Plato's Caves: The Liberating Sting of Cultural Diversity [1 ed.] 0190936983, 9780190936983

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Plato’s Caves

Plato’s Caves The Liberating Sting of Cultural Diversity REBECCA LEMOINE

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3 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2020 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress ISBN 978–​0–​19–​093698–​3 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

To my mother, Linda

“Jesus God,” said Montag. “Every hour so many damn things in the sky! How in hell did those bombers get up there every single second of our lives! Why doesn’t someone want to talk about it! We’ve started and won two atomic wars since 1990! Is it because we’re having so much fun at home we’ve forgotten the world? Is it because we’re so rich and the rest of the world’s so poor and we just don’t care if they are? I’ve heard rumors; the world is starving, but we’re well fed. Is it true, the world works hard and we play? Is that why we’re hated so much? I’ve heard the rumors about hate, too, once in a long while, over the years. Do you know why? I don’t, that’s sure! Maybe the books can get us half out of the cave. They just might stop us from making the same damn insane mistakes!”  —​Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Contents Acknowledgments

ix

1. Introduction

1

2. Setting the Stage: A World of Caves

56

PA RT I :   AT H E N IA N S A N D F O R E IG N E R S 3. The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus: Diversity, Democracy, and Philosophy in the Republic 4. Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices: Aspasia as Gadfly in the Menexenus

91 133

PA RT I I :   AT H E N IA N S A S F O R E IG N E R S 5. An Athenian in Crete: Moderating the Song of the Armed Camp in the Laws

161

6. Socrates the Foreigner? Self-​Examination and Civic Identity in the Phaedrus

197

7. Conclusion

230

Bibliography Index

249 267

Acknowledgments It is difficult to know where to begin giving an account of all the friends, readers, and audiences who helped to improve this book by serving, in many different ways, as my gadflies—​a comparison that I realize may not seem flattering, but is in truth a high compliment, as will become evident in the course of this book. I have learned more from these interlocutors than I can possibly repay. I hope my apologies and innermost gratitude will suffice for anyone I may inadvertently have neglected to mention in these acknowledgments. This book began as a PhD dissertation at the University of Wisconsin–​ Madison, and I am beyond blessed for the continued support of my alma mater. Not only have my graduate mentors continued to share generously of their time and support, but I was honored to have my manuscript selected for the 2017 First Book Manuscript Workshop sponsored by the UW’s Center for the Study of Liberal Democracy. In line with the Center’s mission of encouraging intellectual diversity, the workshop brought together scholars from a variety of fields (including political theory, philosophy, classics, and history) to spend a long, but fruitful day, discussing an earlier draft of the book. For their tremendously helpful comments on individual chapters, I thank the following participants: Alex Dressler, Emily Fletcher, Daniel Kapust, Geneviève Rousselière, Michelle Schwarze, Howard Schweber, Claire Taylor, Brendon Westler, and John Zumbrunnen. I am especially grateful to Susan Collins for serving as keynote discussant, as her reflections on the entire state of the manuscript led me to reframe the book in a way that does more justice to the content within. I would also be remiss if I did not thank John Sharpless for his encouraging concluding remarks, Jonathan Schwartz for helping to organize the workshop, and Rachel Jacobs for her diligent notes. Last but certainly not least, though he only asked me to “pay it forward,” I owe my sincerest thanks to my graduate adviser, Richard Avramenko. Without him, the workshop would never have happened. I cannot thank him enough for his continued guidance and support of my career. I am fortunate to have found a diverse and supportive institution at which to continue my work. For the opportunity to read Plato’s dialogues with students of countless nationalities, races, socioeconomic backgrounds, and

x Acknowledgments political and intellectual leanings, I thank Florida Atlantic University. I am also grateful for the advice and encouragement of my colleagues as I navigated the book publishing process, especially Aimee Arias, Nicholas Baima, Emily Fenichel, Mehmet Gurses, Dukhong Kim, Orin Kirshner, Annette LaRocco, Brian McConnell, Angela Nichols, Kelly Shannon, and Kevin Wagner. FAU provided generous funding and research support for this project through the Scholarly and Creative Accomplishment Fellowship, the Distinguished Lecture Series Faculty Research Support Award, and numerous awards for conference travel. Conversations with audiences and discussants at various other venues helped me refine the ideas presented in this book. In particular, I wish to thank Geoff Bakewell for inviting me to Rhodes College to deliver a talk for the Search for Values in Light of Western History and Religion. His feedback on the entire project and assistance with comprehending the complexities of the Greek language proved invaluable, as did my discussions with students and faculty during my visit. I would also like to recognize David Roochnik, whose invitation to speak at the Greek Philosophy Workshop at Boston University resulted in significant improvements to the idea of the “caves” at the core of this book. In addition to David, special thanks to Charles L.  Griswold and Marc Gasser-​Wingate for their insightful comments and questions. Individual chapters also benefited from the scrutiny of audiences at meetings of the American Political Science Association, the Association for Political Theory, the Celtic Conference in Classics, the Midwestern Political Science Association, and the Southern Political Science Association. For their formal feedback on earlier chapter drafts, I thank Ethan Alexander-​ Davey, Andreas Avgousti, Susan Bickford, Stefan Dolgert, Andy R. German, Michael Gibbons, Edward Gimbel, Robert G. Howard, Helen Kinsella, Jimmy Casas Klausen, Nalin Ranasinghe, Katherine Robiadek, Joel Schlosser, John Wallach, and Shawn Welnak. For taking the time to meet with me to discuss the project as a whole at various stages in its development, I owe my gratitude to Jill Frank, John von Heyking, Melissa Lane, Steve Salkever, Shalini Satkunanandan, Arlene Saxonhouse, Adriel Trott, and Catherine Zuckert. Many others contributed either by sharing their thoughts during informal conversations at conferences and workshops or by answering my email queries, including Thomas Bunting, Kirk Fitzpatrick, Sam Flores, Marcus Folch, Michelle Kundmueller, Elizabeth Markovits, Debra Nails, Cynthia Patterson, Zdravko Planinc, Nathan Sawatzky, Brandon Turner, David Williams, Brianne Wolf, Se-​Hyoung Yi, and Mark Zelcer. For their excellent

Acknowledgments  xi feedback on my book prospectus, I thank (among others already mentioned) Jack Edelson, Thornton Lockwood, and Lee Trepanier, whose encouragement and publishing advice has been indispensable. Samantha Vortherms deserves singular recognition for her willingness to be my go-​to person for a second opinion on abstracts, tables, and the other odds and ends that go into making a book. Finally, it was truly a blessing to work with my phenomenal editor, Angela Chnapko, and her entire team at Oxford University Press. As a first-​time book author, they made the process surprisingly easy and worry-​ free. The manuscript has been much improved thanks to their diligent work, as well as the insightful comments of two anonymous readers for Oxford University Press. I took my first political philosophy course on a whim during my first semester of college, after being wait-​listed for a journalism course and needing another course to fill my schedule. The description in the course catalog called me to Eduardo Velásquez’s class and, after reading Plato’s Republic under the guidance of this truly remarkable soul, I was in love with the philosophic way of life. Over the years, he has become family to me. Of course, I owe my biological family my life and much more, beyond what words can express. My parents, Samuel LeMoine and Linda Chapman Henson, encouraged me from an early age to develop my writing talents, and have been a constant source of unconditional love, support, and joy. I am proud to be their daughter. I dedicate this book to my mother, who somehow scraped together the money to send me on my first trip abroad because she wanted her daughter to live out a dream she had always had for herself. I cannot thank my husband, Matthew Taylor, enough. He has read nearly everything I have written (in many cases, multiple drafts) and saved me from myself on countless occasions. Though too humble ever to admit it, he is brilliant and, in another life, could have been a political theorist. I am grateful, though, that he chose to be a scientist—​not only because this made it easier for us both to find jobs in the same place, but also because he incessantly broadens my horizons and challenges me to think in a different way. Thank you, Matthew, for discussing Plato with me all these years. Your boundless love for me is always felt, and I could not have completed this book without it. The cover image is the work of the talented Kate Connolly, who helped to bring my image of the “caves” to life. I also thank Jonathan Owen May, Zack Orsborn, and the design team at Oxford University Press for their creative input. Sections of ­chapter 3 first appeared in Rebecca LeMoine, “ ‘We Are the Champions’: Mousikē and Cultural Chauvinism in Plato’s Republic,”

xii Acknowledgments Expositions: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Humanities 11, no. 1 (2017): 157–​ 75. Reprinted by permission of the Villanova Center for Liberal Education. Material in ­chapters 4 and 7 draws heavily on Rebecca LeMoine, “Foreigners as Liberators:  Education and Cultural Diversity in Plato’s Menexenus,” American Political Science Review 111, no. 3 (2017): 471–​83. Copyright © 2017 by Cambridge University Press, reproduced with permission.

1  Introduction So firm and sound, mark you, is the nobility and freedom of our city, and by nature barbarian-​hating, because we are purely Greeks, being unmixed with barbarians.1 —​Plato’s Menexenus,  245c–​d And when people sing of race, showing how noble someone is because he has seven wealthy ancestors, altogether dim and slight of seeing he [the philosopher] deems this praise; by lack of education they cannot always see the whole nor calculate that each has had countless thousands of ancestors and progenitors, among whom have been in any instance rich and beggarly, kings and slaves, barbarians and Greeks. —​Plato’s Theaetetus, 174e–​175a

Months before the 2016 US presidential election, universities across the country began reporting a strange sight on campus bulletin boards:  the flyers of white nationalists. Sponsored by such groups as Identity Evropa, these flyers featured slogans such as “let’s become great again” and “protect your heritage,” superimposed on images of white marble statues of figures from the classical world, including the Greek god Apollo and the demi-​ god Hercules. At subsequent protests, including the Unite the Right rally protesting the removal of a statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee in Charlottesville, Virginia, in August 2017, numerous white supremacists showed up sporting Spartan helmets and shields and carrying flags emblazoned with Greek mottos. Judging from their blog and social media postings, groups like Identity Evropa see themselves as manly defenders of a way of life centered on blood-​based community and traditional Western values. They oppose cultural diversity, and the heroes they quote in support of their anti-​ immigration views are Plato and other classical thinkers. The appropriation of the classics by white supremacists is, of course, nothing new; the Nazis also drew on the art and philosophy of classical antiquity to support their

1 All translations of the ancient Greek in this book are mine unless otherwise noted.

2  Plato’s Caves racist agenda.2 In part for this reason, students at various universities have protested the teaching of canonical texts such as Plato’s Republic, agreeing with white supremacists that such works promote hostility toward diversity.3 Far from irrelevant, the world of the ancient Greeks is thus deeply implicated in a heated contemporary debate about identity and diversity.4

2 On the Nazi’s uses of Plato, see Melissa Lane, Plato’s Progeny:  How Plato and Socrates Still Captivate the Modern Mind (London: Duckworth, 2001), 121–​28, 152n43; and Simona Forti, “The Biopolitics of Souls: Racism, Nazism, and Plato,” Political Theory 34, no. 1 (2006): 9–​32. 3 For example, “Humanities 110:  Introduction to Humanities:  Greece and the Ancient Mediterranean,” a required course at Reed College, has come under intense scrutiny for commemorating “Western” thinkers like Plato and Aristotle and largely excluding thinkers from other civilizations, such as Asia or Africa. Colleen Flaherty, “Reed College Course Lectures Canceled after Student Protestors Interrupt Class to Protest Eurocentricism,” Inside Higher Ed, September 11, 2017, https://​www.insidehighered.com/​news/​2017/​09/​11/​reed-​college-​course-​lectures-​canceled-​ after-​student-​ protesters-​interrupt-​class?width=775&height=500&iframe=true. At the University of Texas at Austin, protestors went so far as to vandalize fraternity houses. In an anonymous statement, the vandals wrote, “It is no accident that we attacked Greek life. The Greco-​Roman legacy has inspired so much of the march of European civilization against the ‘uncivilized.’ ” The statement specifically implicated the “Socratic tradition” and “the Greek conception of the polis” in the persistence of racism. Anonymous Contributor, “University of Texas, Austin: Frat Vandals Issue Statement,” It’s Going Down, April 21, 2017, https://​itsgoingdown.org/​university-​texas-​statement-​from-​frat-​ vandals/​. 4 Besides members of groups like Identity Evropa, those in the “alt-​right”—​a far-​right movement that rejects multiculturalism and embraces white nationalism—​“love the classics” and are “utterly convinced that classical antiquity is relevant to the world we live in today.” Donna Zuckerberg, “How to Be a Good Classicist under a Bad Emperor,” Eidolon, November 21, 2016, https://​eidolon. pub/​how-​to-​be-​a-​good-​classicist-​under-​a-​bad-​emperor-​6b848df6e54a. For further discussion, see Zuckerberg, Not All Dead White Men:  Classics and Misogyny in the Digital Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018). The revival of interest in the classics has even reached the White House. According to a report on Breitbart News—​described by founder Stephen Bannon as “the platform for the alt-​right”—​several members of the Trump administration are “enthusiasts” of History of the Peloponnesian War by the ancient Greek historian Thucydides. Rebecca Mansour, “Report:  Trump White House Turns to Ancient Greek Historian for Insights on U.S.-​China Relations,” Breitbart News, June 21, 2017, http://​www.breitbart.com/​national-​security/​2017/​06/​21/​ report-​trump-​white-​house-​turns-​to-​ancient-​greek-​historian-​for-​insights-​on-​u-​s-​china-​relations/​ . Few scholars of the classics are taking comfort in the revival of interest in their field, however. In direct response to Identity Evropa’s propaganda, classics professor Sarah Bond published an online essay explaining that modern technology has conclusively shown that statues from the Western world were painted in various colors, and thus white marble was “considered a canvas, not the finished product for sculpture.” Sarah E. Bond, “Why We Need to Start Seeing the Classical World in Color,” Hyperallergic, June 7, 2017, https://​hyperallergic.com/​383776/​why-​we-​need-​to-​start-​seeing-​ the-​classical-​world-​in-​color/​. Bond’s article elicited a perhaps unprecedented response for an article about ancient statues: death threats. Another classicist, Mary Beard, was verbally harassed for correcting an alt-​right commentator who criticized a BBC video on Roman Britain for its allegedly inaccurate depiction of a Roman soldier as black. Mary Beard, “Roman Britain in Black and White,” Times Literary Supplement, August 3, 2017, https://​www.the-​tls.co.uk/​roman-​britain-​black-​white/​. Writing on these events, classics scholar Rebecca Futo Kennedy avers, “People seem less bothered by the notion that the ancient Athenians were racist. In fact, that is one of the appeals. Some people get very upset, however, when scholars point out the variety of ways they weren’t racist and were, instead, open to diversity.” Rebecca Futo Kennedy, “The Ancient Mediterranean Was Diverse. Why Do Some People Get So Upset When We Talk About It?,” Classics at the Intersections: Random Thoughts of a Classicist on Classical Culture and Contemporary America (blog), August 8, 2017, https://​rfkclassics. blogspot.com/​2017/​08/​the-​ancient-​mediterranean-​was-​diverse.html.

Introduction  3 The traditional scholarly narrative on the attitudes toward cultural diversity in classical Greek political thought often reinforces the perception that the ancient thinkers were xenophobic.5 This is particularly the case with interpretations of Plato. Although scholars who study Plato reject the wholesale dismissal of his work, the vast majority tend to admit that his portrayal of foreigners is unsettling, to say the least. The conclusion that Platonic political thought is xenophobic gained traction with the publication of Karl Popper’s The Open Society and Its Enemies. Writing against the backdrop of World War II and the Nazi appropriation of Plato, Popper accused Plato of being a totalitarian whose “anti-​humanitarian exclusiveness” is evident in the Republic’s advocacy of a system of eugenics and insistence on the natural enmity of Greeks and barbarians.6 Many scholars have since challenged Popper’s portrayal of Plato as a totalitarian and are showing the philosopher to be friendlier to democracy than is traditionally believed.7 Nevertheless, Plato’s antipathy to cultural diversity is still generally assumed. Bonnie Honig, for example, proclaims on the first page of her book Democracy and the Foreigner, “In classical political thought, foreignness is generally taken to signify a threat of corruption that must be kept out or contained for the sake of the stability and identity of the regime”—​a claim she supports by referencing a line from Plato’s Laws.8 Judith Butler similarly decries the “xenophobic exclusion” on which Platonic discourse depends.9 Julia Annas writes that Plato’s “obvious hostility to democracy so conceived illustrates the depth of his opposition to any form of pluralism.”10 Ryan Balot contends that Plato’s 5 As we will see, scholars are increasingly challenging this narrative. An online platform has been created “where classical scholars, and the public more broadly, can learn about and respond to appropriations of Greco-​Roman antiquity by hate groups online.” Pharos:  Doing Justice to the Classics, http://​pages.vassar.edu/​pharos/​, is supported by the Vassar College Department of Greek and Roman Studies and the Vassar College Office of Communications. 6 Karl R. Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies (London: Routledge, 1945), 239. 7 See, e.g., Diskin Clay, “Reading the Republic,” in Platonic Writings, Platonic Readings, ed. Charles L. Griswold Jr. (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1988), 19–​33; J. Peter Euben, Corrupting Youth: Political Education, Democratic Culture, and Political Theory (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press, 1997); Gerald M. Mara, Socrates’ Discursive Democracy:  Logos and Ergon in Platonic Political Philosophy (Albany:  State University of New  York Press, 1997); S. Sara Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Entanglements: Athenian Politics and the Practice of Philosophy (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press, 2000); John R. Wallach, The Platonic Political Art:  A Study of Critical Reason and Democracy (University Park:  Pennsylvania State University Press, 2001); Arlene W. Saxonhouse, Free Speech and Democracy in Ancient Athens (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006); and Jill Frank, Poetic Justice: Rereading Plato’s “Republic” (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2018). 8 Bonnie Honig, Democracy and the Foreigner (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), 1. 9 Judith Butler, Bodies That Matter:  On the Discursive Limits of “Sex” (New  York:  Routledge, 1993), 48. 10 Julia Annas, An Introduction to Plato’s “Republic” (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1981), 300–​301.

4  Plato’s Caves bifurcation of reality into the intelligible world and the sensible world “was an attempt to justify preexisting and hitherto unexplained bifurcations in social practice—​commonplace Greek distinctions between Greek and barbarian, reason and appetite, and so on.”11 Susan Lape cites a line from the Laws when observing that “in Athenian political discourse and in Greek political thought more generally, ethnic diversity within a polis is seen as pushing against political unity and as diminishing military strength.”12 Arlene Saxonhouse, while recognizing that Plato exhibits “less a fear of diversity and more an ambiguous pursuit of unity,” also sees little appreciation for cultural diversity in Plato’s thought.13 Moreover, many historical studies of the Greek–​barbarian distinction cite Plato as one of the main propagators of this classification.14 Myriad other examples exist of scholarly interpretations that support the perception that Platonic political thought is xenophobic.15 This book challenges the popular and scholarly narrative that Plato was hostile to cultural diversity. I argue that when Plato’s dialogues are read in their dramatic context, far from exhibiting hostility toward foreigners, they reveal that foreigners play a role similar to that of Socrates: the role of gadfly. Socrates explicitly presents himself in these terms in Plato’s Apology, claiming that he is like a “gadfly set upon the city by the god as if upon a 11 Ryan K. Balot, Greed and Injustice in Classical Athens (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), 245–​46. 12 Susan Lape, Race and Citizen Identity in the Classical Athenian Democracy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 253. 13 Arlene W. Saxonhouse, Fear of Diversity: The Birth of Political Science in Ancient Greek Thought (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 91. 14 For instance, to support the notion that Greeks “would have been appalled . . . at the idea of society as a ‘melting pot,’ ” John E. Coleman draws on Plato’s Laws and Republic. John E. Coleman, “Ancient Greek Ethnocentrism,” in Greeks and Barbarians: Essays on the Interactions between Greeks and Non-​Greeks in Antiquity and the Consequences for Eurocentrism, ed. John E. Coleman and Clark A. Walz (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 1997), 191–​93. 15 See, e.g., Paul Shorey, introduction to Plato:  The Republic, vol. 1 (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 1953), xxviii; R. F. Stalley, An Introduction to Plato’s Laws (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 1983); Susan Jarratt and Rory Ong, “Aspasia: Rhetoric, Gender, and Colonial Ideology,” in Reclaiming Rhetorica: Women in the Rhetorical Tradition, ed. Andrea A. Lunsford (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburg Press, 1995), 9–​24; Leon Harold Craig, The War Lover:  A Study of Plato’s “Republic” (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996), 17; Paris Arnopoulos, Exopolitics: Polis-​Ethnos-​Cosmos, Classical Theories and Praxis of Foreign Affairs (Commack, NY: Nova Science, 1999); Benjamin Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press, 2004), 509; and Stanley Rosen, Plato’s “Republic”: A Study (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 196–​97. On Plato as a reluctant advocate of war with barbarians, see Michael S. Kochin, “War, Class, and Justice in Plato’s ‘Republic,’” Review of Metaphysics 53, no. 2 (1999): 421–​22. For his part, Eric Voegelin acknowledges that Plato had a comparatively open consciousness in that he recognized the intellectual accomplishments of foreign cultures and the impossibility of achieving a perfect society, but insists that he nonetheless saw the Greeks as ahead of others. Eric Voegelin, Order and History, vol. 4: The Ecumenic Age, in The Collected Works of Eric Voegelin, vol. 17, ed. Dante Germino (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2000), 286–​87.

Introduction  5 great and well-​born horse, who because of his great size is sluggish and needs to be awakened.” Socrates explains that his role in the city involves stinging “anyone [he] happens to meet” into wakeful contemplation of themselves, thereby exhorting them to care about virtue (29d–​31b). Likewise, I  will argue, Plato’s dialogues reveal that interactions with foreigners can expose contradictions in the values that undergird one’s political community and thus encourage a more self-​reflective citizenship. Foreigners can play the role of gadfly because, as the title of this book suggests (and as will be further explained in ­chapter 2), though every citizen lives in a polity that shares the basic features of the cave in Plato’s famous allegory (of prisoners in a cave forced to stare at shadows on the wall, puppeteers who cast the shadows, and liberators who try to help the prisoners recognize the artificiality of their perception of reality), each polity varies, at least slightly, in the details of this arrangement (e.g., who the puppeteers are and what kinds of shadows they cast). This means that when one interacts with a foreigner, or with someone raised in a different “cave,” one is faced with the possibility of another way of life and hence with the occasion to reflect on one’s own conception of the true and the good. To be clear, I am not claiming that Plato thinks foreigners are philosophers who can help citizens achieve full enlightenment—​though various dialogues imply that philosophers could well be foreigners.16 Rather, my claim is that foreigners, philosophical or not, can play the initial role of revealing our lack of knowledge. Unfortunately, as the cave allegory also shows, few appreciate the pain that accompanies such self-​realizations. Consequently, though cross-​cultural engagement can help citizens become more aware of the contradictions in their beliefs, this is such a painful experience that, instead of facing it, citizens will be tempted to run away—​that is, to seek to silence foreigners through assimilation, marginalization, expulsion, or extermination, just as Athenians reacted to Socrates. If Plato at times seems wary of cultural diversity, that is why. It is not that foreigners are corrupting per se; rather, the problem is that most people do not know how to interact well with foreigners. This does not, however, invalidate the potential benefit of cultural diversity. Although Plato admitted that Socrates ultimately failed to educate the demos, he did not conclude that Athens would have been better off without its gadfly. To draw on the ship analogy in the Republic, just because those aboard the ship do not make use of the captain does not mean that the captain is useless

16 Cf. Republic 499c–​d; Laws 951b; and Phaedo 78a.

6  Plato’s Caves (488a–​489c). Accordingly, citizens’ refusal to examine the contradictions foreigners help to illuminate does not negate the value of foreign voices. Gadflies can lead a horse to water, but they cannot make it drink. Plato offers a compelling justification for culturally diverse societies that accounts for unreceptive responses to foreigners and shows why the tendency to react this way requires an active effort to prepare citizens for the intellectual and emotional demands of self-​examination. To be sure, I am not the first to suggest that Platonic political thought may not be xenophobic. Several notable scholars have argued, in journal articles or sections of larger works, for a more foreigner-​friendly conception of Platonic political thought. Mary Nichols, for instance, argues that the “universalism” of the truth Plato pursues does not find political expression in imperialistic ambitions.17 On the subject of war, Jill Frank argues for a vision of Platonic philosophy as a holding together rather than an eradication of conflicting beliefs. In a brief footnote, she even offers evidence against the claim of Platonic hostility to non-​Greeks.18 A number of scholars also question Plato’s alleged aversion to cultural diversity. Martha Nussbaum presents Plato as advocating the study of foreign cultures. David Roochnik contests the antidiversity reading of Plato’s Republic on the grounds that the ideal city in speech is in tension with the dialogue as a whole. Joel Schlosser argues that the Socratic method as depicted in Plato’s dialogues requires engagement with a diverse range of interlocutors. And Demetra Kasimis shows how Plato exposes rather than endorses the workings of an exclusionary citizenship politics.19 These studies by prominent scholars in the field suggest that the case for Platonic xenophobia may not be as open and shut as it seems. To quote the old adage, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Unfortunately, the case is complicated enough that it cannot come close to being resolved in the span of an article or a handful of pages in a book. Making a compelling case for Plato’s appreciation of cultural diversity necessitates an entire book devoted exclusively to the task. 17 Mary P. Nichols, “Philosophy and Empire: On Socrates and Alcibiades in Plato’s Symposium,” Polity 39, no. 4 (2007): 502–​21. 18 Jill Frank, “Wages of War: On Judgment in Plato’s Republic,” Political Theory 35, no. 4 (2007): 443–​ 67. On Plato’s hostility to Athenian imperialism, see Frank, Poetic Justice. 19 Martha Nussbaum, Cultivating Humanity: A Classical Defense of Reform in Liberal Education (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997); David Roochnik, Beautiful City: The Dialectical Character of Plato’s “Republic” (Ithaca, NY:  Cornell University Press, 2003); Joel Alden Schlosser, What Would Socrates Do? Self-​Examination, Civic Engagement, and the Politics of Philosophy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014); and Demetra Kasimis, The Perpetual Immigrant and the Limits of Athenian Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018).

Introduction  7 Indeed, in investigating the role of foreigners in Plato’s dialogues, this book responds to calls for a more comprehensive treatment of Plato’s views on interpolity relations and on the role of foreigners in political life more generally.20 Perhaps because Plato’s dialogues seem so evidently xenophobic to many, the place of cultural diversity in Plato’s thought receives minimal treatment in major scholarly works on Plato, whether in philosophy, the classics, or political theory.21 Even the vast literature on cultural diversity in Greek antiquity pays scant attention to Plato. Scholars tend to focus instead on ancient Greek poetry or, less frequently, on the philosophy of Aristotle. This book thus helps to fill the gap in Plato scholarship that specialists have identified by examining an understudied yet central subject in the works of one of the most influential thinkers in the history of political thought.22 The lack of attention to the place of cultural diversity in Plato’s political thought is unfortunate, not only because Plato’s reflections on the subject are vast and deeply thought-​provoking, but also because the topic of relations with foreigners bears on Plato’s treatment of other subjects, from education to religion to law. A stronger grasp of his thoughts on cross-​cultural engagement can thus help us make better sense of the whole. One of my aims in this book is to show that studying Plato’s views on foreigners allows for deeper insight into Plato’s disposition toward democracy—​a central subject in Platonic scholarship. Democracy, described in the Republic as a multicolored cloak that contains “all species of regimes (πάντα γένη πολιτειῶν)” (557d), serves more than any other regime as a microcosm of the world writ large. Examining Plato’s approach to interpolity relations can therefore shed light on his assessment of democracy, as this regime most resembles the realm

20 Thomas L. Pangle, “Justice among Nations in Platonic and Aristotelian Political Philosophy,” American Journal of Political Science 42, no. 2 (1998):  377–​97; Thomas L. Pangle and Peter J. Ahrensdorf, Justice among Nations: On the Moral Basis of Power and Peace (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1999); and Frank, “Wages of War.” 21 The subject of cultural diversity is scarcely mentioned, for example, in Christopher Bobonich, Plato’s Utopia Recast:  His Later Ethics and Politics (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 2002); Malcolm Schofield, Plato:  Political Philosophy (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 2006); or Catherine H. Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers: The Coherence of the Dialogues (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009). 22 To the best of my knowledge, Plato’s Caves is the first monograph written in English that examines the role of foreigners in Plato’s political thought. I am aware of only one foreign-​language book on this subject: Henri Joly, Études Platoniciennes: La question des étrangers (Paris: Librairie Philosophique J. VRIN, 1992). Joly provides a useful typology of statements made about foreigners throughout the Platonic corpus; however, he tends to equate these utterances with Plato’s own views instead of considering them in their dramatic context. This is in large part because his method involves collating passages from across the dialogues instead of offering interpretations of each dialogue individually.

8  Plato’s Caves of interpolity relations. In understanding one, we come to understand the other. This book also contributes, then, to recent discussions in Platonic scholarship about the extent to which Plato is hostile toward democracy, as is traditionally believed. There are two likely objections to this book’s argument. The first objection is that, historically, the ancient Greeks did not value cultural diversity. In this chapter I  present substantial evidence from scholarship in history and classics that challenges this overgeneralized view of Greek perceptions of foreigners. Second is the objection that Plato’s dialogues contain countless expressions of xenophobia. To counter this, I draw on the now widely supported position that it is problematic to ignore the dramatic or literary context of Plato’s works. Therefore, though Plato’s characters may make derogatory remarks about foreigners, this does not mean that Platonic thought is xenophobic. After exploring the historical and dramatic context of Plato’s dialogues, the chapter describes and defends the book’s methodology and dialogue selection.

The Historical Context of Plato’s Dialogues Readers grounded in the traditional view that Platonic political thought is xenophobic will likely raise two major objections to my argument. The first entails invoking the historical context in which Plato wrote. Specifically, some might contend that I am imposing my contemporary biases back onto Plato instead of letting him speak for himself. In other words, some may find my argument anachronistic on the grounds that ancient Athenians did not and perhaps could not have held a positive conception of foreigners, especially non-​Greeks. This argument derives from a substantial body of primary and secondary sources that attest to the notion of Athenian exceptionalism, or the belief in the inherent superiority of Athenians, as well as to the predominance of ethnocentric attitudes toward non-​Greeks. On the one hand, it would be easy to offhandedly dismiss this objection by arguing that various aspects of Plato’s thought are acknowledged to be atypical for his time period, so it should not surprise us if his views on cultural diversity diverge as well. Yet an even stronger argument can be made by demonstrating why the case for conceiving of ancient Athenians as fundamentally xenophobic is not as clear-​cut as it seems. It should be noted, however, that in reviewing this evidence, I do not aim to provide incontrovertible proof that the Greeks were

Introduction  9 more open to foreigners than is traditionally believed. That would necessitate a much longer argument, far beyond the scope of this book. Since other scholars have already pursued this argument, it makes more sense to give an account of their work and then proceed to my own contribution to the scholarship. The purpose of this section, then, is to demonstrate the plausibility of reading Plato as friendly to cultural diversity given the plethora of evidence that indicates positive attitudes and relations between Greeks and foreigners.

The Traditional Model: Athenian and Greek Ethnocentrism Two central words for foreigner exist in ancient Greek: ξένος (xenos), which typically applies only to other Greeks, and βάρβαρος (barbaros), which typically applies to non-​Greeks.23 The distinction can only be understood when we take into account that though people speak of “ancient Greece,” this is a modern term applied retroactively. In Plato’s time, there was no such thing as a politically unified Greece. There were, instead, hundreds of independent, autonomous cities, each with its own system of government, laws, customs, and currency. Members of different Greek cities did not consider themselves citizens of a single nation. As F. W. Walbank puts it, “The idea of a Greek nation is alien to the thought of most Greeks at most periods throughout Greek history.”24 To be sure, most Greeks identified with some shared sense of “Greekness” based on a common linguistic, ethnic, and cultural heritage that was distinct from that of other parts of the known world.25 It is clear, however, that despite this general sense of community, Greek cities differed from one another in significant ways. Some were governed monarchically, some democratically. Some embraced the values of simplicity and self-​ discipline; others enjoyed a more luxurious way of life. They diverged on 23 Paul Cartledge, The Greeks:  A Portrait of Self and Others, 2nd ed. (1993; New  York:  Oxford University Press, 2002), 62. 24 F. W. Walbank, “The Problem of Greek Nationality,” in Greeks and Barbarians, ed. Thomas Harrison (New York: Routledge, 2002), 254–​55. 25 Although scholars debate the precise nature of the sense of community among Greeks, there is vast agreement that some degree of Panhellenism or Hellenic unity existed in antiquity. For more on Panhellenism, see, e.g., S. Perlman, “Panhellenism, the Polis and Imperialism,” Historia 25 (1976): 1–​ 30; Peter Green, “The Metamorphosis of the Barbarian:  Athenian Panhellenism in a Changing World,” in Transitions to Empire: Essays in Greco-​Roman History, 360–​146 BC in Honor of E. Badian, ed. Robert W. Wallace and Edward M. Harris (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 5–​36; Jonathan M. Hall, Hellenicity: Between Ethnicity and Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002), 205–​20; and Lynette G. Mitchell, Panhellenism and the Barbarian in Archaic and Classical Greece (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2007).

10  Plato’s Caves everything from the role of women to clothing styles, and Athenians were not afraid to mock (or in some cases praise or emulate) other Greeks for such differences. In fact, while the cities sometimes created alliances with each other by forming into leagues or confederations, they also went to war with each other, as did Athens and Sparta during Plato’s childhood. The Greek language itself did not always serve as a common denominator; there existed a variety of regional dialects, and there were “varying degrees of intelligibility between any one pair.”26 In short, to an Athenian, a Spartan was a foreigner (ξένος), and vice versa. For most Greeks, identity operated on at least two levels: that of the city and that of the Greek community. The relationship between these two identities remains a subject of debate. Many scholars, such as Robert Browning, argue that “the primary focus of a man’s identity was his city. . . . A man was an Athenian, a Spartan, a Corinthian, an Argive, and he could neither change his city nor could he . . . be a citizen of more than one city.”27 Others contend that these assorted identities were neither exclusionary nor hierarchical. David Konstan, for example, proposes that “rather than envisioning a struggle between an outmoded allegiance to a polis doomed to extinction and an embryonic, unachieved sense of nationhood, it may be preferable to understand both Greekness and local ethnic identifications as competing rhetorical strategies, in principle available to serve a variety of interests.”28 Whatever the case may be, it is indisputable that during Plato’s time one’s identity as a member of a particular city weighed heavily, and that citizens of other Greek cities were thought of as foreigners (ξένοι), even if those outside the Greek community were seen as more foreign (βάρβαροι). The situation is comparable to the relationship today between the countries of Europe or European origin. These nations are politically independent and autonomous and have different laws and customs, and though they sometimes form into leagues or confederations (e.g., NATO and the European Union), they have 26 Jonathan M. Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1997), 173. Also see Anna Morpurgo Davies, “The Greek Notion of Dialect,” in Greeks and Barbarians, ed. Thomas Harrison (New York: Routledge, 2002), 153–​71; Hall, Hellenicity, 116; and Kostas Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 37. Cf. Plato, Phaedo 62a. 27 Robert Browning, “Greeks and Others:  From Antiquity to the Renaissance,” in Greeks and Barbarians, ed. Thomas Harrison (New York: Routledge, 2002), 258. 28 David Konstan, “To Hellēnikon ethnos:  Ethnicity and the Construction of Ancient Greek Identity,” in Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, ed. Irad Malkin (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 2001), 31.

Introduction

11

often gone to war with each other. Yet as did the cities of ancient Greece, the nations of Europe or European origin share a common religious, cultural, and linguistic heritage. Therefore, we might imagine that just as a modern American would view the people of France as foreign but less foreign than the people of China, an ancient Athenian would view Spartans as foreign but less foreign than Persians. Indeed, Hellenic identity formed largely in response to the sense of an even greater distinction from peoples outside the Greek-speaking world— or, as the Greeks called them, “barbarians” (βάρβαροι). Originally, the word βάρβαρος designated a linguistic distinction. The word appears once in Homer (Iliad 2.867) in the form βαρβαρόφωνος, which roughly means “bar-bar speaker”—a term derived from the Greeks’ phonetic perception of non-Greek speech. But by Plato’s time, the term βάρβαρος was in frequent use and carried a pronouncedly negative connotation. Scholars continue to debate precisely when the concept of the “barbarian” antitype was invented; however, all agree that the Persian Wars were crucial in its development.29 Generally, the “barbarian” was represented as the antithesis of the classical Athenian ideal: “Since the Greek ideals were wisdom (sophia), manliness/ courage (andreia), discipline/restraint (sophrosune), and justice (dikaiosune), barbarians were pictured as stupid, cowardly, cruel, unrestrained, and lawless.”30 Bound up in conceptions that the barbarian lacked all the classical virtues is the reproachful identification of non-Greeks with femininity. For example, in his play The Persians, Aeschylus describes Persians using a remarkable number of compound adjectives formed from the epithet ἁβρός,

29 Edith Hall famously argued that the polarization of the Hellene and the barbarian was invented in the early years of the fifth century bc. Edith Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition through Tragedy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). Some scholars challenge Hall’s claim that the concept of the “barbarian” was invented in the classical period by contending that Greek colonization during the archaic period played a significant role in the formation of Greek identity against a non-Greek Other. See, e.g., Christopher Tuplin, “Greek Racism? Observations on the Character and Limits of Greek Ethnic Prejudice,” in Ancient Greeks East and West, ed. Gocha R. Tsetskhladze (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 1999), 55–56; Carla M. Antonaccio, “Ethnicity and Colonization,” in Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, ed. Irad Malkin (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 2001), 121–22; and Wilfried Nippel, “ The Construction of the ‘Other,’” trans. Antonia Nevill, in Greeks and Barbarians, ed. Thomas Harrison (New York: Routledge, 2002), 279. On this view, “the Persians were the whetstone against which a common Greekness was sharpened. However, the development of oppositional or antithetical identities was probably a gradual process, building on precedents.” Irad Malkin, introduction to Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, ed. Irad Malkin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 7. 30 Coleman, “Ancient Greek Ethnocentrism,” 202.

12  Plato’s Caves a term designating “softness” or “daintiness” that in the archaic period applied only to women and eastern gods such as Adonis; its application to mortal men is therefore likely pejorative.31 Aeschylus’ portrayal echoes the effeminate depictions found on Attic vases of Persian kings or satraps riding camels in luxurious dress, attended by fan-​bearers and other beardless eunuchs. Moreover, the play ends with the pitiful lamentation of King Xerxes and his council of Persian elders—​another sign of oriental lack of self-​restraint.32 Similarly, in Euripides’ Bacchae, the figure of Dionysus, a god said to have come from the East, helps to illuminate the ecstatic emotionalism of non-​Greeks and the horrendous reversals encounters with barbarians can occasion—​leading to such immoral and illogical behavior as the dismemberment of one’s own child.33 In another play, Hecuba, Euripides depicts the Thracian king Polymestor as a bestial and grotesque barbarian who plays on the civility of the Greeks. The historian Thucydides likewise describes Thracians savagely slaughtering men and women, old and young alike, including a schoolhouse full of children (History of the Peloponnesian War, 7.27–​29). As these examples suggest, characterizations of barbarians as emotional, undisciplined, and untrustworthy were common across genres

31 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian, 81. 32 Scholars are divided, however, over the tragedy’s political teaching. Some view The Persians as a chauvinistic or patriotic celebration of Athens’s victory over Persia. See, e.g., Pericles Georges, Barbarian Asia and the Greek Experience (Baltimore:  Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994); and Thomas Harrison, Emptiness of Asia: Aeschylus’ “Persians” and the History of the Fifth Century (London: Duckworth, 2000), 103–​1 5. Others interpret the play as a cautionary tale about imperialism meant to evoke pity for the Persians, including for its main character Xerxes. See, e.g., David Rosenbloom, Aeschylus:  Persians (London:  Duckworth, 2006), 141–​46. 33 As with Aeschylus’ Persians, interpretations of Euripides’ Bacchae vary. One of the major debates concerns Euripides’ attitude toward the complex figure of Dionysus, who is neither wholly barbarian nor Greek. Some scholars interpret the play as a clear celebration of the Dionysiac joie de vivre. See, e.g., Gilbert Murray, Euripides and His Age (London: Williams & Norgate, 1913), 188. Others see Euripides as acknowledging—​i f not decrying—​t he dangers Dionysus poses. As Edith Hall argues, “In Euripides’ Bacchae the ‘barbarian’ influence on Agave induces the madness which leads her to kill Pentheus, an act combining three ‘barbarian’ crimes in one: human sacrifice, cannibalism, and infanticide.” Hall, Inventing the Barbarian, 148. Charles Segal writes of Dionysus in the Bacchae, “On the civic or political plane, he represents a threat from outside to the stable order of the polis, a threat from the wild and the alien, the ecstasy of barbarian-​s eeming rites.” Charles Segal, “The Menace of Dionysus: Sex Roles and Reversals in Euripides’ Bacchae,” Arethusa 11, no. 1/​2 (1978): 187. Also see Charles Segal, Dionysiac Poetics and Euripides’ “Bacchae”, expanded ed. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), esp. chap. 4, sec. 13. For a brief survey of the various positions on Euripides’ message in the Bacchae, see Segal, Dionysiac Poetics,  19–​2 0.

Introduction  13 and mediums, appearing in ancient Greek history,34 tragedy,35 comedy,36 and visual art.37 Greeks disagreed about what could account for the differences between Greeks and non-​Greeks. One strand of thought attributed the superiority of Greeks and the inferiority of non-​Greeks to differences in φύσις, or “nature.”38 Hippocrates’ On Airs, Waters, and Places presents a version of this argument, claiming that because of the variable climate, the inhabitants of Europe exhibit more courageousness than do Asiatic peoples.39 But this same treatise also ascribes the differences to divergent political institutions (23). This point is echoed in Isocrates’ Panegyricus when he draws an explicit connection between the political institutions of the Persians and their lack of virtue: “[O]‌n account of the monarch’s rule they keep their souls downcast and fearful, presenting themselves at the royal palace and prostrating themselves, and in every way practicing to be small minded.” (4.150–​151; cf. To Philip, 5.124). An important element of the Greek–​barbarian distinction was therefore political, and the term “barbarian” designated someone who

34 See, e.g., François Hartog, The Mirror of Herodotus: The Representation of the Other in the Writing of History, trans. Janet Lloyd, New Historicism: Studies in Cultural Poetics 5 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988). 35 See, e.g., Helen H. Bacon, Barbarians in Greek Tragedy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1961); and Hall, Inventing the Barbarian. Two recent works examine the role of Greek tragedy in navigating historical tensions in Athens related to the treatment of foreigners. For a reading that Aeschylus’ Suppliant Women is primarily about the anxieties and dangers that attend the process of incorporating foreigners into the polity, see Geoffrey W. Bakewell, Aeschylus’s “Suppliant Women”: The Tragedy of Immigration (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2013). For the argument that Aeschylus’ Eumenides, Euripides’ Heraclidae, and Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus grapple with the complexities of Athenian hegemony and ultimately lend justification to Athenian imperialism, see Angeliki Tzanetou, City of Suppliants: Tragedy and the Athenian Empire (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012). 36 See, e.g., Timothy Long, Barbarians in Greek Comedy (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1986). 37 See, e.g., Beth Cohen, ed., Not the Classical Ideal:  Athens and the Construction of the Other in Greek Art (Leiden, The Netherlands:  Brill, 2000); and François Lissarrague, “The Athenian Image of the Foreigner,” trans. Antonia Nevill, in Greeks and Barbarians, ed. Thomas Harrison (New York: Routledge, 2002), 101–​24. 38 Whether this constitutes racism is a matter of intense debate. Isaac argues that modern-​day racism can be traced back to a “proto-​racism” developed in classical antiquity. Isaac, Invention of Racism. Along similar lines, Lape argues that there existed in classical Athens a birth-​based narrative of citizen identity, which she calls “racial citizenship.” Lape, Race and Citizen Identity. Both Isaac and Lape are responding to the common perception that racism did not exist in the ancient world. For proponents of that viewpoint, see, e.g., Frank M. Snowden Jr., Blacks in Antiquity: Ethiopians in the Greco-​Roman Experience (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1970); Tuplin, “Greek Racism?”; and Frank M. Snowden Jr., “Greeks and Ethiopians,” in Greeks and Barbarians: Essays on the Interactions between Greeks and Non-​Greeks in Antiquity and the Consequences for Eurocentrism, ed. John E. Coleman and Clark A. Walz (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 1997), 103–​26. 39 Cf. Aristotle, Politics 1327b18–​35.

14  Plato’s Caves lives in subjugation, in contrast to the freedom of Greek self-​governance.40 Many Greek writers went so far as to suggest that education and culture, not nature, were the crucial factors. Herodotus, for example, emphasizes the importance of νόμος, or “law/​custom,” in distinguishing one people from another.41 According to Rosalind Thomas, Herodotus’ ethnographic account of the Persian Wars teaches that “in the end it is nomos rather than physis which does most to determine a people’s character.”42 For his part, Thucydides presents the luxuriousness and slavishness of the Persians as exerting a corrupting influence on Greeks. According to Thucydides, the Spartan regent, Pausanias, took to wearing Persian dress and to acting petulantly after King Xerxes agreed to give him his daughter’s hand in marriage in exchange for Pausanias’ assistance in conquering the Greeks (History 1.130). This story suggests that Thucydides recognizes the role of education and culture as primary. The relative importance of nature and nurture in shaping an individual or a people was also central to the teachings of the sophists, traveling teachers of rhetoric. Many sophists argued that convention exerts a powerful influence, constraining individuals from pursuing what is naturally pleasurable to them. In sum, while some traced the division between Greeks and barbarians to natural biological differences, this belief was not unanimously held, and even writers who embraced it tended to acknowledge that social and political institutions played at least a partial role in separating Greeks from non-​Greeks.43 What is clear, however, is that writers often evoked the barbarian stereotype, which suggests its prominence in Greek ways of thinking about foreigners.

40 François Hartog, “The Greeks as Egyptologists,” in Greeks and Barbarians, ed. Thomas Harrison (New  York:  Routledge, 2002), 216. Jonathan Hall argues that the depiction of barbarians was “Athenoconcentric” or an antitype of the virtuous Athenian because “it was undoubtedly Athens that stood to gain the most through the perpetuation of such a negative stereotype.” Hall, Hellenicity, 188–​ 89. Cf. Hall, Inventing the Barbarian, 2, 16. 41 In ­chapter 2, I elaborate on this concept and explain how it relates to the contemporary notion of “culture.” 42 Rosalind Thomas, “Intellectual Milieu of Herodotus,” in The Cambridge Companion to Herodotus, ed. C. J. Dewald and J. Merincola (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 69. 43 Ambiguity in Greek views on the causes of barbarism may have contributed to the growing tendency to question the purported distinction between Greeks and non-​Greeks. As Lynette Mitchell writes, “The division into Greek and barbarian and the parallel popular morality, which distinguished between ‘good’ Greek and ‘bad’ barbarian, was under theoretical pressure. Further, the ‘traditional’ antithesis between Greek and barbarian was not only being questioned, but also the very terms of the polarity were being used to deconstruct the polarity itself and to undermine it.” Mitchell, Panhellenism, 29.

Introduction  15

The Revised Model: Complexity and Diversity in Athenian Perceptions of Foreigners Undeniably, Greeks often expressed prejudicial attitudes toward non-​Greeks. The traditional scholarly narrative of complete antipathy toward non-​Greeks is overly simplistic, however. More recent scholarship has shown that Greek perceptions of and interactions with non-​Greeks were more complex and diverse than the traditional polarity narrative captures. From a logical standpoint, this is unsurprising; few cultures are as monolithic as they may initially seem. This emerging literature provides compelling historical evidence to confirm that different contexts gave rise to different responses to foreigners, and sometimes the same context provoked contradictory responses. Who even counted as a “barbarian” could shift depending on the circumstances. For example, Macedonians were sometimes accepted as part of the Greek world; at other times, they were labeled barbarians.44 As Kostas Vlassopoulos puts it, “Because there was never a single way of being Greek, there never was a single way of defining non-​Greeks, but rather a range of contradictory approaches and attitudes.”45 His study situates encounters between Greeks and non-​Greeks within four parallel yet interconnected “worlds”:  (a) the world of networks, through which people, goods, ideas, and technologies moved across the Mediterranean and beyond; (b) the world of apoikiai, or Greek colonies, in situations ranging from subjugation to peaceful cohabitation or the creation of new hybrid cultures; (c) the Panhellenic world, which linked not only Greek communities but also Greeks and barbarians; and (d) the world of empires, which led to the employment of many Greeks as soldiers, scribes, entertainers, doctors, and more, in non-​Greek empires such as that of the Persians. This framework highlights the multiplicity of cross-​cultural interactions in Greek antiquity. Although negative attitudes toward non-​Greeks constituted a significant part of the story, non-​Greek cultures could also be depicted as utopian societies, revered as possessors of alien wisdom, and honored for their contributions to Greek philosophy and science. Greeks also traded, worked, and collaborated with non-​Greeks. There was thus no singular view of non-​Greeks generally, or even of any specific group of non-​Greeks; rather, there was a range of different perceptions and modes of interaction across a variety of contexts. It is worthwhile to highlight some of the evidence that contradicts the static, one-​dimensional portrait of the Greeks as merely hostile toward non-​Greeks.

44 Mitchell, Panhellenism, 205.

45 Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 36.

16  Plato’s Caves For one, there is evidence of a long tradition of observing foreign cultures out of curiosity about how others live and interest in learning from them. Known as θεωρία (theoria), this practice originally referred to a journey outside the boundaries of one’s city undertaken to observe and report on the great spectacles. Theoria generally took one of three forms: oracular consultation, travel to witness a religious festival, or travel abroad in a private capacity for personal edification. It was a way of learning about other cultures, and using the knowledge to reflect on one’s own culture, as Andrea Nightingale explains: This activity emphasizes “autopsy” or seeing something for oneself:  the theôros is an eyewitness whose experience is radically different from those who stay home and receive a mere report of the news. The activity of theôria also emphasizes an encounter with something foreign and different. This encounter with the unfamiliar invites the traveller to look at the customs and practices of his own city from a new vantage point. The journey abroad may end up confirming the theorist in his own perspectives and prejudices, but it may also function to unsettle him and even to transform his basic worldview.46

According to Nightingale, philosophers in the fourth century bc grounded their conception of philosophy on the practice of theoria. The new intellectual practice they sought to legitimize, which she calls the “spectator theory of knowledge,” or the notion of knowledge as “seeing” truth, required justification because it represented a radical departure from previous conceptions of truth as something that is heard or spoken, not something that is seen. To defend the idea of the philosopher as a spectator, Plato and other philosophers turned to the long-​standing practice of theoria. This appropriation of the term theoria implies that traveling and seeing the sights was not so much connected with teaching foreigners as it was with learning from them. Hence, the practice of theoria offers compelling evidence that Greeks held more positive perceptions of foreigners than the traditional narrative indicates. This appreciation for foreign cultures is reflected directly in ancient Greek literature. Nearly all the plays I have mentioned so far believed to 46 Andrea Wilson Nightingale, “On Wandering and Wondering: ‘Theôria’ in Greek Philosophy and Culture,” Arion 9, no. 2 (2001):  33. According to James Redfield in his study of Herodotus’ Histories, theoria was undertaken so that the traveler could return home “with a new appreciation of the only place where he is not a foreigner”; traveling thus “becomes ethnocentric and serves to reinforce the tourist’s own norms.” James Redfield, “Herodotus the Tourist,” Classical Philology 80, no. 2 (1985): 100. However, Roxanne Euben convincingly argues that Redfield’s account of Herodotus overlooks important aspects both of Herodotus’ own biography and his work, which defy the conclusion that he was ethnocentric. Roxanne L. Euben, Journeys to the Other Shore: Muslim and Western Travelers in Search of Knowledge (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006), 60–​63.

Introduction  17 propagate the negative barbarian archetype have, conversely, also been interpreted as displaying empathy toward non-​ Greeks. Sympathetic portrayals of non-​Greeks are also found in the works of Homer, whom Socrates in Plato’s Republic dubs “the poet who has educated Hellas” (606e). For instance, the Iliad presents the barbaric Trojans in a sympathetic light, particularly the character of the Trojan hero Hector.47 The Iliad’s sequel, the Odyssey, further conveys the value of learning about foreign cultures in its epic tale of the hero Odysseus, the “much-​turned man who has much wandered” and seen the cities of “many men” (Odyssey, 1.1–​3). Greeks even invented their own mythological foreign heroes, such as Rhesos the Thracian and Pylaimenes the Paphlagonian, and gave some of the deities in the Greek pantheon, such as Dionysus, foreign origins. Beyond poetry, it is significant that Plutarch dubbed the historian Herodotus a philobarbaros (barbarian lover) because of his appreciation for the customs of remote lands like Egypt and Persia.48 Furthermore, in the genre of Greek philosophy, it is telling that Xenophon chose as the model of an ideal ruler not a Greek, but rather Cyrus the Great, whose founding of the Persian empire he chronicles in the Cyropaedia. Aristotle, too, cites the constitution of the barbarian city of Carthage as one of three examples of actual constitutions that approached the ideal and were justly held in high regard (Politics 1272b24–​1273b26). In the Nicomachean Ethics, the first example he offers of a virtuous man is the Trojan king Priam (1100b12–​1101a7).49 This shows that the repertoire of stories about non-​Greeks is not as wholly negative as traditional scholarly accounts have represented. Based on such evidence, Erich Gruen’s extensive study concludes that “the expression of collective character in antiquity . . . owes less to insisting on distinctiveness from the alien than to postulating links with, adaptation to, and even incorporation of the alien.”50 At the least, one would be warranted in insisting that these examples of expressed admiration for non-​Greek cultures caution us against taking the negative barbarian stereotype as fully representative of Greek views. 47 See, e.g., James Redfield, Nature and Culture in the “Iliad”:  The Tragedy of Hector (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978). 48 Plutarch, Malice of Herodotus 857a. 49 For further arguments against the common portrayal of Aristotle as xenophobic, see Jill Frank, “Citizens, Slaves, and Foreigners: Aristotle on Human Nature,” American Political Science Review 98, no. 1 (2004):  91–​104; Frank, A Democracy of Distinction:  Aristotle and the Work of Politics (Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 2005), 29–​32; and Mary G. Dietz, “Between Polis and Empire: Aristotle’s Politics,” American Political Science Review 106, no. 2 (2012). 50 Erich S. Gruen, Rethinking the Other in Antiquity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011), 352.

18  Plato’s Caves Beyond the literary realm, substantial evidence attests that many Athenians incorporated foreign ideas, practices, and cultural artifacts into their lives. The prevalence in Athens of Laconophilia—​a love of or admiration for Spartan customs and practices—​is well known. Respect for other cultures extended to non-​Greeks as well. Writing during the early fifth century bc, the Old Oligarch describes Athenians as uniquely cosmopolitan: If there should be mention also of slighter matters, first, by virtue of their naval power, the Athenians have mingled with various peoples and discovered types of luxury. Whatever the delicacy in Sicily, Italy, Cyprus, Egypt, Lydia, Pontus, the Peloponnese, or anywhere else,—​all these have been brought together into one place by virtue of naval power. Further, hearing every kind of dialect, they have taken something from each; the Greeks rather tend to use their own dialect, way of life, and type of dress, but the Athenians use a mixture from all the Greeks and non-​Greeks.51

Egypt, in particular, was revered among Athenians and Greeks as a culture of ancient origin and wisdom.52 Furthermore, numerous Greek cities took pride in having been established by foreign founders.53 There is also evidence that even the greatest enemies of the Greeks, the Persians, received a fair amount of admiration. For example, among the Athenian elite, Persian luxuries such as peacocks and parasols were considered status symbols.54 By attributing major ideas and inventions to non-​Greeks and imitating their customs and styles, Athenians showed they were not universally convinced of the inferiority of non-​Greeks. The prominence of the barbarian archetype in Greek literary sources also does not match well with what we know about the reality of interactions between Greeks and non-​Greeks. For one, Greeks traded extensively with non-​ Greeks. M. L. West provides a succinct account of the many items and ideas

51 Pseudo-​Xenophon (Old Oligarch), Constitution of the Athenians 2.7–​8. Translation from Xenophon, Xenophon in Seven Volumes, vol. 7, trans. E. C. Marchant (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984). 52 See, e.g., Anthony Preus, “Greek Philosophy in Egypt: From Solon to the Arab Conquest,” in Greeks and Barbarians: Essays on the Interactions between Greeks and Non-​Greeks in Antiquity and the Consequences for Eurocentrism, ed. John E. Coleman and Clark A. Walz (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 1997), 155–​74; and Hartog, “Greeks as Egyptologists.” 53 See, esp., Gruen, Rethinking the Other, chap. 9. 54 Margaret C. Miller, Athens and Persians in the Fifth Century BC: A Study in Cultural Receptivity (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1997); and Jack Martin Balcer, “The Greeks and the Persians: The Processes of Acculturation,” Historia 32 (1983): 257–​67.

Introduction  19 that made their way into Greece from the archaic period through the classical period: the cultivation of cereals, of flax, of the olive and the vine; pottery, first hand-​made and later wheel-​made; the working of copper, then bronze, then iron; the protection of property by means of stamped or rolled seals; the art of writing on clay tablets, waxed wooden boards, papyrus, and skins; the walling of towns; the music of harp, lyre, and double oboe—​these are only some of the more important items that spring to mind.55

To this list one might also add that trade with non-​Greeks was a major source of the slaves on which Athens’ economy depended.56 West proceeds to make a compelling case for the influence of western Asia on Greek poetry and myth, tracing, among other influences, that of the Epic of Gilgamesh on the Homeric tales and of Near Eastern succession myths and other stories, such as the Hurro-​Hittite Song of Kumarbi, on Hesiod’s Theogony.57 The Greeks themselves acknowledged that the Greek alphabet was of Phoenician origin, likely acquired not through “mute imitation of a foreign model but personal intercourse and face-​to-​face instruction.”58 Much as in contemporary America there exist negative depictions of Middle Easterners even though countries like Saudi Arabia provide a major portion of the country’s oil supply, in Greek antiquity demeaning portrayals of non-​Greeks coexisted with extensive trade with these “barbaric” populations, of both material goods and ideas. Greek cities were known to form military alliances both with other Greeks and with barbarians when they deemed it advantageous. Thrace, for 55 M. L. West, The East Face of Helicon:  West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 1. 56 On the importance of slave labor in ancient Athens, see Cynthia Patterson, “Other Sorts: Slaves, Foreigners, and Women in Periclean Athens,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Pericles, ed. Loren J. Samons II (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 156–​59. 57 Also see M. L. West, Early Greek Philosophy and the Orient (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971); Walter Burkert, The Orientalizing Revolution: Near Eastern Influence on Greek Culture in the Early Archaic Age, trans. Margaret E. Pinder and Walter Burkert (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992); Burkert, Babylon, Memphis, Persepolis: Eastern Contexts of Greek Culture (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 2004); Sarah P. Morris, Daidalos and the Origins of Greek Art (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992); and Martin Bernal, Black Athena: The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization, vol. 1: The Fabrication of Ancient Greece 1785–​1985 (New Brunswick, NJ:  Rutgers University Press, 1987); vol. 2:  The Archaeological and Documentary Evidence (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1991); and vol. 3: The Linguistic Evidence (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2006). 58 West, East Face of Helicon, 25.

20  Plato’s Caves instance, provided Athens with a ready supply of mercenaries to fight the Spartans during the Peloponnesian War, as well as mercenaries to help defeat the Thirty Tyrants and restore democracy to the city. Ambitious Athenians such as Alcibiades, Thrasybulus, and the historian Thucydides used their personal connections in Thrace to acquire major resources—​natural and military—​to help them gain a foothold in Athenian politics, and then used Thrace as a refuge when they alienated their fellow Athenians. As Matthew Sears concludes from his study of the relationship between Athens and Thrace, “Ties abroad were often an avenue to power in Athens, but they were also used as insurance against a loss of power.”59 Relatedly, there was the institution of ξένια (xenia), commonly translated as “guest-​friendship.” This well-​documented practice of having formalized, individual relationships with people from other cities stretched back to the archaic period, and is seen in the works of Homer. In a relationship of xenia, both guest and host would extend hospitality to one another when visiting the other. Yet guest-​friends were also important sources of wealth and political assistance. Alcibiades, for example, engaged in intrigue by making use of his xenia connections. Xenia relationships were ordinarily formed only with other Greeks, but they were sometimes formed with non-​Greeks as well, including Persians.60 Although these relationships were established by individuals, without government assistance, there also existed an officially sanctioned version of xenia known as προξενία (proxenia). A  proxenos would host individual expatriates and try to promote the interests of the foreign city he represented, though his primary loyalty was to his native city. Much like a modern-​day ambassador, a proxenos would encourage cooperation between the two cities and play a major role in peace talks if war broke out. Proxenia was granted in some cases to non-​Greeks; for example, Straton, king of the Phoenician city Sidon, was honored for helping Athenian ambassadors reach the Persian king.61 In fact, a study of the Athenian epigraphic record indicates that honors such as the

59 Matthew A. Sears, Athens, Thrace, and the Shaping of Athenian Leadership (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 139. 60 For example, see Xenophon, Hellenica 4.1.39, which describes a Persian-​ Spartan guest-​ friendship. For further discussion and examples, see Gabriel Herman, Ritualised Friendship and the Greek City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 12; Cartledge, The Greeks, 62–​63; Lynette G. Mitchell, Greeks Bearing Gifts: The Public Uses of Private Relationships in the Greek World, 435–​323 BC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Hall, Ethnic Identity, 46; and Hall, Hellenicity, 103. Another major resource on guest-​friendship is David Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 61 Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 70, 137. For more on proxenia, see S. C. Todd, The Shape of Athenian Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 324–​26.

Introduction  21 granting of proxenia, conferrals of citizenship, and other commendations were not extended more frequently to Greek foreigners than to non-​Greek foreigners.62 In short, Greeks often thought it advantageous to form positive relationships with non-​Greeks, as well as with each other.

The Inclusion of Foreigners in Athens The traditional model of Athenian hostility toward foreigners also fails to account for the many ways in which xenoi and barbaroi were incorporated into Athenian society and political life. Athens was home to one of the largest immigrant populations in antiquity. In fact, the evidence suggests Athens accepted a larger percentage of immigrants than the contemporary United States. According to the 2010 US Census, 12.9 percent of the US population is “foreign-​born”—​a category that includes “naturalized U.S. citizens, lawful permanent residents (immigrants), temporary migrants (such as foreign students), humanitarian migrants (such as refugees and asylees), and unauthorized migrants.”63 In addition, an estimated twenty million people, or approximately 6  percent of the US population, are second-​generation immigrants, or adult US-​born children of immigrants.64 By comparison, while population figures for antiquity are merely speculative and actual numbers likely fluctuated, scholars generally estimate that as much as half of classical Athens’s free population consisted of μέτοικοι (metics), or resident aliens.65 Of course, unlike in the contemporary United States, metics

62 Katarzyna Hagemajer Allen, “Intercultural Exchanges in Fourth-​ Century Attic Decrees,” Classical Antiquity 22, no. 2 (2003): 199–​250. 63 United States Census Bureau, “Census of Population, 1850 to 2000,” https://​www.census.gov/​ newsroom/​pdf/​cspan_​fb_​slides.pdf. 64 Pew Research Center, “Second-​Generation Americans:  A Portrait of the Adult Children of Immigrants,” February 7, 2013, http://​www.pewsocialtrends.org/​files/​2013/​02/​FINAL_​immigrant_​ generations_​report_​2-​7-​13.pdf. 65 R. P. Duncan-​Jones, “Metic Numbers in Periclean Athens,” Chiron 10 (1980): 101–​9; Balbina Bäbler, “Metics,” in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greece, ed. Nigel Guy Wilson (New York: Routledge, 2006), 470; Sarah Bolmarcich, “Metic,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Greece and Rome, vol. 1, ed. Michael Gagarin (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 414; and Ben Akrigg, “Metics in Athens,” in Communities and Networks in the Ancient Greek World, ed. Claire Taylor and Kostas Vlassopoulos (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 158. At the lower end of the estimates of the number of metics in Athens, one scholar argues that metics constituted less than one-​sixth of the population. This would still be a sizeable percentage of the free population, relatively comparable to the number of first-​and second-​generation immigrants in the contemporary United States. Hans Van Wees, “Demetrius and Draco: Athens’ Property Classes and Population in and before 317 BC,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 131 (2011): 95–​114.

22  Plato’s Caves could become citizens only in rare cases.66 Nonetheless, these numbers show what a relatively significant presence metics had in Athens. Moreover, though some metics came to Athens from other Greek cities, non-​Greeks figured prominently in the metic population.67 At the height of its empire, Athens was the land of economic opportunity, attracting immigrants from as far away as Egypt, Thrace, Lydia, Phrygia, Syria, and Pontus.68 It is also possible that freed slaves made up a significant portion of the metic population, which would help to explain why so many metics were non-​Greek, for the vast majority of slaves were of non-​Greek origin.69 Plus, the population of actual slaves in Athens likely equaled, if not outnumbered, the population of adult male citizens, which meant that the typical Athenian would have been regularly exposed to non-​Greeks through the institution of slavery.70 Athens was thus a bustling, diverse city and home to a wide range of peoples, both those culturally similar to Athenians and those referred to as “barbarians.” Traditionally, scholars have emphasized the separate and marginalized status of metics and of slaves, but more recent studies have shown that these “excluded” groups were much more integrated into the life of the polis than has previously been thought. This is true, first, in a literal sense. Athens’s port city, the Piraeus, was home to the largest concentration of metics, but archaeological evidence indicates that metics lived in demes, or subdivisions, throughout Attica.71 Furthermore, just as many large American and European cities have areas known as “Chinatown” or “Little Italy,” there were sections of ancient Athens where certain ethnic groups were known to gather, even if they lived elsewhere.72 These gatherings were frequented not only by 66 Conferrals of citizenship were rare and usually only honorary, extended to individuals with no intention of living in Athens. Todd, Shape of Athenian Law, 175. 67 Robert Garland, Daily Life of the Ancient Greeks, 2nd ed. (Westport, CT:  Greenwood Press, 2009), 117. 68 Sara M. Wijma, Embracing the Immigrant: The Participation of Metics in Athenian Polis Religion (5th–​4th Century BC) (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2014), 27. 69 On freed slaves potentially accounting for a significant portion of the population of metics in Athens, see Akrigg, “Metics in Athens,” 155–​73. On slaves as generally of non-​Greek origin, see Vincent J. Rosivach, “Enslaving ‘Barbaroi’ and the Athenian Ideology of Slavery,” Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 48, no. 2 (1999):  129–​57; Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 88; and Peter Hunt, “Trojan Slaves in Classical Athens: Ethnic Identity among Athenian Slaves,” in Communities and Networks in the Ancient Greek World, ed. Claire Taylor and Kostas Vlassopoulos (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 129. 70 Patterson, “Other Sorts,” 156. 71 David Whitehead, The Demes of Attica 508/​7–​ca. 250 B.C. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986), 81–​85. 72 There is evidence, for instance, that the Plataeans were associated with a fresh cheese market, where they gathered once a month. Though these refugees had been granted citizenship, they were still largely regarded as foreigners. See Lysias Against Pancleon, 23.6. One scholar suggests there was

Introduction  23 metics, but also by slaves, for slaves often practiced the same professions as free members of Athenian society and therefore were necessarily accorded substantial freedom of movement and initiative. Unlike the experience of slaves transported from the African continent to America, slaves in ancient Athens thus found themselves in a cosmopolitan environment in which they could interact with communities of people from their native land.73 Second, both slaves and metics took on highly visible roles in the city. Maids and nurses were characteristically Thracian, for example.74 Some metics were even immensely wealthy, making them the economic equals or superiors of Athenian citizens and giving them major social influence.75 Whatever negative rhetoric existed, Athenians accepted foreigners into their city and into their homes, turning Athens into a vibrant, cosmopolitan center. While it is true that Athenians rarely granted citizenship to foreigners and that most metics did not have the privileges granted to citizens, such as the right to own property, foreigners were not completely cast out from the official activities of Athenian political life.76 Rather, metics were often incorporated into important religious rites, such as the Panathenaic procession. These rites served the dual political function of, on the one hand, differentiating all members of the community, including metics, from those outside the sphere of the polis, and, at the same time, marking different levels of membership within the polis.77 Beginning around 429/​28 bc with the official establishment of the cult of the Thracian goddess Bendis, many metics were also granted the right to practice their native religions and to own group property on which to build temples. Evidence exists for approximately fifteen foreign cults in Athens, including those worshipping Egyptian, Carian,

likely also a district that Thracian immigrants frequented. See David F. Middleton, “Thrasyboulos’ Thracian Support,” Classical Quarterly 32, no. 2 (1982): 298–​303. 73 On the mobility of slaves in ancient Athens and their ability to form long-​standing social relationships with other members of the polis, see Claire Taylor, “Social Networks and Social Mobility in Fourth-​Century Athens,” in Communities and Networks in the Ancient Greek World, ed. Claire Taylor and Kostas Vlassopoulos (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015): 35–​53; and Hunt, “Trojan Slaves,” 128–​54. 74 Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 124–​25. 75 As David Whitehead attests, “ ‘horizontal’ criteria were potent, and Plato had more in common with Cephalus than with many a citizen banausos [manual laborer or artisan].” David Whitehead, The Ideology of the Athenian Metic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Library, 1977), 19. 76 The right to own property was sometimes granted to major foreign traders or others who had performed exceptional services. Denise Demetriou, Negotiating Identity in the Mediterranean: The Archaic and Classical Greek Multiethnic Emporia (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 228. 77 Wijma, Embracing the Immigrant.

24  Plato’s Caves Phrygian, Syrian, and Phoenician gods and goddesses.78 Both the incorporation of foreigners into Athenian religious festivals and the admission of foreign cults into Athens suggest Athenians were not fully invested in distancing themselves from and alienating foreigners, as the existence of the barbarian archetype implies. Most important, however, are what Vlassopoulos describes as “free spaces,” places that “brought together citizens, metics, slaves, and women,” such as “the agora, the workplace, the tavern, the house, the trireme, and the cemetery.”79 These common spaces provided foreigners with an informal means of participating in Athenian political life. As Robert Sobak explains, “The fact that metics, slaves, and women, for example, had no formal political agency did not render them superfluous to the epistemic functioning of the city. The economic functions of the polis meant that day-​to-​day behavior entailed mingling, and with such mingling came direct conversation, indirect exchange, offhand comments, and opportune overhearings.”80 By mingling with citizens in the agora or the barbershop, foreigners could convey information and offer viewpoints that might influence the opinions and behaviors of Athenian citizens, giving foreigners an indirect voice in Athenian politics. The possibility of political participation must also be considered in light of the fact that it could be difficult to distinguish metics and slaves from citizens. Those of non-​Greek origin could in some cases speak Greek fluently enough to be taken as Greek, and Athenians were well aware that sometimes metics managed to pass themselves off as citizens and, as such, register in a deme.81 The Athenians instituted various mechanisms to police citizenship precisely because, “while they considered certain performances to be signs of citizenship, they were cognizant that performances could be faked.”82 Plato’s Socrates himself notes the confusion of citizen and metic in democracies in Book 8 of the Republic. The difficulty of distinguishing Athenians from foreigners was no doubt partly the reason for increased questioning of the Greek–​barbarian division in the fifth century bc. Because it was not always clear who was a foreigner, citizens could unknowingly find themselves 78 Bäbler, “Metics,” 470. Also see Walter Burkert, Greek Religion: Archaic and Classical, trans. John Raffan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1985), 176–​79. 79 Kostas Vlassopoulos, “Free Spaces: Identity, Experience and Democracy in Classical Athens,” Classical Quarterly 57, no. 1 (2007): 38. 80 Robert Sobak, “Sokrates among the Shoemakers,” Hesperia 84 (2015): 695–​96. 81 Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 141; and Lape, Racial Citizenship, 58. 82 Lape, Racial Citizenship, 187.

