Plato's Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion 2019941417, 9780198803386

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PLATO

Panos Dimas

+

DIALOGUE

Russell E. Jones

PROJECT

*

Gabriel R. Lear

Plato’s Philebus

Plato’s Philebus A Philosophical Discussion Edited by PANOS DIMAS, RUSSELL E. JONES, AND GABRIEL R. LEAR

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

Great ClarendonStreet, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom 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. Oxfordis a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK andin certain other countries © theseveral contributors 2019 The moral rights of the authors have been asserted First Edition published in 2019 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. Nopart 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 licence or underterms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the aboveshouldbe sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the

address above You mustnotcirculate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Dataavailable Library of Congress Control Number: 2019941417

ISBN 978-0-19-880338-6 DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0001 Printed and boundin Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A. Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in anythird party website referenced in this work.

Preface

During a meeting at the Norwegian Institute at Athens in December2013,Pierre Destrée, Susan Sauvé MeyerandI agreed that Plato scholarship would profit from an undertaking similar in scope and aim to the Symposium Aristotelicum. Fully appreciative of the fact that the Platonic dialogues pose a different and more complex interpretative challenge than do the various Aristotelian texts, we nonetheless concluded that the potential rewards of such an undertaking madeit worthwhile. We proceeded to consult with Francesco Ademollo, Christoph Horn, Gabriel Richardson Lear, and Marco Zingano, who endorsed the idea and accepted our invitation to join in the effort to realize the plan. Thus the Plato Dialogue Project (PDP) cameto be, with the seven ofusas its steering board. Ouraim is for the Plato Dialogue Project to becomea central research forum for Platonic scholarship. We plan to hold meetings every third year at different research institutions around the world, with each meeting devoted to a single Platonic work. For each meeting, the text is divided in sections, with each portion assigned to a scholar whohasbeen invited to write a paper aboutit. The papers are presented at the meeting, where they receive feedback andcriticism from the assembled participants, and are subsequently revised for publication in a single volume. Central to this enterprise is the concern that the entire Platonic text under study, not just selected parts, be subject to rigorous philosophical analysis. The Plato Dialogue Project hadits first session at the Anargyrios and Korgialenios School in the Isle of Spetses, Greece in September 2015. The Norwegian Institute at Athens hosted the meeting and wearegrateful for its support. The text chosen was the Philebus and the volumebefore youis the result of those deliberations. In addition to the contributors to the volume, the participants included Francesco Ademollo, Paul Kalligas, Keith McPartland, Franco Trivigno, and Marco Zingano.

The PDPsteering board: Francesco Ademollo, Pierre Destrée, Panos Dimas, Christoph Horn, Gabriel Richardson Lear, Susan Sauvé Meyer, Marco Zingano On behalf of the steering board: Panos Dimas

Acknowledgments First Meeting of the Plato Dialogue Project, Spetses, September 1-4, 2015 1.

mee

Contents

Revelations of Reason: An Orientation to Reading Plato’s Philebus Sean Kelsey and Gabriel Richardson Lear

. Rethinking the Contest Between Pleasure and Wisdom: Philebus 11a-14b Katja Maria Vogt

17

. Division and Classification: Philebus 14c-20a Paolo Crivelli

34

. WhyPleasure and Reason are not the Good: Philebus 20b-23b

55

Susan Sauvé Meyer . The Fourfold Division of Beings: Philebus 23b-27c Mary Louise Gill

71

. Intelligence as Cause: Philebus 27c-31b

90

Hendrik Lorenz

. The Independenceof the Soul from the Body: Philebus 31b-36c

106

Satoshi Ogihara

. Two Waysin which Pleasures can be False: Philebus 36c—42c

124

Panos Dimas

. Putting the “Stroppies” to Work: Philebus 42c-47d

141

Giles Pearson 10. Plato on Pleasures from Comedy: Philebus 47d-50e

163

Pierre Destrée 11.

Truth, Beauty, Purity, and Pleasure: Philebus 50e-53c

184

James Warren

12. The Final Attack on Hedonism: Philebus 53c-55c

202

Spyridon Rangos 13.

Knowledge and Measurement: Philebus 55c-59d Jessica Moss

219

viii

CONTENTS

14. Cooking Up the GoodLife with Socrates: Philebus 59d-64c

235

Russell E. Jones 15. The Dialogue’s Finale: Philebus 64c-67b Verity Harte

253

Bibliography Index

269 279

Acknowledgments The editors would like to thank the team at Oxford University Press, especially Peter Momtchiloff, Markcus Sandanraj, Brian North, and April Peake. They also thank Patricia Marechal and Joshua Trubowitz for their help with the bibliography andindex, respectively. Finally, they thank the contributors to this volume for their collaboration throughout the process.

First Meeting of the Plato Dialogue Project, Spetses, September 1-4, 2015 List of Participants

Contributors to this Volume Paolo Crivelli, University of Geneva Pierre Destrée, University of Louvain

Panos Dimas, University of Oslo Mary Louise Gill, Brown University Verity Harte, Yale University Russell E. Jones, University of Oklahoma Sean Kelsey, University of Notre Dame Gabriel R. Lear, University of Chicago Hendrik Lorenz, Princeton University Susan Sauvé Meyer, University of Pennsylvania Jessica Moss, New York University Satoshi Ogihara, Tohoku University Giles Pearson, University of Bristol Spyridon Rangos, University of Patras Katja Maria Vogt, Columbia University James Warren, Corpus Christi College, University of Cambridge

Other Contributors to the Plato Dialogue Project Francesco Ademollo, University of Florence Paul Kalligas, University of Athens Keith McPartland, Williams College Franco Trivigno, University of Oslo Marco Zingano, University of Sao Paulo

] Revelations of Reason An Orientation to Reading Plato’s Philebus Sean Kelsey and Gabriel Richardson Lear

The essays comprising this volumeare each focused ona relatively brief section of the Philebus and are arranged in the order of the passages they discuss. They originated in a week-long seminar,the first of the Plato Dialogue Project, in which the contributors were asked to offer an overview of the argumentoftheir passage, focusing on issues of philosophical significance as they saw fit. The conversation continued over subsequent months, as the contributors exchanged written comments on each other’s papers. The result is not and is not intended to be a commentary, nor does it aim to present a unified interpretation. It is instead a series of close, original philosophical examinations, often in conversation with each other, which together provide continuous coverage of the Philebus. Asthe essays in this volumereveal, the Philebus is an extraordinarily creative and profound work of philosophy, addressing questions of philosophical methodology, moral psychology, ontology, and ethics. We cannotvindicate that claim in a brief introduction and in any case that is the cumulative work of the essays which follow, work which it wouldat best be redundant to summarize. Instead,in thinking about howto introduce this volume, we thought it might be useful to say something about how the parts of the dialogue examined in these essays fit together as a whole, both by way of reminder and because, as we explain below, the argumentativeintegrity of the Philebus strikes us as peculiarly elusive (a feeling evidently shared by manyreaders). We diagnose two sourcesofthis difficulty and offer a suggestion—our own,not the contributors’—abouthowtoorient oneself to the dialogical whole of which the passages discussed in these essays are parts. *

*

*

There being worseplaces to start than the end, we begin with Socrates’ last remark in the Philebus, which (apart from a request to be released from the conversation) reads as follows: In any case [the powerofpleasureis] notfirst [in the ranking], not evenif all the cattle and horses andall the other beasts, by their pursuit of enjoyment, should say that it is—trusting in whom,as augursin birds, the many judge pleasures to Sean Kelsey and Gabriel Richardson Lear, Revelations of R An Orientation to Reading Plato’s Philebus. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0001

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AN ORIENTATION TO READING PLATO’S PHILEBUS

be most decisive for ourliving well, and suppose that the longings of beasts are authoritative witnesses, rather than those of the prophetic statements made underthe guidance of the philosophic Muse. (67b1-7)

The remarkis interesting for what it hints about Socrates’ larger objective in the preceding discussion.Earlier, he let slip that he was fed up with the statement that the goodfor us is pleasure (66d-e); here he reveals why he was fed up: not simply because the statementis false, but because its many proponents have morefaith in the testimonyof beasts than of philosophically inspired discourse. This suggests that Socrates’ own aim wasnot merely to reach a conclusion about the statement’s truth (11c), but also to enhance the credibility of his own star witnesses, whose

testimony is revealed by their longings and aspirations. That is to say, Socrates wishes not merely to have the testimony of philosophical arguments put on record,butalso to increase their standing so that his audience will not only hear but also believe them. Wereturn to this suggestion below, because wethinkit is helpful in relation to some aspects of the dialogue many readers have found puzzling. WhateverSocrates’ personal objectives, the discussion’s official agenda is clear enough. Protarchus, having taken over from Philebus the statement that pleasure is good for all animals, must try to show that pleasure is a “condition of soul capable of furnishing a happylife to all human beings” (11d); Socrates must try to show the same about “wisdom”(phronésis).’ In addition,it is agreed that, should someotherthing prove superior to both pleasure and wisdom,then although both Socrates and Protarchuswill stand defeated by “thelife firmly possessed of that,” still, wisdom will be defeated by pleasure (or vice versa), depending on whichis more “akin” (sungenés) to that other (11d-12a, cf. 22d-e). This agenda is made

clear at the outset, and when we cometo the endof the dialogue,it is these same points that are now taken as settled: as Socrates formulates it there, neither pleasure nor wisdom “is the gooditself,” and (as compared to pleasure) “reason” (nous) “is ten-thousand times more akin (oikeioteron) and more attached to the idea of the victor,” i.e., the gooditself (67a).

1. The Dialogue as a Whole Despite this apparent consonance and clarity of purpose, many readers have found it difficult to grasp the project of the Philebus and its argument as a whole. Onedifficulty is that it is not easy to see how the dialogue’s several parts fit together so as to form a single line of argument. Now,it is often an effect of ’ Earlier Socrates claimed that, for those creatures capable of sharing in it, wisdom is better than pleasure, and indeed thatit is “the most beneficial ofall things” (11b-c).

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Plato’s dialogue form that the conversation between Socrates andhis interlocutors meanders from onetopic to another, following a structure that is more narrative than it is deductive. However, in the Philebus Plato seems to emphasizethat there is a single agenda andthat every topic Socrates and Protarchus discuss is necessary or at least helpful for securing Socrates’ conclusion. Thatis to say, Plato raises the reader’s expectation of a clear line of logical connection among the dialogue’s parts. And yet, when we look moreclosely it is often unclear where or how those discussions are putto use. A notorious example of this problem first arises near the beginning of the dialogue,the involved discussion of the “divine method,” which instructs us not to “let go” of the objects of our inquiries (certain “unities”)—not to “release” them “into the unlimited”—before having “told their entire number,”i-e., enumerated all of their finitely many kinds (12b-20a). There are manydifficulties concerning the proper interpretation of the internal dialectic of this passage—how many problems is the divine method supposed to solve and howis it supposed to solve them??—but we focus rather on how the passage as a wholefits into the larger argumentative flow. The discussion of this method is prompted by thefact that the interlocutors’ examination of pleasure founders almost immediately, as Socrates has difficulty securing Protarchus’ agreement to his very first point (namely, that pleasure comes in a variety of forms that are unlike and indeed opposed to one another) (12c-13d). Onecuriosity is that though the principal

causes of this difficulty appear to be “moral”—Socrates complains that they’ve been obstinate, defensive, immature, outrageous, evasive, and partisan (13c-d, 14a-b)—the ensuing discussion of method, which is supposed to help remedy these deficiencies, is introduced as reinforcing a fairly technical point about “one and many,” andis touted for its power of steering clear of various difficulties that this point gives rise to (14c, 16a-b). Even morestriking, after describing this method, and claiming thatit is what distinguishes dialectical from eristic discussion (17a), and declaring that the argument “demands” that they show “how [pleasure and knowledge] each are one and many” (18e-19a), Socrates more or less immediately proceeds to disregard it entirely. Instead, without benefit of having collected or divided either pleasure or knowledge into kinds, he argues that “the good”is neither of them but rather “somethird thing,different from and better than them both” (20b-c). Though the divine method maybenecessary for something, it is apparently not necessary for resolving the first point at issue between Socrates and Protarchus, whether it is pleasure or knowledge that is “capable of furnishing a happylife to all humanbeings.” For that point is resolved

? See Crivelli, this volume, Chapter3, for a novel solution that, among other things, sees Plato as

trying to maintain the unchanging and non-spatial character of genera andspecies by conceiving of “collection” and “division” as matters of identifying relations of subordination and disjunction (as appropriate) among genus, species, andsensible particulars.

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AN ORIENTATION TO READING PLATO’S PHILEBUS

by Protarchus’ intuitive sense that neither thelife of pleasure alone northelife of reason alone would be desirable, with the result that neither pleasure nor reason meets the formal requirement that the good be “complete” (teleon), “sufficient” (hikanon), and unconditionally desirable (20c-d).?

Perhaps the methodis put to use in the ensuing discussion of the winner of “second prize”? Afterall, though Socrates’ very next pointis that this discussionis going to require some other “contrivance”—some new “arrows,” as it were, different from those employed in the preceding discussions—he also remarks that perhaps somewill be the same (23b). The new equipmentitself is apparently the division of all beings into four kinds (unlimited, limit, mixture, and cause),

which Socrates then uses to classify pleasure, reason, and “the mixedlife” superior to both, assigning one each to three of the foregoing four kinds (23b-27c, 27c-31a). But though thefirst part of this discussion certainly does make use of the vocabulary of division, it is far from a straightforward application of the methoddescribed earlier (12b-20a). Socrates turns the methodonitself, treating

someof its structural features—limit, unlimited—as themselves objects to be collected and divided. Several scholars have doubted whether such a procedure allowsfor a univocal sense of “unlimited”; and Socrates himself draws attention to his failure actually to delimit or state the determinate numberof the category of limit itself (26c-d)!*

At any rate, in the second part of this discussion, Socrates (on the strength of the testimony of Philebus) assigns pleasure to the kind “unlimited” and (on the basis of his own argument) assigns reason to the kind “cause,” so as to help settle the question of whether wisdomis better than pleasure. Now,it certainly looked as though “second prize” was going to be awardedto the “cause” of the combinedlife (22d). But—andhere is a second example of the problem weare discussing—the argument that assigns reason to the kind “cause” does not, in fact, decide the contest (notwithstanding the importance Socrates attaches to makingthis assignment correctly (28a)). For it takes them nearly forty Stephanus pages more to reach a final decision. Equally puzzling, the argumentthat assigns reason to the kind causeis in fact an extended discussion of a divine, cosmic reason, which(it is

argued) is responsible for the beautiful order of the cosmos (30c). Fascinating though this maybein itself, however, we might have expected Socrates’ argument to focus on humanreason.° Theresult is an unsettling sense that the foregoing discussion is (at best) out of proportion with its contribution to the particular > Following Meyer, who arguesin her contribution to this volume (Chapter 4) thatthere are indeed

three separate criteria of the good atissue in this passage. * Gill emphasizesthis point in her contribution to this volume (Chapter 5) as part of a larger (and

provocative) argumentagainst the widespreadinterpretationofall limits as harmoniesandall mixtures as good andbeautiful. ° Whetherthis divineintelligenceis the intelligence residing in the world soul oris rather, as Lorenz arguesin this volume (Chapter6), an intelligence transcending the cosmos andpriortoall soul,it is not humanintelligence.

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question that Socrates professes to be engaged uponsettling, as well as considerable unclarity about what precisely the fourfold division of beings is supposed to have accomplished. Maybe we should look for Socrates to employ the divine method in the subsequentdiscussions of pleasure and knowledge;afterall, these are the “unities” that we were led to think require a full accounting in the first place (19a-b), and the discussion of them comprises more than half of the entire dialogue (31b-59d, 59e-64b). This discussion, and especially the discussion of pleasure, is indeed a tour de force: Socrates describes several distinct kinds of pleasure in glorious psychological detail, and also (though to a lesser extent) several kinds of knowledge. But if he is here employing the method described earlier, he hardly emphasizes that fact. For example, the discussion is at least introduced as an inquiry, not into the various kinds of pleasure and knowledge, but into the “seat” and “cause” of each of them respectively (év @ ré éorw Exdrepov abroiv Kai dia Ti ma0os yiyveoBov, 31b). Moreover, though several “kinds” (eidé) of pleasure are

indeed discussed in sequence (note e.g., the transition at 32b-c), there is no obvious attempt at any final “reckoning,” such as would “tell the whole number” of either pleasure or wisdom, nor even (perhaps) to collect either of them under a single, common account.® Again, manyofthe different forms of pleasure, and all of the different forms of “reason” or “wisdom,” are distinguished from one anotherby their varying degrees of “purity” and “truth”—indeed,in retrospectit appearsas thoughthis is precisely what Socrates wasafterall along (55c). Butit is at least not obvious that these are the differences that divide a “kind” (genos) into its “varieties” or “forms” (eidé).’ For example, Socratesearlier spoke as though the

different forms of a kind are formsof that kind equally (e.g., the different colors or shapes are equally colors or equally shapes) (12e-13b);it is at least not clear that he would say the same about varieties of pleasure or wisdom that differ ° Note that though earlier Socrates concedes,in deferenceto the testimony of Philebus, that pleasure and pain belong in the kind “unlimited”(rodrw 5% cou rev drrepdvtwv ye yevous éotwy, 28a), his first point in the later discussion ofpleasure is that its natural “seat” is the combined class (év 7@ cow yever...yiyvecBat kata pdotv, 31c); indeed he goes further, describing pleasureitself as “the natural

path” () xara pvow686s, 32a), ie., “the path to being” of creatures that experience pleasure (1 eis r7)v aita@v odciav 656s, 32b)—descriptions which evoke his earlier characterization of the third kind as

“generation into being” (yéveors eis odaiav, 26d). (We note that the fact that Socrates’ concession to Philebusis just that—a concession—is perhaps anticipated earlier, where he says, pace Philebus, that law and order(i.e., limit), far from “effacing” (doxvaica:) pleasure, has “kept her safe” (d7ocdcaz), 26b-c (though see 41d, where the ‘concession’is recalled and reaffirmed).)

The question of whether or not Socrates articulates or indicates a unified account of pleasure as “filling” or restoration of a harmoniousstate from state of deficiency is a subject of dispute among Ogihara (Chapter 7), Rangos (Chapter 12), and Warren (Chapter 11) in this volume.Itis closely related

to the question, discussed by Rangos, of the sense in which all pleasures, including the pure pleasures, maybesaid to be membersof the unlimited class in the fourfold ontology. ” However, as Moss notesin her contribution to this volume (Chapter 13), comparing kinds of knowledgein termsoftheir relative purity does suggest that there is some unified account applicable to them all in some wayorother. Accordingto her interpretation, knowledgeis in every case a matter of measuring or perhaps more generally grasping limits.

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AN ORIENTATION TO READING PLATO’S PHILEBUS

substantially from one anotherin purity or truth.* Once again,then,the dialectical method discussed at such length does not obviously find a straightforward application in the dialogue. To beclear, we are not insisting that Socrates makes no use of this method, or that he nowhere collects or divides either pleasure or knowledge into one or more determinate kinds; our point is just that the method does not shape and control the subsequent discussion in the way weare led to expect, by the fanfare with which it is introduced, by the length at whichit is described, and by the importanceassignedto it, as shown by the exampleof those contemporary “savants,” whom “the intermediate [kinds] escape” (ra peoa adrods éxgevyet), which kinds “makeall the difference for whether or not a discussionis conductederistically” (ofs diaxeyasprora: 76 Te SuadexTiKads TAAL Kal TO éptoTLKaS

Hpas trovetaba pds GAAHAOUs Tods Adyous, 17a). To be sure, there are several ways one might try resolving the interpretive challenge this poses—indeed, several essays in this volume make important contributions to our understanding in this regard.’ Our pointis simply thatit is indeed a challenge. Even morestriking with respect to the larger point we are making:it is not clear how the magisterial discussions of pleasure and knowledge themselves contribute to the final decision about pleasure and wisdom (and this despite Socrates’ remark, concerning the discussion of false pleasures, that “perhaps we'll use this” in reaching final decision (41b, cf. 32c-d, 44d, 50e, 52e)). Recall how that

argument goes: Socrates wants to determine which of pleasure or knowledgeis more akin to the good. To do that he mustfirst identify the good, something he proposes to do by mixing pleasure and knowledge into a good life and seeing wherethatlife’s goodnesslies. Now, the fact that the different varieties of pleasure and wisdom are not equally “pure” or “true” certainly bears on the composition of * Consider that the lowest form of knowledge in the Philebus—practices which “the manycall crafts”—is a matter of empeiria (experience) and tribé (knack), rather than of measurement (55e-56a).

In the Gorgias, Socrates argued that such practices were notin fact crafts at all, but only appearto be. Has he changed his mind? Again, Socrates does claim that “what takes pleasure,” whether rightly or wrongly,“really does take pleasure” (76 ddpevor, ave 6p0ds dvre pur} pOas RdnTaL, 7d ye dvTws YSeo0ar diAov cbs obdemore arroAei, 37b); still, he also claims that some pleasures are false, “being laughable imitations of true ones” (uepipnuevar tas dAnOets emi Ta yeAowdTepa, 40c). If these “caricatures” of true pleasuresreally are pleasures,is it clear that they are pleasures on an ontological par with the genuine article? ° Consider, for example, D. Frede’s radical response to this problem: “Whydid Socrates so emphasize the demandthat the divisions must be complete and numerically exact, if he did not care to follow this rule himself? And why does hestress that no one who does notfollow the rules is ever to count as competentat anything, if he thereby denigrates his own effort? The mostplausible answeris that Plato wanted to make crystal clear what he is not doing in the Philebus. He wants to leave no doubt that although someuse is made ofthe lawsofdialectic, his investigation of pleasure and knowledge cannot be called dialectic proper [...] By foregoing a systematic dialectical treatmentofall kinds of pleasure and knowledge, the partners forfeit their claim to expertise in thosefields” (1993, xli). By contrast, Fletcher

(2017) explains manyofthe perplexities we have pointed to by casting them as stages of Socrates’ attempt to persuade Protarchus that pleasure is not somesingle kind of thing atall. His failure to collect a unity anddivide it into a determinate numberofkinds is not a failure of his application of the method or a forfeiting of a claim to expertise, but rathera failure of pleasure to be a unified kindofthe sort concerning which there could evenin principle be an expertise.

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the “mixture” that is the good life (59e-64b). Whereasall varieties of knowledge

are admitted, many(all?) of the false and impure formsof pleasure are not. Even so, the decision that wisdom is better than pleasure is not based on wisdom’s

making a “greater” or even “better” contribution to that mixture.’® No, that decision is reached by comparing pleasure as a whole and wisdom as a whole (without explicit reference to their several varieties) to the good-makingtriple of truth, measure, and beauty (65a-66c). Moreover, even though mixing the goodlife requiresattentionto the fact that there are manydifferent kinds of pleasure and of knowledge, Socrates’ characterization of these kinds here is not nearly as finegrained as his previous discussions permit. Those discussions are far more intricate and involved than is strictly required by the logic of his argument. Wehavebeentrying to convey something of whyreaders have foundit difficult to see how the Philebus hangs together—howits various parts combine to make a moreorless single, linear, and coherent case for the dialogue’s official conclusions. Those conclusions (again) were two:first, that “the” good is neither wisdom nor pleasure, and second, that wisdom is better—“shares in a greater portion of the good,” “is many-times moreakin to the idea ofit” (60b, 67a)—than pleasure. The difficulty might be put as follows. First, the official arguments for these conclusions, which take up but a fragment of the dialogue (20b-22c and 64c-67b), do not obviously draw any of their premises from any of the dialogue’s other main sections: not from the discourse on method (12b-20a), not from the fourfold

classification of beings and its application to pleasure and reason (23c-31a), not even from the long discussions of pleasure and reason themselves (31b-59d).

Second,neitheris it obvious how these mainsections interact with and depend on one another.It is therefore difficult to grasp what rationally persuasive work these various discussions are intended to do. To besure,they are all obviously relevant to the dialogue’s broader topic. Whatis perplexing is ratherthat, in those passages containing the dialogue’s crucial argumentative cruxes, Socrates does not explicitly appeal to any specific claims established or examined previously.’ We emphasize that none of this in any way denigrates the inherent philosophical interest of these discussions (no doubt that is why the discussionsof dialectic and of pleasure have been the objects of particular scholarly attention). Still, if they do not provide premises or methodologies for later arguments, how exactly are they

’° Webelieve this is so even if, as Jones argues in this volume (Chapter 14), the “mixing” passage

shows that knowledge has a structurally important role in the goodlife not played by pleasure. To anticipate a suggestion we will make shortly, the mixing passage does indeed show the superiority of knowledgeto pleasure, butit is not the official argument for this conclusion. " For example, though oneof the most distinctive features of Socrates’ approach to pleasure is to argue that manyofits formsare “false,” when it comes time to decide which pleasures are to be mixed into the goodlife, the pleasures that are refused entry, though contrasted with those pleasures that are “true” and “pure,” are described as “greatest” (megistas) and “most intense”(sphodrotatas), and are

rejected on the grounds,not that they are “false,” but that they are constant companionsof folly and vice (det per’ dgpootyys Kai THs GAAns Kaxias éropévas, 63e).

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AN ORIENTATION TO READING PLATO’S PHILEBUS

intended to contribute to establishing the dialogue’s “official” conclusions? Some might attribute Plato’s lack of precision about the overarching argumentto the fact that the Philebus was likely written late in his life, when his artistic powers were beginning to wane;’” his makrologia (as it might seem) on thetopics of dialectic, cosmic nous, and pleasure mightbe attributed to the fact that at this late stage he had manyideas he wantedto put into writing somewhere and the theme of this dialogue provided a relevant venue. We consider these explanations to be interpretationsof last resort.’? Wewill offer an alternative in a moment,butfirst let us examine a second problem facing readers of the Philebus.

2. The Importance of Placing Second Normally, a good way of grasping the logical structure of a discussion is to get clear on whatits point is. But the second problemis figuring out what exactly the project of this dialogueis.’* A few thingsare clear. First, in the Philebus Plato hasa familiar figure (Socrates)

returning to a familiar theme, viz. the contest between two ways oflife, one devoted to pleasure, the other to philosophy.It is true that here the contestants are largely shorn of associations prominentin other dialogues: for example, the association of philosophy with justice, or of pleasure with tyranny (the aspiration

for which is sometimes disguised as ambition for political distinction).’° But though the setting and preoccupations of the Philebus are, by contrast with many other dialogues, markedly “a-political,” its principal topic is a familiar one. Forit is at least arguable that the teaching of (say) the Gorgias or Republic is that while the happy and just are marked by their commitment toreality or truth, the unjust and unhappyare at bottom driven on by desire for pleasure. Second,in treating its topic, the Philebus showsrelatively little interest in what we might call “the” good,i-e., the very form or idea of goodness, the gooditself. Forits declared focus, from the very beginning,is limited: not the good as such,

but the good for us, for us living creatures, above all for us human beings.’® ” Wethank Rachel Barney for pushing us to consider this possible explanation, mentioned also in Barney (2016, 209) in connection with another odd momentin the argumentof the Philebus.

1 See likewise Crivelli (2012, 8), whorejects this sort of explanationfor a similar problem about how to understand the relevance of the “divine method” to the puzzles raised about the “unities” as

“uncharitable.” '* This problem andthe related problem ofgrasping whatis special about the approachto ethics in the Philebus are addressed by several essays in this volume, especially Vogt (Chapter 2), Meyer (Chapter4), Jones (Chapter 14), and Harte (Chapter15).

® Though the unexpected reference to Gorgias at 58a-c suggests that political concerns are somehowatissue in the dialogue. *6 This point is emphasized by Vogt, whoarguesin her contribution to this volume(Chapter 2) that this starting point allows Plato to adopt a novel approach to familiar ethical themes, an approach focused ontheplurality of good making features of the happy humanlife andcalling upon a distinctive metaphysics of mixture.

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So, what Socrates and Protarchusare to prove about pleasure or wisdomisthat it is “the condition of soul capable of makinglife happy for all human beings” (€év puyns kal didBeow... rHv Suvapevnv avOpwmois waot Tov Biov eddaipova Tapéxerv) (11d). It is true that the Philebus does contain some remarks that are at least

ostensibly about “the” good: for example,thatit is perfect, choiceworthy, and good in every way, or that it may be grasped bythe triple of beauty, measure, and truth (20d-21a; 61a, 64e-65a). But these remarksare in the service of points about the

human good,i.e., a good that “inhabits” a kind of humanlife, a “mixture” of both pleasure and wisdom.’” Third, and perhaps mostdistinctively, the bulk of the Philebus is addressed to the comparative value of pleasure and wisdom.It’s agreed fairly early that neither wins “gold”: thatis, that neither is “the” good for us humanbeings. Thereafter the question is which will win “silver’—a question Socrates apparently cares more about than which(if either) wins “gold” (22a)!

It’s just here, we believe, that difficulties arise about making sense of the larger project of the Philebus as a whole. Onedifficulty is simply about what question this is, ie., about the criterion by whichit will be decided. Though in placesit looks as though the question is causal, with second prize going to the item “responsible for” the mixed life (22d), elsewhere it looks as though it will be decided by similarity or kinship, with second prize going to the item that is “more similar and moreakin” to whateverit is that makes the mixedlife choiceworthy and good (22d)—or(if this is different) to the idea of the good itself (60b)—while in still

other places it looks as though the question is quite simply which is better, with secondprize going to the item that “shares in a greater portion of” the good (67a). So, how many questions is this, and (if they are more than one) how are they related?’* A second difficulty, connected to thefirst, is why care? What doesit matter, theoretically or practically, which takes “silver”? Whyis this more important, at least to Socrates, than which(if either) is “the” good for us humanbeings? Despite the fact that the dramatic scene-setting of the Philebus is spare by comparison with other Socratic dialogues, its protagonists—Socrates and Protarchus—are drawn richly enough for us to see that somethingis at stake for them in the comparative question. This is not the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake alone. So perhaps we can clarify the nature of the project of the Philebus if we can understand why answering the comparative question is practically relevant. It is tempting to assumethat the question is practically relevant insofar as the answerto it makes a differenceto deliberation. This mightbe spelled outin several ways. One possibility, familiar to us, though with no obvious textual support, is

” So, though divine intelligence mayavoid thecriticismsleveled against humanintelligence,thatis irrelevant to their project (22c). 18 See Meyer (Chapter 4) and Harte (Chapter 15) for discussion of these problems. Their debate

focuses in particular on how to understand theidea of being “responsible for” the mixedlife.

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that knowledge of comparative value matters for calculating the optimal choice. Related to this, and with at least some grounding in the text, is that answering the comparative question might help us determine whether any amountofpleasureis worth the loss of knowledge (63d-64a).’? Somewhat differently, if second prize goes to the cause of the mixedlife, perhaps the idea is that we cannotattain the good for humanbeings if we lack the power to “produce” the life in which it “resides,” in which case perhaps the comparative question is important because the answer to it indicates the first step we should take in pursuing the human good, viz. acquire the power of producinga life with the right “mix”of pleasure and wisdom.” Plato mayin fact acceptall these deliberative principles. But the issue is whether discovering deliberative principles or pragmatic strategies is his point in arguing for the superiority of wisdom to pleasure. We would like to suggest that his framing the discussion in termsofathletic competition and prize-giving suggests otherwise. Consider, for example, Protarchus’ view of what is at stake in the question about “silver.” Socrates says that he would “go to the mat” to deprive pleasure of second prize, even more than to deprive her offirst (22c-e); Protarchus concurs in this estimate of therelative stakes, explaining that although,as things now stand, pleasure has taken a fall (she was competing for the victor’s crown), still, were she to be deprived of secondprize too, she would be downright disgraced in the eyes of her lovers (dv tiva Kai druysiav oxoin mpos THY adbris

épaora@v), and that because she would no longer appear so beautiful, not even to them (od8€ yap éxeivois é7’ Gv époiws paivorro Kady) (22e-23a). In saying this,

Protarchus implies that the point of settling the comparative question is not so much to discover deliberative principles as simply to ensure, for its own sake, appropriate honor (or, if Socrates is right, dishonor) to pleasure. Although Socrates is not so explicit, securing honor for wisdom seemsto be his goal as well. In his discussion of the forms of knowledge, for example, he suggests that his purpose is to correct our view of which intellectual accomplishments are “the noblest” (kallista), so as to justify assigning the names “reason” (nous) and “wisdom” (phronésis)\—“names appropriate to the noblest things (kallista)” because they are “names most worthy of honor” (a y’ &v tis Tysjoere uddiora évéuara)—to dialectic rather than rhetoric (59b-d). Despite its alleged usefulness,

rhetoric is an inferior form of reason. This might be an implication of Jones’s interpretation of 61c-64b according to which pure knowledge is shown to beinvariably good, while pleasure is good only onthe condition of the presence of knowledge(see this volume, Chapter 14). 2° This might be an implication of Meyer’s view that secondprize goesto the item that brings about the mixture of knowledge and pleasure (see Chapter 4). A more complicated version of such an account mightalso be built uponthe basis of Harte’s interpretation ofthe final ranking as a rankingofdifferent kinds of cause (see Chapter 15). Even if neither knowledgenorpleasureis the very best good,if they are causally responsible for the happylife to varying degrees andin different ways, that is presumably something a wise deliberator should know.

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Notice that both Socrates and Protarchus associate the superiority question with the question of which contenderappearsto be and intruth is kalon.”’ Kalon is a word that can refer to physical beauty, but also to a more spiritual splendor (for which reason it is often translated as “noble” or “fine”).?? We might say that the kalon is excellence manifest: it deserves honor and praise becauseit is excellent andit elicits honor and praise becauseits excellence is manifest. The point of an athletic competition or beauty contest is to reveal the victors’ superiority, to make their excellence manifest; being excellence, when revealedit will shine, and thereby attract to itself in fact the admiration andpraise thatit justly deserves. Put another way, the point of such a contest is to put the contestants on display, in competitive performance, so that the superior excellence of the winners may be revealed, definitively, not primarily by a final calculation or “tally,” computed afterwards by an impartial and dispassionate “scorekeeper,” but first and foremost by the performanceitself, which is sufficient in its own right, not merely to warrant, but positively to draw to the victors the honor and reverence that their excellence deserves. So understood, there is no expectation that answering the superiority question will make any immediate difference (say) to our deliberations, beyond the decision to give honor whereit’s due.” Oursuggestion, then, is that the point of discussing the superiority question is not primarily to “decide” but more importantly to show whichis better and which is worse, both positively revealing the superior excellence of reason, i.e., making her appear beautiful or noble (kalon), and also—and not least—exposing the inferiority of pleasure, revealing how much of her apparent beauty is merely apparent, inasmuch as so much ofher is accompanied by, or even united with,

unreality, ugliness, and pain.” Read this way, it would be a mistaketo think that 71 Aristotle goes so far as to define the kalon as “whateveris praiseworthy[or praised] becauseitis worth choosing foritself, or whateveris pleasant becauseit is good” (Rhetoric 1366a33-34), but Plato

manifests a similar assumption about the intrinsic connection between the kalon and praise in the Philebus: “It is most just to assign names concerning the noblest (kallista) sorts of thing to the noblest (kallista) things” and “nous and phronésis are names one should especially honor” (59c-d), the

implication being that, in being names one should especially honor, these are the noblest names. 22 As Warrendiscussesin his contribution to this volume (Chapter11), the Philebus containsseveral

remarks about good or proportionate mixture as the metaphysical basis for the kalon. Things that are “beautiful by themselves” are one source of pure pleasure. ?° This interpretation was suggested to us by Broadie (2007, 154-7). However, whereas Broadie’s ultimatepointis (in rather Aristotelian spirit) to criticize Plato for approaching the human goodas an object of contemplation rather than as an objectof practical reason andaction, we believe his moral psychology supports this approach aspractical. 24 As Dimasarguesin his contribution to this volume (Chapter8), the “falseness”offalse anticipatory pleasure is not so much anysort of false content pleasures may have butrather, in particular, the false conception, typical of an intemperate, vicious person, of what healthy equilibirium amountsto. Likewise, when Socrates moves on to discussing the false pleasures arising from the juxtaposition of pleasure, pain, and neutral state and the false mixed pleasures, his point is not simply to reveal an illusory aspect of these experiences, but to unmask the most intense and apparently desirable pleasures as entirely unwholesome. (As Pearson shows in his careful reconstruction of this portion of the dialogue (Chapter 9), this is the point of Socrates’ appeal to those “stroppy” characters whoinsist that pleasure is really just release from pain.) Socrates’ indictment culminatesin the especially bitter

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the object of such an enterprise is purely theoretical, aimed at producing an impersonal and disinterested contemplation and appreciation. On the contrary, a “competition” that puts the respective merits of pleasure and wisdom ondisplay, thereby making them manifest, will immediately involve and engage a variety of affective attitudes—admiration and longing, contempt and disgust—of intense and insistent (though perhaps indeterminate) practical relevance.”It is true that the idea of a “contest” for second prize may strike us as strange, given the prominence of “calculation,” of deliberation and decision, in contemporary moral philosophy. But though reason (of course) is also a central category of Plato’s ethics, it would be a mistake, in his view, to think we cantreat ofits virtues, or win it admiration andtrust, in isolation from character, which grows from processes of emulation and reaches maturity (or so it might be argued) in a kind of self-knowledge. Put another way,it’s important to show that wisdom is superior to pleasure, because it is only if we can be brought to admire wisdom that her aspirations and longings will ever become for us “authoritative witnesses,” so that we become the kind of people for whom deliberation and reasoning are decisive for living well. If the disagreement between partisans of pleasure and philosophy is in part a disagreement about what to honor and admire, then we can understand whyit would be importantto clarify the ranking of goods below first prize. Since lower goodsfindtheir place in the ranking in accordance with their degree of kinship to the best, a mistake about the comparative value of lower goods impliesa failure to appreciate the value of the best good. People may nominally agree about what deservesfirst place but, through disagreements about the ordering of second and third places, reveal that they were appreciating the first place winner in quite different ways. Now,Socrates and Protarchus do not know whatthe best goodis until the end of the dialogue, and not fully even then. Their investigation concerning second prize proceeds in ignorance of what deservesfirst prize, as if they couldsettle the comparative question independently of answering the question about the best good. So Plato’s project in depicting this conversation is unlikely to be that of revealing that hedonism involves an incorrect grasp of the best good. However, there is another, related reason it might be of the utmost importancetosettle the

account of the pleasure of malicious envy (or phthonos, a concept usefully clarified by Destrée in Chapter 10) which, according to Socrates, lies at the heart of the urbane and apparently harmless practice of comedy. ?5 See Barney (2010a)for the argumentthat Plato seeks to transform ourattitude towards the good from desire to appropriate to admiration. She points out that when teenagers develop a crush,their longing is often combined with confusion about what to do about it—should they follow their crush around?Start wearing the same clothes andlistening to the same music? Love desiresits object without laying out a clear deliberative route.

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comparative question: properly honoring things subordinate to the best good enables us to discover what the best good is. Precisely because there is a relation of kinship or likeness amongfirst and subsequent prize-winners, a person who answers the comparative question incorrectly will from the outset be misoriented in the search for the human good.

3. The Logic of Exhibition Wethink that understanding the project of the Philebus in this way, as a conversation aimed at altering Protarchus’ (and our) ethico-intellectual attitudes of

honoring and admiration, also suggests a solution to the first problem weraised, concerning the apparent lack of argumentative motivation for the length and detail of many of the dialogue’s discussions. In brief, we suggest that the logic of the Philebus as a wholeis the logic of an exhibition—in speech—ofpleasure and reason.”* Although thediscussionsof the “divine” method, cosmic nous, pleasure, and wisdom are more intricate than is strictly required by any subsequent argumentSocratesexplicitly makes, their length is entirely appropriate for making the nature of the two contenders manifest in a way that immediately alters our attitudes of admiration andtrust. To see that this is so, let us recall a final curious feature of the dialogue’s structure. Earlier, we pointed out that Socrates seems to say more than his subsequent argumentsstrictly require and that it is unclear precisely how earlier momentsrelate logically to his ultimate conclusions. Note that one reasonfor this unclarity is that the crucial persuasive cruxes of the dialogue centrally turn on Protarchus’ intuition. For example, the identification of the goodis established by combining pleasure and knowledge into a well-mixed life in the hopes that the good will be “more evident” (phaneroteron) in such a mixture (61b). Indeed,it

turns out thatit’s not difficult “to see” (idein) that measure or proportion, beauty, and truth are the cause of the goodness of the mixture (64d-65a). This is not a conclusion which Socrates derives from reasonshearticulates; rather (so Plato

presents it) it is a truth of which Protarchus and Socrates are immediately aware (phaneroteron), once they have gone through the process of mixing pleasure and knowledge into a desirable life. Their previous discussion about mixing seems to have put them in an epistemic position from which the nature of the good manifests itself to their reflection. But notice that Protarchus is able to occupy this position only because he has—in a way that Plato stages quite literally— trusted the testimony of knowledge as it gave voice to its desire not to admit all

?6 Cf. Statesman 277c for the idea that logoi are the medium appropriate for exhibiting (déloun) living creatures andtheir virtues.

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pleasures into the mixedlife indiscriminately, but only certain ones that fit its (wisdom’s) full expression (63d-64a).

Webelieve a similar point holds for the way Socrates and Protarchussettle the superiority question, in the passage which immediately follows. Socrates confirms for Protarchus (what he had already admitted at 59c-d andat 65bsaysis “clear”) that knowledge is “more akin to the best and more praiseworthy among human beings and gods (65b)” than pleasure simply by asking him to compare the two contenders to each element of the good-making triple of beauty, truth, and measure. “Take truth first, Protarchus, take it and look at (blepsas) three things, reason andtruth andpleasure, and having held on to them for a long time answer for yourself whether pleasure or reason is more akin to truth” (65c). He should

then “look at (skepsai) measuredness in the same way and see whether pleasure has moreofit than does wisdom orvice versa” (65d). Despite Socrates’ admonition to take his time, Protarchussays no time is needed (65c); this is an inspection (skepsin) where it is easy to inspect (euskepton, 65d). Protarchus does make a

couple of remarks to justify his assessment of pleasure’s relative lack of kinship to truth, but they take the form of noticing the particular “boastfulness” of erotic pleasures, and of appealing to the gods as witnesses who confirm whathesees. Presumably the lengthy discussionof false pleasures lies behind his judgment, but it is interesting that, in calling pleasure tout court the “most boastful (alazonistaton)of all” (65c), and in focusing on thepleasuresof sex in particular, Protarchus

is going beyond the terminology and examples that Socrates himself used. It seems that their previous discussion has put him in position to “see for himself,” i-e., to extend their previous thinking. Notice, though,that his intuitive judgment is not dispassionate. When Protarchusreflects on reason, it is admiring reflection; and when hereflects on pleasure, his consideration is disdainful. Consider, for example, his assessment of the contenders’ relative kinship to beauty: “No one could ever see (eiden) wisdom andintelligence as ugly,” but “pleasures, on the other hand, especially the greatest ones, when we see (idomen) any one of them being enjoyed and either something ridiculousor incredibly shameful comes from them, seeing (horontes) ourselves we are ashamed andhide and cover them up as muchaspossible, assigning all things like this to night, as if daylight should not see them” (65e-66a). “Pleasures,” he says earlier, are “like children possessing not the slightest bit of reason” (65d). Weare a far cry from an earlier argumentative crux concerning the question whether pleasure or wisdom is the best good. That argumentalso dependedcrucially on Protarchus’ intuition. But back then, Protarchus was so enamored of the charmsofpleasureas to declare that pleasure was all he needed, overlooking, until Socrates broughtit to his attention, that such a life is the life of a mollusk and not of a humanbeing! Socrates’ discussions of dialectic, ontology, cosmic nous, pleasure, and reason have had the effect of transforming Protarchus’ childish delight in eristic and impetuousdevotion to pleasure as well as his judgmentof pleasure’s value. We are

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suggesting that, as Plato depictsit, this change of attitude was necessary in order for Protarchus to grasp the nature of the good as measure, beauty, and truth and then to recognize in reason andpleasure their kinship (orrelative lack thereof) to

those features. There is nothing mysterious or mystical about his newfound insight. Whereas Philebus calls “the loves of beasts” as witnesses to his hedonistic position, Socrates insists that there are no more “authoritative witnesses” than that of “prophetic statements made under the guidance of the philosophic Muse” (67b), which are precisely what he has been offering throughout the dialogue. (Andwe,in turn, direct you to the essays in this volume.) Ourpoint, though,is that Protarchus had to come to admire reason and become moredisdainful of pleasure in order to be persuaded by the claims of reason. Protarchus is not so hopelessly entranced by pleasure as to be beyond the reach of argument (as Philebus is, 11d), but he is willing to defend it as a partisan. Changing his mind must be at the same time a matter of changing his heart. If pleasure’s “allure” derives from her “luster”—thatis to say, her striking appearance ofgoodness—itis natural to suppose that diminishingthat allure will require putting her on display, presenting her in a way that shows whatshereally is, so as to reveal how much of that splendor is merely apparent. True though it may be that “for the person enjoying any thing whatsoever, random though it maybe, therereally is enjoyment” (40d), most of our pleasures are “pretty ridiculous imitations of true ones” (40c), dependingfor their intensity on pain and envy (45b-e; 48bff.); the most intense of them even lead us (absurdly) to insist that the most debauched,

shameful behavioris the height of happiness (47b). Likewise, increasing reason’s allure, at least in the eyes of pleasure’s admirers,will require displaying her true nature, so as to reveal that she derives from the divine principle responsible for the beauty of the cosmos, and that her purest human forms far exceed the sort of empirical guesswork or political machinations that commonly garner the name of wisdom and whosevalueis primarily instrumental. Our suggestion, in short, is to read the better part of the Philebus as a kind of exhibition. Read this way, the point of the discussions of dialectic, ontology, pleasure, and knowledge is not primarily to establish premises which can be combined with other premises so as to draw the conclusion that knowledge is superior to pleasure. Socrates never makes such an argument. Instead, these discussions are intendedto clarify and put on display the contenders so that we can more accurately see what is (or is not) valuable in them. In this way these

discussions contribute towardsaltering ourattitudes, e.g., of admiration andtrust, towardsthe two contestants, at once breaking thespell of the one and earning our respect for the other—not, primarily, by awardingprizes, but in and through the parade of the contestants (a parade orchestrated, magisterially, by reason). Read this way, Socrates’ “project” in the Philebus would be to improve Protarchus’ ethico-intellectual orientation. Various topics are pursued to the extent necessary to enable him to “see” and admire the superiority of knowledge to pleasure and,

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above all, the measure, proportion, beauty, and truth in which the goodresides. After their lengthy displays of pleasure and knowledge,Socrates and Protarchus— and we readers—havestarted ourselves to become witnesses who prophesy “under the guidance of the philosophic Muse,” admiring lovers of whatreally is beautiful and good in humanlife. *

*

*

Weinvite you to read the interpretive essays which comprise this volume for help with understanding the intricacies of these philosophically inspired logoi so that you maysharein the insight they make possible (or, if you disagree with Socrates’ and Protarchus’ ultimate verdict, so that you may understand better why you do). One might reasonably read them in order, which is the order of the passages they discuss. However, our suggestion about howto orient oneself to the dialogueas a whole suggests anotherstrategy as well, of reading these essays in three thematic groups. Harte, Jones, Meyer, and Vogt all address the peculiar nature of the dialogue’s ethical inquiry: what questions it seeks to answer and thecriteria by which it answers them. The magisterial and complex discussion of pleasure is the topic of essays by Destrée, Dimas, Ogihara, Pearson, Rangos, and Warren.Finally, the natureof intelligence, reason, and wisdom is displayedin the passage explicitly devoted to this topic (55c-59d), discussed by Moss,butalso in the discussions of

dialectic, the fourfold ontology, and cosmology, discussed by Crivelli, Gill, and Lorenz, respectively. At the end of the Philebus, Socrates repeats the entire argumentof the dialogue as a “third libation” to Zeus the Savior but Protarchus wants still more: “A little yet remains, Socrates. Surely you won’t go away before we do; Ill remind you of what’s left!” (67b). We like to think these essays would give Protarchus whathe waslooking for.

2 Rethinking the Contest Between Pleasure and Wisdom Philebus 11a—14b Katja Maria Vogt

The Philebusis a philosophical inquiry into the good. The dialogue’s interlocutors interpret this investigation as a project in ethics: they aim to find out whichlife is best for human beings.’ And yet they embrace, withoutrestraint, inquiries in the philosophy of mind, epistemology, physics, and metaphysics. As I will argue, 1la-14b lays the groundwork for this broad conception of ethics.? Two views about the good, familiar from earlier dialogues, compete: that the good is either pleasure or wisdom.’ These views are formulated, however, in terms that are unfamiliar. First, good is explicitly understood as the good for human beings. Second, a wide range of cognitive and affective goings-on in the human mindis mentioned andtherebyflagged as relevant to the current investigation. Third, and picking up on this range, plurality is introduced as a topic that leads directly into metaphysics. This, then, is the view I defend: the Philebus contains a distinctive approach to ethics, one that is—given the difficulties of reconstructing a dialogue that is unabashedly complex and that refuses to take shortcuts—still understudied and underrated. To avoid any unclarity, let me state right away that versions of the ideas that interest me in the Philebus also figure in other Platonic dialogues, and in particular in the Republic, which too covers psychology, epistemology, metaphysics, and more,in the service ofa line of questioning that is primarily ethical. What Note: I am grateful to Panos Dimas, Gabriel Lear, and the editorial board for inviting me to the conferenceleading up to this volume,to all participants for discussion, to Christiana Olfert for written comments, and to Jens Haas for input on several drafts of the paper. Verity Harte, Russell Jones, Gabriel Lear, and Susan Sauvé-Meyer provided much appreciated feedback. * This concern is phrased both in terms of goodness/thebest, and in terms of what makes human lives happy. For the purposes of this chapter, I set aside discussion of the difference and relationship between these questions, treating them instead as broadly speaking one. ? T argue for this, with a view to the dialogue as a whole, in “A Blueprint for Ethics,” chapter 1 of Vogt (2017a), and briefly in Vogt (2010).

> In speakingofearlier dialogues, I stipulate a conventional relative chronology, according to which the Philebus is amongthelatest dialogues. Katja Maria Vogt, Rethinking the Contest Between Pleasure and Wisdom: Philebus 11a-14b. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0002

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I mean byclaiming that the Philebus’s approachtoethics is distinctive is thatit is rich, sophisticated, andself-contained in such a fashionthat the dialogue can serve as the starting-point of ancient-inspired approachesin ethics just as much as the Republic or Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (NE). And though the Philebus shares

much with both of these better known works,it invites lines of investigation in ethics that are not simply the same. Myfocusis on how the Philebus’s approachto ethics is framed at the beginning. Thestructureof this chapteris supplied by the three ways in which, on myreading, the Philebus re-conceivesof a familiar conversation. I start with discussion of good as good-for humanbeings(Section 1). Next I turn to the scope of what ethics must studyif it takes two competing claims about the good for human beings—which I call Revised Hedonism and Reason—asrequiring analysis of the very nature of pleasure and thinking (Section 2). I end with remarks on the way in whichaffective and cognitive activities are, each in their own way,pluralities (Section 3).

1. Good as Good-For Human Beings 1.1 The goodfor all human beings At the beginning of the Philebus, Socrates finds himself in conversation with two interlocutors: Philebus, a proponent of hedonism, and Protarchus, whotakesit upon himself to defend Philebus’ position. Their conversation addresses the question “what is the good?” (Q,as I call it) and two candidate replies, versions

of which are familiar to readers of Plato and other ancient texts: either pleasure or wisdom is the good.” In the Republic, discussion of these twoviewsis flagged as well-worn. Both are taken to be evidently flawed (Rp. VI, 505b-d). Why then do we encounter them in the Philebusas if they were live competitors? Onereason,and thereasonI shall defend,is that we are not simply encountering age-old replies to an age-old question. Instead the Philebus re-thinks both: the question and the competitor responses. This departure is not so dramatic as to make the conversation unrecognizable. Now,as before, the motivation behind Q— the question “whatis the good?”—is to find out whatis good for humanbeings. In a first stab at characterizing the Philebus’s approach, one may say that Plato

* This third part of myanalysis is brief. It introduces topics that are discussed in extenso in later sectionsof the dialogue, and that are properly the subject oflater chapters in this book. Paolo Crivelli’s contribution (Chapter 3) discusses an idea formulated in 14c8, that the way in which pleasure and

knowledge are many implies the paradox that “the many are one and the one many”; the one-many themeis pursued further in section 23b-27c, analyzed in Mary Louis Gill’s contribution (Chapter5). Onthe dialogue’s ranking of kinds of knowledge in 55c-59c,cf. Jessica Moss (Chapter13). > At the beginningof the Philebus, the interlocutorsare as it were in mid-conversation. Presumably, they have alreadyleft behind a simpler conversation, where one may just say what onethinks is good. Onthe question of whether the beginning ofthe Philebus is concerned with what is good or with the good, see Delcomminette (2006).

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forefronts this motivation behind Q. He does not conceive of Q as asking,

immediately, what goodnessis. Instead he pursues,for long stretches ofthe dialogue andin its own right, the question of what makes a humanlife a good humanlife. In a sense, the philosophical concerns relevant to this line of inquiry are familiar. It is a commonplace about early Socratic dialogues that Plato, or Plato’s Socrates, urges readers to care about their souls and to makeaneffort to find out howthey should live. Plato’s Republic is concerned with ourvirtue: whyit is to our advantage to be just, what justice in a human being amounts to, how humansouls (and cities) should be shaped so that we becomevirtuous and happy.In this way, the Republic is naturally read as asking whatit meansforusto lead goodlives. And yet, in the Republic this line of inquiry begins with questions aboutthe just rather than the good; and once it turns to the good, it is immediately concerned with asking whatthe good itself—the Form of the Good—is. The Philebus, on the other hand,sticks to a remarkable degree to the project that is framed at the outset: a study of the human good.° The kind ofethics that is explicitly and emphatically concerned with the human goodis often associated with the NE. Aristotle, according to standard readings, conceives ofethics as an inquiry into the human good and the good humanlife. Herejects, in NE 1.6, whatis taken to be a Platonic accountof the good, according to which the good is the gooditself, one, and separate.” Here goodis universal and univocal: there is one property and predicate ‘good,’ which figures in every true ascription of goodness. Against this, Aristotle introduces multivocity: the goodis “said in many ways.” Famously and amongotherthings, this means that the good for fish and the good for humanbeingsare not the same (NE VI.7, 1141a22-28). This sketch, incomplete though it is, brings to light a question about the beginning of the Philebus. Is Plato doing here what wetake Aristotle to do?* In other words, why does Plato begin his inquiry by emphasizing that, in ethics, we are concerned with what is good for humanbeings? Hereare the formulationsthat Socrates employsin his initial sketch of the contest. Philebus’ position addresses what is good for all living beings (dyafov ecivai [...] maior C@ous, 11b4); the

hedonism he defends considers human beings explicitly as a subset of living beings. Sketching his own position, Socrates speaks of all those, living now as well as future generations (ao tots oboi Te Kai éoopevors, 11¢3), who can benefit

* Delcomminette (2006) calls the project of the Philebus “agathologie.” He thinks that the Philebus goes beyond the Republic in revealing the “essence (logos)” of the good (p. 13). I defend a different approach,onethat does not view the Philebus as completing the project of the Republic by enabling the readerto find out what, in Delcomminette’s terms, the Good “essentially” is. On my view, the Philebus shares many concerns with the Republic; nevertheless, it frames its own questions. ” Cf. Shields (2015). ® The relative chronology of the Philebus and the Nicomachean Ethics is a difficult matter. I am assuming that NE 1.6 captures one position that can plausibly be characterized as Platonic, and that Aristotle’s interest is primarily philosophical: he aims to think through a schematized position, not to offer exegesis or historical reconstruction of Plato’s viewsin all their detail and complexities.

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from whathe considers the good, thus presumably restricting his claim to human beings. In collectively referring to both positions, Socrates says their dispute is concerned with all human beings (dv@pwrois mao, 11d5).?

These formulationsflag that what is being studied is good-for—in other words relative goodness.’° They provide relata of good-for and each ofthe threerelata contains an all-quantifier. The interlocutors will not address, say, the difference between what is good for me versus what is goodfor you, or good for fifth-century Athenians versus somegroupofpeople in some otherplace and time. Though the topic is relative goodness, the relatum doesnot have the scopethat it tends to have in relativism—an individual person or a culture. Instead inquiry aims to determine what, in general, is good for humanbeings. Socrates’ formulations signal that inquiry will be concerned with good-foralso ina second way:via the very vocabulary thatis used for ‘good.’ Socrates initially employs the standard term, agathon (11b4). A few lines down he speaks of what is better and

more agreeable (dyeivw kai Adw, 11¢1) to all who canattain it, thereby implying that the good is an object ofdesire and acquisition—something that humans,ifthey attain it, are affected by in positive ways. Again,just two lines further on,hetreats ‘useful’ as equivalent with ‘good.’ Weare looking, he says, for whatis the most useful thing ofall (@peApwrtarov dravrwy, 11c2). Accordingly, good as good-for is what does good to its relatum. A momentlater Socrates reveals what the good-for human beingsdoes:it makesfor a happylife (r6v Biov eddaipova mapéxewv, 11d6).

Good-for, as this notion is understood in the Philebus, thus is relative goodness withoutbeingrelativistic, and it is not an epistemic notion. Good-foris not, say, what appears good from a human pointofview. The claim is that there is such a thing as whatis good for human beings, and that is what affects human beings in good ways. Thenotion of use or benefit makes this even more explicit. The relevant conceptual tie is most easily seen in Latin: what is good (bonum/bene) does good (beneficere).

Plato’s vocabulary does notlenditself to this kind of linguistic illustration. But conceptually, this is precisely the idea: what is good is good-doing or good-making.

1.2 A novel focus on relata Howradical a departure is this line of inquiry for Plato? I suggested that the relevant notion of good-for is developed in two ways:via its relata, and via the vocabulary employed for the good. The innovation of the Philebus, I submit, lies in the first of these dimensions rather than in the second. The conceptual resources ° It is a further question how the good oforin the universe relates to the good forliving beings and humanbeings (“what is the goodin (en) the universe?” 64a); cf. Hendrik Lorenz’s contributionto this volume (Chapter6). 1° The formulation “whatis the good?” (Q)is later used as shorthandfor the topic of conversation,

for example, 13b6 and 13e5.

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for discussion of the good as good-making are not new. For example, paradigmatic defensesof the Socratic paradox that everyone desires the good invoke the premise that the bad harmsand,by implication, that the good benefits (Meno 77b-78b)." The premise that the good benefits also figures, for example, in the function argument in Republic I, 335b-d, the beginning of Republic II, and the Republic’s discussion of how poets should portray the gods (apdApov 76 ayabdv, Rp. II, 379b11). Similarly, the tie between the good and happinessis part of pre-Phileban discussions; witness, say, the Symposium’s claim that happiness is possession of goods(205a).’? Further passages could be added. But one thing seemsclear: thereis a sense in which Plato has been conceiving of good as good-for already in earlier dialogues, including the very dialogue that scholars have in mindas Aristotle’s foil in NE 16.

Onecould holdthatit is the nature of the gooditself that it benefits. The good is good-making.’’ This is conceptually close to thinking of good as good-for. And yet it can be put forward as an analysis of the nature of the good itself—as part of a universal theory of goodness, according to which goodness is one property that permits of one account, such that every instance of something being goodis explicable via this same account. I am not aiming to defend a reading of the Republic here; but roughly,this is an approach that maybe ascribed to the Republic. What,then,is novel about the beginning of the Philebus? In brief, the Philebus undertakes a distinctive ethical-metaphysical project. It does not focus on the natureof the good itself. Rather, the dialogue focuses on good-makingingredients of a good humanlife and offers an account of the metaphysics of humanlives. Q as construed at the beginning of the Philebus shifts focus on the relatum of good-for, on given creatures who can dobetter or worse. This leads toward a kind of ethics that asks what kind of creatures people are: how to metaphysically understand humanlives. A human life, it will turn out, is a limit-unlimited combination and there are better and worse combinations of this sort. This, I propose, is how the beginning of the Philebus sets ethics on a distinctive path, a path that includes a distinctive metaphysical project, different from the metaphysics of asking what the gooditselfis.

1.3 Three questions about the good Suppose my arguments so far are compelling. Should we conclude that Plato abandonedthe project that Aristotle ascribes to him andrejects in NE 1.6? That would be too quick. Right before the dialogue’s conclusion, Socrates distinguishes " Cf. Barney (2010b).

Those who are happy (eudaimones) are happy through possession of goods (agatha); we do not ask why someone wants to be happy. That one wants to be happyis a final (felos) answer (205a). Cf. Sedley (1998); Makin (1990-1).

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between three lines of inquiry into the good: “whatis the good for human beings?” (Q-humanbeings), “whatis the good of/in the universe?” (Q-universe), and “whatis the nature ofthe good itself?” (Q-itself) (64a)."* This threefold distinction confirms

that the dialogue’s starting point is well-considered. Plato does not proceedas if Q-humanbeings and Q-itselfjust came to the same. Q-humanbeings and Q-itself are different construals of Q. And Plato has by no meansgiven up on Q-itself. He does not seem to think that Q-humanbeingsreplaces Q-itself, nor that Q-human

beings and Q-itself are competing aslines of inquiry. Instead he seemsto think that Q-itself is especially hard. As Socrates puts it at the end of the Philebus, the nature of the good may, in spite of all that was achieved,still be in hiding (64e). Via the current study, the interlocutors can only see it in conjunction with other properties—they asit were fail to isolate it sufficiently and thus we do notattain a full view (65a). Ultimately, the text suggests, we want answers to both: Q-human beings and Q-itself. But this outcomeis not presented as defeat. Though one may still want to know whatthe good itself is, the fact that we do not have an answerto Q-itself is not presented as an impediment for the study of Q-humanbeings. Why, in the light of these considerations, does the dialogue start from Q-humanbeings, turning to the good of the universe when the question of causes for goodness comes up (22d, 28c-31b), andto the nature of the good only briefly at the end (64d-65a)? On the proposed reading, this is a matter of the order of inquiry: ethics, as construed in the Philebus, starts by asking what kind oflife we would choose (20b-22b) and what weshould, on reflection, consider best. The

remarkable upshot of the way the conversation proceeds is that this entirely ordinary concern unravels into a series of inquiries. What goes on in our minds when we want things? What kinds of thinking do we engage in? Whatis, metaphysically, a humanlife? How should we understand the mix that makes for a good humanlife? Via these questions, philosophy of mind, epistemology, physics, and metaphysics turn out to be immediately relevant to ethics.

2. Revised Hedonism and Reason 2.1 Setting up the contest Here, then, are the two competing viewsas stated at the outset of the dialogue: [...] what is good for all creatures is to enjoy themselves, pleasure and delight, and whateverelse goes together with that kind of thing. (11b3-6) * Q-universe studies, like Q-humanbeings, relative goodness. The summary formulation ofthree questions aboutthe good,two of which are Q-universe and Q-humanbeings,uses “in” (év) (64a). In the

earlier discussions of the good for humanbeings, the relevant constructions are naturally (and standardly) translated in terms of good-for. The universe, it seems,is in one way or another a special case. How precisely this should be thought of is not my topic. In order to remain agnostic on this matter, I render Q-humanbeings in terms of good-for and Q-universe in terms of good-offin.

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Wecontendthat [...] gaining insights, understanding, and remembering, and what is akin to them, correct doxa and true planning, are better than pleasure and more agreeable to all who can attain them. (11b6-c1)’” Let’s call the two contenders Revised Hedonism and Reason. Revised Hedonism and Reasonare responses to a question phrased in the singular, “what is the good for human beings?” They identify one good—thoughvia a rangeof activities—as the good. Each claimsthat a certain state or condition of the soul (ééwv puyjs Kal d:aBeowv) is the good (11d4). These are not‘static’ conditions, but two ways in

which the soul can be engagedin activity. The two positions are, accordingly, that enjoying oneself (chairein) and being wise (or thinking in wise and insightful ways, phronein) are the good (11d8-9).’° Revised Hedonism and Reasonareversions of traditional positions, which we can call Traditional Hedonism (“pleasure is the good”) and Wisdom (“wisdom is

the good”). Revised Hedonism and Reason, I submit, differ sufficiently from Traditional Hedonism and Wisdom to deserve their own designations. Socrates signals departure from Traditional Hedonism withthe very first verb: to chairein. The term for pleasure that is standardly used in Traditional Hedonism is hédoné. By itself, hédoné may evoke the presumed lowliness of hedonism. The verb chairein, however, does notelicit the same visceral reaction. In Socrates’ formulation, it supplies hédoné with contextual connotations that pull away from a conception of pleasure as lowly. In full, Revised Hedonism is the view that enjoying oneself, pleasure, delight (ferpsis), and what ‘goes together with these’ are the good. The third term,terpsis, is traditionally used for taking pleasure in food and drink,or similar bodily pleasures.’” Set next to hédoné, terpsis signals that these bodily pleasures are merely a subsetofall pleasures. Flanked by chairein and terpsis, hédoné is thus used as a general term for pleasure. Like chairein, hédonécan refer to any kind of enjoymentor pleasure, including,say, the pleasure of thinking through an argument. Revised Hedonismis the claim that pleasures of whatever kind are good. Socrates’ list of pleasure-terms starts with a verb and this signals a shift. Traditional Hedonism and Wisdom conceive of the good as a possession: as something an agent has successfully attained. To enjoy oneself, as Revised

*5 All translations from the Philebus are adaptations, with changes,of D. Frede (1993). Cf. Hackforth ([1945] 1958) and D.Frede (1997). ‘6 Later on, Plato refers to Revised Hedonism and Reasonasthelives of hédoné andphronésis(e.g.,

20e). I take it that these are placeholders, referencing the more complex descriptions at the beginning. 7 In Topics, 112b21-25, Aristotle says that Prodicus (a sophist) divides pleasures (hedonai,pl.) into joy (charis), delight (terpsis), and good cheer (euphrosune); but that really these are just names

for the same thing, pleasure. Along similar lines, I take it that Plato aims to cover a wide range of pleasures, rather than introduce a distinction between chairein, hedoné, and terpsis. Cf. Kurath (1921); Chantraine (1933); Lefebvre and Villard (2006); Gosling and Taylor (1982); Cosenza and Laurenti (1993).

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Hedonism hasit, is on the contrary an activity. The focus on activity is even more pronounced in Reason.Instead of envisaging a life in which wisdom has been attained, Socrates speaks of wise thinking, as we mayglossthe first two items on the list, to phronein and to voein.’* Together they are plausibly taken to refer to thinking that(i) is factive (grasping or understanding something),(ii) covers both the practical and the theoretical domain,and(iii) is held in high esteem, perhaps because it is concerned with worthy matters.’” The next item on the list—remembering (memnésthai)—departs from Wis-

dom not only by referring to an activity rather than acquired state. Both phronein and voein are, broadly speaking, ‘wisdom words’: they are often used for elevated and wise ways of thinking. Remembering can beseenin this light. For example, the Homeric tradition may view having seen and remembering the past as a primary form of knowledge.”° And Plato himself may develop similar lines of thought when,in his discussionsofrecollection in the Meno and Phaedo, he thinks of the soul as learning by remembering whatit saw in a disembodied state. Nevertheless, for the purposes of referencing Wisdom, rememberingis a surprising addition. At the very least,it spells out an aspect of wise thinking that is not mentioned or implicitly referred to, say, in the Republic’s reference to Wisdom (505b-d). And in spite of the Homeric tradition as well as Plato’s

theory of recollection, remembering is not inherently concerned with important and weighty matters. Later in the Philebus, memory figures in rememberingthat one enjoyed oneself (21c1-2), discriminating an object from nearby or from a distance (38b12-13), taking pain and pleasure in remembered past scenarios (33c), and in discussion of whetherdesire for X involves prior acquaintance with and memory of X (33c-35d). How,then, does remembering fare with respectto(i), (ii), and(iii), the features

ascribed to phronein and noein? Remembering is factive, or rather, it is here

understood asfactive.”1 Thus criterion (i) is met. Insofar as memory figures in desire, (ii) may seem to apply; byitself, however, remembering is not a form of practical thinking.(iii) does not apply: remembering is unrestricted in scope. Thus the inclusion of remembering in Socrates’ initial sketch of Reason signals a shift away from Wisdom. The Philebus will not be concerned exclusively and

8 Frede misleadingly translates hexis in 11d4 as if Socrates referred to “possessions,” which is a traditional wayto refer to goods that are pursued in the pursuit of happiness (cf. Symposium 199-207). Butin this traditional account, ‘possession’ translates ktésis, not hexis. The Socrates of the Philebus says that each of them will argue that somestate or disposition of the soul (fw puyijs Kai 8dr) is the good (11d4). Andyet, this is immediately rephrased in terms of activities. The two positions are, accordingly, that to take pleasure (chairein) and comprehending (phronein) are the good (11d8-9).

Fredetranslates “knowing” and “understanding”; I translate “gaining insights” and “understanding,” becauseI prefer to use “knowledge” for epistémé. 2° Cf. Hussey (1990). 21 Arguably,there is also another use of memnésthai, a usage that permits the distinction between

successful remembering and misremembering.

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immediately with the value of possessing wisdom. Insteadit will analyze a wider range ofsuccessful thinking. The next items on thelist, presumably akin to gaining insights, understanding, and remembering, are correct doxa andtrue logismos. Neither doxa norlogismosis factive. Since both can go wrong,criterion (i)—ora version thereof, securing that only successful thinking is on the list—is only met via a restriction to correct and true instances.Still, with Plato’s discussions of doxa in the Republic in the back of their minds, readers may wonder why doxa countsatall as “akin” to wisdom.”Is not doxa, whetherornotit is correct by its own standards, inherently different from elevated kinds of thinking?”* The Republic’s philosopher, say, loves all wisdom (475b9-10), which involves a turn away from the domain of doxa.

Interpreters tend to presuppose that the relevant notion of doxa in the Philebus does not invoke the different metaphysical domains of the Republic. Instead,it is assumed, anotherwell-known conception of doxa is employed, whichhasits locus classicus in Theaetetus 189e-190a. Here doxais belief or judgmentin any domain. But it is by no meansclearthat this rendering of doxa is adequate for interpreting the Philebus, inter alia because later on Socrates associates doxa, Republic-style, with the domain of becoming (59a1-9).”* Schleiermacher’s construal of doxa in

the Philebus takes a third route, neither presupposing the Republic's domainspecific notion of doxa, nor the judgment-conception of doxa from Theaetetus 189e-190a.Instead, his translation as representation (“Vorstellung”) is broad and

able to accommodateuses of both kinds. It understands doxa as doxastic thinking that permits a range. The common denominator of doxastic thinking underdescribesit: it merely says that the cognizer represents some content.” Judgment/ belief is one version of this, namely the version where the represented contentis affirmed as being the case. Now it may seem that only judgments/beliefs are properly assessed as true or false, and that Reason’s reference to “correct doxa” signals that doxa, as used in Philebus 11b, means judgment/belief. But this inference is too fast, and not only becauseit is conceivable that “correct” and “true” are not equivalent. The Philebus

22 Plato is serious about this kinship. At 21b, which offers a comparison passage for thelist we are considering, Socrates even subsumestrue doxa undera broad notionof ‘phronetic’ thinking. “Since you wouldnotbein possession of either understanding, memory, knowledge,or true doxa, must younot be in ignorance,first of all, about this very question, whether you were enjoying yourself or not, given that you were devoid of any kind of thought?” (21b6-9). ?° Cf. Vogt (2012). 24 This question bears on oneof the most widely debated proposals in the Philebus, namely the claim that pleasures are true and false in ways that compare to how doxa is true and false (36c-37a).

Interpreters tend to presuppose that the comparandum,doxa,is straightforward. But it is conceivable that, in presupposing that doxa is well-translatedas belief or judgment, one moves too quickly. Whatif doxain the Philebus shouldbe construed differently? Then reconstructions oftrue andfalse pleasure that take the comparandumtobetrueandfalse belief are flawed. ?5 Other kinds of thinking also involve representing some content. I defend a version ofthis construal in Vogt (2017b).

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is famous for attaching the truth-predicatesto attitudes that, today, we would not consider truth-apt, or in other words, attitudes that according to widely accepted premises are not plausibly assessed as true or false. Hence I suggest that, when considering the beginning of the dialogue, we should keep an open mind. Similar considerations apply to “true logismos.” It is customary to translate logismos as “calculation.” This translation is well-established via Plato’s Protagoras, which explores a so-called pleasure/pain calculus.”* Calculatingintuitively seems truth-apt—surely, one can getit right or wrong in quantitative reasoning. But talk about a calculus is metaphorical: the relevant reasoning is not purely mathematical. Rather,it is deliberative. The agent decides what to do, and much of the difficulty resides in the fact that her decisions involve future-directed attitudes. That is, logismos-thinking is practical thinking. My preferred translation is “figuring out what to do”, where “figuring out” captures the quasi-mathematical connotations of the term, while “what to do” captures that we consider a mode of decision making. This is why true logismmos is by no meansa simple term.It involves what we maycall a notion ofpractical truth—ofdeliberative thinking as truth-apt. Suppose Revised Hedonism and Reasonare sketched along the lines I suggest. To complete the set-up of the contest, Socrates asks: whatif there is yet something better—call it X—than chairen or phronein, as Socrates refers to both positions in abbreviated fashion (11d11-12a5)? Depending on whether X would be more akin

(uGAAov... cuyyevjs) to one or the other, a ranking would emerge. Socrates and Protarchus accept the terms of the competition. Notably, if X is ranked highest, chairein or phronein did not win in the sense of identifying ‘the’ good for human

beings. They winonly relative to each other, by beingcloser to that whichis best.”” In setting out these termsof the debate, Socrates moves back and forth between claims of the form “X is good” and claimsof the form “the life of X is good.” As discussion proceeds in the Philebus, it turns out that no view of the form “X is the good” is compelling. Any reply to Q whichidentifies one substantive good (or as today we mightputit, one value)as ‘the’ good is misguided.”* In studying the good of human beings, the interlocutors will identify a range of ingredients of a wellmixedlife. Similarly, talk about “thelife of X” is insufficient. Though this expression may provide room for ingredients other than X in a goodlife,it stipulates that a goodlife has only one good-makingfeature; or, on a weaker reading ofthe “life of X”-formulation, that this life is structured by the goodness of one core ingredient. But a well-mixedlife, as the Philebus conceives of it, has several goodmaking ingredients.”” Accordingly, though 11le-12a completes the set-up of the 26 Cf. Moss (2014). 27 Susan Sauvé Meyerdiscussesprecisely this upshot: that neither of the initial competitors ‘wins’ in the sense ofbeing identified as the good (see Chapter4).

28 Vogt (2010).

?° Russell Jones discusses the mixturethat the Plato of the Philebus thinks a goodlife is (Chapter 14).

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contest, the type of ranking envisaged here—a rankingofkindsof lives—is notthe type of ranking the dialogue eventually puts forward. At the end of the Philebus, the interlocutors rank causes and ingredients of a well-mixed life, not kinds oflives.?°

2.2 Humanbeingsasliving beings The sequence of relata—all living beings (1), all future and presently living (human)beings (2), all human beings (3)—deserves a closer look in yet another

respect.*’ Therelatum of good-for that is widest in scope,all living beings, comes up whenSocrates introduces Revised Hedonism (11b3-9). This is no coincidence.

Hedonism traditionally refers to non-human animals in the exposition and defenseof its claim that pleasure is the good. Considerthe following argument by Eudoxus, a hedonist from Plato’s Academy whoseideas Aristotle discusses in the NE: Now Eudoxusused to think that pleasure was the good because he saw every sort of creature seeking it, whether rational or non-rational; and since he thought that what wasdesirable in all cases was what was good [...] and that

what was good for every creature, and what every creature sought, was the good. (tr. Rowe, NE X.2, 1172b9-15) Epicurus,in his later version of hedonism, makesa similar argument, invoking the behavior of animals and infants as testimony. According to Epicurus, their (presumed) striving for pleasure makes apparent whatis naturally—prior to any corruption by education—desirable: pleasure.*” The end of the Philebus provides further evidence that such arguments are stock elements of hedonism. Socrates dismisses traditional hedonism asa view that takes “cattle, horses, andthe rest of the animals” to be witnesses for whatis, in substance, the human good (67b). As

one reachesthese final lines of the dialogue, Socrates’ negative tone comes as a surprise. Throughout a long and complexinvestigation, the view that Protarchus defended wastakenseriously. Indeed, it was considered sufficiently interesting to keep the interlocutors busy with complex theorizing for an extended period. Why, all of a sudden,is it appropriate to just sneer at hedonism as a philosophy which °° Cf. Harte’s contribution to this volume onthe final ranking (Chapter15). 31 (2) is restricted to humanbeingsinsofar as Socrates talks of various cognitive activities and “all whocanattain them” (11¢2-4).

