the “absolutely real and actual” sophist can at last be

confidently defined as being that of an imitator, In other words, the philosophical challenge offered by Euthydemus and Dionysodorus to Plato’s protreptic projects has now been sufficiently dealt with. Il To conclude: I have placed the consideration of play and seriousness last because I wished to round off my revisitation of the Euthydemus in this particular mood. As David Roochnik has remarked, “As a result of [the dialogue’s] almost farcical

quality, commentators often feel constrained to begin their work on the Euthydemus by asking whether it is even serious enough to merit analysis”.*4 I feel privileged to join with a group of younger scholars who not only take the dialogue seriously, but also, in a hierarchical manner, take its seriousness seriously. It gives me pleasure too, to agree with Aristotle, when he writes, in Book X of the Nicomachean Ethics

(1176b33ff.): To make a serious business of amusement and spend laborious days upon it is the height of folly and childishness. The maxim of Anacharsis, “Play so that you may be serious” (paidzein d’höpos spoudadzei), may be taken as pointing in the

right direction. (Thomson)

University of South Carolina

24 Roochnik (1990/1), 211-232.

The Euthydemus and the Dating of Plato’s Dialogues Hayden Weir Ausland Argued below is not that the Euthydemus is of any particular date or period in Plato’s life, but that making this question prerequisite to understanding Plato’s

dialogues is mistaken and perhaps itself becoming rather dated.

The

‘style of

Platonic studies based on the identification of the natural order of Platonic dialogues with the sequence of their elaboration’ has by now almost run its own life-cycle. Its youth extends from the general introduction of Schleiermacher (1804) through the end of the XIXth century. In 1897 Lutoslawski confirmed its middle age by making the thirty-year old work of Campbell known on the continent. This stage culminated in Wilamowitz, in reaction to whom Friedlaender (1930) revived a pre-modern way of reading Plato, thereby bringing the developmental hypothesis into an increasingly evident senescence.! Ordering Plato’s works in the modern fashion succeeded a prior step of identifying spurious works. So the problem is not one, but twofold: What did Plato himself write, and when did he write it? Athetization derived from the Alexandrians via Bentley and Wolf, but was applied systematically to Plato first by A. Boeckh,

who held’ the Minos both too unlike and too like genuine dialogues to be Plato’s-signs, respectively, of unplatonic authorship and inept imitation.2 We construct one of Dionysodorus’ inevitable questions (cf. Euthyd. 276e5):°

might

-“Is the Minos dissimilar to genuine dialogues or similar to them?” -“Dissimilar.”

-“Then it is unplatonic.”

! In the interests of economy, recognition scholarship will here be assumed. A recent reader's attention will be cited. 2 Boeckh (1805), 7: “Dupliciter Dialogus quod nimium similis ceteris eiusdem (1869). 3 See Chance (1992), 40-47.

of the main tenets and publications of modem Platonic few treatments or passages less likely to have come to a a Platonis ingenio discrepat, partim quod parum, partim scriptis est.” ( The emphasis is Boeckh's). Cf. Nietszche

Hayden Weir Ausland

21

-“But also similar.”

-“Then it is an imitation.

Either way, the Minos is evidently spurious.”

Of course, the critic must know in advance the signs of a genuine dialogue.’ Since it is in order to leam that critics wish to distinguish the genuine from the spurious, one might further aporize with Euthydemus whether the understanding or ignorant critic athetizes a dialogue (cf. 275d3-4). Assigning dialogues to developmental periods is analogous: an early dialogue was not authored by the mature Plato, but by someone else instead, the early Plato. One can object to such characterizations as sophistical, since any chronology is but a hypothesis to be tested for adequacy. This is so, and the better hypothesis explains more phenomena. But one counter-example should destroy it, and, significantly, as the Euthydemus appears to be such a counterexample, Platonic chronologies have long had to avoid it or to explain it away.’

The authenticity of the Euthydemus was challenged seriously only three times during the XIXth century. Ast’s (1816) and Schaarschmidt’s (1866) rejections figured in general accounts doubting extensive parts of the Corpus Platonicum. Their criticisms of the Euthydemus were answered most notably by Bonitz ([1976] 1886). In 1897, Lueddecke devoted a study to the Euthydemus in particular,

concluding that it was written in the year 342 B.C. by an Aristotelian who excerpted various genuine Platonic and Aristotelian writings in order to support Aristotle in a ‘ feud with Isocrates. His conclusions were dismissed, and no one has ventured seriously to question the dialogue’s authenticity since. Yet in many key respects

Lueddecke’s

remains

the sole

account

of the Euthydemus

explaining

all

the

phenomena consistently with the usual genetic approach.f If the Euthydemus is to be other dialogues become for most allusions to other passages in the opposite extreme: the early C. Ritter

Plato’s, its similarities modern interpreters genuine corpus. This found it unimaginable

and dissimilarities with authorial references or assumption yielded an that Plato could write a

dialogue of its tone after Socrates’ trial and execution; hence the Euthydemus (with the

Cratylus

and

Protagoras)

must

antedate

399.”

Lueddecke’s

and

Ritter’s

accounts establish limits within which to ponder: the Euthydemus might have been written before the death of Socrates or as late as after the death of Plato.

Most

XIXth century students looked rather toward 400, wondering where to place it within an early grouping. Disagreed whether its allusions to other dialogues pointed backward or forward, they had it both preceding and following dialogues like the Protagoras and the Meno. Others favored other affinities, placing it in a 4 “[T]he atheteses ultimately rest on the belief that we know what Plato taught or thought or what he could possibly have written or that we have exhausted his possibilities.” (Strauss [1964], 55) 5 See Shorey (1903), 53-55 and id. (1933), 163 with 520. 6 Lueddecke (1897). See Natorp’s review (1900), 1060-62; cf. Ritter (1923), 258n1. 7 Ritter (1888), 126f. Ritter was following Tennemann, Stallbaum, and Steinhart. 8 So, e.g., Schleiermacher (M->E) vs. Hermann (E->M), and Stallbaum (1828) (P->E) vs. Gast

22

The Euthydemus and the Dating of Plato's Dialogues

transitional “early-middle” category created for the purpose, or solidly within a middle

period,

or

even

following

such

dialogues

as

the

Phaedrus,

Phaedo,

Symposium, and Republic.? The XIXth century generally followed Schleiermacher’s view that the Republic, Timaeus, and Critias were a culmination coming toward the end of Plato’s life, and that even such dialogues as the Parmenides et al. had been written before

this presumably late group. When Lutoslawski in 1897 argued for dating these after the Republic, his conclusions were resisted by some, including Paul Natorp, who had recently held that an early Phaedrus following closely upon the Meno and Gorgias posed a dialectical task of establishing a theory of knowledge then taken up in the Theaetetus, the polemical strain of which was continued in the Euthydemus and Cratylus. Only once he was done with this task, Plato could move to the scientific theory of ideas of the Phaedo and Symposium, thus setting the stage for the

Republic.!° Lutoslawski’s conclusions were quite inconvenient for Natorp. The last major effort to date the dialogues on the traditional model had been by Pfleiderer (1896), who started from A. Krohn’s radical thesis that a stratified Republic was the only genuine dialogue and that Plato had taken his entire life to compose it.

But Pfleiderer more moderately sought to rehabilitate other dialogues

by assigning them to various periods during Plato’s life-long labors on the Republic-hence he was able to explain not only certain affinities with some passages in the Republic, but also passages in the remaining dialogues suggesting that they must have preceded or followed other dialogues or parts of the Republic. The Euthydemus he placed between the Sophist and the Politicus on the ground that its logical concerns pointed back to the former while its reference to a kingly art anticipated the latter, Plato wrote all these dialogues during a transitional “middlelate” period in which he was formulating the doctrine of a philosophical rule

founded upon a dialectical education eventually made central in the Republic." XIXth century stories of Plato’s development thus had the Euthydemus all over the map, on account of its many passages resembling matters found in other dialogues of every supposed period. The various conjectures have often been reclaimed during the present century, if often with insufficient recognition of their motivating assumptions.!? In 1923, Ritter could still say that the main question for (1901) (E->P). 9 As early-middle transitional:

Susemihl, Amim, Wilamowitz and the later C. Ritter; but sometimes

after the Cratylus (Munk). As later than supposedly mature dialogues: Spengel (Phdr.->E), Ueberweg (Phd.->E), Siebeck (Symp.->E), and Gomperz (Rep.->E). 10 Natorp [1903] (1921), 90£.,119, 122f., and 129. For an account of Natorp’s work in a series of articles leading up to the treatment in his book, see Brandwood (1990), 136-152. 1 Pfleiderer (1896), 276, 333n1, 339n, 485-88, and 523; cf. Peipers (1883), 487f.

'2 The controversy

over Euthydemus’ relation to the Meno

recurred between

Steinhart and

Susemihl, and again Amim and Wilamowitz. Cf. Soreth (1955), 377-79. The idea that it falls in an early-middle transitional group was resuscitated by Vlastos. More recently, Thesleff

Hayden Weir Ausland

23

scholars concerning the Euthydemus had been its dating.!? But by then the problem was being pursued in rather different ways. For a long time a primarily historical discussion was colored by the notion that the dialogues were polemical tracts in various feuds in which Plato found himself with his opponents. The idea surfaces in Schleiermacher, but becomes characteristic of chronological speculation only with Spengel’s 1855 work on the relation between Isocrates and Plato. Influential into the XXth century, it facilitated a transition between the earlier historical! method and the newer “stylometry”. Isocrates must be the nameless “someone” referred to at the

end of the Euthydemus,

and, since we can apparently date his works, we

can

reconstruct the course of his quarrel with Plato so as to place the dialogue within

more verifiable termini.!4 Two related questions attend this approach.

particular who is meant?

First, is it in fact Isocrates in

By 1835, alternatives included Lysias, Thrasymachus, and

Theodorus as well as someone otherwise unknown, like Callicles. But Socher had already suggested that a type was meant, rather than any individual, and others now proposed that, if an individual was pointed to, it was only as a perfect instance of the type." The ambiguity invites a second question: is the supposed feud real, or is it perhaps a fiction? One may compare the hypothetical rivalry of the poets Pindar and Bacchylides over such questions as the teachability of wisdom, which was treated as a fact for decades before it was revealed to be but one of many conventional elements constituting virtually the entirety of these poets’ artistic materials.!® Much the same holds for rhetorico-philosophical discourse. Isocrates not only raises the question whether virtue is teachable in different works apparently dating from different periods of his life, but he in several places pauses to explain his re-appropriation of his own material for a new occasion. When these explanations are compared, they too stand revealed as a set rhetorical move varied for various

occasions.!7

The same goes for criticism of opponents: the ancients recognized a

continuity of the philosophical with the poetic tradition in this respect.!®

Much that

seems to be a doctrinal or personal matter can therefore better be regarded as a puts it after the Phaedo and Symposium (but before the Lysis and Charmides) while several of Ledger’s variables would locate it after the Parmenides and Theaetetus, though before the Republic.

For an overview of the variety, see Thesleffs tables, 8-17.

13 See note (6) above. 14 Spengel (1855), 729-69.

More generally, see Teichmueller (1881-84).

The introduction to

Gifford’s 1905 edition of the Euthydemus shows the influence of this approach on its interpretation at the century's tum. For its later renewal, see Ries (1959) (35-46 on the Euthydemus). It was by this route that an interest in Plato’s avoidance of hiatus in certain passages of his writings came into consideration. See Blass [1874] (1892), 28-41, 140-44 and 456-75; cf. id. (1903), 52-66.

15 See Funkenhaenel (1835), 102-3, 824-8, 16 See Bundy [1962] (1986), 1-4 and 35f, [1936)] (1968), 289-311.

For an account taking the rivalry literally, see Davidson

17 Cf. To Nicocles 121. with Antidosis 209-14, then Antidosis 74 with Sixth Letter 7. 18 See Diogenes Laertius 2.46.

24

The Euthydemus and the Dating of Plato's Dialogues

literary device.

We

will briefly

consider

three such

elements

found

in the

Euthydemus that are usually regarded as references to Platonic doctrines, taking one

for each of the three conventional periods of Plato’s supposed development. (a) The Euthydemus

dismisses

from consideration the question of the

teachability of virtue (282c). From a developmental perspective, this produces an ambiguity: Does the Euthydemus here presuppose the teaching of the Meno, or

rather reserve a question for it?!? But rhetorically, the idea is raised only inorder to cast something else in a certain light.

That it is a topos can be seen from the way

Socrates is made to refer it to Theognis in the Profagoras, and from its numerous other occurences in such writers as Isocrates, Xenophon, and. Plutarch. In Dissoi Logoi (VI) the thesis that virtue cannot be taught is introduced as “ἃ certain logos neither true nor new”. A series of arguments (some found in Plato and some not) is refuted, with the conclusion that “I do not say that wisdom and virtue are teachable,

but that these proofs do not satisfy me.” The topos is quite flexible, occuring even more widely as the trilemma with which the Meno begins.”° It is not a Platonic doctrine. (Ὁ) A “kingly art” reminiscent of Plato’s political dialogues likewise surfaces (291c). The connection is problematic only because these dialogues are supposed to be the results of his reconsiderations of his own views during his middle and later years, respectively. But Xenophon too uses this presumably Socratic move, as do Isocrates and several other writers.2! There is probably no doctrine at all, but rather a thematic element of a kind common to rhetoric and philosophy: a

technical or philosophical kingship is a paradox not unlike the associated teaching of a community

of women--a

theme

whose

unaccountably

earlier presence

in old

comedy has long puzzled students of Plato. (c) Some sophistical games played in the Euthydemus resemble apparently

serious metaphysical points developed in the Cratylus, Parmenides, Theaetetus, and Sophist2? Building on Shorey and on careful observations of A. L. Peck, Sprague has shown: (i) that arguments against the possibility of false statement found in the Euthydemus and Theaetetus-Sophist alike presuppose the same understanding of the problem involved; (ii) that the “Eleatic” arguments in the Parmenides against Plato’s

supposed theory of forms occur with equal self-consciousness in the Euthydemus; and (iii) that fallacies of equivocation such as the one at Euthydemus 283b-e are not 19 This has throughout governed the controversy about the Euthydemus’ relation to the Meno; see notes (8) and (12) above. For the subtler art of determining whether an allusion in the Euthydemus to another dialogue points forward or backward, see Schleiermacher, Bonitz, and also Horn (1893), 179-86.

20 On the topical character of which see Shorey

(1909), 185-201 (incip.: “. . . the history of

commonplaces must be written, if only to prevent us from mistaking a commonplace for a new and epoch-making thought”).

2! Cf. Shorey (1933), 521 on 291b. 22 See op. cit., 520-22 on 284bc, 285d, 286bc, and 301b.

Hayden Weir Ausland

25

only set out in Aristotle’s SE, but occur also in the Dissoi Logoi.”? These observations help us place Plato’s dialectical practice in its historical context. The Dissoi Logoi were likely composed before the death of Socrates, ca.

400 B.C., while the Sophistici Elenchi will date from after Plato’s death. NonPlatonic instances of the dialectical moves common to the Euthydemus and to “later” dialogues

thus occupy

employing

such moves,

a temporal

range like that delimited earlier.

therefore, we are probably not viewing

In passages

evidence of a

philosophical development, but rather various applications of conventional dialectical fopoi differentiated for the sake of differing literary occasions. Arguments against the forms thus figure rather like the opsimathes of the Cratylus and Sophist.”* This type is another feature of Plato’s supposedly later dialogues that

appears in the Euthydemus, but is also found as early as Aristophanes’ Clouds (in the person of Strepsiades) and as late as Theophrastus’ Characters. Theophrastus’ characterological treatment bears a relation to Aristophanes’ comic and Plato’s dialogical uses of the type analogous to that of Aristotle’s systematic classification of fallacies in the SE to their earlier appearances in the Dissoi Logoi and in Plato. Neither is an appropriate criterion for dating a given dialogue, and it seems likely

that much the same must hold true a fortiori for virtually everything found in the Euthydemus. And the Euthydemus has been called a compendium of the principal Platonic doctrines. What of “stylometry”? Lutoslawski’s science determined much of the character of the middle period of attempts to date the dialogues sequentially. The approach is still with us. If one allows Campbell’s observation that several dialogues previously thought to be relatively early show interesting stylistic

affinities with the Laws, then there remains the question how best to interpret this phenomenon. Usually, it has been held to indicate that these dialogues were written just prior to Laws in a series roughly in accordance with the degrees of affinity they exhibit with this supposedly final work. Influenced in part by the approach of Friedlaender, and in part by developments in continental hermeneutics, several writers ventured as early as ‘mid-century to question this consensus (Shorey was sui generis), with the result that a critical view of the tradition has lately become acceptable. Recently, computer-assisted attempts to order the dialogues highlight the way this entire approach can never free us from prejudices built into a given

selection or treatment of data.?? 2 See Sprague

(1962), 25f.; id. (1967), 91-98;

24 See Shorey (1903) 54f.

and id. (1968b), 1606. Cf. Mohr

(1984), 296-300,

25 There is an illustrative parallel in Aeschylus. The seemingly irreverent Prometheus Bound consequently been sifted for evidence of inauthenticity while the more pious Supplices long assumed early on stylistic grounds. The latter assumption was suddenly upset by discovery of a papyrus in 1953, but the awkward news was accommodated without a reconsideration of general assumptions it should have utterly demolished. The equivalent Platonic scholars would be suddenly to discover new material evidence decisively placing

has was the full for the

26

The Euthydemus and the Dating of Plato's Dialogues

The Euthydemus can be appreciated best on the basis of wholly new assumptions,?° It was in this spirit that Friedlaender began his career by reclaiming

the Alcibiades I, athetized since Schleiermacher. Stylometry is no alchemical philosopher’s stone. It can no more close the dialogues to a genuine Jearner than magically

unlock

their mysteries

to one wishing

to save himself the trouble of

learning. It is but one further medium in which to contemplate Plato’s incredible versatility. Let us admit that no one would ever have tried to athetize dialogues on stylistic grounds had it not been felt that they were somehow un-Platonic in their

substance.

Likewise with attempts at dating the others: Schleiermacher had already

included and ordered the dialogues according to a specific dialectical scheme of his own, and Campbell introduced what became stylometry in the service of a certain story he wanted to tell about Plato’s life.” His tale is in certain respects similar to the one already current in Germany. But, whereas German scholars classically saw Plato as a mixture of an idealistic “Entwicklung des Geistes” and a romantic growth from Jugend, through Wanderjahre, to Meisterschaft, British writers saw him as a

complicated aristocrat whose gentlemanly temperament eventually rescued him from the more extravagant temptations of middle age. The Euthydemus has been hard to fit into either picture.

It at least suggests that it is time for a new fiction, but perhaps

even more that it is high time to be leaving aside all attempts to second-guess Plato instead of reading his dialogues for what they are. Some of this work has already begun,?® but, in pursuing

this route, one must eschew

the compromise

of the late-

learner who seeks to preserve the old ways with the new by combining a now literary Plato with the developing doctrinal philosopher. If the old account is the way of not-being, a moderate unitarianism is at best a way of seeming.

University of Montana

Apology of Socrates rather late in Plato’s middle period. This discovery will probably never occur, and for this very reason the response of Aeschylean scholars is interesting. Conversely, one has to wonder whether, if another such find showed

the Prometheus

authentic, someone

would postulate an honest record of self-doubt, during which Aeschylus questioned the justice of Zeus. 26 See Strauss (1970), 20; Szlezäk (1980), 87f. 27 See Campbell (1867), ii-iv and cf. id. (1889), 1-28 (esp. 1-7 and 20-25) and (1896), 129-36 [German version (1898), 17-34) (esp. 130f. and 132)].

28 Some steps in Thesleff (1982) and (1989), 1-26. But see further Howland (1991), 189-215.

Warum heisst Platons Euthydemos Euthydemos? Annette Hüffmeier Jedes Kind braucht einen Namen - das ist mit einem literarischen Werk, das soeben

das Licht der Welt erblickt hat, nicht anders als mit einem neugeborenen Baby; und ähnlich, wie es lange Zeit nicht nur bei uns gang und gabe war, einen kleinen Jungen nach seinem Vater oder seinem Großvater zu nennen, hat auch Platons Dialog Euthydemos seinen Namen nach dem Mann erhalten, von dem man im Verlauf von Sokrates’ Erzählung den Eindruck gewinnen muß, daß er im besten Großvateralter (cf. Plat. Euthyd. 272B9) alles darauf anlegt, noch einmal Vater zu werden, und zwar der geistige Ziehvater von Kleinias, dem jüngsten, gerade auf der Schwelle zum Erwachsenwerden stehenden Mitwirkenden in diesem Drama. Auch die Tatsache, daß der Platonische Euthydemos erst mit seinem Zweittitel ’Epiorixög! seinen

eigentlich charakteristischen, im Gegensatz zur Person eines Sophisten nicht so einfach austauschbaren Gegenstand bezeichnet, ist durchaus nichts Ungewöhnliches: Bei drei Viertel aller Platonischen Dialoge ist Vergleichbares zu konstatieren,? wie wir auch bei Diogenes

Laertios

3,57 erfahren können:

διπλαῖς

τε χρῆται

ταῖς

ἐπιγραφαῖς καθ᾽ ἑκάστου τῶν βιβλίων, τῇ μὲν ἀπὸ τοῦ ὀνόματος, τῇ δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ πράγματος. Ausgangspunkt meiner Überlegungen, ausgerechnet diesen offensichtlich doch unspektakulären Titel Euthydemos in Frage zu stellen, war Folgendes:

a) die Beobachtung, daß, je weiter Platons namengebende Sophist Euthydemos zwar

Dialog voranschreitet,

so

der

* einerseits immer häufiger allein - also nicht mehr wie im ersten

' Diog. Laert. 3,59. — Er ist sicher als Personenbezeichnung und nicht als Etikett für den Dialog gemeint (ef. Dôrrie & Baltes [1990], 339).

2 Cf. Hoerber (1957), LOF.

28

Annette Hiiffmeier

Teil gemeinsam mit seinem Bruder und Kampfgefährten Dionysodoros - erwähnt? oder als Gesprächspartner gesucht wird, ohne selbst unmittelbar zuvor am

Schlagabtausch beteiligt gewesen zu sein -' dies würde die Verwendung

seines

Namens als Dialogtitel rechtfertigen -, aber

* andererseits immer öfter nicht mehr dazu kommt,

eine an ihn

gerichtete Anfrage auch zu beantworten, weil sein Bruder Dionysodoros ungefragt offensichtlich schneller reagiert - dies würde eher dagegensprechen -, und

ı

b) die Überzeugung, daß, ginge es nach Äußerungen wie (i) “What about Euthydemus himself, for whom this dialogue is titled, and his brother Dionysodorus? [... W]ho are these two clowns, whom the learned world seems to ignore [...]? In the pages that follow, we shall gain a close familarity with this two-headed antithesis to the genuine philosopher [...], [... with] our Tweedledum and Tweedledee [...]”° und insbesondere (ii)

“Es

fällt auf,

daß Sokrates

Dialoges nicht als einzelne Personen

die

vorstellt, sondern

beiden

Protagonisten

des

sie nur als Paar beschreibt,

was durch die Verwendung von Dualformen noch besonders unterstrichen wird.”,’ Platons Euthydemos

konsequenterweise

entweder Euthydemos

und Dionysodoros

oder -- da Dionysodoros als der ältere der beiden Brüder beschrieben wird (Plat. Euthyd. 283A5) — vielleicht sogar Dionysodoros und Euthydemos oder die Eristiker heißen müßte. Nun

hat

aber

kein

Platonischer

Dialog

seinen

Namen

gleichzeitig

von

zwei

sokratischen Gesprächspartnern bezogen,? obwohl sich das unter Umständen auch in

anderen Fällen angeboten hätte;? also war eine Entscheidung für einen der beiden Sophisten wohl unumgänglich, sollte nicht auf eine der anderen am Gespräch beteiligten oder in ihm angesprochenen Personen zurückgegriffen!? oder ein eher thematisch ausgerichteter Titel gewählt werden. Doch selbst wenn man Euthydemos 3 Cf. etwa Plat. Euthyd. 293A7 oder 304B5, letzteres besonders vor dem Hintergrund von 276B6-C1 und DIE

4 Cf. z.B. Plat. Euthyd, 299E3 oder 302E6.

3 Cf. etwa Plat. Euthyd. 297A9-B3 oder 300A6-B2, C6-D2. 6 Chance (1992), 2. 192 u.ö.; cf. auch Szlezäk (1980), 81 mit n. 10. 7 Erler (1987), 213 mit einigen Beispielen ibid. n. 4.

In gewissem Sinne eine Ausnahme macht hier nur der Ps.Platonische Eryxias oder Erasistratos (Diog. Laert. 3,62).

9 Etwa im Laches (cf. Schneider [1922], 4£.) und evtl. auch im Lysis. 10 Sokrates und Kriton schieden aus, da offenbar grundsätzlich kein einziger Dialog nach ersterem, nach

letzterem aber bereits einer hieß. Kleinias steht zwar formal im Mittelpunkt des um Protreptik ringenden Dialoges, wie es auch durch die räumliche Darstellung in starkem Maße suggeriert wird (cf. auch Friedlander [1964], I 170f.), jedoch tibemimmt sein Liebhaber Ktesippos schon recht bald seine Gesprächsanteile, und ab 290E1 kommt er gar nicht mehr zu Wort. An Ktesippos selbst besticht zwar die unglaubliche Schnelligkeit, mit der er den beiden Sophisten all ihre eristischen Finessen abschaut, doch muß er als Nachahmer der “Originale” notwendigerweise immer hinter

ihnen zurückbleiben, so daf er ebenso wie sein Geliebter zum Titelhelden nicht geeignet ist.

Warum heisst Platons Euthydemos Euthydemos?

29

und Dionysodoros - so die übliche Reihenfolge ihrer Benennung (s.u.) -- mit Hirzel (1895) 210 aufgrund ihrer Rollengleichheit als dramaturgisch gesehen “e ine Person” auffaBt,!! steht damit deren Name eigentlich noch nicht so automatisch fest, wie es bei Sprague (1972) 295 (cf. 294) in ihrer Sammlung der Quellen zu Euthydemos den Anschein hat: “[..] I have made no special attempt to distinguish

Dionysodorus from his brother. These Heavenly Twins seem to have spoken with a single voice [...]”. Daß Platon es nun aber bei allen unübersehbaren Parallelen zwischen den beiden

sophistischen

Brüdern

durchaus

darauf angelegt

hat,

seinen

LeserInnen

etwas

Differenzierteres als zum Verwechseln ähnliche siamesische Zwillinge vorzuführen, und hierbei ganz und gar nicht zufällig oder gedankenlos Euthydemos und - trotz seines ihn eigentlich dafür pràdestinierenden höheren Alters (s.0.) und des deutlich größeren Umfangs seiner Gesprächsbeiträgel? - nicht Dionysodoros mit der Titelpartie betraute, ist m.E. durch folgende Punkte zu belegen:

1. Einzig und allein Euthydemos gehört vom allerersten Wort des Dialogs an (τίς [Plat. Euthyd. 271A1]) unsere ungeteilte Aufmerksamkeit. Wie sich nämlich, kaum daß Kriton den Mund aufmacht, herausstellt, ist Euthydemos der Grund dafür, daß es überhaupt zum Dialog zwischen Kriton und Sokrates kommt.'* ‘Über die Existenz des Dionysodoros hingegen werden wir erst nachträglich und aufgrund von Kritons hartnäckiger Ignoranz - so hat er den Eindruck, als habe Sokrates überhaupt nur mit einem Fremden gesprochen (ibid. 271A1-5),' und nimmt auch Sokrates’ Hinweis, es seien vielmehr zwei Männer gewesen (271A6f),

höchstens halb zur Kenntnis (cf. 271A8-B5) -!6 nur ganz allmählich aufgeklärt. Die unterschiedliche Wertigkeit der beiden zunächst anonymen Sophisten gipfelt schließlich darin, daß der Name des Euthydemos vor dem des Dionysodoros fällt

(271B6-8). 11 Cf. Canto (1989), 26. 12 Insgesamt etwa ein Fünftel mehr - betrachtet man allerdings die Verteilung der “eristic arguments”, wie sie etwa bei Chance (1992), 213f. zu finden ist, ist der Unterschied noch um einiges auffälliger: Die

Erôrterung der insgesamt 21, in drei Fällen von unserem Brüderpaar gemeinsam verfochtenen Sophismen auf fast 18 Seiten geht zu mehr als 50 Prozent (14 Sophismen auf knapp 10 Seiten) von Dionysodoros und nur zu gut 30 Prozent (9 Sophismen auf etwas mehr als 7 Seiten) von Euthydemos aus. 13 Und das auch fast bis zum allerletzten Wort des Dialogs, schildert Kriton doch in seiner Schlußklage sein Erschrecken darüber, daß er, kaum daß er τινα [...] τῶν φασκόντων ἃν παιδεῦσαι ἀνθρώπους (306E3f) gesehen hat (s.u.), schon dessen befremdliches Wesen konstatieren muß —

nicht nur Gigon (1960) XCVII denkt hier sofort an Euthydemos. 14 Ähnlich Strauss (1970), 1, der mit Kriton als dem Auslöser des Gesprächs aber etwas zu kurz denkt,

15 C£ auch μετέχει δὲ καὶ οὗτος τῶν λόγων, ausgesagt von Dionysodoros 271B8. 16 Jedenfalls tut Kriton 293A7 wiederum so, als komme trotz Sokrates’ Hilferuf an beide Sophisten (293A1f) von vornherein nur Euthydemos als Retter in Frage (ähnlich 290E4-6, wo Sokrates jedoch

im Gegensatz zur späteren Stelle noch durch die Einfügung von Dionysodoros’ Namen [29] A2f] den älteren Bruder zu seinem Recht kommen läßt).

30

Annette Hiiffmeier

2.

Gleichzeitig

hat

dieses

wohlüberlegte

und

sorgfältig

inszenierte

Vorgehen Platons noch ein Zweites zur Folge, wie auch Friedlander (1964) II 168

erkannt hat: “Die gefährlichen Eristiker sind ein Paar, und daß an dieser Zweizahl viel liegt, geht gleich zu Anfang aus dem Irrtum des Kriton hervor, der nur einen

geschen zu haben meint. Denn der Schriftsteller läßt seine Dialogperson diesen Irrtum begehen, damit die Berichtigung - nicht einer sondern zwei waren es - um so

stärker die Aufmerksamkeit an sich ziehe.Es ist ja die Zweiheit notwendig, weil sie sich wie Taschenspieler in die Hände arbeiten, während der wahre Lehrer einer ist

wie die Wahrheit eine.”!” 3. Daß

nicht

aber

mit

Kriton der Ansicht ist, Sokrates habe sich nur mit Euthydemos,

Dionysodoros

unterhalten,

ist

auf

wenigstens

drei

Gründe

zurückzuführen:

Kleinias

sowie

a) Ab 273C2 verhindern Ktesippos und die übrigen Liebhaber des die Anhängerschaft der beiden Sophisten durch ihren

Positionswechsel nicht nur, daß Kriton das Zuhören so gut wie unmöglich gemacht wird (s. 271A2f; 304D8f), sondern versperren ihm zudem noch so die Sicht, daß er Euthydemos nur mit Mühe (s. 271A3f), Dionysodoros anscheinend jedoch gar nicht sehen kann. b) Kriton kann nicht von Anfang an am Schauplatz des Geschehens gewesen sein (cf. 271A2ff), da er sonst über die Identität der Sophisten und ihr paarweises Auftreten hätte informiert sein müssen (cf. aber 271B9f) schließlich hatten Euthydemos und Dionysodoros den Auskleideraum des Lykeion gemeinsam betreten (273A1f) und waren von Sokrates auch als zusammengehörig im Dual vorgestellt worden (273C2-9 bzw. E2-5). Also spricht alles dafür, daß

Kriton (i) erst zu Beginn des dritten und letzten eristischen Schlagabtausches dazukommt, als Euthydemos sich gerade zum ersten und einzigen

17 In eine ähnliche Richtung geht Chance (1992), 178 n. 113: “It has not gone unnoticed that the antinomy between sameness and difference is one of the best devices (hat eristic has for generating controversy [...]. But it has not been appreciated how brilliantly Plato has satirized this very antinomy by employing it in his dramatic portrayal of the brothers themselves. Are they one or two?

We might feel an inclination to say that the Tweedle-pair are so much alike that it doesn’t matter which of the two performs the lead role in the questioning; that, in short, the two are the same [...], or what geometers call ‘enantiomorphs’, mirror-image forms of each other. As such, Dionysodorus does not differ from Euthydemus, and so any merely apparent differences between the two may be swept aside. And yet Plato has left a word here, a word there, to indicate that the one [...] is different from the other [...]. After all, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus are not one but two (271 A 6-7), and

besides, they have different names. So are the brothers the same or different? Neither and both.” - Im Zuge der Diskussion dieses Vortrages steuerte Rosamond K. Sprague dankenswerterweise den Hinweis bei, daB es bei den beiden Brüdem - anders als bei dem einen Sokrates - immer ein “entweder - oder” geben kann, Thomas A. Sziezäk erinnerte an den platonisch-pythagoreisch

Gegensatz von ἕν und δυάς und daran, daß in keinem anderen Platonischen Dialog zwei Personen / Brüder als so eng zusammenwirkend dargestellt werden.

Warum heisst Platons Euthydemos Euthydemos?

31

Mal und außerdem in beispielloser Ausführlichkeit mit Sokrates an der Verifizierung zweier Sophismen mißt (293B1-E1 und 295A10-296D4),'8 und (ii) anschlieBend, weil er aus akustischen Gründen der Auseinandersetzung ohnehin nur schlecht folgen kann (s.o.), in der Nähe auf und ab

geht (cf. 304D4f) und deshalb den besonders gegen Ende quantitativ sehr großen Anteil des Dionysodoros am Streitgespräch nicht mitbekommt. c) Nach kurzer Unschlüssigkeit (273B3-5) sucht sich Euthydemos

- und nicht der namentlich hier dann gar nicht mehr genannte Dionysodoros -!? den für ihr Vorhaben besten Platz aus (273B6f); d.h., er rahmt zusammen mit Sokrates das “corpus vile”?° ihrer bald einsetzenden, einander abwechselnden Bemühungen ein (271A8f; 273B6f, 274C1), während Dionysodoros — schon etwas weiter entfernt vom zentral plazierten Kleinias, der alle Blicke auf sich zieht (s.o.) — auf Sokrates’ anderer, der traditionell eher negativ behafteten linken Seite sitzt (271B6-8; 273B7;

cf. 297C6).?! 4. Euthydemos

wird zunächst bei der gleichzeitigen Erwähnung

beider

Sophisten immer als erster angeführt; andersherum verlaufen überhaupt nur 5 von

insgesamt 16 namentlichen Nennungen des Briiderpaars.?? Diese Doppelbezeichnungen wiederum befinden sich bis auf 2 Ausnahmen alle im Bereich zwischen 271B und 293E, also vor dem Höhepunkt der eristischen Darbietung, im Zuge dessen jeder der beiden Sophisten vom stark auftrumpfenden Ktesippos ja denn auch einzeln vorgeführt wird. 5. Nachdem sie sich wiederum - diesmal mit Blicken - kurz verständigt haben, ergreift wie bei der Platzwahl (s.o.) erneut Euthydemos und nicht Dionysodoros die Initiative und als erster der beiden Brüder überhaupt das Wort (273D2-4), wobei er ausschließlich im Dual, d.h. für Dionysodoros mit spricht, und gibt es dann bis zur ersten gemeinsamen eristischen Vorstellung drei Seiten später nur noch zweimal an Dionysodoros ab.?? Demzufolge ist es natürlich Euthydemos, 18 Zum Stellenwert dieses Teils s.u. 19 Das fällt besonders auf, da die eigentliche Satzstruktur ὁ μὲν ... ὁ δὲ... durch das nur nachgeschobene Εὐθύδημος durchbrochen wird.

20 Hirzel (1895), 210. 2! Daß die Sophisten durch diese Sitzordnung in Wirklichkeit Kleinias und Sokrates zum Zentrum des Dialogs machen, indem sie sie von rechts und links flankieren, wie auch die drei Blöcke ihrer

eristischen

Spielereien

(275D2-277C7

/ 283B4-288B2

/ 293B1-303A9)

die beiden

emsthaften

protreptischen Versuche der zwei anderen Gesprächsteilnehmer (278E3-282D3 / 288D5-293A6) in die Zange nehmen (cf. Friedländer [1964], II 176), muß Kriton also entgehen. — Für Friedländer

(1964), I 1706 ist dieses “Raumbild” Ausdruck der “doppelte[n] Stimmführung unseres Werkes, in dem die Melodie des Erziehungsdialoges - von der Art des Lysis - und die des Kampfdialoges - von der Art des Protagoras - durcheinander geschlungen sind”.

22 271B6-8; 273A1f B3f. 6f, C3; 274A2; C6; D4; 276C1; 278C7; 282DS; 288A2f; 291A2F, 293E3f, 301E8f, 303C6f (cf. 297B10-D6). 23 Das bedeutet, daß ich - von 274B5, 7-C2, 7 in der Meinung bestärkt, daß 274A5 wie A10f aufgrund weiterhin von Euthydemos allein und nicht im Verein mit Dionysodoros gesprochen Burnet (1909), ad loc. Cobets Konjektur ([1876], 281) für unverzichtbar halte.

wird - wie

32

Annette Hüffmeier

der 273D8f als erster von beiden ihr gemeinsames Kônnen auf den Punkt bringt, für Dionysodoros bleibt 275A3 nur noch das Echo hiervon übrig. 6. Euthydemos a) eröffnet auch

(i) den ersten eristischen Teil (275D2-4)?4 und spieltin seinem Verlauf Dionysodoros zweimal den Ball zu (cf. 276C2f und bes. 277B3-5), so daß letzterer zum quasi nur reagierenden Teilhaber eines allerdings bestens aufeinander eingespielten Teams wird; (ii) den dritten (und letzten) eristischen Teil (293A7-B2) und wird an dessen Ende noch einmal allein mit Namen angeredet (302E6),?° ebenso wie am Ende der großen Schlußansprache des Sokrates an eigentlich beide Sophisten (304B3) und in der Erwiderung des Kriton (B8). Eine letzte Steigerung liegt schließlich in dem institutionalisierenden Ausdruck οἱ ἀμφὶ Ἐῤθύδημον

(305D6f),76 so daß dieses geballt-einseitige Schluß-“Euthydemos” allen LeserInnen präsenter bleiben muß als ein “Dionysodoros”, zumal der jüngere Bruder schon vorher häufig ohne den älteren oder stellvertretend für beide Erwähnung gefunden hatte (s.o.).?” Selbstverständlich kann man dies auch als bloße Nachlässigkeit

betrachten, vor allem in einem Fall wie 302B3-5 (Erinnerung an den anfänglichen Jubel der Anhänger des Euthydemos), der klar den früheren Stellen 275B7f und DIf (Beschreibung des Jubels der Anhänger beider Männer) widerspricht und bei dem in Gedanken Dionysodoros unbedingt ergänzt werden muß, aber auffällig ist eben wieder, daß Euthydemos der genannte, Dionysodoros dagegen der ausgelassene Sophist ist; b) zeichnet im zweiten eristischen Teil für das nach Chance (1992) 107 (cf. 110) “main piece of their wisdom” verantwortlich, nämlich für die Diskussion “On the impossibility of falsehood (283E1-284C8)” (ibid. 213). Damit

steht

endgültig

fest,

daß

Euthydemos

für die

wesentlich entscheidender ist als Dionysodoros,

Dramaturgie

des

Dialogs

Dieser Eindruck wird bestätigt

durch die wohlgeordnete Reihenfolge seiner Gesprächspartner; denn im Gegenteil zu Dionysodoros, der von einem zum anderen und wieder zurück springt, steigt 24 Das

von

Sokrates

wie

beiläufig

eingeschobene

ὡς

ἐγῷμαι

(275D3)

macht

dies

nur

noch

offensichtlicher. 25 Hawtrey (1981), 184 ad loc. ist offenbar der einzige, der sich hieran gestoßen hat: “there seems no clear reason why Euthydemus who has not spoken since 300c should be addressed here; perhaps Socrates is putting into practice his τελευτᾶν δ᾽ εἰς Εὐθύδημον τόνδε of 301¢9.” Rufener (1960), 322 dagegen läßt die Anrede in seiner Übersetzung einfach kommentarlos weg.

26 Cf. hierzu Canto (1989), 204 n. 130. 27 Deshalb und aufgrund des Kontextes (= süffisante Frage Kritons an Dionysodoros nach der Anzahl nicht der eigenen, sondern der Zähne des Euthydemos und umgekehrt: 294C4f) halle ich es auch nicht für abwegig, wie Stallbaum (1836), 161 mit n. ad loc. (294D4) ἥκεις in ἥκει zu ändern, statt wie Burnet (1909), ad loc. (294D8) oder Méridier (1956), 178 mit n. ad loc. Hermann (1885), XI ad

loc. zu folgen und τὸν Εὐθύδημον zu tilgen (cf. auch Hawtrey [1981], 147 ad loc.).

Warum heisst Platons Euthydemos Euthydemos?

33

Euthydemos von Kleinias im ersten tiber Ktesippos im zweiten zu Sokrates im dritten eristischen Teil auf (s.0.), so daß es aussieht, als laufe alles auf die Auseinandersetzung der beiden absoluten Meister ihres Fachs, des Eristikers und des

Dialektikers par excellence, hinaus, nachdem ihre jeweilige Vorhut verheizt zu sein scheint. 7. a) Euthydemos’ jüngeres Alter (s.o.) könnte angesichts des insgesamt schon eher vorgerückten Alters des Brüderpaars (Plat. Euthyd. 272B8-11) durchaus auch als Vorteil gewertet werden, wenn man beispielsweise bedenkt, wie gespannt Sokrates die Rede des älteren Dionysodoros als der eines entsprechend Weisen erwartet (283A5-B3) und wie enttäuschend dann die zunehmend umso kindischer wirkende Realität ausfällt.28 b) Ähnlich gelagert ist vielleicht die Frage der Schnelligkeit; denn obwohl der ältere Sophist immer auf der Überholspur ist, wenn es darum geht, eine drohende Niederlage abzuwenden (z.B. 284E5f; 287B2-5; 297A3; 300DIf) oder eine Scharte auszuwetzen (z.B. 297Bf; 299C8-D2; 300E3f), ist Zurückhaltung im

richtigen Moment doch offenbar die empfehlenswertere Verhaltensweise angesichts aufs Ganze gesehen voreiliger Siegesprognosen (275E3-6; 276D9-E2) Anzahl von Niederlagen aufgrund vorschneller Antworten (s.0.)

und einer So wird

Euthydemos, der durchaus auch einmal eine Situation schneller als sein Bruder zu erfassen und zu nutzen versteht (etwa 276D4ff), 297A5-8 als der in der gemeinsamen Niederlage noch Uberlegene vorgeführt, der den Älteren für sein unbedachtes Eingreifen tadeln muß, ohne daß der sich dagegen in irgendeiner Weise verwahrt -- ihm bleibt nur noch das Erröten, die Steigerungsform des an und für sich

für einen Eristiker sicher schon katastrophalen Verstummens. Aus alledem folgt: Euthydemos verhält sich eristisch geschickter;?? d.h., er ist zum einen der geeignetere Gesprächspartner und Lehrer für jeden, der wie Sokrates in die eristische Schule gehen will. Zum anderen ist er der deutlichere Gegenpol zum Dialektiker Sokrates, da die Kluft zwischen ihnen um einiges größer ist als die zwischen Dionysodoros und Sokrates.?° Zudem ermöglicht vor allem Dionysodoros,

der 276E5

ungefragt

einen wesentlichen

Teil

ihrer Technik

preisgibt,?'

durch

zahlreiche Äußerungen, daß ihm und seinem Bruder in Ktesippos ein bedrohlicher

28 Cf. dazu

Strauss

(1970),

10. Chance

(1992)

setzt

132 und

165 Dionysodoros’

höheres

Alter

mit

geringerer Stärke und Scharfsinnigkeit gleich. 29 Das könnte sich an Stellen wie Diog. Laert. 3,52, Alkinoos/Albinos, Didask. 6 p.158,29-31 WhittakerLouis und Galen, In Hipp. Progn. 3,7 p. 332,11 Heeg (CMG V 9,2) niedergeschlagen haben. Bemerkenswert ist auch, daß er es im Gegensatz zu seinem Bruder in der Regel nicht nötig hat, zu Gegenfragen oder Polemik Zuflucht zu nehmen, um seinen Kopf zu retten (cf. Chance [1992], 156 u.6.). 30 Das zeigt schon die oben beschriebene Sitzordnung; cf. außerdem Dionysodoros’ siegesgewisses Geflüster in Sokrates' Ohr 275E3-6 und 276D9-E2. 31 Cf hierzu Chance (1992), 40fF.

34

Annette Hüffmeier

Gegenspieler heranwächst.?? 8. Euthydemos ist -- wiederum anders als Dionysodoros -a) in noch einem weiteren Platonischen Dialog (Krat. 386D3) als

sophistische Autorität unmittelbar nach Protagoras gesprächsweise präsent und b) auch sonst ausdrücklich als Sophist bekannt.79 Am anschaulichsten wird meine Einschätzung 297B10-D1 von Platon selbst vorgeführt und auf den Punkt gebracht: Sokrates vergleicht Euthydemos mit der sehr schwer zu bezwingenden Hydra, Dionysodoros dagegen nur mit dem erst später hinzugekommenen,

relativ

harmlos

zwickenden

Krebs

und

stellt

so

die

echte

Bedrohung eines jeden um die wahre Philosophie ringenden Menschen dem bloß lästigen Ärgernis gegenüber - Grund genug dafür, alle LeserInnen den Namen des

wirklich gefährlichen Eristikers, Euthydemos, gleich von Anfang an, d.h. bereits mit dem Titel des Dialogs, wissen zu lassen getreu der Devise: “Gefahr benannt / erkannt - Gefahr gebannt”.55 Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster

32 Cf. Chance (1992), 161. 33 Zu den Belegen cf. Keulen (1971), 7-9, zu dem allerdings Sext. Emp. Adv. math. 7,48 zu ergänzen ist, wo Dionysodoros ohne Euthydemos in einer Reihe mit u.a. Protagoras (cf. hierfür auch Plat. Euthyd. 286B8-C3) und Gorgias, also ebenfalls mit Sophisten, steht. Aber natürlich kann Sextos — wie andere Stellen auch — von Platon abhängig sein. - Daraus, daß Thomas H. Chance noch einmal betonte, daß Dionysodoros und Euthydemos mithin außerhalb Platons und der aus Platon schöpfenden Tradition nirgendwo als Brüder beschrieben werden, entwickelte Frederik Arends die Hypothese, daß Platon einfach eine Verdopplung des historischen Euthydemos vorgenommen habe,

um

deutlich zu machen,

wie wenig

dieser Sophist in seinen Augen

einem

“ordinary

eristic”

entsprach. 34 Oder auch das eristische Original seiner Karikatur, cf. Canto (1989), 27; ähnlich wertend Strauss (1970), 12 und Hawtrey (1981), 14. - Kurz zuvor hatte sich dies allerdings noch etwas anders

angehört, als Sokrates 296D6f (cf. 301 E8f) Euthydemos’ Bedeutung dadurch relativiert hatte, daß er ihn nur als gemeinsam mit seinem älteren Bruder für schlagkräftig erklärt hatte. Dies mag zwar umso

mehr

ironisch

gemeint

gewesen

sein,

als

sich

Dionysodoros

fast

umgehend

zu

einer

verhängnisvollen Einmischung hinreißen ließ, aber insgesamt gesehen ist diese Einordnung sicher richtig (s.o. und cf. etwa Chance [1992], 46. 155 u.ö.). Das würde auch eine detaillierte Analyse der

Gesprächsbeiträge beider Brüder ergeben, die Raum und Zeit an dieser Stelle allerdings nicht mehr erlauben. 35

Michael Bordt verdanke ich den Hinweis darauf, daß natürlich Dionysodoros der gegenüber Euthydemos kompliziertere und damit — gerade für einen Dialogtitel — weniger gefällige Name ist.

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques? Louis-André Dorion Il est généralement admis, aujourd’hui, que les personnages d’Euthydéme et de Dionysodore sont des Sophistes!. Qui plus est, ce seraient des Sophistes historiques, qui auraient bel et bien existé, et non pas seulement des personnages de fiction que Platon dépeint sous les traits de Sophistes. Cette opinion, qui est en voie de devenir une idée reçue, n’était pas, semble-t-il, celle de H. Diels, puisqu'il ne compte pas Euthydème et Dionysodore au nombre des Sophistes dont il rapporte les fragments. Pourquoi Diels les a-t-il exclus du nombre des Sophistes ? D’après Sprague, «the most likely explanation is that at the time of compiling the sophist section he accepted the prevailing view that many of Plato’s characters were really masks for his contemporaries, in this case for Antisthenes »2. A la différence de Diels, Sprague considère non seulement qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore sont des Sophistes historiques, mais qu’ils sont aussi des contemporains de Socrate*. Je suis 1 Ainsi, pour ne mentionner que quelques noms, Sprague (1972), 294-301, Kerferd (1981), 53-54, Narcy (1994) et Brisson (1997), 96 et 98 considèrent tous qu’Euthydéme et son frère Dionysodore sont des Sophistes. — A des fins de clarté, j’emploierai « Sophistes » (avec un 5 majuscule) pour désigner les professeurs ambulants de la première génération (comme Protagoras, Hippias, Prodicos, Gorgias, Antiphon et Thrasymaque) qui ont exercé à la fin du

V° siècle. 2 (1972), 294. Pour un relevé des allusions à Antisthène dans l’Euthydème, cf. SSR 1 H 11; Canto (1989),

56,

57 n, 150.

A

la fin du XIX°

siècle, plusieurs

historiens

étaient d’avis

que

les

, personnages d’Euthydéme et Dionysodore étaient fictifs. 3 Étant donné que Diels n’avait pas reconnu Euthydème et Dionysodore comme des Sophistes, Sprague (1972) les a renvoyés en annexe de l’ouvrage collectif, publié sous sa direction, qui consiste en une traduction anglaise des fragments des principaux Sophistes répertoriés par Diels, Cette initiative de Sprague a été saluée par Kerferd ([1981], 53 n. 12), qui n’hésite pas non plus à considérer les deux frères comme des Sophistes. 4 (1972), 295: «The best that can be done to date Euthydemus is to take him as an older contemporary of Socrates with a possible birthdate of 475, perhaps earlier. » Cf. aussi Gifford (1905), 46: « Euthydemus and Dionysodorus were real persons well known at Athens at the scenic date of the dialogue, and at that time elderly men like Socrates.» Cf. aussi Narcy (1994), 875.

36

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques?

pleinement d’accord avec Sprague pour reconnaître l’historicité5 d’Euthydeme et de Dionysodore: celle d’Euthydéme est attestée par Aristote®, et celle de Dionysodore par Xénophon”; mais je ne suis pas du tout convaincu qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore soient des Sophistes contemporains de Socrate. En fait, Sprague

confond

deux

questions

distinctes:

celle

de

l’historicité

d’Euthydème

et

de

Dionysodore et celle de savoir s’ils sont des contemporains de Socrate. Autrement dit, Sprague fait comme si l’historicité des deux frères entraînait nécessairement qu’ils sont des contemporains de Socrate. Or il s’agit là de deux problèmes distincts: l’historicité d’Euthydéme et de Dionysodore ne prouve pas, à elle seule, qu’ils furent aussi des contemporains de Socrate. Rien n’empêche, en effet, que Platon ait fait dialoguer des personnages qui n’ont pas pu se connaîtref. En outre, il y a

d’excellentes raisons de croire qu’Euthyd&me et Dionysodore sont plutôt des contemporains de Platon affiliés à l’école de Mégare. Il est à mes yeux révélateur que ni Sprague, ni aucun des autres commentateurs mentionnés à la note 1, ne discute une hypothèse ancienne, mais qui refait régulièrement surface”, d’après

laquelle Euthydème et son frère Dionysodore ne doivent pas être considérés comme des Sophistes,

mais plutôt comme

des représentants

de l’école de Mégare.

Certes,

l’idée d’associer Euthydème et Dionysodore aux Mégariques n’est pas une idée nouvelle, mais elle n’a jamais été développée en profondeur, sans compter qu’elle

suscite des résistances!? et qu’elle ne s’est jamais imposée!!. Je me propose donc de

> Personne ne doute plus, aujourd'hui, de l’historicité des deux frères (cf. Hawtrey [1981], 13-14 et Canto [1989], 27-28), \ 6 L’historicite d’Euthyd&me semble confirmée par deux passages (SE 20, 177612 et Rhetorique Il 24, 1401226) où Aristote rapporte un argument d’Euthydème qui ne se trouve pas dans l’Euthydème. Le seul autre dialogue de Platon où Euthydème soit mentionné est le Cratyle (386d). 7 C£. Mémorables II 1, 1. 8 Ainsi est-il douteux, sur le plan historique, que le jeune Socrate ait pu s’entretenir avec Parménide. Les anachronismes de ce genre ne sont pas rares chez Platon (cf. Dorion [1997a], 142 n. 32 et 188). ? Depuis le début du XIX’ siècle, cette hypothèse revient régulièrement sous la plume de différents auteurs: cf, entre autres, Sidgwick (1872), 297-298; Thompson (1901), 278; Rüstow (1910), 35-39 ; Gillespie (1911), 233 sq.; Méridier (1931), 128-130; Robin (1950), 1326 n. 7 ; Hawtrey (1981), 28-30 ; SSR I H 11.2.

10 Cf. Muller (1988),

40 n. 18 et 135 n. 50. Voir infra, note 78, où je discute les réticences de

Muller à inclure Euthydème et Dionysodore dans le groupe des philosophes mégariques. I! La position de Canto (1989) est pour le moins ambivalente: après avoir expliqué en detail (28-33) qu’Euthydéme est son frére ont toutes les caractéristiques des Sophistes de la premiére génération, elle reconnaît ouvertement (58) le bien-fondé de l’hypothèse qui voit en eux des représentants de l’école de Mégare. Dans le reste de son ouvrage, toutefois, Canto qualifie toujours Euthydéme et Dionysodore de « sophistes », comme s’il s’agissait de contemporains de Socrate. Parmi les commentateurs récents de l’Eurhydème, Chance (1992) rejette explicitement, mais sans vraiment la discuter, l’interprétation qui associe l’éristique de l’Euthydème aux Mégariques issus de Socrate (4 n. 12). D’après Chance, le terme « éristique » était à l’époque de Platon une espèce d’insulte très répandue, si bien que « we are under no necessity to assume that Plato has composed his dialogue to attack any particular eristic or identifiable school of eristic » (6).

Louis-André Dorion

37

montrer que même s’ils sont qualifiés de « sophistes » (2710), les deux frères offrent plus de traits qui les apparentent aux Mégariques qu’aux Sophistes. Il ne s’agit pas d’une simple question d’érudition stérile car il en va, à mon avis, d’une meilleure compréhension de l’Euthydème dans son ensemble. Commençons donc par examiner les différents indices qui font croire à certains commentateurs que nous avons affaire à des Sophistes!?. Ces indices sont ici présentés par ordre décroissant d’importance. 1) Les deux frères sont qualifiés de « sophistes » tout au début du dialogue

(271b-c)!?. Cet indice ne me paraît pas très significatif; en effet, et comme

le

remarque Canto elle-même, l’« Euthydeme est réputé être un dialogue consacré aux sophistes. Et pourtant, le mot “sophiste” n’y apparaît qu’une seule fois. Encore n'est-il pas prononcé par Socrate, mais par Criton, et au tout début du dialogue. Absence d’autant plus étonnante que le récit de Socrate est destiné à renseigner Criton sur la nature du savoir sophistique et que Socrate tente à plusieurs reprises de caractériser positivement l’art des sophistes» (1989, p.28-29). Le fait qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore soient qualifiés de « sophistes » ne fait pas pour autant d’eux des Sophistes, puisque les Mégariques étaient souvent traités de

« sophistes »14, En outre, si on lit attentivement le passage de l’Euthydème,

on

s’aperçoit que Criton qualifie les deux frères de « nouveaux sophistes » (καινοὶ σοφισταί). Les « nouveaux sophistes » ne seraient-ils pas des philosophes qui ressemblent davantage, du moins aux yeux de Platon, à des sophistes d’un nouveau genre ? La question mérite d’être posée. 2) « Euthydéme et Dionysodore font payer leur enseignement » (Canto 1989, p. 31). Il est de fait mentionné, à quelques reprises (cf. 271d, 272a, 304a, 3040), que les deux frères perçoivent un salaire pour l’enseignement qu’ils dispensent. Or le fait d'enseigner contre rémunération n’est pas non plus l’apanage exclusif des Sophistes, car il n’est pas du tout exclu que certains Mégariques aient aussi dispensé un enseignement rémunéré!5. Il y a plusieurs témoignages qui

12 Cf, Canto (1989), 29: « Même si Socrate ne donne jamais à Euthydème ou Dionysodore le nom de “sophiste”, if reste que tous les caractères qui leur sont attribués permettent de les identifier comme tels » (mes italiques). Cf. aussi Narcy (1994), 876. 13 Cf. également 2776, où Socrate qualifie l’enseignement des deux frères de « mystères sophistiques » (τῶν ἱερῶν τῶν σοφιστικῶν). Comme cette expression est employée de façon métaphorique, elle ne peut pas nous révéler grand’chose quant à l’identité philosophique des deux frères.

14 CE. fr. 9, 83, 106, 127, 216, 217, 220 Döring. Les arguments des Mégariques étaient pareillement qualifiés de « sophistiques » (cf. fr. 127, 129, 186) ou de « sophismes » (fr. 76 et 157). Ainsi, dans la Politique (V 8, 1307b35-37), Aristote traite-t-il de « sophistique » (σοφιστικὸς) un argument que l’on peut considérer comme une version du Sorite, dont l’origine mégarique ne fait aucun doute (cf. fr. 64 Döring). Quant à l’école d’Euclide, elle avait la réputation d’être très versée dans la sophistique (σοφιστικωτέρα, fr. 37 Döring).

15 Cf. fr. 57, 75 et 206 Döring et le commentaire de Muller (1985), ad loc.

38

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques?

attestent, de la part de certains Socratiques pratique de l’enseignement rémunéré.

(dont Aristippe!® et Eschine!”),

la

3) Euthydème et Dionysodore sont décrits comme des professeurs itinérants d’origine étrangère: « ils sont des éfrangers à 288b, 293a>, comme l’étaient à peu près tous Thourioi (cité dont le doute conçu les lois) [...] Ainsi, Euthydème et

Athènes , avant de devenir des maîtres d’éristique » (Canto [1989], 29). —

La

polymathie d’Euthydéme et Dionysodore ne fait aucun doute?0 et elle les apparente à certains Sophistes, notamment Hippias”!, Mais cette polymathie est, semble-t-il, une chose du passé, et d’un passé révolu; en effet, Platon s’applique manifestement à opposer une compétence universelle passée, voire dépassée, à une compétence spécifique présente, en l’occurrence l’éristique (cf. 272a-b, 273c-d). Euthydème n’a

que du mépris à l’endroit de toutes les disciplines qu’il prétendait autrefois enseigner (cf. 273d). Il y a donc une distinction très nette entre une polymathie passée, et reniée, et une compétence présente et revendiquée en matière d’éristique. Or, comme nous le verrons bientôt, la compétence en éristique désigne plutôt les Mégariques

que les Sophistes. [1989],

5) « Euthydéme et Dionysodore promettent d'enseigner la vertu » (Canto 29). — Cela rappelle certes les Sophistes, mais, une fois de plus, ce n’est

pas une thèse exclusive aux Sophistes. Il y a en effet des Socratiques, en particulier Antisthene??, qui ont également soutenu que la vertu pouvait être enseignée. Mais,

au fait, de quelle « vertu » s’agit-il au juste ? Force est de constater que

|’ ἀρετή a

laquelle songe Euthydéme (cf. 273d) n’est pas autre chose que la compétence dialectique qui permet de réfuter toute proposition, qu’elle soit vraie ou fausse. C’est ce qui ressort clairement de la description que Socrate donne (272a-b) du

savoir-faire des deux frères et de la démonstration qu’ils offrent de leur compétence (σοφία). Socrate explique à Criton (2726) que les deux frères promettent d'enseigner rapidement l’art de réfuter le vrai et le faux, et Euthydème insiste pareillement sur la rapidité des résultats obtenus par son enseignement (2734). Bref, si la vertu qu’Euthydéme prétend enseigner n’est rien d’autre que la compétence

(σοφία)

en quoi consiste l’éristique, les chances que nous ayons affaire à des

Mégariques, plutôt qu’à des Sophistes, paraissent très élevées. 6) « Le savoir d’Euthydéme et de Dionysodore est un savoir qui fait l’objet d’une promesse d'enseignement (epaggelma) et c’est un savoir qui s’exhibe sous la forme d’une demonstration-Echantillon (epideixis) » (Canto [1989], 304). — De fait, il y a plusieurs passages, chez Platon, où ἐπαγγέλλεσθαι est étroitement associé aux prétentions des Sophistes en matière d’éducation de la vertu?5, Faut-il en 20 « Ts sont tout simplement savants en tout » (πτάσσοφοι ἀτεχνῶς, 271c). 21 Cf. Hippias majeur 285b-286c ; Hippias mineur 367e sq. 2 Cf. DL VI 10 = SSR V A 134. 23 Cf. Hawtrey (1981), 51: « The sequel shows that what they (scil. les deux frères) consider ἀρετῇ to be [...] is eristic virtuosity » ; Canto (1989), 187 n. 42: « Pour la première fois (scil. 275e), il est suggéré que leur façon d’enseigner la vertu consiste en l’art de la réfutation. » Cf. aussi Narcy (1994), 876. 24 Cf, aussi Hawtrey (1981), 51; Canto (1989), 185 n. 28 et 31. De même, Méridier affirme que le verbe «ἐπαγγέλλεσθαι est le terme consacré pour désigner ce que les sophistes s’engageaient à enseigner » ([1931], 147 n. 2). 25 Cf. Ménon 95b, Protagoras 319a, Gorgias 447c, Lachés 186c, Sophiste 223a; cf. aussi Xénophon, Mémorables 12, 7 et Aristote, Rhétorique II 24, 1402a25.

40

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques?

conclure pour autant que les occurrences de ἐπαγγέλλεσθαι et de ἐπάγγελμα, au début de l’Euthydème (273e et 274a), suffisent à faire d’Euthydème et de Dionysodore des Sophistes ? En fait, les termes ἐπάγγελμα et ἐπίδειξις conviennent à tous les professeurs rémunérés qui s'engagent à transmettre une connaissance ou une compétence, quelle qu’elle soit. S’il est vrai que certains Mégariques ont enseigné contre rémunération (cf. supra), il est vraisemblable qu’ils aient eu, pour attirer les étudiants, à faire des démonstrations du savoir-faire (ἐπιδεικνύναι τὴν σοφίαν, 274a) qu'ils s’engageaient à transmettre. Enfin, comme les deux frères se targuent d’enseigner la vertu, laquelle n’est en fait rien d’autre

qu’une maestria réfutative (cf. supra, note 23), on comprend mieux que Platon cède à la tentation d'employer, pour les décrire, l’expression même qu’il utilise ailleurs?6 à propos des Sophistes qui prétendent être en mesure d’enseigner la vertu, mais une vertu de nature éthique et politique, celle qui rend homme de bien et bon citoyen. L'engagement des deux frères est à première vue identique à celui des Sophistes (« s’engager à enseigner la vertu »), mais l’objet de cet engagement (la vertu) n’est qu’en apparence le même. 7) «Euthydème et Dionysodore entendent transmettre leur savoir rapidement «οἵ, 272b, 2734, 303c et 303e-304e> » (Canto [1989], 31). — Il est regrettable que Canto ne signale aucun texte qui confirmerait cette nouvelle caractéristique prétendument propre aux Sophistes; nous avons cependant trouvé un texte de Platon qui est, à bien des égards, étroitement apparenté à l’Eufhydème. Il s’agit d’un court passage tiré du Sophiste: « Eh quoi? Quand on affirme qu’on sait tout (πάντα οἶδε) et qu’on enseignera tout à autrui pour presque rien et presque en un rien de temps (ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ), ne faut-il pas penser que ce n’est que par jeu (παιδίαν) ? » (2348 ; trad. Dies). Le fait que ce sophiste sache tout?’, qu’il soit un contradicteur (ἀντιλογικός, 232b), que sa pratique soit qualifiée de « jeu » et que sa technique de la contradiction s’applique a tous les sujets (2326) rappelle étrangement l’Euthydème. Et, de fait, les nombreux rapprochements entre ces deux dialogues n’ont pas échappé au plus récent commentateur de l’Euthydème?8. Mais s’il est vrai que le Sophiste décrit, sous le nom de « sophistes », les mêmes contradicteurs que l’on voit à l’oeuvre dans l’Euthydème, l’on ne saurait attendre de ce dialogue la confirmation que le fait d'enseigner rapidement était une caractéristique exclusive des Sophistes de la fin du V° siècle. En effet, tout ce que le

Sophiste

confirme,

c’est l’hostilité de Platon

à l’endroit de spécialistes

de la

contradiction qui s’engageaient à transmettre rapidement, contre espèces sonnantes, les rudiments de leur art de la réfutation. Le Sophiste ne prouve aucunement que ces

26 Cf. Lachès 186c, Ménon 95b, Protagoras 319a ; cf. aussi Xénophon, Mémorables 1 2, 7.

27 Cf. Euthydème 294b-e. 28 « The general picture that emerges from all seven attempts to define the sophist in the dialogue by that name fits the brother-pair (scil. Euthydéme et Dionysodore) more closely than any other sophist of antiquity » (Chance [1992], 221 n. 19).

Louis-André Dorion contradicteurs,

41

qualifiés

de

«sophistes»,

correspondent

aux

Sophistes

contemporains de Socrate??, Comme je me suis efforcé de le démontrer, il ne semble pas que ces caractéristiques

suffisent à identifier Euthydème et Dionysodore comme des Sophistes. Certes, la vraisemblance de la mise en scène exige en partie qu’ils aient des caractéristiques de Sophistes contemporains de Socrate. Mais le but de Platon est-il vraiment de

dépeindre des contemporains de Socrate ? Il y a de bonnes raisons d’en douter. Et, contrairement à ce qu’affirme Canto, ce ne sont pas tous les caractères d’Euthydeme et de Dionysodore qui les associent aux Sophistes. Il y en a plusieurs qui les apparentent plus étroitement aux Mégariques.

La question de l’identité philosophique des deux frères n’est pas un simple point de détail, car elle a une incidence sur l’interprétation de l’ensemble du dialogue. En effet, la dimension protreptique de l’Euthydème se comprend mieux dans la

perspective

d’une

rivalité

entre

Platon

et

les

Mégariques.

Comme

ceux-ci

prétendaient, en tant qu’heritiers de Socrate, pratiquer une véritable dialectique, il devenait impératif pour Platon de bien montrer que la dialectique socratique, telle qu’il la comprenait, n’avait rien en commun avec l'éristique, hormis une ressemblance purement formelle?®. Notre connaissance actuelle de la chronologie de l’école de Mégare confirme la très forte probabilité que Platon ait été engagé dans des polémiques contre les Mégariques. Non seulement l’école de Mégare a été fondée avant l’Académie, mais elle existe probablement déjà au moment où Platon rédige ses premiers dialogues?!. Il est donc tout à fait plausible que Platon ait transposé dans l’Euthydème, où le meneur de jeu est Socrate, les débats qui à ce moment l’opposaient lui-même aux Mégariques. En vertu de ce procédé de transposition, les rivaux de Platon deviennent les adversaires de Socrate. Ce

procédé est très habile, car il revient à faire en sorte que c’est Socrate lui-même qui désavoue certains de ses disciples, en l’occurrence les Mégariques®., Telles sont les grandes lignes de l’interprétation qui me paraît la plus adéquate. Mais

29 On trouve également chez Aristote une critique de la rapidité de l’enseignement éristique (cf. SE 34, 183b36 sq.). 30 Cf. Hawtrey (1981), 30: « The particular danger of the eristics lay in the superficial similarity of their method to that of Socrates and Plato, and this danger would have been greater if they belonged to the Megaric school, who also claimed descent from Socrates.» Cf. aussi Canto (1989), 58. 31 Cf Muller (1985), 11. 32 Je souscris entièrement à cette remarque de Robin: « on peut se demander si parfois les Sophistes, qui figurent dans les dialogues de Platon à titre de contemporains de Socrate, ne cachent pas certains adversaires de Platon-lui-même » ([1973], 163). 33 Thompson ([1901], 280-281) se rallie volontiers à l'hypothèse qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore sont affiliés à l’école de Mégare,

mais il croit invraisemblable, pour des raisons de mise

en

scéne, qu’ils soient des disciples de Socrate. C’est pourquoi il propose de voir en eux des élèves d’Euclide: « Socrates could hardly be made to face his own spiritual children without recognizing them ; the same obligation does not hold of spiritual grandchildren » (281).

42

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques?

avant de l’exposer plus en detail, et de présenter les indices qui m’incitent à croire qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore sont affiliés aux Mégariques, il me faut résoudre une question préjudicielle, à savoir: Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des contemporains de Socrate, comme le croient tous ceux qui voient en eux des Sophistes, ou bien des contemporains de Platon ? C’est la première question à résoudre, car s’il s’avère qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore sont des contemporains de

Socrate, il ne sert de rien de se demander s’ils sont des Mégariques. Or le texte même

de l’Euthydème

question.

La

fin du

fournit tous

dialogue

les éléments

(304c-307c),

où

de réponse

Criton

à cette

rapporte

importante

les propos

de

l'interlocuteur anonyme, montre bien que Platon vise ses contemporains à lui, et non pas ceux de Socrate. Si cet interlocuteur anonyme est bien Isocrate, ainsi que la

plupart des commentateurs

le reconnaissent,

Euthydème

et Dionysodore

sont

nécessairement des contemporains de Platon. En effet, cet interlocuteur anonyme dit

avoir assisté à la démonstration des deux frères, qu’il décrit à deux reprises comme ceux qui sont «aujourd’hui» (νῦν) les plus redoutables dans ce genre d’argumentation®. Si cet interlocuteur anonyme est bien Isocrate (436-338), qui a à peu près le même âge que Platon, ce νῦν employé à deux reprises ne peut renvoyer qu’à la date de composition du dialogue, et non à sa date dramatique. Car enfin, la rivalité entre Isocrate et Platon est bien attestée, alors que rien ne permet de supposer qu’une rivalité quelconque ait opposé Socrate à Isocrate. Par conséquent, lorsque Socrate répond aux propos de l’interlocuteur anonyme que lui ἃ rapportés Criton, il faut le considérer comme le porte-parole de Platon. On peut donc considérer qu’Euthydeme et Dionysodore sont plus vraisemblablement des contemporains de Platon que de Socrate*%, Or qui sont-ils ? Des Sophistes? ou des Socratiques ? Bien qu’ils aient réellement existé, il est probable qu’Euthydeme et Dionysodore soient des personnages composites, c’est-à-dire que Platon leur ἃ 34 Cf, entre autres, Méridier (1931), 133-138 ; Hawtrey (1981), 24-27 ; Canto (1989), 34-36. 3 Cf. 304e (ot νῦν σοφώτατοί εἰσι τῶν περὶ τοὺς τοιούτους λόγους) et 305a (ἐν τοῖς κρατίστοις εἰσι τῶν νῦν). 36 Le fait que les deux frères ont été expulsés de Thourioi (2710) ne suffit pas à faire d’eux des contemporains de Socrate. Outre que la date de l’expulsion qui toucha le parti athénien, fixée à 413/412, est fort incertaine, de l’aveu même de ceux qui l’avancent (cf. Canto [1989], 179 n. 6 et Aubonnet [1989], 62 n. 15 et 63 n. 14 ad Aristote, Politique V 7, 1307a27 sq.), rien n'empêche qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore, qui n’étaient pas eux-mêmes Athéniens, furent expulsés à une autre occasion, ou encore que Platon ait quelque peu bouleversé la chronologie, ce qui n’est pas sans précédent dans son oeuvre (cf. supra, note 8). 37 On pourrait toujours m’objecter que les Mégariques étaient précisément les sophistes du IV° siécle, si bien qu’il n’y a pas beaucoup d’intérét 4 se demander si Platon vise les Sophistes ou les Mégariques. Il est exact que les Mégariques furent considérés comme les principaux sophistes du IV° siècle ; cela dit, la question que je pose ne perd rien de sa pertinence dansla mesure où les Mégariques furent des disciples de Socrate, alors que les Sophistes du V° siècle n’en furent évidemment pas. Cela fait toute la différence: si les sophistes visés par Platon sont bien les Mégariques, l’intention de l’Euthydème est de désavouer la dialectique éristique pratiquée par certains disciples de Socrate, alors que les Sophistes du V° siècle n’ont vraisemblablement jamais pratiqué ce genre de dialectique.

Louis-André Dorion

43

prêté des traits et des doctrines qui appartenaient en fait à plusieurs personnages d’écoles différentes. Il ne fait pas de doute, par exemple,

que Platon fait parfois

d’Euthydème et de son frère des porte-parole d’Antisthene®. Il est probablement vain de soutenir que les personnages d’Euthydéme et de Dionysodore dessinent un seul profil philosophique; néanmoins, je persiste à croire que c’est l'influence mégarique qui est chez eux prédominante. Il y a en effet plusieurs indices

convergents — outre ceux qui ont déjà été mentionnés à l’occasion de la critique des indices invoqués par les tenants de leur affiliation aux Sophistes — qui permettent de considérer que les deux frères sont étroitement associés à l’École de Mégare. a) Le premier de ces indices est le nom même de leur spécialité et de ce qu’ils font profession d’enseigner, soit l’éristique (τῆς ἐριστικῆς, 2720). Il se trouve en effet que le terme ἐριστικός,et d’autres mots appartenant à la famille de ἔρις, servent très souvent à désigner les Mégariques. Dans le recueil de Döring, on compte au moins une douzaine de fragments où le terme ἐριστικός est associé à l’un ou l’autre des philosophes qui ont fait partie des Mégariques®”. La plupart des commentateurs considèrent que l’éristique est la principale caractéristique de l’école

de Mégare*, dont le fondateur, Euclide, fut un disciple et un ami de Socrate®!. En fait, la réputation d’éristique, durablement accolée à l’ensemble des Mégariques, remonte à Euclide lui-même (cf. fr. 8-9 Döring). De plus, nous savons qu’Euclide et les autres membres de l’école de Mégare furent appelés « Mégariques », « Éristiques » et « Dialecticiens »42, Il est peu probable que les Mégariques se soient

eux-mêmes désignés comme «Eristiques»®; cela dit, le fait que plusieurs philosophes de l’école de Mégare aient reçu le nom de « dialecticiens »* explique sans doute la raison pour laquelle Platon et Aristote insistent tant pour distinguer la

dialectique de l’éristique. Muller souligne à plusieurs reprises «l'importance primordiale et continue de la dialectique, du premier aux derniers de nos philosophes (scil, les Mégariques) et non seulement chez tel ou tel auteur plus connu » #, Comme les éristiques prétendaient, en tant qu’heritiers de Socrate, pratiquer une

véritable dialectique, il devenait impératif pour Platon et Aristote de bien montrer que leur dialectique n’avait rien en commun avec l’éristique, et que cette dernière n’était appelée « dialectique » que par usurpation®®. Mais qu’en est-il du terme « éristique » ailleurs dans le corpus platonicien ? Dans

une remarquable étude consacrée à cette question, Thompson affirme ce qui suit: 38 Pour les allusions à Antisthène dans l’Euthydème, cf. supra, note 2.

39 40 4! 42 4 4 45 46

Cf. fr. 8, 9, 31, 33, 34, 40, SIA, 51B, 90, 106, 157, 180 (ἐρίζεσκεν) et 199. Cf. Méridier (1931), 128; Hawtrey (1981), 29; Muller (1988), 39, 114, 185 et 201. Cf. fr. 1, 2, 3A, 37 Döring et le début du Théérète. CF, fr. 31, 33 et 34 Döring et Muller (1985), 108. Cf. Hawtrey (1981), 28. Cf, fr. 31, 89, 91, 97, 98, 100, 106, 216, 218, etc. (1988), 113-114; cf. aussi 111-113 et 126-127. Cf. Dorion (1995), 47 n. 1.

44

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques?

« The difficulty, however, of identifying these Eristic Sophists is great, and on the whole I believe that wherever we find in Plato the word ἐριστικός (or its synonym ἀντιλογικός) certain persons are held in view who were in fact, either directly or indirectly, pupils of Socrates. These are first and foremost Euclides of Megara and

his school [...] » ([1901], 278). Chose certaine, quelles que soient ses origines‘, l’éristique, en tant que mode d’argumentation dialectique, est beaucoup plus caractéristique des Mégariques que

des Sophistes.

Il est d’ailleurs révélateur que Sprague

([1993], viii) elle-même

reconnaisse que l’éristique ne s’apparente pas au mode d’argumentation employé par les Sophistes de la première génération, comme Protagoras et Gorgias”’. Ὁ) L’éristique, que Platon considérait certainement comme une forme dévoyée de dialectique, s'exerce au moyen de l’argument dialectique par excellence,

soit l’elenchos. Il y a un lien très étroit entre l’éristique et la pratique de l’elenchos. Ainsi, peu avant de nommer la spécialité des deux frères, soit l’éristique, Socrate précise qu’« ils sont devenus experts à lutter en paroles, et à réfuter chaque propos (ἐξελέγχειν τὸ ἀεὶ λεγόμενον), aussi bien le faux que le vrai» (272a-b ; trad. Méridier). La même association étroite entre l’éristique et l’elenchos se retrouve

dans le Ménon

(75c9-d2), le Lysis (211b7-8) et dans les SE d’Aristote. De fait,

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont de redoutables dialecticiens très versés dans la pratique de l’elenchos, au point même qu'ils prétendent être en mesure de réfuter n’importe quel argument (cf. 275e). Or les Mégariques affectionnaient tout particulièrement les arguments qui se présentaient sous forme d’elenchos®, comme le Sorite, le Chauve, l’Électre et le Voilé (cf. fr. 64 Döring). En outre, le Mégarique Alexinos avait reçu le sumom d’’EAeyEtvos (le « réfutateur »), tant son goût pour la

réfutation était prononcé?!, Et force est de constater qu’Alexinos est loin d’être une exception ou un cas isolé: « Les philosophes de Mégare

ont en effet une solide

réputation d’“éristiques”, de disputeurs impénitents, de réfutateurs inlassables®?. » A travers Euthydème et Dionysodore, Platon cherche probablement à discréditer une forme dévoyée de dialectique pratiquée par certains disciples de Socrate, en 47 Cf. aussi 280 et Canto (1989), 33 et 57. 48 C’est une question très débattue: certains considèrent que l’éristique s’inspire des Eléates (cf. Hawtrey [1981], 28 ; Sprague [1993], ix et les études signalées par Muller [1988], 23 n. 26), d'autres de Socrate lui-même (cf. Muller [1985], 14-15; [1988], 22-23, 38-39 et 71-79). Chose certaine, si l’éristique dérive et se réclame de la dialectique socratique, on comprend mieux que Platon cherche à les différencier. 4 Cf. aussi Méridier (1931), 128-129: « Protagoras avait une manière tout à fait différente de celle des deux éristiques: il procédait par discours suivis. Euthydéme et Dionysodore se séparent profondément de cette ancienne génération de sophistes. Leur méthode qui, soumettant l'adversaire à un interrogatoire continuel et un système de raisonnement rapide, réfute au fur et à mesure chacune de ses réponses, est une caricature de la dialectique de Socrate. » 50 Cf. Muller (1985), 15; (1988), 138-150. 31 Cf, fr. 73 Döring et Muller (1985), 120.

52 Muller (1988), 114 (mes italiques). Muller fonde cette affirmation sur les fragments suivants: 8, 9, 31, 33, 34, SIA, 73, 90.

Louis-André Dorion

45

l’occurrence les Mégariques. La dialectique mégarique, telle qu’elle est illustrée dans l’Euthydème, est dévoyée dans la mesure où elle ne se soucie aucunement de la perfectibilité morale du répondant et où elle traite l’elenchos comme s’il trouvait sa

finalité en lui-même (réfuter pour le simple plaisir de réfuter), alors que l’elenchos, tel que le congoivent Socrate et Platon, est avant tout un instrument pédagogique, attentif au répondant, qui doit être mis au service d’une finalité plus élevée, soit l’acquisition du savoir et, par voie de conséquence, de la vertu et du bonheur (cf.

Sophiste 230b-d)*?. Il est significatif qu’aucun des commentateurs qui voient en Euthydème et Dionysodore des Sophistes ne considère la pratique de l’e/jenchos comme un trait distinctif des Sophistes. En fait, et comme le souligne fortement Socrate dans le Gorgias (471d-472c), il semble que les Sophistes n’aient jamais connu et pratiqué d’autre elenchos que la réfutation de type rhétorique. Force est de constater qu’il n’y a aucun témoignage qui atteste de façon certaine la pratique de l’elenchos

dialectique de la part des Sophistes®. Il est certes tentant de supposer qu’Euthydeme et Dionysodore ont appris et exercé la technique de l’elenchos auprès de Protagoras alors qu’ils ont séjourné à Thourioi. Mais cette hypothèse ne résiste pas à une lecture attentive du dialogue: c’est récemment, donc après avoir été chassés de Thourioi, qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore ont découvert l’éristique et ses secrets. An reste, nous n’avons aucun témoignage digne de foi qui confirme la pratique de l’elenchos dialectique de la part de Protagoras®. Si les deux frères sont davantage apparentés aux Mégariques qu’aux Sophistes, l’Euthydème ne peut plus être considéré comme une confirmation du fait que les Sophistes ont pratiqué l’elenchos dialectique. c) Une troisième caractéristique générale commune à l’Euthydème et aux Mégariques est la virtuosité avec laquelle ces dialecticiens éristiques élaborent de nombreux sophismes qui ont pour effet de tourner en ridicule leur interlocuteur”. Cette troisième caractéristique est indépendante des deux premières, puisque l’on peut très bien imaginer un éristique qui pratique l’elenchos sans commettre de sophismes. Autrement dit, rien n’empéche qu’un dialecticien redoutable réfute son interlocuteur à tout coup sans faire appel à des sophismes. Pour ce qui est de la

formulation et du contenu des différents sophismes développés dans l’Euthydème, les seuls rapprochements précis que l’on puisse établir se situent dans les SE d’Aristote, dont je reparlerai sous peu. Cela dit, les sophismes concoctés par les deux

53 L’opposition entre la dialectique éristique, entièrement tournée vers la réfutation ct la victoire, et la dialectique socratique, attachée à la vérité et plus attentive au répondant, est clairement affirmée dans le Ménon (75c-d). 34 Cf. Dorion (1995), 37-47.

55 Ainsi que l’observe fort justement Hawtrey (1981), 37. 56 Cf. Dorion (1995), 38-47. 57 Les fragments rassemblés par Déring exposent assez peu de sophismes in extenso (cf., entre autres, fr.182) ; en revanche, il y en a plusieurs qui attribuent des sophismes aux Mégariques (cf. fr. 514, 64, 65, 76, 77, 84, 106, 109, 110, 127, 129, 157, 182, 183, 186).

46

Euthydéme et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques?

frères

présentent

un

certain

nombre

de

ressemblances

avec

les

sophismes

mégariques®: i) ce sont des sophismes qui s’élaborent dans un contexte dialectique ; ii) leur élaboration exige le respect de certaines règles dialectiques très précises, en particulier celle qui stipule que le répondant doit se contenter de répondre par « oui » ou «non »% et s’abstenir d’apporter des distinctions aux questions qui lui sont

posées. La règle du « oui » ou « non » est essentielle au questionneur, car c’est elle qui lui permet de conclure ses sophismes. Pensons seulement à la fameuse question (« As-tu cessé de battre ton père ? ») à laquelle Alexinos exigeait que l’on répondit par «oui» ou «non» (fr. 84 Déring). Quelle que soit la réponse donnée, le répondant est pris au piège. — iii) Ces sophismes dialectiques ont une incontestable dimension ludique. Dans l’Euthydème, Socrate qualifie souvent de «jeu » (277d9,

e2,

278b2-6,

c2,

283b10)

les

tours

de

passe-passe

auxquels

Euthydème

et

Dionysodore se livrent aux dépens de leur interlocuteur. De même, la dimension ludique des sophismes mégariques a été soulignée avec force®. Dans les deux cas,

les questionneurs développent une argumentation dont la conclusion inattendue, qui est souvent absurde, ἃ pour effet de décontenancer et de désarçonner le répondant.

Les sophismes de l’Euthydeme et des Mégariques ressemblent à un jeu où les questionneurs se jouent de leur répondant. Enfin, il faut insister sur le fait que les Mégariques constituent le premier exemple d’un tel foisonnement de sophismes, Cette profusion de sophismes dialectiques est sans précédent. Les Sophistes étaient certes réputés pour tromper leur auditoire, mais cette tromperie (ἀπάτη) ne consistait pas en des sophismes qui se présentaient sous

la forme d’elenchoi dialectiques®!, d) Un autre indice de l’affiliation d’Euthydeme et de Dionysodore à l’école de Mégare est un témoignage méconnu de Sextus Empiricus: « La logique, enfin, fut la seule partie de la philosophie que pratiquèrent les écoles de Panthoïdès,

58 Cette parenté est également reconnue par Muller: « Certains auteurs modernes n’hésitent pas à inclure dans leur étude de la dialectique mégarique plusieurs arguments extraits de l’Euthydeme et des Réfutations sophistiques, bien qu’aucun des deux textes ne les attribue à notre école. Cette façon de faire se justifie par ce que nous savons des sources de Platon et d’Aristote, et aussi par l’évident air de famille qu'il y a entre plusieurs exemples figurant dans les deux ouvrages et certains raisonnements mégariques connus par ailleurs [...]» ([1988], 135;

mes

italiques).

Bien

qu'il

reconnaisse

cette parenté,

Muller

refuse

de considérer

les

Mégariques comme une cible de l’Euthydème (voir infra, note 78). 5° Cf. Euthydème 293b-c, 295a-296d et fr. 84 Döring (= DL II 135). D’après Muller, c’est 1’« une des règles de base de la dialectique mégarique » ([1985], 122 ; cf. aussi [1988], 127 n. 39).

60 Cf. fr. 100,182, 197 Döring;

Muller (1985), 16 et 166;

(1988), 117-188. Cf. aussi Aristote,

Rhétorique 1 1, 1370b32-1371a8. 8! Je ne puis donc suivre Canto ([1989], 54) lorsqu'elle parle d’une «tradition sophistique homogène et consistante » en matière de sophismes et qu’elle affirme qu’« une part de ces sophismes (sci. ceux de l’Euthydeme) devait appartenir au répertoire scolaire de la sophistique. » Peut-on vraiment attribuer des sophismes de ce genre aux Sophistes de la première génération (Protagoras, Gorgias, Hippias et Prodicos) ? Il est significatif que Canto ne donne aucun exemple précis et qu’elle ne mentionne aucun nom.

Louis-André Dorion

47

d’Alexinos, d’Eubulide, de Bryson, de Dionysodore et d’Euthydeme [originaires tous deux de Thurium, et mentionnés aussi par Platon dans son Euthydéme] » ©. Estce une pure coincidence si Sextus cite Dionysodore et Euthydème à la suite de quatre philosophes dont l’appartenance à l’école de Mégare est attestée par de nombreux témoignages® ? Chose certaine, alors que nous n’avons aucun témoignage, hormis l’Euthydème, qui confirme le statut de Sophistes habituellement

et abusivement accordé à Euthydème et Dionysodore, nous disposons d’au moins un témoignage

qui

associe

les deux

frères à des

membres

reconnus

de l’école

de

Megare®, 6) Diogene Laërce rapporte une anecdote qui associe clairement l’Euthydeme aux Mégariques: « Voyant Euclide s'intéresser aux arguments éristiques (τοὺς ἐριστικοὺς λόγους): “Euclide, dit-il (scil. Socrate), avec des sophistes (σοφισταῖς) tu pourrais frayer, mais avec des hommes, pas du tout.” Car il pensait que cette manière vétilleuse de parler de ces questions est sans utilité, comme Platon le dit aussi dans l’Euthydème » (II 30 ; trad. Narcy). Pour des raisons

qui me demeurent obscures, Döring a retranché l’allusion à l’Euthydème (« comme Platon le dit aussi dans l’Euthydème ») lorsqu'il a inclu ce passage dans son recueil

de fragments des Mégariques®. Or une telle décision, qui m’apparait au plus haut point contestable, a pour conséquence d’oblitérer un rapprochement que les Anciens effectuaient déjà entre l’Euthydème et les Mégariques. f)

De

l'avis

de

plusieurs

commentateurs,

certains

sophismes

de

l’Euthydeme sont d’inspiration éléatique ; or plusieurs historiens défendent encore l’hypothèse selon laquelle l’éléatisme est l’un des principaux mouvements philosophiques

à avoir influé sur la naissance et le développement

de l’école de

Mégaref. Cette influence présumée de l’éléatisme sur les Mégariques plaide elle aussi en faveur de la piste mégarique en ce qui a trait à l’identité philosophique d’Euthydème et de son frère. | 8) Last, but not least, les SE d’Aristote contiennent plusieurs indices supplémentaires qui renforcent l’hypothèse d’après laquelle l’Euthydème vise les Mégariques. Si j’ai gardé cet argument pour la fin, en dépit de son importance, c’est que je suis bien conscient que l’on peut ici me reprocher de commettre une pétition 62 Adv. math. VII 13 (trad. Muller) = fr. 63 Döring = SSR II B 12. 6% Cf. fr.145-146 Döring (Panthoidès), fr. 73-95 (Alexinos), fr. 50-67 (Eubulide), fr, 202-210 (Bryson). 64 Il est regrettable que ni Dôring ni Muller ne commentent la présence d’Euthydéme et de Dionysodore dans cette liste de philosophes mégariques, car c’eût été l'occasion pour eux d’exposer les raisons pour lesquelles Euthydème et Dionysodore ne peuvent pas prétendre au titre de Mégariques (voir aussi infra, note 78).

65 Fr. 9 Déring. Comme Muller ([1985], ad loc.) et Giannantoni (SSR II A 3) ont aveuglément suivi

. Döring, l’allusion à l’Euthydème est entièrement disparue fragments mégariques. 66 Cf. Canto (1989), 56 n. 147-148, 57-58, 199 n. 105 et 108.

67 Cf. supra, note 48.

des

principales

éditions

des

48

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques?

de principe. J’ai tâché de montrer,

dans

l’introduction à mon

que la principale cible de ce traité est les Mégariques®8,

commentaire

Or comme

des SE,

il y a de

nombreux rapprochements entre |’ Euthydéme et les SE, il est très tentant de supposer

que Platon et Aristote visent les mêmes adversaires, bien qu’ils aient chacun recours à des moyens très différents. Bien sûr, ce n’est pas ici le lieu d’exposer les raisons

qui m’incitent à croire qu’Aristote s’en prend surtout aux Mégariques dans les SE. Aussi demanderai-je au lecteur qu’il m’accorde provisoirement cette hypothèse, pour les besoins de cet exposé, et qu’il me permette de présenter les principaux points de convergence entre l’Euthydème et les SE, lesquels semblent renforcer l'hypothèse que l’Euthydeme est surtout dirigé contre les Mégariques. Je pense surtout aux rapprochements suivants: 1) le premier objectif des éristiques, d’après Aristote (cf. SE

quel

prix.

3, 165b18),

Comment

ne

est de conclure une réfutation

pas

rapprocher

cette

(elenchos)

information

d’un

à n’importe

passage

de

l’Euthydème (272a-b) où Socrate explique à Criton qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore réfutent tout ce qu’on leur dit, aussi bien le vrai et le faux ? et d’un autre passage (275e) qui va dans le même sens, où Dionysodore prévient Socrate que peu importe

la réponse que Clinias donnera aux questions qui lui sont posées, il sera réfuté de toute façon” ? 2) La très grande majorité des sophismes analysés par Aristote se présentent sous la forme d’elenchoi; de même, dans l’Euthydeme, tous les sophismes commis par les deux frères supposent un contexte dialectique et réfutatif. 3) Plusieurs sophismes décortiqués par Aristote ont une origine mégarique pleinement attestée”, 4) Les SE analysent un certain nombre de sophismes qui se trouvent également dans |’Euthydéme”. 5) Aristote cite un argument qui est expressément attribué ἃ Euthydéme (20, 177b12) et qui ne se trouve pas dans l’Euthydeme ; ce faisant, il atteste non seulement l’historicité d’Euthydeme, mais il rend plausible l’hypothèse qu’Euthydéme soit l’auteur d’un recueil de sophismes où Platon et Aristote auraient tous les deux puisé des exemples. 6) Aristote fait référence (17, 175b10-14) à la règle éristique, employée par Euthydème et Dionysodore (cf. 293b-c, 295a-296d), qui enjoint à l’interlocuteur de répondre par «oui» ou «non» et de ne pas apporter de distinctions à la question qui lui est posée”. 7) A l'exemple de Platon, Aristote est soucieux de montrer en quoi l’éristique — et remarquons en passant que c’est dans les SE que les occurrences des

termes ἐριστικός et ἔλεγχος sont les plus nombreuses’? — se distingue de la vraie 68 Cf. Dorion (1995), 47-53. ® De même, «les Anciens étaient sensibles à cette “efficacité” de la dialectique mégarique, apparemment prête à défendre ou à attaquer n’importe quelle thèse, et dès lors réputée dangereuse » (Muller [1988], 117). ΤῸ Cf. Dorion (1995), 48-49. 7 C£. Dorion (1993) et (1995), 91-104. 72 Cette règle était en vigueur chez les Mégariques (cf. supra, note 59). 7 Les SE totalisent 53 et 70% des occurrences aristotéliciennes des termes ἐριστικός et ἔλεγχος respectivement. On constate donc, une fois de plus, un lien étroit entre ces deux termes. D’après Thompson ([1901], 285), Aristote emploie toujours ἐριστικός pour désigner des

Louis-André Dorion

49

dialectique, ce qui laisse clairement entendre que

l’éristique a l’apparence

de la

dialectique et qu’il y a donc un risque réel que l’on confonde les deux. Cependant, à la différence de Platon, Aristote ne cherche pas à suggérer que l’éristique est une dialectique dévoyée, c’est-à-dire une dialectique qui a perdu de vue sa finalité

morale, qui est de favoriser l’acquisition de la vertu et l’accès au bonheur. En effet, comme la dialectique aristotélicienne ne comporte pas de visée éthique”, Aristote se contente d’identifier les raisons purement logiques qui empêchent de considérer l’éristique comme une dialectique authentique. Pour Aristote, l’elenchos éristique est purement apparent: il a l'apparence d’un elenchos, sans en être un. A la différence de ce que l’on observe dans l’Eufhydème, l’analyse et la critique aristotélicienne de l’elenchos éristique ne fait intervenir aucune considération morale. La raison de cette

indifférence à la morale est qu’Aristote ne croit pas, contrairement à Socrate et à Platon, que la finalité de l’elenchos soit de rendre vertueux. * *

*

Si l’on considère les deux frères comme des Mégariques, c’est tout le dialogue qui gagne en intelligibilité ce qu’il perd en paradoxes inutiles. Par exemple, certains commentateurs

trouvent

curieux,

paradoxal,

voire

énigmatique,

que

l’on

puisse

confondre la dialectique socratique et la « dialectique sophistique » et que Socrate demande à deux Sophistes de réaliser un protreptique”. Ces deux prétendus paradoxes ne viennent que de ce que l’on croit, à tort, qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore

sont des Sophistes contemporains de Socrate. Si l’on voit plutôt en eux de dignes représentants de l'École de Mégare, ces deux faux paradoxes s’évanouissent aussitôt: il n’y a plus lieu de s’étonner, en effet, qu’Isocrate confonde deux dialectiques, formellement identiques, issues l’une et l’autre de la dialectique

socratique,

et il n’y a plus rien d’énigmatique

à ce que

Socrate

invite

deux

Mégariques, donc deux philosophes qui revendiquent son héritage, à prononcer une

invitation à la philosophie. Si le protreptique est bien une spécialité socratique qui se présente le plus souvent comme un elenchos, qu’y a-t-il d'étonnant à ce que Platon cherche à opposer, sous ce rapport, deux groupes de Socratiques rivaux qui se font de l’elenchos des conceptions fort éloignées l’une de l’autre ? Euthydème et Dionysodore sont des philosophes au statut incertain. Ils font réellement figure d’inclassables: Diels ne les ἃ pas comptés au nombre des Sophistes dont il rapporte les fragments et Döring ne les a pas non plus inclus dans son recueil

des Mégariques.

Si les raisons de Diels d’exclure Euthydème

et Dionysodore

demeurent obscures, malgré l'hypothèse vraisemblable de Sprague, les raisons de Döring sont, quant à elles, parfaitement claires. En effet, comme Döring ἃ « adopté Socratiques, notamment les Mégariques.

74 Cf. Dorion (1997b).

75 Cf. Canto (1989), 77-78.

50

Euthydème et Dionysodore sont-ils des Mégariques?

le principe de ne retenir que les textes où apparaît formellement

le nom

des

Mégariques en général ou de l’un au moins des membres présumés du groupe, [il] ne

fait donc pas figurer dans son recueil les divers passages où la critique moderne ἃ cru déceler des allusions aux Mégariques » (Muller [1985], 8). Étant donné qu’Euthydéme et Dionysodore ne sont jamais identifiés formellement comme des Mégariques, il n’est pas étonnant qu’ils ne figurent pas dans son recueil, non plus d’ailleurs que dans le recueil de Giannantoni (SSR), qui est en grande partie tributaire du travail de Déring”*. Cette règle stricte que s’est imposée Döring a certes le mérite de la rigueur et d’éviter les risques d’arbitraire, mais elle l’a néanmoins

conduit à omettre un certain nombre de témoignages dont on a d’excellentes raisons de penser qu’ils se rapportent directement à des Mégariques??, Sans doute était-il préférable et nécessaire, sur le plan méthodologique, que le premier recueil de fragments des Mégariques obéisse à des critères de sélection aussi contraignants, au

risque d’exclure des allusions pertinentes. Mais cette rigueur expose le recueil de Döring à certaines omissions, dont Euthydéme et Dionysodore, à mon avis, sont victimes”®, En tout état de cause, il semble que les raisons de voir en eux des Mégariques sont plus solides et plus convaincantes que celles qui, de nos jours, poussent la plupart des commentateurs ἃ les considérer comme des Sophistes.

Université de Montréal

TT 76 Pour un relevé des divergences (peu nombreuses) et des convergences entre les recueils de Döring et de Giannantoni, on consultera la comparaison détaillée et approfondie de Muller ([1988], 205-219). j

77 Cf. Muller (1985), 75-93.

78 Muller, qui est à l’heure actuelle l’un des meilleurs spécialistes de l’école de Mégare, affirme qu’« il est impossible de prouver qu’il (scil. l'Euthydème) est dirigé contre les Mégariques » ([1988], 40 n. 18). Il reconnaît certes (voir supra, note 58) un incontestable air de parenté entre les arguments rapportés dans l’Euthydeme et les SE d’une part, et certains arguments mégariques d’autre part (cf. [1985], 202 n. 227 où il rapproche Euthydème 295c du fr. 111), mais il se refuse néanmoins, pour des raisons méthodologiques qui sont également celles de Döring, à considérer que l’Euthydème et les SE visent directement les Mégariques ; à ses yeux, en effet, la démarche qui consiste à attribuer aux Mégariques des arguments rapportés dans l’Euthydeme et les SE «se heurte à des objections de méthode quand elle met sur le même plan, comme

c’est le cas, ce qui est attesté et ce qui ne l’est pas. En outre, tant qu’on

ne

dispose pas d’un critère d’attribution sûr, cette parenté peut être trompeuse, comme on le soupçonne en voyant des arguments apparemment identiques mentionnés dans les doctrines d'auteurs très différents » ([1988], 135-136). Mais que valent ces objections de méthode quand on sait qu'il était d'usage, chez les Anciens, de ne pas nommer expressément les auteurs contemporains contre lesquels ils polémiquaient (cf. Plutarque, Contre Colotès 1120c ; Robin [1973], 19-20) ? Ne se prive-t-on pas, par excès de rigueur, d’une foule d’allusions d’autant plus précieuses et instructives qu’elles visent directement des adversaires ? Enfin, il est plutôt curieux que ni Déring ni Muller ne commentent le fait que le fr. 63 associe Euthydème et Dionysodore à des Mégariques reconnus et identifiés comme tels. Ne dispose-t-on pas là d’un témoignage suffisamment clair de leur affiliation à l’école de Mégare ?

Der sophistische Umgang mit der Zeit in Platons Euthydemos Walter Mesch Dem Vorurteil, daB der Euthydemos eine Sammlung sophistischer Spitzfindigkeiten sei, die bestenfalls als spielerische Vorstufe zu den Sophistischen Widerlegungen des Aristoteles gelten kônne, ist bereits häufig zu Recht widersprochen worden. Denn erstens werden die Sophisten auch hier nicht nur als Gegenspieler des Philosophen, sondern als Karikaturen seiner wahren Natur dargestellt Und eine Karikatur verdient auch dann Interesse, wenn sie drastisch ausfallt. Wichtig ist nur, daB noch in der größten Verzerrung deutlich bleibt, worauf sie sich bezieht und was von ihr

gemeint ist!, Zweitens kommt die sophistische Gesprächsführung nirgendwo sonst so ausführlich

zur Darstellung.

Das

ist wichtig,

weil

die Auseinandersetzung

von

! Daß es sich im Euthydemos um eine Karikatur handelt, ist eine verbreitete Ansicht. Gedacht ist dabei aber zumeist nur an Platons karikierende Darstellung der zeitgenössischen Sophistik, deren philosophisches Defizit literarisch überzeichnet wird, um es deutlicher hervortreten zu lassen. Man vgl. etwa Th.A. Szlezak (1980), 81 oder S. Scolnicov (1981/82), 19/21. Meine These, daß die Sophisten von Platon - nicht nur im Euthydemos,

wenn

auch hier besonders

deutlich - als Karikaturen des Philosophen dargestellt werden, widerspricht dieser Ansicht nicht, zielt aber auf einen anderen Punkt. Es geht ihr nicht um die literarische Darstellung der Sophistik, sondern darum, als was die Sophisten dargestellt werden, d.h. um die philosophische Bedeutung der Darstellung. Diese liegt darin, daß die dargestellten Sophisten nichts anderes als Karikaturen des Philosophen sind. Die Rede von der Karikatur versucht also zu präzisieren, in welchem Sinne Platon die Sophisten als Gegenspieler des Philosophen auftreten läßt, was schon oft bemerkt und in verschiedenen Richtungen akzentuiert worden ist. Zu denken ist besonders an Th.A. Szlezäk (1980), M. Narcy (1984) und Th.H. Chance (1992). Daß es sich dabei nicht um eine platonferne Redensart handelt, mag man jener Stelle aus dem Gorgias entnehmen, an der die Sophistik als ein kunstloses Abbild der (philosophischen) Gesetzgebung bezeichnet wird, das sich selbst in diese verkleidet (465c). Von „Karikatur”

in

einem für das Sein der dargestellten Sophistik konstitutiven Sinne sprechen auch L. Strauss (1970) und Ch.H. Kahn (1996), So hat Strauss die von den Sophisten vorgetragene Ansicht, daß jeder, der alles weiß, immer alles weiß, als Karikatur der Anamnesislehre bezeichnet (17),

während Kahn ihre Argumentationstechnik in vielen Hinsichten Mimikry) derjenigen des platonischen Sokrates hält (322).

für eine Karikatur

(und

52

Der sophistische Umgang mit der Zeit in Euthydemos

Dialektik und Rhetorik zu der Ansicht verleitet, in Philosophie und Sophistik stünden sich einfach das dialogische Kurzreden und das monologische Langreden gegenüber. Zwar zeigen auch der Protagoras oder der Gorgias, daß dies nicht richtig ist, weil die Sophisten dort ebenfalls als Meister im Kurzreden angesprochen und gerade dadurch ins Gespräch integriert werden (335b/ 4490). Im Zuge jener Integration kann sich das sophistische Kurzreden aber nicht entfalten. Dies geschieht allein im Euthydemos?. Drittens geht es um nichts Geringeres als das dialektische

Grundproblem der Arete. Sofern dabei ihre Lehrbarkeit berührt ist, teilt der Dialog sein Thema mit dem Protagoras oder dem Menon. Gleichwohl setzt der Euthydemos einen

anderen

Akzent,

weil

nur

hier Sophisten

dazu

aufgefordert

werden,

sich in

einem Protreptikos als wahre Lehrer zu erweisen?.

Nun ist zwar unschwer auszumachen, Sokrates

nicht gelingt,

Kleinias,

der bereits

daB es den Sophisten anders als

nach

den

ersten

zwei

Widerlegungen

ratlos ist, zur Arete hinzuwenden. Leicht zu sehen ist auch, wodurch sich die sophistische Gesprächsführung disqualifiziert: die angeblichen Widerlegungen sind gar keine, sondern nur leicht zu durchschauende Manöver, die mit Doppeldeu-

tigkeiten und dem Aufnehmen

bzw.

Fallenlassen

von Qualifikationen

arbeiten.

Irritieren muß aber, daß dies allzuleicht zu durchschauen ist. Was die Sophisten im Euthydemos erreichen, ist weniger eine wirkliche Täuschung, als eine durch routinierte Kooperation ermôglichte Uberrumpelung. Eben deshalb war das traditionelle Interesse an dem Dialog ja auch unter jenen Platonlesern so gering, die sich nicht bereit fanden, Platons logische Fahigkeiten zu bezweifeln. Wie mir scheint, muß man sich dieser Irritation stellen. Es hat keinen Sinn, durch und durch lächerliche Figuren raffinierter machen zu wollen, als sie sind. Und erst recht hat es keinen Sinn, das Vorgehen von Sokrates in ihre Nähe zu rücken.* Natürlich ist der Elenktiker und Zitterrochen Sokrates oft genug auf Widerlegung aus und stürzt seine Gesprächspartner dadurch in zumindest vorübergehende Ratlosigkeit. Richtig ist

auch, daß nicht immer zweifelsfrei zu entscheiden ist, ob Sokrates eine Widerlegung tatsächlich um der Wahrheit willen oder wie die bekämpften Sophisten nur um ihrer selbst willen sucht. Im Falle des Euthydemos ist dies jedoch anders, steht den

Sophisten mit ihrer Maschinerie scheinbarer Widerlegungen hier doch ein Sokrates gegenüber, der die Aufgabe des Protreptikos durch eine sanfte Maieutik erfüllt und 2 Mit Nachdruck hervorgehoben hat dies P. Friedlander (1964*),180. * Dies bedeutet natürlich nicht, daß Protreptik bei Platon nur im Euthydemos vorkäme. vgl. hierzu K. Gaiser (1959) und A.J. Festugière (1973). Was die Protreptik des Euthydemos betrifft, so blickt man fast ausschlieAlich auf die literarische Form und nicht auf die Konsequenz, die sich

für die Sophisten aus ihrem Versagen als wahre Lehrer ergibt. Dies gilt auch für Th.A. Chance (1992), 13, der die Differenz von Sophistik und Philosophie ins Zentrum seiner Untersuchung rückt. 4 Besonders radikal war hierin R. Robinson (1942), der sogar Platons Einsicht in die sophistischen Trugschlüsse bestritt. Aber auch P. Friedlander (1964), 180 ist zu weit gegangen, wenn ihm die sokratische und die sophistische Dialektik nur nach ihrem Ziel und nicht auch nach ihrer Methode 7als unterschiedlich galten.

Walter Mesch

53

sich auch in der Auseinandersetzung mit der Sophistik keines Sophismas schuldig macht.

Es fragt sich also durchaus,

wie ein philosophisches

Interesse

an diesen

Sophisten begründet werden kann.

Ein häufig beschrittener Weg besteht darin, die sophistische Gesprächsführung auf

eine eleatische Auffassung des Seins und der Sprache zurückzuführen, wie sie sich im Parmenides und Kratylos zeigt‘. Anlaß dazu gibt der Beginn des zweiten eristischen Teils, wo es um das Weisewerden von Kleinias und das Lügen bzw. falsch Sprechen geht. Operieren die Sophisten hier doch offenkundig mit einer Auffassung des Seins, das frei von jedem Werden ist, und mit einer Auffassung des Sprechens, die es mit einem bloBen Nennen identifiziert. Und darin zeigt sich, was ihren Manövern auch anderswo wenigstens die minimale Uberzeugungskraft verleihen kann, die sogar eine Überrumpelung noch benötigt. Das Spiel mit Doppeldeutigkeiten verdankt sich der Auffassung, daß das Sprechen auf ein Nennen von isolierten Wörtern mit isolierten Bedeutungen reduzierbar ist, weil verschiedene Bedeutungen bei Lautgleichheit eines Wortes nur durch einen Satz explizit unterschieden werden können. Das Spiel mit Qualifikationen kann plausibel erscheinen, weil die Auffassung, nur das Fine besitze wahres Sein, Bestimmtheiten in dieses sowohl ein- wie auszuschließen erlaubt. Vor allem aber läßt sich von hieraus verständlich machen, welcher Aspekt der Philosophie dabei karikiert wird, nämlich das Unterscheiden von Ideen und das dazu beitragende Unterscheiden von verschiedenen Bedeutungen eines Wortes. Jeder: Versuch, Ideen zu erkennen, muß

diese nämlich methodisch isolieren, obwohl sie in einen Zusammenhang gehören. Wie dieser seinerseits erkannt werden kann, ist deshalb durchaus eine ernstzunehmende Schwierigkeit. Offenkundig reicht es nicht, wie die Sophisten eine bloß unterstellte Einheit verdeckt ins Spiel zu bringen. Vielmehr muß das Isolieren

nachvollziehbar, weil im Ausgang vom Isolierten, und explizit eingeschränkt werden, wenn die wahre Einheit des Verschiedenen erkannt werden soll. Dies mag 5 Von der Frage nach dem philosophischen Interesse des Dialogs zu unterscheiden ist die Frage nach seinem polemischen Anlaß. Wie bereits Schleiermacher vermutete, mag dieser in der Auseinandersetzung mit Antisthenes und den Megarikern liegen. Vgl. Schleiermacher (1807), 224 (zitiert nach F. Schleiermacher, Über die Philosophie Platons, hrsg. von P.M. Steiner, Hamburg 1996). Ich werde dies im folgenden offenlassen und ausschließlich nach dem philosophischen Gehalt des Dialogs fragen. 6 Bahnbrechend war hierfür die Untersuchung von R.K. Sprague (1962). Erste Ansätze, in diese Richtung zu gehen, gab es freilich lange zuvor. So behandelt P. Natorp den Euthydemos im Zusammenhang mit dem Theaitetos und dem Kratylos, wobei er sich vor allem auf die sophistische Leugnung des Widerspruchs bezieht. Vgl. Natorp [19227](1961), 119. Ja bereits Schleiermacher (1807), 224 hatte das Thema im Blick, wenn auch nur in der Brechung seines

möglichen polemischen Anlasses.

54

Der sophistische Umgang mit der Zeit in Euthydemos

insofern trivial sein, als bereits intuitiv klar ist, daß das dialektische Unterscheiden

und Verbinden etwas anderes sein muß als ein /solieren bei zugleich unterstellter Einheit. Einsichtig zu machen, worin es genau besteht, ist aber wesentlich schwieriger, und sofern dies in der Karikatur zum Ausdruck kommt, kann sie trotz

der Lacherlichkeit der Sophisten keineswegs als trivial gelten. Ich môchte im folgenden einen anderen Weg einschlagen, der im Grunde zum selben Ziel führt, dies aber auf eine andere Weise erschließt und insofern zum besseren Verständnis des skizzierten Bildes beitragen mag. Wie immer wieder bemerkt worden

ist, spielt für die sophistische Gesprächsführung und ihr Verhältnis

zum Wissenserwerb nämlich nicht nur der Umgang mit der Sprache, der sich aus der angedeuteten Auffassung von Sprache und Sein ergibt, sondern auch der Umgang

mit der Zeit eine wichtige Rolle. Deutlich wird dies etwa in jener Passage vom Beginn des dritten eristischen Teils, in der die Sophisten gegen die Aporie, mit der die sokratische Protreptik endet,

zu erschließen versuchen,

daß jeder,

der etwas

wisse, alles und immer alles wissen müsse (293b-297d). Denn das erschlossene Immer-wissen nimmt kaum weniger eindeutig auf ihren Umgang mit der Zeit Bezug wie die Schlüsse aus dem zweiten eristischen Teil auf ihren Umgang mit der Sprache. Es ist deshalb danach zu fragen, ob auch dem sophistischen Umgang mit der Zeit eine bestimmte Auffassung derselben zugrundeliegt, selbst wenn diese nicht

ganz so leicht aufzuweisen ist, wie jene Auffassungen von Sprache und Sein. Vor allem ist aber danach zu fragen, worin der Aspekt der Philosophie besteht, der durch ihn karikiert wird.

II

Meines Erachtens haben beide Fragen bislang nicht genügend Beachtung gefunden, weil man im Alles-immer-Wissen lediglich eine Bezugnahme auf die Anamnesislehre sehen wollte’. Einleuchtend ist dies insofern, als auch in der Anamnesislehre jene doppelte Struktur begegnet, nach der etwas wissen zu kénnen voraussetzt, es (in gewisser Weise) schon gewußt zu haben, und zwar im Kontext mit anderem (in gewisser Weise sogar mit allem anderen). Außerdem steht hinter der Aufgabe des Protreptikos das Problem der Lehrbarkeit der Arete und das noch fundamentalere Problem ihrer Erkennbarkeit, wie es im Menon im Rückgang auf eine besondere Anamnesis aufgelöst werden soll. Es sollte aber nicht übersehen werden, daß der

Dialog mit der Aufgabe eines Protreptikos weniger auf das Problem der Lehrbarkeit oder gar Erkennbarkeit der Arete zielt, als auf die Frage, wer als ihr wahrer Lehrer zu gelten hätte und durch welches Wissen er qualifiziert wäre. Deutlich wird dies nicht nur durch die sokratische Formulierung der Aufgabe (275a), sondern auch

? In diesem Sinne ist es besonders ausführlich von H. Keulen (1971) erläutert worden.

Walter Mesch daran,

55

daB sich die Sophisten und

Sokrates mit so unterschiedlichem

Erfolg

am

selben Schüler versuchen, während die Wandlung des Ktesippos eigentlich nur als eine Reaktion gegen die Sophisten zustandekommt. Es ist nicht auszuschließen, daß sich darin Unterschiede zwischen den beiden Schülern, sei es nun im Sinne ihres

Charakters oder ihres Alters, eine gewisse Rolle spielen. Entscheidend ist aber, daß sich die Exzellenz des Kleinias nur im Kontakt mit Sokrates zeigt, während die Sophisten lediglich damit Erfolg haben, die Gefährung des Ktesippos scheinlich zu machen, und zwar dadurch, daß dieser sie unfreiwillig kopiert. Bestätigt

wird

dies

durch

die

ironische

Darstellung

des

augen-

sophistischen

Umgangs mit der Zeit. So haben die Sophisten, obwohl sie selbst schon recht alt sind, das, was sie für Arete halten, erst seit kurzem in ihrem Lehrprogramm (272a,b), wollen es in kürzester Zeit vermitteln können (273d) und erreichen dies, wie Sokrates bemerkt, mit Ktesippos sogar (303e). Die Ironie unterstellt zwar, was die sokratische Gesprächsführung durchgängig vorführt: wo wahres Wissen erworben werden soll, benötigt Wissenserwerb viel Zeit. Was dadurch ironisiert wird, sind aber die angeblichen Lehrer, selbst wenn dafür aufschluBreich sein muß, wie diese ihrerseits gelernt haben. Schließlich geht es auch dort, wo die Anamnesis im Dialog direkt angesprochen ist, primär um die Struktur des Wissens, über das der

Lehrer verfügt und das der Schüler anstrebt. Wie der Beginn des zweiten Protreptikos zeigt, besteht die methodische Kompetenz eines Dialektikers nicht zuletzt darin, den bereits untersuchten Gegenstand erinnernd gegenwärtig zu halten und dadurch einem vertieften Verständnis (durch Erinnerung an noch nicht Erörtertes) zuführen zu können (288d). Daß Kleinias, als er erneut dazu aufgefordert wird, sich an den ersten Protreptikos zu erinnern, dies auch tatsächlich vermag (289a), ist insofern ein Hinweis auf eine erwachende methodische Kompetenz. Im zweiten eristischen Teil versuchen die Sophisten dagegen umgekehrt, sich gegen eine Widerlegung durch Sokrates abzusichern, indem sie seine Erinnerung an etwas früher Gesagtes verspotten, weil er sich nicht an das gegenwärtig Gesagte als das einzig Relevante halte

(287b). Darin zeigt sich am deutlichsten, durch welchen Umgang mit der Zeit ihre Gesprächsführung grundsätzlich gekennzeichnet ist, nämlich durch eine Zerstückelung des Gesprächs in kürzeste Gesprächssituationen, seine femporale Fragmentierung. Im Hinblick auf das Gegenwärtighalten eines Themas setzt sie sich damit dem dialektischen Langreden als eine radikale Form des Kurzredens entgegen. Ebenso deutlich zeigt sich darin auch eine bestimmte Auffassung der Zeit.

Da es den Sophisten nur um das gerade jetzt Gegenwärtige geht, und zwar so, daß das Vergangene dabei grundsätzlich irrelevant ist, wird jede Gegenwart als solche isoliert. Im Grunde ist die Gegenwart dabei letztlich auf ein Jetzt im Sinne eines bloßen Zeitpunkts reduzierbar, auch wenn sich dies im Gespräch so radikal kaum

umsetzen

läßt.