Introduction  25 receiving political information and advice from a non-​Greek. While some Athenians certainly found this possibility disconcerting, the point is that there were myriad ways for non-​Greeks to influence Athenian political life, including by passing as citizens and sharing their viewpoints in daily conversations, or even by participating “illicitly” in official citizen acts. In sum, Athenian interaction with both other Greeks and non-​Greeks had reached such a peak by the classical period that it gave rise simultaneously to reassertions of nativism and to critical reflections on the Manichean worldview that the concept of the Greek–​barbarian division propagated. To leave out either part of the story is to tell a mere half-​truth. While the preceding pages have, admittedly, offered a whirlwind tour through the primary and secondary sources on Athenian and Greek perceptions of foreigners, I hope I  have shown that it is far from absurd to propose that Plato appreciated cultural diversity. At least on historical grounds, it is not an unreasonable claim because judgments of foreigners were arguably more mixed than the traditional polarity narrative captures. Simply put, Greek attitudes toward non-​Greeks were a complicated mixture of roughly equal parts disdain, admiration, and ambivalence. This makes it possible that Plato was a friend of cultural diversity.

The Dramatic Context of Plato’s Dialogues It is time now to turn to a second major objection to the central argument of this book—​the objection that Plato’s own words defy the conclusion that he values cultural diversity. In this vein, one might ask, what about passages like the one from Menexenus quoted at the beginning of the chapter? One finds scattered among the dialogues myriad passages resembling the one from Menexenus, in which foreigners—​both non-​Athenian Greeks and non-​ Greeks—​are denigrated as inferior, less-​virtuous beings whose membership in the polis or political community should be heavily restricted. One could cite, for example, Socrates’ description, in Book 8 of the Republic, of democracy as a “multicolored” regime so tolerant of diverse ways of life that it authorizes even the most heinous injustices, paving the way for the rise of a tyrant. Likewise, in the Laws the Athenian Stranger advocates founding a city far from the sea and regulating foreign visits because of the danger foreigners pose to traditional values (705a, 950a). Is Plato’s antipathy toward foreigners not clear enough from such passages?

26  Plato’s Caves My inclusion of the passage from Theaetetus, the second quotation at the beginning of the chapter, exemplifies why Plato’s stance on cultural diversity is not as straightforward as it may seem. The passage, which questions the binary division of the world into Greeks and barbarians, is not an isolated instance in the dialogues of the questioning of hostile attitudes toward foreigners. Some passages go so far as to suggest the equality or even superiority of foreigners. Consider Socrates’ claim in the Republic that the rise of a philosopher-​king could be about to happen “in some barbaric place (τινι βαρβαρικῷ τόπῳ),” implying that non-​Greeks may be ahead of Greeks in instituting the ideal regime (499c–​d). In the Phaedo, Socrates refers to the possibility of non-​Greek philosophers when an interlocutor asks him where Socrates’ friends will find a singer of philosophical things when Socrates is dead, to which he replies, “Hellas is large . . . and in it there are doubtless good men, and many barbarian races. Among them all (οὓς πάντας) it is necessary to seek for and examine such a singer, sparing neither money nor toil” (78a, emphasis added). The dialogues are replete with criticisms of the Athenian way of life and recommendations of non-​Athenian, and even non-​Greek, practices. In sum, for every passage that betrays xenophobic attitudes, one can counter by pointing to an opposing passage. How, then, can we understand Plato’s views on cultural diversity when his dialogues sometimes disparage foreigners and sometimes praise them? One could look to Plato’s biography for clues. On the one hand, it is true that Plato owned slaves83 and that nothing in his personal letters indicates any questioning of the Greek–​barbarian distinction.84 Yet there is also evidence 83 In his will, Plato mentions five household servants, four of whom he leaves to his heir and one of whom he enfranchises. Debra Nails, The People of Plato: A Prosopography of Plato and Other Socratics (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2002), 249. 84 Plato’s letters are of doubtful authenticity. Nonetheless, it must be recognized that in the letters sometimes ascribed to him, Plato does use the language “Greeks” and “barbarians.” His use is mostly descriptive, in keeping with the custom of his time, except for in the Seventh Letter, where he mentions that if Dionysius follows his recommended course of action, he will become dominant over the barbarians and double his father’s empire (332e). He makes this statement, however, just after the author has admitted that to help Dionysius discover his own deficiencies in virtue, he had to present his admonition “in veiled terms.” Moreover, his argument to Dionysius resembles Socrates’ argument to Alcibiades in Alcibiades I. Like the letter’s author, Socrates promises Alcibiades that with his help he will be able to rule the world. Yet all Socrates helps him do is to recognize his ignorance and thus the foolishness of trying to go to war when he does not know whom to war against or how or when. Plato’s purported arguments to Dionysius could arguably be of the same nature. Finally, as Ruby Blondell points out, “even when an author speaks in her ‘own’ voice, questions of persona, voice and genre still arise. Plato’s Seventh Letter, around which the discussion usually hinges, is not an intimate personal confession but a polished, highly polemical piece, intended for public distribution, with its own authorial persona and rhetorical agenda.” Ruby Blondell, The Play of Character in Plato’s Dialogues (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 38.

Introduction  27 that Plato spent a number of years traveling in search of knowledge—​that is, engaging in theoria. Ancient sources report that after Socrates was executed, Plato escaped with other followers of Socrates to Megara before embarking on an approximately twelve-​year voyage to Cyrene, Egypt, Italy, Sicily, and perhaps even farther east.85 He apparently also wanted to travel to Persia, but was prevented from doing so because of the worsening political situation there. Later in life, he returned to the Syracusean court in Sicily twice at the invitation of his guest-​friend Dion, who urged Plato to transform the new ruler—​his nephew Dionysius the Younger—​into a philosopher-​ king. Although Plato’s travels cannot be confirmed (except perhaps those to Italy and Sicily, if one accepts the authenticity of Plato’s letters), the extensive knowledge of non-​Greek practices that Plato displays in the dialogues suggests that there is some truth to these stories. Moreover, Plato’s receptiveness to foreigners is shown through the fact that his Academy allowed both Athenians and foreigners to become members. Indeed, Plato’s most famous student, Aristotle, was a metic. Writing of Aristotle’s experience of foreignness, Mary Dietz notes, “In Athens among Athenians, he is viewed as Macedonian and hence classified as a foreigner (xenos), if not (because of his lineage) a barbarian (barbaros).”86 If the Apology suffices as evidence, Plato’s engagement at the Academy with foreigners, Greek and non-​Greek, followed his mentor Socrates’ habit of questioning anyone he happened to meet, “both foreigner and citizen” (30a). And if the Phaedo’s account of Socrates conversing on his deathbed with Athenians and foreigners alike is to be believed, Plato may have also followed Socrates in this regard. Various ancient biographers claim that on his deathbed Plato received Persian magoi who attempted to cure him with music.87 Whether true or not, the existence of the story nonetheless suggests that “those associates of Plato who inherited the Academy considered the thought of practitioners of wisdom from the east, especially Zoroastrian magoi, to reflect something of the ‘truth’ of Plato’s 85 For an account of Plato’s travels (and the problems with relying on the anecdotal record for information about Plato’s life), see Alice Swift Riginos, Platonica: The Anecdotes concerning the Life and Writings of Plato, Columbia Studies in the Classical Tradition 3 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1976), chaps. 6 and 7. 86 Dietz, “Between Polis and Empire,” 278. 87 Voegelin offers an alternative account:  “Plato died at the age of eighty-​one. On the evening of his death he had a Thracian girl play the flute to him. The girl could not find the beat of the nomos. With a movement of his finger, Plato indicated to her the Measure.” Eric Voegelin, Order and History, vol. 3: Plato and Aristotle, in The Collected Works of Eric Voegelin, vol. 16, ed. Dante Germino (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2000), 322. For an analysis of this passage, see James V. Schall, “On the Deaths of Plato and Eric Voegelin,” VoegelinView, August 29, 2018, https://​ voegelinview.com/​on-​the-​deaths-​of-​plato-​and-​eric-​voegelin/​.

28  Plato’s Caves thought.”88 Although such biographical details cannot be taken at face value, the portrait ancient biographers paint of Plato provides significant reason to believe that the passages that are favorable toward foreigners are more representative of Plato’s true views. There is something unsatisfying, however, about relying on accounts of an author’s life instead of focusing on what he wrote. This returns us to the difficulty of interpreting Plato’s dialogues. As with many other topics, it would be easy to fall into the trap of finding in Plato what one wants to find and ignoring what one does not want to see. Even an interpreter committed to avoiding cherry-​picking which passages or dialogues to include while ignoring ones that challenge her thesis would find herself at a loss. The matter is not simply resolved by determining whether there are more positive or more negative representations of foreigners in the dialogues, as if weighing the evidence on a two-​sided scale. After all, it is difficult to know how to classify any given statement pertaining to foreigners. No statement takes place in a vacuum, but in a broader dramatic context imbued with significance. A  more discerning art of measurement is therefore required, one that considers the dramatic context in which representations of foreigners occur. I am not the first to argue for the absolute necessity of reading Plato’s dialogues as dialogues, not treatises.89 Unlike with a treatise, Plato does not speak in his own voice in the dialogues. Similar to a playwright, he uses characters, settings, and dramatic actions to convey his ideas.90 His writings are therefore not straightforward articulations of his philosophical beliefs, but rather creative or poetic works. This is why scholars of Socratic philosophy are often careful to distinguish the historical Socrates from the character Socrates in the dialogues. In some cases, Plato even depicts a character narrating a conversation to someone else and taking on the voices of the characters in the conversation being narrated, placing his own voice at a third remove. Hence, that Plato’s characters may make derogatory remarks about foreigners does not imply that Platonic thought is xenophobic. As Leo Strauss puts it, “If someone quotes a passage from the dialogues in order to prove that Plato held such and such a view, he acts 88 Phillip Sidney Horky, “Persian Cosmos and Greek Philosophy:  Plato’s Associates and the Zoroastrian Magoi,” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 37 (2009): 98. 89 The literary method of interpreting Plato’s dialogues is well defended and widely used. See, e.g., Leo Strauss, City and Man (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978); Kenneth M. Sayre, Plato’s Literary Garden: How to Read a Platonic Dialogue (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995); Charles H. Kahn, Plato and the Socratic Dialogue: The Philosophical Use of a Literary Form (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1996); Blondell, Play of Character; Christopher Rowe, Plato and the Art of Philosophical Writing (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2007); and Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers. 90 On the distinction between a Platonic dialogue and a play, see Frank, Poetic Justice, prologue.

Introduction  29 about as reasonably as if he were to assert that according to Shakespeare life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”91 This does not mean that nothing Socrates, for instance, says reflects Plato’s true views; after all, if Plato’s letters are authentic, then his dialogues present the sayings of a Socrates who has “become beautiful and new,” implying that Socrates figures as the hero of the dialogues (Ep. II 314b7–​c4). Nonetheless, we should not assume the character Socrates serves as Plato’s mouthpiece.92 Even if we assume that Socrates is Plato’s mouthpiece, the character Socrates’ views are not necessarily clear. For instance, Socrates speaks the lines in both passages quoted at the beginning of the chapter, yet these passages contradict one another. One can cite several examples of such contradictions, both across the dialogues and within a single dialogue. Which views are Socrates’ own? And what do we make of the fact that Socrates sometimes seems to make bad arguments deliberately or to speak ironically, that he often attributes his arguments to his interlocutors, and that a common theme across the dialogues is that one needs to adapt one’s speech to the needs of one’s interlocutors? Plucking any line of a Platonic dialogue out of its larger context is like using a sound bite to represent a complex argument: it can be misleading or inaccurate. Hence, the objection that one can find various xenophobic statements in Plato’s dialogues, though superficially strong, crumbles when we remember that Plato wrote dialogues, not treatises. To achieve a more robust understanding of Plato’s political thought as it relates to the treatment of foreigners, it is therefore necessary to employ a more sophisticated method of analysis, one that takes the dramatic context into account.

Methodology and Dialogue Selection To uncover Plato’s thoughts on cultural diversity, we must treat his dialogues as works of literature, subject to literary analysis. This necessitates reading the dialogue as a whole. By this I mean that no Platonic dialogue can be understood unless the interpreter has read it from beginning to end and is thus able to reflect on the relation of part to whole. At the same time, it entails paying attention to dramatic details such as the setting, characterization, narrative frame, structure, and action. Plato took care in crafting his dialogues. In fact, it is from Plato’s Phaedrus that we derive the idea of “logographic necessity,” a principle of 91 Strauss, City and Man, 50. 92 For extended discussion, see Gerald A. Press, ed., Who Speaks for Plato? Studies in Platonic Anonymity (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000).

30  Plato’s Caves composition according to which every part of a text has a function in communicating the meaning of the whole.93 When we read a Platonic dialogue, details that initially seem trivial later reveal themselves to be significant, and what often seems contradictory appears, on further reflection and in view of the whole, to be consistent. Insofar as it is possible, then, no detail should be overlooked, be it the setting in which a dialogue takes place, the meaning of a character’s name, or the simple act of a character blushing. The arguments are important, of course, but they must be understood in relation to the dialogue’s dramatic content. Although my method involves textual exegesis based on the techniques of literary analysis, in my view no literary interpretation of Plato’s dialogues can afford to ignore the historical context in which they were written. After all, if undistorted translations are a necessity for the close textual reader, one must grasp—​as best one can—​what certain words in Plato’s dialogues would likely have signified to Plato and his contemporaries.94 I have therefore examined every passage cited in this book in the original Greek, and in the translated passages have included the Greek for the reader’s reference wherever relevant to my argument, as well as philological information on significant words. I also consulted the scholarship on Greek history to help uncover the significance of various dramatic details. For instance, information on what a certain site meant to most ancient Greeks can help elucidate why Plato chose it as the setting for a dialogue. The same applies with his choice of characters. Since Plato often models his characters on real people, consulting historical research on those people can supplement our understanding of the dialogues. In a broader way, familiarity with the events and daily experiences of the ancient Greek world—​particularly in Plato’s time—​is indispensable to grasping Plato’s meaning. Of course, I do not presume to be able to enter completely into the mindset of Plato and his contemporaries. In the words of Hans-​Georg Gadamer, “If we put ourselves in someone else’s shoes, for example, then we will understand him—​that is, become aware of the otherness, the indissoluble individuality of the other person—​by putting ourselves in his position.”95 In other words, even when one strives to be 93 Socrates introduces the idea of logographic necessity at Phaedrus 264b. It was Strauss who first made a compelling case for interpreting Plato’s dialogues according to the principle of logographic necessity. See Strauss, City and Man. 94 The word ποίησις (poesis) serves as a prime example. When translated as “poetry,” poesis signifies to most modern readers a relatively unpopular form of literature incorporating rhythm and meter. The word “poetry” had a much more expansive definition for the ancient Greeks, encompassing oral storytelling, music, and dance, and the centrality of poetry to ancient Greek culture cannot be overemphasized. To transpose our own understanding of poetry onto an ancient Greek text would thus result in misunderstandings. 95 Hans-​Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, trans. J. Weinsheimer and D. G. Marshall, 2nd ed. (New York: Continuum, 1994), 305.

Introduction  31 objective or to get into the head of another, one can never fully escape oneself; both writer and reader always bring their own horizons to the conversation. Ultimately, though, an awareness of the historical environs in which Plato wrote can help to bridge the gap and make a literary interpretation of his dialogues more fruitful. Yet how do we know that Plato has a consistent view to convey? Plato is often read as a Platonist—​that is, as possessing a systematic philosophy. But in recent decades numerous scholars have demonstrated that his dialogues often undermine the dogmatic views that are presented on the surface. Strauss and his students, for instance, have shown how clues in the dialogues can help the careful reader uncover messages that subvert the dialogues’ superficial teachings.96 Others read Plato as even less dogmatic. Ruby Blondell has argued that the dialogue form reproduces the Socratic pedagogical practice of inducing aporia in the reader by leaving all ideas open to discussion, thus “allowing Plato himself to escape the charge of dogmatism.”97 Similarly, Diskin Clay contends that by refusing to speak in his own voice, leaving questions “flapping in listless suspense,” and filling his dialogues with obviously flawed arguments and slow-​witted interlocutors, Plato incites readers to philosophize.98 More recently, Frank has argued that by glutting the dialogues with myriad argumentative failures, inconsistencies, and deceptions made plainly visible to readers, Plato prompts readers to judge for themselves.99 These deliberate attempts to obscure the author’s own views accord with the critiques of lecture-​style education offered throughout Plato’s corpus. Rather than promote the passive reception of information by writing treatises, Plato wrote dialogues to encourage active engagement on the part of readers. This is more in line with the nature of Platonic philosophy, which, as J. Peter Euben argues, entails eternal questioning and a deeper sense of confusion than of clarification.100 By composing dialogues rather than treatises, it seems that Plato wishes to avoid dogmatism and stimulate readers to engage in independent thought. 96 To be sure, Strauss’s interpretation tends to give the impression that underneath the exoteric surface of the dialogue, one can find Plato’s esoteric teaching—​a perfected doctrine of thought meant only for the few. There are indications, however, that Strauss himself did not see philosophy as compatible with dogmatism. See, e.g., Leo Strauss, On Tyranny, rev. ed., ed. Victor Gourevitch and Michael S. Roth (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 196. 97 Blondell, Play of Character, 42. 98 Diskin Clay, Platonic Questions:  Dialogues with the Silent Philosopher (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000), 90–​91. 99 Frank, Poetic Justice. 100 J. Peter Euben, The Tragedy of Political Theory: The Road Not Taken (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990).

32  Plato’s Caves If Plato’s use of the dialogue makes it impossible to locate a clear set of doctrines in his corpus, it does not mean, however, that the dialogues never elevate some ideas over others. Indeed, when scholars support the idea that Plato’s dialogues are designed to be aporetic by drawing on the theory of education presented in the Republic, they are supposing that Plato found this theory compelling. The dialogues thus at least seem to convey support for one form of education over another, as gathered through the confluence of his characters’ ideas about education and Plato’s decision to write dialogues. In a similar way, other views emerge from the corpus. One of these, arguably, is the notion that if through repeated tests an idea is demonstrated to be true, then we can assert it positively even while holding out the possibility that it may later be disproven.101 This is akin to a mathematical theorem: a statement that has been demonstrated to be true using rigorous mathematical and logical reasoning. Theorems are built on axioms, or self-​evident truths that are exempted from the necessity of independent proof. A theorem may be so widely accepted that it is effectively taken as axiomatic and used as the building block for another theorem. However, a theorem is ultimately only an assumption and can be challenged at any time. This is the nature of the truths to be found throughout Plato’s dialogues. That is, there are certain ideas that Plato elevates above others, the truth of which he wishes to persuade readers.102 These truths should not be confused with doctrines, however. They are not beliefs to be uncritically adopted, but rather views that the reader should examine for him-​or herself; the dialogue form helps to discourage passive acceptance of any Platonic theorems. I will, then, read each Platonic dialogue within its dramatic context, supplemented by historical knowledge and attentiveness to common themes across the Platonic corpus. The demanding nature of close exegesis makes it difficult to include every Platonic dialogue in this book (not to mention that it would make for an exceptionally long book). Some difficult choices had to be made, and these resulted in the selection of four dialogues: the Menexenus, the 101 See, e.g., Phaedo 100b–​102a, where Socrates explains that a philosopher will cleave fast to the principles that seem higher to him, and will not let those who attack those principles mix him up with specious arguments, but will rather perform a sufficient examination of the ideas before giving up their defense. Similarly, in the Crito, at 46b–​d, Socrates asserts that one must live by principles found to be true through repeated examination, and only abandon them when a better argument overthrows them. For further discussion, see Susan Bickford, “Enduring Uncertainty: Political Courage in Plato” (paper presented at the American Political Science Association Annual Meeting, September 4, 2016), 22. 102 I  am not persuaded, then, by the developmentalist argument that the dialogues can be ordered chronologically and grouped into “early,” “middle,” and “late” periods, with the early dialogues presenting a more historically accurate portrayal of Socrates and the middle and late works showcasing the evolving philosophy of Plato himself. It has been said that Zuckert administered the coup de grâce to the developmentalist position in Plato’s Philosophers. For this assessment of Zuckert’s work, see Dustin A. Gish, “Platonic Dialogues, Socratic Inquiries: A Symposium on Plato’s Philosophers,” Perspectives on Political Science 40, no. 4 (2011): 181.

Introduction  33 Laws, the Republic, and the Phaedrus. To be sure, I recognize that covering even four dialogues in a single book is itself a feat of epic proportions. I expect, therefore, that some of the details of my interpretive moves will meet with resistance. Yet to establish the existence of a pattern of valuing cultural diversity within Plato’s thought, a multiple-​dialogue study is needed. In selecting these four dialogues, my aim, as with my approach to analyzing each individual dialogue, was to be as intellectually honest as possible—​that is, to choose texts that are the most representative of the presentation of foreigners across the dialogues, at the same time being sure to include the most difficult cases for my thesis. The first step in my selection process therefore involved carefully reading all thirty-​ five dialogues. As I did so, I methodically noted anything of direct relevance to the topic of cultural diversity, including the following: foreign characters and settings; uses of words like ξένος (xenos) and βάρβαρος (barbaros); mentions of specific foreign individuals, peoples, or places; discussions of war with foreigners; and references to foreign gods or myths. This gave me a qualitative picture of the presence of foreigners in Plato’s dialogues. To have a second gauge of the presence of foreigners in the dialogues, and to double-​check my data collection, I used the “text search” and “statistics” functions on the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG), a digital collection of ancient Greek texts, to track the occurrence of words related to foreigners. Specifically, I consulted the TLG’s complete list of lemmata (sg., lemma)—​the canonical form of a set of words, so that by looking up the lemma βάρβαρος I obtained results for all possible declensions of that word—​for the entire Platonic corpus. Using the TLG’s list of the full range of vocabulary found in Plato’s writings, I compiled a list of lemmata related to the topic of foreigners and used the text-​search function to determine the number of times each lemma appeared in each dialogue. For the sake of analyzing and presenting the data, I grouped common lemmata together (e.g., I added together the total number of times per dialogue that the words βάρβαρος, the noun meaning “barbarian,” and βαρβαρόω, the verb meaning “to make barbarous,” and similar variants, appeared in each dialogue). This yielded six categories represented by six major lemmata: βάρβαρος, “barbarian” (Table  1.1); ξένος, “foreigner/​guest-​friend” (Table  1.2); μέτοικος, “metic/​resident alien” (Table 1.3); πόλεμος, “war” (Table 1.4); ἄποικος, “colony” (Table 1.5); and ἔκδημος, “abroad” (Table 1.6). For each, I calculated the frequency of these terms relative to the total word count of each dialogue, so that the results are not skewed toward longer dialogues, where the terms may naturally arise more often. Finally, I calculated the relative frequency of all the terms combined (Table 1.7). This allowed me to obtain a quantitative picture of the presence of foreigners and topics related to foreigners in the dialogues.

34  Plato’s Caves Three major observations emerged when I  analyzed the results of this quantitative linguistic analysis. First, the quantitative analysis confirmed what I was observing qualitatively: the significance of the topic of cultural diversity in Plato’s thought. For instance, out of 13,122 lemmata in the Platonic corpus, the lemma βάρβαρος ranks number 583 with 90 total counts, placing it in the 95th percentile of most frequent lemmata in Plato’s dialogues. As a point of comparison, the lemma θυμός (spirit) ranks 621 with 84 total counts, which also places it in the 95th percentile. None would deny the importance of thumos in Plato’s thought, and according to this analysis, the role of βάρβαρος is equally significant. More impressively, the lemma ξένος ranks 156 with 326 total counts, placing it just shy of the 99th percentile. This means that the lemma ξένος appears roughly as frequently as the lemma δίκη (justice), which ranks 133 with 376 total counts. Again, who would deny the importance of the topic of justice in Plato’s thought? Admittedly, conclusions based on the frequency of a single lemma are not as robust as one would like; nonetheless, considering that the quantitative analysis does not take into account instances in which specific foreign individuals, peoples, or places are mentioned, it seems reasonable to assume that the topic of cultural diversity figures significantly enough in Plato’s work to warrant deeper examination. Second, it became clearer from the quantitative linguistic analysis that two generally understudied dialogues needed to be included in this book:  the Menexenus and the Laws. As can be seen in Table 1.1, the Menexenus contains not only the highest absolute count but also the highest relative frequency of βάρβαρος-​related terms and the highest relative frequency of πόλεμος-​ related terms (Table 1.4). It also nearly tops the charts for μέτοικος-​and ἄποικος-​related terms (Tables 1.3 and 1.5), and contains the highest relative frequency when all six categories of lemmata are combined (Table 1.7). Given that the Menexenus also includes a titular character whose name contains the word ξένος, features a speech attributed to a foreign woman, and mentions a variety of Greek and non-​Greek peoples in its extensive account of Athens’s history of foreign relations, it was important to include it. Moreover, some of the most vitriolic statements against foreigners are made in the Menexenus; it thus helps to satisfy my requirement of facing the strongest evidence against my thesis. Hence, though the Menexenus is an obscure dialogue, even from the viewpoint of many Plato scholars, it is essential for the present study.103 103 Interest in the Menexenus has increased in recent years. For evidence of this and further discussion, see Harold Parker and Jan Maximilian Robitzsch, eds., Speeches for the Dead: Essays on Plato’s Menexenus, Beiträge Zur Altertumskunde 368 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2018).

Introduction  35 The Laws, too, emerged as an obvious choice after all the data were reviewed. The only dialogue that rivals the Republic in length, the Laws has often been ignored because of its tedious prose and more practical focus than other Platonic dialogues. Nonetheless, analyses of this dialogue have multiplied over the past few years, and so its inclusion in this book will perhaps not seem strange. Certainly, from the standpoint of studying the presentation of foreigners in Plato’s dialogues, it makes sense to include the Laws. After all, it contains both the highest absolute count and highest relative frequency of ξένος-​related terms (Table 1.2); is near the top of the chart for μέτοικος-​, πόλεμος-​, ἄποικος-​, and ἔκδημος-​related terms (Tables 1.3, 1.4, 1.5 and 1.6); and holds second place when all six categories are combined (Table 1.7). Additionally, the Laws is one of but two dialogues set outside Attica—​the other being its sequel, Epinomis, a dialogue of questionable authenticity. The Laws is, moreover, mostly concerned with the founding of a colony using laws drawn even from foreign lands and specifically addresses what the colony’s policies on travel abroad and the reception of foreign visitors should be. Furthermore, the Laws is the only dialogue featuring two Dorian characters—​a Spartan and a Cretan. The extensive number and variety of Greek and non-​Greek individuals, peoples, places, gods, and myths mentioned in their conversation also makes this dialogue significant. To overlook the Laws would therefore be to miss a major opportunity to study the presentation of foreigners. The third major observation that arose from examining the results of the quantitative linguistic analysis is that this type of analysis has limitations, however. Any multidialogue study that did not include Plato’s major work, the Republic, would naturally be suspect—​especially since this dialogue serves as a primary basis for the countervailing argument. Yet, though the Republic figures in the top quarter of dialogues containing μέτοικος-​, πόλεμος-​, ἄποικος-​, and ἔκδημος-​related terms (Tables 1.3, 1.4, 1.5 and 1.6), it does not hold the top three places for any of the search terms and ranks surprisingly low for two of the most important: βάρβαρος-​and ξένος-​related terms (Tables 1.1 and 1.2). If I had selected dialogues based only on their ranking in terms of the relative frequency of all the terms combined, the Republic would have been ninth on my list and thus unlikely to make the cut (Table 1.7). This showed me that while the quantitative linguistic analysis is helpful in illuminating the presence of words related to foreigners, it does not serve as a good definitive selection tool; it must be supplemented with my judgment based on what my careful combing through of each dialogue has revealed.

36  Plato’s Caves In this case, I reasoned that the Republic should be included not only because it is Plato’s major work and the dialogue from which Popper and others draw most of their evidence, but also because it contains myriad elements related to the topic of foreigners that the quantitative linguistic analysis was unable to capture, such as the setting in the diverse Piraeus during the festival honoring the Thracian goddess Bendis, the presence of multiple foreign characters, and numerous references to foreign peoples, to name but a few. Similarly, I decided that though the Phaedrus contains relatively few terms related to foreigners, it was worthy of inclusion for other reasons. Twice in the Platonic corpus (in the Apology and the Phaedrus) Socrates compares himself to a foreigner, which intrigued me. I wondered whether what my analyses of the Menexenus, Laws, and Republic uncovered could shed light on this strange comparison, and what the comparison would mean for my conclusions about the presentation of “actual” foreigners in the three dialogues. It further struck me as significant that the Phaedrus is one of the few dialogues in which Socrates ventures outside Athens. In this dialogue, Socrates also frames the activity of self-​examination in terms of discovering whether he resembles a foreign god, and later evokes an Egyptian myth that, strangely, calls into question Plato’s own activity of writing. Throughout, he engages with the written speech of a foreigner visiting Athens. The quantitative linguistic analysis captured little of this, but I hope it is clear why in this case—​as with the Republic—​I diverged from the results of the quantitative analysis. Ultimately, I  could not include every dialogue I  wished to include, for reasons already explained. I  can only provide an all-​too-​brief explanation for why some other important dialogues did not make the cut. For example, some may question my decision not to include the Sophist and the Statesman, since both dialogues feature an Eleatic Stranger in the role of lead philosopher. This in itself is fascinating, but both dialogues contain less content related to the topic of cultural diversity than do the selected dialogues. Chapter 2 will speak to the question these two dialogues raise of why Plato depicts a non-​Athenian in the role of philosopher. Dialogues that discuss the itinerant nature of sophists, such as the Protagoras and Euthydemus, would also have been interesting to examine, but since the topic arises in relation to the sophist Thrasymachus in the Republic, it made sense to focus on it instead. The Cratylus also stood out for its high percentage of βάρβαρος-​ related terms, but since most of these uses involved Socrates attributing a “barbarian” origin to a Greek word, there seemed to be less variation in

Introduction  37 the evocation of foreigners than in the dialogues selected (Table 1.1). The Crito dialogue, which contains the highest frequency of μέτοικος-​, ἄποικος-​, and ἔκδημος-​related terms, was also difficult to exclude, but since these terms generally arise in relation to Socrates’ decision not to escape to another country, this dialogue, too, seemed less rich (Tables 1.3, 1.5 and 1.6). Finally, the Timaeus features foreign characters, the language of hospitality, and an intriguing Egyptian myth about Athens’s defeat of the imperial power Atlantis, but the bulk of the dialogue concerns cosmology, so it seemed less suitable than the selected dialogues. It should be emphasized, however, how difficult it was to exclude these dialogues and how ardent my hope is that future scholarship will study the role of foreigners in these works.

Chapter Outline In this book, I  demonstrate through close readings of the Republic, Menexenus, Laws, and Phaedrus that foreigners in Plato’s dialogues play a role similar to that of Socrates: they reveal discordance in the beliefs and practices that citizens within a polity share, thereby “stinging” citizens into consciousness. As will be further discussed in the conclusion, this benefit is particularly important in democracies, because democracies tend to suffer from an intellectual hubris that leads them to become tyrannical. Unfortunately, few appreciate the pain that accompanies such provocations to self-​reflection. Although cross-​cultural engagement can help citizens become more aware of the contradictions in their beliefs, the painfulness of this experience inspires many to react negatively instead of reaping the epistemological benefits of the interaction. This does not, however, invalidate the potential benefits of cultural diversity. Plato often uses an image to introduce difficult concepts that are then fleshed out in the remainder of the conversation. Adopting this approach, ­chapter 2 elaborates on the image of the “caves.” Most readers of Plato are familiar with the image of the cave in Book 7 of the Republic, which compares human beings to prisoners in a cave, whose only notion of reality consists of the shadows they see projected on the wall in front of them. Although some scholars have interpreted the cave as merely an illustration of Platonic epistemology and metaphysics, many others have noted the allegory’s political dimensions. Building on arguments that the cave represents the polis, the chapter brings to light various indications in the Republic that each political

38  Plato’s Caves community creates its own unique version of the cave, and that there is thus not merely one cave, but rather an entire world of cave-​like polities. Recognizing the existence of a world of “caves” allows us to ask, What effect, if any, does exposure to cultural diversity (i.e., people reared in different versions of the “cave” or polis) have on the prisoners in a given cave, particularly in terms of the philosopher’s educative mission? Drawing on the discussion of regime types in Books 8 and 9 of the Republic, I argue that while every polis shares a basic, cave-​like structure, each polis differs at least slightly from every other polis along one or more of the following dimensions: the number and nature of the “puppeteers”; the types of shadows projected on the wall and the sounds accompanying them; and how the prisoners therefore conceive of the world around them and interact with one another. Three major implications emerge from recognizing Plato’s vision of the world as a world of caves: (a) Plato’s view of the world is much more egalitarian than is traditionally believed; (b) Plato recognizes that no culture is homogenous; and (c) Plato sees the potential in cross-​cultural interaction for intellectual liberation. These insights are defended and elaborated upon in the chapters that follow. From this point, the book is divided into two parts. Part I, “Athenians and Foreigners,” examines two dialogues—​the Republic and the Menexenus—​in which Plato presents Athenians engaging with those who, from their viewpoint, are foreigners. Chapter 3 turns to the Republic to study the dramatic portrayal it provides of cross-​cultural interaction. Set in the Piraeus, the diverse port of Athens, on the night of a festival honoring a non-​Greek goddess, the dialogue depicts a gathering of Athenian citizens, metics, and a foreign sophist or teacher of rhetoric. Neither this setting nor the cast of characters is coincidental, for the different mindset each character brings to the conversation is what gives rise to a heated debate about justice. Through the conversation, Plato shows how engaging with foreigners exposed the contradictory nature of the view propagated in Athens that one should seem just, but be unjust. Long applied primarily in the context of Athenian foreign relations, when foreign sophists began teaching ambitious young Athenians to behave this way in such places as the Athenian assembly and courtroom, the problematic nature of this belief became increasingly evident. It was not sophists who were responsible for the “corruption” of Athenian youth, however; they were merely echoing what the youth were already hearing from Athenian poets, parents, and other authority figures. In the Republic, Plato envisions a conversation in which a foreign sophist helps to bring this dissonance

Introduction  39 to light. Moreover, when the opening scene and its portrait of Socrates as friendly toward cultural diversity is not forgotten, it becomes clear that the city Socrates and his interlocutors then construct in speech serves not as a model of a city Plato wished to see come into existence, but as a means of further illuminating the tensions in Athens’s treatment of foreigners. As an alternative to the discordance of Athenian imperialism, the dialogue models an approach to interpolity justice that involves the ascent toward a harmonization of divergent cultures. This ascent must be gradual because of the resistance many exhibit toward education. Chapter  4 expands on the narrative that cross-​ cultural engagement exposes contradictions in the civic beliefs of Athenians by studying how the intersection of national origin and gender can magnify this effect.104 This is brought to light through an examination of the Menexenus. The Menexenus appears to offer some of the most striking evidence of Platonic xenophobia, as it features Socrates delivering a mock funeral oration that glorifies Athens’s exclusion of foreigners. Yet when readers play along with Socrates’ exhortation to imagine the oration through the voice of its alleged author, Aspasia, Pericles’ foreign mistress, the oration becomes ironic or dissonant. This dissonance arises in part because Aspasia, a foreigner, speaks disparagingly of foreigners. It also arises because Aspasia is the foreign mother of an Athenian citizen, yet her speech praises the pure-​blooded, autochthonous nature of Athenians. Through this, Plato shows that Athenian xenophobia is implicated in Athens’s treatment of women. Pericles’ policy of basing citizenship on descent from both an Athenian father and an Athenian mother may seem to honor Athenian women, but Aspasia’s voice highlights its true motivation: the fear of foreign blood. Her voice reminds us that Athenian men can abandon or make exceptions to the policy at will, and thus the power it gives to Athenian women is illusory. Even the act of imagining civic discourse through the voice of a foreigner can help to bring to light dissonance within the polity. Part II, “Athenians as Foreigners,” turns the tables by studying two dialogues in which Athenians themselves are cast in the role of foreigner: the Laws and the Phaedrus. We see that the term “foreigner” cuts both ways (i.e., sometimes the foreigner is an Athenian). Chapter  5 turns to the Laws to see how Plato depicts an Athenian abroad, specifically in the land of Crete, 104 The term national origin may be anachronistic, but there is no better term. Polis/​city of origin would be cumbersome and unclear to modern readers.

40

Plato’s Caves

roughly in the time leading up to the Peloponnesian War, which pitted Sparta and its allies against Athens and its allies. Challenging traditional readings that the Laws offers a blueprint for Plato’s second-best or more practical political regime, I argue that the dialogue depicts an Athenian Stranger’s attempt to help two old men from the “armed camps” of Crete and Sparta to recognize the contradiction inherent in their societies’ relentless pursuit of victory in war. Although his interlocutors’ militaristic societies may look like the perfect picture of self-control, the Athenian Stranger exposes the fragile foundations of this apparent unity. It takes a foreigner to expose this internal contradiction because Cretans and Spartans value tradition so deeply that they encourage their citizens to sing in unison rather than cultivate the harmony that derives from informed acceptance of a belief. Yet through the process of trying to liberate his interlocutors from their blind obedience to traditional values, the Stranger discovers in his own upbringing the contradictory desire for both freedom and tyrannical control. This is why, when it comes to the creation of the city in speech of Magnesia, the Stranger refrains from modeling it completely after Athens, allowing it instead to take on a partially Cretan/Spartan character. The analysis of the Laws complements the analyses of the Republic and the Menexenus in Part I by demonstrating that not only can Athenians learn from foreigners, but foreigners can also learn from Athenians. Chapter 6 further defends the linkage between cross-cultural engagement and the liberating sting of the Socratic “gadfly” by taking up the question of why Socrates, an Athenian, sometimes presents himself as a foreigner in Athens. This occurs in the Apology, when Socrates asks his jurors to be lenient in their judgment of his manner of speaking, as they would if he were a foreigner speaking another dialect. The comparison of Socrates to a foreigner is even more prominent in the Phaedrus. In Phaedrus, the only dialogue that depicts Socrates venturing outside the city walls, Socrates casts himself in the position of a foreigner being shown a foreign land. Moreover, Socrates reveals that the key question driving his self-inquiry is whether or not he resembles Typhon, a foreign god capable of uttering every sound. Over the course of his conversation with Phaedrus about the foreigner Lysias’ speech, Socrates discovers the multiplicity of voices within himself and helps Phaedrus to discover his own internal contradiction, provoking both to reflect on which voices are truly their own and, particularly, to examine in a more critical light the imperialistic tendencies encouraged in Athens. The dialogue ends with an Egyptian myth that critiques the art of writing. Plato’s engagement

Introduction  41 with this foreign discourse reveals that he, like his teacher Socrates as he is portrayed in the dialogues, takes the provocation to self-​examination that can arise from cross-​cultural engagement seriously. Ultimately, my analysis of the Phaedrus helps to solidify the similarity between the philosopher and the foreigner, while helping to differentiate the role of the philosopher as a mediator, helping citizens (and sometimes foreigners as well) to react properly to the liberating sting of cultural diversity so that they may begin to ascend out of the cave. The book ends with a reflection on how Plato’s portrayal of foreigners as gadflies can contribute to contemporary debates on cultural diversity. It begins by laying out four major reasons to support cultural diversity that dominate the scholarly literature. While each of these reasons tells part of the story of why cultural diversity is valuable, the idea of “Plato’s caves” helps to tell a part of the story that is often overlooked. Simply put, Plato illuminates how cross-​cultural engagement can help one cultivate Socratic wisdom, or awareness of one’s ignorance. The cultivation of intellectual humility is essential in a democracy, Plato argues, for democracy’s downfall and descent into tyranny takes place when citizens develop intellectual hubris. Unlike other accounts of the benefits of cultural diversity, this one also explains why humans frequently react negatively to cross-​cultural encounters: the healing power cross-​cultural encounters possess arrives in the form of a painful pill to swallow. Nevertheless, the conflict that cross-​cultural engagement can provoke does not invalidate the potential benefit of cultural diversity. Ultimately, Plato’s likening of cross-​cultural engagement to the liberating sting of the Socratic “gadfly” reveals that the proper object of our aversion is not diversity. Rather, we should seek to overcome the fear of education that prevents us from appreciating the epistemological value of exposure to cultural diversity.

Dialogue

Menexenus Minos Cratylus Epinomis Critias Alcibiades I Lysis Theages Crito Alcibiades II Symposium Laws Republic Theaetetus Protagoras Statesman Philebus Phaedo Apology Charmides

Rank

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

4843 3018 19011 6344 4957 11181 6955 3600 4270 4360 17353 104774 88260 23540 17574 18308 18858 22390 8749 8322

Total Words

19 4 10 4 2 4 1 1 0 1 3 14 9 2 1 1 1 1 0 0

βάρβαρος

1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

μισοβάρβαρος 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

βαρβαρόω 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 5 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 1 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ἐκβαρβαρόω βαρβαρικός βαρβαρίζω

Table 1.1.  Plato’s Dialogues Ranked by Relative Count of βάρβαρος-​Related Terms

0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ὑποβαρβαρίζω 20 4 15 4 3 5 2 1 1 1 3 15 12 2 1 1 1 1 0 0

Absolute Count

0.4130 0.1325 0.0789 0.0631 0.0605 0.0447 0.0288 0.0278 0.0234 0.0229 0.0173 0.0143 0.0136 0.0085 0.0057 0.0055 0.0053 0.0045 0.0000 0.0000

Relative Count (%)

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Clitophon Euthydemus Euthyphro Gorgias Hipparchus Hipp. Major Hipp. Minor Ion Laches Lovers Meno Parmenides Phaedrus Sophist Timaeus

1555 12543 5402 27360 2402 8811 4415 4022 7937 2393 10269 15261 16995 17211 23718

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

104774 17211 10269 12543 6344 4270 18308 19011 17574 8749 8811 4022 17353 23718 3018 6955 27360 4843

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Laws Sophist Meno Euthydemus Epinomis Crito Statesman Cratylus Protagoras Apology Hipp. Major Ion Symposium Timaeus Minos Lysis Gorgias Menexenus

Total Words

Rank Dialogue

ξένος

211 17 10 12 6 4 13 2 10 4 3 2 3 0 0 1 5 1

ξένη

2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 0 0

ξενία

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ξένιον

5 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 3 1 0 0 0

ξενών 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0

ξένως 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ξενικῶς 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ξένιος 7 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 0

ξενικός 12 0 0 0 0 0 0 6 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 1 0

ξενόω

Table 1.2.  Plato’s Dialogues Ranked by Relative Count of ξένος-​Related Terms

ξενίζω 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ξεναγέω 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ξενηλασία 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0

ξενισμός 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ξενοδοκέω 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ξενοφόνος 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

7 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 0

θρασυξενία 242 19 10 12 6 4 13 12 11 5 5 2 6 8 1 2 6 1

0.2310 0.1104 0.0974 0.0957 0.0946 0.0937 0.0710 0.0631 0.0626 0.0571 0.0567 0.0497 0.0346 0.0337 0.0331 0.0288 0.0219 0.0206

Absolute Relative Count Count (%)

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Phaedrus Phaedo Laches Charmides Alcibiades I Republic Theaetetus Alcibiades II Clitophon Critias Euthyphro Hipparchus Hipp. Minor Lovers Parmenides Philebus Theages

16995 22390 7937 8322 11181 88260 23540 4360 1555 4957 5402 2402 4415 2393 15261 18858 3600

1 3 1 1 1 4 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

3 3 1 1 1 7 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0.0177 0.0134 0.0126 0.0120 0.0089 0.0079 0.0042 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

Dialogue

Crito Menexenus Laws Apology Phaedo Republic Alcibiades I Alcibiades II Charmides Clitophon Cratylus Critias Epinomis Euthydemus Euthyphro Gorgias Hipparchus Hippias Major Hippias Minor

Rank

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

4270 4843 104774 8749 22390 88260 11181 4360 8322 1555 19011 4957 6344 12543 5402 27360 2402 8811 4415

Total Words 0 0 12 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

μέτοικος 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

μετοίκιον 1 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

μετοικέω 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

μετοικία

Table 1.3.  Plato’s Dialogues Ranked by Relative Count of μέτοικος-​Related Terms

0 0 1 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

μετοίκησις 1 1 16 1 1 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Absolute Count 0.0234 0.0206 0.0153 0.0114 0.0045 0.0023 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

Relative Count (%)

Ion

Laches Lovers Lysis Meno Minos Parmenides Phaedrus Philebus Protagoras Sophist Statesman Symposium Theaetetus Theages Timaeus

20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

7937 2393 6955 10269 3018 15261 16995 18858 17574 17211 18308 17353 23540 3600 23718

4022 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

0.0000

Ion

15

4022

Menexenus 4843 Critias 4957 Laches 7937 Laws 104774 Republic 88260 Alcibiades I 11181 Clitophon 1555 Alcibiades II 4360 Euthyphro 5402 Crito 4270 Timaeus 23718 Statesman 18308 Protagoras 17574 Minos 3018

Total Words

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Rank Dialogue

πόλεμος

1

24 7 12 96 50 5 0 1 2 2 8 3 5 0

ἀπόλεμος

0

0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

φιλοπόλεμος

0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0

πολεμικός 0

0 0 1 37 24 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 1 0

ἐμπολέμιος 0

0 0 0 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

πολέμιος 0

3 0 3 27 23 2 0 2 0 1 1 1 1 0

πολεμητέον 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 0 0

πολεμίζω 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

πολεμιστήριος 0

0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 2 6 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 0

πολεμόω

Table 1.4.  Plato’s Dialogues Ranked by Relative Count of πόλεμος-​Related Terms

πολεμέω 0

5 1 0 2 18 8 1 2 1 0 2 1 1 1

ἀντιπολεμέω 0

0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

διαπολεμέω 0

0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

καταπολεμέω 0

3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

προπολεμέω 0

0 0 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0

προσπολεμέω 0

1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0

0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

συμπολεμέω

1

36 13 16 168 128 16 2 5 4 3 13 9 8 1

0.0249

0.7433 0.2623 0.2016 0.1603 0.1450 0.1431 0.1286 0.1147 0.0740 0.0703 0.0548 0.0492 0.0455 0.0331

Absolute Relative Count Count (%)

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Charmides Euthydemus Phaedrus Sophist Symposium Hipp. Minor Gorgias Phaedo Epinomis Lysis Apology Theaetetus Philebus Cratylus Hipparchus Hipp. Major Lovers Meno Parmenides Theages

8322 12543 16995 17211 17353 4415 27360 22390 6344 6955 8749 23540 18858 19011 2402 8811 2393 10269 15261 3600

2 3 2 0 2 1 2 2 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 1 1 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 1 2 1 0 3 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

2 3 4 4 4 1 5 4 1 1 1 2 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0

0.0240 0.0239 0.0235 0.0232 0.0231 0.0227 0.0183 0.0179 0.0158 0.0144 0.0114 0.0085 0.0053 0.0053 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

Dialogue

Crito Menexenus Euthydemus Laws Statesman Republic Alcibiades I Alcibiades II Apology Charmides Clitophon Cratylus Critias Epinomis Euthyphro Gorgias Hipparchus Hippias Major Hippias Minor Ion Laches

Rank

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

4270 4843 12543 104774 18308 88260 11181 4360 8749 8322 1555 19011 4957 6344 5402 27360 2402 8811 4415 4022 7937

Total Words 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ἄποικος 1 1 0 13 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ἀποικία 0 0 1 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ἀποικέω 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ἀποικίζω

Table 1.5.  Plato’s Dialogues Ranked by Relative Count of ἄποικος-​Related Terms

1 1 2 16 2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Absolute Count 0.0234 0.0206 0.0159 0.0153 0.0109 0.0011 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

Relative Count (%)

22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Lovers Lysis Meno Minos Parmenides Phaedo Phaedrus Philebus Protagoras Sophist Symposium Theaetetus Theages Timaeus

2393 6955 10269 3018 15261 22390 16995 18858 17574 17211 17353 23540 3600 23718

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

4270 104774 8749 18308 10269 16995 22390 88260 11181 4360 8322 1555 19011 4957 6344 12543 5402 27360 2402 8811

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Crito Laws Apology Statesman Meno Phaedrus Phaedo Republic Alcibiades I Alcibiades II Charmides Clitophon Cratylus Critias Epinomis Euthydemus Euthyphro Gorgias Hipparchus Hipp. Major

Total Words

Rank Dialogue

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ἔκδημος ἐκδημέω

0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ἐκδημία ἀπόδημος

4 5 1 2 1 1 1 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

ἀποδημέω

Table 1.6.  Plato’s Dialogues Ranked by Relative Count of ἔκδημος-​Related Terms

0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

εἰσεπιδημέω ἀλλοδημία

4 13 1 2 1 1 1 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0.0937 0.0124 0.0114 0.0109 0.0097 0.0059 0.0045 0.0034 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

Absolute Relative Count Count (%)

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Hipp. Minor Ion Laches Lovers Lysis Menexenus Minos Parmenides Philebus Protagoras Sophist Symposium Theaetetus Theages Timaeus

4415 4022 7937 2393 6955 4843 3018 15261 18858 17574 17211 17353 23540 3600 23718

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

Dialogue

Menexenus Laws Crito Critias Laches Minos Alcibiades I Epinomis Republic Statesman Cratylus Alcibiades II Euthydemus Sophist Clitophon Protagoras Meno Apology Timaeus Symposium

Rank

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

4843 104774 4270 4957 7937 3018 11181 6344 88260 18308 19011 4360 12543 17211 1555 17574 10269 8749 23718 17353

Total Words 0.4130 0.0143 0.0234 0.0605 0.0000 0.1325 0.0447 0.0631 0.0136 0.0055 0.0789 0.0229 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0057 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0173

βάρβαρος 0.0206 0.2310 0.0937 0.0000 0.0126 0.0331 0.0089 0.0946 0.0079 0.0710 0.0631 0.0000 0.0957 0.1104 0.0000 0.0626 0.0974 0.0571 0.0337 0.0346

ξένος 0.0206 0.0153 0.0234 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0023 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0114 0.0000 0.0000

μέτοικος 0.7433 0.1603 0.0703 0.2623 0.2016 0.0331 0.1431 0.0158 0.1450 0.0492 0.0053 0.1147 0.0239 0.0232 0.1286 0.0455 0.0000 0.0114 0.0548 0.0231

πόλεμος

Table 1.7.  Plato’s Dialogues Ranked by Relative Count of Combined Related Terms

0.0206 0.0153 0.0234 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0011 0.0109 0.0000 0.0000 0.0159 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

ἄποικος 0.0000 0.0124 0.0937 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0034 0.0109 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0097 0.0114 0.0000 0.0000

ἔκδημος 1.2183 0.4486 0.3278 0.3228 0.2142 0.1988 0.1967 0.1734 0.1734 0.1475 0.1473 0.1376 0.1355 0.1336 0.1286 0.1138 0.1071 0.0914 0.0885 0.0749

Combined Relative Count (%)

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Ion Euthyphro Lysis Hipp. Major Phaedrus Phaedo Gorgias Charmides Theages Hipp. Minor Theaetetus Philebus Hipparchus Lovers Parmenides

4022 5402 6955 8811 16995 22390 27360 8322 3600 4415 23540 18858 2402 2393 15261

0.0000 0.0000 0.0288 0.0000 0.0000 0.0045 0.0000 0.0000 0.0278 0.0000 0.0085 0.0053 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

0.0497 0.0000 0.0288 0.0567 0.0177 0.0134 0.0219 0.0120 0.0000 0.0000 0.0042 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0045 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

0.0249 0.0740 0.0144 0.0000 0.0235 0.0179 0.0183 0.0240 0.0000 0.0227 0.0085 0.0053 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0059 0.0045 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

0.0746 0.0740 0.0719 0.0567 0.0471 0.0447 0.0402 0.0360 0.0278 0.0227 0.0212 0.0106 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000

2 Setting the Stage A World of Caves

In Plato’s dialogues, the central protagonist frequently employs an “image (εἰκών)” to help his interlocutors grasp a difficult concept. For instance, in the Laws, the Athenian Stranger illustrates the importance of education by asking Kleinias and Megillus to imagine the human soul as a puppet pulled by different cords, with the “golden cord of calculation” needing the support of education to make its pull forceful enough. Similarly, in the Phaedrus, Socrates helps Phaedrus envision the battle between different parts of the soul by comparing it to a chariot race in the sky in which the charioteer must maintain control as a noble horse pulls the chariot upward and a troublesome horse pulls it downward. Images such as these make clearer the nature of the problem being discussed. They provide a tangible way of grasping the arguments at hand. While Plato’s Republic warns against settling for an image rather than the actual truth, images often function in the dialogues as an important means of drawing interlocutors, and readers, into contemplation of the problem at a deeper philosophical level.1 My investigation of the role of foreigners in Plato’s political thought therefore begins by adopting this method, bringing forth an image concealed, but arguably present, in Plato’s dialogues: the image of the caves. Most readers are likely familiar with the image of the cave from Plato’s Republic. After all, few philosophical concepts have permeated popular discourse as much as the “cave allegory,” as it is commonly called. As films such as Dark City (1998), The Matrix (1999), and The Truman Show (1999) attest, Plato’s image of education as a process of becoming conscious of the real world has enduring relevance. In each of these films, the main character experiences the painful realization that the world he has known his entire life is but an illusion, an artificial reality that keeps him imprisoned for the benefit of others. The 1 Jill Gordon, Turning Toward Philosophy:  Literary Device and Dramatic Structure in Plato’s Dialogues (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999), esp. chap. 6. Plato’s Caves. Rebecca LeMoine, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190936983.001.0001

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  57 most obvious inspiration for these films is Plato’s cave allegory, which depicts prisoners in a cave whose entire perception of reality consists of shadows on the wall. The allegory describes what happens when one prisoner is released, discovers the truth of his condition, and makes the painful journey up above to the real world and then back down again into the cave. Although the cave image is in part an illustration of Platonic education, epistemology, and metaphysics, it also conveys insights into the nature of life in a polis, or political community, particularly the role of politics in influencing perceptions of reality. Defending and building on interpretations that take the cave to be a representation of life in a political community, this chapter argues that the cave unveils the skeletal structure or basic condition of all political communities, but that the dialogue as a whole emphasizes that the finer features of the cave will differ from community to community. That is, though we generally think of the cave in the singular, Plato insinuates that multiple instantiations of the cave exist, each with its own people inside, fighting over shadows. How and why they fight over those shadows, which interpretations gain dominance and for how long, and which shadows are projected in the first place vary from one cave to the next. In other words, each political community creates its own unique version of the cave. Reality is not merely socially constructed but also culturally constructed. We live, metaphorically of course, in a world of caves. While it is not incorrect to speak of “the” cave, singular, recognizing that the cave is but a prototype for a condition that manifests itself in a variety of ways in places throughout the world can help us access Plato’s vision of interpolity relations and cross-​cultural engagement. Done carefully, extrapolating from the image of the cave can yield a rudimentary glimpse of some of the problems Plato encountered in contemplating the role of foreigners in the polis and the relations between cities. This argument is made in three parts. First, I review the arguments against and in favor of the political interpretation of the cave allegory, showing why interpretations that account for the allegory’s political dimensions are more compelling than those that do not. Next, I highlight the evidence suggesting that there exists not merely one cave but multiple versions of the cave, and consider what this image of “the caves” looks like. Finally, I argue that three major implications can reasonably be drawn by extrapolating from the image of the cave: (a) Plato’s view of the world is much more egalitarian than is traditionally believed; (b) Plato recognizes that no culture is homogenous; and (c) Plato sees the potential in cross-​cultural interaction for intellectual liberation. As the guiding image

58  Plato’s Caves of this book, “the caves” provides a more accessible way of grasping Plato’s thoughts on cultural diversity and a useful framework or vocabulary for discussing Plato’s views on foreigners. It helps us form a rudimentary understanding of why, from Plato’s perspective, cross-​cultural engagement carries significant epistemological promise but also the danger of stimulating conflict. In other words, it helps us to grasp why Plato might appear wary of cross-​cultural engagement, while nonetheless valuing cultural diversity. With the image of “the caves” in mind, we will better be able to make sense of the role of foreigners in the dialogues that are analyzed in this book.

Major Interpretations of Plato’s Cave Allegory Presented by Socrates in Book 7 of Plato’s Republic, the cave allegory tells us that the only life most people will ever know is akin to that of prisoners in an underground cave. Chained at the neck and unable to move, all they have ever seen are the shadows on the wall before them. Each day, the prisoners compete to see who can correctly identify the shadows, awarding honors to those able to predict which shadows will next pass. The prisoners do not realize the shadows are merely silhouettes of themselves and of people carrying objects over a road, along which there is a wall, “just as puppeteers set partitions in front of human beings, over which they show the puppets” (514b). They do not know that above and behind them lies a fire, the source of light enabling these shadows to be cast. Nor do they know that beyond the cave exists a world of real objects, a true world rather than the artificial reality to which they have grown accustomed—​and deeply attached. If a prisoner were released from his shackles and compelled to stand up, to turn his neck around, and to walk and look up toward the light, he would experience immense pain as his eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness. Observing for the first time the actual objects that pass by and cast the shadows on the wall, he would be at a loss and would believe that the shadows he saw before were truer than what he sees now. If he were then dragged up out of the cave into the light of the sun, his eyes would burn in pain and he would be unable to see anything. Only gradually would his eyes adjust, as he began to make out shadows, reflections of the human beings and other objects in the water, and, eventually, the things themselves. Finally, he would behold the sun itself and would conclude that it is the cause of everything.

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  59 Reflecting on his life in the cave, he would pity his fellow prisoners, and would be willing to undergo anything rather than be forced to live that way again. Yet suppose he makes the descent back into the cave. He would have difficulty seeing anything in the sudden transformation from light to darkness; if he were forced to compete right away with his fellow prisoners in making judgments about the shadows, he would be a source of laughter. His fellow prisoners would assume that his journey out of the cave had corrupted his vision, and consequently, they would vow to kill the man who did the releasing if they ever lay their hands on him. At first glance, the image of the cave appears irrelevant to the task of investigating Plato’s thoughts on interpolity relations and the role of foreigners domestically. Nowhere in the cave allegory does Plato’s Socrates mention foreigners. Nor is the image explicitly aimed at revealing anything about cross-​cultural engagement. Nevertheless, various pieces of evidence suggest the possibility of reading the cave allegory in an interpolity context. The first step toward such a reading consists in recognizing the political dimensions of the cave image. Otherwise, it would be impossible to admit an interpretation that implicitly relies on the presence of distinct political communities. Although most contemporary interpreters acknowledge that the cave contains powerful political symbolism, for a long time the cave allegory was read primarily as an illustration of Platonic education, epistemology, and metaphysics.2 It is therefore necessary first to examine the cave image in all its richness and to explain why the political interpretation holds water. For the purposes of this examination, I will classify interpretations of Plato’s cave allegory according to which of the three following dimensions they emphasize:  the educational, the epistemic/​metaphysical, or the political.3 It should be stressed that these categories are not necessarily discrete; indeed, they arguably intertwine in important and interesting ways. Nonetheless, it is important for conceptual purposes to distinguish them to explain why some scholars interpret the cave apolitically, and why interpretations that acknowledge the political dimensions of the cave allegory are more compelling.

2 As one commentator observes, “I think most scholars today would agree that this contrast is artificial. The Cave is clearly intended to have both epistemological and political content.” James Wilberding, “Prisoners and Puppeteers in the Cave,” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 27 (2004): 118–​19n4. 3 I  am following the classification scheme laid out in David Lay Williams, Rousseau’s Platonic Enlightenment (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007), 131–​36.

60

Plato’s Caves

The Educational Interpretation The interpretation of Plato’s cave image as an allegory for education (παιδεία) is perhaps the most direct and intuitive. After all, Socrates introduces the cave by likening it to “our nature in its education (παιδείας) and want of education (ἀπαιδευσίας)” (514a). Moreover, after Socrates explains the allegory, he draws a conclusion that relates explicitly to education: “Then,” I said, “we must hold the following about these things, if this is true: education (παιδείαν) is not what certain men who make a profession of it assert it to be. They doubtless say that they put knowledge into the soul that isn’t in it, like putting sight into blind eyes. . . . But the argument just now,” I said, “indicates in reality that this power is in the soul of each and that the instrument with which each learns—as if it were like an eye and could in no other way except with the entire body turn toward the light out of the dark—must be turned around with the entire soul from that which is coming into being, until it becomes able to bear gazing into that which is and the brightest part of that which is. And we say this is the good, don’t ​ we?’ ”  (518b–d)

From this framing of the cave image, we can surmise that Socrates’ central purpose in relating this story is to help his interlocutors understand what education truly involves. On this interpretation, the cave symbolizes a state of ignorance, and the journey out of the cave represents the process of enlightenment. Although scholars debate whether or not there is a one-to-one correspondence, the stages of education in the cave allegory seem to map substantially onto the four ascending levels of knowledge—εἰκασία (imagination), πίστις (trust), διάνοια (thought), and νόησις (intellection)—identified in the immediately preceding “divided line” analogy with which Socrates connects the allegory (517a–c).4 The cave thus provides a way of visualizing 4 For the view that the Cave and the Divided Line are to be treated as parallel, see Richard Lewis Nettleship, Lectures on the “Republic” of Plato, 2nd ed. (London:  Macmillan and Co., 1901), chaps. 10–12; James Adam, The Republic of Plato, 2nd ed. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1902); John E. Raven, “Sun, Divided Line, and Cave,” Classical Quarterly, n.s., 3, no. 1/2 (1953):  22–32; John Gould, The Development of Plato’s Ethics (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1955), 165–81; John Malcolm, “The Line and the Cave,” Phronesis 7 (1962):  38–45; R. C. Cross and A. D. Woozley, Plato’s “Republic”:  A Philosophical Commentary (London:  Macmillan, 1964), 215; R. G. Tanner, “ΔIANOIA and Plato’s Cave,” Classical Quarterly 20, no. 1 (1970):  81–91; Corinne Praus Sze, “EIKAΣIA and ΠIΣTIE in Plato’s Cave Allegory,” Classical Quarterly 27, no. 1 (1977):  127–38; John Malcolm, “The Cave Revisited,” Classical Quarterly 31 (1981):  60–68; Vassilis Karasmanis, “Plato’s Republic: The Line and the Cave,” Apeiron: A Journal for Ancient Philosophy and Science 21,

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  61 the different stages of education, as well as the progression through them, and thereby of distinguishing philosophers from the ordinary lot of men. That Socrates follows the cave allegory by outlining the educational curriculum of the rulers of the ideal city offers further confirmation that the cave image is designed to reveal the true nature of education. Placed within the larger context of the treatment of education in the dialogue as a whole, the cave allegory serves, more specifically, to highlight the deficiencies of the classical Greek model of education, particularly its emphasis on the memorization and recitation of epic poetry. In contrast to the traditional Greek view of education as the attainment of information and skills, the cave image presents true education as a transformative experience that makes one’s former way of life look wretched. As Socrates explains in the passage just quoted, education involves not a pouring of information into an empty vessel or onto a tabula rasa, as many Greeks believed, but rather a turning or reorientation of the whole soul toward the knowledge that already lies within. What Plato means to convey, R. G. Tanner argues, is that “those compelled to study the shadows cast by the puppets in the Cave were in no worse case than the thousands of contemporary Greek youths who were compelled to study the Iliad and the Odyssey.”5 The affront becomes clearer if we are permitted to draw from a scene in Plato’s Laws in which the central protagonist asserts that in a contest between a rhapsodist, a kitharist, a tragedian, a comedian, and a puppeteer, “if the very little children are the judges, they will choose the man displaying puppets” (658c). The Greek idea of education, the cave image seems to imply, is absurd and childlike; instead of compelling citizens to undertake the painful and difficult ascent to true knowledge, teachers gratify their students with a pleasant but intellectually stultifying form of learning. Only philosophers can incite students to seek intellectual liberation, but unfortunately, in the world of the cave, philosophy is spurned as painful, useless, and dangerous. no. 3 (1988): 147–​71; and Allan Bloom, “Interpretive Essay,” in The Republic of Plato, trans. Allan Bloom, 2nd ed. (New York: Basic Books, 1991), 403–​4. For arguments that the line and cave image cannot be made parallel without significant distortions, see A. S. Ferguson, “Plato’s Simile of Light, Part I: The Similes of the Sun and the Line,” Classical Quarterly 15, no. 3/​4 (1921): 131–​52; A. S. Ferguson, “Plato’s Simile of Light, Part II: The Allegory of the Cave (Continued),” Classical Quarterly 16, no. 1 (1922): 15–​28; H. W. B. Joseph, Knowledge and the Good in Plato’s Republic (London: Oxford University Press, 1948), 43; Richard Robinson, Plato’s Earlier Dialectic, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1953), 182; and Colin Strang, “Plato’s Analogy of the Cave,” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 4 (1986): 19–​34. For a compromise between these two positions, see N. R. Murphy, “The ‘Simile of Light’ in Plato’s Republic,” Classical Quarterly 26, no. 2 (1932): 93–​102. 5 Tanner, “ΔΙΑΝΟΙΑ,” 87.

62  Plato’s Caves Plainly, the cave allegory provides insight into the nature of education. Yet given the close relationship in the Republic between education and politics, it is difficult to exclude the political sphere from view even when emphasizing the allegory’s educational meaning. Consider the chief educators in ancient Greece to whom Plato is likely responding: the poets. While the poets may not serve a directly political function, the dialogue makes clear that the kind of poetry or music to which citizens are exposed generates significant political effects. In fact, Socrates argues, “nowhere do the modes of music change without the greatest political laws changing” (424c). Even if the cave allegory contains no other allusions to political life, the very fact that it elucidates better and worse forms of education—​the painful ascent out of the cave and the puppet-​play inside the cave respectively—​implies a powerful commentary on the kind of political life for which different forms of education prepare members of the polity. The prisoners in the cave are, Socrates says, “like us,” or, like Socrates and his interlocutors, raised on the illusions supplied through Greek poetry. But Socrates will go on to describe another kind of education, suited for a different kind of polity, one in which those who receive this superior form of education return to rule.6 Hence, Socrates’ aim in envisioning the cave is not merely to bring out what true education looks like, but to clarify both the challenges and the alleged benefits of instituting the rule of philosophers—​that is, to convey a message about education that contains undeniable political implications.

The Epistemic/​Metaphysical Interpretation It is, however, equally possible to stress the epistemic and metaphysical import of the cave allegory. On this interpretation, the cave allegory tells us something, not only about education, but also about the nature of knowledge (epistemology) and of reality itself (metaphysics). Put differently, the cave allegory goes beyond distinguishing genuine education from mere indoctrination; it also reveals what truth is, how we know what we know, and what there is to know. This is seen primarily through the contrasting imagery inside and outside the cave. Following the divided-​line analogy, the cave represents the visible realm of sensible objects, whereas the “real 6 Nicholas D. Smith, “How the Prisoners in Plato’s Cave Are ‘Like Us,’” Proceedings of the Boston Area Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy, 13, no. 1 (1997): 187–​204.

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  63 world” outside the cave represents the intelligible realm of ideas, or Forms. The confinement of human beings in the cave is, Zuckert contends, “a result of their bodily needs and pleasures.”7 On this account, there is something prepolitical or subpolitical about the condition Socrates describes. Perhaps influenced by the Orphic view that “in the present life we are dead, and the body is our tomb,” Plato exposes an abiding truth about human nature: the tendency to be satisfied with sensory perception and with mediated, or man-​ made, understandings of reality (which can arise outside of the contours of political community, as with some of the tales parents tell to their children or an individual tells to herself).8 Interpreted in this way, the journey out of the cave represents the progression from δόξα (doxa), or opinion, to ἀλήθεια (aletheia), or truth. This journey is prefigured by the sun simile offered in Book 6 just prior to the divided-​line analogy. During this discussion, Socrates states that when the soul “fixes itself onto that which the truth shines upon and that which is, it thinks and knows and appears to have intelligence. But when it fixes itself on that which is mixed with darkness, on what comes to be and what perishes, it opines and is weak-​sighted and changes opinions upward and downward, and once more does not seem to have intelligence” (508d). The cave allegory reflects this conception of what it means to know by contrasting what and how the prisoner in the cave sees with what and how he sees once he leaves the cave. Whereas as a prisoner he sees mere shadows on the wall because the only immediate source of light is the fire burning behind him, once he exits the cave he comes to see the objects outside it thanks to the direct illumination of the sun—​another object he is able to behold directly after some time. Connecting this with the sun simile and the divided-​line analogy, the implication is that knowledge obtained through sensory experience is inferior to knowledge obtained through intellection, and that knowledge of the visible world is inferior to knowledge of the intelligible world. Representing the Forms, and, in the sun’s case, the Form of the Good, the objects outside the cave are what someone who truly seeks to know must set his sights on. This kind of knowledge can only arise from intellection, which is why the educational program of the guardian class consists of mathematics, geometry, and astronomy—​studies that draw the mind beyond sensory perception—​and culminates in dialectic, which is when someone “attempts to discern without 7 Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers, 361. 8 Plato, Gorgias, 492e. Cf. Plato, Phaedrus 250c. The body is also compared to a prison at length in Plato’s Phaedo.

64  Plato’s Caves any of the senses, through argument by itself, that which each thing itself is, and does not leave off before by intellection itself he grasps that which is itself good” (532a–​b). In sum, the cave allegory can be interpreted as a visualization of Platonic epistemology and metaphysics, wherein truth is regarded as eternal and discernible only through intellection. What is more, the cave allegory provides a way of understanding how notions of truth change as we undergo the process of enlightenment. For the prisoners in the cave, the shadows on the wall are the truth; only someone removed from the situation can see the shadows for what they are. As Martin Heidegger puts it, “[T]‌he prisoners do not even know that they are in a ‘situation.’ When questioned, they always talk about shadows, which, however, they do not know as shadows.”9 On his reading, what stands out are the transitions, or moments of reorientation, in the cave allegory through each of the four stages: dwelling imprisoned in the cave, being unshackled and walking around the cave, achieving genuine liberation by exiting the cave and entering the light of day, and returning to the cave after seeing the world above. Different kinds of “truth” dominate at each stage, through which, Heidegger argues, Plato conveys “a change in what determines the essence of truth,” from truth as unhiddenness to truth as correctness.10 Whether or not we agree with Heidegger’s conclusion, his analysis is compelling insofar as it highlights the developmental nature of understandings of truth and reality. Answering the core epistemological question—​How do we know what we know?—​is complicated by the fact that our situation may blind us to the very possibility of higher modes of knowing, as the cave allegory poignantly illustrates. Although the epistemic/​metaphysical interpretation of the cave allegory is highly compelling, accepting it does not require one to dismiss the political reading. The human tendency to trust immediate, sensory experience and to resist the agonizing demands of intellection can be seen as part of the story that explains why humans are susceptible to political manipulation. The key question on which the validity of the political interpretation pivots is whether the prisoners in the cave can rightfully be said to constitute a polis, or political community. It is therefore time to turn to the evidence in favor of, and against, the political reading. The central points of this argument focus 9 Martin Heidegger, The Essence of Truth: On Plato’s Cave Allegory and “Theaetetus”, trans. Ted Sadler (London: Continuum, 2002), 23. 10 Martin Heidegger, “Plato’s Doctrine of Truth,” trans. Thomas Sheehan, in Pathmarks, ed. William McNeill (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 155.

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  65 on the role of the puppeteers, the interaction among the prisoners, and their treatment of the liberator.

The Political Interpretation Several details make it unlikely that the cave allegory provides a commentary on the human condition divorced from any political condition. First, within the cave dwell two groups of human beings: the prisoners and the free-​moving humans who carry the objects that are projected as shadows onto the wall. Because Socrates compares the road along which these humans walk to the partition at a puppet show, this group is often referred to as the “puppeteers” (514b). Although the allegory does not say much about them, the puppeteers bear substantial responsibility for the prisoners’ condition. Without their movements, the prisoners would only see their own silhouettes, along with the flickering shadows cast by the fire itself as it is backlit by the brighter source of light outside the cave. In fact, as Eva Brann notes, Socrates describes the cave, not as a natural cavern, but as a “cavelike (σπηλαιώδει)” dwelling underground, which suggests that it is, in her words, “an artificial prison made by men for men. . . . The cave is the human city always and everywhere, a prison compound.”11 Indeed, Socrates’ description of the prisoners’ situation is remarkably similar to descriptions of the bonds used on prisoners in ancient Athenian jails, further confirming the link between the cave image and political life.12 Even if the shackles merely represent natural bodily needs and desires, there are, at the least, other human beings who are exploiting the prisoners’ natural immobility by showing them what, presumably, they want them to see.13 It is no stretch to conclude that this puppet show serves in its own way as a means of incarceration. After all, it creates for the prisoners a highly convincing reality, and a pleasing one 11 Eva Brann, The Music of the Republic:  Essays on Socrates’ Conversations and Plato’s Writings (Philadelphia: Paul Dry Books, 2004), 215. Cf. Ferguson, “Plato’s Simile of Light, Part II,” 16. 12 See Danielle Allen, “Imprisonment in Classical Athens,” Classical Quarterly 47, no. 1 (1997): 121–​35; and Virginia Hunter, “The Prison of Athens: A Comparative Perspective,” Phoenix 51, no. 3/​4 (1997): 296–​326. 13 One commentator makes the further point that “Plato was sure that most men are naturally insufficiently rational to practise philosophy or exercise political rule, and he believed, therefore, that to deprive them of the philosophic paideia is not to pervert their natures. . . . Therefore, because their predicament is unnatural, the inmates must symbolise something other than just a level of individual belief. The allegory must mean that the evils of our condition do not arise just from the fact that we are imperfectly rational.” Dale Hall, “Interpreting Plato’s Cave as an Allegory of the Human Condition,” Apeiron: A Journal for Ancient Philosophy and Science 14, no. 2 (1980): 79.