> “Weare investigating whatis the final and ultimate good [...] Epicurus situates this in pleasure, which he wantsto be the greatest good with pain as the greatest bad. His doctrine beginsin this way: as soonasevery animal is born,it seeks pleasure andrejoicesin it as the greatest good, while it rejects pain as the greatest bad and,as far as possible, avoidsit; and it does this whenit is not yet corrupted, on the innocent and sound judgmentofnature itself” (Cicero, De finibus 1.29-30 = LS 21A,tr. Long and Sedley (1992) with changes by KMV).For further analysis of these arguments, cf. Vogt (2018).

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mistakes people for cattle? Socrates’ remark can appearasill a fit as if, say, a professor taught a seminar on hedonism fora full semester, every week presenting on far-reaching theoretical issues, and yet making a throw-away remarkat the end of the term to the effect that hedonism is evidently idiotic. The students would rightly be confused. Why, then,is it that Socrates makes this kind of remark? Myanswerto this question should already be apparent. WhatSocratessneersat in the finallines of the dialogue is Traditional Hedonism, not Revised Hedonism, the view that was under discussion. Revised Hedonism is moreinteresting than its traditional ancestor. It calls for serious philosophical work. Pleasure and pain comein all sorts of guises, and it is a respectable task for the ethicist to study their role in our mentallives. What is more, hedonism may get something right in referring to otherliving beings. The large-scope relatum,“all living beings,”signals to the reader that a methodological premise of hedonism is under consideration, the premise that inquiry into the good should study commonalities that may obtain between humansand animals. Whatare, according to the Philebus, these commonalities? They do notlie in what is, in substance, good for us. Instead they emerge when human beings are studied as creatures with a given physiology, a psychology that ties in with this physiology, with a range of cognitive capacities relevant to desire, and so on.**

2.3 Stock refutations In effect—andthis is my final reason for proposing that Revised Hedonism and Reason differ from Traditional Hedonism and Wisdom—Revised Hedonism and Reason are formulated in ways that are reflective of stock refutations of their traditional precursors. By that I do not mean that the stock refutations become obsolete or inapplicable. On the contrary, the refutational arguments are recognized as poignantinvitations to say more. As one engages with them, one engages precisely with the questions that ethics, as the Philebus conceives of it, must address. What, then, are these stock refutations? The most famous arguments, and the arguments that are most immediately relevant to the Philebus, are summedup in Republic V1. The opponentof Traditional Hedonism says “there are good and bad pleasures.” If the proponent of Traditional Hedonism cannot denythis, she is committed to the view that the good and the bad are the same, or soit is

assumed.** Thecritic of Wisdom asks: “phronésis of what is the good?” which

3 Arguably, versions of the ideas figure in Aristotle’s De anima, De motu animalium, and other

biological treatises. *4 Both refutationsare flagged as well-worn;the interlocutors remind themselves of these arguments in just a few lines (Republic VI 505b5-d2).

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tends to be rendered as “knowledge of whatis the good?” Now the proponent of Wisdom must identify what it is that the person whohasattained phronésis is ‘wise about’ or in other words what she knows. Shefinds herself committed to a circular claim: “The good is knowledge of the good.” According to Socrates, those who hold Traditional Hedonism go noless astray than those who hold Wisdom (505c7). Wisdom is called ridiculous (505b13), and Traditional Hedonism is

flagged as the subject of much fighting (505d1-2). Both views are on a par insofar as both countas refuted. Nevertheless, a range of ideas that are in the neighborhood of Traditional Hedonism and Wisdom are developed and defended in the Republic, which is highly attuned to the variety of pleasures agents can pursue andthedifficulties of ranking them; and equally, to the challenges and importance of knowing the good. Consider that, according to Republic V-VII, the best agent attains knowledge of the highest object of knowledge, namely the good. This is not quite the claim that the good is knowledge of the good. Butit is a recognizable way of capturing what may be taken to be Wisdom’scoreintuition. Moreover, on her way to coming to knowthe goodthe best agent engagesin extensive lines of study that count, in one wayor another, as preparatory of coming to know the good. For present purposes, this idea is worth thinking through.In the stock refutations of Wisdom and Traditional Hedonism, it is taken for granted that the proponent of Wisdom will say “knowledge of the good is the good.” But another reply is available to her in response to “knowledge of whatis the good?” She could say “knowledge of everything.” What would be her opponent’s next move? Sure enough, the opponent would demandspecification of the notion of ‘everything.’ Whatis its scope? As far the Republic is concerned, ‘everything’ is restricted:it is

knowledge of everythingintelligible.*° Suppose, however, that we set aside the metaphysical framework of the Republic. In this case, the opponent of Wisdom can argue that knowledge of everything is an implausibly wide and paradoxical notion. Whatever else we take knowledge to be, wetake it to be valuable. Without a restriction on the scopeof ‘everything,’ this premise is in danger. What about knowledgeof the bad, the critic may ask? Is not knowledge of the bad bad? Or,to include a wider range of cognitive activities, is contemplation of the bad bad?Is dwelling on the bad bad? Are there, perhaps, things one should forget rather than remember? Are there bad perceptions, say, graphic scenes where a good person averts her eyes? Andso on. Similar considerations apply to the modesof thinking that are involved in Republic-style knowledge. They adhere to specific methods and are shapedbyyears of study in a range of well-consideredfields, from music to mathematics.*° Notall cognitive activity, it seems, is part of the best and happy

°° Onthe difficulties of this claim and scholarly controversies aboutit, cf. Vogt (2012, ch.3). °° Cf. Burnyeat (2000).

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life. Instead,it matters how onethinks, in ways thatare closely related to what one thinks about. If this is how the conversation goes, the proponent of Traditional Hedonism can makea novel move. She can say that Wisdom runsinto the same problem that Traditional Hedonism presumably runs into. Wisdom faces a version of, as I put this, the Bad Pleasure Problem,call it the Bad Knowledge Problem: Proponents of both views must recognize that there is variety—variety in pleasure and variety in knowledge. They must sort out this variety if they want to hold on to their positions. And they must admit that their positions are on a par. Either we take the Bad Pleasure/Knowledge Problemsto refute Traditional Hedonism and Wisdom in a way that makes them soplainly false that they become uninteresting, or we take up the task of sorting through variety on bothsides. Thisis precisely the situation we encounter in the Philebus. Once theset-up of the contest is concluded, Socrates moveson to this topic. He speaksofthe pleasures of the debauched versus those of the sober-minded person, and of the foolish opinionsand false hopes the formerentertains, while the latter is wise (12c-d). The formulations of Revised Hedonism and Reason lay the groundworkforthis: both on the affective and on the cognitive side of things, we must consider variety and range. There are many kindsof thinking, just as there are many kinds of taking pleasure. And thoughthe notion ofbad pleasures is more familiar than the notion of bad thinking,it is far from obviousthat all kinds of cognitive activity are good.

3. Plurality Socrates’ first characterization of pleasure is that it is poikilon, manifold in a way that tends to have negative connotations.*’ Indeed, this is the one thing Socrates claims to know prior to any more detailed investigation: that pleasure is poikilon (12c4-5). Poikilon is a much-debated term in Plato scholarship. Traditionally,it has

positive connotations. Whatis poikilon is intricate and ornate, as a piece ofclothing constructed from several materials, displaying a range of colors and shapes, and including ornaments with symbolic meanings maybe. Plato takes this term and re-thinks it: this kind of intricacy and many-nessis, in his philosophical use, a

negative kindof plurality.** Alas, Protarchus does not ‘hear’ the term as negative, though perhaps Plato expects readers familiar with the Republic to recognize poikilos as a watchword. For all we know, for him as for others who are not °” Frede translates “complex,” which seems too positive to me. LSJ offers “complex” with the example of a labyrinth. In the Republic, poikilos is associated with notions of beauty and excellence that Plato argues against. Cf. for example 399d-e on poikilous rhythms and harmonies that should be removed from musical education,or the multifarious democratic character in 561e as well as poikilé pleasure at 561d. °8 Cf. Hughes Fowler (1984); Micalella (2009); LeVen (2013).

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antecedently persuaded by Plato’s larger commitments, poikilon signals a dazzling and amazing kind of multitude, a property that he may happily assign to pleasure. 12d-14a addresses how to understandthe variety of pleasure on the one hand, and of successful thinking on the other. The argumentoffers a first taste of the metaphysically difficult sections of the Philebus. Here are the core moves of the exchange, in terms that are at once reflective of the quasi-technical distinctions that are employed, and comprehensible for us today: SOCRATES1: Pleasure goes by one name, but comesin formsthat are in some way quite unlike each other. PROTARCHUS 1: Pleasures come from opposite things; but they (i-e., the pleasures) are not themselves opposites (€vayria) to each other (12d8). Pleasure must be

mostlike pleasure. How could a thing not be mostlike itself? SOCRATES 2: Compare pleasure with color and shape. Colors and shapes are one in genus (yéver wev éore wav év, 12e7); but some colors/shapes are to the greatest degree opposites to each other (7a prev evavtimtata aAAnAots, 13a1). PROTARCHUS 2: Maybe. Whatdoesit matter? SOCRATES3: It matters because yousay thatall pleasant things are good. No one disputes that pleasant things are pleasant. But what is the common element in good and badpleasures that allows you to call them all good (ri odv 87 TaUTOV ev Tals KaKais duoiws Kal év ayabais évov TaGas HOovads ayabdv eivat mpooayopevets; 13b3-5)?

PROTARCHUS 3: Hold off! I’m not on board here. I’m starting out with the premise that pleasure is the good. Stale mate.—How to proceed? SOCRATES 4: Let’s suppose that Reason faces the same question, namely whether all knowledges (epistémai) seem to be many(pollai), with some of them quite unlike the others (dvdpotol ties adrav dAAjAats) (13e9-10).

PROTARCHUS4: Let’s assumethat, yes, the same applies to both Revised Hedonism and Reason. There can be many and unlike pleasures; and many and unlike knowledges (zoAAai pev Hdovai Kat dvdpoto yryvésbwv, TodAal dé émtoTHat Kai Sudpopor, 14a8-9).

Consider two sets of observations about this dispute. First, I use the word “knowledges” to translate epistémai. “Knowledges” could be a catch-all for the kinds ofsuccessful cognitive activities mentioned at the beginningofthe dialogue. Onthat notion, correct memory, for example, falls under this broad notion of knowledge. The advantage of this readingis thatit fits with the beginning of the dialogue andit provides us with a wide-ranging plurality. Alternatively, “knowledges” refers to knowledge in a narrowersense, the plurality being introducedvia different objects of knowledge. The advantageofthis reading is that it picks up the idea mentioned with respect to pleasure, namely that one takes pleasure in different things and that pleasures may differ depending on how their objects

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differ. At this early point in the dialogue, I recommendagainst deciding between both readings. The text is underspecified, and Plato may want both lines of thoughtto bein play. Second, Protarchus seems unaware that the multitude of knowledges is not characterized in the same, presumably negative, terms in which the multitude of pleasures is described. When Socrates references his position in 13e4-6,he refers back to his initial list of forms of thinking. In retrospect, it may seem asif he set things upin such a wayasto establish an unfair advantage for himself: by restricting the list of modes of thought to successful instances, bad thinking—thinking about bad objects such as scheming how to commit a crime and bad thinking such as excessive day-dreaming—wasexcluded from the get-go. Nevertheless, a multitude of knowledges remains. With respect to these knowledges, Socrates speaks of “many” by employing the value-neutral term pollai, not in terms of what is poikilon. But given that these cognitive activities are already a select group, they do not differ from each other as radically as pleasures differ from each other. Along these lines, Socrates presupposes that “unlike” is less than “opposite.” “Unlike” is employed in a sense that allows for degrees, and knowledges will be manyin the sense of being unlike. But Socrates will not permit that they are unlike in the strong sense of opposites (14a). “Opposite”, too, is employed in a sensethat allows for degrees, such that things can be moreorless, and maximally, opposites. For Socrates, good pleasure and bad pleasure are opposites in this maximalsense. As I suggested at the outset, these initial discussions about the nature and plurality of pleasures and knowledges make onething clear: adequate investigation into Q will include not only questions in (what today we mightcall) the philosophy of mind, psychology, and epistemology. It will also include topics in metaphysics, and among them,the study of plurality. A closer look at plurality prompts metaphysical inquiries that address division into kinds, and how such a division may apply to pleasure and knowledge respectively. Finally, the metaphysics of plurality and of genus/species will lead, given that we are concerned with humanlives in which different pleasures and modes of thinking figure, to the metaphysics of mixtures and their causes.

4. Conclusion Scholars have long been interested in Socrates’ re-appearance as a main interlocutor, in what is—according to widely accepted views—avery late dialogue.*” A fairly obvious reason, however, remains under-explored: a concern with human 3° Cf. D. Frede (1996). Frede thinks that Socrates returns, as it were, for the sake of the hedonist’s conversion.

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matters is one of the hallmarks of the Socrates of Plato’s early dialogues. Does Socrates re-appear in the Philebus because we approach the good as what is good for humanbeings? If my reading is compelling, then Plato aims to demonstrate in the Philebus what a Socratic concern with human matters truly amountsto.It is far from a modest project, sine physics and metaphysics, as the Apology hasit. Rather, it turns out to require a tour de force across philosophical disciplines.

3 Division and Classification Philebus 14c-20a Paolo Crivelli

The Philebus presents some arguments for the paradoxical claim that the many are one and the one many.Thefirst argument, which is deemed childish, concerns a single perceptible particular that enjoys manyattributes. For instance,since he enjoys manyattributes, Protarchus, whois one,is also many. The last argument, which is regarded asserious, is about a single attribute that belongs to many perceptible particulars. For instance, since the attribute man belongs to many men,it is in them, andit is therefore both one and many(forit is in them either by having different parts ofitself contained in them or by being wholly contained in each of them). This chapter presents an explanation of wherethe last argument, the one about the unity and multiplicity of attributes, goes astray. The explanation will be based on division and collection, the procedures linked with definition andclassification. But how can division and collection help to solve the puzzle about the unity and multiplicity of attributes? The ontological digression. What is the good for man and otherliving beings? Socrates and Protarchus disagree: for Protarchus, it amounts to pleasure, enjoyment, and other analogous psychological conditions; for Socrates, knowledge, right opinion, and other similar mental states are better goods than pleasure. In order to allow the discussion to progress, Socrates puts forward the claim that althoughpleasures are onein so far as theyare all pleasures, they are many insofar as they are different and even contrary to one another. He makes a similar claim vis-a-vis knowledge. The claims about the unity and multiplicity of pleasure and knowledge are germaneto the disputed question because it might turn out that sometypesof pleasure or knowledge are not good. These claims trigger an ontological digression (14c1-20a8) about the joint presence of unity and multiplicity. The digression has three parts: the first (14c1-15c3) introduces some arguments about the joint presence of unity and Note: Drafts of this study were presented in Spetses, Notre Dame, and Geneva. I am grateful to the membersof those audiencesfor their criticisms. I would also like to thank Panos Dimas, Mary Louise Gill, and Hendrik Lorenz for their written commentson drafts of this study. The responsibility for the remaining shortcomingsis of course mineonly. Paolo Crivelli, Division and Classification: Philebus 14c-20a.In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0003

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multiplicity; the second (15c4-18d2) attempts to show where the most serious among these arguments goes wrong and appeals to division (16b4-18a5) and collection (18a6-18d2); the third (18d3-20a8) explains how the studyofthe joint presence of unity and multiplicity is relevant to the dialogue’s main question. After the ontological digression, the conclusion that neither pleasure nor knowledge can beidentified with the goodis established without appealing to division andcollection (20b1-23a5). Collection and division, however, return later, both in the distinction of four kinds of what is (23a6-27c2) and in theclassifications of types of pleasure (31b2-55c3) and of knowledge (55c4-59d9).

Thefirst one-many argument. Socrates declares that the claim that there are many kinds of pleasure and of knowledge seems to imply the paradoxical claim that ‘the many are one and the one many’ (14c8). He and Protarchus expound three

arguments in support ofthis claim. Thefirst argument, presented by Protarchus, focuses on a perceptible particular that enjoys manyattributes (some of them even contrary, although their contrariety does not seem essential to the argument’s economy): T1 PROT. Do you mean when someonesaysthatI, Protarchus, who have come-tobe oneby nature, am in turn many me’s, and evenreciprocally contrary ones, by treating the same manastall and short, and heavy andlight, and a thousand other things?

(14c11-d3)

Socrates makes some disparaging remarks about T1’s argument:he calls it “commonplace” (14d4), “childish” (14d7), and “trivial” (14d7). The argumentrecalls

one presented in the Sophist (251a5-c7), which also gets a drubbing (it is described as a feast for the young andforthe elderly who werelate to learn).’ In T1’s argument, Protarchus uses the phrase “many me’s”(14d1) andjustifiesits use by observingthat the same man is treated “as tall and short, and heavy andlight, and a thousandotherthings” (14d2-3). These facts suggest that the occurrenceof the phrase ‘many me’s’ in T1’s argument maybe glossed as ‘tall me, short me, heavy me, light me, etc.’ If this gloss is correct, then T1’s argumentprobably runsroughly as follows: [1] Protarchusis one. [2] Protarchus is identical to tall Protarchus, short Protarchus, heavy Pro-

tarchus, light Protarchus, etc. [3] Tall Protarchus, short Protarchus, heavy Protarchus,light Protarchus, etc. are many. [4] The one is many.”

’ Cf. Lohr (1990, 27). ? Cf. Gill (2010a, 39). On myinterpretation, passage T1 contains an argumentcloseto that of Sph.

251a5-c7, which Platoexplicitly describes as purporting to establish that “the many are oneand the one

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Premiss [1] is uncontentious. Premiss [2] is difficult to deny. For, whenever Protarchusis tall (small, etc.), Protarchus and tall Protarchus (small Protarchus,

etc.) occupy exactly the sameplace: isn’t there at most one entity in any place at any time? Premiss [3] also is difficult to deny: tall Protarchus is for instance

different from heavy Protarchus becausetheir conditions ofidentity over time are different (if Protarchus is both heavy andtall at a given time,but later loses weight without becoming shorter, and is therefore no longer heavy butis still tall, then heavy Protarchusceases to exist while tall Protarchus continuesto exist). Since the argument’s premisses are defensible, one might be tempted to assign the responsibility for its unsoundness to the way in which its conclusion is inferred, i-e., to regard it as invalid. However, this move also is hard to implement:it is not easy to spot an invalid inferential step. Thus, there is something seriously puzzling about T1’s argument. The second one-many argument. Socrates comparesthe first one-many argument to a second one, which also concernsperceptible particulars: T2 soc. When someone, having divided by discourse someone’s limbsandat the sametimehis parts, and having agreed with you thatall of these are that unity, refutes you while deriding you because you have been obliged to say monstrosities, that the one is many and unlimitedly many,’ and that the manyare only one thing. (14d8-e4) This argument, whichalso has a parallel in Plato (in the Parmenides, 129c4-d2),* probablyrunsas follows:

[ 1] Protarchusis one. [ 2] Protarchusis his legs, torso, arms, and head. [ 3] Protarchus’ legs, torso, arms, and head are many. [4] The one is many. Each of the premisses [1]-[3] has some plausibility and the conclusion [4]

seemsto follow from them. There maybeseveral reasons whySocrates introduces this argument, which he considers as childish as its predecessor.First, since the argumenthas to do with is many” (251b7-8). Some commentators favor a different exegesis of T1, whereby its argumentis a version of those (cf. Phd. 102b3-d2; R. 7. 523b9-525a8; Prm. 127e1-10) whichsee a difficulty in the

presence at the same timeof reciprocally incompatible attributes in the sameperceptible particular:cf. Striker (1970, 12-13); Gosling (1975, 80-1); Delcomminette (2002, 22-4). This reading faces the

objection that the arguments of whichit finds a version in T1 are not described by Plato as purporting to establish that the one is many and the manyare one(only R. 7. 524b3-c5 might contain a hint that this claim is at issue). > This is the earliest occurrence in the Philebus of the adjective apeiros (‘unlimited’). * Cf. Lohr (1990, 37-8).

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the composition of the many parts or limbs within the single whole organism, he might be hinting that the relation between Protarchus, on the one hand,andtall Protarchus,short Protarchus, heavy Protarchus,light Protarchus,etc. on the other, should also be understoodin terms ofcomposition. Second,in the parallel argument in the Parmenides there is an indication that the argument should be disarmed by rendering explicit the understood complementsof the adjectives ‘one’ and ‘many’: once onerealizes that the reason why the samethingis ‘one’ and ‘manyisthatit is ‘one person’ and ‘manylimbs, the impression of paradoxicality evaporates.” This might be relevant to the Philebus passage because the first one-many argument mentions the joint presence of contraries within the samesubject: contraries can be jointly present in the same subject because they are implicitly combined with different attributes that function as complements (for instance, Protarchusis both tall and short because heis a tall man but a short animal, or becauseheis tall when compared with Socrates but short when compared with Phaedo). The third one-many argument. After dismissing the two one-many arguments about perceptible particulars, Socrates mentions three controversies concerning division: T3 soc. But when one attempts to posit man as one and ox as one andthe beautiful as one and the goodas one,the great worry about division concerning these henads andthoseofthis sort yields a controversy. PROT. How? soc.First, whether one ought to maintain that there are some monadsofthis sort that truly are; then, how ought one to maintain® that these ones, each single one being always the same and admitting neither coming-to-be nor destruction, are nevertheless most firmly this single one? After this, one ought to posit’ that this single one® comes-to-be in the things that come-to-be and are unlimited, either by being dispersed and by having come-to-be many,or as a whole,itself separately from itself, which could seem the most impossible thing ofall, one and the same thing in one and manythings. (15a4—b8)? > Cf. Striker (1970, 13).

© The verb Se¢ soAapBdvew of the main clause is supplied from the previous sentence (15b1-2) (cf. Stallbaum 1842, 115).

7 | treat Oergov (15b6) with an understood éo7/ as the principal verb of the long sentence pera Sé totr ... ylyveoBat (15b4-8)andI take it to govern the subordinate clause whose main verbis yéyveoBax (15b8) (cf. LSJ s.v. ré@nue B 1 5). Other solutions are grammatically possible but do not yield a

substantially different sense. ® The words piav radryv are supplied from the previous sentence (15b4). ° Passage T3 has been interpreted in many ways and its Greek text has been variously emended. Surveys of the main exegeses and emendationsare offered by Hahn (1978, 159-63) and Léhr (1990, 72-94). I translated Burnet’s text, which follows the main MSS. Since Bonghi (1847, 172-4), many editors and commentators replace the semicolon at 15b4 with a comma. This tempting correction,

which brings it about that Socrates mentions only two controversies concerning monads, yields harsh Greek: cf. Mirhady (1992, 173-4); Barker (1996, 162); Delcomminette (2002, 26-8); Muniz and Rudebusch (2004, 396-7).

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Socrates mentions three controversies about henads or monads’® such as man,ox, the beautiful, the good, “and thoseofthis sort” (15a6). The examples indubitably indicate that the monads in question are forms. The first controversy concerns whether these monadsexist. The second controversy concerns how these ones, sc. these monads, are this single one,sc. this single monad.’* Here we mustimagineSocratesusingtheplural demonstrative ‘these ones’ to refer to several arbitrarily chosen monadsthat are species into which a certain genusis divided(e.g., productive-art and acquisitiveart) and using the singular demonstrative ‘this one’ to refer to the monadthatis the genus which is divided into those species(e.g., art).’? If we insist on taking literally and seriously the description of the situation where these monads (the species) are this monad (their genus) as one whereby this monad (the genus)is divided into these monads(its species), it is hard to see how the monadsinvolved

can be “always the same and admitting neither coming-to-be nor destruction” (15b2-4): for, when the genus is divided into the species, the species seem to come-to-be and the genus seemsto be destroyed. Forthis reason Socratesuses the adversative connector “nevertheless” (dws, 15b4)** to link the subordinate clause,

“each single one being always the same and admitting neither coming-to-be nor destruction” (15b2-4), to the main clause, “these ones are mostfirmlythis single one” (15b2-4). Thus, the second controversy turns on the question of how we can

speak of‘division’ in a realm of changeless and eternal entities. The fact that this question turns on division accounts for why the controversies concerning monads are introduced to explain “how”(15a8) “the great worry about division concern-

ing these henadsandthoseofthis sort yields a controversy” (15a6-7). It also helps to link T3 to its context: for the issue of how a genusis related to its species is abundantly present in the preceding pages.’* The third controversy concernsthe relation of monadsto perceptible particulars, referred to by the phrase “things that come-to-be and are unlimited” (15b5). 1° The phrase “monadsofthis sort” (15b1) picks up “these henads and thoseofthis sort” (15a6). Some commentators(e.g., Muniz and Rudebusch 2004, 401-2, 403 and Gill 2010a, 40) take “monads of this sort” (15b1) to refer to what “these henads andthoseofthis sort” (15a6) are divided into, but such a

readingstrains the text. Henceforth I shall use only ‘monad’to refer to the entities referred to also by ‘henad’. ‘Henad’ (évas) is probably a Platonic neologism. "| The feminine pronouns tadras (15b2) and radryv (15b4) can only standfor radras povddas and

TavTny povdda. » Cf. Sph. 219a8-c9. For the sake of simplicity, I ignore the fact that later on (at 226b2-c9) the Eleatic Visitor appears to introduce a third species (discriminative-art) into which the genusartis divided. 3 The dpws at 15b4 has been considered problematic because there seemsto be no contrast between the clause it introduces (radras elvar BeBardtata piav tavTyv, 1562-4) and the one to whichitis linked

(piav éxdornv...mpoodexouevnv, 15b2-4). It has therefore been variously emended.If pwsis retained (as it should,for it is unanimously attested by the MSS),it is not easy to take the second controversy to concern the status of monads as unitary, ingenerated, andindestructible entities in opposition to the status of perceptible particulars as dispersed, generated, and perishable (an interpretative line that would otherwise be tempting). * Cf. 12c6-13a6; 13c6-14a9.

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An argumentis offered that purports to show that every monadis both one and many because it is in the many perceptible particulars that fall under it. This argument,the third in support of the paradoxical claim that the manyare one and the one many, echoes one presented in the Parmenides (130e4-131e7).’° It turns

on a dilemma: every monadis in the manyperceptible particularsthat fall underit either by having manydifferent parts ofitself wholly contained in them, in which

case it is “dispersed” (15b5-6)’* and is therefore “many” (15b6), or by being wholly contained in each of the many perceptible particulars that fall underit and are reciprocally separate,’” in which case it is “itself separately from itself” (15b6-7) and is therefore many becauseit is, so to speak, multiplied. So, in all cases, every monad is many. Since every monadis one,it is both one and many. The three controversies are connected. For, if monads did not enjoy certain characteristics they are supposed to enjoy (as someparty ofthe secondorthe third controversy would maintain), it would follow that monadsdo notexist (as some

party ofthe first controversy would claim). The third controversy is regarded as more important than the first two:’* morespace is dedicated to it. Moreover, only the third controversy is associated with an argument for the paradoxical claim that

the manyare one and the one many.” The appealto division andcollection. After reviewing the controversies concerning monads,Socrates and Protarchusagree that they must immediately work on them (15c4-6), ie., work on the questions of whether monadsexist, of how a monad can

be described as divided into many monads without any coming-to-be or destruction being involved, and of how a single monad can be in the manyperceptible

particulars that fall underit.” Socrates then asserts that “the one and the many that become the same thanks to discourses”’ pervade in all waysall things ever said, both long ago and now” (15d4-6). According to some commentators, Socrates means that the way we speak showsthat the oneis identical with the

5 Local concepts are prominent in the argumentin the Parmenides(cf. ‘ywpis, Prm. 131b1, b2, b5, ‘roAAaxod, 131b4, b7). Cf. S.E. P. 2.220-2.

'6 It is not clear whether the monad’s being ‘dispersed’ is at least partly due to the fact that the perceptible particulars that wholly contain parts ofit are reciprocally separate and in some cases move away from one another. In its two other occurrences in the Philebus (23e5, 25a3), ‘to disperse’

(‘Staomdw’) is paired with ‘to split up’ Coyifw’, “Stacyifw’). ” The assumption that the manyperceptible particulars each of which wholly contains the monad are reciprocally separate is not formulated in the argumentin the Philebus, but seems requiredbyits cogency: otherwise the monad couldbelike my pencil, which is wholly contained both in mypencil case and in my bag (which wholly contains my pencil case). The assumption is formulated in the argumentin the Parmenides (cf. 131b1). '8 Cf. Mirhady (1992, 176-7). 1? Myexegesis of 15b1-8 is indebted to Archer-Hind (1901, 231), Meinwald (1996, 100-2), and (especially) Barker (1996, 161-4).

?° T take the ‘rod9”’ at 15c4 to refer to the problemsraised by the three controversies introduced in the immediately preceding passage. 71 T construe the syntax with Baumgarten-Crusius (1809, 34). Other construals have been proposed (cf. Léhr 1990, 96-7), but they are far-fetched.

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many.” This exegesis cannot, however, be right because it takes Socrates to endorse a one-many argument. What Socrates has in mind is perhaps that the identification of the one with the many purportedly established by ‘discourses,’ ie, by the recently rehearsed one-many arguments, concerns theentities, ie., perceptible particulars and monads, involved in whateveris said, i-e., in predicative sentences. After this, Socrates describes some naughty youths whotake pleasure “in moving every discourse, now turning it to oneside androllingit all up into one, then again unrolling it and dividing it up” (15e2-3). It is not clear exactly what activity these naughty youths are engaged in: perhaps it has to do with the recently rehearsed one-many arguments, which purport to show that the many are one (which maybelikenedto rolling a discourse up into one) and the one is many (which maybe likened to unrolling a discourse and dividingit up).”? Socrates’ description of the first trivial one-many puzzle as “childish” (atdapicdys, 14d7) fits well with its attribution to naughty youths. Protarchus reacts by asking Socrates to find a way to remove the disturbance just described (16a7-8): he is probably alluding both to the disturbance caused by the youths whoroll up and unroll discourse and to the disturbance caused by the three controversies about monads.”* Socrates replies that the best solution is the one of which he has always been lover (16b5-6), and this turns out to be the duo

of division and collection. In fact, the dialogue’s following pages contain rather detailed descriptions of division and collection. But how can division and collection solve the problemsraised by three controversies about monads? Specifically, how can they solve the problem of how a monadcan be divided into many monads without any coming-to-be or destruction being involved, or that of how a single monad can be in the manyperceptible particulars that fall underit? Socrates does not say, and weareleft to wonder. Did Plato fail properly to integrate the controversies about monadswithin their context??° Such an uncharitable solution should be adopted only asa lastresort. Alternatively, one might attempt a somewhat minimalist solution that appeals to the fact that division and collection clearly display the relations of a genusto its species and ofa kind to the perceptible particulars that are its members.”® But, if this were all that division and collection can contribute, they would offer preciouslylittle. A third, more promising solution is that Socrates’ point is that by practicing division and collection we will realize three things: first, that monadsexist; second, that when wesay that a genusis divided into its species, the situation that correspondsto this way of speaking is (not one whereby we do something to the genus or the species, but) one where after considering the genus, we identify the species and werealize that they bearcertain relations to the genus; third, that the relation of a kind to the perceptible particulars that are its 2 Hackforth ([1945] 1958, 22). 5 Cf. Kahn (2010, 58, 63, 64).

?? Cf. 14c8; 14e3-4. 4 Cf. Kahn (2010, 57). 6 Cf. Léhr (1990, 99-100).

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members does not require that the kind be spatially contained in the perceptible particulars. Let me explorethis third solution. Division and collection in Plato. I begin with a rough outline of division and collection based on Plato’s scattered remarks and his practice. To divide a kind is to identify either two ora larger finite numberof further kinds andto realize that these further kinds are (1) immediately subordinate to the original kind, (2) pairwise disjoint, and (3) exhaustive of the original kind. For instance, when in

the Sophist the Eleatic Visitor and Theaetetus divide the kindart, they identify two further kinds, productive-art and acquisitive-art,”” and they realize that these two further kinds are (1) immediately subordinate to the kind art (because they

are both subordinate to it and neither is subordinate to some kind that is subordinate to it), (2) disjoint (because nothing falls under both), and (3) exhaustive of the kind art (because whateverfalls under the kind art falls under either of them).

Division mayhelponeeitherto find a definition or to producea classification.” If oneis defining a kindS, one begins byidentifying a kind G that can be truly and appropriately mentioned in answering the question “Whatis it?’ asked aboutS.If G can be divided into kinds with one of which S is necessarily coextensive, one executes this division and the process comes to an end (merely coincidental coextension is too weak). If instead G cannotbe so divided, then it can be divided

into kinds one of which can betruly and appropriately mentioned in answering the question “Whatis it?’ asked about S. One then proceeds with this kind in the same way as with G. The operation is repeated until a kind is divided into kinds with one of which S is necessarily coextensive. The definition of S is obtained by successively mentioning the kinds encountered during this process. If instead oneis trying to producea classification of a certain domainofreality, one beginsbyidentifying a kind G that can be truly and appropriately mentioned in answering the question “Whatis it?’ asked about all the particulars within the domain concerned but cannot be so mentioned in answering that question whenit is asked aboutparticulars outside the domain concerned. Onethen divides G into two or morekindsSj, S2,..., S,. If none of these kinds can be divided into further

kinds, the process comesto an end.If instead some of them can be so divided, one proceeds with each of these in the same way as with G. The operation is repeated until kinds are divided into kinds noneof which can be dividedinto further kinds. Theclassification of the domain concernedis obtained by successively mentioning G and all the kinds encountered in the process. Note that in the case of a classification the stopping point of the process is determined not by the kind oneis trying to define (for there is no such thing), but by kinds that cannot be divided into further kinds. 27 Cf. above, n. 12.

28 Cf. Cornford (1935, 171); Moravesik (1973, 327-8).

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This rough characterization of division turns on the concept of subordination. I shall not attempt to define subordination. I only report three facts that may be plausibly taken to hold with respect to this concept. (1) Subordination does not coincide with proper extensional inclusion:it is not the case that for all kinds S$ and G, S is subordinate to G just if G holds of everything of which S holds and other things besides. Subordination is stronger than proper extensionalinclusion: althoughforall kinds S and G, S is subordinate to G only if G holds of everything of which S holds and other things besides, the converse fails (capable-of-running holds of everything of which man holds and other things besides, but man is not subordinateto capable-of-running).”? (2) A necessary condition for a kind S to be subordinate to a kind G is that G can betruly and appropriately mentioned in answering the question “Whatis it?’ asked about S (the kind art can be truly and appropriately mentioned in answering the question ‘Whatis it?’ asked about the kind productive-art). (3) Another necessary condition for a kind S to be subor-

dinate to a kind G is that S be expressible as a specification or determination of G (the kind productive-art can be expressed by the phrase ‘productive-art,’ which portraysit as a special or determinate way of being anart). A metaphysical presupposition of the description of the use of division in definition offered above deserves being mentioned. The description presupposes that if a kind G can betruly and appropriately mentioned in answering the question “Whatis it?’ asked abouta kindS, theneither S is necessarily coextensive with a kind into which G can bedividedorat least one kind into which G can be divided can be truly and appropriately mentioned in answering the question ‘Whatis it?’ asked aboutS. Division wasan influential aspect of Plato’s philosophy. Although he repeatedly criticises division, Aristotle studies it in his logico-methodological works and applies it in manyareas(especially in biology). He also enriches it with technical distinctions and terminology. For instance, by observing Plato’s practice one may plausibly infer that a genus is divided into its species by combining with further kinds that differentiate it and together with it constitute the species. One exampleof this practice occurs perhaps in the Sophist (219d9-e3): the procedure described in this passage may be plausibly represented as one whereart-of-possession-taking (a genus) is divided by reference to openness and secrecy (two further kinds) and together with them constitutes art-of-taking-possession-openly andart-of-takingpossession-secretly, i.e., art-of-combat and art-of-hunting (two species). Another example occurs perhaps in the Philebus (48d4-49c1). The procedure described in this passage may be plausibly represented as one where ignorance-of-oneself (a genus) is divided with reference to richness, beauty, and virtue (three further

kinds) and together with them constitutes ignorance-about-one’s-own-richness,

29 Cf. Moravesik (1973, 334-9, 341-2).

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ignorance-about-one’s-own-beauty, and ignorance-about-one’s-own-virtue (three species). Each of the three results thus obtained is then divided further with reference to strength-and-power and lack-of-strength-and-power (two further kinds) and together with them constitutes ignorance-about-one’s-own-richnesswith-strength-and-power, ignorance-about-one’s-own-richness-without-strengthand-powerlessly, etc. (six lower species). (At 49b2 Socrates points out that

strength-and-power and lack-of-strength-and-power differentiate all human beings, not only those that fall under the kind that is being divided.) Now, one passage of the Statesman claims that “when onefirst perceives the communion of the many, one should not give up before one hasseen all the differences in it, however manyare posited in species” (285a7-b3). The point might be that when one “perceives the communion of the many” membersof a groupbyrealizingthat theyall fall under a certain genus, one should divide this genus by finding “all the differences” of it, ie. all the kinds that differentiate it, and by putting these differences into the species into which oneis dividing it. Moreover, a passage of the Sophist apparently offers two descriptions ofdialectic: as the science that studies which kinds combine with one another (253b8-c10), and as the science concerned

with division and collection (253d1-e3). These two descriptions are perhaps connected because a genusis divided into its species by combining with other differentiating kinds.*° Furthermore, Aristotle refers to the Platonists as “those [... ] who

constitute the species from the genusandthedifferentiae” (Metaph. Z14. 1039°24-6). However,it is only with Aristotle himself that the idea that a genus is divided into its species by combining with further kindsthat differentiate it and together with it constitute the species is scrutinized and endowed with its own technical terminology—the differentiating kinds are called ‘differentiae, Plato acknowledges that the same genus can be divided in more than one way. For instance, in the Sophist (219a8-c9) art is divided into productive-art and acquisitive-art, but in the Statesman (258b7-e7) the Eleatic Visitor says that “it is

not in the sameplace” that he can “see a cut”: this time knowledge is divided into practical-knowledge and theoretical-knowledge(art and knowledge seem to be the samekind).** In the Philebus, Socrates presents two divisions of the genus vocalsound: one is based on how soundsare produced in the vocal apparatus, another on pitch.*? Collection is the reverse of division: while division goes from a single kind to manykinds that are subordinateto it, collection goes from manykindsto a single

°° Cf. Delcomminette (2002, 37). Sph. 253d1-e3 has beentraditionally taken to describe division (cf. Cornford 1935, 266-8), but some commentators recently denied that its second part (253d5-e3) concerns division (cf. Trevaskis 1967, 120-3; Gomez-Lobo 1977, 36-47). 31 Cf. Sph. 257c7-d3 and Plt. 258b7 with 258d5; Cavini (1995, 131); Brown (2010, 157, 167-8); Gill

(2010b, 192). 2 Cf. Gill (2010a, 43-6). Aristotle in the Topics (4.2, 121°24-12272) also appears to allow the

possibility that the same genus can be divided in more than one way.

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kind that can be truly and appropriately mentioned in answering the question “Whatis it?’ asked about them. Collection also goes from manyparticulars to a single kind of which they are members (something like division probably goes from a single kind to the manyparticulars that are its members: more on this later).

One might expect a division to begin after a preliminary collection. For, in orderto carry out a division, one must identify the kind to divide: shouldn’t this identification be attained by collection? However, most of the divisions described by Plato do not begin after preliminary collections: the kinds from which the divisions start are usually identified by something like an immediate intuition. Collections are usually deployed (not before, but) during divisions. For, one often finds two or more kinds into which one maydivide a kind G bycollecting more specific instances of G.** Division in the Philebus. The following passage from the Philebus’s ontological digression probably describes division:** 14 soc. A gift of the gods to men,as it appears to me, was thrown by some god by means of a Prometheus together with some exceedingly bright fire. The ancients, superior to us and dwelling closer to the gods, passed down this prophetic saying, that the things said always to be** are from one and many and have limit and unlimitedness naturally together within themselves. Since these things are organizedin this way, with regard to everything we must look for a single form after positing it in each case—for wewill find it becauseit is there. If we then share in it, after one we must see two, if they are there, otherwise three or some other number, andtreat each of those unities in the same way, until we see that the initial unity is not only one and many and unlimited, but also how many it is. One must not apply the form of the unlimited to the multiplicity before one has seen the total numberofit that

?? Cf. Sph. 219a10-cl; 219c2-9; 222c3-d2; 226b2-c9; 226e5-227a10; 267a10-b2; Plt. 258c3-e7; Hackforth ([1945] 1958, 142-3); Philip (1966, 338-41). °4 Trevaskis (1960) argues that T4 does not describe division. Thomas(2006, 203-4)offers a useful

overview of T4’s interpretations. 5 Most translators and commentators (e.g., Hackforth [1945] 1958, 23) believe that rav dei Aeyopevwv efvas (16c9) should be rendered by “the things eversaid to be,” ie., “the things admitted

by someoneor otherto exist,” and refers to all entities (forms as well as perceptible particulars). Reshotko (2010) arguesthat raiv det Aeyopevwefvar should be understood as “the things alwayssaid to be,” ite., “the things admitted by everyone to exist,” and refers to perceptible particulars. But the passage’s sequel explains the joint presence of ‘one’ and ‘many’andof‘limit’ and ‘unlimitedness’ by referenceto therelation of a genusto its species and of a kind to the perceptible particulars that areits members,an explanation that could not accountfor the claim that perceptible particulars “are from one and manyandhavelimit and unlimitedness naturally together within themselves” (16c9-10). There-

fore, following Striker (1970, 17-23), I translate rév det Aeyouevwy eivax by “the things said always to be,”ie., “the things regardedaseternal,” and I takeit to refer to forms.

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lies between the unlimited and the one, and only then give up on** each and every unity by letting it go into the unlimited. The gods, as I said, have entrusted us with inquiring and teaching and learning from one another in this way. The experts of the present day however produce the one and the manyas chancehasit and faster and slowerthan they should,andafter the one they produce immediately the unlimited while intermediates elude them— whereasit is thanks to these that thereis a distinction between our discussing with one anotherin a dialectical or eristic fashion.

(16c5-17a5)

Passage T4 andits context contain several cross-references to the Phaedrus’s pages where Plato first describes division and collection:*’ Socrates’ love for collections and divisions,** the divine nature of these procedures,’ their association with dialectic,*° and their relevance to art and knowledge.** Socrates emphasizes that division must begin with a single form, a form he describes as évotcay (16d2), ie., as “being there” and “contained.” This sounds

like an answerto the question on whichthefirst controversy about monadsturns, namely the question of whether monadsexist. If it is an answer,it is nothing more than thebareassertion of the position whose truth the question was doubting.” Socrates’ presentation of division in T4 has three peculiartraits: (1) the jargon of division is absent from it;** (2) it mentions the unlimitedly many perceptible particulars; (3) it claims that we achieve knowledge only by grasping the precise number of the species that lie between the genus and the unlimitedly many perceptible particulars that fall underit.** I shall discuss these three traits in turn. Nojargon of division. In Republic 7 (527a1-b8), Socrates ridicules geometricians because they describe their own activity by using verbs(e.g., ‘to square,’ ‘to apply,’ ‘to add’) that suggest that they are doing something to the entities they are studying, while their activity has knowledgeas its purpose and concerns ungenerated, incorruptible, and unchangeable entities. Moreover, in the Sophist (248c11-e5), the Eleatic Visitor raises the question of whether a form’s being

knownimplies its suffering something and therefore undergoing a change. Thus, Plato is alert to the issue of whether‘intellectual’ activities induce coming-to-be, destruction, or change in their objects. Now, the jargon of division is conspicuously absent from passage T4:there are no occurrencesof verbslike ‘to divide’ or

‘to cut up.” My impression is that in T4 Plato consciously avoids describing dialectical operations in ways that might encourage the erroneous view that one

a

we

6 Cf. LSJ s.v. ‘yaipw’ mt 2 c.

°7 Cf. Benson (2010, 20-1).

® Cf. Phdr. 266b3-4; Phib. 16b5-6. ° Cf. Phdr. 266b7-c1; Phlb. 17a3-5.

3° Cf. Phdr. 266b5-7; PhIb. 16c5-8. *! Cf. Phdr. 277b5-c6; Phlb. 17b6-9, 17c7-d2.

* Cf. Striker (1970, 23). * Cf. Trevaskis (1960, 39-40). ‘* In the context of passage T4, ‘the unlimited’ seems to comprise the unlimitedly manyperceptible particulars because it is opposed to ‘the one’ and distinguished from ‘the intermediates.’ © The jargonofdivision returnslater: cf. 18c3, 20a6, 20c4, 48d6, 49a7, 49b6.

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is cutting a genus up or doing something to it that would bring aboutits coming-to-be, destruction, or change. Instead of the jargon of division, T4 contains expressions that suggest searching, finding, and spotting: “we must look for” (16d2), “we will find” (16d2), “we must see” (16d3). I suspect that

Plato is hinting that when weusethe jargon of division (verbs like ‘to divide’ or ‘to cut up’) to describe dialectical operations, the situation we are so describing is one where after considering a single kind (a genus), a thinker identifies two or morefurther kinds(its species) and realizes that they bear certain relations to the kind consideredinitially. (Earlier I briefly described these relations: the further kinds are immediately subordinate to the kind considered initially,

reciprocally disjoint, and exhaustive of the kind consideredinitially.)**° The solution to the problem raised by the second of the three controversies mentioned by Socrates at 15b1-8 probably appeals to considerationsof this sort. Specifically, when wedescribe the situation where these monads(arbitrarily chosen species of the same genus, e.g., productive-art and acquisitive-art) are this monad (the genus of which the membersofthe group just introducedare species,e.g., art) by saying that this monadis dividedinto these, the situation weare so describingis one whereafter considering this monad, a thinker identifies these monads and realizes that they bear certain relations to this monad. Such a situation does not subject the monads concerned to coming-to-be, destruction, or change. Division and perceptible particulars. The way in which passage T4 introduces the unlimitedly manyperceptible particulars suggests that the relation of membership borne by perceptible particulars to their kinds is similar to the relation of subordination borneby speciesto their genera (e.g., that the relation of membership which the perceptible particular men Tim,Jim, etc. bear to the kind manis similar to the relation of subordination which the species walking-animal, flyinganimal, and aquatic-animal bear to the genus animal).*’ First, the similarity between the tworelations is suggested by Socrates’ observation that at some point we “give up on each and every unity byletting it go into the unlimited” (16e1-2). Socrates seemsto indicate that one could reach perceptible particulars by applying somethinglike the procedure that he has just described (the point where onegives up on “each and every unity” is perhaps that where further division would yield non-eternal entities). Secondly, the similarity is suggested by Socrates’ remark that by applying division we can see that “the initial unity is [...] one and many and unlimited” (16d5-6). This remark appears to indicate that a genus bearsto its species a relation similar to the oneit bears to the perceptible particulars that areits members.If this suggestion is on the right track, then the similarity between the two relations can be tentatively spelled out as follows. *© Cf. above, paragraphto n. 27. *” T borrowthis division of the genus animal from Arist. Top. 6.6, 143°34-°2 (reading ‘xal evbdpep [kai r@ Siro8i)’ at 143°2).

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Whenwedivide a genusinto its species, we first consider the genus and then we identify some other kinds and werealize that they bear certain relations to the genus: they are immediately subordinate to the genus, reciprocally disjoint, and exhaustive of the genus. Something analogous probably happens when we “give up on each and every unity byletting it go into the unlimited” (16e1-2). At such a stage, after considering a lowest-level species, we focus on certain perceptible particulars and werealize that they bearcertain relations to the lowest-level species: they are membersof the lowest-level species, they are reciprocally disjoint in that nothing is a memberof any twoof them (afterall, nothing is a memberofany one of them), and they are exhaustive of the lowest-level species in that every member of the lowest-level species is comprised among them.It is not clear whatprecisely the relation of membership is that perceptible particulars bear to their kinds. Is it different or identical to the relation of subordination that species bear to their genera? Is it a primitive relation or can it be analysed into more ‘fundamental’ terms? In the next section I shall explore answers to these two dilemmasthat choose their second horns: the relation of membership that perceptible particulars bear to their kinds is the sameas the relation of subordination that species bear to their genera, and both relations can be analysed into more ‘fundamental’ terms. But, whatever the answersto the two questions maybe,it is plausible to assumethat the solution to the problem raised by Socrates’ third controversy about monads, namely the problem of how single kind can be in the manyperceptible particulars that are its members, relies on the claim that the relation of membership that perceptible particulars bearto their kinds does not require that the latter be spatially contained in the former. Such a claim guarantees that the dilemmatic argument that sparks Socrates’ third controversy about monads cannotgetoff the ground: if a kind need not be spatially contained in the manyperceptible particulars that are its members, it is not necessary forit either to have differentparts ofitself contained in them orto be wholly contained in each of them.” A mereologicalaccount.It is tempting to assumethat the relation of membership borneby perceptible particulars to their kinds is (not merely similar, but) identical to the relation of subordination borne by species to their genera: the identity of the tworelations is suggested by Socrates’ remark that by applying division we can see that “the initial unity is [...] one and many and unlimited” (16d5-6).” Moreover, when in passage T4 he speaks of the relation between kinds located “higher up” on the “ontological ladder” and whatlies “under” them, Socrates does not abandon the jargon of containment that was involved in the puzzle that sparked the third controversy about monads: recall the description of a form as

évodcav (16d2),i.e., as “being there” and “contained.”*° Although,as I just pointed

48 Cf. Cresswell (1972, 152, 153-4).

5° Cf. ‘évdy’ at 13b4.

4 Cf. 18e8-19a2; Striker (1970, 12); Lohr (1990, 94).

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out, this jargon should notbe taken to imply spatial containment,it is tempting to assumethat it alludes to containment of some sort. In what followsI shall explore the possibility that the jargon of containment could allude to parthood and shall develop a mereological account both of the relation of subordination borne by species to their genera and of the relation of membership borne by perceptible particulars to their kinds.** Whenit is divided into its species, a genus combines with somereciprocally incompatible attributes and together with them constitutes the corresponding species (in the Aristotelian tradition, the reciprocally incompatible attributes with which the genus combines are called differentiae). For instance, when the genus animal is divided into its species walking-animal, flying-animal, and aquatic-animal, it combines with the reciprocally incompatible attributes walking, flying, and aquatic and together with them it constitutes the corresponding species. Every species of a genusis a part of that genus as a whole; however,it is also the case that every genus andeachofthe attributes with which it combines so as to constitute a correspondingspeciesare parts of the corresponding species as a whole. The concepts of whole and part therefore play two roles in the division of a genus: the genusis a wholeofits species as parts, and each of these species is in turn a whole whoseparts are the genus and theattribute with which the genus has combined so as to constitute the species itself.°? Accordingly, a more detailed version of the solution to the problem raised by the second controversy about monads mentioned by Socrates could be that when wedescribe the situation where these monads(arbitrarily chosen species of the same genus,e.g., walkinganimal, flying-animal, and aquatic-animal) are this monad(the genus ofwhich the membersofthe group just introducedare species,e.g., animal) by saying that this monadis divided into these, what we meanis that after considering this monad, weidentify these monadsand werealize that this monadis a part of each of these monads(e.g., animal is a part of walking-animal, flying-animal, and aquaticanimal).

The same person is a memberof a chorus andof a chess-club (there is nothing mysterious about this fact). Similarly, the same genusis a part of several species (there is nothing mysterious about this fact either). However, not every kind combines with every kind in such a way as to constitute a species: the genus 51 Cf. Kramer (1973, 158-9).

°? In the Statesman the Eleatic Visitor says that “whenever there is a species of something,it is necessary forit to be also a part of whatever objectit is called a species of, but it is not necessary for a part to be a species” (263b7-9). In the Philebusitself, Socrates speaks of shapes as “parts” of a kind (12e7-13a1). Aristotle explicitly mentions the twofold role played by the concepts of part and whole in division: at Metaph. 425, 1023°22-5 hesaysthatdifferentuses of‘part’ are involved in the claim that the species is a part of the genus which,in turn,is a part of that species. Cf. Int. 11, 21°16-18 (with 20°36-21°4); Ph. 4.3, 210°18-20 (with Ross 1936, 569 and Brakas 1988, 102); Metaph. A2, 101329; 3, 1014°3-14; 6, 1015°24-7; 24, 1023°35-6; 25, 1023°17-19, 22-5; Z7, 1033°1-5; 10, 1035°3-4; 14, 1039°30-3; 15, 104015-21 (with Ph. 1.1, 184726-°3; 2.3, 194°26-9; Mignucci 1997,

143; Mignucci 2000, 5); Corti (2009, 185-205).

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number combineswith the kind even so as to constitute the species even-number, but the genus animal does not combine with the kind even so as to constitute a species even-animal (animals can be divided in two, but they are not the sort of thing that can be divided by two without remainder). Some kinds combine with one another, others don’t. In this respect, kinds resemble letters (and musical notes): some letters combine with another, others don’t (similarly with notes). Just as there is a science that studies whichletters (or notes) combine with one another

and which don’t, namely literacy (or harmonic theory), so also there is a science that studies which kinds combine with one another and which don’t, namely dialectic.°* Something similar perhaps goes on with a lowest-level species and the unlimitedly manyperceptible particulars that are its members. When wedivide a genus into its species, we realize that it combines with some reciprocally incompatible attributes and together with them it constitutes those species. Analogously, one may regard each of the attributes which (at a certain moment) hold nonessentially of a perceptible particular as a member of a range of reciprocally incompatible attributes, and as operating in the same way as an attribute with which a genus combinessoas to constitute a species, in a process that is analogous to division and gradually singles out that perceptible particular (at that moment) within its lowest-species and progresses through unlimitedly manystages.Just as a species is a whole whoseparts are its genus andthe attribute with which the genus has combinedsoas to constitute it, so also a perceptible particular (at a certain moment)is a whole whosepartsare its lowest-level species and all those attributes which (at the given moment) hold non-essentially ofit.°* Since genera are parts of their species, it follows that the genera of a lowest-level species, and their genera, etc. are all parts of the perceptible particulars (at moments) that fall under the lowest-level species. In general, every kind is a part ofall the perceptible particulars (at moments)thatfall underit. The indivisibility of a perceptible particular(at a certain moment) amounts to the fact that for every range of reciprocally incompatible attributes one of whose members could be taken to contribute to single out the perceptible particular (at the given moment) in a way analogousto that in which a memberof a range of reciprocally incompatible attributes combines with a genus so as to constitute a species of it, exactly one memberofthat range is already a part of the perceptible particular(at the given moment), and has therefore already been employed in the analogue of the process of division—all °° Cf. Sph. 252e9-253cl0. The combination of a genus with anattribute that yields a species is probably a relation where the order of the argumentsis relevant: there is a difference betweenrigideducation,the species of the genus education that results from the combination ofthis genus with the attribute rigidity, and educative-rigidity, the species of the genus rigidity that results from the combination of this genus with the attribute education. °4 As in the case of the combination of a genus with an attribute that yields a species, the combination with non-essential attributes that progressively singles out a perceptible particular (at a moment)is probably a relation where the order of the arguments is relevant(cf. above, n. 53).

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possible ‘divisions’ have been carried out. Thefinalresult is a particular becauseit cannotbe divided further and therefore cannot play a role analogousto that of a genusin a division. What we haveso far are ‘perceptible particulars at moments.’ The whole perceptible particular whose existence stretches over a period of time can thenberetrieved as the ‘temporal worm’consisting ofall its ‘temporalslices,’ ie., the perceptible particulars at t for every momentt within a certain period (the period of the perceptible particular’s life).°° Amongthe attributes involved in the process that gradually singles out a perceptible particular (at a moment) there are also local attributes like being-insuch-and-such-a-spot-of-the-market-place-in-Athensand being-in-such-and-sucha-spot-of-the-market-place-in-Megara. The same kind (e.g., man or animal) is a part of two perceptible particulars (at the same moment), one of which has amongits parts the attribute of being-in-such-and-such-a-spot-of-the-marketplace-in-Athens while the other has amongits parts the attribute of beingin-such-and-such-a-spot-of-the-market-place-in-Megara (there is nothing more mysterious aboutthis fact than about the sameperson’s being a memberofa chorus and of a chess-club). This is how one and the same kind canbein different placesat the sametime. The problemraised by Socrates’ third controversy about monads,ie., the problem of the multiple location of a single kind, evaporates because the locations becomeattributes that are parts of perceptible particulars (at moments): locations are no more problematic than the incompatible attributes that combine with a genusso asto constitute its immediately subordinate species. The key moveis to assumethat locations are not an independent‘grid’ on which monadsare to be distributed, but attributes that play a role analogous to those with which genera combinesoas to constitute species.

The mereological account evaluated. Should weattribute to Plato the mereological accountofthe relations of a genus toits species and of a kind to the perceptible particulars that are its members? Let me review someobjections. (1) “Plato’s middle dialogues posit an ontological gulf separating perceptible particulars from forms. But, on the mereological account, perceptible particulars are obtained from lowest-level species in much the same way as species are obtained from their genera.” Thefair reply to this objection is to acceptits contention whileinsisting that Plato’s late works contain other movesin the samedirection: e.g., change belongsin the realm of whatfully is and whatis is the result of a coming-to-be.*°

55 Code (1976, 174-82) attributes to Aristotle the idea that particulars are “temporal worms”

consisting of “temporal slices.” Other commentators instead deny that Aristotle regarded particulars as “temporal worms” (e.g., White 1971, 195-6; Miller 1973, 487). 56 Sph. 248e6-249b7; Phlb. 27b8-9.

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(2) “The mereological account’s assumption that spatial locations are not an independent‘grid’ on which monadsareto bedistributed clashes with the role that the Timaeusattributes to space as a receptacle for forms.” I cannot engageherein a study ofthe role of space in the Timaeus. I merely sketch a possible reply: the Timaeus was written well before the Philebus;*’ the role of space in the Timaeus is taken over in the Philebus by unlimitedness;** unlimitedness in the Philebus does not amount to an independent “grid” on which formsare to be distributed. The problem with a metaphysical picture whereby spatial locations form an independent grid and monads are fragmented in them is that it leaves unanswered the issue of how a monadturnsout to be both one and many. (3) “According to the Timaeus, a form ‘neitherreceives into itself anything else from anywhereelse, nor itself enters into anything else anywhere’ (52a2-3). This clashes with the mereological account’s assumption that

kinds are parts of the perceptible particulars that fall under them.” The reply to this objection is, again, that the Timaeus was written before the Philebus and with respect to the ontology of forms stands with the middle dialoguesagainst the Philebus.*° (4) “The mereological account entails that perceptible particulars are definable. Plato would never have acceptedthis.” The chargeis based ona false assumption:the attributes that constitute perceptible particulars cannot be listed in definiens-expressions because they are unlimitedly many. (5) “There is no independent evidence that Plato ever applied the method of division to lowest-level species so as to generate perceptible particulars from them.”True, but since the Philebus is one of Plato’s last works, the absence of parallels from other dialoguesbearslittle weight: the application to lowestlevel species could well be a late developmentof the theory ofdivision. The mereological accountalso has somestrengths. (1) It helps to explain why Aristotle, in early works that echo Academic views, uses atomon (‘individual’) to

refer to particulars. Atomon indicates indivisibility and therefore suggests that particulars are entities that cannot be divided, ultimate results of a division-like

°7 Recent studies of the chronology ofthe dialogues place the Timaeus and the Philebus at the beginning andat the end (respectively) of the last phase of Plato’s production (cf. Brandwood 1992, 113-14). °8 Cf. Kahn (2010, 66).

°? Whenin the Philebus Socrates describes formsas “keeping freest from admixture” (dpetxrdrara éxovra, 59c4), he probably does not meanthat formsdo not mix with otherthings, but that they are not themselves mixtures containing alien components that wouldspoil their “purity” (76 cafapdv, 59c2-3).

5° Cat. 2, 1°6; 5, 3°35; °38; 939; °2; 7; 12; Top. 4.1, 121°36; °37; 2, 122°21; >22; 6.6, 144°3 (cf. Sens. 7,

448°3; Metaph. B1, 995°29; 3, 998°16; 999715; Kramer 1973, 158; M. Frede 1978, 50-5; Mignucci 1997, 144). Aristotle associates being “indivisible” (aroyov) with being “numerically one” (€v dprOu@): Cat. 2,

16-7; 5, 3°12 (cf. 4711; *135 *14; 915; 917-18; °17; SE 22, 179°7).

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process. Note that for Aristotle the division of a genus always comes about thanks to its combining with differentiae. Moreover, Aristotle’s category of place comprises attributes like in-the-Lyceum and in-the-market-place (cf. Cat. 4, 2°1-2), namely attributes of the sort postulated by the mereological account. (2) In the Phaedo (102a10-103a3) Socrates says that formsare in the perceptible

particulars that partake of them: such a way of speakingfits well with the mereological account. (3) In Republic 5 Socrates offers the following description of the forms: “Each is itself one, but because they appear everywhere by being combined with actions, bodies, and one another, each of them appears many” (476a5-7). This description again fits well with the mereological account.(4) In the second hypothesis of the second half of the Parmenides (142d1-5), from the assumptionthat being

and onenessarereciprocally distinct but both belongto the one-that-is it is inferred that the one-that-is is a whole of which being and onenessare parts. This inference fits well with the mereological account. (5) Ancient sources credit Eudoxus with

the claim that perceptible particulars are mixtures whose ingredients are the forms ofwhichthey partake.” This claim fits in well with the mereological account. Given that Eudoxusis probably oneofthe targets of the Philebus because of his views on pleasure,®’ it would not be surprising if Plato himself in this dialogue were to adopt something like Eudoxus’ accountofparticipation. The objections to the mereological account are serious and they prevent one from confidently attributing it to Plato. But they have plausible replies, and the mereological account has some strengths. I am therefore favorably inclined toward regarding the mereological account as belonging to Plato’s late ontology. Grasping the number of the intermediates. Passage T4’s third peculiartrait is its claim that knowledge requires grasping the “total number” (16d8)of “the intermediates” (17a3), ie., the species between a genus and the perceptible particulars that fall underit. Why should knowledge require grasping this number? Does the discovery that the intermediates between the genus animal andindividual animals are (say) 237 really matter to one’s zoological knowledge? Myinitial reaction is to say that it is a mere curiosity. There are two possible explanations of why Socrates attributes importance to grasping the numberof the intermediates. First, passage T4 introduces in the Philebus the pair limit-unlimitedness (cf. 16c9), a major ingredient of the ontological theory developedlater. In T4’s context, unlimitedness comes into play as the unlimitedness of the numberof the perceptible particulars that fall under a kind at the end of a division. Limit, the opposite of unlimitedness, can therefore only be the limit of the number of someofthe entities that occur in the division. ®! Cf. Sph. 244d14-e1; 245b4-5; 2451-2. * Cf. Arist. Metaph. A9, 991°12-19; M5, 1079°15-23; Alex. Aphr. in Metaph. 97, 17-19. 6 Cf. Arist. EN 1.12, 1101>27-8; 10.2, 1172°9; Alex. Aphr. in Top. 226, 16; Hackforth ([1945] 1958, 4-5).

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The only plausible candidates for this role are the intermediates, the species between the genus and the perceptible particulars. This explains the emphasis on grasping the numberofthe intermediates.** Second,by stressing the importance ofgrasping the numberofthe intermediates Socrates perhapsintends to lead his interlocutor’s attention to what such a grasp requires. Grasping the numberof the intermediates requires counting them, which in turn requires identifying each one of them and avoiding both confusing those that are distinct and distinguishing those that are the same(if I am counting the planets, I must avoid treating Hesperus and Phosphorus as two). The importance of this identification is broughtout by the fact that in the examples heoffersto illustrate division, Socrates declares that the researcher must discover not only how manythe intermediates are, but also whatthey arelike.°° Only byidentifying the intermediateswill one be able to discover howthey are reciprocally related (one can conceive ofa relation R as obtaining betweenan entity x and an entity y only by identifying x and y); and discovering how the elements of a domain are reciprocally related is crucial for one’s knowledge of this domain. In one of the examples he offers to illustrate division, Socrates, after dividing the genus vocal-sound in a waythatleads to its lowest-level species that are the single musical notes, observes that one must also grasp how these notes can be arranged in scales (17d1-2).°° In the example he offers to explain collection, Socrates remarks that “none of us could gain any knowledge of a single one of them [sc. of any of the lowest-level species of the genusvocal-sound], taken by itself without all of them” (18c7-8). These remarks have a holistic ring: one can gain knowledge of a species within a genus only by understanding howitis related to all the other species. Collection in the Philebus. Socrates describes collection as follows:

T5 soc. For, if someone at some point had got hold of some unity or other, this person, as we were saying, should not look immediately at the nature of the unlimited, but at some number. Similarly with the reverse case: when someone is obliged to grasp first the unlimited, he must not look immediately at the unity, but must somehowthink of each multiplicity that has a certain number, and end up from all in the unity.

(18a7-b3)”

Socrates offers an example based on the letters of the alphabet, or rather on the vocal sounds that may beidentified with letters (18b3-d2). If one begins one’s inquiry in this area by considering particular perceptible vocal sounds, one must not immediately subsume them under the genus vocal-sound. Rather, one must subsume someparticular perceptible vocal sounds under the intermediate species vowel, others under the intermediate species voiceless-sound (which °4 Cf. Hackforth ([1945] 1958, 41-2). Also in the dialogue’s later ontological theory limit is associated with number(cf. 25a6-b2). °° 17b8; 17d1; 19b3. °° Cf. Barker (1996, 147).

®? Cf. 24e7-25b4.

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comprises spirants, liquids, and nasals), and yet others under the intermediate species mute. One must then divide each of these intermediate species into its lowest-level species: the intermediate species vowel will be divided into the lowest-level species ‘a,’ ‘e,’ etc., the intermediate species voiceless-sound into the lowest-level species ‘r,’ ‘s,’ etc., and the intermediate species mute into the lowest-level species ‘b, ‘k,’ etc.°* After collecting perceptible particulars into intermediate species and dividing these into lowest-level species, one maycollect the intermediate species into their genus, vocal-sound. The division that occurs in the middle of the collection need not be carried beyond the lowest-level species because perceptible particulars were the collection’s starting-points. Thus, Socrates’ example of collection does nottell against the suggestion thatthe relation of membership borneby perceptible particulars to their kindsis identical to the relation of subordination borne by species to their genera. The presence ofdivision within the collection of Socrates’ example shows that the two procedures can be reciprocally integrated.

8 Cf. Cra. 424b8-c9; Tht. 203b2-7; Gill (2010a, 45).

4 WhyPleasure and Reason are not the Good Philebus 20b-23b Susan Sauvé Meyer

The centrepiece of our passage is an argument (20d-22d) that neither pleasure nor reason (phronésis) is the good. Socrates invokes three features of the good (20d1-10) and then proceeds to argue that neither pleasure norreasonsatisfies them." Hedoesso by asking Protarchus to consider two lives, which he dubsthe “life of pleasure” andthe “life of reason” (20e1-2). Thefirst is maximalin pleasure but lacks reason or anythingin its family (21a8-d5). The second is maximal in reason andits kindredstates butis entirely devoid of pleasure or pain (21d6-e2). Socrates asks whethereitherlife is choiceworthy (hairetos) for a human being (21a8-e2).

Protarchusis first inclined to approve wholeheartedly ofthelife of pleasure. “In having pleasure I would have everything!” (21b2). But when Socrates points out that without anything akin to reason he would have no memory ofpast pleasures, anticipation of pleasures to come, or even true belief that pleasure is what he is experiencing (21b6-d1), Protarchus is dumbfounded (21d4-5). When herecovers

his powers of speech he states unequivocally that such a life is not choiceworthy, either for him or for anyoneelse (21e3-4). The samegoesfor the life of maximal

reason. Howevergodlike it may be in its cognitive excellence, it is not something a human being would find acceptable, because it contains no feeling (21d6-e2).

Sinceneitherlife is one a human being would choose (21e2-3), and anyone would prefer a life that combines “pleasure andintellect (nous) and reason” (22a1-6),

Socrates concludes that neither pleasure nor reason can lay claim to thetitle “the good” (22b3-22d4).

Note:I thank theparticipants in the conference on Spetses for helpful discussionofthefirst draft of this chapter, as well as Verity Harte, Katja Vogt, and Daniel Mackey for stimulating comments on subsequentversions. * The argumentis recapitulated at 60a-61a and at 66e-67a. Susan Sauvé Meyer, Why Pleasure and Reason are not the Good: Philebus 20b-23b. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0004

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1. From the IDENTITY Question to the KINSHIP Question While this argument is sometimes classified as a purported “refutation of hedonism,” the moral that Socrates draws is not that his dispute with the championsof pleasure is over, but that it must be reformulated. Instead of a debate over whether pleasure answers what we maycall the ipENTITY question (what is the good?) Socrates proposes, in quick succession, two different ways of formulating his dispute with hedonism. Thefirst is to debate a CAUSAL question:is pleasure or reason the cause ofthe mixedlife? (22d1-4). The second option, which Socrates

indicates is the more important, is to debate what we may call the KINSHIP question:

Andon this point I would contend even more against Philebus that, whatever this mixedlife hasin it that makes it choiceworthy and good,it is not pleasure but reason that is more akin to it and morelike it... (22d4-8)?

The transition from framing the debate in terms of the IDENTITY question to framingit in terms ofthe KINSHIP question hasbeen anticipated from the beginning of the dialogue. Right after Protarchus takes over from Philebustherole of pleasure’s champion, Socrates proposes twodifferent waysof structuring their dispute. Onthefirst option (11d4-9), the disputed question is whether it is pleasure or reason that makes a humanlife “happy” (eudaimén)—thatis, good.’ The second option is the oneto takeif it turns out that neither pleasure nor reason but some third thing turnsout to play this role (11d11). In that case the dispute will be over whichofpleasure andreasonis “more akin” (mallon. .. sungenés) to that third thing (11d11-12a5). The second question is clearly the same as the KINSHIP question articulated at 22d4-8. While thefirst question is not here articulated in the language of the IDENTITY question (what is the good?), it is soon reformulated in precisely those terms. By the end of the opening skirmish, Socrates and Protarchus are debating whether “pleasure, or reason, or yet a third thing should be called the good” (14b4). Socrates initially proposes to answer this version of the IDENTITY question by employing the so-called “divine method”(14c-20a)ofdividing pleasure and reasonintotheir respective kinds.* But he emphasizesthedifficulty of such an undertaking (14c4-5) and expresses little confidence in his ability to executeit

competently (16b6-7). Our passage (20b-23b) beginsas he“recalls” a different way of showing that the good is something other than pleasure orreason: soc: I have in mind discourse I heard long ago in a dream—or perhaps I was awake—onthe subject of pleasure andreason,that neither of these is the good, ? | translate the text of Burnet (1901). Citations of Plato and Aristotle are from the most recent

editions in the series Oxford Classical Texts. ? Ona eudaiménlife as a goodlife, see Euthyd. 278e-279a, 280b and Aristotle EN 1095a18-20. * The divine methodis discussed by Paolo Crivelli in Chapter3 in this volume.

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that ratherit is some third thing different from these and better than both. To makethis point clear now will deprive pleasure ofthe victory: the good would not turn out to be the sameasit. Right? PROT: Yes.

soc: So we will no longer need to divide the eidé of pleasure, I think. This will becomeclearer in what follows.

(20b6-c2)

Whatfollows is the argumentthat tests (basanizein) thelife of pleasure andthelife of reason (20d-22d). Having deployed it to convince Protarchus that neither pleasure nor reason but some third thing is the good, Socrates concludes that his debate with the hedonists must now be reformulated. Since the IDENTITY question will not settle the contest between pleasure and reason, he proposes to settle the contest by determining which candidate better answers the CAUSAL question (22d1-4), and more importantly, the KINsHIP question (22d5-8).°

2. The IDENTITY Question and the CAUSAL Question(s) There is a tendency among commentators to suppose that the question of whether pleasureis the goodisstill left open as the debate goes forward.° To someextent this is due to a misinterpretation of the CAUSAL question, which Socrates articulates as follows: Wemighteach assign responsibility (aitidimeth’ an) for this combinedlife, one of us claimingthatintellect is the cause (aition), the other claiming that pleasure

is. Thus neither of the two would be the good, but a person mightstill contend that one or the other of them is the cause (aition). (22d1-4)

Many commentators construe Socrates as proposing to debate whetherit is pleasure or reason that makes the mixed life good.’ On such a construalit would indeed be an open question whether pleasure is the good, since, as we have seen,Socratestreats the question of what makesa life good, and the question of whatis the good, as interchangeable.* Such a construal ofthe causal questionat 22d1-4 is, however, mistaken. Socrates proposes to discuss the cause responsible

° Myassessmentofthestatus of the debateat this pointin the dialogue coincides in manyrespects with that of Rachel Barney (2016) although I disagree with her construal of the causAL question at 22d1-4 as a question about what makes the mixedlife good. ® Thus Harte, Chapter15 in this volume. ” Thus Lear (2004, 57-8); Vogt (2010, 253); Harte (2014b, 3 & 1999, 387); Delcomminette (2006, 39), and Barney(2016, 212); Harte (Chapter15 in this volume) proposesthat the causal question of 22d

is thus madeprecise at 64c. ® Oratleast as questions whose answers stand andfall together. See the transition between 11d4-11 and 14b4-5, discussed above, as well as 65a1-5. The close link between the two questions is widely accepted among commentators. Katja Vogt (Chapter 2 in this volume) proposesit as distinctive of Plato’s approach to “the good”in the Philebus.

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for the mixed life, not for its goodness—a point obscured in manytranslations of the second sentence.’ On the most natural reading of the causal languagein this passage, Socrates proposes to debate whether pleasure or reason is what brings about, produces, orgets the credit for, the mixedlife. So construed,it is a question that will receive an answer in the fourfold ontology of 23b-27c, where Socrates arguesthat reason,not pleasure, is the cause (aitia) of any mixture (28c-31a).’°

The CAUSAL question that Socrates puts on the table at 22d1-4 is one of two very different causal questions that are unresolved at this point in the dialogue. Thefirst, “what is the cause of the mixed life?”, inquires into what we might call the EFFICIENT cause of the mixedlife. Socrates has yet to establish that it is reason rather than pleasure that plays this causal role, so this issue is still an open question. The second causal question concerns what we might call the GoopMAKINGfeature ofthe mixedlife.‘’ This questionis given a positive answeronlyat the end of the dialogue, where the trio of beauty, proportion, and truth is identified as the cause of the goodness of any mixture (64c5-7, d3-5, 65a1-5). Still, it is not an entirely open question at 22d,forit has received a partial answer, albeit a negative one, from the test of the twolives. In establishing that neither pleasure nor reason is what makesa life “choiceworthy and good” (22d7) the

argumentfulfills Socrates’ prediction that it will establish “of pleasure and reason, that neither of these is the good” (20b7-8). The interlocutors have yet to determine whatthe goodis, but they have concludedthatit is not pleasure. We mayconclude that when Socrates poses the EFFICIENT causal question and the KINSHIP question at 22d,it is no longer an open question whetherpleasureis the good. Indeed, we haveseen,it is precisely because pleasure and reason are not the good that Socrates proposes these new questions for framing his dispute with the championsofpleasure.

3. A Provisional Verdict? Still, some commentators maintain that the verdict against pleasure is only provisional at this point in the dialogue (22d), that a proper defence of the

° At 22d3 Socrates proposes to consider whether pleasure or reason “is the cause (aition... einai)”—not“is its cause” (that is, the cause of the good)—as onthe translations by D. Frede (1993), Pradeau (2002), and Gosling (1975)—although not D. Frede (1997). There is nothing in the Greek

correspondingto ‘its.’ Moreover, the object of aitidimeth’ an at 22d1 (“we mightassign responsibility”) is unambiguously the genitive phrase rod kowod rovrovuBiou (“for this combinedlife”), so absent any indications to the contrary, we should expectthat the object is the samefor aition in d2 and d3. *° As noted by Gosling (1975, 185) (elaborated in Gosling and Taylor 1982, 131-2) but without endorsing this construal of the question at 22d1-4. On how causal considerationsofthis sort play a role in the final rankingofpleasure and reason at the dialogue’s end, see Harte (Chapter 15 in this volume) and Delcomminette (2006, 576).

"| The relation between these different causal questions is discussed in detail by Barney (2016, 214-15, 218-29). Delcomminette (2006, 568-9) does not agree that they concern distinct kinds of

cause.