Durch

8 So auch Gorgias, 4558.

welche

Auffassung

der

Zeit

die

Isolierung

einzelner

56

Der sophistische Umgang mit der Zeit in Euthydemos

Gesprächssituationen zumindest eine minimale Plausibilität gewinnen kann, liegt somit auf der Hand: die Zeit wird von den Sophisten ebenso als strukturlose Folge

von isolierten Gegenwarten unterstellt, wie die Sprache als strukturloser Haufen von Wörtern

mit

benannt wird.

isolierten

Bedeutungen,

Selbst wenn

Seiendes

einfach

darin ein materialer Aspekt von Zeit und

in

denen

strukturloses

Sprache

getroffen sein mag, ist diese als Folge von Gegenwarten natürlich genausowenig verstanden, wie jene als ein Haufen von Wörtern. Was fehlt, ist zumindest ein explizites Verständnis der Einheit, in der die verschiedenen Gegenwarten wie die verschiedenen Wörter verbunden sein müssen, um die Struktur von Zeit bzw. von Sprache besitzen zu können. Während der sophistische Umgang mit der Sprache aber immerhin darauf zielt, trotz jener Isolation zugleich eine unterstellte Einheit mit

etwas Verschiedenem verdeckt ins Spiel zu bringen, bleibt die Einheit der Zeit für den sophistischen Umgang mit ihr ohne jede Bedeutung. Wie sich gezeigt hat, geht es hier lediglich darum, Widerlegungen durch die zeitliche Isolation von Gesprächs-

situationen abzusichern, indem sie diese in eine reine Gegenwart verlegt, durch die ein gleichsam zeitfreier Raum der Widerlegung eröffnet wird. Der sophistische Umgang mit der Zeit zielt also auf eine Überwindung der Zeit in der Zeit.

m

Nimmt man diese verschiedenen Aspekte zusammen, so erweist sich das vorgebliche Wissen der Sophisten als die Ansicht, daß jeder, der auf die von ihnen vorgeführte Weise zu sprechen vermag, auch alles weiß, was es zu wissen gibt, und zwar in jeder möglichen Gesprächssituation, also immer. Es kann demnach gar nichts Bestimmtes geben, daß zu lernen wäre, außer allenfalls die sophistische Weise des Sprechens. Nun beruht diese aber lediglich auf einem ungerechtfertigten Isolieren bekannter Wörter mit ihren bekannten Bedeutungen oder dem bekannten Seienden, das sie benennen, das durch ein ebenso ungerechtfertigtes Isolieren einzelner Gesprächssituationen angesichts des bekannten Vergehens von Zeit abgesichert wird. Es gibt also auch an der sophistischen Weise zu sprechen nichts Bestimmies, daß im eigentlichen Sinne zu lernen wäre. Für ihren Erfolg kommt es vielmehr bloß darauf an, die Einstellung zu Sprache und Zeit im Sinne jenes willkürlichen

Isolierens zu ändern und durch eine gewisse Übung epistemologische

Bedeutung

der

Zeit

ist darin

ebenso

zu befestigen. geleugnet,

Eine feste wie

die

der

Sprache. Eben daraus ergibt sich der Schein eines universalen Wissens. Meines Erachtens ist es dieser Schein, der in dem gegen Sokrates vorgebrachten Schluß zum Ausdruck kommt, daß jeder, der etwas weiß, alles immer weiß. Und karikiert wird in ihm natürlich die Universalität des philosophischen Wissens. Dies gilt nicht nur im

Hinblick auf seinen Umgang mit der Sprache, sondern auch im Hinblick auf seinen Umgang mit der Zeit, wie er im Immer-Wissen angesprochen ist. Denn dem Philo-

Walter Mesch

57

sophen geht es ebenfalls, wenn Uberwindung der Zeit in der Zeit.

auch

auf

eine

ganz

andere

Weise,

um

eine

In diese Richtung deutet bereits die Rolle der Erinnerung fiir das dialektische Wissen. Wer sich an etwas erinnert, vergegenwärtigt eine Vergangenheit und überwindet damit wenigstens eine von der Zeit gesetzte Verschiedenheit. Die Zeit

als solche ist darin freilich so wenig geleugnet, als in diesem Erinnern lediglich die Einheit in der Verschiedenheit von Gegenwart und Vergangenheit bzw. ihre Ausdehnung zur Geltung gebracht wird. So wenig das Unterscheiden von Ideen ihre

Isolation bedeutet, so wenig bedeutet das erinnernde Vergegenwärtigen demnach das Isolieren einer reinen Gegenwart. Der Unterschied zwischen der philosophischen Überwindung der Zeit in der Zeit und der sophistischen wäre damit nicht weniger eindeutig als der Unterschied zwischen ihren verschiedenen Weisen, der Einheit von Bestimmtheiten Ausdruck zu verleihen. Dennoch deutet die Karikatur auch hier auf eine ernstzunehmende Schwierigkeit der Dialektik. Im Text zeigt sich dies daran, daß die Sophisten das Alles-immer-Wissen als Reaktion auf das von Sokrates vergeblich gesuchte philosophische Wissen anbieten (2930). Im Blick auf den Aspekt des Alles-Wissens ist nicht allzu schwer zu sehen, warum im Euthydemos unklar bleiben muß, worin das Werk dieses Wissens besteht, indem es alles andere regiert (291e). Nicht nur wäre die umfangreiche Gerechtigkeitstheorie der Politeia anzuführen gewesen, um alle Fragen zu beantworten, die Sokrates in seine Aporie führen. Vielmehr hätte es darin auch um die Universalität des philosophischen Wissens gehen müssen. Und dies hätte bedeutet, den im sophistischen Umgang mit der Sprache nur karikierten Aspekt des Unterscheidens und Verbindens von Ideen ausdrücklich zu thematisieren, was der

Darstellungsabsicht des Dialogs nicht entspricht. Dies mag auch für den Aspekt des Immer-Wissens

komplizierter.

gelten.

Gleichwohl

Während

liegen

der philosophische

die

Dinge

Umgang

hier

offenkundig

mit der Sprache

noch

in vielen

anderen Dialogen ausdrücklich thematisiert wird, ist dies beim Umgang mit der Zeit

nämlich gar nicht der Fall. Bezugnahmen

auf

die

Erinnerung

finden

sich

zwar

häufig,

ebenso

Bemerkungen zu verschiedenen Aspekten der Zeitproblematik und ihrer Bedeutung fürs Gespräch. So trifft man in der Politeia auf den Gedanken, der Philosoph besitze eine Theoria von der ganzen Zeit, wie vom ganzen Sein, weshalb er das menschliche Leben für nichts Großes halte (486a). Dies mag im Zusammenhang damit stehen, daß nur die Philosophen das „sich immer gleich und auf dieselbe Weise

Verhaltende“ erfassen können (484b) und sich diesem dabei in ihrem Wissen so ähnlich wie nur möglich machen (500c). Wie das darin zum Ausdruck kommende Immer-Sein der Idee aufzufassen ist, kann aber kaum als geklärt gelten. Dies liegt vor allem daran, daß Platon, obwohl er ähnliche Formulierungen sehr häufig verwendet, kaum Hinweise darauf gibt, wie er dieses Immer-Sein aufgefaßt wissen will. Angesichts der Differenzierung von Zeit und Aion im Timaios neige ich zu der

58

Der sophistische Umgang mit der Zeit in Euthydemos

verbreiteten Ansicht, daß es sich hier nicht nur um eine ununterbrochene Dauer in der Zeit handelt, sondern um eine Transzendenz von Zeit?. Wenn dies richtig ist,

ware klar, worin die eigentliche Brisanz der sophistischen Leugnung der epistemologischen Bedeutung der Zeit bestünde. Sie hätte dann nämlich als Karikatur ihrer philosophischen Transzendierung zu gelten, die sich zwar nicht einem Rückgang auf eine reine Gegenwart im Sinne eines bloßen Zeitpunktes verdankt, wohl aber einem Rückgang auf die reine Gegenwart eines grundsätzlich unvergänglichen Lebendigseins, wie sie im Aion angesprochen ist. Und dies kann schon deshalb nicht

trivial sein, weil es sich dabei wirklich um eine Überwindung der Zeit in der Zeit handeln müßte, und nicht nur um eine partielle Überwindung der Verschiedenheit von Vergangenheit und Gegenwart, wie sie in jeder Erinnerung vorliegt.

Universität Heidelberg

? Man vgl. hierzu etwa Chemiss (1944), 211. Gegen die traditionelle Interpretation hatte sich bereits F.M.Comford (1937) gewandt. Gefolgt ist ihm darin meines Wissens allerdings nur J. Whittaker (1968). Näheres zur platonischen Auffassung der Zeit und des Aions in W. Mesch (1997).

The origin of professional eristic David Hitchcock Plato’s Euthydemus contrasts two forms of education. In three separate scenes, the brothers Euthydemus and Dionysodorus demonstrate the skill at refuting which they offer to develop in anyone who will pay them a fee; Euthydemus identifies teaching

this skill with “transmitting virtue” (273d8), i.e. teaching people how to live their lives well (cf. 275a-b, 287a). Between their demonstrations Socrates leads the young Cleinias by patient step-by-step question and answer,

first to the conclusion

that

wisdom, in the sense of the knowledge of how to use things correctly, “is teachable and alone among existing things makes a human being happy and fortunate”(282c8di), and then to perplexity over what sort of knowledge such wisdom can be (293a).This is Socrates’ “amateurish”(278d5) version of the “protreptic wisdom”(278c5-6) which the brothers promised but failed to deliver, designed to persuade Cleinias to pursue virtue and wisdom, i.e. to study philosophy. As Kahn

(1998) points out, the form which this study will take is only hinted at in the dialogue; one can gather what it will be like partly from the way in which Socrates reasons with Cleinias, and partly from the components of substantive doctrine alluded to during the brothers’ sophistical refutations.

It is a legitimate task to abstract from the dialogue the questioning activity of Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, to characterize it, and to look for the origins of this peculiar practice. For Aristotle quotes (at Sophistical Refutations 20.177b12-25 and Rhetoric 11.24.1401a28-29) a number of fallacious arguments of Euthydemus,

similar in kind but different in content to those advanced by the brothers in Plato’s dialogue. Thus Euthydemus was a real person who really did propound the sorts of tricky arguments which Plato puts in his mouth. In what follows I shall propose, on

the basis of the structure of the conversational practice of the two brothers in Plato’s dialogue, and of other evidence, that the ultimate origin of their practice of eristic is, none other than the historical Socrates. 1. Structure Neither Euthydemus nor Dionysodorus simply propounds fallacious arguments for paradoxical conclusions. Each of the 21 refutations which Bonitz (1806) has listed begins with a thesis enunciated by the subsequent answerer. Commitment to this

60

The origin of professional eristic

thesis is elicited in response to a question by Euthydemus

or Dionysodorus,

a

question motivated by the context. In subsequent conversation, the would-be refuter solicits assent to premisses of an argument by posing a question to which a definite

answer is expected. The vast majority of these questions (45 of 54) are yes-no questions, to which the expected answer is usually “yes”, but sometimes, as at 276a8-b1 and 277a6-7, “no”. Most of the remainder (6 of 9) are either-or questions where the interlocutor is expected to choose one disjunct rather than the other. (The three free-form premiss-soliciting questions occur in refutation 19, where Socrates is asked to identify three types of craftsmen by the work which they do.) For the most part, the brothers’ respondents give the expected answer without much protest, and are thus caught in their trap; as we might expect, Socrates sometimes puts up

significant resistance to premiss-eliciting questions. The questioner draws conclusions from these premisses, usually deductively, but sometimes (as at 276b45) inductively; a single refutation may contain one or more such inferences. Where

there is a chain of reasoning, the questioner usually obtains the assent of the answerer to intermediate conclusions but not to the final conclusion, which the questioning brother announces with a tone of triumph (e.g. at 276b4-5, c6-7, etc.).

The

refutation

interlocutor’s

is successful admissions

when

the

either some

questioner

conclusion

is able

to draw

incompatible

with

from

his

the original

thesis (not necessarily its direct contradictory) or some absurdity whose derivation used the thesis as a premiss.

The

first type of refutation we

may

call a direct

refutation, the second an indirect refutation. The pattern, followed scrupulously throughout the 21 refutations, is exhibited in the table at the end of this paper.

Thus the form of structured conversation in which the two brothers engage is exactly the method of the Socratic elenchos as we find it in such Platonic dialogues as the Euthyphro, Laches, Charmides and Lysis. The only structural difference between the brothers’ eristic and Socrates’ elenchos is that they impose rigid

restrictions on what their answerer can say. With them, the practice of elenchos has become a formal exercise governed by rigid rules. 2. Origin Socrates indicates (at 272a-b) that Euthydemus and his brother have mastered in just

the last year or two, since their previous visit to Athens, their eristic skill of refuting whatever may be said, whether false or true. There is no indication in the dialogue,

or in any other ancient source, where they picked it up. Plato’s vagueness about its origin may reflect the fact that it was not developed until after Socrates’ death; in that case, it would be dramatically impossible to indicate its origin in a dialogue with ‘At 293c3, 6-7, 296a7, b5-6, and 298a2 Socrates adds to his assent what Euthydemus calls a “qualification” (296b7). At 295b4-5 and 295e5, he adds that he knows by his soul. At 302b7-8, he gives an unexpected answer, thus forcing Dionysodorus into a rather tortuous detour.

David Hitchcock

61

a living Socrates. Some may suggest, Protagoras as the origin, on the basis of Diogenes Laertius’ report (IX. 55) that Protagoras wrote a work entitled “The Art of Eristic [Arguments?]”. As Diels-Kranz note, however (DK 80B6), the title is doubtful. Further,

the

fragments

of,

and

testimonies

about,

Protagoras

which

Diels-Kranz

associate with this title point in a different direction than the eristic art of Euthydemus and Dionysodorus. First, Aristotle, as reported by Cicero (in his Brutus 12.46), gives Protagoras a role in the history of rhetoric of writing and preparing

discussions of important topics, called by Cicero “commonplaces”, communes loci (Aristotle,

fr. 37

Rose

=

DK

80B6).

Second,

Diogenes

Laertius

attributes

Protagoras the doctrine that on every issue there are two arguments which

to

are

opposed to one another (DK 80Bé6a, cf. 80A20). Aristotle gives us in his Rhetoric

(11.24.1402a17-23) an example taken from Corax’s Art of Rhetoric of the type of opposed arguments Protagoras produced: a weak man accused of assault can argue

that he was not likely to do such a thing, and a strong man can argue that he was not likely to do such a thing because it was bound to seem likely. “This is making the worse argument better,” Aristotle comments. “Hence people rightly felt disgusted at Protagoras’ profession. For it is not a genuine probability but a false and merely apparent one; it belongs in no art but rhetoric and eristic”(1402a24-28). Thus Aristotle links Protagoras’ profession (“making men good citizens” [Prot. 319a3-7]) with making the worse argument better and in particular with treating a qualified probability as an unqualified one. Although Aristotle notes the similarity of this “apparent enthymeme” with the fallacy in eristic discussions of dropping a qualification, he locates it, and Protagoras, within the rhetorical tradition which he contrasts with eristic (1402a3-28). Further, Socrates in Plato’s Euthydemus explicitly mentions Protagoras in the context of Dionysodorus’ argument that it is not possible

for one person to contradict another (286c2). Here Plato had a perfect opportunity to indicate that the tricky refutations of Euthydemus and Dionysodorus had their origin in the teaching of Protagoras, which he would have known if it were a fact. But he

does not do so. Rather, he attributes to Protagoras a specific claim: that it is not possible to speak falsehoods; when someone speaks, they either speak truths or do not speak, (286c6-8) Plato’s silence here counts against the hypothesis that Protagoras practiced or taught the kind of eristic that the two brothers practice. The “twofold arguments” (DK 90) dating from about 400 BCE exhibit the pattern

claimed by Protagoras of opposed arguments on a given issue. They are not refutations, however, but arguments allegedly put forward by different philosophers for opposed conclusions on certain central concepts (good and bad, beautiful and ugly, right and wrong, truth and falsehood). Nor in general do they exhibit the tricky patterns of reasoning found in the brothers’ refutations. Thus they reinforce the claim that Protagoras’ twofold arguments were not sophistical refutations of the Euthydemian type. In Plato’s Sophist the Eleatic visitor portrays the practitioner of a money-making

62

The origin of professional eristic

art of eristic as a kind of sophist. This art is a type of contest, ἀγωνιστική (22522), specifically of fighting, μαχητική (225a6-7), pitting speeches against speeches rather than bodies against bodies (225a13). Such verbal “disputes”, ἀμφισβητήσεις (225b3) either consist of opposed long, public speeches about just things and unjust things (“forensic disputes”) or are carried on in private and chopped up into

questions and answers (“disputation”, ἀντιλόγιίκόν, 225b11).

One type of such

disputation, commonly called “eristic”, ξριστικόν (22509), is a matter of expertise,

and concerns general questions, such as “justs themselves and unjusts themselves” (225c7-8; for the awkward plural, cf. the reference to “the equals themselves” at Phaedo 74c1). One part of eristic wastes money; the other part makes it. The moneywasting eristic, whose practitioners do it for pleasure but whose hearers often find it unpleasant, should be called “chattering” (225410-1 1) - perhaps an ironic reference to a charge made against Socrates (Eupolis 352, Aristophanes Clouds 1480, 1485), as acknowledged by Plato (e.g., at Phaedo 70c, Republic VI. 488e, Theaetetus

195b).

At any rate, the visitor’s description

of a private

question-and-answer

discussion about general questions fits very well the practice of Socratic refutation

as we find it in such Platonic dialogues as the Apology, Euthyphro, Laches and. Republic I: the “hearers” who find this type of disputation unpleasant are the selfprofessed experts who are unable to defend their opinions about who corrupts the young, or about what piety, courage or justice is. Money-making eristic is

differentiated from this Socratic activity only in that it makes because people are willing to pay for such conversation Sophist does not indicate whether the pleasure-oriented question-and-answer discussion originated first; it does parallelism between Socratic refutation and professional

money, perhaps

as a form of education. The or money-oriented form of however point to the close eristic. ΕΝ

The strongest argument for a Socratic origin of professional eristic is that the form of question-and-answer discussion in which the brothers engage is precisely the same as Socrates’ elenchos. There is no reliable evidence of any predecessor or independent contemporary of Socrates having taken the role of questioner in a question-and-answer discussion directed at determining whether the answerer’s thesis can be refuted. We have testimony that Socrates’ young admirers imitated his style of discussion:

...the young men who follow me around of their own free will, those who have most leisure, the sons of the very rich, take pleasure in hearing people questioned; they themselves often imitate me and try to question others. I think they find an abundance of men who believe they have some knowledge but know little or nothing. (Plato, Apology 23c2-8, Grube’s translation)

David Hitchcock

63

It is a plausible extrapolation from this imitation that some of Socrates’ followers

developed his practice of refutation as a teachable skill. The most probable origin of professional eristic, then, is Socrates himself. This is not to say that the brothers got their repertoire of fallacious tricks from Socrates, but that they practiced the type of refutation in which Socrates engaged, and inserted into it the trickery which subsequently earned the name “sophistry”. If professional eristic really does descend from the historical Socrates, the

foolishness of the brothers in the Euthydemus corrupting effects which Plato’s Socrates VIL.538c-539a). It is noteworthy that in elenchos only as a momentary stage in the that wisdom is the only good and ignorance

is another demonstration

of the

attributes to Socrates’ elenchos (Rep. the Euthydemus Socrates deploys his development of a constructive position the only bad, that wisdom can be taught,

and that it is a certain kind of knowledge. At 288e4-5, he remarks to Cleinias that “earlier we refuted” the proposition that it would benefit us if we knew how to recognize, as we went about, where in the earth the most gold was buried; and that

he and Cleinias proved that it would not even benefit us any more if we got all the gold in the earth without any trouble or digging. This “refutation”, at 280d, is in fact a step on the road to the positive realization that wisdom is the only good. Thus it is not Socratic elenchos to which eristic is contrasted in the Euthydemus, but the more constructive, cooperative development of a substantive position characteristic of Socrates in such dialogues of Plato’s maturity as Phaedo, Symposium, Republic and Phaedrus. Plato s Euthydemus signals the abandonment of the elenchos, except as a moment in a more constructive form of argumentation. McMaster University

+9 Refutation

A

Scene I

|

Provocation

Form

Thesis

Conclusion

Cl. | S. asks the brothers to persuade Cl. to pursue

direct

The wise are those who

The ignorant learn, not the

CL

direct

The ignorant learn, notthe wise. (276b4-5)

la. 275d276b 1b. 276c

2a. 277a-b

CL i

2b. 277b-c

|-E. draws the conclusion of la above from CL’s admissions. (276b4-5)

| E. asks Cl. whether learners learn what they know or | direct what they do not know. (276d7-8)

CL | E. draws the conclusion of 2a above from Cl.’s admissions. (277a8-b1)

direct

Learners learn what they do not know. (276d9) Cl. leams what he knows. (277a8-b1)

| The wise learn, not the ignorant. (276c6) CI. leams what he knows. (277a8-b1) | Those who do not know learn, not those who know. (277c6-

7) S.

S. says it is very important for him and the others present that Cl. becomes wise and good. (282e4-6;

indirect

cf. 275a5-b4, 278d1-3)

| S. and the others really want C1. to become wise.

S. and the others present want CI. to perish. (283d6)

(283c1-2, cf. 283b4-7)

3. 283c-d 4. 283e2848

Ct.

| Ct. accuses D. of making a false accusation against him and the others, that they want Cl. to perish. (283e3-6)

indirect

5. 284b-c

Ct.

| Ct. protests that whoever says that he wants Cl. to perish does not say what really is (οὐ τὰ ὄντα λέγει). (284b1-2)

direct

| Itis possible to speak falsely. (283e8)

Whoever says that Ct. wants Cl. to perish does not say what really is.

D. speaks the truth and makes no false accusation against you. (284a6-8) D. speaks the truth and says what really is. (284c6)

(284b1-2) Ct. replies that D. says things that are in a certain

There are some peopie

Good men speak badly of bad

9135142 jouoissafoid fo u18110 ayy

Scene II

Ct

| way, but not as they are. (284c7-8)

indirect

| who say things as they are: | things. (284d5-6) fine and good people, and those who tell the truth.

(284c9-d2) 7. 285e286b

Ct.

| Ct. insists that he is not getting angry with D. and abusing him, but contradicting what he says. (285d36)

direct

Contradiction exists. (285d7-e1)

We would not contradict one another if we both uttered the account (tov Adyov) of the thing, or neither did, or I uttered it and you uttered another account of something

YOOOYIHH PIADA

6. 2844

else. (286a4-b5) 8. 287d-e

Scene III

S.

S. asks D. if the sense of D.’s phrase, “I [=S.] do not | direct know what to do with the argument”, is anything

The phrase, “I do not know what to do with the

other than, “I do not know how to refute it”. (287c1-

argument”, has sense.

2)

(presupposed at 287c1-2)

No phrase has sense. (tacit at 287el)

5.

S. calls on E. and D. to show 5. and Cl. what the knowledge is whose possession would mean their spending the rest of their lives well. (2934-6)

direct

S. does not possess the knowledge which he and Cl. are seeking. (tacit at 293a4-6 and earlier?)

S. has the knowledge which he and Cl. were seeking. (293d7)

10. 295b296e

8.

S. and Cl. express disbelief that E. and D. not only know everything, but know it always. (295a1)

direct

E. and D. do not always know everything. (295a1)

S. always knows everything. | (296c10-d4)

11. 297e298a

S.

S. mentions Heracles’ nephew Iolaus. (297c7)

direct

Chaeredemus was the father of S.’s half-brother Patrocles. (297e7)

Chaeredemus is not a father. | (298a8-9)

12, 298b-c

Ct.

| Ct. objects that by the same reasoning (as in 11) E.’s | direct father is not a father. (298b4-5)

E.’s father is not a father.

E.’s father is the father of Ct. and of everyone else as well.

(298b4-5)

69

9. 293b-c

13. 298d-e

Ct

Ct indirectly refutes E’s thesis in 12 by using the same reasoning to conclude that E’s father is a dog.

direct

Ct’s father is not a dog. (implicit at 298d5)

99

(298c2) Ct’s dog is Ct’s father. (298e45)

(298c5-d6) 148. 299a-c

Ct.

| Ct. remarks ironically that the father of E. and the puppies has enjoyed many good things from this wisdom of E’s. (299a3-5)

indirect

| E’s father, and other men, need many good things. (tacit at 299a3-5, cf. 279a2-4)

| A man ought to drink as much medicine as possible (299b7) and to have as many spears and shields as possible.

140. 299d-e

Ct. | Same as for 148

indirect

| It is good to have lots of gold. (299d2-3)

One must have gold always and everywhere, above all in oneself. (299d6-7)

15. 300a

Ct.

indirect

| Scythians and other men see things which it is possible to see. (300a1-3)

The cloaks of E. and D. are able to see. (300a4)

| Using the same equivocation as D. in 13, Ct. notes that the Scythians are said to have a lot of gold in their own skulls, to drink out of their own gilded skulls, and to gaze inside them. (299e3-6)

Ct 16. 300b

direct Ct. tells E. that, if it is possible to say nothing while speaking, E. is doing just that. (300a7-8)

Ct 17. 300b-c 5. 18. 300e3018

19. 301c

direct Same as for 16.

S.

“ S. asks CI. why he laughs at such “serious and beautiful things” as the arguments of E. and D. (300e1-2)

indirect

S. remarks that D. and E. bring discussion to complete perfection, like craftsmen who complete

indirect

It is not possible to speak while being silent. (300b12) It is not possible to be silent while speaking. (300b2-3) | The many beautiful things are different from the beautiful itself, but some beauty is present in each

| Ct. speaks of something silent. (implicit at 300b4) Ct. is silent about things which speak. (300c3) Socrates is Dionysodorus. (301a6)

of them. (30123-4)

| S. knows what is fitting for | A person does what is fitting if each craftsman. (301e6-7) | they slaughter and skin the

2135149 pouoissafosd fo u18140 ay]

(299c2-3)

cook, and then boil and roast him; or smith the smith; or make a pot of the potter.

(301d5-8) 20. 301e303a

S. asks if the wisdom of D. will ever become his own. (3012-3)

21.303a

Ct encourages S. by saying, “Bravo, Heracles, what a fine argument.” (303a6)

indirect

| indirect

| S. thinks he knows his own. (30168)

S. is allowed to sell, give away, or sacrifice Apollo, Zeus and Athena to whatever god he wishes. (303a1-3)

| Bravo, Heracles. (303a6)

Heracles is a bravo or bravo is a Heracles. (303a7-8)

L9

each thing as it is fitting. (301c3-5)

yoooyony PA

67

When Winning is Everything: Euthydemian Eristic

Socratic

Elenchus

and

Roslyn Weiss 4

How

is (Plato’s) Socrates distinguished from eristic sophists like Euthydemus

and

Dionysodorus--that is, from sophists whose business it is to “make the weaker argument

the stronger”?:

is the difference between

them

simply that they do, and

Socrates does not, charge a fee? In this paper I shall argue that Socrates certainly does on occasion make the weaker argument the stronger--perhaps does so even on many an occasion. What sets him apart from practitioners of eristic is but the seriousness of his end. My first aim will be to show that Socrates does knowingly use the sort of fallacious arguments associated with sophists of this type. In the Meno, at the close of the slave-boy-demonstration (M. 854-860), Socrates uses the very arguments for which

he rebukes Euthydemus and Dionysodorus in the Euthydemus. Having just established that the slave-boy has true opinions now about something of which he has no knowledge, opinions that he has not, however, acquired in his present life,

Socrates concludes that the boy must have learned those opinions “at some other time” (en allôi tini chronôi - M. 8641). Socrates then moves quickly--too quickly--from the slave-boy’s having acquired his opinions “at some other time” to his soul’s being “at all times” (ton aei chronon) in a state of having learned. His “reasoning” seems to go as follows: (1) The slave-boy has true opinions now, that is, in this lifetime, when he is a human being. (2) The slave-boy acquired these opinions at some other time, that is, before this lifetime, when he was not a human being. (3) For the whole of time (ton panta chronon), the slave-boy either is or is not a human being. ..(4) The slave-boy is at all times (ton aei chronon) in a state of having

learned. On its face, this argument is quite obviously flawed.

Indeed, its flaws are so glaring

that even were a skilled logician perchance to succeed in finding some subtle way of

Roslyn Weiss

69

construing this argument so as to rescue it from its apparently flagrant logical violations, his doing so might well only obscure the argument’s deliberate weaknesses: it is possible, after all, to be too subtle. Furthermore, Socrates

compounds the faulty logic in this Meno passage in the next one: “if the truth about the things that are is always present in our soul,” he asks, “will the soul not be immortal?” (M. 86b1-2). Here, too, the fallacy is glaring: surely it does not follow from the fact that one’s soul contains the truth always, that one’s soul is immortal, that is, exists always. Are these errors committed unawares? To see that they are not, I tum to the Euthydemus. The discussion at Euthd. 295-296 between Socrates and Euthydemus strongly parallels--perhaps parodies!--the discussion of recollection in the Meno. In the Meno, Socrates attempts to refute the “eristic” paradox that Meno raises once it begins to dawn on him that neither Gorgias nor he nor Socrates nor, as seems likely,

anyone else is able adequately and to Socrates’ satisfaction to answer Socrates’ question about the nature of virtue. Meno’s eristic paradox challenges the very possibility of learning anything unknown; Socrates responds to this paradox by contending that the reason one can learn is that one already knows everything. Socrates goes so far as to say that since “all nature is akin” it follows that if one learns one thing one needs only to be appropriately diligent and one will recover everything else. In the Euthydemus, echoes of these contentions may be heard in Euthydemus’s attempts to prove to Socrates that he (Socrates) has a particular bit of knowledge that he believes himself not to have. Euthydemus assures Socrates that he must already know what he believes he does not know since he (and everyone else) knows everything. Euthydemus’s dubious argument for this stunning assertion

is that Socrates surely knows some things and, if one knows anything, then one knows

everything;

for

unless

one

knows

everything,

the

principle

of

noncontradiction will be violated as one will be both knower and non-knower. The objections that Socrates poses in the Euthydemus to Euthydemus’s assertions are particularly apt as objections to Socrates’ own conclusions in the Meno. In the Euthydemus Socrates asks: “And when you were children and had just been born,

did you know everything?” (Euthd. 294e); could not the same objection be lodged against Socrates’ Theory of Recollection in the Meno, thus:

“And did the slave-boy

have these true opinions when he was a child and had just been born?”? Particularly ! Strauss calls this exchange between Socrates and Euthydemus in the Euthydemus “a caricature of the doctrine of recollection” insofar as it is “silent on the soul as weil as on learning.” See Strauss (1983), 67-88; 84. Chance calls it a “philosophical burlesque,” an “eristic travesty” that deviates from the Theory of Recollection that is its “serious model.” “Plato has shown,” says Chance, “how his very own teaching, which is designed to make us dogged workers and committed seekers after truth, can be swayed by a philosophical mutant into an eristic logos that can, in turn, obliterate all the benefits made possible by anamnesis.” See Chance (1992), 154. Keulen speaks of this passage’s being “den Eindruck geradezu einer Persiflage der ‘Menon’.” See Keulen (1951), 51.

70

Socratic Elenchus and Euthydemian Eristic

striking is Socrates’ objection to Euthydemus’s contention that since one knows always with the same faculty one knows always.

Socrates protests this invalid move

in the Euthydemus by saying: “But I am afraid that this word ‘always’ may trip us up (hémas sphéléi)” (Euthd. 296a9). Does not Socrates himself abuse in the Meno, just as Euthydemus does in the Euthydemus, the expressions ton aei chronon, ton panta chronon, and aei, when he argues (1) that if ton panta chronon one either is or is not a human being, then ton aei chronon one’s soul is always in a state of having learned, and (2) that if the truth about things is “always” present in one’s soul, then one’s soul is immortal, that is, exists “always”? It would be odd indeed for Socrates to be just making a mistake in an argument with Meno when using the very expressions that he is so clearly wary of in the Euthydemus.? What we have in the passage before us from the Meno, however, is not an instance merely of arguments similar to those in the Euthydemus occurring in another dialogue, but an instance of Socrates using in another dialogue the logically treacherous expressions that he explicitly identifies as such in the Euthydemus. How, then, can one suppose that Socrates’ use of fallacious reasoning at the endof

the slave-boy-demonstration in the Meno is anything but deliberate on Plato’s part? Let us accept, then, that at least on this occasion--although once one such occasion is

found, it seems doubtful that it would be the only such occasion--Plato intentionally equips Socrates with fallacious reasoning with which to defend his view. Our answer, then, to the question Vlastos raises so starkly, “Does Socrates Cheat?”,? is certainly yes. If so, we must turn to our second task and ask why Socrates cheats

and when he cheats. According to Vlastos, Socrates does not cheat--ever. Socrates’ goal in elenctic inquiry is the discovery

Since, as Vlastos sees it, of moral truth and since,

moreover, Socrates regards the discovery of moral truth as of critical importance both to his interlocutor and to himself, cheating would have to be anathema to him: not only is it patently immoral and he a just man, but it would be useless--how will truth be advanced if the interlocutor is not really refuted but only apparently so?

I

wish to suggest in this paper that the crux of the difference between elenchus and eristic or, more precisely, between Socrates and sophists like Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, is to be found neither in whether their practice is merely refutative as opposed to being aimed at discovery nor in how far they will go to further their ends, but in what propositions they are willing to refute. Taking my cue from Socrates’ characterization of the practice of eristic in the Eushydemus, I shall argue that what practitioners of eristic will do that Socrates will not is refute “whatever may be said, no matter whether it is false or true” (Euthd. 27201). 4 Socrates may be in the game 2 Sprague (1962), xii. 3Vlastos (1991), 132-56, 4 We may compare with this passage a passage from the Republic (7. 539b-d) in which Socrates warns against young men’s doing dialectic because their constant refutation of other people’s

Roslyn Weiss

71

of refutation and he may at times play just as dirty as sophists, but he will do so in the interest of refuting false views, that is, views that he regards as false -- not in the interest of refuting any view, whether false or true.” It is not the case that Socrates

refutes his interlocutors no matter what they say; he refutes them because of what they say: what they say reveals both what they think of themselves and what they think about how one ought to live. Just as Socrates has a variety of interlocutors with whom he converses, so have they

a variety of false views that he must combat.

Some hold morally noxious views;

some hold egregiously inflated views of themselves and of their own wisdom and importance; still others think prematurely that their brief exchange with Socrates yielded the sought after answer. All these are views that Socrates is committed to uprooting -- and by any means at his disposal. For the task in which Socrates is engaged is the moral improvement of his interlocutors. Socrates’ interest is not

limited to stripping his interlocutors of false conceit -- though it is this (or less than this) that he must often settle for -- or just to getting them to participate in inquiry.

Socrates also cares about what it is his interlocutors care about, what they hold to be of value. He urgently wishes to tum them away from improper and deleterious concerns to proper and beneficial ones. He is bent upon correcting their morally odious beliefs, such views as that it is better to do injustice than to suffer it, that tyranny is an admirable and enviable way to live, that piety is a barter system between men and gods. And Socrates has limited time -- too little time to play strictly by the rules. Nevertheless, insofar as Socrates cares about truth, there is an important sense in which Socrates’ game is no game. Sophists like Euthydemus and Dionysodorus are really just playing (Euthd. 2780); their goal is victory per se. Indeed, Socrates waits -- to no avail -- for the brothers to reveal their “serious side” (Euthd. 278c, 2880); he witnesses instead only a series of

disappointing and disheartening exhibitions of their “jesting” and “frivolity” (Euthd. 278b). As Socrates notes at the end of the dialogue, “serious men are few and beyond price” (Euthd. 3074). Socrates’ description in the Euthydemus of the brothers’ activity is reminiscent of Gorgias’s description in the Gorgias at 456-457

of his art, rhetoric, as a competitive one, an agônia like boxing, wrestling, and pancration, whose essential goal is to win. For Gorgias, a rhetorician who persuades views, whatever they happen to be, results in their “believing nothing of what they earlier believed,” without their having any better views with which to replace the old ones. This condition produces agnosticism or cynicism. 5 Nehamas (1990), 3-16 confuses Socrates’ claim that he is not one “to fight in verbal battles and to refute anything that is said, regardless of whether it is true or false” (Euthd. 2720) with a claim he in fact never makes, viz., that he is “never willing to use arguments which he knew to be fallacious” (8). If it is true, as I maintain, that Socrates will not refute any views but those he

regards as false, that would not preclude his using fallacious arguments to refute those he does regard as false. Interestingly, Nehamas does not see even in Socrates’ putative refusal to use fallacious argument a mark that would distinguish him from sophists because Nehamas does not believe that all sophists are willing to employ fallacious argument.

72

Socratic Elenchus and Euthydemian Eristic

a crowd of something he himself believes to be false cannot be said to have abused his rhetorical skill. $ Although Socrates, too, plays to win,’ he is not just playing.

His play is serious,

spoudaios--a term that appears repeatedly in the Euthydemus--precisely because the victory he seeks is victory for the view that is true and noble and because the defeat that he seeks is defeat for the view that is false and base. And Socrates must winj not to salvage his pride, not to look good, not to earn a livelihood, but to fulfill his “divine mission.” Since for Socrates there is so much at stake, he will stoop, when necessary, to illegitimate arguments as well as to psychological manipulation. He will do so for the sake of championing a true belief over a false, for the sake of cutting an opponent down to size, or for the sake of turing an interlocutor to philosophy, to the search for moral truth.’ That Socratic elenchus uses base tactics for noble purposes must be what underlies Plato’s characterization in the Sophist of

elenchus as a species of sophistry, though one of “noble lineage” (Soph. 230d, 2310). We may note further that Socrates in the Apology never actually denies that he “makes the weaker argument the stronger.” Yet Socrates is not always bent on winning, either because on a particular occasion he is unsure of his own view or has as yet not formed a view of his own, or because his opponent’s view is not morally

odious. Nor does Socrates always argue dishonestly; he has no reason to do so if his interlocutor is honest, well-intentioned, and intellectually able or, at times, if he is just intellectually able. But Socrates will play the rascal with a rascal and, generally speaking, he will tailor his argument to the interlocutor at hand. He will feign admiration for interlocutors he disdains, use shame as a weapon against interlocutors

who will succumb to shame, and make up tales and stories when straightforward arguments prove insufficient for achieving his ends. The very earnestness with which Socrates approaches his task justifies, for him, the tactics he employs. In his

missionary zeal he will do what he must.

Winning is everything when losing means

the triumph of the ends of money, reputation, and honor over those of prudence,

truth, and the best possible state of the soul (Ap. 29d). Philosophy that is not disinterested but therapeutic will resort to virtually any means it deems necessary to 6 Gorgias indeed concedes that his skills can be abused, but what constitutes abuse in his view, in rhetoric as in the other competitive arts, is just hurting friends and family and others whom one has no cause to hurt. 7 We may note that when Callicles in the Gorgias accuses Socrates of loving to win (Gorg. 515b), although Socrates responds that he asks what he asks not for love of winning, he does not deny that he loves to win. There is a difference between being driven to win, as Socrates surely is, and being driven to win for the sake of winning, as Socrates surely is not. 8 As Socrates says in the Meno, at the conclusion of the slave-boy-demonstration (M. 86c1-3): “... this [viz., that we will be better and more manly and less idle if we think one should search for what one does not know than if we thought that it is not possible to discover what we do not know and that we do not need to search for it] is something that I would certainly fight for to the end, if I could, both in word and deed.” Another end that Socrates seems to think justifies

the means of stretching the truth or just making something up is that of offering comfort to those who are afraid.

Roslyn Weiss

73

advance its end.?

There are in truth but few marks that distinguish Socratic elenchus from eristic. The practitioners of eristic claim to have knowledge and to teach virtue; Socrates does not. The practitioners of eristic charge a fee for their instruction; Socrates does not. The practitioners of eristic have stringent rules governing the answers their interlocutors may offer: they permit their interlocutors to answer only what is asked, without elaboration by way of qualification or clarification; Socrates’ only rules are

that the interlocutor be willing to answer, that he not speak at great length,'° and that he say what he believes.!! Euthydemus and Dionysodorus apparently have no interest in what their interlocutors believe; their business is limited to refutation for its own sake. Socrates’ insistence (an insistence that he relinquishes occasionally!?)

that the interlocutor say what he believes is his way of preventing the interlocutor from dissociating himself from the views he espouses, thereby rendering himself personally invulnerable to their refutation. Socrates can hardly hope to reform his interlocutors if they divest themselves of their views. Socrates’ best chance of effecting change in the views of those whom he engages in conversation (though even this chance is exceedingly slim) is by causing them to doubt themselves or to

look foolish in their own eyes. On my view, the only other clear distinction between Plato’s Socrates who refutes others elenctically and those sophists who refute others eristically is the type of

proposition they are willing to refute:

Euthydemus and Dionysodorus and others of

their ilk will refute any proposition false or believes to be false or incomplete--morally interlocutors hold of themselves, misguided surely right, therefore, to charge Socrates in

true; Socrates will refute only views he noxious propositions, inflated views his. or incomplete definitions. Callicles is the Gorgias with using shame to win an

argument, playing on the ambiguities in words, and exploiting the verbal slips his interlocutors make. But Socrates does these things, I contend, not for the sheer fun of watching others fail, as do “people who pull the chair out from under a man who

is going to sit down and then laugh gleefully when they see him sprawling on his back” (Euthd. 278b-c), but for the serious purpose of advancing, however indirectly

and however little, their prospects for happiness.

For Socrates’ efforts to succeed at

all, however, he must win; were he to lose, he would make matters worse: those with false views would gloat over Socrates’ failure and be confirmed both in thinking themselves wise and in holding their reprehensible moral views. When 9 Witness, for example, the Epicurean approach to argument. 10 Socrates apparently relaxes this rule when he first encounters Protagoras in the Protagoras, permitting him to speak as the others present encourage him to, namely, as he likes (Prot. 3200).

11 Vlastos (1983), 27-58 (see esp. 35-38) stresses the importance to Socrates of what he calls Socrates’ “say-what-you-believe constraint.”

12 See Kahn (1992), 233-58; 255-56, Kahn argues that Socrates is often willing to see the sincerity tule violated.

74

Socratic Elenchus and Euthydemian Eristic

Socrates says, then, in the Gorgias at 458a that he is the kind of man who would

consider it a greater benefaction to be refuted than to refute another “inasmuch as it is a greater boon to be delivered from the worst of evils oneself than to deliver another,” we must remember that this is only so in the case when, as Socrates

explicitly stipulates, what he says is not true. Otherwise, it is he who must refute and refute decisively. We may note that Socrates makes quite clear in this passage that although he is the kind of man who gladly refutes others, he does so when wha

they say is not true.!?

|

Socrates has his own bag of tricks for foiling his interlocutors. One trick is epagôgé, a method of argument that Socrates uses extensively but which is often nothing but

hasty generalization used to blur potential distinctions.

Another is his tactic of

directing the interlocutor’s attention away from the matter at hand to its supposed

opposite and then back to the matter at hand. Examples of this technique include the arguments at Gorg. 474-475 and at Prot. 332-333. One feature of arguments such as these is that they produce mere verbal assent; the interlocutor is not in any way helped by Socrates to understand why the matter stands as Socrates contends it does. In the Gorgias’ instance, for example, Polus learns nothing about why committing injustice is worse than suffering it and so he cannot really have come to believe, as a result of Socrates’ argument, that it is worse. He is told nothing of such Socratic notions as that a soul, too, may suffer harm, notions that would help make sense of

the Socratic idea that wrongdoing adversely affects the wrongdoer.

Once Polus

concedes to Socrates that kalon is associated with pleasure or benefit or both, he is

ensnared by this admission and consequently forced into merely verbal agreement with a Socratic view that he clearly does not share, viz., that aischron must be associated with pain or harm. I say that this agreement is merely verbal because what causes Polus in the first place to assert that committing injustice is more shameful but not worse than suffering it is his association of pain and harm with kakon as opposed to with aischron! So, Socrates has tricked him into saying--but not into believing--precisely the opposite of what he in fact believes.!4 We may also 13 The passage reads as follows: “And what kind of man am I? One of those who would gladly be refuted if anything I say is not true, and would gladly refute another who says what is not true, but would be no less happy to be refuted myself than to refute, for I consider that a greater benefit, inasmuch as it is a greater boon to be delivered from the worst of evils than to deliver

another.

And I believe there is no worse evil for a man than a false opinion about the subject

of our present discussion.”

speaking, cannot be refuted.

It may be noted that, as Socrates is well aware, the truth, strictly

At Gorg. 47b, in response to Polus’s rhetorical exclamation,

“Why, that’s even more ‘difficult’ to refute than the other claim,” Socrates says: “Not difficult,

surely, Polus, but impossible. What is true is never refuted.” We may observe, however, that Socrates does not believe that the person who holds a true view is always able to withstand attempts at refutation; only a person who has knowledge can reliably do that (see Rep. 7.534c). '4 7 cannot, therefore, agree with Hugh Benson, who argues ([1989], 591-99) that the difference between elenchus and eristic is that eristic “15 only concerned to establish apparent or verbal inconsistency, not inconsistency in what the interlocutor believes” (593; emphasis in original), whereas elenchus seeks to establish inconsistency in what the interlocutor believes. We may

Roslyn Weiss

75

note that Socrates, for all his demanding that the interlocutor say what he truly believes, is hardly averse to getting his interlocutor to say what he surely does not

believe. He lures Gorgias into an insincere claim at Gorg. 459-460,

and gets

Meletus twice to say things he surely does not believe: at Ap. 24d-25e and again at Ap. 26e. In the final analysis, then, all one can say is that whereas a sophist who

does eristic uses his tricks indiscriminately to refute any view, Socrates uses his elenctic tricks to combat those views with disapproves, or that he regards as incomplete.

which

he

disagrees,

of which

he

Let me close by addressing an objection that Vlastos directs to this and any view of Socratic elenchus that sees it as “cheating.” How, Vlastos asks, can Socrates hope to

examine his own views by way of elenchus if he resorts to deliberately fallacious refutations of his interlocutors’ views? On my understanding, elenchus is only useful to Socrates in his examination of his own views in the very early stages of an elenctic examination. For what the elenchus does first is encourage Socrates’ interlocutors to reveal their views and what sorts of proof they have to support their views. Once they tip their hand, so to speak, Socrates is in a position to size up his opponents pretty quickly. He is able to gauge the likelihood that these men might

have something to say that he would find in any way threatening to his already fairly firmly established moral views. When he sees that what they have to offer in support of their views are arguments that celebrate wealth, honor, and pleasure, he can simply dismiss these men as unworthy opponents and proceed to a refutation of their views by tailoring his elenctic arguments to their particular idiosyncrasies. Since his views are vindicated as soon as he sees what his interlocutors have to say

in defense of their views, he can swiftly go on to make them look as ridiculous as they are. Vlastos argues that Socrates’ earnestness in pursuing moral truth precludes his arguing deliberately fallaciously. As I see it, however, Socrates’ willingness to argue deliberately fallaciously varies directly with the degree of his earnestness: the more earnest, the more willing. Socrates’ concern for others drives him, as it has

driven missionaries in all times, to resort to questionable tactics -- when necessary. Lehigh University

consider in this connection Glaucon’s reaction at the beginning of Book II of the Republic to Socrates’ refutation of Thrasymachus in Book I. Glaucon notes that arguments such as those used by Socrates against Thrasymachus only seem to persuade, so that if what Socrates wants is really to persuade, he has not done what he wants. If Socrates were interested only in convicting people of inconsistency in what they believe, he would not try to get them to say they believe things that they do not really believe, It is not that Socrates does not care what people believe, but in the interests of discrediting a particular belief that an interlocutor does hold, Socrates is not averse to trapping his interlocutor in a merely apparent or verbal inconsistency. 15 Kahn (1992), 255.

Making Things Good Socratic Philosophy

and

Making

Good

Things

in

Thomas C. Brickhouse and Nicholas D. Smith In the Euthydemus, Socrates! and the young Cleinias agree that all people want to do well (278e3-279al). Socrates then goes through a list of the things people generally regard as good things, including wealth (279a7), health, pood looks, and other bodily needs (279a8-b2), as well as good birth, powers, and honors in one’s country (279b2-3). Securing Cleinias’ agreement that all of these things are good, Socrates goes on to add the virtues of temperance, justice, and courage to the list, with Cleinias again agreeing that such things are also goods (279b4-5). After then adding wisdom with Cleinias’ assent (279c1), Socrates completes the list with the addition of good fortune (279c7). But then Socrates reconsiders, and offers an argument as to why good fortune really is just wisdom, since, with wisdom, one “could not make a mistake, but is necessarily correct in what he does and in what happens” (280a6-8). In the remainder of the argument, Socrates shows that all of the other so-called “goods” require wisdom in order to be good. He concludes the argument with these words:

It seems likely that with regard to the whole group of things we first called goods, the argument is not about how they are in themselves by

nature goods, but rather, it seems it is thus: if ignorance leads them they are greater evils than their opposites, in so far as they are more able to serve an evil leader. But if understanding and wisdom lead them, they are

greater goods, but in themselves neither sort is of any value. ‘By “Socrates” in this paper, we intend only to refer to the character by that name in Plato’s early dialogues. We do, however, take this character to have some significant resemblance to the historical Socrates, and will accordingly consider non-Platonic testimony about the historical Socrates as pertinent to the character in Plato’s early works.

Thomas

C.Brickhouse and Nicholas D.Smith

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(Euthydemus 281d2-e1) As soon as Cleinias agrees that this is where their reasoning has taken them, Socrates offers a second version of the conclusion to the argument, which looks importantly different from the first: Of all the other things, none is either good wisdom is good and ignorance bad.

or bad, but of these two,

(Euthydemus 2813-5) In the first version of the conclusion, there are goods other than wisdom, although their being good depends upon their being led by wisdom. Elsewhere, we identified goods of this sort as “dependent goods,”? because their goodness is dependent upon their being used by wisdom. Wisdom, in Socrates’ first conclusion, is the only “independent good.” Socrates’ second conclusion seems stronger, however, for in this conclusion he simply says that wisdom is the only good. In another dialogue, however, Socrates seems quite ready to recognize that there are

goods other than wisdom. For example, in the Apology,’ he says: I go about doing nothing else than prevailing upon you, young and old, not to care for your bodies or for wealth more than for the perfection of your souls, or even so much; and I tell you that virtue does not come from wealth, but from virtue come wealth and all other good things for human beings... (Apology 30a7-b4)

If Socrates supposed that wisdom were the only good, as the first version of the conclusion in the Euthydemus seems to say, Socrates’ claim in this passage in the

Apology that there are “other good things for human beings” that come from virtue would be nonsense. Accordingly, scholars have generally agreed that the second version of the conclusion in the Euthydemus must be understood in the light of the first one, so that Socrates’ apparent claim that wisdom is the only good is to be read as the claim that wisdom is the only independent good, or the only thing that is good

just by itself.“ There are several interpretive problems raised by these passages? but in this paper 2 Brickhouse and Smith (1987) and (1994), 103-136. 3 See also Gorgias 467e1-468a4; Lysis 218e5-219al; Meno 88c6-dl.

4 See Brickhouse and Smith (1994), 103-136; Vlastos (1991), 200-235. Irwin (1995) defends the opposite view: “When Socrates concludes that wisdom is the only good, he means that nothing else is a good” (57). 5 At least two of these we will not discuss in any detail in this paper, but have discussed elsewhere: (i) What is the relationship between wisdom and the other virtues? Whereas elsewhere

Making Things Good and Making Good Things

78

we wish to focus on one in particular. The Euthydemus appears to argue for a kind of evaluative dependence of “other goods” on virtue; in other words, Socrates appears to say that it is the goodness of the “other goods” that depends upon their use by wisdom. Let us call this the “evaluative principle”: Evaluative Principle:

What

is potentially good becomes

actually good when

but

only when virtue is present to make use of it. The natural reading of the Apology passage, however, is that virtue is, in some sense, productive: Socrates does not say that the other goods become good through virtue, he says that the others come from, are produced by, virtue. Taken literally, the Apology passage indicates that Socrates holds what we might call the “productive principle”:

Productive Principle: Virtue produces good things. The general question we wish to consider, then, is whether Socrates thinks that wisdom just makes the items on the list Cleinias and he have constructed good (as

per the evaluative principle), or whether wisdom also actually makes good things (as per the productive principle).

In other words, we want to ask whether Socrates

believes that knowledge regarding the production of good things is independent of knowledge of how to use things in such a way as to make them good and, if so, in what sense does he believe that virtue actually produces good things. We shall develop our thesis in stages.

In Part I, we will review Socrates’ argument

in the Euthydemus, and explain how Socrates argues for the primacy of wisdom in relation to other goods. In particular, we will explain how the evaluative principle does not fully explain Socrates’ understanding of the relationship between other goods and wisdom. In Part II, we will take a close look at the passage from the

Apology and argue that its significance has not been fully appreciated by scholars, who appear to be unanimous in trying to interpret the passage in terms of the evaluative principle.

In the final part of the paper, we will defend the plausibility of

a version of the productive principle in the light of commitments we are able to identify in other aspects of Socrates’ philosophy. The result of our argument, we believe, puts a new light on Socrates’ view of the scope and power of areté. Socrates appears to argue for a “unity” of the virtues, in the Eufhydemushe appears to privilege wisdom, relative to the other virtues.

(See Brickhouse and Smith

[forthcoming]

and [1994],

107

n.9.) For the purposes of this paper, we will assume that Socrates is consistent in accepting some form of the “unity” thesis, and so we will use “wisdom” and “virtue” interchangeably. (ii) Is virtue, or wisdom, necessary or sufficient for happiness? For the purposes of this paper, we will

maintain the view for which we argued elsewhere (in Brickhouse and Smith [1994],

112-136), that virtue is neither necessary nor sufficient for happiness.

Thomas C.Brickhouse and Nicholas D.Smith

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I. The Primacy of Wisdom in the Euthydemus

Socrates’ argument with Cleinias in the Euthydemus is explicitly designed to show that it is not simply the possession of goods other than wisdom that is valuable, but

the wise use of them that is (see 280e1-2). Of course, the possession of such goods is a necessary condition of their wise use: one can get no use from what one does not have.

But even if the specific aim of the argument is not to ask what it is that brings

all such goods into existence, often enough in the argument we do find Socrates and Cleinias agreeing that it is actually wisdom that brings such goods into being, and not simply and more narrowly agreeing that wisdom makes valuable use of what already exists.

In fact, it is in virtue of the production of good fortune by wisdom that Socrates and Cleinias agree to eliminate good fortune from the list of good things as redundant. Socrates’ argument (279d2-280a8) to show that good fortune is not really an additional good works by showing that once wisdom in on the list of goods, good

fortune is not needed as an addition to the list because wisdom will bring good fortune about. It is tempting to understand Socrates’ argument as making the claim that wisdom is a sufficient condition of good fortune. Some scholars have certainly understood the argument this way, but we have argued elsewhere that such an understanding cannot handle Socrates’ willingness, in other passages, to claim that even good people can have bad things happen to them.” We are more inclined, therefore, to see the passage as committing Socrates only to the view that, other things being equal, wisdom will always act in such a way as to make one’s fortune

as good as it can be made to be.? When Socrates argues, therefore, that the inclusion of wisdom on the list of goods makes the inclusion of good fortune on the list redundant, it is not because Socrates

thinks that good fortune is not a good thing for its possessor.

The goodness of good

6 See, for examples, Irwin (1986), and Vlastos (1991), 200-235. 7 In particular, illness, which can sometimes be so chronic and disabling as to make one’s life not worth living (see Crito 47e3-5; Gorgias 512a2-b2). This is why we deny that virtue is sufficient for happiness, for Socrates. (See Briokhouse and Smith ([1994], 112-136.) ὃ The actual context of this argument in the Euthydemus, we believe, makes it clear that Socrates is only talking about what we can do to secure what is good for us, which we think clearly leaves open the possibility that even the wise person can suffer misfortunes which are beyond human control. As Socrates puts the issue to Cleinias, “since we want to do well, in what way might we do well?” (Euthydemus 279al-2). Socrates’ argument does not require us to interpret its premises or conclusions as applying even to circumstances that sane people would never suppose were within human control. If we are wrong about this issue, however, and Socrates thinks that virtue is actually sufficient for happiness (so that literally nothing could prevent or destroy the happiness of a virtuous person), our argument in this paper is actually strengthened, for such sufficiency would not make sense if virtue did not have the capacity to create all that was required for or conducive to happiness--in other words, all good things.

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Making Things Good and Making Good Things

fortune is not what Socrates is disputing.

Moreover, Socrates is not saying that there

is no good fortune that one can have without wisdom-for surely Socrates himself enjoys the good fortune of having been provided with a daimonion, which opposes him when he is about to do something wrong (Apology 40a4-6); but Socrates is not wise. All of his interlocutors, as well, have had the good fortune of one or more

beneficial (see Gorgias 505c3-4) discussions with Socrates,’ just as Athens itself hag enjoyed the good fortune of having Socrates, as “the god’s gift”, to sting it like a

gadfly (see Apology 30e3-31a1), but none of Socrates’ interlocutors and none of his fellow Athenians is wise. Finally, Socrates is not saying that there is no kind of good fortune that is not within human powers to achieve, as some interpretations have it.!° Indeed, the cases of Socrates’ daimonion and other gifts from the gods (including Socrates himself, as a gift to Athens), are cases of good fortune that involve non-human agency. But the kind of good fortune that is within our powers to gain for ourselves need not be added to the list of good things we should try to

gain once we have wisdom on the list; for wisdom produces all of this kind of good fortune that a human being can produce, given his or her particular circumstances. At least in the case of good fortune, then, Socrates is plainly committed in the Euthydemus to the view that virtue is productive in a straightforward sense: it can produce something good. When Socrates turns to the other goods on the list, however, his emphasis is clearly upon defending the evaluative principle. The argument at 280e3-281e5 seeks to

establish the evaluative dependency of other goods upon wisdom: the benefit from any of the goods other than wisdom-that is, the goodness of any such goods-is only gained when and if such goods are put to use by wisdom. But the argument only gets this far by stipulating, for the sake of the argument, that in each case the possessor already has all of the relevant items to be used by wisdom: the carpenter already has “all the materials necessary for his own work,” and in general those who

would benefit from such things already have wealth and “all the good things we were mentioning just now.” But what would a wise person do if he or she lacked items necessary for virtuous action, items which, if he or she had them, would be used wisely?

II. Virtue and Productivity in the Apology

Let us return now to the passage in the Apology which seems to point to a productive * An excellent discussion of the therapeutic aspects of the Socratic elenchos may be found in May (1997).

10 Namely, all of those who claim that virtue is sufficient for happiness, for such interpretations require that virtue is sufficient for the virtuous person to get all he or she requires to be happy. We claim, on the contrary, that in some cases some things may be necessary for happiness which even the virtuous person cannot produce or obtain, See notes 6, 7, and 8, above,

Thomas C.Brickhouse and Nicholas D.Smith

capacity in virtue.

81

It is, for that reason, a passage that has long troubled scholars,

who have found the claim it literally makes too absurd to be taken seriously. Burnet, for example, comments: We must certainly not render ‘from virtue comes money’! This is a case where interlaced order may seriously mislead. As Socrates was en penia muria (29b9), he could hardly recommend areté as a good investment. (Burnet [1924], note on 30b3)

Vlastos enthusiastically agrees with Burnet and claims that we must avoid what he calls the “perverse reading of the text (which would make Socrates recommend virtue as a money-maker)” (Vlastos [1991], 220 n.73), and Burnyeat cautions against

our taking this passage to make

“the implausible

claim that virtue pays

straightforwardly financial sense” (Burnyeat [1980], 210).

in a

Other scholars do not

even attempt to make a case for such a reading, and simply translate the problem away by converting Socrates’ claim into an endorsement of the evaluative principle rather than an explicit affirmation of the productive principle.!! One reason not to find Burnet’s concern decisive is that it takes the case of Socrates to be pertinent to what the passage claims. But from the fact that Socrates is poor, it does not follow that wealth (as something good) could not be produced by virtue. After all, Socrates would be the first to proclaim that he does not have wisdom, and according to the “unity of the virtues” principle, however interpreted,’ it follows from this that Socrates has none of the other virtues, either. So, even if Socrates did think that virtue was a “money-maker,” it would not follow that he would or should be wealthy.

A literal understanding of the passage also does not require as problematical an understanding as the one Vlastos calls “perverse” and Bumyeat calls “implausible,” either. In the context of the passage, it is clear that the kind of wealth Socrates

claims comes

from virtue is something good for human

beings.

Accordingly,

excessive, unnecessary, useless, or morally corrosive wealth is not included in what Socrates claims comes from virtue. Moreover, as we have seen in our treatments of

the passages we considered in Part I, there is no need to understand Socrates as claiming that virtue can produce wealth in some way or degree past what is within human reach. The passage only says that from virtue comes wealth and, we may 'l See, for example, Reeve (1989), 33. Our own earlier view of this passage (given in Brickhouse and Smith ([1994], 20 n. 33) was that the sense of the passage is to be understood as an affirmation of the evaluative dependency, but we could not agree with Burnet’s reading of the Greek. The same position as ours was later endorsed (without reference to ours) by Irwin ([1995], 363 n. 22). The argument of this paper shows that we now reject both the translation Burnet first proposed and the standard interpretation of the passage.

12 See Brickhouse and Smith (1997) for our own coriception and for a review of the various competing interpretations on this issue.

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Making Things Good and Making Good Things

safely infer, only wealth of a kind that is good for its possessor.

If some human

being would have little use for wealth and would be better off poor (as for example,

perhaps, Socrates himself!), then virtue would not even be a “money-maker” for such a person.

It would only be a “money-maker” for a virtuous person who would

get some genuine good from the possession and use of money. There is one more influential commentator whose reading of the crucial passage in the Apology needs to be addressed. Although rejecting the interpretation of the passage usually adopted, Irwin agrees that Socrates should not be taken to mean that there are goods other than virtue, which Socrates believes are productively dependent upon virtue. Commenting upon this passage in the Apology, Irwin says:

Socrates’ claim is difficult to understand, since he would destroy his whole argument in the Apology if he were to advocate virtue as the best policy for accumulating external goods. It would be more consistent with his general view if he meant that virtue is the source of the sort of wealth, health, and so on that is really good for a person. Perhaps he means that

the desire for external goods will not distract virtuous people from being virtuous, desire for these assets will not interfere with virtuous people’s happiness, and to that extent these assets will be good rather than bad for them. If this is what Socrates means, then he does not admit that virtuous

people lose anything of value by being deprived of wealth and health.

(Irwin [1995], 58-59) Actually, it is Jrwin’s claim that is “difficult to understand.” It is impossible to see how Socrates could explain why he counts “external goods” as goods if they, as

Irwin suggests, only fail to interfere with happiness. As we have seen, the passage in the Apology is not the only one in which Socrates appears to claim that virtue cannot just make existing things good, but can also make good things. We have not yet reviewed all such passages, however. One of the goods we have been calling “dependent goods” is health. In the Charmides, Socrates explicitly and, we believe, incontrovertibly links health to virtue. The young Charmides has been waking up with headaches, and Socrates is introduced as

a physician who can help him. Socrates claims to have “a certain leaf,” which, in connection with a “drug” can bring about “a complete cure,” whereas “without the drug the leaf was no benefit” (Charmides 155e7-8). Socrates’ proposed “treatment,” it turns out, consists in having the soul listen to “fair arguments” that in turn produce temperance in the soul (Charmides 156d8-157b1). Here Socrates does not claim

that physical health will inevitably flow from temperance. If this virtuous person would never have any need for purely physical Socrates’ “leaf.” Nor is Socrates claiming that the only way one physically healthy is to be temperate. One might achieve even a

were true, cures, such could ever high degree

the as be of

Thomas C. Brickhouse and Nicholas D.Smith

83

health without virtue, just as Socrates himself apparently did.

But to the extent that

one’s moral condition deviates from virtue, whatever state of health one enjoys will tend to be unstable and insecure. But it is none the less quite clear that in this passage Socrates is claiming that health can be produced in place of certain disorders when temperance comes to be present in the soul, and not just that temperance will

make one’s existing health (whatever it might be) into something good for one to have. Health, then, is at least one of the “other good things” Socrates might have had in mind, in the Apology, in saying that all such things come from virtue. question is, how exactly does virtue produce good things?

The

III. Making Sense of Socrates’ View

We have argued thus far that there is solid and varied textual evidence not only for the established view, that Socrates accepts the evaluative principle, but also for the much more controversial view that Socrates also believes that, in some sense, virtue

produces good things for the person who possesses virtue.

It remains

for us,

however, to show why this view is not so “perverse” (as Vlastos seemed to suppose), and why committing Socrates to it does not require uncharitable interpretation. Let us begin by reviewing at least a partial list of the items on Cleinias’ and Socrates’ list of candidates for good things. In what sense could we say that virtue actually produces health and not just say that virtue makes health valuable? Virtue, for Socrates, let us recall, is a kind of knowledge-specifically, the expert knowledge of how to live. Suppose that Socrates

suspected (as well he might) that the reason for Charmides’ daily headaches was that Charmides had begun spending his evenings engaging in drinking excessive quantities of wine and not getting enough sleep. Some purely physical treatment of Charmides’ symptoms (the headaches) might help to relieve the symptoms-at least

for a while-but the root cause of these symptoms is not a purely physical one.

If

Charmides is to be truly cured of his headaches, he must stop making the kind of

lifestyle decisions that lead him to drink too much wine and not get enough sleep. “Curing” Charmides’

soul, then, will, in fact, also lead to the cure of his physical

ailment and to the restoration of his health. Here we want to be clear that we are not supposing that virtue is partly constituted by the craft of medicine (or any other non-moral craft). As Socrates warns us in

Rep. 1 (345e-346a), just because someone can sometimes achieve some end over which a craft is set, we cannot infer that person has the craft. There are a number of important differences between the physician and the virtuous person. First the

physician has a craft that is “set over” health.

Health is the ergon of the medical

craft; it is that at which medicine always aims. Temperance is concerned with the control of one’s desires (Grg. 506c-507c) and a healthy constitution is typically the

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Making Things Good and Making Good Things

by-product of the proper functioning of those desires.

Second, the physician, unlike

the temperate person, knows how it is that acts expressing temperance lead to and sustain health in general, for the physician has a body of knowledge that the temperate person lacks. Finally, though the temperate person knows that temperate actions lead to and sustain health, the physician knows how to cure a great variety of

diseases, diseases that can afflict one regardless of whether one possesses virtue.

|

Obviously, not all physical ailments are the result of vice, or moral error, and so not all can be remedied by temperance. We are not attributing to Socrates the view that virtue is always productive of health. Regardless of how carefully the virtuous person tries to ward off disease, there are certain illnesses that can always destroy her. Still, because health is a requirement for most virtuous activities, virtue will send the virtuous but ailing person to a physician to gain the benefit of the physician’s expertise. Here virtue is not productive of health directly-the craft of medicine is—but virtue is productive of health-indirectly-even when it is the

physician who must actually produce health. It is nonetheless true that even when it is an exotic disease that must be diagnosed and treated, virtue results in health. At this point, one might object that even if we are right that virtue can produce some goods on occasion-such as health for Charmides-we cannot be right that Apology 30b2-4 asserts what we are calling the productive principle. After all, the Apology passage states that “from virtue comes wealth and all good things for human

beings.”

But as we have just conceded, there are some maladies that will never be

overcome by temperance and which not even the most skillful physician can cure.

The same point can be made even more forcefully by using as examples two of the other items on Socrates’ and Cleinias’ list: good looks and good birth. It is easy enough to see how they could be used as goods. A Socratic philosopher who happens to be especially attractive can use her attractiveness to lure people close to

her and then seduce them into doing philosophy.

The well-born can use their

lineage to open doors and create possibilities for doing philosophy otherwise be impossible. But obviously virtue cannot produce good matter how much color he has in his cheeks from a salubrious diet moderate exercise, no one would call Socrates handsome! Nor can

that would looks. No and regular, virtue ever

produce good birth: The child of a thetta, born without the benefit of legitimacy, could never be called “well born.” Thus, even if Socrates thinks that there is a sense in which temperance can, on occasion, produce health, Socrates cannot very well mean that virtue can produce all of the goods on Cleinias’ and his list. But if not, so the objection goes, in the Apology he cannot very well mean that virtue can literally produce all good things for human beings. If this is right, our primary evidence for thinking that there is a productive principle in Socratic philosophy falls apart. We believe that this objection rests on a fundamental misunderstanding of how Socrates conceives of the demands of virtue and of his view of the sorts of goods

the exercise of virtue requires. The first point to notice is that not all of the items of

Thomas C.Brickhouse and Nicholas

D Smith

85

Socrates’ and Cleinias’ list are required for the performance of every virtuous action. Though it may ordinarily require a modicum of health, courage does not (typically) require good looks or even wealth, and certainly not good birth. The same is true of philosophical activity: One can engage in philosophy though one possesses almost none of the items on the list. Where virtue does not require it, none of the items of Socrates’ and Cleinias’ items is a good at all. But there is a second, more significant point to be made in this regard. Virtue issues in noble action, of course. But virtue can only require what is possible under the circumstances.® Here Socrates’ frequently made comparisons between virtue and

various crafts is instructive.

Consider the general’s craft. The general knows what

tactical goals must be achieved in order to gain victory in war. As long as he is a general (that is, as long as he practices the general’s craft), he can always be counted on to engage in the right tactics. What actions constitute engaging in the right tactics, however, depends upon the circumstances in which the general finds himself, and what circumstances he finds himself in is determined, in part, by what goods are available to the general, either actually or potentially, to be put in the service of the

right tactics.

And the judgment about what goods are available potentially depends

upon another judgment, namely the general’s judgment about his capacity to make goods out of what raw materials are available. Typically, conditions are favorable when the general has many well trained, well equipped troops to achieve his goal.

But if the general lacks all that he needs in order to achieve his goals in the surest manner, he will not thereby cease to be a general or to exercise the general’s craft. If, for example, he lacks well trained soldiers but has civilians on whom he can call, he will use them, but only after he has transformed them into the most effective fighters he can turn them into. When he does deploy them, it is true to say that he is

engaging in the best tactics, given the fighters he has to work with. If his army lacks weapons, the general will take what he has at his disposal and transform it into what can be used as weapons. No doubt, changes in the conditions in which he must operate will necessitate changes in specific tactics. But sending forth civilians, armed with sticks and stones, may count as the right tactics, for the general will be

using what he has to the best advantage and will have made what was available to him into what can be used. The general, of course, may not achieve the goal of defeating the enemy. Indeed, he may fail utterly. But he still employs the general’s

craft provided that he engages in the right tactics under the circumstances, and, if his situation requires it, can make good things to support the activities that constitute the right tactics under the circumstances. We believe that the craft of virtue, as Socrates conceives it, is not different in this respect. The virtuous agent will always do what is noble, but what action constitutes noble action is crucially dependent upon the circumstances the agent finds herself in,

13 In modern moral discussions, the relevant principle is “ought” implies “can.”

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Making Things Good and Making Good Things

which are, in turn, dependent upon the agent’s assessment of what can be put in the service of noble action, as per the evaluative principle, and, if need be, what can be made that can then be put to noble use, as per the productive principle. In claiming that, for Socrates, virtue will produce all good things, we are not attributing to Socrates the absurd claim that the virtuous person will know how to make whatever she might find useful to support virtuous actions in any circumstances. For this, the

virtuous person would require more than virtue-she would have to be both omnipotent and omniscient. Rather, there may be all sorts of goods that a given virtuous agent would not be able to produce, from which it follows that there are all sorts of actions that would be noble were they to be performed but which cannot be performed by a given virtuous agent under the circumstances. A person who has just had all of her money stolen does not fail to act nobly by not giving to the needy. But if it would be noble to give something and she can make some money by selling some of her property or performing certain labors, and she can sell some of her property or perform those labors, virtue requires that she do so. That is, in such circumstances, virtue requires that she make money. This is why Socrates tells Callicles that the virtuous person can be relied upon to do well and to act nobly. The temperate man is not one to pursue or flee from what is not fitting, but the affairs, and people, and pleasures, and pains he ought to flee and

pursue, and to endure remaining where he ought. And so it is most necessary, Callicles, that the temperate person, just as we have reported, being just and brave and pious, is completely good, and the good person acts well and nobly in what he does, and the one who does well is blessed and happy. But the base person and the one who acts evilly is wretched. (Gorgias 507b5-c5) Seen in this light, it is misleading to construe the knowledge of good and evil that is

the basis of virtue as strictly moral knowledge. For Socrates, we contend, sophia entails phronésis: It includes the knowledge of what one knows and does not know and, in the light of such knowledge, the ability to make expert assessments of what one can produce to make virtuous action possible. Why, then, does Socrates bother to go through the list he does with Cleinias? He is appealing to things conventionally recognized as always good, we claim, and is showing Cleinias that they are not really always good at all but that their goodness depends upon wisdom. Nothing Socrates says to Cleinias, however, entails that those who lack these items cannot act virtuously. What seems wholly insufficient is what acceptance of the

evaluative principle alone (at least as it is customarily understood) would require, namely, that Socrates believes the virtuous person would be helpless in the face of. some lack. If any philosopher ever supposed that knowledge is power, it was Socrates. Not only does knowledge never get “dragged about like a slave” (Protagoras 352c1-2), it also would never be without resources to act virtuously if

action is at all possible.

In this way, the evaluative principle, we believe, actually

Thomas C.Brickhouse and Nicholas D.Smith

87

entails the productive principle, for if one is in a position to get the best use possible from the resources one has, one will also be in a good position to use one’s resources in such a way as to produce other resources one needs. We have argued that Socrates accepts both the evaluative and the productive principles. In this final argument, we also argued that the evaluative principle actually entails the productive principle, as we have understood it, for by ensuring that the virtuous person will always get the best use of the resources that he or she recognizes to be available, it also ensures that if the best use of such resources is a productive use, then it follows that the virtuous person could also produce any good that virtuous action requires, under the specific circumstances. There are, of course,

limits-sometimes severe limits-on just what action the virtuous person can perform. She might often find herself in a situation in which the only good she can do is to make the best of a bad situation. And sometimes even the virtuous person will find herself in very bad situations, with few or no resources. Virtue is no proof against bad things happening to good people; but it is the closest thing to such proof that a

human being could hope for. And it is the evaluative and productive principles which make it so.

Lynchburg College, Lewis and Clark College

Some Puzzles In The Euthydemus Charles H. Kahn The Euthydemus is full of puzzles, many of which have been solved by earlier commentators. I begin by mentioning two such problems whose solution is of some importance for an overall interpretation of the dialogue. Perhaps the most surprising feature of this work is the exaggerated respect, verging on idolatry, which Socrates displays for Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, the team of brothers who represent the lowest form of sophistical argumentation. Socrates claims to be eager to learn from them, he invites Crito to do the same, and he even addresses them as gods (273e 7). But upon reflection we see that all this flattery is ironical, and that the irony is designed to reinforce the central point of the dialogue:

the sharp contrast between the Socratic elenchus and the eristic art of refutation as practiced by the brothers, “It is just this difference [between Socrates and the eristics] which is dramatically exhibited in the Euthydemus, with much broad

drollery of caricature,” as Sidgwick observed long ago.! Another puzzle that has been solved is why the dialogue contains both an implicit reference to Antisthenes and, in the final section, a thinly veiled attack upon Isocrates. The connected denials of false statement and the possibility of contradiction (antilegein) (at 283e-284c and 285d-286b) have long been identified as theses of Antisthenes.? On the other hand, the repeated reference to Jogopoioi who are able to make speeches but not deliver them (289d-90a) and who stand on the border between philosophy and politics (304a-06c) can hardly be aimed at anyone

other than Isocrates, as most commentators have always recognized. Why does the dialogue contain contemporaries?

these

polemical

allusions

Here again the answer is not far to seek.

I (1872), 288-307. 2 See Hawtrey (1981) 24f., 105f.

to

two

of

Plato’s

best

known

The Euthydemus is, among other things, an

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Charles Η. Kahn

educational tract, a protreptic to the study of philosophy in the Platonic sense of that term. It is important for Plato to distinguish his own philosophical enterprise from

what his chief educational rivals would offer under the title of philosophia? And the criticism of philosophy attributed to the anonymous Isocrates-figure at the end of the

dialogue recalls the anti-Platonic polemic that we can actually read in Isocrates’ Helen and in his later Antidosis. (It is again criticism of this kind that Plato feels obliged to respond to in Republic VI.) We may plausibly think of the Euthydemus as provoked in part by Isocrates’ attacks, and by his tendency to assimilate Platonic philosophy to the argumentative techniques of the eristics. In the face of such criticism, it is all the more important for Plato to emphasize, and even to exaggerate, the distinction between Socratic dialectic and eristic refutation.

The puzzles I want to address here are of a different order, and I do not think they have been adequately attended to. We find both in Socrates’ protreptic and in the fallacious refutations a surprising number of allusions to Platonic doctrines and concepts known to us from the Phaedo, from the Republic, and even from later

dialogues like the Theaetetus and Sophist. On the usual chronology, the Euthydemus belongs among the earlier set of dialogues, those dated before the Republic.

If this

chronology is correct, our dialogue contains a large number of proleptic references to themes and doctrines that Plato will develop in a serious way only in later dialogues. The question I wish to address is this: why does this semi-comic and relatively early dialogue contain so many allusions to the themes of Plato’s later work? Notice that this question returns, in a slightly different form, even if we decide to abandon the traditional chronology and post-date the Euthydemus after the Republic.

We must still ask: what is the point of these mysterious, semi-comic allusions to major concepts and problems? Why should Plato make use of these ridiculous eristic paradoxes

material?

in order to refer obliquely

to so much

positive

philosophical

Thus we are still left with this central puzzle, even if we put aside all

questions of chronology. I intend to defend the traditional chronology, and hence I will maintain that these references are genuinely proleptic. But first I want to say a word about my use of the concept of prolepsis. I originally took this term from Anne Lebeck’s study of the Oresteia, where prolepsis designates the enigmatic introduction of an image or theme which will be more fully developed in what follows. Now in the Oresteia we have a linear text, and prolepsis means a reference forward, to what comes later in

the trilogy.

It is only by analogy that this notion of prolepsis can be applied to

Plato’s dialogues, where we do not have a continuous text, and where in most cases we do not know the relative order of the dialogues.

What justifies the analogy in the case of Plato is the notion that, while a specific 3 So Hawtrey (1981),19.

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Some Puzzles in the Euthydemus

passage in dialogue A may appear enigmatic or puzzling in its immediate context, the real significance of the passage becomes clear if we connect it with a text or doctrine in dialogue B, where the same point is more fully and explicitly developed. If dialogue B is later than dialogue A, we may say that the mysterious passage in dialogue A refers proleptically to the concept or doctrine expressed in dialogue B. To take the star example from our dialogue, if the Republic is later than th Euthydemus, we can regard the enigmatic passage at Euthydemus 290c, about mathematicians turning their discoveries over to the dialecticians, as a proleptic reference to the doctrine of Republic VII, where the study of mathematics ts proposed as a preparation for dialectic. Now there is a weaker notion of prolepsis that applies here, even if we make no assumptions about the chronological order of the dialogues. Suppose a passage in dialogue A is puzzling, and I send you to a passage in dialogue B for an explanation. Regardless of chronology, we can regard dialogue B as hermeneutically later, i.e., later in the order of reading, since it is invoked after the first passage has been recognized as problematic. We may count this as a case of prolepsis in an extended sense. In this sense, and regardless of chronology, the passage at Euthydemus 290c refers proleptically to Republic VII, since it is impossible to understand the first text without reference to the second. Prolepsis in this broader sense may not seem worthy of the name.

It is just a special

case of intertextuality, namely the case where the reference to a second text is not only justified but actually required for a satisfactory understanding of the first, as Republic generous prolepsis reference

VII is required for an understanding of Euthydemus 290c. In this more sense of prolepsis, I think everyone will agree that there is plenty of in the Euthydemus -- plenty of obscurity that can be cleared up only by to other dialogues.

However, since I will maintain the usual put the pro- back into prolepsis. But I make a great difference here, because dialogue. Regardless of chronology,

chronology, I am prepared to go further will also suggest that chronology does of the strange mixture of elements in what we have in the Euthydemus

and not this is a

“Socratic” dialogue in the literary sense, since it opens with a gymnasium scene of youthful lovers following their reigning teenage beauty, in the playfully erotic atmosphere that we know from the Lysis and the Charmides (and also, in a different way,

from

Phaedo). meanings Socrates’ parallels 87d-89a;

the Aspasia

and Alcibiades

of Aeschines

and

from

the Zopyrus

of

The sophistical refutations begin with a simple word-play on the two of manthanein: to leam and to understand. This episode is followed by protreptic argument for pursuing philosophy, in a passage that closely an argument in the Meno designed to show that virtue is knowledge (Meno cf. Euth. 278e-281e). Thus far, through the first protreptic, we encounter

no difficulty in locating this work either among Plato’s so-called “early Socratic” dialogues

(like

the Laches

and

Charmides)

or among

what

have

been

called

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Charles H. Kahn

“transitional” works, like the Lysis and the Meno. After the first protreptic, however, things begin to change. The next sophism turns again on a word-play, but this time the shift is between two uses of the verb einai:

between the absolute or existential use of to be and the qualified or copula use in zo be wise. If Clinias’ friends want him to be wise, they want him to be what he is not, and to be no longer what he is. So they want him to be no longer, that is, they want to destroy him. (283c-d) This conclusion is followed by the denial of false statement, which again focusses on a use of the verb to be, this time in the idiom for truth, as

“saying what is” or “telling it like it is,” Jegein ta onta. because that would have two sophisms then have the denial the naive theory of

No one can speak falsely,

be /egein ta mé onta, “saying what is not” (284a-b). We thus that illustrate a philosophically significant play on einai. We of the possibility of contradiction (antilegein), which relies on a unique logos corresponding to each thing (285e-286b). This

doctrine bears a striking resemblance to the theory of unitary predication that Plato in the Sophist attributes to the “late-learners,” and which he takes as the target in developing his own theory of logos and predication on the basis of “the weaving together of Forms,” sumploké eidôn (Sophist 251-259). This cluster of sophisms at 284a-286b thus introduces a set of problems concerning language, truth and being that Plato will mention also in the Cratylus and Theaetetus, and will finally treat systematically in the analysis of false statement and not-being in the Sophist. Furthermore, the basic insight to be developed in that fuller analysis is already hinted at here in Ctesippus’ response: the person who speaks falsely “says in a way what is, but not like it is” (ta onta men tropon tina legei, ou mentoi hés ge echei, 284c8). Notice that a crucial distinction between reference (saying what is) and

predication or description (saying it like it is) is implicit in this formulation. It is not only the central discussion of the Sophist that is subtly anticipated here in

the Euthydemus,

but also the peritropé or self-refutation of Protagoras

in the

Theaetetus. The name of Protagoras is mentioned in connection with the denial of antilegein (286c2), where:there may also be a play on Truth (a/étheia) as the title of Protagoras’ work.* The wrestling metaphor of “overthrow” is twice exploited here:

the thesis of denying contradiction is said “to overthrow (anatrepön) both others and itself” (286c4), and later it is said to fit the phrase “the feller is fallen” (katabalön piptein). Socrates taunts the two sophists with their own inconsistency: “and not all your art, subtle as it is, can prevent the /ogos from suffering this fate” (288a). At

this point the two denials of falsehood and contradiction have been fused into a single thesis, the denial of error or false opinion, and this has been shown strictly incompatible with the sophists’ own practice of refutation.

to be

If the reader has carefully noted these systematic anticipations of major discussions 4286c5; cf. Hawtrey (1981), ad loc. , citing Winckelmann.

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Some Puzzles in the Euthydemus

in the Sophist and Theaetetus, which occur in the second set of fallacies (283-86), the reader will be less surprised by the remarkable developments that take place in

Socrates’

second protreptic.

Socrates

is pursuing with the young

Clinias his

conclusion from the first protreptic, that only knowledge can be beneficial and make

us happy. The question under consideration now is just what kind of knowledge this can be. After various candidates have been rejected, strategy or the military art, of generalship is proposed by Socrates as the knowledge they are seeking (290b).

Clinias objects that this is merely an art of hunting for victory, a victory which must then be handed over to the politicians who know how to make use of it, just as

hunters and fishermen hand over their catch to the cooks.

Out of the blue Clinias

then adds: “the geometers and astronomers and arithmeticians (logistikoi), they are hunters too. What they do is not producing diagrams but discovering truths (fa onta). Since they don’t know how to make use of these, but only to hunt them out, those mathematicians who are not altogether foolish tum their discoveries over to the dialecticians (hoi dialektikoi) to make use of them.” (290c) This is of course the

passage we have mentioned as referring proleptically to Republic VIL Since Crito has not read the Republic, he is appropriately perplexed. He interrupts Socrates’ report of the conversation with Clinias indignantly, and he refuses to

believe that these remarks can have been made by the young Clinias. Socrates claims to be at a loss to identify the speaker. “Perhaps some superior power (lön kreittonôn tis) was present and spoke these words. But I am sure that I heard them,” says Socrates (2918). Thus the text explicitly marks as a mystery this strange anticipation of the relationship between mathematics and dialectic that will be

elucidated in Republic VIL. Of course this particular mystery would be easier to explain if, as suggested earlier, we could date the Euthydemus after the Republic. (But then should we also date it after the Theaetetus and Sophist?) But we will still be left with the question: why, after all, should Plato introduce this doctrine here, and in such a mysterious way?

Before attempting to answer this question, let us complete the dossier of what are, on the usual chronology, proleptic references to the contents of later writings. Socrates’ second protreptic ends with another passage that displays important connections with the Republic. The final candidate for beneficial knowledge is the art of the king or ruler, and the last question discussed is: what is the product or function (ergon) of

this art? It must be something good, and we have argued (in the first protreptic) that the only good thing is knowledge.

If the royal art makes people wise and good, what

are they wise in, and what are they good for? Is their wisdom only such as to make others wise and good?

The regress seems hopeless, and Socrates appeals to the two

sophists for a solution. They have none, of course, but we know from a passage in Republic VI that the Form of the Good is the object of the highest knowledge, the megiston mathéma in which the philosopher-king must be trained, and without which nothing else can be useful or beneficial (Rep. 505a-c).

It looks as if our

Charles H. Kahn

—

93

regress in the Euthydemus was designed precisely to raise the question of ultimately beneficial knowledge for which Republic VI will provide an answer.

(The answer

will be that the knowledge possessed by philosophic rulers will be good because its object is the Good, and it will be good for the possessors by making their life good.)

The final set of sophisms, from 293b to 303a, display another series of contacts with major Platonic doctrine. We have first a clear if rough formulation of the principle of non-contradiction (293b8-d1). Then one brother claims to prove his own omniscience, and the other brother undertakes to convince Socrates that he also knows everything and always (aei). Equivocation on “always” allows Euthydemus

to conclude: “It is clear that you knew [everything] as a child, and when you were born, and when you were growing up.

born and (296c10).

before heaven

And you knew everything before you were

and earth came

It is difficult not to believe

into being, since you that, ridiculous

know

as this argument

always” is, its

conclusion is intended to allude to the doctrine of recollection as expounded in the Meno and the Phaedo. The last passage of interest from our point of view comes shortly before the final victory of the two virtuoso eristics, when Dionysodorus asks Socrates whether he has seen a beautiful thing (kalon pragma, 300e3). Socrates answers that he has seen many (polla). The next question is whether these many beautiful things are different from the beautiful (to kalon), or the same as the beautiful. Socrates reports that this question caused him great perplexity (aporia), but he nevertheless answered that the many beautiful were different from the beautiful itself (auto to kalon), but that there was some beauty (kallos ti) present to each of them (301a2-4). Dionysodorus then makes fun of the notion of presence as an explanation: “If an ox is present to you, are you an ox? And because I am now present to you, are you Dionysodorus?” After

a bit of verbal fencing back and forth, Socrates brings this episode to a successful conclusion by relying on the obvious truth of self-predication: “What are you saying, Dionysodorus? Isn’t the beautiful beautiful and the ugly ugly? ... And so the same is the same and the different is different? For of course the different is not the same, but I think not even a child could have any doubt that the different is different”

(301c1). What we have here in 301a-c is clearly a caricature version of the participation theory of the Phaedo, reinforced by a reference to self-predication (“the beautiful is beautiful”), a principle that plays a conspicuous part in the Phaedo (100c and 47), as in Plato’s work generally. Notice that the exchange between Socrates and Dionysodorus not only marks the distinction between the beautiful itself and the many beautiful things, but describes the relationship between them in terms of the treacherous notion of presence (pareinai). This suggests the concept of immanent forms or characteristics (“the beautiful in us,” en hémin), a concept which seems to be implied by some passages in the Phaedo, but which the Parmenides will show to be a disaster, since this distinction between the beautiful itself and the beautiful in us

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Some Puzzles in the Euthydemus

leads to “the greatest difficulty” for the theory of Forms, the conception of two worlds that do not interact with one another (Parmenides 133b-134e). All of these

complexities are somehow alluded to in this brief exchange at 301a-c. There are other possible points of contact between the Euthydemus and Plato’s later writings. (The confusion between difference and negation at 298a recalls the definition of negation in terms of difference in the Sophist; the claim that only living things (psychén echonta) can think (noein) at 287d6 suggests an argument in the Sophist and Timaeus that nous presupposes soul.) But the points mentioned will suffice to show that the work which began as a familiar “Socratic” or “transitional” dialogue goes on to show a familiarity with Platonic thoughts that we find developed only in works of the middle and even the later period. This fact confronts us with two problems of interpretation, only one of which involves the issue of chronology.

The first problem, independent of chronology, concerns the internal structure of the dialogue. What is the function of such cryptic allusions to major Platonic doctrine in the context of this frustrating encounter with two champions of rapid-fire refutation? And why is the passage on the subordination of mathematics to dialectic presented in such a mysterious way, as uttered by some greater power (kreittonön tis)? We

would be obliged to consider these questions even if we could be convinced that the Euthydemus was composed in the latest period of Plato’s life and work. I return in a moment to this problem for the internal interpretation of the dialogue,

but first we must deal with the question of chronology. My own view is that there is only one sound result from all the scholarship devoted to Platonic chronology, and it was achieved 100 years ago by Lewis Campbell and Constantin Ritter.

This consists

in the division of the dialogues into three groups on the basis of stylistic features -a division that has been confirmed by practically all careful studies of Plato’s style.° The first group comprises all dialogues earlier than the Republic, and it includes not only the usual “Socratic” dialogues but also the Symposium, Phaedo, and Cratylus. There are clear stylistic differences between the members of this group and all later dialogues, but there is no stylistic basis for ordering dialogues within this group. We naturally assume that the dialogues which present the doctrine of metaphysical Forms (namely, the three just mentioned: Symposium, Phaedo and Cratylus) belong

very late in the first group, probably just before the Republic. Euthydemus,

in its own

way,

also takes cognisance

And since the

of the doctrine of Forms,

it

seems reasonable to think of it as more or less contemporary with the Phaedo or the Cratylus. The latest editor, Hawtrey, pairs the Euthydemus with the Meno, but he also notes close parallels in the Lysis and the Cratylus.6 The relative order of these 5] have argued for this view in Kahn (1997), 42-8, and do so at greater length in a forthcoming essay “On Platonic Chronology.”

6 Hawtrey (1981), 5-10.

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Charles Η. Kahn

six “transitional” or early-middle dialogues (Meno, Lysis, Euthydemus, Symposium, Phaedo, Cratylus) is a matter of guesswork, not scholarship. But there are sound scholarly reasons for placing all of them -- and the Euthydemus in particular -before the Republic. According to Ritter’s count, of the 43 features distinctive and the Menexenus and one Republic, on the other hand,

as confirmed by Brandwood, the Euthydemus has only 4 of Plato’s late style, the same number as the Protagoras less than the Laches.? The figures for each book of the vary from 9 features of late style (for Book One) to 22

(for Book IX), despite the fact that each book is shorter than the Euthydemus* The stylistic unity of the first group is defined negatively, by the almost complete absence of the traits that characterize the latest group. The middle group (Campbell’s Group Two), on the other hand, is defined by the occasional or relatively frequent appearance of traits that become dominant in the latest dialogues

(Group Three). Let me

illustrate this point by a particularly significant item of vocabulary,

the

phrase τῷ ὄντι, “in reality.” This expression, which is regularly used in the Apology and the other dialogues of Campbell’s Group One, is entirely replaced by the adverb ὄντως “really” in the Laws, and also in the Statesman, Philebus, and Timaeus. (The Sophist shows one example of τῷ ὄντι, 22 of ὄντως.) In effect, τῷ ὄντι disappears in the latest group of dialogues. On the other hand, in the dialogues of Campbell’s Group Two (Republic, Phaedrus, Parmenides, Theaetetus) the earlier τῷ ὄντι still predominates, but the form ὄντως also appears occasionally (once in the Theaetetus against 6 occurrences of τῷ ὄντι, 9 against 41 in the Republic, 6 against 8 in the Phaedrus; neither form occurs in the Parmenides)? In all 16 dialogues of Group One, on the other hand, there are no genuine occurrences of ὄντως, but dozens of uses of τῷ övrı.!° Thus Plato’s usage gradually shifted over time, beginning with τῷ ὄντι exclusively in Group One and ending with the exclusive use of ὄντως in Group Three; in the intermediate Group Two τῷ ὄντι predominates, but ὄντως

occurs as a minority alternative. Thus this shift, which was first noticed by Schanz some twenty years after Campbell’s initial work (which was unknown to Schanz),

neatly confirms groups,!!

Campbell’s

division of the dialogues

into three chronological

Since stylistic distinctions of this sort are the only reliable basis for establishing the relative order of the dialogues, and since the Campbell-Ritter 7 Brandwood (1990), 66.

8 Ibid., 72.

9 Ibid., 35 and 61. 10 There are two alleged occurrences of ὄντως in Group One, both suspect: at Cratylus 413el some editions read ὄντως but Burnet prints ὄντος with the best MSS.; at Euthydemus 305e5 Burnet prints ὄντως, but the good MSS. have οὕτως, which is followed in the Budé edition. In the Euthydemus passage both readings make sense, but only οὕτως is well attested. Hence, despite Burnet’s text, the Euthydemus contains 4 occurrences of τῷ ὄντι, none of ὄντως. !! For Schanz’s work, see Brandwood (1990), 34.

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Some Puzzles in the Euthydemus

tripartition is the only result that has been confirmed after more than a century of stylometric studies, we have no scholarly reason to doubt that the Euthydemus

belongs in Group One, before the Republic. But since the stylistic differences do not allow us to fix the relative order of dialogues within each group, all we can say is that the Euthydemus must be roughly contemporary with those dialogues of Group One that it most resembles (Charmides and Lysis) or with which it has material in common (Meno, Cratylus, and Phaedo), This chronological result is of some interest for a general understanding of Plato’s written work, and for a proper perspective on the question of his “development.” In formal terms the Euthydemus is a narrated dialogue. The opening scene in the Lyceum recalls the palaestra setting of the Charmides and Lysis. But the frame dialogue includes a named interlocutor, Crito, who interrupts at decisive moments, like Echecrates in the Phaedo. And in matters of content this dialogue refers to central doctrines of the Republic -- knowledge of the Good as the ruler’s fechné, and the relation of dialectic to mathematics -- and it alludes to problems of knowledge treated in the Theaetetus and to problems of being, truth and false statement treated in the Sophist. In the latter respect the Euthydemus shares its proleptic stance with the Cratylus, another dialogue of Group One which looks forward, but in’ a more serious way, to problems to be discussed in the Theaetetus and Sophist. Now while the Theaetetus (like the Republic) belongs to Group Two, the Sophist is actually located in Group Three, in the latest period of Plato’s activity

as a writer.

Nevertheless, the Euthydemus remains an early dialogue -- where

“early” means simply “before the Republic;” it cannot mean “before the doctrine of Forms,” since we cannot date the origin of this doctrine. And in any case we cannot know whether or not the Euthydemus was composed before the Phaedo or before the Cratylus. What we can say is that the author of this “early” dialogue has a clear viewof the central doctrines of the Republic and is already concerned about deep problems in epistemology and ontology that he will treat at length only in much later writings. More than any other dialogue, perhaps, the Euthydemus thus reminds us of

the distance between the explicit content of a Platonic writing and the state of mind of its author, between the literary surface of the text and the philosophical views of Plato at the moment of writing. This is not the occasion to argue once more the case for the fundamental unity of Plato’s thought against the excesses of developmentalism. I want only to point out that it is gratifying for a moderate

unitarian like myself to recognize in the Euthydemus an “early” dialogue that embraces in its vision the whole sweep of Plato’s philosophical concerns from the Phaedo and Republic to the Theaetetus and Sophist. The literary distinction between early, middle and late dialogues thus appears as much less significant for the philosophical content than is usually believed. The Euthydemus provides the clearest textual evidence of a situation that we might in any case reasonably assume: that before Plato composed his artistic masterpiece the Republic, he had in mind, and was discussing with his closest associates, many of the ideas that he would give literary expression to not only in this but also in later works. The Euthydemus shows

Charles H. Kahn

97

conclusively that there is much more in Plato’s mind than he is ready to put into the dialogue he happens to be writing at the moment. It remains to say a word about the puzzle that concerns the internal unity of the dialogue. What is the function of these proleptic allusions within the framework of a confrontation between Socrates, as the representative of Platonic dialectic, and the practitioners of eristics, the unprincipled art of refutation? The indirect and in

two cases mysterious form of these references can easily be explained by the need to avoid anachronism and preserve the dramatic unity of the dialogue, just as in the anonymous reference to Isocrates at the end. We understand why, in literary terms, such allusions must be partial and obscure. But why introduce these passages in the first place? Why should the Euthydemus contain allusions to recollection and participation, to Protagorean self-refutation and to the problems of falsehood and not-being, as well as the more overt mention of the regress to the Good and the

supreme status of dialectic? Given the nature of Socrates’ principal interlocutors in this work, it is not possible to present here a serious discussion of philosophical issues, in the manner of the Phaedo, say, or the Theaetetus. The level of philosophical! discussion in a Platonic dialogue is regularly correlated with the character and capacity of the interlocutors.!? In this respect, the Euthydemus does not lend itself to a serious treatment of philosophical themes. At the same time, Plato’s concluding defence of true philosophy against the bad impression created by unworthy practitioners calls out for a more adequate conception of what constitutes true philosophy. So the mention here in the Euthydemus of knowledge of the good and a reference to the exalted position of dialectic both point to the grand conception of philosophy that

will be outlined in the Republic. Furthermore, the hints of logic, epistemology and the metaphysics of the Forms that are scattered among the fallacies all serve to sketch a broader picture of the topics with which philosophy is concerned. All these cryptic references combine to suggest a fuller conception of the nature of philosophy than can be presented in this dialogue. These references thus serve to remind us that the true practice of philosophy is not illustrated here (as it will be in some sections of the Republic,

Theaetetus or Sophist) and that even Socrates’

protreptic is not the

thing itself, not a specimen of philosophical method but only a preliminary invitation to pursue the study of philosophy.

University of Pennsylvania

12 To this extent I can agree with Thomas Szlezäk and our esoteric colleagues that a Platonic text must know how to be silent -- or at least indirect and obscure --on some matters, relative to the audience. Socrates’ interlocutors in the Euthydemus are not suited for a discussion of metaphysics or epistemology.

La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo Livio Rossetti 1. Mimetismo e reticenza: l’insegnamento che Platone si è compiaciuto di lasciare “tra le righe” I teorici della letteratura hanno da tempo introdotto la nozione di ruolo collaborativo del lettore. Si tratta, a mio avviso, di una nozione estremamente utile per migliorare la comprensione di un dialogo impregnato di mimetismi e reticenze come è l’Eutidemo. Ricorderd, per cominciare, che l’atto del recepire una unità comunicazionale si configura come un ‘riscriverla’ e ricrearla nella propria mente, in modo da costruire una nostra rappresentazione ‘di servizio’ di ciò che ci viene comunicato. Poiché tuttavia l’unità comunicazionale non può che essere organizzata — e successivamente recepita — come una sequenza di molte tessere o sub-unità, il ruolo attivo del ricettore consiste, in primo luogo, nell’integrare, ricondurre ad unità

e far interagire fra loro queste sub-unità, in modo da ricostruire mentalmente l’insieme, cioè il sistema che l’emittente ha per necessità scomposto in una successione di elementi. Ma l’unità comunicazionale predisposta dall’emittente non è solo impropriamente seriale anziché sistemica. È anche necessariamente lacunosa in quanto è inevitabile, per l'emittente, dare molte cose per note o per pacificamente ammesse, rinunciando ad esplicitarle e accontentandosi quindi di presupporle. Pertanto al ricettore è affidato anche un secondo compito: provvedere a individuare ed esplicitare — quindi a rappresentarsi mentalmente e integrare nel “sistema” — le molte precisazioni che l’autore ha ritenuto superfluo, inopportuno o impossibile

offrire. Accade poi che alcuni messaggi vengano inviati al ricettore solo in modo indiretto (‘obliquo’) e/o sottoposti ad una serie di ‘deformazioni’ intenzionali (non soltanto per mezzo di metafore, metatesi, metonimie e simili, ma anche ricorrendo all’esagerazione, alla dissimulazione, all’antifrasi, all’allusione, all’insinuazione ecc.). Se il messaggio obliquo richiede di essere esplicitato e fatto affiorare, il

Livio Rossetti

99

messaggio ‘deformato’ richiede che il ricettore si incarichi di un compito ulteriore, scandito in tre momenti: (1) rilevare la presenza di una data deformazione, (2) risalire dalla deformazione a ciò che l’emittente ha inteso propriamente significare,

quindi rettificare e normalizzare la sub-unità comunicazionale deformata ricavando anche da essa un sostituto diretto ed esplicito, (3) farsi un’idea della ragion d’essere di una o più deformazioni del dichiarato, quindi rilevare il messaggio aggiuntivo che si è voluto in tal modo inviare. Si tratterà infine di integrare nel “sistema” anche

questi elementi ulteriori. Il trattamento mentale di un simile insieme di messaggi e in particolare di questi ultimi — l’operazione più delicata tra le molte in cui si articola il complesso

atto ermeneutico affidato al ricettore, quella che maggiormente esalta il suo ruolo collaborativo — suole avere effetti gratificanti perché equivale ad affidargli un ruolo importante e suppone un notevole atto di fiducia nelle sue capacità di decodifica, che a loro volta variamente attingono alla sua cultura e al suo vissuto, e che quindi personalizzano almeno un poco la gamma delle associazioni di idee suscettibili di essere di volta in volta attivate. Queste dinamiche ci permettono di capire come sia possibile che le incompletezze — le “imperfezioni” — del dichiarato, lungi dal comprometterne fruibilità, possano conferirgli un interesse addizionale, e non a caso, nel ricorso a forme diverse di modulazione (o ‘deformazione’) dell’idea che intendono significare, gli autori sogliono ravvisare una risorsa elettiva allo scopo di incrementare la capacità di impatto della loro iniziativa comunicazionale. Il fenomeno è del tutto evidente nel caso della battuta umoristica, allorché

almeno una associazione di idee rimane solo obliquamente evocata, tanto che può esserci bisogno di un tempo, sia pur breve, per estrarre dal dichiarato l’implicito e godere quindi della sua scoperta.

Il ruolo collaborativo del lettore è non meno evidente quando il testo propone la rappresentazione del pericolo che incombe sul personaggio inconsapevole: si pensi al modo in cui lo spettatore si rappresenta la condizione di Edipo nella fase iniziale della sua ricerca di chi ha contaminato Tebe, o anche semplicemente al modo in cui ci rappresentiamo il tipico interlocutore dei dialoghi aporetici, che inizialmente coltiva l’illusione di saper reggere con successo il confronto con Socrate.

Ora si da il caso che l’Eutidemo abbia la singolare caratteristica di introdurre con straordinaria frequenza sia delle forme di mimetismo che delle forme di reticenza, specialmente in relazione al trattamento dei paradossi sofistici da parte di Socrate. Questi accorgimenti si dispongono su più livelli, in relazione ai distinti effetti che l’autore e il personaggio Socrate si propongono di generare. Richiedono quindi un minimo di analisi. ' Ciò comporta inoltre, £a., che il singolo atto di lettura sia un evento in sé diverso da ogni altro, un evento propriamente irripetibile.

100

La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo

(A) Notiamo, per cominciare, che nell’Eutidemo ha luogo uno scambio di idee che ha solo le apparenze della conversazione alla pari. Lo si intuisce già a

partire dalla situazione rappresentata: Eutidemo e Dionisodoro, che sono attorniati da molte persone (per lo più loro allievi, come viene precisato: 273a2), scorgono il giovane aristocratico Clinia che, circondato di ammiratori, nota la presenza di Socrate e, in conseguenza di ciò, va a sedersi accanto a lui con una certa deferenza.

Hanno quindi luogo i saluti e le presentazioni, ha luogo un chiarimento intorno alle nuove abilità attualmente professate dai due forestieri, i due gruppi si radunano attorno ai quattro o cinque personaggi più in vista e Socrate immediatamente assume delle funzioni

direttive, indicando

sia ciò che Eutidemo

e Dionisodoro

dovrebbero

argomentare per dar prova delle loro nuove abilità, sia la persona che dovrebbe fungere da loro interlocutore privilegiato nel corso di tale esibizione. A Socrate viene pertanto implicitamente riconosciuta, sin dall’inizio, una collocazione super partes, e non soltanto da parte di Clinia (e, per estensione, da parte dei suoi amici, alcuni dei quali sono già ben noti al filosofo), ma anche da parte dei due fratelli, che non esitano a riconoscere la sua autorevolezza e vengono ricambiati, tanto da trovare in lui una persona pronta ad accreditarli come intellettuali di valore e ad alimentare nei presenti delle attese importanti a loro riguardo. Anche nella generalità dei dialoghi aporetici a Socrate viene per lo più riconosciuta una considerevole autorevolezza sin dall’inizio; nondimeno in questi dialoghi egli avverte pur sempre il bisogno di manifestarla mettendo in seria difficoltà 1 suoi interlocutori (si potrebbe anche dire: in questi dialoghi Platone ha cura di far ben capire ai suoi lettori che l'autorevolezza normalmente riconosciuta a

Socrate

è giustificata

dalla

sua

constatabile

superiorità

intellettuale

nei

loro

confronti). Rispetto a un simile standard, l’Eutidemo presenta però una caratteristica fortemente innovativa, che, se non sbaglio, non trova adeguati termini di paragone in nessun altro dialogo: in questo caso Socrate è molta attento a non apparire interessato a mettere Eutidemo e Dionisodoro in visibile difficoltà.È per questo motivo che la prevedibile affettazione di stima, ammirazione e/o subalternità intellettuale nei loro confronti si protrae lungo tutto il corso del dialogo, e Socrate si astiene quasi sempre dal confutare i loro paradossi, dal chiudere i due sofisti

nell’aporia e/o dall’esporli al ridicolo. Il discredito che egli potrebbe

in ogni

momento gettare sulla loro illusoria bravura argomentativa viene sistematicamente smussato, frenato e mantenuto a livello implicito’, come se non ci fosse alcun

bisogno di fare qualcosa del genere (eventualmente: come se una confutazione esplicita delle loro tesi potesse apparire di cattivo gusto). Constatiamo

infatti che un primo embrione di confutazione (a) prende

forma solo a partire da un cauto riferimento a Protagora (286c2-8), dopo la seguente domanda di Socrate a Dionisodoro: “sei realmente convinto dell’attendibilità di ciò

Significativamente, ciò accade persino nel corso dell’intermezzo riservato a uno scambio di idee con Critone.

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101

che hai appena affermato?” (286d11-13) e dopo che Dionisodoro gli aveva rivolto l’esplicito invito — di fatto una sfida — a provare a confutarlo (ἔλεγξον: 286e1), (Ὁ) si sviluppa in un timido argumentum ad personam (286e8-287b1) che però offre a Dionisodoro l’opportunità di criticarlo apertamente (287b2-5; 287d3-4), (c) dà luogo a una situazione in cui Socrate non soltanto replica in modo straordinariamente morbido ma addirittura accetta di collocarsi sulla difensiva, come se fosse di nuovo in obiettiva difficoltà (287b6-c2; 287d5-6). Per effetto di tutti questi accorgimenti, la

confutazione perde molta della sua visibilità, e anche al lettore può sembrare, almeno prima facie, che ancora una volta i due fratelli abbiano avuto la meglio. La critica di Socrate si fa alquanto più esplicita e severa poco dopo (in 287e4-288al), ma per poi essere subito attenuata da considerazioni alquanto generiche e, in ultima istanza, benevole (fra l’altro attraverso il richiamo alla figura di Proteo: 288b7-8). Quando poi i sofisti si propongono di dimostrare a Socrate che egli stesso è onnisciente, questi non manca di introdurre le opportune clausole limitanti (296a7: “so quando so”; 296b5-6: “so quel che so”) e di argomentare che almeno una cosa non la sa (297a4), ma il contesto ci presenta un Socrate continuamente rimproverato di trasgredire le regole della conversazione, un Socrate che si lascia disciplinare ed a volte ammette di essere in torto, infine un Socrate che permette al discorso di scivolare impercettibilmente su un altro demonstrandum (le aporie concernenti i legami di parentela: 297a9-d5), come se non disponesse di strumenti argomentativi idonei a riportare i suoi interlocutori all’oggetto della divergenza di opinioni ed eventualmente metterli in difficoltà, se non esporli al ridicolo. Può così accadere che la conversazione si concluda con un (apparente) pieno trionfo dei due fratelli e con un Socrate che si limita a far loro notare che è facile — fin troppo facile — imparare ad argomentare tesi paradossali (conferendo loro una precaria apparenza di plausibilità: 303e5-304a5), per cui è in definitiva

preferibile lasciarsi confutare da simili discorsi anziché impegnarsi a contrastarli (303d4-5; cf. 304d1-2 e 29536). Si noterà che queste dichiarazioni conclusive implicano la presunzione di poter agevolmente demolire gli argomenti svolti dai due sofisti ma, ancora una volta, questa possibilità viene soltanto ventilata, mentre le apparenze prima facie delineano una sostanziale vittoria dei due sofisti per il semplice fatto che le loro argomentazioni non sono state mai seriamente attaccate (come sarebbe stato possibile fare). La dimostrazione della illegittimità delle inferenze da loro

accreditate rimane perciò rigorosamente virtuale. Caso

limite,

Critone che, avendo

infine,

è il parere

espresso

dall’interlocutore

assistito all’incontro, giudica ἄτοπος

anonimo

di

e, in ultima istanza,

vergognosa (αἰσχυνθῆναι: 305a2) la deferenza con cui Socrate aveva trattato i due ? In questo modo Socrate istituisce una alternativa virtuale che è degna di nota. Propongo di decodificarla in questi termini: “Veramente sei convinto dell’attendibilità di ciò che hai appena affermato? Forse no, e in tal caso non ho bisogno di produrre argomenti per confutarti. Se

invece

ne sei

convinto,

ti confuterò,

l’insostenibilità della tua affermazione”.

ma

sia ben

chiaro

che

è molto

facile dimostrare

102

La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo

sofisti. Se infatti questo anonimo mostra di essersi attenuto alle apparenze e di non aver colto la pesante ironia insita nel modo socratico di impostare la conversazione con Eutidemo e Dionosodoro, a sua volta Socrate, quando commenta queste valutazioni riferite da Critone, si diffonde in giudizi relativi a un certo tipo di intellettuali in genere, evitando di pronunciarsi sulla legittimita o meno di un’accusa che, di per sé, sarebbe grave: ancora una punta di reticenza. \ À suggerire al lettore un robusto senso di diffidenza verso l’abilità esibita da Futidemo e Dionisodoro - e, di riflesso, a suggerire l’idea della superiorità di Socrate — non provvede dunque il filosofo: né con un esplicito elenchos né in altro modo. Il compito di lanciare una simile idea viene lasciato alla intrinseca e manifesta fragilità degli argomenti su cui si fonda il successo prima facie dei due sofisti. Platone si attende infatti, e giustamente, che il lettore medio non abbia difficoltà a intuire che le tesi di volta in volta accreditate dai due intellettuali non siano attendibili, cioè ad elaborare mentalmente un efficace non sequitur in base al quale negare il proprio assenso a tali argomentazioni. La strategia che presiede al dialogo implica pertanto la presunzione che sia il lettore medio a non aver bisogno di una confutazione esplicita e severa di argomentila cui insostenibilità risulta evidente malgrado le apparenze del contrario. Da ciò consegue che anche le professioni di franca ammirazione per Eutidemo e Dionisodoro, pur ricorrendo lungo tutto il dialogo‘, sono (non possono non ritenersi) insincere e ingannevoli. Esse tradiscono appena l’esistenza di un articolato “sottotesto” che non include soltanto l’idea della superiorità di Socrate, capace di contrapporre agli ‘sterili’ giochi logici dei suoi interlocutori una filosofia ben più credibile, costruttiva e feconda, ma anche l’idea che Socrate e allievi conoscano perfettamente il segreto dei paradossi così volentieri esibiti dai sofisti e siano quindi perfettamente in grado, volendo, di demolire simili costruzioni argomentative eminentemente illusionistiche, In virtù di questo “sottotesto” l’attenzione con cui Socrate evita di mettere

Eutidemo e Dionisodoro in difficoltà o di esporli al ridicolo ottiene di produrre — come Platone evidentemente desidera — effetti contrari a quelli dichiarati: anziché conferire credibilità ai due eristi, amplifica il discredito gettato su di loro. Ed è significativo che questo contrasto fra le apparenze esibite e una verità mimetizzata riguardi non singole dichiarazioni o brani ma elementi costitutivi e vaste porzioni del dialogo in esame, tanto da assurgere a tratto caratterizzante.

_ _ L’Eutidemo esibisce infatti un intero sistema di apparenze non attendibili ed è animato dall’aspettativa che, nonostante ciò, il lettore sia ugualmente capace, con le sue sole forze, di procedere alla decodifica e disvelamento di ciò che viene

mimetizzato, e di provvedervi senza significativi rischi di cadere nell’inganno. Ciò che prende forma è, pertanto, una singolare commedia degli equivoci nel corso della quale

spetta

4 L’uso

dei

a

dialoghi

noi

di

aporetici

provvedere era

stato,

a

invece,

mutare di

di

abbondare

segno in

simili

una

percentuale

dichiarazioni

all’inizio della conversazione, salvo poi a chiudere l’interlocutore nell’aporia.

soltanto

Livio Rossetti

103

straordinariamente alta di affermazioni e passaggi mentre la lettura é in corso: infatti intuire che chi sembra aver ragione, in realtà ha torto, e che chi sembra prevalere, in realtà sta soccombendo, equivale ad adottare un principio di decodifica di portata sistemica in base al quale reinterpretare e “rettificare” tutto cid che risulta essere antifrastico, cioé moltissimo, dato che solo di tanto in tanto il pensato coincide con il

valore di facciata (è il caso di gran parte del prologo, dei due excursus sul λόγος

mpotpentixos,

del cenno

sui protagorei in 287c,

delle dichiarazioni riferite da

Critone in 304de e certamente anche di altro, ma non di molto altro). Il mimetismo che regna in questo dialogo finisce insomma per generare l’esigenza di individuare passo passo un autentico sistema di “sottotesti” che si nascondono appena sotto dichiarazioni manifestamente inattendibili — una “superficie” che prova a passare per ciò che l’autore effettivamente intende comunicare ai suoi lettori — e che richiedono pertanto di essere letti in controluce. Si può ben dire perciò che questo dialogo costituisca un esperimento altamente innovativo di sistematica deformazione del messaggio, con connessa invocazione della sapienza ermeneutica del lettore, cui viene affidato l’inedito

compito

di “rettificare” non alcune dichiarazioni o gruppi di dichiarazioni,

ma

l’insieme e le sue parti, la struttura e un’alta percentuale di passaggi (il che complica non poco l’atto del “riscrivere” mentalmente), e di partecipare quindi a un gioco ambizioso e, al tempo stesso, gratificante perché creativo. In effetti, basta chiedersi quanti secoli più tardi sia stato fatto un secondo esperimento di tal genere’, basta cioè provare a ricercare altre opere ispirate a un progetto comunicazionale comparabile (e

constatare la difficoltà di individuarne almeno una che sia anteriore al Rinascimento) per rendersi conto della notevolissima creatività insita in un così ardito — e riuscito — esperimento di comunicazione crittografata. Da notare infine, a questo riguardo, che l’Eutidemo, per il fatto di prevedere che il lettore apprenda a diffidare di un intero flusso di apparenze e pervenga a individuare quel che l’autore comunica senza propriamente dichiararlo, espande enormemente la consueta predilezione di Socrate per l’ εἰρώνεια. (B) A complicare il già impegnativo compito affidato ai lettori concorrono,

d’altronde, anche altri fattori. Infatti la decodifica primaria (che si può forse riassumere negli enunciati: “non è vero che Socrate sia in difficoltà” e “non è vero che Eutidemo e Dionisodoro siano superiori a Socrate”) lascia impregiudicato il compito di procedere ad ulteriori e non meno impegnativi atti ermeneutici, in primo

luogo per quanto riguarda i meriti che si dovrebbero comunque riconoscere ai paradossi elaborati dai due sofisti, la ratio che presiede alla loro costruzione e il motivo per cui essi, nonostante tutto, riescono a dare l’impressione prima facie di essere consequenziali. Non meno arduo appare il compito di risalire al senso complessivo del

dialogo, agli obiettivi ultimi perseguiti dall’autore, all’insegnamento positivo e agli 5 In considerazione di ciò, parrebbe lecito meravigliarsi nel constatare che queste caratteristiche così spiccate (e così altamente innovative) del dialogo in esame non abbiano attratto l’attenzione degli studiosi nemmeno nel caso dei commentatori di formazione letteraria.

104

La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo

ulteriori messaggi che Platone intende far arrivare fino a noi per mezzo di una struttura comunicazionale cosi sofisticata. Basti qui ricordare il dubbio sulla possibilita di ridurre il nucleo dottrinale — l’insegnamento positivo — del dialogo a una mera esaltazione del λόγος προτρεπτικός (davvero i paradossi sono un mero elemento di contorno?), la notevole varietà di spunti dottrinali che qua e là affiorano‘ e che, quantunque rimangano spunti, notazioni episodiche ἃ accenni decontestualizzati, sono troppo stimolanti per poter essere declassati ad un ulteriore ‘accessorio’. Eppure sul conto di questa multiforme ‘lezione’ del dialogo il lettore viene chiaramente tenuto in scacco a causa della diffusa reticenza del testo. Nel loro complesso, i fenomeni appena descritti si configurano come una combinazione di mimetismo e reticenza: quanto a Socrate, questi non si limita a dissimulare con notevole sistematicità le sue reali convinzioni, ma si astiene inoltre dall’offrire un sapere di cui nondimeno sembra essere in possesso; a sua volta l’autore del dialogo si astiene dal fornire ai suoi lettori quel sapere in materia di argomentazioni corrette, fallaci e paradossali che, nondimeno, evidentemente

possiede, dal momento che sa così ben rappresentare l’illusionistico virtuosismo argomentativo dei due sofisti. (C) Una simile combinazione di mimetismo e reticenza ha un fulcro. Si tratta dei paradossi e del multiforme sapere che li concerne. In particolare la reticenza riguarda cose così diverse come: = il denominatore comune di questi paradossi, gli accorgimenti (le “istruzioni”) che permettono di conferire a questi paradossi l’impressione di consequenzialità (cf. 303e6-7), la natura dell’attrattiva che 1 paradossi sanno esercitare, la precisa ragione per cui la conclusione di volta in volta raggiunta in realta non sequitur, la domanda virtuale più ovvia: “quale sarebbe la conclusione che segue correttamente dalle premesse utilizzate?”,

-

un

primo

livello

di

generalizzazione

in

materia

di

consequenzialità e quindi anche in materia di correttezza e scorrettezza $ Tra i molti flashes di questo tipo ricorderò l’excursus sulla possibilità di far cose con le parole (284b8-c4, passo in cui prende chiaramente forma la nozione di uso pragmatico della comunicazione verbale) e l’introduzione della nozione complementare: la possibilità di parlare tacendo (300b); inoltre la cauta evocazione di temi elcatici (284a4-b7); il tema delle condizioni richieste per poter parlare di contraddizione (distinzione tra contraddizione effettiva, contrapposizione tra enunciati che non siano esattamente antitetici e contrapposizione aggressiva: 285d2-6, 286a4-b6); l’embrione di trattazione intorno all’arte politica e all’arte regale (288e-292d); la tesi secondo cui ἐπιστήμη riunirebbe in sé τὸ ποιεῖν e τὸ ἐπίστασθαι χρῆσθαι (289b4-6); la delicata analogia che viene istituita tra λογοποιοί e Avponorot (289d2-7) e tra λογοποιοί e ἐπῳδῶν τέχνης] (2894-2904); la riduzione di γεωμέτραι, ἀστρονόμοι e λογιστικοί a meri θηρευτικοί (290c1-2); l’embrionale ipostatizzazione della nozione di anima, eretta in organo della conoscenza (295e5-296a7; cf. 287d7-11); la fugace evocazione del paradosso sofistico che nel Menone figura invece in posizione strategica (301e4-5), l’ancor più fugace affermazione secondo cui la filosofia sarebbe οὐδενὸς ἄξιον (305al) e l’excursus finale sulle relazioni intercorrenti tra filosofia e prassi politica (306a1-d1). Si noti la loro sostanziale eterogeneità.