66  Plato’s Caves at that—​the released prisoner would sooner return to it than embrace the truer reality he has been shown. This is the first indication of a political structure within the cave. Some in the cave have more freedom of movement than others, and these individuals use that power to manipulate the others into being so content with their imprisonment that they do not realize they are imprisoned. Who are these puppeteers? Given the reference to puppet shows, the poets make good candidates for this role.14 Yet they are not the only group represented in Plato’s Republic as manipulators of public opinion: sophists,15 legislators,16 rulers,17 and the many themselves18 also exert a strong influence on popular belief. Nothing in the text seems capable of settling this debate. The most one can say is that the puppeteers symbolize the individuals in a society who are not only aware of the falsity of public opinion but actively take part in creating the deception, yet who are themselves stuck in the cave. One might say the puppeteers are the “stronger” according to the sophist Thrasymachus’ definition of justice in Book 1 of the Republic. They determine what the weaker are allowed to see, hear, and do, but do not recognize a life beyond the cave. Interpreting the puppeteers as the “stronger” allows us to incorporate into this category various groups of people, so long as they recognize the existence of both the prisoners and the puppeteers and make themselves puppeteers, without ever leaving the cave. One may thus imagine a whole spectrum of individuals—​legislators, poets, and sophists alike—​duping the rest. There exists, however, a second level of power within the cave—​a power struggle between the prisoners themselves. As I have been arguing, the reference to puppeteers alludes to the role of entrenched or behind-​the-​scenes social control. The Republic shows that such control frequently requires generations of exposure to the same tales and ways of life. Through mechanisms as serious as the law and as playful as entertainment, citizens receive—​often

14 Bloom, “Interpretive Essay,” 404; Jacob Howland, The Republic:  The Odyssey of Philosophy (New York: Twayne, 1993), 141–​44; and Asli Gocer, “The Puppet Theater in Plato’s Parable of the Cave,” Classical Journal 95, no. 2 (1999–​2000): 119–​29. 15 Howland, Republic, 137–​41; and Marina McCoy, Plato on the Rhetoric of Philosophers and Sophists (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 130–​32. 16 Bloom, “Interpretive Essay,” 404. 17 Ferguson, “Plato’s Simile of Light, Part II,” 23. 18 Wilberding makes a fascinating case for interpreting the puppeteers as the multitude of the polis, and for the prisoners as the politicians, artists, and sophists because they simply give the many what they want and therefore are enslaved to the wishes of the many. Wilberding, “Prisoners and Puppeteers.”

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  67 unbeknownst to them—​a certain projection of reality. This, however, is then filtered through the prisoners’ own meaning-​making competition. Of course, not every regime allows for freedom of speech, a fact alluded to by Socrates’ use of the word “if (εἰ)” when raising the possibility of the prisoners discussing the shadows with one another (515b). Yet in all but the most tyrannical regimes, the prisoners compete to see who can correctly interpret and predict the shadows. They gain power over each other by anticipating the scripts created by other, “unseen” men, such as playwrights, sophists, legislators, and rulers. This competition is explicitly cast as a struggle over “having power (ἐνδυναστεύοντας),” implying the existence of a political community (516d). To be sure, the power that prisoners may hold over one another is trivial compared to the power that the puppeteers wield over all the prisoners, i.e., the power of the “shadow” state. Nonetheless, to the prisoners it is a real form of political community. It is worthwhile to consider here one potential counterargument to the view that the prisoners constitute a political community. According to Stanley Rosen, “[T]‌here is no community in the cave . . . The residents of the cave are bound in a ghostly existence that is in no way analogous to the life of the city. Prior to the philosophical liberation, there is no vestige of communal existence and so no politics. The cave dwellers begin to react to one another only as a result of the intervention by the former prisoner.”19 Two lines in the cave allegory contradict Rosen’s reading. First, before discussing the prisoner’s release, Socrates mentions the possibility that the prisoners discuss the shadows with one another (515b). Second, when describing the released prisoner’s descent back into the cave, Socrates says, “if once more (πάλιν) he had to compete with those eternal prisoners in discerning those shadows . . . would he not provoke laughter, and would it not be said about him that he comes back with the journey upward having utterly destroyed his eyes, and that it is not worth it even to attempt to go upward?” (516e–​517a). The inclusion of πάλιν (once more) in this line makes clear that the competition between the prisoners exists prior to the prisoner’s liberation. Heidegger, likewise, is therefore mistaken when he says the prisoners “have no relationship to themselves at all. They do not know any I-​myself or any you yourself.”20 Rather, the prisoners are imagined as engaging in discourse with one another, through which a hierarchy or power structure is created. As John

19 Rosen, Plato’s Republic, 270.

20 Heidegger, Essence of Truth, 21.

68  Plato’s Caves Sallis concludes, “[W]hat is found inside the cave is a political situation, a city. The prisoners are not just isolated individuals.”21 Strauss agrees: “[T]he city can be identified with the Cave.”22 A final indication that the cave represents the polis emerges during the discussion of the released prisoner’s return to the cave. Describing the difficulty the man will experience when trying to compete over interpreting the shadows while his eyes are still adjusting to the dimness of the cave, Socrates finishes by asking, “And if somehow they were able to lay their hands on and kill the one trying to release and lead them up, wouldn’t they kill him?” (517a). This is a thinly disguised reference to the Athenians’ decision to sentence Socrates to death. Of course, Rosen correctly points out that the prisoners would need to be released from their chains to carry out the execution, or, for that matter, to procreate and thus maintain the population.23 Socrates makes clear, however, that the allegory describes not the condition of bodies, but of souls, when he likens “the journey upward and the seeing of the things above to the soul’s ascent to the intelligible place” (517b). Based on this, the image should not be taken too literally. The prisoners do not represent people who are literally enchained; they represent, as Socrates says, people “like us,” whose minds are shackled, people like the Athenians who condemned Socrates to death because he dared to try to turn their souls in the proper direction.

Plato’s Cave Allegory in Interpolity Context Having established that the cave represents the polis or political community, it remains to be seen why the cave should be thought of as a basic model for all political communities, with their multitudinous variations, and what implications arise from this extrapolation of the cave allegory, particularly as it relates to interpreting Plato’s views on cultural diversity and interpolity relations. First, consider the following statement Socrates makes when drawing out the implications of his cave allegory for the “beautiful” city “in speech” that he and his interlocutors have been constructing. Insisting that the cave allegory demonstrates the necessity of philosopher-​kings or wise rulers who 21 John Sallis, Being and Logos: The Way of Platonic Dialogue (Pittsburgh, PA: Duquesne University Press, 1975), 447. 22 Strauss, City and Man, 125. 23 Rosen, Plato’s Republic, 274–​75.

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  69 have seen the Good, Socrates contends that “by us and by you all the city (ἡ πόλις) will be governed but not in a dream, as now many cities (αἱ πολλαὶ) are governed by men fighting over shadows (σκιαμαχούντων) with one another and forming factions for the sake of ruling, as though this were some great good” (520c–​d). This passage conveys two important pieces of information. First, by directly referencing the polis in relation to a kind of governance by men fighting over shadows, Socrates verifies that the cave represents the polis. Second, when Socrates refers to “many” being governed this way, his use of the feminine nominative αἱ πολλαὶ points back to the feminine ἡ πόλις as its antecedent, indicating that he does not mean the many within the city (for which he would likely use the words οἱ πολλοί), but rather that he means to pluralize the word “city,” that is, to say that “many cities” are governed as though by men fighting over shadows.24 Throughout the Republic, Socrates exhibits broader concern with the cities. For instance, after pronouncing that “the cities (πόλεσι)” will have no rest from evils until philosophers rule them, Socrates affirms, “not one of those who manages the affairs of the cities (τῶν πόλεων) does anything sound, so to speak” (496c). Then, when Adeimantus asks about philosophy, “But which of the regimes now existing do you say is suitable for it?” Socrates responds, “None whatsoever . . . but this is the very charge I am bringing; not one city (πόλεως) now established is worthy of the philosophic nature” (497a–​b). All cities, in other words, suffer from the plight described in the cave allegory. Importantly, by “cities” Socrates seems to mean both Greek and non-​ Greek cities. For, earlier in the dialogue, he claims that only the just city is worthy of the name “city.” Other so-​called cities are really “very many cities (πόλεις . . . πάμπολλαι) but not a city (πόλις)”; at the least, each city contains two cities, that of the poor and that of the rich (422e–​423a). Only the just city is a unity and truly the biggest, and “not easily will you find a city as big either among the Greeks or the barbarians, though many seem to be many times as large” (423a–​b). As this implies, every existing political community resembles the cave described in the cave allegory—​whether small or large, tight-​knit or sprawling, Greek or non-​Greek. Allan Bloom draws a similar conclusion: “[T]‌he cave is the city and . . . our attachment to the city binds us to certain authoritative opinions about things. We do not see men as they are but as they are represented to us by legislators and poets. A Greek sees things differently from the way a Persian sees them.”25 Though not made explicit in

24 This is typically how the phrase is translated. 25 Bloom, “Interpretive Essay,” 404.

70  Plato’s Caves the cave allegory, the image of the cave thus is not really an image of a cave, but of many caves. Yet why should we take Socrates’ statements as reflective of Plato’s own views? Suffice it to say that the major argument of c­ hapter 3 is that one of the more interesting yet understudied aspects of the Republic is its cross-​cultural nature. Of the twelve characters appearing in the dialogue, half are Athenian citizens (Socrates, Glaucon, Adeimantus, Niceratus, Charmantides, and Cleitophon), and half are foreigners (Polemarchus’ slave, Polemarchus, Lysias, Euthydemus, Thrasymachus, and Cephalus). As will be shown in ­chapter  3, throughout the Republic characters express views on justice that resonate with their relative positions in the polity and their cultural backgrounds. Cephalus’ and Polemarchus’ views on justice, for instance, are emblematic of the thinking of metics from a western Greek colony such as Syracuse. Similarly, Thrasymachus’ view of justice reflects his experience as a foreigner from Chalcedon, a Greek colony that around the dialogue’s dramatic date was struggling against Athenian imperialist aggression. Glaucon and Adeimantus, for their parts, display some of the prejudices of elites raised in Athens. By depicting these characters in conversation, Plato reveals the extent to which life in a particular polity shapes one’s perception of the world and of justice. As these characters discuss justice together, the limitations of each of their perspectives comes to light, as do the difficulties they each encounter in leaving behind the simplistic constructions of justice propagated by their respective regimes. As a whole, then, the Republic corroborates the view alluded to by Socrates’ image of the cave, of a world of caves. The suggestion that every city is like the cave emerges in other dialogues as well. As we will see in c­ hapter 5, the Laws stresses the differing educations of Spartans and Cretans on the one hand, and Athenians on the other, and the struggles they must overcome to learn from one another. More direct evidence is found in Plato’s Phaedo, the dialogue depicting Socrates’ final conversation before drinking the hemlock and departing this world. In a passage worth quoting at length, Socrates tells a story about his vision of the world: It [the earth] is itself very large, and we who dwell between the pillars of Hercules and the river Phasis live in some small part in the sea, just like ants or frogs in a pond, and many others live in many other such places. For everywhere on the earth there are many hollows (πολλὰ κοῖλα) of every shape and form and size, into which water and mist and air flow . . . Now it escapes our notice that we live in these hollows (τοῖς κοίλοις); we think we live on

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  71 the upper surface of the earth, just as if someone living amidst the bottom of the sea were to think he lived upon the sea and, seeing the sun and stars through the water, should believe the sea was the sky, and through slowness and weakness, should never yet have reached the surface of the sea or seen, by emerging from and lifting his head out of the sea into the place there, how much purer and more beautiful it happens to be . . . For this earth, and the stones and the whole place there is corrupted and corroded, just like things in the sea are by the brine, and nothing worthy of speech grows in the sea, nor so to speak is there anything perfect, but caves (σήραγγες) and sand and endless mud. (109a–​110a)

Though the words κοῖλος (hollow) and σῆραγξ (cave) are not the same as σπήλαιον, the word Plato uses for “cave” in the Republic, it is nonetheless striking to find the world of humans likened to a world of undersea caves of various forms. Moreover, Socrates makes clear that he is not being literal; rather, he is using this story to illustrate the human condition as one of ignorance of the higher, truer world. Based on what the story is meant to illustrate, how can we help but connect Socrates’ vision of the world in the Phaedo with the cave allegory in the Republic? Socrates could scarcely be clearer: we live in a world of “caves.” The prevalence with which this idea is manifested across the dialogues suggests that Socrates’ insinuation that every city resembles the cave in the cave allegory is reflective of Plato’s own views. While interpreters tend to think of Plato’s cave allegory in terms of the philosopher’s relationship to a single city, it is thus justifiable to ask what happens if we extrapolate from the image by imagining it as an image of a world of caves.

Imagining the World of Caves Assuming the validity of my interpretation that the cave allegory is not simply an image of a single cave but of a world of caves, what does such a world look like? The key difficulty in answering this question is, of course, that Plato does not directly tell us what he had in mind in alluding to the possibility of caves. To be sure, he never says anything directly, in his own voice, but in this case, we do not even have the words of his character Socrates. To discover what Plato might say if we could ask him to describe the image of the caves—​that is, to uncover what is left unsaid in the text—​we will necessarily have to rely on what the allegory itself supplies, as well as clues from

72  Plato’s Caves other parts of the dialogue. This is, admittedly, an imperfect exercise. In what follows, I argue that this exercise yields a vision of a world populated with political communities that all share the basic structure of the cave, yet deviate from one another in terms of the finer details of this arrangement. Thus far, all we have seen is that the image of a world of caves consists of discrete caves with their own sets of prisoners fighting over shadows. It requires but little extrapolation to flesh out the image more fully. For one, if the cave represents any given polis, then every political community, in Plato’s view, contains all three groups found in the allegory: prisoners, puppeteers, and liberators. Translated into nonmetaphorical terms, every polis contains consumers of beliefs, producers of beliefs, and a few who question these beliefs in a search for the truth. The cave image serves, one could say, to illuminate the Form of the polity. Just as the Form of absolute beauty is manifested in the real world in a multitude of ways, so that human beings of varying sizes, shapes, and colors can all appear beautiful to us, polities can look different from one another yet all partake of the same essential being or Form. The cave image cuts through the superficial differences to reveal the underlying “city-​ness” they all share. At their core, all cities, whether Greek or non-​ Greek, resemble the cave; the human beings within them live as prisoners, puppeteers, or liberators. Yet, though the basic features of every polis are the same, it would be nonsensical to assert that every polis is identical. Accordingly, though each polis resembles the cave in terms of its basic structure, each cave differs at least slightly from every other cave. One can imagine at least three respects in which “caves” might differ. First, the number and nature of the puppeteers will likely differ. For instance, in Persia the puppeteer class would consist of the Great King and his men, while in Athens it would comprise a much larger group of individuals, including legislators, sophists, poets, and perhaps even the “many” themselves insofar as they shape public opinion. This means that caves will also differ, secondly, in terms of the types of shadows projected on the wall and the sounds accompanying them. In the Spartan cave, prisoners would likely see shadows of warriors and hear sounds of battle; in the Athenian cave, prisoners would see a great variety of shadows and hear a multitude of noises, reflecting the city’s multicolored nature. Consequently, the shadows on the wall would likely give rise to different ways of conceiving of the world and of relating to one’s fellow prisoners, suggesting that a third dimension on which caves might differ is the nature of the competition between the prisoners. In the

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  73 Spartan cave, prisoners would dole out honors to those who speak and behave courageously during the competition; in the Athenian cave, rewards would be given to those able to make their voices heard amid the clamor and to predict the next novelty in the shadow play. In sum, polities share the same basic “cave-​like” structure, but differ along one or more of the following dimensions: the number and nature of the puppeteers; the types of shadows projected on the wall and the sounds accompanying them; and how the prisoners therefore conceive of the world around them and interact with one another. What do all these distinctions amount to nonmetaphorically? To begin with, if each cave differs in terms of who its puppeteers are, how the puppeteers relate to the prisoners, and how the prisoners organize power relations among themselves, this means each polis possesses its own distinct form of government, or πολιτεία (politeia). The five major regime types that Socrates studies in Books 8 and 9 of the Republic (Πολιτεία) provide a way of classifying the various political structures found throughout the world. These regime types are aristocracy (rule by the best), timocracy (rule by the honorable), oligarchy (rule by the wealthy), democracy (rule by the many), and tyranny (rule by a tyrant).26 It should be noted that Socrates acknowledges there are other regimes that fit somewhere between these types and that “one would find them no less among the barbarians (τοὺς βαρβάρους) than the Greeks (τοὺς Ἑλληνας)”; in fact, he says, there are “as many forms (εἴδη) of human characters (ἀνθρώπων  .  .  .  τρόπων) as there are forms of regimes (πολιτειῶν)” (544d). When imagining a world of caves, one must therefore imagine a world of nearly an infinite variety of caves, with the five major regime types merely providing a useful typology. Yet, the cave or polis arguably encompasses more than a political structure or politeia. As represented by the varying shadows that are cast, the beliefs prisoners hold about the shadows, and the way this environment informs the prisoners’ behavior in competition with one another, the cave also embodies a unique worldview and set of norms. In contemporary parlance, we might say each cave or polis creates its own “culture.” Notoriously difficult to define, 26 There is a cave even in the aristocratic regime type, that is, even in the beautiful city in speech (Kallipolis). Socrates directly refers to philosophers being compelled to return to the cave in Kallipolis at 520c, 539e, and 540a–​b. As Diskin Clay argues, “In Kallipolis the guardian class is educated. But, when the philosopher of Socrates’ city returns to the cave of his youth, ‘he will distinguish the images of virtue—​of things fair, just, and good—​and this will be a city of waking consciousness and not a dream.’ So there is a cave even in Kallipolis.” Clay, Platonic Questions, 239.

74  Plato’s Caves the term “culture” best captures the unique constellation of attitudes, customs, and beliefs that help to give any polis its character or identity. To be sure, Plato’s Republic stresses that the character of the polis derives in large part from its regime type. In fact, as Books 8 and 9 indicate, regime type plays a decisive role; one can expect democracies, for instance, to foster a love of freedom and thus a “multicolored” way of life. A polis is more than its politeia, however. Otherwise, all political communities with democratic regime types would be exactly the same. In actuality, character development, whether of a human being or of a polis, does not take place in a vacuum and involves a complex array of factors. Plato’s Socrates’ account of the five regime/​soul types implies as much by describing how one type grows within the context of another. Though Socrates presents the movement as nearly seamless—​from aristocracy to timocracy to oligarchy to democracy to tyranny—​a few passages undermine the fluidity of this transition, suggesting that, not only will different political communities find themselves at different stages in the cycle, but the order of the cycle itself is not a foregone conclusion. First of all, when listing out the five types, Socrates, as mentioned, emphasizes that there exist many regime types “somewhere between (μεταξύ)” the five major types (544d). If regimes may lie in the metaxy, this complicates Socrates’ account of the emergence of one from the other; hence, by his own admission, his description of the movement from one regime to the next is overly simplified. Socrates further underscores the caricature-​like nature of his account when, before embarking on his explanation of the transition from aristocracy to timocracy, he asks if he and his interlocutors should “like Homer, pray to (εὐχώμεθα) the Muses”—​an invocation that casts what lies ahead in a poetic, storytelling light (545d). Finally, during the story itself, Socrates insinuates that democracy need not give rise to tyranny, but can, rather, give birth to aristocracy or any other regime type (557d). Could other regimes follow a different trajectory, then? Such a possibility seems especially likely in the case of the mixed regime types Socrates mentions. Indeed, the two examples he cites attest that regimes may combine in unexpected ways: (a) δυναστεῖαι, which roughly translates as “narrow oligarchic dynasties,” or juntas, typically means the rule of “only a specific clique or a group of families” among the wealthy and, as such, draw on both the exclusivity of aristocracy and the plutocratic rule characteristic of oligarchy; beginning in the mid-​fifth century bc, these regimes were also viewed as tyrannical; and (b) ὠνηταὶ βασιλεῖαι (purchased kingships), which likewise implies a combination of aristocracy

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  75 and oligarchy.27 Such odd regime combinations mean that Socrates’ account of the movement from aristocracy to timocracy and so on, does not capture the complex reality of regime change; even if regime type determines culture, one would still expect to find a variety of combinations beyond the five ideal types. Moreover, if the founders of the “beautiful city” face the problem of needing to erase from citizens the beliefs and habits they previously acquired, then one can expect every kind of political community to carry an institutional history that does not disappear with transitions to new regime types—​unless, of course, extreme measures are taken (541a). Hence, even if culture follows political structure, existing regime type alone can only tell us so much. Over time, the polis will take on a character that transcends its politeia, even as the existing politeia influences the prevailing culture. As a representation of the polis, each cave therefore contains both its own unique regime type (politeia) and culture. Although no precise equivalent for “culture” exists in ancient Greek, two related terms offer a close approximation: νόμος (nomos) and νόμιμα (nomima).28 While in Plato’s time nomos was the Greek word for “law” and typically referred to specific legal statutes, nomima is translated as “customs,” “conventions,” or “traditions” because it generally applies to norms that are not legally enforceable, but are nevertheless heavily socially prescribed. As Martin Ostwald explains, nomima “often resemble legal or political nomoi, but they differ from them in that they describe behavioral patterns, which are not usually subject to legislation.”29 Despite these general connotations, in practice the distinction between the two terms often “melts away,” as Pangle observes, in large 27 Matthew Simonton, Classical Greek Oligarchy:  A Political History (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press, 2017), 37. On “purchased kingships,” see Aristotle, Politics 1273a25–​1273b7. 28 Another candidate for the ancient equivalent of “culture” is παιδεία (paideia)—​the word of choice in Performance and Culture in Plato’s “Laws”, ed. Anastasia-​Erasmia Peponi (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013). This equivalent is less fitting in my view because in the Republic, as well as in other dialogues, such as the Laws (see, e.g., 643a–​644a), Plato uses paideia to describe the turning of the soul toward the pursuit of truth and virtue. This very specific use of paideia precludes the possibility of multiple versions of paideia—​or at least suggests other so-​called forms of paideia are not truly paideia. By contrast, the nomoi of one people need not be the same as the nomoi of another people yet may still justly be referred to as nomoi. Tellingly, Plato uses the word nomos rather than paideia in the following passage from the Laws, in which the Athenian Stranger claims that whether someone critiques the Athenian practice of symposia or the license of Spartan women, one universal answer can be given: “For all will reply to the wondering stranger, who is beholding a novelty in their presence, ‘Do not marvel, oh stranger; this is the law (νόμος) among us, but perhaps among you all there is another pertaining to these same things’ ” (637c). It is worth noting, however, that paideia and nomos seem to be closely related in Plato’s thought—​and the dialogues sometimes imply that nomos determines whether or not we receive a good or true paideia (see, e.g., Laws 656c) and, at other times, imply that changes in paideia lead to changes in nomos (see, e.g., Republic 424b–​e). 29 Martin Ostwald, From Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of Law: Law, Society, and Politics in Fifth-​Century Athens (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986), 104.

76  Plato’s Caves part due to the absence in Greek thought of a strict separation between state and society.30 Thus writers sometimes use nomos in reference to custom or habit, as Plato does throughout the Laws.31 In the works of Herodotus and others, we frequently hear of the nomoi of the Greeks as distinguished from the nomoi of non-​Greeks, or of the nomoi of a specific city whether Greek or non-​Greek, with nomoi being used to describe habitual ways of life, not officially promulgated laws.32 Hence, while nomima is a more direct or appropriate equivalent for “culture,” nomos also supplies a close match. Together, these related terms show that Plato and his contemporaries would not have found the modern concept of “culture” unintelligible. In saying that each cave in the world of caves possesses not only a distinctive political structure (politeia), but also a distinctive culture, scholars of the ancient world can thus understand by my use of “culture” something like nomima or nomoi. As mentioned in ­chapter 1, during Plato’s time nomos was often contrasted to phusis or “nature”—​a distinction that highlights the man-​made nature of laws and customs. Cultures do not arise ex nihilo; they are the result of an ongoing and contestable process of social and political construction. In Clifford Geertz’s famous formulation, cultures are “webs of significance [man] himself has spun.”33 The cave allegory highlights the constructed nature of culture by marking out the role of the puppeteers in determining what the prisoners see and hear, and the role of public discussion among the prisoners in giving meaning to the shadows on the wall. It is important to note that the activity of meaning-​making involves the use of some form of reasoning, however flawed. To understand this better, consider Herodotus’ famous description of the nomoi of various ancient peoples. According to James Redfield, Herodotus uses three words for “culture”: diaita, ethea, and nomoi. Whereas diaita designates different material cultures (e.g., different types of food, drink, and clothing), ethea refers to different characters or personalities. Unlike the other two terms, nomoi are rules that are “often accompanied by an explanation” and “are the sign of a certain level of culture; every 30 Plato, The Laws of Plato, trans. Thomas L. Pangle (Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 1988), 511n1. 31 For further analysis, see Brent Edwin Cusher, “How Does Law Rule? Plato on Habit, Political Education, and Legislation,” Journal of Politics 76, no. 4 (2014): 1032–​44. 32 For examples and further discussion, see Ostwald’s philological study of nomos. Martin Ostwald, Nomos and the Beginnings of the Athenian Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969). 33 Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973), 5.

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  77 people has its ethea, but the most savage people have no nomoi at all (4.106); they are incapable of stating rules for themselves.”34 Though sometimes in colloquial speech the word “culture” signifies a people’s customary dress, food, tools, and so on—​that is, their diaita or material culture—​most of the time something more is meant by “culture.” One wants to know what a certain dish or clothing item means to the people who use it, for physical objects are rarely just that. “Culture” thus designates something deeper, a communal sort of meaning-​making that often operates as an unconscious foundation of everyday life, but that can theoretically be put into words and discussed. Accordingly, “culture” is distinctly human.35 To speak of each cave as having its own culture means, then, that the members of a given political community have developed beliefs, customs, and habits that they can, if pressed, provide some sort of justification for—​even if that reason is simply “that is how things have always been done among us.” It is crucial to remember, however, that though nomos is man-​made and alterable, it exerts such a powerful hold over most men that to them it seems natural, intuitive, and even sacrosanct. To act contrary to the nomoi of one’s society is therefore often unthinkable. A famous passage from the Histories illustrates that even when presented with evidence that nomoi are socially constructed, people still tend to believe their culture is the “right” one. According to Herodotus, Darius once asked some Greeks how much money it would take for them to eat the corpses of their fathers; they replied that no amount of money could convince them to do this. He then brought before these Greeks some members of the Indian tribe known as Callatiae, who eat their parents, and asked them how much money it would take for them to cremate their fathers’ corpses. They told him not to say such appalling things. The moral of the story, Herodotus concludes, is that Pindar was right to say that custom is king of all (Histories 3.38). The cave allegory likewise illustrates the powerful effect of culture by describing the immense resistance the released prisoner displays when faced with evidence that reveals the falsity of his constructed reality, as well as the hostile reaction of his fellow prisoners when he later tries to convey this evidence to them. As this suggests, cultures gain strength by

34 Redfield, “Herodotus the Tourist,” 98–​99. 35 For this reason, the term “culture” corresponds more closely with nomos than with ethos, as the Greeks applied the latter to all kinds of animals while reserving the former exclusively for humans.

78  Plato’s Caves becoming “second nature.” Not only are the prime generators of culture (the puppeteers) often hidden from view, but the process of cultural transmission from generation to generation further helps to obscure the artificial origins of a community’s beliefs and practices, while also lending cultural norms greater legitimacy. Growing up hearing the same views repeated by family, friends, neighbors, and fellow citizens, it becomes “normal” to believe what one’s fellow prisoners believe about the shadows and to act in accordance with the behaviors they exhibit. Moreover, the rewards given for “properly” identifying the shadows create a Pavlovian response, conditioning citizens to act in conformity with the cultural expectations of their community. This often leads to a strong attachment to the worldview and way of life within one’s own cave, much as the affection of a child for a parent. The most successful forms of enculturation can even inspire a religious-​like devotion, with adherents believing their nomoi are divinely ordained, as seen in the opening exchange of Plato’s Laws (624a). Ultimately, any given culture, though socially constructed, appears to its believers as the naturally right way of life. In sum, if the cave is a template of all cities, then the world consists of a multitude of caves—​each with its own power structure (as represented by the relations between the puppeteers and the prisoners, and among the prisoners themselves) and its own culture (as represented by the shadows, the beliefs prisoners hold about them, and the influence of this environment on the prisoners’ behaviors). A foreigner is therefore someone from a different cave or polity, with its own set of power relations, beliefs, and norms. As silly as it may sound, we might imagine a world map populated with hundreds of caves, each representing a different polity. Though each of these polities shares the basic structure of the cave in the allegory, each cave is marked with a unique color or pattern. Zooming in on a particular cave, we would see that the color represents its distinctive combination of power relations, shadows and sounds, and so on. Given that the cave encapsulates an entire way of life, an endless array of colors would be possible. Some caves would be decorated predominantly with one color. Most eye-​catching of all, however, would be the democratic caves, which would be multicolored to represent the variety of ways of life allowed within them. With this in mind, it is now time to consider how the image of the world of caves can help us better understand Plato’s political thought. As argued in the next section, the “caves” image yields, to begin with, one startling implication: that Plato’s worldview is more egalitarian than previously thought.

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  79

Implications of the “Caves” Image Against the various discourses in classical Athens connecting Greeks to wisdom and other virtues, while demeaning non-​Greeks as ignorant, cowardly, and, in a word, barbaric, the image of the caves suggests that all peoples are essentially alike. That is, within each polity, one is likely to find a majority who blindly accept their conditioning, a generally smaller portion who are responsible for this conditioning, and but a few visionaries who might be able to change the plight of their fellows for the better. As aforementioned, Socrates presents all cities, Greek and non-​Greek, as degenerate communities dominated by factions of men fighting over shadows. He further confirms this portrait of all existing cities when he says to an audience of Greek interlocutors that the prisoners, however strange, are “like us” (515a). Since his primary interlocutors at this stage in the conversation are Glaucon and Adeimantus, this statement must apply to Athenians. Indeed, throughout the Republic, Socrates reveals the many shortcomings of the Greek worldview with respect to goodness and truth, insinuating that “prisoners” exist in every polity, including those of the Greeks. In short, all human beings live in a city that resembles the cave. Problematically, most people—​whether Greek or non-​Greek—​are like the prisoners: unenlightened. Yet, the image of the caves also suggests that, in Plato’s worldview, all political communities have their “Socrates.” Given Plato’s evident admiration for philosophers, this is perhaps the best death blow one can deliver to the assumption that Plato is hostile toward non-​Greeks. Not only does the image of the caves suggest that non-​Greeks can be philosophers, but other evidence corroborates this conclusion. For instance, though in the Republic Glaucon thinks the ideal city must be Greek (470e), when Socrates speaks of the possibility of a philosopher coming to power, he claims this could be about to happen “in some barbaric place (τινι βαρβαρικῷ τόπῳ) somewhere far outside our range of vision” (499c–​d). Similarly, in the Laws, the Athenian Stranger states, “For there are always among the many certain divine human beings—​not many—​entirely worthy of conversing with, and they grow none the more in cities with good laws than in those without” (951b). In the Phaedo, as well, Socrates refers to the possibility of barbarian philosophers when an interlocutor asks him where Socrates’ friends will find a singer of philosophical things when Socrates is dead, to which he replies, “Hellas is large . . . and in it there are doubtless good men, and many barbarian races. Among them all (οὓς πάντας) it is necessary to seek for and examine such a

80  Plato’s Caves singer, sparing neither money nor toil” (78a, emphasis added). Though it is dangerous to interpret lines out of their dramatic contexts, the repetition of this idea across the dialogues implies that Plato recognizes that philosophers emerge from all kinds of polities and places and that the Greek–​barbarian division is, as Edith Hall argues, merely a social construction.36 In truth, even the most praiseworthy of individuals, philosophers, exist the world over. If this is the case—​that is, if philosophers can arise in any regime—​then this alone may be a reason to engage other cultures. At the least, it tells us that Plato does not share the prejudice that Greeks are inherently superior to non-​Greeks. In highlighting the egalitarian implications of the image of the world of caves, I am not, however, suggesting that Plato is a cultural relativist. Though his dialogues imply that the path to wisdom is difficult, and that even when we think we have found the truth, we must retain a zetetic posture, Plato assumes—​perhaps as an article of faith or as a “noble lie” philosophers tell themselves—​that there is Truth with a capital T and thus an absolute notion of justice. His dialogues represent his attempts to work out in writing what this absolute Truth might be, by submitting his and others’ ideas to rigorous and repeated investigation. From this process emerge certain ideas that Plato wishes to elevate above others, and toward which he seeks to lead readers while at the same time discouraging the dogmatic reception of these ideas. Hence, in my view, it does not make sense to think of Plato as a relativist of any kind. Even if every polity resembles the cave, this does not mean all the inner workings of each cave are equally good. It would be difficult to maintain, for instance, that Plato would deem a war-​loving cave equivalent to a cave in which prisoners generally see shadows meant to incline them toward friendship. Similarly, a cave that hinders freedom of speech would likely be judged as inferior to one that fosters this basic condition of philosophy. Nonetheless, it is important that we not lose sight of the fact that Plato presents all existing cities as deficient in some way. In other words, while we might be able to rank one cave as better than another in terms of how conducive it is to living the good life, none of these caves is categorically superior. A prisoner whose shackles are looser than those of his fellow in another cave has as little to brag about as the least idiotic of idiots, though he is relatively better off and should be regarded as pointing the rest in the right direction. Put differently, in every city there exists a form of imprisonment.

36 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian.

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  81 While imprisonment to honor demonstrated through courageous action in war (timocracy) is superior to imprisonment to moneymaking (oligarchy), pleasure (democracy), and power (tyranny), it is still a form of imprisonment that is at odds with the philosophic way of life. Moreover, Socrates’ ranking of the regimes in Books 8 and 9 does not necessarily mean that the turn toward philosophy is likelier to occur in the cave with the least-​bad form of imprisonment. After all, consider Socrates’ remark that because democracy contains “all species of regimes . . . it is likely that for one wishing to establish a city, as we were just doing, it is necessary to go to a democratic city, and to select there one with a character pleasing to him, as if coming into a general market of regimes, and thus establishing the one he has chosen” (557d). This implies that though, in the philosopher’s judgment, democratic souls are far from being philosophic souls, democracy as a regime is friendliest to the possibility of a person transforming himself into a philosophic soul because democracies value having agency over one’s life. As we will see in c­ hapter 5 on the Laws, timocratic souls may be closer in nature to the philosopher’s own, but as a regime, timocracy tends to be less supportive of philosophic enlightenment because of the strong emphasis it places on tradition and obedience.37 The five major regime types thus possess their own advantages and disadvantages. The important point to stress, however, is that all live in a city that resembles the cave; most are blindly imprisoned to something that keeps them from living the happiest life, that is, the philosophic life. This is true whether one is Greek or non-​Greek. It is also important to bear in mind that even though, in my view, Plato would grant that some cultures are better than others in certain respects, the relative goodness of each culture has nothing to do with the inherent nature of the peoples themselves. Again, it is dangerous to draw lines out of context, but two passages in the Platonic corpus support this point. As seen in ­chapter 1, in the Theaetetus Socrates says with regard to people praising someone’s lineage that “altogether dim and slight of seeing he [the philosopher] deems this praise; by lack of education they cannot always see the whole nor calculate that each has had countless thousands of ancestors and progenitors, among whom have been in any instance rich and beggarly, kings 37 Socrates suggests as much in the Republic when he says, “And on the other hand the firm and unchangeable dispositions, whom one could treat as rather trustworthy, and who in war are hard to move toward fears, likewise exhibit this disposition toward studies. They are hard to move and have difficulty learning just as if stupefied, and are filled with sleep and yawning whenever there is need to work out something with labor” (503c–​d).

82  Plato’s Caves and slaves, barbarians and Greeks” (174e–​175a). The philosophical Eleatic Stranger in the Statesman likewise argues that Greeks err by dividing the human race into Greeks and barbarians (262c–​263a). Both passages suggest that there has been so much intermixing of peoples that attempts to distinguish people based on ethnicity are foolish. Accordingly, if aspects of some cultures are better from the Platonic standpoint than others, it is not owing to natural or biological differences between respective groups of people. Rather, a variety of external factors must be responsible for the differing trajectories of political communities. The realization that the notion of pure ancestry is but a myth gives rise to a further implication: that our image of the world of caves is still incomplete, for it fails to capture this intermixing of peoples. Let us return for a moment to the silly representation of the world of caves as a kind of map populated with a plethora of caves decorated in many colors. As we looked at the map and noticed that many of the caves contained a mixture of at least two colors, often sharing colors with the caves geographically closest to them, we would start to wonder how self-​contained the cave really is. In the next section, I will consider precisely this—​how we might develop a more sophisticated model of the world of caves by imagining the cave interacting with other caves or, as Socrates puts it, by seeing the cave as “moving.”

Setting the Cave in Motion Though each cave differs in some respect from every other cave and thus constitutes its own discrete entity, if the cave does in fact symbolize the polis, it would be absurd to think that the caves do not interact with one another, for real-​life cities generally interact. Nothing in the cave allegory precludes the possibility of interactions between caves. In fact, cross-​ cave interaction may even be insinuated when Socrates describes the puppeteers walking along a “road (ὁδόν)” set between the prisoners and the fire (514b). Roads typically lead somewhere, and it is not said that the puppeteers pace back and forth on the road, but that they pass by, carrying objects that are then projected as shadows on the wall. Does this underground road connect to other caves? What about the pathway out of the cave? Surely, as a believer in universal truth, Plato would maintain that the path out of the cave leads everyone to the same “real” world; so does that mean that liberators from each cave might encounter each other in

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  83 that higher place?38 The answers to these questions remain left up to our imaginations. But we are saved from answering them if we remember that the cave image is not meant literally, but rather as a metaphor for the condition not of bodies but of souls. It should therefore not trouble us to imagine interactions between members of different caves, or even between the prisoners of different caves. The cave is a mindset, a way of thinking and behaving ingrained in us since childhood as a result of our political conditioning. Hence, it is entirely possible to imagine members of one “cave” interacting with members of another “cave.” What I  am proposing to do is something analogous to what the interlocutors of Plato’s Timaeus set out to do with the ideal city Socrates proposed. After recalling some of the details of an ideal city in speech resembling the one sketched out in the Republic, Socrates requests that they attempt to imagine the city in speech “moving” or interacting with other cities: This feeling of mine resembles something such as this: it is as if someone were beholding beautiful animals somewhere, whether works of art or truly living but taking a repose, and should come into a desire to behold them moving (κινούμενά) and contending in a struggle of the sort seeming fitting to their bodies; well that is how I have been affected concerning the city which we have described. For with pleasure would I listen to anyone describing in speech our city contending in struggles, itself contending in those many others undertake, giving an account of how properly it enters into war, and how in warring it presents itself in a manner befitting its education and rearing with regard to its dealings with each of the cities both in its actions and negotiations in words. (19b–​c)

Just as Socrates wished to see the ideal city in motion, my objective is to see Plato’s cave in motion, interacting with other caves. Thus far, scholars have only considered Plato’s cave in a static state, isolated from the broader environment in which it exists. Putting the cave back in its full context, as part

38 Socrates implies that other human beings can be found outside of the cave when he describes the prisoner exiting the cave and at first only being able to make out shadows, then “the images of human beings and other things (τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων εἴδωλα)” (516a). Note that he uses the word “humans,” as opposed to Greeks. He does not, however, mention any discourse between the liberated humans. Is Strauss right that “by failing to present a conversation between Socrates and the Eleatic stranger or Timaeus, he indicates that there is no Platonic dialogue among men who are, or could be thought to be, equals”? Strauss, City and Man, 55.

84  Plato’s Caves of a world of caves, will allow for a more complete picture of Plato’s political thought. Assuming that the image of the caves captures at least to some degree Plato’s view of the world at large, what can this image tell us about Plato’s approach to issues relating to the treatment of foreigners? If philosophers can help to liberate prisoners from the cave, what about encounters with foreigners, or those from another cave? What effects, if any, does exposure to cultural diversity have on the prisoners in the cave? How might recognizing these effects have shaped the way Plato thought about the proper political framework? We have already seen one implication of the “caves” image: that Plato’s worldview is more egalitarian than previously thought. In what follows, I argue that two further implications can be drawn once we imagine the cave in motion, interacting with other caves: Plato recognizes that no culture is homogenous; and Plato sees the potential in cross-​cultural interaction for intellectual liberation. First, by putting the cave in motion it becomes clear that Plato did not regard cultures as monolithic or completely homogenous. That is, if the cave can interact with other caves, then the boundary of “the cave” is more fluid than Socrates lets on. Consider Socrates’ claim that no so-​called polis is truly one polis, but rather is composed of multiple polities (423a–​b). If this is true of the polis, and if the cave represents the polis, then what the prisoners identify as a single cave encompasses, in reality, at least two distinct political communities, or two caves. One could say there exist “caves within ‘the cave’ ”: for example, caves of rich Athenians; of poor Athenians; of Athenian men; of Athenian women; of poor, Athenian women, and so on. Any salient point of division in the identity of the people within a given political community can foster the development of a cave within the cave, or a unique power structure and worldview that overlaps substantially with the dominant vision of the cave but differs in some respect.39 Moreover, movement of peoples between

39 Adding in the factor of time yields a three-​dimensional model, with a so-​called single cave transforming itself as the ages pass. For example, though both called “Athens,” the cave of ancient Athens and the cave of modern Athens diverge in major respects. According to Strauss, modern humans may even be said to dwell in a cave beneath the cave: “Bearing in mind the classical representation of the natural difficulties involved in philosophizing, in other words, the Platonic figure of the cave, one can say that today we are in a second, much deeper cave than the fortunate ignorant persons with whom Socrates was concerned. We need history, first of all, in order to climb up into the cave from which Socrates can lead us to the light. We need a propaedeutic, something the Greeks did not need, that is, book learning (lesenden Lernens).” Leo Strauss, “Review of Julius Ebbinghaus, On the Progress of Metaphysics” (1931), in Leo Strauss: The Early Writings (1921–​1932), trans. and ed. Michael Zank (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002).

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  85 caves or interaction between members of different caves can give rise to new caves within the cave. Hence, it would be dangerous to assume that all the people within a so-​called cave share precisely the same values. Only the ideal city can achieve true unity, but since Socrates cannot point to a single real-​life example of such a regime, it seems safer to assume that the so-​called cave in which we dwell is really a multiplicity of caves. How porous the boundary of any given cave is will vary. On one end of the spectrum will lie polities like Athens, which, insofar as it fits the model of democracy Socrates provides in Book 8 of the Republic, is something of a cave of caves, containing a range of regime types, like a microcosm of the world writ large. In such regimes, identity will be more readily blurred. Individuals may dwell within their own unique hodgepodge of caves, making it more difficult to draw distinctions such as citizen and metic. Even if a citizen in a democracy clings to the mindset of a single cave, he will nonetheless find it more difficult to avoid daily interaction with people from other caves and to guard against small influences seeping unbeknown to him into his beliefs and behaviors. Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, polities like Sparta will guard against outside influences and promote a more homogenous citizenry. In such caves, identity will be better defined, outsiders will be more obviously marked, and contacts with outsiders will be more carefully circumscribed. Nonetheless, the insistence that no existing city is truly a unity implies that Plato recognizes even the most seemingly homogenous city is rarely a true unity—​an idea with regard to Sparta that is supported by my interpretation of the Laws in c­ hapter 5. Second, putting the “caves” in motion also points to why Plato might see the potential for intellectual liberation in cross-​cultural interaction. To arrive at this, we must consider what gives rise to contemplation—​that is, what releases the prisoner from his bondage to the artificial reality of shadows and provokes him to wonder about what truly is. Socrates answers this question in Book 7, arguing that objects that strike the senses in contradictory ways summon the intellect (523b–​524d). For instance, when one feels that a finger is both hard and soft, one is compelled to ask how this is so, for nothing can admit of contradiction. Although Socrates initially applies this idea to opposing sensory experiences, he later applies it to objects of intellection, such as numbers not attached to visible or tangible bodies (525d–​526b). Surely, justice counts as an object of intellection. Accordingly, encountering a view of justice that conflicts with one’s own can stimulate learning.

86  Plato’s Caves As we will see in ­chapter 3, one of the major sources of different views on justice is cross-​cultural engagement. Engaging with people from other caves may thus be one way prisoners come to see their situation for what it is.40 Of course, the cave allegory does not directly speak of the possibility of cross-​cave interaction. Plato does, however, give readers hints that the cave represents the polis, that there are many caves, and that there may be roads connecting the caves. Based on this, let us conduct our own thought experiment. Imagine a prisoner from “Red” cave being released and allowed to wander along the road to “Green” cave (remembering that this is all metaphorical, i.e., that the cave is a mindset, and so the prisoner is not really leaving his bonds). What would the Red prisoner think when he saw the Green prisoners, competing in their own way over shadows he had never seen before, or giving bizarre meanings to shadows familiar to him since childhood? According to the cave allegory, when the Red prisoner is released from his bonds and shown the fire and puppeteers in his own cave, he will, in denial, want to defend and return to his former way of life. It is natural to suppose, however, that when he is shown the situation in Green cave, he will likely see it for what it is: an artificial reality. He will have such a different reaction because he has no attachment to the way of life in Green cave. It appears absurd, even appalling, from his perspective as a prisoner of Red cave. If he tries to tell this to the Green prisoners, however, he will probably meet with the same resistance as Green cave’s philosophic liberator. The Red prisoner does not, like the liberator, realize that there are actually many caves, as well as a realm that transcends all the caves, but it does not matter—​his presence will be equally upsetting to the Green prisoners, and he, too, will be regarded as a corrupter. Little do the prisoners of Green cave know that the stranger is telling the truth: they are in a cave, and there is a world beyond their cave. If they are not utterly stubborn, however, then their encounter with the Red prisoner will lead them to look a bit closer at their reality. In turn, the experience of meeting the Green prisoners may help the Red prisoner see his own cave in a new light, inciting him to question the truth of his worldview. Cross-​cave encounters can, in short, facilitate the release from intellectual bondage. Though the experience may not result in this outcome (just as 40 To be sure, cross-​cultural engagement is not the only way prisoners may come to see their situation for what it is. Any experience that forces us to confront contradictions in our notion of justice can give rise to contemplation. Therefore, a city that lives in complete isolation from all other cities is not doomed to perpetual ignorance about the true nature of justice. Nonetheless, given the tendency of people to become habituated to a certain way of life, cross-​cultural engagement offers a particularly powerful way of initiating reflection on one’s communal conception of justice.

Setting the Stage: A World of Caves  87 encounters with Socrates did not always succeed in provoking interlocutors to engage in self-​examination), without such encounters, prisoners would be reliant on the rare philosopher-​type to help liberate them. In the remaining chapters, I defend this idea further by examining the representation of cross-​cultural interactions in Plato’s dialogues. Using the image of the caves as a guide or map, I show that in four Platonic dialogues—​the Republic, the Menexenus, the Laws, and the Phaedrus—​Plato presents foreigners as gadflies and, through this, highlights both the benefits of engaging with foreigners and the discomfort and conflict such encounters often provoke. The journey begins in the place most associated with cultural diversity in Athens: the Piraeus.

PART I

AT HE N IA N S A N D F OR E IG NE R S

3 The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus Diversity, Democracy, and Philosophy in the Republic

In Plato’s most famous work, the Republic, Socrates appears to endorse a foreign policy of Panhellenic unity in the face of the threat posed by non-Greek or “barbarian” enemies. Socrates presents this policy of friendship with other Greeks and enmity toward non-Greeks as in accordance with φύσις, or “nature”: I assert that the Greek race is with respect to itself its own (οἰκεῖον) and akin, but, with respect to the barbaric, foreign and alien (ἀλλότριον). . . . We shall say then that Greeks fighting with barbarians and barbarians with Greeks are at war and are enemies (πολεμίους) by nature (φύσει), and this hatred is called war (πόλεμον); but Greeks fighting against Greeks, whenever they do such a thing, are by nature (φύσει) friends (φίλους), but in this case Hellas is sick and factious, and this kind of hatred is called faction (στάσιν). (470c–d) ​

Earlier in the text, Socrates insinuates that hostility toward non-Greeks is also in line with the philosophic way of life. Asserting that the nature of a noble dog, which is friendly toward those it knows and hostile toward those it does not, is “truly philosophic (ἀληθῶς φιλόσοφον),” Socrates echoes the language of οἰκεῖον and ἀλλότριον in the passage at 470c-d, asking of the noble dog, “[H]ow could it not be a lover of learning since it delineates by knowledge, on the one hand, and ignorance, on the other, what is its own͂ (τό τε οἰκειο ͂ν) and what is alien (τὸ ἀλλότριον)?” (376b). The love of learning, he later states, is chiefly attributed to Attica; whereas spiritedness is connected to the barbarian lands of Thrace and Scythia, and love of money to the barbarian lands of Phoenicia and Egypt (435e–436a). Socrates seems critical, moreover, of Athenian democracy for its openness to foreigners, complaining that in democracies “the metic is made equal to the citizen and the citizen to the

Plato’s Caves. Rebecca LeMoine, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190936983.001.0001

92  Athenians and Foreigners metic, and the foreigner likewise” (562e–​563a). Based on these passages, it is easy to see why many think Platonic political thought is xenophobic. Yet there is something unsettling about the conclusion that Plato sanctions hostility toward non-​Greeks in the Republic, since every piece of evidence used to support this position is contradicted by another passage in the dialogue. First, if Socrates believes that Greeks and barbarians are natural enemies, why does he begin the dialogue by recalling how just yesterday he went down to the Piraeus, the diverse port of Athens, to “pray to the goddess (προσευξόμενός τε τῇ θεῷ),” presumably the Thracian (non-​Greek) goddess Bendis?1 Surely, it constitutes a great sacrilege to pray to a divinity worshipped by one’s natural enemies. Second, if the guardians of the beautiful city in speech, Kallipolis, are supposed to act like noble dogs—​gentle toward friends and hostile toward enemies—​why does Socrates challenge the definition of justice as doing good to friends and harm to enemies by arguing that the just man never harms anyone (335b–​e)? Moreover, as Claudia Barrachi asks, “How is one to consider this—​philosophy? . . . For does the love of learning not entail an attraction to the unknown, rather than a fondness for (contentment with) the known? . . . Socratic pedagogy in its entirety (the movement meant to turn the soul toward the unknown, to make the unknown not simply the object of hostility, to overcome such resistance) represents a fundamental questioning of the logic of the guardian-​watchdog.”2 Third, if Attica is connected with love of learning, why does Socrates insist that Athens and other Greek cities are infertile growing grounds for philosophy (496c, 497a–​ b)? Why, when he speaks of the possibility of a philosopher coming to power, does he claim that this could be about to happen, not in Attica, but “in some barbaric place (τινι βαρβαρικῷ τόπῳ) somewhere far outside our range of vision” (499c–​d)? Additionally, if the barbarian lands of Phoenicia and Egypt are connected with the love of money, why does the structure of Socrates’ ideal city in speech resemble the Egyptian caste system, and why does he base its educational system on a Phoenician myth? Finally, is it not odd that in the passage in which Socrates censures democracies for treating citizens, metics, and foreigners as equals, he also criticizes democracies for treating men and women as equals, even though in Book 5 he had argued for the equality of 1 Thrasymachus provides the evidence that the festival being held that night is for Bendis (354a). Interestingly, in the Charmides, Socrates claims to have learned a cure for headaches from a Thracian physician while on campaign. The cure involves healing the whole soul (156d–​157c). Hence, the Republic is not the only dialogue that connects philosophy to engagement with Thracians. 2 Claudia Barrachi, Of Myth, Life and War in Plato’s “Republic” (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 161. Cf. Frank, Poetic Justice, 88.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  93 men and women? Is it not strange, too, that Socrates says this in the company of metics and a foreign visitor, all of whom he has engaged in conversation as though they were equals? In sum, it is difficult to be sure that the Republic promotes hostility toward non-​Greeks when every passage in support of this conclusion is undermined by another part of the text. Further complicating the interpretation of the Republic as xenophobic is the strong likelihood that the ideal city in speech does not represent Plato’s actual model of a perfect city. Although scholars have traditionally interpreted Kallipolis as Plato’s political ideal, numerous scholars challenge this reading, showing instead that the attempt of Socrates and his interlocutors to create such a city in speech reveals how ugly and warped such regimes become when constructed by mere human beings, however well-​meaning they may be. In other words, Kallipolis is not a utopia, but a dystopia. This interpretation rests on several points—​namely, the argument that a thinker as thoughtful as Plato would not have constructed such a self-​undermining city if he had had any intention of providing a blueprint of his true ideal. For one, Kallipolis depends on the strict control of eros so that only the best will breed with the best, but its proposed solution of communism of wives and children “increases the probability of eugenic failure” because without the maternal bond, concern for a child’s education is loosened, allowing more unworthy children to infiltrate the guardian ranks.3 More problematically, the city depends on citizens following the regime’s rules for sexual intercourse. That is not how sexual attraction and appetites work; therefore, the just city “is impossible because it is against nature.”4 Why would Plato endorse a city so obviously doomed to failure? In addition to its impossibility, Kallipolis is arguably undesirable by Platonic standards. Despite the importance of the soul in Plato’s thought, Socrates turns the ideal citizens into “soulless bodies who are controlled much as animals in the barnyard are”—​an obvious sign that the city of the Republic is comic and ugly.5 As David Roochnik argues of Kallipolis “not only would it undermine its own existence but would stifle all the many blossomings of the human spirit. Not only would philosophy disappear—​and for Plato this is of course the fundamental, perhaps even the only real, issue—​but so too would 3 Harry Berger Jr., The Perils of Uglytown:  Studies in Structural Misanthropology from Plato to Rembrandt (New York: Fordham University Press, 2015), 130. 4 Strauss, City and Man, 127. 5 Arlene W. Saxonhouse, “Comedy in Callipolis:  Animal Imagery in the Republic,” American Political Science Review 72, no. 3 (1978): 899. Cf. Saxonhouse, Fear of Diversity, chap. 6; Berger, Perils of Uglytown, 158–​59; and Frank, Poetic Justice, 108.

94  Athenians and Foreigners privacy, artistic freedom, disagreement, and political debate, all of which have been shown to be essential to the Republic itself.”6 Indeed, the Republic would not be allowed in Kallipolis, for in it Socrates imitates good and bad characters alike, and repeats passages from Homer and other Greek authors that Kallipolis would forbid its citizens from hearing.7 How can Plato sanction the purging of the “negative” contents of Greek poetry while not only exposing readers to these banned passages, but also creating myths of his own that violate some of these rules? For example, the Myth of Er in Book 10 breaks the rule that the afterlife must not be depicted as a fearful place (386b–​ 387b) by presenting bad men suffering for a thousand years and, if found to be incurable, being bound up and flayed by fiery demons before being thrown into Tartarus (614b–​616a). For that matter, the recommendation of the practice of sending children to observe war contradicts the censorship of representations of warring, fighting, and death.8 Moreover, how can Plato recommend sheltering citizens from innovation, in a written work that is itself innovative?9 If we treat Kallipolis as Plato’s model for an ideal city, we are faced with the Herculean task of explaining, not only why the city is built on flaws so obvious that they could not have escaped Plato’s notice, but also why Plato paradoxically advocates banning his own writing. It is more reasonable to conclude that Kallipolis is not Plato’s version of utopia at all, but illustrative of the problems with perfectionist approaches to politics.10 The foreign policy of the city could very well constitute one of these problems. Socrates himself drops numerous hints that Kallipolis is not meant to be taken as a political ideal, but rather to serve as a thought experiment designed to help his interlocutors understand the nature of their souls. First, though Socrates claims that in asserting that they have discovered what justice is, they are likely not “entirely telling a lie” (444a), he describes their view of

6 Roochnik, Beautiful City, 77. 7 For this and other reasons why the Republic and Kallipolis are in tension, see Roochnik, Beautiful City, 70–​73. Also see Arlene Saxonhouse, “The Socratic Narrative: A Democratic Reading of Plato’s Dialogues,” Political Theory 37, no. 6 (2009): 728–​53; and Frank, Poetic Justice. 8 Frank, Poetic Justice, 107. 9 Frank,  31–​32. 10 As Steven Forde puts it, “Plato’s banishment of every source of disharmony from his ideal city is not the manifestation of a ‘paranoid’ fear that the slightest breach of public discipline will result in chaos . . . but the logical consequence of the type of intellectual exercise the Republic represents. In that exercise, every other good must be subordinated to justice in order to uncover justice’s true nature—​and to explore the consequences of our pursuing justice so single-​mindedly.” Steven Forde, “Gender and Justice in Plato,” American Political Science Review 91, no. 3 (1997): 667. Cf. Bloom, “Interpretive Essay,” 409.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  95 justice in the city as a mere “image (εἴδωλόν)” of justice and insists the “true (ἀληθές)” definition is the one found in the soul: But the true definition of justice, so it seems, was something of this sort, but with respect not to a man’s external business, but to his internal business, thus truly with respect to himself and his own. He does not allow each part in him to mind the business of others nor the classes in the soul to meddle with each other, but in reality sets his own affairs in good order and rules and arranges himself. And he becomes a friend to himself, fitting together the three parts, exactly like three harmonized terms, lowest and highest and middle, and if there happen to be other parts in between, he binds all these and entirely becomes one from many, moderate and harmonized. Then and only then does he act, if he acts in some way, either concerning the acquisition of goods or the care of the body, or something political, or concerning private contracts. (443c–​e)

By insisting that one can only act justly after setting one’s soul in harmony, Socrates alludes to the possibility that the city in speech may be unjust. After all, did Socrates and his interlocutors construct the city in speech only after setting their souls in harmony? Glaucon’s desire for luxuries, which leads to the turn from constructing a “healthy” city to constructing a “feverish” one, in which one finds those things “from which the greatest evils both private and public come to cities,” suggests the opposite is true (373e). Socrates himself casts doubt on the goodness of Kallipolis in Book 5, when he declares, “Accordingly, then, I call such a city and regime good and right, and likewise such a man; but the others I call bad and mistaken, if indeed (εἴπερ) this one is right” (449a, emphasis added).11 By Book 9, Socrates confirms that the city in speech is not a blueprint for an ideal city but rather a thought experiment for discovering what justice is in the soul. He does this by emphasizing that the thoughtful person “looks fixedly at the regime within him (τὴν ἐν αὑτῷ πολιτείαν)” and searches the heavens for a pattern on which to “found himself,” insisting “he would mind the affairs only of this city, and of no other” (591e–​592b). This all suggests that Socrates’ intention in crafting the city in speech is not so much to present his views on what a just city looks like, but to help his interlocutors understand justice in the soul. The city in speech serves, in other words, as a heuristic device for understanding what it means

11 Berger, Perils of Uglytown, 127.

96  Athenians and Foreigners to be a just person and why one should wish to be just or, as Kevin Crotty puts it, as a protreptic drawing the young, intelligent, and ambitious to see the importance of “founding” or constituting their own souls.12 Hence, though Kallipolis may support hostility toward non-​Greeks, that does not mean Plato or Plato’s Socrates advocates such policies. In fact, this chapter argues that, read as a whole and within its dramatic context, the Republic reveals that Kallipolis’s policies with respect to foreigners are a symptom of dissonance within the souls of the dialogue’s interlocutors. Depicting a conversation between citizens, metics, and a foreign sophist in the diverse Piraeus on the night of a festival honoring a non-​ Greek goddess, the Republic immediately impresses upon readers the positive connection between philosophy and cultural diversity. As the conversation progresses, it becomes increasingly evident that Plato wishes to show how interactions with foreigners—​just like interactions with the Socratic gadfly—​ can expose contradictions within the polity. In this case, the contradiction involves the belief propagated in Athens that one should seem just, but be unjust. Although this philosophy was initially the backbone of Athenian imperialism, eventually citizens came to use it on each other, with the help of the sophists’ teachings. As Socrates and his interlocutors turn to creating the just city in speech, discordance is shown to exist in Athenians’ relationships not only with each other and other Greeks, but also with non-​Greeks. The backdrop of the entire dialogue, the festival honoring the non-​Greek goddess Bendis, serves as a case in point. Against the Athenian model of interpolity relations, the dialogue ends by offering an alternative model, one that values the epistemological benefits of cross-​cultural engagement.

Cross-​Cultural Engagement as a Catalyst for Self-​Examination According to ancient sources, Plato took care throughout his life to revise his writings, and none more so than the beginning of the Republic, which “was found several times revised and rewritten.”13 In the Republic itself, Socrates avers, “the beginning is altogether the greatest part of every work” (377a–​b). 12 Kevin M. Crotty, The City-​State of the Soul: Constituting the Self in Plato’s “Republic” (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2016). 13 Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, trans. R. D. Hicks (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972), 3.37. Also see Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De Compositione Verborum 25.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  97 One is therefore justified in supposing that the dialogue’s opening contains a clue to interpreting the meaning of the whole. In what follows, I argue that Plato’s framing of the dialogue signals the importance of cross-​cultural engagement to the philosophic enterprise of encouraging self-​examination. It is tempting to disregard the dramatic context and to focus solely on the dialogue’s investigation of justice; however, Plato chose to set the dialogue in a place associated with cultural diversity and to depict Socrates interacting with foreigners for a reason: to emphasize that it often takes encounters with people from other caves for us to begin questioning the nature of our own reality. Plato conveys the importance of cross-​cultural engagement within the Republic through Socrates’ famous first words:  “I went down yesterday to the Piraeus” (327a).14 With the exception of Socrates venturing outside the walls of Athens in the Phaedrus, Plato always depicts Socrates in the city of Athens proper. It is therefore unusual to find Socrates not at one of his customary haunts in town, such as the Lyceum, but in the Piraeus. Developed as Athens’s principal port at the recommendation of Themistocles, the Piraeus served primarily as a base for the Athenian fleet, with its docks, warehouses, arsenals, and over three hundred ship sheds. It is thus associated with Athens’s military action and, given the dialogue’s dramatic date sometime during the Peloponnesian War, with Athenian imperialism. The Piraeus also functioned, however, as a major Mediterranean trading center, attracting such a wide range of merchants that it was reputed to be a place where one could find exotic goods of all kinds. One could hear all sorts of languages being spoken in the Piraeus and encounter foreigners from a wide variety of cities, Greek and non-​Greek, whose presence was augmented by the fact that the Piraeus was home to the highest concentration of Athens’s sizeable metic, or resident alien, population, lending it an even more cosmopolitan character. As discussed in ­chapter 1, up to half of Athens’s free population comprised metics, and approximately six thousand metics lived in the Piraeus. While some metics came from other Greek cities, barbarians figured prominently among the metic population in the fourth century bc. Additionally, former slaves—​most of whom were barbarians—​who were set free by their

14 Various scholars connect the dialogue’s first word, κατέβην (kateben), with the descent into the cave and the descent to Hades in Book 10. On this reading, Socrates’ journey to the Piraeus dramatizes his metaphorical descent into the underworld. See, for example, Howland, The Republic, 43–​55; Voegelin, Order and History, vol. 3, 106–​16; and Brann, Music of the Republic, 116–​22.

98  Athenians and Foreigners masters could acquire the status of metic. It is here we find Socrates—​at a site filled with cultural diversity, innovation, and movement.15 The Piraeus is also evocative of democracy and its association with cultural diversity. After Sparta’s defeat of Athens, the Piraeus served as the center of the democratic resistance movement that overthrew the pro-​Spartan oligarchy known as the Thirty Tyrants. Many metics helped the democrats who were exiled during the reign of the Thirty Tyrants on the promise that they would later be rewarded with citizenship. The Piraeus therefore symbolizes the rebirth of democracy, which could not have been accomplished without the help of foreigners. It is also, like democracy, emblematic of freedom. As discussed in ­chapter 1, metics were given significant leeway to maintain their original customs, and Athenians welcomed foreign fashions, foods, and other goods into their midst. Socrates’ description of democracy thus matches the Piraeus itself: “a many-​colored cloak embroidered with all hues” (557c). Epitomizing both cultural diversity and democracy, and the link between them, the Piraeus is the last place one would expect to find an alleged advocate of a “closed” totalitarian society. Why, then, did Plato decide to set Socrates’ story there? According to Socrates, he and Plato’s brother Glaucon went down to the Piraeus to witness the inaugural staging of the Bendideia. The earliest evidence dates the first celebration of the Bendideia to around 429/​8 bc, near the beginning of the Peloponnesian War. This was a momentous event, as it was the first time a group of foreigners had been granted enktesis, or the right to own property (IG II2 1283). Generally, Athens restricted land ownership to (a) citizens and (b) foreigners who had performed exceptional services for the city. Allowing Thracian residents of the Piraeus to own land on which to build a religious shrine was therefore a major way to signal their acceptance into the community of Athens (though, as we will see, this welcoming was in many ways illusory). According to Robert Garland, by the end of the fourth century bc, so many foreign cults had entered Athens and received state sanctioning to build temples that this was likely no longer seen as an exclusive privilege.16 Although the term “multiculturalism” is anachronistic, the Bendideia thus represents one of the first major movements toward greater incorporation into Athenian society of the city’s substantial metic population. 15 For a comprehensive account of the Piraeus, see Robert Garland, The Piraeus: From the Fifth to the First Century B.C. (London: Duckworth, 1987). 16 Garland, The Piraeus, 108.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  99 Not only does Socrates show his approval of this festival by attending it and praying to the goddess Bendis, but he also asserts that though the procession of the native inhabitants seemed to him “beautiful (καλὴ),” that of the Thracian visitors did not appear inferior (327a). Hence, Plato portrays Socrates as someone who willingly recounts how he visited a place abounding with foreigners, worshipped a non-​Greek goddess, and enjoyed a non-​Greek religious procession. Moreover, these actions were completed not in the distant past, but just yesterday. Though later Socrates will appear to advocate a relatively “closed” society, it must not be forgotten that this city in speech arises within the context of a more open society and that its chief creator, Socrates, begins his entire narrative by presenting himself as someone who welcomes rather than repudiates cultural diversity. The fact that Socrates ends up engaging in a conversation on justice with a mixed group of citizens, metics, and foreigners further serves to underscore the philosopher’s valuing of cultural diversity. First, it is important to note that this cross-​cultural discussion is initiated with the help of a slave, who most likely would have been Thracian, or at least non-​Greek in origin.17 In Socrates’ narrative, this slave pulls his cloak as he is headed out of the Piraeus and delivers the first words quoted in the dialogue: “Polemarchus orders you to wait.” This may seem like a trivial detail, but it drives home the power that foreigners have over Socrates. This role reversal continues when the metic Polemarchus comes on the scene. Observing that he has more men with him than Socrates has, Polemarchus insists Socrates must “either prove stronger than these men or stay here” (327c). When Socrates raises the possibility of persuading him to let them go, Polemarchus responds, “Could you really persuade us if we do not listen?” Eventually, Socrates concedes: “Well if it is resolved, that is what we must do” (327c–​328b).18 This scene prefigures the critique of democracy in Book 8, dramatizing the problem with a political system built on the power of numbers.19 Indeed, Socrates’ phrase “if it is resolved” echoes the language used in Athenian laws, which begin, “If it is resolved by the Athenian people . . .” Interestingly, Polemarchus is not an Athenian citizen. He is a metic from Sicily—​the region Athens would later attack in a disastrous campaign that significantly contributed to Athens’s 17 Thracians comprised such a large proportion of Athens’s slave population that they came to represent the very stereotype of a slave. See Rosivach, “Enslaving ‘Barbaroi.’ ” 18 Socrates is arguably being coy here. Readers familiar with Socrates’s penchant for questioning anyone he happens to meet, “both foreigner and citizen,” know he would seldom pass up an opportunity for discussion (Apology 30a). 19 For a similar view, see Bloom, “Interpretive Essay,” 311.

100  Athenians and Foreigners defeat in the Peloponnesian War—​and therefore ineligible to participate in Athenian politics. By casting Polemarchus in the role of leader of the demos, Socrates metaphorically includes him in the polis. He treats him, in other words, as an equal, a fellow Athenian with the power to make decisions that affect his life. As the setting shifts from the Piraeus more broadly to the home of the metic Polemarchus, Plato’s use of characterization further underscores the equality of metics and citizens. Along with various other Greeks and foreigners, both Polemarchus’ brothers—​Lysias and Euthydemus—​are at home, as is his father Cephalus, a metic from Syracuse who earned his immense wealth by establishing a successful shield-​making factory in Athens. Cephalus is excited to see Socrates, claiming to be more attracted to the pleasures of discourse now that old age has come upon him and the bodily desires have waned. When pressed to say more, Cephalus tells of an encounter he had with Sophocles, in which the Greek poet praised old age for freeing him of the pull of various desires or “very many mad masters” (329d). In his brief conversation with Socrates, Cephalus also cites the illustrious Athenian politician and general Themistocles, alludes to the myths of Homer, and quotes the poet Pindar. Rather than stay and converse about justice after he has been shown that his definition of justice as telling the truth and paying one’s debts does not always hold, Cephalus leaves to attend to the sacrifices. As many commentators note, Cephalus, whose name means “head,” represents traditional authority.20 Again, it is interesting that Plato chooses a metic, instead of a citizen, to play this role. Arguably Cephalus’ status as a metic with much to lose financially helps to account for his display of piety and obedience to an exceedingly conventional notion of justice. As Jeffrey Epstein notes, “By paying his taxes, his debts, and all that he owes, he exemplifies a common conception of the ‘good’ immigrant: one who works hard and obeys the law. By doing so, he remains effectively under the radar of the authorities and citizens who may at any time challenge the legitimacy of his acquisition of property or his right to legal residency.”21 Cephalus understands that to live in Athens he must “pass” as best he can as an Athenian. This means practicing traditional rites and quoting Greek poetry, not his native Sicilian poetry, despite its flourishing state in this time period.22 Cephalus is the quintessential 20 See, e.g., Bloom, “Interpretive Essay,” 313. 21 Jeffrey H. Epstein, Democracy and Its Others (New York: Bloomsbury, 2016), 32. 22 S. Sara Monoson, “Dionysius I and Sicilian Theatrical Traditions in Plato’s Republic: Representing Continuities between Democracy and Tyranny,” in Theater Outside Athens: Drama in Greek Sicily and South Italy, ed. Kathryn Bosher (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 156–​72.

