Xenophon's Socratic Rhetoric: Virtue, Eros, and Philosophy in the Symposium 1666903167, 9781666903164

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Xenophon’s Socratic Rhetoric

Xenophon’s Socratic Rhetoric Virtue, Eros, and Philosophy in the Symposium

Dustin Gish

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com 86-90 Paul Street, London EC2A 4NE, United Kingdom Copyright © 2023 The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available ISBN 978-1-66690-316-4 (cloth: alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-66690-317-1 (electronic) The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Just as another is pleased by a good horse or dog or bird, even so am I myself more pleased by good friends; whenever I possess something good I teach it, and I bring them together with others from whom, I hold, they will receive some benefit with respect to virtue. I go through the treasures of wise men of old, which they wrote and left behind in their books, reading in common with my friends; and if we behold something good, we pluck it out for ourselves and we believe that it is a great gain for us to become beneficial to one another. Hearing these things, it seemed to me that he himself was blessed and that he led listeners toward gentlemanliness (kalok’agathia). For of all those I know he cared most of all about what his companions knew, whatever each of them had come to understand; but, regarding what is fitting for a man who is a gentleman (kalos kai agathos) to know, whatever he himself knew, he taught most eagerly of all, and in whatever he himself lacked experience, he led them to those who understood. —Xenophon, remembering Socrates in his Memorabilia [I 6.14, IV 7.1]

Xenophon and Socrates, in Conversation Frontispiece, engraved by Burghers, for Vol. 5 of Xenophon's Collected Works, edited by Edw. Wells (Oxford, 1703). Courtesy of Mortimer Rare Books Collection, Smith College.

Contents

Preface ix Introduction: Opening Reflections

xiii

Part I:  Xenophon’s Symposium in Context   1  Situating the Dialogue: Athenian Competitions

3

  2  Setting the Stage: Sophistry versus Philosophy

31

  3  The Banquet Begins: Rule and the Symposium

57

  4  Rival Ways of Life: Καλοκἀγαθία and Virtue

79

Part II:  Sympotic Entertainments   5  Display Speeches and the Promise of Wisdom

123

  6  Defense Speeches and the Socratic Way of Life

157

  7  Socratic Moderation in Pursuit of the Beautiful

209

Part III:  Socratic Rhetoric in the Symposium   8  Refutations, Education, and Accusations

237

  9  Digression, Reconciliation, and Restoration

253

10  Educating Gentlemen and Moderating Erōs 267 11  Performative Rhetoric and Conjugal Erotics

293

Conclusion: Xenophon’s Socrates and Political Philosophy

311

Bibliography 331 Index 345 Glossary of Greek Words

361

About the Author

363 vii

Preface

Xenophon’s Symposium is a complete Socratic dialogue, even more so than Oikonomikos, which shares attributes with the minor works (as a smaller treatise on household management) as well as something of Memorabilia (as an extended recollection of two Socratic conversations, with Kritoboulos and Ischomachos, the latter being remembered by Socrates during and for the sake of the former). The conversations depicted in Xenophon’s Symposium, however, although the whole is being remembered for the sake of some unnamed audience, are not independent recollections (as in the other Socratic writings), but rather unfold as part of a larger account of what occurred before, during, and immediately after an evening of dining, drinking, and being entertained at the house of Kallias. Socrates and his companions, along with Kallias’ guests and other (unexpected) attendees, all contribute—each in his (and in one instance, her) own way—to the charming delights and playful conversations of this evening. These parts of the whole, that is, the invitations, arrivals, the banquet itself, the drinking symposion, the display and defense speeches of the symposiasts, and the entertainment provided by performances, are reflected sequentially within the Sections of the dialogue. This study closely examines those Sections in the sequence in which they appear and with an eye to understanding the argument of the action of the dialogue as a whole. Xenophon’s Memorabilia of Socrates, with its collection of very diverse recollections, has been divided traditionally into four Books, each with its own set of chapters, further divided for ease of reference into smaller numbered sections. This division follows that of other major works of Xenophon: Cyropaedia, Anabasis, Hellenika. Xenophon’s Socratic writings, Oiko­ nomikos and Symposium, have been divided, according to the same manuscript tradition as the (so-called) minor works in his corpus, into chapters and sections. Xenophon’s Apology of Socrates to the Jury, being the shortest of the Socratic works, has only sections. In this study, I do not refer to the divisions of the dialogue as “Chapters” but rather as “Sections.” The primary reason for this decision to refer to Sections rather than Chapters of the dialogue is to avoid the unintended effect (derived from the inherited manuscript tradition) of having the evening’s banquet and entertainment segmented into discrete episodes.1 While recognizable as transitional moments in the text, these episodes run the risk of being seen as interruptions within the flow of the dialogue as a whole. ix

x

Preface

References to secondary literature on Xenophon’s Symposium and other works have been placed (for the most part) in the notes. Serious commentaries on Xenophon’s Symposium are rare. The first, and the most enigmatic, commentary was by Leo Strauss, in one section of a larger work that explicitly completed his examination of the Socratic writings of Xenophon.2 William Higgins wrote a fine, text-based biography of Xenophon the Athenian, with reference to each of the works in Xenophon’s corpus, including (briefly) the Symposium in a chapter on Xenophon’s manner of writing and Socratic irony.3 Strauss and Higgins both offered seminal readings of Xenophon and his debt to Socrates in their commentaries; neither presented an extended reading of the Symposium in particular. The publication of Xenophon’s Socratic writings in good, literal, English translations stimulated a renaissance in Xenophon Studies, and an essay-length commentary on the Symposium was included by its translator in one of those volumes.4 These three works appear frequently in the notes of this study and represent the major scholarly influences on my interpretation during the time when this manuscript was first written, between 1998 and 2003, when it was submitted as a dissertation (together with a complete translation of the Symposium) to complete requirements for the doctoral degree in Politics at the Institute for Philosophic Studies at the University of Dallas. Short essays by Vivienne Gray and Bernhard Huss,5 and introductions to Xenophon by Christopher Bruell and Donald Morrison,6 existed at the time and were also consulted. A wealth of scholarly work on Xenophon and Xenophon’s Socratic writings has appeared in the decade and a half since the original manuscript was completed. But, in that interim, no one else has written a comprehensive interpretation of the Symposium in English. Xenophon’s Socratic writing (Memorabilia, Apology, Hiero) and other major works (Cyropaedia, Anabasis, Hellenika) have been studied extensively, most notably by Leo Strauss, Christopher Bruell, Vivienne Gray, Christopher Tuplin, John Dillery, Wayne Ambler, Christopher Nadon, Louis-Andrè Dorion, Eric Buzzetti, Gabriel Danzig, Robin Waterfield, Michael Flower, Thomas Pangle, and Dustin Sebell.7 Essays, articles, and book chapters on the Symposium have appeared and been noted, specifically the work of Louis-André Dorion, Gabriel Danzig, Laurence Nee, Maria Alvino, William Altman,8 and recently (as part of larger projects on Xenophon) Fiona Hobden, Tom Pangle, David Johnson,9 and especially Francesca Pentassuglio,10 whose extraordinary care as a reviewer of this manuscript proved immensely helpful. I have noted herein any contributions relevant to my argument, which, it must be said, has not been significantly altered since its first formulation. A brief word regarding the debate over the intertextuality of the Symposia of Xenophon and Plato. As two Socratic dialogues, Xenophon’s Symposium shares much in common with the Platonic work of the same name, but no attempt is made herein to settle the irresolvable intertextual questions regarding which dialogue was composed first or, based on such hypothesis, which of the works took precedence in its Socratic treatment of the theme of erōs, and which one replied, and in what respects. Plato’s famous account of Socrates and erōs in his dialogue warrants study on its own and has received a vast amount of scholarly attention. The Symposium of Xenophon deserves a comprehensive study as well—on its own merits, taken as a whole, and interpreted only in light of its relation to Xenophon’s other writings (principally the other Socratic ones); only such a study of this dialogue is worthy of its author. That is what this book purports to be. Finally, the author would like to acknowledge here as well the debts of friendship that are owed to those who for decades discussed Xenophon and his works with me: Wayne Ambler, B. J. Dobski, Lawrence Greene, Ashley Adams, Steve Shumaker, and three wonderful friends who did not live to see this study published, but from whose conversations I have benefited



Preface xi

immeasurably: George Anastaplo, Andy Little, and especially Laurence Nee. The greatest debt which I owe and acknowledge with gratitude is to Maren Vandercook, without whose steadfast support and constant encouragement this study would not have risen like a phoenix from the ashes of my past and come into being as a book. She read every page with generous attention and, despite its remaining flaws (and mine), I affectionately dedicate the work as a whole to her—the one who best knows me.

NOTES 1.  Strauss 1972, 143–178. See Strauss 1969. 2.  The dialogues of Plato have escaped such an imposition by being divided in the manuscript tradition into “Stephanus Numbers”—the continuously numbered and segmented pages of Greek text in three volumes of the 1578 Geneva edition of the Platonic corpus arranged by the humanist printer Henri Estienne. The first complete edition of the Xenophontic corpus did not receive the same kind of attention. See Morrison 1988; Cirignano 1993; Dorion 2008. The editio princeps for Xenophon’s Symposium is that printed by Lucantonio Giunta, scion of the Florentine family of printers working in Venice, in 1516: Cirignano 1993, 202. 3.  Higgins 1977, 12–20. Higgins’ work was originally conceived and written (by the author’s own claim) without direct influence from Strauss’ commentary on Xenophon’s Socratic writings. 4.  Bartlett 1996b in Bartlett 1996, 173–196. See Bonnette 1994. For good translations and commentaries on the shorter writings of Xenophon, see McBrayer 2018. 5.  Gray 1992; Huss 1999a. A full-length commentary in German on the Symposium (Huss 1999) existed but was unknown to me until after the manuscript was finished. See Tuplin 2003. 6.  Bruell 1984, 1987, 1994, 1998, 2000; Morrison 1987, 1994. 7.  Strauss 1939, 1949/1991, 1958/1996; Bruell 1969; Gray 1989, 1998, 2011a; Tuplin 1993; Dillery 1995; Ambler 2001, 2008; Nadon 1996, 2001; Dorion 2004; Buzzetti 2001, 2008, 2014; Danzig 2003, 2010; Waterfield 2006; Flower 2012, 2017; Pangle 1985/1996, 1994, 2016, 2018, 2019. See also, Hirsch 1985; Proietti 1987; Tatum 1989; Gera 1993; Pomeroy 1994. 8.  Dorion 2005; Danzig 2005, 2017; Nee 2010; Alvino 2018; Altman 2018, 2021. See also, Pagano 1994; Hindley 2004; Vela Tejada 2011; Jazdzewski 2018; Parks 2021. 9.  Hobden 2004, 2020; Pangle 2010 and 2020, 120–144; Johnson 2018, 2019, 2021. 10.  Pentassuglio 2012, 2013, 2016, 2018, 2019b, 2020c.

Introduction Opening Reflections

Socrates first inquired into the question of the best way of life for a human being within the context of the ancient polis, and his subsequent way of life, oriented around that inquiry, distinguishes him as the founder of political philosophy. Cicero, centuries later, attests to Socrates being “the first to call philosophy down from heaven” and establish it in political communities and households, thus compelling philosophia, the love of and search for wisdom, to examine human life and manners, and the good and the bad. Socrates made human action, rather than nature, the vital subject of his philosophic examinations and, in particular, “purposeful activity,” thus understanding purpose—human striving toward an end (τέλος)—to be “a key to the whole.”1 What do we know about the life of Socrates? This question has been a contested one since soon after Socrates’ death at Athens in 399 BCE. When placed under pressure, this single question metastasizes into several other queries: What do we know about Socrates, and how did we come to have knowledge about his life in the first place? From whom and by what means do we acquire knowledge of the speeches and deeds, and ultimately, thought and substance, of the Socratic life? The memory of Socrates that has been passed down to us does not originate from his own hand, for he himself chose not to write an account of his life or thought for posterity. The representations of the Socratic life that we do happen to possess derive originally and principally from the writings of a few who knew and wrote about Socrates. The study of Socrates thus seems to be haunted by a paradoxical “problem” of historicity as well as hermeneutics.2 Our knowledge of Socrates, who he was and what he did and said and thought, comes from the extant works of four ancient writers: Aristophanes, in his Clouds; a few remarks from Aristotle; the dialogues of Plato; and the extensive writings of Xenophon, both his explicitly Socratic as well as his (so-called) non-Socratic works. Of these four ancient sources, it has been argued, only three were contemporaries of Socrates, and only two seem to have been among his frequent companions—Plato and Xenophon.3 With due respect to Plato, Xenophon’s Socratic writings appear to provide the most important record of Socrates, because Xenophon is the only one of his companions who both knew Socrates and demonstrated in deed that he

xiii

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Introduction

himself was able and willing to write history, and moreover recognized that the study of the past and of political affairs could no longer be taken as seriously as the Socratic life itself.4 Our focus here will be on Xenophon’s Socrates, although the other two main sources (Aristophanes and Plato) will be more than marginally considered, and our purpose will be to reveal or unveil the Socratic life as Xenophon the Athenian understood and represented that life through his writings5—in particular, through his Symposium. Such a study will have a two-fold approach: to understand the Socratic way of life, that is, the philosophic life, as it is represented by Xenophon, and to do so by paying careful attention to Xenophon’s Socratic rhetoric—which is to say, by attending to the style and manner of writing that Xenophon thought best fitting to convey (as much as could be conveyed through writing) his recollections of Socrates, and therewith, his argument for the Socratic life as arguably the best life for human beings. It goes beyond the scope of this study to address this manner of writing as the unifying characteristic of Xenophon’s corpus as a whole, within which he sought to examine other rival lives as well, including that of his own.6 The study of Xenophon’s Symposium, as will become clear from what follows, especially advances our understanding of the Socratic life and of Socratic political philosophy because of the unique context within which this charming dialogue seeks to portray Socrates, both in speech and in deed.

XENOPHON AND HIS SOCRATES The Platonic representation of the Socratic life, still recognized as his most famous portrait, if unquestioned, arguably presents readers with a somewhat distorted portrait of Socrates, and thus of the origins of political philosophy. Because the aim of Plato’s Socratic dialogues is not simply to represent but to appeal, the picture they draw of the Socratic life can be attractive but deceptive. We run the risk of being seduced by a poetic representation, admittedly beautiful and even tragic, which is persuasive, yet insufficient or incomplete. Xenophon’s portrait of Socrates, by contrast, lacks this seduction. Whereas the Platonic dialogues appear to present the Socratic life poetically, aiming at persuasion through attraction of a certain sort of reader,7 Xenophon does so rhetorically, speaking to his readers as an audience whose preconceptions and prejudices may not already have inclined them toward an appreciation of Socrates.8 But a penchant for subtlety and understatement in the style or manner of Xenophon’s writing seems to have contributed to the neglect of his work in the late modern era. It has been said that Xenophon’s works are peculiarly alien to modern taste, and rightly so, if we are to judge by the tone of much modern scholarship. While other writers in the history of political philosophy may have suffered a wider range of interpretation, acceptance or objection, it is hard to think of an ancient writer whose reputation in modern times has been so thoroughly contemned or summarily dismissed. Essential reading for Cicero and Machiavelli, for Montaigne and the founding fathers of the American regime,9 Xenophon’s writing has rarely benefited in the last two centuries from the serious study that his art of writing and thought properly deserves, and that his place in history as an authentic witness to the founding of political philosophy demands. To remedy this deficiency, we must strive to read and study Xenophon with due attention to his manner of writing, its prosaic surface, disarming charm, and inherent prudence—to overcome not only his tarnished reputation and centuries of neglect but also the tyrannical prejudice of historical relativism which attends much modern thought, thus creating an opportunity to think transcendent or, let us say, untimely thoughts.10



Introduction xv

The dramatic decline in the reputation of Xenophon as a philosopher—and therewith as an historian of the Socratic life—may be traced to influential judgments made by German intellectuals engaged in the professional study of philosophy. For example, in his epoch-defining series of university lectures on the history of philosophy, delivered nine times between the winter of 1805 and his own death in 1831 (which ended the tenth series), G. W. F. Hegel noticed Xenophon only in passing.11 In the successive stages of the systematic progress of philosophy through history, Xenophon appeared negligible, though undeniably very relevant to the transmission of knowledge about Socrates to posterity. Compared to “world-historical individuals” like Plato and Aristotle, however, whose philosophical writings significantly influenced all successive ages, the work of Xenophon held only limited importance; in particular, Xenophon’s Socratic writings (his non-Socratic writings being unremarkable, at least from a philosophical perspective) could assist those studying the history of philosophy (which was, for Hegel, the substance of philosophical thinking itself ) to distinguish the thought of Plato from that of his teacher, Socrates. The relegation of Xenophon’s worth to his being part of the transmission of knowledge regarding Socrates and the Socratic life suffered further from the diminution of his (presumed) limited capacity to grasp the philosophical meaning of the very Socratic speeches and deeds which Xenophon was responsible for conveying to posterity through his writings.12 The reception of Xenophon centuries earlier had been much more sympathetic. Readers of Xenophon’s works attentive to his style easily discerned what later commentators failed to grasp. In early modernity, Anthony Ashley Cooper, the Third Earl of Shaftesbury, in his Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, and Times, sagely juxtaposed the sublimity of Plato with the forgotten simplicity of Xenophon, praising his works as an expression of “that natural and simple genius of antiquity, comprehended by so few and so little relished by the vulgar.” Shaftesbury’s summary of Xenophon’s style is worth repeating:13 But another noble disciple [of Socrates], whose genius was toward action and who proved afterward the greatest hero of his time, took the genteeler part and softer manner [as opposed to the poetry of Plato or the satire of Antisthenes]. [Xenophon] joined what was deepest and most solid in philosophy with what was easiest and most refined in breeding, and in the character and manner of a gentleman. . . . ’Tis to the early banishment and long retirement of a heroic youth out of his native country that we owe an original system of works, the politest, wisest, usefulest, and, to those who can understand the divineness of a just simplicity, the most amiable and even the most elevating and exalting of all uninspired and merely human authors.

As an exhortation to reading Xenophon with the utmost sense and sensibility, we also have Sarah Fielding’s preface to her 1762 translation of Memorabilia, entitled Memoirs of Socrates, which speaks eloquently of our task as readers and interpreters of that work:14 That [Xenophon’s] memoirs of Socrates, with regard to the greatest part, are held in the highest estimation, is most certain; and if there are some passages which seem obscure; and of which the use doth not so plainly appear to us at this distance of time; and from the dissimilarity of our customs and manners; yet perhaps . . . “we ought to take it for granted, that there is a justness in the connexion, which we cannot trace; and a cogency in the reasoning, which we cannot understand.”

Shaftesbury’s judgment of Xenophon’s writing had been informed by knowledge of his reputation in classical antiquity, when his works were heralded for their sublimity and subtlety. The beautiful often being associated with ornamentation or embellishment, Xenophon’s restraint in writing was praised in ancient sources as sublime. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, for example, commenting on Xenophon’s style, made this distinction, saying that his Socratic writings are

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“in the highest degree possible attractive, though not as beautiful as they could have been.” Longinus, in a treatise on the subject (On the Sublime 8.1), understood Xenophon’s to be exemplary: “The first characteristic of the sublime is its superiority in the penetrating force of its effect on activities of the intelligence, as we have defined it in our studies of Xenophon.” Shaftesbury openly acknowledged the worth of the Platonic dialogues but celebrated Xenophon as preeminent among the ancient Greeks and his writing as the example par excellence of the best that pagan antiquity had to offer. In the late twentieth century, through the rediscovery of classical political thought as Socratic, the reputation of Xenophon revived. This new reading of the Xenophontic corpus, in particular by Leo Strauss, reflected a return to that earlier understanding of Xenophon as a writer whose virtues were less obvious to readers than the embellished Socratic life depicted in the Platonic dialogues.15 Xenophon’s Socrates seems more mundane, but really his Socrates is more elusive. “Tradition tells us that Xenophon was a bashful man, a man of a strong sense of shame,” Strauss remarks, and then goes on to say: “This description certainly fits the writer Xenophon, or Xenophon’s art of writing . . . Xenophon is much more laconic, reserved, or bashful than Plato.”16 Xenophon’s style of writing, in other words, characteristically reveals the “noble simplicity and quiet grandeur” that, starting in the 17th century, had been taken as the hallmark of classical antiquity.17 Yet, these same virtues seem to blind modern readers to the guiding principle of his art of writing, hence concealing the capacity and depth of Xenophon’s account of Socrates.18 We must attune ourselves as readers to this style of writing. A conspicuous absence of philosophic protreptic, for example, in the writings of Xenophon (as opposed to those of Plato) should not be assumed to be caused either by ignorance of either Socrates or the Socratic understanding of philosophy.19 As a careful reader of Xenophon attentive to his style in interpreting his writings, Strauss led the way by example and proved critical to the revival of serious scholarly and philosophic interest in Xenophon’s writings, both Socratic and non-Socratic, among subsequent generations of students and teachers.20 We, too, must attune ourselves as readers to Xenophon’s rhetoric and the unique way that he chose to represent and to transmit his understanding of the Socratic life in writing. A serious study of Xenophon’s Socratic writings opens up the possibility of an alternative perspective, especially for contemporary readers, that supplements (and in some respects, corrects the distortion of ) the Platonic lens through which the historical Socrates is usually viewed today. In this regard, a word or two more must be said as a preface to this study of Xenophon’s Socrates and of Xenophon’s manner of writing, or his Socratic rhetoric.

XENOPHON’S SOCRATIC RHETORIC Xenophon’s Socratic dialogue Symposium is arguably his most charming and certainly his most neglected work. To read and understand this work, as with all of his writings, we must seek to read Xenophon in the way Xenophon wishes to be read: neither as a philosopher like Plato, nor as an historian like Thucydides, but as a worthy student of Socrates and of his rhetoric. In other words, taking an axiom about reading the Homeric epics as a guiding principle, we must interpret Xenophon from Xenophon: Ξενοφῶντα ἐκ Ξενοφῶντος σαφηνίζειν. Although in its scope this inquiry cannot explore fully a comparison of Xenophon with his two contemporary giants in classical Athens, Thucydides and Plato, still both the historian and the philosopherpoet must be accommodated, especially with respect to their expressed concerns for logos and



Introduction xvii

their profound inquiries into the human condition.21 So too must those who practice the art of rhetoric be distinguished from the sophists, who are not forgotten in the Symposium. At first glance, Xenophon’s Socratic writings pose an immediate challenge to our grasp by assuming the form of dialogues. Indeed, the very existence of the dialogue, as an original genre of writing in classical antiquity, seems to have been brought into being and perfected by the Socratic life itself. This genre captures the contingent and ironic nature of Socratic speech by embedding logos in a complex web of character, audience, and action. The life of Socrates seems to have inspired a new genre of writing, namely, Socratic logoi, the nascent beginnings of personal (rather than political) history and portraiture. Whether Xenophon or Plato was first responsible for this innovation22 matters less than the admission by both that the essential character of the Socratic life—its speeches, deeds, and even thoughts—as lived by Socrates and recognized by his companions ought to be remembered and perpetuated in the form of a dialogue. Whatever their differences in style, Xenophon and Plato would seem to be in agreement that for those who seek knowledge of Socrates through the memory of him preserved in the writings of others, it will always be through such dialogues. As with Plato, so too with Xenophon, we must strive to read his charming account of Socrates in the Symposium with attention to the dramatic features of setting, character, speech and action, in order to perceive and be guided by his rhetoric. But this study cannot be confined to a search for Socrates alone, for like distinct Euclidean points ranged along the curved line of a circle anchored and circumscribed by a hidden center, the words and deeds of the dialogue are held together by a perspective, or principle, which itself remains unseen.23 As a student and companion of Socrates, reflecting later in life on what he knew of and had learned from his teacher, Xenophon chose to write about Socrates’ life and death with a strategic blend of representation and narration. Whereas Plato’s Socrates appears appealingly in the beautiful light of poetry, Xenophon’s depiction of Socrates (I will argue) is founded upon an awareness of the recalcitrance to reason on the part of most human beings and sensitivity for the limits of persuasion. In other words, Xenophon’s portrait of Socrates is governed by a principle of thought derived from Socrates himself. This strategy necessarily imbues Xenophon’s writing with prudence, for there is something Odyssean about Socratic speech.24 That principle, in fact, is one of prudent concealment that foregrounds the simple and mundane, yet when interrogated seems shot-through with momentary glimpses of Socrates as philosopher, a kind of transcendent verticality running perpendicular to the linear urbanity of the dialogue. This guiding and governing principle of logos—embodied in the Homeric hero, adopted by Socrates mid-way in the journey of his life (in his “turn” from natural to political philosophy), employed in Xenophon’s art of writing—is a form of rhetoric that leads us, by intimations, toward the philosophic core of Socratic thought. Xenophon’s Socrates, and therefore classical political philosophy itself, does not admit the separation of wisdom and moderation.25 Thus it can be argued that Xenophon the rhetorician mends the gap in human experience between knowledge­­and use, theory and practice, philosophy and politics. Xenophon’s art of writing, or Socratic rhetoric, best articulates an understanding of Socrates’ thought as he understood it himself—and therewith, articulates the spirit of “sublime sobriety” that animates classical political philosophy. Because the distant past is present to us only through logoi, the accounts of old that have come down to us in writings,26 we must proceed rhetorically in our study of the origins of political philosophy. Rhetorical in form, philosophic in function, the dialogue suggests that

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readers must gather details carefully and form judgments prudently, for it is the reader who in reality is being interrogated by the action of the dialogue. This immersion in the literal surface of things, so to speak, reveals a perspective, indicative of ancient thought, which observes a distinction in degree and potentially in kind among human beings. Far from the concept of universal enlightenment and its assumptions, nothing is revealed in the dialogue that ought not be; it patiently awaits, we might say, the inquisitive gaze of those for whom it is intended. So, we begin our study of Xenophon’s Symposium with reference to a rhetorical archaeology—the attempt to unearth and examine the origins in rhetoric of the Socratic founding of political philosophy.27 In other words, to acquire a proper understanding of the speeches, deeds, and thought of Socrates which are represented in the Symposium, we must attend to the art of rhetoric used by Xenophon’s Socrates within the dialogue and especially to Xenophon’s own Socratic rhetoric.28 For good reason, let us say, did Renaissance manuscripts describe this work as being by “Xenophon the Rhetor.”29

XENOPHON’S SYMPOSIUM The interpretive task of reading requires that we begin at the beginning, so to speak, at the place where Xenophon chose to begin the dialogue (and not with the title, to which we will return). In doing so, we immediately note that Xenophon’s Symposium begins with a reflection, rather than with the start of the dialogue proper, and thus must recur to a phrase offered by Horace to describe the opening of the Homeric epics.30 Which is to say, Xenophon’s Sym­ posium opens in medias res, with a reply to an implicit, yet significant claim that threatens to cast a shadow over the substance of the Socratic dialogue (1.1):31 But it seems to me that the deeds of noble and good men worth remembrance are not only accomplished in seriousness, but also in times of play. I wish to make clear those [deeds], on account of which, being present, I formed this judgment.

From this carefully worded beginning (which admits of various literal translations),32 readers infer that a preceding claim has been asserted by an unidentified interlocutor—that the seri­ ous deeds of gentlemen are worthy of being remembered. Xenophon does not dispute this claim, the context of which remains obscured for us. Since it voices a conventional account of the deference or respect traditionally awarded by the ancient city (πόλις) to those known as gentlemen (καλοκἄγαθοι), this claim may in fact be based on strongly held opinions, rather than supported by an argument. According to the authority of such opinions, we may furthermore infer, the serious deeds of gentlemen—for example, those deeds occasioned by and most visibly expressed in the course of great military and political actions—deserve much, if not all, of the attention and devotion of a polis, especially in its collective memory or history.33 Those who accomplish such serious deeds are deemed noble and worthy of honor, for without them—that is, without the actions of serious gentlemen in war and in politics—an ancient polis risks shipwreck on the shoals of mediocrity and obscurity, or worse, risks losing its freedom altogether, under force of arms, to a rival polis or a powerful empire. Hence, the tasks or deeds of gentlemen are serious, and remembrance properly attends nobility and honor, in times of war and peace. Within the context of the ancient polis, it would seem natural to associate military virtue with political virtue, translating success from one kind of campaign into the other. Thus, some (even most)



Introduction xix

hold the opinion that the gentleman’s claim deserves respect because the seriousness or virtue of these few produces noble benefits for the entire polis and its citizens. Returning to the claim embedded in the opening of Xenophon’s Symposium, it becomes imperative for us to realize the end of the contest or rivalry (ἀγῶν) implied there is not limited to winning an honored place in the memory of the polis. The struggle is also one which has to do with ruling. Memory, as the source of those past examples from which present times derive inspiration and guidance, provides the polis with its definitive education. By carrying the past forward into the light and relevance of the present, proposing a pantheon of heroes whose excellence (ἀρετή) is to be admired, history—that is, remembrance—embodies an exemplary way of life (δίαιτα; cf. Mem I 3.5). Of course, one of the traditional institutions in classical antiquity by which history is passed in memory from one generation to the next is συμπόσιον.34 The regime or way of life (πολιτεία) thus constituted by remembrance defines and governs the polis, especially insofar as those who best exemplify that particular regime are then recognized or chosen by citizens (πολίτης) as being worthy of ruling.35 The serious gentleman’s claim is therefore founded upon a certain useful nobility, and it is a claim to both remembrance and rule in the polis. The serious gentleman’s claim, moreover, tends to be exclusive. Xenophon, however, has reason to think that other claims—or at least one other claim—to remembrance and rule ought to be considered. Socrates himself often conversed with Athenians who were, or who aspired to be, military and political leaders; men who Xenophon classed as “those longing for the noble things” (Mem. III 1.1: τοῦς ὀρεγομένους τῶν καλῶν). Xenophon must have wondered if such a longing created sufficient ground to warrant a claim to the name and honors belonging to gentlemen. This subtle line of inquiry, thrust to the fore in the opening of the Symposium, amends the traditional view. But to accommodate this counter-claim, the definition of a gentleman must be freed from a narrowly conceived dependence on seriousness, on being serious, as this is conventionally defined. It must be freed as well as from the necessity to issue in the usual kind of “serious” deeds. While granting that the serious deeds of gentlemen are worth recalling, Xenophon wishes to testify on behalf of those who are gentlemen even in times of play, for he knows from experience that not all gentlemen must always be serious. In other words, being serious (σπουδαῖος) is not a sufficient condition for being a gentleman, for being “noble and good” (καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθός). The dialogue as a whole is Xenophon’s uninterrupted defense of this counter-claim, and so the opening sentence of his Symposium governs all that follows it. By proposing that the playful deeds of gentlemen are also worthy of our remembrance, Xenophon seems to suggest that gentlemanliness (καλοκἀγαθία) remains the same, even as the context of its manifestation and exercise changes or varies. How gentlemanliness itself is thus to be defined, at least according to Xenophon, has less to do with what someone says, does, gives or receives in a given setting or context, but rather has more to do with the good which comes from living a certain way of life. That is, actually being a gentleman matters far more than appearing to be one, or having the reputation or name of being a gentleman.36 Despite the magnification of appearances, especially with respect to utility and nobility, created by military and political action, Xenophon intends to argue in defense of a gentlemanliness which is not monopolized by an austere seriousness, and which, because it is not simply “serious” in the usual sense, is often overlooked.37 Once this disagreement with the conventional implicit claim (to which the beginning is a dissenting reply) has been noted, readers stand forewarned that the dialogue, proceeding from

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this opening reflection and narrated by Xenophon in the first person, will be a kind of disputation. What will not be disputed, however, at least not by Xenophon in his Symposium, is that of all the human beings who comprise the polis gentlemen above all should be remembered. Carefully framed from the beginning as an apologia for an unconventional claim to remembrance and rule, the dialogue introduces for our consideration a new kind of gentlemanliness which transcends war and politics, and includes—rather than excludes—Socrates and his way of life. As is fitting, Xenophon’s dissent from or amendment to the implicit claim made on behalf of serious gentlemen is playfully agonistic and rhetorical, not polemical or exclusive. There is a mixture of playfulness and seriousness in this work, and literally, at work throughout it, which cannot be forgotten. As his opening lines confirm, Xenophon intends to link the form and context of the dialogue with its content, for, as we shall see, it is out of playfulness (παιδιή) and a sort of friendly rivalry (ἀγῶν) that Socratic education (παιδεία) emerges. In his own Memorabilia of Socrates, Xenophon attests to the benefit of Socratic education, recalling that he proved a blessing to his companions under any and every circumstance. Even to remember Socrates after his death proved beneficial to his companions (IV 8.11): So, beneficial was Socrates in every matter and in every manner that it was visible to one who examined with even limited perception that there was nothing more beneficial than being a companion of Socrates and spending time with him anywhere at all and in any matter whatsoever, since even remembering him when he was not present was of no small benefit to those who were accustomed to being in his company and who were receptive to him. In fact, when he was joking he was no less profitable to those who spent time with him than when he was serious.

We shall see in the Symposium that Socrates, even or especially in a playful setting surrounded by otherwise serious gentlemen nonetheless took the lead in benefiting those around him. His humor and his playfulness (παιδιή) accomplish an education (παιδεία) for those near him. Enlightenment follows from the entertainment associated with Socratic speeches and deeds.38 Beneath its pleasant surface therefore Xenophon’s Symposium is much more than simply an amiable evening of wine and conversation. Notwithstanding, or on account of, the dialogue’s context and its announced playfulness, claims to virtue—and therewith titles to remembrance and rule based on demonstrations of human excellence—are proposed, justified, prosecuted, and above all defended; and this, always with reference to Socrates, for he is surrounded (or hemmed in) by concentric circles: one composed of his own companions, then a wider circle of “gentlemen,” and yet a third (political) one formed by the context of the dialogue itself. To prepare ourselves to hear and properly assess Xenophon’s defense of the Socratic life as true and worthy judges,39 and thus to see gentlemanliness cast in a new light, we must first look beyond the Symposium itself. For the reader unfamiliar with the political and historical background of the dialogue, the first chapter of this study serves to situate the dialogue, providing a brief look at ancient Athenian politics in the age of Socrates, certain Hellenic and Athenian institutions, such as the pankration and symposion, and Xenophon’s other Socratic writings (Memorabilia, Oikonomikos, Apologia). This chapter offers basic information necessary for a close reading by situating the dialogue within its proper context.40 Scholars familiar with the historical and political background may prefer to proceed to the second chapter in Part One of this study, which addresses the opening scenes of the Symposium and thus sets the stage for a reading of the dialogue. Chapter Three and Chapter Four follow the progress of the evening from a banquet to a drinking party (συμπόσιον) as certain rival ways of life begin to emerge more clearly through the conversation of the symposiasts. When the sympotic entertainment begins, Socrates initi-



Introduction xxi

ates a turn away from the hired performers toward the men themselves, who engage in a series of display speeches, stating that which they take great pride in (Chapter Five), followed by defense speeches justifying their claims (Chapter Six). Their entertainment concludes with a comic beauty contest between Socrates and one of his companions (Chapter Seven), a contest or ἀγῶν that calls attention not only to the nature of the beautiful itself (τὸ καλόν) but also to the contrast between Socrates’ speeches and his deeds. The first two chapters in Part Two address the tension introduced by certain excesses in speech, or convivial misconduct (παρρησία), which draws the hired orchestrator of entertainment, a Syracusan man, into a potential quarrel with Socrates over his reputation as a “big thinker” (φροντιστής). Socrates himself restores the atmosphere of pleasantness and goodwill to the symposium through his rhetoric. This sets the stage, then, for Socrates’ lengthy account of erōs and the politically salutary benefits of the proper association of lovers and beloveds in a mode consistent with love of soul and gentlemanliness—the culmination of the evening’s speeches (Chapter Ten). The last chapter in Part Two focuses on the rhetoric of performance enacted by the Syracusan through his performers and their display of a moderate form of erōs, or conjugal erotics, complementing what Socrates proposed in his speech, but arousing the gentlemen in a way that brings the evening to a fitting close (Chapter Eleven). In the conclusion to this study (Chapter 12), through a direct engagement with Strauss’ understanding of the Symposium, I argue for an interpretation of the dialogue as an account of the proper relation between Socratic rhetoric and political philosophy and point to its role in helping us to understand Xenophon’s own use of rhetoric and view of the philosophic life, which in certain decisive respects was modeled upon and diverged from the life of his teacher, Socrates.

NOTES 1.  Strauss 1958/1996, 138. See Xenophon, Memorabilia I.1.11–16; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1141a20–b9, 1181b15; Metaphysics 987b1ff., 1078b17ff.; Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.4.10–11; Ac­ ademica 1.4.15–16; Brutus 8.30–31, 39; cf. Hobbes, De Cive, “Author’s Preface”; Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy §15. See also, Strauss 1959, 38; Strauss 1964, 13–18; Strauss 1970, 83; Guthrie 1971, 97–105. 2.  For a summary of the problem of the historical Socrates (that is, whether extant representations correspond to an objective existence or “historical truth” about the Socratic life), see Vander Waerdt 1994, 1–3, 8, esp. 56n24, with an apt quotation from Arnaldo Momigliano, The Development of Greek Biography (1971, 46): “Biography acquired a new meaning when Socratics [Xenophon, Plato, Aeschines, etc.] moved into that zone between truth and fiction which is so bewildering to the professional historian. . . . With a man like Plato . . . this is a consciously chosen ambiguity. The Socratics experimented in biography, and the experiments were directed toward capturing the potentialities rather than the realities of individual lives. Socrates, the main subject of their considerations . . . was not so much the real Socrates as the potential Socrates. He was not a dead man whose life can be recounted. He was a guide to territories yet unexplored.” For a “theoretically possible” Socrates derived from ‘facts’ from the Platonic dialogues, see de Vogel 1955. See also Waterfield 2013. The contested problem of the historical Socrates stubbornly persists but will not be examined or resolved here. 3.  Regarding the major extant sources for the Socratic life, “few scholars have . . . had the courage to mount the quadriga and drive all four horses.” Guthrie 1971, 9 (see note 2). See Strauss 1970/1995, 330. Fragments from contemporaneous writings about Socrates (Socratikoi logoi) exist; some are attributed to Aeschines, whom Diogenes Laertius credits with seven works, including Kallias, Alcibiades and Aspasia. 4.  Strauss 1958/1996, 139, 158–159. See the comment of Strauss, in Pangle 1989, 102: “With the emergence of Socratic philosophy, political history . . . loses its raison d’être. This explains why Xenophon continued Thucydides’ history in such a different spirit and in such a different style. Xenophon’s center

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of gravity lies no longer in political history but in his recollection of Socrates . . . Xenophon could no longer take politics as seriously as Thucydides had done.” 5.  See Strauss 1948/1991, 105: “. . . the citizen-philosopher Socrates can only be ascertained by analysis of Xenophon’s Socratic writings.” 6.  On the presence of Socrates in and his undeniable influence on Xenophon’s writings beyond his Socratica, see Higgins 1977; Gish 2009, 2011, 2012; Humble 2018; Johnson 2019. Johnson (2019, 150) remarks that “it is impossible to know just where, in Xenophon’s writings, Socrates ends and Xenophon begins.” 7.  A general prejudice against Xenophon may also be linked to the infatuation with Platonic metaphysics that can deaden the sensitivity of scholars and lead to a misreading of his works; see Strauss 1963, 14: “People, and learned people, do not make such blunders if they are not absolutely under the spell of a very powerful prejudice.” Strauss consistently uses John Burnet, “the editor of Plato,” as the example of such misreading: Strauss 1963, 14, and 1958/1996, 159 [= Pangle 1989, 127]. See Bartlett 1996, 3–4; Buzzetti 2003, 162, 168. The crucial difference between Plato and Xenophon may be a matter of rhetorical principle, culminating in rival representations in writing of their teacher—and therewith competing interpretations of the Socratic life. Plato, in a work attributed to him, denies that any writing of his own even exists (Second Letter, 314): “There is no writing of Plato, nor will there ever be; those that are now so called belong to a Socrates become more beautiful and young.” See Schulman 2001, 5–6. 8.  It must be noted from the outset that the term “rhetoric” is used throughout this study in a sense which resists the post-Socratic abstraction and crystallization of a fixed definition—either as an art of speaking whose virtue is judged by its success and is directly opposed to its philosophic counterpart whose end is the discovery of truth or wisdom (Plato), or as an art of persuasion whose techniques and exercise are understood within the framework of a learned discipline (Aristotle and later, Cicero). It is necessary to resist these subsequent formulations in order to allow the understanding of rhetoric which is inherent in the Socratic life to emerge from the shadow of these later philosophic thinkers and to return to the foreground light. If the Socratic life, as lived and remembered in writing, is indeed our source of origin regarding the term itself, then we are compelled in this respect (as with our study of classical political philosophy) to return to Socrates himself and especially to Xenophon’s Socratic writings to understand the original or foundational use of rhetoric. See Xenophon Memorabilia IV 6.15 (τὸ ἀσφαλῆ ῥήτορα). 9. Cicero, De oratore 2.55; Orator 19.62; De senectute 13.44, 17.59; Machiavelli, Prince XIV; Discourses II.2, III.22, III.39; Montaigne, Essays II 10, 18, 34, 40 (“Physiognomy”). On Xenophon in early America, see Richard 1994, 23, 49, 50, 57, 189, 203, 212, 227; see also, Gish 2021 and forthcoming, 2023. 10.  Such a study is intended to refute, to the degree possible in so focused a work, the radicalization of the Socratic problem brought about by Nietzschean satire and Heideggerian historicism—intellectual endeavors that threatened to undermine the very consideration of the worth of what Socrates stood for, by rendering a meaningful recovery of (Xenophon’s) Socrates at best quixotic. On the “absolute insight” of Heideggerian historicism, that “all thought is based on absolute presuppositions which vary from epoch to epoch, from culture to culture, which are not questioned and cannot be questioned in the situation to which they belong and which they constitute,” see Strauss 1970/1995. On Strauss and the Problem of Socrates, see Gish forthcoming. 11.  Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Lectures on the History of Philosophy (trans. Elizabeth Hadane, London, 1892, first English edition; originally published in German, 1840), vol. I, 414: “And if we inquire whether [Xenophon] or Plato depicts Socrates to us most faithfully in his personality and doctrine, there is no question that in regard to the personality and method, the externals of his teaching, we may certainly receive from Plato a satisfactory, and perhaps a more complete representation of what Socrates was. But in regard to the content of his teaching and the point reached by him in the development of thought, we have in the main to look to Xenophon.” 12.  On the languishing study of Xenophon in late modernity, and the ostracization of Xenophon as a source for the historical Socrates from Schleiermacher to Taylor and Burnet, see Dorion 2010.



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Fortunately, what Strauss once said of Xenophon (see 1958/1996, 159 [= Pangle 1989, 127]) no longer applies. 13.  Shaftesbury 1713, v. 1: 167 [= 1999, 114] and v. 2: 309 [= 1999, 443]. 14.  Fielding 1762, Preface, ii-iv, quoting Samuel Johnson. Shaftesbury’s views of Xenophon had a significant influence on Fielding and her translation. See Gish 2021. 15.  On the reception of Xenophon over the centuries, see Gish and Farrell forthcoming, 2023. 16.  Strauss 1958/1996, 160, 173 [= Pangle 1989, 128, 145]; see Bruell 1989, 91: “The solemn, moving, quasi-tragic tones of the Platonic dialogues are hardly to be found in Xenophon. In their place, we find an apparently lighthearted simplicity enlivened and graced often, if not always, by humor.” Consider as well the portrait of prudence and moderation drawn by Strauss in his first published work on Xenophon (Strauss, 1939, 536): “For such a man was he that he preferred to go through the centuries in the disguise of a beggar rather than sell the precious secrets of Socrates’ quiet and sober wisdom to a multitude.” For suggestions on how to read Xenophon, see Strauss 1939, 503, 519. 17.  See Strauss 1959, 27, and 1970, 83–84, where we learn the original citation and attribution belongs to Winckelmann who found a grace in “the unadorned great Xenophon,” whom he “compared . . . to Raphael while comparing Thucydides to Michelangelo.” 18.  The failure of modernity to perceive the virtue of Xenophon’s writing may betray the nature of the times; see Strauss 1958/1996, 159 [= Pangle 1989, 127]: “The prejudice against Xenophon is based, not on a sober study of his writings, but on the fact that the prevailing notions of the greatness of a man and the greatness of an author do not leave room for the recognition of the specific greatness of the man and the author Xenophon.” To which prejudice Strauss offers an antidote: Strauss 1963, 2: “By studying Xenophon and becoming appreciative of the character of his approach we help ourselves indirectly toward a better understanding of ourselves as children of the twentieth century. It is that part of our heritage we can say which is particularly alien to us today. So it is not a loss of time.” 19.  See Bruell 1994, xi: “If philosophy itself is the true opposite of vulgarity, then prior to falling in love with philosophy in the proper way, the future philosophers themselves cannot be entirely free of vulgar concerns and tastes; a philosophic protreptic would therefore have to appeal to those concerns, if only for the sake of leading its addressees beyond them; and in doing so, it would inevitably partake of the vulgarity it seeks to cure.” Buzzetti (2003, 164), quoting this passage by Bruell, draws an insightful comparison with the Platonic Socrates: “By largely abstaining from philosophic protreptics, Xenophon creates a Socrates who is remarkably free of the vulgarities in question . . . there are few counterparts to be found in Xenophon’s Socratic writings to the epiphanic myths and fantastical allegories so common in Plato.” 20.  Strauss’ examination of Xenophon may be taken “as constituting [his] final statement on Socrates and to that extent a culmination of his [that is, Strauss’] life’s work.” Strauss 1948/1991, 28; Bruell 1984, 263–265; see Clay 1991, 264n7. This study—as an interpretation of Xenophon’s Symposium, and its relation to Xenophon’s other writings—thus follows in the tracks of others, starting with Strauss himself. This process of tracking has been reserved largely to the notes of this study, which the reader is encouraged to consult knowing that these, too, to borrow a phrase, are part of an exercise in prudence. 21. On Xenophon’s self-understanding as a rhetorician, see Strauss 1948/1991, 26; 1958/1996, 159–160 [= Pangle 1989, 128]; 1970, 190n4. See also, Strauss 1963, 3–4: “In some of the manuscripts of his works he is called the Orator Xenophon. He is an orator. And people compare him all the time, and can’t help comparing him, with Plato on the one hand, because of Socrates, and Thucydides, because he . . . wrote a History of Greece which is a continuation of Thucydides’ History. Xenophon is not a philosopher as Plato, nor a historian like Thucydides, but a rhetorician. Yes, he is a rhetorician of a special kind.” On the venerable axiom of interpretation, see Clay 1983, 6. 22.  See Diogenes Laertius, Lives and Judgments of the Eminent Philosophers, “Xenophon,” II 48. 23.  To animate our recollection of a lost or forgotten art of reading, we must rely upon the prudence of the following principle of interpretation: “All depends not only on what, but on how, under what circumstances, where, and in what context something is being said.” See Anastaplo (1975) 86, note 52, which cites Klein (1965) as the original source of this quote. Anticipating Klein in print if not in thought, we

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discover that his friend, Strauss, may also be said to be the original source of this formulation (as applied to the reading of Platonic dialogues) which is a corollary to a forgotten kind of writing; see Strauss, “On Plato’s Republic,” in Strauss 1964, 52: “One cannot separate the understanding of Plato’s teaching from the form in which it is presented. One must pay as much attention to the How as to the What.” See Clay 1991, 260. The essay in which this formula was printed derives from a lecture delivered by Strauss at the University of Virginia in 1962, but we have reason to believe that a mutual rediscovery of or insight into this axiomatic principle had occurred much earlier, most likely in response to certain lectures of Martin Heidegger in 1925 Germany at the University of Marburg, and subsequently matured and found expression over the course of his long and profound friendship with Klein. See Strauss 1959/1997; 1965/1997; Gish forthcoming. See also, Strauss 1958, 13: “There is no surer protection against the understanding of anything than taking for granted or otherwise despising the obvious and the surface. The problem inherent in the surface of things, and only in the surface of things, is the heart of things.” 24. On Plato’s superior power to move his readers to fall in love with his attractive Socrates, in comparison with the relatively straightforward and unadorned depiction of Xenophon’s Socrates, see esp. Bruell 2000, 2–3. On Socrates as teacher of an art of speeches or rhetoric, see Mem. I 2.15, 31, 34; IV 3.1; 5.11–12; 6.1. See also, Strauss 1970, 190–192. On the power of Socratic speech, see Mem. I 2.14; cf. IV 6.13–15; Strauss 1970, 176: “[Socrates] could refute or silence all men who argued against him but could not induce all of them to obey him.” On the Odyssean character of Socratic rhetoric, see the discussion below of Symposium, Chs. 4 and 5. For original references to Odysseus, see Homer Iliad 2.188–206, 3.244–267, 9.379; see also, Xenophon Memorabilia I 2.58–59, 3.7; II 6.10–12; IV 2.33, 6.13–15; Apology 26. See as well, Bruell 1984, 308–310, and esp. Anastaplo 1997, 166, whose comment on “the Odysseus-like Xenophon,” and the effect such a Xenophon in Athens might have had on the trial of Socrates, was first brought to my attention by my friend Laurence Nee† (to whom I owe more debts of gratitude than I can here acknowledge), following an observation by Anastaplo made to him in conversation, which I later confirmed with Anastaplo myself. In this regard, cf. Strauss 1970/1995, 324. 25. Xenophon, Memorabilia III 9.4: “Between wisdom (sophia) and moderation (sōphrosunē) he made no distinction or division, but judged whoever knows how to use the noble and good things (ta kala te k’agatha), and sees how to avoid the shameful ones, to be both wise and moderate.” On the connection between this statement and the examined life, see Strauss 1939, 535: “[Exoteric literature], which provides the highest type of education, is found not only in classical times; it has reappeared in all epochs in which philosophy was understood in its full and challenging meaning, in all epochs, that is, in which wisdom was not separated from moderation.” 26.  Strauss 1959, 15: “In former epochs, intelligent people could acquire the political knowledge, the political understanding they needed, by listening to wise old men or, which is the same thing, by reading good historians, as well as by looking around and by devoting themselves to public affairs.” On reading old books as a part of a good political education, cf. Xenophon, Anabasis VII 5.14 (treasures for a voyage) as well as Machiavelli, The Prince, Chapters I and XIV. 27.  On the classical use of the past as a guide for the present, see Herodotus I.1 and Thucydides I.1; see also, Munn 2000, 2–5, 327n91. 28.  Strauss 1948/1991, 28: “One can only hope that the time will again come when Xenophon’s art will be understood by a generation which, properly trained in their youth, will no longer need cumbersome introductions like the present study.” See Bartlett 1996, 3–5. 29.  Cirignano 1993, 192–193: περὶ συμποσίου τοῦ ξενοφῶντος ῥήτορος. On the attribution in manuscripts, see Bartlett 1996, 3, esp. 133n: “The title appears in one ms. (D, Laurentianus LXXXV–9) as ‘Symposium of Xenophon the Orator.’” See also, Buzzetti 2003, 168. 30.  Of course, it can be argued that the poems ‘begin at the beginning’ since the action with which Homer is concerned limits the narrative: see Aristotle Poetics 1465; see also, Kitto 1951, 46. 31.  Translations from the original Greek text of Xenophon are my own, with italicized words used to express my emphasis, unless indicated otherwise. I have sought to render the original text in the most literal way possible in English, even if necessary at the expense of style.



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32.  See Bartlett 1994: “But in my opinion, not only are the serious deeds of gentlemen worth recalling, but so too are their deeds done in times of play. I wish to make clear those deeds at which I was present and on the basis of which I make this judgment.” Cf. Bowen 1998: “Well, what gentlemen do in their serious moments is very much worth recording, but so too, in my view, are the activities of their lighter moments, and I want to show you the people I was with when I came to this conclusion.” For over seven decades, the standard English translation was available in the Loeb edition; see Marchant 1923: “To my mind it is worth while to relate not only the serious acts of great and good men but also what they do in their light moods. I should like to narrate an experience of mine that gives me this conviction.” 33.  The founding texts of historiography (ἱστορία)—Herodotus’ Histories, Thucydides’ Peloponnesian War, and Xenophon’s Hellenika—are constituted by systematic reflections upon just such serious occasions. But it should not be forgotten that, in writing their histories, these founders expressed an abiding interest in the recollection of deeds and speeches. Socrates himself warned (Apology 32a) that “the ‘men of Athens’ honor deeds, not speeches.” On the relation of Symposium to Xenophon’s Hellenika, see Strauss 1972, 143: “As Xenophon says in the opening sentence, the work presents a particularly memorable example of playful deeds of perfect gentlemen; Socrates is only one of these gentlemen. The Symposium belongs as much, almost as much, with the Hellenika as with the three other Socratic writings, for the Hellenika deals with the serious deeds of gentlemen . . . [whereas the] serious deeds of the perfect gentleman Ischomachos which are rehearsed in the Oeconomicus (XI.1), being economic rather than political, lack the obvious gravity of the deeds recorded in the Hellenika.” 34.  On the symposion as a traditional organ and activity of cultural and political memory, through which both politēs and polis (and hence, politeia) found their mutual existence upon or in the past, especially in the cultural epoch preceding the emergence of history-writing proper, see Rosler 1990. Bremmer 1990 and Hobden 2013 emphasize the symposion as a crucial institution in the education of Greek youths, particularly young men, who would sit beside their fathers or on the floor listening to and learning from the songs and stories told by the men throughout the course of the evening. 35.  See Xenophon, Poroi 1.1; Mem. IV 6.12. The form of a regime may vary, but the principle still applies: certain kinds of actions are honored as noble and thereby establish an ethic or regime which is embodied in the law and thereby in the citizens. See Plato, Republic I; Menexenus 238b–239a; cf. Xen. Oik. 6.10, where Socrates entices Kritoboulos, son of Krito, with the idea that those who prove “best” in relation to the political community receive the “highest repute” from the polis; in the context of that conversation, Socrates proposes to Kritoboulos (present frequently in Xenophon’s Socratic writings) that gentlemen who possess a knowledge of farming are the most excellent, or best, human beings. For a precise introduction to classical political philosophy as a reflection upon the conflict among diverse regimes or ways of life, see Strauss 1959, 33–34: The legislator is the governing body, and the character of the governing body depends on the whole social and political order, the politeia, the regime. The cause of the laws is the regime. Therefore, the guiding theme of political philosophy is the regime rather than the laws. . . . Regime is the form of life as living together, the manner of living of society and in society, since this manner depends decisively on the predominance of human beings of a certain type, on the manifest domination of society by human beings of a certain type. . . . We may try to articulate the simple and unitary thought, that expresses itself in the term politeia, as follows: life is activity which is directed toward some goal; social life is an activity which is directed toward such a goal as can be pursued only by society; but in order to pursue a specific goal, as its comprehensive goal, society must be organized, ordered, constructed, constituted in a manner which is in accordance with that goal; this, however, means that the authoritative human beings must be akin to that goal. There is a variety of regimes. Each regime raises a claim, explicitly or implicitly, which extends beyond the boundaries of any given society. These claims conflict, therefore, with each other. . . . Classical political philosophy is guided by the question of the best regime.

This conception of classical political philosophy is reiterated in the Epilogue to Strauss and Cropsey 1987, 925–926, 933:

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Introduction

Partly, no doubt, because they paid heed to speech (logos, reasoning) about justice, but also on the basis of careful observations of political life, the classics argued that the key social phenomenon is the dispute, in the political arena, over who will have the say in setting the society’s highest goals—in determining the community’s way of life and what that life reveres. This does not mean that the Socratics ever suppose that fundamental political disputes are carried on only in words: precisely because he took so seriously what was at stake in civic argument, Socrates taught an appreciation of the role played by passion, violence, and the threat of violence. To the extent that the fundamental dispute is settled in each society, a “regime” (politeia) results: “regime” means above all what type of human being rules, and is looked up to as exemplifying, and as having the right to enforce through coercion as well as authoritative exhortation, a distinctive way of life. Politics, in this supreme sense, determines the character of society more than any other factor, and hence political science is the architectonic social science. . . . The central human question then is, what is the best regime for any given society? And the answer to this question depends on some kind of answer to the more general question, what is the best regime simply—what is the standard? . . . It is a principal function of political science, rightly understood, to dispel this illusion [namely, that it is possible to downplay the importance of the political dimension, or regime dimension, through well-meaning but naïve attempts to ignore or resolve the overriding political controversy manifest between profoundly different and antagonistic regimes] by promulgating an adequate understanding of the significance of the conflict among regimes in general.

36.  See Xen. Sym. 8.42–43, and context; see also, Oik. 6.12–17. 37.  See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1177b16–24: Hence among actions expressing the virtues those in politics and war are pre-eminently fine and great; but they require trouble, aim at some [additional or further] end, and are choice-worthy for something other than themselves. [Whereas] the activity of understanding, it seems, is superior in excellence because it is the activity of study, aims at no end beyond itself and has its own proper pleasure, which increases the activity. Further, selfsufficiency, leisure, unwearied activity (as far as is possible for a human being), and any other features ascribed to the blessed person, are evidently features of this activity. Hence a human being’s complete happiness will be this activity, if it receives a complete span of life, since nothing incomplete is proper to happiness.

38.  See Higgins 1977, 17–18: “Only Socrates displays a continual awareness of what is fitting, and only he manages occasionally to get some people to do the right thing. . . . Thus, he is the true master of ceremonies, who provides the true entertainment, and his entertainment economically accomplishes . . . the further end of enlightenment and education.” 39.  See Xen. Sym. 3.19–20, 29 (beg.); 5 passim; 7.5 (end); 8.12 (beg.); 9.1; but cf. Pl. Apo. 18a; 39e– 41d. The virtue of a judge properly speaking, says Socrates, is to distinguish in his mind between just and unjust speech; it is the virtue of an orator however to speak the truth. Thus, does Plato’s Socrates open his defense with definitions: only he who judges rightly is truly a judge (not all jurors are true judges) and only he who speaks what is true is an orator (hence some called orators are really sophists). See Anastaplo 1975, 8; it is remarkable that this careful writer, whose essay opens with a discussion of worthy “judges,” has chosen to begin his study (of Plato’s Apology) of Socrates with reference to Xenophon. The name of “judge” is never used by Xenophon’s Socrates in addressing the jury, although it is used by Xenophon (and by Xenophon’s Hermogenes): see Xen. Apo. 15, 32, 10, 14, cf. 9. 40.  This glance is occasioned by an insight: the Symposium must be read in the light provided by Xenophon’s other writings, Socratic and non-Socratic, in order to see best how the corpus Xenophonteum in its entirety constitutes a reply to a perennial question of political philosophy, What way of life is best for human beings? Consider Bruell 1987, 90: “Of the companions of Socrates who wrote about him, only Plato and Xenophon left works which have come down to us more or less intact. But whereas Plato’s writings are, so to speak, entirely Socratic, Xenophon’s four Socratic writings (Memorabilia, Oeconomicus, Symposium, Apology of Socrates) fill only one of the five volumes of the complete edition of his works. The reader is thus faced with the task, which has no counterpart in the study of Plato, of understanding the place of Xenophon’s Socratic writings in the larger context of his work as a whole.” For a similar prompt, see Higgins 1977, xii; Dillery 1995, 7–8; Buzzetti 2001, 8–9.

Part I XENOPHON’S SYMPOSIUM IN CONTEXT

1 Situating the Dialogue Athenian Competitions

For it was at the time of the great Panathenaia horse-race. Kallias, the son of Hipponicus, happened to be in love with Autolykos, who was then a youth and had been victorious in the pankration, and he had come, leading him, to the spectacle. When the horse-race ended, he returned with Autolykos and his father to his house in Peiraieus.1

THE TITLE Symposium appears, at first glance, to be one of the least puzzling of Xenophon’s titles.2 Unlike the Anabasis, Cyropaedia, and Memorabilia whose titles all signify their content somewhat paradoxically, the title Symposium seems straightforward, like those of the other Socratic writings, Apology of Socrates to the Jury and Oikonomikos. For this dialogue is obviously about a banquet, a drinking party, with all the usual pleasures of entertainment, wine and conversation associated therewith. Such a gathering would perhaps be a fitting situation in which to recall and make clear “the deeds of noble and good men . . . in times of play” which Xenophon claims in his opening are, in his judgment at least, worthy of remembrance (Symposium 1.1). But upon reflection it becomes clear that Xenophon’s title is perplexing. Of the titles of Xenophon’s Socratic writings—Memorabilia, Apology and Oikonomikos— all indicate the subject matter of the work: memories of Socrates, Socrates’ defense speech at his trial, a Socratic discussion of household management. This is also evident with the Hellenika and Xenophon’s shorter works, each of which has a title that points to its welldefined subject matter (Politeia Lakedaimonion, Politeia Athenaion, Poroi, Hipparchikos, Peri Hippikēs, Kynēgetikos). Even so, these titles can be deceptively direct, concealing a problem for consideration or a question that may or may not be taken up or answered explicitly in the work itself; sometimes the content of the work, despite its apparent treatment of a topic, can prove to be elusively complex.3 Thinking about the title of Xenophon’s Symposium thus poses us with a question. If it is not meant to indicate something fairly obvious—say, an interlocutor (Hiero); or a subject of praise (Agesilaus); or a topic of special interest in antiquity, such as political economy (Poroi) or the art of horsemanship (Peri Hippikēs); or a notable skill to be learned, such as household 3

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management (Oikonomikos) or how to command cavalry (Hipparchikos) or train hunting dogs (Kynēgetikos)—what then is the intention of the title of this Socratic work? Xenophon (unlike Plato) usually avoids proper names as titles, with the exception of Hiero, a Socratic dialogue with a notorious skilled tyrant (ἢ τυρρανικός) in which Socrates does not appear, and Agesilaus, an encomium of a renowned Spartan king who was “justly regarded” as a “perfectly good man” (Ages. 10.1).4 The inclusion of the name Cyrus in Kyrou Paideia and Anabasis Kyrou does not render these titles any less paradoxical. The “education” of Cyrus refers rather allusively not only to the education that he received in Persia, but also to that which he himself gave to others (introducing reforms in Media and among the Persians through new modes and orders that caused a revolution in their respective regimes), as well as to that which a close reader of the work receives by examining the work itself. The up-country journey or “ascent” of the younger Cyrus into Persia to which the title apparently refers does not seem to apply as much to the titular character with the famous name as it does to the relatively unknown Athenian whose rapid ascendance, albeit short-lived, is perhaps more worthy of our serious consideration.5 Returning to Xenophon’s Symposium, we immediately notice by comparison with the other writings, that the title points to, among other things, the importance of the setting and the traditional nature of the gathering. The symposion (συμπόσιον) as a special event, an occasion for individuals to gather under certain circumstances, marks this dialogue as, in some respect, conventional—so much so, in fact, that it does not seem to arouse scrutiny. Of all his studies of writings in Xenophon’s corpus published by Strauss, only his commentary on the Symposium lacks a discussion of the title at the beginning. Strauss oddly abandons his usual mode and instead focuses attention—in the first line of his study of the Symposium, the last of Xenophon’s Socratic writings to be taken up by Strauss in his publications—on the dialogue’s unusual status vis-à-vis the other works expressly associated with Socrates. He began: “The Symposium is not as simply a Socratic writing as the Memorabilia, the Oikonomikos, and the Apology of Socrates.” From such a beginning, Strauss turns immediately to his interpretation of the opening sentence without further reference to the title.6 To glimpse the unexpectedly complex character of the title, we must first take it for granted; which is to say, we should allow the conventional meaning to be our guide. The most mundane meaning of the Greek word symposion refers literally to the setting of the dialogue, namely, the appropriate room in an ancient sanctuary or household where communal dining and sympotic activities were customarily held.7 Taken in this sense, we wonder whether Xenophon, consistent with the caution that is usually attributed to his Socrates, intends the title to remind his readers of the need for a due consideration of decorum. In other words, perhaps we are meant to bear in mind an abiding concern throughout the dialogue with what is fitting—including when, where, how, and to what extent— especially given the other obvious activities of symposia, entertainment and drinking. The intimate setting of the location itself within a private household conceals the symposiasts from public view. Even so, the world outside (Athens and the celebration of the festival) is present, and must be recognized, in order to assess Xenophon’s judgment about the worthiness of recalling the deeds of gentlemen.8 True gentlemanliness, as a virtue, should endure and not just alter or disappear with circumstances. Though wine-drinking effectively induces a kind of forgetfulness in the privacy of the household, to lose sight of the larger public setting within which that private space exists—and back to which the gentlemen-symposiasts inevitably must return—would surely be imprudent.



Situating the Dialogue 5

The Greek word symposion also literally signifies the “drinking-together” or “imbibingtogether” of wine, and the verb from which the word is derived (συμπίνω) suggests a “round,” or a “bout,” of wine-drinking. In other words, the symposium is inherently a kind of competition and rivalry which, hopefully (if all goes well), is a good-natured one, but which potentially (if decorum is neglected or moderation abandoned) could get out of hand. This connotation, the symposion as a drinking bout, should give us pause, for it suggests the possibility that, even with respect to the playfulness of pleasant speeches and deeds that ought naturally to attend a gathering of friends and companions at a symposium, an implicit tension may be at work beneath its surface. A symposium, then, may be understood as a contest, or agōn (ἀγών), of sorts, even when taken in the conventional sense.9 Contests were also a sign of Hellenic liberty. From the age of Homer down to that of Alexander, contesting or competing was an activity whose purpose or end (τέλος) was an expression and recognition of the excellence or virtue (ἀρετή) among those competing. Agonal events in Socrates’ day had long been viewed as a fundamental defining characteristic of Hellenic culture. This was especially true of classical Athens: the age of the “Olympian” Pericles (unrivaled among speakers in the democracy, whose very presence made it seem like “one-man rule,” according to Thucydides), of the great tragedians (who staged contests at each festival against each other, as well as against their ancestors, as we see in Euripides’ Frogs), of the traveling sophists (who contested their display speeches to win customers, as we read about at the start of Plato’s Gorgias), of the Peloponnesian war (with its great struggle between the rival regimes of the Athenians and the Spartans), and of Socrates himself (whom Xenophon declared in his Memorabilia was able to defeat all his rivals in argument or speeches, λόγοι).10 The virtues associated with contest and struggle (ἀγών) played a significant role in Hellenic and Athenian culture, a point poignantly conveyed by Burkert, who traces scholarly awareness of this fact about the prominence of the agōn to a particularly fitting source: The agonal spirit, der agonale Geist, has, since Friedrich Nietzsche, often been described as one of the characteristic traits and driving forces of Greek culture. The number of things that the Greeks can turn into a contest is astounding: sport and physical beauty, handicraft and art, song and dance, theatre and disputation. Whatever is instituted as custom comes almost automatically under the jurisdiction of a sanctuary.11

Physical form (beauty contests), persuasive speech (rhetorical displays), and dramatic performance (competitions of tragedies and comedies at festivals), in addition to the official occasions for games (the Olympic and Nemean games) were among the many aspects of everyday life which the Greeks eagerly contested for the sake of distinction. It is not surprising then to suppose that a similar sense of agonal striving attended the exchange of wine, speeches, and looks during the symposion. This particular example of an agōn may even stand out as the conventional occasion for exercising an amiable manifestation of this competitive spirit and engaging in non-combative contests of socio-political status and authority.12 The title of Xenophon’s Symposium thus appears to refer readers to a cultural phenomenon that encourages sociability even as it reveals virtue through competition. But the title, however, is nevertheless perplexing in that it directs our attention to the setting of the dialogue, rather than to one of the interlocutors or the content of the speeches recollected therein. Upon closer examination, we may be similarly perplexed by the titles of the other Socratic writings of Xenophon: the Apology stresses Socrates’ decidedly un-apologetic demeanor at his trial, and the Oikonomikos examines a particular skill (household management) with respect to which

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the dialogue’s three interlocutors (Kritoboulos, Socrates, Ischomachos) appear incompetent, disinterested, and vain (respectively). With the Symposium, too, the title is not simply revealing of what we read about in the dialogue. The nature or activity of a symposion—what it is, or what it may be good or useful for—does not emerge as the subject of the dialogue itself. What does Xenophon intend to recall in the dialogue, if anything other than (as the opening implies) the playfulness which the setting induces? The symposion, properly speaking, follows the banquet; the rounds of drinking attend the entertainment and begin only after the feast has ended.13 It comes explicitly into the foreground as a subject of conversation only in passing, and then, with trepidation. With a hint of seriousness before the entertainment and playfulness begin, Socrates will forewarn his fellow symposiasts that wine is a divine gift with which human beings must take care when making use (2.24–26). Wine, of course, induces erotic desire and insobriety (in vino veritas) as well as playfulness.14 While the others are said to have marked his well-spoken words with their agreement, we may wonder from what follows thereafter whether they, in fact, intend to be as serious in deed as Socrates appears to be here in speech, about the proper—and, by contrast, also the improper—use of such a gift (2.27). Moderation, in other words, does not immediately emerge as something that the other gentlemen present will find particularly compelling.15 A moment’s reflection upon this Socratic warning, and the disjuncture of speech and deed, begs the question: What god, or gods, must be invoked, to mediate the potency of this divine gift, particularly in light of inherent human limitations which Socrates openly acknowledges and brings to the attention of his fellow symposiasts? Do the simple and customary libation and song that are offered at the end of the feast and prior to the symposium’s beginning (2.1) constitute an adequate form of invocation? Is another revelation—perhaps from “a great daimon” (δαίμονος μεγάλου)—anticipated (cf. 8.1)? If the symposiasts fail to conduct themselves appropriately, by not heeding Socrates’ advice, what will the consequences be? The importance of these questions will become increasingly evident as the Symposium progresses, wine flows, and the need for moderation increases. For now, it suffices to notice that the dialogue moves past Socrates’ warning without taking up these questions explicitly; as quickly as it is broached then, the symposion—a drinking bout and contest that could get out of hand in the absence of moderation—as a topic of discussion recedes into the background. The emphasis of the dialogue’s title upon the setting becomes all the more apparent upon comparison with Xenophon’s other Socratic writings. Xenophon chooses to situate this dialogue within a more comprehensive setting, deliberately framing his Symposium (1.2 and 9.7) with overt and definitive reminders of what lies beyond the environs and the conversations of the symposion. To illustrate this point, a quick survey of the settings of Xenophon’s other three Socratic writings (Socratica) serves as an introduction to a discussion of the larger context of the dialogue at hand, which must include a glance at the historical and political situation of the times.

XENOPHON’S OTHER SOCRATIC WRITINGS With this dialogue, Xenophon ensures that readers know not only who all was present and what they said and did, but also where, when, and why the dialogue took place. After the opening reflection by Xenophon about remembrance, the next lines make clear the setting. The Symposium is a banquet which takes place in the house of Kallias, a very wealthy Athenian, for the purpose of celebrating the victory of the young man Autolykos in the pankration



Situating the Dialogue 7

during the great Panathenaia festival at Athens, which occurred in the summer of 422/421 BCE (1.2). The specificity of setting establishes a firm historical framework for the dialogue and its action. There is to be no confusion about where and when these memorable and playful deeds (which Xenophon wishes to recall) actually happened. An intentional relation between this particular symposion and the times is also indicated. This is only fitting, of course, given the dialogue’s announced interest in the memorable deeds accomplished by certain gentlemen in playfulness. Yet, such specificity of setting and times, nevertheless, must strike a close reader of Xenophon’s Socratic writings as unusual.16 Xenophon’s other Socratic works, Memorabilia, Oikonomikos and Apology, have at least this much in common: Xenophon is usually content to let the conversations he remembers therein stand on their own, provided that the reader recognizes Socrates’ interlocutors by name or perhaps by nature or type. The conversations recollected in Memorabilia, for example, the longest of the explicitly Socratic works of Xenophon, are almost always abstracted from substantial references to the historical circumstances or setting within which they ostensibly occurred. Often only a name is supplied. If it happens that Socrates’ interlocutor is left unnamed, there is usually an indication of Socrates’ relation to the person with whom he is conversing, or some reference to the person’s nature—especially insofar as it can be generally revealed through mention of an office or position, held or desired, in the polis. Because the explicit purpose of the Memorabilia is to argue the case for Socrates’ justice (“how . . . he used to benefit his companions”), Xenophon takes care to give his readers at least some insight into the name or character of Socrates’ interlocutors (Mem. I 3.1). Xenophon’s recollections therefore begin either with “what I once heard him say” (to someone else), or with “the sorts of things he used to say” (about something).17 Otherwise, apart from sparse references to Athenian military or judicial actions, there is little in Xenophon’s account which would prompt readers to situate the recollected conversations in a specific time or place in Athens. Whether or not Socrates’ interlocutors made proper use of his “beneficial” speeches, as Xenophon contends they are, is open to question. Xenophon does not take it upon himself to follow through on this line of questioning in his own Memorabilia. Oikonomikos, on the other hand, is not episodic as Memorabilia is; it is an extended account of a conversation within a conversation, narrated by Socrates himself. But its opening links it, in form at least, to the conversations found in Memorabilia. The dialogue is introduced by Xenophon as a friendly conversation between Socrates and Kritoboulos, and its topic is clearly announced: “I once heard him discourse on the management of the household as well in the following way” (Oik. 1.1). During his discourse on household management (οἰκονομία), Socrates recalls a certain conversation which he once had—“from the beginning” (ἐξ ἀρχῆς) of his investigation of the link between noble or beautiful works (καλὰ ἔργα) and goodness (ἀγαθὸς)—with a man who was held “to be really one of those men to whom this name is given justly, that is, one is called a noble and good man (καλός τε κἀγαθὸς ἀνήρ)”; this conversation is recited for the sake of Kritoboulos who says that he desires (ἐρῶ) “to become worthy (ἄξιος) of that name” (Oik. 6.12–13). At this point we hear, from Socrates himself, the longest conversation recollected in all of Xenophon’s works and the only one in which Socrates himself—rather than being remembered by Xenophon for what he says—remembers one of his own conversations for the benefit of another.18 While the conclusion or outcome of the dialogue remains somewhat unsettled, both with respect to Ischomachos and Kritoboulos, the opening is firmly rooted. Notably, Socrates chooses to begin his recollection of his conversation with Ischomachos with a subtle, but distinct reference to a very particular setting, a specific place in Athens (Oik. 7.1–2):

8

Chapter 1 Seeing then one day [this man called by the name of ‘gentleman’] sitting in the stoa of Zeus the Liberator, as he seemed to me to be at leisure, I went over to him and I sat down with him, and said: “Why, Ischomachos, are you sitting like this, you who are not customarily at leisure? For I see you mostly doing something, but hardly ever at leisure in the agora.” “Nor would you even now,” said Ischomachos, “Socrates, see me, if I had not made an agreement to wait for some strangers here.”

The unusual circumstance in which Socrates happens to notice a man reputed to be a “gentleman” at leisure—and hence free to be engaged in conversation—sets the stage for his recollection. Over the course of the conversation, we learn that Ischomachos is “hardly ever at leisure”; he works constantly, or nearly so. The gentleman has little time, it would seem, to spend bothering with the investigations Socrates admittedly pursues. To be sure, in contrast with Socrates, what leisure the gentleman’s way of life affords is not typically spent in the agora. Moreover, we might say that if the one-sidedness of the ensuing conversation be taken as any indication, the gentleman, while he may indeed take pleasure in speaking of himself, appears not at all interested in hearing from Socrates about the kind of life he leads. Socrates restrains his inquiry accordingly.19 That this conversation recalled by Socrates was able to occur at all seems to be a matter of chance. We are given to understand from Socrates’ own introduction that, although he had wanted to speak with Ischomachos earlier, this gentleman is rarely to be seen walking around in the agora striking up conversations at his leisure with people who happen to pass by.20 But the conversation between Ischomachos and Socrates does not occur merely by chance, since it is occasioned by an appointment—the gentleman’s tenacious adherence to his word, once given21—and this explains why Ischomachos appears to Socrates to be available. The unusual setting of the conversation, it has been noted already, is quite telling, especially with respect to place; for not only does the place express something about the gentleman’s character (he is not usually to be found there), but it also suggests something of the difference between the two ways of life represented by or embodied in Ischomachos and Socrates (who frequents the place).22 Socrates’ emphasis on the precise place23 and unusual circumstances under which he was brought together in conversation with Ischomachos suggests an awareness, on the part of both Athenians, that the situation allowed for a limited kind of interaction. In fulfilling his obligation as a gentlemen Ischomachos waits at an unusual location (for him) in a place befitting his station, where Socrates happens to find him unoccupied by more serious matters and thus at leisure for conversation. Their subsequent reservations in speech render amiable the implied contest of virtue between them.24 While Xenophon has his Socrates make explicit reference to a specific place in the setting of his conversation with the gentleman Ischomachos, Xenophon makes perfectly clear in the title of his Apology of Socrates to the Jury the unusual circumstances which occasioned that work. But rather than present the defense speech (ἀπολογία) directly, as Plato does in his Apology of Socrates, Xenophon frames the speech within a dialogue. Xenophon, who was not in Athens at the time of Socrates’ trial in 399 BCE, situates the defense-speech—or rather, selections from Socrates’ speech—within the private setting of a dialogue between Socrates and his companion, Hermogenes. Hermogenes’ recollection25 of his conversation with Socrates prior to his defense-speech touches only on the outcome of Socrates’ deliberations regarding his defense and his end (τε τῆς ἀπολογίας καὶ τῆς τελευτῆς τοῦ βίου). The reasons, or reasoning, that led him to the conclusions he mentions to Hermogenes are not given; his thoughts on the matter are reserved (Apo. 1; cf. Plato, Phaedo 63b–64a). With the fateful intervention of his daimonion, Socrates’ deliberations, whatever they may have been, came to an end. No



Situating the Dialogue 9

doubt, this outcome—that is, Socrates’ obedience to the divine sign and hence his abandonment of preparations for a serious or conventional defense-speech—among his more admiring companions generated a profound sense of urgency, not to say despair (Apo. 27–28; see Plato, Apo. 38b; Phaedo 117c-d; cf. Apo. 59a-b). For others, this outcome gave Socrates’ speech to the Athenian jurors—his only political speech—a hint of hubristic boasting, or “big-talking” (μεγαληγορία).26 In any case, what Hermogenes reports Socrates to have said cannot be separated from when and where it was being said. Taken together, these references to identity, place, and time in Xenophon’s Memorabilia, Oikonomikos, and Apology serve to remind us of the unmistakable specificity of setting or context that characterizes his Symposium. This dialogue, even more than the others, partakes of a kind of precision with respect to setting that is similar to Xenophon’s non-Socratic writings—his Anabasis and Hellenika—thus giving the impression of history, though more Thucydidean than Herodotean. What do these works have in common, besides their particular concern with both time and place? All three are intent on remembering the deeds of gentlemen, two in times of seriousness (war and political action). The third is a work devoted to the remembrance of the deeds of serious gentlemen in times of play, among whom Socrates appears as one of many, though perhaps the central one. In this respect, the Symposium represents a point of contact between the explicitly Socratic works and the nonSocratic writings of Xenophon.27 Xenophon’s Symposium is, then, a paradoxical dialogue, in part because it is only obliquely or partially Socratic. The dialogue and the conversations remembered therein cannot be abstracted from their setting. The times must be considered more closely than one might expect when reading conversations in Xenophon’s other Socratic writings, for it is from within this clearly stated setting and context that the playful deeds of gentlemen are remembered and that we are led by Xenophon to consider their worth as a counter-balance or alternative to the conventional, or serious, view of gentlemen and their distinctive virtue, gentlemanliness (καλοκἀγαθία). So, what was the general tenor of the times, so to speak, in which this Socratic dialogue took place?

THE PELOPONNESIAN WARS Before we turn to the festive atmosphere in the polis brought about by the celebration and games of the Panathenaia, we should ask what was the general state of Athenian political affairs around the time of Xenophon’s Symposium? In relation to the history written by Thucydides, the dramatic date of the dialogue falls in the late summer of the tenth year of the Peloponnesian wars, just prior to the winter negotiations that led to the treaty of 421, commonly known as the Peace of Nikias, as well as the so-called “fifty-year alliance” between Sparta and Athens—a peace intended to be a welcome respite from the harsh lessons of war (Thucydides V.13–24.) With the anticipation of an end to war and the arrival of the year-end/ year-beginning holy days, Athenians collectively had time to breathe. The polis seemed on the cusp of securing a meaningful peace, with all its implications for a renewal of political life devoted to domestic affairs rather than being dominated by foreign policy. Had the sentiments of wariness and weariness of war settled sufficiently into Athenian minds to temper their spiritedness and imperial ambitions, restoring them to a life of leisure which alone cultivates the civilized fruits of private and public reflection? Or was this nothing more than a momentary lull in the inevitable course of war?

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A few years prior to the time of the dialogue, in 425, much more than a peace treaty was thought possible by Athenians. Demosthenes’ cleverness and Kleon’s boasting had accomplished “the most unexpected thing in the war,” namely, the willing surrender and imprisonment of over four hundred Spartan hoplites at Pylos on the Peloponnesian coast, very near land-locked Sparta (Thucydides IV.3–41).28 With success came the excessive swings of opinion and emotion, reason and purpose, that all too often prevailed over the Athenian dēmos; victory seemed all but assured. With confidence running high, all proposals for peace from Sparta—caught in the unusual circumstance of having to negotiate rather than fight—were rejected; the balance of power had shifted its weight in Athens’ favor. Athenian victories on the Peloponnese followed but were short-lived. Fate or fortune proved fickle. From 424–422 Athens suffered the harsh backlash against her own pride, with serious setbacks on both land and sea.29 Socrates himself had fought for Athens in these years just prior to Xenophon’s Symposium and the Peace of Nikias. Advanced in age for an average soldier at forty-five, under necessity and the command of his polis, Socrates took up arms, distinguishing himself during two key Athenian expeditions, both of which were defeats—at Delium in 424, and Amphipolis in the spring of 422, just a few months before the dialogue itself. This turn of events gave rise to the Athenian decision to negotiate a peace in the winter and spring of 421. Hard-pressed by Spartan advances and victories on land in Boeotia, in the absence of Pericles “the Olympian” with his vision and rhetoric of empire, Athenian confidence waned and Athens deigned to accept the terms of peace with Sparta negotiated by Nikias. Nevertheless, with a belief in the ascendancy of their polis, the Athenians would soon return undaunted. Athens—heroic protagonist of the memorable defense of all Hellas against the barbarian invasion in the battles of Marathon and Salamis; standard bearer of a common Greek destiny and Ionian freedom; mistress of the sea; ruler30 of an unrivaled league of tributary city-states, Athens had her empire still and the memory of a Periclean golden age to burnish.31 Inflamed by such irrational exuberance and led by the powerful persona of an Alcibiades approaching his prime, the dēmos decided to let nothing stand in the way of their ambitious desires, especially peace.32 So it was that, despite the mutual assurances of a peace treaty and alliance with Sparta, Alcibiades’ daring pushed the Athenians further into the thrice-nine years of war according to Thucydides. Xenophon’s first readers were well aware of the political tragedy that lay ahead for Athens in the second and third decades of the “greatest disturbance” in the history of Greeks and barbarians, perhaps all mankind.33 Athenians would learn first-hand the hard lessons of war and political revolution that fundamentally and irreversibly altered the political landscape of Hellas.34 As modern readers, we too must be attentive not only to the political milieu and setting that situates the action of the dialogue, but also to the fact that the subsequent dismantling of the Athenian navy and empire, Alcibiades’ second exile as well as the trial and execution of Socrates would have been vivid memories for the immediate audience of Xenophon’s Symposium. Still, in the summer of 422/421, the convulsive effects of violent factionalism and the devastating catastrophe of civil war had not yet shattered the strength of the democratic polis. Athens had not yet striven entirely beyond her means or exiled and executed her generals and most renowned citizens; the unthinkable alliance of Spartan strength with Persian wealth had not yet turned the tides of war completely against her. The Athenians were not yet in the unyielding grip of the hubris that would eventually impel their daring toward unimaginable defeat, leaving Athens suffocating under the weight of necessity after the collapse of democracy and military hegemony, and all this in the wake of the failed Sicilian enterprise. In relation to



Situating the Dialogue 11

the dramatic setting of the dialogue, however, and of its characters, the future must not have seemed so bleak. The betrayal of Alcibiades, the fall and surrender of Athens, and the death of Socrates lay waiting in the future, a distant decade or two away. Though the war itself and the seriousness of the times must have worn heavily on the minds of the Greeks for whom Xenophon originally wrote, at the time of the dialogue’s dramatic setting and for the symposiasts themselves, this future history had not yet been written. We are thus forced to seek out a via media in our reading of Xenophon’s Symposium. In 422/421, even as the idea of negotiating a viable and lasting peace was being debated, there must have been occasion to reflect upon and even question the Periclean vision for Athens. Neither succumbing to the temptation to read the action of the dialogue entirely foreshadowed by the light of an Athenian history not yet loosed—nor ignoring the memory of that imminent past—let us say that the prospects for peace and reconciliation in Athens at the time of the Symposium were real. Situated in a pivotal moment of Athenian history, Xenophon’s Symposium leaps into the temporal breach of Athenian daring in search of a new definition of kalokagathia. In evident contrast to the times,35 yet consistent with the convivial and reflective mood of the setting, the opening lines of the dialogue would recall to mind more pleasant times for Athens.36 Xenophon wishes to make clear to his readers those deeds of gentleman accomplished in times of play that are worthy of being remembered. In the Symposium, as we shall soon see, seriousness and love of honor, on the one hand, and playfulness and the pursuit of wisdom, on the other hand, find common ground upon which to contest virtue. Within the historical context already discussed, the immediate setting of the dialogue provides the occasion for the banquet itself and contributes to an atmosphere enlivening political life—as much as private associations and conversations—with a sense of levity.37 Far from battlefields or the political upheavals of the Athenian polis, the festive mood of the Panathenaia and the pleasures of Kallias’ banquet harken back to the best of times in Athens. A heightened awareness of context makes the charm of the Symposium seem fitting and proper. For in the summer of 422/421, the Athenians were, in a sense, a polis at play: “it was the time . . . of the great Panathenaia” (1.2). Even this form of sacral playfulness, like Aristophanic performances, still evinces an inherent sublimation of tension and seriousness.38

ATHENIAN COMPETITIONS Athens was reputed even in antiquity to have had more festivals than any other Greek polis, and the great Panathenaia was the most important.39 Festival days leading up to the Panathe­ naia were calendrically fixed; their main purpose was to signal the passing of the old year and usher in the new. Celebrated on the twenty-eighth (and last) day of Hekatombeion, the first month of the Attic (Athenian) calendar, beginning just after mid-summer with the new moon before the summer solstice, the Panathenaia both inaugurated the new year and marked the birthday of the polis.40 Legends surrounding the occasion dispute its origin, proposing either King Erechtheus or Theseus as the founder, but it is commonly agreed that, starting in 566, the traditional festivities were expanded to reflect the panhellenic agōn associated especially with Olympia and Delphi.41 The “great” Panathenaia, with its grand festival and panhellenic games, recurred every fourth year after 566—in the middle of the four-year Olympic cycle—and was distinguished from the annual celebration of the Athenian festival and competitions on a smaller, more local scale. During the celebrations of the great Panathenaia, above all, the usual year-end reckon-

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ings and reflections were attended by a vast array of agonal striving. As always, however, the festival culminated in the ceremonial procession from Academy, through Kerameikos and agora, up to the Akropolis, to bestow upon the venerable image of the divine founder and protectress of the polis her newly-woven dress or mantle.42 This procession in honor of Athena Polias, immortalized in the images of the Parthenon frieze, added an air of divine solemnity and Athenian aspiration to the effusive pleasures and spectacles of the week-long festival.43 Based on a reconstruction of the detailed program of activities during the festival, we can conclude from the opening lines of the dialogue that Xenophon’s Symposium recounts events that are said to have taken place on the evening of the sixth day of the 37th Panathenaia, in 421, after the horse- and chariot-races between the 26th and 27th days of Hekatombeion. The final contest of the games would have been the foot-race in full armor, an audience favorite and a scene frequently depicted on vases, and the pankration was typically the penultimate agōn.44 Autolykos, the young man being honored at the banquet of Kallias, had competed in the pankration and won. There is a more than passing reference to the competitions in the Panathanaic festival and the competitions playfully undertaken by the symposiasts. The festival games even included, as one of the several non-athletic competitions, a beauty contest among the old men in each Athenian tribe. The setting of Xenophon’s Symposium as well as the deeds and speeches recollected therein exude a palpable sense of the spirited striving that characterizes the dialogue as a series of fitting yet playful contests between gentlemen. The dialogue thus participates in the very spirit of the Greek agōn on display so prominently in the Athenian festival and games of the Panathenaia, a spiritedness that in fact permeated all of Hellenic culture and especially the political activities of poleis. There would have been almost nothing in the experience of Socrates or Xenophon which escaped the “agonal spirit” of the Greeks, the idea of agōn, as contest or struggle, through which excellence or virtue, that is, aretē (ἀρετή), is exhibited and celebrated.45 From the age of Homeric epic down through the Hellenistic period, striving in virtue against fellow Greeks emerged as one of the defining activities of Greekness—striving on the field of battle, in politics and in sport. In the post-heroic age, the labors of Herakles and the funeral games of Achilles were institutionalized in semi-annual games first at Olympia (in honor of Zeus), then later at Delphi (‘Pythian’ games, in honor of Apollo), Nemea (also in honor of Zeus), Corinth (‘Isthmian’ games, in honor of Poseidon) and, to a lesser extent, at Athens (‘Panathenaic’ games, in honor of Athena).46 On the prize table at Olympia, so the story goes, the images of two gods were erected to preside over the dispensation of honor: Ares, the god of war, and Agon, the divine personification of the contest itself.47 While every victory was dedicated to gods and heroes, one practical effect of these agonal competitions was to train young and mature men alike for the hardships of war.48 Over time, however, each one of the panhellenic games was augmented to incorporate new forms of competition—drama, lyric, music, dance—into their usual programs.49 Still, the primary arena for the agōn, for human beings openly to contest virtue, remained athletic. By the age of Periclean Athens and Socrates the focus of the great panhellenic games had long ago shifted from combat-readiness to honor. The games strayed from their origins and began to constitute an ethos of agōn more formative of culture than preparation for military orders.50 Victory, most especially at Olympia, brought fame (κῦδος) and standing for an athlete both abroad and at home among his fellow citizens and won distinction (κλέος) for his polis in the eyes of other Greeks. This is not to say that athletic training had no impact upon military service, or that athletes no longer fought in war when the times demanded. But even Xenophon admits that such men were not necessarily competent soldiers as a result of



Situating the Dialogue 13

their extensive gymnastic training; Xenophon’s Socrates, by his silence in this regard, seems to concur.51 What is certain is that the cult of victory surrounding athletics and athletes in the age of Socrates altered the original purpose of the panhellenic games. Professionals replaced amateurs, and the thrill of victory was no longer purely honorary and trans-political. Despite the potentially adverse effects that an individual athlete and his polis might suffer from the professionalization of sport,52 success and victory in the games remained a cause for celebration, both politically and in private. As a key characteristic of the Panathenaia festival and of Athenian democracy, in general, it is appropriate that the dialogue resonates with competitions and a competitive spirit. As we shall see from a careful reading of the dialogue, various manifestations of this agonal spirit are imitated in Xenophon’s private Symposium—including, for example, the proud claims made by individual symposiasts (first pronounced and then defended in Chapters Three and Four); the beauty contest, ironically undertaken and judged, between the ugly Socrates and the beautiful young Kritoboulos (in Chapter Five); as well as the rivalry between Socratic speech and the Syracusan’s performances with which the dialogue concludes (in Chapters Six through Nine). In more ways than is evident from just the presence of Autolykos, we will discover that Xenophon insists that Kallias’ banquet reference the political and historical setting within which it occurs. But what, we may wonder, is the origin and purpose of this desire for distinction and competition so powerfully displayed in the Panathenaia and writ small in the dramatic action of the Symposium?

KALLIAS’ BANQUET IN HONOR OF AUTOLYKOS Xenophon’s Symposium announces from the beginning that the banquet of Kallias will be a celebration of the competitive spirit. Autolykos’ victory in the pankration has brought him and his father, Lykon, into the embrace of the Athenian Kallias, “the son of Hipponicus.” Xenophon’s use of the patronymic ensures that his readers will recognize this Kallias as a prominent member of one of Athens’ wealthiest and most distinguished aristocratic families. As host of the banquet, an aristocratic practice increasingly observed at fifth-century democratic Athens, Kallias adopted the rhetoric of moral excellence associated with traditional symposia. But a mutual benefit derived from host and guests being seen with each other: Kallias, as proud sponsor and host of Autolykos, the victorious Autolykos and his father, as Kallias’ guests, whose presence derives from the recent claim to honor occasioned by the youth’s success in the pankration competition.53 To be seen with someone of Kallias’ rank, we can imagine (and at a moment when most of the polis in addition to the foreign visitors who gathered to watch the games as well),54 is surely a reward welcomed by Autolykos’ father as one of the spoils of his son’s victory as well as a means to improve his family’s reputation.55 No less useful is the aura of victory that envelops Kallias whose infatuation with Autolykos can be openly acknowledged and seemingly legitimated under the auspices of honoring the victor. We may further suppose the father imagines his son’s achievement will be celebrated, with Kallias’ generous patronage and commission, in a befitting victory ode, an encomium or paean, linking Autolykos and his entire family with the Athenian polis, its heroes and its gods.56 But despite the promises which victory portend, good fortune and a noble reputation can never be guaranteed. In the case of Autolykos these indeed proved elusive, for within a year his hopes and dreams—and those of his father as well—would be frustrated and irreparably mocked by the polis on account of a comic poet.57

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In Xenophon’s Symposium however the sudden and unexpected reversals of fortune which attend the human condition will perplex only the minds of his readers, not his characters (perhaps with the exception of Socrates).58 Before moving to a discussion of the banquet of Kallias and symposium proper—a setting in which the festive public spectacle of being seen is replaced by the private pleasures of a more intimate form of seeing—something must be said about the unique athletic event in which this young man has won his victory. The pankration, we know, was a no-holds-barred competition, blending wrestling and boxing.59 As a sporting event, it entered into the full rank of the Olympian games rather late,60 and while every form of Greek athletic competition sought to push and stress competitors to overcome great hardships and excel, pankration and boxing were viewed as the most strenuous contests of all. In general, the former was more violent, though the latter was more dangerous.61 Those competing in these two events very often inflicted and suffered the greatest pain of any athletes participating in the games. Still, although similarly severe, the form of the two competitions differed greatly, as may be expected from the virtual absence of decorum, or rules, governing the pankration. Whatever governance may have limited the boxer was abandoned by the pankratist; strength superseded style.62 The form of the competitors differed as well, for the pugilist was rarely praised for his physical beauty, while the pankratist often was.63 In fact, the charge of being disproportionate, mentioned by Socrates with reference to runners and wrestlers in one of his explicitly “serious” moments during the course of the Symposium (2.17–19), applied also to boxers, if we are to judge from extant visual representations showing competitors of various builds and statures. Disproportion, or an unbalanced form, however, does not seem to belong to youths like Autolykos who had prepared themselves to compete in the pankration competition (cf. Sym. 2.20 with Mem. III 12). What was it about this kind of agōn in particular which required—or tended to produce—such a praiseworthy physical form? Strength training for pankration demanded that a competitor pay attention to the fitness of his whole body. On the surface of the things, then, the outward appearance or form of the pankratist generated an enthusiasm in those who beheld its beauty (1.8–10). In this sense, it is appropriate that Xenophon’s Symposium opens as it does, for one who wishes to make clear why the deeds of gentlemen at leisure are worth remembering may need to begin with conventional images of what is thought to be noble or beautiful (τὸ καλόν). Yet if we look at this competition from the point of view of those who chose to abstain from it, we gain a useful insight into the harsh agōn associated with pankration. While young competitors in the event were thought to be beautiful, on account of their bodies developed in a balanced way, the competition itself led to ugly acts, in victory and defeat, which could be considered ignoble (τὸ ἀισχρόν) as opposed to noble. Sparta, for example, refused by law to permit her citizens to participate in pankration or boxing competitions at the panhellenic games, since defeat in these events was deemed unbefitting the nobility of a Spartan. Although the shame of losing always sharply stung, it was not on account of a fear of losing that Spartans were barred from competing in these contests. Like all other Greeks, to suffer defeat to a fellow Greek in an agōn which elicited mutual displays of excellence was held to be acceptable by the proud Spartans, even ennobling; but being forced to admit surrender under force of pain (as in pankration) or being simply beaten senseless (as in boxing) was decidedly not.64 For this reason, the rugged but noble Spartans abstained. Given the extreme nature of defeat suffered in pankration, the converse can also be argued—namely, that the method by which victory was won was equally extreme. A certain training in and exertion of ugliness was unavoidable for both victor and vanquished alike.65



Situating the Dialogue 15

The severe character of pankration was also reflected in the fact that the event itself tended toward a permissible license, excessiveness and virtual lawlessness.66 Moreover, with the advent of professional athletes, the pankration contest steadily degenerated into a violent spectacle, urged on by a lusty crowd demanding new feats of extremism in victory.67 If this is the nature of the agōn whose victor is being celebrated in the Symposium what are we to think of its (most successful) competitors? To put this in terms of the Symposium, in light of the fact that he was not simply an Athenian youth with exceptional physical virtues but a boy (παῖς)68 whose recent deeds bespoke a capacity to excel in the most brutal competition in the Hellenic sports, what are we to make of Xenophon’s observation at the outset of the banquet that Autolykos appeared to be possessed of an admirable beauty “in accordance with modesty and moderation” (1.8)? As our discussion of the pankration competition suggests, by imitating all too closely the harsh necessities learned in warfare, the degenerate form of the contest lost sight of the real aim and purpose of competition, and the panhellenic games at large. This point may be elucidated by a political comparison: Tyranny is the worst fate for human beings not because it deprives them of liberty but because it makes impossible the exercise of virtue, in the proper use of one’s freedom. Thus, the descent of pankration—and of the agōn itself in Greek culture—into a quasi-barbaric expression of mere cruelty and superior strength undermines virtue and nobility by imposing a tyranny inimical to free human beings and gentlemen (see 2.3–5). In other words, does not the nature of the pankration itself prompt us to reject that agōn which seeks excellence only through a display of overpowering physical strength verging on brutality, if indeed we are to remain concerned with virtue, and what is “beautiful and good” (καλός και ἀγαθός)? The exercise of gentlemanliness and the agōn of the pankration seem worlds apart almost by definition. A consideration of the latent unrestraint, an excessive violence in the kind of training and exertion which leads to success in pankration leaves us doubting whether the physical form of beauty (καλός) acquired by such training may be yoked harmoniously with the good (ἀγαθός). Something there is about this sport that seems inherently at odds with kalokagathia. How then are we to understand the silent presence of Autolykos and the reflections on his beauty which open the Symposium? The status of this young man and his victory as subjects worthy of a gentleman’s admiration (despite the cautious recognition signaled by Socrates regarding the limits of the symposium), is taken up as an immediate concern in the first two sections of the dialogue; but thereafter, as we shall see, the dialogue itself, like the games, threatens to become excessive and harsh. Nevertheless, this inquisitive foundation, that is, the question of the relation between Autolykos and gentlemanliness, though partially obscured by the playful deeds which follow the early chapters, establishes the rhetorical form of Xenophon’s Symposium.

XENOPHON’S SYMPOSIUM AS AGŌN Our consideration of the times and the larger setting of Xenophon’s Symposium, in addition to the immediate circumstances which occasioned Kallias’ banquet, prepares us to understand better the contests in virtue, beauty, speech and deed enacted by the symposiasts over the course of the evening. Within the explicit framework of the Panathenaia festival and games, for example, the dance routines as well as the musical and dramatic performances orchestrated by the Syracusan—even Socrates’ own proposal for contests of speeches and of beauty—are to be seen as wholly appropriate, in light of the fact that the Symposium itself occurs at a time

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of contests in the polis.69 From the perspective of private intimacy and public decency, these “games” should be considered fitting complements to the usual convivial pleasures supplied by Kallias. Thus does the action of the dialogue imitate institutions and competitions of the Athenian festival: from this gentlemen’s gathering to feast and celebrate, through the spectacle of lesser performances or games executed by the Syracusan’s trained performers, to the apotheosis of agōn both in speech (competing claims to virtue) and in deed (the beauty contest between Socrates and Kritoboulos; the performances of Socrates vis-à-vis the Syracusan)— these are all expressions of a polis and of gentlemen at play. But we must remind ourselves that a strong undercurrent of seriousness still exists and cannot be forgotten, for even the very names of the symposiasts themselves sound dissonant notes in the dialogue relative to its larger setting: Kallias, the notorious brother-in-law of Alcibiades (accused of orchestrating the desecration of the Herms); Nikeratos, the feckless son of the Athenian general Nikias (killed at Syracuse in the aftermath of the Athenian defeat in 413); Autolykos, the beautiful son of Lykon (who will be one of the three formal accusers of Socrates at his trial); and finally, Charmides, cousin of Kritias (both among the Thirty tyrants). In this case, it was the name of Charmides himself, not simply his association with Kritias, which was the cause of grief, for he took part in the short-lived oligarchic revolt of 411 and, after his return from exile, together with Kritias, became one of the tyrants installed in Athens by the victorious Spartans at the end of the Peloponnesian War in 404—and it was during this reign of tyrants that Autolykos, Nikeratos and eventually Charmides himself were killed. Lykon, of course, outlived his promising son, struck down by the tyrants, perhaps remembering with grief the evening he had passed in the company of Socrates and his companion Charmides, and perhaps burning with anger to punish the man whom the tyrant had acknowledged as his teacher. This uneasy, though unarticulated tension of the dialogue, conjured up for us by an awareness of the polyvalent touchstone of its setting, joins the serious and the comic in a subtle way, deepening Xenophon’s Symposium unexpectedly. This synthesis of tragedy and comedy, fully contained in the charming manner of Xenophon’s writing, with its blend of light-hearted wit and ironic humor, is our key to unearthing one of the dialogue’s hidden treasures: Xenophon’s defense of Socrates from the extremely serious charge that he taught tyranny.70 To conclude, in order to begin again, as it were, our task in this study will be to understand the Symposium as a kind of common ground upon which gentlemen and philosophers (apparent and aspiring) might stage a meeting and compete playfully with one another, while remaining ever mindful of the serious deeds of good gentlemen and bad which form the context of the dialogue—mindful, too, of probing questions about philosophy and the Socratic life rhetorically embedded in the surface of its action. As we have seen from a survey of the title and setting of the dialogue, Xenophon’s Symposium, remembering an agōn of speeches and playful deeds—a contest of virtue that includes Socrates as one among many rival representations of convention gentlemanliness—is a fitting contribution to the festival that situates and circumscribes the symposiasts’ evening of wine-drinking, conversing, and competing for honor.71

NOTES 1. Xenophon, Symposium 1.2. All translations are my own. Certain words in ancient Greek frequently used and bearing valences not easily or misleadingly conveyed in English (such as symposion, erōs, pankra­ tion, polis, agōn) will be transliterated and italicized, rather than translated.



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2. On the significance of titles, see Strauss 1948/1991, 31–35, 107n1; 1963, 7, 235; 1970, 84, 87–91; 1972, 3–4, 129, but cf. 143. See also, Strauss 1983, 2. 3.  On the stubborn complexity of the titles of these shorter works in relation to their contents, see McBrayer 2018, 126, 160–161, 190, 375n1, 381n1, 278–279, 391n105, 326, 393n1. 4.  On the paradoxical title of Hiero and ironic purpose of Agesilaus, see McBrayer 2018, 29–30, 79–82. 5.  On the relation of the titles to the content of these two works, see Bruell 1969, 1–7, 4n1; Ambler 2001, 1–18; Nadon 2001, 29–60, 120–139; Ambler 2008, xii, 254n2; Buzzetti 2014, 39, 299–300. 6.  Strauss 1972, 143. 7.  This room is often, if not usually, referred to as the men’s quarters (ἀνδρών), since it designates the place within a sanctuary or household inhabited by free men of age. It also refers to the “sympotic space” within Hellenic domestic architecture whose dimensions and layout are designed specifically for the purposes of holding feasts and symposia; see Murray 1990, 6–7; Hobden 2013, 1–15. The words symposion and andrōn signal a distinction in usage, but the space itself remains the same. Archaeologists and historians have used Xenophon’s Symposium as a resource for authentic information about ancient Greek domestic architecture and social behavior. See Anderson 1974, 13n1, and plate 1, where the author cites Xenophon’s Symposium as evidence for plans of ancient country houses. The introduction to Xenophon’s Symposium in the Loeb edition makes the following uninspired comments about the usefulness of the work, especially in relation to its title reference and apparently mundane subject matter (Marchant 1923, 530–533): As might well have been expected, we do not reach in Xenophon the same exalted level of inspiration and poetical feeling that we do in Plato’s representation [in his Symposium] of the banqueters’ discussion of Love, but we feel rather the atmosphere of actual, ordinary disputation among men not keyed up to any high pitch of fervour; we do not have so well-developed or so formal or so long sustained philosophical debate, but we enjoy a feeling of reality in the evening’s event, of seeing more vividly than in Plato just how an Athenian banquet was conducted. And so, if we desire to supplement and correct the realism of the comedians and see the ordinary Athenians in their times of relaxation, we can hardly do better than view them in these pages of Xenophon.

What this editor (among others) finds significant about Xenophon’s Symposium is that it provides a glimpse into the everyday workings of a typical event in Athenian life: “Not only are the personages all, or nearly all, historical, but the setting and the action are circumstantial and realistic.” In other words, the work has value not for its conversation (for that the reader is referred instead to Plato), but for its so-called historical and “realistic” presentation of an “ordinary” Greek symposium, its setting, and how it was conducted. One editor interprets the realistic aspect of Xenophon’s symposium rather as a function of ideal representation: see Winans 1881, vi: “[Xenophon] undoubtedly designs to give an ideal sketch of a dinner party, where the guests are men of culture, but at the same time men of flesh and blood, who talk and act just as they might in real life.” See Burckhardt 1898/1998, 263, who agrees with Winans and Marchant on the authenticity of Xenophon’s symposium, but at least momentarily pauses over the fact that Socrates’ presence troubles this simplistic view of the dialogue’s worth as commonplace or typical: Plato’s Symposium, then, gives a one-sided impression of the kind of parties that cultivated Athenians enjoyed. That of Xenophon tells us much more about the time of sociability that was really possible, and is indeed by far its most important document, despite the fact that Socrates, who transcended all norms, is the very soul and focal point of it. Almost throughout this account the reader has the impression of authentic memories, even if they are those of half a lifetime concentrated into a single evening. . . . There is hardly a text which better demonstrates the possible composition of a society of the first rank, and how its elements were held in balance.

A dissenting opinion is hinted at by Bowen (1998, 106), whose commentary on the dialogue at 4.10 actually discusses the length of the speeches in Xenophon’s (as well as Plato’s) Symposium as rather an indication, in his opinion, that the dialogues are not typical of Greek symposia; that respect in which the dialogues fall short of reality in Bowen’s opinion (doubting that lengthy speeches were ever part of “ordinary symposia”) is precisely one of the dramatic features upon which our own attention in this

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examination will focus—namely, the relative length of the speeches delivered and their reflection on the character of the speakers. 8.  In fact, it can be argued that the banquet or symposium makes possible a full human participation in the festive celebration of the divine; see Burkert 1985, 107: “The natural and straightforward aim of a festival is feasting—eating and drinking. In Greek sacral practice this element is always present. . . . The festival is spoken of as the ‘fulsome banquet of the gods’ . . . [and] mortals themselves obviously join in with a will.” The quotation used here by Burkert is from Homer’s Odyssey 8.76. 9.  Consider a similar Greek verb, συμπίπτω, which can mean either to “fall together in accordance” or “clash in battle.” Also, the Greek verb συμπλέκω holds a similar double meaning: “to entwine together” (as in the joining of hands) or “to be engaged in close fighting” (as when hoplites on opposing lines crash into each other). These examples are not intended to prove the case, only to offer evidence that, at times, the Greek prefix συμ—has rivalrous (perhaps even hostile) as well as friendly connotations. 10.  On the centrality of the agōn to Hellenic culture, from the agonal games orchestrated by Achilles in honor of Patroklos and the substitution of sporting victories for war-time exploits (in Iliad XXIII), or Odysseus’ contesting in deed and speech against rivals in the palace of Alkinoos and Arete (in Odyssey VIII), to the competitions of the semi-annual panhellenic festivals at Olympia, Delphi, and Corinth, see esp. Burckhardt 1998, 71–72, 160–213, 259–263; Burkert 1985, 105–107. Burckhardt’s was, for a century, the only wide-ranging general account available for scholars interested in the symposion as a social institution in ancient Greece; see Murray 1990a, 8. See also, on the Homeric and fifth-century uses of the term agōn, Poliakoff 1987, 114–115, 104–105. Cf. Anastaplo 1997, 76–108, for an insightful discussion of the contribution made through the celebration of the great athletic contests of the Greeks, as well as through the common use of and belief in their great oracular shrines, especially at Delphi, toward the creation and subsistence of panhellenic standards of beauty and virtue, aspiration and restraint, and toward the binding together of all Greeks and Greek civilization across the borders of partisan passions and politics. The games and the oracles, Anastaplo argues, ultimately seek a reconciliation of Hellenic poleis based on an induced recognition of certain deep and eternal affinities which the gods and divine heroes of Greece themselves supported as the founders of oracles, cities, and games. For the Olympic games, of course, a universal truce was heralded and respected throughout Hellas so competitors and spectators could travel freely to and from Olympia. At least for that time, we might say (and perhaps only then), Hellas was a unified nation. 11.  Burkert 1985, 105 and 99. 12.  The word “amiable” here points to the symposion as a non-political activity which is held in common by the symposiasts regardless of their attachments to a particular fatherland or regime, or even of the distinction between Greek and barbarian; consider for example the symposia recounted by Xenophon in his Anabasis (IV 5.25–29; VI 1.1–15; VII 3.15–40; VII 8.8–9; cf. II 5.27ff. and VII 6.2–6) and Cyropaedia (II 2.1–17; V 2.18; cf. VI 1.9–10) which erase the often rigid borders defining and dividing regimes and human beings. On symposia as a liminal political space, see Hobden 2013, 18–21, and ch. 3 (“Politics in Performance”). 13.  The title of the dialogue has been translated as “The Banquet” (see, for example, Wellwood 1710 and Ollier 1972) but this completely obscures what is significant about the setting. 14.  A comment by Leo Strauss, in his commentary on Plato’s Symposium, reflects similarly on many of the issues surrounding the title discussed thus far; see Strauss 1959/2001, 11–12: Of the thirty-five dialogues [of Plato], twenty-five have as their titles the names of participants in the conversation. Seven have as their titles a theme. . . . The Symposium is the only dialogue whose title indicates the occasion. . . . Why did Plato single out this occasion, a symposium? Plato’s contemporary rival, ultimately friend, Xenophon, also wrote a Symposium. In the beginning this book says that it will treat the deeds of gentlemen performed in play, performed jocularly. In a way this is also true of Plato’s Symposium: playful deeds of gentlemen. Symposia give rise to play and jokes, but at the same time they are susceptible of noble speeches. There are other human gatherings which are not so likely to give rise to delicate and noble speeches. You would have to reflect about the medium of symnposia, which is wine, and the effects of wine. I mention only two of them, which have been articulated by Plato, so we are not substituting our own poor experiences for that which Plato



Situating the Dialogue 19 had in mind. But you will, I believe, recognize a phenomenon known to you. . . . In the first place, wine gives rise to the ability or willingness to say everything—openness, frankness. Connected with this is what the Greeks called hybris, wantonness, doing things you would never do when sober; presumptuousness to take risks. In other words, this occasion is really a particularly important one. We are likely to hear interesting things which are not said on every occasion if we listen to [what is said at] a symposium.