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delle inferenze, qualche ulteriore approfondimento intorno alle nozioni di contraddizione (ben oltre la distinzione fra contraddire ed insultare, cioé fra contraddizione formale e contrapposizione aggressiva, che figura in 285d2-6) e di inattendibilita, qualche ulteriore approfondimento intorno ἃ nozioni complementari, come ad es. la distinzione tra ὅτῳ ἐπίστασαι e εἰ ἐπίστασαί τῳ (29622). Spicca infatti nell’Eutidemo la sistematica rinuncia non solo a formulare una esplicita confutazione dei paradossi, ma anche a rendere conto (a) delle conoscenze che permettono ai due sofisti di stupire e mettere in imbarazzo i loro interlocutori con questi argomenti chiaramente fallaci e tuttavia apparentemente consequenziali, (b) delle conoscenze che permettono a Platone non soltanto di -

ricreare così bene la loro effimera bravura, ma anche di individuare a colpo sicuro la “mossa” che permette di neutralizzare i loro itinerari argomentativi (ad es. l'introduzione di ἀεί in 296a7 e l’introduzione di ἃ γ᾽ ἐπίσταμαι in 296b5-6). Che Platone non fosse capace di offrire ulteriori precisazioni intorno a ciascuno dei temi indicati è infatti impensabile. Verso la fine del dialogo, il Socrate platonico insiste alquanto, per la verità, nel suggerire l’idea che questi paradossi sofistici debbano considerarsi un mero — e vano — esercizio dialettico su soggetti di scarso valore, esercizi così semplici da potersi ritenere accessibili a chiunque (303e6-7) — per cui vanno semmai trattati con indulgenza (συγγιγνώσκειν: 306c6) — mentre il vero valore risiederebbe nel λόγος προτρεπτικός. Ma siccome l’eventuale tentativo di estrapolare dal dichiarato almeno il modo in cui Platone ha concepito le procedure di demolizione di tali

paradossi si configurerebbe come ideazione di uno schema che il testo non offre, possiamo tranquillamente affermare che queste omissioni sono intenzionali. Egli infatti non manca di suggerire molte volte e in modo inequivocabile l’idea che, se

avesse

voluto,

avrebbe

potuto

e saputo

offrirci non

soltanto

degli

esempi

di

confutazione ma anche qualche forma di razionalizzazione del processo di refutazione dei paradossi che nel frattempo aveva saputo così sapientemente ricreare e proporre nel contesto del dialogo.

Dopotutto deduttiva

è più difficile riuscire

dei paradossi

che

non

riuscire

a istituire l’impressione a dimostrare

di volta

di cogenza

in volta

che

la

conclusione non sequitur’. Inoltre il processo di costruzione dei paradossi è molto caratterizzato, tanto da lasciar intravedere una ben precisa tipologia o schema inferenziale, e proprio questa circostanza dà risalto alla mancata delineazione del corrispondente schema refutativo. Fermo rimane dunque che sia la pars construens che la pars destruens dei

7 Dopotutto gli stessi due sofisti sarebbero riusciti a mettere a punto questa loro nuova abilità in nemmeno due anni (272b10-c1). 5 In modo analogo, è molto più facile persuadersi che Achille sicuramente riuscirà, prima o poi, a raggiungere la tartaruga che non persuadersi che possa mancare l’obiettivo.

La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo

106

paradossi in questione dovevano essere nitidamente possedute da Platone, solo che non sono state messe anche a nostra disposizione. \ Non ὃ poco quel che ci ὁ stato negato. Basti pensare a quanto piü articolate sarebbero state le nostre conoscenze intorno alla logica pre-aristotelica se ci fosse

stato consentito di accedere al sapere che presiede alla gestione dei paradossi dell’Eutidemo. Ed ha senso chiedersi quale può essere (stata) la ratio di simili opzioni di natura progettuale. Allo scopo di far avanzare almeno un poco la ricerca, propongo di condurre una analisi contrastiva, utilizzando come ‘schermo’ i dialoghi platonici più affini all’Eutidemo (quelli di tipo agonistico, vale a dire i dialoghi aporetici), in modo da far affiorare qualche altra caratteristica peculiare’.

2. Un confronto tra l’Eutidemo e i dialoghi aporetici (A)

Notiamo,

per

cominciare,

che

la

combinazione

di

continuità

e

discontinuità dell’Eutidemo rispetto ai dialoghi aporetici emerge con particolare chiarezza quando la si inquadri nel progressivo passaggio da un tipo di dialogo che prevedeva l’improvvisazione di definizioni, spunti teorici e (da parte di Socrate) obiezioni, a un tipo di dialogo in cui si instaurò invece il principio secondo cui le

teorie non si improvvisano ma vengono riferite se e quando sono state lungamente elaborate e ponderate, e di conseguenza non si improvvisano nemmeno le obiezioni. In effetti il dialogo di tipo aporetico ci presenta ogni volta Socrate nell’atto di indurre qualcuno ad improvvisare delle definizioni pur sapendo che questo suo

interlocutore non ha alcuna specifica competenza in materia di tecnica definitoria. È ben per questo che, con opportune lusinghe, si mobilita per strappare ai suoi interlocutori l'impegno conversazionale” a misurarsi con lui su questioni che per il filosofo sono familiari ma per loro assolutamente no. Dal canto suo egli non esita, in

questi dialoghi, a ricercare sul momento i contro-esempi più appropriati e le altre considerazioni grazie alle quali mostrare l’inadeguatezza delle singole definizioni via via ideate. Viceversa i dialoghi platonici della maturità e posteriori sono caratterizzati dall’uso di esporre ogni volta vasti e ben strutturati nuclei dottrinali, che si suppone

siano stati già precedentemente elaborati. Il portatore di questo sapere — lo stesso Socrate o qualcun

altro — suole inoltre misurarsi con un interlocutore che ha il

compito di seguire passo passo l'esposizione in modo da capir bene ciò che viene ? Il confronto con ciò che è molto simile suole infatti essere di notevole aiuto allo scopo di notare tutta una serie di differenze residue che altrimenti rischierebbero di passare inosservate. -Qualche ulteriore spunto comparativo verrà offerto all’inizio del $ 4. 19 Intendo dire che l’interlocutore viene indotto ad offrirsi di spiegare a Socrate qualche elemento di ciò che meglio conosce (beninteso, senza minimamente sospettare le insidie che affioreranno a partire da una domanda di per sé generica, τί ἐστι), dopodiché si trova ad aver assunto una sorta di impegno verbale e anche in seguito ha l'impressione che sarebbe squalificante tirarsi indietro (equivarrebbe a non mantenere una promessa che ormai, purtroppo, è stata fatta).

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affermato, che ha facolta di chiedere delucidazioni ma che, significativamente, non si permette quasi mai di azzardare una obiezione. La regola tacitamente suggerita è

percid la seguente: se le teorie non sono improvvisate, anche le eventuali obiezioni dovrebbero essere formulate, come minimo, al termine dell’esposizione o, meglio ancora, dopo un congruo periodo di ulteriore riflessione, in modo che siano anch’esse meditate e quindi competenti. La sistematica adozione di una simile regola di condotta per i personaggi di questi dialoghi ha fra l’altro il potere di dissolvere l’impianto agonistico tipico dei dialoghi del primo tipo". Rispetto a questi due standard, l'Eutidemo — ma in qualche misura anche il

Fedone — sembra istituire una via intermedia che permette alle due modalità del dialogo di alternarsi e coesistere. La prima impressione è che i locutori abbiano, ancora una volta, facoltà di improvvisare e soprattutto di contrastarsi all’istante, e infatti il dialogo ci propone una lunga e articolata battaglia verbale che appare chiaramente ispirata al modello agonistico (gli stessi Socrate e Ctesippo non si limitano certo a cercar di capire ciò che i due sofisti vanno affermando). Tuttavia i due sofisti, nel costruire i loro argomenti, manifestamente si attenengono ad uno schema argomentativo ben collaudato, che si suppone abbia già permesso loro di ottenere non pochi successi, anche spettacolari. A sua volta Socrate ripropone in due riprese un nucleo dottrinale che si suppone sia, anch’esso, non meno ben stabilito: il λόγος προτρεπτικός (che

infatti, rispetto a noti passi dell’ Apologia e del Clitofonte, si limita ad introdurre innovazioni inessenziali). Ci sono pertanto gli estremi per affermare che nell’Eutidemo è già operante, almeno in nuce, anche qualche tratto che prelude alle rigide regole che verranno osservate con molto rigore nella Repubblica (libri II-X) e in molti altri dialoghi della piena maturità del filosofo. (B) Un’altra innovazione relativamente, poco vistosa, rispetto ai dialoghi aporetici, concerne la natura delle opinioni espresse dagli interlocutori di Socrate e il trattamento che ad esse viene riservato.

Mentre nei dialoghi aporetici l’interlocutore è impegnato a proporre delle definizioni che, prima facie, possono ben sembrare ragionevoli (per cui ha senso

impegnarsi nella loro confutazione e fare, anzi, della confutazione un'esperienza creativa, idonea a far avanzare la riflessione e a trasmettere un qualche insegnamento), nell’Eutidemo i due sofisti propongono delle inferenze così intuitivamente paradossali da rendere superflua (se non addirittura noiosa) la formulazione delle obiezioni pertinenti, che potrebbero risultare fin troppo prevedibili nel loro andamento.

Inoltre, mentre la riflessione che permette agli interlocutori di Socrate di elaborare

sempre

nuove

proposte

di

definizione

tiene

conto,

di norma”,

delle

1 Ad una più articolata illustrazione di questi due diversi principi di organizzazione del dialogo ho dedicato una sezione del mio Eutifrone (Roma 1995, 36-42) e un successivo articolo, Sulla struttura macro-retorica del Filebo (in Cosenza [1996], 321-352). 12 Fa eccezione, come è noto, il Carmide, che specialmente nella prima parte si caratterizza appunto per la proposta di sempre nuove definizioni, come se quelle via via sottoposte ad ἔλεγχος da Socrate fossero del tutto irrecuperabili e non suscettibili di ulteriore messa a punto.

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La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo

obiezioni formulate in precedenza, la combinazione di premesse che, nell’ Eutidemo,

viene di volta in volta utilizzata per istituire sempre nuove conclusioni paradossali regolarmente ignora il giudizio negativo che, almeno implicitamente, grava sul paradosso introdotto un momento prima, per cui il passaggio a nuove inferenze paradossali non comporta alcun apprezzabile avanzamento della riflessione. A sua volta la confutazione dei paradossi, anche se non viene esplicitata, sembra in grado di togliere loro ogni appeal in modo certo e definitivo. Mentre dunque, nel caso dei dialoghi aporetici, l'avvenuta confutazione delle definizioni

proposte dagli interlocutori di Socrate si rivela utile per ritoccare e perfezionare l'ipotesi definitoria di volta in volta confutata (genera infatti l’impressione che molti — se non tutti — i tentativi precedenti avessero pur sempre un certo valore, nonostante i loro limiti), la confutazione dei paradossi dell’Eutidemo, pur rimanendo implicita e dunque solo virtuale, ha la pretesa di renderli addirittura meritevoli di oblio, privi cioè di ogni residuo motivo di interesse", Di conseguenza, mentre l’impianto dei dialoghi aporetici evidenzia pur sempre una componente costruttiva (vi campeggia la speranza che almeno la definizione emendata possa cogliere nel segno), l’Eutidemo istituisce una contrapposizione statica tra due culture che possono solo scontrarsi in una sorta di duello, senza alcuna concreta possibilità per una delle due di incorporare e assorbire — ma anche apprezzare almeno un poco — l’apporto dell’altra. Lo scontro si fa frontale, esclude ogni possibilità di ricerca collaborativa, e il suo esito può solo essere una sconfitta, una condanna senza appello (che è implicita, obliqua, e tuttavia inequivocabile anche quando i due sofisti riescono a mettere Socrate in difficoltà). Nell’Eutidemo prende cioè forma un giudizio di completa inutilizzabilità dei paradossi che marca una netta diversificazione dai dialoghi aporetici. (C) Accade però che delle inferenze paradossali occasionalmente compaiano anche nei dialoghi aporetici. Qualche esempio: “data una certa definizione del coraggio, ne segue che il leone e la scimmia sono naturalmente dotati di coraggio nella stessa misura” (Lach. 1966), “se una grandezza è maggiore di se stessa, allora sarà anche minore di se stessa” (Charm. 1680), “è mai possibile che la ὁσιότης consista in un mero commerciare con gli dei?” (Eu. 146-158).

Simili enunciati paradossali vengono introdotti allo scopo di additare gli ulteriori inconvenienti che emergono dalle proposte di revisione di schemi definitori già impostati.

L’inferenza paradossale

segnalata viene regolarmente

proposta

(di

solito a buon diritto) come legittima e, insieme, illuminante. Infatti ha il potere di attirare l’attenzione sulla conseguenza inaccettabile che si ricava correttamente da una data definizione, eretta in combinazione di premesse. L’inammissibilità del punto di arrivo (o corollario) evidenzia l’imperfezione (l’inaffidabilità) del punto di

parteriza e istituisce pertanto l’esigenza di ricercare una riformulazione della definizione che sia, come minimo, capace di evitare l’inconveniente appena 1 A buon diritto, in quanto i paradossi proposti da Eutidemo e Dionisodoro non sono propriamente emendabili: nulla propriamente consegue dalla combinazione di premesse di volta in volta introdotta.

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segnalato. Al tempo stesso il carattere circostanziato del rilievo si traduce in indicazione utile per la riformulazione dell’enunciato rivelatosi difettoso. I paradossi che figurano qua e là nel corso dei dialoghi aporetici si configurano, pertanto, come un incidente di percorso e, in ultima istanza, un apporto costruttivo. I paradossi dell’Eutidemo si inscrivono invece nella tradizione gorgiana --

più in generale, sofistica — della escogitazione peregrina e fine a se stessa che, almeno per un momento, ha il potere di imprigionare la mente e di strappare l’assenso nonostante l’intuitiva inammissibilita della conclusione in tal modo raggiunta (cioè del demonstrandum),

Nel generare una situazione di stupito disagio, anche impongono paradossali

dunque di ricercare una via d’uscita, talvolta introdotte da Socrate nel corso

questi paradossi

Però, mentre le inferenze dei dialoghi aporetici sono

proposte come legittime e intuitivamente corrette, quelle proposte da Eutidemo e Dionisodoro vengono avanzate ben sapendo che sono fallaci. Inoltre non c’è più un enunciato suscettibile di essere emendato alla luce della conclusione paradossale, non c’è una strumentalità del paradosso rispetto alla

ricerca che si viene conducendo, anzi non è in corso nessuna ricerca. Il paradosso sofistico si configura piuttosto come istituzione ex πόνο di una sfida intellettuale che

possiamo così formulare: “d’accordo che il ragionamento appena proposto — es. “il cane, essendo tuo, ed essendo padre di altri cani, è tuo padre; e se bastoni il tuo cane bastoni tuo padre” (Eud. 298e) — include una forzatura e la conclusione è insostenibile, ma vediamo se sei capace tu di individuare il suo punto debole e rimuoverlo”. Al pari di un enigma, mette alla prova l’altrui capacità di trarsi d’impaccio e, prima di tutto, di resistere alla tentazione di stare alle apparenze e prendere la deduzione per formalmente inappuntabile. La bravura dei due sofisti, ai quali non sfugge l’inconsistenza dei loro argomenti, consiste precisamente nel generare una impressione (ingannevole) di consequenzialità e nel mettere alla prova

l’interlocutore, implicitamente invitato a individuare quel punto debole che dovrebbe pur nascondersi da qualche parte ma che richiede comunque di essere ricercato, perché a prima vista non appare. Analogamente gli enigmi e gli impossibilia attendono di essere decodificati e, rispettivamente, verificati senza l’aiuto di chi li

propone. Senonché la cornice dialogica permette a Platone di rappresentarci un Socrate che, a dispetto delle sue dichiarazioni esplicite, pretende di saper individuare a colpo sicuro, non meno bene dei due sofisti, dove si annidi di volta in volta il punto debole, solo che si astiene dal farlo, come se si trattasse di un compito piuttosto facile o, forse, fin troppo facile e, pertanto, alla portata di (quasi) ogni suo lettore.

3. Lo smantellamento delle inferenze fallaci è un compito davvero facile?

seguente:

Una possibile decodifica di questa nozione di “compito facile” è la Platone ha ritenuto che indugiare nella confutazione equivarrebbe a

110

La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo

sottrarre al lettore la soddisfazione di provvedere da solo ad elaborarla mentalmente,

equivarrebbe cioé a sottovalutare le sue capacita critico-analitiche e far torto alla sua intelligenza. Il lettore medio, se non ha difficoltà a decodificare le ripetute professioni socratiche di ammirata stima nei confronti dei due sofisti, non dovrebbe avere maggiori difficoltà a intuire che i paradossi peccano in consequenzialità. Secondo tale ipotesi, Platone giudicherebbe inoltre sufficiente mostrare che Socrate non si sente mai messo realmente in difficoltà dagli argomenti prodotti da Eutidemo e Dionisosoro, anche se di tanto in tanto si compiace, con falsa coscienza, nell’affermare risolutamente il contrario. | Non mancano perd indizi per pensare che il compito in questione nasconda delle insidie rispettabili e sia dunque molto meno facile di come pud sembrare. In primo luogo, ciascun itinerario argomentativo ha la sua relativa complessità o non-intuitività (basti pensare al passaggio: «se tu vedi i nostri abiti, allora essi possono vedere»"); in secondo luogo, i tempi del confronto fra i vari personaggi del dialogo sono piuttosto serrati. Dalla combinazione di questi due fattori — che non sono peraltro i soli — possono ben scaturire intralci apprezzabili allorché si tratta di elaborare mentalmente, a lettura in corso, quelle controdeduzioni che si suppone siano addirittura intuitive e quindi facili da ideare a dispetto della reticenza del testo.

L’indicazione appena offerta richiede precisazioni ulteriori. (A) Occupiamoci, per cominciare, di un dato generico ma non per questo trascurabile: gli automatismi e l’inerzialità che normalmente caratterizzano la lectio

continua. Siccome il dialogo, al pari di moltissimi altri tipi di testo, prevede che lo si legga dall’inizio alla fine, il lettore tende a adottare il criterio di non interrompere la lettura per soffermarsi più di tanto a riflettere su singoli passaggi e soddisfare all’istante il bisogno di capir bene, gli interrogativi collaterali e i possibili dubbi. È il testo in quanto discorso continuo — in questo caso: è la rappresentazione o simulazione di una conversazione in atto — a richiedere che il lettore prosegua docilmente nella lettura. L'esigenza di riuscire a rappresentarsi mentalmente la complessa interazione dialogica nel suo insieme richiede di astenersi, per quanto possibile, dal frantumarla di nuovo in una serie di passaggi disconnessi. Per gustare

il dialogo nel suo insieme occorre dedicarsi a seguire il suo naturale svolgimento senza propriamente disturbarlo col rischio di rompere l’incantesimo. Nel lettore suole prendere forma, del resto, anche una certa fiducia nella razionalità dell’insieme e nella sua capacità di risultare auto-esplicativo.

Ne discende l’attitudine ad attendersi che la momentanea oscurità di un passaggio

debba

verosimilmente

dissolversi

nel prosieguo,

alla

luce

di un

più

articolato contesto. È pertanto normale disporsi a lasciare, almeno momentaneamente, senza risposta non pochi interrogativi, nel corso della lettura continuata,

A complicare le cose provvede il dialogo per il fatto di non far posto a nessun

embrione

14 300a3-4.

di analisi retrospettiva o meta-discorso

una volta raggiunta

la

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111

conclusione paradossale. Infatti, quando giunge il momento di procedere alla confutazione, o almeno di fermarsi un momento a riflettere sul paradosso appena presentato, il dialogo puntualmente riparte con un flusso di dichiarazioni d’altra

natura (ad es. gli insinceri commenti stupefatti di Socrate), per cui l’attenzione del lettore viene ad essere puntualmente distolta da un simile compito. È pertanto difficile che il lettore medio — e penso in primo luogo al lettore antico — non subisca la costrizione del discorso che prosegue, ma in altre direzioni. Di conseguenza per il lettore è piuttosto difficile non limitarsi agli aspetti più epidermici del singolo paradosso e riuscire ad elaborare le opportune inferenze e congetture concernenti quell’ulteriore sapere che solo in minima parte affiora attraverso la semplice lettura. Tutto ciò a maggior ragione quando si consideri che, ai tempi di Platone, probabilmente si ricorreva spesso alla lettura delegata, con un piccolo pubblico

riunito per ascoltare qualcuno che si fosse anche un po’ preparato per ricavare dai segni grafici un parlato accettabilmente fluido. Per di più l’Eutidemo ricorre con inusitata larghezza, come già ho detto ($ 1), all’offerta di messaggi variamente modulati, mimetizzati o lasciati “tra le righe” (quindi non immediati), messaggi la cui presenza impegna il lettore — o l’ascoltatore

— in ripetute operazioni di decodifica e ‘rettifica’. Questa circostanza, combinata con le altre appena segnalate, induce a ritenere che il dialogo sia ben lungi dal creare condizioni favorevoli per concentrarsi sui paradossi e sul multiforme sapere che rende possibili tanto la loro costruzione quanto il loro doveroso rigetto: direi piuttosto che esso finisca per frapporre dei veri e propri ostacoli. Tra i fattori in grado di contrastare l’aspirazione a investire particolari energie nel tentativo di capire qualcosa degli argomenti paradossali (e di smantellarli mentalmente) mentre la lettura è in corso, proporrei di includere, del resto, anche un altro ostacolo aspecifico: il frequente ricorso del narratore a intercalari ‘generici

come ἔφην, ἔφη, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς et sim. quantunque il tasso di alternanza dei locutori sia piuttosto alto. Anche una complicazione così elementare -- il dubbio, che di tanto in tanto si affaccia, sulla corretta identificazione di chi ha fatto e a chi è rivolta la singola affermazione, in particolare nel caso dei due personaggi più facilmente intercambiabili: Eutidemo e Dionisodoro — concorre ad accrescere il rischio che tutta una serie di adempimenti ‘obbligati’, per il fatto di essere così incombenti e di assorbire una porzione significativa delle capacità analitiche del lettore, finiscano per dissuadere fin troppo efficacemente dal concentrarsi a dovere sui passaggi

obiettivamente più difficili. (B) C’é poi l’ambito della dottrina, con l’ampio spazio che viene accordato al λόγος προτρεπτικός, la relativa complessità della ricerca ad esso associata e la stessa frequente immissione in circolo di altri spunti dottrinali eterogenei (cf. nota 6), spesso dotati di un apprezzabile tasso di complessità e/o oscurità. Anche la presenza di tutti questi insegnamenti collaterali, per il fatto di assorbire una ulteriore percentuale delle capacità analitiche del lettore, finisce per contrastare con l’aspirazione a soffermarsi con particolare cura sui paradossi e funziona quindi come

112

La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo

una sorta di ulteriore distrazione. Pertanto lo ‘spazio mentale’ da riservare alla loro penetrazione ed analisi rimane davvero piuttosto esiguo. (C) A sua volta questo atto analitico non è poi così elementare come siamo tentati di pensare (e come Platone indirettamente ci induce a pensare). Infatti elementare è soltanto la riflessione che conduce a rendersi conto che la conclusione paradossale in realtà non sequitur, mentre molto di più si richiede per riuscire a rappresentarsi il gioco intellettuale impostato dai due sofisti e pervenire a rendersi

conto

della

creatività

insita

nella

ideazione

di

argomenti

apparentemente

consequenziali anche se fragili". Analogamente, per poter sobbalzare alla lettura dei paradossi zenoniani non basta essere pronti a ribadire, ad es., che Achille è perfettamente in grado di raggiungere la tartaruga. Occorre quanto meno riuscire ad apprezzare la creatività dell’escogitazione e l’apparente inevitabilità della conclusione, così da rendersi conto della difficoltà di disinnescare il congegno che porta alla conclusione impensata. Si richiede perciò anche di ricostruire mentalmente almeno alcuni dei passaggi costitutivi grazie ai quali riesce delinearsi la conclusione paradossale. Ora, nel caso dei paradossi di cui stiamo qui discutendo, c’è sempre almeno

un passaggio non intuitivo: è la procedura di volta in volta seguita dai due sofisti per innescare il percorso che condurrà poi al paradosso. Essi arrivano ogni volta a strappare all’interlocutore determinate ammissioni per mezzo di domande che prevedono risposte semplici (anche se non sempre si tratta di pronunciarsi con un sì o con un no), e non a caso talvolta insistono perché l’interlocutore si attenga rigorosamente a questa disciplina dell’interrogare e del rispondere (cf. 295b6, 2964], 296a8-9, 296b7-8). Può così prendere forma un ἐξετάζειν molto prossimo all’ ἐξετάζειν solitamente praticato dal Socrate dei dialoghi aporetici e dunque altrettanto refrattario all’analisi. Accade, per esempio, che vengano accreditati dei dilemmi (“sei sapiente o ignorante? sai o non sai?”), e il dilemma costituisce da sempre un potente fattore di indebita iper-semplificazione degli enunciati. Per di più, in questi passaggi cruciali, gli interlocutori (non soltanto Socrate) sogliono essere

mediamente più accondiscendenti di quanto non potrebbero e dovrebbero". Ma si richiede già un certo impegno per ben inquadrare questi eccessi appena percepibili di accondiscendenza mentre la lettura è in corso, ed è facile accontentarsi di questo, godere cioè del gioco delle parti, senza investire adeguate energie nell’analisi dei paradossi. Ma soprattutto: dietro alla disputa un po’ salottiera si nascondono appena sostanziosi embrioni di quella logica che, all’epoca, doveva ancora costituirsi come disciplina e che, per quanto ne sappiamo, non aveva ancora dato luogo a nessuna pubblicazione specifica. La mano sicura con cui Platone ricrea queste argomentazioni fallaci e lascia intravedere la procedura necessaria e sufficiente per disinnescare la fallacia (296a7: “so quando so”; 296b5-6: “so quel che so”) implica

infatti che egli fosse già pervenuto, all’epoca, ad elaborare idee non generiche in " In effetti i Sofisti strabiliarono il loro pubblico con la potenza del “discorso debole”. È questo un ulteriore tratto che accomuna l’Eutidemo all’uso dei dialoghi aporetici.

Livio Rossetti

113

materia di inferenze corrette e scorrette. A sua volta la compiuta intellezione dei

paradossi e il giudizio da portare sulla supposta bravura dei due sofisti — «un’arte che chiunque può apprendere in brevissimo appropriarsi di elementi non troppo marginali

tempo»: 303e6-7 — richiede di di questo suo sapere. Senonché

Platone si guarda bene dal metterlo a disposizione dei suoi lettori. Alla luce di tali considerazioni, dobbiamo energicamente ridimensionare la presunzione

di facilità

del compito

di analizzare

mentalmente

i paradossi

e di

individuare il loro punto debole. Ma soprattutto arriviamo alla conclusione che Platone ha creato le condizioni per ottenere che il lettore medio si limiti a intuire il non sequitur solo in modo generico e sommario. Pur suggerendo con insistenza l’idea che quello sia un compito facile, lo ha insomma reso piuttosto difficile. In

questo senso egli tratta i lettori dell’Ewtidemo non molto diversamente da come erano trattati gli interlocutori di Socrate nei dialoghi aporetici: inducendoli a sottovalutare grandemente la portata del compito loro affidato, per poi farli sentire impotenti nei passaggi più impegnativi.

4. La sfida intellettuale lanciata da Platone con l’Eutidemo Rispetto ai dialoghi aporetici scattano però due o tre innovazioni di rilievo: — invece di mettere in piedi una situazione in cui il lettore possa sorridere dell’impotenza o impreparazione degli interlocutori, ora viene creata una situazione in cui è il lettore ad essere tenuto in scacco (infatti si suppone che Socrate e gli stessi

sofisti sappiano piuttosto bene che cosa sta accadendo); — invece di incoraggiare

il lettore a proseguire per suo conto la ricerca

elaborando nuove proposte di definizione che facciano tesoro degli insegnamenti impartiti agli interlocutori, l’Eutidemo implicitamente chiede ai lettori di capire (di spiegare) in cosa consista la forzatura che permette di arrivare al paradosso;

— una richiesta di questo tipo è molto più pressante non solo perché è amplificata dalla presunzione di facilità del compito, ma anche e soprattutto perché mentre l’invito a far avanzare una data ricerca può essere agevolmente declinato (“mi serve del tempo per pensarci”), è ben più difficile declinare l’invito a rendere conto di qualcosa che si presume sia stata prontamente notato (il non sequitur). In tal caso, infatti, rischia di scattare un dilemma imbarazzante: “hai capito o non hai capito?”. Tutto cid mi permette di formulare due ipotesi un po’ ardite:

del

(a) i commenti che seguivano al termine della lettura (o semi-recitazione) dialogo ad alta voce davanti a un piccolo pubblico, presente l’autore,

includevano sia qualche tentativo di analizzare i paradossi sia l’invito, rivolto allo stesso Platone, a dare delle spiegazioni — βοήθεια orale!” -- ed esibire infine quel sapere che nel dialogo viene accuratamente mantenuto a uno stadio di mera virtualità 17 ἢ tema invita a indagare sui punti di contatto fra questa βοήθεια e il tipo di βοήθεια di cui ha lungamente scritto lo Szlezäk. Mi riservo di trattarne in altra sede.

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La confutazione virtuale dei paradossi nell’ Eutidemo

(l’Eutidemo prepara molto bene il terreno per la formulazione di una simile richiesta); (b) provvedeva Platone a chiedere ai suoi allievi di spiegare un poco la natura dei paradossi appena presentati. In questa seconda ipotesi, il dialogo potrebbe essere stato utilizzato anche quale punto di partenza — o test — per specifiche sessioni di addestramento logicoargomentativo degli allievi da parte dello stesso Platone: addestramento ad analizzare, addestramento a confutare e addestramento a costruire altri argomenti sofistici non validi ma, nondimeno, apparentemente plausibili. E va da sé che, con l'occasione, il maestro potesse anche offrire un po’ di insegnamento positivo. La povertà delle informazioni disponibili sull’uso dei dialoghi da parte del

loro autore invita ad una ovvia prudenza. Rimane però un punto fermo, ed è la funzionalità dell’Eutidemo per l’ipotesi d’uso appena prospettata. In effetti nessun altro dialogo platonico si presta così bene per stimolare e indirizzare lo studio — nonché l’acquisizione — delle migliori abilità esibite dai Sofisti. Aggiungerò che questa ipotesi d’uso è largamente compatibile con le note dichiarazioni del libro VII della Repubblica sull’addestramento degli aspiranti

filosofi all'esercizio della dialettica, e così pure con le corrispondenti dichiarazioni di Isocrate. Ed è a dir poco attraente immaginare che simili esercitazioni, se veramente ebbero luogo, siano potute servire, fra l’altro, ad Aristotele per sviluppare quella sicura conoscenza delle tecniche di costruzione di argomenti fallaci che è documentata, i.a., dai Topici.

Università di Perugia

Euthydemus’ Philosophy of Language Samuel Scolnicov Two models of language (and of knowledge) clash in the Euthydemus. (i) The first is the dyadic model. involving a speaker x and an object A (or a state-of-affairs p): x names A (or x states that p).! One could, of course, expand this formula to ‘x names A by means of “A”. But

in this dyadic model, ‘A’ is the name of A and not to use in naming A is simply not to name? it but to name, perhaps, something else. On this model, it is redundant to specify both the speaker x and the name ‘A’, since, if the speaker succeeds in naming A, he did it by its proper name ‘A’; and ‘A’ names A? whoever the speaker is, or even with no reference to any speaker at all. The speaker is, therefore, superfluous in establishing the relation between ‘A’ and A,‘ and the dyadic model is indifferent between ‘x names A’ and ‘“A” names A’. Euthydemus and Dionysodorus mostly use the first formulation, but the second is behind the references to Prodicus’ onomatôn

orthotés at 277e4 and the denial, at 287d-e, that phrases have meaning.

And it is this second formulation that underlies the Sophists’ approach to logic. (ii) The second model is triadic: ‘Names’ is a three-place predicate, involving not only a name and an object, but also a speaker who asserts a relation between them: x names A ‘A’. Immediately after linking the Sophists’ procedure to Prodicus, Socrates studiously avoids establishing a direct link between the name and the object, always intercalating between them a speaker. Cf. 277e5 τὸ μανθάνειν [...] of ἄνθρωποι καλοῦσι μὲν ἐπὶ τῷ τοιῷδε, 278al καλοῦσι δὲ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο, a4 αὐτὸ συνιέναι καλοῦσιν ἢ μανθάνειν, a6 ταὐτὸν ὄνομα En’ ἀνθρώποις ἐναντίως ἔχουσιν κείμενον, Αἱ 284c7, Ctesippus tries to introduce legein explicitly as a triadic predicate: to speak falsely is τὰ ὄντα μὲν τρόπον τινὰ λέγειν, οὐ

'The parallelism of language and knowledge is easily explained: (correctly) to name an object (or (truly) to make a statement about a state-of-affairs) is — at least as a first approximation, and especially on the dyadic model — to know it. 2 Not ‘give it a name to be referred by’, but ‘use its name to single it out for special attention’.

3 Le., it is its name. 4 There is, of course, a slight difference in the meaning of ‘names’ in the two cases. But, as x cannot

name A except by means of ‘A’, the relation of naming is in any case reducible to a dyadic relation.

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Euthydemus "Philosophy of Language

μέντοι ὥς γε ἔχει. This model had already been used, somewhat inconspicuously, in the Meno (82b10)°: γιγνώσκεις τετράγωνον χωρίον ὅτι τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν; ‘Do you know ἃ square area, that it is something like this?’ In Republic v, the model is introduced rather ceremoniously at 477b10 and reiterated at 478a6: οὐκοῦν ἐπιστήμη ἐπὶ τῷ ὄντι πέφυκε, γνῶναι ὡς ἔστι τὸ Sv, ‘knowledge is of what

is, to know what is as it is’. But Dionysodorus,

rightly from his point of view, will have none of it. Plato uses both models, resorting to the triadic model only when in need of the extra precision afforded by it. Cf., e.g., Cratylus 385b, Sophist 2406 ff., 258c, 263b ff. On the dyadic model, the old chestnut arises of the impossibility of speaking falsely or having a false opinion. The classical analogies, in the case of knowledge, are those of seeing and grasping: x sees A, or x grasps A.” One cannot see something incorrectly (at least not on the assumptions of this model), nor can one grasp something untruly. One can only see or not see, grasp or fail to grasp. To speak is to do something (284bS). There is an object of this action, as of any action expressed by a dyadic predicate. Therefore, contradiction is impossible (285e): it is impossible for either of two statements to be false. Rather, one of them either lacks reference, and therefore is no statement at all; or it refers to something else, and thus it does not contradict the other. Likewise, if the statement is meaningful, there can be no

ἀμαθία (286d6), for ignorance would be an impossible ψεύδεσθαι τῶν πραγμάτων, d7, thus failing to refer. In the same way, there can be no ἐξαμαρτάνειν (2874): there is only doing or not doing. On the dyadic model, naming and knowledge can only be all-or-nothing acts. There are no gradations of knowledge and no knowing in one way but not in another. ‘To know’ is univocal:

it cannot be qualified, e.g., by its object;

if one knows

one thing, one knows

all

(294). Significantly, in the Meno, the introduction of doxa is concomitant with the inconspicuous appearance of the triadic model. Doxa and anamnésis in the Meno are possible because they are based on a (partial) reinterpretation of the relations involved. Similarly, the explicit introduction of the triadic model in Republic v paves the way to the introduction of doxa as a state intermediate between knowledge and ignorance.

$ On the date of the Euthydemus, see now Chance (1992), 3 ff. 6] have discussed this passage and its implications in Scolnicov (1988), 84-86. Rijlaarsdam (1978) objects to the translation of τὰ ὄντα λέγειν ὡς ἔστιν as ‘to say the things that are as they are’, for ‘[d]ie Übersetzung einer Wendung wie τὰ μὴ ὄντα λέγειν ὡς ἔστιν [based on Sophist 258c, 263 d] mit “von Nichtseiende sagen, wie es ist”, ist ausgeschlossen. Wenn ὡς in dieser Wendung nicht “wie” bedeutet, so wird es auch in dem anderen Wendungen nicht “wie”, sondern “das” bedeuten.’ But if one takes einai as (incomplete) predicative, as one presumably should, the expression can be understood, even in Rijlaarsdam terms, as ‘to say of what is not (F) that it is (F)’, which is not too far from ‘to speak of what is not (F) as what is (F)’. This understanding is further supported by Ctesippus’ formulation at 284c7, echoed by Dionysodorus’ question at dl, εἰσὶν γάρ τινες of λέγουσι τὰ πράγματα ὡς ἔχει; 7 For the first part of the Theaetetus as a critique of the dyadic model of knowledge, see Scolnicov (1988), ch. 8; Burnyeat (1990), Part I.

Samuel Scolnicov

It is by

now

commonplace

117

that Socrates

professed

to refute

people

not

disembodied

statements, although, on occasion, he would not refrain from examining statements too.” This

main methodological difference between Socrates and the two sophist brothers has often been noted. But its wider implications have not been followed up nearly far enough. On Euthydemus and Dionysodorus’ theory of language, nothing intervenes between the name and its reference. By contrast, the triadic model of language puts great emphasis on the speaker, without whom naming (in the material world) could not take place. The very first words of Crito’s opening question, repeated at its end, make the point emphatically: tig fiv; (271al, 5). And because, for the Sophists, the speaker does not matter, it does not matter either whether

they are one or two, and the two are mostly taken together throughout the dialogue in the dual (although differences between them occasionally arise).® Euthydemus claims to be able to ‘transmit’ (παραδοῦναι) virtue to men in the finest and fastest manner (273d8), but the subject of such an education is a neutral receptacle (274d7).

The only condition put by Euthydemus is that the boy be willing to answer (275c1). But the answerer is taken only as a source of statements, which are then taken on their own. Thus, all

of the Sophists’ questions can be ‘inescapable’ (276e5), because the argument does not depend on the interlocutor, except — as in computer-based instruction — for generating input. Since, for the Sophists, words signify (if they signify) directly, they are taken in each section of the argument as said in one way only (although, of course, their supposed meaning can change from one hom of the dilemma to the other, according to the needs of the refutation). There is no possibility of ‘naming in a certain way’ (τρόπον τινὰ λέγειν) but not in another. Such a conclusion is also dependent, of course, on certain supplementary ontological assumptions, some of them explicit and some not, having to do mainly with the basic homogeneous nature of reality, i.e., with the impossibility of different modes or different types of being. Words are univocal! also because there is no being in a certain way but not in another. Hence, predication is a grammatical and ontological impossibility. Cf. 283d2: Since you want Clinias not to be ignorant, you want him not to be.? But behind the mere equivocation stands the more serious issue of the Principle of noncontradiction. At 293b8, Euthydemus brings it to the fore: ἄρ᾽ οὖν δοκεῖς οἷόν τέ τι τῶν ὄντων τοῦτο ὃ τυγχάνει Sv, αὐτὸ τοῦτο μὴ εἶναι; This is, in fact, Parmenides’ unrestricted

Principle: οὐ γὰρ μήποτε τοῦτο δαμῇ εἶναι μὴ ἐόντα (7.1). The restrictions κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἅμα (293d1) do not belong to it in its original formulation, and Euthydemus is justified in

è Euthydemus seems to be the brighter of the two; cf., e.g., 297a5. 9 Cf. 293b8, 303d7 ff. See further Sprague (1962), n. 106; Keulen (1971), 79; Hawtrey (1981), 95, 186 ἢ; Canto (1989), 199 n. 104.

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ignoring them.!° This Principle precludes different modes of being (such as being pros ti alongside being kath hauto) or types of being (such as substance and predicate). Without different modes of being, parousia is impossible (5010). The relation of name to thing cannot be qualified in any way (or it would run foul of the Parmenidean principle of non-contradiction). If any qualification is to be admitted, it must refer to the act of establishing the relation, not to the relation itself, which must be univocal

(284d5). To name a spade a spade rashly or hesitantly has nothing to do with the relation that obtains (if it obtains) between ‘spade’ and the spade. At this stage, it is the same for the Sophists whether the relation between word and object is real or merely nominalistic. Later in the dialogue, they will question even the assumption that words can have meaning. The dyadic model of language and knowledge cannot allow for sliding meanings either. Hence the importance of Prodicus’ onomatôn orthotés (277e4) and akribeia logôn (288a6-7). Socrates, on the other hand, asks Ctesippus μὴ ὀνόματι διαφέρειν (285a5, cf. 278b6-7). As Plato remarks more than once, onomatén orthotés is not enough; words in themselves do not

matter.!! It is the psuché that has to be brought into line with reality.!? The dialectician’s working assumption is that words do not necessarily mean the same to different people." Socrates’ dialectical procedure aims at shifting the meaning that the word under consideration has for the respondent to the meaning he himself privileges. His procedure is not a simple disambiguation, as between two pre-existing meanings.'* Rather, it involves widening and even quite often distorting the respondent’s meaning in the direction of what Socrates is deeply convinced is the only true meaning of the word, a meaning which, moreover, would be recognized by everyone, if only their preconceptions could be removed. The introduction of the speaker (or knower) by the triadic model severs the direct link between the name and its reference. Ideally, when the particularity of the speaker is removed,

!0Cf. 298c2. Hawtrey (1981), 142: ‘Euthydemus’ version of the law of non-contradiction would be sounder if he included here the words that he adds afterwards as an afterthought at [293]d1 (κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἅμα). But, as he himself notes at that passage, these words are not applied to ἐπιστήμων. Plato indeed ‘has dropped a hint as to how the argument should have been put’ (ibid.), but he will not foist onto the Sophist a full acceptance of the possible variation of the meaning of ‘know’ as between ‘know x’ and ‘know γ᾽; rather, as Hawtrey points out (loc. cit.), the restriction ‘must mean “in respect of knowledge” (i.e., “in respect of knowledge you are and are not the person that you are” instead of something like “you cannot be both knowing and not-knowing in respect of the same thing at the same time”). This still leaves us with the ambiguity of εἶναι, but that point had already been made at 2830 ff. - For a discussion of the Parmenidean principle of non-contradiction cf. Scolnicov (1981), 97-110. !LE.g., Charmides 163d, Meno 870, Phaedo 100d4 ff. On the importance of onomatön orthotés in sophistic arguments, see Chance (1992), 49,

See further Hawtrey (1981), 73. BOf, eg., Phaedrus 263a2-b5, and Euthydemus 277e5, quoted above. 14 As maintained, e.g., by Desjardins (1988), 110-125.

,

Samuel Scolnicov

119

meaning and reference coalesce in the idea. But as long as strict knowledge is not attained, meaning and reference remain separate. The same goes for doxa and for amathia (286d). Doxa and amathia, being states of mind, not properties of propositions, are impossible if words mean directly; the way a proposition is ‘held’ is immaterial at best, ridiculous at worst

(like speaking coldly of ‘cold fish’, 284e4). Plato’s solution, elsewhere, will be not by means of a subjectivity in the modem sense, but by way of the structure of the idea, which allows it to exist also en tais psuchais, being grasped in different manners and in different degrees by different souls. The sophist brothers deal with statements, Socrates — with utterances. Statements are detachable from the speaker and can be examined on their own. They can be brought together or kept apart at will, as eristic tactics may require (cf., e.g., 287b6). Utterances, on the other hand, cannot be severed from their speakers, they are always context-sensitive and they relate to each other over time in so far as they ‘belong’ to the same individual. Of course, one can always change one’s mind. After all, this is what dialectics is about. But then it is a change of mind, i.e., the respondent explicitly rejects his attachment to his previous opinion, not just produces another proposition instead of the previous one. Euthydemus and Dionysodorus’ sole interest in statements blocks any consideration of degrees of knowledge. Because such degrees would imply that the object of cognition can, in ἃ ἃ certain way, be known τῇ ψυχῇ. For Socrates, soul is the organ of cognition. But Euthydemus will have nothing to do with such soul (295a1). He is prepared to consider that we know ‘with something’!>, but not with the soul (295b2 ff., cf. 296a), also because the introduction of soul raises the question of (true or false) understanding and the crucial role of the individual in the process of learning (cf. 295b8, c4-5, 8-9). But the concept of the individual soul as the /ocus of interrelated opinions, hence also of contradictions, can be problematic for Socrates too. At 286e, Dionysodorus lands into trouble, forced into a contradiction; but it is Euthydemus who replies in his stead. Indeed, if contradiction is always pragmatic, insofar as it depends, among other things, on both contradictory propositions being asserted by the same person, a change of respondents should take care of the problem. A nice touch. For once, the Sophists play by Socrates’ rules and show these miles’ shortcomings. But a few lines later, at 287b2, Dionysodorus recuperates and reverts to playing in his own court, denying any continuity of the answering subject and any responsibility for consistency over time (hence implicitly rejecting the epistemic role of the soul). Surprisingly, however, Socrates himself seems to disregard the necessity of the continuity of the respondent in the educational process. Clinias is taken along the route to philosophy and is apparently making good progress. But at 291c3, Crito takes over the role of the respondent. Is not Socrates here allowing and even encouraging exactly what he condemned in the Sophists, i.e., taking the respondents as interchangeable? In a way, yes. Indeed Socrates (and Plato) are

15 Or: that we are ‘knowledgeable with respect to something (tw)’. The Greek is ambiguous and Euthydemus takes advantage of this.

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Euthydemus Philosophy of Language

falsifying the story, to a certain extent.'® And for good reasons too. Any educational process is exceedingly complex and involves the whole soul. No such process can be so swift as to fit within the compass of a dialogue (or of any short period). Earlier in the dialogue, there were already intimations of this difficulty. As opposed to the Sophists’ boast of being able to teach their art ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ (2720) and transmit virtue τάχιστα (273d9), Socrates apologizes for the long-drawn conversation he has had with Clinias (282d7). More than once, at crucial and difficult junctures,

the

story

is dubiously

shortened.

At

280b1,

on

the

relation

between

wisdom and εὐτυχία, they are said by Socrates to have ended up agreeing, ‘I don’t know how’; and at 282el, Clinias too readily agrees that knowledge is taught, and Socrates is. grateful to him for obviating the need for a long discussion. Of course, the main part of the dialogue is {old to Crito (and to us) by Socrates, and one should not be tempted to take it as a detached Jogos, a free-standing series of statements. We are forcefully reminded of that by Crito’s incredulity at 290el: ‘Did the boy really say that?’ Dialectical demonstration is always strictly contextual and utterances cannot be made into propositions detached from their speakers. The relation of the utterer to the utterance is crucial. Socrates interrogates Clinias at 279b5: ‘But you, by Zeus, what do you think?’ In fact, the actual answer, or rather the resulting proposition, is of minor importance: ‘Answer courageously’, Socrates coaxes him, ‘whichever [of the contradictory options presented] seems [right] to you’ (275el). This is again dangerously close to the Sophists’ practice, for whom too the actual answer does not matter.!” The difference, however, lies in the relation of

the utterer to the utterance, the only thing that counts for the educational function of dialectic. Even when Plato short-circuits the educational process and Crito takes over Clinias’ role, in a kind of extrapolation for the benefit of the reader, this change of respondents is anticipated by a doubt about who said what (cf. 290e-291a). The point is far from immaterial or secondary, In Socrates’ story, we are given only the beginning of Clinias’ educational process, much as in the ‘geometry lesson’ in the Meno, and even that beginning is doubtfully possible in such a short time. Had the process continued long enough, it might have reached the point it reached with the much older Crito, given time enough and circumstances favourable. As it is, we must

take that possibility on trust or hope. With the concept of soul and the role of the individual safely out of the way, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus favour a view of language in which word-types keep their meaning throughout their various tokens. The Sophists’ antics have a serious side to them. They point towards a conception of logic as a teachable fechné, in which signs are invariant as to meaning, contextinsensitive and speaker-independent. Euthydemus and Dionysodorus are in fact working their

16 Contra Chance (1992), 123 and 252 n. 33. True, before beginning his story (257d1), Socrates invokes the Muses and Mnemosyne. But his invocation is double-edged, as being too reminiscent of Hesiod’s Muses, who ‘know how to speak many falsities resembling true things, / and know also, if [they] wish, how to utter the truth’ (Theogony 26-27; Mnemosyne is brought in at line 53). 17 CE 275e5: ὁπότερ᾽ ἂν ἀποκρίνηται τὸ μειράκιον, echoing Socrates’ ἀπόκριναι [...] ὁπότερά oot φαίνεται el.

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way towards what will one day be formal logic.'® A word signifies strictly: Same signifier, same signified, in a quasi-formalization of the argument. There is no question of the intention of the speaker or of the comprehension of the hearer.!? Socrates’ basic assumption, on: the contrary, is that two speakers can use precisely the same wordsto say quite different things. Plato shows that with great panache when he puts time and again in the Sophists’ mouths assertions

which

sound

uncomfortably

like,

or even

identical

to, his

own

doctrines.

But

although the words are the same, their meaning is significantly different. The anonymous hearer at the end of the dialogue (305b)?! is himself a composer of logoi. Like the Sophists, he too teaches others to speak and to compose speeches such as those for the courts (Kai ἄλλον διδάξαι λέγειν τε Kal συγγράφεσθαι λόγους οἵους εἰς τὰ δικαστήρια, 27222). No wonder he is incapable of grasping the difference between Socrates and the Sophists: he cannot see the difference between dialectic, which occurs at the level of the soul, and eristic, which, like speech-making, deals with disembodied words. As himself a

maker of speeches for others to deliver (305b8-c4), he does not dissociating the logos from him who composed it. On the other granted that, if /ogoi can be transmitted, knowledge can (rather (cf. 277b6). But if they cannot, teaching and inquiry become out in a much similar context.

recognize the impossibility of side of the question, it must be easily) be taught and acquired problematic, as Meno pointed

Plato opposes this logicist and rhetorical trend, denying the detachability of utterances from their speakers. Cf, e.g., 277e6, 278a6, 295b ff., and especially 295c6, and his reservations on writing philosophy, in the Phaedrus and elsewhere. It is necessary to understand what one is asked about, to ascertain the meaning, as Socrates stresses at 295c, i.e., to relate the sentence

back to the speaker. What the speaker says is not all given in the form of words. But if meaning (nous) is dependent on soul, how can an expression (rhéma) have meaning (cf. 287c ff.)? Indeed, as the Sophists recognize, a direct relation between sign and signified is at best problematic, even impossible. The Sophists’ proto-formalistic view of language leads to the eventual dissociation of syntax from semantics. But once one admits that words by themselves cannot mean, semantics is dismissed (unless it is reintroduced, as the Platonic Socrates would have it, via the soul). And syntax alone, without semantics, is bound to break

down. On the form of words alone, one cannot tell whether Puppax is Heracles or Heracles is

18 So, for Aristotle, in the Sophistici Elenchi, the sophisms of the Euthydemus are ultimately dependent on language. Even those that are not openly so can be reduced to arguments that turn on words (cf. 169a22,

Cf.

170a12,

170b11,

etc.). As far as I am aware, Aristotle’s analysis

has been almost universally accepted. For recent examples, sce, e.g., Canto (1989), 48 f., Hawtrey (1981), passim. For a critique of the Aristotelian approach, see Chance (1992), 7 ff, preceded, as he notes, by Bonitz, Shorey and Keulen. But he too does not seem to me to go far enough in trying to read the Euthydemus with non-Aristotelian eyes.

Hawtrey

(1981),

on 295b8:

‘[T]he

eristic method

as practiced

by Euthydemus

and

Dionysodorus [...] does not depend on the respondent understanding the questions, and is not invalidated if the two participants understand words in two different senses.’

20 This should not have disconcerted Hawtrey (1981), 21.

|

2" Cf. Hawtrey (1981), ad 304d5: ‘It seems virtually certain that Isocrates is meant.’ Cf. also 189 ff. This seems by now to be the communis opinio.

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Euthydemus Philosophy of Language

Puppax, or whatever (303a).22 Ultimately, the justification of the triadic model of language and knowledge than epistemological: Socrates has a firm intuition that good men are not Without such an intuition, there is nothing one cannot say, shameful as it may and nonsense become inevitable. This intuition provides epistemology a firm moral certitude, held by the individual soul, stronger than any logical parmenidean type. And, in particular, it requires a different logic, which will techné, a mere organon. |

is moral no less unjust (296e).?? be‘, and abuse foothold. It is a evidence of a not be a neutral

Hebrew University of Jerusalem

22 This is, indeed, ‘unusual among the fallacies in the dialogue’, as Jackson (1990), 378-395, points

out. But I cannot agree that it has ‘no substantial philosophical analogue’ (385). Much on the contrary, this seems to me to be the last stage of the disintegration of the (proto-) formalistic endeavour.

23 Although he has not learned it, 297c. Clinias is reported by Socrates to have admitted, at 282c4,

that wisdom is learned. But the way Socrates is using ‘learn’ at 297c, vis-a-vis the Sophists, is not the same way as in the context of Clinias’ protreptic development. Socrates’ (or, rather, Plato’s) dialectical use of words is extremely sensitive to context.

24 Cf, 294d4: καὶ τὰ αἴσχιστα.

The Crito-Socrates Scenes in the Euthydemus: A Point of View for a Reading the Dialogue Shinro Kato I Preliminary Remarks

The Euthydemus is a reported dialogue. Socrates tells Crito about discussions which took place the day before between, on the one side, two sophists, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, and Socrates with his companions, the young Cleinias and his lover,

Ctesippus on the other. The Crito-Socrates scenes, being put at the beginning and at the end of the dialogue(271a1-272d6;

304b6-307c4),

constitute the outer frame,

while the scenes with the two sophists versus Socrates with his companions make up the inner frame of the dialogue. The latter, i.e., the inner frame, consists of two different kinds of scenes, one kind being those of eristic argument (Eristikos Logos,

abbreviated as EL in the following), where these brethren sophists put forth various examples of pseudo-arguments, the other being those of protreptic argument (Protreptikos Logos, abbreviated as PL), where Socrates gives examples of arguments which can persuade a young man to pursue wisdom. Yet, the outer frame sometimes intrudes into the inner frame. This is especially the case when Crito interrupts Socrates’ narration at a crucial point and asks him for the identity of the person who made an important utterance (290e1-293a9). But here and there we can also recognize the powerful presence of the outer frame throughout Socrates’ narration, for instance, when he describes the circumstances of each discussion, or the attitudes of interlocutors at particular instances. For it is always Crito to whom Socrates reports; Crito is therefore present in the background throughout the

dialogue.

Consequently the Crito-Socrates scenes pervade the dialogue, adding a

significant tinge to the dialogue as whole. The artifice of interweaving a double structure of an outer and an inner frame belongs to the nature of a narrative dialogue. But most readers will agree that the Euthydemus is the finest example of this genre

124

The Crito-Socrates Scenes in the Euthydemus

that Plato ever wrote,

Indeed,

it seems

to me, his literary skill attained its highest level in this

dialogue.’ For an adequate interpretation of the dialogue, I think that it is extremely important to weigh the meaning and function of the Socrates-Crito scenes in the composition of the whole dialogue. For they seem to serve as a commentary on the arguments contained in the main scenes. We might even say that they are virtually

the author’s rubric for his readers. In this paper I intend to clarify this point.” II Opening Scenes (271a1-275c4)

In the

opening

scenes’

3

the present

visit of Euthydemus

and

Dionysodorus

is

! All readers praise the outstanding perfection of the Euthydemus as a literary work. But for most interpreters of the 19th and 20th centuries the dialogue remained for a long time nothing other than a sagacious farce, a playful satire of along the lines of an Aristophanes comedy (Grote, Shorey, A.E.Taylor). Doubt has sometimes been cast on its seriousness and its authenticity as a work by Plato (Schleiermacher, Ast). Since the publication of the important pioneering books of Sprague ([1962] and [1965]) and the succinct but intelligent comments of Crombie ([1962], 223-4) several other conscientious studies have been dedicated to the philosophical meaning of the eristic as well as protreptic arguments contained in its main scenes (Hawtrey [1981], Canto [1987], [1989]). Nevertheless, the importance of the Socrates-Crito scenes for an understanding of the whole dialogue has not yet, it seems to me, received sufficient attention. ? The Euthydemus is structured as follows: Scene Interlocutors pages 1) Opening Socrates, Crito 271a-2d 2) Introductory Socrates, Euthydemus, Dionysodorus 272d-5c 3) Eristikos Logos I Euthydemus, Dionysodorus, Cleinias 275d-7c 4) Socrates’ Intervention Socrates 277d-8e 5) Protreptikos Logos I Socrates, Cleinias 278e-82e 6) Eristikos Logos II Euthydemus, Dionysodorus, Socrates 283a-d Euthydemus, Dionysodorus, Ctesippus 283e-5a 7) Socrates’ Intervention Socrates - Ctesippus 285a-d 8) Medley of arguments Euthydemus, Dionysodorus, Ctesippus, Socrates 285d-8d 9) Protreptikos Logos I Socrates, Cleinias 288d-90d 10) Crito’s Intervention

11) Eristikos Logos III

Crito, Socrates

290e-3a

Euthydemus, Dionysodorus, Socrates, Ctesippus 293b-304b 12) Closing Socrates, Crito 304b-7c 3 The-first part of Socrates’ narration (from 272d7 to 275c4 or to d2) can be taken as a supplement to the opening Socrates-Crito scene. Socrates, answering Crito’s question, explains the circumstances and the general character of the discussion between the brother-sophists and Socrates and his companion. Both passages, taken together, are meant to be an introduction to the dialogue as a whole. At the end of this passage Socrates, addressing Crito (6 Kritôn, 27505), states the necessity of calling on divine help to overcome the difficulty of reproducing the highest summit of sophistry. Socrates also mentions in this passage the appearance of his customary divine sign (to eiôthos semeion to daimonion, 272e3-4), which kept him in the

Shinro Kato

125

described as their second visit to Athens after a long interval.’

came as experts in a certain wisdom and as its teachers.

At that time they

Their wisdom concerned

the skill of how to win in physical combat in armor (271c8-d3), and in forensic debate (272a1-4). Their wisdom was also about the knowledge required to be a

general, such as knowledge of formation and command in the field (273c4-6). They belonged to the same kind of sophists who are familiar to us from Plato’s earlier dialogues. But now it is said that they have acquired a new kind of wisdom and attained its summit. This wisdom is called pankratiastiké techné (pancratistic art-272a5) and the sophists are called pankratiastai (pancratiasts-271c7). Commentators explain pankratiastai as fighters who wrestle without any rules until

one party wins. So, in this context the brethren sophists, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, are introduced by Socrates as experts in fighting a debate without any rules. The technique is further specified in the next passage by Socrates as ‘expertise in fighting in arguments and in refuting whatever may be said, be it true or false (en tois logois machesthai te kai exelenchein to aei legomenon, homoiös eante pseudos eante alethes e, 272a8-bl)’. This new kind of wisdom is also called ‘eristic’ (eristiké, 272610). On the other hand, it is said, those previous skills of their first

visit are no longer their serious concern, rather they are now concerned with them only as a pastime.

This characterization of the new wisdom

of Euthydemus

and

Dionysodorus is of the utmost importance, it seems to me, for an adequate understanding of the whole dialogue. 1 will touch upon several points. 1) In this way a new kind of sophist is distinguished from the older one. In the ‘ earlier dialogues Socrates examined sophists, such as Protagoras and Gorgias, with respect to their knowledge. He asks them, a) ‘of what kind of thing (tinos)’ their

knowledge is, and b) ‘what kind of man (fis)’ one can become by learning their knowledge.

In this inquiry the tactic Socrates normally uses is ‘craft analogy’. He

takes examples from a particular kind of expertise, e.g., from agriculture, carpentry, navigation, medicine and so on, and asks the sophists what kind of thing their wisdom can produce, and what kind of man their pupils then become. The outcome of this inquiry regularly ends in an impasse. I call these dialogues ‘Standard Sophist

Dialogues’ (abbreviated as SSD), typical examples of which are the Protagoras and the Gorgias.

In contrast to these

SSD

Socrates uses this ‘craft analogy’

in the

Euthydemus only in a limited way (279d8-280a8, 280c3-281a6, 289c3-d7, 291e4 same place and made him meet the sophists. In the preceding line he also explains that under this divine guidance (kata theon tina, 272e1) he paid complete attention to the sophists, so that he can well remember the discussion. All these explanations seem to be given in order to emphasize the special importance of that discussion for Plato at the stage of writing the Euthydemus. * As far as I have been able to discover, little attention has been paid to Socrates’ description that this visit of the brother-sophists is their second, though this is obvious from Socrates’ words hate dia chronou heérakos (‘since I had not seen the two for quite a time’), 273cl, and hote gar to proteron epedémésatén (‘when the two visited us before’), 273e4.

° Cf. Gifford (1905), 4, nn.; Canto (1989), 180, n.7.

126 -292a3). line.

The Crito-Socrates Scenes in the Euthydemus His examination of the new kind of sophist proceeds rather along another

ii) The item for sale (epangelma) is verbally the same

sophists as it was for the old ones.

They promise

in the case of the new

‘to furnish virtue’ (aretén

paradounai, 273d8) to everybody who is willing to pay a fee. But here in the Euthydemus Socrates’ manoeuvre soon tums in a different direction from that in the SSD. Socrates proceeds to ask the sophists whether they can teach someone who is not yet persuaded that he ought to learn from them. Further, he asks whether, in the case of someone who believes that virtue is not teachable, they can persuade him that virtue is teachable, and that they are its teachers (274d6-e5). It is precisely at this point that Socrates’ pursuit of a protreptic argument begins (274e7-275a7), We can recognize from this observation that the author’s philosophical concern has

already shifted from that of the SSD.

His first concern is no longer the problem of

defining virtue, rather he is now considering the problem of belief, or of a change in

belief, that is, whether one can persuade somebody to change his belief. The aim of a protreptic argument essentially lies in changing the mind of a young man who does not believe that he should seek virtue, and thus to make him seek for wisdom by persuading him that wisdom is the unique virtue that is good in itself. In contrast to this, in the SSD an eamest desire on the part of young men for learning wisdom from the sophists is generally assumed as a basis for discussion when Socrates’ examination begins. We can find a typical example of this in the case of Hippocrates in the opening scene of the Protagoras (310a8-311a7).

On the other hand in the last part of the Gorgias it becomes obvious that Socrates’ effort to persuade Callicles will not succeed. For at this. stage Callicles refuses to answer Socrates’ question (505c1-d9). In the Gorgias we see that a certain number

of rules for fruitful joint research into truth through the question-and-answer method have been laid down: that one who answers should faithfully disclose his own view; that one who questions should, setting aside the opinion of all others, persuade just this single person who answers and so on (471e2-472c6; 474a5-b1; 486d2-488a2; cf. Protagoras 331c3-d1). But how should we proceed, if the other party no longer willingly joins the research and refuses to answer? No countermeasure for this case seems to have been contrived in the SSD. For in Socrates’ examination of the standard sophists in the SSD we do not find any argument directed to this purpose. Rather Socrates readily quits the discussion, when the other party does not acquiesce

to taking 458b1-3).

the role of answering his questions (Protagoras 335a9-c6;. Gorgias But in the Euthydemus the paradigm of argumentation in Socrates’

© It is noteworthy that it is in Socrates’ protreptic argument, not in his examination of eristic arguments that the craft analogy is used. This observation helps us to determine the meaning of the protreptic arguments in the whole composition of the Euthydemus. See below: p. 128 and n. 9. ©

Shinro Kato

127

examination of the sophists has changed. The problem of belief, or of a change of belief, with respect to the search for truth, is here explicitly taken up as an issue for philosophical inquiry. Protreptic discourse is obviously designed to meet such a

demand. Here is not the place to judge whether two specimens of protreptic argument in the Euthydemus succeed or not. But it is undeniable that the problem of persuasion itself has been taken up as a new subject for philosophical discussion. iti) As most commentators observe, many of the problems which are familiar to us in the dialogues of the transitional and later periods, e.g., in the Parmenides, the Theaetetus and in the Sophist, already appear in the Euthydemus in Socrates’ dealing with eristic arguments. These are the problems of ambiguity of terms (275d2-278b2), of being, in the sense of either predication or of existence (285a2-c6), of not-being, of negation, of false statement, of contradiction (283e7-286b6), of self-refutation (286b7-d4), and of participation (300e3-301a9). It would be possible to say that all these problems concern components and structure of those sentences which make up the basis of one’s judgement and belief. For the. constituents which are required to make a meaningful sentence are at the same time those required to make a meaningful belief. Plato’s philosophical concem seems to begin to coalesce around this problem. iv) In Socrates’ characterization of the new wisdom of the sophists the nature of eristic argument has been brought into light. It is a way of argumentation which refutes whatever may be said, be it true or false (exelenchein to aei legomenon, homoiôs eante pseudos eante alethes e, 272a8-b1). The neglect of the truth value of

one’s belief or of one’s utterance as well as the isolation of verbal expression (to aei legomenon) from all of its relation to being and belief makes up the essence of eristic argument. In this respect it becomes an urgent task for the author to clarify the real structure of a meaningful sentence.

It is around this point that Socrates’

examination of eristic arguments turns. All these signs, taken together, show us that the scope of the philosophical problem in which the author is interested in the Euthydemus has already shifted from that

found in the SSD, and that the paradigm of the argument in Socrates’ examination has changed.

The contrast given in the opening scenes between the older kind of

standard sophist and the new one is clear testimony that the author was conscious of this distinction.

Further it shows that he intended to state at the beginning of the

dialogue that the aim of the discussions developed in its main scenes are of a philosophically different kind from that of the SSD. Such a characterization of the author’s philosophical stance in the Euthydemus totally accords with the generally accepted account of the author’s intention in the dialogue, namely, that in the Euthydemus he wished to distinguish dialectic from eristic argument. In other words to distinguish Socrates’ genuine way of philosophical education from the sophists’

erroneous and spurious way of deception. If we take into consideration another point that we can find in the concluding scenes of the dialogue, we can say that the

128

The Crito-Socrates Scenes in the Euthydemus

author’s philosophical concern dialectic, eristic and rhetoric.’

in

the

Euthydemus

is

the

distinction

between

III) Intervention of Crito In the middle of Socrates’ report of his second protreptic argument with Cleinias (PLII), Crito interrupts Socrates’ narration and asks him, “Did that boy, i.e., Cleinias, really utter such words?” Socrates hesitates to give a definite answer and instead replies with, “Was it Ctesippus who said these things? I don’t remember exactly.” Crito retorts, “Which Ctesippus do you mean?” (290e1-29lal). To understand the philosophical meaning and function of Socrates’ two protreptic

arguments

and

to determine

the author’s

philosophical

stance

in writing

the

Euthydemus, it is of the utmost importance, I think, to evaluate precisely the meaning of Crito’s intervention.’ After this scene the tone of argument changes and the dialogue hastens to its final end. In replying to Crito’s question at the end of his intervention, Socrates sums up the last part of the discussion in his second protreptic argument. According to Socrates’ report the search for the kingly art (basiliké techné -291b5), which is required knowledge, leads to an impasse. For the procedure

of its definition ends in a vicious circle, since the kingly art can only be defined as the art which conveys itself (291a7-292d4).” After this summary the long third part 7 This can be brought into connection with Socrates’ concern about the distinction between the philosopher, the sophist and the politician, as expressed in the opening passage of the Sophist (216b7-217b8). In the Phaedrus the author was concemed also.with the distinction between, and the identification of philosophy and rhetoric. A certain number of interpreters have rightly pointed out the importance of Crito’s intervention for the composition of the dialogue, but each in his or her own way. Cf. Friedlander (1964), 179; Canto (1989), 18-19; Erler (1987), 236-8. My own view is also a little different from that of each of them. 5 This outcome seems to be very much like that of the search for the definition of séphrosuné in the Charmides (174a-c). The moral of this argument can be summed up as follows. A definition of the art that can make humans happy was asked for. But in this inquiry ‘art’ was considered as knowledge which produces a particular result, i.e., with the art itself being regarded as one thing and its product as another. The case of a particular technical expertise, e.g., agriculture, medicine, etc., would be regarded in exactly the same way. Insofar as we think in this way, this search has to end in an impasse. I take this to be the moral Plato wants to suggest in this place. Contrary to this, the criterion for the required knowledge stated in the passage of Crito’s intervention is, as we show below (p. ), a kind of knowledge in which producing and knowing how to use what is produced are combined into one and the same thing. It is a kind of Knowledge in which knowledge of how to make something and knowledge of how to use the thing coincide with each other. It is difficult to determine what kind of knowledge this is. But I think that it is the direction towards which Plato’s search in his later dialogues tends to turn. I cannot enter further into this problem in this place. But I am convinced that if we seek for any ethical significance in the logical procedure of dividing and combining in the later dialogues, it should be sought in this direction. The procedure of division, which is used to locate an appropriate place for pleasure in the realm of good in the Philebus, can be mentioned as an example,

Shinro Kato

129

of the eristic argument follows, which contains many absurd consequences.

This

part constitutes the presto in the last section of the dialogue and immediately leads to the conclusion. i) Now, in order to estimate the meaning of Crito’s intervention, it is essential to determine what is referred to by ‘these words (foiauta)’(290e2) in his

utterance.

The possibilities are: a) the passage, i.e., 290b10-c6, where Cleinias

asserts that the mathematical scientists do not know how to use the ‘onta (beings) they have found, and that they hand them over to the dialecticians (tois dialektikois) the task of using their findings (hate oun chrésthai autoi autois ouk epistamenoi, alla théreusai monon, paradidoasi dépou tois dialektikois katachrésthai auton tois heurémasin, 290c3-6; this is an important passage which reminds us of the teaching in the Republic); Ὁ) the line just before Crito’s question, 1.6., 290d5-7, where

Cleinias refers to a special kind of knowledge by which one knows how to acquire (either by making or by hunting) as well as how to use; c) the whole passage, including these two passages, i.e., 290b8-d7. I am inclined to take the second

possibility, for two reasons.

On the one hand, it is this line which directly precedes

and invites Crito’s question; and on the other hand, we have Socrates asking, “Is this really the case? (290c7-8)” immediately after Cleinias’ words at 290b10-c6, which seems to break the natural succession from this utterance of Cleinias to Crito’ s question. At the same time we know that the kind of knowledge referred to by Cleinias at 290d5-7 is substantially the same as the one already suggested by Socrates at 289b4-6 (toiautés ara hémin epistémés dei, 6 kale pai, én d’egö, en hei sympeptoken hama to te poiein kai to epistasthai chrésthai touto ho an poiéi). What

is newly added in this passage (290bd5-7) is the word ‘by hunting (théreusaméné)’, which actually combines this line with the foregoing statement of Cleinias about the way of mathematical scientists, i.e., the way of ‘hunting being’ (fa onta théreusai). Thus case Ὁ) is substantially the same as case c). We know also that the idea of hunting of ‘beings’ becomes important in the later dialogues, and that its method is diairesis.

Crito’s intervention scene, thus, together with the opening Crito-Socrates scenes, strongly

suggest

to

us

that

the

main

philosophical

problems

treated

in

the

Euthydemus are more akin to those of the later dialogues than to those of SSD. IV) Who is Crito?

Lastly, I should like to ask who this Crito is and to suggest the reason why Plato made this Crito Socrates’ interlocutor in the outer frame of this dialogue. Is this Crito the same man as the Crito of the dialogue which bears this name? We find Crito as a character of Plato’s dialogues outside the Euthydemus only in the

130

The Crito-Socrates Scenes in the Euthydemus

Apology, the Crito and the Phaedo. In all these dialogues which concern Socrates in his last days Plato depicts Crito as one of the closest friends of Socrates. In the Apology his name is mentioned first among the men who will willingly testify as to

whether any of their young relatives ever suffered any harm from Socrates (3349). And his name is included among the name of the men who proposed to pay a penalty of 3000 drachmae for Socrates (38b6). In the Crito we all know of Crito’s warm and intimate care for Socrates as shown by his efforts to persuade Socrates to escape

from prison. And in the Phaedo, on Socrates’ last day, Crito demonstrated with particular warmth his care for Socrates by the characteristic manner in which he managed to bring Xantippe back home (60a7-b1), as well as by his telling Socrates the official’s advice not to talk too much (63d5-e7), and finally by his asking him how he wished to be buried (115c3). In all these actions Crito’s most human care for his friend and his character as an ordinary man are brought into focus by being contrasted with Socrates’ superhuman, so to speak, attitudes before his imminent death. We can recognize exactly the same Crito in all these dialogues of the last days of Socrates. If Plato depicted Crito as the same Crito in all these different scenes, it would be most natural to expect the same Crito to appear in the Euthydemus too, which is the unique dialogue, besides those above mentioned, where we can find Crito as a character in the dialogue. The problem now is why Plato chose such a personage as the interlocutor of Socrates for his narration in the Euthydemus. The author’s stance in writing the dialogue, which we explicated in the above considerations, seems to allow us to divine the reason. As we have already shown, Plato’s concern in philosophy has shifted widely from that of SSD. At the point we are now considering, philosophy as dialectical research has to be distinguished from eristié debate and the relation

between philosophy and rhetoric more clearly defined. It is, 1 dare to suppose, in order to make this change obvious to the eyes of his readers that Plato made Crito Socrates’

interlocutor in the outer frame of our dialogue,

in which

Plato makes

Socrates examine a new type of sophist in a way different from before. For this reason Crito, who knew Socrates’ previous way well, must have been thought of as the most suitable candidate to be a witness to the new way. The Crito, another dialogue where our Crito plays an important role, seems to support our assumption. As we know, the Crito contains two parts. In the first part Socrates argues that we should respect good opinions, and not respect bad opinions;

the opinions of the wise are good, but those of the foolish are bad. For example, concerning physical training we should respect the opinions of a doctor or of a teacher of gymnastics who possess adequate knowledge of the matter, and not the opinions of those who do not. Likewise, in respect to what is noble (kalon), what is right (dikaion) and what is good (agathon) there is somebody who possesses wisdom about these matters. Everyone should respect the opinion of that man and should not take into consideration any opinion of the public (47a7-48a10). We can see in this

Shinro Kato

131

passage the ‘Urtypus’, so to speak, the paradigm of Socrates’ craft analogy in the earlier dialogues. I think this might be one of the author’s reasons for choosing Crito as the interlocutor of Socrates in the Euthydemus. On the other hand the second part of the Crito is constructed as an imaginary scene in which Socrates holds a discussion with the Athenian laws personified, in order to examine the legitimacy of Crito’s advice to escape from prison. On the one hand

Crito represents here the opinion of ordinary men, on the other hand the voice of the Athenian laws, which forbids Socrates to betray his fatherland, also embodies a realistic demand of a political institution. We know that in the later dialogues Plato’s philosophical concern becomes more realistic in its political thinking, as contrasted with it at the stage of the Republic. This is evident in the Statesman and the Laws.

We know also that in this period the problem of legislation has been taken

up anew as an urgent philosophical issue. This change of philosophical concern in Plato’s mind might have reminded him, I can imagine, of the Crito, one of his earlier

works, in which he, as a young Athenian, had to ponder upon the reason why Socrates rejected Crito’s proposal of escape. It seems to me that the character Crito of the Crito might represent another self of Plato in his youth, when he still had the

political ambitions of an ordinary man. same

Crito might

have

appeared

Now, to Plato’s mind in his later age the

as an appropriate

witness

to his more

mature

political thinking, which differed from the naive stage of the Crito. This is a plausible story, I think, about the author’s reason why he made his old Crito Socrates’ interlocutor in the Euthydemus.

V) The Concluding Scene

Among people who were coming back from the discussion there was somebody who approached Crito and told him his critical opinion on the meaningless verbal chatter of these sophists. He also criticized Socrates’ behavior of willingly putting himself at their disposal. Concerning the identification of this man, I join the majority of commentators in holding that he is Isocrates. In the description of this man the ambiguous relationship between philosophy and rhetoric is shown. The author seems to support Prodicus’ characterization of this kind of man as an inhabitant of the borderland (methoria, 305c7) between philosopher and statesman. And Crito’s defense of philosophy against the criticism of this man (305a8-b1) seems to express Crito’s adherence to Socrates. Socrates’ words, placed at the end of the dialogue,

that we should examine the value of ‘philosophy’ in its activity itself rather than taking into consideration those, whether good or bad, who are practising ‘philosophy’, obviously expresses the author’s own view on this matter at the time of writing this dialogue.

132

The Crito-Socrates Scenes in the Euthydemus

I do not think we can definitely date the Euthydemus after the Republic. Yet accumulated evidence gathered in this paper clearly shows that at the earliest it belongs to the group after the Gorgias.’ We might be allowed to say that it was written at some stage during the composition of the Republic, which must have taken a considerably long time. Tokyo Metropolitan University

1 This corresponds to its placement in Vlastos’ catalogue ([1983], 27).

Protreptic and Dialectic in Plato’s Euthydemus Christopher Gill In the first part of this paper, I examine one strand in scholarly discussion of the two-stage protreptic (278-82, 288-92) that is a well-marked feature of Plato’s Euthydemus. In the second part, I draw out certain larger implications which follow from this scholarly discussion about the relationship between Socratic protreptic and dialectic, and about the sense in which Socratic argument contains determinate doctrines. In both parts of the paper, I give special attention to an important feature

of recent scholarship: the use of ancient (especially Stoic) reception of Plato as a way of enlarging and refining our own methods of reading. Euthydemus 278-82, 288-92: Vlastos and Stoic readings

In a well-known treatment, Gregory Vlastos cited Euthydemus 278-82 (the first part

of Socrates’ protreptic), especially 281d-e, in support of his claim that Socrates maintained the principle of ‘the sovereignty of virtue’. In two subsequent discussions, A. A. Long and Julia Annas have referred to Stoic readings of this passage as a way of developing an alternative way of interpreting the content of 281d-e. Annas refers also to the second stage of Socrates’ protreptic (288-92), which Vlastos does not treat. The interpretation she offers of the two-stage protreptic

raises, by doctrinal) out those concludes

implication at least, the question of the status (whether doctrinal or nonof Socrates’ dialectical protreptic. In the second part of the paper, I draw implications, including the significance of the fact that the argument with an aporia (292c-e). Vlastos claims that, in Plato’s early dialogues, Socrates consistently

holds a single ethical position, which Vlastos calls ‘the sufficiency thesis’ (or ‘the Sovereignty of Virtue’). In this view, virtue is both necessary and sufficient for

134

Protreptic and dialectic in Plato’s Euthydemus

happiness, but not identical with it. There are goods other than virtue, for instance, health, material possessions, and social status, Without virtue, these other goods are worthless. ‘But when conjoined with virtue (i.e. when used virtuously), they would

enhance virtue in some slight degree’. It follows that happiness is not identical with virtue but is ‘multicomponent’.! Vlastos cites the first part of Socrates’ protreptic in the

Euthydemus

(especially

278e-28le)

as

one

of

the

texts

supporting

his

interpretation of Socrates’ position. The ‘main point of this passage is that the contribution to happiness of goods other than knowledge depends on their being correctly used, which depends in turn on knowledge (280c-281e). Vlastos takes this argument as supporting the idea of ‘the sovereignty of virtue’. Without the guidance of knowledge (identified by Vlastos with ‘virtue’), the other goods make no contribution to happiness, but they do make a contribution (and are ‘goods’) when guided by knowledge ([1991], 227-31). The key text for Vlastos’s view is 281d2-e5; the last sentence of this

passage contains the biggest problem for Vlastos’s reading. ‘In sum, I said, ‘it would appear, Cleinias, that in the case of all those things which we first said were good, our account is that (1) it is not in their nature to be good just by themselves, but the position, it seems, is as follows. (2) If ignorance controls them, they are greater bads than their opposites to the extent of their greater power to serve their bad leader. But if they are controlled by prudence and wisdom, they are greater goods, though in neither case do they have any value just by themselves.’ ‘Evidently, as it seems’, he said, ‘it is just as you say’. ‘What, then follows from what has been said? Is it anything but this: (3) that of the

other things, none is either good or bad [just by itself], but of these two things, one - wisdom - is good [just by itself] , and the other - ignorance is bad [just by itself]? He agreed.?

Although points (1) and (2) in this passage can be read as confirming Vlastos’s view, the last point (3) seems to draw the inference that wisdom alone is good (and

ignorance alone is bad), and that the other things cited are neither good or bad. That is, the last point seems to offer a ‘unicomponent’ model of happiness. Vlastos deals with this problem by arguing that this sentence (together with references to this point

in the second stage of the protreptic) implies the qualification ! Vlastos (1991), ch. claim, see Irwin 2 Trans. as in Long Vlastos (1991),

‘just by itself,

8, esp. 216-17. For analysis, and a proposed reformulation, of Vlastos’s main [1992], 251-64. (1996), 24-5, with minor modifications; insertions in square brackets as in 228.

Christopher Gill.

135

inserted here in square brackets. He maintains that this renders point (3) consistent with points (1) and (2), which say that these other things are not good, or do not

have value ‘just by themselves’ (αὐτὰ Kad’ αὑτὰ). It also renders them consistent with the statement in (2) that they are ‘greater goods’ or ‘greater bads’ (μείζω ἀγαθὰ

or

μείζω

κακὰ),

depending

on

whether

or

not

they

are

guided

by

knowledge. In short, Vlastos reads point (3) simply as a restatement of the preceding points (1) and (2), and not as drawing a further inference. Annas

query

Vlastos’s

In two independent discussions, A. A. Long and Julia reading and do so in a way that is informed by Stoic

thinking.’ These two discussions have rather different emphases: Long’s main aim is to bring out how the Euthydemus passage was probably read by the early Stoics,

while Annas refers to Stoic ideas in support of an explicit challenge to Vlastos’s reading. But both scholars give greater weight than Vlastos Platonic discussion prefigures Stoic ethical ideas. In their cited earlier, both scholars argue that point (3) is best read insertion of ‘just by itself; and that Socrates is drawing a

does to the idea that the reading of the passage as it stands, without the fresh inference and not

just restating the two preceding points.5 Long

focuses

on

showing

how

the

passage

cited

earlier

(Euthd.

281d2-e5) may have figured within debate between the early Stoics Zeno and Aristo about whether anything except virtue had value. Both Stoics would have accepted the concluding point (3), without insertions, as anticipating the central Stoic thesis that virtue (understood as ‘wisdom’, sophia), was the only good. Aristo, who denied any value to things other than virtue, would have interpreted Socrates’ preceding claims in (1) and (2) (that things other than virtue are not good, or have no value, ‘just by themselves’) as preliminary moves towards the conclusion that they are not

good (and have no value) at all. Zeno would have interpreted the whole passage (and the larger argument) as prefiguring his view that, although things such as health have natural value (they are ‘preferable’), it is only the wise use of such preferables (i.e.

virtue) that is good. Socrates’ statement in (2) that health etc. are ‘greater goods’, when directed by knowledge, would have been taken by Zeno as an imprecise formulation of the following idea. Although it is only the virtuous use of health that is good, the presence of health confers more value (though not goodness or

happiness) on the virtuous life. This Zenonian reading of the passage is closer to Vlastos’s view than the Aristonian one, while still preserving the central Stoic thesis that virtue is the only good and is identical with happiness. Long argues that both

Stoic readings are credible interpretations of the Socratic discussion, while not 3 See Vlastos (1991), 227-31, who also argues that this reading renders the passage consistent with other Socratic references to types of good. The passages given the insertions ‘just by itself? are 281e3-5 and later 292b6-7, d2-3 (Vlastos [1991], 230, n. 99). 4 Long (1996), ch. 1 (esp. 23-32), first published as Long (1988), responding to the original version of Vlastos (1991), ch. 8, as Vlastos (1984); Annas (1994). $ Long (1996), 26-7; Annas (1994), 57.

136

Protreptic and dialectic in Plato's Euthydemus

claiming that they should be preferred to Vlastos’s.® material

Annas poses a more direct challenge to Vlastos’s view and uses Stoic as part of her own interpretation of the text. One of her criticisms is

particularly forceful. Vlastos treats the passage cited (281d-e) as the termination of a line of argument (and, thus, as an expression of Socratic doctrine). But it is, in fact, only the end of the first stage of a two-stage argument, the conclusion of which (292d-e) is aporetic. Also, the logical impasse highlighted in the second stage depends, as Annas points out, on taking the conclusion of the first stage (281d-e,

point [3]) in its unqualified form, without the insertion of ‘just by itself’. The second stage of the argument examines the nature of the kind of knowledge (consisting in the correct use of other things) identified at 281d-e. It is suggested that this knowledge must combine the ability to produce an end-product with the knowledge of how to use this product correctly (289a-b). The art or skill that emerges as the one most likely to combine these capacities is the kingly or political art (291b-d). But it

proves impossible to define the product of this art in a way that is compatible with the conclusion of 281d-e. If it produces things for the citizens other than knowledge, these are neither good nor bad (292b). But if it produces what is good, it can only produce itself in the citizens. And if its product is that it makes others knowledgeable (= good), the problem remains of identifying the product of their knowledge. So it proves impossible to define this kind of knowledge whose product

is only itself (292c-d).’ This infinite regress depends not on Vlastos’s idea that knowledge is the unqualified claim the coherence of reading of 281d-e argument?

only thing that is good ‘just by itself’, but on the stronger and that knowledge is the only good thing.’ So, as Annas highlights, the two-stage argument depends on adapting the unqualified that Vlastos rejects.?

How is Stoicism The main relevance

relevant to Annas’s reading of this two-stage of Stoicism is that it confirms the substantive

philosophical significance of the issue which is highlighted. The same issue gave rise to a major debate in Hellenistic ethics between the Stoics and critics such as Carneades. The key question was whether the Stoics could combine the idea that

virtue was a skill (that is, a form of knowledge with an end-product) with the idea that virtue was the only good. If, as the Stoics argued, things other than virtue are neither good nor bad (they are ‘matters of indifference’), in what way can they form 6 Long (1996), 27-32. In terms of Hellenistic ethical theory, the position attributed to Socrates by Vlastos is virtually that of Antiochus, as Vlastos himself sees ([1991], 216, n. 63). ? C£. Annas (1994), 63. For fuller analysis, see Sprague (1976), 49-53. 8 Euthd. 292b1-2, 6-7, d2-3 refer back to 281d-e. The contrast required by the argument of 292b-d is between knowledge, which is good (292b1-2, cf. c7-9, d1-4) and other things which are neither good or bad (292b6-7, cf. d2-3). It is not the more qualified contrast between things which are (or are not) good ‘just by themselves’, which Vlastos argues is present in 281c3-5, and which he also supplies in 292b6-7, d2-3 ([1991], 228-30, esp. n. 99).

9 Annas (1994), 60-3, cf. 57.

Christopher Gill

137

part of the end-product of the skill? The Stoics offered an answer to these questions:

broadly, that virtue inheres in the knowledge by which a selection is made between things that in themselves are neither good nor bad.!° But what matters here is not so much the precise form of the Stoic answer as the fact that this later debate brings out the philosophical importance of the issue raised in Euthydemus 292b-d.!! Secondly, reference to this Stoic debate enables Annas to differentiate this argument in the Euthydemus from the seemingly similar one in Meno 87b-89c. The Meno argument centres on the related idea that what confers benefit is not things such as health, but virtue, understood as the knowledge which uses these things correctly. But the

Euthydemus contains two ideas absent from the Meno argument. One is that knowledge (virtue) is, therefore, the only good;!? the other is that there is a contradiction between the idea of knowledge as the only good and as a skill with an end-product. In effect, Annas is saying that the appearance of the ‘Stoic’ thesis that knowledge is the only good in Euthd. 2816 arises as a result of Plato’s wish to bring to light the contradiction identified in 292b-d (a problem which was worked out much more fully, and through stages of debate, in Stoicism).

Protreptic, Dialectic, and Doctrine

In the second part of this paper, I draw out certain inferences which follow from this scholarly

debate

about

the

significance

of

this

two-stage

argument

in

the

Euthydemus. These inferences concern the form and function of this argument and of Socratic argument more generally. But why is it reasonable to think that this argument in the Euthydemus carries any such larger implications? One reason is that this argument is presented by Socrates as an exemplary protreptic (to education in virtue), a demonstration (epideixis) of the kind of protreptic he looks for from Euthydemus and Dionysodorus.'? Like other examples of protreptic in Platonic dialogues, this protreptic is carried out through dialectic (that is, by engaging in dialectic with the person who is the object of the protreptic).'4 It is clear that, within the dramatic structure of the dialogue, the two-stage argument also serves an τ

19 On the Hellenistic debate, see further Annas (1993), 396-405; Striker (1996), 239-48, 262-3. In two papers given at the Toronto Symposium Platonicum, by Panos Dimas and Alex London, Socrates’ conception of knowledge-virtue in the Euthydemus is analysed in terms similar to those used by the Stoics. It is analysed as a type of skill whose end-product is the skill itself (conceived as a ‘constitutive’ good), even though this skill also consists in making good use of advantages (which Dimas calls ‘facilitators’). !! See Annas (1994), 64, also 60-3. The issue is highlighted also in Clit. 408d-409d;

if this text is

post-Platonic, this indicates that the question was recognized as important by later Academics before it was taken up by the Stoics. 12 In Meno 88d-89a, the inference drawn is the rather different one that phronésis (which is itself beneficial, 89a1-2) makes other things beneficial by right use (88d4-e2).

13 See Euthd. 274d-e, 278c-d, 288b-d. 14 See Gaiser (1959), Part 1, esp. 47-51, 137-40.

138

Protreptic and dialectic in Plato’s Euthydemus

exemplary function. It serves to distinguish Socratic dialectic from that of the two brothers, which is similar in external form (it uses question and answer to lead through logical steps to an aporia). Thus, this two-stage argument is exemplary both

as protreptic and as dialectic, more precisely as protreptic through dialectic. For this reason, it is reasonable to take the form of this argument as symbolizing that of

Socratic dialectic more generally.!5 The Socratic combination of protreptic and dialectic can be defined by partial contrast with Stoic procedure, as exemplified in Epictetus’ Discourses. In certain ways, the kind of dialogue practised by Epictetus is modelled on the Socratic dialogues; but Epictetus’ procedure (which constitutes a fusion of protreptic, therapy, and advice) is essentially practical. Epictetus’ practical discourse presupposes the validity of ethical doctrines established through discourse of a different type (theoretical argument or dialectic).!6 In the Euthydemus, by contrast,

Socrates’

discourse

is both practical and theoretical.

The

protreptic works

by

engaging the interlocutor in dialectic; and this same dialectic is the medium through which the objective of the protreptic (becoming good through education) is subject

to philosophical examination. Since the protreptic ends in aporia but with a call to continue the enquiry (292e-293a), the protreptic to learn to be virtuous becomes also

a protreptic to further dialectic. What does the two-stage argument in the Euthydemus (if it is taken as exemplary) tell us about the general form of Socratic protreptic-dialectic? In particular, to what extent does this convey doctrines, which are comparable in status with the kind of doctrines presupposed in Epictetus’ protreptic? In approaching this question, I return from a different standpoint to the interpretative issues examined in the first part of this paper. In Vlastos’s discussion ([1991], ch. 8), the first

impression is that the aim of dialectic is to guide the interlocutor/reader towards understanding

and

accepting

a

determinate

set

of doctrines,

above

all,

‘the

sovereignty of virtue’. The doctrines involved seem to be comparable in status with Stoic doctrines, a point which is underlined by Long’s discussion ([1996], 23-32), in

which

Vlastos’s

account

of Socrates’

position

is set alongside

the two

Stoic

15 It is true that, as Michel Narcy pointed out at the Toronto Symposium Platonicum, Euthd. 278-82, 288-92, is untypical of Socratic dialectic in that the contradiction is generated between two ideas put forward by Socrates himself instead of between ideas put forward by Socrates and by the interlocutor (a difference noted by Vlastos [1994], 30). But, as Vlastos also brings out ({1994], 11-12), in more standard examples of dialectic the interlocutor is implicated in a contradiction generated in part by Socrates’ intervention. Also, the question pursued here (the doctrinal status of Socratic dialectic, as exemplified in this stretch of argument) is not affected by the difference highlighted by Narcy; questioner and interlocutor are both implicated in the contradiction, whatever their role in generating this.

16 See further Gill (1998a), 219-20; for a different way of framing this distinction (between the discourse and the practice of philosophy), see Hadot (1995), 191-5. Part of Epictetus’ protreptic is towards using logic (part of Stoic dialectic) as a contribution towards ethical development; see 1.7, 2.17, and Long (1996), 104-6.

Christopher Gill positions,

those

139 of Aristo

and

Zeno

(and

their

supposed

reading

of Socrates’

position), as though these are all of comparable doctrinal status. This impression is reinforced by Vlastos’s methodology in his book, in which key statements in the Platonic dialogues are abstracted from their context of argument and listed as testimonia for Socrates’ position, in a way that is reminiscent of (for instance) von Arnim’s collection of Stoic fragments. However,

doctrinal analysis Socrates’ status of

this

impression

about

Vlastos’s

understanding

of

the

status of Socratic dialectic needs to be set against Vlastos’s explicit of dialectic elsewhere, above all, his studies of the elenchus and of ‘disavowal of knowledge”.!? It is clear from these studies that the doctrinal passages such as Euthydemus 281d-e, cited earlier, is more qualified (and

more integrated with one of those set of analysis in dialectic. knowledge that ideas

the dialectical context) than at first appears. This passage forms ideas which have so far emerged unscathed from repeated The kind of knowledge yielded by elenchus can only be the of this kind have emerged repeatedly from elenchus and are, to

this extent, plausible candidates for being true. Thus, the outcome of the protrepticdialectic in Euthd. 278-82 must be (for Vlastos) that Socrates has led the interlocutor (and himself) to recognize that the thesis of ‘the sovereignty of virtue’ has again

emerged unscathed from dialectical analysis. : But this account of the doctrinal status of Euthd. 281d-e needs to be qualified further if we accept Annas’s critique of Vlastos’s reading and what this implies about the status of Socratic dialectic. Annas disagrees with Vlastos, as we have seen, about how to understand 281d-e and, especially, its conclusion (point [3], 281e3-5). But more important here is what her reading implies about the form of the argument. In her interpretation, the thesis of 2816 is not one that emerges repeatedly

from elenchus. Indeed, it figures only here in the Socratic dialogues, and does so as part of a dilemma which is posed only here. Nor, of course, does it emerge unscathed: the argument goes on to highlight the contradiction between the idea that

knowledge is the only good and the idea of knowledge as a productive skill. Bearing in mind the exemplary character of this two-stage argument, Annas’s interpretation implies the following (defensible) picture of Socratic dialectic, and of its role as

protreptic. stretch

Despite

the similarities

of dialectic

constitutes

an

between

different Socratic

independent

exercise

in

arguments,

‘shared

search’

each or

collaborative learning. The outcome of each stretch of dialectic is provisional, and open to challenge or revision within a given argument or subsequently. The aporia

with which this two-stage argument terminates (292b-d) underlines the latter point. A further point that is, I think, implied is that any such challenge or revision must continue the argument, in the sense of acknowledging the grounds that led to the conclusion

(including

an aporetic

conclusion)

and

17 For the final version of these, see Vlastos (1994), chs. 1-2.

of making

progress

with

the

140

Protreptic and dialectic in Plato’s Euthydemus

issues as raised. This general picture of Socratic dialectic clarifies how dialectic can also function as protreptic, since the dialectic engages each interlocutor/reader in a process of collaborative learning that is in principle without final termination.'? What is there in the dramatic presentation of the two-stage argument in the Euthydemus that can be seen as supporting this picture of Socratic dialectic? I see two features which can be seen as supporting this view (though these features are sometimes seen as carrying a different significance),!9 At one point in the second stage of the argument, when Socrates says that what is needed is a kind of

knowledge

which

combines

making

and knowing

how

to use (289b),

Clinias

suddenly becomes more independent in argument. He puts forward views of his own about skills which fail to meet this condition (289d) and offers increasingly

sophisticated explanations of why they do not (290b-d). Crito (re-introduced from the frame-conversation at this point) expresses incredulity that the young

Clinias

could have said all this; and Socrates concedes that it may have been Ctesippus or ‘one of the higher ones’ (τις τῶν κρειττόνων), but certainly not Euthydemus and Dionysodorus (290e-291a). It is plausible to see this by-play as differentiating

Socratic dialectic from that of the brothers as regards collaborative learning. In the brothers’ (combative) dialectic, the interlocutor is repeatedly outmanoeuvred, and learns nothing, either about the mode of argument or about its content.2 (The only

kind of learning is that produced in the observer Ctesippus, who - rather implausibly - is shown suddenly capable of catching the brothers in their own type of manoeuvre, 2940 ff., cf. 303e-304a).2! In Socratic dialectic, however, Clinias learns;

or is it Ctesippus or Socrates or ‘one of the higher ones’ who says what is learnt? The last remark suggests that it does not matter precisely who articulates what is learnt. What matters is that the argument works through ‘shared search’ or collaborative learning (an idea underlined in the language of 2910) as both partners, and attentive observers, follow ‘where the logos leads’, as Socrates often puts it. In a dialogue that is thus characterized, it is plausible that we should find (as Annas suggests we do) new arguments, and not just the restatement of an already

established position which Vlastos sees here.22 18 For accounts of Socratic (and Platonic) dialectic broadly compatible with this picture, see Gill (1992), (1996), esp. 284-8. !9 E.g., Szlezäk (1985) interprets the reference to ‘one of the higher ones’ (2918) as an allusion to the idea of ‘divine’ philosophizing (on the fundamental principles of reality) which goes beyond the level of the dialectic here represented. On Szlezak’s approach, see further below. 20 This feature is explicated by Socrates at Euthd. 277d-278d; Clinias, appropriately enough, has learhed nothing about ‘learning’ (277e-278a). 21 The implausibility matches that of Clinias’ accelerated development in 289d-290d, highlighting the symbolic significance of both features.

22 Le., it is more plausible that we should find both (1) ideas which do not figure in other Socratic dialogues and (2) new inferences drawn within the argument, such as that drawn (in Annas’s reading) in 281e3-5. For the suggestion that Socrates is (in 281d-e) ‘following the logos where it leads’, see Annas (1994), 57, though this is not linked by her with the portrayal of Clinias in

289d-290e.

Christopher Gill

141

The second striking dramatic feature of the two-stage argument is that it is Crito, reintroduced from the frame-conversation in the passage just noted, rather

than Clinias, with whom Socrates spells out the contradiction which leads to the aporia of 292d-e. This does not mean that Clinias has dropped out of the discussion; he is still referred to as the interlocutor with whom, in the narrative, Socrates reached aporia (291b-c, 292e-293a). But Crito has also been brought from the frame into the discussion; and he too is implicated in the contradiction and in the need to

address this. This feature partly confirms the point just made. It is not just the participants in dialogue but also the observers (or readers?) following this specific,

distinctive line of argument who are drawn into the collaborative learning of dialectic and implicated by its outcome. It is worth recalling that, through the frameconversation, Crito is involved in the examination of forms of education from the

start of the dialogue, and is the object of Socrates’ concluding protreptic to pursue virtue through philosophy (272b-d, 307b-c). But Crito’s involvement may also be

taken as carrying a further implication. So far, in exploring the significance of Annas’s reading, I have stressed the ‘openness’ of the dialectic - the innovative line of argument, the unresolved aporia. However, the corollary of this ‘openness’ is an obligation to work from the dialectical agreements already made and to work on (and seek to work out) the contradiction exposed in the argument. The involvement of

Crito,

the

attentive

observer

throughout

the

discussion,

can

symbolizing this obligation. In so far as the protreptic contained

be

taken

as

in this dialectic

constitutes a protreptic to continue the argument and to try to resolve its aporia, it is this argument that needs to be continued and this aporia that needs to be resolved.24 If we accept this way of interpreting the presentation of this exemplary protreptic, what implications does this have for the question how far Socratic dialectic contains doctrines? I want to approach that question by way of a related one, on which the Euthydemus is more directly focused. This is the question of what constitutes a philosophically significant aporia, by contrast with the philosophically non-significant or less significant aporiai which are the outcome of the brothers’ dialectic. There are a number of, fairly evident, methodological contrasts between the way that aporia is reached by Socrates and by the brothers. But one important consideration is that the Socratic aporia arises out of dialectical examination of an idea (that virtue is knowledge) which the discussion itself (and the larger context of Socratic - or Platonic - dialogues) encourages us to take seriously. The aporia is philosophically significant partly for this reason and partly because the two ideas making up the aporia (that knowledge is the only good and that

knowledge

is a productive

skill)

are

themselves

presented

as

worth

serious

23 On this intervention, see also the paper by Shinro Kato, in this volume, pp. 123-132. 24 Contrast again the attitude of Dionysodorus who rejects the idea that he is obligated by any previous admission in argument (2870). My point is not that this is the only aporia that needs to be resolved through Platonic dialectic, but that it can only be resolved by continuing this argument (see further discussion of Szlezäk and Kahn below).

142

Protreptic and dialectic in Plato’s Euthydemus

consideration.

If Socratic

dialectic

contains

‘doctrines’,

the

idea

that virtue

is

knowledge is surely one of these. What this exemplary protreptic suggests, I think, is that Socratic ‘doctrines’ are those ideas which merit repeated dialectical examination and which (under such examination) generate philosophically significant aporiai.?5 The aporia operates not as an end in itself but as a way of defining the issues to which the idea gives rise and the lines of argument by which the issue can be taken

further. On this view, Socratic ‘doctrines’ prefigure the way that ‘hypotheses’ function in modern science, namely as the basis for research programmes which are designed to test, and if possible to disprove, enquiry.

the hypotheses

through

systematic

If this is how we should understand Socratic doctrines, what is the relationship between their status and that of Platonic doctrines (if they are different from Socratic) and Stoic ones? I respond to this - very complex -

question by considering briefly two further types of interpretative response to the two-stage argument of the Euthydemus, those of Thomas Szlezak and Charles Kahn.?6 These responses are made from different standpoints, from that of the esoteric approach on the one hand, and as part of a ‘proleptic’ reading of the early dialogues, on the other. One shared feature is that both approaches acknowledge more than, for instance, Vlastos - the aporetic and protreptic character of the

discussion in the Euthydemus. Another is that both approaches suggest that this aporia can be resolved within Platonic philosophy and that its resolution is linked

with the understanding of what are, in a stronger sense than in the Euthydemus, ‘doctrines’ (for Szlezäk, the agrapha dogmata, and, for Kahn, the doctrinal structure

of the Republic). In responding to those suggestions, I focus only on what seems to follow from my earlier discussion of the Euthydemus.”’ What, I think, comes out from discussion of the Stoic debate is what it means to tackle and seek to resolve an aporia. In their treatment of this issue (especially as posed to them by their critics), the Stoics tackle this issue explicitly, and in a way that (as they see it) resolves it by (a) adopting one side of the dilemma and (b) redefining their position so as to take

account of the other side of the dilemma.?8 It is less clear to me than it is to Kahn 25 This represents a modification of Vlastos’s idea that Socratic doctrines are those ideas which survive repeated dialectical examination; see text to n. 17 above. 26 Szlezäk (1985), 51-65; Kahn (1996), 206-9, cf. 321-5.

27 For further discussion of dialectic and the unwritten doctrines, see Gill (1993), (1996), 297-9; on Kahn’s proleptic approach, see Gill (1998b). 28 They (1) retain the view that virtue is the only good while (2) redefining their position (on the sense in which knowledge-virtue is a productive skill and on how the end-product of that skill includes obtaining ‘preferables’); see refs. to Annas and Striker in n. 10 above. The successive redefinitions of the ‘end’ (telos) involved in this debate suggest that Stoic doctrines are like Socratic ‘doctrines’ (as described above) in being general formulas, which generate debate and analysis in which they are reformulated. (However, the critical role played by Cameades in the later debate is played out within the Socratic dialogues).

Christopher Gill

©

143

that the Republic contains what is, by these criteria, an attempt to resolve the dilemma of the Euthydemus, as distinct from a treatment of related ideas as part of

an argument directed at a different problem (meeting the challenge of showing that virtue is happiness).

There

is room

for argument,

obviously,

about whether

Republic does or does not resolve the dilemma of the Euthydemus. emerges

is the need

for clarity about

what

it means

the

But what

to say that one argument

‘resolves’ the dilemma posed in another, and how closely the ‘resolution’ needs to be based

on the original

dilemma.

There

is the further, and yet more

complex,

question of whether the kinds of resolution envisaged by Szlezäk and Kahn are fundamentally different in their doctrinal status from that of the dilemma posed in the Euthydemus. I can only here record the hypothesis that the protreptic dialectic of the Euthydemus

could serve as a paradigm for Platonic dialectic more generally,

while acknowledging that a full defence of that hypothesis would require a different kind of discussion.?® University of Exeter

29 Kahn (1996), 208-9, suggests (1) that the idea of the Form of the Good (R. 505a-b) implies an account of how knowledge of the Good (which may include knowledge of other forms of benefit) can be a productive skill and (2) that this skill is exercised by the philosopher-rulers. But are we still dealing the the same argument as in Euthd.? In R., knowledge is of the Good, not the good itself (see further on that point Striker [1994], 248-51). Also, the kingly art in R. seems to perform the subdivision of tasks seen as problematic in Euthd. 292c7-9, conferring knowledge (still the good?) on philosopher-rulers and benefits other than knowledge on others; so if R. does continue the argument, it may not resolve it. 30 For some relevant, but still highly provisional, comments, see Gill (1996). I am grateful for the helpful comments made on this paper at the Toronto Symposium Platonicum by Edward Halper, D. S. Hutchinson, and Michel Narcy.

Las Falacias en torno a la Falsedad Una Lectura de Eutidemo 283e-286b

Soluciòn del Sofista

a

la

Luz

de

la

Graciela E. Marcos de Pinotti Si bien la soluciön de Platön al problema de la falsedad no aparece antes del Sofista, varios dialogos anteriores plantean el problema, acaso con el proposito de sacar a la luz algunas de las multiples dificultades que envuelve el reconocimiento de que hay

falsedad. Es el caso del Eutidemo, donde Platén pone en boca de los sofistas Eutidemo y Dionisodoro una serie de tres argumentos que pretenden establecer, por diferentes vias, que hablar falsamente es imposible. Aun cuando el tratamiento de la cuestiön conduce a perplejidad y no se arriba a una soluciön, constituye seguramente una fuente importante para el estudio del problema. Mas aun, si es cierto que los escritos platénicos son prôdigos en respuestas cuando se los sabe interrogar, me atreveria a decir que una de las principales virtudes de Eutidemo 283e-286b es plantear aporias y generar interrogantes, proveer las preguntas que a la larga

contribuyen a la comprensiön no sélo del problema de lo falso, sino también de algunas importantes tesis del Sofista, llave de su soluciôn. Si a esto afiadimos que ciertos problemas que ocuparon la atenciön de Platon son apreciados en todo su alcance solo a la luz de su desarrollo posterior, el que de algiin modo nos permite

‘medir’ su impacto en la constituciòn de su filosofia, adquiere sentido el intento de interpretar las falacias del Euridemo atinentes a la falsedad con ayuda del Sofista. Si la lectura que he de ofrecer es correcta, en Eutidemo 283e-286b Platon no se limitaria a exponer argucias y artificios de que se servian los sofistas para negar la

falsedad. Mas bien nos invita a dirigir la atenciön a cuestiones que considerò genuinos problemas y que obraron como estimulo de su pensamiento, al punto que buena parte de lo dicho p. e. en el Cratilo, o en el Sofista, puede leerse como respuesta a las dificultades planteadas en el Eutidemo. Mi tarea especifica consistirà, precisamente, en examinar los tres sofismas atinentes a la falsedad que el dialogo

Graciela E.Marcos de Pinotti

145

ofrece, recurriendo ἃ aquellos planteos del Sofista que contribuirian a despejarlos. Si

bien la conclusion de que no hay falsedad es paraddjica,!

esto no exime sino al

contrario, exige indagar qué supuestos conducen a ella. Acaso Platén quiso que el

lector del Eutidemo Ilevara a cabo esta tarea, por advertir que se trataba de un medio fecundo de acercamiento a la correcta formulaciön del problema de la falsedad y a su ulterior soluciön.

1. El primer argumento (283e7-284a8) inquiere si es posible decir lo falso /1/ “diciendo la cosa de que se habla”. Eutidemo rechaza tal posibilidad aduciendo una serie de condiciones que son propias de todo enunciado antes que del enunciado falso en particular. Afirma, en efecto, que quien asi habla no dice /2/ “ninguna otra: de las cosas que son (οὐκ ἄλλο λέγει τῶν ὄντων), sino precisamente aquella que

dice”, que es también /3/ “una de las cosas que son (" vi.&otiv τῶν ὄντων) distinta de las demas” y por consiguiente, /4/ dice “lo que es” (τὸ ὄν). Pero puesto que /5/ “el que dice lo que es y las cosas que son dice la verdad” (... τὸ Sv λέγων ὄντα τἀληθῆ λέγει), /6/ decir lo falso es imposible.? Las

afirmaciones

/1/ a /4/,

establecen una condiciôn inequivocamente a alguna

a las

que

Ctesipo

brinda

su asentimiento

καὶ τὰ

inmediato,

necesaria para que haya enunciado: hacer alusiòn de las cosas que son. Sin embargo, esta condiciòn

meramente necesaria se convierte en /5/ en condiciön suficiente para que el enunciado sea verdadero. Veamos cual puede ser la raiz de la dificultad para reconocer que lo dicho puede tener un sentido sin ser, por eso, verdadero. Se ha hecho hincapié en la ambigüedad de einai, que significa tanto ‘existir’ como

‘ser verdadero’. En virtud de tal ambigüedad, observa R. Kent Sprague, tan pronto como Ctesipo admite que el que habla dice lo que es, i.e. habla acerca de algo, Eutidemo pretende que lo dicho es por fuerza verdadero.? El sentido existencial de einai, podemos afiadir, es el que estaria en juego en /2//3/ y /4/, donde las expresiones τῶν ὄντων y τὸ ὄν designan la cosa acerca de la que se habla. En /5/, en cambio, la expresiön τὰ ὄντα tiene sentido veritativo y hace referencia no ya a la cosa sino a lo que se dice de ella al hablar, i.e. al enunciado. Hay quienes consideran que la clave del argumento esta, precisamente, en la construcciön de /egein con un

acusativo-objeto (‘decir algo’), en cuya ambigtiedad se enraizaria el sofisma. Una expresiön

del tipo de /egein ti admite,

en efecto, dos significaciones

diferentes,

‘decir algo’ y ‘hablar acerca de algo’, de donde ti haria referencia a lo dicho, i.e. al enunciado, pero también a aquello a lo que el enunciado se refiere, esto es, a la cosa ! Uso el término ‘paradéjico’ en su sentido literal de “contrario a la opiniön”, a lo cominmente aceptado o a la verosimilitud. Tal el sentido en que es paradöjica p.e. la tesis protagorica de que todas las opiniones son verdaderas, contrapuesta en Teeteto 170a6-d2 a la opinion de la mayoria, para la cual hay opiniones verdaderas y también opiniones falsas. 2 Las citas del Eutidemo siguen la traduccion de Olivieri (1983). 3Cf. Sprague (1962), 14. Véase también Hawtrey (1981), nota ad 283e7-284a8.

146

Las Falacias en torno a la Falsedad: Eutidemo 283e-286b

de que se habla.4 Expresiones tales como λέγοντα τὸ πρᾶγμα en 283e9, o λέγειν ν τῶν ὄντων en 284a3 ilustrarian tal ambigüedad, favoreciendo el transito desde la

afırmaciön de que todo logos es acerca de algo, i.e. de una cosa que es, hasta la conclusiön de que al decir “lo que es y las cosas que son” se dice la verdad, en otras

palabras, que el logos es siempre verdadero. Si algo muestran con claridad las ambigüedades apuntadas, es la ausencia de una, distincion clara entre lo que se dice (τὸ λεγόμενον) y lo que es [τὸ ὄν)" NO habria una frontera suficientemente nitida, en efecto, entre realidad y lenguaje, entre las cosas que son y lo que nosotros establecemos sobre ellas a través del pensamiento y del discurso, como si los dos dominios coincidiesen inevitablemente. De ahi que parezca legitimo aplicar a uno de esos dominios nociones que, estrictamente,

pertenecen al otro, como si ambos fueran uno y el mismo. Un enunciado que se refiere a algo que es sera, a la vez, un enunciado verdadero (ὄν = ἀληθές), en tanto

que decir lo que no es sera decir lo falso (μὴ ὄν = wevdéc). Tal el sentido de la afirmacion de Eutidemo en 284a6-8: “... el que dice lo que es y las cosas que son, dice la verdad; de manera que si Dionisodoro dice las cosas que son, esta diciendo la

verdad, y a ti no te esta diciendo mentira alguna” Esta afırmaciön expresa la asimilaciön, de clara raigambre eleätica, entre la realidad de la cosa y la verdad del discurso. Platön se propondrä como tarea en el Sofista, »precisamente, superar esta asimilaciön y salvaguardar la distinciön entre los dos dominios, mostrando que si bien el discurso hace referencia en todos los casos a algo rque es, no es siempre verdadero sino que en ocasiones puede ser falso. No carece de interés ver como establece este punto al final de la discusiòn del Sofista, alli cuando el Extranjero ofrece el célebre y discutido ejemplo de logos falso “Teeteto, con el

que ahora estoy hablando, vuela”.® Si bien no hace a mi actual propösito examinar en detalle este ejemplo,

es oportuno

destacar algunos

puntos

en los que Platon

mismo pone énfasis al describir la falsedad del enunciado en cuestiôn y que pueden arrojar luz sobre la posicién de Eutidemo en el pasaje que nos ocupa. E] ejemplo de Sofista 263b versa sin lugar a dudas sobre Teeteto. Se trata de un enunciado falso, por cierto, en Ja medida en que dice que Teeteto vuela cuando en realidad esta sentado, pero aunque afirme “cosas diferentes de las que son” (ἕτερα

τῶν ὄντων, Sof. 263b7), las afirma de Teeteto y de ninguna otra cosa, aspecto en el cual el Extranjero, portavoz de Platôn, insiste suficientemente.? ‚Que quiere decir Eutidemo, en cambio, cuando sostiene en nuestro pasaje que al hablar se dice “la cosa de la que se habla” (Eutid. 283e9) y “ninguna otra de las cosas que son, sino

precisamente aquella que dice” (Eutid. 284a2), expresando “una de las cosas que son, distinta de las demas” (Eutid. 284a3-4)? Si de esto se sigue que se dice la 4 $ 6 7

Cf. Canto (1989), nota 109 ad loc. 284a8, y también Crombie (1963) II, 488. Cf. sobre este punto Blaise.(1986), 132, Sobre este ejemplo de Sof. 263b cf. Marcos de Pinotti (1994), 164-169. Cf. Sof. 263a9-10, bil, ΟἹ, c7, dl.

Graciela E Marcos de Pinotti

147

verdad o no se habla, 1.6. que es imposible decir lo falso, de suerte que al intentar decir p.e. que Teeteto vuela, lo dicho no se referiria a nada y no constituiria, por ende, un genuino decir, es sdlo porque el enunciado no se considera acerca de la cosa de que se habla y que se menciona, i.e. acerca de Teeteto, sino acerca de un cierto hecho o estado de cosas. Al intentar decir que Teeteto vuela cuando en

realidad està sentado, en la médida en que no hay algo tal como el volar de Teeteto, no se haria alusiôn a nada ni habria, en suma, un genuino decir. De los dos sentidos apuntados, pues, en que puede decirse que un enunciado dice algo o se refiere a algo (/egein ti), uno de ellos impide explicar satisfactoriamente la

falsedad. Como bien sefiala I. Crombie, la ambigüedad de Jegein en las diversas formulaciones de la paradoja de lo falso en los diälogos no es una ambigüedad accidental, “but one which depends on treating a proposition as a representation of

the state of affairs to which it refers; what the statement legei

(says, states or

mentions) is what it puts into words. We cannot get rid of the trouble until we see

that a proposition mentions a subject and says something of it (...). So long as “S es P” is a picture not of S, but of S’being P, we are in trouble where ‘S is P’ is false’’.® La dificultad se disipa, ciertamente, en cuanto se distinguen con claridad los dos sentidos en que puede decirse que un enunciado “dice” algo o tiene como referencia a algo. Mientras que en el Eutidemo esto significa que hace alusiôn a un estado de cosas al modo en que el nombre se refiere a aquello de que es nombre, cuyo corolario es que un enunciado falso no se referiria a nada y por consiguiente no constituiria un genuino logos, en el Sofista, en cambio, la tesis de que un enunciado no es un nombre? permitira a Platén establecer que por consistir el Jogos en una combinacién de los nombres (συμπλοκὴ τῶν ὀνομάτων), ademas de una aprehension de la cosa por via del nombre conlleva un pronunciamiento sobre ella, lo cual lo hace pasible de verdad y falsedad. El logos no es una suerte de nombre

complejo

cuya significaciôn proviniese del hecho

de designar algo que es, ni

tampoco es la mera sucesiôn o continuidad de los nombres lo que lo constituye sino su combinaciön, la reuniôn o entrelazamiento de elementos sintacticos de diferente tipo y funcién, un nombre y un verbo.!° Entrelazando los verbos con los nombres,

pues, el Jogos versa forzosamente sobre algo (τινος, Sof. 262e6) y tiene una cierta cualidad (ποιόν τινα, Sof. 262e8), la de ser verdadero o falso. Ciertamente, a partir del Sofista queda definitivamente refutada la posiciön para la cual la verdad de un enunciado depende de su referencia a algo mientras que un

enunciado falso es un enunciado acerca de nada. Platön mostrara alli que todo /egein 8 Cf. Crombie (1963) II, 488. Acerca de la suposiciön de que un enunciado “nombra” un estado de cosas ver también Denyer (1991), capitulo 2, espec. 14-15. 9 Tesis presente ya en el Cratilo, cf. p.e. 425a2-5 y 431b5-7 10 Esta distincién lo es entre nombres en el sentido amplio del término, que incluye el nombre en sentido especial, que indica el agente, y el verbo, que muestra la acciön que dicho agente cumple. Sobre el logos como combinaciôn de nombres cf. Sofista 261e1-262d6 y también Teet. 202b4-5

148

Las Falacias en torno a la Falsedad: Eutidemo 283e-286b

se apoya sobre el acto de nombrar y supone por eso, aun cuando lo dicho no sea verdadero, una referencia a algo que es, pero tal que esta referencia es sélo condiciôn de la significaciôn del enunciado, sin implicar nada en cuanto a su verdad. Vista desde esta perspectiva, una posiciön como la de Eutidemo cuando sostiene que

”e] que dice lo que es y las cosas que son, dice la verdad” es el blanco principal de las criticas del Sofista. Si el enfrentamiento con sofistas y eristicos, como creo, incidiò en la constituciön de la filosofia de Platön, de suerte que algunas de las doctrinas transmitidas en sus diälogos se gestaron en reaccién a esa corriente de

pensamiento y toman sentido como respuestas a ella, la elaborada concepciòn del logos presentada en el Sofista encierra, sin duda, la respuesta a una posiciòn como la

de Eutidemo. 2. Pasemos a la segunda argumentacion atinente a lo falso (Eutidemo 284b1-c6). Ctesipo insiste en que es posible decir algo y no decir las cosas que son (οὐ τὰ ὄντα λέγει, 284b2), pero una vez mas es refutado por Eutidemo, quien aduce que las cosas que no son no existen en ninguna parte (μηδαμοῦ), lo cual impide realizar respecto de ellas cualquier acciòn. Dado que decir es realizar, sostiene, y también producir (λέγειν = πράττειν = ποιεῖν, 284c2), es imposible decir cosas que no son: supondria producirlas, mas es imposible producir lo que no es. Nadie, pues, dice las cosas que no son: si en verdad se habla, se dice la verdad y lo que es. Hay en juego aqui dos nociones claves, estrechamente ligadas, a partir de las cuales sugiero interpretar el argumento. Una es la concepciön extrema, absoluta de no ser

heredada del eleatismo y que serà refutada en el Sofista; la otra es la de produccién (ποίησις), que en el mismo diälogo servirà a la definiciön del sofista como imitador, i.e. como productor de imagenes habladas. Atendiendo a la primera de estas

nociones, la imposibilidad de dar cabida al enunciado falso en tanto enunciado que dice cosas que no son provendria del hecho de tomar esta expresiön en un sentido

absoluto, que justificaria sobradamente la imposibilidad de cualquier referencia a lo que no es a través del lenguaje. De acuerdo a la segunda nociön, diriase que tal imposibilidad arraiga en la naturaleza misma del acto de decir, que Eutidemo explicitamente hace consistir en 284c2 en una forma de producir (ποιεῖν). Dado que producir no es otra cosa que llevar a ser lo que no era antes,!! decir cosas que no son equivaldria a instaurarlas como ὄντα, lo cual se rechaza como absurdo. Ambas lineas de interpretaciön estan, sostendré, estrechamente conectadas y tomadas

conjuntamente, confieren buen sentido al argumento de Eutidemo 284b1-c6. Un pasaje relevante para mi propösito es Sofista 237b-239c, en que Platon expone las multiples aporias que envuelve “lo que no es de ningun modo” (τὸ μηδαμῶς dv) y cuya mayor ensefianza es que nada puede decirse de lo que no es en absoluto sin caer en contradiccion ... ni siquiera que nada puede decirse de él. Se trata de un no !! Sobre la definiciòn platönica de ποίησις cf. infra n. 15.