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verdict that pleasure is not the good will require the “hard philosophical work” undertaken in the remainderof the dialogue.’ But whyshould wethink that this is the case? We can grant that, for example, the fourfold ontology of 23b-27c and the lengthy division of pleasure and reason at 31b-59dare integral to Socrates’ case against hedonism. But the issue we are facing is whetherall this heavy philosophical artillery is deployed to establish, once again, that pleasure is not the good, or whether wecan take Socrates at his word at 22d that his aim is henceforth to determine which of pleasure and reason is the causEof the mixedlife and which has greater KINSHIPto the cause of goodness in that life. As we have already noted, the fourfold ontology of 23b-27c addresses that CAUSAL question, and it stands to reason that an answer to the KINSHIP question will require a detailed consideration of the kinds of pleasure and reason that the mixed life must contain if it is to be a good one’*—hence the extensive treatments of these topics in what follows. Nowhere in the remainder of the dialogue does Socrates argue for (or even clearly state) the thesis that pleasure is not the good (save whenheis recapitulating the argument of 20d-22c at 60a—61a andat 66e-67a)."* So why supposethatthisis still an open question? Admittedly, his argument against hedonism continues until the end ofthe dialogue, so he can hardly take himself to have refuted it at 22d when he concludes that pleasure is not the good. But we should be wary of supposing that establishing the latter conclusion amounts to a refutation of hedonism.

4. A Refutation of Hedonism? Since the argumentat 20d-22d purportsto establish that pleasure is not the good,

it is often described as a refutation of hedonism.’* But this is misleading, for several reasons. First ofall, even though Socrates’ rhetoric portrays the argument as a defeat for pleasure—pleasure is deprived of “victory” (20c1) and can now only compete for “second prize” (22c8-d1)—Plato indicates that it is equally a defeat

Harte (2014b, 12-15), agreeing with Bobonich (2002, 154). % As noted by Bobonich (2002, 157) and Delcomminette (2006, 186-7, 194), Socrates’ and

Protarchus’ agreement that “everyone would agree that the mixedlife is preferable to either of the other two” (22a5-6) is underwritten by quite different views on which membersofthe reason family

must be addedtothelife of pleasure to make it choiceworthy, and similarly for the kinds of pleasure that must be addedtothelife of reason. ‘4 53c-54d mightbe proposed as a counterexample, where Socrates argues thatpleasureis not in 7 tot dyabod jotpa (54c10, d2); however, the argument refutes “those who maintain that pleasure is good” (54d7). Another apparent counterexample might be 27c, where Socrates suggests that the

fourfold ontology will allow a finer discrimination (krisis) regarding thefirst- and second-place winners (27c8-10). But the finer discrimination does not involve a reconsideration of whetherpleasure is the

good;ratherit sorts the mixedlife (here identified asthefirst-place winner), pleasure, and reason into their respective categories of being. I thank Verity Harte for urging me to consider these passages. 1S Thus D. Frede (1993, xxxii) and Bobonich (2002, 154).

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for Socrates’ preferred candidate, reason:’* neither thelife of pleasure northelife of reason “has the good” (22b3-4), which is to say that neither pleasure nor reason is the good.’” Even though Socrates had the foresight not to enter his own candidate in the contest for first prize (22e6-23a2), that is, as an answer to the

IDENTITY question,’* the comparison oflives that concludes at 22d has given him no basis for asserting the superiority of reason to pleasure. The contest between reason and pleasure has yet to be decided, but it will be decided in terms of the KINSHIP question (and the EFFICIENT CAUSAL question), and the arguments that settle those questions are yet to comein the dialogue. Second,it is a mistake to suppose that the refutation ofthe thesis that pleasure is the good is eo ipso a refutation of hedonism, with the kinsHip ranking merely a consolation prize.’? While philosophers today maytendto refer to hedonism as the thesis that pleasure is the good,” it is overly hasty to suppose that what we understandby “pleasure is the good” coincides with what Plato meansbythethesis that we translate by meansofthat phrase. Indeed, in the argument of 20c-22d, he has Socrates say quite a lot about whatis involvedin being “the good,” and weshall see, when weturn to examine that argument, that he means by “pleasure is the good” something quite different from what contemporary philosophers tend to have in mind when wecharacterize hedonism asthe thesis that pleasureis the good. While the Philebus as a whole maybeintendedasa refutation of hedonism,it also takes on the project of working out what the real issue is concerning hedonism, where the hedonist is construed not as the adherent to a precise doctrine, but as a kind of partisan. A partisan or champion of pleasure might take the stance that pleasure has great normative importance, perhapsthatit is the only or most importantthing in life. But without a precise formulation this stance falls short of being a philosophical doctrine that can be debated. Suchis Philebus’ own position: pleasure is a goddess to be revered (12b1-2); she wins—no matter what the question (12a7-8). The dialogue opens as Socrates and a more philosophically inclined champion of pleasure, Protarchus, work to formulate

hedonism into a precise doctrine.”* The interlocutors initially formulate 16 As we will see in Section 6, pleasure and reason fail for precisely the same reasons, a point emphasized by Vogt (2010, 251).

'” A life’s “having the good” (22b3-4) is presumably equivalentto its containing (/abon) that which makesit “choiceworthy and good” (22d6-7). Since, as we have seen, what makesa life good is what answers the IDENTITY question, we may conclude that“thelife of X has (eichen) the good”is equivalent

to “X is the good.” 18 As noted by D. Frede (1993, xvii), McCabe (2000, 244), and Harte (2014b, 13), Socrates himself

has asserted only the weaker, comparative thesis that reason andall that is akin to it are better than pleasure (11b9; cf. 11c1-3). 1° Frede understates the significance of Protarchus’ stake in the new questionas“still hop[ing] for

someplace of honour for pleasure” (D. Frede 1993, xxxii). 20 For example, Rawls (1972, 25). 21 The imprecision of Philebus’ own thesis is noted by D. Frede (1993, 1, n. 2), McCabe(2000, 130),

and Harte (2014b, 4). Delcomminette, by contrast, proposes that Philebus espouses the determinate thesis that pleasure is good, while it is Protarchus’ distinctive view that pleasure is “the good”

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the dispute in terms of the IDENTITY question, putting forth pleasure and reason as rival candidates for the good, but by 22d they have concluded that the IDENTITY question will not settle the contest between pleasure andits rival. Accordingly, Plato has Socrates point to another waytoarticulate the thesis that the hedonist, however inchoately, is advocating, and that the opponent is resisting.” Plato’s Socrates makes it clear that he thinks the KINsHIP question is the best way to frame the dispute about the normativesignificance of pleasure vis-a-vis its rivals. Undoubtedly, the question ‘what is the good?’ has supremeethical importance for Plato—since it determines the “first prize” winner in the dialogue’s normative ranking—buthesignals here that it does not exhaust the normative questions that philosophical ethics must address. On the interpretation I will be defending, the Philebus is as muchin the business of working toward the proper formulation of the questions of ethical philosophyas it is in answering those questions.” We should take seriously the hypothesis that, for Plato, the KINSHIP thesis about pleasure expresses a powerful and serious version of hedonism rather than a weak and compromised position that has given up the core of hedonism.

5. The Argument at 20d-22d Precisely what normative status Socrates denies to pleasure via the verdict that “pleasure is not the good” depends on what being “the good”involves. This is a topic on which Socrates is quite explicit in the argument of 20d-22d. Hebegins by invoking two necessary features of the good: soc: Doesit necessarily fall to the good to be complete (teleon)”* or not? PROT:Surely Socrates, it is most completeofall things. soc: And whataboutthis: is the good sufficient (hikanon)? PROT: Of courseit is; this is howit is superior to all other beings.

(20d1-6)

(Delcomminette 2006, 30-1). Onthis interpretation, the argument at 20c-22dis directed only against Protarchus’ version of hedonism, while Philebus’ own position is left to be addressed later in the

dialogue. Against this proposal I would note that at 22c1-2 Socrates claims he has refuted Philebus on the question of whetherpleasure is the good. Philebus responds (22c3-4) not by disavowing thatthesis, but by pointing out that Socrates’ candidate, reason, has fared equally badly. ?2 T take this to be the import of Gabriel Lear’s remarks that Socrates’ argument does notrequire Protarchusto abandonhisbelief that “pleasureis the highest single value” and that the latter “need not forgo his hedonism in any practical sense” (Lear 2004, 57). ?? Katja Vogt (2010) andin this volume (Chapter 2) makesa similarclaim,although herpointis that

Plato is proposing a new way of making precise the question “what is the good?” while my pointis that he is rejecting that question as the oneto settle his debate with hedonism. ?4 Teleon canalsobetranslated‘perfect.’

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Hethen proceedsto invokea third criterion, whichhepresentsslightly differently. Whilethefirst two are necessary features of the good as a “being” (d6), this third criterion is simply somethingit is “necessary to say” about the good: soc: Nowthis, I think, is what is most necessary to say about [the good]: that everything that recognizesit pursues it and yearnsfor it, wanting to seize hold of it (helein) and possessit for its own (peri hauto), andcares notat all about

other things unless they are achieved along with goods.

(20d7-10)

Wemightsay that the first two criteria concern theintrinsic features of the good, while the third concerns its motivational status. The superlative that introduces the third criterion suggests that this feature will be the most important in the coming argument, an impression that will be borne out when we consider the detail of the argument.” But it is worth taking seriously the hypothesis that the first two criteria are the more fundamental for Socrates, while the third is “most necessary to say” becauseit is the criterion whichis the easiest for ustotest. The motivational criterion would be like a litmus test for an acid, while the completeness and sufficiency of the good would be like the molecular features characteristic of an acid.”° There is good evidence for supposing that, for Socrates, being teleon and hikanon are more fundamentalfeatures of the good than being motivational. At the culmination of the dialogue, Socrates gives pride of place to the teleon and the hikanon, ranking them intheclass ofthingsthat are highest in kinship to the good (the “second rank” at 66b), but he does not mention the motivational criterion.

Indeed, in characterizing the good at 64c as “whatis it in such a mixture that makes it most honorable and is the cause of it’s being precious (prosphile)” (64c5-7), he presents the motivational status of the good (its being prosphilés) as an effect of its goodness. Finally, there is no mention of the motivational criterion in the two recapitulations of the argumentat the end of the dialogue. In the closing lines of the dialogue we are reminded that neither pleasure nor reason is the good because they “lack the powerof... sufficiency and completeness” (67a7-8).”” Similarly, the longer reprise of the argument at 60b-61a mentions only the teleon and the hikanonas features of the good (60b10-c5), andtests

25 The objection by Hampton (1990, 39)—that Socrates’ argumentestablishes only which life

Protarchus prefers, not which life is better—fails to accord the motivational criterion its proper significance. 26 1. Frede (1997, 174-5) invokes the analogy of the litmus test. Vogt (2017a) proposes that the

motivational criterion is more accessible than the other two, and henceit is the focus of the argumentat 20c-22d,but she leaves open thepossibility thatall three criteria are ultimately motivational. 27 His full claim is that the two candidates are “lacking in autarkeia, that is (kai) the power of

sufficiency and perfection.” I follow Dorion (2010, 146-7) in taking the kai to be epexegetic. Commentators disagree on whether autarkeia is here intendedas distinct from sufficiency and perfection, but on either alternative there is no mention of the motivational criterion.

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whether pleasure and reason have these features by appealing to considerations about choice and motivation (60d3-e5).

6. Motivation and Choiceworthiness Should we conclude that when Socrates asks Protarchus whether the life of pleasure or the life of reason is hairetos (choiceworthy) he is applying the motivational criterion? Those who summarize the three criteria as “the teleon, the hikanon, and the haireton” assumethatthis is the case.?* But somecautionis in order here. First of all haireton, as Socrates deploys the notion here, is a property of a life, while the motivational criterion concerns the objectives one pursues andcares about in the courseofa life. And it is not obviousthat ‘haireton’ is a good paraphrase of the third condition, which Socrates spells out in considerable detail. To quote the passage again: soc: Nowthis, I think, is what is most necessary to say about [the good]: that everything that recognizes it pursues it and yearnsforit, wantingto seize hold of it (helein) and possessit for its own, and caresnotat all about other things

unless they are achieved along with goods.

(20d7-10)

Wemaynote,first ofall, that ‘haireton’ does not even occurin this articulation of the condition. We dofind the aorist infinitive (helein) of its verbal root, but here

the verb does not mean ‘choose,’ but rather ‘grasp’ or ‘secure.’ It is a necessary feature of the good that we seek to grasp (hairein) it when we are awarethatit is

available. Second,this motivationalefficacy is only the first of two conditions spelled out in the third criterion. The secondis that no onecares at all about anything else (rav drAAwY oddev ~povriter, 20d9-10) unless those other things “are achieved

along with goods” (d10). We maytake the plural “goods” to allow that different things may be the goodfor different creatures (thus Hackforth), and we may take the whole awkward phrase to mean that possessing the good is a necessary condition for caring about(and fortiori for pursuing) anything else.” 8 Thus Bury (1897, xiii, liv, and appendix G); Hackforth ([1945] 1958, 31); D. Frede (1997, 173); Dorion (2010, 146); Carone (2000, 259); McCabe (2000, 245); and Harte (2014b, 6). The consensus

goes backatleast as far as Damascius. ?° Irwin (1995) is the only other commentator I have found whoexplicitly construes the second clause thus(“a necessary condition for the desirability of the other things” p. 333). Lefebvre (1999, 69)

also takes the second clause to state a necessary condition for the pursuit of other things, but he construesit too narrowly, as requiring that those other things contain the good.Socrates’ formulation requires only that the good be present along with those other things. Evans (2007c, 342-3) construes the second clauseasstating that we care about other things (“subsidiaries”) only insofar as they are necessary for acquiring good things. But the clause is more plausibly read as indicating that the goodis a necessary condition for caring about other things. Cooper ([2003] 2004, 276) proposes that the second clause is the application of the first clause to a life. But the first clause states a sufficient

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While the first clause indicates that the good is SUFFICIENT to motivate us, the second clause claims, in effect, that possessing the good is NECESSARY for our having any motivation whatsoever. So construed, the double-barrelled MOTIVATIONcriterion does not require “the good” to be the only objective we pursue (or care about), but it accords a special status to “the good” amongthe various objectives we pursue:if X is the good, X plays a fundamental motivational role. Even if other things are not pursued as meansto X, our possessing X is a precondition of our caring about (being motivated to pursue) any other thing. This is to accord to “the good” a central and unifying role in motivation, structurally similar to whatAristotle will accord to the good whenhe characterizes it as that for the sake of which we doall the other things.*° With this understanding of the motivational criterion in mind, let us consider howit is connected to the choiceworthiness of lives. The connection is easiest to see in the case of the second clause of the motivationalcriterion: that without the good wedonot care about anythingelse. Indeed, the reprise of the test oflives at 60b-e proceedsasif the goal of the test is to show that having reasonis a necessary condition for being motivated to pursue anythingelse: Let him group together memory and reason and knowledge and true belief and ask whether, without these, he would welcome having or getting anything...

(60d3-7)

In particular, Socrates proceeds to ask, would anyone be motivated to pursue pleasure in these conditions: (Would he welcome getting] even pleasure of the greatest quantity and intensity—if he did not havetrue belief that he enjoys it, or recognize whathis experience is, or retain memory ofit for any length of time... (60d8-e1)

Weareentitled to assumethat the analogous question is at issue in the test of the life of reason: would we be motivated to pursue reason if we had nopleasure in ourlives? In both cases, Socrates and Protarchusagree, the answeris a resounding ‘no.’ While Protarchus himself does not articulate the reasons for his verdict that neitherlife is choiceworthy at 21e3-4, he accepts these later glosses of the argument by Socrates. So we may conclude that Protarchusfinds the life of pleasure unacceptable becauseit fails to contain reason.Its lack of reason is not just descriptive (reason is absent), but normative (the life is lacking, deficient,

condition for pursuit, while, as we have noted, the secondclause states a necessary condition. Others ignore the secondclause entirely in their interpretation of the motivational condition. °° Thus Harte (2014b, 19) rightly construesthe third criterion as indicating that the good provides “orientation andstructureforall one’s desires.” The second clauseis crucial to securingthis result, since

the first clause might besatisfied by multiple objects of pursuit.

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precisely because reason is absent). And similarly for the life of reason, which fails to be choiceworthy precisely because of the pleasure that it is stipulated to lack. But now we have a puzzle about which clause of the motivational criterion pleasure and reason havefailed in the test of lives. In testing the life of pleasure, Socrates asks whether reasonsatisfies the second clause, andin testing the life of reason, he asks whetherpleasuresatisfies it. But to show that reason satisfies the second motivational clause is not to establish that pleasure fails it, or vice versa. We mayconcludethat thetest of lives does not show that pleasure andreasonfail the second clause of the motivational criterion. It follows (on the assumption that the haireton test expresses the motivational criterion) that the test shows pleasure and reasonto fail the first clause. This reveals something important about that clause. When Socratesstates that “everything that recognizes [the good] pursuesit and yearnsfor it...” (20d8-9), we may distinguish between a weaker and a stronger interpretation of the criterion:

WEAKER VERSION: If X is the good, then we are motivated to pursue or care about X ceteris paribus. STRONGER VERSION: If X is the good, then we are motivated to pursueor care about X no matter whatelse is the case. We might paraphrase the weaker thesis as capturing whatit is to find X valuable or attractive intrinsically or non-instrumentally, while the stronger version expresses whatit is to take X to be valuable orattractive unconditionally. The strongerthesis requires that there be no objective Y such that our motivation to pursue X is conditional on our achieving Y.*? Thetest of lives does not show that pleasure fails the weaker thesis. Rather, we are supposed to find the life of pleasure unacceptable in spite of the fact that pleasure motivates us in the weaker (but perfectly robust) sense. What thetest showsis that the attractiveness of pleasure to us is conditional.*? Its conditional status is easy for Protarchus to overlook because the requisite conditions for him (possessing memory, anticipation, and true belief) are basic features of human experience. The moral here is that pleasure fails the srRONGER thesis. Thus we may concludethat the stronger version is the proper expression ofthe first clause of the motivational criterion.

31 In effect, it requires that there be no Y thatsatisfies the second clause of the motivationalcriterion. Construing Y as an objective rather than simply a necessary condition will avoid the worry that, say, a

certain level of glucose in the blood orof seratonin on our synapsesis also necessary for having any motivation. >? Compare Bobonich (2002, 153-9), whoclassifies pleasure a “dependent good.”

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7. The Sufficiency of the Good With this appreciation of the motivational criterion in hand, we may now ask whatit reveals about the other two features of the good invoked at 20d. Let us take up the hikanon first. Consider again the life of pleasure. When Socrates asks Protarchus whetherthe life is missing anything (21a11; cf. 20e6), it is natural to construe this as a question about sufficiency: SUFFICIENCY: If X is the good, thena life does not need anything other than X to makeit choiceworthy. One might suppose that the insufficiency of the life of pleasure is a matter of its failure to contain enough goods, or the right kinds of goods, to makeit

choiceworthy.*? So construed, the cognitive deficit in that life is a cost that outweighs the attractiveness of the pleasures it contains, making the life on balance not choiceworthy. However, our understanding of the motivational criterion that underwrites the question of choiceworthiness entails that the life has no attractiveness until the deficit is made up. Even though Protarchus would require the addition of only minimal cognition to the maximally pleasantlife in order to makeit choiceworthy in his own estimate, this would not be a matter of incorporating additional attractions into the life of pleasure, thereby raising its level of attractiveness up to the thresholdof acceptability. Rather, as we have seen, Protarchus agrees with Socrates that no one would want “even pleasure of the greatest quantity and intensity—if he did not havetrue belief that he enjoysit, or recognize what his experienceis, or retain memory ofit for any length of time...” (60d7-e1). That is, the addition of minimal cognition to the life of pleasure is

necessary in orderforthelife to hold any attractions for Protarchusatall.** The analogous point is supposed to betrue of the life of reason: even thoughit is replete with reason’s greatest accomplishments, the prospect ofliving it leaves us cold once werealize that it involves nofeeling.*° The upshotis that the sufficiency of “the good,” for Socrates, is not a matter of its making a life sufficiently good to be choiceworthy, but rather of its

being sufficient on its own to make life choiceworthy.** In characterizing the > McCabe (2000, 252) construesa sufficientlife as having “an exhaustive collection ofall the things that might count as goods” and Irwin (1995, 334) takes the main issue to be whetherthelife “contains all the elementsof intrinsic value that we think should be included” (although he describes this as a question of completeness rather than sufficiency).

4 Compare Lefebvre (1999, 72), who proposesthat the mixedlife is more choiceworthy becauseit has goodsthat the life of pleasure lacks. Rather, the unmixedlife is not choiceworthyat all (21e4).

5 Or so Socrates implies at 21d9-e2, even though he is impressed by its godlike status (22c5-6, 33a8-b11, 55a5-8, on which, see Obdrzalek 2010).

°° This is not to say that any trace amountofit in life will be enough to makethelife choiceworthy. Henceit is significant that the test of lives proceedsasif the lives are maximal in their good-making features, even though maximality is not part of the original characterization of the twolives at 20e-21a. If maximality enters in runningthetest (“put as much in thelife as youlike: will it be choiceworthyif

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goodas sufficient Socrates construes it as the ultimate and unconditional source of valuein life.*”

8. The Teleology of the Good Let us now consider the remainingcriterion of the good that Socrates introduces at 20d: that the goodis teleon (perfect or complete). Plato regularly uses the term (occasionally with the variant spelling teleion) in its ordinary sense of perfect, complete, or fully realized.** He also regularly uses it in conjunction with hikanon,* which raises the possibility that in the present argument, teleon and hikanon are two ways of expressing the samecriterion.*” Indeed, he has Protarchus conclude the examination of the lives of pleasure and reason with the verdict: “neither is hikanos or hairetos” (22b1), while his later recapitulation ofthe

verdict replaces hikanos with teleos: neither candidate is “teleon and haireton” (61a1). Does this indicate that Socrates uses teleon and hikanon interchangeably, or that he thinks one of them can do duty for both? Harte proposes,instead,that the omission of teleon at 22b1 is conspicuous anddeliberate, that Plato thereby flags the topic as a piece of unfinished business to be addressed in the rest of the dialogue, where the fourfold ontology presents a teleological framework for

theorizing about the good.** Alternatively, one might suppose that the present argument does invoke the teleon, when it presents the two unmixed lives as maximal in the good-making feature that they contain. To live the life of pleasure is to have one’s “wholelife” (ton bion hapanta) filled with the “greatest” (megistai) pleasures (21a9), thus

possessing pleasure “completely” (pantelds, 21a12). The life of reason contains “every [kind of] reason, intellect, knowledge, and memory—abouteverything”

it lacks Y?”) rather than in characterizing thelife, then the three lives considered exhaust all the alternatives: lives that contain pleasure but no reason, those that contain reason but no pleasure, and

those that contain both reason andpleasure. Socrates thus could not be charged with failing to test the mixedlife against its alternatives (a criticism made by McCabe 2000,247). 7 In this I agree with Lear (2004, 53).

°8 For example complete justice (Laws 630c6); the perfect man orcitizen (Republic 499b3-4, Laws 643d3, 643e5, 653a9, 730d7, 950c6; Hippias Major 281b6); the perfect sophist (Symposium 208c1); perfect or complete guardians (Rep. 428d7); the fully grown or mature (Phaedo 110a4, Rep. 371e9, Laws 929c2); or completed (Rep. 545a6).

°° Rep. 486e3, Laws 8075; cf. Tim. 41c1, Laws 951b2; the terms are also paired in the common expression hikanos apo/epi-telein (Soph. 234b10, Symposium 186a1, Gorg. 491b3, Rep. 502b3-4); and used synonymously at Menex. 234a5-6, Rep. 504c2-4. *° Thus Dorion (2010, 146) and D. Frede (1997, 173); those whotakethe two criteria to be distinct, evenif related, include Damascius (Westerink [1959] 2010, $77); Bury (1897, 212); Hackforth ({1945] 1958, 32); Lefebvre (1999, 68-9); McCabe (2000, 246-9, 252); Pradeau (2002, 245); Cooper ([2003] 2004, 272); Delcomminette (2006, 168); Seeck (2014, 44). 41 Harte (2014b, 16).

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(phronésin ... pasan panton—21d9-10). With “permanentpossession” ofpleasure or reason, “entirely and in every way”(dia telous pantos kai pantéi) one achieves “most perfect sufficiency” (to hikanon teledtaton echein) (60c2-4). The piling up

of superlatives and universal quantifiers might be construed as expressing the requirement of completeness or perfection.*” This hypothesis, however, is open to the objection thatif the good is completeandif pleasureis the good, then it follows that pleasure is complete, not that the goodlife is completely pleasant. Anotheralternative on which the teleonis a distinct criterion from the hikanon gets its inspiration from Aristotle’s use of teleion to characterize the good in the Nicomachean Ethics, in a context in which he appears to be working with versions of all three of the Plato’s criteria. Like Socrates in the Philebus, Aristotle is inquiring into “the good” (EN 1094a22), which he characterizes as both teleion (1097428) and autarkes (1098b8), explaining each of these features with reference

to whatis choiceworthy (hairetos) and “lacking nothing” (1097a25-34, b14-15). It makes sense to hypothesize that Aristotle’s teleion, autarkes, and haireton correspondto Plato’s teleon, hikanon, and haireton in the Philebus. John Cooper has developed this hypothesis in detail (Cooper [2003] 2004), arguing that Aristotle’s

elucidation of whatit is to be teleion accurately captures Socrates’ deployment of the corresponding term in the Philebus. Aristotle’s theme from the opening of Book 1 of the ENis that a goodis an end(telos), and in chapter 7 he explains that “the good”is the most “endlike”or “final”(teleion) goodofall, where what is most teleion is what is pursued for its own sake, not for the sake of anythingelse, and everything else for the sake of it (EN 1097a25-b6). Clearly for Aristotle, to be teleion is to be end-like. Is this what Socrates has in mind when he proposes that the good must be teleon (20d1)? One reason to be doubtful is the conspicuous absence, from the

contexts in which Socrates invokes the teleion, of the teleological language that Aristotle employs to explain his own construalof teleion. This is the language of the hou heneka (‘that for the sake of which’) and equivalent expressions. Later on

in the Philebus, at 53e-54d, when Socrates appeals to the proposal that pleasureis a genesis (as a opposedto an ousia), he will claim that the hou heneka is “in the

domain of the good” (54c9-10),** but he does not invoke hou heneka language or the equivalent here at 20d-22d, or elsewhere where he mentions the teleon requirement.

Harte’s proposal that the fourfold ontology provides a teleological account of the good, andthat this teleology elucidates Socrates’ claim at 20d that the goodis teleon, will not get aroundthis difficulty. This is becausethe teleology involved in

* Thus McCabe (2000, 246-7, 249) and Lefebvre (1999, 69-70). For an alternative explanation of

the significance of maximality in the argument, see above, n. 36. * Onthetheprecise interpretation ofthis claim, see above, n. 14.

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the fourfold ontology is not a teleology of motivation, but of homeostasis and self-maintenance.** Motivation, however, is key to Aristotle’s notion of the good as teleion.*° The final good is most end-like (éeleon), he explains, in that it is pursued and chosen for its own sake, not for the sake of anything else, and everything else is pursued for its sake (1094a18-22, 1097a18-19, 1097a25-b6). To the extent that Plato attributes anythinglike this ultimate motivational status to the good,it is in the context of the motivationalcriterion, not the criterion of completeness. As noted above, the two clauses of the motivationalcriterion imply that the good plays a central and unifying role in motivation, structurally similar to what Aristotle will accord to the good whenhecharacterizes it as that for the sake of which wedoall other things. But thereis still some distance between the goodas an end whose realization is a necessary condition for all other motivation (the upshot of the motivational criterion in the Philebus) and Aristotle’s conception of the good as the ultimate aim of all our actions. Moreover, there is the further fact, noted above,that Platofails to retain the motivational criterion in the accountof the good and the kinship rankings at the end of the dialogue. It is arguable that Aristotle, in articulating the notionof the good as the ultimate telos, is reacting against Plato’s failure to retain the motivational criterion in the final accountof the good in the Philebus. Moregenerally,it is likely that Aristotle’s reflection on the three criteria for the good in the Philebus was instrumental in the development of his own explicitly teleological theory of the good. But these are reasons to suppose that interpreting the teleon in terms of the hou heneka is Aristotle’s own contribution to the Platonic tradition, rather than something already clear in Plato’s mind in the Philebus when he has Socrates characterize the goodas teleon.

9. Hedonism and the Good Let us now return to the question of what Socrates understands by the thesis “pleasure is the good.” Having investigated the threecriteria for the good that he introduces at 20d, we may conclude that it meansatleast the following: PLEASUREIS THE GOOD: A. Pleasure is the unconditional source of value in a life, on which all other

value depends. B. Pleasure motivates us no matter what else we have or expect in life, and nothing else motivates us unless we have or expect to have pleasure. 4 Harte (2014b,18).

‘© By contrast, Gabriel Lear emphasizes the normative aspect of Aristotelian finality: genuinely final ends “provide a sufficient normative context for justifying the pursuit-worthiness of the goods subordinated to them” (Lear 2004, 30-1). So, too, Cooper ([2003] 2004, 279).

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c. Alife is choiceworthy becauseit containspleasure, and is not choiceworthy if it lacks pleasure. Onething “pleasure is the good” does not mean, however,is that pleasure is the only good. As noted earlier, Socrates’ three criteria for the good are in fact silent on the question of what being “good” as distinct from being “the good” involves.*® Still, we may suppose that being “good”is a matter of being of non-instrumentally valuable (roughly captured by the weaker version of the first clause of the motivational criterion). But what is non-instrumentally valuable is not thereby unconditionally valuable. (To see the difference, consider the version of the mixed life that Socrates would find choiceworthy; the value of reason in that life would be conditional on there being somepleasures in that life, but reason would not be instrumental to those pleasures.) So even if a, B, and c areall true,it can still be the case that things other than pleasure are good. Their goodness would depend on pleasure, but they would be goods nonetheless. We mayconclude that even if it is common for hedonism today to be understood as the thesis that pleasure is the only good, this is not the version of hedonism that Socrates rejects when he argues at 20c-22d that “pleasure is not the good.” So those who propose that the test of lives is intended to show that Protarchus cannotbe a consistent hedonist, because he takes some form of reason to be non-instrumentally valuable, have misconstrued the variety of hedonism at issue in that argument.*”

‘© By contrast, Evans (2007c, 342) takes the three criteria to belong to the “class of goods.” *” Evans (2007c) rejects such a construal of the argument, but based on an interpretation of the motivational criterion that I contest (see above n. 29). Gosling (1975, 183-4), Irwin (1995, 333-4),

Bobonich (2002, 159), and Cooper([2003] 2004, 274-5)all construe the goal of the argumentin these terms.

5 The Fourfold Division of Beings Philebus 23b-27c MaryLouise Gill

The section of the Philebus on the fourfold division of beings seems wellmotivated at this stage of the debate about the goodlife. Protarchus has been advocating pleasure as good, indeedas the good, while Socrates championsreason. Socrates has argued that the good must be complete, sufficient, and choiceworthy, andthat neither the life of pleasure without reason,northelife of reason without pleasure suffices for it. The good life should combine pleasure and reason. The mixed life wins the prize ahead of the other contenders, and the question is, which component merits second place, pleasure or reason? The fourfold division is supposed to decide the question, but does not explicitly do so: instead it seems to be engaged in somepreliminary movesin preparation for answering the question in the next section of the dialogue on divine reason as cause (27c3-31b1).’

1. Structure and Style of the Fourfold Division Socrates claims that to decide the contest for second place in favor of reason, he needs some new machinery, though some ofit will be the same as that in the earlier section on dialectic. Hefirst divides all beings in the universe into two, the unlimited (to apeiron) and the limit (to peras), and reminds us that these were

previously discussed. Next he corrects himself and divides all things into three, the third being some one mixture (€v 7: cvppucydpevov) of the other two; then correcting himself again, he adds a fourth kind, the cause (aitia) of the mixing Note: Thanks to the participants in the Spetses conference on the Philebus, and especially for written comments from Verity Harte, Sean Kelsey, Hendrik Lorenz, Gabriel Lear, Jessica Moss, and Spyridon Rangos. Thanks also to Julia Annas, George Rudebusch, and David Sedley for valuable corrections and suggestions on two other occasions whenI presented versions of the paper at Northwestern University andat the West Coast Plato Society at Northern Arizona University. " See Hendrik Lorenz, Chapter6 in this volume. WhereasLorenztranslates “nous”as “intelligence,”

I prefer “reason,” because the word seemsless value-laden. There is disagreement amongscholarsas to whetherall mixtures are good ones(see esp. n. 31 in Section 7 of this chapter, and the Appendix). I will argue that reason can produce a bad mixture;it is harder to imagine that intelligence would. Mary Louise Gill, The Fourfold Division of Beings: Philebus 23b-27c.In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0005

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(23b5-d8). After rejecting Protarchus’ suggestion that perhaps they need fifth as well, Socrates makes the following proposal: First, selecting three of the four, let us take two of them, and since we see each split up and dispersed as many, let us collect each into one and attempt to understand how each of them is one and many.

(23e3-6)

The project of collecting two kinds and identifying their unified nature consumes the bulk of the section. We might expect the two kinds collected to be the unlimited and thelimit, because in response to Protarchus’pleafor clarification Socrates says: I meanthe twothat I proposed to be the sameas those we were talking about just now,the unlimited and the thing havinglimit. That the unlimited is in a way many, I shall undertake to say. Let the thing havinglimit await us.—Itll wait. (24a1-4)

In fact, however, the two kindscollected in the fourfold division are the unlimited (24a6-25a5) and the mixture (25b5-26d10). Sandwiched between those two

lengthy discussions is a brief enumeration of limits (25a6-b4). Although the enumeration includes two generalizations and might seem sufficient to unify all limits, Socrates apparently does not regard them as such, because on twolater occasionsheasserts that he did notcollect the limit (25d5-7, 26d4-5), and on the

first occasion he suggests that maybe once the other two have been collected, the limit will become evident too (25d7-9). We must make sense of the limit in

relation to the unlimited and the mixture. In the last main part of the fourfold division, Socrates turns to the cause (aitia) and arguesthat it is distinct from and prior to the other three (26e1-27b3). He

doesnotgive a unifying description ofall causes or even indicate whetherthere are manycausesto be collected or only one memberof the kind. Thestructure ofthe section on the fourfold division seems plain enough, once we realize that after its long introduction including the fourfold division itself and the proposal to show how twoofthe three kinds are both one and many (23b5-24a5), the section divides into three main parts:first, the collection of the unlimited and identification of its unified nature (24a6-25a5), followed by a brief enumeration of limits contrasted with the unlimited (25a6-b4); second,the collection of the mixed kind andidentification of its unified nature (25b5-26d10); andthird,differentiation

ofthe cause from theother three kinds (26e1-27b3), followed by a brief summary of the fourfold division (27b4-c2).

Despite its apparently simple structure, the section on the fourfold division defies navigation thanks to Plato’s playful—nay, treacherous—style, seemingly designed to keep his readers from getting their bearings.” We have already seen an ? The dialogue’s stylistic difficulty has often been acknowledged. Grote (1875, 11.584) writes of the Philebus: “It is neither clear, nor orderly...Every commentator ofPlato, from Galen downwards, has

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instanceof this playfulness in the misleading way Socratessets up the plan for the whole section, encouraging the expectation that he will collect and identify the unlimited and the limit. Plato calls attention to his confusing strategy by repeatedly having Protarchusaskforclarification, and toward the end of the discussion of the mixed kind, when Protarchusthinks he has understoodthelimit but not the mixture, Socrates has to remind him that they did not trouble themselves to show eitherthat the limit is manyor thatit is one (26c5-d5). In his dialogue on pleasure,

Plato is plainly enjoying himself at his readers’ expense: his literary tactics and baffling style leave us adrift, seasick. Whydoes Plato use such subterfuge? I have found in reading Plato’s dialogues that he often uses literary techniques that either mimic or flout or otherwise confoundhis philosophical message to stimulate his readers to think harder about the message. Making senseofhisliterary strategy helps to uncoverthe philosophical lesson.’ I suspect that in the fourfold division Plato uses variousstylistic devices to mimic the pulsing apeiron underdiscussion andtoinstill in his reader a longing for the elusive peras needed to reconstruct the section into a unified whole. His style prodsthe reader to think more aboutthe limit and correct mixing.

2. Collection and Division in the Fourfold Division Aswenoted, Socrates opensthe section by making a twofold division ofall things, then makesa threefold division, adding the mixture of the two, and then adds a fourth kind, the cause of the mixture. Protarchus asksif there is a fifth as well, somethingable to separate things, and Socrates respondsthat they do not need a fifth kind at present. This is no ordinary division of the sort wefind in the Sophist and Statesman, in which the inquirer starts with a wide kind, such as art (techné)

and divides it into two or more subkinds, such as acquisitive art and productive art, and further divides those subkinds into two or more subkindsin the search for a target kind at the bottom ofthe right-hand branch of the divided tree, a kind then defined by appeal to the original genus and all the differentiating features up the right-hand branchofthetree. In the Philebus Socrates does not start with the wide kind being, but makes a fourfold division of all extant beings in the universe (wavra 74 viv dvta év TH wavri: 23c4). Protarchus’ query about addinga fifth kind to separate things could indicate that the fourfold division of all beings is not

complained of the obscurity of the Philebus.” Bury (1897, ix), in the Introduction to his edition of the Philebus, while praising the merit ofits content, writes: “Thatit is harsh and ruggedin style none can deny.” > The Phaedrusis a good example ofPlato’s tactics. There Plato’s Socrates talks about good and bad speaking andwriting, and in the courseof that discussion describes good discourse as an organic whole with parts appropriate to one anotherandto the whole (Phdr. 264c2-5). That standard of composition raises a question about the Phaedrusitself, which seems to break into two dissimilar parts.

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meantto be exhaustive, but morelikely it reflects Protarchus’ confusion.In light of oneofthe operationsof the limit identified below, I think that the cause, using the limit, can account for separation, as well as mixing. Socrates says that two kinds—the unlimited and the limit—will be the sameas those revealed before in the dialectical section. Although some scholars have arguedthat the notionsare differentin the two sections,I believe that when Socrates makes a claim as plainly and repeatedly as he doesat the start of the fourfold division, we should take him seriously.* Thedialectical section, while focusing on methodsofdivision andcollection rather than the status and nature ofthe limit and the unlimited, speaks of them in setting out the divine method. As I read the passage,all beings contain limit and unlimited in themselves. In trying to understand those things, inquirers use a division procedure andstart by positing one form, residing in the multitude ofbeings. Then they search for the precise number of that one. | emphasize the relevant words andphrases in mytranslation:° A gift of the gods to men,asit appears to me, was thrown down from the gods by some Prometheustogether with fire exceedingly bright; and the ancients, who are better than we are andlive closer to the gods, passed down this report thatall

things ever said to be are from one and many, and have limit (peras) and unlimitedness (apeirian) naturally in themselves (év avrois). Since things have

always been organizedin this way, [they say] that we must on each occasion seek by positing oneform (uiav idéav) for every thing—for weshallfindit in (évodcav) (those things]. Then if wegrasp it, after one we must considertwo,if there are in

some way two, andif not, three or some other number. Andin turn [the inquirer must consider] in the same wayeachofthose ones (7dv €v éxeivev), until he sees that the original one (76 kav’ dpyds €v) is not only one and many and unlimited, but also how many (67éaa)it is.

(16c5-d7)

This is not a typical division of a kind into subkinds to define a subkind at the bottom of a genus-species tree. Instead the division aimsto clarify the original kind by finding the precise numberofits varieties. The differentiating feature(s) of a subkindis an essential feature of the subkind, but merely an accidental property of the higher genus—e.g., rationality is an essential feature of human being, but only an accidental feature of the genus animal. In my view the method aims to clarify the kind divided by examiningit via its various non-essential features, and those features via their non-essential features, and so on, down to the lowest kinds/elements. This division aims to uncovertheoriginal kind by showing what

* 23b5-9, c7-10, 24a1-4.I side with Gosling (1975, 186), Meinwald (1998, 167-8), and Harte (2002, 196-9), againstStriker (1970, esp. 80-1), and D. Frede (1997, 202-5), that Plato’s use of the expressions in the two passages is consistent. > Onthepassage, see Paolo Crivelli’s paper in this volume (Chapter3). For my mostrecentviews on the dialectical section, see Gill (2012, 214-23).

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all the sub-kinds and elements have in common,andbyrevealing the number and natureof the elements and howtheyrelate to one another and to a whole domain. Later in the dialectical section Socrates gives a helpful illustration using the example of sound, and hediscusses twoarts dealing with it, phonology and music (17a6-18d2). Though botharts study the same object—sound—theystudyit from different perspectives, with phonology examining the domain of vocal sound and music examining the domain ofpitched sound. Vocal soundsfall on a range with vowels at one end of the spectrum,stops at the other end. The intermediate kinds between vocal sound and the phonemetypes at the bottom of the tree are wider groupings, such as open-closed (vowels) at one extreme and labial-dental-palatal at the other, with sibilants, nasals, and liquids between them. The intermediate groupingsallow usto classify the phonemesin relation to one another.® Pitched soundinvolves a different range, high-low, one of the domains of music. Socrates mentions other affections (pathé) of sound as well, including rhythm with the range long-short, a second domain of music (17d4-7; cf. 26a2-4). Volumeis another feature of sound, with the range loud-soft. By examining sound from different angles, the investigator imposes a complex structure on the audible manifold, and moreover finds the commoncoreofall soundsinall its domains. Socrates does not define soundin its own right in the Philebus, though thetitle speaker does in the Timaeus: “the stroke by air through the ears upon the brain and blood andpassedto the soul” (Ti. 67b2-4). That definition will be common to

all the varieties of sound. Later in the Philebus Socrates will use the divine method to map out the varieties of pleasure and knowledge, and as I understand the strategy, he uses the method to gain a clearer understanding of the wide kinds divided—pleasure and knowledge themselves—through thatarticulation.’ Some kinds, such as sound, pleasure, and knowledge, can be defined in their own right independent of the features that differentiate their subkinds and varieties, but other Platonic kinds do notfall into familiar tree-structures of the sort one can construct in Aristotle’s Categories—e.g., man and ox under animal, animal and plant underliving thing, up to the wide kind substance; black and white undercolor, square and circle under shape, color and shape under the wide kind quality. Let us call forms that can be located in tree-structures “categorial” kinds. The formstreated in the fourfold division are not categorial kinds. They are what the Scholastics called “transcendentals,” kinds that transcend Aristotle’s categories, and most of them applyto entities in all the categories. They compose

* On the importance of grasping the precise number ofintermediates (ta mesa) for dialectic as distinct from mere eristic, see 16e3-17a5. On this topic I have profited from reading Thomas (manuscript).

? See esp. 18d3-19b8, where Socrates states how the divine method andillustrationsare relevant to the main discussion: he, Protarchus, and Philebus are discussing pleasure and knowledge to discover which of themis preferable, and in the courseof that discussion they will investigate how each of them is one and many.

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a distinct group including oneness, sameness,difference, and being, amongothers, and I call them “structural” kinds, because they structure an entity and/orenableit to fit together with or be distinguished from other entities. Gilbert Ryle, in a groundbreaking paper on Plato’s Parmenides, calls them “formal concepts” and saysthey differ from ordinary concepts notin level of generality, but in type.* They are “not peculiar to any special subject-matter, but integral to all subject-matters.” Later in the same paperhecalls such topic-neutral concepts “syncategorematic.”” Theyare picked out by syncategorematic expressions—forinstance, a logical operator specifies such a concept and forms a meaningful expression only in conjunction with a denotative expression (picking out something with categorial content). Plato treats such entities as genuine kinds, but they always operate together with someother kind, typically (though notnecessarily) a categorial kind.’° Thus, for instance, Socrates speaks earlier in the Philebus of one man, one ox, one beautiful, and one good (15a3-6). In the Sophist Plato’s Eleatic Strangertries to clarify the form of difference by appeal to what he calls the “parts” ofdifference, such asthe not-large, the not-beautiful, and the not-just (Sph. 257b1-258b8). The parts of difference are not species of difference, but a combination of difference and a categorial kind—thelarge, the beautiful, or the just.’? “The not-large,” for example, picks out a kind that is the complementof the positive item under a wider kind that includes them both.’? The not-large is the complementof the large, and the twojointly exhaust the wider kindsize. Since structural kinds have no categorial content in their own right, we study their natures via their applica-

tions to categorial kinds and individuals.’? In the fourfold division Socrates could call examples of the unlimited, such as hotter-colder, drier—-wetter, louder-softer “parts” of the unlimited, analogous to ® Ryle ([1939] 1965, 115).

? Ryle ([1939] 1965, 131).

1° Wecan meaningfully say “Differenceis the sameasitself,” or “Samenessis different from difference,” even though both samenessanddifference are structural kinds. Plato labels these kindsin different ways in different contexts. In the Parmenides they figure prominently in the secondpart ofthe dialogue,butare first treated as forms in Socrates’ speech in response to Zeno (Prm. 128e5-130a2). They are the first forms mentioned in Parmenides’ query aboutthe scope of forms (Prm. 130b1-131a3), and he simply describes them as “all the things you heard about just now from Zeno” (Prm. 130b1-6), such as likeness and unlikeness, one and many.In the Final ArgumentofPart I of the Theaetetus (Tht. 184a9-186e12) Socrates

calls them “common”(koina) features, because they apply to objects of more than one sense—e.g., red and C#are, eachis one, together they are two,they are different from each other andthe same as themselves, like each otherin somerespects, unlike in other respects. In the Sophist Plato’s Eleatic Stranger calls them “vowel”kinds, as opposed to “consonant” kinds with categorial content. "| The Eleatic Stranger helps us understand what he has in mind bythe parts of difference by comparing them to species of knowledge, species differentiated by their objects (Sph. 257c7-258c6). Whereascategorial kinds, such as knowledge, have species (arithmetic, geometry, music, and so on), structural kinds do not: their “parts” are combinations of the structural kind plus other, typically

categorial, content. ? Scholars disagree about Plato’s theory of negation. For a view similar to minein Gill (2012,ch. 5), see Brown (2008). For a different interpretation, see Crivelli (2012). In Gill (2012) I discuss structural kinds in some detail, especially oneness in the Parmenides (ch.2), difference in the Sophist (ch. 5), and being in the Parmenides, Theaetetus, and Sophist (chs.2, 3, 5, and 7).

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parts of difference in the Sophist. Such examples combine the structural kind unlimited with categorial kinds constituting a range, such as hotter-colder on the temperaturescale, drier—wetter on the humidity scale, or louder-softer on a range of acoustic volume. By comparing parts ofthe unlimited, Socrates can discover whatall the ranges have in commonandthus find a unifying description ofthe apeironitself. In seeking the unified nature of the unlimited Socrates uses a collection procedure characterized oncein the introduction to the fourfold division quoted earlier (23e3-6) and again at the end ofthat section:

Whatever appears to us becoming both more and less (uaAAdv te Kal Frrov ytyvopeva) and admitting strength and mildness and too much andeverything of

that sort, we must putall of those into the unlimited kind, according to our earlier statement, if you remember, that having collected (ovvayayédvras)all that is dispersed and split up, we must as far as possible stamp onit some one nature (uiav... ria ddow).

(24e7-25a4)

This collection procedure appears to match that described in the Phaedrus. By meansofcollection, the inquirer “brings into one form (eis piav idéav) things scattered in manyplaces, so that by defining each thing the inquirer makes clear whatever he wishes to teach” (Phdr. 265d3-5). The items in thecollection, though

different in manyrespects, have somesalient feature(s) in commonjustifying their inclusion in one form. The technique described and used in the fourfold division differs from that described and used in the Phaedrus in one chief respect. Whereas collection in the Phaedrusyields a kind that the speaker goes on to define (either correctly or incorrectly) so that the audience grasps the subject-matter being discussed (in that dialogue erds, erotic love), the fourfold division defines none

of the four kinds but stops at least a step short of that, merely giving a unifying description that captures the examples of the unlimited and then the mixture. The unifying description of the unlimited is “becoming both moreandless” or some variant of that (cf. 25c10-11), and that of the mixed kind is “generation into being” (genesis eis ousian) (26d7-9).

To grasp the nature ofthe kindsin the fourfold division, we must understand how they function in relation to one anotherand in conjunction with categorial kinds.

3. Apeiron and Peras in the Fourfold Division Thefirst main part ofthe fourfold division collects the unlimited and showshowit is both one and many. We gain someinsight into the limit in the contrasts Socrates draws between the unlimited andit: Consider. For what I ask you to consider is difficult and controversial, yet

consider it. Concerning the hotter and colder, first see whether you would recognize any limit, or whether you see the more andless dwelling in the kinds

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themselves, and as long as they dwell in them, they wouldallow no end (réAos) to cometo be; for when a completion comesto be (yevouevns yap reAeurijs), those two have ended (reteAcutyjxarov).

(24a6-b2)

Here we learn that an instance of the unlimited—the hotter and colder—is inhabited by the moreandless andthat, as long as the moreandless are present, there is no limit, no end in them. Once some completion comes about, the hotter and colder have also ended. A limit puts an end to a moreandless. A limit can end an unlimited in more than one way, but one way—the way that seems to be at issue in the quoted passage—would be simply to put outer boundaries on it. There would still be a range, hotter-colder, but the range would cease to be unlimited in length. Plato appears to toy with this sort of limiting in the composition of the Philebus itself: the dialogue starts after the conversation is well underway, oncethetitle character Philebus has passed the baton to Protarchus, and stops while the conversation is still in progress, with Protarchus wishing to remind Socrates of what remainsto be discussed,thus yielding the curious product we have beforeus. This external limiting marks something off from things outside itself without affecting the inner content.’* Welearn in another passage that unlimiteds flow, whereas limits as definite quantities stop the flow, replacing the flow with something measured: If the more andless did not make quantity (to poson) disappear but allowedit and the measured(to metrion) to be present in the place of the more andless and

strongly and gently, these things themselves would flow out of their own place (ch6ras) in which they were. For they would no longerbe hotter or colder once

they received quantity (to poson). For the hotter always advances and does not remain, and likewise the colder, whereas quantity (to poson) stands and halts progression. According to this account, the hotter and its opposite would at the same time turn out to be unlimited. (24c6-d7)

That the limit regularly imports quantity and frequently proportion becomes evident from a short passage directly following Socrates’ summary describing his collection of the unlimited and identifying its unifying nature as becoming more andless. Here he enumerates somelimits: So the things that do not accept those[i.e., the more andless], but accepting all the opposites of those (rovTwv ra évartia mavra Sexopeva), first the equal and equality, and after the equal the double, and whatever is related as number to numberor measure to measure, we would do well to assign all those to the limit (eis 76 wépas).

(25a6-b3)

'* It is this function ofthe limit that makes Protarchus’ proposalofa fifth kind unnecessary.

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Here the opposites of the more and less are definite amounts standing in a proportional relation, such as 2:2 (equal) or 4:2 (double). Verity Harte has

forcefully argued that the limit and unlimited are both characterized in relational terms and helpfully understood together.’* The emphasis on proportional quantity in all the examples and generalizations mayindicate that all limits combine with quantity to yield quantitative proportions, but in my view only somelimits are quantitative. The limits listed are ones I would characterizeas structurallimits, because they articulate an unlimited continuum,say hotter—colder, internally by meansofa definite ratio of hotter and colder to yield some definite temperature (say 78° F). Ratios do not capture the limits I spoke of earlier—beginnings and endings, such as the odd frame of the dialogue Philebus—which differentiate something from things outside or beyonditself. To be sure, the beginning and ending of the Philebus put a definite length on the whole, but such limits do not constitute a ratio of the internal parts to one another. Beginning and endingare external boundaries. If the limit imposes internal or external boundaries, we can think of the unlimited, labeled as becoming more andless, as a continuum lacking internal and external boundaries. Unlimiteds also flow and require limits to stop the flow. In the Parmenides Plato’s title character uses the word “unlimited” (apeiron),

often together with “multitude” (plethos), in two main ways:First, the expression can indicate something unlimited in plurality, where the membersof the plurality are definite, countable entities. For instance, the two versions of the Third Man Argumentin the first part of the dialogue yield an infinite plurality of forms of the same sort. Second, the expression can indicate something unlimited in multitude, where the contents of the multitude are indefinite, without articulation in relation to one another. Plato uses the phrase in this way in the third deduction in the second part of the dialogue (Prm. 157b6-159b1). This deduc-

tion starts from the positive hypothesis “if one is,” and asks: “what follows for other things?” Apart from the one, says Parmenides, the nature (phusin) of the others—itself by itself (autén kath’ hautén)—is unlimited in multitude (apeiron... pléthei) (158b5-c7). The onearticulates that manifold, limiting the

others in relation to one another and in relation to the whole of which they are parts (Prm. 158c7-d8). Think of the structural kind unlimited as an indefinite pulsing multitude from whichall limit (external and internal boundaries)

and categorial content have been stripped away. This is the structural core commonto all instances of the unlimited. I shall now argue by appeal to the dialectical section of the Philebus that, while limit and unlimited often combine with quantity, they also combine with quality.

© Harte (2002, 182-6) points out that instances of the unlimited are marked off by opposing pairs often specified with Greek dual forms.

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4. Limit and Unlimited in the Dialectical Section Socrates reminds Protarchusearly in the fourfold division that the god revealed the apeiron and the peras of things that now are (23b5-9, c7-10), and with that pronouncementsends his readers back to the passage on the divine method at 16c5-17a5, which I discussed briefly in Section 2. Consider again the following sentence from the dialectical section: [A]nd the ancients... passed down this report that all things ever said to be are from one and many, and have limit (peras) and unlimitedness (apeirian) naturally in themselves.

(16c7-10)

Limit and unlimited are evidently connected with oneness and multitude but are distinct from them.’* This difference is importantin the fourfold division, because Socrates undertakes to show that both the unlimited and the mixture are one (hen), as well as many (polla) (233-6; 26d7-9).’” Thelimit answers the question

“How many?” with some definite number, and the unlimited is an indefinite multitude, whatis left whenall definitenessis stripped away. So far, both concepts are linked to quantity. Yet when Socratesillustrates the divine method, the quantitative connection seemstoo narrow.Recall that he focuses on sound andconsiders twoarts dealing with it, phonology and music. He says that sound coming through the mouth is both one and unlimited in multitude (apeiros pléthei), but that knowing that much does not make us wise. To be grammatical, we also need to know how many(posa) and of whatsorts (hopoia) it is (17b3-10). Then he declares that the same thing

makes us musical as makes usliterate: both arts study sound. To be expert in music, we must grasp low and high and middle pitch, but that does not suffice to makeus wise in music. We must also grasp how many (hoposa)theintervals are in numberand of whatsorts (hopoia) (17b11-e6). These two examples suggest that a

qualitative question should supplement the quantitative, and on reflection, the qualitative question comes first (and probably last) in the order of inquiry. From whatperspective does phonology investigate sound? Phonology investigates vocal sound, whereas music investigates pitched and rhythmic sound. Only once the qualitative question has been asked and answered, yielding a range, such as voiced-unvoiced, high-low, quick-slow, loud-soft, can the quantitative question be effectively asked. Moreover, the qualitative question must be asked again at each step and especially in identifying the elements of the art, for instance, the Greek phonemes. Knowing that there are twenty-one phonemes in Greek is pretty useless unless we can also identify them and distinguish them from one

’® Structural kinds can overlap by having some functions in common.I take oneness to be an ultimate limit. 7 Cf. 24e7-25a4; 25d5-9; 26c5-7, d4-9.

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another—e.g., recognize @ as an aspirated dental stop and T as an un-aspirated dental stop.’* Investigation ofperas allows the development of a phonetic system with definite parts related to one anotherin various ways. To see the priority of the qualitative question over the quantitative in the heuristic order, consider the story about Theuth later in the dialectical section. Socrates starts by describing a collection procedure (18a6-b4), again stressing the need to find some definite number in each case, and encourages Protarchus to think of the letters again for a more concrete understanding of the technique, and then tells the story of Theuth’s discovery of the Greek phonemes (18b6-d2). The story focuses, not on the initial oneness of sound, but on its unlimitedness. Theuth, confronted by the audible flow of sound,first hears various ranges blurred together—voiced-unvoiced, high-low, loud-soft, quick-slow—in cacophonous discord, so even before he can begin to collect sounds into vocal groups, he must select the vocal range from the pandemonium andignore pitch, volume, and speed. Notice that Theuth uses a qualitative limit to mark off vocal sound from the rest of the audible manifold (this is external bounding) and that vocal

soundis still an unlimited, containing a more andless. Even the phonemetypes still admit a range of pronunciation (think of British and American pronunciation of vowels and consonants), andof course a different god might have carved up the

vocal rangedifferently to yield the phonemesof Chinese.’?

5. Mixture and Limit in the Fourfold Division Socrates opens his investigation of the mixture directly after he has enumerated somelimits (25a6-b3): “Well then, the third one, the mixture (to meikton) from both of those [unlimited and limit], what form (idean) shall we say it has?”

(25b5-6), and Protarchusreplies: “You will tell me, I think” (25b7). After saying a prayer, Socrates returns to examples of the unlimited—hotter and colder, drier and wetter, more and fewer, quicker and slower, greater and smaller—and again identifies the shared nature of the examples as admitting the more andless (25c5-d1). Now hetells Protarchus to mix into that nature the family of the limit. Protarchus, confused, asks “What sort [of family]?” and Socrates admits that he

failed to collect the family of the limit-form (77v tod zeparoedoss), but promises that it will become evident when the other two are collected (25d4-9). Again

Protarchus pleads: “What sort and how do you mean?” (25d10). Now Socrates

‘8 Thanks to Spyridon Rangosfor correcting my count of the Greek phonemes:three of the Greek phonemes—Z, £, and Y—are double. | am grateful to my Linguistics colleague Pauline Jacobson for helping me understand why the number of phonemesis limited to several hundred and not a lot more: phonemestend to cluster aroundcertain stable articulatory positions across languages.

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repeats some examplesofthe limit and speaks ofits function—it imposes number, stops the war between opposites, and makes them commensurable: The [family] of the equal and double, and whatever [family] (hoposé) stops the opposites being at odds with each other, and makes (apergazetai) them commensurable and concordant by imposing (entheisa) number. (25d11-e2)

Protarchus seemsfinally to be satisfied that Socrates has answered his question about the limit and how the mixing is supposed to work, because he says: “I understand; for you appear to me to say that by mixing these things (tauta) certain generations (geneseis) take place in the case of each of them”(eph’ hekaston auton); and Socrates replies that Protarchus has indeed understood (25e3-5). But

it is by no means clear what the mixing involves, or even what items are being mixed. Protarchushas used the demonstrative pronoun tauta (“these things”) and

says that changestake place in each of them. Are “these things”a pair of opposites, such as hotter and colder? Each pair of opposites? Or a limit and an unlimited? Socrates’ own prescription at 25d2-3 to mix into the nature of the unlimited the family of the limit recommends understanding “these things” as a limit and an unlimited. But he has applaudedthe idea that generations take place in the case of each of them, and on that construal, at least some limits are generated. The upcoming conversation indicates that that is indeed so. Socrates’ elaboration is particularly vexing because he persists in using third person and demonstrative pronouns whosereferentis unclear. In translating the passage with glosses, I hold firm to the idea that the items being mixed are peras and apeiron, because at 26b2-3—the end of the passage quoted below—Socrates reiterates his earlier point that the items being mixed together are unlimiteds and limits.”° Notice that, according to this passage, limits correctly introduced into unlimiteds produce a limit (26a3-4), examples of which are balance, commen-

surability, and the nature of health.”* (In mytranslation italicize the relevant evidence). Socrates opens: In illnesses, does not the correct association (6p6%) xowwwvia) of these [limit and

unlimited] generate the nature of health?—Absolutely.—Andhigh and low and quick and slow, being unlimited, don’t these same things [limits] coming about in them (éyyryvdpeva)” at once both producea limit (mépas émnpydoaro) and establish music as a whole most perfectly?—Well said!—Moreover, if they 7° 25d2-3;cf. 25b5-6.In translating the passageI take the antecedentof neuter plural pronouns and participles as the sense seems to require, as “limit and unlimited” when Socrates talks about correct associations and mixing, butas “limits” when he speaks of things comingto be present in unlimiteds. I have profited from debating the translation of this passage with Sean Kelsey. 21 Hendrik Lorenz pointed out to methatthese need not be newlimits, but could beinstantiations of the limit imposed. Thatis undoubtedly right, though I think sometimesa newkindoflimit is produced. For instance, the ratio 1:1 is imposed and commensurability in temperature is produced, or a proper

ratio of hot to cold is imposed andthe natureof health is produced. 22 Retaining éyyryvdueva with MSS.

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[limits] come aboutin (éyyevdjeva)”* severe cold andstifling heat, they remove the excessive and unlimited, and produce balance and commensurability (70 dé eupetpov Kal apa ovppetpov anynpydoato).—Of course.—So from these[limits] seasonsandall fine things have cometobefor us, when the unlimited and things having limit have been mixed together (r&v te ameipwv Kai THv mépas exovTwv ouppery0évrwv).—Certainly. (25e7-26b4)

By assuming that one limit, such as number or some definite proportion,is imposed on an unlimited, and another limit produced (which may simply be an instantiation of the first), one major problem with this passage dissolves. R. Hackforth threw up his hands at 26a3, where Socrates says that something produces peras, and suggested that Plato carelessly used the word peras for emmetrian or summetrian.* While I agree with Hackforth that what is produced is commensurability or some such,this passage indicates that somelimits are produced. A passage in the third deduction of the Parmenideshelps to clarify both that associations occur between limit(in this case the one) and an unlimited(in this case

the multitude) and that limits are produced, and that limits produced may be different from the limit imposed. Recall that Deduction 3 considers consequences for other things on the hypothesis that one is. According to Deduction3, oneness has several constructive functions: it allows us to view a plurality not merely distributively but collectively as a group; it accounts for the individuality ofentities either on their own oras parts of a group. Most important for our purpose, the one imposes limits on an unlimited, so that the parts are articulated in relation to one another and in relation to the whole. Thus the oneis responsible for the internal structure of a whole composed of parts. Parmenides says (and young Aristotle responds): Furthermore, whenever each part comesto be onepart, the parts then have a limit (peras ... echei) in relation to one anotherandin relation to the whole, and the whole hasa limit in relation to the parts.—Quite so.—Accordingly,it follows

for things other than the one that from the one and themselves associating (koin6nésanton), as it seems, something different (heteron ti) comes to be in

them, which affords (paresche) a limit in relation to one another; but their own nature (phusis), by themselves (kath’ heauta), affords unlimitedness (apeirian).—

Apparently.—In this way, indeed, things other than the one, taken both as wholes and part bypart, both are unlimited and partake of a limit.—Certainly.”* (Prm. 158c7-d8)

All the limiting in the Philebus discussion of mixtures appearsto be structural (i.e., internal) limiting, limiting that stops the war between a more anda lessto yield concord, balance, or commensurability between them. But we have already noticed that some sorts of limits are beginnings and endings and limits > Reading éyyryvdpeva in place of éyyryvopevy with the Bodleian MS. 74 Hackforth ([1945] 1958), 48, n. 2.

5 Translation from Gill and Ryan (1996).

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differentiating one kind from others. Both ideas are captured by the passagein the Parmenides, since a whole acquires internal structure whenits parts are differentiated from one another, with each part standing in somerelation to other parts and to the whole. In a passage leading upto the singular description of the mixture, Protarchus seemsto think that the limit has been unified, whereas Socrates corrects him and leaves open the possibility that limits function in various ways perhaps precluding a unified description. He reminds Protarchus that he has mentioned three kinds and invites him to reflect on them. Then comesthe following exchange, starting with Protarchus: Well I think I understand; for you seem to me to speak of the unlimited as one (hen men), and second,thelimit in the things that are (en tois ousi) as one (hen de); but the third: I don’t fully grasp what you mean to say.—That’s because the multitude (pléthos) of the third generation (geneseds) amazes you;yet the unlimited provides many kinds (gené) too, andstill those kinds marked by the more and its opposite were revealed as one (hen ephané).—True.—Andindeed, we didn’t trouble ourselves that the limit is many (polla) orthat it is by nature one (hen). (26c5-d5)

Obviously Protarchus has misunderstood Socrates’ treatmentof the limit, since he thinks Socrates has unified it, and Socrates corrects him in his final remark. Plato toys with us in Socrates’ last reply by using an ambiguous grammatical construc-

tion in which a negation may or may not be redundant.” It does not much matter which way wetranslate, because Socrates did not bother to unify the limit, and Plato wants his readers to consider that and whether the limit merits a unifying description or not. We have discussed two functions ofthe limit, that of imposing internal boundaries and sostructuring a thing, and imposing external boundaries and so marking a thing off from others. In thefinal section of this chapterI will arguethat Socrates leaves the unity of the limit in question because he omits one key function of the limit in the fourfold division. Socrates unifies the mixed kind,the joint offspring of the limit and unlimited, as “generation into being” (genesin eis ousian) (26d7-9).”* I have argued that a limit can create this hybrid—both a process and a product—ineither of two ways:First,

6 T read dr. 26d4 with Bury (1897 adloc.). 27 See Smyth (1956, §2743) on redundantod: “After deny, speak against, doubt, etc., followed by «is

or 671, a redundantodis often inserted.” Both Hackforth and Goslinginclude “not”in their translations. Thus Hackforth ([1945] 1958 adloc.) translates: “Then again we did not complain about the Limit,

either that it exhibited a plurality, or that it is not a real unity” (myitalics). ?8 Later he describes the mixture as “(a) mixed and generated being” (ueeriy Kai yeyevnevny ovaiav) (27b8-9). The description genesis eis ousian suggests that mixtures in the fourfold division are processes (genesis) as well as products (ousia). Socrates makes striking use of the genitive of genesis (“generation”) instead of the expected genos whenhetells Protarchus that he hastrouble grasping the third kind becauseofits multitude (26c8-9).

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a limit imposed on genesis can articulate the becoming into somedefinite kind of thing (internal, structural limiting)—for instance, it structures the continuum hotter-colder by meansof a definite ratio to yield some definite temperature. Second,it can halt a process by completing or framing it (external demarcation). This second type of limiting does not structure a whole but marks it off from things outside it. Such limiting can contribute to somelarger structure by marking off parts of the whole from one another. Differentiation happens at manylevels. For instance, a qualitative limit imposed on a qualitative apeiron differentiates sound from the rest of the perceptible (visible, tangible, tastable, olefactory) hodgepodge; or differentiates sound into longer-shorter as opposed to higherlower or louder-softer; or differentiates longer-shorter into particular lengths. Whetherthe limiting is internal or external, the limit imposed on an unlimited yields genesis eis ousian, a mixed product more definite than the unlimited genesis from whichit is generated.

6. Cause of the Mixture Weshould notice that the cause of the mixture has already been quietly at work before Socrates officially turnstoit at the end of the fourfold division (26e1-27b3).

Early in the discussion of the mixed kind, after asking Protarchusto identify the form of the third kind, the mixture (25b5-6), and going back to the apeiron and again identifying its nature, Socrates appeals to Protarchus in the imperative: “Mix (cuppedyvu dé ye) into it [the nature of the unlimited] after this the family of the

limit” (25d2-3). Protarchus is supposed to do the mixing and thusbe the cause. His confusion about what sort of family to mix into the apeiron and how the mixing is supposed to work (25d4, d10) suggests that, without knowledge of what one is trying to achieve, one could well botch the job. Following the passage quoted in Section 5 in which Socrates mentions the seasons andall fine things (kala panta), he lists more good mixtures and another cause, the goddess who saved pleasure by imposing law and order: And there are indeed countless others I omit to mention, for example, with health comes beauty and strength, and likewise in souls many other very beau-

tiful things (pankala). For the goddessherself, fair Philebus, perhaps noticing the arrogance and complete wickednessof all people—there being nolimit ofeither pleasures or fulfillments in them—established law (nomon) and order (taxin)

havinglimit (peras echont’). And yousaythat she spoiled them, whereasI say on the contrary that she saved them. (26b5-c1)

The goddess preserved pleasures by imposing law and order. The generation of mixtures dependson a cause imposing a limit on an unlimited to create a mixture of them.

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The final section of the Fourfold Division focuses explicitly on the cause, and Socrates argues for its distinctness from the other three kinds, and in so doing gives it priority over them.It is prior to the mixture because the producer leads and the generated thing follows (27a5-6).It is also prior to the limit as well as the unlimited: So does that which produces always by nature lead, while the thing produced

followsit in coming to be?—-Certainly.—Soitis different.” Also a cause and that which serves the cause toward generation (to douleuon eis genesin) are not the

same?—Of course.—Therefore the generated things and the things from which (ex hén) they cometo be provideall three kinds for us?—Very much so.—Indeed that which produces (to démiourgoun)all those things [i.e., the generated things] wecall the fourth, the cause(tén aitian), becauseit has been sufficiently shown to

be different from them [i.e., all three].

(27a5-b2)

The priority of the cause over the limit is implied in an earlier passage as well, in which Socrates identifies the mixture underits unifying description, though the passage comesjust before heofficially turns to the cause: Butyoutell meto state the third kind,positing this entire offspring of those [limit and unlimited] as one (hen): generation into being (genesin eis ousian) from the measures produced (é« Hv... dretpyaopevwv wérpwv) with thehelp of the limit (wera tot wépatos).

(26d7-9)

By now weshould no longer be surprised that when limits are imposed,limits such as measures are produced.But it may surprise us that Socrates uses the weak causal preposition era, instead of some stronger causal preposition, such as i776 or d6.*° The prepositionis correct, once werealize that the cause usesthe limit in generating a product. Indeed, in the final main section Socrates as cause has used the limit to mark off the cause from the other three kinds, once again demonstrating the role of the limit in external demarcation. In that section, Socrates differentiates the cause as producer from the other three—unlimited, limit, and mixture—and subordinates them toit.

?° I thank David Sedley for recommending that the sentence be repunctuated,so that the dpa goes with the precedinglines (27a5-7) about the cause and generated product and notwith the current one, which does not follow from what Socrates has just said. Delcomminette (2005: 614-16) mentions

Sedley’s proposal and argues for another way to handle the problem:replace the inferential gpa with interrogative dpa. 3° Smyth (1956) §1691.1 describesthis use of perd + genitive as “joint efficient cause.” Let’s just call it “a helping cause.” Manytranslators(e.g., Gosling 1975 and D. Frede 1993) over-translate with “by,” as though the limit were in fact the cause. Hackforth’s ([1945] 1958) and Fowler and Lamb’s (1925) translations are better on this point.

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7. Must All Mixtures Be Good? I turn finally to a normative question: According to the fourfold division, must mixtures be good? All the mixtures mentioned in this section are good ones, and manyscholars think that there are grounds to conclude that mixtures must be good,but I remain unconvinced.*’ There seemsto meto be a crucial piece missing from the discussion in the fourfold division, a topic Plato treats in the Statesman but not in this section of the Philebus.*? In the StatesmantheEleatic visitor stops himself after going on at some length about weaving, and muses that perhaps he spent longer on that topic than he should have. Thatreflection leads him into an important digression about two arts of measurement(Stm. 283c3-287a6). Ordin-

ary measurement measuresa longer and shorterin relation to each other, whereas the second art measures longer and shorter in relation to some third thing. The Stranger says that in the second case one measures the more andless “in relation to (pros) the measured (to metrion), the fitting (to prepon), the timely (ton kairon),

the necessary (to deon), andall things that have moved house from the extremes to the middle” (Stm. 284e2-8). He offers various other descriptions as well, some of

them reminiscent of Socrates’ unifying description of the mixed kind in the Philebus as “generation into being.” For instance, the Stranger says that the more andless are measured “in relation to the generation of the measured (zpos THY TOO peTpiov yéveow)” (Stm. 284c1, d6).** All practical arts, including weaving

and statecraft, depend on this second type of measurement to produce excellent products: Forall such arts, I suppose, guard against what is more andless than measured (76 rod perpiov mAgov Kai €XaTTov), not as something thatis not, but as something

difficult concerning actions (epi ras mpdééexs), and by preserving the measure (76 pézpov) in this way, they produce (dzepydlovrat) all good and beautiful things.

(Stm. 284a8-b2)

The fourfold division in the Philebus gives no indication that the cause uses more than thefirst art of measurement. The limits enumerated—the equal, the double, 31 | side with Sayre (1987, 57-8), wholists others on that side at 58, note 10. On the otherside, see Gosling (1975, 185-206) and Harte (2002, 177-212). Harte (p. 211) cites against Sayre what she regards

as fatal evidence. At 64d9-e3 Socrates claims that a mixture without measure and commensurability is an “unblendeddisaster,” not a mixture atall. Plus Socrates goes on to associate having measure with fineness andexcellence (64e5-8). In the Appendix ofthis chapterI address additional evidencethat has beencited against my position. >? | believe that the normative character of structure is defendedlater in the Philebus, especially in the sections on pure pleasures and teleology (50e5-55c3), pure knowledge (dialectic) (57e6-58e3), and

mixing the good andstablelife itself (esp. 63e7-64a3). The fourfold division is only a stage in the unfolding argument, and we have long, hard road to travel before we get to those discussions. >? Moreprovocatively: “[measurement] according to the necessary being of the becoming (xara tiv Ths yevéoews dvayKaiay odotav) (283d8-9).

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and everything related as number to number or measure to measure—relate one quantity to another using thefirst art, resulting in, for instance, summetria, a balance between quantities of heat and cold, as in health or seasonable weather. These may be goodresults, but simply relating definite quantities of ingredients to each other need notyield good ones. The proportion equal to equal may provide temperatures appropriate in late winter in New England but not in Decemberat the North Pole. The right proportion dependson the situation and manyvariable factors. How should wethink of the third thing used by the Statesmman’s expert in measurement? Given that some of the descriptions of it resemble Socrates’ unifying description of the mixed kind in the Philebus, and that others, such as “the timely” and “the fitting,” suggest goals appropriate to a practical context, I suggestthat the third thing is some good the measureraimsto achievein a given situation. For instance, the right length for the Stranger’s treatment of weaving is onesufficient to teach his interlocutor a divisional technique he can apply to the hard topic underinvestigation: statecraft. We might think of the third thing as the mixture aimed for, the best possible, given a wider situation.** If that is correct,

ideal mixtures can themselves serve as limits.** I am suggesting a third role of limits, in addition to differentiating something from things outsideitself (external limiting) and structural limiting (internal limiting of parts in relation to one anotherandin relation to the whole): the limit is some good outcome aimed for by the measurer(cause) in a given situation. The measurertries, with moreorless success, to produce an actual mixture that measures up to that ideal. In the Philebus, the ideal mixture is the goodlife itself constrained by the imperfect ingredients and imperfect circumstances in which welive.

Appendix Several colleagues recommended that I address the evidence that tells against my position and in favor of the view that mixtures in the fourfold division must be good ones. Spyridon Rangos referred me to an important passage just before the fourfold division, at 22c1-6, where Socrates denies that Philebus’ goddess is the good, and Protarchus exults, “neither is your reason the good,” and Socratesreplies, “Perhaps not mine, butthe true and divine reason is perhaps in a different condition.” Soif there is onesole cause andit proves to be divine reason, and divine reason proves to be good, that should guarantee goodresults. But in the Timaeus (27d5-29b1) weare told that

34 Think of Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean. Theintermediate action,reaction, or product aimedfor

is exactly the right one, given many variable factors the measurer must take into account. 5 At 64b6-8 Socrates says that their discourse has created an incorporeal organization (kosmos)

ruling an ensouled body. This good mixtureis an ideal, something westriveto realize.

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the Demiurge, also referred to as nous, had a choice in creating our world, whether to modelit after a good and stable paradigm or after a bad, changing one. Since heis a good god, he chooses to model the world on the good paradigm. This scenario leaves open the possibility of a wicked god who chooses the bad paradigm. George Rudebusch mentioned to me a passage at the start of the section on the mixed kind and culminating in Socrates’ command to Protarchus to mix into the unlimited the family of the limit (25b5-d3). Socrates makes a prayer and then says that he thinks one of the gods has becomefriendly to us. So Protarchus ought to have

somedivine help with his mixing. But given how confused he is when told to mix (25d4, d10) and later, when he mistakenly thinks the oneness of the limit has been identified (26c4-d5, quoted in my main text in Section 5), no god appears to have cometo his aid. Hendrik Lorenz pointed to 25d11-e2 and 25e7-26b3, both quoted in my main text in Section 5. The first passage is Socrates’ second discussion of limits in which he indicates that the limit stops the unlimited opposing pairs from being at war with each otherand creates balance and harmony by imposing number. Theseresults are indeed good,but do we haveanyassurance yet that mixtures must be good? Notonly does the Timaeus envisage the possibility of a wicked god,it also speaks of chance and necessity (the wandering cause, which the good god subordinates to his teleological purpose: Ti. 47e3-48b3, 68e1-69b8). The Timaeus speaks of a precosmic situation before divine nous took charge (47e3-53c3), andsays of it that nothing partook of proportion and balance except by chance (tuchéi) (Ti. 69b5-8). The Philebus also alludes to chanceas a

possible cause of the universe (28d5-9). In Lorenz’s second passage (25e7-26b3), Socrates speaks of correct association of

limit and unlimited to yield mixed kinds, and all the mixtures mentioned are good ones. This strikes me as the best evidence that the cause has norms for good mixing. Still, I think that the two functions of the limit in the fourfold division and the distinctness and priority of the cause (absent its goodness) do not guarantee good mixtures. Of course, in a sense all mixtures are good because they are more definite than the unlimited from which they were generated, but definiteness needs to be appropriate to a situation, or so I arguein thefinal section of this chapter.