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“good immigrant” helping to shore up Athens’s image of itself as a place with good values.23 Cephalus’ son Polemarchus seems to have inherited this practice of presenting himself as an upstanding member of the polity who is virtually indistinguishable from a full-fledged Athenian citizen. He, too, evokes the authority of a Greek poet (Simonides) in giving yet another traditional definition of justice: helping one’s friends and harming one’s enemies, that is, showing loyalty. From the beginning of the conversation, then, Plato shows metics mimicking citizens. While the dialogue’s apparent criticism of mimesis might lead one to conclude that through this opening scene Plato depicts “imposters” taking over Athenian democracy, such an interpretation ignores, as Demetra Kasimis argues, the dialogue’s uncovering of the performative aspects of identity. If, through the right performance, metic can be indistinguishable from citizen, then the citizen–foreigner dichotomy is not the strict, natural boundary Athenians suppose it is, but rather a socially constructed boundary built on the constant performance of actions, an act citizens must also put on to procure this identity.24 That is, hearing foreigners voice traditional Athenian notions of justice invites a reconsideration of the notion of citizen identity, helping to expose “Athenian-ness” as a shadow on the wall of the Athenian cave. The opening scene therefore not only casts Socrates as a worshipper of foreign goddesses and a friend of foreigners, but also questions the very distinction between citizen and foreigner that might make such behavior seem suspicious or unpatriotic.25 As we will see, the blurring of boundaries in the opening scene prepares readers for a conversation on justice that works to disrupt the assumption of separate spheres of justice or the notion that different models of justice govern different kinds of relations. This occurs through the interrogation of three definitions of justice, all offered by foreigners: the two metics Cephalus and Polemarchus and Thrasymachus, a foreign sophist from Chalcedon, a Greek colony on the eastern shore of the Bosporus near Thrace. Careful examination reveals that the sequence of definitions follows a pattern: from 23

On this use of foreignness in Western thought, see Honig, Democracy and the Foreigner, part 3. Kasimis, Perpetual Immigrant, esp. chap. 5. 25 I  call Socrates a “friend of foreigners” because he portrays and engages with Cephalus and Polemarchus sympathetically, as Patterson observes: “Plato’s portrait of the metic is notably gentle. Here is a resident alien who has made his fortune in the production of weapons during a long and devastating war, yet he is clearly the object of affection not resentment. He and his sons are quite comfortable in the company of Socrates and his young Athenian friends (including Plato’s brothers Glaucon and Adeimantus), as are the Athenians with the family of Cephalus.” Patterson, “Other Sorts,” 166. 24

102  Athenians and Foreigners soul to city to world. Each definition of justice ultimately runs into the same problem, but with each new definition the magnitude increases such that for Cephalus’ definition, the problem involves a lack of harmony in the soul; for Polemarchus’ definition, a lack of harmony in the city; and for Thrasymachus’ definition, a lack of harmony in the world. Plato effectively anticipates the city-​soul analogy that Socrates proposes in Book 2, while extending it to a third level of analogy, that of interpolity relations. Ultimately, this serves to raise questions about the relationship not only between soul and city, but between cities—​particularly, whether justice can exist in only one or two of these spheres, or if the presence or absence of justice in one realm bleeds into the rest.

Blurring the Boundaries of Justice: The Soul-​City-​World Analogy Plato alludes to the interconnectedness of soul, city, and world—​and, ultimately, the need to treat foreigners justly if one wants a harmonious city and soul—​beginning with Cephalus’ definition of justice. Defining justice as telling the truth and paying one’s debts, Cephalus elicits the objection from Socrates that everyone would agree that, if one had borrowed weapons from a friend and the friend demanded them back when he was in a rage, one should not return the weapons or tell the friend the entire truth. Though it is not made explicit, the psychology developed in later books of the Republic allows us to make better sense of this scenario. Unlike a soul in which the three parts are properly harmonized, the soul of a friend in a rage lacks harmony or a proper ordering. Such a friend is not predominantly led by reason, but rather, the various parts of his soul are in conflict. Cephaluss’ definition of justice might hold regarding a harmonious soul, but the inconsistency observed in human nature renders it problematic. One cannot tell the truth and pay one’s debts without considering whether the recipient of these truths and repaid debts possesses harmony in his soul. If he does not, then telling the truth or repaying debts may do harm rather than good. Accordingly, Cephalus’ definition is not universally valid. Through Polemarchus’ definition of justice, Plato transfers the problem of discord from soul to city. Inheriting his father’s argument, Polemarchus defends it by evoking the authority of Simonides, who says that justice is giving to each what is owed. In response, Socrates presses Polemarchus to

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  103 consider whether justice requires us to give back what we have borrowed “to any man whatsoever” (331e). With this, Socrates steers Polemarchus toward thinking about which men are owed justice. At Socrates’ prodding, Polemarchus admits that justice is nothing other than benefiting one’s friends and harming one’s enemies. This is an appropriate definition for Polemarchus, whose name means “chieftain” or “war lord.”26 By “enemies,” Polemarchus does not mean foreigners, however. The word he and Socrates use throughout this section of the dialogue is ἐχθρός (echthros), which is commonly contrasted with another word for “enemy,” πολέμιος (polemios). Typically, the distinction revolves around whether the enemy is a fellow citizen or a foreigner: “Whereas polemios clearly indicates an enemy from without—​a public enemy—​echthros connotes an enemy within; an echthros is a private enemy, more akin to a rival in the affairs of a private citizen than a hoplite on the other side of a battlefield.”27 When Polemarchus talks about doing good to friends and harm to enemies, he is referring to a well-​ established code of conduct in Athenian politics that involves giving political support to a particular cluster of “friends” while opposing political rivals through verbal attacks in the assembly, legal action, ostracism, and other such means.28 Polemarchus’ definition of justice thus concerns the defeat not of foreign enemies but personal enemies within the city—​that is, fellow citizens. Plato makes this clear when he later has Socrates attribute the definition to “Periander, or Perdiccas, or Xerxes, or Ismenias the Theban”—​powerful leaders notorious for showing themselves to be intolerant of internal political rivals (336a).29 Just as Socrates sought to show Cephalus that his understanding of justice does not hold when the friend receiving the truth or repaid debts lacks harmony in his soul, he seeks to show Polemarchus that his definition does not hold when the city lacks harmony. For, as Socrates points out, humans often 26 Polemarchus’s name also corresponds to an official role in Athens. Though the original function of the πολέμαρχος was to command the army, by the late fourth century bc, his duties largely involved overseeing trials of metics, a duty stemming from an earlier role as protector of the interests of metics, much as the archon was the protector of citizens. See A. R. W. Harrison, The Laws of Athens, vol. 1, 2nd ed. (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 1998), 193–​96; and Harrison, The Laws of Athens, vol. 2, 2nd ed. (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 1998), 9–​11. 27 Richard Avramenko, “Of Firemen, Sophists, and Hunter-​ Philosophers:  Citizenship and Courage in Plato’s Laches,” Polis: The Journal for Ancient Greek and Roman Political Thought 24, no. 2 (2007): 217. Cf. Mary Whitlock Blundell, Helping Friends and Harming Enemies: A Study in Sophocles and Greek Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 39. 28 Lynette G. Mitchell and P. J. Rhodes, “Friends and Enemies in Athenian Politics,” Greece and Rome, 2nd ser., 43, no. 1 (1996): 11–​30. 29 For an illustrative example, see Herodotus’s story of Periander (Histories 5.92).

104  Athenians and Foreigners make mistakes about who is truly a friend and who is truly an enemy. As we begin to learn by Book 2, this is the fundamental problem with cities that lack harmony. In a properly ordered city, those with wisdom rule over the rest with the help of auxiliary soldiers. Yet in a city that lacks harmony, those with the means of force no longer listen to the rulers, and instead carry out acts of hostility on the very people they are supposed to protect. Polemarchus’ definition of justice might hold for a harmonious city, where the distinction between friend and enemy is clear because all citizens are friends, none are enemies; it would mean, simply, do good to all. However, if applied in the context of a city that lacks harmony, it would result in the harming of innocent civilians because, in such a city, the friend-​enemy distinction is inherently confused. Just as Cephalus’ definition of justice could not hold universally owing to the tendency for a single soul to be ridden with conflict, Polemarchus’ definition falls short because of the city’s tendency to lack harmony. It is with Thrasymachus’ definition that the problem of discord between cities comes into view. Plato directs the reader to issues of interpolity justice by first having Thrasymachus bring to speech what Socrates’ encounter with Polemarchus and his men has already dramatized: that it is necessary to prove stronger, or give way. Interjecting himself into the conversation like a wild beast on the attack, Thrasymachus (“spirited fighter”) contends that justice is the advantage of the stronger, or more precisely: “in all cities this is just, the advantage of the established ruler” (339a). Those who rule possess the power to declare what is just (which, of course, is whatever is in the ruler’s interest) and to punish those who break their laws. Justice, then, is not a universal principle, but a social construct—​a means by which the stronger dominate the weaker. As such, it is “really someone else’s good,” the good of the one who is stronger; whereas for the weaker man, justice is a detriment (343c–​d). Therefore, one should prefer perfect injustice to perfect justice, for the man who dominates others and gets away with it receives great rewards, while those who do not suffer. Yet Thrasymachus makes clear he is not interested in small acts of injustice, but in the largest injustice of all—​conquering entire cities. Consider his response to Socrates’ inquiry about whether the unjust are good as well as prudent: “Those who do injustice perfectly are, and they are able to bring under their power cities and bodies of men. You perhaps think I am speaking about cutpurses. Now such things are also advantageous, if one gets away with them, but they are not worth mentioning compared to those I was just

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  105 speaking about” (348d). He later echoes this sentiment when Socrates asks, “[W]‌ould you say that a city is unjust that tries to enslave other cities unjustly, and has reduced them to slavery, and keeps many enslaved under itself?” and Thrasymachus responds, “How could it not be? And this is what the best and most perfectly unjust city will most do” (351b). Thrasymachus is not interested merely in defeating internal political rivals; he is interested in world domination. Thrasymachus may, however, simply be a realist, exposing Athenian “justice” for what it is—​not the nicety of being rewarded for honesty and loyalty propounded by Cephalus and Polemarchus, but straightforward domination by any means possible. Historical evidence suggests that Thrasymachus would have been in Athens around this time as a diplomat on behalf of his native city Chalcedon, which had mounted an unsuccessful revolt against Athens.30 An extant speech of Thrasymachus, along with other testimony, suggests that he was an outspoken critic of Athenian imperialism. His frustration with Cephalus’ and Polemarchus’ definitions of justice may therefore reflect his disenchantment with Athens for propounding traditional notions of justice while practicing a very different conception of justice. If the dramatic date of 429/​8 bc (as indicated by the inaugural Bendideia) is accurate, then Thrasymachus is anticipating the notion of justice that Thucydides observes was finally made explicit during the subjugation of Melos in 416 bc. Attempting to quash the Melian revolt against incorporation into the Athenian empire, Athens sent representatives to urge the Melian magistrates not to plead with them using fine words and phrases about justice, but to recognize that “the right, in human discourse, is only adjudged by equals in force, while the strong have the advantage and the weak acquiesce” (History 5.89). By defining justice in similar terms, Thrasymachus may be exposing the reality of how Athenians think about justice. In any case, once Thrasymachus’ notion of justice unfolds to its full height, Socrates shows that this definition, likewise, holds only when there is harmony. Yet whereas Cephalus’ definition only held when the soul of the man from whom one borrowed weapons was harmonious, and Polemarchus’ definition of doing good to friends and harm to enemies only held when the city was harmonious and thus all in it were clearly marked as friends, Thrasymachus’ definition does not initially follow the pattern of being shown to hold when cities are harmonious—​although the dialogue will eventually

30 Stephen A. White, “Thrasymachus the Diplomat,” Classical Philology 90, no. 4 (1995): 307–​27.

106  Athenians and Foreigners arrive at this point. Rather, like a musician playing a scale, Socrates descends back first to the level of the city and then to the soul, demonstrating that Thrasymachus’ definition only works when there is justice in these spheres. This is seen when Socrates asks whether the “perfectly unjust” city that is able to subjugate others “will have this power without justice, or it is necessary for it to have this power with justice?” (351b). Socrates answers this question with the famous argument that justice must exist even among thieves: “They could not have kept off each other if they were completely unjust, but it is plain that there was some justice in them, which made them at least not do injustice to one another while they were doing it to others; and through this they accomplished what they accomplished” (352c). Read in context, as a response to Thrasymachus’ assertion that justice is a strong city ruling over a weak city, this suggests that justice can exist in a city even as the city does injustice to other cities. Indeed, the implication is that justice must exist in the city to some degree for it to dominate other cities. For if citizens were divided into warring factions, then they would lack the unity necessary to undertake the feat of conquering another city. Socrates follows this by arguing that a soul, too, could never accomplish citizenly tasks such as managing, ruling, and deliberating without the virtue of justice (353d). The ability to do what Thrasymachus considers the greatest injustice—​enslaving other cities—​depends, then, not only on justice in the city, but also on justice in the soul. The whole thrust of the argument is that if one wants to dominate other cities, one must cultivate justice in one’s own soul and city. Lest we conclude that Socrates is defending Athenian imperialism on the grounds that Athenians must be just to accomplish this task, we will do well to recall an argument made earlier in refutation of Polemarchus’ notion of justice as doing good to friends and harm to enemies. There, Socrates contended that justice cannot produce injustice (335b–​e). Musicians are unable to make men unmusical by means of the musical art, nor are experts in horses able to make men incompetent horse riders by the art of horsemanship. Likewise, the just cannot make others unjust by justice, for in the same way as it is the property of heat to make what it touches warmer, it is the property of justice to make what it touches good, not worse. The just man therefore does no harm. By extension, the just city also does no harm. If Socrates believes this, it would be logically inconsistent for him to argue that a just city led by just souls is needed to do injustice to other cities; according to his refutation of Polemarchus, a just city led by just souls could not do injustice to other cities. For it is not the property of justice to produce injustice. Injustice

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  107 in a city’s foreign affairs is thus a sign of injustice at home and within the soul. This means that justice involves something more than mere cooperation. Socrates’ insinuation that one must cultivate justice in one’s soul and city to dominate in foreign affairs is better interpreted as a protreptic to philosophy, provoking Thrasymachus and those who share his tyrannical ambitions to engage in self-​examination. Socrates takes a similar approach with Alcibiades in Alcibiades I; he does not directly try to rid him of his ambition of attaining political dominance over all Greeks and barbarians, but rather seeks to convince him that he will not achieve this goal unless he knows himself and is virtuous. If Socrates serves as a model of the examined life, however, then this mission is interminable. If Alcibiades had listened, his tyrannical ambitions would have been derailed because he would have taken up the philosophical rather than the political life. Much the same way, Socrates in the Republic tries to persuade the spirited “lion” Thrasymachus to ally, not with the multitude and their desires, but with the philosophers and their zetetic quest for truth.31 To recount the argument thus far: Book 1 begins by depicting Socrates telling someone about his recent trip to the Piraeus, where he worshipped a non-​Greek goddess, found a religious procession of non-​Greeks praiseworthy, and engaged in a conversation about justice with citizens, metics, and foreigners alike. In this conversation, Cephalus and Polemarchus articulated traditional notions of justice, as one might expect of metics trying to look like good Athenians. Neither of their definitions withstood Socratic questioning. Cephalus’ definition was shown to be reasonable only when the person to whom one tells the truth and pays debts possesses a just soul, as opposed to, say, a soul enraged by anger. Correspondingly, Polemarchus’ definition only applied in a just city, where the distinction between friend and enemy is clear and correct; if practiced in an unjust city, Polemarchus’ definition would prove self-​undermining. In contrast to these conventional notions of justice, the foreign sophist, Thrasymachus, declared that justice is the advantage of the stronger—​an understanding of justice that is used to support imperialism. Socrates questioned this definition in part by showing that for a city to conquer other cities, justice must exist within the city and, 31 Socrates compares Thrasymachus to a lion at 341c. Later, Socrates offers an image of the tripartite soul in which the appetitive part is represented by a multiheaded beast; the calculating part, by a human being; and the spirited part, by a lion. If harmony in the soul involves the spirited part allying with reason, then the Republic can be read as an attempt to sway the spirited Thrasymachus to take the side of philosophy rather than do the bidding of the many.

108  Athenians and Foreigners therefore, within each citizen as well, because otherwise he could not accomplish his citizenly duties. Though this argument is superficially supportive of imperialism, Socrates’ intention with it seems to be to lead Thrasymachus and those who agree with him to focus on developing justice within their souls—​a goal Socrates believes, if achieved, will make it impossible for one to do harm to horses, much less human beings. Plato’s target audience is not the sophists, however; rather, the book aims to reveal something to Athenian readers. As the next section shows, the dialogue seeks to reveal that though many blame the sophists for the corruption of Athens, in actuality, sophists do nothing more than act as an echo chamber, turning Athenian discordance back onto Athens itself as opposed to allowing it to be channeled only outward toward other cities. In other words, the imperialistic view of justice derives not from sophists like Thrasymachus, but from Athenians themselves. By making the injustice in Athens “larger” or closer to home, Thrasymachus and those of his ilk make it easier to see; in doing so, they awaken the wonder of citizens like Glaucon and Adeimantus, who now have a difficult time denying the discordance that exists in the Athenian view of justice.32 Hence, though Socrates would prefer to befriend Thrasymachus by turning him to philosophy, he does not see him as his enemy (498c–​d). The sophists were not the cause but a symptom of Athens’s corruption, a symptom that should have served as a warning to the Athenians that treating other cities unjustly is the sign not of a healthy city but a dysfunctional one.

Becoming Friends with a Foreign Sophist Plato’s focus on revealing discordance in Athens becomes evident in Book 2, which marks an important junction in the conversation, as the dialogue now shifts from the voices of foreigners to those of Athenians.33 Here 32 As Aristotle says of the pursuit of empire, “But the many seem to think despotic rule is statesmanship, and the very thing which they affirm not to be just or expedient among themselves, they are not ashamed to practice on others. For indeed amongst themselves they seek to rule justly, but they care nothing about doing justice to others.” Politics, 1324b31–​36. 33 The foreigners do not speak again until Book 5, when the dialogue’s opening scene is re-​enacted. This time, Polemarchus pulls on Adeimantus’s cloak, urging him not to let Socrates get away with making an important assertion without arguing it (449a–​c). Thrasymachus follows by evoking the language of the democratic assembly, insisting that all of them are resolved not to let Socrates get away with giving them fool’s gold instead of real arguments (450a–​b). Although it is Glaucon who sets the conversation in motion again in Book 2, twice in the dialogue (at the beginning of Book 1 and at the beginning of Book 5), foreigners induce the discussion. If Athenian voices dominate after Book

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  109 Glaucon chimes in, claiming that he is disappointed that Socrates’ arguments charmed Thrasymachus so quickly, especially given that Glaucon has “been talked to death by Thrasymachus and countless others” about the benefits of doing injustice (358b–​d). Glaucon feels torn. Thrasymachus has reminded him of a contradiction within himself: on the one hand, what seems like logos telling him that injustice is preferable and, on the other, a gut feeling in favor of the just life. The foreigner Thrasymachus plays the role in the dialogue of articulating what everyone is thinking but cannot say straightforwardly for fear of appearing unjust. Whereas the metics Cephalus and Polemarchus are eager to please and keep their heads down by repeating the traditional sayings about justice, Thrasymachus makes his living by teaching controversial truths and then moving on to the next city. Now that Thrasymachus has brought out into the light of day the dark, ugly truth about how Athenians, and perhaps many peoples, think about justice, the Athenians Glaucon and Adeimantus are free to press Socrates to address the major objection that keeps them from fully embracing the just life. In short, Thrasymachus is responsible, to some degree, for the courage that Glaucon (“grey-​eyed,” like the wise warrior goddess Athena) and Adeimantus (“fearless”) exhibit at the beginning of Book 2.34 As Glaucon rehearses the major objection to justice he has so often heard, it becomes clear that Thrasymachus and the “countless others” who praise injustice are not the original source of this view. Thraysmachus’ notion of justice is not being brought in from the outside. Rather, it echoes long-​existing views in Athens.35 Adeimantus agrees, attributing responsibility for the view that injustice is superior to justice to Greek fathers, poets, and even priests. In his view, these sources of authority primed young men like him to make use of the sophists’ services: Therefore, since “the seeming,” as the wise men make clear to me, “overpowers even the truth” and is the master of happiness, to this one must

1, their foreign interlocutors nonetheless play the substantial role of giving birth to the conversation itself and of stepping in at a crucial moment to call attention to how Socrates has diverged from his stated goal of truly persuading them. 34 On the timocratic natures of both Glaucon and Adeimantus, see Craig, War Lover, chap. 5. 35 It should be noted, though, that Glaucon flips Thrasymachus’s account on its head by presenting justice as the advantage, not of the stronger, but of the weaker—​that is, the weak many use the construct of justice to constrain the strong few and thereby even the playing field. Both accounts claim, however, that justice benefits some at the expense of others.

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wholly turn. As front and show one must draw around oneself a shadow painting of virtue, but one must drag behind one the cunning and wily fox of most skilled Archilochus. “But,” someone says, “it is not always easy to get away with bad things unnoticed.” Well nothing is easy, we will say, involving great things. But nevertheless, if we are going to be happy, one must go as the tracks of the arguments lead. For, as to getting away with it, we will organize clubs and associations, and there are teachers of persuasion who offer the wisdom of public speaking and forensic oratory, from out of which we will persuade concerning some things, and use force concerning others, thus getting the better and not having to pay the penalty. (365c–d, ​ emphasis added)

As this passage suggests, sophists offer Athenian citizens the power of Gyges’s ring, which makes its wearer invisible and therefore able to commit any injustice “consequence free.” Whether or not even the most just man would use this power if it were available to him, there is no question that the choice would be less excruciating for those who have heard throughout their lives—from respected sources, no less—that it is better to be unjust if one can get away with it. It is inconsistent, therefore, for many in Athens to blame the sophists for corrupting the youth while at the same time revering the likes of Homer, Hesiod, and Aeschylus and reaffirming their views by modeling and propagating them to their own children. Those who can afford the sophists’ fees are only doing what everyone would do in their situation. Later, Socrates provides a similar assessment, going so far as to suggest that it is not the sophists who get the better of Athens, but Athens that gets the better of them. As Socrates asks Adeimantus, “Or do you too believe, as do the many, that certain young men are corrupted by sophists, and that certain sophists privately corrupt them, to an extent worth mentioning? But is it not rather the same men saying these things who are the biggest sophists, the sort who educate most perfectly and make as they wish them to be the young and old, men and women?” (492a–b). Continuing, he explains that the “biggest sophists” are the multitude who, when assembled, corrupt the youth by praising and blaming certain actions and who, when unable to persuade, use force to punish those who do not conform. No private educator would dare swim against such a powerful tide. Thus, the class of professionals known as sophists “educate in nothing but these opinions of the many”—what will delight them, what will anger them, and so on (493a–c). In doing so, the sophist

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  111 makes “the many his masters, beyond what is necessary” (493d).36 Based on these passages, W. K. C. Guthrie writes, “In Plato’s opinion it was not they [the sophists] who should be blamed for infecting the young with pernicious thoughts, for they were doing no more than mirror the lusts and passions of the existing democracy.”37 Plato’s Socrates certainly presents the sophists this way, and the discussion by Glaucon and Adeimantus of the ideas expressed in dominant Athenian discourse lends confirmation to this view. However much sophists contribute to the problem, the Republic suggests that they are not the root cause of it. In fact, the conversation of the Republic demonstrates the potential for foreign sophists to make the problem better by, paradoxically, amplifying it. They do this by making contradictions within Athens’s belief system more visible, such as the insistence that one should be just yet the insinuation that injustice is preferable, or the belief that punishment awaits the unjust in the afterlife but with the proper plying, the gods can be assuaged. To someone raised with such beliefs, the tensions within them might not be apparent; they may seem normal and consistent. However, a foreigner coming in from the outside and approaching the multitude as though it were a creature to be studied is likelier to notice the contradictions, having not yet assimilated to them. Moreover, a foreigner like Thrasymachus, who is from a city that has felt the negative effects of Athenian imperialism, is more apt to see and be willing to call out the “real” values that underlie all the fine Athenian rhetoric, as a just and benevolent defender of all Greeks. By teaching young men what these tensions are and how to use them to their advantage, foreign sophists turn the philosophy of merely seeming just back on Athens itself. To give an analogy, it is as though the Athenians are playing discordant music but can only hear it in a muted way because they have the loudspeaker turned outward and toward others; but thanks to the sophists the speaker is now turned in their direction, allowing them to experience the discordance in full measure. The injustice that was once directed toward foreigners is now directed toward Athenians themselves, as citizens learn to do in the realm of domestic politics what was formerly reserved for the realm of foreign affairs: seem just, but be unjust. 36 Perhaps it is because of this argument, which suggests Thrasymachus is not doing what he wants—​that is, getting the better of others—​that Socrates proclaims moments later, at 498d, that he and Thrasymachus have now become friends. 37 W. K.  C. Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy, vol. 3:  The Fifth-​Century Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 21.

112  Athenians and Foreigners As mentioned in ­chapter 2, when Socrates discusses what awakens the rational part of our souls and incites us to contemplation, he points precisely to this: the experience of contradiction. Contradiction arises when the same object is experienced as simultaneously exhibiting one quality and its opposite. Socrates gives the example of the index, middle, and little fingers (523b–​ 525a). To say each of these objects is a finger does not arouse controversy, whatever the finger’s length or width or wherever it is positioned relative to the other fingers. Yet if we are asked if the index finger is long or short, the answer might be both: it is long relative to the little finger, but short relative to the middle finger. The quality “long” or “short” thus requires a judgment, one that cannot be made on the basis of sensory perception alone. As Stanley Rosen explains, “To say that this finger is a finger is to utter a tautology. But to say that it is hard is always to make a judgment, not simply about the finger but about a relation in which the finger in question is one term. And the relation itself is not a sensory property.”38 When sense perception produces a contradiction, it gives rise to intellection, for it is only through reasoning that we can make sense of the contradiction. The same problem applies to theoretical objects. The abstract concept of justice, for instance, can, at one time, seem to require telling the truth, yet at another time to require telling a lie, as the interrogation of Cephalus’ definition of justice illustrated. How can justice involve both telling the truth and telling lies? When faced with this apparent contradiction, the calculating part of the soul is awakened to look deeper, to search for an understanding of justice that does not simply equate it with telling the truth, but which can explain how the performance of opposing actions is nonetheless a manifestation of the same single thing: justice. Whereas philosophers like Socrates reveal contradictions in a theoretical way (through dialectic conversation), foreign sophists like Thrasymachus make contradictions more conspicuous by affecting how they are manifested in the world. Providing ambitious young Athenians a means of doing injustice within the city and getting away with it, the foreign sophists made the problem with the Athenian belief that doing injustice is preferable more perceptible. They did this by giving Athenians the ability to do to each other—​citizens in a democracy based fundamentally on the notion of “political equality”—​what they had hitherto generally done to foreigners: seek complete domination.



38 Rosen, Plato’s “Republic,” 288–​89.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  113 The conversation depicted in the Piraeus thus shows that the problem was not the sophists per se, but rather the failure of everyone—​Athenian and foreigner alike—​to grapple with the contradictions to which Athenian imperialism gave rise. Plato’s readers would have known the fates of the real-​ life historical people on which these characters are based. They would have known, then, that the instruments of war Cephalus sold to Athens ended up in some pretty dangerous hands, as the Athenians recklessly decided to try to conquer Cephalus’ native city of Syracuse during the Peloponnesian War, contributing to their ultimate defeat by the Spartans. Once that happened, it was not long before the Thirty Tyrants decided, on the pretext of punishing the metics who opposed their administration, to raid the property of Cephalus’ family and confiscate nearly everything they owned, while arresting Cephalus’ son Lysias (who managed to escape) and murdering his son Polemarchus without trial. Hence, it could be said that Cephalus gave weapons to madmen, and thereby endangered his entire family. Likewise, disastrous consequences attend Polemarchus’ refusal to think more carefully about how we discern friend from enemy. As Plato’s readers would have known, many metics, including Cephalus and his family, helped the democrats who were exiled during the reign of the Thirty Tyrants, likely because they were promised citizenship once democratic rule was restored. Although it seems that there was a proposal to grant citizenship to the metics who had helped restore democracy, the evidence suggests it was summarily rejected. As a result, Lysias, who was a famous speechwriter, was never able to deliver in court the speech he wrote accusing one of the tyrants of Polemarchus’ murder, because only citizens could deliver speeches in court. He was therefore unable to bring his brother’s murderer to justice. In having Socrates respond to Polemarchus’ definition of justice as benefiting your friends and harming your enemies by asking whether it is easy to determine who is a friend and who is an enemy, Plato is likely playing on his audience’s knowledge of Polemarchus’ poor judgment in this matter, because the Athenians that metics like Polemarchus trusted to give them citizenship in return for fighting on their behalf never delivered on that promise. Socrates’ exchanges with Cephalus and Polemarchus therefore exemplify not only the natural human tendency to resist education, but also the massive effect this can have on one’s experience of justice. Finally, the Republic also alludes to the damaging effects for all Athenians of ignoring the tensions in Athens that the foreign sophists amplified. However prosperous life may have seemed at the height of Athens’s empire,

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the dialogue’s setting during the Peloponnesian War reminds that the specter of tyranny lingered nearby. Likely published around 380 bc, almost twentyfive years after Athens’s defeat by Sparta and the brief but violent reign of the Thirty Tyrants, the Republic invites Athenians to reconsider where the blame for these events lies. Although Plato does not let the sophists off the hook, he attributes the primary responsibility to the Athenians themselves. Instead of castigating the sophists (and Socrates) for corrupting the youth, Athenians should have examined themselves. Had they done so, they might have realized that the sophists were merely playing on the beliefs and passions of the demos, not implanting new beliefs. They might have realized that the Athenian empire was not the product of internal strength or harmony but of internal dissonance. Unfortunately, instead of confronting the contradictions the foreign sophists amplified through their activities in the city, Athenians ignored them and faced the consequences instead. In the Republic, Plato envisions a different response to the sophists. At the prodding of his interlocutors, Socrates is pushed to defend justice against the attack on it once subtly present in Athenian discourse but now conspicuous thanks to the foreign sophist Thrasymachus. His cross-cultural encounter in the Piraeus leads, in other words, to self-examination. As we will see, Socrates’ investigation into the nature of justice via the construction of a city in speech helps to reveal that the problem involves Athens’s treatment not only of other Greek cities, but also of non-Greek cities. Just as there is no possibility of a city treating another city unjustly without experiencing reverberating effects, a collection of cities (in this case, the Greek cities) cannot treat other cities unjustly without consequence. The dissonance within Athens’s treatment of non-Greeks reflects the dissonance within the souls of Athenians, which comes to light when Socrates, Glaucon, and Adeimantus attempt to construct an ideal city in speech. This dissonance surfaces, particularly, when we juxtapose Kallipolis’s foreign policy of hostility toward non-Greeks with the musical education of the city’s guardians, which incorporates non-Greek influences.

Kallipolis and the Revelation of Athenian Discordance If the just man through his actions produces greater justice in the world outside of him (335b–e), then we would expect the city of Kallipolis to be just

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  115 only if the men creating it are themselves just. That is, unless Socrates and his interlocutors set their souls in proper order, then no action they perform will be harmonious (443c–​e), including the action of creating an ideal city in speech. As one might expect of men unable even to define justice before they undertake this task, the city they create in speech ends up revealing the lack of harmony in their souls. Socrates seems to admit as much when he suggests that in watching a city coming into being in speech, they will “also see its justice coming into being, and its injustice” (369a, emphasis added). Though Kallipolis tries to purge this original city of its injustice, it is not successful, as we will see. Ultimately, the educational and foreign policies of Kallipolis are glaringly inconsistent, revealing the dissonance within the souls of its founders regarding their treatment of non-​Greeks. To arrive at this, let us begin by recounting why Socrates and his interlocutors decide to construct a city “in speech” in the first place. The exercise is proposed when, challenged to show why justice is good for its own sake as opposed to merely for its consequences, Socrates insists that he and his interlocutors will first have to determine what justice is. To discover the nature of justice, he suggests examining it first in the city and then in the soul, on the grounds that the city is larger and justice will therefore be easier to see in it. Yet the investigation of the city actually offers an even bigger model to look at: the world. Born out of the need men have for one another, the first city (the “healthy” city) is marked by a simple division of labor: some men build houses, others farm, others produce clothing, and so on. This division of labor applies to the city’s relations with other cities as well, for the healthy city produces more goods than it needs so that it can trade with other cities and thereby acquire what it lacks. What is more, the healthy city is conscious of its limitations. The citizens of the healthy city limit the number of children they have so as not to stretch the state’s resources. There is therefore no worry that this city will try to conquer its neighbors, because its citizens are content to live a simple life supported by their own industriousness and the consensual help of foreigners. By contrast, the “feverish” city—​developed in response to Glaucon’s complaint that the healthy city is a “city of sows”—​must take some of its neighbors’ land to support its ever-​increasing population. This, naturally, results in war. Yet in detailing the feverish city’s expansion, Socrates hints at the impossibility—​or, at most, short-​lived existence—​of the healthy city: “Then must we cut off some of our neighbors’ land, if we are going to have enough to pasture and plough, and they in turn from ours, if they let themselves go to the unlimited acquisition of goods, overstepping

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the boundary of the necessary?” (373d). As Frank argues based on this passage, “Pleonexia, the desire for more—more territory, more goods, more power—is the origin of war. . . . With both an aggressive and a defensive aspect, pleonexia generates the rule ‘take from another before another takes from you,’ a rule characteristic of ‘apprehensive’ states of war of all kinds.”39 Even the healthy city cannot escape this rule. If other cities overstep the boundaries, then the healthy city cannot long remain—either it will be taken over by a neighbor or it will require an army to defend itself and thus will grow and itself turn into a feverish city. The existence of injustice in the world therefore requires the city to be unjust. It is only realistic, then, for Socrates and his interlocutors to proceed on the assumption that they are starting not with a healthy city, but with a feverish one. Kallipolis arises as an attempt to purge the feverish city of its feverishness— which is not to say to return it to the condition of a healthy city, but to turn it into a city that is capable of defending itself and achieving the good life without being characterized by pleonexia, or the unlimited desire for more. As Balot argues, “Presumably, once the city has been ‘purged’ of its harmful desires . . . and the Guardians educated, the Callipolis will stop pursuing imperialism.”40 This assumption is borne out by Socrates’ injunction that the rulers must bound off enough land to support the city, but seek no more (423b). In other words, Socrates recognizes the need for self-defense and the human desire for a life beyond basic necessities. However, he wants Kallipolis to be the golden mean between a passive city that is easily conquered and an aggressive city that is constantly trying to conquer other cities. Kallipolis will, in other words, be the most just city in an unjust world. It is no wonder, then, that Socrates argues that such a city depends on the proper education of the class of citizens whose job it is to guard the city, or to decide upon and carry out all matters pertaining to war. These citizens must exhibit the balance of gentleness and fierceness that they wish the city at large to display. With this, Socrates turns the focus toward the soul, arguing that for the souls of the guardians to be properly constituted, they must receive a dual education in “gymnastics for bodies, and music for the soul” (376e). The goal of this education is to cultivate a proper character by tuning the spirited and philosophic parts of the soul “to the proper degree of tension and relaxation” (412a). If the thumos, or spirit, is tuned too high, then the logistikon,

39 40

Frank, “Wages of War,” 443. Balot, Greed and Injustice, 243n23.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  117 or philosophic part, will be drowned out and the guardian will be savage and cruel. Conversely, if the philosophic part is tuned too high, then the guardian will be soft and weak-​willed owing to a lack of spiritedness. It is therefore of utmost importance that guardians receive the proper exposure to music and gymnastics. Otherwise, their souls will be discordant, and under their leadership, the city will become discordant. Insisting that education in music should come first in the life of guardians, Socrates proceeds to sketch out their musical education. Any art over which the Muses preside, “music (μουσική)” in the ancient sense refers to a union of instrumental music, poetic speech, and dance.41 Hence, when Socrates first proposes education in music, he reminds his interlocutors that music consists not merely of rhythm and melody, but also “speeches (λόγους)”—​ both “true (ἀληθές)” speech and “myths (μύθους)” (376e–​377a). Asserting the importance of the latter form of speech in educating children, Socrates launches into a discussion of “myth makers (τοῖς μυθοποιοῖς)” that occupyies most of Books 2 and 3 and reappears in Book 10. These mythmakers turn out to be the poets, whose stories Socrates finds in need of censorship.42 Socrates details at length the damage done to souls exposed at a young age to myths that depict gods and other heroes committing injustices, such as egregious acts of violence and deception. Raised hearing such things, it is only the rare soul who can hope to become just or to exhibit the qualities of a good ruler. For hearing repeatedly that the most celebrated beings engage in unjust behaviors habituates one to delighting in these behaviors. It is therefore important that those training to be rulers hear only tales that celebrate truly 41 For more on music in ancient Greece, see Edward A. Lippman, Musical Thought in Ancient Greece (New York: Columbia University Press, 1964); M. L. West, Ancient Greek Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992); and Francesco Pelosi, Plato on Music, Soul and Body (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010). For a collection of all Plato’s writings on music, with notes and commentary, see Andrew Barker, Greek Musical Writings, vol. 1: The Musician and His Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984); and Andrew Barker, Greek Musical Writings, vol. 2: Harmonic and Acoustic Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). 42 Modern readers often struggle to make sense of why during a discussion on music Socrates quickly shifts to talking about poetry, yet for Plato’s contemporaries the transition would have seemed seamless. While purely instrumental music existed—​ often accompanying libations, sacrifices, supplications, and other ceremonial rites—​music was more commonly thought of in conjunction with poetry, as poets typically performed their stories to musical accompaniment. This is seen in Homeric epic, which depicts bards singing the stories of famous heroes. Even with the growing popularity of written work in Plato’s day, poems were generally still sung in public, performative contexts, such as at symposia or festivals. Consequently, when Greeks thought of music, they inevitably thought of the performance of famous poems. It is therefore appropriate to think of the dialogue’s censorship of poetry within the larger context of the censorship of music, for poetry is subsumed under the broader category of music. For more on the relationship between music and poetry, see John G. Landels, Music in Ancient Greece and Rome (London: Routledge, 1999), esp. chap. 1.

118  Athenians and Foreigners just characters, so that they will gravitate toward good behaviors. Equally important, however, is the musical mode and the manner of rhythm and melody. In fact, these elements may be more important. As Nina Valiquette Moreau argues, “Music assimilates itself to the soul as a kind of extra-​rational perception or recognition that, in turn, prepares the soul for reasoned judgment.”43 This owes to the structural similarities of music and soul. Even if good tales are told, they cannot have the proper effect if the wrong musical mode accompanies them. Singing about a hero’s just actions to a tune that elicits feelings of displeasure would likely orient rulers to develop a distaste for justice. Hence, both components of music—​the lyrics and the musical mode, rhythm, and melody—​must work together to produce harmony. The idea that music has a direct and profound influence on character is known as the doctrine of ethos. Ancient Greeks generally believed that music shapes the soul, disposing us to take up the moods conveyed in the musical work. In a passage in Book 4, Plato’s Socrates makes clear the political implications of this predominant musical theory: So therefore, to speak briefly, the guardians of the city must cleave to this, so that they are not corrupted unawares, but may in every way be on guard against it: not to allow innovations concerning gymnastics or music contrary to established order. . . . For one must beware of changing to a new form of music, as one puts at risk the whole; for nowhere do the modes of music (μουσικῆς τρόποι) change without the greatest political laws (πολιτικῶν νόμων) changing, as Damon says and I am persuaded. (424b–​c)

Drawing on the work of Damon—​an Athenian music theorist considered to be the leading authority on the moral effects of music—​Socrates claims that music is not mere “entertainment”; rather it is the foundation on which the entire social order rests. If rulers are not exposed to the right music, their society will develop bad νομοί (nomoi), that is, bad laws and customs.44 As Robert Wallace explains, “In Damon’s view (as Plato represents it), musical styles not only ‘fit’ behaviour, they also determine or shape it, both for individuals and for society.”45 The closest Plato comes to explaining the mechanisms 43 Nina Valiquette Moreau, “Musical Mimesis and Political Ethos in Plato’s Republic,” Political Theory 45, no. 2 (2017): 5. 44 Nomos was also a term in music used to denote a class of traditional melodies. West, Ancient Greek Music, 215–​17. 45 Robert W. Wallace, “Damon of Oa: A Music Theorist Ostracized?,” in Music and the Muses: The Culture of “Mousik-​e” in the Classical Athenian City, ed. Penelope Murray and Peter Wilson

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  119 by which music influences politics is through Adeimantus’ comment that music “little by little establishes itself, gently flowing underneath into the characters and habits; and from these it comes out larger in contracts among one another, and from the contracts it attacks the laws and the regimes with much, oh Socrates, licentiousness, until ending by turning upside down everything private and public” (424d–​e). This statement accords with the anthropological principle that the city is man writ large. Individual education matters because individuals are responsible for making and practicing the rules of their society, and they bring their education to bear on these political activities. Hence, if music plays a central role in character formation, it follows that music will shape the character of a society. One implication of the close relationship between music and nomoi is that if one wants to understand the nature of any given society, one can discover clues to its identity in its music. In essence, music can serve as a proxy for the general character of the whole society. Ancient Greeks generally believed that certain musical modes corresponded with certain regions, and that the type of music principally heard in each region was expressive of its dominant moral character. The Republic takes this idea further, suggesting that a distinction might also be made between societies that feature a single musical mode and those that incorporate multiple modes. On one end of the spectrum lie timocratic regimes like Sparta, which generally emphasize a single mode: the spirited melodies and rhythms appropriate for warfare. On the other end of the spectrum are democratic regimes like Athens, which embrace all musical modes because of the multicolored dispositions of their citizens. Democratic people are the most likely to enjoy sweets from a variety of different lands and, according to Socrates, “in likening such eating and such a way of life to melody and song in the panharmonic mode and in all rhythms, we would make a correct likeness” (404d–​e). In other words, regime types correspond to musical types.46 Regimes that reject diversity are (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 258. Though much of what we know about Damon comes from references in Plato’s dialogues, various sources confirm that he was not just a music theorist, but also an important political adviser. According to Aristotle, Damon advised Pericles on almost all his actions and for this reason was later ostracized (Athenian Constitution 27.4). It is interesting that Plato has Socrates recommend the ideas of an ostracized music theorist, given that the ideal city will banish any poet who does not make the right kind of music (398a). Could this be another indication that the Athenians have cast out and let in the wrong influences? 46 For a more comprehensive analysis of the relationship between regime types and musical modes, see Kirk Fitzpatrick, “Soul Music in Plato’s Republic,” VoegelinView, January 15, 2018, https://​ voegelinview.com/​soul-​music-​platos-​republic/​.

120  Athenians and Foreigners monoharmonic; those that incorporate the full diversity of human beings are panharmonic. Readers must consider the monoharmonic-​to-​panharmonic spectrum when interpreting Socrates’ warning to guard the city against new forms of music. While this warning may seem to operate to exclude foreign music, close inspection of the music of Kallipolis reveals it to be a harmony of two sets of myths and musical modes: one Greek, one non-​Greek. Thus, when Socrates warns against changes to a new form of music, he means changes to either a monoharmonic (single mode) or a panharmonic (all modes) form of music. The music of Kallipolis lies somewhere between these two extremes—​neither rejecting diversity nor embracing all ways of life. This is Socrates’ solution to the problem of founding a city that is simultaneously capable of defending itself yet not imperialistic: its guardians must be educated in a form of music that joins the alleged toughness of the Greeks with the purported gentleness of non-​Greeks. Yet, as we will see, this form of music proves oddly inconsistent with the city’s foreign policy, suggesting that Socrates’ aim is not to solve the problem of surviving and thriving in a hostile world, but to reveal his interlocutors’ internal discordance. This is seen through both the lyrics and what we would view as the more strictly “musical” aspects of the music of Kallipolis. In terms of the speech content of the music of Kallipolis, though Socrates approves of certain lines of Greek poetry (e.g., 389e, 393a), he implies that if they aim to produce citizens who do not do to their friends what they do to their enemies, they will have to look beyond traditional Greek myths. Against the Greek model of unrestrained violence, Socrates recommends a foreign tale of brotherhood, a tale he says is “nothing new . . . but a Phoenician thing” (414c).47 The tale he tells is one of citizens as autochthonous, or as brothers born of the same earth—​an unmistakable allusion to the myth of Cadmus. According to this myth, the Phoenician king Cadmus founded the ancient Greek city of Thebes by slaying a dragon and planting its teeth in the ground, from whence sprang a race of fierce armed men called Spartoi. Since

47 The Phoenician Tale is not usually regarded as part of the musical education of the guardians. It should be, however, for when Socrates introduces the subject of music, he makes clear that music is in part composed of speeches and that the speech content of music can take the form of a noble lie (376e–​377a). Though midway through Book 3 Socrates proclaims “it is likely we have completely finished with that part of music concerning speeches and myths” (398b), he continues to discuss what is right and wrong in the speech content of Greek poetry and to quote from it (404b–​c, 408a, 408b–​c). It is therefore reasonable to suppose that the Phoenician Tale is one of the stories to be sung as part of the musical education of the guardians and, indeed, the education of the whole city.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  121 these men posed a danger to him, Cadmus threw stones at them until—​each thinking a fellow Spartoi had hit him—​they began fighting each other. The five who survived the slaughter helped Cadmus establish the city. Socrates’ decision to draw not only on the acceptable parts of Greek poetry, but also on this non-​Greek myth in constructing the music of Kallipolis is strange for two reasons. First, it is curious that the main myth designed to promote social order is non-​Greek. This might not seem unusual if there were no such myths on which Socrates could draw in Greek poetry. Greek poetry was filled, however, with autochthony myths. The most popular version of the myth posited that all Athenians were descendents of Erichthonios, who sprang miraculously from the soil of Attica. The myth lent a sense of naturalness to the city, as opposed to the artificiality of cities with foreign founders. As will be discussed further in ­chapter 4, the focus in the Athenian myth on the origination of the same from the same, on the lack of foreign blood in the Athenian genealogical tree, points to one of the myth’s central functions:  assuring Athenians of their superiority over foreigners.48 From this it should be clear just how scandalous it is that Socrates recommends that the ideal city draw on the Phoenician myth of autochthony instead of the customary Athenian myth. Through the device of literary allusion, Plato reminds his fellow Athenians that they are not the only ones who believe they are indigenous to the land, and that such myths are mere social constructions not to be taken as literal truth.49 The allusion to Cadmus in Socrates’ use of the Phoenician myth is strange, secondly, because the founding of Thebes by Cadmus is a story of conflict and loss—​hardly a fitting source for a myth designed to promote social harmony and communal salvation.50 The noble lie is adopted to convince the guardians, and later the rest of the city, that “as though the land they were in were a mother and nurse they must plan for and defend themselves, if anyone attacks it, and they must think of the other citizens as being brothers and earthborn” (414e). Yet the genesis of the tale reveals that Kallipolis cannot thrive without the influence of foreigners, which calls into question the 48 For more on Athenian autochthony myths, see Nicole Loraux, Born of the Earth:  Myth and Politics in Athens (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2000). 49 For further analysis of how Plato’s Myth of Metals draws on familiar Athenian discourses in order to subvert them, see Elizabeth Markovits, The Politics of Sincerity: Plato, Frank Speech, and Democratic Judgment (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008), 137–​51. 50 Even more telling is the term “Cadmean victory” (also known as a “Pyrrhic victory”), which refers to a victory attained at as great a loss to the victor as to the vanquished—​a term evoked in Plato’s Laws (641c). Might this suggest that the founding of Kallipolis is but a Cadmean victory, that is, not a true victory?

122  Athenians and Foreigners assumed division between citizens and foreigners based on which the educational model develops. Who can justly be excluded from the brotherhood of Kallipolis if the founding myth itself can be traced back to foreigners? Might other aspects of the city’s identity be of foreign origin—​for instance, is the caste system of Kallipolis not strikingly similar to the ancient Egyptian model?51 If Kallipolis is built on non-​Greek ideas, then in fighting non-​ Greeks, are the guardians of Kallipolis (just like the Spartoi) in some sense fighting themselves? That Plato connects the autochthony myth of Kallipolis with the founding of Thebes is even more illuminating. In Greek drama, Thebes serves as an “anti-​Athens” or “mirror opposite of Athens,” a place where disorder and tragedy reign.52 Thebes is the land of Dionysus, descendent of Cadmus.53 Typically presented in the Greek pantheon as a foreign god, an outsider from the east, Dionysus brings chaos everywhere he goes.54 Nothing illustrates this more palpably than Euripides’ Bacchae, where the arrival of Dionysus occasions the destabilization of a formerly well-​ordered society. By the end of the play, everything the city considers sacred comes undone. The old become young, men transform into women, and mothers kill their own young.55 Like wine, of which Dionysus is the god, the foreigner Dionysus breaks down all boundaries, making the impermissible permissible. Plumbing the depths of Socrates’ seemingly offhanded remark that the noble lie is in fact a “Phoenician thing,” one thus discovers the personification of barbarism at the heart of the Kallipolis educational project. The music used to educate the guardians of Kallipolis to act boldly toward enemies (i.e., non-​Greeks) and gently toward friends (i.e., Greeks) draws from the mythology of a place that epitomizes foreignness. In this way, Plato exposes the discordance in the city’s treatment of non-​Greeks as natural enemies. The founders of Kallipolis 51 Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 205. 52 Froma I. Zeitlin, “Thebes: Theater of Self and Society in Athenian Drama,” in Nothing to Do with Dionysos? Athenian Drama in Its Social Context, ed. John J. Winkler and Froma I. Zeitlin (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992), 144. The mention of Phoenicia also would have reminded Athenians of their greatest enemy, the Persians, because Phoenicians formed the majority of the Persian fleet. Morris, Daidalos, 371–​77. 53 Interestingly, in the archaic period Cadmus was given a Phoenician heritage: “Nevertheless, by the fifth century (and perhaps earlier) Cadmus the Phoenician like Danaus the Egyptian is reinstated with a Greek heritage. . . . The orient is acknowledged and celebrated, and then incorporated and controlled.” Mitchell, Panhellenism, 183–​84. 54 See, e.g., Coleman, “Ancient Greek Ethnocentrism,” 185; Sears, Athens, 154; and Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 213–​14. 55 For an excellent analysis of these transformations, see Arlene W. Saxonhouse, “Freedom, Form, and Formlessness: Euripides’ Bacchae and Plato’s Republic,” American Political Science Review 108, no. 1 (2014): 88–​99.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  123 want to create unity by insisting on an allegedly natural division between Greeks and barbarians; at the same time, they want to draw on a non-​Greek tale to solve the problem of unity within the city. If there were any doubt after studying its lyrical content that the music of Kallipolis blends the Greek and the non-​Greek—​in contradiction with treatment of non-​Greeks as natural enemies—​these doubts are further dispelled when Socrates and his interlocutors arrive at a discussion of the second aspect of music: “the manner of song and melody” (398c). Specifically, he considers the proper harmonic mode and rhythm, which he says must fit with the speech. Given the kind of character the music must help to inculcate, Socrates eliminates the “wailing” modes—​namely, the “mixed” Lydian and the “tight” Lydian—​and the “soft” modes “suitable for symposia,” which include the Ionian mode and the “slack” Lydian mode. Left are two modes: the Dorian and the Phrygian. According to Aristotle, the Dorian is the mode most capable of inducing one to act “moderately and steadily,” whereas the Phrygian has an “inspiring (ἐνθουσιαστικοὺς)” or stimulating effect (Politics 1340a38–​ 1340b5). Put differently, the Dorian is a grave and serious mode associated with military music, whereas the Phrygian is a wild and playful mode associated with orgiastic ecstasy. Aristotle critiques Socrates’ decision to include both modes rather than the Dorian alone on two counts. First, he contends that the effect of the Phrygian mode corresponds with that of the aulos, a double-​reeded instrument; it makes no sense, then, for Socrates to allow the Phrygian mode yet forbid the aulos. Second, Aristotle argues that the proper mode for education is the Dorian, which is “most expressive of a manly character,” unlike the Phrygian mode, which is “orgiastic (ὀργιαστικὰ)” and “emotional (παθητικά)” (Politics 1342a28).56 The mode is aptly named, as Phrygia is often considered the other birthplace of Dionysus. Despite Aristotle’s critiques, the ideal city integrates rather than suppresses the Dionysian impulses present in mankind. This does not seem to be a mistake, as later, in Book 5, Socrates says he “prostrates (προσκυνῶ)” himself before Adrasteia, a nymph worshipped in Phrygia and associated with the Phrygian goddess Cybele, whose Phrygian name translates to “mother” 56 This attitude is shared in Plato’s Laches by the character Laches, who rejects all modes including the Phrygian, in preference for the Dorian—​the “sole Hellenic harmony” (188d). For a survey of the debate on why Plato includes the Phrygian mode, see Warren D. Anderson, Ethos and Education in Greek Music: The Evidence of Poetry and Philosophy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1966),  107–​9.

124  Athenians and Foreigners and who was known to “mediate between the boundaries of the known and the unknown.”57 Just as the lyrical content of the music of Kallipolis drew on a non-​Greek myth, the strictly “musical” content incorporates a harmonic mode associated with non-​Greeks. The music of Kallipolis represents a harmonizing, then, of Greek and non-​Greek, that is out of accordance with the city’s foreign policy of treating non-​Greeks as natural enemies. Given the harmony of Greek and non-​Greek present in the music of Kallipolis, Socrates’ decision to reject panharmonic instruments—​those capable of playing a variety of notes—​also seems contradictory. His prime example of a panharmonic instrument, the aulos, could emit multiple sounds from each aperture, as opposed to the singular sound made by striking a string on the lyre. He therefore rejects it. As with the noble lie that formed the speech content of the music of Kallipolis, Socrates insists, “It’s nothing new we are doing, my friend, in choosing Apollo and Apollo’s instruments ahead of Marsyas and his instruments” (399e, emphasis added).58 This time, however, the reference is not to a Phoenician tale, but to a Phrygian one (Herodotus, Histories 7.26). According to the myth, Athena invented the aulos, but threw it away when she discovered that it ruined her beauty by making her cheeks puff out when she played it. Picking up the discarded aulos in Phrygia, the satyr Marsyas became so proficient at playing the instrument that he dared to challenge the god Apollo to a musical contest. Judged by the Muses, the contest resulted in Marsyas’ defeat when, unlike Apollo with his lyre, Marsyas proved incapable of playing his instrument while hanging upside down. Consequently, the satyr was skinned alive, and his hide nailed to a tree. Again, Socrates references a myth whose violence seems to undercut the intended effect of instilling gentleness in the soul through music. In this case, the violence is directed toward Marsyas. Is it a coincidence that in the Symposium, Alcibiades compares Socrates to Marsyas, noting his ability through words alone to send listeners into a frenzy (215a–​e)? Could the rejection of the

57 Lynn E. Roller, In Search of God the Mother: The Cult of Anatolian Cybele (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 114. 58 The insinuation that they are choosing Greek instruments over foreign ones is, historically, false. As West attests, “Most of the musical instruments used by the Greeks came from the Near East at one period or another. This includes their two principal instruments, the lyre in its various forms and the auloi or twinned oboe.” West, East Face, 31.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  125 aulos be a symbol of Athens’s rejection of Socrates and, by extension, of philosophic discourse, with its capacity to speak in various ways? An indication that this may be so is found in the lines following the reference to the Apollo-​Marsyas myth. Whereas Glaucon swears “by Zeus” that they have not done anything new, Socrates swears “by the dog” that they have purged the city—​a swear unique to Socrates that refers to the dog-​headed Egyptian god Anubis, whose job it was to weigh souls in the afterlife (399e).59 As this shows, Socrates speaks a more panharmonic language than would be allowed in Kallipolis. This self-​negation, however, only serves to demonstrate the problem with Glaucon’s assumption that Kallipolis will be Greek (470e). If Kallipolis will be Greek and train its guardians to regard non-​Greeks as natural enemies, then a philosopher like Socrates, who worships non-​Greek gods and goddesses, will be thought to be fraternizing with the enemy and will therefore have to be purged from the city. Moreover, if the guardians ever discover that the founders of their city drew inspiration from non-​Greek myths, political institutions, and practices, then everything will unravel, as it will no longer be clear who is a friend and who is an enemy. Kallipolis is, in short, paradoxical. Instead of being a model of an ideal city Plato wished to see come into existence, Kallipolis represents the discordance within the souls of Socrates’ Athenian interlocutors. Put simply, the world is more interconnected than these and other Athenians realize, and they owe much to non-​Greeks, yet they continue to view non-​Greeks as natural enemies. This idea comes full circle once we compare the music at the beginning of the Republic with the music at the end. Whereas the festival of Bendis at the beginning shows Athenians embracing the “panharmonic” way of life out of the desire to further their imperialistic desires, the cosmic music in the Myth of Er that closes the dialogue reveals what the world would look like if all embraced the “panharmonic” way of life out of the desire for learning. Although this is a utopic vision, such cosmic music provides the true pattern on which one should model one’s soul. 59 Socrates connects the phrase to Anubis in the Gorgias when he says “by the dog, the god of the Egyptians” (482b). Judging by other uses of the phrase in the Platonic corpus, it is likely a dramatic way of affirming the truth of a proposition, particularly one regarding the nature of someone’s soul. The Greeks frequently identified the Egyptian Anubis with their own messenger god, Hermes. See Russell Blackwood, John Crossett, and Herbert Long, “Gorgias 482b,” Classical Journal 57, no. 7 (1962): 318–​19; Robert G. Hoerber, “The Socratic Oath ‘By the Dog,’” Classical Journal 58, no. 6 (1963): 268–​69; and Greg Moses, “‘By the Dog of Egypt!’: Plato’s Engagement with Egyptian Form, and the Scholarship of Cheikh Anta Diop” (paper presented at State University of New  York at Binghamton, October 1996).

126  Athenians and Foreigners

Two Models of Panharmony: The Democratic and the Philosophic The Republic begins, as noted, with Socrates’ description of the Bendideia and the procession of Athenians and Thracians. In Athens, religious processions often involved Athenians and foreigners of all ages and sexes weaving their way through the city in colorful costume while carrying symbols and ritual objects. Along the way, or upon reaching the sanctuary, there would be performances of music and dance in connection with ritual acts of sacrifice. The Bendideia thus represents the incorporation of Thracian music in Athens. As Socrates’ description of the separate processions of Athenians and Thracians indicates, however, in practice, the Bendideia worked as much to include Thracian immigrants as to exclude them. Segregating the orgeones, or cult groups, of Bendis into citizen-​worshippers and Thracian worshippers allowed Athenians to uphold the Thracians’ “otherness” even while elevating their status. As one scholar observes, “two different ethnic groups worship the same goddess, participate in the same sacrifices and festival, are organized into similar associations bearing the same name, yet never mix or fuse into one single group.”60 The visible, public segregation of Thracian worshippers into their own procession during the festival offers one obvious manifestation of Athenian ambivalence toward Thracians. Athens’s decision to recognize the cult of Bendis itself is strange. Whether through the grotesque customs of Thracians described in Herodotus’ Histories or the depiction of Thracians committing outrageous acts of violence in tragedies such as Sophocles’ Tereus and Euripides’ Erechtheus, Greek poetry typically portrays Thracians as a “primitive and backward society of fierce fighters” whose “[b]‌elligerence was matched only by rapacity, perfidy, and drunkenness.”61 In other words, Thracians were regarded as the epitome of barbarism. This raises the question, If Athenians viewed Thracians as exceptionally barbaric, then why did they approve of the cult of Bendis at all? Though much speculation surrounds Athens’s motivation for officially sanctioning the Bendideia, the decision was likely largely political.62 After all, in 60 Corinne Ondine Pache, “Barbarian Bond: Thracian Bendis Among the Athenians,” in Between Magic and Religion: Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Mediterranean Religion and Society, ed. S. R. Asirvatham, C. O. Pache, and J. Watrous (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2001), 9. Cf. Wijma, Embracing the Immigrant, 141. 61 Sears, Athens, 147. On depictions of Thracians in tragedy, see Hall, Inventing the Barbarian, chap. 3. 62 For an account of the motivations behind Athens’s acceptance of the cult of Bendis, see Sears, Athens, 152–​54. Also see Ronda R. Simms, “The Cult of the Thracian Goddess Bendis in Athens

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  127 the face of a war with Sparta, the Athenians hoped to acquire in the Thracians powerful allies abroad. Honoring a Thracian goddess would have solidified the alliance between Athens and the Thracian king Sitalkes that had been negotiated a few months earlier. Additionally, Athenians may have hoped to secure the loyalty of the large Thracian population residing in Athens, many of whom were probably serving in the Athenian military. The festival that sets the backdrop for the conversation of the Republic therefore signifies less a merging of cultural horizons than an instrumental use of foreigners for the sake of Athens’s empire. Athens exhibits one model of the “panharmonic” life. Insofar as it suits the majority’s political interests, other cultures or forms of music are given expression. Little attempt is made, however, to truly harmonize with these different ways of life. The Thracians remain an exotic other from whom the Athenians must keep their distance. This model of panharmony, in which many modes of existence are allowed to coexist though they are nonetheless in direct conflict with one another, resembles Socrates’ description of democracy in Book 8.  A  place where freedom reigns, the democratic regime contains “all species of regimes” (557d). To use the imagery of the caves (see c­ hapter 2), democracy is like a cave of caves. One finds in it a variety of cultures from which one may pick and choose, as though from a “general market of regimes” (557d). The attraction of democracy lies in this very coexistence of different and competing worldviews. Yet, so committed are democratic people to throwing off the yoke of domination that they shrink from imposing penalties even on those who violate the law. As Socrates asks, “And isn’t the gentleness toward some of the condemned nice? Or have you not yet seen, in such a regime, men who have been sentenced to death or exile, nonetheless staying and carrying on in the middle of things, and, as though no one gave heed or saw, stalking about like a hero?” (558a). Democratic people are so committed to the maintenance of individual liberty that they almost cease to care what anyone does. They are content to live their private lives and, likewise, to let others do as they please. While such a way of life is “pleasant for the moment,” this immense freedom facilitates the rise of tyranny (558a). Against the democratic model of panharmony, in which a variety of conflicting ways of life are grafted together without any attempt to achieve and Attica,” Ancient World 18 (1988): 59–​76; Christopher Planeaux, “The Date of Bendis’ Entry into Attica,” Classical Journal 96, no. 2 (2000): 165–​92; and Sulochana R. Asirvatham, Corinne Ondine Pache, and John Watrous, eds., Between Magic and Religion:  Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Mediterranean Religion and Society (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2001), 3–​11.

128  Athenians and Foreigners coherence, Plato ends the Republic with a philosophic model of panharmony, in which a variety of ways of life are brought together into a cohesive fusion. This alternative panharmonic model is presented through the Myth of Er. The myth tells of the death of a soldier named Er, who returned to life twelve days later to convey what he had seen during his time in the afterlife. Though Er is a warrior, he is also “an other image of the philosopher,” for like the philosopher he brings to his fellows a message of striving to learn what makes a good life and to develop the virtues such a life requires.63 Plato’s casting of the warrior-​philosopher Er as “by race a Pamphylian” hints that to be a philosopher one must exhibit a panharmonic nature, for “Pamphylian” is derived from the Greek words πᾶν—​the neuter form of the word meaning “all”—​ and φυλή, which means “race” or “tribe.” Er therefore comes from a place of “all races.” Why does Plato specify Er’s origins? What is symbolized by the meaning of the name Pamphylia, a region not in Greece proper but rather in Asia Minor? Does it represent the ultimate equalizing of mankind that takes place in death?64 Could it signify that Er’s myth is a tale for all mankind?65 Both interpretations suggest a fundamental unity among the world’s myriad cultures, a common humanity. Er’s image of the cosmos reiterates the motif of unity with diversity. According to Er, there exists a “spindle of Necessity” whose whorl, like a nesting doll, contains eight whorls of varying colors lying within one another. From above, the rims of these whorls look like circles and “upon each of its circles stands from on high a Siren being carried around with it, uttering one sound (φωνὴν μίαν), one tone (ἕνα τόνον); out of all eight (ὀκτὼ) is produced the accord of a single harmony (μίαν ἁρμονίαν)” (616c–​617b). Around the whorl and equidistant from one another sit the Fates—​Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos—​who “sing to the Sirens’ harmony (ἁρμονίαν)” (617c). Plato alludes here to Pythagoras’ famous theory of the harmony of the spheres, which holds that the heavenly bodies are separated from one another by intervals corresponding to the harmonic length of strings and that the movement of these bodies produces a celestial music audible only to those who escape the bondage of the sensory world.66 In using tonos (τόνος), a word 63 Barrachi, Of Myth, 139. 64 Patrick J. Deneen, The Odyssey of Political Theory: The Politics of Departure and Return (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2003), 102. 65 Barry Cooper, “‘A Lump Bred Up in Darknesse’:  Two Tellurian Themes of the Republic,” in Politics, Philosophy, Writing: Plato’s Art of Caring for Souls, ed. Zdravko Planinc (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2001), 121. 66 For more on the model of cosmic music found in the Myth of Er, see Ernest G. McClain, The Pythagorean Plato: Prelude to the Song Itself (York Beach, ME: Nicolas-​Hays, 1984), chap. 4.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  129 deeply associated with the diatonic tuning method, Plato signifies that the eight whorls on the spindle of Necessity represent the eight notes of the diatonic scale. The most divine music of the Republic thus brings together a series of distinct notes that make up a single, beautiful harmony. Importantly, against the cultural chauvinism that Greek music encourages, Er’s cosmic music can be seen to promote a harmony of diverse cultures. Plato did not need to specify that there were eight different notes; it would have sufficed to mention that the Sirens and the Fates sing in harmony. Again, the detail that eight different notes produce the cosmic harmony most likely serves as an allusion to the diatonic scale. This scale consists of seven different tones and a repeated octave. By starting with a different tonal center, seven variants or “modes” of the diatonic order can be produced: Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian. These are the names of various Greek and non-​Greek ethnic groups. Unlike with the music of Kallipolis, Plato does not explicitly delimit the “proper” modes of this cosmic music. Rather, if one follows the Pythagorean model of the harmony of the spheres in which each planet was believed to correspond to a certain tone and tone series (e.g., the sun is associated with the Dorian mode), then Plato’s vision of cosmic music implies the ultimate compatibility of these diverse tunings. From this it is hinted that Plato imagines the most just order as consisting of an harmonious arrangement of diverse cultures. Moreover, this cosmic harmony consists, literally, of a “multicolored” (ποικίλον) whorl and whorls of various other colors (616e–​617a). The connection between music and color can again be traced back to Pythagoras.67 Aristotle offers one possible explanation for the theory: Such, then, is a possible way of conceiving the existence of a plurality of colours besides the White and Black; and we may suppose that [of this “plurality”] many are the result of a [numerical] ratio; for the blacks and whites may be juxtaposed in the ratio of 3 to 2 or of 3 to 4, or in ratios expressible by other numbers; . . . accordingly, we may regard all these colours [viz., all those based on numerical ratios] as analogous to the sounds that enter into

67 On the theory of music-​color harmony, see, e.g., John Gage, Color and Meaning: Art, Science, and Symbolism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 55–​56; and Rolf G. Kuehni and Andreas Schwarz, Color Ordered: A Survey of Color Systems from Antiquity to the Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 8–​10.

130  Athenians and Foreigners music, and suppose that those involving simple numerical ratios, like the concords in music, may be those generally regarded as most agreeable.68

As Aristotle describes it, colors can be understood mathematically in a way that is comparable to notes in music. Just as the vibrations of strings on a musical instrument produce a pitch inversely proportional to their length, so do vibrations of light produce certain colors. The diatonic scale thus represents a sequence not simply of notes, but of colors. Put differently, sound and color are linked as different sensible expressions of the same mathematical harmony underlying the universe. That Plato conceives of the harmony of spheres in terms of color is also suggested by Robert Brumbaugh’s finding that the Myth of Er points to an order operative in the relation of the colors and distances of the planets, as confirmed by comparison with the color theory presented in Plato’s Timaeus. From this, Brumbaugh concludes that Plato wishes to show that the justice of the world is “at least in part evident to every man who will take the trouble to inspect the appearance of the heavens. The very colors of the planets constitute an empirical argument for the justice of the world order.”69 Color is therefore as much a part of Plato’s conception of the harmony of the spheres as is music; the two are but different sensible manifestations of the universe’s mathematical harmony. In sum, cosmic harmony is both multi-​noted and multicolored. However, unlike the multicolored music of the democratic city, the cosmic harmony of the eternal city possesses order and balance. From many tones and series of tones, it produces an accord, unlike the cacophony of sounds that the democratic city emits. The description of this cosmic music is an attempt to fulfill the quest Socrates laid out for his interlocutors at the end of Book 9, when he said one should look “in heaven” for the true pattern on which to model our souls (592b). As seen through the Myth of Er, this highest, most ideal harmony weaves together the diversity of ways of life or “caves” into a coherent whole, finding in each of them a glimpse of true reality, the fullness of which can only be seen by harmonizing these different, partially distorted visions. This suggests that, instead of using foreigners to help satisfy one’s pleonetic desires, approaching cross-​cultural engagement

68 Aristotle, On Sense and the Sensible, trans. J. I. Beare, Internet Classics Archive, http://​classics. mit.edu//​Aristotle/​sense.html. 69 Robert S. Brumbaugh, “Colors of the Hemispheres in Plato’s Myth of Er (Republic 616 E),” Classical Philology 46, no. 3 (1951): 173–​76.

The Panharmonic Music of the Piraeus  131 as an opportunity for learning can help one establish greater harmony in one’s soul and thus is good for its own sake. While no soul should emulate the democratic model of panharmony, the democratic regime itself offers the greatest potential for pursuing the philosophic model of panharmony. As Socrates asserts in Book 8, “[I]‌it is likely that for one wishing to establish a city, as we were just doing, it is necessary to go to a democratic city” (557d). What Socrates means is that democracy provides the freedom to encounter a variety of different ways of life and from them to attempt to make panharmonic music in one’s soul. As Roochnik argues, the Myth of Er invites us to ask the question, “What does it mean to be a human being?” The answer, he says, “cannot be given simply through mathematical formulas or only by staring at the heavens. It requires wandering, familiarity with human paradigms. It requires freedom and diversity and so is ‘probably’ best found in a democracy.”70 This appreciation for the heterogeneity of the democratic regime is reflected, Elizabeth Markovits argues, in the very diversity of voices and perspectives found in the Republic: “The use of both abstract argument and myth in the Republic helps us appreciate the multiple perspectives that constitute our reality; not only is there no Archimedean point of view from which to see reality, there are various modes of discussing that reality. By appreciating the multiplicity of the Republic, we are better poised to appreciate the multiplicity of the actually existing democratic city.”71 Although the attempt to pattern our souls on the cosmic model of panharmony may fall short due to the difficulty of seeing beyond one’s prejudices about the nature of reality, this is the model to which we should aspire. Containing a variety of caves, democracy allows for the greatest exposure to the liberating sting of cultural diversity. This experience may be painful, but embracing it allows one to see the limitations to one’s horizon, that is, to cultivate Socratic wisdom. This is why Socrates is in Athens, and in the Piraeus.

Conclusion As the foregoing analysis has shown, the numerous passages in the Republic that seem to imply xenophobic tendencies within Plato’s political thought

70 Roochnik, Beautiful City, 131.

71 Markovits, Politics of Sincerity, 155.

132  Athenians and Foreigners must be read within their dramatic context. The dialogue is set in the diverse Piraeus and depicts Socrates positively engaging with foreigners, Greek and non-​Greek alike—​a powerful context, provided one can remember it throughout the dialogue. When this context is not forgotten, it becomes clear that Kallipolis serves not as a model of a city Plato wished to see come into existence, but rather as a means of exposing tensions in Athens’s treatment of foreigners. At the same time as Athenians make use of foreigners, they also blame foreigners for their problems and insist on the natural inferiority of non-​Greeks. As the next chapter will demonstrate, this inconsistency in the Athenian treatment of non-​Greeks becomes even more visible when the foreigner Socrates engages is not a man, but a woman. Turning to the Menexenus, another dialogue that contains some of the most vitriolic statements against foreigners in the Platonic corpus, I argue that it, too, when read in its dramatic context, presents foreigners not as a source of corruption, but rather as gadflies stinging the city into wakefulness.

4 Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices Aspasia as Gadfly in the Menexenus

The Athenian funeral oration, or epitaphios logos, was a public eulogy delivered as part of an annual burial custom honoring fallen Athenian war heroes from the preceding year. Athenians typically bestowed the honor of delivering the speech on the most prominent citizen among them; most famously, the renowned statesman Pericles delivered the funeral oration at the end of the first year of the Peloponnesian War, as recounted in Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War (2.34–​47). Athenian funeral oratory was therefore an important genre of writing, as the event provided the leading voices in Athens with a remarkable opportunity to give tribute to the city during the most solemn of contexts. According to the extensive study of Nicole Loraux, Athenian funeral orations were not merely descriptive, but also prescriptive. Bound up with the development of democracy, the funeral oration provided an essential link between Athens’s past and its future, helping Athenians to identify and to “invent” themselves. Based on the extreme scarcity of any public Athenian epitaph to the dead of the Persian Wars, despite the regular presence of such epitaphs in other Greek states, Loraux hypothesizes that the practice arose sometime after the Persian Wars, perhaps near the start of the first Peloponnesian War. On her account, the funeral oration gave Athenians the opportunity to justify to themselves their abandonment of Panhellenic action and engagement in struggles against other Greek cities. The funeral oration, in short, played the role of an educator “constantly reminding the citizens that their patriotism must serve the superiority, past and future, of the hegemonic city.”1 At the same time, the oration worked to conceal the realities of the empire, painting an illustrious picture of the equality of the democratic city; “those ‘strangers within,’ that is, the metics and the slaves, are ignored by the official oration with a consistency that cannot be accidental.”2 1 Nicole Loraux, The Invention of Athens: The Funeral Oration in the Classical City, rev. ed., trans. Alan Sheridan (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2006), 144. 2 Loraux, Invention of Athens, 411.