15.  Compare the setting of the conversation in Plato’s Republic, in which the feast, associated drinking, and post-banquet entertainment promised by Polemarchus never occur but are replaced instead by an evening of speeches: Plato, Republic 328a5–10, 354a7-c5; Benardete 1989, 9–11. 16.  The ease with which the setting of this dialogue is established is noticed without fail by translators and commentators alike, although the significance of the point tends to disappear almost immediately after it is made; see, e.g., Bowen (1998, 9), whose section of his Introduction remarking on this fact is by far one of his shortest. One commentator especially interested in dating and the question of anachronisms confirms and then immediately dismisses the relative importance of Xenophon’s specificity in this instance with the proposal of a general rule; see Dover 1965, 10: “the dates of theatrical and athletic victories are the hardcore of chronology. We therefore tend to assume that for Plato and Xenophon also these dates determined the dramatic situation, no matter how carelessly other ingredients in that situation might be treated, and we forget that they may in fact have attached much more importance to some of those other ingredients and little or none to the actual dates of theatrical and athletic victories.” Clay (1994, 42–44) makes much more of Plato’s use of specific historical settings in contrast to other writers of Sōkratikoi logoi: “Of Aeschines, and Xenophon, it is fair to say that they did not evince a concern for providing their Socratic dialogues with a historical setting . . . [Plato] seems to have invented the historical setting for some of his dialogues—which allows him as an author and his reader as his audience the ironies of the tragic ironist.” Willing to grant that one Socratic author had a sublime capacity to “exploit the potentialities of tragic irony” through the setting, this commentator admits that his remark may “also apply to Xenophon and the historical setting he provided for his Symposium”—although he assumes that this case is explained away by asserting that Xenophon was merely imitating the historical setting of Plato in his dialogue of the same name. 17.  Xenophon claims to have been present with Socrates on three occasions: Mem. I 3.8, IV 3.2; Sym. 1.1. For his similar claims to have overheard or recalled himself something Socrates said to someone, see also, Mem. I 4.2, 6.11–14; II 4.1, 5.1; Oik. 1.1; also cf. Mem. I 2.53; II 7.1, 9.1, 10.1; III 3.1; IV 4.2, 4.5. On what Xenophon “once heard Socrates say” to someone: Mem. I 3.8 (Xenophon); 4.2 (Aristodemus the atheist); 6.1 (Antiphon the sophist); II 1.1 (Aristippus the undisciplined); 2.1 (Lamprocles the angry); 3.1 (Chaerephon and Chairecrates the quarrelling brothers); 5.1 (Antisthenes the neglectful); 7.1 (Aristarchus the downcast); 8.1 (Eutherus the old comrade); 9.1 (Krito the just); 10.1 (Diodorus); III 1.1 (a would-be general); 2.1 (an elected general); 3.1 (an elected cavalry commander); 4.1 (Nicomachides the veteran); 5.1 (Pericles the son of Pericles); 6.1 (Glaucon the brother of Plato); 7.1 (Charmides the uncle of Plato); 8.1 (Aristippus the would-be sophist); 10.1 (Parrasius the painter); (Theodote the beautiful); 12.1 (Epigenes the unhealthy); 14.2, 5 (indulgent youths); IV 2.1 (Euthydemus the proud); 3.2 (Euthydemus); 4.5 (Hippias the sophist); 5.2 (Euthydemus); 6.2 (Euthydemus). On “the sorts of things” Socrates used to say, according to Xenophon, about something: Mem. I 3.8 (moderation); 4.19 (impiety); 5.1, 6 (continence); 7.1 (reputation); II 6.1 (acquiring friends); III 9.1 (virtue); 13.1 (anger), 2 (eating), 3 (drinking), 4 (punishment), 5 (fear), 6 (weariness); IV 3.18 (piety and moderation); 4.25 (justice); 8.10 (piety). 18.  On other conversations narrated by Socrates, see Apology 14, where Socrates recalls (for his judges’ sake) a conversation between Chaerephon and Apollo at Delphi in which Socrates himself is the subject; see also, Mem. II 1.21–33, where Socrates recalls (for the sake of Aristippos) the story of Herakles’ education which Prodicus the wise wrote down in one his treatises. 19.  See Ambler 1996, 115. One could suppose based on Sym. 2.10 that even if Ischomachos had demonstrated or voiced a desire to know, which is not likely given the duties which press him for time, Socrates probably would not have discussed his own life, in particular his familial or economic relations, in such detail.

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20.  Socrates’ leisure, and hence his availability for conversation, according to Xenophon, was readily perceived in the polis by all (Mem. I 1.10): Moreover, he was always in sight. For in the early morning he went out walking around and to the gymnasia, and when the agora was full he was visible there, and for the remainder of the day he was always where he might be with the most people; and for the most part he was speaking, and anyone who wished to do so was able to hear him.

As the root of the word implies, the agora (from ἀγορεὐω) was always a place to gather and talk, of business, of politics, or especially for Socrates of “the noble and good” things. Some of his companions imitated his leisure, but not necessarily for the same reasons (see Sym. 4. 34–45, but cf. 30–33; see also, Plato’s Apology 17c and Phaedrus 230c-d). 21.  Ischomachos’ sense of orderliness (making and keeping appointments) and of obligation (remaining at the appointed spot all day, even when the ones for whom he waits, whether they are citizens or foreigners, in fact never arrive) is key to his self-understanding of gentlemanliness. By contrast, one wonders whether Socrates’ understanding of his way of life would ever cause him to make an appointment in the first place, although there is an indication (in Plato: Apology 28d–30b) that once justly ordered to a station, he would not willingly leave it. 22.  See Strauss 1963, 74–76, 94–95; see also, Ambler 1996, 115–116, whose account of the setting is worth quoting at length: Socrates finds Ischomachos seated in the colonnade of Zeus the Deliverer (or “the Liberator”), the deliverer from the military threat represented by the Persian kings who twice invaded the Greek mainland and, perhaps, the deliverer as well from barbaric notions that fail to support the noble foundations of Greek liberty. Since Ischomachos understands himself to be a good and pious citizen of a free city, this setting is most appropriate. Of course Socrates had earlier stressed his concern with another sort of liberty, the liberty of one’s own soul, in whose name political liberty should sometimes be sacrificed (1.17–23). Thus the very setting of the conversation calls attention to a difference between these two men in regard to their ranking of different sorts of liberty and to the kinds of support they may or may not enjoy. Socrates also calls attention to Ischomachos’ relative lack of leisure and his fidelity to his promises (7.1–2; cf. 12.1–2).

23.  Socrates is explicit about where he finds Ischomachos. Ischomachos’ decision to set as a meeting point the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios also has practical import, for here, in the northwestern corner of the agora where this stoa was located, three major routes into Athens from outside the city (Peiraeus, Eleusis, Boiotia) converge in the Kerameikos before entering the agora through the city gates. Most ordinary travelers passed through the principal Diplyon Gate into the agora and then ascended to the Akropolis. But during the Panathenaia festival the processional route from Eleusis via the Academy sanctuary passed through the Sacred Gate to the Parthenon. In either case, at Kerameikos (the likely site of Pericles’ funeral oration), burial monuments for Athenian heroes were prominent, including the tomb of Pericles himself, as well as that of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, the famed “Tyrannicides” whose attack on the Peisistratid ruling family in 514 BCE set in motion the expulsion of the tyrant Hippias and the institution of democracy in Athens. Thus, the practical fact coincides with the expression of political liberty discussed in the preceding note. Sitting in the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios, Ischomachos would have been facing the area of the agora at the head of the Panathenaic way, which crossed diagonally through the agora from northwest to southeast, associated with the liberation of Athens from tyranny. According to tradition, the tyrannicides’ attack on Hipparchus, the son of Peisistratus (subject of the most revealing digression in all of Thucydides’ history, I.20 and VI.53–60; cf. Herodotus I.59–64, V.55–65, VI.121–124) took place on the morning of the first day of the (lesser) Panathenaia festival of 514 near the Leokoreion (a memorial shrine in honor of the legendary daughters who saved the city by sacrificing themselves) and the great Altar of the Twelve Gods. Hipparchus and Harmodius died on the spot of the attack. By the time of the dramatic date of the conversation between Socrates and Ischomachos in the early 420s or late 410s (if internal references are legitimate: Aristophanes, Clouds 11.3, 25) the beloved statues of the “Tyrannicides” had long been a fixture, indeed focus, of this section of the agora (except for a few



Situating the Dialogue 21

years after the sack of Athens in 480 when the statues were removed by the Persian king and before they were replaced; Alexander reportedly sent the original statues back when he came into possession of them through his conquest of Persia). The iconic images in marble of Harmodius and Aristogeiton were the first honorary monuments dedicated to human beings erected in the agora. Their visibility at the head of the Panathenaic Way rehearsed a visual rhetoric appropriate to the democratic polis. See Pausanius I 8.5. On the expulsion of the tyrants from Athens, see Munn 2000, 17–20; Robertson 1992, 115–119. The primary theme associated with this public space, therefore, as Ambler notes in his commentary, was political liberty and the honor bestowed by Athens on those who contributed to the freedom of the polis. During the Panathenaia especially, this section of the agora, including the stoa as well as additional temporary grandstands, served as a prime vantage point for spectators to view athletic events and, more importantly, the procession itself. See Robertson 1992, 95–96. 24.  When Socrates finally turns to the subject for the sake of which he had approached Ischomachos in the first place—namely, his desire to examine closely, after having heard completely about them, the deeds of a “noble and good man”—he eases the burden of implicit seriousness with a foolish analogy, so that “even Ischomachos is aware that Socrates is joking.” Strauss 1970, 159–161. On the other hand, Ischomachos’ brief tongue-in-cheek reply when prompted to speak of himself falls well short of a complete description of the seriousness we expect should have attended someone with his noble reputation. See Strauss 1972, 143: “The serious deeds of the perfect gentleman Ischomachos which are rehearsed in the Oikonomikos (XI.1), being economical rather than political, lack the obvious gravity of the deeds recorded in the Hellenika.” The conclusion of Socrates’ (in many ways unsatisfying) encounter, with its mutually restrained banter, mutes a potentially spirited “confrontation of the two incompatible ways of life.” Any of the serious differences between them are indeed muted: see Oik. 11.21–25 and 12.1; see also, Strauss 1970, 165–166; Ambler 1996, 120–121. 25.  On Hermogenes, the son Hipponicus, see Mem. I 2.48; II 10; IV 8.4–10; Sym. 1.3; 3.14; 4.23, 46–49; 6.1–4; 8.3 and 12. Xenophon, of course, because he was absent from Athens at the time of Socrates’ trial and execution, could only have come to know second-hand what Socrates (was reported to have) said. 26. See Apo. 1–2, 9 (εἰ βαρυνῶ τοὺς δικαστάς), 14 (οἱ δικασταὶ ἐθορύβουν), 15 (οἱ δικασταὶ ἔτι μᾶλλον εἰκότως ἐθορύβουν), 27–28. See also, Strauss (1968) 658, who points out, in the context of a critical review of a study of Xenophon’s Hellenika, that “Xenophon’s Socrates never delivered any public speech except the speech in his own defense.” The setting for this single public speech, with all its μεγαληγορία, demands that it be taken seriously by the audience, if not necessarily therefore by the speaker. Hermogenes, for one, seems to have taken solace in Socrates’ manner of speaking, for reasons which will be discussed below. 27.  On the relation of these works, see Strauss 1972, 143: “The Symposium is not as simply a Socratic writing as the Memorabilia, the Oikonomikos, and the Apology of Socrates. . . . The Symposium belongs as much, almost as much, with the Hellenika as with the three other Socratic writings.” 28.  On Athenian expectations before this unexpected event, see esp. IV.28 (“Athenians now actually gave in to some laughter”); on Spartan impotence afterward, see esp. IV.55 (“many turns of fortune within a short period and beyond calculation had brought them into a complete state of shock, and they were afraid . . . and they thought any action they took would go wrong, owing to their loss of selfconfidence in place of their previous unfamiliarity with failure”). 29.  On Spartan Brasidas’ victories in Boeotia and Attica, see Thucydides IV.70–108. On the aborted (first) Athenian campaign to conquer Sicily, see III.115–116; IV.1–2, 46–48, 58–65. Athenian unwillingness to accept the limits of their power, and their consequent punishment of the bearers of such news, which together serve as a forewarning of events to come, is summarized by Thucydides at IV.65. See Thucydides IV.108 (loss of Amphipolis and revolt of Athens’ subject-cities); 5.14 (“the Athenians . . . no longer trusted in their strength with the same confidence that made them reject a settlement earlier, when their current successes gave them the impression that they would emerge superior”); and finally, the sage prophecy of the captured Athenian lawgiver Solon in reply to king Croesus’ query, Herodotus I.33 (Selincourt trans.): “Look to the end, no matter what it is your considering. Often enough god

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gives a man a glimpse of happiness, and then utterly ruins him.” Athens had the misfortune, or the lack of forethought, to undergo an even more devastating set of “rapidly changing conditions brought on by a war . . . that threatened to destroy” her empire; see Munn 2000, 95: The year 415, which saw the launching of the Sicilian expedition, also marks the beginning of an especially convulsive sequence of events that threatened both the Athenian democracy and its empire. Over the following decade, in both strategies of war and the practices of government, the Athenians experienced optimism and catastrophe in rapid succession. Each catastrophe left the Athenians questioning previously accepted wisdom, and, purged by failure, they looked to the residual core of what seemed to be more reliable truth. Yet, in each case, the lessons of failure were soon repeated, until, by 404, the Athenians had lost both their empire and democracy. The Athenians then had to endure their greatest catastrophe, civil war.

30.  On tyranny: see Thucydides I.122, 124; II.63; III.37; see also, Munn 2000, 76–77n31. 31.  See, e.g., Thucydides II.34–46, esp. I.23: “For I consider the truest cause the one least openly expressed, that increasing Athenian greatness and the resulting fear among the Lacedaimonions made going to war inevitable.” See also, I.70, where the Corinthian ambassadors lecture the Lacedaimonions on the difference between Spartan conservatism and Athenian daring, articulating the antagonism which will be the cause of war; cf. the funeral oration of Pericles at the end of the first year of the war, at II.41. For a balanced perspective, consider the ironic praise of such triumphant speeches attributed by Plato to Socrates (Menexenus 235a-d), who undoubtedly was in the crowd on the day of Pericles’ most memorable oration and whose ears were perhaps still ringing with such sweet sounds for (a few) days after. 32.  The most determined of all to undermine or break the peace and return to the highway of Periclean daring, was Alcibiades: see Thucydides V.43–47; VI.15–18; cf. VI.27–29, 48, 53, 61. Alcibiades enters this history agitating to disturb the peace, at a moment when Athenian daring is reawakened by an unfavorable review of Sparta’s strategic disavowal of certain aspects of the treaty; see V.42–46, esp. 43. This daring, following the lead of Pericles, found its fullest expression in Alcibiades’ speeches about and the Athenian preparations for the Sicilian enterprise of 415. On the order that can be brought out of disorder, cf. Hellenika VII 5.27. 33.  On the greatness of the war, see Thucydides I.1, 23 (“this war not only was great by its extended length but also was accompanied by such sufferings as never afflicted Hellas in any comparable period of time”) and III.82 (“but war . . . is a violent teacher”). On the length of the war, see also, V.25–26. 34.  See Munn 2000, 1–9. 35.  On the cruelty of the times, see Thucydides III.82 (Lattimore trans.): With this savagery, the civil war progressed, and it seemed all the more savage because it was the first, while later the rest of Hellas, almost without exception, was also in turmoil. . . . And during the civil war the cities suffered many cruelties that occur and will always occur as long as men have the same nature, sometimes more terribly and sometimes less, varying in their forms as each change of fortune dictates. For in peace and good circumstances, both states and individuals have better inclinations through not falling into involuntary necessities; but war, stripping away the easy access to daily needs, is a violent teacher and brings most men’s passions into line with the present situations.

36. See Anabasis V 6.28: “And yet, surely it is noble as well as more just and pious and pleasant to remember the good things rather than the bad.” 37.  See Burkert 1985, 228: “But here it must be borne in mind that a certain atmosphere pervades all organized and describable aspects of a festival, like a unique fragrance which is unforgettable for those who have experienced it, but which can scarcely be described.” 38.  The playful performances of Aristophanes reflect by comic exaggeration the serious issues of the day. See Munn 2000, 64, 70–83, 89–91, and esp. 85: “But farce relies on the familiar, and in this as in much else, Aristophanes was exploiting the humorous potential of what his audience knew to be a serious matter.” In 427, Aristophanes’ first comedy, Banqueters, parodied the arrival of the wordsmith Gorgias in Athens and the advent of sophistry among the wealthy, ambitious youth of the polis, including Thrasymachus (Plato’s Republic) and Alcibiades. Three years later, his Knights took aim at the political



Situating the Dialogue 23

corruption which democracy had worked in Athens, turning proud aristocrats like Kleon, Nikias and Demosthenes into mere servants and “demogogues” (the first extant use of the word) leading the fickle dēmos. In 423, a year before the great Panathenaia, Aristophanes’ production of Clouds was staged, with an unsettling, ominous ending (for Socrates and his Thinkery) echoing that of Banqueters four years earlier. Finally, in 422, Aristophanes’ Wasps, a biting parody of the extent to which political influence over the dēmos was a matter of pandering, rather than an articulation of the best interests of the polis. Though the comic tone was more or less playful, this last play—performed only a few months prior to the dramatic setting of Xenophon’s Symposium—hinted dangerously at a possible political conspiracy to overthrow the arch-demagogue Kleon involving Sparta and a lisping Alcibiades. Inflammatory allegations such as this on the eve of the Panathenaia and the Peace of Nikias played upon the very serious fears and anxieties of a polis at the crossroads of history. For the best discussion of the plays and Aristophanes as a serious thinker, see Strauss 1966. 39.  For a description of the Panathenaia festival and games, see Bowen 1998, 9, note 29, and 88n2; Burkert 1985, 228, 232–233; Gardiner 1910, 74–77, 229–245; Parke 1977, 29–50; Robertson 1992, 90–119. For the ancient source mentioned therein, see Xenophon, Constitution of the Athenians III 2, 8; Parke 1977, 14. 40.  The Athenian month of Hekatombeion corresponds to the end of the spring harvest and is roughly equivalent to our month of June, although commentators most often say July. Based on a lunar cycle, the twenty-eighth day of Hekatombeion, which was the main day of the Panathenaic festival, marks the first day after the full moon of the new year in the Athenian-Attic calendar. See Burkert 1985, 99. On the last day in Hekatombeion as the birthday of the Athenian polis, see Burkert 1985, 232; Parke 1977, 33. On the calendar of Athenian festivals, see Parke 1977, 26–27. On sacred time, see also, Burkert 1985, 99: “As the sanctuary articulates space, so the festival articulates time. Certain days, reckoned to include the preceding night, are set off from every day; work is laid aside and customary roles are dissolved in a general relaxation, but the festival programme holds new roles in readiness. Groups come together, setting themselves apart from others. The contrast with normality may be expressed in mirth and joy, in adornment and beauty.” 41.  The Panathenaic games are commonly said to have been instituted in 566/565 during or, some argue, just prior to the Peisistratid tyranny at Athens, most likely in studied imitation of the recent expansion of panhellenic games beyond Olympia. The panhellenism which Athens sought in her festival and games never reached the status of those at Olympia or Delphi. The Panathenaic procession, which remained the central sacred focus of the refounded games, played a crucial role in Athenian history only a generation later as the setting for the attack of Aristogeiton and Harmodius upon the tyrant Hippias and his brother Hipparchus which eventually led to the expulsion of tyranny and the birth of democracy at Athens. See Herodotus I.64; V.55–66; VI.121–125; Thucydides I.20; VI.54–59. 42.  See Parke 1977, 38: “The central feature [of the Parthenon frieze reproducing the great procession] was the peplos. This was the dress for the goddess, and so it was a very special object whose production was surrounded by much traditional ritual.” The mantle itself was woven with scenes of Athena fighting in the mythological gigantomachy, an archetypal battle of the Olympian gods and goddesses against the rebellious giants and titans, complementing the strife-ridden metopes of the Parthenon carved in relief with scenes from the battle of the Lapiths and the centaurs, as well as the sculptural program on the west pediment depicting the civilized agōn between Athena and Poseidon for sovereignty of Attica and Athens. See Burkert 1985, 141; Gardiner 1910, 230; Haynes 1981, 56–69. The sculptural program of the Parthenon’s east pediment depicted the birth of Athena from the head of her father, Zeus. The battle scenes from the gigantomachy which decorated Athena’s mantle replaced those from the original temple’s east pediments, destroyed by the Persians in 480. See Parke 1977, 38. 43.  See Burkert 1985, 232, 99: “The fundamental medium of group formation is the procession, pompe. . . . Hardly a festival is without [it].” See also, Parke 1977, 37–38: Many foreigners must have thronged to Athens every four years, whether to take part in these competitions or as spectators. They will have seen not only the contests, but the great procession which embodied the united power and glory of Athens. It was a remarkable spectacle even in Greece where this kind of public ceremony

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was highly developed. It has also been perpetuated in a unique representation on the frieze of the Parthenon. No other instance exists where an architectural decoration of this sort on a Greek temple shows, not some events of Greek legend, but a contemporary ritual. This innovation was appropriate on the Parthenon which was not just a restoration of the temple destroyed by the Persians, but a victory memorial to Athens’ triumph over her enemies. [Thus] . . . the frieze displayed the contemporary life of the Athenians dedicated to the honour of their goddess. Behind it we can see the purpose of Pheidias to express for Pericles those ideals which Thucydides was later to put into Pericles’ mouth in the Funeral Speech.

Regarding the sacred function of the festival, Burkert (1985, 92) suggests the great Panathenaic procession depicted in the Parthenon frieze, insofar as it encircles the decorative scheme of the temple, literally reflects the fact that the procession would have circled the Parthenon on its route with the mantle toward the image of the goddess in the nearby Erechtheion. Later, after the colossal image of Pheidias’ chryselephantine Athena was installed in the Parthenon (in a not-so-subtle rivalry with the statue of Zeus, also by Pheidias, in the main temple at Olympia), and with literary sources in the early 5th and 4th centuries remarking on the enormous size of the mantle, it is seems unlikely to think that the Athenians continued to bestow the mantle, especially in the year of the great Panathenaia, on the older image at the Erectheion, rather than on the goddess’ magnificent statue in the Parthenon. See Parke 1977, 33; cf. Burkert 1985, 143. 44.  The sequence of festival days during the great Panathenaia and their respective events is reconstructed by Gardiner 1910, 229–230: The Panathenaic festival undoubtedly occupied several days. According to Momsen, it began on the 21st day of Hekatombeion and lasted nine days. The first three days were occupied by musical competitions, the next two by athletics, the sixth by horse and chariot races, the seventh by the Pyrric and other military competitions. The seventh day closed with the torch-races in the evening, which were the beginning of an all-night revel, Pannychis, which preceded the procession and sacrifices on the 28th day of the month, the day of the festival. A regatta on the last day brought the festival to the end.

Gardiner further elaborates on the kinds of athletic competitions (233–234) which, for youths, included the stade-race, diaulos-race, dolichos-race, pentathlon, wrestling, boxing, and pankration; for the mature men, these competitions as well as the hippios-race and foot-race were undertaken in full armor. 45.  See Burkert 1985, 105: “The agonal spirit, der agonale Geist, has, since Friedrich Nietzsche, often been described as one of the characteristic traits and driving forces of Greek culture. The number of things that the Greeks can turn into a contest is astounding: sport and physical beauty, handicraft and art, song and dance, theatre and disputation. Whatever is instituted as custom comes almost automatically under the jurisdiction of a sanctuary.” 46.  See Burkert 1985, 106, 232; Poliakoff 1987, Appendix, 149–157; Swaddling 1980, 7–12; and esp. Parke 1977, 33–34: “The Olympic games had been founded in the eighth century, but nothing on a similar scale and pattern had been celebrated til the Pythian games at Delphi became a regular institution from 582 BC. They were followed by the Isthmian games from 581 and the Nemean games from 573. So Athens was very much in a contemporary fashion in founding a recurrent series of contests. They were like the Olympic and Pythian games in being held every four years, and the occasion was known as a Great Panathenaia to distinguish it from the annual ceremony.” Poliakoff (1987, 18) explains the significance of the circuit of the major sacred festivals in which—with the exception of the Panathenaia games—an honorary victory was augmented by some material prize: The Greek, and later, the Greco-Roman, world was packed with athletic festivals, ranging from small contests that admitted only local citizens to the great national festivals, to which the whole ancient world thronged. In the top rank were the games at Olympia and Delphi (Pythian festival), held every four years, and those at Corinth (Isthmian festival) and Nemea, held every two years. These were the period games, that is, the games of the four-year circuit (periodos), also known as sacred crown games, since at the festival sites the victors received only wreaths: of olive leaves at Olympia, of laurel plus a [Herculean!] handful of apples at Delphi, of pine or in some eras of celeriac at the Isthmus, and of Celeriac at Nemea, and had to wait until they returned to their city-



Situating the Dialogue 25 states to receive more practical monetary rewards. . . . Other sacred crown games, fully as international as the Big Four of the Period, often gave material prizes as well as a wreath. Among these were the Great Panathenaia of Athens, a prestigious contest that gave valuable olive oil to the victors and runners-up.

The games at Olympia (under the direction of the Eleans), Delphi, Nemea and Isthmia (under the direction of the Corinthians) not accidentally were associated with poleis that had limited political resources and ambitions; hence the panhellenic integrity of the competition was never confused with the prestige of a particular polis. With the institution of her own annual program of athletic contests in conjunction with an older religious festival associated with the founding of the polis, Athens not only sought to rival the major panhellenic games but also signaled her nascent aspirations to surpass every other Greek polis in preeminence. Though held on a grand scale only every four years, the very name of the festival betrayed their daring. See Gardiner 1910, 74–75. This may be why the Athenian games never gained ground against the others in the eyes of wary Hellenes, despite the fact that Athens offered prizes to the victors in the games which were not simply symbolic of honor but had significant material and—especially for the Athenians—political value; see Parke 1977, 34: The reward was olive-oil made from the sacred olive-trees of Attica which were legendarily supposed to be all descended directly from the primal olive-tree created by Athena in her contest with Poseidon for sovereignty of Attica. To contain the precious liquid for presentation to the victors a handsome jar of pottery was designed— the Panathenaic amphora—and remained the standard conventional pattern for two centuries with no great change in its shape and ornament. On the front was represented the armoured Athena brandishing her spear with the inscription ‘from the games at Athens’; on the back a picture of the particular contest—chariot-race, foot-race, boxing and so forth.

47.  See Poliakoff 1987, 97. 48.  It was believed (or at least written) even down into the 4th century that such discipline and training among the ranks of citizens would serve the needs of the polis at war; see Plato, Laws 796a and Republic II (gymnastics); Xenophon, Mem. III 5.15; III 12; cf. Cyr. I 2.10–12 (in Persia, competition in hunting serves the function of preparing young men for war, although this is but a pale imitation of the Greek agōn with its striving for aretē, since only one man in Persia can be truly free). The presumption that the competitors would be made ready for war is based largely upon the competition virtues (fleetfootedness, skill in riding horses and chariots, bodily strength and endurance) associated with the epic funeral games held by Achilles in the Iliad in honor of his fallen friend and comrade, Patroklos, and celebrated thereafter in games through antiquity, until the triumph of imperial Christianity: see Burkert 1985, 105–107; Burkhardt 1998, 160–169; Poliakoff 1987, 17, 89–115; Swaddling 1980, 9, and esp. 57: “The ‘heavy’ events as the Greeks called them, wrestling, the pankration (a kind of all-in wrestling) and boxing, were always big attractions at the Games. But they were more than mere sport and entertainment; they were one of the essential aspects of Greek athletic education. Experience in the martial arts was of paramount importance to the future warrior.” Poliakoff 1987, 7: Of all athletic competitions, boxing, wrestling, and pankration, which “allowed a variety of unarmed fighting tactics,” were “the three important forms of combat sport in the ancient world.” 49.  On the wide variety of competitions at the Panathenaia, see Parke 1977, 34–37; Gardiner 1910, 75, esp. 233: “The early Panathenaic vases show that all the events of the Olympic programme existed in the Panathenaea in the sixth century.” At these games in particular a tradition developed from the time of the Peisistratids for rhapsodes to vie against one another in the recitation of Homer’s epics; we are perhaps most indebted to these sixth-century tyrants of Athens for the institution of this agōn which most likely resulted in the permanent compilation and perpetuation of the Homeric text down through antiquity largely in the form which we are familiar with today. See Burkert 1985, 106; Parke 1977, 34; Robertson 1992, 92. On dramatic performances as part of the Athenian festival, see Xen. Ath. Pol. III 4.3–5; D. L. III.56; and Pickard-Cambridge 1953, 56. Rhapsodic contests were one agonal form among many at the Panathenaia; generally speaking, dramatic, lyric, musical, and dance competitions, in addition to the usual sporting and athletic games, constituted the sum and substance of the panhellenic

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agōn. See Poliakoff 1987, 104: “Agon runs the full range from the sublime contests of tragic and comic playwrights (all extant Greek drama was written for competitive performance against other works) to the ridiculous contests in eating and drinking, beauty, kissing.” 50.  On the decline of the games as a means of instilling military virtue, see Gardiner 1910, 131: “At the time of the Persian wars the Greeks had been a nation of athletes. At the time of the Peloponnesian wars the mass of the people were no longer athletic. . . . The labour of training was distasteful to the Athenians, who, as Thucydides tells us, preferred to be spectators of the deeds of others rather than doers.” Circumstances and the reversals of fortune cannot be forgotten; the force of the Roman legions altered the balance of power in the ancient world and made the games into a simple matter of sport for sport’s sake. 51. See Mem. III 5.13–17; III 12; cf. Ana. V 8.23; Plato, Gorgias 456d; see also, Poliakoff 1987, 100. Socratic exhortations and praise of fitness in Xenophon’s writing are usually linked to the benefit that such healthiness and strength bring to the polis in times of strife. However, the kind of training in which Socrates himself engaged (see Sym. 2.15–20 and Mem. I 2.4) cannot properly speaking be termed an agōn since he exercises in solitude; there is also no indication that Socrates’ primary motive in doing so is to prepare himself for success in battle. This seems to be a secondary or accidental benefit of his continence. 52.  See Gardiner 1910, 130: The result of specialization is professionalism. There is a point in any sport or game where it becomes overdeveloped, and competition too severe, for it to serve its true purpose of providing exercise or recreation for the many. It becomes the monopoly of the few who can afford the time or money to acquire excellence, while the rest, despairing of any measure of success, prefer the role of spectators.

On the sage warning against excess and the spectacle of violence divined by an early fifth-century lyric poet renowned throughout Hellas for his victory odes, see Anastaplo 1997, 91: Certainly, Pindar can be taken to caution us not to allow athletic contests to become ends in themselves, so much so that they can be made too much of as particular events, promoting and legitimizing in us the lust for victory, if not even for blood. Here, too, there can be seen something Socratic.

For Socratic criticism of the excessive bodily development caused by the professionalization of sport and athletic training, see Xen. Ath. Pol. I 13, and Aristotle, Politics 1335b9–12: “One should have a disposition formed by exertion, but not violent exertion, and not with a view to one thing only, like the athletes’ dispositions, but with a view to the actions belonging to liberal persons.” Regarding the amateur versus the professional understanding of sport, consider Socrates’ comparison at Mem. III 7.7. 53. On elite dining and communal drinking practices in democratic Athens, see Hobden 2013, 12–13. On the presence of athletes at banquets beginning ca. 530 and during the transition in Hellenic culture from the late archaic age to the early classical period, especially with the resulting aristocratic alienation from war and politics which attended the use of greater numbers of hoplite and naval forces as well as the arrival of democracy (particularly in Athens), see Bremmer 1990, 139 and 143–145. 54.  Though there is evidence that certain popular athletic competitions were considered more challenging or required greater individual performances (boxing and pankration, above all), the series of horse-races and chariot-races staged by the Athenians offered a much grander spectacle, and a much wider arena of visibility, for the great crowds of the Panathenaia to gather and watch the races as well as to keep an eye on who was being seen with whom. Gardiner (1910, 235) points out that the Athenians were “passionately fond of horses” and thus of the equine competitions. 55.  The significance of the games as an economic or political vehicle for upward mobility betrays the “for-profit” corruption of the original sense of virtue and honor with which they were associated. The wealth of Autolykos’ family is not attested, either in the dialogue’s conversation or in Davies (1971), which suggests that his purpose and his father’s might be less than traditional in nature. His training



Situating the Dialogue 27

and participation in the games may be viewed more as a source for their family’s advancement in Athens rather than a reflection of their own aristocratic leisure. See Gardiner 1910, 76 and 130–131: Before the close of the fifth century the word had already come to denote the professional athlete as opposed to the amateur or the records of Olympia show that the victors were drawn more and more from the poorer and less progressive country districts, from Thessaly, and particularly from the mountains of Arcadia. It was only when athletics became a profitable profession that the poor but healthy countryman could afford to compete at the great festivals.

Gardiner also points out (1910, 132): “While athletics were passing into the hands of professionals and losing their hold upon the people, [the young men of ] the richer classes devoted themselves more and more to chariot and horse races. These had long been the sport of tyrants and nobles.” For a telling example of this devotion to horses, see Thucydides VI.15–16; Munn 2000, 59–60; cf. Aristophanes, Clouds 60–67, which makes a mockery of such pretensions. 56.  See Gardiner 1910, 77: [The victor’s] homecoming was an occasion of public rejoicing. The whole city turned out to welcome him and escort him in triumph to his home and to the chief temples of the city. . . . Songs were composed expressly for the occasion by the greatest poets of the age. . . . His exploits were recorded on pillars of stone, and his statue was set up in some public place. . . . At Athens and elsewhere the victor had the privilege of a front seat at all the public festivals, and sometimes, too, the right of free meals in the Prytaneum.

The honors that Autolykos’ father or Kallias may have had in mind would have been attained on a smaller scale than those awarded to the triumphant winners of the major panhellenic games; yet still we can imagine something suitable for Athens in grandeur. Similarly, since his competition was with the younger men, Autolykos’ victory should not immediately be equated with victory in the men’s competitions. His youth, nonetheless, would have given rise to certain expectations. On the tradition of ennobling panhellenic athletic victories in the great games with accounts of heroic and divine inspiration, or providential influence, as well as with reflections on the glory and immortality in which the victorious athlete’s polis participates, see Anastaplo 1997, 79–85. 57.  Autolykos, his family and his relationship with Kallias, were subjected to the comic tortures of Eupolis in his Flatterers of 421, but the athlete himself was castigated in his Autolykos of 420. The parallel that can be drawn with Socrates in Aristophanes’ Clouds is helpful to understanding the power of comedies to hold sway over the dēmos and influence public opinion. On the timing of the performance of Eupolis’ Autolykos, especially in relation to Aristophanes’ Clouds and Xenophon’s Symposium, see Bartlett 1996-b, 188n9: “The Clouds was first presented in 423 BC, about two years before the dramatic date of the Symposium (421 BC). A more or less precise dating of the latter is possible because of Autolycus’ victory in the Games, thought to have been held in 421. The comic poet Eupolis produced his Autolycus, apparently mocking the boy’s victory, his parents, and his relationship with Callias, in 420.” See Athenaeus 216d; Story 1990, 28f.; Davies 1971, 331, cf. 260. See also, Bowen 1988, 9; and esp. Gardiner 1910, 131: The severest indictment of professionalism occurs in the well-known fragment of Euripides’ [Eupolis’?] lost play, the Autolykos. Euripides [Eupolis?] was no enemy of sport . . . [but] he could not be blind to the unreality of the worship of athletics, and to the evils it was producing. “Of all the countless evils throughout Hellas,” he cries, “there is none worse than the race of athletes. . . . In youth they strut about in splendour, the pride of their city, but when bitter old age comes upon them they are cast aside like threadbare garments.” It is not the athletes themselves but the nation that is to blame for such results.

58.  On natural limitations in perceiving the fullness of providence, or the role of chance in human affairs, see Pindar Olympian Ode 12. 59. For references to pankration in Xenophon’s Socratic writings, see Mem. III 5.21; 10.6; Sym. 1.2; 2.5. See also, Gardiner 1910, 435–441; Poliakoff 1987, 54–63; Swaddling 1980, 57, 61–62. The

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pankration literally translates as the “all-strength” competition. The contest was a blend of boxing and wrestling, employing both the proper or upright style of wrestling and the messier version or “ground” style. Tripping was legal and choking was commended. Only two prohibitive rules existed: no biting and no gouging (of the eyes or other soft parts of the body). See Pl. Rep. I.338. In terms of overall training, the pankratist must be ready for all events, and it seems that the most famous pankratists were known particularly for their brutality or brute strength. The victory in a pankration was determined either by one opponent being forced out of consciousness, or more usually by one opponent raising a single finger to indicate his submission. Unlike wrestling the number of falls suffered was irrelevant. Poliakoff 1987, 10: “The reputation (and the victors’ monuments) of pankratists and boxers tended to give somewhat more credit to power and toughness, though skill too figures prominently.” Interestingly, the longevity of athletes who enjoyed success in the boy’s pankration was not always a promising sign for the men’s competitions; see Swaddling 1980, 59: “It seems that few boy athletes went on to win in adult competitions for, of all the boy victors recorded at Olympia, only two went on to win victories in the contests for men.” Perhaps this had something to do with the harsh character of the competition, or the need to maintain a rigorous training regimen for so many years. 60.  The men’s pankration competition was introduced beginning in the 33rd Olympiad (648 BC), with the youth competition allowed only much later starting in the 145th Olympiad (200 BC); see the chart based on surviving literary evidence regarding the introduction of events at Olympia in Swaddling 1980, 38; see also, Poliakoff 1987, 54. The event itself is not mentioned in literature prior to the fifth century. 61.  See Swaddling 1980, 60: “The pankration may seem the most violent of Greek sports to us; the Greeks however considered it less dangerous than boxing.” Boxing was considered more dangerous, though not more violent. The danger was that a competitor in boxing ran the risk of being knocked unconscious or senseless from blows to the head, and thus incapable of competing in other events. Though suffering blows over the whole of his body, the pankratist was less likely to suffer a series of destructive or even fatal blows directly to his head. One ancient source (Pausanius VI.15.5) tells us that at the Olympic games a competitor who was participating in both the pankration and boxing requested that the order of competition be altered so that the pankration came first. See the reconstruction of the Olympic program offered by Swaddling 1980, 37. According to ancient sources, dreaming of pankration was a bad omen, but dreaming of boxing was even worse; see Artemidorus 1.62. On both instances see Poliakoff 1987, 63; Gardiner 1910, 437. 62.  Boxing was better regulated and refereed, although the matches were bloodier and no less violent. The boxer however, unlike the pankratist, possessed a wider array of skills and techniques, especially regarding defensive feints, footwork and body movement, to employ against his opponent. Brute strength alone, that is, punching power, would not always suffice against someone well-trained in defensive and offensive maneuvers; see Poliakoff 1987, 68–88. 63.  See Poliakoff 1987, 10: “Boxing was disfiguring, and praise of the pugilist’s appearance is quite rare. For pankratists and wrestlers, however, mention of the form or beauty of the athlete is rather common.” Xenophon’s Socrates however makes a point of the sculptor’s power to render the bodily form, or physical appearance, of an athlete beautifully—including both that of the pugilist and the pankratist—in such a way as to suggest the inner activity of the living soul (Mem. III 10.6–7). 64.  As opposed, for example, to defeat in wrestling (through a certain number of falls) or races on foot, horse or chariot, which enabled virtue and excellence to shine in degrees, the purpose and end of the pankration was simply to force one’s opponent to submit; see Swaddling 1980, 60–61. Put another way, the Spartans were under no illusions regarding their own invincibility, for they knew that they were mortal; their training and education taught them to fight nobly and for the sake of a common good, not individual glory, in order best to stand firm against the vicissitudes of fortune. For although a man or a group of men in battle may have control over themselves, the role of chance cannot be fully eradicated in human affairs. Being defeated in battle was no shame to the Spartans, provided that nothing ignoble (for example, fear of death, mania, or surrender) was the cause of defeat. See Thucydides IV.34–41, 55, 74–75. In the panhellenic contests, Spartans were more than willing to compete with other Greeks and



Situating the Dialogue 29

to display their excellence accordingly, even when not winning an event. These two sports, however, demanded that the loser suffer humiliation in defeat. This for Spartans was ignoble and unacceptable. Spartan law did allow intra-city competitions, that is, among Spartans themselves, and perhaps a few of their closest allies and proxenoi, both in pankration and boxing, lest Sparta be accused of some insult for shunning the dangers of these sports. To drive home the point—that the Spartans would submit to nothing (except their own law) and fear nothing (neither extreme suffering nor death), except that weakness of body which willingly admits defeat—the pankration competition, as a form of training for young men in the Spartan gymnasium, had no restrictions whatsoever; even biting and gouging were permitted. The degree to which the education of Spartans approached, even encouraged cruelty in the training of the body, must be understood in relation to the unparalleled success of Sparta in the ancient world in cultivating in the souls of her citizens an heroic discipline, a sacred devotion to the common good of the polis, and an unyielding obedience to its laws. These virtues were the source of Sparta’s oft-praised, though rarely imitated political stability. On the business of war, and training for war, as a daily affair in the life of Sparta, see Poliakoff 1987, 100–103. 65. The pankration was especially humiliating to competitors who confronted someone like Leontiskos and Sostratos of Sikyon, who had perfected the tactic of breaking their opponents’ fingers at the start of the contest, and this for two reasons: first, so that the opponent would have a difficult time continuing the bout, since he could neither punch nor hold effectively; and second, so that, knowing in advance that their fingers might be broken badly enough that it would be nearly impossible to give the signal for defeat clearly—thus increasing the likelihood of being simply beaten to death, the opponent would have an incentive to signal defeat before the contest even began. See Pausanius VI.4.1–2; Swaddling 1980, 61. 66.  There is sufficient evidence from both visual and textual sources however to suggest that even these few simple rules were only loosely applied, or just simply ignored; see Pindar Isthmia 4.48 (“. . . every license was granted to the competitors . . .”). Competitors often resorted to a lawlessness which was permitted by trainers and judges alike. Depictions on vases highlighting the damage to the body of pankratists caused by gouging and/or biting are not uncommon. On the pankration’s reputation for license in antiquity, consider its mention by Ambrose in his Commentary on Psalms 36 55 (PL 14.1040–41). A laudatory story told about the tactics of one famous combatant in particular is revealing. Finding himself in the grip of necessity during a pankration contest, Alcibiades reportedly bit his opponent “like a lion” in order to gain the advantage and ultimately the victory. Such a comment has legendary connotations insofar as Herakles himself was said to have originated the form of the pankration in his victory over the Nemean lion (the first of his 12 Labors); see Bacchylides Twelfth Ode xiii; Gardiner 1910, 226n1. Another tradition awards the origin of this honor to Theseus, who was said to have employed the pankra­ tion form in his struggle against the Minotaur; see Gardiner 1910, 437n2. For our purposes, it suffices to note that both traditions point to the ferocity of the contest in general by referring to the victory of a hero (super-human) with sufficient brute strength to overpower with their bare hands (i.e., without additional ‘arms’) a beast or monster (sub-human). 67.  See Swaddling 1980, 60: “Because it was such a crowd-puller, it was one of the first sports to be taken over by professionals. By the end of the fourth century BC few amateurs entered the contests and at many of the local games the prize-money for the pankration was considerably more than for any other event.” 68.  On the age of Autolykos, consider that Xenophon has referred to him in such a way (παῖς) as to separate him from the other age categories into which the pankration competitions at Athens, as opposed to Olympia, were divided—boys, beardless youths, and men. See Parke 1977, 37–38. Bowen (1998, 10) points out that Autolykos could not have been older than 16 (or he would have been in the category of ‘beardless youth’ rather than ‘boy’) and he was not likely to have been much younger than 16 (or his chances of winning would have been too slim). His father’s presence by his side is another sign that Autolykos, despite victory, is not yet of an age to be seen on his own with Kallias or attending a banquet. 69.  On the beauty contest introduced at Sym. 4.17–20, as a comic imitation of a traditional Panathe­ naic agōn, see Gardiner 1910, 75 and 239–240:

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The competitions included, besides athletic and horse-races, musical contests, recitations, torch-races, Pyrrhic dances, a regatta, and even a competition for good looks. . . . The day after the horse-races [at the Panathenaia] was occupied by a series of competitions between companies or tribes, in which the local and religious character of the festival is yet more clearly manifest. First came the Pyrrhic chorus . . . [which we surmise from a vase painting] consists of eight youths naked, and armed with helmets and shields, who move in rhythmic dance under the direction of a trainer. . . . Next came two competitions between tribes. . . . The first competition is for which in the fourth century seems to mean merely ‘good looks.’ In the Panathenaic procession certain old men were selected for their beauty to carry the sacred olive branches. Each tribe chose certain representatives, and this competition was apparently intended to decide which tribe should provide these ‘handsome old men.’

70.  See esp. Strauss 1948/1991, 29–30. 71.  Burkert (1985, 312) also points to the agonal competition among teachers of sophistry as an aristocratic substitute for the athletic games in the intellectual ferment of Athens in the age of Socrates, with the polis itself standing as both jury and prize of the contest. In Xenophon’s Symposium, the mutual competition is not public but private, and not simply one of logoi but of deeds playful (παιδιαῖς) and serious (σπουδῆς).

2 Setting the Stage Sophistry versus Philosophy

And thus, without being too far transported with the thought of sensual Love, as he must necessarily be who only considers the Beauty of the Body, let [our perfect courtier] revolve within his Mind the contemplation of that which is visible to the Eyes of the Soul, which then begin to be acute and discerning, when those of the Body fade from their lustre. The soul then being averse to Vice, and purified by the Study of true Philosophy, conversant in that which is spiritual, and versed in intellectual objects, turning herself inwards to contemplate her own Substance, awakes, as it were, from a most profound sleep, opens those eyes which all possess and few use; and perceives within herself a Ray of that Light, which is the true image of angelic Beauty . . . and when the animal spirits of the Body are wasted by continual Contemplation, or locked up in sleep, she, without any weariness, finds the sweets concealed in true heavenly Beauty; and being ravished by the Splendor of that Light, begins to take fire; and so eagerly pursues it, that she is in Ecstasy, and almost beside herself, through the Desire of uniting herself to it.1

XENOPHON’S SYMPOSIUM In the first chapter, we situated the Symposium in relation to Xenophon’s Socratic writings as well as within the historical, political, and cultural context of the dialogue’s setting. The title of the work points to the context within which the events and the conversations of the dialogue would have been familiar to ancient Athenians. Xenophon’s original audience would have immediately recognized the historical circumstances preceding and surrounding both events and the participants in the Symposium, above all the on-going conflict between Athens and Sparta, as well the Hellenic cultural traditions referenced therein, such as the Athenian festival of the Great Panathenaia and the Olympic sport of pankration. Most importantly, readers of the dialogue would have sensed the playful manner in which the symposion itself could be thought to be a form of competition (ἀγών). Once properly situated, we as readers are prepared to hear Xenophon’s Symposium. Xenophon’s style of writing nevertheless remains enigmatic. From its opening words, the dialogue seems argumentative, or at least somewhat defensive: “But it seems to me . . .” (1.1). This beginning implies that there is a dispute, or a disagreement, between the author and the audience. Perhaps this defensive-sounding stance is unintended, or only playfully so. The speaker does seem to be taking a position of distance from someone, or something previously 31

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said, though it may be for the purposes of clarification rather than confrontation. In a dialogue between interlocutors of goodwill, however, disagreement clarifies as well as challenges. But it seems to me that the deeds of noble and good men worth remembrance are not only accomplished in seriousness, but also in times of play. I wish to make clear those [deeds], on account of which, being present, I formed this judgment. Ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοί δοκεῖ τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν ἀνδῶν ἔργα οὐ μόνον τὰ μετὰ σπουδῆς πραττόμενα ἀξιομνημόνευτα εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ ἐν ταῖς παιδιαῖς.

We are thus compelled to ask ourselves questions from the very beginning: To whom is Xenophon writing? Who is the intended audience of the Symposium? Is the opening phrase (Ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοί δοκεῖ) oppositional or dialectical? We recall from our opening reflections that Xenophon seems to be responding to an interlocutor whose claim that the serious deeds of gentlemen are worthy of being remembered. The claim itself, which Xenophon does not necessarily deem false or objectionable, stands in need of amendment. Not only the serious deeds of gentlemen, but their playful ones as well, are worth remembrance. What is accomplished “in times of play” or playfully by “noble and good men” must not be eclipsed by what is “accomplished in seriousness” by them. What follows in the Symposium comes to light as an example and argument in defense of that emendation. If we recall as well from our opening reflections Xenophon’s preoccupation with Socrates and Socratic rhetoric, the beginning of the dialogue differs from his other Socratic works in that it does not present itself as an apologia. Whereas his Memorabilia, Oikonomikos, and Apology have as a justification for being recalled an explicit defense of Socrates and the beneficial character of his conversations, this account opens without reference to Socrates or his speeches at all. Why is Socrates at the beginning indistinguishable from the other gentlemen present in the Symposium? Why, in other words, does Xenophon eschew the kind of explicit apologia on behalf of Socrates and his uniquely characteristic speeches that frames his other Socratic works, in favor of an indirect and inclusive remembrance of Socrates as just one of several “noble and good men” (τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν ἀνδῶν)? As a way to address, if not yet fully answer, such questions, we turn to the scene that opens the dialogue for an introduction to the symposiasts themselves.

THE BANQUETERS AND THEIR INTENTIONS Kallias, Autolykos, and Lykon After stating his intention in the dialogue’s proem, Xenophon introduces the participants in his symposium (1.2–7), who appear to fall neatly into two groups, the first one associated with Autolykos, and the other with Socrates.2 Kallias, the son of Hipponikos,3 “leads” Autolykos, recent victor in the pankration games, and his father to watch the horse-race of the Great Panathenaia. Afterward, they departed together for Kallias’ house in the Peiraieus. Nikeratos “followed along” with them (1.2). While other aspects of his character may be harder to discern, the wealth of Kallias was known to all. He was reputed to have been by far the wealthiest Greek of his time, a reputation earned by inheritance if not also by his own actions.4 Apart from inherited wealth, there seems to be little evidence to support his status as an Athenian gentleman. Kallias’ economic ambitions as a serious gentleman are far from those represented



Setting the Stage 33

by the perfect example of Ischomachos and his father in the Oikonomikos. He does not make use of his wealth to improve his possessions, nor does he entertain significant political ambitions.5 The conventional means by which a gentleman secures a good name are apparently neglected by Kallias, who has merely inherited his reputation, and his desire is to enjoy the wealth that he has for as long as he has it.6 As discussed in Chapter One, his banquet in honor of Autolykos may be a way to establish his credentials as a gentleman. The name of Autolykos’ father, Lykon, is withheld by Xenophon, until the discussion of gentlemanliness (καλοκἀγαθία) in the next section (2.4–5), but his son must be named immediately to establish the setting. The name of the father, who will later be one of the three formal accusers of Socrates at his trial in 399, is given once the conversation turns to the explicit question of what gentlemanliness is. The significance of this remembrance now has potentially ominous undertones, far beyond the ostensibly amiable setting. On this occasion when the playful deeds of gentlemen were worth remembering, Socrates met one of his future accusers, and the explicit subject of the conversation (gentlemanliness)—as we will see—seems to be a matter of disagreement and dispute, the consequences of which prove dire. Nikeratos Xenophon’s introduction of Nikeratos, the son of Nikias, a pious, well-known, respected Athenian general and statesman,7 on the other hand, gives the impression that his presence at the symposium is almost an afterthought.8 Whether he had accompanied the other three to the horse-race, or joined up with the group after its conclusion, cannot be determined. Nikeratos, like Kallias, seems to be a gentleman by virtue of his birth. But Kallias does not seem to associate Nikeratos with his philosophic aspirations on this occasion or his effort to display his wisdom. His dismissive treatment of a son of a very prominent Athenian is curious. Perhaps it can be explained by the fact that Kallias is not interested in politics, or at least claims not to be when the opportunity to invite Socrates and his companions to his banquet in honor of Autolykos presents itself. But to judge from his relative anonymity in Athenian history, Nikeratos’ political ambition or capacity proved none too serious. In fact, based on Xenophon’s introduction of him, someone might even be tempted to say that he is treated as negligible by Kallias, not to mention the fact that he is not said to have been invited. Strauss argues however that Nikeratos is no more neglected than Xenophon, who “treats himself as still more negligible” because he claims that he is present, although uninvited (1.1), and yet he does not partake of any food or drink during the Symposium.9 Nikeratos joins the symposium as an associate of Kallias and so, in some sense, can be understood as invited. Whatever our opinion (or Kallias’) of him, and his conventional status as an Athenian gentleman, Nikeratos will contribute to the playful setting of this banquet. Most remarkably, as we shall see (4.45, cf. 4.51), his self-reflective humor sparks general laughter among the symposiasts—the only time Socrates laughs in the Symposium.10 Notwithstanding what will come to light as his limited sense of humor, there is good reason to think of him as someone who believes himself to be a serious and conventional gentleman, but one wonders if he ever managed to escape living in the tragic shadow of his father. Perhaps Kallias is fond of Nikeratos precisely because, despite the fact that he too received a massive inheritance, one which ranked not far below that of Kallias, his ambitions—like those of Kallias—were muted. In other words, as a gentleman of means but not of real ambition, Nikeratos’ presence at Kallias’ banquet would not overshadow the host in the eyes of his honored guests. When the chance arises in the form of Socrates and his philosophic companions,

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Kallias (as we will see) is rather quick to turn away from his familiarity with a gentleman like Nikeratos, the heir of a well-respected family, and associate himself with the self-taught philosophers in order to impress Autolykos’ father. Given what he likely knows about the reputation of the fathers of these young gentlemen, the father of Autolykos may think that his own son is in good company, so to speak, regardless of how far the characters of the sons have diverged from that of their own fathers. At the time of the dialogue’s setting, Kallias is about twenty-eight years old and unmarried, although he had recently come into his full inheritance at his father’s death. In Athens and beyond, he was well known for his notoriously dissolute and extravagant way of life, for which he was ridiculed by Athens’ comic poets. Given his reputation at the time of the banquet,11 it is not surprising that Autolykos’ father may have wished to chaperone his son at the banquet being held in his honor. Xenophon himself, perhaps out of a sense of discretion, is reluctant to comment on what exactly the understanding or bond is (if any) that holds together, even loosely, this ostensible group of Athenian gentlemen, that is, this banquet attended by “noble and good men” (1.1). The Socratics Socrates, Kritoboulos, Hermogenes, Antisthenes, and Charmides form an enigmatic group of their own—the Socratics. Seeing these men together at the festivities, Kallias recognized them and decided to invite them to join his group of gentlemen at his house. He “ordered someone” in his entourage of servants “to lead those with Autolykos onward” to his house, “while he himself went over to those with Socrates and spoke” (1.3). While the intention of Kallias to host his guests and Nikeratos may be straightforward, his reason for inviting Socrates and his companions is less clear. Having by chance caught sight of this Socratic group, presumably departing from the horse-race as well,12 Kallias seizes the occasion and makes a deliberate effort to convince these men also to attend his banquet by means of polite flattery (1.4): Toward a fine thing, I have happened upon you; for I am about to entertain Autolykos and his father. I really think that the setting would appear much more splendid (λαμπρότεραν)13 for me if the banquet-room (ἀνδράσιν) was adorned14 by men like you with purified souls,15 than if by generals, cavalry commanders, or those eager for office.16

Although we know a few things about him already, based on Xenophon’s introduction, such as the name of his father and his affection for Autolykos, our first impression of Kallias relies upon this, his first speech. His opening words include the first use of the Greek word καλός (repeated at 1.8) and offer a subtle prelude to a dialogue that will be devoted to playful deeds, as well as speeches, that reflect a sort of seriousness.17 The meaning of this word itself, especially as a constituent part of καλοκἀγαθία, one of the concepts examined in and through the dialogue, varies in its translation depending on context, ranging from the “noble” or “fine” to the “beautiful.” The powerful presence of το καλόν will be felt throughout the dialogue.18 Here and in the exchange which follows, we learn more about Kallias’ intentions for his banquet in honor of Autolykos, something which he may wish to conceal from Autolykos’ father and Nikeratos, both of whom would undoubtedly have taken offense at the apparently disparaging remark Kallias made to the Socratics about “generals, cavalry commanders, or those eager for office”—which is to say, about serious gentlemen. Considering the kind of adornment that will best serve his ends, Kallias now says he would prefer to have “much more splendid” or resplendent men, such as Socrates and his companions, on display at his banquet, as opposed to men prominent in the affairs of the polis. Thus, although the opening refrains



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from saying so explicitly, the kind of men who are defined by an eagerness or seriousness, with respect to holding military and political office—that is, serious gentlemen—happened not to be present in Xenophon’s Symposium. Kallias, it seems, has excluded them by choice, at least insofar as none have been invited. Why this apparent effort to distance Kallias’ banquet (and Xenophon, his Symposium) from gentlemen who are conventionally serious, that is, serious about politics or war? Given his interest in creating a certain atmosphere at his banquet, Kallias seems to be of the opinion that the character of those engaged in traditional political activities pales in comparison with what unconventional men, like Socrates and his companions, contribute by their presence. His praise of the brilliant, or polished, character of their philosophic souls implies a blunt criticism of less brilliant men whose souls remain unburnished by philosophy, or have been dulled, so to speak, by political seriousness. Such men, Kallias implies, would not enliven, that is, not ornament or adorn his banquet or himself in quite the same way that he supposes these so-called “purified souls” will. His praise of Socrates and his companions, though perhaps based more on a generalization or caricature19 than on truth, may reveal something less than gentlemanly (in the conventional sense) about his intentions. Kallias intends to pursue what is kalon, apparently in the sense of the splendid rather than the noble, without interference from those (gentlemen) who are serious about politics. To this end (Εἰς καλόν γε), Kallias believes that Socrates and his companions will be good for him, or at least of more use to him. But what lightness of being is associated with those, as Kallias puts it, “whose souls have been purified,”20 and why does he wish, or need, to brighten his banquetroom through their presence? Kallias’ use of the word kalos in this particular context might lead us to put the question differently: What is splendid or beautiful about the Socratic life? It is possible that Kallias, while complementing Socrates and his companions in such laudatory terms, may not see their way of life as appealing at all. The reputation of the Socratics, as made evident in Aristophanes’ Clouds, which was performed at Athens just one year before Kallias’ banquet, was hardly enviable. In the strangely intriguing caricature of the comic Socrates and his disciples, these men seem to the play’s self-interested protagonist to be ponderous thinkers engaged in the minutiae of pseudo-scientific studies and (more importantly) teachers of a sophistic art of distorting speeches (able to make the unjust appear to be just), but they are merely ridiculed and shunned by the play’s prodigal son as pale and barefoot wretches.21 So, in what sense can Kallias intend his praise of Socrates to be taken in any way other than ironic, at least on its surface? He does not quite mean what he says. Socrates immediately takes Kallias to task for his effusive praise—which he interprets as nothing more than a sign of his usual contempt. He exposes his suitor’s sophistic inclinations and contrasts it with the kind of purification to which Kallias can only make allusion. Given his reply, it would seem Socrates is not tempted by or impressed with Kallias’ compliment precisely because he sees in its polished reflection the work of others (1.5): Always you are mocking us, looking down on us because, whereas you have given a great deal of money to Protagoras for wisdom (σοφίᾳ), and to Gorgias and Prodicus and many others as well, you see some of us are self-made (αὐτουργούς) at philosophy (φιλοσοφίας).

The juxtaposition here of Protagoras, Gorgias, and Prodicus, on the one hand, and Socrates, on the other hand, introduces yet another group of men, Kallias’ teachers, the famous sophists.22 Like the serious gentlemen mentioned above, none of these men have been invited to Kallias’ banquet; yet they are nevertheless indirectly present on account of their influence upon the host himself. Thus, by calling attention to Kallias’ well-known propensity to pay

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out huge sums to those who hawk sophia or wisdom, Socrates identifies Kallias as the sophistical student par excellence.23

RIVALS IN (THE PURSUIT OF) WISDOM An implicit rivalry between Kallias and Socrates is highlighted by Socrates’ ironic reply. Here we see that what he literally says has a surface meaning that can be taken as self-deprecating but conceals a hidden truth that quietly reveals what he intends to say. If being “self-made” or self-taught at “philosophy” means being simply an amateur, that is, someone who is not wise because he is neither a professional (as the sophists who charge fees claim to be) nor skilled by training (as Kallias should be, since he spends great sums to learn from the sophists), then Socrates is not wise; he is not worthy of Kallias’ praise—and thus Kallias must be speaking ironically, or mocking him and his kind. But he and (perhaps also) his companions are indeed amateurs in the Socratic sense, that is, as Socrates says, they are not “purified souls” who are wise, but rather they are engaged in the pursuit of wisdom (φιλοσοφία) through their own making or teaching of themselves. They seek wisdom as lovers—not possessors—of it, and they do so all on their own. Socrates thus playfully implies that, in this sense, they take seriously the divine injunctions of Delphi—“Know Thyself ” and “Nothing in Excess”—pursuing wisdom, while yet being ignorant of it. What is being mocked by Kallias as amateurism Socrates presents as a kind of moderate philosophizing that is grounded in a desire for selfknowledge, which entails a recognition of one’s own ignorance with respect to wisdom and requires work to achieve. Socrates takes Kallias to be mocking them, and Kallias must now work to persuade him to join the banquet. He must overcome Socrates’ initial resistance to his attempt at flattery. What he says to Socrates to persuade him to accept his invitation may not be an entirely truthful statement of the purpose or end which he hopes that Socrates’ presence will serve at his banquet. Just as the unscrupulous father Strepsiades schemed in the Clouds to escape his debt by means of a “Socratic” education in just and unjust speeches, Kallias may be looking for a way to exploit Socrates and his recent notoriety to achieve his own, possibly no less dubious, ends. Aristophanes’ comedy makes clear at least that Socrates had a reputation in Athens as a prominent intellectual and a formidable conversationalist whose powerful way of speaking could be the subject of an entire play (its failure to take first prize in the competition notwithstanding). As we will see once the banquet gets started, Kallias is confident in his sophistic talents and eager to display his worth in front of Autolykos and his father by challenging Socrates to a competition in speech. Whatever his motive, it is significant that, even in inviting Socrates and his companions, Kallias means to avoid the kind of seriousness that comes with the likes of generals, cavalry commanders, or other Athenians ambitious for office. But his seemingly playful challenge is not to be taken too lightly. Based on their first exchange of speeches, we may surmise that Kallias and Socrates in fact represent rival claims to wisdom. Socrates claims to be working toward the wisdom that he desires (φιλοσοφία), whereas Kallias confidently believes he already possesses it, as his reply to Socrates makes perfectly clear (1.6): And Kallias said, “Even so, up until now at least, I have concealed from you the many and wise things (πολλὰ καὶ σοφὰ) that I have to say, but now, if you come with me, I will display to you that I myself am worthy of very much seriousness.”



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Dangling his professed wisdom, or rather his many wise sayings, before Socrates, Kallias aims to entice Socrates to adorn his banquet room. What he promises to display (ἐπιδείζω) will make him worthy of being taken quite seriously (πολλῆς σπουδῆς) by Socrates and his philosophic friends, he insists. Kallias thus associates (his) worth with seriousness, and (his) seriousness with wisdom. He is presumably offering to reveal the wisdom that he, at great monetary expense, has acquired from the sophists. This enticement, he hopes, will persuade Socrates and his friends to attend his banquet. He may even hope that his promise to display his hitherto-concealed wisdom will make him worthy of being taken seriously by the Socratics. In this way, his response to Socrates’ rebuff—that Kallias pays others for wisdom, rather than being a self-made lover of wisdom (philosophos) who works to attain it on his own—has the indirect effect of transforming a bribe into a challenge (not to say a threat, or at least not yet). The claim that there is an alternative means to attain wisdom, which is known to Kallias but not taken by Socrates, has been made explicit. The fulfillment of Kallias’ promise and truth of his claim remain to be seen, if the Socratics are indeed willing to join the banquet. But Socrates does not take the bait—or at least he does not show interest here in Kallias’ promise or his challenge. This ambivalence on the part of Socrates Xenophon subtly indicates by stating that he remained silent as those with him politely declined Kallias’ invitation: “. . . those around Socrates, at first, as was fitting, while praising the invitation, did not promise to join in the feasting” (1.7). If indeed it turns out that both possess some kind of knowledge or wisdom worth displaying—which Socrates’ initial refusal leads us to doubt, and both succeed in displaying or demonstrating that they do, Socrates has nonetheless already ensured that the distinction has been drawn between an acquired possession merely purchased from another and a possession earned by virtue of one’s own work (αὐτουργός). From a Socratic perspective, Kallias’ lack of self-knowledge is implied by his dependency on others as the source of “his” wisdom, and this is said to be the precise cause of his mocking those who, like Socrates, desire to be selfsufficient—in other words, those who wish to be “self-worked” in the sense of self-taught24— with respect to knowledge and wisdom. Kallias’ failure to mark the limits of his possession of wisdom, that is, his blindness to his own ignorance (his lack of self-knowledge), indicates his disdain for the principal search or work that defines the philosophic life. What is at stake in this rivalry (again, if Kallias proves himself to be a rival of Socrates) is not only an understanding of whether someone is wise or what constitutes wisdom but of how wisdom is to be achieved or pursued, that is, how one understands the life of philosophy itself. Given a relative reticence on the part of Xenophon’s Socrates, and Xenophon himself, to refer to philosophy or the philosophic life explicitly, it seems especially noteworthy that it is invoked by Socrates here in the opening scene of the Symposium.25 Though he provocatively names the activity or way of life that he holds in contradistinction to Kallias’ sophistic training, Socrates offers no explicit explanation of what he thinks constitutes philosophic self-education. Since no explanation or discussion is articulated explicitly, or taken up in conversation, it must be that philosophy and the philosophic life per se do not hold center-stage in the Symposium, unless embodied in the speeches and deeds of Socrates and his fellow Socratics. Xenophon’s intention, it would seem, is not to praise the Socratic life openly but to foreground it momentarily as a rivalry between two ways of life, a rivalry which, once the banquet begins, must soften or fade into the background to avoid strife. Still, given the significance of competition and contests in Hellenic culture in general and symposia in particular, this agōn should not be forgotten. It stands in some way behind, or is present potentially as a tension within, all the speeches as well as deeds of these gentlemen at play.26

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As the evening and the conversation unfold, we will have occasion to consider how Socrates’ speeches and his deeds in the Symposium—particularly in the various contests—help us to define indirectly the activity or work of the philosopher.

SOPHISTIC RHETORIC VERSUS SOCRATIC PHILOSOPHY For now, it suffices to mention instead another consequence of Socrates’ quick rebuff of Kallias’ enticements. By openly articulating his observation that Kallias is “always mocking” their way of life, Socrates leads us to conclude that this student of the sophists dismisses not only the seriousness inherent in political life but also the seriousness of the philosophic life as lived by Socrates. The kind of adornment Kallias seeks at his banquet seems at odds both with the political seriousness of conventional gentlemen and the serious-playfulness of Socrates.27 Kallias may shun ambitious gentlemen in favor of Socrates and his companions on this occasion. because the latter seem to him to make for a more splendid setting for a private banquet than the former would. But it does not follow from this that he takes Socrates or his way of life seriously. In fact, he may be inviting them to join his banquet simply to make use of their presence to “display” or show off his wisdom as a means of seducing Autolykos. However, in separating out Socrates and his kind from those who are politically eager, Kallias may be unknowingly touching upon the playfulness at the core of the Socratic life without necessarily perceiving or comprehending its seriousness.28 We are led to wonder whether Kallias’ playful promise to “display” his sophistic wisdom in the presence of Socrates is the reason why Xenophon deemed the occasion worth remembering. If Kallias were to fulfill his promise and display “his” wisdom, which he has hitherto concealed from Socrates, the sophists who have taught him many and wise things (and how to conceal them) would prove to be the real opponents to Socratic wisdom, that is, if his (Socrates’) wisdom were also to be displayed in this setting.29 This sophistic challenge to the Socratic life as a genuine path to wisdom exacerbates the underlying tension that is already present in the dialogue between the conventional life of the gentleman and the unconventional life of the philosopher. For now we see that there are alternative or rival ways not only to live but also to philosophize. It is characteristic of Kallias’ sophistry, or sophistic training, to assume the superiority of this way of life to that lived by others, both those engaged in politics (like Nikeratos’ father) and those like Socrates engaged in philosophy.30 He fails to perceive that Socrates—if he chooses to accept the challenge Kallias has posed—may in fact emerge as his rival in speech as well as in wisdom, not to mention (as we shall see) the rival of Autolykos in beauty.31 Thus, we have a direct allusion to the agōn in speech and in deed that will come to dominate the action of the dialogue, once the banquet ends and the performances begin. One reason then why the playful deeds of serious gentlemen on this occasion are worth remembering, according to Xenophon, is that the striking contrast and quarrel made all too evident by this rivalry between sophistry and philosophy, as well as politics and philosophy, comes to light with the greatest clarity possible, for those who are paying attention, and in a setting that assures it will do so in the least threatening—because humorous or playful—way. After being initially rebuffed, perhaps not unexpectedly (“as was fitting”), Kallias persists with his invitation, becoming increasingly annoyed by the refusal of those with Socrates to accept his (as he must believe it to be) very generous offer to join his banquet. Their refusal to accept his invitation galls him and his vexation at being refused becomes palpable, enough so that those with Socrates choose to placate Kallias rather than further irritate him: “but when it



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was clear [to them] that he [Kallias] was becoming extremely vexed (πάνυ ἀχθόμενος) because they would not come along, they went with him” (1.7). With pressure, although not with force, Kallias wins their assent and compels them to attend the banquet.32 In this first contest of resolve, it seems that Kallias has proven the victor. But, again, let us not forget that after his initial response to Kallias’ offer, which was not explicitly a refusal, Socrates has remained silent. He may yet be intrigued by the occasion, now that his companions have agreed to attend, and the opportunity to hear what Kallias may have to say in defense of his claim to have many wise things to say. Finally, the competitiveness of Kallias in his pseudo-sophisticated posturing returns us to our opening reflection on the dialogue itself. In the disagreement implied there between author and intended audience, we suspected that Xenophon means to clarify which playful deeds of serious gentlemen are worth remembering, or at least which ones—or one—he has in mind. The context within which those deeds come to light may be singular. Surely not all playful deeds of gentlemen are worthy of being remembered, but perhaps only that which occurred on this specific occasion, one which Xenophon himself (who insists he was present) intends now to recall for his audience. The confrontation implied at the start (“But it seems to me . . .”) may reflect a sudden or unexpected prompt, an occasion for recollection. This unique context, even its decisive singularity, may derive from the fact that Socrates just happened to find himself among those who had gathered at Kallias’ house for the banquet that evening.

SYMPOSIA—OCCASIONS FOR SOCRATIC CONVERSATION Socrates’ presence at the banquet, however, should not be taken for granted. Despite the initial invitation and then the bait proffered by Kallias, neither Socrates nor his companions were moved to accept. Kallias’ appeal, such as it is, met with Socrates’ silence, while those “surrounding Socrates” (ἀμφὶ τὸν Σωκράτην) are the ones said to have politely refused. Xenophon’s account of the situation makes it appear as if Socrates and his companions are not flattered by the invitation itself and indifferent to the wise sayings that Kallias claims to have kept hidden. His assertion that he is worthy of being taken seriously falls flat, and their polite refusal is perceived as an insult. In response, Kallias becomes frustrated, and rather than risk arousing his ire if they continue to refuse, they consent. Socrates did not oppose their agreement to attend. Socrates, in other words, on this occasion, tacitly agreed to attend with his companions. This suggests that he too has been pushed to agree out of a desire not to irritate Kallias further. But it is also possible that Socrates is not really opposed to attending the banquet, now that their attendance has become a fait accompli, because an opportunity may arise to question Kallias about his wisdom or prompt him to make a display of it. Socrates, as we have seen, is not averse to participating in such conversations once they are in progress and turning them to his own purposes—even, or especially, if there happens to be a hint of tension running beneath those conversations, and hence beneath the dramatic surface of Xenophon’s dialogue. This overtly tense or awkward situation between Socrates and a potential gentleman is a variation on a theme played with greater subtlety in Xenophon’s Oikonomikos. In that dialogue, Socrates recounts, for the benefit of his frequent companion and interlocutor, Kritoboulos, a young Athenian who ostensibly aspires to gentlemanliness, a chance encounter he had with Ischomachos, a person who “seemed to Socrates really to be one of those men to whom the name of gentleman (καλός τε κἀγαθὸς ἀνήρ) is justly applied.”33 Like Ischomachos, whom Socrates also just happened to meet in the agora and then engaged in conversation

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without planning to do so, Kallias is one of those who may (or may not) be “justly” (δικαίως) reputed to be gentlemen, and perhaps worthy of Socrates’ attention—if an impromptu occasion to converse with him should arise. The unpleasant reaction of Kallias and the quick acquiescence of his companions to accept his invitation prevents us from interpreting Socrates’ silence as an actual interest in what Kallias purports to offer. In fact, we will not hear from Socrates again until much later in the evening when the performances which are introduced as entertainment have, for some reason, compelled him to speak (2.1–2). From this point on in the dialogue, in other words, it is clear that we must be attentive to what Socrates both says and refrains from saying as the banquet and the conversations proceed. To repeat, rather than risk irritating Kallias to the point of anger with continued refusals, Socrates’ companions finally acquiesce. Not all of the banqueters should be understood as entirely willing and eager participants in Xenophon’s Symposium, at least not with respect to the banquet Kallias intends to host. Kallias sent Autolykos and the others ahead in order that he might speak to Socrates and his companions alone for just this reason—so that, should his invitation be rejected, his guest and his father would not witness the weakness of his persuasion, or his embarrassment (or frustration) if rejected. The sense of compulsion or necessity (ανάγκη) that was experienced by Socrates’ companions highlights the failure of Kallias’ words alone to persuade either Socrates or his companions to attend his banquet. Even if Socrates’ companions eventually relent and Socrates does not himself oppose, Kallias’ anger risks tainting the lightness of the setting. For his insistence calls into question the kind of goodwill (χάρις) that should elevate such a gathering.34 In this respect, we must compare this opening scene and occasion to that which is described in Plato’s Symposium. Socrates’ decision to dress as a banquet-goer on that occasion indicates that, if the event is indeed out of the ordinary with respect to him, he nonetheless willingly attends it. However, his lengthy pause in contemplation prior to entering Agathon’s house in the Symposium of Plato (174a–175c) should not be overlooked; nor the fact that Socrates had in fact declined the invitation to the first evening of symposia that the host had organized for the occasion, which by agreement of all who were present on that evening confessed was decidedly an immoderate affair (176a-e). Such excesses of course are always possible when wine as well as words begin to flow in abundance at a banquet. In addition to the discussion of Eros (Ἔρως) that is the sustained focus of conversation on that occasion, the banqueters become intoxicated from their wine-drinking and all eventually succumbed to the immoderate consumption of wine and fell asleep in their cups—all save Socrates, who seemed as sober at the end as he did at the beginning of the banquet. But in the midst of this occasion for wine and conversation, a drunken Alcibiades and his entourage had interrupted the banquet and threatened, for a while, to disrupt the goodwill of the banqueters with his accusations against Socrates. At some point, Plato’s Alcibiades disappeared from the banquet, departing later that night (or morning) just as suddenly (but much less disruptively) as he arrived. Socrates, by virtue of his moderation and his rhetorical skill at handling others, averted the descent of Plato’s Symposium into disorder and conduct unbecoming gentlemen introduced and threatened by Alcibiades. We shall see what role Socrates plays in actively contributing to and moderating as well the Symposium recalled by Xenophon.35 Fortunately, Kallias’ irascible demeanor is overcome by a more commanding presence as the banquet begins, one that appears to make willing participants of them all: the Beautiful itself (1.8–11). We may suspect that Kallias invites Socrates to his banquet to make his own presumably hidden wisdom visible before his beloved, the visibly beautiful Autolykos, but what Xenophon as recollector and author intends is harder to say. He may wish to make use



Setting the Stage 41

of Kallias and his banquet as a way to manifest—through his deeds as well as his speeches in the dialogue—Socrates’ own compelling yet invisible beauty, that is, his beautiful but hidden soul and its search for wisdom.36 But the perception of wisdom among human beings, unlike beauty, depends on words and hearing, not merely appearance and sight. By contrast, in Plato’s Symposium, erōs and to kalon dominate—a fact to which the content of the speeches and powerful presence of Alcibiades testify, whereas Socratic wisdom is parodied as Silenic and remains hidden, thin veiled by attribution to Diotima. Xenophon, however, breaks the charm or spell of divine Eros in his Symposium sufficiently enough for us to join in observing his Socratic examination of the relation of wisdom and beauty.37 What, then, of Socrates’ silence at the outset? Why does he ignore the overtures of Kallias? In the absence of speeches, what are we to make of his deeds? There is, of course, something ironic and even coy about Socrates’ disinterestedness (no doubt Alcibiades would agree). One common trait in the traditional portrait of Socrates handed down to us from antiquity is that he seemed almost always ripe for conversation, for words, so much so that his interlocutors—who sometimes are set upon unsuspectingly by a Socratic question— usually found themselves too hard pressed by his inquiry and eager to retreat or retire. Socrates’ reputation as the Athenian gadfly is warranted.38 Xenophon’s Socrates however enters this Symposium somewhat reluctantly. His reticence and the corresponding sense of compulsion which pervades the work are characteristics associated with Xenophon’s Socratic writings in general, all of which appear to be written under the shadow of a certain necessity (and not only because they are written in exile).39 We might wonder, then: Does Socrates have nothing to learn from Kallias? Has he already spent enough time with Kallias to have formed a judgment about what this man, or kind of man, has to offer, or what he really wants (see Mem. IV.1.5; cf. Sym. 3.4, 4.1–4)? Or does the setting of the symposium itself, where it is to occur, put off Socrates for some reason? Does he perhaps have reason to be concerned for his own well-being or reputation—or that of his companions (cf. Ana. III.1.5, Mem. III.7.19)—if they are to be led by Kallias down to his house in Peiraieus?

KALLIAS AND THE HOUSE OF HADES To defuse the tension caused by their refusal, Socrates’ companions feel obliged to accept Kallias’ invitation to his banquet. The exchange between Kallias and the Socratics leaves time for Autolykos, Lykon, and Nikeratos to begin to prepare themselves for the evening. So, “some having exercised and been anointed, others also having bathed,” they (presumably, the Socratics) “passed on with him,” that is, with Kallias, walking down to his house, where the others were waiting (1.7). Xenophon’s Symposium thus takes place outside or beyond Athens, down in the Peiraieus, where Socrates can be said to have been turned, or diverted, under compulsion of convention, if not force. In this respect, the dialogue’s beginning parallels the opening of Plato’s Republic, where Socrates and his companion, Glaucon, who have left Athens to go down to the Peiraieus to see (among other things) the festival of Bendis that is being performed, are compelled to remain there.40 This parallel descent, or going down (κατάβασις), invites scrutiny, especially since Xenophon’s composition of the Symposium arguably preceded Plato’s writing of both his Symposium and Republic.41 Several elements of the setting of Xenophon’s Symposium recall the opening and structure of Plato’s Republic. For example: Xenophon’s reference to Socrates’ presence at an event outside of

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the polis proper related to the celebration of a religious festival (in this case, that of Athena, the patron-goddess of Athens, as opposed to the worship of a foreign god in Athens); the unification of two distinct groups, who had arrived separately but come together after or before the horse-race that concludes the festivities, and under compulsion, for the sake of celebrating a banquet; and the location of the host’s house down in the Peiraieus. Moreover, the banquet at Cephalus’ house that occurs in Plato’s Republic turns into an all-night conversation (unlike Plato’s Symposium), in place of the usual revelry and drunkenness that can be associated with such events (especially in the time of a festival). However, it is not clear if the symposiasts in the Platonic dialogue actually partake of any food or drink, whereas Xenophon’s surely do— and they do so in moderation (unlike Plato’s Symposium, especially after the arrival of Alcibiades: see 223b-d). Also, and usually overlooked, the subject of both evenings’ conversations springs from a peculiar interest in justice among the symposiasts present (see Xen. Sym. 3.4: καλοκἀγαθία defined as δικαιοσύνη).42 Leaving aside the tangled issues of intertextuality raised by a comparison of Xenophon’s Symposium with Plato’s Republic,43 or Protagoras,44 such explicit mention of Kallias’ house down in Peiraieus as the setting would nonetheless have elicited intimate reflections from Xenophon’s Athenian readers. For the contemporary audience of the dialogue, as Xenophon surely anticipated, the opening lines undoubtedly would have prompted recollections of the scandalous reputation Kallias had acquired for himself through his notorious economic and marital exploits in the years immediately after the dramatic date of the Symposium. Whether extant evidence detailing Kallias’ affairs—economic,45 or marital—are accurate cannot be precisely ascertained. But his indiscretions in erotic affairs proved a public matter, at least insofar as legal speeches can be considered trustworthy sources of information. Evidence related to Kallias’ marital exploits is almost exclusively drawn from an apologia of the orator Andocides, whose prejudicial view “arouses mistrust” of the allegations. But witnesses were called who vouched for his account, and Andocides won his case.46 For our purposes, it suffices to note that Kallias had done much to earn his notoriety, which was widely reputed and believed. In the years immediately following the banquet remembered by Xenophon, Kallias fulfilled his vow to marry (see Sym. 9.7). His first marriage (ca. 420) was to the daughter of Glaucon (cousin of Plato’s grandfather and father of Charmides), and it ended abruptly with the death of his young wife a few years later (ca. 415). His son, Hipponikos, was born of this marriage. Kallias’ then took a second wife almost immediately (ca. 414), the young daughter (born ca. 430) of none other than Ischomachos and Chrysilla (born ca. 449, married ca. 435). This second marriage lasted less than a year before Kallias openly reputed his new bride (between 413 and 406) in favor of her mother, Chrysilla. But he invited scandal by taking both his young wife and her recently-widowed mother into his house at once, thereby enacting or imitating the underworld god’s infamy as the abductor of the divine Daughter and Mother (the goddesses Persephone and Demeter). Kallias’ interest in his second wife’s mother was perhaps piqued by economic rather than erotic incentives, for Ischomachos’ unexpected death meant that his mother-in-law’s inheritance could provide an infusion of material wealth into Kallias’ deteriorating financial situation. Access to Ischomachos’ estate, however, could be had more directly as the widow’s new husband than as her son-in-law. By one means or another, Kallias divested himself of the daughter and shamelessly married her mother. Both women lived for a time in the same house with Kallias, his young bride as wife and (still young) mother-in-law as (reportedly) his mistress; it was also said that his second son, born to his third wife, was conceived at this time.47 As a result of this third marriage, Kallias not only came into possession of Ischomachos’



Setting the Stage 43

widow and her inheritance, but he also became the legal guardian of Ischomachos’ two sons and proceeded to lease out their property and inheritance for his own profit. When the sons of Ischomachos came of age, Kallias had plundered their estates for almost fifty talents, for they each inherited only ten out of the seventy the father had acquired and bequeathed them. Unfortunately for Kallias, the virtue of Ischomachos’ estate fared no better than that of his wife after his death; the Spartan siege of Dekeleia laid waste to the area.48 These indiscretions verged on blasphemy, once the link between Kallias’ reputation as “a kind of Pluto-Hades”49 and his sacred office as high priest at the temple of the Two Goddesses (Demeter and Persephone) in the Eleusinian Mysteries50 was publicly established.51 Widespread rumors of Kallias’ shameless imitation of the marital corruption in the dark house of Hades would likely have reminded readers of the dialogue of Kallias’ young beloved Autolykos and his father as the masculine prelude to Kallias’ indecent relations with a young wife and her mother.52 Would not Xenophon’s stated intention to make clear to readers the playful deeds of gentlemen worthy of remembrance be threatened by just such illicit memories and bad reputations? With a moral pall cast back over the memory of this banquet by Kallias’ own later exploits, would not the setting itself seem strangely (even perversely) averse to the very idea of gentlemanliness that is invoked at the banquet, the erotic playfulness of which would be interpreted as being dangerously akin to licentiousness?53 Admittedly, this interpretation of the influence Kallias’ reputation exerts over the dialogue rests on a vision of hindsight available only to some of those in whose hands Xenophon’s dialogue was circulating soon after it was written. Yet what was known to have happened to the symposiasts after the dramatic date and setting of the dialogue should not be overlooked or forgotten by readers, for Xenophon’s expressed intention is to argue on behalf of past events worthy of remembrance. While the dramatic present of the dialogue is unburdened by what lies beyond what is reasonably knowable for human beings, an awareness of the subsequent fate of persons in the dialogue on the part of Xenophon’s readers arguably points to a deeper meaning for the dialogue’s action as well as argument. As a principle of interpretation, of course, knowledge of what occurred after a specific historical event-date (for example, after 422 BC) should not be introduced to explain what occurred before that event-date. Nevertheless, such knowledge may be essential to understanding why the event being recalled is, in fact, held to be worthy of remembrance, and how, through his style of writing and subtle use of historical setting, Xenophon makes use of dramatic irony.54 For our purposes here, Kallias’ marital indiscretions will not be recited as admissible cause or explanation for what occurs in the Symposium; rather let us say that, especially insofar as there is truth in the ancient notion that character is fate, knowledge of what occurred after the Symposium may be helpful as a means of confirming knowledge which some, or one (namely, Socrates), may have already had (or suspected) before or during the Symposium itself. Indeed, on at least one other occasion in Xenophon’s Socratic writings, it is precisely such knowledge that is provided in order to reveal an Homeric truth (as a prophet unrecognized in his own time) and the harsh effects of a deleterious reputation that lingers after death (cf. Xen. Apo. 29–31, 34, with Sym. 4.5).55 We are thus faced with the realization that, for most, knowledge (perhaps even justice, in the case of the Memorabilia) is often acquired fully only by looking back. But for a few, wisdom takes the form of forethought. Read with this in mind, Xenophon’s dialogue brings to life that irony which he learned from his Socrates and imitated in his Socratic writings. Finally, to speak of the esoteric action of this opening scene, the banqueters—perhaps even including a few “purified souls”—appear now to have literally “passed on” with Hades (Kallias),

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who has escorted them “down” to his house in Hades (Peiraieus), the shadowy abode of the dead56 where the prying eyes of convention from the realm of the living (Athens) do not easily penetrate.57 In more ways than one, the participants in Kallias’ banquet seem to have taken their leave of the conventional realm of the polis; they are no longer themselves, becoming instead shades, or comic caricatures, of their former selves in Kallias’ underworld. It is hard to imagine how conventional καλοκἀγαθία could survive in such a setting, especially one that is rendered further opaque by the obscuring masks of Dionysus worn in symposia, without the political horizon of law which usually limits and so defines the nobility of serious gentlemen. Freed from circumspection, the pleasures of Kallias’ banquet may pose certain temptations to those who, as we shall see, lack the continence or moderation to withstand them in the absence of conventional support.58 This kind of freedom to speak and do what one wishes is dangerously akin to that license (παρρησία) which can quickly turn good symposia into bad.59 This may also explain the reluctance of Xenophon’s Socrates which was mentioned above. Whereas Kallias prefers to conceal himself, his guests and—as he would have us believe—even his wisdom from public perception, Xenophon’s Socrates is known for his openness; indeed, one could even go so far as to say of Socrates that “his whole life was like an open book for every passer-by to read.”60 Put another way, Socrates cultivates an appearance of openness, while Kallias is prone to concealment. Based not on what emerged with time about Kallias’ character, beyond the banquet’s setting, but only on his affiliation with the sophists, Socrates may have reason to suspect that Kallias’ intentions for the evening are less than noble. Despite appearances (cf. 1.4), Socrates may not view their chance encounter as particularly fortuitous,61 since Kallias may not have his eyes merely on the souls of Socrates’ companions.62 Still, does Kallias or his Hades-like house actually pose a threat to virtue, to Socrates, or to philosophy itself? It may indeed be more accurate to speak of Socrates as being disinterested in Kallias and his sophistic temptations, rather than unwilling to accept his invitation. Xenophon’s Socrates was, in fact, highly regarded for his continence (see, e.g., Mem. I 5–6) and need not fear the descent into Kallias’ house or the sympotic excess and loss of inhibitions which conventional gentlemen regardless of their continence may wish to avoid (for the sake of a good reputation, for example). On the contrary, there are indications that Xenophon’s Socrates, when “compelled” to do so, had an interest in pursuing (or at least when prompted, had a willingness to pursue) the question “What is noble?” beyond the horizon of the poleis.63 Perhaps the proper pursuit of wisdom even requires it.64 Socrates’ silence, at any rate, neither accepting nor refusing Kallias’ invitation, remains ambiguous. Though unburdened by the aspirations or limitations associated with being reputed a “perfect gentleman” himself, Socrates may be concerned for those with him.65 Suffice it to say, Kallias and Socrates seem far from having the common aims or interests which might be expected to constitute a coherent set of symposiasts.66

AN ALTERNATIVE READING OF THE OPENING SCENE Before turning to the start of Kallias’ banquet itself, let us consider an alternative reading of the opening scene, a reading which focuses on Kallias’ enticement, stressing the generic nature of his invitation, and which thus may teach us something about Socrates and his efforts to reveal what Kallias would conceal. This reading is (characteristically) embedded in a seemingly simple summary of Xenophon’s beginning:



Setting the Stage 45 In inviting Socrates and his group, Kallias says that his halls would be more splendidly adorned by men with purified souls like them than by generals and other actual or would-be dignitaries. Socrates pretends to notice in this compliment a sign of Kallias’ constant contempt for him and his like: Kallias, the pupil of Protagoras, Gorgias, Prodikos, and many others looks down on “us,” who cannot buy wisdom but have to strive for it in the sweat of their brows. For Kallias, Socrates is just one gentleman among many: he addresses all five men equally. He tries to entice them to accept his invitation by promising to exhibit to them the many wise things which he possesses. They first politely decline but then accept when Kallias seems hurt.67

According to this summary, which is no mere restatement of Xenophon’s text, Kallias’ interest in the “group” identified as being with Socrates derives from his desire for his “halls” to be “more splendidly adorned” by virtue of their presence. And, as we have already mentioned above, this adornment is couched by Kallias in terms of the soul. Replying for all, Socrates “pretends to notice” in this compliment a “sign” of the disdain which Kallias and his teachers hold for Socrates “and his like.” In other words, their contempt is reserved for those who must “work” for wisdom: that commodity which the sophists sell—and Kallias, their rich pupil, buys—Socrates and his companions must “strive for” with the “sweat of their brows.” By immediately focusing his companions’ attention and ours on Kallias’ relationship with prominent sophists in Athens, Socrates unveils the hidden intention behind the invitation by exposing the compliment as an insidious form of sophistry. Because philosophia is mentioned only indirectly in this summary, the fundamental tension between the sophists and Socrates is obscured by Kallias’ use of sophistic speech to acquire what he wants. This summary (following Socrates’ lead) highlights the acquisition of wisdom through purchase, on one hand, and work, on the other, thereby presenting the high, or the highest things, in terms of the low.68 Kallias has been taught to desire, not to desire wisdom per se but simply to desire to acquire; from this perspective, wisdom comes to light as merely one form of wealth among many (cf. esp. 4.45). Once the banquet is in full swing, and we have a chance to listen to the speeches of the symposiasts, we shall have occasion to contrast a perspective associated with the group of gentlemen with a distinctly Socratic economics. Kallias’ attempt to overcome in speech the obstacle to his desire posed by Socrates’ playful but serious rejection of his invitation confirms this interpretation. Taking his cue from Socrates’ own remarks about wisdom, Kallias promises “to exhibit” to Socrates something he already has or owns; he intends to use his wealth—“the many wise things which he possesses”—as a means “to entice them to accept his invitation.” From his point of view, Kallias considers this offer to be enticing because he understands Socrates and his companions to have a common interest in acquiring wisdom. Thus, “he addresses all five men equally.” But insofar as they seek wisdom for its own sake and not as a possession or form of wealth, their desires are to be distinguished from those of Kallias and, presumably, his teachers. Kallias offers to display or exhibit, not turn over, his wise possessions to Socrates and his companions. Thus, he must assume that “they” will be enticed by the offer precisely because their desire will be sated simply with looking. However, it will become clear that the circle of Socrates’ companions is far from being in agreement about the aim of the Socratic life as they understand it. It is here that this summary suggests an alternative reading: “For Kallias, Socrates is just one gentleman among many.” We must assume from Socrates’ reply, that he does not consider himself to be a gentleman like Kallias at all. In fact, from the perspective of Socratic economics and of self-worked philosophia, Kallias and his teachers the sophists are unveiled as notorious non-gentlemen or tyrants, with respect to wisdom, insofar as gentlemen like Kallias seek to

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acquire wisdom not as an end, but as a means of satisfying or trying to sate their acquisitiveness. What Socrates and his best companions can be said to “strive for . . . in the sweat of their brows,” Kallias treats as currency to be traded away or used in the service of desire.69 We must wait and see, however, whether the companions who are with Socrates on this occasion are in agreement about the end of Socratic economics. Though he himself is not the sole or even primary object of Kallias’ appetite, Socrates, in his swift and playful retort reveals this desire for what it really is, for the benefit of his companions. Whether or not their decision to follow Socrates’ lead and “politely decline” stemmed from an understanding of Socrates’ concerns about sophistry, we cannot say. Perhaps they simply follow. What we are told is that “they” acquiesce and agree to follow Kallias to his house once it becomes clear that he “seems hurt”; this polite conclusion to the summary which we have been considering pulls back from the accusation that Kallias will become angry if Socrates and his companions should continue to refuse his advances. This summary also leaves implicit the fact that Socrates remains altogether silent, and this silence is a kind of disapproving seriousness or concealed wisdom (cf. 6.1–4).70 While Socrates may eventually become “the central character” in the dialogue’s action, in this opening scene we learn that “at the beginning Socrates comes to sight as only one of many gentlemen engaging in playful deeds” in Xenophon’s Symposium.71 Amid the mock playfulness imposed upon him by Kallias’ invitation and insistence, Socrates’ first speech and his first deed reveal a consistent seriousness that may testify to his status as a gentleman of sorts; as such, he has yet to distinguish himself fully from the others, both those with Kallias and his own companions. As the evening progresses, and Xenophon’s intention to make clear the deeds of gentlemen worth remembrance in times of play unfolds more fully, we discover that Socrates in particular exhibits a playfulness in deed which may nonetheless be understood as beneficial, or serious, and therefore profitable to those present (see Mem. IV 1.1). If this is what distinguishes Socrates from the other gentlemen who are present, we are prompted to consider once the banquet begins why Socrates’ deeds—“as distinguished from his speech and his thought”—are nothing but playful.72

NOTES 1.  Castiglione, IV.443–444. In this rhetorically beautiful passage, spoken by Castiglione’s own nearperfect courtier, il principe Giulio de’ Medici, we hear what seems to be direct reference to those whose souls have been purified by philosophy according to Socrates, at Sym. 1.4. 2.  Most commentators note this division of participants in the Symposium and attend to their speaking order in the dialogue: see, in particular, Dorion 2015. 3.  Kallias III, son of Hipponicus (ca. 450–370), is from a great Athenian family in the deme of Alopeke, where Socrates was born and where he lived near the Alkmeonidai, the family of Alcibiades, to whom Kallias’ sister Hipparete was married in the late 420s and to whose daughter Kallias’ son Hipponikos (III) would be married after Alcibiades’ death. As with that of Alcibiades, Kallias’ family had been prominent in Athenian affairs (religion, war, politics, athletic competitions) for nearly two centuries. See Burckhardt 1898/1998, 235, 252n144, 263n178, 264n183; Davies 1971, 254–271; Munn 2000, 112–113, 263, 278–279, 304, 423nn8–10; Kahn 1994, 95–103; West 1979, 98–103; Stevens 1994, 212, 214–223; Strauss 1970, 157–158; and Bowen 1998, 13 and section 27. The marriages of Kallias’ forebears were intimately related to the shifting tides of Athenian power and politics. In “an amicable arrangement” of the 450s, Pericles transferred his first wife to Kallias’ father, Hipponikos (II, ca. 485—424), perhaps to supersede the allegiance made by the marriage of his grandfa-



Setting the Stage 47

ther, Kallias (II, ca. 520—445) to Elpinike, the sister of Kimon, Pericles’ great rival. See Plutarch, Perikles xxxiv.8; Kimon iv.8; Davies 1971, 258. This grandfather, Kallias’ namesake, had distinguished himself in the battle of Marathon in 490; negotiated the peace of 450/449 with the Persian King on an embassy to Susa (perhaps as the representative of Pericles himself ); and was among the Athenian negotiators of the so-called Thirty Years Peace with Sparta in 446. He was reputed, in his youth, to have won the Olympic chariot-race an unprecedented three times, although this is suspect (see Aristophanes Clouds 64). This same grandfather earned the family’s tremendous fortune, assessed in the time of Xenophon’s Kallias at 200 talents, a fortune derived from early exploitation of the Laurium silver mines in the 480s (see Poroi 4.15). The dowry of his sister, Hipparete, arranged for her marriage to Alcibiades gives an idea of the wealth which Kallias’ family had accumulated down to the time of the Peloponnesian wars (20 talents, 10 to be paid on the birth of a son and heir). See Davies 1971, 263. 4.  On the wealth of Kallias and the scandals that followed him, see Pangle 1996, 25: “Callias . . . made use of his position and wealth to become the patron of the Sophists, and to make his home into a kind of salon where the intellectually and politically most respected found entertainment. . . . He was, in a word, the splendid pinnacle of Athenian upper-class society. It should perhaps come as no surprise that he also became a man of very dubious morals, around whom scandal swirled (see Andocides, On the Mysteries).” Kallias’ family, being of the genos Kerykes, supplied one of the main priests for the Eleusinian Mysteries, including above all the “torch-bearer” (δᾳδοῦχος). Kallias is also called εὐπατρίδης, at Sym. 8.40, implying that he belonged to one of the families of the pre-Solonic ruling aristocracy. Kallias and his grandfather both held this office (see Xen. Hellenika VI.3.3; cf. Plutarch, Aristides V.6–8, XXV.4–8). This Kallias however seems to have inherited rather than earned this title, but the fact that his grandfather already held the position by 490, typically too young an age to merit such an honor, is suggestive of the prodigious talents of his eponymous grandfather more so than a right of inheritance, as genealogists assume. As for Kallias’ father, Hipponikos (II), son of Kallias (II), he pales by comparison to his father. Hipponikos had married Pericles’ ex-wife in the mid-450s and served as a general in the Archidamian war (Thucydides 3.91). He is said to have died at Delion in 424 (a battle the Athenians lost, but Socrates survived), although the date of 422 (the battle of Amphipolis) is more likely. His relative obscurity in Athenian affairs, combined with the undeniable fact of his wealth, bespeaks a quiet, close-fisted man of rather limited ambition. 5.  On the “progressive spirit” and “skilled rule” of the gentleman, see Pangle 2020, 114–119. 6.  Kallias’ immense wealth did not survive him, an economic collapse that had much to do with his profligate character. If we are to judge by the absence of his descendants from subsequent rolls of Eleusinian priests, as well as from all political activity, his family’s fortunes never recovered. On Kallias’ rapid fall from great wealth and religious prestige to near poverty, for which he reportedly suffered insults as a begging priest, see Aristotle’s insinuation in his Rhetoric (1405a19ff.). 7.  Nikeratos’ father, Nikias (470–413), was one of Athens’ most prominent statesmen and generals before and during the Peloponnesian War. At the time of Kallias’ banquet in honor of Autolykos in 422, Nikias’ reputation and fate, like that of Athens in the disastrous Sicilian expedition, had not yet suffered the fatal blows of a tragic fall. Nikias is listed by Plato’s Socrates (Gorgias 472a) among those who will testify that everyone knows, both Athenians and foreigners, that in Athens a person can be brought down or ruined by the false testimony of apparently reputable people. Socrates, on that occasion, makes reference to tripods that Nikias and his brothers had placed as an offering in Dionysos’ precinct, presumably as a means of preempting false testimony and public slander. He holds in his argument that, despite the number of false witnesses his interlocutor (or prosecutor) could obtain so as to seem to be refuting Socrates, he still would not be compelled to abandon the truth of his logos regardless of the judgment of the jurors. Holding to the truth of his logos did not mean, however, that a logos would be sufficient to save him. Like his father, Nikeratos’ pious effort to appease a god and win favor also failed to save him. Nikeratos was proscribed by the Thirty in 404, most likely in order to confiscate his property when he refused to cooperate with them (Hellenika II.3.39). His family was famous for its wealth, much of which was drawn from their possession of some silver mines in Attica at Laurium (Xen. Mem. II.5.2; Poroi 4.14; Thucydides, VII.86; Aristophanes, Knights). Like Leon, whom Socrates refused to aid the tyrants

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in arresting, Nikeratos was seized and killed by the Thirty. Nikeratos’ wife reportedly committed suicide when told of her husband’s death (cf. the wife of Ischomachos, discussed below). 8.  The Greek text separates mention of Nikeratos from the lengthy introduction of Kallias and his beloved Autolykos by relegating the former to a subordinate clause merely tacked on, as it were, to the end of the main sentence. This construction in the text is perhaps a means of reflecting Kallias’ mood rather than the author’s opinion about Nikeratos. This observation is supported by Kallias’ failure to mention Nikeratos at all when he first speaks to Socrates and his companions about joining his banquet (1.4). Xenophon, it should be noted, does not use Nikeratos’ patronymic, here or elsewhere in the dialogue. 9.  Strauss 1972, 144. 10. Strauss 1972, 159–160. Nikeratos, son of Nikias, is named as one of the companions of Polemarchus, son of the wealthy Cephalus, in Plato’s Republic, but he remains silent throughout that conversation with Socrates. On that occasion the playfulness of the dialogue between young gentlemen and certain philosophic types is not assisted by food or wine because the evening banquet promised by Polemarchus never takes place, being replaced instead by a feast of speeches. 11.  Comedies: Eupolis, Kolakes (performed in 421) and Autolykos (in 420); Aristophanes, Frogs (in 406), and Pedetai (frag. 14). The Athenian orator Andocides attacked him with accusations of sacrilege, though Kallias prosecuted him for libel. Whatever his flaws, Kallias served Athens when called on to do so, being appointed as trierarch at Arginusae (Aristophanes, Frogs 432–434) and as general in the Corinthian war (391/390). He also took part in Iphicrates’ famous victory over Spartan hoplites (Hellenika IV.5.13–14), despite holding the prestigious position of Spartan proxenos (Hellenika V.4.22). Later, as an older man following in the footsteps of his more illustrious ancestors, he was one of three Athenians appointed to an assembly sent to Sparta (in 371/370) to negotiate peace (see Hellenika VI.3.1–6, 18). 12.  The horse-races of the great games were most often held in the area southwest of Athens known as the Phaleron bay, along the flat coastal plain of the Saronic Gulf south of Peiraieus but still within the southernmost of the three Long Walls; see Parke 1977, 37. Kallias, and others departing from the horse-race after its finish, would probably have caught sight of Socrates and his companions on the main road headed back up toward Athens. Kallias’ house is located down in the Peiraieus. Socrates and his companions are not specifically said to be exiting the hippodrome, but their presence nearby at its conclusion implies they were. Since there is little else in Phaleron to draw Socrates’ attention there, let us suppose that they are on the road up from the hippodrome making their way back into the polis proper, Socrates’ usual haunt, after the horse-race, rather than on the road toward Peiraieus, where none of those with Socrates were known to have had a house. By contrast, Socrates and Glaucon in the opening scene of Plato’s Republic are returning from the festival of Bendis celebrated down at the Peiraieus and are diverted from their return up to Athens proper by Polemarchus and his companions, who insist that Socrates and Glaucon stay for the horse-race and then come to Polemarchus’ father’s house in the Peiraieus area for a banquet. See note 9, above. 13.  This comparative adjective of λαμπρός, means “bright,” “brilliant,” or “radiant” as, for example, when it refers to the sun and the stars, or a lamp, or the eyes. It also is used to indicate a clear and sonorous voice. The adjective is derived from the verb λαμπρυνῶ which means “to make bright or brilliant” in the sense of polishing a shield so that it stands out splendidly or conspicuously, with the result that a sense of distinction attends its possessor. 14.  The word here is κεκοσμημένος, from κοσμεῶ, “to order, arrange, dispose, equip, adorn, embellish, or furnish,” especially in relation to that which is capable of being governed or set in order, such as an army of men or political institutions, dress, customs, even a household or, in rare instances, a soul. For examples of these last two usages, see Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1123a7 (“It is also proper to the magnificent person to build a house befitting his wealth, since this is also a suitable adornment . . .”; cf. Oik. 8.20) and 1124a1 (“Magnanimity, then, has the appearance of being a sort of adornment of the virtues . . .”); see also, 1100b26 (the natural adornment of good fortune in the virtuous person’s life). See as well, Xen. Mem. IV.3.13, where the god is said to bring order (τον κοσμόν) to the whole in such a way as to render all things in it “noble and good” (καλοκἀγαθία). With respect to dress, see Oik. 4.23.



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15.  The phrase ἐκκεκαθαρμένοις τὰς ψυχὰς derives from εκκαθαιρῶ, “to cleanse out, or purify,” as with the soul or the mind; cf. Aristotle’s discussion of tragedy in Poetics. On those with purified souls, see Plato, Republic 527d and Phaedo 114c. 16.  The words “eager for office” translate σπουδαρχίαις, a word which combines the Greek verb and noun of seriousness (σπουδαιζῶ and σπουδαίος, similar in meaning to the Latin word gravitas) with a reference to the magistracies or leaders (αρχαί) of the polis. It should be remembered also that generals (στρατηγοί) and cavalry commanders (ἱππαρχοί) are elected offices in democratic Athens: see Mem. III.3.1 and the short treatise Hipparchikos; see also Bonnette 1994, 163n12. 17.  The awkward English phrase “Toward a fine thing” literally translates the Greek text (Εἰς καλόν γε . . .) in an effort to try to preserve the style of Xenophon by rendering the translation as transparently as possible. The name “Kallias” can itself be understood to be a play upon this word (καλός) since κᾰλλῐ- is the older and more common means of creating a compound word, wherein the notion of “beautiful” is added to another simple word or concept, as for example with Καλλίπολις (“Beautiful City”) in Plato’s Republic. See the entry for καλός in Liddell & Scott. 18.  The luminous nature of the Beautiful (τὸ καλόν) as a manifestation of the Good (τὸ αγαθόν), even when—or especially when—it is filtered through the conventional or the customary or the lawful and thus is seen as what is noble (τὰ καλά), shines forth in the Symposium as a ruling presence that commands the attention of the eyes as well as the minds of human beings. See Mem. III.1.1, where Xenophon testifies that Socrates “benefited those reaching out for the noble or fine or beautiful (ὀρεγομένοθς τῶν καλῶν).” Xenophon, like Plato and Aristotle, would seem to agree that the good that we seek as human beings in pursuit of happiness may come to light for us first of all, or most authoritatively, in the perception of that which is noble or fine, but it does so most compellingly when seen in the form of the beautiful. See Xen. Mem. I.6; Plato, Republic V-VI and Symposium 201d–212c; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics I.6–7; Strauss 1969, 238, 370–371; Bartlett 2008, 680–684; Pangle 2018, chapter 5. 19.  On the question as to whether or not those with Socrates are among his closest companions and friends, see Bruell 1994, xiii: “Socrates himself was of the opinion that those of his companions who accepted what he himself approved of would be good friends to him and to each other. Xenophon gives us some evidence, in the Symposium especially, for doubting whether this was always the case—at least as far as some of those most eager to accept what Socrates approved of were concerned.” 20.  This poetic phrase resonates in Platonic, and later neo-Platonic, thought. See, e.g., the discussion of what is said to happens after death in Plato’s Phaedo (at 114c: “Those who have purified themselves sufficiently by philosophy live in the future altogether without a body”). 21.  See Aristophanes Clouds 91–105. The first use of the term καλοί τε κἀγαθοί (“noble and good men”) in the play (at line 101) is ironically applied to Socrates and his companions (ψθχῶν σοφῶν) by Strepsiades, the distraught Athenian who forces his son to attend the Thinkery (φροντιστήριον). Pheidippides’ revulsion at the thought of associating with Socrates and his like—“pale and bare-foot boasters” (τοὺς ἀλαζόνας)—anticipates the accusation of “big-talking” (μεγαληγορία) at Socrates’ trial: see Xen. Apo. 1–2, 32. On the influence of Aristophanes’ Clouds at Kallias’ banquet, see Xen. Sym. 6.6–8 (discussed infra). 22. These men, so-called wise guys who are teachers of rhetoric, are often referred to simply as rhetoricians, but they will be referred to herein as “sophists” in order to distinguish their peculiar art of speaking (which is sophistic) from Socratic rhetoric (which is arguably philosophic in two modes, dialectical and Odyssean, both of which will be discussed). The key distinction has to do with the difference between the (presumed) possession and the (continuous) pursuit of wisdom; thus, we begin to see how these two ways of life and views of philosophy are opposed, not similar. See Gish 2006. 23.  See Pl. Apo. 19d–20c, where Socrates ironically uses the phrase “noble and good” in reference to Kallias as the “gentleman” who has paid the most money to sophists, such as Protagoras, Prodicus, Gorgias, Hippias and Evenus, for both himself and his sons to learn καλοκἀγαθία; see also, Kallias in Plato’s Protago­ ras. Regarding Socrates’ own refusal, unlike the sophists, to accept a fee in exchange for his conversations, see Pl. Apo. 33a-c; Xen. Apo. 26; Mem. I.2.7, 2.60 (Socrates is said “to marvel” at those who take fees).