6 Intelligence as Cause Philebus 27c-31b Hendrik Lorenz

1. The Mixed Life and the Life of Pleasure (27c3-28a4) Socrates and Protarchus easily reach agreement that the life that combines pleasure andintelligence belongs to the kind of mixtures (27d1-11). We might wonder whether this assignment rests on an equivocation of the word “mixed.” To see this problem clearly, we mustfirst recognize that the metaphysical theory of the Philebus treats only good mixtures as genuine mixtures, as true members of the kind of mixtures. This is not yet made explicit in the initial introduction of the four kinds, although it is foreshadowedin thatall the examples Socrates gives of membersof the kind of mixture are cases of good measure: health, music, good weather, the seasons, beauty, strength, good characteristics in souls (25e-26b). That only good mixtures count as genuine mixturesis finally made explicit at 64d9-e3, where Socrates says that a mixture that lacks measure and proportion (which in turn manifest as beauty and virtue: 64e5-7)is really no mixtureatall, but an unmixed disaster (for discussion of this, see Harte 2002, 211).

Giventhis evaluative-metaphysical conception of mixture, then,the fact that the mixedlife contains pleasure andintelligence as ingredients and is in this sense a mixture is not by itself an adequate basis for thinkingthatit belongs to the mixed kind. In order to be a mixture in the metaphysical sense, the life combining pleasure and intelligence would need to be a case of good order established by the imposition of appropriate limit(s) on what is by itself unlimited. However,it has also been agreed that the combinedlife is choiceworthy and good (22d6-7). Andlateronit is agreed that seasonsandall other fine things that cometo befor us do so when the unlimited and what has limit are mixed together (26b1-3). So

apparently the ideais thatall fine things that cometo beforus belongto the kind of mixtures. A life that combines pleasure andintelligence so as to be choiceworthy and goodis definitely a fine thing that comesto befor us, and so there seemsto be goodreasontoassignit to the kind of mixtures. Such life, being choiceworthy and Note: I would like to thank Mary-Louise Gill, Gabriel Richardson Lear, Jessica Moss, and Spyros

Rangosfor helpful comments onanearlier draft of this chapter. Hendrik Lorenz, Intelligence as Cause: Philebus 27c-31b. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0006

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good,will also embody measure and proportion and so count as a genuine mixture. In upshot, then, the mixedlife that is under consideration is not just anylife that includes somepleasure and someintelligence, buta life that combines pleasure and intelligence so as to be a goodlife (similarly D. Frede 1997, 212). Socrates next turns to the unmixed life of pleasure. He assigns it to the unlimited kind on the groundsthatpleasure itself belongs to that kind. Philebus accepts that pleasure belongs to the unlimited kind on the grounds that its supreme goodness requires its boundlessness in both quantity and in degree of pleasantness (dzretpov...Kai mAnOer Kai TH pGAAov, 27e8-9). The assignment of pleasure, rather than the unmixedlife of pleasure, to the unlimited kind seemsto be the main point Socrates wants to makeat this stage of the discussion. Note that at the end of the section, what we are asked to keep in mindis specifically that “pleasure itself is unlimited and belongs to the kind that in andbyitself neither possesses norwill ever possess a beginning, middle, or end” (31a7-10). We might ask two questions:first, is it reasonable to assign pleasure to the unlimited kind? Second, assumingthat pleasure belongs to the unlimited kind,is this a reasonable basis on which to conclude that an unmixedlife of pleasure belongs to the same kind? A full discussion of these questions would take us too far afield, as it would require an analysis of the conception of the unlimited kind. But it might be useful briefly to indicate how affirmative answers to both questions could be supported. Pleasure as such admits of the more orless. That is to say, there is no definite degree of pleasantness that a given pleasant experience must exhibit to count as a pleasure.’ Pleasures can and do differ widely in how pleasanttheyare. So pleasure should be assigned to the unlimited kind. Furthermore, an unmixed life of pleasure, as envisaged by Philebus, has no intrinsic order or structure. Any quantitative features or limits that it exhibits are incidental to its being life of pleasure. There is thus no definite quantity or degree of pleasantness that it must exhibit to countas a life of pleasure. So it seems fair to assign the unmixedlife of pleasure to the unlimited kind as well.

2. Assigning Intelligence to Its Kind (28a4-31b1) Having indicated that the next task is to assign intelligence to its kind, Socrates raises the question of whatit is that rules the universe: chance or cosmic ' I am presupposing Striker’s interpretation of Plato’s conception of the unlimited kind: Striker (1970, 41-58). Emily Fletcher (2014, 127-8) argues that the assignmentof pleasure to the unlimited

kind is meantto berejectedlater on in the dialogue, since at 52c1-d1 somepleasuresare assigned to the mixed kind. However,I am unconvinced by her argument (128, n. 31) against Delcomminette’s (2006, 401) proposal that the assignment of somepleasures to the mixed kind at 52cl1-d1 is compatible with

thinking that pleasure as suchorin itself belongs to the unlimited kind.

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intelligence?” On the picture that will emerge, cosmic intelligence rules the universe, andit is intelligence that is the cause of the generation and maintenance of good things both in the human domain and in the cosmosat large. And so intelligence shouldbe assigned to the kind ofcause. Given howSocrates introducesthe different answers that might be given to the question of whatit is that rules the universe, one might wonder how manydistinct views are meantto bein play. Relatedly, what is the connection between “unreason,irregularity, and chance” (28d5-7) on the one hand anddisorder (29a3-4) on

the other? The passage in which the rival views are introduced is 28c6-29a5. Here is a translation: soc: But the question is easy to settle. For all the wise are agreed, in true selfexaltation, that intelligence is our king, both over heaven and earth. And perhapsthey speak well. But let us go into the discussion ofthis kinditself at greater length,if you are willing. PROT:Discussit in whichever wayyoulike, Socrates, and don’t be apologetic about longwindedness; we will notlose patience. soc: Well said. Let us begin by taking up this question. PROT: What question? soc: Whetherweholdthe view thatall things and this so-called universe are ruled by unreason,irregularity, and as chancehasit, or whether on the contrary they are steered byintelligence and by an amazing co-ordinating wisdom, as our forebears were saying. PROT: How can you even think of a comparison here, Socrates? What you are suggesting now strikes me as downright impious. To say that intelligence thoroughly orders all these things does justice to the spectacle [ris dpews, 28e3] of the cosmos, of the sun, of the moon, of the stars and of the whole

revolution of the heavens, and I for my part would never waver in speaking or judging about them. soc:Is this what you want usto do, then, that we should not only conform to the view ofearlier thinkers who professed this as the truth, repeating without risk what others havesaid, but that we should sharetheir risk and blameif some formidable opponentdeniesit and claims that things are in disorder? PROT: Howcould fail to wantit??

? How should the various words used for Socrates’ candidate be translated? The wordsare: phronésis (27c5, d2, 28a4, d8), epistémé (28a4, c3), nous (28a4, c3, c7, d8, e3, 30c6, 9, d2, d8, d10, 31a7), and sophia

(30b4, c6, c9). My proposedtranslations are as follows: “wisdom” for phronésis, “understanding” for epistémé, “intelligence” for nous, and “wisdom”for sophia. Note that phronésis and sophia never (in my passage) occurtogether;I think that they are near-synonyms(although at 30b4 the meaning“specialized expertise,” which is an aspect of the meaning ofsophia, but not of the meaningofphronésis,is in play). In the course of my section, nous establishesitself as the preferred designation for Socrates’ candidate. > Mytranslationsare revised versions of Dorothea Frede’s (1993).

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McCabe(2000,179) has suggested that there are four distinct views in play: that of the chance-merchantandits denial, and that of the “formidable opponent” (av7p dewds) who claims that things are in disorder (29a3-4), and again the denial of

that view. “Is it the same,” she asks, “to claim that chancerules the universe, and to say that things are disordered? The rule of chance seems to be a matter of how things got to be the way they are, a matter of explaining events and processes; while disorder characterizes states of affairs, the way things are.” “What is more,” she adds, Socrates’ argument “contains no counter to the claim about chance, but plenty to rebut the claim about disorder. For it points to the ordered way things are and their maintenance, and not to the causes or processes that made them that way.” McCabe’s intended contrast between the chance-merchantand the formidable opponentis not, I think, sustainable. The rule of chance view is not specifically about howthingsgot to be the waythey are.It is the denial of the view that things are steered and co-ordinated byintelligence. Nor is the view of the intelligence theorists (which is also presented as the view ofall wise people) limited to how things gotto be the waytheyare. It is just as much about howthings are. The view is that things are characterized by an amazing order,andthatit is intelligence that is responsible for the creation and maintenance of that order. (I will in what follows address McCabe’s concern that Socrates has no effective response to a view according to which the universe, orderly though it may be, is nonetheless ruled by chance.) If this is along the right lines, then there really are only two viewsin play:that things exhibit an amazing degree of order, for whose creation and ongoing maintenanceintelligence is responsible (the view of Protarchus,all the wise, and of Socrates);* and the view that things do not exhibit order, but are the way they are as chancehasit. As we saw just now, Protarchus gladly accepts that the universe is thoroughly ordered by intelligence. Socrates claims that in order to sustain this view, they will have to reflect on the relationship between the universe as a whole and the smaller-scale manifestations of order which are the ordinary objects of our experience: for example, our own bodies and the bodies of other animals. The suggestionis, in effect, that the elaborate macrocosm-microcosm parallel that Socrates now launchesinto is needed to support the claim that the * Whoare “all the wise?” Stephen Menn (1995) offers a good discussion of the pre-Socratic background, and notesthe echoesin our passage to Anaxagoras (rdvra duexdopyon vois, fr. 12, from Simplicius’ Physics commentary) and Diogenes of Apollonia, calling attention to the following argumentthat Diogenesoffers for thinking thathis principle air hasintelligence (noésis):“if it were without noésis it would notbepossible forit to be divided in such a wayasto possess the measures (metra)ofall

things, of winter and summerandnightand day andrains and windsand fair weather; and if someone wishes to consider the other things too, he would find that they are disposedin the fairest way possible.” Menn goesonto offer reasonsfor thinking that Heraclitus, Parmenides, and Empedocles shouldalso be included in thelist of wise thinkers Socrates wants us to think about.

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universe is ordered by intelligence. Now,it is not immediately clear that the macrocosm-microcosm parallel offers argumentative support for thinking that the universe is ordered byintelligence.” One worry that one might haveis that the picture of the macrocosm that emerges from the parallel amounts simply to a restatement of the assumption that the universe is ordered byintelligence. Before turning to the question of howtheparallel offers argumentative support, let us first examine the parallel in somedetail. The elements(earth,air, fire, water) in the cosmosaresaid to belarge in bulk, beautiful, and of great power; by contrast, the elements in our bodies—for example, “myfire, yourfire, and that of the other animals” (29c7)—are of small quantity, oflittle value (phaulon, 29b7, c2), impure, and weak. At 29c5-8, Socrates asks the following question: But what aboutthis? Is the fire of the universe nourished by the fire with us, and does it cometo be andoriginate from it,° or do, on the contrary, myfire and yours and that of the other animals haveall these attributes by the agency of the fire of the universe?

Protarchussays that it is not even worth answering that question. So the implicit claim is that the elements in our bodies are nourished by, and have their generation and origin from, the elements in the cosmos. The elements in our bodies are small portions that are separated off from the cosmic elements, and new bits of each element enter into our bodies from the cosmos as we grow,andalso as we maintain ourselves. Whataboutthe souls ofliving bodies such as ourselves and other animals? Are our souls supposed to come from the cosmos? The relevant passage oftext is 30a3-8:

soc: Ofthe bodythat is with us, will we not say that it has soul? PROT: Clearly we will say so. soc: But from where, dear Protarchus,doesit obtain soul, unless the body of the universe turns out to be ensouled, given that it has the sameattributes as our kind of body, butstill more beautiful in every way? PROT:Clearly from nowhereelse, Socrates. That the body of the universe has the sameattributes as our bodies, but in each case still more beautiful in every way, is a new thought,but is analogous to the way

> That,I take it, is Protarchus’ pointat 30e4-5, where hesays that he did not immediately recognize that Socrates wasall along answering the question to what kindintelligence should be assigned. The playfulness that Socratesrefers to in his remark at 30e6-7 maybe just this apparentindirectness.If so, the remark at 30e6-7 does not in any way undermine the seriousness of the philosophical picture that emerges from the passage as a whole. ® Burnet and others accept Jackson’s conjecture adéera: where all MSS have dpyerau. I think that the reading of the MSS makesacceptable sense: dpyera: is middle and,like yiyveras, goes with éx tovrov.

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the cosmic elements have the sameattributes as the elements in our bodies, but in superior ways.

There are two argumentshere for thinking that the universe is ensouled:first, our bodies are ensouled, and the universe’s body has the sameattributes as our bodies, butstill more beautiful in every way, so the universe’s body should also be ensouled, and ensouled in a way that is superior to our way of being ensouled; second, our souls must come from somewhere,just as the elements in our bodies come from somewhere, so the origin of our souls should be the universe’s soul, just as the origin of (say) the fire in our bodies is the cosmicfire. One might compare the Timaeus’s picture of immortal parts of humansouls descending from and returning to various heavenly bodies: the demiurge began to pour into it [i.e., his mixing bowl] what remained of the previous ingredients [which he had used to create the world soul and the souls of the heavenly bodies] and to mix them in somewhatthe same way, though these were no longer invariably and constantly pure, but of a second andthird grade of

purity. And when he had compoundeditall, he divided the mixture into a number of souls equal to the numberofstars and assigned eachsoul to a star [...] Then he

would sow each ofthe souls into that instrumentof time suitable to it, where they were to acquire the natureofbeing the most god-fearing ofliving things [...] And if a person lived a goodlife throughoutthe due course ofhis time, he would at the end return to his dwelling place in his companionstar,to live a life of happiness that agreed with his character. (Timaeus 41d-42b)

Weshould also compare Timaeus 42e-43a: the secondary gods whosetask is to create humanbeings and other animals “borrowedparts offire, earth, water, and air from the world, intending to pay them back again, and bonded togetherinto a unity the parts they had taken.” Onemightthinkthat our passagepresentsa pictureofthe origin ofour souls that is rather different from that presented in the Timmaeus: whereas the Timaeus makes our souls distinct from the world soul right from the start and lets each of them descend to us from someheavenly body, the Philebus seemsto locatethe origin of our souls in the world soul.’ However,to say this would,I think,be to overstate the determinacy of the picture that emerges in our passage. Socrates and Protarchus agree that our souls somehow cometo us from the ensouled body of the universe. This commitmentis compatible with the Timaeus’s picture ofhumansouls coming to us from the heavenly bodies, though ofcourseit is less determinate. Socrates then goes onto present intelligence as the cause of souls, among other goodthings. This is the part of the present section that has been most controversial and that perhapsis philosophically most interesting. I will focus my attention on the text from 30a9-d3. ” This view is taken by Mason (2014, 147-50); similarly D. Frede (1997, 219).

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I begin with a translation of this part of the section. soc: For I suppose that we don’t think that these four kinds, limit, the unlimited, the common kind, and the kind of cause, which is present in all things as a fourth kind, we don’t think that this fourth kind—in our domain providing soul, putting in place bodily exercise and medical treatment when the body fails, and combining and restoring different things in different cases—is spoken of as every and every kind of wisdom, but that this same kind has failed, in the case of the universe, in which there are these samethings in large portions, and in beautiful and pure form, to have devised* amongthese things the nature of the most beautiful and honorable things. PROT: To say this would makenosenseatall. soc: Butif that is not the case, we had better go with the alternative account and assert, as we have said often, that there is in the universe a great deal of the unlimited, and a sufficient amountof limit, and in addition to these a cause that is of no slight value, which orders and co-ordinates years, seasons, and months, and which would mostjustly be called wisdom andintelligence. PROT: Mostjustly indeed. soc: But wisdom andintelligence could never cometo be without soul. PROT:Certainly not. soc: Youwill therefore say that in the nature of Zeus a kingly soul and a kingly intelligence cometo be because of the powerofthe cause, while paying tribute to other fine attributes in other divinities, in conformity with the names by whichthey like to be addressed. At 30b1-2,all reputable manuscripts have the words puyjv re rapéxov, “providing soul.” I have followed them in mytranslation, so that Socrates begins this stretch of argumentby saying that the fourth kind (the kind of cause) “provides soul”to things in our domain. However,it is not immediately clear how intelligence, as a cause, provides or supplies souls. And indeed Striker (1970, 70-4) has argued that these words should be deleted as a gloss. Striker’s argumentis forceful and merits careful consideration. Let us begin by considering how Socrates’ argument goes if we retain the manuscript reading. According to Striker, it goes as follows. (a) It stands to reason that the kind of cause, which ensouls and maintains our

bodies and whichis therefore called wisdom, in the cosmos has produced the nature of the finest and best things (30a9-c1).

5 Mason(2014, 147) hasobjected to an active-voice translation of pepnyavijo0a(“to have devised”) at 30b6, notingthat perfect forms of pnyavdopuacan be used in middle or passive senses rather than in the active sense (citing Smyth 1956, 813d). However, Plato frequently uses perfect middle forms ofthe verb in active senses (e.g., Gorgias 459d6, Timaeus 47a6, Laws 649a3 and 679e1). An active-voice translation here is linguistically permitted and seems to make thebest sense of the sentence.

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(b) Wewill therefore say that there are in the cosmoslimit and unlimited and

in addition a cause that orders the world andthatis rightly called wisdom and reason (30c2-7). (c) There can be no wisdom or reason without a soul (30c9-10). (d) So wewill say that Zeus has a divine soul and a divine reason becauseof the powerof the cause (30d1-3). Since in (a) it is assumedthat the kind of cause in the human domain andin the cosmosis the same, Striker argues, the inference in (b) must include a commit-

mentthat the kind of cause ensouls and maintains the body of the cosmos. So the conclusion that there is a world soul is reached by (b). This makesit hard to see whySocrates then proceedsto (c) and(d), offering an argumentfor the conclusion that there is a world soul. On the other hand,if the reference to souls in (a) is

removed,then the conclusion reachedin (b) is only that the cosmosis ordered by intelligence. This leaves room for the inference from the world’sintelligence to the world soul in (c) and (d).

Striker rejects Hackforth’s (1945) alternative proposal as to how to make sense of the transition from (b)to (c) and (d). Hackforth accepts the manuscript reading

with its reference to souls in (a). His proposal is that the wisdom referred to in (b) is meant to be a transcendentcause of order, whereas the wisdomreferredto in (c) is meant to be immanentin the universe as a characteristic of the world soul.’

Onthis construal, (c) and (d) add something new to the argument,in that they introduce the notion of a created kind of cosmic intelligence, which requires a world soul to serve as its host. Striker rejects Hackforth’s construal on three grounds.First, she findsit hard to believe that Plato would implicitly presuppose the elaborate theory that Hackforth ascribes to him: the theory that a transcendent reason is the productive cause of the world’s immanentreason, andthat the transcendentreasonis itself uncreated, so that it is not subject to the claim at 30c9-10that intelligence cannot cometo be without soul. (Hackforth also thinks that the Demiurge in the Timaeus represents this transcendent, uncreated reason.)

Secondly, Striker findsit implausible that Plato would use the same expression copia Kai voids at 30c6 to refer to the transcendentintelligence and at 30c9 to the immanentintelligence of the world soul.

° “Taking this at its face value,” says Hackforth (1945, 56-7), “we have a sharp distinction drawn between a transcendentairia (which at c6 was identified with copia cai vods) and a vois immanentin

the universe as a part or character of the world-soul. And it may seem harshthat in two successive sentences (c6 and c9) Socrates shouldusethe collocation copia cai vods first with a transcendent, then

with an immanentreference... yet the difficulty largely disappearsif we realise that the distinction is one ofaspect rather than ofbeing. Transcendent vods and immanentvods are not two different Reasons: thelatter is the self-projection of the former.It is qua projected that vots mustbe odx dvev puyijs, just as at Tim. 30b the Demiurgeis said to have found that vody ywpis puyis dddvatov tapayevéobat Tw.”

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Thirdly, she holdsthat if 76 rs airias yévos (“the kind of cause”) at 30a10 refers

to the transcendentintelligence, then the view seemsto bethat this kind has only one member.But in this case Socrates hasgiven us no reason for thinking that the humanform ofintelligence, as opposed to the transcendent form, belongs in the kind of cause. All these difficulties can, I think, be resolved withoutdeleting puyiv re wapéxov at 30b1-2. The solution that I favor does depend on distinguishing, with Hackforth and others, between uncreated intelligence and created intelligence, which must be hosted by soul. First, let us revisit the transition from (b) to (c) and (d). So far as the cosmosis concerned, (a) and (b) may be meantto establish only

that the kind of cause produces very fine and good things (e.g., the orderly rotations of the heavenly bodies, the seasons etc., 30c5-6), so that it is rightly called intelligence. No claim about a soul of the cosmos(a world soul) needs to have been made or implied, as Striker assumes. (c) then adds that a created

intelligence, such as the intelligence possessed by the cosmos, must reside in a soul, and (d) adds the conclusion that there must be a world soul, in which the

world’s intelligence resides. There is no need to think that on this type of interpretation, copia Kai voids in 30c6 refers, as Hackforth proposed,to a transcendentintelligence and at 30c9,the same wordsrefer to the immanentintelligence of the world. The words can—and, I think, should—refer to the immanentintelligence of the world in both places.’° Asfor the difficulty about the kind of cause having only one member,Socrates might think that the kind of cause includes as membersor parts a transcendent, uncreated intelligence and, in addition, a numberofcreated divine intelligences as well as theintelligences of human beings. Presumably the transcendentintelligenceis itself the cause of the immanentintelligences. So the kind of cause would seem to include causes that are themselves caused by another instance or member of the same kind. This is not unintelligible. It is also, I think, paralleled by the kind of mixture. The kind of mixture presumably includes mixtures that are the causes of other mixtures. For example, the art of medicine, as an acquired good state of a doctor’s soul (26b1-7), is a mixture,andit is also a cause of health, which

itself is a mixture." On myinterpretation, then, Socrates’ idea is that (a) it is intelligence of some kind or other that provides human bodies with souls and that orders the cosmos; that(b) intelligence orders the cosmos by makingit a proper mixture of limit and

1° This is also how Mason (2014, 150-1) proposes to construe the reference of cogia xai vods in 30c6, noting—rightly, I think—that doing so is demanded by how 30c2-7 connects both with what precedes and with whatfollows. 1 John Cooper([1977] 1999, 150) has proposedthat according to the Philebus’s ontological theory,

“to be a goodthingjust is to be such a combination”—i.e., a mixture ofperas and apeiron. This may go too far, but the dialogue certainly suggests that all good things that cometo be are mixturesoflimit and the unlimited.

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unlimited, and by maintaining the cosmic order as a created intelligence; that (c) created intelligence requires soul; so that (d) there is a world soul, to house the

created intelligence of the cosmos. With Gosling (1975, 98-9), one might object to the causal reading of puynv Te mapéxov (“providing soul”) at 30b1-2 that is presupposed by both Striker and my owninterpretation. Striker’s objection to retaining the manuscript reading, Gosling points out, “hinges on taking ‘supply’ in a causal way, and this seems to me unnecessary. One couldsay thatin us the category of determinant supplies order, that of mixtures good health, andsimilarly it is the category of cause that supplies life, and ‘supplies’ simply indicates that these things are to be sought in these categories.” (For this non-causal construal of parechein, cf. 27a11-12, where one might construe 7a tpia yévyn as the grammatical subject of the sentence.) This non-causal, “categorial” reading seemsto bedifficult to sustain in 30d1-3, which Gosling (1975, 23) translates as follows: “So we mustattribute to the divine

nature a sovereign form oflife (psyche) and sovereign thought becauseofthe power of causation involved.” However, this is a very loose translation. In a closer translation, Socrates is saying that (you will say that) a kingly soul and a kingly intelligence cometo be in the nature of Zeus, becauseofthe powerofthe cause (14 THv THs aitias Suvaywy). The expressions “a kingly soul”and “a kingly intelligence” are no doubt meantto refer to the world soul andits intelligence. Zeusis identified with theliving,intelligent, and embodied being that is the universe.’ But nowrecall the discussion in which Socrates introduces the kind of cause, wherehegets Protarchusto acceptthat “it’s necessary thatall the things that come to be cometo be because of some cause (6pa yap et cor Soxel dvayxatov evar mavTa 7a ytyvopeva dia twa aitiav yiyvesbat)” (26e2-5), and identifies that which

produces X (1 tod mowtvros piois, 26e6) with the cause because of which X comesto be, for everything that comes to be. That which produces thingsis also referred to as that whichcrafts all the things that cometo be (76 mavra tabra dnpoupyodv, 27b1).It is also, of course, identified as the kind of cause. Against the background of that discussion, it seems hard to resist the impression that Plato now (at 30d1-3) wants us to think that the world soul and worldintelligence are

themselves things which cometo be, and which are created and crafted by some cause distinct from them. If we accept this view, then the picture that emerges is that the world soul is produced andcrafted by a cause that is distinct from andpriortoit, the kind of thing that Hackforth (1945) called a transcendent Reason. But in that case the

parallel between macrocosm and microcosm invites thinking that in addition to talking about our bodies at 30b1-4, Socrates also meansto talk about the production or crafting of our souls, possibly by the same transcendentintelligence that

” Pace D. Frede (1997, 218), who thinks that Zeus is identified with the world’s intelligence.

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produces andcrafts the world soul. It may be worth noting that if we retain the reference to the kind of cause providing soul in our domain at 30b1-2,as I think we should,the cause that provides soul in our domain need not be construed as a human kind ofintelligence.’ What is responsible for providing soul in our domain might be a cosmicintelligence, or an intelligence that is independent of andpriorto souls. Oneworry that I have not yet addressedis Striker’s concern thatit is hard to believe that Plato would leave largely implicit his theory of a transcendent intelligence that is itself uncreated and that crafts the world soul (and perhaps humansouls). I do not find this hard to believe. I suggest that Plato wants the emphasis for present purposes to be on theintelligence of the world, which is responsiblefor the order and regularity of the cosmosin its rotations, seasons, day and night, etc. and on humanintelligence, which is responsible for all kinds of manifestations of good order in our domain. But healso wants to indicate that he doesnot take the ensouled and embodied formsofintelligence to be fundamental in a comprehensive and fully worked-out theory ofreality. He may also mean to indicate to the careful reader that the conceptionofreality that he is here offering is consistent with that presented in the Timaeus, where the world soul and the rational parts of humansouls are affirmed as created by a cause whichis distinct from and prior to them, namely the divine craftsman. Having arrived at a preliminary picture ofhow thetrain ofthought from 30a9-d3 runs, we should now retrace our steps and address two further questions of detail that the text raises. First, what does “the nature of the most beautiful and honorable things” at 30b7 refer to? Is Hackforth (1945) right in thinking that the expression refers to the souls of the cosmos and to other heavenly souls? Is this by itself supposed to be an argument for thinking that the cosmos is ensouled? If not, what does the expression refer to? Perhaps the regular recurrence of seasons, monthsandthe like? I opt for the secondpossibility, namely that Socrates meansheretoreferto fine and goodfeatures of the cosmos,such asthe orderly recurrence of the seasons and the like. Myreasonis this. As Striker (1970) points out, Socrates’ speech at 30c2-7 correspondsto the bit about the cosmosin his immediately preceding speech(this is 30b4-7). Here, again, are the two passages in question: [...] this same kind hasfailed, in the case of the universe, in which there are these same things in large portions, and in beautiful and pure form, to devise

amongthese things the nature of the most beautiful and honorable things. (30b4-7)

3 This is how D. Frede construesthereference, only to find the manuscript text untenable (1997, 217, cf. 37-8).

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But if that is not the case, we had better go with the alternative account and

assert, as we have said often, that there is in the universe a great deal of the unlimited, and a sufficient amountof limit, and in addition to these a cause that is of no slight value, which orders and co-ordinates years, seasons, and months, and which would most justly be called wisdom andintelligence.

(30c2-7)

Whatis denied in 30b4-7 about the cosmosis now being affirmed, namely that intelligence is at work as a cause oforderat the cosmic level. And in the speech at 30c2-7 (the affirming speech)thereis no referenceto intelligence producing souls, only to intelligence producing order in the cosmos. So I takeit that whatis first denied andthen affirmedis that intelligence is at work as a cause at a cosmiclevel, so as to produce cosmic order. This then prepares for the inference from cosmic intelligence to cosmic souls in what immediately follows. A second question that merits attention is this: when Socrates claims that “wisdom and intelligence could never come to be without soul” (30c9-10), is it

significant that the claim is put in terms of coming to be, as opposed to being or existing?

As I have indicated already, I think that this point of detail is significant.’* In thinking this I side with a tradition of commentators that goes back at least to Poste, who in 1890 published an edition of and notes on the dialogue, and whoin commenting on 30c9-10 observed that both in our passage and in a similar passage in the Timaeus “the terms employed [...] exclude from consideration the Eternal Reason, or extra-mundane Cause.” The relevant passage from the Timaeusis this: the demiurge reasoned that in the realm of things naturally visible no unintelligent thing could as a whole be better than anything which does possess intelligence as a whole, and further that it is impossible for anything to cometo possessintelligence apart from soul [vodv 8’ ad ywpis puyfs aduvarov mapayevéobat tw]. Guided by this reasoning,

he put intelligence in soul, and soul in body, and so he constructed the universe. (Timaeus 30b1-5)

This view of the significance of these verbs was accepted by Bury (1897), Hackforth, and more recently by Stephen Menn(in his Plato on God as Nous: 1995), but in recent times it seems to have been somewhat unpopular (Striker (1970), Gosling (1975), D. Frede (1993), McCabe (2000)). Here is how Gosling (1975, 23) translates the sentence at Philebus 30c9-10:

“But you neverfind wisdom and thoughtwithoutlife (psyche).” Similarly D. Frede (1993, 29): “But there could be no wisdom andreason without a soul.” On the

view suggestedby these translations, there can be no wisdom orintelligence thatis distinct from and prior to soul: any wisdom orintelligence that there is must be

* Notethat yevoioOyv at 30c10 is echoed by the cognate verb éyyiyvecOar at 30d2.

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housed in soul, whether the wisdom orintelligence in question be cosmic, divine or human.This would leave no room for the notion of a transcendentintelligence, an intelligence prior to and productive of soul in general. Cherniss (1944) thought that our passage (that is, Philebus 30c9-10) and Timaeus 30b “might appear to admit this interpretation” (namely,an interpretation that leaves open the possibility of an uncreated, transcendentintelligence). But Cherniss also thought that there is a passage in the Sophist that rules out the possibility of a transcendentintelligence. That passage is Sophist 248e-249d, about which Cherniss says this: Plato is not saying that the universe has nous and so must have a soul. On the contrary, the argument of Sophist 248e-249d is quite general. It is an attempt to prove that the totality of the real includes motion,i.e., that kinésis is real; and it reaches this conclusion by proceeding from the assumption thatreality includes nous throughthe steps that nous implieslife, life implies soul, and soul implies

motion, an argumentthat Plato could not have formulated if he hadbelieved that there is any real nous which doesnot imply soul.’* However,it is just not true that in that text, the Eleatic Visitor commits himself to the view that intelligence as such implieslife, which in turn implies soul. The language the Visitor uses is consistently the language of having intelligence, or of intelligence being or coming to be present to or in something.’* As Menn (1995, 21) puts it, “Hackforth is right to say that Plato is here requiring a soul ‘of that which has nous, not of that which is nous.” We mayconclude, then,that there is no text anywherein the dialogues in which Plato commits himself, or presents one of his main speakers as committed, to the view that there can be no wisdom orintelligence without soul. In consequence, we have good reasonto take seriously the possibility that both in the Timaeus and in the Philebus weare invited to conceive of a form ofintelligence that is prior to and productive of soul in general. Let us now turn to a few questions that arise about the larger picture of our passage. First off, how many arguments for thinking that the cosmosis ensouled do we have here? Whatare they, and are they any good? On the construal that I have suggested, there are three arguments. There are two arguments at 30a: the cosmos must be ensouled, because (i) our bodies

are ensouled, and the body of the cosmoshas the sameattributes that our bodies have, andin a superior form, and(ii) our souls must come from cosmicsoul, just

5 Cherniss (1944, 606-7); quoted in Menn (1995, 20-1).

16 “Shall we be easily convinced that motion,life, soul, and wisdom are truly not present [7 mapeivai] to what perfectly is?” In that case, it would not have intelligence [voiv ot« éxov] (248e6-249a2). At 249a9, eyew or éevetvar must be understood, without accepting Schleiermacher’s addition. If things are without motion, then nothing hasintelligence about anything [vodv pndevt mepi pndevodsefvat] (249b5-6).

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as the fire in our body comes from the cosmicfire. The third, more elaborate argument (which is connected to the previous arguments by the particle gar at a9) is not complete until 30d3: there must be a world-soul because it is the world’s intelligence that is responsible as a cause for the orderly regularity of the seasons and thelike, and intelligence cannot come to be without soul. So the cosmosis ensouled,andits intelligence residesin its soul. These are not, of course, compelling arguments. One mightreject the first of them by holding that while the body of the cosmosshares someattributes with our bodies, it is not clear whetherit shares the attribute of being ensouled. One might oppose the inductive move in the second argumentfrom fire and other bodies to soul as coming to our bodies from cosmic soul, on the groundsthat souls operate differently from bodies. And of course the orderly regularity that the universe exhibits is hardly a compelling reason for thinking that the universe is an intelligent being whose intelligence governsthe orderly regularity of the processes that we observe. What these argumentsdois to invite us to view the universe as a superior version of our own ensouled bodies, on the basis of reasons that are suggestive, though obviously not compelling. The best of these reasons, I think,is the inference from orderly regularity to intelligence that features in the third argument. Given that in the domain of humanaction orderly regularity is at least typically a work ofintelligence hosted bysoul, it is plausible to suppose that the superior manifestations of orderly regularity that we observe in the universe are also works of intelligence hosted by soul. Recall McCabe’s (2000, 179) claim that Socrates hasnoeffective response to the

view that the universe, orderly though it may be, is nonetheless ruled by chance. We might wonder whether the inference to cosmic intelligence that is the key moveofthe third argumentis simply question-begging against the proponents of cosmic disorder and chance. It is not, I think. Socrates is calling attention to specific examples of cosmic order: the periodicity of years, seasons, and months (30c). He implicitly relies on the plausible principle that sustained maintenance of orderandregularity is a sign ofintelligence at work, rather than of things coming about by chance. In offering this reason for believing in a cosmic intelligence, Socrates is building on Protarchus’ earlier remark that “to say that intelligence thoroughly ordersall these things does justice to the spectacle of the cosmos,ofthe sun, of the moon, of the stars and of the whole revolution of the heavens.” But Socrates is also going beyond Protarchus’ earlier remark: while Protarchus focuses on the visible spectacle (ris dyews, 28e3) of the heavenly bodies and their revolutions,’’ Socrates directs our attention to the underlying order and co-ordination that produces and maintains the regularity with which years, seasons, and monthsunfold.

” Tam grateful to Gabriel Richardson Learfor calling myattention to this detail.

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Whydoes Socrates propose and develop the microcosm-macrocosm parallel? Whydoeshe not arguedirectly that intelligence should be assignedto the kind of cause? Here is a suggestion. Thinking about the cosmos as a whole, and in particular about the orderly motions of the heavenly bodies, makes it plausible to posit a cosmic intelligence as the cause of the conspicuous andstriking order and regularity observed in the heavens. Plato wants usto think of intelligence in general as the cause of good things such as the seasons, health, beauty, strength, and the like (26b). Without the cosmic dimension ofthe discussion, it might be

tempting to think thatintelligence is a cause not only of good orderandregularity, but also, and just as much, of disorder andirregularity. After all, vicious people often employ considerable intelligence in promoting bad outcomes, in such a way as to disrupt and destroy order in all kinds of ways. Focusing on the cosmic intelligence of the world soul and its orderly effects in the heavens provides a paradigm case ofintelligence as a cause of order, a case that we can hope to emulate in our own lives. The microcosm-macrocosm parallel clearly moves from microcosm to macrocosm,inferring attributes of the cosmos from attributes of our bodies and the domain ofouractions. Butit also, I suggest, moves the other way: by focusing the reader’s mind on the regular and regularly beneficial effects of a cosmicintelligence, Socrates makes more plausible than it otherwise might be that intelligence by its nature is a power to produce and maintain due measure and good proportion. Is it part of the picture that emerges from oursection that intelligence exhausts the kind of cause?’* Here is a reason for thinkingthat it is. The kind of causeis supposedto be a single kind of thing (23cd). If completely different kinds of things could act as causes, how would the kind of cause be unified? Suppose, say, that chanceis a cause alongsideintelligence. If so, in what way is the kind of cause a unified,single kind of thing? Striker (1970, 74) addsthe textual consideration that at 30b1-4 and 30c2-7 Socrates presents the kind of cause as what both in the human domain andat thelevel of the cosmosacts so asjustly to be called wisdom andintelligence. This seems to leave no room for instances of the kind of cause that are not forms of wisdom orintelligence. It especially seems to leave no room for chance as a cause of good order in somecases. Hereis a reason for thinking that intelligence should not exhaust the kind of cause. It seems to be possible for a case of good order—of a good-making limit being imposed on somethingthat in its own right is unlimited—to comeaboutnot byintelligence but by chance. For example, someoneis sick and could be restored

18 J disagree with Mason’s (2014, 154) claim that when Socratessaysthat“intelligence belongsto the kind whichis the causeofall things” (€o7 yévous [r#s, accepting Bekker’s deletion] rod mévrwyairiov, 30d10-e1), “this implies that other things belong in this class besides nous.”

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to health by being warmedto a certain point, and they recover by being warmed to that point not by a medical expert, but by a cup of tea that they drank just for pleasure. Socrates seems to hold that mixtures such as health always have causes (26e). Whatis the cause of health in the kind of case that I described? Chance?

It seemsthat Plato is overlooking, or chooses to overlook, the fact that good order can comeaboutnot only by an exercise ofintelligence, but also by chance.

7 The Independence ofthe Soul from the Body Philebus 31b-36c Satoshi Ogihara

In the previous section in the Philebus on the fourfold ontology (23b5-31b2), Socrates characterized “pleasure itself” as “unlimited” (31a8-9). This is a charac-

terization of the nature ofpleasure, in a sense. But, in my view,it is a characterization of the nature ofpleasure as Philebus conceives of it (abstractly) and pursues it (cf. 27e1-28a1).' So whenSocratessaid, of pleasure so conceived,that it “in and

byitself neither has norwill ever have a beginning, middle, or end” (31a9-10), he meant,at least for one thing, that the hedonist’s pursuit of pleasure is endless and disorderly until ordered and restrained by somerational agency (cf. 26b7-c1). By contrast, in the discussion of pleasure in 31b2-55c3, whose first section (31b2-36c2) will be treated in the present chapter, Socrates considers pleasures as we actually experience them. So he pays attention to various formsof pleasure and the mechanism oftheir generation, amongother things. In our section of the dialogue, Socrates first presents an account of pain and pleasure in terms of the disintegration and the restoration, respectively, of a harmony (31b9-32b5), and posits what has been accounted for as “one kind of pain and pleasure” (32b6-8). He then mentions the pleasant and painful expectations of the first kind of pleasure and pain, respectively (32b9-c2). They are “another kind of pleasure and pain” (32c4-6). After making a couple ofrelated Note: Thanks to the participants in the Spetses conference, not the least to the organizers. Special

thanks to Emily Fletcher for useful comments on drafts. Gabriel Richardson Lear wasalso helpful as editor. All errors in this chapter are my own. ' Socrates finds Philebus’ conception of pleasure as uniform to be problematic (cf. 12d7-8, 13c5, where Protarchus represents Philebus’ view). Is Socrates thenjustified in speaking of whatthe hedonist problematically takes pleasure to be as “pleasureitself” or simply as “pleasure” (27e5-28a4)? I think he is, insofar as hedonistic pursuit of pleasure represents one wayin whichthetopic of pleasure genuinely matters to us. In this connection, we might consider that even someone whois not a committed hedonist may sometimesbe in a hedonistic frame of mind, so to speak, and pursuepleasureasif it were the good. At 41d5-10 Socrates refers back to the characterization of pain and pleasure as unlimited. At least part of the point of this back referenceis, I take it, that in the hedonistic frame of mind oneis especially prone to be fooled, on the size ofpleasures andpainsin front of oneself, by their juxtaposition with one another and their distances from oneself. Satoshi Ogihara, The Independenceof the Soul from the Body: Philebus 31b-36c. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © theseveral contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0007

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remarks(32c6-d8, 32d9-33c4), he says that this secondkindofpleasure andpainis generated through memory (33c5-6). This prompts discussions of perception (33d1-34a9), memory (34a10-b1), recollection (34b2-c3), and desire, whichlast phenomenonattracts considerable attention (34e9-35d8). Further he discusses the

condition in which one suffers from a bodily pain and at the same time enjoys expecting the bodily pleasure that one will have as the pain is removed (35d8-36c2). In this chapter I shall identify a methodological principle that seems to me to govern muchofSocrates’ discussion at 31b-36c (as well as in somelater sections of the dialogue): he starts with the most primitive type of experience, in which the soul passively receives influence from the body, and gradually shows more and moresignificant ways in which the soul works independently of the body.I shall suggest that this procedure is meant to familiarize Protarchus, who is apparently attracted to both Philebus’ and Socrates’ positions, with the latter’s outlook in which various workings of the soul are valued independently of their power to promote pleasure. But to prepare myway,I shall first argue that the Philebus offers no substantial account of pleasure that smoothly applies to all its forms.

1. Disintegration and Restoration: A Unitary Accountof Pleasure? 1.1 The disintegration/restoration account (31b9-32b5) After raising two questions, “what is [pleasure] in” and “by what condition is [pleasure] generated wheneverit is generated,”” Socrates presents an account of the generation of pain and pleasure in terms of the disintegration and the restoration, respectively, of a harmony. The harmony is a memberofthe “joint” kind (31c2, 30a10) of the fourfold ontology, that is, the result of the imposition of limit on something unlimited. He says: I claim,then, that when on the one hand the harmonyin us animals’ is disintegrated, the disintegration of the nature and the generation of pains take place simultaneously at that time. [...] When on the other hand [the disintegrated

harmony] is harmonized back and returns to its own nature, we should say pleasure is generated. (31d4-9)

? Verbally Socrates raises these two questions with regard to both pleasure and knowledge,butwill not address them when discussing knowledge at 55c-59d. How will he answer the questions with regard to pleasure (and pain)? Different answers will be given for different types of pleasure/pain. (1) Asfor bodily pain/pleasure, they are generated ‘in’ the bodily harmony(31c3;the bodily harmonyis the key item for their generation), or ‘in’ the disintegration andthe restoration of the bodily harmony (32b7; the disintegration and the restoration cause their generation (cf. 43b9 and c5)). This latter

answeralso answers the second question (on the cause of generation). (2) As for psychic pleasure/pain, it is not clear whatthey are ‘in.’ Maybe‘in’ the soul: Dixsaut (1999, 245). Some psychic pleasure/pain is generated through memory (33c5-6).I leave this list incomplete. > Alternatively, simply “in animals.” It depends on whether sjuiv at 31d4 goes with rois Cars or is an ethical dative.

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Socrates then gives examples that are “common and conspicuous”: hunger and eating when hungry; thirst and drinking when thirsty; heat and cooling down when hot; and cold and warming up whencold (31e3-32a8). Finally, he recapitulates the account in general terms (32a8-b4).

I would like to address twointerpretative issues. The first concerns the range of the applicability of this account. I take it to concern only bodily pain and pleasure such as the four examples given.* This meansthat the “harmony”in questionis the state of equilibrium of that bodily organism. However, someinterpreters hold that the disintegration/restoration accounthas a widerapplication, whetherit is thought to coverevery kindof pain/pleasure,at least in outline,” or somebutnotall kinds of psychic pains/pleasures.° I shall reject such alternative interpretationsin Section 1.2. Let us turn to the second interpretative issue. When giving illustrations at 31e3-32a8 and recapitulating the account at 32a8-b4, Socrates may seem to identify the disintegration/restoration with pain/pleasure. For instance, he says, “Hungeris, I suppose, a disintegration and a pain” (31e6). However, I think the locution is intended to be mere shorthand. What he meansat 31b-32bis to be found in the above quotation, namely that the disintegration/restoration occur simultaneously with pain/pleasure.’ This becomes clear when he speaks of the bodily changes as causing pain/pleasure (43b7-c7; amepyafovra: and zrovodawv). A question still remains. Why does Socrates use the identifying locution, even as shorthand? I shall suggest an answer in Section 2.1, after pointing out a principle that seems to me to govern muchofhis discussion at 31b-36c.

1.2 A psychic harmony? To the view that the disintegration/restoration account applies not only to bodily pain/pleasure but also to (at least some) psychic pain/pleasure, I have two objections. First, when recapitulating the accountat 32a8-b4, Socrates describes that which is disintegrated andrestored as “the kind which naturally, out of the unlimited and limit, becomes empsuchon.” This phrase refers neither to a soul nor to a harmony of the soul but solely to the animate body. The word ‘empsuchon’ often means ‘ensouled’ and often modifies ‘soma.’ An empsuchon somarefers to an animate body (or a living thing made of body andsoul). But empsuchon in any sense cannot modify soul. This means that “the kind which naturally becomes empsuchon”cannotrefer to a soul. It cannot refer to a harmony ofthe soul, either. My reason for saying this is not that empsuchon always meansensouled (see, e.g., eupdyxots... duvdpeow at Laws 906b1-2). The reason is, rather, that “the kind * Cf. Gosling and Taylor (1982, 134-6). 5 D, Frede (1997, 229-42). ® Delcomminette (2006, 303-5); Evans (2007b, 83). 7 Delcomminette (2006, 299).

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which naturally becomes empsuchon”refers to the animate body at least for one thing, since the disintegration/restoration account applies at least to the bodily case. This makesit difficult to read the phraseas also referring to a harmonyof the soul. So I would like to conclude that the harmony mentioned in the accountis

exclusively the bodily one.® Mysecondobjection to the alternative interpretation is to say thatit is difficult to see what the psychic harmony would belike. Certainly Socrates has mentioned psychic harmonies as sample membersofthe joint kind of the fourfold ontology (“so many, so beautiful things in souls” at 26b6-7). They are presumably virtues including temperance(cf. 26b7-c1). However, a virtue does not seem to play the role ascribed to the harmonyin the disintegration/restoration account. For the ‘disintegration’ ofa virtue,i.e., the process of moral orintellectual corruption, does not seem to cause pain,at least not directly. Well, let us leave virtues aside. Let me put my point crudely. Suppose an interpreter ascribes to Socrates the view that one has a psychic pleasure/pain when and because one’s psychic harmonyis restored/disintegrated. But if the interpreter fails to specify how we can identify the condition of one’s psychic harmony independently of reference to one’s experience of psychic pleasure and pain, then the postulation of the harmony mayrisk being an idle step of the virtus dormitiva kind. (By contrast, the condition of one’s bodily harmony can be identified independently of reference to one’s experience of bodily pleasure or pain, namely, by reference to the conditions of the constituents of one’s bodily organism such as the hot and the moist.) I doubt that any candidate for the psychic harmony would neatly satisfy both conditions: namely,first, that its disintegration and restoration directly cause pain and pleasure respectively; and second, that its condition be identifiable independently of reference to one’s condition regarding psychicpleasure orpain.’ Admittedly, I may havebeentoo strict about the conditionsfor success.In fact, many sophisticated attempts have been made to modify or extend the disintegration/restoration account so as to make it accommodate the psychic case. And I find them illuminating.’® Whatis unclear to meis whetherit is desirable, in the first place, to fit the account to the psychic case by the effort of modification or extension. Andtheissue is certainly not unrelated to the question of whether we should look for a unitary accountof pleasure in the Philebus.

® Here I intend to elaborate on Fletcher (2014, 116-17). ° D. Frede (1992, 450) speaks of emotionsofthe soul (47d-50c) as “disturbances andrestorations of

the harmonyofcontentment.”I suspectthat her postulation of such a psychic harmony mayviolate the condition of independentidentifiability. Cf. also Evans (2007b, 85-6) on disturbance ofthe soul in the

case of bodily pain. 1° E.g., Tuozzo (1996, 513): “Pleasure is a conscious psychic process caused either by a restoration of a natural harmony in bodyorsoul, or by entertaining a representation of oneself as in the conditions that cause suchrestorative pleasure.”

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1.3 A substantial unitary account of pleasure? DoesSocrates present a substantial unitary accountof pleasure in the Philebus? Manyinterpreters have soughtit in the dialogue.’ But I shall argue, in the present subsection, that the dialogueoffers no substantial accountof pleasure that applies to all its forms smoothly. There are about three candidates for such an account: the disintegration/ restoration account, the account in termsoffilling, and the account in terms of goal-oriented process. We have already seen that the disintegration/restoration account does not accommodate psychic pain/pleasure, at least not smoothly. Let

us now consider the accountof pleasure in termsoffilling of a lack.’? Actually, the filling account andthe restoration accountare often treated as a single account of pleasure. So,as a strategy, I shall first argue that the two accounts do not overlap with each otherexactly. Only someandnotall restorations of a harmonyare conceivedofasfillings in the dialogue.’* Eating when hungry isa filling, but cooling down and warming up are not. The last two are accounted for, instead, in terms of coagulation and dissolution (32a1-8). Conversely, too, only some fillings fit the restoration account. Consider pure pleasures, of which generally Socrates speaks in terms of fillings (51b3-52b9)."* Smelling (51b4, e1-2, whichisfilling with odor)is certainly 1 At 12c5-6 Socrates says that he and Protarchus should “consider what nature [pleasure] has”

(cxomelv fvrwa piow exer). This may be taken as declaration that they will investigate the (unitary) nature of pleasure. So taken, it may motivate search for a substantial unitary accountin the dialogue. ButI take him to be simply introducing the point that whatis called pleasureis “by nature” enormously diverse in kinds (12c4, c6-d6).

” To fit the pleasure of laughter (48a8-50a10) into the assumed general accountofpleasure in the Philebus, Van Riel (2000, 23) says, “the pleasure we take in a comedy, on seeing the misfortune of our neighbours, is caused by lack in oursoul: jealousy... Here, again, laughing (pleasure) is seen as the replenishmentofa lack (revealedin jealousy).” But it is not clear whatthe “lack in our soul” might be like that is supposed to be “revealed in jealousy.” The idea maybe that when onesuffers from a psychic pain (e.g., jealousy), one tends to attempt at counterbalancing it by taking a psychic pleasure (e.g., by laughing). But such an attempt at counterbalancingis not quite replenishment ofa lack. % At 35e2-3, 42c9-d3 Socrates impliesthatfilling and emptyingis only one form ofrestoration and disintegration. '* Thatis, a pleasure is pure if and only if the lack is imperceptible anditsfilling perceptible and pleasant. Evidence that Socratestreats all pure pleasuresin termsoffillings is at 51b5-7: Tas mepi te ta KaAd Aeyopeva Xpwpata Kai TEpi TA OXHUATA Kai THY dopey Tas TAEioTas Kai Tas THY POdyywr Kal doa tas évdeias avarcOyntous exovra Kai dAvTous Tas TANnpwoes aicOnTas Kai HSeias [kafapas AuTAV]

mapadiSwouw. The dca-clause generalizes the examples given so far. Fowler and Lamb (1925, ad loc.), Robin (1950, ad loc.), Taylor (1972, ad loc.), Gosling (1975, ad loc.), Waterfield (1982, ad loc.), and D. Frede (1993, ad. loc.) all read so and makethis fact clear in their translations. Fletcher, however,

maintainsthat the éca-clause introduces a new item, andthat, hence, Socrates does notaccountforall pure pleasuresin termsoffillings. She cites Philebus 11b5, 21b1 as parallel passages where a dca-clause that follows xai introduces a new item. But «ai plus éca-clause tendsto have a generalizingforce (26b1, 48e4-6; cf. 25c8-11, 54e4—-5), and it does haveit at 11b5, 21b1, where the reference of the éca-clause

happensto exclude the preceding items because of odugwva and ddeAga. She also cites Sophist 265c2 (she writes ‘cl’), where xai doa certainly introduces a new item (see Fletcher 2014, n. 18). But here

dibuyxa that follows 60a makes it obviousthat doa dipuya ... refers to a new item besides animals, plants, etc. (cl-3). Nothing similar happens at Philebus 51b5-7.

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restoration of the bodily harmony(cf. Tim. 65a). Andlearning(filling with objects of learning, 51e7-52b9) maybe regardedasrestoration of the naturalstate of the soul, providedthatin its natural state the soul is supposed to have knowledgein the Philebus as well as in Meno, Phaedo, Republic, and Phaedrus. However, perceiving a geometrical shape or a simple tone (filling with such “absolutely beautiful” things, 51b4-5, b9-d1, d6-10) cannot be understood as restoration of any harmony—atleast not in such a way that both of the two conditions mentioned in the secondlast paragraph in Section 1.2 may be met. (Asfor learning, the fact that it can be seen as restoration of the natural state of the soul does not mean that learningfits neatly the restoration account aspresented at 31c-32b.In this account, a continuous process that has been restoration can, in principle, exceed the harmoniousstate, as when oneeats too much.Thepossibility of excess is implied by the fact that the harmonybelongsto the ‘joint’ kind, which results from the imposition oflimit on something unlimited.It is because whatis unlimited tends to becomeexcessivethat limit is called for. However, it does not make sense to speak of learning too much.**) So I concludethatthe restoration account(especially as

given at 31b-32b) does not exactly overlap with thefilling account. Let us turn to the filling account as such. Note that one can speak of pleasure quite generally in termsoffilling. For one can speak of pleasure quite generally in termsof ‘being pleased at or by somethingpleasant,’ and of thelatter in terms of ‘filling, with that pleasant thing, lack thereof.’ (So, warming up and cooling down, accounted for in terms of dissolution and coagulation at 32a1-8, could be redescribed as filling with warmth and coolness, respectively.) This locution does not commitits user to any substantial accountof pleasure. For instance, at 26b8-9, where Socrates speaks of the lack of limit in hedonistic pursuit of pleasures, he says, “pleasures orfillings have no inherent limit in themselves” (aépas ote YSovav obdev otre TAnopovar évov év adrois). All this commits him to is the

conceptual point that the pursuit of pleasures can be rephrased as the pursuit of fillings of desires for pleasures.’* It is true that in Republic IX 585a—586d Socrates does present a substantial accountof pleasure in termsoffilling. But what makesit substantial as an accountof pleasure is not so much the conception ofpleasure in termsoffilling as such as the application of this conception to the context of the tripartition of the soul combined with the theory of Forms. So the fact that at Philebus 51b-52b Socrates speaks of pure pleasures in general in terms offillings does not meanthatheis presenting a substantial unitary accountofpure pleasures (or, a fortiori, of pleasures in general). It is unlikely that a single substantial accountapplies to olfactory pleasure (caused by a bodily restoration), the pleasure

1° The samecanbesaid of the pure pleasureof sight and hearing: it does not make sense to speak aboutperceiving too much beauty ofthe relevant kind. 16 Cf. aanpdoedv twa Kal pdSovar ératpov at Rep. IV 439d8.

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of learning (that probably consists in a psychic restoration), and the pleasure of perceiving beauty (a psychic experience that consists in no restoration). Thefilling account, once seen not to overlap with the restoration account exactly but to have meager substance on its own, seems to have lost someofits charm as a candidate for a substantial unitary accountof pleasure in the Philebus. Let us turn to the third candidate, the accountof pleasure in terms of a process (yéveots) oriented toward a goal (53c4-54c8). (It is not only the restoration

account and thefilling account but actually they and the process account that are often combined to be presented as a single accountof pleasure.) The genesis accountcertainly applies to the pleasures that consist in restorations of a natural state. But it does not seem to apply to the pure pleasure of hearing or sight, for instance. If there is something worthwhile with regard to this experience,it is the experienceitself, which does not seem to be directed toward anything beyond itself.” In the first place, Socrates does not seem to be entirely committed to the thesis in question, the full statement of which (53c4—5, 54d5-6)says that pleasure is always genesis, and that there is no being of pleasureat all. But Socrates would not maintain that there is no being of pleasure at all. Take the pure psychic pleasures. They are thought to have some share in measured-ness (52c4, d1), truth (53c2, 63d2, e3), and beauty (53c2), and these three characteristics are

metaphysically most highly regarded in the dialogue (64c5-65a6). So there is no wonderthat the pure psychic pleasures are mentioned in thelist of the components of the good life that make special contributions to making this life good (66c4-6). This seems to imply that this kind of pleasure has some being rather than noneat all. The thesis in question is thus guilty of overgeneralization in Socrates’ eye. He makes use ofit, though. He takes out from it a criterion for somethingbeing a good andusesit to show that, to the extent in which pleasure is a process oriented toward a goal, it is not a good. This really means that, of the kind of pleasure that is a process oriented toward a goal, it is not a good. By

showingthis, he refutes the claim that all pleasures are goods."* Onthose grounds,I wouldlike tentatively to conclude that Socrates presents no substantial unitary account of pleasure in the Philebus. As Fletcher has argued, measured and unmeasured pleasures (52cl-d1) have significantly different natures.’ Corresponding to this, I add, there are two types of things called 17 Fletcher (2014, 135). 18 Socrates’ attitude toward the genesis thesis is similar to his attitude toward the view (44a12-c2)

that pleasureis release from pain. In both cases, he first presents his own view (that there are three distinct states: pleasure, pain, and the neutral state (42c8-43e11); or that pure psychic pleasure is ontologically quite admirable (51b1-53c3)). Then he introduces a view that contradicts his own (that

whatis called pleasureis really release from pain; and that there is no being whatsoever of pleasure). He ascribes it to some other thinkers (“Philebus’ enemies” (44b6) and “subtle ones” (53c6)) andsays that

he is goingto use it for his purpose, thanking its authors (44c5-d8, 53c4-7). As for the release thesis,it helps him tosee that intense pleasures are closely related to bodily and psychic defects and are mixed with pain (51a3-9). 19 Fletcher (2014, 127-35).

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pleasures, that is, most intense pleasure (44d8-47c3) and pure psychic pleasure (51b3-d10, e7-52b9), each of which is supposedtotell us, in its own way, the ‘nature,’ as it were, of something called pleasure. Something referred to by the nameis by nature deceptive (51a5-9, 65c5-d2). And something(else, it seems) so

called, in its pure and true form,”° is ontologically quite respectable, as we have seen in the previous paragraph.It is not clear how these two contrasting characteristics can be connected in a unitary or unifying accountof pleasure. Rather, by juxtaposing the twocases, Socrates maybegiving us a sense of howdifficult it is to treat pleasure as a real unity. What he offers us in terms of, say, the distinction between bodily and psychic pleasures and that between mixed and pure pleasures looks rather like meansfor overviewing a miscellany ofthingscalled pleasures. The diversity of ‘pleasure’ is probably more tenacious than that of vocal sound that Theuth or someoneelse was confronted with (18a9-d2). For vocal sound allowed

him a treatmentthat finally led to a single system of it, while Socrates ends up having nosingle system of pleasure that is worth the name.

2. The Independence of the Soul from the Body 2.1 The introduction of the theme If I am right, the first thing that Socrates has done in 31-55 is not to present a general account of pain/pleasure, not even in outline, but rather to consider just onetype of pain/pleasure, namely, the bodily one. This can be characterized as the most primitive type of experience, in the sense that there the soul just passively receives influence from the body. Now,as I said at the outset, a certain principle seems to me to govern muchofSocrates’ discussion in our section at 31b-36c(as well as in somelater sections). This is to say that, having started with the most primitive type of experience, he gradually shows more and moresignificant ways in which the soul works independently of the body.”" Let us consider Socrates’ next move in terms of this project. As we saw, he posits bodily pain and pleasure as “one kind of pain and pleasure” (32b6-7) and introduces, as “another kind of pleasure and pain” (c3-4), the pleasant and painful expectations of bodily pleasure and pain, respectively (b9-c2). He characterizes this second kind of experience as being “of the soul alone” (adris ris buys, b9), to which phrase Protarchus adds “apart from the body” (ywpis rod caparos, cA),

7° It is not (simply) that pleasureis in itself ‘unlimited’ and has a sharein truth and other positive characteristics,if it does, by accepting ‘limit’ from outside. Rather, the idea is that pleasure shows such characteristics in its pure and true form aspleasure (in the relevant sense).

71 Delcomminette (2006, 314) sees in 33c8 ff. “a reconstruction ofthe logical genesis of the powers of oursoul.” He writes: “This will retrace the history of the progressive construction of these powers by starting with the simplest stage—sensation—which already implies consciousness, to move toward the more complexones,that is, successively, memory,recollection and desire [...]” (mytranslation).

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rightly for Socrates (c6). The whole characterization of the second kind suggests that the first kind of pain and pleasure, by contrast, should be characterized as being ‘of both the body and the soul.’ The bodyis thus involvedin the first kind but not in the second. This is to say that while the first kind is caused by disintegration or restoration of the bodily harmony, the second is not caused by it but by some workingofthe soulinstead.I shall call the first kind of pain and pleasure ‘bodily.’ The pleasant/painful expectation of bodily pleasure/pain is one species of the pleasure/pain that is not caused by bodily restoration/disintegration but by some working of the soul. This genus I shall call ‘psychic’ pleasure/pain. Notice that Socrates does not move from bodily pain/pleasure to psychic pleasure/pain in general or even to the pleasure/pain of expectation in general, but to the pleasure/pain of the expectation of bodily pleasure/pain.It is as if he cares to ascend thescale of the independenceof the soul from the body gradually, by economizing the introduction of new items. Then, after making a couple of remarks (32c6-d8, 32d9-33c4) which weshall examine in Section 2.2, Socrates discusses (1) perception (aisthésis), (2) memory (mnéme), and (3) (two types of) recollection (anamneésis). As he goes on,the soul

shows more and moresignificant forms of independence from the body. (1) Ofthe affections of the body, someare extinguished before arriving at the soul andleave it unaffected (33d2-4, d8-9, e10-34a1). Others go through the body andthe soul and put them in a commonagitation (which has the bodily and the psychic aspect)?” (33d4—6, d9-10, 34a3-4). This joint motion of the body andthesoulis called perception (34a4-5). Perception is a form of awareness, and whetherthe bodily motion managesto involve the soul or not is a matter of whether one becomes aware of the motion or not. (2) Memory is said to be “the preservation of perception” (34a10-11). This is to say, after the body and the soul share the common motionofperception, the psychicside ofit is preservedin the soul, while the bodily side vanishes in the body.In the passage just referred to, Socrates soundsas if memory is only concerned with what one has perceived. But soon weshall learn that he recognizes the memory of what onehas learned (b11). His restrictive talk at al10-11 is due to his tendencyto ascendstep bystep in thescale of the independenceofthe soul from the body. (3) Socrates says that one recollects when one’s soul, having experienced something together with the body, takes it up as much as possible within itself apart from the body (34b6-8). But this turns out to be only oneof the

two formsof recollection. For he then says that onealso recollects when one’s soul, having lost the memory of what one perceived or what one

22 Cf. rwa womep ceropov...idudv te Kai Kowdv éxarépw at 33d5.

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learned,digs it up again withinitself (b10-c2). Thefirst type of recollection mayberegarded as spontaneous,since here the soul retains the memory of something to be recollected, and just reactivates it. In the second type, however, the soul has once lost the memory andso hasto recreate the grasp of whatis to berecollected. I take bodily pain/pleasure (31c-32b) as a case of perception. This is to say, when the bodily harmonyis being disintegrated or restored, this bodily motion may or may notarrive at the soul, and if it does, it involves the soul so as to generatea joint motion, whichis both perception and bodily pain/pleasure. Notice that the motion of disintegration or restoration plays a double role: first, it generates perception or pain/pleasure, and second, it remains as one of the two components of that common motion that it has generated. Butthis fact about bodily pain/pleasure is something we learn only when weget to Socrates’ account of perception at 33d2-34a6. Back at his original account of bodily pain/pleasure at 31c2-32b5, there was no mention of bodyor soul atall, except the word ‘empsuchon’ at 32b1.”* Besides, let us recall, he spokeas if the pain/pleasure had been no different from the disintegration/restoration of the harmony. Whydid he talk in this manner? (We are back to the question that I raised at the endofSection 1.1.) My suggestionis that he was emphasizingthatin this most primitive type of experience the soul showed no independence from the body that was worth mentioning.

2.2 Interlude: the condition offeeling neither pleasure nor pain (32d9-33c4) After introducing the pleasure/pain of expecting bodily pleasure/pain and before returning to this topic, Socrates makes two remarks. First, at 32c6-d8, Socrates says that he hopes consideration of psychic pleasure and pain will throw light upon the question of whether the whole kind of pleasure is welcome or only some instances are.”* His second remarkat 32d9-33c4will be discussed in the rest of the present subsection. There Socrates says that there is the condition in which an animalis neither pleased nor distressed, besides the conditions of being pleased and of being > Cf. eurpuyd at 21c8. Socratessays,of thelife of pleasure, thatit is not a human life but rather the existence of a mollusk or “those ensouled bodies with shells in the sea” (r@v dca Oaddrria per

dotpeiver eupvyd éort cwudtwv, c7-8). This suggests that although they have souls, their souls are not much more than mereattributes of the bodies. 24 His reason for hoping so is that these pains and pleasures seem to him “pure and unmixed.” Unmixed with what? Fornow,I take: (1) with the body. The idea maybethatit will be clear how some psychic pleasures are unwelcome.Foritis likely that the product ofa defective workof the soul isitself undesirable. Or: unmixed (2) with each other, i-e., pleasure unmixed with pain and pain unmixed with pleasure. Or: unmixed with limit(or intelligence that introducesit). See Delcomminette (2006, 308-10).

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distressed. Whatis referred to as pleasure and pain at 32d9-33c4in this passage is only bodily pleasure and pain.For, in order to show that an animalcanbe in this third, neutral condition, Socrates appeals to the disintegration/restoration account from 31b9-32b5, which concerns only the bodily case. And that is why immediately after the present passage (33c5-6) Socrateswill refer to the psychic pleasure introduced at 32b9-c6 as “the other kind of pleasures” (my emphasis). At 33a8-9 Socrates makes a puzzling claim. This is to say that [A] nothing prevents the one who haschosenthelife of intelligence from living in the third condition, which is the condition of feeling no bodily pleasure or pain. Heis referring back to his argument at 20d1-22c6, which established that neither the life of pleasure northelife of intelligence is the good life, and that the goodlife consists in a mixture of both pleasure and knowledge. Heis referring, in particular, to the stipulation at 20e4-5, which is to say that no pleasure should be present in thelife of intelligence (cf. also 21d9-e2). Whatis Socrates’ point in claiming [A]? Heis not correcting the conclusions

obtained at 20d-22c to maintain that the life of intelligence, instead of the mixed life, is really choiceworthy. For hewill reaffirm the conclusions at 60b7-61a3 and 67a2-9. So he holds throughout the dialogue that qua incarnate we need to feel at least some pleasure and pain, including some bodily pleasure and pain.” Butifwe cannotchoosethelife of intelligence afterall, why does Socrates bother to speak about the one whohas chosen thatlife? Consider that at the end of the present passage (33b10-c3; cf. a3-5) he suggests that the current discussion may speak for intelligence’s claim to the secondprize, for the contribution to making the goodlife good. Note that claim [A] by itself does not speak muchforintelligence. For, we could say something analogousfor pleasure as well. We could say that [A’] nothing prevents the one who has chosenthelife of pleasure from living without cognitive capacities such as ‘awareness that’ (phronésis),’° memory,true judgment, and calculation (cf. 21a14-d5). Then, whatever force [A] may have in favor ofintelligence, [A’] seems to have a similar force in favor of pleasure.

(To this suggested parallelism between intelligence and pleasure, one may object that while the gods may choosethelife of intelligence, no one would choose the life of pleasure. Socrates has established, goes the objection, the undesirability of this life through depicting it as a mollusk’s existence (21b6-d2). However, 25 Wehave to feel bodily pain and pleasure in order to monitor the condition of our body and to know whento act so as to maintain its normal state. See Evans (2007b, 83, 90). Cf. 63e4-7.

© Cooper ([2003] 2004, 274). Phronesis at 21b7-10 (cf. 60d4, d8-9) is ‘awareness that’, whichis, I take it, something in between bare awareness and judgment(doxa). Without bare awareness, thatis, without aisthésis (33d2-34a9), one wouldfeel no pleasureatall. So thelife of pleasure, to be thelife of

pleasure at all, must include bare awareness. But at 21b7-10 Socrates deprives this life of phronésis, which is hence something more ‘developed’ than bare awareness. But phronésis seems to be something less articulated than judgment. For ‘true judgment’ is mentioned as an item distinct from phronésis at 21b6-7, c4-5 (also 60d5). Judgmentis the result of an internal dialogue (38b12-e5) andis either true or

false (b6-8). The phronésis in question maybe sort ofinfallible, immediate grasp ofself-regarding states ofaffairs.

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Philebus, even if well informed of what it would belike to live the life, might be happy to chooseit, if only he was guaranteed to experience the greatest possible (bodily) pleasures for his entire lifetime.”” True, Protarchus asserted that no one would ever choose such a life (21e3-4, 22b1-2, cf. 22a5-6). But this is what

he said, certainly sensibly for Socrates, who took Protarchus’ reply together with his sensiblenessas establishing that pleasure is not the good. But Socrates recognized, in counterfactual mood, the possibility that someone might dissent from “the nature of whatis truly choice-worthy” (22b6-8). This suggests that Socrates did not regard choosing thelife of pleasure as psychologically impossible.) So the point of claim [A] should be sought, I think, in his remark at 33b6-7 that

[B] thelife of intelligence spentin the third, neutral condition is probably the most divineof all.?* Although we cannot choosesuch life, insofar as we may aspire to divinity, we may aspire to the condition in which we choose andlive it. Such aspiration is not alien to us humans. Oursoul has “some powerto long for truth and do anything for its sake” (58d4-5). For such aspiration, the possibility of feeling no bodily pleasure or pain is good news. For bodily pleasure and pain

constitute a representative distraction from intellectual activity.” So, in showing the possibility of the third condition, Socrates may be pointingto the possibility of devoting oneself to intellectual activity, even if not entirely, as thoroughly as is

humanlypossible.*°

2.3 Desire (34d1-35d7) Socrates’ discussion ofdesire at 34d1-35d7 consists of an argument, whichI shall call the Desire Argument. Regardingthis difficult passage I shall only make some remarks that are most relevant to my present concern.

7 When Socrates says at 22cl-2 that pleasure seems to have been proven not to be the good, Philebus retorts at c3-4 that the same holds of reason. His retort may seem to imply that he has admitted that pleasure has been shownnotto be the good. However,he hasofficially retired from the task of defending his hedonistic thesis in the debate, and henceis no longerin a position to raise an objection even if he disagrees with what Socrates and Protarchus have agreed upon (11¢5-8, 12a9-b4). ?8 In this connection Socrates and Protarchus denythat the gods bepleasedor distressed (33b8-11).

In myinterpretation, they are denying them bodily pleasure/pain, together with the pleasure/pain that presuppose the experience of them,such asthe pleasure/pain of expecting them. Sointerpreted, this remark leaves the possibility open that the gods may have some psychic pleasure that does not presuppose the experience of bodily pleasure/pain, such as the pleasure ofintellectual activity. Cf. Fletcher (2014, section 6) (where she cites Tim. 37c6-d1). Consider Socrates’ reply at Phil. 22c5-6 in

the light of that possibility. There he may not mean that probably the god experiences nopleasure, but rather that probably the god would not be worse off if deprived of the pleasureofintellectual activity that he/she enjoys. ?° See Phaedo 65c6-7, 66b1-d7, 81b1-c7, 83b4-d9, 84a3-8. °° Cf. 55a6-8. Here I do not think that the speakers imply that it would beirrational not to choose “the thirdlife.” All that they find irrational hereis to choose “destruction and generation,” and the third life is mentioned just for the sake of contrast.

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Let usfirst look at the conclusion of the Desire Argument, presented at 35c5-d7 and referred back to at 41b11-c8. The conclusion can be summarized by saying thatdesire is not “of the body” (35c6-7) but “of the soul” (d2-3), or (equivalently, I takeit) that it is not the body (d5-6) but the soul (41c5) that desires. What does

this conclusion mean? In particular, how exactly are the body and the soul contrasted here? This is my focus in my discussion of the Desire Argument. But I would like to make a couple of preliminary remarks on the term ‘epithumia’. First, in the present passage (34d10-35d7)it refers only to bodily longings suchas thirst and hunger (34d10, e13), and not to psychic ones such as one for learning. For the concluding part of the argumentbeginsas follows (35c6-10): soc: Our current argument does not say that desire is of the body (Lwyaros émOupiav od pyaw piv odtos 6 Adyos yiyvecBat).

PROT: How? soc: Because [the argument] showsthat the undertaking of every animalis always the opposite of the condition of that (‘Orrots éxeivov mabjpaow évartiav del mavros Cou puynvber THv emexye(pyov, my emphasis). The pronoun éxecvou (“of that”) at 35c9 refers to Saparos (“the body”) at c6.*! (The

translation maylook to suggest thatit can, or even should,refer to “(every) animal,” ie., (wavros) Cwov at c9-11.*” This readingis implausible, however, because éxeivou

comesbefore mavrés Cov.) Hence “the undertaking of every animal”refers only to bodily longing. Now the participle phrase at al2-13, ‘H...dpuy...émi rodvavtiov a&yovoa 7 Ta TaOjpaTAa, repeats the point ofa9-10. So ‘H... 6pu7 at c12 also refers to bodily longing. The phrase odprracav rip Te éppjv Kal ériBupiav Kal THY apynv Tob

Cov mavros at d2-3 suggests that dpy7} and éiOuyia refer to the same thing. So I conclude that ém:Avpia at 34d10-35d7 refers only to bodily longing.”It is épav that covers both bodily and psychic cases (35a4, 58d5). The contention that the present discussion of desire concerns only bodily cases harmonizes with my suggestion that Socrates ascends the scale of the independence of the soul from the body gradually, by economizing the introduction of new items. Mysecond preliminary remark concerns the relationship between desire and pain. I do not think that desire is pain** or a species of pain,*® but that desire and pain are two distinct componentsof a single, complex experience. Pain (that is, bodily pain) is perception that results from a bodily condition that the 31 So translate Apelt (1912, ad loc.), Fowler and Lamb (1925, ad.loc.), Diés (1941, adloc.), Robin (1950, ad loc.), Hackforth (1972, ad loc.), Taylor (1972, ad loc.), Gosling (1975, ad loc.), Waterfield (1982, ad loc.), and Pradeau (2002,adloc.). 32 So translate D. Frede (1993; 1997, ad loc.), Benardete (1993, ad loc.), La Taille (1999, adloc.); Dixsaut (1999, 261), and Harte (2014a, 38).

»? This is not to deny that wereaders can fruitfully reconstruct a Phileban account of psychic longings, such as that for learning, on the basis of the present discussion of desire. See Delcomminette (2006), Harte (2014a, 48-9), and Warren (2014, 23-8). 34 Evans (2007b, 87-8). Evans focuses on bodily pain anddesire.

35 Harte (2014a, 37).

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animalis currently in. Desire, triggered by pain, is an impulse that leads the animal to a condition thatit is not in currently.**° The upshot of the Desire Argument might be put as follows. Desire has its object (cf. 35b1). Thirst, for example,hasfilling (plérdsis,”’ specifically,filling with drink) as its object (35a1-2). The subject who thirsts, being empty (34e11-12), desires the condition(i.e., filling) that is the opposite of his/her current condition (ie., emptiness**) (35a3-5, b3-5). What desires has contact with (ephaptesthai)

the object of desire, so the thirsty subject has contact with filling. Which element of the thirsty subject desires, his/her body or the soul? That is to say, which element of him/her has contact with filling (35b6-8)? His/her body, on the one hand, cannot have contact with filling, since it is empty (b9-10).*? The only remaining possibility is that his/her soul does, doing so through memory (b11-c2). Therefore, it is not the body but the soul that desires (c6-7, d2-7).