Graciela E.Marcos de Pinotti

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ser extremo, “en si mismo y por si mismo”, que no es de ningun modo y que ya Parménides habia declarado impensable e indecible. Con todo, Platon advierte que con solo pronunciar palabras tales como ‘cosas que no son’ o ‘lo que no es’, ilegitimamente, afiadimos el numero, la pluralidad y la unidad respectivamente, a lo

que carece absolutamente de ser y por consiguiente de todo tipo de determinaciön. Ninguna expresiön podria escapar a esta suerte, lo que lleva a admitir que el lenguaje, condenado a pensar, a pronunciar y a expresar lo que es, impide cualquier referencia a lo que no es en absoluto. En rigor, ni siquiera nos es dado declararlo

impensable, impronunciable o inexpresable, pues nos vemos de inmediato envueltos en contradiccion. En efecto, lo Ilamamos ‘/o que no es’ y le atribuimos unidad, por consiguiente ser, mientras que si quisiéramos enunciar rectamente algo acerca de él (peri autoü, Sof. 239b10), no habria que agregarle nada de lo que es. Dado que esta

condiciön que un, enunciado sobre lo que no es en absoluto deberia satisfacer es contraria a la que \iebe cumplir cualquier enunciado, los intentos de hablar de él y aun de negar/o estan condenados al fracaso.

Me atreveria a decir que el resultado de esta discusiôn sobre lo que no es de ningun modo, contra todas las apariencias, no es totalmente negativo: al mostrar que nada puede pensarse ni decirse acerca de lo que no es en absoluto, täcitamente se reconoce que todo aquello de lo que es posible pensar y hablar “en cierto modo es” (πως εἶναι). En tal sentido, bajo la forma de una discusiôn encaminada a hacer evidente una limitacién del pensamiento y del discurso, incapaces de referirse a lo que no es de ningün modo, en Sof. 237bss. se pondria de manifiesto la positividad, por asi decir, de ambos. Por paradöjico que resulte, es justo al intentar, infructuosamente, plasmar un discurso sobre lo que no es en absoluto, cuando aflora el caräcter productivo, instaurador, que Platôn otorga al /ogos, el mismo caräcter que parece tener en mente Eutidemo cuando hace del acto de decir una forma de accion y aun una producciön. Pero, zen qué sentido el acto de decir es un producir?

Ayuda a responderlo un pasaje de la segunda parte del Parménides, cuyos lineamientos encuentro bastante similares a los del texto recién examinado del Sofista. Se trata de Parmenides 160b-163b, dedicado a la discusiön de la hipôtesis ‘si lo uno no es’, donde Platon afirma que incluso para decir que lo esto que decimos sea verdad, es preciso que Jo uno que, decimos, modo, participe del ser”, para asi “tener la propiedad de ser no ser” y “para lograr no ser” (Parm. 162b6).!? Es preciso, en suma, dotarlo

uno no es y que no es, “de algun (Parm. 162a4-5) de algun tipo de

ser y también de la diferencia con respecto a otras cosas, sin lo cual -argumenta Platön- decir ‘si lo uno no es’ no seria distinto de decir todo lo contrario (‘si lo no uno no es’) o que cualquier otra cosa no es (‘si la grandeza no es’) (Parm. 160b6c5). Esto significa que aun cuando agreguemos a lo uno el no ser -o mejor, justo

porque agregamos 12 Trad. Santa Cruz

el no ser a lo uno y no a cualquier otra cosa- lo estamos

(1988).

150

Las Falacias en torno a la Falsedad: Eutidemo 283e-286b

determinando y le atribuimos, junto con la diferencia, la realidad necesaria como para negarlo a él. Sin tales agregados, parece pensar Platön, no podria ejercerse el

pensamiento ni tampoco es posible el discurso, que no es mas que su manifestaciön oral. Interpretado a la luz de este pasaje del Parménides y del ya comentado del Sofista, el argumento desplegado por Eutidemo en 284b1-c6 adquiere buen sentido. Nadie dice las cosas que no son porque de hacerlo las produciria, i.e. porque el acto mismo de

negarlas las instauraria, otorgandoles un estatuto de dvta. En la medida en que todo aquello de que se habla es de algun modo (πως, Sof. 240c5),!? decir lo que no es de ningin modo -en el sentido extremo, absoluto, de ‘no ser’ que estaria aqui en juego- es imposible. La conexiön entre no ser y producciön, dos nociones en las que Eutidemo no por azar hace hincapié, no podria ser mas estrecha. Cada una conduce a la otra, no sélo porque el intento de plasmar un discurso sobre lo que no es, acabamos de ver, revela la naturaleza productora o instauradora del discurso, sino ademas porque la definiciön misma de ‘produccién’ remite explicitamente al no ser. En el Sofista, en efecto, Platén hace consistir la ποίησις en Ilevar a ser un no ser anterior,! incluyendo bajo tal género técnicas muy diversas entre si tales como la agricultura, la manufactura y la imitaciön. Esta ultima, producciön no de originales sino de imagenes, es decisiva a la hora de definir el quehacer del sofista, cuyo arte sera la produccién de imagenes habladas, mas precisamente de apariencias en el plano de los discursos. Esto no debe hacer perder vista, sin embargo, que todo discurso, el verdadero no menos que el falso, es una reuniön de nombres y el nombre es para

Platön sölo una imitaciön de la cosa, un instrumento de que nòs servimos para‘

reproducir la naturaleza de los seres,!9 sin proporcionar jamäs otra cosa que una "imagen de ellos. Al ser sus constitutivos los nombres, que nunca son indicadores confiables de las realidades que les subyacen, el discurso constituye apenas una imagen, por fuerza imperfecta, de las cosas mismas, y como tal produce o instaura como real “lo que no era antes”, La afirmaciôn de Eutidemo 284c2-3 en que se hace del decir un producir exhibe asi a la naturaleza propia del legein. Se trata de una afirmaciön que seguramente Platön

mismo suscribiria, sölo que el sentido absoluto asignado aqui a las expresiones τὰ μὴ ὄντα y τὸ μὴ ὄν impide admitir la posibilidad de Ilevar al ser lo que no es en absoluto y dar asi cabida a la nociön de producciòn. Sera menester esperar al Sofista, cuya definiciön del no ser como diferencia o alteridad, no ser que “de algun modo 13 Malcolm (1967), 137 contrapone esta expresiön ἃ τὸ μηδαμῶς ὄν, cuya significaciön seria atin mas fuerte que ‘no existencia’. 14 La formula de la falsedad en términos de ‘no ser’ es rechazada. Decir cosas que no son no seria equivalente a decir lo falso, como podria inferirse de las palabras de Ctesipo en 284b1-2, sino “hablar sin realmente hablar”. Cf. Canto (1989 ), note 110 ad loc, 284b1-c6.

15 Cf. Sof. 219a8-b6, 265b8-10 y también Symp, 205b8-c1 16 Cf. p.e. Cratilo 388b10-c1, 43029, 431d2-3, 433d1-2

Graciela E.Marcos de Pinotti

151

es”, permitirà a Platön establecer la dimension productora anticipada en el pasaje del Eutidemo que acabamos de analizar.

del

acto

de

decir,

3. Pasemos, por fin, al tercer argumento del Eutidemo atinente a la falsedad (284c7285al). Eliminada la posibilidad de que un discurso falso diga lo que es o bien lo que no es -en el primer caso, porque al decir lo que es diria algo verdadero, en el segundo caso, porque decir lo que no es es imposible- Ctesipo pregunta si es posible decir, de algun modo, las cosas que son, pero no tal como efectivamente son (τὰ

ὄντα μὲν τρόπον τινὰ λέγει, OD μέντοι ὥς ye Exei). Si bien en este punto la 'légica' del texto nos hace esperar, nuevamente, una respuesta negativa, p.e. que es imposible decir una cosa y no decirla tal como es, el argumento apunta a descalificar esta ultima expresiön, la cual conduciria a absurdidades tales como decir mal las cosas malas, o decir friamentt las cosas frias.

Mas alla de la tergiversacién de sentido operada en este caso por Dionisodoro, es interesante advertir que la férmula sugerida por Ctesipo no resulta finalmente refutada. Esto es bastante significativo, sobre todo si se acepta que la ensefianza positiva de un dialogo platonico reside, en buena parte, en aquello que queda sin

refutar.!8 ;Acaso el ὡς introduce una férmula apropiada para explicar lo falso, al permitir expresar como es considerada la cosà sin implicar que ella sea de suyo asi?

Sea

como

fuere

en

el Eutidemo,

lo cierto

es que

formulaciones

semejantes

aparecerän al final del Sofista, cuando Platén proponga los célebres λόγοι sobre Teeteto, esto es, sus ejemplos de enunciado verdadero y de enunciado falso. El enunciado verdadero ‘Teeteto esta sentado’, afırmara alli, “dice las cosas que son

tal como son acerca de ti” (... τὰ ὄντα ὡς ἔστιν περὶ σοῦ, Sof. 263b4-5). En cuanto al enunciado falso ‘Teeteto, con el que ahora estoy hablando, vuela’, Platön lo describe como un enunciado que dice “las cosas que no son como cosas que son”

(τὰ μὴ ὄντ᾽ ἄρα ὡς ὄντα λέγει, Sof. 263b9). En efecto, este enunciado dice cosas que no son -i.e. que Teeteto, con quien se esta hablando, vuela- pero las afirma, y es

precisamente sobre este desacuerdo τὰ μὴ ὄντα - ὡς ὄντα donde se pone el acento. Esas cosas que “no son”, sin embargo, son solamente diferentes, otras que las que son (ἕτερα τῶν ὄντων, Sof. 263b7). Tendrän, por consiguiente, cierta realidad y el solo hecho de poder afirmarlas ὡς ὄντα muestra que el enunciado falso, aun si dice otras cosas que las que son, no exhibe los seres tales como no son en absoluto. Antes bien, las ἕτερα afirmadas tienen relaciön con lo que es, de lo contrario el enunciado /

no seria sobre Teeteto mas que sobre cualquier otra cosa.!? Una vez mas, la formula de la falsedad presente en el sofisma de Eutidemo 284c717 En Cratilo 385b7-8, el enunciado falso es el que dice las cosas que son como no son (tà ὄντα AEYT... ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν) 18 Sobre el ‘principio de Bonitz’, cf. Hawtrey (1981), nota ad loc. 284c7-285al 19 El extranjero, portavoz de Platôn, niega con insistencia tal posibilidad. Cf. supra, nota 7.

i

152

Las Falacias en torno a la Falsedad: Eutidemo 283e-286b

285al no esta muy lejos de la que Platén proporcionara en el Sofista en ocasiôn de dar respuesta al problema de tropieza con la concepciôn de que impediria toda posibilidad que como son. Sera menester,

lo falso. Sin embargo, en el Eutidemo la soluciôn un no ser que no es en absoluto, sin mezcla con nada, de hacer referencia a las cosas que son de otro modo lo sabemos, esperar al Sofista, cuya doctrina del no ser

como alteridad o diferencia, un no ser que esta en relaciön no sélo con las cosas que

son, sino también con el pensamiento y el discurso,”° permitira a Platön mostrar que cuanto se dice no es forzosamente verdadero. Por lo demas, admitir la falsedad obligaria a reconocer que el pensamiento y el discurso se ejercen con relaciôn a los seres (πρὸς ὄντα) proporcionando sölo una imagen de ellos, imagen que como tal no es una vana duplicaciôn de las cosas que son, sino forzosamente deficiente con relaciôn a ellas.2! Sin embargo, como pudo advertirse al examinar la primera de las falacias concernientes

a la falsedad,

en el horizonte

del Eutidemo

no se traza una

frontera nitida entre las cosas que son y lo que nosotros establecemos acerca de ellas, entre la realidad y el lenguaje, lo cual impide admitir la posibilidad de decir las cosas que son de otro modo que como son. Mok

Las falacias del Eutidemo

aqui examinadas,

si es correcta la lectura sugerida,

explotan dificultades a cuya solucién parece haber estado expresamente tardio Sofista. Ambos diälogos se iluminan mutuamente. El Eutidemo, exponer aporias antes que soluciones, es verdaderamente valioso a interrogar un escrito como el Sofista. Si es verdad que un texto sélo se cuando se comprende la pregunta a la que intenta responder, su principal fuente para el estudio del problema de la falsedad reside justamente

dirigido el aplicado a la hora de comprende valor como en proveer

preguntas y plantear dificultades que sirven de orientacion y gufan la lectura del dialogo consagrado a la solucién del problema. Inversamente, en cuanto abordamos las falacias de Eutidemo 283e-286b a la luz de la soluciön posterior del Sofista, no vemos en ellas meras argucias y artificios de que se servian los sofistas para negar la falsedad,

sino problemas

indirectamente

genuinos

que

sirvieron al desarrollo

estimularon

el pensamiento

de su concepciön

de Platön

del discurso,

e

la que

encuentra en el Sofista su mas acabada elaboraciön. Aspectos centrales de esa concepciön, p.e. la tesis de que el Jogos no es un nombre sino una combinaciön de nombres, mas precisamente una imitaciön de los seres por via de los nombres, o la tesis de la realidad del no ser a titulo de diferencia, un no ser relativo a los seres, cuya mezcla con el pensamiento y con el discurso hace que éstos no sean

forzosamente

verdaderos,

dan una respuesta contundente

a los argumentos

de

20 En Sofista 260b7ss., establecida la realidad del no-ser a titulo de diferencia, Platén propone examinar si tal no ser se mezcla con el pensamiento y el discurso, sin lo cual ambos serian siempre verdaderos.

21 Cf, Cratilo 432b4-d12. Sobre este pasaje véase el licido comentario de Patterson (1985), 38-39; sobre su aplicacion al problema de la falsedad, cf. Denyer (1991), 80-82.

Graciela E.Marcos de Pinotti

153

Eutidemo y Dionisodoro atinentes a la falsedad y contribuyen a su comprensién. Es cierto sin duda que sölo tardiamente, gracias a tal concepciön del discurso, Platon disipa las multiples dificultades que rodean a la falsedad y refuta la paradoja

sofistica. Sin embargo, la lectura del Eutidemo nos deja la impresiön de que ya entonces tenia clara conciencia del problema que lo enfrenté con los sofistas de su época y también con! Parménides. Mas atin, quizäs a la altura del Eutidemo Platon tenia claro no sélo el problema,

sino también la respuesta al mismo,

aunque en sus

escritos optara por exponer la cuestiön en un orden creciente de dificultad, un orden didactico, diriamos, sin ahorrar al lector el esfuerzo de encontrar por si mismo la

respuesta. No podemos saberlo. Pero en todo caso, no deberiamos olvidar que fue discipulo de Söcrates. \ Universidad Nacional de La Plata

Papers on the Lysis

The Unity of Plato’s Lysis: Michael Bordt, S.J.

ςς Besides many difficulties in interpreting some very dense and controversially

disputed passages in the Lysis, there seems to be one major difficulty in understanding and evaluating the dialogue as a whole: Is Plato dealing consistently with one single subject, or does the dialogue break down into several, vaguely if at all connec-

ted passages, as some well known scholars have assumed in the past?” Does the Lysis consist in a disproportionately long introduction about Hippothales’ falling in love in 203a1-206e2 (part I); a second part, in which Plato drops the question of erös and raises the problem about which conditions have to be fulfilled in order that someone can become a friend, a philos, of someone or something else (207b8-216b9);

and a third part from 216c1 onwards, in which Plato discusses a completely different question, namely the structure of human desire and motivation, without making clear how these three parts are connected with one another?”

The aim of this article is to give an overall interpretation of the dialogue that will show that Plato wrote the dialogue to answer the question: ‘What is friendship?’ One

may

call Plato’s project in the Lysis an investigation

into the definition

of

friendship*, provided that we understand “definition” as meaning what the Aristotelian tradition later called “real definition”. Plato wants to come to a full understanding of what friendship is; in order to do so, one must first come to know the reason why some people are friends. If we know the reason, we know the ‘In this paper I try to present some of the maior philosophical issues which I develop in full length in my commentary on Plato's Lysis (cf. Bordt [1998]). ? Cornford called the Lysis "an obscure and fumbling essay", Guthrie spoke of a "failure in method and presentation". ? C£. D. Robinson (1986). “Cf. Sedley (1989), 107f. I agree with Sedley that we should read ov in 218b7 not as οὔ but as οὗ ["we have found out what the friendly is, and what it is (the friend) of"]; but I don't agree that it follows that the Lysis is not a dialogue of definition but only about identification of who is friendly to whom. I take it that the question of who is friendly to whom is part of the question of definition.

158

The Unity of Plato’s Lysis

answer to other questions as well, such as: ‘Why are some peoples friends with one another whereas others are not?’ or: ‘What are the necessary and sufficient condi-

tions for being each others friends?’ or ‘Can the feelings and love someone has for someone else ever explain their friendship?’. The unity of the dialogue consists in the attempt to come to an understanding of friendship that enables us to know why people love the things and the people they love. In a nutshell: Plato’s model of friendship, as it may be called, is the following: Two people, a and b, are friends with one another (or love each other) because of F.

F gives us the reason for their friendship. If we want to understand the friendship between a and b, we have to understand F. Now both a and b love F. However,

the

love they have for each other is different from their respective love of F, because the love between a and b is mutual and reciprocal, whereas the love which a and b must have for F is non-reciprocal. F doesn’t love a and b in return. Furthermore, Plato’s

view is that not every F can constitute a friendship. Only if F is the Good, which is oikeion both to a and to Ὁ, and if a and b both love F as their individual prôton philon, the last object of their desire, can a and Ὁ truly be called friends. But I have anticipated far too much and I want to start with the difficulties in the interpretation of this puzzling and controversial dialogue. Those scholars who see the Lysis simply as a confused and obscure dialogue, seem to have a good case:

as far as what happens in the discussion between the dialogue’s characters is concerned, the Zysis is rather confused indeed. Many parts of their discussion lead to an aporia, not only at the end of the dialogue - as is common in other so called. aporetic dialogues - but beginning even in the second part: Socrates states that no. one can ever be called a philos of someone or something else. Neither the good nor the bad, neither those who are different nor those who are equal can ever be friends.

On the dramatic level of the dialogue it seems that Plato may simply have wanted to point out the difficulties and problems one has to think about if one wants to establish a theory of friendship. But doubts may be raised about positing the incoherence of the Lysis, because

it overlooks the very fact that the Lysis is a dialogue and not a treatise. In order to understand what Plato might have wanted to say, one cannot just take the text as it stands - as if interpreting a treatise. Rather, the reader has to ask herself why Plato wrote what he wrote in the way he wrote it. One has to ask what conclusions we as

readers should draw from Plato’s treatment of the different passages of the dialogue. Now, several examples can be found in the dialogue, where Plato himself seems to give us some hints that we shouldn’t take the text just as it stands but that we should read the dialogue in a critical and reconstructive way. At the end

of the conversation

between

Menexenus

and

Socrates

(211d6-

213e4) about the uses or meanings of philos, Plato has Socrates state: No one can ever be called a philos, if, he says, nothing has gone wrong with the inquiry (213d1f). Now it is not the trained eristic Menexenus who answers but Lysis. As he

Michael Bordt, S.J.

159

was attentively following the discussion, he now bursts out: Something has gone

wrong indeed. Socrates is delighted: He realises that Lysis has some philosophical talent, that he was able to follow the dense conversation and had at least a vague idea about what went wrong in their investigation. “Lysis” , he says,

“I think your

remark is true, that if we were inquiring correctly we could never have gone sadly astray” (213d2-5).

But Socrates does not want to discuss this point again, for it

would be rather difficult. I take it that Plato wants to give us a hint: It is true that some major mistakes

were made that led to the aporetic result. It is the young and philosophically gifted Lysis and not the There would be no Plato thought that Menexenus were

eristic Menexenus who is aware that something has gone wrong. point for Plato to let Socrates praise the talent of the young boy if the arguments put forward by Socrates in the conversation with philosophigally sound. Socrates does not want to solve the

problems, because this investigation would be rather difficult - and the scholarly debate about 212a8-213d5 shows that it is difficult indeed. But the very fact that he does not want to solve the problems implies that they could be solved. The aporia in the dialogue arises not because of a real problem in the use of philos, but because in this case - Socrates wanted to show to the young eristic Menexenus that eristic

investigation leads to nothing, and further that if Socrates wanted to, he could easily lead eristic investigations, too. I take this little scene as a hint for us readers, that we should find out for ourselves what exactly went wrong and we should draw our own conclusions from the mistakes. Plato provokes us, because the outcome seems to be

clearly absurd, and he invites us to solve the aporia, because he gives us hints on the level of the dialogue that we should not take the refutation too seriously, find out for ourselves what exactly went wrong. ὦ

and should

A second example is the end of the dialogue, the final aporia (222b3-e7). The aporia arises because it seems impossible to determine the relation between the good and the oikeion without contradicting certain claims which have been established before. Socrates does not know what to say any more (222e1 ff.) and asks as a plaintiff would the judges in a law court to anapempazesthai, to evaluate for themselves again the whole of what has been said. The judges can only be those who have followed the conversations. Now this plea to re-evaluate only makes sense if there is

something

to re-evaluate.

If Plato thought that the different refutations

in the

dialogue were correct, nothing would have to be re-evaluated. I think we can take

this little scene as an invitation to read the dialogue again, to study the different investigations carefully in the light of the dialogue as a whole.

With these preliminary hermeneutical remarks out of the way, I would like to go step by step through the dialogue. The first part of the dialogue (204b4-206e2),

the conversation between Socrates and Hippothales, is rather straightforward and uncontroversial: Hippothales is in love with the handsome young Lysis, but in spite of all his poetry and singing he does not get what he wants. Hippothales has - certainly

160

The Unity of Plato's Lysis

without being aware of it himself - a certain understanding about friendship and love, which is still prominent in most of the Oscar-awarded Hollywood films today: The stronger the feelings and emotions the deeper the love. Asked twice by Socrates

(205a3, b4f.) how he thinks about his relation toward Lysis - Plato uses the verb epistasthai 205al and the noun dianoia 205b2, Hippothales is unable to give an answer. An interlocutor’s inability to answer a question is a well-known motif in Plato’s writings. Here, it may at least partly follow from Hippothales’ views about friendship and love. If one thinks that love is nothing but a feeling, the only adequate way to express the feeling is to write poetry and love-songs. But there is nothing to discuss, nothing to think about which could be right or wrong. With such a view about love and friendship, one can never enter into a philosophical discussion about love and friendship. Socrates analyses and. treats Hippothales’ problem in a rather theoretical way: Strictly speaking Hippothales does not love Lysis; he loves himself. What he really

wants is not to have a true relationship with the boy, but rather to fulfil his own interests and needs. Socrates does not want to make a point about ethics and morality. He does not treat Hippothales as a bad, self-centred person. But he has a point

about friendship and love: Emotions and feeling give a reason for wanting a friendship but never an explanation for the friendship itself. Far from being an overly lengthy introduction, the conversation between Hippothales and Socrates not only introduces the main subject into the dialogue, the question of friendship and love, but also refutes one extremely popular theory about what constitutes love and friendship - the idea that love is nothing but an intense feeling. What is true is that:

falling in love, that erds, is a feeling, But in order to build up a relationship - and this is what friendship is and what Hippothales is incapable of - something more, such as rationality and thought, is needed. Feelings can explain the wish for a friendship, but never the friendship itself. In the conversation between Lysis and Socrates (207d5-211a1) another claim

about love and friendship gets refuted, the claim that utility is a sufficient reason for friendship. This thesis is rather controversial for two reasons: First, some scholars,

and most famously Vlastos’, believed that Plato clearly held the view that utility is a sufficient reason for love and friendship. Therefore, he said, his theory is at the core egoistic. Second, in recent years some scholars® have thought that the unity of the Lysis consists in the attempt to establish a so-called Socratic and utilitarian understanding of friendship very similar to the one we find in the second book of Xenophon’s Memorabilia. The point I want to make is that those who maintain that Plato held or put forward an utilitarian understanding of friendship overlook several hints that show that > Vlastos (1981). ‘Cf. Adams (1992) ; Adams (1995) and Reshotko (1997). Both are inspired by Irwin (1977).

Michael Bordt, S.J.

we

161

shouldn’t take the text just as it stands. The

conversation

begins

with

a

description of parental love: what Lysis‘ parents want is the well-being and happiness of their son (207e3-5). They want him to be as happy as possible. The happiness of their son stands for them prothymos (207e5), at the head of their will. I take it that this is a rather appropriate description of what we would call today someone loving someone else for his own sake. The well-being and happiness of the beloved is a sufficient reason for acting in a certain way, in a way which increases or enables the happiness of the beloved.

At the end of the conversation a rather different picture of parental love arises (209c7-d3): The parents love their son only insofar as he is useful to them and more generally: everyone is loved only insofar as he is useful to his lover or his friend. It

is this very end of the conversation which led Vlastos and others to assume that Plato held an egoistic theory

of love.

But they overlook at least four points. First, they do not take into account the

beginning of the conversation, which gives us a very different picture of that in which parental love consists. They just take the end of the conversation and construct on the basis of it an entire thesis about what Plato really believed. Second, they overlook the fact that Socrates himself regards the claim that utility is a sufficient reason for friendship as absurd. Let us look at the different examples of when Lysis is allowed to do something. The first example seems to be rather straight-

forward: His father will allow him to run the household if Lysis is competent to do so. Provided Lysis is the oldest son, this, given the Greek culture, seems reasonable. But now Socrates claims that Lysis’ neighbour will do exactly the same; this already sounds weird: The neighbour might have other criteria for choosing his successor as well, and first of all he will want to choose his own son, even if he might be a bit less competent than Lysis. The last examples are as funny as they are absurd: The king of the Persians will of course never allow Lysis to throw ashes in the eyes of his son, nor will he allow him to put tons of salt into the soup. The king of the Persians will never allow one of his enemies, a Greek, to do anything of this sort, even if he thinks that the Greek might be competent to do so. Utility is not a

sufficient condition. Third, there is a good explanation for the shift in the description of parental love on the level of the dialogue, which explains sufficiently why Socrates brings Lysis to believe that he is only loved insofar as he is useful. On the dramatic level of the dialogue, one of the aims of the conversation between Socrates

and Lysis is to make Lysis a bit more modest and not to allow him to be too selfconfident. Socrates wants to make clear to him that there are still many things he has to learn, that he still needs teachers and that he had better be a bit more modest and

humble. Fourth, the conclusion that Lysis is only loved insofar as he is useful is logically wrong. What is true is what Socrates states in 210c8: Lysis is not loved insofar as he is useless. This claim is unproblematic. Parents love their son because he is their son and not because he is useless. But in 210d1-4 Socrates concludes from

162

The Unity of Plato’s Lysis

this that Lysis can only be loved insofar as he is useful. But this doesn’t follow, of course. Lysis doesn’t realise that Socrates is cheating here. Socrates uses an invalid argument to humble the boy. What is true, however, is that utility is a necessary condition for friendship.

Plato argues negatively, in 214e3-215a3, 215a7-b3, 215b3-7 and 222b3-7, that a friendship is impossible if there is no respect in which the friends can possibly profit from the friendship. friendship.

Utility

is a necessary,

but

not

a sufficient

condition

for

Up to now, Plato has been mainly concerned with criticising two false views about what constitutes friendship. Neither emotions nor feelings, nor the usefulness

of the friendship provide sufficient reason for understanding why people have a loving relationship with one another, why they are friends. Beginning with 213e4) and until the elements or concepts conversation between of the term philos. explore to what extent

the conversation between Menexenus and Socrates (211b6end of the second part of the Lysis, Plato discusses several which play an important part in a theory of friendship. The Menexenus and Socrates serves to investigate the several uses The subsequent conversations between Socrates and Lysis friends are those who are equal or unequal, good or bad.

I begin with the conversation between Menexenus and Socrates about what conditions have to be fulfilled in order to be a friend of someone or to something (211d6-213e4). Even if there is much controversy about the details of this difficult text, nearly all scholars agree on the result’: Socrates plays with different uses of philos without distinguishing them properly. There is a dispute as to whether two or three uses of philos are in play, but I don’t think this is a genuine difficulty. The main distinction which has to be made is the distinction between a reciprocal use of

philos and a non-reciprocal use of philos. The standard example for the reciprocal use is the friendship between two people who are both friends with each other. John

and Mary are philoi in the reciprocal sense if John is a friend of Mary in the same sense that Mary is a friend of John. An example for the non-reciprocal use of philos

would be if we said that John is a philos of good wine. Within the non-reciprocal use of philos we can distinguish what one can call an active and a passive use of philos. The active use of philos would be if we said that John is philos of good wine - which we would have to translate as “John is a friend of good wine”, the passive use would

be if we said that good wine is a philos of John - which we would have to translate as “Good wine is loved by John” or “Good wine is dear to John”. But as both the

active and the passive use refer to exactly the same fact, to one and the same relation between John and the wine, this distinction doesn’t seem to be as important as the main distinction between the reciprocal and the non-reciprocal use of philos. As I have already pointed out at the beginning of my paper, I don’t think we "For a different approach cf. Glidden (1981).

Michael Bordt, S.J.

163

should believe that Plato himself was confused about the different uses of ,philos, but rather that he wants us to find out for ourselves the distinctions which have to be made. Of course: The very fact that we have to distinguish two (or three) uses of Philos does not explain anything. On the contrary: It is something which has to be

explained and which in a way will be explained in Plato’s model of friendship. In the remainder of the second part Plato goes on to discuss the reciprocal meaning of philos, the friendship between two people. In the third part he discusses the nonreciprocal meaning of philos, which leads him to the concept of a prôton philon among other concepts. The aporia at the end of the dialogue arises because the two

boys are unable to combine the results of the second and the third part of the dialogue into one coherent view about friendship. I now

come

to the conversations

between

Lysis

and

Socrates

about whether

those who are good or bad, equal or unequal can be friends with one another (213e4-

216b9).

It is not always

sufficiently

clear what

exactly

Plato

is asking

for:

Sometimes it seems that he is asking what conditions have to be fulfilled in order to

make it possible for two persons to become friends. Sometimes he seems to be asking what conditions have to be fulfilled if two people are already friends. Furthermore, it is not always clear if he is asking for necessary or sufficient condi-

tions. Despite some lack of clarity in the text, I think the best interpretation is to take the second part as an investigation into what necessary conditions have to be fulfilled if two people are to be friends. The difficulty in interpreting the text is again

that every investigation leads to an aporia. Neither the good nor the bad, neither the equal nor the unequal can be called friends - that is the conclusion Socrates draws at the end of the passage. How can we decide whether we should take the different refutations which are accepted by the two boys on the dramatic level of the dialogue as refutations that

Plato wants us to accept? We have already seen that not every aporia made explicit by the interlocutors has to be taken as illustrating Plato’s own view about the aporetic nature of the problem itself. But how can we methodically decide what the real

views Plato might want to put forward are? I would like to suggest three criteria in order to decide whether we should take a refutation of a given thesis as a real refutation or not. I do not want to claim that

these three criteria are applicable to every dialogue- they are certainly not - nor that they are the only criteria which we could think of in interpreting the Lysis. But I do

think that they are fruitful and that they do their job in interpreting the passage we are looking at.

The first: Is the claim that is put forward or refuted consistent or inconsistent with what is put forward or refuted elsewhere in the Lysis? The first criterion follows the principle of interpretation according to which we should try first to understand a dialogue as a whole and try to get to a consistent understanding without trying to interpret the dialogue from other dialogues.

164

The Unity of Plato’s Lysis

The second: Does the claim that is put forward or refuted stand in continuity or contradiction with what Plato simply presupposes without any further argumentation

in other dialogues? With this criterion I do not want to deny that there is much discontinuity between the early, the middle and the late dialogues.

If we had to

investigate the concept of idea for instance, the criterion would for obvious reasons be useless. But as the Lysis is the only dialogue in which Plato discusses friendship,

and as his interlocutors in some of the middle and late dialogues simply assume without further argument the truth of certain claims about friendship, it would be less plausible to assume that Plato simply takes for granted the truth of a claim

which he thought he had definitely refuted in the Lysis. The third: Is the substantive content of the claim or the refutation of the claim philosophically plausible and sound? This criterion is nothing but a reformulation of the principle of charity applied to a dense and obscure passage in the Lysis. Let us apply these three criteria to Plato’s discussion of who can be a friend of

whom. I would like to begin with whether it is plausible to maintain that Plato wants to show different itself the whether

that those who are good cannot be friends or whether we should draw a conclusion from the discussion in 215a4-c2. Of course, in the dialogue question whether the good are friends is part of the more general question those who are equal are friends, and it would be more natural to discuss

equality first; but, as it will turn out, the question of whether those who are good can

be friends is systematically more important and more difficult to interpret, and that is why I would like to start which 215a4-c2.

The claim that only those who are good can be friends gets refuted. Plato. makes Lysis accept the following argument: Those who are good are self-sufficient. Those who are self-sufficient don’t have any reason to want a friend or to love someone. Therefore those who are good can never be friends. In applying the first criterion about internal coherence, one difficulty immediately arises. If we look at the third part of the dialogue, it is clear that a human being always belongs to those kinds of things which are neither-good-nor-bad, never to the kind of the good (220d5f.). We desire the good, but we are always beings which are neither-good-nor-bad. So how can one ever say of a human being that she is good? On the other hand Plato never puts forward the argument that human beings can never be called ‚good‘. Instead in 207a3 or 210d2 he speaks about people who are

good and does so in a sense which seems to be perfectly intelligible. The argument against the claim that those who

are good

can be friends does not rely on the

assumption that people can never be good, but on the assumption that those who are good are self-sufficient. So what could it mean for a human being who will always belong to the class of those things which are neither-good-nor-bad to be good? We get an answer to this question in Plato’s discussion of the philosopher in 218a2-b6. A philosopher, like every human being, belongs to the kind of the neither-good-nor-bad, but is longing

Michael Bordt, SJ.

165

for wisdom. In the Apology (23aSf.) and in other dialogues (Smp. 204alf., Phdr. 278d3-6) Plato makes a distinction between the gods being wise and a human being being wise. The wisdom of a human being consists in his desire and longing for wisdom. Insofar as he is desiring wisdom he is called wise. His way of being wise is different from a god’s being wise, but it does not follow from this that no human being can ever be called wise, provided we understand that a human being’s wisdom consists in something other than a god’s wisdom. I take it that we can understand the question concerning the circumstances in

which human beings can be called good analogously. People are good insofar as they desire the good. Of course, there is one sense in which the claim that people are good insofar as they desire the good is rather trivial: According to well-known passages.in Plato everyone desires the good in one sense: Everyone desires the good

insofar as she thinks that what she desires is good and useful for her. If we understood the claim that-anly those who are good can be friends in this way, the

claim would be pointless, because everybody desires what is good. We need to make an important distinction which we are familiar with from other dialogues: the distinction between those who have mistaken views about what is good - for instance those who believe that the good fs pleasure or political power, and therefore aim at something which is not truly good - and those who aim at something which is really good. If we want to make some sense out of the claim that those who are good can be friends, we should understand the claim in the light of this distinction. Only those

who aim at what is really good can be friends. Let me sum up: The question whether those who are good can be friends has led us to the question what it means for a human being to be good. We have seen that those are called good who desire what is truly good. Whatever this means con-

cretely, one thing seems clear: if one desires something, one is not self-sufficient anymore. It is thus possible that other people who aim at the same goal can be of some help for the one who desires the good. So he has a reason to want some friends. Socrates argument that those who are good are self-sufficient relies on a false assumption about what it means for a human being to be good, i.e., on a wrong

anthropological claim. Let me come to the second criterion; here I can be very brief. The claim that only those who are good can be friends is a well known claim without any further discussion in other dialogues; in the Phaedrus (Phdr. 255b1f.) Plato claims that it is impossible that those who are good are not friends; in the Laws (Lg. 837a6ff.) we

find that only those who are good can be real friends. Now it would be implausible to assume that Plato thought he had refuted a claim correctly in the Lysis and then without further argument just assumed the contrary in later dialogues without any further discussion. The third criterion leads to the same result. To be a philos means

in the Greek context above all to be loyal, trustworthy and reliable. It seems perfectly reasonable to assume that people with a good character are able to act

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The Unity of Plato’s Lysis

loyally and to be trustworthy and reliable. We have seen so far that we should not take the refutation of the claim that those who are good can be friends as a real one. On the contrary - our critical reconstruction has led to a quite different result. It seems that Plato wants us to draw the conclusion that those who are good can indeed be friends provided we have a correct understanding of what it means for a human being to be good. Already, a

question is raised which will be of some importance in the third part of the dialogue. In order to understand friendship it seems necessary to come to an understanding of what the good at which those who are friends aim actually is. On the question whether those who are bad can be friends I can be brief. If we

apply the first criterion, we can see that nowhere in the dialogue is the contrary assumed; in no place would a difficulty be solved if we assumed that those who are bad can be friends. Second, the claim that those who are bad can never be friends is a thesis which Plato repeatedly maintains with some further distinctions - in other dialogues such as the Republic (Rep. 351c7-352d3; see Gorg. 507e1-6). Third, the claim that those who are bad cannot be friends seems quite plausible, if we take into account that to be a philos means to be trustworthy and reliable. Those with a really bad character cannot be trusted and so they cannot be friends with one another. Let us come to the third claim, the claim that those who are equal can never be friends. Socrates argument is that those who are equal can be of absolutely no use to one another. As utility is a necessary condition for friendship, those who are equal can never be friends. If we now apply the first criterion and have a look at the rest of the dialogue, we can see that Plato does not seem to take this refutation too seri-

ously: In 219b6-8 Socrates introduces an argument which - as he says - is only valid if one assumes that those who are equal can be friends. Someone who is ill loves two different things: medicine and health. Now Socrates points out that both things are equal: they are both dear to him, they are both a philos. Of course, this is a rather obscure argument, but Plato quite explicitly stresses in a rather complicated way the fact that even if his analysis of the example contradicts the claim that those who are equal cannot be friends, this contradiction does not stand as a counter-argument. If Plato thought that it is true that equals can never be friends without any further qualifications to be made, then all the rest of the discussion after 219b6-8 would be pointless. I think the conclusion we readers should draw is that Plato did not take the

refutation as a valid one. There might be a sense in which those who are equal can be friends. The second criterion sustains this analysis. In many other dialogues, such as in the Gorgias (Gorg. 510b4), the Republic (Rep. 329a2-4), the Symposium (Smp. 195b5), the Phaedrus (Phdr. 240c1-4) and the Laws (Lg. 837a6f.), Plato claims without any further argument that those who are equal are friends. Very telling is the passage in the Laws, because it qualifies the equality. Those who are equal in respect of their virtue are friends, because it is equality of virtue which constitutes friendship.

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The third criterion: Every scholar agrees on the fact that Plato’s argument is unsound. But what could it reasonably mean for friends to be equal? Now Plato already pointed out this problem in 207b8-d4, in the short conversation between

Menexenus about their different or importance

and Socrates. There, Socrates asked Menexenus different questions friendship, all dealing with the question in what respect the two boys are not. They differ for instance in respect of their beauty. But this is of no for their friendship. Then Socrates claims that they cannot differ in re-

spect of their wealth, because friends have everything in common. In this sense, they have to be equal. After that Plato writes that Socrates was about to ask who is more

wise and just, but he could not ask this question because Menexenus had to leave. Even if one feels uncomfortable with Gadamer’s interpretation of this question, according to which Socrates now introduces values into the discussion‘, the question of difference and equality has nevertheless been raised. Now it seems quite plausible to think that people with the same interests, goals

and world-views can be friends with one another because they share the concern for the same things. Their common interests or goals can explain their friendship. If John and Mary both enjoy dancing, their common goal, to dance as best as possible, explains their relationship. Their goal is identical, they have the same goal, which, in

this example, they can only achieve individually if they dance together. In the Gorgias Plato says that the equality in a friendship consists precisely in the fact that the friends love and dislike the same things (Gorg. 510b2-e3). Regarding the question of whether we should think that Plato wanted to put forward the view that those who are unequal can never become friends I can be brief

as well. and that ward an but now

Plato gives us some hints that we should not take Socrates himself wants to distance himself from argument by some antilogikoi (216a7), and it is Menexenus, who is Socrates’ interlocutor. The

the refutation too seriously the argument. He puts fortelling that it is not Lysis, eristic Menexenus quickly

agrees with the antilogikoi that those who are unequal can never be friends. But the fact that Menexenus agrees is a hint for us that there may well be a way to understand that those who are unequal are friends. And indeed, those who are unequal can be friends because the very fact that they differ in their experiences,

their biographies and their different perspective on the world makes it possible that those who desire the same goal can be of some help for one another. Let me sum up: In the second part of the Lysis Plato has investigated the necessary conditions which have to be fulfilled if two people are to be friends. On

the dramatic level of the dialogue, every single claim has been refuted, because Socrates’ interlocutors accepted his refutations, but we have seen that in fact only a certain understanding of the claims has been shown wrong. Those who are good can be friends if we understand their being good as their aiming at what is good. Those *Gadamer (1985), 176.

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The Unity of Plato's Lysis

who are equal can be friends if we understand the equality as the equality of the goal

that each has individually. Taking these claims together: Friends have to have ἃ common aim which has to be good. The fact that they are unequal gives a reason why they can be of any. help or use for each other. In of what verbs to (217b4),

the third part of the dialogue (216c1-222e7) Plato investigates the question it means to love, to want, to prefer or to desire something. He uses different express this aiming at a goal, such.as philein, agapän (220d2), aspazesthai protimän (219d7) or epithumein (221b2). Plato is interested in finding out

quite generally what conditions have to be fulfilled if someone aims at and what is implied in aiming at an object. As I have already pointed second part of the Lysis Plato was dealing with questions concerning a relationship. Philos has been used in its reciprocal sense. In the third

something out, in the reciprocal part, he is

investigating the non-reciprocal use of philos: What does it mean that something is dear, is philos for someone? It is interesting to see that already in 215c3-216b9 Plato uses examples and terms which play a crucial role in the third part. The example of the love ofa sick person for a physician is introduced, the use of heneka is already in play (215d6) and the concept of to philon plays a prominent part in the refutation of the theses that those who are unequal can be friends (216b3, 7). It seems possible to assume that Plato wants to give a hint to the reader that now the discussion changes

from

the reciprocal

to the non-reciprocal

use of philos.

In Plato’s model

of

friendship both uses are in play. Two persons, a and b, are friends of one other - the

reciprocal use of philos. They both aim at the same goal, F. F is the individual goal of a and of Ὁ and the common goal for both of them. The relation which a has to F and which b has to F is a non-reciprocal one. In order to understand why a and b are friends with one another, it is crucial to understand F which constitutes their friend-

ship. If we have understood what F is we have understood what friendship is. If we

have understood F we know why some people are friends whereas others are not. Now in the third part of the dialogue Plato discusses three different candidates or descriptions for F: F is the Good, F is the pröton philon, the first object loved, and F is the oikeion. The third part consists in the attempt to clarify what conditions have

to be fulfilled in order Plato works with His initial model that ferentiated and refined

to be able to desire or love or want something. three kinds: The good, the neither-good-nor-bad and the bad. the neither-good-nor-bad is friend of the good gets more difin five steps. As this part of the dialogue is less controversial

I will be brief. First (217a3-b6), Plato introduces what we can call an efficient cause:

It is the presence of the bad which makes the neither-good-nor-bad desire the good’. How we should understand this presence is subject of the second step of his analysis * One difficulty is that Plato does not distinguish properly between dia as an efficient cause (217a7) and as final cause (217a6). He introduces the distinction only in 218d6-219c1, where dia (‘because of) denotes the efficient and heneka (‘for the sake of) the final cause.

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(217b6-218c5). Third (218c5-220b7), Plato introduces what we can call the final cause, the prôton philon, the last object aimed at in every single act of aiming at

something. Fourth (220b7-221c7), Plato argues in a reductio ad absurdum that it is not always true that we aim at the good because of the presence of something bad. Even in a world without evil, people would desire the good. The good, it seems, is not only the final, but sometimes the efficient cause as well. In this sense the Good

can be loved for its own sake!°. Fifth (221d1-222b2), Plato sketches a new model: If the bad is not always the efficient proper cause. We need a new cause, We can desire something only if we be lacking if it in a sense belongs to

cause of wanting something, it cannot be the and as a new cause Socrates introduces desire. lack that which we desire. Something can only us. So the desire aims at the oikeion. But here

Plato seems to hint at an important distinction: What really belongs to someone can never be determined by just looking at what someone actually aims at!!. On the level of the dialogue Hippothales is clearly mistaken when he thinks that Lysis is oikeios to him. We are already familiar with this kind of distinction, because in order to make some sense out of the claim that those who are good can be friends, we had to introduce the distinction between what is good in the sense that someone thinks it is good for him and what is truly good (or the Good). Equally the question arises what it means to be truly oikeion, i.e. an object which really belongs to oneself.

As we have seen, in the third part of the dialogue the concept of the good gets more and more refined. In the first two steps the fact that someone aims at some-

thing which is good does not have to mean any more than that he must believe the object of his desire to be good. But when it comes to the fourth step, another picture of the good arises. There is a distinction to be made. On the one hand there is the fact that the structure of every desire is such that in order to understand any desire whatsoever we have to assume a prôton philon, whatever this may be. On the other

hand there is the fact that someone desires what is truly good or the Good. The prôton philon is not always identical with the Good. If someone is a drug-addict, the wish to get his next fix might be the appropriate teleological explanation for his actions. But of course, the pröton philon in this example is different from what is truly good. Here the same difficulty that we have already mentioned regarding the relation between the good (viz. the Good) and the oikeion arises. In order to understand friendship, we have to understand what it means for the Good, which is truly oikeion, to be the last aim of someone’s desires. Not every last goal, not every

prôton philon, can constitute friendship. Friendship for Plato seems only possible if the friends aim at the appropriate last object, that is, the object they should aim at, which is the Good. In this sense, only the good can be friends. As in other dialogues we do not get a proper definition of the Good. But a full understanding is needed if ‘One of the difficulties in this passage is the shift between to agathon as a general (‘the good") and as a singular term (‘the Good"). "Cf. Glidden (1981).

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The Unity of Plato’s Lysis

we want to understand what friendship is. This leads us to two important questions, which are left open in the Lysis but

which I take it Plato wants us to think about. I do not want to claim that there is some sort of hidden doctrine behind the Lysis and that if we just pull the right strings and work with the right tools we can determine exactly what it is that Plato really thought. We will never know what he really thought. But I take it that through the

form of the dialogue Plato wants to invite the reader to get involved in a philosophical discussion and to think about friendship along the lines which he drew in the Lysis. First: How can we understand that the love for the Good as pröton philon, the last object of our desire, constitutes friendship between two people who

individually aim at the Good? In order to answer this question we have to understand what it could mean to love the Good. One possible answer might be the following. If someone loves the Good he loves a value or an ideal. Now the love for a value or an ideal implies the wish to realise the ideal, to live the value. As the love for Justice implies things like the wish to act justly or to help to create just conditions for citizens, so the love for the Good implies the wish to realise the Good. Now there are

two possible ways of realising the Good. The first and most obvious way is to try to lead a good life yourself. But this is not all. If what you really want is the realisation of the Good, you will want to realise it in another way as well - in helping other people to realise the Good in their lives, to help them to live a good want is to realise the Good because of your love for this value or further importance who actually realises the ideal. What you want be realised. Now as life is rather complex, realising the good in a

life, If what you ideal, it is of no is that the Good good life cannot

mean simply following certain moral rules. We are not talking about morality.

We

are talking about the fascination, attractiveness and love of the possibility of leading a good life. In order to help someone to lead a good life one must know him well.

One must know his talents and weaknesses, his upbringing and interests and so on. 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 friend

who is aiming at the Good, the better one gets to know the Good oneself; the friendship enables you to see another perspective on the good, the perspective of the friend. The individual love for a value, for the Good, explains why someone may want to have close friendships. A second question is left open: How can we understand the unity of the last goal of every desire, the préton philon, with the Good, and the unity of the Good with the oikeion? This is a question which finds no answer in the Lysis. The dialogue

breaks down at exactly the point where the consistency of the major concepts of Plato’s model of friendships - the Good, the Same, the oikeion, the pröton philon -

lead into difficulties. Plato discusses these questions in other dialogues, namely in Diotima’s speech in the Symposium and in book IX of the Republic (cf. 586al58841 1). In both dialogues he develops a metaphysical theory in which we can come

‘ Michael Bordt, S.J.

171

to a coherent understanding of these concepts. But if we want to assume that Plato had a reason to break up the dialogue at exactly this point, it seems plausible to assume that Plato had not fully developed a metaphysical theory yet. The Lysis (like the Charmides or the Euthydemos) raises further problems and questions, which will

be taken up by Plato in the middle dialogues. For the reader of these dialogues it gets clear that without a proper understanding of the concept of the Good it is impossible to understand what friendship, temperance or the difference between a philosopher and a sophist really is’. Hochschule fiir Philosophie, Miinchen

"Cf. Bordt (1999).

Is the Lysis Really Aporetic? Beatriz Bossi L The explicit problem: we cannot say what a friend is One might feel disappointed after reading the Lysis if one expected a systematic, consistent, straightforward position on friendship or love.t Many failing definitions, along with Socrates’s conclusion that he has nothing to say (222 e 7), make us think we are in the presence of an aporetic dialogue in the strongest sense of the word. A closer look at its last words, however, offers us a hint that the dialogue can be

approached in a different and much more positive way, where we finish up with no universal definition of friendship but we do have...three new

friends?.

For Plato’s

dialogue has moved in the same direction as has the character Socrates, i.e., 1. from the Academy (eristic discussions full of absolute categories are followed by a middle moment of divination which reveals Plato’s hidden message: friendship is togetherness in search of the final good);

2. directly to the Lyceum (Aristotle builds up his threefold

classification of friendship, emphasizing his concept of perfect friendship as a wish for the good for one’s friend’s sake);? 3. by the outer road (the drama displays friendship in action as an example of the speeches’ content);? 4. through a little door (as self-

delusion evaporates®, friendship opens the path to the authentic search for the final good, which could be interpreted as wisdom); 5. in the proximity of the fountain of ' Neither “friendship” nor “love” covers the range of meanings of philia, which extends from personal and political relationships to simple hobbies or interests. 2 Bosch (1997). 3 For a close appeal to Aristotle in order to understand Plato, see Arieti (1995), 131-132. 4 For a history of the reading of Plato attending to the dialogue form, see Ausland (1997), 371-372. 5.1. Sales i Coderch ([1992], 32-42) defends the thesis that the first goal of a Platonic dialogue is to release the reader from wrong attachments and purify him from self-delusion so that he might become an active leamer.

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Panops (the fountain of all words} (the dialogue involves a great deal of oratorical complexity in its attempt to demonstrate the insipidity of the young boys’ education). II. Socrates at work: the releasing (lusis) The name of the dialogue is really significant.* Socrates tries to release the young from

their own prison: that of vanity.

|

a. The dialogue with Hippo-thales: Too many horses:

(cf. Aristotle’s friendship for pleasure)

too many impulses? A

love with Lysis (204 d-205

ridiculously proud Hippothales is madly in

d). Socrates plays the unintelligent, unpractical

and

unskilled (204 c) observer, but in fact gives him a major lesson in how to treat his beloved: the wise lover never praises his beloved until he has won him, so as not to fill him with vain-glory and make him more difficult to capture (205 d-206 a).

Socrates

proposes

to

talk

to

Lysis

in order

to

give

Hippothales

a practical

demonstration. These words alert the reader not to take this speech seriously, but to see it as simply an instrument used to provoke Lysis in order to teach Hippothales how to hunt his prey. -

b. The first dialogue with Lysis: the main release starts (cf. Aristotle's friendship for

profit) Socrates puts down the handsome, rich Lysis by observing that he is not his own master, since he is not allowed to do certain things his loving parents do. Lysis first replies that this is because of his age. Socrates shows that they do trust him in the matter of reading and writing, and Lysis has the reason he is not also allowed to do certain things that slaves do is in knowledge in the sphere of the practical. Socrates has won his point: ignorant on practical affairs he cannot in fact lead his own life.

allow slaves to him, however, to concede that fact his lack of since Lysis is

The doctrine of friendship here turns out to be explicitly utilitarian: if you want to be

loved you should gain practical knowledge first in order to have something valuable to offer. The challenge provokes Lysis, since he wants to become popular and respected. But at the same time Socrates has attained his own goal: he has overcome Lysis’ proud self-confidence and has shown him the way out of his difficulties: knowledge is the key

to self-mastery. Once beaten in argument, Lysis then speaks to Socrates in secret, so as to intrigue and punish his pugnacious rival, Menexenus (211 a-d). And the dramatic action of the second conversation resembles the first one: somebody is first humbled and

immediately afterwards given the opportunity to listen to Socrates humbling somebody else. 6 The word lusis means releasing and loosing, in a physical, psychological and religious sense (Oedipus Tyrannus 921; Republic 364 e; Phaedo 82 d-83 b).

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Is the Lysis Really Aporetic?

c. The dialogue with Menexenus: what is the relationship between lovers? The

eristic (211

b 8), terrible (211

c 4) Menexenus,

who

is supposed

to be

knowledgeable in the matter of the relationship between lovers (211 d 3), turns out to be

absolutely pliable in Socrates’ hands as he is made to admit to a long series of contradictory “definitions” of the relationship. Old Socrates plays the timid, ignorant observer : though he has a passion for possessing friends (prés ten ton philon ktésin panu erotikés) (211 e 2-3) he remains far from having attained such a possession, and so asks the young experts how a friend is made (211 e-212 b).

d. The second dialogue with Lysis (cf. Aristotle on the origin of friendship)’ Likeness as the origin of friendship is rejected for two reasons:

1. the bad cannot be like anyone else, for they are never at unity with one another or with themselves; 2. the good, likewise, cannot resemble the good, 215).

for that would be of no value (214-

Furthermore, the good man cannot be a friend of the good insofar as he is good, for the

good are self-sufficient (215 a 8-b). Utility has clearly returned as a pattern for friendship, now that self-sufficiency has been incorporated into the description, and Socrates seems also to be appealing to

absolute, Manichean categories

when he talks of “the good” and “the bad” as not

being able to be friends. From an empirical, Aristotelian standpoint, Socrates cannot define what “a” friend is

because there is in fact no univocal definition, given that there is no common genus but merely a pros hen reference: i. e., the existence of virtuous friendship amongst equals.® But Plato’s approach to the matter is far removed from something so apparently commonsensical, and he needs to travel a long, aporetic route to reveal his own particular message.

Finally, opposition is also rejected, for it would entail the monstrous conclusion that the friend would be a friend to his enemy - ἃ conclusion as unacceptable as the notion that the just could be friends of the unjust.

Ill. Socrates

the diviner

a. The neither good nor bad loves the good by reason of the presence of partial evil (216 c-218c)

7 Aristotle treats the same questions as the Lysis following the same division: the poets and the wise; likeness and unlikeness (Nicomachean Ethics, VIII 1155 a 32 - Ὁ 8). 8 Aristotle talks of “those who think there is just one friendship because it admits the more and the less” (1155 b 13), probably in reference to this passage.

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Socrates concludes that he does not know what friendship is. The “aporiai of the argument” have made him dizzy (216 c 4-6), and he announces a new approach to the matter, more prophetical than logical. He hazards the conjecture that “the beautiful is dear” (philon), as the old proverb says. He affirms that the good is beautiful and -again as a kind of inspiration (apomanteudmenos)- that what is neither good nor bad is a

friend (philon) of the beautiful and the good. Divining (manteuomai) as he speaks, he affirms further that,

as the good cannot be friends to the good or the bad to the bad, the

neither good nor bad can be attracted (philon) only to the good, for nothing could be a friend (philon) of the bad. He then distinguishes two types of causal principle: the motive and the end. And he gives two examples. The first refers to the body, the second to the mind. Those who are already wise are not philosophers (do not love wisdom), whether they are gods or men (218 a 4). Nor are lovers of wisdom those who are so ignorant as to be bad, for no bad and ignorant man loves wisdom. The,presence of partial ignorance arouses the desire of the good (wisdom): only those who are neither good nor bad are lovers of wisdom, i.e., philosophers (217 e 6- 218 b 3). And they are aware of their ignorance (218 b). But if ignorance were total there would be no desire. The relationship here again is no longer reciprocal but asymmetrical. (It has been noticed that the passage might have been taken as an anticipation of Diotima’s myth about the origin of love in the Symposium).? b. From the good as a means to the good as the end: the proton philon notion of first friendship indebted to Plato)

(Aristotle’s

Socrates realizes that the good desired on account of something evil is a mere means. It is necessary to stop at a principle (arché) which is not desired for the sake of something else: a first object of love (préton philon). Things relatively good are regarded now as illusions (eidola) and deceptions, and are only improperly called phila (219 c-d; 220 b). Since we ourselves are midway (metaxu) between good and bad, we desire the good on account of the bad. But the good by nature that is loved on account of the bad has no use at all by itself and for its own sake (220 d 4-7), says Socrates, here firmly rejecting a utilitarian mode of explanation. Instead, he puts to his listeners the alternate, absurd proposal that evil be abolished, to allow him to retain the notion that we have neutral desires for dear objects (220 c-221 d).

The cause of friendship, then, is not the presence of evil but of desire (epithumia, 221 d 2), and this desire is also its motive (dia fi). And what is the object (héneka tou) of desire? Is it still the good? Socrates never goes back to the point explicitly, and at the end of the dialogue still leaves his listeners without an answer. Why? Is it a piece of perversity on his part, as Kahn suggests?!°

9 Gauthier-Jolif (1970) II, 2 . 657. 10 Cf. Kahn (1996), 290.

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Is the Lysis Really Aporetic?

Desire, concludes Socrates, is for what one is deficient in (221 d 7-8). And deficiency involves something’s being taken away (221 e 2-3). Furthermore, love (éros),

friendship (philia) and desire (epithumia) appear to be of what is one’s own (tot oikeiou) (221 e 3-4). If therefore one desires another or loves him passionately he must somehow belong to his beloved (oikeios) either in his soul, or in some character,

manner or aspect of his soul (221 e 7-222 a 3). What belongs to us by nature has manifested itself as being something we necessarily love. And it will be noted that Socrates has now skipped from talk about an impersonal object of desire (cf. the neuter nouns he has been employing) to the personal relationships the young have amongst one other.

IV. The refutation goes on At the end of the dialogue Socrates confronts the listeners with an aporetic choice:

“either the good is oikeion to all while the evil is foreign (allötrion) to all or the good is oikeion only to the good, the evil to the evil and the neutral to the neutral. They opt for the second alternative. But this, says Socrates, is to fall into the old discarded error. For if that were the case, friendship would arise between those who are like. But if the

good and the congenial are the same, “is there any alternative to the good man’s being a friend only to the good man? No. But we thought that point had been refuted” (222 ς 3d 8). (Kahn agrees with von Amim (1914) that the use of oiömetha (we thought) “is a pointer on Plato’s part to indicate that this proposition was not really but only apparently refuted””).11 After the refutation of the notion that it is oikeioi who are friends, Socrates sums up his

negative results: “If neither those who are beloved (philouimenoi) nor those who love (philoüntes), nor the like (Aémoioi) nor the unlike (andmoioi), nor the good (agathoi) nor the congenial (oikeioi), nor any others of whom we spoke -for there were so many of them that I cannot remember them all- is dear (philon), then I have nothing left to say” (222 e 3-7). Leaving the reader with the question: why does Socrates conclude the dialogue with such an aporia when he has in fact contributed to the clarification of the nature of

friendship in two quite clear ways: through his personal relationship to the boys throughout the dialogue and through his own fleeting act of revelation on the matter? V. Some clues to making the pieces of the puzzle fit a. To say that the dialogue ends in aporia because it is required by the humbling process

seems consonant with the dramatic movement of the dialogue. b. How

can we understand the statement that the final good is not the same as the

11 Cf. Kahn (1996), 291, ἢ, 47.

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177

oikeion while the good we desire is oikeion to us? It seems that the good in itself is not reducible to something oikeion to human nature. The notion of the prôton philon’s being something oikeion seems at first sight to admit

of both an immanent and a trascendental interpretation. It could be taken either as that good aspect of the friend’s soul that is akin to the good aspect of somebody else’s soul or as something transcending particular friends. If we look closely at the text, however,

we find that only the former interpretation is explicitly refuted. No doubt people who become friends have corresponding natures in common, as Socrates suggests. But the

dilemma Socrates poses to the boys must nonetheless end in aporia,

for the merely

congenial nature, he says, cannot be the good. If this analysis dilemma cannot revelation. What between human

is right, there is no perversity on Socrates’ part. For he thinks the be solved. So the: aporia does not in fact touch the heart of his is more, if what is refuted is only the current view of friendship beings, the aporia turns' out to reinforce the claim that authentic

friendship is the desire of the good as a transcendent end which only the neither good nor bad have as something congenial to their particular souls. The good cannot be the same as the oikeion, for if it were so the good would either not be absolute good or it

would not be loved (by the good or the bad). And reciprocal human friendship is for the sake of such a good. c. The prôton philon might be wisdom. The

common

nature to be shared

by the characters

is the consciousness

of their

intermediate status. But this might be merely the first thing needed in order for them to start the real search for the good together. Wisdom, too, is a possible candidate for the title of the good inasmuch as it, too, fulfils the conditions. And if wisdom is the

objective pole then philosophers are the subjective one. Being partly ignorant and partly wise, they have as the goal of their lives the desire to know, and this desire belongs to them in a very particular way, since they are supposed to have seen the Forms.

On such a scenario the pieces of the puzzle finally start falling into place. For the content of the divination fits with Socrates’ personal commitment. And the overall understanding of the Lysis is clarified by reference to the Meno (82 b-85b; 854; 98a) and the Phaedo (75 e 5-6: manthdnein oikeian epistémen analambanein), with their appeal to the theory of recollection.*?

d. A non-utilitarian version of friendship that appears throughout the dialogue also meets a number of conditions that Aristotle described as characteristics of friendship amongst the good. A virtuous man will need friends: 1. as the objects of his good actions; 2, to make his good actions more continuous: good friends neither err themselves nor permit their friends to err; they restrain each other from evil; and 3. as a 12 | agree with the thesis of F. Ferrari, presented during the V Symposium Platonicum, that knowledge, which is the final cause of the process (pröton philon), represents the oikeion of the soul.

178

Is the Lysis Really Aporetic?

second

self: the consciousness

of oneself as good

makes

existence

desirable

and

pleasant but direct contemplation of ourselves is impossible. When wishing to see our faces we look upon them in a mirror, when wishing to know our souls we recognize

them by looking upon a friend ,!* On the above-mentioned scenario Socrates displays an Aristotelian first-type friendship towards the boys, inasmuch as they are the objects of his action (education); become more modest and humble;

e. The

dialogue

and get to know themselves with Socrates’ help.

is aporetic

only

if friendship

is understood

as

a mere

human

relationship without further reference.** Most human beings are of intermediate status, neither wise nor ignorant, never self-sufficient, never absolutely in want. And this fact is precisely what makes human friendship not absolutely sufficient to satisfy human desire, unless it is referred to something else. If wisdom is that final good, friendship is the relationship which is the outcome of a search through the process of dialectic. f. Socratic friendship is to be shown demonstrated.1$

in action, not to be defended theoretically or

There is something illogical in the friendship between old Socrates and the boys: some kind of compensation is needed in order to restore equity to a relationship among unequals.

Aristotle says it is para logon to love somebody without expecting anything in return. But the benefactor feels affection for the recipient in the way the artist loves his own handiwork, for it reveals in actuality his own capacities.*® The boys have in fact given Socrates the opportunity to display his own intellectual capacities, and in the end he seems happy, for he has gained two friends for philosophy “after a lonely life”, though his first beloved will never be human. As he says in the Gorgias: though he has two lovers -Alcibiades and philosophy- only the last one always stays the same (481 d 3-4; 482 a 7- bl). He seems self-sufficient, if we are to believe

Alcibiades’ picture of him in the Symposium (217-222). But inasmuch as knowledge is gained through dialogue, others will invariably be involved. What, then, is a real friend? An arrow that points to the final end. The desire of the good cannot be satisfied absolutely in the figure of a friend. For most human beings are

intermediate, mixed beings. Friendship moves us to accept our limits and pushes us up towards the good. Whether the good is in fact wisdom Socrates does not say. But there are enough hints within the dialogue for us to understand it as such. And if our analysis

13 Nicomachean Ethics, IX 1169 b 3- 1170 b 19; VIII 1159 b 2-11; Magna Moralia, 1213 a 10-26.

14 On the positivive value of the aporia, see the paper of C.Gill in the present volume. 'SWhy does Plato seem fascinating while Aristotle seems just clear? In general terms Plato incites our perplexity by displaying opposing views and brings us to emotional pleasure as his hidden meaning

comes 10 light, But Aristotle’s straightforward explanations might help us follow the main thread of Plato’s thinking

16 Nicomachean Ethics, IX 1167 Ὁ 17- 1168 a 27. On philosophers and payment see IX 1164 Ὁ 3-6.

Beatriz Bossi

179

is right, Socrates’ personal commitment, the content of the divination and the aporetic

ending to the dialogue all work together to suggest the same conclusion.!? University of Barcelona

17} am grateful to Prof. C. J, Rowe for his observations on this paper.

Le Socrate du Lysis est-il un sophiste ? Michel Narcy Que le Socrate du Lysis, dans les réfutations qu’il oppose aux diverses définitions de l’amitié qu’il propose

lui-même,

se comporte

à la façon

de ceux

qu’il

appelle

ailleurs éristiques ou antilogiques, c’est un fait trop généralement reconnu pour faire encore l’objet d’une interrogation. Tout aussi générale est l’appréciation selon laquelle, de la partde Socrate, un tel comportement est «anormal», ce qui signifie que ces passages ne sont pas de ceux où se révèle dans sa véritable dimension le personnage de Socrate, qu’on entende par là le Socrate historique ou celui que lui a progressivement substitué Platon. Le Socrate du Lysis n’est pourtant pas totalement étranger aux autres dialogues de Platon: dans les mots qu’il prononce à la fin du dialogue, on n’a pas manqué de reconnaître le raisonnement estampillé par Peter Geach sous l’appellation de “sophisme socratique”!; de la même façon, ce n’est pas seulement la façon dont Socrate, un peu auparavant, réfute l’hypothèse du pröfon philon, qui lui vaut le reproche de se comporter en éristique; l’hypothèse elle-même, qui pourtant, nous le

verrons, si on la confronte à d’autres passages des dialogues, apparaît tout à fait socratique - l’hypothèse même du pröton philon qui a valu à Socrate, sous la plume d’autres savants anglo-saxons, le reproche de commettre un sophisme (une fallacy).

J'ai peut-être

tort de traduire fallacy par sophisme.

Fallacy,

me

dit mon

dictionnaire anglais, n’est après tout rien d’autre que (1) une croyance fausse ou

erronée (false or mistaken belief), ou (2) un raisonnement ou un argument faux (false

reasoning

or

argument)

—

alors

qu’un

sophisme

(sophism)

est

une

argumentation habile mais fausse destinée à tromper (clever but false argument intended to deceive). De la fallacy au sophisme, il y a en somme toute la distance du

raisonnement fallacieux (dont l’auteur peut être lui-même victime) au raisonnement ! Cf. Geach (1966).

Michel Narcy

181

captieux (dont la fausseté est intentionnelle et par conséquent connue de son auteur). On voit l’enjeu. C’est en gros celui de l’Hippias mineur: Il n’est pas certain qu’en

forgeant l’expression Socratic fallacy, Peter Geach lui-même ait eu en vue autre chose que la désignation d’une faute de raisonnement, n’impliquant de la part de Socrate, comme de l’Achille d’Homere, nulle intention de tromper, mais seulement quelque irréflexion. En général, cependant, on préfère se ranger à l’idée que Socrate sait ce qu’il dit, et Platon, ce qu’il écrit — à l’idée que, s’il arrive qu’on doive reconnaître l’irruption, sous la plume de ce dernier, de raisonnements ou d'arguments faux, ils sont, comme les tromperies d'Ulysse, intentionnels: toute la

question étant alors de savoir quelle intention les guide (l’éventail des réponses pouvant aller du désaveu implicite de Socrate par Platon au défi lancé par ce dernier à son lecteur ou, par Socrate, à son interlocuteur dans le but même de le faire progresser). On préfère, en d’autres termes, faire de Socrate un sophiste plutôt qu’un naïf.

La perspective d’un Socrate sophiste a cependant paru si incongrue à Gregory Vlastos qu’il en a, on le sait, dissocié totalement le Socrate historique et qu’il a attribué au seul Platon l’invention du “sophisme socratique”, sophisme qui n’a selon

lui de socratique que le fait d’être émis, dans les dialogues de Platon, par un personnage en quelque sorte homonyme de Socrate, que Platon, à un certain moment, semble avoir substitué au Socrate historique qui figurait dans ses premiers dialogues. Le “sophisme socratique”, demandait donc Gregory Vlastos dans un article célèbre?, est-il bien socratique ? La réponse de Vlastos à sa propre question est, comme on sait, négative: les dialogues dans lesquels apparaît le “sophisme socratique” sont aussi ceux, selon Vlastos, où l’on observe pour la première fois l'apparition, sous le nom de Socrate, d’un nouveau personnage. Je passe sur le détail de l’argumentation de Vlastos sur ce dernier point, parce que

ce n’est pas ce point-là qui m'intéresse ici. Ce qui m'intéresse, c’est que dans le groupe de dialogues qui font l’objet de la démonstration de Vlastos, c’est-à-dire ceux

dans

Socrate

lesquels

non

apparaissent

socratique,

figure

simultanément

le

Lysis;

le “sophisme

il

est

même,

socratique”

selon

et

le

Vlastos,

chronologiquement le premier d’entre eux. En d’autres termes, que le Socrate du Lysis soit ou non Socrate, il commet selon Vlastos la faute logique appelée depuis Geach “sophisme socratique”; ce sophisme-là peut bien n’être pas socratique, reste que, si le Socrate du Lysis le commet, ce Socrate-là est aux yeux de Vlastos un sophiste, ou en tout cas se rend coupable de sophisme.

2 Vlastos (1990b).

182

Le Socrate du Lysis est-il un Sophiste?

Voilà donc le point qui m'intéresse: le “sophisme socratique” est-il présent dans le Lysis ? Pour répondre à cette question, je commencerai par rappeler en quoi consiste, selon son inventeur, ou plutôt l’inventeur de son appellation, le “sophisme

socratique”, puis je montrerai à quelle condition il est reconnaissable dans le Lysis. (a) Le “sophisme socratique” est décrit par Geach de la façon suivante: (A) si vous savez que vous prédiquez correctement un terme donné “T”,

vous devez “savoir ce que c’est que d’être T” au sens d’être capable de donner un critérium général pour affirmer qu’une

chose est T; (B) il est

inutile d’essayer de parvenir au sens de “T” en donnant des exemples de choses qui sont T. En fait, (B) suit de (A). Si vous pouvez déja donner une description générale de ce que signifie “T”, alors vous n’avez pas besoin d’exemples pour parvenir au sens de “T”; si d’autre part il vous manque une description générale de ce type, alors, étant donné l’hypothèse (A), vous ne pouvez savoir que des exemples de choses qui sont T sont des exemples appropriés, car vous ne savez pas quand vous prédiquez “Τ᾽ correctement.’ De cette description, ne subsiste plus sous la plume de Vlastos que le dernier point: Si vous ne savez pas ce qu’est F, vous ne saurez pas si vous prédiquez correctement “F” d’une chose quelle qu’elle soit — vous ne saurez pas si quelque chose que ce soit est F.

(b) Dans le Lysis, où c’est bien entendu l’amitié qui occupe la place de la variable

T de Geach

ou F de Vlastos,

ce dernier diagnostique

la présence

du

“sophisme socratique” dans les derniers mots prononcés par Socrate, à savoir, Nous croyons être amis — car moi aussi je me compte parmi vous — alors que nous n’avons pas encore été capables de trouver ce qu’est l’ami.

(223 b 6-8) On a dans ces mots le “sophisme socratique” si et seulement si on procède aux transformations suivantes: Nous croyons être amis

Nous ne savons pas si nous sommes amis (= si nous prédiquons correctement “ami” de nous-mêmes)

3 Geach (1972), 33.

Michel Narcy

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183

Alors que nous n’avons pas encore puisque nous n’avons pas encore été été capables de trouver ce qu’est l’ami | capables de trouver (= nous ne savons pas) ce qu’est l’ami

C'est-à-dire si on fait rejaillir l’incertitude exprimée en second lieu (l’incertitude sur ce qu’est un ami) sur la croyance dont l’expression précède celle de l'incertitude, la croyance que nous sommes des amis, si l’on entend, autrement dit, dans le verbe «croire» (oiesthai) usité par Socrate sa différence avec le verbe «savoir», le fait précisément que croire est ce à quoi on est réduit quand on ne sait pas; bref, si l’on entend,

dans

la croyance,

le doute.

C’est

à cette

condition,

et à cette

condition

seulement, qu’on peut lire dans les mots par lesquels Socrate prend congé des deux garçons le “sophisme socratique”: si croire c’est douter, alors Socrate leur dit en effet «nous ne savons pas si nous sommes des amis puisque nous ne savons pas ce qu'est l’ami». C'est, littéralement cette fois, le raisonnement que tient Socrate dans l’Hippias majeur, ce qui donne évidemment une raison non négligeable de lui prêter le même dans le Lysis: Comment peux-tu juger si un discours est bien ou mal fait, si telle action est bonne ou mauvaise, si tu ignores ce qu’est le beau ? (304 d 8 - e 2) Là, on a un qu'est F (le beau) d’une que Socrate

exemple sans équivoque du “sophisme socratique”: si tu ne sais pas ce beau), tu ne sais pas si tu prédiques correctement F ou -F (beau ou non chose quelconque (un discours, une’ action). Ce qui peut faire penser raisonne de la même façon dans le Lysis, c’est que le Lysis, comme

l’Hippias majeur, se termine — ou plutôt, dans le cas du Lysis, s’interrompt —, sans qu’on ait réussi à trouver la définition (ici, celle de l’ami*) dont on était en quête. Plusieurs différences méritent cependant d’être signalées. (1) Dans l’Hippias majeur, le “sophisme socratique” fait objection à la certitude d’Hippias de savoir ce qu’est le beau (304 a 7-b 3)°, certitude que n’ont pas entamée les apories suscitées par Socrate. Mon propos n’est pas ici d’entrer dans les raisons que peut avoir Hippias de garder ainsi ses certitudes®: je veux seulement souligner la singularité de la situation finale de l’Hippias majeur, à la fois (a) par rapport à la fin

4 Celle de «ce qu’est l’ami» ou, selon l’énoncé initial de la question, de «qui devient ami de qui» (212 a 8-b 1). 5 «Voilà ce qui est beau et précieux: être capable de mettre sur pied un discours en bonne et due forme, au tribunal, au conseil ou dans quelque autre instance à laquelle a affaire le discours, de s’en aller, après

s’être montré convaincant, en emportant, non

les plus minces,

mais

plus grandes des récompenses, le salut de sa personne et de ses biens et celui de ses amis.» 6 J'ai indiqué au moins l’une de ces raisons dans mon commentaire (1984), 89.

les

184

Le Socrate du Lysis est-il un Sophiste?

“normale” d’un dialogue aporétique et (Ὁ) par rapport à la fin du Lysis: (a) la règle de la réfutation, c’est que l’interlocuteur de Socrate reconnaisse lui-même sa défaite: mis en échec par Socrate dans sa ou ses tentative(s) de définition, il se déclare, au contraire d’Hippias, privé de certitude au point de ne plus savoir quoi dire. (0) Pas plus que l’Hippias majeur, le Lysis n’est conforme Non que les deux jeunes gens y montrent face à Socrate l’opiniàtreté acceptant l’une après l’autre chacune des suggestions de Socrate, ils même docilité à toutes ses objections. Ce n’est donc pas l’un d’eux,

à cette règle. d’un Hippias: cèdent avec la mais Socrate,

qui finit par déclarer «je n’ai plus rien à dire» (222 e 7). (2) Ce n’est pas ce constat d’échec qui met fin au dialogue. Comme l’explique aussitôt Socrate, qui est le narrateur, sa déclaration («je n’ai plus rien à dire») n’était de sa part qu’une provocation; il ne songeait à se retirer ainsi de la discussion que

dans l'espoir de se trouver, parmi les assistants plus âgés que Lysis et Ménexène, ses deux jeunes interlocuteurs, un remplaçant qui lui succéderait dans le double rôle qui a été le sien jusqu'ici, de répondant et de questionneur?. Mais les pédagogues, survenant à ce moment, ont mis un terme définitif à la discussion en intervenant

«comme des démons» (223 a 2). Étant donné l’importance pour Socrate de son daimön, il est vraisemblable que la comparaison n’est pas faite à la légèref: qu’estce qui peut donc légitimer la comparaison, à des êtres (les démons) pour qui le Socrate de l’Apologie (sans parler de celui du Banquet) professe un indéniable respect, de deux pédagogues, c’est-à-dire probablement des esclaves, sans doute de. surcroît trop vieux, ou trop incapables, pour se voir confier d’autres tâches que d’escorter les enfants, et en plus de cela, précise Socrate (223 b 1), pris de boisson ? C’est probablement ce dernier détail qui donne la clé de la comparaison: si les

pédagogues sont ivres, en effet, c’est pour avoir un peu trop profité des libations faites à Hermès, dont on célébrait la fête cet après-midi-là° — Hermès, le dieu de la communication, le messager des dieux: dans un contexte socratique, n’est-il pas

7 C'est normalement le répondant qui déclare «Je n’ai plus rien à dire», s’avouant ainsi réfuté. Puisque Socrate a jusqu'ici tenu à lui seul en réalité les deux rôles, on pourrait croire — et on croit couramment — que, désireux de poursuivre la discussion (cf. Centrone [1997], 12, 138), il souhaite simplement avoir désormais le véritable répondant qui lui ἃ fait défaut jusque-là. Mais dans cette hypothèse on ne comprend pas pourquoi, si Socrate cherche un remplaçant aux deux garçons, leur départ met fin à la discussion. L’interruption du dialogue ne s'explique que si, Socrate déclarant n’avoir plus rien à dire, il s’attend à ce qu’un autre croie pouvoir le remplacer vis-à-vis des deux garçons qui, eux, n’ont montré aucun découragement. . ® On peut également douter que des démons puissent être pour lui des «divinités maléfiques», comme le lui fait dire ici la traduction de Croiset (1921). A. Croiset a malheureusement fait école: voir par exemple Pucci (1971) et encore récemment de Oliveira (1995). L’acception péjorative ainsi donnée par Croiset au mot daimön ne fait cependant pas l'unanimité: Diano (1934) traduit plus littéralement come non so che demoni; Robin (1950): «pareils à je ne sais quels Génies»; Centrone (1997): come demoni. ? Au moment de leur intervention, le soir tombe (223 ἃ 5).

Michel Narcy

185

tentant de voir en lui le dieu du dialogue

et précisément

des démons,

dont

on

apprendra dans le Banquet qu’ils sont les intermédiaires entre les dieux et les hommes ? Peut-être l’ivresse des deux esclaves n’est-elle donc que la métaphore d’une

inspiration,

peut-être

fait-elle d’eux

des

instruments

du

dieu, c’est-à-dire

littéralement «des sortes de démons». La comparaison de Socrate n’a dans ce cas rien d’arbitraire: arrêté dans son élan comme il l’est d’habitude par son propre démon!°, l'intervention des deux esclaves est pour lui «le signal habituel, celui qui vient du daimön!!, signal que, sans qu’il s’en soit aperçu et peut-être sans qu’il sache pourquoi, la discussion a en réalité déjà atteint son but.

(3) A la différence, en effet, non seulement de l’Hippias majeur, mais de la plupart des dialogues ayant pour objet la recherche d’une définition, l’objectif initial

du Lysis n’était pas de trouver la définition de ce qu’est un ami!2, C’était, on a trop tendance à l’oublier quand on range le Lysis parmi les dialogues aporétiques, de faire connaître à Hippothalès «ce qu’il-faut dire ou faire pour obtenir les faveurs de

son aimé» (206 c 2-3). Dire, à la fin du dialogue, qu'il croit être l’ami des deux garçons, c’est de la part de Socrate indiquer, à l’intention cette fois d’Hippothales qui assiste ἃ la scène autant que des garcons ἃ qui il lance ces mots, qu’il a atteint son but, qu’il a réussi là où Hippothalès jusqu’à présent échouait: à se lier d’amitié avec Lysis. Libre à nous, naturellement, d’être sceptiques quant à la réalité du succès de Socrate, mais le fait est que Socrate, lui, ne manifeste aucun scepticisme, au contraire: «car moi aussi, dit-il, je me compte parmi vous», façon de souligner la distance parcourue depuis le début de son entretien avec Ménexène (212 a), où il

s’emerveillait de voir les deux jeunes gens amis quand lui-même ignorait jusqu’à la façon dont on devient ami d’un autre, mais façon aussi de donner sa pleine portée au

«nous» qu’il vient de prononcer («nous croyons être amis», et non pas «vous croyez être amis», ou «vous croyez que nous sommes amis, mais...»); façon de souligner,

autrement dit, que la croyance dont il parle est aussi la sienne. Nous aimerions peutêtre avoir là-dessus le sentiment des deux garçons: nous ne l’aurons pas, ils sont déjà partis. De sorte qu’il n’y a que Socrate dont nous soyons sûrs qu’il croit a 10 Au témoignage en tout cas de Platon, les avertissements donnés à Socrate par son démon sont toujours négatifs: cf. Apologie de Socrate, 31 d.

11 Cf. Euthydème, 272 e 3-4: τὸ εἰωθὸς σημεῖον τὸ δαιμόνιον.

12 Cette proposition ne vaut, j’insiste sur ce point, que pour l'objectif initial du dialogue. À la question de Sedley (1989), 107-108, je ne réponds donc pas de façon aussi catégoriquement négative que lui, ni, dans la mesure où j’y réponds comme lui, pour la même raison. Mon argument n’est pas que la question socratique («qu'est-ce que X — ici l’ami ou l'amitié — ?» n’a pas été posée: la question «qui est ami ?» (cf. 212 a 8) est, dans le grec de Platon, indécise entre désignation et définition (cf., au début du Ménon, le refus de Socrate de répondre à Ménon, refus motivé par le fait qu’il ignore «qui» ou «ce qu'est» la vertu [τίς ἐστι ἡ &petñ]), de sorte qu’on peut considérer qu’à partir du retour de Ménexène le dialogue est devenu un dialogue de définition. Mais cela ne signifie ni qu’il l’était initialement, ni que son objectif initial (que Socrate montre à Hippothalès quels discours il faut tenir pour se rendre cher à celui qu’on aime) ait jamais été perdu de vue.

186

Le Socrate du Lysis est-il un Sophiste?

l’amitié entre les deux garçons et lui. Peut-être, naturellement encore, a-t-il tort d’y croire; peut-être «cet homme qui toujours le réfute»!? lui en ferait-il le reproche et

lui

opposerait-il

précisément,

comme

dans

l’Hippias

majeur,

le

“sophisme

socratique”: à la difference de l’Hippias majeur, Socrate dans le Lysis ne paraît pas s’en soucier. Il se peut, autrement dit, que la croyance de Socrate tombe sous

l’objection dite “sophisme socratique”, et c’est probablement ce qu’anticipent les lecteurs qui lisent ce raisonnement dans les derniers mots du dialogue. Mais ce n’est pas le raisonnement que tient Socrate. Socrate, lui, tout au contraire, dit se passer, pour croire être l’ami des deux garçons, d’une définition de l’ami, ce qui suppose,

en accord

avec

les logiciens

modernes

qui tiennent

l’exigence

socratique

de

définition pour un sophisme, qu’il puise ses raisons de croire ailleurs que dans ladite

définition. II Voila donc le Socrate du Lysis exempté du “sophisme socratique”. Il n’est pas quitte pour autant de l’accusation de sophisme ou de fallacy. Si, en effet, de la conclusion du dialogue (223 b), nous remontons en arrière de quatre pages (Stephanus), nous trouvons (219 c 1-220 Ὁ 7) l'argument sur le prôton philon, argument qui, on va le voir, sous une autre plume que celle de Platon, en l’occurrence celle d’Aristote, pourrait fort bien mener à une conclusion positive du dialogue. Le raisonnement de Socrate est ici le suivant: chaque chose que nous aimons, chaque chose qui nous est philon, nous l’aimons en vue d’une fin (la médecine en vue de la santé, la santé en vue d’une autre fin, et ainsi de suite); tout philon a par conséquent sa définition hors de soi, de sorte que, allant toujours de fin

en fin, de philon en philon, nous ne parviendrons jamais à en définir aucun et que la recherche d’une définition du philon est vaine, à moins

qu’il n’existe un prôton

philon, un philon qui ne renvoie plus à autre chose et qui soit par conséquent luimême la fin en vue de laquelle il est aimé et, dans la mesure où il est le seul à avoir cette propriété, la fin en vue de laquelle tous les autres aussi le sont. Cette condition du succès de la recherche d’une définition de “l’ami” ou du philon, Socrate l’énonce de la façon suivante:

Ne faut-il pas refuser d’aller ainsi (scil. de philon en philon), et aboutir à un principe qui ne nous renverra plus à un autre philon, (aboutir) à cela qui est le prôton philon, en vue duquel toutes les autres choses aussi, nous disons

qu’elles sont aimées ? (219 c 5-9)14 13 Hippias majeur, 304 ἃ 2. 14 je lis et traduis comme Irwin (1995), 54 et n. 6 et Centrone (1997) (voir note ad loc.): ’Ap’ οὖν οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἀπειπεῖν ἡμᾶς οὕτως ἰόντας καὶ [ἢ Schanz edd.] ἀφικέσθαι ἐπί τινα ἀρχήν,

Michel Narcy

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187

Dans l’argument, apparemment contraignant (ἀνάγκη, répond Ménexène) que fait valoir ici Socrate, Terence Irwin a distingué deux éléments: (1) la nécessité, pour qu’un objet d’amour (philon), c’est-à-dire une fin, puisse être défini, d’arrêter quelque part l’enchaînement des moyens et des fins; (2) l’implication que cette fin

doit être unique. Entre les deux, écrivait Irwin en 1977, Socrate opère un «passage fallacieux (a fallacious move)!5. Voici donc une nouvelle fallacy, un nouveau sophisme mis au compte de Socrate dans le Lysis, et celui-la, nous allons le voir, il

est beaucoup plus difficile de l’en disculper. La première tentative en ce sens a été le fait d’Irwin lui-même. Comme Ja remarque

en a été faite depuis longtemps!f, le raisonnement de Socrate présente une analogie frappante avec celui par lequel Aristote, dans l’Ethique à Nicomaque

(I, 2, 1094 a

18-22), démontre l’existence du bien, ou plus exactement du «bien le plus grand» (τἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ ἄριστον), par rapport auquel tout autre bien est relatif, parce que c’est en vue de celui-là que nous désirons tous les autres — à tel point que supposer l’inexistence de ce «bien le plus grand» condamnerait le désir de tout autre bien supposé à être sans objet et vain (ὥστ᾽ εἶναι κενὴν καὶ ματαίαν τὴν ὄρεξιν). Cet argument, écrivait Irwin en 1977, «explique peut-être l’affirmation de Socrate»!7.

Malheureusement,

cette tentative d’innocenter

Socrate d’un

nouveau

sophisme

tourne court: le sophisme qu’Aristote éviterait à Socrate, Elisabeth Anscombe l’avait d’ores et déjà diagnostiqué chez Aristote lui-même. «De “tous les enchaînements doivent s’arrêter quelque part”, avait-elle écrit en effet, à “il y a un

point auquel tous les enchaînements doivent s’arrêter”8, il paraît y avoir chez Aristote une transition illicite»!?: les points de départ et d’arrivée de cette «transition illicite» sont, on le voit, exactement les mêmes que ceux du «passage fallacieux» indiqué par Irwin dans le Lysis. Irwin le reconnaissait d’ailleurs dans une note: «le

sophisme (fallacy) dans le Lysis

est attribué à Aristote par Anscombe»?. A moins

donc d’une réfutation de la critique adressée par Anscombe a Aristote, le recours a ce dernier se révèle inutile?!.

ἣ οὐκέτ᾽ ἐπανοίσει En’ ἄλλο φίλον, [ἀλλ᾽ ἥξει) ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνο 6 ἐστιν «τὸ» πρῶτον φίλον, οὗ ἕνεκα καὶ τὰ ἄλλα φαμὲν πάντα φίλα εἶναι; 15 Irwin (1977), 52. 16 Voir par exemple Croiset (1921), 150 note 1 de sa traduction du Lysis.

1 Irwin (1977), loc. cit. 18 De ἀνάγκη mov στῆναι, peut-on traduire, à ἀνάγκη που στῆναι πάντα, ou mieux: ἀνάγκη ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ στῆναι πάντα.

19 Anscombe (1958), 34. 20 Irwin (1977), op. cit., ch. I, n. 54. La même année qu’Irwin, Annas (1977), 532-554 portait le même diagnostic que lui sur l’argument du prôton philon, mais elle en exemptait le raisonnement de l’Ethique à Nicomaque qui, selon elle, démontre seulement qu’il existe au moins une fin désirable en soi. 2! Au lieu de la réfutation attendue, c’est une lecture entièrement différente du passage litigieux du Lysis qu’on trouve dans la deuxième version du livre d’Irwin (1995): il n’y est plus question de sophisme, ce qui entraîne la disparition du recours à Aristote et dispense d’en entreprendre

188

Le Socrate du Lysis est-il un Sophiste?

Une autre parade due à Vlastos. Dans en effet 4 Irwin son selon le raisonnement être en soi-même un

au danger de sophisme dans l’argument du prôton philon est une note complémentaire de son Socrates??, Vlastos reproche interprétation du prôton philon. Au lieu de comprendre que, de Socrate, ce qui est choisi en vue d’un bien ultérieur ne peut bien? et qu’il n’existe en conséquence qu’un seul et unique

bien, Vlastos interprète le prôton philon du Lysis à la lumière de sa propre analyse de l’Euthydème, dans lequel il lit une conception «pluricomponentielle»*4 du bonheur: l’homme vertueux lui-même, argumente Vlastos, est plus heureux s’il est riche et en bonne santé que s’il est pauvre et malade; sans être pour autant le bien

suprême, richesse et santé sont donc en elles-mêmes des biens‘: une chose peut contribuer au bien suprême sans un bien partiel ou relatif, certes, un bien tout de même, qui peut manière de vivre considérée dans

cesser pour autant d’être en elle-même un bien — et même un bien éventuellement non moral, mais à ce titre fournir une raison suffisante, non à notre sa totalité, mais à telle ou telle action donnée.

Bien qu’elle se veuille une réplique à Irwin, cette nouvelle parade au danger de

sophisme chez Socrate doit autant à Aristote que celle que suggérait Irwin luimême: non seulement, en effet, on y reconnaît sans peine la thèse aristotélicienne sur la valeur intrinsèque des biens extérieurs, mais les exemples mêmes utilisés par Vlastos, la richesse et la santé, fournissent chez Aristote l'exemple d’un sophisme secundum quid:

la défense contre Anscombe. Bien loin en effet d’identifier le raisonnement de Socrate avec : celui par lequel Aristote établit l'unicité du «plus grand bien», Socrate, écrit maintenant Irwin, «ne dit pas combien il y a d’objets premiers d'amour». De l’exemple utilisé par Socrate (un père qui, préférant son fils à toute autre chose, accorde la plus grande valeur à ce qui peut le sauver d'un danger de mort [Lysis, 219 ἃ 5-e 107), Irwin conclut en effet ([1955], 54-55) que, d’un point de vue purement psychologique, sinon proprement rationnel, «Socrate pourrait maintenir de façon consistante qu’il y a plusieurs objets premiers d'amour, tels que définis dans le Lysis»: rationnel, en tout cas au regard de Socrate, le comportement de ce père en effet ne l’est pas, si l’on garde en mémoire la démonstration donnée ἃ Lysis au début du dialogue (207 d 5-210 d 8), selon laquelle il n’y a rien en lui qui soit digne d’étre aimé aussi longtemps qu’il est dépourvu de sagesse; dépourvu de rationalité, puisque c’est son fils, et non pas la sagesse, que place au-dessus de tout le père qu’imagine maintenant Socrate, son comportement n’est pourtant pas privé de cohérence: des fins rationnellement non justifiables peuvent constituer, par conséquent, les justifications psychologiquement suffisantes de nos comportements, c’est-à-dire constituer autant de prôta phila. (Telle est du moins la façon dont on peut justifier la nouvelle position d’Irwin dans les termes du Lysis: considérant que l'unique fin rationnelle aux yeux de Socrate est, non pas la sagesse, mais le bonheur, Irwin,

lui, fait par là appel à l’Euthydème plutôt qu'au Lysis, ce qui s’explique probablement par l'intervention de G. Vlastos dont il va maintenant être question.) 22 Vlastos (1991), 306-307 (Additional note 8.6: «On Ly. 219B-220B) = trad, fr. par Catherine Dalimier (1994), 415-416.

23 Cf. Irwin (1977), 85.

24 Vlastos (1991), 232 (trad. fr. Dalimier [1994], 319).

25 Vlastos (1991), 231

(trad. fr. 318): «The difference to our happiness these can make

is

minuscule. But goods they are (Grg. 467 e 1-468 Ὁ 4, 499 c 6-500 a 3; Ly. 218 e; Euthyd. 279 a-b; Men. 78 c, 87 e)».

Michel Narcy

189

La santé (ou la richesse) est-elle un bien ? Mais pour l’insensé ou pour qui n’en use pas correctement, elle n’est pas un bien; par conséquent elle est et n’est pas un bien.26 Autrement dit, dénier à richesse et santé une valeur intrinsèque, c’est pour Aristote un exemple-type de sophisme, et Vlastos en tombe d’accord avec lui, puisque la

conception pluricomponentielle du bonheur implique de les qualifier sans équivoque comme des biens. La question est: Vlastos a-t-il raison d'attribuer cette conception au Socrate de l’Eurhydème et par voie de conséquence à celui du Lysis ? Tout d’abord, où Viastos trouve-t-il, dans l’Eufhydème, la conception pluricomponentielle du bonheur ? Bien entendu, dans ce qu’on considère traditionnellement comme le “protreptique” de Socrate (278 e 3-282 d 3). Pour lire, cependant, dans ce “protreptique” la conception pluricomponentielle du bonheur, il faut s’en tenir à sa seule première partie (278 e 3-280 b 3), dans laquelle Socrate procède à l’énumération classique des différents biens (biens extérieurs: richesse, santé, beauté; naissance, pouvoir, honneurs; biens de l’âme, c’est-à-dire les trois vertus cardinales, tempérance, justice et courage, auxquelles Socrate ajoute la sagesse, sophia), comme d’autant d’éléments entrant dans la composition d’un

bonheur complet. Mais Socrate ne s’en tient pas là: si, à la liste traditionnelle des biens, il a ajouté la sophia, c'était pour montrer aussitôt en elle la condition sans laquelle aucun des biens énumérés jusque-là n’est à proprement parler un bien — la condition sine qua non du bonheur, par conséquent. Socrate n’a en effet pas de peine à faire admettre que la richesse ne présente d’utilité, n’est donc un bien, que pour autant qu’on en fait usage, et bon usage, pour autant donc qu’on sait s’en servir: pour autant qu’on possède, autrement dit, la sophia nécessaire. La

proposition, naturellement, ne vaut pas seulement pour la richesse, mais pour tous les biens dont Socrate a dressé une liste d’ailleurs parfaitement conforme à la moralité commune. Aucun de ces biens, soutient Socrate, y compris encore une fois les trois vertus cardinales, tempérance, justice et courage, n’est un bien s’il n’est

accompagné de sophia (plus loin epistémé??7). Si ce n’est pas là faire explicitement de la sophia le composant unique du bonheur, c’est en tout cas la faire apparaître, parmi tous les composants du bonheur, comme l’unique nécessaire. De l’unique nécessaire au suffisant, le pas n’est pas grand: condition sine qua non du bonheur, et seule à bénéficier de ce statut, la sagesse n’est pas loin d’en apparaître comme la condition nécessaire et suffisante. Vlastos, en d’autres termes, a peut-être raison de penser que l’homme vertueux est plus heureux s’il est riche et en bonne santé que s’il est pauvre et malade; peut-on prêter l’argument à Socrate ? C’est moins sûr.

26 Aristote, SE 25, 180 b 9-10: ἀρ’ ἡ ὑγίεια ἢ ὁ πλοῦτος ἀγαθὸν; ὀρθῶς χρωμένῳ οὐκ ἀγαθόν’ ἀγαθὸν ἄρα καὶ οὐκ ἀγαθόν,

27281 a3, 5, 9; b 2, 3.

ἀλλὰ

τῷ ἄφρονι

καὶ μὴ

190

Le Socrate du Lysis est-il un Sophiste?

Considérons en effet le traitement que ces exemples mêmes, la santé et la richesse (les deux premiers biens de la liste dressée par Socrate), reçoivent de la part de ce dernier:

—

Un

homme

trouverait-il avantage

à posséder beaucoup

et à agir

beaucoup, tout en étant dépourvu d'intelligence, ou plutôt à posséder et agir

peu... Agissant moins, il se tromperait moins, se trompant moins, il ferait moins de mal, et faisant moins de mal il serait moins malheureux ? — Absolument, dit-il. — Est-ce en étant pauvre qu’on pourrait agir le moins, ou en étant riche ? — Pauvre, dit-il — En étant de constitution faible ou robuste? — Faible. (Euthydème, 281 Ὁ 6-c 5)

C'est ce que dit en d’autres termes le sophiste anonyme d’Aristote: pour l’insensé ou? pour qui n’en use pas correctement, la santé (ou la richesse) n’est pas un bien. Ce qui, ceperidant, chez Aristote, signe le sophisme, ce n’est pas cette prémisse, mais la conclusion:

par conséquent elle est un bien et n’est pas un bien. C’est bien aussi la conclusion que tire Socrate??:

28k ai: au vu de l’argumentation de Socrate, il est tentant de traduire «c’est-à-dire». 29 Ce point, et par conséquent l'identité entre le raisonnement de Socrate dans l’Euthydème et le sophisme signalé par Aristote, sont contestés par Dorion ([1995], note 387). Les lignes 281 d 3-9 sont décomposées par lui en deux prémisses (A: dirigées pas l’ignorance, richesse et santé sont des maux; B: contrôlées par la prudence et le savoir, elles sont des biens) et une conclusion (C: elles n’ont en elles-mêmes aucune valeur, différente de la conclusion incriminée par Aristote: elles sont un bien et ne sont pas un bien). À quoi on peut objecter (a) que de A et B à C, Socrate ne passe pas par un «donc», mais par un «mais» (δε): entre A et B d’une part, C d’autre part, le rapport n’est pas d’inférence, mais de disjonction entre trois cas (μέν... δέ... δέ...); (Ὁ) qu’en soutenant que richesse et santé sont dans tel cas des maux plus grands que leurs contraires, dans tel autre cas de plus grands biens, Socrate soutient bel et bien qu’elles sont des biens et ne sont pas des biens, même s’il ajoute un troisième cas, celui où, n’étant guidées ni par l'ignorance ni par la sagesse, elles ne sont ni des biens ni des maux: on trouverait facilement un parallèle à cet enchaînement dans le livre D de la Métaphysique, où Aristote explique comment «ceux qui tiennent le discours de Protagoras», après avoir dit qu’une chose est 4 et non A, n’ont d’autre ressource pour échapper à la contradiction que de dire qu’elle n’est non plus ni A ni non A (1008 a 4-6); (c) qu’en tout état de cause, il n’est pas niable que Socrate conclut que richesse et santé ne sont des biens que secundum quid, et leur refuse toute valeur ἁπλῶς», ce qui n’est autre que la conclusion incriminée par Aristote.

Michel Narcy

191

tout ce que nous avons d’abord déclaré être des biens. si c’est l’ignorance?0

qui les conduit, ils sont de plus grands maux que leurs contraires, mais si c’est l’intelligence et la sagesse (phronésis kai sophia), de plus grands biens, mais aucun d’entre eux n’a en lui-même aucune valeur (Euthydème, 281 d 3-

9), ils sont ef ne sont pas des biens, selon que c’est ou non la sophia qui les mène. Ce n’est donc plus cette fois Geach, Vlastos, Irwin, Annas ou quelque autre de nos contemporains qui repére un sophisme dans une démonstration de Socrate, mais Aristote.

Mais puisque c’est le Lysis qui nous occupe ici, on pourra objecter que ce dialoguelà du moins ne prête pas le flanc à la critique d’Aristote, puisque ce n’est pas dans ce dialogue que Socrate fait l’éloge de la sophia aux dépens de la santé et de la richesse. Certes, mais (1)

si l’on

doit

renoncer

à-eréditer

le Socrate

de

l’Euthydéme

d’une

conception pluricomponentielle du bonheur, la parade imaginée par Vlastos à la possibilité d’un sophisme dans l’argument du pröton philon s’effondre; (2) ce qui, dans l’Euthydème, conduit Socrate à commettre le sophisme dénoncé par Aristote, c’est une doctrine qu'il professe également dans le Lysis, appliquée seulement à un objet différent, l’amitié à la place du bonheur. Tout comme, en effet, dans l’Euthydème Socrate enseigne à Clinias que ce qui fait le bonheur, c’est la sophia, de même, dans le Lysis, enseigne-t-il au jeune éponyme du dialogue que c’est la sophia, et rien d’autre, qui fait l’amitié ou plus exactement les amis: si tu deviens sage, lui enseigne-t-il en effet, ce ne sont pas seulement tes

parents qui t’aimeront, mais tous seront tes amis (209 c 9 - d 2); si tu ne l’es pas, en revanche, nul ne sera pour toi un ami, pas même tes père et mère ni l’un quelconque de tes parents (210 d 2-4). Si le sophisme de la santé et de la richesse est absent du Lysis, sa racine, la doctrine de la sophia unique nécessaire, y est, elle, bien présente, et il est légitime de voir

dans le sophisme du pröton philon une autre de ses versions. On n’a pas coutume de considérer comme sophistique l’éloge socratique de la sophia. Tel pourtant qu’il est développé dans le Lysis, il avait de quoi ranger Socrate, aux yeux de ses contemporains, parmi les sophistes. Pourquoi en effet,

selon Socrate, la sophia procure-t-elle des amis ? Parce que celui qui la possède, celui qui, dans son domaine, fait preuve de compétence, de façon générale, donc, le

sophos, est utile à ceux qui s’assurent son concours. Conception utilitariste de l’amitié, en vertu de laquelle Socrate ne craint pas d’affirmer qu’il n’y a rien de plus 30 Ou

la sottise: amathia.

Cf. l’exploitation du double sens de ce mot par les deux

l'explication qu’en donne Socrate à Clinias (275 d 3-278 Ὁ 2).

sophistes,

et

192

Le Socrate du Lysis est-il un Sophiste?

dans l’amour que ses parents portent 4 Lysis que dans l’intérét que peut éprouver pour lui n’importe quel étranger à qui il pourrait se rendre utile: l’emportant sur toute autre considération, la sophia efface toute distinction entre parents et étrangers, et réduit tout rapport avec autrui au même calcul intéressé. Ce Socrate-là, on l’avouera, n’est pas très éloigné de celui d’Aristophane. Comme on sait, aucun historien de la philosophie ne s’est cru obligé de prendre au sérieux le jugement d’Aristophane sur Socrate. Beaucoup, de même, n’ont pas cru devoir prendre à la lettre l’utilitarisme de la conception de l’amitié enseignée au jeune Lysis. De même, en effet, que la conjugaison d’un sens spirituel avec le sens - littéral permet aux exégètes de l’ Ancien Testament d’y faire apparaître la pédagogie

divine, de même on peut se livrer à une lecture pédagogique du Lysis, selon laquelle l’apparent utilitarisme de Socrate n’y serait qu’une façon de mettre ses jeunes interlocuteurs, et avec eux les philosophes débutants, sur la voie des doctrines platoniciennes à la fois les plus élevées et les mieux attestées dans les dialogues de la maturité — maturité cette fois, non seulement de l’auteur, mais de ses lecteurs. Lu, en effet, à la lumière des dialogues platoniciens postérieurs, l’entretien avec

Lysis laisse entrevoir «certains éléments fondamentaux de la paideia philosophique de Platon»?!; à telle enseigne que même l’aspect égoïste et utilitariste de la philia, «s’il est compris correctement, peut être intégré à la conception socraticoplatonicienne du bien»??, À la seule condition, en particulier, d’entendre la sophia,

et corrélativement le sophos, dans un sens plus élevé qu’une simple compétence d’ordre pratique et précisément utilitaire, on pourra, dans l’identification du sophos comme le seul philos, lire, non la scandaleuse réduction de toute relation à l’utilité, mais un protreptique à la philosophie, et, plus loin, pressentir dans le prôton philon l’objet révélé par la sophia véritable, soit le Bien. Conséquence de cette dualité, voire duplicité, du Lysis: Socrate apparaît comme un philosophe ou un sophiste suivant le point de vue d’où on le regarde. En lisant le

Lysis ou l’Euthydème, nous comprenons

que ce qui pouvait le faire apparaître

comme un sophiste aux yeux d’un Aristophane (ou à ceux de l’un des deux-cent-

quatre-vingt-un héliastes qui votèrent sa condamnation), c’était probablement ce qui suscita l’admiration de Platon et des générations postérieures: le zèle, ou l'enthousiasme, qui lui faisait tenir la sophia pour l’unique nécessaire.

Pareille expression peut surprendre, appliquée à Socrate: c’est Dieu, en effet, qu’ascétes, moines et mystiques, au long de l’histoire du christianisme, ont tenu pour l’unique nécessaire. A la lumière cependant de l’Euthydème et du Lysis, ou du moins des deux passages protreptiques qu’on peut isoler dans ces dialogues (le premier entretien avec Clinias dans l’Euthydème, l'entretien avec Lysis hors la présence de Ménexène dans le Lysis), Socrate apparaît comme l’ancêtre de cette 31 Centrone (1997), 122. 32 Ibid., 123.

Michel Narcy lignée, rempli d’un zèle pour la sophia d’autres, leur zèle exclusif pour Dieu.

193 qui lui fait rejeter le monde

comme,

à

Ce que nous trouvons à la racine du sophisme de la santé et de la richesse dans l’Euthydème, de celui du pröton philon dans le Lysis, c’est, en résumé, ce que je propose d’appeler, en prenant le terme en un sens weberien??, le monothéisme de la sophia professé par Socrate. Au monothéisme, on peut naturellement préférer le polythéisme: c’est en somme ce que font, d’Aristote à Anscombe ou Annas, ceux qui reprochent à Socrate de ne pas reconnaître la valeur en soi de la santé et de la richesse ou de n’admettre qu’une seule fin au désir; c’est ce que font aussi ceux qui, comme Vlastos, cherchent au contraire à innocenter Socrate d’une telle intolérance en lui prêtant une conception pluricomponentielle du bien. Mais, encore une fois, il n’est pas dit que Socrate partage la préférence de ses interprètes les plus bienveillants, et ce sont peut-être ses critiques qui ont raison, ceux qui tiennent pour sophisme sa thèse de la suffisance de la sophia. Maintenant, l’accusation de

sophisme est-elle ici autre chose que l’expression d’une divergence doctrinale, voire idéologique ? En d’autres termes, qu’est-ce qu’un sophisme — et qu’est-ce qu’un sophiste ? Quand Aristophane amalgame Socrate aux sophistes ses contemporains, est-ce pour des erreurs de raisonnement, ou pour les doctrines, à ses yeux scandaleuses, qu’il soutient ? Inversement, les erreurs de raisonnement incriminées par les modernes sont-elles autre chose que l’expression d’une conception de la vie qui nous est étrangère ? Je conclurai sur la question posée par Myles Burnyeat: «comment décidons-nous à quel moment un philosophe se trompe purement et simplement sur un concept, et à quel moment il travaille avec (ou préconise) un

concept différent de celui auquel nous sommes habitués ?»55. La question, naturellement, ne vaut pas seulement pour Socrate. Elle se pose à propos de tous ceux, anciens ou modernes, à qui nous accolons l’épithète de sophistes. CNRS, Paris

33 «Les dieux de l’Olympe, pour parler comme Max Weber, sont naturellement en conflit», écrit Raymond Aron à propos de la doctrine weberienne du choix des valeurs [1967] (1976), 527. 34 Pour Anscombe, par exemple, l’argument d’Aristote selon lequel, s’il n’est pas possible de leur assigner un seul et unique but ultime, nos désirs seraient inutiles et vains, cet argument est inopérant pour nous, à la différence des anciens ou des médiévaux, parce que, avant même de nous demander si l’enchaînement des moyens et des fins doit s’arrêter, “nous ne sommes pas enclins à croire qu’il doive même commencer; et il peut certainement s’interrompre là où il s’interrompt, sans nécessité pour lui d’avoir pour terme un but qui paraisse en soi ultime, le même pour toutes les actions” ([1958], loc. cif.). Ce n’est donc pas tant pour des raisons tenant à la logique que le raisonnement d’Aristote nous choque (cf. la «transition illicite») que pour des raisons qui tiennent à la morale — à la nôtre — et qui nous empêchent d'entrer dans ce raisonnement. 35M. Burnyeat, Introduction au Théétète de Platon (Narcy [1998], 164, 278).

Socratic Elenchus in Consistency Testing

Plato’s

Lysis-More

than

just

James L. Siebach and Mark Wrathall I. Introduction

Vlastos’ interpretation of the place of the Lysis in the development of Plato’s thought is driven by his view of the elenchus. Plato, as Vlastos tells it, gradually lost faith in the elenchus as a method for arriving at moral truths. Because on his view the elenchus aims for truth by testing some interlocutor’s “premise set” for consistency, Vlastos considers it essential to the “standard elenchus” that “a thesis is

debated only if asserted as the answerer’s own belief and is regarded as refuted only if its negation is deduced from his own beliefs.”! Given this understanding of the elenchus, it is no surprise that he finds no elenctic inquiry in the Lysis. Vlastos concludes that Plato has no faith in the truth of any of the conclusions in this, or, for that matter, any of the other elenctically-ditched dialogues (e.g., Hippias Major or Euthydemus).

The reason for the loss of faith, Vlastos explains, is the implausibility of the assumption needed to derive the truth of one’s beliefs from their consistency with one another.

One must assume that there will be, in every set of beliefs, some true

belief which will entail the negation of each false one. On Vlastos’ story, Plato gradually came to realize how difficult it was to justify this assumption, and thus abandoned the elenchus as a method for arriving at truth in the later dialogues. Donald

Davidson,

however,

understanding of the elenchus.

has

recently

proposed

a different,

Rather than serving as a method

constructivist for consistency

testing, the elenchus, on Davidson’s view, is primarily a means of meaning and belief formation. If we accept this view, there are two important consequences. ! Vlastos (1994a), 4.

James L.Siebach and Mark Wrathall

195

First, we arrive at a very different appraisal of the Lysis.

We begin by supposing

that Socrates’ interest in the discussion is motivated as much by his desire to clarify and form his own beliefs, as by a desire to straighten out his interlocutors’ premise set. In doing so, we see Socrates’ practice of the elenchus in the Lysis as a direct continuation of the method used in earlier dialogues. Second, Socrates’ unreflective

faith in the elenchus as a method for arriving at substantive truths is vindicated.

If

we adopt Davidson’s reading, the indefensible assumption that Vlastos articulates simply is not necessary. In this paper we review Davidson’s criticisms of Vlastos’ analysis of Socratic elenchus. Using a Davidsonian view of language and its relation to the world, we will show how the elenchus can be defended as a method for arriving at substantive moral truths. We shall argue that Socrates’ confidence in using the elenchus to discover and justify moral truths is well-founded and that Socrates need not make the additional philosophical assumptions Vlastos proposes. We shall then propose a reading of the Lysis which shows that this dialogue continues in the Socratic practice of the elenchus and, indeed, progresses towards truths about friendship. “ὌΝ

II. A. Vlastos’ view of the elenchus

Vlastos reconstructs the Socratic elenchus, which he calls the “standard elenchus,” as follows: 1. The interlocutor asserts a thesis, p, which Socrates considers false and targets for refutation. 2. Socrates secures agreement to further premises, say q and r (each of

which may stand for a conjunct of propositions). The agreement is ad hoc: Socrates argues from {g, r}, not to them. 3. Socrates then argues, and the interlocutor agrees, that g & r entail not-p. 4. Socrates then claims that he has shown that not-p is true, p false.? The elenchus, on this view, is primarily a search for truth and the elenctic structure of Socratic dialectic has as its object the discovery of truth through inquiry and

investigation: this form of inquiry is essentially Socratic philosophy. Furthermore, Socrates is not interested in all truths, but almost exclusively moral truth and thus the elenchus is a form of enquiry into moral truth. Socrates never examines, for example, the nature and necessity of his own elenctic procedure. It is simply

assumed to be the means by which moral truth is to be pursued.

By contrast, Plato

uses the elenchus in his middle dialogues, for example, to correct mistakes, and the

2 Jbid., 11.

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Socratic Elenchus in Plato’s Lysis

elenchus plays, for him, a purely negative, rather than a heuristic, role.?

IL. B. Socrates’ mis-understanding of the elenchus

Vlastos believes there is a serious flaw in Socrates’ understanding of what the elenchus actually discovers.

In Vlastos’ own words,

What Socrates in fact does in any given elenchus is to convict p of being a member of an inconsistent premise-set; and to do this is not to show that p is false but only that either p is false or that some or all of the premises are false. The question then becomes how Socrates can claim... to have

proved that the refutand is false, when

all he has established

is its

inconsistency with premises whose truth he has not tried to establish in that argument; they have entered the argument simply as propositions on which he and the interlocutor are agreed.‘ Socrates fails to understand, in three respects, what the elenchus can accomplish. A. Focusing on number 2 of the “standard elenchus,” Vlastos says Socrates does not see “that the premises {g, r} from which he deduces the negation of the opponent’s thesis in any given argument are logically unsecured within that argument.”> Socrates only secures the interlocutor’s assent to the theses, while

failing to provide or demand any rational support for them. The theses are not “selfcertifying” and so cannot be the foundation of any demonstrative argument. Neither; are g or r widely accepted by all or most of the wise (Aristotle’s requirement)® and so cannot serve as the basis for the sort of dialectical argument employed in moral enquiry. The theses, then, being unsupported in any straightforwardly rational fashion, can not yield further deductions which would, taken together, constitute a proof even if the set of beliefs is consistent. B. Socrates’ second failure follows from his first: he thinks he has shown

not-p is true and p is false, whereas he actually has only shown p and not- p are part of a larger set of inconsistent beliefs no one of which is shown to be demonstrably false.

C. Lastly, Socrates complements failure two-false belief he has refuted his opponent-with another false belief he has proven his own beliefs true. But clearly if the elenchus has not refuted his opponent, it has not proven the truth of his own beliefs.

3 Ibid., 5. Cf. Meno 81C-82A. 4 Ibid. 3. 5 Ibid., 13. 6 In the Nicomachean Ethics.

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II C. Rescuing the Elenchus.

Vlastos proposes to rescue Socrates from his elenctic failure by introducing two crucial assumptions: Α΄. Whoever has a false moral belief will always have at the same time true beliefs entailing the negation of the false belief. Β΄. The set of elenctically tested moral beliefs held by Socrates at any given

time is consistent.’ From assumption A’ it follows that any interlocutor who holds to a false thesis will have an inconsistent set of beliefs—an inconsistency which is evidence that at least one of the interlocutor’s beliefs is false.