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24.  Xenophon attests to Socrates’ education of himself: Mem. I.2.2–3. For further discussion of the “work” and toil of Socratic philosophy, including a divine parallel in Homer, see the discussion infra. 25.  References to “philosophy” (φιλοσοφία) or similar words are unusual in Xenophon’s writings, appearing only sixteen times, as opposed to more than three hundred times in the works of Plato—and yet, the total volume of Xenophon’s writings, including his non-Socratic works, rivals what has been written by Plato. This infrequency suggests that careful attention must be paid to those occasions or contexts in which such words do arise. See Bruell 1994, x–xii; Strauss 1970, 185, 189, 191; Bruell 1984, 304. Some usages of the word “philosophy” in Xenophon’s writings include: Sym. 1.5 (Socrates, referring to himself and his friends as opposed to Kallias and the sophists), 4.62 (Socrates, of Kallias), and 8.39 (Socrates, of Solon); Oik. 16.9 (Socrates, who claims that it is fitting for “a philosopher who is a man” to learn how to yield a harvest if he so wished; cf. Strauss 1963, 107, and 1970, 185); Mem. I.2.3, 17, 19 (Xenophon, who claims that Socrates practiced philosophy in a manner distinct from those who speculated about the nature of things), I.2.31, cf. I.6.2 (twice), I.3.8–13, IV.2.23 (Euthydemus, twice), and IV 4.10; Cyr. VI.1.41; Ana. II.1.13 and III.1.4–8 (cf. Mem. IV 2.23 ff.); Kynegeticus 13.6 (contra the sophists), 13.9 (twice); and Ways and Means 5.4. 26.  On the ubiquity of ἄγων in Hellenic culture, see Friedrich Nietzsche’s “Homer’s Contest” (1872). 27. If we are to regard—as Kallias surely does (and Socrates confirms)—the group surrounding Socrates as a gathering of philosophic types (although the word itself is used by Socrates not Kallias) who take care especially for the purification of their souls, then we must also recognize that Kallias groups together all men who concern themselves with the conventionally serious activity of politics, both in times of war and peace. Soon, we may discover that the circles are not fixed, for not all of Socrates’ companions have been purged of their political ambitions. 28. Consider here, Strauss (1972) 144: “. . . the Symposium reveals itself as devoted not merely to Socrates’ playful deeds but simply to his deeds: his deed, as distinguished from his speech and his thought, is nothing but playful (cf. Memorabilia III.11.16).” 29.  Kallias’ emphasis here is on what can be shown or seen to be worthy of seriousness, although this focus seems at odds with Xenophon’s intention, which is to demonstrate that deeds accomplished in times of play are worthy of being remembered. Socrates later (2.2) distinguishes seeing and hearing, but he does not say explicitly that the serious worth of others will be displayed (only, or especially) in speeches; however, many of those present assume that he means so (3.2). 30.  On sophistical over-confidence, see Callicles in Plato’s Gorgias; see also Gish 2006, McCoy 2008, and the Introduction to Sachs 2011. 31.  On account of his beauty Autolykos is the central figure around whom the banqueters’ attention gathers; but once his spell is broken, Socrates gradually emerges as the central character from whom various types of human beings will take their bearings, becoming ruled or disposed by their perception of him, and of his beauty (such as it is). Kallias’ failure to see Socrates as impressive may be implied by his relative absence from Xenophon’s (or Plato’s) Socratic dialogues. 32.  Again, the parallels with the opening scene of Plato’s Republic (Socrates’ reluctance to join the banquet and the pressure exerted by Polemarchos to compel him to assent) and the stark contrast with the banquet remembered in Plato’s Symposium (Socrates has willingly consented to attend and arrives attired in a manner that is very uncharacteristic for him) are worth considering here (see infra). 33. See Oik. 6.12, 7.2, 11.1–7, esp. 12.1; see also, Ambler 1996, 120–121. The Symposium replaces the well-reputed gentleman Ischomachos with Kallias, a man of immense wealth and no trace of the seriousness or gentlemanly aspirations which should accompany such wealth. In at least this way, Kallias reminds the reader more of Kritoboulos, whom Socrates tries to teach in the Oikonomikos, than of Ischomachos. 34.  On the role of χάρις, or grace (in the classical sense), consider the provocative comparison of Homer’s Odysseus to Socrates, in Slater 1990, 219: “I interpret the whole of day two [of the story-telling by Odysseus at the banquet of the Phaiakians on Scheria] as an illustration of how the charis of song and story triumphs in the ideal symposion over strife, how civilized decency can be achieved through the medium of paidia and laughter; and how Odysseus is shown to be not only the master athlete but



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also, like Sokrates, the master of sympotic charis, and the exemplar of that humanitas which should be the concern of all who study classical literature.” Two main obstacles, according to Slater, intervene to prevent or preclude the smooth-flowing ethic of sympotic grace and introduce an element of strife— namely, hubris (ὕβρις) or force (βία), on the one hand, caused by irresponsible drunkenness or the threat of serious violence, and on the other, too much sober seriousness or insistence upon sobriety. These traits ruin a symposion by unleashing incivility and harshness in the midst of playfulness, as is the case with the interminable banquet of unruly suitors in Odysseus’ house at Ithaka, or the presence of the stern Aglaitadas at the banquet of Cyrus (Xen. Cyr. II.2), not to mention the infamous wedding feast of the Lapiths and the Centaurs which turned violent, or the transgressive banquet of Tantalos which prompts the curse of the Atreides. See the discussion infra, in Chapter Three, of violations of hospitality. 35.  On the ancient question of the respective composition date and thus mutual influence of the provocatively titled Symposia by Xenophon and Plato, see Altman 2021, who also reviews (almost all of ) the most relevant secondary literature on this question going back over a century and a half. At this point, I see no definitive reason to quarrel with Altman’s elaborate and ingenuous (perhaps excessively so) arguments in defense of the priority in time of Xenophon’s Symposium—and thus of Socrates’ speeches therein—to that of Plato (with subsequent consequences for the composition, reading order, and educational purposes of the Platonic dialogues themselves). Altman’s reconstruction serves his purposes, which is to situate Xenophon’s works, and in particular the Symposium, in an advantageous intertextual position to corroborate his own interpretive claims about reading Plato (viz. the composition order and reading order of his dialogues) and ultimately about Plato (viz. the superiority of his accomplishments as an author and as a Socratic, both in training his potentially philosophical guardian-readers to avoid deception and in transcending the limitations of comedy and tragedy in his ascent toward the Beautiful and the Good through the dialogues, an ascent which builds upon but surpasses Xenophon’s trail-blazing foundations—a judgment which, while acknowledging many of its premises to be true, I shall nonetheless reserve the right to doubt). See also Danzig 2005. 36.  See Pagano 1994, 8–9: “Wisdom can be hidden ([Sym.] I, 4). Its character may be hidden because the wise ponder the invisible. In this respect, it is the contrary of beauty.” See also Pl. Sym. 174a–175e, esp. Alcibiades’ comments at 213b-c, 215a-b, and 221d–222a. 37.  Alcibiades in Plato’s Symposium, following his sudden incursion into the dialogue and his interruption of an impending comment from Aristophanes at the conclusion of Socrates’ recitation of Diotima’s speech about Eros, proclaims his intention to crown the victor (presumably Agathon) and “wreathe the head of the wisest and most beautiful,” but instead or in addition ends up crowning and eulogizing Socrates, on account of the irrefutable power of his rhetoric—at the core of which speech is praise of his unconquerable sobriety (which in his account is interpreted as insolence and hubris). See Pl. Sym. 212c3–213e5, 214b8-e8; see also Strauss 1959/2001, 255–274; Benardete 1993/2001, 197. 38.  Plato’s Socrates argues that his justice depends on not shying away from his duties at the examiner’s post where he has been stationed in life by the god: see Pl. Apo. 28d-e, 30d–31a; West 1984, 80n51; Anastaplo 1975, 24; cf. the aloof and vulnerable Socrates in Aristophanes’ Clouds. 39.  The necessity of making a defense of the Socratic life, whether ironically in the Apology or methodically in his Memorabilia, reflects a compulsion felt by Xenophon in his choice of subject matter. Xenophon’s Oikonomikos, as the Socratic discourse par excellence, begins voluntarily (with Kritoboulos), but the work soon becomes compulsory—and ends suddenly (without returning to Kritoboulos). The nonSocratic works are also arguably necessary as responses to questions or problems of immediate concern. 40.  On the introduction of the festival of Bendis at Athens, the spectacle that occasions the Platonic dialogue, see Parke 1977, 149–151. 41.  With regard to the parallel “descent” (κατάβασις) in Plato’s Republic and Xenophon’s Symposium, there is another that must be mentioned if not explored—namely, that the particular “descent” of Socrates in each dialogue stands in opposition to a certain kind of “ascent” (ανάβασις) on the part of each of the two authors, and hence forms a kind of Socratic reply to both. Put simply, unlike Odysseus, the conversations which the Odyssean Socrates had during his katabasis are not written down by him following his anabasis. Socrates, in Plato’s Republic, recounts what happened to him on that day (and)

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night he spent down in the Peiraieus (first-person narrative) but we are not told to whom. Xenophon reports what he heard Socrates say and saw him do when he went down to the house of Kallias, but we nowhere hear that Socrates himself ever retold the tale (cf. Pl. Sym. 172a–173b, a story confirmed in part by Socrates but not renarrated by him). An ancient text supports this reading of Plato’s and Xenophon’s ascent: see Diogenes Laertius II 41.44–48. Xenophon differs from Plato in the view of Diogenes Laertius by refusing, unlike Plato, to found a “school” through his writings about Socrates. 42. For a contrary reading of the similarities between these two Socratic dialogues, Xenophon’s Symposium and Plato’s Republic, see Thesleff 1978, 157, who dismisses the “intensely relevant” parallels as entirely lacking “any primary importance” because he assumes without hesitation or argument that Plato wrote an “early version” of his Republic in the 390s, which means Xenophon must have borrowed his opening from Plato. This insufficiently examined presupposition is indicative of a general neglect accorded to Xenophon as a second-rate author compared to Plato. No evidence in favor of this so-called “early version” is offered; its proposal merely serves the purpose of eliminating the possibility that Plato’s Republic—which is widely agreed to have been written more than a decade after the usual composition date for Xenophon’s Symposium (390–385 BC)—could have been inspired, in part, by a desire to respond to an existing dialogue written by that other student of Socrates. The question of composition dates has vexed Plato scholarship for centuries, influencing approaches to reading the Platonic dialogues; see Gish 2008; Altman 2010 and 2012, xiii-xxii; Zuckert 2009, 1–48. On the composition date of the Republic (380–370, post-Symposium), see Kahn 1996, 59, 42–48; cf. Thesleff 1978, 157. 43.  Is it possible to consider these two Socratic dialogues as two halves of the same whole, each perfecting the other by providing a perspective the other lacks? Put another way, if the descent into the Peiraieus of Plato’s Republic represents the defense of political life from a philosophic perspective, does the parallel descent in Xenophon’s Symposium then represent the defense of philosophy from a political perspective? Given the abstraction from ἔρως, so as to shed light on the nature and power of θυμός over the human soul, that occurs in Plato’s Republic, that dialogue would find its natural other half in Xenophon’s Symposium, which appears on the surface to be an abstraction from θυμός, in order to shed light on the nature and power of ἔρως over the human soul. Each writer’s choice of perspective in their respective portrayals of Socrates—(1) in conversation, (2) with aspiring young men, (3) at the house of a well-known wealthy Athenian, and (4) on the outskirts of the polis where convention can less dangerously be brought into question—would fit well with what we already know of each writer’s characteristic tastes. Consider in this context the enigmatic passages that conclude the discussion of Plato’s Republic in Strauss 1958/1996, 192–193 [= Pangle 1989, 167–168]. The advent of Alcibiades in Plato’s Sympo­ sium, in whom we witness the effect of a rare coupling of ἔρως and θυμός in one man’s soul, manifest especially in his erotic yet spirited speech about Socrates, suffices to rupture the setting of that dialogue, which had until then been freed from the harshness of θυμός. This unrequited lover of Socrates plays the Hamlet whose most famous speech, says Strauss, points to the key ambiguity with respect to spiritedness (an ambiguity which is enacted over the course of the Republic): “justified indignation about injustice shifts insensibly into the unjustified indignation about unrequited love. This is perhaps the deepest secret of spiritedness and therefore at least one of the deepest secrets of Plato’s Republic.” Therefore, with Alcibiades’ arrival we find ourselves on the edge of the world of the Republic. Perhaps the Symposium of Xenophon, as opposed to that of Plato, is where we must look for a full Socratic submission of spiritedness (θυμός) to love (ἔρως). 44.  The highly anachronistic setting of Plato’s Protagoras (esp. 315b9, c8) has the living and dead mingling about in Kallias’ house conversing about rhetoric. Among those said to be present are Protagoras, Hippias, Prodikos, Kallias, Socrates, Charmides, and Alcibiades. Hippias calls attention to the setting in which they have been received by acknowledging that Kallias’ house is the most fortunate house in Athens, that polis which itself is the sacred hearth of Hellas; see Burckhardt 1898/1998, 264–265. Hippias’ opinion may need to be revised in light of later evidence. On the setting of the Protagoras in relation to Socrates’ confrontation with the sophists, see Benardete 1991, 3. In addition to the three famous sophists “living” in Kallias’ house at once, according to the Protagoras, Xenophon’s Socrates now specifically adds Gorgias (see Sym. 1.5) to the list of sophists whom Kallias has subsi-



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dized and says that there are “many others” who are left unnamed. Kallias himself, according to Plato’s Apology (20a-b), recommended Evenus of Paros as a teacher of virtue, when Socrates questioned him about his sons’ education. 45.  As for Kallias’ economic affairs, see Davies 1971, 254–269; Stevens 1994, 212–213, 217–223, esp. notes 20–22; Strauss 1958/1996, 176–177 [= Pangle 1989, 149]; Strauss 1963, 126; Strauss 1970, 157–158; West 1979, 98–103; cf. the naïvete of Anderson 1974, 174n1. 46. The motives of Kallias are addressed in detail by Andocides in his defense speech, On the Mysteries; see Davies 1971, 263; Gagarin and MacDowell 1998, §§ 110–131. Andocides was put on trial in 399, the same year as Socrates. The parallels between their two defense speeches warrant more attention than can be given here, especially to gain a better understanding of the Athenian political situation and the process of litigation (referred to by both defendants) under the newly codified, postamnesty laws of Athens. 47.  Unable to bear the shame, Kallias’ second wife “thought death preferable to living with such things before her eyes; but her attempt to hang herself failed; after she recovered, she ran away from her house: the mother had expelled the daughter. But Kallias tired of the mother as well and expelled her in turn.” Strauss 1970, 157–158. On the proclaimed high-mindedness and virtue of Ischomachos’ wife, see Oik. 7–10; cf. Socrates’ praise of Ischomachos’ education of his young wife, at 11.1, in light of the story that he had earlier told Kritoboulos (at 4.20–25) about Lysander’s ironic praise of Cyrus as “justly happy” on account of being a “good man” (αγαθός ανήρ). On the suspicious nature of Ischomachos’ teaching about marriage and how to train a wife (γυναικολογία), see Strauss 1970, 131–158. 48. Given that the estate drew largely from landed properties Ischomachos had improved (Oik. 20.22–29), it is unlikely that his knowledge of the art of household management (οικονομική) could have prevented its suffering from Spartan decimation of the Athenian countryside. On the Spartan occupation and destruction of Dekeleia after 415/414, as a means of constraining the war powers of Athens, a strategy first proposed by Alcibiades in exile, see Thu. VI.91–92; VII.18–19, 27–28; VIII.5, 69–71, 98; cf. Xen. Hellenika I.1.33–35. See also, Munn 2000, 123–124; Stevens 1994, 219–220, esp. note 21. 49.  Strauss (1970) 157n5. 50.  The main ritual associated with the Two Goddesses. The Greek word “mysteries” derives from the word for the individual initiate and refers to the whole proceedings associated with the ritual.The sanctuary at Eleusis located along the northern coast of the Saronic Gulf, a short distance from Athens on the road to Megara and Corinth, was the most famous and best known of the mystery cults. The venerable longevity of the cult itself and the reputed purity of its initiates contributed to its special fame in antiquity (see Diodorus Siculus V 4.4), despite the fact that the mysteries were repeatedly profaned, most notably by Christian writers who sought to tear its veil of secrecy and undermine the ritual. Celebration of the Mysteria proper was a major festival with a fixed place during the year, the autumnal month of Boedremion, the third month of the Athenian calendar. The processional from Athens to Eleusis along the Sacred Way occurred on the nineteenth of the month, the “sacred things” for which having been already brought from Eleusis to the Eleusinion in Athens days earlier by the epheboi. In addition to the priests and attendants who lived permanently at the sanctuary in Eleusis, the ancient aristocratic Athenian family of the Kerykes—the genos of Kallias—was responsible for providing the sacred torch-bearer and herald for the celebrations. There are many versions of the tale of Demeter and Persephone, and their descent into the underworld, with mother and daughter both enthroned beside Hades. See Homer, Iliad IX.457, 595; Odyssey X.434, 534; XI.213, 635; Ovid, Metamorphoses V.330–570; see also Burkert 1985, 159–161, 276, 285–290. 51.  Again, it is Andocides’ defense speech that sketches the historical scene for us and establishes the link between Kallias’ abuse of his priestly role in the Eleusinian Mysteries and his greed in getting his hands on yet another inheritance. Having been implicated in the mutilation of the Herms in 415, Andocides was forced to abandon Athens, although he eventually returned under the protection of the 403 amnesty and revision of the laws at the time of the reinstitution of democracy. However, in 400 or perhaps 399, “he was prosecuted by endeixis—a legal procedure for accusing someone of exercising rights to which he was not entitled.” Technically the violation being prosecuted took place after 403 and did

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not violate the amnesty. However, it is clear that the scandal of 415 was being implicitly invoked as the foundation for arguing that Andocides was no longer entitled to attend the Eleusinian Mysteries, which he did, in the temple at Eleusis in 400. Thus, according to Andocides, the trial itself was in violation of the amnesty. Andocides continued his speech, however, in order to demonstrate that regardless of the amnesty he was innocent; in addition, he said, the prosecutors were merely pawns. Kallias emerges as the villainous figure orchestrating this injustice against Andocides on account of his desire to seize the inheritance of an orphaned girl who was a relative both of Kallias and of Andocides; Athenian law entitled her nearest male relative to claim such a daughter for himself (§§ 117–121). Kallias sought to do so, that is, to claim this daughter, either as a wife for his son or given his impulses perhaps for himself, in yet another desperate effort to replenish wealth drained by his profligate ways. Andocides blamed Kallias for scheming against him (§117) and using his priestly position as “torch-bearer” to attempt to frame Andocides for blasphemy during the ceremonies. When that ruse completely failed, says Andocides, Kallias bribed the prosecutors to bring an indictment against him simply for being present. Though the prosecutors demanded the death penalty, it was expected Andocides would flee into exile before the trial itself (cf. Plato Crito). His absence from Athens would have left Kallias free to claim this other heiress as his own. Not only did Andocides not flee from Athens (cf. Pl. Apo. 36b–38b) but he stayed and argued his defense speech persuasively and, unlike Socrates, was acquitted. Thus Kallias’ reputation as a shameless man—ashamed neither of his own greed, nor of his abuse of the Two Goddesses both in tainting their ritual with his injustice and in imitating the lust of Hades—was established. 52.  Stevens 1994, 222–223 considers the references to this outrageous scandal and the consistent portrayal of Kallias as a dissolute and corrupt character in the works of Andocides, Aeschines, Xenophon, and Plato (including Socrates’ allusion at Apo. 20a to the scandal through his use of the duel with respect to Kallias’ sons) to be decisive in this respect; he goes further to propose that Kallias should be understood as the central figure in Xenophon’s philosophical writings. 53.  With respect to the education of his own offspring, both sons of Kallias were said by Socrates (Pl. Apo. 20a-d) to need an “overseer” who could teach them how to be “gentlemen” (καλοί κἀγαθοί) by becoming knowledgeable of the virtue of human being and citizen. On this Platonic reference to gentlemanliness, the first use of this phrase in that text, see Anastaplo 1975, “Essay II,” as well as the central opening epigram to that collection of essays as a whole. 54.  On Xenophon’s use of the historical setting as a device (perhaps borrowed from Plato, or vice versa) for creating dramatic irony within the new genre of the Socratic dialogue, see Clay 1994, 41–47. 55.  See Plato, Alc. I 135e; Rep. 494a–495c, 517a; Phaedrus 278e–279a; see also Clay 1994, 45. See as well, Bruell 1984, 289, commenting on Strauss 1972, 157–158 (cited above), where Socrates is said to have shown with his frequent questions an “awareness” of the deficiency in Ischomachos’ interpretation of his wife’s virtue, and hence the likely success (or failure) of his education of her. This awareness, while it is not knowledge proper, approaches the prophetic utterances of Socrates mentioned above. Certainly, for Kritoboulos and the others who were present (Oik. 1.1: “I,” 3.1: “these friends here,” 6.1: “we”) and heard Socrates’ narration of his conversation with Ischomachos from many years before, the effect would have been of a prophecy of sorts, given their knowledge of the later scandal regarding Kallias and Ischomachos’ wife (see Hellenika II.4.18–19). 56.  Socrates has associated Kallias with the dead by referring to Protagoras: Strauss 1963, 132–133. 57.  See West 1984, 80n52: “In Greek poetry Hades is the insubstantial abode for the shades and shadows of the dead (Odyssey XI). Strictly speaking, Hades is Pluto, the god of the underworld, and the expression translated ‘in Hades’ is literally ‘in Hades’ [house].’” The name for hades (Ἇιδης) is a variant on the word “unseen” (ἀ-εῖδής, from α-ἰδεῖν). See Pl. Apo. 29b (the speech in which Socrates offers his interpretation of the Delphic Oracle as the source of his wisdom): “. . . and if I were to say that I am wiser than anyone in anything, it would be this: that since I do not know sufficiently about the things in Hades, so also I suppose that I do not know.” What Socrates claims he knows he does not know about “the things in Hades” enables him to face his own death—to which the god, it seems, has been leading him—without fear or dread; see Pl. Apo. 39e–42a; Phaedo 68a; Crito 54e; cf. Xen. Apo. 33; Mem. IV 8.2–3. On the Homeric conception of the house of Hades, which differs greatly from the Socratic, see



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Burkert 1985, 190–215, 195–196, and esp. 201–202: “What is unique about the Greek tradition is the radical and thoroughgoing way in which the opposition between the realm of the gods and the realm of the dead was worked out. The gods are the immortals, athanatoi; the epithet becomes a definition. But as for men, they move toward death as mortals, brotoi, thnetoi. As long as they live, they are dependent upon the gods who give good gifts and who can save them; the last boundary of death remains. Even Zeus holds back from that boundary. The Olympian gods and the dead have nothing to do with one another; the gods hate the house of Hades and keep away.” See also, Burckhardt 1898/1998, 105: “Homer was supposed to have replied to the question what was best for mankind: ‘above all, not to be born, or else to pass through Hades’ gate as soon as may be.’” 58.  Socrates, at many points in the evening, will attempt to preempt or redirect excessive behavior on the part of the symposiasts, both his and Kallias’ companions: see Strauss 1970, 160; Bruell 1984, 294–295. The confrontation in the central chapter of the Oikonomikos contrasting Socrates and the perfect gentleman is “most revealing” in part because it exposes serious differences that exist between these two incompatible ways of life; most notably, Socrates confirms what he most likely already knew, which is that “true human virtue is not in need of conventions.” 59.  See Tecusan 1990, 249; cf. Plato, Phaedrus 240e, Symp. 222c. See also, for an extremely sober example of παρρησία, Xen. Sym. 7.3–4; Strauss 1972, 170. 60.  Strauss 1970, 103; see Mem. I.1.10; Strauss 1970, 131–132; cf. Mem. III.10–11, IV.2. Regarding the difference between Socrates and the perfect gentleman, which Kallias evidently is not, and where he spends his time or his leisure, see Oik. 6.9; 7.1–2; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1177b4. See also, Burckhardt 1898/1998, 264–265, where the public sociability of Greeks is specifically contrasted with the “unique phenomenon” of the private setting of conversation in a “great Athenian house” such as that of Kallias described in Plato’s Protagoras (and of course Xenophon’s Symposium). 61.  Even so, assuming Socrates’ presence at the great Panathenaic horse-race with his companions reduces the randomness of this encounter significantly; cf. Strauss 1972, 144. It should also be noticed that, once approached by Kallias, neither Socrates nor his companions state that they have another appointment which would enable them to escape the invitation without giving offense (cf. Oik. 7.1–2; 12.1–2). 62.  Both Kritoboulos and Charmides attempt in their boasts (in Chapters 3 and 4) to turn a profit from their evident beauty. Kritoboulos replaces Autolykos in the beauty contest (Chapter 5) as the rival of Socrates. It is unlikely that Hermogenes or Antisthenes are the targets of Kallias’ affections; on the identity and character of these two companions of Socrates. Xenophon, too, claims to have been present at the banquet, and we can only assume that he happens to be among those who are said to be with Socrates. 63. See Oik. 4; Strauss (1970) 122–123; Bruell (1984) 277–279; Strauss (1970) 121. To be compelled to go beyond the poleis, which is to say, “beyond ‘the cities’” is to be compelled “toward the king of Persia” or, in other words, for an Athenian who is also a gentleman, toward tyranny, thus transcending the polis and its opinions, as well as justice and piety. See Hiero 4.3–5; Strauss 1948/1991, 32: “Xenophon could easily have explained in direct terms the conditional character of the policy recommended in the Hiero. Had he done so, however, he might have conveyed the impression that he was not absolutely opposed to tyranny. But ‘the cities,’ and especially Athens, were absolutely opposed to tyranny. Besides, one of the charges brought against Socrates was that he taught his pupils to be ‘tyrannical.’” 64.  See Strauss 1970, 121; Bruell 1984, 278. Socrates may indeed “beat a tactical retreat” from his position “beyond ‘the cities’” reached in his consideration of the question “What is Noble?” but there is reason to think that he has done so out of a concern “to find a standard ‘independent of opinion and reputation.’” From the perspective of philosophy, once compelled, this concern becomes a necessity for the inquiry. 65.  On Socrates’ decision not to follow the example of the “perfect gentleman” Ischomachos, see Oik. 11.6, but cf. 11.7 and 16.9 with 6.14, 7.9, 10.1, 11.6–7, 15.9, and 15.13. See also, Strauss 1970, 132, 163, 185, but cf. 129. See as well, Bruell 1984, 281, 286, 302. 66. On the other hand, perhaps what Kallias has in common with Socrates still remains mostly concealed; see Strauss 1972, 173, 177. Regarding the lengthy Socratic speech of Chapter Eight, just as Socrates had once played the pupil when listening to Ischomachos’ speeches about the moral education

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of his wife with respect to οἰκονομική, Hermogenes and the others are being encouraged to learn from Socrates’ erotic education of Kallias with respect to καλοκἀγαθία. Thus, as we have already mentioned, the extent to which the didactic rhetoric of each educator is successful (what was done) is relevant to understanding the lessons taught (what was said). 67.  Strauss 1972, 144–145. Strauss here oddly refers to the “gentlemen” with Socrates, whereas Kallias had spoken to them as “men” (ἀνδρὼν); this, of course, is a subtle way of distinguishing between Kallias’ perception and the perception of Xenophon. Other instances of Strauss’ method of interpreting the dialogue will be explored in the notes below. See Sym. 4.10. 68.  In Strauss’ recapitulation of Socrates’ reply, φιλοσοφία is eclipsed by οἰκονομία insofar as it appears that Kallias uses his wealth to raise himself above those below him who must work: he can buy what they must strive and sweat for. Thus, the implicit, perhaps unjust, distinction between free men and slaves in Kallias’ opinion is tied explicitly to an oligarchic interpretation of the possession of wealth. Strauss’ commentary usually refrains from speaking of philosophy or philosophers in his discussion either of Socrates or of his companions: see Strauss 1972, 145, cf. 172, 175, 177. 69.  See Strauss 1970/1995, 325, and 1972, 143. See also, for discussion of the relation between tyranny and the gentleman’s art of household management as an art of acquisition or increasing one’s wealth without clearly defined and acknowledged references to limits, Strauss 1970, 201–204, 207–209; Bruell 1984, 306, 312–313. The more the so-called “perfect gentleman” emerges as a lover of gain, the closer he comes to abandoning καλοκἀγαθία. By emphasizing the fundamental difference between Kallias and Socrates in this way, it becomes easier to see how, in this reading, “wisdom,” together with “beauty and love” and “laughter” are “the three themes of the work.” See Strauss 1972, 145. In the concluding “onesentence paragraph” (the second of its kind in the section on the Symposium) of Strauss’ commentary on the first chapter, the order in which the themes emerge from the action of the dialogue (wisdom, beauty/love, laughter) is inverted so as to emphasize instead the argument of the action of the dialogue (beauty/love, laughter, wisdom). Characteristic of Strauss’ “habitual reticence” in writing, the seductive centrality of beauty/love (i.e., ἔρως) in the dialogue is displaced in the commentary in favor of protreptically instructive centrality of laughter, i.e., comedy. In Xenophon’s Socratic Symposium, and in Strauss’ commentary, this rivalry or contest (αγῶν) of wisdom is concealed. Plato, however, has his Socrates acknowledge this theme explicitly as the subject of his Symposium (175c-e). 70.  Two other insightful summaries of the action of Xenophon’s Symposium, attended by brief commentary, may be found in Higgins 1977 and Danzig 2017 (The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon); see also, the useful Introduction to Bowen 1998; cf. Vela Tejada 2011. 71.  Strauss 1972, 143. 72.  Strauss 1972, 144. On the seriousness of Socratic speech in the Symposium, see 2.17, 24–26; 3.10; 4.49–50, 61–62; 5.2; 8.41; but cf. 5.7; 4.45; 6.4.

3 The Banquet Begins Rule and the Symposium

Following this speech, Tissaphernes, eager to show him favor, then urged Clearchus to stay with him and be his dinner companion. The next day, when Clearchus returned to his camp, he made clear that he held himself to be very much on friendly terms with Tissaphernes.1

HOSPITALITY, BANQUETS, AND THREATS TO CIVILITY Friendship seems implied by an invitation to partake of hospitality at a banquet. A common bond is formed by the invitation itself, for a kind of trust comes into being between the host who prepares those goods which are to be enjoyed at the banquet, such as food, wine, and entertainment, and the guests who accept in anticipation of receiving those same goods. Other goods are expected as well—such as the pleasures associated with good company and conversation—but are contingent on a certain reciprocity between host and guests. To judge from the elaborate artistic depictions of guests reclining at banquets or symposia on ancient household objects, such as kylixes and kraters, as well as from its recurrence as a prominent theme in the Homeric epics, ancient Greek civilization held hospitality (ξενία) in high esteem.2 The ancient Greeks, of course, were not alone in admiring this aspect of human community; a cultural respect for hospitality is evident elsewhere in antiquity, from the ancient Persians and Etruscans to the Romans, and has remained an essential part of living in a civilized community down to our own times.3 Hospitality addresses the neediness and vulnerability of human beings, especially strangers who (in the ancient world especially) had to depend upon others for sustenance and nurture. There is a recognition of our common humanity in hospitality, welcoming guests and even strangers into a ritual that not only attends to their needs but also seeks to elevate beyond necessity to enjoy the higher pleasures of being in community. The arrival of Philippos, although not a stranger to Kallias and the other Athenians, presents the host and his guests—who have been enjoying the feast—with a reminder of such human neediness. His lack of provisions requires attention, but his usual means for securing his needs (comedy)

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fails to provide, initially at least. In their exalted condition gazing upon the beautiful the banqueters are neglecting to acknowledge the insufficiency of human nature, our necessitous humanity. Philippos dramatizes this condition through his suffering. Kritoboulos, with his god-like laughter at the comical neediness and vulnerability embodied by Philippos, does not so much mock his humanity as restore a sense of mutual awareness and recognition of our dual human nature as embodied souls, thus opening the way for the fulfillment of both our material and our immaterial being. Hospitality must pay tribute to necessity, even as it strives to overcome and transcend that necessity—rooted in the needs of the body—which is the occasion for human beings to display the virtue and nobility within their souls.4 Displays of generosity are not limited to strangers in need. Kallias’ banquet for his fellow Athenians provides him as host with an opportunity for his nobility to be seen, and thus to make a display of his virtues. This is implied in the invitation itself but made explicit in his conversation with Socrates. To this end, Kallias has planned more than a meal; he has prepared a feast which is to be followed by entertainment for his guests. And of course, the presence of wine at the banquet is intended to invoke the divine and go much further than good food in elevating and encouraging the enjoyment of other pleasures. For winedrinking promotes companionship among those who are friends or those who may wish to become friends: wine “gladdens the heart, loosens the tongue, and enlivens the soul.” Under its intoxicating influence, we can momentarily “forget our troubles, lose our inhibitions, speak our minds: In vino veritas.” Wine, in other words, has a liberating effect on both the body and the soul.5 In addition to cultivating companionship and friendly intimacy, wine also arouses desire in human beings. Drinking wine can inflame desire while at the same time undermining our capacity to resist indulgence, making human beings unruly or wild in their conduct and thereby threatening to ruin the occasion. Wine in moderation civilizes our humanity, but in excess it loosens constraints otherwise imposed by reason and propriety. The competitiveness and immoderation that naturally arises from wine-drinking can spoil a banquet.6 The Greek god of wine, Dionysus, whose presence once invoked cannot easily be controlled, quickly overthrows the rule of custom and unleashes the baser passions. Elemental forces associated with dionysiac revelry often are uncivil and destructive rather than civilizing and constructive. Yielding to the force of desire not only liberates but prompts licentiousness, while any attempts to rein in or put limits on Dionysus can often lead to disaster.7 This (among other reasons) might explain why Socrates was reluctant to accept Kallias’ invitation. Being invited to a banquet is flattering and appealing, since it holds out the prospect of an occasion both pleasurable and ennobling, but it may not always prove to be beneficial. The appeal of an invitation diminishes considerably, when one considers the chance that a banquet might turn bad as a result of excess and indulgence, uncivil speech (παρρησία), insulting conduct (ὕβρις), or the presence of other guests who dislike or hold grudges against one another. Misconduct or disregard for decorum on the part of guests can ruin a host’s intentions with respect to hospitality.8 But the host’s intentions must also be taken into consideration. One rarely expects the host to be the cause of unpleasantness, to say nothing of premeditated harm. Yet vivid accounts in prose and poetry of host violations range from bawdy and transgressive, to violent and heinous. For example, in Plato’s Symposium, Agathon permits his guests to encourage a drunken Alcibiades to celebrate Socrates as a god (214a-e), a potentially blasphemous act, to the violent and heinous, such as Tantalos serving up his own son Pelops (father of the Atreides) as a feast for the gods whom he had invited as guests to a



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banquet.9 The sculptural program of the monumental Temple of Zeus at Olympia and the narrative depicted in the metopes on the Temple of Athena (Parthenon) at Athens both represent scenes from the battle of the Lapiths against the intoxicated wild Centaurs at the wedding banquet of their king, Perithous, a good host who must punish the licentiousness of his guests who become drunk, wild, and savage. These works of visual rhetoric stand as majestic warnings to all Greeks of the dangers posed to civility and hospitality by excessive wine-drinking: drunkenness and its threatening kin, barbarism.10 Setting aside barbaric violations of both hospitality and grace in banquets or symposia that have gone bad, consider how limited transgressions on such occasions may be corrected by virtue. Strife can be averted at a symposium with well-timed interventions of laughter, such as Hephaistos’ comic performance at the Olympian banquet (discussed below), or Xenophon’s Cyrus’ defense of humor (Xen. Cyr. II.2) as a sign of graciousness (εὐχάρις) rather than haughtiness (αλαζονεία) and a means of restoring harmony with laughter (γέλως).11 A good round of laughter shared by the banqueters and symposiasts can go a long way to restoring comradery or smoothing a rough patch in conversation that may have been agitated or roiled by sympotic excesses which lead to perceived slights or insults (see Cyr. II.2). On the other hand, while laughter can ease any tension among guests, it can also create a disingenuous or misleading sense that all is well. In the case of the banquet cited in the epigram to this chapter, Xenophon reports (Ana. II.5) that the Persian prince Tissaphernes hosted as his guest, Clearchus, the Spartan commander who assumed the leadership of the Ten Thousand Greeks after the death of the younger Cyrus in battle. What he perceived as a sign of goodwill, namely, their sharing a meal and wine together at this banquet, persuaded Clearchus to return to the Greeks and convince their generals and captains to meet with Tissaphernes in person on the next day to discuss arrangements for their withdrawal.12 When the Greek generals and captains entered the tent of Tissaphernes as his invited guests, he gave the prearranged signal to his guards to capture and kill them, including Clearchus. By means of a deception orchestrated through a banquet that was intended to establish friendship and trust, Tissaphernes inflicted a devastating defeat on the Greek forces, accomplishing by treachery what his army by force of arms could not. This irreverence toward Zeus and violation of ξενία expose Tissaphernes as an inveterate enemy of all the Greeks (Ana. III.2.4).13 The brief ascent of the Persian prince Cyrus the younger as commander and conqueror, cut short by his reckless attempt in battle to kill the Persian king himself (as a result of which he was struck down at the very peak of his own victory: see Ana. I.8.24–9.1), followed by the short-lived ascent of Clearchus as leader of the Greeks after the death of Cyrus, prepare the way in the narrative of the Anabasis for the much more successful ascent of “a certain Xenophon, an Athenian,” who was neither a general or captain nor a soldier on the expedition, but one who seems—by virtue of circumstances (but not only by circumstances)—to have had greatness thrust upon him (Ana. III.1; see III.2.7–3.1). Over the course of his tenure as a cocommander of the Ten Thousand, a position he was obliged to share with a few other generals, including the Spartan Cheirisiphos, Xenophon had occasion to attend and reflect on the significance of banquets, symposia, and ξενία during the retreat of the Ten Thousand (see, e.g., VII.3.15–39)—not to mention in the years after, on account of his own guest-friendship with the Spartan king, Agesilaus.14 Remembering his own experiences at banquets and symposia, while living in exile at Skillous and acting as host himself (V.3.5–13), may have occasioned Xenophon’s reflection on other banquets worth recalling.

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THE SOCRATIC SYMPOSIA OF PLATO AND XENOPHON As the one who wished to recall a banquet of Kallias as worthy of remembrance, Xenophon must have had in mind while composing his Symposium the ways that banquets turn into sym­ posia, perhaps resulting in unexpectedly bad or even disastrous consequences. One particular case in Athens, involving Socrates, may have been present in his thoughts, as well as those of his fellow Athenians, who, even as he was writing, would have been reflecting back upon the course of the nearly three-decades-long war with Sparta—which ended so badly for the Athenian polis. The eventual defeat and surrender of the Athenians could be traced back to a pivotal moment midway through the war when two fateful events occurred: the decision of the Assembly to undertake a Sicilian expedition, on the advice of Alcibiades, and the blasphemous desecration of the Herms on the very eve of the Athenian fleet’s departure, rumored to have been caused by a drunken band of revelers at symposia led by Alcibiades himself (Thucydides VI.1–53). Both events, the latter at that time and the former regrettably thereafter, were associated with intoxication and the unleashing of Eros.15 The setting and action of the banquet in honor of Agathon in Plato’s Symposium ominously revisits the rumors of a drunken Alcibiades on that fateful evening, his erotically charged transgressive conduct, and his intimate association with Socrates—a friendship that would haunt Socrates himself long after that evening ended. In the devastating years after Alcibiades’ second exile and death, the Athenian surrender to Sparta, the reign of the Thirty Tyrants, and the civil war at Athens, and despite the amnesty binding the polis together again following the restoration of the democracy, some Athenians continued to harbor anger and resentment against those whom they associated with the decline and fall of Athens, and the death of their loved ones. Xenophon argued that Socrates, because of his association with Alcibiades as well as Kritias and Charmides, both of whom had played a role in the civil war as two of the tyrants, had been the target of such ire at his trial in 399—and unjustly found guilty and sentenced to death as a result (see Mem. I 1.1, 2.1–48). While the Symposium of Plato depicted Socrates as a willing symposiast at an elite banquet and a rather close associate of Alcibiades, though by Alcibiades’ own admission not as close as he would have preferred, Xenophon’s Symposium shows Socrates initially reluctant to accept the invitation to join Kallias at his banquet and somewhat distanced from his extravagant way of life, though he did eventually decide to attend along with his companions. The symposium that Xenophon recalls, therefore, given its participants, would have special relevance to an Athenian audience reflecting on the character of Socrates years after his execution—given the presence of the erotic Charmides as well as the gentleman Lykon, one of the three accusers of Socrates at his trial. The katabasis of Socrates into the house of Kallias, where the dual presence of wine and erōs perhaps threatened to turn a good banquet into a disreputable one, seems to have required the intervention of Xenophon and his recollection of that evening’s symposium in order to defend the memory and reputation of his former teacher and friend, and accomplish his anabasis of Socrates. We shall see what kind of conduct, in speech and in deed, awaits us in the Symposium as the banquet of Kallias and his guests proceeds from feasting and entertainment, to wine-drinking and engaging in contests.

THE BANQUET, PART I—NATURAL RULE As we have seen, a sense of conventionality seems to hold sway at the banquet’s beginning. Autolykos, as a youth, “sat down beside his father,” while the other banqueters reclined on



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their respective couches, “as was fitting” (1.8).16 Just as the gratitude expressed by Socrates and his companions was “fitting” or appropriate when they politely declined Kallias’ invitation, so too, according to Xenophon’s narration of the opening scene’s conclusion, Autolykos’ demeanor bespeaks an appropriateness in relation to his father and the others. The filial piety of this youth stands out,17 in stark contrast with the reputation for waywardness of Athenian youth, caricatured in Aristophanes’ Pheidippides.18 As for the other young men present—Kritoboulos, Charmides, and Kallias—who are not too much older than Autolykos, they will soon reveal characteristics that show them more inclined toward extravagance, immoderation, and vice, rather than traditional or conventional virtues. Xenophon notices immediately that Autolykos’ virtue is extraordinary. For as the banquet of Kallias finally gets underway, it is beautiful Autolykos—not Kallias or Socrates—who becomes the center of attention, at least insofar as his beauty appears combined with virtue (1.8): Reflecting on what was happening, someone might immediately suppose beauty to be by nature something kingly (φύσει βασιλικόν τι τὸ κάλλος εἶναι)—especially in accordance with modesty (αἰδοῦς) and moderation (σωφροσύνης), just as was then the case with Autolykos—should someone possess it.

The beauty of Autolykos, described here as being in accordance with a certain restraint and virtue, leads Xenophon, who is reflecting (ἐννοέω), to observe that the beautiful itself may be something which naturally rules or holds power over human beings. This reference to Autolykos in his shining moment as Kallias’ guest of honor, sitting modestly beside his father, arises from Xenophon’s own reflection on the scene which is philosophic; in other words, it is derived from the occasion at hand but curious about the nature of beauty itself and of ruling. In the passage following this observation and reflection Xenophon comments in his own voice19 on Autolykos’ sway over the banqueters, exploring the physical and metaphysical effects of such rule, and inviting further inquiry: How is beauty “by nature something kingly” (φύσει βασιλικόν τι)? What are the effects of this kind of rule among those who are ruled? Why does what is beautiful rule or govern, by commanding the human body or ordering the soul? According to Xenophon, the power of that vision of the beautiful (τὸ κάλλον) coupled with modesty (αἰδώς; cf. 8.16, 35) and moderation (σωφροσύνη; cf. 8.8; 9.4) was such that those present could not look away from Autolykos or prevent themselves from being affected by it in some way. Without exception, we hear, “everyone’s gaze” was drawn to Autolykos as toward a beacon on a dark night (1.9). Thus, the banqueters are moved, their eyes turned by the shining light of beauty to behold and admire it. They see Autolykos, and through him, the beautiful holds sway over them. By Xenophon’s account, there appears to have been no means to deny or avoid this first effect, which is to say, it may be virtually impossible—once caught—simply to avert or close one’s eyes to the beautiful in order to escape its powerful grasp. In this crucial respect, then, Xenophon and his Socrates do not distinguish themselves from the other gentlemen: all seem compelled to behold τὸ κάλλον, that which is beautiful or noble.20 This is how Xenophon remembered what happened at the beginning of Kallias’ banquet. The second effect of Autolykos’ beauty on the banqueters was more than physical, and no less compelling: “moreover, of those who looked on, there was not one whose soul was not affected somehow by him” (1.9). The sway of Autolykos’ beauty so governed them that the very souls of the banqueters who were compelled to gaze on him could not escape being changed themselves. Where beauty “leads” (προσάγεται), the eyes and human soul needs must follow. Xenophon thus indicates that the beautiful itself exercises a kind of natural rule over human beings—through sight, not hearing—not simply by governing the bodies of those present but

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also by influencing the souls of those who behold it. Still, not everyone’s soul reacts to beauty in the same way: “Some became silent, while others also assumed a pose of some sort.” Based on this observation, which is supplied by Xenophon, who apparently had freed himself from the grip of necessity which held the others—or most of the others—in its power, we can say that the soul does not necessarily or immediately form words in response to the beautiful. The banqueters sat in silence observing the beautiful, but some began to compose themselves in response, either involuntarily or purposefully changing their posture or pose (σχηματίζω). Differences of habit or preference, of natural disposition or education or even age, may shape the form each individual takes in response to the beautiful. Above all, Xenophon observes, the power of beauty and its rule are divine. For Xenophon, whenever a human being is inspired, or enthused, by any one of the gods, it is a phenomenon worth beholding, in part, because of the consequences such sway confers upon the initiates of that god—assuming, of course, the divine is not made manifest before those who are uninitiated (1.10): Now all under the sway of the gods are held to be worth beholding; but whereas under the sway of other gods some are more terrible to be seen, more fearful to be heard, and turn out to be more violent, those inspired (ἔνθεοι) by a moderate Eros (σώφρονος ἔρωτος) possess friendlier eyes, use a more soothing voice, and conduct themselves in a manner more befitting liberality (ἐλευθεριώτερον). What Kallias then was doing on account of Eros was worth beholding (ἀξιοθέατος) by those who are perfected (τοῖς τετελεσμένοις) by this god.

The sudden metamophoses inspired in the banqueters depends, first of all, upon Autolykos’ own transformation. In the eyes of those who beheld him, it seems, he has been changed into a god, or rather, he has a god within him. The thrust of this passage, in addition to distinguishing the gentler traits inspired by “moderate Eros” (σώφρονος ἔρωτος) from those inspired by other gods—points to the erotic effect on Kallias in particular, as a result of his perception of Autolykos’ beauty. Properly invoked in the eyes of the initiate who views it, this divine presence achieves in them a perfection which is an end (τέλος) or completion. Though we may have expected Autolykos, in whom beauty appeared to be combined with modesty and moderation, to be the one named as the initiate of “moderate Eros,” it is Kallias whom Xenophon proclaims was worth beholding because of what he was doing, just then, on account of Eros (τότε διὰ τὸν ἔρωτα πράττων). Xenophon does not say that he is worth beholding as a result of being an initiate of moderate Eros, though this is implied.21 He also refrains from mentioning here the possibility, which Socrates will later articulate (see 8.9), of an inherent division within divine ἔρως, namely, that the god Eros may be single or dual. Still, since “all” (πάντες) those who fall under the sway of the gods “are held” to be worthy of being seen, Xenophon’s observation of Kallias should apply regardless of which kind or manifestation of Eros was inspiring him. But is there sufficient knowledge of the expression in his eyes, the sound of his speech, and his conduct or deeds to know if Kallias’ character is what it visibly appears to be (see Mem. III.10.1–5)? How can we be sure which god, according to Socrates’ division of Eros, was then carrying Kallias toward his end and completion? In other words, based on Xenophon’s commentary thus far, we may not yet know precisely why he is worth beholding. He had assumed a pose “most befitting liberality” in response to the beauty of Autolykos, but it may be that Xenophon wishes to indicate that for those who are or who wish to be initiates of moderate Eros—which may or may not include Kallias himself—there is something worth beholding in Kallias’ manner.



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Kallias’ first speech after these comments by Xenophon makes it undeniably clear that he is concerned with the appearance of liberality in the eyes of Autolykos, and likely his father (1.12). Given what has been said about Kallias’ sophistic means and concealed intentions for his banquet, as well as Socrates’ reluctance to attend, we have reason to doubt that Kallias truly is what he seems to be. His conduct befitting a gentleman may indeed be only a pretense, that is, a pose or gesture (σχήματα). With respect to deeds, being worth beholding may not mean precisely the same as being worthy of remembrance.22 At any rate, Kallias at least has been momentarily possessed and subdued, if not tamed and moderated, by the image of Eros, or the beautiful, within Autolykos. It is also evident that this enthusiasm is catching. Noticing the reactions of all those in the presence of Autolykos, not just Kallias, Xenophon observes that someone might suppose beauty to define the royal art of ruling given the obedience or governance that the beautiful itself (τὸ κάλλον) seemed at that time to inspire in the banqueters. The rule of one who is naturally best or superior, once recognized, seems to command consent, even among the most recalcitrant of beings, namely, human beings constantly competing for rule.23 Xenophon concludes (1.11): “So it was that they were feasting in silence, as though this had been imposed upon them by some superior.” Thus compelled, the banqueters appear to be ruled both in body and soul by Autolykos’ beautiful form, introducing Xenophon’s reflections and precipitating the suggestion of natural rule (φύσει βασιλικόν). It remains to be seen if Autolykos has a just claim to this kind of rule, or whether someone or something else greater or more powerful (κρείττονός)24 will hold sway over the Symposium. As with Kallias, there are doubts about Autolykos’ virtue. Does he truly possess modesty and moderation in conjunction with his apparent beauty? His place beside his father at the horse-race and now at the banquet signals a modesty befitting his age. But his very youth (1.2: παιδὸς) also suggests it would be highly unusual if he were to possess such a mature virtue as moderation. Continence or self-mastery—the skill Autolykos no doubt has managed in some way to perfect as a result of his successful training and discipline in the pankration—may prepare him for the virtue of a man (ἀνήρ) but falls short of moderation itself, the foundation of virtue for a human being (ἄνθρωπος); which is to say, σωφροσύνη is not identical to ἐγκράτεια.25 While it is easier to believe the latter is true in Autolykos’ case, some further evidence would be needed to assert that more than the image of the former is present as well. Despite what seems to be his present power over those gathered for the banquet, he may in fact have only the appearance of that ruling combination of beauty, moderation, and modesty. Perhaps the athletic beauty of Autolykos, crowned with honor from a recent victory and augmented by a well-received gesture of filial modesty, exercises only a conventional sway over those present. Once other competing claims to rule—conventional or natural—arise, Autolykos’ beauty may begin to fade or pale in comparison. He all but disappears from the Symposium after this point, saying only seven words (see 3.12–13), being seen rather than heard. The beautiful however becomes an explicit topic of conversation, and we are led to wonder whether someone among the participants in the symposium will prove capable of ruling not only by means of a natural beauty conjoined with modesty and moderation, but also by virtue of actions or speeches holding sway over the symposiasts and the symposium.26 Even if Autolykos falls short as an example of natural rule, Xenophon’s reflections on the power of beauty here at the beginning of Kallias’ banquet are still worthy of our consideration: the description of Autolykos’ pseudoregime quietly hints at a dangerous problem within the royal art of ruling. Given that no mention at all is made in Xenophon’s description of the willing obedience of those present having been acquired, someone might suppose from what

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occurred that the reign of virtuous beauty has something in common with despotic rule, especially insofar as it dispenses with consent and rules as if by compulsion. To this extent the rule of ἔρως, the natural response of the human soul to the beautiful itself (whether τό κὰλλον is understood in terms of convention or of nature) is not political but tyrannical. Under erotic compulsion, willingly or unwillingly, a lover is conquered and enslaved by the beloved.27 This compulsion may help explain why it is Xenophon remains silent about which particular virtues (if any) are instilled within the banqueters as a result of Autolykos’ beauty, for only non-tyrannical regimes exhibit a fundamental reliance upon virtue rather than coercion.28 By contrast, the rule of a moderate Eros inspires, according to Xenophon, certain characteristics or attributes consistent with friendship and liberality, that is, consistent with free associations and καλοκἀγαθία. This is the kind of rule that Socrates later expounds and links with politics toward the end of the Symposium (see 8.32–41). In the meantime, the dialogue will entertain and examine rival claims to rule in light of the conventional image of beauty first supplied by Autolykos—but only after the silence imposed by the beautiful has been broken. A solemn silence caused by Autolykos’ beauty (1.11) descends over the banquet of Kallias. Perhaps among those who simply fall silent in the presence of this overwhelming force is Socrates, whether willingly or not. We recall that, after his initial rebuff of Kallias’ overtures, Socrates had remained silent during Kallias’ subsequent displeasure at their refusal of his invitation. Xenophon does not say, in his observations about beauty’s second or continuing effect on those present, that everyone was compelled to silence, but only “some.” Nonetheless, silence reigns. This must mean that some others of those present decided to say nothing in response to the spell cast by Autolykos over the banqueters. Just as Socrates’ silence earlier, theirs now should not be construed as consent. How, then, are we to understand this absence of speech? The question must be posed also with respect to Xenophon, who proclaims himself to be a silent participant at the banquet. It is clear from what he has written that his silence at the beginning did not preclude reflection. The presence of the beautiful elicits from Xenophon serious (unspoken yet written) observations about its setting and atmosphere; there may be others silently deliberating as well. As we have already indicated, this silence may be concealing questions or doubts regarding the conventional character of what appears to be the natural rule of the beautiful. Still, while silent deliberation may not suffice to explain each case, Autolykos’ beauty does appear to have a kind of paralyzing effect on Kallias’ banquet. Something there is about natural rule that is or approaches the divine and hence, by definition, is transcendent, imposing a seriousness beyond the limit of the human by denying what are arguably two of the most fundamental human capacities—speech and laughter.29 Accordingly, in order for Xenophon’s Symposium to proceed, this weight must be lifted. To put this another way, the hero Herakles must be banished from the groaning Argo, so to speak, so that Kallias’ banquet turned symposium can embark upon a “second sailing,”30 once the silence “imposed upon them by some superior” has been overcome.

THE BANQUET, PART II—THE SECOND SAILING The general atmosphere of silence, austerity, and seriousness associated with this rule of “some superior” or naturally best eventually surrenders its hold over the banqueters with the arrival of Philippos. This uninvited comedian first requests and then demands that this gathering of gentlemen attend to his obstinate human needs (1.11):



The Banquet Begins 65 But Philippos the jester, knocking at the door, said to the one who answered to announce to those within both who he was and why he wished to be carried down into the house; he said he was present having prepared all of the necessary things—in order to dine at another’s expense, and that his boy was entirely hard pressed on account of both the burden he carried—nothing—and his lack of breakfast.

Regardless of whether he has been invited by prearrangement or is truly an uninvited participant at the banquet,31 Philippos the jester (ὁ γελωτοποιὸς) immediately attempts to ply his wares and invoke laughter among the banqueters hidden within the house. Sending a message from outside the door, his farcical references to his slave-boy’s poverty and lack of breakfast are intended to entertain and thus win him admission to the dinner (τὸ δεῖπνον). His presence, as opposed to that of Autolykos, may prove to lighten the occasion with comic levity; he could not have known that such a powerful seriousness had in fact settled over the others. But there is more to this jesting than absurd semantic contradictions. Philippos’ jokes touch upon the mean economic condition of himself and his young attendant, a boy (παῖς), perhaps the same age as or only slightly younger than the admired Autolykos. An absence of wealth, or a lack of any possessions whatsoever, is of course implied in the burden of “nothing” that the slave-boy must bear. Likewise, Philippos’ word choice comically hints at an oppressive “hunger” caused by the absence of that nourishment, or virtue (τὸ ἀνάριστον), by which free young men mature and become aristoi. The juxtaposition between the miserable condition of Philippos and his youth, on the one hand, and the extravagant banquet of Kallias and his beautiful young guest of honor, is unavoidable—especially if the jester’s slave-boy (as may be expected) takes a place on or near his master’s reclining couch, becoming a comically distorted mirror-image of the pair across the room, the gentleman Lykon and his strapping son.32 We might even hear echoes of our earlier discussion of abduction and marital corruption in the house of Hades in Philippos’ comic twist on his desire to be “carried down” or “led down” into the house (κατάγεσθαι). The root of the word can be used in reference to a young woman being “carried away or taken” as a wife, or with darker connotation to describe the passage of the dead being “led down” into Hades by Hermes (see Ody. XXIV.98–101) or being “carried away” across the Acheron river in Kharon’s ferry. A comparison between jester and gentleman is revealing. Phillipos jokes of the slave-boy’s condition but does not speak directly of his own deficiencies, mentioning only the preparations he has made beforehand—being hungry and empty-handed—to prepare himself to dine upon another’s abundance or at another’s expense. What the “necessary things” are for human beings, from a comic point of view, is not yet made clear by Philippos’ introduction. What does seem clear is that his condition and his slave-boy’s are a far cry from that of Kallias and (most of ) his all-too-serious guests. The banqueters themselves seem to be staging a kind of tragedy, or divine imitation, which has stripped them of necessity and rendered them god-like in their cleansed, reclined, and silent state of contemplation in the presence of the beautiful—as if the nature of things, the mystery of Being (“what is”), has been unveiled before them, and they need only submit themselves to its commands. Their actions reflect a transcendence of words. Kallias receives Philippos’ request with an air of magnanimity and aloofness befitting his station, offering the impoverished pair outside his door his assistance in a way that highlights his own desire to appear gracious in the eyes of his guests, above all Autolykos (1.12): Hearing these things then, Kallias spoke: “Surely, men, it’s shameful to begrudge a roof at least; so let him come.” Even at the same time, he cast a glance at Autolykos, and it was clear that he was considering how that one would fancy the joke.

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With this short speech Kallias avoids incurring a reputation for miserliness and instead displays to the gentlemen present the benefits imparted to others by means of his wealth (see 3.4). Even if we grant that Philippos’ request for hospitality has not, in fact, been prompted by Kallias himself as a means of illustrating, or rather making a show of, his generosity, his provisioning Phillipos “a roof at least” extends to him only the most basic of provisions. To “begrudge” (φθονῶσαι)33 or to deny this hospitality (ξενíα) would be “shameful” (αἰσχρὸν) avers Kallias; by this measure, generosity or liberality (ἐλευθερία) would seem not to require very much of a gentleman with respect to the use and distribution of his ample possessions. But is this virtue in Kallias real or a sham? Does his obvious concern with reputation and appearances call into question his liberality? These questions will be taken up in the discussion of Kallias’ assertion that his wealth is the source of his justice and καλοκἀγαθία (3.4), and his defense of this claim (4.1–5). It suffices, as a guide to our close reading at this point, to note that Xenophon takes care to report what Kallias did as well as what he said. His self-conscious posturing in front of Autolykos with a joke (σκῶμμα) designed to illuminate his beneficence thus continues and calls attention to Kallias’ assumption of liberal behavior in the young man’s presence. We have, then, in this subtle description by Xenophon, our first indication of how gentlemen may be judged even in times of play by their speeches and their deeds. When Philippos finally enters the men’s dining hall he explains his uninvited presence,34 as someone whose “work” of necessity is to incite laughter in others, by defining comedy in terms of what is unconventional (1.13): But Philippos, standing now in the room for men where the feast was being held, spoke: “That I am a jester, you all know; and I have come eagerly believing it to be more laughable to come uninvited rather than invited to a feast.” “So recline,” said Kallias, “for those present, as you see, are full of seriousness and perhaps rather in need of laughter.”

To arrive uninvited rather than invited at another man’s feast is laughable, says Philippos, because doing so openly flouts convention. This claim is partially qualified insofar as he does not arrive completely empty-handed: his “work” as a jester ensures that he will be able to bring something (presumably) desirable to the feast. Although he may be poor, he is capable of procuring certain necessities for himself and his slave-boy whenever and wherever the pleasure of his goods or his work is wanted or needed. Consistent with his concern for the necessary things, Philippos speaks of the feast (δειπνών), but not the symposion.35 His business revolves around the satisfaction of at least two, possibly three of the most basic needs of human beings, food, drink, and laughter. His persistent attachment to his own needs is one of the few instances of self-interest, that is, spirited and thumotic (1.13: προθύμως) behavior, otherwise abstracted from the Symposium. Kallias, in contradistinction to Philippos’ poverty, calls attention to the banqueters’ own sated appetites and their subsequent “need” for laughter. Whereas the jester and his slave-boy suffer from hunger, Kallias’ guests are quite “full”—and yet they still suffer.36 Kallias is therefore keen to encourage the levity Philippos claims to provide in exchange for his dinner, in order to loosen the banqueters’ tongues for laughter, if not for conversation. By making light of or mocking conventional nomoi, comedy relieves the pressure of a seriousness essential to the gentleman (at times, tragically) as well as the exercise of his virtue. Because laughter instills a forgetfulness of customary restraints, Kallias’ pretense of hospitality betrays his willingness to let go of the serious and gentlemanly pose that Autolykos’ beauty had inspired in him. Thus



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the “needs” of the wealthy host (though perhaps not those of the banqueters) and the needs of the impoverished jester are to be viewed as complementary. For now though, the beauty of Autolykos still dominates over Kallias’ banquet, despite Philippos’ repeated attempts to break through the silence and distract the banqueters by saying something laughable or ridiculous—“the very things for the sake of which on each occasion he was called to feasts” (1.14). Just as Kallias in the opening scene had become vexed by the refusal of Socrates and his companions, the failure of Philippos “to arouse laughter” at the banquet caused him to become even more distressed. The difference of course is that the rule of the customary or conventional, which dominated the opening scene, finally urging Socrates’ companions to accept Kallias’ assertion of his will and accommodate his displeasure after they had initially and politely declined—has been replaced by the natural, a kind of rule which appears to exist by nature (φύσει). Philippos lacks the support of convention or the wherewithal to move by force these entranced gentlemen with his discontent. Instead, by means of a more subtle deed, he openly chastises the host with an overt reference to his displeasure. With the intention of interrupting or disturbing the silence, Philippos finds a way to disrupt the χάρις of the banquet: “. . . stopping in the middle of the feast and covering himself up, he laid down” (1.14). Kallias immediately acknowledges Philippos’ abrupt disappearance,37 saying, “What’s this, Philippos? Has some pain taken hold of you?” (1.15). In his lengthy reply Philippos invokes—in the first oath of the Symposium—the divine Zeus, Olympian god of hospitality and strangers, to bear witness to the all-too-human pain that has seized him in the company of such serious, preoccupied gentlemen (1.15): Groaning aloud, he said, “Yes by Zeus, Kallias, and a great one indeed! For since laughter has perished from among human beings, my affairs (τὰ ἐμὰ πράγματα) are ruined. In the past, for the sake of this was I summoned to feasts, so that those being together (οἱ συνόντες) might enjoy themselves, laughing on account of me; but now wherefore and by whom will I be called? For neither would I, at least, be able to be serious (σπουδάσαι) any more than become immortal (ἀθάνατος), nor will anyone invite me with the hope of being invited in return since everyone knows a precedent is not believed [to exist] in my house for holding a feast.”

Lamenting the loss of his “work” and the ruin of his affairs, Philippos interprets the impenetrable seriousness which has descended upon Kallias’ guests as a sure sign that “laughter has perished among human beings,” and that, because of this loss, he has been caught in the tragic grip of an unbearable suffering. Because of his poverty which “everyone knows” Philippos depends upon laughter and the grace (χάρις) of others to survive. He lacks, above all else, “a precedent” (ἀρχὴν), a first cause or beginning; he is not self-sufficient. At least from his own (comic) perspective, an austerity that prevents laughter is incompatible with being human: being serious is as impossible for Philippos as being divine. In other words, Philippos has no place in a world “full of seriousness” and without laughter, indifferent to the necessities of human life. Such a world—insofar as it drives human beings like him into exile—belongs only to the gods. One way or another Philippos is determined to break the silence. Bemoaning the pinch of his dire straits,38 he disrupts the other banqueters’ solemnity, with reference first to his own pain or displeasure, then to their inappropriate and inhumane behavior, and finally to a general view of the malevolence of human nature. But even his lamentations fall well short of the mark, at least, that is, until Kritoboulos, that great lover and friend of comedies,39 noting the

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comic brilliance and irony of the scene, if not the sheer absurdity of it all, literally bursts out in laughter at the all-too-serious display by the fool (1.15–16): At the same time he was saying these things, he was blowing his nose and in his voice he clearly appeared to be weeping. Everyone then was consoling him, saying that they would laugh next time, and urging him to join in the feast, and Kritoboulos just burst out laughing at his pitiful lamentation. When Philippos perceived his laughter, he uncovered himself and, exhorting his own soul to take courage because there would be future engagements, he returned to feasting.

There is of course something ridiculous in seeing his fellow banqueters, who moments before were basking in the radiance of a divine beauty, condescendingly “consoling” this fool and promising to “laugh next time.” The extreme politeness of their consolation belabors in speech what might otherwise silently be understood as customary or conventional. What is perhaps most worthy of ridicule, however, is that Philippos has elicited such charitable displays of pity from the banqueters at the expense of the beautiful and naturally compelling presence of Autolykos. The thought of a sniveling jester commanding the attention and concern of his own gentlemen-companions must have struck Kritoboulos as comically absurd, to say nothing of the Odyssean endurance with which the fool attempts to confront his fate by “exhorting his own soul to take courage” (τε καὶ τῇ ψυχῇ παρακελευσάμενος θαρρεῖν). As described by Xenophon and voiced by Philippos, this lament and its dramatic aftermath adopts the recognizable, if exaggerated, poetic phrases and language of the Homeric epics—an allusion to which we will return in a moment.40 Furthermore, the banqueters’ promise to laugh in the future at the jokes of Philippos cannot strictly speaking be understood as laughter, a fact which is surely not lost on Philippos. Prearranged agreements regarding when to laugh are hardly a sign of genuine laughter. Ironically, his desire to incite laughter among the banqueters has been acquired not with his usual jokes but with lamentations and weeping reminiscent of tragedy. Realizing that such an insipidly pitiful scene likely would not exist anywhere else except as a parody of convention on an Aristophanic stage, Kritoboulos “burst out laughing at the pitiful lamentation” (ἐξεκάγχασεν ἐπι τῷ οἰκτισμῷ αὐτοῦ). The specific words chosen by Xenophon to describe both Philippos’ lamentation and Kritoboulos’ outburst of laughter are unusual and point to the extraordinary, pseudo-tragic character of what is occurring.41 How are we to understand this spontaneous laughter of the god-like Kritoboulos? It is arguably both genuine and intelligible. The gaping disjuncture observed by this lover of comedies between what is said and what is done—namely, Philippos’ claim that he is as incapable of being serious as of becoming a god, and the pathetic seriousness of his actions—could only be bridged by comedy, for in tragedy the wisdom of a fool cannot release the vitality and seriousness of the human condition which must be purged through suffering, not laughter. The enacted human drama of Philippos thus shifts from the comic to the tragic stage, and then back again, if we are to judge from Kritoboulos’ outburst. In this scene, the actions of the symposiasts as recounted by Xenophon recall, though in human proportions, a banquet of the Olympian gods in epic poetry.

A BANQUET OF EPIC PROPORTIONS Before concluding this chapter, let us consider the epic parallel that Philippos’ performance and Kritoboulos’ laughter taken together imply. While Xenophon’s Symposium is considered



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the first prose account of a banquet in antiquity,42 epic precursors were available in Homeric poetry.43 Phillipos’ performance at the end of the first section of the dialogue and especially his dramatically rendered grievance44 recall to mind the epic language of Homer’s poems. The familiar topos of the banquet itself, with its moments of levity and tension, presents itself in the Olympian banquet that occurs at the end of the first book of the Iliad.45 In this Homeric account, the banquet of the gods high up on Olympus verges on disaster because of a potentially violent dispute that erupts between the host, Zeus, the “father of gods and men,” and his sharp-tongued wife, Hera, over human affairs and the vicissitudes of fate on the windswept shores of Troy. The consequences for heroes as well as gods if this divine banquet and symposium goes bad would be disastrous. The harsh words of cloud-gathering Zeus set the stage for a sudden confrontation between the host and his wife. In response to the thundering of Zeus in anger, Hera’s fear becomes palpable, and the other Olympians listen in distress. His command not to challenge his power silences them. It is Hephaistos, the lame god of craftsmanship, who quickly and cunningly intervenes with clarity of mind and purpose to restore the goodwill of the hosts (Iliad I.564–581):46 “But go then, sit down in silence, and do as I tell you, for fear all the gods, as many as are on Olympus, can do nothing if I come close and lay my unconquerable hands upon you.”      Zeus spoke, and the goddess, ox-eyed lady Hera was frightened and went and sat down in silence wrenching her heart to obedience, and all the Uranian gods in the house of Zeus were troubled. Hephaistos the renowned smith rose up to speak among them, to bring comfort to his beloved mother, Hera of the white arms: “This will be a disastrous matter and not endurable if you two are to quarrel thus for the sake of mortals and bring brawling among the gods. There will be no pleasure in the stately feast at all, since vile things will be uppermost. And I entreat my mother, though she herself understands it, to be ingratiating toward our father Zeus, that no longer our father may scold her and break up the quiet of our feasting. for if the Olympian who handles the lightning should be minded to hurl us out of our places, he is far too strong for any.”

His own deformity makes Hephaistos painfully aware himself of the consequences of Zeus’ wrath, and he continues in his efforts to make peace once again between the great quarreling pair, in order to set all the gods at ease. Among the other immortals, Zeus’ overwhelming strength and hence his rule is troubling, especially since it demands obedience. Hephaistos abstracts from the crucial issue of “father” Zeus’ kingly rule to focus upon what is unacceptable for all the gods alike—namely, “brawling” among immortals and disturbing the pleasure of their feasting “for the sake of mortals.” For the tranquility of the divine to be thus disturbed on account of the affairs of mere mortal beings, and driven seemingly to the point of civil war, is intolerable and absurd. In a second speech that seems as though it is whispered close to Hera’s ear and not fit to be heard by all, Hephaistos, the famed craftsman god, reminds his mother of what is obvious to all: his own distressing and peculiarly human suffering at the hands of Zeus:47

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Chapter 3      He spoke, and springing to his feet put a two-handled goblet into his mother’s hands and spoke again to her once more: “Have patience, my mother, and endure it, though you be saddened, for fear that, dear as you are, I see you before my own eyes struck down, and then sorry though I be I shall not be able to do anything. It is too hard to fight against the Olympian. There was a time once before now I was minded to help you, and he caught me by the foot and threw me from the magic threshold, and all day long I dropped helpless, and about sunset I landed in Lemnos, and there was not much life left in me. After that fall it was the Sintian men who took care of me.”      He spoke, and the goddess of the white arms Hera smiled at him, and smiling she accepted the goblet out of her son’s hand.

Her smile acknowledges the disturbing truth that even the gods, on rare occasions, can suffer an unendurable nearness to mortality, for when Hephaistos was thrown down from on high, he hit the earth “and there was not much life left” in him. But this apprehension of death by itself, according to Homer, does not suffice to restore the banquet of immortal gods and goddesses to proper balance and pleasure. The cunning Hephaistos knows that something more is required before the immortals can enjoy themselves once more in feasting and drinking, and retire in peace. To this end, he brings them wine, refilling their cups, so as to induce laughter and playfulness among them once again. His words and counsel reconcile Zeus and Hera, but his actions are what prove truly indispensable to the restoration of light-heartedness and grace (χάρις) among the banqueters. Initiating the symposium by carrying around the ambrosial wine of the gods, Hephaistos rises to the occasion, ironically (perhaps even unintentionally) matching his serious speeches with his playful deeds, “bustling about the palace” in his limping way to refill their cups. Pouring drinks for the other gods, “sweet nectar” instead of wine drawn from the mixing bowl, Hephaistos moved among the “blessed immortals” compelling them to break out in “uncontrollable laughter” as they watched him hobbling and in a hurry. The pall of seriousness and discontentment perceptibly lifts, the Muses begin to sing, and the feast continues:48      Thus, thereafter the whole day long until the sun went under they feasted, nor was anyone’s hunger denied a fair portion, nor denied the beautifully wrought lyre in the hands of Apollo nor the antiphonal sweet sound of the Muses singing.

No other god has known a pain such as Hephaistos has; his form itself wears the marks of a physical deformity as an incessant reminder of his fateful brush with unimaginable mortality. Hephaistos’ presence at a banquet on Olympus under any circumstances should render all the immortal gods—perhaps with the exception of Zeus—uneasy, for the very fact of his lameness would impose upon them an unwanted, unthinkable burden of necessity. How could they feast and drink with delight with such an ugly reminder of their own potential limitations, immortal beings yet susceptible to a bodily flaw antithetical even to the very nature of their being? With the harsh reality of Zeus’ seemingly limitless power so strikingly exposed in response to Hera’s impetuous demands, the very nature of the immortal gods themselves is being called dangerously into question. No more troubling inquiry, or licentious παρρησία, could hardly be imagined among divine beings.49 Hephaistos’ visual deformity and his narration of nearmortality openly articulates an unspeakable revelation the thought which put fear in Hera and



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“troubled” the other gods. This revelation threatens to dissolve the χάρις of Homer’s divine banquet by exposing the rule of Zeus as a colossal tyranny, the alternative to which is a renewal of violence among the gods themselves and a collapse of the harmony and order on Olympus that underpins and preserves the nature of things. Hephaistos’ crafty words and actions, however, manage to restore χάρις to the divine symposium, and no doubt the other gods are grateful. He diverts troubled thoughts from the possibility of such cosmic strife through his self-deprecating imitation of their regular cup-bearer, the beautiful youth Ganymede, thereby provoking laughter among the immortals with his absurd performance and ridiculous parody or caricature of the beautiful itself. To return to a human perspective for a moment, we must see the idea of the gods feasting at a banquet in and of itself as absurd. Is it not ridiculous to imagine immortal beings needing to take time to feed their imperishable bodies? Our conception of the divine must struggle to grasp the contradictory notions of gods, on the one hand, immortal beings, who are “in need” of anything at all, on the other hand, with respect to either body or soul. In what sense can immortal beings know necessity or be hungry and thirsty? If they cannot know necessity, in what way does feasting and drinking wine—both of which overcome and thus abstract from or transcend the griefs of the body felt by mortals? How are we to understand the purpose of a divine banquet? A banquet refers literally and metaphorically not to the mere act of eating but to feasting, to the elevation of the necessary into the noble through abundance, both the fruits of the earth and of the vine (wine). In the case of human beings, the banquet also revivifies by satisfying the needs of the body following the strenuous exertions of an active life, in order to pursue the proper activity of the mind through conversation. For immortals, however, who by virtue of their divinity cannot lose strength, the divine banquet is no ordinary feast. It is a banquet simply or in the purest sense—excess for its own sake, and not born of necessity, in other words, luxuriousness as a way of life. Since all vital sustenance is ensured by their immortality, the gods literally have need of nothing: abundance and life without fail are theirs. Thus, the banquet of the Homeric gods, though depicted temporally within the meter and rhyme of poetry, should be understood as perpetual. Let us return to the problem posed by Hephaistos. Although present among the Olympians through the intercession of Dionysus, who restored the lame god to Olympus through intoxication, Hephaistos cannot fully take his rightful place among them at their banquet.50 He is an outsider, crippled by his fate as a god who must “work” and “sweat” in accordance with his art (τέχνη) and the exercise of his divine office.51 He is bound by necessity and thus wedded to his art, through which he restores a semblance of grace—and is himself restored.52 Subject to the limitations of an imperfect body, the god of making and of the arts, whose ingenuity is forged in the fire of necessity, must always seem to be a comic aberration among the other immortals. Hence his unwitting parody of the office of a beautiful youth inspires in the “blessed immortals” an “uncontrollable laughter” mocking his lameness, or rather, his human-like necessity.53 Hephaistos transforms the Olympian banquet from a potentially tragic scene into a comedy by reason of his unbearable (and laughable) resemblance to humanity. The other gods cannot help but burst out laughing at this god’s expense, on account of his ridiculous display of physical weakness, lest they be forced to reckon with the thought of their own unthinkable vulnerability. But this laughter restores the banquet, and by means of Hephaistos’ intervention, the rival symposiasts—Zeus and Hera—are reconciled. So much so that the perpetual evening continues in revelry, until finally Helios gave way to Night:54

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Chapter 3 Afterward when the light of the flaming sun went under they went away each one to sleep in his home where for each one the far-renowned strong-handed Hephaistos had built a house by means of his craftsmanship and cunning. Zeus the Olympian and lord of the lightning went to his own bed, where always he lay when sweet sleep came on him. Going up to the bed he slept and Hera of the gold throne beside him.

When the immortal Olympians retire from the epic banquet on Olympus and return to their houses for the evening, they do so each “to sleep” (whatever that means for a god) in a “home” constructed by means of the craftsmanship and cunning of Hephaistos. Those who are married, like lord Zeus and his queen Hera, lie together in sweet sleep. The restoration of χάρις through laughter, coupled with wine, averts the threat of barbarism and prepares the way for the intoxicated symposiasts to take pleasure in the entertainments of Apollo and the Muses, and eventually to entertain and enjoy the erotic impulses that wine-drinking also inspires. Taken in proportion, then, as Homeric epic is to Socratic dialogue, the parallels are striking. To read the high in terms of the low, like Philippos, the divine craftsman and god of the arts may be said to lack any “precedent” to hold a banquet in his own house, though it be divinely wrought.55 Conversely, Philippos’ hard work is the only means of actually overcoming his deformity, which is to say, his low birth and poverty. Once the banqueters can no longer ignore Philippos’ lameness, or humanity, laughter alone resolves the intolerable tension to which his comic-tragic performance has pointed between the human condition and serious aspirations dominating Kallias’ banquet. The parallel is furthered by Kritoboulos whose whole-hearted laughter imitates the divine.56 Like one of the splendid gods reclining at Homer’s Olympian banquet, almost convinced of his own unconquerable beauty, the god-like Kritoboulus suddenly bursts out in uncontrollable laughter at the ridiculous spectacle of the “lame” Philippos. What is laughable from the point of view of the immortal gods appears also to be laughable and more fitting57 among mortal men who are striving, through imbibing the present manifestation of the beautiful, to embody a god-like seriousness. Having been transformed into the very images of the immortal gods by virtue of the captivating beauty of Autolykos and the presence of divine Eros, the swooning banqueters are intolerably reminded of their humanity—as well as the problem of scarcity and unjust distribution among human beings—by the pathetic display of Phillipos’ lameness or ugliness. Kritoboulos, elevated like Ganymede to such blessed heights, looks down upon this display as a comedy rather than a tragedy: What could be tragic from a god’s perspective? Their common humanity therefore comes to light as laughable—especially among gentlemen whose leisure and beauty seem god-like or divine by comparison, but also as intelligible—a comic recognition of fundamental neediness, over against a serious fullness or satisfaction, as the undeniable condition of the human being, body and soul. Hephaistos’ comic performance cunningly concealed an impossible divine tragedy; the gods laugh heartily and the banquet of immortals continues undisturbed. What is laughable is the hint of mortality in the body of an immortal god. The tragic performance of Philippos, on the other hand, less cunningly reveals an ugly truth about the human condition which is nonetheless unbearable and so viewed as comic from a mimetically-divine perspective. Kritoboulos’ laughter, in the face of this troubling revelation, liberates the banquet from an unsustainable seriousness for human beings: “The ugly becomes pleasant, that is to say, endurable, by being made laughable.”58 Mortality must be comic from the perspective of the self-sufficient gods; it is only potentially tragic from the



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point of view of human beings. Kritoboulos’ laughter breaks the spell of seriousness cast over the banquet by the beauty of Autolykos. After much ado, then, Philippos finally brings laughter out of seriousness, though not quite in the way he could have expected, with tragedy or a quasi-tragic performance rather than comedy. His physical intrusion on the silence forced the god-like banqueters to turn their eyes back toward the human, thereby making possible a restoration of the laughter and conversation which had been suppressed by the commanding presence of a divinely-inspiring beauty. Perceiving the laughter of Kritoboulos, “he uncovered himself and, exhorting his soul to take courage because there would be future engagements, he returned to feasting” (1.16). Philippos’ mock-Odyssean exhortation of his own spirit (ψυχῇ) to take courage and endure (because there would be occasions for laughter in the future) revives the comedian from certain death. Having thus done his “work” to distract the gentlemen from their seriousness—in the name of Zeus—the final guest rejoins the banquet, his grievances answered and his livelihood once more secure. By the end of their evening of wine, conversation, and (especially) entertainment, as we shall see, the banqueters will depart, as did the Olympians, in order to satisfy their erotic desires, each according to his own impulse. Thus does Kallias’ banquet—and the first chapter or section of Xenophon’s Symposium— conclude with reference to the therapeutic pharmakon of comedy in the soul. Drunk in their desire to behold the beautiful itself and to be perfected, the banqueters’ seriousness in the presence of the Beautiful as well as the god Eros intoxicates them with an illusion of being divine, which is to say, immortal.59 Philippos’ comic-tragic performance serves as a reminder of their own mortality and so alleviates the manic activity of the banqueters by returning them (and us) to a consideration in speech of the human condition and its limits. The best kind of comedy thus gathers and conceals the serious itself always within the guise of the humorous, even while transcending that which is merely ridiculous.60 This is a key to interpreting the playfulness of this dialogue, for only within this horizon does the sober καλοκἀγαθία of Xenophon and his Socrates become visible. With the playful setting of the banquet established and its return to the realm of human affairs, Socrates may be prepared to break his silence and participate in the Symposium (2.1–2; see Mem. I.1.16).61 The deeds of Xenophon’s gentlemen thus far have come full circle—from an opening scene tinged with serious-playfulness, through an awe-struck and paralyzing seriousness in the presence of a conventional virtue and beauty which mediates a divine natural rule, to a liberating playfulness and “second sailing” that has grounded the dialogue upon a comic foundation. Three main themes of the dialogue also have been revealed along the way: one, the rival claims of human beings regarding virtue and wisdom which result in quarrels that must be adjudicated in order to avoid conflict and barbarism (1.3–7); two, the divine power of “the beautiful” or “the noble” (τὸ καλόν) to arouse and inspire ἐρὼς which rules over both the bodies and souls of human beings (1.8–10); three, the significance of laughter, or playfulness, in the lives and associations of human beings, whose nature aspires to achieve a kind of god-life sufficiency which ultimately can only comically be enjoyed (1.11–16).

As we shall see in the next chapter, Xenophon weaves these themes into the contests of virtue and wisdom between the symposiasts that his Symposium will now charmingly stage.

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NOTES 1. Xenophon, Anabasis II.5.27. 2.  The Greek word for hospitality (ξενία) refers to the institution of ritualized guest-friendship (and is to be distinguished from ξενία, the gifts exchanged as a sign of guest-friendship) and in its significance conveys much more than does a banquet, or the act of dining together (δεῖπνον) and perhaps even drinking together (συμπόσιον), establishing grounds for trust and friendship between a host and guest (from another political community) or strangers (such as Greeks and Persians are to each other). See Flower 2012, 157–159. 3.  Leon Kass, in his insightful reading of banquets in The Hungry Soul, reflects on the role and significance of hospitality in ancient Greek and Hebrew culture as well as modern life. His philosophical account unveils the phenomenon of dining and drinking together as a revelation not just of our creaturely appetite and need but also of fundamental, universal, and profound truths about ourselves as human beings and the nature of our deepest longings. See Kass 1999. On banquets, symposia, and wine in the ancient world, see also, Murray 1990; Murray and Tecuşan 1995. 4.  Kass 1999, 106–107. 5.  Kass 1999, 124–127: “For wine permits and encourages us to let down our guard, to be at ease and in intimate communion with one another; the offer of wine expresses trust in and desire for intimacy. For only with certain kinds of people, those who already are or we hope will become our friends, do we let wine dissolve our prudent caution.” 6.  See Kass 1999, chapter 3 (“Host and Cannibal: From Fressen to Essen”). 7.  See Gish 2018. 8.  See the discussion supra in Chapter 2 of the potential for incivility and violations of χάρις at symposia. 9.  For a variation on this barbaric violation of hospitality, see the banquet in Shakespeare, Titus An­ dronicus, Act 5, Scene 3. Kass discusses other examples of violated hospitality that reveal barbarism: the improvised cannibalism of the Cyclops Polyphemos, who brutally feasts on the men of Odysseus whom he has trapped in his cave (Homer, Odyssey IX), and the stark contrast between the treatment of guests at banquets hosted by Abraham and Lot (Genesis 18–19). See Kass 1999, 103–113. 10.  On the “Centauromachy” at the wedding banquet of the Lapith king and friend of Theseus, Perithous, and Hippodamia, which took place as a result of the drunken half-beast, half-man centaur Eurytion’s attempt to abduct the bride, see Odyssey XXI.245–430. That battle began after the host of the banquet, King Perithous, slaughters his offending guest. Odyssey, disguised as a beggar, reveals himself during the bow contest that brings an end to the disgraceful feasting of the drunken suitors and their mocking laughter, and it is a mark of Homer’s justice that Antinous, who had accused the beggar of being “crazed with wine” like the infamous centaur Eurytion, was the first to die by an arrow from Odysseus’ singing bow. 11.  Xenophon called Cyrus’ banquet εὐχαριστότατον (Xen. Cyr. II.2.1–3.1). On restoring grace at a banquet through laughter, see Slater 1990, 216, and Jazdzewska 2018. On the tension between χάρις and ανάγκη at a symposium, see Cyr. VIII.4, and Gera 1993, 151. 12.  Tissaphernes persuaded Clearchus to trust him by inviting him to dine and drink with him at the banquet, pledging his good intentions, and swearing an oath before the gods: “But why, since it is possible for us to destroy you, have we not done so? Know well that my love (ἔρως) is the cause of this, that I might become trusted by the Greeks and, hence, that I might march back with the foreign force with which Cyrus ascended, although he trusted it only because of the wages he provided, while I might be made strong by it because of my good deeds” (II.5.22, Ambler translation). This is the only occurrence of the potent word ἔρως in the text of Xenophon’s Anabasis. On the relative absence of ἔρως as well as ψυχή from Xenophon’s Anabasis, see Buzzetti 2014, 154n11, 299–300. “The Socratic writings make clear that Xenophon is not indifferent to eros” (300; see Mem. I.3.8–15). “This is another noteworthy difference between Xenophon and Socrates. See also [in this regard] the Symposium as a whole.” (300n10). See Gish 2016.



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13. With respect to the deception of Tissaphernes, Xenophon castigates his treachery but does not in his own name condemn all “barbarians” as being untrustworthy or barbaric; see Hirsch 1985, 28–29, 40–41. 14.  The word ξενία and related words (such as ξένιος and ξένος) appear frequently in Xenophon’s Anabasis and Cyropaedia but does not appear in the Symposium perhaps because it is a banquet of fellow Athenians—at least if we make an exception for the Syracusan. It remains to be seen whether Kallias as the host will model his behavior after a gentleman-king or a tyrant: see Xenophon, Agesilaus 7; cf. Hiero 6.1–6; see also, Strauss 1939, who suspects that Xenophon’s apparent encomia of Sparta and its kings (including Agesilaus) may conceal subtle criticisms. 15. Scholarly commentary on the Sicilian expedition as an eroticized military campaign and Alcibiades’ role in both arousing desire for it by means of his rhetoric and sabotaging it as a result of his drunkenness is too voluminous to cite here. See, for example, Kagan 2003, 253–267. 16.  On the συμπóσιον, see Chapter One; on the arrangement of the ἀνδρών, see Chapter Two. 17.  A naive reading of this passage, in at least two instances, has led to its citation as evidence of a principle governing symposia as a traditional institution: see Bremmer 1990, 139; Cooper and Morris 1990, 79; see also, Strauss 1993, 75–76. These commentators assume Autolykos’ presence and comportment, as the son of Lykon, may be extrapolated to generalize the role of “children” in every symposia and to suggest that it was common to spatially segregate adult men from boys at banquets. This claim may happen to be true with respect to the accepted rules of behavior at a dinner party (σύνδειπνον), as Xenophon says, Autolykos “as was fitting” sat beside his father who reclined. But it does not necessarily follow that this would be typical or indicative of a drinking party (συμπóσιον), or that Autolykos should even be seen as representative of a normative group: first of all, the absence of any other non-reclining boys in this (or Plato’s) Symposium makes drawing some general rule form this particular example problematic. Moreover, this banquet is unusual because it is being held in honor of this youth because he is the recent victor in the brutal pankration, a sport that necessarily separates Autolykos from the rank of children. His victory demonstrates his manliness, so to speak, but not yet his rank as a young man. He is on the verge of becoming a young gentleman and thus of developing a concern for the virtue of his station as a free member of the polis, and his presence occasions the quasi-Socratic exchange about education in the next section. 18.  See Aristophanes, Clouds 1–79. 19.  Xenophon’s reflections on the action of the dialogue at this point are unusual; his narrative commentary, from which he rarely diverges, is instructive: see Ana. V.8, end; Strauss 1975/1983, 107. We, as readers of the dialogue, must attend closely to the occasional but significant comments of the author upon the actions and the speeches of the gentlemen whose conversation (he claims) is worth remembering. 20. See Mem. I.3.8–13 and Strauss 1972, 144; Mem. III.11. The unerotic Antisthenes, as will soon become apparent, may prove an exception to this rule in the Symposium (cf. Cyr. V.1.2–18 and VI.1.31–36). 21.  See Strauss 1972, 145: “Hardly less worth seeing [than Autolykos] was Kallias, possessed as he was by the god Eros as the god of sober (sōphrōn) love.” See also, Bowen 1998, 91, where the commentary points out that “sober passion” is an “oxymoron, if not contradiction in terms” which Socrates attempts to resolve “by dividing Aphrodite into two.” See Pentassuglio 2013 and 2018. 22.  For references to what is ἄξιος in the Symposium, in addition to Xenophon’s own use of the word twice as a prefix (1.1, 1.10: ἀξιομνημόωευτα and ἀξιοθέατος), see 4.44 (in times of leisure, that which is worth beholding and that which is worth hearing), 4.53–54 (that which is worth being proud of ); 8.13 (that which is worth saying), 8.37 (that which is held to be worthy), 8.40 (that which is most worth resembling). Of the five uses of the word, three of which occur as a prefix to a verb and once before an adjective, only the first does not belong to Socrates. In the central usage of the five, Socrates proclaims, as a prelude to his lengthy speech on the virtue of heavenly Eros, that there is no association worth mentioning which lacks friendship, or friendly love (φιλία). In the central usage of all seven references, however, Socrates ironically proclaims that it is truly a worthy thing for the Syracusan to take great pride

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in his “great good fortune” at possessing an unusual kind of flesh which “by nature” does not corrupt those who happen to sleep with him. 23.  Xenophon’s interest in the art of ruling may best be seen in his so-called non-Socratic writings: see Cyr. I.1.1–2; Bruell 1969, 2–4. On the Cyropaedia as the source of knowledge regarding rule par excellence, see Bruell 1987, 90: “Xenophon’s longest work by far, the Cyropaedia (Education of Cyrus), is a treatment of the education and career of the founder of the Persian empire, who is in Xenophon’s presentation an exemplary practitioner of the royal art of ruling.” 24. See Sym. 8.12, where Socrates bears witness that ἔρως of the soul is “far superior” to that of body. 25.  Socrates is said by Xenophon to be ἐγκρατέστατος πάντων ἀνθρώπων (Mem. I.2.1). In speaking to an unidentified group of men (I.5), Socrates asks whether it is the case that “all men” (παντα ἄνδρα) ought to believe that continence (ἐγκράτεια) is the foundation of virtue. However, this entire discussion is introduced by a conditional claim about continence as a “noble and good,” that is, gentlemanly, possession among men (καλόν τε κἀγαθὸν ἀνδρὶ). Continence does not appear among the human things (τῶν ἀνθρωπείων) studied by Socrates (I.1.16). Finally, the Socratic discourse par excellence on continence occurs in the context of the education to virtue of the “beautiful” Euthydemus (IV.5). 26.  The most obvious candidates for this title are: Kritoboulos and Charmides, both of whom (we may infer from verbal references) have beautiful bodies; Socrates, who stakes a claim on his peculiar form of beauty (though he loses the contest); and the Syracusan. Of course, a candidate’s defense may be playful or ironic, and we may not thereby be convinced. On the character of “regal” authority in Xenophon, see Ana. I.9.1 (Cyrus the younger “a man who of all the Persians born after Cyrus the Great was basilikōtatos and most worthy to rule”) and Oik. 21.10. From the perspective of the gentleman, which Socrates appears to assume in this context, knowledge of how to be or become natural rulers over human beings is no laughing matter, but rather is one of the utmost seriousness (Oik. 13.5). 27.  The beautiful ones are the enemy upon which Xenophon’s captain and ruler par excellence fears to look, for those who suffer an erotic attraction to the beautiful itself become fettered with a necessity stronger than shackles of iron: see Cyr. V 1.4–8, 12, 16 and VI.1.36; cf. the naive objections tentatively raised at V.1.9–11, 13–15. See also, Bruell 1969, 127–131; Rubin 1989, 395–401.The striking Panthea episode which, for Bruell (1969, 128n1), covers a key set of passages in Xenophon’s education of Cyrus (Cyr. IV.6.11; V.1.1–18; VI.1.31–52; 2.7; 3.11, 14–21, 34–36; 4.2–11; VII.1.15–18, 29–32; 3.2–17) must be reconsidered in the light of the Socrates-Theodote episode (Mem. III.11; cf. Herodotus 1.7–12). 28.  See Bruell 1969, 8–9; see also, Mem. IV.6.12 and Oik. 21.12. 29.  Even Cyrus himself, perhaps the most serious man known to Xenophon, recognized the human limits of a serious rule, especially during symposia. On the banquets of Cyrus, see Cyr. II.2.1–17; V.2.16–18; but cf. VI.1.9; Bartlett 1998, 174. 30.  On the great Herakles’ banishment from the hero-laden Argo, see Herodotus 7.193. Regarding ostracism and the rule of the second-best, see Hdt. 1.59–62, 5.92; Thucydides 6.1–61; Plato, Phaedo 96a–100b3 and Gorgias 482c–486c; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1109b1 and Politics 1284a25, b19; Benardete 1989. 31.  Given the host’s quick-witted, tailored repost to the announcement of Philippos’ arrival we may suspect that his knock at the door is less than impromptu. Modern scholars assume that, unlike the Syracusan with his troupe of entertainers, Philippos was neither formally invited to the banquet nor paid for his humorous services; see, e.g., Fehr 1990, 185, 187, 189n38, 194n73. Even if the jester’s own selfdeprecating remarks (at 1.13), spoken as if prepared in advance, support this view, the situation seems somehow contrived—not by Xenophon, to make his Symposium seem realistic, but rather by Kallias, whose posturing together with his reply suggest an ulterior motive. 32.  The arrangement of the room can be reconstructed: see Bergquist 1990 and Boardman 1990. An evenly distributed arrangement of reclining coaches (κλῖναι) in Kallias’ ἀνδρών would accommodate one more at the banquet. With a standard arrangement of three couches per wall (with the entry wall free and a space opening in the center of the room), and only eight couches in use for nine participants since Autolykos sits beside his father who reclines, there would remain one couch still empty. This arrangement suggests the following (possible) order of reclining guests situated on couches around the room, beginning at the entry, and with the guest of honor placed opposite the entryway as the central focus of the room: Hermogenes, Kritoboulos, Socrates; Kallias (the host), Lykon/Autolykos (the guest of honor),



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Nikeratos; Antisthenes, Charmides. The sequence of claims (Chapter Three) and then display speeches (Chapter Four), a sequence directed at times by Socrates (who, for reasons discussed later, chose to skip over himself and Hermogenes), coincides with the arrangement suggested here. On reclining and the significance of the order for speeches, see Pl. Sym. 174e. See also, Bowen 1998, 88, 90, 126, whose commentary (on Sym. 1.4, 8, 9.7) suggests that more couches (perhaps 11, with 2 on the entry wall and the door off-center) and thus more unnamed participants are present. 33.  Also: “to bear ill-will or malice, or refuse from envy.” See Sym. 3.14; 4.43; 6.6; cf. Mem. 1.2.31. 34.  With the arrival of Philippos, three distinct groups are established: (1) Autolykos and his father, Kallias, Nikeratos; (2) Socrates, Kritoboulos, Xenophon, Hermogenes, Antisthenes, Charmides; (3) the entertainers, invited and paid—Philippos and his slave-boy, and the Syracusan and his performers. 35.  In this section, Philippos speaks always of the “feast” (deipnon: the principal meal of the day, supper) never of the symposion; in fact this word, which is used by Xenophon prominently in the title of the dialogue, appears in the text of the dialogue only thrice: once by Kallias (6.5), twice by Socrates (7.3, 5). 36.  As we shall see, the laughter which Philippos inspires does not satisfy the hunger of Kallias’ guests— not even that of Kritoboulos. The (invited) Syracusan will arrive to provide wondrous sights and sounds, in addition to the tastes supplied by Kallias’ feast, in the hope of quenching an erotic thirst which Socrates suggests can only truly be satisfied by (speeches about) wisdom. The failure of Kallias’ banquet may best be represented by the sensual but intensely unsatisfying feast that opens Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. 37.  συγκαλυψάμενος: “to cover or veil completely,” as in the Odyssey, whenever a cloud of mist enshrouds the hero and renders him invisible to human eyes. The goddess Calypso is thought to have derived her name from her capacity “to hide or conceal” (καλύπτω) Odysseus on her island in the navel of the sea. 38.  ἀναστενάξας: “to groan forth, or lament,” an emphatic use derived from στενάζω, “to sigh or moan,” and with reference to τά στενά, “the narrow straits” on land (Herodotus VII.223.2) or sea (Thucydides II.86.5). 39. See Oik. 3.7–8; Strauss (1970) 109, 112; Strauss (1972) 145; Strauss (1970) 102: “Kritoboulos . . . applies his mind to frivolous things.” Thus, says Socrates, he runs the risk of becoming not only a subject of comedy or comedies but also of appearing even more ridiculous to himself. Of course, Kritoboulos was not unfamiliar with tragedies (see Oik. 3.9). 40.  Much-enduring Odysseus’ self-addressed exhortations (ὀχθήσας δ᾽ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὅν μεγαλὴτορα θυμόν) recur at key moments during his effort to accomplish his homecoming: see Odyssey V.297–299, 354–355, 406–407, 464–465; cf. V.282–285, 375–376 (Poseidon) and XXI.245–248 (Eurymachos). 41.  The “lamentation” of Philippos is a tragic word, rarely used; see Aeschylus, Eumenides 189. The unusual verb associated with Kritoboulos’ laughter is also rare: see Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics VII.7, 1150b11, where it is cited as an example of sudden loss of self-restraint and composure when someone is overcome or defeated by a strong and excessive pleasure or pain. On uncontrollable laughter, see the discussion, infra. 42.  From the “Preface” to the 1881 Winans edition of the Greek text of Xenophon’s Symposium. 43. Banquets or feasts, on vastly different scales and under diverse circumstances, are hosted by Odysseus, Agamemnon, Achilles, Menelaos, Nestor, Aeolus, Circe, Alkinoos, Penelope, and Eumaios (among others). See, e.g., Homer, Iliad I.470, 584, IV.2, IX.175, XX.234; Odyssey I.148, III.339, XV.141, XXI.271; see also, Il. I.350; V.802–805; XV.99; XVIII.406; Ody. I.150–155, 325–372; III.139; IV.15–19; VIII.43–100; XVII.385; XVIII.354, 381, 401; XX, end; XXI.11–38, 295–304 (centauromachy), 310; XXII.330–353. 44.  On the epic poetry in Philippos’ grievance, see the useful detail in the commentary of Bowen 1998, 93: “Philippos is represented in the Greek by . . . a demonstrative pronoun of little currency after Homer.” 45. See Il. I.531–611. Homer’s first representation of a banquet (Il. I.457–476), though, is a human gathering, immediately preceding and anticipating the divine assembly, in which Odysseus, having been chosen as proxy by Agamemnon, the king of kings, to ransom the fair-cheeked Briseis from the wrathful Achilles and delivered her over to her father Chryseis, the priest of Apollo, joins in the sacrifice and feast in honor and appeasement of the archer god: “And when they had put away their desire for eating and drinking,” then a symposium of unmixed wine and song followed; Odysseus, however, is not explicitly named as one of “the young Achaeans” who participated in the symposium.

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46.  This translation of Homer’s Iliad is based largely on the Richard Lattimore edition. 47.  Iliad I.584–596 (Lattimore translation); for another cause of Hephaistos’ lameness, cf. XVIII.392–405. 48.  Iliad I.597–600 (Lattimore translation). 49.  On divine contemplation of death, see Vergil, Aeneid 1.13–18, 29, 35, 51–77. 50.  In the Iliad, Hephaistos reminds Hera of how he was made lame when thrown down from Olympus by the force of Zeus. In other accounts, Hera herself threw him away from her because he was born deformed. To overcome the anger of Hephaistos at his treatment, who refused to return to Olympus, Dionysus brought him wine and drank with him until his intoxication overcame his anger. Hephaistos’ restoration to Olympus led on a horse by Dionysus and accompanied by an entourage of drunken revelers was a popular image on pottery in classical Attica. See Pausanius 1.20.3. 51. See Iliad XVIII.372–373, 380, 414–417; see also, the “work” of Sym. 1.5. 52.  In the narrative of the Iliad, the wife of the ungraceful limping god is Charis (Χάρις), the youngest of the Graces: see Iliad XVIII; Hesiod, Theogony 195. But precisely on account of his flawed nature, Hephaistos is in a decisive sense also wedded to his τέχνη. In the Odyssey, Demodokos, the blind bard in the house of Alkinoos and Arete, sings a different song of Hephaistos and his marriage to Aphrodite: Odyssey VIII.254–368. Here, singing in the presence of the wily Odysseus still disguised by his own cunning, the emphasis is also on the god’s defining virtue which couples him, despite his dragging footsteps, with the most beautiful (if not the most virtuous) of all wives, Aphrodite herself, though he must use his art on occasion to remind her of the unbreakable and indissoluble “bonds” of marriage when it was discovered that she lacked, among her other infinite and lovely charms, a certain modest fidelity. 53. Hephaistos’ particularity as a god is “born” from the fact that he is the only immortal who wrestles daily with necessity: he is the god of inventions, a master-craftsman of inventiveness itself. Thus is his lameness counter-balanced by his extreme virtue, his τέχνη; see Iliad XVIII.368–427, 457–616; Odyssey VII.78–94. 54.  Iliad I.601–607 (Lattimore translation). 55.  Other gods infrequently or rarely visited Hephaistos in his house, though it is said to have been the finest among all of the homes he constructed for the immortals; see Iliad I.605–610; XVIII.369–371, 382–387. When the Olympian gods finally gather in his home, it is only to witness the shameful “deeds to laugh at”—captured and framed by the terrible devices of his work and his sweat—but which “are not at all to be endured” (Odyssey VIII.305–307; cf. Plato, Republic 390a-d). 56.  Laughter elevates human beings through a carefree imitation of the divine and yet simultaneously returns us to and ground us in what is most human: see Iliad I.571–600; cf. Cyr. II.2.11–16, with the testimony of Mem. IV.1.1 and I.3.8. 57.  Consider the Socratic argument against laughter among the gods at Plato, Republic 388d–389b. 58.  Rosen 1968, xxiv. 59.  Like Diotima’s speech in Plato’s Symposium, Erōs/erōs seduces the human soul in an elevation or ascent beyond the human condition, that is, beyond human limits. Philippos’ tragic remark holds the key to this first chapter as a preface both to Kritoboulos’ remarks on ἐρὼς (in Chapter Four) and Socrates’ lecture on ἒρὼς (in Chapter Eight). See Bartlett 1996-b, 184: “Seriousness is as far from Philippos as immortality, and as this passing remark suggests (unwittingly to be sure), seriousness and immortality seem to belong together. For . . . in the remarks of Critoboulos, eros would seem to be or to include the longing for a kind of ‘wholeness’ or completion, the desire to know the contentment found only in the transcending of our merely fragmentary, needy, and defective selves, in the self-forgetting union with another that, being true happiness, we hope will last forever.” 60.  See Strauss 1958/1996, 143–144 [= Pangle 1989, 107–110]. 61.  See Strauss 1958/1996, 161 [= Pangle 1989, 130]; see also, Strauss 1970/1995, 325, esp. 332: “Socrates is also a gentleman, but a gentleman of a different kind; his gentlemanship consists in raising and answering the question ‘What is’ regarding the human things . . . Socrates was then a gentleman in the sense that he always considered the ‘What is’ of human things. Yet Xenophon gives us very few examples of such discussions; there are many more Socratic conversations which exhort to virtue and dehort from vice without raising any ‘What is’ question than conversations dealing with ti esti.”

4 Rival Ways of Life Καλοκἀγαθία and Virtue

Whenever having been invited and wanting to attend a dinner, [Socrates] easily kept up his guard against that which for many is most difficult, that is, guarding against filling oneself to the point of surfeit. For those unable to do so he advised them to be on their guard against being persuaded to eat when not hungry or to drink when not thirsty; for, of course, he said, these are what ruin stomachs, heads, and souls.1

THE SYRACUSAN’S WONDERS Once the pitiful lamentation of Philippos and the god-like laughter of Kritoboulus have broken the spell which beauty cast over the Symposium, Kallias’ banquet gives way to wine and song. Chapter Two opens with the removal of the feasting tables, the pouring of wine and the arrival of a new presence—a certain person (τις ἄνθρωπος) from Syracuse, unnamed but invited,2 and his troupe of performers (2.1): When the dining tables had been taken away, and they had poured a libation and sung a paean, some human being from Syracuse came for the sake of their revelry, having [with him] a good flute-girl, a dancing girl—one able to do wondrous things—and a boy very much in the bloom of his youth, who quite beautifully played the kithara and danced. By displaying these—as wonders—he made money.

Consecrating the occasion with a sacred libation and a common voice or song honoring the gods, Kallias’ banquet is on the verge of being transformed into a symposium proper, thus preparing the way for true revelry and entertainment to begin.3 As is fitting, the symposion proper begins with a dedication to or remembrance of the gods, first in the form of a libation (the first taste of wine belongs to the divine), and then in the singing of a paean. This traditional “after-dinner song” is also a kind of victory chant, or song of triumph, the word for which is derived from a reference to Paián, who is the physician to the gods (whatever that means), or a god-like physician, a kind of savior whose ministrations deliver others from sickness.4 For the purposes of entertainment, the Syracusan has in his troupe two girls and a young boy to bring in performances—one of the two girls is a good flute-player, the other a dancing girl 79

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who is “able to do wondrous things” (τὰ θαύματα δυναμένων ποιεῖν); the boy plays music on a kithara and dances “beautifully” (καλῶς). Like an accomplished craftsman with his wares or sophist with his speeches, the Syracusan “displays” (ἐπιδεικνὺς) his three youths “as wonders” (ὡς θαύματι) worth beholding (cf. 1.10) in order to earn his living.5 There is an ambiguity as to whether they themselves or their performances—under the direction of the Syracusan—really command the audience’s attention.6 Whatever the case may be, it seems the symposium itself is now underway.7 The young girl and the young boy now entertain the banqueters by playing music on their respective instruments. Nonetheless, something still is missing—something particularly human, we might say—a defect which Socrates himself seeks to remedy (2.2): When the flute-girl had played her flute for them and the boy his kithara, and both were thought to delight most sufficiently, Socrates said: “By Zeus, Kallias, you are entertaining us perfectly (τελέως)! For not only did you provide a blameless dinner, you are also furnishing the most pleasant sights (θεάματα) and sounds.”

Socrates, who had remained silent throughout the banquet, finally speaks. His praise adds to the symposium what has thus far been missing: speeches. Somehow the Syracusan’s invocation of the Muses has a liberating effect on Socrates. Swearing an oath, only the second of the dialogue (1.15), as a preface to his speech, Socrates politely commends Kallias as their host, attributing to him the delightful display-performances orchestrated by the Syracusan.8 For in addition to the “blameless” tastes being provided at the feast, says Socrates, the “most pleasant” (ἥδιστα) sights and sounds of the performers are carrying the occasion toward its proper completion or end (τέλος). Having taken their delight in food and in the sight of Autolykos’ beauty, and now enjoying the wondrous sights and sounds of the Syracusan, the physical senses of the banqueters are completely engaged.9 In other words, almost all the body’s desires are being pleasantly sated by Kallias’ feast. It is not difficult to imagine what other bodily pleasures remain to be indulged.

THE EMERGENCE OF SOCRATES The elevation of Kallias’ banquet from the necessary human needs to the noble (το καλὸν) began with the observation that the adornments and relishes of a feast are unnecessary, and hence superfluous, from the point of view of simply meeting bodily needs.10 When coupled with a divine seriousness invoked and mediated by the compelling beauty of Autolykos, the banquet acquired a transcendence beyond the necessary. Philippos, however, had regrounded the banqueters through his poignant reminder of their common humanity. While the lowest needs of the body were once more being acknowledged by consoling promises from the banqueters and Kritoboulos’ laughter, the higher human pleasures were yet forgotten. The wondrous sights and sounds of the Syracusan now accompanying the banquet continue the elevation or ascent of Kallias’ banquet by addressing the needs or desires of the human soul or mind. According to Socrates, the kind of pleasures being provided by the Syracusan are moving their feast toward a nearly flawless conclusion. Socrates’ use of the word “perfectly” (τελέως) is in keeping with Xenophon’s earlier use of the word telos to explain the power and effect of Erōs over the god’s initiates (see 1.10). To be carried to one’s end, whether at a banquet or in love, is to arrive at a pleasant fulfillment and sense of completion or perfection through the satisfaction of one’s deepest desires or



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longings. Socrates’ praise of Kallias and his entertainment will be tinged with irony, however, if Kallias is unable to recognize its implied distinction between the high and the low among the human things. Kallias’ reply to Socrates says much about his limited perception of human desires and his intentions: “[Kallias] said, ‘What then if someone should bring us some fragrant oil so that we may be entertained as well by a sweet smell (μύρον)?’” (2.3)11 Socrates responds immediately to this seemingly enticing offer with a resounding “No!” Given that he has been quiet for some time and that his first words praised Kallias’ banquet, we might wonder what precisely is now at stake that Socrates suddenly articulates his disapproval of such a proposal. We might also wonder why Socrates has been silent so long in the first place. For someone who is well known for engaging in conversation, his silence is odd. Ever since his confrontation with Kallias over wisdom (1.4–6), Socrates has said very little. From that point, the action of the dialogue gradually moved toward a traditional and harmonious sympotic moment, and seemingly reached its pinnacle in terms of the beautiful (1.7–11). The banqueters were held captive by Autolykos’ beauty in a kind of solemn silence, a silence which nonetheless Xenophon himself momentarily breaks with his thoughts about natural rule. Socrates, though, refrained from comment, his usual examinations notwithstanding.12 Socrates was not usually silent in the presence of physical beauty. Even without the arrival of Philippos to lighten the atmosphere with ridiculous banter and melodramatic suffering, he may have found a way to alleviate the silence with some kind of speech. Unlike Cyrus, who refused to be subject to the compelling sway of the beautiful, Socrates does not risk being overwhelmed.13 Xenophon’s intervention, however, releases Socrates from interrupting the enjoyment of others in gazing in silence at the beautiful; or perhaps Socrates, like Xenophon, found the spectacle of their silent gaze to be worth observing, but without comment. At any rate, Socrates chose not to disturb the silence with his usual serious inquiries. Instead, the banquet that began in a reverent silence would be interrupted by necessity and laughter. When a more fitting occasion to speak finally arrived, Socrates seized upon it in a manner which was revealing, thus “availing himself of his natural ascendancy.”14 But his entrance was curious as well. With the introduction of the most pleasant sights and sounds, being performed by the Syracusan’s wondrous troupe, the banquet could be said to have reached a peak of sorts, for both the boy and girl “were thought to delight most sufficiently” (μάλα ἱκανῶς εὐφραίνειν). Why, then, does Socrates reject the prospect of adding a “sweet smell” to the other delights? One answer may be that Socrates objects to a descent at this juncture of the symposium into additional pleasures derived from the physical senses. Perhaps he sees the emphasis on bodily perception and pleasure (which we discussed in Chapter One: the vigorous agōn of the pankration, the house in Peiraieus,15 allusions to Hades, Autolykos’ physical beauty,16 Philippos’ needs, even feasting itself ) and thinks it threatens to become a slippery slope, if Kallias’ proposed sweet aromas are now added. Once a desire for scents has been gratified, the only sensation among the five senses left to enjoy would be touch—a deficiency that the host may well be prepared to remedy. In anticipating the direction of Kallias’ proposal, Socrates simply may wish to prevent a turn toward the body. If this is so, any further gratification of the bodily senses must be viewed as a descent from the Socratic perspective. As the physical sense most associated with pleasure and pain, satisfaction of touch would risk a reversal of the motion of the banquet from the necessary to the noble occasioned by the Syracusan’s performances. If the wonders being supplied by the Syracusan are truly delightful and praiseworthy, as Socrates says, then they must be musical and

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not simply or merely physical. The pleasing sight of the beautiful performers when combined with the invocation of the divine Muses through sounds moves Socrates to speak; in so doing, he subtly points to what has been missing from the banquet. Music may be the highest approximation of the good, when viewed from the perspective of the body, especially when accompanied by the harmony of vision and hearing, which is to say, when music is skillfully played by beautiful players. But it is still somehow insufficient for human fulfillment. Socrates’ praise of the Syracusan’s performances cuts two ways: while music may be sufficiently delightful for the body, the satisfaction of bodily desire alone does not suffice for being human in the fullest sense.17 The banquet’s pleasures serve the body’s desire, but pleasant speeches at a symposium should serve the soul’s desire. For Socrates, it seems, the time has come to begin satisfying desires of the soul or mind through human speech or logos.18 With the Syracusan’s performances and now Socrates’ speech, the Symposium is prepared to begin again, and to move beyond the limitations of Kallias’ banquet. The action of the dialogue, in which Xenophon wishes to recall the playful deeds of gentlemen worthy of remembrance, is finally being set in motion.19 Between the serious and ridiculous performances of the banquet that we have already witnessed, on the one hand, and the speeches with respect to wisdom promised by Kallias that Socrates may still have in mind as yet to come, on the other hand, the Syracusan’s “wondrous” performances appear to be transitional. They provide a suitable occasion for Socrates to make his first appearance at the banquet as Socrates, so to speak—and to do so light-heartedly, pursuing speeches about virtue, gentlemanliness, and education with an unexpected ease and levity. As we shall see, the serious issue that will be playfully raised (and then prudently dropped) during the ensuing conversation concerns the rationality and teachability of virtue, particularly that virtue which belongs to serious gentlemen, kalokagathia.20 We thus understand that any Socratic inquiry to follow in the Symposium may in fact come to light and be pursued only obliquely or indirectly, rather than in Socrates’ characteristically overt manner (see 3.6; cf. Apology).

THE SCENT OF VIRTUE—SOCRATES CONTRA KALLIAS In praising the Syracusans’ wonders, Socrates calls attention to the all-too-human rather than divine status of Kallias’ banquet. Philippos, after his arrival, had sworn by Zeus in order to highlight the grave extent to which the human condition was being passed over in favor of a divine vision, so much so that his gripping “pain” (1.15), his mortality, had become intolerable. Socrates invokes the name of Zeus, by contrast, with respect to the banquet’s pleasant, not painful, effects: he applauds the elevation of the banquet through such means (2.2). But he also is wary of constant attention to what is physically pleasant. Far from being the cause of discomfort or pain, the banquet now runs the risk of being all too pleasant, and thus a distraction, at least as far as other even higher human desires are concerned. The feast and wine having presented them already pleasing tastes, and the entertainment the most pleasant sights and sounds, their host now offers the banqueters in addition a “pleasing smell,” such as exotic myrrh or some similar fragrant oil (μύρον),21 for their enjoyment. Socrates strongly objects (μηδαμῶς). Does he fear that Kallias’ banquet, like Circe in her lair, by entertaining his companions with seductive relishes, will “ruin” their “stomachs, heads, and souls,” and transform them into swine, something beastly and less than human, rather than greater (Mem. I.3.5–7)? If so, does this threat include Socrates himself, who is famously immune to bodily pleasures (see Plato, Symposium)? Perhaps he—like the much-enduring Odysseus, with his



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divinely-revealed knowledge of the “nature” of the moly plant (see Homer Ody. X.21ff.)—is somehow able to guard against such excess? What was conspicuously absent from the admittedly pleasant delights of Kallias’ banquet, of course, was conversation, that gift which, together with soul, most distinguishes human beings from beasts and enables human beings to live their lives like gods in comparison to other animals (see Mem. I.4.11–14). This deficiency Socrates had sought to remedy with his praise of Kallias for his choice of entertainment, or rather his praise of the Syracusan for his wonders. In objecting to the addition of scent, two Socratic reasons come quickly to mind. The first, to which we will return later, has already been suggested, namely, that Socrates is more interested in hearing speeches, the kinds of sounds most befitting of human beings and hence delightful to the soul and mind. Music, the ordered sounds of instruments, can replicate the tones of a human voice but cannot form words; once the Muses have graced the banquet through the Syracusan’s performances, Socrates supplies the words, speech. While the introduction of delightful fragrances might add to the list of other bodily pleasures being enjoyed by the banqueters, Kallias’ suggestion shows he is oblivious to the point Socrates is trying to make. The second, perhaps more obvious, reason for Socrates’ objection to the solicitation of a sweet smell is that it will overwhelm their judgment. But there is a less than obvious explanation to consider. Socrates will argue, playfully but ironically, that smell should reveal virtue in the way that sight reveals beauty. To speak metaphorically and literally, were everyone covered or anointed by the smell of a sweet perfume, a blurring of distinctions among human beings would result, since natural and conventional differences would be lost.22 The use of such refinement is dangerously ornamental and cosmetic, covering bodily defects and flaws, and conjuring a superficial semblance of natural beauty.23 In his objection, Socrates’ uses examples which are actually tailored to fit the setting and those present. As befits a banquet in a men’s dining-hall, he first of all highlights the distinction between men and women that would be blurred by perfumes. For example, Socrates opposes the uniformity which an overwhelming scent would create, on the grounds in part that what is appropriate for women differs from what is appropriate for men. “For just as one kind of dress is fine (καλή) for a woman, but another for a man, so too does one kind of scent befit a man, but another a woman” (2.3). Hence, he claims, what is “fine” for women does not necessarily suit men, and vice-versa24—an assertion with which no one present is likely to quarrel. Put simply, whereas beauty or what is fine may be cosmetically augmented, the scents that are associated with or caused by a particular kind of “work” should not be. While this analogy presumes an awareness of fundamental differences between male and female, it takes for granted that a difference which is conventional (namely, what kind of dress is thought or held to be καλόν) is comparable to another that only seems natural (what kind of scent is fitting and proper). Perhaps the appropriateness of scents will come to light as a matter of convention as well. Be this as it may, Socrates overlooks this confusion and proceeds without clarification to elaborate on the analogy he has outlined with respect to scents (2.3–4): For presumably no man anoints himself with fragrant oil for a man. And surely women, especially if they happen to be brides, like Nikeratos’ here or Kritoboulos,’ what need do they have of fragrant oil at all? For they smell of this themselves; whereas the smell of olive oil from the gymnasium [on a man], when it is present, is sweeter for women than fragrant oil and, when absent, is desired all the more.