Whatdoesit mean to say that the body has contact with filling (whenit does)? Manyinterpreters will answer that it just means that the body is being filled physically, ie., getting moist. Let us call this interpretation the ‘merely physical’ interpretation. There is a reason to doubtit. For at 35a6-9 (skipped in the above summary) Socrates says that if one enters the state of emptiness for thefirst time, one has no wayto have contact withfilling (or, by implication,to desirefilling).*° In saying this he mentions the twopossible meansthrough which one mayhave contactwith filling. One meansis perception, through which one has contact with the condition that one is in currently. The other means is memory, through which one can have contact with the condition that one was in once. In order to see the relevance of 35a6-9 to the Desire Argument as a whole, we seem to have to suppose that those two possible means correspond to the two elements of the thirsty subject that might have contact with filling, namely, the body and the soul (35b6-11). This suggests that, for Socrates, for one to have contact with filling through perception is for one’s 3° Cf. Delcomminette (2006, 331, n. 54). >” | tentatively translate plérdsis (35al, a7, b4, b6, b11; 36b12) as ‘filling’ (process) rather than ‘fullness’ (state). Similarly, plérousthai (35a4; e2, e10; 36b1, b4)is to befilled rather than to be full. For

one thing, it is more natural to translate 35al as‘filling with drink’ than ‘fullness brought about with drink’ (35a1). I am notcertain, though, that Socrates has to mean one and notthe other. 8 | take kenousthai (34e11, 35a3, a4, a6, b9; 36a8, b5, b11) as being empty (state) rather than

emptying (process), if I have to choose. For one whostays at the same, considerable level of emptiness should be treated as thirsting. Correspondingly, I take kendsis (35b4) as the state of emptiness. In my interpretation, the current condition of the thirsty subject (the state of emptiness, if anything) and the object of her desire (the process offilling, if anything) are notstrictly but roughly ‘opposites’ (35a3-4, c9, c12, c13-14). Delcomminette (2006, 331-43) understands the ‘opposition’strictly and interprets the

whole passage coherently as well as subtly. °° Howis the fact that the body is empty supposed to support the contention that the body cannot have contact with filling? The underlying assumption is that the only thing that the body can have contactwith is its current condition (see below for the exact meaning ofthis). But since the body of the thirsty subject is empty,i.e., remains in emptiness(in the relevant respect),it is not beingfilled,i.e., not getting out of emptiness(in the same respect).

*° Then onehaspain but notdesire.

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body to have contactwith filling (while for one to have contact with filling through memoryis for one’s soul to have contact withfilling). This in turn suggests that for the body to have contact with filling is for it to do so through perception** (just as for the soul to have contact with filling is for it to do so through memory (cf. 35c1)). This is as if the body perceives its own condition, so that for it to

have contact with filling meansforit not only to be beingfilled physically but also to be aware ofthefilling that it is undergoing. Although this idea seemsto be suggested bythe likely correspondence between the two means at 35a6-9 and the two elements at b6-11, few if any interpreters ascribe it to Socrates. This is understandable,since he hasstated at 33d2-34a6 that perception involves both the body and thesoul. It is only when and because a bodily movementinvolves the soul that awareness of the (now joint) movement

arises. So, for most interpreters, Socrates cannot mean that the body perceives in any way. So one may suggest that the correspondence in question should be understood, rather, to be concerned entirely with the two manners in which one can havecontactwith filling (the subject being the person). One manneris through perception, which is to say, through the body (together with the soul). The other manner is through memory, which is to say, through the soul (alone). On this interpretation, the locution with the body as the subject of having contact with

filling will be misleading.*? Letuscall this interpretation the ‘misleading locution’ interpretation, whichis a version of the ‘merely physical’ interpretation. However, the misleading locution interpretation does not seem to dofull justice to the fact that Socrates sticks to the locution with the body as the subject not only in “The body cannot have contact with filling” (35a9) but also, in the concluding part, in “The argument therefore does not allow at all that our body thirsts or

hungersorsuffers from anythingofthis sort” (35d5-6).**It certainly helps to point out, as Carpenter does, that at issue is not “where the activity [of desire] is

exclusively located” but rather “what determines the event [ie., the desire in question] as the specific event thatit is.”** But this does not explain Socrates’ adherenceto the locution completely. As long as the merely physical interpretation is adopted,then,although itis true to say thatit is not the body but the soulthat has

the ‘responsibility’* for the phenomenonofdesire,it is not clear why Socrates uses the body-soul contrastat all wherethe role of memoryis at issue.** The natural way of emphasizingits role should be bycontrastingit, as Socrates doesat 35a6-9, with

* Lee (1966, 33, n. 8). Lee understands,rightly I think, that the bodyofthe thirsty subject aic@jce kevacews eparrrerar. But, instead of taking the idea at its face value, so to speak, he explains that “the body can ‘grasp’ (or, rather, co-operate with the soul in ‘grasping’)” (myitalicization) what is grasped. * Here I havelearnt from Sean Kelsey. # T take ovdapy to modify aipet. Alternatively, it modifies dupjv...7) mewhy 7... 7doxev.

** Carpenter(2010, 37).

“© Carpenter(2010, 37).

4° Memory can be understoodas the power ofrepresentation: Delcomminette (2006, 304). Harte

(2014a) explores the role of representation played in the Desire Argument.

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perception(especially given my suggestion that he cares to ascendthe scale ofthe independenceofthe soul from the body gradually). So it would be more natural for him to concludethatit is not whatperceives the physical condition that desires than that it is not what can only bein the physical condition that desires. HenceI would like to suggest, tentatively, that in the Desire Argument the body is conceived to perceive its own physical condition. To avoid ascribing an inconsistency to Socrates, we should assumethat the body andthe soul are contrasted differently at 33d2-34c3 and here at 34d10-35d7. In the present discussion of desire the contrast is no longer between the merely physical (which is devoid of awareness) and what has awareness,but rather between whatis basically physical, possibly accompanied by awareness of its own physical condition, on the one hand, and whathas and exercises memory,on the other. My suggestion harmonizes with the fact that soon afterwards (36a4-6) the phrases xara pév 76 oda and xara dé rHv vyare used to contrast pain as perception, on the one hand, and pain caused by the working of memory, on the other (which I have termed‘bodily’ and ‘psychic’ pains, respectively). If my suggestion is right, however, this new conception of body andsoul will notlast long. At 39d1-3 Socrateswill use 5:4 rs puyis adrjs and dia Tob owparos to refer to psychic and bodily pleasures/pains. The word adris in did rHs buys adrys suggests that dca rod owparos is shorthand for 51a Tod owparos Kai THs

#vyjs. This implied locution points to the original conception according to which ‘bodily’ pleasure/pain involve both the body and the soul. Also, at 42c9-43c7 changes in “the body” (42c9) will be distinguished from, rather than identified with, pleasure and pain. Furthermore, at 55b1-3 Socrateswill imply that pleasure, including bodily’ pleasure, belongsto thesoul. Whether or not the point of contrast between the body and the soul shifts within the Philebus, it certainly shifts between the Phaedo and our dialogue. At Phaedo 94b4-e7,the bodyis conceived to bring about so-called bodily desires and emotions, while the soul is endowed with the power to control them. Thus the body and the soul are contrasted in more than one way in the Platonic corpus. This suggests that Plato is not so much interestedin ascribing to the body and the soul roles or ‘natures’ that are fixed independently of the context as in pointing out, in each context, a certain form of the independenceofthe soul from the body, or moregenerally, the superiority of the soul to the body.

2.4 The point of the project of showing the independence of the soul from the body If I am right in suggesting that since 31b8 Socrates has been showing various ways in which the soul works independently ofthe body, whatis the pointofthe project? He is responding to Philebus’ conception of our experiences in life. For the

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hedonist, what ultimately matters in life is that we feel a lot of intense pleasures. Andit is in the experience ofbodily pleasure that there is the best hopeof realizing his ideal condition (cf. 44e7-45a6). At 31b9-33b8 Socrates characterizes this type

of experience as simply passive (characterization that resonates with his depiction ofthelife of pleasure as a mollusk’s existence at 21b6-d2). Such characterization is meantto speak to Protarchus against Philebus’ position. But how? Well, it does not constitute a refutation of his position to show thathis ideal consists in a merely passive experience, and that in many other experiences the soul works independently of the body. He can accept both points without compromisinghis position. The characterization of Philebus’ favorite experience as merely passive speaks to Protarchus against hedonism if and because the latter has never beena fully committed hedonist, not even at the beginning. He may have beenattracted to both Philebus’ and Socrates’ positions, and at least part of the reason why he has advocated the hedonist position may be that he wanted to have the debate continue in order to hear how Socrates would argue. Then, by gradually showing various forms of the independence of the soul from the body, Socrates may be familiarizing Protarchus with his own outlook in which workings of the soul are valued independently of their power to promote pleasure. One value that workings of the soul can have independently of hedonistic value is truth, which will be in focus immediately after our section of the dialogue (36c6-53c3). At any rate, from 31b8 on, Socrates may be taken to be presenting a (somehow clumsily organized) overview of different levels of the working of the humansoul, from the lowest to the highest, roughly speaking. In the context of the discussion ofpleasure, it starts with bodily pain/pleasure and movesonto expectation, desire, belief, imagination, and the perception of absolute beauty. It continues in the discussion of types of knowledge (55c4-59d9) and culminates in the account of

dialectic (57e6-59d9). His overview is to serve as a backgroundfor the sketch of the good humanlife that he will give at 59d10-64c4.

2.5 ‘A certain form oflife’ (35d8-36c2) At 35d9-10 Socrates says that the foregoing discussion seemsto indicate “a certain form oflife” (Biov... In this passage, one should note that the term apa must meantheillness of having scabies— indeed a rather ugly and repugnantillness (voonudrwv... doxnudvwv, 46a2...5). Frede’s and Gosling’s rendering of ras rijs pwpas idoes 7H TpiBew (a8) by “the relief from itching by rubbing,” or “by scratching” respectively, are much too weak, and miss the vividness of Plato’s tone: what Plato has Socrates saying is that sexual pleasures amount to something similar to “the cure that scratching procuresfor people afflicted with scabies.” (And most probably, the verb rpiBeuv is also to be taken as a humorous double entendre,as it can also mean “masturbate”—see Henderson [1975] 1991, 176.) The

parallel passage of the Gorgias (494c-d)is also to be read that way: according to Callicles, a happylife would beequivalentto the life of a person suffering from theillness of having scabies, who cannot but “scratch her wholelife long.” ® Notethat the similar colorful description of sex Socrates gave in the Republicis also followed byits condemnation by Glauconasbeingthelife typical of the polloi (586a-b).

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they are also pleasurable, even extremely pleasant: “full of marvelous pleasures” (Sovadv peotas dunxavev, 47e5). Plato doesn’t review all those emotions one by one, oroffer a general explanation as to why they provide both pleasure andpain, as he claimsthey do.Instead,hewill first briefly mention anger and lamentation, before focusing on phthonos. Those three emotionsare typically the emotionsat stake in poetry: anger in Homer (Achilles’ wrath is the leitmotif of the Iliad); lamentation in tragedy (which is correlative to pity and fear); and, Plato claims, phthonos in comedy. Plato has thus chosen to analyze not simply emotional pleasure, but emotional pleasures of particular relevance to poetry. There is no reason to think, however, that this choice is motivated, as Davidson proposes, by Plato’s desire to entertain his readers in the way one would, say, by listening to poetry as an important part of ancient Greek entertainments. The reason for Plato’s choice must be this: poetry offers a cultural framework where emotionsare shown in their fullest instances, and are therefore opportunities for experiencing those emotions through the hero’s suffering or being in wrath. In a celebrated passage from Republic 10, Plato uses the verb sumpathein for that powerful experience: “When even the best of us hear Homer, or someothertragic poet, imitating one of the heroes in a state of grief and making a long speech of lamentation, or even chanting and beating his breast, you know we enjoy it and give ourselves over to it. We suffer along with the hero andtake his sufferings seriously. And wepraise the one whoaffects us most in this way as a good poet” (605c-d, trans. Reeve). The term sumpathein meanshere, etymologically, the fact that spectators do experience such and such a pathos, or an emotion, along with (sun) the hero. This is not to be confused with the verb sunalgein, “suffer along with,” which designates our accompanyingthe suffering of our friends (and which moreorless corresponds to our modern ‘sympathy’).’ Sumpathein seemsratherto imply somesort of empathy, or identification, with the hero onstage: herethereis nofriendship involved as in the case of sunalgein, only the very fact that seeing a hero suffering, or lamenting, brings us into the same sort of emotional state. And as Plato adds, the more powerfully the poet is able to put us spectators into such an affection, or state of soul, the more wepraise him for doing it—the obvious reason being that this powerful experience provides us with the strongest pleasures. To be sure, hedonists like Philebus and Protarchus must have been quite fond of those strong pleasures poetry provides. Protarchus does not need to be reminded of Homer’s verses, which he certainly knows by heart, and is well aware that tragedy offers such mixed pleasures too. As Aristotle explainsfully in his Rhetoric (see esp. 1318a30-b10), when produced by being wrongedorbelittled, angeris a very painful emotion to experience, but the expectation of revenge is “much sweeter than honey”—quoting the same Homeric verse (II. 18.110) as

7 See esp. Aristotle’s usage ofthat verb in his study on friendship (NE 1166a7-8; 1171a6-8). Onthis, see Konstan (2001, ch. 2).

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Plato does—that is as pleasurable as can be. In our passage of the Philebus, the reference to Homerseemstoillustrate an experience everyone may have in the real world. But the quotation mayalsorefer to a vivid experience of a mix of pain and pleasure which the ancients could participate in when reading (or rather listening to the rhapsode reciting aloud) the poetry of Homer, especially the depictions of Achilles’ anger at Agamemnon, and Odysseus’ preparation of his vengeful plan against Penelope’s suitors. As for lamentation, as Plato reminds Protarchus, “tragic shows” (rpayixas fewpyoeis) are the very place to experience the paradoxical pleasure of enjoying one’s weeping (érav da yaipovtes KAdwot, 48a), and it is a pleasure, as Plato emphasized in the passageI just quoted from the Republic, that no one wants to miss (605d).

If Protarchus needs no further proof of the existence of the emotionally mixed pleasures tragedy providesin a particularly strong way, he is rather surprised and puzzled by Plato’s suggestion that comedyalso offers such mixed pleasures: how shall wefeel any pain in watching a comedy? Doesn’t comedyseem to provide us with just pleasure? So why on earth deal with comedyinstead of analyzing tragedy which, we (and perhaps, Protarchus) might think, would seem to be our best candidate for seeing exactly how the emotions offer such a “mixture of pleasure and pain”? There is one explicit answer in Plato’s text. Dealing with the “more obscure” case of comedy should work as a sort of a philosophical challenge, and if we manageto explain it, it will be “easier” to explain the other,less difficult, cases as well (48b4-6). And indeed, as Protarchus’ reaction testifies, what is particularly

unclear and puzzling in the case of comedy is why, and how,thepleasureit offers, ie., laughter, must be mixed with pain in the same way weall easily recognize is the case in tragedy. But there seem to be two otherreasonsas well. First, comedy seemsto offer just sheer pleasure, or what one would call “pure”pleasure;° atfirst sight, comic laughter does not seem to have anything in common with the pleasures Socrates has been dealing with so far, such as those sex and itching provide, which are intrinsically mixed with some disgusting, bodily features, or with the paradoxical pleasures that epic and tragedy produce. Showing that even comedy conveys such mixed pleasures too should persuade Protarchus (and Plato’s readers) that strong emotionsare definitely not what we should be looking for if we want to experience “pure” pleasure. And second, comedy seemsto be the perfect case for hedonists who think pleasure, and not phronesis and noein, must be the good that makes a life happy, and who must have thought that highly pleasurable comedy forms an important part of such a happylife. So proving that even comedy includes some unpleasant features would seriously undermine the general approach of which Philebus is the representative. In sum, comedy and

5 See also Gosling (1975, 208).

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laughter are certainly not a random case or an opportunity for relaxation on the readers’ part, but constitute the peak of the analysis of mixed pleasures, and, more generally, a test case in this dispute over the role and importance of pleasure in a happylife.

2. Phthonos, The Emotion behind Laughter AsPlato expressly announces, his analysis of comedywill consist in describing the “state of mind”(diathesis) those spectacles are supposed tocreate in their audience (48a8). But instead of going directly into the topic of comedy, he abruptly begins by reminding Protarchus of two commonviews on one of the emotions that have been just listed, phthonos: soc: Since we just mentioned the word phthonos: Do you consider phthonos as a pain ofthe soul, or what? prot:I do. soc: Butit is the case, isn’t it, that the phthoneros person displays pleasure at his neighbor's misfortunes? PROT:Yes, and very strongly so. (48b8-cl; mod.trans. D. Frede 1993) These two statements are about phthonosin the real, social world, and we see Protarchus wholeheartedly accepting this double characterization asself-evident. It must then bethe case that if Protarchus can be convinced that phthonosis also at stake in comedy,he will haveto accept that despite the appearances and his own views, comedyalso includes a mixture of pleasure and pain. But before we go into that main argument, let us clarify what exactly phthonos means. Since at least Hackforth’s translation of the Philebus (Hackforth [1945] 1958),

most recent interpreters and translators have preferred the rendering malice over the moretraditional envy, or (more rarely) jealousy.” The main reason for this preference seemsto be Plato’s proposal that phthonos is the cause of laughter in comedy,whichhewill defenda little bit further along: indeed, whatsort of envy or jealousy would you as a spectator have toward the characters in a play? But whatever our answer to this crucial and, admittedly, tricky question (which I will come back to), one should notice that phthonos is not introduced here at the beginning of the argumentas being involved in comic pleasure. Since Protarchus immediately agrees with Socrates’ two propositions (phthonosis a pain of the soul; the phthoneros person displays pleasure at his neighbor’s misfortunes),it

° This is by far the commonesttranslation we find in recent English translations, as well as in the literature devoted to our passage—Bury’s commentary had envy. Dorothea Frede has Missgunstin her Germanversion, and Maurizio Migliori has malevolenzain his Italian commentary. Frenchtranslators

and commentatorsby andlargestick to the moretraditionnal envie, or jalousie.

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should be evident that we are dealing with the phenomenonof phthonos independently ofits particular context of comedy. (Note also that Socrates introduces his analysis ofphthonos byspecifying that the word was mentioned a moment ago, that is at 47e2, where it was named amongthe other emotions, independently of any poetic contexts.) Phthonos therefore must be understood in the way Greeks generally understood the term, and not as a term which Plato would use in a special way that would fit the context of comedy. Ed Sanders has shownin his recent survey on phthonos from Hesiod to fourth-century orators and Aristotle that phthonos conveys the meaning of envy, or (depending on the context) jealousy; malice orill-will may constitute an aspect or a consequence ofphthonos (e.g., in contexts where phthonosis linked to dusmeneia), but “malice” does not render the typical meaning ofphthonos (Sanders 2014)."° In addition to this general consideration, two more points are worth mentioning. First, as Gosling and Taylor rightly note, it is not obvious why I would experience any pain in having malice—it rather seemsto be feeling or emotion

we might enjoy having.’ Understanding phthonos as malice throughout our passage thus makesit difficult, indeed impossible, to get to the core point Socrates wants to draw Protarchus’attention to and whichhereadily admits. Second, using the word “malice” blurs another important, indeed crucial aspect of the whole phenomenon. As many haverightly noted, the laughter that is at stake here is usually called epichairekakia, thatis, literally, Schadenfreude. True, Plato does not use the term here (or anywhere else in his work—apparently the word only became commonafter him), but clearly what he has in mind corresponds to what Aristotle explains in his Rhetoric: “who is malicious (epichairekakos)is also envious (phthoneros); for when someoneis distressed at the acquisition or possession of something, he necessarily rejoices at its deprivation or destruction” (2.9. 1386b8-87a5, trans. Kennedy).’? As this text suggests, and as Plato himself will tell us, it is phthonos that is the origin or cause of epichairekakia, which Kennedytranslates “malice” (but which perhaps mightbebetter translated “malicious pleasure”); epichairekakia is the consequence of phthonos, not its pure and simple equivalent. It is because you are a phthoneros person that you can enjoy seeing people in misery, especially when it comes to friends. And indeed,it is a commonfact, if morally repulsive, that many people do experience epichairekakia 1° And indeed Sanders doestranslate it by envy or jealousy throughout his book; oddly enough though, he makes one exception for our Philebus passage, translating it “malice,” but without any explanation for his decision! On the meaningof phthonos, see also the important studies by M.Mills, L. Brisson and D. Konstan, to which my ownanalysis owes a lot (Mills 1984; Brisson 2000; Konstan 2006,ch. 5, “Envy and Indignation”). For an alternative interpretation ofphthonosin the Philebus, see

esp. Trivigno (2019 and forthcoming). " Gosling and Taylor (1982, 191). % Note that Damasciusin his brief comments on ourpassagefully endorsesthe link made explicit by Aristotle between phthonos and epichairekakia: “Malicious (epichairekakos) is a man whorejoices in the misfortunes of his friends, jealous (phthoneros) is one who is annoyed by the good that befalls them” (Comm. Phil. 201.1-2; trans. Westerink).

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whentheir friends fall upon some misfortune, instead of pain and compassion.’It is perhaps in Xenophon’s Memorabilia that we find the clearest statement on this particularly reprehensible phthonos: Considering the nature of phthonos, he [Socrates] foundit to be a kind of pain, not, however, at a friend’s misfortune, nor at an enemy’s good fortune, but the phthonerosare those only whoare annoyed attheir friends’ successes (eupraxia). Someexpressed surprise that anyone wholoves another should be painedat his success, but he reminded them that manystandin this relation towards others, that they cannot disregard them in time of trouble, but aid them in their misfortune, and yet they are pained to see them prospering (eutuchein). This, however, could not happen to a manofsense,butit is always the case with fools. (3.9.8; trans. Marchant)

Here it would be very odd totranslate phthonos by malice: what appearsto be the case is that anyone pained upon seeing his friend prospering must be of an envious sort. But envious of what? Interpreters who have recently defended the translation ‘envy’ have claimed that the pain comes from one’s desire to obtain one’s friend’s success for oneself, the feeling of pain being the physiological expression of the lack that one experiences, that is, the lack of a certain good that one’s friend has obtained.’* But such an understanding does not correspond to what weactually find in both Plato’s and Aristotle’s texts (and nothing of the kind is implied in Xenophon’s passage). In Rhetoric 2.11, Aristotle makes a clear difference between zélos (which also appears in Plato’s list of emotions at 47e2) and phthonos. In the former case, you do envy your neighborfor the good he has just acquired, and you want to emulate him in obtaining it—which is why, Aristotle says, zélos is an emotion that suits a virtuous person (1388a31-b1).

Butin the latter, there is no specific object, or good, you are envious of: you are just envious of your neighbor, or friend, when she is faring well. What does that mean? Or philosophically put, what is the intentional object of your envy in that case? Perhaps two most striking usages of the term in Plato, besides ours in the Philebus, are to be foundin relation to tyrants and the gods. In the Timaeus, the god is (normatively) described as not envious: “Now why did he who framedthis whole universe of becoming frameit? Let us state the reason why: He was good, and one whois good can never becomeenvious of anything. Andso,beingfree of envy (phthonos), he wanted everything to become as much like himself as was

? See esp. Isocrates, Dem. 1. 26: “Admit to your companionship,not those alone whoshow distress at your reverses, but those also who show noenvy at your good fortune; for there are many who sympathize with their friends in adversity, but envy them in prosperity” (trans. Norlin); and [Plato], Def. 416a13: “Envy: being distressed by the goods of one’s friend, either present or past” (trans. Hutchinson). * Delcomminette (2006, 446) and Gavray(2010, 161).

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possible” (29d-e). At first sight, one may think the god is not jealous of human beings precisely because he has everything that can be possessed; not lacking in anything, he thus cannotbe jealousor envious. But thatis not, I think, what Plato means: you might perfectly well imagine, as the Greeks customarily did, that gods are envious of human beings despite their lacking nothing, just like the tyrant who hasevery possible good (or what he takes to be goods) and nevertheless is envious of other people. What Plato more likely meansis that the god does not begrudge humansin their search for the goods they need to have in order to be happylike him. Andthis is in line with the traditional view that sees genuine philia as free of phthonos, and correlatively sees phthonos against friends as something highly despicable: the real, true friend is the one whorejoices at his friends’ success, and is compassionate when hefalls into misfortune. In a way then theophilia, the love gods may show toward humanbeings, is some sort of perfect friendship: theophilia is the reward the gods provide to those who have managedtolive as far as possible like them,i.e., as fully virtuous beings (Phil. 39e; Rep. 612e; Al I 134d); the gods rejoice at human beings who have managed to imitate them perfectly. As for tyrants, Plato explains that they feel phthonos toward other people because of their immense, insatiable philotimia (Rep. 586c-d). This is, I think,

the crucial point at stake, which is also the point Aristotle puts forward: And[they envy] those they rival (g:Aoriodvra.); for they rival those mentioned, (feeling] the same way toward them and on the same grounds,but noonerivals people ten thousandyearsin the future or dead nor those wholive at the Pillars of Heracles nor those they or others regard as inferior or much superior. But since people seek honor in comparison with antagonists andrivals in love and in general those wanting the samethings, necessarily they are most enviousofthese (udAtoTa todros pOoveiv). This is the source of the saying “Potter [against] potter.”

(Rhet. 2.10.1388a9-17, trans. Kennedy)

As this passage makesclear, phthonosis felt toward people with whom we have something in common,whichis timé,i.e.—put in contemporary words—thevalue that one gets from social recognition. The pain of phthonos must therefore be at the very fact that one’s neighbor,or peer, has acquired sometimé, be that more or as muchas onehas. Aristotle does not say so explicitly, but one may surmise, as David Konstan has put it, that phthonos “arises because the other person is our equal or similar; and such a person (wefeel) ought not to have an advantage over us.”?° The pain that accompanies that emotion maythus consist in seeing oneself somehowbelittled or perhaps prevented from being fully recognized at one’s true value. This would explain clearly why a phthoneros person can’t refrain from

5 Konstan (2006, 112). Gadameralready defended a similar view, who takes “Konkurrenzsorge” to be of central importance (Gadamer 1932, 149-51).

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rejoicing at her peers’ and even herfriends’ misfortunes:shefeels relieved that that the peer or friend did not manage to get as much timéas she has, or more timé than she has. Zélos and phthonos seem to have the samecauseasto their pain: the pain one has comes from the awareness that one is missing someshare oftime. But while in the case of zélos, that pain will work as a sort of motivation toward acquiring the sameshare of timé, in the case ofphthonos that pain will work as a sort of intensifier of our desire that the other person lose it—a desire which, through the expectation that this will in fact happen, provides pleasure. And the pleasure of epichairekakia comes from ourrelief that this finally proves to be the case.

3. Laughing at One’s Neighbors’ Misfortune ThusPlato has stated his general point of departure: only the envious person will enjoy seeing his neighbors,or peers, falling into some misfortune or misery (Plato uses the general term kakon). The following step must therefore be to ask what sort of misfortune can provoke such pleasure that is expressed through laughter, from which it would be possible to consider “the nature of the laughable” (76 yeAoiov Hvriwa dow exer, 48c4)—orat least, of the laughable in that sort of

context. But instead of focusing on an event or action that might evoke such laughter, such asslipping on a bananapeel, Plato focuses on a defect of the person, a ponéria, focusing thereforefirstly on whatis laughable, or ridiculous, about the person herself. This is probably the mostefficient way of showing that phthonosis behind that kind of laughter. When considering what sort of defect might be particularly laughable, or ridiculous, the example of anoia, foolishness, or more precisely, abeltera hexis, profound stupidity, comes immediately to mind. (Not only in ancient times but in ours too, stupidity is typically what causes a good laugh at another person’s expense.) Protarchus readily admits that the worst form of stupidity, which amountsto absolute foolishness,is the fact that “one does not know oneselfat all” (76 pnSapnq yeyvdoxew abrov, 48d1-2).’%

Now whatexactly doesthis “state of profound stupidity” consist in? It consists in a pathos—this is a word repeated four times in our passage (48c9, d7, e3; 49a7).

’6 With Bury (1897), I stick to the transmitted text which reads anoia all along, while most editions

and translations have adopted the modern correction agnoia which sounds more natural (see also agnoein at 48d8). It seems to me that what Plato wantsto underlineis the fact that not knowing oneself

is precisely a very profound stupidity (the word abelteria is a very strong one) which amountsto a complete lack of nous, thatis, in the context of comedy, completefoolishness (see also 49b2: anoétos; see also Rep 5, 452d-e, where Plato says that the geloion is about tou aphronou kai kakou,i.e., in that context, complete lack of intelligence and vice). In other words, opting for the modern correction agnoia leadsreaders to miss the point that Plato wants to emphazise (see below). As for abelteria,it is worth noting that the term appearsalso in relation to sophia in the comedic context of the famous passage with the Thracian girl slave in the Theaetetus (174c).

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Whatdoes that mean? Platofirst seemsto be saying thatit consists in not knowing oneself, which is opposed to the recommendationofthe oracle at Delphi. But as the argument unfolds, he has Socrates presenting that pathos more precisely as the consequence of that ignorance, i.e., as a ‘state,’ or ‘condition,’ of the mind that amounts to living in the illusion of possessing something important that one does not.’’ Soit is because they don’t know themselvesthat they think, pathologically as it were, that they have more moneythan they actually have, that they are more beautiful than they in fact are, and that they are more virtuous, especially more intelligent than they are, which are the three respects according to which people go about making fools of themselves (a threefold division that corresponds to the typical Platonic division between external goods, physical goods, and goodsof the soul). Thus the pathos all these people suffer from is not exactly the lack of knowledge of oneself, or the fact that they don’t know howlittle they own or the degreeoftheir beauty orof their virtue; it consists ratherin suffering theillusion of having such a good.Plato usesthetelling words doxosophia and doxokalia for this condition (49d), as he presumably wants to underline that these formsofillusion

are something active.’® Even if they don’t really have any such goods, such people entertain the illusion of having them: “all those people are making fools of themselves while entertaining this wrong opinion about themselves” (mdvres 6Tdc0t TaUTHY THY Yevdy SdEav TEpi EavTdv avontus Soéalovar, 49b1-2).

This analysis aligns perfectly with what we said about phthonos: whatis at stake are the goods that provide you with timé. So someone whopresents himself, or is presented by others, as being particularly rich or handsome, or as having outstanding sophia, is expected to be envied or begrudged by his peers or fellow citizens. Andthe fact that these people prove to be foolish in thinking they are very rich or handsome while they actually are not, especially if they are completely unawareofit, is what procures laughter. Now,if this illusion-filled ignorance of oneself, which amounts to extreme foolishness, constitutes the misfortune that is at stake in that laughter, there is a crucial condition that needs to be addedfor thisphthonos to produce fun or laughter (or to be, as Plato says, a phthonos paidikos—49a8):"” people that are mocked for their foolishness must be supposed to be unable to take revenge. For “foolishness (avoia) in powerful people is hostile as well as detestable (echthra te kai aischra)—it 7 In this, I follow Diés (1941) whogoesso far as translating pathos in this passageas “illusion.” 8 In fact, it might even be the case that Plato coined the terms doxosophia and doxokalia;

doxosophia might be the recoinage of the word dokésisophos used by Aristophanes (Peace 46). Doxosophia is also to be found in Soph. 231b while doxosophos appears at Phdr. 275b (andlater in Aristotle's Rhetoric, 1387b32). Doxokalia seems to be a hapax in the texts we have from theclassical period. ° There is some dispute about this unusual phrase:I take paidikos to bear an active sense, such as “producing someplayful entertainment.” Sometakeit to refer to the phthonos we have while watching a comedy(e.g., Delcomminette 2006, 442, n. 23), but there is no reason to see here, as Hackforth does ((1945] 1958, 92, n. 1), only a “half-real” phthonos: quite to the contrary, what Plato wants to showis

that watching a comedy presupposes that spectators have the same phthonos they mayhaveinreal life.

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is a menaceto anyone nearby(tois pelas) whetherin real life or in fiction. In weak people,on the other hand,it acquires for us the rank and characterofthe ridiculous” (49c2-5,trans. Gosling, slightly mod.). The point is evidentin real-life cases: you don’t openly laugh at the foolishness of powerful people if they can eventually retaliate. But in the case of comedy even powerful people can be laughed at, precisely because in comedy such mockery is allowed and characters (even those standing for real people) are not supposedto be able orwilling to retaliate.”°

4. Laughing at One’s Friends’ Misfortune It may seem nowthat we have the wholepicture: we laugh at people making fools of themselves when they entertain theillusion of having a certain honorable good (wealth, beauty, virtue) they don’t have; this spectacle is pleasing because it relieves phthonos, enviousness of another’s equal or greater social recognition. Since phthonosis evidently painful—we must concludethat our laughter at those people is both pleasurable and painful, or that our pleasure in such cases is mixed with pain. But while he has agreed that Socrates’ last division between powerful people and weak people is “totally right,” Protarchus confesses that he still does not understand why our laughter at those people must also be mixed with pain (49c6-7). This seems to be a rather strange admission since he has agreed so far to everything Socrates has put on the table; so he must have understood the evident conclusion of the last argument. Two reasons may explain why Plato wanted to have Protarchus hesitate in acceptingthe validity of the argumentall of whose premiseshe has accepted.First, it may be the case that Plato wants to underline the difficulty most people, especially hedonists, have in accepting that the apparently sheer pleasure of laughter, particularly laughter at comedy, is necessarily mixed with pain. A repetition of the whole argument is badly needed to overcometheirresistance. Second, it may perhaps also be the case that Protarchus, like Plato’s modern commentators,is still not able to understand fully why, and how, phthonos comes in. And indeed, what Socrates will now try to make Protarchus understandis the “power”or the “effect” ofphthonos (rod pOdvou AaBe Svapur, 49c8), or, following Gosling’s rendering, “how phthonos works.” Atfirst sight, the argument that runs from 49c to 50a is a mererepetition ofwhat has beenstated previously at 48c-49c: since phthonosis obviously painful, and we

?° Of course, public figures that have been mocked on stage may sometimestry to retaliate outside the theater, as Cleon eventually (but unsuccessfully) did against Aristophanes. But precisely, as Ralph Rosen has convincingly argued,this is a sure sign that the esthetic status of the comedy,orthesatire in the case of iambic poetry, has been missed (Rosen 2007, 247-8).

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have agreed that laughing at people’s foolishness has phthonos as its cause, our laughter must consequently be a mixtureof pleasure andpain.But in fact, Socrates has made twonoticeable changesin his vocabulary in restating his argument: now Socrates talks about laughingat philoi (friends orrelatives), no longer at neighbors or peers (with the rather unspecific word, pelas), and about morally wrong (adikos) pleasures and pains. There must be cases, Socrates abruptly asserts, where pain and pleasure should be described as morally wrong, and cases where pain and pleasure are not so. One obvious case of the latter kind is rejoicing at our enemies’ misfortune. There is nothing reprehensible (at least for common Greek morality) aboutlaughing at your enemies whenthey experience a discomfiture. But surelyit is morally wrongto laugh at ourfriends (or more generally the people weloveorlive with) experiencing discomfiture. In this case, a morally reprehensible emotion must be at stake. For if the person in front of meis a friend, I am expected to feel compassion for her whenshe provesto befoolish, and consequently to try and help her outofher misfortune. If I am laughingatherinstead,it must be the case that I in fact have a rather unfriendly attitude towards her, which is commonly described as an envious one. And envy in this case must be causally active through all my laughing; otherwise, my laughter would be blocked once I would realize that sheis a friend of mine who needs my compassion and help. Thus, my laughter is an actual mixture of pleasure and pain: when laughing at onefriend’s foolishness, as Plato emphasizes, one simultaneously experiences pleasure and pain (Gua yiyvecBas dé TovTw ev TovTots Tots xpdvors, 50a8-9; and again at 50b4: dua Kepavvucbar).

In brief, the case of friendship is a particularly clear-cut case that helps Protarchus(and us,Plato’s readers) in figuring out more exactly how this phthonos actually works in one’s laughter at someone’s foolishness. And, consequently, it is in meditating onthis case that Protarchus (and we, Plato’s readers) should be

best able to take stock that his (and our) laughingat the theaterreally is in fact no sheer, or ‘pure’ pleasure, but a mixture of pleasure and pain.

5. The Plausibility of Plato’s Account of Laughter Now that Socrates has brought Protarchus aroundto fully admitting that such laughter at people’s foolishness implies both pleasure and pain, he can draw his final conclusion:“So,finally, our argumentlets us concludethat in dirges as well as in tragedies and comedies, not only on stage butalso in all of life’s tragedies and comedies, pleasures are mixed with pains, and the same goes for countless other cases” (50b1-4)—to which Protarchus forcefully manifests his now being completely persuaded:“It is just impossible not to agree with this, Socrates, even if one wanted to defend the opposite position at all costs” (b5-6). While Protarchus may now befully convinced, it remains ratherdifficult, at least for us moderninterpreters, to makeperfect sense of this approach to comedy.

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For how shall we suppose phthonosto actually work when weattend a comedy? This is certainly the main reason translators have preferred renderingit “malice” rather than “envy.” Indeed, laughing at some characters’ discomfiture may imply somesort of malice, or as someinterpreters add, some “resentment””’—but why should there be “envy”? And, secondly, how shall we makesense of “friends” being involved in comedy? In Aristophanes’ comedies, somecharacters, such as Socrates or Cleon,are fellow citizens, so “peers” in a way. But is there any reason why they should be considered “friends”? Let mebriefly try to defend the plausibility of Plato’s description.First ofall, in order to appreciate Plato’s approach, we need to realize that Plato assumes a perfect alignment between laughterin the theater and laughterin reallife (at least when it comes to mocking people). In fact, his main argumenttakes its departure from real life, when hefirst states that phthonos must be supposed to cause Schadenfreude (epichairekakia). And when he proposes taking foolishness (anoia),or theillusion of possessing some goodthat one doesnotactually possess, as whatdefines the ridiculous, Protarchus maynaturally think ofreal cases.It is only at 49c that comedyis expressly introduced when Socrates adds the crucial condition of weakness: “the foolishness of powerful people is hostile (echthra) as well as detestable (aischros)—it is a menace to anyonenear(tois pelas) whether in

reallife or in fiction.” By adding this, Plato wants Protarchus (and usreaders) to draw the conclusion that indeed everything we havesaidso far applies in the case of comedy too. Thus, ifphthonos explains our laughing at people’s foolishness in real life, it must be the case that we spectators do also feel phthonos towards characters we laugh at when they make fools of themselves. Andyet again, howis this a plausible description of audiences laughing in the theater? Whatsort ofphthonos do we have toward, say, the Tramp when watching a Charlie Chaplin movie? But this example would betotally anachronistic, as the comedic shows Plato knew were Old Comedy and performancesof iambic poetry, where characters (which often depicted real people) were harshly mocked by Athenian audiences. One of the most usual ways of making fun of them was precisely by highlighting their foolishness: think of Lamachus, the valorous and bellicose general who comesback from thebattlefield in tears, or Socrates, and the other intellectual people he may represent (in Aristophanes’eyes at least), whose alleged sophia proves to be empty and vain. In all such cases, the mocked characters are caricatures of well-known people, who were seen as being particularly envied for their power or reputation. As some interpreters have recently proposed, in Aristophanes’ comediesit is quite tempting to see opportunities to mock those who were in a way seen as “above” the equality between citizens that defined democracy. They have suggested interpreting the social role of comedyin

71 See D. Frede (1993,lii) and (1997, 288).

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classical Athens as a sort of “outlet” for certain bad feelings, such as phthonos, against politicians and other high profile people. As Ed Sanders writes, “while comedy as a genre was not created intentionally as an institutional outlet for phthonos, oneofits functions was to allow phthonos to find expression in nondestructive ways, thus helping police the boundaries and manage tensions between ideologically equal, but in practice frequently unequal, citizens in the democratic polis.”?” That is certainly not what Plato himself would have said, he whothinks that being involved in such an emotion only increases that emotion, and doesnot constitute an outlet (that is, I suppose, an Aristotelian katharsis) ofit. But if we understand the effect of Old Comedy from that general perspective, Plato’s insistence on phthonosin his analysis of comedic laughter should appear muchless ‘idiosyncratic’ than it has been accused of being.”’ And what about “friends”? Interpreters have explained this terminological change by evoking the idea of powerlessness: in the previous argument, the foolishness of powerful people is said to be “inimical” or “hostile” (echthra); so the term “friend” might just reflect the way neighbors or peers must be supposed to be “friendly” in order to permit laughter.”* In fact, as I have proposed, the restated argumentis not to be taken in the framework of comedy: Plato switches to the case of friends there in order to make his case more vividly. When we laugh at our friends’ foolishness, phthonos is quite obviously involved; for were we not envious of them we would have reacted with care and compassion (and would perhaps have even tried to help them in bettering themselves or avoiding their folly). Here, Plato has real-life cases in mind. WhenhehasSocratessaying thatin such cases, pleasure must be “morally wrong,” he is of course repeating what we find elsewhere in the literature about the phthonos we mayfeel in ourreal, social lives. Thus, there is no reason to take “friends” to be a description that would apply to characters on stage.

6. Laughing in the Philebus Using the loaded term “friends” has another function too. When Socratesrestates his argument before the unsure Protarchus, the perspective is obviously different from the merely descriptive approach to laughter that has been presented so far: here the effect, or the “power” of begrudging envy is not only the production of laughter, butalso the production ofsomething “unjust,” or morally wrong (adikon). Forit may be the case that there is nothing unjust at rejoicing at the foolishness of 22 Sanders(2014, 106-7). See also Carey (1994). ?3 See also what Ps-Xenophonsays in the Athenian Constitution (2.18-19): comedies are allowed

provided laughing-stocks are rich and powerful people who are hated by popular audiences. Admittedly the word used here is not phthonos, but hatred (misein) may be considered closely related idea. 24 See, e.g., D. Frede (1997, 288); Delcomminette (2006, 445).

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enemies (quite to the contrary)—but, as Socrates rhetorically asks here: “surelyit is unjust to be pleased instead of pained when seeing the misfortunes of one’s friends?” (49d6-7). So the power,oreffect, of phthonos consists in the ‘unjust, that is condemnable, feature of rejoicing at our friends’ misfortunes, instead of feeling bad for them.AsI said,it is not to be assumedthat the characters mocked on stage are our friends. What Plato wants to draw ourattention to in using this much stronger word‘friend’ instead of unspecified ‘neighbors’ or ‘peers’ is that when laughing at neighbors or peers as you do in comedy,it is as ‘unjust’ as doingit to friends. Ifsuch laughter is to be condemnedinreal life asa failing offriendship, why shouldn’t it be the case in comedy too? If that is so, it means that attending a comedyandlaughingat the characters’ foolishness amounts to nothing more than ceding to one’s envy, whichis a moral defect. Comedic pleasure is therefore not only mixed with pain, and thus “impure,” contrary to what the hedonist Protarchus used to think, but it is also morally condemnable. In a word, considering comedy as “purely enjoyable” entertainmentis not only an epistemic failure but also a moral flaw. In the same way our sumpathein for heroes grieving onstage will increase our propensity to pity andfear, laughing at comic showscan onlygivefree rein to and, even increase, our begrudging envy towards our peers and fellow citizens, and possibly ourfriendstoo. Since Plato insists elsewhere that begrudging envy prevents the philia between citizensthat is the cement of a harmoniouscity (Laws 730e-31b),

we should draw the more general(if only implicit here) conclusion that comedyis not something that could be a genuinepart of a good, happylife. But does that imply that we should “banish”(to use the famous term from the Republic) all those emotions and the mixed pleasures they provide, especially in the theater, from a good humanlife? If Plato does not explicitly ask this question in the Philebus, he does so about music. At 56a, he doesn’t hesitate to reject aulos and lyre music (which arealso typical of tragedy and comedy,andepicrecitals, respectively) for the very reason that they contain “a considerable admixture of imprecision.” But when it comesto reflecting on which sciences one should allow in the great mixture of a goodlife, he unexpectedly allows for its coming back: even though music is full of mimesis and lacks “purity,” it seems necessary to admitit in the mixture “if in fact ourlife is supposed to beat least some sort oflife” (62c). In other words, and whatever we maythink of its value, music is part and

parcel of humanlife—impossible to have it withoutit, at least if one wants to lead a typically humanlife. And the case of music is not unique. Plato has Socrates go on aboutall such pleasures that, we may suppose, mustalso bepart of a humanlife as such, or without which one could not lead a humanlife properly speaking: “if andonlyifit is harmless and beneficial (ablabes te kai ophelimon)to each of usto

enjoyall those those pleasures, then we should mix them all in” (63a). It is difficult not to make the connection with a similar claim Plato makes in the Republic, where he had Socrates admitting, even praying for, the return of poetry into the city provided it be “not only pleasurable butalso useful” (using the same

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term dphelimos, 607d). And indeed, it is hardly thinkable that Plato would have wanted to banish for good not only theater and music, but also the experiencing of all emotions suchasfear, pity, or love. Here is not the place to come to terms with this difficult topic, but the safest and most immediate answer to this query, considering the Philebus, seemsto offer itself if we consider the importance Plato will very soongive to measure.It is only when measuredthat such pleasures should be enjoyed without anyrisk ofbeing hurt, and possibly with some benefit. (And not surprisingly, lack of measure was very much underlined in the case of the bodily pleasures—see 45d-e.) Already in the Republic pity is not condemned perse: an honest man mayfeel pity or grief, but must do so in a moderate way (603e, where Plato uses the verb metriazein); what Plato strongly condemnedin tragedy wasits immoderateuseoffeelings ofpity (see esp. 605c-d). But what about laughter? What kind of ‘measured’ laughter would Plato have allowed back into the mixedlife? Onepossible answer may sound obvious.AsPlatowill explicitly propose in the Laws, one might easily imagine comedic showsthat would notbe aggressiveatall. There indeed, Plato definitely bans comedies that aim at laughing at fellow citizens; but he at least allows poets to mock one another, provided it is done “without anger and only for game” (935d-936a). That answer, though,is unlikely to settle the matter once andforall. As any readerof the dialoguesis well aware, Plato himself never hesitates in having Socrateselicit his audience’s laughter at someofhis interlocutors, and boldly admits that practicing tough elenchus proves to be enjoyable for the people around(see esp. Ap. 23c). One mayeasily recognize a family resemblance between our Philebus passage on comedyand Plato’s early dialogues, esp. the Ion and the Hippias Major, where the main interlocutor is proved not to have the sophia he claimed to have, and weare invited to laugh at the foolishness of those comedic characters who make fools of themselves in believing they are more sophos than theyactually are.” I cannot get into the vexed problem of howto reconcile Plato’s criticism of laughter and Plato’s own usageofit, but as a way of concluding myessay, I want to offer a brief analysis of how Plato may have considered laughter to work in the Philebusitself.7° As we saw atthe start, Davidson seems to think that our dialogue should be judged a rather austere one, with this pleasant episode on laughter a timely interruption. But both the idea that our passage was meantto be entertaining and the idea that the rest of the dialogue is deadly severe in tone are quite dubious. I don’t want to deny that the aim of the dialogue—roughly, how to 5 On these two dialogues, see esp. the papers by Franco Trivigno (2012 and 2016) who, among other things, highlights Plato’s reappropriation of the Old Comedy’s typical character of the comic imposter (aAa¢av)—and see 2012, 306-7 for an echoofthis at Phil. 48e. Even if 1 do agree with much of what Trivigno argues for, I would perhaps qualify this claim: if one reads these figures of Ion and Hippias back from what Plato says in the Philebus, where he emphasizes pathos and anoia,i.e., the foolish illusion of having a certain goodthat one doesn’t have, it seems that those people are suffering from anillness they are not even aware of rather than showing off a knowledge that they would intentionally pretend to have. 6 Onthat problem in Plato’s work, see esp. Capra (forthcoming).

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deal with pleasure in a truly happy life—is of most serious importance; but Plato, I claim, does here and there introduce humorthat is supposed to make Socrates’ audience(i.e., the youth that are around) laugh and, one may surmise, his readership too.” Let me focus on onescene, that of the famous elenchus (arguably, the only elenchus properly speaking in the Philebus), where Protarchus is forced to admit that the purely hedonistic life he is advocating in Philebus’ name would amountto thelife of a jelly-fish, or mollusk, which no human being would sensibly choose: soc: You would thus not live a humanlife but the life of a jellyfish or of one of those creaturesin shells thatlive in the sea. Is this what would happen,or can we think of any other consequences besides these? PROT: How could we? soc: Butis this a life worth choosing? PROT: Socrates, this argumenthasleft me absolutely speechless for the moment (Eis dpaciav mavramaci pe, & Lwxpates, obtos 6 Adyos €uBeBAnke Ta viv).

soc: Hey!Let us not give in to weakness (Myjaw roivuy padBaxilaépeOa); let us in turn rather inspect the life of reason.

(21c-d; mod. trans. D. Frede 1993)

The choice of thejellyfish example may not be humorousin itself (afterall, fish and mollusks are described in the Timaeus 92b-c as being the lowest, because the least intelligent, animals on the scala naturae), but the fun in the passage comes from Protarchus’ reaction: this elenchus has eventually transformed him into a speechlessjellyfish! Orat least, that is what one should draw from the (seemingly) encouraging reply of Socrates: “Hey! Let us not give in to weakness,” or more literally, “let us not become soft and weak”likea jellyfish or mollusk, and therefore

stop our inquiry.”* Andindeed,this joke is in tune with the very beginning of our dialogue, a few pages before, when Protarchus had to accept the burden of the defense of hedonism that Philebus had abandoned: “Our handsome Philebus has given up talking” (GiAnBos yap juiv 6 cards areipnxev) (11c7-8). Indeed, “hand-

some” Philebus (probably a humorous pun on the meaningofhis name,“lover of attractive young men”) will remain as silent as a jellyfish for the rest of our dialogue, and unsurprisingly so since he will by all means (and beyondall reason)

27 MM McCabeis an exception amongreadersofthe Philebus. An excellent, and I think very witty joke, she has discovered is at 15e2 where youngpeoplerejoice at discovering the puzzles about the one and the many and “moveevery argumentin delight” (mavra «we? Adyov Gopevos) which soundslike a rewriting of Heracleitus’ famous phrase (evenif it is more probably a catchword invented after him— see esp. Tht. 180d7: mdévra xivetrau, echoed in Aristotle’s Topics: mavra kivetrar kal? ‘Hpdxderrov, 1.11. 104b21)—a particularly humorous rewriting, I’'d like to add to McCabe’s presentation, given the importance of logos in Heracleitus’ fragments (McCabe 2000, 130, n. 135).

?8 Note that Plato in the Timaeus takes being malakos asa typical quality of the lungs(that are also called pneum6n,or pleum6n). Andit is perhaps interesting to add that Epicurus abused Nausiphanesin calling him pleumon in the senseofjellyfish, meaning “absolute idiot” (fgts Usener 114 and 236). For a

detailed analysis of the whole passage, see Lefebvre (1999); see also the suggestive remarks by McCabe (2000, 128-34).

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stick to sheer hedonism where all that counts is the purely sensory feeling of pleasure from which every phronesis and logos have been banned. Now whatsort of laughter are we dealing with in this joke, and what sort of work does it accomplish? Reflecting on another scene, McCabehas suggested that the laughter at stake in our dialogue may be supposed to be quite different from the one that has been condemned (McCabe 2010). When Socratesis joking in the Philebus, she claims, it is with Protarchus; this is not laughter at Protarchus, a mocking and contemptuouslaughterlike the one that is condemned (and which shecalls “Plato’s savage accountof laughter”). But though we should not denythat Socrates is leading a common inquiry with Protarchus, we may nevertheless wonder whether the laughter we encounterin thejellyfish sceneis really as soft, polite and,in brief, “humane,” as McCabe would haveit. Earlier I mentioned the passage where Protarchusbluntly says that the intense bodily pleasures one gets from sex are whatis typically praised by the polloi—nota very nice and soft way of rejecting hedonism, especially since, as his very name suggests, Philebus must have been fond of them. But also, comparing the life advocated by the same Philebusas one best suitedto jellyfish is not that gentle either. To be sure, in that passage, Socrates does not mock Protarchusdirectly: it is Protarchus who seems to mockhimself for having becomeas speechlessas jellyfish; and the whole scene maybest be explained as a case of good-humoredself-teasing as it were. But even there, it is impossible not to think of Philebus whois the true target of the joke: one should imagine Protarchus, I suggest, pointing his finger in the direction of Philebus (whois right next to, or behind him) while laughing at himself as if he had becomethe samesort of mutejellyfish Philebus had. In our very passage on comedy,there is nothing like a joke properly speaking. But when Protarchus concludes Socrates’ (restated) argumentbysayingthat“It is just impossible not to agree with this, Socrates, even if one wanted to defend the opposite position at all costs” (b5-6), he should be imagined, here again, as pointing his finger toward Philebus who all along has shown his fierce and hard-nosed commitment to sheer hedonism without even taking the trouble to listen to any counter-arguments—which surely is meant to evoke some laughter from the audience present. In other words, the (almost) silent but quite present Philebus is the laughing stock of Socrates’ audience, and Plato’s readership, not unlike Hippiasor Ion in the earlier dialogues: all those characters are people who makefools of themselves,believing they have a true sophia (in the caseof Philebus, believing he knows whatthe goodis).

7. Virtuous Laughter from Indignation Like the Hippias Major and the Ion, which havebeen rightly labeled “comedies,” those passages from the Philebus are meant to be comedic, and evoke our laughter.

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But what sort of emotion might be involved in our laughing in such cases? Since they look similar to the cases we have encountered in comedyas described in our Philebus passage, it might be tempting to conclude that envy and Schadenfreude mustbe at stake here too: do we notlaughat foolish Ion, Hippias, or Philebus who fall into deep contradiction and showtheir lack of actual knowledge—thetypical misery of (people pretending to be) knowledgeable philosophers? Butit is Socrates himself whoelicits our laughing at those people; in the case of the Philebus, he has Protarchuslaughing at Philebus. And Socrates can hardly be viewed as advocating morally reprehensible emotions such as envy; and neither can heelicit laughter that is caused by envy. I suggest Aristotle’s views on those emotions mayprovide us with a clue. When hefirst presents the virtue of ‘appropriate indignation’ in the Nicomachean Ethics, here is what he writes: Appropriate indignation is a mean between envy andspite (véuecis dé weod7ys p0dvov Kai émyatpexaxias); these three are concerned with pain andpleasurefelt at the fortunes of those aroundus. Thesort of person to experience appropriate

indignation is pained by those who do well undeservedly; the envious person goes beyond him and is pained by anybody’s doing well; while the spiteful

person, far from being pained at the misfortunesof others, actually feels enjoyment.

(1108a35-b6;trans. Crisp)

The envious person is pained at anyone’s good fortune while the spiteful person rejoices at misfortunes that anyone may experience. By contrast, the virtuous state that is the “intermediate” between these two excesses, is indignation;here, feeling pain is the appropriate reaction towards someone whoexperiences undeserved misfortune. But since Aristotle says that “these three are concerned with pain and pleasure felt at the fortunes of those around us,” one should supply one missing case, that is, indignation where pleasure is at stake. That case we find in the chapter dedicated to indignation in the Rhetoric: after recalling that indignation amounts to “feeling pain at undeserved misfortune,” Aristotle adds that the indignant person “will take pleasure or be unmoved by misfortunes of the opposite sort [i.e., deserved]; for example, no good person would be distressed whenparricides and bloodthirsty murderers meet punishment”; and in suchcases, Aristotle concludes, “it is right to rejoice” (1386b25-28). Since Aristotle seems to be reporting commonviews(or rather, clarifying what commonviewsconsist in), there is no reason why Plato would not have shared them,too. Aristotle may not say anything explicit about laughter in the case of indignation. But since indignation belongs to the same emotional genus as envy and Schadenfreude(orspite), it would bevery surprising if Plato would not have cometo see indignation as the typical emotion involved in the case of laughing at people deservingtheirill fate. In the case of comedy, as Plato has analyzed it, we laugh at characters who experience misfortune whetheror not they deserveit; here, envy must be the cause

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of our laughter. But in the case of Socrates’ laughter at Hippias, Ion, or Philebus, the case is totally different as all three of them are experiencing a well-deservedill fate. It is because I’m a virtuous person,Aristotle says, that I can, and in fact ought to, rejoice at a person experiencing well deserved misfortune such as when a criminal is rightly punished.I don’t see any good reason why wecan’t transfer this to the case of laughter. Without much doubt, Philebus (like Hippias or Ion) truly deserves his misfortune of being convicted of foolishness. Thus, if some emotion must be presupposed as the cause of our laughter, and if we rely on Aristotle’s

description, indignation must be that emotion.” And contrary to envy and Schadenfreude, indignation is a virtue. Therefore laughing at those people is to be considered a virtuousreaction. Now,even if Aristotle presents right indignation as a mean between envy and Schadenfreude, it would be mistaken to take the laughterit causes as a nonaggressive, or (in McCabe’s words) “more humane,” reaction towards people experiencing (well deserved) discomfiture. Surely feeling indignant at a grave injustice can, and should, be strong, and must cause considerable pain; similarly we may infer that indignation towards foolish people who think (or pretend) to be truly knowledgeable, can, and probably should, elicit a good deal of laughter, too. Indeed, in the Hippias Major, Plato doesexplicitly say that Socrates’ unnamed opponent (whois, in fact, the double of Socrates himself) “will harshly mock us” (qudv 8 viv Kal wAeloTov KatayeAdoeTat, 291e6-7). In

the Philebus, Plato does not say so as explicitly. But his insistence on the pleasures that are typical of the highly despicable polloi, and his example of the no less unworthyjellyfish, are probably meant to produce rather hearty laughter too. Such laughter is perhaps not aggressive in the sense that it is not meant to hurt people as such—and one maynote that Philebusis a fictional character, not a real person;*° butit is certainly aggressive in the sense thatit is meant to rebukeor fight against something one does not want to, and should not, endorse. To conclude, such ‘virtuous’ laughter is thus also a very useful tool as it were in a philosophical life, as it should help us display our indignation toward people who must berefuted, or (since Philebusis the fictional place-holder for hedonism)

?° Asfar as I know,only one interpreter has madesuch a suggestion, but only in passing (de Vries 1985, 380). Also, Leon Golden proposed that indignation be the typical emotion involved in comedy according to Aristotle (Golden 1984): but nothing indicates that Aristotle may have considered

laughter at the theater in such a way; if any emotion is involved in such laughter, it is far more plausible that Aristotle followed Plato in seeing envy involved, not indignation (see Trivigno forthcoming for a defenseof this view).

3° Since we don’t have any other trace of an existing person called Philebus, and givenits meaning,it is most likely a fictional name—andnotsurprisingly so as it is a common technique amongancient comedy playwriters to forge names that correspondtoa certain feature they want to emphasize.

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toward a philosophical doctrine. And indeed such laughter eventually helps Protarchus see why his own support for Philebus’ position must be abandoned, which hedoesasthe dialogue unfolds.** Laughter, both for Protarchus and Plato’s readers, can be a truly pleasurable and very useful aid to philosophical inquiry, and therefore an important ingredient in a happy mixedlife.

31 For Protarchus 2 « conversion,” as D. Frede haslabeled Protarchus’ move during the dialogue, see D. Frede (1996).

11 Truth, Beauty, Purity, and Pleasure Philebus 50e-53c James Warren

At Philebus 50d-e, Socrates expresses the hope that he has given Protarchus enough of an account of the mixture of pleasure and pain involved in phthonos that he need notgive an additional account of the same phenomenoninthecase of fear, love, and other emotions. Protarchus should by now be persuadedthat there are cases of mixedpleasures that involve just the body,just the soul, and also both the body and soul. The next task, Socrates says,is to set out the remainder of what they need to make the judgment (krisis 50e2) that Philebus demanded. What follows is a discussion of what are initially introduced as “unmixed” pleasures (50e6) but which are very soon afterwards described also as “true” (51b1-2) and

“pure” pleasures (52c2). This section is brief—much briefer than the account of false pleasures—perhaps because Protarchusis less resistant to the general idea that pleasures maybe true thanto the controversial idea that they maybe false and perhaps because Socrates can rely on the earlier analysis simply to fill in our understanding of these counterpart pleasures by contrast. At the beginning of the passage, the sense in which these pleasures are “true” seems simply to contrast with the view of those who think that all pleasure is merely the cessation of pain, with the implication that we should notreally class such experiences aspleasuresatall (51a3-4).’ Socrates does not agree with this view, but he welcomes the support for the conclusion that there are experiences that “seem to be pleasures butin reality are nothing of the sort” (51a5-6) and thatthere are pleasures of both body and soul that are great and frequent but are in fact combined with pain or respite from discomfort (51a6-9). Protarchus

then asks what pleasures we would correctly conceiveof as true, where the truth in question is in contrast with both the experiences mentioned at 51a5-6 (we are

Mythoughts on this topic were improved by discussions with Stephen Hailey, who wrote a Cambridge MPhil essay on this passage. My thanks go alsoto the participants at the Spetses conference for their comments. * It is likely that we should think of the “enemies of Philebus” introduced at 44b. James Warren,Truth, Beauty, Purity, and Pleasure: Philebus 50e-53c. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0011

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looking for experiences that really are pleasures) and those of 51a6-9 (we are looking for experiences that are genuine pleasures, unmixed with pain).’ Socratesinitially concentrates on showingthat there are somepleasuresthatare not preceded or followed by pains; the lacks they fulfill are unperceived and painless. He gives two classes of such pleasures: the pleasures of perception and pleasures of learning and remembering.’ First, Socrates considers some pleasures of perception as examples of pleasures in which the lack being fulfilled is not perceived andthereforethere is no antecedentpain; this is why these pleasures are “unmixed” (51b3-7). But he also considers the nature of the perceived object as

another important determinantof the nature of the pleasure, specifying that these pleasures derive from “beautiful” colors, shapes, sounds, and smells (51b3) and then giving what he acknowledges is an unorthodox account ofthe criteria by which shapes and sounds should be considered beautiful (51b9-e6).

After a discussion of the pure pleasures of learning, Socrates considers more generally the sense in which we mightalso ascribe truth, beauty, and purity to such pleasures. He considers the example of a pure patch of white, which is also said to be the mostbeautiful and the truest white (53a9—-b2). Andat the end ofthis section, he remarks (53b8-c2): Well, now, we don’t need to run through many more examples to justify our accountofpleasure, but this example suffices to prove that in the case of pleasure, too, every small andinsignificant pleasure that is unadulterated by pain (xafapa Avans) will turn out to be pleasanter, truer, and more beautiful (jdiwv Kai

adnbeotépa kai xkadAiwv) than a greater quantity and amount of the impure kind. (Trans. D. Frede 1993)

A pure pleasure maynotbeparticularly intense but, just as a patch of white may be small but purer, more beautiful, and more truly white than a larger but adulterated patch of white, so too a pleasure may be more beautiful, more pleasant, and moretruly a pleasure than a larger or more intense but adulterated example. Socrates can therefore proceed as he had intended to consider a pure example ofeach ofthe two most general kinds: pleasure and knowledge (52d10-e4); here he has found a kind of pleasure that may stand some chanceoffiguring in the final ranking of goods because it does indeed display a kind of measure. ? It is commonly noted that Socrates appears happy to run together senses of ‘truth’—principally what are sometimes termed ‘ontological’ and ‘representational’ truth—that perhaps deserve to be distinguished. For this terminology, see Wolfsdorf (2013a, esp. 69-70). It is a mark of quite a lot of scholarship on the Philebus that it is concerned with wondering whether and why Plato might have cometo conflate notionsoftruth andreality in his discussion ofboth ‘true’ and‘false’ pleasures.See, for example, Gosling (1975, 212-13).

> Socrates specifies at 50d2-6 that the mixedpleasures can bepleasures ofthe bodyalone,of the soul alone, or of the body and soul together. The respective roles of body and soul in the following account of pure pleasure is not so explicit, but we may presume that the pleasures of perception must in some wayat least involve the body, while perhapsthe pleasures of learning involve only the soul. Compare Damascius In Phileb. $208.

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1. Unmixed and True Perceptual Pleasures: 51b3-e6 Socrates begins by describing pure pleasures from three senses:sight, hearing, and smell. (The absence of any reference to taste can perhaps be explained if we think that taste might be subsumed somehow under smell, but the absence of any reference to pure pleasures of touch is worth noting. Perhaps the pleasures of touch and taste are such that they can never be unmixed; perhaps they are too closely connected with the intense and mixed pleasures that are said to be an impediment to reason at 63d1-64a5.) At the outset, it is worth emphasizing the simple point that the beautiful objects here listed as the source of pure pleasures are perceptible items. This marks out Socrates’ account here in the Philebus as importantly different from the discussion of similarly characterized pleasures in Republic 9. But there are also important continuities between the two accounts. For example, in Republic 9 the principal method for distinguishing between pleasures is to consider the nature of the object of the pleasure and the nature of that part of the person that is experiencing the pleasure. In brief, the principal true and pure pleasures Socrates identifies in the Republic are pleasures taken in objects that are pure, true, simple, and unchanging:the intelligible objects we tend to classify as Forms. Theyare able to replenish that part of us that is most stable, the intellect, and the pleasures that result are superiorto all others becausethey are pure and true: they derive their nature from the object being enjoyed. These pleasures are therefore also unavailable to the majority of people who are not aware of and spend no time engaged in considering these objects.* Herein the Philebus Socratesis still inclined to think that at least some ofthese superior pleasures are experienced byrelatively few people (52b6-8). He also follows a similar procedure in distinguishing a special group of objects as the appropriate objects or causes of such pleasures. And heis similarly inclined to describe these objects as not only pure butalso true (e.g., 53a9), so we are invited to think that the pleasures that have these as their objects will also be both pure and true. Thedifficulty in making senseof this class of objects andthereforeof his overall position is that the underlying metaphysical justification for his preference for these particular objects is provided only in passing. Wearethereforeinvited to supply andfill in the missing account, perhaps in connection with various other remarks aboutthe nature of beauty scattered through the dialogue. The change in emphasis between the Republic and the Philebus is doubtless related to broad differences between the two dialogues’ approaches to ontology and psychology mostgenerally: themesthat are far too broad to be adequately broachedhere. But

* For somerecent discussions of the argument in Republic 9, see Erginel (2011); Warren (2011); Wolfsdorf (2013a, 63-74, and 2013b); Warren (2014, 29-50). In the Republic Socrates also says only

that the majority and the most intense examples of pleasures that come from the bodyto the soul are accompanied bypain;there too he leaves room for pure perceptual pleasures (5843-5).

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they are illustrated in part by the way in which Socrates here in the Philebus welcomesthe idea that through perception—a movementthatis a joint affection commonto body and soul (34a3-5)—we might experience pure pleasures. Socrates begins his account by introducinga class of pleasures that he says are unmixed with pain. He offers these as examples of “true” pleasures (51b1-7). PROT: But, Socrates, what are the kindsof pleasures that one could rightly regard as true?

soc: Those thatare related to so-called beautiful’ colors and to shapes and to most smells and sounds andin generalall those that are based on imperceptible and painless (60a rds évdeias dvatoOyrous) lacks, while their fulfilments are perceptible and pleasant [and free from pains (xafapas Avmav)].° (Trans. D. Frede 1993, with modifications)

These pleasures fit the model forall pleasures used so far in the dialogue and, indeed, used by Socrates also in the Republic. These pleasures are perceived satisfactions of a lack or disruption of the natural state but differ from the mixed pleasures insofar as the lacks themselves are not perceived and therefore not painful.” Even the “less divine”class of the pleasures of smell will fit into this category since there too thereis no inevitable mixtureof pain (51e1-5).° After his description and brief discussion of how both these pleasures of perception and certain pleasures of learning will fit into this category, Socrates offers a further general characterization (52c1-d1):

° D. Frede’s (1993) translation has “pure” here. Cf. Fletcher (2014, 122, n. 17). ® Thetext here has received a lot ofinterest. Stallbaum thinks it is necessary either (a) to add xai

before xafapas, or (b) to delete #Secas, or (c) to delete kafapds Ava as an intrusion from a marginal gloss. Burnet follows Stallbaum’s preference for (c) and brackets xa@apas Av7av, presumably on the groundsthatit is a redundantaddition, repeating the point of dAvzousearlier in the line. Butit is not necessarily redundant: Socrates is perhapsstressing both that the “lacks” are unperceived andpainless andthat the replenishmentsare perceived and pain-free. Bury (1897) has a helpful note adloc. See also Delcomminette (2006, 452,n. 3).

” Fletcher (2014, 122-4) interprets the doa...clause not as a summary ofwhat precedes but rather “as capturing the nature of some, but not all, of the pure sensory pleasures” (comparing 11b5 and 21b1). In particular, Fletcher claimsthat notall pure sensory pleasures involve some kindoflack since somebelongto the soul alone; the pleasuresofsight and soundfall into this category. I do not think that at 51b1-7 Socrates is particularly concerned with determining which pleasures belong to the soul, which to the body, and whichinvolve both the body andsoul. Rather, he offers a range of examples of pure andtruepleasures,including pleasures from perception and pleasuresfrom learning, and is happy to leave us to understandthat all of them qualify for this category just insofar as the lacks whose fulfilments they are (whether those lacks are bodily or psychic) are painless. ® Commentators disagree over why smells are “less divine” than sights and sounds. In Republic9, Socratesalso briefly considers the pleasures of smell as good evidence for there being pure pleasures (584b). Wolfsdorf (2013a, 98), suggests that smell is an inferior sense because “sight and hearing can

apprehend harmoniousstructures in sensible objects in a way that smell cannot”(Cf. Bobonich 2002, 357). Fletcher (2014, 122-4), argues that the pleasures of smell involve painless lacks and pleasant

fulfillments while the pleasures of sight and sound donot andthis is why Socrates considers them “less divine.” See also Delcomminette (2006, 455-7).

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But now that we have properly (ezpiws) separated the pure pleasures and those that can rightly be called impure (7ds te xafapds #dSovds Kal tas oxedov dxabdprous), let's add to our account the attribution of lack of measure

(duerpiav) to the violent pleasures, but measure (€uperpiav), in contrast, to the

others. Thatis to say, we will assign those pleasures that display high intensity and violence, no matter whether frequently or rarely, to the class of the unlimited, the more andless, which affects both body and soul. The other kinds of pleasures wewill assign to theclass of things that possess measurement. (Trans. D. Frede 1993, with modifications)®

WhenSocrates turns to distinguish a group of pleasures that he is happyto call pure andtrue, he thinks of those pleasures that have no admixture of pain. He further characterizes this group as characterized by measure (emmetria; Frede’s translation here has “moderation”) in contrast to the mixed pleasures that are characterized by a lack of measure (ametria). Pleasure itself was assigned to the class of the apeiron earlier in the dialogue (31a9) but Socrates here is content to

think that certain episodes or instances of pleasure may nevertheless possess measure and that these will generally be pleasures that are milder and more moderate.’° Just what this measure or moderation (emmetria) might be is some-

thing to which wewill return. Like the other characteristics of these pleasures— purity, beauty, truth—this too may derive from the particular objects involved:it is their measure that allows us also to attribute measure to the pleasures experiencedin perceiving them. Socrates is by no meansasserting a general approval of perceptual pleasures. Rather, he has a very specific and admittedly unorthodox idea in mind of the shapes, colors, sounds, and smells which are the objects of these pure and true pleasures. He explains this by giving an account of which shapes and which sounds he considers to be genuinely beautiful and contrasting his view with popular opinion. He begins with shapes (51b9-d3): WhatI am saying maynot beentirely clear straightaway, but I'll try to clarify it.

By the beauty of shape, I do not mean what the many might presuppose, namely that of a living being or of a picture (7) Cawv 7 Twav Cwypapynpdtwr). What I mean, what the argument demands,is rather something straight («dv 7.) or round (zepipepés) and whatis constructed out of these with a compass, rule, and square, such as planefigures andsolids. ThosethingsI takeit are not beautiful in a relative sense (pds 71), as others are, but are by their nature forever beautiful by themselves (xaAd xa? aira mepuxévat). They provide their own specific pleasures that are not at all comparableto those of rubbing! Andcolors are beautiful in an

° This is Burnet’s 1901 text, translated in D. Frede (1993). Cf. Bury (1897 ad loc.); Delcomminette (2006, 480-2 and n. 55).

1° Fletcher (2014, 127), thinks that in this passage Socrates “flatly contradicts” his classification at 31a. Cf. Delcomminette (2006, 452).

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analogous way and import their own kinds of pleasure. Do we now understand it better, or how do youfeel?

(Trans. D. Frede 1993)

Socrates suggests that, at least when it comes to shape, most people would identify as beautiful certain animals (zoa) or depictions of animals (zographémata).

In place of these, Socrates offers his own preferred beautiful shapes. He too offers examples of both two- and three-dimensional shapes. Hesays that he would prefer to say thata straight line (euthu ti) and a circle (peripheres) are beautiful and also the planes and solids produced by a compass,ruler, or set-square. The general characterization at the end of this passage contrasts things that are by nature beautiful kath’ hauta, presumably things like the examples Socrates offers, with those that are beautiful pros ti, presumably including things like the shapes that most people would identify as beautiful like living things and depictions of living things. Howexactly do these objects that are beautiful kath’ hauta differ from those objects Socrates characterizes as being beautiful pros ti? And how should we understand the notion of beauty kath’ hauta in relation to the examples that Socrates offers and to the various other comments elsewherein the dialogue about beauty and its connection with structure and symmetria?It is not possible to give a single and determinate account of the contrast between what is kath’ hauto and whatis pros ti throughall the dialogues. Rather, the contrast is deployed by Plato to draw attention to a particular distinction in a particular context."’ So weareleft to decide whatthe force of the distinction is here. Onepossibility is that the items that are beautiful kath’ hauta are beautiful because they are simple. Perhaps they are simple in some way such that our perception of them is not complicated by the simultaneous perception of a numberof various diverse properties or characteristics; items that are beautiful prosti, by contrast, are complicated perceptual objects. We look at a picture of a horse andsee variousdifferent colors, tones, shapes, and lines: perceiving a horse is a complicated business that is quite unlike the uncluttered perception of a simple plane figure.’” The difficulty with this suggestion is that Socrates then owes us some account of why the complexity of some item should be thoughtto detract from rather than comprise or indeed enhance the pleasure of the experience. Looking at a very beautiful statue is not in any obvious sense less pleasant than looking at a patch of somebeautiful color. A related view holdsthat the beauty ofa painting, for example, is generated not by a relation between the painting and someoriginal or some other painting, but

"! See Fine (1993, 171-4, esp. 173 on Phileb. 51c-d). ” Furthermore, sometimes one element of a complex whole will be less beautiful than it could be in order for the whole to be more beautiful. A statue may be morebeautiful if it is painted with black eyes, even though black is a less beautiful color than purple. The example is from Republic 420c-d; cf. Fine (1993, 173).

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instead by the contrast between its elements. A piece of music, similarly, is beautiful in virtue of the internal relationships between the notes in the composition. Once again, we can imagine why this might be a plausible distinction between complex and simple perceptual objects, but it does not provide a clear reasonforpreferring the latter and declaring them to be morebeautiful.’* Perhaps we should think instead that in the cases ofperceiving a living thing or a depiction of a living thing the perception of the shape of the item is being polluted or confused by the simultaneous conception of what we are seeing as a person or a god or lion, and that this non-aesthetic aspect is absent from the perception of simple shapes and sounds. The idea here is that when weperceive such a depiction (indeed, such an animal) wealso see it as a horse, for example,

and ourperceptionofit is therefore complicated or confused by various kinds of conceptual content that elicit complex responses and connotations.’* This suggestion seems to have the same problem asthefirst: Why shouldthe beauty ofthis object not be increased rather than diminished by the fact that it is not only a certain rather pleasing shape but that it is also understood as an excellent depiction of a racehorse? Socrates has not yet made a good casefor this kind of complex experience being less pleasant than a simpler one.’* Another suggestion makes sense of the kath’ hauta/pros ti contrast by noting that just as Socrates was prepared elsewhere to downgradecertain sensations once they are revealed to be pleasant only in contrast to some pain, so too he may here think that we should re-evaluate items that we perceive to be beautiful if it should turn out that they are beautiful merely in contrast with somethingelse. Helen of Troy is beautiful but only in relation to all the other mortal people we perceive.’® One reason to think that may be part of Socrates’ point is found at 51d6-7, in the account of beautiful sounds which wewill consider in more detail in due course. Here, Socrates contrasts various beautiful sounds which are beautiful kath’ hautas with others that are merely beautiful pros heteron. The most likely referent of heteron here is melos: these are sounds that together produce a beautiful melos and are beautiful per se and notin relation to somedifferent melos. In short, a numberof things areleft unclear by Socrates’ brief accountanditis therefore difficult to feel that we have much reason to agree with his aesthetic preferences. We might object that these simple shapes, sounds, and patches of color arein fact rather impoverished objects of perception andwill therefore give 13 See D. Frede (1993,liv). * For example, Davidson (1990, 378): “The pleasures we feel at tragedy and comedyare impure, mixed, because certain non-aesthetic emotions arise from non-aesthetic aspects of the spectacle, and adulterate any pleasures which might be pure. Toa lesser degree,this is true of pictures and the beauties of nature. We are distracted by the emotive and symbolic contents which pollutes our reactions.” Cf. Gosling (1975, 122); Carpenter (2000, 274-6). S Contrast Aristotle’s view, expressed at Rhet. 1.11: 1371a31-b10, Poet. 4: 1448b4-19, and PA 1.5: 645a7-16. See also Warren (2014, 67-78). 16 Cf. Delcomminette (2006, 458-9).