Socrates knows that if, for example,

an

interlocutor called him on his assertions that the interlocutor’s original thesis is refuted

by

the demonstration

of inconsistent

another argument in which the thesis is refuted.

beliefs,

he could

easily

construct

That is, if the interlocutor jettisons

4, a belief inconsistent with the overall thesis p, Socrates would simply “re-load” the elenchus focusing more directly on other beliefs clearly inconsistent with p and in this manner show that so long as the interlocutor remains committed to p he will have an inconsistent set of beliefs. The fact that inconsistencies will persist as long as the interlocutor holds to a given thesis consequently provides inductive support for the falsity of that thesis. Thus, this assumption appears to rescue Socrates from failure B. A’ and B’ rescue Socrates from failures A. and C. because an entirely

consistent set of beliefs which contains some beliefs one knows to be true will contain only true beliefs. If he can know that he has some true beliefs, and that his entire belief set is consistent, then he need not provide independent justification for

each individual belief in the set. He may not know it is true, in the sense of having adequate justification for the belief, but he can have every confidence in its truth. III. The Elenchus as a means for finding truth

Vlastos’s account of the elenchus buys into an assumption characteristic of many

contemporary views of language and mind-namely, that our propositional states can have the content they do independently of any connection with the things in the world they purport to be about. It is only on such an assumption that the prospect which bedevils Vlastos’s version of the elenchus-the prospect of a consistent but

false set of beliefs-is at all coherent.

Davidson’s reading of the elenchus,

in

contrast, is premised on a very different view of language and our propositional TVlastos (1994a), 25, 28,

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Socratic Elenchus in Plato’s Lysis

states.

If, as Davidson

argues, a largely true set of beliefs is a condition of our

language and thought having content at all, then it follows that Socratic dialectic does more than merely test for consistency. The elenchus, Davidson claims, should be viewed in terms of what he calls “triangulation,” by which he means the process

of two interlocutors communicating their perspectives on an object (thus forming a triangle), thereby “coming to an agreement about an object and coming to understand each other’s speech.”®

The beliefs which survive such elenctic scrutiny

are consequently entitled to a presumption which, while weaker than Vlastos’ A’, equally secures a presumption in the truth of any consistent set of beliefs: Α΄.

There is a presumption that one’s serious (firmly held) moral beliefs are

true.? Some might object to A” on the grounds that if one already has a justified presumption in favor of the truth of seriously held moral beliefs, it makes the elenchus superfluous as a tool for establishing a presumption of truth. There are two answers to this objection. First, consistency with other serious beliefs contributes:to the warrant we have for holding the belief, and thus strengthens the presumption of its truth. Second, the elenchus in fact (as is clear from Socrates’ use of it) is intended as more than just a consistency tester. It is itself a tool for acquiring serious moral beliefs. This second answer points the way to a richer conception of the elenctic method. The elenchus, Davidson claims, should be taken as a model of the process of belief formation and meaning clarification. The meaning of our words is determined by the actual contexts of their use and the content of those beliefs is, for the most part, neither precise nor necessarily present to us. This content can, of course, be clarified—but the clarification is as much fixing

of content as it is discovering it. But there is a more serious objection to A" it seems false. After all, most of us know someone with seriously held moral beliefs which, if not patently false, are at least directly contrary to our own seriously held moral beliefs. What, then, would justify such an assumption? Davidson’s answer depends on his account of language.

He begins from the fact that human beings use language and succeed in understanding each other, and he asks what makes that understanding possible. To give content to the thoughts and assertions of others, Davidson claims, we must be able to ascribe truth conditions to their propositional states. A theory of truth can only apply to a speaker, however, if that speaker’s utterances have a content which is about the world.!° Indeed, from the fact that a language can be learned by one completely unfamiliar with that language it follows that the content of utterances must be about the world. The same holds for beliefs. We have no basis for 8 Davidson (1997), 432. 9 Davidson (1992a), 53. 10 Davidson,

“Empirical Content”, in LePore (1986), 332.

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attributing beliefs to others beyond whatever correlations we can discover between their behavior and the world. It thus follows that an interpreter “must take into account the causal interaction between world and speaker in order to find out what

the speaker means, and hence what he believes.”!! But Davidson goes beyond simply noting that in order to interpret others, we need to

correlate their behavior (verbal and otherwise) with the world. He makes the further argument that we can not have meaningful beliefs or utterances at all unless we are interpreted by others. This is because there can be no way of determinately fixing the cause which gives our beliefs and words their meaning until we enter into relationships of interpretation with others. We cannot fix them, because we cannot get outside our skins, so to speak, to locate the causes of our beliefs. To do this, we need the assistance of another who is able to correlate similarities in our behavior

with similarities in the circumstances which seem to prompt that behavior.

Once an

observer is able to correlate these similarities, a location can be given to the relevant

cause of the other’s response.'? our beliefs.

This kind of “triangulation” gives a rough focus to

But it does not guarantee us a determinate content for our thoughts, nor

does it assure us clarity about what we believe. To achieve determinacy and clarity, we need to add something to the basic triangle-communication between two or more interlocutors who share a largely similar orientation to the world. As one interlocutor interprets the other-that is, as she fixes the truth conditions of the other’s utterances—only then does the utterance of the other come to have a definite content. But because this content is fixed objectively-that is, by the interpreter

relating the utterances to the state of the world which prompts them-it is not possible for the interpreter to find her interlocutor largely mistaken in her beliefs.” And since it is this process of mutual interpretation which in fact fixes the content of our most basic beliefs, it is not possible to be profoundly mistaken about the world. This fact about the conditions of intentional content vindicates assumption A” by showing that there is a general presumption in the truth of our most central beliefs,

for an error in these would introduce widespread error into the rest of our beliefs. Enough such errors would threaten our intelligibility. This is, then, a sort of “transcendental” argument, for it relies on the proof that a condition of the possibility of intelligibility is being generally correct about the world. We can conclude that whenever someone is intelligible, he or she must have generally correct beliefs. This, finally, gives us a presumption in favor of the veridicality of

those beliefs. Of course, error is still possible-even among our most seriously held beliefs.

Polus

and Callicles in the Gorgias, for instance, continue to insist that it is better to do an

injustice than to suffer one, even after they are shown that other central beliefs they N τρία. 12 Davidson (1992b), 263. | 13 «A Coherence Theory of Truth and Knowledge,” in LePore (1986), 317.

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Socratic Elenchus in Plato’s Lysis

have entail the opposite result.

So there is nothing about such “transcendental”

considerations which tells us which of our beliefs are true and which are false.

But

we can know that we have a great body of true beliefs-indeed, that any seriously held belief is entitled to some presumption of correctness. From this we can know that if we find a belief to cohere well with the rest of our beliefs, we have strengthened the presumption in its favor. In Davidson’s view, therefore, Socrates was quite right that we are entitled to presume truth on the basis of consistency. The purpose of the elenchus, however, is not just, nor even primarily, the examination of one interlocutors’ beliefs in search of consistency. Instead, the search for consistency is part of a more general attempt to come to an agreement on what the interlocutors think. In the process of coming to an agreement, the interlocutors also fix the content of their beliefs in such a way as to lend those

beliefs a presumption of truth referred to in A’. On Davidson’s reading, the elenchus must be understood in broader terms than those admitted by Vlastos-terms which, we contend, more closely accord with Socrates’ own understanding of the method: the elenchus is “a crucible in which some of our most important words, and the concepts they express, are tested, melted down, reshaped, and given a new edge. It is a microcosm of the ongoing process of

language formation.”!*

It is precisely this process of language formation, however,

which entitles us to a presumption in the truth of our beliefs. Because the content of our beliefs is fixed (in large part) by what it is in the world which in standard cases

causes us to hold those beliefs, it can not be the case that we are globally mistaken about the way the world is.

The elenchus should consequently be seen, Davidson

suggests, as the “nexus in which thought and concepts

are formed

and given

meaning,” or the “forum in which alone words take on meaning and concepts are slowly clarified.’’!5 That is to say, if we view people as being practically engaged in the world in such a way that we can attribute beliefs to them, even while recognizing that none of us has a perfect reflective clarity about the beliefs we possess, then we can see elenctic interchange as itself giving content to our beliefs. And if we see language as something created by speakers in the very process of communication, then we can see Socratic dialectic as forming meanings, rather than merely testing them. It appears, then, that Davidson’s view justifies Socrates’ belief that there are

necessarily true beliefs in any belief set, thus entailing that a consistent set of beliefs is a true

set;

the

elenchus

can

do

everything

Socrates

supposes.

And,

as a

consequence, Vlastos’ methodologically transitional dialogues, Lysis, Euthydemus, and Hippias Major, are nothing of the sort: rather they are a continuation of the same Socratic project we see from the earliest representations of the elenchus.

14 Davidson (1994), 435. 15 Davidson (1997), 8.

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IV. Reading of Lysis

We now consider briefly how Davidson’s understanding of the elenchus informs a reading of the Lysis. According to Vlastos, Plato despaired of justifying the assumption necessary to make Socratic dialectic capable of discovering truth.

Asa

result, he viewed transitional dialogues as attempts by Plato to “ditch the elenchus.” Davidson in fact accepts this general story about the evolution of the elenchus in Plato’s thought with one qualification—Davidson believes that in the Philebus Plato

manifested “ἃ renewed confidence in the elenchus, supplemented and refined in various ways, to arrive at truth by way of consistency.”!® If Davidson’s defense of the elenctic method is right, and there is more to the elenchus than testing the consistency of an interlocutor’s beliefs, the Lysis can be

read as continuing in the Socratic use of the elenchus.

Socrates, throughout the early

dialogues, uses the elenchus in an effort to form, in himself and his interlocutor, true beliefs. Consistency testing is an important part of this process, but it is just one part. Socrates continues to use fhe elenchus in this way in the Lysis, and, consequently, he makes positive elenctic discoveries; e.g., love is to be understood as desire for the good (217C, E), and that the primary good is good apart from any concept of utility and everything else which is dear is so because of the good (219D, 220B).!” The participation of Lysis and Menexenus is sufficient for triangulation, even if they are not testing their own sets of beliefs. Together they clarify the content of concepts central to their understanding of the world and their place in it. This joint clarification lends these concepts a presumption of truth for, as Davidson argues, in order for them to have content at all, they must bear some relation to the way the world is. This presumption is strengthened to the degree that Socrates finds these beliefs to be consistent. There are beliefs in the Lysis which are presumed true—beliefs such as that Lysis and Menexenus are friends. These beliefs form the basis for the elenctic inquiry, which

aims at simultaneously coming to understand the ways in which philia and its cognates are used in colloquial speech, and clarifying and fixing the content of the interlocutors’ beliefs about philia.

To accomplish these aims in triangulation, it is not necessary that the thesis under investigation originate with the interlocutors; it is enough that the interlocutors respond to his proposals in good faith.

Socrates needs primarily to discover when

they agree with him, and, when they do not, why not. At no point in the Lysis is he toying with hypothetical propositions

as “the masters of dispute” (216A)

might;

16 Davidson (1993), 102. 17 Seeing these as positive discoveries is consistent with Charles Kahn’s proleptic reading of the Lysis.

See Kahn (1996), 282 ff.

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Socratic Elenchus in Plato's Lysis

instead, he is engaged with interlocutors who have a familiarity with friendship, and a keen interest in understanding it (see 213D, 218C). Thus, although Socrates does indeed propose most of the theses on friendship,!* there are points at which the interlocutors disagree, hesitate, ask for clarification, etc. If Davidson’s account is right, we would expect to see Socrates pursuing the simultaneous clarification of the meaning of terms as they are commonly used, together with the gradual discovery of the logical structure of those terms. In the course of doing this, he will clarify for himself as well as for the other participants

just what it is that they believe about friendship-beliefs which are held in common and thus entitled to a presumption of truth, and what is entailed by those beliefs. And this is exactly what Socrates does. The dialogue is anchored at crucial points by the unproblematic acceptance of several propositions; e.g., the belief in the friendship between Lysis and Menexenus. Others include the propositions that no one will count us his friend or love us in matters in which we are of no use (210C, reaffirmed at 222B), for instance, or that true love or friendship terminates in something intrinsically good rather than something loved for the sake of something

else (219C-220B). The discussion with Menexenus beginning at 211E is best understood as highlighting ambiguities in the colloquial use of the term for friendship and love. In one sense, the word ‘friend’ is reserved for those who reciprocate love. In another sense, something is a friend, or dear, to the one who loves it. In a third sense,

someone is a friend to those he loves. Menexenus’ confusion results from his inability to see that, until philon is disambiguated, there is no way to settle the extension of the term. But that Socrates is not similarly confused is indicated noting later in the dialogue that, in saying that we are friends to something sake of some further thing, we are “us[ing] a term with regard to them belongs to another . . . . [D]o we not appear to be in reality friendly only with

which all these so-called friendships terminate?” (220A-B).

by his for the which that in

Socrates is perfectly

able, then, to disambiguate the different senses of a univocal

term-in this case,

between friendship in a genuine sense, and friendship only as a manner of speaking. Nevertheless, Menexenus’ role ‘in the dialogue is crucial-he, or some other interlocutor, is necessary in order for Socrates to confirm to which cases the term is applied in general usage. Final conclusions cannot be made about what a friend is until it is clear who a friend is. But, by the same token, it is not possible to ask meaningfully the “what” question without at least a preliminary delimitation of the ” “who

!8 But not all. Lysis proposes, for instance, that his parents do not hinder him in some matters but do in others according to his understanding of the matters in question (209C). This leads directly to the conclusion that we are only “counted as friends” or “loved” in those matters of which we possess knowledge and thus are of use (210C-D).

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The “what” question is pursued by Socrates and Lysis. Three possibilities appear— friendship is to be understood in terms of a desire for that which is like, opposite, or neutral. All three possibilities lead to inconsistencies, but none are dismissed

outright. Again, final conclusions on friendship await further refinement of the object to be understood. If we want to understand what it is to be a friend in the sense of being dear to the lover, then we might very well want to cash this out in

terms of the relationship of desire which holds between that which is neither good nor bad and that which is good. Such a relationship could not, however, explain reciprocal friendship (as Socrates is quick to point out). Similarly the first

possibility, friendship which appears between the like, is not jettisoned at the end of the dialogue. Rather, Socrates implies this concept must become the subject of another discussion (222B). An important the elenchus to formulate a content for apparently generating inconsistencies, is Socrates makes considerable progress in

achievement the concept amenable to mapping out

of this section is the use of of friendship which, though further elucidation. Indeed, the logical interconnections

between the concept of friendship and other concepts, thereby approaching a clear understanding of the concept. For that reason, the generation of an inconsistency is not immediate cause for dismissing the proposed content. On the Davidsonian view, then, the interlocutors are crucial to Socrates’ own process of fixing the meaning of his terms and clarifying the structure of his beliefs. This dialogue clearly shows Socrates using the elenchus to accomplish what Davidson calls triangulation—namely, fixing the meaning and content of his concept of friendship in the course of interpreting the views of others on the subject. The discussion with Menexenus uncovers the necessity of disambiguating colloquial uses

of philia. The discussion with Lysis clarifies to some extent the logical structure of the concept and points up where further clarification is necessary. Finally, to the extent that Socrates can, through conversation with the boys, bring a measure of coherence to his beliefs on friendship, he is entitled to a presumption in the truth of

his beliefs-a presumption which is further strengthened in the discussion in the Symposium.

Brigham Young University

The Lysis and the Symposium: aporia and euporia? Christopher Rowe I

The chief question I wish to raise is about the genuineness or otherwise of the state of aporia which Socrates claims to have reached by the end of the Lysis. It is of course one of those dialogues which formally ends in aporia,! and so is reasonably classed as one of the ‘aporetic’ group; insofar as the so-called ‘Socratic’ dialogues are typically apotetic, it will also count as ‘Socratic’.? I shall have little or nothing to say about the second description of the Lysis, as ‘Socratic’, though if ‘Socratic’ means “aporetic’, and ‘aporetic’ means ‘at least formally ending in aporia’, there is

no reason to quarrel with it. The question I propose to address is whether, as M.M.McCabe (M.) claims, probably in line with current trends in Platonic scholarship,’ the end of the Lysis exhibits a real aporia; or, more generally, what the real outcome, or outcomes, of the dialogue are.

My disagreement with M.° can be stated quite simply. I believe that she (in common ! For the opposition aporia / euporia in my title, see (e.g.) the description of Eros the philosopher in Symposium 203c-204a, and Mackenzie (1988), 16-19. 2 So M.; ‘Plato’s Lysis is a “Socratic” dialogue, in the sense that it ends in a declared impasse, as the discussion of friendship grinds to an unresolved halt’ ([1988], 15).

? See n.1 above.

4 One major exception will be Kahn (1996); see also the Appendix to the present paper. > A written response from M. to my original paper has persuaded me that the disjunction real / ‘specious’ aporia that I deployed there was simplistic. She suggested at least a threefold distinction, between (i) manufactured aporiai, whose solution is obvious, (ii) genuine aporiai whose solution can be achieved, ‘but not necessarily yet, or by [the present] means’, and (iii) genuine aporiai which are, or which Plato thought of as, genuinely insoluble. In terms of this threefold distinction, I shall conclude that the case of the Lysis is something of a cross between (i) and (ii): that is, it uses transparently artificial means to set up a genuine aporia, or at least an aporia which genuinely arises if the question about the nature of philia is approached in the way Socrates and the others are approaching it. $ It goes without saying that the purpose of the present paper is not simply to disagree with M.; I use her essay as my starting-point because it is a particularly well-argued statement of a different point of view (and was in fact the main original stimulus to my own reflections).

Christopher Rowe

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with others, though not necessarily for the same reasons) has underestimated the amount of constructive work, at a first-order level, that is going on at least in the last main movement of the Lysis — work which is then (I claim) set aside by artificial means in order to achieve an aporetic format for the dialogue as a whole. At the same time, the resulting aporia has positive implications at a second-order level, insofar as it invites us — as it ought to invite Socrates’ interlocutors in the dialogue -to think more deeply about how the question about philia should be handled. I thus remain fundamentally sympathetic to M.’s overall reading of ‘the nature of Socratic aporia’,’ as teaching us ‘about the shape of understanding and the nature of good form in philosophical inquiry’.® I accept that ‘[t]he impasse urges us to continue to

inquire; the methods that it teaches us show us how to conduct that inquiry’;? I differ from M., here, only over what is actually taught (or ‘taught’) at this second-order

level. However it is the first-order. ‘teaching’ of the Lysis that will be the main focus of the present paper.

The paper will be structured as follows. First, in the next section (Section II), I shall first give a sketch of what seems to me a remarkable, and so far insufficiently remarked, overlap between the complex set of ideas Socrates develops in Lysis 216c-221d and the ideas that he reports himself in the Symposium as having learned from Diotima; I shall then ask about the consequences of this overlap for our reading

of the Lysis. In this section, I shall have to cut numerous corners: in particular, there will clearly not be space for the full discussion of Diotima’s argument which would strictly be required. For such an account, I must simply refer to my treatments elsewhere.!° So far as the present paper goes, my question will then be in part a hypothetical one: if there is the degree of connection that I propose between the parts in question of the Lysis and the Symposium, what implications might this have for our understanding of the strategy of the Lysis? That is, given that the context of the

Symposium is not only not aporetic, but is dressed up in the guise of ‘teaching’ (what Diotima used to teach Socrates), what are we to make of the fact, or what I suppose (and will argue, however incompletely) to be the fact, that the Lysis presents what is a remarkably similar set of ideas within a familiar ‘Socratic’ framework of aporia and impasse?

There are of course large issues to be raised about the status of Diotima’s ‘teaching’, and of ‘Diotima’, in the Symposium itself. However the mere appearance of a similar

complex of ideas in another dialogue, and in a non-aporetic context, might itself constitute a prima facie case for supposing that Plato’s interest in those ideas was more than a passing one. Nor, whatever we finally conclude about Diotima, can we ? Mackenzie (1988), 22. 8 Ibid., 23. 9 Ibid.

10 Le., to Rowe (1998a), and Rowe (1998b). (It is of course the outcome of my own reading of the Symposium that lies behind my apparently provocative remark that the overlap between Lysis and Symposium has been ‘insufficiently remarked’.)

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The Lysis and the Symposium: aporia and euporia?

entirely gloss over Socrates’ ringing declaration, at the end of her treatment of eros,

that he is ‘convinced’ (Symposium 212b2) of what she has said: to some degree or other, he will be endorsing the sorts of notions he failed to endorse in the Lysis. But this is to go too fast. Why should it not be that what had once been a complex set of moves within an exercise of a different sort (in the Lysis) was later used (in the

Symposium)!! for a different purpose? And are not at least some parts of Diotima’s ‘teaching’ sufficiently problematical, or odd, to make on Socrates’ assent to it? Perhaps Plato just found it the Lysis as the basis of an account of eros which seriously, or as no less provisional, than its ancestor; abandoned in the light of further consideration —

it hard to set much importance convenient to lift material from is itself to be taken no more after all, ‘convictions’ may be and for what it is worth, the

conversation supposedly recorded in the Symposium is likely, in dramatic terms, actually to predate the conversation of the Lysis — when Socrates is already an old

man (223b5).!2

|

One sure outcome of such uncertainties is that it will not be helpful to rest my own

argument exclusively on parallels between the Lysis and the Symposium: quite apart from the fact that in this paper I shall not be able to establish these parallels with the precision required, they might on their own still be consistent with a reading of the Lysis of the type offered by M. i.e., as centered on, and having its main point arising out of, impasse. I shall therefore turn, in the second main part of my argument (Section III), to an analysis of that moment in the argument of the dialogue which allegedly blocks further progress, i.e., 221d-222d. What will emerge from this analysis is that no genuine reversal of the outcomes of the preceding section (216c-221d) is achieved, and that those outcomes therefore appear — for the sharp-minded reader (or interlocutor) — to remain on the table. This

is in itself hardly a new conclusion: so for example Charles Kahn too finds in 216c221d the ‘implicit positive conclusion of the Zysis’.'? Kahn’s analysis, however, is

largely predicated on his view of the Lysis as proleptic of, or prefiguring, the Symposium, and he gives no detailed treatment of ‘Socrates’ final aporetic flourishes’. As I have indicated, my own handling of the Lysis, though it has many points of contact with Kahn’s, attempts to go back to first principles — and my reading both of the ‘implicit positive conclusion of the Lysis’, and of the Symposium, is in fact different from his. If the outcomes of 216c-221d ‘still stand’ (to use Kahn’s phrase), that does not mean

that they amount to the complete account of philia and fo philon that is required, 1 Or vice versa (unless the chronological posteriority of Symposium definitively

established,

which

I am

inclined

to

doubt;

cf.

text

to Lysis is to be taken as below,

and

the

general

implications of Kahn’s ‘proleptic’ thesis). 12 The further possibility, that the Symposium is not to be taken seriously at all, hardly need detain us.

13 Kahn (1996), 290.

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either apart from or together with the other elements of the dialogue. Socrates is not pretending not to have reached a solution, when he has one ‘up his sleeve" all along. He particularly does not have a simple solution of the sort suggested by his summing up at 222e (‘the philon is neither what is loved, nor what loves, nor what is like nor

what is unlike, nor ...᾽). What he does have is further, insofar as it has been -- so far — left abandonment of that thesis need be treated moderate subterfuge. In the terms set by the

a complex thesis which might be taken unscathed; and the sudden (apparent) as no more than a matter of fairly discussion as a whole, the question of

the nature of the philon has perhaps been taken as far as it can be, or alternatively as

far as Plato now wants to take it, and Socrates simply switches back to the playful tone of the opening parts of the conversation in order to bring things to an end. The

implicit result of the conversation is to suggest that if they are still looking for a solution along the lines of 222e (‘the philon is what is loved, or what loves, or ...’), as they were in the earlier stages, then they have reached an impasse, but that if they

are prepared to move on from there in the direction of more complex solutions, then there may be a way forward — and moreover, they and we have a model of the kind of method we need in order to pursue it.!4 TS

II In this section, as promised, I shall outline and discuss the implications of the connections between Lysis 216c-221d and Diotima’s teaching in the Symposium. At Lysis 216b8-9, Socrates has concluded that if like cannot be philon to like, neither

can opposite be philon to opposite: for how (e.g.) could good and bad be phila to each other? He now suggests, in 216c, that maybe what is neither good nor bad, when it comes to be that (as it does),!5 may be philon of the good. Here already is something that is obviously related to some of Diotima’s fundamental claims about Eros, and eros, in the Symposium: that Eros is neither beautiful nor ugly, neither

good nor bad; that one only ever loves or desires what one lacks; and that the good is the universal object of love or desire (205e-206a). The ignorant Socrates thinks that love is of the beautiful, but he is wrong (206e), except perhaps insofar as the good is

also beautiful (204e, with 201c).!6 The Socrates of the Lysis himself now (216c6-7) also introduces the idea of the beautiful as what is philon: at any rate, he suggests, it resembles something soft, smooth and liparon, which is perhaps just why it slips

14 The closest parallel for Socrates’ strategy might be the Euthyphro — if one could be sure of what his dark statement at 14al-3 (‘you turned aside just when you were on it ...’) is actually referring to.

15 Tf this is the force of οὕτω ποτὲ γιγνόμενον, c3.

16 That Diotima's position here (i.e., on the true object of love or desire) is clearly and consistently separated from that of her ‘pupil’ — a Socrates who is for the moment adopting Agatho's unreflective views — is one of the key aspects of my reading of the Symposium (see Rowe [1998a] , esp. ad 206e2-3).

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The Lysis and the Symposium: aporia and euporia?

through

our fingers;!?

‘for I say that the good

is beautiful’.'® Thus,

again

like

Diotima (Symposium 204e), he shifts from talk about the beautiful to talk about the good (216d2, with d3-4 and d5-7).!

After getting rid of the possibility that what is neither good nor bad might be philon of what is like itself (i.e., neither good nor bad), Socrates in Lysis 217a-218a takes the case of the body (regarded as being in itself neither good nor bad, 217b2-3), which ‘welcomes and loves / desires’ the doctor’s art because bad, i.e., disease, is ‘present’. in it without actually making it bad. The latter kind of ‘presence’ of badness, i.e., presumably, when it is a matter of terminal disease, would deprive it of its ‘desire and philia’ (217e8-9) of the good (medicine), which it also lacks when healthy (217a4-6). Just so (218a-b) neither the wise nor those who ‘possess ignorance in such a way as to be bad’ (218a4-5) philosophize (are philoi of sophia); philosophizing is only done by those who still think they don’t know what they

don’t know (218b1). The result is that the philon is this: what is neither good nor bad, in the case both of the soul and of the body ‘and everywhere’ (i.e., in all cases), is philon of the good because of the presence of bad (218b8-c2). Diotima does not bring in the body in quite the same way, but the connection of philosophy with a

state between wisdom and outright amathia is of course central to her description of Eros (Symposium 203a-204b: ‘no wise person ever desires to become wise’, etc.). The motivations for the introduction of philosophy in the two contexts look rather different: Diotima is describing Eros, but also (implicitly) Socrates, that embodiment of rational desire, while philo-sophia in the Lysis is — on the surface, at any rate —

simply a case, if a central one, of philia, which any account of to philon will have to fit (Symposium 202a, however, also used the state between wisdom and ignorance as an example to illustrate the notion of betweenness).2 But the next stage in the argument in both Lysis and Symposium is again remarkably similar in form.?! 17 ῥᾳδίως διολισθάνει καὶ διαδύεται ἡμᾶς, 21607.

Lombardo, in the Hackett translation (=

Cooper [1997]), following Jowett, mistranslates this as ‘slides and sinks into us’, which has no relevance to the argument). (David Robinson also queries Lombardo’s translation here [1998], 292.) 18 So what is true about the beautiful (that-it resembles something soft, etc.) will also explain a fact about the philon, i.e.,that it eludes us.

19 Tt is not made clear in either the Lysis context or that in the Symposium what exactly the

relationship is between the good and the beautiful; but just as the beautiful drops out as a distinct object of eros in the Symposium, so after 216d in the Lysis argument it does not appear as a distinct object of philia (and indeed does not appear again at all). 20 If, and insofar as, Eros in the Symposium stands in for eros (desire), it may also be useful to ask what the implications are for eros of calling Eros a philosopher.

2! Incidentally, Diotima’s argument at 204b might seem to create problems for my claim that she identifies the good as the object of eros (see above): Eros must be a philosopher, she says, in between wisdom and ignorance, because wisdom is one of the most beautiful things, Eros is eros περὶ τὸ καλόν — which looks as if it ought to mean (and could in fact mean, as a matter of Greek idiom) that he is eros of the beautiful. I think it significant, however, she avoids saying quite this, as indeed she must avoid it, given that she will shortly explicitly deny it; and it is easy enough to recast the argument in terms of the good rather

and and just that and than

Christopher Rowe

209

In the Lysis, Socrates proceeds to set up a problem: someone who is in a relation of philia to someone or something is so (Menexenus agrees) for the sake of something

(218d7-9), and that something will itself be philon. Illustrating this with the example of health, he gets the result that what is philon is philon (of / towards something, i.e, medicine) for the sake of the philon (health) because of the bad and echthron (disease); but then by the principle of 218d7-9, the philon for the sake of which the

philia is will itself be philon for the sake of something philon, and so on. In order to prevent an infinite regress, he introduces the notorious pröton philon (219c7-d2), for

the sake of which all the preceding phila in the chain will be phila. That will be the real object of philia, i.e., the thing to which the spoudé which seems to attach to the other phila properly attaches (219d5-220a1, with the example of the man who wants

to save a son observed to have imbibed hemlock); so what is really philon is not after all philon for the sake of something philon (220b4-5). After this, at 220b7, Socrates again picks up the basic point proposed in 216c2-3, that it is the good that

is the object of philia, as a preliminary to a complicated exercise (220b-221e) designed to disarm the paradox — already set up in 219b2-3 — that the good seems to have turned out to be the object of philia because of the bad. In fact, he argues, even

if the bad disappeared altogether, we would still desire the good; it is not after all the bad that is the cause of a thing’s being philon, but rather desire itself -- and what desires, desires what it lacks (220e1-2). We now seem to have an acceptable, and fleshed-out, version of the proposal in 216c: what is neither good nor bad (i.e., in itself: now our desire, or the desiring subject) is philon of (or ‘desires and loves’, 221b7-8) what is good (which will now be something not philon, or desired or loved, for the sake of some further philon thing), But then we move into the claimed impasse, which I shall consider in the next section of the paper. In the Symposium, having made Eros into a philosopher, and given a diagnosis of the

mistake Socrates made (in his guise as Agathon), Diotima immediately takes up what she describes as Socrates’

view, that Eros is of the beautiful

(τῶν

καλῶν,

204a3, which of course is ambiguous between masculine and neuter), and imagines someone asking: ‘ “Why, Socrates and Diotima, is Love of beautiful things?” -- or to put it more clearly, the person who loves, loves beautiful things: why does he love them?’ (204d4-6). When Socrates replies ‘To possess them for himself, she responds with ‘Your answer still requires a question of the following sort: what will the person who possesses beautiful things get by possessing them?’ Only when she

substitutes ‘good’ for ‘beautiful’ can he understand the question: what he will get by possessing good/beautiful things (because after all, good things are beautiful: 201c1-2) is happiness (eudaimonia) -- and no one needs to ask why anyone desires

or loves that. This thing, happiness, is what everyone, always, loves and desires (2058); we are all lovers in this sense (205b-c); people go after different things, but in fact no one desires anything except the good (205d-206a). The rest of Diotima’s the beautiful.

210

The Lysis and the Symposium: aporia and euporia?

account of eros, with its ever more curious extension of the idea that we are all lovers of the good (and of a kind of immortality), we may here set to one side; but

only after we have noted one important aspect of it, namely that it clearly indicates a unitary conception of happiness. The happy life, according to Diotima, will — at least

in terms of its broad specification — be one and the same for all.?? The preceding paragraphs are, I hope, sufficient to indicate the closeness of the connections between the argument of Lysis 216c-221d and Diotima’s argument in

the Symposium

(those parts of her argument, that is, to which I have referred,

interpreted as I propose to interpret them).?? But these connections require careful handling. Insofar as Diotima seems to treat eudaimonia as having the main special feature of the ‘first philon’ of the Lysis, i.e., as being that which is, uniquely, not desired ‘for the sake of something else, it is tempting simply to identify the first philon with eudaimonia. The most important consequence of this, and perhaps the only significant consequence, would be that there would turn out to be just a single first philon, rather than a separate one for each chain of phila. However if we do want to argue from the Symposium to the Lysis, we had better be aware that such a strategy already implies a particular resolution of a nest of larger issues about the interpretation of Platonic dialogues (see Section I above). In any case, even if he had

exactly the same set of ideas in his head when writing the Lysis as when he wrote the Symposium (something about which we are hardly in a position to be certain), we should still need to respect his decision to give a sparer and more formal account of

them in the Lysis (including a decision not explicitly to link the first philon with eudaimonia, which only appears in the first substantive part of the discussion, in 207d-210d). The Symposium in general is fancier, more showy — and indeed this in

itself creates a further problem, if we wish to use it to interpret the Lysis: just how much of Diotima’s argument ought we to read into it?2 22 This I take to be the unambiguous implication of Symposium 212a; if this reading requires any defence, I have no space to defend it here.

23 Kahn ([1997], 266) gives a list of seven points (the third of which is in my view mis-stated), extracted from ‘the bewildering twists and turns of the argument about philia’, in which ‘the Lysis hints at or prefigures important elements in the [erotic] theory of the Symposium’. That even Diotima (or rather Socrates/Diotima, since I take it that Diotima is, in dramatic terms, a fiction of Socrates’) has a coherent argument is not a proposition that would command universal assent; but see n.11 above.

2 M. argues (Mackenzie [1988], 35) that the Lysis context by itself rules out even the possibility that there might be a single first philon for all series, chiefly on the grounds that the father-son case is one where there clearly is a private, particular terminus for valuing (so that the case must be meant ‘to illustrate a series which, like the philon-series [see 220a6-7], must culminate in some terminus, private to the series’). However it still appears to me that there could be a theory — even if no such theory is even implied by the present context — of a sort that challenged the intuition that the value the father puts on his son terminates that particular series; and that the case could be meant just as a way of illustrating the difference between what is ‘really’ philon — ὃ ἂν φανῇ ὄν, as in the case of things we value: 220a4 — and what is not really so, because only philon for the sake of the real thing. (My thanks to M. for sending me a lengthy restatement of the arguments in her paper; if I am still holding out, I trust it is not

Christopher Rowe

211

I think it safer and better just to emphasize the similarity in overall structure between what Diotima offers us and Lysis 216c-221d. Instead of looking to the Symposium

for help in filling out the Lysis, I think we should simply notice that the same kind of complex argument is used in two rather different contexts, and over a fairly extended stretch of text in both cases. This (I claim) can scarcely be accidental. Two explanations suggest themselves: either it could be a matter of implicit intertextual reference (where reading the Lysis in the light of the Symposium would be one, but not the only, option);?5 or the type of argument in question has some special interest

for Plato in itself. Charles Kahn’s ‘proleptic’ reading of the dialogues would give a basis for the first type of explanation, in terms of intertextuality, and it has to be said that the extent of even the purely verbal resonances between the two contexts makes

it pretty certain that he wrote one of them with the other in mind.26 Within the narrow scope of the present paper, however, I feel unable to engage with Kahn’s general thesis. I propose to opt, provisionally, for the second and more economical

alternative (which is in any case, in broad terms, perhaps not incompatible with Kahn’s reading). But then if the relevant argument-pattern is of special interest to Plato, then we shall already be justified in wondering about the. seriousness of the apparent peripeteia in 221d-222d.

II However, as I have already granted (in Section I above), the connections between

Lysis and Symposium will not suffice by themselves to establish the case for Plato’s commitment to the argument in the Lysis. I therefore tum to the second part of that case, which rests on the quality ~ or rather the lack of quality — of the argument that is supposed to lead us into impasse. Of course it may immediately be objected that the poorness of an argument is no guarantee that Plato does not mean us to accept it. But the conditions here, I shall suggest, are special: first, the argument Socrates uses is not only poor but appalling; and second, one of the participants in the conversation is made to signal that he is aware that something is indeed wrong.?7

After Menexenus has agreed that ‘what is lacking is philon of whatever it is lacking” (222e1-2),28 Socrates advances the further proposition that ‘whatever has something from sheer obstinacy.) 25 Might the Lysis itself not be intended, perhaps, as a kind of control on the extravagances of the Symposium? 26 Again, I feel no great urgency to commit myself to saying which came first.

2 M.’s own account of 221d-222d is not, I think, detailed enough to identify the real nature of the passage. In particular, it does not investigate exactly how Socrates manages to reach the position, in 221e-222b, that the akin (oikeion) is what is philon, which is what leads to trouble. 28 The curious-sounding proposition from which this is derived, ‘what desires, desires whatever it is lacking’ (221d7-el), perhaps refers back most immediately to the idea of desire as being of the neither good nor bad for the good, with the indefinite clause indicating that there may be different substitutions for ‘the good’ in different cases.

212

The Lysis and the Symposium: aporia and euporia?

taken away from it comes to be lacking’ (e2-3); he then draws from these two propositions together the conclusion (δή) that ‘erds and philia and desire, as it seems, are really of what is akin’ (e3-5). The best that can be said for this, as it stands, is that if something (some part) is taken away from x, x will be lacking (that part), and could then (given the way the notion of ‘lack’ has been developed) be said to be of what it is lacking (the missing part of itself); so that in this case the philia is of what is akin. Anyway, Menexenus and Lysis both agree to the conclusion in e3-5, as they do to what Socrates proposes next, that ‘In that case, if you two are philoi to each other, you are somehow (rn) naturally akin to yourselves’ (e5-6). But his next move seems to meet with resistance: ‘And in that case, if anyone else desires anyone

else ... or loves him, he would never desire or love or philein him unless he were actually akin in some way to the one loved, either in soul or in some trait of soul or in his ways or looks’ (221e7-222a3). Here Menexenus says ‘Absolutely’; but Lysis keeps his silence (ἐσίγησεν). Why is this? The answer, I propose, is that Lysis — whose attentiveness, and philosophia, Socrates

remarked on earlier (211a, 213d) - is jibbing at the generalization in 221e7-222a3. If he agreed to 221e5-6, that is because he independently believes it to be true that he and Menexenus have a natural affinity to each other; that he is not accepting it as the conclusion of an' argument is demonstrated by his refusal (if that is what it is) to accept the proposition in 221e7-222a3, which he would have to accept in order to accept 221e5-6 as a conclusion from 221el-S. But that he is right to refuse (if he does) to accept Socrates’ argument is surely beyond doubt. There 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.? What Socrates is doing is, in effect, to take one feature of the philon in its last guise in 2214, namely that it is (somehow) akin to what it is philon of (how would one desire anything that was not, somehow, akin to oneself?), and treat that as if it told the whole story. The next step is to suggest that this account of the philon will be dangerously close to one they rejected earlier, that like is philon to like (222b3-c1).

But if what is akin is different from the like, then that — Socrates proposes — leads back to a position to which they had-retreated from the like / like thesis, and rejected in its tum: that it is the good who are philoi (222c1-d8). Now an attentive listener

(like Lysis), or an attentive reader, will also have noticed that the general proposition in 221e7-222a3 is in danger of cutting across the very starting-point of 216c-221d, i.e., that it is what is neither good nor bad that is philon of the good, which was introduced precisely to avoid the difficulties encountered by the like/like thesis, and

its converse. What is more, 221e7-222a3 itself seems to be phrased in such a way 29 222a6-7 then suggests that philia must therefore involve a reciprocal relationship, but presumably only for humorous purposes: so Hippothales, being a genuine lover of Lysis, must be the object of his philia ... 30 Socrates implicitly draws attention to this when he raises the question about the relationship

Christopher Rowe

213

as to call attention to the fact. Thus now the philos of someone is (somehow) akin to the one loved, ‘either in soul or in some trait of soul or in his ways or looks’ (222a23), whereas before it was what was neither good nor bad that was to be philon of the

good ‘both in soul and in body, and in all cases’ (218b8-c1). Unless we are prepared to accept that Socrates, and Lysis (and Plato, and we), are meant to accept that ‘lack’ is always a matter of something’s being taken away (the crucial move in 221e1-3),

this reversal of the earlier position is entirely without justification. Lysis’ silence at this point is more than appropriate.?! The shift to what is ‘akin’ makes a kind of sense if, as I suggested in Section I, the whole conversation is still being seen as a search for some simple formula that will pick out the essence of the philon — perhaps for some single term that will substitute for philon in all cases. Throughout, Socrates gives the impression of envisaging a close relationship between the philon and the good; and early on, in the first part of

the conversation, between Socrates and Lysis, the akin was also quietly identified with the good, or what brings benefit (210b-c; cf. 222c-d). There is, then, a way in

which the philon is identical with what is akin to us, i.e., insofar as it is (exclusively) the good that is akin — itself a key idea of Diotima’s.?? On the other hand, the simple proposition that the philon is the oikeion plainly will not do; not just because the oikeion will need further specification, but also because such an account will tend to leave out the active aspect of philia (and desire), and the nature of what does the philein. These very shortcomings are, in effect, indicated by the mischievous?? way

in which Socrates effects the transition to the oikeion in 221e. IV I conclude that there is no genuine reversal of the results of 216c-221d, and that this

in itself will help to confirm, as the parallels with the Symposium may be taken as suggesting, that Plato sets some store by them. At any rate, so far as the Lysis is

between the akin and the like in 222b-c. 31 George Rudebusch objected, in discussion, that while the move in 2216 is ‘odd’ (as he put it in subsequent correspondence), still the inference from ‘I desire / lack x’ to ‘x is akin to me’

is

good -- ‘if you’re hungry, then lunch is (probably) fitting for / akin to you’. Wilfried Kühn also made

a similar point

to me

in conversation.

(In this case,

I take

it, 2216 just becomes

a

marginal curiosity, maybe marking the change of tone that undoubtedly occurs at around that point.) However I think Rudebusch’s second inference is actually blocked in the context as it stands, insofar as Socrates has appealed in 221a-b to the ordinary notion that desire may have bad consequences.

He has not committed

himself to the idea that there are bad desires, but

even the admission that one may ‘desire harmfully’ (221b1-2) seems enough to prevent him — without a good deal more work, which he does not carry out ~ from arguing from desire to kinship. He perhaps might, then, have argued that way, but in fact does not; he therefore needs another means of getting to kinship — and the ‘odd’ inference in 221¢ thus becomes central. 32 Symposium 205e-206a. 3 Cf. Kahn (1996), 289.

214

The Lysis and the Symposium: aporia and euporia?

concerned they remain available for future use, if only for future discussion.“ Thus in one way Socrates and his partners in the conversation in the Lysis are in a state of euporia. But in another way, because they have failed to come up with an account of the philon of the kind they appeared to be looking for, they are clearly in a state of aporia. It still remains to be considered exactly what Plato’s purposes might have been in giving the Lysis — and any other dialogues that may resemble it — this particular kind of structure. But plainly, we cannot even begin to consider such larger issues until we have have grappled with the full complexities of Socrates’

arguments. Appendix: some points of agreement?” 1. The Lysis: is it about ‘friendship’? It is certainly about philia, but the extension of philia and to philon is -- uncontroversially — not limited to that of ‘friendship’; insofar as the Lysis is even about human relationships, it is ultimately trying to understand the best kind of such relationships in terms of some wider notion of desire (which may be referred to either as philia, or as epithumia, or even as erés). the dialogue ends in aporia, that is because one of its chief aims is to shake up the audience’s / the reader’s conceptions of what motivates behaviour, and of what the true object of desire, or philia, understood in a broad or a narrow sense, is. This means that the sub-title Peri philias, whoever gave it to the Lysis, is in a way accurate, but we should not lose sight of the larger context in which the discussion of philia — in the narrow sense - is set. 2. The dialogue ends with Socrates supposing himself a friend of Lysis and Menexenus (even though they have not been able to discover what a friend is). This suggests that the preceding discussion in some way illustrates the Socratic notion of what true philia, in the narrow sense, is, or of what the best such philia is. Insofar as it does this, it might be expected to throw light on what it is that motivates true

philia. But of course Socrates only thinks he is a friend — which no doubt reflects the indeterminacy conversation.

of

any

gains

that might

have

been

made

in

the

preceding

3. One must resist the temptation to interpret the ‘first philon’ in terms of the form 3 Whether or not we suppose that Diotima’s /ogos represents that further use will of course depend on our relative dating of the Symposium. 35 The following list is of points to which I discovered a significant degree of assent in the sessions on the Lysis which 1 attended in Toronto (more than twenty). For fear of misrepresenting individuals’ views, I have refrained from attributing any particular point to any particular person. I myself accept the whole list; some rejected parts of it. However it seems useful to record, in however rough and ready a form, one symposiast’s view of the outcomes of what was almost certainly the largest single assemblage of papers and discussions on the Lysis in the history of Platonic scholarship.

Christopher Rowe

215

of the good, or indeed in terms of eudaimonia, however delicately this might be done: there is no justification for reading the Lysis as if it were the Symposium, or

the Republic. The point of the aporetic ending of the dialogue, whether genuinely aporetic or not, is to indicate the need for further reflection. That further reflection might take the shape of what we find -- e.g. — in the Symposium; Plato might even

already have had the whole argument of the Symposium in his mind — but from the point of view of the Lysis, that is for another occasion. In any case, it is worth

pointing out that the final object of desire even in the Symposium indeterminate.56 4. The Lysis has rather little interest in the idea of reciprocity

is left fairly

as such,

except

incidentally. Of course, insofar as the dialogue is about philia in the narrow sense (i.e., our attachments to other people), reciprocity will be involved,

and Socrates

acknowledges this at several points. However the real emphasis is on why we ‘love’ (philein), and in a human relationship, the question will just arise twice instead of once. The underlying question, even here, is about what we love: is it people, individual human beings, or is it something else? The most that can be said about the argument of the Lysis is perhaps that it leaves this question open. Even when we appear to love or desire some person, the conversation raises the possibility that what we in fact love or desire is something else — perhaps what is truly akin to us, namely the good.

5. But the akin (fo oikeion) is introduced in a bizarre way, and apparently rejected; it is floated before our eyes, but then made to disappear again. The real work of the dialogue goes on (especially) in desire is the aitia of philein, and desiring entity lacks. 216c-221d of argument; it makes some false

216c-22id, which leaves us with the position that that desire is of what is good — a good which the itself presents what is overall a coherent sequence moves, but these are recovered, and are themselves

instructive.?? 6. The aporia at the end of the Lysis is — at least — not wholly what it seems. (I began my paper, above, by suggesting that nowadays scholars tend to treat the Lysis as genuinely aporetic: in fact there seemed to be a general agreement at the Symposium

that in one way or another it was not.) 7. Two main ways of reading the Lysis seemed to be preferred by the participants in the Fifth Symposium: either the Lysis is a short statement of a set of ideas more fully 36T would go on to add that there is little to justify the identification of that final object of desire, in any dialogue, with the form of the good. What we desire, surely, is our own good, however that is to be specified, and grasping the form is the means to determining what actually is good for us. 37 So in particular Socrates wants to reject the idea that the bad can be the motive cause of philein. This, I think, is the ὕθλος τις of 221d5: I take the point to be that even the better kind of ignorance, in which one recognizes that one does not know, is not a cause of our desire (it is rather a necessary precondition of our realization of what the true philon is).

216

The Lysis and the Symposium: aporia and euporia?

expounded, or discussed, in other written dialogues or even in oral contexts; or it is

a sketch of ideas, and directions, which Plato is still pursuing. Thus the Symposium exemplified a division of opinion which is almost as old as Plato’s text: between those who see Plato essentially as a holder of dogmata (‘opinions’), and those who

see him

as essentially as himself an embodiment

described

in

the

Symposium

—

neither

of Eros the philosopher,

permanently

aporön,

nor

as

permanently

euporôn.8 University of Durham

38 Nor permanently euporön: except, that is, as I hold, in certain important respects. But the difficulty — and one that makes an elusive dialogue like the Lysis even more difficult to read — is just to know how Plato saw the balance between his ‘poverty’ and his ‘wealth’.

L’examen de l’amour intéressé (Lysis 216 c - 220 e) Wilfried Kühn Mon analyse porte sur une partie du Lysis qui a ceci de particulier. question de rapports réciproques entre amis, mais uniquement du réciproque entre celui qui aime ou désire et l’objet aimé ou désiré. l’investigation que Socrate mène dans cette partie du texte, je compte thèses suivantes.

Il n’est pas rapport nonÀ propos de soutenir les

1) Le développement obéit aux règles (a et b) que Theodor Becker a établies dès 1882 pour le Lysis dans son ensemble. ! a) Socrate cherche le sens unique et simple du terme philos/philon (ami, cher) quel que soit le contexte dans lequel le terme est employé. | b) Par conséquent, chaque fois que Socrate propose un nouveau

sens, c’est parce

qu’il a réfuté la proposition précédente. 2) Dans la partie 216 c - 220 e, l’investigation de Socrate porte sur l’interprétation de “cher” que voici: est cher le moyen qui permet de se défaire d’un mal.

3) Socrate est obligé de supposer que le bien n’est rien d’autre que le moyen évoqué en (2). Par conséquent, le résultat négatif de l’investigation frappe aussi le concept

du bien. 4) La même chose est vraie pour le concept de ce qui est cher au premier rang (proton philon). Car ce concept célèbre découle de l’interprétation de “cher” qui est examinée dans la partie 216 c - 220 e.

5) Cette interprétation de “cher” implique une certaine théorie de la motivation: pour agir, il faut être motivé par un mal adventice, par une urgence.

1290, 305, 308, cf. Schoplick (1968), 57-8; D. B. Robinson (1986), 71-2, 81-2; Adams (1992), 8.

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L'examen de l'amour intéressé (Lysis 216c-220e)

Argumentation A quelle question Socrate veut-t-il répondre dans la partie du texte qui est à interpréter? Il s’agit de la question de savoir quels sont les critères selon lesquels se distinguent, d’une part, toutes les entités qui aiment une autre entité et, d’autre part, toutes les entités qui font l’objet de cet amour.? Comme on le sait, la réponse de

Socrate consiste à dire que ce qui n’est ni bon ni mauvais (“le neutre” par la suite) en vient à aimer le bien. (216c2-3,216e7-217a1)

“Le neutre” est un nouveau terme que Socrate fait intervenir pour sortir la recherche de son impasse. Par la suite il s’agira de vérifier si la neutralité est vraiment la

qualité qui dispose à l’amour. Le concept de bien qui, dans deux passages antérieurs, a été clairement associé à l’idée de l’utilité sera soumis à un test analogue. Il s’est déjà avéré que le bien ainsi compris n’est pas le critère du sujet qui aime autre chose ou quelqu’un d’autre. Car, dans la mesure où le sujet est bon, il est utile à lui-même et n’a pas besoin des autres (215 a 6-7). En revanche, Socrate n’a pas encore réfuté l’idée qu’il a exploitée à des fins protreptiques, l’idée selon laquelle l’homme bien est aimé de ceux à qui il sait être utile. (210 c 6 -d 4, cf. Bolotin 1979, 147) On est fondé à croire que seront mises à l’épreuve conjointement cette notion d’objet de

l’amour et l’idée selon laquelle le neutre est le sujet de l’amour.

|

1) Le neutre, le bien et le mal (216c1-218d3) Socrate propose de considérer que le neutre aime le bien. Il n’est pas étonnant que ce concept se heurte tout de suite à une difficulté importante. Car c’est par la voie négative que Socrate a fini par choisir ce concept. D’un côté, il a déjà écarté d’autres combinaisons qui sont possibles: le bien aime le bien, le mal aime le mal, le bien aime le mal. 216d8-el,cf.215a4-c1,214b 10 - d 7, 216 b 5-6) De l’autre, il

rejette maintenant deux possibilités: le neutre aime le mal, le neutre aime le neutre. (216 e 1- 6), Dans ce contexte donc, la seule raison de croire que le neutre aime le bien est le fait que cette idée n’ait pas encore été réfutée.

Elle pourrait vite l’être. Car, en prenant l’exemple du corps qui se porte bien, Socrate fait valoir que le neutre’se suffit à lui-même (217 a 5-6) - tout comme le bien

2212 a 5-6, 214 a 2-3 (où οἱ prend (1882), 299, et D. B. Robinson convient pourtant de réserver le 218 d6. 5210 d 2 (cf. 209 c 6, d 2), 215 a 4 Bordt (1998), 82.

le sens de οἷοι, v. Kühner-Gerth II 2, 438). D’après Becker (1986), 81, Socrate s'interroge sur la cause de l’amitié. Il terme de cause à l’élément que Socrate désigne par “διά tv”, - Ὁ 7. Cf. Lualdi (1974), 101; Glidden (1981), 42-43; contra:

4 Restent les possibilités logiques que le mal aime ou bien le neutre ou bien le bien et que le bien aime le neutre. Socrate peut supposer d’avoir déjà rejeté ces combinaisons, explicitement (214 d 6-7) ou implicitement (214 ἃ 1-2, 215 ἃ 6 - Ὁ 3).

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- et n’a besoin de rien. En changeant de vocabulaire, on pourrait dire que le terme “neutre” n’implique rien qui permette d’établir un lien avec le bien, c’est-à-dire utile (ὠφελίας, 217 a 5). Cela pourrait signifier encore une impasse, mais elle peut être évitée, si Socrate apporte un nouvel élément. C’est ce qu'il fait en plaçant le neutre dans une certaine “situation” (Glidden 1981, 54): le neutre est progressivement envahi par le mal, comme c’est le cas du corps tombé malade.5 Avant de devenir mauvais lui-même et, par conséquent, incapable d’amitié, le neutre devient l’ami de ce qui lui est utile dans cette situation - pour le corps malade, c’est l’art médical (217 b 4) ou le médecin (218 e 3-4); autrement dit, le neutre désire le bien. (217 a 7 - c 2, 217 e 7 - 218 a 1) Voilà ce que dit en substance Socrate. Mais quelle en est la signification? a) La recherche de la notion de ce qui est cher peut être interprétée comme portant en même temps sur la motivation de l’action. Sans que Socrate l’expose

explicitement, cela découle de trois éléments de son raisonnement. (1) Le bien ne peut être utile que dans un contexte pratique. (2) Par conséquent, qui désire le bien veut profiter de ses effets. (3) Les exemples du malade et du philosophe montrent que le recours au désir sert à expliquer certains actes: le malade demande au

médecin de le soigner, le philosophe cherche à acquérir le savoir. b) Le sujet de l’action, le neutre, est en soi un sujet d'inertie. Car il n’agit pas spontanément, il réagit à l’apparition du mal. C’est dans l’urgence qu’il commence à

apprécier et à désirer l’utile (217 Ὁ 3-5). L’amour, le désir et l’action sont donc adventices par rapport au sujet neutre et dus uniquement au mal qui l’atteint. Socrate ne se livre pas à des réflexions de ce genre, il exprime un doute assez fort: les discours à propos desquels lui et ses interlocuteurs sont tombés d’accord pourraient bel et bien être faux. (218 c 5 - d 3) Ce doute ne se limite pas à un élément de ce qui vient d’être exposé, notamment au mal et à sa fonction décisive. Non, la crainte de Socrate de faire fausse route a l’air de porter sur la conception toute entière qui dit que le neutre désire le bien, parce que le mal est présent. Il n'empêche, bien des exégètes ne s’embarrassent pas des scrupules éprouvés par Socrate.

2) L’ajout d’un autre bien (218 d 3 - 219 Ὁ 3) Socrate élargit la conception proposée. Mais dans quelles conditions le fait-il? Lorsque Ménexéne lui demande d’expliquer son doute, il l’invite à l’examen qui suit dans le texte, (218 d 3-4) On va donc assister à une démarche qui doit mettre au jour

$ Bolotin (1979), 150-151, 154, fait remarquer le caractère temporel de ce processus. Mackenzie (1988), 28, 32 suppose que le mal ne fait que se dessiner et menacer le neutre. Mais le malade (217 a 7) n'est-il pas déjà atteint du mal sans être sa victime?

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les raisons du doute.$ Rien d’étonnant donc à ce que l’entreprise débouche sur la

réfutation de la conception proposée toute entière. D'abord, Socrate va compléter cette conception en franchissant les étapes suivantes.

a) Il établit le schéma de tous les rapports que, selon la conception proposée, engage le fait d’être un ami ou de désirer quelque chose: chaque ami est ami de x en vue de y et à cause de z. (218 d 4-7) Sans qualifier les termes des rapports, Socrate ajoute

aux deux rapports déjà établis celui entre le sujet de l’amour et la fin que celui-ci vise en aimant. Le nouveau rapport semble être impliqué dans la qualité de ce qui est aimé. Car, si cet objet est utile, il l’est apparemment pour quelque chose. Et c’est en vue de ce quelque chose qu’on aime ce qui est utile.” En révélant cette implication de l’amour intéressé Socrate prépare son démontage conceptuel. b) Socrate se demande si, à celui qui aime, la fin est aussi chère que ce qui est utile. (218 d 7 - e 1) Ménexéne ne comprend pas cette question, et, pour l’élucider, Socrate

revient longuement sur l’exemple du malade. Est-ce parce que c’est l’une des deux questions qui minent la conception de l’amour intéressé?

c) En invoquant l’exemple du malade, Socrate ne veut pas savoir tout de suite si la fin, la santé en l’occurrence, lui est chère. Il demande d’abord si elle est bonne. (218 e 6 - 219 a 4) Il est très significatif que Socrate suggère à Ménexéne la bonne réponse en opposant la santé au mal qu’est la maladie. (218 e 5-7) Car cela permettrait de penser que, la maladie étant un mal en soi, c’est en un sens analogue que la santé est un bien. D’où la question décisive: la santé et la médecine sont elles un bien au même titre? Mais cette question n’est pas posée dans le texte. d) Une fois la fin classée comme un bien, on dira aussi qu’elle est chère à celui qui

aime ce qui est utile. (219 ἃ 5 - Ὁ 3) D’autant que l’utile lui est cher en vue de la fin. (219 a 3-4) Cela semble vouloir dire que, pour cette qualité, l’utile dépend de Ia fin. Comment donc s’empêcher de penser que la fin est ce qui est cher au premier rang? Ce n’est pas encore dit dans le texte. Et Socrate ne se demande pas encore si l’utile et la fin sont chers au même titre l’un que l’autre.

3) Etablir ce qui est cher au premier rang (219 Ὁ 4 - 220 b 7) Si Socrate met en place une hiérarchie dans ce qui est cher, il veut attirer l’attention sur le fait que, en développant la conception proposée, il a employé le terme “cher” à un double sens; ce diagnostic ne sera explicité qu’à la fin de cette section du texte

6 Contra: Bordt (1998), 198, sans tenir compte du soupçon de Socrate. 7 Suivant Kahn (1996), 286, Platon introduit la fin pour préparer la reconnaissance de ce qui est cher au premier rang. Voilà un exemple de "l’interprétation proleptique" qui fait l'impasse sur la question de savoir si un certain mouvement de la pensée s'explique par les propos précédents.

Wilfried Kühn (220 47

221

- Ὁ 3). Il n’en reste pas moins que, dès le début, Socrate entame le même

problème sous un autre angle, lorsqu’il appelle à la vigilance pour ne pas se laisser tromper. (219 Ὁ 4 - 5, Ὁ 8 - c 1) En effet, ce qui risque de nous tromper, c’est tout ce qu’on appelle “cher” du fait qu’il s’agit de choses utiles. (219 d 2-4) Elles nous tromperaient en apparaissant chères au même titre que la fin pour laquelle elles sont utiles. (Cf. Bolotin [1979], 167) Et cette tromperie nous menace précisément puisque nous appliquons le même terme “cher” à la fin et à ce qui est utile pour la fin.

De nouveau, il convient de diviser l’argument de Socrate en étapes. a) Le premier point est la célèbre remontée qui, pour ne pas aller à l’infini, s’arrête à ce qui est cher au premier rang. (219 Ὁ 8 - d 1} Pour autant que je sache, les interprètes n’ont pas encore découvert le moteur de la remontée, si j’ose dire. En prenant l’exemple du malade, on a coutume de raisonner ainsi. Etant donné que le malade aime la médecine en vue de la santé qu’il aime également, on doit, comme

on l’a fait à l’égard de son amour pour la médecine, chercher à expliquer son amour pour la santé; et cela en identifiant la fin pour laquelle la santé est utile. Pourtant, cela ne va pas de soi. Selon la conception proposée et développée, l’amour pour la santé ne demande d’être expliqué par une fin ultérieure que si la santé est quelque chose d’utile. Pour le malade, en revanche, c’est une fin, probablement sa fin

principale, et aucune fin ne demande d’être expliquée par une fin ultérieure. Quel est donc le moteur de la remontée qui va au-delà de la santé? Cela ne peut être que le

fait de confondre l’amour de la fin et l’amour de ce qui est utile à la fin: on prend l’amour de la santé pour l’amour de quelque chose d’utile. Et d’où vient cette confusion? Elle vient du fait que l’on utilise le même terme “cher” pour qualifier et la fin et ce qui est utile à la fin - tout en supposant le sens de “cher” proposé d’entrée de jeu: ce qui est utile. La fausse unité de sens que suggère le terme “cher” est donc à l’origine de la remontée qui risque de se prolonger à l’infini.? Que l’unité sémantique de “cher” soit fausse, cela n’est pas un fait naturel, cela est dû à la

conception proposée. En effet, celle-ci s’est révélée donner à “cher” un double sens; en conséquence, la conception de la partie suivante (220 e - 222 d) ne prêtera à “cher” qu’un seul sens. C’est en arrêtant la remontée que Socrate entame sa plaidoirie en faveur de la distinction des deux amours. Par rapport au premier objet d’amour - quel qu’il soit -

8 J’omets l’objection fallacieuse que Socrate avance dans 219 b 5-8. 9 D'après Irwin (1995), 54, la remontée fait partie d’une explication psychologique de la motivation: si l’on accepte que A choisisse x en vue de y mais qu’on ne voit pas pourquoi A a choisi y, on ne comprend pas le choix de x et on est amené à faire intervenir z que A a choisi en vue de z lui-même. Si pourtant on croit voir pourquoi A a choisi y, la santé, par exemple, que faut-il dire? Socrate n’argumente pas de la plausibilité ou du bien-fondé du choix, mais il joue du seul fait que, en tant que cher, y renvoie à ce en vue de quoi il est cher. (219 c 2-3, cf. Bordt [1998], 200)

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tous les autres se retrouvent au rang de ce qui est cher en vue de la fin qui, elle, est chère en dernière instance. La fin se distingue donc en étant chère sans que cela s’explique par un autre item qui est cher de son côté. (219 c 7 - 8) Cette formule

laisse ouverte la possibilité que l’amour de la fin s’explique par un item qui n’est pas cher,! b) Pour illustrer la structure de l’amour telle qu’elle s’est révélée jusqu’ici, Socrate se sert de deux exemples: celui du père qui tente de sauver la vie de son fils bien aimé et celui de l’argent qui est tant apprécié mais tout de même acquis en vue d’une

fin autre que lui-même. (219 d 5 - 220 a 6)!! Les exemples nous apprennent ceci, (1) Dès qu’elle est plus développée, la conception permet de mieux comprendre l’action humaine qui consiste à utiliser un ou plusieurs moyens pour atteindre une fin, Se confirme donc l’hypothèse selon laquelle la recherche du sens de l’amour concerne aussi la motivation de l’action. (2) Comme dans la réflexion sur le terme “cher”, l’intérêt porté aux moyens peut nous tromper aussi dans la pratique, en cachant l’intérêt porté prioritairement à la

fin.!? (3) Il convient donc de s’aviser de la hiérarchie raisonnable des intérêts: l’intérêt qui concerne les moyens dépend entièrement de celui qui concerne la fin.

c) A partir des exemples, Socrate infère l’une des observations qui seront fatales pour la conception de l’amour intéressé: il fait remarquer la polysémie du terme “cher”. (220 a 7 - b 3) Pour bien apprécier ce passage, on le comparera avec celui qui précède les exemples. Là, Socrate met en garde contre la tromperie qu’exercent

sur nous les moyens du fait qu’ils imitent, en tant qu’objets chers, la fin qui nous est vraiment chère. (219 d 2-4, cf. b 4-5) Cet avertissement fait apparaître la différence entre les deux l’avertissement risquent d’ètre entre les deux

classes d’objets chers. Mais en même temps, Socrate explique que est nécessaire, parce que ceux des objets qui sont comme des copies confondus avec les originaux. Autrement dit, il y a ressemblance classes, et leur confusion va de pair avec le fait que leurs éléments

19 Contra: Bordt (1998), 207. Je ne partage pas l'avis des interprètes qui pensent que Platon veut en venir à une certaine entité qui serait la fin ultime de tout désir; cf. Versenyi (1975), 192-193;

Klosko (1981), 99-100. ΕἸ Je néglige la différence non expliquée entre l'amour et l'attitude qui consiste à “faire grand cas de/faire le plus grand cas de” (219 e 5, 220 a 2 - 4). 12 C’est plus clair dans le cas de l’argent. Quant à l'exemple du père, en revanche, il faut le comprendre à travers la phrase 219 e 5-7 qui me semble vouloir dire ceci: ne fait-il en rien plus grand cas des moyens que de son fils? (Cf. les traductions de Robin [1950] et de Bordt [1998]).

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sont indistinctement appelés “chers”.!3 Après les exemples, en revanche, Socrate met l’accent plus que jamais sur la diversité des deux types d’objets qui sont chers. Et il s’explique aussi par le biais de la sémantique: en appelant les moyens “chers”, nous usons apparemment du mauvais

terme. (220 a 7 - Ὁ 1)!4 En clair: si le terme “cher” désigne une qualité de la fin, un autre terme devrait désigner la qualité des moyens, intérêt. Socrate va revenir sur ce problème.

celle qui correspond

à notre

Auparavant il caractérise l’entité qui est véritablement chère: elle l’est relativement comme terme d’aboutissement de tout intérêt porté aux moyens; négativement, comme l’entité qui est chère non en vue de quelque chose de cher; positivement, comme le bien. (220 b 1-7) L’évocation du bien n’est qu’un rappel du passage 218 e 6 - 219 ἃ 4 (cf. plus haut, 2 c), mais par la suite le bien s’avérera incapable de remplir généralement la fonction de l’objet d’amour.

4) Les deux insuffisances de la conception proposée (220 b 8 -e 5) Socrate termine la réflexion sur l’amour intéressé en confirmant son doute que cette conception est fausse (cf. 218 c 5 - d 3). Il présente deux arguments, le premier concernant l’identification de ce qui est cher avec le bien, le second la polysémie de “cher”. a) En développant la conception proposée, Socrate est arrivé à fixer le sens positif de ce qui est véritablement cher: c’est le bien. A la différence de nombre d’exégétes, Socrate se demande encore ce qu’est le bien. Or le bien a été introduit comme ce qui est utile. (210 c 6 - d 4) Dans le contexte de la conception proposée, il a été précisé que l’utilité du bien consiste à servir contre le mal. (217 Ὁ 5-6) Maintenant Socrate se borne à rappeler que c’est uniquement cette fonction précise et restreinte qui est assignée au bien; puisqu'elle dépend de l’apparition du mal, le bien n’est même pas utile en soi. (220 d 4-7) Un peu plus loin, Socrate montrera dépasse tout ce qui est bon au sens indépendamment du mal, nous avons qui est utile contre un mal n’est donc

que l’extension sémantique du terme “cher” précisé auparavant. (220 e 6 - 221 c 1) Car, des désirs et leurs objets nous sont chers. Ce qu’une partie de ce qui est cher et ne saurait

définir ce terme.!5

3 Le rapport entre l'entité véritable et ses copies est le rapport entre différentes instantiations du fait d'être cher et non le rapport entre la fin et les moyens en tant que tels (Allan [1970], 71 n.2).

14 En lisant à la li. 220 a 8 “... ἕνεκα φίλου τινός, ἑτέρῳ pihuori...”, je suis McTighe (1983), 7980, mais par “par 15 Parmi ceux (1914),

je traduis “ἑτέρῳ ῥήματι par “par le mauvais terme” (LSJ) et non, comme McTighe, un terme différent”. qui ne se résignent pas à cet enterrement sans fleurs ni couronne du bien, von Amim 53-54 se distingue en admettant qu’il faut s’appuyer sur d’autres dialogues - en

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b) Enfin Socrate reprend l’argument concernant la polysémie que la conception développée confère au terme “cher”. (220 d 7 - e 3) A cette dernière évocation du problème, Socrate prend pour acquis que l’on ne dispose que de ce terme. Ainsi metil en évidence la conséquence de la conception développée: elle fait porter un seul et même terme sur des référents qui ne se ressemblent pas (220 d 9), qui ont même des attributs contraires (220 e 2). Les moyens, en effet, nous sont chers en vue de la fin qui nous l’est également, tandis que la fin, à savoir le bien, nous est chère en vue du

mal que nous détestons.!6 Ce résultat signifie que la conception qui devait établir le sens unique de “cher” en donne deux qui, d’un certain point de vue, sont opposés de surcroît. Voilà ce qui est un échec parfait.

Conclusions

1) Pourquoi Socrate a-t-il si longuement réfléchi à une proposition qui lui paraissait fausse à mi-chemin de l’argumentation (218 c 5 - d 3)? C’est que, à mi-chemin, il aurait certes pu exposer l’un des défauts de la conception proposée, à savoir la restriction du champ sémantique du terme “cher” (cf. plus haut, 4 a). Mais pour mettre en lumière l’autre défaut, la polysémie (4 Ὁ), il lui fallait élaborer la hiérarchie des moyens et de la fin. 2) Quelle est la conséquence de l’échec de la conception proposée? La conséquence en est que Socrate va proposer une autre conception qui se distingue par deux caractéristiques. (220 e 6 - 221 e 5) (a) Elle ne retient aucune des notions qui constituent la conception rejetée: le neutre, le bien, le mal; cela passe désormais pour du bavardage (ὕθλος, 221 d 5).!7 (b) Elle fonde le sens du terme “cher” sur le

concept de désir qui a déjà servi à expliquer la proposition rejetée sans être reconnu comme fondamental dans le développement de cette proposition (217 ¢ 1, e 8-9, cf.

l’occurrence sur le Go. - pour maintenir en vie le bien en soi. 16220 e 2-3. Tout en nourrissant le doute concernant le bien-fondé de l'identification du bien avec la fin, cette formule paradoxale sert à rendre plus nette l’opposition entre le caractère cher des moyens et celui de la fin (cf. Shorey [1930], 392). En tenant compte du parallèle des Lois XI, 934 a 5 - Ὁ 1, on peut penser que, dans le Ly., Platon joue de la polysémie du mot “Éveka” qui renvoie (a) à la fin (par ex., la santé) dont l’existence doit être produite par le moyen, (Ὁ) à la cause (par ex., la maladie) de l’action et (c) à la fin qu’est la disparition de cette cause (Lois 934 a 5-7). Si les moyens subordonnés sont dits être “φίλου ἕνεκα gira” (Ly. 220 49 - e 1), “Evexa” est pris au sens (a), si, en revanche, la fin est dite “φίλον ἐχθροῦ ἕνεκα" (220 e 2-3), “Evera” a les sens (Ὁ) et (c). Cf. Becker (1882), 303; Schoplick (1968), 56 n.2; Versenyi (1975), 195. 17 Ce que Socrate qualifie de bavardage, ce n’est, quant à la forme, que l’ancien sujet de l’amour (221 ἃ 4-5; cf. 216 c 2-3). Mais comme les deux autres termes de la conception ont été eux aussi remplacés explicitement (221 c 8 - d 4), on peut supposer que le verdict porte sur la conception tout entière.

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von Arnim 1914, 55; Price 1989, 7).

3) Est-ce que la conception la proposition univoque du

le sens philosophique du texte analysé se réduit à l’examen formel de proposée? Bien sûr que non. Si mon analyse est pertinente, l’échec de veut dire qu’une certaine idée utilitaire de l’amour ni n’indique le sens mot “cher”, que Socrate cherche, ni ne correspond à l'extension du

terme. Voilà une interprétation minimale. On peut aller plus loin, si on accepte de

considérer que la conception rejetée et celle qui suit impliquent des théories de la motivation. Sous cet aspect, la conception rejetée signifie que l’homme n’est pas motivé en vertu de sa propre nature, mais uniquement par le mal qui lui arrive de l’extérieur et qui le contraint à réagir, cela s’accorde avec la description que donne Protagoras du comportement humain (Pri. 322 a 8 - d 5, cf. Guthrie 1969, 66). La conception suivante prend le contrepied: l’homme est naturellement motivé par le désir ou par les désirs qui portent sur ce qui lui manque tout en lui appartenant. Même si cette conception ne tient pas debout non plus dans le Lysis, elle s’est

imposée

sous

différentes

formes

dans

l’histoire

Machiavel ne redécouvre les vertus de la “necessità”.

CNRS, Paris

de la philosophie,

avant

que

Qualité et Qualifié: A Propos du Lysis 217b-218a Maria Isabel Santa Cruz Platon emploie dans les dialogues de jeunesse quelques expressions qui auront un sens technique dans les œuvres postérieures et il est bien possible que l’usage de certains termes tels qu’ eidos ou idea ne soit nullement innocent de sa part.! On

pourrait bien dire qu’en lisant entre les lignes le Lysis ou le Charmide, par exemple, on peut déceler des implications métaphysiques et les germes d’une doctrine positive qui va se développer plus tard dans l’œuvre de Platon.” Cependant, il ne semble pas nécessaire de projeter cette doctrine dans les dialogues de la première époque, une tentation qui n’est pas évitée par tous les commentateurs?. Rien n’empéche de faire une lecture non “proleptique” des premiers dialogues et de les interpréter, tout en laissant de côté, en principe, les théories épistémologiques ou métaphysiques des

dialogues postérieurs .4 I Cf. Euthyphron 5c 7885, 6 d9 ; Hippias Majeur 289d4 ; Menon 72c7, d8. Baldry examine quelques “termes techniques”, tout d’abord eidos et idea et puis un groupe de mots employés par Platon pour décrire la relation entre les eidé et les particuliers ([1937], 141-150). 2 Certes, dans la question socratique le germe de la théorie des Idées est déjà latent: demander ce qu’est X implique en quelque sorte qu’il y a effectivement quelque chose représenté par des mots comme “sagesse” ou “piété” et que ce quelque chose est différente des multiples cas particuliers de sagesse ou de piété. Mais dans les premiers dialogues le statut métaphysique de ces entités n’est pas en question. Il s’agit plutôt de la quête d’un universel différent des particuliers. Même le Ménon insiste sur l’immanence des universels dans les particuliers (Cf. Ross [1951], 11 et 18). 3 Pour une présentation de deux “traditions” interprétatives de Platon -unitaire et évolutive cf. Kahn (1996), 3855. 1 Certes, on ne peut pas attribuer à Platon -comme le signale Kahn -dix huit philosophies différentes entre l’Apologie et le Phèdre, ce qui résulterait de la lecture de chaque dialogue comme une unité autonome. Il y a, en effet, des connexions thématiques évidentes entre les dialogues de jeunesse et ceux de maturité, mais cela n’oblige pas à envisager tous les problèmes abordés dans les premiers dialogues dès la perspective de la “théorie classique des Idées”.

Maria Isabel Santa Cruz

227

Le “platonisme” inhérent à la pensée et à la langue grecques”, c’est-à-dire la priorité conceptuelle de l’universel abstrait -“beauté”, par exemple- par rapport aux

descriptions adjectives correspondantes -“beau corps”, “belle jument”- donnent l’occasion d’utiliser naturellement une terminologie que les interlocuteurs de Socrate peuvent comprendre

sans aucune difficulté et qui seulement plus tard recevra un

sens technique. Platon, en fait, n’invente pas un langage; il se borne plutôt à remplir les vieilles formules de sens nouveaux®. Dans ce travail je voudrais suggérer, m’appuyant sur quelques passages du Lysis, de l’Euthydème, du Charmide et de l’Hippias Majeur où Platon utilise le vocabulaire de la “présence”, qu’il n’est pas

nécessaire de lire les premiers séparées.

dialogues à la lumière de la théorie des Idées x

À partir de quelques passages comme celui du Phédon 1004, où parousia est l’une des tentatives d’indiquer le rapport de causalité entre l’Idée et les particuliers

sensibles, ou celui du Parménide 130ess, où le “dilemme de la participation” est exposé, il a été affirmé que le terme parousia ainsi que le verbe pareinai sont employés dans les premiers dialogues, où il n’y a aucune référence explicite à des Idées séparées, pour signifier la relation de causalité par la présence de la Forme en les particuliers®, On a envisagé ainsi, par exemple, le passage du Lysis 217b-218a, où Platon parle de la parousia d’une qualité dans un objet. J’essayerai de montrer que l’argument semble être parfaitement compréhensible dans son contexte sans

qu’il soit nécessaire d’y trouver une allusion à la théorie des Idées. Il est bien possible, à mon avis, de l’analyser et de l’expliquer à partir d’un problème plus général qui sûrement préoccupa Platon et qui a été l’objet des débats de la part d’Aristote et de la tradition suivante: le problème concernant la possibilité de distinguer entre un sujet et les prédicats accidentels, spécialement la qualité. Pour renforcer l’argument je ferai aussi référence à d’autres passages des premiers dialogues où réapparaît la notion de présence.

À l’époque du Thééthète Platon a ‘une claire conscience de la distinction entre poidtés (mot probablement forgé par Platon lui-même”)

et poion

(182a-b).

Cette

> Cf. Kahn (1996), 332-33, 6 Cf. Baldry (1937), 146. 7 Le mot parousia n’apparait qu’une seule fois dans le Phédon et Platon y manifeste quelque désintérêt quant au choix du terme qui exprimerait le mieux la relation entre l’Idée et les particuliers sensibles. Dans le Parménide Platon n’emploie pas parousia, mais plutôt des expressions voisines, telles que einai en et eneinai, dans un contexte où l'intention est de faire une présentation quasi matérielle de cette relation. 8 Sur ce point voir Narcy (1984), 205, n. 267. Pour une référence aux diverses positions à propos de la doctrine des Idées dans le Lysis, voir Guthrie (1990), 150-151. 9 Comme le signale Amonnios, commentant le chapitre 8 des Carégories d’Aristote: “Par ailleurs, on doit savoir que Platon aussi s’est servi du nom qualité dans son dialogue Théétète et qu’il s’est trouvé par là le premier artisan de ce nom. Car il dit : Tu me parais ne pas comprendre ce que signifie le nom qualité parce qu’il se dit en un sens général” (Zn Aristotelis Categorias Commentarium,

81, 25-28). Cf. Simplicius, Jn Aristotelis Categorias Commentarium,

283,23-

28. A propos des difficultés de ce passage, cf. Platon, Théétète. Traduction de Narcy (1994),

228

Qualité et Qualifié: À Propos du Lysis 217b-218a

distinction entre qualité et qualifié se laisse entrevoir dès les premiers dialogues.

Examinons le pour objet de mauvais celui car il y a deux

passage 217b-218a du Lysis!0. L’argument, qui commence en 2160], a montrer que l’ignorance, qui est un mal, ne rend pas nécessairement en qui elle est présente. Cela dépend, en effet, du mode de présence, différentes manières d’être présent. Dans le but d’éclairer le sens de

to philon, Socrate propose que ce qui n’estni bon ni mauvais devient ami du bon. Il existe, en effet, trois genres: le bon, le mauvais, et ce qui n’est ni bon ni mauvais. Comme il a été accepté peu avant que ni le semblable n’est ami du semblable, ni le contraire ne l’est du contraire (216b8-9), il faudrait dire que ni le bon n’est philon du bon, ni le mauvais du mauvais, ni le bon du mauvais. “Reste donc, si quelque chose est ami d’autre chose, que ce qui n’est ni bon ni mauvais

son semblable à lui-même” (216e1-4).

soit ami ou du bon ou de

Mais il était accordé que le semblable n’est

pas l’ami du semblable. La seule conclusion semble être que ce qui n’est ni bon ni mauvais est philon du bon (216e7-217a2). Socrate prend comme exemple un corps en santé. Un homme en santé n’est pas ami du médecin à cause (did) de sa santé. Le malade, par contre, doit accueillir et aimer la médecine à cause de la maladie. Or, la maladie est un mal, tandis que la médecine est un bien. Et le corps, lui, n’est par lui-

même ni bon ni mauvais. Par conséquent, “ce qui n’est ni bon ni mauvais devient ami du bien par la présence d’un mal (διὰ κακοῦ παρουσίαν)" (217b4-6). Mais il le devient avant d’être lui-même devenu mauvais par l’effet du mal qu’il possède

(ὑπὸ τοῦ κακοῦ οὗ ἔχει: 217b7). Deux points sont à remarquer dans ce passage. D’une part, il y a une correspondance nette entre présence et possession : “M est présent en x” équivaut à “x possède M” (cf. 217e 2-3 ; ἔχοντες 218 48). D'autre part, on établit une différence: le corps peut être affecté circonstantiellement par un mal, sa maladie, ou bien il est mauvais à

cause de la maladie qu’il possède, Il y a donc deux modes de présence : “je dis déclare Socrate- que certaines choses, quand quelque chose est présent à elles, sont

elles mêmes telles que ce qui leur est présent (ἔνια μέν, οἷον ἂν fi τὸ παρόν, τοιαῦτά ἐστι καὶ αὐτά, ἔνια δὲ οὔ) (217c3-4). Il faut souligner l’emploi de hoïon et de foiaüta: les choses ne sont pas ce qui leur est présent, mais elles sont telles que ce qui leur est présent, c’est-à-dire, de la même qualité. Pour illustrer ce double mode de présence, Platon donne l’exemple des cheveux blancs. Si l’on teint les cheveux, la teinture blanche est présente (πάρεστιν 217c5 ) en eux, mais on ne peut pas dire qu’ils soient tels que la teinture qui est en eux (τοιοῦτον … οἷον τὸ ἐπόν c7). Si l’on met de la céruse sur les cheveux blonds, ils ne seront pas blancs mais ils en

auront

seulement

l’apparence,

malgré

la présence

(παρείη

γ᾽

ἂν

αὐταῖς

351, n. 312.

10 Sur ce passage, voir “The Ontological Significance of Lysis 217-218”, communication présentée par Menahem Luz dans le cadre du V Symposium Platonicum. Luz soutient que la discussion du Lysis a une signification ontologique et qu’elle constitue une étape intermédiaire dans le développement de l’ontologie platonicienne, car elle représente une tentative de catégoriser les attributs des objets.

Maria Isabel Santa Cruz

229

λευκότης d4 ; παρούσης λευκότητος d5-6) en eux de la blancheur. Par contre, les

cheveux blancs dont la couleur est due à la vieillesse ont la même qualification que ce qui leur est présent, la blancheur (οἷόνπερ τὸ παρόν, λευκοῦ παρουσία λευκαί d8-el) . La présence d’une qualité en un objet est donc de deux types: celle qui qualifie et celle qui ne qualifie pas. (Τοῦτο τοίνυν ἐρωτῶ νῦν δή, εἰ ᾧ ἄν τι παρῇ, τοιοῦτον ἔσται τὸ ἔχον οἷον τὸ παρόν ἔσται, ἐὰν δὲ μή, οὔ; 217e1-3).

ἢ ἐὰν

On a cru!! pouvoir assimiler ce double mode

μὲν

κατά

de présence

τινα

τρόπον

à la distinction

παρῇ, logique,

développé par Aristote dans les Topiques!? entre propriété (idion) et accident (sumbebekos). Mais la blancheur des cheveux due à l’âge ne constitue pas, du point de vue aristotélicien, une propriété au sens strict, mais plutôt un accident!?. Je pense qu’il est mieux d’expliquer la différence entre ces deux modes de présence au

moyen d’une autre distinction qu’Aristote établit dans le chapitre 8 des Catégories, consacré à la qualité!4. Le chapitre s’ouvre avec une caractérisation générale de la qualité -ποιότητα δὲ λέγω καθ᾽ ἣν ποιοί τινες λέγονται (8b25)- qui trace une distinction nette entre qualité (poidtés) et qualifié ou qualification (poion). Comme il est précisé dans le même chapitre (10a 27-29) entre qualifié et qualité il y a un rapport de dérivation,

paronymique ou d’autre genre!S, Aristote distingue dans la qualité quatre types!f, dont nous intéresse maintenant le troisième pour éclairer le passage du Lysis. “Un troisième genre de qualité, ce sont les qualités affectives (ταθητικαὶ ποιότητες) et

les affections (πάθη) (9a28-29)'?, Ces qualités sont appelées affectives ou bien parce

qu’elles

sont productrices

d’une

affection

sur les sens

ou bien pour

être

engendrées à la suite d’une affection. Blancheur et noirceur sont des exemples de ce 11 Jowett, cité et critiqué par Guthrie (1990), 149; cf. 116, et répétée par Lled6

(1981), note ad loc.

1215, 102a 18-30 (caractérisation de |’ idion) ; 102b4-26 (caractérisation du sumbebekés). 13 Il est vrai que Porphyre donne le fait que les cheveux deviennent blancs quand on est vieux comme exemple d’un type de propriété (celle qui appartient à toute l’espèce et seulement à elle mais dans un certain moment) (/sagoge 12, 16-17). Cependant la blancheur présente dans les cheveux qui sont devenus blancs à cause de l’âge ne serait jamais un idion au‘sens strict, ni haplös ni kath’ auto, mais seulement quelquefois (poté) et relativement à une autre chose (pros ti). Aristote dit expressément que rien n’empéche que l’accident soit pendant quelque temps ou relativement à une propriété, mais jamais une propriété haplös, Top. 102b 20-26. D'autre part, il donne 16 leukôn comme exemple d’accident en 102b8-9, 14 Aristote consacre à la qualité le chapitre 14 du livre V de la Métaphysique et le chapitre 8 des Catégories. Le traitement n’est pas exactement le même dans ces deux passages, car dans la Métaphysique le premier type de qualités est celui des qualités essentielles ou substantielles, qui ne sont pas mentionnées dans les Catégories. 15 L'exemple de dérivation paronymique la plus courante: de leukdtés dérive ho leukds (10a30). C'est interessant de noter que Porphyre ainsi qu’Ammonios dans leurs commentaires aux Catégories introduisent ici la notion de participation du qualifié par rapport à la qualité. Cf. Ammonios 80, 22-23, 81, 1-2 ; Porph. 127, 15. 16 1) états et dispositions , 2) capacités ou incapacités naturelles à faire quelque chose ou à n’être en rien affecté, 3) qualités affectives et affections, 4) figure et forme. 17 Au début les affections sont présentées comme des qualités, mais après, dans le même chapitre (9a32-33, 10a8-10), Aristote précise qu’ une simple affection n’est pas une qualité.

230

Qualité et Qualifié:

A Propos du Lysis 217b-218a

dernier type. “Que celles-ci soient des qualités, voilà qui est évident ; car les sujets qui les reçoivent se disent qualifiés d’après elles: par exemple le miel est dit doux pour avoir reçu la douceur, et le corps, blanc pour avoir reçu la blancheur” (9a 3135). La différence entre une qualité affective et une affection c’est que la première

est produite par une affection naturelle et difficile à mouvoir et stable, qui n’est pas facilement effacée ou même qui persiste toute la vie. Nous sommes dits qualifiés d’après elles. Par ailleurs, tout ce qui provient de causes facilement dissoutes et vite

éliminées est dit affection (pathos). Il y a donc une distinction nette: Aristote appelle qualités affectives au sens strict du terme seulement les déterminations durables dues à des affections stables, tandis qu’il considère comme des simples affections les déterminations transitoires appartenant à une autre catégorie, celle de pâtir. Si la

pâleur a été produite par la constitution naturelle ou bien elle est survenue à cause d’une longue maladie et n’est pas facilement effacée ou persiste toute la vie, elle est

dite une qualité, car nous sommes dits qualifiés d’après elle. Au contraire, si la pâleur ne vient que de la peur, qui est vite éliminée,

il ne s’agit pas d’une qualité,

mais seulement d’une affection, car on n’est pas dit qualifié d’après elle (cf. 9a2810a10). Essayons d’appliquer la distinction aristotélicienne à l'exemple du Lysis. Le blanc produit par une teinture n’est qu’une affection, tandis que celui causé par la vieillesse est une qualité affective relative au corps et, parmi elles, celles qui résultent d’une affection. Dans les cheveux teints, la blancheur est temporaire et facile à changer, tandis que dans le cas de la vieillesse, le blanc, produit par des causes naturelles, est durable et impossible à modifier. En termes d’Aristote, les cheveux blancs ne sont pas qualifiés (poia) en vertu d’une simple affection (pathos), mais seulement en vertu d’une qualité (poiötes). Dans le cas des cheveux blancs

teints, “blanc” appartient à la catégorie de “patir’; dans l’autre cas, “blanc” appartient à la catégorie de “qualité”. On doit remarquer que blanc et blancheur sont employés comme des synonymes : nulle distinction semble être tracée entre qualité (abstraite) et qualification. Mais il reste néanmoins

clair qu’il y a une qualité -tò

leukön ou leukôtés- dont la présence fait qu’un objet soit blanc (cheveux naturels) ou qu’il ne soit pas blanc, tout en en ayant l’apparence (cheveux teints). De la même

façon, l’ignorance, qui est un mal, parfois ne rend (poieî) pas mauvais celui en qui elle est présente et parfois elle le rend mauvais, c’est-à-dire, produit une qualification. “Ignorant” peut être donc une qualité ou bien une simple affection. Quand elle est une affection, les individus qui la possèdent ne sont ni bons ni mauvais ; ils sont philoi du bon.

Dans le Lysis donc il n’est pas néccesaire de prendre la notion de “presence” comme une allusion à la théorie des Idées. La présence est plutôt l'expression naturelle du rapport entre une qualité ou une affection et la chose dans laquelle elle apparaît, la chose qui la possède. Le

passage

du

Lysis

que

je

viens

d’analyser

peut

être

comparé

à

d’autres

Maria Isabel Santa Cruz appartenant, eux aussi, aux

231 dialogues de jeunesse. Dans les limites de ce travail je

ne peux que signaler brièvement quelques correspondances. Dans l’Euthydème on reconnaît (301a3-4) que les choses qui sont belles sont différentes du beau lui-

même, mais aussi qu’une certaine beauté est présente en chacune d’elles (πάρεστι μέντοι ἑκάστῳ αὐτῶν κάλλος τι). Les belles choses sont d’une part identiques au beau et d’autre part différentes de lui. L’universel “beau” est distinct des particuliers “beaux” en lesquels cet universel est présent. Mais la différence entre eux n’est pas absolue, car il y a, comme une sorte de médiation, la “présence” de l’universel dans les particuliers. La plaisanterie du bœuf qui vient à la suite -“si un bœuf vient auprès

de toi (παραγένηται), tu es bœuf, et parce que maintenant je suis. présent (πάρειμι) à toi, tu es Dionysodore ?” (301a5-6)- vient du fait qu’on substitue à une qualité un individu substantiel. La beauté est une qualité, tandis que le bœuf ainsi que Dionysodore sont des substances. L’argument pareinai qui des sujets. Dionysodore propos de ce

une

-un sophisme basé exprime la présence Socrate emploie le le fait dans un sens passage. La plupart

formulation

expresse,

sur l’homonymie- joue sur l’équivocité du terme d’une qualité et peut signifier aussi la proximité terme dans un sens métaphorique tandis que purement physique!®. On a discuté diversement à des commentateurs ont reconnu dans cet argument

quoiqu’imprécise,

de

la

théorie

des

Formes

transcendantes. D’autres, par contre, tendent à y trouver la doctrine logique des universaux!?. Selon Festugière “la distinction du particulier beau et de l’universel “beauté” n’est rien d’autre que la distinction aristotélicienne entre la substance première, seule existante, et la substance seconde immanente en la premiére’””°.

Malgré cette confusion, bien signalée par Narcy?!, entre substance seconde et qualité, Festugiére fait une observation importante : il n’y a, en vérité, aucune raison pour ne pas entendre ce passage, ainsi que les autres où le vocabulaire de la présence

apparaît, dans le même sens que le Phédon c'est qu'on

reste sur le plan

logique”??.

100c9ss, “à une condition toutefois :

Dans

les premiers

dialogues

il ne faut

trouver qu'une distinction conceptuelle entre l’universel (toujours une qualité) et les particuliers en lesquels cet universel est présent. Il ne s’agit pas d’une séparation sur

le plan de l’être. Présence et immanence vont de pair. Peut-être, présence signifie immanence. 18 Pour la similitude entre l'argumentation de Dionysodore et celle de Parménide dans le Parmenide 130e, voir Sprague (1967), 91-97. 19 Selon Sprague, ce bref passage est particulièrement intéressant du fait qu’il est le seul lieu dans le dialogue qui semble faire référence à la théorie des Idées ([1962], 25-30). Canto affirme pour sa part que “avec cette expression ‘certaine beauté” Socrate fait sans doute allusion au mode d'existence de la réalité intelligible (Forme) dans une instance particulière ». Cf. Canto (1987), 288, n. 208, et Hawtrey (1981), 174-75. Pour une autre position, cf. Narcy (1984), 87 et 205206, n: 271 et 272; Festugière (1973), 67-68; Guthrie (1990), 186-187.

20 Loc. cit. 21 (1984), 205, n. 272.

22 Festugière (1973), 66.

232

Qualité et Qualifié: À Propos du Lysis 217b-218a

Le vocabulaire de la présence apparaît aussi dans quelques passages du Charmide. Par exemple, en 157a la présence d’une vertu est présentée comme immanence. En

effet, après avoir dit que la sophrosyné vient dans (eggignesthai) les âmes par l’effet des beaux discours, le verbe eggignesthai est employé tout de suite en conjonction avec pareînai (ἐγγενομένης καὶ παρούσης 15736). En 158e-159a, au début de la première

définition

de sagesse, pareinai

et eneinai

semblent

avoir

exactement

le

même sens, Si la sagesse -dit Socrate- est présente (πάρεστιν 158e7) en Charmide, il doit en avoir quelque opinion. Car étant en (ἐνοῦσαν 159a1) lui, si elle est en (ἔνεστιν 159a2 ; cf, 159a9) lui, il devra avoir une sensation qui fera naître en son esprit une opinion sur ce qu’elle est et de quelle qualité elle est (ὅτι ἐστὶν καὶ

ὁποῖόν τι ἡ σωφροσύνῃ : 1598 3-4). En 160d-161a, où, une fois réfutée une première caractérisation de la sagesse, un nouvel examen commence, on emploie aussi pareinai, dont la connexion avec hopoion est à remarquer. Le passage est très intéressant, car il met en évidence que la présence d’une qualité rend quelqu’un qualifié. “Il faut que tu recommences à t’examiner avec plus d’attention encore, et quand tu auras découvert de quel caractère (ὁποῖόν τινα) te fait la sagesse étant présente (παροῦσα) et de quel caractère elle est pour te faire tel (ποία τις οὖσα τοιοῦτον ἀπεργάζοιτο dv)...” {160d4-8). D’autre part, on remarque que pour produire une certaine qualité en un

sujet, ce qui la produit doit avoir, lui-même, cette qualité”. Ce n’est pas le cas de la : pudeur, dont la présence peut rendre bon ou mauvais; la sagesse, par contre, est un bien, car lorsqu'elle est présente (παρῇ 16149), elle rend les hommes bons, sans

jamais les rendre mauvais?4. En 169e, Platon n’utilise le verbe pareinai, mais sa contrepartie, échein, et il affirme

que la possession d’une qualité donne a ce qui la posséde la méme qualification. En effet, si quelqu’un -dit Socrate- possède (ἔχει el) la science qui se connaît ellemême, il sera lui-même tel qu’est la chose qu’il possède (τοιοῦτος ἂν αὐτὸς εἴη οἵόνπερ ἐστὶν ὃ ἔχει el-2), c’est-à-dire, il aura la même qualité . L’exemple est illustratif : quand on possède (ἔχῃ 63 et 4) la vitesse on est rapide?5, quand on possède la beauté on est beau, quand on possède la science on est savant. Par conséquent, quand on posséde la science qui se connait elle-méme, on se connait soi-méme. La réitération du verbe échein est A remarquer (169e1, 2, 4, 7 (deux fois),

170b8, 9, d8, 172b1, 3), Finalement,

dans l’Hippias Majeur

on retrouve

les deux

modes

de présence

23 Comme le signale Kahn ({1996], 333), un des traits de la pensée et de la langue la cause doit avoir la même caractéristique que l'effet, car une cause ne peut ne possède pas. j 24 La présence d’une qualité produit un effet, Cf. Lachès 189e-190a, où presence et production (poieîn}) vont ensemble. 25 L'exemple montre que la relation universel-particulier ne se limite pas à des Ross le fait noter à propos du Lachés ([1951], 11).

26 Cf. Charm. 175e : παροῦσα y trois fois ἔχεις. 176a : ἔχω … μὴ ἔχω.

du

grecques est que donner ce qu'elle (paragignesthai) termes éthiques.

Maria Isabel Santa Cruz

233

Lysis. On y emploie de préférence le verbe prosgignesthai (289d-e ; 292 d-e ; 294ac). L’or ou la convenance, lorsqu'ils viennent s’ajouter à un objet, l’ornent et le font apparaître (phainesthai) beau au lieu d’étre beau. Il s’agit donc d’une présence qui

ne qualifie pas l’objet, qui ne le rend pas beau et trompe sur la beauté. Π faut signaler que dans

le passage

du Lysis

aussi bien que

dans

les passages

parallèles de l” Euthydéme, le Charmide et l’Hippias Majeur auxquels j’ai fait référence, le vocabulaire de la participation n’apparait pas à côté de celui de la présence et de la possession. Point important, si l’on fait attention aux observations de Fujisawa??, car il semble en être exclue toute référence aux Idées. En effet, dire que À participe de B n'implique la présence de B lui-même en A. Une telle expression décrit plutôt le rapport de x à ® (c’est-à-dire, Forthe transcendante) et doit être mise complètement à part de l’autre type de locution (cf. Phédon 100d5-7). En plus, dans le Phédon la présence est proposée comme une forme de causalité : les

belles choses sont belles non par sa couleur brillante mais seulement par la beauté, à cause de la beauté; dans le Lysis, par contre, présence et causalité sont dissociées. Il

n’est pas dit que les cheveux sont blancs à cause de la blancheur, mais à cause de la teinture ou de l’âge?ë. La parousia d’une qualité dans un objet est une expression naturelle et, en ce sens, elle ne renvoie pas nécessairement à la théorie des Idées. Il suffit de comprendre ces

passages comme renfermant une distinction sur le plan conceptuel : une qualité beauté ou blancheur, par exemple- est sans doute différente de ses instances, c’est-àdire, différente des multiples beaux ou blancs appartenant à des particuliers sensibles. Pourquoi parler en termes de la “théorie classique des Idées” là où Platon

ne l’a pas encore formulée de façon explicite??? Universidad de Buenos Aires

27 Fujisawa (1974), 32. Fujisawa a bien remarqué, contre Ross et tous ceux qui considèrent metéchein et mots voisins comme termes d’immanence, qu’on ne doit pas mettre ensemble les métaphores de l’avoir (échein) et de la présence et celles du participer (metéchein, metalambänein). Il distingue trois groupes de termes: 1) tous ceux qui indiquent “immanence” (échein, kektésthai, eneinai, pareînai, etc.) ; 2) ceux qui indiquent séparation (metechein, metalambänein, etc.) ; 3) termes appartenant au vocabulaire du parddeigma-eikôn (cf. 40). En effet, tandis que la participation indique un rapport entre l’individu particulier et la Forme, la possesion exprime une relation entre l'individu particulier et la propriété présente en lui, qui tire son nom de la Forme. Il remarque que dans Lysis, Lachès, Euthyd., Hipp. Maj., Charm., Euthyphr., Ménon, Gorgias, Cratyle, apparaissent échein, eneinai, pareïnai, etc., mais jamais metéchein, etc. (cf. 42-43) et que le vocabulaire de la “participation”, employé pour exprimer la transcendance, n’est présent qu’a partir des dialogues moyens (cf. 47). S’il est ainsi, on ne peut pas prendre, comme le veut Kahn ([1996], 335, n. 1), pareinai comme métaphore converse de participer. Cependant, dans le Charmide Platon emploie metéchein (158c4) et il le met, peut-être, en correspondance avec pareinai (158b5). 28 Le passage du Lysis est peut être plus proche du Phédon 105c ss. : c’est le feu - et non pas la chaleur - qui rend un corps chaud par sa présence (ἐγγίνεται). De même, ce n’est pas la maladie, mais la fièvre, qui rend malade un corps.

23 Cf. les remarques de Tuckey à propos du Charmide, (1968), 1-2 et 5.

Papers on the Charmides

Critias and the Origin of Plato’s Political Philosophy Noburu Notomi [ 1. Introduction]

How can we characterize the Charmides? Is it a typical Socratic dialogue that examines a virtue and ends in aporia, or rather an early attempt at epistemology? Traditional characterisations ignore the context in which Socrates converses with

young Charmides and his cousin Critias on sdéphrosyné and, therefore, miss the essence of the dialogue and its specific location in Plato’s philosophy. We must reconsider what problem Plato confronts in this dialogue. [ 2. The issues concerning Critias ] Critias, a main interlocutor in the Charmides, is known as a leader of the cruel “Thirty Tyrants”. The “Thirty” oligarchs governed a defeated Athens after the Peloponnesian War (March 404 - May 403 B.C.'), and it is exaggeratedly said that they “for the sake of personal gain, killed almost more men in eight months than all

the Peloponnesians did in ten years of war”? As a leader of the oligarchs, Critias was described by Flavius Philostratus in the third century A.D. as “the most evil (kakistos) of all who are notorious for evils (kakia)”?

The “evil” image of Critias

'T follow the chronology of Krentz (1982), 147-152. 2 Xen. Hell. II 4. 21 (in Cleocritos’ speech), the number of the killed is usually supposed to be around 1500, with reference to other sources (Arist. Ath.Pol. 35.4, Isoc. 7.67, 20.11; cf. Krentz [1982], 79, n.30, [1995], 146), but the above quotation is the only testimony in Xenophon’s Hellenica. 3 Flavius Philostratus, Vitae Sophistarum 1.16 (501) = DK 88A1.

238

Critias and the Origin of Plato’s Political Philosophy

is still prevalent among the readers of Plato’s Charmides.* Critias was a man of letters and a descendent of the famous aristocratic family in Athens which could be traced back to Dropides (or Solon).5 He raises two important issues for analysis of Plato’s philosophical career.

First, as a relative of

Plato (his mother’s cousin), he seems to have influenced the young Plato.

In his old

age Plato recalls his experience as a twenty-three year old, and says in the Seventh Letter that he was initially attracted by Critias’s invitation to join the oligarchic government, but soon became disappointed on seeing the reality, and detached himself from its evil deeds (ta tote kaka) (324b-325a)$ Second, Critias is regarded as a major influence in the decision to bring Socrates to trial in 399. In spite of the

amnesty declared at the restoration of democracy in 403, there remained a suspicion that Socrates implanted oligarchic ideology in young Athenians, in particular, Critias and Alcibiades, seducing them to overturn the democracy.’ It was widely

believed that this was the main reason for his execution for “corrupting youth”, the accusation brought by Anytus (the extreme democrat) and others. For instance, although Xenophon argued in the Memorabilia (1.2.1-47) against this political

charge, put forward by Polycrates in one of his pamphlets around 393, after a half century, Aeschines again said that the Athenians “put to death Socrates the sophist, because he was shown to have educated Critias, one of the Thirty who put down the democracy” (1.173). As the Seventh Letter recalls, these the young Plato away from practical politics and forced in philosophy (324b-326b). In relation to Critias and serious questions about justice and injustice, or the good It is in the Charmides,

were the events which kept him to contemplate politics Socrates, Plato confronted and bad in human beings.

it seems to me, that Plato confronted fundamental

issues

concerning philosophy and politics, but commentators have scarcely considered this political aspect to the dialogue. They pay insufficient attention to what Critias says about séphrosyné in this dialogue, mainly because they take “the evil image of

Critias” for granted. Whether he is dismissed as a cruel tyrant or as an atheistic sophist, or seen as representing Plato’s nostalgia for the glory of his own family,® the true issue Plato confronted in the Charmides is concealed under many layers of historical prejudice. In orderto reread the Charmides, therefore, we must first 4E.g., Guthrie (1969), 298-301. SC. Charm. 1558 and 1576. 6 This famous letter is sometimes regarded as spurious and, although a majority believe in its authenticity, the issue is not yet decided. I take the letter to be genuine, but even if forged, it was certainly written by someone who got full information from Plato himself. On the other hand, even if it is genuine, we cannot take all the content at its face value because of the author’s apologetic tone and political intention. Therefore, the issue does not directly affect my argument.

7 The connection between Socrates and the Thirty is discussed by Stone (1980) and Krentz (1982), 82-83. ® Burnet (1914), 169 says that “The opening scene of the Charmides is a glorification of the whole connection (sc. Plato’s family)”.

Noburu Notomi

239

examine the historical figure of Critias and show how his image was created: the image, not only for the ancient Greeks, but also for us, the twentieth century readers

of Plato’s dialogues. This historical examination will turn out to be intrinsically related to the philosophical interpretation of the dialogue. {3.

Critias “the Sophist” ]

Philostratus’s Lives of the Sophists, 1.16 introduces the representative account of Critias, along with those of other famous fifth-century Sophists, stich as Protagoras and Gorgias, and this passage has become the main source for Diels-Kranz’s inclusion of Critias in the list of the presocratic Sophists (DK 88A1). However, there is no other evidence for taking Critias as a Sophist, that is, a professional intellectual who charged a fee for teaching rhetoric or virtue?; in the Thesaurus

Linguae Graecae I find no reference to Critias as a Sophist before the third century Philostratus.!° I suspect that, when Herodes Atticus, the leading figure of the Second Sophistic Movement (whom Philostratus admired), revived Critias as a model writer of Attic prose, the treatment of Critias as one of the Sophists (in its good

sense, namely,

as admirable philosophers)

began.!!

If this speculation

is

correct, our image of Critias.as a Sophist in a bad sense, namely, a fake philosopher whom

Plato

severely

criticised,

is an

unfortunate

appearance

generated

by

a

complex historical refraction.!* { 4.

Critias “the Tyrant” ]

9 Critias is said to have been taught by Gorgias; and he appears as one of the audience (along with Alcibiades) at the meeting of the great Sophists in Plato’s Protagoras; also, in Charmides 163d, Socrates connects the verbal distinction by Critias with Prodicus. However, being a Sophist is quite different from being influenced by the Sophistic Movement. For the general features of the sophists, see Notomi (1999), 44-48, Most intellectuals in the late fifth century - Euripides and Thucydides included - were under the strong influence of the Sophists. 10 According to the TLG, Ars Rhetorica 11.3.1.15 of Aelius Aristeides (2nd century A.D., a pupil of Herodes Atticus) (= DK 88B47) is the only example before Philostratus that puts “Kriti-” along with “sofist-” within four lines (Pandora 2.5.2). This passage compares Critias with the ancient Sophists, but never calls him a Sophist. !! Philostratus VS. IL1 (564) reports that Herodes admired Critias’ style and introduced him to contemporary Greeks. 12 The Neoplatonist commentators wrongly separated Critias the Sophist from Critias the Tyrant (cf. John Philoponus, Jn de Anima 89.8 (= DK 88A22); Simplicius, Jn de Anima 32,22). This seems to be a confused result of the revival of Critias by Herodes Atticus.

On the other hand,

neither Hegel’s Lectures on the History of Philosophy nor Grote’s History of Greece, Book VIII, in the nineteenth century treats Critias as a Sophist, while Guthrie and Kerferd in their

major contributions to the study of the Sophists in this century, following Diels-Kranz, include him among the fifth century Sophists (cf. Guthrie [1969], 301; Kerferd [1981], 5253).

240

Critias and the Origin of Plato’s Political Philosophy

The Thirty were notorious for military dependence on Sparta, and blamed for arrest, confiscation, or execution of many citizens and metics (metoikoi). Xenophon, a pupil of Socrates, reports the rise and fall of the Thirty government in Hellenica 11.3.11-4.43, and is most responsible for making up our image of Critias, as the leader of the cruel “Thirty Tyrants”. However, we must be cautious about the rhetoric used in this historical narrative. First, the dramatic setting contrasts three leading figures: Critias as a cruel tyrant, Theramenes as a victim, and Thrasyboulus as an anti-oligarchic hero. Organization

of the narrative is clearly for the dramatic effect. Second, although Critias was not the only leader in the Thirty (Charicles Hellenica), Xenophon focuses solely on the Thirty to Critias’s character and revenge.!? It is pointed out, however,

was also notorious, but unmentioned in the Critias.!4 Third, he ascribes all the evils of personal motivations, such as greed and that the Thirty’s main concern lies not in

getting money, but in elimination of opposition.!9 Moreover, Xenophon’s account constantly associates the Thirty’s political activities with those of the tyrants, especially of Peisistratus, and reinforces their image as

enemies

of democracy

(especially in 11.3.48, 4.1).!7 However,

Critias and his

fellows praised oligarchy (oligarchia), a political form in which a small number of the elite class rule, and this is essentially different from tyranny (fyrannis), in which

a single dictator holds absolute power.!8

On the other hand, the Thirty were elected

13 Recent research focuses on the literary technique and the moralistic character of Xenophon’s Hellenica, Dillery (1995), 138-163, analyses the narrative of the Thirty as a “paradigm”. For example, the impressive speeches of Critias and of Theramenes must be a reconstruction (or a fiction) by the author, and not a historical record (pace Usher [1968]). It seems obvious that Xenophon makes Theramenes summarize the whole evil of the Thirty (cf. Krentz [1982], 145, n.27,

[1995],

129,

132);

for

example,

the

arrest

and

murder

of Leon

the

Salaminian,

mentioned in 11.3.39, is usually supposed to have happened at the later stage of the regime, according to Plato, Apology 32c-d (cf. Ep. VII 324d-325a, Xen. Mem. IV.4,3).

14 Cf. Krentz (1995), 127, 140.

Whitehead [1982/83], 112), Athenaion

For Charicles as a demagogue, see Arist. Pol. V.6 1305b25-26 (cf. On the other hand, when Aristotle discusses the Thirty in the

Politeia, he never mentions

the name

of Critias.

Rhodes

(1981), 421, 429-430

sees this as due to a Platonic influence, and Dillery (1995), 142 connects this with the charge against Socrates.

15 For greed for money, see 11.3.16, 3.21-22, 3.43, 4.1, 4.21, and 4.40;

for the revenge on the

democrats who once banished him from the city, see IL.3.15 and 3.21. An episode of his seeking refuge in Thessaly, whose inhabitants were notorious for licentiousness and lawlessness, makes another topos of the evil: Xen. Mem. 1.2.24, Philostratus VS. 1.16 (501502). 16 Cf. Krentz (1995), 134, etc. 17 Appointment of a council (11.3.11); hiring a garrison (3.13); purge of the opposing group (3.14); and disarmament of the people other than the Three Thousand and keeping them outside the city (4.1). These activities are deemed similar to those of the historical tyrants, especially Peisistratus, but they are common in tyranny and oligarchy (cf. Arist. Pol. V.10 1311a9-15).

18 The idea of oligarchy is in opposition to tyranny, as is democracy; see Hdt. Π1.81.

241

Noburu Notomi

to govern, and did not usurp power; 15 in the government of the Thirty, the council of the Five Hundred was responsible for final decisions, and the Three Thousand citizens joined the government, even though the Thirty may sometimes have over-

exerted their power.2

The designation “The Thirty Tyrants”, which is supposed to

originate in Polycrates’s work,?! firmly frames our image of Critias as a violent and cruel tyrant. It is truly this label that has concealed his real political intention and ideology, and prevented us from examining them seriously. Critias the politician

was forgotten soon after his death,?? and became instead a paradigmatic villain in the history.

\

[ 5. The creation of the evil image ]

The Three Thousand citizens, who stayed in the city under the regime of the Thirty and effectively supported the oligarchic government, blamed their leaders for “Tyranny”, so as to make themselves appear the victims and thus escape their own responsibility. Xenophon, who probably worked for the Thirty as a horseman, also needed self-justification in the restored democracy, and showed his hostility against the Thirty. This seems to be the main explanation for the creation of evil images of the Thirty, and, in particular, of Critias. In addition, I see a further explanation in Xenophon’s explicit intention to defend Socrates, in the Memorabilia. In response to the charge against Socratese (brought

by Polycrates) that he had educated Critias and Alcibiades, Xenophon insisted that Critias was by no means a good pupil; he joined Socrates for the sake of political ambition and fame, but as soon Socrates’s circle (1.2.12-38, 47).

as his initial aims had been realised, he left All this, for Xenophon, came from Critias’s

licentious and arrogant character and lack of affection for Socrates. He gives us an impressive episode: Socrates once criticised Critias for his sexual licentiousness, and this later caused

the Thirty’s

suppression

of Socrates’s

freedom

of speech

(1.2.31-38; IV.3.3).23 In this way, Xenophon makes full use of “the evil image of Critias”,2* so as to praise Socrates as a hero brave enough to oppose the Thirty.?5 1 Cf. Krentz (1982), 50, (1989), 190-191, (1995), 123; Rawson (1969), 30, and Rhodes (1981), 434-435.

he criticizes the traditional view shown in

20 For the roles played by the Council and the Three Thousand, see Rhodes (1981), 448; after the

2! 2 23 24

defeat of the oligarchs in Munichia, the Three Thousand citizens in the city dismissed the Thirty and elected the Ten (Arist. Ath.Pol. 38.1; Xen. Hell. 1.4.23). Some commentators mistakenly believe that “the small number of rulers” (oligoi) means the Thirty (e.g. Whitehead [1982/83], 107), but clearly the Three Thousand was the official ruling class. Compare the case of the Four Hundred (cf. Thuc. VHL92.11). Cf. Arist, Rhet. 11.24 1401a34-36; see also Krentz (1982), 16, n.2, and Tuplin (1993), 44. Cf. Arist. Rhet. 1Π.16 1416b26-29. Whitehead (1982/83), 125-126 associates this episode with the Thirty’s philolaconism. Mem. 1.2.12 (cf. 11.6.24): Critias is “the most thievish, violent, and murderous of all in the age of

242

Critias and the Origin of Plato’s Political Philosophy

On the other hand, Xenophon carefully avoids discussing such controversial topics as Socrates’ philolaconism, anti-democratic tendency, and dangerous influence on young people. This rhetorical strategy is also evident in Lysias’s speech Against Eratosthenes: the vivid narrative diverts readers’ attention from the political side of the Thirty’s government, and attributes all evils to the rulers’ love of money and immorality.” They mystify “the evil” and offer comfort by locating it in the character of “villains”. Later in the first century B.C., the Thirty were set up as a “Paradigm” of evil in Diodorus Siculus’ History (XIV.1-6).27 Thus, it turns out that “the evil image of Critias” reflected the strong reaction against oligarchy in democratic Athens, and that this has concealed his real political activities. [ 6. Political activities of the Thirty ]

Once we have suspended our ready-made image of Critias, we must examine the political activities of the Thirty and their underlying intentions, which Xenophon

and Lysias concealed. In Athens at the end of the fifth century, the defects of democracy became obvious, and led ultimately to defeat in the Peloponnesian War. At this stage the ideology of oligarchy (or what the sympathizers more favourably termed “aristocracy”), modeled on the Spartan political system, was praised among the elitists as the ideal substitute for democracy, and an abortive attempt to form such a government was made by the Four Hundred in 411. Facing the question of life or death for Athens,?® the oligarchic group found it their duty and opportunity to reconstruct a defeated Athens in support of Sparta (in particular, the Lacedaimonian admiral Lysander). It

was in this critical situation that the Thirty came to power. According to Lysias and Plato, the Thirty at the beginning of their political career proclaimed that they intended “to purify (katharan poiésai) the city of unjust men

and to turn the rest of the citizens to virtue and justice (ep’ aretén kai dikaiosynén)” (Lysias 12.5).2? This moralistic and idealistic propaganda excited citizens, including oligarchy”. 25 In this respect, it is interesting to see an overlap of the images of Theramenes and of Socrates (cf. Gray [1989], 26-27, 97; Krentz [1995], 139).

26 For Lysias 12, see. Krentz (1982), 80-81, and Whitehead (1982/83),

128; it conflicts with

Demosthenes’s testimony in 22.52 and 24.164, 27 For the opposite reputation of Critias and the Thirty (as “good men”), see DK 88A13. 28 Athens might have been totally destroyed and all the citizens executed or enslaved by the victors (cf. Xen. Hell. 11.2.19, VI.5.35, 46 [11.3.25]; Andoc. 1.142, 3.21; Isoc. 14.31, 18.21). 29 Lysias’s description is thought to correspond to Plato’s statement that “I supposed that they would rule the city directing from a certain unjust life towards the just way” (Ep. VII 324d); see also Arist. Ath. Pol. 35.2.

Noburu Notomi

243

the young Plato.3° In claiming the restoration of justice, they first executed the sycophants, and this performance was cheered by the whole city.?! The sycophants (vexatious prosecutors of innocent persons, or blackmailers) were notorious “scoundrels”,

though a necessary evil, in the democratic Athens, and were hated by all people.?? The Thirty purified the city of these “scoundrels” (ponéroi),?? and this political activity seemed to the people a first step towards realisation of the “just” and ideal society ruled by the excellent few. Ὁ Also, it is often supposed that the Thirty attempted to introduce ἃ Spartan political

system into Athens. Critias, a famous admirer of Sparta and theorist of oligarchy, must have been most responsible for the introduction of this idea. The Thirty called themselves, and the Three Thousand citizens, “the best (beltistoi)”, “good and fair (kaloi kai agathoi)”, or “appropriate (epieikeis).% This also represents the moralistic and idealistic aspect of their government.

Bearing these matters in mind, we cannot deny the possibility that Critias and the Thirty had a certain ideology, in terms of which their political activities can be interpreted consistently. Philosophical examination of Critias’s ideology is therefore necessary. It is no longer sufficient to attribute the evils to Critias’s character. How were such evils brought about by the revolution (metabolé, Ep. VII 3240) of the Thirty, who governed Athens in the name of justice? Were these consequences related to Socrates’s education? And how did Plato confront the problem?

[ 7. Four philosophical dimensions to the problem ] Within what dimensions can we properly examine the “evil” of Critias? DI. Critias, despite claiming justice and virtue, never took these seriously, but acted for personal profit and self-interest. This view takes “the evil ‘image of Critias” for granted and instead conceals

the

fundamental problem concerning politics and philosophy. For this kind of “villain” 3° Compare this with the realistic propaganda of the Four Hundred (cf. Thuc. VIII.72, 86 [cf. 54]; Ath.Pol. 29.2). Naturally, some scholars maintain that their propaganda was all empty and only seeking popularity (e.g., Hignett [1952], 288). 3 C£. Xen. Hell. 11.3.12, 38; Arist. Ath.Pol. 35.3; Lys. 25.19; Diod. Sic. XIV.4.2. 32 For the sycophants, see the arguments of Osborne (1990) and Harvey (1990). I believe that the sycophants executed by the Thirty were real, not a label. 33 Xen. Hell. 1.3.13, 14; see also note 37 below. 3 Cf. Krentz (1982), 64-68, and (1995), 128; Whitehead (1982/83), 119 ff.

35 For Critias's philolaconism, see DK 88B6-9, 32-37, and Xen. Hell. 11.3.34, written the Constitution of the Lacedaemonians (DK 88B32-37). 36 Cf, Xen Hell. IL3.19, 3.22; Arist. Ath.Pol. 36.2.