The emphasis here is upon the usefulness of “fragrant oil” (μυρόν). Men, says Socrates, surely do not anoint themselves with fragrant oil for the sake of other men. Nor do they have need

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of such aphrodisiacs for the sake of women, since the olive oil of the gymnasium suffices for this purpose. Even women have no use for such oil, according to Socrates, since women—or at least married women, such as the brides of Nikeratos and Kritoboulos—possess in and of themselves that scent which is most appropriate to their status as wives. On the surface of things Socrates is arguing that the fragrant oil offered by Kallias is of no use or merely superfluous, especially with respect to the young men gathered at the banquet. His line of reasoning aims to identify the kind of scent which usefully befits men. Presumably we are to think this scent belongs to or derives from the work of the gymnasium, namely, olive oil, although his speech does not yet arrive at this conclusion. At this point no one objects to Socrates’ argument, perhaps because no one observes that there is some confusion about its soundness. First of all, his argument simply asserts that women who are brides will, as if naturally, smell of marriage. This assumption begs the question regarding the use of fragrant perfumes, especially by women, to conceal or erase distinctions. Moreover, his argument beneficently assumes that what is strictly conventional (marriage) has support from what is natural (scent); or, put another way, that nature and convention inevitably coincide. Under the circumstances, which he himself has taken care to contrive by focusing his example on brides and in particular Nikeratos’ and Kritoboulos’ wives,25 Socrates could say nothing else without giving offense. Brides smell just as they should, which is to say, as brides. In this way Socrates himself raises—and quietly resolves—the delicate issue of the virtue of a man’s wife.26 And with respect to what scent befits unmarried women or maidens, Socrates is silent, except to ask what need any woman should have of a fragrant oil that conceals. Such a naïve question should lead us to wonder whether Socrates is speaking seriously or playfully. A second, more intriguing confusion with respect to Socrates’ argument is the fact that the elaboration of his analogy departs from the general question of what is distinctly appropriate for men as opposed to women, considering instead what is fitting from the point of view of erōs or attraction. With respect to what is useful because attractive, Socrates rather politely “presumes” no bride would have any need whatsoever of perfume nor would a man use fragrant oil for the sake of another man. On the other hand, when a man smells of olive oil, a scent associated with the exertions of free men at the gymnasium, it is “sweeter for a woman” than any fragrant oil or perfume. According to Socrates’ argument, women, whether married or not, find the scent of olive oil on men attractive when it is present, “and, when absent, it is desired all the more.” Bachelors and married men—as crucial a distinction as maidens and wives—are thus treated equally when it comes to stirring a woman’s desires by means of smell. It goes without saying that a peculiar scent associated with one’s wife or beloved is not, in this case of men, equally exclusive—for the smell of olive oil from the gymnasium does not belong to a particular man, to say nothing of it not being peculiar to a particular woman’s husband. But is this the only perspective from which the scent of olive oil and the gymnasium is appealing as the scent that befits men in particular? Socrates concludes his argument against Kallias’ suggestion by speaking in terms most likely to be persuasive amid the kind of men who think themselves—or wish to be thought—liberal, and who are desirous at least of having the reputation for possessing certain virtues (2.4): For indeed everyone who is anointed with fragrant oil, both the slave and the free man, immediately smells the same; but scents born of exertions befitting a free man require, above all, useful pursuits and much time if they are to become both pleasant and characteristic of liberality.



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To douse oneself or one’s guests in perfume dilutes notable differences among human beings who encounter one another in a community, so much so that slave (δοῦλος) and free man (ἐλεύθερος) become virtually indistinguishable. Erasing such distinctions reduces all to a commonality at odds with natural (male/female, old/young, Greek/barbarian) and conventional diversity (wealthy/poor, free/slave, noble/base). Contrary to the idea of universal humanity under which “everyone . . . smells the same” as a result of the use of fragrant oil, Socrates defends the distinction between slavery and liberty in terms of scents which, as if by nature, are “born of exertions befitting a free man.” These “exertions” and “useful pursuits,” which is to say, the “work” of those who are free, Socrates contends, produce over time a pleasant scent “characteristic of liberality.” To be unable in essence to separate free men from slaves (not to mention separating men from women, as Socrates had earlier argued, or the implied differences which separate Greeks and barbarians)27 is to eliminate virtue itself. For once human beings are deprived of the basic means to distinguish the exertions of liberality from slavishness, that is, to distinguish liberal pursuits from any other kind of activity, the exercise of virtue ceases to be pleasant or to have real meaning. In other words, when convention lacks the means to sanction what is noble, virtue is neither recognized nor encouraged; the natural motions of the soul toward that which lies beyond the satisfaction of bodily needs are frustrated. Socrates is thus pointing out that acceptance of Kallias’ proposal may be a slippery slope which leads to the willing institution of tyranny precisely because it razes the differences between liberality and slavery. Perhaps we are meant to be reminded in this context of a similar distinction alluded to earlier in the dialogue between those with wealth and those who work (see 1.5), namely, between those like Kallias’ teachers, on one hand, and those like Socrates, on the other hand. Is Socrates reiterating the allusion found in his first speech of the dialogue, even before the banquet began, regarding the way in which a sophistic pursuit of wisdom resembles tyranny? Are we to think as well of the independence and freedom of those who are self-worked at philosophy as somehow related to the gentleman-farmer who goes to the effort to work his own land, as opposed to those who purchase the already-worked-over (not to say ruined) property of others?28 To anticipate the exchange of speeches that follows Socrates’ argument, Kallias’ proposal will appear incompatible with kalokagathia, for no one other than a tyrant, that is, a decided non-gentleman, would wish to completely and utterly level the ranks of human beings to such an extent that it is no longer possible to separate free men from slaves.

GENTLEMANLINESS—SOCRATES CONTRA LYKON In reply to Socrates’ first lengthy speech in the dialogue Kallias falls silent. He is apparently not eager to display the “many and wise things” that he has to say (1.4). Lykon, however, the father of Autolykos, speaking now for the very first time in the dialogue, reveals an immediate interest in preserving the distinctions which Socrates has pointed out. Lykon confirms that what Socrates has said about “young men” is certainly true; but as one of the two older participants at the banquet, together with Socrates himself, Lykon has a vested interest in hearing an argument about that scent which is appropriate for “those of us who no longer exercise in the gymnasium” (2.4). For surely no one would expect older men to possess the scent of olive oil and the gymnasium, as younger men should. Lykon’s question—“Of what should older men smell?”—assumes that there indeed is an important distinction to be made between the

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exertions of youth and those of mature men. Swearing an oath (his second), Socrates replies, without hesitation: “Of gentlemanliness, by Zeus!” He seems to have had this answer at the ready from the moment he began to speak. Just as the liberal exertions of healthy young men are expressed by the smell of olive oil in the gymnasium, that scent which is most characteristic of liberality among older men is, according to Socrates, kalokagathia. Here, for the first time in the Symposium apart from Xenophon’s own opening reflection, we catch sight—at least in speech—of the kind of men whose playful deeds are said to be the subject of the dialogue itself. Assuming that Socrates is speaking seriously, are we then to understand gentlemanliness and its scent to be uniquely associated with mature deeds of the soul, deeds prepared by vigorous gymnastic exercises in youth? Whatever the case may be, Socrates suggests the mature “exertions” and “work” from which the scent most indicative of a real “gentleman” emerges should not be limited to the physical work of the body. We should pause here to admit that it may be hard to take Socrates’ speech seriously, for surely none of those present are actually persuaded that human beings are to be distinguished from one another by smell alone, or that liberality and gentlemanliness are discernable from slavishness in a man’s sweat. But it is useful to think of this as an extension of Socrates’ objection to Kallias’ proposal, a playful kind of seriousness, especially insofar as Socrates uses this as a fitting occasion to introduce a topic worthy of conversation:29 What sorts of things are most appropriate for those, young or old, who are “free”? Of course, since Socrates must work within the limits established by their host, we cannot fail to miss the caricature of nobility expressed in the reduction of liberality and what is “noble and good” to a mere smell or scent, no doubt a less than noble manifestation or consequence of exertion and work by human beings.30 Notably however, despite what seems to be an inherent playfulness, not to say frivolousness, in speaking of what is most fitting and of the virtues of the human soul in terms of how a person’s body smells, Socrates affirms the seriousness of his speech by twice swearing an oath to Zeus.31 Thus is the divine called upon to strengthen and undergird his defense in speech of certain natural and conventional distinctions.

DIGRESSION: INVOCATIONS OF THE DIVINE Let us pause for a moment, before proceeding, to consider the invocations of the divine that occur in the dialogue.32 Socrates swears “by Zeus” a total of six times in this section. Does this abundance of divine invocations reflect Socrates’ recognition of the necessity for agreement, rather than controversy (or inquiry), about these things? Socrates will swear seven times in Section Four, once each in Sections Three, Five, and Six, and then three times in Section Eight during his extremely lengthy speech on Erōs. Socrates, by far, invokes the divine more than any other person in the Symposium (nineteen times). Surprisingly, after Socrates, it is the Syracusan who swears the most—seven times, and always “By Zeus.” Kallias swears five times, and the last time “By Hera.” Nikeratos, Kritoboulos, and Philippos each swear four times; Antisthenes and Charmides, thrice; Lykon and Hermogenes, twice; Autolykos, once (and fittingly so). Xenophon says that “everyone” swore together only one time during the Symposium—in response to Socrates’ statement about the virtue of a “good pimp” (4.60). Apparently “everyone” was in perfect agreement only with respect to this statement. (All those who participate and speak in the Symposium, including the Syracusan, have sworn at least once prior to this common invocation.) There is some lingering doubt, however, as to whether “everyone” agreed,



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for it would be awkward to include Socrates at this point, since he is the one who is putting the question to the others, that is, to “everyone” else; nor should those who participated silently in the dialogue (such as Xenophon) be included. Notably, everyone involved in Xenophon’s Symposium swears at least once, and all swear “By Zeus” at least once. But it is Socrates who is most likely to innovate when it comes to oaths, swearing them in four modes other than the traditional and hence most frequent manner. Although Kritoboulos is the first to pronounce a new oath (4.11), he does so conditionally, whereas Socrates follows through upon it (4.25). Five other banqueters follow Socrates’ lead in altering their mode of swearing, beginning immediately after he does so, but only the first two by Charmides (4.27) and Kallias (4.45) are truly novel; the other three imitate Socrates (Antisthenes: 8.4; Hermogenes: 8.12; and Lykon: 9.1), the last two doing so following Kallias’ lead (4.54). No one follows the lead of Charmides’ truly novel oath: “By Apollo!” Socrates pronounces two novel oaths, one of which he himself alone repeats (6.4, 8.6) and the other of which, like that of Charmides, remains utterly unique (4.53; cf. Mem. I 3.2). While he is the first to introduce unconditional innovations regarding the gods, Socrates nevertheless returns in his final speech (twice: 8.12 and 8.43) to the traditional mode “By Zeus.”33 Among the five who change their mode of swearing, the final oaths of four of them (following Socrates) remain innovative (Kallias, Antisthenes, Hermogenes, and most notably Lykon; Charmides is the exception). The other participants, not including Kallias’ conditional oath (thus: Philippos, Nikeratos, the Syracusan, Autolykos), always and only swear in the conventional or traditional manner. Zeus, by far, is the god most frequently invoked (in every instance except nine), though the preponderance of his invocations occur early in the dialogue (forty-four times in Sections 2–4, and only nine times in Sections 5–9; once only in Section 1). Hera, the sister and wife of Zeus, goddess of marriage and women, frequently invoked in connection with the birth and nurture of children, follows at some distance with four oaths: once each by Kallias (4.45), Socrates (4.54), Hermogenes (8.12), and Lykon (9.1), although she makes up ground in other ways; for example, Zeus is invoked in every chapter except the last one, in which the only oath that occurs is “By Hera.” All the gods are invoked together thrice: by Kritoboulos (4.11), Socrates (4.25), and Antisthenes (8.4). Socrates alone swears “in the presence of the gods,” and he does so twice and in similar circumstances, rebuking two of his companions (6.4 and 8.6; cf. 3.14 and 4.46–49). There are two gods, Apollo and Herakles, who are individually invoked, first by Charmides (4.27) and then by Socrates (4.53). Overall, the emphasis or impression created by so many oaths is rather comical, invoking the father and mightiest of the gods in support of outrageous or whimsical claims. The innovative oaths only further stress the fact that the banqueters are gentlemen being playful rather than serious. No one invokes the divine to sanction a threat or take a solemn vow. In objecting to Kallias’ proposal and playfully representing the high (καλοκἀγαθία νὴ Δία) in terms of the low (ὀσμαὶ) in his argument, Socrates manages to shed light on the serious ethical and political consequences that follow for human beings from the loss of clarity regarding what is noble caused by the use of perfumes or other forms of concealment. Turning the banqueters lightheartedly toward a consideration of the nature of genuine virtue, Socrates seems to have something rather serious in mind. With this Socratic intervention we are a far cry away from the introduction of a mere “sweet smell” by Kallias. Grasping the occasion he makes for himself once the Syracusan and his performers arrived, Socrates has guided the men away from the pleasures of the body to a playful inquiry into the virtue proper to free human beings—gentlemanliness. In this way, Socrates avoids the accusation of frivolousness or low

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comedy (justly applied to someone like Philippos) and wins over a respectable ally (Lykon) in his effort to elevate the banquet beyond the physical. Whether or not he can maintain that alliance through his speeches remains to be seen.

A TRADITIONAL ACCOUNT OF GENTLEMANLINESS Having been initially persuaded by Socrates’ playful explanation of the kind of scent that is fitting for a young as well as mature man to exude, Lykon presses further. Without objecting to the truth in Socrates’ sworn statement, Lykon persists, inquiring about the source of this mature virtue, gentlemanliness: “And where might someone lay hold of this ointment?” To which Socrates—swearing yet a third time (and in a short span)—curtly answers: “Not, by Zeus, from the perfume-peddlers!” This indirect reply, like his reply to Kallias’ patronage for the wisdom-peddlers (1.5), distances Socrates from Kallias, but leaves Lykon in the lurch. Perhaps put off by this diversion or joke, or perhaps spurred to a deeper inquisitiveness (although it is hard to know which), Lykon is not put off by the joke and insists that Socrates answer: “But from where then?” In reply, and perhaps sensing Lykon’s slight irritation, Socrates aptly summons to his aid the traditional authority of a well-known poet, quoting a line from Theognis, as the answer to where or how one looks for gentlemanliness:34 ‘From those who are good shall you be taught good things; but if with those who are bad you should mingle, you shall forsake even the mind that exists within you.’

Socrates’ use of Theognis here, just as the symposium proper is getting underway, harkens back to an earlier time when such sage lessons might form the bulk of sympotic discourse. Theognis, in particular, was a venerable relic on such occasions, with his wise sayings accepted traditionally as authoritative. The word-usage of the poet in this couplet reflects Homeric influence: for example, “those who are good” (ἐσθλῶν), to whom “good things” (ἐσθλὰ) are due, are understood to be the same as those who are “good” (ἀγαθοί) in Socrates’ time, even if the democratic regime of Athens is quite distant from an aristocratic world of Homeric heroes. The term is used to describe someone or something which was held to be “good” within its class, and it was nominally opposed to that which is “bad” (κακοὶ). What is “noble” (καλὸς) can also be used in opposition to the ugly (κακὸς). But, as opposed to the usage here implied by Socrates with reference to gentlemen, “good” in the Homeric sense implied those who were stout, brave, or elite, with emphasis on physical prowess as their distinctive excellence.35 This poetic and, hence, solidly traditional response of Socrates to Lykon’s question as to how gentlemanliness (καλοκἀγαθία) may be learned has much in common with the entire section from the Memorabilia (I.2.12–23) in which Xenophon repeatedly introduces himself as a witness that moderation (σωφροσύνη) is the key to possessing the noble and good things, something which he says he learned from Socrates (but which Alcibiades and Kritias, both mentioned in that passage in direct contradistinction to Xenophon and his Socrates, did not).36 There is no doubt that Lykon is pleased by Socrates’ poetic reference, for he quickly turns to his son to be sure that Autolykos is listening. Yet, it is Socrates, not Autolykos, who responds, thereby fashioning the intriguing statement which the boy himself arguably could not (2.5):



Rival Ways of Life 89 And Lykon spoke: “Do you hear this, son?” “Yes, by Zeus,” said Socrates, “and he makes use of it too! When, at any rate, he wished to become victorious in the pankration, considering together with you 37 in turn whoever seems most capable in this pursuit, he will associate with him.”

Accepting that the proposed textual emendation is correct, we hear Socrates deliver a “swift and neat” compliment to Lykon and Autolykos as a virtuous pair. He mutually praises the father and the son, the former for his authority over and concern for his son’s virtue, the latter for his respect for his father and his own recent training and victory.38 But behind its pleasant façade Socrates’ compliment conceals an ambiguity, for what Autolykos “makes use of,”39 in consultation with Lykon is the wisdom of Theognis. Whether he or his father have earned or worked for this wisdom themselves is another matter. While Socrates politely acknowledges and even helps to articulate the expected alliance between paternal authority and education to virtue, there is the implication that Autolykos’ father may prove as inadequate a teacher of gentlemanliness, kalokagathia, as he was a trainer for pankration. It should be clear that to “associate with” someone, especially given its various meanings, is a matter of crucial importance to the formation of character.40As we shall sense in the dialogue’s undercurrent of tension, what is being implied here by Socrates may be a threat to the father’s education of his son as well as his authority. There is no doubt that a beautiful athlete and pankration victor like Autolykos smells of the olive oil in the gymnasium (see 1.7: some who had exercised and been anointed apparently had not bathed). However, such focused exertions may also serve to distract one from paying sufficient attention to virtue (see 8.38; 2.17). With respect to his study of virtue, the question may justly be raised: “Is Autolykos closer to the slave who conceals his slavishness by means of the scents of the gymnasia than to the true gentleman who smells as he does on account of his exertions over a long period of time?”41 For a young man his age he meets the laughable, even absurd, standard of virtue mentioned by Socrates. Whether his father is taking sufficient care to consult with Autolykos about his education to virtue, Autolykos’ training in the kind of exercises that ripen with time and maturity into kalokagathia remains to be seen. The significance of this education, however, is in no way laughable; perhaps father and son are both in need of finding a teacher of virtue.42 The idea of education raises a crucial theme for readers of the dialogue aware of Socrates’ trial and ultimate execution on charges of corrupting the youth.

SOCRATES AND THE SOPHISTS The issue of Autolykos’ education reminds of Kallias’ earlier boast, made in the absence of Lykon, that he has acquired wisdom. As Socrates makes clear in his reply, it is well known that Kallias uses his wealth to pay sophists to teach him “wise things” (1.5–6). The implied indictment of Kallias there anticipates (in terms of dramatic date but not necessarily composition) a passage from Plato’s Apology of Socrates, where Socrates points out at his trial that great wealth does not guarantee that one will be sufficient to educate human beings, especially one’s own sons—as the example of Kallias evidently shows. Such an education requires knowledge in virtue, above all, for one must be taught one’s “appropriate virtue”

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in order to become “noble and good,” that is, in order to become a perfect gentleman. It is important to note that the question of becoming a perfect gentleman is inseparable from the problem of learning one’s proper virtue. But what exactly is the proper virtue of a gentleman? Does virtue change from person to person, or from polis to polis? Socrates does not distinguish virtue as being particularly Athenian, for he accepts as a beginning point that “such virtue, that of human being and citizen” can potentially be taught by foreigners travelling away from their homelands. Thus, those who are wealthy in Athens are quick to spend their money in search of teachers for their children, even those who are not Athenian. The direct referents for this comment by Plato’s Socrates are the sophists who claim to educate human beings. and to teach virtue for money, sophists like Protagoras of Abdera, Gorgias of Leontini, Prodikos of Ceos, Hippias of Elis, and Evenos of Paros. Several of these names, of course, are mentioned by Xenophon’s Socrates in his reply to Kallias’ boast regarding wisdom. Socrates, in Plato’s Apology, perhaps because of the context, leaps beyond the immediate question by blurring the distinction between the virtue of a citizen and the virtue of a human being, as though it were given that they are the same. By speaking in terms of educating human beings, Socrates is able to set aside the problem of particularity which confines virtue and thus to speak in a more general sense about the education of human beings. Once the boundaries of polis are broken down, virtue is no longer confined to a particular place. Socrates contrasts himself to the traveling sophists and argues that he, unlike they, makes no claim to possess such knowledge, and that he is not wealthy enough to pay to receive wisdom from others—and he certainly is not like the sophists, in that he does not receive pay in exchange for his conversations. This could lead to the conclusion that Socrates does indeed see a distinction between Athenian virtue and the general virtue of human beings, and that is why he remains in Athens. This superficial conclusion makes for a good defense speech since Socrates is attempting to distinguish himself from the traveling sophists who, among other things, make the weaker speech the stronger. But the distinction between the philosophic life as lived by Socrates and the activity of the foreign sophists is not entirely clear, for anyone listening to Socrates must know that while he may not travel in order to converse with foreigners, he is more than willing to converse with anyone who comes to Athens. And while he himself is not interested in leaving Athens, except when required to do so by military service, that fact would not interfere with his wide-ranging inquiries, since so many foreigners are constantly passing through Athens. This conclusion— that Socrates holds Athens to be exceptional with respect to virtue—may not hold up under scrutiny (and neither then will his defense). For it may be that where Socratic speech is most radical is in its investigation of the commensurability of human virtue and Athenian virtue. If the question “What is Virtue?” leads to a revelation that one’s answer as an Athenian is insufficient and must be thought through (not rethought since it was most likely held by habit), then Socrates seems to be undermining the conventional understanding of virtue that governs Athenian gentleman. In this respect, that is, in his account of what virtue is, Socrates’ thoughts may prove to be closer to the teachings of sophists than he might otherwise wish to appear. Moreover, the deeper conclusion would be that Socrates reveals the hidden cracks in the convention to show that Athenian virtue is not by nature (which is to say, that it is not human virtue simply), thereby allowing one to inquire into the nature of human virtue itself, and so reach a fuller understanding of the limits of Athenian virtue. This Socratic line of inquiry is surely not the kind of education that the polis, qua polis, would likely be interested in promoting, for it undermines obedience to the law and calls into question the ends of the polis.



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His affinity with the threat posed by the sophists and their claim to be able to teach virtue to anyone anywhere (for money, of course) to an Athenian understanding of gentlemanliness cannot be denied. It is therefore with good reason that a later orator could refer to this Athenian philosopher as “Socrates the sophist.”43 From what has been said it becomes evident that this exchange of speeches, in fact, marks a tense undercurrent between Socrates and his future accuser.44 This conversation—the first of a few brief encounters between Socrates and Lykon—hints at the Socratic challenge to fathers, as the traditionally authoritative voice regarding virtue, as well as to conventional opinions about the source of kalokagathia. Even its form playfully imitates a kind of cross-examination in which Lykon poses a series of questions on virtue, and Socrates, in his way, answers. The tension between them is anticipated by Lykon’s use of the word “ointment” (χρῖμα) in his questioning of Socrates, a term that nominally leads us to associate (or ally) him more closely with Kallias and his perfume-oil (μύρον) than with Socrates and his objections to the use of cosmetics. The ointment that Lykon mentions refers to a scented oil or unguent smeared on the body, something that is thicker than the scented olive oil of the gymnasium or Kallias’ exotic myrrh. Cosmetics conceal natural attributes and can be deceptive. There is an implied threat of corruption associated with those who trade in or use oils and creams that cosmetically enhance, alter, or conceal what is natural. When read by those who know what happened to Socrates at and after his trial, the tragic irony of the situation cannot be missed. Socrates sits at a symposium, with aspiring gentlemen and philosophers, discussing virtue with a young man’s father who two decades later will emerge as one of three Athenians responsible for charging and prosecuting Socrates. According to the Platonic account of the trial (18a-e), Socrates says that he faced two sets of accusers, the old and the new. While the older accusers are unnamed, “unless a certain one happens to be a comic poet” (namely, Aristophanes), Socrates admits that they are in fact many, and that they are more dangerous because they have spoken to the men of Athens about him since they were children. The new accusers, on the other hand, are contemporary men of Athens who are among the wealthiest in the polis and whose sons, having leisure, followed Socrates willingly. Socrates treats as negligible all three of his official accusers.45 Even the highly-regarded line of poetry by Theognis, cited by Socrates and enthusiastically supported by Lykon, speaks as much of the corruption of virtue as education to gentlemanliness. At any rate, Lykon’s presence at the banquet in the first place, notwithstanding his premature departure with Autolykos (see 9.1), may already indicate something of his tentative consent to his son’s desire “to associate with” Kallias. Because the setting of the Symposium admits of and indeed encourages a certain deviation in speech from strict seriousness, the tension between Socrates and Lykon never actually surfaces in the action of the dialogue. For the playful, as we have just seen, serves as a point of contact or conversation between the philosopher, represented by Socrates, and the gentleman, embodied by Lykon.46 But a brief consideration of the immediate and controversial reaction of the “many” present who contested Socrates’ last point about virtue, however, shows how this same conversation could perhaps become a source of conflict if it were presented outside the playful setting of the Symposium.

THE PROBLEM WITH VIRTUE—SOCRATES CONTRA ANTISTHENES A fundamental disagreement arises among the banqueters as a result of Socrates’ statement about virtue. With his ironic praise of Lykon’s capacity to find his son a suitable teacher of

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virtue, Socrates touches on what is a familiar Socratic question—“Can virtue be taught?”— which in turn causes a controversy to erupt (2.6): At this point, many spoke out at once. And someone among them said, “Where, then, will he discover a teacher of this?” Someone else said that this cannot be taught, while another said that if anything else can be, this too should be learned.

What appears controversial is Socrates’ implicit claim that virtue is teachable, or that knowledge is a sufficient cause of virtue.47 One unnamed speaker wonders where such a teacher of “this” is to be found; another contends that “this” cannot be taught, and yet another, riding the fence, so to speak, holds that if indeed any other thing can be learned, then “this” too should be learned. The teachability of “this” particular virtue—Theognis’ good things (ἐσθλὰ) or Lykon’s gentlemanliness (καλοκἀγαθία)—is a point which will need to be disputed, even though Socrates’ introduction of the issue was couched in terms of conventional wisdom (2.7): But Socrates said, “Well then, since this is surrounded on all sides by arguments, let us set it aside for another time; but for now, let us complete the things which are already set forth. For I at least see that this dancing girl has arisen and that someone has also brought in hoops for her.”

Socrates, who is now literally as well as figuratively “surrounded on all sides by arguments” (ἀμφίλογόν),48 that is, by disputable or contentious speech, tactfully moves the banqueters to adopt more conciliatory postures, by turning their attention toward the performance of the dancing girl which awaits them. Thus, the inquiry which could be founded upon this conflict of opinions is, on the initiative of Socrates, preempted by the Syracusan’s wonders; gentlemen, it seems, should not dispute the nature of virtue openly—that is, dialectically—as opposed to doing so (as we shall see) in a playful and rhetorical mode.49 Following Socrates’ advice, the banqueters agree to set aside and postpone the disputed issue of the teachability of virtue. Such an inquiry, which would eventually lead to an even more critical and disputed Socratic question (“What is virtue?”), lingers at the margins of the speeches of Xenophon’s Symposium. The question arises casually, first as a reflection of opinion, then as an observation, but never as a philosophic or protreptic prompt; such an inquiry takes as its point of reference the performances that attend the speeches throughout the action of the dialogue.50 While the banqueters themselves, or “many” of them at least, may doubt the availability of teachers of virtue, as well as the rationality and teachability of virtue, the girl’s performance (to which Socrates specifically points) appears to offer evidence that virtue can be learned—if it is virtue which makes her dance routine so noteworthy. With the other girl playing the flute and “someone”51 standing near her tossing some hoops up in the air, “taking hold of them, she danced and at the same time threw them spinning back into the air, calculating how high she would have to throw them to catch them in rhythm.” (2.8) Addressing all the “men” (ὦ ἄνδρες) now for the first time, Socrates subtly observes, based upon watching the dancing girl’s performance: “As in many things, men, so in others, even so it is clear in the things the girl is doing that the feminine nature happens to be no worse than that of a man, but lacks [only] judgment and strength” (2.9). The familiar address used here by Socrates, which is an unusual one for him, signals that we should pay attention.52 What is remarkable here, from a rhetorical point of view, is that, in contrast to the directness that characterized his first speech and his exchange with Lykon, Socrates lets his observation unfold in a sequence of idiomatic phrases “draped” around the ocular proof.53 Based on Xenophon’s description of the performance, we can surmise that what Socrates notices about



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the girl’s performance is her capacity for calculation and precision in her dancing, which are integral to her rhythmic movements (ἐν ῥυθμῷ). Though he refrains from saying so here, this harmony in motion will lead Socrates to praise the boy too.54 For now, he focuses upon what is “wondrous” (τὰ θαύματα) rather than the beautiful. Is it not worthy of wonder that the dancing girl’s performance, for Socrates, defines her feminine nature as “no worse” than a masculine one? With the exception of “judgment and strength,” which are in effect replaced here by calculation and disciplined rhythm, the differences between a woman and a man appear to have been erased or ignored by Socrates’ observation, at least when it comes to education and virtue. Socrates subtly introduces the dancing girl herself and her performance as evidence in the otherwise “postponed” dispute over the teachability of virtue, making use of what is near to hand rather than proceeding through contentious speeches. But this is not all. Having already exchanged the certitude of sight for smell, his speech pushes ahead (2.9): “So if someone among you has a wife, taking heart let him teach her whatever [it is] which— with her understanding—he would wish to make use of.” Socrates now uses the visible and “wondrous” example of the accomplished dancing girl to prompt the husbands who are present to “take heart” in educating their wives. In so doing, he pretends the earlier dispute has been settled, concluding that a wife, just like the Syracusan’s girl, can learn “whatever [it is]” which a husband would wish her to understand in order for him to “make use of ” it in associating with her. Diverting attention from fathers and their education of their sons, which is to say, away from the grave issue that will eventually bring him to trial and toward a question that nonetheless was a prominent concern in his own conversations—Socrates is constructing an argument by analogy about the teachability of virtue, and doing so by attending to the more suitable material for such a discussion being provided before their eyes by the conspicuous performances of the Syracusan’s troupe. The cynical Antisthenes55 wastes no time raising an immediate objection intended to cut to the quick, foiling Socrates’ nascent argument with an ad hominem attack (2.10): How is it, then, Socrates, that having this in mind you too don’t educate Xanthippe, but deal with a wife who of all those existing—and I suspect of all those in the past and future too—is the most difficult to bear?

Taking issue with Socrates’ exhortation for husbands to educate their wives, Antisthenes cites the example of Socrates’ tempestuous wife, whose “difficult” demeanor was apparently well known. His attempt to contradict the argument by citing this example is founded upon an assumption, or misconception, about the relation between theory and practice: namely, that if Socrates himself—“having this [view of education] in mind”—has come to understand what he has said is true, then why is it he fails to practice what he teaches and so “make use of ” his own wife in the way that he is exhorting others? Socrates does not object to the characterization of his wife as difficult. As a companion of Socrates, Antisthenes’ challenge, although perhaps tactless, is not really aggressive.56 Socrates tolerates his riposte as a playful gibe. But when Antisthenes turns his attack on their fellow banqueter Nikeratos, Socrates is quick to put a leash on the petulant refutations of his admirer (see 3.6).57 For now, Socrates sees fit simply to parry Antisthenes’ personal blow with a sensible reply. Like those men who “wish to become skilled horsemen,” says Socrates, he knows that acquiring a nag is useless, for a horse with a broken will is not a horse at all, but a docile mule; in other words, he implies, only an unskilled quixotic rider would prefer a mount like Rocinante. The “high-spirited” ones (θυμοειδεῖς), that is, those

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exhibiting a strong willfulness or temper, are the most useful to ride or use, once they have been tamed or reined-in by a good rider, of course.58 By analogy Socrates speaks of himself, then, as one who, “desiring to deal with and consort with human beings” in a skilled way, acquired a “high-spirited” wife. Xanthippe’s shrewish nature was indeed proverbial.59 But rather than becoming an expert horseman who is “able to subdue such a one,” Socrates settles for not being thrown, for, as he readily admits, “knowing well that if I endure her, I will easily associate with all other human beings.” To endure or submit, however, is not the same as to subdue or constrain (katexein) with skill. The enduring Socrates, it seems, at best plays the role of a bungling, if patient, Petruchio to Xanthippe’s uncontrollable Kate.60

THE LIMITS OF RHETORIC—SOCRATES CONTRA XANTHIPPE Prompted by Antisthenes’ rough version of Socratic elenchos,61 the exchange on Xanthippe illuminates one of Socrates’ abiding concerns with the usefulness or utility, rather than the nobility, of one’s possessions. This is an implicit concern in this section, but it becomes explicit in the discussion in later sections on the various forms of wealth (in Section Four) as well as the beauty contest between Socrates and Kritoboulos (in Section Five).62 Here, early in the drinking and the conversation of the symposium, Socrates not only keeps the peace by corralling Antisthenes,63 but he also moves the discussion toward a topic of philosophic interest. Without having taught his wife anything, some utility may still have come of his marriage to her. In learning how to “endure” her, Socrates has surely become self-taught regarding the knowledge or art of how “to associate with” other (less troublesome or cantankerous) human beings as well. The truth of Socrates’ Odyssean claim to have learned endurance from his dealings with Xanthippe is best seen in his capacity to associate with such very diverse companions as Charmides, Hermogenes, and Antisthenes, who are at times difficult but perhaps not “the most difficult” (χαλεπωτάτῃ; cf. 4.37, 8.6).64 Moreover, unlike the “perfect gentleman” Ischomachos, who (as we discussed above) also failed to educate his wife, Socrates is aware of the limitations of his capacity to educate or manage his wife’s notoriously peevish disposition. In other words, because Socrates harbored no delusions regarding gynaikologia, he showed himself, in at least this respect, to be “superior” to one Athenian who was highly reputed for kalokagathia.65 Far from being rendered utterly helpless in pleading against his wife’s indictments, as that gentleman had confessed he could be, Socrates appears never even to have begun to argue with his Xanthippe.66 But it stands to reason that, having failed so conspicuously in the “most difficult” case, Socrates did not expect to succeed in all other cases. For example, although Socrates arguably could have done so, he chose not to correct the opinion of the respectable Ischomachos regarding his knowledge of his own art67—and for the same reason, it would seem, that he now supplies to Antisthenes regarding his own incorrigible wife. Socrates does not have the ambition to be a breaker of horses. Further reflection on the difficulty in overcoming others reveals Socrates’ unwillingness to try to change an unchangeable nature as his knowledge of his own ignorance or limits. Some high-spirited natures, it seems, this “gadfly” did not want to upset or spur too hard (Pl. Apo. 30e: μύωψ); Socrates did not consider himself to be someone skilled at breaking the will of high-spirited horses, whether Xanthippe or Athens.68 This unwillingness to educate Xanthippe, or manage his wife, also points to a certain inevitability regarding the “serious” gentlemen in relation to that polis to which Socrates is wedded, so to speak (see Mem. II.2;



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Plato, Crito). His posture toward his wife, therefore, can be understood analogously as the comic reflection of his desire not to antagonize or alienate too much certain gentlemen like Ischomachos or Lykon, not to mention Athens.69 But eventually, when the political times became tempestuous enough, even the rhetorically versatile Socrates had to endure the inconvenience of being unable to find adequate shelter from the storm.70 Fortunately for Socrates and his companions, though perhaps they would not admit for the same reasons, this expected day in his “most blessed” life is a long time coming.71

ON THE TEACHABILITY OF VIRTUE Returning to the dialogue, we notice that Xenophon himself quietly indicates, with the first of his editorial commentary after his opening reflection (1.8–11), the self-recognizing limitations of Socratic speech: “. . . this, indeed, was a speech held to have been spoken not far off the mark” (2.10). With reference to a Socratic logos running through the Symposium, what Xenophon does not say is that this speech “hit the mark”; in other words, perhaps it was a bit wide.72 But how so? In dodging Antisthenes’ contradiction Socrates’ remarks about Xanthippe come close but do not hit the mark with respect to the education to virtue which he had earlier thought demonstrated by the dancing girl’s routine. The teachability of virtue, the rationality of moral virtue, has not ceased to be controversial; the fundamental problem of virtue has not been resolved. But perhaps “the things which dancing girls learn from dancing masters, and wives from their husbands, [have] nothing to do with virtue,”73 which is to say, perhaps Socrates’ argument is not disproven by his failure to educate Xanthippe, since virtue itself is not the subject of such an education. Something other than virtue may account for the dancing girl’s “wondrous” acts. The dancing girl’s second routine the central performance of the chapter—is a daring display of courage that caused those who beheld her to gasp in fear, lest she somehow be hurt (2.11). So “boldly and unfailingly” did she perform this feat that Socrates was induced to comment again, this time in a remark directed not to the “men” in general but to his recent antagonist (2.12): And Socrates, calling out to Antisthenes, said: “None of those watching will dispute this I suppose, namely, that even courage or manliness is teachable, whenever she, though a woman, hurls herself so daringly into the swords.”

The very sight, exclaims Socrates, of the young dancing girl performing such a dangerous act “so daringly,” without hesitation or fear, must silence any objection that someone among them might raise regarding the teachability of courage. No doubt the other virtues can be taught as well if the dancing girl—being a woman, no less—can learn “manliness” (ἀνδρεία). With the evidence before their eyes, the banqueters are almost compelled to agree. If it was not so after her first routine, the controversial issue seems surely now to be settled: virtue is teachable.74 Given Socrates’ failure to educate his own wife, it seems to be the Syracusan who is emerging as the teacher of virtue whom Lykon and Autolykos, and perhaps others, are in need of. However, since this education to virtue was undoubtedly accomplished by means of habituation or practice, it remains to be seen whether virtue can be taught by higher means, by reason directly. In other words, what has not been settled is whether virtue is fully rational.

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Hardly one to be at a loss for words, however, the disputatious Antisthenes quickly draws out the thread of Socrates’ argument to its extreme limit (2.13): Well then, wouldn’t it be an excellent thing for the Syracusan here to display for the polis [his] dancing girl proclaiming that, if the Athenians will pay him, he will make all the Athenians daring enough to close with [enemy] spear-points in battle?

There is, of course, a kind of absurdity that follows from carrying Socrates’ argument to its logical conclusion; namely, that if the Syracusan is able to teach even a young girl how to perform her acrobatic routines with courage and manliness, then it should necessarily follow that he could also teach all the Athenians how to be daring when fighting in battle. Antisthenes defends the jest by pointing out that in exchange for providing the polis this service, which would be “an excellent thing” (κράτιστον) for Athens, at a time when the Athenians have proven less than convincing in their recent military engagements with Sparta,75 the Syracusan should also expect to be paid well. Thus, the practice of his art would be shown to be not only entertaining, but useful. Indeed, if the Syracusan is an adept teacher of manliness, with respect to both women and men, and if the Athenians are willing to place themselves entirely under his tutelage, his art could transform Athens into a living image of the Spartan regime, for only in Sparta were citizen-women as renowned as citizen-men for bravery, physical beauty, and strength.76 If Athens needs a second education in virtue (as the humorous remarks of both Antisthenes and Philippos imply), and if the Syracusan could train boys in manliness as well as he has trained this girl, then what a teacher the Syracusan would be—if only the Athenians could be persuaded to listen to him and learn what he has to teach. One can imagine a situation in which the Athenians failed to acknowledge what must be done in pursuit of what they found more pleasant to do. The fact that the Syracusan’s economic livelihood happens to depend upon private exhibitions of this kind (2.1; cf. 3.10; 4.60, 64) suggests that the Syracusan cannot (due to Athenian indifference) or, perhaps, for some reason, is unwilling to teach Athenian men manliness.77 Although the extremity which Antisthenes rushes to expose may seem far-fetched, Socrates has already set a similar precedent by comparing the Syracusan’s education of his dancing girl to a husband’s education of his wife (gynaikologia) as a part of the gentleman’s art of household management (oikonomia). In other words, if virtue is always virtue, and the proportion between oikos and polis is properly maintained, then a teacher of virtue should be prized not only for his capacity to educate wives but also to improve the demos itself. Just as Socrates’ professed interest in learning about Ischomachos’ art was not a matter of mere polite conversation, since knowledge of how to manage a household well is comparable to the knowledge of how to rule ten thousand households or a polis,78 there is reason to think that in Antisthenes’ quip we have glimpsed another Socratic interest, one which (as we shall see) emerges much more seriously in the dancing boy’s sequel to the dancing girl’s performance—an interest in learning the kind of virtue produced by the Syracusan’s art. Whether that art teaches skills by habitual training, or by means of knowledge, remains to be seen.

SOCRATIC DANCING Whether or not Socrates wished to reply to Antisthenes’ exaggeration of his argument we shall never know, for now it is Philippos who has heard enough. The agōn between Socrates and



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Antisthenes, however, is by no means finished; it is simply postponed, since they will wrestle each other in speech a few more times in the Symposium before the evening is over. Philippos, being disturbed by his own failure thus far to “perform” well and by the turn to “serious” conversations about virtue, tries to regain the attention of the banqueters in the only way he knows how—by inciting their laughter.79 But this topical joke at the expense of a politician, as with his other jokes upon arrival at the banquet, flops (see 2.14).80 No one is said to laugh. In fact, no one is said to have responded to him in any way. This political jest, more barbed than that of Antisthenes because personal and the stuff of Aristophanic comedy, creates another moment of potential tension within the symposium. The awkward transition supplied by Xenophon, “After this the boy danced” (2.15), probably is meant to convey something of the slight discomfort felt by everyone else at such an overt use of a well-worn device more appropriate to political comedies than private symposia. In a word, despite consolatory promises to the contrary, Philippos cannot break the serious spell now being cast over the dialogue by the Syracusan’s performances and Socrates’ speeches.81 The return of the Syracusan’s young boy to center-stage elicits from Socrates yet another reflection, and what appears to be a very serious compliment (2.15): After this the boy danced. Socrates said: “Do you see how the boy, being beautiful (καλὸς) together with the [dance] forms, nevertheless appears (φαίνεται) even more beautiful (καλλίων) than when he is at rest.”

Noting that the boy’s handsomeness or beauty appears “more beautiful” by being in motion, that is, on account of the “forms” or gestures (τα σχήματα) he has learned and is now displaying in his performance, Charmides observes82 that Socrates now seems (ἒοικας) to be praising the “dance-teacher” (ὀρχηστο-διδάσκαλον). Silently watching until now, Charmides, making his first formal contribution to the action of the dialogue, cannot pass up the opportunity to ingratiate himself with the dancing boy’s master and teacher, the Syracusan. With a little wine, of course, his intentions will become clearer (3.1; cf. 1.12). Ignoring Charmides’ intentions (licit or illicit) for now, Socrates makes no comment on his statement regarding the boy’s beauty, except to invoke a divine witness in praising the Syracusan. He thus quickly, and with emphasis, redirects the attention of the banqueters toward a seemingly far less erotic notion, turning them instead to consider another thought which he proclaims has just come into his mind, one that points to the usefulness of the boy’s dance routine (2.16): “Yes, by the god Zeus!” Socrates said, “and I have had a thought about some other thing as well, that no part of his body was idle in the midst of the dance, but even his neck, legs, and hands were exercised at the same time, just as it is necessary for someone who intends to have a more manageable body.”

Socrates’ praise leads to an even further digression from his reflection on the beautiful,83 diverting the banqueters with an utterly unexpected declaration (2.16): “Indeed, I myself . . . very pleasantly, Syracusan, would learn these [dance] forms from you.” For the first time since his initial praise of Kallias’ banquet, Socrates speaks of pleasure—this time, the pleasure of learning—and specifically of how pleasant it would be for him to learn the wondrous forms (τὰ σχήματα) that the Syracusan apparently has to teach.84 Being addressed directly, the Syracusan replies, neither with gratitude for the compliment nor with assurances that he would be willing to accept the task of educating Socrates. Rather, what he asks is a probing and slightly impertinent question to test this aspiring pupil’s in-

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tentions. Since it seems clear that Socrates is interested more in utility than in pleasure, the Syracusan inquires of him point-blank, “What use will you make of them?” Without missing a beat, Socrates exclaims, “I’ll dance, by Zeus!” (2.17). The ridiculousness of his unexpected one-word reply, made further absurd by the strong oath, has an immediate comic effect on the banqueters. Xenophon, speaking as the narrator, reports that “all” of the banqueters “burst out laughing,” presumably at the thought and image of the portly Socrates dancing.85 Ironically, by stating the most obvious or conventional answer to the Syracusan’s inquiry, the decidedly unconventional Socrates creates the first moment of complete comic relief in the dialogue. We should notice that in this quick exchange of speeches, or cross-examination, Socrates accomplishes in a few words what Philippos has expended many words and much effort to achieve. Put another way, Xenophon’s style of writing quietly indicates that Socrates easily won the contest with the professional jester, for this laughter by “all”—the first such occasion of laughter shared by everyone that we have heard in the Symposium (cf. 1.16)—should also be understood to have finally overthrown the lingering vestiges of that seriousness which had so dominated the banquet’s beginning in the opening scene.86 We must also note, however, that while Xenophon reports that “all” laughed, this cannot simply be true, since Socrates presents himself as being entirely serious. He cannot be included among “all” the banqueters, perhaps even all of those present and listening (the Syracusan, his performers, and Xenophon himself ), who are overcome with laughter. We shall have occasion to speak of Socratic laughter on a later occasion in the symposium.87 For now, before we get too far from the moment in the exchange of speeches which follows, we should also note that the Syracusan, though he has been silently orchestrating the performances, now, because of Socrates, has entered into the dialogue’s action as a participant. Prompted by the Socratic solicitation to learn his “forms,” the Syracusan’s question for him takes seriously Socrates and his words, focusing on the usefulness rather than the pleasure which comes from the possession of knowledge. The Syracusan thus anticipates the thrust of Socrates’ examination of Kritoboulos in the beauty contest that will occur later in the evening. Whereas the other banqueters appear to be surprised by Socrates’ claim that he is willing to learn the dance forms, the Syracusan speaks up immediately and wants to learn more about the usefulness such knowledge will have for a man, that is, an older Athenian like Socrates. In his swift reply, Socrates shifts the emphasis away from the acquisition of knowledge for the sake of knowledge, which is a recognizably Socratic activity, toward learning how to dance so that he himself can dance, a preposterously laughable and indeed un-Socratic activity—to judge from everyone’s response to his claim. In this playful moment, we must be careful not to be swept away as readers by the possible seriousness that it entails. Even if we leave room for an ironic Socrates to have spoken comically in order to get a laugh from his fellow banqueters, it is true at least on the surface of the dramatic action that Socrates was not included among “all” those who laughed. And it is Xenophon, whose comment on what is occurring, insists that we recognize this fact (2.17): “Here everyone burst out laughing (ἐνταῦθα δὴ ἐγέλασαν ἇπαντες). But Socrates, with a very serious look on his face (μάλα ἐσπουδακότι τῷ προώπῳ), said, “Are you all laughing at me?” In remarking on the seriousness of Socrates’ facial expression, Xenophon seconds his effort to be taken seriously (σπουδαίως). There is a possibility that, as the Syracusan suspected, Socrates is not only being playful. From the perspective of those who laughed, there are also questions, including the one that Socrates himself raises: Why are they laughing at Socrates, or at what he has said? It However this may be, as a result of Antisthenes’ questions and Socrates’ intervention, we discover that



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Kallias and Nikeratos have even more in common than the most obvious fact that they are the young heirs to an Athenian family fortune: both have received educations as the sons of very wealthy men who paid out large sums to those who offered to sell, that is, to teach for a fee, whatever knowledge they claimed to possess. Socrates presumes, in the case of Nikeratos, that this education has served him well—but he does not leave Nikeratos time to reply, either to confirm or perhaps even in some way to contradict the optimistic spin Socrates has placed on his education is not clear, for example, whether all laughed for the same reason, or if laughter is even such a fitting response. The other banqueters do not pause to consider what Socrates might have in mind, either in saying this now or in wanting to dance. Socrates has not expressed any similar interest in being taught the kind of “manliness” displayed in the dangerous act of the dancing girl; nor did Socrates signal his desire to become “more beautiful,” like the boy dancing the forms. But rather, as with his choice of Xanthippe as wife, Socrates may have an interest in making his body more manageable, which is to say, more easily endured. Taken together with what he had said in response to Antisthenes’ joke at his expense about his “most difficult” wife, only a short time before, his remark here should not seem to them entirely laughable. And yet, their laughter at the thought of Socrates dancing is spontaneous and immediate. The surprising character of his sudden reply is only reinforced by his swearing an oath as well—the sixth and final time he does so in this section. Still, the others were not at all persuaded of his seriousness on account of this. Socrates goes on to articulate several practical reasons for wanting to learn the “forms” and thus to be able to dance. He gives an account, in other words, of the usefulness that he thinks might derive from placing himself under the Syracusan’s tutelage and learning to dance (2.17–18): For which reason—is it because I wish, by exercising, to become healthier or to eat and to sleep more pleasantly? Or because I am eager for such exercises, not like the long-distance runners who thicken their legs while reducing their arms, nor like the boxers who strengthen their arms while their legs grow thin, but rather through working out with every part of my body, to make all equally balanced? Or are you laughing because of this—that it will not be necessary for me to seek out a partner, nor for an older man such as myself to get undressed in public, since a seven-couch house will be sufficient for me, just as even now this place was sufficient for the boy to work out, and in winter time, I will be able to exercise inside, and also in the shade whenever it is in the unbearable heat of summer time? Or are you laughing at this, that having a stomach bigger than is fitting I wish to make it more measured?

The long list of reasons suggests that Socrates, however ironic or playful he may be at this moment, is indeed serious. The underlying premise that supports all these reasons is the idea that dancing is not merely for entertainment but is a kind or form of physical exercise. Starting with the most basic needs of the body, he suggests that he would both eat and sleep more pleasantly as a result of being healthier from exercising. As an activity that puts the whole body in motion, he also points out that it is not laughable for someone to desire the “equally balanced” fitness that comes from exercising and working all the body’s parts, unlike those athletes who concentrate on developing one group of muscles alone. Nor should it be laughable, he says, to think that someone might wish to know how to exercise and work up a sweat by himself, without the need for a partner or trainer (consider the “self-taught” or “self-worked” activity at 1.4). Moreover, dancing or exercising alone makes it possible to improve one’s body—and in particular to have a “more measured” stomach—in a mode that is consistent with modesty and sufficient under any circumstances.

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To judge from his introduction, Socrates intended to explain his seriousness with reference to the pair of reasons (πότερον) with which he opens his speech; these are related to physical fitness or health, on one hand, and utility or pleasure (to eat and sleep “more pleasantly”), on the other. But the two reasons quickly expand to include a third reason, consistent with the first two but not reducible to either one. The desire to be well-balanced (ἰσόρροπον) in form points to an equipoise or harmony of parts within a whole that also could be associated with moral virtue or character as well as with the body itself. To be well-rounded can be an educational as well as physical ideal. In his fourth and fifth reasons, another pair introduced by a repetition of the beginning (“or are you laughing at this . . .”), Socrates stresses the self-sufficiency associated with knowing how to dance and exercise on one’s own, without a partner, and under any circumstances, indoors or outdoors and in winter or summer. To be “sufficient” seems an admirable trait for a gentleman. Moreover, in his explanation, Socrates subtly reinforces a natural alliance with Lykon since they are the only two older men (πρεσβύται) present. This particular benefit of solitary dancing should appeal to Lykon, whose first words in the dialogue (2.4) had voiced something of an anxiety about the scent (that is, the virtue) which is appropriate for older gentlemen who no longer engage in gymnastics by going to exercise naked in the public areas (γυμνάζω). Bearing in mind Socrates’ reply on that earlier occasion, we begin to see a connection being formed between the exertions characteristic of or associated with Socratic dancing and gentlemanliness, kalokagathia.88 As with his pursuit of wisdom or philosophy, which entails being “self-taught” in Socrates’ view (1.5), we are to understand Socratic dancing as the virtuous way for achieving a self-worked physical form. The sixth and penultimate reason summarizes the point, insofar as it indicates how dancing assists in the task of moderation by restraining or making “more measured” the body’s desires. Socrates’ emphasis here is consistent with his earlier efforts to turn the banqueters away from the temptation of further bodily pleasure associated with Kallias’ strong wine and exotic scents. The willingness of Socrates to learn the forms or dance routines taught by the Syracusan is a further compliment added to his praise of the Syracusan’s performances as wonders more worthy of their attention as gentlemen.89 Whereas he had initially called attention to the beautiful effect of the boy’s dancing, an observation now seemingly lost amid the twists and turns of the digression—namely, that the forms appear to make beauty even more beautiful, Socrates has now succeeded in moving the conversation toward a consideration of the useful and away from Charmides’ erotic response to that very observation. The question of how the beautiful and the useful are related will resurface later in the conversation at Socrates’ suggestion (see 4.19–20 and 5.19). For the moment, however, Socrates is content to set aside that implied question, in order to conclude his reasonable account of his desire to learn the Syracusan’s dance forms—and in so doing to spark yet another surprising response. Socrates concludes by calling on Charmides himself as a witness that he himself practices, or has been trying to practice, dancing alone (2.19): “Or don’t you know that just recently at dawn Charmides here caught me dancing?” “Yes, by the god Zeus!” said Charmides. “And at first, anyway, I was dumbstruck and feared you were mad. But when I heard from you similar things to what you are now saying, I myself went home, not to dance, for I have never yet learned this, but to go through the motions with my hands; for this I did know.”



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Encouraged thus by Socrates to speak for the second time, Charmides swears emphatically that he had indeed once stumbled upon Socrates dancing, and that the very sight of it had left him dazed and astonished. He testifies that he did indeed once happen on Socrates dancing alone and that, on inquiring his reasons for doing so, received a “similar” explanation to what Socrates is saying now. The private deed of Socrates, witnessed by chance by Charmides, thus supports the seriousness of his otherwise laughable claim in speech to be willing to learn the Syracusan’s dance forms in order to dance. Impressed by the reasons, though precisely which one is unstated, Charmides admits that he was keen to imitate the dancing of Socrates, which he initially thought to be a sign of madness (μαίνοιο).90 Not knowing how to dance, Charmides went through the motions instead; and it seems he has been doing so ever since, because he has “never yet learned” how to dance. His failure to imitate Socrates precisely in this respect is a comical indictment of himself (cf. Mem. III.7). By way of Charmides’ testimony we learn three important items: first, that Socrates was already dancing, albeit as an amateur (again, see 1.5), even before he had seen the Syracusan’s work or expressed a desire to learn from him; second, that some—perhaps all—of Socrates’ deeds appear to be a certain madness, especially in the absence of an explanation or an account in speech supplied by Socrates himself, which Charmides heard but does not repeat (although it is “similar” to what is being said by Socrates now); and third, that after having seen him dance and heard his persuasive account of the reason or reasons why, Charmides strove to imitate Socrates—to be sure, not precisely, but in the best way he knew how. From this we can conclude that the work Socrates performs alone he sometimes shares with some of his companions, in the sense that he offers them an explanation privately of what they happened to glimpse. We also learn that while they may try to imitate him, those who catch a glimpse of his solitary activity do not necessarily possess the knowledge required to do precisely what it is he is doing. What is more, since neither of them indicate where Charmides “caught” Socrates dancing, we are not sure where he was, although Charmides says he returned to his home to imitate Socrates in his own way.91 (If he had been at his own home, with Xanthippe and his children, it is somewhat unlikely Socrates would have been alone.) Whenever he does happen to be caught, or seen, doing whatever it is that he does on his own, Socrates is often thought to be mad and, when he is imitated, he must suffer being caricatured by his own admiring and often less competent companions whose failures in this regard can reflect badly upon him.92 It is this mirroring or mimetic effect of Socratic dancing which occupies the foreground of the Symposium throughout the coming sections.93

FINAL CONTEST IN HUMOR—SOCRATES CONTRA PHILIPPOS In response to Charmides’ confirmation of Socratic dancing, Philippos, ever eager for an occasion to jest, interrupts. His renewed effort to enter the dialogue depends on a new kind of joke, both humorous and complimentary, and mimics Socrates’ poetic reference and speech (2.20): “By Zeus,” said Philippos, “and even now your legs and shoulders appear to have such equal strength that, it seems to me, if they were weighed by the market-clerks like bread-loaves from top to bottom, you’d be set free without paying a penalty!”

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This joke proves just as ineffective as his previous ones; his remark is negligible, and it is treated as such by the others.94 Kallias, on the other hand, who has been silent since Socrates guided the action of the dialogue away from his sweet-smelling perfume, leaps into the breach. He too is not successful at reasserting or insinuating himself back into the dialogue (2.20): “Socrates, summon me, whenever you intend to learn how to dance, so I may stand opposite you and learn along with you as well.” Kallias has no doubt been preoccupied with the sight of Autolykos, who in turn has had his eyes and ears on Socrates, as they all have. But even though Kallias is following Socrates’ reply, he fails to listen closely to the last exchange about the radically solitary nature of Socratic dancing. His offer to “stand opposite” Socrates, just as a training partner would in gymnastic exercises (see 2.18: συγγυμναστὴν), completely misses the point regarding the self-sufficient and solitary nature of the kind of dancing which Socrates says he wants to learn. Regardless of Charmides’ reasons for wanting to imitate him, Socrates himself had clearly claimed to be interested in dancing because it does not require a partner. In his self-serving attempt to align himself in speech with the guest who has become the new center of attention, Kallias comes across as one whose eagerness is self-serving and without understanding.95 Socrates ignores Kallias’ offer entirely. The interjections of Philippos and Kallias, however, threaten to divert the attention of the banqueters once again away from something serious, a discussion of the purpose or reasoning behind Socratic dancing. Socrates himself had made a concerted effort to raise the issue in his articulate reaction to the beautiful boy’s beautifying dance. The praise of the dance-teacher which Charmides divined in Socrates’ compliment of the dancing boy sets the stage for Socrates to disguise his thoughts on beauty (2.16: “I’ve had a thought about some other thing as well . . .”; cf. Pl. Sym. 174a–175e) with a comment on the usefulness of dancing with his strange proposal to the Syracusan. In explaining what use he will make of the Syracusan’s lessons, Socrates made use of Charmides in his speech to focus attention on the self-sufficient and radical activity of his solitary dancing. Perhaps Lykon and even Autolykos are intrigued. But before anyone can inquire further about this, Philippos and Kallias together distract from his account. Philippos seizes the lull in conversation and speaks up, in a last-ditch attempt to “do his job” at the banquet and win for himself another invitation. Kallias’ motives, on the other hand, for trying to associate himself with Socrates are less clear (cf. 8.42 and 1.4). Socrates, for his part, seems content not to force the issue regarding his dancing, or his first thought or observation about beauty. As the evening proceeds, we will see whether he finds another occasion for these subjects to resurface in an unobtrusive way. Philippos, however, vexed to the point of desperation, takes matters into his own hands in a determined effort to make an impact upon the banquet. Calling for music, “he went around [the room] imitating the dances of both the boy and girl” by making a great spectacle of himself (2.22). As a comic antistrophe to the beautiful dancing routines of the Syracusan’s boy and girl, Philippos tumbled and danced about, moving his body in a manner “altogether more laughable than was natural.” Socrates had praised the boy “because in his dance he had exercised his whole body,” so Philippos shouted for the flute-girl “to bring in a faster rhythm,” so that he could really “let loose everything at once—legs, arms, and head.” In a word, he performs chaos, enacting disorderliness, lack of training or virtue. Then, since the girl “had been bending over backwards in order to imitate hoops,” he tried to do the same by tumbling himself forward ridiculously, head over heels. Whereas the girl and boy in their performances (as Socrates must have observed) somehow had managed to couple or combine, respectively, a feminine body with masculine virtue and a masculine body with feminine virtue, Philippos



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debases both. Here, in what is undoubtedly his most Aristophanic moment, the uninvited fool pretends he is performing the androgynous perfection and wholeness of our ancient precloven human nature imagined by Plato’s Aristophanes, perverting the comic poet’s beautiful image of self-sufficiency into one of mere absurdity.96 While Socrates had been drawn to the boy and girl as living wonders, Philippos merely caricatures their bodily movements. Socrates is distinctly unimpressed by Philippos’ performance, as his reply to Kallias in what follows will make clear. But when Philippos finally reclined again, worn out and exhausted from his ridiculous display, he spoke to the banqueters, proclaiming his presumed success (2.23): Here’s proof, men (ἄνδρες), that my dances (τὰ ἐμα ὀρχήματα) also exercise one beautifully (καλῶς). But now I’m parched; so let the boy pour me a large drinking bowl [of wine]!

It should go without saying that Philippos’ absurd rendition of the dancing boy’s forms (ὀρχήματα, not σχήματα; cf. 2.15) was far from beautiful. The exaggerated and unnatural motions through and into which he flung his body rend the unity of the whole that must be preserved for beauty to be present, and this violation of the whole eventually causes him to collapse into a ridiculous and yet disturbing collection of mere parts, neither wellmeasured nor self-sufficient. Fittingly, it is only wine, the gift of Dionysos—the god who suffered dismemberment and resurrection—that can heal the intense partitioning which leaves Philippos (and some others) lacking sustenance. Wine, even as it heals the griefs of human beings, thus restores the harmony and order of the whole which is praiseworthy and admired among human beings. Kallias, ever the attentive host, welcomes Philippos’ request with an oath and calls for wine to be carried around to satisfy everyone’s desire: “By Zeus . . . for us as well, since we’re thirsty too just from laughing at you!” (2.23). It is impossible to know whether or not Kallias’ claim that wine is needed applies to everyone, or to everyone equally, on account of being thirsty from laughing at Philippos’ parody of the Syracusan’s wonders. Xenophon, for his part, remains silent about the laughter which Kallias claims the jester’s absurd performance inspired—in contrast to his comment on the laughter of everyone earlier in response to Socrates’ verbal reply to the boy’s performance (1.17), laughter which in turn had managed to obscure or correct the serious yet playful controversy among the men caused by Socrates’ response to the performance of the Syracusan’s dancing girl. The serious-playful lesson to be drawn from the performances of the Syracusan’s girl and boy may be hard to discern at this point in the evening and want further examination. As for the dispute over the teachability of virtue, the performers appear to offer evidence that virtue can be taught, especially since a young girl can learn manliness. But we might anticipate a return to questions about their performances later by Socrates (see 7.2–3). Their displays elicit praise and wonder but also beg for elucidation: Is the dancing girl’s act of courage really a virtue, or does it only appear so? How does one distinguish between genuine virtue and the appearance of virtue? Should courage be more than a matter of habit or training, which is to say, more than a product of constant practice? Can the rigorous discipline of the body be a sufficient explanation of what constitutes virtue? If this is only the image of virtue, why is it being praised so by Socrates? If it is said to be praiseworthy because it is a reflection or image of genuine virtue, where does one find the performance of real virtue, such that we may praise it? Perhaps the serious-playful lesson is different from the one that the dialogue offers on the surface of its speeches.

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Despite the claim of Kallias that “we” are thirsty from laughing, it is not made evident that everyone found Philippos’ parody truly worthy of laughter or reflection. Did Socrates too laugh?97 Did the austere Hermogenes, who has been relatively silent up until this point? It is not at all clear that Socrates, not to mention Hermogenes (whose severity, as we shall see, Socrates will chastise later), also laughed along with Kallias at Philippos’ ridiculous and exhausting performance.

THE VIRTUE OF WINE—IN VINO VERITAS? Whatever the truth of Kallias’ claim that all have been made thirsty by laughing at the jester, the wine is about to flow—a fact which rouses Socrates to deliver a long speech, his second, following his defense of dancing. He now agrees that it is time for the symposium proper to begin, though not simply to quench their need (thirst).98 Kallias summons wine to satisfy their or just his thirst but Socrates seems to add his agreement for other reasons; he concurs for the sake of putting griefs to rest and arousing another sort of playfulness, quite distinct from Philippos’ foolishness. Has the time come to induce these gentlemen toward a liberating sense of play? As the wine is being prepared to be distributed to the guests at the host’s order, Socrates grasps the occasion to address the still-sober gathering of men, exhorting them to exercise the faculty of “judgment” (see 2.9: γνώμης) appropriate to their “nature” (φύσις). Voicing his approval of this turn to drinking, he praises wine’s effects on human beings and explains that this gift of the gods can be used poorly or well. Socrates’ speech is worth quoting at length (2.24–26): Well, to drink, men, also for me seems [to be] a great thing; for of all those beings that exist wine puts to sleep the griefs in men’s souls, just as mandragora does in human beings, and arouses affection, just as olive-oil does to flames. And yet it also seems to me that men’s bodies suffer the same things as do things growing in the earth. For these things, whenever the god gives them too much to drink all at once, cannot stand up straight to breathe the fresh air of morning; but whenever they drink only so much as is pleasing, they grow up very straight and flourishing bear fruit. So too with us, if we pour in the drink all at once, our bodies and minds will quickly be overthrown, nor will we be able to breathe, let alone say anything; but on the other hand, should these boys besprinkle our wine-cups often with little drops—to speak in Gorgian phrases—we won’t be intoxicated by wine like men overpowered, but rather, like men who are persuaded, we will arrive at a greater playfulness.

Socrates advises the gathering like a true symposiarch, proposing they drink not much but often, so that, like men still in possession of their “bodies and minds,” they will be coaxed by wine into a more playful mood, or “greater playfulness” (τὸ παιγνιωδέστερον). With their souls sedated and moderately inflamed by “little drops” of wine besprinkling their cups, the symposion will flourish and “bear fruit” for the symposiasts. But if they become besotted, overpowered by drinking “too much” and “all at once” the wine which the god has given them, then their constitutions will wilt and suffocate, and being overthrown, they will be unable to “say anything” or to last long enough to breathe in the cool breeze of morning at the end of the night. Socrates, like Odysseus, seeks by his counsel to guide the men toward the kind of continence, if not moderation, that will win for them their proverbial homecoming once the banquet and symposium have ended.99



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The sage counsel of Socrates,100 articulated in high poetic style, was approved by the rest; but Philippos moved the proposal be amended in the following way (2.27): In the judgment of all, these things did certainly seem so; but Philippos had it set down in addition that the wine-servers must needs imitate good charioteers by having wine-cups driven around faster; and indeed, the wine-servers did just that.

Just as quickly as the spirit or rationale of good legislation that passes the assembly can be undone by an imprudent decree or amendment,101 Socrates’ proposal is thus altered. The wine now begins to flow, even if somewhat more quickly than Socrates prefers—and with the flowing wine comes speeches, perhaps intoxicated ones.102 Still, the argument of the action of Xenophon’s Symposium need not be drunk, even if the playful action of the dialogue itself is set in motion and sanctioned by wine-drinking for the sake of alleviating an all-too-serious sobriety. In Section Two, the manifest themes of Section One (wisdom, beauty and erōs, laughter) are woven together in speech with the new thematic threads of gentlemanliness and virtue. There is also further exploration of the theme of laughter through the obviously contrasting examples set by Philippos and Socrates. In addition, by the end of Section Two, outlines of a Socratic education to virtue begin to emerge, an education represented playfully in the partnerless—and hence non-agonistic—dancing of Socrates. This Socratic activity is glimpsed only in passing, giving way to the more conspicuous juxtapositions and contests in speech which, in the four central sections of the dialogue, come to dominate the action. In Section Three, the banquet becomes a full symposion as the playfulness brought on by virtue of the wine commences. What are we to make, at this point, of Xenophon’s claim to recount the deeds of gentlemen during times of play which are worth remembering? Whose actions thus far can be described as the playful deeds of a gentleman? Socrates alone inspires laughter among the banqueters (2.17), but he does so with words. Most of his other speeches, however, are perceived by the banqueters as being serious (2.3–4, 2.10, 2.16, 2.24–26), at least on the surface, with the possible exception of those contradicted or interrogated by Antisthenes (2.9, 2.12). When he does provoke laughter, Socrates responds by immediately changing his countenance and wearing a “very serious look on his face,” presumably so his explanation will be taken seriously (2.17–18; cf. 3.10). With respect to Socratic speech, then, it seems seriousness and playfulness are blended or rather mixed together in a moderate proportion, just as the ancients mixed water with wine when drinking.103 In the very passage where we hear the most “serious”-looking speech of Socrates, we also find Socrates himself pointing, on the one hand, to the beautiful, and on the other, to what appears to be his most playful deed—Socratic dancing. But this we do not witness ourselves. We have only Charmides’ vision of Socrates dancing in solitude, the very thought of which activity had seemed so humorous to everyone else. In his reflections on the dancing boy’s beauty, Socrates was inspired to praise the harmony created by the ordered motion of dance forms learned from the Syracusan, which forms made the dancer seem even more beautiful than he already was. Further reflection highlights the usefulness of the dancing boy’s forms that produce a balance and equilibrium in the body through the exercise of all the body’s parts. This kind of activity is to be contrasted with the exertions and training regimens of the gymnasia which tend to develop certain parts of the body to the neglect of others, and therefore of the whole body.

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Finally, we must wonder whether Socrates sees by analogy a similar atrophying effect in the conventional concern with and development of certain virtues (moral) at the expense of others (intellectual), and therefore of the whole soul, an effect corrected or avoided by the natural benefits of dancing. A laughable pursuit among the “gentlemen” of the Symposium— although we cannot be certain that everyone other than Socrates laughed, Socratic dancing seems madness to a few, enviable if inimitable. The turn away from the gymnastic exercises and routine performances of youth toward speeches and conversation as the proper activity for free men suggests an intriguing proportion between motions of the body and motions of the mind or soul, between Socratic dancing and the exertions of self-worked philosophizing.104 Perhaps this playful deed—presented seriously as an image in speech—of a dancing Socrates represents an unusual, unexpected form of mature virtue, that is, of kalokagathia. Philosophy then, when glimpsed through a lens of gentlemanliness, may always seem less than serious. Or, to put this another way, perhaps all of Socrates’ deeds will somehow appear to be playful in a dialogue with gentlemen. We must strive to reconstruct a vision of the whole, therefore, from the inevitably partial view of Socrates as philosopher which emerges within the confines of Xenophon’s Symposium.105

NOTES 1. Xenophon, Memorabilia I.3.6. See the Socratic interpretation of Homer (Odysseus’ men, turned to swine, by Circe), at Mem. I.3.7, as a preface to Socrates’ recollection (for Xenophon’s sake), at Mem I.3.8–13. See also, Socrates’ comment on those who, being unrestrained, feast on relishes, at III.14. 2.  The identity of the Syracusan is a mystery. See Bartlett 1996-b, 190n13; Strauss 1972, 178, and 1975/1983, 106; see also, Plutarch De Gloria Atheniensium 345e; Maclaren 1934. Regardless, it seems impossible to imagine that Xenophon’s audience, upon hearing that the man is from Syracuse, could have avoided recalling the most decisive defeat in Athenian history. As for the Syracusan’s invitation, see Bowen 1998, 94, commenting on 2.1: “we may reckon that he and his troupe had been hired for the occasion; Kallias’ wealth is on show. Syracuse had a reputation like that of Corinth for costly and sophisticated entertainments. Xenophon [however] does not make the man speak Syracusan dialect.” 3.  On the ancient distinction between feasting at a banquet and drinking at a symposium, see Murray 1990; see also, Bartlett 1996-b, 175–176, and Bowen 1998, 93–94: “Now the symposium proper can start, the drinking and the exchange of conversation and banter, with occasional song and verse.” 4.  The invocation of Paián refers to healing and the medicinal art itself; see Homer, Odyssey IV.219– 232, where Helen mixes soothing drugs with wine to make the symposiasts forget their ills. Socrates will soon mention the healing nature of wine (see 2.24–26). After the Homeric epics, the office of “physician to the gods” is transferred to Apollo, at which point paean came to acquire the general definitions indicated above as “a choral song, hymn or chant.” On one significant occasion, Socrates himself claims to have composed a paean for Apollo: see Plato, Phaedo 60d; cf. Xen. Apo. and D.L. II 42. 5.  The Syracusan himself may also prove wondrous: see Sym. 7.5 and 9.2–7. As evidenced in the longest of Xenophon’s editorial remarks (1.8–11), we are being led to consider what exactly is worthwhile, and hence memorable (see 1.1) about what human beings see as wondrous or “wonders” (see ἀξιοθέατος, at 1.10; cf. θαυμαστά, at 4.3–4). On wonder or what is wondrous as a Socratic starting point (ἀρχή) of philosophizing, see Plato, Theaetetus. 6.  See Bowen 1998, 94, commenting on 2.1; cf. Sym. 4.55. 7.  Whereas Philippos arrived unexpectedly and cracked jokes to satisfy his needs, the Syracusan has trained his troupe in advance to perform at such occasions and thus receive invitations. The bloom of youth, music, and dance are here displayed, both for the delight of the guests and as a means of earning a living. Whether or not Philippos’ arrival was contrived, it is the Syracusan and his troupe whose arrival is important for the transformation of Kallias’ banquet into Xenophon’s Symposium. See Bowen



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1998, 94, commenting on 2.1; Strauss 1972, 145–146: “Their appearance was obviously planned.” The Syracusan’s “work” is to entertain the banqueters, but he also participates in the banquet, even if (as does Xenophon himself ) only marginally: see 2.15–16 and 4.52–55; cf. 6.6–7.5 and 9.2–7. 8.  As we shall soon see, the telos of the symposium is being provided not by Autolykos, but the Syracusan, with his ordered sights and sounds. Kallias, who attempts to interpose himself by introducing new pleasures (smells) into the symposium, is not the proper recipient of Socrates’ praise, except perhaps in that he has paid for the Syracusan and his troupe to be present. On the possession of wealth as the source of his virtue, see Sym. 3.4 and 4.1–5. 9.  The deficiency of Kallias’ banquet may best be seen in the Shakespearean image of Duke Orsino’s sensual but ultimately unsatisfying feast, in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (Act I, scene 1). 10. See Mem. III.14; cf. III.13.4. See also, Cyr. I.3.4–7; cf. I.2.8. 11.  Kallias’ desire to regale the banqueters with perfumes he has purchased, just as he bought wisdom from the sophists, echoes the ironically flattering description of the ornamented Cyrus, both Cyrus the Great and Cyrus the younger: see Cyr. VIII.8.15–20; VIII.1.39–42; I.3.2; and Oik. 4.23. 12.  See esp. Mem. I.1.10–16. For Xenophon at least, where there is no room for the human, or for questions, there can be no room for Socrates. This may explain the indirect allusions to Socrates in the Cyropaedeia. 13. See Mem. III.11.1–18; cf. Cyr. V.1.2–8, and following. See also, Bruell 1987, 103. When informed of the presence in Athens of a woman whose beauty exceeded words to describe it, Socrates accompanied the one who had mentioned her to him, saying, “We must go behold her, for surely it is not possible for those who have merely heard to learn what surpasses speech.” Thus, they went and beheld her; soon enough however Socrates could not resist engaging his companions, and eventually the beautiful woman (Theodote) herself, in conversation. Despite her beauty Socrates was not reduced to gazing in silence, nor was there any “danger of Socrates’ being kept from his daily activity” by a desire to continue looking at the beautiful all day long. Cyrus, on the other hand, when urged by his friends to feast his eyes upon one of his captives, the queen Panthea, whose beauty as a woman surpassed all others in virtue and in grace, “refused out of fear that her beauty would make him so desirous of continuing to look at her that he would neglect what he had to do.” See the review of Strauss 1972, in Rosen 1973. This key example of Xenophon’s Socrates being interested in a beautiful woman reminds as well of his injunction against beauty elsewhere: see Mem. I.3.8–13 (but cf. I.1.8); Sym. 4.19–28; Bruell 1994, xiv-xvi, viii-ix. 14.  Strauss 1972, 146. 15.  Down in the Peiraieus, the mingling of Athenian and non-Athenian, and even Greek and nonGreek, is suggestive of the economic pursuits that occur there, where bodies, so to speak, mix openly without sharing in a common way of life. 16. Without denying the seemingly divine power of beauty or erōs over the banqueters’ souls, it should be noticed that the principal means of perceiving or being moved by this power is rooted in physical sensation, albeit potentially the highest or least physical of the senses (sight). Is it not fair, in this context, to speak of their eyes in a sense “feasting” on the beautiful form of Autolykos? 17.  Socrates’ praise of the “most pleasant sights and sounds” provided by the Syracusan may be understood when compared to a speech he delivered to Kritoboulos alone, in another context, if indeed that speech also is taken seriously; see Oik. 5.1–3 (Lord translation): “. . . not even the altogether blessed can abstain from farming. For the pursuit of farming seems to be at the same time some soft pleasure, an increase of the household, and a training of the bodies so that they can do whatever befits a free man. First, the earth bears, to those who work it, what human beings live on, and it bears in addition what they take pleasure in experiencing; then, it provides that which they adorn altars and statues and are adorned themselves, together with the most pleasant scents and sights.” What is suggested here is that the pleasant scents and sights which attend farming furnish bodily adornments, the training and preparation of the body to pursue “whatever befits a free man.” Farming itself cultivates what is given by nature in such a way as to lead to, but not constitute, the activity or activities most appropriate for free human beings. So too, in the Symposium, Kallias’ banquet prepares not only for Socratic speeches but also for the playful deeds that Xenophon wishes to remember.

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18. See Sym. 3.2–3; see also, Lukinovich 1990, 264: “Already in Homer, it is at the conclusion of a meal, at the moment which will later become that of the symposion, that epics are recited by the aoidos.” The boy first begins to sing, that is, to add speech to music, at Sym. 3.1; however, the banqueters themselves have already sung at 2.1, invoking the god or gods with a lyrical logos. While the paean reminds all who sing of the threshold that separates the human and the divine, the libation manifestly acknowledges the obligation human beings owe the divine for the gift of wine. 19.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 176. 20.  On the rejection of this education in modern political philosophy, see de Alvarez 2000, 44. 21.  The specific “sweet-smelling” odor that Kallias proposes is associated with myrrh (in English); according to L&S, it is a “sweet juice extracted from plants, sweet-oil, unguent, balsam” or “the resinuous gum of an Arabian tree, used for embalming the dead,” or a “perfume-market” where such smells are acquired. 22.  The idea of Kallias-Hades, down at his house in Peiraieus-Hades, proposing that his guests feast amid the smells of a foreign (Egyptian or Median) substance used to embalm or drug, is hard to resist. Perhaps it would be less indulgent to suggest that Kallias is proposing the banquet be inundated with a foreign, but sweet-smelling perfume or incense. Kallias’ stock of wine, from the island of Thasos off the Thracian coast near the Hellespont, supports the notion that he has a keen interest in what is foreign or exotic (Mem. IV.41). This would also be consistent with Socrates’ explicit reasons for rejecting a delight or pleasure which would effectively conceal and thus remove a natural distinction between men and women, Greeks and barbarians, free men and slaves. Moreover, this reading points to an affinity between Kallias and Cyrus, not to mention Ischomachos, with respect to conventional gentlemanliness and a desire for what is kalos gone bad. In his paean to wine at the end of this section, Socrates will juxtapose its power over the human soul with that of “mandragora” which soothes human beings, dousing their bodily griefs by putting them to sleep. There are similarities of course between Kallias’ myrrh and this drug for the body mentioned by Socrates. 23. See Cyr. VIII 1.40–41; see also, for scent as a seductive refinement, Aristophanes, Lysistrata 938–947. 24.  The double comparison in Greek however is not so simply parallel. Xenophon first compares the “dress” (ἐσθὴς) of women to that of men, with respect to what is beautiful or fine (καλή) but inverts the formula in speaking of a “scent” which “is seemly” (πρέπει) for men as opposed to women. A textbook example of chiasmus thus occurs. Moreover, as opposed to dress, no adjective modifies scent; the verb itself does the work in the latter comparison. Accepted conventions dictating what is “fine” may not so easily be identified when it comes to what is seemly or fitting, especially if someone is considered so because he or she happens to be “conspicuous” or “clearly distinguished” (see the L&S entry for πρεπῶ). 25. There is some textual evidence to support the claim that both young men have only recently been wed. Kritoboulos: see Oik. 3.10–14; Nikeratos: see Sym 4.8–9 and 8.3. On the noted affection of Nikeratos’ wife, see Bartlett 1996-b, 195: “Both Niceratus and Autolycus are killed by order of the Thirty . . . and it is reported that Niceratus’ bride commits suicide upon hearing of her husband’s death.” Bartlett’s reporter is noted as “Hieronymus adv. Jovinianum 1.310 = Patrologiae Cursus Completus, series Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne, (Paris: Garnier, 1844), 23: 286b.” See also, Todd 1923, 542n2. 26. See Oik. 7.4–11.1; cf. the discussion supra of Ischomachos’ wife and Kallias’ indiscretions. The virtues of a wife at times may need to be prudently concealed: see Homer, Ody. I.356–364; II.50–67, 83–137, 194–207; III.787–841; IV.18–23, 120–122, 259–266. See also, Herodotus I.8–12 and Livy I.57–59. 27.  If the exertions of the gymnasium and hence the smell of olive oil are said to be things particular to the Greeks, and if the use of perfumes can be said to have migrated to the Greeks especially from the barbarians, whether of the east (Persians, Medes) or the south (Egyptians), then there is indeed an implied distinction in Socrates’ speech between those Greeks who are free and make use of the gymnasium, on one hand, and those barbarians who are not free and make use of perfumes, among other adornments. 28. See Oik. 5.4; see also, 11.1, 15.1–4, esp. 20.13–29. See as well, Strauss 1963, 74–75: “And now we get into the highest theme of moral philosophy, the perfect gentleman . . . [who] earns his living as a



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gentleman-farmer. . . . But perfect gentlemanship is not the same as farming and therefore it is a much higher theme. The ultimate justification of farming is that it is the activity of the perfect gentleman.” 29.  Bartlett 1996-b, 177: “Socrates nevertheless refuses to let go the possibility of elevating the proceedings. He simply speaks of what interests him most within the limits imposed on him by his host: the virtue of one’s soul is discussed from the point of view of how one’s body smells.” 30.  Here we see Xenophon’s Socrates approaching what is less known from the perspective of what is more or more commonly known or usual; so too will we see Socrates’ peculiar mania and his exercise of the maieutic art (mid-wifery) treated ironically in terms of Socratic dancing (2.15–19) and pimping (3.10; 4.56–64; but cf. 8.12, 42–43), which is to say, seeing the soul through the perspective of the body. 31.  On the significance of swearing oaths in Xenophon’s Socratic writings, consider Strauss 1963, 109–110, a remark made in reference to the numerous oaths sworn in the Oikonomikos, but no less applicable to the Symposium since the frequency of oaths and jesting are comparable: “In this book [joking] abounds just as oaths abound. There are proportionately many more oaths [and many fewer instances of joking] in the whole Memorabilia. And this goes together, because I think that is still intelligible. In comedies for example people swear all the time. It is something unserious: ‘By Zeus!’ Where in serious conversation people don’t do it. This only in passing.” 32.  In the Symposium as a whole there are by my count fifty-five oaths sworn: 1.15 (Section 1, once); 2.2, 4, 4, 5, 14, 16, 17, 19, 20, 23 (Section 2, ten times); 3.4, 6, 9, 12, 13. (Section 3, five times); 4.1, 3, 3, 5, 6, 8, 11, 19, 25, 27, 33, [45], 45, 49, 49, 51, 52, 53, 53, 54, 54, 55, 55, 60, 61, 64 (Section 4, twenty-six times); 5.1, 3, 4 (Section 5, thrice); 6.4, 7, 8 (Section 6, thrice); 7.5 (Section 7, once); 8.4, 6, 12, 12, 43 (Section 8, five times); and 9.1 (Section 9, once). 33.  On Socrates’ use of unusual oaths elsewhere in Xenophon, see Mem. I.5.5; III.10.9, 11.5; IV.2.9, 4.8 (“by Hera”); cf. the use of this oath, for example, at Cyr. I.4.12, VIII.4.12; see also, Mem. III 6.3 (“by the gods”); but cf. the use of this oath by others, at Mem. I.2.41; II.7.11; IV.2.23. All the other oaths in the Memorabilia take the standard form “By Zeus” with the solitary exception of Xenophon himself who, in one of only two recorded conversations with Socrates, makes use of the very unusual oath “By Herakles” (I.3.2; cf. II.1.21–34 and Sym. 4.53). In the Oikonomikos, Socrates similarly swears usually “By Zeus” (eighteen times: eight in the Kritoboulos section, ten in the Ischomachos section). But Socrates also swears there “by the gods” (four times, all in the Ischomachos section: 7.2, 9 and 12.6, 10; cf. 2.3) and “By Hera” (twice, also in the Ischomachos section: 10.1, 11.19). This final pair of oaths curiously flanks the central oath in the dialogue (30th out of 59: 11.2) which is taken by the “perfect gentleman” Ischomachos who always and only swears “By Zeus” (twenty-one times), as does his doting wife (twice: 7.37, 40). Xenophon’s Apology has by far, even proportionally, the fewest oaths of all the Socratic writings. In this dialogue, Hermogenes reports that Socrates swore three times, all “By Zeus”: twice in conversation with Hermogenes (4, 9) and once in direct response to the oath taken by Meletus (also, “by Zeus”) during the trial (both times: 20). There are no other oaths taken in the Apology. Finally, although Socrates does make an appearance in Xenophon’s Hellenika and Anabasis, his words are recorded in indirect speech and no oaths are mentioned; one presumes, in the former, that Socrates had made an oath of some sort upon taking office as prytaneis for the day; in the latter, of course, Socrates advises Xenophon to seek the counsel of the gods, or at least the god in Delphi. 34.  See Theognis, Elegies 35–36; cf. Xen. Mem. I.2.20; Plato Meno 95d6. See also, Bartlett 1996-a, 137n18; Bowen 1998, 95, commenting on 2.4. On the use Theognis, see Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1172a14, where the same line of poetry (perhaps due to its Socratic use) is cited to conclude an exegesis of friendship: “Hence the friendship of base people turns out to be vicious. For they are unstable and share base pursuits; and by becoming similar to each other, they grow vicious. But the friendship of decent people is decent, and increases the more often they meet. And they seem to become still better from their activities and their mutual correction. For each moulds the other in what they approve of so that ‘[you’ll learn] what is noble from noble people.’ So much then for friendship. The next task will be to discuss pleasure.” Consider also, especially in light of Lykon’s exhortation to his son at 2.6, the role of hearing in Aristotle’s grounding of intellectual virtues in the moral virtues, ground which is prepared by what a decent man has heard during his youth in his upbringing, such as poetry: see Nicomachean Ethics

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1095b1–13, the first use of poetry by Aristotle in that work: “For while we should certainly begin [our argument] from origins that are known, things are known in two ways; for some are known to us, some known unconditionally [but not necessarily known to us]. Presumably, then, the origin we should begin from is what is known to us. This is why we need to have been brought up in fine habits if we are to be adequate students of what is fine and just, and of political questions generally. For the origin we begin from is the belief that something is true, and if this is apparent enough to us, we will not, at this stage, need the reason why it is true in addition; and if we have this good upbringing, we have the origins to begin from, or can easily acquire them. Someone who neither has them nor can acquire them should listen to Hesiod: ‘He who understands everything himself is best of all; he is noble also who listens to one who has spoken well; but he who neither understands it himself nor takes to heart what he hears from another is a useless man.’” 35.  See Donlan 1980. On the bond between the noble and the good, see Mem. III.8. 36.  Emphasis in this section, as always in Xenophon’s Memorabilia, is on Socratic justice; hence, the textual variation in Xenophon (and also in Plato, where the passage which makes use of Theognis has to do with the teachability of virtue) is fitting because it stresses not so much that Xenophon “learned” moderation but that Socrates “taught” it. In this section (I.2.19–23), Xenophon explicitly distinguishes himself and Socrates from that which others who “claim to philosophize” both said and thought. 37.  See Bartlett 1996-a, 138n19; Bowen 1998, 95–96, commenting on 2.5. Bowen quotes Bartlett’s solution to the problem of the lacuna in the text at this point () and agrees that there is a complex comparison at work between an actual event in the historic past of the imperfect tense and a likely event to come (subjunctive and future). I have supplied what I take to be the missing text in the lacuna; cf. Strauss 1972, 146, which does not attempt to substitute what appears to have gone missing from the text, simply speaking instead of Socrates’ “half-attempt to support the authority of fathers—the primary teachers of virtue.” 38.  On the compliment, see Bowen 1998, 95, commenting on 2.5; but cf. Barlett 1996-b, 177. 39.  See Bartlett 1996-a, 138n23, whose note to 2.9 belongs here: “The verb Socrates here uses (chrao­ mai) has a wide range of meanings, including ‘to use’ or ‘to make use of,’ ‘to deal with or treat,’ and even ‘to have sexual intercourse.’” Socrates uses this verb frequently in this section; see, e.g., 2.5, 2.9, and 2.10; see also, 3.10. Later, the Syracusan takes it up in his first words: see 2.16; cf. Philippos’ use at 2.27. 40.  See Bartlett 1996-a, 138n20: “The verb (suneinai) has a range of meanings, from simply ‘being with’ to ‘associate with’ to ‘having sexual intercourse with’ (for this latter, see, e.g., 4.57, 8.23).” For other uses of this verb, see also, 2.10; 3.2; and 4.32. Additional definitions include “to be acquainted with” or “to have dealings with” as well as “to live with.” Finally, it is worth noting that a homonym for this verb (suneimi) has the meaning “to go together” or “to come together” and “to assemble” or “to meet to deliberate,” but in a hostile sense it can also mean “to come together in battle.” 41.  Bartlett 1996-b, 177–178. 42.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 178. For a discussion of the competition among the literate poets, foreign sophists, and technical speech-writers to be the ones to teach virtue to the youth, see Munn 2000, 71–73, 76–83. 43.  Aeschines 1.173 (“On the Embassy”): Σωκράτην τὸν σοφιστὴν. See Gish 2006; McCoy 2008, 1–22. 44.  Socrates in Plato’s Apology (23e–24a, 36a) mentions Lykon explicitly as one of his three official accusers; but Xenophon’s Socrates, in his Apology, does not. See Higgins 1977, 19n95; Guthrie 1969, 62; West 1984, 72n36, Blanchard 2000, 432. 45.  According to Plato and Diogenes Laertius, the official indictment (τὴν γραφήν) against Socrates was brought by Meletus, who was vexed on behalf of the poets; the prosecuting speech was written by Anytus, who was roused on behalf of the craftsmen and politicians; but Lykon “the demagogue,” who was angered on behalf of the rhetoricians and sophists, prepared everything in advance for the trial. On the wording of and charges lodged in the actual indictment, see Pl. Apo. 23e–24c; Euthyphro 2b–3b; Epistle vii.325b-c; Xen. Mem. I 1.1; Apo. 10–13; Dio. Laert. II.38–40. On the charge of impiety, Dio-



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genes Laertius says that Socrates was accused of introducing or “leading in” (εἰσηγέομαι) novel gods, that is, divine beings other than those which the polis believed in. Xenophon restates the accusation slightly differently, by having his Socrates “remembered” as only being accused of “carrying in” (εἰσφέρειν) other novel gods (namely, by speaking of his peculiar δαιμόνιον, which is a negligible alteration of the original indictment), whereas his rival Plato has his Socrates speak with greater subtlety (and perhaps impiously) by having him restate the charges (admittedly) imprecisely, omitting a key part of the original indictment, thereby reducing the issue to believing in rather than introducing novel gods. On the accuser Meletus, see Andocides, On the Mysteries 94; Macdowell 1998, 125n79; cf. esp. Blumenthal 1973. In Plato’s Euthyphro (2b), Socrates says that some young man named Meletus, otherwise unknown to him, initiated the prosecution by bringing the indictment against him on behalf of the poets, perhaps being the son of a poet himself. Meletus of course becomes very “known” afterward in that memory of him is preserved by both Plato and Xenophon, who in their respective Apologia have Socrates cross-examine the youngest of the three official accusers and the formal prosecutor at his trial, Meletus (whose name is homonymous with “taking care” in Greek, i.e., Mr. “Care” or “Careful”). On the accuser Anytus, see Xen. Apo. 29–31; Bartlett 1996, 16n28, 17nn29–30. According to Socrates, Anytus accused him on behalf of the craftsmen and politicians, perhaps because his father was a tanner by trade; he is angered by Socrates’ apparent attack in Plato’s Meno (89e–95a) on the capacity of the politicians as educators of the young. According to Diogenes Laertius, Anytus instigated the proceedings because he first stirred up Aristophanes and the comic poets against Socrates and later persuaded Meletus to bring the indictment against him. It was also reported that the wealthy Anytus was the first Athenian to win acquittal by bribing a jury (Meno 90a). 46.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 175: “by recollecting the playful deeds in question, Xenophon may earn for himself a freedom or license to present the serious playfulness of Socrates in an atmosphere not altogether inimical to it.” 47.  On the teachability of virtue, see Pangle 1994, 143–147; Strauss 1963, 80. 48.  This word is rarely used by Xenophon: see Mem. II.4.34 and Cyr. VIII.7.9 (both of which usages occur at a critical juncture in a discussion of happiness); see also Hellenika V.2.10 and Poroi 3.3. 49.  On these modes of Socratic speech, according to Xenophon, see esp. Mem. IV 6.13–15. See also, Bowen 1998, 96, commenting on 2.6: “Were this a dialogue of Plato, we would expect the serious discussion to start now; whether goodness [or virtue] is teachable is explored in Laches and Meno. Instead, we have Sokrates’ tact in seeing that the occasion is wrong.” Bowen’s comment does not entertain or envision the possibility that the occasion is indeed a fitting one but that, in Socrates’ view, the mode is inappropriate. 50.  The question of the teachability of moral virtue is raised explicitly by Xenophon in defense of Socrates, who, he testifies, exhibited gentlemanliness to his companions, including Kritias and Alcibiades, who failed to learn from his example: see Mem. I.2.19–23; see also, Bartlett 1996-b, 178. In that work, Xenophon goes on to state explicitly his own view that once a person has learned—or been trained in—a virtue (such as prudence or moderation), their conduct accords with their knowledge. Hence the importance of associating with someone (like Socrates) whose own virtuous conduct prompts one to remember—and act with—virtue. The same lines of poetry by Theognis as discussed above are cited in this context. Here, in the Symposium, the question of education, or training in virtue, attends the various kinds of entertainment provided by the Syracusan in the action of the dialogue. A summary of the Syracusan’s performances is given below, together with the topic of the speeches by the symposiasts in response: (2.1–7)    (2.8–10)   (2.11–14)  (2.15–20)  (2.21–27) 

Introduction—music (flute girl and boy) / scents, gentlemanliness 1st performance—dancing girl (with flute girl) / teachability of virtue 2nd performance—dancing girl / education of women and teachability of courage 3rd performance—dancing boy / education of men and the virtue of dancing Conclusion—Philippos’ parody of dance / the virtue of wine

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The dancing girl appears as the central performer in the two first acts, or performances, after the musicians perform (a girl playing the flute and a boy playing the kithara); the boy, dancing alone and without music, offers the last musical performance. All will return for the final dramatic performance of the Symposium. 51.  Most likely the Syracusan or his boy: see Bowen 1998, 96, commenting on 2.7: “Someone familiar with the act is needed. A possible fifth member of the troupe comes dimly into view.” 52. This mode of familiar address is otherwise infrequently used by Xenophon’s Socrates. See, for example, Mem. I.5.1, III.1.4, III.11.2, and IV.2.3. But this may be circumstantial evidence since both the Oikonomikos and Apologia portray Socrates in conversation only with individual interlocutors, though there may be many others present as silent listeners. On the other hand, where Socrates is said to have used this particular form of familiar address repeatedly, according to the report which Hermogenes gave of Socrates’ defense speech, we are made to wonder whether it is in fact not entirely appropriate: see Apo. 10, 15, 24. Socrates uses this form of address twice in this section and soon after in the next section, thus hinting that he has something here to which he wishes to call their attention when it comes to manliness (in contrast, let us assume, to gentlemanliness). Here in the Symposium, this familiar address occurs more frequently (eleven times) than any other. Kallias is the first to address the banqueters this way (1.12), while the Syracusan is the last (9.2). Kallias and the Syracusan are paired in their use of this address; so too are Philippos (2.23) and Antisthenes (4.34). Charmides addresses the gathering this way on two occasions (3.1, 4.8). Socrates makes use of this mode the most (five times: 2.9, 2.24, 3.2, 4.25, 8.1), alternating his use of it with its use by others, and each Socratic usage is preceded and followed by someone else who uses the same address, often to recommend something that Socrates believes to be excessive. The central usage of this familiar address has Socratic moderation (3.2) constrained on either side by the intractable problem of Charmides’ immoderation with regard to erōs (3.1, 4.8). Socrates’ fourth usage stands out insofar as it is combined with an oath; his fifth and final usage opens a new logos and is also combined with a divine invocation. The dialogue’s final use of this familiar address by the Syracusan, introducing his last performance—which is either inspired by or a response to Socrates’ exhortation—goes unchallenged by Socrates. Other modes of familiar address in the Symposium rarely occur: “most desirable!” (4.1: Socrates to Kallias), “you sophist!” (4.4: Kallias to Antisthenes), and “you pimp-of-yourself!” (8.4: Antisthenes to Socrates). Interestingly, what appears to be another familiar address (2.16, 4.52, 7.2) is actually the only available means to address the only unnamed participant in the dialogue (“you, Syracusan”). Socrates confirms Xenophon’s description of this unnamed participant as someone from Syracuse (2.1), followed by Charmides (4.52), who may merely be following Socrates’ lead; he is addressed a second time by Socrates (7.2), but only after Socrates has been addressed by the Syracusan in a common or vulgar manner (6.6). At any rate, it is clear that the identity of this master-entertainer invited by Kallias was not entirely unknown to at least one of those (other than Kallias) present in Xenophon’s Symposium. Xenophon himself is unnamed and present, although he remains silent and does not participate in the dialogue by speaking; apart from what precedes the opening, he is unaddressed. 53.  See Bowen 1998, 96, commenting on 2.9; see also, Shakespeare, Othello III.iii.412. 54.  It is noteworthy, in light of Socrates’ later comments (2.15–16), that the boy combines in himself what happens to be divided up between the two girls, music and dance. Similarly, unlike the first girl, the boy plays a string instrument rather than a wind instrument. Those skilled in the latter kind of instrument cannot sing while playing, and they may have to disfigure their facial features in order to play properly. 55.  On Antisthenes, see Mem II.5, III.11.17; Bonnette 1994, 160n38; cf. Mem III.4.1; Bonnette 1994, 163n17. See also, Anderson 1974, 29; Higgins 1977, 16–17. Xenophon’s Symposium offers one of the only reliable portraits of Antisthenes drawn in antiquity in the opinion of Guthrie 1971, 21; see as well, Clay 1994; Kahn 1994; and McKirahan 1994. Antisthenes (ca. 455–360 BC) was of the generation between Socrates and Xenophon. In his youth he was said to have received training under Gorgias (see 1.4); eventually, however, he came under Socrates’ “spell” and followed him as a self-avowed and devoted companion (Mem III.11.7; Sym. 4.44). Plato, in his Phaedo, mentions Antisthenes among those present



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at Socrates’ last conversation before he drank hemlock. After the death of Socrates, Antisthenes wrote on many subjects, including ethics, politics, natural philosophy, epistemology, language, literature, and rhetoric, and his writing took the form of Socratic dialogues, including two named after Cyrus the Great, as well as declamations and diatribes against various Socratics, including Plato himself. Extant fragments of Antisthenes’ dialogues are discussed in Vander Waerdt 1994. A few modern scholars have attempted with suspect arguments to prove that much of what was written both by Plato and Xenophon was actually plagiarized from the thought of Antisthenes: see Chroust 1957, 227n6, 101–134, who develops spurious theses of Karl Joel; but cf. Guthrie 1971, 3, 27; Anderson 1974, 200; Higgins 1977, 148n70. An ancient admirer of Antisthenes, Diokles, appears to have inherited and perpetuated his rivalry with Xenophon: see D.L. II.54; Higgins 1977, 160n46. 56.  Antisthenes placed the highest good for human beings in a life that conforms to perfect virtue and held virtuous activity by the wise man to be sufficient for happiness. He also reportedly advocated for the unity of the divine contrary to the popular belief in many gods, proclaimed virtue to be the paramount good, and condemned pleasure from the senses as vice: See Aristotle, Metaphysics 1024b32–34, 1043b23–32; see also, D. L. I.15 and VI.11–13, where it is said that Antisthenes founded a philosophic school known as the Cynics, an act consistent with the Socratic view that virtue could be taught. His disputatious nature is on display in the Symposium; see Guthrie 1972, 21: “In Xenophon he appears as a somewhat ill-mannered, disputatious and tactless person, and at the same time quick to take offense at any suspected aspersions on himself.” 57.  Socrates muzzles Antisthenes, so to speak, on more than one occasion (see 2.10, 3.6, and 4.5). On another occasion Socrates speaks to Antisthenes, in the presence of others, about presumptuousness with respect to “friends” in Xenophon’s Memorabilia (II.5, the shortest chapter in that work). Though Antisthenes himself does not seem to be the guilty or neglectful companion for whom this inquiry is intended, we should not overlook the ironic point that Antisthenes himself may be no better off with respect to this inquiry into self-worth than the neglectful companion. In reference to Antisthenes’ brash contradiction of Socrates regarding Xanthippe, see Burckhardt 1898/1998, 263n178: “Here we have, in Antisthenes, perhaps the earliest portrait of the cynic, very carefully drawn . . . [and] allowed some keen thrusts of wit.” 58.  Socrates’ interest in high-spirited natures is recorded by Xenophon: see Mem. IV.1.3. It is worth noting that Socrates does not speak of his wife in the manner that Antisthenes has, namely, as “the most difficult” or even simply as “difficult.” Socrates himself prefers to use the word “high-spirited,” undoubtedly for the humorous and ironic connotations this adjective makes possible. A related discussion of the comparison of horses and human beings in Xenophon’s writings is found in Higgins 1977, 177n44, who notices frequent instances of the topic beyond Peri Hippikēs and Hipparchikos: e.g., Hiero 10.2, Oik. 3.10, Sym. 2.10, Mem. IV.1.3, and Cyr. VII.5.62. The Xanthippe passage and comparison, interestingly, occupies the central place in Higgins’ list as perhaps it also does in Xenophon’s thinking and writing. 59.  The name “Xanthippe” suggests the same aristocratic origins, or at least horse-related pretensions, as those of Strepsiades’ wife in Aristophanes’ Clouds (see 60–67; see also, Thucydides I.139, Pericles, son of Xanthippos; Guthrie 1971, 65n3). Her name itself, through its etymology, thus invokes the pun which is present in Socrates’ response to Antisthenes. On the shrewish nature of Xanthippe, see D.L. II.36–37; cf. Mem. III.11 and Sym. 9.7, which suggest that Xanthippe might have reason to complain about her husband. On Socrates’ reason for marrying and the education of a wife, see Oik. 7–10; Strauss 1970, 132–133: “On no other occasion does Socrates in the Oeconomicus express his eagerness to learn in such strong terms, although the primary purpose of his conversation with Ischomachos was to find out what perfect gentlemanship is. He does not say why he is so excited about the theme ‘the wife.’ Was he not yet married but contemplating marriage and eager to get the best guidance for his venture in the most convenient or unobtrusive manner? Or was he already married to Xanthippe but a bungler at taming her? This much is certain: the Socrates who conversed with Ischomachos had no inkling of the state of knowledge, or rather ignorance, in which nice and sweet Athenian girls entered marriage, just as he did not know what a perfect gentleman is.” For an alternative reading of wifely didactics, see Too 2001. 60.  See the prolonged dream of the prodigal Christopher Sly in Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew.

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61.  In the Symposium, Antisthenes argues for the leisure, austerity, and poverty of the Socratic life (4.34–44) which he claims to imitate erotically (see 8.4–5; cf. 8.6), but his skill at debate and in Socratic refutation evince a harsh elenchus that is more in keeping with the sophistic spiritedness of his youthful training (see 4.2–4, 6.5). Does a Socratic elenchos devoid of self-examination become in effect cynicism, philosophizing playfully but biting even friends with too-sharp teeth? 62.  Consider the references to “use” (χράομαι) in Socrates’ discussion of wisdom (2.5), of the education of women (2.9 and 10, three times), and finally of dancing (2.16–18). 63.  See Higgins 1977, 15–16: “It is always Socrates who restrains Antisthenes from committing more social faux pas, since a party is hardly the place for cross-examinations. Socrates’ sense of grace, in other words, seems to lead him to manifest his sense of friendship, a friendship both for Antisthenes, whom he stops from doing what is wrong, and for the others, who might soon become Antisthenes’ victims and finally his enemies. Socrates is the peacemaker.” 64. Not only these three companions posed problems for Socrates. See O’Connor 1994, 151: “Among these admiring imitators of Socrates were Alcibiades, burning with political ambition; Aristippus, founder of the Cyrenaics and an apolitical hedonist; Aristodemus, a quirky little agonistic; and Euthydemus, a talented, smug bibliophile. What was there about Socrates that attracted lovers of such diverse characters and ambitions?” On what is “the most difficult” thing of all, apparently, for Socrates to bear, see Chapter Four. 65. On Ischomachos’ self-deception, see Oik. 7.5, 10.1, 10.13. On his failure to manage a “remarkable” wife, cf. Oik. 8.1, 9.1, 9.18, 11.1, 11.23–25. See also, Ambler 1996, 118n9; Strauss 1970, 157–158; Bruell 1984, 284, with parenthetical references to Strauss 1970: “while Ischomachos apparently intended his discussion of order ‘to educate even Socrates’ (142 and 148), Socrates, who on the whole remains silent during the discussion (152 and 142–43), shows almost no sign of interest in it. (153) What he does show interest in consistently, in this discussion and throughout the whole section on the wife, is Ischomachos’ education of his wife and the wife’s reaction to that education! (146, 152, 140, 153–54, 156).” See as well, Strauss 1970, 132, and 185: “under no circumstances does [Socrates] wish to become a perfect gentleman, in the ordinary meaning of that expression. He is very eager to hear about Ischomachos’ education of his wife, and yet he does not show the slightest desire to imitate Ischomachos in this respect.” 66.  For the confession, see Oik. 11.25; cf. Socrates’ solution: Mem. II.2. See also, Strauss 1970, 166. 67. See Oik. 11.2–3; Ambler 1996, 129–131; Pangle 1994, 144; Strauss 1970, 158, and 1972, 145–148. 68.  The epic precursor to this understanding of human limitation may be seen in the case of “highspirited” Diomedes, the “breaker of horses” (Iliad IV.365, XXIII.472), who chose Odysseus from all of the Greeks (Achilles being absent) to be the one companion with whom he would desire to yoke his own great virtue, bodily strength, and courage, on account of Odysseus’ possession of a resourceful mind, best at “devices” (Il. X.241–247). In other words, force of arms alone is not sufficient for human beings, and so a mind fit for persuasion and cunning must compensate for the limits of strength. So too, in Socratic speech, are their two modes of proceeding—with the strength of dialectic, or with Odyssean rhetoric—which distinction will be discussed at length below. On Socrates as a “spur” to Athens, see Marshall 2017. 69. See Mem. I.2.14 (first use of logos), IV 6.13–15. See also, Pangle 1994, 147; Strauss 1948/1991, 196, 206, and esp. 1970, 177: “the ‘tragic’ limitation of Socrates’ power of speaking is, as it were, foreshadowed by its ‘comic’ limitation, by Socrates’ inability to persuade Xanthippe.” See finally, Pangle’s introduction to Strauss 1989, 15; Rosen 1973, 471 (last sentence); Strauss 1972, 178: “[Socrates’] relation to Xanthippe is the comic equivalent of his relation to the city.” 70.  See Strauss 1972, 41–42: “As on other occasions one must pay attention not only to what Xenophon says but also to what he does not say. His Socrates does not for a moment consider it wise to talk over his son’s complaint about his wife: Xanthippe’s bad temper is a phenomenon like bad weather against which speech is of no avail. The only thing that can be changed, and even be changed by speech, is the posture of those who have no choice but to undergo the bad weather.” But cf. Plato, Republic VI.496d.