134  Athenians and Foreigners Given that funeral orations often worked to shore up Athenian imperialism, it may seem problematic to the argument of this book that in the Menexenus Plato depicts Socrates delivering a mock Athenian funeral oration that is loosely based on the one Pericles delivered, one that even praises Athens for the pure-​ blooded nature of its citizens and for its pure hatred of barbarians. Surely if Plato saw the epistemological value of cultural diversity, he would not depict his hero Socrates saying such things. Yet Socrates does not take credit for the speech; rather, he attributes it to Aspasia, Pericles’ foreign mistress. Although many dismiss this attribution, I argue here that once Socrates’ injunction to imagine the oration as Aspasia’s is heeded, the gadfly-​like effect of her voice becomes evident. Through Aspasia’s voice, the discordance in the rhetoric of self-​sufficiency, wise leadership, and self-​sacrifice for others becomes evident. Although these principles emerge as superior to Pericles’ naked advocacy of expansionism, daring leadership, and imperialist conquest, Aspasia’s voice, by rendering Socrates’ political rhetoric ironic or dissonant, provokes continued examination of which principles and practices are best. Put differently, hearing the oration through her voice serves as a device for cultivating Socratic wisdom, or awareness of the limitations of one’s knowledge. The Menexenus offers another example of the importance of reading Plato’s dialogues within their dramatic context. Beyond that, my analysis of the dialogue expands on the narrative that cross-​cultural engagement exposes contradictions in the civic beliefs of Athenians by showing how the intersection of national origin and gender can magnify this effect.3 Many studies highlight the importance of Aspasia’s gender in understanding the meaning of the dialogue, but less treatment is given to Aspasia’s status as a metic, or resident alien of Athens. This omission is significant for at least two reasons. First, from the beginning, the dialogue not only emphasizes the treatment of foreigners, but insinuates that Socrates’ primary motivation in attributing the speech to Aspasia is to incite his interlocutor, Menexenus, to think about the speech from the perspective of a foreigner. Second, as Socrates makes clear, the primary aim of the funeral oration as a form of public speech is to establish Athenian superiority over foreigners. The oration he delivers is no different, and most of it celebrates Athenian exceptionalism. Aspasia’s status as a foreigner from Miletus is therefore paramount.4 3 The term national origin may be anachronistic, but there is no better term. Polis/​city of origin would be cumbersome and unclear to modern readers. 4 To be sure, Aspasia is still Greek. The classification of non-​Athenians as semi-​barbarian in the Menexenus suggests, however, that whatever is revealed about Aspasia qua xenos applies also to

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  135 Interpreters are also right, however, to stress her gender. Ultimately, both factors are important. The dissonance in the oration arises in part because Aspasia, a foreigner, speaks disparagingly of foreigners. It also arises because Aspasia is the foreign mother of an Athenian citizen, yet her speech praises the pure-​blooded, autochthonous nature of Athenians. Through this, Plato shows that Athenian xenophobia is implicated in the treatment of women in Athens. Being not just a woman but a foreign woman allows Aspasia to uncover patterns of domination in Athenian society that Athenian women themselves have difficulty seeing. Taking an intersectional approach to Aspasia’s identity thus proves more fruitful than examining either her gender or her national origin in isolation. Namely, this approach helps to confirm that no so-​called cave is truly just one cave (see ­chapter 2), by showing that Athenian men and women have somewhat different experiences of the Athenian cave. Yet it also helps to show that engaging a foreigner, that is, someone from a different cave (say, the cave of Miletus), augments the gadfly-​like effect. When an Athenian man encounters an individual who is two caves removed from his own, for example, a Milesian woman, the effect is heightened. In what follows, I demonstrate this by first bringing out clues in the text that we should read Aspasia’s role ironically, and then performing a reading of the oration through Aspasia’s voice as an immigrant.

Socrates’ Aspasian Oration: Satirical, Serious, or Ironic? The Menexenus is one of the strangest dialogues in the Platonic corpus, not least because it depicts Socrates abandoning his usual mode of dialectic conversation and instead delivering a funeral oration. Even more unusual is that the oration he delivers is typical of the genre in its glorification of Athenians. This seems incongruous not only with Plato’s typical representation of Socrates interrogating the city’s way of life, but also with Socrates’ mockery of funeral orations in the brief exchange with Menexenus that

barbarians. My analysis therefore goes further than arguments for a Panhellenist reading of the dialogue. See, e.g., Charles H. Kahn, “Plato’s Funeral Oration: The Motive of the Menexenus,” Classical Philology 58, no. 4 (1963), 230; and Bruce Rosenstock, “Socrates as Revenant:  A Reading of the Menexenus,” Phoenix 48, no. 4 (1994): 336.

136  Athenians and Foreigners opens the dialogue.5 Some interpreters resolve this puzzle by arguing that the oration is a clear satire of the archetypal Athenian funeral oration with its outrageously distorted representation of Athens as a mythical ideal come to life.6 The dozens of commonplaces found in the speech—​more, even, than in Thucydides’ account of Pericles’ funeral oration—​lend credence to this argument.7 Against the satirical interpretation, others contend the oration is not merely a pastiche of extant funeral orations, but contains plausibly Platonic or Socratic elements. In particular, similarities between the Athens of the Menexenus and the ideal city of the Republic—​namely, the city’s elevation of wisdom, virtue, and noble self-​defense, in contrast to Pericles’ praise of aggressive daring for the sake of winning glory for Athens (Thucydides, History 2.41)—​suggest Plato is attempting to educate Athenians by offering them a serious model of the Athens to which they should aspire.8 To be convincing, interpretations of the Menexenus must not only explain why Socrates delivers a seemingly un-​Socratic speech, but also why he attributes it to Aspasia. Given that Aspasia was the foreign mistress of the famous statesman Pericles, some argue that the attribution simply serves to invite readers to compare Socrates’ oration to Pericles’.9 If this is true, then why does Socrates insist on her authorship from beginning to end? Moreover, does not the rarity of female characters in Plato’s dialogues alone make Aspasia’s presence significant?10 Recognizing the necessity of accounting 5 The Menexenus was long dismissed as inauthentic owing to its many puzzling features. Its authenticity is now undisputed. In addition to the testimony of various reliable sources, including Ariston of Keos, Cicero, and Dionysius of Halicarnasus, Aristotle cites it twice. Both citations refer to line 235d, where Socrates says it is easy to praise the Athenians to an Athenian audience (Rhetoric 1367b30, 1415b11). 6 A. E. Taylor, Plato: The Man and His Work, 7th ed. (London: Methuen, 1960); M. M. Henderson, “Plato’s Menexenus and the Distortion of History,” Acta Classica 18 (1975): 25–​46; Loraux, Invention of Athens; and Thomas M. Kerch, “Plato’s Menexenus: A Paradigm of Rhetorical Flattery,” Polis: The Journal for Ancient Greek and Roman Political Thought 25, no. 1 (2008): 94–​114. 7 John Ziolkowski, Thucydides and the Tradition of Funeral Speeches at Athens (New York: Arno Press, 1981). 8 Christopher Bruell, On the Socratic Education: An Introduction to the Shorter Platonic Dialogues (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1999); Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers; and Nickolas Pappas and Mark Zelcer, Politics and Philosophy in Plato’s “Menexenus”: Education and Rhetoric, Myth and History (New York: Routledge, 2015). 9 Pamela Huby, “The ‘Menexenus’ Reconsidered,” Phronesis 2, no. 2 (1957): 109–​10; and Kahn, “Plato’s Funeral Oration,” 232. Plato explicitly links the oration to Pericles’ when Socrates tells Menexenus that just yesterday he heard Aspasia practicing a funeral oration, some of it drawn from “the time when she was composing the funeral oration which Pericles delivered” (236b). Scholars debate whether this is a reference to the actual speech Pericles gave, or Thucydides’ version of it. See Taylor, Plato, 43; Kahn, “Plato’s Funeral Oration,” 221, 231; and Henderson, “Plato’s Menexenus,” 28. 10 The only other female character is another foreigner, Diotima of Mantinea, who Socrates in the Symposium declares is his teacher on erotic matters. Scholars have long debated the connection between Diotima and Aspasia, the relationship between Diotima’s philosophy and Plato’s, and whether Diotima is an actual historical person or only a character of Platonic invention. For an

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  137 for Aspasia’s presence, recent interpretations take her role more seriously. These interpretations generally treat her either as a negative or a positive figure, finding therein confirmation for the satirical and the serious readings, respectively. For the negative interpretation, the idea that Pericles’ mistress composed the oration is so absurd that it likely signifies Socrates’ satirical intent, a view corroborated by Aspasia’s depiction in ancient sources as a co-​architect of the Sophistic movement.11 While some maintain that Aspasia’s role as a hetaera, or courtesan, and thus as a “buyable woman” accentuates the interchangeability of funeral orators,12 Susan Jarratt and Rory Ong do a better job of explaining the choice of Aspasia in particular.13 According to their reading, the focus of Plato’s hostility is not rhetoric per se, but the power of women and foreigners. Their argument partially rests on ancient disparagement of Aspasia for using her exotic Eastern charms to seduce powerful men into committing acts that lead them to political ruin.14 Notwithstanding the meaning of her name, Aspasia was not “welcomed” by most Athenians, but rather was treated with suspicion. As C.  Jan Swearingen writes, “To look upon the figure of Aspasia is to look upon the growing distaste the Athenians harbored toward Pericles’ foreign imports, including the sophists, Aspasia herself, and rhetoric.”15 Jarratt and Ong argue that Plato betrays his sympathy with these popular sentiments of distaste for the political influence

excellent account of and contribution to this debate, see David M. Halperin, One Hundred Years of Homosexuality and Other Essays on Greek Love (New York: Routledge, 1990), 113–​51, 190–​211. 11 Edmund F. Bloedow, “Aspasia and the ‘Mystery’ of the Menexenus,” Wiener Studien 9 (1975): 32–​ 48; and Lucinda Coventry, “Philosophy and Rhetoric in the Menexenus,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 109 (1989): 3. The assumption of simple Platonic hostility toward the sophists, though commonplace, should also be questioned. For further discussion, see Rebecca LeMoine, “The Benefits of Bullies: Sophists as Unknowing Teachers of Moderation in Plato’s Euthydemus,” Polis: The Journal for Ancient Greek and Roman Political Thought 32, no. 1 (2015): 32–​54. 12 Madeline M. Henry, Prisoner of History:  Aspasia of Miletus and Her Biographical Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 32–​40. 13 Jarratt and Ong, “Aspasia,” 17–​22. 14 According to Plutarch (Lives, vol. 1), it was rumored that Aspasia emulated Thargelia, a renowned hetaera who spread sympathy for Persian interests by seducing powerful Greek men. She was blamed, particularly, for the Samian War. On her responsibility for the Peloponnesian War, see Aristophanes, Acharnians 526–​29. Variously compared to Omphale (a queen in Asia Minor who for a year served as Heracles’ master), Deïanira (a “man-​destroyer” known for killing Heracles, her husband), and Helen of Troy (“the face that launched a thousand ships”), Aspasia seems to have been associated in the Athenian popular imagination with gender reversal and the concomitant disgrace and disaster it was thought to bring to men and the states they rule. 15 C. Jan Swearingen, “Plato’s Women: Alternative Embodiments of Rhetoric,” in The Changing Tradition:  Women in the History of Rhetoric, ed. Christine Mason Sutherland and Rebecca Jane Sutcliffe (Calgary: University of Calgary Press, 1999), 40.

138  Athenians and Foreigners of foreigners, and foreign women especially, through the oration’s myth of autochthony, which subordinates the role of women and conceals and silences foreigners. There are two reasons to question this interpretation. First, the satirical reading cannot explain aspects of the oration that some interpreters argue are Platonic. If Socrates evokes Aspasia to cast aspersion on the oration he is about to deliver, then why does that oration depart in significant ways from the standard tropes of Athenian funeral oratory? Second, Plato’s subscription to the ideas presented in the funeral oration should not be presumed. Indeed, in giving a foreign woman credit for a myth that subordinates foreigners and women, Plato defies the silencing the myth endorses. Socrates’ hesitancy to repeat Aspasia’s speech also indicates his sympathy for the plight of foreigners and women: “But possibly my teacher will be angry with me, if I deliver her speech (ἂν ἐξενέγκω αὐτῆς τὸν λόγον)” (236c). The phrase translated as “deliver her speech” contains the verb ἐκφέρω, which means “carry out of ” and, regarding women, “bring to the birth.” Given Socrates’ common use of the metaphor “midwife” to describe himself, he is suggesting that Aspasia will be angry with him if he decides when, where, and to whom to beget her logos.16 As a foreigner and a woman, Aspasia was barred from delivering the funeral oration. Socrates therefore fears angering her by making free use of her words and ideas. His reply that he could repeat Aspasia’s speech “εἰ μὴ ἀδικῶ γε (if I am not wrong)” carries a double meaning: he can repeat it if his memory does not fail him, and if he is not a-​dikos, or unjust (236b). Given that Aspasia’s skill in carrying on intelligent conversation was said to have attracted many prominent intellectuals, including Socrates, to Pericles’ home, and that Aeschines’ dialogue Aspasia even depicts her as a Socratic philosopher, it makes sense to pause before concluding that Socrates attributes the oration to Aspasia to highlight the dangers of politically influential foreign women. Against those who see Aspasia’s authorship as symptomatic of the dialogue’s satirical aims, others argue that she plays a more positive role indicating Plato’s intention to offer a more salutary funeral oration. Specifically, her femininity is seen to symbolize the need for a more caring, philosophic Athens.17 As with the view of Aspasia as a negative figure, this interpretation 16 Cf. Plato’s Symposium 206b–​207a. 17 Saxonhouse, Fear of Diversity, 111–​31; and Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Entanglements, 181–​ 205. Christopher Long critiques Monoson’s interpretation on the grounds that though Aspasia’s speech may be seen as “an attempt to fill out the picture left incomplete by Pericles himself,” in bringing together Pericles’ politics of freedom and Aspasia’s politics of justice, Socrates reveals

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  139 assumes that Plato subscribes to the ideas put forth in the oration. When in his speech Socrates states that Athenians are born from the earth and nurtured like a mother by the land, these declarations are taken at face value as indications of the citizenship metaphor Plato is proposing as an alternative to that of Pericles, without wondering whether Plato might be skeptical of the citizenship model advanced in Aspasia’s speech. Yet there is reason to think he may be. As discussed in ­chapter 3, the “beautiful city” of the Republic may not truly represent Plato’s political ideal. That the Athens of the Menexenus resembles the ideal city of the Republic might therefore be a reason to be suspicious of it. While surpassing the satirical reading by recognizing how the speech presents a model of Athens that diverges from the Periclean model, the positive interpretation of Aspasia’s role falls short by presuming that Plato applauds this new model. Underlying both the negative and positive interpretations of Aspasia’s role is the belief that the oration is in harmony with her character, such that if one conceives of Aspasia as a negative figure, then the oration must be a negative model (satirical), and if one views her as a positive figure, then the oration must be a positive model (serious). Yet why should one assume such linearity? That is, why should one assume that Aspasia approved of the principles expressed in the oration, and then take this approval as a sign of whether the model of Athens offered in the speech ought to be emulated from Plato’s or the character Socrates’ perspective? After all, the Menexenus is hardly a straightforward dialogue. From the beginning, Socrates engages in playful double-​speak. His exaltation of funeral orations strikes Menexenus as so hyperbolic that he immediately retorts, “You always make fun (προσπαίζε ις) of the orators, Socrates” (235c). When pressed to deliver his own funeral oration, Socrates acts self-​effacingly by admitting he can only repeat one he has heard from Aspasia, who he claims, evoking an image fit for comedy, nearly struck him whenever his memory failed. He is afraid, however, that Menexenus will think him foolish if in his old age he continues “to play” (παίζειν) like a child (236c). Nonetheless, he agrees to oblige him with the speech, maintaining that he would “dance naked” if Menexenus requested it (236c–​d). Socrates’ coyness persists even after Menexenus has heard the that their union “is inherently unstable . . . because each position seeks to render the other superfluous by asserting the authority of its own standpoint.” Christopher P. Long, “Dancing Naked with Socrates:  Pericles, Aspasia, and Socrates at Play with Politics, Rhetoric, and Philosophy.” Ancient Philosophy 23 (2003): 58. While I agree with Long that the oration is more in tension with itself than many realize, I dispute the equation of Aspasia with the ideals expressed in the oration.

140  Athenians and Foreigners speech, and the dialogue closes with a discussion of Aspasia insinuating that Socrates and Menexenus share the tacit understanding that Socrates is the speech’s true author. Additionally, in the oration Plato shrouds the entire conversation in absurdity by including references to events in the Corinthian War down to the Peace of Antalcidas of 387–​386 bc, years after the deaths of both Socrates and Aspasia (245e–​246a). By framing Socrates’ oration in a context of irreverence, laughter, and dissimulation, Plato indicates that nothing in the oration may be what it seems, including the evocation of Aspasia. The dialogue’s playfulness belies attempts to categorize the oration as either satirical or serious. This is why Stephen Salkever proposes an alternative ironic reading of the oration, arguing that “[i]‌n both style and substance, Menexenus rejects the heroic account of Athenian democracy proposed by Thucydides’ Pericles, separating Athenian citizenship from the quest for immortal glory.”18 Stylistically, this is achieved by employing Platonic/​Socratic irony, which through its playfulness with language works to “immuniz[e] democrats against accepting any rule or formulation as final and absolutely binding or correct.”19 Although irony is often used in satire, it does not necessarily expose and attack hypocrisy and injustice; it simply reveals incoherence. When something is ironic “a doubling of meaning occurs, which is made visible by a tension, incongruity, or contradiction.”20 By conveying what is not said, irony provokes re-​examination of the surface meaning. Irony is therefore more playful and ambiguous than a scathing satire, as the tenor of Socrates’ conversation with Menexenus captures. The serious reading of the dialogue treats this exchange too dismissively, presuming that it merely serves to highlight the deficiencies of Athenian funeral orations before it offers a Plato-​approved model. The satirical reading, by contrast, treats Socrates’ mockery too seriously, ignoring his attempt to offer a better model of Athens than the Periclean model (even while holding this new model in

18 Stephen G. Salkever, “Socrates’ Aspasian Oration: The Play of Philosophy and Politics in Plato’s Menexenus,” American Political Science Review 87, no. 1 (1993): 133, emphasis added. 19 Salkever, “Socrates’ Aspasian Oration,” 135. 20 Charles L. Griswold Jr., “Irony in the Platonic Dialogues,” Philosophy and Literature 26 (2002):  88. Engaging more fully with the vast literature on Platonic/​Socratic irony is beyond the scope of this book; suffice it to say that the understanding of irony employed here also takes its cues from Strauss, City and Man, and Christopher Rowe, “Platonic Irony,” Noua Tellus: Annario del Centro de Estudios Clasicos 5 (1987): 83–​101. I disagree with Schlosser’s rejection of irony as a useful concept for analyzing Plato’s dialogues. In my view, this concept fits with Schlosser’s insightful exploration of Socrates’ atopia, or “strangeness.” Schlosser, What Would Socrates Do?

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  141 question). The ironic reading of the oration avoids both errors, capturing the dialogue’s more nuanced approach of “serious play.” Although Salkever alludes to Aspasia’s role in engendering aporia, her role is not as clear as it might be. In what way(s) does Aspasia render the oration ironic? How does this fit with Platonic or Socratic irony? As the next section demonstrates, upon closer examination various aspects of the text offer significant clues as to the nature of Aspasian irony. This irony involves dissonance created by hearing Socrates’ oration through the voice of a foreigner—​the aspect of Aspasia’s identity the dialogue most underscores.

Breaking the Spell of Athenian Funeral Oratory Although Plato never speaks directly in the Menexenus, he bears full responsibility for the choice of title, subject matter, and dramatic context. Examining these aspects of the text, it becomes clear that Plato is emphasizing the role of foreigners. As argued in this section, the prominence of the theme of foreignness signifies that Socrates’ attribution of the funeral oration to Aspasia is not arbitrary. Rather, Plato is directing readers to consider the oration from Aspasia’s perspective as a foreigner. As will later be seen, this device creates an ironic dissonance in the speech, helping to break what Socrates portrays as the spell of Athenian funeral oratory. Plato conveys the importance of foreigners, initially, through the title itself, which bears the name of Socrates’ only interlocutor in the dialogue, a young man named Menexenus (Μενέξενος)—​literally, “remains a foreigner.” The dialogue’s preoccupation with foreigners is further established through the subject matter. When Socrates meets Menexenus, he is coming from the Council Chamber, where he had hoped to learn whom they will select as orator for the upcoming funeral speech.21 This revelation sets the stage for the dialogue’s examination of funeral oratory, a genre tied to war with foreigners. As aforementioned, the funeral oration functioned to justify the expansion of the Athenian empire following the Persian Wars. The Menexenus is, then, a 21 If Plato intends to expose the unjust treatment of foreigners in Athens, then Menexenus’ mention of Archinus and Dion as possible choices may be hinting at such injustices. After all, following the overthrow of the Thirty Tyrants, Archinus attacked a proposal to grant Athenian citizenship to metics, foreigners, and slaves who had helped restore democracy. Although Dion likely refers to an Athenian ambassador to Persia identified in Xenophon’s Hellenica (4.8.13), his name brings to mind Plato’s admiration for Dion of Syracuse who, as a foreigner, would have been ineligible to deliver the oration.

142  Athenians and Foreigners dialogue in which Socrates and Menexenus (“remains a foreigner”) examine a genre of discourse bound up with Athenian imperialism. The discussion of funeral oratory that follows establishes what is at stake in this conversation: preventing Menexenus from becoming a citizen who harms both Athenians and foreigners.22 Socrates’ first observation of funeral orations is that they give indiscriminate praise of any man who has fallen in battle. Contrary to the typical practice of presenting the dead as beyond reproach, Socrates contends that each dead soldier “hit upon praise, even if he was worthless (φαῦλος),” as the orator ascribes to each man “attributes he has and doesn’t have” (234c).23 This suggests that Socrates finds the logic expressed in a speech by Pericles disconcerting—​“the end these men have now met is what proves a man’s virtue, whether as the first indication or final confirmation” (2.42). By noting that even the worthless receive honor by dying in battle, Socrates implies that sacrificing one’s life for one’s country is not, as Pericles claims, an act of permanent redemption. Although Athenians may have regarded such praise of the dead as an effective means of exhorting the masses to go to war, Socrates questions the city’s decision to recruit anyone willing to sacrifice his life.24 The problem, he insinuates, is that the city’s leaders use funeral speeches to manipulate ordinary citizens into fighting unjust wars. That these wars are not always just is hinted, first, through his remark that funeral speeches are always prepared long in advance. If orators draw funeral speeches from their repertoires as needed, then they need not examine the particularities of the war at hand. The city’s action in war is a priori assumed to be just. When 22 In contrast to some of Socrates’ other students, Menexenus insists he would only govern if Socrates thought he was ready. Although he still depends on Socrates’ judgment of his wisdom and seems eager to receive a positive verdict so he can begin ruling, this suggests Socrates has been helping him develop Socratic wisdom. Indeed, in his hesitation to rule, he bears less resemblance to the “eristic” teenage Menexenus of Plato’s Lysis (211b). Were it not for the fact that the dialogue’s oration references events that took place after Socrates’ death, Menexenus’ age in the Menexenus—​on the cusp of entering politics—​would place the dialogue’s dramatic date between the Lysis, set approximately in 409 bc, and the account of Socrates’ death in the Phaedo, set in 399 bc. In depicting a conversation between Socrates and Menexenus that could have taken place, but then rendering it impossible by later depicting Socrates referencing historical events of which he could not have knowledge, Plato calls attention to the problem that Socrates’ absence creates. If some of Socrates’ students were on the promising path to developing Socratic wisdom but not at the point in their education where they no longer needed his help, then what becomes of these students in the wake of Socrates’ death? The anachronism thus signifies a major problem the dialogue confronts—​how democratic citizens can cultivate Socratic wisdom without Socrates. 23 Cf. Gorgias, Funeral Oration 6; Lysias, Oration 2, 1; and Demosthenes, Oration 60,  1–​3. 24 Sumio Yoshitake, “Aretē and the Achievements of the War Dead:  The Logic of Praise in the Athenian Funeral Oration,” in War, Democracy and Culture in Classical Athens, ed. David M. Pritchard (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 359–​77.

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  143 war is ubiquitous, it becomes inconvenient and perhaps even perilous to reflect on the justness of each individual war. Nonetheless, by highlighting the chasm between funeral speeches and the actions they memorialize, Socrates exposes a fundamental assumption in operation:  Athens is always in the right. Contrary to Pericles’ insinuation that Athenians surpass Spartans because their courage consists of boldness combined with reflection (2.40), Plato’s dialogues suggest that Athenians are overly assured of their wisdom.25 Socrates next tries to dispel this excessive confidence and to suggest Athens may have engaged in unjust wars by illuminating the dazzling nature of funeral oratory. Funeral orators, he says, “bewitch our souls” with fair and colorful words. The word “bewitch” implies that funeral orators are akin to snake charmers; they produce a hypnotic effect on their audience, one that even Socrates experiences: “I myself, Menexenus, feel quite nobly (γενναίως) arranged when being praised by them, and each time as I  listen and am charmed, I am displaced, believing forthwith that I have become mightier, nobler (γενναιότερος), and more beautiful.” Socrates observes that the foreigners (ξένοι) who accompany him experience a similar effect, viewing Socrates as “more solemn (σεμνότερος)” and believing the rest of the city to be “more wondrous (θαυμασιωτέραν)” than before. So much does the speaker’s voice ring in his ears, Socrates claims, that “scarcely on the fourth or fifth day do I remember myself and notice that I am of earth—​and in the meantime I all but believe I live on the Isles of the Blessed” (235a–​c). Not only do funeral orations make the dead seem virtuous; they also transform living Athenians into god-​like beings (as the use of σεμνότερος implies, common in reference to gods) and Athens into the Isles of the Blessed, the eternal paradise of heroes. The purpose, Socrates makes clear, is to reinforce Athenian superiority over foreigners. This is indicated by his repeated suggestion that these speeches cast Athenians as “nobler,” a word rooted in γένος (race or stock), along with the mention of the city becoming more wondrous in the eyes of foreigners. Funeral orators aim not just to honor the dead, but to leave the audience in awe of Athenians and their supremacy. Socrates finds this troubling, as suggested by the critical tone Menexenus detects, but also by Socrates’ subsequent statements on foreigners. Although in the passage above he claims even foreigners cannot help but be swept up in the pro-​Athenian fervor funeral orations incite, he soon admits it is 25 Ryan K. Balot, Courage in the Democratic Polis:  Ideology and Critique in Classical Athens (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 144–​48.

144  Athenians and Foreigners not as easy to charm a foreigner as it is to charm one’s own people: “For if it were necessary to speak well about Athenians before Peloponnesians or Peloponnesians before Athenians, then it would be necessary to be a good rhetorician to persuade and win esteem. But whenever someone competes before the ones he is also praising, it is no great thing to seem to speak well” (235d). He later repeats this, insisting the student of a mediocre rhetoric teacher “could still win esteem praising Athenians before Athenians” (236a). Again, comparison with Pericles’ oration proves instructive. Near the beginning of his oration, Pericles explains why it is difficult to speak about the deeds of the dead: “For the hearer who is informed (ξυνειδὼς) and well-​ disposed might quickly deem the speech wanting in comparison with what he wishes and knows (ἐπίσταται) to be manifest, while he who is uninformed (ἄπειρος) might, through envy, deem it to be exaggerated, if he hears something above his own nature” (2.35).26 From Pericles’ perspective, orators would not be mistaken in giving glorious representations of the dead. After all, everyone familiar with Athenians knows the dead are deserving; it is only those inferior to the dead who, out of envy, suspect exaggeration. Socrates, by contrast, emphasizes the embellished nature of these portrayals. Funeral orators transport Athenians from the real, imperfect city in which they live, enrapturing them with a substitute image of an ideal Athens. One need not be a good rhetorician to convince Athenians that this ideal is true to reality, as people everywhere are disposed to think well of themselves. The real challenge is to persuade the enemy. Plato thus gives prominence to foreigners from the beginning of the Menexenus. The title contains the Greek word for foreigner, the subject matter relates to the treatment of foreigners, and Socrates’ critique of Athenian funeral oratory exposes how this genre fuels a delusion of Athenian exceptionalism that bears substantial responsibility for Athens’ unjust conquest of foreign cities. Is it any coincidence, then, that after twice noting the difficulty of persuading foreigners of the greatness of Athens, Socrates claims to have heard a funeral oration composed by a foreigner? This is not a mere invitation to consider the oration as it would sound to a foreigner like Aspasia; it is an exhortation. Rather than treat Aspasia as an indicator of whether the oration is satirical or serious, readers should therefore play along with Socrates and pretend Aspasia composed the oration. Saxonhouse’s observation about the Republic applies here:  “We often casually say that Thrasymachus says

26 Cf. Demosthenes, Oration 60,  23–​24.

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  145 that justice is the interest of the stronger and the character of Thrasymachus has become part of our vocabulary to describe political cynicism. But of course it is not Thrasymachus who says this; it is Socrates as if he were Thrasymachus.”27 Similarly, in the Menexenus, it is not Aspasia (or Socrates) who sings Athens’ praises; it is Socrates as if he were Aspasia. The next section demonstrates that, when read through Aspasia’s voice, Socrates’ funeral oration becomes ironic or visibly contradictory. The contradiction involves a foreigner praising Athens for its exclusion of foreigners. This would be self-​disparaging coming from any foreigner; indeed, Socrates could have achieved this effect by attributing his speech to another famous metic rhetorician such as Lysias. Aspasia is an effective choice, however, for at least two reasons. First, as a native of Miletus, Aspasia’s commendation of Athens’s hatred of barbarians and noble defense of Greeks lies in tension with various aspects of Milesian history, especially its relationship with Athens. Second, Aspasia’s status as the metic mother of a famous Athenian citizen helps to illuminate tensions in the common Athenian understanding of the citizen–​foreigner dichotomy. By showing how unsettled this boundary is, her voice reveals that neither Periclean nor Socratic political rhetoric is without its dangers. Insofar as both depend on strict dichotomies and unquestionable principles, they risk promoting the kind of unreflective citizenship that transforms democracy into tyranny. This is seen through an examination of the dialogue’s presentation of three myths common to Athenian funeral orations: the myth of Athens as autochthonous, as a wise democracy, and as a benevolent defender of Greek freedom.

Socrates’ Myths of Athens through Aspasia’s Voice The oration commences with the myth of Athenians as autochthonous, or born of the earth. According to the myth, “the birth of their ancestors was not in a foreign land (οὐκ ἔπηλυς), and thus the descendants they produced did not migrate (μετοικοῦντας) to this country with their own having come from another place (ἄλλοθεν), but were autochthonous (αὐτόχθονας), living and dwelling in their true fatherland, nurtured not by a stepmother as others are, but by a mother, the country in which they lived” (237b–​c).28 For a metic 27 Saxonhouse, “Socratic Narrative,” 739. 28 Cf. Thucydides, History 2.36; Lysias, Oration 2, 17, 43; Demosthenes, Oration 60, 4–​5; and Hyperides, Oration 6, 7.

146  Athenians and Foreigners to boast of Athenian autochthony is ironic, as Aspasia cannot share in the kinship the myth generates. Such myths apply only to Athenians, not foreign transplants like herself. The separation of author from speech calls attention to the dismembering such myths perform. Autochthony myths generate unity by delineating “us” and “them,” a tension Aspasia’s authorship amplifies. Heard through her voice, the myth’s repeated use of the negative—​Athenians were not born in a foreign land, did not migrate, and were not raised by a stepmother—​becomes more antagonistic. Indeed, a core function of these myths was to distinguish Athens from cities whose foundation stories involved immigration.29 Aspasia’s voice reminds of the multitude of myths celebrating her native Miletus’ foreign founding and its history of peaceful interaction between Greeks and non-​Greeks.30 Accentuating the oppositional nature of Athenian autochthony myths, Aspasia’s authorship invites listeners to inquire whether unity is compatible with a rhetoric of hostility toward those with whom one shares the land. Through this, Socrates shows how engaging foreign voices can illuminate the tensions in one’s thinking—​ here, the tension in Socrates’ belief that telling citizens the noble lie that they are born from the earth will only generate unity (Republic 414b–​e). Aspasia’s authorship also highlights the discrepancy between Athenian speech and deed, showing that Athenians do not practice the complete separation from foreigners that their myths of autochthony preach. Amid all the talk of mothers and stepmothers, Aspasia’s own motherhood points to the evidence that undermines the Athenians’ claim to autochthony. Although her son with Pericles, Pericles the Younger, was disqualified from citizenship under the citizenship law of 451/​50 bc for having a non-​Athenian mother, he was later, around 430/​429 bc, granted citizenship.31 Only thus was he 29 Loraux, Born of the Earth, 15; and Mitchell, Panhellenism, 86. 30 Naoíse Mac Sweeney, Foundation Myths and Politics in Ancient Ionia (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 44–​79. 31 Only two primary sources attest to the existence of Pericles’ citizenship law: Plutarch, Pericles 37.1–​5, and Aristotle, “Athenian Constitution” 26.4. Inconsistent chronology and the dearth of primary evidence has led to much scholarly debate on the law’s purpose and scope. For more on this debate, see Cynthia Patterson, Pericles’ Citizenship Law of 451–​50 B.C. (New York: Arno Press, 1981); Patterson, “Athenian Citizenship Law,” in The Cambridge Companion to Greek Law, ed. Michael Gagarin and David Cohen (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 267–​89; and Josine Blok, “Perikles’ Citizenship Law:  A New Perspective,” Historia 58 (2009):  141–​70. The reason Pericles the Younger received citizenship is also contested. Most accept Plutarch’s claim that the Athenians granted it out of pity after Pericles lost his two legitimate sons to the plague. Pericles may even have convinced the Athenians to pass an amendment to the law allowing fathers with no surviving legitimate sons to adopt an illegitimate son and thus continue the legacy of their house and name. Among other evidence, one scholar cites cases of other illegitimate sons who were granted Athenian citizenship. Edwin Carawan, “Pericles the Younger and the Citizenship Law,” Classical Journal 103, no. 4 (2008): 383–​406.

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  147 qualified to serve as one of the generals tried en masse and executed after the battle of Arginusae.32 At least one Athenian citizen, then—​a prominent one at that—​descended from a non-​Athenian. Ancient reports of other illegitimate sons being granted citizenship and of the bestowing of citizenship on large groups of foreigners during the Peloponnesian War, combined with the fact that Pericles’ citizenship law likely did not apply retroactively, suggest Pericles the Younger was not the only Athenian citizen of mixed blood.33 Aspasia’s voice thus serves as a bold reminder that Athenians often favored the inclusion of foreigners, despite attempting through autochthony myths to make metics perpetual immigrants.34 If myths of pure lineage not only spur conflict between those “born of the earth” and everyone else, but are tossed aside whenever Athenians recognize the benefits of granting citizenship to foreigners, then what good are they? Again, Socrates’ engagement with Aspasia’s foreign voice cautions him not to be too certain that he knows what stories are best for citizens to hear. Along with uncovering how autochthony myths help to perpetuate injustices toward foreigners, Aspasia’s immigrant voice reveals how these myths also harm Athenian women. This comes to light through another claim found in extant funeral orations: that Athens gave birth not only to the pure race inhabiting it for generations, but also to the human race.35 According to the speech, just as we can determine if a woman is truly a mother by observing whether her body possesses nourishment for a child, the Athenian land proves herself the true mother of mankind because “she alone first brought forth human nourishment” (237e–​238a). The oration follows this with a more indefensible claim: “Nay, it is more fitting to accept such a proof on behalf of the earth than on behalf of a woman: for the earth has not imitated the woman in conception and birth, but woman land” (238a). Are we to believe it is easier to ascertain from whence mankind originated than to 32 As Zuckert notes, Aspasia “had as good if not better reasons than Socrates not simply to praise Athens,” and had reasons to be friends with Socrates given that he alone protested the trial’s illegality. Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers, 826n13. Interestingly, Peter Hunt argues that the unpopularity of the Arginusae generals may have been prompted by anger at the generals for supporting the mass enfranchisement of slaves who fought at the battle of Arginusae on the promise of being granted citizenship. Peter Hunt, “The Slave and the Generals of Arginusae,” American Journal of Philology 122, no. 3 (2001): 372–​73. 33 Mogens Herman Hansen, The Athenian Democracy in the Age of Demosthenes:  Structure, Principles, and Ideology, trans. J. A. Crook (Oxford:  Blackwell, 1991); Carawan, “Pericles the Younger”; Lape, Racial Citizenship, 254–​62. 34 Rebecca Futo Kennedy, Immigrant Women in Athens: Gender, Ethnicity, and Citizenship in the Classical City (New York: Routledge, 2014). 35 Cf. Demosthenes, Oration 60, 5.

148  Athenians and Foreigners determine whether a woman is a mother? This seems to be the thrust of the argument, but it is not argued so much as proclaimed. As the metic mother of an Athenian citizen, Aspasia’s voice makes clear that autochthony myths must substitute “land” for “biological mother” because otherwise Athenians would have to acknowledge the non-​Athenian maternal origins of many citizens. Although Pericles’ citizenship law was seen as granting significant recognition to the role of Athenian women by adding the requirement of maternal descent to the existing requirement of paternal descent, Aspasia shows that such recognition is not enough to overcome the Athenian fear of foreign-​ born children. Ultimately, autochthony myths betray the need to circumvent the question of maternity altogether, exposing the reality that Athenian “citizen” women are, to some degree, in the same position as metic women. Aspasia’s voice thus reveals to Socrates that autochthony myths might not be in harmony with his goal of establishing a regime that recognizes the value of women (Republic 451c–​457c). Aspasia’s unsettling of the unifying role autochthony myths purportedly play continues as she turns from the subject of nature to nurture. Speaking now of the upbringing Athens provides its citizens, Aspasia claims that Athenians hand over government posts “to those who always seem (δόξασιν) to be best,” noting that “there is one measure, that the man seeming (δόξας) to be wise and good have power and rule” (238d). Connected to δόξα (opinion), the repetition of the verb δοκέω (to seem) already points to the difficulty of discerning good leadership. This difficulty is further underscored as Aspasia again contrasts Athens with other cities: Other cities have been constructed out of all kinds (παντοδαπῶν) of anomalous (ἀνωμάλων) human beings, so that their polities—​tyrannies and oligarchies—​are also anomalous. . . . But we and our people are all brothers begotten from one mother, and do not think it right to be slaves or masters of one another. Rather, our equality of birth, our natural equality, compels us to seek legal equality, and to yield to one another for no reason other than reputation (δόξῃ) for virtue and prudence. (238e–​239a)

Echoing Pericles’ celebration of the equality enjoyed in Athens (2.37), this statement would not have been unsettling coming from the lips of an Athenian male and directed to an Athenian male audience. Yet coming from a foreign woman and directed to a mixed audience of citizens and foreigners, the effect would have been disconcerting. Aspasia’s voice serves as a stark

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  149 reminder that Athenians can only boast about the homogeneity and equality of their citizenry because they have excluded from citizenship the bulk of the population: metics, women, and slaves. Even as a relatively free foreign woman, Aspasia cannot speak in the assembly, deliver a funeral oration, or exercise any kind of direct political power, despite her reputation for political acumen. Virtue and prudence do not dominate; ancestry and masculinity do. Although better to advocate the rule of the (democratically elected) wise than the rule of the glory-​seeking, Socrates’ evocation of Aspasia reveals the difficulties in determining who the wise are, and challenges his own ideal of philosopher-​kings asked to rule by their fellow citizens (Republic 473c–​e). However positive an ideal, when taken not as aspiration but as achieved reality, the myth of a democratic people wise enough to yield to the leadership of the wisest tends to subvert itself. Moreover, Aspasia’s voice shows this is a problem not merely for those already excluded from citizenship, but also for established Athenian citizens. The myth of Athenian democracy celebrates the soundness of the Athenians’ judgment that political equality follows from natural equality. As such, it is linked to the autochthony myth. Yet as previously demonstrated, the conception of natural equality is itself unstable, as the presence of the famously foreign mother of an “Athenian” reminds us. Athenians are not all brothers of the same mother, born of autochthonous ancestors. Whatever the pretensions to democracy found in the myth, it also provides justification for yielding to one citizen over another on the undemocratic grounds of superior lineage. Reading the wise democracy myth through Aspasia’s voice thus brings out how this myth betrays a conception of citizenship that could destroy the meritocratic equality of opportunity it celebrates. Aspasia’s voice similarly calls into question a third myth: the myth that Athens is a benevolent defender of Greek freedom. Aspasia’s account of Athenian history purports to show that Athenians performed noble deeds because “they believed it was necessary on behalf of freedom to fight Greeks on behalf of Greeks, and barbarians (βαρβάροις) on behalf of all the Greeks” (239b). Beginning with the Persian Wars, it portrays Persia as an imperialist aggressor enslaving its neighbors one by one. Then, with dramatic flair, the oration plays up the heroism of the Athenians while downplaying the contributions of the Spartans. The battle of Thermopylae is not mentioned.36 Aspasia’s oration seamlessly transitions into the

36 Cf. Lysias, Oration 2,  30–​31.

150  Athenians and Foreigners Peloponnesian War without mentioning the Athenian empire. Instead, the war is chalked up to the envy of other Greeks. There is no hint, as there is in Thucydides’ History (1.23), of the growth of the Athenian empire and the concomitant fear of domination felt by other Greek states. Athens remains a hapless victim of fate, “pushed  .  .  .  unwillingly” into war with other Greeks (242a). The motif of Athenian innocence persists throughout Aspasia’s account of the Corinthian War, when the oration reiterates the theme of Athenian benevolence toward other Greeks: “[I]‌f someone should wish to accuse our city justly, only by saying this would he accuse correctly:  that she is always exceedingly prone to pity and to favoring the weak” (244e). One cannot help but wonder what the Melians would have said to this. Here, too, Aspasia’s voice questions whether such idealistic accounts of history promote justice or undermine it. First, the oration’s silence on Athenian imperialism is all the more conspicuous owing to Aspasia’s ties with Miletus, which defected from the Athenian-​dominated Delian League during the Peloponnesian War. In effect, Aspasia blames her native city for the war instead of defending it on the grounds that it feared Athens’s strengthening grip (Thucydides, History 1.23). This disjunction between Aspasia’s narrative and what one might expect from a native of Miletus calls attention to the difficulty of delineating defensive and antagonistic behavior. Aspasia’s Milesian voice helps to remind Socrates it is not enough to urge citizens to adopt a defensive foreign policy; they must also be able to discern true threats from temptations to pursue glory. Aspasia’s authorship also underscores the difficulty of distinguishing friends from enemies. Consider her remarks on Athens’s refusal to hand over other Greeks to the Persians during the Corinthian War: So firm and sound, mark you, is the nobility (γενναῖον) and freedom of our city, and by nature (φύσει) barbarian-​hating (μισοβάρβαρον), because we are purely (εἰλικρινῶς) Greeks, being unmixed with barbarians (ἀμιγεῖς βαρβάρων). For there dwell not among us those of Pelops, nor Cadmus, nor Egyptus, nor Danaus, nor the many others who are by nature barbarians (φύσει μὲν βάρβαροι), but by law Greeks (νόμῳ δὲ Ἕλληνες). Rather, we live as Greeks through and through (αὐτοὶ Ἕλληνες), not as half-​barbarians (μειξοβάρβαροι), from which a pure hatred (καθαρὸν τὸ μῖσος) of foreign nature (τῆς ἀλλοτρίας φύσεως) has sunk deeply into our city. (245c–​d)

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  151 Although this passage ostensibly reflects Athens’s commitment to protecting the community of Greeks, it implies a tenuous division between non-​ Athenian Greeks and barbarians. Whereas Athenians sprang from the earth, other “Greeks” are Greeks only conventionally (i.e., barbarians under Greek colonial rule) or else have become semi-​barbarian by following a foreign founder and “mixing” with barbarians. The speech effectively exiles non-​ Athenian Greeks “to the frontiers of Greekness . . . they are no longer Greeks, and the way lies clear for exclusive Athenian occupancy.”37 Nickolas Pappas and Mark Zelcer thus observe in the Menexenus a tripartite hierarchy of peoples: Athenians, non-​Athenian Greeks, and barbarians.38 While Pappas and Zelcer argue that by granting a “mixed” status to other Greeks Aspasia’s speech softens the difference between Athenians and other Greeks implied in the autochthony myth, it arguably re-​emphasizes the gulf between Athenians and other Greeks. For one, the speech makes clear that nature is what counts and, when it comes to nature, other Greeks are semi-​barbarian. If Athenians exhibit a “pure” hatred of foreign nature, then they must hate semi-​barbarians. Additionally, whereas Pericles’ oration distinguishes between Spartans, who practice xenelasia, and Athenians, who open their city to foreigners, Aspasia’s oration reverses this characterization.39 In noting that “there dwell not among us those of Pelops”—​the Phrygian founder of the Sparta-​dominated Peloponnese region of Greece—​her speech casts Athenians as more closed than Spartans to outside influences. Yet Aspasia’s authorship renders this claim ironic. For, if other Greeks live as half-​barbarians, then Aspasia and her son with Pericles could be half-​barbarian. In fact, they likely are semi-​barbarian. As any Athenian familiar with the story of Miletus’s history would know, the Persian conquest of Miletus during the Ionian Revolt resulted in the massacre of the men and enslavement of the women and children.40 This event was so painful to Athenians that, in 511 bc, they fined Phrynicus for staging his tragedy The Capture of Miletus, and banned him from ever performing it again 37 Loraux, Born of the Earth, 50. 38 Nickolas Pappas and Mark Zelcer, “Plato’s Menexenus as a History That Falls into Patterns,” Ancient Philosophy 33, no. 1 (2013): 19–​31. 39 For further analysis of the Athenian-​Spartan distinction in Pericles’ speech, see Richard Avramenko, Courage: The Politics of Life and Limb (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 2011),  87–​98. 40 Additionally, Miletus was “a hotspot of intercultural communication” and “must have been teeming with merchants, sailors and mercenaries full of stories about faraway places, strange natural phenomena, exotic products, foreign peoples, great kings, impressive exploits and bizarre customs.” Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 180.

152  Athenians and Foreigners (Herodotus, Histories 6.21.10). As a native of a city famously conquered by barbarians, Aspasia denigrates both herself and her progeny in commending the barbarian-​hating nature of Athenians. In this way, Plato exposes the illusory nature of the Greek–​barbarian distinction; it is merely an Athenian construction.41 How can Athenians hate barbarians if, according to their own understanding of what it means to be barbarian, some of their own citizens are likely barbarians? As Gruen argues, “As cornerstone of the argument that Athenians deplored the injection of foreign elements in Hellenic lands, it [the speech’s composition by a foreign woman] would be markedly paradoxical.”42 In sum, by having Aspasia voice the myth of Athens as benevolent defender of freedom, Socrates at once advocates a defensive foreign policy as the ideal and complicates it, highlighting the problematic nature of propagandist speeches that pretend as though the distinction between friends and enemies, freedom fighters and imperialists, and Greeks and barbarians is clear. Plato thereby depicts Socrates facing the tensions in his ideas through the help of a foreign voice. Read separately from Aspasia’s voice, the three myths discussed in this section appear either to mock the folly of Athenians or to provide a nobler, more Platonic vision of Athens that might offer Athenians instruction. Yet when Socrates’ exhortation to read the oration through Aspasia’s voice is taken seriously, a different picture emerges. Socrates’ autochthony myth with its focus on self-​defense may supersede Pericles’ celebration of expansionism, but through Aspasia’s immigrant voice the myth’s dark side comes to light. As she shows, the rhetoric of unity often obscures conflict in the polis and, in so doing, contributes to it. Likewise, though Socrates’ myth of Athens as a wise democracy that values virtue and prudence offers an alternative to Pericles’ warrior ethos, a metic can remind us of how the rhetoric of wisdom often conceals and thereby perpetuates ignorance. Finally, while Socrates’ myth of Athens as a benevolent defender of Greek freedom improves on Pericles’ acclamation of Athenian imperialism, Aspasia’s Milesian voice cautions that liberator, or “white knight,” rhetoric can cover up shameful motives and turn friendship into enmity. Emerging from an Aspasian reading of the three myths is the realization that even if Socrates’ vision of Athens captures the ideal, Socratic political 41 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian. 42 Gruen, Rethinking the Other, 238. Similarly, Hall asks, “Had Plato really wanted to propagate a ‘biological’ formulation of Hellenic identity, why should he choose to subvert it by placing such patriotic appeals to Athenian ‘purity’ in the mouth of a Milesian courtesan?” Hall, Hellenicity, 216.

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  153 rhetoric may not be less harmful than its Periclean counterpart. A speech extolling unity, wisdom, and self-​sacrifice for others can have the unintended effect of promoting conflict, ignorance, and greed.43 This suggests the importance in democratic regimes of sources for cultivating Socratic wisdom. Without self-​examination, citizens cannot appreciate that they are imperfect beings who err in both thought and deed. This puts them at risk of believing themselves to be gods, the impulse Plato worried would transform democracy into tyranny. As the next section argues, the Menexenus conveys that engagement with foreigners provides a major source of provocation to wonder. Unfortunately, difficulty lies in helping citizens see this because their fear of education leads them to prefer the comfort of the city’s more militant, single-​ voiced discourse.

The Benefit of Foreign Voices As it comes to a close, the oration exhibits a marked shift in tone as it takes up a topic nearer to Socrates—​virtue—​and presents it, strangely, through the voices of the dead. Seemingly resonant with Socratic principles, this section, too, becomes dissonant through Aspasia’s foreign voice. This discordance surfaces from the opening lines, as the dead tell their sons that the life not worth living is not the unexamined life, but that which brings shame on “one’s own (τοὺς αὑτοῦ)” (246d). They then explain, “[K]‌now that if we surpass you in virtue, our victory brings shame, whereas our defeat, if we be defeated, brings happiness” (247a).44 While Socrates would likely see this emphasis on the intergenerational expansion of virtue as an improvement upon Pericles’ accentuation of the expansion of the empire, a foreigner whose native city was subjugated by Athenian ancestors might wonder whether this call to “virtue” is actually an exhortation to be better imperialists. The dialogue’s dramatic date after the resolution of the Corinthian War, which strengthened Spartan hegemony despite Athens’s attempts to recapture its empire, lends confirmation to this suspicion. Aspasia as xenos can therefore be seen

43 This is perhaps why Collins and Stauffer find hints that we should “hesitate in taking Socrates’ conservatism as his last word,” even if such a political education is “propaedeutic to philosophy.” Susan D. Collins and Devin Stauffer, “The Challenge of Plato’s ‘Menexenus,’” Review of Politics 61, no. 1 (1999): 112, 115. 44 Cf. Thucydides, History 2.45; and Lysias, Oration 2, 71.

154  Athenians and Foreigners to provoke Socrates to wonder whether the rhetoric of virtue in his ideal city might encourage injustice. Aspasia’s foreign voice also reveals dissonance in the dead’s address to their parents. Here, the dead counsel their parents to abide by the saying “nothing too much” for “that man who has depended on himself for everything concerning his faring prosperously, or nearly so, and does not depend on other men . . . has best prepared for life” (247e–​248a). Aspasia’s authorship serves as a glaring reminder of how Athenians have departed from this advice. Rather than base their superiority on themselves alone, Athenians have depended on countless other cities to give them tribute and perform military service for them. As a native of a city that fought the reaching grip of Athenian imperialism, Aspasia exposes the Athenians’ violation of the saying “nothing too much.” However much Socrates approves of this divine principle, Aspasia’s voice suggests it can be twisted to mean “take control of everything before it controls you.” Following the dead’s brief entreaty to the city to take care of their sons and parents, the oration closes by extolling the city for the care it provides. Specifically, the city is celebrated for standing toward the children “as a father (πατρὸς)” and equipping them at adulthood “with full military equipment” (249a). Thus, the dead conclude, the city “stands toward the fallen in the place of heir and son (ὑέος), toward the sons in that of father (πατρός), and toward the parents of the dead in that of guardian, exercising care toward all in all ways throughout all time” (249b–​c). The description of the city as caregiver contrasts, as Sara Monoson argues, with Pericles’ casting of the city as a beloved. While this implies a more feminine model of citizenship, Aspasia’s voice emphasizes that the “care” the city gives aims at the manly subjugation of foreigners. It is the kind of care that prepares a man for death by “desiring him to be auspiciously equipped with arms as he begins to go to his fathers’ (πατρῴαν) hearth, ruling with might (ἰσχύος)” (249b). The funeral oration itself plays a role (249b). The care it provides aims to cultivate manliness, all the better to augment the city’s superiority over foreigners. Moreover, in mentioning the city’s role as parent, the oration alludes to a decree that entitled “war orphans” to receive economic assistance from the state—​a decree that “specifically excluded ‘bastard’ and ‘adopted’ sons from the state’s largesse, and, significantly, the sons of the foreigners and slaves who had aided in the resistance.”45 This again shows that the care the city provides extends

45 Lape, Racial Citizenship, 272.

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  155 not to those who have shown the city care in return, but only to those who count as Athenians. By depicting Socrates speaking the words of Aspasia speaking the words of dead Athenian soldiers, the Menexenus counteracts the single-​voiced nature of political rhetoric. The oration says one thing through the voice of an Athenian male orator, but another through Aspasia’s voice or Socrates’. The speech’s polyvocality acknowledges the variety of individuals who populate Athens, including those who have come before and those yet to come. It does not, like the speech of Pericles, silence diversity in favor of imposed uniformity. As Andreas Avgousti argues, by stressing the fusion of Socrates’ and Aspasia’s voices, Plato exposes the fraudulent and unjust nature of orations like the one of Pericles that cover up their diverse influences.46 Moving away from the propagandist nature of political rhetoric, Socrates’ evocation of Aspasia breathes life into the important questions he never felt satisfied that he had answered, helping him cultivate Socratic wisdom. The closing conversation between Socrates and Menexenus offers additional confirmation of this. Ending the oration by referring to her not just as Aspasia, but as “Aspasia the Milesian (Ἀσπασίας τῆς Μιλησίας),” Socrates reminds Menexenus of its foreign authorship—​once more suggesting the importance of Aspasia’s status as a foreigner. Menexenus does not seem to find her foreignness troubling; he finds it more remarkable that a woman was able to compose such a speech (249d). While this could indicate he has not learned to question his assumptions about where wisdom lies, it is likely a playful attempt to goad Socrates into admitting that he composed the oration. Menexenus’ insistence that he knows what Aspasia is like and is grateful to “her or to him” who composed the oration implies that he suspects that Socrates is the true author—​a suspicion readers likely share (249e).47 At this point, Socrates ceases to protest about the authorship, asking only that Menexenus not “accuse (κατερεῖς)” him so that he may continue to repeat Aspasia’s speeches (249e). With Socrates’ death haunting the dialogue, Plato’s use of the word “accuse (κατερεῖς)” alludes to a similar word in the Apology—​ “accusers (κατήγοροι).” On trial, Socrates insists that he stands accused of teaching others about matters he claims not to understand (19b–​20e). Could it therefore be that Socrates is asking Menexenus to acknowledge Socrates’ 46 Andreas Avgousti, “Politeiai and Reputation in Plato’s Thought” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 2015). 47 The gender ambiguity could also stress the blurring of boundaries in Socrates’ mimetic performance. Kasimis, Perpetual Immigrant, 142.

156  Athenians and Foreigners exhibition of Socratic wisdom or puzzlement, or not to “accuse” him, like so many others have, of deliberately hiding his knowledge to trap others? If so, then the Menexenus demonstrates Socrates’ preference for perplexity over self-​satisfied closure. Ultimately, the dialogue shows that Socrates’ own development of Socratic wisdom entailed experiencing the sting of foreign gadflies, a practice Plato suggests might profitably be taken up by his fellow citizens—​if only they would see its benefits. Socrates’ death serves as a powerful reminder, however, of the difficulty of convincing citizens of the benefits of engaging foreign voices. After all, Socrates struggled his entire life to help his fellow citizens appreciate his activity as a gadfly, and he was a native Athenian. Those from foreign lands face a more arduous struggle; their habits, beliefs, and interests are likely to be or to seem further removed, making their trustworthiness seem more doubtful than Socrates’. Socrates’ willingness, in Plato’s depiction, to call up (from the dead) the voice of a notorious foreign woman, then, perhaps adds to our understanding of why so many Athenians viewed Socrates as a threat.48 Plato’s mentor was not afraid to associate with foreigners, and these associations likely contributed to his image as a corrupter of Athens. By bringing the voices of Socrates and Aspasia together, the Menexenus suggests an affinity between the philosopher and the foreigner: even when singing the city’s praises, an element of discordance remains.

Conclusion In Alcibiades I, Socrates suggests the Delphic inscription “Know Thyself ” induces us to seek self-​knowledge by looking at the reflection of our souls in the eyes of another (132c–​133c). In the Menexenus, Socrates illustrates this principle. By hearing his own version of common Athenian political myths through the voice of a foreigner, he is reminded that there are limits to his wisdom. Aspasia’s voice, in essence, acts as a Socratic gadfly, helping Socrates cultivate Socratic wisdom. Read as the words of an intellectually gifted metic woman who is excluded from citizenship, the funeral oration’s portrayal of Athens as a land that emphasizes brotherhood, political equality, and prudence becomes noticeably discordant. Moreover,

48 Nails, People of Plato, 319.

Civic Myths through Immigrant Voices  157 the alleged purity of Athens unravels when it is celebrated by a famous foreign woman whose son was given citizenship. Finally, the speech’s praise of Athens’s conduct toward foreign cities strikes a false note when it is delivered by a woman of Milesian origin. Altogether, this suggests that though Socrates’ projection of Athens as a shadow on the cave wall may supersede that of Pericles, when we imagine the projection as a foreigner’s creation, it becomes clearer how artificial and divorced from reality the image really is. It is odd enough that Socrates, the inquisitive philosopher, would paint such a pleasing picture of Athens; for the metic Aspasia to be the artist or puppeteer behind the shadow makes even less sense. Plato’s ingenious use of this double disparity between image and creator thus serves to prompt reflection, demonstrating in the process the value of engaging with philosophers and foreigners alike. This concludes Part I of this book, which focused on Athenians engaging with those who, from their perspective, are foreigners. Part II turns the tables by studying cases in which Athenians themselves are cast in the role of foreigner. This is important for establishing that the term “foreigner” cuts both ways (i.e., sometimes the foreigner is an Athenian). Turning first to the Laws, I will examine how Plato depicts an Athenian traveling abroad. This shift in perspective allows us to experience to some degree the unique considerations that may inform one’s behavior when in a foreign land. In particular, the dialogue provides insight into the experience of traveling from the democratic “cave,” where freedom is prized above all, to a timocratic “cave,” where tradition and obedience to the laws is emphasized. We saw in the Republic and the Menexenus that the democratic city provides foreigners with a fair amount of leeway in which to call attention to contradictions in the beliefs of Athenians. Even so, their activities were often met with hostility. How, then, can foreigners act as gadflies in caves in which their freedom of speech and actions are more restricted? My analysis reveals that while democracy offers the greatest potential for experiencing the liberating sting of cultural diversity, this potential also exists to some degree in other forms of the cave. It simply requires a lot more patience and circumlocution on the part of visiting foreigners, lest they offend and find themselves in a hostile situation. Ultimately, however, this experience can also serve to provoke the visiting foreigner to ponder the contradictions of life in his own, democratic cave.

PART II

ATHE N IA N S AS F OR E IG NE R S

5 An Athenian in Crete Moderating the Song of the Armed Camp in the Laws

Other than its sequel—​ the Epinomis, a dialogue of questionable authenticity—​the Laws is the only dialogue set outside Attica. Given the frequency with which Socrates appears as the leading character in Plato’s dialogues, this is not surprising, since the historical Socrates on whom the character is based rarely left Athens. Plato does take one opportunity to imagine a conversation set in a foreign land, however, and in his longest dialogue no less. Set in Crete, the Laws features three elderly men—​an Athenian Stranger, the Cretan Kleinias, and the Spartan Megillus—​ascending a mountain while constructing a city in speech, one that will serve as an outline for an actual colony Kleinias has been selected to help establish. Like the city in speech of the Republic, the city of Magnesia will be relatively closed to outside influences. Although Popper’s case against Plato as a xenophobic thinker focuses largely on evidence from the Republic, he contends that the treatment of barbarians advocated in the Republic “is further corroborated by the contents of the Laws, and the most inhumane attitude towards slaves adopted there.”1 Another scholar writes, “[A]‌reading of the Laws may even strengthen Popper’s case. . . . The city will be almost literally a closed society in the sense that foreign contracts will be curtailed so far as possible.”2 Indeed, a dialogue in which an Athenian recommends founding one’s city at a distance from the sea so as to prevent it “from coming to have many-​ colored and lowly characters” (704d), circumscribing travel abroad and foreign visits out of fear that exposure to foreign ways will diminish the virtuosity of one’s citizens (949e–​953e), and only allowing foreigners to perform the dirty but necessary jobs with which no citizen should ever sully himself, such as imitating the ignorant and wicked in the city’s comedic performances (816e) and conducting trade (920a), hardly seems like the work of an author 1 Popper, Open Society, 47. 2 Stalley, Introduction to Plato’s “Laws”, 180.

162  Athenians as Foreigners friendly to cultural diversity. Like the Republic and the Menexenus, the Laws thus poses a considerable challenge to the thesis of this book. Again, one mistake that readers of Plato’s dialogues commonly make is ignoring or not paying enough attention to the dramatic context. On my reading, the proposed city does not constitute a blueprint for Plato’s ideal regime or even a second-​best one.3 Rather, it is the product of the Athenian Stranger’s moderately successful attempt to incite his Cretan and Spartan interlocutors to reflect critically on the militaristic values of their respective regimes. In this context, Magnesia represents a compromise between the warlike regimes of the Spartan and Cretan and the freedom-​loving polity of the Athenian Stranger. Plato is not advocating this regime; he is illustrating how a certain kind of cross-​cultural engagement can generate philosophical wonder and, ultimately, greater harmony. Just as Part I of this book showed foreigners acting as gadflies stinging Athenians into self-​examination, my reading of the Laws to commence Part II of this book serves to illuminate how Athenians can do the same for those who view them as foreigners. The Athenian Stranger acts like the Socratic gadfly, provoking his Spartan and Cretan interlocutors to see and reflect on one of the contradictory ways of thinking that has been instilled in them since childhood by virtue of belonging to a particular political culture. Though Kleinias and Megillus dwell in the “caves” of Crete and Sparta, respectively, both caves can generally be classified as timocracies, which tend to put tradition and military valor on a pedestal. As the Athenian Stranger puts it, they live in an “armed camp (στρατόπεδον),” a place in constant preparation for war against foreigners (666e). Coming from a democratic cave, the Stranger brings a different viewpoint that allows him to discern the tensions inherent in his interlocutors’ upbringing. Ultimately, the action of the Laws demonstrates the stinging effect of cross-​ cultural engagement. Not only that, but it shows how differing educations can prepare citizens to cope with the painfulness of this experience to a greater or lesser degree. Although they were by no means emblematic of the ideal, philosophic response to the liberating sting of the gadfly, the Athenians in the Republic were at least able to admit that there may be contradictions in the beliefs taught to them as children, and they were willing to entertain the possibility that an alternative way of life could be better. Moreover, 3 For the view that the Laws presents the second-​best regime rather than an updated version of the ideal regime, see, e.g., André Laks, “Legislation and Demiurgy: On the Relationship between Plato’s ‘Republic’ and ‘Laws,’” Classical Antiquity 9, no. 2 (1990): 209–​29.

An Athenian in Crete  163 though the people of Athens sentenced Socrates to death, they did so only after decades of tolerating his upsetting questions. By contrast, the Cretan and Spartan interlocutors of the Laws exhibit significant discomfort with the mere suggestion that their laws may not be perfect. Kleinias and Megillus have spent decades believing that their laws are literally divine and, as we saw with Cephalus in the Republic, the elderly tend to be more resistant to learning. More importantly, they live in regimes that place high value on loyalty and tradition. Consequently, the foreigner in their midst must take greater care not to offend. As we will see, the Athenian Stranger engages his interlocutors in a careful verbal dance.4 While some might see this as manipulative, he is simply trying to help his interlocutors see the tension in their community’s belief that the raison d’être of the laws is to prepare citizens for war with foreigners. This is no different from how Socrates tries to provoke Athenians to self-​ examination, except that Athenians are more receptive than Cretans and Spartans to such questioning and therefore Socrates can be more direct. The Athenian Stranger, on the other hand, risks shutting down the conversation if he makes a misstep. In fact, since he is a visitor in Crete, he risks being kicked out of the country, or perhaps jailed or worse, if he is seen as a violator of the laws. He therefore occupies the unenviable position of playing the role of gadfly in an extremely fragile context that threatens to erupt into hostility. By depicting this anonymous Athenian’s experience abroad, Plato shows both the epistemological potential of cross-​cultural encounters and how resistance to learning can lessen this effect. In the “armed camp” version of the cave, it takes the courage and perseverance of someone like the Athenian Stranger to actuate the process of intellectual liberation. To be sure, the democratic version of the cave has its own ways of muting the gadfly-​like effect of cross-​cultural encounters; as we saw in the analysis of the Republic in ­chapter 3, metics like Cephalus and Polemarchus have more than enough reasons to blend in as much as possible rather than speak truth to power. Yet life in the timocratic cave is even more stifling, relying more on the “stick” than the “carrot” in promoting acceptance of the shadows on the wall. This explains why the three interlocutors of the Laws can only make a gradual and partial ascent to the cave of Zeus, god of foreigners.

4 For more on the Athenian Stranger’s song and dance and how it relates to the creation of friendship, see John von Heyking, The Form of Politics: Aristotle and Plato on Friendship (Montreal: McGill-​ Queen’s University Press, 2016), esp. chaps. 5–​7.

164  Athenians as Foreigners

Cross-​Cultural Dialogue in the Armed Camp To understand the underlying action of the Laws, we might evoke the proverbial ancient Greek expression μὴ κινεῖν τὰ ἀκίνητα, which translates to “do not move the immovable.” Used to refer to statues, altars, graves, and boundary stones, the expression appears three times in the Laws, always with reference to property.5 Metaphorically, however, μὴ κινεῖν τὰ ἀκίνητα means “let sleeping dogs lie,” that is, do not try to change things. As this chapter will show, the main character of the Laws fails to heed this advice. Rather than let his interlocutors rest in peace, he invites them to engage in discussion as they embark on a long, steep journey up to the cave of Zeus, god of foreigners (625a–​b). Mimicking the men’s slow and difficult ascent, the conversation in which the main character engages them seeks to “move the immovable,” to unsettle men who are fixed in their ways. Specifically, he aims to unsettle his interlocutors’ deeply ingrained attitude of hostility toward foreigners. Plato hints at this from the beginning of the dialogue, through the choice of characters and setting. Of the three elderly characters featured in the Laws, the identity of the central protagonist has most puzzled scholars. Unlike in most Platonic dialogues, the leading character is not Socrates, but an unidentified Athenian Stranger. This has generated substantial discussion on the true identity of the Athenian Stranger, whom scholars often take to be Socrates in disguise,6 the voice of Plato himself,7 a pre-​Socratic 5 It first appears in Book 3 when the Stranger mentions that whenever someone seeks to redistribute land and exonerate debts to create more equality, everyone cries, “Do not move the immovable!” (684e). It next appears in Book 8 when he recommends a law that forbids anyone “to move the boundary markers of the earth, neither when they belong to a neighboring citizen nor when one possesses land at the edge and shares a border with another foreigner; it is held that this is truly to move the immovable” (842e–​843a). Finally, the expression appears in Book 11 when the Stranger claims that the saying applies to many things, including the taking of property that someone has saved for himself and his posterity (913b–​c). 6 For instance, Aristotle refers to the text as a Socratic dialogue (Politics 1265a10). Based on his reading of the Crito, Strauss, too, reasons that Socrates would have gone to a well-​governed city far away, like Crete, had he escaped, and notes that Plato invented with ease Socratic and other stories. Leo Strauss, The Argument and the Action of Plato’s Laws (Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 1975), 2. Others share this view, e.g., Thomas L. Pangle, “Interpretive Essay,” in The Laws of Plato, trans. Thomas L. Pangle (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 378–​79; and Zdravko Planinc, Plato’s Political Philosophy: Prudence in the Republic and the Laws (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1991), 26. For the differences between the Athenian Stranger and Socrates, see Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers,  58–​62. 7 See Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Legibus 1.4.15; Glenn R. Morrow, Plato’s Cretan City: A Historical Interpretation of the Laws (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1960), 75; Taylor, Plato, 24; Hans-​Georg Gadamer, Dialogue and Dialectic:  Eight Hermeneutical Studies on Plato, trans. C. P. Smith (New Haven, CT:  Yale University Press, 1980), 71; Stalley, Introduction to Plato’s Laws; George Klosko, The Development of Plato’s Political Theory, 2nd ed. (London: Methuen, 1986), 198;

An Athenian in Crete  165 philosopher,8 or the Athenian statesman and legislator Solon.9 While many speculate on the identity of the Athenian Stranger, all we can be certain of is that Plato chose to leave him nameless. Consequently, throughout the dialogue he is referred to either with the address “ὦ ξένε” (Stranger) or “ὦ ξένε Ἀθηναῖε” (Athenian Stranger). In most Platonic dialogues, the address “ὦ ξένε” appears only once, if at all. The Sophist and the Statesman stand out among counts of this address, with roughly a dozen uses each. However, even these two dialogues hold no flame to the frequency of “ὦ ξένε” in the Laws, appearing as it does well over one hundred times. By leaving the central protagonist of the Laws nameless and suffusing the dialogue with phrases that call attention to his foreignness, Plato stresses that the main character relates to his interlocutors as a foreigner and that they, in turn, regard him as such. Hence, the Stranger’s foreignness figures as an essential part of his identity in the interactions with his interlocutors. Although the other two characters are eventually identified by name as Kleinias and Megillus, their places of origin are also emphasized—​or, rather, their place of origin, for even though historically there were differences between Cretans and Spartans, the two men are continually cast together. Both are referred to as Dorians with the same war-​obsessed regime type.10 As aforementioned, the Athenian Stranger tells his interlocutors, “You all have the regime of an armed camp (στρατοπέδου) and not of men having been settled in cities (ἄστεσι)” (666e). In calling the Dorian regime an “armed camp,” the Stranger alludes to the regime’s fixation on war against foreigners and the kind of organization this necessitates. In such regimes, individuality is suppressed in favor of uniformity to generate the orderliness that makes united action possible as well as the camaraderie that makes one willing to sacrifice one’s life to save one’s brothers. This need to preserve a particular Trevor J. Saunders, “Plato’s Later Political Thought,” in Cambridge Companion to Plato, ed. R. Kraut (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); and Voegelin, Order and History, vol. 3, 275. 8 Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers,  53–​57. 9 Schofield, Plato, 75–​76; and S. Sara Monoson, Athenian Politics and the Practice of Philosophy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 233–​34. 10 In the opening line, for instance, the Stranger refers to them as a pair when he uses the second person plural pronoun ὑμῖν, typically taken as a dative of possession modifying τῶν νόμων, signifying “your laws” (624a). This casting together of the Cretan and Spartan laws is repeated at various points in the dialogue (e.g., 625a–​c, 626c, 628e, 630d, 634d, 683a). There are exceptions to this equating of Cretan and Spartan laws. For example, when Kleinias notes that Cretans do not make much use of foreign poetry, Megillus responds that the Spartans do (680c). On the whole, however, the Laws consistently blurs the differences between the Cretans and the Spartans, underscoring the great degree of commonality between the two cultures.