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rise to rather impoverished pleasures, certainly when compared with the more obvious enjoyment of perceptual objects that Socrates is inclined to classify as inferior. Is it not obvious that it is more pleasant to see a colorful and detailed portrait of a beautiful animal than to stare at a small patch of white? Or thatit is morepleasant to listen to an orchestral symphony than to a single tuning fork? Socrates does note that enjoymentofthese special items is a minority preference. It is likely, therefore, that he thinks that some degree of proper understandingis required for people to be able to take the appropriate pleasures in the kind of sensory objects thatare correctly classified as beautiful kath’ hauta. Quite howthat understandingis to be acquiredis anotheraspect of his view left unstated. Perhaps we might haveto learn to look at a picture of a horse, for example, and rather than see the picture as a whole instead perceive the individual constituent patches of color, lines, and shapes. So we dissolve a picture into its more basic elements since theseare the things that are beautiful kath’ hauta and welearn to perceive and take pleasure in them.’” Or perhapswe haveto learn not to take pleasure in such things at all, not even perceived in a certain way, and instead enjoy looking at bare white walls or hearing single notes. Either way, it appears that some kind of education is required for someone to come to see Socrates’ preferred beautiful items as the kath’ hauta beautiful things he assuresus they really are.’* It is also not clear whether Socrates means that only those shapes that are generated by humancraft are beautiful or whether any relevantly similar shape will be beautiful provided that it is straight or circular in the way that craftsmen ensurethat their constructions are by meansofthese tools. The mostlikely answer is that here Socrates is introducing these products of human craft as the most obvious examples of the shapes andsolids he has in mind but hecan also imagine there being other, perhaps superior, examples generated not by humancraft but by divine creation. Later, at 62b, Socrates introduces a distinction between “the circle and divine sphere itself” and “the human sphere andcircles.” He notes that the humanversionsare of the kind used in housebuilding andalso that there are distinct kanones—yardsticks—appropriate to each; humansuse a tool appropriate for their human needs but there would be a different, presumably even more precise, rule involved in the proper account of a divine sphere. Perhaps surprisingly, he and Protarchusagree that they should include as ingredients in the good human life the “inexact and impure science of the false yardstick and circle” (62b5-7) on the grounds that without it we would be unable to navigate home.

7 Lang (2010, 157): “The object of pleasure must therefore be abstracted from the particular sensible object, given thatit is impossible to have a sensible object which is white but has no otherpredicates such as ‘round’or ‘chair.’” *® Bobonich (2002, 356): “These sensory pleasures involve recognizing or appreciating the fineness or good orderof a sensory object and this involves not only conceptualizing the perceptionin terms of non-sensible properties such as straight or spherical, but also in terms of the non-sensible property of fineness.”

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It is no good knowingthedefinition of the circle and the divine sphere but being unable to recognize spheres in everydaylife or bring the appropriate practical rule to bear when trying to build a house. There are inexact but necessary practical criteria and forms of knowledge that have to be part of a good humanlife even if they fall short of exactness and truth in various ways. This later passage confirmsthat, in the parallel case of the division of epistemai, the characteristics of purity and truth go handin hand just as they do here in the case of the categorization of pleasures. Andit reintroduces the notion of the need to use the tools that are necessary for the appropriate form of exactness and regulation in different kinds of production. It also suggests that although the spheres and planes produced by human craftsmen maybe superior to the shapes of, say, living animals, they nevertheless fall short of some superior divine examples of the circle and sphere, in part because the human craftsman relies on the useofinferior regulative tools and his practical aims require less exacting standards. Both are nevertheless the products ofintelligent craftsmanship aimed at producing well-ordered results. Here at 51b-d Socrates contrasts the generation of complex solid animals and two-dimensional representations of animals with the generation of simple geometric and solid shapes by emphasizing how in the latter case the human craftsman doesrely on tools that ensure a certain level of precision and accuracy. There is a correspondence between the character of the object produced,the tools necessary to produceit, and theaffective experience:the simple and precisely proportioned block of building stone is produced using tools such as a set-square and yard-stick and produces a pure pleasure in the viewer. Similarly, the character of a science—its purity and clarity—andthetools used in that epistémé are determined by the nature of the objects with which it is concerned. A builder will use a kanon that allows him to ensure the required level of precision in his building where that level of requisite precision is now determined bypractical considerations because the house is a functionally determineditem. It may well be the case that the perceptible productions considered as the objects of true sensory pleasure turn outin the final analysis to be products of only the lesser of the “two measurements” mentioned at 57d6 but they will nevertheless be the most accurate and purest items of that kind, their accuracy being ensured as muchasit can bebythe use of regulative tools. In any case, we are probably not expected to be able to make perfect sense of Socrates’ proposal at this point. At 51d4—5 Protarchus immediately asks for some clarification and Socrates replies with some further examples. But first, let us considerbriefly what is said elsewhere in the Philebus about beauty. The most important point seems to be that beauty goes hand in hand with symmetria. For example, at 64e6-7, we are told that “measure and proportion (symmetria) manifest themselves in all areas as beauty and virtue” (cf. 61a1-5). And in the

final prize-giving, the first rank goes to the metron, the metrion, and the kairion but the second prize goes to “the well-proportioned (summetron) and beautiful

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(kalon), the perfect (teleon), the self-sufficient (hikanon) and whateverelse fits in

that family” (66b1-3). So, in general terms, beauty is strongly associated with symmetria. And it appears that a wide variety of things can display the kind of symmetria that would makeit appropriate for us to call them beautiful. The accountof the fourfold ontological division earlier in the dialogueis itself not especially lucid but in general terms Socrates offers a picture in which the product of the imposition of peras on to something apeiron is something good and,indeed, beautiful; it makes those opposites summetra and sumphona (25e1).”” Indeed, music is one of the prime examples of such good products, in this case resulting from the imposition of number and measure on the high-low and the fast-slow.”° Similar results can be seen in the natural progress of the seasons (26a6-8) and Socrates ends by summarizing his view as follows (26b1-10): soc: And when the unlimited and what has limit are mixed together, we are blessed with seasonsandall sorts of beautiful things of that kind? PROT: Whocould doubtit? soc: Andthere are countless other things I have to pass byin silence: With health there come beauty and strength, and again in our soul there is a host of excellent qualities. It is the goddessherself, beautiful Philebus ( cade idAnBe), whorecognizes how excess and the overabundanceof our wickednessallow for no limit on our pleasures and their fulfilment, and she therefore imposes law and orderas limit on them.

(Trans. D. Frede 1993, with modifications)

Symmetria does not make an appearance in our passage at 50e-51c but Socrates does invoke the notion of emmetria at 52cl-d1 andthe two notionsare closely linked at 26a7-8.”* However, invoking the connection between symmetria and beauty does not obviously favor Socrates’ preferred candidates for perceptual beauty over the more commonly accepted examples. People generally think that the shapes of living things are particularly beautiful and depictions of those shapes are similarly thought to be particularly beautiful. If asked, then people will probably say that these two- or three-dimensional shapes are beautiful because theydisplay a certain set of proportions. Animal formsare beautiful because of a certain arrangement of limbs, head, and features and some animals and some people are more beautiful than others because in those cases the relevant proportions are particularly well or perfectly exemplified. We are familiar with claims that certain faces are more beautiful because they are more symmetrical. In the fifth-century Bc, Polyclitus is

’° That the products are understood normatively is stressed by Davidson (1990, 198, and 239: “Beauty would seem, therefore, simply to be the aesthetic aspect of right proportion”) and Harte (2002, 193). 2° Protarchus comments: «dAAtord. ye (26a1).

21 Timaeuscontrasts dyerpia (cf. Phileb. 52c4) with oupperpia at Tim. 87d2.

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supposed to have written a work promotinga certain set ofrelative proportions for beautiful depictions of the human form.”” Protarchus, perhaps understandably,is not yet able to grasp quite what Socrates has in mind.So, Socrates offers a further example: certain sounds that he regards as beautiful kath’ hautas. Hehas twice already turned to use soundsasillustrative examplesat significant parts of the dialogue. He used vocal and phonetic sound to illustrate the God-given methodat 17bff. and, as we have already noted, at 26a2-4 music is an example of a product generated by the imposition of peras on the apeira of high-low andfast-slow. Music returns as the second of his examples, at 51d6-10; the contrast here is put in terms of a distinction between what is beautiful kath’ hauto and whatis beautiful pros heteron. The latter is presumably simplya variation for the earlier pros ti:?? WhatI am sayingis that those among the smooth and bright sounds (7yds Taév ployywv tas Aelas Kai Aaprpds) that produce one pure note (jéAos) are not beautiful in relation to anything else (0d pds érepov) but in and by themselves (dAvatrtds xa’ aizds) and that they are accompanied by their own pleasures, which belong to them by nature.

(Trans. D. Frede 1993)

There has been some discussion over the nature of the melos in the auditory example since, althoughit is translated by Frede as “note,” it seems rather that a melos is a phenomenally complex item: a song or melody perhaps which exhibits a complexity of internal relationships between soundsofdiffering pitch, position, and duration.” After all, at 51c6-7 there are three nounsreferring to audible items—ekheé, phthoggos, and melos—andthethird ofthese is said to be composed of certain kinds of thefirst two. This has led some commentators to think that therefore Socrates’ notion ofall objects of pure perceptual pleasures must involve their possessing similarly complex phenomenalfeatures. This would give Socrates a less radical view about the beauty of perceptual objects andalso fit nicely with the general association ofbeauty with symmetria; the object is beautiful in virtue of the excellent order and arrangementofits variousparts. So the shapes and sounds Socrates thinks are most beautiful are not austere patches of color and spheres or the pure soundofa perfectly pitched tuning fork. Instead, his preferred perceptual

?2 Galen PHP 5.3 (5.449 Kihn,425 Miiller, 308.17-21 De Lacy). 3 Castelnérac (2010, 142-5), wants to distinguish between the two contrasts and arguesthat here

Socrates is interested specifically in marking how somethingsare beautiful only in relation to some other thing of the same kind (pros heteron,i.e., in relation to some other melos) whereas before the contrast was between perceptible items and things that are imitative of them. 24 “Note” is also the preferred translation in Davidson (1990, 378). Gosling (1975) has “tune.” See

LSJ s.v. B and cf. Phileb. 28b9-10: Protarchus asks Socrates to be his spokesman soas to avoid saying something wapa pédos (“out of tune”). 7x7 is more usually used of the sound madeby natural items (e.g., the sea), animals (e.g., a grasshopper), or items such as a piece of metal or cymbal. At 18clff. Odyyos seems to mean a simple “sound” (what distinguishes a ‘voiced’ from an ‘unvoiced’ phoneme).

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objects will exhibit some kind of internal structural complexity, like that of a melos, or perhaps some kind of structural relationship with the surrounding context. The difficulty with this approach is that it does not seem to fit well with all of the other examples.”° As we saw, Socrates does appear to insist that in the case of shape, the objects he has in mind are rather austere: simple lines, squares, spheres, andthe like. And when he comesto the case of color he again offers a very austere picture: a patch of pure whiteness. Asa result, we are left wondering how to give a consistent interpretation of the view that not only itemslike a melos but also more austere things like a straight line or a patch of white depend fortheir beauty on a structured relationship between the constituent items in a more complex perceptible object. This problem remains however appealing the general idea of per se beauty might be. An alternative reaction is to find some way in which Socrates may be using melos in an unusual senseto refer to a phenomenally simple item so as to make this example fall in line with the visual cases of shape and color.”° However, at 51d6-9 Socrates does not designate the melos as beautiful even though he does describe it as pure (katharon). Rather, some prior constituent items, the smooth and clear “sounds” (ékhai) are said to produce this pure melos but these smooth and clear sounds are whatSocrates explicitly designates here as perse beautiful, not the melos which they produce.”’ Soitis likely, I submit, that the melos, the combination or composite of these sounds, is the analogue of the complexes of simple lines and curves or simple solids in the previous discussion of shape. The simple phenomenal sounds (ékhai) are beautiful per se, andit is they that combine to produce what most people take to be the principal beautiful item, namely the song or melody.It is also made clear that the multiple ekhai give rise to the single melos. Analogously, multiple lines, plane figures, and curves may give rise to a single skhéma of, for example, an animal. In that case, althoughit is true that a melos is a phenomenally complex item, we are not in reality faced with a difficulty in making consistent what Socrates says about per se beautiful audible items with what he says about per se beautiful shapes andcolors.In all these cases, his attention focuses on the simplest items in each category:lines and planes, individual tones, and, in the section at the end of this passage, patches of pure color.

5 For example, Delcomminette (2006, 457ff.) notes that a melos is likely to be a complex of articulated sounds and not single note and, partly as a result, rejects the idea that things that are beautiful kath’ hauta are to be thought of as beautiful (458) “de maniére isolée, sans entretenir le

moindre rapport avec ce qui les entoure” (458) because this contradicts the idea of beauty as a symmetria later in the dialogue (64e5-7 and 66b1-3).

6 See, e.g., D. Frede (1997, 299, n. 115). 2” This is noted by Davidson (1990, 378). It should be remembered that jyds is an emendation proposed by Bury for the MSS zds (BT), ras Aeias (T) or taAeras (B). Some feminine plural noun seems required. See Bury (1897adloc.).

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2. Whiteness: 52d3-53b7 After the brief accountofthe pleasures of learning, Socrates turns to consider what he takes to be pure examples of each of the two principal contestants in the dialogue’s overall contest: pleasure and knowledge (52d3ff.). Here he gives an accountofpurity that explicitly notes that purity is entirely independentofsize: a small pure patch of white trumps a larger adulterated patch (53a9-b7). So there can also be a pure pleasure that displays measure (emmetria) even thoughit is modest. When we want to find a paradeigma for pleasure to use in our final ranking, we need to use these pure pleasures and not the large and intense pleasures we might otherwise mistakenly take to be the principal examples of that kind. A patch of impure whiteness, however large, will give a misleading impression ofwhat thatcolortrulyis and will also apparently fail to be as beautiful as a pure patchof white.”* Similarly, a pleasure may be small orrelatively small in numberor frequency but nevertheless, since it is free from pain, more pleasant, truer, and morebeautiful than larger or more numerouspleasures.” Here wearefaced with a choice.It is tempting to deal with the example of pure white simply as an illustrative example intended to show Protarchus that purity has no necessary relationship with magnitude or majority (53a9-b2). We can then leave the discussion of whiteness as an analogy that is intended only to make a point about which pleasures should be taken to be the pure representatives oftheir kind. Socrates is merely here winning our acceptance of the general point that purity is independent of other characteristics both in the case of color and also therefore in the case of pleasure. There is a significant advantage to this understanding of the discussion of pure white insofar as it avoids positing an awkward overall shapeto the discussionin this section with Socrates breaking his account of pure pleasures of perception with the accountofthe pleasures of learning. Analternative view is that Socrates does indeed first discuss shapes and sounds, next turns to the new category of pure pleasures of learning, and then returns to discuss yet another case of a beautiful perceptual object that can be the cause of pure pleasure to put alongside the cases of shapes and sounds.It is not hard to see whythis understandingof the discussion of pure whiteis also attractive. Afterall, Socrates does refer at the outset of his account to “so-called beautiful colors,” alongside shapes, smells, and sounds (51b3-7). On this view, Socrates is only now

at 52d3-53b7 offering his accountof colors that are beautiful kath’ hauta promised at 51b3-7. The cost of having Socrates return to finish off these examplesafter the intervening discussion of pure pleasuresof learning is partly compensated by our finding somewherein the text where he does indeed discuss color as well as 8 Cf. Cooper (1977, 723). ?° It is not easy to render the contrast: oligé/pollé here butit perhaps is meant to showthat a pleasure may be morepureevenif it less intense, less frequent, and less extensive than another.

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those other kinds of perceptible object. Furthermore, the later reference to such a patch of pure white as “most beautiful” (53b1), coupled with the thought that this example too seems to fit with his rather austere picture of those preferred perceptual objects, again invites the thought that we should use this example in order to understand Socrates’ account of beauty and perceptualpleasure.*° Mypreferenceis for the first of these options: it makes for a neaterflow of the argument and marksa strongerpoint oftransition at 52d2 where they turn from the classification of kinds of pleasure to focus more on the comparison between pleasures and knowledge. Nevertheless, it is certainly possible to think that in somesensea patch of pure color is analogousto the preferred lines and shapes of the earlier discussion and so we can supply if required a plausibly Socratic account to honor the promise at 51b3. In that case, the discussion of pure white can do double duty for Socrates: both explaining the logic of purity on which herelies and also pointing toward a further example of the kind of perceptual object which may cause pure pleasure. If complex figures can be understood as composed of and derivative from these simple shapes and lines, then so too various hues and combinations of hues can be understood as composed of and derivate of simple pure colors. But then we will also need to ask why Socrates has chosen whiteness in particular, besides a general association between white and purity. Why not say that a patch of impurered will give a misleading impressionof redness andwill fail to be as beautiful as pure red? The reasonable assumption is that he has in mind somenotionofthe color spectrum as analyzedinto various different combinations of white and black or, perhaps morespecifically, as various degrees offalling away from pure whiteness. The Timaeus includes at 67c-68d an account which makes white and black the fundamental determinants of color since they dilate and contract respectively the ray of sight. Other hues are generated by the shining of fire through different media and also then by the combination of various primary hues.*? Timaeusregisters various appropriate notes of caution about the precision and accuracyof his account,in particular when it comes to determining the exact proportions involved in the mixturesofdifferent colors (Tim. 68b6-8, c7-d7), but it is clear that he is committed to the view that colors are to be understoodin that general fashion. If a similar account can be assumed to underlie Socrates’ comments here in the Philebus then there could be a general understandingof colors that is in tune with the accountof shapes and soundsthat seems to have emerged. Socrates thinks of these classes of perceptible objects as analyzable into combinations or mixtures of simpler items of the same general kind andstates a preference for picking out the simplest of those items as being the most beautiful. °° To besure, he says at 53b5 that pure white is the most beautiful white and not that pure white is the mostbeautiful color. Butit is not too difficult to imagine him also thinking that white is the most beautiful color. 31 See Ierodiakonou (2005). Compare Aristotle De Sensu 3: 439b14-440b25 and Met. 1.2: 1053b28-34.

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3. Pure Perceptual Pleasures: Some General Observations It is possible to mark out different relationships of simplicity and complexity at variouslevels of analysis and to consider itemsat each level in terms of beauty and purity. For example, a melos may be pure, although it is itself an item composed out of simpler sounds, insofar as it is a simple example ofits kind. It is not a musical piece madeupofa variety of interwoven melodies. At Laws VII 812d-e, for example, the Athenian expresses a strong distaste for heterophonia and poikilia in music. It is agreed that a lyre will play a variety of sounds(here again phthoggoi) but the lyre and the singing it accompanies should not be producing distinct and independenttunes (mele) and all players should avoid over-elaboration of tempo and tune.*” The importantlesson to draw from these parallel texts is that musical productions are understood to be structurally complex items that are composed out of simpler items that are themselves structurally complex. A melos may be composedout ofdifferent mele: of the voice andthe lyre. And the melos ofa single instrument is in turn composed of sounds arranged in a certain way, both synchronically and diachronically. That is why Socrates can here in the Philebus describe a melos as “pure” (katharon: 51d7); there are pure melé, namely those that are the pure examples of that kind and do notdisplay the kind of poikilia about which the Athenian complains in the Laws. But nevertheless, in comparison with its component sounds even a pure melos is something poikilon. Those sounds, in turn, are themselves to be understood in terms of a set of structural harmonic inter-relations; individual notes in Greek music were identified through their relation to other notes in the scale; a particular note is described by the intervals between it and other notesin that scale.** The tools of the tornos or the kan6nthat Socrates mentions at 51c4-5 are just one way in which that measure can be imposed but we can also imagine how a person might carefully turn a peg on a lyre to generate the required tension to produce a particular single note and a number of pegs to generate a set of harmonious notes when the strings are plucked. Further, it is not the case that any particular amountof tension on a given string will producea fine tone: a good and beautiful sound will be produced

only whenthe right amountof measure andtensionis imposed.** Similarly, a depiction of an animal is an item that can be analyzed as a structurally complex whole whose constituent parts—lines, shapes, patches of color—are themselves structurally complex. In all these cases, Socrates expresses a strong preference for identifying the simplest items revealed by this method as the most beautiful and for describing these as being beautiful kath’ hauta. This 32 Cf. Castelnérac (2010, 142-3). > Harte (2002, 202): “Musicis atall levels parasitic on structure, constituted by the mathematically

expressible intervals which form the basis of the Greekscale.” *4 This is true even though Socrates raises concerns about the precision and accuracy ofpractical music-makingas a tekhné at 62cl-2.

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does not mean that these items cannot themselves be understood as displaying somedegreeofstructure such thatit is appropriate to talk of them having a kind of measure or symmetria and therefore the general account of beauty as a kind of structural property can remain intact. All such items, even the very simplest of shapes or single tones can themselvesbesaid to exhibit a certain kind of symmetria because even these most simple perceptible itemswill exhibit various internal relations. A sphere, for example, is a solid in which every point on the surfaceis equidistant from the center andthereis a certain kind of complexity and symmetria in that. But it is not the complexity involved in the form and movementof a

living organism,nor of a two-dimensional depiction of such a thing.*° Perhapsthe shape (skhéma)of a living human, for example,is best thought of as a combination of simple solid shapes. A humanis, so to speak, composedof a slightly deformed sphere—the head—ontopofa slightly deformed cylinder—the body—with various other imperfect solids attached to make the limbs and so on. A humanshapeis therefore inferior to one of these objects of pure pleasure in two ways. First, it is a complex of othersolids rather than a simple solid. And second, the solids which together compose the human shapeare not pure. The head, for example, is only imperfectly spherical. And therefore a living animal or a depiction ofit can be beautiful, but only in the way that a piece of music full ofpoikilia and heterophonia is beautiful. A melody or piece of music may be beautiful and display a kind of diachronic symmetria as can the cycle of the seasons or, indeed, a humanlife.

4. The Pure and True Pleasures of mathémata: 51e7-52b9 The point of the discussion of the pleasures of learning is relatively clear.** Socrates wants to offer a different example of pleasures that are pure in the sense that they are neither preceded by norfollowed by pain. Certainly it is not a necessary characteristic of enjoying the acquisition of a piece of knowledgethat the prior state be painful, nor is it a necessary consequence of the loss of some piece of knowledge through forgetting that the subsequent state be painful. Protarchusis right to insist that there may be cases in which forgetting is painful or prior ignoranceis painful, namely cases in which wereflect on the absence of knowledge (52a8-b1), but Socrates is able to insist that nevertheless there is nothing in the nature of these pleasures that requires them to be mixed with pain.

>> Compare Plotinus Enn. 1.6.1.21ff.: the Stoics say that beauty depends upona certain symmetria of parts. How,in that case, can the Stoics account for the beauty of a single sound (phthoggos) when, Plotinus maintains, “often each sound which is part of a beautiful whole is also beautiful itself” (1.6.1.34-6)? 36 Cf. Warren (2014, 23-8).

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Thissection, brief though itis, is worth a little more discussion becauseit builds on the earlier discussion of the nature of memory andforgetting (33d-34c) which was part of Socrates’ examination of the distinction between experiences that involve both the body andsoul and those that involve only one of the two. Some affections of the body fail to register in the soul while perception is a joint affection. In that same passage Socrates distinguished between memory (mnémeé)andrecollection (anamnésis): the formeris the “preservation of percep-

tion,” while the latter is the soul’s calling up a memory ora piece of knowledge; forgetting (Jéthé) is the opposite process to anamnésis.”’ Those two processes are analoguesfor the changesthat are involved in bodily pleasures: one is the comingto-be of a state of knowing while the otheris its passing-away. At 52a5, furthermore, the acquisition of knowledgeis described as a kind of “filling” which once again ties these pleasures to the general model of replenishmentthat Socrates has been working with for much of the dialogue. This may raise the question whether Socrates is assuming that the state of knowing is therefore somehow the soul’s naturalstate and that any deficiency in knowing is some kind oflack. Such a view would be compatible with the associated claim that such absences are not “by nature” painful if they are not the object of consciousreflection.** What this short passage in the Philebus lacks, of course, is any reference to particular objects of knowledge while the parallel discussion in the Republic makes much ofthe nature of the proper objects of intellectual pleasures, including the fact that these are indeed real and true andtherefore are responsible for real and true pleasures. This is perhapsin itself not such a surprise. There are all sorts of waysin which the underlying ontology of the Philebus maydiffer from the picture of the Formsandtheir various instances that dominates much of the Republic. However, the absenceof references to particular objects of knowledgeis surprising given that Socrates spendsa lot of time discussing his admittedly unorthodox view of the proper objects of pure perceptual pleasures and has apparently wished to draw a close connection between the truth, purity, and beauty of certain shapes, sounds, and colors and the nature of the perceptual pleasures to which they give rise. Thatis just the model of explanation that is familiar from the Republic, now translated to give a more positive appraisal of certain perceptual pleasures. Although here in the Philebus Socrates is also happy to refer to these pleasures °” Fora discussion ofthis passage, see Harte (2014a).

8 Fletcher (2014, 125): “Socrates does not describe anyofthe processes associated with memory (its initial formation, the process of forgetting, or the later recollection of what wasforgotten)asa filling, emptying, or any other type of process or motion, although this language is very common in the descriptions of other psychological states, such as sense perception and bodily pleasure or pain.” Thereference at 52a5 is therefore a problem for this claim.Fletcher takes this to be an explicit allusion to the model ofintellectual pleasures in the Republic which Socrates here rejects: (127) “Thus, this

passage serves as a warning to those readers who are tempted to assimilate the pleasures of learning described in this passage with the account of the pleasures of learning in the Republic.” I find this account implausible. For my discussion ofthe intellectual pleasures in the Republic andtheir relationship to this part of the Philebus, see Warren (2014, 23-50).

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of learning as both unmixed, hence pure (52a6) and true (52b4), hehaslittle else

to say about these mathémata and certainly does not specify any particular subject-matter or particular objects of the knowledge concerned. He does comment, moreor less in passing, that these unmixed pleasures of learning will be experienced only by a few (52b6-8), so we should presumably not imagine that he has in mind mundaneoccasions of acquiring a piece of information; this much tallies with his preference for more exclusive perceptual pleasures.*’ But that is moreorless the only help weare given. Indeed, outside ofthese lines and a passing reference in the earlier accountof forgetting at 34b11, there is only one further use of the term mathémain this dialogue: 55d2. There weare told that there are two kinds of ta mathémata epistémés: one is productive (démiourgikon) and the other is concerned with education (paideia) and nurture (trophé).*° Since that is part of

the opening of the dialogue’s analysis of the various kinds of understanding and knowledge (nous and epistémé, 55c5) then we can perhapsexplain Socrates’ lack of detail at 52a-b. A full understanding ofthe pleasures of learning will need to take into accountthe division of kinds of knowledgeandthatis the topic ofa later part of the dialogue.

3° Cf. D. Frede (1997, 301-2); Delcomminette (2006, 470). 4° See Carpenter (2015, 183-95).

12 The Final Attack on Hedonism Philebus 53c-55c Spyridon Rangos

1. Introduction Ever since antiquity the Philebus has been notorious for the sudden and abrupt turns of the discussion. Galen (De libris propriis 46.18-19 Kuhn) even reports to have authored a treatise, now lost, On the transitions in the Philebus. The conclusion of the exploration of pleasure (53c4-55c3) presents us with such an abrupt but skillfully highlighted and rhetorically successful turn. It is neither “a semi-independent discussion of a ‘dialectical’ character in the Aristotelian sense”, nor a kind of “appendix” (Hackforth 1972, 105) or free-standing piece that Plato “was unwilling to abandon [...], so in desperation insertedit badly at this point” (Gosling 1975, 200). Rather, it consists of two new arguments, entertained in all earnestness by Socrates, that give lethal blows to the claims of the hedonists and thus successfully bring to an endthecritique ofpleasure that began at 31b. Thefirst and longer of these arguments (53c4—55a11) is conspicuously technical and merits, on Plato’s literary indication, the reader’s careful attention; the second (55a12-c3), less demandinginitself, has the form of a cumulative reductio

that appeals to commonsense and the popular morality of contemporary Greeks. From both a philosophical and a rhetorical perspective the conclusion of the exploration of pleasure is an artistically crafted jewel that bypasses the earlier technical distinctions among kinds of pleasure. The only pleasures that areleft untouchedbythis culminating critique are the pure pleasures of the immediately preceding section (50e3-53c3)—orso is the contention argued for in the present chapter. To see this we need to bear in mind that, without explicitly stating so, Socratessilently but allusively operates here with a largely somatic conception of

Note: I would like to thank the editors for their hard work in preparation of the present volume. Russell Jones has sent me somevery perceptive suggestions on anearlier draft of this chapter, for which I am very grateful. I wouldalso like to express my gratitude to Panos Dimasfor inviting me to a conference on the Philebus (Spetses, September 1-4, 2015), where someofthe ideasof this chapter werefirst tested in public, and to thank the participants of this conference, especially Paolo Crivelli, Mary Louise Gill, and Verity Harte, for their most helpful comments and pertinent objections. Needless to add, responsibility for the views and arguments contained here is mine alone. Spyridon Rangos, The Final Attack on Hedonism: Philebus 53c-55c. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0012

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pleasure, ie., the one we customarily associate with the term. In the technical argument, his general point is that the hedonist confuses the means with the end and assumes, without realizing so, that the means can ever beself-sufficient and perfect, and therefore something goodinitself. By juxtaposing processes (geneseis) to states (ousiai) and coming-into-being (genesis) to passing-away (phthora) and by making the two pairs sound almost synonymousthrough the manipulation of an ambiguity in the word‘genesis, Socrates showsthata life aiming at pleasure as the good is the mostfoolish kind oflife. A similar claim is made in the common-sense argument by meansof an adroit employment of widespread Greek beliefs about human excellence and the goodlife. The section of the dialogue that concludes the exploration of pleasure is not an appendix but a climax.

2. The Technical Argument (53c4-55a1 1) 2.1 Overview Oncethe section about pure pleasures is concluded, Socrates makesit clear that he is going to make a new point. He asks: “What about the following point?” and proceeds to report that some refined and smart men (xopisoi tives)’ claim that pleasure is always a becoming (genesis), never a being (ousia) (53c4-7).

' In the Platonic dialogues the adjective xoyxsds andrelated words(such asthe substantive xoppeia, Phaed.101c, and the verb xopipeveoOa1, Lach. 197d, Crat. 400b, Phaedr. 227c) are used to characterize arguments, doctrines, methodologies, attitudes and, most importantly, persons. The xoppoi are contrasted with the non-experts (Crat. 405d; cf. Gorg. 493a; Rep. 405d, 408b), the less successful professionals (Rep. 495d)orless perceptive colleagues (Rep. 568c), the uncultivated thinkers (Theaet. 156a), and the vulgar mob (Hip. major 288d). The word conveysthe sense ofcivilized smartness but also connotes some uncertainty about the truth or wisdom of the views expressed thereby(cf. Pol. 285a).

Theclosest parallel to the use of the adjective xoppds in the Philebusis to be found in Republic VI, 505b where Socrates says that “the good seems to the manyto be pleasure but to the more refined people understanding” (rots prev toAdois dor) Soxe? 76 dyabdy civat, Tois Sé Kopiporepors ppdvnow). For the identity of those smart men mentioned in the Philebus various candidates have been proposed in modern scholarship, some more probable than others: Aristippus and the Cyrenaic school (Tredenlenburg 1837, n. 19; Stallbaum 1842, 305-6; Poste 1890, 100; Bury 1897, 122; Diés 1941, LXII-LXX), Heracliteans and Protagoreans (Badham 1855, 74 = Badham 1878, 94), Atomists (Peipers, reported by

Bury 1897, 122), Euclid and the Megarian school (Reinhardt, reported by Bury 1897, 122; Mauersberger, reported by Diés 1941, LXVII; Goldschmidt, reported by Pradeau 2002, 324, n. 1), Speusippus and the anti-hedonist party of the Academy (Taylor [1949] 1963, 427; Hackforth 1972, 106), and even Plato himself (D. Frede 1993, 63). Unless we are prepared to admit, against any sign of the text in that direction, that Socrates derives from the claim of somebodyorotherthe very opposite conclusion to that for which the claim wasoriginally made(in which case the 54Aov yap dr: etc. at 54d6 will be construed as Socrates’ own corollary), Socrates’ presumed gratitude to those clever andcultivated men excludes from the list of probable candidates Aristippus, the Cyrenaics and, more generally, all kinds of hedonists, including atomists such as Democritus. In anycase, Plato seems to have been much moreinterested in the claim that pleasure is a process, and in the sophisticated argumentbased on thatclaim, than in the identity of those whofirst propoundedthe claim anddevised the argumentbased onit. That is probably whyhehasSocrates alternate the plural and singular tenses when herefers to the propoundersof that doctrine (53c6-7; 54d4-7, e1-2). Aristotle cites the argument of the cultivated men twice in his

Nicomachean Ethics (VII, 11, 1152b12-15, 22-3; X, 3, 1173a29-31) but he does so anonymouslyas a reputed opinion worthyofrefutation.

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Protarchus does not quite understand the point of the claim, and Socrates (d3-4) introduces a distinction betweenself-sufficient things (adr xa’ airé) and things desiring others (dei égiguevov GAAov). Protarchus is perplexed (d5). Socrates then (d6-7) rephrases the same distinction by speaking of things naturally possessing supremedignity (cenvdétarov det wepuxés) and things inferior to them (éAXu7és éxeivov). Protarchus asks him to speak in plainer terms (d8). Socrates uses the example of handsomeand noble beloved boys? vis-a-vis their courageous lovers (d9-10), and asks Protarchus to extrapolate from this example to a universal distinction (xara 7av0’ doa A€éyopev eivar) between two classes ofthings that stand to each other as (éo1xd7a) lovers stand to beloved boys (d12-e1). Not being ableto

realize the pointof the illustration Protarchus asks for the third time Socrates to make his point clear (e2-3): “Do I have to repeat my request for the third time? Please express moreclearly whatit is you want to say, Socrates.”’ Socrates then speaks more plainly about means(évexé rov) and ends (06 yép.v), and Protarchus finally understands the distinction (e4-8). Through this accentuated inability of Protarchus to grasp Socrates’ fresh point, Plato clearly indicates not only that a new argument against pleasure is going to be exposed but also that this new argument will make use of a brand new terminology that deserves the reader’s attention.* If Plato regarded the argumentas merely dialectical no such sophisticated introduction would be required. In a nutshell, this new argument is adequately grasped by Damascius in his surviving Commentary on the Philebus ($214: see Van Riel 2008, 70; Westerink [1959] 2010: 99): “The syllogism that pleasure is not the Good runsas follows:

pleasure is genesis; genesis is a means to an end; a meansto an endis different from the end; the end is the Good; therefore, pleasure is different from the Good” (Westerink’s translation).

Although the technical argument aboutpleasure is not to be found anywhere else in the Platonic corpus, the claim that pleasure is a becoming or, better, a process—forthis is apparently meantby genesis in the present context—reappears in Republic IX (583e9-10) where the pleasant (to hédu) and the painful (to lupéron)are said to be some kind of movement(kinésis tis). That the terms genesis

and kinésis are meant, in their respective contexts, to be roughly synonymousis clear both from Aristotle’s testimony (who combines the two terms’) and from what is made out of the claim (implicitly in the Republic, explicitly in the Philebus), that pleasure is a process, namely the consequence that the best kind oflife is one that is as much free from the disturbing movements of pleasure and ? [Taidixd. in Greek, though grammatically plural, normally refers to a singular beloved youth.If more are meant the sameform is used. 3 All translations of the Philebus stem from D. Frede (1993).

* Cf. Carpenter (2011: 74-5). 5 NE X, 3, 1173a29-31: rédetdv re réyabov riBévres, Tas Sé Kiioeis Kai Tas yevéoes dredeis, THY HOoviy Kivnow Kal yéveaw amogaive Tmepmvrat.

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pain, and as serene or quiet—hésuchia is the term used no less than six times in Rep. 583c6-584a10—as is humanly possible. Nevertheless, although kinésis and genesis as applied to pleasures in the Republic and the Philebus, respectively, are roughly synonymousterms, there arestill internal reasons, both rhetorical and philosophical, for which Plato prefers genesis to kinésis in the late Philebus. We shall see them in due course.

2.2 The “process vs. state” and “meansvs. end”distinctions Thedistinction between genesis and ousia in this section of the Philebus is not the metaphysically loaded opposition between sensible particulars and intelligible Formsthat we find in middle-period dialogues; noris it the related cosmological opposition between the temporal world of becoming, never fully identical with itself, and the truly eternal realm of selfsame Being that wefind in the late Timaeus (27d-28a, 29c). Genesis and ousia are the abstract nounsof gignesthai and einai, respectively, and should be understood in their verbal sense. Their juxtaposition conveys the distinction between a process leading to some end andtheendresult itself considered as a state. Although the terminology which Socrates uses at 53d3-7 (76 pev adro Kal’ adrd/76 dé epieuevov GAXov, TO bev ceuvdtarov del mepuros/To 8’ éAduTés éxeivov) might mislead one to think that it is Forms and

sensibles that are at stake here, the immediately followingillustration of lovers and beloved(s), as well as the example ofthe ship-building process and its end product, ie., the ship itself, which Protarchususes to Socrates’ satisfaction (54b1-5), clearly indicate that a different kind ofrelationship is meant than that between intelligible Formsandsensible particulars or essences and their instantiations. The relationship which Socrates has in mind is an asymmetrical hierarchy of things in our immediate experience,i-e., in the domain of temporality, a hierarchy put forward without any appeal to eternal essences or Forms. Aristotle’s example of the process of house-building vis-a-vis the accomplished house as end result (NE VII, 1152b12-15), is strictly similar to Protarchus’ illustration of ship-building and ship (54b1-4). In both cases we are meant to understand that the whole process of

building something orother is for the sake of the productto be built; for, once the productis achieved, the process comesto an end. Objects like houses and ships are here called ousiai and processeslike building and ship-building are called geneseis not because the former are imperishable and the latter perishable entities but because the former stand on their own after the termination of the latter and becauseit is in the nature of a process to aim at something otherthan itself, the accomplishment of which will necessarily mean the end ofitself as process. Moreover, the very meaning and value of a process depend on its end result. A personignorant ofwhat a house functionally and materially is cannot build one; nor can s/he, once exposed to a process of house-building, understand the process

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as what it is, ie, a complex but structured use of components, tools, and subsidiary materials for the sake of a well-determined end which is the house to be built. Socrates begins his technical argument by employing the conceptual polarity of ‘becoming’ and‘being’ (53c5) which Protarchusfindsdifficult to understand. Socrates uses the same termslater at 54a5. In the meantime he mobilizes three other conceptual polarities and one example. Thefirst polarity, a descriptive one, is between self-sufficient things (at76 xa’ ad7é) and things desiring others (76 8’ det épiewevov GAXov), ie., dependent things (53d3-4). The secondpolarity,

an evaluative one, is between supremely dignified things (ceuvdtarov dei mepuxés) and things deficient in dignity (76 5’ eddies exeivov) (53d6-7).

Heclearly means the members of the two polarities to correspond to each other: self-sufficient things are supremely dignified, and dependent things are things deficient in dignity. The example used immediately afterwards is meant to clarify these two pairs: handsomeandnoble beloved boys(waidixd add Kai ayaba) are self-sufficient and supremely dignified things; courageous lovers (épaorai évdpetor) are dependent things, inferior in dignity. The doctrine of eros in the Symposium and the Phaedrus helps us understand whatSocrates has in mind. In those dialogues Plato appeals to the theory of Forms and to the Form of Beauty in particular (Symp. 210e-211b; Phaedr. 250b-d). But behind that characteristically Platonic reference to the Form of Beauty we can detect the classical Greek conception of erotic love as an asymmetrical relationship between the desiring, and hence deficient, lover and the desired, and hence perfect, young beloved. Burnt by his passion the lover tries a whole lot of things for the sake of seducing the beloved, things he would never attempt were he in a soundstate of mind (Symp. 182d-183c; Phaedr. 245b), while the object of his love standsstill in an aloofself-sufficiency resembling the enviable bliss of the gods (cf. Phaedr. 251a). The eros of a lover, if understood in a properly Platonic sense, derives whatever meaning and dignity it may have from its object. Eros is not a self-sufficient and self-referential end since love is not love of love but an ardent pursuit of its object: eros is a process to the end of conquering the beloved’s beauty and of attaining thus happiness (Symp. 204d-205d). According to standard Platonic theory, once the beloved personis erotically conquered, the desire of the lover comes, provisionally or permanently, to an end. Socrates asks Protarchus to deduce from the example of lovers and beloved a universally valid generalization which Protarchus is unable to accomplish. Socrates’ introduction of the conceptual polarity of means and ends (53e5-7) is the third opposition used in this section of the dialogue. Its members are meant to correspond, oneto one, to the membersofthe other two polarities. Self-sufficient and supremely dignified things are ends; dependent and deficient things, inferior in dignity, are means. And nowthe question arises: Is the means-endsdistinction,

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with which Socrates accomplishes the task ofclarifying what he had in mind when he used the “dependent vs. self-sufficient things” distinction, one and the same with, or partially different from, the process-state distinction with which our section began?® Atfirst sight it would seem that the means-enddistinctionis strictly parallel to the process-state contrariety. But when Socrates reintroduces the process-state opposition, after the establishment of the means-endsdistinction, he says “let’s take another pair” (54a3). What does he mean by “another”? Is the difference a purely verbal oneoris it substantial? The means-endsdistinction is intensionally different from, and extensionally larger than, the process-state opposition. Although all processes are means, all means need not be processes. As Socrates is well aware (54c1-4), some things such as ingredients, tools, and materials are necessary meansfor processes to get started, evolve, and be accomplished but they are not themselves processes; and loversare, strictly speaking, neither processes nor meansbut only dependent anddeficient things. Although all states are in a certain sense ends, all ends need notbestates. Health, for instance, one might think, is an end withoutbeing,strictly speaking, a state for that matter. It follows that the technical distinction laid down at 53e4-7 between (i) things that are always for the sake of something else (€vexd rou), and(ii) things for the sake of

which (od yap.) whatever becomes always becomesis not, strictly speaking, identical with the distinction between (i) becoming (genesis) and (ii) being (ousia) as used in the present context (53c5, 54a5-6).”

2.3 Pleasure and the good Having already shown that all processes are meansand all means dependfortheir being on therelevant end-states, Socrates goes on (54c9-d2) to place all end-states

in the domain of the good (év 77 70d dyaGod potpa) and all means-processes in another, unspecified, domain (eis dAAnv potpav), presumably opposite to that of the good.Socrates does not say that the domain of the means-processes is the domain of the bad. His point is not that means-processes are bad but that they are not in themselves the good since they are dependentfor their being on the respective end-states by virtue and for the sake of which they are what they are. The earlier referenceto the three distinct traits ofthe goodis of relevance here. At 20d and 22b the good was said to possess the properties of perfection or completeness (teleon), © I owethepresentquestion and the elaboration contained in the following paragraphto objections raised by Paolo Crivelli and Verity Harte in the oral presentation of this section of the dialogue. ” We mayperhaps add as an aside that if old Plato borrowed the of évexa-évexd tov (54c9) distinction from young Aristotle, as he may well have done given the universally accepted late date of the Philebus, he used it as a conceptual tool for the elucidation of his own genesis—ousia distinction which he considered to be metaphysically primary.

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sufficiency (hikanon), and universal desirability (pasin haireton). If processes are not the good this is because they are not perfect, self-sufficient, and desirable in themselves. They mayofcoursebe desirable by virtue of the goodnessof the goal to which they tend, which maybedesirablein itself. But they are neither perfect nor sufficient, nor even desirable, in themselves. Socrates’ point is that pleasures as processes lack intrinsic value. Whatever worth they may possess derives from the ends which they are meant to accomplish. As Socrates proceeds it becomes clear that corporeal pleasures such as eating and drinking provide the locus par excellence of all pleasures (cf. 54e4). If pleasures are processes, then whoevervalues pleasure for its own sake values a process above the end-state to which it leads. Earlier in the dialogue (31b-32b)

Socrates placed the natural generation (genesis) of pleasure in the mixed kind of his fourfold division ofall things. Although Socrates thinks that pleasure as such belongs to the domain ofthe unlimited kind (31a),he still thinks that the natural coming-into-being (yiyveoOa xara pow) of pleasures and painsarises in organ-

isms which are themselves particular and well-defined mixtures of unlimitedness and limit. Socrates says (31d) that the disintegration caused whenever the harmonyofa living creature is disrupted produces pain. Inversely, when “harmonyis regained and the formernaturerestored, we have to say that pleasure comes into being” (4Sov7v yiyvecGax).® What Socrates indicates by means of the distinction between the kind to which pleasures per se belong and the kind in which they naturally comeinto being is that the quantitative indeterminacy ofpleasuresis the outcomeof their separability from the natural equilibrium of a body’s normal functioning and of their correspondingliability to admit the more andtheless rather indefinitely. In the terminology of the section we are discussing in this chapter, to see pleasure as the good is to approachit asif it were cut off from the goodendit serves(i.e., the restoration of natural balance) which aloneis the cause

of its natural generation. In a certain sense, the entire exploration of pleasure in the Philebus (31a-55c) comesfull circle. At the beginning, Socrates put forward as his own the view that pleasure comes about with a process of restoration. At the end he mentioned with approval the claim of some “refined men” whosaid that pleasure is always a means-process, never an end-state. The two ideas, though notidentical, point in the samedirection:to fully understand pleasure as whatit is by natureis to see it in relation to the goodend,i.e., the balanced state, which it by nature aimsat serving. Whatis new in 53c-55a is the explicitness of the means-end distinction and the claim that pleasureis, rather than comes aboutfrom,a processof restoration. But Socrates’ earlier distinction between the kind to which pleasure as such belongs and the kind in which it arises by nature comes very close to the means-end ® T have changed D.Frede’s (1993) “arises” to indicate the use of the genesis terminology in this section too.

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distinction. And the view that pleasure is a process is not very far away from the claim that pleasure arises when someprocess of restoration is underway. The use of many expressions signifying movement in 31d-32bcertainly imply quite a lot about the nature of pleasure or (which comes to the same) about pleasure in its natural function: dziovons (31d9), eis radTOv dmidvtwy (32a7), 7) KaTa Piaww 66ds (32a8), tiv eis THY adtadv ovciwv 6ddv (32b3), tadryHv Sé TAA THY avaxwpynow

(32b4). What is more, the terminology employed in that part of the dialogue remindsus of the genesis—ousia opposition that we find in oursection. Socrates subsumes the generation of pleasure and pain (77s yevéoews adtav mépx) to the balanced state which he repeatedly calls phusis (35d5, d8; 32a2, a3, a6, a8; cf. 31c3) and once,significantly enough,also ousia (32b3). The words phusis and ousia (cf. Arist. NE VII, 11, 1152b12-15) are meant to convey the natural state of an animal’s life in which the opposite processes of pleasure and pain have temporarily ceased to obtain as the organism operates in functionally perfect balance. This functionally perfect balance is called ousia not in any metaphysically loaded mannerbut as an indication of the radically different nature of the pleasureless and painless neutral state from the opposites of pleasure and pain themselves. The example of health, already used in our dialogue (25e7-8) and present in the background throughout the analysis of pleasure, might help us understand the difference between a state and a process, as Socrates understands the terms genesis and ousia in the present context. A disease is the departure from an organism’s functionally perfect state, and healing is the return to that state. Both the developmentof a disease and the healing of it are processes. But health, one might think in accordance with what Socrates has claimed in other dialogues (Symp. 207d-e; cf. Theaet. 153b-d), is also a process. True,health is a process in the sense that a healthy organism is healthy only to the extent, and insofaras,it manages to maintain its functionally perfect condition by means of the proper operation ofall of its organs and constituent parts, the operation being, in each case, a process (heart’s beating, proper movement of hands andlegs, adequate focusing of eyes, etc.). But such functionally perfect balance as health is stable. The temperature of a healthy animal such as man, for instance, is 36.8°C. By contrast, a disease is a process of deterioration, and healing a process of improvement,each step of whichis different from the previous and the next one. Therefore, the sense in which one might think that health, no less than the developmentof a disease or the treatmentofit, is a process is different from the sense in which health, as opposedto the processes offalling ill or recovering from an illness, is a state. Health is the stable sum total of the functionally perfect processesof a living body, whereas diseases are destabilizing processes of deterioration of someorall of those processes. To comeback to our section: Socrates believes that whoever regards processes such as eating and drinking as good in themselves will lead a life in which the meanswill take precedence overthe end. Such a person wouldfind life unbearable

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withoutthe deficiencies of hunger andthirst upon which the relevant pleasures of eating and drinking hang (54e4-55a1). Now,Socrates goes on, since pleasure is described as a coming-into-being or generation(genesis) andsince the contrary of coming-into-being (gignesthai) is passing-away (phtheiresthai), such a personwill prefer a life of alternate comings-into-being (or generations) and passings-away (or destructions) to the neutral life in which thinking can function in the purest

possible way, undisturbedasit will then be from the processes of both pleasure and pain (55a2-8). Protarchus concludes the argument by emphasizing the irrationality of such a choice oflife (55a9-11).

It is not without rhetorical skill that Plato has Socrates speak here of destruction (phthora) and generation (genesis). Both the choice of words and their order are

significant. Plato wants to indicate that a life devoted to pleasureis life oflittle everyday deaths andrebirths,a life of constant turmoil andagitation, rather than tranquility and rest, in which pain must necessarily precede and follow pleasure. Obviously, neither Socrates nor Protarchus, who comesreadily to agree with him, would think that pleasures and pains can be completely eradicated from ourlives. Ourbodies need food and drink to sustain themselves, and sustenance implies the pleasurable processes of eating and drinking which are necessarily preceded by the painful, if mild, processes of hunger andthirst. The point on which Socrates and Protarchus agree is a point about whatin life is choice-worthy for its own sake, given the humancondition as we knowit. Eating and drinking are necessities of our corporeal nature. Plato does not mean to altogether deprive the natural pleasures and pains that accompany our sentient bodies of their value. But he believes their value to be purely extrinsic and instrumental. The grave mistake of the hedonist is that he confuses the means with the end and prefers the pleasurable processes of replenishmentandrestoration to the functionally perfect equilibrium itself. The neutral state, already mentioned with approval at an earlier stage of the discussion (32e-33b; cf. 43c-e) and envisaged here (55a6-8)as the optimum for the

operationoftheintellect, seems to be the best approximationto the pleasureless and painless intellectual bliss of the gods that is available to human nature. Divine rest can only be approximated or imitated, never fully achieved. However, Socrates’ message seems optimistic. A clear understanding of the operation of pleasure indicates that it is a process necessarily mixed with the opposite process of pain. The complete elimination of those processes while oneisstill in the embodied state is altogether impossible. “We necessarily are always experiencing one or the other [ie., pleasure or pain], as the wise men say. For everything is in an eternal flux, upward and downward” (43a). But the restriction of pleasures and pains to their propernatural functionis a feasible possibility since it is up to us to see pleasure for what it is, namely a process of restoration of the neutral state, and to rank it accordingly, in our scale of values, as a means to the end of the neutral state in which contemplation can function in the purest possible manner. This, I suppose,is

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the best a humanbeing can doto imitate divinelife as far as is humanly possible. The ideal of godlikeness, never fully abandoned in our dialogue, lurks in the backgroundof Socrates’ technical argumentagainst pleasure as a process.

2.4 genesis vs. ousia, genesis vs. phthora I said earlier that genesis as used in our section of the Philebus and kinésis as used in Republic [X—andearlier in our dialogue (51d1); see Appendix—are roughly synonymousterms. This claim now needsqualification. At the beginning of the technical argument (53c5), genesis is opposed to ousia. To that very extent it may be taken to be synonymouswith kinésis as used in Republic IX. But at the end of the argument(55a2-5), genesis is opposed to phthora whichis also, if implicitly, meantto be a processsince it is associated with pain, earlier (32b2-3) said to be the destruction of the natural neutral state and I suppose, in line with actual experience, that such a destruction was not meant to happen instantaneously. Therefore Plato makes use of two meanings of genesis, a broader and a more restricted one. The broader meaning passes the test of the claim that genesis as used here and kinésis as used in Republic IX are roughly synonymoustermssince they both mean processes as opposed to states. The more restricted meaning of genesis, however, i.e., “generation” or “birth” as opposed to “destruction” or “death,” is a subclass of kinésis as used in the Republic rather than a synonym for it. Genesis in the more restricted sense is neither becoming quite generally as opposedto being nor process as opposedtostate.It is just one kind of becoming, namely coming-into-being in its opposition to passing-away. And it is meant to have the samereference, though not the same meaning, as the earlier (31¢8, 34d-36b) plérdsis, replenishment, in its opposition to kendsis, emptying, as the examples of eating and drinking clearlyillustrate. Although Plato could use kinésis for the broader sense andretain genesis for the morerestricted meaning (as Aristotle standardly does) he did not chooseto do so; nor did he makethe distinction explicit. Besides the rhetorical reasons mentioned earlier, we mayalso detect a literary motive with significant philosophical repercussions that may have led Plato to use the same word genesis in two clearly distinct meaningsat the conclusion of the whole section about pleasure: he wanted the attentive listener or reader of the dialogue now to recall the metaphysical section ofthe Philebus where the contrast ofgenesis and ousia was mobilizedin the context of the fourfold division of things (indeterminate/unlimited, determinant/ limit, mixture, and cause of mixture). Let us review the main points of that theory before we pass onto its relevance to our section. The domain of the unlimited, Socrates explains (24a-25a), is the domain of the

moreandtheless,i-e., the domain ofall those variable continua, such as the hotter and the colder, the drier and the moister, the faster and the slower, in whichit is

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always possible to have moreorless of any given quantity. After a few explanatory remarks about the limit and its essential relation to number and numerical proportion (25a6-b4, 25d11-e2), Socrates goes on to explain what he means by “mixture.” As the examples of health, harmonious and rhythmic music, and nice weather indicate (25e-26b; cf. 31c), Socrates places in the class of mixture not

just every and any chance combination of an essentially unlimited substratum with a particular limit-determination but only those combinations which are considered to be functionally and aesthetically perfect (60a xaAd mévra, 26b1; mayKaAa, 26b6).? It is those very mixtures that give us, he seems to imply, the criteria for judging all other less-than-perfect combinations as what theyare, namely failures. And it is from those perfect mixtures, he also seems to imply, that we can extract the appropriate numerical proportions or limits that are applicable to the opposites of the more and theless in each category of things. For this third class of mixtures, and for this alone, Socrates now and again uses the vocabulary of genesis (25e4, 26d8, 27b9). The classes of the unlimited and of the limit are principles of things, and the class of the mixtures is their offspring (ekgonon, 26d8). Each mixture is called, if an awkward but not pleonastic translation be allowed, a “coming-to-be-into-being” (genesis eis ousian, 26d8), and also “mixed and generated being” (uecx7nv Kai yeyevnpevynv odaiav, 27b8-9).

Socrates uses those expressions not only to highlight the derivative nature of mixtures from the other two classes of things, but also in order to show that mixtures such as health and nice weather are dynamic equilibria between essentially opposite forces. The fact that the generation of mixtures is eis ousian and that, though generated, mixtures are called ousiai nonetheless shows that they are determinate and well-defined end-states, which is the reason why they are perfect. Socrates proposesthis fourfold division ofall things in order to elucidate the nature of pleasure and knowledge. Heplaces pleasure and pain in the class of

° Fora different interpretation of the relevant passage, according to which theclass of mixture is meant to contain any and every chance combination of an unlimited substratum with a limit determinant and not just those combinations which are functionally and aesthetically perfect, see Mary Louise Gill’s contribution in the present volume (Chapter 5). Cooper ([1977] 1999, 150-5)

defends the opposite view to which I subscribe. There are several reasons why I think Plato means all “mixed and generatedbeings” to be functionally and aesthetically perfect. I can only enumerate here the textual evidence for my holding this view: (i) the examples employed are all of perfect things (25e-26b, 31¢), (ii) all limits are numerical ratios that are said to make the things to which they apply “commensurate and concordant” (ovpperpa S€é kai odupwyva) (25d-e), (iii) law and order (vépov Kai tag) are explicitly said to possess limit (7¢pas) and are,noless explicitly, contrasted to pleasures and fillings that possess no limit (26b), (iv) if the divine intellect as cause is responsible for mixtures

(28c-30e) it would be strange, andindeed contradictory,to think that it mixes indefinite continua with anything but due ratios, (v) the implied correspondence between the measured account (pe7pios 6 Aédyos) of pleasure andpain,on the one hand,and the beingto which it applies, on the other, described as 76 €x Tis dmretpou Kai mépatos Kata piaepipuxov yeyovds €ldos,i.e., as a measured kindby nature, will, on the opposite interpretation, be missed (32a-b; cf. 52c).

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the unlimited, since they admit of the more and the less and are quantitatively indeterminate in themselves, and knowledgeor wise intelligence in the class of the cause of mixture (27e-28a, 30c-31a). If we now return to our section where

Socrates proposes with approval the distinction between processes and endstates and calls pleasures processes rather than end-states, we can see that his main pointis that pleasures derive whatever value they may have from the endstates to which they conduce: in themselves they are valueless and indeterminate. The end-states, by contrast, are determinate and well-defined mixtures, in the technical sense of the word, i.e., functionally perfect and balancedstates of opposites such as health. Socrates’ immediate and apparent aim is to deprive pleasures ofall intrinsic value. If pleasures are processes they are not indeed good in themselves. But if the reader recalls the earlier metaphysical part of the dialogue and brings it to bear on the present section s/he will realize that, to the class of the unlimited though they belong and processes though theyare, pleasures maystill be geneseis eis ousian, “comings-to-be-into-being”: if appropriately measured andrestricted by meansofthe exercise of the limit-imposing intelligence, many pleasures, and not just the pure and true ones, may after all turn out to be good. Those measured and limited pleasures will indeed be processes that restore the organism to which they belong to its properly balanced state, as the description of the natural generation of pleasure at 32a8-b4 stipulates. And that is why not only pure pleasures but also the necessary but impure pleasures of maintaining a healthy constitution are admitted, when properly measured, in the best kind of life in the last part of the dialogue (63e).

2.5 Are pure pleasures included in Socrates’ critique? It remains for us to see whether the general critique of pleasure in 53c-55a includes those pleasures that were, in the immediately preceding part of the dialogue (51b-53c), deemed pure and true. We have already seen a reason why this must not be so. Socratesin this section operates with an everyday conception of largely somatic pleasures which apparently does not embrace the very refined pleasures of contemplating simple geometrical figures or unmixed colors, of listening to well-pitched monotonous sounds and of unexpectedly smelling jasmine or lemon blooms. Moreover, in his final ranking of the ingredients of the mixed life Socrates includes pure pleasures (66c). But in order to determine the issue in a more rigorous way we musttake sides on the thorny issue about the nature of pure pleasures. To the view that pure pleasures are not included in Socrates’ technical argument against pleasure one may object that since the description of the natural generation of pleasure as the restoration of a deficiency applies no less to pure

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than to mixed pleasures this cannot be so.’° The objector will of course admit that in the case of purepleasures thedeficiency is notfelt. But s/hewill insist that there is a deficiency there nonetheless. The pure pleasures are explicitly said to come from replenishmentsthatarefelt by the person who experiences them (ras 7Anpwoes aicOnras, 51b). But whether or not they too presupposean unfelt deficiency or lack, as the other pleasures do,is a matterof debate. I tend to believe that pure pleasures do not presuppose, nor are they based on, deficiency or lack of any sort as the other pleasures do. Hence I would translate, and correspondinglyinterpret, the controversial passage 51b5-7 (kai doa Tas évdeias dvarobjrous exovra Kai dAdvTous Tas TAnPwoes aisOyTas Kal jdetas [kabapas Au@a@v secl. Badham 1878] zapadiSwouv) not as Frede’ or even

Hackforth”? translate it but rather as follows: “and in general the pleasures about the things which, though their absence is imperceptible and painless, provide perceptible andpleasant fulfillments.” In other words,I take évdeias to be the name of absences rather than lacks or wants, and wAnpwoes the nameoffreely given presences,like unexpected presents, not preceded by corresponding deficiencies. The vocabulary Socrates uses here is, I admit, the sameas that used in the previous cases ofpleasure. But the meaningis, I think, diametrically opposed. This comes out in higher relief when Socrates introduces the intellectual kind of pure pleasures (51e7-52a3). Thereheis explicit in distinguishingthe deficiencyitself (called weivy metaphorically) from the painful awarenessof that deficiency (called dAynddves), and affirms not only that one’s state prior to the acquisition of knowledge lacks awarenessof presentdeficiency butalso that it lacks the deficiency itself. I therefore concludethat the kendsis—pléerdsis model on whichthe natural generation of pleasure is based does not obtain in the exceptional case of pure pleasures. AsSocrateslater explains (51c6-d1), pure pleasuresare utterly dissimilar to the commonlot of mixed pleasures, which are all motions (xai twas 7Sovds oiketas éxewv, odd€v tails THY Kwicewv mpoogepets), because the things which provide

those pleasures are, by their own nature, always beautiful in themselves (dei Kadd Kal’ adra wepuxévat), rather than beautiful in a relative sense (raira yap

ovK eivat mpds Tt KaAa Aéyw). Here pure pleasures are explicitly said not to be movements, according to the manuscripts’ unanimous reading. (The term xvjaewr, to be found in all modern editions and translations of the dialogue, is an unnecessary emendation proposed by van Heusde’?—see Appendix) Since we have seen that the first use of genesis in the technical argument of our section is 1° This is the opinion of D. Frede (1992, 440, 444, 452-6; 1993, liii, n. 1; 60, n. 2; cf. [1985] 1999, 356) and of James Warrenin the present volume (Chapter11). Fletcher (2014, 133-5) defends the opposite

view. 1D. Frede (1993, 60): “and in general all those [ie., kinds of pleasures] that are based on

imperceptible andpainless lacks, while their fulfillments are perceptible andpleasant.” ” Hackforth (1972, 100): “andto all experiences in which the wantis imperceptible and painless but its fulfillmentis perceptible and pleasant.” 13 Van Heusde (1803, 102).

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roughly synonymouswith kinésis, it follows that pure pleasures are excluded from the present critique of pleasures as processes. Moreover, an unfelt deficiency does not count, according to Socrates (33c-d, 35b), as a pain nor an unfelt fulfillment as a pleasure. About the pure pleasures of learning Socrates is unambiguousnotonly that they are not preceded by pain but also that even their loss is not felt as a pain (51e7-52a5). At the

conclusion of the whole section about pure pleasureshe claimsthat every pleasure, no matter how small in intensity orsizeit is, if it is free of pain, is more pleasant, moretrue, and more beautiful than any mixed one (53b8-c2). But in oursection

Socratesis clear that the pleasures he has in mindareall preceded and followed by pain, andthat is why he uses medical terminology and speaksofthe “healing”that the process which is pleasureeffects (55e). Finally, and more controversially, pure pleasures, apart from those of smelling which are explicitly said to be less divine (51e1), have as objects simple things that are, one might argue, worthy of divine contemplation. If our interpretation about the godlike nature of the neutral state that Socrates envisages as best in his technical argumentis correct, it would follow that pure pleasures are not included in this critique not only for the negative reasonsthatthey are neither processes nor related to correspondingpains but also positively because they may conduceto a life like that of the gods, as muchasthis is humanly possible.

3. The Common-Sense Argument (55a12-c3) Havingfirst established the absurdity of a life devoted to the pursuit oflittle everyday deaths and rebirths Socrates now concludes his critique of pleasure by appealing to the shared assumptions of his contemporaries and their sense of honor which would readily resist any attempt to reduce the human goodto the pursuit of subjective pleasure rather than objective, and enviable, well-being. The common-sense argumentis a continuousreductio consisting of three absurd conclusionsin an ascending orderofabsurdity. Thefirst two conclusionsare offered as parts of a question meant to be answered in the negative. The third one is presented as an assertion. The argumentas a whole appeals to the popular morality of the Greeks. Seen from this perspective it is not only a reductio ad absurdum but also an ad hominem rather than an ad rem reduction.Butit is rhetorically designedto be persuasive as the culmination of the whole section aboutpleasure. The premise on which the common-sense argumentis based is the common Greek assumption that there are more human goods than the goodsof the soul. The argument possibly alludes to the triple kind of self-ignorance orselfdeception that Socrates proposed in his analysis of the mixed comic pleasures (43e). One can be deceived, Socrates claimed there, about one’s wealth, one’s

beauty, and one’s virtues. This threefold division must be regardedasreflecting a

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rather widespreadclassification of things one was proudofin classical times, and remindsusofthetriple classification of human goodsthat wefind in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (1.8, 1098b12-15): external goods (such as wealth, honor,

political power, and eminentfriends), goodsof the body (health, strength, beauty, etc.) and goodsof the soul (moral andintellectual virtues).

According to Socrates, those who regard pleasure as the human goodare bound to admit(i) that the human goodresidesin the soul alone. (The tacit assumption hereis that, as the preceding analysis has demonstrated (33d, 34a, 35d),all kinds of pleasure, even bodily pleasures,are in a certain sense mental states,i.e., events ofthe soul.) They are also boundto admit(ii) that the moral and intellectual virtues (such

as courage, prudence, andintelligence), are not good for the person whohas them, since ex hypothesiof all psychic events only pleasure counts as good, and(iii) that one and the same person,irrespective of his/her character, is bad whenever s/he finds him/herself in pain, even though s/he maybethebest of all people from a moral or intellectual perspective, and good when,andin direct proportion to the degree that, s/he is being pleased. The last conclusion seemsto be the most absurd of the three, and it is meant to seem so. For it not only makes the human good somethingessentially unstable and precarious, contrary to both commonsense and the criteria of completion andself-sufficiency that the interlocutors have agreed to regardassalient features of the goodearlier on in the dialogue (20d, 22b), but also restricts it to those episodes of an individual’s life when s/hefeels positively pleased, thus excluding from the human good even the hours of peaceful contentment,let alone momentsofvictoriousstrain that the agonistic spirit ofthe Greeks regarded as the locus par excellence of glorious excellence.

Appendix Kivyots or xvjots in Philebus 46d10 and 51d1? The word xvijors occursonly once in the Platonic corpus according to the manuscripts. This sole occurrence is found in Socrates’ palinode in the Phaedrus (251c3). The immediate context refers to the growth of the soul’s wings caused by erotic love. This growthis likened to teeth-cutting in childhood. The relevant passage runs thus: Cet obv ev rodT@ OAy Kal dvakyKiel, Kal OEP TO THV ddovTOpVOUVTwWY TABOS TeEpt tovs dddvras yiyverat 6Tav apti pUwow, Kvijais Te Kal GyavaKrTyoats rept Ta OdAa, tavtov 5) mérovbev 7) Tou mTEpopuely apyopevou puxy Cel Te Kal dyavaKrel Kal

yapyadilerat pvovoa Ta TTEpa.

Now the whole soul seethes and throbsin this condition. Like a child whose teeth are just starting to grow in, andits gumsareall aching and itching—thatis exactly howthesoul feels when it begins to grow wings.It swells up and aches andtingles as

it grows them.’*

4 Translated by Nehamas and Woodruff in Plato, Phaedrus, Indianapolis, 1995.

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Of the three manuscripts mentioned by Burnet in the apparatus criticus it is only the codex Venetus (= T) that gives the reading xvijars. The other two collated codices (Bodleianus = B and Vindobonensis = W) have «ivnois. But besides being a lectio

difficilior xvjjous fits the present context much better than «ivyois since the intended

meaningis physical discomfort, and xvijais (“itching”) suits dyavd«rnors (“irritation” translated as “aching” above) perfectly well. One wouldthink that it is on the evidence

of this parallel passage that Philip Willem van Heusde (1778-1839) proposed an emendation of the text of the Philebus at two places: 46d10 and 51d1 (Specimen Criticum in Platonem, Leiden 1803, 102). But this is not quite so. Van Heusde

supported his emendation neither with the Phaedrus passage nor with Gorgias 494c6-8 wherethe verbs «vdw (“scratch”) and xvyovdw (“desire to scratch”) occur in

participle and infinitive forms. He simply affirmed that the received text should be emendedin the way suggested. His correction has been almost unanimously adopted. All modern editions of the dialogue, apart from the Zurich one (Baiter, Orelli, and Winckelmann 1839, 53, 63), follow van Heusde (1803, 102): Stallbaum (1842, 268-70, 296), Badham (1855, 63, 71; 1878, 81, 91), Hermann (1856, 106, 113), Hermann and Wohlrab (1887, 120, 128), Poste (1890, 89, 95), Bury (1897, 103, 117), Burnet (1901, 115, 123), Fowler and Lamb (1925, 326, 344), Diés (1941, 60, 68). Clearly, the

emendation has the advantage of being simple, elegant, and clever: it is couydv. But is it also necessary or even correct? In the Phaedrus passage quoted above, xvjois has a negative connotation: it obviously means “itching,” not “scratching.” In the Philebus corrected passages, by contrast, it must mean “scratching,” not“itching.” LSJ lists this sense under «vious. But the only classical era (or earlier) evidence for this sense comes from the two corrected instances of the Philebus. In Plutarch’s On Superstition 167b (cited by LSJ) the word means“tickling” and, coupled with tpupy (“luxuriousness”), is used metaphorically in

the sense of “pleasing” the ears—whichis, on Plato’s authority according to Plutarch,a wrong view about the purpose of music in humanlife, its proper end beingthe creation of a sense of harmony (éupéAeva) and proper rhythm (edpvOpia): wovorkny pyow 6 TDdrwv eupedrcias cai edpvOpias dnprovpyov avOpwrois b76 Oedv od Tpupis evexa Kai Kvnoews @Twv Sobjvat. Unlike what happens in the Phaedrus passage, xvijos here

denotesa positive feeling. Similarly positive but in a different sense is the meaning of xvjois in Aretaeus’ De curatione acutorum morborum 1.1.14-15 (also cited by LSJ): dvutixov dé kal kvqjots,

pdAwora KpoTapwy Te Kal WTwV Kal yap Kal Ta Onpia és dvarravAav dpyys Te Kal Oupod KVnoEL WTwY Kal KpoTadpwv Sdpvovrat. Here xvjors meansthe pleasant feeling created

by one’s “rubbing” and “caressing” the ears and temples of animals as a way of appeasing their wrath and calming them down. In the medical authors, by contrast, the word xvjous almost always means the ailmentof itching. The examples are numerous: Galen 10.418.4; 10.437.8 (= Paulus, Epit. 6.99.5.7; Orib. Coll. Med. 46.1.86.2); 11.845.7; 15.622.7; Orib. Coll. Med. 7.8.1.5 (= Ad Eunap. 3.22.1.5); 10.1.12.7; 46.1.96.5; Paulus, Epit. 7.5.1.346; Aétius, Jatr. 1.58.4;

2.50.9. Kvjow iaoba(“to heal itching”) is a typically recurring expression. The sole exception that I have managedto find is Galen’s De usu partium 4.181.16, where the word means “scratching”: ofdv 7s uddtora cupBaiver ToAAdKis AOpotabeions bo TH 5€ppart Tob Cou Spysdtytos yupar, érerta yapyadilovoens Kal kvijobar mpotpeTovans

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ySovons Te Kara THY Kvjowv. In paraphrase: the acidity of humors gathered behind the skin of animals tickles and urges the animal to scratch and causes pleasure during

scratching. In sum,there is no evidence prior to the Imperial Age that the word «vjjous meant “scratching” rather than “itching.” Even as late as the second century AD, when the senseof “scratching” is attested for the first time, the vast majority of instances where the word means“itching” render the occasional sense of “scratching” something like a semantic extension if not an outright anomaly. Even in sixth century aD, Hesychius, where the lemma yapyadopds (“tickling”) is glossed as xvjois o@paros (again an emendation of the manuscript’s «ivyous), xvjots obviously means “itching” rather than “scratching.” Now,if the word did not mean “scratching”in Plato’s time, van Heusde’s ingenious emendation at Phil. 46d10 must be wrong. And since the same emendation proposed for Phil. 51d1 refers back to 46d10, and makes no sense withoutit, this must also be

wrong. On the positive side and in accordance with the manuscripts’ reading, xivyots coupled with zpipis at 46d10 gives the required meaning of agitated or nervous rubbing. And at 51d1 «ivjoewy is even more appropriate than the suggested xvyjcewy since the pure pleasures of contemplating simple planefigures and solids are meant to differ in kind not only from the mixed pleasures of body and soul but from all kinds of false pleasures so far explored. The problem with xivyjoewy at 51d1, one might object, is that the Socrates of the Philebus, unlike the Socrates of Republic IX (583e9-10), has not qualified pleasures as movements.True, he has not explicitly characterized pleasure as xivnois, as he does in the Republic. But he has actually considered pleasures to be the processes that fix an organism’s imbalanced state and restore the body to the harmonious equilibrium of health (31d4-10, 31e10-32b4). The terminology used there is full of expressions indicating movement: dmovons (31d9), dmidvtwv (32a7), } Kata piow 6dds (32a8),

THY eis THY adTaY Odaiav 6ddv (32b3), dvaywpnow (32b4). If we read, following the

manuscripts, xuwyjcewy at 51d10, the text of the Philebus will have not only an intertextual allusion to Republic’s explicit doctrine but also two cryptic intra-textual

references: one pointing backwards to 31d-32b, and another pointing forwards to the doctrine of pleasure as process in 53c-55a.

13 Knowledge and Measurement Philebus 55c-59d Jessica Moss

The Philebus argues that the best humanlife will contain both pleasure and knowledge, but with an important caveat: there are better and worse species of knowledge and ofpleasure, and the quality of each species will determineits place in the best life. Only the best species of pleasure will be let in; in the case of knowledge, the better species will play a larger role than theinferior ones. This meansthat in the case of both pleasure and knowledge, Socrates needs a procedurefor distinguishing the better species from the worse. The most general criterion he employs is evidently the same in both cases: the best species of both pleasure and knowledgeare those that are most pure (kathardtaton, 55c7, 57b1), or mosttrue (aléthesteton, 61¢4).

Myfocushere is knowledge: What makes knowledge pure andtrue? Toaskthis, however, is also to ask what knowledge is, on the Philebus’s account: although the dialogue does not explicitly seek definitions, it strongly implies that a pure and true species of x is one that best exhibits the qualities that make something an x, with no admixture of the opposite of x; therefore discovering what makes something a pure andtrue species of knowledgeis also discovering what knowledge reallyis. The project of this chapter is thus to investigate the Philebus’s criteria for distinguishing between the higher and lower species of knowledge, with the aim of determining what this reveals aboutits overall epistemology. I will argue that the Philebus implies that knowledgeis in its essence a matter of measurement—of grasping the measures within objects. I will also argue that this conception of knowledge can fruitfully be seen not as a radical new theory, but instead as a specification and elaboration of the much more famous epistemology of the Republic—a specification, furthermore, that can illuminate some of the mysteries in the Republic's account.

Note: I am grateful for very helpful discussion from the conference participants, and for excellent comments onearlier drafts of this chapter from Gabriel Lear and Mary-LouiseGill. Jessica Moss, Knowledge and Measurement: Philebus 55c-59d.In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited

by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0013

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1. The Epistemic Hierarchy After concluding his discussion of pleasures, Socrates turns to investigate the different kinds of knowledge (epistémeé), ranking them from least to most pure (55c-59c).’ What emerges is a clear hierarchy, strongly although not perfectly resembling what wefind in other dialogues: 1) Lowercrafts (music, medicine) (55e). 2) Highercrafts (carpentry) (56b-c).

3) Populararithmetic, measuring, weighing and calculation (56c-d).” 4) Philosophical arithmetic, measuring, weighing, and calculation (56d-e). 5) Dialectic—the study of what is (57e-58a).