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71.  See Xen. Apo. 3, 16, 32–34; Mem. I.6.14, end. Socrates, it is clear, thinks of his “fortune” differently than do many of his companions (cf. Apo. 28). See Plato, Phaedo. 72.  See Strauss 1972, 147: “As Xenophon puts it, Socrates’ reply seemed . . . right on the target.” On the non-narrative editorial remarks of Xenophon as a means of tracking the Socratic logos, not including the remarks at the beginning and end of the dialogue, see 1.8–11; 2.10; 3.1; 4.6, 10, 28, 49, 64; 6.1, 6, 10; 8.1; and 9.1. The central remark (4.49) of the thirteen listed here speaks of a “seriousness” that occupies the middle of the dialogue and is represented in the person of Hermogenes. 73.  See Strauss 1972, 146–147. 74. See Mem. III.9.1–3; see also, Strauss 1972, 147. 75.  On the state of political affairs in Athens during the Peloponnesian War, see Chapter One. As for the decline of military virtue among the Athenians, consider Gardiner 1910, 243: “Athenians were intensely fond of acrobatic performances, and, as we know from the story of Hippocleides even highborn Athenians did not disdain to acquire proficiency in them.” Taken in context, the meaning of this episode (Herodotus VI.129) departs slightly from Gardiner’s reading, although the general observation regarding the Athenian fascination with performances of this sort is relevant; cf. Bowen 1998, 98, commenting on 2.16. 76.  Only in Sparta were women not only allowed but expected to participate and train in rigorous gymnastic exercises in service to the polis; see Xenophon, Constitution of the Lacedaimonions I.1–4 and II.1–14; and esp. Strauss 1939, 503–511, 505n3, but cf. 504n3, 528ff. There is, however, a certain residual excessiveness that results from the Spartan education of women. Perhaps the most notable critique of Spartan education, beyond Xenophon’s treatise, is found in Plato’s Republic; see also, Euripides, Andromache. 77.  See Pagano 1994, 10–11: “The dancing girl . . . does not merely perform wonders. She is a wonder. Her form and actions do not correspond. She has a woman’s body but acts manly. Wonder for Socrates is precisely the result of an observed divergence between form and function. He points to the wonder, for example [later in the dialogue], that olive oil, which is wet, intensifies a flame but water, which is also wet, extinguishes it. We discover at the end of the symposium a reason why the dancing girl might strive to do wonders. It may not be the effect of training but of eros. She might do whatever is necessary to stay close to her beloved dancing boy.” 78. See Oik. 8.22; Mem. IV.2.11. See also, Herodotus III.80–82, V.29; Plato, Statesman 258e–259c, Laws 690a, Protagoras 318e; Aristotle, Politics 1252a1–16. See as well, Stevens 1994, 209: “the Xenophontic Socrates twice compares the knowledge of how to rule a city to the knowledge of how to rule a single household, inasmuch as to rule a city is to rule ten thousand households (Mem. 3.4.12, 3.6.14, 3.9.10–11; Oec. 21.2), and thereby accepts the argument that one who knows the kingly art of ruling rules all things well.” But cf. Strauss 1963, 130: “The first impression you get from Xenophon is that there is only a difference of size and not of essence between the household and the polis. But still when one reads the passages more carefully [Oik 21, end], one sees that this is only true in a certain respect, namely, as far as there is always rule over men in both cases. But . . . their essential differences come out indirectly. . . . there are two words which occur, and they are related. The one is law. Strictly speaking, there is no law within the household. There are commands, but no laws. And the other thing related to that: there is no freedom. Because there is dependence. Even the wife. And of course the children still more subject, and the slaves altogether. So freedom and law are the two political or public phenomena that do not exist in the household.” 79.  Upstaged by the Syracusan’s entertainment and Socrates’ speeches, Philippos must also contend with a new joker and his caricatures, Antisthenes; see Bowen 1998, 98, commenting on 2.14: “[Philippos] cannot afford in his role to let Antisthenes’ wit go unchallenged, but his gibe at a contemporary politician brings something alien into the spirit of this symposium (though it might not be at others).” 80.  See Bartlett 1996-a, 139n27, whose note on Peisander looks far into the political future of Athens citing Aristophanes’ Birds (1555ff.) and links Peisander’s cowardice to his later exploits as a tyrannical leader of the Four Hundred during the oligarchic regime imposed on the Athenians in their defeat by the Spartans; see also, Bowen 1998, 98, commenting on 2.14; his description paints a portrait of an opportunistic, perhaps cowardly or spineless, leader unwilling to stand his ground when necessary

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against the winds of political change. On demagoguery at Athens, see Munn 2000, 71–75, especially the discussion of Periclean politics as a model of leadership given the name δημαγωγός, or “leader of the people.” For other references to Peisander as a demagogue, beyond those mentioned, see Munn 2000, 390n26, who also lists Thucydides VIII.49, 90, 98; Andocides 1.27, 1.36, 1.43, 2.14; Lysias 7.4, 12.66, 25.9; Aristotle, Constitution of the Athenians 32.2. Finally, Munn (2000, 139–140) confirms the reading of Peisander suggested above, as one who “took a different turn” whenever it was expedient to do so and who eventually abandoned the demos altogether in 411 by proposing the official creation of the revolutionary Five Thousand which preceded the Four Hundred and secured the demise of the democratic Council of Five Hundred. 81.  Philippos’ last speech prior to his intrusion here (1.15) was also prefaced by an oath, “By Zeus,” though he receives none of the sympathetic laughter which the banqueters had earlier promised; thus Philippos has been forgotten because the banqueters have forgotten to keep their word. His next attempt to grab their attention (2.20) will once again be prefaced by the same oath, but to no avail. Zeus, too, it seems, has abandoned him; Philippos has no choice but to take matters into his own hands, so to speak, and make a spectacle of himself (2.21–23). In the remainder of the dialogue, Philippos calls emphatically on the divine in speech only one time (6.8), when he is asked his opinion about the rudeness of his rival, the Syracusan. It should go without saying that Philippos agrees with Antisthenes that the Syracusan’s behavior is harsh, perhaps for reasons in addition to the one mentioned. 82.  See Strauss 1972, 147, where he suggests that Charmides “divined” the praise of the Syracusan embedded within Socrates’ compliment. But to “divine” something implies an unusual capacity to see what others usually cannot, thus with a word does Strauss’ reading appear to anticipate both Charmides’ (accidental?) vision of Socratic dancing (2.19) as well as Socrates’ predilection of Charmides’ natural talent (4.28; cf. Mem. IV.1.2, 1.4 with III.7). On Socratic divining, see the quotation from Strauss 1972, 32. 83.  Perhaps Socrates obscures his own observation since, if explained, it could reflect poorly upon the static beauty of the other boy in the room, Autolykos. Since the end of the dialogue’s first section at least Lykon’s admirable son has ceased to be the unmoved mover of other souls and become, at best, almost an inanimate object of conversation. The motions of speech, we can well imagine, or the beautiful “forms” of dance are not likely to be among the talents which Autolykos has refined in pankration training. In this sense Socrates’ first comment on the “more beautiful” “beauty” of the Syracusan’s dancing boy may be taken as an implicit criticism of Autolykos’ more physical form of beauty. 84.  It must be noted, of course, that while the Syracusan’s forms may enhance the natural beauty that the boy already possesses, beauty itself, unlike virtue, cannot be taught. Despite the outcome of the beauty contest with Kritoboulos, Socrates at least (see 4.19) does not think that he is entirely lacking in beauty. 85.  See the wonderful illustration of Socrates dancing in the colored lithograph printed by Honoré Daumier, titled “Socrate chez Aspasie” (Musée de la Ville de Paris, Musée Carnavalet). 86.  See the parenthetical comment of Strauss 1972, 148–149: “(The contrast between the effect of Socrates’ statement and that of Philippos’ jest could not have been greater. Socrates is much better at making people of some refinement laugh than any professional jester. Socrates has easily won the silent contest in jesting with Philippos.)” Philippos’ work as a jester differs strikingly from what is accomplished by Socrates here in an instant, insofar as the laughter that he inspires is, on the surface of things, unintentional and accidental; though he too is impoverished to a certain degree, Socrates does not need to make a living by telling jokes. His way of life, as we shall see, becomes for others an enviable form of wealth. We may wonder, though, in whose house with “a room of seven couches” (2.18)—certainly not his own—Socrates intends to exercise by dancing. See the suggestion in the preceding note. 87. On Socratic laughter in Xenophon’s Symposium, see 2.17; 3.10; cf. 4.45; see also, Strauss 1972/1998, 159–160. On laughter in Xenophon’s other Socratic writings, see Apo. 28; Bruell 1994, xxii; Strauss 1963, 109–110, and 1970, 191n6: “The playful character of the Oeconomicus as a whole shows itself in the fact that terms designating laughter and joking occur, if my memory does not deceive me, twenty-two times in the Memorabilia and eighteen times in the Oeconomicus. In the Memorabilia



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only one case occurs in which Socrates is said to have made people laugh (IV.2.5); in the Oeconomicus, Socrates himself notes three cases of this kind (II.9, VII.3, XVII.10).” On laughter in Xenophon’s nonSocratic works, see esp. Ana. VII.7.54 and Cyr. II.2.5, 11, 29. On Socratic laughter in the dialogues of Plato, see e.g., Phaedo 84d and 115d. 88.  See Strauss 1972, 148, where only this reason, among “a variety” of others, is mentioned. 89.  Regardless of whether or not the Syracusan agrees to teach them to him, or whether or not he does learn the dancing forms, what is evident is Socrates’ expressed willingness to learn from others. He displays such willingness to learn from others on other occasions as well, such as how to “make use” of divine friends as Hermogenes claims to do (see 4.49–50; but cf. Xen. Apo. 4–9, 22–23, 32). 90.  See Bartlett 1996-b 182–183. On madness as a human sense, see Emily Dickinson’s poem, number 435. For another instance of mad dancing, see King David’s performance before the ark in 2 Samuel 6: 16–23; but cf. the biblical condemnation of luxuriousness in music, song, wine, oil and symposia, especially those wherein the symposiasts recline in Amos 6:4–7. 91.  The hand-gesturing that Charmides performs at his house has been translated as “calisthenics” by Bartlett, as “arm movements” or “shadow-boxing” (cf. Plato Laws 830c) by Bowen and Todd. Such translations are based on the statement by Charmides that he does not dance, because he has never learned, but rather does something with which he is familiar or in which he has been trained that is similar. The important point is that Socrates did not teach Charmides to perform the kind of dancing he himself preferred to gymnastics; perhaps after hearing the explanation that assured him that it was in fact not a form of madness, Charmides failed to ask Socrates to teach him how to dance, though he was inspired to perform or practice the exercises which he did know in private. 92.  See the discussion of Kritias and Alcibiades in Mem. I.2; but cf. Plato, Sym. 173b–175d. See also, Strauss 1963, 104–131; Sanders 2011; Pangle 2018, 23–44. Strauss points out that the failure of those who are and know they are ignorant of something to learn what they do not know is a sort of madness. 93.  The truth about Socrates’ way of life may be distortedly revealed through the caricature of his imitators in the Symposium, which is to say, it is not fully concealed from them, as Charmides’ report here indicates; see Bruell 1984, 272, whose parenthetical reference is to Strauss 1970: “Socrates had to conceal the truth about his way of life (cf. 110), no doubt because of how that truth would be interpreted by the gentlemen ‘in the common meaning of the term,’ the moral and civic-minded men. . . . [But] just as Socrates appears in a certain light when looked at from the point of view of a gentleman, so can the gentleman be looked at from Socrates’ point of view.” 94.  See Bowen 1998, 99, commenting on 2.20: “. . . in he comes again.” Bowen also notes Philippos’ remark in detail, but without noticing explicitly that it represents for the stymied jester a radically novel approach in his professional work: “. . . in using ισοφόρα Philippos does three things at once: he quotes Od. xviii 373 (where it describes two oxen of equal strength), he alludes to Sokrates’ ισόρροπον (2.17 above), and (after a fashion) he compliments Kharmides.” 95.  It seems Kallias is still concealing “the many and wise things” he has to say, and upon which his claim to be worthy of a very great seriousness is based (cf. 1.6). See Strauss 1972, 148: “[Kallias] had failed to understand the strictly private, partnerless character of Socrates’ dancing.” See also, Bartlett 1996-b, 183: “Callias assumes that Socrates is as in need of a partner as he himself is, but this request receives no reply; it is quietly dropped because, to repeat, Socrates requires no partner (2.20, end).” 96.  See Plato, Symposium 189c–193e, esp. 190a. On the spherical human nature of Plato’s Aristophanes, see also, Pagano 1994, 1–6; Benardete 1993, 185–188; Bloom 1993, 102–112; Strauss 1959-a, 107–127. 97.  See Strauss 1972, 148–149: “The performance of the dancing girl and the boy had led to very different reactions on the part of Socrates; the second reaction had caused general laughter. So Philippos imitated the two dancers in a most laughable manner. This time he was entirely successful; as Kallias said, they had become thirsty because they had laughed so much about him. He did not say that they ‘all’ laughed: did Socrates laugh? Philippos’ performance—in contradistinction to the performances which he parodied—did not induce anyone to draw a serious-playful lesson from it.”

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98.  Now we realize that Section Two forms an interlude between the banquet of Kallias in Section One and the symposion proper which only begins in Section Three. Philippos’ call for wine and Kallias’ answer is an indication that more wine is required for the drinking party to get underway. The word is not used in the dialogue until much later, after the restraining influence of Socrates is felt (see 6.5, 7.3, 7.5). 99.  On Socrates and Odysseus, see Mem. I.3.5–7 and Strauss 1972, 19–20. On wine-drinking as a drug, see Anderson 1974, 31, which quotes Memorabilia I.3.5–8 (cf. Sym. 4.41) and remarks on a useful lesson drawn by Socrates from Homer’s depiction of Odysseus’ immunity to Circe’s charms, which (we might add) is in a decisive respect a result of his understanding of “nature” (φύσις). On drinking wine that is mixed together with a potion, as a potent means of laying to rest the sufferings of human beings, especially in their bodies, but also in their minds or memories, see the selection from the Odyssey quoted above (infra note 3), as well as Iliad XI.620–642. Socrates’ analogy between plants and people, insofar as both “suffer” and undergo change as a result of what the gods via nature provide, breaks down at a certain point. In the case of wine, human beings are responsible for their own over-intoxication, whereas plants simply suffer from droughts or floods without any capacity whatsoever to relocate or move themselves. Moderation, then, is a result of human virtue, not natural beneficence or divine providence. On drinking until morning, while still keeping possession of one’s wits, see Plato, Symposium 223c-d. On wine-drinking as a pleasurable but distracting form of watering, see Plato, Phaedrus 276b–277a. 100.  Socrates himself was extremely continent: see Mem. I.3.5–15, esp. 3.6. 101.  On the legislative language, see Bartlett 1996-a, 142n33. This language suggests that there is a founding of sorts going on, although the regime proposed by Socrates is immediately softened by this amendment. Xenophon himself confirms in his concluding remark that a second-best regime is founded. 102.  As for the flow of speeches, it is clear that there has been a reversal of sorts since the beginning of the Symposium. Counting the Stephanus lines of speech for every character through the first two chapters we see that Socrates has succeeded in completing overthrowing Kallias’ rule: in Section One, Kallias speaks the most (13 lines), then the uninvited Philippos (11), and finally Socrates (4); but in Section Two, Socrates far exceeds all others in speech (82 lines), with Philippos barely competing for attention (13), followed by Antisthenes (8), Charmides (6), and Kallias, who is tied for last with Lykon (4). The invited but unnamed Syracusan, who is drawn into the conversation by Socrates midway through Section Two, has one key line. Once the speeches begin to flow like the wine in Section Three, the contest of speeches really opens up to include everyone, as any good symposion should. 103.  The Syracusan dance-teacher seems to have much in common with Xenophon’s Socrates. Consider the etymological roots of his profession. The word “orchestra” refers to the orchestra pit or dancing space where the ancient chorus sang and spoke, while “orchos” refers to dancing in a line, which is to say, up and down in the long rows or lines of the vineyard: see Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy. The one who “orchestrates” is the one who leads the action, dancing up and down the line picking grapes. The frenetic activity identified with intoxication and the bacchanalia is associated with losing one’s wits, a condition that comes from the drinking of raw undiluted wine, or in other words, dancing in the vineyards with Bacchus. A dance-teacher, then, must be someone who has learned how to moderate the madness which is essential to the performance of his art. See Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra, and Rosen 1973, 471: “Xenophon’s inaccessibility to the contemporary reader can also be illustrated in this connection. Whereas Nietzsche speaks (or rather shouts) about philosophy as a solitary and dangerous kind of dancing, akin to tight-rope walking, Xenophon indicates playfully the ‘private, partnerless character of Socratic dancing.’” 104.  Based upon a comparison of the frenetic “rhythm” of Philippos’ dance and the likely pace of the private, partnerless, musicless dancing of Socrates, the former has more in common with the most destructive forms of Dionysian drunkenness while the latter would appear to be restrained in a manner which would not be unbefitting of the term Apollonian. In addition to Nietzsche’s willful, but inspired polarity of these two terms, see Burkert 1985, 224: “An opposition between Apollo and Dionysos was first sensed in music: their cult hymns, the paean and the dithyrambos, are felt to be incompatible in harmony and rhythm and also in ethos; clarity is opposed to drunkenness; the contrast between string music and flute music is then added.”



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105.  With respect to the profound opposition between Socratic dancing (with its concern for moderation and the harmony of the whole) and Philippos’ caricature or parody of dance (which reduces the whole to a mere collection of parts), and the concept of philosophy as a radical concern for the whole together with the parts, see Strauss 1959, 38–39: “Philosophy strives for knowledge of the whole. The whole is the totality of the parts. The whole eludes us but we know the parts: we possess partial knowledge of parts. The knowledge which we possess is characterized by a fundamental dualism which has never been overcome. At one pole we find knowledge of homogeneity. . . . At the opposite pole we find knowledge of heterogeneity, and in particular of heterogeneous ends; the highest form of this kind of knowledge is the art of the statesman and of the educator. The latter kind of knowledge is superior to the former for this reason. As knowledge of the ends of human life, it is therefore knowledge of what makes human life complete or whole; it is therefore knowledge of a whole. Knowledge of the ends of man implies knowledge of the human soul; and the human soul is the only part of the whole which is open to the whole and therefore more akin to the whole than anything else is. But this knowledge—the political art in the highest sense—is not knowledge of the whole. It seems that knowledge of the whole would have to combine somehow political knowledge in the highest sense with knowledge of homogeneity. And this combination is not at our disposal.”

Part II SYMPOTIC ENTERTAINMENTS

5 Display Speeches and the Promise of Wisdom

The gods, having pity on this race born to labor, gave to human beings recurring festivals as a means of refreshing them from their fatigue; and they bestowed upon them the Muses, along with Apollo and Dionysos as leaders of the Muses, in order that, having sufficiently revived themselves in the company of the gods, their upright posture might be restored.1

SOCRATES AND THE DIONYSIAC PRINCIPLE The transition from banquet to symposium is orchestrated by Socrates, though an errant note was sounded by Philippos during his so-called performance. Lest the fool’s absurdly frenetic dance, and the outburst of laughter by Kallias and some others, obfuscate the question of virtue which had circumspectly been raised, Socrates reminds the symposiasts that wine is best for human beings—when used in moderation. To drink, he admits, is a “great thing,” for wine acts as a drug for the soul, assuaging grief and arousing “affection” (φιλοφροσύνη) in human beings (2.24). This potent drug thus acts as a pharmakon (φάρμακον) for human souls, usually producing beneficial effects—but not always.2 To drink wine excessively, warns Socrates, weakens the body and mind, and should be avoided if one does not wish to be overpowered, let alone capable of saying anything worthwhile. We are told that the other men voiced agreement with Socrates’ speech, but Xenophon does not say whether they also all approved of Philippos’ amendment that the wine-servers should go round pouring their cups with “moderate” portions faster, although this is indeed what the wine-servers did (2.27). Returning to Socrates’ argument then, we might ask: what pains are there in the souls of the symposiasts which Socrates thinks need to be quenched? For surely the lamentations arising from the great suffering that gripped Philippos (1.15) have already been alleviated, and the abundance of pleasures at the banquet which are being enjoyed (2.2) surely has not left their souls grieving. Of what use, then, is wine to Socrates or to the other gentlemen, if not simply to quench their thirst and arouse their souls? The Socratic recommendation of wine-drinking here recalls a similar apologia delivered by the Athenian Stranger in Plato’s Laws, though the interlocutors there are not at a symposium and do not ever imbibe—except vicariously through speech. In Plato’s dialogue, speeches about 123

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wine-drinking assist in loosening the tongues of law-abiding older men, encouraging them to reflect in otherwise uncharacteristic speeches on the nature of virtue and the justness of their laws.3 Similarly, a mild intoxication might liberate the gentlemen from their characteristic concern with the conventional as well as their preoccupation with acquiring or maintaining a serious reputation. Playfulness and laughter, unusual circumstances notwithstanding, do not often belong to the proper activities of a gentleman. The humorous aspects of being human are more often the stuff of comic playwrights and professional fools than of men reputed to be kaloi k’agathoi. Yet even gentlemen are human too, and the perceived disjunction between a life devoted to serious deeds and those moments in life that are naturally, even pleasantly and humanely, less than serious can become unbearable. Just as plants thirst for water and sunlight in order to bear fruit, perhaps human beings, and especially gentlemen, have need of the divine fruit of the vine to bear up under the withering heat of political life and flourish. But if the benefits of intoxication are so evident, why does wine-drinking require a defense? Among the Greek poleis one may think of Athens as particularly susceptible to the charge of immoderate drinking, or intoxication. Other regimes, in fact, went to great lengths to avoid the institution of the symposion and its excessive side-effects.4 Yet, it was precisely on account of the Athenians’ devotion to Dionysos, notably through the Great Dionysia and the annual festivals and performances at the theatre of Dionysos, that Athens avoided the awful fate of Euripidean Thebes.5 As Xenophon’s Socrates points out to his fellow Athenians, the virtue of wine derives from a moderate intoxication and enthusiasm, not a debilitating drunkenness; only if imbibed moderately does wine achieve that soul-healing mania which lies between destructive repression and violent revelry. Dionysos, the god of symposia and tragedies, properly understood, gave to human beings two means of staving off the same psychic disease by embracing an induced and cathartic “madness” rather than suffering the destruction of the conventional walls built by nomos. Wine-drinking, properly used, becomes the gods’ greatest gift, calming the soul and smoothing over the tragic ruptures in the human condition.6 So what purpose or end will the intoxication of the young gentlemen present in Xenophon’s Symposium serve? If wine-drinking in deed, not simply in speech, loosens the chains of convention that bind citizens and gentlemen,7 setting the stage for playful deeds, then the actions which come to the fore at a symposium enable one to see what the souls of men are naturally like. Stripping off the layers of convention that all too often conceal the natural desires of human beings exposes the incompleteness of political life and its failure to render an adequate account of the whole. For souls thus unsettled, wine-drinking, which lays pains to rest, can help to heal the ruptures created by the disjuncture between nature and convention. For a wondering soul, when what seemed intelligible suddenly becomes confused or impenetrable, the awareness of an uncomprehended or intimated whole can arouse erōs, a natural human longing for completion. The danger, of course, with respect to the intoxication of younger men already prone to youthful excess, is recklessness. It should be noticed at this point that apart from the concluding line of Section Two, which Socrates introduced, wine-drinking quickly recedes from view, being replaced first with the music orchestrated by the Syracusan and then with the other form of entertainment proposed by Socrates. The effects of the wine on the symposiasts however are still evident in their speeches. In his final speech in the dialogue Socrates will explore the nature of erotic longing with respect to the various loves of those gentlemen present which come to light in this liberating, yet not licentious, setting. In striking contrast to the Platonic portrait of another drinking party which Socrates attended, the gentlemen in Xenophon’s Symposium do not succumb to drunkenness; they remain awake and alert until the very end (see 8.42). When the evening is over in fact,



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the dialogue’s participants are more than willing to “stand up straight [and] breathe in the fresh air of morning” (2.25; cf. 9.7). This may be one reason why Xenophon argues that these deeds of gentlemen at play are worthy of remembrance. In the meantime, we turn our attention to their speeches in order to judge whether these gentlemen, in addition to being able to stand up straight and breathe, have also been able to “say anything” worth remembering (2.26). For in Socrates’ view, to drink wine moderately means always being able to converse.

EROTIC TENSION: SOCRATES AND CHARMIDES With the purpose of the symposium thus nominally defined by Socrates, namely, for friends and companions to arrive at a greater playfulness by means of the moderate consumption of wine,8 Section Three—the beginning of the symposion proper—now opens with music, lyreplaying and the singing of the Syracusan’s young boy. This performance, says Xenophon, elicits applause from “all” the symposiasts; but there is also an erotic insinuation which seems not to heed the Socratic warning against immoderation. It is Charmides who introduces this tension: “Well, in my opinion, men, this mixing of youths in their bloom with music lays pains to rest just as Socrates said wine arouses Aphrodite” (3.1). Charmides addresses his remark to all of the “men” present and indulges in a provocative misquotation of Socrates’ apologia of the pleasures and benefits associated with wine-drinking, confusing the soul with the body and speaking explicitly of sexual desire and erotic passion (τὴν ἀφροδίτην) awakened by the sights and sounds supplied by the Syracusan.9 Is this the “greater playfulness” which Socrates had in mind, or is it a wine-induced variation of the kind of pleasures already provided in abundance by Kallias (see 2.2–3)? His substitution of sexual desire, “that which belongs to Aphrodite,” in place of Socrates’ explicit reference to arousing “affection” (φιλοφροσύνη), points to the dilemma.10 Socrates intervenes to prevent this implicit suggestion from being taken up by the others. But it may be too late. Charmides seems in his person, if not also in his speeches, to pose a potential threat to the evening’s entertainment from a certain Socratic point of view. Xenophon’s Socrates, of course, like Plato’s Socrates, has a strong association with Apollo and the Apollonian principle of reason (λόγος) and moderation.11 Charmides, on the other hand, has an affinity for Dionysos and the Dionysiac principle of wine (οἲνος) and intoxication. What do we know of Charmides, this Athenian young man and frequent companion of Socrates? Charmides and his family are well known to Socrates. He is the son of an Athenian named Glaucon, and his sister is Perictione, who married another prominent Athenian gentleman, Ariston; their sons include Glaucon, Adeimantus, and Plato. Thus, Charmides is the uncle of Plato. His two other nephews are prominent as Socrates’ main interlocutors in Plato’s dialogue, Republic, while Charmides himself appears in another Platonic dialogue, set in 432, which is named after him—Plato’s Charmides, traditionally subtitled “On Moderation.” In this dialogue, Socrates praises the young man’s beauty and exhorts him—under the supervision of his uncle Kritias—to take care for his education in virtue. Alcibiades, in Plato’s Symposium (222b), playfully accuses Socrates before Agathon and others of having deceived himself and other prominent young Athenians, in particular Charmides, of being their admirer, when in fact they turned out to be his, pursuing him rather than being pursued. In Plato’s Protagoras, subtitled “On the Sophists,” which takes place in the house of the wealthy Kallias almost a decade prior to the present occasion, we find Charmides as a young man trailing behind in the wake of the great sophist Protagoras himself as he entertained the host and others (including the sons of Pericles

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and Alcibiades) with his speeches (315a). His association with sophists, as well as with his own uncle Kritias, who would become one of the Thirty Tyrants, seems to have had an influential impact on his character—despite his being also a close companion of Socrates. Socrates’ own reputation would suffer as a result, during the Athenian civil war and in its politically tumultuous aftermath. Xenophon’s Socrates also cultivated an association of some substance with Charmides, or at least held him—and his extended family—in high regard, judging from a remark that Socrates was said to have been “well-intentioned” toward the younger Glaucon, for the sake of both his brother Plato and his uncle Charmides (see Mem. III.6.1). On that occasion, Xenophon recalls, when the young Glaucon was eager to present himself before the polis as a candidate for public office at a ridiculously premature age, Socrates proved instrumental in putting a halt to the young man’s impetuousness by detaining him with questions which made Glaucon want to listen further and examine rather than act. He did not have the same effect upon Charmides. The conclusion of Socrates’ questioning of Glaucon, Charmides’ nephew, in several ways seems to anticipate the attempted Socratic education of Kallias and his influence over Autolykos here in Xenophon’s Symposium, particularly with his emphasis upon the necessity of acquiring a good reputation as the foundation for a political career (Sym. 8). The key difference, however, as we shall see, is that Socrates exhorted Glaucon to pursue “knowledge” above all else, and especially in that with respect to which he intends to lead the Athenians in their deliberations, before he attempts to engage in the affairs of the polis (Mem. III.6.18). While here, he will exhort Kallias to be sure that when he courts Autolykos and the polis that he has a “reputation” for really caring for virtue—and not merely seeming to do so (see Sym. 8.42–43). Xenophon’s recollection of Socrates’ conversation with Glaucon, which is itself the prelude to the implied missing peak of the Memorabilia,12 prepares us for his engagement with Charmides which stands in its place. In this exchange (Mem. III.7), which stands in place of that missing peak, we hear Socrates encouraging Charmides—as opposed to his discouraging of the younger Glaucon—to enter politics in Athens. Charmides is the only man whom Xenophon’s Socrates ever encourages “before our eyes” to do so.13 While he appears to be a remarkable man in Socrates’ esteem, both “note-worthy” and “by far more capable than the men engaged in political things at that time,” he was nonetheless reluctant to go into politics; in other words, Charmides does not naturally—or of his own volition—“long for the noble things” or what is conventionally respected. Socrates counsels Charmides, as a “good man,” to take heed of the Delphic injunction “Know Thyself ” (cf. Mem IV.2.24) when it comes to his underestimation of his ability before the democratic Assembly, or rather his inherent sense of shame with respect to speaking in competition with others before the demos. There seems to be no doubt that Charmides’ rare combination of family wealth, moderation, and striking beauty made him one of the most celebrated of Athenian youths.14 But something in his character makes him averse to striving for honor in the conventional way in democratic Athens. Eventually, though, at the age of 45, Charmides did decide to enter into Athenian politics. Xenophon indicates in his history of the serious deeds of gentlemen that, together with his guardian and cousin, the increasingly radical Kritias, Charmides became one of the leaders in the oligarchic overthrow of the Athenian democracy in 404, serving as one of the Ten who ruled in the Peiraieus under the tyrants.15 Charmides then evidently was not ashamed to show his contempt for the demos—a contempt which perhaps he justified to himself with either sophistical or Socratic arguments—once the occasion arose that enabled him to do so with seeming impunity and without the need for persuasive speeches. His later actions are strikingly foreshadowed in his conversation here in the Symposium (see 4.32–33). Surely, this kind of



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political activity was not what Socrates had in mind when he had encouraged Charmides (like Alcibiades) many years earlier not to neglect the political things on account of which not only oneself but also one’s fellow citizens and friends are benefited (see Mem. III.7.9, end). But the influence of Socrates in some way cannot be denied.16 With such a prelude to the speeches of Charmides, whose character and fate would have been well-known to Xenophon’s Athenian readers,17 let us return to the dialogue. The arousal of erōs in Charmides caused by the wondrous boy and wine bridges the themes observed in the first two sections of the dialogue in an intriguing way, linking the power of beauty over the soul (Section One) with the question of virtue (Section Two). Why does the beauty of the Syracusan’s “youths in bloom” with their display of musical virtue induce Charmides to speak (see 7.5)? Does sight of the boy alone—whose beauty Socrates himself admitted (2.15)—serve as the catalyst that inflames Charmides’ desire, like olive oil on fire (see 2.24 and 7.4)? Beauty is, as we have already seen, in and of itself when present, simply overpowering (see 1.10–11; cf. 2.26: βιαζόμενος). Yet, Charmides is not held only in silent rapture by the beautiful boy’s performance (cf. 1.8 ff.); he speaks. Perhaps it is on account of the wine that Charmides lets slip such an erotic compliment, one which in a more serious mood or setting he might have felt somewhat obliged to keep to himself. Socrates’ immediate reply, which is also addressed to all the “men,”18 exhorts the symposiasts to set aside the kind of entertainment which now occupies their association with each other entirely, in favor of something more appropriate. Socrates discretely, in other words, pretends not to hear Charmides’ remark about Aphrodite; he remains silent, for now, on the subject of erōs. Socrates thus overlooks or passes by this chance to teach the erotic Charmides that which he will later in the evening appear to be so eager to teach Kallias (see 8.12).19 Unwilling to rein in Charmides’ expression of erotic passion for whatever reason, Socrates instead diverts the conversation of the men back to the question of gentlemanliness and virtue,20 which had been openly disputed in Section Two before being supplanted by the less antagonistic discussions of training young girls and wives as well as of the virtues or benefits of dancing. Even so, the problem of virtue is revived indirectly, as a presumption about the significant difference between the Syracusan’s performers and the gentlemen themselves (3.2): These here, men, appear sufficient to please us; but I know we suppose ourselves to be much better than they [are]. Is it not shameful, therefore, if we won’t even try, being together, in some way to benefit or delight one another?

The hired entertainers “appear” to be pleasing enough, says Socrates, but free men and gentlemen, being “much better” (πολὺ βελτίονες), should look to their own companionship above all for “benefit or delight” (εὐφραίνειν, see 1.15 and 2.2). It would be “shameful” (αἰσχρὸν) if no such good were to be derived from gentlemen associating with one another: On what grounds would they be able to base their claim to being “much better”? Though perhaps not everyone approved of this diversion (cf. 2.27 and 4.60), there were in fact “many” who asked Socrates to lead them to “the kind of speeches” (ποίων λόγων) which, once laid hold of and engaged in, would enable them to benefit or delight one another in the best way (3.2). Some of the symposiasts, then, clearly assume that Socrates must be proposing they entertain themselves with a pleasure thus far only marginally enjoyed—the pleasure of good conversation. Socrates himself does not mention it but, given his contributions to the dialogue’s action thus far, it is not at all surprising that he now welcomes their request. From his point of view, it seems, by engaging in a certain kind of logoi with one another, the symposiasts are able to legitimize their claim to being gentlemen—that is, gentlemen who are

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both kaloi (καλοί, as opposed to αἰσχροί) and agathoi (ἀγαθοί, and so βελτίονες)—benefiting and delighting each other “much better” than human beings who are moved by necessity to perform and who are thus without leisure to concern themselves with the pursuit and possession of excellence or virtue (ἀρετή) and wisdom (σοφία). The theme of gentlemanliness in relation to wisdom returns. As the action of the dialogue moves forward from physical and musical performances to contests in speech, it should not be forgotten that conversation requires interlocutors or partners in contradistinction to the partner-less character (and potential “madness”) associated with Socratic dancing. With the beginning of the symposium proper, the meal ends, food is removed, wine flows, and the performances more appropriate to free human beings (and worthy of being remembered)—namely, speeches—now take center stage in the dialogue.21

THE PROMISE OF WISDOM In response to those urging him to lead them to the right kind of speeches,22 Socrates says that he at least would be “most pleased to receive back from Kallias” the original promise that he had made before the banquet began to “display his wisdom” (3.3). To convince Socrates and his companions to accept his invitation Kallias had said he would reveal “the many and wise things” which had hitherto been concealed from them in his speech, thus proving himself worthy of “very much seriousness” (1.6). Eager to appear to be a man of his word (cf. Oik. 7.1–2, 12.1–2), Kallias now agrees to fulfill his promise “to display” (ἐπιδείξειν) his wisdom, but only on one condition—namely, that “everyone” (ἅπαντες) else also “bring forward into [their] midst” (φέρητε εἰς μέσον) “whatever good [thing] each . . . knows” (ὅ τι ἕκαστος ἐπίστασθε ἀγαθόν). Both Socrates and Kallias speak of Kallias’ wisdom as something that can be exhibited or “displayed” in front of the others; but there is no mention of judges being appointed, apart from the gentlemen present themselves, or of judgment being rendered, with respect to the speeches put on display.23 Although Socrates and his companions have done all that Kallias had initially asked of them by accepting his invitation to attend the banquet, he now demands an explicit quid pro quo from them before he will keep his promise and display his wisdom. If he is to reveal himself, in other words, Kallias does not wish to do so alone; all of the others must be willing to risk displaying their wisdom too. All would thereby consent to submit themselves to judgment with respect to the claim (made only by Kallias) to be worthy of being taken seriously. If it turns out badly for Kallias, he does not want to take the fall alone. His cautious reluctance to display should not be unexpected, given the cross-examination and interrogation of Socrates that has playfully peppered their spirited conversations in Section Two. Moreover, in a nod to his teachers (see 1.5), Kallias thus maneuvers himself in speech into a more advantageous position. How so? Kallias’ changes to his original promise are not insignificant. Both the terms under which his promise will be fulfilled and its contents have been altered. Rather than await the dispute which is sure to arise on the subject, Kallias subtly introduces his own definition of wisdom: Wisdom is the “knowledge” or understanding of “good” things, which can be brought out into the open with speeches and therefore shown. What will be displayed then is not wisdom per se, the “wise things” which Socrates now wishes to receive, but Kallias’ knowledge of some “good” thing. The descent from wisdom to knowledge works in his favor, of course, since it should be much easier to show or demonstrate that he knows at least one good thing than to



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show that he is wise. Moreover, since almost everyone is likely to believe that the possession of at least some knowledge implies wisdom, even if they would admit that it often falls short of it, Kallias—no matter what good thing he knows and displays—can avoid being accused of having gone back on his word. Speaking on behalf of everyone else (cf. 2.5), Socrates says that no one will “contradict in speech” (ἀντιλέγει) Kallias’ new condition. However, when he repeats that condition, Socrates in fact subtly alters it, thereby rhetorically if softly opposing him in speech (3.3): “But no one opposes you in saying whatever it is each one of us holds to be the most worthy [thing] he knows” (ὅ τι ἕκαστος ἡγεῖται πλείστου ἀξιον ἐπίστατσθαι). While not disputing that wisdom should be defined as some kind of “knowledge” (ἐπιστήμη), Socrates himself manipulates the terms of the condition so that what is “brought forward” must be displayed in speech and so in a manner consistent with human nature. For Socrates, it is sufficient for each one “to say” only what he “holds,” or believes, or regards to be “most worthwhile” or the most valuable thing he knows. The character of human knowledge is recognized as being largely a matter of conviction, and what is good is acknowledged as being liable to be perceived in terms of what has value or worth for human beings. Nonetheless, for Socrates, these limitations do not preclude the possibility that, on closer examination, wisdom may be found in human opinion and what is, relatively speaking, useful. In general, this reformulation of the promise by Socrates shows him to be less willing to overlook the manipulative word-play of Kallias, than he had been in the case of Charmides. Yet, even though he is attentive to Kallias’ changes, which he answers with his own counter-changes, Socrates generously lets Kallias off the hook and supports the idea that all the symposiasts who are present participate by making speeches. Socrates thus reverts to his earlier observation that, by means of some activity in common, gentlemen ought to be able to benefit or delight one another. Unlike the usual agōn, which allows for only one winner, the symposium under Socrates’ tolerant guidance aims at a friendlier end; for Socrates, the pursuit of wisdom in speeches is both beneficial and delightful. The judgment of seriousness based on a display of wisdom is set aside in favor of a congenial conversation about the worthwhile things each symposiast believes he knows. Still, for Kallias, there remains some reluctance. While not averse to Socrates’ amendment, he further delimits the terms of his promise by reducing his task to a mere declaration in speech of “that which I most pride myself on” (3.3: λέγω ὑμῖν ἐφ᾽ ᾧ μέγιστον φρονῶ). Without pausing to allow Socrates a chance to disagree with, or revise, the new terms which he himself now accepts, Kallias continues (3.4): “For I suppose myself to be sufficient to make human beings better.” Interestingly, this speech is patterned on Socrates’ speech to the men at the start of Section Three. But not only does Kallias suppose himself to be “much better” at benefiting and delighting other gentlemen than the paid entertainers, he proudly claims he is capable of making “human beings” (ἀνθρώπους) simply “better” (βελτίους). Tentative though his reformulation of the promise may be, he cannot resist the opportunity to answer Socrates’ outright challenge to his banquet with an incredibly grandiose boast, one that reminds us strongly of his teachers (see 1.5).

ANTISTHENES’ CHALLENGE TO KALLIAS There is no human being, Kallias proclaims—man or woman, boy or girl, freeman or slave, gentleman or worker, Greek or Persian—who does not have something to gain from what

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he has. What this is exactly, or how he makes human beings better by means of it, remains concealed. Antisthenes, at this point, in keeping with what we have seen of him so far, literally pounces on the opportunity to interrogate Kallias about his boast: “By teaching which one of two,” he inquires, “some ignoble (or vulgar) art or gentlemanliness?” Of course, Kallias asserts that it is by teaching “gentlemanliness” (καλοκἀγαθία), “if that’s what justice is.” Antisthenes, too, affirms with an oath—his first, and the first of this section24—that “justice” (δικαιοσύνη) is indeed associated with the noble art of kalokagathia (3.4), and for good reason: “By Zeus,” said Antisthenes, “this is beyond dispute! Since there are times when courage and wisdom seem to be harmful both to friends and to the polis, but justice itself does not in any respect mingle with injustice.”

Antisthenes’ agreement with Kallias appears to be indisputable, based as it is upon the principle of non-contradiction and voicing as it does a commonsensical kind of wisdom. He points out that two of the cardinal virtues, courage and wisdom, when taught, sometimes bring harm to friends and polis, not to mention enemies. Antisthenes in his affirmation omits any mention of continence. Because these other two virtues, courage and wisdom, “mingle with” injustice (cf. 2.4), they cannot in an unqualified sense make all human beings better, and therefore they would be disputable forms of the art which Kallias claims he possesses. Only justice itself (δικαιοσύνη), by which everyone seems to be improved, is humanitarian, and this ennobles the art of gentlemanliness “indisputably” (ἀναμφιλογωτάτη; cf. 2.7: ἀμφιλογών). If Antisthenes and Kallias are to be believed, kalokagathia, the mature scent of virtue, does not mingle with injustice in any way—“Zeus forbid!”—nor does it mingle with the exertions, or hence the smell, of those who lack leisure and who of necessity must practice some “ignoble” or “vulgar” art (βαναυσικὴ).25 The scent of gentlemanliness thus graces only the free, who are also just. But it is only the very narrow or limited definition of justice, as a benefit to one’s own (friends and polis), which distinguishes it in this crucial respect from courage and wisdom. Antisthenes’ elaboration, while itself being questionable,26 appears to enjoy the implicit agreement of Kallias and the others. We are not told by Xenophon that all were in agreement, but it would be hard to imagine anyone, especially in such a gathering of gentlemen, wanting to argue against or dispute what Antisthenes has said. Perhaps in tune with the “greater playfulness” of the symposium, Socrates refrains from pointing out to Kallias a few sobering consequences of this elaboration. For example, if wisdom is held to be compatible with doing harm at times, and hence with injustice, then Kallias’ proud display of his ability to make human beings “better” by teaching justice does not sufficiently fulfill his promise to display his wisdom. Similarly, this view of justice is not necessarily compatible with “manliness,” which requires courage. He also does not question Antisthenes regarding the case for moderation, whether it ever mingles with injustice as do courage and (ostensibly) wisdom. Socrates’ silence thus leaves the impression that Antisthenes’ elaboration is flawed, but useful. It is useful, in part, because it begins to define kalokagathia: the gentleman is taken to be a “free” man, observant of custom and what is fitting or right (2.4), beneficial to his friends and polis, and someone indisputably “just” (see 4.10, 4.15, 4.60, 4.42, 4.46; but cf. 3.11, 4.51, 5.2, 5.10, 4.1–5). There is something disingenuous in the term Antisthenes uses to frame his question, asking “which one of two?”—an interrogative that he borrows from Socrates (see 2.17). For the choice between a vulgar art and the art of kalokagathia is no choice at all, in the presence of gentlemen. On the other hand, his wording of the question has implicitly cornered Kallias



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into staking a claim about “teaching” (διδάσκων) “some art” (τέχνην τὶνα), one he seems quick to be willing to make. Kallias implies in his answer that he is “most proud” of his capacity or art to “make” human beings “better” by “teaching” them justice, which is the same as kaloka­ gathia. Are we to understand the art of gentlemanship, in Kallias’ view, to be teaching justice to all human beings? Does Kallias practice or make use of this philanthropic art? In the reformulations of what each was to display in speech neither Kallias nor Socrates mentioned teaching or an art. By speaking of knowledge and of his capacity to make others “better” (whatever that entails), Kallias seems to be suggesting the very thing that Antisthenes’ challenge implies, namely, that the knowledge he claims to possess constitutes an art. The effect of Antisthenes’ challenge is to raise again albeit obliquely the problem of virtue, for Antisthenes has discovered in Kallias’ boast a claim to teach virtue. If this is what Kallias is most proud of—in Socrates’ words, what he believes to be the most valuable thing he knows—Antisthenes found it out only by questioning him. His “display” in speech is less than transparent. Thus, what was true in Section Two—for example, with respect to Kallias’ misunderstanding of the pleasures appropriate to gentlemen, or Socrates’ desire to learn the Syracusan’s dance forms and his reasons for dancing alone—is also true here: that what is said does not always fully reveal what is thought until a claim is questioned or examined. Perhaps the promise of wisdom, whether displayed in speeches or through deeds, will always require some “work” in order to be found out and understood. Perhaps this will be true of Xenophon’s style of writing as well.27 With respect to the “work” (see 1.5) we see being done here by Antisthenes, who “found out by questioning” Kallias what his words really meant—or he intended them to mean, Socrates and Hermogenes both will enagage in this kind of challenge. They are able to find something out, or learn something from someone, by asking questions. Of Socrates’ companions, only Charmides refrains in Section Three from engaging in such challenges or questioning, though he has done so before (see 2.15; cf. 2.19 and Mem. IV.4.10) and will do so again (see 4.27, 52) especially when it comes to Socrates and the Syracusan. The rule for interrogating other symposiasts may be useful for interrogating Xenophon’s style of writing—that is, doing some “private thinking” and making deductions from what is said, based on the ironic principle of playfulness that governs the whole. This kind of “work” stems from the manner of speaking exhibited by Socrates himself and, thus, to a lesser or distorted degree, by those who are familiar with him. In any event, it is first necessary to understand the context of such remarks, for Socrates’ use of Odyssean or rhetorical speech rather than dialectic proper in conversation signals a recognition of limits (see esp. Mem. IV.6.13–15, as a qualification of I.2.14).

CONVENTIONAL CLAIMS TO VIRTUE Having satisfied Antisthenes for now, the host declares that the entertainment—the round of speeches that Socrates had requested—can begin. In doing so, Kallias accepts what Antisthenes discovered through his questioning as his own intended meaning, but he again alters the condition under which his promise will be fulfilled. And again, he leaves Socrates no time to object (3.5): Accordingly, whenever each of you says whatever beneficial thing he has, then I too will not begrudge saying the art on account of which I make this so. But you, in turn, Nikeratos, say what sort of knowledge it is that you take great pride in.

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Kallias continues to conceal his wisdom and his art, and so to use his promise as leverage to hear what others know and take great pride in. Once each of the symposiasts has said what sort of useful or beneficial art he possesses, then Kallias will not “begrudge” explaining the philanthropic art that enables him to “make” others “better” by making them more just.28 This final reformulation29 implies, first, that what one is most proud of ought to be beneficial or useful; second, that knowledge of an art is actually a kind of possession—or, that possessions displayed are proof of knowledge and hence of an art or capacity to teach. But will everyone speak of knowledge as his most valuable possession? Is everyone also to be expected to teach something by means of the beneficial thing which he possesses? What of those who claim to possess knowledge but decline to make use of the art that is associated with it, which is to say, someone who perhaps abstains from teaching what he really knows (cf. 4.60–61)? Has the question of the intelligibility or rationality of virtue been effectively resolved by the very assumption that the possession of knowledge enables one not only to practice an art but also to teach it to someone else? If each of them must speak of his particular kind of knowledge as a useful possession which can be taught, as Kallias is ready to do, and as he explicitly prompts Nikeratos to do, then the display speeches are a way of assessing both who possesses virtue and who is a competent teacher of virtue, that is, a teacher of kalokagathia. Socrates’ interest in pursuing wisdom, a benefit and delight for gentlemen (see 3.2), thus is compatible with Kallias’ concern with elevating himself in the eyes of Autolykos and his father through a friendly but agonistic competition of display speeches. Notwithstanding the influence of wine on the men, these speeches constitute a gentleman’s version of the virtues displayed by the Syracusan’s performers, for the teachability and hence rationality of an education to virtue must not rest simply upon skillful performances rooted in habituation or constant practice, no matter how disciplined and wondrous they may appear. With the arrival of speeches on the subject, we are able to answer the question of whether virtue can be taught by more elevated and noble means, above all by reason (logos).30 Given what we have heard about Lykon’s contribution to Autolykos’ education and what we can guess of Kallias’ education based on Socrates’ comment (see 2.5 and 1.5), the education to virtue by means of logoi may lie beyond the scope of the paternal office. The association of father and son may best be described as that which provides the foundation of decency and continence upon which the higher form of education builds. Its limitations may be seen in the example of Nikeratos, the son of a prominent father in the affairs of the polis, a younger Athenian gentleman recently married and in his full maturity. Answering the prompt by his host, Kallias, to say “in what knowledge he takes great pride” (ἐπὶ ποίᾳ ἐπιστήμῃ μέγα φρονεῖς)—which is not necessarily the same as what may be the source of the greatest pride (ᾧ μέγιστον φρονῶ: see 3.4 and 3.7)—Nikeratos points to his own knowledge of Homeric verse. This boast of Nikeratos, if it may be called such, given how common knowledge of the epics of Homer were in Athens, does presume of course that virtue can be learned. Nikeratos explains that because his father took care (ἐπιμελούμενος: cf. 3.14) making his son a “good man” (ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς: cf. 3.4 and 9.1), he “compelled” his son to commit to memory all of both the Iliad and the Odyssey. (3.5) This education, Nikeratos goes on to say, included listening “almost every day” to the recitations of the rhapsodes. The benefit to be derived from learning the Homeric poems may go without saying in Hellenic culture, but in this setting and on this occasion something more needs to be said. Traditional education, on its own, would not warrant a special claim to virtue or great pride. Antisthenes takes it upon himself to insist that Nikeratos say more.



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ON HIDDEN MEANINGS When further questioned by Antisthenes, Nikeratos’ seemingly indisputable boast to know something that is indeed worth being proud of becomes doubtful. The very activity of reciting the lines of Homeric poetry thus loses its lustre, once it is pointed out that being able to memorize the words of others does not necessarily entail knowing the meaning or worth of the words themselves. Nikeratos admits that he cannot name any “tribe” or group of human beings who are “more foolish than the rhapsodes,” that is, precisely those who spend all their time memorizing and reciting for audiences every line of Homer.31 Before Antisthenes can draw the harsh inference from this point, namely, that Nikeratos’ pride in this special kind of knowledge is misplaced, or worse, very foolish and thus ignoble, Socrates intervenes in defense of Nikeratos and of the education that he received from his father (3.6): “In fact, it is clear,” said Socrates, “that [the rhapsodes] don’t understand the hidden meanings. But you have given much money to Stesimbrotos, and Anaximander, and many others, so that nothing of much worth has escaped you.”

Nikeratos, like Kallias or his father, as Socrates points out, paid money to certain teachers32 from whom he acquired “the hidden meanings” (τὰς ὑπονοίας) in Homeric poetry. In order to rescue the young gentleman Nikeratos and his very reputable father (cf. 2.5) from association with one of the most frivolous kinds of human beings in the polis, Socrates points to (the possibility of ) employing others who are wise to teach what is worth knowing in Homer—the implicit or hidden meanings of the poetry. This suggests that Socrates is aware, as are others, that a kind of esoteric reading of the Homeric epics exists which, when one has learned it, reveals knowledge of “much worth” (τῶν πολλοῦ ἀξίων: cf. 1.6), knowledge which has “escaped” the professional rhapsodes.33 This quick exchange between Nikeratos, Antisthenes, and Socrates broaches an important epistemological set of questions: How does one ever know anything? What constitutes knowledge? The doctrine of knowledge as recollection, which surfaces periodically in the Platonic dialogues, especially in Meno, Phaedo, and Theaetetus, is intimately linked to the connotations surrounding the verb that Xenophon’s Socrates here uses also in the context of knowledge. Antisthenes implies that what Nikeratos “knows” is not worthy of being praised, for it is the kind of knowledge which comes from mere memorization and recitation. Socrates, however, intercedes to suggest that there are layers or depth with respect to knowledge and knowing. One can memorize the words of others, but one must also grasp their meaning. The rhapsodes may be fools, but Nikeratos will not be, if, that is, he has learned more than just how to imitate the surface of Homer’s poems. Socrates points to “hidden meanings,” the meaning beneath the surface of Homer’s words. These “hidden meanings” escape those who fail to see them, or perhaps do not know how to search for and discover them. The corollary to this understanding of knowledge, that is, coming to know by revealing the covert or hidden meaning beneath the surface, is the idea that ignorance is really a kind of forgetfulness or concealment. Those who do not train the soul to remember can lose what they know, as those who perform must continually train and discipline the body or lose the benefits of exercise (see Mem. I.2.19–21). Ignorance must be overcome by searching for, or rediscovering, that knowledge which escapes one or has been forgotten. Thus, to know “the hidden meanings” of things, as for example with Homer’s poems, is the opposite of letting the truth, or the nature of things, remain concealed or unseen,

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escaping notice and slipping into oblivion beneath the words or the speeches that cover them over. In other words, what is “unconcealed” (α-ληθής) and known is what is true, or the truth (αλήθεία). This reading anticipates the Heideggerian understanding that in turn traces its origins back to antiquity.34 This understanding prepares us to consider the word that Socrates uses to describe what is often unseen and forgotten in the Homeric poems: ὑπόνοια may be defined as “a hidden thought” or “the real meaning of a thing,” which is to say, the “covert meaning” or “the true intent, deeper sense,” but it could also mean “a suspicion, conjecture, guess, or supposition.”35 The word is rarely used by Socrates, or rather by Xenophon, appearing only here in his writings, and just as rarely in the works of his contemporaries.36 When the word appears in Aristotle, it is within the provocative context of his discussion of playful conversation and what is fitting for gentlemen (sincere men of good taste, as opposed to boasters or liars) to say or not say in jest. Since there is a time and place appropriate for relaxation and playful amusement, Aristotle argues, there is virtue even in laughter when it is provoked in moderation, and in a witty manner befitting those who are free (ἐλευθέριοι), prompted neither by excessiveness (crude buffoonery or offensive jokes) nor absent on account of deficiency (in one who is boorish or dour). Witticisms appropriate to free gentlemen, that is, those who are liberal and educated, inspire refined laughter suitable to the occasion through suggestion or innuendo (ὑπόνοια) rather than foul language (αἰσχρολογία).37 Socrates’ remark about hidden meanings, therefore, is consistent with his claim that the symposiasts should be able to amuse each other in a way that is not slavish or low but fitting for free human beings. Because we are to understand that Socrates is referring to a particular virtue of gentlemen, presumably like Nikeratos, who have a capacity to apprehend or perceive much more than what is obvious or merely superficial, we are also made aware of the ability of gentlemen not only to hear or know more than what is explicitly said or conveyed in writing. Taken literally and in the specific context here, he seems to be pointing out that what is really worth knowing are “the thoughts which lie beneath the surface of the words themselves”—the underlying or hidden meanings of the poetry in the Homeric epics. Socrates suggests what is actually “most worthy” or what constitutes genuine knowledge is not the mere memorization of lines from Homer, but rather an understanding of the thinking or purpose behind or beneath (ὑπό) words, the underlying intentions that are apprehended or perceived by the mind (νοέω). This meaning is, or should be, at work within poetry, governing and structuring the lines themselves, something which, being hidden out of sight, can be easily lost and forgotten, overlooked by and hence concealed from those who are not gentlemen.38 This secret or unnoticed knowledge or teaching remains always and everywhere available in and through the surface of the words themselves—at least for those who are insightful and who know how to search in the right way to reveal it. We may well wonder whether the satirical Antisthenes, not to mention the conventional Nikeratos whom he mocks, is sufficiently aware of the kind of hidden meanings, or unspoken truths, to which Socrates here alludes.39 Hermogenes, who is more sympathetic to the Socratic appreciation of and openness to the divine than he is to Antisthenes’ arrogant assumption of superior knowledge, will later cite the gods themselves as the only beings from whom nothing is concealed because nothing whatsoever escapes their notice in the past, present, or future. However this may be, as a result of Antisthenes’ questions and Socrates’ intervention, we discover that Kallias and Nikeratos have even more in common than the most obvious fact that they are the young heirs to an Athenian family fortune. Both have received educations as the sons of very wealthy fathers who paid out large sums to those who offered to sell, that is,



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to teach for a fee, whatever knowledge their sons now claim to possess. Socrates presumes, at least in the case of Nikeratos, that this education has served him well, because his father, being a gentleman, must have also paid for his son to learn the hidden meanings of Homeric poetry. We have yet to see, in either case, whether it is indeed true that Kallias and Nikeratos have been properly educated. But, at this point, Socrates is content to take it for granted, in order to continue. For he does not leave Nikeratos time to reply to his comment, either to confirm or perhaps even in some way to contradict the optimistic or gentlemanly spin that Socrates has placed on his conventional education and thus his claim to be proud of what he knows. With the exception of the useful interrogations of Kallias and Nikeratos, the time has not yet come for defense speeches (4.1). The bulk of this agōn in speech is to be contested in Section Four, where the corresponding demonstrations are delivered and examined. So, for now, an outline and provisional discussion of the remaining display speeches, beginning with that of Kritoboulos, will be supplied here. Recalling the discussion thus far of Section Three, and looking ahead to the claims to come, we find the structure of the dialogue to be as follows: (3.1–3)

Proper Entertainment for Gentleman and the Promise of Display Speeches Proud Claims of the Symposiasts, grouped according to themes:

(3.4–6) (3.7–9) (3.10–11) (3.12–13) (3.14)

1. Kallias and 2. Nikeratos 3. Kritoboulos, 4. Antisthenes, and 5. Charmides 6. Socrates and 7. Philippos 8. Lykon and Autolykos 9. Hermogenes (and the gods)

Justice and Poetry Beauty and Poverty Pimping and Laughter Nobility and Wealth Virtue and Friendship

Having heard the proud claims of the host and his fellow young Athenian gentleman, prompted by the Socratic invitation to entertain themselves through speeches, we listen as Socrates orchestrates a sequence of claims from his circle of friends—those self-taught or selfworked in philosophy. In the subsequent pairings of speeches, what is called to our attention is, first, an implicit rivalry and, second, a conventional compliment, followed finally by a paradoxical claim of friendship.

THE PROMISE OF DISPLAY SPEECHES—THE SOCRATICS Socrates turns quickly away from Nikeratos to continue with the round of display speeches, or rather the promise of such speeches based on proud claims. Asking Kritoboulos, his companion, what it is he takes “the greatest pride in” (μέγιστον φρονεῖς), Socrates explicitly reverts to Kallias’ language (3.4). For some reason Socrates chooses not to transfer his request to hear speeches about wisdom from Kallias to Kritoboulos. Socrates also abandons his own reformulation of the promise, since he does not prompt Kritoboulos to say what he holds to be “the most worthy things he knows” (3.3).40 Given his familiarity with this young man’s character and prodigal manner, Socrates may already suspect Kritoboulos is not likely to stake his claim on any kind of knowledge or on any art; he is, as he says, most proud of his beauty (κάλλος).41 Neither does Socrates prompt Kritoboulos to display in speech any knowledge or art. When asked by Socrates whether he “too” would be able to say that (without also inquiring how) he is sufficient to make them “better by means of [his] beauty,” Kritoboulos enthusiastically agrees (3.7)—otherwise, he confesses, he is bound to appear to Socrates and the others

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like one who is utterly worthless or “trivial” (φαῦλος; cf. 4.47). In other words, if beauty itself fails to be a means of ennobling others, then the handsome Kritoboulos will have nothing of which to be proud and instead be worthless, because it appears that being beautiful is all he has going for himself. Socrates’ question thus links Kritoboulos’ claim to that of Kallias, but it limits his concern with the power of the beautiful to its effect upon the symposiasts in particular, not all human beings (cf. 3.4). Given this connection made by Socrates, if Kallias, too, fails to defend his claim successfully, will he, like Kritoboulos, prove useless and good for nothing?42 The thrust of Socrates’ question prepares the way for his agōn with Kritoboulos in Section Five, which in fact takes the place of a promised contest of wisdom between Socrates and Kallias, and also serves as a kind of prelude to the education of Kallias in Socrates’ long speech on erōs in Section Eight. Kritoboulos, it appears, occupies a central place in Xenophon’s Symposium when it comes to understanding the power of beauty, kalokagathia, and the Socratic life of philosophy.43 Without further ado, Socrates turns the attention of the symposiasts to Antisthenes, asking him to say what it is that he takes “great pride in” (μέγα φρονεῖς) (3.8). Changing the prompt, ever so slightly, Socrates may anticipate and thus seek to refrain Antisthenes from boasting about what he is really most proud of. His answer—that he is proud of his “wealth” (πλοῦτος)—is deliberately evasive and paradoxical, as Hermogenes reveals by questioning him. Asked if he possessed “much money” (πολὺ ἀργύριον), Antisthenes “renounced on oath” having even one obol, the smallest unit of Athenian currency.44 Had he “acquired much [land]” then, asks Hermogenes, perhaps as part of an inheritance or gift? Antisthenes also dismisses this as the source of his wealth, with a joke (3.8): “Just so much [land] . . . as perhaps would be sufficient for Autolykos there to sprinkle himself with [before wrestling].”45 Antisthenes, as everyone (including Hermogenes) knows, is poor. Antisthenes does not conceal the fact that he is as “indigent” as Socrates himself, especially in contradistinction to the other Athenian young men, like Kallias, Nikeratos, and Kritoboulos, the very fact of which led Hermogenes to question him in the first place. Hermogenes, as it turns out, is also poor,46 although he is too proud of something else to lay claim paradoxically to his poverty as a cause for pride. Socrates will have as little to say about Hermogenes’ seriousness, when it is his turn, as he has for his reason to be proud.47 Why, then, does Antisthenes take great pride in his “wealth”—whatever that may be? Antisthenes’ explanation of this paradox, like both Kallias’ and Kritoboulos’ defense of their proud claim to benefit others, must await the defense speeches, which Socrates clearly announces before going on (3.9): “We must listen to you as well. What about you, Charmides . . . what do you take great pride in?”48 Socrates prompts Charmides with the same version of the question which he had addressed to Antisthenes, but not Kritoboulos. Is it possible Socrates has something in mind for Kritoboulos, something which he intends to pursue as fully as he does with his other two companions? Perhaps the reason for eliciting from Kritoboulos a claim with regard to the source of his “greatest” pride is that, by submitting that claim to playful questioning, Socrates can pursue something serious in a rather lighthearted way. Education to virtue, as we have already seen, is indeed a serious matter for gentlemen, but Kritoboulos himself may be guilty of not taking it seriously enough. Whereas a playful chastisement may be sufficient for Antisthenes and Charmides, just as ironic praise may be for the all-too-serious Hermogenes, each of whom lays claim to some aspect of the Socratic life which is reflected in poverty, Kritoboulos’ youthful beauty may offer an occasion for reflection on an even greater or more compelling attribute of Socrates and his pursuit of philosophy.



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At any rate, Charmides’ reply—“I, in turn, take great pride in poverty”—is clearly intended to strike a balance over against the paradoxical claim to wealth just made by Antisthenes. There is nothing evidently paradoxical about Charmides’ statement, however, because he, like Antisthenes and Socrates, is evidently poor.49 But, unlike Antisthenes and Socrates, as will become evident in his defense, and more like Kallias or potentially Hermogenes, he comes from an aristocratic family and has not always been poor (4.29–33). Socrates’ immediate response to Charmides’ pride in his penury is revealing, for he does not question it; quite the opposite, he praises poverty without even waiting for its defense speech (3.9): “Yes, by Zeus . . . and it’s a charming situation. For this, indeed, is least liable to be begrudged and least likely fought over; for even unguarded it is easily preserved and being untended becomes stronger.” Poverty, according to Socrates, is thus to be understood as a situation or state of affairs for which one should be truly “thankful” (εὐχάριστος).50 The reasons for this, to say the least, are enigmatic. What worthwhile or valuable thing exists which, for human beings, is “least liable” to be disputed over and is so undesirable that it is never pursued, taken, or even stolen as a possession, and even has the advantage of becoming “stronger” through neglect?51 In describing poverty as charming, Socrates swears for only the second time in the dialogue (see 2.16), but he does not say that Charmides will be responsible for explaining why it is praiseworthy; nor does he say, as he had with both Kritoboulos and Antisthenes, that he should be ready to defend his claim to take “great pride” in his poverty. Kallias, at this point, having heard enough about poverty and the banter between Socrates and his friends, feels compelled to reassert himself as host. He now calls upon Socrates—who has prompted the last three speakers—to say what it is that he takes great pride in.52 While Kallias uses the formulation of the question that Socrates had adapted for Antisthenes and Charmides, Socrates in his answer nonetheless remembers that Kallias had referred to taking pride in some knowledge or art, first when he was asked to clarify his own claim to make human beings better and again when he prompted Nikeratos to speak. This observation may point to Socrates’ specific concern with Kallias as a rival; whereas Kritoboulos, Antisthenes, and Charmides had not boasted at all of any knowledge or art which they possessed and were proud of,53 Socrates appears to do so with an evidently serious intent (3.10): “Drawing up his face very solemnly, he said: ‘In procuring.’ And, when they laughed at him, he said, ‘You may laugh, but I know I would catch hold of very much that is useful, if I wished to make use of this art.’” The immediate effect of Socrates’ statement is, of course, that it provokes laughter—and he claims, unironically, not to have done so on purpose, but to be serious. Let us leave aside for now Socrates’ pride in procuring (μαστροπεία),54 since we return to it later in his defense speech (ἀπολογία), when the dialogue—and the wine-drinking—have progressed further (see 8.39–43, but cf. 8.5, 4.59, and 9.7).55 What must be noticed here is the preface to his defense, which seems to be compelled by the laughter of the symposiasts. No one questioned Socrates about his “solemnly” delivered statement, obviously because they did not take him seriously at all. On the contrary, it seems to them to be a patently absurd (not to say ironic) claim. His preface, on the other hand, as brief as it is, may be merely overlooked by the others, no doubt in part because they had not yet fully recovered from their outburst of laughter (cf. 2.17–19). Still, it is worth a moment’s reflection, for by means of it, Socrates reduces the erotic art of the procurer implied in his apparently playful statement to a serious practical claim about a kind of knowledge which—if he “wished” to “make use” of it—“he knows” would enable him to “catch hold of ”56 and hence acquire “very much that is useful.”57 Does Socrates intend to disguise or soften the impact of this blunt claim regarding

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his potential to lay hold of the “equipment” or property usually required of the gentleman, by playfully concealing that claim within their outburst of laughter? In contradistinction to Antisthenes and Charmides, and notwithstanding his own praise of poverty, Xenophon’s Socrates elsewhere exhibits a keen interest in learning a lucrative kind of knowledge or art which—if he wished to do so—he might make use of; he would not be a philosopher who is also a man (ἀνήρ) if he did not.58 What is understood by Socrates to count as “lucre” or gain still remains to be seen.59 But despite an absence of a definition we cannot fail to notice what many of his companions have also noted, namely, that Socrates manages quite well in life without possessing money (Apo. 16–17).60 Unlike his companions in the Symposium, Socrates chooses not to make very much of his usually unblushing poverty in the later agōn of speeches (cf. Oik. 2.1–8). We may speculate, then, that this Socratic interest in learning an acquisitive art constitutes a reply to the “wealth” of “wise things” that Kallias has been hoarding in speech, as well as to the fortune Kallias inherited (and eventually squandered) in deed, but which Socrates and his companions seem content to live without. Would Kallias, Nikeratos, or Kritoboulos know how to earn their living under conditions which compelled them to do so? Antisthenes and Charmides, on the other hand, are not curious to know why Socrates is unwilling to make use of the knowledge he possesses to become a gentleman in the ordinary sense? Should his boast somehow serve for them as a prolegomena to the study of Socratic economics?61 Whatever wisdom may be lurking in the covert or “hidden meanings” of Socrates’ preface appears to have “escaped”62 most of the others, especially Kallias who long ago seems to have forgotten the original promise with which he sought to tempt Socrates and his companions to attend his banquet in the first place.63 What is unforgettable, however, is the absurd notion that anyone, let alone Socrates, would openly boast of such a thoroughly disreputable art (see 4.56), especially at a gathering of gentlemen and with a countenance drawn so “very solemnly” (μάλα σεμνῶς). Fortunately for Socrates, as he well knew, the first rounds of wine besprinkled in the symposiasts’ cups had already induced in them (as perhaps in him) a greater playfulness than usual. But not everyone present was intoxicated enough to have been charmed by Socrates’ boast. Autolykos’ father, Lykon, who we can assume laughed with the others at Socrates’ claim, nevertheless found himself somewhat ill at ease with the fact that Socrates intended to support his ridiculous claim with a sensible or practical defense. While the other gentlemen may laugh at Socrates’ jokes as harmless, in part, because his way of life already appears comical to them, Lykon is ready to draw the line.64 Ignoring what Socrates has said, Lykon abruptly intervenes and, “addressing Philippos,” announces that the latter of course “takes great pride in making others laugh” (3.11). Since it is hardly his place, as one of the guests of honor, to be playing the role of symposiarch, his immediate intervention signals his displeasure. Socrates verges on being guilty of the corruption charge more closely here than at any other point in the dialogue. But in his rush to intercede, why does Lykon elect to prompt the uninvited, non-gentleman Philippos, rather than Hermogenes, to continue the round of display speeches? His intention is to draw the attention of the others to the burlesque of Socrates as a comedian; his claim to know the art of pimping must be taken as a joke. Otherwise, it is ignoble and offensive. Lykon thus associates both Socrates and his claim with the “work” of the ungentlemanly jester. In order to make his point, Lykon further delays the display speech of Hermogenes whose place in the sequence Socrates had already led Antisthenes to usurp.65 The eclipse of Hermogenes was necessary, since his seriousness would cast an all-too-pious shadow over Socrates’



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playfulness (see 4.23). But he cannot be so obviously neglected much longer without spoiling the symposium’s congeniality, for even his silence itself will eventually become unbearable—at least to Socrates (see 6.1–4). For now, it is the sober Lykon who redirects the conversation away from Hermogenes by silently, if indirectly, accusing Socrates with his observation about a jester’s pride in cracking jokes. Hermogenes’ turn to speak will have to wait.

UNAPOLOGETIC (OR INDEFENSIBLE) PROUD CLAIMS Philippos agrees that he is quite proud of making others laugh, and with good reason, too. His reply imitates the sanguine claim of Kallias, by speaking of justice and implying that he also possesses knowledge of an art with the capacity to improve human beings: “More justly at least,” Philippos proclaims, “than Kallippides the actor . . . who puts on solemn airs” (uperse­ mnunetai; cf. 3.10) simply because he is able to make the spectators weep at the performance of the tragedies from the moment they take their seats (3.11).66 Like the sophists who taught Kallias and his sons, or Nikeratos’ teachers, Philippos is a professional, so to speak. His “work” is making people laugh; he trades in comic performances out of necessity, in other words, to supply his needs. His poverty makes him a caricature of Socrates, but in a different way from the poverty proudly espoused by the other Socratics. Both professionalism and making money stand in contradistinction to Socrates. On the other hand, whereas the ungentlemanly jester goes uninvited, or at least receives invitations only as a hired worker, Socrates is sought after by gentlemen on certain occasions as an adornment, as is clear from the beginning of Xenophon’s Symposium as well as Plato’s Symposium. Since his claim is a rather obvious one, a defense speech from the jester is superfluous. So, in the next round, Philippos will be replaced by the Syracusan, and eventually, by Socrates himself. The Syracusan, we are reminded, also “works” and makes money. Like the sophists who sell wisdom, he puts on performances for a fee. He acquires money through the exercise of the art of furnishing the most pleasant sights and sounds. Socrates shows that this is a kind of education, just as sophistry is, but it is not an education through speeches. There is a kind of quiet rhetoric in his performances, which speaks to or addresses the gathering of gentlemen. Much of the evening, and thus the remainder of the dialogue, following the defense speeches will focus attention on the kind of educator the Syracusan is—or becomes: will he be like Socrates, or the sophists? Although he is not included in the round of claims, we surmise from what occurs later that the Syracusan takes pride in an art, the one that has brought him to the symposion in the first place, namely, his orchestration of performances. The Syracusan’s art may be the necessary medium for teaching the youth, who can learn as much by imitation as by explanation. Proof of the rationality of moral virtue, however, is exhibited only through elevated means of education, reason or logos, and the willingness or desire of students to learn. Older men seem recalcitrant to Socratic speeches, in part because of the belief that education, paideia (παιδεία), is more appropriate to those who are young (παῖδες). Thus, Socratic speeches alone are not fully or entirely persuasive. The Syracusan, in this respect, may have an advantage over Socrates. His rhetoric may be more effective—which would indeed be something to boast about. Given that Socrates had a reputation for being able to “live most self-sufficiently (αὐταρκέστατα) on the least wealth” and to “deal in arguments (λόγοι) however he wished all who conversed with him” (Mem. I.2.14), the Syracusan’s capacity to both persuade effectively with his rhetoric and live well with respect to his needs makes him a potential rival to Socrates and his way of life.

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To return to Philippos, there is nothing at all paradoxical or surprising about his boast. But it does suffer from the fact that he has been largely unsuccessful in the exercise of his professional “work” among this particular symposion of gentlemen. Philippos himself would have to confront this fact in his defense speech, were he to be required or asked to provide one. But of all the boasts displayed thus far, his will be left for the most part undefended. His virtual absence from the round of defense speeches, however, does not mean his claim about laughter and comedy—and therefore about playfulness—is indefensible. Rather, it implies that the jester may not be the one who is the most capable of articulating a proper defense of being playful. For to be a fool and to play the role of a fool on occasion are not the same. The one who purposefully plays the fool, for reasons which may or may not be made explicit to the audience, cannot possibly be a simpleton.67 The general question of who is competent to engage in the round of speeches looms over the remainder of the chapter. Following the startlingly humorous claim of Socrates there emerge three prompters, other than Kallias or Socrates, starting with Lykon who had taken the liberty of speaking on the jester’s behalf. It seems there is no reason to expect the gentlemen to take seriously Philippos himself. The question of his defense passes unnoticed; he is not invited or encouraged to speak in the next round. The subtle accusation that fell on Socrates, who Lykon had presumably sought to interrogate (or indict) with his presumptuous remarks about Philippos, opens the door to further disruptions in the smooth order of speeches, however. Antisthenes intercedes at this point—in implicit defense of Socrates, as it were—in order to turn the tables and put Lykon on the spot. His prompting, though, has something of an edge to it (3.12): “Well then, you too, Lykon, must say, what you take great pride in?” By inserting himself into the round of display speeches and passing implicit judgment on Socrates, the father of young Autolykos is now engaged in the agōn. Perhaps unintentionally, this gentleman and an older man of few words has made himself vulnerable to being dogged by Antisthenes’ cynical interrogation. While the others may have been content to let Lykon, as father of the guest of honor, remain aloof from the contest of speeches, Antisthenes has no qualms about taking Lykon to task once he steps into the competitor’s circle, so to speak. Lykon’s reply is a deft response which stands on its own: “Doesn’t everyone know that it’s my son here?” Naturally, no one proposes that Lykon defend his claim. Either it is too selfevident to dispute, or it would simply be too indiscreet to do so. But “someone” (τις), we are not told who, just then, did presume to speak on behalf of his son, proclaiming that it was plainly evident to all that Autolykos took great pride in “being victorious” (3.12). The text indicates that Xenophon was unaware of, or was unwilling to say, which of the symposiasts had made this remark. The beautiful Autolykos, on the other hand, “blushing up” at the comment, surprisingly swears “by Zeus” and denies that he prides himself on his victory.68 Stunned by the boy’s speech but “delighted that they heard him speaking” (cf. 2.15; 3.2), everyone looked to him (cf. 1.8–11), and “someone” (again, τις) inquired what it was that he did take pride in. His answer, like that of his father, should perhaps go without saying. “‘In my father,’” said Autolykos, “and at the same time he leaned back” against his father on the reclining couch (3.13). Like father, like son; Autolykos demonstrates by deed that his virtue does not lie in making speeches. His participation in the dialogue can be summed up as insignificant. Even as the guest of honor, perhaps Autolykos should be seen rather than heard.69At the very least, his limited role leads one to wonder whether the filial piety he exhibits is only a necessary but not a sufficient condition of virtue. In this, his only speech in Xenophon’s Symposium, Autolykos seems to exhaust himself in a display of virtue worthy of admiration, for with a few words and a modest deed, he excites



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Kallias who is eagerly “watching” to increase substantially the value of Lykon’s pride in his son. Though he is apparently less concerned with listening than he is with seeing and being seen (see 1.12, 2.20, 8.42), Kallias does not miss the opportunity to try to ingratiate himself with Lykon in speech: “Do you know then, Lykon, that you are the wealthiest of human beings?” “No, by Zeus,” he said, “this, however, I do not know.” “But does it escape you that you would not accept the goods of the [Persian] King in return for your son?” “I’ve been caught,” he said, “being the wealthiest, as it seems, of human beings.”

It seems Lykon has unknowingly or mistakenly been underestimating his son’s worth, proclaims Kallias, for it must have somehow escaped him, that he would not part with his son at any cost, even in exchange for all the wealth of the great King of Persia.70 Lykon confesses that he seems to be guilty of being the wealthiest of human beings (πλουσιώτατος). Whether or not everyone agreed with the way Kallias assessed Lykon’s claim, and thus tried to conclude this round of speeches,71 we are not told. But there must have been a lull in the speeches at this point, an awkward moment of silence, since Nikeratos apparently found it fitting to suggest a change in the topic. The reticence of Socrates to speak would have been concealed within that of the others, though silence does not necessarily imply consent or agreement with what has been said. Socrates will have something to say about Kallias’ desire for Autolykos before the evening is done (see 8.7, 8.12, 8.37–41, 9.7). No one dared question Kallias’ assessment (cf. 3.9), just as no one had questioned Lykon or Autolykos directly about what they claimed to be proud of. Nor were they in any way obligated or expected to defend their claims in the next round of speeches. Their paired displays are indeed too fitting, too conventional to be submitted to interrogation, even playfully so. How could such a father not be proud of such a victorious and beautiful son? How could such a son be perceived as modest without such a display of filial respect? Their proud shows of affection for one another are so clearly noble that they are both able to dispense with the need to deliver an apologia. But there is no reason to ask them to explain or justify their claims, indeed it would be indiscreet to do so: the nobility of their respective virtues does not require a defense in speech. In fact, from this point on, this noble father and son fade into the background of the Symposium entirely, saying nothing and adding little to the action of the dialogue, until the time comes for them to depart (see 9.1). Like his son, Lykon is a man of few words; together, their combined contribution to the evening’s entertainment is scant. Fittingly, in their place in the defense speeches that follow, we find that the Syracusan is invited to join the other gentlemen.

THE ACTION OF THE DIALOGUE Before turning to the defense speeches in Section Four, let us look back for a moment to the action of the dialogue in this chapter. Socrates’ desire to learn about wisdom, or at least to hear the many wise but concealed things which Kallias promised he would say, appears to be frustrated precisely because Kallias exhibits in his sophistic manipulation of his promise that he has learned well the lessons of his teachers, especially how to escape being pinned down in

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speech (see Mem. IV.4.5–9, cf. IV.4.10 and 6.13–15).72 With a few amendments of his own, Socrates seems to accept the changes of Kallias, although there is no chance for him to express his approval or disapproval. Thus are the full display speeches set in motion. The character of the agōn which follows appeases Kallias and addresses the Socratic question raised earlier in Section Two. In this way, Socrates’ original desire is being fulfilled, for wisdom may be found even in the education to virtue being contested in the display speeches. But this Socratic education, the education to wisdom, requires work or, at least, questioning. According to Xenophon’s Socrates, wisdom (σοφία) itself is the “greatest good” simply (τὸ μεγίστον ἀγαθὸν), but education (παιδεία) is the “greatest good for human beings” (μεγίστον ἀγαθὸν ἀνθρώποις), concerning which some have even judged Socrates to be “best” (βέλτιστον) (Mem IV.5.6 and Apo. 21).73 That judgment would seem to be founded on his capacity to deal with other human beings in speech or argument (λόγος). Antisthenes, in interrogating the claims of both Kallias and Nikeratos, furnished us with a Socratic example of how to question or contradict. With further questioning by Socrates and Hermogenes, the claims of both Kritoboulos and Antisthenes were clarified. Antisthenes and Charmides have even tried to question Socrates himself, in order to reveal the “hidden meanings” of his deeds, but his speeches as yet have gone largely unexamined (2.9–10, 2.19; cf. 3.2 and 3.10). It quickly becomes evident, however, that there are limits to the efficacy or appropriateness of this kind of interrogation (see 3.6, 4.2–5, 8.4–5).74 In his efforts to moderate the harshness of Antisthenes’ form of inquiry, Socrates alludes to an often-overlooked kind of knowledge which is to be found in the “hidden meanings” of words. Learning how to translate as well as understand the surface of words, what is said or what is written is an essential part of the education to virtue, according to Socrates.75 If Xenophon understands what his Socrates here proposes, we are justified in thinking that the display and defense speeches may conspire to seek two distinct educational ends simultaneously: one which is sought in the surface of the words and is evident to all; another which derives from the meaning concealed within them and is sought by those who know how to work at understanding it. Finally, if we set alongside the discovery in Section Two of a paradoxical kind of Socratic dancing, a deed which must be compared with speech in order to be understood, the discovery of hidden meanings in Section Three, then we have reason to think that Xenophon’s recollection of the playful deeds of gentlemen worth remembering may also be divided between conspicuous surfaces and elusive depths. As for the display speeches themselves, each of the symposiasts is prompted to speak by someone else, as is fitting, even Kallias who speaks first in response to Socrates’ request (see 3.3). The basic order of the speakers from that point on seems to be derived from their relative positions reclining in Kallias’ andrōn, although this order is not strictly maintained, especially after Socrates presents his disruptive claim.76 Kallias and Socrates contend with one another to exercise the office of symposiarch, the master of ceremonies at a symposion, during the round of display speeches; but here, too, others intercede following the laughter induced by Socrates’ display speech. Socrates involves himself as prompter or questioner only with respect to his own companions—Kritoboulos, Antisthenes, and Charmides, all of whom precede him in the order. Kallias and Nikeratos, sons of very wealthy Athenian fathers, rely on the education they acquired from paid teachers, while the companions of Socrates propose variously paradoxical claims related to their estimation of their possessions, building up to Socrates and his highly ironic art. It is the expected (Philippos) and the usual (Lykon and Autolykos) that fall away from him.77 The nearly forgotten Hermogenes speaks surprisingly and exceptionally of friendship and virtue. Last but not least, Socrates’ apparent neglect of Hermogenes is curious. According to the apparent order of symposiasts reclining around the room, Hermogenes should likely have



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followed Kritoboulos. Socrates, having passed over himself as is fitting in order to prompt Kritoboulos, who was next in line on his left, chose instead to prompt Antisthenes and then Charmides. He thus gives the appearance of having forgotten or purposely skipped Hermogenes in the order of speakers,78 an omission or insult which Nikeratos feels compelled to correct, in part, by carefully shifting the focus of the question at hand in such a way as to accommodate the awkwardness of the situation. Hermogenes is thus treated as negligible not only by Lykon but by almost all of the others as well. Sympathetic to the awkward position in which Hermogenes finds himself (cf. 1.2), Nikeratos graciously invites him to declare—not what he is “most proud of ” (3.4, 3.7), or even what he takes great pride in (3.5, 3.8–12), which would make the situation more awkward—but instead, whatever it is that he “most exults in” (μάλιστα ἀγάλλῃ).79 For a man so openly neglected to be asked to say what he is most proud of would be wholly inappropriate. Nikeratos’ prompt, however, highlights a word which does not occur again in the dialogue (see 4.46). Hermogenes’ reply strikes all those present as unexpected (3.14): “In friends, on account of their virtue and power, in addition to the fact that, being who they are, they still take care of me.” Xenophon says that “everyone” turned to look at him when he said this, and “many” of them, at the same time, asked Hermogenes to point out to them who these virtuous and powerful friends of his are; he said he would not “begrudge” doing so (cf. 3.5). It seems more than a few are skeptical: Hermogenes’ cryptic claim, perhaps more so than anyone else’s, seems to demand a defense. Moreover, even if we assume that Socrates is among those (Xenophon says “everyone”) who were surprised to hear Hermogenes say that he most exults in the care of his friends, we still may wonder if Socrates is one of the “many” who, questioning Hermogenes, urged him to reveal these friends. Before proceeding to the defense speeches of the symposiasts in Section Four, a review of the display speeches in Section Three may be useful. By the end of this section, all of the original symposiasts have been invited to participate in the contest in speech, usually displaying whatever it is that they take great pride in. But Socrates’ boast was the only one which resulted in laughter; his was also the first to approach giving offense. Of the ten speakers, Charmides and Socrates form a central pair of sorts in the order or sequence.80 Other pairs include: Kallias and Nikeratos, two scions of wealthy Athenian families bound together by the ties of convention; the natural pairing of Lykon and Autolykos; and, based on the laughter they have inspired, the so-called comedians, Socrates and Philippos. Kallias and Kritoboulos form an unexpected pair—as Socrates indicates—insofar as each proclaims a capacity to make human beings better on account of what he possesses; both gentlemen are also prompted—Kallias by himself, Kritoboulos by Socrates—to speak about the highest things. Conversely, Antisthenes and Charmides both propose paradoxical claims regarding the benefit they each receive from possessing nothing at all, and both speak of the lowest things (tyranny and the mere satisfaction of bodily needs). Not surprisingly, as companions in the circle of Socrates, Antisthenes and Charmides will both name Socrates as the source of their economic view toward the end of their respective defense speeches (4.32, 44); the other two companions of Socrates in the Symposium, Kritoboulos and Hermogenes, do not. A final pair is also anticipated by Socrates’ ironic concern with Kritoboulos’ beauty (3.7), despite (or perhaps because of ) his own conspicuous ugliness. This becomes a playful rivalry—and the competition that dominates the central chapter of the dialogue as a whole—once Socrates, surprisingly, accepts Kritoboulos’ bold challenge to a beauty contest (see 4.18–20; 5.1–10).

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NOTES 1. Plato Laws 653c-d. See the epigraph to Pieper 1948/1998. 2.  The rhetorician and sophist Gorgias, whom Socrates mentions in this same speech, composed a work on the power of logos as a pharmakon for the soul: see his Encomium of Helen and Gish 2006. But the effects of pharmakon are not always beneficial, especially as evidenced in the works of Xenophon: see, e.g., Cyr. I.3.9–10, VIII.8.14; Ana. VI.4.11; Kun. 11.2; but cf. Mem. IV.2.17. Plato’s dialogues refer more frequently to pharmaka and their beneficial effects: see Derrida 1981. 3.  See Plato Laws I–II. The comic-tragic inversion of these intoxicated old men conversing moderately about laws are, in Euripides’ Bacchae, represented by the drunken Cadmus and Tiresias, who abandon law and wisdom altogether, along with custom, dressing the part of young female bacchants when the mysterious young Stranger—Dionysos, the god of wine—comes to town. On the transgressive power of wine and the tragic consequences of the Dionysiac principle, see Nietszsche’s The Birth of Tragedy. 4.  See the opening discussion in Plato’s Laws, where the old Athenian Stranger, playing the part of a good citizen and patriot, must defend—in speech—this particular Athenian custom when its virtue is disputed by the old Spartan and Cretan whose divinely-given laws expressly prohibit it; see also, Strauss 1959, 29–31. 5.  The Great Dionysia at Athens, which took place in the month of Elaphebolion, was introduced only in the sixth century, relatively late, at a time when the Attic calendar and its sequence of festivals had already been long established. After the Periclean acquisition of the Delian League’s treasury and usurpation of its imperial powers, Athens demanded that all the confederate city-states participate in the most significant of the Attic-Athenian festivals by sending offerings to the lavishly celebrated PanAthenaia and Dionysia; see Burkert 1985, 226–227, 257–258. First performed at Athens in 400, Euripides’ Bacchae staged the effects in rival Thebes of the destructive sickness whose symptoms Athens already exhibited in her self-defeating love of excess, or hubris. 6.  See Burkert 1985, 162: “the experience of Dionysos goes far beyond that of alcohol and may be entirely independent of it; madness becomes an end in itself. Mania, the Greek word, denotes frenzy, not as the ravings of delusion, but, as its etymological connection with menos would suggest, as an experience of intensified mental power. Nevertheless, Dionysian ecstasy is not something achieved by an individual on his own; it is a mass phenomenon.” See also, Dodds 1971, 76 and 94n78, where Athenaeus (22e) is cited as evidence of the essential cathartic ritual of the Dionysiac cult which was recommended to the Athenians specifically by the oracle at Delphi. One of the purgative effects of the ritual released otherwise “dammed up” irrational impulses that could often lead to “outbreaks of dancing mania” and other “manifestations of collective hysteria.” 7.  Given what we have heard about his peculiar exertions thus far, we may begin to suspect that such conventions are as foreign to Socrates as contractual obligations are to friendship. Also, there is reason to think that wine-drinking was a new sport unapproved of by old-fashioned gentlemen; see Aristophanes Clouds 412–419, 1023–1028, 1071–1075, where the Chorus-supported Just Speech (dikaios logos) sings the traditional virtues of continence, praising in particular abstention from wine as “a sign of the good old days”; see also, Strauss (1963) 111. 8.  This mix, on the surface of things, seems contradictory: moderate intoxication. But this paradoxical pairing is a reminder of the Greek sanctuary most associated with Socrates—Delphi, of course—the one place in Greek antiquity where the tension between Apollo and Dionysos was wholly subsumed within a divine counterbalancing of opposed forces, and where the two peripheral phenomena of human consciousness, prophesy and ecstasy, converged. In other words, the site where the Dionysiac and Apollonian principles merged and where the line between reason and madness, as in the priestess herself, was blurred. Dionysos may already be hidden within the soothing Apollonian paian which opened Section Two; see Burkert 1985, 225: “Aeschylus is also cited for the fact that in another drama [fragment] he even dared to equate Apollo and Dionysos; Euripides followed suit. A hymn composed in the fourth century by Philodamos for the Dionysos festival at Delphi takes the form of the paean, and is given a refrain in which the cultic shouts of euhoi and ie paian are intertwined; Dionysos, like Apollo, becomes Paian himself.”



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9.  Charmides refers by analogy here to the usual practice of mixing wine with water to moderate its influence, although ironically, since the version of mixing he suggests leads to greater arousal. See Bowen 1998, 101, commenting on 3.1. 10.  On the significance of this misquotation, see Bowen 1998, 101, commenting on 3.1: “Kharmides replaces Sokrates’ ‘thoughts of friendliness’ (II 24) with Aphrodite, who can represent sexual intercourse as Bakkhos can wine. Sokrates intervenes too quickly for anyone to follow Kharmides’ line, substituting τέρπειν, ‘to cause enjoyment,’ and then shifting the ground further with ὠφελεῖν καὶ εὐφραίνειν, ‘to cause benefit and pleasure.’ Symposia could end in sexual intercourse, as vase paintings show.” As we shall see, these quick exchanges of speeches among the interlocuters suggest provocative word-play, sometimes supplying subtle changes or substitutions as a means of gaining the upper hand in the contest. 11.  See Xen. Ana. III.4–8; Pl. Apo. 20e–23b, 29d–30b; and Phaedo 60b–61b, 84e–85b. 12.  See Strauss 1972, 71–74; Bruell 1994, xiv–xv. 13.  For the only other instance of Socratic pimping on behalf of the polis, see Sym. 8.39–43; cf. Mem. III.5 and Strauss (1972) 68. See also, Hellenika IV.5.13, V.4.22, and VI.3.2ff. Bartlett (1996-b, 181), however, considers the case of Kallias to be “the sole instance of Socrates’ pimping.” Whatever the status of Socrates’ exhortation to Charmides may be, both instances are notable as failures. Hence, what Bartlett says of Kallias applies also to Charmides, that Socrates’ all too evident failure to exercise successfully his solemnly (which is not to say, seriously) proclaimed lucrative art “accords with the fact that it is one of the ‘playful deeds’ presented in the Symposium.” 14.  See Munn (2000) 49–50. 15.  See Xenophon, Hellenika II.4.19; see also, Mem. I.2.12–14; Plato, Charmides 154b–156a. See as well, Clay 1994, 43; Davies 1971, 326–327, 330–331; cf. Avery 1963. 16. See Mem III.1.8–9 and Higgins 1977, 152n52, suggesting Xenophon was careful to situate this potentially damning conversation between Charmides and Socrates “deep within the central part of the entire work.” 17.  As a result of his involvement in the factional violence of this period, Charmides was killed in the battle of Munychia near the Peiraieus in 403, along with Kritias, fighting on behalf of the oligarchic forces against the resurgent supporters of the democratic restoration under Thrasybullos: see Thucydides VI.17–29, 53, 60–61; Hellenika I.1–II.4; see also, Anderson 1974, 56. 18.  Socrates’ reply is in effect a subtle rebuttal. Socrates is here competing with Charmides for the attention of the men, as he had done earlier with Philippos (cf. 2.23, 24). From this point forward, each usage of this familiar address (ὦ ἄνδρες) stands alone, while still vying for the men’s attention; cf. 4.8 (Charmides), 4.25 (Socrates), 4.34 (Antisthenes), 8.1 (Socrates), and 9.2 (the Syracusan). 19.  Regarding the eroticism of Charmides, see Bartlett 1996-a, 142n34, who observes that “Socrates had not spoken of Aphrodite but rather of ‘affection’ (see 2.24)” in his reflections on the effects of wine; see also, Strauss 1972, 149: “Socrates was silent on the subject [of the aphrodisiac affecting Charmides] (cf. 8.12).” Later, the content of the education which Hermogenes finds it necessary to explicitly support (8.12) refers to the immediately preceding speech (8.7–10) in which Socrates appears to be teaching Kallias about the two erotic forms of Aphrodite (τὴν ἀφροδίτην), the “Heavenly” and the “Vulgar,” or popular. Hermogenes does not find it necessary to state, or does not see an opening (cf. 6.2) in which to articulate, his approval of the remainder of Socrates’ speech (8.12–41; cf. 8.42). 20.  Socrates’ exhortation to exhibit true virtues is not simply a change of topic to distract the others from Charmides’ observation about the “mixing” of beauty and virtue; the question of what kind of entertainment best suits men like themselves is in keeping with Socrates’ earlier concern with the appropriate exertions and scents which distinguish virtuous men, young and old, from women and from slaves. As for Charmides’ intentions, when the Syracusan expresses a certain anxiety regarding the virtue of his boy (see 4.52–54)—a worry prompted by another suggestive remark from Charmides, as to what the Syracusan must take pride in—there is no doubt that this is meant to serve as a warning that he thinks Charmides’ overtures may in fact be potentially corrupting. It is, once again, Socrates who quickly intervenes. Bowen (1998, 11, commenting on 3.2) oversimplifies the case for Charmides’ eroticism by reducing his passion to a modern expression of his homosexuality. The nature of Charmides’ erōs, not to

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mention the issue of Greek homosexuality in the context of male associations, is much more deserving of careful attention than such assumptions allow. One indication of its complexity may be found in the fact that Socrates, especially Xenophon’s Socrates, who was himself exceedingly continent with respect to sexual attraction to both beautiful women (see, e.g., Mem. III.10) and beautiful young men (see, e.g., Mem. I.2.1–2, 3.8–15; Sym. 4.23–28), says openly that he cannot remember a time when he was not erotically attracted to someone (Sym. 8.2), although his meaning must be understood as ironic in light of Xenophon’s recollections (cf. Mem. IV.1.2). 21.  The word συμπόσιον is not used in Xenophon’s Symposium until much later in the evening (see 6.5), when Kallias makes reference to Antisthenes’ persistent convivial misbehavior (see 2.10–13, 3.4–6, and 4.2–7). Afterward, συμπόσιον is used twice by Socrates as he seeks to smooth out the rough edges of the banquet by teaching the Syracusan about what is appropriate at a symposium (see 7.3–5). The word is used finally by Xenophon to bring the dialogue to its close (see 9.7). References to the evening as a banquet: Philippos speaks of “dinner” (δεῖπνον: 1.13, 15); Xenophon speaks of “dining together” (συνδειπνέω: 1.7). Socrates concurs with this description of the evening to this point (3.3) and later speaks of “dinner” only when advising the symposiasts against indulging in too much relish (4.8). Kallias mentioned his intention only to “entertain” or “receive” Autolykos and his father, although a feast is implied (ἑστιᾶν: 1.4). 22.  Visual evidence of Greek pottery displays a preponderance of banquet scenes depicting and emphasizing conversation, or the exchange of speeches. As a ritual of conviviality, the dinner or banquet, especially as a prologue to a symposion, was understood as an occasion for speech-making of the sort appropriate to the setting. See Schmitt-Pantel 1990. The absence of visual scenes depicting banqueters eating, or symposiasts drinking, also highlights that sympotic activity—speeches and conversation—which is the highest form of entertainment on such occasions. 23.  Such exhibitions were typical of sophists who offered partial displays of their wisdom, or skillful speech, as advertising intended to entice potential clients to hire them. By the time of Aristotle, this manifestation of the art of speaking had become a genre in itself. See Nightingale 1995, 94: “Aristotle . . . identifies praise and blame as the discourse that constituted the entire epideictic genre of rhetoric (Rhetoric 1358b12–13) . . . whereas deliberative and forensic rhetoric are addressed to ‘judges’ who are to vote on a certain course of action, epideictic rhetoric is delivered to ‘spectators’ who are concerned with ‘the skill of the speaker’ (1358b2–8; cf. 1391b7) . . . and epideictic rhetoric deals with the present (though it may include the past and the future) and its telos is ‘the honorable and the shameful’ (1358b13–29).” This commentator argues for a broader definition than the one offered by Aristotle in order to incorporate as well eulogies (epitaphioi), such as, for example, the funeral oration of Pericles. See Nightingale 1995, 94–97, 104–106. 24.  Are oaths taken under the influence of wine reliable? Of the five oaths sworn in Section Three, that of Socrates is central (3.9); the other four instances are, for each of them, their first occasion in oath-swearing (Antisthenes, Nikeratos, Lykon and Autolykos). All swear “by Zeus,” and Nikeratos emphatically so (3.6; see also, 2.16 and 2.19). 25.  This word, the etymology of which admittedly has difficulties, is perhaps derived from the combination of two other verbs (βαινῶ and αυῶ), resulting in a condescending reference to those in the polis who sell to make a living and thus must “stand around” and “shout”—that is, those who are on their feet during the day selling, or more precisely, hawking their wares to passers-by. These wares, of course, are “goods” for sale, either useful or pleasurable, which they have made. Another etymology of the word banausic can be traced back to βαῦνος, with its references to kilns and forges, such as craftsmen and workers use. See, for a comic portrait of such workers, the rude but skilled “mechanicals” in Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which is set in ancient Athens (V.i.72–75: “hard-handed men that work in Athens here / Which never labored in their minds till now”); the gentlemen and gentlewomen of that play are instructed by Theseus to amend the flaws of these citizens (V.i.83: “If we imagine no worse of them then they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men”). Kallias and Antisthenes agree that such banal arts are not at all to be associated with the gentleman and his art, whatever it may be. On the bad reputation of the arts which are called banal or mechanical, see Oik. 4.1–3. Not the least of the disadvantages



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associated with these arts listed by Socrates in this passage from the Oikonomikos is that they steal away leisure and leave a person no time (ἀσχόλια) to concern himself with his friends and the polis. Socrates points out in conclusion that in some poleis, especially those well reputed in the arts of war, such as Sparta, it is not even lawful for members of the polis to work at such arts. See also, Strauss 1963, 66–67, which emphasizes the link between Sparta and the Persian king who is adduced as the highest authority on the baseness of the mechanical arts in contrast to the nobility of other arts, such as farming, for example. 26. For an interrogation of what Antisthenes implies or omits, see Strauss 1972, 149–150: “in Antisthenes’ view justice is the least disputable kind of gentlemanliness, for manliness and wisdom are thought to be sometimes harmful to both friends and the city (hence unjust) whereas justice is never in any respect associated with injustice; he implied that wisdom is at least thought to be compatible with injustice; he was silent on the harm that manliness and wisdom (and justice) can do to their possessor (Memorabilia IV.2.33), for the question concerned now the harm to others; he was silent on continence because it was thought to be compatible with greed (Memorabilia I.5.3).” According to this unexamined view of kalokagathia then, it would be possible to teach a kind of justice that is not beneficial to the one possessing it. There is some question, as to whether Antisthenes refrains from speaking of certain disputable aspects of the major virtues, or whether he is simply unaware that his view of gentlemanliness is as incomplete as that of Kallias. For example, one wonders if Antisthenes’ silence on continence is also characteristic of his failure to perceive the justness of moderation. 27.  On the writing style of Xenophon, see esp. Strauss 1948/1991, 47n45; 1963, 12–13; 1939, 503, 518–519, 534–536; 1983, 139; 1972, 122–123. Xenophon’s writing as a form of Sōkratikoi logoi speaks to and works upon the reader in the same manner as Socratic speech works upon his interlocutors and listeners; see also, Higgins 1977, 1–14, 154n94; Gish 2015. 28.  Kallias has already spoken of not “begrudging” Philippos the fruits of their hospitality as gentlemen, though he himself may also have an ulterior motive for doing so (see 1.12). To begrudge the display of his “philanthropic” art would be in effect to (continue to) conceal it. See Strauss 1963, 107: “But now to conceal is obviously not philanthropic. Because to conceal means to conceal from human beings.” On the use of this word by others, see 3.14 (Hermogenes), 4.43 (Antisthenes), and 6.6 (the Syracusan); cf. 3.9 (Socrates). Consider the inhospitable example toward Socrates set by Kritias (Mem. I.2.31) and later magnified as an expression of a discontented polis sitting in judgment of him: see Xen. Apo. 14, 32; see also, Higgins 1977, 42: “They begrudge him his life because it is more valuable than their own.” 29.  The reformulations of Kallias’ promise, together with the conditions (in italics) which must be met by Socrates and his companions in order for that promise to be kept, are as follows: (1.6) Kallias— “I have concealed from you the many and wise things that I have to say, but now, if you come with me, I will display to you that I myself am worthy of very much seriousness.” (3.3) Socrates—“he said that if we should feast together, he would display his wisdom.” Kallias—“And display it I will . . . if all of you will bring forward whatever good [thing] each one of you knows.” Socrates—“But no one opposes you . . . in saying whatever it is each one of us holds to be the most worthy things he knows.” (3.4) Kallias—“I will say . . . to [all of ] you that which I take the greatest pride in.” (3.5) Kallias—”. . . whenever each one of you says whatever beneficial thing he has, then I too will not begrudge saying the art on account of which I [make people better]. But you . . . say, Nikeratos, what sort of knowledge you take great pride in.” 30.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 178. 31. These professional reciters of Homer were not highly regarded at all, even by the slightest of aspiring gentlemen, for it was evidently apparent that their accuracy of memory was no guarantee of intelligent thought; see Mem.IV.2.10. Socrates’ interlocutor on that occasion, Euthydemus, uses the same adjective as Antisthenes to describe the rhapsodes (ἠλιθιώτερον). The name of the rhapsodes (ῥαψῳδοί) is derived from ῥάπτω, “to stitch or sew together”; familiarity with patches and patterns, however, that is, with parts per se, does not always imply a deeper knowledge or understanding of the whole which is being woven in speech. 32.  On Stesimbrotos of Thasos, see Plato, Ion 530d. The pre-Socratic natural philosopher, Anaximander of Miletus, was a student of Thales and lived about a century before Socrates; the man named here is unknown.

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33.  The Greek verb used here is λέληθε (perfect tense of λανθάνω): to escape notice, to be unknown, unseen, or unnoticed, with the implication that what goes unobserved or unseen is thereby hidden from the human mind and therefore not apprehended. “Hades” is the Unseen/Unknown, and “Lethe” (Λήθη) is the name of the goddess, or the underworld river, associated with forgetfulness and oblivion: see Plato, Republic 621a. 34.  On the hidden underlying meaning of Being, see Heidegger 1927/1962, 28–35; 1930/1993, 115– 138. See also, among the vast literature on the Heideggerian understanding of truth, Dahlstrom 2001. 35.  See the lexicon entry for ὑπόνοια in LSJ. The word appears to derive from a verb which means “to think secretly” or “to suspect or conjecture.” For relevant bibliography on this passage as a testament to the novel reading of Homer associated with the Socratics, see Huss 1999, 189–190; Renaud 2022. 36. The word appears only once in Euripides (Phoenician Women 1134) and in Plato (Republic 378d). Among later orators it is also rarely used: Isocrates, Panathenaicus 265; Demosthenes, Against Aristocrates 194. 37.  See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics IV.8, 1127b34–1128b9. 38.  See Strauss 1948/1991, 47n47 and context. 39.  In both Plato’s writings (Phaedrus 278d-e) and Xenophon’s writings (Mem. IV.4.19), Socrates mentions “unwritten laws” or hidden meanings. This Socratic allusion to an esoteric form of writing also points to a kind of esoteric reading which itself, through neglect, can be forgotten. On “unwritten doctrines” associated with Plato’s writing, see Aristotle, Physics 209b14–15. 40.  Socrates’ terms shift from what is “good” to “knowledge” in reformulating the conditional expression in Kallias’ new promise, effectively releasing the symposiasts from the burden of displaying what is good and reducing their claims to being displays of knowledge of what is beneficial or useful. One reason for this shift of emphasis may be that the point which Socrates has just made regarding “hidden meanings” actually renders an explicit display of knowledge superfluous. As for the promised display of wisdom (σοφία) which Kallias alone had boasted that he possessed, no one else speaks of it again explicitly, not even Kallias, who perhaps had no real intention of being held to that original promise. Kallias speaks only of his knowledge of some art, in which he takes great pride, and asks Nikeratos to say something similar. 41.  On Socrates’ experience with Kritoboulos, see Mem. II.6 and I.3.8–13; Oik. 1–6, esp. 2.7–9 and 3.1–8. As for this young man’s “style,” see Strauss 1963, 55; see also, Strauss 1972, 150: “Then [Socrates] asked Kritoboulos of what he is most proud: he did not ask him of which knowledge or art he is most proud; Kritoboulos was not likely to be most proud of any knowledge or art worth mentioning.” He is well known from the dialogues of Plato and Xenophon as a handsome, vain, and spend-thrift young man. Although his silliness appears evident in his passion for boyfriends and comedies (see Oik. 2.7 and 3.7), it seems Socrates was often with Kritoboulos (cf. Sym. 4.27–28; Mem. I.6.14). Plato’s Socrates mentions him in his Apology, where Socrates himself claims him as one of his frequent companions—with his father’s permission (33d), and he is present with Socrates at his last conversation and death (Phaedo 59b). Kritoboulos was the eldest son of Krito, one of Socrates’ older associates, who calls his son “puny” and despairs of educating him in Plato’s Euthydemus (271b, 306d–307a). In Xenophon’s Oikonomikos, Socrates recounts his conversation about household management and farming with the reputedly perfect Athenian gentleman, Ischomachos, for the ostensible benefit of Kritoboulos who has placed himself under Socrates’ command (2.7–9) in order to be improved. As for Kritoboulos’ father, Krito, Xenophon recalls in his Memorabilia (II.9) that he once told Socrates that though he wished to “mind his own business” in Athens, it was in fact difficult to do so. His expressed desire here reminds of Plato’s definition of the “just man” in his Republic; in other words, it is Krito’s wish to be just by living a retired life, a life of private affairs, not political ones. See Strauss 1963, 48–49. Socrates consequently advises Krito to find a “watch-dog” who can guard him against sycophants who continually threaten to drag Krito into the political things unless he pays them off, and he assists Krito in acquiring just such a friend. Socrates therefore serves as a “go-between” on Krito’s behalf, practicing the art which he hands over to Antisthenes in the Symposium (4.61–64). Socrates, however, does not consider his association with Krito to be one of friendship: see Strauss 1963, 48–49, cf. the “inference” Strauss draws at 56–57. That their association



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was not rooted in philosophic examination is made clear in Plato’s Crito, for when Krito confronted Socrates in the last days before his execution and attempts to persuade him to flee from Athens, Socrates refuses—even though Krito had worked to make all the necessary arrangements for his escape. Krito acquiesces but does not seem to grasp Socrates’ reasons for being willing to die. Krito, finally, is also unable to avail himself of what is thought to be one of the primary responsibilities in private life for a gentleman, namely, securing an education for his own son—a task which, in some sense, perhaps at the request of Krito, is taken up by Socrates himself (see Sym 4.24; Plato, Apo. 19e–20c). 42.  This word (φαῶλος), of course, has base connotations, in the sense that to be held or thought “trivial” or petty by gentlemen is to be ranked with people of the lowest or meanest sort. Kritoboulos’ reply thus accepts Antisthenes’ distinction (at 3.4) between a gentlemanly art and a vulgar art; he claims his beauty “improves” gentlemen particularly (not all human beings, as Kallias claimed) and, if it does not, then what he claims to take great pride in leaves him with very little or nothing to be proud of at all. 43.  Kritoboulos’ beauty is in some way a key to opening up two of Xenophon’s other Socratic writings. In the Memorabilia, Socrates offers Kritoboulos advice on how to acquire or “hunt” useful friends (see II.6), since the young man seems to be lacking in them, by becoming good and not just seeming to be so. This art of hunting friends, or of match-making, Socrates claims that he learned from Aspasia, the well-known mistress of the great Athenian statesman Pericles. Part of this advice includes Socrates trying to steer Kritoboulos and his affections away from young men with physical beauty and toward those whose souls are both good and useful. Kritoboulos has heard such advice before; he was the subject of a conversation between Socrates and Xenophon about continence and the dangers of the beautiful (Mem I.3.8–10, 13). His erotic, impetuous nature is glimpsed in Socrates’ report that he has kissed the beautiful son of Alcibiades, as a result of which he is counseled by Socrates to go into exile for a year to heal from the poisonous “sting” caused by the kiss. Socrates also advises Xenophon himself to flee from those who are beautiful, such as Kritoboulos’ beloved, Kleinias, who is mentioned in the Symposium. Diogenes Laertius (II.49) speaks of this Kleinias as a favorite of Xenophon, believing him to be the son of Alcibiades mentioned in the Memorabilia and assuming that Kritoboulos’ affections in the Symposium are really Xenophon’s own. On Kritoboulos and Xenophon, see Stevens 1994, 211n8, 214n15. The effect of Socrates’ counsel on Kritoboulos’ erotic desire, to say nothing here of his effect upon Xenophon and his (see Aeschines’ Aspasia), in this regard is hard to judge. 44.  There are 6 obols per drachma, 100 drachmae per mina, and 60 minas per talent; a drachma was a modest sum, equivalent to the daily stipend for young Athenian men training to become military officers. In Plato’s Apology (26d-e), Socrates reports that philosophic speeches by Anaxagoras, for example, can be purchased for a single drachma each. As a means of comparison, consider that Kallias inherited a fortune in the range of 200 talents (and reduced that to 2 talents in less than one generation, including the 50 additional talents which he extracted from the estates of Ischomachos’ sons); see Chapter Three, supra. 45.  See Bartlett 1996-a, 144n41: “It was customary for athletes to rub down with oil and then [to dust their bodies with] fine sand or powder.” 46.  Hermogenes is an illegitimate son of the wealthy Hipponikos and thus the half-brother of Kallias to whom the father’s vast fortune and patrimony passed intact: see esp. Mem IV.8.4 and Apo. 2, unusual instances of a patronymic being used in Xenophon’s Socratic writings. See also, Davies 1971, 269; Plato, Cratylus 384c and 391b-c, where Hermogenes is named as a brother of Kallias excluded from his inheritance. The wealth of Hipponikos was denied to Hermogenes, but in the late stages of the Peloponnesian wars, during Kallias’ dramatic financial collapse, Hermogenes may have received legitimation and even served as an Athenian ambassador to the Persian satrap Tiribazos in 392 (see Xenophon, Hellenika IV.8.13). Nothing is known of the circumstances of his death. 47.  On the several occasions in which Hermogenes appears in Xenophon’s Socratic writings, he seems to be both modest and pious. In both of Xenophon’s lists of the companions of Socrates, the name of Hermogenes appears and is conspicuously placed at the center: see Mem I.2.48 and Sym. 1.3; see also, Pangle 1996, 29–30, and Bartlett 1996-b, 187n8. In the Memorabilia, Hermogenes is said to be a true companion of Socrates (I.2.48), in contradistinction to Kritias and Alcibiades; he is also an unknowing

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financial beneficiary of one of Socrates’ exhortations (see II.10). Hermogenes is present at Socrates’ trial and at the final conversation with many of his other friends and companions (Plato, Phaedo 59b), but he is singled out by Xenophon and entrusted with passing on Socrates’ last words (see. Xen. Apo. and Mem IV.8.4–10). He is arguably the key to understanding the focus on Socratic “big-talk” in Xenophon’s Apologia: see Pangle 1996, 23–32. In the Symposium, as we shall see, Hermogenes is so serious about his piety (3.14 and 4.23, 46–49) that he risks sounding a harsh anti-note among the symposiasts late into their evening of wine-drinking. Accordingly, Socrates tries to teach him a lesson about when to maintain silence and when to speak but is himself refuted (see 6.1–4; cf. note 42). Eventually though, Socrates declares outright that Hermogenes is a serious lover of gentlemanliness (see 4.49 and 8.3). Hermogenes, in turn, will praise Socrates’ effort to educate his half-brother, Kallias (see 8.12). But at this point in the dialogue, there is some reason to suspect that Socrates purposefully neglects Hermogenes and that Xenophon reiterates that point by only allowing “Hermogenes” to speak to Antisthenes at first in indirect discourse and then, when the question of property is raised in direct discourse, the speaker is not named, although it is surely Hermogenes still. In stark contrast to Kallias, and most of the others, even those who possess a modicum of wherewithal, Hermogenes is truly “indigent” (see 3.8, first mention of Hermogenes individually): see esp. Xen. Mem. II.10.2; Bartlett 1996-b, 193–194; Strauss 1963, 125–126; and Strauss 1972, 150–151. 48. The text is somewhat unclear as to who speaks this line, Hermogenes or Socrates; see Bowen (1998) 103, commentary on 3.9. It seems clear from a close reading of the context however that it belongs to Socrates: first, because the language of the prompt exactly imitates that used by Socrates in addressing Antisthenes (3.8); and secondly, because Socrates was the one who declared that Kritoboulos would have to defend himself (3.7). At any rate, the text is unclear on the surface with the consequence that Socrates and Hermogenes become confused—they appear later “in a manner interchangeable” with respect to piety; see note 41, last paragraph; Strauss (1972) 163. Finally, whoever it is that speaks is silent as to the capacity of Antisthenes to benefit others, a point in which he himself will prove wholly uninterested. 49.  See Strauss 1972, 151. 50.  Is Socrates, in a way, contradicting or being critical of Charmides? To be thankful for something is not the same as being proud of it. On χάρις, see Sym. 4.63 and 4.53–54, and the discussion supra. 51.  See Strauss 1972, 151: “[Charmides’] statement is not paradoxical since Charmides is in fact poor but is paradoxical for another reason. Therefore, Socrates praises poverty, which has this advantage among others, that it is never stolen even if it is left on the street.” As always, there is an interpretation in this deceptively simple reading, for Socrates “in fact” does not mention this “advantage” at all; which is to say, he does not draw out the inference in his praise which is concisely stated here, namely, that what is generally regarded among human beings as being valuable or worthwhile will for this reason be pursued by human beings as desirable, even if already in the possession of someone else; and that what is valuable is usually guarded by human beings, lest it be stolen. We can conclude, then, that human beings often fail to abide by the dictates of natural justice when it comes to satisfying their desires, nor are they likely to abide the limitations placed on their desire by political justice or the dictates of the law. Hence, according to Socrates, one advantage, “among others,” of poverty, is that its appearance does not arouse desire in other human beings and thus need not be defended, which means that no harm need be done to anyone else in acquiring and maintaining this particular possession. Moreover, despite its neglect by human beings, it becomes stronger; in other words, it seems to care for itself or be self-sufficient. 52.  Socrates’ claim, once he politely skipped over himself, could have been saved for last—as his defense will be in Section Four—except for the impatience of Kallias. See Bowen 1998, 103, commenting on 3.10; see also, 4.29 and Strauss 1972, 158. Lykon, too, will have reasons for not waiting patiently. Here, Kallias may be venting his frustration over the direction the speeches are going; namely, away from praise of his conventional sort of wealth and instead toward praise of a certain wealth associated with Socrates. 53.  See Strauss 1972, 151. However, it should be noticed that, on the one hand, some kind of knowledge or art could be among the various possessions of Kritoboulos which he is not so very proud of, or



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at least less proud of than he is of his beauty; and that, on the other hand, Antisthenes and Charmides may in fact think that their most worthy possession, or what they are most proud of—which Socrates did not inquire about—does include some kind of knowledge or art. 54.  On the authority of Bowen 1998, 103, commenting on 3.10, we are told that this is the first known use of this word in this form, and that its original noun, μαστρόπος, which means “pimp” or “procurer,” first made its appearance in Aristophanes (Thesmophoriazusae 558). The root of the word means “to seek.” Socrates’ choice of such an outrageous word is further complicated by the fact that, even though one would expect his word to be followed by a reference to the sexual partners who would seem to be the object of his art, Socrates himself has already declared his preference for partner-less dancing. On related use of love charms by Socrates, see Mem. III.11. 55.  On the Socratic art of pimping, see Bartlett 1996-b, 181n4 and context. 56.  The verb used here means “to take hold of, grasp, seize, or catch, as well as seize with the mind, find out, apprehend, or comprehend.” 57.  πολλὰ χρήματα: things that are useful, such as goods, property or money; cf. 3.13. As for Socrates, who rarely claims to know anything, we may consider his knowledge of how to acquire useful goods to fall under the heading of what he knows about erōs, which is to say, that art in which he ironically takes pride. 58.  Disclaiming any possession of precisely such knowledge, Socrates exhibits an interest in learning about the lucrative art of farming from Ischomachos, a man reputed to be a perfect gentleman (see Oik. 15.3, 16.9, and 20.14–29). The art of farming is taken to be a substitute “for the whole art of earning one’s living,” and the art of earning one’s living is “somehow akin to the art of war”: see Strauss 1963, 47, and Strauss 1970, 113–117. The relation between farming and war seems comical, but in the opening section of Oikonomikos, Socrates himself introduces the Persian king Cyrus as a guarantor of the nobility of farming and warfare. What these arts have in common is that they are acquisitive, that is, they are arts which produce “lucre.” 59.  The art of acquisition, of acquiring the good and useful things, of keeping and maintaining them, in a word, of earning one’s living, could be conceived as the highest art since the perfect gentleman seems to have as “the most important cognitive ingredient of his whole life” the knowledge of how to get rich by farming. But this conception would only be true if it is abstracted from the question of justice and the philosopher’s point of view; see Strauss 1963, 58; Strauss 1970, 101–102, 179–180; Bruell 1984, 304–305; see also, Ambler 1996, 128–131, cf. the first sentence of the section entitled “Farming” and the concluding paragraph in light of Bartlett 1996-b, 175: “. . . there could be an education that depends on something other than the threat of punishment—on, for example, the promise of the pleasures of understanding—and that is therefore education in a deeper sense. The moral education of the gentleman, then, may not be the whole or even the highest part of Socratic instruction. To put this another way, Socrates spent the entirety of his adult life in pursuit of education (paideia) or of that which is, according to the gentleman, the activity proper only to the young (cf. Plato Gorgias 485a4–e2).” The link between being a “man” or manly and having knowledge of a lucrative art is strengthened by the fact that during the discussion of the art of farming occurs one of the rare instances when Xenophon’s Socrates speaks of philosophy; see Oik. 16.9 and Strauss 1970, 185: “A philosopher, we gather, is not a man who unqualifiedly wishes to get the richest harvest of crops; nor is he a man who wishes to know how to get the richest harvest of crops merely for the sake of knowing this (or teaching it); but he is a man who wishes to know it because he might wish to get such a harvest. The philosopher, it would seem, is a man characterized by a conditional love of lucre. This love might induce him under conditions not specified by Socrates to strive to get the greatest possible harvest of crops; more generally, it might induce him to become a farmer, or he might wish to become a farmer: under no circumstances does he wish to become a perfect gentleman, in the ordinary meaning of that expression . . . [Socrates] is more concerned with lucre than with perfect gentlemanship.” Finally, it should be noted here that the art of farming “may well be used as a likeness of the art of rhetoric,” although the art of rhetoric practiced by Socrates may not be “altogether serious”: see Strauss 1970, 191–192. This link is explored in the discussion of the Socratic method used by Socrates in order to defend the lucrative, but ignoble art in which he claims to take great pride (3.10).