He is said to have

244

Critias and the Origin of Plato’s Political Philosophy

needs reproof and regeneration, not examination. Thirty should be examined.

Rather, the political aspect of the

D2. The Thirty, though seeking justice, used inappropriate means to realise that goal, But can we clearly distinguish between means and end? Does not their idea of justice imply “oligarchy”, “philolaconism”, and force? For example, while the execution of the sycophants allegedly expelled injustice and purified the city, by the same logic, that is, in the name of justice, they purged and executed many opposing citizens and metics as “scoundrels” or “demagogues”.?” Are not these the evil deeds of the Thirty? D3. The Thirty inadequate.

seriously

aimed

for justice,

but their understanding

of it was

If there was something wrong with their understanding of justice and virtue, one may think that the opposite results were brought about ironically by their serious attempt. The reason becomes evident only by philosophical examination of their understanding. Critias’s idea of oligarchy, that a small number of excellent experts should rule, instead of being governed by the ignorant many, was what his conversation with Socrates must have suggested and what Plato in a sense inherited. Karl Popper

criticised totalitarian inclinations in Plato’s political philosophy, but the failure of Critias’s government must have raised a serious theoretical (not only practical) problem for Plato’s philosophy. I see the fundamental problem that Plato faces in the Charmides (and the Republic) in this dimension. But the problem does not end here.

D4. If the right understanding or “knowledge” of justice and of other virtues is unattainable for us, human beings, all political attempts aiming for justice are bound to fail, and are dangerous. If the Socratic cross-examination always brings aporia about virtues and concludes that we are ignorant and must remain within self-awareness of our own ignorance, does it not follow that there is no way of realising justice by political practice? If

politics based on knowledge is impossible in principle, the Socratic refutation is not only useless but rather dangerous in producing such destructive politicians as Critias and

Alcibiades.

Realist

politicians

without

overt

philosophy

(represented

by

Pericles, whom Socrates criticises in the Gorgias) may be much better suited to 37 Xen. Hell. 11.3.13-14, 26, 27, 38 describes how the sycophants and the opposing group were purged by the same logic, “to put the scoundrels out of the way (τοὺς πονηροὺς ἐκποδὼν ποιεῖσθαι) (cf. Christ [1992]); and that these purges were said to be “just” (dikaion, Hell. 11.3.26; cf. dikaiös, 3.27). Harvey (1990), 109 examines the connection between the two labels, “sycophants” and “scoundrels”.

Noburu Notomi

245

actual politics. Then, what kind of “knowledge” makes political practice possible? The fundamental problem conceming between

D3

and D4.

This, I contend,

philosophy

and politics, lies in the tension

is the main

target of Plato’s examination

of

Critias in the Charmides. [ 8. Examination of Critias in the Charmides ] In the Charmides, Socrates, who had just returned from the battlefield of Potidaea in

432, discusses söphrosyne with young Charmides and his cousin and guardian Critias. Charmides later became one of the Ten who ruled in Peiraieus under the regime of the Thirty. Most commentators have ignored the political aspect of the

dialogue, mainly because they miss the importance of examination of Critias’s opinions of séphrosyné in this particular historical and philosophical context. “Sôphrosyné” is a notoriously difficult word to translate (“sound-mindedness”, “prudence”, “self-control”, “moderation” or “temperance”). While some scholars

presuppose the shift of meaning from the older to the new one in Plato’s dialogues, my contention is that this concept should be interpreted as consistently as possible in the Charmides, the Gorgias, and the Republic. First, we must remember that here sôphrosyné (in contrast to Aristotle’s definition in the Ethics?) is a major political virtue. In Plato it is often coupled with justice as a citizen’s virtue,?° and is said to

bring about good government (cf. Charm. 162a, 171d-172a, d). On the other hand, it is well-known that séphrosyné was highly praised by the Spartans as their leading virtue.” The oligarchs in Athens regarded this virtue as their ideal*!; they called

their ideal government “aristokratia söphrön” (Thuc. 1IL82.8; cf. VIIL.64.5), and indeed.

the

oligarchic

“söphronesteron”

government

(Thuc.

VIII.53.3).

of

the

Four

In short,

Hundred

was

the oligarchs

introduced

(or

as

“aristocrats’’)

identified themselves as those who, possessing s6phrosyné, rule the city aiming for justice. Now

let us

turn

to

the

dialogue.

Following

Charmides,

Critias

provides

six

definitions of séphrosyné: Charmides’s definitions I. quietness (159b) II. a sense of shame (1606) 38 Cf. EN. ΠΙ.10-12.

39 Cf, Men. 73a-b;

Gorg. 519a;

Prot. 324d-325a;

Phd. 820;

364a, 403d, 500d, 506d, 591b; Lg. 632c. 40 See the famous speech by Archidamus in Thuc. 179-85; 95-96, 102-104, 106.

41 Cf. DK 88B6 (Critias’s Elegeia).

Symp. 209a;

cf. Wilson (1990);

Alc.I 134c-d;

Rep.

North (1966), 44,

246

Critias and the Origin of Plato's Political Philosophy III. doing one’s own things (161b)

Critias’s definitions III’. doing one’s own things (continuing) IV.

doing good things (163e)

V. knowing oneself (164d:

the Delphic motto)

VI. knowledge of other knowledges and of itself (166b-c, e)

VII. knowing what one knows and does not know (167a) VIII. knowledge of the good and the bad (174b-c)

Critias from the beginning treats séphrosyné as an intellectual virtue, and his definitions can easily be mistaken for Socrates’s ideas. Definition III, “doing one’s own things”, is the same as Socrates’s definition of justice in the Republic (IV 441d4444), and V, “knowing oneself’, with reference to the Delphic motto, strongly reminds us-of the Socratic mission. It is, therefore, crucial to discern similarities and differences between Critias and Socrates.

A crucial point in interpreting the Charmides

is how

we

can understand

the

relationships between several definitions of séphrosyné which Critias provides. He

often gives up his earlier definitions easily, and then presents new ones (IV, V, VI), or readily agrees with Socrates’s suggestions (VII, VIII); there seems no logical relation between these, so that commentators have generally given up the idea of

connecting them

in a single line of argument.*?

In contrast to the traditional

treatment, I see his definitions not as logically consequent, but as implying and revealing an underlying ideology. We need to trace his ideology in the whole

context of these transitions. Critias’s thought appears initially not to have been clear enough even for himself, but the cross-examination by Socrates gradually reveals the implicit meanings of what Critias assumes as söphrosyne. I focus on two shifts. The first comes when Critias abandons his definition II’, “doing one’s own things”, and introduces a new definition IV “knowing oneself”

(164c-d). The second shift explicates “knowing oneself” as V “knowledge of other knowledges and of itself” (166b-c).# In each case, the direct cause of the shift is Socrates’s using an analogy between sdphrosyné and techné (skill); Critias opposes

the analogy and modifies his own preceding definitions.‘ As for the first shift, although Critias once admitted that craftsmen can possess séphrosyné when they make things for others (163a,

164a), he later renounces this admission and insists

42 Cf. Tuckey (1951), 25; Santas (1973), 108-110. 43 No interpretation so far of the second shift is satisfactory; see Tuckey (1951), 33-39, Dyson (1974), 103-106, Kato (1988), 121-122.

44 Cf. 162e-163a, 164a-c, 165c-e, 166a-b; sce also 1616.

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Noburu Notomi

that craftsmen and technicians (e.g., doctors) do not necessarily know that they are

doing good things (164b-d). This causes him to throw away Definitions III-IV and to introduce self-knowledge in V. In the second shift, when

Socrates once again

appeals to the example of skills, Critias firmly rejects the analogy and separates two kinds

of knowledge:

self-knowledge

and skill. He maintains

that sdéphrosyné

is

totally different from other forms of knowledge in that it alone can have itself as its object of knowledge (165e, 166b-c). Together with the first shift, this crucial shift implies the separation of those who have séphrosyné or self-knowledge from those

who possess particular skills but do not share séphrosyné. While the latter half of Definition VI, namely,

paraphrase

of “knowing

oneself’

(cf.

“knowledge

169d-e),4°

the

of itself’, may be a

addition

of “of

other

knowledges” has raised controversy in interpretation. However, the genitive in the

“knowledge

of other knowledges”

in VI is later explained

in terms of “rule

(archein)” and “supervise (epistatein)” (173c, 174d-e), and therefore signifies the relation between two kinds of knowledge. I conclude that the clear distinction between the two kinds of knowledge represented in that phrase corresponds to the social and political distinction and relationship between two kinds of people: rulers who know what they should do, and technicians who, without knowing their own

good, obey their rulers’ orders. Thus, Critias’s definitions of séphrosyné as a whole express his oligarchic ideology. He believes that the ideal form of government is the one in which a small number of excellent people with söphrosyne should rule

(archein) the people who possess technical knowledge only. Only in this form is a city well-governed (cf. hégeisthai, 172d); and justice and the good are brought about to the city (cf. 171d-172a, d). In the introductory conversation, Socrates connects the notion of séphrosyné with

the family origin of Critias and Charmides.* Probably on this basis, when Critias interprets the Delphic motto, he assumes that he possesses séphrosyné and knows himself.*? On the other hand, his comment on the common workers, such as

cobblers and salt-fish-sellers, intimates that social prejudice is embedded in the understanding of séphrosyné: he insists that, whereas plebeian products can be dishonorable, achievements (erga) are all honorable (163b-c).*

rulers should be well-born aristocrats who

In his ideology, the

are aware of their own

duties and

45 However, Tuckey (1951), 49 doubts its validity. 46 See note 43 above. 47 Cf. 154e, 155a, 157e-158a, (1580). 48 Kato (1988), 115-119 analyses what Critias assumes in explaining the Delphic motto: Critias interprets the motto as the god’s greeting addressing those who already possess selfknowledge.

49 Cf. Tuckey (1951), 21; Guthrie (1975), 159, n.4, 166-167. Xenophon introduces in Memorabilia 1.2.56 one claim of Socrates’s accuser (Polycrates): that Socrates’s interpretation of the same Hesiodic passage (Works and Days 309) is the “evidence in teaching his companions to be tyrants and malefactors”. But that interpretation is quite different from the one presented by Critias.

248

Critias and the Origin of Plato’s Political Philosophy

achievements.

In this way, Definition VI indicates not only the privileged status of séphrosyné as self-knowledge but also its political role of supervising other kinds of knowledge.

This turns out to be an implication of Critias’s notion of self-knowledge. What does the “self” exactly mean in this ideology? When Critias’s “self-knowledge” is interpreted in its political context, the “self” has a double role. First, since Critias presumes that only a small number of the elite (himself above all) are capable of sharing séphrosyné, each of them is a “self” who knows himself, that is, his own political role in the society. In this respect the rulers and the ruled correspond to the

“self” and the other respectively. Second, in so far as séphrosyné is a virtue which makes a whole city good and happy, the city itself can also be regarded as the “self”. If we take it in this way, self-knowledge or self-ruling means that a superior self

knows and rules an inferior self. Therefore, the notion of oligarchy as a self-ruling system presupposes and reinforces the division between the true and superior self (i.e. reason and knowledge) and the inferior self (i.e., the irrational and ignorant part); the former ruling and the latter being ruled and obedient. Under this form of self-mastery, what Critias calls “self-knowledge” may become an excuse for a

despotic system of government by introducing a clear distinction among people.?0 At this point, an ideal of the best government may be practically inverted into the worst political consequence. This explains why in reality Critias’s ideology led Athens to disastrous totalitarianism. The notion of the “self” must be somehow

distorted; for true unity is lost in this ideology. We should ask about the unity of a self or of a city, and about the role reason or the ruling class plays in that unity. The ideology, revealed by this process of cross-examination, might have been used for justification of the oligarchic government and might have supported their logic

of absolute rule, and in particular of their depriving citizens and metics of property, freedom, and life. On the other hand, the ruling class of citizens was deliberately limited to the number of three thousand, and even this status was often vulnerable, as was evident from the execution of Theramenes.*! In the last part of the Charmides,

Socrates cross-examines

and refutes Critias’s

definitions. His “knowledge of itself’ is empty for the lack of particular objects (170a-171c), and even if this kind of knowledge is possible, it is of no use (171d-

1754).52 Eventually it turns out that Critias does not have a right opinion of what sôphrosyné really is, but according to Socrates this means that he does not possess

501 take a hint from I. Berlin, ‘Two Concepts of Liberty’ (in Berlin [1969]). 5! For the execution of Theramenes,

see Arist. Ath.Pol.

37.1;

Xen. Hell.

11.3.51.

Theramenes

points out the groundlessness of the Three Thousand (Arist, Ath.Pol. 36.2), and Thrasyboulus the democrat criticises the idea that the ruling class of three thousand are superior in morality (Hell. 11.4.40-42), 52 In the argument, the political art concerning justice and injustice (170b) and knowledge about the good and the bad (174b-e) are counted among subordinate knowledges.

Noburu Notomi

249

sôphrosyné at all (cf. 158e-159a). Lack of awareness of not knowing söphrosyne, that is, ignorance about the self, may lead to excess and lack of self-control. For when self-reflection (“knowledge of itself”) drops out of Definition VI, there only remains the absolute rule of others (“knowledge of other knowledges”). Socrates’s

refutation thus reveals that Critias’s self-knowledge cannot be a principle for good government but is a vanity, In this way Plato demonstrates that, when Critias ruled the city in the name of justice and séphrosyné, he was bound to fail.

[ 9. Overcoming Critias’s ideology in the Republic ]

Plato confronts Critias’s ideology and partly answers in the Republic.

Séphrosyné in the just city is a kind of harmony (harmonia, xymphonia) or order, in which there is an agreement (komonoia) or shared opinion (hé auté doxa, homodoxia) about who should rule, between the ruling and the ruled (430d-432b; cf. 433c). In this ideal city everyone does their own job, and the relationship between the rulers and the rest is not one-sided ruling and obeying, but one between the guardians and those who maintain them (463a-b). Sdphrosyné prevails over the whole city, and is not restricted to a single part (43 1e-432b).>4 Moreover, the rulers of the city are to be selected in accordance not with birth but with intellectual

ability.

In this new definition, séphrosyné is no longer knowledge but a kind of

opinion, nor is it such an ultimate political virtue as the oligarchs believed. In short, Plato distinguishes söphrosyne, the political consensus about who should rule, from sophia (wisdom), the rulers’ knowledge.

{ 10. Conclusion ]

We can now depict a possible image of Critias in Plato: an idealistic elitist who sought for justice under the name of séphrosyné but failed in reality. In Plato’s analysis, Critias’s political failure came from his ignorance; he plunged into practical politics as a possessor of knowledge, but because of unawareness of his

own ignorance he necessarily failed. Evil results are not incompatible with a good will. On the contrary, in practical politics a good intention may sometimes result in evil deeds because of such ignorance. 53 Many scholars take the concept “söphrosyne” differently in the Charmides and in the Republic; the former discusses the older meaning “prudence” and the latter deals with “temperance” (cf. North

[1966], Ch.V;

Kato

[1988], 245-249),

take the word in this way. 54 This is a crucial difference between Aristotle.

But we miss the essence of the problem

if we

Plato's definition and that of the later tradition after

250 Can we think, the one hand, must seek for however, that

Critias and the Origin of Plato's Political Philosophy then, that Plato finally resolved the problem concerning Critias? On the point Socrates raises against Critias in the Charmides is clear: we self-knowledge because we do not yet know ourselves. It follows, it is impossible for anyone to rule others simply with knowledge of

séphrosyné.55 This disavowal of knowledge may imply the nullification of any political practice. If, as Socrates in the earlier dialogues shows, cross-examination necessarily ends in aporia and reveals human ignorance about virtues, no one can properly play a political role with the knowledge of justice and söphrosyne. Socrates actually kept himself away from political practice except on a few occasions, but he was finally put to death, involving himself in practical politics. This happened when he stayed within “human knowledge”, namely, awareness of not knowing about what he does not know. On the other hand, Socratic crossexamination actually has destructive effects on young politicians. For doubt about any social values and belief in justice and the good, when combined with political

ambition, will easily lead to absolutism, as Critias demonstrated. Confronting this problem, Plato postulates the knowledge

of the Form

of the Good

for his ideal

philosopher-rulers; he believes that only true philosophy can make true politics possible (cf. Ep. VIT 326a), and tries to bridge the gap between the two; “unless a genuine philosopher should rule or a real ruler should philosophize, there will be no cessation of evils (kaka) for the city and for human beings” (cf. Rep. V 473c-d; Ep. VII 326b). We notice, however, that this view again comes close to Critias’s belief that those who possess absolute knowledge should rule others. In this way, the collapse of Critias’s political project, and the inadequacy of his political beliefs, became the starting points of Plato’s philosophy of politics. He had to struggle with this problem throughout his life,

Kyushu University

55 Xen. Mem. 1.2.15-28 clearly shows that séphrosyné was at issue when Socrates’s education was examined. j

Naming Socratic Interrogation in the Charmides Harold Tarrant! i. Elenchos and Catharsis in the Platonic Tradition

Plutarch (Moralia 999e) speaks of Socrates employing his elenctic Logos like a cathartic drug. He thus hints that e/enchos constitutes ἃ straightforward description of Socratic activity, while catharsis is a mere metaphor: one of many medical

metaphors for this same activity. Since the seminal article of Vlastos,? scholars have repeatedly assumed that we may accurately describe Socratic interrogation in the ‘early’ dialogues as elenchos, and that no other description is required. This assumption must be challenged, not because the name itself is important, but rather

because it can otherwise lead us astray. One will too readily assume: 1. that use of elenchos-terms in ‘early’ dialogues, etc., somehow refer to Socratic interrogation or to a similar process misused by others. Vlastos is guilty of having assumed the term’s relevance when he examines its meaning ([1983],

31 = [1994], 4). 2.

that the principal purpose

elenchos-terminology,

of Socratic interrogation is that suggested

i.e., critical examination

of an individual

leading

by

to

refutation. Vlastos distances himself from such an assumption, but in doing so gives the Greek term an alien sense of ‘search’. 3.

that all Socratic interrogation in early dialogues has a single function.

4.

that other terms applied to Socratic interrogation are metaphors.

! My thanks to all who commented on my discussion of these matters at Binghamton in Oct. 97, at Durham in May 98, and at Toronto in Aug. 98. 2 (1983), 27-58. Concemed with the history of the elenchus industry, I prefer to cite this original article rather than the revised version ([1994], 1-37). The terminology was used before, notably by R. Robinson ([1953], 7-19), while Vlastos ([1983], 45-47) acknowledges a debt to Grote.

252

Naming Socratic Interrogation in the Charmides

5.

that Socratic interrogation is both modern and relevant, providing us with

an important cognitive tool. These assumptions are questionable, so we should ask whether or not we are employing the correct term. It may help if we ask whether Plato and his ancient followers had anything corresponding to our ‘Socratic Elenchos’. Did they recognize

any specifically Socratic form of dialectic? Did they prefer to use other terms for Socrates’ interrogations? Did they see Socrates as wielding a tool of discovery? Certainly ancient Platonists worked comfortably without any concept equivalent to our ‘Socratic Elenchos’.” Closer examination of the Plutarch passage mentioned

above shows that he is reflecting on the ‘noble-born sophistry’ of Sophist 230b-d (cf. 231b), using it to help him reflect on Theaetetus 150c, without reference to our ‘early’ dialogues. In the Sophist Plato had described elenchos as the greatest and

most authoritative of all purifications, without a hint that either term is more metaphorical than the other. He makes no reference to Socrates, though few would doubt that he is reflecting upon the methods that Socrates employed. The passage restricts elenchos to preparing the way for learning by the removal of opinions that

hinder learning: these are not simply false opinions, but opinions that are mistaken for knowledge. Elenchos here is not a test of propositions but of people; it serves no truth-giving function. Indeed two other vital terms are introduced before elenchosterminology appears, first ἐξετάζω (05), Socrates’ favourite term for examining

knowledge-claims,

and

second

καθαίρω

(c4),4 the standard

medical

term

for

purgation. So elenchos is wedded closely to a second term for investigation as well as to a medical metaphor. It is one of several descriptions that assist Plato to build up

a picture of Socrates’ activity, and perhaps as much a metaphor as midwifery, medical-magic, sting-ray wounds, and gad-fly bites. This elenchos is not a process

leading to truth or falsehood; it is not a test of propositions but of persons; it cannot easily be separated from the shaming of the interlocutor (230d1). This passage is important because Platonism in antiquity followed the Sophist in

identifying elenctic and cathartic processes, without allowing either notion to dominate its conception of what it saw as a preliminary, interlocutor-directed dialectic, otherwise described as ‘peirastic’.° Hence these observations should serve 3 Once in Olymp. In Alc. (87) we meet the phrase ‘Socratic admonitions and elenchoi’, but is has a decidedly non-technical ring. We might have expected to discover the notion of Socratic elenchos in anon. In Theaetetum (which uses zétésis rather than elenchos to characterize Socratic activity), in the Olympiodoran and Proclan commentaries on the Alcibiades (which identify [11 and 14 respectively] only the early part of the work [to 119a] as ‘elenctic’), and in Olymp. In Grg. “ The terminology of purgation had been an integral factor since 226d10. 5 See Albinus Prologus 6, where the peirastic dialogues, which are to act as a purifying agent in education, are characterized by a cathartic and elenctic element, and Proclus In Prm. 654, which alludes to the Sophist in speaking of a peirastic dialectic that combines cathartic and elenctic functions. The term peirastic was employed by Aristotle in the Sophistici Elenchi for that kind of argument that is based upon premises sponsored by the interlocutor, and was

Harold Tarrant

253

to unsettle us about our usual way of describing Socratic interrogation. ii. Plato’s Use of Elenchos-terminology The elenchos is normally thought to function in ‘early’ dialogues, which one may or

may not recognize as a group.

Plato’s use of ἐλέγχειν, δι- or ἐξ-ελέγχειν, and

ἔλεγχος in works thought to precede Republic gives little indication that he viewed it as a specially Socratic process. No such terms occur in Alcibiades 1, Cratylus, Crito, Euthyphro, or Ion. Others occur as follows: ἐλέγχειν

ἔλεγχος

ἐξελέγ-

διελέγ-

total

Apology

5

1

2

8

Charmides

5

0

1

6

Euthydemus

1

0

13

14

Gorgias, to 460

4

0

1

Gorgias, 461-80

17

8

9

34

Gorgias, 48] on

5

0

7

12

Hippias Ma.

6

0

4

10

Hippias Mi.

1

0

0

Ι

Laches

1

0

0

l

Lysis

1

0

1

2

Meno

1

0

Phaedo

1

0

0

Ι

Protagoras

3

1

1

5

Republic 1

3

0

0

3

Symposium

1

1

1

3

11

40

Total ‘early’

55

1

6

Ὁ

1

1

107

Particularly revealing was an examination of who it was who was (or was not, or chosen to show that the questioner is making trial of him, 2.165b4-7, 8.169b25-27, 11.171b46. Catharsis and elenchos are associated by unnamed Platonists at Proclus In Alc. 12.4-5 (one requires elenchos so as to be purged of exaggerated belief), and by Proclus himself at 209: καθαίρῃ τὸν ἐρώμενον ὡς ἐλεγχόμενον, cf. 212.7-9.

254

Naming Socratic Interrogation in the Charmides

might be) conducting the elenchos. Out of 90 occurrences of the verbs,° Socrates is

only the subject or agent in 27 cases.’ δι-. ἐξελέγχειν = 39

éXéyyerv= 51

total = 90

Total used by Socrates

=27

=37

= 64

Total used by another

=12

=14

= 26

Total used of Socrates as subject

= 11

= 16

= 27

Total used of Alter Ego as subject

=

=

= 5

Total used of interlocutor as subject

= 13

= 15

=15

Total used of Socrates as object

=

=23

= 41]

These figures do not point to a specifically Socratic activity, since he is much more often the object than the subject of the verb. One should bear in mind that e/enchos

had hitherto been primarily the task of orators; there is an abundance of such terminology in speeches, and half the cases in ‘early’ Plato are in Gorgias. This arouses suspicion that they occur there not because of the presence of a developed theory of Socratic elenchos as Viastos thought, but rather because (i) elenchos belongs to an orator’s world, (ii) this is the world where the dialogue’s interlocutors move, and (iii) Socrates’ investigations are tailored to his interlocutors’ experiences. That Plato’s use of elenchos-terminology is interlocutor-related is shown by Euthydemus, where the otherwise rarer verb ἐξελέγχειν predominates. This must

relate to the claims that the two sophists make, which go far beyond the claim to test, criticize, or bear witness against respondents, and was quite clearly a boast of refuting them totally (272a9).8 Interlocutor language thus accounts for details of elenchos-terminology. Except in a court-room context (Apology: 8), any more than

the occasional occurrence of elenchos-terminology stems from the presence of sophistic interlocutors.? Is it possible then that elenchos was just as much a metaphor for Socratic activity in the ‘early’ dialogues as were the medical metaphors of catharsis, pharmakon, etc?

iii, The Evidence of Charmides

The .Charmides is crucial for the examination of this question. The notion of Socrates as some kind of quasi-magical holistic healer, armed with drugs for the 6 Dialogues as listed, excluding Phd., Symp., and Rep. I. 7 The alter ego of Hippias Major is excluded for this purpose. 8 This predominance here of the ἐξ- compound is striking; it is comparatively rare in the earliest orators, Antiphon and Andocides, increases in the Corpus Lysiacum and Isaeus, and becomes the norm in Isocrates, whose significance for Euthd. is widely acknowledged. An odd use of the verb comes at 288e5;

Socrates refers to his previous discussion with Cleinias, and uses it

for establishing a constructive thesis.

? Grg. 52 examples, Euthd. 14, Hp.Ma. 10, Chrm. 6, Prt. 5.

Harold Tarrant

255

body and incantations for the soul, unites the dialogue (156d-157c, 1760) much as the midwife theme unites Theaetetus. We are clearly meant to reflect on the implications of the underlying medical metaphor, and perhaps also on why Socrates’ healing processes had failed to ensure the long-term health of Charmides’ soul. This

dialogue has six uses of elenchos-terminology. At 162dl it is used once concerning what had just happened to Charmides; and five times at 166c-e, where Critias actually accuses Socrates of trying to refute him, and Socrates insists that he is only trying to scrutinize the logos: in other words, if he is trying to ἐλέγχειν (something not admitted), then this is not according to the normal oratorical or sophistic sense of trying to refute an opponent.

In examining 162c-d we find that ἐξελέγχειν is unlikely to be used there in a sense which means that Charmides has been the victim of a Socratic elenctic procedure. We read “So Charmides, wanting that it should not be himself but [Critias] to render

an explanation of the answer, was spurring on the man himself, and revealing that he

was ἐξεληλεγμένος.᾽ The term cannot mean ‘refuted’ here. Firstly Socrates would be unlikely to claim success in refuting an opponent here while denying that he is even attempting it later; secondly Charmides wants to avoid being refuted or further

tested on the definition of temperance that he has offered. What he had revealed by goading Critias is that Socrates had correctly supposed that he had heard this definition from Critias, and hence the meaning required is ‘caught out’. Socrates’ reproach at 161b-c had found its mark. I move on to consider 166c-e. Critias accuses Socrates of trying to elenchein him,

and of doing so without thought for the topic of discussion, Socrates denies this, at least in the sense intended by Critias. If Socrates does elenchein Critias, his investigation serves the same purpose as it would if he were investigating a claim of his own: to ensure that he does not think he knows something when he knows nothing. The terminology changes: Socrates replaces the unfriendly verb elenchein with διερευνάομαι, which is clearly supposed to capture the nature of his

investigations better. He claims to be more concerned with avoiding error himself than in ridding others of it. He

is not interested in anybody,

whether Critias

or

himself, being the ‘victim’ of elenchos: it is only the /ogos that must be put to the test.!° This notion of the critique of a logos is distinctive and contrary to popular use of elenchos-terms, for ‘Socrates’ actually raises the problem of elenchos with nobody to reply as if it were paradoxical at Apology the soundness of their opponents.

18d7; orators expected to test

So, when Plato employs the verb ἐλέγχειν in relation to Socrates’ activity in the Charmides, he tells us that it should be conceived only as a metaphor, indicating a

fundamentally different process from that regularly signified by the verb. But if it is 10 One may compare Phd. 8505, where it is what is said on key issues which must be tested, or a variety of passages

in Grg.

(473b9,

logoi are again under investigation.

d2, 482b2,

and

527b3),

or Prt.

(331d1,

347e7),

where

256

Naming Socratic Interrogation in the Charmides

different, is this examination of a logos a distinctly Socratic elenchos? It is certainly

not how the Socratic elenchos is conceived by Vlastos!! and many who have followed him, for the interpersonal level is crucial for them, and it is fundamental to Socrates’ activity as I conceive it also. Plato is letting us know that the vocabulary of elenchos is in fact unsuited to Socrates’ preferred activities. The elenchos-metaphor

becomes prominent only in the debate with Critias, not with his preferred interlocutor; talk of elenchos is not of Socrates’ choice; and his explanation of his purpose makes the term elenchos strained. I do not claim that Plato considers it totally inappropriate, for the elenchosaccusation amounts to an accusation of unfair treatment in a context of debate between persons of similar status. This contrasts with the incantation-metaphor,

which fits the treatment of one of lesser expertise and years.!? This metaphor is a comforting one, indicating here at least a supportive process, in contrast with the rather threatening

elenchos-metaphor.

1.4.1, 4.8.7); he employs

The

evidence

the term elenchos

of Xenophon

agrees

(Mem.

for the punitive part of Socratic

questioning only. Comparison with other dialogues suggests that medical (and related) metaphors are natural for Socrates’ interrogation of young men,! while

elenchos is preferred for debates between intellectual rivals. The question therefore arises as to whether we should apply the notion of ‘Socratic elenchos’ to Socratic interrogation in general, or to any specific dialectical manoeuvres, without regard for context and interlocutor.

iv. Socratic Exetasis as a Source of Truth

What then is Plato’s view of the correct description and function of Socratic interrogations? The natural place to begin is the Apology, and there is no doubt that the ordinary word for this activity there is ἐξετάζω, which, if one includes its cognates, is used 13 times, all of them relevant: as against the 8 times of elenchein and cognates, perhaps half of them relevant. The most relevant uses of the latter are

at 23a5 and 29e5, contexts where ἐξετάζω regularly only of persons,

also occurs. Now

at least in dialogues normally

ἐξετάζω

is used

thought to precede

the

Republic. The term also seems to be specially applied to people’s claims to know I! Vlastos (1983), 30-32. 1? While there is no confirmation that such an ‘incantation’ is identical with any Socratic procedure illustrated in Chrm., Baltzly argues ([1996], I 22-37) that ‘Charmides’ himself takes Socratic interrogation itself to be the charm, and that he is correct to do so. 13 The young Meno also experiences the wizardry and charms of Socrates, Meno 80a2-3. Midwifery in Tht. is applied only to Theaetetus himself, not to Theodorus, and the language of charms appears at 157c. Cebes recognizes Socrates as a charmer at Phd. 78a (cf. 114d). And though the language is slightly different, Alcibiades has similar charms in mind at Smp. 215be, as Baltzly (26-27) recognizes.

14 Exceptions are Ap. 2403: the charge, Prt. 333c8: the logos (but c9: interlocutors!), Grg. 49528: the facts, and Crar. 410d3: the year’s contents.

Harold Tarrant

257

anything or to have expertise. Examples occur at Gorgias 514b1 and 515bl, Laches 189e1, Republic 598d5 and 599a5, and Sophist 230b5. The clearest pattern of all occurs in the Charmides: four times the verb is used for examining people to find out

what they know.'> Here is a term that nearly always describes Socrates’ activities, and which captures the essence of his mission, as described in the Apology, in a way which elenchos does not. What are the truth claims of exetasis? If it is, in its strictest sense, an examination of knowledge and ignorance, then it ought ideally to tell one who knows and who does not, and thus to have a most salutary effect on one’s life: even if that knowledge in

others is never acquired for oneself. Yet the Charmides shows that the recognition of expertise

is not unproblematic,

and

strongly

suggests

that any

such

knowledge

would not involve the same kind of expertise as that being recognized. Seldom is there any suggestion that exefasis operates on a logos, the one so-called ‘early’ case being at Protagoras 333c8-9, where Socrates wants to examine the /ogos more than he wants to examine the interlocutor. This sounds typical of Plato’s Socrates, and

agrees with Charmides 166d-e where it is the /ogos rather than Critias that should be the subject of elenchos. However, this does not entail that Socrates typically wants to examine the truth of propositions. Rather we should think of both cases as involving the metaphorical application of a verb designed for persons to an account people give. In effect, /ogoi are being subjected to a test of expertise! Experts may give accounts that are true rather than false, but it is characteristic of

the expert that she understands the truth of the account given. The accidental adoption of a true thesis does not interest Socrates, nor can it lead to a successful defence of the thesis when challenged by Socratic exetasis. The same words uttered by expert and non-expert can have a different fate at the hands of Socrates’ arguments. A true thesis must also be explained, explained in a manner which demonstrates understanding. That is why Socratic literature was literature about people: why people had to be represented as holding views under consideration.

Even the passage upon which Viastos built his theory of elenctic knowledge,'® Gorgias 509a, places remarkable emphasis upon the people who hold the theories. Socrates does not know (in the stronger sense) about injustice being worse for the individual who practises it, but everybody in his experience has been unable to deny this without looking ridiculous. People are exposed; their authority is undermined by

an assault on their understanding of the issue, but the falsehood of their position is not what is emphasized. Socratic questioning on the virtues and the like was not about words and theses, but about deeds and lives. Exetasis exposed us as deficient,

deficient above all in expertise. Let us ask how the processes of exetasis might yield knowledge in the Charmides?

15 167a2, 170d5, 172b6, 172b7.

16 Vlastos (1985), 57ff., notably 59.

258

Naming Socratic Interrogation in the Charmides

The truth is to remain equally elusive for both Charmides learners within the dialogue are ‘Socrates’ (whose own majority of what is examined) and the reader. But what Socrates do? Not, surely, Vlastos’ Knowledgeg, which is

and Critias; the only themes constitute the kind of learning does an empirical result of

repeated elenchos. To discover what he learns we may return to 166c-d. Socrates

strongly suggests that his purpose is self-examination rather than the examination of Critias. He is particularly concerned to monitor what he himself knows and does not know. The examination of Critias is of course an examination of Socrates himself, since the ways of describing séphrosyné which Charmides introduces and Critias defends are no more Critias’ than Charmides’. As others have recently become aware,!? the arguments with Critias are all concerned with Socratic parakousmata, with an imperfect understanding of major directions in Socratic ethics. Socrates’ examination of approximations to his own beliefs, and his exposure of their weaknesses, reveals what everything had been showing from the beginning: that Socrates himself was the one with sophrosyne, whether in calmness in the face of war or exemplary control of erotic desire. He shows calmness when appropriate; he

shows the better kind of aidös; he does his own peculiarly Socratic job at a moment when others might lose themselves; he knows himself, what he is doing, and how‘ much he knows. He also has a basic wider knowledge of what people do and do not know, and an unusual grasp of the real nature of good and evil. The Charmides demonstrates the séphrosyné of Socrates; sadly it also shows that this virtue so

familiar to him, this virtue with which he lives, involves knowing just how ignorant he is—even when seeking the definitive description of séphrosyné itself.

How is this possible? Does not the Charmides itself suggest that he who possesses this virtue will know what it is? It does not. Close examination of the 158e-159a shows that the presence of the virtue is thought to awareness, as a result of which one will have some impression of terms are αἴσθησις, δοξάζειν, and δόξα. That Socrates himself

key passage at lead to some what it is. The should possess

s6phrosyné is no bar to his own lack of knowledge about it. It does not prevent him lacking the precise terminology through which to offer a foolproof account of it. Rather it involves his knowing that he possesses no such account. What Socratic knowledge is remains paradoxical, and to attempt to explain away the paradox by appeal to elenctically reached knowledge is to attempt to explain away what is distinctive about Plato’s Socrates.

University of Newcastle, NSW

17 See Barker (1995), ii 18-33, Tarrant (1995), ii 8, and now several papers from the conference, plus the perceptive work of Schmid (1998), 40ff.

Carmide fra poesia 6 ricerca Mauro Tulli Socrate nel Carmide torna da Potidea e incontra in palestra Crizia e Cherefonte. Poco dopo Crizia gli descrive la straordinaria bellezza di un giovane, Carmide, che subito dopo entra, circondato da molti ammiratori (153 d-154 d). Fra gli ammiratori

è in breve anche Socrate che dice Carmide θαυμαστός ὁ εὐπρόσωπος, che anzi ὁ pronto a crederlo ἄμαχος, irresistibile, se la straordinaria bellezza del corpo nasconde una straordinaria bellezza dell’anima, se Carmide, già θαυμαστός à εὐπρόσωπος, ὁ anche τὴν ψυχὴν εὖ πεφυκώς. L’appartenenza, di per sé, a una grande, nobile famiglia, la famiglia di Crizia, offre un felice presupposto !. Crizia lo conferma, Carmide certo ὁ καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθός anche nell’anima. Da qui l’invito di Socrate, metterne a nudo e contemplarne l’anima prima del corpo. Ma, per cogliere lo scopo, è indispensabile gestire insieme una ricerca, il διαλέγεσθαι. Carmide accetterà, è giovane, τηλικοῦτος dv. A questo punto Crizia trova due ulteriori garanzie: Carmide accetterà perché ha una passione per la ricerca e una profonda sensibilità per la poesia, φιλόσοφός te καὶ πάνυ ποιητικός (154 e-155 a). Fra le garanzie per il διαλέγεσθαι, non sorprende l’età e non sorprende la passione

per la ricerca. E” nota l’immagine che Platone offre nel VII libro della Repubblica (538 b-539 d). Il giovane, con slancio impetuoso, con l’energia di un cucciolo che gioca, non appena

gusta il piacere del διαλέγεσθαι, tende a rifiutare, a dilaniare ogni opinione consolidata 2. Una prospettiva simile traspare dallo scherno che nel Gorgia (484 c! Ma la famiglia di Crizia è la famiglia di Platone che, di fatto, costruisce la scena con il cugino, Crizia, e con il fratello, Carmide, di sua madre, Perictione. La presenza di Crizia e di Carmide ha, per Kahn ([1996], 186-187), la funzione di una σφραγίς, pur nell’anonimità del codice. 2 Non sempre l'esercizio è felice: la confutazione per lo più diventa confutazione di sé, causa di scetticismo e di cattiva fama per la ricerca. Forse anche per questo Socratesi affretta subito dopo a escludere dal διαλέγεσθαι di Carmide ogni elemento sgradevole, αἰσχρόν: di per sé, Crizia, ἐπίτροπος, tutore, cugino di Carmide, offre un argine a ogni possibile irruenza. Sul διαλέγεσθαι di Crizia nella ricerca, un διαλέγεσθαι che assume luce negativa, cf. North (1966), 154-155.

260

Carmide fra poesia e ricerca

486 d) investe Socrate: il διαλέγεσθαι ὁ per Callicle un’esigenza del giovane che vi scopre un sostegno per difendere la sua libertà 3. Socrate ha nel giovane il terreno

più fertile, nel giovane capace di combattere la tradizione, se recepita in forma passiva e acritica, per appagare un’aspirazione al sapere: da qui l'accusa che subisce nell’ Apologia (23 c-28 a). Il rapporto fra il διαλέγεσθαι e la passione per la ricerca è di per sé palese. Nel Fedone (100 b-102 a) il διαλέγεσθαι ha la funzione di una trama indispensabile per gestire la ricerca e per cogliere un risultato nel campo del sapere. Culmine della παιδεία, riesce a trascendere aritmetica e geometria, musica e astronomia: nel VII

libro della Repubblica (531 c-533 c) offre la speranza di contemplare, per νόησις, il bene in sé 4. Qui, per Carmide, φιλόσοφος rivela senza dubbio il valore proprio che al termine Platone attribuisce nel Fedro (278 d) 5. Carmide ha un’aspirazione al

sapere, accetterà il διαλέγεσθαι, certo di ricavare, dal διαλέγεσθαι, un sapere. Dopo φιλόσοφος, dopo la passione per la ricerca, πάνυ ποιητικός. Una presenza che Platone sembra sottolineare. La profonda sensibilità per la poesia trova conferma, per Crizia, nell’opinione di molti ammiratori e nell’opinione stessa che Carmide ha di sé, ὡς δοκεῖ ἄλλοις τε καὶ ἑασυτῷ: l’incidentale marca la profonda sensibilità per la poesia, non la passione per la ricerca. Non è ad un tempo da trascurare la forza di πάνυ, che distingue ποιητικός, non φιλόσοφος. Una profonda sensibilità per la poesia è del tutto naturale nell’anima di un giovane. Dal Protagora (325 d-326 a) o dal VII libro delle Leggi (810 e-811 a) traspare la

funzione della poesia nell’abituale παιδεία. Il giovane del V e del IV secolo cresce con la poesia ἐπὶ βάθρον, sui banchi, poesia da studiare, da recitare a memoria per l’inesauribile tesoro di regole o di personaggi paradigmatici che offre 6, Ma perché Platone inserisce una profonda sensibilità per la poesia fra le garanzie per il διαλέγεσθαι

La scelta sorprende in base alla generale considerazione della poesia nel X libro della Repubblica (596 a-599 b). Una considerazione del tutto negativa proprio nel

campo del sapere. La doppia distanza, per il processo di μίμησις, dalla realtà ultima, 3 L’adulto che aderisce al διαλέγεσθαι è invece καταγέλαστος, ἄνανδρος, πληγῶν ἄξιος. Callicle richiama il discorso di Zeto nell'Antiope di Euripide (II Diggle); cf. Dalfen (1974), 68-69. Lo scherno, forse comune, trova un’eco nel VI libro della Repubblica (487 b-498 c). Ma palese qui è la reazione di Socrate: l’adulto che vede nel διαλέγεσθαι un semplice πάρεργον spegne il sole dell'anima. 4 Nell’ultima fase, con il Sofista (251 a-254 Ὁ) o con il Politico (262 a-263 c), Platone tende a configurare il διαλέγεσθαι quale sistema della διαίρεσις e della συναγωγή. Cf. Mojsisch (1996), 167-180. 5 Sul rapporto con la definizione di sé, φιλόσοφος, che offre Pitagora nel racconto di Eraclide Pontico (87 e 88 Wehrli?), cf. Burkert (1960), 159-177. Nel Gorgia (481 c-482 c) il termine allude a un metodo di ricerca e a un’aspirazione al sapere. Il metodo di ricerca è il διαλέγεσθαι: ha per scopo un sapere che varca la debole trama dell’ opinione. 6 Cf. Harris (1991), 106-131, Sulla funzione della poesia nell’abituale παιδεία canonica l'indagine che Aristofane sviluppa nell’agone delle Rane (1006-1076). Cf. Arrighetti (1987), 152-155.

Mauro

Tulli

261

indiscutibile meta del sapere, costringe a escludere una funzione della poesia nella ricerca, gia non semplice a partire dalla realta materiale. Da qui, subito dopo, il rinvio a una discordia fra poesia e ricerca, una παλαιὰ διαφορά nel segno della παιδεία (607 a-d) 7. Pur in forma non sistematica, la prospettiva emerge in più di

un’opera

della prima

fase. Nell’Apologia

(22

a-c) la poesia

offre un

sapere

ingannevole, certo inferiore al non sapere di Socrate. Il grande tentativo di procedere nella ricerca sull’ ἀρετή con il sostegno del carme a Scopa di Simonide (542 Page) ha quale risultato nel Protagora (347 c-348 a) una faticosa rinuncia: la poesia non è conciliabile con il διαλέγεσθαι, tace, se interrogata, è argomento di una συνουσία volgare, sterile. Carmide accetterà il διαλέγεσθαι con Socrate perché πάνυ ποιητικός. Ma Socrate dice di sé nel III libro della Repubblica (393 de): où γάρ εἰμι ποιητικός 5. Forse una causa ὁ da cogliere nel rinvio a Solone che segue. Socrate trova un felice presupposto per una considerazione positiva dell’anima di Carmide nella sua grande, nobile famiglia, la famiglia di Crizia. Ma la famiglia di Crizia è la famiglia di

Solone.

Dopo

la caratterizzazione

di Carmide

quale φιλόσοφός

τε καὶ

πάνυ

ποιητικός, la forza del rinvio ἃ Solone certo ὁ indiscutibile. Socrate, nel rispondere a Crizia, qui attribuisce alla parentela, συγγένεια, con Solone la causa ultima delle

doti di Carmide!®. Le richiama con τοῦτο τὸ καλόν, un’espressione che ad un tempo coinvolge la passione per la ricerca e la profonda sensibilità per la poesia. Da Carmide φιλόσοφός τε καὶ πάνυ ποιητικός ἃ Solone φιλόσοφός τε καὶ πάνυ ποιητικός: nel segno della parentela Socrate riconduce a Solone la caratterizzazione che Crizia offre di Carmide. La profonda sensibilita per la poesia ὁ del tutto naturale

per Solone, che l’Atene del V 6 del IV secolo celebrava sia quale uomo politico sia quale autore di poesia. Forse il πάνυ ποιητικός per Carmide prepara l’immagine di Solone πάνυ ποιητικός. Ma perché un rinvio ἃ Solone, se dal rinvio ἃ Solone deriva la necessità di un Carmide πάνυ ποιητικός ὁ un Carmide πάνυ ποιητικός non ὁ di per sé plausibile nella prospettiva del διαλέγεσθαι Un aiuto giunge dallo scambio di battute che Platone sviluppa fra Crizia e Socrate

subito dopo. Carmide ha mal di testa. Ma per Socrate una terapia del corpo è sterile senza una terapia dell’anima. In breve Crizia suggerisce qui l'argomento di ricerca: 7 Cf. Kannicht (1988), 29-34. 8 Cf. Woodruff (1990), ora in Benson (1992), 86-106. 9 Per Murphy (1986), 294-295 πάνυ ποιητικός è il segno dello scopo che ha qui Platone: illustrare, con l’aporia della ricerca sulla σωφροσύνῃ, il fallimento della παιδεία che poggia sulla poesia, della παιδεία che a Carmide offre Crizia. Ma la profonda sensibilità per la poesia è fra le garanzie per il διαλέγεσθαι e il διαλέγεσθαι è fra le garanzie per cogliere un risultato nel campo del sapere. Witte (1970), 51-53 vede nella caratterizzazione di Carmide una caratterizzazione che Platone offre di sé. 10 Nel Timeo (20 d-21 a) Crizia, forse il nonno di Carmide, dice Solone οἰκεῖος καὶ σφόδρα φίλος di Dropide. Certo qui οἰκεῖος allude a un rapporto di parentela. Ma non è possibile capire

quale. Cf. Brisson (1982, 19942), 32-39.

262

Carmide fra poesia e ricerca

la terapia dell’anima nutre la διάνοια ὁ favorisce il principio della σωφροσύνη (157

c-d) !!. Ma, osserva, Carmide certo non richiede una terapia dell’anima perché, sul piano della σωφροσύνη, non ha rivali della sua età, εἰς ὅσον ἡλικίας ἥκει, οὐδενὸς χείρων. Da qui, di nuovo, un rinvio alla famiglia di Carmide (157 d-158 c). Socrate distingue il ramo paterno dal ramo matemo e la sua lode nel ramo paterno è per Crizia figlio di Dropide. Non manca un rinvio a Solone. Ma Solone, ora, non è

più collocato nella gloriosa tradizione di una grande, nobile famiglia, è invece, con Anacreonte (495 Page), l’autore di encomi per Crizia figlio di Dropide che Socrate vede quale causa ultima di eccellenza per il ramo paterno della famiglia di Carmide

(22 West?) 12 Solone autore di encomi. E’ inevitabile pensare alle pagine normative sulla poesia nel X libro della Repubblica (605 c-607 a). La μίμησις, tragica 0 comica, crea

personaggi dominati dal dolore o dal riso al di là dei limiti che la ragione suggerisce, nutre

l’elemento

peggiore

dell’anima

e soffoca

l’elemento

migliore,

ha

nella

παϊδεία un risultato disastroso, è un pericolo decisivo per la città ideale. Da qui la necessità di un bando che coinvolge Omero e la stessa dolce Musa dell’epica e della lirica. Ma il bando risparmia una poesia che non corrompe la città ideale, una poesia’ utile nella παιδεία perché l’autore che la pratica tende a raffigurare per definizione personaggi paradigmatici: encomi e inni. Traspare qui la concezione della μίμησις che Platone sviluppa nel III libro della Repubblica (395 b-396 e). L’uomo che ha un sapere, l’uomo καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθός, crea un racconto con personaggi paradigmatici, degni di lui per coraggio e σωφροσύνη, devoti agli dei, senza limiti nell'anima, non certo con personaggi di livello inferiore, vittime di una passione o di una disgrazia,

propensi all’ingiuria o rovinati dal male 15, In breve, l’uomo che ha un sapere inserisce nel racconto la sua stessa immagine o l’immagine degli dei. Non sorprende la scelta che Platone auspica subito dopo il bando di Omero: encomi e inni. Di per

sé, la μίμησις lega in modo serrato l’autore alla sua opera e favorisce una poesia di grande rilievo nella παιδεία se l’autore vive nella ricerca. La scelta che Platone

auspica subito dopo il bando di Omero nasce dalla sua concezione della città ideale. Una città governata da φύλακες, con un autore καλὸς kai ἀγαθός che in base alla

μίμησις tende a raffigurare φύλακες, personaggi paradigmatici. Ora, il rinvio a Solone assume una funzione precisa, E’ il rinvio all’autore di una poesia conciliabile con la città ideale, gli encomi. La caratterizzazione stessa che

N Sulla presenza di ὅλον o di πᾶν e sulla σωφροσύνη

quale ὑγίεια dell'anima, cf. Cambiano

(19912), 80-82. Per T. M. Robinson (19952), 5-8 l’anima è qui un ὅλον o un πᾶν che ha in sé anche il corpo.

1° Nel Timeo (20 d-21 a) Solone offre con la sua poesia la prova della parentela che ha con Dropide: καθάπερ λέγει πολλαχοῦ καὶ αὐτός (22 West”). Certo è plausibile pensare agli encomi per Crizia figlio di Dropide. Utile sul problema, nella sezione A Crizia di Solone, il commento di

Bergk (19145), 48-53.

13 Una concezione della μίμησις che Aristofane, di fatto, suggerisce nelle Tesmoforiazuse (146-

170). Cf. Paduano (1996), 93-101.

Mauro Tulli

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263

Socrate riconduce da Carmide a Solone diventa del tutto plausibile nella sua struttura, φιλόσοφός τε καὶ πάνυ ποιητικός. Il rapporto fra la passione per la ricerca e la profonda sensibilitä per la poesia non si rivela esteriore o vano: ha invece un ruolo decisivo per l’autore che Platone auspica nella cittä ideale. Di questo autore Solone qui & un esempio concreto: Platone vede negli encomi che gli attribuisce una poesia capace di trascendere la discordia, la παλαιὰ διαφορά, con la ricerca e vicina, di fatto, al διαλέγεσθαι di Socrate con Carmide, una poesia capace di aprirsi al sapere. Gli encomi di Solone quale terreno concreto per la caratterizzazione che Crizia offre di Carmide. L’ipotesi è plausibile se non si dimentica la forza che ha, proprio in questo punto del Carmide, la fitta trama di motivi elaborata per gli encomi dalla tradizione 15. Crizia, quando suggerisce l’argomento di ricerca, insiste su due motivi,

bellezza e σωφροσύνῃ, in base a uno schema tipico degli encomi per un giovane (157 c-d) 15. Subito dopo è possibile cogliere una lode assoluta, εἰς ὅσον ἡλικίας ἥκει, οὐδενὸς χείρων, una lode che la critica riconosce negli epinici di Pindaro !®. Certo il discorso di Socrate a Carmide molto deve agli encomi (157 d-158 c). Traspare qui, di nuovo, l’accostamento dei due motivi, bellezza e σωφροσύνη, di nuovo nella cornice di una lode assoluta, διαφέρειν ce τῶν ἄλλων. A questo punto Socrate inserisce il rinvio alla famiglia di Carmide, che richiama, di per sé, il rinvio all’origine del vincitore negli epinici di Pindaro!”, Nel ramo paterno, di nuovo bellezza, di nuovo nella cornice di una lode assoluta. Forse deriva dagli encomi di Solone per Crizia figlio di Dropide la presenza dell’ ἀρετή, dopo la bellezza, e dell’ εὐδαιμονία8, Nel ramo materno, per Pirilampo, non manca il rinvio a episodi paradigmatici, gli ἔργα presso il re di Persia e i sovrani d’ Asia. Ma Socrate ad anello torna su Carmide, con la lode assoluta e con l'accostamento dei due motivi, bellezza e σωφροσύνη. Al termine, un breve μακαρισμός!5, Il discorso confonde Carmide, che, rosso di pudore, trova in ogni caso parole adeguate: ad un tempo ha il desiderio di non smentire Crizia e il timore di scivolare, con la semplice conferma, in una lode 14 Cf, Mutschmann (1911), 473-478. !5 Per Pindaro la bellezza è fra i motivi della lode di un giovane, nella X Olimpica (97-105) o nel carme a Teosseno (123, 1-15 Maehler): una bellezza esteriore che la bellezza degli ἔργα per lo più conferma, nell’ VII Olimpica (19-23) e nella ZX Olimpica (86-94) o nella VI Istmica (1622). Cf. Bernardini (1983), 148-149. Isocrate, nell’Evagora (22-24), quando elenca le doti di Evagora, distingue la fase del παῖς dalla fase dell’ ἀνήρ e al παῖς attribuisce bellezza e σωφροσύνη. L’accostamento trova la sua maturazione teorica nelle pagine della Retorica ad Alessandro (1441 a 15-18). Cf. Vallozza (1994), 1152-1160. 6 Isocrate la offre nell’Evagora (33-34). Cf. Race (1987), 131-155. 7 CE Bundy (19867), 13-14, Nell'VZIT Pitica (35-60) il rinvio all’origine del vincitore ha un’articolazione molto simile. Cf. Schadewaldt (1928), 281-290. 18 Felicità nel valore abituale, τῇ ἄλλῃ λεγομένῃ εὐδαιμονίᾳ, felicità che nasce da εὐτυχία o da εὐγένεια, il valore forse negli encomi di Solone, certo negli epinici di Pindaro, nella /Z/ Pitica (84) o nella VII Nemea (54-60). Sulla “spiritualizzazione” del termine, felicità che nasce da ἐπιστήμη, nella trama stessa del Carmide (171 d-172 a), cf. Classen (1959), 108-109.

19 Aristotele offre nella Retorica (1367 b 27-35) una puntuale indagine su μακαρισμός e lode. Cf. Buchheit (1960), 158-169.

264

Carmide fra poesia 6 ricerca

di sé (158 c-d). Allude qui a un problema di grande rilievo nella riflessione sugli encomi, la lode di sé, un problema che Plutarco, nei Moralia (539 A-547 F), osserva in forma sistematica. Nel Carmide,

il rapporto fra poesia e ricerca, fra poesia e διαλέγεσθαι,

emerge

anche dal ruolo che ha Crizia, uomo politico e ad un tempo autore di poesia. Platone vede in Carmide l’allievo di Crizia e gioca sullo scambio fra il maestro e l’allievo nel διαλέγεσθαι con Socrate (154e-155a). Ma, subito dopo l’inevitabile rinuncia di

Carmide a una definizione della σωφροσύνη quale pudore, la presenza di Crizia diventa palese. Ora, Socrate attribuisce a Crizia la definizione della σωφροσύνη quale τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν: certo una definizione he Carmide dice non sua e che ha nelle parole di Crizia un sostegno concreto. Socrate incalza, Carmide cede, Crizia ne assume il ruolo (161 b-162 e)?°. Platone a questo punto inserisce la poesia quale termine di paragone per la ricerca stessa: Crizia prova lo sdegno di un autore che

vede maltrattata la sua poesia, τὰ ἑαυτοῦ

ποιήματα'.

Funzione simile ha un

paragone del Crizia. Il racconto di Atlantide, che Crizia offre per proiettare nella. storia i φύλακες della città ideale, diventa un testo per la scena, con Socrate, Timeo/

Ermocrate fra il pubblico (108 a-b). Subito dopo Crizia ribadisce le parole di Socrate, un testo per la scena (108 c-d) 22, Ma è un testo che ha nel Timeo la forma

degli encomi. Socrate la dice indispensabile per un testo sulla città ideale (19 b-20 c). Crizia la scopre nel racconto di Atlantide, tradizione deriva da Solone (20 d-21 a).

che per tormentata

e non

breve

Forse a questo punto è possibile capire l’importanza che ha la caratterizzazione di Carmide. La profonda sensibilità per la poesia trova origine nella parentela con Solone, che Platone richiama e ad un tempo imita quale autore di una poesia

conciliabile con la città ideale, quale autore di encomi. Un’ereditä gloriosa che rende Carmide capace di aprirsi al διαλέγεσθαι di Socrate, alla forma più alta di poesia. Università degli Studi di Pisa

20 Cf. Tuckey (1951), 20-21. 21 Socrate nella definizione della σωφροσύνη quale τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν riconosce l'oscurità di un αἴνιγμα, Un'oscurità che pervade nel Teeteto (194 c-d) la poesia di Omero, nel I libro della Repubblica (331 e-332 c) le parole di Simonide sulla δικαιοσύνη (642 Page), nel Liside (213 d-214 e) forse la poesia di Empedocle. Di per sé la poesia è nell’Alcibiade I! (147 b-c) un αἴνιγμα che richiede un grande impegno d’interpretazione, où τοῦ προστυχόντος ἀνδρὸς γνωρίσαι. Per αἴνιγμα e ricerca dell’ ὑπόνοια, cf. Richardson (1975), 65-81. La definizione della σωφροσύνη che Socrate attribuisce a Crizia deriva, già per Pohlenz (1913), 51-52, dalle Homiliai (88 B 41a Diels-Kranz5). Ma quale campo di un αἴνιγμα è forse preferibile pensare a un “elegia. Certo in un’elegia Crizia inserisce la sua indagine sul μηδὲν ἄγαν (88 B 7 DielsKranz”), Per la presenza di una prospettiva etica nei frammenti di origine simposiale, cf. Patzer (1974), 3-19. 22 Poesia ὁ per Socrate la grande ricerca di Timeo sul cosmo: Timeo ha la forza di un autore di poesia. Cf. Arrighetti (1991), 13-34.

Sôphrosuné in the Charmides R. F. Stalley In his middle and later dialogues Plato develops a view of séphrosuné (temperance) as a harmony between reason and the lower elements in the soul. This view is anticipated in the Gorgias, where Socrates first attributes to the many the idea that

séphrosuné consists in controlling one’s desires and appetites! (491d) and later describes it as kind of order in the soul which requires restraint of the desires (506c507c). But it is, of course, most familiar from the Republic, There, when Socrates is searching for the virtues in his ideal city, he describes séphrosuné as a kind of harmony or concord, a condition in which one has control over one’s desires and appetites. He takes this conception to be implicit in the popular description of the man who possesses séphrosuné as ‘master of himself (430e). The city may likewise be said to possess séphrosuné when the manifold desires of the inferior elements among the citizens are controlled by the wise desires of the better elements. The sdphrosuné of the city is thus a condition in which both rulers and ruled agree as to who should exercise authority (431c-e). Similarly when Socrates comes to

describe söphrosune in the individual he presents it as a harmonious condition of the soul in which the d). In the Laws, pleasure and pain Plato even

spirited and reasoning elements agree to be ruled by reason (442cs6phrosuné is identified as a condition in which our feelings of are in harmony with right reason (696b-e). gives this conception of séphrosuné a cosmological dimension.

According to the Gorgias, sôphrosuné is one of the qualities which, in the view of the wise, hold the universe together and entitle us to call it a Kosmos (507e-508a).

This view is developed in the Timaeus where a parallel is drawn between the role of reason which creates order in the universe at large (47e-48a) and that of the rational element in the human soul which strives to create harmony by gaining control over the disorderly mortal elements (44a-d; cf. 80b-87d). At first sight, the opening pages of the Charmides seem to prepare us for a similar account of söphrosune. When Charmides first appears Socrates is not only

! There is nothing particularly novel about the conception of séphrosuné as self-control. It is one of the traditional conceptions of this many-sided virtue. Plato himself makes Agathon the poet say thateveryone accepts such a view (Symposium 196c) and it is prominent in, for example, the plays of Euripides. See North (1966), 68-70.

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Séphrosuné in the Charmides

struck by his beauty (154b-d) but has difficulty in overcoming his sexual desire (155c-d).

Evidently we are expected to see Socrates as embodying the very virtue

which is to be discussed in the dialogue? Socrates then claims to know a cure for the headaches which have been troubling Charmides but, citing the authority of the Thracian Zalmoxis, he insists that one cannot cure bodily ills without first curing those of the soul. The latter are to be cured through speech which creates séphrosuné in the soul and thereby restores the body to health (156d-157c).. This looks like an obvious reference to the doctrine, familiar from the Republic and the Gorgias, that virtue and vice are conditions of psychic order and disorder which stand to the soul as health and

disease do to the body? Charmides,

who

is

himself

an

embodiment

of

the

kind

of

söphrosune

appropriate to one of his age, offers an account of the virtue as ‘doing everything in an orderly and quiet way—walking in the streets, talking, and doing everything else of that kind’ (159c). From the Platonic point of view it looks as though Charmides is

right to identify séphrosuné with a kind or orderliness but wrong to concentrate on external behaviour rather than on the internal order of the soul. He compounds this. error by concluding that séphrosuné is, in general, ‘a kind of quietness’. Socrates easily demonstrates that this definition is inadequate since there are evidently many occasions where quietness is not a good thing. Charmides’ next suggestion, that sôphrosuné is shame (aidös) is equally

ineffective,

for Socrates

counters

it by

citing

a passage

of Homer!

where

Telemachus says of the disguised Odysseus, whom he takes for a beggar, that a sense of shame is not appropriate for a needy man (160e-161b). This implies that whether a sense of shame is appropriate depends on one’s social position. Thus the virtue of séphrosuné cannot be identified with a sense of shame because séphrosuné

must be good while there are circumstances where a sense of shame is not a good thing.’ The reference to the passage from the Odyssey, not surprisingly, induces Charmides to recall a definition he has heard of söphrosune as ‘doing one’s own business’ (161b). In offering this definition, he obviously anticipates’ the Republic where justice in the state is also defined as ‘doing one’s own business’ (433a), and justice in the individual correspondingly turns out to be a condition in which each

part of the soul does its own work (440c-442b). The latter definition, in its turn, underpins the Republic’s definition of séphrosuné as a condition of inner harmony

2On this point see: Tuckey (1951), 19; North (1966), 154; Santas (1973), 106; Irwin (1995), 39; Kahn (1997), 187-8. A different view is taken by McKim ([1985], 59-77), who argues that Socrates cannot possess genuine söphrosune because he has belief, not knowledge, about good and evil. 3 See Republic 445a-b; Gorgias 477a-479c; 503e-505b. 4 Odyssey XVII, 347 5Commentators have often missed the connection here. For example, Irwin ([1995], 37) takes Socrates to be saying that ‘we sometimes condemn shame as bad, if people are wrongly ashamed of doing an action that is in fact fine and virtuous’.

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267

(442c-d). So, again, someone who read the Charmides in the light of the Republic might expect Socrates to move from an account of virtue in terms of external behaviour to one which identifies it with an inner condition ofthe soul.

But, again,

these expectations are disappointed. When Critias takes up the discussion he first glosses ‘doing one’s own business’ as ‘doing good things’ (163b-c) and then defines séphrosuné as selfknowledge (164a-165b). This definition dominates the rest of the dialogue. Socrates first points to a series of difficulties in the notion of self-knowledge and then argues that, even if knowledge of this kind is possible it would not be a

particularly good thing. It thus looks as though the first part of the dialogue provides all the materials for a Platonic account of séphrosuné as a condition of order and harmony in the soul, but that these are laid aside in the second part which is devoted to a fruitless pursuit of a conception of the virtue which takes no account of the

lower elements.

As Irwin puts it, “the conception of temperance as self-control and

self-restraint is not explicitly discussed in the Charmides . . . in fact Socrates overlooks any non-cognitive elements in temperance altogether’. Similarly Kahn, in spite of his very different view of the early dialogues, describes the Charmides’ conception of séphrosuné as ‘hyper-intellectualist’. $ Il To understand what is going on here we need, I suggest, to distinguish two distinct lines of thought which are deeply rooted in Socratic ethics. The first of these is implicit in the techné analogy.’ In several of the so-called early dialogues Socrates

explores analogies between virtues such as justice and söphrosune, and skills such as those of the doctor or the shoemaker. It is, nevertheless, clear that, at least by the time when he wrote Republic I, and probably much earlier, Plato was aware that the virtues differ from the familiar skills in two important respects:

1. Skills, such as those of the doctor or the shoemaker, produce some specific product or are concerned with some particular area of human life—the shoemaker makes shoes and the doctor restores us to health—while virtues seem to lack any specific product or area of operation.? 2. Skills may be misused while virtues cannot.

For example a doctor may use his

skill to make his patients ill rather then to cure them.!° 6Kahn (1997), 188 n. 8. 7 For present purposes, we do not need determine whether the historical Socrates, or even Plato himself at some very early stage of his career, ever believed that virtues such as söphrosune could be understood as technai in a literal sense. 8 See Gould (1955), 31-46. 91 take this to be the underlying point in Republic I, 332c-333e.

10 Republic 333e-334b.

268

Söphrosune in the Charmides

These points show that virtues differ in significant respects from skills such as those of the doctor or the shoemaker but they need not mean that the analogy between virtue and skill is altogether mistaken. One might see virtue as a higher order skill which relates to arts such as medicine or navigation in much the same way that architecture relates to bricklaying or carpentry. The carpenter may know how to set up a roof but only the architect can tell what sort of roof suits a particular building. Similarly we need a knowledge of the good to know how best to use other

skills. The doctor knows how to cure diseases, but only someone who knows the good could say whether it is truly beneficial for me to be cured. This account would provide a conception of virtue as a techné which could meet the objections outlined above. Virtue has no specific product or area of operation because, whether we realise it or not, we aim at the good in everything we do. Knowledge of the good is thus relevant to all our activities. Similarly, if virtue is knowledge of the good, it cannot be misused because it is, by definition, directed to the good. It is notable that, while several of the arguments of Republic 1 run into

difficulties because they assume

that justice, or the art of ruling,!! is closely

analogous to crafts such as medicine or navigation, in the later books of that. dialogue Plato avoids describing the wisdom of the philosopher ruler as a techne. It is natural to see this as recognition of the fact that the philosopher’s knowledge is different in kind from that of the craftsman, that knowing the good is not like knowing how to make a pair of shoes.!? An indication of this is that it requires a totally different kind of education. The philosopher rulers must have undergone a moral training which will create harmony within their souls and must then practice dialectic which will enable them to grasp the good. It is evident here that Plato sees justice as involving a form of practical knowledge which may in some respects be compared with the knowledge of experts like farmers and navigators, but it is

equally evident that he does not literally see justice or any other virtue as a craft. The trouble with the English word ‘craft’ is that it is applied chiefly to manual skills involved in the creation of a specific product. It therefore focuses our attention on

precisely those aspects of fechné which differentiate it from the virtues. tt

may seem that two different points are involved here since, to us, the virtue of justice and the art of the ruler seem radically different. One could be a just man or woman but lack, for

example, the skill in speaking that is needed for success in politics. But, in Plato’s view, the good politician must necessarily be just. Thus if justice is not a fechne statesmanship cannot be either. In fact Plato’s position seems to be that justice and statesmanship are essentially identical. Skills such as that of public speaking are subordinate fechnai which the statesman may need to use in order to bring about his ends. 12 The techné analogy reappears in the Statesman. This is not necessarily inconsistent with the idea that there is a crucial difference between statesmanship and other kinds of knowledge. Even though the knowledge of the ruler is very different from that of the craftsman there may still be respects in which it is useful to draw a comparison between the two. An intriguing alternative view, suggested in a recent paper by Kochin ([1999], 57-84), would be to suppose that the Statesman presents an ‘Eleatic’ account of politics which conflicts in important respects with the doctrines which Plato himself presents in the Laws as well as with those of the Republic.

R.F.Stalley

269

We may contrast the techné analogy and the ideas it suggests with a different line of thought—one that is implicit in Socrates’ disavowal of knowledge and in the

importance he attaches to self-examination.

According to the Apology Socrates was

puzzled by the Delphic oracle’s pronouncement that no one was wiser than Socrates,

since he did not see himself as having any claim to wisdom (20e-21b). He therefore decided to question those politicians, poets and craftsmen who had the reputation for being wise, only to discover that, although they thought they had knowledge about the most important matters, they were in fact ignorant (21c-22e). So Socrates

concluded that he was wise simply in the sense that he appreciated his own ignorance, whereas others failed to recognise theirs. He therefore took it as his divine mission to question all those he met. If he found that they thought they had virtue when in fact they did not, he would rebuke them for caring more about wealth, reputation and honour than they did for the good of their souls (29c-30c). The care of our own souls is, in fact, our fundamental task. not worth living (37e-38b).

The unexamined life is

Clearly when Socrates disclaims knowledge and contrasts himself with those who think they have it, he is not making a trivial point, like someone who says ‘I don’t know when the bus is coming, but I am better off than the man over there who

has read the wrong

timetable

and thinks

it is coming

in two

minutes’.

The

knowledge Socrates’ interlocutors lack is not some kind of information. They show their ignorance about the most important things in life by caring for wealth, honour and reputation rather than for the good of their souls. Their ignorance thus relates to what we might call ‘fundamental values’, that is, they wrongly take wealth, honour and the like to be supremely good. Evidently those whom Socrates questions are far from grateful when their mistakes are pointed out. They are, rather, angry and resentful.!? As we might put it,

they are reluctant to be disabused of their false values. In the Apology Socrates does not explain why they behave in this apparently irrational way, but it is not difficult to suggest a reason. The false values to which they are so powerfully attached are rooted in their desires and passions. Thus, if we are to cure them of their condition, it is not enough simply to tell them that they are wrong. They must be made to

confront truths which they have in a sense always known but which they are deeply unwilling to acknowledge. In effect therefore the Socratic method of philosophising, as depicted by Plato, requires a radical transformation, a turning of the soul towards truth. Socrates sees the elenchus as the means of bringing about this transformation. He pesters his fellow citizens until they face up to their ignorance. It is not surprising that the practice of this method made him unpopular. The ideas (a) that virtue consists in the knowledge of good and evil, and (b) that an essential prerequisite for virtue is knowledge of our own ignorance, are thus

13 Apology 22e-23c. Note also the anger of Thrasymachus Gorgias.

in the Republic and Callicles in the

270

Sôphrosuné in the Charmides

deeply entrenched in Socratic ethics and both involve ἃ reference to knowledge. They are nevertheless distinct. In the following sections I shall argue that the second part of the Charmides displays the difficulty of reconciling these two lines of thought.

II The main argument of the Charmides begins at 164c-165a where himself firmly to the view, for which he claims Delphic authority, sôphrosuné is to know oneself (gignöskein heauton). He accepts the séphrosuné is a kind of knowledge (epistémé) and goes on to claim

objects both itself and other kinds of knowledge.

Critias commits that to possess implication that that it has as its

It thus turns out to be a

‘knowledge of knowledge and ignorance’. Socrates himself glosses this by suggesting that séphrosuné consists in knowing what one knows and does not know (165c-167a).

A good deal of scholarly attention has been devoted to the move in this passage

from

the fairly conventional

idea that séphrosuné

consists

in knowing

oneself to the paradoxical claim that it is a ‘knowledge of knowledge”. In fact two separate points need to be considered here. The first concerns the shift in vocabulary from the verb gignôskein with its cognate noun gnésis to the verb

epistasthai and the related noun epistémé.

The second concerns the move from

knowledge of oneself to knowledge of knowledge. It will be helpful to consider these points separately. (1) The verb gignôskein is etymologically related to the Latin cognosco and the English ‘recognise’. It is naturally used in contexts where one speaks of knowing a person or knowing a place. The verb epistasthai can more readily be

used of forms of technical knowledge such as that of the doctor. It is therefore tempting to suppose that a difference in meaning between the two verbs plays a significant role in the argument of this part of the Charmides. Tuckey, in particular, sees a shift from knowledge in the sense of ‘recognition’ to knowledge in the sense of ‘science’.'4 Tuckey

is, I believe,

right

in one

very

important

respect:

a failure

to

distinguish different kinds of knowledge plays an important part in this section of the Charmides. But it is, nevertheless, questionable whether the shift from gnosis, understood as ‘recognition’ to epistémé, understood as ‘theoretical knowledge’,

is

important in this context. Self-knowledge clearly does not consist in recognising or being acquainted with oneself in the way in which one might recognise one’s neighbour’s cat. To know oneself is to have some kind of understanding of one’s own thoughts and behaviour. One might naturally think of this self-understanding as

analogous to the understanding which a wise psychiatrist might have of his patients

14 See pages 30-3; 37-9; 49-50; 53-62.

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271

or to the doctor’s understanding of health and disease. I am sure that this view is mistaken and that Plato himself means to reject it, but the mistake does not lie in a confusion between recognition and theoretical knowledge. The question is rather whether the kind of understanding which one may have of oneself can properly be assimilated to the expert’s knowledge of his subject. (2) The move from ‘knowledge of oneself? to ‘knowledge of knowledge’ may seem even more puzzling, for it looks obvious that these phrases are not

equivalent. But Plato makes it clear in this passage, that, whatever the original meaning of ‘knowing oneself’, the thesis under consideration is that söphrosune is to

be identified with the Socratic ideal of knowing what one does and does not know. Since self-knowledge in this sense involves a capacity to distinguish knowledge and ignorance within oneself, one might well suppose that it involves a techné, like that which enables an expert doctor to distinguish between genuine and bogus cures. The claim that Socratic self-knowledge requires a ‘knowledge of knowledge’ thus has a certain plausibility. To this we might, of course, object that an awareness of one’s own knowledge and ignorance does not require a science of knowledge in general. There would seem to be two reasons why Plato does not raise this possibility: (a) Socrates’ ability to recognise his-own ignorance carries with it an ability to expose the ignorance of others. It is not unreasonable therefore to suppose that Socrates has a kind of knowledge which not only gives him knowledge of himself but also enables him to identify knowledge and ignorance as such. (b) Plato seems to assume that genuine knowledge must always be general.

Thus in the fon he takes the fact that the rhapsode can interpret Homer but not other poets to imply that he has, not a genuine techné, but a divine gift (531a-533c). By parity of reasoning it would seem that there could not be a knowledge that applied purely to oneself.

If this is right, it would appear that the move from ‘self-knowledge’ to ‘a knowledge of knowledge’ is an unavoidable consequence of the assumption that knowing oneself involves knowledge in much the same sense as that exhibited by those who practice the familiar technai such as medicine and navigation.

Although the conception of séphrosuné as a knowledge of knowledge is thus rooted in Socratic ethics, the Socrates of the Charmides easily finds difficulties with

it. He first questions whether one can to talk reflexively of a knowledge of knowledge (167b-169b). He agrees to set that difficulty aside only to point to another. Although someone with a knowledge of knowledge could tell whether he himself did or did not have knowledge, he would know nothing about the content of such knowledge. So, Socrates claims, such a person would not know what he knew

or did not know. Similarly he could tell whether others were in a state of knowledge or ignorance but not what it was that they did or did not know (169d-171c). This argument rests on the assumption that each kind of knowledge has its own sphere of concern which cannot overlap with the sphere proper to some other

272

Sôphrosuné in the Charmides

branch of knowledge.

Just as medicine is the knowledge of health and of nothing

else so the knowledge of knowledge can do nothing except tell us whether or not

someone has knowledge. So it is the assimilation of self-knowledge to familiar kinds of techné that makes it look useless. Socrates agrees to set even this difficulty aside and grants, for the purposes of argument, that there might be a knowledge of what one does and does not know.

He

indulges himself briefly in a ‘dream’ about the benefits which such a knowledge would bring. With its aid one could ensure that nothing in public or in private life was done without the relevant expertise. Under the guidance of söphrosune, understood in this sense, every household would be well run and every city well governed (171d-172a). But this happy picture is quickly shattered. Socrates concedes that if we had such knowledge we would live and act knowingly but he denies that we would therefore live well or be happy. To ensure a good life we

need, not a knowledge of knowledge, but the knowledge of good and evil. Without that, no other kind of knowledge can be guaranteed to be beneficial (172c-175a).

Thus, Socrates concludes, the definition of söphrosune as a knowledge : of knowledge must be a mistake. He ends the dialogue by lamenting the inadequacies which have prevented him from guiding the young Charmides to a true account of the virtue (175a-176d). Nearly all commentators see this section as referring obliquely to the doctrine that all virtues are one because they all consist in the knowledge and evil. What is more, since Socrates appears to accept that the knowledge and evil is a kind of skill or expertise which enables its possessors to make

Socratic of good of good the right

use of all other skills, it looks as though the fechné analogy is ultimately vindicated. But, although an interpretation of the Charmides along these lines would in many

ways be very attractive, it creates at least one very obvious difficulty. Socrates seems to suggest that the knowledge of good and evil is both sufficient and necessary for living well, but he does not identify séphrosuné or any other virtue with that knowledge. He concludes instead that the search for séphrosuné has been

unsuccessful and blames himself for this outcome. If we are supposed to conclude that all virtue consists in the knowledge of good and evil, why does Socrates not say as much? Why does the dialogue have to end with what, on this interpretation, would seem to be a wholly unnecessary aporia? IV One answer this problem, suggested by McKim",

is that Plato means to distance

himself from Socrates as presented in the dialogue and to show up the inadequacies of the Socratic dialectic. According to McKim,‘Plato presents Socratic selfknowledge

as falling radically short of the knowledge

15 See note 2 above.

which

is virtue, and the

R.F.Stalley

273,

Socratic method of inquiry as being powerless to bridge the gap” (60). By refuting Critias, Socrates shows that ‘söphrosune, like all virtues, is the knowledge of good

and evil’, that ‘knowledge of knowledge is a radically distinct and lesser type’ and that ‘the techné of inquiry which is based upon the latter type is incapable of ever reaching the former’ (63).

The main

difficulty with this suggestion

is the implication

that Plato

abandoned or, at least downplayed, the Socratic ideal of self-knowledge. There is, in

fact, every indication that this ideal continued to play an important part in his thought throughout his philosophical career.

In the Meno, for example, Socrates’

recognition of his own ignorance is contrasted with Meno’s confidence that he knows what virtue is (704-714). There is a similar contrast between Socrates and Thrasymachus in Republic I (336a-337d). In the Phaedrus Socrates claims that, since he does not even know himself, it would be absurd for him to bother about alien matters such as the origins of myths (2296). In the Theaetetus, Socrates likewise disclaims knowledge but suggests that his method of ‘midwifery’ has, at least, the merit of ensuring that Theaetetus has sufficient söphrosune not to claim knowledge which he does not possess (210c). There is a similar linkage between self-knowledge and söphrosune in the Sophist where the Socratic method is

described as providing the ‘greatest purification’, something which anyone who is to live happily must undergo (230d). In the Laws the importance of self-knowledge is a major theme of the ‘prelude’ to the legal code (726e-734e).!6 There is therefore

overwhelming evidence that Plato continued to link séphrosuné to self-knowledge while maintaining that genuine virtue consists in knowledge of the good. One could solve this problem by arguing that Plato in some way identifies self-knowledge with knowledge of the good. But, as McKim rightly points out, we cannot arbitrarily assume that these come to the same thing. Thus to solve the

problems posed by the Charmides we need to show how Plato could think of knowledge of the good as equivalent to, or as including, self-knowledge. There is little in the Charmides to show how this. might be possible, but an answer is, I suggest, implicit in the Gorgias and in much of Plato’s subsequent moral

philosophy,

|

In the Gorgias Socrates argues against Polus that orators lack real power. When they kill or banish their opponents or confiscate their property they do only what seems good to them not what is really good. Since what they really want is the good, they do not achieve what they really want and hence have no real power (466a-468e). This argument implies that to know the good is to have selfknowledge, because those who know the good know what they really want. Conversely those who do not know the good do not know what they really want and 16 The Athenian stranger attacks those who think they honour their souls when they are in fact indulging their desires and argues that self-love distorts our perceptions of good and evil, makes us take our own folly for wisdom and leads us to think we know everything when in fact we know practically nothing.

274

Söphrosune in the Charmides

hence can be said not to know themselves. This lack of self-knowledge can be revealed by the elenchus. Callicles, for example, commits himself wholeheartedly to the view that the good consists in the gratification of desires (491e-492c). But even he cannot maintain this view consistently. Socrates forces him to admit that some pleasures cannot be seen as good (499b-500a). So, although Callicles claims to believe that the only good is to gratify one’s desires, in his heart he knows that this is wrong. The elenchus brings this inner contradiction to the surface. It is striking that, even after Callicles has been forced to contradict himself,

he does not simply abandon his view and agree that to face up to the incoherence of his position or to which he has guided his life must be rejected. Gorgias does not end in aporia. Instead there is a

Socrates is right. He is reluctant acknowledge that the values by But, unlike the Charmides, the long passage in which Socrates

contrasts the true politician, who seeks the good of the citizens, with the orator who seeks merely to gratify their desires. He argues that goodness consists in some kind of order and harmony. To achieve this inner order we have to restrain our desires in much the same way that a sick patient may be required to restrain the desires of his unhealthy body (503d-505c). It is the task of the true politician who seeks the good of his subjects to bring about this restraint. Underlying this argument is a recognition that the Socratic elenchus is not, by itself, sufficient to bring about a moral reformation. The reason why we lack selfknowledge is that we are not purely rational beings. Our desires and appetites corrupt our judgement and prevent us from seeing what is really good, so genuine self-knowledge requires self-restraint. But it is already clear in the Gorgias that

Plato is sceptical of our ability to achieve this self-restraint on our own.

So, if our

souls are to become ordered and harmonious, we must receive the right kind of education and live under the right kind of law. The final part of the Gorgias therefore stresses the need for a wise politician to oversee our education. In the Republic and the Laws Plato develops these points with much greater detail. There may be a parallel here with the closing pages of the Charmides where söphrosune also seems to acquire a political dimension. 17 What we learn from the Gorgias about the way in which Plato would

assimilate knowledge of the good and self-knowledge can cast light on what happens in the Charmides. The latter ends in perplexity because Socrates is unable to reconcile the claim that séphrosuné is self-knowledge with the claim that the only knowledge which is always valuable is knowledge of the good. We can now see that this problem arises because Socrates and Critias have an inadequate conception of knowledge.

They

assume

that all kinds of knowledge

must be like medicine

or

shoemaking which have their own defined area of expertise. Knowledge of oneself 17 At 172d Socrates ‘dreams’ that a knowledge of knowledge would be of great value in governing a household or a city. From then on the focus seems to be on the kinds of knowledge required by rulers rather than on that required by private citizens. The implication seems to be that individual séphrosuné is possible only in a well governed city.

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275

then becomes ἃ general expertise which has knowledge and ignorance as its objects

and thus appears to be quite distinct from an expertise about good and evil. What we can learn from the Gorgias is (a) that knowledge of the good is different in kind from any specialised expertise and (b) that to know the good is to know oneself. Although the Charmides does not make this explicit it gives plenty of

indications that the problems it raises stem from difficulties about knowledge. (1) If we assume that all knowledge consists in an expertise like that of the doctor then we cannot avoid saying that someone who knows himself in the Socratic sense has a knowledge of knowledge. But a series of questions are raised about the

coherence if this notion, in particular whether it makes sense to speak of a knowledge which produces nothing and has itself for its object. (2) Similarly there are indications that knowledge of good and evil must be quite unlike any other kind of knowledge. At 164a-c Socrates objects to the definition of séphrosuné as doing good things on the grounds that one may act beneficially without knowing it. A doctor, for example, may not know whether

curing someone is beneficial or not and other craftsman may not know whether they will profit from their work. The point could be that the uncertainties of life prevent these craftsmen from knowing for certain what the outcome of their activities will

be, but, as Tom Tuozzo argues!®, it is more likely to be that these people cannot tell whether any particular outcome is really good for them. The doctor, qua doctor does not know whether it is better for his patients to live or die, just as the navigator, qua navigator, does not know whether he truly benefits his passengers by bringing them to their destinations.” This point is made even clearer at 173e-174d where Socrates argues that no other art or skill will be truly beneficial if we lack the knowledge of

good and evil. He refers initially to skills such as those of making things in bronze or wood which obviously do not, in themselves, enable us to do well or to be happy (173e). But he argues that the same

would also go for the art of the prophet or

soothsayer, even though the possessor of such an art might know everything past, present and future (173e-174a). The implication here is that knowledge of good and evil is different in kind from all other forms of knowledge. Otherwise, the prophet, who knew everything that has happened, is happening and will happen, would know

what actions would produce good results and what bad. He would therefore be able to direct his own life and the lives of others for the best. To put the point in another way, if the good life can be defined in terms of some outcome such as pleasure, wealth or honour, then the expert prophet will know

what acts will produce this

outcome and will thus be qualified to say what sort of acts are truly worth doing. If this is right, Socrates in the Charmides implicitly maintains that knowing

good and evil is never a matter of having information. We could know in detail what would be the consequences of some course of action, a sea voyage or some

'8 Tn his contribution to this Symposium. 19 Gorgias 511e-512a.

276

Séphrosuné in the Charmides

kind of medical treatment for example, without knowing whether it would be good or bad to adopt that course. The Charmides thus implies that knowledge of the good is different in kind from technai such as those of medicine and navigation. We all want the good and think we know what sorts of thing are good, but our judgement is generally distorted by our appetites and desires. To know the good is to know what we ourselves really want. This self-knowledge is achieved not by conventional instruction but through self-examination. If this is right then the aporetic ending of the Charmides does have a

philosophical point. A definition of virtue as the knowledge of good and evil would be true but would conceal the important point that this knowledge is not simply a matter of being well informed about the consequences of our actions but, rather,

requires a redirection of our souls towards a true conception of the good. Similarly the account of sôphrosuné as knowledge of knowledge must be retained because it points to an essential element in an adequate account of virtue—that most of us fail to be genuinely virtuous because we have distorted conceptions of the good. Radical self-questioning of the kind prompted by the Socratic elenchus is essential if we are to appreciate the true object of our desires, but even that may not be enough. As ‘the last part of the Gorgias shows, we must also undergo the kind of education through which we can achieve control over our desires.

V At the beginning of this paper I noted that, while the opening sections of the Charmides lead us to expect a view of séphrosuné as inner harmony, most of the

serious discussion in the dialogue is devoted to what seems a totally different conception of the virtue—to the idea that séphrosuné is self-knowledge. On the interpretation I have offered, the problems which Socrates and Critias encounter in their discussion of this latter idea arise out of an assumption that all kinds of

knowledge can be assimilated to technai such as medicine or navigation. This makes it impossible either to give a coherent account of self-knowledge or to reconcile the

idea of séphrosuné as self-knowledge with the idea that a genuine virtue must involve knowledge of the good..These problems disappear when we recognise (a) that to know

oneself is to know

what

one truly wants

(the good)

and

(b) that

knowledge of the good consists, not in the mastery of some particular subject matter but in a turning of the soul towards the good. To achieve a true conception of the good we have to overcome the distorting effects of the desires and appetites. Thus we can know the good only to the extent that we achieve self-control. The problems raised by the Charmides can, therefore, be solved, but only in the light of dialogues such as the Gorgias and the Republic, where Plato makes explicit his account of sôphrosuné as a condition in which the lower elements of the soul agree to be ruled by reason. If there are indeed implicit references to this conception of söphrosune in the opening sections of the Charmides, there is no discrepancy between those

R.F.Stalley

|

sections and the main argument of the dialogue. The sections of the dialogue are designed to provide some should resolve the problems into which the discussion If I am right about these points we must,

277 point is rather that the opening fairly clear hints as to how we of self-knowledge leads us. of course, reject the kind of

developmental interpretation which assigns the Charmides to a supposedly Socratic period in Plato’s thought, a period in which he assimilated virtues to crafts and completely failed to appreciate the importance of the affective elements within the soul. The dialogue, as I see it, is in fact designed to reveal the difficulties with that kind of philosophy and to give some fairly clear hints as to how those difficulties

should be dealt with. In other words we need to follow what Kahn would call a ‘proleptic’ reading of the dialogue, that is we need to see it as raising issues which can be properly understood only in the light of later works. University of Glasgow

L’incantation de Zalmoxis dans le Charmide (156d-157c) Luc Brisson Le Charmide! s’ouvre sur cette scène. Socrate est de retour de Potidée depuis la veille au soir. Cité de Chalcidique (en Grèce du nord) et colonie de Corinthe, Potidée avait, malgré son alliance avec Athènes, gardé des liens avec sa métropole. En 433,

les Athéniens, pour s’assurer de sa fidélité, la mirent en demeure de couper tous les liens avec Corinthe. Et, comme elle s’y refusait aprés avoir obtenu des Lacédémoniens la promesse de lui venir en aide, Potidée fit défection en 432 avec d’autres cités de la région. En représailles, Athénes envoya mille hoplites mettre le siège devant la cité qui ne tomba qu’au cours de l’hiver 430/429; cette affaire marque le début des guerres du Péloponnèse?. Athènes avait vaincu, mais elle avait payé le prix fort: Callias? qui commandait le corps expéditionnaire athénien avait

péri dans la bataille, et Alcibiade ne dut d’avoir la vie sauve qu’à l’amitié et au courage de Socrate (Banquet 221a) qui faisait partie de la troupe des hoplites.

Quand Socrate utilise l’expression «après tant de temps passé au loin», on peut penser qu’il laisse entendre qu’il vient de passer près de trois ans devant la ville assiégée.

On

se trouverait donc

au cours de l’hiver 429.

Socrate,

qui a dans la

quarantaine‘, se rend au palestre de Tauréas dont on apprend qu’il faisait face au temple de la Reine‘. Il y rencontre Charmide®, qui, s’il est né en 450, a un peu plus de 20 ans. La beauté de Charmide fait défaillir Socrate. Pour séduire le beau jeune homme, qui le matin même s’est plaint à Critias de maux de tête, Socrate, déclare connaître un moyen de le guérir. S’engage alors ce dialogue entre Charmide et Socrate: «Qu'est-ce que c’est donc? demanda-t-il (= Charmide). Et moi (= Socrate) ! 2 3 4

Pour écrire cet article, mon point de départ fut Hazebroucq (1997). Sur le contexte historique dans lequel Platon situe le Charmide, cf. Planeaux (1999), 72-77. Sur Callias, cf. Brisson (1994a), 163-167. On peut penser que Socrate est né vers 469 (suivant Apologie 17d2-3 et Criton 5263), Pour une analyse très élabloré de ces textes, cf. O’Brien (1994), 664-666, $ La localisation exacte de ce palestre pose aujourd’hui encore un problème aux archéologues.

6 Sur Charmide, cf. Brisson (1994b), 299-302.

Luc Brisson

i

279

de lui répondre qu’il s'agissait d’une plante (φύλλον τι), mais que, au remède (τῷ φαρμάκῳ), s’ajoutait une incantation (ἐπῳδή τις); si on pronongait l’incantation en utilisant le remède, celui-ci rétablissait complètement la santé; mais, sans l’incantation, on ne retirait aucun bénéfice de la plante. Je vais donc, dit-il écrire

l’incantation sous ta dictée (παρὰ σοῦ ἀπογράψομαι).» (Charmide 155e-156a) Le traitement préconisé par Socrate

Socrate propose à Charmide un remède qu’il associe à une incantation. Je considère qu’il s’agit bien là de deux moyens thérapeutiques. Alors qu’il est possible, pour un contemporain, de se représenter intuitivement en quoi consiste un remède (τὸ φάρμακον) fabriqué à partir d’une plante (φύλλον τι), il n’est pas aisé de comprendre à quoi peut bien correspondre une incantation (ἐπῳδή τις). Si l’on

considère

les choses

du point

de

vue

de

l’étymologie,

on

peut penser

que

l’incantation était une formule comprenant quelques mots que l’on chantait ou que

l’on modulait”. Même si elle ressortit à l’invisible, l’incantation (ἐπῳδή) est dotée d’un pouvoir réel dans le domaine du visible. D’ailleurs Platon l’associe à la magie dans la définition suivante qui évoque le pouvoir de l’incantation sur les bêtes sauvages et sur les maladies «En effet l’art des incantations (τῶν ἐπῳδῶν), c’est l’art de charmer (κήλησις) les vipères, les tarentules, les scorpions et les autres bêtes sauvages (θηρίων) de même que les maladies (véowv).» (Euthydeme 290a1-3). L'influence de l’incantation sur les bêtes sauvages me semble être à la base de

l’assimilation par Platon du mythe à l’incantation en de nombreux passages du corpus platonicien®. En effet, le mythe s’adresseà l’espèce la plus basse de l’àme humaine, l’espèce désirante (ἐπιθυμία), laquelle, dans le Timée, est comparée à une bête sauvage’. Par ailleurs, parce qu’elle a une influence sur les maladie incantation doit être considéree comme un moyen thérapeutique dans le cadre de la médecine. L’hypothése interpretative que je veux défendre ici est la suivante!®. L’association de l’incantation au remède constitue un indice du fait que l’on se trouve dans le cadre d’un mythe d’école médicale du genre de celui auquel se référaient les médecins dans la Grèce archaïque (si l’on en croit Pindare), dans l’Iran avestique et dans l’Inde védique.

La validité de cette hypothèse dépend de l’interprétation de cette phrase: «Eh bien, T Le terme énœôn, est un composé ἐπί et de hör. Or φδή veut dire «chant»; et le préfixe ἐπί signifie que l'action accompli est «en faveur de», 8 Phedon 77d5-78a2, 114d1-7; Lois II 659e1-5, X 887c7-d5, X 903a7-b3. 9 Timée 70d7-e5, Sur tout cela, cf. Brisson ([1982], 19947), 95-101. 10 Cette hypothèse, qui se veut historique, interprète l'anecdote en un sens propre,et non un sens figuré à la façon de Th.A. Szlez4k dans son article, publié ici (342 ss.).

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L'incantation de Zalmoxis dans le Charmide (156d-157c)

Charmide, dis-je, il en est de même aussi en ce qui concerne cette incantation (καὶ

τὸ ταύτης τῆς ἐπῳδῆς). Pour ma part, je l’ai apprise là-bas, à l’armée, d’un des médecins thraces qui se réclament de Zalmoxis (παρὰ τινος τῶν Ζαλμόξιδος ἰατρῶν), lesquels, dit-on, rendent même immortels (ot λέγονται ἀπαθανατίζειν).» (Charmide 1564) Étant donné la proximité géographique de Potidée, qui se trouve

en Grèce du nord, avec la Thrace, il est tout à fait vraisemblable que Socrate ait pu rencontrer des médecins Thraces lors du siège auquel il participait. Mais qu’en est-il des Thraces et de leur dieu, Zalmoxis.

La Thrace et les Gètes

La Thrace est une région située à l’est des Balkans, bordée par la mer Égée, la mer de Marmara et la mer Noire, actuellement partagée entre la Bulgarie, la Turquie et la Grèce du nord. La famille Thrace, qui appartient au groupe balkanique, doit être

considérée comme appartenant à la culture indo-européenne!!. Au livre IV de son ouvrage, Hérodote, qui s’est rendu dans cette région, consacre quelques paragraphes aux Thraces. Parmi les peuples qui forment la famille Thrace, on trouve les Getes, qui, suivant Hérodote, présentent la particularité de ne s’être jamais rendus aux Perses, et dont, suivant Platon, le roi est Zalmoxis. Mais ce roi n’est pas un roi humain.

Zalmoxis

En quelques lignes, Platon présente Zalmoxis!? tout à la fois comme un dieu (θεός) et comme un être divin (δαίμων). Cela ne pose pas vraiment de problème, puisque,

même chez Platon, les frontières entre les êtres désignés par chacun de ces vocables ne sont pas très nettes. Suivant Hérodote, Zalmoxis semble être le seul dieu que connaissent les Gètes. Il s’apparente à la fois à Zeus, puisqu'il est le maître de la foudre, et à Hadès, puisque c’est chez lui que se rendent ceux qui périssent: «Ils (= les Gètes) expliquent qu’ils ne meurent point (ἀθανατίζουσι) de la façon que voici. Ils estiment qu’ils ne meurent pas vraiment, et que celui qui périt va rejoindre ! Sergent (1995), 96-99. Je tiens, comme l’a fait Bernard Sergent, à préciser que je m'inscris en faux et que je dénonce toute exploitation politique et raciste que l’on a pu faire des recherches qui portent sur ce domaine. L’adjectif «indo-européen» qualifie, à mes yeux, un groupe de langues qui véhiculent une culture commune s'exprimant notamment dans la poésie et dans une certaine «idéologie» impliquant une division de la société en trois groupes fonctionnels: producteurs, guerriers et rois-prêtres. Je récuse d’entrée toute hypothèse qui associerait une population présentant tels ou tels traits à cette langue et à cette culture. Cela constituerait une extrapolation tout aussi inacceptable que de relier la langue et la culture française ou anglaise à une population déterminée d’un point de vue racial.

12 Sur Zalmoxis, cf. Eliade (1970). Et surtout Hartog (1980), 102-125.

Luc Brisson

281

Zalmoxis qui est un être divin (δαίμων)» (Hérodote IV 94) Le verbe ἀθανατίζουσι!" peut être pris en un sens transitif «rendre immortel» ou intransitif

«croire en l'immortalité». Les deux sens sont acceptables suivant le point de vue adopté. Dans la mesure où, suivant le témoignage d’Hérodote, ce verbe a pour sujet les Gètes en général, on peut penser que le sens intransitif «croire en l'immortalité» doit être retenu. Ceci dit, c’est à cette remarque d’Hérodote!* que me semble faire référence la phrase du Charmide citée plus haut: «Eh bien, Charmide, dis-je, il en est de même aussi en ce qui concerne cette incantation (καὶ τὸ ταύτης τῆς ἐπῳδῆς). Pour ma part, je l’ai apprise là-bas, à l’armée, de l’un des médecins thraces qui se réclament de Zalmoxis (παρά τινος τῶν Ζαλμόξιδος ἰατρῶν), lesquels, dit-on, rendent même immortels (oi λέγονται ἀπαθανατίζειν).» Dans cette phrase, deux problèmes grammaticaux se posent. Quelle valeur donner au génitif Ζαλμόξιδος} J'ai opté pour «qui se réclame de», car les médecins en question ne peuvent «appartenir» à Zalmoxis; ils se rattachent à une École!5 qui se réclame de Zalmoxis. Par ailleurs le verbe ἀπαθανατίζειν est un surcomposé fabriqué à partir du verbe ἀθανατίζειν, le suffixe ἀπο- indiquant l'achèvement et insistant sur les effets!®; voilà pourquoi j’ai traduit par «rendre immortel» Quelles conclusions tirer de tout cela? En Thrace, et plus particulièrement chez les Gétes, les médecins qui se réclament forcément de Zalmoxis!? connaissent un moyen qui permettre à ceux qui périssent d’aller rejoindre Zalmoxis, et donc de connaître l’immortalité. Ce moyen est très vraisemblablement une incantation du genre de celle qu’ils prescrivent pour guérir les maux de tête.

La tripartition de la médecine

Pour comprendre comment l’incantation peut trouver une place en médecine, il faut se replacer dans le cadre de la culture indo-européenne, où l’on trouve la trace d’une

médecine tri-partite!®, qui implique une classification des maladies et des remèdes, dont en 1945 déjà Émile Benveniste!® a montré le parallélisme, déjà reconnu en 1877 par James archaïque.

Darmesteter,

entre

l’Inde védique,

l’Iran avestique

et la Grèce

Commençons par le plus connu, pour aller vers le moins connu. Je prends pour point 13 Sur le sens à donner à ce verbe, cf. Linforth (1918), 23-33.

14 Sur les références à Hérodote chez Platon, cf. Pradeau (1997), 157-185. 151} ne faut pas donner à ce terme un sens trop précis. 16 Cela dit, on peut penser à une espèce de jeu de mot inversant le modèle ἀποθνήσκειν,

17 Puisqu’il semble être leur seul dieu. 18 Sergent (1995), 241-246.

19 Benveniste (1945), 5-12.

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L'incantation de Zalmoxis dans le Charmide (156d-157c)

de départ quelques vers de Pindare dans la troisième Pythique. A propos d’une grave maladie dont Hiéron de Syracuse est atteint, le poète évoque Asclépios que son père Apollon sauva tout enfant du bûcher où devait périr sa mère Coronis, et qu’il confia au Centaure Chiron «pour qu’il lui enseignât à guérir les douloureuses maladies des hommes». Et voici en quoi consiste l’enseignement en question: «Tous ceux qui venaient à lui, porteurs d’ulcères nés en leur chair, blessés en quelque endroit par Vairain luisant ou par la pierre de jet, le corps ravagé par l’ardeur de l’été ou par le froid de l'hiver, il les délivrait chacun de son mal, tantôt en les guérissant par de douces incantations (μαλακαῖς ἐπαοδαῖς), tantôt en appliquant à leurs membres toutes sortes de remèdes (φάρμακα), tantôt enfin il les remettait droit par des incisions (τομαῖς) (Pyth. III 47-53) Comme le fait remarquer Benveniste, la tradition ici évoquée présente les caractères d'un mythe d'école, celle des Asclépiades, étant donné la cohérence de la classification des maladies et des remèdes. Trois types de maladie sont associés à trois remèdes: l’ulcère spontané, la blessure causée par les armes et l’épuisement de l’organisme sous l’effet de la chaleur ou du froid. Les plantes appliquées sur les membres ou absorbées en potions remédient à l’épuisement du corps, les incisions réduisent les plaies ulcéreuses et les incantations sont utilisées dans le cas de blessures2?. Les maux et les remèdes se disposent donc suivant un ensemble qui témoignent d’une élaboration réfléchie dans le cadre d’une

division tripartite. La pratique médicale attestée par l’Avesta repose sur la même classification: «Si plusieurs médecins se présentent, ὃ Spitama Zarathustra, l’un qui guérit par le couteau, l’autre qui guérit par les plantes, l’autre qui guérit par la Parole divine; c’est ce dernier qui est le mieux guérissant des guérisseurs.» (Zend-Avesta VII, Vendidad, 44, trad. J. Darmesteter)?! On retrouve les mêmes types de traitements hiérarchisés: la science des plantes, la dextérité praticienne, et le pouvoir des incantations, traitements qu’évoque le chapitre 20 du livre VII de l’Avesta, le Vendidad, qui est essentiellement consacré à la médecine qui guérit par les plantes, mais où l’on trouve une allusion aux origines de la médecine par le couteau, les derniers paragraphes

portant sur la pratique de la médecine par les formules sacrées. À ces deux témoignages qui autorisent déjà l'hypothèse d’une doctrine commune, il

faut en ajouter un troisième tiré du Rig-Veda. Dans un hymne du dixième Mandala, les Asvin,

en

tant que

dieux

guérisseurs,

sont

invoqués

ainsi:

«c’est

vous,

Ô

Nasatyas, qu’on appelle guérisseurs à la fois de ce qui est aveugle, de ce qui est amaigri, de ce qui a une fracture.» (Rig Veda X 39 3)?? La cécité, considérée comme 20 Les fils d’Autolycos récite une incantation pour arrêter le sang qui s'écoule de la blessure d'Ulysse (Odyssee, XIX 457). 21 L'édition de référence en alphabet original est celle de Geldner (1889-1896), 3 vol. La traduction de référence est celle de Fr. Wolff (1910), réimpression (1960). 22 L'édition encore utilisée de nos jours est celle réalisée par Aufrecht (1877), réimprimée (1968) notamment. On peut aussi utiliser une édition plus récente, celle de van Nooten and et Holland (1994). La seule traduction en langue moderne est en allemand, celle de Geldner (1951).

Luc Brisson

283

un mal envoyé par les dieux, demande à être soignée par une incantation, l’amaigrissement implique le secours des plantes et la fracture exige les soins du chirurgien. On pourrait réduire la portée de cette concordance entre Pindare, l’Avesta et le RigVeda, en alléguant que ces trois moyens thérapeutiques: incantations, couteau et plantes, sont communs à tous les peuples et à toutes les époques qui font l’expérience des mêmes types de maladie. En fait, le problème doit être considéré sous un autre angle. Ce qui importe ce ne sont pas les moyens pris isolément, mais leur liaison en une classification originale qui, comme telle, ne se retrouve nulle part ailleurs. De plus, cette classification doit être reliée à un ensemble plus vaste, car elle semble dépendre des mêmes principes qui organisent l’univers et la société, aussi bien celle des dieux que celle des hommes, dans le monde indo-européen: les incantations pour les prêtres magiciens, le couteau pour le guerrier et les plantes

pour les agriculteurs. Il apparaît ainsi qu’il s’agit là d’un système analytique proposant une interprétation globale des connaissances humaines que l’on pourrait comparer au système du yin et du yang chinois. Et c’est par là que je me propose de

revenir à Platon. La médecine dans la République de Platon

Dans la République, Platon adopte un point de vue paradoxal, car il propose le seul exposé théorique en faveur d’une organisation tripartite de la société, dans une Grèce, qui en dépit du fait que sa langue la situe dans le monde indo-européen, ne conservait dans ses mythes (celui des fils d’Ion par exemple) et dans ses institutions (à Athènes, celle des trois archontes), que des traces minimes de cette antique

division tripartite. À partir de très vieilles spéculations indo-européennes, Platon propose une organisation de la société qui se fonde sur l’établissement de trois groupes fonctionnels: les producteurs, les gardiens qui sont des guerriers, et les rois qui sont des philosophes. Et c’est dans le cours de sa description de cette société tripartite qu’il faut situer les critiques que Platon porte contre la médecine. Dans la République, les soins accordés au corps ont pour objectif ultime, du moins

dans le cas des gardiens et dans celui des philosophes (III 4060), de rendre inutile la médecine (III 405a-410b), tout comme

le soin de l’âme devrait rendre inutiles les

tribunaux. On retrouve là un thème développé dans le Gorgias (464b-465e), où Socrate explique qu’il y a deux arts qui s’occupent de l’äme et deux arts qui s’occupent du corps. Les deux arts qui s’occupent de l’âme et qui ressortissent à la politique sont la législation et l’institution judiciaire; l’un organise, alors que l’autre L’hymne cité fait partie d’un petit groupe d’hymnes dont la composition est attribuée à une femme Gosa, ce qui est exceptionnel. 23 Sur le sujet, cf. Dumézil (1968), 493-496.

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L'incantation de Zalmoxis dans le Charmide (156d-157c)

soigne, Les deux sortes d’arts qui s’occupent du corps sont la gymnastique et la médecine: le premier cherche à maintenir le corps en forme et l’autre à le soigner. À ces arts, correspondent quatre formes de flatterie. Les formes de flatterie qui s'occupent de l’âme sont la sophistique et la rhétorique qui s’opposent terme à terme à la législation et au système judiciaire, Et les deux sortes de flatterie qui s'occupent du corps sont l’esthétique et la cuisine, respectivement affrontées à la gymnastique et à la médecine. Dès lors, on comprend que la gymnastique, qui assure la santé du corps, ait pour but de rendre la médecine inutile, tout comme la législation, qui règle les rapports entre les hommes, a pour but de rendre les tribunaux inutiles; on comprend aussi que la cuisine soit évoquée dans ce passage sur la gymnastique. C’est dans le cadre de cette critique que Platon formule la mise en garde suivante, où semble évoquée la tradition indo-européenne concernant la médecine dont on vient de retrouver des traces dans les Pythiques de Pindare, dans l’Avesta et dans le Rig Veda: «N’est-il pas plaisant aussi qu’ils regardent comme le pire de leurs ennemis celui qui leur dit franchement que, s’ils ne cessent de s’abandonner a l'ivresse, aux excès de table, à la luxure, à l’oisiveté, ni remède (φάρμακα), ni brûlures (καύσεις)

ni coupures (τομαὶ), ni incantations (ἐπῳδαὶ) ni amulettes (περίαπτα) ni rien de semblable ne leur profitera?» (IV 426a-b) Ce passage permet de mieux comprendre cet autre passage: «Quand un charpentier est malade, ce qu’il demande au médecin, c’est une potion (φάρμακον) qui lui fasse vomir ou évacuer par le bas son mal, ou bien une cautérisation (καύσει) ou une incision (τομῇ) qui l’en débarrasse. Mais, si on lui prescrit un long régime, qu’on lui emmaillotte la tête de bandelettes de feutre (πιλίδιά τε περὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν περιτιθεῖς), et tout ce qui s'ensuit, il a vite fait de

dire qu’il n’a pas le temps d’être malade et qu’il ne voit aucun avantage à vivre pour ne s’occuper que de sa maladie et négliger le travail qu’il a devant les mains; et là-

dessus

il enverra promener

ce médecin,

et, reprenant

son régime

habituel,

il

recouvrera la santé et vivra en faisant son métier, ou bien, si sa constitution n'est pas assez forte pour résister, la mort le tirera d’embarras.»*4 (III 406d-e) De ce passage qui se termine sur une perspective peu réjouissante, je reviens au Charmide, où se trouvent évoqués deux des trois traitements mentionnés dans la République: celui par le médicament et celui par l’inçantation.

La médecine dans le Charmide de Platon

Si l’on considère les choses de ce point de vue, on peut comprendre dans un sens précis la phrase où Socrate prétend avoir appris l’incantation «d'un des médecins 25 J'aurais en effet tendance à penser que l'expression (πιλίδιά τε περὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν περιτιθεὶς) correspond aux periapta du passage cité précédemment, et que ces bandelettes de feutre sont en fait des amulettes. De toute façon, le pluriel élimine la traduction courante par «bonnet de feutre».

Luc Brisson

thraces

285

de Zalmoxis

(παρά

τινος

τῶν

Θρᾳκῶν

τῶν

Ζαλμόξιδος

ἰατρῶν)».

Puisque, comme nous l’avons vu, Zalmoxis semble être le seul dieu des Gètes, on peut penser que les médecins Gétes se réclament de lui comme les Grecs se

réclamaient d’Asclépios?5, L’hypothese est d’autant plus intéressante qu’elle relie l’incantation à la fonction du roi magicien, et que l’on peut raisonnablement penser que

c’est

une

incantation

qui

assurait

aux

Gétes

l’immortalité

en

laquelle

ils

croyaient. Même si elle n’est qu’un objet de langage (parlé ou écrit), l’incantation produit un effet sur le corps. Bref, on se retrouve ici, semble-t-il, dans le cadre

typique d’un mythe d’Ecole médicale du genre de celui auquel se référaient les médecins dans une culture indo-européenne, hypothèse à laquelle mène ce faisceau d'indices. Mais, pourrait-on objecter, au début du Charmide ne sont donc mentionnés que deux des trois traitements évoqués plus haut, celui par le médicament et celui par l’incantation; il manque celui par le couteau. Pour répondre à cette objection, on

pourrait faire valoir les trois arguments suivants. 1) Les passages de la République cités plus haut, montrent que Platon connaît la médecine par le couteau associé à

celle par le médicament et à celle par l’incantation. 2) Cette constation appelle une remarque de bon sens assez triviale: l’utilisation couteau pour régler des maux de têtes ne s’impôse pas et pourrait même être dangereuse. 3) Mais il convient avant

tout de comprendre que l’allusion au médicament d’une part et à l’incantation de l’autre suffit à Socrate pour introduire l’idée suivante: il est nécessaire de s’occuper de l’âme aussi bien que du corps. Une telle association est très habile, car alors que le remède est destiné à soigner le corps, l’incantation, elle, est destinée à soigner

l’âme. Par là, est introduite la notion de σωφροσύνη. Les deux traitements qu’évoque Socrate dans le Charmide lui permettent d’avancer

plusieurs idées. C’est l’homme en son entier, corps et âme, qui doit être soigné, et pas seulement une partie du corps ou une partie de l’âme. Par ailleurs, alors que le

médicament est tiré d’une plante, l’incantation consiste en paroles. D’où

cette

introduction admirable à tout le Charmide mise dans la bouche du médecin Thrace: «Or, disait-il, c’est avec des incantations (ἐπῳδαῖς τισιν), mon cher, qu’il faut donner des soins à l’âme (θεραπεύεσθαι δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν); et ces incantations, ce sont les discours qui sont avantageux (τὰς δ᾽ ἐπῳδὰς tadrag τοὺς λόγους εἶναι 25 Asclépios, le fils d’Apollon (qui présidait entre autres choses à la médecine) et de la nymphe Coronis (Pindare, Pythique III) était le dieu guérisseur d’Epidaure. À l'époque historique, dans le Dodécanése et a Stagire, certaines familles qui pratiquaient la médecine depuis plusieurs générations prétendaient descendre de Podaleirios ou de Machaon, des fils d'Asclépios qui en Iliade II 731 sq. sont présentés comme des guérisseurs. La profession médicale n’était pas réservée a ces familles, mais tous les médecins eurent tendance a s’appeler ou 4 étre appelés “Asclépiades”, comme si, parce qu’ils pratiquaient cet art, ils étaient admis dans la famille d’Asclépios. Dans l’Jliade (IV 449), Asclépios est présenté comme un dieu guérisseur qui a appris son art chez le centaure Chiron (Iliade IV 219), l’éducateur par excellence. Hésiode (frag. 51) en fait le fils d’Apollon, et en plusieurs lieux, Asclépios était honoré à l’égal d’un dieu. À l’époque de Platon, il était considéré comme le fondateur de la médecine.

286

L'incantation de Zalmoxis dans le Charmide (156d-157c)

τοὺς καλοὺς). Et les discours de cette sorte font naitre dans les 4mes la sagesse (σωφροσύνην), dont la naissance et la présence font qu'il est dorénavant facile de procurer la santé à la tête et au reste du corps.» (Charmide 157a)

Il est impossible de déterminer avec exactitude ce que, dans le Charmide, Socrate entend par âme (ψυχή). Mais il devait admettre à tout le moins la représentation que

s’en faisaient les médecins

Thraces.

L'âme

est une réalité distincte du corps.

Lorsque le corps est détruit, l’âme survit en se rendant chez Zalmoxis, et, lorsqu’elle

est associée au corps, il semble que l'âme ait sur lui une action, même mediate par l'intermédiaire de l’incantation. S’inspirant des Gétes qui promettent de soigner le corps et d’assurer l’immortalité a

l’äme par des incantations qui équivalent à une pratique magique, Socrate prend cependant ses distances par rapport à eux?6 en définissant autrement l’incantation et en lui donnant un autre but. Pour Socrate, il s’agit de soigner l’âme non pas à l’aide de formules marmonnées associées à un médicament, mais à l’aide de ces beaux

discours qui font naître en elle la «sagesse» (σωφροσύνην). Une fois de plus, Socrate enracine la philosophie dans une pratique religieuse qu’il transforme au point de la rendre méconnaissable.

CNRS, Paris

26 Ce qu’il fait aussi avec l’Egypte, comme je l’ai montré dans Brisson (1987),

153-167.

Doctors of Zalmoxis and Immortality in the Charmides David J. Murphy At Charmides 156d ff. Socrates puts into the mouth of the “Thracian, the of Zalmoxis” the teaching that the health of the soul determines the health body and indeed of the whole person. The Thracian reveals that before a takes a drug for headache, his soul must be healed by incantations, or ἐπῳδαί,

he identifies as καλοὶ λόγοι, “beautiful words.”

doctor of the person which

After reporting that he met the

Thracian while on campaign near Potidaea, Socrates adds that these doctors are the ones “who are said also to immortalize,” ot λέγονται καὶ ἀπαθανατίζειν (156d5-

6). Although many critics have discussed the epdidé in connection with the Socratic elenchus, few have looked into this cryptic reference to immortality.! The topic appears nowhere else in the dialogue, and the removal of these four words would not on the first face of it detract from the Thracian’s teaching. How then does this reference relate to the characters’ arguments about the soul’s health and its knowledge? For Socrates in the same passage identifies “health of soul” with

sôphrosyné, the definiendum of the dialogue (157a6). To the best of my knowledge, the full import of 156d5-6 was seen only by Bernd Witte, whose insights deserve rehabilitation? In this paper, I shall consider how Plato links the sixth- and fifthcentury Bacchic and Pythagorean quest for purification of the soul with a “Socratic”

inquiry into the nature of the objects of the soul’s knowledge, so as to introduce the outlines of the metaphysical apparatus that he will elaborate in later dialogues. My reading is therefore proleptic and unitarian.

In the dramatic frame of the Charmides, Plato already gives us glimpses of the opposition of death and life. Having survived the bloody Battle of Potidaea, Socrates upon his return to Athens goes straight to the palaestra of Taureas, hoping ! It is mentioned only in passing, for example, in Schmidt (1998), 16. Hazebroucq, who does analyze this passage in her excellent commentary (1997), 29-54, 109-50, adopts what is in my view too narrow a conception of Plato’s eschatological purpose.

2 Witte (1970), 141-50.

288

Doctors of Zalmoxis and Immortality in the Charmides

to find partners for philosophical discussion. The spirited entrance of the youthful athletes contrasts with the departure from life of the battle’s recently fallen dead (153a-154b). As Witte showed, Socrates prefigures his own Zalmoxis story, for like

that Getic god-king, he returns from the field of the dead to report occult knowledge. At the dialogue’s end, joking references to Charmides’ plotting with Critias and to

his threat of violence (176c-d) forecast his future participation in the tyranny of the Thirty, in defense of which both men were to die in 403 B.C. The death-life theme raises the question, how considerations about our ultimate end relate to the exercise of the knowledge of good and evil, the knowledge which Socrates and Critias will apree is necessary for happiness. Plato creates plausibility for Socrates’ choice of a Thracian as a mouthpiece for doctrine about the soul by setting the dialogue just after Socrates’ only journey near Thrace (cf. Ap. 28e2). Greeks saw Thrace as a cradle of religious mystery and ecstasy, the home of Orpheus and, in some traditions, of Dionysus, and they believed that Thracians had special powers of music and healing? Socrates has” announced his desire to examine Charmides’ soul (154e1), and he now attempts to heighten Charmides’ interest in his soul by expounding the psychogenetic theory of disease. His reference to immortality is a way of further intensifying Charmides’ interest by hinting that their ensuing discussion will touch issues of ultimate

importance.

The exotic Zalmoxis, his incantations and his promise of immortality

prick our imagination and our yearning for transcendence. Now, what could a reader in the earlier part of the fourth century know as he read the Zalmoxis passage? Zalmoxis and the verb ἀπαθανατίζειν at 156d6 recall Herodotus 4.93-6, our only substantial piece of evidence about this divinity, for accounts in later historians are mostly derived from it. In his description of the Getae, the tribe of Thracians who acknowledge Zalmoxis as their only divinity, Herodotus applies to them the epithet oi G@avatiCovtes. Plato knew Herodotus’ Histories, for at Rep. 566c5-6 he reproduces the oracle that appears in Herodotus 1.55, and he relies heavily on Herodotus for the tale of Atlantis.” It is reasonable to suppose that Plato draws on Herodotus here; if not, his sources will be reducible at

least to those that Herodotus used. . Herodotus offers two accounts about Zalmoxis. In the first he says that the Getae ἀθανατίζουσιν in this way: they do not think that they themselves die, and they

think that the deceased goes to the daimén Zalmoxis (4.94.1). He adds that every four years, they send a messenger to Zalmoxis by impaling the fellow on javelins. The Pontic Greeks, continues Herodotus, told him that Zalmoxis was a Getic slave 3 Cf. Chirassi-Colombo (1974), esp. 79-80 on music and healing, Rohde (1925), 256-66, 335-47, Fol (1991), Eng. summary 327-44. On Dionysus and Thracian Lycurgus, cf. Homer, //. 6.130-41, Soph. Ant. 955; Dodds (1960), xx-xxi. Some Greek historians said Dionysus came to Greece from Thrace; cf. Rapp (1882), 3-5.