At the bottom are experience-based knacks (empeiriai); at the top is dialectic. Dialectic is the purest species of knowledge, experience the least pure. Presumably whatit is to be a pure species of knowledge is to be one with no admixture ofthe opposite ofknowledge—aspecies ofknowledge which exhibits only the qualities that make something count as knowledge, and noneofthe qualities that do not. (For this accountof purity see 53a.) But what are those qualities? Put this way, the question looks very like one prominent in other dialogues: Whatis the difference between genuine knowledge and pretendersto the claim? Or, to introduce some imperfect but helpful terminology, whatis the difference between better and worse epistemic powers?* The Apology distinguishes genuine human wisdom from the pseudo-wisdom of pseudo-experts; the Meno, Republic, and Theaetetus each argue for a distinction between knowledge (epistémé) and mere opinion (doxa); the Gorgias sets craft (techné) above mere experience (empeiria). Moreover, the Philebus shares with several of these dialogues

the markers of better and worse epistemic powers: the higher ones are more precise, more stable, more clear, and more true (56a-c, 57b-d, 58c). There is,

however, a notable innovation here: the Philebus seems to introduce a new basis * Hebeginswith a distinction between knowledgethatis productive (démiourgikon) and knowledge that is concerned with education and nurture (paideia, tréphé) (55d2-3), but never returnsexplicitly to

this distinction. Perhaps he intendsto echo it with his distinction between knowledgelike rhetoric that is merely useful and knowledgelike dialectic that is pure (58c-d), in whichcasethefirst three levels I go on to list count as productive, and the last two as educational. ? The practices in group 3 partially constitute those in group 2, but are not I think identical: carpentry, for instance, is presumably a combination of measurement and arithmetic on the one hand with physical cutting, joining, and the like on the other. As far as their epistemic status goes, however, the two levels are equivalent, since the level 3 practices constitute the epistemic components of the level 2 practices.

> T mean‘power’ here to pick up dunamis: Socratescalls dialectic (the highestlevel in the epistemic hierarchy) a dunamis at 57e7, and in the Republic famously uses the term for both doxa and epistémé (477b-78b). I will press dunamis into service to provide what the Philebus does not, a genus-term to coverall the epistemic phenomenathatit will rank as superior and inferior membersofa single kind; in somecases‘state’ would be more idiomatic for us, and perhaps morefaithful to Plato’s intentions.

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on which to draw the line—a new explanation for the differences between epistemic powers.* In the Meno,the superior poweris secured by logismosof the cause (98a); in the Gorgias it is secured by a logos of the cause and nature (501a); in the Theaetetus, too, it is secured by a logos (with candidates for the nature of the logos considered and rejected (201c ff.)). The Republic mentions various distinctions: here too the

superior powerincludes a logos (511b);it also differs from the inferior powers in having as its objects “what is” rather than what is between being and not being (478b). Our Philebus passage makes no mention of logos, and while it does eventually claim that the best power studies what is rather than what comes to be (59a-c), this comes only at the culmination of the argumentafter the epistemic hierarchyis established. Whatour passage emphasizes throughout, I shall argue, is something different: the superior epistemic powers are marked by their use of measurement.’ Plato has of course associated knowledge with measurement before, most prominently in the Protagoras (see especially 356e), but now heelevates that suggestion to a systematic theory. Impure species of knowledge are those that use no measurement; pure species are those that consist in the purest kind of measurement—or perhaps, that exhibit the qualities for which measurementis Plato’s best metaphor. This claim is explicit in the discussion of the lowest levels of the hierarchy; I will argue that it is implicit at the higher levels as well, and will then turn to investigate the significance of this development for understanding the Philebus’s account of knowledge.

2. Ranking Knowledge: The Role of Measurement In ranking the species of knowledge Socrates begins at the bottom, with manual crafts (cheirotechnikai). Within this class, he says, we can distinguish a speciesthat has a greater share of knowledge, and so is more pure(level 2 on ourlist above), from a species thatis inferior and so less pure (the very lowest, level 1) (55d). This

lowest species is inferior because of the epistemic methodit uses: guesswork. What elevates the superior species is its use of superior methods, namely arithmetic, measurement, and weighing: * One might think the most important difference is that Plato is now willing to count the inferior powers as species of knowledge (epistémé), albeit impure and less than true ones. (This is at least strongly implied; for discussion, see Carpenter 2015, 184-5.) Eitherthis is a significant expansionofhis conceptof knowledgeor a mere terminological or pragmatic shift. I will not investigate that issue here, for it is clear in either case that the Philebus agrees with other dialogues in maintaininga sharp line between the superior powers andthe inferior ones, whether or notit dignifies the worse ones with the nameof knowledge, and my aim is to investigate the basis on which it drawsthatline. ° Logismosis included as one kind of measurement, butonly in the narrow sense of mathematical calculation: there is surely some connection to the Meno’s use, but not a straightforward one.

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If arithmetic and the sciences of measurement and weighing were taken away from all the crafts, what was left of any of them would be, so to speak, pretty worthless... All that would be left for us would be to imagine/conjecture (eikazein) and to drill the perceptions by experience and routine, with the additional use of the powers of guessing... Take musicfirst; it is full of this; it attains harmony by guessworkbased onpractice, not by measurement(ob pérpw GAAG pedeTNs oToYacp@); and flute music throughouttries to find the measure of eachnoteasit is produced by guess, so that muchofthe unclear is mixed in with it, andlittle of the stable.... And we shall find that medicine and agriculture and

navigation and generalshipareall in the same condition. (Philebus 55e1-56b2) Mostof the charges against the lowest species look familiar from other dialogues (although the demotion of medicine comesas a surprise to readers of the Gorgias). As in the Gorgias, the inferior practices use experience, routine, and guesswork (empeiria, tribé, stochastiké, 55e; cf. Gorg. 464b-65a); as in the Republic, the lower powerslack clarity (Rep. 511e); as in the Menotheylackstability (Meno 98a); as in the Republic, the lowest powersuse both perception and imagination or conjecture (eikazein, Philebus 55e; cf. eikasia, Rep. 511d). What is new here, however,is the

claim thatall these deficiencies result from the failure to use a certain method: measurement. Practices like music are what result when westrip away “arithmetic and the sciences of measurement and weighing”; music is unclear and unstable becauseit uses guesswork rather than these.I will use the term ‘measurement’ in a broad senseto cover all these methods, since arithmetic, weighing, and measurement in the narrow sense (presumably measurementofsize) are all forms of quantitative assessment.

Superior to these guesswork-based crafts then are those that employ some form of measurement, a point Socrates illustrates in his discussion of carpentry: But the craft of carpentry, I believe, employs the greatest number of measures and instruments, which giveit great precision and make it morecraft-like than most kinds of knowledge (teyvixwrdpav tv TwodAAdv éemoTnpadv)...For the artisan uses a rule, I imagine, a lathe, compasses, a chalk-line, and an ingenious instrumentcalled a vise... Let us, then, divide the crafts, as they are called, into

two kinds, those which resemble music, and haveless precision in their works, and those which,like carpentry, have more.

(56b4-c6)

Carpentry is superior to medicine and music—is more precise—becauseit uses tools for measuring, rather than guesswork. We can plausibly generalize the thought beyond this one example: measurement guarantees the hallmarks of knowledge—clarity, precision, and stability—because by measuring rather than guessing we comeclosest to the truth, and we are mostreliable. Next Socrates turns to consider directly the practices whose presence or absence determined the rank of all these manualcrafts as level 1 or level 2: the

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practices of measurement. It now emerges that the kind of measurement employed at level 2, in carpentry and thelike, is itself impure. There are two kinds of arithmetic, two of magnitude-measurement, two of calculation (logismos), and presumably also two of weighing and of any other form of measurement: the popular kind, that which is employed in carpentry andthe othercrafts (level 3), and the philosophical kind (level 4). This distinction is illustrated as follows: [Popular] arithmeticians reckon unequalunits, for instance, two armies and two

oxen and two very small or incomparably large units; whereas [philosophical arithmeticians] refuse to agree with them unless each of countless units is declared to differ not at all from each and every other unit.

(56d9-e3)

Philosophical measurement(arithmetic or any other kind) works with equal units, and that is what makes it more precise than popular measurement, and also more pure—higher on the epistemic hierarchy. WhatI want to emphasizeis that the criterion Plato employs for elevating level 4 above level 3 is very similar to the criterion he earlier employed for elevating level 2 (carpentry and the like) above level 1 (music andthelike):

once again, the status of an epistemic power is determined by its approach to measuring. The claim is not now that the lower kindfails to use measurement at all, but that its measurements are inferior qua measurements—they are imprecise, unclear, and unstable—because they work with inferior units. Measuring with abstract, imperceptible, wholly uniform units yields better measurements than measuring with any messy perceptible thing.° Indeed, we might say, although Plato does not makethis explicit, that measurement with perfect units is more purely measurement than measurement with messy ones: measuring by oxen, for example, is not really measuring, or not purely measuring.

Finally, Socrates comesto the highest, purest form of knowledge,the top ofthe hierarchy (level 5). This he describes in terms familiar from the Republic: it is

dialectic, the study of what always and truly is (57e-58a). The hallmarks of knowledge which he used to rank the lower formsare all emphasized: dialectic is clear, precise, stable, and true (57e, 58c). There is, however, no mention of

measurement. What featured so prominently in distinguishing and ranking the lower three powers seemsto play no role in characterizing the highest. And yet the lower three powers were presented as increasingly good approximations— increasingly pure versions—ofthe highest.

° The contrast between these abstract units and obviously messy units like oxen and armiesis a bit confusing: we might expectthe salient contrasts to be between(a) oxen and armies onthe one hand and (b) inches or meters as measuredby craftsmen’s measuring tools on theother, and then at a higherlevel between (b) on the one handand(c) the genuine abstract imperceptible units themselves. But this is not

howPlato doesit, and wecan grantthe general point: imperceptible perfectly identical units are better standards of measurement than messy perceptible ones.

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Is Plato simply abandoninghis formercriterion of rank? It may seem thatheis. Consider a pessimistic assessment of Plato’s coherence here, from Gosling’s commentary on the epistemic hierarchy: It is not altogetherclear just what the principle of gradingis. It seems that there are two, one according to the method employed [i.e., measurement],’ the other according to the subject-matter studied [what always is vs. what comesto be]...

Thereis now a problem.Plato wants to put dialectic above all others... But it does not seem to employ more [measurement] ... It seems a mistaketo look fora single scale here. (Gosling 1975, commentary, 222-3, emphasis mine)

In whatfollowsI will argue thatit is not a mistake to look for a single scale. We can give a unified accountof Plato’s epistemic hierarchy if we take him to hold that pure measurementis the best approximation of pure knowledge—or even that pure knowledgeis the purest form of measurement. Epistemic powersor practices are ranked on the hierarchy by the degree that they employ nothing but measurement, and nothing to make the measurement impure; the highest form of knowledgeis eitheritself pure measurement or something even better, which pure measurementclosely resembles. Knowledge,in short, is measurement—or something that measurement approximates. But whatis the basis of that resemblance—in whatwayis dialectic, the study of whatis, akin to the kind of measurement employedin carpentry or arithmetic? To answerthis question andgetto the heart of the Philebus’s distinctive epistemology wewill need to consider the Philebus’s distinctive ontology. I will argue that this ontology supportsthe idea that pure knowledgeis like quantitative measurement in that it is a matter of discovering determinately how thingsare. It also arguably supports the stronger claim that pure knowledgeis itself a matter of finding the measure in things, although not necessarily the quantitative measure.

3. Crafts and Measurement I will begin by showing why measurementplaystherole it does in determining the rank of the lowerlevels of the epistemic hierarchy. This followsfairly clearly from a picture of the difference between crafts and lower practices that is at work in several dialogues (this section), and given a particular twist in the Philebus (Section 4). Once we understand the role of measurementin the Philebus’s theory

of crafts, we will also be able to see how the dialogue extendsthat theory to higher kinds of knowledge (Section 5).

In a number of dialogues Plato characterizes craft (techné) as essentially concernedwith bringing raw material into good condition through the imposition ” Gosling identifies it more narrowlyas arithmetic.

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of ratio, harmony, and order.In the Gorgias the businessofcrafts is to bring about the good condition of the things in their domain (464a-c); they do this by producing order and harmoniousarrangement(taxis, kosmos, 506d-e): medicine, for example, brings about health by imposing order on bodies. The Republic implies a similar account: crafts aim at the good of their subjects (345c-346b), and a good body,soul, or city is one unified by good order and harmony(Rep.IV). In the Statesman—thought to date from around the same period as the Philebus—Plato presents a similar view ofcrafts, but now using the language of measure. There is a kind of measurement that considers whether things are excessive, deficient, or just right, relative not to one another but to “due measure” (to metrion) (284a); the businessofcrafts is to impose and preserve due measure

in their products (“it is by preserving due measure (to metrion) in this way that [crafts] produce all the good and fine things they do” (284b)). Indeed this is so central to the function ofcrafts that if there were no such thing as due measure there would be nocrafts (284d); therefore all craft-related things (entechna) share in measurement (metrésis) (285a).

It is easy to see connections between this accountof craft and the Gorgias’s or Republic’s: to say that a sturdy shoe, healthy body, just city, or virtuous soul exemplifies due measure seemsto be a way of getting at the idea that it has been well crafted so as to have a goodorcorrect internal structure, just as does saying that it displays order or harmonious arrangement. Nonetheless, the Statesman’s description is different at least in emphasis, for its talk of measure, symmetry, excess, and defect strongly implies that the good produced bycrafts consists in quantitative features: not too muchofthis nortoolittle of that, but just the right amount of everything. There is a legitimate question as to whether Plato thinks this is always a matterof literal quantitative measure, or instead uses talk quantitative talk as a metaphorfor getting thingsjust right in a non-quantitative way. The Statesman’s emphasis on quantitative language suggests the former, but I am inclined to leave the question open here. Onethingis clear: Plato, like Aristotle with his own doctrine of the metron between excess and defect, found talk of the right quantitative measure to be at the least an illuminating metaphor for goodness in certain realms, and perhapsa literal description ofit. Nowconsider an epistemological consequenceof the Statesman’s view: insofar as the aim of each craft is to produce due measure, each craft must be able to identify due measure in its domain—thatis, it must be able to perform the right kind of measurements. It will of course sometimes be possible to hit on due measure without knowledge, even fairly reliably: recall the Philebus’s claim that music hits on the measured (metron) through practiced guesswork (56a). Clearly, however, a systematic, knowledge-based method—a method of measurement— will be more reliable, and also more precise, and must therefore be central to the exercise of thereally craft-like crafts. If the function of carpentry is to bring pieces of wood into harmoniousratios, for example, then a carpenter who estimates or

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intuits an angle rather than measuringit is not being a good carpenter, not using his craft. Thus we havea picture of crafts as essentially arts of finding and imposing measure. If Plato meansthe Statesman’s talk of quantitative measureliterally, then crafts will be arts ofliteral quantitative measurement; if he means it instead as an illuminating metaphor for goodness in craft products, then crafts will be arts of somethingilluminatingly compared to quantitative measurement: getting things just right. Turning now to the Philebus: if Plato is working with a similar conception of craft in this dialogue, we have a ready explanation of the role measurementplays in distinguishing the lowest level of the epistemic hierarchy from the second level—in elevating measurement-based crafts like carpentry (level 2) above guesswork-based crafts like music (level 1). In the next section I will show that

Philebus does indeed have a theory ofcraft very similar to that of the Statesman, on which the main businessofa craft is to identify, impose, and preserve measure in its domain. This emerges somewhat indirectly from the Philebus’s famous fourfold ontology.

4. Measure in the Philebus’s Ontology I will not give a detailed accountof the Philebus’s ontology; a brief review should suffice to draw outthe features of this account that will help illuminatethe role of measurementin craft—and, below, in knowledge moregenerally. The mainclaim is that things that come to be—craft-products as well as natural things—are mixtures (meixeis) of limit (peras) and unlimited (apeiron), mixtures created when a cause imposes limit on the unlimited (26e-27b). The cause is always wisdom (sophia) and intellect (nous), either human or divine (30b-c).

Thusthe Philebus gives an accountof howcrafts create their products thatis at the same time an accountofall creation. Although theinitial presentation of this ontology makes no mention oftaxis, kosmos, or to metrion, later descriptions reveal clear analogies between the Philebus’s accountof creation and the accounts we saw aboveof howcrafts create their products by imposing good structure on messy matter. In a striking echo of Statesman 284a-b, the Philebus describes the imposition of limit on the unlimited as “removingthe excess and unlimited, fashioning the measured and harmonious” (emmetron kai hama summetron) (26a; cf. summetra kai sumphona, 25e); in a

passage to which wewill return below it gives the chief role in making good the mixture that is a good humanlife to “measure and the measured (metron kaito metrion)and all things similar to these” (66a). In a striking echo of Gorgias 506d-e it describes divine intellect as “ordering and arranging” (kosmousa kai suntattousa) the universe for the good (30b-c). In other words, the Philebus’s craftsmen

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are, like those of the Gorgias or Statesman, creators who impose order and arrangement on messy material to produce a harmonious whole. Moreover, the Philebus’s divine intellect is like the Timaeus’s demiurge who does the same, creating the cosmos by imposing order (taxis), equal ratios (ton auton logon)

and proportion (analogia) on the material elements (Tim. 30a, 32b-c). Like these other dialogues, then, the Philebus presents intelligent creation—human or divine—as imposing good structure on messy material. Howdothe notionsof order, harmony, and measure wind upplayingthis role in the Philebusif they are absent from the fourfold ontology? The key lies in that ontology’s notion of limit (peras), for this turns out to be very closely connected with order and harmony—and mostespecially with measure. Although Socrates never defines limit in the Philebus (see Gill, this volume, Chapter 5), from thestart he strongly associates it with measurable quantities. He introduces the contrast between limit and unlimited as the contrast between the one and the many (16c), and goes on to describe finding the limit in things as counting the numberof species (ideai) (16d) (although, as Gill emphasizes, this

processalso includes saying “what sort” the species are). When hereturnsto the notion of limit in laying out the fourfold ontology, the examples he provides of limit are the equal, the double, and “any thing that is numberin relation to (pros) numberor measure (metron) in relation to measure” (25b)—thatis, presumably,

any ratio. He goes on to describe the third kind, mixture—whatresults from the imposition of limit on the unlimited—as containing measure (enmetron and summetron (26a, cited above)), and then as “a coming toward being out of the measures fashioned with limit” (x 7a@v pera Tob 7épatos areipyaopevey péTpwv) (26d). To limit an unlimited mass is to impose someratio on it, some determinate

and quantifiable relation between its components. Whatis limited is thus what is measurable. Like the Statesman, then, the Philebus emphasizes the idea of measure in its characterization of the harmonious order produced by crafts—and also by divine intellect. Are all limits quantitative? A widespread interpretation holdsthat they are; Gill questions it (this volume). What makes something a limit, she argues, is that it

imposes definiteness or determinateness onto the unlimited, at a minimum differentiating one distinct thing from all else. (This is a point that Aristotle would put by saying that limits provide horismos, definition or boundary or determination—a notion obviously close if not identical to the Philebus’s peras, and certainly ambiguous between narrowly quantitative and wideruses.) If this is correct, then quantitative limits are paradigmatic but not exhaustive of the class of limits. I find this an appealing view:‘definite’ and ‘determinate’ (commontranslations of perata echon, having limit) can function to convey the notion that a thing can be pinned down, accounted for, and understood, where being quantifiable is only one particularly obvious wayto fit this profile. A definite idea or determinate plan

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need notbe quantifiable in order to contrast clearly with onethat is vague or openended. Thus Plato’s thought may well be that the clearest cases of limits are quantities, while some limits are not. At any rate, we saw above that the same can be said of his notion of measure in the Statesman, and so we need not decide the quantitative question in order to accept the Philebus’s strong association or even near-equation of measure with limit. Nowfor the epistemological upshot concerningcrafts: as in the Statesman,in the Philebus too craft-knowledge must involve theability to identify the measure within things. (If we take the strict quantitative reading this means that craftspeople measure the quantities and ratios of things in orderto find and impose the right ones; if we take the broader reading wewill say instead that craftspeople determineprecisely and reliably and clearly how thingsare in their products, in the service of rendering those products determinate, precise, reliable and clear.) One way to see how central measurementis to crafts on this conception is to note that insofar as things do not admit of measure, they lie outside the purview of craft. The Gorgias implies that there is no craft of pastry-baking, or of cosmetics, or of popularrhetoric (the kind that aims at pleasure)—notjust that there happen to be no such crafts, but that such things are by nature the province of lowly empirics. The Philebus’s conception of crafts suggests a principled reason for this claim: these all deal in low pleasures, and such pleasures are intrinsically without order or measure or limit—they are apeira (52c)—andtherefore there is nothing there for craft to get a holdof. If craft is a matter of identifying and imposing and preserving due measure,then there is no craft of the unmeasured. (Thereis a craft of imposing health on sick bodies, of course, but there is no craft of sickness itself—no studyof sickness in its own right.) What can be known bycrafts is what is measured, andcraft is knowledge of measure. Nowwehavea clear account of why Plato makes measurementthecriterion of rank for the lower stages of the Philebus’s epistemic hierarchy: carpentry is better than music insofaras it uses measurement, because the business ofthe crafts is to identify and impose measure in its domain. Weare also ready howeverto explain the wider implication of that hierarchy we saw above: that measurement-based crafts are purer species notjust of craft but of knowledgesimpliciter, and therefore that the morepurely a species of knowledge deals in measurement, the more akin it is to the highest kind of knowledge, dialectic. We will find the key in the Philebus’s assimilation ofall creation to craft-products.

5. Dialectic as an Art of Measurement The basic idea is this: just as the products of human crafts are characterized by measure, and therefore knowledge of them is inter alia knowledge of measure, so too is the whole of reality characterized by measure, and therefore knowledge of

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reality—dialectic—is a kind of knowledge of measure. Knowing the knowable things in the universe, just like mastering the knowable in the domain of a particular craft, is a matter of grasping the measure in things. That is the important similarity between the highest form of knowledge(level 5) and all the lower ones that makes it possible to rank them according to a single criterion. (I will also consideran alternative reading on which dialectic is notliterally a form of measurement, but measurementis Plato’s best metaphorforit.) If dialectic is measurement, there will be two main differences between it and lower membersofthe hierarchy.First, dialectic is the purest species of measurement, because the measuresit identifies are the purest measures(I return to this claim in Section 6). Second, dialectic—like philosophical measurement(level 4),

but unlike popular measurementandthecrafts that employ it (levels 2 and 3)— does not aim to do anything with the orderit identifies. It is simply the cognition (gnosis) of whattrulyis; its whole aim is truth and precision (58c-d). Unlikecrafts, then, dialectic is not concerned to impose measure on anything,or to preserveit; identifying or grasping or contemplating the measuresis the whole point.® This picture of dialectic—orat least of a method Socrates describesas dialectical (17a); we will consider below whetherornotit is dialectic proper, the highest kind of knowledge—emergesclearly from Socrates’ discussion earlier in the dialogue of the “divine method.” Every discovery ever made in any techné (16c), Socrates explains, results from finding limit (peras) in the unlimited (apeiron): All things that are always said to be consist of a one and a many,and havein their nature a conjunction oflimit and unlimited... [So to get knowledgein any arena

we must] start with a single form and search for it...then...go on from one form to look for two...until we come to see not merely that the one that we started with is a one and an unlimited many, but also just how manyitis... [i.e.] until we have discerned the total number between the one andthe unlimited... It

is the recognition of those intermediates that makesall the difference between discourses being dialectical anderistical.

(16c9-17a5)

Webecomewise in each arena when wefind the species or types or forms(ideai)

which constitute the order in what to the untutored mind seemsa disordered, undifferentiated, or infinitely complex mass. For example, we are wise (sophoi) aboutletters not whenall the verbal sounds sound the sameto us (an undiffer-

entiated one), nor when wethink that there are an indefinite numberandvariety of sounds with no organizing principles (a limitless, definitionless many), but when we know “how many and whatsort” of verbal sounds there are—when we know the types that classify and thus bring order to the mass (17b). The practitionerof the divine method,then,like the Statesman’s craftsman, worksby finding

® Mary-Louise Gill suggests to methat dialectic can produce products, products such as the Philebus itself.

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the order in things, or moreprecisely the limit. Moreover, as we saw above,limitis equivalent to measure, and thus finding the limit in things means finding the measure in them: the divine method is a matter of measurement. Is this always a quantitative affair? Just as we did above with crafts, we can remain neutral between twopossibilities. Either the divine method is always an art of literal quantitative measurement, or Plato is using quantitative measurement instead as a paradigm of and metaphorfor the kind of knowledge he has in mind, which we could call measurement in a broadersense: discovering the definiteness in things. In either case, having knowledge of things meansbeing able to give a precise accountof precisely how thingsare. If the divine methodis indeed identical with the highest form of knowledge identified in the epistemic hierarchy, we now havea clear explanation for the importance of measurementin that hierarchy: the very highest form of knowledgeis itself an art of measurement. There is, however, an important complication here. Although Socrates describes using the “divine method”as arguing dialectically (dialektikos, 17a, noted above), scholarly opinion is divided about the relation

between the divine method anddialectic understood asthe highest form of knowledge, the study ofwhatalwaysis. The divine methodis usedbyall genuine crafts— music, grammar, and so on. In the ranking ofknowledge passage, however, dialectic as the study of what always is gets sharply contrasted with the study of what comes to be and passes away—andthus presumably with worldly crafts: Mostcrafts, and the people wholaborat them, makeuse of opinions (doxais) and constantly investigate things which have to do with opinion...things of this world... not what alwaysis (ta onta aei), but what becomesandwill cometo be

and has cometo be... Thereis no truest nous or knowledge(epistémé) about such things... Instead the stable and pure and true and what wecall unmixed knowledge is about these other things, the things which are eternally the same without changeor mixture, or with that which is most akin to them...

(58e5-59c5)

If dialectic in this highest sense is only of what alwaysis, then surely (one might think) it is the study of Forms, those items familiar from the Republic and other dialogues.’ Indeed, when summarizing the difference between dialectic and lower species of knowledge a few pageslater, Plato gives as his first example of the objects of dialectic Justice (62a). The other two examples he gives are mathematical: the divine Circle and the divine Sphere (62a). But if dialectic is the study of

Forms, while the divine method is used by worldly crafts, how can dialectic have anything to do with finding limits? How indeed canit be the study of any items described in the Philebus’s ontology, which does not seem to include Forms? Has Plato now with his description of dialectic simply abandonedthe ontology helaid out earlier in the dialogue, and moved back to the ontology of the Republic? ° For the question of whether Plato here meansto refer to Forms,see, for example, Shiner (1979).

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Onepart of the worry is fairly easily resolved: although Plato does not makethe pointexplicit, the fourfold ontology does contain an item that “alwaysis,” and this is limit.’° The ratios and numbersthat inhere in worldly mixtures are themselves abstract, stable, unchanging, purely intelligible items that at the very least resemble the Formswefind in other dialogues both in these ontological qualities and— crucially for our purposes—in their resulting fitness to be objects of knowledge. This is confirmed by other dialogues that describe something similar to the Philebus’s divine method: the Sophist seems to equate the classes that dialectic identifies with Forms (253d), and arguably the Timaeus does too (30c-d).”

Perhaps then Plato means us to understand the highest memberof the epistemic hierarchy, dialectic, as the study oflimit. When hecharacterizes its objects as eternal beings in language reminiscent of the middle dialogues’ descriptions of the Forms (“whatis andtruly is and is by nature always the same” (76 dv Kai 76 évtws Kal TO Kata Tadrov det mepuKds) (58a2-3)), he is not introducing new

objects into the Philebus’s ontology but instead referring back to something it already introduced,limits. Justice itself, along with the divine Circle and Sphere, are limits imposed on the unlimited—Justice, perhaps, on the unlimited mass of people in a city or of desires in a soul, Circle and Sphere on the unlimited massof shapes.’” Wesaw Plato refer to the limits to be found in the unlimited as forms, ideai, earlier in the dialogue (16d-17a). And Aristotle mentions the

association between limit and form, plausibly intending to refer back to this dialogue or to the Pythagoreantradition that underliesit: ‘Limit’ (peras) means... [among other things] the being of each thing, or the what-it-is-to-be of each thing, for this is said to be the limit of knowledge (gndseds); and if of knowledge thenof the thing also.

(Aristotle, Metaphysics A.17, 1022a4-10)* *° Clearly the unlimited is out: it is described as constantly moving andchanginguntil broughtto a halt by limit (24d). Mixtures look more promising because they are stable by comparison with the unlimited, but they are created things, things that comeinto being (see especially 26d; sometakeit that they are themselves processes of generation, geneseis—see Gill, this volume, Chapter5). The causeis akin to human knowledge (28c), which meansthat barring a special argument about knowledgebeing self-reflective it is unlikely that Plato meantit also to be the object of such knowledge. " Forthis interpretation of the Timaeus, see Cornford (1937), note ad 30c-d. Concerning the

Philebus, Hackforth ([1945] 1958, 40) arguesthat limits cannot be Formsbecause they “go forth into” things. I see no reason, however, to think Plato thought oflimits as any more dynamic than the Forms are when they cause perceptibles to be beautiful or just or large, as in the Phaedo or Republic or Parmenides. Theratio of the double, for example, can remain always the same even when the mixtures which instantiate it at one point fade or change. ” This may sound plainly wrong: surely Justice would bein the category of mixture, along with health—theresult of the imposition of proportion rather than the proportionitself? I see the pull ofthis argument, but as is often noted the Philebus’s line between whathaslimit and limits themselvesis at best blurry. Or perhapstheidea is that Justice as a form is the ratio imposed on worldly thingsto create the mixture that is one particular just city or soul or so on. *° Manythanks to Tom Marréfor the reference; see his “Teleology and Its Limits in Aristotle and Kant,” PhDthesis, University of Pittsburgh, 2018, http://d-scholarship.pitt.edu/35146/1/Marre%CC% 81.Dissertation.Final_1.pdf.

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If all this is right, our case is straightforward: the highest species of knowledgeis itself a species of measurement. Moreover, the Aristotle passage suggests a nice summary of Plato’s metaphysically grounded epistemology: knowledge is essentially a matter of grasping thereality and being andtruth of things; things are real andtrue insofaras they are whatthey are (have form); form isitself a kind oflimit;

thus things are knowable insofar as they are limited; thus knowledgeisitself a matter of grasping the limit in things, an art of measurement. Somethink, however, that when Plato describes dialectic in the Philebus as the study of “whatalwaysis,” i.e., of items like Justice, he meansto refer to something never mentionedin the fourfold ontology, nor anywhereelse in the Philebus. The Forms familiar from the Republic and other dialogues are distinct from and superiorto all the items in the fourfold ontology, for all these havetraffic with the world of becoming. If this is right, then we have no reason to think that dialectic is a matter of grasping limits. What then was the relevance of the lower stages of the epistemic hierarchy to the top, and in particular of the role of measurementinit?

All wecan sayis that the modelhehasoffered usin this dialogue for knowable entities is the model of limit, and therefore the model he has offered us for knowledge is measurement: the impure measurementoflevels 2 and 3, the pure measurementsoflevel 4, and the findingoflimit in all things involved in the divine method, wherever in the hierarchy that fits. If the highest kind of knowledge (level 5) is notitself a kind of measurement, then Plato’s thought must be that

measurementis a very good analogy, metaphor, or approximation for this kind of knowledge. And we have seen a compelling explanation for why measurement would play this role. Measurement is a paradigm or metaphor for knowledge because knowing, on Plato’s view, is a matter of grasping precisely how things are—a matterofbeingable to give an accountthatis itself precise, clear, and stable because it is an account of somethingitself precise, clear, and stable. Recall Gosling’s complaint, quoted above, that the Philebus’s epistemic hierarchy lacks unity: Plato begins by ranking powers by their use of measurement, but then at the top level abandonsthis criterion and simplyasserts that dialectic is the highest power because it studies the highest beings. Now, however, we have two possible interpretations, closely related, on which Plato is giving us a unified explanation of the epistemic hierarchy, and a unified epistemology. On one, the twocriteria of rank—method and subject-matter—very closely coincide: the higher epistemic powers employ more precise measurementbecause they study more precisely measured entities. The highestlevel, dialectic, is an art of the most precise measurement becauseit studies the most precisely measured

things ofall, measures themselves.’* ' T am copying Plato’s own conflation ofthings that have limit with limits—measured things with measure. This is presumably aninstance ofhis doctrine ofself-predication.

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On the other interpretation, measurement is Plato’s best metaphor for the method employed at the highest level of the epistemic hierarchy, because measured-ness is his best metaphor for the nature of the highest entities in his epistemology. The Formsare perfectly determinate entities, and so grasping them is a matter of having completely determinate knowledge—wherethat is not a matterof literal measurement, but something closely akin to it, and surpassingit in the features that elevate such measurement over lower epistemic methods: stability, clarity, and precision.’°

6. The Knowable, the Measured, and the Good On the Philebus’s view, then, things are knowable to the extent that they are definite and determinate. The more measured something is, literally or figuratively, the more knowableitis. This is particularly clear in Plato’s claim that whatis thoroughly withoutlimitis thoroughly unknowable: Whenyou have [performed the divine method in somerealm, and grasped the limits], then you have becomewise (sophos) ... But the unlimited in each thing and in the quantity of each thing makes you unlimited/indefinite (apeiron) in your thought, and able neither to calculate nor to count, when you havenotyet

fixed your sight on any numberin anything.

(17e3-6)

Unlimited things—such as impurepleasures,to take a salient example,’* but indeed any worldly things that have not been worked up into a good mixture through the imposition of limit—are unknowable: there is no limit there to grasp, and since knowledge is a matter of grasping measures, there is nothing there to be known. The general idea is roughly familiar from the Republic. The Republic seems to say that perceptibles are too messy to be the objects of knowledge (epistémeé): too subject to change, contingency,relativity, and in general impurity, the presence of opposites (see especially Rep. 479a-d and 529b-530b). Recent years have seen a number of attacks on this reading.’ The Philebus, however, explicitly claims that changing, unstable things cannot be subjects of the highest kind of knowledge

5 | arguedearlier that Plato may think of quantitative measurementas exhausting the category of measurementor only as the paradigm case of it. The former reading fits better with the second interpretation we are now considering: measurement is only a metaphor for dialectic because measurementis always quantitative.

16 “Now that we have fairly well separated the pure pleasures and those which maybepretty correctly called impure,let us add the further statementthat the intense pleasures are without measure (ametrian) and those of the opposite sort have measure (emmetrian); those which admit of greatness and intensity and are often or seldom great orintense[thatis, the impure kinds] weshall assign to the class of the unlimited” (52c1-6). 7 See especially Fine (1990).

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(59a-b).’* This should encourage usboth in accepting that this is a view Plato could have held in the Republic, and in using the two dialogues’ viewsto illuminate one another.Herein the Philebus Plato has new vocabulary to expressthe idea, and a new ontology to explain it, but the underlyingidea is similar: not everything that exists is knowable, but only things whose nature renders them liable to precise determination. (If we follow manyinterpreters in equating the unlimited in the Philebus’s divine method passage with particulars, the comparisonis especially strong.) There is another idea from the Republic’s epistemology which the Philebus echoes and can help explain: that things are knowable only insofar as they are good. In the Republic it is the Form of the Good that makes things knowable, illuminating them with truth just as the sun makes physical things visible by illuminating them with light (507d-508e). The Republic leaves these claims radically under-explained. But the Philebus, if my account is correct, provides a clear explanation. Measure is the good: things are good insofar as they exhibit measure (64d-66a, quoted in part above). On the first interpretation canvassed above, on which Forms are limits, measure is also the knowable, since what knowledgeis, in its essence, is grasping the measure within things. Thus things are knowable only insofar as they are good:it is sharing in goodness that allows things to be known. On the second interpretation, measure is the best approximation of the purely knowable, and measurementthe best approximation of pure knowledge. Thus measure is the worldly good (the best thing in human life— which is indeed the explicit claim Plato makesforit in the Philebus), and as such must closely approximate the true, divine good. Thus the closest approximations of goodness and of knowability coincide, and the real good is really knowable because it exhibits the determinateness that measure best approximates. Thus the Philebus’s emphasis on measurementin its examination of knowledge turns outto be a refinementbut notradical revision of the Republic’s more famous epistemology, corresponding to its refinement of the Republic’s ontology. And thus the two dialogues’ theories can be used for mutual illumination. The commonideasare these: e Thebest things are the most knowable. « The quality that makes them most knowable is the very quality that makes them best. « This quality is, broadly speaking, being a determinate way. « This makes these best things most knowable because knowledgeis, on Plato’s conception, a matter of knowing exactly how things are—a notion captured best or approximated best by the notion of measurement.

8 “How could we ever get anything stable (bebaion) about things that have nostability?... Therefore one can have no nous nor epistémé possessed of the highest truth about these things” (Philebus 5911a-b8).

14 Cooking Up the Good Life with Socrates Philebus 59d—-64c Russell E. Jones

1. Life is Like a Hollandaise Sauce Hollandaise sauce is an emulsion,a mixture of ingredients that wouldn’t ordinarily mix together on their own. The primary ingredients areoil (melted butter), water (often including lemon juice or vinegar, since the acid is useful forsterilization), and an emulsifying agent (egg yolks). But one can’t just throw these ingredients together in haphazard fashion and expect to get a good result. The goal is to producejust the right kinds of chemical reactions so that these ingredients are mixedinto an emulsion.It’s crucial to start with the egg yolks, heating them gently with a bit of the acidic waterjust until the yolk proteins begin to denature, but not to the point that you end up with rather unappetizing scrambled eggs. Once the proteinsare sufficiently denatured, they, together with the lecithin in the eggs, are ready to function as emulsifying agents, binding to both water and oil and thus suspending both throughout the mixture. Now,and only now,is it timeto start addingin the butter, very slowly. The slow addition allowsthe oils to break up into small droplets and bind to the emulsifying agents. Once thebutteris fully incorporated, other ingredients such as spices may be added, provided they complement the flavors already present and do not underminethe structure of the emulsion. Hollandaise sauce is notoriously hard to make and, to borrow a phrase from Aristotle, there are many ways to miss the mark. Here are some guidelines to keep in mind whenyou attempt the sauce. (1) You mustuse the right ingredients. No matter how good chocolateor peachesor single-malt scotch might seem when you consider them just on their own,theywill spoil rather than enhance yoursauce. (2) You must introduce the ingredients in the right order. Some ingredients will not contribute to the sauce unless otheringredients are already present.If, for instance, you were to start with the butter and then add the eggs, the emulsion would never develop.(3) You must introduce the ingredients in the right proportions. If you add too much butter, that excess butter which cannotfind its proper place within the saucewill Note: Thanks to those whoparticipated in the conference for valuable feedback, as well as to Verity Harte and Gabriel Lear for further comments. Russell E. Jones, Cooking Up the GoodLife with Socrates: Philebus 59d-64c. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0014

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begin to run, spoiling the emulsion. (4) You must introduce the ingredients in the right manner. Otherwise, these ingredients cannot play their properrole in constituting the sauce. So, you must heat the egg yolks to the right degree, and beat the butter in slowly: keep the sauce too warm and youwill scramble the eggs; beat the butter in too fast and the sauce will never thicken. These guidelines may seem daunting to the novice, but when adheredtostrictly, the result is delicious. As with hollandaise sauce, so with life. Or so it turns out on Socrates’ notion of the good life. Beginning at Philebus 59d10, Socrates provides a kind of recipe for the goodlife. To be sure,it’s a theoretical recipe, and not a step-by-step how-to guide. But its purpose is to demonstrate which ingredients introduced under which conditions will contribute to the making of a goodlife. We'll look at these ingredients one-by-one in the order Socrates treats them, for here, as with sauce, order matters greatly. Curiously, though, and to Protarchus’ mild annoyance, even after Socrates announceshis intention to provide a recipe for the good life (59d10-e5), he is slow to begin. Hefirst reiterates the question that began the dialogue, whether pleasure or knowledgeis the good. The answerhas long been established(at least since 23a): Neither of the two is the good, but both are necessary components of the goodlife. Protarchus is annoyed not so much becauseSocratesraises the issue once again after the question has been resolved, but because even once that resolution is reaffirmed, Socrates continues to harp on the question. Why does Plato have Socrates linger, apparently unnecessarily, on this point, while Protarchusprotests that it is time to move on? Thereason is, I suspect, twofold. First, some three-dozen pageslie between the present passageandtheinitial, intuitive judgment that was madebyreflecting on pleasure in isolation and knowledgein isolation. Muchofthe intervening spaceis devotedto detailed analysis of the nature of pleasure and the nature of knowledge. It is reasonable, having doneall that work, for Socrates and Protarchusto revisit the earlier question to see whether their intuitions have changed. Given their current, enhanced understanding of knowledge andpleasure,is either sufficient in isolation to make a life good? Their answer remains unchanged: neither is sufficient. Both must find a place in the recipe. A secondreasonto lingerhereis to recall the overall structure of the discussion. At 22a-d, Protarchus and Socrates agree that the goodlife requires both knowledge and pleasure, and then revise their central question: Which of the two— knowledge or pleasure—is more responsible for the good life? Just what this responsibility question amounts to is a source of contention amonginterpreters, as is evidenced even in this volume (see Meyer’s (Chapter 4) and Harte’s

(Chapter 15) contributions).1 We might take the responsibility question to be: * In addition to wondering exactly what the responsibility question asks, we might also wonder aboutits relationship to the earlier question which of pleasure and knowledgeis the good.Is the revised

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Which of pleasure and knowledge, in the mixedlife, is most responsible for the goodnessof that life? So Harte takes it, comparing to 64c5-9, which she takes to repeat the questions of 22d.” Or we might take the responsibility question to be: Which of pleasure and knowledge is most responsible for bringing about the mixedlife? So Meyertakesit, supposing that by 22d both knowledge and pleasure have beenruledout as being what she(like Harte) calls the good-makingfeature of the mixed life. However we take the question, Socrates clearly adverts to it at 61a4-5, declaring that they must investigate the good to determine whowill win “second prize” (compare 22d). Wemight hope, then,that the discussion to immediately follow will help us to get clear on what the revised question amountedto at 22d. In fact, what we get is an accountof the mixed life that doesn’t directly addresseither formulation of the responsibility question, though it bears on both. Rather thandirectly identify what produces the mixed life or what the good-making feature ofit is, the account reveals whatit is that is most responsible for producing it as good. That thing turns out to be knowledge, not because knowledge simply is the good-makingfeature, nor because knowledge simply is the efficient cause of the mixed life. Rather, knowledge is a crucial componentof the mixedlife that incorporates the other components and makes them good, muchasthe eggs, while themselves a component ofthe sauce, make the other components good. Whatexactly this amounts to is something we can see as Socrates creates his recipe for the mixture. I hasten to add, though, that none of this on its own will vindicate one interpretation of the revised question as opposed to the other, or discredit them both. The account we get of the mixed life isn’t too impoverished to decide the matter; rather it is too rich, giving us at least some of the resources we need to answerboth versions of the responsibility question. Knowledge is a good-making feature of the mixed life; moreover, knowledge shapes and organizes the other components of the mixedlife so that they, too, contribute goodnessto it, and so that they standin stable andlasting relationships to one another. On this basis, we can conclude that even though knowledge lacks the complete perfection of the mixedlife, it wins out over pleasure as most responsible forthatlife.’ question meantto replace the first? To expand onit? Simplytorestate it in fuller form (since already at 11d-12a therevision is signaled)? And whatisits relationship to the question that immediately follows: Which of pleasure and reason is more akin to what makes a goodlife good? On these matters, in addition to Meyer and Harte, see Barney (2016) and Bobonich (1995,esp. 130-1).

? On the assumption that 64c does repeat the earlier questions,it is a telling repetition, for Socrates there asks not whatis responsible for the mixture coming about, but whatis responsible for the mixture comingto be loved by everyone. > Thererefrain from announcing that knowledge thereby wins the second prize, as we might have expected. The present passage allows for a relative ranking of knowledge and pleasure, and even a relative ranking ofcertain kinds of knowledge above others. This is reflected in the final ranking Socrates gives at 66a-d, wherecertain kinds of things that have been broadlyclassed as knowledge are ranked above other kinds of things broadly in the same class (a ranking prepared for not only by our

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2. Pure Knowledge The first suggestion (61d) is to mix every kind of knowledge with every kind of pleasure. But this is deemed too risky. The thought here, which becomesevident as the passage proceeds,is that by mixing everything from the beginning, we run the risk of incorporating items or combinations of items that will undermine the goodness of the mixture. What we learn as we go is that you can’t just dump everything from the pantry into the pot. Some things mustbeleft out, and others must be addedatlater stages. A safer way to proceedis thus to mix onething at a time, determining for each candidate ingredient whetherit is right to mix that one thing with whatever has already been added. Since at least some pleasure and at least some knowledge will be part of the goodlife, the question now concerns which items from each category will be included, and which excluded. Socrates reminds Protarchusthat they have identified both pleasures that are truer than others and kinds of knowledge that are truer than others. He then suggests that by first mixing in only these truest items from each category, they will begin the mixture with less risk of going wrong (61d4-e9). He thus establishes right off the bat some items from each category that are to be included. But whenheturnsto a closer examination of each ofthese categories, hefirst considers knowledge, and that turns out to be a crucial decision. Whether he meansto be mixing both pure knowledge and pure pleasure in at 61e is perhaps unclear at that moment; I'll return to the question in a bit, and claim that in fact he doesn’t mix in pure pleasure right away. In any case, he goes on immediately to focus on knowledge, and so for the moment we can think about knowledgein isolation from pleasure. Whatwill emerge from the passageis that the order of the mixing matters, and the interactions between the ingredients matter. Anything that is added must be donein such a waythat it increases the goodness of the mix, and so must be considered in relation to any ingredients that are already present. The first ingredient to be added thus presents something of a special case, since it does not yet interact with anything. Accordingly, we might decide to begin with an ingredient that is good on its own, and then choose additional ingredients that complementthe first or interact with it positively. So, if we were cooking, we might start with chocolate:it’s delicious on its own, andis further enhancedby the addition of cream and eggs to makea soufflé. Of course, we would need to confirm that adding such a thing won’t prevent us from adding more important goods later on, by undermining their goodness. If our otheravailable ingredients are not

passage butalso by the passage Mosstreats in this volume, Chapter 13), and these latter are in turn ranked abovecertain kinds ofpleasure. But these prizes are for third, fourth, andfifth place. Knowledge’s ranking in the third and fourth place dependsonits relation to measure, beauty, proportion, and truth—a matter Harte takes up in this volume, Chapter 15. See also Barney (2016).

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cream andeggs but rather tomatoes andbasil, starting with chocolate won’t work out very well, no matter how goodit is on its own. Alternatively, we might choose our first ingredient not by finding an ingredient that is good on its own, but instead by considering what thing is necessary for other potential ingredients to realize their value. So, if we were baking bread, we would start with bit ofslightly warmed water as a repository to activate the yeast, because the yeast will not contribute to the bread atall if it remains dormant. The primary function of this wateris to allow the yeast to doits job. Pure knowledge is thefirst thing Socrates throws into his pot. Why? Does he conceive of pure knowledge morelike the chocolate in a soufflé or the water in bread? Oris its role more complex, akin to the yolks in the hollandaise sauce? The yolks by themselves are good—possessingalreadya flavor andrichness that will be crucial to the final mixture. Moreover, by acting as the emulsifying agent, the yolks allow the ingredients addedlaterto realize their potential goodness in the context of the sauce, in a way that would otherwise be impossible. Socrates doesn’t clearly articulate at this stage how he conceives of the value pure knowledge bringsto the goodlife, but I think there is good reason to think he conceives ofit like the yolks in sauce. Let’s consider both aspects of the goodness of pure knowledgein turn. Hereit will be useful to consider other contexts in which Plato discusses the value of knowledge, though we shouldn’t assumeat the outset that any particular one of those correspondsprecisely to the discussion in the Philebus. The idea that pure knowledge is good on its ownis a Platonic one,butit is not quite so commonplaceas one might suppose. The idea is sometimes thoughtto be present in the so-called “Socratic dialogues.” So, for instance, in the Euthydemus wisdom is picked out as the only good auto kath’ hauto. ‘Auto kath’ hauto’ is variously translated: ‘in itself’ and ‘by itself? are common renderings. These renderings can be misleading, for they may suggest that the question being addressed is whether wisdom is good intrinsically, or in isolation from everything else.* But that’s not the question being asked. The question, rather, is whether wisdom is good only undercertain conditions—whetherit is a variable good—or whetherit is instead invariably good becauseit is by its nature suchas to benefit us no matter what.° The phrase auto kath’ hauto functions to isolate wisdom conceptually, by focusing our attention just on its own nature, rather than * On at least some views, intrinsic goodness and goodnessin isolation come to the samething. Moore famously employed the “method ofisolation” for determining intrinsic goodness: A thing is intrinsically goodjust in case, wereit to exist by itself, completely isolated, it would be good. (See Moore 1903, 91-3 and 187-8, andthe useful discussion in Korsgaard 1983, 173-7.)

° This distinction makesan explicit appearancein the Philebus at 32c6-d6, where Socratesraises the question whetherpleasure and pain are such that the whole class of pleasure is “welcome” (= “good”; comparethe language of Republic 357b4-358a6), or whether instead pleasure andpain are “sometimes welcome and sometimes unwelcome, because they are not good [i.e., not invariably good], but sometimes some of them are receptive of the nature of the goods[i.e., are variably good].” In other words,the point at issue is whether pleasure and pain are such that their value is fixed by their own natures, or rather as with heat, cold, and muchelse, their value varies with circumstance.

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highlighting its goodnessonits own and separated from everythingelse.° To claim that it is invariably goodis notto claim that it is goodin isolation, but rather that its own nature guarantees its goodness in any circumstances. Indeed, Socrates seemsto consider only the instrumentalvalue of wisdom in the Euthydemus, but instrumental valueis essentially relational. Nevertheless, he thinks that the nature of wisdom guarantees that this value will be realized no matter what, in a particular case, wisdom is related to. Consider a comparable view aboutsalt. Onemightnot think that salt has any culinary value in isolation, but nevertheless insist that it makes every dish better, by enhancing the flavor of whateverfoodit mingles with. Likewise, the Socratic dialogues seem to focus on the idea that wisdom makesanylife or any set of circumstancesbetter, rather than on the idea that it is good even whenseparated from everythingelse.’ One mightinstead turn to the Republic, with its emphasis on the philosophers’ desire to set aside all worldly concernsin favor of contemplating the Forms. Here it does seem that pure knowledgeis considered valuable all on its own.Afterall, in the Republic the philosophers clearly value their knowledge for more than its usefulness: they famouslypreferreflecting on reality to putting their knowledge to work in administering the city! Likewise in the Phaedo philosophersare described as single-mindedly pursuing wisdom,whichis characterized as a grasp ofeternal

Iandothers(e.g., Jones 2013, Russell 2005) have sometimesused the terms‘unconditional good’ and

‘conditional good’ to markthis very distinction. But these terms havea history of use among Kantians, and are often heard in light of that history. That can be problematic, because Kant’s notion of an unconditional good is stronger than Plato’s notion ofan invariable good: a Kantian unconditional good must“carry its own value with it - have its goodnessin itself” (quoting Korsgaard 1983, 176); a Platonic invariable good neednot, at least by definition, do so. Better then to have terms for Plato that don’t leave Kant ringing in our ears. (Bobonich 1995, 104 uses the terms ‘dependent good’and‘independent good’ to much the sameeffect. I avoid them, though, becauseit is all too easy to slide from the issue whether some good dependsonspecific circumstances for determining its goodness to othersorts of dependencyrelations, like the dependency of an instrumental good on the value of the end it promotes.) * Comparesimilar uses in the Phaedo, even in the context of talking about “Forms.” At 100b6-7, Socrates famously refers to “something beautiful auto kath’ hauto, and likewise something good [auto kath’ hauto], something great [auto kath’ hauto], andall therest.” There he is picking out beauty

precisely and focusing entirely on its own nature,rather than isolating this beautiful something all on its own. Afterall, he goes on directly to say that it is because of bearing somerelation to this beautiful somethingthat everything beautiful is so. Similarly at 66a1-3, multiple things that beara relation to one another are qualified by the very sameexpression: the soul should investigate things autéi kath’ hautén, hunting down each thing auto kath’ hauto and pure. Again, the expression spotlights the nature of the things in question, leaving everythingelse in the dark. The soul should operate on its own power—in accordance with its own nature—to discover the nature of things. 7 This is not the place to thoroughly establish mybroadclaims about the Socratic dialogues, but for an account of the Euthydemus along these lines, see Jones (2013). There I use some language thatis

misleading in the way I want to avoid here (particularly in adopting Irwin’s formulation of “The Moderate View” onp. 16), but the overall argument of that paper is meantto establish that Socrates in Euthydemus 278-82 argues that wisdomis invariably good, but does not argue for or against the views thatit is finally as opposed to instrumentally good,intrinsically as opposedto extrinsically good,or that its presenceis sufficient for a happylife.

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realities, a seemingly valuable condition apart from any use to which it may be put.® Thereis a strikingly similarline of thought that makesa brief appearance in the Philebus. At 57e-58d, Socrates presses the view that dialectical knowledge— that knowledge concerned with eternalrealities (58a2-5)—is the highest kind of knowledge becauseofits degree of truth, rather than becauseofits usefulness. And he suggests that it is “a capacity to love whatis true and to do everything for the sake ofit” (58d4—5). Socrates thus seemsto offer us a pretty clear indication of the

value of dialectic, which is pure knowledgeif anything is. A corroborating clue that Socrates would think pure knowledge valuableon its own comes at 22c and 33b, where there are suggestions, left undeveloped, that perhapsthe godsdonotfeel pleasure butlive lives of knowledgealone. Surely the gods’lives are valuable. After all, at 32b-c thefact that the life of knowledge alone is more godlike than the life of pleasure alone is counted as a point in favor of giving knowledge the second prize over pleasure. And surely the gods’ knowledge at least includes,if it is not fully exhausted by, what later in the dialogue Socrates characterizes as pure knowledge. It is, moreover, plausible to think that this knowledge will have final value for them, that its value is not exhausted by any service to which they might put it. Surely, then, humanlives that have a share of such knowledge also havefinal value becauseofit. Wethus have good reason to think that Socrates’ view in the Philebus is that pure knowledge is good on its own and apart from its usefulness. What we don’t get is any clear explanation of that value. Again, we might turn back to the Republic or the Phaedo for help. But the problem with using the Republic to illuminate the Philebusis that here in the Philebus Socrates insists on considering knowledge apart from pleasure. Yet a natural way of understanding the goodness of (pure) knowledge in the Republic is precisely that it is pleasant to learn and contemplate. This, at any rate, seemsto be the thrust of certain parts of Book 9, where Socrates argues that the philosophers are happiest because their lives are most pleasant. Certainly the philosophers claim that intellectual pleasure far surpasses anyotherkindofpleasure (581d10-e4). But that won’t doin the context of the Philebus as an explanation of how pure knowledgehasvalueall byitself, for in the Philebus Socrates is at pains throughout to consider knowledge apart from any pleasure, thereby ruling out that it is the pleasantness of knowledge that explainsits goodness.*° The Phaedo, by contrast, might take us further, by way of ® See, for example, Phaedo 79d1-7: “Wheneverthe soul investigates on its own [i.e., not by way of the body], it arrives at whatis pure, ever existing, deathless, and the same. Andsinceit is akin to this,it always comesto be with it wheneverit is by itself and can doso; then it ceases from its wanderingandis always the sameasitself, being in contact with things of the same kind; andits experienceis called ‘wisdom’, isn’t it?” (trans. Jones and Marechal 2019, adapted).

° Thanks to Verity Harte for pressing upon methe importanceofthis passage. ’° Thereis a corollary point to be made: Socrates does not argue for pleasure’s inclusion in the best life by arguing that pleasure necessarily accompanies(certain forms of) knowledge and that knowledge is necessary to thebestlife. Rather, he conceptually isolates pleasure and knowledge: supposing you had

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identifying pure knowledge as the proper condition (or perhaps activity) of the soul, the condition that in some sense is most suited to its nature.’? Given his other commitments in the Philebus, it would be open to Socrates to take the same line as in the Phaedo.But in fact the best we can do hereis to import the line: the Philebus itself remainslargely unconcerned with explaining why pure knowledgeis good all byitself, even asit fairly clearly suggests thatit is.’ Besidesits value on its own, there is a second reason for Socrates to mix in pure knowledgeasthevery first ingredient, which emerges in the ensuing discussion of the other ingredients: Other things depend on the presence of pure knowledgein order to contribute positively to our lives. That is just to say, other things are variable goods, and an accountof the circumstances in which they really are good will appeal crucially to pure knowledge. If pure knowledge is absent, these other ingredients won’t actually make contributions to the goodness of the whole. In fact, they may spoil it! To see howthisis so,let’s follow Socrates in considering, first, the inferior kinds of knowledge and, second,pleasure.

3. Impure Knowledge Socrates assumesthat weare goingto be living a humanlife, with all the practical implications of such life. So, when he considers whether we need any knowledge other than pure knowledge, he does so in the context of a humanlife. He doesn’t ask whether we'll go about doing practical activities such as building houses and growing food. Rather, he assumes that we'll engage in suchactivities, and he asks whether, for such actors, pure knowledge is sufficient. Would, for example, knowledge of the “divine”circle and spherebesufficient for one whois building houses? Or would he instead need to makeuse of imperfect tools of measurement?

one withoutthe other, would you besatisfied? ThusI find unpersuasive Russell’s (2005, ch. 6) strategy for accounting for the necessity of pleasure for happiness by arguing that good character is necessary and sufficient for happiness and pleasure necessarily accompanies good character. That may betrue, butit is not the tack Socrates takes in the Philebus. "! See Ebrey (2017) for discussion ofthis issue in the Phaedo.

Some commentators have been more sanguine about finding an explanation. Perhaps the best example is Bobonich (1995). On Bobonich’s reading, Socrates in the Philebus is committed to the Knowledge Condition (formulatedon p. 117), according to which a necessary condition for any variable goodactually being goodfor a person is that she knows whyit is good for her, because that knowledge partially constitutes and actualizes the goodness of the thing. The Knowledge Conditionis elegant:it explainsthe value of knowledge both on its own and as determinative ofvalue in otherthings, simply in virtueofits possession of an explanation of the goodnessof any good thing. Perhaps Plato is committed to it. The trouble with it is that it remains, to my mind atleast, quite speculative; it is difficult to find it clearly expressed in the Philebus (the dialogue Bobonich turnsto in orderto find it), and one wants a

more direct argumentfor such a radical thesis. (My reasons for thinking it difficult to find overlap considerably with those of Gentzler 1995.) Still, Bobonich (1995) is well worth consulting.

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The answer is obvious: to succeed at house-building, one needs more than mathematical theory; one needs a working knowledgeof the tools of carpentry. The point finds a famousparallel in Republic VII (esp. 539e2-540b5): To succeed in practical matters, the philosophers mustbetrainedin practical matters; a grasp of the formsis insufficient for political effectiveness. Socrates and Protarchus need not wrangle overthe point; they quickly agree that “if ever a person is goingto find his own way home” hewill need “theart, neither stable nor pure, of the false rule andthefalse circle” (62b5-9).

Earlier (56b4-6), building was their example of an impure knowledge that is mostlike the pure. They now turn to their example of knowledge thatis less exact, music. Again, little discussion is warranted. Protarchus says that music must be included, “if ourlife is to be any kind oflife” (62c3-4). Once welet in these kinds

of knowledge, there is nothing to preventletting all knowledgein. But this is a point where order is absolutely crucial. Notice what Socrates proposes: “Do you want me,then,to yield like a doorkeeper to the pushing and shoving of a crowd andto throw open the doorsand let the flood of all sorts of knowledgein, the inferior kind mingling with the pure?” (62c5-8;trans. D. Frede 1993). Socrates never proposes simply letting in the inferior kind of knowledge; he proposes after having let pure knowledge through the door, to let the rest of knowledge in behind it. And Protarchus respondsin kind: “I don’t think anyone would be harmed bytaking in (AaBwv)’* the other kinds of knowledge, so long as he hasthe first kinds” (62d1-3). And Socrates lets them in.

In the background of these moves is a standard Platonic thesis, that most knowledgeis only variably valuable, and that the condition ofits value is a specific kind of knowledge that controls or directs it. There are two reasons Plato holds such a view. First, knowledge is bivalent, in the sense that it may be used to promoteits proper ends, or ends entirely opposed to these. Socratesillustrates this point with several examples of craft-knowledge in Republic I. Consider, for example, a physician. A physician knows humanhealth andillness. It is this knowledge that allows her to produce health in her patients. But the very same knowledge enables her to introduce disease into her patients, if she so chooses. Indeed, she could do so mosteffectively, and mask heractions by makingit look like a natural disease process. A physician would make a very goodassassin. Now,of course we can raise questions about whether the physician whoacts as an assassin still retains her status as a physician. Perhaps, we will say, aiming at health is constitutive of being a physician. Whatever our judgment on that, it remainstrue that her medical knowledgeis the very thing that makes her such an effective killer.

% “AaBdr’ is an artful word-choice: it answers to “letting knowledgein” while at the same time signifying an intellectual grasp.

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The second reason Plato holds the view that most knowledge is only variably valuable is that the products of most kinds of knowledge are only variably valuable. Consider medicine again. Suppose a physician produces health in her patient. Whetherthis is a good thing or not depends on howthat health is then used. Health is only a variable good: goodif it is used in ways that benefit, bad if it is used in ways that harm. And so medical knowledgeis variably good: goodifit produceshealth that is good,badif it produces health that harms. The sameis true of building, music, and any other kind of knowledgethatis productive of variably valuable things.'* Even when a craftsman uses his craft for its proper end, it remains to be seen whether the accomplishment of that end will be beneficial or harmful. The exception to the rule about the value of knowledge is knowledge of good and bad. One whoacts out of knowledge of good and bad accomplishes genuinely goodthings, for this knowledge hasas its proper products components of human happiness.’* Nor need we worry that someonewill misuse this product, for no one who knowswhatreally is good will ever have a motivation to use her knowledge to produce whatis bad.’* Lest one doubt that something like knowledge of the good andbadis in play in the Philebus, recall the kind of knower Socrates envisions when hefirst mixes in pure knowledge at 62a2-5: “someone who knowsaboutjustice byitself, whatit is, and hasreason following on intelligence, and moreover comprehendsin similar fashion all the other things that are.” Socrates’ sole specific example here from among the “things that are’—the onta—isjustice. Justice is (at least part of) the

object of the knowledge of good and bad. Indeed, one might makea casethatall the onta Socrates has in mind here are somehow value-laden. So much is strongly suggested at 64d3-65a5. There Socratesinsists that beauty, proportion, and truth should be treated as one, even as heidentifies them as the “three [forms]” that we

must “grasp” in order to “catch” the good. Whatever exactly we make ofthis claim,it is clear that truth is intimately connected with value. But truth is just what characterized the onta in view at 62a2-5, as is plain both from the immediate context (61d7ff.) as well as the preceding pages.’”

* On building specifically, see Euthydemus 292c7-9, andfor the general point aboutall such crafts, see 278e-282d and 288d-292e. On music specifically, see Republic 398c-402d, which suggests that music,evenif skillfully produced, may have bad effects on those wholisten to it. Thus Socrates bans the aulos from thecity entirely, not because it doesn’t sound good orcan’t be played skillfully, but because it is so versatile that it encourages great variety and innovation,raising the risk of introducing musical modesthat have a harmful effect on the souls oflisteners. (This complaint against aulos-playing is not grounded in the same concernasat Philebus 56a, where skill with the aulos is ranked comparatively low among kinds of knowledge becauseit involveslittle measurement. On 56a, see Barker 1987.) 15 See, for example, the many statementsto this effect in the Euthydemus(e.g., 281b-282a, 282c8-dl, 291b6-7, 292e5). Compare Charmides 174b11-d1. '6 Forelaboration of this point, see Jones and Sharma (2017, 130-3).

7 On the value-laden aspects of onta, it is useful to consult Burnyeat’s (2000) treatment of mathematics and the good, though he hardly mentions the Philebus. In keeping with Burnyeat’s overall

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Suppose, then, we had proceededin a different order with our mixture. Suppose we had proposed as the first ingredient the inferior kinds of knowledge. Our judgment would then have hadto be that they were to be excluded, since they have just as much potential to harm as to benefit. Like butter into hollandaise, they must be addedto a life in the presence of another key ingredient, knowledge of goodandbad,else theyfail to contribute to the goodness ofthe whole. That’s why, in the context of arguing in the Euthydemus that knowledge of good and bad (there called wisdom)is the only determinately good kind of knowledge, Socrates insists that we should first turn all our attention to pursuing it (282a-c). It’s not

that we should start by pursuing parallel tracks, acquiring various other kinds of knowledge as we pursue wisdom,for wisdom is the condition of the goodness of those other kinds of knowledge. Likewise in the Philebus we see that wisdom needs to be the first ingredient to go into the pot, so that it can condition the other kinds of knowledge as they are added.

4. Intense Pleasures After adding all kinds of knowledge, Socrates proposes mixing true pleasures in. Protarchus consents. Socrates then proposes mixing necessary pleasures in. Protarchus consents. Socrates then wonders whetherall pleasures should be mixed in. Heproposesa simple principle: If it is advantageous and harmlessforus to enjoy all pleasures, they shouldall be mixed in. To determine whetherthis is the case, Socrates proposes to determine how the various ingredients will interact with one another. Hedoesthis by personifying both pleasure and knowledge and asking whether they would wantto live together. Pleasure answersthatit is happy to live with knowledge. Knowledge is more cautious, passing different judgments on different pleasures. First, knowledge chooses to exclude intense pleasures (63d2-e3). The com-

plaint is that such pleasures hinder knowledge in countless ways. They “confuse the soul through maddening pleasures,” hindering what bit of reason may be present or preventing the development of reason altogether. Moreover, they destroy “the offspring” of reason and knowledge by leading to their neglect. Presumablythe offspring are true judgments, further knowledge, new applications of knowledge,andthelike. This is all Socrates says about the matter here. But the languageis strikingly similar to two passages in the Phaedo that can help us to think about the mechanismsby which intense pleasures hinder knowledge. Thefirst is at 65e6-66d7. I quote selectively (picking up mid-sentence at 66a5): The body “throwsthe soul into confusion, preventingit from attaining truth and

analysis, in the Philebus I propose (without here arguing for the proposal) that we should accommodate the fact that all the onta are value-laden notby restricting what we count as onta to what we would antecedently think of as value-laden, but by expanding our notion of value to encompassall the onta.

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wisdom.” Furthermore, “the body keeps us busy in countless ways becauseofits need for nurture.” Weare “enslavedto its service,” and so “it leaves us no time for philosophy.” And then 82d9-83e3 (again quoting selectively, beginning midsentence at 83b8): “Whenever someone experiences intense pleasure, fear, pain, or desire, he doesn’t suffer some minor harm from them of the sort someone might think—for example,falling ill or wasting moneyto fulfill his desires—but in fact he suffers the greatest and most extreme harm ofall, without even realizing it...that the soul of every human being, at the same time that it experiences intense pleasure or pain at something, is compelled to believe that this—which pleases andpainsit most of all—is most clear and mosttrue, though it isn’t.””* Ifwe take our cue from these passages, we can identify two mechanisms by which intense pleasures prevent knowledge. First of all, they demand an enormous share of our limited attention and resources. We get a compressed expressionof this idea in our passage in the Philebus when Socrates says that intense pleasures produce lack ofcare for reason and knowledge (63e2). Surely the reason they producelack of care is exactly that articulated in the Phaedo: they demandall the care for themselves. If we pursue intense pleasures, we pursue a life of constant, even countless (Pd. 66b7; Plb. 63d5) great needs and the regular replenishment of those needs— precisely the kindoflife thatis likely to push the limits ofour available attention and resources and crowd out other considerations. Indeed, the Phaedo presents the desires of the body andthedesires of the soul as making competing claims on one’s attention: care for the body leaves usno timeto practice philosophy (66d1-3). Second,intense pleasures not only distract us from pursuing knowledge, but they corrupt ourbeliefs. They make us think that the object of our pleasure is most clear and mosttrue. They makeus judge those things to be mosttrue, andthis,at least in part, explains why we evaluate those things as most worth ourattention. But of course, these are not most true. In the Philebus, Socrates is at pains to identify pleasures as becomings(geneseis) rather than beings (ousiai) (54d4-6, on

which see Rangos in this volume, Chapter 12). Intense pleasures are the worst of the lot, lacking measure, and being furthest from the truth (52cl-d8). Why, then, do intense pleasures make usthink that their objects are mosttrue? I think this has to do with a common phenomenonwherebyintense pleasure (and pain) tends to fix and limit our awareness. When we experience intense pleasure or pain,it is hard to focus on anything else, and easy to allow the pleasure or pain and the things that cause them to dominate ourattention. There is thus really no competition when it comesto judging whatis most real: Whenpleasureis all or nearlyall we're aware of, our default judgment will be that whatever is causing such an experience is most real. But once we develop a habit of making such judgments, wewill have little motivation and few cognitive resources for discovering anything

'8 Translations adapted from Jones and Marechal (2019).

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truer. We will thus never attain true knowledge, but instead remain stuck in a condition of madness (Plb. 63d6) and foolishness (63e7). The mixture cannot be

sustained, and so intense pleasure is excluded.

5. Pure Pleasures Socrates and Protarchus have by nowcasually pronouncednot once but twice on pure pleasure (61e6-62a1, 62e3-8): Pure pleasure will be included. But I treat it here because reason takes up pure pleasure after intense pleasure. Reason addslittle to the casual pronouncement,except to say that true and purepleasuresare to be taken as “oyedov oixeias”—“nearly akin”—to reason (63e4). What does this mean?

These “true and pure” pleasures are those described at 50e5-53c3. Pure pleasures are there described as those that are not commingledwith pain. Socrates gives three kinds of examples, distinguished by their objects. First, some pleasures have as objects pure shapes,colors, or sounds. These are thingslike circles or true notes. These objects are beautiful notin relation to other things, but rather “just on their own” (kath’ hauta) by nature (51c7). Second, smells are less divine, but also

needn’t involve the pain of lack commingled with the pleasure. And third, the pleasures of learning are not associated with anyfelt lack. I won't dwell on the details of the examples (for which see Warren in this volume, Chapter 11). Whatis of particular importance for our purposesis the way Socrates contrasts these pure pleasures with the intense pleasures. The intense pleasures admit of the more andtheless, and thus lack measure and belong to the class of the unlimited. The pure pleasures, by contrast, belong to the class of measuredthings. That is, they belongto thethird class, the “offspring”of thefirst two classes which is generated through the measures imposed by the limit (26d7-9), along with health, beauty, strength, and the like (on which see Gill in this volume, Chapter 5). Earlier (28a3-4, 31a7-10), Socrates appeared to assign pleasure quite generally to the unlimited, and madereason the causeof the third class—the cause of what is limited. Since he now marks off pure pleasures as belongingto the class of the limited, reason must somehow bethecause of their being what they are. One way for reason to be the cause of their being what they areis for their pleasantness to (at least partially) consist in intellectual appreciation. And,in fact, the examples of objects of pure pleasures(lines, circles, colors, notes, etc.) are all things that can be understood or appreciated with the intellect.’? They are akin becausetheyare just the sorts of things that can be grasped by reason. They are not necessarily

’? J ignore smells, which present various puzzles of interpretation. They are “less divine” than the others, but yet are classed with these because they do not necessarily involve pain. Again, see Warren in this volume, Chapter 11.

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detached from the body—itis not as if you can hear a pure note without ears—but they are such asto be grasped by the soul. Moreover,it is plausible that they can’t come about in the absence of reason. Some certainly can’t—the pleasures of learning obviously require reason. Others are less clear: Does one have to see the circle as a circle in order for the pure pleasureto arise? Or hear the pure note as pure? Socrates doesn’t make this clear. But my inclination is to say that seeing or hearing as is necessary to experiencing the pure pleasure. Otherwise,I fail to see the grounds for distinguishing the quality of the pleasure of seeing a wellconstructed circle from that of seeing a haphazard oval. This would suggest that pure pleasures are available only to beings that possess reason.”° The progression of our passage encourages, but doesn’t absolutely demand, such a view. Socrates assumes from the beginning that pure pleasures will be mixed in, and so one mighttake the view that the goodnessof pure pleasure can be determined even apart from reason. But after he discusses pure and inferior knowledge, and then turns back to pleasure, Socrates makes plain that they have abandonedtheir plan to start by mixing pure knowledge with pure pleasure: Rather than first mixing pure knowledge with pure pleasure, they have let every kind of knowledge in “before the pleasures.” This might mean simplythattheylet every kind of knowledgein before considering how manyvarieties of pleasure they will let in. The abandonmentofthe initial plan would thus consist in the fact that they didn’t pause to examine the mixture of pure pleasure and pure knowledge, but went straight away to letting in all knowledge along with pure pleasure. But I think a much more natural way of reading the passageis as follows. First, we agree that pure knowledge and pure pleasure belong on our ingredientlist. But when westart outlining the steps in our recipe, so to speak, we find that thefirst thing to actually add into the mix is pure knowledge. Then wesee that the timeis right to include all knowledge. And then we look at our mixture and note that there is not yet any pleasureatall in it. Which pleasureswill we add? Only the pure ones, or every pleasure as with knowledge?

2° The ability to appreciate, say, the circles and straight lines produced by the carpenter’s tools doesn’t seem to require anythingso lofty as pure knowledge, or even the knowledgeof carpentry. This suggests in turn that when Socrates throws openthe doorforall knowledge (62c5-8) he was being quite inclusive, letting in the things like true belief and memory that haveall along been classed with knowledge. This is likewise suggested at 64a3-5, where reason is judged to have spoken not only on its own behalf butalso for memory andcorrectbelief. Even so,it is no trivial cognitive achievement to appreciate circles and straight lines for what theyare. See also Lang (2010, 155-9), which raises further points that may berelevant. (i) Qualities like

roundness, straightness, single colors, or single notes don’t present themselves to ussingly, but are always boundupin ourperceptual experience with other qualities. They must therefore be abstracted to be appreciated for what they are, and abstractionis a cognitive task. (ii) For any pleasure to rise above that available to a shellfish, and thus to be worth having for a humanbeing, the pleasure must be accompanied by the awarenessthat oneis having it. Again, this awareness dependsonreason, but of a fairly low-level sort. This awareness is required of any pleasure, though; my accountis meant to suggest that moreis required of reason in the case of pure perceptual pleasures, becausethe pleasure partially consists in an appreciation of the nature of the object of perception.

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On this way of reading the passage, the relation between knowledge and pleasure might be asymmetric, in that pleasure, even pure pleasure, depends on knowledge for its goodness, but knowledge does not depend on pleasure forits goodness. (Remember, don’t confuse this with the idea, long since decided upon, that a goodlife requires both.) One must grasp, even if meagerly, the intelligible properties of the objects of pure pleasure, in order to experience pure pleasure. I find such a readingattractive, even if not decisive, since it both explains the order of the passage and helps to explain why reason is later deemed moreresponsible for the goodlife.

6. Necessary Pleasures Onefinal class of pleasure remains for reason to judge. Again, the judgmentis passed swiftly—in the same sentence, in fact, as the judgmentof pure pleasure: “In addition to these [pure pleasures], mix in those that go with health andselfcontrol, and especially all those that, like attendants on a goddess, always accompanyall virtue” (63e4-7; trans. Gosling 1975, modified). These are the “necessary pleasures” of 62e8-9. Because we are living human lives, we are bound to experience certain lacks that require replenishment. Our bodies need to recover in a variety of ways, to hydrate and gain nourishment andrestore systems to health. And so we are bound to experience someof the pleasure of food and drink andthelike, just in the course ofliving a humanlife. While these pleasures, when perverted, can becomehabitually intense and the objects of our pursuit, when controlled by reason they remain moderate, do not interfere with the function or development of reason, and contribute positively to the goodlife. Again, their value for humans is dependent upon reason, and so again, while we have clear reason forincluding pleasure in the goodlife, we also further support the idea that reason or knowledge is most properly responsible for the goodlife. Asat severalpoints in this passage, while the basic idea is clear enough from the passageitself, Plato elsewhere treats the same matters in greater detail. Socrates describes in Republic 9 what he meansby‘necessary pleasures,’ and the concomitant ‘necessary desires,’ in the context of describing the degeneration from an oligarchic to a democratic character. There, unnecessary pleasures are those that lead to no good and the desire for which someonecould get rid of, were he to practice from childhood on (559a3-6). Socrates gives an illuminating set of examples. Desire to eat to the point of health and vigor is necessary, including desires for specific foods, not only basic foods but even somedelicacies. But desire for food that goes beyondthis is unnecessary. Such desire can actually undermine right thinking and, more obviously, moderation (559b8-11). Over twoor so pages of text, Socrates vividly describes how the pursuit of unnecessary pleasures can dominate thesoul, driving out reason and order while introducing false belief and

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harmful aims. Whatis crucial to recognize is that the objects of necessary and unnecessary desire are notof radically different sorts. To be sure, there are some foods that never promote health and vigor and so should be avoided altogether. But most foods promote health when consumed in appropriate amounts and combinations. (So go ahead anddrizzle a bit of hollandaise on your asparagus.) That’s why Socratesfirst introduces the idea of necessary desires with the example of eating to the point of health and vigor. One can eat the very same foods, but go beyond the point of health and vigor. To eat properly, one must do so in accordance with the aim of eating. One must eat in a reasonable manner, controlling and ordering one’s desires, consumption, and the resulting pleasure in such a way as to optimize health. Lest the pleasures of eating lead to harm, reason must control them, imposing limit and measure upon them. This account of the necessary pleasures might seem to push usto a particular answerto a question of interpretation that comes upin thefinal ranking: whether there are onlyfive classes ofgoods, or whether Socrates simply stops mentioning the goodsafterthe fifth class.” Saying that they contribute positively to the goodlife, as I have done, would seem to require positing them as an unnamedsixth class of goods. Perhaps, and I have no objection to doing so. But I think we can accommodate Socrates’ inclusionofthe necessary pleasuresas positive additions to the good life and draw hardlineatfive classes of goodsat 66c, if we recognize that while the necessary pleasures are good, they are good only undercertain conditions, andit would bebetterif, per impossibile, those conditions werenotto obtain.” Theyareat best a second-class kind of good, adding a bit of relish to activities like eating and drinking which must occupy someof ourattention, but regrettably so. For none of the other goodsin the fivefold rankingis it in any sense regrettable that one has them,and perhapsthat is reason enough to draw theline atfive.