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60. The most “manly” example of this point is expressed in the work of Plato (Sym. 221a), not Xenophon, where we hear Socrates at least had enough means to qualify to fight as a hoplite in battle more than once. This is also noticed in passing by Bowen 1998, 103, commenting on 3.9. Based on Xenophon’s account of the debate between Kritias and Theramenes over the new constitution of the Athenian polity following the defeat to Sparta (Hellenika II 3.15–19 and 48), as one capable of supporting himself and fighting as a hoplite, Socrates would have qualified as a member of the kaloi k’agathoi proposed by Theramenes as a ruling class of the 3,000 “best” citizens. Theramenes preferred to create an aristocracy, properly speaking, open to the participation of someone like Socrates, but Kritias sought to establish (by violent means if necessary) a strictly laconized form of government, organized around a core of educated “Peers” who both fought and ruled, with the expressed intention of excluding or eliminating the influence of precisely someone like Socrates (see esp. Mem. I.2.12, 24–39). On the reformation of Athens and incorporation of Socrates according to Theramenes’ criteria of kaloi k’agathoi, see Anderson 1974, 47–60, and esp. 50n1; cf. Xenophon, Constitution of the Athenians. 61.  On Socratic economics, see Ambler 1996, 105–110. 62.  See Plato, Phaedrus 278c–e. Socratic criticism of all poets, speechwriters, and legislators who possess nothing of value or seriousness beyond what they have written down. On the mere art of patching together logoi, sticking them together and taking them apart, see the discussion supra of rhapsodes. 63.  It is possible Antisthenes and Charmides have an inkling of what Socrates is concealing? Hermogenes, however, whom we have not heard from at all directly (cf. the indirect speech at 3.8), may admire Socrates for reasons other than those implied by Antisthenes and Charmides and which nevertheless still do not represent the “peak” of Socratic wisdom; see Pangle 1996, 38. Lykon, Autolykos, and Nikeratos could not have forgotten Kallias’ original promise, or held him accountable for his sophistic avoidance of it, since they were never made privy to it (see 1.3, but cf. 3.3). These three also seem to be the least likely to have had much experience with Socrates before this evening; as far as we can tell from extant Socratic dialogues, they also seem to have the least to do with him after this evening—at least for more than twenty years. 64. See Oik. 7.2–3, 11.7, 17.10, and 21.29; but cf. 15.3, 15.10, and 13.4–5, where what the gentleman expects Socrates will find only worth teaching others or completely laughable is recognized by Socrates as being in fact a matter which is worth knowing in itself, or in no way laughable, that is, serious. On Socratic jokes with gentlemen and laughter, see Strauss 1963, 109: “Now Socrates is joking in this work [Oeconomicus], obviously, much more than anywhere else, at least [more so than] in the Memorabilia. Words like ‘Here Ischomachos laughed.’ That is very rare in a Xenophontic or Platonic work, that someone is said to have laughed. You can count these very easily. Socrates of course never laughs. Once. Socrates laughed once. [Apo. 28; cf. Sym. 4.60] He jokes frequently. But that it is said he jokes is extremely rare. In this book it abounds just as oaths abound. There are proportionately many more oaths than in the whole Memorabilia. And this goes together . . . I think that is still intelligible. In comedies for example people swear all the time. It is something unserious. Where in serious conversation people don’t do it. This only in passing.” 65.  See Strauss 1972, 151: “Lykon’s intervention has the consequence that the last of the four men who had come with Socrates, namely, Hermogenes, is for the time being forgotten.” 66.  See Bowen 1998, 103, commenting on 3.11: “[Kallippides] became a byword for overacting. Aristotle refers to him at Po. 1461b–1462a; Plutarch mentions him four times.” 67. See Cervantes, Don Quixote, Second Part, Chapter 3. Philippos’ weak defense of comedy is followed in quick succession by more extended speeches by the Syracusan and Socrates. On the comparatively more just art of invoking laughter (comedy) rather than tears (tragedy), see Xenophon’s ostensibly most serious Socratic writing, his Apology of Socrates to the Jury, where he records the only instance of explicit Socratic laughter, occasioned by the weeping of others: Apo. 28; cf. Sym. 1.16. See also Strauss 1972, 159, 162, and 151, as well as Xenophon’s emphatic conclusion to his own apologia before the Greek army in his Anabasis (V.8.25–26): “And yet, surely it is noble (καλόν) as well as more just (δίκαιον) and pious (ὃσιον) and pleasant (ἣδιον) to remember the good things (ἀγαθῶν) rather than the bad (κακῶν).”



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68.  See Bowen 1998, 103, commenting on 3.12, who notes that the verb “to blush up” is recorded only here and in Plato’s dialogue Charmides (158c), linking Autolykos’ apparent virtue (1.8) with the reputed virtue of Charmides when he too was a beautiful young man admired by gentlemen. The emphasis placed on their shared virtue in youth should be compared with the impulsiveness exhibited by the older Charmides here. Autolykos “surprisingly” gives evidence of both his modesty (in denying that he is proud of winning) and his impetuosity (in presuming he is of age to swear: see Strauss 1972, 151). We can assume his bold speech cannot be blamed on wine-drinking, so he must be vicariously enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. 69.  Autolykos’ contributions: a fitting deed (1.7: sitting beside his reclining father), a modest deed (3.12: actually, an involuntary response), a sworn denial (3.12: four words), a proud claim (3.13: three words), and a fitting deed (3.13: reclining with his father). Whether he has brains as well as brawn, moderation as well as modesty, we cannot tell; he would need to say more for us to judge. See Poliakoff 1987, 10–11, quoting an inscription from beneath the statue of Ariston of Ephesos, pankration victor in the 207th Olympiad, which might have been written for Autolykos (Simonides, Anthologia Palatina 16.2): “Who are you who bear the bloom of youth but manhood’s force? / Who are you whose beauty and strength we see? / Who then and whence come you, whose son are you, come speak!” 70.  Kallias’ reference here to the King of Persia reminds of his desire for perfumes (see 2.2) which erase the distinction between free men (ἐλεύθεροι: see 1.10, 2.3–4) and slaves (δουλοῖ); hence all are human beings (ἄνθρωποι) and subject to the King (as well as Kallias’ art), rather than “men” (ἄνδρες: see 1.12, 3.2) or “gentlemen” (καλοκἄγαθοι: see 1.1, 2.5). A similar erasure of the distinction between free and slave occurs with respect to poleis dominated by Persian power. Moreover, as with the great King, once Kallias discovers something valuable among the possessions of others and not himself, he not only desires, he also covets. 71.  For Kallias, there is no reason to continue the speeches at all, for he has found the good thing he desires. Besides, for him, Hermogenes is of no account; yet, curiously, the two brothers, in the first and last displays of this section, are linked by the fact that they both speak of friendship (see Mem. II.3 and 4.1). 72.  Kallias displays two of the lessons which one of his teachers, Hippias, put into practice in conversation with Socrates at Mem. IV.4.5–9: first, how to stay concealed by always withholding something in reserve while others declare themselves in speech, which is to say, letting an opponent make the first move; second, how to escape in speech by never being caught saying “the same things about the same things,” like a clever wrestler who is always slipping out of his opponent’s holds with some novel and unexpected countermove. Socrates himself refers to Hippias as a teacher of the art of memory whom Antisthenes had “procured” for Kallias (Sym. 4.62). 73.  See Strauss 1948/1991, 85: “Education cannot be the greatest good simply, because gods do not need education. Education, i.e., the most excellent education, which is education to wisdom, is the greatest good for human beings, i.e., for human beings as such, for men insofar as they do not transcend humanity by approaching divinity: God alone is wise. The wise man or the philosopher who partakes of the highest good will be blessed although he does not possess ‘the most noble and most blessed possession to be met with among human beings.’” Xenophon’s Socrates believed that “God alone is most wise” (see Mem. I.4, I.6.10; IV.2.1, IV.6.7). The principle of divine omniscience over against human insufficiency has Homeric origin: see Odyssey IV. 379, 468. This view resonates with Plato’s Socrates (Phaedrus 278d3–6), and the Socrates of Xenophon concurs (see the beginning and the ending of Poroi 1.1 and 9.8–9): “All these things, the gods granting their consent, can be so. If someone is amazed that I have so frequently exhorted to work with god, know well that, being frequently at risk, all the more will he cease being amazed, and that whenever there is strife, opponents are always plotting against each other, but seldom do they know what will come of their plotting. In such matters, therefore, there is none that can give counsel, you will find, except the gods; for these alone know all things and send signs to whomever they wish in sacrifices, omens, voices and dreams.” Regarding the human things, Xenophon says elsewhere that Socrates has heard from many people that “a sure and good friend” is the “best of possessions,” though he observed that most people attended to anything else rather than to the acquisition of friends (see Mem II.4). Antisthenes maintains that leisure, which he in fact acquired from

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Socrates, is the “most exquisite possession” (Sym. 4.44). Conversing with Aristodemus, however, Socrates says the “greatest” of all human possessions is the soul itself, which the god implanted in human beings and is “best”—moreover, Socrates introduces this as evidence that the gods surely do care for human beings since they have made human beings most god-like by providing them alone among all animals with the kind of soul that is most adequate with a view to learning and to remembering what one hears or sees or learns (see Mem. I.4.13). Above all then, one should not be neglectful of the soul in pursuing the greatest good, that is, cultivating the greatest good for human beings: an education to wisdom. For real “men,” however, Socrates admits that the “best pursuit” would seem to be “doing well” (εὐπραξία). 74.  The conspicuously conventional pride of father for son, and vice versa, need not be interrogated, on this occasion at least, or are not susceptible to justifying speeches: see Strauss 1972, 163. Consider also the case of the “unpopular alternative” proposed but then quickly buried by Socratic agreement, in Section Four: see Strauss 1972, 164–165. The education that comes from questioning or inquiry should be accompanied by Odyssean speech, or Socratic rhetoric; regarding Xenophon’s use of Socratic rhetoric in his writing, a hint is given in his treatise Hipparchikos (9.1–2) regarding how to read his “notes” or self-remembrances, and so points to an underlying principle of interpretation with respect to Xenophon’s writing style generally: “But to write out everything—whatsoever ought to be done—is no more possible than to know all the things that will happen. Among these my remembrances then this seems to me at least to be most excellent: whatever it is that you judge good, take care to make it happen.” 75.  Is it not inevitable that those whose “work” is composed of the search for wisdom (φιλόσοφοι), which is to say, for what is truly valuable, in the hidden meanings of things must always come to light as trivial, or useless and impoverished, from the point of view of those whose concern is with acquiring what appears to most people on the surface of things as being useful, and thereforeas an indication of conventional wealth? In what sense would philosophy ever appear useful to the vulgar? 76. The sequence of the ten display speeches is as follows: Kallias, Nikeratos, Kritoboulos, Antisthenes, Charmides, Socrates, Philippos, Lykon, Autolykos, and finally Hermogenes. The order of the symposiasts on the respective reclining couches around the room has been proposed as the following (clockwise around the square room, beginning next to the door): Philippos, Lykon/Autolykos, Kallias, Nikeratos, Socrates, Kritoboulos, Hermogenes, Antisthenes, and Charmides. Though Philippos is technically uninvited, he was invited by Kallias to recline together with the others; the Syracusan, on the other hand, who was invited to take charge of the formal entertainment, does not recline. This order holds in the round of display speeches for the most part, but with some notable exceptions: Socrates politely skips over himself, when prompting Kritoboulos, but he impolitely skips over Hermogenes when prompting Antisthenes; Kallias interrupts to return to Socrates, before the order proceeds to close the circle with those nearest to Kallias; Hermogenes’ skipped turn is finally remembered last of all by Nikeratos. In the round of defense speeches, the order of the speakers suffers from the confusion in the first round as well as from the absence of a clear symposiarch, with three speakers presuming to prompt themselves and no less than four separate prompters for the remaining five speakers. 77.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 182: “If one leaves aside for the time being the complicated case of what proves to be Hermogenes’ divine friendship . . . one detects a change in the character of the pride of each of the speakers as one approaches and then departs from Socrates: the selflessness of Callias and Niceratus, to the ‘in-between’ case of Critoboulos, to its opposite in Charmides, and again from the pleasantries of Philippus to the noble pride of father for son and son for father.” 78.  See Bowen 1998, 104, commenting on 3.14, who suggests that Nikeratos varies the formula of the prompt in order to “tease” Hermogenes. For another key instance of such neglectful treatment, consider the fact that Plato’s Socrates did not find it worthwhile to mention Hermogenes by name in the prominent list of his companions, and their condoning fathers or brothers, who were present at his trial (Apology 33d–34a). Aeschines and Kritoboulos, as well as Plato himself, are included among the seventeen names mentioned. Xenophon, of course, was on campaign with Cyrus the younger (see Anabasis III.1.2–8). 79.  See Bartlett 1996-a, 145n43, from whom we hear that the variant word in the formula used by Nikeratos often, appropriately, has religious overtones and that it appears nowhere else in the Symposium.



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80.  The even number of speeches also lends itself, in part, to a certain “ring” structure, whereby the first and last are linked together (half-brothers and friendship), as well as the second and ninth speeeches (cherished fathers), the third and eighth speeches (beautiful sons in need of teachers of virtue: Oik. 1–6; Mem. I.3.8), the fourth and seventh speeches (harsh imitators or caricatures of Socrates: Sym. 6.8–10), and finally the central fifth and sixth speeches. For a parenthetical, interpretive remark about this central “pair,” see Strauss 1972, 151: “Charmides and Socrates, the two men who enjoy partner-less activities, become partners in occupying the central place in this chapter.” As with Hermogenes’ seriousness and Kritoboulos’ beauty, we are aware that there is something about Charmides’ desire that somehow holds a key to a comprehensive understanding of Xenophon’s Socrates. Charmides and his claim would in fact occupy the central place in this first round of nine display speeches, if the cryptic claim of Hermogenes is forgotten (as all but Nikeratos and someone unnamed seem ready to do); or, if Lykon and Autolykos are taken as one (as their reciprocal claims imply); or, if the uninvited non-gentleman Philippos is excluded (which occurs in Section Four)—all of which are plausible omissions. Antisthenes, however, at Socrates’ bidding, replaces Charmides at the center of the round of defense speeches, suggesting that these two may stand as a different central pair, whenever the boasts and justifications are all taken together. See Strauss 1972, 158.

6 Defense Speeches and the Socratic Way of Life

The philosopher’s attempt to grasp the eternal order is necessarily an ascent from the perishable things which as such reflect the eternal order. Of all perishable things known to us, those which reflect that order most, or which are most akin to that order, are the souls of men. But the souls of men reflect the eternal order in different degrees. . . . Philosophy, being knowledge of our ignorance regarding the most important things, is impossible without some knowledge regarding the important things. By realizing that we are ignorant of the most important things, we realize at the same time that the most important thing for us, or the one thing needful, is quest for knowledge of the most important things, or philosophy. In other words, we realize that only by philosophizing can man’s soul become well-ordered. We know how ugly or deformed a boaster’s soul is; but everyone who thinks that he knows, while in truth he does not, is a boaster.1

THE IRONIC SOCRATES Given his brazen willingness to challenge the beauty of the young Kritoboulos as his rival, Socrates runs the risk of boasting. But according to Xenophon, Socrates is not a boaster. He leads his young companions by example, argues Xenophon, showing himself by speech and by deed to possess the very virtues which he exhorts in others. In this way, Socrates indicates his view that to boast of virtue without being virtuous is to be ridiculous. False pretenses to justice or to wisdom, especially ones “which can be easily found out,” render one who claims to know or possess such virtues in speech but without showing them also in deed worthy of ridicule.2 A more common form of boasting, however, which consists in claiming to know that which one merely believes or opines, is somewhat less ridiculous. In general, let us say, the person who boasts or brags (ἀλαζών) is one who claims to have or possesses more than he or she actually does.3 Yet, the boaster must be distinguished from the ironic man, that is, someone who may selfeffacingly claim to have less than he or she actually does. But once the discrepancy between what is indeed known and professions of ignorance ceases to be concealed within speech, the ironic man is then revealed as being “not untruthful.”4 Here in the Symposium, Xenophon seems to be pointing to his concern for and appreciation of Socrates’ sense of humor and 157

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irony. But before Socrates can come to light as being ironic, it seems that he must appear on the surface of things to be boastful. Claiming to be more conventionally beautiful than he really is, Socrates playfully and charmingly calls attention to the virtues that in fact make him attractive to his companions, who are obviously drawn to him—if we are to judge from their imitation of him.5 Recognition of the irony concealed within his playful boasts is essential to unlocking the hidden meanings of his speeches and deeds, and perhaps also of Xenophon’s dialogue as a whole. But in doing, so we must also examine what his fellow symposiasts claim and defend, as the context in which Xenophon’s Socrates emerges.

ASSESSING THE CLAIMS OF GENTLEMEN There was a noticeable progression in the gentlemen’s display speeches of Section Three— from a definition of “the noble” (καλός) in terms of selflessness (Kallias, Nikeratos), through the in-between case of “the beautiful” (τὸ καλλὸν) which is thought to be beneficial both to others and to oneself (Kritoboulos), to a radical display of economic selfishness conspicuously distant from any conventional notion of nobility (Charmides, Antisthenes). Finally, after passing quickly over Socrates’ brazen claim about beauty, the round of display speeches concluded with a return to the conventional (undisputed claims of Lykon and Autolykos, as well as Hermogenes’ claim, which was as unexpected as it was conventional). No one boasted of wisdom or gentlemanliness. Following the promise of Hermogenes not to begrudge the others a revelation (3.14), the symposium passes from outright declarations of pride to demonstrations of worth, or defense speeches. Socrates leads the way: “Well then, it remains for each of us to prove that whatever he promised really is worthy of much” (4.1). Value or worth cannot be assigned until further logoi have been marshaled to demonstrate that what one claims to be proud of deserves being proud of. From the Socratic perspective then it is not sufficient simply to say that one possesses something valuable; one must also be able to say how it is one knows that what one possesses is in some sense beneficial or delightful (3.2). For men who think of themselves as gentlemen, it would be shameful otherwise. In the next round of speeches, therefore, honor and admiration or dishonor and ridicule await the defendants, although the assignment of these rewards among the gentlemen will of course be mitigated by the playfulness of the setting. In their display speeches, no one boasted of wisdom, or virtue per se, as is fitting among a gathering of gentlemen. Those who possessed aristocratic birth and great wealth certainly did not boast of these things. But everyone did claim to possess something of worth or value, though some paradoxically claimed as valuable that which many, or most, people actually consider worthless. Most of the defense speeches, in turn, focus upon defending the benefit derived by either others or oneself from that which was proclaimed a source of pride. Only Kallias, Nikeratos, and Socrates venture to argue in their defense that they are proud of some knowledge or art which they possess and which, when put to use, is beneficial (3.5): justice, Homeric poetry, and pimping or procuring.6 The others limit themselves to much more easily defensible claims. In assessing the persuasiveness of their defense speeches, or apologia (ἀπολογία), it is important to recall that early in the evening Socrates had drawn attention to the natural inclination of “men” to form judgments in the mind (2.9). The exercise of this office belongs to all gentlemen, not only to those who happen to be selected for a democratic jury (cf. 4.18–20, 5.1, 5.10). Readers of the dialogue, too, are being summoned by Xenophon to examine and reflect



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upon the meaning, perhaps the hidden meanings of the various accounts that will be offered in speech, whether playful or serious, or both. Can we discern diverse, even competing ways of life or types of human beings in the defense speeches? Do some of the gentlemen appear to have something in common, despite the apparent differences in their claims? Whose way of life emerges as praiseworthy, and why? Whose is worthy of censure, and in what respects? Our task in assessing and judging7 these competing claims of gentlemen is no doubt compounded by the playful setting of the symposium. We should not mistake the playfulness on the surface of the symposion as a sign of smooth sailing. As we navigate our way to judgments about virtue, the shoals of seriousness can lurk beneath a boast or a playful joke (e.g., 4.1–5), and, as we have seen, ironic humor sometimes wears a serious face (see 3.10, 4.28–29). The leeway that the setting affords, however, once the banquet becomes a symposium of intoxicated speeches, makes possible a friendly, non-thumotic competition among conventional notions of kalokagathia articulated by the gentlemen and attempted redefinitions of that ideal proposed by “self-worked” amateur philosophers. One consequence of this restrained agōn in speech is that the distinction between “gentleman” and “philosopher” becomes somewhat blurred in the dialogue, while other distinctions are maintained, and people are revealed for who they are: a wise man is distinguished from a boaster, an ironic man from a deceiver, and a gentleman from well-equipped imposters.8 In other words, the defense speeches are both indicative and revealing of character, or ēthos (ἦθος); thus can speeches become memorable deeds. Kallias and Nikeratos represent and defend the claims of conventional gentlemen, who rely on traditional forms of wealth in order to justify their pride. But a challenge to their claims is posed by the defense speeches of Socrates’ companions, Charmides and Antisthenes, which both support a radical redefinition of wealth by praising the benefits of Socratic poverty—even though Socrates himself ironically defends his pride in terms of an acquisitive and potentially lucrative art, which he does not practice. But since Socrates appears only within the context of other gentlemen at play in the Symposium (1.1; cf. Oik. 1.1, Apo. 1), perhaps we should not be surprised if his way of life, and the economy (οἰκονομία) of the philosophic life in general, comes to light in an unexpected or humorous way. These are the apologia with which we are primarily concerned in this chapter. As for the defense speeches of Kritoboulos, Hermogenes, Philippos, and the Syracusan, these will be engaged only partially in this chapter, since their speeches set the stage for later deeds which affect the argument of the action of the dialogue, even threatening at times to disrupt the playfulness of the Symposium as it rounds the turningpost and heads toward the finish.9

WEALTH AND NOBILITY—THE ART OF GENTLEMANLINESS Kallias Socrates wastes no time in taking the symposiasts to task, calling for defense speeches to demonstrate that the things each of them claimed really are worthy things. With pride of place already established in the round of display speeches, Kallias not surprisingly takes the stand first, and he is chomping at the bit to do so (4.1): “You may listen to me first. For I, in the time in which I hear all of you being at a loss with respect to what the just is, meanwhile can make human beings more just.” Kallias leaps into his defense enthusiastically10 and appears not to pull his punches, for he opens with a comparison that delivers a stinging blow,

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especially under different circumstances. The playful setting softens the blow, however. Quick to elevate himself at the expense of others, even by means of a joke, Kallias proposes that his hitherto concealed knowledge in fact renders human beings “more just” all the while that others spend their time chattering in idle conversation, “being at a loss” (ἀπορία) as to what justice (τὸ δίκαιον) is. Though he speaks in the plural, Kallias’ “you” is undoubtedly a thinly veiled reference to Socrates (Oik. 11.3; Aristophanes Clouds 1480), whom Kallias has no doubt overheard examining together with his companions the question, What is justice?11 His defense is thus founded upon a crucial distinction between himself and Socrates when it comes to benefiting others, precisely on account of the fact that Kallias is not perplexed about what justice or gentlemanliness is (see 3.4).12 If successful, his defense, under graver circumstances, say, as part of a public statement or political proceeding, could amount to a serious indictment of Socrates and his way of life. Socrates, knowing his cue well, prompts Kallias to explain how or in what way he manages to go about making others more just while he himself wastes time stricken helpless by perplexity. Far from being offended by Kallias’ characterization as one who is puzzled about justice, Socrates eagerly desires to learn about this good which Kallias claims to know and make use of (see Mem. IV.4.8). Indeed, he even goes so far as to be sure his goodwill is evident in the superlative manner in which he poses his question to Kallias, addressing him as a “most agreeable” or desirable friend (ὦ λῷστε). Rather than take offense, Socrates signals that he is eager to share in the knowledge of justice or wisdom that he lacks and Kallias claims to possess.13 Kallias’ answer is shocking: “By giving them money, by Zeus!” He almost seems to mock a poor man like Socrates for lacking the obvious resources. Were his statement not delivered under the circumstances partly in jest (but cf. 3.4), we might be tempted to see it as a factional assertion of aristocratic superiority. As things are, it seems Kallias means to poke fun at Socrates’ poverty, both in deed (his mean condition being known to all) as well as in speech (for being aporia, literally being “without means” or “resourceless” with respect to justice), while representing himself as the epitome of the perfect gentleman whose wealth enables him to practice the art of justice. Whatever implicit insult is evident in Kallias’ retort, it is not limited to Socrates. For some of his companions have gone out of their way to associate themselves with Socrates’ poverty. Whether he intended to refute Kallias’ implicit accusation or not, Socrates listens in silence, as his opportunity to respond in speech is overtaken by a very indignant Antisthenes, who rises up antagonistically and literally to the Socratic defense.14 In this exchange, as anticipated (3.4), we glimpse a comically distorted version of the encounter between the gentleman and the philosopher reported in the Oikonomikos, with a flamboyant Kallias playing the role of the serious Ischomachos as the widely-respected teacher of justice and a boastful Antisthenes standing in for the reserved Socrates as his ostensible pupil.15 Challenged by Antisthenes’ harsh version of a Socratic elenchos (μάλα ἐλεγκτικῶς) to decide whether (πότερον)16 human beings “possess justice in their souls or in their purse,” Kallias confronts his examiner head on.17 Speaking with an air of nobility, he holds that justice does indeed dwell in the souls of human beings, but provocatively he still contends that it is surely true that he makes people more just “by putting money in their purses” (4.2). The reasoning Kallias proffers for Antisthenes’ review bears a striking resemblance to the conventional view of justice one expects from aristocratic gentlemen; namely, that human beings who happen to enjoy enough wealth, or sufficient money in their purse, because they will not need to “run the risk of doing bad things” in order to secure the basic necessities in



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life, are by definition “more just” than those who are poor and compelled to do wrong or commit injustices in order to provide what is necessary.18 This piece of conventional wisdom about justice has in a way already been foreshadowed in Kallias’ own payments to the sophists. But there are flaws in his reasoning. Is justice to be construed in terms of the absence of necessity, and thus the absence of compulsion to engage in injustice? Assuming, as he does, that human beings will not hesitate to disregard the boundaries of possession laid down by law to overcome their needs, Kallias also assumes that once the negative constraint of necessity has been removed (at least temporarily), by his gift of money, those human beings whom he has benefited will become just, that is, will strive for or desire virtue, rather than descend the slippery slope of vice (cf. Mem. II.1.21–34). Why does the alleviation of a necessity translate into being just, as opposed to merely avoiding injustice? From this perspective, Kallias seems to be wearing the mantle of Vice in the morality tale of Prodicus—or rather, of Xenophon’s Socrates and his recounting of Prodicus’ tale. In the last of his three conversations with the hedonistic Aristippos in Xenophon’s Memorabilia (II.1.21– 34), Socrates exhorts his interlocutor to recognize the superiority of a life dedicated to Virtue and the nobility of the civic deeds that this life entails by recounting the story of “The Choice of Herakles” attributed to the prominent sophist, who is familiar to Kallias, “Prodicus the wise.” This allegorical parable depicting Herakles’ “education” by Virtue personified is introduced to persuade Socrates’ interlocutor (or more precisely, since he is incorrigible, someone in the audience who is listening, perhaps Charmides or Kritoboulos or Xenophon himself ) that the life devoted to Virtue transcends in genuine pleasure and happiness the dissolute life devoted to Vice and transient carnal pleasures. Vice, who speaks first to Herakles, encourages his choice for Her by promising not that such a life brings vicious domination or tyrannical conquests, but that Her followers indulge in sensual desires with ease because She licenses them to pursue profit from every possible source and to acquire by any means necessary, whether unscrupulous or illicit (Mem. II.1.27). Vice, here, is masquerading as a rival to Virtue because, by avoiding financial necessity or neediness, Her devotees enjoy with relative ease a kind of self-sufficiency in private pleasures, avoiding both the toil associated with great ambition and the taint of having to commit unjust deeds to satisfy their desires. This is the seductive promise of Kallias’ wealth, which enables him to practice the art of justice and to render others more just by his use of his abundant, if illicitly acquired, means.19 There is in Kallias’ view of justice no way to account for those who are either inordinately continent (4.34–44) or inclined to tyranny (4.29–33). In other words, neither the tyrant nor the man who is extremely continent are necessarily just, even though they both may be to some extent freed from necessity. Finally, according to this view of justice, all education is a matter of means, not an education to any specific end or ends since Kallias says nothing at all about how his knowledge or his art will lead human beings freed from necessity—that is, with leisure—toward the cultivation of positive virtues to be exercised in accordance with the moral liberty of the soul. Antisthenes attempts to undermine Kallias’ defense with a dubious standard of reciprocity. He holds that, if Kallias does not receive back from those to whom he has given money some kind of reciprocal good in return, either an equivalent amount of money or an expression of gratitude, then he has failed to make them “more just” (4.3). Kallias himself admits that rather than gratitude, he gets back ingratitude and “enmity”—doubly swearing “by the god Zeus” that this is, in fact, the unjust fate he suffers. It would be an “amazing thing,” Antisthenes proudly concludes, “looking as though he had refuted him,” if Kallias could make human beings more just in every respect except toward himself, their own benefactor. But, in fact,

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neither Kallias nor Socrates finds this refutation of Antisthenes to be particularly compelling, although for different reasons. Kallias points out by analogy that there is nothing amazing in this ingratitude. For just as those who possess some knowledge or art which enables them to build houses for those who do not possess the art or wherewithal to build their own house, let alone that of another (cf. Oik. 1.4), Kallias is not surprised that he does not receive back the same benefit his art produces for others. Antisthenes’ elenchos is unsuccessful, then, in refuting Kallias’ defense of his claim. “You endure then,” Kallias triumphantly teases Antisthenes, “you sophist (ὦ σοφιστά), being yourself refuted (ἐλεγχόμενος)!” (4.4). Socrates, with an oath, immediately seconds the motion (4.5): “By Zeus, let him endure it.” The repetition of words related to “refutation” (ἔλεγχος) in this section emphasizes the harshly refutative manner of Antisthenes’ speech. His understanding of the Socratic elenchos, of course, must be distinguished from the mode in which Socrates may (or may not) make use of such a method in his own speeches and examination of others. As Socrates himself is aware, Kallias’ counter-refutation of Antisthenes is not unassailable, although it has dealt with the issue of reciprocity which Antisthenes had raised in his objection.20 Does Kallias see that his analogy opens up a defense for one who possesses knowledge or an art, and can make use of it and be beneficial (to others) even without wealth, which is to say, even in poverty? What need would such a one have of wealth at all, especially if he were to be unconcerned with suffering injustice from others, even from those who have benefited from his art (Apo. 26)?21 Kallias’ reasoning in refuting Antisthenes is not so subtle, but perhaps Socrates, in his own silent deliberations, has other reasons for approving of the epitaph which Antisthenes seems to be earning for himself, and not only in competition with Kallias. For once he playfully joins Kallias in refuting Antisthenes, Socrates goes on, rather gratuitously, to cite an additional analogy that calls into doubt the soundness of Antisthenes’ refutation. But it seems, by its content, that he does so to point more to educate Antisthenes than to support Kallias (4.5): “let him endure it; since even the prophets are doubtless said to foretell the future for others, but for themselves do not foresee what is to come.”22 Antisthenes, the prophet of refutations, has himself unwittingly been refuted. Thus “the “argument” (ὁ λόγος) “here came to a close” (ἐνταῦθα ἔληξεν), reports Xenophon. Socrates suggests Antisthenes justly endures being apostrophized as a “sophist” by Kallias. For even as the god-like prophets are wise, knowing the fate of others, but being no different from other human beings when it comes to being ignorant of their own fate, so too Antisthenes appears to possess wisdom while lacking self-understanding. With this simple truth Socrates puts an end to Kallias’ defense speech and Antisthenes’ effort to refute it. With the exception of a parting shot at Nikeratos (4.6), from this point on in the dialogue Socrates’ argumentative companion will cease to pose a threat to the playfulness of the symposium’s setting with his harsh questioning; the cynic has been put on a leash, so to speak (cf. 6.5, 6.8, and 8.5). But, we might wonder, what fate have both Kallias and Antisthenes acquired, or obtained by lot, on account of this logos which concludes with Socrates ironically playing the interpreter of prophecies? Through their speech we begin to see more clearly who they are, or rather who they think they are. Kallias has much more in common with his teachers, the sophists, than he does with the reputedly perfect gentleman, Ischomachos, while Antisthenes longs to be like the Socrates of the Memorabilia, refuting others for their benefit, but not the Socrates of Oikonomikos, who is not eager to refute openly a gentleman, even if he sees he can.23 Perhaps as parody, the irritated Kallias and the goading Antisthenes resemble the uneasy sparring partners, Hippias and Socrates, who are on display contesting in the Memorabilia, one of the



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longest conversations recorded in Xenophon’s recollections (Mem. IV.4; cf. I.6).24 Kallias’ attachment to the sophists, including Hippias, we have already had occasions to notice.25 What must be made clear here is that, since Antisthenes’ elenctic posture manages only to caricature Socratic inquiry; he has more in common with the sophists than with Socrates, it seems.26 Antisthenes is not at all perplexed about what justice is, unlike Socrates who shows himself eager to learn from Hippias (see Mem. IV.4.8) about justice as well as from Ischomachos (see Oik. 11.3–7, 15.5). In other words, whereas Socrates is “perplexed” about what is just and what is unjust (Mem. I.1.16), Antisthenes is confident that he knows what justice itself really is (cf. Oik. 9.12–13, 14.1–10). What he cannot believe, and what he disputes with Kallias, is not what justice is (a question which he does not pose to Kallias), but whether or not it is possible to increase justice among human beings simply by putting money in their purses.27 This first defense speech thus reveals Kallias’ intention to parade in speech as a gentleman, generous with his wealth and a self-styled practitioner of the “art” of justice, and Antisthenes’ wish to imitate the power of Socratic speech as well as to enjoy the benefits of Socratic continence (see 4.34–44). It also has revealed that both men suffer from a sophistic blindness when it comes to examining themselves. Playing Cassandra, on behalf of the Delphic Apollo, Socrates prophesies an ignorance which disfigures both their souls: Kallias and Antisthenes dispute the way to make others more just, thinking themselves already sufficiently in possession of wisdom, taking on the appearance of being “wise” (σοφισταί)—but only the gods are wise.28 Hermogenes, who listens in silence to this exchange, will maneuver to make gains on Antisthenes as the true heir of Socrates. For now, Nikeratos, who speaks next, unwittingly seems to bear witness to the fact that he, too, is suffering from a more benign, but no less distorting, version of this same disease: the unexamined, and lamentable, condition of not even knowing what one does not know. Nikeratos In the orderly presentation of defense speeches, Kallias “naturally” went first. Nikeratos, “of course,” follows after him (3.5, cf 1.2). This beginning affirms their gentlemanly rank, and in the sequence that follows Kallias alters the order established by the first round of display speeches, seizing “the occasion” to prompt Charmides’ apologia after his rebuke of Socrates. Thereafter, no one “prevents” Socrates from prompting Antisthenes after Charmides, thereby “restoring the order which had been disturbed by Charmides.” The general laughter after Antisthenes’ defense speech, due to a particularly notable remark of Nikeratos, leads to further disorder—which we will examine in its place.29 For now, we follow the lead of the other symposiasts in acquiescing to the order that arises from conventional status (and perhaps the reflection of that status in the positions which all have assumed on the reclining couches in the room). As a man of noble birth like Kallias, Nikeratos’ apologia derives from his father’s purchase of a decent education to make his son a “good man” (3.5).30 Advancing his claim further, he means to defend that knowledge in which he takes great pride by echoing the gentlemanly terms proposed by Kallias: “You may listen also to me as to what way all of you will become better by associating with me” (4.6, cf. 3.4 and 4.1). Nikeratos ennobles his education by emphasizing his opinion that, due to his encyclopedic knowledge of Homeric poetry, those “associating” with him will become “better” in some way—though he stops short of speaking of justice. For as everyone surely knows, he continues, “the most wise” Homer dealt in the verses that he composed with nearly everything which concerns human beings and being

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human (περὶ πάντων τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων). Anyone eager to practice the arts of household management, public oratory, or generalship, or who wants to become like “Achilles, Ajax, Nestor, or Odysseus,” should “pay court” to him, since he has memorized all of Homer, and Homeric poetry suffices to teach such important things, and much else. Nikeratos’ list of seven things one can learn from Homer is odd. Other than the simple fact that each hero named, as a leader of an Argive tribe or nation, is an example of a skilled general—although Odysseus, in particular, exercises this art only reluctantly, there appears to be no single principle that unifies them or specifically relates these three arts with these four epic heroes. Surely the home is not where Achilles and Ajax exhibit their virtue, whereas pious Nestor was known as a wise counselor and general in the Iliad (devising the decisive strategy to build the Achaean wall: Iliad VII.326–345) and a virtuous household manager back at Pylos, but not as a prominent public speaker—his persuasion being exercised mostly in private councils. Moreover, in the Odyssey, as we witness the much sought after homecoming of Odysseus transformed into a veritable bloodbath, it is hard to imagine him to be skillful at household management, an art which Odysseus no doubt possesses but is not the virtue on display in his slaughtering of the suitors and purgation of his home. Nothing in the Homeric epics celebrates Odysseus for having set his house in order with the arts of peace after a twodecade hiatus in his rule. In the Iliad and Odyssey, he is unrivaled as an orator, ranking above even Nestor. Ajax, however, will have little or nothing to do with rhetoric; he despises talk, preferring to let his actions speak for him. On the other hand, the great Achilles was taught by Phoinix to be an accomplished “doer of deeds and speaker of words” (Iliad IX.437–443). His bold and straightforward speech in assembly and in private befit a warrior more divine than human, but his inability to persuade—which ultimately leads him to leave the battlefield and abandon the Achaeans—renders him an unlikely model of successful public speaking. We know, from Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, that it is Odyssean rhetoric, above all else, which is most highly prized (Il. III.199–224). In the famous catalogue of ships, Odysseus holds the center of the long line of Achaean vessels, at whose extremities are to be found the ships and the power of Ajax and Achilles (Il. II.494–759). His excellence, like that of Socrates, can be taken to be a kind of extreme mean (see Il. XI.1–9). At any rate, only a student of Homer attentive to the accounting of the ships would grasp the “hidden meaning” associated with Odysseus’ centrality as the Achaean anchor.31 Socrates, though perhaps not Nikeratos, would have been aware of this meaning: the role of tactics in the art of generalship (see Mem. III.1.4–11). Eager to display his own familiarity with the epic poems and poke fun at Nikeratos’ claim, or perhaps unsatisfied with the alternatives he had presented, the incredulous Antisthenes cannot resist asking if Nikeratos also understands—and, by implication, can teach his associates—how to rule, since he must know that Homer praises Agamemnon “as a good king and strong spearman.”32 Taking seriously the architectonic nature of the kingly art (βασιλική), which was thought to include all the attendant arts proposed by Nikeratos, we can assume that Antisthenes has in mind here the kind of Socratic inquiry which led some to think Socrates believed the kingly art to be happiness itself (Mem. II.1.1–20).33 Such knowledge would indeed make Nikeratos a blessed human being, fit to rule and benefit both polis and household, both others and himself, for to know how to rule as a king is the treasure and possession of wise men, as Socrates said to one of his companions on another occasion, “the noblest virtue and greatest of arts” (Mem. IV.2.9–11). Antisthenes, in other words, is speaking here like the Socrates of Xenophon’s Memorabilia when he is trying to instruct one of his companions, someone who is convinced he is in possession of the best education and is secretly proud of



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his wisdom.34 In response to Antisthenes’ question, Nikeratos confidently affirms with an oath that he knows this as well—even though in his list of Homeric heroes he has omitted, or forgotten, Agamemnon. Nikeratos’ defense of his claim to be proud of making the other symposiasts better, insofar as he conceives of his own claim, depends, first of all, upon Homer being a universal teacher with respect to the human things, and, secondly, upon his knowledge of Homer’s poetry being sufficient to convey the Homeric teaching. Taking the first condition for granted, Socrates himself had earlier justified Nikeratos’ claim to knowledge by speaking of the sums of money Nikeratos (or rather his father) must have spent hiring teachers to educate him about the “hidden meanings” embedded in the epic verses he had memorized. Unfortunately, in his recitation of another few lines from Homer to which he immediately turned after Antisthenes’ leading question, Nikeratos did not pause to see beneath the surface of the passages he proudly recalls. Had he done so, or rather, had he been able to do so, he might have learned something about his own nature.35 If, as it seems, Nikeratos has not been diligent in unveiling and learning the “underlying truths” or deeper meanings in these passages, how can he be trusted with the education of others?36 Put simply, in “paying court” to a Nikeratos who lacks knowledge of the kind of hidden meanings that Socrates has pointed to, do we not run the risk of flattering the steward who unwittingly passes along the writings of his master within which wisdom is purposely concealed or disguised? From a gentleman’s point of view, the nobility of Homer rests in his utility or justice, insofar as his lines of poetry convey useful examples of conduct without deception. But if Socrates is right to speak of “hidden meanings” which suggest that Homer withholds something from those who merely memorize his lines, then Nikeratos is wrong to think of his rote instruction in Homeric poetry as education. Instead, the “most wise” Homer would rule over his rhapsodes (and thus conventional gentlemen) in the way that Ischomachos might have understood his rule over his stewards—namely, without self-deception, knowing that words have more meanings than are conveyed literally, and that some of his stewards would not be diligent in understanding their instructions and thus could not be fully educated. Given such limitations, esoteric writing enables Homer to escape the conclusion implicitly reached by Socrates in rejecting the unexamined life of the gentleman Ischomachos: either he himself is guilty of self-ignorance and irresponsibility with respect to the most important things because he himself does not know the hidden meanings of his own words; or, knowing them he refuses to teach them, exercising rule through ignoble necessity, by force, through commands and punishments or rewards, rather than proper instruction, which is therefore tyrannical. In other words, Homer is an ironic poet, who means more than he says openly. Unless Ischomachos or Nikeratos is diligent in learning or discovering what Homer (via rhapsodes) has to teach him, “the hidden meanings” as Socrates said, his gentlemanly education will prove to be something less noble than he believes, not only for himself but also for those he claims to benefit by teaching them what he knows. His proud claim would thus prove to be a mere boast, an assertion that he has more (or is worth more) than he actually does (or is). Based on his reply to the implicit charge of Antisthenes, one would be forced to judge Nikeratos’ defense speech inadequate and so conclude that the only competition for which Nikeratos seems qualified is to vie with the rhapsodes in the contest for reciting Homer at the Panathenaia.37 But under the light-hearted circumstances, Nikeratos’ boast fits into the festive mood and playful setting of the Symposium.

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It is striking, we might add, that among the examples and selections cited by Nikeratos or displayed in his defense speech, he confines himself to lines from Homer’s Iliad, the warriorepic, rather than from the Odyssey, the epic of wandering and homecoming. The former, no doubt, had a stronger role within the traditional poetic education of gentlemen, even though the noble life and arts of peace such as were movingly displayed on Achilles’ shield seem to belong more within the sphere of the latter. Is there not somehow evident a nostalgia or longing for the traditional ways in Nikeratos’ praise of his and his father’s Homeric education? One wonders if memorization of such passages from the Iliad had grown stale or obsolete as a curriculum for Athenian gentlemen in the years since democracy had come of age and methods of war had begun to change. But it would be an unjust indictment of Homer to blame the epic poet for the ineptness of a conventional gentleman steeped in his poetry who could find nothing more to recommend, among a gathering of gentlemen at play, than an outdated educational curriculum consisting of an exhortation to charioteers and an odd half-line recommending the culinary virtues of an onion (4.6–7).38 Such criticism should more aptly be aimed at the professional teachers of the Homeric epics rather than Homer. Changing times may have called into question the utility of the surface of Homer’s poetry, but the underlying meanings of the words themselves, whose existence Socrates appears to be well aware of, would have been reason enough to preserve these writings among the “treasures of the wise men of old,” treasured works which the friends self-taught in philosophy could read and study together in the hope of culling “great gain” (Mem. I.6.14). But for now, at least, Socrates holds his silence regarding this possibility. He does not interpret for Nikeratos, or for the others, the Homeric meanings he himself may have in mind when he hears these passages recited—not to mention the passages which, when the time comes for telling tales (as we shall see), he will weave into his own arguments, thus making use of Homeric poetry in his Socratic education of Kallias (see 8.28–31). Even when Charmides proposes a playful, but decidedly un-Homeric interpretation of Nikeratos’ recitation from the Iliad about seasoning wine with an onion, Socrates refrains from discussing the problem of Homeric interpretation. His sworn reply to the men (to whom Charmides had addressed his remark) warns instead that they run the risk of acquiring “another reputation,” if they approve Charmides’ proposal—which is that, with such a repulsive scent on their breath when they returned home, their wives will believe that no one could even think of regarding them with affection at the symposium (4.8). Such a reputation for using deceptive tactics to conceal illicit amorous activities, contrary to that befitting “gentlemen” at play (1.1), would be utterly “laughable,” for then it would be rumored they had come to the house of Kallias merely to indulge their appetites (4.9).39 Socrates reiterates his previous warning against immoderation as a risible, not playful, temptation for such men as they believe themselves to be (see 2.3, 2.24–26, 3.2). Charmides, with the tension building over the discrepancy between what he has seen of Socrates before and what he is hearing now, mimics Socrates’ expression of disbelief at the thought of overindulging (2.3). But in submitting an ostensibly noble interpretation of the Homeric line, he nevertheless proceeds in the same erotic tone of his original proposal. Opposing the advice of Socrates to steer clear of a reputation for the overindulgence of appetites, Charmides brashly says, without even a hint of modesty: “Absolutely not, Socrates! . . . perhaps what we’re considering now is the manner we’ll kiss someone, rather than go to war.” Socrates says nothing about Charmides’ scandalous misappropriation of Homer. No one else has anything to say, either. We can imagine that an awkward silence ensued. Xenophon, too, perhaps as eager as Socrates to move beyond the lull in the conversation, reports that “the speech (ὁ λόγος) in some such way ceased.” Yet, there is good reason to think that the discussion,



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though it is being abruptly cut off at about this point, has not arrived at its conclusion. The issue of attraction will become a potent theme in the rest of this section (see 4.18, 4.26–28, 4.53–54). Socrates will even find himself induced to speak about the dangerous ambiguity in the verb that Charmides here uses (φιλήσομεν, from φιλέω, “to love” or “to regard with affection”: 4.8–9; cf. φίλοι, at 3.4, 3.14), for the first time in the dialogue. But what about our judgment of Nikeratos’ apologia? Has he persuasively succeeded in establishing the authority of Homer as a teacher and the foundation of a gentlemanly education, any more than Kallias has persuasively established his own authority as a teacher of justice, or of gentlemanliness?40 Apart from Antisthenes’ questioning or Charmides’ joking, Nikeratos appears not to have done justice either to Homer or to his father in defending the worth of his education.41 The “success” of Kallias’ defense must be judged in light of the “Socratic” assessment of the gentleman’s reliance upon wealth in the defense speeches of his companions.

IMITATIONS OF SOCRATIC LEISURE AND WEALTH Charmides Bypassing his rightful place in the order of speeches, let us pass over for now the defense of the beautiful Kritoboulos, although it is in fact the most extensive speech when joined with the lengthy discussion which it occasions.42 We do so in order to contrast the (ostensibly) unselfish and beneficent pride of the noble gentlemen, Kallias (justice) and Nikeratos (poetry), with the rather self-regarding apologia delivered by Socrates’ two most vocal companions, Charmides and Antisthenes.43 Kallias himself inadvertently calls attention to this contrast, once Kritoboulos’ turn has ended, by prompting Charmides out of turn to defend himself (4.29). Curious to hear what Charmides has to say in defense of his “poverty,” the fabulously rich Kallias forgets or treats as negligible the fact that Antisthenes is next, thereby interrupting the order of speakers established in the round of display speeches. No doubt Kallias also takes some pleasure in asserting his authority as symposiarch at Antisthenes’ expense, since Antisthenes himself has already taken a few liberties in contending so openly in speech with their host (cf. 6.5) and served notice with his antagonistic display speech (cf. 3.8–9) that he intends to confront Kallias even on the question of wealth. Be this as it may, Kallias may have other reasons for wishing to hear from Charmides rather than Antisthenes. As a rich man, proud of his wealth as a source of his status as a gentleman, Kallias surely must have been intrigued by someone like Charmides, a descendant of Solon and a scion of a (once) wealthy family, who intended to defend his pride in being destitute.44 Charmides proceeds in his defense, which is the most straightforward or blunt of them all, from what is most agreed upon. In this most obvious sense then, we may speak of his defense as a “Socratic” one, if only on account of his beginning (4.29): “‘Well then, as to this, let us all agree (ὁμολογεῖται)45 that it is better to take heart than fear, to be liberal rather than a slave, to be courted rather than pay court, and to be trusted by the fatherland rather than distrusted.’” This brief preface to his apologia touches upon three agreeable themes from the dialogue: Socrates’ discussion with Lykon of the scent of “free men” as opposed to slaves (2.4); the exhibition of “manliness” displayed by the Syracusan’s dancing girl, which prompts Socrates to exhort the men to “take heart” in their wives’ education (2.9); and Nikeratos’ recent claim that whoever wishes to learn the human things, including household management, public oratory, and kingship, should “pay court” to him (4.6). To this litany of gentlemanly

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activities, Charmides adds a fourth, which surely none would dispute, that it is “better” to be trusted rather than to be distrusted—or even suspected—by the “fatherland” (πατρίς). There appears to be some agreement among the men present as to what would be “better” (see 1.11, cf. 8.38–39) for each one of them. Now, although Socrates had not, at the time of Charmides’ boast, expressed a need for the men to hear a defense of his poverty, he had responded with praise of the paradoxically “charming” or pleasant (εὐχάριστος) aspect of it, especially in relation to the desires of others within the polis. For quarrels over the value or worth of poverty are as infrequently disputed, according to Socrates, as poverty itself is very unlikely to be unlawfully desired by someone who does not “possess” it. Prompted to it by Kallias, not Socrates, Charmides defends poverty in such a way as to make it seem to be profitable (4.30–32). Whereas his wealth, he says, once made him the target of thieves, kidnappers, sycophants, the polis, and even fate itself, all eager to relieve him of some or all of his possessions, now that he is impoverished, he is a “free” man who sleeps soundly and travels where he pleases, without worries or fears about the strength of the walls protecting what belongs to him (since he possesses “nothing” in need of guarding: see 3.9) or about the loss of his wealth on public expenditures, liturgies, or taxes.46 Likening himself to a “tyrant” (τύραννος), Charmides says that men of wealth and the polis have the appearance of paying their respects to him, by avoiding him; and, as opposed to being treated like a slave before, the polis now serves him, by furnishing him with what is necessary to reach his “end” (τέλος), that is, to meet his basic needs. Last, but presumably not least, Charmides points out that, “with respect to Socrates,” he is no longer rebuked for being his companion (cf. 8.8–9); in fact, he argues, now that he is poor no one seems to care at all how or with whom he spends his time (4.32). While much effort has been expended to “defend” poverty in light of the “burdens” of being wealthy, in concluding, Charmides never mentions the virtue of leisure per se, nor what he does with Socrates when they are together. We gather from this conclusion that although a Socratic situation “possesses” Charmides, namely, being poor, he is unwilling (or unable) to boast about or defend the positive good that he may (or may not) enjoy as a result of being “free” from his previous nonSocratic condition of enslavement. Perhaps this explains why Charmides, at heart a tyrant, now “always” has his sights set on gaining or acquiring “something” from others (4.32). Kallias mocks his defense of poverty by asking if he now prays to “the apotropaic gods” in order to avert every hint or “evil” omen of reacquiring his wealth. Charmides, with his third and final oath in the Symposium,47 swears that he does not and restates his conclusion (4.33): “I endure much with a love of daring (φιλοκινδύνως) whence I look to catch hold of something.” Charmides does not say precisely what or from where or whom he fearlessly expects to acquire, particularly if he already has provisions from the polis, the appearance of respect or honor from rich men like Kallias in the polis (who fear him), and plenty of time to spend with Socrates. It is clear, however, that Charmides is above all concerned with acquiring what he believes is “better” for him, but he, unlike Kallias and Nikeratos, makes no claim whatsoever to be able to make other human beings, or even the other gentlemen present, in any way “better”—in fact, based on what he has said, the wealthier gentlemen may have perceived his apologia as a veiled threat. Charmides’ opinion about what the polis and his obligations to it mean to him is also clear: when he had wealth, he perceived life in the democratic regime as slavish toil and feared the unjust loss or confiscation of his wealth. The pleasure of his poverty derives from an absence of the pains he would once again suffer were he to reacquire his wealth under present political circumstances. Of course, Charmides does not preclude or even distance himself from the



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prospect that he might still acquire “something” new. But how would he enjoy it? Either he must acquire something that resembles the kind of possession Socrates has already praised (something like the “poverty” which is now already his, and which he is able to maintain and enjoy without work or fear that others or the polis will desire it as well); or, he must reacquire the kind of wealth he previously possessed and lost, but under different political circumstances (that is, after a regime change away from rule of the δῆμος). This chance, combined with his willingness to act adventurously and “with a love of daring,” goes a long way to explaining why Charmides followed Socrates’ advice, to a certain extent, and reentered politics during a truly revolutionary and—for him, Autolykos, and Nikeratos, a fatal—moment in Athenian affairs.48 Judging from his actions as one of the Ten who ruled the Peiraieus in the reign of the Thirty during the civil war that followed hard on the heels of the Athenian defeat by Sparta,49 we must say that Charmides’ attachment to the polis and to his fellow Athenians has been revealed to be something other than noble, gentlemanly, or just (cf. 3.4)—at least insofar as these qualities are usually understood to attach one to the political regime. This assessment partly depends on how Charmides defines the political. His affinity for tyranny perhaps leads him to use the words πάτρις, πόλις, and δῆμος almost interchangeably in his defense and with hardly a discernible difference. Charmides’ references to both πάτρις and δῆμος are the first occurrences in the dialogue thus far.50 In his preface, which is aimed at establishing agreement with the other men, Charmides speaks only of the “fatherland” and of its trust or distrust of someone. Are πάτρις and πόλις identical in his view? Or is a “fatherland” to be understood not as a political institution or arrangement, capable of revolution or degeneration or change, but rather as having a deeper foundation in geography or birth? Does someone who exchanges one πόλις, or πολιτεία, for another, thereby also change his πάτρις? Or is a πόλις in some sense also a parent, or a father (see Plato, Crito)? Must the devotion to πάτρις always include an unwavering devotion to one’s particular πόλις or its πολιτεία, that is, the particular regime and laws?51 However he might answer these questions, what seems to matter most to Charmides is how he makes use of—or believes he is being used by—the political entity to which he refers by various names, and which, in a democratic form, he clearly considers antagonistic to the private enjoyment of wealth. This explains Charmides’ disinterestedness, or hesitation, to engage in political affairs (see Mem. III.6.1–2), for his reticence may be seen as a function of his disdain or contempt for the Athenian δῆμος and its rule, δημοκρατία, which he understands to be inextricable from the πόλις, at least as it is currently constituted. If Charmides is a gentleman, he is the kind of gentleman who is not content to remain a gentleman under all circumstances.52 Socratic “poverty” and the life of tyranny represent for him equally attractive alternatives when compared with suffering the burdens of conventional gentlemanliness under the democratic regime at Athens. Charmides’ anti-political speech is, in many ways, a mirror image of Socrates’ economic lecture in the Oikonomikos, where Socrates’ elenchos is set to work on the wealthy, but negligent, Kritoboulos, outlining for him the economic benefits of being poor in comparison with the burdens of wealth related to certain political expenses (see Oik. 2.1–10). As such an image, his speech is a kind of distortion, for it also bears a resemblance to the lamentations in the Hiero of a tyrant who “doth protest too much” about his own miserable condition in contrast to the life of a private man.53 Just as the wise man in the form of a poet (Simonides) doubts the sincerity of a private indictment of tyranny by a tyrant (Hiero),54 so too is there reason to wonder about the seriousness of the praise of poverty from the mouth of an oligarch unwillingly deprived of his wealth—a point that Kallias’ question unwittingly reveals. In the playful setting of the

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Symposium, Charmides’ desire for the private use and enjoyment of wealth, thinly veiled as “Socratic” contentment with his poverty, to say nothing (right now) of his erotic tendencies, anticipates his attraction toward tyranny. Despite the lighthearted occasion in which it comes to light, this state of soul should not be misconstrued as humorous or comic, for Charmides’ speech bristles with antagonism and tragic irony. Although as a “beautiful” (κάλλος) young man (Pl. Charmides 154c; cf. Xen. Mem. III.7), Charmides was surely included among those who could be thought a potential intimate of Socrates, and an unusually gifted one judging from Socrates’ unique interest in his potential.55 His conduct in political affairs eventually betrayed him as one who lacked at least an Ischomachean concern with a reputation of nobility, or even the customary Socratic display of law-abidingness. But does Charmides’ expressed view of the πόλις accord with what Socrates himself privately thought, or silently held in his deliberations? Are we to understand Charmides’ companionship with Socrates as evidence of the latter’s agreement with the former regarding his harsh critique of the polis and its affairs (again, see Mem. III.7)? Socrates himself had earlier offered praise of the very thing that Charmides claims to be proud of and defends in terms of tyranny. Hence, his association with this man in his youth could have been construed later as a cause of his corruption. Would a phlegmatic gentleman like Lykon, whose own son was murdered by the Thirty,56 be capable of distinguishing, in his recollections of a banquet two decades earlier, between Charmides’ anti-political ire and his tyrannical boast regarding the liberating effects of “Socratic” poverty (or his violent political deeds years later), on the one hand, and Socrates’ own paradoxical praise of the inherent worth of poverty (or his well-known association with the tyrants when they were young men), on the other hand?57 The ironic undercurrent of tragedy within the action of the dialogue reaches a kind of peak here, for in the memory of contemporary readers of the dialogue, Charmides, as one of those oligarchs who seized power during the tyranny of the Thirty, was implicated in the murder of not just one, but two of his fellow-symposiasts, Autolykos and Nikeratos, in addition to having lost his own life as a result of the part he played in the civil war. Xenophon himself does not explicitly mention or recall the circumstances surrounding the death of Autolykos in his account of affairs during the Athenian civil war (see Hellenika II.3.38–40; cf. Plutarch, “Lysander,” 18.6, 18.24, 19.47), but we can assume that Athenian readers of the Symposium would have recalled both Autolykos’ murder and Charmides’ involvement in it, either directly or indirectly. The same is true of Nikeratos, who also was arrested and killed by the tyrannical regime of the Thirty, not in order to settle a grudge, but rather to confiscate his wealth.58 Returning to the surface of the dialogue and the round of defense speeches, we notice that there is also evidence of tension. Whatever “smouldering antagonism” or resentment is implied by Charmides’ “defense” of the selfish benefits of “Socratic” poverty, on the one hand, and Kallias’ or Nikeratos’ justification of the unselfish benefits of traditional wealth, on the other hand, there remains for now nothing more than a “difference of taste” (or of smell) regarding what is noble. Whatever antagonism here might “flare up” later into violence and murder, the men present are all said by Xenophon to be gentlemen, καλοκἄγαθοι. But there is a “hidden ambiguity” among them as to what being a gentleman means, an ambiguity which can lead to factional strife and conflict (as Kritoboulos knows: Mem. II.6.16–27). Socrates may be a gentleman, in one sense of the term, while most others are gentlemen in a very different sense (as both Xenophon and his Socrates are aware: see Oik. 11). A direct contrast or confrontation between Socrates and his way of life and that of other Athenian gentlemen would be as inappropriate to the setting of the Symposium as it would be imprudent in the context of Socrates’ conversation with Ischomachos in the Oikonomikos or in Xenophon’s defense of



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Socrates’ justice in his Memorabilia (where the only confrontation on display there is between Socrates and the sophist Hippias: Mem. I.6). Nevertheless, that contrast is still evident in the Symposium.59 Whatever the similarity between conventional gentlemanliness and tyrant, implied in the defense speeches of Kallias, Nikeratos, and Charmides, Socrates, who had inserted himself in some way into the discussions of each three preceding apologia (including that of Kritoboulos—but for different reasons), is completely silent about what Charmides says in his defense speech.60 A wise man who can resemble a gentleman on occasion knows better than to unmask a potential tyrant who is disguised by circumstances as a poor man, especially insofar as he bears similarity to the other gentlemen present, even in times of play. Put another way, at the time of the dialogue, Lykon had no reason to bear a grudge against Socrates for his association with Charmides. Whether or not Socrates should be held culpable for his indulgence of Charmides’ inclination to tyranny is a question even his worrisome companion Hermogenes does not raise. Perhaps he has been put off by Socrates’ earlier ironic defense against a similar charge made regarding Kritoboulos’ immoderation (to which we will return: see 4.23). Still the question must be asked: Is Socrates really guilty by association with a man like Charmides, or does he merely appear guilty from the perspective of the grieving Lykon, two decades later after the death of his son? Looking back on this occasion, Lykon may see Socrates’ silence with respect to Charmides’ tyrannical inclinations as condoning (not to say encouraging) private conduct which later would lead to public offenses. The question is whether or not Charmides began to lean in this direction of hubris, learning to “despise” the democratic regime and being inclined to “be violent” (see the accusations at Mem. I.2.9), as a direct result of his association with Socrates and listening to his speeches. Xenophon, in his Memorabilia, argues that it would be difficult, if not also unjust, to arrive at such a conclusion, based on a closer look at what Socrates said and did. On this occasion at least, with respect to his young companion Charmides, what Socrates did was to remain silent. Antisthenes, too, remained silent, but for a different reason. Antisthenes It is possible that Antisthenes refrains from his usual mode of questioning, not because he has been tamed by Kallias’ refutation, but because of his basic agreement with the characterization of poverty presented by Charmides. Is Antisthenes, like Charmides, prone to a kind of tyrannical excess? Suspecting as much of him, or perhaps by this means quietly indicating his dissatisfaction with Charmides’ speech in defense of poverty,61 Socrates immediately turns to Antisthenes, calling for him to take up his defense next (4.34): “But come then, you in turn tell us, Antisthenes, why, having so little, you take great pride in wealth.” He seems to have in mind hearing articulated an alternative to Charmides’ account of “wealth” from one of his own companions. The first effect of Socrates’ prompt is to restore the order of defense speeches which had been temporarily disturbed by Kallias’ curiousity about Charmides’ claim. This restoration, at the same time, brings it about that Antisthenes’ speech becomes the central one in the round of defense speeches. The absence of Lykon and Autolykos, and addition of the Syracusan, reduces the number in the round of defense speeches to nine from the original ten display speeches. It has the added effect that the contest of wisdom or antagonism which had originated the round of display speeches in Section Three is now mediated by Antisthenes at the center, and the defense speeches of Kallias and Socrates, accordingly, now occupy the extremes of first and last in the round of Section Four.62 It seems that Xenophon wishes to call attention

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to Antisthenes here, either the content or the mode of his speech, in contradistinction to both Kallias and Socrates. We are at the midway point in the action of the Symposium. As with the chariot-race invoked earlier by Nikeratos’ recitation of lines from Homer’s Iliad, the decisive turning-post has been reached.63 In defending his claim, that despite having so little he takes pride in his wealth, Antisthenes intends to prosecute the same thesis he had used to contend with Kallias’ “art” of justice (4.34): “Because I believe, men, human beings do not hold wealth or poverty in their households but in their souls.” There is something commonsensical about this claim, according to Antisthenes, even if people often seem to act as if it is not true. No matter how great or small their store of possessions happens to be, most human beings—that is, many private individuals in addition to tyrants—cannot quench their desire to acquire more. People often willingly undertake every toil and risk danger to increase their possessions and satisfy this desire, a point already made by Charmides (4.33, cf. Oik. 14.10), tyrants hungrily64 make use of “far more terrible” means than even the most impoverished human beings in order to feed and sate their appetite for more possessions (4.35–36). Necessity or “need” surely compels “these”—and there is an ambiguity as to whether Antisthenes means tyrants, only65 or all those who suffer “need”—to commit some injustice: they steal, sack households, even sell other men into slavery. But “some tyrants exist” who are compelled by their desire to acquire more to “destroy whole households and murder masses, selling off into slavery entire poleis for the sake of [acquiring] possessions” (4.36). The most vicious deeds of tyrants therefore stem from the same “exceedingly harsh disease” (cf. 2.10, 8.6) which afflicts all private individuals, though not all human beings suffer this affliction to the same degree. Tyrants then are common and belong to the dēmos (see Mem IV 2.37–39).66 Antisthenes’ thesis implicitly appears to concede the crucial point regarding the human condition to the claim of Machiavelli, that “it is truly a thing very natural and ordinary to desire to acquire,” and Machiavelli learned this lesson above all from a continuous reading of the ancients, and of Xenophon in particular; which is to say, at least in one respect, and perhaps the decisive one, Antisthenes holds that human beings are equal: they all desire more, and therefore are always in need.67 Throughout this speech, which seems to take seriously the need for a defense, Antisthenes (unlike Machiavelli)68 refers to the health or sickness of the soul, not the body, although his terms strongly evoke a physical sense of famine and hunger in the souls of those whom he understands to be “poor.” In his view, a person whose soul is always hungry to acquire more possessions suffers “the same things as someone who, even if he had much and ate much, could never be satiated” (4.37). Antisthenes says, quite charitably, that he feels “very much pity” for those who suffer from this disease and cannot feed their soul enough, those whose souls, in other words, are disfigured by necessity. He, however, so he boasts, possesses “so much” that he can “scarcely discover it all.” Among the possessions of his which he has discovered and in which he obviously takes great pride is a cure for this sickness that afflicts human beings. Presumably this remedy relieves impoverished souls of the interminable desire to acquire imposed by necessity because it furnishes human beings with an abundance of wealth. Were he indeed capable of teaching others how to use this remedy, Antisthenes would rival Kallias in being able to make human beings more just by conquering the poverty of soul that urges the commission of injustice. Since he does not claim to teach or improve others with respect to justice, are we to conclude that he despises most human beings, dēmos and tyrants alike, for their contemptible neediness?



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The examples marshaled by Antisthenes to defend this point digress from a full articulation of the remedy, turning instead to an enumeration of the many bodily necessities which he manages to provide for himself and which he consequently enjoys no less than even “the wealthiest Kallias here” (4.37, cf. 3.13, 4.11). For having learned to discipline his need for food, drink, shelter, and his desire “to indulge in the things of Aphrodite” (cf. 3.1), Antisthenes satisfies his appetite with whatever happens to be most readily available to him, accumulating pleasure as the dividend of continence (4.37–38). So much does this ascetic delight in the enjoyment of the most basic things that he even boasts he would not pray “to be more pleased, but less, some of the things being more pleasurable than what is borne with benefit” (4.39, cf. 4.33). Not only does he thus appear to have no real need of the gods when it comes to satisfying his own needs, but he even appears to despise the things usually supplied by the polis (4.41): “For whenever I wish to experience pleasure I don’t buy the honored things from the agora—for they have become very expensive—but dispense these from my soul.” He does not require others or the polis to satisfy his needs, and whenever he desires more, he remembers that “it makes all the more difference with regard to pleasure” if he chooses to provide what is “lacking” only after he has “endured a wait,” thus increasing his pleasure merely by increasing his desire or need. By his own account, Antisthenes claims to be self-sufficient (ἀυτάρκεια) because of his selfcontrol or continence (ἐγκράτεια). He has no need of the expensive things, or the “honored things” (τὰ τίμια), such as Kallias’ imported wine for example, which others purchase in the agora. He honors his own abundant soul as the storehouse of his “honored” possessions from which he draws and dispenses his wealth. In addition to presenting himself as a man confident that he knows what justice is, Antisthenes’ extreme continence and self-reliance somehow leave the impression of a proud man whose way of life implicitly boasts of being not only apolitical, but also atheistic. Contrary to Hermogenes, Antisthenes claims to have no need of the gods or of their friendship.69 Ironically, Antisthenes—proudly venturing beyond his earlier imitation of the continent Socrates of the Memorabilia (see, e.g., Mem. I.2.1–2, 3.5, 6.4–10)—is now speaking more like the boastful Socrates of the Apology.70 Antisthenes’ form of economic self-sufficiency, he goes on to say, surpasses even Kallias’ purse when it comes to justice since his wealth, being constantly replenished, never runs dry or compels a man to (political) tyranny as a way of continually acquiring or, in the case of Charmides, reacquiring more possessions (4.42–43): “Indeed it is likely that they are more just who examine what is economical rather than abundance-of-possessions. Those for whom what is present is most of all sufficient least of all grasp at what belongs to others.” Moreover, he argues, it is worth having in mind that such wealth makes provisions for liberality. Antisthenes’ soul, it seems, so overflows with riches that, like a brother who receives an equal share of inheritance and still has enough and “even has an abundance for his expenses” in contrast with another brother who, having spent his entire share, finds himself “in need of everything” (4.35), he is prepared to give as much as he has to help others. His wealth thus furnishes him with all that he needs to be truly “liberal” (ἐλευθερίος) and assist his friends (4.43): “Now I, too, begrudge no one, but even display to all my friends and give a share of the wealth in my soul (πλούτον τῇ ἐμῇ ψυχῇ) to whomever is willing.” This wealth, in addition to maximizing pleasure for him, competes with Kallias’ distribution of his household wealth as an “art” of justice. And to whom, like a generous father, does Antisthenes owe this bountiful inheritance, or acquisition, of such a rare kind of wealth? Assuming the curiosity of the symposiasts, Antisthenes

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does not hesitate to reveal the source of his soul’s riches. In his answer we can catch a glimpse (cf. 8.3–6) of whom and what he is truly most proud (4.43–44): For it is Socrates here, from whom I acquired this [wealth], who helped me neither by calculating nor weighing but as much as I was able to carry off, he gave to me. . . . Moreover, the most divine possession of all—leisure—always you all see being near to me, such that I behold the worthiest sights and hear the worthiest sounds, and—what I honor most of all—I pass the day at leisure with Socrates.

He owes his wealth and his capacity for self-sufficiency, or so he claims, to Socrates, and it is “the most divine” or undying possession that comes with it, namely, “leisure” (σχολή), that Antisthenes makes use of in passing days together with Socrates, seeing “the worthiest sights” (τὰ ἀξιοθέατα) and hearing “the worthiest sounds” (τὰ ἀξιάκοθστα).71 This activity, associating in his leisure with Socrates, Antisthenes honors most of all, more than the other things which he proudly claims to dispense from his soul. Xenophon, on another occasion, gives us reason to doubt whether Socrates would agree he and Antisthenes genuinely share in this most divine possession, since he jokingly considers Antisthenes’ unbridled enthusiasm to be precisely something which deprives him of his usual leisure (see Mem. III.11.16–17; cf. Sym. 8.3–6). Moreover, the benefit or wealth Antisthenes claims has its source in leisure—his continence (ἐγκράτεια)—is hardly considered by Socrates to be a virtue, let alone one worthy of boasting. For Socrates, continence and self-control partakes of ambivalence: it can become “the foundation of virtue” (see Mem. I.5.3–4), but it is also equally compatible with vice.72 Antisthenes’ conclusion, nevertheless, speaks as much of Socrates as it does of himself,73 presuming to sum up Socrates’ desire as consistent with his own sense of the economy of the best possible life for human beings. He proclaims that neither he nor Socrates “marvels” at those who happen to be able to “count out the most gold,” that is, whose conventional wealth can be judged according to the number of talents of silver or gold they possessed; but rather, he claims that he, like Socrates, is “brought to completion by those with him who are most pleasing to him” (4.44; cf. 4.32). Antisthenes thus proposes that he repays in kind the very pleasures which Socrates has taught him to cultivate and hoard in his own soul. As a result of their association with each other, Antisthenes believes that he enjoys the “most honored” thing of all, and that he and Socrates are completed by those who please them (διατελέω: 4.4, see 8.41; cf. ἀποτελέω: 1.10, 2.7, 4.64). Being together with Socrates is in itself a kind of education, according to Antisthenes. It remains unclear, however, whether Antisthenes pleases Socrates—to say nothing about whether the latter is brought to completion by association (συνουσία) with the former.74 Socrates says nothing to confirm his agreement with what Antisthenes has said. A time will come when Socrates will distinguish himself from the ascetic Antisthenes, and in such a way as to reveal at the same time his affinity for the erotic Charmides and beautiful Kritoboulos (see 8.2–6). Until that time, the word of Xenophon rather than Socrates must suffice, for Xenophon concludes the apologia of Antisthenes with a terse editorial remark, commenting very ambiguously (4.45): “This, then, was the way that he spoke.”

CHARGES OF CORRUPTION Xenophon seems no more eager to comment on Antisthenes’ defense than Socrates. His laconic remark says nothing more or less than was most obviously the case. Similarly, Socrates’



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intervention at the end of Charmides’ speech (4.34) takes the place of the kind of editorial remark that had separated the first three speakers (Kallias: 4.5, Nikeratos: 4.9, and Kritoboulos: 4.28, end). By openly announcing his great pride “in wealth,” despite, as Socrates says, “having so little,”75 Antisthenes makes his claim purposefully paradoxical,76 and he does not conceal his intention to compete with his host, whose wealth is visibly displayed in the Sym­ posium. Socrates had observed that Charmides’ poverty was paradoxical, leading Kallias out of curiousity to prompt Charmides to speak out of turn. Antisthenes quite indelicately chose not to wait for Kallias to come to him, nor did he think it unsuitable to praise frugality and censure extravagance at a lavish banquet and drinking party. Unlike his master, Antisthenes does not appear to exercise self-control with respect to speech. But his account of his wealth is recognizably Socratic and agrees with what Socrates on other occasions says about continence (see Oik. II.2–4; cf. Mem. IV.2.38). Still, Socrates will find an occasion later in the Symposium to chastise Antisthenes playfully (see 8.3–6).77 Taken together, Charmides’ proud defense of Socratic “poverty” and Antisthenes’ proud defense of Socratic “wealth” represent two interpretations or portraits of Socrates’ way of life and Socratic economics. Socrates, for his part, shows an affinity more for Charmides than Antisthenes, perhaps preferring a potentially volatile combination of erōs and manliness, over a cynically harsh deconstruction of beauty through refutation; the latter tears down and disorders, while the former veers toward an excess of desire to make oneself whole, a longing that can manifest in tyrannical pursuits in private life as well as in public affairs.78 Whatever similarities exist between the lives of these two frequent companions of Socrates, Antisthenes distances himself from Charmides in a crucial respect. Charmides did not willingly relinquish his wealth to be at “leisure” with Socrates and even remains desirous of reacquiring and enjoying it privately, but Antisthenes defends his leisure by defining the usual meaning of poverty as a form of “wealth” which he thoroughly enjoys and is eager to share with anyone, regardless of what political regime he happens to be living in. Charmides said nothing of sharing his wealth, even with his friends. This difference, however, from a gentleman’s point of view, does nothing to smooth over the common threat posed by the lives of these two companions of Socrates. Just as Charmides had called into doubt his attachment to nobility by his reference to tyranny, Antisthenes, too, utters a remark that casts into doubt his own attachment to what is noble (τὸ καλόν), in part, because it strikes at the liberality79 of the very wealth which he uses to satisfy and derive pleasure from his disciplined desires (4.40): “But the most worthy possession in my wealth I consider to be this, that if someone were to take from me all which I now have, I see no deed of so base a kind that it would not be sufficient to furnish provisions for me.” Such reasoning—that one’s worthiest possession is the knowledge that there is no deed, no matter how base, which is proscribed—certainly runs counter to one of the fundamental inquiries of Xenophon’s Socrates, namely, the consideration of what is noble and what is shameful.80 Antisthenes, it appears, lacks any standards at all, nor does he appear to have any interest in an inquiry essential to the Socratic life. In another respect, Antisthenes’ professed cynicism or asceticism is itself a kind of solution to the grave political problem posed by the instability fomented by those like Kritias or Charmides or Alcibiades who are erotic and ambitious. For he believes he has found a way to profess being apolitical, while still ruling over others, through his imitation of Socratic elen­ chos and his use of Socratic wealth.81 With his excessive adherence to his own ascetic version of Socratic continence, Antisthenes turns Charmides’ political vice into an apolitical virtue. In other words, not all those who followed and imitated Socrates did so because they had

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purged themselves of their political ambitions for the sake of pursuing wisdom. Some may be merely biding their time with Socrates until they find what they are really looking for; others may believe they have found in the Socratic regime another means of ruling. We recall that no defense is made by Xenophon against the charge that Socrates encouraged, or rather did not sufficiently try to chasten or undermine, the tyrannical tendencies of a few of his young companions (see Mem. I.2.9ff.).82 As with Charmides, we quickly begin to see that Antisthenes’ understanding and imitation of Socrates’ way of life leaves something to be desired, even though both seem to take seriously that aspect which they happen to have caught hold of.83 Whereas Charmides’ defense of Socratic poverty concealed his anti-political ire and taste for political tyranny with a façade of contentment, Antisthenes’ defense of Socratic wealth boasts a kind of autocracy that barely disguises his disdain for politics and essentially anti-theological ire. Both are distorted reflections or caricatures of Socratic economics.84 Properly practiced, there is something Socratic or philosophic in the desire for self-contentment and self-sufficiency (cf. 2.15–20) akin to a state of soul not unlike the royal art of ruling that Socrates often praised (see, e.g., Mem. I.2.58– 59).85 “But of course the tyrannical imitation of Socratic self-sufficiency is a distortion,”86 as one sees from a closer look at the portrait of Socrates elsewhere in Xenophon’s recollections (see Mem. IV.8.11; Oik. 2.1–8; Apo. 3, 16–18). When abused by those who are ambitious or immoderate, the appropriation of Socratic continence or self-sufficiency verges on tyranny. If the Socratic tendencies or deficiencies in Charmides and Antisthenes serve to aggravate the sensibilities of conventional gentlemen, then it poses a threat to Socrates himself—insofar as their representation of the Socratic life is not perceived by those who see them to be a distortion. In their interpretation and application of the Socratic doctrines of self-sufficiency and continence, Charmides and Antisthenes reveal themselves to resemble closely the Alcibiades and Aristippos (or Antiphon and Hippias) of Xenophon’s Memorabilia. In that work, Xenophon had openly stated his intention to defend Socrates against the accusation that with his sophistic speeches he corrupted certain youths who later harmed the democratic polis. In the Symposium, Xenophon’s intention is to suggest playfully that Socrates really had much more in common with conventional gentlemen than is suggested by his companions and their caricature of his way of life.

LAUGHTER AND BEING Kallias, in reply to Antisthenes’ defense speech, swears a paradoxical oath, his fifth and last, and the central oath of the Symposium. Coming at the mid-way point in Xenophon’s Sympo­ sium, this oath marks the beginning of the second half of the dialogue. By means of this paradoxical oath Kallias calls attention to the sophistic inversion of the conventional accomplished by Charmides and Antisthenes in their apparently persuasive logoi (4.45): “By Hera! Both in other respects am I envious of your wealth and because the polis does not deal with you like a slave by commanding, nor do human beings become angry if you don’t lend [to them].” As one trained by sophists, Kallias recognizes the sophistic “art” of speeches when he hears it. In his reply, Kallias pretends to be convinced, invoking Hera, the goddess of women, in order to witness his jocular relinquishing of his own wealth, that wealth associated with conventional gentlemen, in favor of the Socratic wealth defended and advocated by Charmides and Antisthenes. Although he indicates there are other unstated reasons for being envious of this paradoxical wealth, Kallias says that he finds the exchange appealing because Socratic



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wealth, or wealth of the soul, liberates its possessor from the tyranny of the polis and because, as Socrates himself had testified, it allows one to avoid the resentful anger of human beings: the possession of it is least liable to be begrudged by others (3.9).87 One suspects from his remarks that Kallias, if in fact he were to seek to acquire Socratic wealth, would do so for the reason Charmides and Antisthenes do so: for the sake of its effects. Whatever the reason may be, Kallias, comically, turns himself full circle by rejecting the very wealth upon which he had based his pride, in favor of the poverty, or Socratic wealth, that will free him from the demands of men to spend generously on their behalf. Whether or not any of the other symposiasts take seriously Kallias’ renunciation of pride in his conventional form of wealth, Nikeratos is moved to offer a playful defense, or justification, of traditional wealth, in terms which seek to reassert the traditional authority of the divine and of Homer, and in so doing, he strikes a comic chord (4.45): “But by Zeus,” said Nikeratos, “don’t be envious [of his wealth]; for I, at least, am going to come near him as one who borrows this being-in-need-of-nothing, having learned from Homer to count— seven unfired tripods, and ten talents of gold, twenty gleaming basins, and twelve horses, —indeed, with weighing and with counting, I never cease eagerly desiring the most wealth, and because of these, perhaps to some I also seem to be a lover-of-the-most-possessions.” At this point everyone burst out laughing, believing that he had said the things that are.

Nikeratos playfully rebukes Kallias for his envy by jokingly stating his intention to ask Antis­ thenes to lend him some of his “wealth,” for having been educated by Homer to count his possessions, he can “never cease eagerly desiring” (ὠς ἐπιθυμῶν οὐ παύομαι) to get more.88 His desire to acquire “the most wealth” (πλείστον πλούτον), he admits, might also cause others to think of him as being the most possessions-loving (φιλοχρηματώτερός) of gentlemen. Everyone laughs at this statement by Nikeratos—the only time anyone at all is said to have laughed in this chapter, let alone all of them (ἔνθα δὴ ἀνεγέλασαν ἅπαντες).89 Nikeratos thus shares with Socrates the distinction of inspiring laughter among all the gentlemen of the Symposium (see 2.17, 3.10; cf. 2.17 [Socrates’ composure], 3.11 [Lykon’s interjection]). To speak more precisely, the self-effacing Nikeratos alone has the honor of saying something which makes everyone laugh, including himself (since he too is laughing at himself ) and Socrates, and it is the only time Socrates is said to have laughed at all (or been included in the laughter of all) throughout an evening devoted to the recollection of the playful deeds of gentlemen.90 But we must wonder why does Socrates laugh? Is it for the same reason or reasons as the others? Nikeratos’ proposed logos in defense of Homer thus arrives at its proper end, or conclusion, for “he had said the things that are” (τὰ ὄντα εἰρηκέναι αὐτόν). In a playfully self-deprecating but revealing self-critique, he unveils the deleterious economic effect of traditional Homeric education on aspiring gentlemen and honor-lovers—an insatiable acquisitiveness, inspired by love of wealth. Yet this characterization is announced so blithely as to elevate the Symposium to its comic height. From this “peak,” there will be a steady decline91 into seriousness as the evening becomes morning, for this is the last time laughter is heard in the dialogue. The turning-post is rounded: “The rest of the work is characterized by the greatest seriousness compatible with the circumstances.”92 At this point, however, the more serious connotations of the “hidden meanings” in these Homeric verses seem to have eluded the inebriated Nikeratos and (some of ) his listeners.

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Furthermore, Xenophon does not say that all those present understood “the things that are” in the same way,93 nor can we assume that everyone laughed for the same reason Socrates laughed. While he often speaks playfully, Xenophon’s Socrates rarely laughs.94 What is perhaps comical or humorous to Socrates about this speech by Nikeratos may only come to light once we understand what has been said as a kind of revelatory deed. He is playing the role of a self-worked philosopher, unwittingly pursuing and even stumbling in speech upon a pure articulation of “what is” (τὰ ὄντα). The nature of things is thereby ironically spoken in the underlying meaning (ὑπόνοια) of a human logos that simultaneously reveals and conceals.95 Xenophon’s Socrates is said to have laughed on only two occasions: here, in ostensibly the most playful of his Socratic dialogues, and also, in Apology of Socrates to the Athenian Jury (28), the least playful setting of Xenophon’s Socratic dialogues, an incongruity compounded by the fact that Socrates is said to have laughed at the tears of one of his companions being shed on account of his failed defense speech (apologia) and his unjust death sentence. What is most immediately striking is the similarity between the two occasions in that Socrates is induced to laugh, as Strauss puts it, “by a touching manifestation of silliness.”96 On the latter occasion, Socrates laughs at the silly tears of his young companion (Phaedo) even after he himself had been condemned to death. Nikeratos’ playful remark is no less circumstantially tragic if one bears in mind that it was precisely his love of possessions, and hence his acquired wealth, which would later invite the envy of other ambitious gentlemen and be the cause of his death. Whatever it is that Socrates thinks about the insatiable acquisitiveness of the conventional gentlemen who are educated by Homeric epics is shrouded by the general laughter of the moment. Socrates’ laughter passes unnoticed; he says nothing more about ir, and his silent deliberations go unquestioned and thus remain undisclosed. If this laughter represents the climactic moment of the dialogue, then we are forced to confess that Socrates is not apparently central to the Symposium. At least, among gentlemen, even those at play, his deeds and his thought are glimpsed only at the margins, which is to say, obliquely. Even though his defense speech is saved for last, the action of the dialogue has already arrived at its “peak” and begins to descend, long before Socrates has had a chance to take his place center-stage. Once the sound of laughter has begun to subside, Xenophon directs our attention to Hermogenes, the most serious and gravely austere of Socrates’ companions, perhaps a companion of central importance to Xenophon’s portrait of Socrates in writing—not for the least reason because he is presented elsewhere as a witness in Socrates’ defense.97

PIETY AND BEAUTY—MIXING THE SERIOUS AND THE PLAYFUL Hermogenes After the humorous conversation that attends Antisthenes’ defense speech, Xenophon says that “someone” called upon Hermogenes, the impoverished half-brother of Kallias, to speak next. The discreet Nikeratos, with sensitivity for the obviously awkward presence of the illegitimate son of Hipponikos at his brother’s sumptuous banquet, had earlier invited Hermogenes to say what he “most exults in” (3.14). This alteration of the question posed to the other symposiasts preserves the lightheartedness of the setting by releasing the poor and marginalized brother from having to boast.98 The unnamed symposiast who now prompts Hermogenes’ apologia nevertheless has the impression that his claim to “exult in” the power



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and virtue of his attentive “friends” seems to be precisely a kind of Socratic wealth, and so a matter of great pride for him. What is perhaps most telling of the speaker’s identity is the subtle manner in which his summary alters the original terms of Hermogenes’ display speech. Hermogenes “task” (ἔργον) now, according to the unnamed speaker, is “to name” his friends, and “to display their great power and their concern” for him, so that he “may seem justly to take great pride in them” (δοκῇς δικαίως ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς μέγα φρονεῖν) (4.46). The prompt emphasizes the demonstration of justice with respect to pride, while the disputed question of virtue and boasts about wealth are quietly dropped. Such a carefully crafted recapitulation of Hermogenes’ “task” makes it hard to believe that Xenophon was simply unable to make out who had spoken, even amidst the raucous laughter created by the accidental humor of Nikeratos (cf. 2.23). We must assume he has other reasons for not mentioning the speaker’s name. Regardless, the defense speech delivered by Hermogenes with its decidedly austere tone changes the tack of the conversation dramatically, though the cause of this may belong as much to Xenophon as to the all-too-serious Hermogenes.99 Although he too lives a life of poverty—albeit under slightly different circumstances than Charmides or Antisthenes—and is a companion of Socrates, Hermogenes curiously refrains from mentioning either of these well-known facts in defense of his claim to exult in his friends. Instead, Hermogenes begins with what he believes is most of all agreed upon among human beings,100 which is that the beliefs that all human beings, Greeks and barbarians alike, hold in common: first of all, that the gods are supposed to be “all-knowing” both with respect to “the things that are” (τά ὄντα) as well as “the things that are to come.” For Hermogenes, this fact sufficiently explains why “every polis” and “every tribe” make use of divination “to inquire of the gods what ought and what ought not to be done” (see Mem. I.4.16). In addition, “we” also hold that the gods are the source of good and evil for human beings, which is why, for Hermogenes, everyone “beseeches” them “to avert the lowest sort of things” (ἀποτρέπειν τὰ φαῦλα; cf. 3.7) and “to give the good” (διδόναι τἀγαθὰ). According to Hermogenes, the providential nature of the divine is a universally-held belief (4.47), and he takes these “all-knowing and allpotent gods” (οἱ πάντα μὲν εἰδότες πάντα δὲ δυνάμενοι θεοὶ) to be the basis of his claim (4.48). Omniscient and omnipotent gods are considered by Hermogenes to be the friends who take care of him and in whom he, in turn, most exults. With a turn of phrase which reminds us of the earlier discussion of “hidden meanings” in Homer, Hermogenes sums up his rather brief defense by saying that these gods are his “friends,” “so much so that, on account of their concern for me, I never escape their notice, neither at night nor during the day, no matter wherever I set out or what I intend to do” (4.48, see 3.6). But this is not all. The friendship of the gods is made manifest to Hermogenes because they “signal” to him regarding their foreknowledge, by “sending as messengers voices and dreams and omens whatever must be and ought not be done,” and he never repents, he claims, when he heeds or is “persuaded” by them; whereas, when he “distrusted” them, he has been “directly chastised” or punished (4.48). Depending upon the kinds of goods which he receives when he trusts in the guidance of the gods, Hermogenes’ divine friends or friend, no less than Charmides’ poverty or Antisthenes’ continence—seem to be profitable to him, although he is by no means wealthy as a result. His piety, however, may prove to be a source of profit, or a form of limited acquisition, whose boundaries are defined by the foreknowledge and, as we will see, pleasure of the gods. Hence, in the economy of the pious man’s life, whether Greek or barbarian, the gods are the source of riches, because they alone are wise and

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possess knowledge of what is and what will be.101 Hermogenes, to repeat, unlike the other two Socratics, does not attribute his virtue to Socrates, although he may be the hidden cause of the benefits which Hermogenes happens to enjoy.102 Whether or not Hermogenes’ piety rests upon sound reasoning,103 Socrates says nothing to undermine his propositions about the gods; quite the opposite, he says there is “nothing distrustful” or untrustworthy (οὐδὲν ἄπιστον) at all about what he has said. Although Hermogenes does not refer to Socrates explicitly, he does echo in his speech about the gods what Socrates likely held. Socrates himself does not boast in this company of his piety, though elsewhere he may have chosen to do so. Insofar as the gods are all-knowing and send signs to human beings about their affairs, Xenophon’s Socrates agrees with Hermogenes (see Mem. I.1.2–9, 1.19, 3.2–4, 4.18–19); but this agreement is not made explicit.104 Instead, whereas he had ignored the economic regimes proudly claimed by his other two companions,105 Socrates now questions Hermogenes about these divine “friends” of his in whom he exults and of whom he is so proud (4.49, cf. 2.16). He expresses an interest in learning exactly how—“by paying court” to the gods (cf. 4.6, 4.29)—this companion of his who is also poor has come to “possess” such benefactors for himself. Hermogenes, in reply, swears that it was easy to do: “By the god Zeus, very economically,” which is to say, very cheaply (μάλα εὐτελῶς). This boast, namely, that the benevolence of the gods can be so readily bought, sounds profane, though he no doubt does not intend it so. What he means to stress is that a poor man is not excluded on account of his poverty from being benefited by the divine arbiters of human affairs. He continues, saying: “I praise them without spending anything, and I always in turn acknowledge what they give; I speak well of them whenever I can, and I never wittingly say what is false whenever I make them witnesses to these things” (4.49). Socrates replies in kind, taking Hermogenes’ claim to be not only a very serious one but a respectable one as well, swearing “By Zeus, if you do indeed possess these as such friends, then the gods also, as it seems, take pleasure in gentlemanliness (καλοκἀγαθίᾳ ἥδονται).” Xenophon then brings this exchange to an end with a closing remark: “Thus this speech (οὗτος ὁ λόγος), in this way, was seriously spoken (ἐσπουδαιολογήθη).” No further discussion ensues. Socrates’ judgment regarding the justness of Hermogenes’ claim, while it seems decisive, is actually tentative—his oath notwithstanding. His reply is framed as a conditional (if . . . then), and his conclusion points more toward a definition of “gentlemanliness” (which seems to entail being honest and acknowledging or giving back what is owed) than it does an agreement about the nature of the divine, or the veracity of Hermogenes’ claim to have the gods as friends. Further difficulties with Hermogenes’ defense speech arise out of the unanswered questions prompted by his defense. For example: How can friendship truly exist among those who are not equal, or who are by nature utterly unequal in the most decisive respects? What benefit, if any, do the gods receive from the irreproachable Hermogenes, in order to warrant their friendship and service to him in return (such as their gift of signs)? Do the immortal gods in some sense that eludes Hermogenes “need” worship? If not, on what grounds can it be said that Hermogenes enjoys their friendship, other than that proposed by Socrates, which is that these divine friends are also “melting away with love for gentlemanliness” in the same way as Hermogenes (see 8.3)? Do the gods show their providential support for and assure the well-being of everyone who pursues gentlemanliness in this way, or is it only Hermogenes who has their friendship? Either way, whether his benefit is exclusive or not, Hermogenes seems to harbor “certain sweet hopes” in exchange for his attentiveness to the gods (see Sym. 4.25, cf. Mem. IV.6.1).



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In this respect, Hermogenes’ account of his divine wealth, that is, what he hopes to receive from the gods in exchange for his devotion to them, reflects the promise of Virtue in the “Education of Herakles” (discussed above). He thereby opposes the seductive, but deceptive, claim to practice an art of justice made by his brother Kallias, a devotee of Vice. In her final argument and peroration in defense of Her way as long and steep yet superior in both pleasure and happiness, Virtue argues that Her adherents are admired not only by human beings who are themselves good and honored by their fatherlands, but also by the gods themselves. For throughout their lives and when they reach their end, the followers of Virtue become “friends of the gods” and, all along their arduous journey ascending the heights at the end of Her path, they can take the greatest pleasure in knowing that the nobility of their past deeds will be both celebrated in songs among mortals and honored by immortals—thus they will acquire “the most blessed happiness” (Mem. II.i.33). Hermogenes’ pious way of life, as he understands it, and which he associates with Socrates, far exceeds in both promises and rewards the ephemeral and hollow pleasures his profligate brother claims, merely on account of his mundane form of wealth, as his possessions. With the exception of Lykon and Autolykos, the pious Hermogenes swears the least of all the symposiasts in the Symposium (twice, at 4.49 and 8.12). His answer to Socrates’ question also underscores the seriousness and reverence with which he holds the gods, for in counting (cf. 4.45) the inexpensive means with which he serves the gods and makes them his friends, Hermogenes is careful not only to praise them and give back a portion of what he receives from them (cf. 4.3) but also to speak well of the gods and never knowingly to speak falsely when he invokes their name. When it comes to swearing oaths, something he rarely does, or making speeches, this companion of Socrates maintains a sense of seriousness even in times of play. Based on this enumeration of economical gifts by which he hopes to appease the gods and win their friendship, Hermogenes seems to pay court to the divine as a noble courtier would to worthy princes. He is, then, in a sense, no less acquisitive than those gentlemen, like Nikeratos, who have learned from Homer how to count. Yet, the most conspicuous service usually performed by human beings as a gift for the gods—from whom they wish to acquire some grace sacrificing, either publicly or privately—is not mentioned at all by Hermogenes, an omission perhaps justified by the fact that the all-knowing gods must have been aware of Hermogenes’ great malignity of fortune and poverty.106 If indeed Hermogenes’ appraisal of his service to the gods is correct, then the gods seem to have no need for the kind of justice that Kallias claims to dispense from his purse; they are pleased rather by those who most of all attend to them properly in speech.107 Socrates, by his oath and playful-serious reply to this apologia, seems to confirm both the notion that the gods take delight or pleasure in gentlemanliness, and that Hermogenes exemplifies serious piety as an essential aspect of being virtuous and just. He seems to praise the economical virtue of Hermogenes, in contrast to his silence about Kallias’ purse or Antisthenes’ soul, let alone Nikeratos’ poetry or Charmides’ poverty. Thus are the proverbial tables rhetorically turned on the rich Athenian gentleman, Kallias, by his seemingly impoverished brother, whose piety assures him the friendship of the gods, who themselves are said to be lovers of true gentlemanliness. The rich man thus becomes poor (losing the grace of the gods) and the poor man becomes a true gentleman (in the eyes of the immortals). For someone who enjoys the friendship of the immortals is a wealthy human being (see Mem. IV.3.12). Such a logos as this, Xenophon himself seems to acknowledge, certainly aspires to the highest kind of seriousness.108

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But this central editorial comment of Xenophon also insinuates, especially contrasted with the way in which the preceding speech and discussion ended (in general laughter), that the serious Hermogenes has struck a chord whose resonance throughout the remainder of the dialogue, even in silence, produces a discordant tone, one which Socrates explicitly disapproves of under present circumstances (see 6.1–4, 6.6–10, 7.3, 7.5). Is there already too much seriousness lingering beneath the surface of the Symposium (e.g., Kallias’ profane marital situations, Antisthenes’ harsh atheism, Charmides’ erotic tyranny and future responsibility for the death of Nikeratos and of Autolykos) for Hermogenes to continue speaking in a manner that foreshadows Socrates’ own apologia which boasts rather vexingly, in the view of the Athenian jurors, about his unorthodox understanding of the divine, his special daimonion, and his selfadmiration (see Apo. 4–5, 13–14, cf. 24)?109 There exist other non-tragic, but no less serious dilemmas among the symposiasts as well, including the potentially dangerous distortions of erōs explicitly addressed in Socrates’ speech in Section Eight which is the penultimate act of the dialogue. These are not limited to Hermogenes’ own burning passion for kalokagathia (see 8.3), but include as well Antisthenes’ erotic desire to imitate Socrates and his formidable continence (see 8.4–6) and Kallias’ widely regarded, although not entirely noble, furtive affection for Autolykos (see 8.7–11). Perhaps as a result of his account of a divine standard for gentlemanliness (see 8.12), the serious Hermogenes had alerted Socrates (wittingly or not) to the immoderation that he believed Socrates had been too playfully tolerating (see 8.2)110—especially through his indulgence of the beautiful young Kritoboulos and his erotic proclamations of affection, to which we must now finally turn our own attention. Kritoboulos Returning to Kritoboulos and his extensive defense speech proudly praising beauty, which had immediately followed the erotic topic of kissing mentioned by Charmides in his interpretation of Homeric poetry, we note that the theme of kalokagathia had been overtaken by erōs prior to the apologia of Hermogenes. Kritoboulos, in his unprompted apologia, picks up on claims regarding wealth made by Kallias, Antisthenes, and Nikeratos, speaking in defense of an “in-between” kind of wealth, nobly rooted in kalokagathia, whose currency establishes justice by providing benefits both to those who possess it as well as to those who receive it, or who fall under its sway and are improved by it (4.10).111 Kritoboulos opens his defense by calling upon the gentlemen themselves as witnesses. His claim to take “great pride” (μέγα φρονῶ: 4.10, 4.13, but cf. 3.7) in his beauty, or in being beautiful (ἐπι τῷ κάλλει), is justified, in part, on the basis of the fact that his companions, whom he regards as “noble and good men” (καλοὶ καὶ ἀγαθοὶ ἀνδροὶ) and trusts, always willingly invoke the gods as witnesses by swearing oaths, when they declare him to be “beautiful” (4.10).112 His beauty, therefore, rests firmly on the serious oaths of gentlemen. Should his pride prove false insofar as he fails to possess what he claims to be proud of, Kritoboulos playfully warns the others, then they, too, must “justly stand trial for fraud.”113 Hence, their claims as gentlemen will stand or fall according to the success of Kritoboulos’ defense speech here and the outcome of his agōn with Socrates in Section Five, the central section of the Symposium. On the other hand, proclaims Kritoboulos, if he is indeed “beautiful” (καλός), as they swear he is, and if it is true that they “suffer the same things” as he suffers when he is in the presence of the one who he thinks is beautiful, then he too is ready to swear “by all the gods”114 that he himself would refuse to accept the “dominion” or rule (ἀρχή) of the Persian King himself



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in exchange for his beauty (4.11). Kritoboulos thus ups the ante on both Kallias and Lykon, who had reached some agreement about the value of the King and his empire in terms of his vast property or “possessions” (see 3.13), when it comes to assessing what the beautiful is truly worth.115 Of all the symposiasts, with the exception of Socrates (in his speech in Section Eight) and of the Syracusan (through his performance in Section Nine), Kritoboulos comes the closest in the dialogue to an articulation of the absolute power of the beautiful (τὸ καλόν) to rule over human beings which Xenophon noted had been dominating the beginning of Kallias’ banquet (see 1.8–10, cf. 4.6). But what does Kritoboulos “suffer” on account of beauty? By his own admission, he gazes upon nothing with “more pleasure,” of “all that is beautiful or noble among human beings” (πάντα τὰ ἐν ἀνθρώποις καλά), than Kleinias; he claims that he would “accept being blind to all the rest,” if only he could continue to behold the beauty of that one alone. To the sun and the day Kritoboulos owes “the greatest gratitude” because they reveal Kleinias to him, while he is “vexed” by the night and sleeping because they obscure that one from his sight (4.12). Kritoboulos, it seems, based on his own confession, suffers from the absolute rule of erōs over his soul when looking at his beloved and, when absent, he longs for his beauty even more. Yet, we should recall that Kritoboulos’ gaze had been drawn (at least momentarily) toward Autolykos, whose beauty had held them all in silent observance due to the superior rule it had imposed (1.8–11).116 Kritoboulos thus positions his defense on two grounds: first of all, the implied kalokagathia of his companions, and second, the kingly “rule” (ἀρχή) of erōs, to conclude that it is “a worthy thing indeed” for those who are beautiful to take great pride in their beauty especially on account of the possessions which are thereby easily acquired. For “the strong must acquire good things by toiling, and the courageous by running risks, and even the wise by speaking . . . but the beautiful, even by being still, effect all this for themselves.” Being beautiful is not a kind of knowledge or an art, but evidently it is quite lucrative, since those who possess beauty can acquire that which is good, or goods (τὰ ἀγαθά), without any exertion, dispensing entirely with the need for “strength,” “courage,” or “wisdom,” which most people require to attain what they desire (4.13). The justice of such acquisitions is implied because benefits are given to them willingly. The acquisition of property and wealth by one who is beautiful is akin to kingly rule as defined by the perfect gentleman (see Oik. 21.11–12) precisely because those who are ruled are willing subjects. For although he “knows that property is a pleasant possession,” Kritoboulos says he “would with more pleasure give away” to Kleinias everything that is his “rather than take other things from another,” toiling “more easily” than being “at rest” and gladly running risks whenever it comes to serving the beautiful Kleinias. In sum, his desire to appease the one he holds to be beautiful—if necessary by the sacrifice of his own wealth and leisure—leads Kritoboulos to confess he would gladly renounce his rank as a “free man” (ελεύθερος) and become a slave, if only Kleinias “would wish to rule” over him (4.14). In his first lengthy speech in the Symposium, Kritoboulos thus shows himself to be open and honest about both his desires and his deficiencies. He speaks the same way on this evening as he does in the Oikonomikos (see Oik. 2.9 and 1.23). To the extent that the rule of the beautiful is willingly accepted and that human beings are led “toward all the virtues” by their desire to please them, Kritoboulos further concludes that it is “more just” for him to take pride in his beauty than Kallias does in his wealth. For the beautiful “inspire in those who are erotic” (τοῖς ἐρωτικοῖς) more “liberality” with their possessions, a greater “love for hard work” and also nobility in running risks, more modesty

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and self-control, whenever these erotic ones are in the presence of these beautiful ones “that they need most of all” (4.15).117 Kritoboulos also implies in his long list of virtues, although he stops short of explicitly saying so, that beauty inspires manliness in war, since he knows that his companions would even “go through fire” with him as their general (4.16). If Kritoboulos’ defense is credible, being beautiful benefits those who are kaloi, those who are erotic for kaloi, and the polis itself. He has certainly expanded the scope of his defense well beyond the task with which Socrates had prompted him to speak—how he makes others better by means of his beauty (3.7). Finally, it should go almost without saying that Kritoboulos also believes that beauty leads human beings to justice since, in the end, his whole speech is aimed at demonstrating that his beauty is the most just and most gentlemanly form of wealth. In response to the question Socrates had asked regarding his claim, his answer is decisive: “So do not be at a loss (ἀπόρει) any longer, Socrates, as to whether my beauty will benefit human beings” (4.16). According to Kritoboulos, the true art of justice belongs to those who are kaloi, for their beauty does what no other art can: those who are erotic for kalos, that is, those who are inspired by erōs, above all long to be with the beautiful ones whom they love to behold and, rather than be without them, they would run the risk of dying. Those erotic for beauty willingly submit themselves, wealth and all, to kingly rule and absolute dominion (see 1.8–10, 4.11, 4.14; cf. 3.6) of those beautiful ones whom they wish always to behold. Far from receiving back ingratitude from those who are benefited (cf. 4.3), Kritoboulos’ beauty (τὸ κάλλος) has the wonderful and admirable effect of inspiring loyalty, love, and justice in others. Such rule and willing submission are certainly the opposite of Socrates’ relationship with his wife, Xanthippe (cf. 2.10). In other words, like Kallias and Antisthenes, Kritoboulos presents himself and his claim regarding beauty very seriously, which is to say, as one who is not “at a loss” as to what justice is, and someone from whom everyone in the polis can learn, even someone like Socrates who is “an older man” or elder (πρεσβύτης: cf. 2.18). As evidence of this last point, that beauty does not wither away and become dishonorable when “past its prime,” but accompanies and is honored at “every age of life,” even into older age, Kritoboulos makes reference to the agōn among the “beautiful old men” (τοὺς καλοὺς γέροντους) during the Panathenaia for selection as “bearers of the young olive-tree branches for Athena” in the culminating procession near the end of the festival (4.17).118 One wonders about Kritoboulos’ intention here: Is he playfully rescuing Socrates from Kallias’ potentially serious accusation—that Socrates and his companions talk about justice (τὸ δίκαιον) but are at a loss as to what it is (4.1); or, is he playfully preparing the way for his own, slightly less serious indictment of Socrates and his speeches—as being merely boastful (see 4.18–20)? However this may be, Kritoboulos concludes with a challenge not to the older man’s beauty but to his speeches about wisdom, recalling to mind Socrates’ abiding interest (4.18; cf. 3.3): If it is pleasant to attain one’s wants from those who are willing, I know well that, even now, while being silent, I could more quickly persuade this boy here and the girl to kiss me rather than you, even if you say many and wise things.

As if on cue, Socrates, in a playful rebuttal, embraces the agōn implied in the insult of Kritoboulos, which is to say, the contest of beauty between the ages, overlooking the much more serious battle proposed between beauty and wisdom (4.19): “What’s this—are you boasting (κομπάζεις) about being more beautiful than me?” The question of course is as patently absurd



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as his other laughable comments in the Symposium (2.17 and 3.10), but this time his goading speech means to coax only Kritoboulos (cf. 1.16) into a greater playfulness. Supporting his boast by swearing an oath, his first of the dialogue,119 Kritoboulos cannot resist anticipating the victory of his superior beauty with a joke about Socrates’ infamous ugliness. Kritoboulos’ jest—that he himself would have to be uglier than the ugliest of all the Sileni “in the satyr plays” (ἐν τοῖς σατυρικοῖς), if he were judged to be less beautiful than Socrates—is followed immediately by what seems to be an editorial remark (in the manuscripts) of Xenophon: “Socrates indeed happened to bear a resemblance to these,” namely, the satyrs who appeared in the chorus of these bawdy parodies of tragedy performed at Athens. Socrates, undaunted by his companion’s confidence in his own beautiful bloom of youth, exhorts Kritoboulos to “remember the judgment concerning beauty (μεμνήσῃ διακριθῆναι περὶ τοῦ κάλλους) whenever the proposed speeches have gone around” (4.20). But, as we will see in the next Section, jury selection must precede the beauty contest—and this will prove decisive. Let us set aside Kritoboulos and his boast for now and observe that Kritoboulos does not deny that even the ugliest of the satyrs is wise, nor does Socrates deny that Kritoboulos is beautiful. In other words, Kritoboulos had boasted that the silence of the beautiful is more compelling than wisdom’s speech, but Socrates merely questions Kritoboulos’ boast that he is more beautiful than Socrates is. He thus playfully refuses to admit Kritoboulos’ superiority. The agōn of beauty will displace the kind of judgment that would need to follow the rounds of display and defense speeches in order to determine who had won the boasting contest, which according to Kallias was to be the means of fulfilling his promise to Socrates to demonstrate his own wisdom (1.5, 3.3). The beauty contest thus stands in place of that determination and becomes the comic reflection of the promised agōn with respect to wisdom which never openly occurs in Xenophon’s Symposium.120 As for Kritoboulos’ defense of his beauty, of which he is, as Socrates well knows, “most” proud, the virtuous benefits and justice to which he says his beauty willingly leads others as well as the wealth he claims it easily acquires, remain to be seen. Nevertheless, his defense does call into doubt the usefulness of the kind of conventional wealth possessed by Kallias and Nikeratos. Kallias had playfully renounced his conventional treasury of justice-inspiring coins (4.45, cf. 4.3), which appeared only to benefit others, in favor of a highly unconventional form of Socratic wealth, which is supplied by and enjoyed in leisure and hoarded by continence for one’s own pleasure or benefit, according to Charmides and Antisthenes. But a decent gentleman, Nikeratos, being “most-possessions-loving,” admittedly could not bring himself to renounce his wealth, even he if wished to attain what Socrates possesses (4.51). Kritoboulos, on account of his beauty, boasts of another kind of wealth, the possession of which is consistent with a conventional understanding of justice, and apparently a challenge to Socrates. What he is most proud of benefits himself as well as others. Socrates, on the other hand, as Section Five will make clear, has reason to believe that Kritoboulos’ wealth is no less tyrannical in its effect than that of Kallias, Nikeratos, Ischomachos, Charmides, or Antisthenes. Perhaps even more so, if he acquires lovers with his beauty, the way Ischomachos, the model gentleman, uses people and property for profit.121 Before proceeding to a consideration of the beauty of the soul contested in Section Five, that agōn which causes the symposiasts to forego the contest of wisdom and highlights the errant tendency of erōs to confuse or mistake body for soul—a corruption which Socrates seeks to reform in his extensive final speech in Section Eight, the defense speeches must be concluded. To finish these speeches we must return to the final exchanges in Section Four.

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AN EROTIC INTERLUDE Following the outburst of laughter created by Nikeratos’ comment (4.45) on Antisthenes’ speech and the quieting effect imposed by Hermogenes’ seriousness (4.49), an abrupt transition takes place (4.50): “But then they came around to Philippos, asking him what he saw in laughter to take great pride in.” The all-too-serious defense speech of the pious Hermogenes had changed the tone of the symposium, which now requires a remedy. The pleasant atmosphere of the evening must be restored; what better way to do so than to encourage the frivolous and no doubt intoxicated comedian (2.26–27) to offer a parodic apologia in defense of laughter. By prompting Philippos, “they” entertain a return to playfulness. Xenophon, once again, does not clarify who speaks. Philippos believes his to be a “worthy” claim because laughter attends happiness for human beings and is shunned by those who are unhappy and unwilling to laugh (4.50–51). This defense alludes to an intriguing, though unexplored observation about the power of laughter: human beings flee laughter when they are unhappy, fearing in part that they may be compelled to laugh even or especially when they do not wish to do so. Swearing his fourth and final oath of the dialogue, as a result perhaps of the evening’s quick rounds of wine, Nikeratos takes it on himself to declare that Philippos “justly” (δικαίως) takes “great pride” (μέγα φρονεῖς) in laughter. His reason for believing his summary judgment to be correct is that he himself suffers the very opposite. Being shunned by “friends” who are prospering, Nikeratos says he find himself besieged by those in misery and need, who hope to acquire something from him (4.51). As a gentleman, then, it seems that Nikeratos is in many ways “the very opposite of a jester.”122 In contrast to his earlier self-deprecating remark, Nikeratos’ joke falls flat this time, as have the jokes tendered by Philippos throughout the evening. The one time he comes across as serious, defending laughter as a pleasure enjoyed when times are good, Philippos wins attention and praise but only from a silly gentleman swimming in his cups. The difference between a playful Nikeratos and a serious Philippos of course is that the former does not need—or intend—to be funny, though his interjections happen to cause laughter; the latter needs—and attempts to cause—laughter, not because it makes him happy but because it is how he earns a living. It is clear that no one found in Nikeratos’ envious jest anything worthy of laughter: apparently, there is now nothing ironic about “the things that are,” or the hidden meanings, in what Nikeratos is saying. Philippos’ defense, on the other hand, while worthy of further examination, is not taken up at all by the other symposiasts. What is awkwardly clear, however, is that this brief interlude failed to turn the symposium away from the seriousness imposed by Hermogenes’ defense. Charmides intervenes in a way that tries to redirect attention toward what he finds desirable. Not satisfied with the remedy supplied by the speech of Philippos and Nikeratos’ comment, the erotic Charmides once again does something unexpected: he addresses one who stands outside of the gentlemen’s circle, prompting the Syracusan himself to enter the competition and say what it is he takes great pride in. But before the Syracusan can even respond, Charmides provocatively insinuates that the dancing boy must be his source of pride. On the contrary, the Syracusan objects to the inappropriate insinuation, swearing an oath that he is actually “exceedingly afraid” when it comes to the youth and his well-being on account of those who are “plotting to corrupt him” (4.52). Socrates swears “By Herakles!” when he hears this (a companion oath to Kallias’ Hera at 4.45)123 and discovers by questioning him that what the Syracusan really takes pride in are the “fools” who support him by paying to gaze upon his performers (4.55).