166  Athenians as Foreigners way of thinking and behaving gives rise to policies of xenelasia. As one scholar explains, “The anxiety of the Dorians, and the Spartans in particular, to keep up the pure Doric character and the customs of their ancestors, is strongly shewn by the prohibition to travel, and the exclusion of foreigners (ξενηλασία), an institution common both to the Spartans and Cretans.”11 Whatever the differences between the Spartan and Cretan regimes, they both fall into the category of “armed camp.” By contrast, the Stranger comes from a place that, to paraphrase Pericles in his funeral oration, throws open its city to the world and enjoys the luxuries of life rather than submit to a harsh military education even in times of peace (Thucydides, History 2.39). While Athens’s actions as an empire and its citizenship policies challenge his portrayal of Athens as a city of hospitality, the Athenians were less overtly hostile to foreigners than were the Spartans and the Cretans. This is evidenced by the fact that Athens welcomed more voluntary immigrants than any other ancient Greek city. According to Socrates’ description of regime types in Book 8 of the Republic, Athens was the sort of regime that valued freedom above all and consequently contained a variety of ways of life. Conversely, Sparta and Crete fit the model of the timocratic regime, in which the fundamental cares are honor and victory.12 In casting the leading character not merely as a foreigner but an Athenian foreigner, Plato calls attention to the Stranger’s immense divergence from his interlocutors. If Plato’s characterization of the three interlocutors emphasizes the deep cultural divide between them, then his choice of setting gestures at the ultimate aim of bringing these men into conversation: to show how the proper cross-​cultural engagement can help moderate the Dorian hostility toward foreigners. As we soon learn, the Athenian is not merely a foreigner in the company of two Dorians; he is a foreigner in a land notorious for its hostile treatment of foreigners. Asked by the Stranger whether their laws originate from a god or some human being, Kleinias answers that Zeus created the

11 Karl Otfried Müller, The History and Antiquities of the Doric Race, vol. 2, 2nd ed., trans. H. Tufnell and G. C. Lewis (London: John Murray, 1839), 4. It should be kept in mind that much of what we know about Dorian regimes like Sparta comes to us through non-​Dorian writers and therefore likely contains certain biases. Thus historians speak of the “Spartan mirage,” an expression coined in the 1930s by François Ollier to describe the idealization of Sparta in Greek antiquity and up to the present day. François Ollier, Le Mirage Spartiate: Étude sur l’idealisation de Sparte dans l’antiquité grecque (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1933). Building on Ollier’s work, other scholars have highlighted a deprecatory strand of thought regarding Sparta, in which it is cast as an anti-​Athens. See, e.g., Stephen Hodkinson and Ian Macgregor Morris, eds., Sparta in Modern Thought: Politics, History and Culture (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2012). 12 Cf. Plato, Republic 545a.

An Athenian in Crete  167 laws, but soon admits at the Stranger’s provocation that Minos, a son of Zeus, established the laws in Crete with the guidance of his father’s oracles. The Stranger then proposes that they walk from Knossos to the cave of Zeus—​ where Minos is said to have met with Zeus—​while discussing the polis and laws. Through this, Plato reveals that the discussion between the Athenian Stranger and his two Dorian interlocutors takes place not in Athens, where foreigners are welcomed, but in Crete, where they are often excluded. In the form of the Athenian Stranger, the openness of Athens has literally entered the land of hostility toward foreigners. Of further significance is that the conversation takes place while they are walking to the cave of Zeus. As the dialogue reminds us repeatedly, Zeus is the god of strangers and boundaries; his protection extends not only to citizens, but also to foreigners (730a, 842e, 843a, 953e). Despite the myriad evocations of Zeus in the Platonic corpus, in only seven places is he connected with hospitality. Four of those references occur in the Laws, suggesting a heightened attention in this dialogue to friendship with foreigners.13 What could Plato mean by depicting the characters of the Laws en route to the cave of Zeus and in emphasizing Zeus’s role as the god of foreigners? A clue lies in the nature of the journey, which is by no means an easy one, but rather, a long, steep climb under the hot Meditteranean sun. As Strauss notes, “[T]‌hey ascend to the origins of the Cretan laws; their going to the cave of Zeus is an ascent.”14 Likewise, Glenn Morrow reasons that the strangers must have walked to the Idaean Cave, atop Mount Ida, where Zeus is said to have been reared.15 Thus it can be said that the strangers are ascending to the place where the god of foreigners himself was educated. As it turns out, this serves as an apt metaphor for what takes place in the course of the conversation, for the strangers gradually ascend toward a view of foreigners closer to that of the hospitable god Zeus.16 The dramatic date of the dialogue further confirms that the conversation depicted in the Laws aims to demonstrate how, with the proper approach, cross-​cultural engagement can lead to greater harmony in even the most 13 The other three references to Zeus’s hospitality are at Euthyphro 6b, Phaedrus 234e, and the Seventh Letter 329b. 14 Strauss, Argument and Action, 4. 15 Morrow, Plato’s Cretan City, 28. 16 Interestingly, the strangers do not make it there. As is later discussed, this likely symbolizes the impossibility of complete friendship between the three interlocutors. Because of their socialization and age, they can only overcome their prejudices to a certain extent. The dialogue brings them closer to the ideal friendship embodied in the notion of Zeus as god of foreigners, but it does not bring them all the way there.

168  Athenians as Foreigners delicate of situations. Although the dramatic date of the Laws remains ambiguous, scholars have proposed two possibilities. On the one hand, Slobodan Dušanić argues for an approximate date of 408/​7 bc based on historical evidence that a Spartan ambassador named Megillus came to Athens during the Peloponnesian War as the head of a diplomatic mission.17 Catherine Zuckert, however, argues for a dramatic date sometime after the Persian Wars but before the Peloponnesian War, on the grounds that no persons or events from the Peloponnesian War are ever mentioned. Moreover, she points out the unreasonableness of an anonymous Athenian “trying to convince two experienced Dorian politicians to introduce a series of institutions drawn from prewar Athens after her defeat by Sparta without giving an account or explanation of that defeat.”18 In my estimation, the textual evidence weighs heavier in Zuckert’s favor.19 Given a dramatic date sometime in the decades leading up to the Peloponnesian War, could it be that Plato has brought these men into conversation to imagine what a more peaceful interaction between Athenians and Dorians might have looked like? This is what the three interlocutors’ conversation on the laws in the dialogue suggests. From the beginning, their conversation revolves around why the laws should focus not on war against foreigners but on the creation of internal harmony.

A Foreign Gadfly with a Gentler Touch From his first set of questions, the Stranger attempts to unsettle his interlocutors’ hostility toward foreigners using a gentle form of persuasion. Having established that the Dorian lawgiver instituted their laws with a view to war, the Stranger inquires whether this applies only to war between cities, or also to war between neighborhoods, war between households, and war between one man and another (626b–​d). In each case, two clearly defined entities are warring with each other. He ends by asking whether it is possible 17 Slobodan Dušanić, “The Laws and the Foreign Policy of Eubulus’ Athens,” in Plato’s “Laws” and Its Historical Significance, ed. Francisco L. Lisi (Saint Augustine, Germany: Academia Verlag, 2001), 230. 18 Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers,  53–​54. 19 After all, it is additionally strange that Megillus would go to great lengths to convince the Stranger of his fondness for Athens without mentioning that he has actually been to Athens, on a peace mission no less. Moreover, one would expect that, in the midst of hurling insults at Athens, Megillus would jump at the opportunity to mention Sparta’s victory over Athens when he brags about all the peoples they have defeated in battle (637d–​638a). These omissions and silences suggest the dialogue takes place before the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War.

An Athenian in Crete  169 for war to exist within oneself. In this way, he introduces the idea that within a “unified” whole there can exist distinct parts at war with one another. This allows him, moving back up the chain, to apply this idea to each of the entities until ultimately he leads his interlocutors to think about war not between cities but within one city.20 As Strauss explains, “The concern is no longer with superiority to outsiders but with the right kind of inner structure.”21 From there, the Stranger returns to the level of the household, suggesting they consider who would be the best judge of a household that included some unjust brothers and a few just brothers. Of the three possibilities he proposes, Kleinias opts for the most natural choice: a judge that neither destroys nor enslaves the unjust, but “reconciles them for the rest of time, by laying down laws for them, and is able to be on guard that they are friends with one another” (628a). This allows the Stranger to draw him to the conclusion that such a judge and lawgiver would enact laws with a view not to war, but friendship. By asking Kleinias to think of war and friendship in the context of something every Cretan and Spartan can understand—​brotherhood—​the Stranger sets him in the right frame of mind for considering war and friendship in the larger context of humanity.22 Indeed, returning now to the level of the city, the Stranger shows that the same holds true: a good lawgiver would not create a city for the sake of victory in foreign war, but would only fight external wars if the peace of the city were at risk. In fact, speaking of war and civil war, the Athenian Stranger insists that “their necessity (τὸ δεηθῆναι) is to be regretted” and that the best outcome is neither war nor civil war (628c, emphasis added). Therefore, they must conclude that one “would never become a correct statesman, looking first and only to external wars, and would never become a lawgiver in the strict sense of the word, if he did not legislate the things of war for the sake of peace rather than the things of peace on account of those of war” (628d–​e). The Stranger works to orient his interlocutors away from war and toward friendship with foreigners not only through rational argument, but also through the mode of discussion itself. Put differently, the Stranger’s discourse offers a performative demonstration of the friendship with foreigners 20 This is similar to Socrates’ move in the Republic when he proposes investigating justice in the city and using this investigation to illuminate justice in the soul. 21 Strauss, Argument and Action, 5. 22 Brotherhood, of course, implies the exclusion of women. My point is not that the concept of brotherhood is a smaller scale version of humanism. Rather, the Stranger appeals to his interlocutors’ familiarity with brotherhood because this concept might serve as a bridge to the different, yet related concept of humanism.

170  Athenians as Foreigners to which he hopes to lead his interlocutors. The Stranger’s meta-​awareness of the conversation itself—​of how the manner of conversing might facilitate a turning of his interlocutors’ souls—​is first seen when Kleinias confesses that he finds nothing wrong with the argument but would be amazed if the Cretan and Spartan laws “were not made in all seriousness with regard to them [external wars]” (628e). “Quite possibly,” replies the Stranger, “Nonetheless it is necessary that we not fight harshly but instead question one another gently about these things, since we as well as they take them very seriously” (629a). As this passage shows, the Stranger is aware that Kleinias, who believes his laws to be the work of a god, is still struggling with the implications of their discussion. He therefore tries to soften the blow by agreeing with what Kleinias, in his response, maintained—​that his lawgiver treated the task of legislating earnestly. Whether true or not, by acknowledging that Kleinias’ lawgiver cared as deeply as he and his interlocutors do about establishing the best laws possible, the Stranger tries to avoid piquing Kleinias’ anger while also casting their investigation into the laws as in accordance with the sincere wishes of the Cretan lawgiver. Through both the argument itself and how it is discussed, the Stranger thus encourages Kleinias to adopt a friendlier approach to foreigners. Failing to convince his interlocutors that the laws should aim at friendship, the Stranger now tries a different route: appealing to the authority of the poets. This move is explicable, again, in terms of the Stranger’s desire to approach his interlocutors gently. He retreats, in essence, from trying to critique divine lawgivers and instead turns to critiquing less-​divine authority figures, the poets, in the hopes that this will arouse less anger. The first poet he turns to is Tyrtaeus, “who was by nature an Athenian, but became a citizen of these people,” that is, of Sparta (629a). Although most of the poets celebrated in Sparta were of foreign origin, in choosing to call upon a poet who famously left his home in Athens to immigrate to Sparta, the Stranger helps to diffuse some of the tension.23 As Thomas Pangle explains, from the perspective of a Spartan or Cretan, “[i]‌t is almost the Athenian stranger’s patriotic duty to interrogate Tyrtaeus,” because by giving up his Athenian citizenship in favor of becoming a naturalized citizen in Sparta, the poet essentially insulted the 23 Little has been written about the poetic tradition in Sparta, but various sources attest to the importation of poets from abroad. See, e.g., R. C. Jebb, The Growth and Influence of Classical Greek Poetry: Lectures Delivered in 1892 on the Percy Turnbull Memorial Foundation in the Johns Hopkins University (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1893), 114–​17; and C. M. Bowra, ed., Greek Lyric Poetry from Alcman to Simonides, 2nd rev. ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961), 20.

An Athenian in Crete  171 Athenians.24 The Stranger’s turn to Tyrtaeus is thus doubly appropriate, for the poet is well respected by his interlocutors, and yet, as members of an honor culture, they will understand and even respect the Athenian’s interrogation of this defector. In line with the Stranger’s performative demonstration of friendship between foreigners, the Stranger delivers his critique of Sparta’s great poet Tyrtaeus in a respectful manner. First, the Stranger praises the “most divine poet” Tyrtaeus, who seems to them “very wise and good” (629b–​c). Then, asserting that he and Kleinias agree with Tyrtaeus regarding his praise of men who have been distinguished in war, the Stranger insists they merely want to “know clearly whether we are speaking of the same men or not” (629c). Just as in Plato’s Republic when, instead of directly attacking the poet Simonides—​from whom Polemarchus draws his definition of justice—​ Socrates confesses that he must not understand the poet’s meaning, here, too, the Stranger refrains from demeaning Tyrtaeus by instead proposing that they have misunderstood him.25 In sum, he reaches his criticism of the poet through the slower, but less inflammatory (and perhaps more effective) route of pretending not to have grasped his genius. Such an approach, Jill Frank argues, underscores that “what matters is not who the poet (or philosopher) is, or what he knows, but how auditors take up his words,” effectively shifting poetic authority from the poets to their auditors and interpreters.26 Once more, by treading carefully before men who have long sung the poems of Tyrtaeus, the Stranger disposes his interlocutors to maintain a friendly demeanor in the midst of what could easily erupt into a heated conflict. Reaching the heart of his critique of Tyrtaeus, the Stranger again shows the lengths to which he is willing to go to avoid provoking his interlocutors. After ascertaining that Tyrtaeus would agree that there are two forms of war—​“civil war (στάσιν)” and the kind waged “against outsiders (τοὺς ἐκτός) and members of other tribes (ἀλλοφύλους)”—​the Stranger reasons that Tyrtaeus must be referring to men who distinguish themselves in foreign war (629c–​d). In response, the Stranger claims, “but good as these men are we say that better by far are those who reveal themselves to be best in the greatest war. And we have a poet as our witness, Theognis, a citizen of Sicilian Megara, who says that ‘a trustworthy man is equal in value to gold and silver,



24 Pangle, “Interpretive Essay,” 385. 25 Cf. Plato, Republic 331e. 26 Frank, Poetic Justice, 58.

172  Athenians as Foreigners Cyrnus, in difficult civil strife’ ” (630a). According to a scholiast, an ancient critic named Didymus attacked Plato for deliberately misrepresenting the well-​known fact that Theognis was an Attic Megarian. This misrepresentation makes sense, however, in the context of the Stranger’s aim to move his interlocutors away from war and toward friendship with foreigners. Had he associated Theognis with Attica, his interlocutors may have taken offense at the Stranger’s unabashed use of an Attic poet to combat the views of a Spartan poet. Identifying Theognis as Sicilian rather than Attic allows the Stranger to avoid the hostilities this might provoke and thus to lend more legitimacy to the poet’s words.27 From this, the Stranger reveals his willingness to cast aside his patriotic pride if it will help advance the conversation. As the Stranger brings his critique of Tyrtaeus around full circle to reveal his criticism of the Dorian lawgivers, he continues to maintain a respectful posture. Elaborating upon the poet Theognis’ views on human excellence, the Stranger argues that a man “would never become trustworthy and sound in civil wars without having the whole of virtue,” whereas there are many “rash, unjust, hubristic, and imprudent” mercenaries who would fight to the death in the foreign wars Tyrtaeus mentions (630b). Consequently, any lawgiver of worth would set down laws with a view to nothing but the greatest virtue: “trustworthiness in the midst of dangers, which one might call perfect justice” (630c). As for any lawgiver who legislates with a view toward foreign war, he would rank “fourth in number and in claim to honor” (630c–​d). On hearing that any lawgiver who legislates with a view to foreign war deserves not the first but the fourth rank, Kleinias exclaims, “Stranger, we are casting our lawgiver far into the rank of lawgivers” (630d). To this, the Stranger replies, “No it is ourselves, oh best of men, we are casting among them, whenever we think that Lycurgus and Minos arranged all the laws at Lacedaemon and here looking above all to things pertaining to war” (630d). The Stranger follows here the same model he used to critique Tyrtaeus’ poetry. He critiques it by suggesting that the fault lies not with the author but with his interpreters. In fact, just as he earlier showed respect to his interlocutors by referring to 27 This is not the first time a poet of allegedly foreign origin is praised. As Mark Griffith observes, it is a common theme in the Laws, and in Greek musical history generally, that “the best—​and most characteristically Greek—​harmonies, tunings, melodies, and even instruments came, or were said to have come, from other regions or countries, and from other peoples.” In fact, the traveling/​immigrant musician is often himself a lawgiver, or connected to one, “so that his arrival in a mainland city from elsewhere (e.g., Anatolia, Thrace, Crete) introduces both a new and better ‘attunement’ and a new social ‘harmony’ and political order.” Mark Griffith, “Cretan Harmonies and Universal Morals: Early Music and Migrations of Wisdom in Plato’s Laws,” in Performance and Culture in Plato’s “Laws”, ed. Anastasia-​Erasmia Peponi (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 24–​27.

An Athenian in Crete  173 Tyrtaeus as a “most divine” poet, now, in response to Kleinias asking what they should have said were the lawgiver’s aims, the Stranger reiterates his respect for the Cretan lawgiver by answering, “What I think is true and just to say since we were having a discussion on behalf of a divine man (θείας)” (630d–​e). As this makes clear, the Stranger discusses the traditions of his interlocutors in a way that is at once respectful yet inquisitive—​an approach appropriate for men long reared in the habits of an armed camp and therefore likely to be easily offended by any criticism of their way of life. Even when the Stranger moves from criticizing their understanding of the Dorian laws to criticizing the laws themselves, he remains tactful. This is seen, first, in the way the Stranger frames their conversation as the sort of enterprise friends would undertake. Proposing that they examine how the laws contribute to the development of the virtues, the Stranger suggests that they begin with the lowest virtue, courage, and use this discussion as a pattern for the rest. He then enlists Megillus—​who has up to this point let Kleinias field most of the Stranger’s questions—​into the conversation by agreeing that he will test Kleinias first, but “you and me as well; for the discussion is ours in common” (633a). Playing on the proverb “the things of friends are common,” the Stranger implies that they should treat each other not as enemies, but as friends, and that testing one another in conversation is consistent with friendship. True friends, he implies, do not refrain from disagreeing with one another. Rather, they respectfully voice their differences. Having prepared his interlocutors for the idea that friends can “test” each other while still guarding their friendship, the Stranger now brings forth his critique of the Dorian laws. Eliciting agreement from Megillus and Kleinias that courage involves being able to face and overcome not only one’s fears but also the temptation of certain pleasures, the Stranger remarks, “Surely the lawgiver of Zeus and of the Pythian has not perhaps legislated a crippled courage, able to resist only on the left side, but debilitated on the right, that of cunning and flattery? Isn’t his resistant on either side?” (634a). Kleinias and Megillus insist that it is, but they are at a loss when pressed for examples. Even assuming the correctness of the laws’ focus on war with foreigners, the Dorian laws fall short. Again, the Stranger attempts to soothe his interlocutors by proclaiming, “Best of strangers, there is nothing surprising about this. But if one of us should blame something in the laws belonging to each other, wishing to see the truth and, at the same time, what is best, may we accept this from one another not harshly but gently” (634c). Insisting that what he has to say at this point is not a blame of the laws but, rather, an

174  Athenians as Foreigners expression of “perplexity (ἀπορῶν),” the Stranger finally states his criticism explicitly: For you all are the only ones of the Greeks and barbarians, of whom we have heard, whose lawgiver ordered to keep away from and not taste the greatest pleasures and games, while as to pains and fears, the very thing we have just been discussing, he held that if someone flees them from childhood through the end of life, whenever he comes into necessary toils and fears and pains, he will flee before those who have gymnastic training in these things and will be a slave to them. I think it was necessary for the same legislator to think the same thing about pleasures. (635b–​c, emphasis added)

The Cretan and Spartan lawgivers, in other words, excelled in exposing their citizens to fears and pains so that they would be able to conquer such trials in times of war, but they erred by not similarly exposing them to pleasures so that they would be able to conquer those when necessary. As a result, one cannot call Spartans or Cretans “courageous and free men without qualification” (635d). Any other people they faced, including barbarians, would find it easier to resist the temptation of pleasures, having faced those temptations before. The Spartans and Cretans, on the other hand, lacking any experience with pleasures, may not be able to withstand the temptation. The critique is harsh, yet the Stranger has painstakingly worked up to it. He did not begin by laying into his interlocutors with a full-​on attack of the Dorian laws, but rather gave them a chance to explain why they think their lawgivers chose these laws. Then, using a slow, gentle approach, he brought to light an inconsistency in their thinking. Although he could have attacked the divinity of the Dorian lawgivers, he insisted the error lies not with the lawgivers but with their own interpretation of the lawgivers’ intentions. Seeing that his interlocutors were still upset, the Stranger then scaled back his criticism by shifting the focus away from the law, which in his interlocutors’ view is divine and unquestionable, to poetry, which is more open to interpretation. Through this, he elicited their agreement that praise is owed more to a man who proves trustworthy in the midst of civil strife than in battle against foreigners. Furthermore, before finally stating his direct criticism of the Dorian lawgivers, he reminded them to treat each other gently, as is appropriate for friends. Yet, as one might expect of members of an armed camp—​especially elderly ones—​Kleinias and Megillus resist acknowledging the contradictions in

An Athenian in Crete  175 their laws. Midway through Book 1, the Stranger—​having now gained their trust to some degree—​thus switches strategies: he starts a fight. Proposing a turn from courage to moderation in their study of how the Dorian laws cultivate virtue, the Stranger attacks the Spartan laws for making the men womanly and the women manly. This, in turn, provokes Megillus to attack the Athenian custom of symposia. As Pangle explains, this move allows the Stranger “to introduce and defend alien Athenian ways before old Dorians, in a manner which frees him from all suspicion and even disposes his audience somewhat in his favor. For every old patriot honors patriotism, even in his enemies.”28 In short, the Stranger’s attack on Spartan customs is designed to stir Megillus to attack an Athenian practice. This then gives the Stranger the opportunity to defend the Athenian practice of drinking parties, a move with which any patriotic Spartan and Cretan can sympathize because men raised in honor cultures respect those who respond to being insulted by putting up a fight. However, before offering his defense of symposia, the Stranger once again tries to institute a friendlier form of interaction by making clear that this defense will not follow the Dorian model of solving disagreements through battle; rather, he will give a calm and clear demonstration of the benefits of symposia with the expectation that his interlocutors will listen sympathetically. The Stranger introduces this new model of judgment by proposing that they investigate whether to applaud the lawgiver who allows intoxication or the lawgiver who forbids it, adding, “I am not speaking about the drinking or non-​drinking of wine, but about being drunk, and whether it should be used as the Scythians and Persians do, and also the Carthaginians, the Celts, the Iberians, and the Thracians—​all these being warlike races—​or whether it should be used as you all do” (637d–​e). When Megillus implies that the matter is already settled because they put all these people to flight when they take up their arms, the Stranger explains that victory in battle does not suffice as a method of judging one way of life against another (638a). Not only are the causes of war not always clear, he argues, but “bigger cities defeat smaller ones when battling; the Syracusans enslave the Locrians, who seem to be the most well-​ordered of those in that region, and the Athenians enslave the Ceians, and we could find countless other such examples” (638a–​b). The Stranger thus insists that they “try to persuade ourselves with arguments, leaving out now talk about victories and defeats” (638b). The Stranger’s

28 Pangle, “Interpretive Essay,” 395.

176  Athenians as Foreigners hostile demeanor is hence but temporary, and soon gives way to the friendlier form of interaction he has been modeling all along. As will be demonstrated in the next section, the Stranger’s defense of symposia ultimately works to expose the chief problem with regimes that exclude foreigners: the false appearance of harmony. Parallel with Socrates’ approach in the Republic, the Stranger illustrates this first in the soul and then in the city. With regard to the soul, the Stranger’s discussion of the benefits of drinking highlights how a person can seem at one with himself, yet in reality suffer internal division owing to deficiencies in the establishment or maintenance of his education. He then shows how cities that resemble old souls—​ namely, armed camps, with their emphasis on obedience to tradition—​can seem united because, on the surface, their citizens repeat the same words while marching in step with one another. Yet, for all its apparent unity, the armed camp suffers from unacknowledged internal contradictions. Just as an elderly soul requires wine to make its lack of unity more manifest, members of an elderly city need the voice of a foreigner to unsettle their firmly established beliefs and thereby promote the reflection requisite of healthy polities.

The Appearance of Harmony in the Soul In defense of the Athenian practice of symposia, the Stranger claims that drinking parties, when properly conducted, can serve an educational purpose. Specifically, they help to “safeguard” education. To illustrate this, the Stranger offers his interlocutors an image of what education looks like in a human being. Imagine, he says, a divine puppet pulled in opposite directions—​toward virtue, on the one hand, and vice, on the other—​by cords or strings representing the various passions within the puppet. Most of the cords are “hard and iron” and “resemble all sorts of different forms,” but there is one weak, but golden cord:  the “sacred pull of calculation” (645a). Education is what helps us listen to the pull of reason above all. The problem, however, is that over time, this cord “tends to slacken in human beings, and become much corrupted in a lifetime” (653c–​d). Fortunately, the gods have ordained holidays, led by the Muses, their leader Apollo, and Dionysus, so that humans may be set right again (653d). It is not enough, then, to give someone a correct education in the first place; there must be a safeguard in place to correct for the natural weakening of education over time.

An Athenian in Crete  177 According to the Stranger, the solution is wine. However, his explanation seems, at first, to defy this. Introducing drunkenness into the puppet, he argues, returns its soul to the disposition it had as a young child, as “the drinking of wine intensifies pleasures, pains, the spirited emotions, and the erotic emotions,” while causing “sensations, memories, opinions, and prudent thoughts” to abandon us (645d–​e). In other words, drunkenness encourages the puppet to listen to the pull of the many violent passions tugging at him and to drown out the pull of the soft, golden cord of calculation. It incites war within the puppet, pulling it in different directions. Hence, when drunk, a man “would be least the master of himself,” and therefore removed from virtue (645e). Under its influence, the Stranger admits, souls are cast “into absolute degradation” (646b). Although this seems like the opposite of safeguarding education, the Stranger thinks wine can, paradoxically, serve that purpose. This is because the soul, at times, needs to experience complete degradation. The Stranger offers the analogy of bodies: after going to the gym, they are exhausted and weak, but in the long run they become stronger thanks to the exercise (646c–​ d). Similarly, though drinking temporarily degrades the soul, it ultimately improves it. Here, the Stranger harkens back to his criticism of the Dorian laws for testing courage against fears but not against pleasures. A properly conducted symposium can provide the missing test, as drinking awakens the desire for pleasure. Just as the body builds strength by withstanding the pain that accompanies exercise, the soul gains strength (i.e., becomes more virtuous or, to be specific, more moderate) by withstanding the pleasures that accompany drinking (647d). A soul that avoided experiencing the pull of the passions over reason would be like a body that avoided exercise. As Joshua Mitchell puts it, “Without illness, there can be no health.”29 Overseen by a sober ruler, symposia allow individuals to safeguard their education by promoting the development of moderation. As the conversation proceeds, it becomes evident that this argument is aimed at those who have reached old age. The Stranger is forthright on this point. Having explained the need for holidays as a rest from labor, he proposes festivals consisting, as in Sparta, of three choruses:  a children’s chorus (dedicated to the Muses), a chorus for those under age thirty (dedicated to Apollo), and a chorus for those aged thirty to sixty (dedicated to 29 Joshua Mitchell, Plato’s Fable:  On the Mortal Condition in Shadowy Times (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006), 20.

178  Athenians as Foreigners Dionysus). When Kleinias replies that he is confused about who is to make up the third chorus, the Stranger responds, “And yet most of the arguments we have been making before this have been more or less for the sake of these men” (664d). This age group in particular benefits from drinking wine because it emboldens them to sing publicly, which men at their age are typically ashamed and loathe to do. Yet they need to sing to counteract the “bitterness of old age” or, again, to awaken the passions so that by fighting against these desires they can attain their full measure of virtue (666b). As the Stranger puts it, the effect of wine is that “we grow young again, and by forgetting its despondency the character of the soul turns from harder to softer, just like iron becomes when put into fire, and so it is more malleable” (666b–​c). Only by rejuvenating their youthful passions can the elderly demonstrate and develop psychological health. When the Stranger remarks that the arguments so far have been for the sake of the men in the third chorus, he hints that he and his interlocutors—​as men of this age—​likely suffer from the problems he has outlined. However correct their initial education, they cannot expect to have remained well educated without some kind of safeguard in place. The Stranger has already revealed that the Dorians lack sufficient safeguards, for though their laws test courage, they do not test moderation. As for the Athenian, he admits that with regard to symposia he has “hardly seen or heard of even one being entirely run correctly” (639d–​e). At least in terms of the legal institutions and customs of their respective cities, all three men lack sufficient safeguards to their education. Accordingly, if they look like the model of moderation, it is only because they are old. Were their dormant passions to be awakened—​ for instance, in the heat of victory in battle—​they might not act moderately, being out of practice with fighting their passions. In examining this problem, Plato takes up in the Laws an issue he pushes aside in the Republic. The issue is raised through the character of Cephalus, who feels relieved to have reached old age, as it has freed him from “very many mad masters” (329d). Although Cephalus believes that it is not the relaxation of passions in old age that has made him virtuous, but rather his good character, from the way he talks about the appetitive desires, one imagines that were he to be flooded with them again he would not be able to control them any more than he could in his youth. Although in the Republic Plato has Cephalus leave the scene and thus does not address the problem of how to revive the passions so that the elderly may test their moderation, the Laws focuses on this problem. The dialogue shows that a man like Cephalus

An Athenian in Crete  179 could only be truly moderate if he once again experienced inner turmoil and managed to exercise self-​control. Without having to struggle against those desires, his virtuosity is but an appearance of virtue.30 The solution the dialogue proposes is wine, which will awaken the passions that have long gone to sleep and thereby allow the elderly to remember the war they once felt waging within. Only then will it be possible for them to achieve the peace that comes not from an absence of war, but from the creation of friendship between warring parts.31 Put differently, only then will it be possible to achieve true harmony in their souls, rather than the mere appearance of moderation.

The Appearance of Harmony in the City Although on one level, the defense of symposia is aimed at the elderly, Plato indicates in various ways that this defense is also, if not primarily, intended as counsel for the elderly city, or the cities beholden to tradition such as the Dorian armed camp. This becomes apparent when the Stranger turns from determining how they will incite the elderly to sing to determining what kind of music they will sing. When Kleinias responds that he and Megillus could never sing any song other than those they learned to sing when they were habituated in the choruses, the Stranger insinuates that the problem with the elderly he has been describing is compounded in his interlocutors, owing to their having been reared in armed camps: Of course not. For you all have not really become acquainted with the most beautiful song. You all have the regime of an armed camp (στρατο πέδου) and not of men having been settled in cities, but rather of such a sort that you make your young keep crowded together like colts grazing in a herd. None of you takes your own young, dragging him from those feeding together, intensely wild and vexed, and gives him a private groom and educates him by currying and taming him, rendering to him all that belongs to child rearing. If you did, he would not only be a good soldier, but he would also be able to manage a city and towns—​someone who, as we 30 Cf. Frank, Poetic Justice,  101–​2. 31 This is similar to Socrates’ discussion in the Republic of the three regions: the lower region of pain, the upper region of pleasure, and the middle region of what is neither painful nor pleasant. Men who ascend from the lower region to the middle region, he argues, often mistake it for the highest region (583c–​586b).

180  Athenians as Foreigners said at the beginning, is more of a warrior than those warriors of Tyrtaeus. (666d–​667a)

In the Dorian armed camp, children are not regarded as unique individuals requiring an education tailored to their specific needs, such as Socratic education supplies; rather, they are lumped together as a single group and collectively made to regurgitate lessons they may not understand, and which may not sit well with each person’s sense of reason. While the Spartans and the Cretans may succeed in impressing the same opinions upon the members of their communities, they do so through force and habituation rather than true persuasion. Moreover, their emphasis on obedience to tradition effectively stamps out the skeptical tendencies many young people exhibit. Consequently, it does not matter that as old men they will be allowed to question and criticize the laws (634e), for by the time they reach old age they will be so habituated to the song of the armed camp that they will be virtually unable to sing anything else. This is problematic because this mode of education tends to foster the mere appearance of harmony in the city. First, as the Stranger has stressed, if citizens lack experience in combating pleasures, they will never be truly moderate. As a result, when confronted with pleasures that are unavailable in their own land, they will have little experience to draw on to help them overcome the temptation. Thucydides’ story about the Spartan regent Pausanias is illustrative. After capturing Byzantium, he allegedly aided the Persian emperor in exchange for his daughter’s hand in marriage. During this time, Pausanias took to wearing Persian dress and acting petulantly (History 1.130). The story of Pausanias suggests that when they are not under the watchful eye of the state, Spartans will succumb to the temptation of foreign pleasures.32 The Stranger’s criticism of the Dorian laws and defense of symposia similarly alludes to this possibility. On the surface, the Spartans and Cretans may appear strong and unified, their citizens marching in step, and barking out the same few words in unison. In reality, their unity is not as strong as it appears; under the right conditions, it could come crashing down. The dialogue reveals, furthermore, that even insofar as the armed camp’s approach to education yields something resembling unity, it cannot produce unity with harmony. In other words, the armed camp may succeed in inciting 32 The Spartan general Brasidas, Thucydides later insinuates, stood out as the first exception to this general rule of Spartan misconduct abroad (History 4.81)

An Athenian in Crete  181 its citizens to sing the same song, but that song may be out of tune.33 The Stranger has already revealed as much through his criticisms of the Dorian laws for testing courage, but not moderation. During the discussion of education, he further hints that regimes that never evolve from their founding are likely to contain discordance. This surfaces after the Stranger proposes they “track down, just like dogs hunting, what is beautiful in posture, tune, song, and dance. If these get away and vanish, in vain would be our discussion about the things pertaining to the correct education, whether Greek or barbarian (εἴθ᾽ Ἑλληνικῆς εἴτε βαρβαρικῆς)” (654e, emphasis added). The Stranger’s hint that the correct education may be non-​Greek is borne out in the subsequent discussion. Leading his interlocutors to agree that if we delight in characters who perform evil deeds, then we will become similar to those characters, the Stranger argues that a good lawgiver would never allow a poet to depict depraved characters in a heroic light. Yet, he says, no state has attempted to enact such a policy—​none except Egypt. Long ago, he explains, the Egyptians developed a list of good postures that could be depicted in art, and forbade artists to make any innovations (656e). This policy has held firm for ten thousand years.34 Consequently, Egyptian art is now “no more beautiful (καλλίονα) nor uglier (αἰσχίω)” than it originally was (656e–​657a). Though extreme, this policy would be correct, he argues, if it were the work “of a god or some divine man, just as they claim there that the songs preserved for this long time were the poetry of Isis” (657a–​b). Careful exegesis of this passage reveals the problem with the policy of not allowing innovation in music: only a divine being could discern which music is the right music. Although the Stranger recommends the Egyptian policy ideally, he intimates that in practice this policy often falls short. First, when he notes that there are other features of the Egyptian law that Kleinias would find pretty “bad (φαῦλ᾽),” he implies that the lawgiver who established the Egyptian laws on music was prone to error and thus not divine (657a).35 The Stranger’s skepticism about the divine origins of Egyptian law is further hinted at through the fact that he not only qualifies the attribution of 33 Cf. Aristotle, Politics 1263b34–​35. 34 Cf. Herodotus, Histories 2.79. 35 Later, the Stranger critiques the Egyptians for not welcoming foreigners at feasts (953d–​e). As previously noted, the Spartans and the Cretans were notorious for the practice of xenelasia. On Plato’s discursive strategy in the Laws of representing Egypt as similar to the Dorian cultures of Sparta and Crete, see Ian Rutherford, “Strictly Ballroom: Egyptian Mousike and Plato’s Comparative Poetics,” in Performance and Culture in Plato’s Laws, ed. Anastasia-​Erasmia Peponi (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 67–​83.

182  Athenians as Foreigners the songs to the goddess Isis by making clear that this is what the Egyptians “claim,” but he also implies that the songs themselves might not be as perfect as the Egyptians believe. After all, in saying their art is “no more beautiful (καλλίονα)” than it was ten thousand years ago, the Stranger suggests there is room for it to be more beautiful. It is, at any rate, not “the most beautiful (καλλίστης) song” that he speaks of elsewhere (666e). We have reason to believe, then, that the Stranger questions the desirability of censorship if not implemented by a divine being. While they may not become worse, the Egyptians’ inability to make more beautiful art is surely tragic. Regarding the Dorian armed camp, the question thus becomes, is it a god or a human being who has laid down the laws? Throughout the conversation, the Stranger has attempted in various ways to reveal problems with the Dorian laws, suggesting that they lack divine origin. Yet by the end of the Stranger’s defense of symposia, it is evident that he has not reached his Dorian interlocutors despite their verbal agreement with him. For, asking if they wish to consider the other half of education—​gymnastics—​Kleinias insists that a Spartan and a Cretan can give no other answer than yes when it is the subject of gymnastics that remains untouched. Even though the Stranger has pointed out that they have never attained to “the most beautiful song,” the song that will make their city truly best, Kleinias and Megillus remain more interested in gymnastics than music, in warfare rather than friendship. Accordingly, the Stranger, while promising to return to the discussion of gymnastics, subtly changes the subject to the origin of the political regime. Turning to the past, the Stranger sets out once more to show his interlocutors why the focus of their laws should be the war within themselves, not wars with foreigners. He aims, in other words, to reveal the Dorian lawgivers’ lack of divinity and thus the need for a mechanism to promote change in the laws. Ultimately, through the conversation as a whole, Plato reveals that this mechanism is friendly cross-​cultural engagement.

External Aggression and the Destruction of Internal Harmony After tracing the development of the Dorian regime, the Stranger explains how the Dorians decided to divide their army into three parts, and for this reason founded three cities:  Argos, Messene, and Lacedaemon, which all agreed to check the power of one another. So advantageous did the Dorians

An Athenian in Crete  183 believe this arrangement to be that they intended it “to be a sufficient defense not only of the Peloponnese . . . but of all the Greeks, if any of the barbarians should do them injustice” (685b–​c). Yet somehow the system collapsed, as two of the cities became corrupt, and only one, Lacedaemon, held firm. How, the Stranger wants to know, did what had seemed like a promising arrangement for defending all the Greeks turn into a recipe for disaster? Perhaps, he suggests, he and his interlocutors are making the all-​too-​human error of “supposing each time we see something beautiful come into being that it could do wonderful things, if only someone knew the way to use it beautifully” (686c–​d). Continuing, he explains that anyone with such a powerful army would want to preserve it to enable “themselves and their children to do anything they desired to the whole human race, Greeks as well as barbarians” (687a–​b). We all desire a powerful army, in other words, because we think it will enable us to obtain dominion over others and all the benefits dominion brings. The problem, the Stranger implies, is that it is not enough to have a powerful army; we must also know how to use it well. Turning to the example of fathers and sons, the Stranger makes the point that though they care about each other and are looking out for the other’s best interest, a father often prays that his child will not get the things he wants, and vice versa. From this, it follows that one must pray, not to have everything one wishes come to pass, but only those wishes that are in accordance with prudence. The same applies, the Stranger says, to the lawgiver. Insisting that “the argument has come back again to the same place,” the Stranger once again supports his argument that the lawgiver should institute laws with a view to peace rather than war by asserting that “it is perilous for one who does not have any sense to pray, and the opposite of what he wishes come to pass” (688b–​c). Connected with the previous statement about the powerful army, the implication is that a good lawgiver would not set his sights on creating a strong army, for without intelligence he would not know how to use it well. To prove his point, the Stranger now explains why the Dorian arrangement failed to provide for their mutual protection. The cause, according to the Stranger, is the tyrannical impulse par excellence: pleonexia. Reminding his interlocutors that the well-​educated like what is good and hate what is wicked, the Stranger surmises that “the desire to have more than (πλεονεκτ εῖν) the established laws allowed” must have destroyed the harmony within the souls of the kings (691a). Although they praised the laws in speech, in truth, the kings wanted to cross the boundaries the laws imposed. And

184  Athenians as Foreigners though the Stranger does not explicitly state it, the implication is that each king, filled with pleonexia, or the desire for more, sought to have an army that could not merely defend the Greeks, but could make him ascendant over all, including his populace, fellow Dorians, fellow Greeks, and barbarians. The kings’ desire for dominion over others led, however, to their own destruction, as well as the destruction of the power of the Greeks. For when the Persians attacked, Argos and Messene were so far gone in corruption that the former ignored the cry for help while the latter kept Lacedaemon from assisting in the defense by fighting with it (692d–​e). Were it not for the heroic efforts of the Spartans and Athenians, the Greeks would not have escaped the Persians; instead of merely being severely weakened, they would have been forced to live in slavery, a “scattered” people (693a).36 Yet, the Stranger argues, the Persian attack could have been avoided altogether if the Dorian lawgivers had from the beginning devised the proper arrangement. The mistake they made was in supposing that a young soul with immense power could be held in check by oaths. Looking back, the Stranger says, we can see that this was insufficient. Had the lawgiver developed his laws with a view to friendship rather than war, he would not have legislated unmixed authority, for he would have understood that most humans cannot handle so much power, that almost anyone who tastes great power craves more than is wise. Indeed, the only reason Lacedaemon survived was owing to various divine interventions in its original constitution (691e–​692a). Had the original Dorian legislators divined the need for mixed authority and thus established a more moderate form of rule, then, the Stranger maintains, “no Persian nor any other army would have attacked Hellas, looking down on us as being of insignificant worth” (692c).37 Unfortunately, it seems the Dorian lawgivers were not divine after all. 36 The Stranger fails to mention the Spartan conquest of Messene and Spartan efforts to extend their conquests into the territory of Argos. Morrow, Plato’s Cretan City, 71. This provides yet another example of the Stranger’s gentle approach with his Spartan interlocutor Megillus. As Strauss writes, “[T]‌the Athenian stranger speaks ‘with a view to’ a respectable Spartan: for a foreigner to speak of these harsh facts to a Spartan would be as unbecoming as to speak to a patriotic American of Negro slavery and the fate of the Red Indians.” Strauss, Argument and Action, 44. Although the Stranger clearly seeks to critique the Spartan constitution and way of life, he converses in a friendly manner, for this is most conducive to initiating a turning in his interlocutor’s soul. 37 One cannot help but notice that the Stranger makes an obviously bad argument here. The Persians would likely have invaded no matter how well ruled the Greeks were. After all, in Herodotus’ account of the Persian Wars, even though the Persian king Xerxes is warned about the impressiveness of the Spartan military, he gives no heed to this warning and instead proceeds with his attack. See Histories 7.102–​5. For the Stranger’s plan to have worked, the Persians would have needed enough wisdom to recognize the significance of the Greeks. Yet it is precisely because they underestimate the Greeks that they invade their land. Moreover, the Stranger’s argument does not make sense within the reality of the world he himself has described. If no city in existence educates

An Athenian in Crete  185 The Stranger has still failed to reach his interlocutors, however; Kleinias now expresses confusion over the Stranger’s insistence that the lawgiver aim at friendship and prudence and freedom—​goals the Stranger maintains are one and the same (693c). For this reason, the Stranger elaborates on his argument in favor of mixed authority, showing why the best regimes balance authority and freedom, whereas regimes that fail to achieve this balance and instead give power to one faction over another—​whether that faction consists of a monarch or the masses—​are not really regimes at all. To illustrate the need for a balance of authority and freedom, the Stranger explains that there are “two mothers of regimes” from which all regimes are woven: monarchy and democracy (693d). True regimes—​ones exhibiting friendship, prudence, and freedom—​contain a mixture of monarchy and democracy. Pure monarchies or democracies, on the other hand, “are not regimes (πολιτεῖαι), but administrations of cities in which some parts rule and some are enslaved, with each taking its name from the power that is the despot” (712e–​713a). As proof, the Stranger points to the historical trajectories of Persia and Athens. While both began as regimes—​mixtures of authority and freedom—​Persia declined into complete slavery and Athens descended into complete freedom (699e). The effect, however, was the same: what were once well-​measured regimes became disharmonious over time, just as happened with the Dorian regimes of Argos and Messene. Once again, Plato introduces the theme of lost education, of reforming what has been deformed, a theme that continues to take center stage in the Stranger’s more detailed account of the fall of the Persian and Athenian regimes. Beginning with the Persians, he notes that Cyrus, lacking an understanding of correct education, not only allowed freedom of speech to those he ruled, but also made the mistake of preoccupying himself with conquering Greece, which prevented him from raising his own children. Instead, women raised the children and allowed no one to oppose them in anything (694d). As a result of this excessive freedom in childhood, his children lacked restraint as adults; one killed the other because he had not learned how to share, and

its citizens with the right music, then no city is safe from attack. However, had Argos, Messene, and Sparta focused more on maintaining harmony among themselves than on conquering the world, they would have been a more formidable force against the Persians. The Stranger exaggerates the consequences of focusing on internal harmony, but this does not negate his larger argument that a city that cultivates a sense of togetherness and avoids expansionary wars is more likely to be able to defend itself than a city that is divided and always provoking others to attack by stealing their land or resources.

186  Athenians as Foreigners the other descended into drunkenness and thus lost his rule to foreigners.38 While the well-​educated Darius later restored control to the Persians, he repeated Cyrus’ mistake, raising Xerxes in a royal and luxurious education. Since then, the Persians have been unable to manage their affairs correctly because rulers with an uncontrollable lust for power invariably invite their own destruction. They take so much from their own people that “whenever they come to need their people to fight in their defense, they discover there no longer exists a community with eagerness to run risks and willingness to fight” (697c–​e). The Stranger’s account of the Persians highlights the dangers of not attending to the education of one’s soul. Rulers who, being improperly educated, become despotic in their bloodthirsty pursuit of supremacy over others simply lose the loyalty of their populace. Although their subjects may, for a while, help them conquer foreign nations, when the tides turn and the city then stands not in a dominant position but rather in need of a strong defense, few loyal subjects can be found to help withstand the attack. The ruler who craves power beyond the proper bounds therefore sets in motion his own destruction. It would have been better had the ruler paid attention to the war within himself than to warring with foreigners. Athens, it can be inferred, followed a similar trajectory, evolving from a somewhat well-​measured regime to one with excessive freedom to despotism. When the Persian expedition began, the Athenians were enslaved by virtue of their awe for their rulers and laws, which created a strong sense of friendship among them (698c). Over time, their enslavement to the laws dissolved and led to the excessive development of freedom. In particular, the Stranger blames the poets for overthrowing the laws regulating music, which had prevented anyone who was not an authority on music from judging songs. Through this change, people came to believe that everyone is wise in everything, and from this, excessive freedom developed such that authority figures, laws, and even oaths to the gods no longer held sway. The Stranger does not mention the growth of the Athenian empire during the Persian War, 38 Although the raising of the children by women might suggest that their education neglected a crucial part of the harmony in the soul—​the thumos—​the children’s actions suggest that they in fact suffer from too much thumos. In Plato’s thought, thumos “is blind and wants only independence . . . thumos is acting in accordance with one’s own will.” Harvey C. Mansfield, Manliness (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007), 207. By letting Cyrus’ children do whatever they wanted, the women cultivated the children’s thumos to an excessive degree. One way to think of it is that the women, themselves lacking a sufficiently developed thumos, were not able to say no to the children and, as a result, the children overexercised the spirited part of their souls. A converse phenomenon takes place in the relationship between Xerxes and his populace. A ruler who is too spirited saps his citizens’ spiritedness, for they grow too accustomed to restraining their thumos out of fear of him.

An Athenian in Crete  187 and thus “avoids the harsh conclusion that Athens’ finest time and action initiated her decline.”39 This could be because, as aforementioned, the dialogue is set before the Peloponnesian War. Nonetheless, Plato’s readers would have been able to draw out the unspoken conclusion of the Stranger’s account of Athenian history. Through his account of Spartan, Persian, and Athenian history, the Stranger has once more illuminated the problems with the armed camp. He exhibited this first by tracing the rise of the Dorian regime and unsettling the assumption on which it was founded: that with a powerful army one can become master of the world. The focus on external aggression, he showed, allowed for the disruption of internal harmony, which in turn rendered the Dorian cities less effective at repulsing the invading Persian forces. Yet his own native land, he shows, did not fare much better. As the trajectories of Persia and Athens demonstrated, any regime that does not balance authority and freedom is bound to decline. An authoritarian regime fails to earn the loyalty of its citizens and thus falls apart when it needs their protection; an anarchic regime fails to place limits on its citizens and therefore collapses by allowing the rise of a tyrant. The armed camp tries to balance authority and freedom by swaying the young to submit to the authority of their elders and of tradition voluntarily, with the promise that once they reach old age, they can exercise their freedom to voice dissent. However, the song with which they persuade the youth leaves so little room for independent thought that by old age they have been stripped of the boldness of spirit that inspires the young to question authority. What the Dorians need to learn is how to infuse their regime with more freedom, while avoiding Athens’s fall into complete individual freedom. As the construction of Magnesia following this conversation reveals, contemplative conversations with foreigners can help to bring more harmony to the Dorian regime.

Reinterpreting Magnesia: Foreigners and the Safeguarding of Education At the close of Book 3 of the Laws, Plato affirms that the purpose of depicting this conversation is to imagine what a more peaceful interaction between Athenians and Dorians might have looked like. First, rather than incite a war,

39 Strauss, Argument and Action, 52.

188  Athenians as Foreigners the Athenian’s engagement with Kleinias and Megillus inspires the former to invite his interlocutors to assist him in constructing in speech a city that he and a committee of his fellow Cretans have been tasked with founding. The Stranger’s reaction—​“You are not declaring war, at any rate, oh Kleinias!”—​ underscores the significance of this invitation (702d). The conversation has, it seems, succeeded in building social capital and in reorienting Kleinias, at least, away from a focus on war with foreigners and toward friendship. What is more, Kleinias finally remembers that the focus of their laws is not always war with foreigners; sometimes they are directed to learn from foreigners. This emerges from Kleinias’ description of how they should proceed in establishing the colony: “We have been urged to establish the same laws there, if they satisfy us, and if there are some from outside, not to take account of their foreignness, if they appear better” (702c–​d). Is this the same Kleinias who earlier declared that a god was responsible for laying down his laws, and who balked at the slightest criticism of them? This dramatic shift in the dialogue separates the first three books, in which the Stranger attempts to unsettle his interlocutors’ fixation on war, from the remaining nine books, in which the three men create the “blueprint” for a new political entity out of their recently formed friendship. That entity, Magnesia, cannot be read apart from the context from which it emerges. While it is undeniable that Plato uses the discussion of Magnesia’s founding to explore the complex considerations involved in instituting and maintaining a system of laws, it must be remembered that the laws these men advocate are those Plato imagines to be mutually acceptable to an Athenian, Spartan, and Cretan who have come together in a spirit of friendship to help with the establishment of a new colony.40 Various references throughout the dialogue to the imperfect rearing of each of these men direct the reader to question the Magnesian constitution. Magnesia is, in short, at best a second-​ best regime devised by second-​best men. In this way, Plato distances himself from Magnesia, moving readers to join the characters in conversation. While the dialogue addresses a variety of significant concerns through the proposals put forth for Magnesia’s laws, the importance of the theme of cross-​cultural engagement in the first three books prompts one to examine, particularly, the laws regarding foreigners, as this might shed light 40 Importantly, this compromise is reflected in the very music of Magnesia, which, Griffith argues, draws from a multicultural range of traditions (including non-​Greek traditions), with the insinuation that the best music “would indeed include all of these types of performance, even as care should be taken to keep the different kinds separate from one another.” Griffith, “Cretan Harmonies,” 45.

An Athenian in Crete  189 on Plato’s ultimate intention in the Laws. Surveying Magnesia’s treatment of foreigners, it becomes apparent that the colony differs from Sparta and Crete in significant ways. First, though Magnesia models itself after Crete in favoring geographic isolation, such placement is chosen out of concern not merely for the citizens of Magnesia, but also for the rest of humanity. As the Stranger contends, proximity to the sea “breeds shifty and untrustworthy dispositions in souls, making the city untrustworthy and friendless to itself and likewise to other human beings” (705a, emphasis added). When reading this line, one must remember that the Stranger speaks with a view to a city in which citizens have been habituated to seek victory over themselves, not over foreigners. Lacking a proper education, the citizens of other cities are likely to be lovers of material gain, a love that all too often propels conflict. Thus, if the lawgiver wishes to prevent his citizens from harming themselves and their neighbors, he must shelter them from the negative influences of those bred in a more conflict-​engendering environment. As the Stranger puts it, “It must not escape our notice that some places are different from other places in terms of begetting better or worse human beings, a fact which should not be defied in lawmaking” (747d).41 The Stranger’s concern, however, is not merely for the citizens of Magnesia, but for humanity at large, as is demonstrated by his fear that the city may lose the friendship it feels for the rest of humanity. So wondrous would it be for an entire city to practice self-​control that any lawgiver who succeeds in creating such a city must guard it from the influences of those who have been raised to liberate their every desire; otherwise, his city will become like any other—​a destroyer of cities. While the Stranger advocates guarding the friendship-​loving city from the influence of war-​loving foreigners, he does not, however, recommend complete isolation from the rest of the world. Indeed, cutting off contact would, he argues, be both impossible and imprudent: “not to receive others or to go abroad is at once not altogether possible, and would appear savage and hard to the other human beings, to whom they will seem to be adopting the harsh words of so-​called alien expulsion (ξενηλασίαις), as well as stubborn and harsh manners” (950a–​b).42 Although the Stranger is supportive of the Dorian impulse to protect the city from the corrupting influences 41 This line explicitly contradicts Aristotle’s contention that Plato paid no attention in the Laws to dealings with one’s neighbors. Aristotle, Politics 1265a18. 42 The Stranger may have Crete in particular in mind. As Aristotle notes of Crete’s geographical isolation, “distance has produced the same effect as laws for the expulsion of aliens (ξενηλασίας).” Aristotle, Politics 1272b15.

190  Athenians as Foreigners of outsiders, he helps them recognize that too much sheltering can put the city in danger. If Magnesia expels foreigners from its territory, then, like the Spartans and Cretans, it will suffer a bad reputation. Earlier, the Stranger linked a city’s reputation and its likelihood of being attacked when he professed that the Persian War resulted from the Persians looking down on the Greeks as a people who count for little. Despite the hyperbole of this statement, the Stranger’s wariness of xenelasia for giving the city a bad reputation seems reasonable in the sense that a state with a reputation for hostility toward foreigners is likely to provoke other states to attack preemptively.43 In other words, the Magnesians must engage with foreigners to some degree if they wish to preserve themselves. In fact, they should even be willing to give aid to their neighbors if someone does them an injustice (737d). In addition to suggesting that the best city would not long remain at peace if it refused to interact with other cities, the Stranger strives to convince his interlocutors that the best city would not be the best without some exposure to foreigners. He tries to convince his interlocutors of this by showing that the maintenance of virtue in Magnesia will depend, paradoxically, on foreigners. For instance, foreigners will be the ones to engage in retail trade and to play the comedic roles in public performances since these activities, though necessary for the well-​being of the city, are corrupting to those who carry them out.44 Admittedly, it is troubling that foreigners are valued in Magnesia for helping to maintain the purity of its citizens. However, considering that neither Sparta nor Crete permitted free foreigners to work on their soil, this policy is a step in the right direction. What is more, the Stranger advocates an even more positive role for foreigners than using them to perform dirty jobs. Indeed, he makes explicit the idea that Plato conveys through the dialogue as a whole:  that cross-​ cultural engagement can help to safeguard education. As the Stranger has made clear by the end of the Laws, the citizens of Magnesia cannot be truly good unless they adopt their laws by choice. Thus, citizens who have a demonstrated record of excellence will be permitted to spend up to ten years traveling outside the city to observe the affairs of other human beings. “For a 43 This accords with Thucydides’ reasoning that the Peloponnesian War was initiated by the growth of the Athenian empire and the fear it provoked (History 1.23). 44 Marcus Folch takes this further: “However, instead of merely shielding the citizen community from foreign values by shouldering the burden of performance, in comedic genres the non-​citizens are on display; they have become the object of a political and moral pageantry, which gains its value precisely by being alien.” Marcus Folch, The City and the Stage: Performance, Genre, and Gender in Plato’s Laws (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 195–​96.

An Athenian in Crete  191 city that is unacquainted with both bad and good human beings would never be able, being unsociable, to be sufficiently tame and perfect, nor, again, would it be able to guard (διαφυλάττειν) its laws without grasping them through intelligence and not only habits” (951a–​b). In other words, while the second-​best citizen behaves virtuously because of a proper habituation, the best citizen behaves virtuously because, having observed both virtuous and unvirtuous behavior, he knows why he should act virtuously and does so willingly. Cross-​cultural engagement in this way allows for the ascent from the realm of correct opinion to the realm of understanding. The Stranger insists that cross-​cultural engagement can provide a safeguard for education in yet another way—​by ensuring that citizens do not settle on less-​than-​perfect laws. He acknowledges that many foreigners live feverish lifestyles, but says that through travels one can encounter good individuals, even in cities with bad laws: “For there are always among the many certain divine human beings—​not many—​entirely worthy of conversing with, and they grow none the more in cities with good laws than in those without” (951b). While traveling abroad, the select few Magnesians—​whom the Stranger refers to as “observers”—​should seek out the select few wise people inhabiting other lands and engage them in conversation, so that when they return they can establish more firmly the laws beautifully laid down “and revise others, if they are deficient” (951c). In other words, while the Stranger recognizes that cities differ in how well they raise their citizens, he maintains that even in the most barbaric places, one may find a philosophic individual. Consequently, the wise Magnesian who ventures out of the city must be on the lookout for his or her foreign counterpart. Likewise, the city must give a friendly reception to any wise foreigner who enters its territory, and allow him to go uninvited to the doors of the wise and to depart as “a friend among friends, honored with gifts and fitting honors” (953d). Reiterating his disdain for xenelasia, the Stranger concludes, “These are the laws it is necessary to have regarding the reception of all male and female strangers from another country and the sending out of their own, honoring Zeus god of strangers (ξένιον Δία), and not using meats and sacrifices for the expulsion of strangers (ξενηλασίας), just as now the nurslings of the Nile do, nor savage proclamations” (953e). Contrary to the general expulsion of foreigners that takes place in Sparta and Crete, Magnesia will show hospitality to foreigners on a sliding scale—​giving less to those who are less virtuous and more to those who are most virtuous—​because it recognizes the distinct possibility of a wise foreigner from whom the citizens of Magnesia may learn something.

192  Athenians as Foreigners In Magnesia, the Athenian Stranger and his critiques of the laws would receive a warm welcome. Finally, the Stranger insinuates that cross-​cultural engagement provides an opportunity for testing and developing one’s virtue. To understand why, one must return to the discussion of drinking parties. In that discussion, the Stranger critiqued the Spartan prohibition against drunkenness. Rather than test their propensity to act with restraint in situations that inspire boldness, as they do their ability to act courageously in situations that inspire fear, the Spartans ignore this essential aspect of education: “The law simply removes from view what it does not allow and obedience automatically follows; any Spartan would punish on the spot with the greatest penalty anyone caught in drunken revelry. . . . It drives out what it cannot withstand.”45 As the Stranger showed, however, drunkenness can play an important role in education by providing a safeguard to the correct education. In exposing citizens to the intoxicating effects of wine, drinking parties help to keep individuals correctly educated by reminding them that they too are subject to the pull of various pleasures and by giving them practice in resisting their appetitive desires. Just as the Stranger sought to persuade his Dorian interlocutors that their prohibition on drunkenness was detrimental to their education, he seeks to convince them that their prohibition on cross-​cultural engagement similarly impedes their educational development. To see this, one must first examine the Stranger’s counsel on the treatment of slaves. According to the Stranger, there are two opposing views on slaves. On the one hand, there are those who point out that some slaves surpass brothers and sons in every form of excellence and are even responsible for saving their masters’ lives, property, and households (776d–​e). On the other hand, there are those who maintain that no slave is to be trusted, for all slaves are wild animals lacking intelligence. Given that Spartans and Cretans seem to have taken the latter view of slaves, it is interesting that the Stranger tries to get his interlocutors to gravitate toward the former, more positive view of slaves. Although the Stranger does not go so far as to endorse the Athenians’ general laxity in their treatment of slaves, he does push Megillus and Kleinias to see why it might be in their best interest to treat slaves justly.46 As he argues, a man truly demonstrates his 45 Seth Benardete, Plato’s “Laws” (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 29. 46 For an extensive account of Plato’s laws of slavery in relation to Athenian and Spartan laws, see Glenn Morrow, Plato’s Law of Slavery in Its Relation to Greek Law (Buffalo, NY: William S. Hein, 2002). Morrow’s criticism of Plato for leaning more toward the harsh Spartan treatment of slaves needs to be reconsidered in light of the dramatic context in which these laws are put forth.

An Athenian in Crete  193 commitment to justice and abhorrence of injustice when he acts justly in his treatment “of human beings to whom he might easily do injustice,” such as slaves (777d). The Stranger goes on to say that the just person will treat justly anyone over whom he exercises power. When it comes to foreigners, then, the same must apply, for, as the Stranger makes clear, like slaves they are in a position of weakness: For nearly all the wrongs committed among strangers or against strangers are attached more greatly to an avenging god than are the wrongs committed among citizens. For the stranger, being bereft of companions and kinsmen, is more pitied by both human beings and gods; thus he who is able to come to his aid has a more eager spirit, and especially powerful are each of the daemons who protect the rites of hospitality and the god of strangers, Zeus, whom they follow. So with much caution, he who has even a little foresight, will go to the end of his life never having wronged any strangers. (729e–​730a)

With no friends or family to come to his aid, the immigrant or traveler occupies a vulnerable position. It is because of this vulnerability, however, that one should be more careful not to wrong a foreigner than a fellow citizen. Not only does the stranger’s plight evoke the pity of the god of all gods, but it provides a test of one’s moderation. Just as the moderate man would not harm a slave, he would not harm a free foreigner. Both the slave and the foreigner are in positions of weakness relative to a citizen, and both serve a similar function as the symposia: they awaken the passion to do injustice. Even if one does not yield to the temptation to mistreat a slave or foreigner, the mere discovery within oneself of the desire—​however small—​to take advantage of someone weaker than oneself serves as a corrective. In this way, the Stranger suggests that cross-​cultural engagement can, like symposia, provide a training ground for moderation. In line with their incomplete ascent to the cave of Zeus, the interlocutors do not create a regime that exhibits perfect justice toward foreigners. Nonetheless, they arrive a little closer.47 Unlike Sparta or Crete, the city of

47 As the Stranger remarks,

Now it seemed to me that the things we were saying contribute something useful in exhorting them, if they take hold of a soul not entirely savage, to be tamer and better disposed toward listening. So even if there is no great effect, but a small one, nonetheless if the listener to what was said becomes better disposed and made into a better learner, one

194  Athenians as Foreigners Table 5.1.  Comparison of Treatment of Foreigners in Sparta/​Crete and Magnesia

Foreign war Immigrants/​foreign visitors Treatment of wise foreigners Treatment of other foreigners

Sparta/​Crete

Magnesia

Focus of laws/​culture Exclusion of foreigners Offended by criticism Harsh

Only when necessary Some allowed to visit/​travel Welcome criticism Gentle

Magnesia will not be motivated to engage in expansionist wars; rather, it will fight foreigners only in self-​defense or in defense of neighboring lands to which injustices are being done. Moreover, in contrast to the exclusion of foreigners practiced in Sparta and Crete, Magnesia will allow at least some foreigners to visit the city, and even to take up residence. In fact, to any wise foreigners who arrive, it will give the warmest of welcomes. Unlike the Athenian Stranger, wise foreigners visiting Magnesia will not have to convince the lawmakers to hear their criticisms of the laws, for in a spirit of eagerness to improve, Magnesia will encourage them to share their insights. Finally, in terms of the treatment of foreigners on Magnesian soil, the Magnesian law code exhorts citizens to treat anyone who is vulnerable justly. While one could critique the Stranger for casting this exhortation primarily in the language of self-​interest, the effect of evoking a more humane treatment of foreigners, slaves, and others in positions of weakness is without a doubt more desirable than the harsh treatment of such individuals in Spartan and Cretan society. Overall, as Table 5.1 illustrates, it is much to the Stranger’s credit that the city of Magnesia far surpasses the armed camps of Sparta and Crete in its treatment of foreigners. That his interlocutors not only accept such proposals, but end the dialogue by beseeching the Stranger to stay and help with the actual founding of the city illustrates the extent to which the Stranger’s attempt to unsettle their hostility toward foreigners has succeeded.

must be entirely content. For there is no great plenty or abundance of people eager to become as good as possible as quickly as possible; indeed, many show that Hesiod is wise in saying that “the road to badness is smooth to travel along and without toil to pour in, as it is very short, but before that of virtue,” he says, “the immortal gods have put sweat, and a path to it that is long and steep, and rough at first. But when you come to the top, thereafter it is easy to bear, however difficult it was going up.” (718d–​719a)

An Athenian in Crete  195 Yet, the benefits of the cross-​cultural conversation depicted in the Laws go both ways, as the Stranger too has learned something. First of all, the conversation forced him to give a conscious defense of his views and in this way kept the rational part of his soul awake, helping him to avoid the error of doing something out of habit alone. As we have seen, the problem of falling into virtue out of habit rather than true understanding arises throughout the dialogue. By engaging in dialectic conversation with two men holding views that are opposed to his own, the Stranger is able to remind himself of the rational basis of some of his beliefs while also challenging and thus improving others. Moreover, the conversation forces him to practice the moderation that friendship entails. From the beginning of the conversation, the Stranger must restrain himself from bluntly criticizing the Dorian laws, however confident he is that they are misguided. He must give his interlocutors a chance to prove him wrong or to reach agreement with him in their own time and in their own way. In the end, the Stranger accepts that he will not be able to persuade them completely to adopt his views. Yet instead of forcing them to see things his way, he allows them to create a city in speech that reflects the greatest possible degree of unity the three men could achieve at that moment. The conversation thus helps the Stranger instill greater harmony in his soul as well, as the practice of discussing politics with a pair of foreigners who will likely never fully agree with him provides him with the opportunity to work on taming the tyrannical part of himself that wants complete control. In this way, the conversation is also beneficial for the Stranger, for it helps him develop his own moderation.

Conclusion Read with attention to its dramatic context, the Laws reveals itself to be significantly concerned with the relationship between cross-​cultural engagement and education. Although the dialogue’s exploration of this relationship makes clear that the threat of encounters with foreigners provoking hostile reactions always exists, it also suggests foreigners per se are not to blame for these displays of immoderation. Cross-​cultural encounters challenge one to examine the core beliefs of one’s political community, a painful activity, particularly for those reared in regimes that foster high levels of loyalty and a reverence for tradition. Such an experience is needed, however, to develop true harmony in the soul, for without encountering one’s internal dissonance

196  Athenians as Foreigners one cannot begin to become more harmonious. Since we all live in regimes that resemble the cave in Plato’s cave allegory, none of us lives in a perfect polity. Foreigners can help to illuminate the flaws it is difficult for us to see or can, at least, provoke conscious reflection on why our values are defensible. Furthermore, given the hierarchical power dynamics that tend to be at work in relations with foreigners, cross-​cultural engagement provides a unique opportunity to test one’s virtue. It takes a great deal of virtue to show compassion and openness toward foreigners when experiencing the liberating sting of cultural diversity. On the other hand, as the Stranger shows, playing the role of gadfly while remaining respectful of another culture requires an inordinate amount of self-​control and perseverance—​not to mention courage. By depicting an Athenian in the role of a foreigner visiting a foreign land, Plato’s Laws thus helps readers understand the difficulties of being in the position of foreigner, and provokes readers to consider what they would think of themselves if they could trade places with one of the foreigners with whom they have interacted. The next chapter further examines what it means to put oneself in the foreigner’s shoes. Investigating Socrates’ comparison of himself to a foreigner in the Phaedrus, I show that because philosophy involves alienation from the “cave” of one’s youth, it makes sense to connect intellectual liberation to the experience of foreignness. The philosopher’s origin from a particular cave allows him to act, however, as a mediator, helping his fellow citizens reap the epistemological benefits of the liberating sting of cultural diversity.

6 Socrates the Foreigner? Self-​Examination and Civic Identity in the Phaedrus

In Plato’s Apology, Socrates prefaces his defense speech by setting himself apart from his accusers. Whereas the men who have brought him to trial on charges of impiety and corrupting the youth have spoken so eloquently that Socrates says, “I almost forgot myself,” Socrates claims to be incapable of delivering clever speeches. Instead, his speech will be unadorned and haphazardly constructed (17a). This is because he is an old man, unfamiliar with the manner of speech in the law courts. He therefore asks for his jurors’ understanding if his speech resembles what they customarily hear from him in the agora or elsewhere. Although the opening lines of his defense speech may seem uniquely Socratic, Socrates is drawing on well-​known tactics commonly used by defendants in Athens.1 His denial of being a clever speaker echoes similar denials in the speeches of Lysias and Isæus. His asking pardon for the austere and unsystematic construction of his speech resembles a similar plea found in a speech of Isocrates. In the speeches of Isocrates, one also finds pleas of unfamiliarity with law courts and references to the defendant’s old age and hence inexperience with giving defense speeches. Moreover, Socrates’ entire speech follows the customary five-​part division of legal speeches: exordium, prothesis, refutation, digression, and peroration.2 There is one element in the opening that stands out as distinctive, however—​Socrates’ comparison of himself to a foreigner: I am now for the first time going before a court of justice, being seventy years old; hence I am simply foreign (ξένως) to the manner of speech here. So just as if, in reality, I  happened to be a foreigner (ξένος), you would

1 James Liddell, The Apology of Plato (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1867), xiii. 2 Louis Dyer and Thomas Day Seymour, Plato:  Apology and Crito (New  York:  Ginn and Co., 1949), 27.

198  Athenians as Foreigners surely sympathize with me if I spoke in the dialect and in the manner in which I was raised, so also do I beg this of you now and it is just, so it seems to me: let alone the manner of my speech—​for perhaps it may be worse, but perhaps better—​and instead consider this very thing and apply your mind to it, if I say just things or not. (17d–​18a)

To my knowledge, evocations of the pity owed to a foreigner do not appear in other surviving speeches.3 As such, it would appear that even if much of the opening of Socrates’ speech takes its cues from common models of forensic oratory, his comparison of himself to a foreigner, at least, is original. By composing an exordium that resembles so many others in various ways, Plato draws attention to the rare, unique element of this part of the speech. Why would Socrates, essentially accused of being a traitor, dare to compare himself to a foreigner?4 After all, accusers like Meletus “the good and patriotic (φιλόπολιν)” were eager to paint Socrates as engaging in un-​Athenian activities (24b). As an Athenian orator, and especially as a defendant on trial, it was important to “be transparent and patriotic; his words must reflect his true thoughts, and both must be devoted to the civic good.”5 By gesturing toward his commonality with foreigners, Socrates helps to make his accusers’ case for them. Yet, later he insists he has always put the interests of his fellow citizens ahead of his own, acting as a gift from the god sent to awaken the city just as a gadfly stings a lazy horse into motion (30e–​31c). Socrates’ role as gadfly involves questioning others to see if they possess virtue and exhorting them to care about the most important things rather than less important things. “This I shall do to whomever I happen to meet, young and old, foreigner and citizen,” he says, “but especially to the citizens, inasmuch as you are nearer to me in kin” (30a). If Socrates sounds like a foreigner, then, it 3 In his account of parallels between Socrates’ speech and other extant speeches, Liddell also does not mention the comparison to a foreigner. 4 Some take Socrates at his word and assume that he compares himself to a foreigner to convey his ignorance of the customs of legal speech because this is his first encounter with a law court. See, e.g., Jacques Derrida, Of Hospitality: Anne Dufourmantelle Invites Jacques Derrida to Respond, trans. Rachel Bowlby (Stanford, CA:  Stanford University Press, 2000), 15; and Claudia Barrachi, “The ‘Inconceivable Happiness’ of ‘Men and Women’:  Visions of an Other World in Plato’s Apology of Socrates,” Comparative Literature Studies 43, no. 3 (2006): 276. This interpretation seems unlikely, however, since Socrates explicitly notes that he has observed others on trial, and even displays knowledge of the tactics defendants commonly use to try to sway jurors (34b–​35a). Moreover, his familiarity with legal diction is attested to throughout Plato’s dialogues. See Thomas C. Brickhouse and Nicholas D. Smith, “Socrates’ First Remarks to the Jury in Plato’s ‘Apology of Socrates,’” Classical Journal 81, no. 4 (1986): 289–​98. 5 Victoria Wohl, “Rhetoric of the Athenian Citizen,” in The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Rhetoric, ed. Erik Gunderson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 164.