7. Truth Socrates and Protarchus have by this point pronounced on each kind of knowledge and pleasure, and so we might expect the mixing of the good life to be completed. But the passage goes on: “Yet this, at least, is a necessity, and withoutit nothingatall would ever become

anything.”—“What’s that?”—“If we will not mix truth in with whatever we have 21 See especially 66c-d, and the discussion by Harte in this volume, Chapter 15. Aufderheide (2013) also takes up the issue. 22 “Per impossibile” because in mixing Socrates assumestheresult is to be a distinctively human, and therefore embodied,life, which cannot but include some necessary pleasures (andtheassociatedpains). I don’t meanto rule out that the same person mightlater live a different kind oflife, in which the

necessary pleasures find noplace. Indeed, a main aim of the Phaedo is to encourageusto use this embodiedlife to prepare for that disembodied one (see Jones and Marechal 2019).

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in hand it would not truly come to be or, having come to be, persist.”— “Obviously.”—“As you say. Now if there is anything else we ought to add to

this blending, you and Philebus must say. So far as I can see the descriptionis complete, a sort of incorporeal design for the proper direction of a living body.” (64a7-b8;trans. Gosling 1975)

Hereit looks as if we are mixing in one final ingredient: truth. But this would be surprising. After all, haven’t we already mixedin truth, by mixingin the “truest” knowledges and pleasures, along with the rest of knowledge? What other truth could be remaining? None,it seems. Socrates hereidentifies truth as a necessary ingredient, butit would be wrong to think of it as an independent ingredient. Rather, he is highlighting a quality that is already present in the mixture by virtue of the particular ingredients that have been mixed in. 64a7-b8 thus functions to ease the way into the next passage, transitioning us from talk of particular ingredients to talk of more abstract qualities that make the whole good:truth, beauty, and proportion. It is as if we had madea list of ingredients for a cake and then added, “Of course, you'll never truly bake a cake unless you mix in sweetness. After all, the goodness of a cake resides in sweetness, texture, and balanceofflavors.” Sweetness, texture, and balanceofflavors aren’t ingredients. Sweetness comes with certain ingredients; texture and balanceofflavors arise out of the mixing of the ingredients. Likewise, truth comes with certain ingredients of the goodlife, and beauty and proportion result from the way they are mixed. Even if 64c5 most properly marks the move to a new question—whatis the most important component of the mixture—already at 64a7 Socrates is pivoting toward this line of inquiry.”

8. Back to Sauce Recall the crucial principles for making hollandaise sauce: You need not only to mix the right ingredients, but to mix them in theright order,in the right manner, and in the right proportions. In sum, you need to be mindful about how each ingredientwill interact with the others.So it is with the goodlife. Butin life, unlike

?? Perhapsinstead, as Harte proposesin this volume, Chapter15,‘truth’ heresignifies real existence:

for the mixedlife to be good, it must really (aléthds, 64b3) come to be. Perhaps, though I find that proposal somewhat awkward whenit comes to 64a-b. (Doesit in effect have Socrates simply saying that realness is necessary for somethingto really be?) Still, my own interpretation has its awkwardness, too—whyshould we now betalking about mixing in truth,asif it is a new point, rather than, say,

identifying the truth that has already been mixed in?—andI thinkour choices here at 64a-b will have more impact on how weread the pages that follow than the pages that precede. So I leave further discussion to Harte.

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in sauce, one ingredient takes priority in multiple ways. Pure knowledgeis the crucial ingredient. It goes into the mix first, because it conditions the value of the other ingredients. It governs the manner in which the other kinds of knowledgewill play a role in one’slife. Its integrity determinesthe kind of pleasuresthat are allowed, and limits their quantity. No wonderit, thoughit is not the goodlife itself, has the greater claim to being responsible for the goodlife.

15 The Dialogue’s Finale Philebus 64c-67b Verity Harte

1. Context

In the mid 1990s, Ronseal, a British company manufacturing wood stains and wood dyes, began a much lauded advertising campaign featuring the tagline: “Does exactly what it says on the tin.”* This phrase nicely encapsulates something important about the structure and ambitions of the Philebus: it tells us the questions it is going to consider and answer, and it does exactly what it says: nothingless, but also nothing more.’ This is not to say that whatit doesis a small thing; it has considerable complexity. Seen from this perspective, the structurally most significant joint in the dialogue occurs at 22c5-e3. By this point in the dialogue, the competition between pleasure and reason announcedat the start of the dialogue has arrived at a first, and negative, decision regarding first prize: neither pleasure nor reason has won. Neither, that is, has been agreed to be that “state or disposition of soul... that is capable of providing the happylife for all humans” (11d4-6). What that state may be,it has been agreed, will be foundin life that involves some mixture ofpleasure and reason. Rather than give up on their contest once arrived at this conclusion, Socrates and Protarchus instead pursue a second contest between pleasure and reason,itself anticipated at the start of the dialogue (11d11-12a5), a contest for

secondprize. The passageI identify as the structurally most significant joint in the Note: My thanks to the organizersof the project for inviting meto contributeto this collective work on the Philebus andtoall the participants in the workshop on Spetses (September 2015) for stimulating discussion notonly of this chapter, but of the dialogue as a whole. Particular thanks, for helpful written commentsand/or conversation aboutearlier drafts, to Rachel Barney, Gabriel Lear, Susan Sauvé Meyer, and Katja Vogt. ' Thestory is told here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Does_exactly_what_it_says_on_the_tin. An

example of the adline is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zR20x4HWaXM. ? It is fair to say that this is a controversial claim about the dialogue, expressing more confidencein its unity and coherence than it has seemed to have to many readers. Jowett’s (1871) assertion of

“a degree of confusion and incompletenessin the general design” in his Introduction to the dialogue, mayserve as representative for a view still widely maintained. Of course, I cannot hopefully to defend such a general claim aboutthe dialoguein the space afforded here. I return to the limits on the scope of whatthe dialogue sets out to accomplish in Section 4 (see in particular n. 34 and text thereto). Verity Harte, The Dialogue’s Finale: Philebus 64c-67b. In: Plato’s Philebus: A Philosophical Discussion. Edited by: Panos Dimas, Russell E. Jones, and Gabriel R. Lear, Oxford University Press (2019). © the several contributors. DOI: 10.1093/0s0/9780198803386.003.0015

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dialogueis the one in which Socrates spells out exactly what would be involved in a competition between pleasure and reason for secondprize.* This second contest occupies the remainder of the dialogue. Thoughofficially a contest for second prize, I take it to have an unofficial additional task of refining and revisiting the contest for first prize. Sometimes, for example at 27c8-10, this unofficial additional task is made explicit.* WhatSocrates says about the dialogue’s second contest has three key elements for present purposes: (A) Protarchus and he have conceded the superiority of a life that includes

both pleasure and reason overa life containing one or other alone. But they may yet hold pleasure or reason respectively responsible (aition, 22d1-2) for this commonlife.° (B) Socrates would contend that reason not pleasure is “more akin and more similar to” (sungenesteron kai homoioteron, 22d5-8) whateverit is within

the commonlife that the life becomes both choiceworthy and good by possessing.

(C) Socrates predicts that, if they pursue this new contest, then not only will pleasure not gain eitherfirst or secondprize,it will come in lowerthan third. Taken together, this earlier passage puts three questions onthe table:* (1) Which,if either, of pleasure and reasonis responsible for the commonlife?

(2) What feature in the commonlife makes it choiceworthy and good? Call the answer “the good-makingfeature.” (3) Which ofpleasure and reason is more akin to this good-makingfeature?’ > The passage is discussed to somewhatdifferent effect by Susan Sauvé Meyer in this volume (Chapter 4). Despite, or indeed because of our disagreement on some important details, I have benefited from discussing the passage with Susan and am conscious ofnotas yet having fully taken on board some challenging questions. * The rationale for keeping thefirst-prize contest in view is twofold. First, the negative decision that has been madetells us next to nothing about the character ofthe first-prize winner: the condition of soul in a life mixedofpleasure and reason that provides the happy human life. Second,the argument to the negative decision is, in my view, provisional, conditional on an assumption aboutpleasure that the

dialogue meansusto reject. I do not argue this latter point here, but have defended similar view in Harte (2014b).

° “Responsible” may be thoughtto bring in its train unwelcomeassociations ofspecifically moral responsibility. A forensic tone of “blame”is in fact fitted to the historical origins of the Greek term aitios (a familiar point; cf. M. Frede 1980). In context, however, I intend the term to indicate general causal responsibility without further specification as to the nature and character of the causal responsibility involved. * Compare Barney (2016), a paper with which I am in large measure of agreement. Ourinterpret-

ations diverge, includingon the character,relation, and role of these questions, but the divergencesare subtle and caused, I suspect, in large part by thoughts about the dialogue as a whole that neither of us attempts fully to articulate. I am muchindebtedto her for giving me the opportunity to read her paper

both in anearlier draft and in its penultimate version. 7 Questions (1) and (3) are the explicit points of contention Socrates mentionsin the passage (and

the correct understanding of them and oftheir relation one of the more significant points of disagreement between Susan Sauvé Meyer and myself; see her discussion in this volume, Chapter 4).

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The number of questionsis striking. If pleasure or reason were the relevant good-making feature, then the third question would be redundant. Andif being the good-making feature were the sameas being responsible for the commonlife, the first would be redundant as well. Clarification is needed on what kind of responsibility for the commonlife is of relevance and on the good-makingfeatures of the commonlife.®

2. The Return of Socrates’ Questions at 64c Socrates’ questions at 22c5-e3 return quite explicitly at 64c. We have atthis point considerably enriched our understanding of the commonlife, first by a separate, general analysis ofits principal ingredients, pleasure or reason, and second by a careful construction of the prize-winninglife intended to enable usto see the good within it so as to determine which of these ingredients deserves second prize (61a4-5).’ The life so constructed is what Socrates picturesquely refers to as the “dwelling” (oikésis) of the good (64c2,cf. 61a9) at whose gates we stand.*° Socrates

then all but repeats the questions implied at 22d5-8: What, then, in the mixture should we judge to be at once both maximally of worth andespecially responsible for the arrangementofthis kind having cometo be beloved by all? Sinceit is by seeing this that we may afterwards determine

whetherin thetotality of things it is established as more naturally belonging and moreakin to pleasure or nous.

(64c5-9)"!

Socrates here refines the question of what is responsible for the mixedlife as the question whatis responsible for the goodnessofthatlife and treats it as coordinate Question (2) arises indirectly from the way Socrates frames the point of contention behind question(3) at 22d4-8 (corresponding to (B) above). While the argument of 20c-22c has given (in my view,

provisional) reason to deny that either pleasure or reason, taken in isolation, is the good-making feature, this is the most that we know aboutit at this point. ® This is one reason whythesecondcontest is not simply settled when,shortly, reasonis situated in the family of cause. While it is true that the commonlife is situated in the family of those mixtures of which the causeis a cause, so that reason is thereby situated in the family of cause of precisely such mixtures, we are givenlittle additional insight into what makes the commonlife a mixture in the

relevant sense or into the conditions for being responsible for that life in the relevant way. Indeed, withoutfurther argument, we do not knowthatthe fact that reasonis placed in the family of the cause of mixtures establishes that reason is the cause ofthe mixedlife, since there might be causes of mixtures other than reason. Hendrik Lorenz, in his discussion of 27c-31b for the present volume (Chapter6),

leaves this question open. Evenif all causes of mixture are held to be forms of reason, we do not know whether situating reason in generalin the family of cause meansthat, in the context of the mixedlife, the relevant form of reason—ourcontestant, the reason within the mixedlife—is responsible for thelife

in the relevant way. ° Discussed by Russell Jones in the present volume (Chapter14). ’° Strictly, in fact, if we keep the MSSreading with Diés (1941) against Burnet(1901), as we should,

I believe, since there are no obvious groundsforrejecting it, we stand at “the gates of the good and of the dwelling of whatis of this character [viz. good]”. The nuance may be importanthere.

"| Translations are my own unless otherwise noted.

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with the question of whatis that life’s good-making feature. For he asks what in the mixture is (a) maximally of worth (its most valuable feature) and (b) especially

responsible for its being beloved (the primary cause of its goodness). These two componentsof his question track his earlier formulation, where he referred to that element “in this mixedlife” possessing which the life “has become at once both choiceworthy and good” (22d6-7). “Good”is picked up by “maximally of worth”; “choiceworthy” by “beloved by all.” Read with hindsight, Socrates may have intended this earlier formulation to spell out what it would be for reason or pleasure to be responsible for the mixedlife, that is, for the goodness ofthatlife. Whatis responsible for the goodness of the mixed life will show up as goodness within it.Though Socrates now takes together the questions about responsibility for (the goodness of) the life and about its good-making feature, he clearly separates answering these questions from the stage of determining to which of pleasure or reason that feature is most akin. Onefeatureof his description of the project of determining to which of pleasure and reasonthelife’s good-makingfeature is akin is new. This is a judgmentto be made“in thetotality of things” (64c9). In context, this picks up the reason whythe varieties of reason includedin thelife exclude the greatest pleasures, in the sense of the most extreme (63d4-5). This exclusionis necessary, they argue, if one wants to create thefinest (kallistén) and least unstable (astasiastotatén) mixture in which to

cometo understand “whatis by nature good in manandin thetotality ofthings and whatits formal character mustbe divined to be” (64a1-3). However, whilethistells

us that the good-making feature of the best humanlife is not, qua good, unique to it, Socrates’ subsequentreprise of his earlier questions makes clear that any more generalinterest in goodness remainsat the service of understanding the goodness of the mixedlife so as finally to settle the contest between pleasure and reason.” Socrates’ reference to thetotality of things tells us something aboutthestructure that will be followed, having identified the good-making feature of the life, in consideringits affinity with pleasure or reason. Whatit envisages—a consideration of how things stand “in the totality of things’—echoes the strategy of the earlier argument by which Socrates established that, out of the four families or gené into which he divided everything there is, the genos of reason is that of cause (28a-31a).* That argument set up a parallel between the human sphere (the microcosm)andthetotality of things (the macrocosm). We mayhere be encouraged to see such a parallel again by Socrates having just described what their % This should not be altogether surprising for readers of Plato’s Phaedo, where this is whatis predicted by Socrates’ simple-minded answer that anythingbeautiful is so because of having a share of beauty (100c4-7). Asthere, this need not imply that once onehasidentified that feature ofthe beautiful thing in question as beauty, there is no additional inquiry needed into what thatis.

More onthis focus below in Section 4. '* For genos(plural gené), I prefer the translation “family,” which captures the root of the word and avoids the—in my view, misleading—associations of our term “genus.” I will generally use the Greek term transliterated.

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argument has produced in mixing the goodlife as a “kind of bodiless kosmos for the good governance of ensouled body” (64b7). This last is also a reminder that, in the totality of things, governance is what that earlier argument presented as

reason’srole.’*

3. Implementing the Strategy: 64d-66a Having reminded usof the strategy of the second contest, and on somepoints refined our understanding of that strategy, the dialogue proceeds to do exactly whatit says. In a first stage (64d3-65a7) it identifies the triple characteristics of beauty, proportion, and truth, taken as one, as what in the mixture bothisitself goodandin so being makes the mixture have cometo be so (65a3-5). In a second

stage (65a7-66a3), and taking the projected broad canvas of what is the case amongst both gods and men (65b1-2), each of pleasure and reason are judged with reference to each of the three characteristics to determine to which of pleasure and reason each ofthe trio is more akin.’® Protarchus judges that reason is more akin to each of beauty, proportion, andtruth. I shall not go through these two stages of the implementation ofthe strategy in detail. Instead, I shall highlight some key points and mention some problematic issues. First, consider stage one, focused on identifying the causally responsible goodmaking feature. While beauty, proportion, and truth are to be regarded as one whenidentified as the causally responsible good-makingfeature, the introduction of this trio nevertheless has three importantly distinct phases: First, without “measure and the nature of proportion” no mixture or blend can exist; this suggests these are in some way fundamental (64d9-e3). Second, beauty is introduced as a concomitantof these, since it goes wherevertheydo;it is also a location for them, where the “powerof the good”has taken refuge (64e5-7). Third,truth is introduced as a separate, specific addition, based on the earlier agreementthat, without it, nothing would ever “truly cometo be or, having comeinto being, be” (64b2-3).’” With the exception of“truth,” Socrates’ use of terminology for thetrio

© See, for example, 30d6-8. This earlier argumentalso established thatthetotality of thingsisitself an ensouled body. *© In thefinale of the dialogue, Socrates tends to frame the judgmentofaffinity this way around;at 22d he asked abouttheaffinity of pleasure or reason to the good-making feature. Assumingaffinity is symmetrical, the difference is not significant. 7 Insofaras truth is added to the mixture,it seemsbest to regard it as something like genuineness or reality—both possible understandings of the Greek term alétheia. Whether and how this use connects to whateveris the best understandingof the dialogue’s use of “truth” as grasped by reason,judgment,or certain pleasures; or as ascribed to reason,judgment, or pleasure is an important and complex question I do not attemptto tackle here. We may, however, envisage some intended connection,in the fact that reason is given responsibility for coming to be, where this is the condition in which such genuineness or reality is added, combined with the fact that in its shapingofthelife, truth seems to be one guiding principle in its selection of ingredients.

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is difficult to keep track of, especially when this material is put in comparison with what comeslater. But it looks here, atleast, as if he is focused on qualities (natures, as he says) (not qualified things) and asif, in his statement ofthetriple at 65a2, summetria (“proportion”) picks up metrou kai tés summetrou phuseos (“of measure and the nature of proportion”) (64d9) as well as metriotés...kai summetria (“measure...and proportion”) (64e6); and kallos (“beauty”) picks up tén tou kalou phusin (“the nature of the beautiful”) (64e6) and encompasses areté (“virtue”) (64e7).

Second, consider stage two, focused on deciding on the relative degree of affinity of the trio to pleasure and reason. Atleast since those readers to whom Damasciusis reacting,’* readers of this stage of the dialogue have complained that Protarchus uses the wrong kinds of pleasures as the focal point for making this judgment, since he uses the very “greatest,” in the sense of the most extreme, earlier excluded from the mixedlife.’ This criticism, however,forgets the macrocosmic perspective from which the comparison is made. From this perspective, I take it, we are tasked with looking at pleasure as such and reason as such—atthe gené we mightsay.”° Thegreatest pleasures, here as earlier, are emblematic of the unlimited character of pleasure, agreed to be pleasure’s genos(e.g., 52c1-d1).Itis, I imagine, no accident that the last time we adopted this macrocosmic perspective wasprecisely to establish the genos of reason; nor that the gené agreed for both pleasure and reason were something Socrates explicitly said they should remember, at 31a7-10. Regarding the second stage of discussion, concern about the standard of the argument as regards pleasure has overshadowed what seems to meat least as important a question about what grounds the judgments made about reason.” Protarchus’ view that reason hasa very close connectionto truth is not surprising. But what grounds his judgment that reason is measured and beautiful??? 18 Damascius in Westerink ([1959] 2010, §248). Damascius thinks the complaint can be answered on the grounds that whatever is idion (“proper”) to some feature ought to be present in even the lowliest instance, as aisthésis (“sensory awareness”) belongs to the least of animals.

1 With 65c6 compare 63d3-4. 2° T agree with Delcomminette (2006, 616), that a philosophical rationale for this is to be found in the fact that using as points of comparison only those pleasures that madeit in to the life would notgive us a perspective on pleasure unfiltered by the operations of reason, measure, and so on.It is, of course, true that pleasures go into thelife in specific varieties, but the macrocosmic perspective adopted here allows for a judgment of their contribution qua pleasure. The subsequent ranking addresses their standing qua specific varieties of pleasure. 21 Damascius, for example, sees no need to address a comparable concernonthis point. 2 Tt is important, as Menn (1995, ch. 3) has argued, to understand “reason,” not as a neutral

cogitative faculty, but as a virtue, viz. a substantive condition of intellectual excellence or perhapsin some Philebus contexts a family of conditions related thereto. This provides helpful perspective: some association between beauty and virtue may be regarded asnatural; certainly the dialogue implicitly closely connects the two (64e7). Even so, this does not tell us how, in the context of the dialogue’s

contest, where these are key hallmarks of value, it is supposed to be immediately obvious how these characteristics are akin to reason and, more particularly, that they are so to a greater degree than pleasure.

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Protarchus’ quickness to a judgment that bodes well for reason is reminiscent of his earlier immediate confidence that reason does indeed govern the cosmos and that it would be impious to doubt this (28e1-5). Andthis earlier passage provides someof the context we should look to for a more secure basis for this judgment aboutaffinity beyond what Protarchus says. The remindersin this context of that passage’s macrocosmic focus help connect the dots. However, while this earlier passage would helpidentify reason as the cause of what is measured andbeautiful, it takes some additional step to identify reason itself as having the characteristic of being measured. The sameholds even once webringin the other relevant context, the analysis of the varieties of knowledge.If all varieties of knowledge there had in common someform of measuring,” unlike measuring tools such asthestraight edge or compass mentionedthere,it is not obvious that knowledge measures by itselfconstituting as opposed to employing units of measure, so one mightstill find a gap in the move to declare reasonitself something measured.”*

4. The Fivefold Ranking: 66a-d Having identified the causally responsible good-making feature and determined that it is more akin to reason thanto pleasure, weare led to expect that reason will be awarded secondprize and pleasure third. But this is not what happens, though wehavea teaserfor it, when Socrates suggests that Protarchuswill declare to those present—andsend out heralds to announce abroad”’—“thatpleasureis notfirst possession, nor in turn second...”—but then switches to a positive fivefold ranking of possessions in which the pure pleasures comein fifth andlast.”* This result too, however, picks up Socrates’ original statement at 22c5-e3, the third ?? Rightly emphasized by Jessica Mossin her discussion of 55c-59din this volume (Chapter 13). 4 One could envisage principles to bridge the relevant gap: one would bethat a causeis like its effect; another thatlike knowslike. But whethereither such—or someotherbridging principle—might be in the backgroundhere is not something I now consider. ?° It is surely no coincidencethat the heraldic announcementofa fivefold ranking echoes Republic IX, 580b9-c4. (There maybe another such echoat 66d4 ofR. 583b2-3.) It would be regrettable, however,ifwe

had nobetter explanation of a ranking of five here than the desire to construct such an echo. One explanation of whyeach dialogue might merit such an announcementthat does not attempt to draw too much closer a connection between the announcements themselves (whichinvolve very different points)is

that each is on the point of announcing a judgmentonthe overall question to which the dialogue has taken a long andcircuitous route. ?6 Thatthere are no additional pleasureson thelist in a sixth tier (such as the necessary pleasures, a popular candidate) gets some support from 67a14 where “the powerof pleasure” is recorded as fifth. (It is only some support since in principle one could mention only pleasure’s highest ranking.) But there

is no real pressure, in my view, to add anythingto thelist (whichis a list not of everythingin thelife, but of goods in the life, and specifically those pertinent to our contest). The Neoplatonists are the earliest commentators we know ofto read Socrates’ Orphic quotation at 66c8-10as indicating that Socrates here stops mentioning items ranked, but nevertheless points to the existence of a sixth tier. Their reading seems driven in the end by thefact that six is a perfect number. See Damascius §251-6 who describes various Neoplatonist versions of how thesix in turn break down into three pairs and what eachincludes.

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elementof which washis prediction that, if they enacted the second-prize contest, pleasure would comein lower than third place, as it does. The rankingitself is in a numberof respects pretty baffling. One decision to be made is what is ranked. I take it to be a ranked list of goods, good possessions (ktémata) in the terms used in the ranking itself (66a5).”” But is this, as some

argue, a general list of goods or components of goodness from which the implications for our contest can be extrapolated,oris it a list of goods specific to the context of our contest, all in some way connected to the victorious mixed life??* Optingfor the latter (as I will) does not yet settle the question of whetherit is a list of goods internal to the victorious life or a list that might itself include the victoriouslife as well as some things external toit. Onereason one might think the rank orderingis a generallist is the macrocosmic perspective just insisted on in the foregoing comparison ofthe triple characteristics to pleasure and reason.”” However, in my view,this macrocosmic context is the means by which wesettle the microcosmic question regarding the comparativeaffinity between the causally responsible good-making feature of the victorious humanlife and our competitors, pleasure and reason. Andthat is a question to be settled to decide our second-prize contest, a contest that is framed both here and earlier as an investigation of the causally responsible good-making feature in the victoriouslife.*° The fivefold ranking is the only place in which the transition back to this microcosmic context could be made, since it is clear that Socrates takes their judgment to be made by 66c10 leaving time for one last recapitulation of the contest as a whole. Thereis also some positive evidence of the transition having occurred. Whereas in the macrocosmic context of the preceding consideration of the relative affinity of the triple characteristics to reason and pleasure, reason and pleasure were considered generally (in the case of pleasure in its worst, but most representative variety), here varieties of each turn up selected and distinguished: 27 It is not clear whetherthis should be supplied with e.g., the second proton in 66a6 and deuteronin 66b1, on whichseealso discussionin n. 36. But evenifit should not,it seemsclear that what get ranked are ktémata, contra Vogt (2010). Though I disagree on herpointthat the lists are not ktémata (p. 254),

I do not take my description of them as goodsto be inconsistent with Vogt’s more general point that this is not a conventional list of goods, not only insofar as the goods listed are not the conventional ones, but insofar as the dialogueis rethinking what it takes for somethingto be the relevantly goodmakingfeature ofthe best life. This is a theme Vogt enlarges upon in her contribution to the present volume (Chapter2). 28 Different generalizing readings are found in Delcomminette (2006) and Barney (2016). ?° So Barney (2016, 212-13, 221). °° At 64c5, when Socrates says “in the mixture” he must in context mean the mixture—the mixed

life—whose production and constitution they just described. At 22d5-6 the focus on whatis “in this mixedlife” is even more explicit. It is, of course, true that at 64d3-5 Socrates turns his focus to the cause of value in any mixture, but for the purpose of the contest what this invites is a decision-making procedure of the following form:if in any mixture the cause of value is CV, and the mixedlife is a mixturein the relevantsense, then the causeofits value will be CV. For this reason, I think that when the phrase “in the mixture”recursat 65a4, in echo of 64c5, we again have in view the mixedlife, not any mixture.

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nous (reason) and phronesis (wisdom) distinguished from epistémai(varieties of knowledge or expertise), technai (crafts or skills), and doxai orthai (correct

opinions),’’ appearing in different rankings, and for pleasure only the variety, pure pleasure, appearing atall. There are cues too in the recurrence of the word ktéma (“possession”, 66a5),

along with the fuss aboutcalling heralds. The latter makes clear that this is the grandfinale, the announcementofthe result of their contest. As to the former,at 19c4-6, the term ktéma was Protarchus’ choice for framing the task that Socrates is set in the dialogue overall, which is to “determine whatis the best among human

possessions (ktémata)”.*? I thus take the fivefold rankingto be a fivefold ranking of human goods.** But this is not to say that one could not gain more general information about goods and goodnessfrom it. However, giving a general account of goodness is not, in my view, the dialogue’s project; it is not what it says on the tin.** If this is a fivefold ranking of human goods specific to their contest, is it a ranking of goods internal to the victorious mixed life (good causes, features, or

ingredients of the life),*° or could the list itself include this victoriouslife? A decision will be influenced by how one interprets a linguistic subtlety: The first-prize winners mentioned—metron kai to metrion kai kairion (“measure, due measure, and the opportune”, 66a6-7)—seem (with the possible, but defeasible exception of to metrion) to point to measures, the standards or the qualities that constitute them, and not to things that have or conform to them.** Dorothea

>! Cf. 59d1-9. Especially in the case of nous and phronesis, which are also used for the family as a whole, we should notlookfor linguistic uniformity in Socrates’ vocabulary of epistemological terms. At 59b7-8, for example, epistémé is lined up with nous in apparent contrast to technai and doxai (58e4-59a2); at 66b8-9, epistémai is lined up with technai and orthai doxai in contrast to nous and

phronesis. These inconcinnities mayreflect no more than the paucity of termsavailable in a context in which he wants in places to list a multiplicity of candidates undifferentiated, but elsewhere to divide them intodistinguished groups or unite them as single family.I give translations for these terms here only to anchor those without Greek; nothing substantive should be taken to rest on my choice of English terms. 32 Orindeed in place of “to determine,” “to divide” (dielesthai)—the term is pointed in its context,

since Protarchusis trying to hand off to Socrates, or even to avoid entirely, dividing pleasure and determining the numberandnatureofits varieties. ° By whichI just mean things (very broadly construed)it is good for humansto have (where what counts as having is also broadly construed). There is no implication that these are uniquely human ‘oods. a This is perhaps my mostsignificant overall disagreement with Delcomminette (2006), though I admire the work greatly. The difference for this passage is in part a matter of emphasis, thoughit opens out to a broader disagreement about the project of the dialogue overall with bearing on the interpretation of many passages. Distinguish (i) looking in the mixedlife for the good and(ii) looking for the good-in-the-mixed-life. I take the project to be not (i) but (ii), a project which nevertheless,

given certain contextually reasonable assumptions abouttherelation between that localized good and goodness,will of course carry information about the good. °° T have yet to address the question of whatis the basis of the ranking. °° There is a seemingly insoluble textual crux here at 66a8: the text is “hoffnungslos korrupt”in the view of D. Frede (1997, 85), asterisked note ad loc. Hackforth (1939), argues for keeping the text and

treating 77)v didcov as cognate accusative (with an implied aipeow). But he notes the oddity and cannot

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Frede has argued that, in contrast, the formulation of the list of second-prize winners: 76 odppetpov Kal Kadov Kal 76 TéAeov Kal txavov (“the proportionate and

beautiful and the perfect and sufficient”, 66b1-2) uses the 7d-plus-neuter construction for things qualified by the relevant qualities.*’ If this is so, the mixedlife itself will appear in the ranking,at the secondtier, albeit placed therein light of the specific good-makingfeatures it has.** Onthis question, I find myself undecided. The linguistic point has force, butis not, I think, mandatory. The “things-qualified” reading does go some wayto help with the apparent confusion in use of somecentral terminology. Earlier, when the triple qualities identified as the good in the mixture were introduced to us, the noun form summetria (“proportion”) seemedclearly to pick up metriotés (“measure”) and summetria (“proportion”) (64e5-65a2).”? If the secondtier,like thefirst,

points to qualities, it is something of a mystery (on which much scholarly ingenuity has been expended) why metron (“measure”) and to summetron (“the

proportionate”) are now separated from each other. On the other hand, we have been led to expect that what weare settling is the second-prize contest between pleasure and reason with an eye on the causally responsible good-making feature of the victorious mixedlife, and this would speak against finding the mixedlife itself—as opposed toits features—in the ranking.’

producea parallel for such an occurrence wherethe verbis in the passive (as he takes #p7o0a: here). Vancamp (2002) proposes to read 77v idtov [sc. Spar] iSpicAa: in place of rHv didiov 7pHoOa:, the first part of which makes good palaeographical sense, but the proposal of i8pic@a:, credited to Hermann, on which the senseofthefirst part relies, is not defended. Barney (2016, 218-19) tentatively defends a readingoriginally proposed by Taylor ([1949] 1963, 433, n. 1): in place of the MSS dié:ov read airiav. Though Vancamp’s proposal can certainly be accommodated by myreading, Barney’s and Taylor’s emendationis attractive both for its minimalism andsense, insofar as I take the basis of the ranking (the whole ranking, not just this first tier) to be causal. Difficulty remains: with Taylor, and unlike Barney, I would be tempted to construe r7v airiav as subject of the accusative-infinitive rather than pérpovetc., which latter makes the zy zepi to my mind even more puzzling; wpdrov, as Barney says, must be construed adverbially and not with an implied xrja (and perhaps for the same reason debrepov at 66b1 should also be so construed, since this must introduce a continuation of the same construction, a new construction beginning at 66b5). °7 See D. Frede (1997, 364-5). Barney (2016, 220-1) notes both options and possibly deliberate

ambiguity. Delcomminette (2006, 622, n. 15) rejects Frede’s reading and sees qualities throughout. °8 D. Frede (1997, 363) argues that the mixedlife does indeedfindits place in this second tier, thoughthetier more generally includes harmonious mixtures, including those that may themselves be ingredients of the mixedlife. *? In 64d9, the samepair appears, this time with phusis (“nature”) doing the job of marking the quality as being at issue, not something so qualified. *° This concern does not seem to me insurmountable. After all, determining second prize was determining second prize in the very contest in which the victorious life camefirst, so one might very well choose to start one’s ranking from the beginning, especially if there has—as on this view there would be—been a modification of the original decision (a decision that one

might well have thought inadequately based back when it was made). If, as I have suggested, there is in the talk of ktéma an echo of Protarchus’ mention of the “best of human ktémata,”

this would refer us back to the overall contest from the beginning of the dialogue, including the competition for first prize.

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Whatever one decides about this question, the defining qualities of the mixed life both as a mixture andas(earlier) the winner in the competition for first prize do seem to be in focus in thelist of second-prize winners, which might explain why alongside to summetron kai kalon (“the proportionate and beautiful”), picking up the immediately preceding context, we find to teleon kai hikanon (“the perfect and sufficient”) picking up two of the three hallmarks that were used to establish its earlier victory. Given a rankedlist of goods,it is natural to ask whatis the basis of the ranking? Each higher-ranked goodis better than any lower-ranked good, but what determines the higher-ranked good’s higher placement? Qua good, each item in the ranking, whateverits ranking, may be supposed to have one or moreofthetriple characteristics that we have been told to treat, taken together, as the good in the relevant context.** We knowthis to be true of even the pure pleasures, given their earlier characterization. This is the sense in which it seems to mecorrect to say, with Dorothea Frede, that the triple qualities are in some way involved at every rank.*” But this means that the presence or absenceofthese features cannot in andofitself be the principle behind the ranking. So what is? Oneattractively simple way to explain the transition from the expected awarding of three prizesto a list offive would be to make use of the fact that we have identified a triple of qualities, taken together, as the relevant good. Thus, one might think, we get from three to five, by assigning each of the three good-making features of the victoriouslife one tier in our ranking, followed by reason ahead of pleasure. (Onthis reading, both first- and second-prize winners would have to be regarded as qualities and the goodlife itselfwould not appearin the ranking.) This simple solution would notin itself explain the orderingofthetriple qualities in the top tiers of the ranking, but it would be start, at least. Nevertheless, this attractively simple explanation will not do, I believe. While the first- and second-prize winners can be shoehornedinto such a scheme,* the third-prize winners are not truth, the one memberof the trio not explicitly mentioned in listing the first- and second-prize winners, but two of Socrates’ candidates, nous (reason) and phronesis (wisdom). Somescholars have suggested

that the way in which Socrates expresses himself in listing the third-prize winners showsthat truth is a third-prize winner. Hesays, “in placing nous and phronesis

* Strictly, we treat them as one as the causally responsible good-making feature of this (or any) mixture, so it is in principle possible that the goodness of any things that are not mixturesis of a different nature. But the talk of “the powerof the good”taking refuge in beauty (64e5-6), along with a reasonable expectation that Socrates will treat “good” as univocal, suggests we should expect to find something correlate to the triple qualities in anything that is good. I return to a complication about truth below. * I take this to be the upshotof her discussion at D. Frede (1997, 364-5), though she is mostexplicit aboutthis being the case for truth. * The shoehorning requires an appropriately ingenious explanation of why summetria is now separated from metron and metriotés, for which it was earlier a stand-in.

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third, according to my own prophetic power, you wouldn’t have stepped far from the truth” (66b5-6).** But I see no obvious reason for Socrates to be so indirect, not least if we were trying to defend theattractive simple explanation. Let me then address this issue of the absence of truth, absence as an explicit prize-winner, that is; I have agreed that, insofar as each of the ranks involves goods,truth—like proportion and beauty—can be expected to be involved.*” The manneroftruth’s addition to the trio already suggestedits relative independence from measure and beauty, the inclusion of the second of which is an immediate consequenceofthe first. Truth’s separate addition is connected explicitly to the fact of the mixedlife being something that has come into being (64b2-3).*° In fact, Socrates’ twin statements of the strategy of this second-prize contest each describes the mixture in which we are seeking to identify the causally responsible good making feature as having come into being. Gegonenai (“to have come into being”) at 64c6 echoes gegonen (“has comeinto being”) at 22d7. For a good of the requisite mixed kind to comeinto being requires truth. But this is not to say that truth is the causal agent of its coming into being. The causal agent of the cominginto being of mixtures—as welearnt earlier—is nous. This is the sense in which I agree with myearlierself that truth (but not only truth, I now think) functions in the backgroundofthe fivefold ranking as a principle of the selection of the ingredients of the mixture, something highlighted in the earlier

analysis of each principal ingredient. Within thelife,*’ this selection must be made byits governing nous.** Truth, then, is not a cause of the mixture’s coming to be good, thoughit is a requirementof its doing so. Further, I propose, perhaps controversially, truth is not a cause of the mixture being good, though a good feature thereof.*? This, “4 Delcomminette is one scholar who adopts this reading—also pointing to Protarchus having earlier identified nous as “either the sameas truth or most similarto it of all things and most true” (65d2-3). He takes the fivefold ranking to be a ranking of goods in general, as part of the project of filling the lacuna of the Republic in terms of an account of the good; within this framework, his explanationof the ranking comesclose to the attractively simple explanation I discuss and reject here. See Delcomminette (2006, 577-87, 619-27). ** This is a return to this question for me(cf. Harte 1999) but I now have a different overall view of

the passage. ‘© The formulation here picks up the earlier characterization of mixtures in general as geneseis eis ousian (becomingsinto being) (26d8).

*” This perspective is illustrated, in the mixing of the goodlife, by making it the decision of the varieties of phronesis within thelife to exclude the intense pleasures. The enactment of the mixture brings out two perspectives on the constructionofthelife: this internal perspective and the perspective

of the majority of the dialogue from which thelife is constructed externally and in argument by Socrates and Protarchus. Thatthis latter construction too is governed by nousis hinted at on several occasions: see, for example, Socrates’ coy reference to trusting his nous at 22e3 in projecting pleasure’s demotion below thirdplace. 48 Meaningnotthatit is a matter of rational thoughtbeing involved,butrather being in possession of the epistemic excellence that constitutes nous, which excellence informs and shapesall decisions. * It is a good feature of a mixture where a mixtureis something that has comeinto being and, having doneso,is. Is truth in andofitself a good feature of ungenerated being? I leave this question open. As Gabriel Lear points out to me, one might object that, if truth is not a causally responsible good-making

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I think, is the implication of the need for truth to be added to the mixture in order that it come to be and having done so be, what nous effects (64b2-3).

The mixture they have characterized to this point is already good. What the mixture is not is produced in reality. For this we need the addition of truth, but causal responsibility for its addition lies with nous (according to the earlier argument). One mightthink there is an obvious counterto this proposal. Afterall, truth is one of the trio of characteristics identified at 65a2 that I have described as the causally responsible good-makingfeature of the winning, mixedlife. Doesit not follow from this that truth is cause of something? No, because here we are focused on good in the mixedlife, explicitly envisaged as having come to be (gegonenai, 65a5). So, it is not surprising to find truth is an importantfeature of it, given what Socrates just said. And the identification of the trio beauty, proportion, and truth as the causally responsible, good-making feature, when treated as one as Socratesinsists (65a3), does not entail that each, taken separ-

ately, is a causally responsible good-making feature. Truth is a prerequisite of any good mixture, because a good mixture is something that must have cometo be good. But truth has been tied to its coming to be as good and nottoits goodness independentofthis. If this proposal is accepted,it not only explainsthe explicit absenceoftruth, but also implies a view of the basis of the ranking and, for example,of the rationale for the promotion of nous and phronesis ahead of Socrates’ other candidates. If truth is not mentioned becauseit does not have causal responsibility for the goodnessin the life, then the ranked goods are causally responsible goods (as Socrates’ description of his strategy suggested they would be). So the basis of the ranking will be causal, each higher-ranked good having causal responsibility of a different order or kind than each lower-ranked good.*° Nous and phronesis will be distinguished from Socrates’ other candidates, which appearin fourth rank, because, although it seems reasonable to envisage both sets of candidates as involvedin causally shaping the good, mixedlife, it is to nous and phronesis that causal responsibility for its overall governanceis given (the microcosmiccorrelate of the earlier decision regarding the governance of the cosmosas

feature of the victoriouslife, the test conducted oftherelative affinity of pleasure and reason to truth wasirrelevant to their decision. In response, I would note,first, that, although the test examined the comparativeaffinity of pleasure and reasonto eachofthetrio separately, the decision was made on the basis of the triple comparison, the closest they could come, perhaps, to a comparison tothetrio as such. Second, the fact that truth is nevertheless a good feature of the victorious life arguably makes it legitimate to treat truth as a separate point of comparison. °° One could think the key to the ranking is causal in a number of ways without endorsing the proposal I have made about truth. Barney (2016) rightly emphasizes the causal focus in placing measurefirst and suggests a causal basis for the ranking overall. Vogt (2010, 254) takes the ranking to be “a list of causes or principles of a well-mixedlife.”

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a whole). Such overall governance mightitself include selection and implementation of the fourth-ranked ingredients.*’ No doubt, the suitability of nous and phronesis for this causal role has something to do with their privileged relation to truth (cf. 59a-d), but not more, I suspect, than with their privileged relation

to beauty and measure. The pure pleasures, rankedfifth, are causal concomitants of the operation of the fourth- (and perhapsthird-) ranked prize winners; they are good-making features ofthelife, but causally indirectly so. This is suggested by the description of them as “following” (hepomenas, 66c6) epistemai (varieties of knowledge) and (certain) aisthéseis (sensations/perceptions).”” Theyare causally

indirectly good-making features insofar as their goodness is dependent on the goodnessof the epistémai and aisthéseis that they follow. Theyare, nevertheless, good-making, on the assumption that it would be a fault in such epistémai or aisthéseis not to have them with pleasure.** Whynous and phronesis are ranked third, behindthefirst- and second-ranked prize winnersand,in particular, the basis for the ordering offirst and secondwill dependin part on the correct interpretation of the second-prize winners. In the end,thedistinction betweenfirst place and second mustarticulate some version of the priority we earlier saw given to measure, a fundamental causal condition for the value of any good mixture, which immediately gives rise to beauty and so on. The good mixed life—or its good-making qualities of being commensurate, beautiful and so on—are what nous produces—or the qualities it aims at in its production. Howeverthey are best understood, in placing them ahead of nous and phronesis, Socrates would take the causal agency of nous to be oriented to the production of good things, and would assign greater causal responsibility to the good produced than to the agent producingit.** First prize will go to the measurement standards by which nous is governed in shapingthe life so as to realize these second-ranked good-making properties (or produce the second-ranked good).*° This reliance on measures is consistent with 51 This picks up a duality for nous more widespreadin the dialogue,insofarasit is a candidate in the contest and, as such, an ingredientin the winninglife, but it is also an agentofthelife’s (and of the

contest’s) construction. On this point, compare Bobonich (2002, 177-9). >? The occurrence ofthis term is the strongest case for the reading of Lang (2010). She takes the

principal of the ranking to be that each higher-ranked goodis a necessary condition of each lowerranked good. While I am not persuadedofthe details of her reading, her paperis valuable for so clearly satisfying a desideratum for any reading of the ranking:a cleararticulationofits basis. 53 Myaccountoftherelation betweenthefifth- and fourth-ranked goods may dependona stance on the earlier discussion of pure pleasures (50e-53c), discussed by James Warren in this volume

(Chapter 11), that I do not have space to discuss or defend. I offer some relevant considerations in Harte (2018).

*4 This would show Socrates distinguishing and privileging what Aristotle would think ofas final overefficient causation,if not in those terms. The argument of 53c-54d,in particular the agreement that shipbuilding is for the sake of ships and not vice versa (54b1-5) with the implications drawn for where somethingfalls “in the allotment of the good” (54c8-10), may presage this move.

5° Somereaders have asked whetherI am suggesting (or indeed have taken meto suggest) thatfirst prize goes to a formal cause (using Aristotelian terminology) of a Platonic sort. Despite the move I make towards Aristotelian causal terminology in n. 54, I think it important to be cautious in

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the earlier emphasis on measurement and on the use of measurementtools and standardsinall varieties of reason and knowledge. It mayalso help to explain why there was so much focus there on technai.** Nous has the kind of causal responsibility for the mixedlife that a techné hasforits good product: responsibility for its having comeinto being. Thesefirst-ranked measurementstandardsare external to thelife in the same way the measurement standardsofa techné are external to and regulative of the product it produces. But the qualities of measure the standards impart are realized in the life through the operation of nous as the conditionsof the life’s beauty and so on. This is their causal priority.

5. Capitulation and Recapitulation: 66c-67b I shall not discuss the closing section ofthe dialogue in any detail. But the dialogue’s repeated recapitulations ofthe opening contest and the stages by which the dialogue has proceeded are always instructive. The nature and motivation of the original hedonist thesis comesinto sharperfocus, and the multiple repetitions of whatI call “the Choice of Lives Argument”(at 20c—22c) is the dialogue’s clearest advert ofits overall structure and project (what it says on thetin). The end that is not an end matches the beginning that was not a beginning, whenthe dialogue began with a conversation represented as already ongoing. For myself, I think this unfinished quality less a cue to look for questions unanswered than a signal of the contrast between Socrates, who will never run from a discussion, and Philebus. “Apereis”—assuming this is the right text at 67b1-2 echoes apeiréken at 11c8, when Protarchus describes himself as forced to take over the discussion since Philebus has “cried off.”

considering whether and how Platonic causes and Aristotelian causes line up, and I am not convinced the suggested wayof putting the point is a helpful way to frame the Platonic position as I see it. 1 am morestruck bythe pervasive appeal to the analogy with crafts in this—and other—dialogues, where the Philebus presentscrafts as essentially involving more orless accurate measurementand accordinglyas governed by the standards the relevant measures involve. If I were to look for an Aristotelian comparison, I might more readily turn to the doctrine of the mean, though here too there would undoubtedly be somevery significant points ofdifference as well. °° Cf. 30a9-b7, wheretherole of various technai (crafts or skills) or pantoia sophia (every variety of wisdom)is used as a model for the macrocosmic operations ofnous.

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Index

Academy 27, 203n1

Barney, R. 8n12, 12n25, 21n11, 57n5, 57n7,

Aétius 217

58n11, 236n1, 237n3, 254n6, 260n28,

Alcibiades I 170 Alexander of Aphrodisias 52n62, 52n63

260n29, 261n36, 262n37, 265n50

Baumgarten-Crusius, L. F. O. 39n21

Anaxagoras 93n4, 144n7

Beauty (to kalon)

Antisthenes 141n2 Apelt, O. 118n31, 122n47

kath’ hautov.pros ti 1122, 188-91, 193-6, 198, 214, 240n6, 247

Aphrodite 164n4 Apology 33, 178, 220

& measure, limit, summetria 15, 189, 192-4,

Aretaeus 217 Aristippus 203n1 Aristophanes 172n18, 173n20, 175

As praiseworthy 10-12 & knowledge 13-15

Archer-Hind, R. D. 39n19 Aristotle 11n23, 42, 43, 48, 50n55, 51, 64, 69, 88n34, 168, 168n12, 176, 182, 182n29, 207n7, 211, 225, 227, 235, 266n54, 266n55

Categories 51n60, 52, 75

195n25, 199, 251, 257, 258-59, 263, 266

Form of 206 See Good; Measure; Honor Belief See Judgment (doxa) Benardete, S. 118n32, 122n48 Benson, H. H. 45n37 Bobonich, C. 59n12, 59n13, 59n15, 65n32, 70n47, 187n8, 191n18, 236n1, 239n5, 242n12, 266n51

De Anima 28n33

Bonghi, R. 37n9

DeInterpretatione 48n52 De Motu Animalium 28n33 De Sensu 51n60, 197n31

Brakas, G. B. 48n52 Brandwood,L. 51n57 Brisson, L. 168n10 Broadie, S$. 11n23 Brown, L. 43n31, 76n12

Metaphysics 43, 48n52, 51n60, 52n62, 197n31, 231, 232 Nicomachean Ethics 18, 19, 19n8, 21, 27, 52n63, 56n3, 68, 69, 165n7, 181, 203n1, 204n5, 205, 209, 215, 216

Parts ofAnimals 190n15 Physics 48n52 Poetics 190n15 Rhetoric 11n21, 165, 168, 169, 170, 172n18, 181, 190n15

Sophistici Elenchi 51n60 Topics 23, 43n32, 46n47, 51n60, 179n27 Arithmetic 220, 222, 223 Atomists 203n1 Attribute/accident 34, 35, 35n2, 37, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 74 Aufderheide, J. 250n21

Aydede, M. 144n8

Burnet, J. 37n9, 56n2, 94n6, 187n6, 188n9, 217, 255n10

Burnyeat, M. 29n36, 244n17 Bury, R. G. 63n28, 67n40, 72n2, 84n26, 101, 130n16, 167n9, 171n16, 187n6, 188n9, 195n27, 203n1, 217

Calculation, deliberation, logismos 9, 11, 12, 25, 26, 220, 221n5, 223

Capra, A. 178n26

Carey, C. 176n22 Carone, G. 63n28 Carpenter, A. D. 120n44, 120n45, 190n14, 201n40, 204n4, 221n4

Castelnérac, B. 194n23, 198n32 Cause See Reason; Chance; Good Cavini, W. 43n31

Badham,C. 130n16, 203n1, 214, 217

Baiter, J. G., Orelli, J. C., and Winckelmann, A. W. 217 Barker, A. 37n9, 39n19, 53n66, 244n14

Chance 89, 91-93, 103-105, 212 See Reason Chantraine, P. 23n17 Charmides 244n15 Cherniss, H. 102n15

280

INDEX

Cicero 27n32 Classification See Collection and Division Code, A. 50n55 Collection and Division Method & character 3, 40-50, 52-54, 73-77, 228-33 & dialectic 3, 6, 6n9, 43, 45, 46, 49, 74, 87n32, 220, 223, 228-33, 241

& definition,classification 34, 35, 41, 42, 43, 75, 77, 229 Species and genus 3n2, 38, 40, 42-43, 44n35, 45-54, 73-77, 227, 229 One and many 3, 34-39, 40, 44n35, 74, 80, 229 Limit and unlimited 3, 4, 36-38, 44-54, 74-77, 80-81, 227, 229-34

Part and whole 47-51, 76-77, 83-84 & number, intermediates 3, 4, 5, 6, 6n9, 41,

190n16, 195n25, 201n39, 258n20, 260n28, 261n34, 262n37, 264n44 Deliberation See Calculation, deliberation,

logismos Desire 21, 24, 62-5, 111, 117-121, 123, 127, 128-29, 134, 136-38, 139, 144, 155, 155n21, 206, 246, 249, 250 See Pain; Pleasure; Good Destrée, P. 11n24, 16, 155n22 de Vries, G. J. 182n29

Dialectic See Collection and Division; Knowledge Diés, A. 118n31, 122n47, 172n17, 203n1, 217, 255n10 Dimas, P. 11n24, 16, 126n6, 136n29

Diogenes of Apollonia 93n4 Dixsaut, M. 107n2, 118n32 Dorion, L. A. 62n27, 63n28, 67n40

duschereis, hoi (“Stroppies”) 11n24, 141-162

45, 52, 53, 54, 74, 75, 80-81, 82, 227, 229

& categorial v. syncategorematic entities 75-7 Letters/phonemes 49, 53-4, 75, 80-1, 194, 229, 230

Music 49, 53, 75, 80, 177, 194, 230 See

Knowledge; Fourfold Division; Kind; Forms Comedy 11n24, 110n12, 163-183, 190n14 See

Envy; Laughter/the laughable Contemplation 12, 29, 210, 213, 215, 218, 229,

240, 241 See Knowledge; Pleasure; Good Cooper, J. M. 63n29, 67n40, 68, 69n45, 70n47, 98n11, 116n26, 196n28, 212n9

Cornford, F. M. 41n28, 43n30, 231n11 Corti, L. 48n52

Cosenza, P. and Laurenti, R. 23n17 Craft 6n8, 87-88, 191, 192, 220-230, 243, 244,

244n14, 266n55, 267 See Knowledge Cratylus 54n68, 203n1 Cresswell, M. J. 47n48 Crivelli, P. 3n2, 8n13, 16, 18n4, 56n4, 74n5, 76n12, 207n6

Ebrey, D. 242n11 Emotions 109n9, 121, 144, 164-67, 177-78, 181-82, 184, 190n14 See Envy; Indignation;

Pity; Schadenfreude Empedocles 93n4 Envy (phthonos) 11n24, 110n12, 165, 167-76,

177, 181-83, 184 See Comedy; Laughter/the laughable; Emotions Epicurus 27, 27n32, 179n28 See Hedonism Erginel, M. M. 186n4 Eristic 3, 6, 14, 75n6 eros 206

Euclid 203n1 Eudoxus 27, 52 Euthydemus 56n3, 126, 136n29, 239, 240, 240n7, 244n14, 244n15, 245 Evans, M. 63n29, 70n46, 70n47, 108n6, 109n9, 116n25, 118n34 Experience (empeiria) 6n8, 220, 222, 228 See

Craft; Knowledge

Cyrenaic school 203n1 Fine, G. 189n11, 189n12, 233n17

Damascius 63n28, 67n40, 132, 164n4, 168n12, 185n3, 204, 258n18, 258n21, 259n26 Davidson, D. 163n2, 165, 178, 190n14, 193n19, 194n24, 195n27 Definition See Collection and Division Definitions (dialogue) 169n13 De Lacy, P. 194n22 Delcomminette, S. 18n5,19n6, 35n2, 37n9, 43n30, 57n7, 58n10, 58n11, 59n13, 60n21, 67n40, 86n29, 91n1, 108n6, 108n7, 113n21, 115n24, 118n33, 119n36, 119n38, 120n46, 130n16, 131n18, 139n32, 169n14, 172n19, 176n24, 187n6, 187n8, 188n9, 188n10,

Fletcher, E. 6n9, 91n1, 109n8, 110n14, 112n17, 112n19, 117n28, 187n5, 187n7, 187n8, 188n10, 200n38, 214n10 Forms 5,8, 19, 38, 44, 45, 50-52, 74-79, 81, 111, 149, 186, 200, 205, 206, 229-33, 234, 240, 240n6, 241, 243, 244 See Knowledge;

Collection and Division; Fourfold Division; Kind Fourfold Division 4, 5, 58, 59, 59n14, 71-89, 90, 96-98, 211-13, 226, 227, 232 See Forms;

Collection and Division; Kind Fowler, H. N. and Lamb, W. R. M. 86n30, 110n14, 118n31, 122n48, 217

INDEX Frede, D. 6n9, 23n15, 24n18, 24n19, 30n37,

32n39, 58n9, 59n15, 60n18, 60n19, 60n21, 62n26, 63n28, 67n40, 74n4, 86n30, 91, 92n3, 95n7, 99n12, 100n13, 101, 108n5, 109n9, 110n14, 118n32, 122n48, 125n3,

Cause of 19, 21, 57, 58, 59, 233-34, 236, 237, 245, 247, 248-49, 250, 251, 252, 254, 255, 256, 257, 259-67 Ascause 19, 21, 57, 58, 236, 237, 251, 254, 255, 256, 257, 259, 260, 262-66

130n16, 131n19, 132n23, 135n26, 141n1,

Univocity/multivocity of 19, 263n41

147n12, 163n1, 163n3, 164n5, 167n9,

Desire for 4, 9, 20, 21, 62, 63-65, 68, 69, 208, 256 See Reason; Pleasure

175n21, 176n24, 183n31, 187n5, 188n9,

281

190n13, 195n26, 201n39, 203n1, 204n3,

Gorgias 8n15

208n8, 214n10, 214n11, 261n36, 262n37,

Gorgias 6n8, 8, 67n39, 96n8, 126, 127n7, 134,

262n38, 263n42

Frede, M. 51n60, 254n5 Friedlander, P. 130n16 Friendship 165, 169-71, 173-76, 177

151n16, 153n19, 164n5, 203n1, 217, 220, 221, 222, 225, 226, 227, 228 Gosling, J.C. B. 35n2, 58n9, 58n10, 70n47, 74n4, 84n27, 86n30, 87n31, 99, 101, 110n14, 118n31, 122n48, 147n11, 164n5, 166n8,

Gadamer, H. G. 170n15 Galen 72n2, 194n22, 202, 217

Gavray, M. A. 169n14 Gentzler, J. 242n12 Gill, M. L. 4n4, 16, 18n4, 35n2, 38n10, 43n31, 43n32, 54n68, 74n5, 76n12, 76n13, 212n9, 227, 229n8, 231n10, 247 Gill, M. L. and Ryan, P. 83n25 Golden, L. 182n29 Goémez-Lobo, A. 43n30 Good

In truth, measure/proportion, & beauty 7, 9, 13, 14, 15, 16, 58, 237n3, 251, 257, 258, 260-66 & knowledge/reason 2, 7, 10, 14, 15, 18, 22,

173, 185n2, 190n14, 194n24, 202, 224, 224n7, 232

Gosling, J. C. B. and Taylor, C.C. W. 23n17, 58n10, 108n4, 168n11

Grote, G. 72n2 Hackforth, R. 23n15, 40n22, 44n33, 44n35, 52n63, 53n64, 63n28, 67n40, 83n24, 84n27,

86n30, 97, 97n9, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 118n31, 122n47, 130n16, 132n23, 135n26, 141n2, 167, 172n19, 202, 203n1, 214n12, 231n11, 261n36

Hahn, R. 37n9 Hampton, C. 62n25

23, 24, 26, 28, 29, 30, 56, 59, 60, 61, 65, 66,

HarmonySee Measure; Good

67, 70, 122, 236, 237, 238-45, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 258n22, 259, 260, 262, 263, 264,

Harte, V. 8n14, 9n18, 10n20, 16, 27n30, 57n6,

265, 266, 267 & pleasure 2, 7, 13-15, 18, 22-24, 26, 27,

28, 29, 30, 56, 57, 59, 60, 61, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 106, 106n1, 122, 147n12, 164, 166, 173, 177, 202-3, 207-11, 216, 236, 237, 238, 241, 245-50, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262, 263, 264n47, 264n49,

266, 267 & mixedlife 7,57, 90-91, 124, 177-79, 183,

57n7, 58n10, 59n12, 60n18, 60n21, 63n28, 64n30, 67n41, 69n44, 74n4, 79, 87n31, 90, 118n32, 118n33, 118n34, 120n46, 129n10, 132n24, 193n19, 198n33, 200n37, 207n6, 236, 237, 237n3, 250n21, 251n23, 254n4, 264n45, 266n53

Hedonism 12, 15, 18, 19, 22-24, 26-30, 56, 59-61, 69-70, 106, 106n1, 117n27, 122, 147n12, 164, 166, 173, 177, 179, 180, 202-3, 207-11, 267

226, 235-52, 253-55, 256, 260-67 & measure 7,9, 13, 14, 15, 16, 87-88, 90-91,

Henderson,J. 164n5

104, 112, 178, 185, 188, 192, 212n9, 225, 226, 234, 237n3, 246, 247, 250, 251, 257, 258, 259, 261-67 Sufficient, complete 4, 9, 61, 62, 66, 67, 68, 69,

203n1 Hermann,K. F. 217, 261n36 Hermann,K. F. and Wohlrab, M. 217 Hesiod 168

193, 203, 206, 207, 208, 212n9, 216, 236, 237, 240, 240n7, 242, 262, 263

Heraclitus 93n4, 143, 161n29, 179n27,

Hesychius 218

Hippias Major 67n38, 178, 180, 182, 203n1

Ranking of goods 10n20, 12, 26, 27, 60-62, 69,

Homer 24, 165, 166

185, 213, 219, 237, 237n3, 243, 250, 251, 252, 254, 256, 259-67 Assuch vs. for humans8, 9, 17, 18-20, 21-22,

Honor 10, 11, 11n21, 12, 170-71, 172,

260-1

173, 215

HughesFowler, B. 30n38 Hussey, E. 24n20

282

INDEX

Ierodiakonou, K. 197n31

Lee, J. M. 120n41

Indignation 180-83 See Laughter/the laughable;

Lefebvre, D. 63n29, 66n34, 67n40, 68n42, 179n28 Lefebvre, D. and Villard, L. 23n17 LeVen,P. 30n38

Emotions Ion 178, 180 Irwin, T. H. 63n29, 66n33, 70n47, 156n23, 240n7

Isocrates 169n13 Jones, R. E. 7n10, 8n14, 10n19, 16, 26n29, 239n5, 240n7, 255n9

Jones, R. E. and Marechal, P. 241n8, 250n22 Jones, R. E. and Sharma, R. 244n16 Jowett, B. 253n2 Judgment (doxa) 25, 25n22, 25n24, 116n26, 125-32, 134-40, 141, 190, 220, 220n3, 246,

257n17 See Pleasure; Perception Kahn, C. H. 40n24, 40n25, 51n58 Kant 239n5 katharsis 176

Kennedy, G. A. 168 Kind 3, 3n2,4, 5, 5n6, 6, 6n9, 7, 32, 35, 40-54, 71-77, 78n14, 79, 80n16, 84-89, 90-92, 96-100, 104, 107, 108, 109, 111, 208, 227,

256n14, 258 See Collection and Division; Fourfold Division; Forms

Knowledge Division of 5, 30-32, 35, 56, 192, 201, 219, 220-26, 261, 261n31 Pure v. impure 5, 6, 219, 223, 229, 232, 233, 238-42, 243, 244, 248, 252 & measurement 87, 191-92, 219-34, 259,

266n55, 267 & dialectic 3, 6, 6n9, 10, 15, 43, 45, 46, 49, 74, 87n32, 122, 220, 223, 228-33, 241

Objects of 230-34, 240-41, 243 Of the good 28, 29, 233-34, 244, 245

Self-knowledge 12, 171-72, 215, 231n10 See Collection and Division; Reason Konstan, D. 165n7, 168n10, 170n15

Korsgaard, C. M. 239n4, 239n5 Kramer, H. J. 48n51, 51n60

Kripke, S. 144n8 Kihn, C. G. 194n22, 202

Kurath, H. 23n17 Laches 203n1 Lang, P. M. 191n17, 248n20, 266n52 La Taille, A. 118n32, 122n47

Laughter/the laughable 6n8, 110n12, 163-183 Plato’s use of humor 178-83 See Comedy Laws 67n38, 67n39, 96n8, 108, 177, 178, 198 Lear, G. 57n7, 61n22, 67n37, 69n45, 264n49

Lewis, D. 144n8, 144n9

Limit 4, 21, 44-54, 71-74, 74-77, 78-89, 90, 98, 98n11, 104, 107, 111, 193, 211, 212n9,

226-34, 250 See Knowledge; Measure; Good; Unlimited

Letters/phonemes See Collection and Division Lohr, G. 35n1, 36n4, 37n9, 39n21, 40n26, 47n49 Lorenz, H. 4n5, 16, 20n9, 71n1, 82n21,

89, 255n8 Lovibond, S. 132n24 Lucien 164n4 Makin, S. 21n13 Marré, T. 231n13 Mason,A.J. 95n7, 96n8, 98n10, 104n18 McCabe, M. M. 60n18, 60n21, 63n28, 66n33, 66n36, 67n40, 68n42, 93, 101, 103, 179n27, 179n28, 180, 182 McConnell, $. 141n2, 153n17 Measure 7, 9, 13, 14, 15, 16, 58, 78, 86, 87-88, 90-91, 100, 104, 112, 178, 185, 188, 192, 196, 212n9, 219, 224-34, 237n3, 246, 247, 250, 251, 257, 258, 259, 261-67 See Limit;

Good; Knowledge Measurement See Knowledge Megarian school 203n1 Meinwald, C. 39n19, 74n4 Memory 24, 31, 65, 107, 114, 119, 120, 120n46, 121, 130, 130n13, 136, 140, 200, 248n20 See

Perception; Recollection; Pleasure Menexenus 67n39 Menn,S. 93n4, 101, 102, 102n15, 258n22 Meno 21, 24, 111, 220, 221, 221n5, 222 Meyer, S. S. 4n3, 8n14, 9n18, 10n20, 16, 26n27,

236, 237, 254n3, 254n7 Micalella, D. 30n38 Migliori, M. 167n9 Mignucci, M. 48n52, 51n60 Miller, F. D. Jr. 50n55 Mills, M. J. 168n10 Mirhady, D. C. 37n9, 39n18 Mixture 4, 5n6, 11n22, 21, 51n59, 52, 58, 71, 71n1, 72, 73, 77, 81-89, 90-91, 98, 98n11, 105, 212, 213, 226, 227, 231n10, 231n12, 236, 238, 255, 256, 257, 263n41, 266 See Fourfold Division Monad 38-40, 45-51 See Forms

INDEX Moore, G. E. 144, 239n4 Moravesik, J. M. E. 41n28, 42n29

Pitcher, G. 144n8

Moss, J. 5n7, 16, 18n4, 26n26, 132n24, 237n3,

Pleasure

259n23

Miller, A. 194n22 Muniz, F. and Rudebusch, G. 37n9, 38n10 Music 49, 53, 75, 80, 177, 193-95, 198-99,

283

Pity 165, 177, 178 See Emotions Division of 5, 30-31, 35, 56, 107, 219 & the good 2, 7, 13-15, 18, 22-24, 26, 27, 28,

29, 30, 56, 57, 59, 60, 61, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 106, 106n1, 122, 147n12, 164, 166, 173, 177,

222, 225, 228, 230, 243, 244, 244n14 See

202-3, 207-11, 216, 236, 237, 238, 241,

Collection and Division

245-50, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262, 263, 264n47, 264n49, 266, 267

Neoplatonism 259n26 NumberSee Collection and Division

Trueorfalse 5, 6, 6n8, 7n11, 11n24, 25n24, 124, 125-27, 128, 132-34, 135-40, 141, 148, 152, 154, 155, 157-62, 163, 164, 184, 185, 186, 187,

Obdrzalek, S. 66n35 Ogihara, S. 5n6, 16, 129n10, 132n23 One and Many3, 34-39, 40, 44n35, 74, 80, 227 See Collection and Division; Kind; Limit;

Unlimited Ontology See Fourfold Division; Forms; Kind

188, 201, 215, 219, 238, 245, 247, 251 Pure 5, 6, 11, 110-11, 112, 113, 125n2, 138, 166, 184, 185, 187, 188, 196, 198, 199-201, 213-15, 218, 219, 247-49, 263, 266, 266n53 Mixed 11, 106, 107, 108, 113, 114, 115, 123, 125, 125n2, 139, 141, 151-57, 159, 160n27, 163, 164, 166, 173, 174, 177, 184, 187, 188,

Pain 11, 11n24, 15, 27n32, 106-9, 112n18, 114-23, 124-29, 139-40, 141-62, 164, 166,

214, 218, 233, 247 Ofbodyv. soul 108-23, 124, 125, 129,

167, 169, 170, 171, 173-74, 177-78, 181-82,

149-52, 155, 164, 184, 200, 213, 215,

184-90, 199-200, 204-5, 208-10, 215,

216, 245-49

239n5, 246, 247 See Pleasure; Desire Parmenides 93n4 Parmenides 35n2, 36, 37, 39, 39n15, 39n17, 52, 76, 76n10, 76n13, 79, 83, 84, 231n11 Particulars 35, 36, 38-40, 41, 44-54, 205, 234 See

Unlimited; Collection and Division Parts and Wholes 47-52, 76, 76n11, 83-84 See Collection and Division Paulus 217 Pearson, G. 11n24, 16 Penner, T. 132n23 Perception 114, 115, 119, 120, 121, 129-32, 139, 140, 187, 189, 190, 222 See Judgment

(doxa); Pleasure Phaedo 24, 35n2, 52, 67n38, 111, 117n29, 121, 203n1, 231n11, 240, 240n6, 241, 241n8, 242, 242n11, 245, 246, 250n22, 256n12

Phaedrus 45, 45n38, 45n39, 45n40, 45n41, 73n3, 77, 111, 172n18, 203n1, 206, 216, 217

Phantasia 130, 130n15 See Judgment(doxa);

Perception; Pleasure; Desire Philebus

Purpose & unity of the dialogue 2, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 15, 17, 19n6, 21, 22, 32, 61, 72, 78, 79, 122, 202, 211, 236, 253, 261, 261n34, 267

Dramatic character 18n5, 72-73, 267 Socrates’ return 8, 32

Philip,J. A. 44n33

& perception 111, 114, 115, 119, 120, 121,

125, 129-32, 139-40, 185-96, 198-99, 247-49

& learning/understanding 111, 185, 199-201, 215, 241, 247-49

Asfilling, restoration 5n6, 107-12, 114, 115, 116, 119, 120, 127-29, 136, 137, 146-49, 152-62, 200, 208-11, 213, 214, 249 Asgenesis v. ousia 112, 203-15, 246 Strong, great, intense 7n11, 11n24, 15, 113, 139-40, 141, 149-52, 155-57, 164, 185, 186n4, 215, 233n16, 245-47, 249, 258, 264n47 & doxa 116, 116n26, 125-27, 129-40, 141, 190, 246, 247-49 & anticipation 114, 123, 124-25, 132-40, 155, 155n20 As unlimited 4, 5n6, 91, 106, 111, 112, 139, 140, 188, 208, 213, 228, 233, 233n16, 246, 247, 250, 258 Neutral state 11n24, 115-17, 142-45, 146-48, 153, 160, 160n27, 161, 210, 215 Necessary pleasures 116, 177, 210, 245, 249-50

Relation to chairein, terpsis 23, 23n17

See Hedonism; Good; Reason; Pain; Comedy Plotinus 199n35 Plutarch 217

Poetry See Comedy; Tragedy

284

INDEX

Polyclitus 193 Poste, E. 101, 203n1, 217 Pradeau,J. -F. 58n9, 67n40, 118n31, 122n48,

Soul 94, 95, 113-23, 127, 129-32, 138, 164, 200, 216, 225, 242, 246

World soul & divine reason 4n5, 94-104 See Reason; Knowledge; Pleasure

203n1 Prodicus 23n17, 126

Space 50-52

Protagoras 26, 126, 139n31, 221

Species & genus See Collection and Division

Protagoreans 203n1 Pseudo-Xenophon 176n23

Speusippus 141n2, 203n1

Rangos, S. 5n6, 16, 88, 246 Rawls, J. 60n20

Reason & the good 2,7, 10, 14, 15, 18, 22, 23, 24, 26, 28, 29, 30, 56, 59, 60, 61, 65, 66, 67, 70, 122, 236, 237, 238-45, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 258n22, 259, 260, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267 As cause 4, 10, 58, 59, 85-89, 91-105, 212n9, 213, 226, 227, 231n10, 237, 247-49, 252,

255-57, 259, 264-67 See Knowledge; Good; Soul; Fourfold Division; Pleasure Recollection 24, 114-15, 131, 200 See Memory;

Perception; Pleasure

Stallbaum, G. 37n6, 187n6, 203n1, 217 Statesman 13n26, 43, 43n31, 44n33, 48n52, 73, 87, 88, 203n1, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229 Striker, G. 35n2, 37n5, 44n35, 45n42, 47n49, 74n4, 91n1, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 104

Symposium 21, 24n18, 67n38, 67n39, 206, 209 Taylor, A. E. 110n14, 118n31, 122n48, 203n1, 261n36

Theaetetus 25, 54n68, 76n10, 76n13, 130n13, 130n14, 130n15, 171n16, 179n27, 203n1,

209, 220, 221 See Judgment (doxa)

Theophrastus 126n5 Thomas, C. J. 44n34, 75n6 Timaeus 51, 51n57, 67n39, 75, 88, 89, 95,

Republic 8,17, 18, 19, 19n6, 21, 24, 25, 28, 28n34, 29, 30, 30n37, 35n2, 45, 52, 67n38, 67n39, 111, 111n16, 126, 160n27, 164n6, 165, 166, 170, 171n16, 177, 178, 186, 186n4, 187, 187n8, 189n12, 200, 200n38, 203n1, 204, 205, 211, 218, 219, 220, 220n3, 221, 222, 223, 225, 230, 231n11, 232, 233, 234, 239n5, 240, 241, 243, 244n14, 249, 259n25, 264n44

Trendelenburg,F. A. 203n1

Reshotko, N. 44n35 Ridiculous See Laughter/the laughable, Comedy

Trevaskis, J. R. 43n30, 44n34, 45n43 Trivigno, F. V. 168n10, 178n25, 182n29

Robin, L. 110n14, 118n31, 122n47 Rosen, R. 173n20

Truth 7, 8, 9, 13, 14, 15, 16, 26, 58, 112, 113n20,

Ross, W. D. 48n52 Rudebusch, G. 89 Russell, D. 144n6, 163n1, 239n5, 241n10 Ryle, G. 76n8, 76n9, 144n8

96n8, 97, 97n9, 100, 101, 102, 111, 117n28, 127n7, 130n15, 143n3, 144n6, 145, 169, 179, 179n28, 193n21, 197, 205, 227, 231, 231n11 Tragedy 165, 166, 176, 178, 190n14

117, 122, 126, 128, 132-34, 135-40, 185n2, 192, 200, 229, 232, 234, 237n3, 241, 244, 246, 250-51, 257, 257n17, 263, 264, 264n44,

264n49, 265, 266 See Knowledge; Judgment (doxa); Pleasure; Good Tuozzo, T. 109n10

Sanders, E. 168, 168n10, 176n22

Sayre, K. 87n31 Schadenfreude 168, 175, 181, 182 See Envy; Emotions Schleiermacher, F. 25, 102n16 Schofield, M. 141n2 Sedley, D. 21n13, 86n29

Seeck, G. A. 67n40 Shields, C. 19n7 Shiner, R. A. 230n9 Smyth, H. W. 84n27, 86n30, 96n8 Sophist 35, 38n12, 41, 42, 43, 43n30, 43n31, 44n33, 45, 49n53, 50n56, 52n61, 67n39, 73, 76, 76n10, 76n11, 76n13, 77, 102, 110n14, 130n15, 172n18, 231

Unlimited 3, 4, 5n6, 21, 38, 44-54, 71-74, 74-77, 78-89, 90-91, 98, 98n11, 104, 107, 111, 193, 211-13, 226, 227, 231, 231n10, 233, 234 See

Limit; Pleasure; Measure; Knowledge Vancamp,B. 261n36 Van Heusde, P. W. 214n13, 217, 218 Van Riel, G. 110n12, 204 Virtue and vice 7n11, 19, 90, 109, 132-38, 150, 153, 156, 159, 169, 170, 172, 174, 177, 182, 192, 216, 225 Vogt, K. 8n14, 8n16, 16, 17n2, 25n23, 25n25, 26n28, 27n32, 29n35, 57n7, 57n8, 60n16, 61n23, 62n26, 260n27, 265n50

INDEX Warren,J. 5n6, 11n22, 16, 118n33, 132n22,

144n7, 159n26, 186n4, 190n15, 199n36, 200n38, 214n10, 247, 247n19, 266n53

285

Williams, B. 132n23

Wisdom See Reason; Knowledge Wolfsdorf, D. 158n25, 185n2, 186n4, 187n8

Waterfield, R. 110n14, 118n31, 122n48 Westerink, L. G. 204

World Soul See Soul; Reason

White, N. P. 50n55

Xenophon 169