4 Cf. Pradeau (1997), 57-82.

David J. Murphy

289

of Pythagoras, who upon gaining freedom returned home and taught a select group that they and their children would not die but go to a realm where they would enjoy all good things.

The Pontic Greeks’ account involves details like sacred meals and a

tale that Zalmoxis faked his own death by hiding in an underground chamber, his return from which in the fourth year convinced the Getae to accept his doctrine. Herodotus comments considerably.

only

that

he

thinks

Zalmoxis

to

predate

Pythagoras

Hellanicus’ account (FGrHist 4 F73) adds the detail that Zalmoxis founded τελεταί - “initiations” or “religious ceremonies” - among the Getae. Hellanicus’

account is part of the entry on Zalmoxis in Photius, the Suda and the Etymologicum Magnum.

The continuation of that entry, which may or may not be from Hellanicus

(it continues with the words λέγουσι δέ τινες), reports that other Thracian tribes also ἀθανατίζουσιν, holding sacrifices and feasts in the belief that the deceased go to Zalmoxis and return; i.e. they believe in reincarnation.”? Mnaseas of Patrae identified Zalmoxis as the Getic Kronos, the lord of the blessed dead in a blissful realm (FGrHist 153 F23; schol. Rep. 600b). Later accounts embellish these.

We

cannot be sure of much

about the cult of Zalmoxis.

Linforth labelled

everything in Herodotus’ second account as the invention of Pontic Greeks, but I agree with Burkert and others that details in it indicate that these Greeks had heard

something about Getic ritual: the underground chamber, which symbolizes the underworld in many legendary and initiatory contexts, the feasts limited to a select group and the connection of the interval of four years with feasts and with Zalmoxis’ supposed return from the dead point to a garbled account of mysteries that promised

continued, personal existence after death in a state of happiness.$ The Getae, or an élite class among them, seem to have believed that they shared in Zalmoxis’ bounties, and I think they derived their claim from legendary ancestors, who they believed were the original initiates. I infer this from the Pontic Greeks’ story that

the mountebank Zalmoxis promised immortality to the descendants of his original initiates. It is not clear what place reincarnation held in the belief system.

speaks only of immortality with the god in a place of blessedness.

Herodotus

Reincarnation,

which we noticed in Photius, the Suda and the EM, is consistent with the similarity that Herodotus’ Pontic Greeks perceived between Zalmoxis and Pythagoras, who was notorious for the doctrine (cf. Xenophanes, DK 21 B 7). The underlying ambiguity in Herodotus is whether the Getae believed that the soul must have a body in order to enjoy a blessed afterlife or whether the soul would slough off the body in the way that Orphic texts speak of (cf. Cra. 400c). Although Dodds and others favor

5 Cf, later material in Rohde (1925), 279 n. 66. 6 Linforth (1918), Eliade (1972), 41-50, Burkert (1972), 156-59, Hartog (1980), 257-64.

102-25, Popov (1995),

290

Docters of Zalmoxis and Immortality in the Charmides

the former alternative, the evidence is not explicit;” readers of course know the theory that the soul persists in the next world In any case, in Herodotus and in the better attested part of the immortality amounts to perpetual enjoyment of blessedness in

Apology (cf. 40c8) of apart from the body. Hellanicus fragment, the realm of the god.

Herodotus’ Pontic Greeks even have Zalmoxis pledge that his initiates will be ἀεὶ περιέοντες, “always living on,” in the next world. This belief promises more than does the doctrine of repeated incarnations that Herodotus (2.123.2-3) ascribes to certain Greeks, presumably meaning Pythagoreans.f Finally, we must try to determine the meaning of ἀπαθανατίζειν, The verb appears nowhere else in Plato, and Herodotus predicates ἀθανατίζειν, without the

prefix, only of the Getae. Verbs in -i€w formed from adjectives in Greek denote action having the quality of the adjective or imparting that quality to an object.? For example, κουφίζω means “make something light” or “be light,” ἠρεμίζω, “be quiet” or “make someone quiet,” and so on. The verb κακίζω is instructive for our purposes. Normally meaning “do bad things to,” it takes on the sense “make someone cowardly,” i.e. “bad,” when Iphigeneia tells her mother ᾽μὲ μὴ κάκιζε (Eur. ZA 1435); she does not want Clytemnestra to weaken her resolve to die by clinging and mourning too much. Some have thought that in Herodotus, ἀθανατίζω

means “believe in immortality,” but it befits the verb’s morphology and its use by later authors rather to define it as “treat or consider an individual immortal.”!° The best parallel is found in Aristotle EN 1177b33, in a passage where Aristotle has in mind Plato’s discussion in Tim. 90b-c of how to develop the immortal part of one’s

soul.!! Aristotle’s ἐφ᾽ ὅσον ἐνδέχεται ἀθανατίζειν means “as much as is possible, to make oneself immortal” through contemplation. The Getae “immortalize” in that they treat the dead as joined to the god, employing rituals to accomplish that end.

Plato has gone on to add the prefix ἀπο-, which usually implies the notion “from,” “back” or “in completion.”/2 We may suppose therefore that ἀπαθανατίζειν

has

a more

clearly

factitive

meaning

than

the

translation,

“to

7 Ῥοάάς (1951), 165 n. 60, Russu in RE IX A.2 (1967), 2304, s.v. “Zalmoxis.” Against Alexandrescu (1980), 121 n. 22, Zalmoxis in the Pontic Greeks’ account need not be denying that he and his

initiates will undergo physical death. To say “they will not die” (οὔτε .. ἀποθανέονται) entails nothing more than to promise that the deceased Getae will go straight to eternal blessedness rather than to the shadowy

Hades of traditional Greek belief.

Cf. Herod. 4.94.1

immediately preceding,

οὔτε ἀποθνήσκειν ἑωυτοὺς νομίζουσι ἱέναι te τὸν ἀπολλύμενον παρὰ Σάλμοξιν δαίμονα, where ἀπόλλυμαι refers to physical death, but ἀποθνήσκω implies as well an after-death curtailment of experience. 8 AB. Lloyd (1988), ad loc., Casadio (1991), 130-31, Hazebroucq (1997), 127. 9 On denominative verbs, with examples drawn primarily from noun stems, cf. Schwyzer (1960), I 73536, Casevitz (1991), 9-16. 10 Cf. Stallbaum (1857), ad loc., “immortales facere” or “immortalitate donare.” For the former alternative, Van der Ben (1985), 11-13.

11 Cf. Sedley (1997), 336-7. 12 Cf. Schwyzer (1960), II 444-48, Chantraine (1968), s.v. ἀπό.

David J. Murphy

291

practice immortality,” which is often offered for ἀθανατίζειν without the prefix. ἀπαθανατίζειν must mean here “to render immortal from a state of mortality.” A good parallel is ἀπαρτίζω, “even out, make complete” (cf. LSJ s.v.), that is, bring to

a state of “evenness” from a state of “roughness,” where we have contraries like “mortal” and “immortal.”

Plato

modifies

Herodotus

in

a

second

crucial

immortalization to the doctors, not to all the Thracians. to immortalize,

we

would

think this must

be because

way

when

he

attributes

If only the doctors are said they are doctors,

as though

immortalization is a specialized technique for healing the soul, parallel to medicine for the body." It will not consist merely in considering individuals to be immortal but in integrating an immortalizing procedure into medical craft, so that the Thracian doctors become unique for their treatment of body and soul together (157b5-7). Sophists had drawn an analogy between the operation of their program upon the soul and that of medicine upon the body, and the analogy between bodily and psychic

health appears in other Platonic dialogues (cf. Grg. 464a7-9, 477a5-b6, 504b-d, Rep. 444c).!14 Socrates is ascribing some sort of knowledge, presumably better than the technique of the sophists, to the doctors: they know a method that can enable a person to inhabit the level that god inhabits, to become like god. For the Greeks, ἀθάνατος referred to a being who was not subject to death. This property belongs to the gods, so that if a mortal becomes ἀθάνατος, it is tantamount to saying that he

has become divine.!* At this point, one cannot but think of later dialogues, where to lead a godlike life consists in the intellect’s knowing the Forms, as a consequence of which virtue informs the entire soul (cf. e.g. Smp. 21 1e-212a, Rep. 500c-d, Phdr. 247b-248c). In the Charmides we find no Forms and no talk of dialectic as a method for achieving 13 Against Van der Ben (1985), 13-14, the antecedent of ot (156d5) is the immediately “the doctors,” not “the Thracians.” The phrase τῶν Ζαλμόξιδος ἰατρῶν “Thracians,” i.e., “one of the Thracians, I mean the doctors of Zalmoxis.” | 14 For sophists, cf. Protagoras as represented at Tht. 167b-c, Gorgias, Helen 14, and cf. Gorgias says that the power of speech is a divine epöide. On logotherapy and

preceding noun, limits the class Helen 10, where epdidé, cf. Lain

Entralgo (1970), esp. 108-38 on Chrm. and other Platonic dialogues. I do not share the view that Socrates’ analogy in 156e-157a requires us to understand the soul as “the

whole” and the body as a part of it (cf. now Coolidge [1993], 25-26, Hazebroucq [1997], 116-21; less radical is Robinson

[1995], 4-8, 13).

The Thracian does not draw this conclusion, and from

156c7-8, we would think that the analogy is only meant to argue that the soul is the ruling element for the “entire person.” The distinction in 157a-b between söphrosyne and “health” as the ideal states of soul

and body,

elements of the person;

respectively,

presupposes

an underlying

cf. in this vein 160b3-4, 175d7.

distinction

between

these

two

Plato does not always write clearly about

the relation between soul, body and human being (cf. Gallop [1975], 88-90, 221-22), but he elsewhere either speaks of soul as the person's moral identity or real “self,” or else specifies that

people in this world have a double nature, soul and body (cf. Tim. 87d5-6). If Socrates means in a strong sense that body is a part of soul, it is surprising that nothing is done with this un-Platonic doctrine in the rest of Chrm.

The real problem is that “entire person” remains a purely linguistic

construction, once “soul” and “body” are conceptually separated from it. 15 Cf. Linforth (1918), 24-28, Frutiger (1930), 142.

292

Doctors of Zalmoxis and Immortality in the Charmides

knowledge of Forms. But if her curiosity is piqued by this passage, the reader of the Charmides can discern things that will be true about immortality, if it is a reality. First, if the soul is the part of the person that leaves the body and persists after death, then one may think that the soul that will gain a blessed immortal existence is the healthy soul, not the unhealthy soul.! The epdidé has been said to heal the soul. Socrates posits that healing the soul with epöidai, that is, with beautiful /ogoi, will

cause séphrosyné to exist in it, a point made again at 157d2-4. This characterization of séphrosyné as health of soul is never formulated into a definition and thus is never refuted, but we may think at least that the soul with séphrosyné has a shot at

immortality, if any soul does. Second, Critias recognizes that the epöide will operate upon the intellect (τὴν διάνοιαν, 157c9). When the two men go on to examine séphrosyné as a kind of knowledge, they eventually agree that knowledge of good

and evil is the only thing that guarantees happiness. The final definition of sôphrosyné as “knowledge of no object but itself and other knowledges, and of lack. of knowledge” (166e), on the other hand, reformulated as “knowledge of what one knows and does not know” (167a), is shown not to be this. An inductive argument about relative terms lays it down that knowledge must be “of” some object other

than knowledge. As the failed definition is a transmutation of Critias’ attempt to define séphrosyné as Delphian “self-knowledge” (164d-165b), we are left with the denial of ultimate ethical value to mere awareness of our own cognitive states. Knowledge of ultimate ethical significance must be of an object that is other than knowledge. Although the metaphysical status of knowledge objects remains unexamined, I agree with Stefanini and others who detect the climate of the Theory

of Forms.'!?

When Socrates leads Critias to admit that the prophet who knows all

things past, present, and future will not be happy by virtue of that knowledge, but

instead by virtue of the knowledge of the good and the bad (174a-b), we can conclude that he would deny that endless reincarnation without knowledge of the good can bring blessedness;

it would not equate with “immortality.”

By 176a it has not been decided whether Charmides has söphrosyne, since that term has not been defined, and Socrates speaks as though Charmides, who has been

experiencing the Socratic elenchus, has not yet received the epdidé (176a1-2). Part of this is irony, part literal, for Charmides has yet to encounter a philosophical method that goes beyond examining whether one’s beliefs are mutually consistent.

From 171 ff. it is apparent that the knowledge that guarantees happiness is not only

16 On the way in which “immortality” refers to the life of the philosopher in this world, wherein he cares

first for the soul and fixes it upon the Forms as objects of knowledge, cf. Hazebroucq (1997), 12533,

142.

Hazebroucg’s

view diverges

from mine, however,

when

she limits “immortality”

metaphor and denies that it refers to the soul’s after-death state (124, 128, 133, esp. 130-31).

to a

As

‘argued above (nn. 5 and 11), the texts of Herodotus and Plato do not support the inferences upon which Hazebroucq’s “metaphorical” interpretation rests.

17 Stefanini (1949), 197.

David J. Murphy

293

elenctic and critical but must have some positive content.l8

I assume that the first

readers of the Charmides could not know how Plato would go on to examine this sort of knowledge as the knowledge of philosopher-kings in the Republic, but they would be able to ask whether the knowledge of the doctor-king Zalmoxis, i.e., specialized knowledge that heals souls and leads to immortality, is meant to stand

for knowledge of the good.

Although the Zalmoxis passage prods us to ask, what

technique of mental operations could lead to immortality, the Charmides supplies no

answer to this question; the nature of the “beautiful /ogoi,” in which the epöide consists, and their connection to immortality remain unexplained. Only in later dialogues do we see that diaiectic comprises those /ogoi that engender divine and immortal (ἀθάνατον) knowledge in the soul and make the human being happy.” Like a passing reference to mysteries into which we have not been initiated, the Charmides, and this cryptic part of it in particular, points beyond itself to a deeper exposition that we must seek elsewhere. It is noteworthy that Socrates uses the

language of mysteries when he says that he “swore an oath” to the Thracian to withhold the drug from those who

(157c1-2).

have not been

healed

in soul by the epöide

The oath assimilates Socrates to the figure of an initiate who has sworn

not to disclose the sacred things that the hierophant has revealed to him.” Analogy with initiation in a mystery cult would lead one to liken the elenchus’ purgation of a false conceit of knowledge to purgation from defilement in the mysteries, while revelation of divine truths would correspond to positive construction of knowledge, which can be attempted through methods that we see in the Meno and later (cf.

epôidé as maieusis in Tht. 149d, 1570). Socrates’ Zalmoxis myth does not demonstrate that a healthy soul is sufficient for immortality; the doctors are only “said to make immortal.”2! Still, the Zalmoxis allusion demonstrates Plato’s interest in immortality and its corollaries, viz. an occult soul and a method of purifying it. The distancing words “who are said” contribute to the ironic tone that extends throughout Socrates’ introductory speeches to Charmides; we notice it especially when he brings in Abaris the Hyperborean

(158b7-8), a fabulous healer who also finds mention in Herodotus.?? At the close of the dialogue, we are left with a jumble of concepts that the interlocutors do not combine: immortality, health of soul, objects of knowledge that are separate from 18 Cf, McKim (1985), 59-77, Kahn (1996), 200-09. 19 C£, e.g., Phdr. 276e4-277a4, on which compare Hackforth (1972), 160 n. 3 with 64-65, 84-91. epéidé in Plato as discourse aimed at the emotions, cf. Lain Entralgo (1970), 113, 119-20,

On

Belfiore

(1980), 134-35, Brisson (1994), 95-101. 20 Cf. Witte (1970), 145. On mystery language in Plato, cf. Riedweg (1987), who however does not discuss our passage. 21 Forms of λέγεσθαι are often used by Plato when he attributes doctrine to hieratic sources. Cf., e.g., Ap. 40c7, e6, 41a3, c7, and Frutiger (1930), 30 n.2. 22 Cf, Herod. 4.36; Burkert (1972), 143, 150, 162, Gottschalk (1980), 113, 121-26, H.M. Wehrhan (1993) 977, 979, 984-5, s.v. “Hyperboreer.” Herodotus’ stories of Hyperboreans (4.13-36) have parallels to later material about Pythagoreans; cf. Romm (1992), 60-67.

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Doctors of Zalmoxis and Immortality in the Charmides

knowledge, knowledge of the good, even the beautiful - for Socrates has insinuated that Charmides’ beauty of body must find completion in beauty of soul, and the agency which is to produce this is beautiful speeches. If I am right that the references to death and life in the Zalmoxis passage and in the dramatic frame are meant to make us wonder how the results of the dialogue’s arguments relate to our eternal destiny, then Plato is “already” exploring a

connection between Socrates’ techniquesof arguing about ethics and the goal of transcendence of human mortality, a goal shared by salvific groups like Bacchic mystery cults and some Pythagoreans. Without claiming that we know much about pre-Platonic Pythagoreanism, we can say at least that Plato’s allusion to the Herodotus passage shows that he has Pythagoras in mind The doctor’s epdidé

moreover reminds us that Pythagorean medicine was said to have employed music, for Pythagoreans were reputed to acknowledge a close connection between somatic: and psychic factors. The saying, attributed to Aristoxenus (DK 58 D 1 [fr. 26° Wehrli]), that Pythagoreans sought to purify the body through medicine and the soul

through

music

sounds

rather

like the proportion

body:leaf::souliepöide

in the

Thracian’s teaching.** One can perceive a connection between Zalmoxis and Dionysus as well, for there is evidence that Zalmoxis functioned as a Thracian doublet of the chthonian

Dionysus, whom we find as the savior of the soul of the initiate in certain mysteries that employed Orphic texts. Dionysus appears in this rôle in Bacchic plates and tablets found in graves of the fifth century and later from the Pontus to Southern

Italy. These plates express belief in the immortalization or even divinization of the defunct initiate.” I suspect then that Plato uses the doctor of Zalmoxis as a mask for so-called Bacchic cultists or Pythagoreans.

He raises the stakes above anything the mystery

cults attempted, however, for he seeks to develop Socratic dialectic into a method of ratiocination that will free the soul from the material world. We know how he will criticize certain interpreters of Orphic texts who promise purification to people whose souls are not changed (cf. Rep. 364);

Plato wants to penetrate to the realities

23 On parallels between the Pontic Greeks’ account of Zalmoxis and features of Pythagoreanism, cf. Hartog (1980), 108-19.

24 Cf. Porphyry illnesses.

VP 33, lamblichus On

Pythagorean

Edelstein (1987), 20-48.

25

VP 164 (= DK 58 D 1):

medicine,

cf. Lain Entralgo

Pythagoreans use epöidai against some (1970), 76-82,

Burkert

(1972),

292-94,

Use of epöidai, which poets attributed to early physicians (Od. 19.457, Pi.

P. 3.51), continued among telestic healers; cf. Edelstein (1987), 235-39, 245-46, G.E.R. Lloyd (1979), 15-18, For Zalmoxis as Thracian Dionysus, see Rohde (1925), 263-64, 268 n. 10, 271 n. 28, Nock (1926), 184-86, Schréder (1960), 195-96. Practices like vegetarianism, known among groups that used

Orphic On the Plato’s (1998),

texts, were reported for Thracian holy men by Posidonius (Strabo 7.3.3 = FGrHist 87 F104). state of the question about Orphism, cf. Alderink (1993), Brisson (1995), esp. 1-10; on views, cf. Masaracchia (1993). On the Bacchic-Orphic funerary tablets, see now Burkert Riedweg (1998) and Betz (1998).

David J. Murphy

.295

about which he thinks many purveyers of mysteries only playact.26 The philosophic life aims at likeness to god, which cannot be attained without virtue (cf. Tht. 176b13, Laws 716c1-d4). The Charmides’ allusions to mystical initiation look forward to Plato’s later treatment of philosophy as the true mysteries (cf. e.g. Phdr. 250b-c and n. 15 above). What, then, has Plato accomplished? While he leads us through an examination of definitions of söphrosyne, he awakens concern about the ultimate destination of our soul. Implying that knowledge of the good is necessary for happiness, he uses

dramatic and mythical touches to provoke the question, how such happiness once attained might carry beyond the grave. He shows that knowledge must have an object separate from knowledge, so that the philosophical method that leads to happiness - and perhaps to immortality - must aim at more than critical selfknowledge. Plato does not discourse on emotion or on the multipartite soul, but in Socrates’ levels of erotic response to Charmides we have Plato’s most vivid dramatization of the psychology that he will later describe in the Republic and Phaedrus. The material that we see in the Charmides fits consistently with “‘fullblown Platonism” and is best understood in light of it. I agree therefore with those like Charles Kahn who see Plato as preparing the readers of this dialogue for subsequent, deeper treatments of points that it raises. The fleeting reference to “Zalmoxian immortalizers” shows that Plato was already concerned about the occult soul and its purification as he worked on this presumably early dialogue.?7

The Nightingale-Bamford School, New York City

26 Cf. Frutiger (1930), 254-60, Morgan (1990), 8-12, 168.

On itinerant telestic practitioners, cf. Burkert

(1987), 33-34. # I wish to thank David Sider, Christina Schefer and the audience of the original version of this paper for

their helpful comments and criticism.

Greetings from Apollo: Charmides 164c-165b, Epistle HI, and the

Structure of the Charmides

Thomas M. Tuozzo 1. Introduction

The Charmides has often seemed a curiously disjointed work. A straightforward elenctic investigation into the virtue of temperance (sôphrosuné) seems to be followed by a long section in which the word séphrosuné serves merely as a label for one or more epistemological notions in a series of investigations having little to do with the earlier moral inquiry.' Only at the end of the dialogue does the moral inquiry reappear, in a

brief section which implicitly suggests the familiar Socratic identification of virtue, in this case séphrosuné, with knowledge of the good. What is new and important about the dialogue has seemed to be its epistemological speculations, and much of the work on the

dialogue has focused on them. The apparent break between moral elenchus and epistemological speculation comes at the center of the dialogue. Kritias has been defending a definition of temperance as “the

doing of good things”. Upon landing in a contradiction, he retracts everything he has said up to that point and introduces a new definition, “knowing oneself’, which seems to have been suggested to him by a turn of phrase Socrates used in the previous argument (164c1, 6). Kritias supports this new definition with an ingenious interpretation of the

Delphic inscription “Know thyself” in a speech that, though impressive as a sophistic epideixis, seems to offer no real clue to the moral content of the new definition. Indeed, ' Bonitz was an early proponent of this view: the discussion of knowledge of knowledge “nach meiner Auffassung zu der Begriffsbestimmung der séphrosuné nicht verwendet wird” ([1886], 250, n. 7). So too, recently, Kahn (1996), 191: “[F]rom here on knowing will be the topic under discussion. In effect, temperance in the ordinary sense drops out of sight.”

Thomas M. Tuozzo

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Kritias seems to have abandoned what was valuable in the old definition: the connection

it drew between temperance and the good.? Within one Stephanus page the dialogue’s shift away from the moral seems confirmed as Plato has Kritias recast the new definition into the opaque formula “the knowledge of other kinds of knowledge and of itself”,

which becomes the object of what might seem a purely epistemological inquiry. On the view I have sketched, the central speech in the Charmides joins together two distinct philosophical inquiries, the first moral, the second epistemological. Or rather, it does not so much join them as form a buffer between them, a buffer that is not itself very well connected to either inquiry. My purpose in this paper is to suggest rather that the correct interpretation of this central speech shows it to provide a strong connection

between the two halves of the dialogue. The speech, for all its sophistry, is not an evasion of the difficulty Socrates has raised for Kritias’ definition of séphrosuné in the preceding moral inquiry; rather, it is a substantive response to it. Once the nature of this response is understood, it will also become clear how the succeeding epistemological inquiry is not a radically new departure, but rather is motivated by a certain incompleteness in the central speech’s response to the earlier difficulty. In brief, the correct interpretation of the central speech provides the key to the unity of the Charmides.

2. Before the Speech Kritias enters the dialogue when his cousin Charmides proves incapable of defending a definition of s6phrosuné (hereafter generally “temperance”) that he had apparently got from Kritias, the definition “doing one’s own things” (prattein ta hautou). After Kritias formally takes over the defence of this definition (162e6), Socrates adduces the case of craftsmen (démiourgoi) who, as Kritias admits, may act temperately even while they “make other people’s things” (poiein ta ton allén). Socrates’ careful use of poiein when

describing the craftsmen’s actions and prattein when

citing Kritias’ definition -- a

discriminating usage he did not employ in his discussion with Charmides* -- invites Kritias to make an explicit distinction between the two terms. Kritias does so in a little speech that resembles in certain respects his longer speech at the center of the dialogue. Both give self-consciously wilful and paradoxical interpretations of well-known texts:

this speech, of Hesiod’s half-verse “No work is a disgrace”; the longer speech, of the Delphic inscription “Know thyself.” The manifest sophistry of both interpretations has ? Many commentators take this view of Kritias’ new definition. See, for example, Pohlenz “[DJa läßt Kritias ... plötzlich den Begriff des Guten ganz fallen...” 3 See 161e6-8, where the activity of craftsmen is said to be prattein.

(1913), 46:

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Greetings from Apollo

too often led scholars to neglect the important philosophical contributions they make to the dialogue. In the course of his first speech, Kritias distinguishes “making”, poiein, from “doing”, prattein, as follows: “I think that [Hesiod], too, judged a making (poiésin) to be something different from a doing (praxeös) and a working, and that sometimes something made is a disgrace — whenever it does not come about with fineness (meta tou kalou) — but that a work is never any disgrace. For he called things made finely and beneficially works, and makings of this sort he called workings and doings. And we must say that he holds that such things alone are in fact one’s own, and that harmful things are alien.” (163b9-c6) Kritias distinguishes between poiein as activity in general and prattein as activity that has a particular sort of value, described first in terms of “fineness” and then in terms of

“fineness” and “benefit”. The conclusion of the passage adds a further point: the special benefit that characterizes doings (prattein) is a benefit to the doer himself. Praxis, then, is a poiésis that produces a “fine benefit” for the doer himself.

With this distinction Kritias is able to avoid the contradiction with which his account was threatened. The temperate craftsman can both make other people’s things and do his own if, in making someone healthy or building someone a house, he procures for himself a “fine benefit”. The nature of this benefit is so far vague. The only clue to it provided in Kritias’ speech is his denial that the activity of a “cobbler or salt-fish-seller or prostitute” (163b3-4) counts as a doing. These craftsmen certainly at the very least make money from their trades; the “fine benefit” characteristic of temperate action must be something distinct from this. In distinguishing the peculiar benefit of temperance

from both the benefit the temperate craftsman produces for another and from the pay he receives for doing so, Kritias opens up for investigation the higher sort of value, indeed the peculiarly moral value, of temperance. In the passage that follows, Socrates drives Kritias into a contradiction in order, as I shall argue, precisely to get him to articulate the

peculiar value of temperance. Kritias’ speech on the Delphic inscription is an attempt to meet this challenge. In the speech quoted above Kritias in effect answered the problem posed by the case of the temperate craftsman by distinguishing two aspects of that craftsman’s activity: it is not in virtue of producing the craft object for another that the temperate craftsman is

temperate, but in virtue of producing some fine benefit for himself. In preparing to put Kritias’ clarified position to the test, Socrates reformulates his definition as “the doing of good things” (ten tön agathön praxin, 163e10). He thereby introduces a word Kritias had not used in his account: good. Although Socrates makes clear that he uses ‘good’ here to

Thomas M. Tuozzo

299

refer to what benefits the agent (see 163d2-3), his formulation threatens to obscure the distinction between what the agent gets out of temperate action and the benefit that accrues to another party. In the argument that follows Socrates drives Kritias to

distinguish these two more clearly and to give some content to the notion of the “fine benefit” that falls to the temperate agent. Socrates focuses attention on the peculiar benefit the temperate agent receives in an indirect way: by invoking the knowledge that, as Kritias agrees (164a1-4), the temperate agent has of his acting temperately. After Kritias agrees that the temperate agent does indeed know that he acts temperately, Socrates returns to the case of a craftsman. When

a doctor makes someone healthy, he “does beneficial things both for himself and for the one he cures” (164b1). This formulation puts the benefit the doctor does to the patient

and the benefit he himself receives on a par. As we saw, in his speech on the Hesiodic tag Kritias had indicated that the benefit the temperate man receives is of a special, “fine” sort. It is for this reason that Socrates does not immediately infer, from the fact

that the doctor benefits his patient and himself, that the doctor acts temperately. First he asks Kritias whether the doctor who does this “does what is required” (ta deonta prattei), and only when Kritias agrees that he does do what is required does Socrates infer that the doctor is acting temperately. The notion of “what is required”, I suggest, here takes the place of “fineness” in signifying the peculiar value of temperance. Once Kritias has agreed that the doctor who cures acts temperately, Socrates poses the following question: “Now is it necessary for the doctor also to know both when he cures beneficially and when not? And [is it necessary] for each of the craftsmen [to know] when he will be benefitted (onésesthai) from the work he does and when not?” (164b7-9) Socrates puts his question in both a specific form, as applied to the doctor, and in a general form, applied to all craftsmen. The specific formulation is ambiguous as to whether the benefit asked about is that of the patient being cured, or that as yet

unspecified, “fine” benefit that accrues to the temperate agent. The general formulation, however, unambiguously focuses on the benefit to the agent. Because a craftsman’s craft is a knowledge of the benefit he produces for others, Kritias must admit that the craftsman, as such, does not know the benefit that he derives from his action. If he is to have such knowledge (and Kritias has agreed that the temperate craftsman, as temperate,

must do so), he must possess some knowledge distinct from his craft knowledge. When Kritias agrees that the temperate craftsman does not have knowledge of the benefit his temperate action brings him, he falls into an apparent contradiction with his earlier admissions (a) that the temperate agent must know when he is being temperate

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Greetings from Apollo

and (Ὁ that temperate action, as such, brings a “fine” benefit to the temperate agent. The way out of this contradiction is clear: it is not gua craftsman that the temperate agent knows the benefit that accrues to him, but gua temperate. That is to say, temperance must itself involve a knowledge of its benefit to the temperate agent. In the central speech with which Kritias responds to this contradiction Kritias, as we shall see, elaborates a conception of temperance which meets this condition.

3. The Central Speech It is often thought that in his central speech Kritias abandons the connection between

temperance and the good in order to focus on the topic of knowledge that Socrates’ line of questioning has just brought up. Socrates’

questions have shown

the need for the

temperate person to know the distinct sort of benefit he gains from temperate action; the turn

of phrase

he uses,

however,

reminds

Kritias

of the traditional

association

of

temperance with self-knowledge.‘ Instead of seeing that temperance should be defined as ‘the knowledge of what is (truly) good, it is often said, Kritias thoughtlessly leaps to the definition of temperance as self-knowledge, and only after a complicated

epistemological digression does Socrates finally bring Kritias back to the familiar earlyPlatonic equation of virtue with knowledge of the good. This common view, however, is questionable on two counts. First, the temperate person needs more than a knowledge of what is truly good; he also needs to know that in his temperate action he himself acquires, possesses, or exemplifies that value. Temperance, if it brings with it an awareness of its own worth, must involve a knowledge of ‘the relation between the temperate person and the good. Second, Kritias does not in fact abandon the connection between temperance and the good in his speech. Socrates’ line of questioning has shown that Kritias needs to give an account both of the temperate person’s knowledge of his benefit, and of the nature of that “fine” benefit itself. Although in his speech Kritias explicitly defines temperance simply as self-knowledge, the way in which he presents that definition, and in particular the account he gives of the Delphic inscription “Know thyself’, implicitly contain an account.of the benefit of temperahce. Or so I shall argue, As in his earlier speech on Hesiod, Kritias here does not present the modification his

position needs to escape contradiction in a straightforward way, but rather by the use of a particularly sophistic device: the paradoxical interpretation of a well-known text.5 Here 4 Cf. 164c6, where Socrates, using the well-known idiom, says of the temperate person: “He does not know himself, that he is being temperate.” > The focus classicus for such sophistry is Protagoras’ and Socrates’ interpretations of Simonides’ poem

Thomas M. Tuozzo

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the text is the Delphic inscription “Know thyself”, which Kritias argues is not, contrary to common opinion, a piece of advice (sumboulén, 165a4). It differs from the other two inscriptions at Delphi (“Nothing too much” and “Guarantee, and you guarantee disaster”), which are pieces of advice, in being “the god’s greeting of those that enter”

(164d7). This divine greeting is also, Kritias maintains, an implicit criticism of the common

greeting human beings use to one another: “This inscription seems to me to

have been set up as the god’s greeting of those who enter, instead of “Be joyful” (chaire), on the grounds that the latter preeting, “Be joyful,” is not correct, nor ought one bid one another do this, but rather to be temperate” (164d6-e2). The claim that “Know thyself” is a greeting, not a piece of advice, may seem mere sophistic contrast with the usual greeting “Be joyful” suggests that Kritias has a point in mind. A convenient way to approach this point is to compare the beginning of the Third Letter ascribed to Plato, where the author proper choice of salutation in a letter. The similarities between this

pedantry; but the more substantive our passage with meditates on the passage and the

speech in the Charmides have been used to cast doubt on the authenticity of the letter. For our purposes, the authenticity of the letter is unimportant. For the letter makes explicit what, as we shall see, is implicitly present in the Charmides passage. If the letter

is not by Plato, then it is by an astute reader of the Charmides, whose reading of that dialogue has much to recommend it. The Third Letter opens as follows: “Would I correctly hit upon the best greeting if I wrote “Plato to Dionysius: Be joyful” (chairein)? Or rather by writing, following my custom, “Do well” (eu prattein), as I

usually address my friends in letters? I say this because you for your part addressed even the god at Delphi with this flattering expression, as those who were then consulting the

oracle reported, and you wrote, as they say, the following: “Be joyful! and keep the tyrant’s life pleasing (hédomenon) to the end”. But I would not with my salutation bid even a man do this, much less a god. Not a god, because I would be enjoining him to do

something contrary to nature, since the divine has its seat beyond pleasure and pain. Not a man, because pleasure and pain for the most part generate harm, engendering inability-to-learn and forgetfulness and folly and insolence in the soul.” (315a5-c5)

The author alludes to Plato’s habit of beginning his letters with eu prattein instead of the common salutation chairein.® All of the letters attributed to Plato do in fact begin with eu prattein; if any is authentic, then we may be sure that Plato, no less than his character in the Protagoras. 6 On the basis of the papyrus remains of letters from the third century BCE to the third century CE, Exler (1923), 23 concludes: "The basic type of the opening phrase in the Greek letter is expressed by the formula: A— to B-- chairein".

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Greetings from Apollo

Kritias, finds something objectionable in the standard greeting.’ More importantly, the contrast here with eu prattein, a Platonic synonym for “being happy” (eudaimonein), makes clear the significance of Kritias’ insistence that the “Know thyself” at Delphi is a greeting, not a piece of advice. A piece of advice, we might say, recommends a course of action on the grounds that it will lead to something the person advised presumably desires. So the warning not to stand guaranty for others presumes that the person/advised wishes to avoid the loss of property that could result from doing so. A greeting, on the other hand, does not recommend some means to a presumed end; rather, it expresses the wish that the person greeted attain a certain valuable end itself. So, to take another common Greek epistolary greeting, hugiainein expresses the wish that the addressee enjoy good health. A greeting, then, makes reference to an end whose worth is endorsed by both speaker and addressee. Plato’s reported eschewing of chairein in his letters would thus réflect Plato’s belief that feeling pleasure is not a suitable end to endorse in a greeting. Indeed, his use of eu prattein as a substitute suggests that for him greetings generally expressed a

person’s conception of the highest, ultimate human

good, happiness. The common

greeting chaire expresses the common person’s essential hedonism; Plato’s restricting himself to a bare synonym for happiness may be taken to reflect the sort of epistemic

humility evidenced in the Athenian Stranger’s recommendation, in the Laws, that one pray for the intelligence to desire the right things, rather than for any of the things one actually desires (687e). Tuming back now to Kritias’ speech in the Charmides, we see that, by asserting that Apollo prefers the greeting “Know thyself’ to chaire, Kritias is implicitly offering selfknowledge as an account of the highest good. By identifying temperance with self-

knowledge, then, Kritias gives an account of the special sort of value, the “fine benefit” that we saw he needed in order to avoid the difficulties into which Socrates’ line of questioning led him. Self-knowledge has a special sort of worth, as Apollo’s recommendation of it as a greeting proves. Furthermore, its very nature as self-

knowledge would seem to suggest that it is a kind of good that one cannot possess without being aware of it. Accordingly, if temperance is self-knowledge, the person who _acts temperately necessarily knows that he is receiving the peculiar “fine” benefit that temperance brings. 7 Ancient authors commented on Plato's uncommon

epistolary salutation; see Suda s.vv. chairein, eu

prattein, eu diagein; Diogenes Laertius 3, 61; Lucian 65.4.

8Witte (1970), 8 shows that in a number of passages Plato uses chairein for the pleasure that arises from the satisfaction of bodily desires, and rightly remarks: "Dieses Vergniigen ist fiir Platon das negative Zerrbild der wahren Eudaimonie."

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4. After the Speech I have argued that in his central speech Kritias does not abandon the connection between

temperance and the good, nor does he attempt to evade the difficulties of the earlier argument

by

changing

the

subject:

he

sketches

an

account

of temperance

as

both

especially valuable and such as to make the temperate person necessarily cognizant of that value. Just as Kritias’ speech is not a swerve away from the elenctic inquiry into the nature of the virtue temperance, but is rather a sophisticated further stage in that inquiry, so too, I shall now argue, the discussion that immediately follows the speech is not the beginning of a purely epistemological investigation. On the contrary, in this discussion Socrates obliquely draws attention to a certain difficulty in Kritias’ proposed solution to the problems that threatened his earlier account. When Kritias finally reformulates his definition as “the knowledge of other knowledges and of itself” (166c2-3), he does so in an attempt to give a better account of the relation between knowledge and value in the virtue of temperance. This new definition, then, is a substantive response to difficulties encountered in the moral investigation into the nature of temperance, not a mere digression into epistemology. After Kritias has explicitly defined temperance as self-knowledge while implicitly affirming the special value of such knowledge, Socrates proceeds to ask first about the object of this knowledge. To this question Kritias replies, “Oneself” (165c7). But when Kritias reformulates his definition at 166c2-3, he tacitly gives up this conception of the object of the knowledge that is temperance; why does he do 507 In the passage between these two formulations Socrates focuses on a certain tension in Kritias’ position. We have seen that with the definition “self-knowledge” Kritias wishes

to do two things: explain the value temperance has for its possessor, and show why the temperate person is necessarily aware of possessing this value. Socrates addresses first the question of the value of temperance, comparing it to the craft he had earlier used in

forcing Kritias to articulate that value: the craft of medicine. Medicine produces a “fine work”, namely health; what is the analogous fine work in the case of temperance (cf. 165c10-e2) ? The use of “fine” (kalon) here (165d1, el) is, I suggest, meant to be reminiscent of Kritias’ own use of this word in his interpretation of Hesiod. Socrates here tempts Kritias to assimilate the value of temperance to the value of the crafts, even

though it was precisely to distinguish the two that Kritias elaborated the account of 9 The question concerning the transition from “knowledge of oneself” to “knowledge of itself” has been a source of concern to many writers on the Charmides; see, for example, Tuckey (1951), 33-37 and Appendix I. My discussion here is offered as a sketch of a new solution to this problem.

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Greetings from Apollo

temperance as self-knowledge.

(

Kritias passes Socrates’ test; he insists that temperance, as self-knowledge, diffe:

from

productive crafts such as medicine and is like crafts such as geometry in having no separate product. Socrates now turns the focus back to the object of I tknowledge which, he suggests, must, like the object of geometry, be distinct from the knowledge

itself (cf. 166b5-6). Kritias now denies that self-knowledge has an object distinct from itself. It is tempting to see this as merely. a wilful rejection of Socrates’ point, which saves Kritias the trouble of excogitating a special object for self-knowledge while embroiling him in the epistemological quandaries to come. But there is a substantive reason why Kritias does not simply repeat his earlier response and say that the separate object of self-knowledge is oneself. Socrates’ previous question has brought home to Kritias that self-knowledge, since its worth is different from that of crafts like medicine,

should not, like them, derive its value from some distinct product it produces. Instead, there must be some other source of its value. Now the examples of mathematical knowledge Kritias has just given suggest a possible alternative source for the value of a kind of knowledge: not its product, but rather the object that it knows. But if selfknowledge is to be valuable because of its object, then this object cannot simply be the self of the person who possesses that knowledge. For self-knowledge is supposed to be something of value for this person, something, indeed, that benefits him “finely”. If its value were simply a function of the value of the self that was its object, it itself would vary in value with its possessor: the self-knowledge of someone antecedently good would be of a higher value than the self-knowledge of someone antecedently bad. If the object known by self-knowledge is to be the source of its special value, then that object cannot be simply identified with the self who possesses self-knowledge. It is for this reason, I suggest, that Kritias asserts that the self-knowledge that is temperance has

it-self as its (main) object. The upshot of the discussion prior to Kritias’ central speech was that temperance had both to confer a fine benefit on its possessor and make him aware of that benefit. Knowledge of oneself gives an awareness of one’s condition, but it is not clear (despite Apollo’s endorsement) how such mere awareness could count as a

good. Kritias needs to find another locus for the value of temperance / self-knowledge. Therefore he places it in the knowledge itself, rather than in some object other than it that it knows. It is itself inherently valuable; furthermore, as knowledge of itself, it is an awareness of that value. It might be thought that explaining Kritias’ shift of the object of temperate knowledge

from one-self to it-self by reference to a need to account for the value of temperance goes too far beyond the text: the fact that Kritias makes this shift immediately

after

denying that temperance has a “fine work” may seem too weak support for such a claim.

Thomas M. Tuozzo

305

This explanation, however, derives some additional support from the fact that it can help explain why Kritias includes “the other knowledges” as objects of the knowledge that is temperance. On the face of it, this addition seems to come out of the blue: whereas the shift from “one-self” to “itself” has sometimes been seen as an inadvertent logical error, the

addition

of “the

other

knowledges”

has

been

a source

of embarrassment

to

commentators. I would suggest that if the shift to “itself” is an attempt to find an object which can serve as the source of the value of temperance, the further addition is more easily explicable. The comparison between medicine and temperance, both before and after Kritias’ central speech, has made clear the difference between the sorts of value each has. In the language of Kritias’ interpretation of Hesiod, medicine and such crafts may produce benefits, but they do not in themselves produce “fine” benefits. If we are

interested in whether or not the use of medicine in a particular case will produce a fine benefit for the person being cured, we need to govern its use by means of a knowledge

that possesses the standard for such value. Temperance, as an intrinsically valuable knowledge knowledge knowledges of value; as accordance

that knows itself, possesses that standard; it is, therefore, the to direct the use of other crafts. It is, then, knowledge of itself in different senses. As knowledge of itself, it is knowledge of knowledge of the other knowledges, it is knowledge of how to with that standard.

appropriate and of other the standard use them in

§. Conclusion

Kritias’ suggestion that temperance is a knowledge that knows itself and the other knowledges is not, then, an arbitrary change of subject; it is rooted deeply, though implicitly, in the preceding moral inquiry. This is. not the place to follow out the implications for that moral inquiry of the complications that result when Socrates puts

this new definition to the test. What I hope to have done here is make plausible the claim that the three startling and dramatic twists that Kritias gives the discussion in the Charmides -- in the interpretation of Hesiod that distinguishes prattein from poiein, in the central speech that brings Apollo as witness for the definition of temperance as self-

knowledge, and in the switch to the definition of temperance as knowledge of itself and other

knowledges

--

are,

in

each

case,

for

all

their

sophistic

éclat,

substantive

contributions that advance the moral investigation into the nature of séphrosuné. University of Kansas

Comprehensive papers

Is

Knowledge

of

Knowledge

Possible?:

Charmides

167a-169d Edward Halper Like other early Platonic dialogues, the Charmides ends inconclusively. Critias proves unable to defend his definitions of moderation; and, assuming that a person who is moderate will be able to define this virtue and defend the definition, Critias shows himself to lack moderation. But some definitions of moderation that Plato has Critias propose bear a striking resemblance to formulae that Plato puts in Socrates’ mouth in the Republic: “doing one’s own things” (161b; Rep. IV. 433a), “doing good things” (163e), a type of knowledge (1650, 166d), And closely connected to, if not identical with, moderation is knowledge of the good (174b-d). Critias cannot defend his definitions, but their similarity to Platonic formulations raises the question whether they could not, with more thought, be defended from the critique brought against them in the Charmides. Does this critique also refute Plato’s similar notions, or does Plato have the resources to defend them? And if he does, does the Charmides suggest to readers these or similar defenses? This paper confines itself to Critias’ final definition of moderation as knowledge of itself and of other types of knowledge (166e) and the first part of

Socrates’ attack on it, the argument against the possibility of such a knowledge. My aim is to show that (1) a key element of the so-called “doctrine of forms” undermines the argument, and (2) Plato intends his readers to arrive at this element. This latter claim will be controversial, and I cannot do it full justice here.

conclusions

to an author

is always

risky.!

But

inasmuch

To ascribe unstated

as it is universally

! Among his five common types of misinterpretation, Richard Robinson ([1953], 2) includes “misinterpretation by inference”: “Plato says p, and p implies q; therefore, Plato meant q”. Robinson’s caution has had the generally salutary effect of making readers pay close attention to the words of the text and has fostered a style of interpretation used most effectively by the late Gregory Vlastos. Support for this type of literal reading of the Dialogues has always been the lack of an agreed alternative standard of interpretation.

310

acknowledged

Edward Halper

that Plato

wrote

dialogues

to provoke

his readers

to philosophical

thought, there is no need to suppose that his not stating solutions entails his not possessing solutions.

We

cannot read the Charmides as he intends without asking

whether it suggests a solution to the puzzles it so clearly states. I The first argument against Critias’ proposed definition of moderation of itself and of other types of knowledge” aims to cast doubt on self-knowledge is possible. The moderate person is presumed to knowledge, to know what it is he knows and does not know, and

determine whether or not another person has knowledge (167a).

as “knowledge whether such have a certain to be able to

Under questioning,

though, Critias agrees that there is no seeing of seeing that does not see color, no hearing of hearing that is not hearing a sound, nor, in general, a sensing of itself that

is not also sensing sensible objects (167c-d).

Further, Critias agrees that desire does

not desire desire but pleasure, that love does not love love but the beautiful, that fear does not fear fear but the terrible, and that (notably) an opinion does not opine itself

but rather the objects that other opinions opine (167e-168a). By analogy, knowledge should not know knowledge but the objects knowledge knows (168a). To reinforce this conclusion, Socrates gets Critias to agree that knowledge the knowledge of something (tinos). So, too, the greater is greater than (tinos): the greater is greater than the smaller. Thus, anything greater would also have to be smaller than itself. Likewise, inasmuch as the double the half, something that was double itself would also be half itself

All this is taken to be absurd.?

is always something than itself double is (168b-c).

Insofar as knowledge of knowledge resembles these

latter examples, it, too, is absurd. But is it like either set of examples? The text suggests that it may not be; for after presenting these examples, Socrates denies that all are equally impossible: whereas

something greater than itself in magnitude or number is “entirely impossible,” cases like “hearing, seeing, or any motion moving itself, and heat heating itself’ are merely “not readily believed” (168e). Apparently, we are to understand these latter instances of self-relation as unlikely, but not impossible. The argument, up to this point, had seemed intent on showing that there is no case of self-relation.

Recently, Charles Kahn has proposed solving this problem by reading the early dialogues “proleptically,” as anticipating doctrines enunciated later ([1988], 541-49 and [1996], 59-65). While this is a fruitful approach, particularly in Kahn’s hands, I think it goes both too far and not far enough: too far because it takes later dialogues as guides rather than letting the early texts speak for themselves; not far enough because it does not allow for the possibility that the early dialogues are structured to lead to firm conclusions. The approach that I sketch here bears comparison with Kahn’s, but it remedies these deficiencies. 2 The Parmenides argues that the one is both greater than itself and less than itself (150e-151a), and makes other similarly paradoxical claims.

Ις Knowledge of Knowledge Possible?: Charmides 167a-169d

311

Suggesting that there might be self-related entities raises the possibility that knowledge might resemble them rather than entities where self-relation fails. Indeed, though Socrates states the argument’s apparent conclusion -- that knowledge of knowledge (KK) is impossible -- before it begins (167c), he does not repeat it at

the argument’s end. Instead, he proposes that “some great man” is needed to decide whether something can apply “its power to itself’ and whether, if there are such things, “the knowledge that we say moderation is belongs among them” (169a).? Plato is clearly suggesting that the argument against KK is unsound and inviting

readers to find the flaw. Il Perhaps he is also supplying some hints.

His mention here of “motion moving

itself’ reminds the reader that in the Phaedrus and Laws he argues for the existence of such a motion and identifies it with soul (245c-e; 894e-896a). Further, his pointing out that something greater than itself would also have to be smaller than itself (168b-c) may suggest to astute readers that the problem is avoided when something is equal to itself. (This latter suggestion cannot be discounted on the ground that our argument seeks something that belongs of itself whereas a thing is equal to itself; for though the argument begins by considering whether a character holds of itself, by its end the issue is whether a thing’s power applies to itself (169a) -- and something equal to itself falls under this description.) It is certainly intriguing that Plato chooses to illustrate his argument by mentioning or suggesting examples that he elsewhere asserts to be self-related.

Yet we should be careful about reading these conceptions into the Charmides, at least as they appear in other dialogues. The Phaedo, for example, claims that a sensible is always changing and, hence, never the same as itself in contrast with unchanging form, which is always the same (80b; 74a-c). It follows that only a form

could be equal to itself.

Elsewhere, individual forms are spoken of as if they were

instances of themselves -- beauty is itself beautiful -- and this is often understood as a kind of self-relation, self-predication. In short, the entities that Plato counts as self-related are soul and form, both of which he takes to be intelligible entities.

What is important here is that Plato clearly thinks the first part of the Charmides challenge can be met: there are things whose power applies to themselves. Though it seems necessary that they be non-sensible, it is not sufficient, as the examples of double, half, and other quantitative relations show.

That Plato also thinks the second part of the challenge can be met emerges from the Republic.

There

Socrates

uses

knowledge

(epistémé)

interchangeably

with

the

3 The passage recalls Parmenides 135a-b. Though interpreters are not unanimous, Plato seems to suggest there that a great man could answer Parmenides’ arguments against the forms, even if young Socrates cannot.

312

Edward Halper

intellect (nous, noésis) to designate the top level of the divided line (511d, 533e).

Though each is distinguished from its object, truth or being, we can hardly fail to notice that Socrates’ account of this level of the line is an account of knowledge; if it is true, one who understands it has KK. Plato seems to draw our attention to this

reflexivity by having Socrates emphasize that Glaucon must “learn” what the levels are and the latter respond that merely an image of knowledge; not follow an adequate account about the possibility of genuine

he has leamed (510c1 ἢ. In fact, the account is for Glaucon, lacking experience of truth itself, could of dialectic (533a-b). Still, there are no doubts here KK. It is the faculty that knows truth or being.

Insofar as knowledge of the top level of the line, that is, KK, depends upon knowing an object, it differs from Critias’ conception; for he had insisted that KK knows-only itself and other knowledges. Like the Republic, the Phaedo understands the soul through its object: inasmuch as our soul (intellect) can know the forms because it resembles them, the soul will have the characteristics of the forms (79d-80b). In particular, since the forms are non-sensible, and like knows like, the soul will be non-sensible. In this way, soul comes to know itself as knowing through the forms

that it knows.

Moreover, knowledge present in a soul can itself be an object of

knowledge just because knowledge so closely resembles its external objects and both are immaterial; in contrast, sensible entities, existing with matter in space, are not at all like the soul’s grasp of them.‘ Though Plato does not conceive of KK

exactly as Critias describes it, there is no doubt that he thinks that knowledge can apply its power to itself and, thus, that the argument of the Charmides against this possibility does not hold.

III When we return to the Charmides with this solution in mind, our argument admits of a different interpretation. It now looks quite surprising that Socrates challenges the possibility of KK by pointing to the impossibility of parallel reflexivities in sensation, belief, and feeling. Indeed, considering Plato’s account, we must wonder

whether the Charmides intends. to-show. that since none of these faculties could be reflexive, knowledge cannot be identified with any of them. This impression is 4 Aristotle develops this distinction in the De Anima: “The question arises as to why we have no sensation of the senses themselves; that is, why they give us no sensation apart from external objects (1I.5.417a2-4). . . . Actual sensation corresponds to thie exercise of knowledge; with this difference that the objects of sight and hearing (and similarly those of other senses) . . . are external. This is because actual sensation is of particulars, whereas knowledge is of universals; these [latter] in a sense exist in the soul itself (417b19-24), .., What the mind thinks must be in it in the same sense letters are on a tablet which bear no actual writing; this is just what happens in the case of the mind. It is also itself thinkable, just like other objects of thought. For in the case of things without matter that which thinks and that which is thought are the same .... Hence, ... mind will have the capacity to be thought” (I1].4.429b31-430a9; Hett trans.).

Is Knowledge of Knowledge Possible?: Charmides 167a-169d

313

reinforced by Socrates’ reluctance to draw the conclusion of his argument; instead of

rejecting Critias’ identification of KK with moderation, as we might have expected, he focuses attention on Critias’ inability to defend this claim. And it would seem that Critias succumbs to Socrates’ argument because he fails to recognize a realm

beyond the sensible where self-relation is possible. Critias’ failure here is surprising because he had earlier resisted Socrates’ attempt to compare KK to other knowledges by insisting that it differs from them. Unlike medicine and housebuilding (but like calculation and geometry), KK has no product; unlike calculation and weighing, KK is not distinct from its subject matter

-(165c-166b).

Critias insists that KK differs from all other knowledges just in its not

having a distinct subject matter (166b-c). Why, then, does he not stick to his guns and simply insist that though sensation and opinion do not apply to themselves, KK differs from them? The most plausible answer to this question is that Critias does

not regard KK as distinct from these other faculties, that he does not recognize a noetic faculty distinct from sense, emotion, and opinion And it is plausible that our argument’s purpose is to point out this deficiency and, thereby, to show the need for such a faculty. Let us emphasize that, though Critias had insisted that KK differs from other knowledges immediately before the passage under discussion, our argument compares KK to other faculties. That knowledge is a faculty comparable to but different from sensation and opinion is clear from the Republic’s divided line. That Critias also takes knowledge to be a faculty follows from his otherwise puzzling identification, immediately before our argument, of the knowledge that knows the self with the knowledge that knows itself (KK) (166c).° Since the self consists of its

faculties, if knowledge either is or is among the faculties, knowledge of self will be or include KK.’ So Critias’ equation makes sense if knowledge is However, it is also clear that he cannot hold the strict identity of KK and of self unless he also makes knowledge the on/y human faculty. This need not mean that philosophical knowing is the only truly human

a faculty. knowledge last notion faculty, as

Socrates holds in the Republic; knowledge is also the only human faculty if all faculties are ways of knowing. This latter seems to be Critias’ view, for, following Socrates’ lead, he uses the term “knowledge” (epistémé) for both KK and the crafts (165b-d). Hence, when Socrates shows Critias that there is no sensation of sensation, he is directly undermining the possibility of KK, and Critias cannot insist

that knowledge is distinct from these other faculties. The reader, however, sees right 5 Critias’ comparison of KK with calculation and geometry (1656) looks like a promising start towards recognizing the intelligible realm, but he goes on to deny that calculation resembles KK (166a) and admits that mathematical relations are not reflexive (168e). There is no evidence here that Critias understands geometry and calculations as more than practical disciplines (cf. Republic 525a-526c). 6 For other interpretations of this passage see Tuckey (1968), 107-8 and Rosenmeyer (1957), 91. 7Cf. the equation between examining the virtues and examining life at Apology 38a.

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Edward Halper

away that KK requires that knowledge be separate from other faculties, that it belong to the noetic rather than the sensible realm. And it is plausible to understand the argument to aim precisely at this conclusion. In short, our Charmides argument makes excellent sense when read from the vantage of the Republic. Indeed, our passage can be understood to help support the Republic’s claims.

IV If we did not already know Plato’s solution to the problem of KK from the Republic and other dialogues, could we have arrived at it from the text of the Charmidés?

Is

there evidence internal to this dialogue that Plato possesses this solution and intends his reader to arrive at it? We could not expect the sort of unambiguous announcement that would straitjacket the reader’s thoughts: the evidence would be more subtle and the suggested solution less detailed. We have seen that, by having Socrates say that a “great man” is needed to decide

whether there are self-related things and whether KK is among them, Plato invites the reader to find the argument’s flaw and that he seems to accept the identification

of moderation as KK.

In this context, it may be significant that Plato begins the

argument by having Socrates ask Critias to “think” (ennoei) about vision (167c8), continues by having him ask Critias whether he “has (mentally) grasped” (katanenoékas) a fear of itself (167e10), and concludes with him asking Critias whether he “sees” (horäis) a distinction (168e3). Had Socrates asked Critias to “see vision,” it might have seemed as if seeing could be reflexive--seemed because here “see” would mean “think about,” as it does in the last passage. This term and the mention of thinking and grasping may be intended to alert readers to the one faculty

that the argument does not consider, thinking, the faculty that can indeed apply to itself. And perhaps it suggests that Critias fails to distinguish thinking from seeing. To be sure, these terms are common in Greek, and we should be reluctant to attach

too much weight to them here, even in a writer who chooses his words as carefully as Plato does; but it remains that thinking is absent from the argument’s list of faculties. This is especially surprising when we consider that the argument turns on

comparing knowledge to faculties of sense, feeling, and opinion. recognizes that knowing

is more

Plato doubtless

like thinking than any of these faculties: every

8 Also figuring prominently in this argument is “opine” (doked) (16742, 48, el); and Socrates, in effect, asks Critias his opinion about opinion (168a3-5). Opinion can apply to itself. Ironically, though, Critias, influenced by the other examples, denies this possibility. That is to say, his opinion about opinion is that opinion is not (merely) about opinion. Plato is deftly showing that even though opinion can be reflexive, it can also be wrong; in this, it differs from noetic thought. Critias’ error about opinion alerts the reader to the possibility that he also errs about knowledge.

Is Knowledge of Knowledge Possible?: Charmides 167a-169d

315

single dialogue shows Socrates or someone else pursuing knowledge by means of philosophical thinking. The omission of thought from the list of faculties draws the reader’s attention to it, and it also shows Critias’ lack of knowledge of human faculties, that is, his lack of self-knowledge. A “great man” is needed to decide (diairésetai) whether nothing can apply its power

to itself or whether “some things can and some cannot” (169a). This “great man” is surely a philosopher and he will, Socrates indicates, distinguish knowledge from faculties that cannot apply to themselves. That is to say, the great man will, through philosophical thought, recognize how knowledge can apply to itself; and, in so doing, he will understand knowledge by means of thinking rather than other faculties. Thus, in mentioning the existence of a solution, Plato hints at the content of that solution.

At the same

time, he seems

to be contrasting the great man

Critias, who agrees with Socrates’ comparison of KK to indirectly, to be making a case for separating KK from them.

other

faculties,

with

and,

There are two more details of the Charmides that support to my contention Plato here has in mind an account of KK that at least resembles what we learn from the Republic. The first is Socrates’ complaint that Greek medicine concerns only bodies and his praise for Zalmoxis’ treatment of the whole person through the principal part, the soul (156d-157a). From moderation in the soul, health flows to the body; and moderation can be produced through “beautiful” arguments if wealth, birth, and (physical) beauty are ignored (157a-c). In other words, Socrates proposes that soul is independent of body and is healed through philosophical argument. Inasmuch as Socrates examines arguments for his own sake (166c-d), he is evidently intent on

healing himself: he uses philosophical thought to examine his philosophical thought. The Charmides, thus, exhibits the very sort of reflexivity our argument is supposed

to show impossible. Because the faculty being applied to itself is thought, Plato seems to be inviting readers both to add this faculty to those mentioned in our argument and to recognize its difference from them. One final point: discussing the meaning of the Delphic inscription, “know yourself,” from which he derives his definition of moderation, Critias insists that it is not advice but a kind of greeting given by the god to those entering his temple to summon them to moderation (164d-165a). Strikingly, Critias does not ascribe moderation (or self-knowledge) to the god: it is a human virtue. Contrast this with Socrates’ claim in the Apology that only the gods have knowledge and that human knowledge is worth little or nothing (23a-b). In defining moderation as KK, Critias

expresses an idea that is akin to the account of knowledge in the Republic, but he does not understand this knowledge as intelligible and divine. He takes it as human and sensible. This is why Critias is stymied by the self-relation argument. Plato intends the reader to learn from his failure that KK must be: separate from body, intelligible rather than a sensible, divine rather than strictly human.

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Edward Halper

This understanding of KK as a kind of thinking that is separate from other faculties and from the material and sensible is, I propose, the nub of the “doctrine of forms.” Though there are reasons later in the Charmides for identifying the good as the object of this knowledge, this dialogue does not distinguish thought and intellect, nor

does it identify separate, eternal form as their object. Refinements and nuances that figure importantly in Plato’s explicit accounts of the forms are absent here.

Still,

what we can learn from our Charmides argument is that, if there is to be knowledge that grasps itself, it must be distinct from the sensible and material faculties. Critias never appreciates this lesson.

Though he has somehow divined that there must be

KK, he cannot understand it because he fails to separate the intelligible from the sensible. In showing us the reason for his failure, the Charmides is, in effect, showing us that KK must be separate and, thereby, making a case for a key element

of the “doctrine of forms.” University of Georgia

9 Since the separation allows us to account for knowledge of knowledge, the strength of Plato’s case tums on its being the only way to account for this knowledge. Unfortunately, Plato does not make a case for uniqueness. Cf. Aristotle’s comment that “from some [arguments for forms] no argument necessarily arises” (Met. A.9 990b8-10). This paper has benefited from the comments of the IPS audience, particularly Christopher Gill. I also want to thank John Glucker and Richard Parry for additional comments.

Zum Status der Ideen in Platons Frühdialogen

Charmides, Euthydemos, Lysis Matthias Baltes

Poti eisin hai idéai? So lautet der Titel einer Schrift des Plutarch von Chaironeia,

und er formuliert eine Frage, die die Platoninterpreten nicht nur in der Antike, sondern auch in der Moderne umgetrieben hat. Von dieser Frage nicht zu trennen ist eine zweite: Was sind die Ideen? Auch dartiber herrscht bis heute keine Einigkeit. Im folgenden soll versucht werden, ausgehend von den Dialogen Charmides, Lysis

und Euthydemos eine Antwort darauf zu finden, was die Ideen sind und wo sie sich befinden. Befragen wir zunächst den Charmides.

Schon dort müssen wir - wie in vielen

anderen Frühdialogen - enttäuscht feststellen, daß der Begriff „Idee“ (eidos, idea)

fehlt! und daß statt dessen von der Sache selbst gesprochen wird, nämlich von der söphrosyn£. Über sie erfahren wir, daß sie nicht etwa für ein Phantom, sondern für eine Realität

(ti)? gehalten wird, nach welcher man mit einem ti estin fragt? und von der erwartet wird, daß sie in einer Definition exakt beschrieben werden kann“, Diese séphrosyné

! Der Begriff εἶδος wird bei Platon vorsichtig zum erstenmal terminologisch verwendet im Euthyphron 6 D 10 fund im Menon 72 C 7; dann im Hippias 1289 Ὁ 4; vgl. 298 B 4. Der Begriff ἰδέα findet sich in ähnlich vorsichtiger Weise zum erstenmal im Euthyphron 5 D 4; 6 Ὁ 11 f; E 4. 2 Plat. Charm. 159 A 3; D 8; vgl. auch Hippias 1 287 C 4; 300 A 9. 3 Plat. Charm.

159 A 10: τί φῇς εἶναι σωφροσύνην;

160 E 1; 176 A 8; vgl. auch Laches 190B 8 ff; Ὁ 8;

Euthyphron 5 D 7 u.6.; Protag. 360 E 8; Hippias 1 286 D 1 f. 8 f; 287 D 3 ff, Menon 77 A 9, 100 B 6

4 Vgl. Plat, Euthyphron

SD 7; 9 DS.

318

Zum Status der Ideen in Platons Frühdialogen Charmides, Euthydemos, Lysis

ist etwas, das sich bei einem Menschen einstellt (paragignesthai, engignesthai) und dann bei ihm eneinai)®, daß

anwesend oder in ihm der Mensch sie sogar

in der Weise gegenwärtig ist (pareinai, hat (echein)’, ja, wie einen Besitz hat

(kektesthai)®. Aber offensichtlich kann man sie in verschiedenen Graden besitzen?, so daß man von einer gestuften Teilhabe (metechein)!® sprechen kann. Diese im Menschen anwesende séphrosyné macht ihn zu etwas von der Art, wie sie selbst es ist, zu einem séphrén.''Der söphrön, in dem die séphrosyné anwesend ist, muß von

ihr eine Wahrnehmung (aisthésis) und eine Meinung (doxa) haben!?, so daß er in der Lage sein sollte, Rechenschaft über sie zu geben (/ogon didonai)!? und zu sagen, was (hoti) und wie beschaffen (hopoion) die s6phrosyné ist'*, Was die söphrosyn& ist, kann man nur dadurch in Erfahrung bringen, daß man eine plausible Definition oder Erklärung zur Grundlage (Aypothesis) nimmt und dann im dialektischen Gespräch prüft, ob das, was aus dieser Annahme folgt, richtig ist!” Dies ist die Methode, die Sokrates im Phaidon fir die Ideenlehre thematisiert, die er aber schon in den Frühdialogen verwendet. Weil die sôphrosyné in den Menschen hineingelangt (paragignesthai, engignesthai), ist sie zwar im Menschen, aber sie ist dort nicht primär. Und sie ist auch nicht unbedingt als ganze im Menschen, da dieser ja an ihr nur teilhaben kann (metechein). Ihr eigentlicher Ort ist also nicht der Mensch, sondern eine andere Wirklichkeit, die im Charmides nicht thematisiert wird; nur das wird gesagt, daß sie

durch kaloi logoi in die Seele gelangt und daß die Seele dabei eine Heilung erfahrt!®. Zudem wird hervorgehoben, daß die séphrosyné zum Bereich der schònen!” und der 5 Plat. Charm. 157 A 6; vgl. auch Laches 189 E 4 f; 190 A 1 ff. B 5; E 1 f; Protag. 323 C 6 f; Gorg. 504 D 9 ff, 506 C 9 ff; Menon 86 Ὁ 1; 99 Ε 6 f, 100 B 3 ff; Hippias J 293 E 11 f. Der Hippias I spricht im gleichen Sinne von προσγίγνεσθαι (289 Ὁ 4. 8; E 5; 292 D 1) und ἐπιγίγνεσθαι (303 A 5 ἢ wie der Phaidon 100 D 5 (Hss.). 6 Plat. Charm. 157 A 6; 158 B 5;Ε 7; 159 A 1 f. 9; 160 Ὁ 7; 161 À 8 £ 175 E 2; vgl. auch Lysis 217 D 8; Laches 192 B 6 f, Hippias 1293 E 4; 294 A 1; CA. 6; Gorg. 497E 1 ff; 498 E 1; 506D 1; 507 D 8.

Andere Dialoge sprechen in diesem Sinne von προσεῖναι (Hippias 1294 D 5 f£; Menon 78 E |), ἐπεῖναι (Hippias 1300 A 10; 303 E I f, Menon 75 AA f. 7 ἢ oder ἕπεσθαι (Hippias [302 C 5; Ὁ 2; E 6, 10 ὃ.

7 Plat. Charm. 175 E 7 ff.

8 Plat. Charm. 158 D 8; ähnlich Laches 190-A 5; B 1; C 2; 192 A 4; Protag. 324 A3. 9 Vgl. Plat. Charm. 158 B 6 ff: καὶ εἶ σώφρων ἱκανῶς... εἰ δ᾽ ἔτι τούτων ἐπιδεὴς εἶναι δοκεῖς... φὴς ἱκανῶς ἤδη σωφροσύνης μετέχειν ἢ ἐνδεὴς εἶναι; vgl. B 2 ἢ πρὸς σωφρωσύνην ἱκανῶς πέφυκας; dazu paßt es, wenn Charmides als σωφρονέστατος ..τῶν νυνί bezeichnet wird, 157 D 6

fi vel. 175 E 1; 176 A 4. 10 Plat. Charm. 158 C 3 f καὶ φὴς ἱκανῶς ἤδη σωφροσύνης petéyerv...; 5. auch Protag. 324 D 7 f, 325 A 3. 5. Wohl in ähnlicher Weise wird im Protag. 323 C 4 μετεῖναι verwendet.

UL plat, Charm. 160 D 6 ff.

12 Plat, Charm. 158 E 7 ff. Man fühlt sich hier an Menon 85 B 8 ff erinnert; vgl. 84 D 2.

13 plat. Charm. 162 C 7;

3; 165 B3.

M Plat, Charm. 159 A 3; 160 DT. 15 Plat. Charm.

160 D 1f.163A7ff171D2ff

vgl. 166 E 1 f; Euthyphron 9 Ὁ 8 ff 11 C1 ff 150 88

Protag. 361 B 7 f; Menon 86 E 1 ff; Staat 334 E 5 ff. 16 Plat. Charm.

157 A 3 ff; ähnlich Gorg. 504 Ὁ 5 ff.

!7 Plat. Charm. 159 1; Ὁ 8; 160 1 ἢ

Matthias Baltes

319

guten!® Dinge gehört, doch wird nicht gesagt, wo sich dieser Bereich befindet. Im Euthydemos hebt Sokrates von der bloßen Spielerei der beiden Sophisten mit den onomata das Wissen um die pragmata als das hervor, worum es eigentlich geht (ta

spoudaia)!?. Eine dieser Sachen, um die es Sokrates hier geht, ist offenbar das Schöne (auto to kalon) und dessen Verhältnis zu den schönen Einzeldingen. Sokrates gibt deutlich zu erkennen, daß beide nicht identisch sind, daß vielmehr die schönen Dinge dadurch schön sind, daß jedem etwas Schönheit (kallos ti) beiwohnt (parestin), wobei angedeutet wird, daß diese Schönheit von außen hinzukommt (paragignesthai)?°. Erneut wird also betont, daß die Schönheit nicht als ganze in dem einzelnen Schönen anwesend ist, und emeut wird nicht gesagt, woher die Schönheit kommt. Das ist im Lysis etwas anders, ein anderes, schwierigeres Wirklichkeiten - Besonnenheit durch deren Gegenwart etwas Schlechten (kakon) die Rede,

wie wir gleich sehen werden, nachdem wir zunächst Problem geklärt haben. Die bisher behandelten und Schönheit - waren vollkommen positive Dinge, positiv beeinflußt wird. Im Lysis ist statt dessen vom durch dessen Gegenwart (parousia, pareînai)?! oder

Besitz (echein)?? etwas schlecht werden kann. Aber auch hier sind Stufen möglich; denn solange der Gegenstand, in dem das Schlechte anwesend ist, nicht selbst ganz schlecht geworden ist, kann er nach dem Guten streben”. Es gibt also verschiedene Stufen des Schlechtwerdens durch verschieden intensive Aufnahme des Schlechten. Was ist nun aber dieses Schlechte? Ist es eine Sache, ein prägma? Oder ist es nur ein Mangel an Gutem? Obschon die Formulierung eher darauf zu deuten scheint?*, daß dieses Schlechte wie die Schönheit und die Besonnenheit ein prägma ist, weist eine spätere Stelle im Dialog in eine andere Richtung, wie sich gleich zeigen wird.

Der Hauptteil des Dialogs untersucht jedoch nicht die Schlechtigkeit, sondern die Freundschaft (philia), und deren Behandlung? gibt die ersten Hinweise, wo die pragmata sind, indem gesagt wird, daß es eine Stufung von Befreundetem (phila)

gibt, an deren Spitze (arché) ein „erstes Befreundetes“ (pröton philon) steht, über dem es kein weiteres gibt und um dessentwillen (hot héneka) alles andere Befreundete befreundet ist?6. Ja, alle anderen befreundeten Dinge sind nichts anderes als Abbilder (eidola) dieses ersten und wahren Befreundeten (ekeino to pröton, ho hos aléthés esti philon), die mit demselben Namen bezeichnet werden, aber nicht 18 Plat. Charm. 160 E 13; 161

A8 f; 169B4 6 175 E 7 £.

19 Plat. Euthyd. 278 B 2 ff; zu den σπουδαῖα s. auch 288 B 7 ff, 293 À 3 ff, 294 B 1 ff. Zu dem mit diesem Begriff Gemeinten vgl. Lysis 219 E 7 ff.

20 2! 22 23 24 25 26

plat, Euthyd. 300 E 3 ff. Plat, Lysis 217 B5 £ C3 ff. Plat. Lysis 217 B 7. Plat. Lysis 217 B 4 ff. Ähnlich spricht der Euthyphron 5 D 2 ff: 6 D 11 f von einer ἰδέα des ἀνόσιον. Plat. Lysis 219 B5-222B 2. Plat. Lysis 219 Ὁ 5 - Ὁ 2.

320

Zum Status der Ideen in Platons Frühdialogen Charmides, Euthydemos, Lysis

dasselbe sind?7. Denn nur das erste Befreundete ist das wahre Befreundete (to tdi onti philon)?; es ist das, um dessentwillen alle anderen befreundeten Dinge erstrebt werden??; denn es ist das wirkliche Befreundete, weil es nicht mehr das Befreundete um eines weiteren Befreundeten willen ist, sondern das wirkliche Ende und Ziel von allem?°, Darum gleicht das erste Befreundete auch den übrigen befreundeten Dingen

nicht?!, ja, es ist in gewisser Weise das Gegenteil von diesen?? - ein Hinweis auf die Ungleichheit,

die zwischen

Idee

und

Sinnending

herrscht,

nicht

aber

zwischen

Sinnending und Idee! - denn das erste Befreundete ist gut, während die anderen befreundeten Dinge unter ihm, oder genauer: zwischen dem Guten und dem Schlechten stehen; sie sind es, die sich, als vom Schlechten betroffen und daher

bedürftig, nach dem Guten sehnen, während das Gute keinerlei Mangel leidet??. Was

sich nach etwas sehnt, ist dieser Sache bedürftig (endeés), und was einer Sache bedürftig ist, dem ist das weggenommen,

was sein Eigen ist (to oikeion)*4; denn

dieses Eigene ist das eigentliche Gut für einen jeden“. Damit scheint denn auch klar zu sein, was die kakoü parousia bedeutet: Sie ist - wie die Krankheit - Anwesenheit des Mangels als Folge einer Wegnahme des Eigenen -

etwa der Gesundheit?‘. Und in diesem Zustand des Mangels befinden sich alle phila nach dem préton philon, aber auch alle Menschen,

weshalb nicht nur alle phila,

sondern auch alle philoi sich nach dem pröton philon sehnen?’. Versuchen wir zusammenzufassen, Gegenstände erfahren haben: 1.

was

wir über

die von

Sokrates

behandelten

Jedes einzelne dieser Objekte - die Besonnenheit, das Schöne, das Befreundete

- ist ein prägma?, und als solches ist ES eine definierbare Wirklichkeit?, -- In diesem

Sinne

wird

ES

in

anderen

Frühdialogen

als

eine jeweils

eigene

Wesenheit (idios ousia)* und ein „dies selbst“ (auto toüto)*! bezeichnet, was 27 Plat, Lysis 219 D 2-5. 28 Plat. Lysis 220 B 4; E 3. 29 Plat, Lysis 219 E 9 f οὗ ἕνεκα πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα παρασκευάζεται. 30 Plat. Lysis 220 B 1-5: φίλον δὲ τῷ ὄντι κινδυνεύει ἐκεῖνο αὐτὸ εἶναι, εἰς ὃ πᾶσαι αὗται ai

31 32 33 34 35 36

λεγόμεναι φιλίαι τελευτῶσιν...τό γε τῷ ὄντι φίλον οὐ φίλου τινὸς ἕνεκα φίλον ἐστίν.

Plat, Plat, Plat. Plat. Plat, Plat.

Lysis Lysis Lysis Lysis Lysis Lysis

220 220 220 221 222 220

D 8 ff. E 3 f. D 4 ff. D6-E 5. C 4:τἀγαθὸν οἰκεῖον θήσομεν παντί. D 1 ff.

5]ξπιθυμεῖν, ἐρᾶν, φιλεῖν, ἀγαπᾶν: 38 So auch Plat. Protag. 330 C 1: ὠνομάσατε ἄρτι...; D 5: τοῦτο Πρᾶγμα bezeichnet auch später

Plat. Lysis 220 D 2; 221B7£D3f£E7f ἡ δικαιοσύνη πρᾶγμά τί ἐστιν..; C 4: τοῦτο τὸ πρᾶγμα, ὃ αὐτὸ τὸ πρᾶγμα; vgl. ferner 349 B 4: ἴδιος οὐσία καὶ πρᾶγμα. noch bei Platon die Ideen; vgl. Phaid. 66 E 1.in demselben Sinne

wie πρᾶγμα wird Protag. 361 B 1 χρῆμα verwendet.

39 Vgl. Plat. Hippias 1291

D 1 ff: ζητεῖν γάρ μοι δοκεῖς τοιοῦτόν τι τὸ καλὸν ἀποκρίνασθαι,

ὃ

μηδέποτε αἰσχρὸν μηδαμοῦ μηδενὶ φανεῖται. 40 Angedeutet in Plat. Protag. 349 B 4, ausgesprochen im Euthyphron 11 A 6 ff und im Hippias 1 302 C 4

f. Als οὐσία ist ES Träger der Wahrheit; vgl. Gorg. 472 B 6.

Matthias Baltes

321

darauf hinweist, daß ES unwandelbar ES selbst ist. Als solches ist ES in allen

Dingen als ein Identisches anwesend”. 2.

ES gehört dem Bereich des wahren Seienden an; denn ES ist das, was jeweils

wahrhaft ist, was es 543, 3.

ES ist nicht identisch mit den sichtbaren Dingen; denn in diesen stellt ES sich erst ein und macht sie zu solchen, wie ES selbst ist. Daraus folgt: a)

ES ist den Sinnendingen gegenüber transzendent.

b)

ES hat den Charakter einer Ursache*.

c)

ES

ist nichts

Statisches,

sondern

etwas

Dynamisches.

-- Daher

wird

sein

Wirken in den Einzeldingen im Laches mit dem Begriff dynamis umschrieben‘; ES ist das, was in dem von ihm Hervorgebrachten wirkt,

während das Hervorgebrachte ES erleidet (paschein)**. 4.

ES ist in den Dingen Graden vorhanden.

5.

Wenn also gesagt wird, daß die Dinge ES haben, dann ist dies im Sinne eines Teilhabens (metechein) gemeint.

6.

Die Dinge Schönheit“.

7.

Daher sind die Dinge - mit IHM verglichen - nur Abbilder (eidola); ES selbst muß also Urbild“ sein.

8.

In der Skala der Instanzen steht ES selbst ganz an der Spitze der Reihe deren arche.

haben

also

in unterschiedlicher

beispielsweise

Stufung

„eine/etwas

oder

unterschiedlichen

Schönheit“,

nicht

„die

als

41 Plat. Laches 189 E 6; 190 A 6; Hippias 1304 D 7; vgl. 286 D 8; 288 A 9; 289 C 3; D 2; 292 C 9; 295 B

7 fi αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν; 292 42 Plat. Laches 191 E 10 Ε ἐν πάσῃ πράξει τὸ ὅσιον ἐστιν; Menon 72 C 7 f: πανταχοῦ

D 3: αὐτὸ … κάλλος. πᾶσι τούτοις ταὐτόν ἐστιν; Euthyphron 5 D 1 fi ἢ οὐ ταὐτόν ἐστιν ἐν αὐτὸ αὑτῷ; 6 D 10 f: ἐκεῖνο αὐτὸ τὸ εἶδος, ᾧ πάντα τὰ ὅσια Sard ἕν γέ τι εἶδος ταὐτὸν ἄπασαι ἔχουσιν 616 εἰσὶν ἀρεταί; D 8: ταὐτὸν

εἶδος; E 5: τῷ αὐτῷ εἴδει; 73 C 6: ἡ αὐτὴ ἀρετὴ πάντων ἐστίν; 74 À 9: τὴν δὲ μίαν,

À διὰ πάντων τούτων ἐστίν; B 1: μίαν ἀρετὴν .. κατὰ πάντων; 75 A 4 fi τὸ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν τούτοις ταὐτόν; A 7 fi ταὐτὸν ἐπὶ πᾶσιν; vgl. Hippias [292 9 ff, vor allem E 2: ὃ πᾶσι καλὸν καὶ ἀεί ἐστι; E 6 fi ἀεὶ γάρ που τό γε καλὸν καλόν; 300 À 9 f: ἔχουσιν ἄρα τι τὸ αὐτὸ ὃ ποιεῖ αὐτὰς καλὰς εἶναι, τὸ κοινὸν τοῦτο...

43 ὃ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἐστί τι, τὸ τῷ ὄντι ὄν τι, vgl. Plat. Lysis 219 D 4 f; 220 B 4. 44 Vgl. Plat. Hippias [287 C 2:δικαιοσύνῃ δίκαιοί εἰσιν οἱ δίκαιοι; C 5 ἢ καὶ σοφίᾳ οἱ σοφοί εἰσι σοφοὶ καὶ τῷ ἀγαθῷ πάντα τἀγαθὰ ἀγαθά; C 8 fi τὰ καλὰ πάντα τῷ καλῷ ἐστι καλά; 289 D 2 fi αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν, 293 E 11 ff; 294 B 1 45 Plat. Laches 192 B 1. 6; 46 Plat. Hippias 1302 A 2

ᾧ καὶ τἄλλα πάντα κοσμεῖται καὶ καλὰ φαίνεται; vgl. D 7 f; 292 C 9 ff ff. 8: τὸ..ποιοῦν εἶναι καλά; D 6 ff; 296 E5 ff, 302 6: D1 fF. vgl. Hippias 1295 E 5 ff, bes. 9. Ἐ C 1; vgl. E 6.

47 Damit ist ES zugleich Vorbild; vgl. Plat. Euthyphron 6 E 4 ff, Menon 72 C7

ff.

322 9.

Zum Status der Ideen in Platons Frühdialogen Charmides, Euthydemos, Lysis ES

ist das,

um

dessentwillen

(μοῦ

heneka)

alles

ist und

geschieht; jedes

einzelne prägma ist also Ziel - ganz ähnlich wie im Gorgias das Gute (to agathon) als das Ziel (telos) von allem bezeichnet wird‘. 10.

ES ist das Unbediirftige und Vollkommene, während die Dinge bediirftig und unvollkommen sind.

11.

Daher streben die Dinge nach THM.

12.

Man kann ES an und in den Dingen (doxa) über ES bilden“.

13.

Man kann ES im Gespräch direkt vermitteln und von IHM Rechenschaft geben

wahmehmen

und

sich eine Meinung

(logon didonai)?”. 14.

-"

Dies geschieht mit Hilfe der besonders aus dem Phaidon bekannten Methode

der hypothesis. 15.

Auch unter den transzendenten Wirklichkeiten selbst gibt es Abstufungen. Denn die Besonnenheit fällt unter das Schöne und das Gute, die offenbar über ihr stehen?!. -- Dies wird bestätigt durch andere Frühdialoge, nach welchen z.B. die Tapferkeit eine Unterart der Weisheit”, alle Tugenden aber Arten der epistémé* zu sein scheinen und die Gesamttugend (hé hole areté, hos hen ti

areté) in die Einzeltugenden (meré/moria aretés) zerfällt“. Damit hat sich in tiberraschender Klarheit gezeigt, was dieses pragma ist. Es ist eben die Platonische Idee, von der es unverkennbare Züge tragt, Ziige, die in diesen Dialogen oft nur angedeutet werden, die aber offenbar als ausgereifte Lehre deutlich im Hintergrund stehen. Wo

ist aber nun

der Ort

dieser

Ideen?

Wir

haben

schon

gesagt,

daB

sie den

Sinnendingen gegenüber transzendent sind und daß sie zum Bereich des wahren Seins gehören, der offenbar einen in sich gestuften Kosmos bildet. Wenn dies so ist, 48 Plat. Gorg. 499 E 8 ff; 506 C 9. 49 Vgl. Plat. Laches 194 B 1 fi νοεῖν μὲν γὰρ ἔμοιγε δοκῶ περὶ ἀνδρείας ὅτι ἔστιν.

50 Ähnlich Plat. Laches 194 B 3 f: συλλαβεῖν τῷ. λόγῳ αὐτὴν (sc.rhv ἀνδρείαν) καὶ εἰπεῖν ὅτι ἔστιν; CS ἢ ἃ νοεῖς τῷ λόγῳ βεβαίωσαι. Sl Plat, Charm. 159 C 1 ff, 160 Ε 6 ff 169 B 4 f. 175A LIL E6 ὶ vel. Lysis 216 C 6 ff 218 Ε 5 ff 220 B 7 ff, wo τὸ φίλον unter τὸ καλόν (καὶ ἀγαθόν) fällt. 52 Plat. Laches 194 D 1 ff; 197 A 6 ff; Protag. 360 D 4 f. Wenn im Hippias I 296 E 7 ff das Gute dem Schônen untersteht (γίγνοιτ᾽

ἂν ὑπὸ

τοῦ

καλοῦ

τὸ ἀγαθόν, 297 B 2 fi ἐν πατρός

τινος

ἰδέᾳ

εἶναι τὸ καλὸν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ, B 6 f), dann ist das zwar eine fehlerhafte Ansicht - die Umkehrung wäre die richtige - zeigt aber doch die verwendete Methode; denn natürlich steht das Schöne unter dem Guten.

53 Plat. Protag. 361 B 3 ff, Menon 87 Β 5 ff. 54 Plat. Laches 190 C 8 ff; 198 A 1 ff; 199 E 3 ff; Protag. 329 C 3 ff, 349 ( 2 ff; Menon 79 A 9 ff; BA ff D 6 ff, 89 A 3 f. Der Menon spricht in diesem Sinne auch von κατὰ ὅλου εἰπεῖν ἀρετῆς πέρι ὅτι ἐστίν (77 A 6 ἢ. Im Euthyphron 11 E 4 ff; 12 C 10 ff fällt die ὁσιότης unter die δικαιοσύνη, und

12 B 4 ff; C 4 ff fällt die αἰδώς unter das δέος als dessen Teil. Nach 12 C 6 ff ist das περιττόν, nach Ὁ 8 das ἄρτιον ein Teil der Zahl.

Matthias Baltes

323

dann folgt daraus die Unwandelbarkeit der Ideen, aus dieser die Uberzeitlichkeit, aus

dieser die Ewigkeit’, aus dieser ihre Überörtlichkeit. Ist dies richtig, dann folgt ferner, daß die Ideen nicht wirklich in den Sinnendingen sein können. Ihre Gegenwart (paragignesthai, engignesthai, eneinai, pareînai, parousia) ist also nicht wörtlich zu nehmen, ihr Besitz durch das Sinnending (echein, kektesthai) nicht

konkret zu verstehen. Wie Platon durch genügend Hinweise andeutet®, sind dies alles nur Metaphern, die einen metaphysischen Vorgang zu fassen versuchen: Die Raum und Zeit transzendierende Idee ist anwesend und nicht anwesend, indem sie in

den Sinnendingen wirkt, aber nicht in ihnen aufgeht, Die Idee ist also in den Sinnendingen durch ihre dynamis gegenwärtig*?. Aber sie ist in gewisser Weise auch in der Seele des Menschen anwesend; denn die s6phrosyné wird beispielsweise durch /ogoi vermittelt, und der söphron kann sich,

wie wir gehört haben, von der séphrosyné in ihm, d.h. von dem durch die Idee in ihm Bewirkten, doxai bilden, ja, er kann Rechenschaft von ihr geben. Folglich muß die Idee in gewisser Weise auch in der Seele des Menschen sein; denn sonst wüßte er nicht, wovon er spricht”®. Da die sdphrosyné durch logoi vermittelt wird, ist es

naheliegend, daß es /ogoi sind, durch die die Idee sich in der Seele abbildet - wie im Phaidon und im Symposion. Somit existieren die Ideen in der transzendenten Wirklichkeit des Seins als sie selbst

und Vorbilder, in den Sinnendingen als Abbilder (eidola), in der Seele als logoi>?. Westfälische Wilhelms-Universitàt Münster

55 Vel. Hippias 1292 E 2: ὃ 56 Dies geschieht vor allem bewußten Wechsel im εἴτε παρουσία εἴτε

πᾶσι καλὸν καὶ ἀεί ἐστιν; E 6 fi ἀεὶ γάρ που τό γε καλὸν καλόν. durch Ausdrücke wie μετέχειν, ἱκανῶς ἤδη ἔχειν, εἴδωλα, aber auch durch sprachlichen Ausdruck; vgl. Plat. Phaid. 100 D 5 ff: ἡ ἐκείνου τοῦ καλοῦ κοινωνία εἴτε ὅπῃ δὴ καὶ ὅπως προσαγορευομένη’ οὐ γὰρ ἔτι τοῦτο

διισχυρίζομαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι τῷ καλῷ πάντα τὰ καλὰ καλά. 57 Man beachte, daß der Lysis (217 C 3 ff) verschiedene Intensitätsgrade der Anwesenheit unterscheidet. 58 In diesem Sinne spricht der Menon 86 B 1 f davon, daß die ἀλήθεια τῶν ὄντων immer in unserer Seele vorhanden sei.

59 Vel. Plat. Euthyphron 11 D 7 ff; 15 B 7 f; daß wirklich die Inhalte gemeint sind, zeigt 11 C 3: τὰ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἔργα.

Maieutic, epôidé and myth in the Socratic dialogues Alvaro Vallejo In this symposium, we are discussing different aspects of the Socratic dialogues, but .

it is by no means clear what we mean when we use this expression, if we wish to go beyond the criterion, normally accepted, that these are the first works written by Plato. Moreover,

the first group of Platonic dialogues where scholars have found

stylometric affinities is too broad and, therefore, we cannot go very far along this path. Here we find dialogues as different as the Apology and the Phaedo or the Crito and the Cratylus'. I think that it is overly optimistic to believe, as Guthrie and others before him?, that the Socratic dialogues are a group of dialogues where “Plato is imaginatively recalling, in form and substance, the conversations of his master without as yet adding to them any distinctive doctrines of his own”. We have learned from philosophers such as H.Gadamer or P.Ricoeur that a purely objective

interpretation of an author is impossible without bringing forth our own hermeneutic horizon, If this is true overall, it must be much more valid in the case of Plato, whose thought has shown enough strength to influence the whole of western philosophy. Here, we can apply once more the principle that quidquid recipitur, recipitur ad modum recipientis.

If we take into account the diminished reliability of the testimonia external to the corpus platonicum, and the fact that they depend more or less on the dialogues themselves, and if we consider the contradictory results of the most reputable scholars, we have to conclude that the Socratic problem is insoluble. To distinguish

with absolute certainty Socratic from Platonic thought, we would have to be provided with hermeneutical instruments independent of the Platonic text, and these either do not exist in some cases or, in others, have a very limited scope’. For all "ΟΕ, e. g., Brandwood (1976), VII or, more recently, Kahn (1996), 47.

2 Cf. Guthrie (1975), 67. 3 Nevertheless, in the evaluation of Aristotelian testimony, my view is closer to that of Vlastos (1991), 91-800 and Calvo (1997), 126-7 than to Kahn (1981), 310, n.13; (1992), 235-238; and

Alvaro Vallejo

325

these reasons, any attempt to separate Socrates from Plato will controversial, if restricted to the philosophical contents of the dialogues.

be

highly

From this point of view, I am not completely convinced by the argument ex silentio, which has been used by those who have defended the genuinely Socratic character of the early dialogues, where we cannot find a clear affirmation of the trascendent forms; nevertheless, I also have doubts about the unitarian interpretations which project onto these works what is said in later dialogues.

This is not meant to diminish the hermeneutical significance of these latter attempts. I have no doubts about the usefulness of the proleptic hypothesis of C.Kahn and, if it is true that “the choice of a hermeneutical assumption can be justified only by its fruits”, as he says‘, his position is justified, because, projecting upon these works the contribution of the later ones, he magnifies the philosophic value of the early dialogues. The case of the Lysis is paradigmatic: for scholars like Wilamowitz, Gomperz or Guthrie, this work is an unsuccessful essay devoid of authentic philosophical content; on the contrary, if we interpret it from the perspective of the later dialogues, as is done by Kahn or Szlezak, for example, the dialogue becomes philosophically intelligible in the light of Plato’s later theory of erôs$ or considering the pröton philon in the context “of the Good as ultimate principle (arché) and goal of all other friendships’”. These hermeneutical attempts of the so-called Socratic dialogues are legitimate because of the interpretative fertility that it is rightly adduced by their proponents, but I wonder whether we can be sure that, when he wrote these dialogues, Plato had already developed the philosophical system that he expounded many years later. If we follow Jaeger or Kahn, we must presuppose that when Plato wrote a dialogue such as the Euthyphro he already had in mind the metaphysics of the Symposium and the Phaedo*. In the same way, Szlezäk projects in the case of the

Charmides the doctrine of the Phaedrus and the Seventh Letter? and he interprets the magic formula mentioned by Socrates in this dialogue from the standpoint of the Platonic critique of writing. Nevertheless, as Kahn himself says!9, the retrospective continuity

does

not

imply

a proleptic

composition,

and

an

upholder

of

the

(1996), 79-88. It is true that we do not have an independent source of information comparable to Platonic dialogues, but this was not true of Aristotle, who spent twenty years in the Academy. Here, opposite positions can be adopted, but I think that it would be highly unlikely that Aristotle had no more information than we have in order to judge a question like this one. Cf. Ross (1924) I, XXXIV. 4Cf. Kahn (1981), 311. 5Cf. von Wilamowitz-Möllendorff (1920) I, 187; Gomperz (1905) IL, 383; and Guthrie (1975),143. 6 Cf. Kahn (1981), 281. Kahn shows “how carefully Plato has planted hints and anticipations of his mature doctrine of erös in this ostensibly juvenile exercise in Socratic ignorance and aporia”. 7 Cf. Szlezäk (1992), 185. 8Cf. Jaeger (1971), 468 f.; Kahn (1981), 313, 0.18 and (1996), 337-338. 9 Cf. Szlezak (1992), 208 f. 10 Kahn (1996), 338.

326

Maieutic, epôidé and myth

evolutionist hermeneutics will always have the right to resist the unitarian interpretations of Plato’s work. My feelings about this problem are ambivalent. On the one hand, I recognize that within this hermeneutic framework the early dialogues become philosophically much more valuable. However, on the other hand, and setting aside the uncertainty implicit in reading these dialogues in the light of the later ones, these interpretations sometimes have the drawback of diminishing the

tensions and even the contradictions which can be found in a literary career such as

Plato’s, which spanned more than forty years. As

I have

already stated, I feel that it is very difficult to separate

the

philosophical thought of Socrates and Plato, if we restrict ourselves to considering only matters of content; nevertheless, in my opinion, in the Platonic dialogues ‘we can find different concepts of persuasion which could give us a methodological perspective from which to separate threads which have possibly been entwined at certain moments, although with less difficulties at the beginning than at the end of

Plato’s works. The methodological differences that we find in the dialogues can give us a standard for reaching

a concept of what we

mean

by a Socratic

dialogue.

Considering the limits of space, I will discuss only three closely related issues: (a) the idea of dialogue, (b) the methodology of persuasion and the concept of epdidé, and (c) the absence of myths in the early dialogues.

I. The Socratic idea of dialogue

The vast majority of scholars believe that the Apology is the most certainly Socratic of all Plato’s work. If this is true, as is generally accepted, it seems evident that the most characteristic trait of Socrates methodology was the negative character of its results. Socrates’s profession of ignorance is continual in the Apology (cf.19cἃ, 20c-e, 214 ff, 22c-e, 23a-b, etc.), to the point of converting it into the fundamental argument adduced against his accusers. This avowal of ignorance is effective and real in matters of natural philosophy. This is different in all the ques-

tions dealing with “human wisdom” (20d8-9), but even this kind of knowledge is explained in negative terms!!. The final outcome of his interrogations of politicians, I! The limits of Socratic ignorance have been amply discussed; in any case, it is evident that it did not hamper him from forming positive beliefs about the value of the soul or the inseparability of ‘virtue and happiness or about the wrong in acting unjustly, even to someone who has previously wronged you. Cf. Apology (29b6-7), where Socrates states that he “does know that to do wrong and to disobey my superior, whether God or man, is wicked and dishonourable”. My position in this regard is very similar to that adopted by Irwin (1977), 39-40. Socrates can have moral positive beliefs without an ultimate theoretical justification. Nevertheless, I do not propose dismissing the paradoxical character of Socrates's position (Vlastos [1985], 11; cf. Kahn [1996], 96). Undoubtedly, although Socrates expressed continual dissatisfaction, he believed profoundly in the possibility of attaining a few moral truths which he deemed decisive for human destiny. Perhaps Socrates was always trying to transform beliefs into

Alvaro Vallejo

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327

artisans is negative and its only positive achievement was to illuminate

the enigmatic answer given by the-oracle in the light of Socrates’s consciousness of his own ignorance. Although Socrates’s avowal of ignorance has certain limits in the

Apology, we have to take it seriously and not simply as an attitude of Socratic irony. It looks by all means clear that the appearance of knowledge which resulted from the elenctic method was of a peirastic nature and he did not consider himself to be in possession of positive knowledge. In the Apology (23a3-4) he mentions the

incredulity of those submitted to his examinations, because they could not believe that he knew nothing about the subjects which were the targets of his refutations. The best philosophical justification of this paradox which I know is the one given by Aristotle with his concept of a peirastic technique by means of which one can test an interlocutor without having a positive knowledge of the matter in question!?. The peirastic “has in view not the man who has knowledge, but the ignorant pretender” (Soph.El. 1710) and it is a dialectical technique, says Aristotle, that “one may possess even though one has no knowledge” (172a20). This was the kind of dialectic practiced by Socrates, according to Aristotle (183b). However, what I consider most important is that, in accordance with the Apology and with the analysis of Aristotle in the Sophistical Refutations, it is a kind of procedure in which the active participation of the interlocutor is indispensable, because if he does not concede anything, the peirastic dialectic “then would no longer have any grounds from which to argue any longer against the objection” (172a20-21). Dialectic is essentially interrogative (erötetike, 172a18), and Socrates’s merely inquisitive approach, in Aristotle’s opinion, was founded in his self-consciousness of ignoran-

ce!?. Moreover, this is what Plato tells us in the Theaetetus (150c4-7): The epistemic sterility of Socrates obliges him to question and enables him “to bring nothing to knowledge and was never completely successful in this enterprise. I think that we must accept the paradox just as it is formulated in the Apology and not detract from one of the two elements (theoretical uncertainty and positive moral values) at the expense of the other. Both facets form part of Socrates’s personality. Cf. in this sense, Jaeger (1971), 403, who sees in the figures of Antisthenes and Plato the development of two personalities born of a double interpretation of the figure of Socrates, whose dual nature must have resided in his own. personality. 12 Cf Sophistici Elenchi 165a39, 169b25, 171b4-5, 172a21-22, 27-29, 35-36 and 183bl for the Aristotelian concept of peirastic. Aristotle, as Vlastos has indicated in relation to Socrates ([1991], 94-95), in fact distinguished between dialectic and peirastic, as in Soph.E/165b3-6, but at other times says simply that peirastic is a form of dialectic (dialektiké tis, 171b4-5). According to Vlastos, “the only role Socrates could play in question-and-answer was peirastic, i.e, to extract, by means of questions, admissions from his interlocutor which could serve as the premises from which Socrates would proceed, by syllogistic or epagogic argument, to deduce

the negation

of the

interlocutor's

thesis”.

At other times,

however,

contrary

to the

opinion of Vlastos, Socrates also argues dialectically from endoxa, although it is to conclude the opposite of the interlocutor and immerse him in the aporia. But this is another matter. 13 “For this reason Socrates asked but did not answer, as he recognized that he did not know” (183b7-8). In Aeschines we also find Socrates saying that he has no knowledge which he could teach to anyone to benefit him (oudén mathéma epistämenos, cf. Giannantoni [1991], VIA 53).

328

Maieutic, epdidé and myth

light because there is no wisdom in him”, In the Socratic method of early dialogues, the role of the person who conducts the conversation is to stimulate the intelligence of the interlocutor: “questioning, examining and refuting” (erésomai, exetdsé, elenxö, Apol.29e4-5). Socrates was like a gadfly, and his fundamental function was rousing, persuading and reproaching (egeirön kai peithön kai oneidizön, 30e7). From the interlocutor’s viewpoint, Socrates is persuaded only by rational means imposed

by the maieutic and interrogative nature of his method: “the many admirable truths they bring to birth have been discovered by themselves from within” (autoi par’

autôn, Theaet.150d7-8)!4. The Socratic vision of aporia must be contemplated in this light as (an exclusively rational instrument of a kind of persuasion which must be aroused fram the consciousness of the interlocutor. The aporia constitutes the pains of giving birth which are necessary for the interlocutor to have full consciousness of his own ignorance and for being able to conceive by his own means (cf.Theaet.151a7, ödinousi kai aporias empimplantai). The aporia is one of the traits shared by nearly

all the dialogues which are unanimously considered early: here we find not only the Charmides

and Lysis (and also the Euthydemus,

at least from

a formal point of

view), but also other dialogues such as the Jon and the two Hippias, the Laches, Euthyphro, Meno and Protagoras. 1 do not mean to say that the contents are merely aporetic and we do not have enough clues to ascertain Plato’s true opinion, because sometimes with more evidence (virtue as knowledge, e.g.), and other times with less (the theory of transcendent forms), one can guess Plato’s preference!>. However, at least formally or from a literary standpoint, the aporetic result is a common trait of

many dialogues which are considered characteristically Socratic!®, But how must we understand the aporia? Can we see in it a distinctive sign of Socratic character or is it only a literary strategy adopted by Plato? And how can we relate the aporia with the

chronological sequence of the dialogues? In relation to this latter question, we must say that Plato never abandons Socratic views absolutely or consciously and this permits them to coexist with other

elements which are in tension with them. This happens with the aporia in the Theaetetus

(151a7),

which

is without doubt a later dialogue!’. Nevertheless,

the

14 Burnyeat (1977), 7 f., like R. Robinson and H. Maier before him, thinks that the midwife figure is not historical, but a purely Platonic invention. Nevertheless, he also says (10-11) that the Socrates of the Theaetetus “15 restored to something like his original role as the man who knows nothing on his account but has a mission to help others by his questioning” and that “all this can be understood as a move ‘back to Socrates’ for the purpose of a dialogue which is critical in intent and deliberately restrained in its positive commitments”. 151 agree with Kahn in his opinion that there is a tension “between the overtly negative conclusion and some implicit positive thesis about the virtue in question”. Cf. Kahn (1996), 98.

16 Cf, e.g., Penner (1992), 125. '7 I have already quoted (see n.14) Burnyeat’s opinion on the similarities between the Theaetetus and the early Socratic dialogues. But there are also differences. In Burnyeat’s words,“where earlier dialogues had valued perplexity merely as a necessary step towards disencumbering

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329

aporetic form in this dialogue may be also required by Plato’s choice of making a fresh start in epistemological issues. In general, however, we can find a contrasting estimation of the pedagogic value of aporia in the later dialogues. It is true that the Meno, perhaps one of the latest dialogues in the first group, looks like a positive reflexion on the aporetic practices of the early dialogues!*: “before he was thrown

into aporia and became aware of his ignorance”

(Men. 84c5-6) the slave would not

have tried to investigate and learn, and he would not have felt “a desire to know” (epôthésen to eidénai). However, from Meno onwards it is clear that Plato prefers to sustain a useful belief, as reminiscence, rather than maintain an uncertainty which could stop the progress of knowledge (cf. Men. 86b6-c2). In my opinion, this signifies the abandonment of the Socratic spirit of the early dialogues. Where we have the clearest evidence of this is in the Republic. Here we find an instructive programme which looks like a condemnation of Socrates’s refutatory practices, because dialectics in an early age can lead us to question “certain convictions (dögmata) about the just and the honorable in which, in obedience and honour to them, we have been bred as children under their parents” (Rep.538c6). The dissolving effects of dialectics which frightens Plato would also include the aporetic results of Socratic refutations. When a person is asked about the honourable and, “giving the answer which he learned from the lawgiver, the argument confutes him and, by many and various refutations, upsets his faith and makes him believe that

this thing is no more honourable than it is base (538d6-e1)”'?. On the contrary, there is a set of early dialogues which are not concerned with moral uncertainty, because all the emphasis is placed on the moral autonomy”® of the interlocutor and on the necessity that the persuasion must be accomplished by the self discovering of truth. For the Socratic concept of dialogue, the aporia is a value in itself, because it destroys all certainties not based on reason, which have been assumed under the influence of other factors. On the contrary, there are other someone of the conceit of knowledge..., the Theaetetus treats it as a productive state, the first

stirring of creative thought” (loc. cit., 11). Although the early dialogues are characterised by the negative results of the Socratic method, the aporia has also a positive function in that the interlocutor (or the reader) is left with the task of solving the puzzles by himself. 18 Cf. Kahn (1996), 179-180. . 19 The dissonance of this text with the Socratic spirit of moral autonomy and free examination without which life is not worth living has been pointed out by various authors. Cf. Popper (1981), 136-137; Vlastos (1991), 109-110; Vallejo (1993), 228-229.

20 At Greater Hippias 298b-c Socrates says that "the man by whom he should be most ashamed to be caught talking pretending nonsense” is the son of Sofroniscus (i.e., Socrates himself) “who would no more allow me to hazard these assertions while they are unexplored (anereunéta) than to assert what I do not know as though I knew it”. This is the principle of interiority on which, as Hegel saw, the true language of morals is founded. I see a clear link between Socrates’s elenchus and an exhortation to that free examination of a doctrine in which moral autonomy is founded. One can contrast this text with the use of lies in the Republic or with the pretension to establish certain moral principles, based, as in the Laws (838d), on a “common fame” whose force is such that “no single soul dares to entertain a sentiment contrary to established usage”.

330

Maieutic, epôidé and myth

dialogues for which the most important thing is the persuasion of the interlocutor, no

matter how it is accomplished, even beyond the uncertainties of rational discourse, and there are finally others where Plato has lost his faith in Socratic maieutic and where the interlocutor is reduced to the role of a yes man. Here I find an evident lack

of continuity between the early and the later dialogues, not only because in the former ones there is a greater or smaller degree of uncertainty, but because of the

importance given to the interlocutor in the maieutic ideal of philosophical dialogue. If we have to take into account the content of the dialogues, perhaps C.Kahn is right,

although I could not ensure it, when he defends a proleptic or ingressive explication of certain questions which will be answered only in later dialogues, and it is alse

possible that the aporia has something

to do with a literary strategy or with

“deliberate holding back”. But, methodologically, we can, I think, draw a line which

distinguishes the Platonic from the Socratic dialogue, of which two fundamental characteristics are the following: 1 In the early works the main object of the dialogue is more peirastic than constructive and for this reason an apparent or real aporetic result is not avoided, while in later dialogues the main interest lies in overcoming the aporia and its moral

consequences. 2 In the early dialogues the fundamental concern is the interior conviction of the interlocutor and he must bring forth the truth from within, while, in other dialogues, this is a secondary factor, because the emphasis is placed on the doctrine which he is to assume. We have a set of dialogues which seem to answer to the Socratic programme announced in the Apology?': this dialogue, I think, contains a proleptic exposition of a whole series of Socratic dialogues intended to destroy a false

appearence of wisdom. We find cases of this practice in many early dialogues: 21 Kahn (1996),179 holds that the Apology, the Crito, the Lesser Hippias and the Jon are probably the first dialogues and that they are nevertheless not aporetic. Kahn suggests that “the aporetic (and hence for many scholars typically “Socratic”) dialogue is a new creation on Plato’s part, marked by experimentation with new literary forms...in deliberate preparation for the more ambitious enterprise of the middle dialogues”. Considering all of this, I am left with the following conclusions: firstly, the Apology and Crito are not aporetic, for obvious reasons, since they concern, respectively, a defense of Socrates and a justification of one of his decisions; however, the Lesser Hippias, from my point of view, does have an aporetic ending, because a contradictory situation arises between what should be concluded and what in fact apparently results from reasoning. That is, Socrates and the wise men should become aware of their “straying” (cf. 376c2-6), In the case of Jon, the rhapsodist cannot provide a convincing explanation of his knowledge, thereby provoking this protean straying, because he suggested various possibilities that remain to be estimated. Secondly, I do not know whether the aporia is a literary form created deliberately by Plato for a subsequent explication to cast light on the problems contemplated in these dialogues. From the standpoint of content, the explanation of Kahn is convincing on many points, but, in my opinion, the aporetic form is the most natural that emerges from the Socratic maieutic and the one which results from what he says about his talks with poets, orators, politicians and artisans,

Alvaro Vallejo

331

Euthyphro (cf. 4e4-8), Ion (cf. 532c5-9), Lesser Hippias (cf. 364a2-3, b2), Greater

Hippias (cf. 281b5-6), Laches (cf. 200a4-6), Charmides (cf.162e1)??. However, in the so-called Socratic dialogues, the use of the elenctic method means that almost absolute protagonism is accorded to the interlocutor, and, in the dramatic construction of the work, what we find at first sight is not the philosophical

doctrine but rather the fact that it must be rationally discovered by the interlocutor. It has been often debated whether Socrates makes conscious use of eristic tricks in the early dialogues,

but we must emphasize

that everything

is disposed

so that

whoever talks to Socrates can discover the truth by his own means. This is why sometimes a true idea is dismissed, because the Socratic method employed in these dialogues seeks not simply to persuade but to dissolve any certainty not based on

reason. The Laches, with its conception of bravery as a kind of wisdom (194d ff.)4 or the Charmides, with its definition of séphrosyné as “doing one’s own” (161b6), are two examples of philosophical doctrine which are dismissed not because they are false but because their proponents do not put forward sufficient reasons for holding these positions.

IJ. Persuasion and epöide To illustrate the differences between the two conceptions of persuasion which we can find in the early and in the later dialogues, I propose to consider the

use of the concept of epdidé and the presence of myth in Plato’s work. In relation to the first of these two questions, the Charmides presents a paradigmatic case. Charmides wants Socrates to tell him a charm (epôidé, 156a2) to cure a headache. Socrates answers that charms are “the fair Jogoi and that by them

temperance is implanted in the soul” (157a4-5). The charm is not an incantation to calm the intellectual powers, but, on the contrary, serves to strengthen and awaken

them, so that the person who is temperate and wise enough (cf. Charm.158b6-7) has no need common health to the path

of them. The charm is nothing other than Socrates’s examination and the search for truth understood as a long rational process which brings real the soul and, if these charms produce söphrosyne, they cannot be other than to wisdom?5, Nevertheless, the charm is very different in later dialogues. In

22 The case of Lysis is different, because it concerns a child without pretensions to knowledge. 2 Cf. Vlastos (1991), 113 and (1994), 4: “Socratic elenchus is a search...in which a thesis is debated only if asserted as the answerer's own belief and is regarded as refuted only if its negation is deduced from his own belief’. Although I differ on certain points with regard to Vlastos’s analysis, I do believe it is true that in the elenctic method “the only opinion which matters in the argument is that of the arguers themselves” (cf. also 14). 241 fully agree with Kahn that the epistemic concept of bravery “is inadequately represented by Nicias, who is a naive spokesman for a view he does not fully understand” ([1996], 170). 25 For Szlezäk the charm is something that will come into play after the conversion of Charmides,

332

Maieutic, epôidé and myth

the Phaedo the aim is to overcome the apistia which is produced as an aporetic result caused by the confrontation of opposing theses concerning the nature and destiny of the soul. The rational arguments adduced by Socrates do not eliminate the human

fear of disappearing

forever after death,

certainty of arguments (cf. Phaedo makes him relate a myth.

107b2).

and this erodes

confidence

in the

Plato, in contrast with the Apology,

Here he is not permitted to remain in aporetic uncertainty,

challenging the intelligence of the interlocutor, but must rather, following Plato’s preference, apply the charms which will silence the reasonable fears of intelligence; that is, one must take the risk of believing (cf. Phaedo 114d4-6) something which reason cannot prove beyond all doubt. The dialectical style must be abandoned and a long speech must be made, of the type which Socrates normally avoided, because “they held him spellbound for a long time” (cf. Prot. 328d4). This makes it

impossible to have a dialogue with questions and answers that can uphold the thesis that the discourse is meant to establish (cf. Prot. 329a3-4). If we take into account what the Protagoras tells us about this kind of speech, we understand that for Socrates his own speech in the Phaedo is like a charm for self-persuasion to eliminate those fears that reason cannot overcome. From a methodological standpoint, I think that we have here a clear break with that other Socrates who did

not refuse the aporia and was able to face death, as in the Apology, without the subterfuge of relying on a certainty that is not granted by reason. If we go from the Phaedo to the Laws, the change in the use of charms is greater, because in the first of these dialogues it is a discourse addressed to oneself, but in the Laws it is a calculated effect of the social system of beliefs that the educational system of the state has to guarantee’. Here the persuasion induced through charms (cf. e.g., 664a-c, 773d, 887d) is based more upon the pleasure

produced by music than by rational arguments (cf.665c). Plato’s aim is just that effect avoided by Socrates when he experienced the spell of Protagoras’ oratory: the citizens must be educated “from their earliest years by story, speech and song” until the result is reached of “bringing them under the spell” (840c1-3). The Athenian protests against those who had not been persuaded of the truth of those stories

(muthois) “crooned over them like spells in sport and in earnest” (cf.887d2-5). But with these themes of Plato’s late educational ideals we would stray very far from the orbit of the Socratic dialogues.

III. Myth and Socratic dialogues and he conceives of it, from an esoteric standpoint, as pollé synousia, to from the Seventh Letter. In my opinion, it is true that, strictly speaking, the Socratic charm, because, before deciding whether it must be applied, we what söphrosune is. In any case, whatever happens afterwards would be dialogue itself, a search in common for the truth. Cf. Szlezäk (1992), 208-9.

use an expression dialogue is not the need to determine quite similar to the

26 On this point, cf. Dodds (1980), 212 n.20; Morrow (1953), 238; Vallejo (1993), 287-299.

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333

Finally, I would like to examine the relationship of myth with the Socratic dialogues. The connection of the historic Socrates and Plato’s myths has given rise

to opposing opinions??, but I would like to discuss the relationship of maieutic with the mythical speech because, as has often been observed?8, the myths are absent from the so-called Socratic dialogues. First of all, from a formal perspective, myth needs macrologic speech, because it has to narrate a dramatic sequence of events, while Socrates imposes on his interlocutor the brachylogy which he considers an assurance of the rationality and argumentative character of dialogue, for matuetic

needs the dialectical form of discourse in order to “give and receive reasons” (/6gon te doûnai kai déxasthai, Prot. 336c1). But, secondly, and I think that this is essential for the Socratic ideals, the interlocutor must answer by himself, because the aim is to

reach rational convictions, as the fruit of his own

consciousness.

This is why

questions and answers are necessary for the Socratic concept of dialogue and active participation of the interlocutor, who must engage the whole capacity of intelligence. On the contrary, myth is a monologue which imposes silence on person with whom we speak, who must be limited to listening, as we can observe

the his the in

a few Platonic myths?. This means that the listener must behave passively, imagining the stream of images which will consciousness, sometimes because his what the myth asks to be believed. In dialogues, there are other ones where produced by the insufficiency of the

produce an effect upon him from outside his own reason has not been able to see by itself contrast with the aporetic result of many early myth is used to overcome the state of apistia technique of argument. In this way, I do not

think that myth has, as has often been said?!, solely a function of summary and synthesis of the lines previously drawn by dialectical analysis, or that it is a simple allegory of a philosophic truth, but rather that it goes clearly beyond the dialectical 27 Two contradictory judgements have been pronounced by W. Jaeger and G.S. Kirk, respectively. For Jaeger, “it is not easy to consider the historical Socrates to be the author of these free literary adaptations of religious myth, although at times he focused his attention on them” ([1971], 541.) For Kirk, on the other hand, “probably the habit of falling back on myths as an emotive form of persuasion belonged to Socrates himself” ([1974], 108). It is curious to observe that Vlastos, very careful while establishing differences between the initial and the Platonic Socrates, does not deem the use of myth to be among those differences. Cf. (1991), 54, n.32 and 55, n.39.

28 This was noted by S.Kierkegaard, who believed that myth in Plato was not a Socratic inheritance, although he had a different idea concerning which were the early dialogues. Cf. Kierkegaard (1976), 99-112. Cf. also Cornford (1984), 279 ff.; Friedlander (1969), 72-3; Edelstein (1949), 463; Anton (1963-4), 167. 29 Gkoue dé, phasi, Gorg.523al (see the comments of Dodds on this formula, which represents “ traditional way...of calling the listener’s attention to what follows”, Dodds [19717], 376); Rep. 614d3 (akouein te kai theasthai); Tim.20d7 (dkoue dé).

30 This has been pointed out by Mattéi (1988), 69-70:

“...myth reveals at once its mysterious

character with that voice from beyond which reduces the listener to passivity and arouses in him the sense of being both bewitched and awed by the feeling of immeasurable distance...”

31 Cf, in this sense, Jaeger (1971), 540; Bescond (1986), 68; McMinn (1990), 220.

334

Maieutic, ep6idé and myth

capacities of reason??. The profession of ignorance in the Apology (37a6-7) prevents

Socrates from saying that death is an evil although in other dialogues he himself does not refrain from adopting positions about which a reasonable man (notin échonti andri, Phaedo 114d2), cannot, as he says, make conclusive affirmations. It represents a risk, although a noble one (kalôs gar ho kindunos, 114d6*), which dialectic could not have afforded, because it would have violated the limits of the

human wisdom within which the Socrates of the Apology said he had to remain. Here we have clear signs of two different Socrates in respect of Plato’s method of persuasion. Thirdly, if myth, as Plato himself recognizes, does not have epistemological status enough to produce a rational certainty, to whom does it address itself? It cannot appeal to intelligence, which would regard these eschatological stories as “old wives’ tales” (hösper grads, Gorg.527a5), and therefore, it must address itself to that child in us (en hémin pais, Phaedo 77e5) over whom magic spells must be pronounced (77e8-9) every day in order to persuade him (metapeithein) that death is not an evil. In my opinion’, myth addresses itself to that part, alluded to from the Gorgias (493a3) onwards, “in which dwell the desires”; its fundamental characteristic is that “it can be swayed and easily persuaded” (anapeithesthai kai

metapiptein ἀπό kat6). This is why, says Plato, a clever fellow, playing with words, named this part of the soul a jar (pithon), because of its “credulous and suggestible character” (dia to pithanon te kai peistikôn, 493a7). Just because myth speaks to this irrational part of human nature, the mechanisms on which it finally bases its persuasive power are pleasure and pain, which Plato already knows in the Phaedo to

be factors powerful enough to force the soul to believe in something?*. The images from which the eschatological myths derive their persuasive force are drawn with

threads of pains and sufferings” and, if we take into account the three-dimensional nature of the persuasive arguments, as distinguished by Aristotle in his rhetorical theory, it is evident that the eschatological stories of Plato are discourses aimed not at reason but at the pathos of the listeners*’, The charm referred to by Socrates, when he narrates the myth,

is conceived

for fighting against a pathos

with the same

weapons as may be used by these powers in order to project our life in one or 32 33 34 35

Cf. Cf. Cf. Cf.