Socrates the Foreigner?  199 is not because he does not care about the city. Precisely the opposite—​it is because he cares about the city that he refuses to speak the way his fellow citizens do when on trial, or on any other occasion. When the majority of citizens have taken to valuing reputation, money, or other goods as the highest of goods, the lone man insisting they should care above all about virtue may well sound as if he is speaking a different language. The Apology is not the only dialogue in the Platonic corpus in which Socrates compares himself to a foreigner. In the Phaedrus, Socrates explicitly casts himself in the position of a foreigner being shown a foreign land. This raises the question, Why does Socrates repeatedly present himself as a foreigner? Is there more to the analogy than the suggestion that Socrates may sound like an outsider because he speaks the language of virtue rather than the language of the lesser goods that often preoccupy the minds of his fellow citizens? Can the comparison tell us anything about Plato’s views on cultural diversity and cross-​cultural engagement? Moreover, if, as the previous chapters have argued, foreigners can provoke contemplation, how can we make sense of Socrates’ professed predilection for questioning his fellow citizens? Does this line betray Plato’s ultimate evaluation of Athenians as superior to foreigners? Analyzing the Phaedrus in its full dramatic context, I argue that the comparison of Socrates to a foreigner serves, on the one hand, to verify the role of cross-​cultural engagement in provoking philosophic reflection. By taking on the role of a foreigner seeing the sights for the first time, Socrates shows Phaedrus how engaging foreigners can help one become more mindful of one’s everyday surroundings. He then demonstrates, through his engagement with the speech of the foreigner Lysias, how cross-​cultural encounters can similarly help one become more mindful of the nature of one’s soul. Hearing Lysias’ speech awakens Socrates’ desire to dominate others by being a clever speaker, even at the expense of saying what is true. This experience allows him to see that he is not a simple soul but someone as complex and multi-​voiced as the foreign god Typhon. It soon becomes clear, however, that Socrates is re-​enacting this moment of self-​discovery for the benefit of Phaedrus. Phaedrus, too, suffers from an unbounded desire to earn renown as a clever speaker. By mirroring Phaedrus’ desire for renown, Socrates helps him to see himself in a strange light. Specifically, he helps him to see this desire not as “natural” but as the result of growing up in Athens, a sort of “cave” in which the shadows on the wall encourage citizens to view citizenship as bound up with achieving domination over others, particularly

200  Athenians as Foreigners foreigners. This interpretation helps to make better sense of why a dialogue about speeches on love ends with an Egyptian myth that critiques the art of writing. Plato’s engagement with this foreign discourse reveals that like his teacher Socrates as portrayed in the dialogues, he takes seriously the provocation to self-​examination that can arise from cross-​cultural engagement. Checking his initial inclination, Socrates offers Phaedrus a different model of cross-​cultural engagement, one focused not on conquest but on mutual learning. Through this, Plato reveals that philosophical enlightenment is the process of becoming estranged from all cities or caves, and dwelling instead with the mind’s eye in the eternal realm of truth. Yet as a former denizen of a particular city or cave, the philosopher is well positioned to descend back into that cave and to help those prisoners make the ascent by speaking their language, serving as a mediator who helps his fellow citizens react in a more philosophically curious manner to the liberating sting of cultural diversity. This is why Socrates focuses his attention on his fellow Athenians. It is not that he thinks they are superior to foreigners. Rather, he understands that his shared upbringing enables him to understand them better than he can ever hope to understand foreign peoples; he is thus best poised to share his love of wisdom with his own people. Ultimately, however, the Phaedrus shows that cross-​cultural encounters often play an important role in assisting the philosopher’s attempt to help liberate his fellow citizens from the cave.

Traveling Outside to Learn What Lies Within Throughout the Phaedrus, Plato emphasizes the thematic importance of movement, particularly the crossing of boundaries.6 This theme appears from the opening line, in which Socrates asks Phaedrus where he has come from and where he is going. Learning that Phaedrus has just been in the company of Lysias, the son of the Syracusan Cephalus, and is now headed on a walk outside the city’s walls, Socrates decides to join him. While this may not seem like a particularly momentous decision, the Phaedrus is the only dialogue in the Platonic corpus that dramatically depicts Socrates venturing outside of Athens; even his descent into the diverse Piraeus in the

6 Various interpreters note the prominence of this theme. See, e.g., Plato, Phaedrus, trans. Robin Waterfield (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 79; and Daniel S. Werner, Myth and Philosophy in Plato’s “Phaedrus” (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 20–​21.

Socrates the Foreigner?  201 Republic occurs within the city’s walls.7 Plato thus marks the conversation of the Phaedrus as radically unique in terms of its setting. Additionally, he underscores in various ways the significance of this dramatic detail. Not only does the setting act as a character influencing the conversation and dramatic action, but Socrates himself calls attention to the fact that he is atopos, or out of place, in an exchange with Phaedrus worth quoting at length: Socrates: By Hera, this resting place is beautiful. For this plane tree is very abundant and lofty, and the height and thick shade of this chaste-​tree all beautiful too, and as it has reached full bloom, it would make the place fragrant. Then again the stream flowing underneath this plane tree is especially graceful and of cold water, to judge by my foot. To certain of the Nymphs and to Achelous it seems, from the votive offerings and statues, to be sacred. And again if you please, the breeziness of this place is satisfactory and strongly pleasant; it also resounds with the summer-​like and shrill choir of the cicadas. But the nicest thing of all is this grass, that it grew on this gentle slope thickly enough to be good for laying down one’s head. You are indeed the best at guiding strangers (ἐξενάγηται), my dear Phaedrus. Phaedrus: And you, oh wonderful one, are someone who appears to be the most out of place (ἀτοπώτατος). Simply, as you say, like a stranger being guided (ξεναγουμένῳ) and not like a fellow countryman. As you say, you have not travelled abroad to foreign lands, nor do you seem to me to have let yourself go outside the walls at all. (230b–​d)

Through this exchange, Plato conveys the importance of the setting to grasping the meaning of the whole. By using words related to foreignness and travel, Plato signifies that the setting plays not merely on the city–​countryside dichotomy, but on the division between Athens and foreign lands. Of course, no Athenian thought that stepping outside the city walls meant entering 7 In the Parmenides, a young Socrates ventures outside the walls to hear Zeno’s writings (127c). However, the Parmenides is a narrated dialogue. In fact, Socrates’ trip beyond the walls is related at a third remove; a man named Cephalus reports the story he heard from Antiphon, the half-​brother of Adeimantus and Glaucon, who heard it from Zeno’s friend Pythodorus. By contrast, the Phaedrus not only offers an unmediated depiction of Socrates passing an entire afternoon outside the city, but stresses the setting more so than in other Platonic dialogues. This distinguishes it from the Lysis, another narrated dialogue in which Socrates, this time, tells of how he was walking just outside the walls when a group of young men called him back (203a). For more on the significance of the setting, see G. R. F. Ferrari, Listening to the Cicadas: A Study of Plato’s “Phaedrus” (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987).

202  Athenians as Foreigners foreign territory. Why, then, does Plato show Socrates emphasizing his foreignness, even to the land immediately beyond the city walls? To address this question, we must begin by observing the artistry involved in the self-​portrait of the character Socrates. Though Socrates seems to have left the city only rarely, several Platonic dialogues refer to his military service in three campaigns of the Peloponnesian War, and the Crito alludes to his attendance at the Isthmian games in Corinth.8 Additionally, though Socrates compares himself to a stranger who is visiting the area for the first time, in the Parmenides and Lysis it is reported that Socrates walked outside the wall. It is also likely Socrates would have passed by the setting of the Phaedrus daily on his route home.9 Indeed, Socrates appears to know more about the countryside than Phaedrus does. When they reach their destination, Phaedrus asks if this is the spot where Boreas is said to have abducted Oreithuia. Socrates informs him the spot is a little farther downstream, where stands an altar of Boreas (229b–​c). Socrates hardly seems, then, like a foreigner needing a tour guide. If anything, Phaedrus needs a guide, for he admits he has never “minded (νενόηκα)” or taken notice of the altar (229c). As G. R. F. Ferrari argues, Socrates “confronts Phaedrus with what he would not normally notice: Phaedrus’ quite ordinary ability (at least as Phaedrus himself sees it) to get successfully and appropriately oriented in his environment.  .  .  .  He [Socrates] is a ‘stranger’ (atopos) because he is alive to what it takes to be ordinary and native.”10 In essence, by acting like a foreigner wondering at the incredible sights, smells, sounds, and other sensations particular to the place, Socrates seeks to unsettle Phaedrus’ tendency to take his surroundings for granted. In doing so, he calls attention to how familiarity can breed inattentiveness. A foreign visitor might discern something Phaedrus has not, for though Phaedrus apparently walks this path regularly, he does so rather mindlessly. This lesson emerges, in a yet more powerful way, regarding what is supposedly most familiar to one: oneself. After inquiring if this is the spot where 8 The campaigns were at Potidaea, Amphipolis, and Delium. See Symposium 219e–​221d, Charmides 153a–​154b, Laches 181b, and Apology 28e. The Crito claims Socrates never left the city except on military campaign and to attend the Isthmian games at Corinth (52b). For more on Socrates’ military service, see S. Sara Monoson, “Socrates in Combat:  Trauma and Resilience in Plato’s Political Theory,” in Combat Trauma and the Ancient Greeks, ed. Peter Meineck and David Konstan (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 131–​62. 9 Charles L. Griswold Jr., Self-​Knowledge in Plato’s “Phaedrus” (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1986), 34. Also see Catherine Osbourne, “‘No’ Means ‘Yes’:  The Seduction of the Word in Plato’s Phaedrus,” Proceedings of the Boston Area Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy 15 (1999): 268n9. 10 Ferrari, Listening to the Cicadas, 14.

Socrates the Foreigner?  203 Boreas seized Oreithuia, Phaedrus asks Socrates whether he thinks the story is true. Socrates replies by criticizing the “clever and laborious and not altogether fortunate” man who wastes his time trying to supplant the traditional stories with probabilistic accounts, such as the explanation that a gust of the north wind must have pushed Oreithuia from the rocks while she was playing with Pharmaceia (229c–​e).11 Socrates avers, “I am still not capable of knowing myself according to the Delphic inscription; so it appears to me absurd to contemplate alien things (τὰ ἀλλότρια) while still being ignorant of this” (229e–​230a). “So,” he continues, “I renounce these things in what manner so ever, being persuaded by the customary belief about them, as I  said just now, looking not into these things but into myself, whether I  happen to be someone savage who is rather inflamed by the complex Typhon, or a tamer and simpler creature, partaking of the order of a more divine and not arrogant nature” (230a). Socrates does not think it wise to spend one’s time investigating τὰ ἀλλότρια—​“foreign things,” literally the opposite of things that are οἰκεῖος—​when one still does not know what one’s own soul looks like. This is because, as the reference to Typhon suggests, τὰ ἀλλότρια may lie within oneself. Born in a cave in Cilicia, the south coastal region of Asia Minor, Typhon was a hybrid creature (half-​man, half-​beast) whose top reached to the stars and whose arms stretched east to west.12 In the Theogony, Hesiod gives a terrifying description of Typhon as a giant with a hundred heads “uttering all sorts of unspeakable sounds; for at one time they uttered sounds that are understandable by the gods, but at another time the sound of a bull bellowing, with ungovernable temper, a proud sound; and at another having the sound of a lion with a shameless spirit; and again at another time seeming like a puppy, wonderful to hear, and again at another hissing, so that the high mountains ringed” (829–​35).13 Hesiod vividly recounts Typhon’s 11 Derrida wrote a famous essay on Plato’s pharmakon. Jacques Derrida, “Plato’s Pharmacy,” in Dissemination, trans. Barbara Johnson (Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 1983), 61–​171. According to Michael Rinella, Plato draws on the language of religious ecstasy—​most significantly that of the Eleusinian Mysteries—​to advocate “a very different sort of ecstasy . . . one that was internally derived and based on contemplation of the Forms, accessed not via some pharmakon but solely through the exercise of reason.” Michael A. Rinella, Plato, Drug Culture, and Identity in Ancient Athens (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2010), xxi. 12 For primary references to Typhon, see Pindar, Pythian 8.15–​16, 1.15–​17; Aeschylus’, Prometheus Bound 353–​56; Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 1.6.3; and Nonnus, Dionysiaca 1.140, 1.154, 1.258–​60, 1.321, 2.35, and 2.631ff. 13 Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 1.6; Nonnus Dionysiaca 1.145, 2.244; and Hesiod, Theogony 820. Cf. Republic 588b–​589b, where the tripartite soul is imagined as consisting of a human being, a lion, and a many-​headed beast whose description resembles Typhon. As the image suggests, one is most fully human when logos rules.

204  Athenians as Foreigners battle to overthrow Zeus for rule of the cosmos, which ends, after much shaking and scorching of the earth, when Zeus strikes the monster down with his lightening bolt, hurling him down into Tartarus, the dungeon of the underworld. Based on this and other accounts of Greek mythology, Typhon epitomizes impiety. In worrying that he may resemble Typhon, Socrates shows concern for whether or not he is pious. He does not want to spend his time investigating foreign things when he does not know his own soul, whether it is a simple soul that serves the gods by making sounds they understand or a complex soul that undermines the gods by issuing all kinds of sounds. Socrates says he does not investigate foreign things, but rather himself, as he and Phaedrus walk to the spot where, ironically, they will investigate a foreign thing. Specifically, they will examine the foreigner Lysias’ speech, which Phaedrus has just had the pleasure of hearing. Indeed, it is the enticement of hearing this speech that allegedly motivates Socrates to leave the city and become like a foreigner in need of a guide. Evidence for this emerges in two places. It first appears right after Phaedrus informs Socrates that Lysias’ speech attempts the seduction of a good-​looking boy by making the novel argument that one should gratify the non-​lover rather than the lover.14 After playfully asserting he wishes Lysias would write a speech about how you should gratify poor, elderly men like him rather than rich, young ones, Socrates confesses, “I so desire to hear the speech, that even if you walk to Megara, approaching the wall and going back again as Herodicus recommends, I will not leave you” (227d). Not usually one to travel, Socrates now finds himself willing to journey around twenty-​six miles to the town of Megara, and back again. Socrates’ willingness to travel with Phaedrus to hear the speech becomes even stronger once they reach their destination: Forgive me, oh best of men. For I am a lover of learning; and country places and trees have nothing they are willing to teach me, but men in town do. However, you seem to me to have found a drug for getting me outside. For just as people lead hungry animals by holding out and shaking some fresh

14 As Phaedrus would know from his attendance at the discussion of eros depicted in Plato’s Symposium, this subject is well suited for Socrates, who claims to understand nothing except love matters (177d–​e), a claim he reiterates in the Theages (128b) and Lysis (204b–​c). In the Symposium, Socrates claims to have learned about eros from the priestess Diotima, the only other foreign woman in Plato’s dialogues besides Aspasia in the Menexenus.

Socrates the Foreigner?  205 produce, it appears that by holding before me a speech on a scroll you will lead me all around Attica and anywhere else you please. (230d–​e)

Now, Socrates is willing to travel not merely twenty-​six miles to Megara, but anywhere at all. A  lover of speeches, one “sick (νοσοῦντι)” with desire to hear them, Socrates finds himself willing to cross boundaries to hear Lysias’ speech (228b). Is Socrates in contradiction with himself, and therefore an impious, cacophonous creature like Typhon? In the next section, I argue that Socrates approaches Lysias’ speech not so much with the intention of understanding it as with the intention of better understanding himself. Just as Phaedrus needed a foreign visitor to make him more mindful of his surroundings, Socrates shows that he needs to engage foreigners to become more mindful of the nature of his own soul. Through his interaction with Lysias’ speech, Socrates becomes aware of a part of his soul it would be dangerous for him to overlook or forget: his desire for other men to regard him as a clever speaker. By depicting Socrates coming to this awareness, Plato shows how the foreigner Lysias, in alignment with the meaning of his name, helps to “release” or “deliver” Socrates from ignorance of his own impiety. Ultimately, however, Socrates is merely pretending to arrive for the first time at this self-​discovery. He puts on this performance for the sake of helping Phaedrus discover his own internal discordance. Both men share a passion for speeches that threatens to lead them to transgress all boundaries, to say and do whatever it takes to gain dominance over other men in terms of speaking ability.

Mirroring Phaedrus’ Engagement with the Foreigner Lysias’ Speech Socrates is not the only one who is sick with a passion for hearing speeches, and he knows it. This comes to light when Socrates asks Phaedrus to share Lysias’ speech with him, and Phaedrus claims to be incapable of remembering and doing justice to the speech of as famous a speechwriter as Lysias. Socrates chides him for making an appearance of being restrained when he knows Phaedrus would go to any lengths to get what he wants: Oh Phaedrus, if I  do not know Phaedrus, I  have forgotten myself too (ἐμαυτοῦ ἐπιλέλησμαι). But indeed neither of these is the case. I know well

206  Athenians as Foreigners that after hearing Lysias’ speech this man did not hear it only once, but he urged him many times to repeat the speech, and Lysias was readily persuaded. And this was not enough for him, but succeeding in receiving the scroll he inspected those parts he especially desired to inspect, and did this from early morning sitting there until, sinking from exhaustion, he went for a walk, as indeed I suppose, by the dog, he now knew the speech thoroughly, if it was not altogether long. (228a–​b)

Here, Socrates reveals what Phaedrus wishes to conceal—​his overwhelming desire to know Lysias’ speech intimately. Echoing his opening remark in the Apology that his accusers spoke so eloquently he nearly “forgot [himself] (ἐμαυτοῦ ἐπελαθόμην),” Socrates insinuates that he knows how Phaedrus responded to hearing Lysias’ speech because it is the same sort of response he, perhaps as a younger man, would have exhibited. Phaedrus is not satisfied with hearing the speech just once, or even several times; he feels compelled to get his hands on it so he can memorize it word for word. Yet even this is unsatisfying. In the end, he longs to deliver it himself. We know this because—​as Socrates soon uncovers—​Phaedrus has hidden the speech under his cloak. He could have allowed Socrates to read the speech for himself; instead, Phaedrus conceals it so that he might be “forced” to present it in his own voice. His desire to deliver the speech is so boundless that Socrates believes he would eventually repeat it “even if he had to deliver it by force on someone not willing to listen” (228c).15 Permeating Socrates’ self-​description and his presentation of Phaedrus is the notion that both suffer from the same affliction:  an eros for logos. Socrates literally describes himself as one suffering from an illness at 228b—​ νοσοῦντι is a conjugated form of the verb νοσέω (to be sick), the ancient root of the modern English word “nausea.” Furthermore, in comparing himself to a hungry animal, he implies he is being driven by the appetitive or erotic part of the soul. Likewise, he describes Phaedrus as being “delighted to have someone to share in his frenzy (συγκορυβαντιῶντα)” (228b). Literally, he says that Phaedrus delights in discovering someone to join him in the revels of the Corybantes, a secret cult of priests whose worship of the Phrygian goddess Cybele is believed to have featured frenzied dancing and wild music.16 15 Cf. Plato, Republic 327c. 16 For more on the Corybantes, see Ivan M. Linforth, The Corybantic Rites in Plato (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1946); Yulia Ustinova, “Corybantism: The Nature and Role of an Ecstatic Cult in the Greek Polis,” Horos 10–​12 (1992–​93): 503–​20; and Carl Avren Levenson, Socrates among the Corybantes: Being, Reality, and the Gods (Woodstock, CT: Spring, 1999).

Socrates the Foreigner?  207 Later, Socrates confesses that, watching Phaedrus take delight in reading Lysias’ speech, he followed him in “acting frenzy-​stricken” (συνεβάκχευσα) (234d). The verb here refers to Bacchus or Dionysus, the foreigner god who brings both madness and epiphany. Phaedrus acts like someone possessed by a wild spirit, the contagious sort that in Euripides’ Bacchae causes mothers to transform into beasts and kill their sons. Phaedrus wants to consume Lysias’ speech in the way a wild creature wants to consume its prey, an impulse that Socrates implies he shares. Yet if Socrates and Phaedrus are both filled with an erotic desire for speeches, cracks in this identification become more visible as the dialogue proceeds. Although Socrates claims to share in Phaedrus’ ecstasy, it is his observation of Phaedrus’ reaction to the speech—​not the speech itself—​ that makes Socrates feel frenzy-​stricken. Even Phaedrus can read between the lines; the speech does not affect Socrates in the same way it affects him. Socrates’ praise of Lysias’ speech strikes such a false note that Phaedrus thinks Socrates is mocking him (234d). Hearing the speech for the first time, Socrates has not fallen into the revelry that Phaedrus, who has heard it several times and even sought to commit it to memory, still exhibits. Pressed to explain himself, Socrates faults Lysias for being repetitive, which Socrates takes as an indication of Lysias’ limited knowledge about the subject matter and immature desire to show off his ability to say the same thing in two ways (235a). Phaedrus disagrees; he finds the comprehensiveness of Lysias’ speech most admirable. Socrates responds by insisting that “the ancient and wise men and women who have spoken and written about these things will refute me, if I agree with you just to be pleasing” (235b). Claiming to have heard a better speech elsewhere, Socrates now puts Phaedrus in the position he initially found himself in, of having to goad his companion into delivering a speech. This re-​enactment of the earlier scene reveals fundamental differences between the two men, however. First, whereas Phaedrus attributes his speech to Lysias, “the cleverest now in speech-​writing,” Socrates insists he is “mindful that in fact none of these things is mine, as I well know, knowing my own ignorance; indeed it seems that left is the explanation that I for my part have been filled through the ear by alien streams from elsewhere (ἐξ ἀλλοτρίων ποθὲν ναμάτων)” (228a, 235c–​d).17 The speech, he suspects, may be that of 17 The imagery of streams and of the river Ilissus is revealing. As Heraclitus famously said, you cannot step into the same river twice. Rivers are naturally composed of elements that are ἀλλότριος and represent an ongoing journey.

208  Athenians as Foreigners the lyric poetess Sappho or the lyric poet Anacreon, who both, as natives of cities in Asia Minor, are literally ἀλλότριος. By being vague about the origins of the speech and highlighting the likely plurality of influences involved in its creation, Socrates simultaneously acts self-​effacingly and avoids the misconception that he will be presenting a reliable replica of another’s speech. Phaedrus, by contrast, tries to swindle Socrates into hearing his own recitation of “Lysias’ ” speech. Had Socrates not caught Phaedrus red-​handed with the actual speech in his cloak, Phaedrus might have tried to pass his own speech off as Lysias’ in an attempt to give it an air of authority and dupe Socrates into admiring it.18 Phaedrus admits as much when he tells Socrates that he has dashed his hope of using the philosopher as a “training ground” (ἐγγυμνασόμενος), and when later he refers to it as “Lysias’ and my speech” (228e, 264e). In any case, the express wish of Phaedrus to be a talented speaker—​“I would rather come to have this than much gold,” he says—​makes clear that his motivation in delivering it stems from a desire to be admired, if not for his own speech writing talent, then at least for his recitation skills (228a). In fact, Socrates later refers to Phaedrus as the son of Pythocles, “Eager for Fame.” Socrates, by contrast, mentions the speech he has heard, ostensibly out of respect for past writers who have composed superior speeches on love. The relative ease with which Socrates convinces Phaedrus to deliver the speech points to a second difference between the men. For Phaedrus, all it takes is for Socrates to ask him to stop being coy. With Socrates, on the other hand, Phaedrus twice offers to commemorate his cleverness as a speechwriter by erecting prominent statues in his honor, but to no avail (235d–​236b). Even the threat of violence fails to motivate Socrates to deliver the speech (236c–​d). In the end, Socrates is only moved by Phaedrus’ promise never again to recite or report a speech to him, for, at this, Socrates exclaims, “Ah, you rogue, you have well found out the necessary condition to make a speech-​loving man do what you order” (236e). So embarrassed is he to deliver the speech that he covers his head with his cloak so as to avoid Phaedrus’ gaze (237a). Moreover, he only delivers as long a speech as is necessary, relating the reasons why the lover should not be preferred but, much 18 Here I dissent from Zuckert’s interpretation that the actions of Phaedrus betray that he “would have memorized and delivered Lysias’ speech as his own, if Socrates had not uncovered his ruse.” Zuckert, Plato’s Philosophers, 308. Phaedrus confesses from the beginning that he has just heard Lysias deliver a speech on love. If his goal is to deliver that speech as his own, why make this admission rather than tell Socrates he has been working on a speech?

Socrates the Foreigner?  209 to Phaedrus’ disappointment, not delving into the reasons in favor of the non-​lover (241d–​e). Compare, too, the reactions of Phaedrus and Socrates when they finish delivering their respective speeches. Phaedrus closes by inquiring whether Socrates finds the speech “ὑπερφυῶς”—​“extraordinary” or, literally, “overgrown”—​especially in its use of phrasing (234c). Socrates, by contrast, declares he is going to leave before Phaedrus can force him to do anything worse (241e–​242a). To be sure, we might question the genuineness of Socrates’ resistance to delivering the speech; nevertheless, it still stands that Phaedrus’ exuberant yearning is poorly concealed. Nonetheless, Socrates does deliver the speech. If it was, as he claims, “an awful (δεινόν),” “silly (εὐήθη),” and “impious (ἀσεβῆ)” speech, then he has found the answer to his question about the nature of his soul. He resembles Typhon, the impious creature who utters all kinds of horrific sounds (242d). Although, unlike Phaedrus, he was purportedly motivated to deliver the speech out of respect for the superior writers of the past rather than a desire to be admired by his peers, Socrates has discovered he, too, possesses a complex soul. As he confesses to Phaedrus, when he was about to head back into town he seemed to hear a voice telling him not to leave until he had purified himself from a sin against the gods he had committed: “Indeed, oh companion, there is something prophetic about the soul. For something troubled me not long ago as I was delivering the speech, and how ashamed I felt, following Ibycus, ‘lest in exchange for honor among men I sin before the gods.’ But now I  have apprehended my error” (242c–​d). Continuing, Socrates explains that thanks to the intervention of his daimonion, he realized that not only did his and Lysias’ speeches speak falsely about Love, which is divine, but though “they said nothing healthy nor true, they affected a grave and solemn air as it were, straightaway deceiving pathetic people into holding them in honor” (242e–​243a). Later, Socrates applies this critique to almost all speeches by reminding Phaedrus that the proudest statesmen are those most fond of writing, caring so much for praise that they begin each written speech by naming their admirers (257e). Together, these quotes reveal that humans naturally like to be admired and rewarded with accolades; filled with pride, they will cross the boundaries of reason and morality to obtain the favor of men. Even Socrates falls into this trap. He presents a speech he finds disturbing, and for what reason? To curry favor with the living admirers of past writers such as Sappho and Anacreon? Or, truly, to earn the admiration of Phaedrus? Whomever he was seeking to impress, it was not, he admits, the gods.

210  Athenians as Foreigners Socrates’ discovery of his own impiety represents not a genuine moment of discovery on his part, however, but a re-​enactment of this discovery for the benefit of Phaedrus. That is, just as Socrates feigned being a foreigner in the Attic countryside, he is feigning being a foreigner to himself. Socrates well knows that within his soul lies the desire to outperform the cleverest speakers at their own game. He also knows that Phaedrus shares this desire, yet has never examined that part of himself. As various commentators argue, Socrates acts, in effect, as a mirror for Phaedrus.19 A mirror image resembles oneself and at the same time is an opposite or reverse image. By mirroring Phaedrus’ desire to be regarded as a clever speaker, Socrates builds a rapport with him that would have been missing had he moved straightaway to present himself as he truly is: someone who has learned in large part how to channel his eros for logos toward pleasing the gods rather than men. At the same time, seeing himself reflected in Socrates produces a strange sensation in Phaedrus; he now senses that something is not quite right. It is as though he is seeing himself through foreign eyes for the first time. As the next section demonstrates, Socrates reproduces his own journey to self-​knowledge in hopes of helping Phaedrus learn the true benefits of hearing the speech of the foreigner Lysias: acquiring not knowledge of how to dominate others with speech but knowledge of his own soul. Comparison of the speeches Phaedrus and Socrates deliver, both with one another and with the second speech Socrates goes on to deliver, illuminates the unnaturalness of Phaedrus’ desire to dominate others through cleverness in speech. This desire is not natural, but rather, the influence of growing up in Athens and hearing stories like the myth of the rape of Oreithuia by Boreas, stories that implant in citizens the imperialist desire to take possession of or to dominate others. Socrates seeks to replace these stories with one that presents the gods in a “positive (εὐφήμως)” light as self-​controlled nurturers, a myth he attributes to the foreign poet Stesichorus (265c). This suggests that to leave the cave, Phaedrus must connect in a different way with what lies outside the city and its culturally constructed horizon. By reaching out to Phaedrus, Socrates plays the role of liberator in the full sense. As I will argue, it is no mere coincidence that he attempts to do so by engaging the speeches of

19 Ronna Burger, Plato’s Phaedrus: A Defense of a Philosophic Art of Writing (University: University of Alabama Press, 1980), 16; Griswold, Self-​Knowledge, 32–​33; Seth Benardete, The Rhetoric of Morality and Philosophy: Plato’s “Gorgias” and “Phaedrus” (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 127–​28; and Werner, Myth and Philosophy, 192.

Socrates the Foreigner?  211 foreigners. For to begin to leave the cave, one must be aware that it is a cave, and encountering other cultural horizons assists in this realization.

Athenian Eros: Asserting Dominance over Foreigners When we compare the speeches of Phaedrus and Socrates, hints emerge that the impiety both men display, albeit to different degrees, is chiefly a result of their Athenian upbringing. It is important to understand the context in which both speeches are framed: the common practice in ancient Athens of paiderastia (παιδεραστία), a social institution involving the development of a personal relationship between a well-​connected older gentleman (the ἐραστής) and a young male in his bloom (the ἐρώμενος). These relationships typically entailed asymmetrical power relations, since the boy was expected to let the successful suitor have his way—​to “gratify” his lover, as the Greeks delicately put it. In exchange for sexual favors, the older man would offer the young man advice and help him become established in political life. The novelty of Lysias’ speech is that it aims to persuade a good-​looking boy that he should enter a relationship with a non-​lover rather than a lover. Socrates’ speech purports to do the same; but a comparison of the two speeches reveals that he is trying to uncover some of the problems with the Athenian practice of pederasty, particularly insofar as it is bound up with notions of Athenian citizenship as domination. In Lysias’ speech, the speaker claims he is not in love with the boy, yet should nevertheless be gratified. Socrates’ speech, on the other hand, begins in the narrative mode: “Once upon a time there was a boy, or rather a lad, who was very beautiful; and he had very many lovers. One of them was a wily man, who though not at all less in love persuaded the boy he was not in love” (237b). Through this use of narration, Socrates highlights what the speaker in Lysias’ speech wished to keep hidden: his true status as a lover.20 This disclosure is underscored when Socrates interrupts himself near the beginning of the “non-​lover’s” direct address to the boy to remark on how inspired his 20 Benardete argues that Lysias’ speech contains the seeds of its own destruction:  “The one addressed cannot be a beloved without the speaker automatically becoming a lover, and the speaker cannot choose which beauty he is to address without asserting by his choice that he is indeed a lover. Lysias, then, wrote a speech that cannot be spoken, for as soon as it is spoken, relations are established that deny the premise of the speech.” Benardete, Rhetoric of Morality, 110–​11. Also see Griswold, Self-​Knowledge, 46.

212  Athenians as Foreigners speech is. Socrates surmises it must be due to the influence of their surroundings, as he seems to be becoming captured by the Nymphs (νυμφόληπτος) who are sacred to the spot (238c–​d). Divine female spirits believed to inhabit and personify natural, rural settings (especially water sources such as springs, rivers, and lakes), nymphs were commonly associated with the ecstatic experiences of dancing and music, and the sexual license to which such activities often give rise. It seems odd for Socrates to interrupt his speech at this moment to call attention to this erotic influence, as thus far the speech has merely given a definition of love. By doing so, Socrates reminds us that behind the dry, analytic, contractual language of speeches such as that of Lysias is an impassioned lover seeking to possess his beloved.21 In observing the growing influence of the Nymphs on his speech, Socrates dramatizes the speaker’s status as one who is in love, defined in his speech as a state in which “desire overpowers the inclination of reason toward uprightness and is carried toward the pleasure of beauty” (238b–​c). The image of the Nymphs further warns of how eros can make speech itself more pleasing, as in the classical period the term nympholepsy denoted a state of “heightened awareness and eloquence” brought on by possession by the Nymphs.22 While Nymphs have the power to control a man’s speech, they also serve as a reminder of man’s ability to dominate using brute force. For, though stories of nymphs taking possession of mortal men were common, so, too, were stories of the reverse: gods abducting young women, including female spirits such as nymphs. Given that the Phaedrus is set near the spot where such an event took place—​Boreas’ abduction of Oreithuia, which we saw Phaedrus inquire about early in the dialogue—​Socrates’ mention of the Nymphs draws the reader back to the Boreas myth. According to the myth, Boreas, god of the North Wind, fell in love with the Athenian princess Oreithuia, but when his attempts to woo her failed, he abducted her while she was playing along the river Ilissus. He carried her off to Thrace, where he raped her and made her his bride. By alluding to how eros can drive one not only to attempt to manipulate one’s beloved through speech, but, when this fails, through force,

21 Various commentators note the blandness of Lysias’ speech. Nicholson calls it “sharp, bare, and analytical” and devoid of “everything that might be uncertain or cloudy.” Graeme Nicholson, Plato’s “Phaedrus”:  The Philosophy of Love (West Lafayette, IN:  Purdue University Press, 1999), 42. Benardete describes the speech as “disenchanting,” “charmless,” and “uninspiring.” Benardete, Rhetoric of Morality, 118. The speech’s content similarly presents eros in a cold, analytical manner, boiling it down at the outset to συμφέρειν, the conferring of benefits (230e). 22 W. R. Connor, “Seized by the Nymphs:  Nympholepsy and Symbolic Expression in Classical Greece,” Classical Antiquity 7, no. 2 (1988): 158.

Socrates the Foreigner?  213 Socrates stresses the dangers a beautiful youth faces. However rational the speaker may seem in either Lysias’ speech or his own, youths would do well to be on guard. As Socrates’ speech concludes, “As wolves show love to lambs, so lovers love a boy” (241d). Socrates’ reminders of the alleged non-​lover’s true nature as a lover and the violence this portends may serve less as a warning to the youth, however, and more as a warning to Phaedrus. Although there is some disagreement among interpreters, most deduce that Phaedrus is in his forties in the Phaedrus, which would give him the status of an erastes, or older gentleman, rather than that of a youth in bloom.23 This age makes sense, for it explains why Phaedrus is so drawn to Lysias’ speech and wishes to practice it: he himself hopes to capture a beloved. By stressing the deception the speech involves and focusing on the dangers of entering a relationship with a lover, Socrates encourages Phaedrus to confront his hidden desires and the damage they might do. Despite all the promises in Lysias’ speech of the educational, social, and financial benefits that will accrue to the boy who chooses a non-​lover over a lover, Socrates’ speech reveals that the one giving this speech is more likely to harm the boy in these respects. Notice also how Socrates attempts to dampen the enthusiasm of the erastes for delivering a speech such as Lysias’. For one, in his speech Socrates stresses how this kind of lover inevitably ends up with inferior boys, for he wants someone who will offer him no resistance and thus must prey upon the weak, stupid, and cowardly. Further, unlike Lysias’ speech, Socrates’ speech makes much of the disgust the boy will feel as he looks upon the aged face of the lover and is compelled to do things that are unpleasant to hear about, let alone experience first-​hand (240d–​e).24 Finally, Socrates expounds on the embarrassment even the erastes will feel when he at last comes to his senses—​ a point only mentioned in passing in Lysias’ speech (240e–​241b). These 23 See, e.g., R. Hackforth, Plato’s “Phaedrus” (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1952), 8; David A. White, Rhetoric and Reality in Plato’s Phaedrus (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 60; and James M. Rhodes, Eros, Wisdom, and Silence: Plato’s Erotic Dialogues, vol. 1 (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2003), 424. Conversely, Debra Nails argues that Phaedrus is a youth in the dialogue. The difficulty involves determining the dialogue’s precise dramatic date. It would seem impossible that it took place while Phaedrus was in exile, from 412 to 404 bc, but a date prior to his exile would be anachronous. For Phaedrus claims that Lysias is the most famous speechwriter of the time, but Lysias did not gain fame as a speechwriter until after he took up residence in Athens in 412 bc (227d–​228a). 24 Given this passage, it is appropriate that Socrates attributed the speech to Sappho and Anacreon. The inability to attract young women due to the loss of beauty in old age was a theme common to the works of both. See, for example, Anacreon’s poem 358 and the recently discovered poem of Sappho, poem 58.

214  Athenians as Foreigners divergences from Lysias’ speech suggest that Socrates aims to help Phaedrus to see the harm he will do both to his beloved and to himself if he follows through on delivering a speech that is like Lysias’. Indeed, the threat of violence lingering in the background through the allusion to the myth of Boreas warns that Phaedrus may do something worse than deliver an impious speech. This warning seems apropos; Phaedrus has already demonstrated his willingness to turn to violence when persuasion does not bring him what he wants (236c–​d). The myth of Boreas, however, also alludes to how much Phaedrus’ behavior echoes what he has been taught as an Athenian citizen. Such myths follow a common pattern: a forceful abduction resulting in a young female being carried to another land, where she is then raped. As Jennifer Larson attests, “Abductions of heroines (and nymphs) by gods are common and typically involve a journey to a different land, where the relationship is consummated (for example, Zeus brings Europe to Krete).”25 These myths formed a major part of colonial discourse, providing Greeks with a way of justifying the violence of colonization and subsequent “union” with indigenous populations. The marriage metaphor allowed Greeks to position themselves on the side of culture, masculinity, and Olympian values (represented by the gods), and indigenous peoples as on the side of nature, femininity, and locality (represented by the nymphs).26 If the gods themselves sometimes brought about marriages this way, then presumably such acts of conquest are sanctified. These forced unions can even yield untold benefits. Boreas, for example, was said to have come to the Athenians’ aid by destroying the invading Persian ships thanks to his connection to Athens through his marriage to the former Athenian princess Oreithuia (Herodotus, Histories 7.189). This is why Athenians revered the god and established an altar to him on the spot of the kidnapping. Yet, as a symbol of Athens’ naval victories, Boreas also “recalls the dangers of Athenian sea power and expansion.”27 Socrates alludes to this danger in his discussion of attempts to explain the myth using probabilistic reasoning, reminding us that the myth may have been used to

25 Jennifer Larson, Greek Nymphs: Myth, Cult, Lore (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 66. Cf. Peter Warnek, Descent of Socrates: Self-​Knowledge and Cryptic Nature in the Platonic Dialogues (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 159. 26 Carol Dougherty, The Poetics of Colonization: From City to Text in Archaic Greece (New York:  Oxford University Press, 1993). 27 Slobodan Dušanić, “Athenian Politics in Plato’s Phaedrus: Principles and Topical Themes,” in Understanding the Phaedrus: Proceedings of the II Symposium Platonicum, ed. Livio Rossetti (Saint Augustine, Germany: Academia Verlag, 1992), 230. Also see Warnek, Descent of Socrates, 160.

Socrates the Foreigner?  215 cover up Oreithuia’s death (229c–​d). If Phaedrus exhibits a tendency to hide his desire for violent conquest, he is only mimicking, then, the city of Athens. Importantly, the dialogue indicates one way in which Phaedrus has already exhibited the Athenian tendency to conquer foreigners. In plotting, perhaps, to present his own speech as that of Lysias, he treats Lysias’ reputation as something to be consumed and used to his own advantage, imitating Athens’ imperialistic eros in a small-​scale interaction with a foreign visitor.28 Lysias himself, it is worth noting, could not have delivered any such speech. For the institution of paiderastia was, as far as the evidence suggests, strictly an upper-​class Athenian phenomenon (though there were similar practices in other Greek cities). Although the practice was generally regarded as demeaning for the youth, it provided young citizens with important connections and intellectual training that would allow them a foothold in the city’s political life. It was well understood, however, that the sexual favors the youth granted in return should not include anal penetration, because such passivity was not appropriate for an aspiring leader. In fact, Athenian law prohibited “prostitution”—​that is, intercourse in exchange for benefits. The law only pertained to Athenian citizens, though. In a legal speech, the orator Aeschines offers the following solution: “Tell those who are hunters of such young men as are easily caught to turn to foreign visitors or resident foreigners, so that they may not be denied the pursuit of their inclinations and you (sc. the people of Athens) may come to no harm.”29 Such advice reflects the cultural norm that the only proper outlets for an Athenian citizen’s sexual desires are those inferior to him in social and political status: women, boys, slaves, and foreigners.30 The Athenian notion of citizenship is thus bound up with participation in a social institution that celebrates a hierarchical, masculine form of eros. To fail to participate, or to 28 It may be objected that in the Symposium, Phaedrus presents erotic love as inspiring a lover to earn the admiration of his beloved by making great sacrifices and exhibiting virtues such as courage. I do not see this presentation of love as contradictory to the way Phaedrus thinks of love in the Phaedrus. In both cases, Phaedrus’ motivation for noble behavior is not an awareness of the intrinsic good of this behavior or even a desire to please the gods, but rather the desire to impress another human being. Moreover, there is reason to believe that in the Symposium Phaedrus is hoping to dominate another with the help of this speech. After all, his lover Eryximachus is present, and Phaedrus’ speech stresses the benefits of love for the beloved (i.e., himself), thereby perhaps suggesting Eryximachus owes him something. See Mary P. Nichols, Socrates on Friendship and Community: Reflections on Plato’s “Symposium,” “Phaedrus,” and “Lysis” (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 36–​39. 29 Cited in Kenneth James Dover, Greek Homosexuality, updated ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), 31. Original published in 1978. 30 Halperin, One Hundred Years of Homosexuality, 30; and Matthew Dillon, Girls and Women in Classical Greek Religion (New York: Routledge, 2002), 185.

216  Athenians as Foreigners participate improperly, is—​if one is an Athenian male—​to demote oneself to the status of non-​citizen. As Kenneth Dover puts it, “There seems little doubt that in Greek eyes the male who breaks the ‘rules’ of legitimate eros detaches himself from the ranks of male citizenry and classifies himself with women and foreigners.”31 Hence, behind Phaedrus’ desire to possess “Lysias’ ” speech lies not only the desire to earn the admiration of his fellow citizens by making a clever speech, but also the desire to assert his masculine Athenian identity and superiority. However cosmopolitan Phaedrus may seem for interacting with foreigners like Lysias, Socrates’ mirroring of Phaedrus reveals that he is anything but. Although Phaedrus walks outside the city, “his soul is owned by it. Hence the symbolic power of Phaedrus’ possession of Lysias’ written text outside the walls of the city,” a text that is literally “a product of the polis’ techne.”32 Phaedrus cannot see that he is caught up in the Athenian model of eros as domination over foreigners, nor that it need not be this way.

Philosophic Eros: Learning from Cross-​Cultural Engagement Considering this subtext, Socrates’ attribution of his second speech—​ delivered in recompense for his first, impious speech—​ to the poet Stesichorus makes better sense. Various scholars have noted that Plato’s name play indicates that whereas Socrates’ first speech sprang from a desire for glory and hedonistic delight, the Great Speech unites desire with piety.33 31 Dover, Greek Homosexuality, 103. 32 Griswold, Self-​Knowledge, 35. 33 Socrates prefaces the Great Speech by claiming that whereas his first speech was “by Phaedrus the son of Pythocles, of the deme Myrrhinous,” this speech “will be by Stesichorus the son of Euphemus, from Himera” (243e–​244a). The name of the father of Stesichorus, Euphemus, translates as “Man of Pious Speech,” and the city he comes from, Himera, translates as “Town of Desire.” On the other hand, the name of the father of Phaedrus, Pythocles, translates as “Eager for Fame,” and the city he comes from, Myrrhinous, translates as “Myrrh Town.” Based on this, Rhodes argues that Plato’s decision to have Socrates include the names and places of origin of each author’s father aids readers in differentiating the second speech from the first: “The speech will not be the offspring of Eager for Fame (Pythocles) from Myrrh Town. That is, it will not spring from libidos for glory and hedonistic delights that one might associate with myrrh, a resin used in perfumes, cosmetics, and pharmakons. Instead, it will be the child of Speaking Well (“Euphemus,” the Hellenic term for the opposite of blasphemy) from Yearning Town, that is, from a desire (himeros) that differs from epithymia and that will soon be connected with Zeus. It will be the opposite to the first speech in every way.” Rhodes, Eros, Wisdom, and Silence, 464. Similarly, Adams sees the names connected with Stesichorus as indicative of a union of desire and piety, suggesting that his speech “betokens the character of a person who has undergone the conversion experience portrayed in the speech, where desire and piety coalesce in the attitude of reverence which is marked by Socrates as the spirit of the speaker and his speech.” John

Socrates the Foreigner?  217 A further, yet often unnoted, distinction between the two speeches concerns the former’s attribution to an Athenian (Phaedrus), and the latter’s to a Western Greek from Himera (Stesichorus), an ancient Greek colony in Sicily founded by settlers from the Greek colony of Zancle/​Messina and settled by many Chalcideans as well as the Myletidai, Syracusan refugees (Thucydides, History 6.5.1). Given the prominence of the theme of travel throughout the dialogue and the use of the marriage metaphor in colonial discourse, we ought to take this contrast seriously. What does it mean to move from two speeches in favor of the non-​lover, both of which Socrates ultimately attributes to Phaedrus (though the first presumably belonged originally to the foreigner Lysias), to a speech in favor of the lover that he attributes to the first major poet of Magna Graecia, the Greek colonies in southern Italy? Socrates’ Great Speech itself offers a significant clue. It begins by arguing against the view expressed in the first two speeches, that the madness a lover experiences is purely evil. Instead, the speech contends there are “two forms of madness: that caused by human afflictions, and that which comes from a divine release from the customary norms (νομίμων)” (265a). The divine type of madness is then divided into four categories: prophetic inspiration, mystical inspiration, poetic inspiration, and love. The remainder of the speech focuses on love as a form of divine madness and tells a story about the soul so that the benefits of this type of madness can be grasped. According to the myth, the human soul resembles a chariot operated by a charioteer and pulled by two horses of opposing temperament.34 As each soul makes its journey in the afterlife, a beautiful white horse pulls it toward the heavens, while an ugly black horse pulls it back toward earth. Owing to the turbulence of this ride, humans cannot, like the immortal gods, completely ascend to gaze upon the region of “truth (τὸ ἀληθείας)” (247b–​248b). Yet souls who follow one of the gods are able to come in close contact with the truth that nourishes our souls. The rest can only catch glimpses of it, or cannot even break through to see it, owing to the jostling of their horses as they revolve around the heavens. When they return to earth, the souls that have seen the most are planted as seeds into the bodies of men “who will become philosophers, or lovers of the beautiful, or who are musical and loving” (248d). The philosopher, then, C. Adams, “The Rhetorical Significance of the Conversion of the Lover’s Soul in Plato’s Phaedrus,” Rhetoric Society Quarterly 26, no. 3 (1996): 9. 34 Plato plays here on the charioteer imagery in the poetry of both Anacreon and Sappho. See Anacreon, poems 360 and 417, and Sappho, poem 1.

218  Athenians as Foreigners is the divine sort of lover. Whereas for most people the sight of beauty in its tangible form does not arouse reverence but merely sexual passion, the philosophic soul who espies beauty here on earth is moved “to feel awe in beholding him, as if he were a god” (250e–​251a). Holding his erotic desires in check, such a soul aims, above all, to raise up both his own soul and that of his beloved by “imitating” the gods themselves, “persuading (πείθοντες)” and “bringing measure (ῥυθμίζοντες)” to the boy to lead him to pattern himself after the god (253b). In the philosophic individual’s impassioned attempt to better both his own and his beloved’s character, eros and piety come together. Yet this not only applies to the philosopher’s relations with his beloved but also to his interactions with others in general. As the speech explains, anyone with purity of soul “lives honoring and imitating [the god] to the best of his ability . . . and brings this way of life to bear on those he loves and others with whom he interacts” (252d, emphasis added). The speech of Stesichorus—​“leader of the chorus”—​thus offers a different model for interactions with others, including foreigners. In contrast to the Athenian model of eros as domination, the Great Speech tells of a divine model of eros as mutual ascent toward the truth. With respect to foreigners, this would imply not forceful conquest but collaborative learning. At the same time, the dialogue makes clear that such a musical mode of interaction is rare and often even shunned. For the one who exhibits it is the rare philosopher, and “since he is displaced (ἐξιστάμενος) from the concerns of human beings and has become close to divinity, he is admonished by the many as being disturbed, for it escapes the many’s notice that he is inspired by a god” (249c–​d). Therefore, “looking rightly upward like a bird, and being neglectful of what is down here, he is accused of behaving madly” (249d). Now we can read Phaedrus’ description of Socrates as atopos in a new light. In truth, Socrates is out of place wherever he goes; as the verb ἐξίστημι (to be displaced) suggests, he is like a foreigner everywhere on earth. In attempting to remember the sights his soul observed as it struggled to make the journey the gods make, a philosopher like Socrates comes across to others as utterly out of his element in the world of men. In this world, where men tend to value the ephemeral over the unchanging, the trivial over the essential, the judgment of men over the judgment of gods, the philosopher stands in need of a guide much as a foreigner wandering a strange land.35 As this suggests,



35 Cf. Plato, Theaetetus 173c–​174a; and Sophist 216c.

Socrates the Foreigner?  219 true education is not merely transformative; it is alienating, and therein lies the difficulty. Yet the dialogue alludes to a possible way out of this conundrum. If the philosopher attempts to understand the souls of those still “in the cave” and to relate to their way of life by also remembering his own upbringing in the cave, then he might be able to help some ascend toward the truth. The attribution of the Great Speech to a Western Greek can be seen, then, to represent the need for the philosopher to be simultaneously distant from and familiar with the human condition. Mirroring Stesichorus’ remoteness from the mainland yet substantial immersion in the language, stories, and practices that bind Greeks together in kinship, the philosopher stands apart from his fellows, but nonetheless intimately knows their way of life because he has been reared in the same environment. Language from the cave allegory in the Republic provides corroborating evidence. After describing the soul’s journey up to the intelligible place, Socrates insists philosophers must be forced to go back down into the cave; otherwise, they cannot be good stewards of the city, for “they will not be willing to act, believing they have emigrated (ἀπῳκίσθαι) to the Isles of the Blessed while still living” (519c).36 The word translated as “emigrated” comes from ἀποικία (apoikia), a word that literally means “a home away from home” and is usually translated as “colony.” Unlike colonies that were set up as mere trading sites, apoikia “were settlements which were, from the time of their very foundation, always destined to be new communities in their own right, with their own territory and urban centre, their own citizens and laws.”37 In evoking this language, Plato thus conveys that the experience of education is like the experience of settling in a faraway land. One might at first be reluctant to go to and to accept the new place, but eventually, it comes to feel like home. Ultimately, however, one’s home is still in the city; the colony is but a home away from home. One must go back and share what one has seen with one’s fellows. Socrates’ interactions with Phaedrus confirm that the fulfillment of the philosopher’s divine mission depends on how well he can navigate the local waters, so to speak. John C. Adams is correct when he writes, “In Platonic thought, the rehabilitation of one’s soul cannot be accomplished without external assistance.”38 The raising up of a soul, however, requires 36 Cf. Plato, Gorgias 526c. 37 James Whitley, The Archaeology of Ancient Greece (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2001), 124. 38 Adams, “Rhetorical Significance,” 9. Nichols fleshes out this point based on the Myth of the Chariot:

220  Athenians as Foreigners the philosopher to speak that soul’s language to some degree. To transform Phaedrus, Socrates must disguise himself as someone who can relate to his soul, which is “in two minds (ἐπαμφοτερίζῃ),” conflicted as to whether it wants to pursue rhetoric or philosophy (257b).39 Ultimately, this suggests the soul of the philosopher will be simultaneously the simplest of all human beings in terms of being the most properly ordered, yet capable of reflecting the complexity of human souls. Ironically, in uttering all kinds of sounds, just like Typhon, Socrates acts un-​typhonically.40 For he uses “multicolored (ποικίλους)” and “panharmonic (παναρμονίους)” speeches not to overthrow the gods, but to serve them by helping to lead complex souls toward the truth (277c). The ending of the dialogue, when Socrates and Phaedrus share a prayer to Pan, indicates that sometimes the philosopher’s efforts may succeed. Pan, whose name means “all,” is the half-​human, half-​goat pastoral god of shepherds and a companion of the nymphs. The legendary story of his own attempt to capture a nymph with whom he had fallen in love bears a substantially different ending from that of the Boreas myth. According to the myth, the nymph Syrinx prayed to the water nymphs to help her escape Pan’s advances and was transformed into a marsh reed just as Pan caught her. Sighing over the reeds, Pan discovered that each reed, being of unequal length, produced a unique sound. Captivated, he bound seven reeds together to make the syrinx, or panpipe, an instrument he played thenceforth.41 Although Pan is commonly associated with sexuality, in this myth Pan’s

Even if self-​knowledge consisted in truths seen before birth, self-​knowledge would differ from individual to individual, because human beings have not had the same vision or experiences. They have seen only some of the beings in their former lives, for example, and not very clearly as they struggle to ascend. To know the truth, then, one must go beyond oneself. It is therefore not the case that according to the theory of recollection, at least as it is presented in the Phaedrus, that each human being has the truth within himself and so needs only to be reminded of it. Should we acquire the truth, it would come to us in part from outside ourselves. (Nichols, Socrates on Friendship, 111–​12) 39 Interestingly, the word ἐπαμφοτερίζῃ is used by Aristotle to describe species that are intermediate between other species (see, e.g., PA697b1, HA589a21). This is fitting given the extent to which the dialogue features creatures that combine the parts of different animals (viz., Typhon-​Set, Anubis, and Pan). Dietz relates this word (which she translates as “dualizer”) to Aristotle’s status as a metic, someone arbitrating the boundaries between citizen and foreigner. Dietz, “Between Polis and Empire,” 277–​79. On the simultaneously simple and complex nature of Socrates’ soul, see Griswold, Self-​Knowledge,  39–​44. 40 Cf. Werner, Myth and Philosophy, 169. For Plato as polyphonic, see Euben, Corrupting Youth, 218–​26; and Frank, Poetic Justice,  8–​9. 41 Anne-​Emmanuelle Ceulemans, “Instruments Real and Imaginary:  Aaron’s Interpretation of Isidore and an Illustrated Copy of the Toscanello,” in Early Music History, vol. 21: Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Music, ed. Iain Fenlon (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 12.

Socrates the Foreigner?  221 erotic appetite is channeled away from the body and toward music. Arguably, the evocation of Pan reflects the movement of the Phaedrus from rhetoric and its worldly concerns to philosophy and its otherworldly concerns. For, soon after finishing his Great Speech, Socrates exhorts Phaedrus not to grow weary in the midday heat and end up dozing off under the spell of the cicadas’ song, but instead to engage him in conversation. He then tells of how the cicadas were once men who became so enthralled with the pleasure of singing once the Muses were born and song was invented that they sang themselves to death, neglecting the need for food and drink. Consequently, they became the race of cicadas, to whom the Muses granted the gift of singing from birth to death with no need of corporal nourishment. When a cicada dies, it reports to the Muses, revealing which men honored which Muse and telling the most important Muses—​Calliope and her companion Urania—​about “those spending their lives in philosophy and honoring this music” (258e–​259d). As we saw at the end of c­ hapter 3, in the Republic, the Myth of Er aligns the music of the spheres with the diatonic scale, which featured seven tones and a repeated octave. This music, I argued, represents the orderly yet panharmonic music on which we ought to pattern our souls by engaging in the practice of philosophy. By ending the Phaedrus with Socrates and Phaedrus praying to Pan, the god of the seven-​noted instrument, might Plato be implying that they strive to play this cosmic music? We should not forget that Pan is also said to have helped Zeus defeat Typhon by helping him to escape from Typhon’s cave.42 Moreover, according to some legends, Pan advised the other gods—​who were retreating to Egypt—​to transform themselves into a variety of animals to elude Typhon’s notice; this advice saved them, and in gratitude, they placed Pan among the stars.43 Although these later accounts of Typhon’s battle with Zeus are less reliable than the accounts of Hesiod, it is plausible that they existed in Plato’s time and thus that Pan’s panharmonic music may symbolize a pious alternative to Typhon’s impious cacophony. At any rate, Socrates seems to view Pan as an appropriate god to whom to pray, “[G]‌rant that I may become beautiful from within, that I may have as much on the outside as is friendly to that which is within me. May I consider wisdom to be wealth, and may I have just 42 Though it is not the case in Hesiod’s account, in later accounts, Typhon manages to carry Zeus and trap him in his cave, severing the sinews of the god’s hands and feet. Hermes and Pan help to steal the sinews, allowing Zeus to escape on a chariot of winged horses, from which he pelts Typhon to death with his thunderbolts. Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 1.6. 43 Hyginus, Fabulae 196; Hyginus, Astronomica 2.28.

222  Athenians as Foreigners as much gold as no one other than a moderate person could bear and carry” (279b–​c). As Diskin Clay argues, this prayer is cast in the form of a riddle, the answer to which is that “the philosopher is a stranger, or better, a metic, in this world. His wealth is his wisdom. He can make off with none of the gold of this world, since it has no value in another.”44 Based on the reading of the Phaedrus defended in this chapter, Socrates’ supreme love of wisdom guides his interactions with others, including foreigners, in whose company he tries to serve the gods by examining himself and seeking the truth. Unfortunately, many practice a more slavish kind of eros, one based on the approval not of gods but men—​often, fellow citizens. The Phaedrus suggests it is the philosopher’s duty to try to transform this mode of interaction, to serve as a mediator unlocking the liberating potential of cross-​cultural engagement.

The Egyptian Myth on Writing: Platonic Self-​Examination There remains one piece of the puzzle to consider: Socrates’ evocation of the Egyptian myth on the dangers of writing. Insisting toward the end of the dialogue that they still need to discuss what is beautiful and what is unseemly in writing, Socrates relates a myth set in Naucratis, Egypt (274c–​275b). The story tells of how the ancient Egyptian god Theuth once presented his inventions—​including numbers, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, checkers, dice, and writing—​to the Egyptian king Thamous. Before taking the god’s recommendation and spreading these inventions throughout Egypt, King Thamous wanted to know what good each would do. Accordingly, he asked Theuth to give a defense of each invention. When it came to writing, Theuth maintained it would increase men’s intelligence and enhance their memories. King Thamous was not convinced. On the contrary, he predicted, writing will atrophy people’s memories, for people will come to remember things by relying on “marks made from outside by others (ἔξωθεν ὑπ᾽ ἀλλοτρίων τύπων)” rather than their own inner resources, and so writing will make the things they have learned disappear from their minds (275a). As such, he reasoned that Theuth’s invention might be better regarded as “a drug (φάρμακον)” for jogging the memory, not for remembering (275a). His 44 Diskin Clay, “Socrates’ Prayer to Pan,” in Arktouros: Hellenic Studies Presented to M.W. Knox on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. Glen W. Bowersock, Walter Burkert, and Michael C. J. Putnam (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1979), 353.

Socrates the Foreigner?  223 worry is that writing will detract from true remembrance, which relies on nothing other than one’s mind, and thereby foster the appearance of wisdom rather than actual wisdom. Scholars have long reflected on the seeming incongruence of a prolific writer critiquing writing in a written work. If these critiques are read as self-​referential, then Plato seems to be condemning his own work. This is the traditional interpretation, that the critiques of writing in the Phaedrus (through the Egyptian myth and, later, Socrates, who complains that writings cannot answer questions or defend themselves, nor say different things to different people) offer a straightforward presentation of Plato’s own views on the matter.45 Advocates of this interpretation often point to the consistency between Socrates’ declaration in the Phaedrus that writing should be merely an amusing pastime to help jog the memory later in life (276d–​e) and the Seventh Letter’s assertion that no person will ever try to communicate serious doctrines through writing (344c–​d). Other scholars contend, however, that by expressing these criticisms of writing through writing, Plato is implicitly conveying his approval of writing. They propose that Plato’s writings may themselves offer an escape from the criticisms Thamous and Socrates raise. Ronna Burger, one of the chief proponents of this interpretation, puts it thusly: “By questioning its own clarity and firmness, the Platonic dialogue refuses to present itself as a replacement for living thought; by transforming itself into a playful ‘reminder to the knower,’ the dialogue demonstrates its serious worth.”46 In other words, the critique of writing is built into the dialogue so that readers will be moved to think for themselves and not to rely on Plato, thereby escaping the problem with writing the dialogue identifies. We must ask, however, why Plato has Socrates attribute the critique of writing to an Egyptian god instead of voicing it himself. Although the prominence of the theme of foreignness suggests that this detail is significant, Socrates himself plays down its importance. For on hearing the myth, Phaedrus retorts, “Oh Socrates, easily do you make up speeches from Egypt and anywhere else you please,” to which Socrates responds that in the olden 45 See, e.g., Hackforth, Plato’s “Phaedrus”, 162–​64; Gerrit Jacob de Vries, A Commentary on the Phaedrus of Plato (Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1969), 20–​22; Christopher Rowe, “The Argument and Structure of Plato’s Phaedrus,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 212 (1986): 113–​ 16, 120; and White, Rhetoric and Reality, 259–​60. Derrida famously traces, through the works of Plato and beyond, the Western philosophical tradition of the debasement of writing and its repression of “full” speech. Jacques Derrida, Of Grammatology, trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, corrected ed. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997). 46 Burger, Plato’s “Phaedrus”, 105. Also see, among others, Griswold, Self-​Knowledge, 219–​22; Nicholson, Plato’s “Phaedrus”, 75, 78–​79; and Nichols, Socrates on Friendship, 144.

224  Athenians as Foreigners days people would “listen to tree and rock out of naivety, if only they spoke the truth. But perhaps it makes a difference to you who the speaker is and what country he is from. For you do not contemplate this alone, whether he speaks rightly or wrongly” (275b–​c).47 Though Phaedrus accepts Socrates’ admonition without hesitation, one might note some contradiction in Socrates’ position. As Mary Nichols argues, “Although Socrates claims that one should be concerned only with whether Thamus’ words are true, and not with ‘who is speaking them and where he comes from’ (275c), if these issues made no difference Socrates would have no reason to tell the story rather than simply present Thamus’ argument against writing.” Moreover, she points out, Thamous himself considers the source of words to be important, for he suspects that Theuth may be partial to writing because it is his invention.48 This echoes the major revelation of Socrates’ first speech on love, that Lysias’ speech is in fact that of a wolf in disguise. As Ferrari maintains, Socrates’ injunction not to care about where a speech comes from reflects an ideal that is too simplistic for a world in which pedigree and truth have been sundered.49 Knowing who the speaker is helps to reveal whether the speaker means to do us good or harm with his speech. Although effect may not always follow from intention, such considerations can be valuable in determining whether or not a speech is true. In sum, we should not accept, as readily as Phaedrus does, Socrates’ claim that the speaker does not matter. In reading a Platonic writing, it may in fact be important from whence a particular idea comes. The dialogue form itself suggests as much, insofar as any given statement does not mean the same thing coming from Socrates as it does coming from another character—​a point poignantly illustrated in ­chapter 4, where we read Socrates’ funeral oration in the Menexenus through the voice of Aspasia, Pericles’ foreign mistress. The most obvious reason for Socrates to voice the criticism of writing through an Egyptian myth is to augment the persuasiveness of the message. The Greeks associated Egypt with ancient wisdom, so evoking an Egyptian god “adds an aura of authoritativeness and antiquarianism to what Socrates is about to say.”50 This is arguably what Phaedrus accuses Socrates of doing when he remarks that Socrates would have no difficulty making up stories from Egypt or anywhere he pleases. Phaedrus is someone who attaches a lot

47 Cf. Plato, Charmides 161c.

48 Nichols, Socrates on Friendship, 145.

49 Ferrari, Listening to the Cicadas, 216–​18. 50 Werner, Myth and Philosophy, 190.

Socrates the Foreigner?  225 of weight to reputation, who exhibits “a penchant for repeating what other people say”—​particularly what prominent authority figures say.51 In fact, as his blind admiration of the speechwriter Lysias shows, Phaedrus tends to suppose that those with reputations for a particular skill or knowledge are always completely reliable sources of authority on their area of expertise. For Phaedrus, it matters, therefore, whether the story comes from the venerable land of Egypt or from his strange friend Socrates. He worries that Socrates has attributed the speech to an Egyptian god to lend it an air of credibility, perhaps because he had the same (unsuccessfully executed) plan for “Lysias’ ” speech. Even so, Socrates’ tendency in this and other dialogues to question reputed sources of authority and to advocate the rigorous pursuit of truth suggests that we should look deeper for an explanation of his attribution of the critique of writing to an Egyptian god. One possibility emerges from close scrutiny of his language. Whereas the Egyptian god credited with the invention of writing is commonly known as “Thoth (Θώθ),” Socrates calls him “Theuth (Θεὺθ),” which, as Robin Waterfield proposes, is likely a tactic Plato uses to remind readers of the end of the Greek name “Prometheus (Προμηθεύς),” the god credited in Greek myth with the invention of writing.52 The figure of King Thamous—​who must have been an invention of Plato’s, as there is no record of such a historical person—​is then paralleled with Zeus. Socrates draws this parallel when he mentions that the Greeks know King Thamous as Ammon, the Egyptian version of Zeus. The link to Zeus is again confirmed when, just after relating the myth, Socrates mentions that the people at the sanctuary of Zeus at Dodona have told of how the prophecies there were spoken by an oak (275b). These equivalences invite comparison of the Egyptian and the Greek myths on the invention of writing. The key difference between the myths lies in how writing is introduced. Whereas Prometheus defies Zeus’ authority by giving mankind fire and other inventions, such as writing, his Egyptian counterpart Thoth is represented as a loyal aide who submits his invention to the god’s judgment. Accordingly, James Rhodes reasons that in drawing on the authority of the most ancient of peoples (the Egyptians), Socrates means to convey that “the Greek version of the Zeus-​Prometheus myth is dead wrong. . . . The technai and the games of chance themselves

51 Andrea Wilson Nightingale, Genres in Dialogue:  Plato and the Construct of Philosophy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 136. 52 Plato, Phaedrus, trans. Waterfield, 111.

226  Athenians as Foreigners are not weapons that can be used against the god’s authority, for both nature and chance are subject to divine governance.”53 Speeches must, as Socrates contends, be pleasing to the gods and not to men, except incidentally (273e). Socrates attributes the critique on writing to an Egyptian god, then, to invite comparison with the Greek myth on writing, and thereby to illuminate the impiety of the Greeks’ approach to writing. Just as Socrates recognizes he has been nurtured in a regime that fosters the desire to dominate others through cleverness in speech, Plato seems, through the Egyptian myth on writing, to acknowledge the dangerous tendencies that might lurk in the activity he pursued in contrast to his mentor Socrates, who never wrote. There is a further, often unnoticed allusion in the reference to Thoth that perhaps redeems the art of writing, however. In Egyptian mythology, Thoth plays the role of the god who heals the destruction caused by Seth, the god of disorder, violence, and foreigners.54 Is it mere coincidence that the Greeks associated Seth with Typhon, the monstrous creature Socrates worried he might resemble? According to ancient legend, the jealous Seth usurped the rule of his brother Osiris, the wise and kind god-​king of Egypt, by murdering him and scattering the pieces of his body throughout the land. After helping Osiris’ wife Isis collect the pieces of her husband’s body, Thoth used his magical powers to reunite the limbs of the dead king, bringing him back to life long enough to conceive the son that would later avenge him. Thoth therefore helps order to triumph over chaos. Interestingly, both Seth/​Typhon and Thoth are associated with multilingualism. Whereas all sorts of indiscriminate sounds issue from Typhon’s hundred heads, Thoth, as Jacques Derrida points out, is associated with the differentiation of language or the creation of different languages for different peoples.55 The incommensurability of language creates difficulties in terms of interactions among individuals and groups of individuals, but the image of the soul as potentially resembling Typhon/​Seth suggests that the problem might exist on the level of the soul as well. That is, it is possible for one’s soul to be guided by a confused mixture 53 Rhodes, Eros, Wisdom, and Silence, 535. “According to Plato, however, there is evidence that Socrates, perhaps like Prometheus, took his manner of life and inquiry from the gods and gave it to men. Unlike Prometheus and Tantalus, however, Socrates does not seem to stand in fear of divine punishment. The introduction of Socratic philosophy has more to fear of men than gods, for its ultimate intention is to lead men to the divine.” Frederick Rosen, “Piety and Justice: Plato’s ‘Euthyphro,’” Philosophy 43, no. 164 (1968): 115. 54 For more on the Egyptian deities mentioned in this book, see Geraldine Pinch, Egyptian Mythology:  A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 2002). 55 Derrida, “Plato’s Pharmacy,” 88–​89.

Socrates the Foreigner?  227 of voices drawn from the nomoi of various lands. As Andrea Nightingale argues, humans need philosophy to help them make sense of this chaos within: Since human beings are continually making the language of others their own, the very boundaries of the self are called into question. What I take Plato to be indicating is that a human soul’s authentic voice does not comprise the manifold voices that reside within it—​it is not coextensive, in short, with all the soul’s internal voices. The authentic voice is something that needs to be identified and developed by way of philosophical inquiry. Since this kind of inquiry involves testing the truth of different logoi, the practice of philosophy demands that a person examine and evaluate not only external discourse but also the voices within. This person will discover that some of his internal voices are in fact alien in the sense that they do not represent the wisdom-​loving part of the soul.56

As a differentiator of language, Thoth represents the activity that helps us recognize and grapple with this internal complexity. Indeed, in Plato’s Philebus he is presented as distinguishing the letters that make up a word, while also inventing grammar in recognition of the inability to learn any single letter without learning all the others at the same time (18b–​d). Given that Thoth is paired with Seshat, goddess of wisdom, knowledge, and writing, whose name means “she who scrivens” (i.e., she who is the scribe), the message could be that writing possesses a magical healing potential.57 Though Plato’s text may “always signify the same thing” and may be read both by those who understand it and those who do not, the reader willing to traverse the same ground again and again may, like Phaedrus, discover something he had never noticed before, an aspect of his own soul not visible to him in times past (275d–​e).58 56 Nightingale, Genres in Dialogue, 145. 57 According to Greek myth, writing was first discovered in Egypt and only later introduced to the Greeks, by Cadmus. Even modern scholars agree that writing did not originate in Greece. Moreover, “Greek indebtedness to Egypt in regard to writing would always remain conspicuous, given that the actual writing material used during the classical period—​the papyrus plant—​was native only to the marshes of lower Egypt and hence had to be imported.” Werner, Myth and Philosophy, 190. Plato’s dialogues would thus not exist were it not for cross-​cultural engagement and, indeed, economic trade. For a comprehensive analysis of the origins and development of Ancient Greek writing, see Anastasios-​Phoivos Christidēs, Maria Arapopoulou, and Maria Chritē, eds., A History of Ancient Greek: From the Beginnings to Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 58 If there is no other benefit to writing, it seems to be this: revisiting the marks made by your past self, and discovering how you have changed for better or worse. Such is often the experience of those who dare to re-​read a copy of a book they marked up on a previous reading. And that’s why you always leave a note.

228  Athenians as Foreigners And if he cannot, then perhaps he will if he embarks on the journey with a living foreigner and sees the familiar text through her eyes.