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In the discussion of erōs aroused by the contest in Section Five, we will return to Charmides and his interest in the Syracusan and his dancing boy, as well as to Socrates and his exchange with the Syracusan. For now, we note that Charmides’ reason or reasons for questioning the Syracusan, as he had all but done earlier (see 2.15–16 and 3.1), have the dramatic effect of politely bypassing the defense speeches of both the noble father and his son, Lykon and Autolykos. We are compelled to wonder in what sense Lykon and Autolykos have been or are being replaced or superseded by the Syracusan and his beautiful boy.

WORK AND NOBILITY—SOCRATIC ECONOMICS Following Charmides’ provocative dalliance with the Syracusan on the sensitive subject of his beautiful performing boy (4.52–55), we finally hear from Socrates himself. His defense speech occupies the final place, which had been allotted to Hermogenes in the preceding round of display speeches. Socrates’ apologia is prompted by Kallias whose unusual patience or perhaps pleasant distraction has reached its limit (4.56): “As for you then, Socrates, what do you have to say such that it is a worthy thing for you to take great pride in that which you mentioned, being such an ill-reputed art?” As Kallias implies, and Socrates seems to accept, judgment of the worth of his claim is inseparable from the way his “art” is perceived by gentlemen and therefore is inseparable from the opinion of others. Bearing this in mind, Socrates opens his defense of this “art” circumspectly, soliciting agreement first from the others present with respect to the “method” by which he intends to proceed in making his argument: “Let us agree first of what sort the works of the procurer are; and inasmuch as I ask, don’t shrink from answering, in order that we may see how much we are in agreement.” The symposiasts collectively responded, agreeing “certainly”—and thereafter, reports Xenophon, “they” continued to answer Socrates with that same reply (4.56). Socrates’ companions, with the exception of Antisthenes, had also sought to begin thus, although none proceeded to attain agreement by proposing questions for the others to answer; they adduced instead certain statements regarding what is agreed upon by gentlemen (see 4.10, 4.26, cf. 8.36) or what is usually agreed upon by human beings (see 4.47). Socrates proceeds only after he has explicitly gained the assent of all his fellow symposiasts, who do not shrink from answering his questions. To reiterate their agreement or willingness to follow this method in responding to Socrates, Xenophon steps out of his silent role once again with an editorial comment. Were it not for the playful context in which we find Socrates’ interlocutors on this occasion, and the suspicion that the symposiasts are playing along with the joke, this tragic chorus of solemn agreement would be a parody of Socratic dialogue. The alleged purpose of Socrates’ questioning is to arrive at some agreement about the kind of “work” (ἔργον) accomplished by the practitioner of the art associated with procuring lovers for someone else, or pandaring (μαστροπεία), in which Socrates claimed he takes great pride (3.10). When he first made this strange claim, Socrates had made an initial effort to preface his defense with reference to how lucrative such an art could be, an art which Kallias now says is a thoroughly “disreputable” (ἄδοξον) one. The thrust of Socrates’ questions here reveals the “good procurer” to be in fact a kind of teacher. For all agree that the work of the procurer is to improve the appearance of the one whom the art serves, or rather to teach that one how to please another through cosmetics and thus “to display” the one being procured “in a pleasing way” to those with whom they wish to “associate” (4.57). The implicit education in the “good” procurer’s work emerges from the line of questioning which follows, for what is pleasing and

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fitting is agreed to be a matter of rendering the eyes, voice, and words of the one under his charge in such a way as to make him or her look, sound, and speak in a friendly and modest way rather than hatefully and boldly. In other words, the work of the “good” procurer is to “teach what is advantageous with respect to pleasing” (4.58–59). To this statement, too, there continues to be explicit agreement among the gentlemen. Socrates remains silent as to how someone on display who wishes to please should smell, however. This had earlier been a point of contention or disagreement (see 2.2–5, cf. 2.6). Socrates’ purpose here is to establish agreement. But a moment of confusion or disagreement is brought to light by Socrates’ next question,124 for when he asked them “who would be better”—the procurer who is able to display his charge in a way which is pleasing to “one” or the one who does so with respect to “many”—it is Xenophon who replies: “At this point, however, they were divided” (4.59). Some of Socrates’ interlocutors said it is clear that to be pleasing to many is better, but for some others who merely repeated “certainly” in response, it seems that they did not recognize that the question required more than an affirmative or negative reply. Passing over this disagreement or confusion (perhaps caused by wine-induced inattention), Socrates continues, “saying that even this was agreed (καὶ τοῦτο ὁμολογεῖται),” asking if the one who is able to display those under his charge as pleasing “to the whole polis” must be considered “a perfectly good procurer” (παντελῶς ἀγαθὸς μαστροπὸς). In response, they “all” now declared in unison: “Manifestly, by Zeus!” (4.60). Whatever confusion or disagreement had existed is now erased.125 Whatever cause for disagreement had existed is effectively erased or obscured by the oath of all the symposiasts (“all” save Socrates himself who puts the question to the others) in agreement with this point, namely, that the best practitioner of this art should use it to procure the polis more so than an individual. With this, Socrates concludes: whosoever is able “to completely accomplish” such work “from among those under his command,” he says, would “justly take great pride” in his art and “justly receive very much pay” in exchange for his work, and the kind of education which renders pleasing the ones whom he prepares for those with whom they wish to “associate” (4.60). Socrates reiterates the justice of this art, and about this, too, they were all once again in complete agreement (καὶ ταῦτα πάντες συνωμολόγουν), according to Xenophon (4.61). Having proven in this way that the art of procuring—an art according to which one is able to teach some or a few of those under one’s command how to acquire what is desired—is in fact lucrative and, what is more, that he “justly” (δικαίως) deserves to be proud of it, Socrates appears to be speaking most seriously indeed (cf. 8.41). The one who understands this art has the capacity to lead the polis by making it look upon someone, or something being proposed, as appealing. Comically, the art of procuring is made by Socrates to resemble the political art itself, at least in a democratic regime where winning consent for what is being proposed constitutes success. An art that playfully intimates the character of Socratic economics also points to a Socratic understanding of politics and rhetoric.

TWO MODES OF SOCRATIC RHETORIC This Socratic method of speaking and acquiring agreement reveals something of the justice of Socrates and his education of others through speeches, for Socrates here speaks like the Socrates of Xenophon’s Memorabilia, while his companions and fellow symposiasts uniformly adopt the submissive role of a simple interlocutor who is led along in speech willingly and



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so comes to play the role of the non-objector par excellence (see Mem. IV.6.13–15).126 In a relevant passage from Xenophon’s recollections, we learn that if someone with whom Socrates is conversing objected or contradicted him without having anything clear to say, or made a counterclaim without supporting it properly, he would “lead the whole argument back up to its hypothesis,” in such a manner as to make the truth evident even to his contradictors by means of dialectic. But this was not the only Socratic mode of speaking. According to Xenophon, Socrates also possessed the capacity to speak rhetorically, which is to say, he could speak differently to different people under certain conditions (Mem. IV.6.1, 6.15):127 Whenever [Socrates] himself went through something in argument, he proceeded through what was most of all agreed upon, considering this to be an unfaltering kind of argument. Therefore, he, the most of all those who I know, when he would speak, produced agreement in his listeners. And he said that Homer attributed to his Odysseus this quality of being an unfaltering rhetor because he led his arguments through the opinions of human beings.

This Odyssean mode of speaking is exemplified in Socrates’ defense speech, given the role played by the symposiasts which is reiterated by Xenophon.128 With the exception of the question that momentarily divided them, the other gentlemen—who at times have shown themselves to be contentious, even quarrelsome—prove unexpectedly to be a model of agreement, neither objecting to nor contradicting Socrates’ argument (logos), a kind of docility or congeniality perhaps inspired by their wine-drinking. This agreeableness, however, may soon lead them to entertain indiscretions or misconduct as a result of their advanced intoxication. But for now, Socrates proceeds prudently “through what was most of all agreed upon” in order to establish agreement and defend his apologia for this lucrative art on an unfalteringly basis, namely, the reaffirmed opinion of his judges, those with whom he converses. In the introduction Xenophon provides to this crucial passage from his Memorabilia, we also begin to see the reason or purpose why Socrates distinguished between two modes of speaking with his companions—one appropriate to those who must proceed through opinion to reach agreement, and those who wanted to converse or examine in a more skilled manner (Mem. IV.6.1): How he made his companions more skilled in conversing dialectically, I also shall try to say. For Socrates, with respect to those who knew what each of the beings is, held that they would also be able to explain [this] to others; but whereas, with respect to those who did not know, he said, it is not surprising that they both faltered themselves and made others falter. For these reasons, he never ceased examining with his companions what each of the beings is.

In other words, rather than argue dialectically in search of truth regarding “what each of the beings is” (τί ἕκαστον εἴη τῶν ὄντων), Xenophon’s Socrates here in the Symposium speaks as Odysseus would speak, that is, rhetorically, for the sake of agreement based on opinion and therewith for the sake of establishing concord, the highest practical end of the polis.129 Leo Strauss, in his commentary on this passage from Xenophon’s Memorabilia, draws out the political implications that follow from this crucial observation regarding the twofold character of Socratic rhetoric:130 [Socrates] proceeded differently when he talked to a ‘contradictor’ from how he did when he talked to non-‘contradictors’; only the former procedure led to the truth, while the latter led to agreement on the basis of generally accepted opinions or to concord. It is easy to see the connection between this distinction, however vague, and the distinction between the good natures and those natures

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that are not good. The Odyssean kind of dialectics is characteristic of the good citizen but the good citizen, as is indicated in this very context, is not the same as the wise man doing the work peculiar to the wise man. It makes sense to call the Odyssean dialectics rhetoric. If this is so, Socrates did teach rhetoric and not merely dialectics strictly understood. Perhaps Xenophon was thinking of the Odyssean kind of dialectics when he said that Socrates made his companions skilled in ‘contriving.’ At any rate we understand now better why Socrates frequently quoted the verses in which Homer presents Odysseus differently to outstanding men and to common men (I.2.58).

To associate the rhetorical mode of Socratic dialectic with the political art, insofar as that art aims to persuade by producing agreement, is to see how Socrates taught his companions the difference between wisdom and moderation—and why Xenophon’s Socrates thought it prudent not to divide or separate them from one another. For the good citizen who is prudent will acknowledge that the search for the truth about each of the beings may define the work (ἔργον) of philosophy but that it may not be possible to engage in that work all the time or with everyone. In which case, Odyssean rhetoric rather than Socratic dialectic would be the safer manner to proceed in speech. A question arises at this point, digressing from the action of the dialogue: Is Socrates proud of his speeches, or rather, his art of speaking? If he claims great pride in his capacity in arguments, then Socrates’ influence over the Athenians who associate with him becomes a subject of scrutiny for those who would accuse him of corruption.131 Socrates’ two-fold mode of speaking, however, is surely representative of both his justice (contra Kallias) and his piety (a quality that unites him with Hermogenes whose place at the end of the round of speeches Socrates now occupies with his own apologia).132 Xenophon’s Memorabilia is devoted to Socrates’ justice, whereas his Apology of Socrates to the Athenian Jury is devoted to Socrates’ apparent superiority with respect to piety. Oikonomikos, on the other hand, directly contrasts Socrates in speech with a “perfect gentleman” and thus reveals the Socratic discourse par excel­ lence. Xenophon’s Symposium aims to make clear the Socratic deed par excellence which only comes to light among the playful deeds of gentlemen on this occasion. The playful deeds of gentlemen may only be worth remembering for Xenophon, or primarily so, because it is within this context that the exemplary Socratic deed may be glimpsed without offending the defense of Socrates as just and pious. To return to the action of the Symposium, in light of Xenophon’s opening claim, we notice that another question emerges: What, precisely, is the Socratic deed par excellence observable in the Symposium, one which exemplifies the kind of moderation Socrates has displayed thus far both in speech and in deed? The capacity for Odyssean or rhetorical speech implies a judgment on the part of Socrates regarding the nature or capacity of his interlocutor or interlocutors and the setting or circumstances of their conversation, for Xenophon tells us Socrates did not approach everyone in the same way. He distinguished among his interlocutors and companions those possessing “good natures” (τὰς ἀγαθὰς φύσεις), whose souls excelled in virtue (τὰς ψθχὰς πρὸς ἀρετὴν), from other kinds of human beings (Mem. IV.1.2–5, 5.12), and he also separated or distinguished his “good friends” and companions (see, e.g., Mem. I.6.14) from those who happened to be his companions or associates by chance or for other reasons, as well as his benefactors and those he benefited with his speeches on occasion.133 Given the range of participants in Xenophon’s Symposium—some invited, others uninvited (Philippos), old and young, most Athenian and free but not all (the Syracusan and his performers), we would be justified in thinking that the occasion did not lend itself to the mode of speaking that Socrates pursued with his close companions. The dialectical conversations which Xenophon points to as essential to the Socratic life of philosophy would not be appropriate



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among such a diverse group. Although his way of life is not an obvious theme of Xenophon’s Symposium, as it is of his Memorabilia,134 we do catch a glimpse of Socrates and his work as a philosopher in his Odyssean rhetoric throughout the evening. In the most important or decisive sense, the manner of Socrates’ speeches or arguments (logoi), which playful conversation at once reveals and conceals, points to precisely the kind of deed that Xenophon held most beneficial for one who wishes to learn how to become a “gentleman” from a Socratic perspective (see Mem. I.2.2–3, 2.18, IV.1.1, 7.1, 8.11). This insight may be made possible perhaps for the first time, here, in the Symposium, which, like the Ischomachos section of Oikonomikos (12.3–6, 6.12–16), belongs arguably to the time of the epoch-making Socratic turn away from the examination of nature itself (cf. Sym. 6.6–10, 7.2–5) toward his examinations of “the human things” (see Mem. I.1.16), and in particular his inquiry into what is gentlemanliness, kalokagathia, that peculiar virtue which provocatively conjoins “the noble” or “the beautiful” (καλός) with “the good” (ἄγαθος).135 At least this much, therefore, Socrates learned from his turn to examine questions befitting human beings, that not every human being has the same nature. One philosophical consequence of this discovery is the distinction between Socratic dialectic and Socrates’ Odyssean rhetoric which is recognized and preserved in writing by Xenophon. The presupposition or hypothesis upon which this distinction is based may be termed noetic heterogeneity—a concept to which we shall return in the last chapter of this study. Suffice it to say here that in the Symposium many, if not all, these various kinds of human beings are present, most notably, those who understand themselves to be “gentlemen” (καλοκἄγαθοι), those who are both “noble and good” (καλοὶ κἀγαθοί), some of whom happened also to be among Socrates’ associates, those who were attracted to Socrates and sought his company for various reasons.136 But even among those who were eager to accept what Socrates approved of and to follow and imitate him, and who may have been counted as his “true associates” or his “constant companions” (Mem. I.2.48, 6.1), not all may be numbered by Socrates among his “good friends” with whom he shared his study of the writings of the wise men of old (Mem. I.6.14), which Xenophon himself knew to be an important distinction. One such companion is Antisthenes, to whom Socrates returns at the end of his defense.

DISREPUTABLE ARTS—SOCRATES CONTRA ANTISTHENES Socrates, once he has proven his claim about the art of the good procurer, suddenly declares that it is not he, but Antisthenes who is “such a one” (4.61). Antisthenes is caught off-guard by the accusation and of course balks at the suggestion. Unwillingly at first to be so named, he questions why Socrates is “handing over” to him this disreputable, if practically defensible art that Socrates had just defended. Given his own harsh manner of speaking on display in the Symposium we doubt whether Antisthenes, who took little pains to make himself appear pleasing to others, was indeed someone good at teaching other people how to look, sound, or speak pleasingly (see 6.5, 8.4–6). Surely no one would suspect Antisthenes of possessing that art which Xenophon’s Memorabilia shows Socrates did practice occasionally on behalf of others. With a traditional oath, Socrates has no qualms affirming that Antisthenes has indeed “worked very well that art which accompanies” the procurer’s art, namely, the “art or skill of the pimp or go-between” (προαγωγεία). Despite his well-known disregard for convention, Antisthenes took offense at the attribution and became “very vexed,” and—just as he had done against Kallias—he roused himself to interrogate Socrates (4.62; cf. 1.7 and 4.2).

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In the face of Antisthenes’ objection that he has not worked this art, Socrates testifies that, in fact, he knows that Antisthenes has acted at least twice as a go-between for Kallias: once with “the wise Prodikos,” when he saw that Kallias was “passionately in love with philosophy” (ἐρῶντα φιλοσοφίας) and Prodikos was “in need of the useful things,” presumably money; and again, with Hippias, from whom Kallias “learned the art of memory” and on account of which he “has become more skilled in erotic matters because he never lets anyone beautiful he sees escape him” (4.62). Never forgetting a beautiful face, it seems, Kallias has grown “more erotic” (ἐρωτικώτερος) in his desires; his acquisitiveness in this regard is incomparable. Moreover, says Socrates, testifying to his own first-hand experience, Antisthenes once inspired him “to eagerly desire” (ἐπιθυμεῖν) to be brought together with a certain stranger from Heraklea—on account of which he is grateful (χάριν) to Antisthenes for introducing him, for it seemed to Socrates that this foreigner was “very much a gentleman” (πάνυ καλὸς κἀγαθὸς). On another occasion, Socrates continues, after again hearing Antisthenes’ praise of some stranger and “being passionately in love on account of his speeches” (διὰ τοὺς σοὺς λόγους ἐρῶντεσ), Socrates demurely confesses that he and this unknown foreigner “ran like dogs searching after each other” (4.63).137 For these reasons, then, Socrates holds Antisthenes to be someone capable of being a “good go-between” (ἀγαθὸν προαγωγὸν) and, going further to appease his companion’s anger, proclaims that someone “capable of recognizing those who benefit one another” and also “of making them eagerly desire each other” (δυνάμενος ποιεῖν ἐπιθυμεῖν ἀλλήλων), in his view, would also be quite capable “of making poleis friends and of bringing together suitable spouses,” and hence would be someone of “much worth” in the eyes of poleis, friends, and allies (4.64; cf. Cyr. VIII.4.13–26). Hearing this, Antisthenes’ ire at being called by Socrates a practitioner of the go-between’s art—that art which he had thought even more disreputable than the art of procurer and an art so ignoble that even he very uncharacteristically took offense at it (cf. 4.40)—yields, and he accepts it without question, it seems, now swearing “by Zeus,” that in his view it will lead to his acquiring even more wealth: “For if I am now capable of these things, my soul shall be fully loaded with wealth in every respect (σεσαγμένος δὴ παντάπασι πλούτου τὴν ψυχὴν ἔσομαι)!” (4.64) Antisthenes’ initial anger and his more remarkable reversal are revealing of the potential tension beneath the surface of his Socratic affections (cf. Mem. II.6.17–23).138 The conclusion of Socrates’ apologia thus playfully exposes the merely boastful logos of his companion Antisthenes, separating him out from his other companions (that is, Charmides, Hermogenes, and Kritoboulos) whose imitations or misappropriations of Socratic “wealth” (either as leisure, piety, or self-sufficiency) he has not openly sought to contrast himself in this setting. Despite his apologia on behalf of the wealth of his soul as self-sufficient and overabundant in its possessions (4.42–43), Antisthenes eagerly accepts the lucrative art which Socrates hands over to him, even though Socrates himself chooses to abstain from it, despite or because of the profit which may be had from it. He thus reveals that he, no less than Nikeratos (4.45), cannot cease desiring to acquire more. On this limitlessly acquisitive note, Xenophon ends the gentlemen’s entertainment of themselves in his Symposium: “And thus this going-round of speeches (ἡ περίοδος τῶν λόγων) was brought round to its end (ἀπετελέσθη).” In near silent contradistinction to this conclusion, we cannot fail to notice the somewhat obscured fact that Socrates himself, who could—if he chose—act as an altogether “good procurer” for the polis, does not wish for some reason to exercise this potentially lucrative and beneficial art (see Mem. I.2.48, 6.15). Socrates prefers to forego the wealth which he would



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“justly” deserve and take great pride in possessing as a sign of his “worth,” remaining instead simply a beneficiary on occasion of Antisthenes’ pandering which happens to introduce him to those with whom he eagerly desires to associate and from whom he eagerly desires to learn. Put simply, while seeking to enjoy the benefits of its practice on his behalf, Socrates rejects the enslaving pleasure that comes through the acquisition of wealth and thus shows himself still more continent in deed than he was in speech (see Mem. I.5.6). Unlike the sophists, the most famous of whom have been mentioned explicitly or implicitly at Kallias’ banquet, such as Protagoras, Gorgias, Prodikos, Hippias, and Antiphon, not to mention their proudly mimetic students, Socrates refuses to acquire wealth or, in his words, accept money, by prostituting himself or his wisdom; instead, he maintains his leisure and freedom from necessity in order to acquire, manage, and take benefit from and delight in those other kinds of possessions and pleasures which he holds to be worthy of those who are truly “noble and good” (see Mem. I.6.1–15). To become the friend of one who is a gentleman and good natured, Socrates explained to Antiphon in the Memorabilia, one must be moderate and consider that, when someone exchanges the “goods” that he possesses with friends, then he himself reaps the benefits and wealth associated with the life of philosophy, while at the same time doing “that which befits a gentleman who is also a good citizen” (ἃ τῷ καλῷ κἀγαθῷ πολίτῃ προσκήει: Mem. I.6.13). And the “goods” or wealth which the philosopher finds and shares with his good friends are associated with a close reading of those texts whose hidden meanings take time and effort to uncover (Mem. I.6.14): Accordingly, Antiphon, just as another is pleased by a good horse or dog or bird, even so am I myself more pleased by good friends, and whenever I possess something good I teach it and I bring them together with others from whom, I hold, they will receive some benefit with respect to virtue. And I go through the treasures of the wise men of old, which they wrote and left behind in their books, reading in common with my friends; and if we behold something good, we pluck it out for ourselves and we believe that it is a great gain for us to become beneficial to one another.

On account of hearing this Socratic form of economics, founded as it is upon a greatly expanded meaning of profit or gain, Xenophon himself says that he held Socrates to be truly “blessed” and, far from being one who boasted of his wealth or wisdom, led his companions— arguably by deeds as well as speeches—toward kalokagathia.

NOTES 1.  Strauss 1948/1991, 200–201. 2.  See Xen. Mem. I.1.5, beg., and I.7.1; see also, the reading of Mem. I.7, by Strauss 1972, 31. 3.  See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1108a20, 1127b8. 4.  See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1127b12–30, 1124b30; see also, West 1984, 92n71, in relation to Plato, Apology 37e: “To ‘be ironic’ (eirōneuesthai) is to dissemble, to say less than one thinks, to present oneself as less than one is. The opposite of irony is boastfulness, claiming to be more than one is.” 5.  See Bruell 1994, x-xii; see also, Higgins 1977, 39, esp. 13–14: “The ironic man is thus more attractive and charming because he speaks not for gain but to avoid bombast. Irony shuns exaggeration and is the fitting companion of the unpretentious and the simple. The ironic mode suits Xenophon’s style well; indeed, it is an essential part of that style. . . . If Xenophon’s use of irony was naturally appropriate, it was also to be expected because he was a student of Socrates. But if Xenophon’s simple style can be said to reflect a Socratic influence, so too can his infusion of that style with irony. . . . Irony is also the means by which the man concerned with what really is maintains his fidelity to the truth when speaking

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to the vulgar. It preserves and protects, as well as expresses, the individual awareness of what matters most of all. Irony gives nothing away, but it does invite those who observe it to look and look again. It thus sheds a further grace and deeper beauty on Xenophon’s descriptive charms. . . . In no other work did Xenophon display his concern and appreciation for the importance of humor and irony more than in the Symposium.” On the voice of Xenophon’s Socratic irony, see Too 2021. 6.  Xenophon himself, the silent participant in the Symposium, offers no display or defense speech per se, but perhaps his recollections (of the playful deeds of gentlemen, or Socrates in his other Socratic writings) are themselves a kind of knowledge to be proud of because they are beneficial, and hence worth remembering (see Sym. 1.1; Mem. I.3.1, beg., and IV.1.1). Of course, it should go without saying that the memories of Socrates’ speeches and deeds, which Xenophon is most proud of or holds in the highest regard on account of the benefit they convey through remembrance, may not be among those recollections which are recorded explicitly in his Socratic writings. 7.  With the last word of Memorabilia (IV.8.11) Xenophon exhorts the reader to “form a judgment” (κρινέτω), by comparing Socrates’ way of life (ἦθος)—as it is presented in his recollections, and on account of which Xenophon declares that Socrates seemed to him at least to be the kind of man who is “best and most happy” (ἆριστός τε ἀνὴρ καὶ εὐδαιμονέστατος)—with that of other human beings. Only within the Symposium does Xenophon place his memory of Socrates within the larger context of a group of men, and gentlemen no less (Sym. 1.1), rather than in conversation with a single interlocutor. On the Socratic method as a means of testing and judging character, consider that the earliest portrait of Socrates in Aristophanes’ Clouds (477) defines his activity in speech not as refutative or elenctic per se, with the intention of making his interlocutor perplexed, but rather as inquisitive, according to the Clouds’ instruction. See Clay 1994, 38–39. On the tragic limitation of Socratic rhetoric and the folly of judges, see Xen. Apo. 4, 9, 32; see also, Strauss 1970, 176–177; Higgins 1977, 40, 150n23. 8.  See Higgins 1977, 9; see also, the ostensible thesis of Bartlett 1996-b, 173: “The Symposium (Ban­ quet) of Xenophon details a single evening spent by Socrates and a number of his students and acquaintances. In it we see something of the various types of human beings who were attracted to Socrates and the differing motivations or hopes they had in seeking out his company. Xenophon thus brings to light, with his customary good humor and light touch, the character of Socrates’ circle. At the same time, the Symposium presents questions central to Socratic philosophy with remarkable brevity and . . . humor.” 9.  The dialogue runs the risk of being overthrown by uncharitable grudges displayed by certain symposiasts: while Kallias’ vexation and Antisthenes’ harsh refutations threaten the first half of the dialogue, the second half will have to overcome Hermogenes’ silence, Philippos’ caricatures, and the Syracusan’s displeasure at his performances being overlooked. See Higgins 1977, 17: “Dinner at Kallias’ thus becomes more and more sinister. At an affair where friendship should grow it gradually appears that it is more a case of hostility being repressed. Only Socrates displays a continual awareness of what is fitting.” There is, in other words, a fine line separating a contest (ἀγών) from war (πόλεμος). 10.  Like Ischomachos, Kallias is a man who loves to hear himself speak and is no less pleased being praised by himself than by others: see Hellenika VI.3.4; see also, Higgins 1977, 9. His manner of speaking, which is captured in Xenophon’s writing, assaults the ear with its heavy-handed and flamboyant style, bombast that stands apart from the lighthearted style of Xenophon and his Socrates whose words are leavened by humor and grace. But this peculiar pleasure in hearing oneself praised, on certain occasion, is not an unusual trait of conventional gentlemen (cf. Oik. 11.1–2), although they would certainly chafe at the thought of others knowing it. Would they not blushingly deny it (cf. Sym. 3.12–13)? 11.  See Strauss 1972, 152: “Whom apart from Socrates does he mean when he says that ‘you’ are perplexed as to what justice is? Surely not Antisthenes (cf. 3.4), to say nothing of Lykon and Autolykos.” 12.  There is something Ischomachean about Kallias’ notion of justice. The philanthropic art of justice which Kallias claims to exercise associates him with Ischomachos who deems his knowledge of the art of farming (“the apparently most important cognitive ingredient of his whole life”) to be philanthropic: see Oik. 15.3–4; Strauss 1970, 179–180. Both Kallias and Ischomachos stake their claim to gentlemanliness on a capacity to render justice, and thus instill goodwill toward themselves in others, a point which Antisthenes—but not Socrates—openly contradicts. See Strauss 1970, 167–168; Bruell 1984, 298. Their



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mutual claim to be able to produce justice in others necessarily implies knowledge of what justice is, in contrast to Socrates’ implied ignorance in this regard: Bruell 1984, 304. On the easy presumption in Kallias’ claim to know about justice, as opposed to the apparently more rigorous standards of Socrates and Xenophon in this regard, see Strauss 1970, 168n2 and 145n6. An extreme version of Kallias’ philan­ thropia is to be found in the unerotic Cyrus depicted by Xenophon: see Pangle 1994, 150. 13.  Each edition translates this familiar address differently: Bowen (1998) uses “Brilliant” as an alternative to the address “O best of men,” whereas Bartlett (1996-a) chooses “best one,” and Todd (1923) opts instead for “my good friend,” which is also offered by Liddell & Scott. 14.  On Antisthenes’ action, see Bowen 1998, 104, commenting on 4.2: “in Thucydides, the verb used here can mean ‘to react in rebellion.’” 15. See Oik. 7.4, 11.1–7, 12.3–4, 12.19, 17.5. Socrates’ role as listener and pupil in the part of Oikonomikos narrated by Socrates himself is argued by Ambler (1996, 115): “The Ischomachus section as a whole has a character that is easily summarized. In short, Socrates is here more student than teacher, and he is an uncommonly reserved student as well. Although it may appear unlikely that Socrates had much to learn from Ischomachus, his conduct shows him to have been a patient listener and generally careful not to throw his interlocutor on the defensive.” Antisthenes in the Symposium exhibits none of these Socratic qualities. In fact, he is much closer to the thinker caricatured in Aristophanes’ Clouds, or the proud man depicted in Xenophon’s Apology. By marked contrast, as Ambler points out. (1996, 103), Socrates in the Oikonomikos “is scarcely discernible as a philosopher” in the Aristophanean mode. This does not mean however that the dialogue is not, in a sense, comic. Several instances of open playfulness in the encounter between Socrates and Ischomachos, in addition to the generally light or less than serious tone of the dialogue as a whole, are noticed by Strauss (1970) and Ambler (1996) as being indispensable to grasping Xenophon’s purpose. 16.  As indicated above (at 3.4), this interrogative entails a choice between one of two options. 17.  On the difficulty of imitating the Socratic elenchos, see Ambler 1996, 102. 18.  Bowen 1998, 104, commenting on 4.2, correctly sees in Kallias’ comment the opinion of the aptly named “Old Oligarch” who is the speaker in Xenophon’s Constitution of the Athenians (1.5): “But everywhere on earth the best kind of people oppose democracy, for among the best there exists little wantonness and injustice, but the most concern for what is useful or good, whereas among the dēmos the most ignorance, and disorder, and evil exists; poverty leads them to shameful acts, and it is on account of lack of possessions that humans beings are uneducated and ignorant.” 19.  On the promises of Vice and Virtues from a Socratic perspective, see Pangle 2016; Gish 2021. 20.  Compare the counterargument broached by Socrates in one of his few lengthy reflections on the lucrative character of Ischomachos’ education in household management and farming in Oiko­ nomikos. In a response to a key passage, which represents the capstone argument in the gentleman’s education of Socrates (20.15–29), Socrates implies that Ischomachos’ father (the one from whom Ischomachos claims to have learned the art of the gentleman-farmer: 20.22) was “by nature” no less a lover of farming than the merchants (who are prone to an excessive love, as Socrates observes: 20.27) are lovers of gain. Why? Because farming, as practiced by Ischomachos’ father (and hence Ischomachos himself ) renders the farms which are worked a kind of commodity to be cultivated and then sold for profit (20.22–26), just like grain or olive oil or any other thing which happens to be valued or highly regarded by human beings (20.28). Socrates thus is led to believe that Ischomachos’ father (who is said to be “the Athenian most in love with farming”: 20.26) is a lover of farming in precisely the same sense as the conspicuously ungentlemanly (even barbaric: 8.11–12) class of merchants. Ischomachos replies that Socrates “is joking” of course, and reiterates his penultimate lecture with an analogy which, however, is no less susceptible to being cited by Socrates as yet another example of an acquisitive or lucrative art practiced by lovers of gain or profit: “I at least,” said Ischomachos, “believe that they are no less lovers of house-building, who render up the houses which they have built for pay, and then build others” (20.29). By comparison then, one could argue, Kallias’ house-builders may not build for themselves because, like Ischomachos’ farmers, they do not love, or take great pride in, their work per se but only on account of the profit that it brings.

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21.  See Strauss 1972, 153: “One must wonder whether Socrates too did not benefit the city for example and thus increase its justice without being able to induce the city to treat him justly (Memorablia I.2.61–62).” 22.  Regarding the on-going condition of Antisthenes’ soul which Socrates sees, beyond the discreet episode here in which he has suffered being refuted by Kallias, see Bowen 1998, 104, commenting on 4.5: “Sokrates uses the present imperative; Kallias used the aorist. The change of aspect deserves note: Kallias’ aorist puts it simply; ‘just put up with it.’ Sokrates’ imperfective draws attention to the process of putting up with it.” It may be some time still before Antisthenes takes stock of his sophistic possessions. 23.  See Strauss 1972, 153: “Antisthenes speaks like the Socrates of the Memorabilia.” 24.  In this conversation, the proud, elusive sophist Hippias, newly arrived in Athens, overhears a “perplexed” Socrates conversing with some people about where to go for a teacher in order to learn justice and announces that he himself has something to say about justice which no one can dispute, however he will not speak unless Socrates first declares what he holds justice to be (Mem. IV.4.5–9). Socrates proclaims that he “never ceases displaying” what he thinks the just is; but when Hippias looks for a display in speech from Socrates he hears instead: “If not in speech . . . in deed do I display it,” for a deed seems “more worthy testimony” than a speech regarding justice (IV.4.10). Hippias agrees to this and continues to agree with Socrates’ questions about the coincidence of the lawful and the just, until finally Xenophon concludes the conversation and the chapter with the remark: “By such speeches and deeds [Socrates] made those who approached [him] more just” (IV.4.25). Like Hippias, then, Kallias is eager to distinguish himself from the “perplexed” Socrates with respect to knowing what justice is, although it is ultimately Socrates not Hippias whom Xenophon declares capable of making those who were near him more just, not by putting money in their purses but rather by his speeches and his deeds. Only three Socratic conversations in the Memorabilia exceed in length this discussion of justice with Hippias (237 lines of Greek text in the Loeb edition): Socrates’ education of Euthydemus (IV.2); his discussion of education and virtue with Aristippos (II.1), which includes a lengthy section borrowed by Socrates from the sophist Prodikos; and finally his discussion of friendship with Kritoboulos (II.6). On the authority of Ambler (1996, 103, 115), we know that Socrates’ narrated conversation with Ischomachos is his longest conversation in all of Xenophon’s works, though Socrates speaks only one-quarter of its lines. The second longest Socratic conversation is with Kritoboulos, in the opening section of Oikonomikos, during which Socrates prepares Kritoboulos to hear his conversation with Ischomachos by persuading him that he is on the brink of economic ruin which may be averted with Socrates’ help, in part, by listening to that conversation. Socrates’ concern for Kritoboulos, both in speech and in deed, supports Xenophon’s conclusion about Socrates and refutation of Hippias. On the deeply ironic reply Socrates delivers to Hippias (Mem. IV.4.10), see Strauss 1939, 518–520, 519n2. 25.  See Strauss 1972, 153. For lessons Kallias may have learned from Hippias: see Sym. 4.62. 26. See Mem. I.2.1–3: Antisthenes may be the prime example of someone led by Socrates’ visible example to a life of great continence and endurance, one with “such measured needs that, although he possessed very little, he quite easily had what was enough for him.” Unlike Socrates, Antisthenes seems to have held no hopes of becoming a gentleman; instead, in spending time with Socrates, he was made to hope that by imitating him in speech he could become like him in being able to deal in logoi with everyone he happened to converse with as he pleased; he thus bears a resemblance to Alcibiades and Kritias (Mem I 2.14). Consider also, in light of Antisthenes’ role as questioner in the Symposium, which Socrates appeared to have willingly handed over to him, the irritation Kallias must have felt (and Socrates soon put to rest) at being confronted by a proxy rather than the man himself in his efforts to demonstrate that he was worthy of much seriousness. See Blanchard 2000, 439: “In order to make the transition from that stage of his training during which he prudently kept his mouth shut, to that in which he can earn a reputation for wisdom, Callias believes he must first pass an obstacle. That obstacle is Socrates.” 27.  See Strauss 1972, 152. 28.  On human prophets and divine wisdom, see Bowen 1998, 104, commenting on 4.5, where it is noted that Xenophon calls into question Socrates’ example by pointing to a prophet who foresaw and fulfilled his own death (Hellenika II.4.18–19; but cf. II.4.13–16).



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29.  Strauss 1972, 152–158. 30.  Nikeratos’ father, a prominent but cautious Athenian politician, must have had in mind a more traditional education than that which Kallias supplied himself with his inheritance in the virtual absence of his father. In the years following Xenophon’s Symposium, if not before, Nikeratos’ father, Nikias, no doubt had grown increasingly wary of the kind of sophistic education that was embodied in the young and daring Alcibiades, his rhetorical rival in persuading the dēmos and leading the polis. Nikias, of all the Athenians and Hellenes of that time, endured the “least deserved” fate, given that the whole course of his life up until his death had been lived in accordance with conventional virtue or “excellence” (ἀρετή): see Thucydides VII.86; see also, Plutarch, “Nicias” and “Alcibiades”; Westlake 1941; Adkins 1975. On the piety of Nicias and the disastrous conclusion of the Sicilian expedition, see Strauss 1964, 197–209; Orwin 2015. 31.  See Anastaplo 1983, 4–6. 32.  Antisthenes excerpts from Iliad III.179. The context, which refers to the conspicuous example of a kingly leader or ruler, and the conclusion of the line recited by Antisthenes should both be kept in mind. 33.  Not by chance, Antisthenes has fastened on a Socratic inquiry that establishes the education to continence as the foundation of the order “of those who are fit to rule.” Nevertheless, like Socrates’ interlocutor in that conversation in Memorabilia, Antisthenes will proudly announce he too chooses a via media (II.1.7–9), rejecting “the order of those fit to rule” as well as “the order of those who will not even lay a claim to rule,” and embracing, instead, “the order of those who wish to live as easily and as pleasantly as possible.” Antisthenes’ reference to Agamemnon also recalls Socratic conversations about generalship, which took as their starting point the Homeric texts: see Mem. III.1–2, esp. 1.4 and 2.2, in which Socrates himself quotes from the very same line in the Iliad introduced here by Antisthenes (Il. III.169, 179). 34.  That companion is Euthydemus, a good-looking young man who had gathered a large collection of works by poets and sophists to instruct himself, in the hope that he would become wise and surpass all of his rivals in both “speaking and doing” (Mem. II.4.1). So confident was he, and so unaware of his own ignorance, that Socrates made an effort to make clear to him the extent of his unexamined opinions. See Strauss 1972, 95–101, 153. The setting of this conversation, the longest of the Memorabilia and the sole instance of Socratic “instruction” presented by Xenophon in that work, is the shop of a bridle-maker or cobbler near the agora. See Clay 1994, 32, 32n19, 47n53; Lang 1978, 11–13, fig. 13; D.L. II.122. 35.  Nikeratos’ recitation, which is apparently unrelated to Antisthenes’ question and a swift change of topic, is from Nestor’s exhortation to his son to display his virtue nobly in the chariot-race during Achilles’ games in commemoration of Patroklos (Iliad XXIII.301–350). Nikeratos unwittingly calls attention with this quote to the threat of actual violence that is embedded in any kind of competition that occurs among ambitious gentlemen who take their honor seriously. In hastening to recite a verse that seems more appropriate to the setting of a symposion (“an onion in the drink for relish”: Il. XI.629), he touches accidentally on yet another potentially precarious aspect of a sympotic setting—its arousal of erōs. Nikeratos, like Euthydemus, seems not to be sufficiently aware of the surface meanings of the passages he recites, to say nothing of their depths. 36. See Oik. 12.17–18. Socrates’ silence on this point must have been deafening to those who had witnessed, not to mention suffered, the “devastating potential of a cross-examination by Socrates”: see Mem IV.2.23, 2.39; cf. IV.2.8–9, 3.2, 3.18, 5.2, 5.10–12; Ambler 1996, 125n14, 130–131. From a Socratic point of view, as with Kallias, Nikeratos’ resemblance to Ischomachos leaves the impression that a serious self-deception is at work in the lives of conventional gentlemen. 37.  The competitive recitation of Homer was one of the contests that distinguished the Panathenaia at Athens from the other major pan-Hellenic games: see Burkert 1985, 106. 38.  According to tradition, the Athenian tyrant Peisistratos was the one who performed editorial work on the Homeric poems, which led to their compilation in writing, a form more conducive to perpetuation as the power of oral culture began to wane and a new class of literate ἄριστοι emerged. With respect to changing times, see Bartlett 1996-a, 146n48: “The humor of this citation apparently

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stems from the fact that chariot racing had become completely obsolete by this time.” See also, Bowen 1998, 104–105, commenting on 4.6 and 4.7: “Antisthenes, quoting Il. iii 179, was probably going to take a cynical line . . . and mock the use of such knowledge in a world where kings were obsolete, but Nikeratos, quoting xxiii 335–7, gives him no chance and carries on even more tongue in cheek, in a world where chariots were owned by the rich but driven by hired professionals. Nikeratos quotes from Il. xi 630, and [thus] gives a wittily unheroic turn to their conversation.” Munn (2000, 4–55) refers directly to Nikeratos’ recitations in Xenophon’s Symposium as evidence that Homeric imagery pervaded the thoughts of conventional gentlemen in Athens, acting as a catalyst for the outbreak and continuation of the Peloponnesian War; but these lingering dreams of Homeric prowess and honor seem at odds with the tenor of the times (64–91). See Xen. Constitution of the Athenians 1.2: “The poor and the demos there [at Athens] are right to have more than the well-born and the wealthy for this reason: it is the demos that rows the ships and endows the city with power; the steersmen, the callers, the first mates, the bow-watchers, and the shipwrights—these are the ones who endow the city with power far more than the hoplites, the well-born, and the worthy.” 39.  If Charmides knows the Homeric passage, then he also knows that his reinterpretation of the line (that it is a “fine thing” indeed if a man eats an onion before going into battle) runs counter to the context in which the line itself occurs. The warriors who enjoy wine thus seasoned do so upon their weary return from battle, as a means of recuperating, not in preparation for it. 40.  See Strauss 1972, 154. 41.  Whether he took his own logos seriously or not is a harder question to answer, especially if Nikeratos is the kind of gentleman who, relaxed by a cup or two of wine in the current setting, felt obligated (or free) to forego his usual seriousness in order to deliver a playful and self-effacing “defense” of his own education and way of life. His contributions to the dialogue, under scrutiny, do not support that case. 42.  See Strauss 1972, 154: Kritoboulos’ speech “and the discussion occasioned by it are by far more extensive than any other speech and the discussion occasioned by it.” Antisthenes’ defense speech is actually a bit longer than that of Kritoboulos, consistent with his rather disputatious character, but the conversation which his speech prompts is much shorter. See Bowen 1998, 106, commenting on 4.10: Socrates’ speech later in Section Eight outdoes them both. It is also worth noting in this context that Antisthenes’ apologia inspires the last laughter heard in the dialogue, whereas Kritoboulos’ “defense” is responsible for arousing much of the seriousness (displayed by Hermogenes and later the Syracusan) that threatens to disrupt the second half of the dialogue. 43.  At this point in the text, before his defense speech begins, Kritoboulos has contributed only his laughter to the action of the dialogue. His display speech was conspicuously direct, and the most obvious one of all. Hermogenes, who has also contributed little to the dialogue’s action, has at least surpassed Kritoboulos in proposing a question (3.8) and surprising the others with his display speech. Soon enough, however, as the wine keeps flowing, Kritoboulos (the beautiful) and Hermogenes (the pious) will overtake their Socratic companions Charmides (the erotic) and Antisthenes (the disputatious) as the focus of Socrates’ interest or concern in the dialogue—prior to his “education” of Kallias. As indicated earlier, Socrates may have more of an abiding interest in Kritoboulos (considering his alteration of the initial prompt to speak) than he does in his other two companions. 44.  Davies (1971, 322–335) remarks that, while the family line of Charmides was only approaching its third century and was not among the wealthiest in Athens, nevertheless, with Solon as an ancestor and numerous well-known relations (Kritias, Glaucon, Plato), his family warrants inclusion in the registry of Athenian propertied families. The fact that Kritias, the tyrant, was said to have been Charmides’ guardian at the time of Plato’s dialogue, Charmides, set in 432, indicates that the young man was not then of age to inherit his father’s responsibilities. By the time of Xenophon’s Symposium in 422/1, Charmides, who would have been just under 30 years old, had come of age sometime during the first half of the Peloponnesian War, only to have suffered, as he says, the loss of his household and his income from his landed estates abroad. There is some confusion, however, as to how or why Charmides lost his possessions, prior to the general calamity of 415 or 414. Davies (331) assumes that Xenophon committed an “interesting” error in confusing this later reference with the earlier setting. Bowen (1998, 14) assumes



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that Xenophon “misremembered the timing” of Charmides’ impoverishment and that it was the prosecutions following the scandal of 415 “that undid him for sure.” Charmides says only (Sym. 4.31) that he no longer reaps the benefit of his various “properties abroad” or in Attica outside the polis, and that his household belongings have been sold, presumably to pay back his debts. Since his was not among the wealthiest families in Athens capable of sustaining the financial obligations and setbacks caused by a decade of war (as it appears Kallias and Kritoboulos were), perhaps Charmides’ limited wealth was not lost all at once (such as Bowen supposes occurred in 415, as punishment for his complicity in the mutilation of the Herms; or, as Davies supposes occurred after 414, with the Spartan capture of Dekeleia) but rather was steadily reduced without sufficient means for being replenished. Such a scenario would explain what happened to Nikeratos, who, although he was not entirely reduced to poverty, would leave at his death only 14 talents for his son, out of the 100 talents he had inherited from his father. Of course, Nikeratos’ finances suffered disastrously not only through the enforced atrophy of income from his family’s mining interests, cut off after 414, but also from his own efforts to maintain and continue his father’s conspicuous reputation as a public man and general who spared no expense on behalf of the polis: see Thucydides VII.86; Xen. Mem. II.5.2 and Poroi 4.14; Lysias 19.47; Plutarch, “Nicias”; see also, Bowen 1998, 11; Davies 1971, 405–406. At any rate, Charmides must have recovered a sufficient amount of wealth in order to have had at least some stake (apart from his relation to Kritias) in the oligarchic regime installed by Sparta at Athens in 404/403. 45.  For the general rule which has many examples in Xenophon’s recollection of Socratic conversations, see Mem. IV.6.15: “But whenever [Socrates] himself went through something in speech, he proceeded through what was most of all agreed upon, believing this to be the unfailing kind of speech.” 46.  Bowen 1998, 110, commenting on 4.32, notices that the “technical terms for tribute and paying it” invoke the language for members of the Athenian empire paying their dues to Athens; hence, Charmides treats the Athenian polis–dēmos as a tyrant demanding his payment of tribute. Bowen also explains (109, commenting on 4.30) that two of the best known examples of services that wealthy individuals rendered to the polis were paying for a tragic chorus at the Dionysia, something for which Nikeratos’ father was well-renowned, and equipping and maintaining a trireme for a year. See Oik. 2.6. On Nikias’ support of the polis through public dedications and liturgies, see also, Davies 1971, 403–404. 47.  Charmides’ oath here (“By Zeus!”: cf. 2.19, 4.27) marks the last invocation of the gods prior to the central oath of Kallias (and his last), which diverges surprisingly from what may be expected at a private gathering of conventional gentlemen in the “men’s quarters” (ἀνδρών). What Kallias will hear next from Antisthenes, together with Charmides’ apologia, may be enough to enact the comic overthrow his Zeus-supported notion of wealth, in favor of Hera-supported arguments about poverty. 48.  See the discussion supra, of the political situation at Athens during and after the Peloponnesian War, in Chapter One. 49.  On the oligarchic reign of the Thirty Tyrants at Athens and the Ten in Peiraieus, whose rule was supported by the Spartan garrison left there by the Spartan general Lysander, see Xen. Hellenika II.3–4. 50.  Charmides is not the first to speak of the πόλις (Philippos: 2.13, in an attempt at a joke; Antisthenes: 3.4, in his definition of justice contra Kallias), although he is the first to treat or discuss political affairs at length. In his speech, Charmides refers to the πόλις five times and always antagonistically. Kallias, too, will speak of the πόλις (4.45), apparently having been persuaded by Charmides and Antisthenes of its “tyranny” over those with conventional wealth. Socrates will have much to say in Section Eight regarding the reformation of Kallias’ attachment to the πόλις, and he will also have reason to speak of the πάτρις (8.38–39). 51. On other uses of πάτρις in Xenophon’s Socratic writings, see Mem. II.1 (Aristippos), 6.25 (Kritoboulos), III.5.3 (the son of Pericles), 6.2 (Glaucon), 7.1 (Charmides), 12.4 (Epigenes), IV.2.33 (Euthydemus), 4.14 (Hippias); see also Oik. 4.3. For an extended discussion of the case of Xenophon “the Athenian” and his devotion to his “fatherland,” especially in relation to his decision to leave Athens and Socrates, in order to associate with the younger Cyrus, see Strauss 1972, Appendix; see also Strauss 1975/1983, a final statement by an author whose own faith or allegiance to his fatherland was the subject of much debate: Strauss 1959, opening paragraph. In this Appendix, it is noticed (179), in

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a one-sentence paragraph, that the “abstraction from the difference of regimes”—such as Charmides exhibits in his defense speech—“is sanctioned by the word ‘fatherland.’” It is also noted in a penultimate paragraph (180) that “Charmides is the only character other than Socrates who speaks of patris in the Socratic writings.” In other words, on the rare occasions in which Xenophon’s Socrates spoke with someone who became a “tyrant” (cf. Mem. I.2.37), Charmides and Socrates alike speak of the “fatherland” but under very diverse circumstances. Finally, in the last paragraph of this Appendix (once again, only one sentence in length), there is an oblique reference to the “most important Xenophontic statement on the fatherland—Anabasis III.1.4,” which, of course, “cannot properly be interpreted except within the context of an interpretation of the Anabasis as a whole.” 52.  See Ambler 1996, 111. Charmides’ political activity in the Athenian civil war shows that he is the kind of gentleman who is content to sacrifice his concern for nobility, and his attachment to democratic rule, in order to enjoy privately the use of his wealth as he deems fit. Having nothing, he seems only begrudgingly to accept a Socratic form of leisure, unlike Antisthenes who openly embraces it. Yet, he does not lack spirit or θύμος, which is to say, even in his desire to enjoy wealth privately and with all his disdain for the δῆμος and hence for political affairs in Athens (prior to the oligarchic revolution of 404/403) Charmides could not bring himself to leave his πόλις. In this crucial respect then, like Socrates—though perhaps not for the same reasons, Charmides believes that a life lived in relative poverty in Athens is preferable to living elsewhere. On Charmides’ “justified contempt” for the δῆμος, see Strauss 1972, 73. Not even a tyrant like Charmides, or Hiero, however, can live entirely as a wanderer and so he “reveals himself as a man who is unable to live as a stranger” (or as a wise man disguised as a wandering poet, like Simonides, or as a dance-master, like the Syracusan, or even as an Athenian stranger): see Hiero 5.3, cf. 6.5; Plato, Laws. See also, Strauss 1972, 180; Strauss 1963/1991, 57; cf. Mem. II.1.13. Does the fact that Charmides cannot help but be attached to his πόλις, both distinct from and in addition to being attached to his πάτρις, make it possible for Xenophon (Sym. 1.1) and Socrates (Mem. III.7) to appeal to him as one capable of learning how to be καλοκἄγαθος, that is, a perfect gentleman? 53.  Simonides the poet, who hears Hiero’s confession, is not entirely persuaded of his interlocutor’s sincerity: see Hiero 6.9. On the enslaving fear of a tyrant, in contrast to Charmides’ willingness to live dangerously in poverty, see Xen. Hiero 5.1, 6.1–6; cf., regarding the context of this tyrant’s expression of fear, Higgins 1977, 62–63, 159n20; and esp. Strauss 1948/1991, 47–48: “To describe in one sentence the art employed by Xenophon in the first part of the Hiero, we may say that by choosing a conversational setting in which the strongest possible indictment of tyranny becomes necessary, he intimates the limited validity of that indictment.” The setting of the Hiero resembles in its “leisure” the private and congenial circumstances of the Symposium; though the tyrant’s fears may not allow for wine and the poet’s speeches must be measured and not intoxicated, a certain playfulness inspired by the setting is reflected in their mood. 54.  Hiero’s excess of rhetoric makes for a well-played bluff, but unsurprisingly fails to convince or persuade a poet who, by virtue of his art, is no stranger to a well-wrought fanciful phrase. Simonides’ final question reveals the falsehood in Hiero’s speech; see Hiero 7.12: “When Simonides heard all this through to the end, he said, ‘But why, Hiero, if being a tyrant is so wretched, and you realize this, do you not rid yourself of so great an evil, and why did no one else ever willingly let a tyranny go, who once acquired it?’” Hiero weakly responds that a tyrant cannot relinquish his tyranny except in death, for his crimes and injustices would suffocate (or assassinate) him if he should live. Hanging alone profits the tyrant, but as Hiero of course well knows the name of any tyrant who hung himself willingly, while he still held his tyranny, is conspicuously absent from history. 55. See Mem. III.6.1, III.7; see also, Morrison 1994, 197–198, who mentions the charming and intrinsically promising Charmides as one of four of the young potential intimates of Socrates (with Lysis, Menexenus, and Kritoboulos’ beloved, Kleinias). Charmides’ later turn to tyranny, according to Morrison, is “implicitly explained by the strong influence of his intemperate guardian [Kritias].” Shields (1994, 360n31) refers to Charmides as one of the few interlocutors of Plato’s Socrates who does admit his ignorance on being refuted by the Socratic elenchos, although the dialogue ends before indicating whether this admission approached or formed an epoch in the young man’s life: see Plato, Charmides



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176a6–b1. Bowen (1998, 11n38) argues that, at the time of this Platonic dialogue, Charmides was not only “the beauty of his generation,” but he was also reckoned by Socrates to be a “youth” and no longer a “boy”—so his age and condition at that time (in Plato’s dialogue) would have been similar to that of Autolykos here in Xenophon’s Symposium. 56.  All we know of Autolykos’ life are these two events: his singular athletic success as a youth (Sym. 1.2), and the record of his death as a young man (Plutarch’s Life of Lysander). His fate was not that uncommon, during the civil war and the reign of the Thirty, a time when the line between friend and enemy had become tragically blurred: see Anderson 1974, 66: “Plutarch (Lysander 15.5) notes that [the Spartan] commander Callibius quarreled with Autolycus, the athlete whom Xenophon celebrates in his Symposium. Autolycus tripped Callibius from behind, whereupon Callibius would have struck him with his staff, if Lysander had not rebuked him for not knowing how to govern free men. But later the Thirty killed Autolycus to gratify Callibius. We may suppose (quite apart from the general tone of Xenophon’s references [in his Hellenika] to the garrison) that Xenophon had few dealings with the men responsible for his friend’s death.” Anderson observes in a footnote to this passage (66n1) that this “trip” of Kallibios, surely more embarrassing than dangerous for a Spartan commander, “sounds like a boy’s trick,” which may be reminiscent of his youthful victory in the no-holds-barred pankration competition. Based on Plutarch, we are justified in speculating that if Lysander had not prevented Kallibios from striking the young man for this insulting joke, Autolykos might have survived the encounter with the Spartan commander’s staff and lived to tell about his “trick” after the restoration of the democracy. Instead, precisely on account of the grudge held by Kallibios toward the unpunished young jokester, we are told that the Thirty had Autolykos murdered in order to gratify their Spartan commander. Xenophon himself (Hellenika II.3.14) attests to the syncophancy of the Thirty, and by extension the Ten, who sought to ingratiate themselves with Kallibios. The fate of Autolykos as described here by Anderson (see also Bowen 1998, 11) is cinched by his brazen defiance of the Spartan’s authority, on the one hand, and Lysander’s knowledge of how to rule free men, on the other hand, both of which may be said to adhere to a certain understanding of what is noble. The words of Lysander echo both Xenophon’s Socrates (Mem. I.2.58–59, cf. IV.6.13–15) and Xenophon himself (Anabasis V.8). 57. See Mem I 2.1–48, where the memory of Charmides stands in the shadow of the violent Kritias. 58.  See Bowen 1998, 11; Davies 1971, 405; Higgins 1977, 17: “Now Kharmides’ jest about being a tyrant is no laughing matter, for he became, in fact, one of the Thirty and was implicated in the murder of his fellow guest Nikeratos and the confiscation of that man’s wealth.” Regarding Charmides’ own death, it is worth noting that he alone, of all Socrates’ four named companions in the Symposium, is not alive at the time of Socrates’ trial, last conversation, and execution. Kritoboulos, Hermogenes, and Antis­ thenes are mentioned as being present on his last day (Pl. Phaedo 58e), and Kritoboulos is identified by Plato’s Socrates as being present at his trial (Pl. Apo. 33d). Xenophon, who was in Asia Minor, hears the report later of what Socrates said at his trial from Hermogenes (Xen. Apo. 2–30 and Mem IV.8.4–11). 59.  Nobility can be a source of strife among gentlemen: see Ambler 1996, 111n7; see also, Aristotle, Politics 1225a32–41. For the latent antagonism between Charmides and Kritoboulos, not to mention Socrates, see Strauss 1972, 157–158, esp. n65. 60.  See Strauss 1972, 157. 61.  On Socrates’ dissatisfaction with Charmides’ defense, consider the reasons that led Socrates to tell a man highly reputed as a perfect gentleman (Oik. 11.3) that “the most foolish or thoughtless accusation of all” seems to him “being reproached for being poor.” Poverty, in his view, is no more an obstacle to being noble than being a horse, if we are to judge from Socrates’ ironic comparison of himself to one (Oik. 11.1–7). 62.  The standard editorial division of the Symposium into 196 chapter-sections puts the central pair of sections in the dialogue as a whole (4.41–42) within this defense speech of Antisthenes. Even if the chapter-sections are regarded as arbitrary or questioned as authoritative, Antisthenes’ defense speech still occupies the midway point in the Greek text itself (of the fifty-one Stephanus pages of text in the Loeb edition, Antisthenes’ speech begins on the twenty-fifth page and the discussion of his speech ends on the twenty-seventh page). In other words, when taken as a whole, more than one aspect of the text appears

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to point to Antisthenes and his defense speech as being midway in the action of the dialogue: we, like the symposiasts, are only halfway home at this point. However, according to another standard division of the text into nine Sections or Chapters, the centrality of Section Five points more to the beauty contest between Kritoboulos and Socrates than the rhetorical agōn between Antisthenes and Socrates occurring in Sections Two through Four. 63.  In addition to the preceding refutative stances taken by Antisthenes contra Kallias, see Bowen 1998, 110, commenting on 4.34: “Antisthenes begins like one raring to go; the Greek even lacks ‘It is. . . .’” 64.  There is implied throughout Antisthenes’ speech an overt casuistry linking poverty (πενία) and need with bodily hunger (πεῖνα) and appetite, which is then ironically applied by him to the condition of the soul; “being impoverished” (πένομαι) and in need with respect to the soul is then the cause of being desirous and “being hungry” (πεῖναω). Evidence of a painful “need” to acquire possessions in order to satisfy an appetite points to a suffering on the part of a hungry soul. Antisthenes’ own indifference to nobility in the enjoyment of certain bodily pleasures would, in his own view, point to a deficiency of nobility in his soul. 65.  Antisthenes prudently names no names when it comes to tyrants and those prone to tyranny, as Charmides seems to be: see Bowen 1998, 110, commenting on 4.36. 66.  See Strauss 1972, 99–100; as for “the poor who manage their little property well,” see the discussion infra of Socratic economics. 67.  See Machiavelli, Prince III.17: È cosa veramente molto naturale e ordinaria desiderare di acquistare; e sempre, quando gli uomini lo fanno che possono, saranno laudati o non biasimati; ma quando non possono e vogliono farlo in ogni modo, qui è lo errore e il biasimo (cf. Prince, Epistle Dedicatory: Sogliono, el più delle volte, coloro che desiderano acquistare . . . Desiderando io). For an explication of this passage and Machiavelli’s debt to Xenophon, see de Alvarez 1999, 3–4; Strauss 1958, 247–252, 291–293. 68.  On Machiavelli’s abstraction from, or refusal to speak of, the human soul (anima), see esp. Strauss 1958, 30–31, 200, 333n59; de Alvarez 1999, 27, 78, 55. 69.  See Strauss 1972, 161: “Hermogenes’ statement on the inexpensive character of his service to the gods induces us to note that Antisthenes, who was so much concerned with the inexpensive or frugal character of his whole way of life, did not mention his inexpensive service to the gods.” 70.  On Socrates as ἀλαζών, in relation to Antisthenes’ defense, see esp. Apo. 1 (μεγαληγορία) and 16–18; Higgins 1977, 40–42; Pangle 1996, 32–38, esp. 33 and 38n10. Finally, in contradistinction to Hermogenes’ recollections in the Apology, consider Xenophon’s testimony in his recollections: Mem. I.1.1–9 and IV.8.1. With respect to the connection between Antisthenes’ atheism and Socrates’ boasting, see Strauss 1972, 32: “By speaking of his daimonion Socrates could easily seem to claim that he was more privileged by the gods than any other man (cf. [Mem.] IV.3.12). At his trial he ‘talked big’ to his judges and this ‘talking big’ included his raising the claim regarding his daimonion (Apol. Socr. 2, 13–14, 32).” 71.  See Strauss 1972, 158. On the “worthiest” sights and sounds, cf. Sym. 1.1, 2.2, 3.1–2. On the proper use of leisure, see Burckhardt 1898/1998, 232, who believes that Antisthenes’ leisure is evidence of Athens’ significance as the cradle of Hellenic culture, a place where the greatest freedom—of speech— thrived. On leisure as “the most exquisite” or most delicate and luxurious possession, see Strauss 1972, 158, and Strauss 1948/1991, 84n28; see also, Mem. IV.5.2; Cyr. I.5.12; Ana. VII.7.41–42. Socrates himself ironically found occasion to joke about his own absence of leisure; see Mem. III.11.15–16. According to Socrates, freedom from necessity, or leisure, is most divine and therefore best; see Mem. I.6.10. 72.  See Buzzetti 2003, 167. 73.  See Bowen 1998, 111, commenting on 4.43, who points out that Antisthenes pairs himself with Socrates in the two sentences at 4.43 by the use of τε . . . τε, “a pairing rarer in prose than verse” which occurs only one other time in the Symposium, where it is used by Hermogenes (4.49) in his relation to the gods. 74.  On the nature of Socratic education as companionship (synousia), see Pentassuglio 2020c. 75. Antisthenes did not live in abject poverty. There is some indication from other sources that Antisthenes possessed enough wealth in his household to own property in the Peiraieus: see McKirahan



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1994, 370, who speculates (375n28) that Antisthenes may have charged fees of his pupils, another unSocratic trait. 76.  See Bowen 1998, 110, commenting on 4.34 and 4.40, who attributes this talent for paradox to Socrates. 77.  On Antisthenes’ Socratic wealth, see Strauss 1972, 158—159; Bruell 1994, xvi; Anderson 1974, 29–30. 78.  See Pagano 1994, 19–21. 79.  One means by which to judge conventional wealth with respect to justice is to consider how it is acquired: see Oik. 14.1–10, 7.15; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1101a14–21, 1177a27–34, 1178a22– 1178b8; see also Machiavelli, Prince XVI; de Alvarez 1999, 79–82. Socrates on occasion omits this consideration: Oik. 1.15. 80. The Socratic examination of nobility is second only to that of piety: Mem. I.1.16; cf. Strauss 1972, 159: “[Antisthenes] also seems more willing than Socrates to converse with all whether they are attractive or not. (Cf. also 4.40, end, with Memorabilia I.3.5, middle).” Antisthenes then, in the view of Xenophon, was like one of those who Socrates thought, in contradistinction to Socrates’ own exceptional continence, was not out of danger regarding sex: see Mem. I.3.14, beg. 81.  In this respect Antisthenes, although he is extremely continent, could learn from Socrates’ conversation with the undisciplined Aristippos (Mem. II.1). This desire to sustain an apolitical via media (Mem. II.1.13) amounts to a decision not to confine oneself to any single regime, but rather to be a stranger everywhere. Such a one may prove even more detrimental to the polis than someone prone to tyranny such as Charmides who, in due time, actually did hold and exercise the office of a tyrant. 82.  See O’Connor (1994) 155–158. 83.  See Strauss’ private assessment of Antisthenes at 1963/1991, 278. For a discussion of Antisthenes’ rank as one of the four major Socratics and indeed the most influential of all the Socratics during the first decade or so after Socrates’ death, see D.L. II.47; Clay 1994, 3, 7, n19, 26–30. 84.  The danger that such devoted imitation would inspire other young men to follow Socrates cannot be overlooked in the present context, with Lykon present. See Mem. IV.2.40; cf. Pangle 1994, 146: “How will a gentleman take to the fact that Socrates has made his son admire Socrates more than his own father? In the Cyropaedia (3.1.38–39), Xenophon tells of such a father, and of how he killed ‘Socrates.’” On Socrates as a rival father, see Mem. I.2.49–51. 85.  See O’Connor 1994, 158n9: Socrates’ explicit praise of kingship is of “kingship for the individual, that is, the life of being a king, not the political system of kingship.” On kingship and tyranny as kinds of rule according to Socrates, see Mem. IV.6.12, cf. Oik. 21.9–12. See also, Higgins 1977, 26: “It would appear, therefore, that ‘rule’ in Xenophon must not always be interpreted in an official sense but in a way which realizes that a ruler may be a ruler of nothing more than himself.” Cf. Machiavelli, Prince VI, end. 86.  O’Connor 1994, 158. 87.  See Bonnette 1994, 158n116: “Hera, the wife and sister of Zeus, is primarily the goddess of marriage and women. This oath would normally be used by women (cf. Aristophanes Ecclesiazusae 155–56, 189–90, where women attempting to disguise themselves as men are chastised for continuing to use it). But Socrates frequently, and others occasionally, use it in Xenophon.” 88. On the acquisitiveness of gentlemen like Nikeratos, see Strauss 1972, 159: “[Nikeratos] has learned from Homer to count his gifts exactly; he quotes the verses from the Iliad in which Agamemnon enumerated exactly the lavish gifts with which he was willing to appease Achilleus’ wrath; he has learned from Homer to count, to count money exactly, and thus perhaps to be rather too fond of money.” For the Homeric context of Nikeratos’ quote, see Iliad IX.122–123. Following the sage advice of Nestor, Agamemnon relents and agrees to send gifts of friendship to Achilles along with words of supplication; the list of items counted out by Nikeratos is a partial accounting of the compensation to be paid by Agamemnon to Achilles, worthy recompense in exchange for which (with other gifts besides) the best of the Achaians may be persuaded to return to battle. Odysseus, delivering the message, counts out the list of items once again in the presence of Achilles himself (IX.264–265) who, in his most eloquent

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moment, nevertheless is unmoved and refuses to be persuaded. Nikeratos’ confession of acquisitiveness reveals him to be a man who, like Agamemnon, appears to have a remarkably unheroic notion of honor (as prizes, τιμή), quite unlike the wrathful Achilles at Troy who holds honor above all other goods (prizes as a sign of honor, not honor itself ) and also rises above receiving the honor of men, desiring instead to be honored by the gods and, in particular, Zeus. 89.  See Bowen 1998, 111, commenting on 4.45: “Nikeratos’ intervention is witty: in two or three sentences he takes envying and borrowing off Kallias, a Homeric quotation off himself, weighing and counting off Antisthenes, and his own name for fondness of money off everyone.” See also, the parenthetical aside by Strauss 1972, 159: “(It almost goes without saying that the laughter was not caused by Philippos.)” 90. See Strauss 1972, 159: “It is true that Xenophon does not say here explicitly that Socrates laughed, as he does in the Apology of Socrates (28), but Socrates belongs to the ‘all’ who laughed, does he not? Socrates never laughs in the Oeconomicus [nor] in the Memorabilia, although he jests there not infrequently, not to say always.” On Socratic laughter, see the discussion supra; see also, Xen. Mem. I.3.8–13 and III.11.15–16, in light of the relevance of these passages to the topics being discussed here. 91.  See Strauss 1972, 160–163. The laughter that ensues here at the end of Antisthenes’ defense speech, due to Nikeratos’ remark, will lead “someone” to “redress” the setting by asking the serious Hermogenes to speak next. After his seriously delivered serious speech, “Xenophon speaks next” in order to provide some “relief from a seriousness” not altogether suitable to the setting. We are then told that “they” (that is, more than one of the men) turned to Philippos, to ask what he takes pride in. When the playfulness of the evening stalls on such seriousness, “they,” reports Xenophon, prompt Philippos to speak. Charmides, then, “perhaps not satisfied” by the jester’s defense, or Nikeratos’ jest, again does something “out of the ordinary,” namely, finding a “remedy” from this silliness in the Syracusan, whom he addressed directly and invited to speak, suspecting perhaps that the Syracusan would praise his beautiful performers. Finally, it will be Kallias once again who “takes the initiative” and addresses “the appropriate question” to Socrates, who then speaks last. 92.  The turning-post is rounded. Strauss 1972, 160: “What is perhaps equally remarkable as that all laughed at this point is that none laughs any more in the rest of the Symposium; any further laughter would have been anticlimactic.” 93.  Consider, for example, the use of τὰ ὄντα at Oik. 2.3, with the translator’s note, at Bartlett 1996, 44n5: “Every instance of ‘property’ in the translation is ta onta in the text.” In the Symposium, Kritoboulos seems to use this phrase (4.14) in this same sense of “property” but Hermogenes’ use of it (4.47) points to τὰ ὄντα as the sole possession or ‘property’ of the gods. The key phrase Xenophon uses to indicate the occasion for Socrates’ laughter at Nikeratos’ speech—“believing that he had said the things that are” or that he had said the truth—is a comic reminder of the awe-striking power that attends Odyssean rhetoric, even when he and his purpose are concealed: Homer, Odyssey XVIII.338–343. 94. See Strauss 1970, 191n6: terms designating laughter and joking occur twenty-two times in Memorabilia and eighteen times in Oikonomikos; Socrates is said to have made others laugh only once in Memorabilia (IV.2.5) but Socrates himself notes three instances of this in Oikonomikos (2.9, 7.3, 17.10). For a similar scene from one of Xenophon’s non-Socratic works that softly imitates Socratic laughter, consider Hellenika II.3.56, where Theramenes, drinking his hemlock, ironically toasts the “beautiful” Kritias for condemning him unjustly. In this regard, see Higgins 1977, 12–13: Xenophon’s irony is more than dramatic. The jokes made by Theramenes and Socrates before death reveal not so much an opposition between what they say and what they think or what is actually the case, as an opposition between what they say and what they perceive to be the inherent nature of things. . . . Their words become playful because words, at least in their cases, have previously failed to establish what they think is their justice, to say “what is.” Yet it is only in their playfulness that Theramenes and Socrates achieve a liberation from their absurd situations and in fact obtain a triumph even as they lose. Thus irony, if just for a moment, bridges the gap between appearance and reality in the only way possible. It merely and delightfully turns the tables, for by saying “what is not” it allusively summons forth “what is.”

By contrast, consider the laughter of Xenophon and his Cyrus: Ana. VII.7.54 and Cyr. II.2.5, 11, 29.



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95.  For other lines of inquiry regarding the cause of Socrates’ laughter, two of which have been touched upon in the discussion thus far, see the subtle sequence of questions proposed at Strauss 1972, 159–160, which will be discussed at length in the final chapter, infra. 96.  Strauss 1972, 162. 97.  On the key role of Hermogenes in Xenophon’s Socratic writings, see Mem. I.2.48 and Sym. 1.3, where Hermogenes occupies the central place in both lists of Socrates’ companions. See Bartlett 1996-b, 187n8, and Pangle 1996, passim, esp. 29–30 and 27: “Socrates, who lived in poverty, appears certain that poverty is no bar to gentlemanliness; and if Hermogenes is right about the gods [at 4.49], then the self-consciously incomplete or “erotic” kind of gentlemanliness he and Hermogenes share may be perfectly pious. The impoverished Socrates and Hermogenes have in common an unconventional self-respect that is intimately linked with a claim to a special kind and degree of piety.” Hermogenes, therefore, is the “perfect witness” to whom Xenophon appeals when it comes to defending Socrates from charges of corruption and impiety, for his association with a man like Hermogenes distances him from the anti-democratic tyrant Charmides and the inordinately continent atheist Antisthenes. 98.  See the discussion and exhortation of these estranged brothers, at Xen. Mem. II.3.18–19. 99.  See Strauss 1972, 160: “The debauch of a general laughter—of the laughter in which Socrates had joined—calls for redress.” See also, Bowen 1998, 111, commenting on 4.47, which emphasizes the deliberately belabored formalities of the Greek text: “Hermogenes’ whole short speech shows so much patterning that some frigidity creeps in.” Higgins (1977, 15–16) refers to Hermogenes as a “sanctimonious” character who “bridles when Socrates tries to amend his sourness” and whose praise for Socrates’ charming speech later is all the more “leaden” because he himself is so lacking in charm. 100.  Charmides too, imitating Socrates (Mem. IV.6.15), had sought to begin with what was most agreed upon. 101.  Hermogenes stresses the universal character of the divine by twice remarking that Greeks and barbarians alike agree with his two fundamental points regarding divination and supplication. Hermogenes thus begins with what is human, that is, what is common to Greek and non-Greek. See Mem. I.1.19; cf. Ana. V.6. See also Strauss 1989, 122. 102. Xenophon’s Memorabilia (II.10) makes clear who Hermogenes’ beneficent “divine friend” really is, for there we hear how Socrates advised one of his comrades, a certain Diodoros, to acquire very cheaply the indigent Hermogenes as a good (i.e., useful) “friend.” Socrates refuses to act openly as a go-between for this match, however, and instead exhorts Diodorus to visit Hermogenes on his own (see Mem II.10.6, which is the last line of Xenophon’s second book of recollections). See Bartlett 1996-b, 193–194: “Thus, indeed, Diodorus went to Hermogenes. And without spending much he acquired a friend, who made it his work to examine what he might say or do to benefit and delight Diodorus.” Thus, this Diodoros—who is otherwise an unknown man, whose name means “gift of the gods”—treats Hermogenes as a friend by providing him unexpectedly (cf. Sym. 2.25) with much-needed sustenance. Hermogenes’ obliviousness to Socrates’ role (in this case, at least, but there may have been more) is implied in his failure to mention Socrates by name or acknowledge his debt to him in his defense speech, as Charmides and Antisthenes had in theirs. 103.  For certain “peculiarities” in Hermogenes’ argument, see Bartlett 1996-b, 193, and Pangle 1996, whose argument about the Apology rests upon the peculiar bent of Hermogenes’ mind. 104.  See Strauss 1972, 160–161. Hermogenes, like Socrates, implies the gods “know his silent deliberations or his thoughts” in openly boasting of their friendship, but Socrates refrained from boasting about it, at least on this occasion—finding it unsuitable for some reason. 105.  Kritoboulos, as we shall soon see, also manages to draw a comment out of Socrates but only by directly challenging him to a contest (see 4.18–19). In both cases, Socrates seizes in Section Four on the two main themes of the dialogue, erōs and kalokagathia, but only insofar as his two companions have presented—in their speeches—an appropriate occasion to do so. 106.  See Machiavelli, Prince, Epistle Dedicatory. 107. See Strauss 1972, 161: “[Hermogenes] does not explicitly speak of sacrificing. If the poor Socrates was sure not to displease the gods by bringing small sacrifices from his small means, the still

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poorer Hermogenes did not displease the gods by bringing still smaller sacrifices and perhaps no sacrifices at all (Memorabilia I.3.3, II.10).” 108.  On the “seriously spoken logos” of Hermogenes and Socrates, see Pangle 1996, 26. 109.  On Socrates’ use of daimonion, see Mem. I.1.1–9, 3.5, IV.3.14, 8.1, 8.5; cf. I.4.10 and IV.3.15. 110.  Hermogenes intervenes later as the conscience of Socrates, becoming his silent accuser in Section Six, where the serious young disciple appears to charge his playful master with the vulgarization of philosophy. 111.  On the “in-between” status of Kritoboulos’ wealth, see Bartlett 1996-b, 179, 182. 112.  See Strauss 1972, 154, who aptly speaks only of “his companions,” rather than of all the men present (including the Syracusan), when reciting Kritoboulos’ grounds for being proud of his beauty. 113.  In this regard, Bowen (1998, 106, commenting on 4.10) makes note of the fact that “prosecutions for deception of the people did occur. The first notable case concerned Miltiades son of Kimon, in the year after Marathon (Hdt. Vi 136).” See McDowell 1978, 179–181. 114.  Based on the conditional character of Kritoboulos’ comment here, there is some doubt as to whether or not to accept this as Kritoboulos’ first oath in the dialogue. 115.  Strauss (1972, 154) presumes that Kritoboulos regards his beauty “as a greater good” than the empire of the Persian King, but the emphasis in his apologia however seems to be upon the power of the “dominion” or rule—as if over subjects or slaves—which his beauty makes possible. 116.  Could the dominion of the beautiful and erōs over human beings—as exercised by Kleinias, Kritoboulos, and Autolykos—depend too much, like that of the Great King, upon the constant physical presence and visibility of the one who rules? See the parenthetical question raised by Strauss (1972, 154) with respect to Kritoboulos’ argument: “(Does he mean to say that the present company enjoy beholding him more than anybody else, for instance, that Kallias enjoys beholding him more than beholding the beautiful Autolykos, with whom he is in love?)” 117. The verb “inspire” (ἐμπνεῖν) used here by Kritoboulos bespeaks a “breathing-into” or “inspiriting” that enlivens and animates what or who it enters. Bowen (1998, 106, commenting on 4.15) points out that the transitive use of this verb is common in Homer and New Testament Greek. The argument would then almost be that the beautiful breathes life or spirit into human beings by inspiring them with longing (erōs). The virtues of modesty and self-control, which beauty also inspires according to Kritoboulos, first appeared in the vision of Autolykos’ beauty that dominated the opening of the banquet (1.8–11) and returns again in Socrates’ speech in Section Eight. 118.  On the beauty competition among the elders during the Panathenaia, held late on the seventh day prior to the great culminating procession of the festival, see the discussion in Chapter One; see also Parke 1977, 44ff. and Gardiner 1910, 240. Bowen 1998, 106, commenting on 4.17, rightly notes that the visual evidence of the elders’ participation in the Panathenaiac procession survives, if just barely, on the Parthenon frieze. The word used to express the fading of a man’s physical beauty once he is “past his prime” (παρακμάζον), or perhaps more literally, when he has passed by or run beyond his highest point and full bloom or “acme” (ἀκμή), is first recorded in Xenophon: see Bowen 1998, 106, commenting on 4.17. Somehow, according to Kritoboulos (and to some extent Xenophon) to run past one’s prime in years with respect to being beautiful does not destroy the beauty that still belongs to those ages or times in life leading up to it and falling away. 119.  Whether this oath, or his earlier readiness to take an oath, is understood to be his first, Kritoboulos is the last of the symposiasts to swear, including even the boy Autolykos, but excluding the Syracusan (cf. 4.52). Regardless of which of his two oaths is first, both are spoken on account of Kritoboulos’ reflections on his own beauty. It almost goes without saying that, for Kritoboulos, the gods are also lovers of the beautiful—no less than of gentlemanliness? See the parenthetical comment by Strauss 1972, 155: “(Was Kritoboulos as beautiful as he claimed to be? If he was not—cf. Plato, Euthydemus 271b2–5—and yet judged correctly his superiority in beauty to Socrates, Socrates was still uglier than Kritoboulos says he is.)” 120.  See Strauss 1972, 155; Bartlett 1998-b, 186. This transformation is prepared by Socrates’ own refusal to speak of his pride in terms of wisdom or wise speeches, though Kallias implies (cf. 1.4) and



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Kritoboulos willingly acknowledges that Socrates is someone who has many wise things to say. Still, in another sense, Socrates may be proud of his speeches: see Strauss 1972, 162–163. 121.  On the tyrannical rule and corrupt wealth of Kritoboulos’ beauty, see Stevens 1994, 236–237. 122.  Strauss 1972, 162. 123.  The gentleman Kallias, envious of Socrates’ kind of wealth, ironically swears by Hera, a goddess known (among other attributes) for her envy, whereas Socrates, unusually (see note supra regarding oaths), swears by a god whose genesis owes much to his toil or struggle to overcome such envy (the name “Herakles” means “for the glory of Hera”). Athenian youths swore an oath by Herakles during their political transition into maturity. See Burkert 1985, 251; Sommerstein 2013, 18. 124.  See Strauss 1972, 159–160 and 164: “They all said ‘Certainly’ altogether seven times. But then Socrates raised a question to which no single or simple answer, it seems, can be given.” 125.  Regarding the source of disagreement to be inferred from the faint murmur of dissent among some of Socrates’ interlocutors just prior to this point in his questioning, see Strauss 1972, 164: “The unpopular alternative is then that the individual, or the individual of a certain kind, is to be preferred to the whole city. It will come to the fore before long.” What is at stake is the rivalry between the individual and the polis to satisfy the desires of human erōs, for if an individual becomes more desirable than the whole polis, political life itself is sacrificed in favor of a wholeness pursued erotically. As with, Kritoboulos’ unrivaled love for Kleinias (mentioned in Section Four, and to which we will return again in Section Five), the foregrounded explanation of this “unpopular alternative” should be withheld until after the contest of beauty (or nobility) between Socrates and Kritoboulos is finished. For now, like Socrates, this careful reader is content (in a parenthetical aside) to pass over what is unpopular, or disturbing, about this alternative especially for gentlemen “by burying the opposition through silence” in order to continue. What followed this moment of disagreement is instead the moment of most agreement among the gentlemen, a point further supported by their unanimous oath. See Bowen 1998, 113, commenting on 4.60. 126.  See Strauss 1972, 163–165; see also, Bruell 1994, xxi. Regarding the Memorabilia’s peculiar concern with displaying Socrates’ justice, see Strauss 1963, 7–8, and Strauss 1970, 85–86. 127. See Mem. I.3.7, 2.58. This translation—“unfaltering kind of argument”—differs from that of Bonnette (“safety in argument”) or Marchant (“only sure method of speaking”), deriving from Xenophon’s reference to faltering in his introduction to this chapter, which itself is devoted to how Socrates made his companions more skilled in conversing dialectically (Mem IV.6.1). The Greek verb used here means “to cause to falter” or “to overthrow,” in the sense of being “tripped up” or suffering a “fall” in a wrestling contest. In a contest of speeches, the verb points to someone being tripped or thrown by means of arguments, that is, refuted, especially when confronted with someone like Socrates who could deal with or make use of or throw anyone in arguments, or logoi, whenever he wished (see Mem. I.2.14). Here in the Symposium (at 2.26), Socrates speaks of the body and mind faltering or “being thrown” by the power of wine, not to mention erōs. 128.  See Bartlett 1996, 3–5, who says that this two-fold character of Socratic speech is “the guiding principle of Socratic rhetoric as stated by Xenophon” and that this principle should be applied to Xenophon’s own Socratic writings because our “working hypothesis” should be that “the rhetoric of which Xenophon was a master is Socratic rhetoric.” Similarly, regarding this “decisive clue to understanding all of the Xenophontic Socrates’ words, and thereby all of Xenophon’s words about his Socrates,” see Pangle 1994, 133–135. This interpretation of Socratic rhetoric is rooted in the seminal reading first intimated in Strauss 1939; see also, Strauss 1948/1991, 111n46. 129.  See esp. Strauss 1958/1996, 160, 168–169 [= Pangle 1989, 128, 138–139]: “Xenophon’s rhetoric was Socratic rhetoric. Socrates taught only by conversation. His art consisted in the art or skill of conversation. The Greek word for the skill of conversation is dialectics.” The higher form of dialectics depends upon the active participation of the interlocutor whose objections led Socrates to raise the crucial ‘What is’ question. But when he conversed with someone who merely listened, Socrates did not raise the question, proceeding instead through generally accepted opinions and producing agreement. “This latter kind of dialectics, which leads to agreement as distinguished from truth, is the most important

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part of the political art. It is the art which Homer ascribes to Odysseus.” Xenophon, unlike Plato, “gives us hardly any specimen of Socrates’ exhibiting the higher kind of dialectics.” See Strauss 1972, 122. 130.  Strauss 1972, 122–123; see also, Strauss 1948/1991, 47n46, and Strauss 1970/1995, 333. 131.  See Strauss 1972, 163. The “problem” of Socrates thus becomes inseparable from the question of how to interpret his speeches: see Gish forthcoming. This question reappears under another guise in the revealing title of a section in Nietzsche’s Dawn of Idols, where Socratic rationalism is diagnosed as an insidious and revolutionary form of corruption. See Strauss 1975/1990, 322: “Socrates fascinated because he discovered in dialectics a new form of agōn [that is, contest]; he thus won over the noble youth of Athens.” 132.  On the interchangeability of Hermogenes and Socrates, see Strauss 1972, 163; cf. Pangle 1996, 27–32. 133.  For a careful reading of these Socratic distinctions, see Strauss 1972, 15–16, 29–31, 92–94, 100–101. 134.  See Ambler 1994, 108. This pair of dialogues, Oikonomikos and Symposium, being explicitly concerned with kalokagathia, can only obliquely or indirectly reveal insight into the character of Socrates’ way of life, especially with respect to the possession of leisure and wealth, in other words, Socratic economics. A link between these two dialogues in terms of time, or epochs, may be indicated by the observation that only in these two Socratic works of Xenophon is the Aristophanean Socrates’ pre-turn philosophizing mentioned by Socrates or his interlocutors. 135.  On the Socratic rejection of the pre-Socratic or immature inquiry into the nature of things, including the highest things, see Strauss 1970 (159, 163–165) and Vander Waerdt 1994 (48–86, esp. 53n18 and 68n67), both of whom refer to the Symposium and its Aristophanic rejoinders in order to illuminate the discussion in the Oikonomikos. In fact, one could go further than Vander Waerdt does by arguing that Symposium is the primary text in this respect, as opposed to Oikonomikos, in that Xenophon is careful to make clear the precise date of the former Socratic conversation, which had occurred according to Xenophon’s recollection only a little more than a year after the debut of Aristophanes’ Clouds. 136.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 173; Bruell 1994, x, xiii. 137. Nothing further is known of these men apart from these references: see Bartlett 1996-a, 157nn72–73. 138.  In the Memorabilia (II.6.17–23), in the context of how one goes about acquiring good friends, Socrates explains to Kritoboulos that human beings “by nature” possess within themselves certain dispositions either toward enmity and war, or toward friendship. Often times, among human beings who agree on what they hold to be noble, rivalry or quarrelsome competition and anger arise, causing men to exercise the art of war. Friendship, however, sometimes induced by necessity, can work to common benefit, and gratitude thereby slips in among and unites those who are gentlemen, that is, who are both “noble and good” on account of their virtue, especially their moderation in pursuing possessions. Those who are greedy, by contrast, and possess an erotic desire to acquire an excess amount inevitably become hostile toward each other and are prone to anger becoming for them a source of sorrow and regret. Insofar, then, as Antisthenes resembles a sophist, like Hippias or Antiphon, he and Socrates cannot properly speaking be “good friends,” as is perhaps implied by Antisthenes’ initially very harsh objection to what Socrates has said; Socrates himself even characterizes this harshness as being a matter of anger, a quality which speaks to the natural disposition of Antisthenes and foreshadows inauspiciously Socrates’ own fate, since it is literally the last word of his own attempt at a “defense” among both friends and gentlemen in a playful setting. For additional reflections on this section of the Memorabilia and Socratic economics, see Strauss 1970, passim; Higgins 1977, 27–40; Ambler 1994, 106; Bruell 2000, 12–18; Buzzetti 2003, 173.

7 Socratic Moderation in Pursuit of the Beautiful

As to why an investigation would be more in need of being hidden than its result, it is only in thinking through the reasons for a position that, provided they be sufficient reasons, we make it so thoroughly our own that we are inescapably possessed by a thought which we would otherwise be able to dismiss almost at will. [I]f a spoken word is at all obscure, what is said will fail to penetrate the mind of the listener and, since it will not be understood, will be useless. But this is not the case with writing, for if the words used by the writer carry with them a certain—I will not say, difficulty but—veiled subtlety, and so are not as familiar as those commonly used in speech, then they give what is written greater authority and cause the reader to be more attentive and aware, and so reflect more deeply and enjoy the skill and message of the author; and by judiciously exerting himself a little he experiences the pleasure that is to be had from accomplishing difficult tasks. If the reader is so ignorant he cannot overcome these difficulties, that’s not the fault of the writer and his language should not be judged on this account to lack beauty.1

THE AGŌN OF THE BEAUTIFUL The circumlocution of speeches having reached its end, Kallias again seems to forget both his promise to Socrates to display of wisdom (1.5, 3.2–3) and his rebuke of Socrates with respect to knowledge of what justice is (4.1). Instead of calling for a contest of wisdom or justice, Kallias diverts attention from his promise and rebuke by reminding Kritoboulos that in his defense speech he had boldly declared himself ready to make a stand against Socrates with respect to the beautiful. Hard on the heels of his successful defense of such a disreputable art as procuring, as well as his persuasion of Antisthenes to embrace the lucrative art accompanying this art, Socrates is quick to accept the challenge. Kritoboulos coyly does too. Socrates taunts Kritoboulos with the suggestion that perhaps he is balking, reluctant to engage with Socrates in “the contest of beauty” (τὸν περὶ τοῦ κάλλους ἀγῶνα) because “he sees the procurer is wellreputed by the judges” (5.1). We get the impression, then, that Socrates, in Xenophon’s recollection, seems as willing as Kallias to forego the contest of wisdom or justice.2 Despite Socrates’ professed advantage with the judges, Kritoboulos is game (5.2): “Even so, I’m not shrinking back; instruct us then, if you 209

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possess some wisdom—as to how you are more beautiful than I am.” The terms of Kritoboulos’ challenge articulated here slightly alter his original boast, for he no longer speaks specifically of an agōn between Socrates’ “wisdom” (τι σοφόν) and his own youthful beauty (κάλλος), as he had before. In his original boast Kritoboulos had been so bold as to echo Kallias’ promise to Socrates, claiming that Socrates could not persuade the Syracusan’s beautiful young performers to kiss him rather than Kritoboulos, even if Socrates said “very many wise things” (4.18, cf. 1.5). Kritoboulos, no doubt, remains quite confident that his beauty would “more quickly persuade” the boy and girl “to desire” (ἐπιθυμεῖν) to be affectionate toward (or kiss) him, “even now, while being silent,” than Socrates could with his wise speeches (see 4.20–26). Yet, Kritoboulos’ restatement of the challenge, which clarifies his terms at the beginning of Section Five, shifts the focus of the agōn slightly. Socrates, he declares, must teach or “instruct us”—that is, if he does possess “some wisdom”—as to “how” or in what way he himself is “more beautiful” (καλλίων) than he is (5.2). Following Socrates’ lead, Kritoboulos is content to limit his boast to a contest of beauty (καλός) alone, rather than one which would set his beauty over against Socratic wisdom. Socrates originally had reacted with astonishment to Kritouboulos’ boast to be more beautiful than him, a boast which Kritoboulos had followed up with an oath and a gibe—that he indeed would be the ugliest of Silenoi in the satyr plays, if he were not so (4.19).3 Kritoboulos, however, is not afraid of losing or being foresworn. His confidence is based on the fact that none of the “gentlemen” whom he had called on as witnesses in his defense speech (4.10) had raised any doubts regarding their belief in his beauty. Xenophon’s readers, on the other hand, are told by Xenophon himself that Socrates himself bore a resemblance to the ugliest satyrs. Kritoboulos’ clarification of the terms of the contest will thus work to his advantage, provided only that “someone bring forward the torch-light up close” (5.2). Surely only a little illumination of Socrates’ visage will testify on behalf of the claims of Kritoboulos and Xenophon. Socrates does not object or call attention to Kritoboulos’ new conditions, not even with respect to the light being brought closer; in fact, it is a point he himself insists upon when the time comes for the judges to vote, for indeed “Socrates made sure the lamp was carried around near Kritoboulos, lest the judges be deceived” (5.9). By all accounts, then, the two contestants are to be clearly visible for the sake of the judgment. Socrates is willing to let his wisdom be judged in terms of his beauty; or rather, he is willing to let his physical beauty in the light of the torch be judged rather than his wisdom. In other words, Socrates is content to allow his wisdom, should he prove to possess some, to come to light through his logos, that is, through his apologia in defense of his paradoxical beauty. By means of this apologia, Socrates’ beauty—or rather, more precisely, his ugliness—is made manifest in the torch-light furnished for the judges (cf. 6.7, 7.4), while his wisdom, receding back into the shadows, easily escapes notice (cf. 3.6, 4.48) and is concealed. Whatever wisdom may be hidden in the logos of his teaching may be obscured or hard to see.4 Socrates, however, intends for the beauty agōn to be conducted not as a kind of wrestling or pankration match appropriate to the gymnasium or games, but as a trial. Judges are appointed for the purpose of separating out, discerning, and settling justly whatever dispute exists between the two contenders regarding το καλόν. Socrates takes the initiative in interrogating his opponent: “To an examination of justice, accordingly, let me summon you; and you must defend yourself by answering” (5.3). Kritoboulos, still game, gives a lively reply, allowing the contest for now to be one engaged through speeches: “You just ask then.” The legal tone of this opening was anticipated in Section Four, where Socrates had warned Kritoboulos to be sure



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to “remember the judgment concerning beauty whenever the proposed speeches have gone around” (4.20; cf. 5.2). Socrates has ensured that the “judgment” will occur as a kind of democratic trial before judges who decide the outcome rather than an aristocratic struggle settled in the ring, so to speak, by the contestants.5 Despite—or because of—the juridical and forensic setting of this central section of the Symposium, in the ensuing exchange, Socrates is able to proceed “in his usual manner” of speaking, addressing questions to his boastful opponent, not to say his “accuser,” the beautiful young Kritoboulos, who, in turn, must answer in the presence of the judges (see Apo. 19–21; see also, Plato, Apo. 24b–28b, but cf. 29d–30c, 17a–18a).6 Before taking up the line of questioning proposed in Socrates’ apologia, we are compelled to wonder for whom this Socratic logos is intended. Who has been delegated with the authority to preside over the agōn, or rather the trial, as judges of the beautiful? Socrates, we now recall, had originally granted that the Syracusan’s beautiful young boy and young girl be honored with the task as jurors, saying to Kritoboulos, who nominated them: “Let us be judged not by Alexander the son of Priam7 but by these very same ones here whom you suppose eagerly desire to kiss you.” However, if we also recall the erotic, though un-Homeric remark of Charmides which immediately preceded Kritoboulos’ speech in defense of his beauty and his challenge to Socrates (see 4.7–9), are we not given to understand that the judges to whom Socrates refers here will include some, if not all, the symposiasts themselves?8 A resolution with respect to this decision about the selection of judges was immediately supplanted by Kritoboulos’ erotic request to “entrust” the judgment of beauty to Kleinias, the beautiful young man for whom he had earlier expressed a deep affection in his defense (4.21, 12–16; cf. 4.59–60). Presumably because he has no doubts about his superiority to Socrates with respect to beauty (κάλλος),9 Kritoboulos is already looking forward pleasantly to receiving and enjoying the victor’s prize (cf. 5.9 and 6.1). Socrates playfully rebukes Kritoboulos for being unable to cease “remembering” (cf. 4.20 and 1.1) this beautiful young man; this is not surprising, says Kritoboulos, since it is not the “name” of Kleinias which he is constantly thinking of and holding in mind, but rather the perfectly “clear image” of him, which he possesses “in his soul” and from which he could even “work out a likeness of him” if he were an artist, like a sculptor or painter (4.21). At this point Socrates objects (4.22): “Why, then, having such a similar image [of him in mind], do you make it my business (πράγματά) and lead me around (cf. Oik. 3.7) wherever you will see him?”10 Kritoboulos meltingly replies that the sight of Kleinias brings happiness, whereas his “image” (εἴδωλον) alone does not furnish “enjoyment” at all but instead “produces” or implants in Kritoboulos’ soul a powerful “yearning” and desire (4.22). From this defense we gather that Kritoboulos is evidently smitten by Kleinias; he willingly would risk dying rather than be without him (cf. 4.14, 16). Indeed, the very image and likeness of Kleinias’ beauty has been seared into the mind and soul of the erotic Kritoboulos, who is thereby moved by a profound longing to enjoy the sight of Kleinias himself. The image of beauty in the mind or soul powerfully inspires in the beholder and lover a desire for the beautiful itself. Yearning to enjoy the sight (and kiss) of Kleinias, Kritoboulos has thus been overthrown and is fully possessed by erōs (cf. 1.8–10). It is perhaps fair to say that Kritoboulos defended himself “well enough” against Socrates’ playful rebuke of his erotic desire for Kleinias, but we should be wary of assenting to Kritoboulos’ preference for his beloved to be appointed as a judge in the contest of beauty. For although he had argued passionately in his defense speech that the powerful sway of beauty leads human beings “toward all the virtues” (4.15), Kritoboulos did not go so far as to claim that beauty is able to lead human beings to wisdom, arguably the virtue of a good judge,11 along with

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incorruptibility. For this reason, we should not be as surprised as Socrates appears to be when he concludes from the fact that none of the judges’ votes were in his favor that Kritoboulos’ beauty, his true wealth and only resource, will prove sufficient to corrupt the jury (5.10).

SILENCE REGARDING THE BEAUTIFUL The outcome of the beauty contest is not really a matter of dispute, yet Socrates playfully chooses to welcome the proceedings and make the case in his own defense. Kritoboulos had little to say in his own defense, but he had no intention of letting the judgment rest on his speech alone; he trusts in his looks, thinking that what must be true for him (that he is overwhelmed by the beauty of another, Kleinias) will be true of those who look upon his beauty. When we turn to the line of questioning pursued by the ironic Socrates, in his apologia in defense of his own Silenic beauty,12 we begin to see the reason or reasons why this judgment is corrupt. To begin with, one might argue that because the Socratic questioning of Kritoboulos is forensic, it abstains from asking “What is beauty?” and focuses instead on the beauty of the two contestants. This line of reasoning could lead one to object to the judgment on the grounds that “one cannot decide the forensic question,” who is more beautiful, “without having settled first the philosophic question,” as to what the beautiful itself is.13 Such an objection may be inappropriate in light of the playfulness of the setting, which accounts for Socrates’ ironic omission of this kind of opening question, which would be familiar to his companions. To insist on such a beginning is to open an all-too-serious inquiry which might induce his interlocutors to voice radically different opinions about beauty and lead to a dispute. Socrates himself has already signaled his willingness to forego the philosophic deposition of these gentlemen and their opinions—in his speeches (see 2.6, 4.5; cf. 3.6, 4.49), in his deed (see 4.59–60), and in his silence (see 3.12–14). His defense for doing so, among other reasons, may be founded upon Socrates’ perception of the gentleman’s self-ignorance regarding his own virtue, kalokagathia, and of the insatiable acquisitiveness that seems to torment the gentleman. This abstention, however, does not preclude the possibility of Xenophon quietly examining the question through the action of the dialogue itself. Socrates’ examination of Kritoboulos with respect to what the beautiful (τὸ καλόν) is hence begins with a division of, rather than an inquiry into, the nature of things. The contest thus proceeds as a “trial” without interruption and the judges hear Socrates’ apologia unvexed by what otherwise could have become a typical Socratic examination of a question (cf. Xen. Apo. 9, 14–15).14 For an Odyssean speaker like Socrates such a beginning surely “does not cause any difficulty,”15 since it is possible and even fitting on occasion to approach an inquiry rhetorically rather than dialectically. Under the circumstances, Socrates is willing to accept a conventional definition of beauty as the starting point from which to pursue his teaching (see 5.2) regarding the defense of his own claim to be beautiful, and thus to proceed with another line of questions. Kritoboulos, being a constant companion of Socrates, is willing to play along and is prepared to answer.

A “SOCRATIC” INQUIRY—THE NATURE OF τὸ καλόν Socrates’ first question appears to pose no difficulty for Kritoboulos: “Whichever one of these two, then, do you believe—that the beautiful itself (τὸ καλὸν)16 exists only in a human being,



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or in some other things too?” (5.3). As a companion of Socrates, Kritoboulos, we can imagine, has had many prior occasions to ponder and prepare an answer no less “Socratic” than his examiner’s leading question. Invoking Zeus, Kritoboulos affirms that he believes τὸ καλόν also can exist both “in a horse and an ox, and in many soul-less things” as well, such as, a shield, sword or spear (5.3). Socrates, not unexpectedly, asks Kritoboulous to say how it is that while none of these things are similar to the others, they are nonetheless “all” properly said to be beautiful or noble (καλὰ). Kritoboulos, once more emphasizing his answer with an oath, his fourth and last of the dialogue, shows himself to be armed for this question as well (5.4): “Why, by Zeus, because they have been well-wrought with a view to the works (τὰ ἔργα) for the sake of which we acquire them, or if they have been well-begotten by nature with a view to the things which we need, these too are καλά.” For present purposes, Socrates must take pride in his companions’ response. Kritoboulos’ testimony, which plays upon the subtle differences of meaning in the phrase itself, provides a suitably Socratic response to this Socratic question, defining τὸ καλόν (beautiful or noble) in terms of how good or useful those things which are either well-wrought by human arts or well-made by nature prove to be in relation to human actions and needs. Perhaps recalling the argument of Socrates in the Memorabilia (III.8.1–7, cf. II.1) to Aristippos, who “set upon Socrates to refute him even as he himself earlier had been refuted,” Kritoboulos here repeats the Socratic view that what is beautiful or noble (τὸ καλόν) is inseparable, perhaps even indistinguishable, from considerations of what is good (τὸ ἀγαθόν) or useful; which is to say, that all virtues, human beings themselves, and even their bodies, are to be understood as καλά τε καὶ ἀγαθά strictly in relation to their use or their own good for some function or purpose.17 In this way, then, one could argue that “Socratic wisdom is not in fact wholly absent”18 or concealed by the ironic beauty contest but is actually mimicked or caricatured in the argument of Kritoboulos. Socrates’ questions in return notably depart from his division or separation of the beings, τὸ ὄντα, into human beings who are καλοί and other things which are καλά, a category Kritoboulos has further divided into animate or en-souled things made by nature (animals) and inanimate or soul-less things (man-made objects). Socrates and Kritoboulos in examining what is κάλλος both are altogether silent about divine beings or the gods. Rather than pursue more divisions, or clarify existing ones,19 Socrates applies Kritoboulos’ definition of beauty to parts of the human being in order to compare his body with that of Kritoboulos. With regard to eyes, for example, Socrates induces Kritoboulos to admit under questioning that his protruding eyes are “more beautiful” since eyes are needed for the sake of seeing. It is perfectly clear to Kritoboulos that human beings “need” eyes for the sake of seeing, and that his own well-set eyes are able “to see only straight-forwardly,” whereas Socrates’ eyes, because protruding, see all around the sides as well. By his own definition this cannot be considered more useful or better suited to their task—that is, “more beautiful” (5.5). In an unflattering, but humorous rebuttal, Kritoboulos quickly infers and draws the absurd conclusion that must follow from Socrates’ argument (cf. Mem. IV.6.13), that even an ordinary crab must surpass Socrates in this respect because its eyes are “the most well-made” of all animals. As if oblivious to the absurd comparison, Socrates does not hesitate to concur with Kritoboulos “in every way, since also with a view to strength [a crab] has by nature the best eyes” (5.5). Aware of the playful irony at work in their exchange, with Socrates substituting “the best” (ἄριστα) for “the finest” or most beautiful (κάλλιστα), Kritoboulos is keen to do his part. He soon discovers, by questioning Socrates this time, that this Socratic logos of theirs applies equally ridiculously to their noses. Being asked “which of [our] two noses is more

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beautiful” or fine (καλλίων), Socrates supposes that his must be, justifying his response once again with respect to use: “at least if nostrils were well-made by the gods for sake of catching scents—for your nostrils look toward the ground, while mine flare out and readily accept scents from all around” (5.6). Kritoboulos, reverting to the conventional understanding, objects: “But how is a snub-nose, rather than straight one, κάλλιων?” Obviously, says Socrates, “because it does not obstruct [vision], but straight-away allows the eyes to see whatever they wish, whereas a lofty nose, as if being insolent, has walled off the eyes.” The extent to which the analogy is being pushed by Socrates is itself laughable. But the comical effect of Socrates’ reply disguises, to some extent, the conditional premise which undergirds his reasoning. For while Kritoboulos had spoken of what is well-made by nature, Socrates introduces the gods as the authors of human beings in order to defend the usefulness and hence beauty of his flaring nostrils (see Mem. I.4.4–6). He refrains, however, from fully drawing the humorous conclusion which follows from the fact that, according to their logos, he has been made by design “more beautiful”—that is, more useful—than Kritoboulos when it comes to the parts of his body; in other words, he is arguing that the divine mind which fashions human beings seems to have endowed Socrates with a “better” body than most other human beings, at least with respect to instruments of sense-perception, an apparent advantage which should remind us of the case for Socrates’ superiority to other human beings with respect to piety (cf. Mem. IV.3.12).20 This evidence, at any rate, is modestly suppressed by Socrates for the moment. Kritoboulos at this point resigns himself to defeat and concedes all on his own not only that Socrates has a mouth made much better for the purpose of biting off pieces of food, but also that his thick lips must furnish a softer kiss than Kritoboulos’ lips. Socrates does not let the chance pass this time to draw the ridiculous conclusion supplied by his friend, which is, that, “according to the logos” of Kritoboulos, Socrates surpasses even asses in ugliness when it comes to his mouth, while he is altogether silent about Kritoboulos’ conclusion regarding his lips—a conclusion which he is content to let the judges draw on their own, if they agree. Kritoboulos’ intention is to put Socrates at a conspicuous disadvantage with respect to beauty by suggesting before the judges that Socrates is “uglier” than an ass, at least in a certain respect. But of course, if Socrates’ “beauty” is defined in terms of usefulness, rather than conventionally, then this apparent insult is actually a surrender. Socrates defends himself by reminding Kritoboulos of his failure to “take into account this proof ” (τεκμήριον; cf. 2.23 and 4.17) of his beauty, namely, that he is “more beautiful” than Kritoboulos for the very reason which Kritoboulos himself had jokingly submitted when he had first challenged Socrates (5.7, cf. 4.19), namely, his divine origins: for “the Naiades themselves being divine begat the Silenoi who more resemble me than you.” Socrates’ “beauty” is somehow divine, or at least divinely-begotten, in addition to being well-made and designed by the gods. He thus seems to be boasting that he possesses beauty in excess of what is good or even useful simply for human beings, and this is a kind of “beauty” (or “wealth”) for which the borrowed “Socratic” logos of Kritoboulos cannot at all offer an adequate account.21 Socrates’ ironic boast regarding his divine Silenic beauty elicits from Kritoboulos apparent terms for his surrender, but this kind of beauty remains obscured by the emphasis on bodily beauty in the agōn, if not also as a result of the judgment. In boasting of divine lineage, Socrates confesses his resemblance to the Silenoi, calling attention to and admitting his lack of conventional physical beauty, a confession befitting the playfulness of the Sym­ posium. Like the mention of his marriage to Xanthippe earlier, the discussion of Socrates’ physiognomy takes place only here in the Socratic writings of Xenophon. The serious con-



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siderations or hidden meanings of which these are the comic equivalents are thus glimpsed only indirectly, but they are glimpsed.

JUDGING THE BEAUTY CONTEST What should be obvious even to the most careless observer is that the divine beauty which Socrates ironically claims to possess is not at all of the same sort as that possessed by Kritoboulos. If the beautiful and noble are inseparable from the good and useful, as Kritoboulos’ definition of καλλίων proposes, then it is possible to view Socrates’ superiority to his rival in terms of the beauty which Xenophon stressed in his Memorabilia, the remarkable self-control, continence, and other kindred qualities22 that constitute Socratic wealth, precisely the kind that Antisthenes in particular found so useful, if not attractive (4.43, 4.64, cf. 4.38, 4.40). By comically attributing his birth and his natural ugliness to the useful gifts with which he has been blessed by the providential gods, Socrates stakes his claim to beauty on the utility of his bodily form (cf. 8.3–6). At the end of the agōn, Kritoboulos believes he has been refuted by this Antisthenean logic and playfully concedes victory to the superior usefulness of Socrates’ physical “beauty” (5.8): “No longer is it possible to contradict you . . . I fear that your wealth and that of Antisthenes may hold power over me.” Unable to “contradict” or refute Socrates in speech, Kritoboulos awaits the judgment of the jury. He calls for the “voting-pebbles” to be distributed to the jurors and then gathered in secret, fearing that his opponent’s “wealth” (πλοῦτον) will overpower his silent beauty. All that remains is for a judgment to be made, the votes cast and counted, the prize awarded, and the penalty assessed (5.9). The judges in this parody of a trial, however, were neither persuaded by Socrates’ boast nor moved by Kritoboulos’ feigned surrender, as the conclusion of Section Five makes perfectly clear. The lots all fall out in Kritoboulos’ favor. With an ironic cry of disbelief—but not an oath—Socrates laments the silent corruption of “both jurors and judges” (καὶ δικαστὰς καὶ κριτάς)23 that is reflected in the vote (5.10). In effect, he now jokingly adopts the role of accuser. For in his view, the final tally demonstrates that Kritoboulos’ “money” or currency, “like most other money” (one commentator observes), in fact has the opposite effect of what Kallias had claimed for his wealth,24 for not only is Kritoboulos’ beauty not sufficient to make human beings more just as he, even more so than Kallias, had argued it does (cf. 4.1–5), but it also corrupts those who most of all should be incorruptible.25 While it is certain that none of the others take Socrates’ accusation too seriously, given that “all” had voted in favor of Kritoboulos, the implication is not easily dismissed. The seriousness of the injustice Socrates says has been caused by Kritoboulos’ beauty may be judged from the only other use in the Symposium of this verb—“to corrupt” (διαφθείρειν).26 It occurred already in the exchange in Section Four between Socrates and the Syracusan, following Charmides’ furtive suggestion that the latter must take great pride in his beautiful young boy. The Syracusan—swearing “By Zeus”27—denied this. He proclaimed then that he feared for the boy because he perceived “certain persons plotting to corrupt him” (4.52). Apparently startled by this serious accusation, Socrates swore an unusual oath himself (“Herakles!”)28 and inquired further of the Syracusan, assuming that to want to “corrupt” someone is equivalent to wanting to “ruin” or kill that one: “How great an injustice do they suppose has been committed by your boy such that they want to kill him?” (4.53). Only the commission of an extraordinary “injustice” (ἀδικία) would warrant such a punishment, according to Socrates.