Friedländer (1969), 189; Dodds (1980), 376; Guthrie (1975), 307. Meno 86b6-7 and Gorg. 527a7-8. also in this sense Edelstein (1949), 473 and Brisson (1982), 144. Phaedo 83c5-7. A discussion of the importance of pleasure and pain as educational mechanisms and their growing transcendence for Plato’s anthropological theory in the Laws (cf. 653a-b, 733e-774c) would take us beyond the scope of the present work. 36 Cf. Gorg.525b7 (di’ algedonön kai odynön), 5255-6 (tà mégista kai odynérétata kai phoberötata pathé), Phaedo, 113d ff.(tatita paschontes ou pröteron pationtai prin an peisösin hous édikésan); Rep.615al (odyroménas te kai klaoüsas, anamimneiskömenas hösa te kai hoîa pathoien kai idoien...) and 615d4 ff. 37 As has often been observed, Plato insists upon, and enjoys images of pain more than descriptions of blessedness. Cf. in this sense, Zaslavsky (1981), 157.

Alvaro Vallejo

335

another direction’. With the employment of these devices, we are very far from the Socrates

who in the Apology refused to use any rhetorical instrument other than” “informing and persuading” (didäskein kai peithein, 35c2), and who in the Crito (46b4-6) said

that he was one of those men “who obey nothing other than the Jogos which seems best in rational reflection”. Therefore, concerning this matter, I think that there are two different Socrates, not only because of the lack of metaphysical and epistemological theses in the early works, but because of the methodology and the

conception of dialogue that we find in them. If we use chronological criteria to separate what is Socratic from what is Platonic, we are obliged to take a path where the disputes cannot be eliminated. Moreover, as I have said, if we follow stilometric criteria, we have to face a very broad group, where very different works can be found. For the vast majority of scholars the Phaedo or the Symposium must be the last dialogues in the first group*®. However, with regard to the relationship of myth and the Socratic conception of dialogue, the most controvertible dialogue would be the Gorgias*!. If I had to

express my own chronological preferences, I would date it after dialogues like the Laches,

the Charmides, the Euthyphro, the Protagoras and the Lysis, and probably

also after the Euthydemus. I feel very close:to the arguments adduced by Dodds and others in favour of a late dating within the first group“. I find it implausible that Plato could have used the eschatological dimension as a reinforcement of moral life

and that he would have forgotten it in the following dialogues. In view of the myths present in his works and taking into account the gradual presentation of immortality and reminiscence, it would be most natural to think that he wrote the Gorgias, the Meno and the Phaedo in this sequence and close together in time.

Nevertheless, sequence,

which

the aim of this paper is not to establish a chronological

can never be proven,

but only

to show

the differences

in the

philosophical conception of dialogue and the relationships of the Socratic maieutic with persuasion and myth in Plato’s dialogues. Admittedly, for a literary figure such 38 Cf. Boyancé (1937), 156-7. Boyancé, referring to the passage of the Phaedo (114d6-7), says that “myth is a charm designed to act upon sensibility”. Friedlander (1969), 190 rightly affirms that “the real value and meaning of the myth lies in the directio voluntatis”.

39 For the use of rhetorical tactics in the Apology, see, e.g., Rossetti (1989), 225-238

and

Feaver/Hare (1981), 205-206, but these arguments do not, in my opinion, contradict the essence of what I state in the text. 40 Cf, Brandwood (1976), XVIII. 4! Kahn, as is well known, has placed the Gorgias before some aporetic works, such as the Laches, the Charmides or the Euthyphro; cf. (1996), 52. It is true that the Gorgias has “the tone of bittemess and the relentless condemnation of Athenian politics and culture” mentioned by Kahn, but the bitterness of great political disappointments can endure for a long time, and I do’ not think that for this reason this work must necessarily be among the first written by Plato. Nevertheless, the arguments of Kahn are powerful and have also been upheld in the past (Hermann, Hirzel, etc.).

42 Cf. Dodds (1990), 18-30. Cf. also Irwin (1977), 292 and Penner (1992), 124.

336

Maieutic, epôidé and myth

as Plato, who knew how to give voice to such different dramatis personae, it would

have been possible to produce the Socratic conception of the dialogue anywhere in the chronological sequence of his works, although I have expressed my own preferences in this area. A dialogue such as the Theaetetus would illustrate what I mean, although we have already mentioned its differences with the early Socratic dialogues. In any case, we must contemplate the tension between the Socratic ideal and the Platonic search for more effective ways of persuasion as something natural, because the philosophic enterprise which Socrates undertook was too fair to be left completely aside and too difficult to realize in a world such as Athenian politics full of irrational passions Let me conclude by expressing my gratitude to those who asked insightful questions | and offered constructive suggestions for the present paper. I especially appreciate the

attention dedicated by C. Kahn to discussing this work, despite any differences in outlook which we might have. University of Granada

43 With respect to Plato’s view of rational argument as a means of moral reform, G. Klosko has observed that in the Socratic dialogues “Socrates’ activity is frequently depicted as unsuccessful”. Cf. Klosko (1993), 37. In the English version of this paper I have quoted the following

translations

of Plato’s

Gorgias, W.D.Woodhead; Shorey;

Theaetetus,

works:

Apology,

H.Tredennick;

Charmides,

B.

Jowett;

Greater Hippias, B. Jowett; Meno; W.K.C.Guthrie; Republic, P.

F.M. Cornford; Laws, A.E. Taylor, in Plato, The Collected Dialogues, ed.

by E. Hamilton and H. Cairns, Princeton, 1982.

Die Handlung der Dialoge Charmides und Euthydemos Thomas Alexander Szlezak (1) Orientierungspunkte

Als Leser der frühen Dialoge Platons werden wir gut daran tun, wenn wir folgende Gedanken und Bestimmungen der späten Dialoge Phaidros und Nomoi stets im Blick behalten.

(1) Nach

der Schriftkritik gehôrt es zu den Vorzügen

des lebendigen

Wortes des Philosophen, daß es dort, wo es nötig ist, auch schweigen kann: ein solcher Logos ist ἐπιστήμων λέγειν τε καὶ σιγᾶν πρὸς οὕς δεῖ (Phaidros 276 a 6 - 7), während die Schrift (γραφή) die Schwäche hat, daB sie οὐκ ἐπίσταται λέγειν οἷς δεῖ γε καὶ μή (275 e 3): sie spricht zu allen.

Nach Sokrates’ Ansicht kann es also in bestimmten Fällen nörig sein, zu schweigen, weil es Menschen gibt, die die Sache der Philosophie ‘nichts angeht’ (275 e 2). Als Analogie zu diesem Schweigen beim mündlichen Philosophieren ist das Verhalten des Philosophen beim Schreiben gedacht, das Sokrates mit dem Verhalten eines vernünftigen Bauern beim Säen vergleicht (276b1 - c10). Der Bauer wird dasjenige Saatgut, von dem er Ertrag erwartet, nicht in Adonisgärten säen, sondern nur in Boden, der für Landwirtschaft geeignet ist (σπείρας eig τὸ προσῆκον, 276 Ὁ 7). Ebenso wird der Philosoph das Saatgut, an dem ihm gelegen ist, nicht in schriftliche ‘“Adonisgärten’ setzen, also nicht „im Ernst ins Wasser schreiben“ mit Logoi, die sich selbst nicht zu helfen vermögen (276 b 7 - 9), sondern nur mündlich gemäß

seiner Kunst der Dialektik in eine geeignete Seele (λαβὼν ψυχὴν προσήκουσαν) ‘pflanzen’ (276 e 4 - 7). ‘Helfen’ kann sich nur dieser mündliche Logos, nicht aber der geschriebene (276 e 7 - 277 a 1 mit 275 e 5). (2) Während Sokrates mit diesen Überlegungen die philosophische Schrift vom philosophischen Wort deutlich trennt, schafft er im selben Zusammenhang auch

338

Die Handlung der Dialoge Charmides und Euthydemos

eine Verbindung zwischen beiden: der geschriebene Logos ist ein Abbild (εἴδωλον) des lebendigen Wortes des ‘Wissenden’ (Phaidros 276 a 8 - 9), das heißt des Dialektikers. (3) Nach Ansicht des ‘Atheners’ in den Nomoi gibt es Dinge, die, falls vorzeitig — das heißt ohne angemessene Vorbereitung — mitgeteilt, nichts vom Gemeinten klar machen. Diese Dinge „geheim“ (ἀπόρρητα) zu nennen, wäre falsch. Richtig müssen sie ἀπρόρρητα heißen — „Dinge, die nicht vorzeitig mitzuteilen sind“. Konsequenterweise sagt der Athener über diese Dinge am Ende der Nomoi inhaltlich nichts, sondern stellt nur fest, daß es sie gibt und benennt die Bereiche, die i von solcher Zurückhaltung betroffen sind.! (2) Zielsetzung

Im Folgenden soll die Handlung des Dialogs Euthydemos interpretiert werden eine Variation auf das Thema σιγᾶν πρὸς ods δεῖ“, die des Charmides dramatische Umsetzung des Begriffs ,,ampoppnta“.

als als

Doch warum sollte man bei der Handlung der Dialoge einsetzen? Genügt es nicht, die logische Verknüpfung der Argumente zu überprüfen, wie es die analytischen Interpreten zu tun pflegen, oder, wenn man ein übriges tun will, die rhetorischliterarischen Mittel Platons auf ihren Symbolgehalt, auf sonstige Verweisfunktionen sowie auf ihre psychagogische Wirkung hin zu untersuchen? So wichtig das alles sein mag, der Unzertrennbarkeit von Form und Inhalt werden wir erst gewahr, wenn wir die platonischen Dialoge als Werke der Gattung (Prosa-)Drama auffassen und ihre Handlung zu verstehen versuchen. Denn die Handlung ist im Drama weder ausschließlich der Form noch ausschließlich dem Inhalt zugehörig: von der Grundidee her gesehen, die der Dramatiker zur Darstellung bringen will, ist sie die ‘Form’, in der die Idee sich verwirklicht, während sie von den sprachlich-

literarischen Mitteln her gesehen eher zum ‘Inhalt’ gehört, den es zu formen gilt. Daß

Form

und Inhalt im platonischen

Dialog

unzertrennbar

sind, betonte mit

Nachdruck Friedrich Schleiermacher in der epochemachenden ‘Einleitung’ zu seiner Platon-Übersetzung von 18042. Er betonte es gegen seinen Vorgänger Tennemann, von dem er jedoch die Überzeugung übernahm, daß eine adäquate Hermeneutik der Dialoge vom Schlußteil des Phaidros ausgehen müsse’. Insofern der vorliegende

Beitrag von der Schriftkritik ausgeht, wie es einst Tennemann gelehrt hatte, zugleich ' Nomoi 968 e 2 - 5 οὕτω δὴ πάντα τὰ περὶ ταῦτα ἀπόρρητα μὲν λεχθέντα οὐκ ἂν ὀρθῶς λέγοιτο, ἀπρόρρητα δὲ διὰ τὸ μηδὲν προρρηθέντα δηλοῦν τῶν λεγομένων. Aufzählung der betroffenen Bereiche 968c9 - dé. 2 Schleiermacher [1804] (1855), 14 ,,...wenn irgendwo, so ist in ihr (sc. der Philosophie Platons) Form und Inhalt unzertrennlich“. 3 Zu Schleiermachers Verhältnis zu Tennemann vgl. Szlezäk (1997).

Thomas Alexander Szlezak

339

aber Form und Inhalt als Einheit verstehen möchte, wie es Schleiermacher postuliert hatte, ist er beiden Interpreten gleichermaßen verpflichtet. Doch das scheint mißlich: Tennemann war ein Vertreter der esoterischen Interpretation, Schleiermacher hin-

gegen wurde —

obwohl er im entscheidenden Punkt Tennemann

zustimmte —

durch seine Kritik des Begriffs ,,esoterisch zum Begründer des modernen Antiesoterismus. Es wird daher nach dem Durchgang durch die beiden Dialoge zu fragen sein, wie sich der Befund zu den beiden rivalisierenden Positionen verhält.

(3) Euthydemos

Am Ende einer langen Unterredung gibt Sokrates den Fechtmeistern und Eristikern Euthydemos und Dionysodoros den Rat, ihre Weisheit möglichst nur einem sehr kleinen Kreis vorzubehalten, denn das Rare sei wertvoll (τὸ γὰρ σπάνιον τίμιον, 304 b 3). Der Rat lautet also: verhaltet euch als Esoteriker, teilt euch nicht allen mit. Daß Sokrates’ Rat als Verhöhnung der Gegner gemeint ist, wurde noch niemandem übersehen. Doch worin die scharfe Ironie dieses Rates besteht, inwiefern er nicht einen harmlosen Schnörkel zum Abschluß, sondern folgerichtige Ende der Handlung darstellt, entging den Interpreten.

von und das

Schon gegen Ende des ersten eristischen Teils (275d - 278e) hatte Sokrates eingegriffen mit der Versicherung, die Brüder Euthydemos und Dionysodoros hätten bisher nur ‘Spiel’ geboten, vergleichbar dem Tanz und Spiel bei einer korybantischen Initiation (2774, 2780); doch würden sie bald ihre ernsthaften Ausführungen, ihre σπουδαῖα (278c3), folgen lassen. So war zu einem frühen Zeitpunkt der platonische? Vergleich des Philosophierens mit der Einweihung in

Mysterien eingeführt worden (dies natürlich von Sokrates, der die Natur dieses ἐπιτήδευμα kennt) und zugleich das Motiv von ‘Spiel’ und ‘Ernst’, das von nun an dazu dient, das Verhältnis der ‘sokratischen’ Partien zu den eristischen zu definieren’, Sokrates geht mit seinem Protreptikos (278e - 282d) voran, um zu zeigen, wie er sich eine seriöse Hinführung zur Philosophie vorstellt (278d) und hält im Folgenden an den ‘Gelenkstellen’ zwischen den klar abgehobenen Teilen des

Dialogs die Erwartung wach, der ‘Ernst’ der Eristiker würde noch zum Vorschein kommen (283b c, 288b c, 293a). Die auffällige und kompositorisch wohlüberlegte Verwendung des Motiv ‘Spiel / Ernst’ zeigt an, worum es in der Handlung des Dialogs geht: in der sophistischen Epideixis (27534) der Brüder steht ihre Weisheit auf dem Prüfstand, wobei Sokrates die tieferen Grundlagen dieser Weisheit, den ‘Ernst’

hinter der ‘spielerischen’ Eingangsphase, aufdecken will. So ist auch sein Appell zu verstehen,

die Brüder mögen

ihn

‘retten’

aus seiner Aporie

(293a2),

A Vgl. Men.76e, Gorg.497e, Symp.210a. Phdr. 259 c ff; 5. auch Chr. Riedweg (1987). 5 Vgl. meine Analyse des Dialogs in Szlezäk (1980), bes. 77 f. mit Anmerkung 4.

was

nichts

340

|

Die Handlung der Dialoge Charmides und Euthydemos

anderes bedeutet als die Unterstellung, sie kònnten seinen Uberlegungen

‘zu Hilfe

kommen’ durch Enthüllung ihrer bisher zurückgehaltenen onovdata®. Doch der Verlauf des Gesprächs zeigt, daß der ‘Ernst’ der Brüder nichts anderes ist als ihr bisher gezeigter eristischer Unsinn (294 Ὁ 1 - 3, 300 e 1), was den Sarkasmus der abschließenden Aufforderung, weiter so schön einem Teil erklärt.

‘esoterisch’ zu bleiben (304 a Ὁ), zu

Zu einem Teil — denn fast noch wichtiger als das Fehlen eines tieferen philosophischen Hintergrundwissen, aus dem heraus sie den Eristikern ist die Tatsache, daß der Spötter zurückgehaltenes Wissen verfügt. Schon lange die Anamnesis-Theorie, die Ideenlehre und durchscheinen läßt, ohne diese Philosopheme

‘helfen’ (oder ‘retten’) könnten, bei Sokrates offenbar selbst über solches sah man, daß Platon im Euthydemos seine Auffassung von Dialektik als solche auszuformulieren und zur

Diskussion zu stellen’, Es ist also Platon — nicht die armen verspotteten Eristiker — der σπουδαῖα zurückhält. Darüber hinaus läßt die vollständige Dominanz des Sokrates im Gespräch sowie seine Andeutungen über die (angeblich) ungeklärte Herkunft — vielleicht von einem anwesenden Gott (29124)? — der wichtigsten Äußerung über Dialektik den Schluß zu, daß nicht allein Platon als Autor, sondern auch Sokrates als Dialogfigur das angedeutete philosophische Wissen besitzt, aber

absichtlich zurückhält®. Der Grund für das Zurückhalten liegt natürlich an der mangelnden Eignung der Gesprächspartner: Euthydemos und Dionysodoros sind für Philosophie gänzlich und für immer ungeeignet, während die jungen Partner Kleinias und Ktesippos vielleicht begabt, aber gegenwärtig noch zu wenig entwickelt sind.

Sokrates praktiziert also das σιγᾶν πρὸς odc δεῖ im mündlichen Gespräch, und der geschriebene Dialog Euthydemos gibt uns ein ‘Abbild’ (eiöwAov) davon. Jetzt erst verstehen wir die volle Kraft des abschließenden Sarkasmus von 304 a b: der ‘Esoteriker’ Sokrates, der wirkliche σπουδαῖα im Hintergrund behält, verhöhnt die Nichtesoteriker, die keinerlei σπουδαῖα besitzen, als ‘Esoteriker’.

An dieser Stelle mag man sich an Hegels Einwand gegen Tennemanns Auffassung vom esoterischen Philosophieren bei Platon erinnern: die ganze Vorstellung sei verkehrt, denn die Idee besitze den Philosophen, nicht umgekehrt, folglich könne dieser seine Gedanken nicht wie einen Gegenstand „in der Tasche behalten‘®.,

Hegel scheint also zu meinen, daß ein σιγᾶν πρὸς ods δεῖ prinzipiell gar nicht möglich

sei. Gleichwohl

äußerlich sprechen“

räumt auch Hegel

kann!®,

Eben

ein, daß der Philosoph

dies zeigt Platon

„mit einigen

im Verlauf der Handlung.

6 Zur näheren Begründung dieser Auslegung vgl. Szlezäk (1980), 86 mit Anm. 20.

TVgl. z.B. H. Keulen (1971] 25 - 40, 49 - 56.

8 Zur näheren Begründung 5. Szlezäk (1980), 84 f. und Szlezäk (1985), 54 - 56. ? G.W.F. Hegel, Vorlesungen über die Geschichte der Philosophie II, Theorie. Werkausgabe: Band 19, Frankfurt / Main 1971, 21.

10 Hegel, ib. (s.s.Anm.9). Zu Hegels Mißverständnis von Esoterik vgl. Szlezäk (1980), 78f., 87f.

Thomas Alexander Szlezak

341

„Außerlich“, das heißt ohne Entfaltung seines tiefer fundierten Wissens, das ihn zum ‘Helfen’ (‘Retten’) und Lösen der Aporien befähigen würde, spricht Sokrates hier zu

allen. Wir spüren jedoch, daß sein Zurückhalten der problemlôsenden Theoreme im Fall der Eristiker ein wohl prinzipielles σιγᾶν πρὸς od¢ δεῖ ist, im Fall der Jüngeren eher ein Haushalten mit ἀπρόρρητα. Was ist demnach der Gegenstand der Mimesis (der ‘Abbildung’) im Euthydemos?

Das Porträt der Eristiker wird dadurch, daß jedem negativen Zug ganz präzis!! ein entsprechender positiver Zug auf der Seite des Philosophen zugeordnet ist, sozusagen zum Negativ einer Photographie des Dialektikers. Die stark aufgetragene

Ironie

lädt

dazu

ein, jedes

Merkmal

der

eristischen

Art

zu

philosophieren

konsequent in sein Gegenteil zu verkehren. Tut man das, so kommt man zu genau dem Bild vom φιλόσοφος und seiner Tätigkeit, das Platon vor allem im Phaidros

entworfen hat!?: l. Die Hinführung zur Philosophie hat Initiation (Eu-d 277d e, Phdr. 250 Ὁ c, Symp. 210 a).

die

(gestufte)

Struktur

einer

2. Der Philosoph kann und muß je nach Situation ein ‘Spiel’ betreiben oder ‘Ernst’ walten lassen (Eu-d 277e / 278c u.ö., Phdr. 2624, 276b - e).

3, Der Philosoph kann kontrolliert zurückhalten mit dem, was er bereithält (Eu-d 287d1

οἶσθα

ὅτε δεῖ ἀποκρίνασθαι

καὶ

ὅτε μή, 30102 τοῦτο

μὲν ἑκὼν

παρῆκας = Phdr. 275e3, 276a6 - 7 λέγειν τε καὶ σιγᾶν πρὸς οὖς δεῖ). 4. Der Philosoph läßt zum ‘Ernst’ der Dialektik nur die geeigneten Naturen zu (Eu-d 304c2 οὔτε φύσιν οὔτε ἡλικίαν ἐξείργεν οὐδεμίαν gegen Phdr. 276 e 6 λαβὼν ψυχὴν προσήκουσαν). 5. Dialektik ist eine Sache harter Bemiihung in langer Zeit (Eu-d 273 ἃ 9,

303c5 u.ö. gegen Phdr. 272b c, 274a2, vgl. 276b7). 6. Dialektik zeichnet sich durch ‘Genauigkeit’ (ἀκρίβεια) aus (Eu-d 288a -b, Phdr. 270e, 27 1a, vgl. Politeia 435d1, 504b5)

7. Gegenstand des Bemühens des Philosophen sind die bedeutendsten und emsthaftesten Dinge (Eu-d 273c4, 300e2, Phdr. 278d8, 279a8, vgl. Epist. 7, 341b1,

344c4). 8. Dialektik

ist eine τέχνη,

die es τεχνικῶς

zu beherrschen

gilt (Eu-d

!! Daß sich aus dem detaillierten negativen Porträt der Eristiker kraft der umkehrenden Wirkung der Ironie ein präzises Bild vom ‘richtigen’ Philosophieren im Sinne Platons ergibt, war die zentrale These meines Aufsatzes (Szlezak [1980] )(s.o. Anm. 5), und ebenso auch die zentrale These des Chance (1992), Die Identitàt seiner These mit der meinigen erkennt Chance ausdrücklich an: Chance (1992) 19 n. 67 (p. 228). Mit der Vorstellung seines Ziels p. 19 (oben) vergleiche man meine Bemerkungen p. 81 Anm. 10. 12Vgl. Szlezäk (1980), 79 - 81. Die meisten Punkte lassen sich auch aus anderen Dialogen belegen, vor allem aus der Politeia, doch wohl aus keinem so vollständig wie aus dem Phaidros. Auf weitere Nachweise verzichte ich hier.

342

Die Handlung der Dialoge Charmides und Euthydemos

295e2, 303e5, Phdr. 273d e, 276e5, 265c8 - 266c1). 9, Dem wahren Dialektiker gebührt die ‘Fiihrung’ im Gespräch (Eu-d 287d6 ἄρχεις, ironisch von Dionysodoros gesagt, ganz wie von Menon im Menon 86 d7; im Phaidros so nicht angesprochen, wohl aber praktiziert, wie in allen Dialogen; vgl. Politeia 358 Ὁ, 368 c, 427 d8 -e2, 474 a6 - b2: Sokrates soll die

Untersuchung tibernehmen). 10. Der Philosoph kann ‘dem Logos helfen’ (Eu-d 293 a 1 - 2 σῶσαι ἡμᾶς καὶ παντὶ τρόπῳ σπουδάσαι, Phdr. 27805 ἔχων βοηθεῖν, und zwar λέγων αὐτός, οὔ, unter Entfaltung der τιμιώτερα, 48, die zum mündlichen ‘Ernst’ gehòren).

Nimmt man diese Punkte zusammen, so wird klar: der Euthydemos ist die als Farce

gestaltete

dramatische

Umsetzung

der

Definition

des

Philosophen

aus

dem

Phaidros, wo er als derjenige bestimmt wird, der seinem Logos mündlich zu Hilfe zu kommen in der Lage ist, indem er auf hôherrangiges Hintergrundwissen zurückgreift, und der als der wahre Redner sich zugleich darauf versteht, wenn nötig auch zu schweigen.

(4) Charmides

Für das Kopfweh des jungen Charmides behauptet Sokrates ein Heilmittel (φάρμακον) in Gestalt eines Heilkrautes (φύλλον) zu haben (Cha. 155b/e). Allerdings gibt es eine Bedingung für die Anwendung des Heilmittels: zu ihm gehört eine ‘Besprechung’ (ἐπῳδή), mit der zusammen es vollständig gesund mache; ohne die Besprechung sei das Kraut nutzlos (155e5 - 8). Charmides geht von der richtigen Annahme aus, daß Sokrates schlägt ganz unkompliziert vor, daß er die Besprechung von werde (156al - 2). Was sollte auch gegen die Anfertigung damit gegen die ab hier unkontrollierbare Weiterverbreitung sprechen?

ihm helfen will, und Sokrates abschreiben einer Abschrift (und ) des Zauberspruches

Sokrates sieht es leider nicht ganz so unkompliziert. Er erinnert Charmides daran,

daß er für die Abschrift seiner Zustimmung bedürfe (15623). Was bringt ihn dazu, so restriktiv auf die verlangte Weitergabe seiner ἐπῳδή zu reagieren? Die Antwort hierauf wird sofort klar, wenn wir uns Sokrates’ eigene Auflösung seiner Metapher von der ‘Besprechung’ vergegenwärtigen: die Érwôai sind nichts anderes als λόγοι καλοί, die in der Seele die Tugend der Besonnenheit bewirken.

Wer diese Tugend besitzt, kann das Heilmittel sofort bekommen (15783 - bl). Die Logoi, die der Seele Tugend verschaffen, können nur die ‘Reden’ des wahren Philosophen sein. Bei der Abschrift des ‘Zauberspruches’ geht es also in Wahrheit um die Frage der schriftlichen Fixierung und Verbreitung philosophischer

Thomas Alexander Szlezak

343

Gedanken.

Denken wir an die Mängel der Schrift, wie sie Sokrates im Phaidros aufzählt — sie kann auf Fragen nicht antworten, sie redet zu Geeigneten und Ungeeigneten gleichermaßen, sie kann sich gegen Angriffe nicht helfen (275d4 - e5) — so wundert uns seine restriktive Reaktion auf das Ansinnen einer Abschrift seiner Logoi nicht mehr: er will verhindern, daß die Abschrift, „einmal geschrieben, sich überall herumtreibt, bei den Verständigen und ebenso bei denen, die sie nichts angeht“ (Phdr. 275d9 - 62).

Aber liegt nicht die schriftliche Fixierung der Logoi, mit denen Sokrates Charmides zur Besonnenheit

verhelfen

will, eben

im Dialog

Charmides

vor?

So

könnte

man

denken, doch hieße das, den Rahmen des fiktiven Gespräches verlassen und selbstherrlich dekretieren, für Sokrates (oder für Platon als Autor) habe es nicht mehr zu sagen gegeben zum Thema ‘Besonnenheit’ als in diesem Dialog zu Papier gebracht wurde. Bleiben wir hingegen im Rahmen des Dialogs, so müssen wir zugeben, daß die ‘Besprechung’ etwas ist, womit erst nach der Entscheidung des Charmides, Sokrates zu folgen (176bc), im Anschluß an dieses vorbereitende Gespräch begonnen werden wird. Platon hat also die (mündliche) Besprechung und den

(schriftlichen)

Dialog,

der

nur

das

Vorgespräch

‚abbildet‘,

deutlich

auseinandergehalten. Die Arznei, so hieß es, ist nur in Verbindung mit dem Zauberspruch wirksam. Was ist das für ein seltsames, um nicht zu sagen sinnloses Mittel, das für sich genommen ‘ohne jeden Nutzen’ bleibt (155e7 - 8)? Die Seltsamkeit wird noch gesteigert, wenn Sokrates berichtet, er habe dem thrakischen Medizinmann, von dem er Heilmittel und Besprechung hat, einen Eid geschworen, das φάρμακον niemandem zu geben ohne vorherige ‘Besprechung’ seiner Seele (157b1 - c2). Wozu muß man etwas

durch den Zwang eines Eides vor der Weitergabe schützen, wenn es doch an sich nutzlos ist? Die Antwort hierauf durch eine Auflösung der Metapher (wie im Fall der ‘Besprechung’) bleibt uns der Text schuldig. Gleichwohl ist die Lösung kein großes Rätsel mehr, nachdem wir durch das Motiv der Abschrift der philosophischen Logoi auf die richtige Spur gelenkt wurden: das φάρμακον kann nur ein philosophisches ἀπρόρρητον sein. Die Verhältnisse entsprechen sich genau: so wie ohne die vorbereitende Besprechung οὐδὲν ὄφελος Ein τοῦ φύλλου (155e7 - 8), so würden die ἀπρόρρητα bei vorzeitiger Mitteilung (προρρηθέντα), das heißt ohne Vorbereitung und Hinführung, μηδὲν δηλοῦν τῶν λεγομένων (Nomoi 968e4 - 5). Was

der Athener in den Nomoi begrifflich formuliert, drückt Sokrates im Charmides durch die Metapher aus. Damit haben wir die Natur des φάρμακον

freilich nur umrißhaft erfaßt. Wie

es

inhaltlich beschaffen sein könnte, läßt Platon offen. Hingegen sagt er einiges über die ἐπῳδή, was weiterführen könnte,

344

Die Handlung der Dialoge Charmides und Euthydemos

Charmides hofft auf künftige Besprechung seiner Seele durch Sokrates, nachdem er

sich mit groBer Begeisterung für ihn als Lehrer entschieden hat (176b1 - c4). Die Entscheidung ist durch den Gang des Gesprächs nicht gerechtfertigt, denn Sokrates hat sich als ‘schlechter Forscher’ erwiesen, jedenfalls in seiner eigenen Einschätzung

(17586), Durch sein völliges Scheitern bei der Suche (17539 - b4) ist sogar der Verdacht

aufgekommen, die ἐπῳδή selbst könnte wertlos sein (175e2 - 5). Reichlich paradox daher der Entschluß des Charmides, sich Sokrates zur Verfügung zu stellen für die nunmehr zweifelhafte ‘Besprechung’, nur um irgendwann einmal das unzweifelhaft

(an sich) nutzlose ‘Heilmittel’ zu bekommen. Doch Charmides korrigiert für sich die ironische Selbsteinschätzung des Sokrates (176b1). Er will sich vom heutigen Tag an von ihm besprechen lassen, und zwar „alle Tage“, er will ihm „folgen“, ihn „nicht verlassen“, bis Sokrates befindet, daß er „hinreichend“ besprochen sei (b3 - 9). Das klingt wie eine bedingungslose Hingabe, wie eine Bekehrung. Und was der junge Mann sich erhofft ist offenbar nichts Geringeres als eine über lange Zeit fortgeführte Gemeinschaft im philosophischen Gespräch, ein wirkliches philosophisches Zusammenleben. Die

markanteste

Stelle

im

Corpus

Platonicum,

an

der

diese

Konzeption

vom

συμφιλοσοφεῖν eine Rolle spielt, dürfte wohl der vielzitierte Abschnitt im 7. Brief sein, wo es heißt, daß die Einsicht in der Seele plötzlich aufflammt, wie Licht von einem überspringenden Funken, und dies nach langem Zusammenleben. Schlagen wir im Brief nach, so finden wir, daß diese Parallele nicht die einzige ist, vielmehr berühren sich der ‘frühe’ Dialog Charmides und das späte Sendschreiben an die Dioneer in nicht weniger als sechs inhaltlich bedeutsamen Punkten. Es sind dies folgende: (1) Das Philosophieren mag beim zufälligen Gespräch im Gymnasium beginnen, doch wenn es Ernst wird, bedarf es der anhaltenden ‘Besprechung’ „alle Tage“, bis das Ziel erreicht ist (Cha.176b3 - 4), anders gesagt: der πολλὴ συνουσία γιγνομένη περὶ τὸ πρᾶγμα αὑτό und des philosophischen συζῆν (Ep. 7, 341c 6 -

dl). (2) Der innerste Bereich des Philosophierens ist die ἐπιστήμη περὶ τὸ ἀγαθόν τε καὶ κακόν (Cha. 174 ς 2 - 3), oder anders: zu lernen gilt es ἀλήθειαν ἀρετῆς εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν [καὶ] κακίας, ineins damit τὸ ψεῦδος ἅμα καὶ ἀληθὲς τῆς ὅλης οὐσίας, einfacher noch τὰ περὶ φύσεως ἄκρα καὶ πρῶτα (Ep. 7, 344a8

- 82, 44 - 5). (3) Von dem, was hierbei verhandelt wird, soll keine Abschrift ohne Zustimmung des Gesprächsleiters gemacht werden (Cha. 156a1-3); der ernsthafte und vernünftige Philosoph wird das Wichtigste seines ernsthaften Bemühens (seine

13 Vgl. Szlezäk (1985), 128 f.

Thomas Alexander Szlezäk σπουδαιότατα)

nicht

der

345 Schrift

anvertrauen

(Epist.

344c1-d2),

obschon

das

zweifellos möglich wäre!*. Sokrates schwor einen Fid, daß er das φάρμακον nicht weitergeben werde ohne vorhergehende ‘Besprechung’ (Cha. 157 c 1); Platon hielt

bestimmte Dinge aus der Schrift heraus aus religiöser ‘Scheu’ (ἐσέβετο αὐτά, Epist. 7, 344d7). (4) Es wäre ein ‘gemeinsames Gut’ für alle Menschen, wenn das Wesen der Dinge offenbar würde (Cha. 166 d 4 - 6). Zugleich heißt es, das φάρμακον ohne

ἐπῳδή wäre ohne jeden Nutzen (οὐδὲν ὄφελος, 155e8). Zusammengezogen ergibt das: gewiß wäre es ein großer Nutzen (μέγα ὄφελος), wenn sich das Wesen Dinge in einer für alle verständlichen Weise ans Licht bringen ließe; da dies nicht möglich ist, wäre die bloße Mitteilung von Ergebnissen kein ‘Gut’ für Menschen, so lange das tiefere Verständnis nicht mitgeliefert werden kann: so es der Siebte Brief (Epist. 7, 341d 4-e2).

der aber die sagt

Diese Ergebnisse lassen sich durchaus kurz und bündig formulieren: πάντων γὰρ ἐν βραχυτάτοις κεῖται (Epist. 7, 341d4-e2).

(5) Da die Gegenstände bedeutend und ihr potentieller Nutzen groß ist, ist auch die Versuchung groß, die ἄκρα καὶ πρῶτα (= das φάρμακον) weiterzugeben, auch wenn die Bedingungen für die adäquate Aufnahme nicht gegeben sind. Sokrates schwor, sich weder vom Reichtum noch von der Schönheit versuchen zu lassen (Cha, 157b8), Dionysios unterlag der Versuchung des ‘ha@lichen Ehrgeizes’ (Epist. 7, 344e2 - 3). (6) Der Denker, der die begrifflichen Voraussetzungen ftir die Wissenschaft vom Guten und Schlechten erarbeiten würe, etwa indem er von allen Dingen klärt,

ob sie selbstbezüglich sein können oder nicht, wäre ein ‘großer Mann’ (Cha. 169al2). Im 7. Brief erscheint Platon als ἡγεμὼν καὶ κύριος der entscheidenden philosophischen Studien, der diese am besten darlegen könnte und der bei den Urteilsfähigen anerkannt ist (345c1 - 2, 341d2 - 3, 345b5 - 7)!5.

14 Sokrates sagt zu Charmides nicht: „meine ἐπῳδή kann prinzipiell nicht in einen Text eingehen“, sondern nur, daß die Abschrift seiner Zustimmung bedürfte. Ebenso setzt der Appell an die Vernunft des Philosophierenden im 7. Brief voraus, daß vernunftwidriges Handeln, das heißt Publikation der σπουδαιότατα, möglich wäre. Und eben dies war ja das Vergehen des Dionysios II. Platon redet hier also nicht vom „schlechthin Unsagbaren“.

15 Kahn (1996), 196 n. 22 zögert, Cha. 169a1 - 2 auf Platon zu beziehen, weil sich so eine „tasteless self-reference“ ergebe. Er übersieht, daß zu den Aufgaben des ‘großen Mannes’ auch die Erarbeitung des Begriffs der Selbstbewegung gehört (168e9), was doch wohl eine deutliche Anspielung auf Platons eigene Seelenlehre ist, und daß ‘Sokrates’ die Klärung der Selbstbezüglichkeit der Begriffe vor unseren Augen bereits ein Stück vorangetrieben hat. Die Parallele in Parm 135ab zitiert Kahn unvollständig: der Mann, der die Ideentheorie ‘fände’ und lehrte — auch hier kann nur Platon selbst gemeint sein — wäre nicht lediglich πάνυ εὐφυής, vielmehr ἔτι θαυμαστότερος. Platon hat den Glanz seiner Familie ungeniert gerühmt (Cha. 157 e ff., Politeia 368 a), die eigene Leistung nur in verhaltener anonymer Anspielung erwähnt — daran ist nichts Geschmackloses. Weitere Parallelen sind Phar. 265 d 1, Eu-d 291

a4.

346

Die Handlung der Dialoge Charmides und Euthydemos

Was also ist der Gegenstand der Mimesis im Charmides? Dargestellt ist der Dialektiker auf der Suche nach einem für Philosophie geeigneten jungen Menschen (153d4- 5). In dieser Phase direkte Auskiinfte zu geben etwa über Kernsätze der

‘Wissenschaft vom ‘Heilmittel’

Guten und Schlechten’

ohne die ‘Besprechung’

wäre kontraproduktiv:

verabreichen, was notwendig

es hieBe das ‘ohne Nutzen’

bliebe für den Empfänger. Besonnenheit ist nötig bei der Vermittlung von philosophischem Wissen. Sie zeigt sich nicht so sehr in der Uberwindung einer sexuellen Anwandlung

(155de), sondern weit eindrucksvoller darin, daB Sokrates

sich von der Schönheit des Charmides nicht dazu bestimmen läßt, seine ἀπρόρρητα vor der Zeit mitzuteilen. Das Thema Besonnenheit bestimmt nicht nur eine Episode im Vorfeld, auch nicht nur die Definitionsversuche, sondern die Handlung als Ganzes. (5) Tennemann, Schleiermacher und Platon

Der Befund, den die dramatische Mimesis in den beiden Dialogen bietet, bedarf nun

noch

der Einordnung

in die heute wieder

lebhafter geftihrte Debatte

um

das

angemessene Verständnis des platonischen Dialogs. Das Platonverständnis des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts ist wesentlich geprägt — man kann es nicht oft genug wiederholen — von der Dialogtheorie, die Friedrich Schleiermacher 1804 in seiner „Einleitung“ skizziert hat!$. Schleiermacher glaubte, das Wesen

der „ächt platonischen Form“

erfaßt zu haben, und wollte mittels dieser

Erkenntnis drei Fragen auf einmal lösen: die Frage der (didaktischen und zugleich chronologischen) Abfolge der Dialoge, die Frage ihrer Echtheit, und drittens die

Frage der platonischen Esoterik. Sein Lösungsversuch ist bei den ersten beiden Fragen nach allgemeinem Urteil gescheitert; er ist bei der dritten Frage nicht erfolg-

reicher, paradoxerweise gibt man ihm hierin aber immer noch Kredit!?. Über Schleiermacher ist heute viel Unrichtiges in Umlauf. E. N. Tigerstedt wollte

nachweisen, daß Schleiermacher gar keinen Wendepunkt

in der Geschichte der

Platonhermeneutik darstellte, P. Steiner bestritt, daß er überhaupt eine Theorie des

Dialogs besessen habe, D. Frede wollte glaubhaft machen, daß er in der angelsächsischen Platoninterpretation kaum wahrgenommen worden sei. So schlecht begründet

diese Ansichten

auch

sind!®, es steht zu erwarten,

daß sie Nachbeter

finden werden. Auch Fr. Gonzalez trifft eine wenig hilfreiche Einordnung, wenn er Schleiermachers Platonauffassung mit zwei anderen in eine Reihe von drei Konzep-

16 5,0. Anm. 2. 17 Mehr hierzu AuA (1997) (s.o. Anm, 3), 59 f. 18 Zu Tigerstedt (1974), vgl. meine Besprechung Steiner 5. AuA (1997) (o. Anm. 3), 61 f.

(1978), 33 - 37. Zu den Ansichten von Frede und

Thomas Alexander Szlezäk tionen

stellt,

die

er

als

347 „dogmatisch“

Spezifische der Schleiermacherschen

einstuft!?.

Ebenso

ist

Position entgangen, wenn

H.

Ausland

das

er sie in eine Linie

mit McFait stellt?°. Maßgebend wurde Schleiermacher durch seine verkehrte, aber dem Zeitgeist entsprechende Polemik gegen den Esoterik-Begriff W. G. Tennemanns und die

Verbindung dieser Polemik mit einer Auffassung von der primären Aufgabe der Schrift, die schon Fr. Nietzsche als unplatonisch durchschaut hat?!. Entgegen dem

platonischen

Gedanken,

daß

die

Schrift

bestenfalls

Erinnerungshilfe

für

den

Wissenden sein kann, schreibt ihr Schleiermacher die im Phaidros verneinte Funktion zu, den Nichtwissenden zum Wissen zu führen. Mündliche und schriftliche ‘Rede’ sind damit praktisch gleichgestellt, und Schleiermacher machte auch kein Hehl daraus, daB die Gedanken der Schrifkritik für ihn nur den Pessimismus des noch jungen und im Schreiben unerfahrenen Platon ausdriicken. Im Laufe seiner Karriere habe Platon die Beinahe-Aquivalenz von Wort und Schrift erreicht.

Schleiermachers Theorie der Kunstmittel der indirekten Mitteilung dient dazu, verständlich zu machen, wie die Schrift die gleiche Fähigkeit zum Erzeugen eigener Gedanken entfalten könne wie das gesprochene Wort. Platon hat die Mängel und Schwächen. der Schrift deutlich herausgearbeitet. Schleiermacher hat — im Anschluß an Tennemann, dem er mehr verdankt, als er

zeigt?” — diese Botschaft des Phaidros zunächst ernst genommen. Doch verleitet durch seinen typisch neuzeitlichen Glauben an die Gleichwertigkeit der Schrift mit dem Wort meinte er, die Konsequenz, die Platon aus der Schwäche der Schrift (Gonzalez

(ed.) (1995),

Dialogauffassung

Preface,

VIII

Schleiermachers,

und die

Introduction,

8. Gonzalez

entwicklungsgeschichtliche

K.

möchte F.

die unitarische

Hermanns

und

die

esoterische H. J. Krämers unter der Bezeichnung ‘systematische Platondeutungen’ zusammenfassen.

Mehrere wichtige Punkte sind Gonzalez entgangen: platonischer Esoterik, wie ihn Tennemann gedeutet [1997], 54) — und insofern würden zwei ‘Unterarten’ (2) daß das entscheidende Merkmal der ‘esoterischen’

(1) daß Schleiermacher den Grundgedanken hatte, ausdrücklich anerkannt hat (s. AuA der ‘systematischen’ Auffasung genügen —; Position nicht in der Überzeugung liegt, daß

sich die ἀπρόρρητα zu einem System zusammenschließen, sondern in der Anerkennung der Tatsache, daß es bei Platon ἀπρόρρητα gab und bei seiner Auffassung philosophischer Erkenntnisvermittlung geben mußte (ob die platonischen ἀπρόρρητα in der Akademie dann aporetisch-offen oder ‘skeptisch’ oder ‘dogmatisch’ behandelt wurden ist demgegenüber eine methodisch nachgeordnete Frage); (3) daß die vermeintlich echte Alternative der ‘skeptischen’ Auslegung in ihren heutigen Spielarten durchwegs unterstellt, daß die Schrift dasselbe oder doch fast dasselbe zu leisten vermag wie das mündliche Philosophieren, und insofern ganz auf

Schleiermachers

Bahnen

sich bewegt;

(4) daß die ‘esoterische’

Position nach seinem eigenen

Kriterion (8 f. n. 20) gar nicht unter dem ‘doctrinal approach’ einzuordnen wäre, da sie die Frage, ob

es das primäre oder einzige Ziel der Dialoge sei, Platons Ansichten für Außenstehende darzulegen oder zu verteidigen, gerade nicht affirmativ beantwortet, 20 Austand (1997), 371 - 416. Auslands Ausführungen leiden, wie auch die von Gonzalez (o. Anm.

19),

an großer Textferne. 21 Zur Eigenart der Dialogtheorie Schleiermachers und ihrer Nähe zum nachrevolutionären Zeitgeist vgl. Szlezäk (1985) (o. Anm. 8), 331 - 375; AuA (1987), 347 - 368; AuA (1997) (s.o. Anm. 3), bes. 53 - 56, dort 56 Anm. 84 die Kritik Nietzsches.

225, AuA

(1997) (s.o. Anm. 3), 48 - 53.

348

Die Handlung der Dialoge Charmides und Euthydemos

gezogen habe, sei die Entwicklung einer besonderen Art des Schreibens gewesen, nämlich der Technik der ‘indirekten Mitteilung’, mittels welcher der geschriebene

Dialog angeblich über seinen Schatten zu springen und dem miindlichen Philosophieren doch noch gleich zu werden gelernt habe. Insofern die Platonexegese des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts diesen Gedanken mitvollzog und ihrer Arbeit am Text

zugrundelegte, stand und steht sie im Banne Schleiermachers. Wer immer glaubt, der platonische Dialog sei dazu bestimmt, dank der Raffiniertheit seiner Anlage seinen Charakter als Schrift und damit die von Platon genannten Mängel loszuwerden, ist ‘Schleiermacherianer’, ob es ihm nun bewußt ist oder nicht.

Die Konsequenz, die Platon aus der Schwäche der Schrift zog, war eine ganz andere. Da ist, aus „in „im

das λέγειν τε Kai σιγᾶν πρὸς oc δεῖ der Schrift grundsätzlich nicht möglich bleibt dem Philosophen, wenn er schreibt, nur die Méglichkeit, die ἀπρόρρητα der Schrift herauszuhalten. Wer Vernunft hat, wird seine σπουδαιότατα nicht die Schrift setzen“ (Epist. 7, 344 c 1 - d 2), wird sein wertvollstes ‘Saatgut’ nicht Emst ins Wasser schreiben“ (Phdr. 276 c 7).

Die Mimesis der Dialoge kann aber diesen Vorgang des im Gespräch praktizierten σιγᾶν πρὸς ods det schriftlich abbilden. Wir erleben dann einen Sokrates, der die Sprache der Ideen- oder Anamnesislehre beniitzt, ohne diese Theorien zu beniitzen, oder ein andermal ganz offen sagt, daß er eine schriftliche Fixierung seiner ἐπῳδή

nicht wünscht, und daß er sein φάρμακον nicht hergibt, wenn der Empfänger die Vorbedingungen nicht erfüllt. Die frühen Dialoge zeigen mimetisch, was der Siebte Brief biographisch, die Nomoi und der Phaidros theoretisch sagen. Eine vollständigere Widerlegung des modernen Antiesoterismus, als Platon selbst sie durch seine dramatische Mimesis gibt, ist kaum vorstellbar.

Eberhard-Karls-Universität Tübingen

Socratic Friendship and Euthydemean Goods Glen Lesses According to Diogenes Laertius, Socrates found it surprising that people customarily regard friendship in ways that convey what little significance it holds for them: “He

used to say that it is odd that if you asked someone how many sheep he had, he could easily tell you the exact number, but he could not name his friends or say how many he had, so slight was the value he set upon them (2. 30).” Surely, the force of Diogenes’ remarks is that Socrates differs from other people in prizing friendship

highly.!

Shortly after this report about friendship, he also attributes to Socrates the

belief that “there is only one good—knowledge, and only one bad-ignorance (2. 31).”

Diogenes’ source probably is the discussion of what is good in Plato’s Euthydemus, 278e-282d.? Yet, by juxtaposing these two positions, Diogenes prompts a serious puzzle about how the Socratic view of friendship fits together with his doctrine about goods. If the only genuine good is knowledge, why should we value friendship at all?

It is of considerable importance for clarifying aspects of Socratic eudaimonism that we address how Socrates treats the goodness of friendship. The discussion of friendship in ancient Greek moral theories is prominent, in part, because philia is a relational good that allows for the testing and formulation of fundamental eudaimonist

ethical

doctrines?

If, for instance,

friendship

is worthwhile

as

a

component of eudaimonia, then happiness might be vulnerable to external contingency. Thus, any complete account of Socratic eudaimonism should adequately explain his view of relational goods such as friendship. In seeking answers, we naturally are inclined to turn first to the Lysis.

Several

' Diogenes’ report signals an interesting problem for Plato’s Socrates whether or not it is historically accurate.

è See Long (1988), 150-171, and Annas (1994), 53-66. 3 For several treatments of relational goods in ancient eudaimonism, see Nussbaum (1986), esp. 165-199, 343-372, Annas (1993), esp. 223-325, and Konstan (1997).

350

Socratic Friendship and Euthydemean Goods

explanations of Socratic friendship have been based primarily on the Lysis.4 Furthermore, commentators have linked passages in the Lysis to the analysis of goods in the Euthydemus.> However, an appeal to the Lysis also has some problems. Its concerns about friendship might not reveal anything about the goodness of

friendship, particularly if the dialogue is fundamentally aporetic.

Since the Lysis

fails to develop an especially clear treatment of friendship, it might be more reasonable for us to address its stubborn questions by first examining friendship in,

other early dialogues. Hence, the Lysis is arguably not the most appropriate starting, point for an analysis of the value of friendship. What I propose instead is to apply Socratic principles that the Eufhydemus develops about goods as the basis for a Socratic conception of friendship. By treating philia as consistent with these principles, Socrates can formulate a revisionist conception

of friendship as well as a coherent theory about its value. Yet, an especially striking feature of the Euthydemus is that it nowhere explicitly discusses friendship or any other relational good. Later, I the goodness of philia. But, in friendship and his report about dialogue should help clarify the

will offer an explanation for why it doesn’t discuss any event, if Diogenes is correct that Socrates values Socratic goods refers to the Euthydemus, then the relationship between friendship and goodness.

Euthydemus 279a-c presents an inventory of goods, including wealth, health, and an

adequate supply of physical needs (279a-b).

Socrates adds to this list other reputed

goods such as high birth status and honors in one’s country, next, söphrosune, dikaiosuné, and andreia (279b), and, finally, elicits agreement that sophia is a good

(279c).

Good

fortune, eutuchia,

initially is considered, but is rejected because

Socrates argues that it is the same as sophia (279d-280b)$ It is striking that nowhere in 278e-282d does Socrates mention any relational goods. In particular, friendship is absent from the list. However, Socrates urges Clinias to insure that “we

do not leave out any goods worth mentioning (279c).” Hence, either friendship counts as a legitimate good and this discussion implicitly applies to it or friendship isn’t good at all. But it is a mistake to infer from the passage’s silence that friendship is not worthwhile. The roster of goods at 279a-c is subject to revision since many of the candidates are conventional goods.’ There is also little reason to 4 See Vlästos (1973), 3-11, Glidden (1981), 39-59, Price (1989), 1-14, and Adams (1995), 269-282. 5 See Irwin (1977), esp. 51-86, Vlastos (1978), 230-231, and the subsequent exchange of letters between them in the TLS in 1978. Vlastos’ updated account ([1984], 181-213) is reprinted with revisions in Vlastos (1991), 200-232. See also Irwin’s reconsideration in Irwin (1995), 52-77. 6 He implausibly assumes that wisdom guarantees successful exercise of one’s resources, no matter what the circumstances. See Irwin (1995), 55-56. 7 Commentators often take Socrates at 279b to refer to ordinary accounts of moral virtue rather than to

Glen Lesses

suppose

351

that the list is exhaustively

complete.

Socrates’

remark

(2790)

exercising care not inadvertently to leave out any good is normative.

about

So, it is

possible that there are other legitimate candidates, including philia. Socrates drafts principles that capture intuitions he expects us to endorse about what truly is good. Socrates initially contends that nothing can count as good unless it benefits (öpheloi) us (2800). Socrates next refines the notion of benefit and argues that it cannot benefit us merely to have any of the candidate goods (280d). The mere presence of food, say, does us no good (280c) and its misuse can harm us. Thus, if something is to benefit us it must be properly put to use (280c-d, 280e-28 1a). 281d-e is the source of additional principles. None of the provisional candidates other than wisdom are “in themselves good by nature (281d).” In order for any value to attach to them, wisdom must control them (281d-e) as they are “in themselves, . . . [not] of any value (281e).” Socrates then asks: ‘What is the result of our conversation? Isn’t it that, of the other things, no one of them is either good or bad, but of these two, wisdom is good and ignorance bad? (281e)”® Since nothing other than wisdom is good in itself, Socrates concludes that only it is good.? Two separate points about what is good are easily conflated. Instrumental means differ from ends-e.g., money is an instrumental means to medical care. There is also another related contrast between goods. Some goods depend on other things for their value, others are independent and the source of their own value. As Christine Korsgaard points out, the terms, “intrinsic” and “extrinsic” often mark both

distinctions indiscriminately.!° But an end, say, might fail also to be unconditionally good. Socrates, e.g., denies that health is good under any circumstances. Health, under some conditions, can be harmful (281d, also Za. 195c-d, Gorg. 512a-b). Thus, Socrates does not take health to be unconditionally good even though he maintains that it is worthwhile for its own sake.

Euthyd. 278e-282d contains elements of both distinctions about goodness.

Some of

the provisional candidates for goods (e.g., a supply of bodily needs [279b]), instrumentally promote an end. Furthermore, Socrates holds eudaimonist principles about means and ends. If something contributes to eudaimonia, either as a means to or as a component part of happiness, then it is worthwhile (278e-279a, 280b, 282a). In the Lysis and the Gorgias, Socrates restricts his discussion to instrumental means Socratic virtues.

See Guthrie (1975),

260, n.1, Annas (1994), 59, n. 17, and Irwin (1995), 62.

® The translation is by Rosamond Kent Sprague in Cooper and Hutchinson (1997). 9 Two competing interpretations of Socrates’ conclusion have been proposed. Vlastos ([1991], 200-201) argues that Socrates denies that anything other than wisdom is good in itself, but that other things

can be good together with wisdom. Long ([1988], 166-171) advocates a more Stoic reading of Socrates’ conclusion. If, as Vlastos contends, the main point of 281e2-5 is to deny that anything other than wisdom is good in itself, then Long argues that this conclusion is a mere paraphrase of 281d3-5. According to Long (169-170, n. 68), Socrates instead concludes that only wisdom is good and its value, as the Stoics later agree, is separate from the value of everything else.

10 See Korsgaard (1983), 165-195.

352

Socratic Friendship and Euthydemean Goods

and ends. But in the Euthydemus, Socrates also appeals to the difference between conditional and unconditional value. Things other than wisdom benefit only if

wisely put to use. Thus, their goodness is conditional. Socrates also insists that nothing other than wisdom is good in itself. Obviously, much depends on what he takes “good in itself” (281e1) to mean.

However, one plausible reading has Socrates

contrasting the source of wisdom’s value with the value of other apparent goods. Wisdom alone is unconditionally good. Several possibilities thus appear to be consistent with 2816: (i) there are other ends

besides wisdom, though none is unconditionally good, (ii) nothing other than wisdom is either unconditionally good or an end, (iii) there are other ends besides wisdom, some of which are also unconditionally good. The second is unlikely because of plausible counterexamples such as health.

eudaimonist

grounds

for it commits

Socrates would deny (i) on

us to holding that happiness

depends

on

something external for its value.!! Thus, (iii) is left as the most reasonable possibility. So, when Socrates denies that any of the “other things” than wisdom are good (2813-4) he rejects only the earlier, explicit provisional candidates. They are ruled out as goods, but it is left open whether there are other unconditional goods besides wisdom that are also ends. In a subsequent passage, 288d-292e,

Socrates further develops issues from 278e-

282d and argues that wisdom consists in a sort of technical expertise (techné).!* The pursuit of wisdom aims at the acquisition of a certain type of beneficial knowledge. Since something’s benefit requires its correct use, such knowledge includes the

knowledge of how properly to employ it: “What we need is a kind of knowledge which combines making and knowing how to use the thing which it makes (289b).” Socrates has a technical skill in mind, something that successfully produces a result.!

He offers examples of ordinary technai such as expertise in the production

of musical instruments.

Such skills fail to develop the right sort of knowledge

because they separate knowledge of how to produce some result from knowledge of

their product’s correct use (289c-e).'4 His examples also reveal a hierarchical structure among skills. If skill, requires a different expertise, skill,, for its proper use of its product, then skill, is subordinate to skill, This system culminates in a superordinate skill (291c-d) that imparts a knowledge of how correctly to use the

products of any skill and benefits us by producing happiness (289c-d, 291b, also 282a). Socrates proposes that political expertise, identified with authentic kingship (basiliké techné, 2910), satisfies the criteria he has established (291b-c). Although he does " Ferejohn ([1984],

111-112) points out that wisdom

is useless unless applied to other things, which

creates a problem for its unconditional goodness.

1, Annas ([1994], 58-61) discusses skills and Euthyd. 288-292. 13 Epistémé and fechné are used more or less interchangeably in the passage. 14 For our purposes, a product is simply the result at which a skill aims.

See 2890,

Glen Lesses

353

not rule out that political skill has benefit, he worries that it might fail to impart a useful knowledge because its product is uncertain (292a-b). Socrates concludes that

political expertise “must

convey

a knowledge

which

is none

other than itself

(292d).” So, the proper use of the skill’s product requires knowledge of the skill itself. In other words, wisdom is second-order, reflexive knowledge. This reading

inclines us to Stoicize Socrates’ position. Socratic political expertise has features similar to Stoic stochastic crafts in which correct practice insures that their ends are achieved. If the kind of wisdom consisting in political skill is stochastic, each act correctly exercising such skill results in its end.

Finally, Socrates states without

argument that the knowledge that he has been describing is useful because it makes others good, who in tum become skilled at making yet others good (292d-e).!9

II

If the principles developed in the Euthydemus serve as the basis of a Socratic framework about goods, then any account of friendship which takes it to be a genuine Socratic good must incorporate them. In this section, I outline some

features of the Socratic conception of friendship that result from the application of these principles and also briefly indicate some consequences for his eudaimonism. Since Socrates argues that for something to count as good it must benefit an agent,

an adequate account of the goodness of friendship first has to relate it to benefit and use. Furthermore, genuine benefit is impossible without correct use.!7 How does friendship’s goodness, in part, consist in its proper use? Recall that there are cooperative constraints on Socratic elenchos.!8 Interlocutors must say what they believe and not dissemble (Gorg. 500b, Cr. 49c-d). Elenchos is a shared activity

(Prot. 331c), which is fostered by acceptance of this requirement for sincerity.!° For Socrates,

the pursuit

of philosophy

typically

involves

partners

(Ap.

29d,

30a).

Socrates happily imagines conducting philosophical examinations after his death just as he has been doing in Athens while alive (Ap. 41b).

Philosophical activity is

15 See, e.g., Plutarch, Comm. not. 1072E-F, for Antipater’s account of the goal of the craft of living. There apparently was much debate among the Stoics about the correctness of Antipater’s formulation.

See Striker (1986), 185-204, and Annas (1993), 400-403.

16 This point is somewhat at odds with the position that wisdom is a stochastic expertise as it now becomes subject to failure in a way that earlier was denied. Successful exercise of the craft can be threatened in many ways-e.g., social conditions could undermine moral development or a person’s vicious character could impede it. 17 It is possible to misuse ordinary friendship so as to harm oneself or others. Suppose, for example, that one criminal provides an alibi for another, who is her friend,

18 Vlastos (1983), 27-58, 71-74. 19 According to Vlastos ([1983], 35-36), in this passage Socrates objects to hypothetical premises. But Socrates also emphasizes the shared nature of the inquiry—“it isn’t that ‘if you wish’ and ‘if you think so’ that I want to be refuted but you and me.”

354

Socratic Friendship and Euthydemean Goods

divinely commanded (4p. 28e) and constitutive of any good life (4p. 29c-d, 37e38a). Thus, the Socratic conception intellectual and moral activities.

of a good

human

life

includes

shared

Accordingly, there is a straightforward instrumental point about the correct use of friendship. Socrates is willing to engage in philosophical inquiry with anyone, but

he expresses a preference for examining Athenian citizens because they are more; closely

related

to

him

(Ap.

30a4-5).

His

preference

for

conducting

elenctic!

investigation with Athenians can be connected with Greek accounts of friendship. The scope of philia is often much broader than the range of relationships our notions of friendship include?! Citizenship is among the affiliations that could count as a sort of philia. No doubt a person usually cares more about his or her fellow-citizens

and their achieving a good life, but Socrates can also argue that friendship enhances philosophical engagement. Friendly participants will seek to satisfy the cooperative features of inquiry and more likely strengthen their devotion to this activity and their attachment to its ends. Mutual philosophical inquiry among friends is more likely to reach.a level of success because each person brings additional understanding of the

other participants.

Although Plato’s early dialogues offer little explicit evidence for

this explanation, friendship instrumentally contributes to those practices that Socrates prizes highly as components of a good life.

philosophical

None of this suggests that friendship has anything other than instrumental value or that there is a reason for taking friendship either to be an end or an unconditional

good.

If friendship is worthwhile solely as a means, Euthyd. 281d-e appears to

minimize

its

goodness.

However,

just

as

conventional

virtue

should

be

distinguished from Socratic virtue, conventional friendship differs from the ideal Socratic kind. Socrates can argue that the virtues are good, properly construed as types of knowledge. Similarly, a correct description of friendship might link it with knowledge and wisdom so that it is not subject to misuse as ordinary friendships are. Then Socrates can attribute goodness to it.

What are the features of ideal friendship?

Typically, friends do not know how or

care to engage each other in philosophical practices.

But the superordinate expertise

that makes one skilled at the use of other things is different. produce philosophical activities with like-minded others.

It would successfully

Such friends would know

how to deliberate rationally and engage in cooperative philosophical pursuits with each other. In these ideal cases, each friend has developed philosophical wisdom. Although the best ordinary friendships emphasize strong emotional attachments,

ideal friendships would not. Rational inquiry has such fundamental significance for Socrates (e.g., Ap. 36c, 38a) that it is unsurprising that he would hold that wisdom is 20 Blundell ([1989], 39-49) advocates the orthodox position that Greek notions of friendship apply more

broadly than our notions. Konstan ([1996], 71-94, and [1997], esp. 53-56), offers a dissent, arguing that if we distinguish between the application of “philos” and “philia” we find that the extension of “philos” does not differ significantly from our “friend.”

Glen Lesses

355

indispensable for the best sort of friendships. Euthyd. 281d-e commits Socrates to the position that friendship without wisdom cannot be valuable.

Euthyd. 288d-292e describes the technical skill that produces

wisdom and shows that in additional ways philia and wisdom are even more closely related. Socrates has at least two reasons to take ideal friendship and wisdom to be inextricably connected.

The first reason involves self-knowledge. Friendship is valuable because it contributes to the self-knowledge that is necessary for wisdom. Aristotle’s arguments on behalf of this position are better developed than anything we find in Plato’s early dialogues?! In brief, Aristotle argues that friendship is essential for self-knowledge and self-knowledge of a certain kind is a component of the good human life.

Unless we have close friends, we cannot be completely certain that our

lives contain the intrinsically valuable activities that result from the proper exercise of intellectual and moral virtues. In ideal cases where friends are virtuous, one learns about one’s own character through the intimate and sustained interaction with someone else who exercises objectively good character traits. By familiarizing oneself with the motives and reasons of one’s morally good and wise friend, one

discerns that one’s own character exemplifies the right motives and reasons for acting. If the obstacles that hinder the development of self-knowledge on one’s own can be shown to result from our psychological makeup, then the necessity of friendship for self-knowledge is located in fundamental aspects of human nature. Despite never presenting us with anything like this Aristotelian argument, Socrates agrees that self-knowledge is essential for a good life. Socrates and his interlocutors often discuss the familiar Delphic injunction to know oneself and, as a result, ask whether moral virtues such as moderation should be identified with self-knowledge (Charm. 164d-165b, 165e-170a, Alc. 124a-b, 129a, 1310, 132c-133d). Socrates’ own religious mission to understand the oracular pronouncement that no one was

wiser, prompted by the activity of a friend, Chaerephon, led Socrates to scrutinize closely the nature

of his own

wisdom

(4p.

206-210).

Furthermore,

successful

elenctic examination with friends can affect whether Socrates has an appropriate conception of the nature of the moral virtues. Since a necessary condition for any attribution of virtue to oneself is knowledge of the nature of virtue (Meno 71a-b), friendship contributes to self-knowledge by fostering successful elenchus. Socratic friendship and wisdom are related for a second reason. In ideal cases of friendship, a person’s wisdom is the source of another valuing him as a friend. The technical skill that produces wisdom imparts knowledge of itself, a knowledge that also makes

others

good

(Euthyd.

292d-e).

Since

nothing

can

be good

without

wisdom, it follows that wisdom consists, at least in part, in knowing of how to produce

wisdom

21 Cooper (1980), esp.

in others in order to make

them

also good.

317-334 develops these arguments more fully.

Wisdom

and

its

356

Socratic Friendship and Euthydemean Goods

component moral

and intellectual traits are objectively valuable.

recognizes this will try to promote them in others.

Someone

who

If these traits do develop in

another, wise agents will prize them greatly. Thus, someone having these traits becomes a candidate for ideal friendship. The proper use of wisdom, in effect, leads

one to produce one’s own friends because what prompts cases of ideal friendships is mutual moral virtue and wisdom. Furthermore, since these traits are relatively indistinguishable from one person to another, it is likely that anybody who is wise can befriend anyone else with the same intellectual virtues. Thus, the best friendships are relatively impersonal, involving like-minded temperaments. There is little explicit textual evidence for this argument, though there is a hint of it in an aporetic interchange in the Alcibiades. Socrates provokes Alcibiades into

saying that there is friendship between citizens who are just and virtuous (127c) and, moreover, friendship demands good men, which, in turn, requires that they are wise (127d). The moral and intellectual traits that wise agents esteem make possible the very conditions of friendships among them. Friendships ‘contribute to self-knowledge and, moreover, the best friendships are constituted by the moral and intellectual traits that wise persons prize. Thus, the relation between ideal friendship and wisdom is more than simply instrumental. For Socrates, friendship is a causal means, perhaps a necessary one, for developing wisdom. But.wisdom and friendship are so closely linked, at least in ideal cases, that there are other reasons to value friendship. Ideal friendship is worthwhile for its own sake and is also unconditionally good? Compare friendship with Socrates’

example of health.

Socrates nowhere makes the implausible denial that health is

valuable for its own sake.

But he does distinguish it from wisdom because under

certain

can be harmful.

conditions

unconditional good.

health

Health

is an end, though

not an

But there is never the suggestion anywhere that ideal friendship

is valuable only under certain circumstances and otherwise might be harmful.

The

best friendships are among people who are wise, cannot be misused, and strengthen

their wisdom. worthwhile

The value of ideal friendships differs from something instrumentally because

it includes

unconditional goods.

elements

of both

the

goodness

of ends

and

|

Why then is the Euthydemus silent about relational goods and, in particular, friendship? The best explanation that 1 can offer is based on the close relation between

ideal friendship

and wisdom.

Socrates

can regard

friendship

in ways

similar to the virtues of justice, courage, and moderation. The Euthydemus denies that conventional virtues are good, but never mentions genuine virtues other than wisdom.

Because the Socratic virtues are linked with wisdom, we still have reason

to take them to be good.

The case of ideal friendship is parallel.

Wisdom

22 There are issues about whether a relational good such as friendship can be unconditionally good.

Korsgaard (1983), 176-177.

See

Glen Lesses

357

constitutes the very basis of ideal friendship.

Socrates can deny that such friendship

really

is little need

differs

from

wisdom.

So,

there

to

discuss

friendship

independently anymore than in the case of the Socratic virtues.

What follows are some all too preliminary remarks about Socrates’ eudaimonism and ideal friendship. In ideal cases, friendship has been depersonalized and the passions play a diminished role. The motives of someone whose friendship is based on wisdom stem from those intellectual and moral traits, rather than from strong

feelings for another. It is possible that ideal friends fail to have any strong emotional attachments to one another. At least in the case of grief, it is doubtful that any true Socratic friend would grieve at the death of another. For Socrates denies that we have any reason to think that death is harmful (Ap. 29 a-b, 40a-41b) and the basis of grief is a belief that one has been harmed. Furthermore, since their friendship is based on mutual wisdom and virtue, Socratic friends would not deliberately betray or harm each other. A good person always benefits others (Ap. 25c-e). As a consequence of their wisdom, ideal friends will be disposed to act only from moral rightness (Cr. 48c-d). Thus, ideal friendships grounded in wisdom will be secure in ways that are impossible for conventional friendships. This conception of friendship would reduce the threat to the self-sufficiency of one’s happiness. Alcibiades describes Socrates as strange and inhuman (Symp. 221c-d).?” From Alcibiades’ conventional perspective about friendship, Socrates is indeed a strange friend to have. The Socratic ideal of friendship is rooted in his conception of the priority of moral and intellectual virtue. The Stoics adopt features of this model of friendship and, in this respect as in so many others, Socrates serves them well as a philosophical ancestor.?4

College of Charleston

23 As Vlastos reminds us ([1991], 1). 24 See Lesses (1993),

57-75 for a discussion of the Stoic conception of friendship.

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INDEX LOCORUM

TIS, 417b19-24 : 309 n. 4 114, 429b31-430a9 : 309 n. 4

Aelius Aristides Ars Rhetorica

II. 3.1. 15: 239 n. 10

Albinus

Athenaion 29, 2 : 243 35, 2 : 242 35,3 : 243 35,4 : 237 36, 2 : 243

Prol.

37,1

6:252 n.5

38, 1: 241 n. 20

Alcinous Didaskalikos 6, 158.29-31

Categoriae 8, 8025 : 229 8, 9a28-10a10 : 230

Aeschines 1173 : 238

: 33 n. 29

1895)

8, 9a31-35 : 230

in Arist. Categorias (Busse CAG

80,22-23 : 227 n. 9, 229 n. 15 81,1-2 : 229 n. 15

Anacreon (Page) 495 : 262 | Andocides 1142 : 242 n. 28 NI 21 : 242 n. 28 | Aristophanes 1480 : 62

IV,5,

8, 9a32-33 : 229 n. 17

8, 10a8-10 : 229 n. 17 8. 1027-29 : 229 Ethica Nicomachea

12, 1094a18-22 : 187 III 2, 10-12 : 245 n. 38 VII 2, 1155a32-b8 : 174 n. 7 et 8 VIII 2, 1155b13 : 174 n. 8 VII 10, 1159b2-11 : 178 n. 13 IX 1, 164b3-6 : 178 n. 16 IX 5-6, 1167b17-1168a27 : 178 n. 16 IX 9, 1169b3-1170b19 : 178 n. 13

X6, 1176b33 ff. : 19

1485 : 62

X 7, 1177b33 : 290

Ranae

1006-1076 : 260 n. 6 Thesmophoriazusae 146-170 : 262 n. 13

Aristoteles

: 248 n. 51

8, 9a28-29 : 229

Ammonius Comm.

Politeia n. 30 n. 29 n.31 n.2 n. 31, 248 n, 51

[pseudo-

Magna Moralia

1213a10-26 : 178 n. 13 | Metaphysica A9, ? 990b8-10 : 313 ‘ n.9

Rhetorica ad pseudo")

T4,

1441a15-18 : 263 n. 15

A14 : 229 n. 14

Aristoteles

Politica

II5, 417a2-4 : 309 n. 4

V7, 1307a27ff. : 37 n. 14, 42 n. 36

De anima

1008a4-5

: 190 n.29

V6, 1305b25-26 : 240 n. 14

383

Index Locorum

V10, 1311a9-15 : 240 n. 17

Demosthenes

Rhetorica

22, 52 : 242 n. 26 24, 164 : 242 n. 26

110, 1367b27-35 : 263 n. 19 111,1370b32-1171a8 : 46 n. 60 II 24, 1401a26-29 : 36 n. 6, 59 II 24, 1401a34-36 : 241 n. 21 II 24, 1402a3-28 : 39 n. 25, 61 II 24, 1402a17-25 : 39 n. 25, 61 II 16, 1416b26-29 : 241 n. 22 Sophistici Elenchi

In general : 25 2, 165a39 : 327 n. 12 2, 165b4-7 : 253 n. 5 3, 165b18 : 48 7,169a22 : 121 n. 18 8, 169b25-27 : 253 n. 5, 327 n. 12 8, 170a12 : 121 n. 18 11, 171b : 327 n. 12 11, 171b4-5 : 253 n.5 11, 172a : 327, 327 n.12 17, 175b10-14 : 48, 121 n. 18 20, 177b12-25 : 36 n. 6, 48, 59 25, 180b9-10 : 189 n. 26 34, 183b : 327, 327 n. 12, 13 34, 183536 : 41 n. 29 Topica

15, 102a8-10 : 229 n. 12 I 5, 102b4-26 : 229 n. 12, n. 13 Aristoxenus (Wehrli) fr. 26 : 294 Avesta

VII 44 : 282 Critias (DK 88) ΑἹ : 237 n. 3, 239 A13 : 242 n. 27 A22 : 239 n. 12

Dissoi Logoi ( DK 90)

In general : 25 VI: 24 Diodorus Siculus

XIV, 1-6 : 242 Diogenes Laertius 1130 : 47, 349 I131:349 Il 46 : 23 n. 18 II 62 : 38 n. 17 II 65 : 38 n. 16 Il 135 : 46 n. 59 II 52 : 33 n. 29 III 57 : 27 Il 59 : 27 n.1 Til 61 : 301 n.7 II 62 : 28 n.8 VI 10 : 39 n, 22 IX 55 : 61 Eupolis . Fr. 352 (Koch, CAF) = 386 (KasselAustin, PCGr) : 62

Euripides Antiope Il (Diggle, TrGFS), 260 n. 3 Galenus In Hipp. Progn. (Heeg CMG V 9,2) 3,7, p. 332.11 Gorgias Helena

10 : 291 n. 14

14: 291 n. 14

B6-9 : 243 n. 35

B6 : 245 n. 4l B7 : 264 n. 21 B32-37 : 243 n, 35

Hellanicus (FGrHist 4 Jacoby)

B41A : 264 n.21

Heraclides Ponticus (Wehrli) 87 & 88 : 260 n. 5

B47 : 239 n. 10

F 73: 289

384

Index Locorum

Herodotus

2:43 ῃ. 41

155: 288 II 94 : 280-281

3A : 43 n. 41 8 : L1, 44 n. 52 9:37 n. 14, 43 et n. 39, 44 65 31 : 41 n. 39, n. 42, n. 44, 44 32A : 38 33 : 41 n. 39, 43 n. 42, 44 n. 34-35 : 38 34 : 38, 43 n, 39, n. 42, 44 n.

III 81 : 240 n. 18

III 123 : 290 IV 13-26 : 293 n. 22 IV 93-96 : 288 Hesiodus Theogonia

26-27 : 120 n. 16 53 : 120 n. 16

[Homerus]

64 : 37 65 : 45 73-95 : 73 : 44 75:37

Odyssea

XIX 457 : 282 n. 20

Pyth. : 294 n. 24 31 : 242 n. 28 21 : 242 n. 28 11, 237 n. 2

(Die) Megariker, (Döring)

n. n. 47 n. n.

14, 44, 45 n. 57 57 n. 63 51, 44 n. 52 15

76 : 37 n. 14, 45 n. 57

Iamblichus

65 4 : 301 n. 7,

17 n. 15 n. 16

77: 83 : 84 : 89 : 90 : 91 : 97 : 98 : 100

45 n. 57 37 n. 14 45 n. 57, 46 et n, 59 43 n. 44 43 n. 39, 44 n. 52 43 n. 44 43 n. 44 43 n. 44 : 43 n. 44, 46 n. 60

106 : 37 n. 14, 43 n. 39, 43 n. 44, 45 n.

57 109 : 45 n. 57 110 : 45 n. 57

n. 17

127 : 37 n. 14, 45 n. 57 129 : 45 n. 57 145 : 47 n. 63 146 : 47 n. 63

157 : 37 n. 14, 43 n. 39, 45 n. 57 180 : 43 n, 39

182 : 45 n. 57, 45 n. 57, 46 n. 60 183 : 45 n. 57

1 : 43 n. 41

52

57:37 n. 15 63: 47 n. 62

I 731 ff. : 285 n. 25 IV 219 : 285 n. 25 IV 449 : 285 n. 25 VI 130-141 : 288 n.3.

Lucianus

52

39 : 37 n. 14 40 : 43 n. 39 50-67 : 47 n. 63 SIA : 43 n, 39, 44 n. 52, 45 n, 57 51B : 43 n. 39

Îlias

Isocrates 2 [Nicocles], 12 ff. : 23 n. 7,67 : 237 n. 2 | 9 [Evagoras], 22-23 : 263 9 [Evagoras], 33-34 : 263 14, 31 : 242 n. 28 18, 21 : 242 n. 28 15 [Antidosis], 209-14 : 23 Letter (vi) : 7

n. 52

37 : 37, n. 14, 43 n. 41

Opera 309 : 247 n. 49

Vit. 164 14, 18, 20,

n. 52, 47 n.

186 : 45 n. 57

385

Index Locorum

187 : 46 199 : 43 202-210 206 : 37 216 : 37 217 :37 218 : 43

n. 60 n. 39 : 47 n. 63 n. 15 n. 14, 43 n. 44 n. 14 n. 44

124a-b : 355 127c-d : 356

129a : 355 1310: 355 132c-133d : 355 134c-d : 245 n. 39

220 : 37 n. 14

Alcibiades I 147b-c : 264 n. 21

Mnaseas (FGrHist 153 Jacoby) F 23 : 289

Apologia Socratis

17d2-3 : 278 n. 4 18d7 : 255 19c-d : 326

Olympiodorus In Alc. 87:252 n.3

20c-e : 326

Parmenides (DK 29)

20d8-9 : 326 20e-21b : 269, 355

B7.1:117

21c-22e : 269

21d ff. : 326 Philoponus Comm. In De ani. (Hayduck CAG 1897) 89.8 : 240 n. 12

22a-c : 261

XV,

Philostratus Vit. Soph. 116 (501-502) : 237 n. 3, 239,240 n. 15 ΠῚ (564) : 239 n. Il

22e-23c : 269 n. 13 23a-b : 312, 326 23a3-4 : 327

23a 5 ff. : 165,256 23c-28a : 260 23c2-8 : 62 24-25 : 75 24c3 : 256 n. 14 25c-e : 357

Pindarus Isthmian

VII 16-22 : 263 n. 15 Nemean

VII 54-60 : 263 n. 18 Olympian VII 19-23 : 263 n. 15 IX 86-94 : 263 n. 15 X 97-105 : 263 n. 15 Pythian III : 285 n. 25 III 47-53 : 282 III 84 : 263 n. 18 VIII 35-60 : 263 n, 17 Plato Alcibiades I

28e2 : 288 29a-b : 357 29b6-9 : 326 29b6-7 : 326 n. 11 2909 : 81 29c-d : 354 29c4-5 : 327

29d : 72, 353 2965 : 256 30a : 353, 354 30a7-b3 : 77 30b3 : 81 30e3-31a1

: 80

31d : 185 n. 10 32c-d : 240 n. 13 35c2 : 335 36a6-7 : 334 37e-38b : 269, 354

386 38a : 310 n. 7

40c-41b : 293 n. 21, 357 40c7 : 293 n. 21

40c8 : 290 40e6 : 293 n. 21

41a3 : 293 n. 21 41b : 353

Index Locorum

1580 : 247 ἢ. 47 158c3 : 318 n. 10 158d8 : 318 n. 8 158e-159a : 232, 248 158e7 : 318 n. 6, 12 159a1 : 318 n. 6

41c7 : 293 n. 21

159a3 : 317 n. 2, 318 n. 14 159a10 : 317 n.3 159c : 266

Charmides

159c1 : 318 n. 17, 322 n. 51

153a-154b : 288 153d-154d : 259 153d : 346 154b-d : 266 154e-155a : 259, 264 154e : 247 n. 47

159d8 : 317 n. 2 159b : 245 160b3-4 : 291 n. 14

155a : 238 n. 5, 247 n. 47 155b-e : 342

155c-d : 266 155d-e : 346 155e7-8 : 82, 343, 345 156a-158b : 331 156a : 342, 344 156d-157c : 278-286, 287-295 156d-157a : 312 1564 : 279-280, 287-295 156d5 : 291 n. 13 156d8-157b1 : 82, 254, 266 157a-c : 312 157a-b : 291 n. 14, 342

157a : 231-232, 285-286 157a3 : 318 n. 16 157a6 : 318 n. 5, 6 157b-c : 343 157b5-7 : 291 157c-d : 262, 263 157ci-2 : 293, 345 157c9 : 292 157d-158c : 262, 263 157d : 262, 292 157d6 : 318 n. 9 157e-158a : 247 n. 47 157e ff. : 238 n. 5, 345 n. 15 15805 : 318 n. 6 158b6 ff. : 318 n.9 158b7-8 : 293 158c-d : 264

160d-161a : 232

160d1 : 318 160d6 : 318 160d7 : 318 160e-161b :

n. 15, 17 n. 11 n. 6, 14 266

160e : 245 160e1 : 317 n. 3

160e6 : 322 n. 51 160e13 : 319 n. 18 161a8 : 318 n. 6,319 n. 18

161b-162e : 264 161b : 246, 266, 306, 331 161e : 246 n. 44, 297 n.3 162a : 245

162c7 : 318 n. 13 162e-163a : 246 n. 44 162e1 : 331 162e6 : 297 1634: 246 163a7 : 318 n. 15

163b-c : 247, 267, 297-298 163b3-4 : 298 163d : 118 n. 11, 239 n. 9, 298 163e : 246, 298, 306 164a-c : 246 n. 44 164a : 246, 298 164b-d : 247 164b1 : 299 164c-165b : 267, 296-305 164c-165a : 270

164c-d : 246 164c : 275, 296 164c6 : 300 n. 4

387

Index Locorum

164d-165b : 292, 355 164d-165a : 312 164d6-e2 : 300 164d : 247 164d7 : 300 165a4 : 300 165b : 306 165b3 : 318 n. 13 165c-167a : 270

173c : 246

165c-166c : 310 165c-e : 246 n. 44

173e-174d : 275 173e : 275

165c10-e2 : 303 165d1 : 303

174a-c : 128

165e-170a : 355 165e : 247

165el : 303 166a-b : 246 n. 44 166a : 313 n. 5 166b-c, e : 246

166b5-6 166c-e : 166c-d : 166c2-3

: 303 255 312 : 302, 303

166d-e : 257

166d : 306, 345 166e : 292, 306 167a-169d : 306-313 167a : 246, 257 n. 15, 292, 307 167b-169b : 271 167c-d : 307 167c : 308 167d : 311 n.8 167e-168a : 307

170d5 : 257 n. 15 171 ff. : 292 171d-175a : 248

171d-172a, d : 247, 263 n. 18, 272 171d2 : 318 n. 15 172b : 232, 256 n. 15 172c-175a : 272 172d : 247, 274 n. 17

174a-b : 292 174b-e : 248 n. 52

174b-d : 306 174b-c : 246 174b7-9 : 299 174c : 343

174d-e : 247 175a-176e : 175a-176d : 17547 : 291 175el : 232 175e2 : 318 175e7 : 318

344 272, 322 n. 51 n. 14 n. 26, 318 n.9 n. 6 n. 7, 319 n. 18

176a-b : 258 176a : 17624 176a8 176b-c 176b :

292 : 318 n.9 : 317 n. 3 : 343 255

176c-d : 288

167e10 : 311

Clitopho

168a3-5 :311n.8 168b-c : 307, 308

408d-409d : 137 n. 11

168c : 109

Cratylus

168e : 308, 311, 345 n. 15 169a : 308, 312, 345 n, 15 169b4 : 319 n. 18, 322 n. 51 169d-171c : 271 169d-e : 247 169e : 232 170a-171c : 248

170b-d : 232 170b : 248 n. 52

385b : 116 385b7-8 : 151 n. 17 386d3 : 34, 36 n. 6

388b10-c1 : 150 n. 16 400c : 289 410d3 : 256 n. 14 413el : 95 n. 10 43039 : 150 n. 16 431d2-3 : 150 n. 6 432b4-d12 : 152 n.21

388

Index Locorum

433d1-2 : 150 n. 6

271b-c : 37 271c : 42 n. 36

Critias

108a-d : 264

271d: 37 272a-b : 39, 48, 55 272a : 37, 39, 121

Crito

272a9 : 254

33d9 : 130 38b6 : 130 4604 : 335 47a7-48a10 : 130 47e3-5 : 79 n.7 48c-d : 357 49c-d : 353 52e3 : 278 n. 4

Epistulae ΠῚ

In general : 296-305 315a5-c5 : 301 VII 324b-325a : 238, 240 n. 13 324c : 243 326a : 250

326b : 250 341b1 : 341 341c6-d1 : 344 341d2 : 345 344a8d5 : 344 344c1-d2 : 345, 348 344d-e : 345 344e : 345 345b-c : 345 Euthydemus

271a : 38 271a1-272d6 : 123 271a1-272c4 : 124-128

272a-b : 60 272b : 38, 40, 43, 70, 71 n. 5, 120 2728b8-11 : 33 272b9 : 27 272b10-c1 : 105 n. 7 272c : 38

272d2-277c7 : 31 n. 21 27247-27542 : 124 n. 2 272e : 39

272e3-4 : 185 n. 11 273al : 30, 31 n. 22

273a2 : 100 273b : 17 273b3 ff. : 31,31 n. 22 273c : 39,341

273c2-9 : 30 273c2 : 30 273c3 : 31 n. 22

273d : 16, 39, 40, 55, 117, 120, 341 273d2-4 : 31 273e : 38, 273e2-5 : 274a : 40 274a2 : 31 274a5 : 31 274a10 ff.

40, 88: 30 n. 22 n. 23 : 31 n. 23

274b5-c2 : 31 n. 23 274c1 : 31 274c6 : 31 n. 22 274d-e : 137 n. 13

271al-5 : 29

274d7 : 117

271a2 : 30 271a3 ff. : 30 271a5 ff. : 29, 117 271a8-b5 : 29, 31, 44 271b-293e : 31 271b8 : 29 n. 15 271b9 ff. : 30 271b6-8 : 29,31 n. 22 271c : 37, 38 n. 19, 39 n. 20

275b : 16 275b7 ff. : 32 275c1 : 117 275d-278e 275d1 ff. : 32 275d2-4 : 32 275d3-278b2 : 191 n. 30 275d3-4 : 21

275a-b : 59

389

Index Locorum

275d3 : 32 n. 24 275e : 44, 48, 120 275e5 : 120 n. 17

280d : 63

275e3-5 : 33 et n. 30

281a-b : 189 n. 27

276a8-b1 : 60 276b4-5 : 60

281b6-c5 : 190

276c1 : 31 n, 22

276c2 : 32 276d4 ff. : 33 276d9-e2 : 33, 33 n. 30 276e5 : 20, 33, 117 277a6-7 : 60 277b3-5 : 32 277b6 : 121 277d9-e2 : 46, 341 277e : 37 n. 13, 115, 118 et n. 13, 121, 341 278-282 : 133-137, 138 n. 15 278al : 115 278a6 : 121 278b-c : 73

278b2-6 : 46 278b2 : 319 n. 19 278b6-7 : 118 278c-d : 137 n. 13 278c : 17, 46, 71, 341 278c5-6 : 59 278c7 : 31 n. 22 278d5 : 59 278d8 : 59 278e-282d : 339

278e-281e : 90 278e3-282d3 : 31 n. 21, 189, 349, 351 278e3-279al

: 76

279a-c : 350 279a1-2 : 79 n. 8 279a7 : 76

279a7-bS : 76, 188 n, 25 279b5 : 120 279c1 : 76 279c7 : 76 279d2-280a8 : 79, 350 280a6-8 : 76

280b-d : 351 280b1 : 120, 351 280c-d : 351

280e-281a : 351 280e1-2 : 79

281d2-e5 : 134-137, 140 n. 22 281d2-e1 : 351 n. 9, 354, 355 281d3-9 : 190 n. 29 28le : 352 281e3-5 : 77 282a : 351

282c8-d1 : 59 282c : 24, 122 n. 23 282d5 : 31 n. 22 282d7 : 120 282e1 : 120 283-286 : 92 283a : 17

283a5-b3 : 33 283a5 : 28

283b ff. : 118 n. 10 283b4-288b2 : 31 n. 21 283b-e : 24 283b : 17 283b10 :46 283c-d : 91 283d :8, 117 283e : 38 283e-286b : 144-153 283e1-284c8 : 32, 88 283e7-284a8 : 145-148 284a-b : 91, 104 n. 6 284b-c : 24 n. 22, 104 n. 6, 148-151 284b5 : 116 284c7-285al : 151-152 284c7 : 116 n. 6 284d5 : 118 284es ff. : 33 285a : 38, 118 285c : 38, 115 285d2-6 : 24 n. 22, 104 n. 6, 105 285d-286b : 88 285e-286b : 91 286a4-b6 : 104 n. 6 286b-c : 24 n. 22, 34 n. 33 286c2-8 : 101

390

Index Locorum

286c2 : 61,91 286c4 : 91 286c6-8 : 61 286d : 116 286d11-13 : 101 286e8-287b1 : 101 286e : 119 287a : 15, 59, 116 287b2-5 : 33, 101, 119, 141 n. 24 287b6 : 119

293b-c : 46 n. 59, 48

293b : 8, 117 293b1-303a9 : 31 n.21 . 293b-297d : 54 293bl-el

: 31

293b8-d1 : 93 293c3 ; 60 η.] 293c6-7 : 60 n. 1

287c : 103, 121

287d3-4 : 101 287d6 : 94, 342 287d7-11 : 104 n. 6 288-293 : 133-137 288a : 11,91,118 288a2 : 31 n. 22

288b-d : 137 n. 13 288b-c : 17, 339 288b : 18, 38, 319 n. 19 288c:71

293al ff. : 29 n. 16, 319 n. 19, 342 293a7-b2 : 32 293a7 : 28 n, 3, 29 n. 16 293b-303a : 93

j

288d5-293a6 : 31 n. 21 288d-292e : 352 288d :17, 55 288e-292d : 104 n. 6, 138 n. 15, 355 288e4-5 : 63 288e5 : 254 n. 8

2894: 55 289b4-6 : 104 n. 6 289d-290a : 88 289d2-7 : 104 n. 6

293d1 : 117 293e3 ff. : 31 n. 22 294 : 116 294b-e : 40 n. 27 294b1 ff. : 319 n. 19, 340 294c4 ff. : 32 n. 27 29444 : 32 n. 27, 122 n. 24 294d8 : 32 n. 27 294e : 69

295-296 : 69 295al : 119 295a6 : 101

295a10-296d4 : 31, 46 n. 59, 48 295b-c : 119 295b2 ff. : 119, 121 295b4-5 : 60 n. 1 295b6 : 112 295c : 121

295e5-296a7 : 104 n. 6

289e4-290a4 : 104 n. 6

295e5 : 60 n. 1

290a1-3 : 279 290b : 92

296al : 112, 119 296a2 : 105

290c : 90, 92, 104 n. 6

296a7 : 60 n. 1, 105

290e1-293a9 : 123, 128-129

296a8-9 : 112 296a9 : 70 296b4 ff. : 105, 113 296b7 : 60 n. 1, 112

290e-291a : 120

290el : 28 n. 10, 120 290e4-6 : 29 n. 16 291a2ff. : 29 n. 16, 31 n. 22, 140, 143, 340, 345 n. 15 291b : 24 n. 21

296c10 :93

29]. : 24, 119

296d6 : 34 n. 34 296e : 122 297a3 ff. : 33

292b-d : 136 n. 8292c7-9 : 143 n. 29

297a9-dS : 101

292d-e : 353, 355

297a9-b3 : 28 n. 5 297b ff. : 33

293a : 11, 17, 38, 59, 339

391

Index Locorum

297b10-d1 : 33 297c : 122 n. 23 298a2 : 60 n. 1, 94

298c2 : 118 n. 10 298d-e : 8 298e : 109 299c8-d1 : 33 299e3 : 28 n. 4 300a3-4 : 110 n. 14 300a6-b2 : 28 n. 5

300b : 104 n. 6 300c : 32 n. 25

300c6-d2 300d1 ff. 300e ff. : 300e3 ff.

: 28 n. 5 : 33 4, 341 : 33, 93, 319 n. 20, 340

300e : 18 301a-c : 93

301a : 5, 15, 93,231 301b : 24 n. 22 301c : 118, 341 301e4-5 : 104 n. 6 301e8 : 34 n. 34 301e9 : 32 n. 25

302b3-5 32 302b7-8 : 60 n.1 302e6 : 28 n. 4, 32

301e8 : 31 n. 22 3030 : 11 303c : 40 303c6 : 31 n. 22

303d4-5 : 101 303e-304a : 40, 101 303e : 55, 105, 341 303e5 : 342 303e6-7 :113 304a-b : 340 3048 : 37

304b3 : 32 304b5 : 28 n. 3

304b6-307c4 : 123, 131-132 304b8 : 32 304c-307c : 42

304c-306c : 88 304c : 37,341

304d-e : 103

304d1-2 : 101 304d4-5 : 31,121 n.21 304d8 : 30 304e : 42 n. 35

3058 : 42 n. 35, 102, 104 n. 6 305b-c : 121

305d6 : 32 305e5 : 95 n. 10 306a1-d1 : 104 n. 6 306c6 : 105 306e3ff. : 29 n. 13 307a : 71 Euthyphro

4e4-8 : 331 561 ff. : 226 ἡ. 1, 319 n. 24, 321 n. 42 5d4 :317 n.1 5d7 : 317 n. 3,4 6410, 11ff. : 317 n. 1, 319 n. 24, 321 n. 42 664: 317 n. 1,321 n. 47 9d5 : 317 n.4 9d8 : 318 n. 15 1186 ff. : 320 n, 40 1101 ff. : 318 n. 15, 323 n. 59

lle4ff. : 322 n. 54 12b-c : 322 n, 54 14a1-2 : 207 n. 14 14e-15a : 109 15b : 323 n. 59

15c8ff. : 318 n. 15 Gorgias

4474-479ς : 266 n. 3 447c : 39 n. 25 449e8 ff. : 322 n. 48 4558: 55 ἢ. ὃ 456-457 : 71 458a : 74 458b1-3 : 126 459-460 : 75 464a7-9 : 291 464b-465e : 283 466a-468e : 273 467e1-468a4 : 77 n. 3, 188 n. 25 471d-472c : 45, 126 471e2-472c6 : 126

Index Locorum

392 472b6 : 473b9 : 473d2 : 474-475

320 n. 40 255 n. 10 255 n. 10 : 74, 126

477a-479c : 266 n. 3

477a5-b6 : 291 481c-482c : 260 n. 5

481d3-4 : 178 482a-b : 178

Hippias maior

281b5-6 : 331 285b-286c : 39 n. 21 286d1-8 : 317 n. 3 287c : 321 n. 44 287c4 : 317 n. 2 .287d3 : 317 n.3 289d-e : 232

2894: 226 n. 1, 321 n. 44 289d4 : 318 n. 5

482b2 : 255 n. 10 484c-486d : 259-260 486d2-488a2 : 126 491d: 265 491e-492c : 274

291d1 : 320 n. 39 292c-302d : 321 n. 44

493a : 334 495a8 : 256 n. 14

292c-300a : 321 n. 42 292d-e :

497e1 ff. : 318 n. 6, 339 n. 4 498el : 318 n. 6 499b-500a : 274 499c6-500a3 : 188 n. 25 500b : 353 | 503d-505c : 274 503e-505b : 266 n. 3 504b-d : 291 504d5 : 318 n. 16 504d9 : 318 n. 5

29244 : 317 n.1 292e : 323 n. 55

505c1-d9 : 126

505c3-4 : 80 506c-507c : 83, 265

506c9 : 318 n. 5, 321 n. 48 S06d1 : 318 n. 6 507b5-c5 : 86

507d8 : 318 n. 6 507e-508a : 265 507e1-6 : 166 510b2-e3 : 167 510b4 : 166 Slle-512a :275 n. 19 512a2-b2 : 79 n. 7, 351 514b1 : 257 5150] : 257 5150: 72 n. 7 519a : 245 n. 39

523al : 333 n. 29 S27a : 334 n. 33, 36 527b3 : 255 n. 10

289e5 : 318 n. 5

293e4 : 318 n. 6 293e11 : 318 n. 5 294a-c : 232

294al : 318 n. 6 294d5 : 318 n. 6 295e : 321 n., 45

296e-297b : 322 n. 52 298b-c : 329 n. 20 298b4 : 317 n. 1 300a9 : 317 n. 2 300210 : 318 n. 6 302a-e : 321 n. 46 302c4 : 320 n. 40 302c5 : 318 n. 6

302d2 : 318 n. 302e6 ff, : 318 303a5 ff. : 318 303e1 ff. : 318 304a7-b3 : 183 304d2 : 186 n,

6 n. 6 n.5 n. 6 13

304d8-e2 : 183 n. 13 Hippias minor

364a-b : 331 367e ff. : 39 n. 21 376c2-6 : 330 n. 21 Ion

531a-533c : 271

393

Index Locorum

532c5-9 : 331

837a 6 ff. : 165-166 838d : 329 n. 20 840c1-3 : 332

Laches

186c : 39 n. 25, 40 n. 26 189e-190a : 232 n, 24 189el : 257

189e4 : 318 n. 5 189e6 : 321 n. 41 190a-e : 318 n. 5 190a-b : 318 n.8

190a6 : 321 n, 41 190b-d : 317 n.3 19008 ff. : 322 n. 54 191e10 : 321 n. 42 192a4 : 318 n. 8

192b1 192b6 194b1 194d1 195c-d

ff. : 321 : 318 n. ff. : 322 ff. : 322 : 351

n. 45 6 n. 49 n. 52, 331

196e : 108 197a6 : 322 n. 52

198al ff. : 322 n. 54 199e3 : 322 n. 54

200a4-6 : 331

X 887c7-d5 : 279 n. 8

887d : 332 894e-896a : 308

903a7-b3 : 279 n. 8 968c-d : 338 n. 1

968e2-5 : 338 n. 1, 343 Lysis

204b4-206e2 : 159-160 206c2-3 : 185

207d5-211al : 160-162 20745-21048 : 188 n. 21, 210 209c9-d2 : 191 209c : 202 n. 18

210c-d : 202 n. 18, 218 210c : 202 210d2-4 : 191 21la: 212

211b6-213e4 : 162-163 211b7-8 : 44 211d6-213e4 : 158-159 211e-212b : 174

Leges

211e : 202

I

212a8-b1 : 183 n. 4

632c : 245 n. 39 653a-b : 334 n. 35

212a : 185 212a5-6 : 218 n. 2

Il 659e1-5 : 279 n. 8

213d : 202, 212

664a-c : 332

213e4-216b9 : 163-164 214-215 : 174

665c : 332 II 687e : 302

213d-214e : 264 n. 21

214a2-3 : 218 n.2

773e-774c : 334 n. 35

214e3-215a3 : 162 215a4-c2 : 164-168 215a7-b7 : 162 215c3-216b9 : 168 216a7 : 167, 201 216b8-9, 228 216c-220e : 217-225 216c-221d : 207-211, 212-214 216c1-218d3 : 218-219

VII

216c-218c : 175

810e-811a : 260

216c1 : 168-170, 207, 228 216e1-4 : 228, 322 n. 51

696b-e : 265 IV 716c1-d4 : 295 V 726e-734e : 273 VI 773d : 332

VIII

394 216e7-217a2 228 217a-218a : 208 217a3-b6 : 168 217a6-7 : 168 n. 9

217b-218a : 226-233 217b4-6 : 228 217b4 : 168, 319 n. 23 217b5 : 319 n.21

217b-218a : 227 217b6-218c5 : 169 217b7 : 218, 319 n, 22 217c : 201, 228, 319 n. 21, 323 n. 57 217d : 228, 318 n. 26 217e : 201, 228-229 218a2-b6 : 164-165 218b7-221b8 : 208, 213 218c5-220b7 : 169, 175-176 218c : 202 218d3-219b3 : 219-220 218d6-219c1 : 168 n. 9 218d7-9 : 209 218e5-219al : 77 n.3 218e5 : 188 n. 25, 322 n. 51

219b4-220b7 : 220-224 219b5-222b2 : 319 n, 25 219b6-8 : 166 219c1-220b7 : 186, 202 219c5-d2 : 319 n. 26 219c5-9 : 186 219d : 201 219d2-5 : 320 n. 27 219d-220b : 321 n. 43 219d5-e10 : 188 n. 21, 209 219e5-7 : 222 n. 12 219d7 : 168 219e7 : 319 n. 19

Index Locorum

220e2-3 : 224 n. 16, 320 n. 28, 32 221b2 : 168 221b7 ff. : 320 n. 37 221d3 ff. : 320 n. 37 221d1-222b2 : 169 221d5 : 215 n. 37, 224 n. 17 221d6-e5 : 320 n. 34 ‘22lel-3 : 213 221e5-6 : 212

221e7-222a3 : 212-213, 320 n. 37 222a2-3 : 213 222b : 202, 203 222b3-e7 : 159

222b3-7 : 162 222c3-d8 : 176, 212 222c4 : 320 n. 35

222e1-6 : 211-212 222e3-7 : 176

222e7 : 184 223a2 : 184 223a5 : 184 n. 9 223b1 : 184, 186 22305 : 206 223b6-8 : 182 Meno

70a-71d : 273 7la-b : 355 72c-75a : 321 n. 42, 321 n. 47

72c7 : 317 n. 1,226 π. 1 73a-b : 245 n. 39 75a :318 n. 6

75c9-d2 : 44, 45 n. 53 76e : 339 n. 4

7789 : 317 n.3 78c : 188 n. 25

219e9 : 320 n. 29

78el : 318 n. 6

220a-b : 202 220a8 : 222 n. 14 220b : 201, 209, 319 n. 30, 322 n. 51 220 b4 : 320 n. 28 220b7-221c7 : 169, 209 220d1 ff. : 320 n. 36 220d2 : 168, 320 n. 37 220d4 : 320 n. 33 220d8 ff. : 320 n. 31

70a-d : 322 n. 54 80a2-3 : 256 n. 13

81c-82a : 196 n.3 820-850 : 177 82b10 : 116 84c5-6 : 329 8442 : 318 n. 12 8508 : 318 n. 12 85d : 177 85e-86b : 68

395

Index Locorum

8641 : 68

100b-102a : 260

86b-c : 329

100c9 ff. : 231

86b1-2 : 68, 323 n, 58 86c1-3 : 72n. 8 8641 :318n.5

100d : 100d5 1050 : 107d2 113d : 1144 : 115c :

8661 ff. : 318 n. 15

8705 : 118 n. 11, 322 n. 53 87d-89a : 90 87e : 188 n. 25 88c6-d1 : 77 n. 3

6, 227, 323 n. 56 ff. : 233 6 : 332 334 n. 36 256 n. 13, 332 130

88d-89a : 137 n. 12 89a3 : 322 n. 54 95b : 39 n. 25, 40 n. 26 98a : 177

Phaedrus

99e6 : 318 n. 5

247d-248c : 291 250b-c : 295, 341 255b1 ff. : 165

229e : 273 240c1-4 : 166 245c-e : 308

100b3 ff. : 318 n. 5 100b6 : 317 n.3 100d4ff. : 118 n. 11

259c : 339 n. 4

Parmenides

2624: 341 263a2-b5 : 118 n. 13

In general : 6, 12 129 c :6

265c-266c : 342

265d1 : 345 n. 15 270e-271a : 341

130a : 13 130e ff. : 227 135a-b : 308 n. 3, 345 n. 15 135b-c : 5

273d-e : 342 274a2 : 34]

150e-151a : 307 n.2 160b-163b : 149-150

275d-e : 343 275e-276a : 341

272b-c : 341

275e : 337 Phaedo

276a6-7 : 337

In general : 5, 13 60a-b : 130 63d-e : 130 66e : 320 n. 38 70c : 62 74a-c : 308 74cl : 62 75e5-6 : 177

276a7-8 : 337 276b-277a : 337

278c : 342

77d5-78a2 : 279 n. 8 77e : 334

278d-279a : 341 278d3-6 : 165, 260

276b-e : 341

276b7 : 341 276c7 : 348 276e4-277a4 : 293 n. 19

276e5-6 : 341, 342

78a : 256 n. 13

79d-80b : 309 80b : 308 82b-83d : 173 n. 6 82b : 245 n. 39 85c5-7 : 255 n. 10, 334 n. 35 964: 6

Philebus

150, d: 6 Politicus

262a-263c : 260 n. 4

396

Index Locorum

. Protagoras 300e8 : 317 n. 3

310a8-311a7 : 126 319a : 39 n, 25, 61 320c : 73 n. 10 323c4 : 318 n. 10

323c6 ff. : 318 n.5 324a3 :318 n.8

324d-325a : 245 n. 39 324d7 : 318 n. 10 325a3, 5 : 318 n. 10 325d-326a : 260

328d4 : 332 329a3-4 : 332 330c-d : 320 n. 38

331c3-d1 : 126 331d1 : 255 n. 10 333c8-9 : 257 333c8 : 256 n. 14 335a9-c6 : 126

332-333 : 74 347c-348a : 261

347e7 : 255 n. 349b4 ff. : 320 349d4 ff. : 320 352c1-2 : 86 361b1 : 320 n. 361b7 ff. : 318

10 n. 38 n. 38 38, 322 n. 53 n. 15

Res publica I

329a2-4 : 166 331e-332c : 264 n. 21

332c-333e : 267 n. 9 333e-334b : 267 n. 10 334e5 ff. : 318 n. 15

336a-337d : 273 345e-346a : 83

351c7-352d3 : 166 Il 358b : 342 364 : 294 364a : 245 n. 39

364e : 173 n. 6 3684: 345 n. 15 368c : 342

Ill 393d-e : 261 395b-396e : 262 403d : 245 n. 39 405a-410b : 283 406c : 283 406d-e : 284 IV 4264: 284

427d-e : 342 430d-432b : 249 430e : 265 431c-e : 265

431e-432b : 249 433a : 266, 306 433c : 249 435d : 341 440c-442b : 266

441d-444a : 246 442c-d : 265, 267 444c : 291 445a-b : 266 n, 3 V:

In general : 5, 15 463a-b : 249 473c-d : 250 474a-b : 342 477b10 : 116 47836 : 116

484b : 58 4868 : 58 487b-498c : 260 n. 3 488e : 62 S00c-d : 291 500c : 58 500d : 245 n. 39 505a-c : 92 506d : 245 n. 39

510c1 ff. : 309 5114 : 309 VII In general : 90 531c-533c : 260 5324: 5 533ac : 309 5340: 74 n. 13

397

Index Locorum

538b-539d : 259 538c-539a : 62 539b-d : 70 n. 4 $38c-d : 329

539b : 6 ΝΠ 566c5-6 : 288 586a1-588al : 170 IX 591b : 245 n. 39 X 596a-599b : 260 598d5 : 257 599a5 : 257 600b (scol.) : 289 605d-607a 607a-d : 261 614d3 : 333 n. 29 615d4 : 334 n. 36

233d : 18 2344: 11, 18, 40 235a : 18

235b : 18 237a-264c : 10

237b-239c : 148-149 237b-c : 19 240c5 : 150 240e ff. : 116

251-259 : 91 251a-254b : 260 n. 4 251b-c:11 253d-e : 8

253d : 2540 : 254d : 257d :

8 11 7 19

258. : 116

26067 ff. : 152 n. 20 261a-b : 9 261c:9

Sophista

216a : 14 216b7-217b8 : 128 n. 7 216b : 14 218d-230e : 9

218d : 10 219a8-b6 : 150 n. 15

262e : 147 263b ff. : 116, 146-147 263b : 151 264b : 8, 10 265b8-10 : 150 n. 15 268c-d : 11 268c : 11

223a : 16, 39 n. 25 224a : 18 224c : 16

Symposium

224d : 16

In general : 15

225a2 : 61 225a6-7 : 61

196c : 265 n. 1 201c : 207

225a13 225b3 : 225b11 225c7-8

202a : 208 203a-204b : 208 203c-204a : 204 n. 1 204a1 ff. : 165 2043 : 209 204b : 208 n. 21

: 61 61 : 62 : 62

225c9 : 62

225d10-11 226a : 16 : 62 226d10 : 252 n. 4 230b-d : 45, 252 230b5 : 257 230d : 72, 273 231b : 72, 252 232b : 40 232e : 40

204e : 208

204d4-6 : 209 204e 207 205a-206a : 209-210

205b8-c1 : 150 n. 13 205e-206a : 207 206e : 207 and n. 16 210a : 339 n. 4

Index Locorum

398 211e-212a : 291 212a : 210 n. 22

Isagoge (Busse, CAG IV,1, 1887) 12, 16-17 : 229 n. 13

212b2 : 206 215b-e : 256 n. 13

33 : 294 n. 24

Vit. Pyth.

216d : 208 n. 19

Proclus, In Alc. (Westerink) .12.4-5 : 253 n. 5 209 : 253 n. 5 212.7-9 : 253 n. 6 In Parm. (Cousin?) 654: 252 n. 5

217-222 : 179 221a : 278 Theaetetus

149d : 293 150c : 252 150c4-7 : 327

151a7 : 328 Protagoras (DK 80) A 20:61 B6:61

157c : 256 n. 13, 293 167b-c : 291 n. 14

170a6-d2 : 145 n. 1 176b1 : 295 182a-b : 227 183e : 14 184a : 15

Rig Veda X 39, 3 : 282

194c-d : 264 n. 21 195b : 62, 166 202b4-5 : 147 n. 10 210d : 9

Sextus Empiricus Adv. Math. VII 48 : 34 n. 33 VII 113 : 47 n. 62

Timaeus

Simonides (Page) 642 : 264 n. 21

19b-21a : 264 20d-21a : 261 n. 10, 262 n. 12 20d7 : 333 n. 29

Simplicius Comm, In Aristotelis Categorias (Kalbfleisch CAG VIII, 1907) 283,23-28 : 227 n.9

44a-d : 265 47e-48a : 265

70d7-e5 : 279 n. 9 80b-87d'265 87d5-6 : 291 n. 14 90b-c : 290

Comm.

In De anima (Hayduck

1882) 32:22 : 239 n. 12 Solon (West) 22 : 261 n. 12

Plutarchus Moralia

539 a-547f. : 264

1072e-f : 353 n. 15

Sophocles

1120c : 50 n. 78

Antigone

955 : 288 n. 3 Porphyrius In Ar. Cat. comm. 1887) 127,15 : 229 n.15

Oedipus Tyrannus

(Busse,

CAG

IV,1,

921: 173 η. 6 SSR (Giannantoni) IHil:35n.2

CAG XI,

399

Index Locorum

IIA3:47 n. 65

Memorabilia

II B 12:47 n 62 IVA 1-14 : 38 n. 16 V A 134 : 39 n. 22

12, 1-47 : 238

Thucydides 1 79-85 : 245 VIII 72 : 243 VIII 86 : 243 VII 92, 11 :

n. 40 n. 30 n. 30 241 n. 20

Xenophanes (DK 21) B7 : 289 Xenophon Hellenica

II 2, 19 : 242 n. 28 II 3, 11- 4.43 : 240 II 3, 12 : 243 n.31 113, 13 : 243 n.32 13,19 ἃ 22 : 243 n. 36 II 3, 25 : 242 n, 38 Il 3, 26 : 244 n. 37 II 3, 39 : 240 n. 13 113,51: 248 n.51 11 4,21 : 237 n.2 II 4, 23 : 241 n. 20 IE 4, 40-42 : 248 n. 51 VIS, 35 & 46 : 242 n. 28

12,7 : 39 n.25

12, 12-38 : 241 12, 15-28 : 250 12, 12 : 241 n. 12,24 : 240 n. 12, 47 : 241 12, 56 : 247 n.

n. 55 24 15 49

12, 60 : 38 n.16 14,1:256.

II 3, II 3, II 3, II 3, II 3, II 3, 113, 113, II 3,

13-14 : 240 n. 15, 244 n. 37 15 : 240 n. 15 16 : 240 n. 15 21-22 : 240 n. 15, 243 n. 36 26 : 244 n. 37 27 : 244 n. 37 34 : 243 n. 35 38 : 244 n. 37 43 : 240, 240 n. 15

II 4, 1 : 240

n.15

II 4, 21 : 240 n. 15 IT 6, 24 : 241 n. 24 I 1,1:36n.7 II 21-22 : 240 n. 15 III 43 : 240 n. 15 IV 1:240n.17

IV 3,3 : 241 IV 4,3 : 240 n. 13 IV 8, 7 : 256

400

Subject Index SUBJECT INDEX

Aiôn in the Timaios : 58

Crities (the family of) : 259 n. 1

Allusion to later doctrines : 94-97

Crito (who is ?) : 129-131

Antilogikoi : 167

Crito-Socrates 123-132

Scenes

in the Euthydemus :

Aporétiques (les dialogues) et l'Euthydème :

106-110

Dating

of

the

Dialogues

and

of

the

Euthydemus : 20-26.

Aporetic (is the Lysis?) : 172-179; 204-216, 215-216

Définition : 185-186

Aporia : 204-216

Démon de Socrate : 183-184

Aporrhéta : 337-338

Desire of the Good : 165

Argumentum ad personam : 106-110

Dialectic : 137-143

Aristotle on friendship : 173-174

Dialogue (composition, réception) : 98-114

Asclépios et les Asclépiades : 284-286

Dionysodorus : 28-34, 35-50

Athetization : 20

Diotima's speech : 170; 207-211

Authenticity of the Euthydemus : 21

Education : 268-277

Badness and Friendship : 166, 174-175

Eidos (statut dans le Charmide, l'Euthydème et le Lysis) : 226-233, 317-323

Helping the writings : 337-338 Eiröneia : 98-106.

Callias : 278 Elenchus

(Socratic):

68-75,

98-106,

137-

Catharsis : 251-252

143, 194-200, 251-252

Cause (finale), cf. Prôton Philon

Elenchus-terminology, 253-254

Charmide : 278-279

Epôide : 279 n. 7, 287-295, 324-336; 342346.

Chronologies (Platonic) : 21, 94-97

Equality (-in) and friendship

(le neutre):

Community of women : 24

166-167, 174-175, 218-219

Consistency testing (in the Lysis) : 194-203.

Eristikoi : 27, 88-97

Critias, the tyrant : 237-250

Eristic (Euthydemian) : 68-75, 125-128

Critias, the poet : 259-264

Esoterische Interpretation : 337-348

Subject Index

401

Euporia : 204-216

Krebs : 34

Euthydemos : 28-34, 35-50

Lecture d'un dialogue Platonicien (type de) 113-114 :

Euthydemus and Sophist (links) : 14 ff. Maieutics : 324-336 Exetasis as a source of Truth : 256-258

Médecine Fallacy,

Fallacious

reasoning : 70,

93-97,

(idéologie

indo-curopéenne

et

Platon) : 278-286

180-181 Mégariques ou Sophistes : 35-50

Falsehood in the Euthydemus : 144-153 Myth : 324-336 Feelings and emotions : 159 Mythe médical dans le Charmide : 284-286

Feuds : 23 Neglect of the Euthydemus : 3 Friendship : 157-171, 172-179, 349-357

Non sequitur : 98-106 Gétes : 280 Oikeion : 169-170, 176-177, 215 Goodness

and Friendship:

164-168,

174-

175

Origin of professional eristic : 59-63

Goods : 76-87, 349-357

Paideia : 16

Handlung der Dialogue : 337-348

Parousia (Présence) : 226-233.

Happiness (bonheur) : 188-191

Philia (Is the Lysis about ?) : 214-215

Hiatus (avoidance of) : 23 n. 14

Parental love : 160-161

Immortality (Art of ) : 287-295

Philos, reciprocal or non-reciprocal use of : 162-163, 168, 217-225

Interlocutors in the Euthydemus : 124 n.2 Philosopher : 164-165, 177-178 Isocrates (relations between Plato and) : 23

Philosophy

of

language

(in

the

Karikatur : 51

Euthydemus) : 115-122

Kingly Art : 24

Polemical references to contemporaries : 88, 96-97

Know thyself : 296-305

Potidée : 278, 287-288 Knowledge and virtue : 83-87 Principle of non-contradiction : 117-118

Knowledge of Knowledge : 272-276, 306313

Prodicus : 115-116

Knowledge of the Good 268-277

Prolépsis : 88-97

402

Subject Index

Prôton philon : 168-169, 177-178, 186-187, 215, 220-224 Protreptic : 16, 88-89

Structure of the Charmides : 296-305 Structure of the Euthydemus : 64-67, 123132

Protreptic (two-stage) : 133-143 Stylometry : 25 Poiotés / Poion 233

(Qualité / Qualifié) : 226-

Political Philosophy 237-250.

Teachability of virtue : 24 (Platonic

origin

of):

Techné analogy : 267-277 Third Man : 12 ff.

Pythagoreans : 294-295 Thrace : 280 Redating of the Timaeus (by Owen) : 4.

Titel : Euthydemos : 27-34 Reciprocity, cf. Philos Unity of Plato's Lysis : 157-171

Refutation : 110-114 Utility and friendship : 160-162, 173-174, Repercussion of the Euthydemus

on other

191-192, 218-219

dialogues : 4

Virtue : 76-87 Ryle’s Oxford Lectures on the Sophist : 10 Winning : 68-75 Schriftkritik: in the Euthydemos : 337-348

Charmides

und

Wisdom (primacy of) 79, 177-178

Self-sufficiency : 164-165 Shared Search : 98-114

Zalmoxis : 280-281, 287-295 137-143

Silence : 337-338 Socrate : date de naissance : 278 n. 4 Socrate, Sophiste dans le Lysis : 180-193 Sophism : 91

Sophisme Socratique : 180-193 Sophist (The) as epistemology : 9 Sophistik : 51-58. 125-128 . Sophrosuné

in the Charmides : 265-277,

285-286, 287-295, 296-305

Stoic reception of Plato : 133-143

Zeit :54