Conclusion By studying the theme of travel and foreignness in the Phaedrus, this chapter has uncovered the role Plato thought cross-​cultural engagement could play in sparking citizens to examine themselves. As we have seen in previous chapters that role is primarily initiatory; it exposes self-​contradiction but does not necessarily lead citizens out of the cave toward divine knowledge of the Good. What this examination of Phaedrus makes clearer is the importance of the philosopher’s intervention in this experience, or his role as a mediator. Without someone to help him take the next step, Phaedrus would likely have dismissed the contradiction in himself that his encounter with Lysias’ speech revealed: his desire, on the one hand, to become a renowned speaker and, on the other hand, to speak only the truth. And he would likely have turned away from philosophy and toward truth-​denying rhetoric. Had he done that, he would have continued down the path toward which his Athenian education had always inclined him: the pursuit of domination over others, including the foreigners from whom he learned the rhetorical art. It is not enough, then, that foreigners bring to light contradictions in our beliefs. For, absent the philosopher’s guidance, this experience can turn ugly. Encountering contradictions in one’s way of thinking can prompt a reflexive abandonment of one’s existing beliefs, encouraging some to reject the notion of truth altogether and to seek instead to become the puppeteers, manipulating the appearance of the shadows on the wall. Conversely, discovering self-​contradiction can encourage a reflexive re-​entrenchment of one’s existing beliefs, and often a concomitant development of hostility toward the cross-​cultural experience that brought one’s inner turmoil to light. Although the philosopher herself can provoke the same negative reactions, having grown up in the same cave as her fellow citizens allows her to navigate the situation more proficiently. At the same time, the philosopher recognizes the value of cross-​cultural engagement in exposing contradiction, as the exposure of contradiction constitutes a necessary first step before the philosopher can drag her fellow citizens out of the cave. The philosopher recognizes the value of cross-​cultural engagement because, as Socrates’ engagement with Lysias’ speech shows, he has experienced it himself. In c­ hapter 7, I consider

Socrates the Foreigner?  229 how Plato’s insights into the epistemological value of cross-​cultural interaction can inform contemporary debates on cultural diversity. I argue that recovering the role of foreigners as gadflies in Plato’s dialogues contributes a compelling and original reason for embracing cultural diversity: its assistance in helping one cultivate intellectual humility.

7  Conclusion The timeliness of this book would not surprise Plato. Although resolving the tension between the city and the foreign is likely “not impossible”—​to evoke the language Socrates uses in the Republic with regard to resolving the parallel tension between the city and philosophy (499d)—​in exposing how deep the roots of this tension go, Plato conveys the immense difficulty of overcoming it. Faced with this realization, only a gambling man would predict that any given human society—​even some two thousand years in the future—​would embrace the liberating sting of cultural diversity. Xenophobia might as well, then, be considered a perennial problem. Yet perhaps knowledge of the problem provides a way forward. Plato must have thought so with respect to the city’s hostility toward philosophy, or he would not have attempted to resuscitate philosophy’s reputation.1 Similarly, I have argued here that across the dialogues, Plato presents exposure to cultural diversity as a provocation to self-​examination. Recognizing that the foreigner has, in common with the Socratic gadfly, the ability to “sting” citizens into wakefulness, and thereby to liberate them from imprisonment to their particular political community’s worldview, helps us understand why humans often display hostility toward foreigners. Simply put, many feel an aversion toward foreigners because encounters with foreignness—​like encounters with Socrates—​often bring out tensions in one’s most cherished cultural beliefs and thus in oneself, and facing these tensions is a painful experience.2 Just as the prisoner in the cave, after being shown the fire and 1 Avgousti, “Politeiai and Reputation.” 2 There is significant support for this idea in contemporary research. In models of the causes of xenophobia, the largest determining factor is often the perception, whether real or imagined, that foreigners pose a threat. Some of these threats are, in Stephan and Stephan’s useful typology, “realistic,” meaning they are threats to one’s physical existence. Others are “symbolic,” or threats to the in-​group’s worldview, meaning, essentially, that when members of the majority culture feel as though their beliefs, customs, and language—​their cultural identity—​are threatened by newcomers, they may develop negative sentiments toward foreigners. See Walter G. Stephan and Cookie White Stephan, “An Integrated Threat Theory of Prejudice,” in Reducing Prejudice and Discrimination: The Claremont Symposium on Applied Social Psychology, ed. Stuart Oskamp (Mahwah, NJ: Psychology Press, 2000), 27–​46. Some studies show that “symbolic” threats form the core of xenophobia, suggesting that “realistic” threats often serve as a veneer for justifying a more deep-​seated discomfort Plato’s Caves. Rebecca LeMoine, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190936983.001.0001

Conclusion  231 puppets, will want to return to his bonds and the world of shadows so familiar to him, most people, after encountering a foreign perspective, will want to cling to the way of life inculcated in them by virtue of living in a particular polity. They will do everything they can to avoid the existential perplexity into which encounters with foreigners can throw them—​even kill the proximate cause of this extreme discomfort, as the Athenians did to Socrates. Moreover, when part of the prisoners’ conditioning involves the negative stereotyping of prisoners from other caves, they can manifest a reflexive discomfort when interacting with foreigners. This problem cannot be solved unless we understand it. In making this argument, I am taking aim at one of the shadows on the wall: the portrayal of Plato as xenophobic. The traditional perception that Plato is adverse to cultural diversity holds sway in both the academic literature and popular accounts of Platonic thought—​propagated as much by white supremacists as by ardent champions of cultural diversity. I hope in this book to have unsettled this prominent narrative. As discussed throughout the book, the crux of the problem with the traditional interpretation of Plato as hostile to diversity lies in the tendency to treat the dialogues as though they were treatises. Granted, Platonic political thought often appears xenophobic—​but only if one takes lines out of the voices of the characters who speak them and out of their larger dramatic context. A more faithful reading acknowledges Plato’s artistry and attends to the way Plato communicates through the choice of characters, settings, dramatic actions, and even the framing and title of the dialogue itself. This reading requires more care and patience than one that regards the dramatic or literary elements of Plato’s writing as mere “garnish,” and prefers to skip straight to the “meat” of the argumentative exchange. The act of reading—​really reading—​a with other ways of life. See, e.g., Lauren M. McLaren, “Public Support for the European Union: Cost/​ Benefit Analysis or Perceived Cultural Threat?,” Journal of Politics 64, no. 2 (2002):  551–​66; Lauren McLaren and Mark Johnson, “Resources, Group Conflict and Symbols:  Explaining Anti-​ immigration Hostility in Britain,” Political Studies 55, no. 4 (2007): 709–​32; and Jens Hainmueller and Daniel J. Hopkins, “Public Attitudes toward Immigration,” Annual Review of Political Science 17 (2014): 225–​49. Cultural identity can be so deeply ingrained that individuals may exhibit subconscious prejudices against foreigners. For instance, even psychologists undergoing cultural sensitivity training often display signs of discomfort, despite their professed willingness to work with diverse populations. See, e.g., D. W. Sue et  al., Multicultural Counseling Competencies:  Individual and Organizational Development (Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE, 1998); L. C. Jackson, “Ethnocultural Resistance to Multicultural Training: Students and Faculty,” Cultural Diversity and Ethnic Minority Psychology 5 (1999): 27–​36; J. S. Mio and G. I. Awakuni, Resistance to Multiculturalism: Issues and Interventions (Philadelphia:  Brunner/​Mazel, 2000); and Blaine J. Fowers and Barbara J. Davidov, “The Virtue of Multiculturalism: Personal Transformation, Character, and Openness to the Other,” American Psychologist 61, no. 6 (2006): 581–​94.

232  Plato’s Caves Platonic dialogue may thus help with cultivating the virtue of moderation. At the least, Plato’s approach to writing invites readers to look deeper; if we choose not to take up the invitation, then our understanding of the dialogues will be even less complete. One could say that Plato’s dialogues present readers with the intellectual equivalent of an optical illusion: if one does not look closely enough and for long enough, one will miss the true picture. This not looking closely enough is what I believe many do when considering the treatment of cultural diversity in the Platonic corpus. My aim has been to fix the reader’s gaze on the role of the foreigner in the hopes that Plato’s affirmation of the value of cultural diversity will eventually pop out clearly from the surface. Knowing in the first place that we should stare at the surface is half the battle. The art of reading required to interpret Plato’s dialogues makes it difficult to provide an adequate account of the most important evidence proffered in support of this book’s thesis.3 Suffice it to say that, in all the dialogues examined here, interactions with one or more foreigners bring to the surface discordance in the beliefs and practices that dominate a particular polity. In the Republic, the diverse setting and cast of characters gives rise to a heated conversation on justice. Without the metics Cephalus and Polemarchus there to endorse the traditional or moral Athenian sayings about justice, and without the foreign sophist Thrasymachus there to give voice to the bold and harsh truth of how Athenians practice justice, Glaucon and Adeimantus likely would not have provoked Socrates to grapple with the contradictory attitudes toward justice inherent in their Athenian upbringing. Put differently, Plato could have started the dialogue with Glaucon’s and Adeimantus’ accounts of the contradiction in Athenian views of justice in Book 2; or, he could have chosen Athenian characters to play the roles of the foreigners in Book 1. By choosing to begin, instead, with the perspectives of foreigners and to set the dialogue in a place associated with cultural diversity on the night of a foreign festival, Plato suggests that cross-​cultural conversation is, if not essential, then at least deeply important in spurring examinations of justice. As the dialogue proceeds, the incongruity between Socrates’ deeds (visiting a diverse place, worshipping a non-​Greek goddess, applauding a non-​Greek 3 Such, however, are the demands of modern readership:  “To be sure, one thing is necessary above all if one is to practice reading as an art in this way, something that has been unlearned most thoroughly nowadays—​and therefore it will be some time before my writings are ‘readable’—​ something for which one has almost to be a cow and in any case not a ‘modern man’: rumination.” Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale (New York: Vintage Books, 1969), 23.

Conclusion  233 procession, and engaging in an all-​night discussion with foreigners) and the city he and his interlocutors construct “in speech” (which excludes the foreign and treats non-​Greeks as enemies) serves to prompt reflection on the tensions found in Greek attitudes toward non-​Greeks. Altogether, this interpretation, with its attentiveness to Plato’s artistry, poses a serious challenge to the more conventional reading of the Republic as antipathetic to cultural diversity. In similar ways, the other three dialogues that have been analyzed here support the thesis that Plato is a friend of cultural diversity, contrary to many contemporary perceptions. In the Menexenus, the juxtaposition of a speech endorsing an exclusionist, xenophobic politics with the voice of Aspasia, a famously foreign woman, helps to expose dissonance in Athens’s self-​understanding. In part, this dissonance comes to light because a foreigner speaks disparagingly of foreigners. Yet the effect is amplified, because Aspasia is not merely a foreigner, but a foreign woman. The Menexenus therefore confirms the role of foreigners as gadflies and adds complexity to the narrative by showing how other divisions within society can intersect with foreignness to intensify the effect. It is not only foreigners in Athens who can generate this stinging effect, however. As Part II shows, Athenians themselves are sometimes the foreigners. In the Laws, an Athenian stranger plays this role, engaging in a careful song and dance designed to help his Spartan and Cretan interlocutors see the contradiction in their laws’ singular focus on war against foreigners yet neglect of the conflict within the souls of their citizens. Because his interlocutors were reared in cultures that deify lawgivers, the Stranger must tread carefully lest he offend his hosts. The last dialogue examined, the Phaedrus, further confirms that Plato thinks exposure to foreigners can illuminate contradictions in the polity and its citizens. I argued that Socrates’ puzzling presentation of himself as a foreigner helps Phaedrus become more aware of how engagement with foreigners can help us see ourselves in a different light, making the familiar seem strange. By then mirroring Phaedrus’ reaction to the foreigner Lysias’ speech, Socrates helps Phaedrus see the tension his Athenian upbringing instilled in him, teaching him to admire and learn from foreigners, on the one hand, and to dominate and steal from them, on the other. Ultimately, this shows that while foreigners can sting citizens into wakefulness, much as the Socratic gadfly can, it helps to have a philosopher to act as a translator or mediator helping citizens (and foreigners as well) to react properly to the liberating sting of cultural diversity. In

234  Plato’s Caves particular, a local philosopher is best poised to help fellow citizens embrace the liberating sting of cultural diversity because of her fluency in the “language” of her home city. This brings me to an important objection not easily discussed in the main body of the book. Briefly stated, some scholars might contend that expression in Attic Greek is intrinsic to Platonic philosophizing and that engagement with the foreign may therefore imply a loss or a compromising of the integrity of Platonic philosophy as such. After all, the conversations depicted in the Platonic dialogues only take place in Greek. Indeed, when Socrates sets out in the Meno to demonstrate his method of recollection by questioning Meno’s slave, the first question he asks is whether the slave can speak Greek (82b). This could imply that, in Plato’s view, philosophic discourse necessitates the ability to speak Greek. It is no less viable, however, to assume that the use of Attic Greek was merely a matter of convenience or necessity. For one, there is little evidence of bilingualism on the part of ancient Greeks.4 If either Socrates or his interlocutor—​in this case, Meno—​did not know another language, then Greek would have been required for any conversation in which they took part. For that matter, the vast majority of Plato’s readers were likely also not bilingual, and certainly could not have been expected to be familiar with a variety of non-​Greek languages. Greek may thus have served, much as English does today, as the lingua franca. This does not mean, though, that philosophic discourse itself must entail Attic Greek. In fact, in the Cratylus, Socrates ascribes non-​Greek origin to numerous “Greek” words, insinuating that the Greek language is not pure (409d–​e, 410a, 416a, 421c–​d, 425e). Furthermore, his use of the oath “by the dog”—​a reference to the Egyptian god Anubis—​shows his openness to incorporating into his speech expressions that one might expect to hear from a foreigner, albeit in Greek. Hence, Greek should be regarded as an accidental rather than an essential element of philosophic discourse in Plato’s dialogues.5 It should also be noted that though Plato never depicts any conversations taking place in a non-​Greek language, this does not mean that interlocutors of non-​Greek origin are excluded from the dialogues. Slaves often originated from “barbarian” lands, so any of the slaves featured in the dialogues 4 Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, 165. 5 To believe otherwise is to admit the impossibility of modern English speakers engaging in philosophic discourse—​a conclusion that strikes me as untenable. For more on this issue, see Rebecca LeMoine, “Is Socrates Culturally Imperialistic?,” in The Socratic Method Today: Student-​Centered and Transformative Teaching in Political Science, ed. Lee Trepanier (New York: Routledge, 2017), 125–​37.

Conclusion  235 (including Meno’s slave) could be non-​Greek in origin, though potentially capable of speaking Greek. As discussed in c­ hapter  4 on the Menexenus, Aspasia’s status as a xenos (a term for “foreigner” typically applied only to other Greeks) is complicated by the fact that her native city of Miletus was famously conquered by barbarians; in terms of blood, then, Aspasia may not be “purely” Greek. Nor was she regarded as fully Greek; after all, she was aligned in the popular imagination with famous women who led powerful men to betray Greek interests. We should therefore see the ability to speak Greek as necessary but not sufficient for claiming “Greekness.” Greekness is also a matter of physical appearance, background, and immersion in the traditions, values, and interests of the Greek world. It is important to bear in mind, too, that the concept of Greekness was malleable, used for different purposes in different contexts. If historians have trouble pinning down which people fit into which classifications, it is because the Greeks themselves did not operate with any clear-​cut distinctions. In sum, while it may not always be obvious to modern readers, Plato’s dialogues include characters whose Greekness would have been highly questionable in the eyes of his contemporaries. Thus far, then, I  have argued that foreigners in Plato’s dialogues generally play the role of gadfly, inciting citizens to engage in self-​examination by exposing contradictions in the values and practices of their polity. To close the book, I would like to consider how Plato, as a foreigner to us today, might play this same role. As I hope to show, beyond challenging white supremacist appropriations of Plato—​an important end result in itself—​the argument that Plato views cross-​cultural engagement as a major catalyst for self-​examination offers a unique defense of cultural diversity, one that might serve to “sting” modern democratic citizens into wakeful contemplation. To arrive at this, I will first examine four prominent defenses of cultural diversity. While a full engagement with these theories lies beyond the scope of this book, it is important to address them, even if all too briefly, so as to begin carving out the distinctiveness of Plato’s contribution to contemporary debates on cultural diversity.

Is Cultural Diversity Good for Democracy? In recent decades, many democratic governments adopted rhetoric and policies promoting cultural diversity. Increasingly, however, political leaders, citizens, and scholars are questioning these policies, as well as the very ideal

236  Plato’s Caves of culturally heterogeneous democracy. The predominant concerns are that cultural difference erodes national identity and threatens the moral values that are essential to a healthy democracy. Emblematic of this position is the work by the late political scientist Samuel Huntington, Who Are We? The Challenges to America’s National Identity.6 Huntington is most famous for his “clash of civilizations” thesis, which predicted that the end of the Cold War would usher in a phase in which Western, Islamic, Latin American, and other “civilizations” would become the most important sources of identity, and future conflicts would occur along the cultural fault lines separating these civilizations. In Who Are We, he argues that Anglo-​Protestant culture, central to American national identity for three centuries, and part of Western culture more generally, is under attack by a new wave of immigrants from Latin America and Asia, the popularity in intellectual and political circles of the doctrines of multiculturalism and diversity, the spread of Spanish as the second American language and the Hispanization trends in American society, the assertion of group identities based on race, ethnicity, and gender, the impact of diasporas and their homeland governments, and the growing commitment of elites to cosmopolitan and transnational identities.7

Huntington sees assimilation as responsible for the relative success of the American experiment, and worries that if Americans do not return to their core Anglo-​Protestant values—​which he believes people of any race, religion, or national origin can adopt—​then America risks disintegrating into a country with a weak sense of national identity and high levels of intergroup conflict. Numerous empirical studies support his contention that cultural diversity breeds division and conflict, and have found a strong correlation between high levels of ethnic and cultural diversity and low levels of trust or social capital.8 Democracy, it seems, falters in culturally diverse settings. 6 Also see, e.g., Alvin J. Schmidt, The Menace of Multiculturalism:  Trojan Horse in America (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1997); Arthur Meier Schlesinger Jr., The Disuniting of America: Reflections on a Multicultural Society, rev. and enlarged ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1998); and Paul Gottfried, Multiculturalism and the Politics of Guilt:  Toward a Secular Theocracy (Columbia:  University of Missouri Press, 2002). 7 Samuel P. Huntington, Who Are We? The Challenges to America’s National Identity (New York:  Simon and Schuster, 2004), xvi. 8 Dora L. Costa and Matthew E. Kahn, “Civic Engagement and Community Heterogeneity: An Economist’s Perspective,” Perspectives on Politics 1, no. 1 (2003): 103–​11; and Robert D. Putnam, “E Pluribus Unum: Diversity and Community in the Twenty-​First Century,” Scandinavian Political Studies 30, no. 2 (2007): 137–​74. It should be noted that this finding is far from consistent, and that

Conclusion  237 Against this conclusion stand four major arguments in defense of cultural diversity. First, there is the communitarian argument that democracies should protect cultural diversity because of the “right to culture,” or because being a member of a particular cultural community provides humans with a sense of belonging, security, and self-​esteem—​all intrinsic goods. According to this view, identity is formed dialogically, or through interaction with others. As such, it matters how members of a particular group are portrayed by the wider society. In the words of philosopher Charles Taylor, “Nonrecognition or misrecognition can inflict harm, can be a form of oppression, imprisoning someone in a false, distorted, and reduced mode of being.”9 Women living in patriarchal societies, for instance, can internalize images of their inferiority, such that they may hold themselves back even when obstacles to their advancement are removed. Similarly, minority races and cultures can develop low self-​esteem because of the imposition of negative stereotypes. Hence, protecting cultural diversity is a matter of avoiding oppression and ensuring that all members of society are able to live full, authentic lives. Although culture may provide these benefits, this argument “establishes why membership of one’s culture is important, but not why cultural diversity is; why one should enjoy access to one’s own culture, not why one should also have access to others.”10 It does not explain, in other words, why one should value a democracy with a culturally diverse population over one with a culturally homogenous population. Of course, most nations are already culturally heterogeneous. In light of this, defenses of the right to culture may hold some weight; if we must live in culturally diverse societies, then we must be aware of how failing to give other cultures their due recognition can constitute a form of oppression with potentially devastating consequences for the whole society. Nonetheless, this argument does not make a particularly positive case for cultural diversity. Instead, it treats cultural diversity as an inevitable problem with which citizens must cope. This approach might convince many studies report the positive role of certain institutional arrangements in moderating the alleged negative effect of cultural diversity on democracy. See, e.g., Steven M. Fish and Robin S. Brooks, “Does Diversity Hurt Democracy?,” Journal of Democracy 15, no. 1 (2004): 154–​66; and Alejandro Portes and Erik Vickstrom, “Diversity, Social Capital, and Cohesion,” in Migration: Economic Change, Social Challenge, ed. Christian Dustmann (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 161–​85. 9 Charles Taylor, Multiculturalism and the Politics of Recognition (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press, 1994), 25. 10 Bhikhu C. Parekh, Rethinking Multiculturalism:  Cultural Diversity and Political Theory (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 166.

238  Plato’s Caves someone to be more respectful of his neighbor’s desire to follow different cultural norms, but it likely will not convince him that it is a good thing that his society is culturally diverse. A second, liberal argument in favor of cultural diversity fills this gap, explaining why we should celebrate rather than tolerate a culturally diverse democracy. On this account, cultural diversity is valuable because it provides freedom of choice. Instead of being trapped in one’s native culture, cultural diversity allows individuals to make meaningful choices from among a marketplace of beliefs and practices, which increases their sense of autonomy. This perspective builds on the liberal premise that individuals should be able to choose their own conceptions of the “good life.” The freedom characteristic of liberal democracy naturally results in a diversity of moral and philosophical doctrines—​what John Rawls refers to as the “fact of reasonable pluralism.”11 Working within this tradition, Will Kymlicka contends that the communitarian protection of societal cultures is less incompatible with the protection of individual autonomy than liberals might suppose. As he explains, “For meaningful individual choice to be possible, individuals need not only access to information, the capacity to reflectively evaluate it, and freedom of expression and association. They also need access to a societal culture.”12 First, removing particular beliefs and practices from the context of the shared vocabularies of language and history in which they are embedded can render them less meaningful, diminishing their capacity to serve as authentic choices. Second, without something to anchor their identity, most people do not feel the sense of safety and belonging needed to develop as individuals. Cultural identity is extremely meaningful to most people, so to force someone to give up her culture is akin to taking away her agency over her own life. By the same token, access to other cultures is also an essential individual right. As Kymlicka explains, “People should be able to decide what is best from within their own culture, and to integrate into their culture whatever they find admirable in other cultures. This follows from the liberal belief in the fallibility and revisability of our conceptions of the good.”13 In this way, culturally diverse societies augment individual autonomy.

11 John Rawls, Justice as Fairness:  A Restatement, ed. Erin Kelly (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 2001), 3. 12 Will Kymlicka, Multicultural Citizenship: A Liberal Theory of Minority Rights (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 84. 13 Kymlicka, Multicultural Citizenship,  104–​5.

Conclusion  239 Although one might critique Kymlicka’s argument from the standpoint of its consistency with liberalism, I want to highlight its neglect of the concern that foreigners corrupt the virtues and unity on which democracy depends. To be sure, Kymlicka explicitly directs his arguments to adherents of liberalism; to fault a scholar for not addressing concerns beyond the scope of his argument is, admittedly, unfair. Nevertheless, to discover an argument in favor of cultural diversity that attends to the worries that dominate the views of many ordinary citizens and scholars, we must look beyond Kymlicka and the liberal tradition. Those who are concerned that immigrants threaten the shared values essential to the health of the nation likely will not find the privileging of autonomy convincing. In their eyes, a healthy democracy requires conformity to a shared set of values, even if this means stamping out the freedom to choose values that endanger democracy.14 This critique reflects a more general problem with the liberal tradition: the tendency to assert rather than justify why liberty should be valued as the human good. As Susan Collins argues, “If sufficient reasons for the limitation of liberty must be offered, so too must sufficient reasons for its enjoyment.”15 In the context of debates about cultural diversity, the failure to offer such justification means that arguments in favor of cultural diversity on the grounds that it augments “freedom of choice” will fall on many deaf ears. Interestingly, the critique of Kymlicka’s position from outside the liberal tradition exhibits substantial crossover with the critique from inside this tradition. That is, even committed liberals sometimes worry that too much cultural freedom can undermine individual freedom. How are we promoting individual freedom, they ask, by giving individuals the “choice” to identify with cultures that infringe on individual liberty? What of the oppressiveness of cultural groups toward individuals, particularly women?16 By protecting 14 Numerous scholars have challenged liberalism’s claim to value neutrality, or the ability to develop principles of justice that are not derived from any particular worldview or “comprehensive doctrine of the good.” Such critiques center on the deep embeddedness of individuals within their communities, and thus the inescapability of bringing value judgments into the public sphere. See, e.g., Michael Sandel, Liberalism and the Limits of Justice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982); and Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989). Others argue that even liberalism requires “liberal” virtues. See, e.g., William Galston, Liberal Purposes: Goods, Virtues, and Diversity in the Liberal State (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991); Peter Berkowitz, Virtue and the Making of Modern Liberalism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999); and Stephen Macedo, Diversity and Distrust: Civic Education in a Multicultural Democracy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000). 15 Susan D. Collins, Aristotle and the Rediscovery of Citizenship (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 36. 16 Two of the most important works on this subject are Susan Moller Okin, Is Multiculturalism Bad for Women?, ed. Joshua Cohen, Matthew Howard, and Martha C. Nussbaum (Princeton,

240  Plato’s Caves cultural diversity, might we effectively be protecting the ability of certain cultures to violate individual rights? Anticipating such apprehensions from his own audience of liberal-​minded readers, Kymlicka goes to great lengths to delineate various caveats, describing the limits of toleration. Although this does not invalidate his argument, it does weaken it. Once it is modified to respond to this central criticism, the argument becomes that only within circumscribed limits is cultural diversity good for democracy. It is good to encounter different cultural “options,” but if they push the boundaries of the liberal-​democratic, human-​rights-​oriented conception of the good, then they should not be options at all. Unless diversity is contained and managed, it is not good for democracy. Ultimately, Kymlicka’s position overlaps more with Huntington’s than it initially seems to. A third argument in favor of cultural diversity adopts the more radical position that democracy at its root entails tensions, and hence the tumult that attends encounters with foreignness enriches democracy by multiplying sites of power, action, and discourse. To eradicate conflict and dissonance would be “to transform pluralist democracy into a self-​refuting ideal, since the moment of its realization would also be the moment of its disintegration.”17 Proponents of this pluralist, agonistic argument for cultural diversity see “strains of fundamentalism running through certain versions of American liberalism” insofar as liberal multiculturalism dogmatically closes off identities and sites of action that do not fit within the liberal matrix.18 Agonistic pluralism, by contrast, seeks to cultivate generosity toward unforeseen challenges to dominant constituencies, recognizing that tolerance of ambiguity is part and parcel of the democratic ethos. One of the best elucidations of this argument as it relates to cultural diversity is found in Honig’s Democracy and the Foreigner. Honig’s central thesis is that foreigners simultaneously shore up and unsettle democratic regimes, and that this unsettling is good for democracy. One example she gives is the common construction of the foreigner as “founder,” who helps citizens escape the problems of violence and partiality that plague the founding of new regimes or the re-​founding of corrupted ones, yet also leaves citizens uneasy about their relationship to

NJ:  Princeton University Press, 1999); and Sarah Song, Justice, Gender, and the Politics of Multiculturalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 17 Chantal Mouffe, “Deliberative Democracy or Agonistic Pluralism?,” Social Research 66, no. 3 (1999): 757. 18 William E. Connolly, Pluralism (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1995), xxviii.

Conclusion  241 the law and about their power to act in concert. Uses of foreignness are thus double-​edged. One of the strengths of this argument is that it acknowledges the conflict foreignness provokes and makes a case for how this persistent disruption benefits democratic politics by invigorating popular political action. In casting off the belief in universal truth that predominates in the responses of ordinary citizens, as well as some scholars, to cultural pluralism, Honig’s account of foreignness leaves many behind, however. Following Nietzsche, Honig assumes that objective moral truths do not exist, that all we have are never-​ending contests to empower our own constructed fictions of what the good is. There are no facts, only interpretations. Honig does not think that this means we must reject traditional values tout court, but we do need to acknowledge that to assert the existence of ultimate truth is to embrace life-​ defying closure and to fail to recognize the “remainders” that are always left in the wake of asserting one’s truth as the truth. For Honig, the ideal of virtue therefore threatens diversity, because it privileges a singular way of life and punishes or vilifies behaviors that do not fit the mold. Honig thus sees in the ideal of virtue “antidemocratic resonances, if by democracy one means a set of arrangements that perpetually generates popular (both local and global) political action as well as generating the practices that legitimate representative institutions.”19 While Honig’s position could scarcely be more different from Huntington’s, they agree, then, on one thing: diversity and virtue do not go together. For Huntington, this means that diversity must be jettisoned; Honig opts instead to reject the pursuit of virtue. It is difficult to imagine scholars like Huntington being persuaded to adopt Honig’s position, dependent as it is on the rejection of the notion of absolute truth.20 This brings me to the final, and arguably most compelling argument in favor of cultural diversity, that it fosters intellectual development. Although it does not advocate cultural diversity, John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty offers 19 Bonnie Honig, Political Theory and the Displacement of Politics (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993), 4. 20 Honig refers to Plato as the “consummate architect of virtue politics,” which seeks to eliminate difference, conflict, and struggle. Honig, Political Theory, 230n93. Contra Honig’s presentation, this book has sought to show that Plato’s dialogues often perform the work of illuminating discord, bringing ambiguity to the front and center of philosophic inquiry. At the same time, there is something that distinguishes Plato’s approach from Honig’s. Openness to revising the findings of one’s philosophic journey does not, for Plato, mean that one must abandon the notion of absolute truth. While it is important to remember the fallibility of knowledge, Plato elevates certain ideas above others, the truth of which he wishes to persuade his readers. These truths, in Plato’s view, are not merely “his” truths; they are the product of thorough investigation and demonstrable to others. They are truths for which a philosopher like Socrates is willing to die.

242  Plato’s Caves a classic statement of this argument. According to this view, engaging different viewpoints allows one to test one’s ideas and thus to correct mistaken beliefs. Even if one’s beliefs are true, encountering dissenting views can help to breathe life back into these beliefs, preventing them from becoming dead dogmas: All languages and literatures are full of general observations on life, both as to what it is and how to conduct oneself in it—​observations which everybody knows, which everybody repeats or hears with acquiescence, which are received as truisms, yet of which most people first truly learn the meaning when experience, generally of a painful kind, has made it a reality to them. . . . But much more of the meaning even of these would have been understood, and what was understood would have been far more deeply impressed on the mind, if the man had been accustomed to hear it argued pro and con by people who did understand it. The fatal tendency of mankind to leave off thinking about a thing when it is no longer doubtful is the cause of half their errors.21

For Mill, the value of diversity lies in its epistemological benefits. Encountering people who hold perspectives different from ours can help us to discover errors in our way of thinking and at the same time strengthen our confidence in other beliefs we hold. Recent education research confirms that cross-​cultural engagement can improve learning outcomes by enhancing creativity, problem-​solving, and cognitive performance, and increase civic interest and engagement through heightened exposure to accounts of social injustice.22 The epistemological argument is compelling because it highlights a powerful benefit that might be seen to offset the negative consequences of cultural diversity. It forces us to ask whether eliminating cultural diversity to solve the problem its poses for national unity is worth eliminating its epistemological benefits as well. Are we so committed to upholding national unity that we are

21 John Stuart Mill, On Liberty, ed. Elizabeth Rapaport (Indianapolis, IN:  Hackett, 1978), 41. Originally published in 1859. 22 The literature on the educational effects of diversity is vast. For a good overview, see Deborah Son Holoien, “Do Differences Make a Difference? The Effects of Diversity on Learning, Intergroup Outcomes, and Civic Engagement” (paper produced by the Trustee Ad Hoc Committee on Diversity, Princeton University, 2013). Also see Katherine W. Phillips, “How Diversity Makes Us Smarter,” Scientific American, October 1, 2014, http://​www.scientificamerican.com/​article/​ how-​diversity-​makes-​us-​smarter.

Conclusion  243 willing to foster a nation of citizens with mistaken beliefs and dead dogmas? The epistemological argument brings to mind the ancient Indian parable of the blind men and the elephant. According to the story as told in the Buddhist text Udana (6.4), a group of blind men who had never before come across an elephant were exposed to one and then asked to describe it. Since each had felt only one part of the elephant’s body, the elephant was variously compared to a pot (by the man who had only felt the head), to a winnowing basket (the ear), a plowshare (the tusk), a plow pole (the trunk), a granary (the torso), a pillar (the foot), a mortar (the hindquarters), a pestle (the tail), and a broom (the tip of the tail). Upon hearing the different accounts, the blind men come to blows, each man insisting on the correctness of his own viewpoint. One lesson the tale imparts is that any individual’s perception of reality is only partial because of that person’s limited range of experience; we should therefore learn to work together and be more open to others’ experiences of the truth. To eliminate cultural diversity because it causes conflict would be akin to the blind men deciding never to talk to each other again to avoid conflict, instead of working to overcome the conflict and put their partial perspectives together to arrive at a closer approximation of the truth. Existing accounts of the epistemological benefits of cultural diversity miss part of the story, however—​a part that Plato helps us see. For Plato, it is not merely that cross-​cultural engagement can help one come closer to discovering or internalizing the truth. More importantly, exposure to cultural diversity can help one cultivate Socratic wisdom, defined in Plato’s Apology as knowing the limits to one’s knowledge (21d). Whether the provocation to wonder ultimately leads one closer to the truth is irrelevant to this point. Simply coming out of the experience with more humility and a greater appreciation for the complexities of life is, in itself, a great benefit. That is, beyond merely increasing or deepening our knowledge, cross-​cultural engagement can help citizens cultivate a better disposition or attitude toward knowledge. By stinging us into self-​examination, cross-​cultural encounters remind us that we are not omniscient gods. They remind us of our humanity and the limits of human wisdom, liberating us from intellectual hubris. Yet this is a benefit of cultural diversity that often goes overlooked—​one that, on Plato’s account, democracies cannot do without.23 Plato’s insights into the epistemological value of cross-​cultural engagement thus not only anticipate, but extend beyond the Millsian argument for diversity. Simply put, while Mill

23 One important exception is Euben, Journeys to the Other Shore.

244  Plato’s Caves clearly values the quality of intellectual humility, Plato places more emphasis on how the cultivation of this virtue, in and of itself, is a great boon to democracy. Moreover, in demonstrating the importance of the virtue of intellectual humility to the very preservation of democracy, Plato offers a defense of cultural diversity that speaks to concerns about diversity threatening national unity and the virtues on which democracy depends. All that remains is to explore why Plato thinks that cross-​cultural engagement is essential to the health of democracy and why, paradoxically, Plato’s insights may leave us in a state of aporia.

Plato’s Defense of Cultural Diversity Despite his misgivings about democracy, Plato devoted serious study to democratic politics and life. He recognized the enduring appeal of the regime “many would judge to be the most beautiful” (Republic 557c). Moreover, as the dialogic nature of his writings suggests, Plato himself appreciated certain aspects of democratic discourse and politics. Although their analyses of democracy differ in important respects, Plato can be compared to the French aristocrat Alexis de Tocqueville, who centuries later observed the “providential” march of democracy and determined that democracy was not devoid of good qualities but that it must be educated. Similarly, Plato sought to discover how to temper democracy’s negative impulses to preserve its positive elements and prevent it from devolving into tyranny. Among the potential complications of democracy explored in the dialogues, one bears the brunt of the blame for democracy’s descent into tyranny:  lack of Socratic wisdom. Various dialogues diagnose democracy as suffering from a tendency toward intellectual hubris that, if left untreated, begets tyranny. In Plato’s Laws, for instance, the Athenian Stranger insists that the rise of “the opinion that everyone is wise in everything” is responsible for the “excessively bold freedom” that leads democracy to swing in the opposite direction, toward tyranny (701a). The Stranger’s judgment echoes that of Socrates in the Republic, when he describes democracy as a regime in which each person is free to “organize his life . . . just as it pleases him” (563d). This immense individual freedom results not merely from the rejection of a particular code of ethics but from the rejection of expertise itself. In democracies, traditional authority figures, such as fathers and teachers, are treated as if they were no wiser than anyone else (562e–​3e). Instead, democratic

Conclusion  245 citizens tend to practice a golden rule of intellection: respect others’ wisdom as you would have them respect yours. However fair this may seem, democratic citizens consequently must permit behaviors conducive both to freedom and to despotism. As Socrates explains, the citizens of a democracy cannot stand anything that even remotely reminds them of “slavery (δουλείας),” but the consequence of their extreme aversion to anyone or anything having authority over them is that they tend to disregard the “laws (τῶν νόμων)” (563d–​e). One even sees men who have been sentenced to death or exile “nonetheless staying and carrying on in the middle of things . . . stalking about like a hero” (558a). Simply put, democracy tends to cultivate such a strong knee-​jerk reaction to any attempts to elevate certain ideas over others that it effectively descends into a state of utter anarchy, wherein it becomes impossible to prohibit even the most obvious injustices. Ultimately, such democratic “formlessness”—​to borrow Saxonhouse’s term—​is so paradoxical that it cannot long maintain itself.24 Inevitably, citizens feel the need for distinctions. Set against the backdrop of the Peloponnesian War, the Republic reveals that democratic citizens often satisfy this need by creating categories of membership, such as metic or resident alien, as we saw in Part I. While maintaining the illusion that democracy is an egalitarian, multicolored cloak, such categories often fuel delusions of collective superiority, encouraging the kind of imperialistic behavior that led to the downfall of Athens. In this way, democracies foment not only domestic injustice but global injustice. Plato may thus be critical of democracy not because it eliminates difference, but because it presents socially constructed divisions as “natural.”25 In other words, democratic citizens reject the rule of the wise only to end up constructing new hierarchies—​ones that are often less supportive of freedom. To avoid developing a love of freedom so excessive that it ushers in tyranny, democratic citizens must cultivate Socratic wisdom. They must be reminded, on both an individual and a collective level, that they are not wise in everything, and they must acknowledge the inescapable finiteness of human knowledge at large. This is no minor experience. As the Socratic example shows, discovering what you do not know goes beyond recognizing small gaps in your knowledge of the world; it is not merely a matter of

24 Arlene W. Saxonhouse, “Democracy, Equality, and Eidê: A Radical View from Book 8 of Plato’s Republic,” American Political Science Review 92, no. 2 (1998): 273–​83. 25 Kasimis, Perpetual Immigrant, chap. 4.

246  Plato’s Caves admitting that you do not know, say, how to calculate the circumference of a circle, but rather of coming to terms with the fact that you do not know what justice is or whether or not you are living your best life. Just as the prisoner in the cave first becomes aware of the artificial nature of his reality by having his body turned so that he can see the fire and the puppeteers, the development of Socratic wisdom involves a “turning” of the soul. In other words, it is a transformative experience, comparable (albeit on a much larger scale) to being rudely awoken from a long, dream-​filled slumber. Although the development of Socratic wisdom is painful and disorienting, the hope is that by becoming aware of their ignorance on important matters, democratic citizens will be stimulated to engage in conscious reflection instead of believing that all their inclinations, however despotic, are justified. Socratic wisdom acts, in effect, as a powerful antidote to the worst inclinations of democracy by provoking citizens to pause and reflect before presuming they know the best course of action to take. The development of Socratic wisdom often requires a push from the outside, however. As can be seen throughout Plato’s dialogues, Socrates believed it was his divine mission to question his fellow citizens in democratic Athens, an activity that was ultimately aimed at tempering their intellectual hubris by leading them to aporia, or perplexity. The basic argument of this book is that Socrates, and the figure of the philosopher more generally, is not the only one who can play this role. Cross-​cultural encounters in the dialogues often perform the same function as the liberating sting of the Socratic gadfly. Again, it is not that Plato thinks that all foreigners are philosophers who can help citizens achieve full enlightenment; rather, foreigners, philosophical or not, can play the initial role of revealing our lack of knowledge. This in itself is crucial, for “wonder is the only beginning of philosophy” (Theaetetus 155d). Philosophy begins with wonder and ends by circling back to its point of origin, this time with an enlightened sense of wonder. Intellectual humility, or the ability to admit one still has something to learn, lies at the center of philosophy. Without this virtue, democratic citizens can neither begin to leave the cave nor, as we have seen, avoid the descent into tyranny. If Plato is right that the very health of democracy depends on a self-​ reflective citizenry and that foreigners can incite self-​examination, then we would do well to reconsider the impetus to adopt exclusionary and assimilationist political models. In likening cross-​cultural engagement to the liberating sting of the Socratic “gadfly,” Plato’s dialogues reveal that diversity is not the proper object of our aversion; rather, we should seek to overcome the

Conclusion  247 fears that accompany learning and prevent us from appreciating the epistemological value of exposure to cultural diversity. Herein lies the problem, a critic of diversity might say. If it is easier and less painful for most people to build walls, whether literal or metaphorical, than to face the uncertainties involved in learning, then wouldn’t it be more prudent for a statesman to bet on the aversion of his people to learning and to safeguard them from the gadflies who will irritate them and rouse them to fight, and, in turn, to keep them from having a similar effect on the prisoners in another cave? This would entail imposing strict limits on immigration, as well as on travel abroad. As we saw in ­chapter 5, the Athenian Stranger takes this approach with the city of Magnesia. Given the nature of human beings, perhaps it is often times necessary to pursue this path. What is necessary is not always what is best, though.26 While Plato’s efforts to grapple, genuinely, with the promise and peril of cultural diversity may leave us perplexed about the proper political solution (or, indeed, whether there is one), his assessment of the problem makes clear that a life of isolation in the cave is nothing to celebrate. Contrary to the views of some, the end goal or the ideal should not be homogeneity and segregation—​nor will such isolation save us from conflict and doubt. Instead, Plato’s dialogues hint that we should aim to pattern our souls on the multi-​noted and multicolored harmony of the cosmos. Even if only a philosophical people—​that is, a community of true lovers of wisdom—​could come close to playing the cosmic music, this mythical vision of diversity with harmony should nevertheless serve as our guide.27 In the end, discovering the notes of this divine arrangement may require us to seek out, as Socrates recommends in the Phaedo, the singers of philosophical things from across the caves. Fortunately, the journey has already begun.



26 Cf. Plato, Laws 628c–​d.

27 See Plato, Theaetetus 176a–​77a.

Bibliography Primary Sources In addition to the works of Plato, this book cites the following primary sources: Aeschylus. The Persians Aeschylus. Prometheus Bound Anacreon. Poems 358, 360, and 417 Apollodorus. Bibliotheca Aristophanes. Acharnians Aristotle. The Athenian Constitution Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle. Politics Aristotle. Rhetoric Aristotle. On Sense and the Sensible Cicero, Marcus Tullius. De Legibus Demosthenes. Oration 60 Diogenes, Laertius. Lives of Eminent Philosophers Dionysius of Halicarnassus. De Compositione Verborum Euripides. The Bacchae Euripides. Hecuba Gorgias. Funeral Oration Herodotus. Histories Hesiod. Theogony Hippocrates. On Airs, Waters, and Places Homer. The Iliad Homer. The Odyssey Hyginus. Astronomica Hyginus. Fabulae Hyperides. Oration 6 Inscriptiones Graecae Isocrates. Panegyricus Isocrates. To Philip Lysias. Against Pancleon Lysias. Oration 2 Nonnus. Dionysiaca Pindar. Pythian Plutarch. Lives Plutarch. The Malice of Herodotus Plutarch. Pericles Pseudo-​Xenophon (Old Oligarch). Constitution of the Athenians Sappho. Poems 1 and 58 Thucydides. History of the Peloponnesian War Xenophon. Hellenica

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Index Tables and notes are indicated by t and n following the page number. For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. abroad (ekdhmos), 33, 52t Adams, John C., 219–​20 Adeimantus, 108–​9, 110–​11,  232–​33 Adrasteia,  123–​24 Aeschines,  215–​16 Aeschylus, 11–​13, 12n32 “alt-​right” movement, 2n4 Ammon,  225–​26 Anacreon,  207–​8 Anglo-​Protestant culture, in American culture,  235–​36 Annas, Julia, 3–​4 Anubis, 125, 125n59, 234 apoikos/​apoikia (colony), 15, 219 Apollo-​Marsyas myth,  124–​25 Apology (Plato), 4–​5 Archinus, 141n21 Arginusae battle/​trial, 146–​47, 147n32 aristocracy defined, 73 purchased kingships, 74–​75 Aristotle,  16–​17 on music-​color harmony theory,  129–​30 Nicomachean Ethics,  16–​17 pursuit of empire, 108n32 armed camp mentality, 163–​68, 179–​81 artificial reality, 56–​57. See also cave allegory Aspasia, 39, 134–​35. See also Menexenus dialogue autochthony myths through voice of,  145–​53 gadfly-​effect of voice, 134 intersectional approach to identity of, 135 satirical interpretation of, 135–​41 serious interpretation of, 135–​41 view of foreigners, 135

xenos status, 234–​35 Athenian eros, 211–​16 Athenian Stranger, 39–​40, 79–​80, 161–​62, 244–​45, 246–​47. See also Laws dialogue divergence from interlocutors, 166 as foreign gadfly with gentle touch, 163,  168–​76 identity of, 164–​65, 164n6 Athenoconcentric view of foreigners complexity and diversity of, 13–​14 depiction of barbarians, 14n40 Athens autochthony myths, 145–​53 “free spaces,” 24 hostility to foreigners vs. that of Crete and Sparta, 166 inclusion of foreigners in, 21 metics, 21–​24, 21n65 relationship between Thrace and, 19–​21 Atropos,  128–​29 Attic Greek, 234–​35 aulos (musical instrument), 124–​25 autochthony myths, 120–​23, 145–​48 autonomy argument, for cultural diversity,  238–​40 Avgousti, Andreas, 155   Bacchae (Euripides), 11–​13, 12n33 Balot, Ryan, 3–​4, 116 barbarians. See also foreigners Athenoconcentric view of, 14n40 barbarian-​related terms, 42t Greek–​barbarian distinction, 13–​14,  13n38 complexity and diversity of Athenian perception of foreigners, 14n43, 15 military alliances, 19–​21

268 Index barbaros/​barbaroi,  9–​13 “bar-​bar speaker,”  11–​13 inclusion of foreigners in Athens, 21 negative connotation of, 11–​13 role in development of Hellenic identity, 10–​13,  11n29 Barrachi, Claudia, 92–​93 Beard, Mary, 2n4 Bendideia, 98–​99,  126–​27 Bendis, 23–​24, 92–​93, 96, 126–​27. See also Republic dialogue Blondell, Ruby, 31 Bloom, Allan, 69–​70 Bond, Sarah, 2n4 Boreas, 202–​3, 210–​11,  212–​15 Bradbury, Ray, CP. 159–​vi Brann, Eva, 65–​66 Browning, Robert, 10–​11 Brumbaugh, Robert, 129–​30 Burger, Ronna, 223 Butler, Judith, 3–​4   Cadmean victory (Pyrrhic victory), 121n50 Cadmus, 120–​22, 122n53, 227n57 Capture of Miletus, The (Phrynicus),  151–​52 cave allegory divided-​line analogy,  60–​61 in interpolity context, 68–​87 cross-​cave interaction, 82, 84n39 imagining world of caves, 71 implications of allegory, 79 major interpretations of, 58–​68 educational interpretation, 60 epistemic/​metaphysical interpretation, 62 political interpretation, 65 purpose of, 56–​58 Cephalus, 100–​1, 102, 107–​9, 113, 162–​63, 178–​79,  232–​33 Lysias,  200–​1 view of justice, 70, 102, 103–​4, 105–​6 Chalcedon (colony), 69–​70 Chalcideans,  216–​17

cities, 68–​71, 93–​96, 114–​25. See also cave allegory citizenship, 113, 138–​39, 141n21, 199–​200 eros and, 215–​16 Pericles’ citizenship law, 146–​48,  146n31 civic myths (of Athens), 134. See also Menexenus dialogue classical thinking/​philosophy university student’s rejection of Eurocentricism, 2n3 white supremacists’ appropriation of, 1–​2,  2n4 Clay, Diskin, 31, 73n26, 221–​22 Clotho,  128–​29 Collins, Susan, 239 colony (apoikos/apoikia), 15, 219 color cave allegory and, 78, 82 music-​color harmony theory, 129–​30 communitarian argument, for cultural diversity,  237–​38 contradiction, experience of, 112 Corybantes,  206–​7 Cratylus (Plato), 36–​37 Cretans, 165n10 armed camp mentality, 165–​66, 179–​81 fundamental cares of, 166 Kleinias, 161–​63, 165–​67, 169–​70, 171, 172–​75, 177–​78, 179, 181–​82, 185, 187–​88,  192–​93 view of slaves, 192–​93 view of tradition, 39–​40 xenelasia, 181n35 Crito (Plato), 36–​37 cross-​cave interaction, 82, 84n39 cross-​cultural engagement, 85–​87, 86n40 in the armed camp, 163–​68 as catalyst for self-​examination, 96–​102, 162–63, 243–44 comparison of Socrates to foreigner, 199–​200 epistemological benefits of, 130–​31, 200–​5,  242–​44 intellectual humility and, 41 as opportunity for learning, 130–​31

Index  269 philosophic eros, 216–​22 stinging effect of, 162–​63 cultural diversity communitarian argument for, 237–​38 democracy and, 235–​44 epistemological argument for, 241–​44 freedom of choice/​autonomy argument for,  238–​40 Plato’s defense of, 244–​47 pluralist, agonistic argument for,  240–​41 cultural identity, 230–​31n2, 238 culture. See also cross-​cultural engagement constructed nature of, 76–​77 cross-​cave interaction, 82, 84n39 diaita,  76–​77 ethea,  76–​77 nomima,  75–​77 nomoi, 75–​78,  118–​20 nomos, 13–​14, 75n28, 75–​78, 77n35, 118n44 paideia, 65n13, 75n28 Pavlovian response, 77–​78 Cybele, 123–​24,  206–​7 Cyropaedia (Xenophon), 16–​17   Damon moral effects of music, 118 as political advisor, 118–​19n45 Dark City (film), 56–​57 Deïanira, 137n14 democracy, 73, 80–​81 Athens as wise democracy myth,  148–​49 cultural diversity and, 235–​44 democratic model of panharmony, 127–​28,  130–​31 link between freedom and despotism/​ tyranny,  245–​46 musical modes, 119–​20 Piraeus as symbol of, 98 Plato’s view of, 7–​8 Democracy and the Foreigner (Honig), 3–​4,  240–​41 Derrida, Jacques, 226–​27 diaita,  76–​77 Didymus,  171–​72

Dietz, Mary, 26–​28 Dion, 141n21 Dionysus, 11–​13, 12n33, 16–​17, 122–​23,  206–​7 Diotima, 204n14 dissonance eradication of, 240–​41 Kallipolis and, 113, 114–​15 role of Aspasia in exposing, 39, 135, 233 divided-​line analogy, cave allegory, 61,  62–​63 doctrine of ethos, 118 Dorians, 165–​66. See also Cretans; Spartans critique of the Dorian laws, 173–​74 Dorian mode of music, 123–​24 Dover, Kenneth, 215–​16 dramatic context of Plato’s dialogues, 25–​29,  162 Dušanić, Slobodan, 167–​68   echthros (private enemy), 102–​3 ecstasy, 203n11 education educational interpretation of cave allegory, 60 Laws dialogue drinking parties and the safeguarding of education, 176–​77 foreigners and the safeguarding of education,  187–​95 lost education of Persians, 185–​86 Egyptians gods/​goddesses Ammon,  225–​26 Anubis, 125, 125n59, 234 Osiris,  226–​27 Seth,  226–​27 Theuth/Thoth, 222–​23, 225–​27 Greek admiration of, 18 myth on writing, 222–​28 ekdhmos (abroad), 33, 52t Eleatic Stranger (Statesman dialogue), 81–​82,  83n38 Eleusinian Mysteries, 203n11

270 Index enktesis, 98 Epinomis,  161–​62 epistemological interpretation cave allegory, 62 cultural diversity, 241–​44 epitaphios logos (funeral oration), 133. See also Menexenus dialogue erastes,  213–​14 eros Athenian eros, 211–​16 eros for logos, 204n14, 206–​7 nympholepsy,  211–​12 philosophic eros, 216–​22 esoteric teaching, defined, 31n96 ethea,  76–​77 ethnocentrism, 9. See also foreigners Euben, J. Peter, 31 Euben, Roxanne, 16n46 Euripides Bacchae (play), 11–​13, 12n33 Hecuba (play), 11–​13 Euthydemus,  100–​1   Fates,  128–​29 female characters. See also Aspasia; Menexenus dialogue Aspasia,  134–​35 Deïanira, 137n14 Diotima of Mantinea, 136–​37n10,  204n14 Helen of Troy, 137n14 Omphale, 137n14 Ferrari, G. R. F., 202, 223–​24 Forde, Steven, 94 foreign enemy (polemios),  102–​3 foreigners. See also barbaros/​barbaroi; xenos/​xenoi benefit of foreign voices, 153–​56 enktesis, 98 gadfly analogy, 4–​6, 40–​41 inclusion of foreigners in Athens, 21 role in encouraging self-​reflective citizenship,  4–​5 Frank, Jill, 6, 115–​16, 171 freedom of choice argument, for cultural diversity,  238–​40 freed slave population, 21–​22, 22n10 “free spaces” of Athens, 24

funeral oration (epitaphios logos), 133. See also Menexenus dialogue   Gadamer, Hans-​Georg,  30–​31 gadfly analogy, 4–​6, 40–​41, 233–​34,  246–​47 Aspasia as in Menexenus,  153–​57 autochthony myths, 145–​53 benefit of foreign voices, 153–​56 breaking spell of Athenian funeral oratory,  141–​45 satirical interpretation, 135–​41 serious interpretation, 135–​41 Garland, Robert, 98 Geertz, Clifford, 76–​77 gender. See female characters Glaucon, 79–​80, 98, 108–​9, 109n35,  232–​33 gods/​goddesses Ammon,  225–​26 Anubis, 125, 125n59, 234 Cadmus, 120–​22, 122n53, 227n57 Cybele, 123–​24,  206–​7 Dionysus,  206–​7 Marsyas,  124–​25 Osiris,  226–​27 Seth,  226–​27 Theuth/​Thoth, 222–​23,  225–​27 Typhon, 40–​41, 203–​4, 209, 221–​22 Zeus, 163, 166–​67, 167n16, 203–​4, 221–​22,  225–​26 Great Speech, 216–​17n33, 216–​21 Greek–​barbarian distinction, 13–​14, 13n38. See also foreigners complexity and diversity of Athenian perception of foreigners, 14n43, 15 military alliances, 19–​21 Greek colonies (apoikiai), 15 Greekness,  234–​35 Gruen, Eric, 16–​17, 151–​52 guardian class, Kallipolis, 73n26, 116–​20,  120n47 guest-​friendship (xenia),  19–​21 Guthrie, W. K. C., 110–​11   Hall, Edith, 11n29 on barbarian influence, 12n33 on Greek–​barbarian division, 79–​80

Index  271 Hall, Jonathan, 14n40 Hecuba (Euripides), 11–​13 Heidegger, Martin, 63–​64 Helen of Troy, 137n14 Hellenic identity, 11–​13, 11n29 Heraclitus, 207n17 Herodotus,  16–​17 culture,  76–​77 Greek–​barbarian distinction,  13–​14 Hesiod (Theogony),  203–​4 Himera,  216–​17 Hippocrates,  13–​14 historical context of Plato’s dialogues, 8–​25 inclusion of foreigners in Athens, 21 revised scholarly narrative, 15 traditional scholarly narrative, 9 History of the Peloponnesian War (Thucydides), 133 Homer,  16–​17 Honig, Bonnie, 3–​4, 240–​41, 241n20 Hunt, Peter, 147n32 Huntington, Samuel, 235–​36   Identity Evropa, 1–​2, 2n4 Iliad (Homer), 16–​17 immigrants. See foreigners intellectual humility, 41 interpolity context of cave allegory, 68–​87 cross-​cave interaction, 82, 84n39 implications of allegory, 79 world of caves, 71 Inventing the Barbarian (Segal), 12n33 irony. See also Menexenus dialogue defined,  140–​41 Platonic/​Socratic irony,  140–​41 Isocrates Panegyricus,  13–​14 speeches, 197   Jarratt, Susan, 137–​38 Joly, Henri, 7n22 justice Cephalus’ definition of, 102, 103–​4 Polemarchus’ definition of, 102–​4 soul-​city-​world analogy,  102–​8   Kallipolis, 73n26 Athenian discordance and, 114–​25

as dystopia, 92–​93 guardian class, 73n26, 116–​20, 120n47 as protreptic, 93–​96 Kasimis, Demetra, 6, 101 Kennedy, Rebecca Futo, 2n4 Kleinias, 161–​63, 165–​67, 169–​70, 171, 172–​75, 177–​78, 179, 181–​82, 185, 187–​88,  192–​93 Konstan, David, 10–​11 Kymlicka, Will, 238–​40   Laches (Plato), 123n56 Lachesis,  128–​29 Laconophilia, 18 Lape, Susan, 3–​4 Larson, Jennifer, 214–​15 Laws (Plato), 32–​33, 35, 39–​40 appealing to the authority of the poets,  170–​73 appearance of harmony in the city, 176,  179–​82 appearance of harmony in the soul,  176–​79 attack and defense of symposia, 174–​78 censorship,  181–​82 closed society, 161–​62 critique of the Dorian laws, 173–​74 cross-​cultural dialogue in the armed camp,  163–​68 cross-​cultural engagement,  162–​63 divine vs. human origin of laws, 182, 184 “do not move the immovable,” 164, 164n5 dramatic date of, 167–​68 drinking parties and the safeguarding of education,  176–​77 external aggression and destruction of internal harmony, 182–​87 foreigners and the safeguarding of education,  187–​95 foreign visitors and immigrants, 193–​94,  194t foreign wars, 187–​88, 194t Magnesia, 161–​62, 187, 188–​92, 193–​94,  194t main characters of, 164–​66 mixed authority and freedom, 184–​87

272 Index Laws (Plato) (cont.) moderation and old age, 177–​79 orientation from war toward friendship with foreigners, 168–​70 setting for, 166–​67 Stranger as foreign gadfly with gentle touch, 163, 168–​76 treatment of foreigners, 188–​89, 193–​94,  194t legal speeches digression, 197 exordium, 197, 198 peroration, 197 prothesis, 197 refutation, 197 logistikon (philosophic part of soul), 116–​17 logographic necessity principle, 29–​37 Loraux, Nicole, 133 Lysias, 113, 199–​200, 204–​5 Lysias’ speech, 205–​11 Republic dialogue, 100–​1 Socrates’ speech compared to Lysias’ speech,  211–​16   Macedonians, 15 Magnesia, 161–​62, 187, 188–​92, 193–​94,  194t Markovits, Elizabeth, 131 Marsyas,  124–​25 Matrix, The (film), 56–​57 Megillus, 161–​63, 165–​66, 167–​68, 168n19, 173–​76, 179, 182, 187–​88,  192–​93 Meletus,  198–​99 Melian revolt, 105 Menexenus (Plato), 1, 32–​33, 34, 39,  133–​35 authenticity of, 136n5 autochthony myths, 145–​53 benefit of foreign voices, 153–​56 breaking spell of Athenian funeral oratory,  141–​45 satirical interpretation, 135–​41 serious interpretation, 135–​41 metaphysical interpretation of cave allegory, 62 metics (resident aliens), 21–​24, 21n65, 46t. See also foreigners Milesians, 145. See also Aspasia

Miletus,  151–​52 military alliances, 19–​21 Mill, John Stuart, 241–​42 Mitchell, Joshua, 177 Mitchell, Lynette, 14n43 Monoson, Sara, 154–​55 Moreau, Nina Valiquette, 117–​18 Morrow, Glenn, 167 music doctrine of ethos, 118 Dorian mode, 123–​24 Ionian mode, 123–​24 Lydian modes, 123–​24 moral effects of, 118–​19 musical education of guardian class of Kallipolis, 116–​20, 120n47,  122–​24 music-​color harmony theory,  129–​30 nomoi and, 119–​20 Phrygian mode, 123–​24 poetry and, 117n42, 120–​21 Socrates’ rejection of panharmonic instruments,  124–​25 Myletidai,  216–​17 Myth of Er, 93–​94, 125, 127–​29, 130–​31,  220–​21 myths of Athens, 145–​53 Athenian innocence/​ benevolence,  149–​52 Athens as wise democracy, 148–​49 autochthony myths, 145–​48   Nails, Debra, 213n23 nature (phusis),  76–​77 Nazis,  1–​4 networks, 15 Nichols, Mary, 6, 223–​24 Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle),  16–​17 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 232n3, 241 Nightingale, Andrea, 15–​16, 226–​27 nomima,  75–​77 nomoi, 75–​78,  118–​20 nomos, 13–​14, 75n28, 75–​78, 77n35, 118n44 Nussbaum, Martha, 6 nymphs,  211–​13

Index  273 Odyssey (Homer), 16–​17 oligarchy,  80–​81 defined, 73 juntas,  74–​75 purchased kingships, 74–​75 Thirty Tyrants, 19–​21, 98, 113–​14 Omphale, 137n14 On Airs, Waters, and Places (Hippocrates),  13–​14 Ong, Rory, 137–​38 On Liberty (Mill), 241–​42 Open Society and Its Enemies, The (Popper),  3–​4 Oreithuia,  212–​13 Osiris,  226–​27 Ostwald, Martin, 75–​76   paideia, 65n13, 75n28 paiderastia,  211–​16 Pan,  220–​22 Panegyricus (Isocrates), 13–​14 Pangle, Thomas, 170–​71 panharmony,  126–​31 democratic model, 127–​28, 130–​31 philosophic model, 127–​28 Panhellenic world, 15 panpipe (syrinx),  220–​21 Pappas, Nickolas, 151 Parmenides (Plato), 201n7 Pausanias, 180 Pavlovian response, 77–​78 Peloponnesian War, 19–​21, 99–​100,  190n43 conquest of Syracuse, 113 granting citizenship during,  146–​47 role of Miletus in, 150 Pericles, 133–​34, 135–​38, 136n9, 138–​ 39n17, 142–​43, 166 citizenship law, 146–​48, 146n31 distinction between Spartans and Athenians, 151 expansionism, 152, 153–​54 perspective on funeral oratory, 144 Pericles the Younger, 146–​47, 146n31 Persians, 149–​50, 184–​85n37 conquest of Miletus, 151–​52 Cyrus, 16–​17,  185–​86 Darius,  185–​86

evidence of Greek admiration of, 18 lost education, 185–​86 Pausanias and, 13–​14, 180 role in development of Hellenic identity,  11–​13 Thargelia and, 137n14 view of Greeks, 189–​90 xenia relationship, 19–​21 Xerxes, 11–​14, 12n32, 184–​86n38,  185–​86 Persians, The (Aeschylus), 11–​13, 12n32 Persian Wars, 11–​13, 133, 149–​50, 184–​85n37,  189–​90 Phaedo (Plato), 70 Phaedrus (Plato), 29–​30, 32–​33, 50,  53–​55 Athenian eros, 211–​16 Egyptian myth on writing, 222–​28 Lysias’ speech and, 205–​11 philosophic eros, 216–​22 traveling outside to learn what lies within,  200–​5 philosophic eros, 216–​22 philosophic model of panharmony,  127–​28 Phoenicians, 122n52 influence on Greek alphabet, 18–​19 Phoenician Tale, 120–​21, 120n47 proxenia,  19–​21 Phrynicus,  151–​52 phusis (nature), 76–​77 Piraeus, 38–​39, 92–​93. See also Republic dialogue Bendideia, 98 cross-​cultural engagement,  96–​102 metics,  22–​23 Platonic/​Socratic irony,  140–​41. See also names of specific dialogues platonist, 31 pleonexia, 115–​16, 183–84 pluralist, agonistic argument, for cultural diversity,  240–​41 Plutarch,  16–​17 poetry depiction of Thracians in Greek poetry,  126–​27 modern understanding versus ancient Greek understanding of, 30n94 music and, 117n42, 120–​21

274 Index Polemarchus, 103n26, 107–​9, 108–​9n33, 163,  232–​33 death of, 113 Republic dialogue, 99–​104 view of justice, 69–70, 102–​4 polemios (foreign enemy), 102–​3 polemos (war), 48t. See also Peloponnesian War; Persian Wars political interpretation of cave allegory, 65 Popper, Karl, 3–​4, 161–​62 power struggle, cave allegory, 66–​68 private enemy (echthros),  102–​3 Prometheus,  225–​26 “proto-​racism,” 13n38 proxenia,  19–​21 puppeteers, cave allegory, 4–​5, 37–​38, 65–​ 66, 66n18, 72–​73, 228–​29 Pyrrhic victory (Cadmean victory), 121n50 Pythagoras’ theory, 128–​29   quantitative linguistic analysis of dialogues,  33–​34 abroad-​related terms, 52t barbarian-​related terms, 42t colony-​related terms, 50t foreigner/​guest-​friend-​related terms, 44t frequency of terms relative to the total word count of each dialogue, 54t metic/​resident alien-​related terms, 46t war-​related terms, 48t   racists/​racism Greek–​barbarian distinction, 13–​14,  13n38 complexity and diversity of Athenian perception of foreigners, 14n43, 15 military alliances, 19–​21 “proto-​racism,” 13n38 white supremacists’ appropriation of classics, 1–​2, 2n4 Rawls, John, 238 Redfield, James, 16n46 regime types aristocracy, 73, 74–​75 character of polis and, 73–​74

democracy, 73, 80–​81 Athens as wise democracy myth,  148–​49 cultural diversity and, 235–​44 democratic model of panharmony, 127–​28,  130–​31 link between freedom and despotism/​tyranny,  245–​46 musical modes, 119–​20 Piraeus as symbol of, 98 Plato’s view of, 7–​8 movement between, 74–​75 oligarchy,  80–​81 defined, 73 juntas,  74–​75 purchased kingships, 74–​75 Thirty Tyrants, 19–​21, 98, 113–​14 timocracy, 73, 80–​81, 81n37 Crete and Sparta, 119–​20, 162, 163, 166 musical modes, 119–​20 tyranny, 73, 80–​81, 245–​46 religious ecstasy, 203n11 Republic (Plato), 1–​2, 32–​33, 35–​36, 38–​39, 91–​96,  161–​62 becoming friends with foreign sophists,  108–​14 cave allegory divided-​line analogy,  60–​61 educational interpretation, 60 epistemic/​ metaphysical interpretation, 62 in interpolity context, 68–​87 musical education of guardians in Kallipolis, 116–20, 120n47, 122–24​ political interpretation, 65 cross-​cultural engagement,  96–​102 Myth of Er, 93–​94, 125, 127–​29, 130–​31,  220–​21 panharmony,  126–​31 soul-​city-​world analogy,  102–​8 resident alien, 21–​24, 21n65, 46t. See also foreigners revised scholarly narrative, 15 Rhodes, James, 225–​26 Rinella, Michael, 203n11 Roochnik, David, 6, 93–​94, 131

Index  275 Rosen, Stanley, 67–​68, 112   Salkever, Stephen, 140–​41 Sallis, John, 67–​68 Sappho,  207–​8 satirical interpretation, Menexenus dialogue,  135–​41 Saxonhouse, Arlene, 3–​4 Schlosser, Joel, 6 Sears, Matthew, 19–​21 Segal, Charles, 12n33 self-​examination, platonic,  222–​28 serious interpretation, Menexenus dialogue,  135–​41 Seth,  226–​27 Seventh Letter (Plato), 26n84 shackles, of prisoners in cave allegory,  65–​66 Sirens’ harmony, 128–​29 slave population in Athens, 21–​23 Cretans’ view of, 192–​93 Spartans’ view of, 192–​93 Sobak, Robert, 24 Socrates, 163 “by the dog” oath, 125, 125n59, 234 Charmides dialogue, 92n1 defense speech, 197–​98 distinguishing historical Socrates from character Socrates, 28–​29 educational interpretation of cave allegory, 60 final conversation, 70 on living by principles, 32n101 military service, 202 presentation of self as gadfly, 4–​5,  198–​99 Sophist (Plato), 36–​37 sophists,  38–​39 becoming friends with foreign sophists,  108–​14 Thrasymachus, 101–​2, 104–​9, 108–​9n33, 111, 111n36, 112, 144–​45,  232–​33 Socrates’ comparison to lion, 107n31 view on justice, 69–​70

Spartans, 165n10 armed camp mentality, 165–​66, 179–​81 fundamental cares of, 166 Megillus, 161–​63, 165–​66, 167–​68, 168n19, 173–​76, 179, 182, 187–​88,  192–​93 Pausanias, 180 view of slaves, 192–​93 view of tradition, 39–​40 xenelasia, 151, 181n35 Spartoi,  121–​22 “spectator theory of knowledge,” 16 spindle of Necessity (in Myth of Er),  128–​29 spirit (thumos),  116–​17 Statesman (Plato), 36–​37, 81–​82, 83n38 Stesichorus, 210–​11, 216–​17n33, 216–​17,  218–​19 Strauss, Leo, 28–​29, 31, 31n96, 167,  168–​69 sun simile, cave allegory, 63–​64 Swearingen, C. Jan, 137–​38 syrinx (panpipe), 220–​21   Tanner, R. G., 61 Taylor, Charles, 237 Theaetetus (Plato), 1 Thebes,  122–​23 Theognis,  171–​72 Theogony (Hesiod), 203–​4 theorems, defined, 32 theoria, practice of, 15–​16, 26–​28 Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG), 33 Theuth/​Thoth, 222–​23,  225–​27 Thirty Tyrants, 19–​21, 98, 113–​14 Thracians. See also Bendis in Athens, 22–​23 Bendideia, 98, 126–​27 Bendis,  23–​24 characterizations of, 11–​13 depiction of in Greek poetry, 126–​27 relationship between Athens and Thrace,  19–​21 Thrasymachus, 101–​2, 104–​9, 108–​9n33, 111, 111n36, 112, 144–​45, 232–​33 Socrates’ comparison to lion, 107n31 view on justice, 69–​70

276 Index Thucydides, 180 depiction of Thracians, 11–​13 Greek–​barbarian distinction,  13–​14 History of the Peloponnesian War, 133 thumos (spirit), 116–​17 Timaeus (Plato), 36–​37 timocracy, 73, 80–​81, 81n37. See also Cretans; Spartans Crete and Sparta, 119–​20, 162, 163, 166 musical modes, 119–​20 TLG (Thesaurus Linguae Graecae), 33 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 244 traditional scholarly narrative, 9 Truman Show, The (film), 56–​57 truth, notions of, 219n38, 225–​26, 241n20 cave allegory, 63–​64 in the Great Speech, 217–​19 ultimate truth, 241 Typhon, 40–​41, 203–​4, 209, 221–​22 tyranny, 73, 80–​81, 245–​46 Tyrtaeus,  170–​73   Unite the Right rally, 1–​2   virtue, concept of, 73n26, 75n28, 153–​54, 172–​73, 192, 195–​96, 241 Vlassopoulos, Kostas, 15, 24 Voegelin, Eric, 4n15   Walbank, F. W., 9–​10 Wallace, Robert, 118–​19

war (polemos), 48t. See also Peloponnesian War; Persian Wars Waterfield, Robin, 223–​24 West, M. L., 18–​19 white supremacists, 1–​2, 2n4 Who Are We? (Huntington), 235–​36 writing benefit of, 227n58 Egyptian myth on, 222–​28 origin of, 227n57   xenelasia, 151, 165–​66 xenia (guest-​friendship),  19–​21 xenophobia. See also foreigners arguments against Platonic xenophobia,  5–​6 causes of, 230–​31n2, 230–​31 in classical Greek political thought, 3–​4 Xenophon,  16–​17 xenos/​xenoi. See also foreigners Aristotle,  26–​28 Aspasia, 153–​54,  234–​35 defined,  9–​11 inclusion of foreigners in Athens, 21 Xerxes, 11–​14, 12n32, 184–​86n38,  185–​86   Zelcer, Mark, 151 Zeus, 163, 166–​67, 167n16, 203–​4, 221–​22,  225–​26 Zuckert, Catherine, 167–​68