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In this first encounter between Socrates and the Syracusan, there is tension, in some ways serious and in other ways playful. The terms introduced in this exchange—justice, injustice, ruin, corruption, murder—create a heightened sense of seriousness, although the proliferation of oaths in their speeches (as we have noted earlier) associates this scene more with comedy than tragedy. Oaths sworn so comically are not to be taken seriously. What is evident at this point, however, and will become even more apparent in their later encounters, as the evening turns into morning, is that the two are contending with one another in an important sense. Having heard the Syracusan speak of “corruption,” Socrates had playfully overreacted to his statement and immediately pretended to believe that the Syracusan was accusing someone of wanting literally to destroy the youth. The Syracusan, perhaps thinking that Socrates was serious, explained that he is not afraid that the boy will be killed, but instead that he will be “corrupted” by those who are plotting “to persuade him to sleep with them.” Still confused, or at least pretending to be so, Socrates learned by further questioning the Syracusan that, even though he himself sleeps with his boy “all night every night,” the boy is not thereby corrupted. This observation of Socrates is prefaced by his swearing another unusual oath, one linked to his preceding oath,29 yet even more unusual given the setting of the Symposium in the men’s room (ἀνδρών) of Kallias’ house (4.54): “By Hera,” exclaimed Socrates, “what great good fortune for you, having by nature such skin that it alone does not corrupt those with whom you sleep!” In this mock praise, Socrates playfully infers what the Syracusan must take as the source of his own worth: “So, for you at least, if in nothing else but your skin, it is a worthy thing to take great pride.” To praise the Syracusan for having a “skin” that differs from other men and does not corrupt the youth with whom he associates seems a comic inversion of the accusation which Socrates himself, two decades later, would face at his own trial. The Syracusan objects to Socrates’ ironic claim on his behalf, namely, that his association with the young boy does not corrupt him, although that of others who desire to persuade the boy to sleep beside them, he believes, surely would. Does the Syracusan justly fear that overtures from an erotic admirer of the beautiful youth, like Charmides or Kritoboulos, would lead to corruption, even as Socrates himself argues that the young judges in the beauty contest were corrupted by the “money”—that is, the beauty—of Kritoboulos? Or does the Syracusan suspect the “corruption” of his boy through an intimate association, on account of the power of one who can persuade him in speeches to do as he wishes, just as some other worried fathers would come to fear Socrates’ power in speech to attract their young sons? It should be recalled at this point as well that the Syracusan and his boy, at the instigation of Charmides, have taken the place of Lykon and his son in the round of defense speeches (cf. 3.12). Socrates’ playful claim on the Syracusan’s behalf, that he is justly proud of having “skin” that does not corrupt, is rejected. The Syracusan, on the contrary, swore by Zeus that it is not his non-corrupting “skin” that he is proud of, but rather he takes great pride in the foolishness of those who “gaze” (θεώμενοι) upon his performers and therefore support him (4.55). Whatever we may think of the Syracusan’s claim to take pride in the “thoughtless ones” (ἄφροσιν) who pay and watch his performances—those for whom he prays to the gods, according to the jealous Philippos, and from whom he acquires “an abundance of profits” through a “dearth of wits” (4.55)—his exchange with Socrates is rife with divine invocations. Though the exaggerated use of oversworn logoi may be common in comedies, Socrates’ prophetic allusion here to the Syracusan’s defense against the very charge of corruption that he himself would face at Athens is a poignant reminder of the grave injustice that Socrates suffered at the hands of those who perceived him to be guilty of plotting to corrupt the youth of Athens with his speeches.



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In the unique character of the Syracusan’s flesh we seem to glimpse a “ludicrous inversion” of the serious charge brought against Socrates at his trial by his accuser.30 The Syracusan’s “skin,” on the other hand, seems to be the comic equivalent of the Odyssean rhetoric which Socrates makes use of to overcome differences in his interlocutors’ natures, so as not to “corrupt” those unprepared or unwilling to be among his closest companions. In Xenophon’s Socratic writings at least, there is something conspicuously “ugly” or unappealing, and hence non-corrupting, about Socrates’ speeches, particularly in his Memorabilia but also here in his Symposium, and most especially so in this ironically “Socratic” logos of Kritoboulos which reduces the beautiful to the useful, rendering τὸ καλόν a matter of mere utilitarian calculations.31

MODERATING DESIRE—SOCRATES CONTRA KRITOBOULOS It is clear from the conclusion of the beauty contest with Kritoboulos that Socrates puts forward the impression that he wishes to distance himself as much as is possible from the kind of wealth which corrupts, that is, from the kind of corruption that Kritoboulos’ “money” had silently worked on all the judges. This move was anticipated already by the mingling of seriousness and playfulness in Socrates’ conversation with Kritoboulos in Section Four. After hearing the display speech of Kritoboulos, Socrates, who was rebuked by the grave Hermogenes for being too tolerant of his companion’s immoderate erotic infatuation with Kleinias, had defended himself by recalling the history of Kritoboulos’ sickness. The young companion’s illness, so to speak, is a preexisting condition that antedates his association with Socrates (4.23–24):32 Hermogenes spoke: “But I, Socrates, don’t think that it is at all like you, this overlooking of Kritoboulos being so dumbstruck by erōs.” “For does it seem to you,” said Socrates, “that [it is] after being with me that he is disposed [to be] this way?” “But when, if not then?” “Do you not see that his first beard is just now creeping down past his ears, while Kleinias’ is already climbing up from beneath? This one therefore, going to the same school together with Kleinias, was at that time excessively set on fire besides. In fact, because he was ashamed, his father gave him over to me [to see] if I would be able to benefit him in some way. And even now he has already become much better. For until now, just as those who beheld the Gorgons, he gazed stone-like at him and never departed from him; but now already I have even seen him blinking.”

At the urging of Krito, the father who was ashamed of his young son’s delinquency, Kritoboulos passed into the company of Socrates, presumably for the sake of education (cf. Plato, Apo. 33e). Socrates however does not say that he sought to “benefit” Kritoboulos, although he jokingly takes credit for having improved the “blinking” Kritoboulos.33 Consistent with Xenophon’s claim (see Mem. I.2.3–8; cf. Plato, Apo. 19d-e) that he never sought to educate human beings in return for a fee, Socrates says only that Kritoboulos’ father, in the wake of his own failure to educate his son (see 2.5; cf. Plato, Apo. 20a-c), turned the young man over to Socrates, to see if Socrates would, in some way, be able to benefit him.34 Is the education, or comical equivalent thereof, implied by Kritoboulos’ blinking sufficient to defend Socrates against the accusation of complacency raised by Hermogenes, not to mention against the serious charge of corrupting the youth which eventually brought Socrates to trial (see Plato, Apo. 24b–25c)? If not, why did Socrates choose not to appease Hermogenes by

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mounting a new logos, one capable of educating Kritoboulos and worthy of the Socratic life as Hermogenes understands it (cf. 8.12)? Under other circumstances, Socrates had proven quite capable of doing so, educating Kritoboulos with respect to his profligate lifestyle by demolishing his confidence in the sufficiency of inherited wealth to support him in a manner befitting a gentleman (see Oik. 2.1–9, 6.12; cf. Mem. II.6.1–5, 37–39).35 But here in the Symposium, Socrates refrained from engaging in any serious effort to educate or reform Kritoboulos’ erōs.36 The erotic young man’s “blinking” was hardly self-evident proof of the virtue of the student or his ostensible teacher. Hermogenes must have been disappointed. Socrates did, however, by way of a conclusion to his defense in Section Four, reveal the danger posed to his young friend by his failure to rein in his erotic longing. This forewarning was addressed to all the “men” present, and prefaced by an oath. The first of its kind in the dialogue, this oath did not simply invoke Zeus or one of the other gods individually, but innovatively called upon all the gods to stand witnesses both to Kritoboulos’ immoderation and to Socrates’ frequent counsel regarding erōs (4.25–26):37 And yet, by the gods, men, it seems to me at least,” said [Socrates], “that this one has—to speak just among ourselves—also kissed Kleinias; and there is no more terrible tinder of passionate love. For it is insatiable and furnishes certain sweet hopes. This is why I assert it is needful for the one who will be capable of being moderate to abstain from kissing those in the bloom of youth.

According to Socrates, when one kind of “love” (φιλέω: see 4.18) manifests itself as “kissing” (φίλημα) it sparks a “terrible tinder,” which threatens to set a soul aflame with “passionate love,” or erōs (ἔρως). The fire of erōs in a soul, he says, is utterly “insatiable” and “furnishes” the one who burns with “certain sweet hopes,” overpowering the capacity for being “moderate” (σώφρων) in those who are on fire with erotic desire.

MODERATING DESIRE—SOCRATES CONTRA XENOPHON Warning the symposiasts against the risk of an immoderate erotic intoxication, Socrates speaks with an air of seriousness which is not unfamiliar to those who recall the tone of Socrates’ first discourse on the overwhelming effects of the excessive consumption of wine upon both bodies and minds (cf. 2.24–26). It is likely that a few of the symposiasts seconded Socrates’ argument—the unerotic Antisthenes,38 for example, who, for reasons that he later would boast of chose not to participate at all in the discussion of Kritoboulos’ beauty, and whose extreme continence was the source of his proudly acquired Socratic wealth (4.43); or the grave Hermogenes, who was devoted in Socrates’ view to a gentlemanly form of piety (4.49) and whose rebuke of Socrates for not chastising Kritoboulos had led Socrates to defend himself thus. Autolykos’ father and Nikeratos were also likely to have nodded in agreement with Socrates. Others among the symposiasts would surely have been inclined to disagree with, or to disregard, Socrates’ counsel, including Socrates’ other two companions, if we are to judge from Charmides’ erotic insinuations (see 3.1, 4.8–9) and from Kritoboulos’ teasing of Socrates by unabashedly praising the power of beauty and flaunting the temptations of his erōs (4.18, 4.21).39 Then there is Kallias, whose barely-concealed desire for the youth Autolykos (8.7) will later rouse Socrates to attempt to redress his host’s erotic passion in the longest speech of the



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dialogue. Xenophon, too, seems likely to have been one, in his youth, who would disagree with Socrates’ assessment of the dangers of the beautiful (cf. 1.9–10). Xenophon himself was certainly no stranger to Socratic counsel, especially regarding erōs. One of only two conversations between Xenophon and Socrates recorded in Xenophon’s writings happens to take as its subject precisely the immoderate erotic behavior of Kritoboulos (Mem. I.3). Xenophon subtly introduces this intriguing passage in his Memorabilia as one which was spoken with a seriousness accompanied by, or mingled with, playfulness (Mem. I.3.8; cf. Sym. 4.28, end). In it, Socrates questions Xenophon in the presence of Kritoboulos40 about his opinion of the latter’s reckless indulgence of an erotic desire to kiss another young man who was beautiful and in the bloom of youth (Mem. I.3.9–10): “Tell me, Xenophon,” said Socrates, “didn’t even you hold Kritoboulos here to be one of the moderate human beings rather than [one of ] the rash, and one of those who is skilled in forethought rather than thoughtless and reckless?” “Absolutely,” said Xenophon. “Well now, hold that he is most hot-headed and most audacious; for this one would even do somersaults into daggers and leap into fire.” “And what,” said Xenophon, “did you see him doing then that caused you to form such judgments about him?” “Did he not,” [Socrates] said, “dare to kiss the son of Alcibiades, who is the fairest of all in countenance and most in his youthful bloom?”

In condemning the recklessness of Kritoboulos, evident in his willingness to kiss Alcibiades’ son (an intriguing reference),41 Socrates opens the door to self-reflection. With any other interlocutor, the conversation would perhaps have ended here, with an unanswered question posed by Socrates, but Xenophon persists, almost impetuously, and in so doing distinguishes himself among Socrates’ companions. He reveals himself as one who is both a lover of the beautiful and a lover of speeches (Mem. I.3.10–13): “But if, however,” said Xenophon, “that is a reckless deed, then I, too, it seems to me, would endure this risk.” “You wretch!” Socrates said. “And what do you suppose you would suffer having kissed someone beautiful? Would you not immediately be a slave rather than free, spending much for harmful pleasures, possess much want of leisure for the sake of attending to anything fit for a gentleman (noble and good), and be compelled of necessity to take seriously what even a madman would not take seriously?” “Herakles!” Xenophon said. “What a terrible power you say a kiss is.” “And does this,” said Socrates, “amaze you? Don’t you know,” he said, “that poisonous spiders not even half an obol in size merely by touching with the mouths ruin human beings with pain and drive them from their senses?” “Yes, by Zeus!” said Xenophon, “for spiders inject something thru their bite.” “You fool!” Socrates said. “Do you suppose that when those who are beautiful kiss they do not inject something, just because you do not see it? Do you not know that this creature, which is called being beautiful and in youthful bloom, is much more terrible than spiders, inasmuch as while spiders inject those touched, this other—not by touching, but whenever anyone merely beholds

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it—injects something, even from far away, of the sort to cause one to become mad? Perhaps also on account of this, the loves (οἱ ἔρωτες)) are called archers, because the beautiful inflict wounds even from far away. But I counsel you, Xenophon, whenever you see someone beautiful, flee and don’t look back; and as for you, Kritoboulos, I counsel you to go into exile for a year, for perhaps, just barely, in that time the bite which you received might just heal.”

By having his Socrates “apostrophize” him (as one commentator puts it) in the most impolite terms, Xenophon presents his association with Socrates in highly ironic terms. In speaking playfully to the erotic Xenophon, Socrates, in fact, employs the ridiculous vocabulary of Aristophanic comedy to upbraid a wayward “pupil,” chastising him as “You wretch!”42 and “You fool!”43 Such language is not at all characteristic of the urbane speech displayed by Xenophon’s Socrates in conversation with others. For his part, Xenophon’s replies are ironic as well, swearing “By Herakles!” in mock surprise at the “terrible power” Socrates ascribes to a kiss. When he speaks boldly of enduring that risk regardless, presumably for the sake of some good, he speaks as if he, too, is imitating Socrates (see Sym. 2.10). Indeed, the entire exchange reads as if it is part of a comedy.44 Given that theirs must have been a “complex friendship of some duration,” there is reason to wonder why—in the only conversation between Xenophon and Socrates recorded by Xenophon in his own Socratic writings—Xenophon, who “often comments favorably on the effectiveness of Socratic exhortations” with his companions, refrained from doing so in his own case.45 One can imagine Xenophon did not take offense at the language of Socrates because he viewed this attack to have been no less ironic than Socrates’ usual rhetoric. Rather than reply, Xenophon—as author of his Memorabilia, not as the young man in the conversation being recalled—writes only that “in this way” those who were not “unfaltering” (ἀσφαλῶς) and prone “to indulge the desires associated with Aphrodite” (ἀφροδισιάζειν) would escape harm, because their “soul” would not be willing to be near this dangerous sort of creature called the beautiful whenever they succumb to the needs of the body (Mem. I.3.14). As for himself, says Xenophon, Socrates was well-prepared to refrain from indulging in the presence of “the most beautiful” (καλλίστων) and “most in bloom” (ὡραιοτάτων) more easily than others who flee from those who are most ugly and past their prime. Judging from the only other conversation Xenophon records between himself and Socrates (Ana. III.1.4–7), we might be led to conclude that Xenophon’s silence in reply amounts to neglect, or a rejection, of Socrates’ counsel in general. In his Anabasis, Xenophon reports how he himself, as a younger man, found a cunning way to solicit Socrates’ counsel about whether or not he should join the Persian expedition of Cyrus the younger. In consulting Apollo at Delphi about what to do, as Socrates had advised, young Xenophon formulated his question in such a way that the oracle’s response prompted him to follow his own inclination, which was to join Cyrus, rather than accept Socrates’ more cautious counsel. There is reason to believe that Xenophon had some regrets about not heeding the warning of Socrates and joining the expedition of Cyrus—not the least of which may have been his own absence from Athens at the time of Socrates’ trial. But in his Memorabilia, on the other hand, Xenophon refrains from saying if either he or Kritoboulos took Socrates’ advice about how to avoid or to recover from the “bite” of the beautiful.46 This conclusion, however, regarding the apparent neglect or rejection of Socrates’ counsel by Xenophon must be qualified by the following considerations: first, and most obviously, by the frequent statements made by Xenophon throughout his Socratic writings about the evident benefits derived from listening to Socrates by his companions and interlocutors; second, and perhaps most decisively, by an inquiry into Xenophon’s reasons for placing these



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two remembered conversations between himself (as a young man) and Socrates, precisely at the point in those texts where a new beginning—or a beginning again—occurs within the narrative of his two most substantial writings, one explicitly Socratic and the other ostensibly non-Socratic. While such an inquiry, unfortunately, goes beyond the scope of the task at hand, its outline may be suggested by attending to the Socratic irony and rhetoric that emerges from a close reading of Xenophon’s Symposium and that is arguably at work in his Memorabilia and Anabasis as well.47 One commentator has helpfully provided an adumbrated account of this inquiry, and how it points to Xenophon’s concern with Socratic rhetoric in his Symposium, in a statement that begins rather than concludes his interpretive introduction to the Memorabilia:48 The account of his association with Socrates that Xenophon conveys through these stories is . . . all the more surprising for its apparent inconsistency with the impression conveyed by the features of his Socratic works we have mentioned: the stories seem to indicate that Xenophon did not place very great weight on his relationship with Socrates, even that he took it lightly. But perhaps that impression was in need of qualification or correction. More precisely, what the stories indicate is that Xenophon was not entirely receptive to Socrates’ advice. Beyond that, as his life as a whole serves to suggest, Xenophon did not regard the Socratic life—the philosophic life pure and simple—as a model for him to follow in every respect. It is safe to assume that he expected the same to be true of many of his readers. This consideration may help to explain another feature of Xenophon’s Socratic works: the almost total absence from them of philosophic protreptic, exhortations to philosophize of the sort found in abundance in the Platonic dialogues. In their place, we find—in Xenophon’s Symposium—a witty and lighthearted but no less telling critique of the Socratic circle, or at least some of its conspicuous members. (The very terms “philosophy,” “philosophers,” “philosophize,” occur very infrequently in the Socratic writings.)

THE SOCRATIC RHETORIC OF XENOPHON Xenophon’s inclusion of these two curious conversations with Socrates in his Memorabilia and Anabasis is indicative of his attention to Socratic irony itself as a powerful form of rhetoric. These accounts and their placement reflect an awareness of a discrepancy or inconsistency between the hortative precepts articulated by Socrates in the presence of his companions and certain others, especially with respect to continence, and their relation to the philosophic significance implied by the example of the Socratic life as lived. Socratic “rhetoric” thus includes but is not limited to the use of irony. In addition to his use of irony, silence itself—not speaking, or refraining from saying anything even or especially when the occasion seems nevertheless to call for a response—becomes a kind of deed, one which acknowledges the limits of speech, or the limitations of the occasion or the interlocutors, and the consequent need for a rhetorical approach to conversation. Saving his Anabasis for a separate study, let us return for a moment to the conversation in Xenophon’s Memorabilia. Xenophon’s playful conversation with Socrates here is the first, and indeed the paradigmatic recollection beyond Xenophon’s refutation of the twofold charge which led to Socrates’ conviction and death. It sets a pattern for reading the Memorabilia as a whole and thereby constitutes a fitting beginning, or new beginning, for Xenophon’s defense of Socrates and his way of life. The preface to this recollection of Xenophon in his Memora­ bilia of his conversation with Socrates suggests to us that, in addition to his exceptional continence and unusual daimonion, Socrates disciplined or “educated both his body and his soul”

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(see Mem. I.2.1, 3.5–7). In this way, he established or constituted for himself a certain “way of living” or mode of life (δίαιτη; cf. Latin regimen, French régime), an education and training comparable at the level of an individual to the politeia, or regime, which the laws and customs provide for those within the polis. Socrates’ way of life enabled him to act in a way that, in Xenophon’s judgment, was wholly in accordance with his own natural faculties as well as silent deliberations, entertaining desires and pleasures “confidently and without faltering” (θαρραλέως καὶ ἀσφαλῶς) that he would nonetheless often urge or counsel his companions to flee or avoid. What his own constitution made it possible to indulge without harm Socrates exhorted his companions not just by his deeds but by his speeches to secure themselves. The ironic tone of Xenophon’s recollection itself proves especially useful as an introduction to reading the section that immediately follows (Mem. I.3–7, II.1) because it points to exceptional Socratic continence—the foundation of virtue, but not virtue itself (Mem. I.5.4)49—and accounts for the inconsistency between Socrates’ speeches or logoi exhorting his companions and others, on one hand, and his deeds or erga, on the other. Thus, this paradigmatic recollection prepares us to read the rest of Xenophon’s Memorabilia in which Socrates, beyond the preliminary or initial defense against the accusations against him, appears to be much more concerned with the means of promoting the foundation of virtue in his companions, under certain economic or political conditions, than he is (or appears to be) with the education to virtue itself and the pursuit of wisdom which properly constitutes the philosophic life.50 In Xenophon’s view, an awareness of the rhetorical disjuncture or irony in the Memorabilia (but not only in the Memorabilia) of Socrates’ Odyssean mode of speaking, or rather his continence in speech, is essential to a precise understanding of the philosophical life as understood and lived by Socrates himself. This is subtly brought forward by Xenophon in his recollection here of what Socrates had to say about the hidden meaning of Homer’s Odysseus and his encounter with Circe,51 a passage (Mem. I.3.6–8) which separates Xenophon’s preface to his new beginning in defense of Socrates and his way of life (Mem. I.3.1–5), from the crucial exchange between a young Xenophon and Socrates (Mem. I.3.8–15) which we are examining here. The association of Socratic continence with Odyssean wisdom depends upon recognizing that, as Xenophon himself says at the end of this passage, regarding such matters, Socrates “made a jest, while at the same time being serious” (ἔπαιζεν ἅμα σπουδάζων). What others might hear only as a joke Xenophon understands Socrates to be speaking seriously, too. For such Socratic rhetoric always takes into account the particularity of the human condition and of being human,52 acknowledging the peculiar nature and limitations of individual interlocutors, while yet remaining remarkably free of and uncorrupted by the need to descend into the kind of common assumptions or vulgarity—that is, the unexamined opinions and preferences relished by those with natures unfit for or unfamiliar with philosophy—to which any attempt at philosophic protreptic would otherwise have to appeal. Among the intimate associates and companions of Socrates like young Xenophon, although perhaps not entirely so for those like his companions in the Symposium, to follow the advice or counsel of Socrates properly and model one’s own life upon his, one would have to possess a capacity to discern in his speeches and deeds the degree to which he is speaking and acting rhetorically or ironically.53 The rhetoric of Xenophon’s Socrates partakes of precautions commensurate with the kind of danger philosophy always confronts in a polis where one encounters natures of varying sorts. Here, it is appropriate to refer not only to the Odyssean rhetoric employed by Socrates but also to Xenophon’s own use of Socratic rhetoric in writing. In his portrait of Socrates in the Symposium, Xenophon fittingly makes use of this same rhetoric in writing down his



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recollections of Socrates. Any serious effort to understand the Socratic regime or way of living as represented by Xenophon must cultivate an awareness of the fact that Xenophon’s manner of writing, like Socrates’ speech, is capable of safely concealing the beauty of Socratic philosophy in plain sight. This awareness is leavened by a disarmingly disingenuous architectural metaphor which concludes the very chapter which is the “missing” peak54 in Xenophon’s Memorabilia (Mem. III.8.10): Moreover, with respect to temples and altars, [Socrates] said that the most fitting site would be one which is most manifest yet also most untrodden; for it is pleasant, on the one hand, for those who see it to offer prayers, whereas it is also pleasant, on the other hand, for those who are undefiled to approach it.

The work of Socratic rhetoric, in other words, is to preserve “untrodden” (ἀστιβεστάτη) that which is highest or most sacred, knowledge of which would seem to make a human being wise (see Plato, Apology 23a), from the touch of those who are impure or unworthy, while at the same time making that which is highest “most manifest” (ἐμφανεστάτη) to those “undefiled” (ἁγνῶς) human beings who deserve to “approach” that knowledge. The concealment of the beauty or wisdom of Socrates out in the open, so to speak, is thus an attribute of Xenophon’s Socratic rhetoric.

PURSUING THE BEAUTIFUL—DEEDS CONTRA SPEECHES Returning to the beauty contest in Section Five, which, in the conspicuous absence of the promised displays of wisdom, serves as the comic equivalent of a missing peak in the Sym­ posium, this sublime awareness of Socratic rhetoric is hinted at by the wonderfully enigmatic Charmides.55 It is he who notices or divines (or merely stumbles upon: see Sym. 2.19) an intriguing discrepancy between the somber warning against beauty which Socrates here delivers to defend himself from Hermogenes’ rebuke, on the one hand, and his seemingly contradictory actions in associating with those who are manifestly beautiful, on the other hand (Sym. 4.27–28):56 And Charmides spoke: “But why therefore, Socrates, are you spooking us, your friends, away from those who are beautiful, while you yourself,” he said, “I have seen, by Apollo, at the schoolmaster’s, searching together for something in a book, head-to-head and bare shoulder against bare shoulder, with Kritoboulos here who is in the bloom of his youth?” And Socrates said, “Ah ha! This must be why,” he said, “I, like someone who has been bitten by some creature, felt a pain in my shoulder for more than five days and had what seemed like an itch in my heart! But now to you,” he said, “Kritoboulos, in the presence of these witnesses I proclaim that you are not to lay hold of me until your beard is as long as the hair on your head!” Thus these [speeches] in this way mingled both joking and being serious.

Charmides, as he had done with Socrates’ dancing, catches a glimpse here of the revealing irony at work and at play in the Socratic way of life. Hearing now how eager Socrates is to “spook”57 his “friends” (φίλοι) away from those who are beautiful, the mischievous Charmides swears “By Apollo!” that he has seen Socrates himself, sitting beside the beautiful young Kritoboulos, head-to-head and shoulder-to-shoulder, “searching together for something in a book.” This unusual oath invokes Apollo, the god of light and patron of Muses, to judge Socrates.

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But it also alludes to the mythological tale of Apollo putting on trial and punishing the satyr Marsyas for hubristic boasting, just as Charmides initiates a playful prosecution and “flaying” of Socratic hubris.58 It should almost go without saying that Socrates, on this occasion, did not defend himself against the rebuke implied in Charmides’ sworn statement. Xenophon’s Socrates seems rather to have been pleased at the insight, for his response is playful, not defensive. Charmides’ observation of this discrepancy between appearance (in speech) and reality (in deed) prompts Socrates to reply to the charges with a playful and surprised mea culpa and a claim that he has already justly suffered the consequences, thus “mingling” in speech both the playful and the serious. In his conversation with Xenophon in the Memorabilia, Socrates had playfully advised exile for Kritoboulos as a way to heal the wound he must have suffered from kissing the beautiful young relative of Alcibiades. Here, Socrates is silent about his own need for treatment, although he does admit that his nearness to Kritoboulos was the source of the bite which caused him pain in his shoulder and left an “itch” in his “heart” (or soul) that he felt for days. Instead, it is Kritoboulos who must suffer mock exile, being ordered by Socrates to stay away for him until he is no longer in the bloom of youth. Xenophon has testified elsewhere, especially in his Memorabilia, that Socrates’ unusually continent constitution protected him from overindulging in pleasures associated with Aphrodite. Rather than fleeing from the beautiful in deed, as he warns others to do in speech, Socrates himself does not shy away or abstain from being near or gazing upon those who are beautiful (see 2.15), nor does he run the risk of being distracted from his usual activities, such as conversing and reading together with his friends or companions, by indulging his taste for beauty. Socrates is able to resist the charms of the beautiful; he is not afraid that looking or being near the beautiful will endanger him or prevent him from his usual pursuits. When informed of the presence in town of a courtesan named Theodote, a “beautiful woman” (γυναικὸς καλῆς) whose “beauty” (κάλλος) was reportedly overpowering of speech and “reason” (λόγος), Socrates replied, “Let us go behold her, for it is not possible for those who merely hear to learn what is too great for words to describe.” And he did, but there was no danger of Socrates’ being kept from his usual activity, conversing and examining, by an erotic desire to constantly gaze at the beautiful Theodote (Mem. III.11.1–3, 15–18).59 Socrates makes no reference in his speech to a further penalty for his disregard of his own warning other than the pain that he received from the “bite” he suffered in touching Kritoboulos on the bare shoulder, nor does he speak of a remedy for the “bite” other than distance from its source and time. He also refrains from commenting directly upon Charmides’ observation about his ironic recommendation for his “friends.” If one were to pursue this line of inquiry, it would be necessary to ask what Socrates understands friendship to be, and who (or of what use to him) are his friends. This inquiry is briefly pursued in the exchange with Hermogenes who boasts of his friendship with the gods, but that speech is all-too-seriously intended and taken—and it is quickly dropped by all who hear it, including Socrates. The setting of the Symposium seems unsuitable for serious inquiry, although the outlines of such consideration are illuminated by the playful speeches and the action of the dialogue itself. Suffice it to say as well that what it means to pursue the beautiful, either on one’s own or through association with others, would hardly come to light in the finest way under the present circumstances in which Socrates, in the beauty contest, is defending a definition of the beautiful that reduces it to an ironic understanding of the merely useful. His “crude” utilitarianism is ugly insofar as it understands the high in terms of the low, defining the beautiful itself (τὸ καλόν) only in terms of its use to others and equating friends with property.60 The word friendship, in its



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usual sense, does not characterize the association of Socrates with Kallias and the other gentlemen, nor is the character of his more intimate association with his own companions really on display in the Symposium—though his companions do make frequent allusions to it. However, in describing the activity in which Socrates is engaged together with Kritoboulos while looking at a book. The word used by Charmides points to the silent deliberations of Socrates regarding his friends, for his “searching” (μαστεύω) together with friends is etymologically rooted in the same word as is “procuring” (see 3.10: μαστροπεία)—the disreputable art in which Socrates took pride and successfully defended in his apologia. Socrates may be justly proud of his ironic speech which has prompted an insight which in turn has revealed in a playful way the very serious and private activity he shares with a few close companions and “friends”—an activity, Xenophon recalls, which was, according to Socrates himself, the means of “catching hold” of something good and “very useful,” which is to say, of some benefit or even wisdom itself (Mem. I.6.14): On another occasion, Socrates said, ‘In this same way, Antiphon, just as another is pleased by a good horse or a dog or a bird, so I myself am even more pleased by good friends, and if I possess something good I teach it to them, and I introduce them to others from whom, I believe, they will receive some benefit with respect to virtue. And reading in common with my friends, I go through the treasures of the wise men from the past which they wrote down and left behind in their books—and if we see something good, we pluck it out, and we hold that it is a great gain if we become beneficial friends to one another in this way.’ Hearing this, [Xenophon] formed the opinion that Socrates himself was blessed and that he led others who heard him to gentlemanliness.

Xenophon reports this Socratic account of his search with friends for the good and useful among the writings left behind by those who have gone before and were wise, as a means of conveying what Socrates said and (we may infer) thought regarding friendship and the genuine profit or gain that one acquires and shares with friends—knowledge of what is good and beneficial, or wisdom. For this reason, Xenophon declares his own judgment that he thought the life lived by Socrates to be a blessed one and also one of great benefit to those who listened to him. Socrates’ association with Kritoboulos, observed by Charmides, appears to be of this sort.61 But in the amiable setting of “gentlemen” who are at play in the Symposium, Xenophon and his Socrates may have their own reasons for maintaining a Silenic silence regarding the nature and activity of true friendship. These reasons may be related to the fact that, despite his arguments, Socrates fails to persuade the judges in the beauty contest with Kritoboulos. He is content to allow Kritoboulos and himself to be judged according to the flickering (not to say dim) light of the torch. Something more of course could be said in defense of the “beauty” of Socrates but on this occasion Xenophon, too, is content to let the speeches and deeds which he recalls stand on their own. Unlike his recollections in the Memorabilia, Xenophon’s recollection of the playful deeds of Socrates and other gentlemen in the Symposium is not concerned primarily with establishing or demonstrating Socrates’ justice; in other words, this recollection is not properly speaking dictated by the necessity for a real defense, or apologia. Therefore, in the private setting of the Symposium and in the company of companions and other “gentlemen,” Xenophon is free to display that aspect of Socratic wisdom which escapes the confines of justice, strictly understood, in order to examine the beautiful or noble which is “good only to be looked at” by those who have eyes to see,62 while yet remaining in another sense hidden and unseen. Xenophon thereby runs the risk of allowing his Socrates to be viewed in a less than flattering light.

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In the pursuit of wisdom, we must insist on recognizing the proper objects of knowledge, the beautiful and the noble as well as the good, from the perspective befitting their worth, that is, in terms of the high rather than the low. Socrates loses the beauty contest in the Symposium because he seems to argue that being wise is a matter of being reasonable, which is to say, a way of looking at the beautiful and noble in terms of what is useful; and in doing so, the beautiful and noble, when seen from the perspective of utility, is no longer good or choice-worthy in and of itself, but merely for the profit or gain it brings to human beings.63 There is something decidedly insufficient about taking this perspective.64 Socrates’ defeat, let us say, is not due to simply a lack of bodily beauty. For even the speeches in which his hidden wisdom may be thought to dwell, at times being incongruous with his deeds, can come to light as ugly.65 Even so, there is still something appealing about Socrates and the power of his speeches (see Mem. III.11.4–14). Familiar as he is with Socrates and his rhetoric, Xenophon was aware that sometimes one cannot simply say the same thing in the same way in the presence of people of differing character: “For there are many occasions on which it is altogether fitting neither to put in order nor to speak in the same manner” (Mem III.1.11; but cf. IV.4.6–10 with IV.1.3, 6.13–15). The concealment of Socrates’ beauty and wisdom is part of Xenophon’s defense of Socrates.66 Xenophon’s Socrates shows his deed par excellence by his reluctance to speak openly and seriously of the highest things, such as the beautiful itself, instead reducing the beautiful or the noble to the useful and the good.67 Accordingly, it is fitting that Socrates loses the beauty contest with Kritoboulos and not simply because he is conspicuously ugly in comparison to his companion’s beauty, or because of the harshness of the light cast over the contestants and the immaturity or corruption of the judges. Like Socrates in his relation to his shrewish wife, which is the comic equivalent of his relation to the polis and an indication of the limits of logoi with respect to persuasion, Socrates’ agōn with his Kritoboulos is entirely ironic,68 representing a laughable distortion of the very beauty of soul, that is, the nobility which had drawn more than a few of the most beautiful and promising young men of Athens into Socrates’ presence. This acceptance by Socrates of the limits of rhetoric and thus of the power of logos itself over human beings separates him from the tribe of sophists, whose claims regarding their art of speeches are unqualified; it also distinguishes Socrates from those who openly profess a capacity to teach an art of words which, in Athens, prepares one to enter politics. The best natures among the Athenian youths, perhaps among all the Greeks and barbarians, sought him out because he “lived in a most self-sufficient manner with the least amount of wealth, and with respect to all the pleasures was the most continent, and in speeches made use of everyone who conversed with him in whatever manner he wanted” (Mem. I.2.14). Those, like Kritias and Alcibiades, who desired “from the beginning to preside over the polis” and wished to learn most of all about “political affairs” (τὰ πολιτικά), also sought to associate with Socrates (Mem. I.2.39). Others, too, pursued him, thinking that his possessions included wisdom and hoping that his beauty of soul, beyond the continence of his body, would satisfy their own deepest longings: not only his notable young Athenian companions, Kritoboulos, Charmides, and Hermogenes, but also the likes of Xenophon and Plato counted themselves among his lovers.69 Xenophon, at least, was moderate enough to conceal through his art of writing the beauty and wisdom of his Socrates in his speeches and in his deed par excellence— namely, his willingness and capacity to hide his inquiries into the beautiful or noble as well as the good within the context of the “playful deeds of gentlemen,” while at the same time pointing to those inquiries and their results, his possession of which is the source of his beauty “on the highest level” and the cause of his best lovers’ attraction to him.70



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NOTES 1.  Bruell 1984, 317–318; Castiglione, Book of the Courtier, Bk I.72 (Bull translation). 2.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 186: “Socrates thus transforms what was at the outset to be a contest between his wisdom and Critoboulus’ beauty into one concerning beauty (nobility) alone.” Cf. Strauss 1972, 165, where an interpretive reading holds Xenophon himself, as much as Socrates, responsible for this transformation: “Thus the stage is set for a contest on wisdom between Kallias and Socrates. But Xenophon foregoes this possibility. He instead makes Kallias ask Kritoboulos to enter the lists in the beauty contest with Socrates.” 3.  On the subtle differences between κάλλος (n.) and καλός (adj.), see Konstan 2014, 31–95. 4.  See Strauss 1972, 166; Higgins 1977, 15; Bartlett 1996-b, 186n2: “. . . one cannot dismiss out of hand the possibility that Socrates does indeed reveal something of his wisdom by drawing attention to his ugliness, or that there may be something ugly (ignoble) about Socrates’ wisdom.” 5.  Kallias’ reference to a contest or struggle (5.1: τὸν ἀγῶνα) between two contenders contrasts subtly with Socrates’ mention of a judgment that involves a trial before judges (παρὰ τοῖς κριταῖς); his choice of word for the contest (see 4.20) is rooted in the verb διακρίνω, “to separate out one from another, to distinguish or discern; also, to make distinctions, and to settle, decide, or come to a judgment.” 6.  See Higgins 1997, 15, who states that the contest was “conducted like a mock trial”; Bowen 1998, 114, commenting on 5.2, also remarks that “Sokrates uses the language of the courts.” 7. The Loeb edition notes: “Usually called Paris; the judge of beauty when Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite appealed for a decision.” Of course, the pleasant consequence of Paris’ judgment in this most famous of all beauty contests was his own illicit prize, Menelaos’ wife, Helen, who was the most beautiful of all Greek women; the unpleasant consequence of this ‘victroy’ was the destruction of Priam’s great-walled city in the Trojan war. See Homer, Iliad 24.28–30; Euripides, Helen 23–30; Gorgias, Enco­ mium of Helen. Speculation could lead one to ask who are the principals are in the comic equivalent of this beauty contest in Xenophon’s Symposium, and what are the consequences of the judgment between them. For example, if the Syracusan’s youths are Paris, and Kritoboulos is Aphrodite, who are we to understand Kritoboulos’ rivals in the beauty contest to be: Socrates as Athena, the goddess of wisdom, and perhaps the Syracusan as Hera, the goddess of marriage? Does Socrates hope to avert a war of some kind (cf. 4.9 and 9.7)? On this choice as a “contest” between not rival beauties but rival ways of life, see Konstan 2014, 66, 204n6. 8. This understanding is implied in the reading of Strauss 1972, 155: “Socrates does not admit Kritoboulos’ superiority [with respect to being beautiful]; he challenges him to a beauty contest in which the incorruptible gentlemen participating in the banquet will be the judges.” 9.  Insofar as the contest is one of “beauty” (κάλλος) Kritoboulos is assured of victory. The noun κάλλος has the principal connation of physical attractiveness, almost exclusively of human beings, arousing or inspiring erotic desire (ἔρως), and thus its range of meaning is more restricted than that of the adjective καλός, which varies widely depending on context. From Homer to Xenophon, the noun appears much less frequently than the adjective in ancient Greek poetry, drama, and literature. See Konstan 2014, 31–61. In the Symposium, κάλλος is used with reference to Autolykos (by Xenophon: 1.8–9), Kritoboulos (by himself: 3.7, 4.10, 4.16), Socrates (by himself: 4.19), and the contest (by Socrates and Kallias: 4.20, 5.1), whereas καλός appears in some form throughout the dialogue as a whole, with the exception of Section Three. That which is κάλλος appeals to sight and is inevitably “attractive” in an erotic sense, while that which is καλός is recognized as admirable or praiseworthy without necessarily inspiring ἔρως. See Konstan 2014, 49, 61, 62–72. 10.  Here, the word translated as “business” (πράγματά) could also be rendered as “affair” since it comes from the verb (πράττειν) “to do” or “to practice”; πρᾶγμα is often translated simply as “matter” or, under certain circumstances, as “trouble.” Consider the use of this word, in context, in Plato, Apology 20c. 11.  See Strauss 1972, 155: “Since what is true of the effect of Kleinias on him is true of Kritoboulos’ effect on those who love him, he is able to lead human beings to every virtue . . . he does not go so far

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as to claim that he can lead human beings to wisdom.” On the respective virtues of a judge (to decide what is just) and of a defendant (to speak the truth), see Pl. Apo. 18a. 12.  Silenic wisdom not beauty is proverbial. Silenus was traditionally held to be a companion of Dionysios and father of the satyrs. Evidence for this comes from the only whole satyr-play extant, Euripides’ Cyclops, as well as from numerous vase paintings which offer stereotypical Greek views of ugliness, including a snub-nosed face and bulging eyes, like those of Socrates: see Bowen 1998, 107, and the Loeb edition, commenting on 4.19. The coarse-featured satyrs themselves often formed the chorus in the satyr-plays which were given in conjunction with the performance of the tragedies. Bartlett 1996-a, 149n51: “Silenuses were creatures, half-horse (or goat) and half-man, usually old, and given to mischief. They were apparently portrayed as old drunkards, though not without intellectual talents: the education of Dionysus was entrusted to them.” See Plato, Theaetetus 143e; Symposium 215a-b, 215e, 216c-d, 221 d-e, 222d, where Alcibiades declares Socrates’ guise, and his wisdom to be like that of the Silenus as well as to the satyr Marsyas whom Apollo flayed as punishment for losing his self-proclaimed contest with the god. For a clue to interpreting this logos about Socrates, see Benardete 2001, 45n19: “Silenus was a woodland god, depicted as an old man with the ears of a horse, often drunk, and riding an ass or wine jar. If caught, Silenus was supposed to reveal his wisdom; but nothing is known of his wisdom except that he said that it was better [for human beings] not to be born. He was associated since the sixth century with Dionysus. The sileni or silenuses were half-gods or spirits, with the same characteristics as Silenus, but often confused with satyrs. 13.  Strauss 1972, 166; cf. the opening epigram of this chapter. 14.  Socrates in the Symposium keeps the silence of Xenophon’s Memorabilia regarding the beautiful or noble way to exercise precisely those kinds of activities which can be “learned and grasped by human judgment” (Mem. I.1.7–8), as well as the examination of the human things about which Socrates himself was said and seen to be always conversing (Mem. I.1.16). 15.  Strauss 1972, 166. 16.  The phrase τὸ καλόν, which adds the definite article to the adjective καλός, means “the beautiful itself ” but may also be translated as “virtue” or “honor” depending on context. The adjectival form (καλός) covers a wide semantic field, from “beautiful” (and therefore “desirable”) to “good” and “fine” (as in “splendid,” “of high quality,” or “well wrought”), and in a moral sense “noble” and “honorable” (and thus “admirable”). It will be transliterated rather than translated when feasible in order to preserve its polyvalence and subtlety. See Konstan 2014, 31–35. 17.  See Strauss 1972, 166: “As Socrates had put it to Aristippos: human bodies as well as everything else are called both beautiful and good in the same respect, namely, in relation to the things for which they can be well used (Memorabilia III.8.5).” Elsewhere in Xenophon’s Memorabilia (IV.6.8–9), Socrates converses with the beautiful Euthydemus about what is good and what is noble, arriving at conclusions similar to those held by Kritoboulos. See Bartlett 1996-b, 187: “As in the Memorabilia, then, Socrates here (together with Critoboulus) seems to deny that there is a class of noble things that are such apart from considerations of their utility.” The translator of the Loeb edition of Xenophon’s Symposium seems completely unaware of this distortion implied in Kritoboulos’ Socratic response, and therefore is “compelled” to admit that the “trouble” with Kritoboulos’ “poor definition of beauty” is the cause of the translator himself getting into some trouble (600): “In the Greek the ensuing discussion is made plausible by the fact that throughout both disputants use only one word, kalos, which means not only beautiful or handsome but also glorious, noble, excellent, fine; and though starting with the first meaning it soon shifts to the last. The translator is compelled to use different terms for this in the two parts of the argument.” 18.  Bartlett 1996-b, 186–187. 19.  Socrates and Kritoboulos have divided out and named seven things said to be beautiful, the central one of which is the category of many inanimate, man-made objects—precisely the things (with the notable exception of horses) which are easily counted by the insatiable Nikeratos as being among his possessions (see 4.45). Horses, which in Nikeratos’ quotation from Homer are counted without description, are the first kind of things mentioned by Kritoboulos among the things other than human beings which are called κάλλος. On the beauty or nobility of horses, see Oik. 9.2–7.



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20.  See Strauss 1972, 166. On the thesis that the well-ordered arrangement of things in the whole (κόσμος) proves the existence of a divine mind and reasonableness, or intelligent design, the active Providence behind the beneficence of nature, see Burckhardt 1985, 319: “Xenophon has Socrates make detailed observations of this kind in order to refute an atheist [see Mem. I.4 and IV.3]: how man is made, with eyes and ears, tongue and teeth, organs for breathing and digestion, this can only be the work of a pronoia, a divine mind which manifestly cares about man. It would indeed be amazing if a mind dwelled in man but in the cosmos, which is so infinitely greater, no guiding mind were found. Thus, an empirical argument for the existence and activity of god was secured which was to prevail until the time of Darwin.” 21.  See, for example, Strauss 1972, 166: “If Socrates is as ugly as a Silenus, he has at least a mother of divine beauty (Phainarete).” The name of Socrates’ mother in Greek literally means something like “the one in, or through whom, virtue is brought to light or made manifest.” 22.  See Bruell 1994, xvi. 23.  Socrates first uses a word proper for men judging a court case, and then a more general word referring to those who judge, such as, for instance, those who judge plays. A similar distinction occurs in the comedies of Aristophanes: Acharnians 1224, Clouds 1115, Birds 445; see Bowen 1998, 115, commenting on 5.10. 24.  Strauss 1972, 167. 25.  Xenophon reports the vote in such a way that suggests the Syracusan’s young boy and girl were not the only ones to whom the voting-pebbles were distributed; which is to say, there were more than two judges casting their votes in the judgment of beauty and “all” were corrupted by Kritoboulos’ money; see Bowen 1998, 115, commenting on 5.10, who notes but does not reflect upon the reason for the strange word which Xenophon uses to report the verdict that “all” votes were in Kritoboulos’ favor: “all [two?] of them!” 26.  The verb διαφθείρω (from φθείρω) means “to destroy utterly, ruin, or kill”; also, “to corrupt or ruin,” such as with bribes, or “to disable, weaken, or un-man” someone or something. 27.  This is not the first speech of the Syracusan in the Symposium. His first words here in reply to Charmides, however, take the form of an oath (cf. 2.16, where the unnamed Syracusan addresses Socrates directly with a question when he hears Socrates’ interest in learning dance forms from the Syracusan). 28.  On this oath in particular, see Mem. I.3.12; see also, Cyr. I.6.7; Plato, Euthyphro 4a (Socrates’ first oath); Hippias Major 290e, 293a-b; Meno 91c. Consider also the genesis of this unusual oath, as explained in the novel by Calasso (1993, 23): “The very name of Heracles (‘glory of Hera’) tells us right from the start that glory is neither more nor less than a by-product of Hera’s revenge.” Herakles, of course, is the first mortal-bound son of Zeus to win his own immortality on account of his successful completion of the great labors imposed upon him by the jealous wife of Zeus. See also, Xen. Mem. II.1.21ff., cf. III.11; Cyr. V.1. 29. The two oaths, of course, are as inseparable as Herakles’ mortality and divinity, especially insofar as his divinity is acquired by means of his endurance and accomplishment of the great labors imposed upon him by Hera when he is a mortal. On the tension that is represented in the heroic Herakles, whose apotheosis as a god does not preclude the shade of his humanity from entering Hades, see Homer, Odyssey XI.593–640. 30.  See Strauss 1972, 162–163; cf. Plato, Apology of Socrates 25a9–11. On the Syracusan’s envy, see also, Strauss 1972, 169: “For the time being [this is] nothing worse than a minor annoyance. Still, that annoyance forebodes Socrates’ condemnation, just as the Syracusan’s envy of Socrates forebodes the Athenians’ or the fathers’ envy of him. Just as Charmides’ presence and speech foreshadow the sanguinary rule of the Thirty, Socrates’ violent death is foreshadowed by the presence of Lykon, one of Socrates’ three accusers, whose son was so proud of his father that he was in no danger of being corrupted by Socrates. 31.  For two reasons why it is “ugly” to reduce the beautiful to the useful, see Strauss 1972, 167: “The beautiful (noble) cannot be reduced to the good (useful) in the first place because the city and its interests cannot be reduced to the self-interest of the individuals: what is good for the city, is frequently noble

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rather than good for the individual (Memorabilia III.5.28; cf. I.1.8 and III.1.1); and in the second place because the beautiful in a different sense is good for the beholder rather than for the user (Memorabilia II.2.3). There is a connection between these two very different reasons and the two alternatives adumbrated at the end of the preceding chapter.” 32.  See Strauss 1972, 156. Hermogenes’ intervention shows he lacks a sense of humor, according to Bowen 1998, 107, commenting on 4.23, a point which will become “painfully obvious” at 6.1–5. 33.  Like a comic version of Perseus, Socrates has somehow managed to defeat the Gorgon (see Homer, Iliad V.741) and to liberate Kritoboulos from the petrified state which Kleinias’ beauty had induced in him, as evidenced by Kritoboulos’ recent recovery of his wits sufficiently to blink (cf. Cyr. I.4.28). Does this mean that Socrates himself now possesses the head of the Gorgon, or the awe-inspiring aegis of Athena, perhaps in his art of speeches? Consider the power of logos wielded by a master craftsmen, like the sophist Gorgias, or the tragedian Agathon, whose captivating description of Erōs in Plato’s Symposium (198c) compels Socrates to call himself by the name of Odysseus (see Homer, Odyssey XI.663), for fear that Agathon would end his speech by sending Socrates the head of Gorgias, which, Gorgon-like, would change him into stone and leave him speechless in astonishment. See Burkhardt 1898/1998, 267n152. Consider, in this context, the paralyzing effect of Autolykos’ beauty when coupled with modesty and moderation (Sym. 1.10). 34.  On the other service Socrates provides Krito, see Mem. II.9; see also, Strauss 1972, 54–55, where it is pointed out that Xenophon does not call Krito a “friend” of Socrates, and that the advice Socrates gives to Krito is strictly economic in character. 35.  As lucrative as his beauty may prove to be, especially when he is in his prime and the bloom of youth, Xenophon reveals elsewhere that Kritoboulos’ immoderate erōs forced him to neglect his household, spending much more on account of the beauty of others than he himself had acquired or could manage to acquire—either through his own beauty, or by devising other means—to support his profligate affections. So much has Kritoboulos abandoned himself in thinking of others, that Socrates, who on account of his friends has access even to an overabundance should he find himself in need of anything beyond what he already possesses, pities his beautiful young companion, lest he suffer in the end the worst impoverishment (see Oik. 2.7–8, cf. 2.1 and 2.9). His own father’s despair at such a state of affairs for his son is explicitly mentioned here by Socrates as the reason why Krito handed over his son to Socrates. 36.  See Ambler 1996, 104n2, and context. 37.  One line in the manuscripts is thought to be an interpolation. For comments on its omission or its inclusion in the Greek text, see the Loeb edition (576) and Bartlett 1996-a, 150n58. The equivocation in the Greek verb φιλέω accounts for the double entendre at work throughout this passage, and the dialogue itself, since Socrates, like Charmides (see 4.8–9), is able to play rhetorically off the two familiar meanings of this common word: “to love” (unerotically) and “to kiss.” If the line in the manuscript is genuine, Socrates explains that it may be because “to kiss” has the same name as the kind of love which belongs to souls, that it is the “more honored” and esteemed “of all the deeds” (pantōn ergōn). 38.  Strauss 1972, 156: “Antisthenes did not participate in the discussion of Kritoboulos’ claim; he was wholly unerotic (cf. 4.38).” 39.  Of the four companions of Socrates, Antisthenes and Hermogenes, the two most likely to have considered themselves closest to Socrates in virtue (continence, piety), are the ones playfully chastised by him, whereas Charmides and Kritoboulos are left relatively undisturbed by any propaedeutic efforts whatsoever. 40.  Xenophon, here, explicitly names Kritoboulos according to his patronymic, as the son of Krito. Although Krito himself had already been mentioned in the Memorabilia (I.2.48) as one of seven named “associates” of Socrates (a list in which Hermogenes is central), Krito’s son is not introduced until this later passage. and then only indirectly as the subject of Socrates’ conversation with Xenophon. Socrates converses with Kritoboulos himself only at Mem. II.6: the topic of their conversation there is the acquisition of friends. Either the topic or the interlocutor (see Oik.) or both are apparently



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of some concern to Socrates since this conversation makes up the third longest chapter of the entire work. See Strauss 1972, 20. 41.  On the identity of this young man, see Davies 1971, 16–19, who concludes from his reconstruction of Alcibiades’ genealogy that the young man mentioned here by Xenophon is probably Alcibiades’ cousin, Kleinias, the son of Axiochos, the younger brother of Alcibiades’ father also named Kleinias. Davies cites Plato’s Euthydemus (271b, 275a-b) as evidence for the fact that this Kleinias, the son of Axiochos, was the contemporary and lover of Kritoboulos son of Krito from the deme Alopeke. Davies does not consider the possibility that Alcibiades’ younger brother who is named Kleinias, born around 448 and also mentioned by Plato (Alcibiades Major 118e, Protagoras 320a), could be the same Kleinias with whom Kritoboulos went to school and, according to Socrates, came to desire. This suggestion is made plausible by the fact that Socrates implies in his defense here that Kleinias and Kritoboulos are not precisely age-mates; Kleinias is in fact a bit older. Davies assumes, as do Bruell (1994, xiv) and Stevens (1994, 211n8, 214n15), that the young man mentioned in the Symposium (4.12–25) as Kritoboulos’ beloved must be the one mentioned in the Memorabilia (I 3.8, 10) as the one who Kritoboulos kissed. Strauss (1972, 20, 49, 156) does not make this assumption, or does not make it explicitly. Such caution may be warranted, for perhaps Xenophon has reason to remember this particularly striking young man in this imprecise manner. Treating as the same young man, various relatives of Alcibiades may be a means of emphasizing that young men slightly younger than Alcibiades, such as Kritoboulos and Xenophon, were greatly attracted to the kind of beauty or nobility intimately associated with Alcibiades himself, an association which is stressed in the Memorabilia passage (where, consistent with Xenophon’s purpose there, we hear Socrates chastening Kritoboulos and Xenophon by counseling them both to flee from the beautiful), but which is not at all made explicit in the Symposium (where, consistent with Xenophon’s purpose there, on account of the report by Charmides, Socrates himself appears to suffer his own temptations with respect to beautiful young gentlemen). 42. This vocative exclamation, ὦ τλῆμον, apostrophizes a young Xenophon as “reckless, suffering, wretched, enduring, miserable, or patient,” someone who bears misery as well as what must be suffered or endured, whether recklessly and daringly or stout-heartedly, such as is the case of one who takes upon oneself what must be suffered and holds out patiently, or is long-suffering, like Homer’s Odysseus (with whom Socrates has a kinship). See the related use of this familiar address by Virtue, rebuking Vice, at Mem. II.1.30; Strauss 1972, 20–21: “Socrates could correspond to Virtue, but how could Xenophon correspond to Vice? ‘Unless indeed the care bestowed upon virtue is corruption’ ([Mem.] I.2.8).” 43.  This vocative exclamation, ὦ μῶρε, refers to one who is dull, sluggish, or foolish, but also to someone who acts like a madman or a fool, perhaps disingenuously. See the apparent foolishness of Socrates at times in the Symposium; cf. the madness of such characters as Shakespeare’s Lear or Cervantes’ Quixote. 44.  See Strauss 1970, 90–91; Strauss 1958/1996, 160–161 [= Pangle 1989, 128–130]: “The only man whom Xenophon’s Socrates ever addresses most impolitely is Xenophon himself . . . Xenophon’s Socrates treats Xenophon, and only Xenophon, in the same way in which Aristophanes’ Socrates treats Strepsiades.” See also, Strauss 1970, 90–91; Strauss 1972, 144, 178, and esp. 20–21: “Xenophon is the only character in his writings who is ever apostrophized by his gentle and urbane master [in this way]. . . . One may therefore be prepared to consider that the unique conversation is not quite serious: Xenophon’s Socrates, who is so unlike Aristophanes’ Socrates since he does not study nature in the manner of the Aristophanean Socrates or of ‘most others,’ obviously imitates the Aristophanean Socrates who calls Strepsiades ‘you fool’ or ‘you wretch’ (Clouds 398, 68 [also cf. 378, 492–493, 628–629, 646, 655, 687]).” See as well, for intimations of the relation between Xenophon, Kritoboulos, and Aristophanean comedy, Strauss 1970, 110, commenting on Oik. 3.7–9: “From the theme ‘comedy’ one is easily led to the theme ‘ridiculous’: Kritoboulos wonders whether, by neglecting to learn the art of household management while indulging his love for comedies, he does not appear ridiculous to Socrates; in other words, he wonders whether he, the lover of comedy, will not himself be a subject of comedy; Socrates replies that he will appear much more ridiculous to himself. . . . In this context Socrates almost addresses Kritoboulos [as] ‘you fool.’”

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45.  Bruell 1994, viii–ix. 46.  Consider the “bite” mentioned by Socrates at Sym. 4.28, in light of that mentioned by Alcibiades in Plato, Symposium 217e–218a. See Strauss 1972, 20–21: “It is easy for us to think that the light-hearted Xenophon rebuked by Socrates is the very young Xenophon who had not yet undergone the full weight of the complete Socratic training, whereas the virtuous Xenophon, presented in the Anabasis, is the finished product. Yet Xenophon is not the only interlocutor of Xenophon’s Socrates who is in the early stages of his training and only he is given those unenviable epithets.” 47.  A consideration of the particular contexts within which these only two recorded conversations between Xenophon and Socrates occur sheds light upon the rhetorical point being stressed here, for the unusually sharp but playful rebuke that Xenophon receives in the Memorabilia, which is obviously a Socratic writing, may contribute more to the recollection of Socrates’ justice than to a judgment about Socrates’ opinion of Xenophon (as opposed to Kritoboulos), whereas the cunning with which Xenophon manages to heed the advice of his teacher and thereby acquire his blessing in the Anabasis, which is obviously a non-Socratic writing, may contribute more to our understanding of Xenophon’s own Socratic rhetoric than to a judgment about Xenophon’s opinion of Socrates and the worth of his counsel. 48.  Bruell 1994, x. 49.  See Bruell 1994, xii and xv. 50.  See Strauss 1958/1996, 163–164 [= Pangle 1989, 133]: “Moderation [rather than continence] proves to be the characteristic quality of Socrates. . . . But Socratic moderation means also, and in a sense even primarily, the recognition of opinions which are not true, but which are salutary for political life. Socrates, Xenophon says, did not separate from each other wisdom and moderation.” 51. See Strauss 1972, 19–20, commenting on Mem. I.3.7: “Giving a jocular interpretation of a Homeric story, Socrates traces Odysseus’ not being transformed into a pig to both his continence and Hermes’ prompting: Odysseus’ continence and his being guided by Hermes foreshadow Socrates’ continence and his being guided by his daimonion.” See also, Benardete 1991, 195–196: “Circe turned half of Odysseus’ men into swine though their minds remained intact (10.240). Odysseus volunteered to rescue them, and presumably as a reward for his justice Hermes met him on the way and showed him the nature (phusis) of the moly: ‘It was black in its root, and its flower was like milk’ (10.304). Since we are not told what Odysseus did with the moly, and yet Circe’s magic spell was ineffective against him, we are led to suppose that Odysseus realized that things have nature, and this knowledge alone kept his mind together with his human shape. That Odysseus then went to Hades and saw human shapes without mind tends to confirm that Odysseus was the first to recognize the indissoluble duality of man. Socrates’ account of that duality is a reflection on Odysseus’ discovery.” 52.  On the character of Socrates’ understanding of the divine knowledge that led to Odysseus’ discovery, see Strauss 1958/1996, 163 and 171 [= Pangle 1989, 132 and 142]: “For Xenophon’s Socrates, as well as for the Platonic Socrates, the key for the understanding of the whole is characterized by what I shall call noetic heterogeneity. To state it more simply, by the fact that the whole consists of classes or kinds the character of which does not become fully clear through sense perception. . . . Socrates is distinguished from all philosophers who preceded him by the fact that he sees the core of the whole, or of nature, in noetic heterogeneity. The whole is not one, not homogenous, but heterogeneous. Yet the heterogeneity is not sensible heterogeneity, like the heterogeneity of the four elements, for example, but noetic heterogeneity, essential heterogeneity.” 53.  See the lucid and concise statement of this insight by Bruell 1994, xi: “If philosophy is the true opposite of vulgarity, then prior to falling in love with philosophy in the proper way, the future philosophers themselves cannot be entirely free of vulgar concerns and tastes; a philosophic protreptic would therefore have to appeal to those concerns, if only for the sake of leading its addressees beyond them; and in doing so, it would inevitably partake of the vulgarity it seeks to cure. Xenophon’s abstaining, or his having his Socrates abstain, from any serious protreptic effort thus has the perhaps incidental advantage of enabling him to present a Socrates remarkably free of vulgarity of this sort. To put this another way, Xenophon does not bend very much to make the better part of his readers like the Socrates he presents— and, for this very reason, they may, if they come to like him at all, like him all the more.”



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54.  On the “missing peak” of the Memorabilia, which Xenophon points to but does not provide, see Buzzetti 2003, 166–167; Strauss 1958/1996, 170 [= Pangle 1989, 140–141]: The third book of the Memorabilia shows how Socrates dealt with those who long and strive for the fair or noble. It ascends from conversations of Socrates with anonymous individuals, via conversations with acquaintances, to a conversation with Glaucon, the hero of Plato’s Republic, the son of Ariston, to whom Socrates was benevolent for the sake of Charmides the son of Glaucon [Plato’s uncle] and for the sake of Plato. Immediately after the conversation with Glaucon, Xenophon records a conversation with Charmides, Charmides being one of the men for the sake of whom Socrates took an interest in Glaucon [Plato’s brother]. We thus expect to be treated next to a conversation between Socrates and the other man for the sake of whom Socrates took an interest in Glaucon, which is to say, a conversation between Socrates and Plato. Instead we get a conversation between Socrates and another philosopher, Aristippus. Thereafter the descent begins, which leads us via outstanding craftsmen, a venal beauty, and a sickly youth, again to anonymous people. That is to say, Xenophon builds up the argument in such a way as to point toward a peak, to suggest a peak—[from] anonymous people up to very close people and then again down to anonymous people. Xenophon suggests a peak of the third book, or, for that matter, of the whole work. He points to that peak, a conversation between Socrates and Plato, but he does not supply it. The peak is missing. This formula can be applied to Xenophon’s Socratic writings as a whole. The highest does not become visible or audible, but it can be divined. The unsaid is more important than what is said. For the reader this means that he must be extremely attentive, or extremely careful.”

55. On Charmides and Socrates’ predilection toward him, see Plato Charmides 155d3–4. Bruell (1994, xiv) points out that, with respect to the division proposed in Xenophon’s Memorabilia (I.1–2) between the good men (such as Krito) and the bad (such as Kritias and Alcibiades) among those who spent time with Socrates, in Xenophon’s Symposium we see a stark contrast between Hermogenes, who aligns himself with the good, and Charmides, who later associates himself with those who are bad. 56.  In commenting on the transition in the Memorabilia from Xenophon’s opening refutation of the two-fold charges against Socrates to Xenophon’s recollections proper, which then occupy the remainder of the work, Bruell (1994, xiv–xv) also refers to Charmides’ observation of a discrepancy between Socratic speech and deeds in the Symposium (4.27). Socrates chose to spend time with and seemed to hold in high regard those like Charmides whose nature is better revealed by his insight and observations than by his political ambition or the consequences of the kind of political action he undertakes after hearing Socrates’ exhortation (Mem. III.7). The passages under consideration here, Sym. 4.25–28 and Mem. I.3.8–13, and the continence evident in Socratic rhetoric, are also linked in the interpretative reading of Strauss 1972, 156: “Socrates disapproves here of kissing youths in their bloom as strongly as he did in his sole conversation with Xenophon that occurs in the Socratic writings . . . [but] Socrates is continent in his speeches (Memorabilia I.5.6). Charmides however finds that there is a discrepancy between Socrates’ speeches and his deeds.” 57.  See Plato Gorgias 473d; see also, Bowen 1998, 108, commenting on 4.27, who translates this as “bogey-madden” because the word used here (μορμολύττῃ) is a comical mixture of μορμώ, “a bogey used to scare children,” and λύττα, which refers to madness. On Xenophon’s word-choice not only as exemplary of his “becoming graciousness” but also as a clue to his deeper themes, see Higgins 1977, 3–4: “Kharmides has used not only an informal word suitable for an easygoing conversation but has also selected one which adds to the general hilarity with its comic suggestion that Socrates is trying to scare his companions as if he were an adult frightening a child with an unexpected ‘boo!’ Thus Kharmides also implies that Socrates can certainly not expect to get away with what he is doing in so mature a company.” In other words, Higgins suggests that Socrates intends to be called out on this occasion by one who is paying attention. 58.  The erotic and drunk Alcibiades accused Socrates of hubris as well: see Plato, Symposium 215b7, 219c5, 222a7–8; see also, Strauss 1959-a, 218. 59.  Theodote (whose name sounds like she is “god-given”) is attended by painters vying to capture the image of her beauty. See Bartlett 1996-b, 186. Xenophon elsewhere provides a contrast with Socratic continence in Cyrus’ abstinence: see Cyr. V.1.4–18 and VII.4.22–23, but cf. VII.15–17, 24–26. See Bruell 1987, 103: “We are perhaps most clearly invited or instructed to compare Cyrus

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and Socrates by the parallel stories of Panthea and Theodote. When Cyrus was urged by a friend to whom he entrusted her care to have a look at Panthea, an extremely beautiful captive queen, Cyrus refused out of fear that her beauty would make him so desirous of continuing to look at her that he would neglect what he had to do.” 60.  See Strauss 1972, 167. Based on the utilitarian logos of the beauty contest, one wonders about the question of friendship and what kinds of companions or “friends” Socrates thought most worth acquiring: see Mem. I.6.14 and IV.1.12. As for the “cold” or unerotic Socrates who emerges in the beauty contest, we must await his lengthy speech in Section Eight before passing judgment: see Mem. III.11 and Strauss 1972, 87. 61.  An alternative reading is implied by the omission of this reference to Mem. I.6.14 in Strauss 1972, 156; cf. Strauss 1958/1996, 169 [= Pangle 1989, 140]: “Of Socrates’ studying with his friends the works of the wise men of old and of their selecting the best from them, Xenophon does not give us a single example. He draws our attention to what he regarded as Socrates’ most praiseworthy activity, but he demands from a certain kind of his readers that they transform the intimation into clear knowledge. In the passage quoted Socrates speaks of his friends, or his good friends. We may say that Xenophon never records conversations between Socrates and his friends in the strict sense.” 62.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 196: “The noble or beautiful things of most concern to Socrates are attractive as they are without addition or support, for merely beholding the objects of contemplation seems to be good in and of itself for the one who does so. Having no additional expectations from beauty, or making no additional demands on the world, Socrates is to a remarkable degree free of the reliance on the extraordinary means otherwise needed to fulfill them. And Xenophon therein permits us to begin to see for ourselves the true nobility of Socrates.” See also, Strauss 1972, 85, 167, 60; Bruell 1984, 314, 317; Rosen 1973, 470–471. 63.  See Aristotle, Rhetoric 1366a33–34, where καλός is defined as “that which is choiceworthy for its own sake and praiseworthy or admirable, or that which is good and pleasing just because it is good.” See Konstan 2014, 33. 64.  On the apparent rejection or “denial of a philosophic concern with the noble” by Xenophon’s Socrates, as the means of concealing Socrates’ wisdom and therefore “presenting him as pious or more pious than he would otherwise appear as being,” see Bruell 1984, 316–318. See also, the charge of insufficiency leveled against Xenophon’s Socrates in Bartlett 1996-b, 188: “Xenophon in the Symposium (and Memorabilia) is evidently unwilling to present Socrates’ ‘utilitarian’ view of nobility while being at the same time unwilling to present the arguments Socrates must have seen in order to find his way to that view and therefore also reasonably to reject any competing views of beauty or nobility.” 65.  See Strauss 1972, 167, 156: “(If the harmony between speech and deed is beautiful—cf. Plato, Laches 188c6–d8—did Socrates lack beauty also in this respect?)” See also, Bruell 1984, 314–315. 66.  See Strauss 1972, 78–81, 118–120; Bruell 1984, 315. 67.  See Strauss 1972, 177; see also, Sym. 4.59–60. 68.  On childish “judges” and Socrates’ rhetorical limitations, see Plato, Gorgias 521b-e. 69.  As for Xenophon being a lover of Socrates, see Strauss 1972, 171; Bruell 1984, 314. Among his lovers, the intoxicated rhetoric of Plato’s Alcibiades is most revealing. See Plato, Sym. 218c–219a. 70.  See Strauss 1972, 125, 77–78; Bruell 1984, 313, 317; Pangle 1996, 38n10.

Part III SOCRATIC RHETORIC IN THE SYMPOSIUM

8 Refutations, Education, and Accusations

For it goes without saying that the mere use of the formula “what is” does not yet guarantee that the question will be handled appropriately. If we want to find the serious thought of Socrates as Xenophon understood it, we must translate Socrates’ statements ad hominem into the form they would take if they were addressed to contradictors, or to men possessing good natures.1

SOCRATES ON TRIAL After the judgment of Socrates (5.10), Xenophon reports that “some” of the symposiasts urged Kritoboulos to “take his due” of kisses from the young boy and girl as his victory-prize, while “some” urged him first “to persuade” their “master,” and “still others,” we are told, “joked about other things.” As a last comment, Xenophon is compelled to note: “But Hermogenes, even then, remained silent” (6.1). The symposiasts’ playful celebration of Kritoboulos’ victory obscures the fact that Socrates’ comical defeat here in the beauty contest foreshadows his failure to persuade the Athenian gentlemen who presided as judges over his trial two decades later on charges of corruption and impiety. And it is the all-too-pious Hermogenes who appropriately refuses to share in the pleasant banter associated with Kritoboulos’ victory and, by remaining silent, makes himself stand out prominently as the exception. Socrates himself did not object to Kritoboulos receiving his prize as victor. His judgment of the corruption or injustice caused by Kritoboulos’ wealth did not turn into a formal accusation. Hermogenes’ silence, however, in Socrates’ view, creates a disruption, as will the Syracusan with his impolite allusions to the rumors which, many years later, Socrates himself would identify at his trial as the more dangerous, because older accusations against which he had to defend himself (see Plato, Apology 18a-e). For the time being, these disturbances appear to be nothing more than “a minor annoyance” at Xenophon’s Symposium.2 Nonetheless, the notes of discord or dissonance which Hermogenes and the Syracusan strike in Section Six with their refutations and accusations must be addressed if the harmony and goodwill of the symposion are to be preserved.

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GRACELESS REFUTATIONS—THE AUSTERITY OF HERMOGENES The silence of Hermogenes, in essence, is an objection to the silence of Socrates. Just as Socrates’ toleration of Kritoboulos’ blatantly immoderate speech about his “erotic infatuation” with Kleinias had displeased him, Hermogenes now continues to be displeased by Socrates’ failure in speech to defend himself adequately against Kritoboulos with respect to his wisdom or beauty of soul. Hermogenes, it seems, has a quarrel not so much with the loss itself as with the fact that Socrates spoke unpersuasively. Rightly so, he finds specious the “Socratic” equation, proposed by Kritoboulos and followed by Socrates, which reduces τὸ καλόν to what is useful and results in the obfuscation of any class of beauty or nobility beyond what is “good” for human beings. Given his devotion to the “all-knowing” gods and his belief that what is best for human beings lies beyond their ken (4.47–48), it is not surprising that Hermogenes silently held Socrates’ utilitarian considerations of beauty to be a kind of blasphemy rather than a justification or defense—the humiliation of the high in terms of the low, as opposed to the sublimation of the low in terms of the high. In other words, it is the view of Hermogenes that Socrates has not spoken seriously of what is serious, the beautiful, but in a vulgar manner, which is to say, in an ignoble or ugly manner which befits only ridiculous comedies and, when used elsewhere, is worthy of serious accusation. In the present circumstances, Hermogenes ironically emerges as the grave representative of the serious gentleman’s point of view. For, according to the “seriously spoken” judgment of Socrates (4.49, see 8.3), Hermogenes exercises the virtue of kalokagathia in a way that is pleasing even to the gods themselves. Hermogenes therefore objects to Socrates’ silence regarding the beautiful and noble things which, for example, may be obtained from the gods (see Mem. II.2.3 and Apo. 9). In other words, Hermogenes is displeased that, despite being so talkative, Socrates has failed to defend the beautiful or the noble on its own terms, implicitly conceding that τὸ καλόν should be simply identified with the useful. Hermogenes thinks that Socrates knows better and yet keeps silent about this knowledge. Silence of this kind when purposefully maintained (as opposed to mere ignorance) verges on blasphemy—a crime for which Hermogenes intends to hold Socrates accountable. He is unable to tolerate the irony of Socrates’ comic performance in the beauty contest, and especially his appropriation of the language of comedy. He thus silently rebukes Socrates for being unjust, for not seriously defending the beautiful in the highest sense, and finally for not being of benefit to his companions. His silence, which cannot be taken for acquiescence, also censures Socrates for abdicating his rightful rule over the symposiasts and thereby repudiating “the most noble virtue and greatest art, the kingly art” (see Mem. IV.2.11)—a rebuke that Socrates recognizes, too.3 On another occasion, one more appropriate to the seriousness of his companion, Socrates would explain to Hermogenes his reason for not defending himself by appealing to the noble things obtained from the gods, seemingly contrary to the opinions of human beings about what is useful (see Apo. 5–9, 32, cf. 33). Here in the Symposium, Socrates makes no effort to justify his defense in the beauty contest with Kritoboulos. It seems that an indignant Hermogenes was expecting more from Socrates’ logos than was fitting for Socrates’ purpose (Apo. 2–3). Rather than engage in the kind of defense Hermogenes desires, one which would more adequately demonstrate the justice and superiority of the philosophic life, Socrates would choose at his trial to accept, even embrace, the necessary consequences of his failure to defend himself successfully. Here, too, Socrates will make unexpected use of the occasion provided by his companion’s disapproving silence (6.1).



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Hermogenes’ pious objection to the beauty contest and in effect to his fellow symposiasts’ celebration of Kritoboulos’ corruption of the judges is wholly consistent with his gentlemanliness, that is, with his justice (see 3.4, cf. 5.10), but it is not at all pleasing to the other gentlemen present in the Symposium. At least, this is what Socrates attempts to prove to Hermogenes “by addressing to him an appropriate ‘what is’ question,” precisely the kind of inquiry that is absent from Socrates’ playful examination of Kritoboulos and his lucrative beauty.4 Calling out to him by name,5 Socrates asks Hermogenes in particular to say what “drunken behavior” (παροινία) or “convivial misbehavior” is (6.1) and in doing so hints that his sober silence may be a form of drunken excess.6 Choosing his words carefully in response to the implied charge, Hermogenes “answered” (ἀπεκρίνατο, cf. 5.2) Socrates, saying that he does not know what it “is”—if indeed that is what Socrates is asking—and that he can only say what “it seems” to be to him. Of course, “this is sufficient for Socrates’ present purpose,” which is to call attention to the context in which they find themselves.7 Hermogenes, thus prompted, says: “I judge drunken misbehavior” (ἐγὼ κρίνω παροινίαν) to be “distressing one’s companions while drinking” (6.2). Socrates wastes no time in making his point, by applying this definition to Hermogenes’ own behavior: “even now you are distressing us by being silent.” (6.2) Pressed to say when silence is annoying to those who are entertaining themselves by talking, and presumably not paying attention to those who are not speaking, Socrates says that Hermogenes’ silence is in fact burdensome “whenever we pause.” Hermogenes, in an unusual display of playful wit, parries the thrust of Socrates with a clever joke: “Has it really escaped you that in the midst of all your talking nothing else, let alone some speech (τις λόγον) could be inserted?” (6.2). This time when Socrates “defends himself ” against the retort of “the grave Hermogenes” he does so with far less success than the first time.8 Socrates, pretending to be at a loss (ἀπορία: see Pl. Meno 84a-c), ironically asks Kallias, if he would be able to “come to the rescue of a man being refuted?” (6.3). To lighten the mood that Hermogenes has burdened with seriousness, he playfully abandons his claims to selfsufficiency (2.10, 2.17–19) and accepts for a moment that a partner may be useful to him (2.20). In this way, Socrates also is indirectly assessing the relative worth of Kallias’ wealth, which he had proclaimed benefited others and made them more just and gentlemanly (see 3.4, 4.1–2). Finding himself paired with Socrates as an ally rather than rival, Kallias replies to Hermogenes’ jest with one of his own,9 pointing out that there is in fact a time when they are not all talking but are silent—when the flute is being played by the Syracusan’s girl. Given an opportunity to rebuke his extremely wealthy and profligate half-brother with a spirited response, Hermogenes nonetheless remains somewhat aloof, answering him rather moderately (cf. 8.12): “do you wish then that, just like the actor Nikostratos who recited his tetrameters along with the flute, I too should converse with you to flute-playing?” Socrates slightly modifies the suggestion of Kallias, based upon this response, so as to make their exchange ironically fit his purpose, swearing: “in the presence of the gods, Hermogenes, you must do so, for I suppose that, just as a song is more pleasant with the flute, so too would your speeches become pleasant in some way by its sounds, even more so if you make motions [with your fingers] like the flute-girl along with the things you say” (6.4).10 With this unusual oath,11 Socrates exhorts Hermogenes to make his logoi more pleasant in the same way songs are made more pleasant—by performing along with the music; that is, making motions like the talented slave-girl and, like an actor playing a part or role by mimicking the words of another, delivering speeches to the accompanying sound of the flute.12 Socrates thus comically offers advice to Hermogenes on dissembling,13 that is, how to make his rhetoric more amenable to his companions at a symposion.14 In the view of Socrates, the

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unadorned logos of Hermogenes is somehow discordant and unpleasant, but when recited or performed15 together with music might become “somewhat sweetened” and thus more palatable.16 Put simply, Hermogenes must cultivate his divine friendships with the Muses: he is unmusical and harsh; but then again, one could argue, on certain occasions, so is Socrates. Or at least that is one of the criticisms that Aristophanes seems to lay at his feet in the Clouds, which was performed only a few years earlier. Socrates manages to turn the tables on the grave Hermogenes with his playful rebuke of his companion’s unmusical logos. His advice here suggests that Socrates has himself taken to heart this Aristophanean critique in his own recognition of the need to “turn” away from bare or harsh pronouncements of logos toward a more rhetorical approach to speaking, attentive to both context and audience; which is to say, the Socratic turn toward political philosophy.17

SOCRATIC EDUCATION Untutored in Socratic irony, and thus oblivious to its work in Socrates’ actions amid these playful deeds of gentlemen, Hermogenes also lacks other qualities associated with the philosophic circle that might supply the defect for his lack of grace, such as Charmides’ inherent perspicacity, Antisthenes’ sharp wit, or Kritoboulos’ natural beauty. Xenophon repeatedly shows Hermogenes to be a central figure among those who pass their time with his Socrates; however, for some reason, he is the one whom Xenophon makes inseparable from the Socratic life. No other companion of Socrates in Xenophon’s recollections has the honor of having “refuted” Socrates, and there must be some reason why Hermogenes is spared the kind of Socratic education which apparently befits the likes of the beautiful but dim-witted Euthydemus.18 Perhaps the setting of the Symposium does not provide a proper stage for the display of the peculiar virtues of Hermogenes, namely, an austere piety and a solemn longing for kaloka­ gathia. Xenophon, on the other hand, did find Hermogenes’ austerity to be of rhetorical use in conveying to posterity the true meaning of the boastful defense speech of Socrates in his Apology.19 Although compelled to admit that he had been refuted by the grave Hermogenes, Socrates still sought with his playful advice to benefit Hermogenes—even as he was wont to do with his other companions, who examined with him and were “receptive” to his advice (see e.g., Mem. IV.1.1, III.10.15, I.2.8). Whether or not Hermogenes perceived the benefit of this Socratic education remains to be seen. While he had modestly refrained from mentioning Socrates in his defense speech, the only one of Socrates’ companions to do so, Hermogenes nevertheless holds the opinion that he is closely akin to Socrates in many ways—perhaps most of all in the great pride he takes in his unorthodox piety. In his ironic manner, Socrates admits to being refuted by him, only to turn surprisingly for help to the very man who arguably represents the antithesis of Hermogenes’ piety and gentlemanliness. Whatever we may think of Kallias’ comment, or of the playful version of it proposed by Socrates, there seems to be more to Socrates’ jest than mere joking, for upon examination an even deeper lesson can be learned from this exchange. Beyond the hint that Hermogenes should temper his speech by sweetening it with music, Socrates’ reference to the conventional circumstances radically dividing the brothers implies that Hermogenes’ austerity or pride may be untenable, perhaps even politically dangerous. His heavy-handed display of his piety, especially in such company, needs to be restrained. To imply that only he is truly pious and a genuine gentleman, despite his poverty, could only rankle the other Athenian gentlemen who might view this boast as an insult. Socrates is thus



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quietly exhorting Hermogenes to consider the necessity of using a more rhetorical rather than boastful way of speaking, thereby shielding himself, as it were, from the potential ire of irritated gentlemen. Socrates’ implicit exhortation of Hermogenes to embrace a more reserved or fitting display of his proudly austere piety and rigid moralism is reminiscent of a passage from the Memo­ rabilia involving Socrates and an armorer named Pistias, who was a maker of highly-prized breastplates. In this recollection of Xenophon, Socrates questions him about the reasons why his well-wrought works are so admired and worthy of praise. Having first recalled to mind Socrates’ conversations with a fine painter and an accomplished sculptor about their skill at creating “beautiful” works of art (τὰ κάλλιστα), expressive of physical beauty as well as the admirable qualities of the soul, such as having a “character” (ἤθη) that exhibits what is “fine and good and lovable” (τὰ καλά τε κἀγαθὰ καὶ ἀγαπτητὰ), Xenophon then turns to his recollection of how Socrates questioned the armorer about what is fitting. The musical references which reverberate throughout the passage play upon the harmonic quality of that which is being well-ordered and proportionately arranged by the artist, or, shall we say, how he tunes his work to the man (Mem III.10.9–15): Having come to Pistias, the maker of breastplates, who had displayed to Socrates some of his wellwrought breastplates, Socrates said, “By Hera, beautiful (καλόν) indeed, Pistias, is the discovery of a breastplate that protects the parts of a human being which are in need of protecting but does not hinder the use of the hands. Tell me, Pistias,” he said, “on account of what, since they are made neither stronger nor more extravagantly than others, do you sell the breastplates for more?” “Because,” he said, “Socrates, I make them more eurhythmically or well-proportioned (εὐπυθμοτέρους).” “The rhythm or proportion (τὸν ῥυθμόν),” said [Socrates], “by displaying it in which of two ways, through measure or through weight, are they worth more? For I surely suppose you don’t make them all equal or the same, at least if you make them harmonious or fitting (ἁρμόττοντας).” “But, by Zeus,” he said, “that is how I make them, for a breastplate is of no use without this.” “Well then,” said [Socrates], “are the bodies at least of human beings in some cases eurhythmical or well-proportioned (τὰ εὔρυθμά), but in other cases unrhythmical or ill-proportioned (τὰ ἄρρύθμα).” “Absolutely,” he said. “How, then,” said [Socrates], “for a body which is unrhythmical or ill-proportioned (τῷ ἀρρύθμῳ σώματι) do you make a breastplate that is harmonious or fitting (ἁρμόττοντα), and thus eurhythmic or well-proportioned (τὸν εὔρυθμον)?” “The same way it’s made harmonious or fitting,” he said, “for that which is harmonious or fitting (ὁ ἁρμόττων) is eurhythmic or well-proportioned (εὔρυθμος).” “It seems to me,” said Socrates, “that you are saying that what is eurhythmic or well-proportioned (τὸ εὔρυθμον) is not so in accordance with itself, but with respect to the one who uses it; just as, if a shield were declared, for the one whom it fits, to be by means of this eurhythmic or wellproportioned, so too, a military mantle and other things, it is likely, are held in the same manner by your argument (τῷ σῷ λόγῳ)—and perhaps something else, also, that no small good (ἀγαθὸν), belongs with being harmonious or fitting (ἁρμόττειν).” “Teach it (δίδαξον),” he said, “Socrates, if you have something.” “With less burden,” said [Socrates], “do the harmonious or fitting ones press down than do the disproportionate ones having the same weight. For the disproportionate ones, either hanging entirely

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from the shoulders or pressing down excessively on another part of the body become grievous and difficult to bear; while the harmonious or fitting ones, dividing its burden upon the collar-bones and over the shoulders, as well as upon the shoulders, chest, back and stomach, seem almost not like something carried, but like an appendage.” “You have spoken,” he said, “the very thing, on account of which I at least hold that my works (ἔργα) are worth the most (πλείστου ἄχια); there are some, however, who would rather buy embellished and gilded ones.” “But still,” said [Socrates], “if indeed on account of these things they buy what is not harmonious or fitting, then they seem to me at least to buy what is bad (κακὸν), though embellished and gilded. Yet,” he continued, “since the body does not remain unmoved, but one time bends, and another is straight, how could breastplates precisely be harmonious or fitting (ἁρμόττοιεν)?” “In no way [can they be made to fit precisely].” “You are saying,” said [Socrates], “that the ones which are harmonious or fitting are not the ones [which fit] precisely, but the ones not causing pain in those who use them.” “You yourself,” he said, “are saying this, Socrates, and very rightly receptive to it.”

In this recollection, intended to demonstrate that Socrates was beneficial even when he conversed with those who worked some art or craft (τέχνη), the craftsman declares that Socrates has grasped an understanding of, or learned, what makes his beautiful work truly worth more than the work of others (see Oik. 6.13). Each breastplate must be suited to the form of the man who wears it, and so is fitting to his needs, and thus good because useful. For according to the logos of Pistias, the kind of armor which is truly harmonious and hence fitting is the breastplate which does not cause pain when it is used, in addition to being “precisely” fitted to the wearer, being made to measure and to weigh evenly upon the wearer’s body, whether he be well-proportioned or ill-proportioned. Even an unevenly- or mis-formed body can have a good breastplate made that fits it. The skill of the artisan is to match the armor to the man. From this exchange,20 it would seem, Socrates learned or understood (ἀποδέχομαι) that the worth of a good artist’s work derives from his knowledge that what is made well is fitting and harmonious. Harmony hinges upon the concerted and eurhythmic21 motions of what is wrought being precisely attuned to both the one for whom it is made and the purpose for which it is being used. In this way, the breastplate itself—something Socrates swears “By Hera!”22 is indeed a “beautiful” or fine discovery—becomes also something “good” and worthy. Returning to the conversation in the Symposium, we can begin to see why Socrates exhorts Hermogenes to make his speeches more pleasant by adorning them with music. For to measure his speaking according to the sounds of the flute would make his tragic and serious logos sound more harmonic or eurhythmic. The harshness of the words thus might be more pleasantly attuned to the circumstances, and the audience more receptive to what he has to say. Socrates’ playful lesson about Hermogenes’ moral seriousness—that is, his “armor,” which is perhaps his only defense against the conventional misfortune he has suffered from being impoverished—is that his piety must become more human, or humane. In order to be well-fitted and hence useful, Hermogenes’ rigid manner and speech should be more flexible, in accordance with the setting within which it is being heard, lest he cause pain or discomfort for others as well as for himself. Put another way, Hermogenes’ intention to benefit (and not just censure) would be better served, according to Socrates, if he were to adopt a more rhetorical or safer mode of speaking in the company of others. Socrates thus points to an education in prudent Odyssean speech, the exercise of which is a political virtue



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par excellence. To this end, he exhorts Hermogenes to alter his speech so as to gain some benefit for himself, too. It should almost go without saying that while the invention or discovery of such a rhetorical mode of speech may itself be beautiful or fine (τὸ καλόν), and hence worthy of further contemplation, Socrates is here recommending it to Hermogenes largely on the grounds that it is good or useful. Upon examination, then, Socrates’ ironic lesson in rhetoric seeks to correct Hermogenes’ public arrogance regarding the considerable sense of dignity which he believes he derives from his special friendship with the divine and his casual disregard for convention or orthodoxy (3.14, 4.47–48), not to mention “other, less dangerous proclivities,” such as his unrestrained moralism, or “his tendency to withdraw” into a proudly contemptuous, yet “unphilosophic isolation” from human beings, by “paying court” instead only to “the most solemn gods” in order to possess them as friends (see 4.23 and 6.1, 4.49 and 8.3).23 And although Hermogenes would prefer to trust in this lofty friendship, relying only upon his powerful and virtuous “friends” for assistance, Socrates calculates that such austerity, an ascetic dependence on divine beneficence and “god-given gifts,” in the absence of human friendship and conventional equipment may not compensate Hermogenes entirely or keep him from perishing out of need. Perhaps there is reason to doubt in the providence of the gods or whether the gods take pleasure in gentlemanliness (2.25, 4.49; cf. Mem. II.10).24 Socrates’ critique of Hermogenes’ shrill speech is not merely personal but touches upon an issue with profound consequences for Socrates himself, and indeed the other gentlemen present: what is piety, and how is it protected by divine providence? This line of inquiry, however, is not made explicit, and since Hermogenes remains nearly silent for the remainder of the symposium (cf. 8.12), we are forced to wonder about the effectiveness of this endeavor at Socratic education. Is it an essential part of the playfulness of Xenophon’s Symposium that Socrates not only admits being refuted by Hermogenes but also appears to fail in his efforts to use jokes to reform and educate his companion’s pious seriousness, and thereby to benefit him in some way, in the same way that the Socratic logos failed in the beauty contest to prevent the beautiful Kritoboulos from corrupting their young judges and turning their judgment away from Socrates? Without allowing Hermogenes any opening in which to reply to Socrates’ advice, Kallias now intervenes on his own to make use of Socrates’ jocular exhortation as a means of exacting his own revenge on Antisthenes for the earlier insult he suffered (see 4.2). Taking advantage of the Socratic remedy proposed for Hermogenes’ harsh speech, Kallias asks what “flute-music” should accompany Antisthenes when he “refutes someone during the symposion,”25 so that his speeches, too, might become more pleasant and his presence less disturbing. Antisthenes quickly fires back his retort: “For whomever is being refuted, I suppose that the sound of the shepherd’s pipe would be fitting” (6.5). Antisthenes, with his reply, continues to contest with Kallias, suggesting that the sound of the shepherd’s musical instrument, or Pan’s pipe, would be appropriate for those who, having been refuted, have lost their way in speech and are in need of guidance.26 As this exchange implies, the disturbance caused by Hermogenes’ silence and Kallias’ reference to the unpleasant refutative speech of Antisthenes belong together: both are in need of some musical training, even if Antisthenes is less inclined to consider himself deficient in this regard.27 These two associates of Socrates in particular are guilty of a certain overindulgence in speech and stand in need of an education in Odyssean or Socratic rhetoric. Their refutations of the other symposiasts reveal their own lack of harmonic or rhetorical speech, and thus seem to Socrates—at least on this occasion, a private and playful gathering of gentlemen—to be “in need of sweetening or of grace.”28

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ARISTOPHANIC ACCUSATIONS— THE SYRACUSAN CONTRA SOCRATES We see from the quick exchange of speeches in Section Six that there is underlying tension in the ranks of the symposiasts. The effect of the caricatures of Socrates29 reflected in Hermogenes’ asceticism and Antisthenes’ cynicism must be quenched, if the Symposium is to proceed amiably to its conclusion. Lest he continue to cause the others to suffer pains, and thereby run the risk of incurring political retaliation in less amiable times, Hermogenes is exhorted by Socrates to speak pleasantly. As for Antisthenes, Socrates is content once again to second Kallias’ not indefensible refutation (see 4.5). Whatever advice Socrates may have wanted to add in this regard, however, is now prevented by the intrusion of the Syracusan, who had become envious of Socrates on account of the lengthy distractions he has created, turning the attention of the symposiasts away from his own wondrous performances. This distraction was caused by the two lengthy rounds of speeches, first proposed by Socrates (3.2–3, 4.1), as well as by the entertaining beauty contest, instigated by Socrates and supported by their host (4.19–20, 5.1), and now by the playful efforts at reforming the “drunken misbehavior” (παροινίαν) of his companions. Whereas his performances had earlier been complimented by Socrates who took them as an occasion for reflection and conversation, the gentlemen no longer need such wondrous prompting, it seems. They have begun to take into their own hands the entertainment of the evening. In other words, remembering what he takes great pride in, we can say that the Syracusan’s “fools” have discovered more fitting forms of entertainment for themselves (cf. 4.55, with 3.2). To recover their attention, the Syracusan now intervenes directly and attacks Socrates with a bluntness that far exceeds the disturbances caused by Antisthenes or the “rather muted quarrel” between Hermogenes and Socrates over the willingness of Socrates to let a merely utilitarian view of beauty or nobility prevail.30 For whereas Hermogenes’ displeasure over Socrates’ apparent disregard for the beautiful in the most important respect was evidently subdued, the Syracusan is eager to rebuke Socrates vigorously with the ready-made accusations of the comic poet Aristophanes, whose recent performance of the Clouds first publicly presented the generic, but persistently damaging slander against the philosopher as a type of sophist.31 Unlike the Syracusan, the grave Hermogenes would surely have stopped short of accusing Socrates of the kind of atheism displayed in Aristophanes’ caricature of Socrates, one of the two charges on which Socrates was later convicted.32 Still, for reasons that are not yet readily apparent, “Hermogenes’ refutation of Socrates and the Syracusan’s attack on Socrates belong together.”33 Socrates’ “what is . . .?” question must trigger the Syracusan’s Aristophanean accusations. Hearing this interrogative posed in this way and the subsequent banter, and being reminded of the slander that had descended upon Socrates as a result of the Clouds, the invited entertainer no longer holds his silence. The Syracusan, “bearing a grudge against Socrates” (φθονῶν τῷ Σωκράτει)34 on account of the fact that the symposiasts were neglecting his “displays” and taking pleasure in each other through their speeches, addressed him by name (cf. 6.1) and questioned him directly about his reputation as “a Thinker” (φροντιστής: 6.6)—the designation attributed to Socrates as a result of comments made about a character named “Socrates” in Aristophanes’ play.35 Leaving aside for now the very contentious issue of whether Aristophanes was a friend or enemy of Socrates and his way of life,36 let us say that, in this dialogue, it is made clear that friends, or those who wish to be amiable, should not begrudge or withhold out of envy helping others, or giving to them what they rightly deserve (see Sym. 1.12, 3.5,



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3.14, 4.43). The first and only instance of a grudge being borne in the Symposium is here (6.6), according to Xenophon, by the Syracusan against Socrates. No doubt himself familiar with this comic reference (cf. Oik. 11.1–6; Plato, Apo. 18b–d) Socrates’ laconic reply befits a gentleman of grace and wit. Is it not “more noble” (κάλλιον) to be reputed thoughtful, than “thoughtless” (ἀφρόντιστος)? Certainly not, the Syracusan retorts, if one is reputed to be “a thinker of lofty things” (φροντιστὴς τῶν μετεώρων).37 In imitating or repeating the slander of Aristophanes, this objection carries with it the dangerous accusation of atheism since the philosophic or scientific investigation of “lofty things,” or the things on high or in the heavens, was considered an implicit denial and blasphemy of the divinity of celestial bodies.38 Anticipating the thrust of the Syracusan’s accusation, Socrates asks if the Syracusan knows “of anything loftier than the gods?” (6.7, cf. 5.6). The Syracusan swears “by Zeus” that he does not know of anything loftier than gods, but rather than get caught up in Socrates’ web, he challenges Socrates to explain why it is rumored of him that he does not even “take care” at all for such lofty beings as “the gods,” since “they say” he instead concerns himself with only “the least beneficial things.”39 At this point, by means of an untranslatable and questionable pun,40 Socrates attempts to bring the Syracusan’s cross-examination to a close by dismissing the Aristophanean, or vulgar, accusations, repeated by many, on the grounds that they are patently contradictory (6.7): “Surely then, even in this way,” Socrates said, “would I care about the gods—for, existing,41 from on high, they benefit, and from on high, they furnish light. But if I seem to speak of trivial things,42 you are the cause, for it is you who make it my affair (πράγματά).” To care for what is on high is also to care for the gods. Socrates refutes the charge by implying that in attending to what is lofty he does not merely study substanceless air or the whimsical shapes of clouds, as was suggested in Aristophanes’ play, but he also concerns himself with the source of the air and, specifically, of the light, which is divine in origin—no “trivial” or “cold” considerations at all. His “affairs” may seem insubstantial at first glance, but he denies being “thoughtless” about such things. What he thinks about them, however, is not made clear. Nevertheless, the Syracusan appears willing to “let these things be,” which is to say, the things which lie beyond the ken of human beings, although he still persists and “does not let go of Socrates” (according to one commentator), turning instead to the peculiar geometry which was also commonly “said” to be practiced by Socrates—measuring distances in flea’s feet (6.8).43 This tactic looks to be more successful, cornering Socrates into a clearly ignoble defense of such a ridiculous practice; for only a perfect fool would hold that “pondering thinkers,” who are worried over trivial and useless things beneath human concern, such as fleas’ feet or gnats’ intestines, can possibly be considered “gentlemen” (see Strepsiades, at Clouds 102: καλοί τε κἀγαθοί). Before Socrates can reply to this new charge, there is a third interruption. This time, on his own intitiative, it is Antisthenes who intervenes on Socrates’ behalf by attempting to introduce a diversion that will distract the attention of all. He calls upon Philippos, whose silence until now could be seen as a function of his own discontent, to perform a “clever” caricature of the manifestly “abusive” Syracusan (6.8).44 Such a performance would put the Syracusan on the defensive as one guilty of being harsh, momentarily releasing Socrates from the obligation to defend himself. But, even as Philippos jumps at the opportunity, saying that there are indeed “many others” eager to be “abusive” in just this way, Socrates interrupts to prevent Philippos from imitating the Syracusan. And he does so for the same reason he wished to induce Hermogenes to give over his silence in favor of sweetened or more musical speech, namely, so as not to upset the otherwise playful mood of the symposion. For if Philippos caricatures the

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Syracusan, he will himself become the abusive one, since he could not imitate the Syracusan by pretending that he is behaving instead like “all the noble and best ones” (τοῖς πᾶσι καλοῖς καὶ τοῖς βελτίστοις). Socrates would prefer not to see the Syracusan caricatured as worse or better, neither as someone who is abusive or wretched nor as someone who is to be commended, or as being anything other than what he is.45 But in this way Socrates only postpones his defense of himself against the Syracusan, who was envious of Socrates on account of his speeches (cf. Mem. III.9.8).46 This defense, or refutation, of the Syracusan must await the final sections of the dialogue, when the rhetorical performance of Socrates in educating the erotic Kallias— a finale that is complemented and perhaps improved upon in the coda provided by the musical performance orchestrated by the Syracusan as the last act of the symposion. But the preemptive strike made on Antisthenes’ effort to defend Socrates, of course, leaves Philippos again with nothing to contribute to the banquet: “But by being silent,” laments Philippos, “I don’t know how I will accomplish things worthy of dinner.” Socrates replies, in a deeply ironic and enigmatic way, saying: “You will do so easily, at any rate, if with respect to that which ought not be said, you remain silent” (6.9–10). It is praiseworthy to leave unsaid what should not be said, and to leave undone what should not be done, rather than earning laughter, and one’s living, being willing to say and do such things through the caricature of others.47 Thus, in addition to chastising Hermogenes, Socrates holds back Antisthenes from goading the jester—who has himself been for some time neglected by the symposiasts on account of Socrates, just as the Syracusan has—into a performance of graceless caricatures or imitations at the Syracusan’s own expense. Xenophon, in his final comment on these scenes of refutation and accusation, which Socrates has brought to an end, sees fit to remark: “Thus, this drunken behavior (παροινία) was quenched in this way.” At least for Socrates, Antisthenes’ harsh elenchos and Hermogenes’ pious seriousness are distortions of the Socratic life worthy of reform through ironic chastisement, or playful education, in the Symposium. For these defects, or improprieties, on the part of his own companions, may be partly due to Socrates’ own neglect of their perception of who he is—what he says and does—and how they imitate him and his way of life. Whether he admits it or not, he is a teacher by example, and insofar as he is not being imitated “precisely,” then he runs the risk of being caricatured by his own friends, those who mean him no harm at all, let alone those who bear grudges against him. But the Syracusan, like Aristophanes, may be justly calling Socrates’ attention to this neglect, not to be “abusive” but to benefit him as a friend should. As for Kritoboulos’ pride in his beauty and Charmides’ erotic tendencies, these caricatures of the Socratic life are not judged to be in need of reformation at this point, or at least Socrates is content to allow these impressions to be associated with himself for now. On the other hand, Socrates may have his eye on the rest of the evening’s entertainment. The unmusical seriousness of Hermogenes and the harshness of Antisthenes, each with its implied failure to perceive what is fitting on this occasion, must not derail the playful mood of the symposium, which Socrates seems to want to sustain for some reason. So too, does Socrates oppose Philippos’ unpleasant caricatures, with their implied failure to recognize the proper means of education, a misunderstanding shared by Antisthenes (and perhaps Aristophanes); these forms of convivial misbehavior must be silenced in order to prevent the descent of Kallias’ banquet into what is ignoble and base, or Xenophon’s Symposium from depicting any further excessiveness or incorrigible παροινία. While the Syracusan may yet have a role to play in correcting the defect of drunkenness, it should almost go without saying that Philippos remains silent for the rest of the evening, perhaps from his understandable confusion over how he could possibly acquire “dinner” (cf. 1.11, 1.15) by knowing when not to say what ought not be said.



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The tensions running through Kallias’ symposion weaken the goodwill of the symposiasts and risk causing it to slide from playful contests (ἀγῶνα) into outright strife in polemical conflicts (πόλεμος). The increasingly harsh disruptions, both in the pregnant silences and the bold speeches, have begun to agitate the evening and the symposiasts—from the silent rebuke of Hermogenes of Socrates’ failure to defeat Kritoboulos in speech, to Kallias’ complaint against Antisthenes for his earlier insult; and from the Syracusan’s censure of the Socrates as a “thinker of lofty thoughts,” to the attempt by Antisthenes to use Philippos’ abusive caricatures to defend Socrates. These tensions among the “gentlemen at play,” which were sublimated or embedded in the action of the dialogue, have now precipitated and become foregrounded. It is up to Socrates in the following Sections to restore the goodwill which gracefully conducts Xenophon’s Symposium to its conclusion.

NOTES 1.  Strauss 1958/1996, 169 [= Pangle (1989) 139]. 2.  Strauss 1972, 167–169. 3.  See Strauss 1972, 167; see also, Bartlett 1996-b, 187–188. 4.  Strauss (1972) 168. 5.  Hermogenes has very infrequently been called by name thus far in the Symposium (see 3.14 and 4.46, cf. 1.3, 3.8, 4.23, 4.49). Given his self-proclaimed friendship with the gods, there may be something more than mere convention at work in his name, which means “the race or descendant of Hermes.” Hermes is not only the messenger (or interpreter: ἑρμηνεύω) of the gods, who passes across the boundary between divine and human with logoi and so is the god of heralds and roads, but also the god of good luck and (in the absence of good luck) the god of secret dealings and stratagems. Xenophon shows in his writings that Hermogenes, despite his name, seems to be lacking in both these respects: cf. Apo. 1–5 and Mem II.10. Compare the role of Hermes in Odysseus’ discovery of the duality of human nature (Homer, Ody. X), a duality Hermogenes abstracts from inasmuch as he wishes to become friends with gods. 6.  See Slater 1990, 214n10, 218n58, and esp. 213: “Two obstacles in particular were observed to prevent this ideal charis: too much sober seriousness, a problem usually confined to water-drinking philosophers, and too much frivolity, with its allies irresponsible drunkenness and eventually serious violence. In between these extremes lay the desired euphrosyne with the related virtues that contribute to civilized behaviour.” See also, Bowen 1998, 115, commenting on 6.1, who associates excessive drinking with “overindulgence” of the sort that leads to a wide range of misconduct: Xenophon, Anabasis V.8.4; Plato, Eu­ thyphro 4c. The use of this word in Plato’s Euthyphro is related to Socrates’ decision here in the Symposium to examine the case of overindulgent piety exhibited by Hermogenes. Plato’s Socrates takes Euthyphro to task for his pious prosecution of his own father for his imprudent actions under the influence of wine. Xenophon’s Socrates, when silently accused of impropriety by the pious Hermogenes, defends himself by turning the table on his accuser and holding him accountable for the painful consequences of his pious silence at a drinking party. Socrates thus appears to stand in opposition to the kind of overindulgence exhibited by both young men, suggesting that Xenophon’s Hermogenes is guilty of being too rigid, or fanatical, about his piety, a sort of “bible belt preacher” like Plato’s Euthyphro: see Pangle 1996, 31n7, end. A recent comedy about excessive wine-drinking (Cratinus, Pytine) had received first prize in the Dionysia of 424/423 (see Bowie 1995, 121) and may be an inspiration for Socrates’ question here, in which case perhaps the Syracusan is not reaching too far in citing Aristophanes’ Clouds soon after. 7.  Strauss 1972, 168. 8.  Strauss 1972, 155–156. Hermogenes’ earlier objection had managed to spark a revealing discussion (Sym. 4.23–28) of the dangerous temptations of the beautiful, which induced Xenophon to remark on the mixture of the playful and the serious in their logoi. 9.  There is some unspoken tension between Kallias and Hermogenes. As the illegitimate brother of Kallias, Hermogenes found himself, if not wholly excluded from, at least on the margins of wealthy

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and prestigious Athenian aristocracy, which his brother—the legitimate son and sole heir of his family’s unrivalled financial fortune and sacerdotal duties—seems splendidly to exemplify. Pangle 1996, 25–26: “Hermogenes belongs, and yet does not belong, to the highest circles of conventional nobility. His extraordinary pride, we may surmise, is fueled by his understandable reaction against the rather low position in which civic and family convention places him. Similarly, his unique piety can be understood as a manifestation of his lofty refusal to accept the conventional estimation of his stature among gods and men, especially in contrast to that of his brother, the priest.” Kallias’ reply seems to run counter to Socrates’ purpose, which is to reduce tensions, though its tone is hardly unexpected: see Bowen 1998, 116, commenting on 6.3: “Kallias’ answer is fatuous, and irritates Hermogenes further.” 10. On the authority of Bowen (1998) 116, commenting on 6.4, the verb “to make shapes” (μορφάζω) appears only here in classical Greek literature. Socrates seems to mean that it would be more pleasant, which is to say, more humorous, if Hermogenes pantomimed the playing of a flute with his fingers while he talks. 11.  This innovative oath (πρὸς τῶν θεῶν) is imitated only by Hermogenes (at 8.6). 12. See the description of this dramatic activity by Pickard-Cambridge 1953, 156–157, whose references to textual evidence include Aristotle (Poetics IV.1449a21ff. and VI.1449b28ff.; Rhetoric III.8.1408b33ff.; Problems xix.6), Plutarch (de Musika 1140), Lucian (de Saltat. 27), Athenaeus (xiv.636b), and finally, the earliest textual reference of the group, this very passage from Xenophon’s Symposium: “The presentation of a play, whether by actors or chorus, involves three elements—the utterance of words, the use of gestures, and the movements (or absence of movement) from place to place on the scene of the action, whether on the level ground or on a stage. The practice of Greek actors included speech unaccompanied by music, speech accompanied by an instrument (or what is conventionally termed recitative), and a song.” In this same section, Pickard-Cambridge also remarks that the flute was considered the instrument best suited for tragic use when reciting lines with accompaniment, and that Nikostratos was a famous tragic actor of the latter or last part of the fifth century. According to Bowen 1998, 116, commenting on 6.3: “Nikostratos is mentioned by Plutarch (Mor. 348E) with qualified enthusiasm. Tetrameters are long lines, of at least 15 syllables: Hermogenes picks the metre in order to exaggerate his task.” 13.  Hermogenes’ word for “actor” is ὑποκριτής (from ὑποκρίνομαι): “an interpreter or expounder, one who plays a part,” also an “exaggerator, dissembler, or hypocrite.” The root of the word is related to the activity of judges (κριτής) who decide or pronounce judgments. An actor performing a dramatic role is understood as the one who interprets or expounds a part by making declarations “from under or beneath” the mask that is worn or held over the face in a performance; this understanding leads us to a definition of the dissembler, of the playful (sometimes cunning or malicious) activity of masking, which is so prevalent in Shakespeare. Insofar as the part or role which the actor plays is not his own, he dissembles in performance, pretending to be someone he is not, although not merely one of the silly tribe of rhapsodes who merely recite the words of others; a dissembler is still something less than ironic, however. 14. Strauss 1972, 168. On the other service Socrates provides Hermogenes, see Mem. II.9, with Strauss 1972, 55, where it is pointed out that Hermogenes was in danger of perishing from want, until Socrates advised one of his comrades that it was possible to acquire Hermogenes as a friend without spending much. 15. Hermogenes’ speeches comes across as scripted, as if he is prepared to censure overindulgences that are inevitably going to attend such an event. See Bowen 1998, 115, commenting on 6.1, where it is stated that “Hermogenes’ response” to the question posed to him (what is paroinia?) “as Socrates probably expected, is slightly pedantic.” As for the response itself, Bowen reads Hermogenes’ denial to know what “drunken behavior” is as a self-justifying denial by Hermogenes of having ever had any experience of being drunk; Bowen concludes, perhaps rightly: “Such a person would not be easy company at a symposium.” 16. Strauss 1972, 168. To make his song “more pleasant” (ἡδίων), Socrates recommends that he “season” his words with music (ἡδύνεσθαι: see also 4.8), although Strauss translates this as “to become sweetened.” Bowen 1998, 116, commenting on 6.4, notes that the “sharp tone of Socrates’ teasing is sustained” at 8.3.



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17.  Socrates is unmusical in the view of Aristophanes, and perhaps also of Plato and Xenophon. See Strauss 1958/1996, 193–194 [= Pangle (1989) 169]: “[In Aristophanes’ portrait of Socrates] Socrates is unpolitical because he lacks self-knowledge. He does not understand the political context within which philosophy exists. He is unaware of the essential difference between philosophy and the polis. He does not understand the political in its specific character. The reason for this is his being unerotic and unmusic. To this accusation Xenophon and Plato give one and the same reply. Socrates is political and erotic. He understands the political and its non-rational character. He realizes the critical importance of thymos, of spiritedness, as the bond between the philosopher and the multitude. He understood the political in its specific character. In fact, no one before him did. For he was the first to grasp the significance of the idea, of the fact that the whole is characterized by articulation into classes or kinds, whose character can be understood only by thought, and not by sense perception.” 18.  See Pangle 1996, 30n6; see also, Bartlett 1996-b, 187n8: “Of all the figures presented in the Symposium, Hermogenes seems to occupy a peculiarly important place in Xenophon’s works.” He is mentioned three separate times in the Memorabilia, “more than any other figure in the Symposium, and he is the only one of these who is listed in the Memorabilia as being an ‘associate’ or ‘student’ of Socrates (1.2.48; 2.10.3ff.; 4.8.4).” In this list, and in the Symposium (1.3), Hermogenes “occupies literally the central place” and “only Hermogenes has the honor of having Socrates admit that he has been refuted by him. Still, if Hermogenes’ prominence is easy to discern, its basis is not.” As for the basis of Hermogenes’ prominence in Xenophon’s recollections of Socrates, to which Bartlett alludes but does not elaborate—namely, the absence of political ambition coupled with a passionate, and seemingly incorruptible, longing for gentlemanliness itself (8.3), see Pangle 1996, 30–31: “Moreover, the image Xenophon’s Socrates leaves is not merely that of a strange comrade of, or kindred spirit to, the pious and moral Hermogenes. It is also, much more dramatically, the image of a man admired, even worshipped, by Hermogenes because of his godlike self-sufficiency and Olympian pride. Now there are many in the city who share a portion, at least, of Hermogenes’ spirit or taste, and admire—if only grudgingly—this kind of spiritual autonomy. . . . In addition, there may always be a few truly ‘proud men’—in Aristotle’s sense of ‘the perfect gentlemen’—who, because of their own stature and reserve, would never become followers of Socrates, but who might well come to see something admirable in him by way of the depiction presented by Hermogenes. Last but not least, this particular depiction of the philosopher as a man of almost divine inner independence is one that may awaken the longing or eros of young people with genuine philosophic potential. Hermogenes, this would mean to say, is also the unwitting carrier of a message of seduction to souls considerably superior to his own.” 19.  Xenophon singles out the impression of Socrates’ trial offered by the pious Hermogenes among all those companions of Socrates who were present. See Bartlett 1996-b, 187n8: “The bulk of the Apology of Socrates to the Jury is seen through his eyes, and the exchange between Socrates and Hermogenes in the Symposium (at 4.50 and context) is the only one Xenophon identifies as having been entirely serious (cf. 4.29).” For an interpretation of the impoverished, pious, and erotic Hermogenes as the “key” to Xenophon’s Apology, see Pangle 1996, 21, 23–32, esp. 38: “We do not penetrate to the heart of Socratic wisdom [in Xenophon’s Apology of Socrates] because we see Socrates in the light cast by the mind of Hermogenes, a man who has practically no insight into Socrates’ deepest needs and joys: unlike Charmides, Hermogenes never caught a glimpse of Socrates dancing alone (Symposium 2.15–19). What Hermogenes does perceive and hold in awe—what he mistakes for the peak of philosophic existence—is the philosopher’s magnificent and divinely inspired transcendence of political life. The picture Xenophon chose to present in the Apology may exaggerate not least in that it has Socrates talk and act as if he felt pride or reverence for his own soul like that a Hermogenes aspires to feel.” What the destitute Hermogenes perceived as the admirable virtue of Socrates at his trial, his apparently pious recognition that the benevolent gods had arranged for him the best end to life, and his apparently philosophic transcendence of political life, and which justified Socrates’ “big-talking,” Xenophon himself knew to be only a partial or limited defense of the life of Socrates (see Apo. 7, 14–16, 23, 27, but cf. 22, 34). 20.  For some reason, Xenophon refrains from saying Socrates “conversed with” or engaged in dialogue with (διαλέγομαι: III 10.1 and 6; cf. III 3.11–12) this particular craftsman, a maker of armor, as he had with

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the other two artisans in the chapter, the painter and the sculptor. See Strauss 1972, 83–85, who points out that “Xenophon’s Socrates conversed with artisans very rarely (cf. Oec. VI.13), although more frequently than Plato’s Socrates,” and mentions parenthetically that Socrates visited Pistias “more than once,” but reiterates that the logos “about what is and what is not well-proportioned is altogether Pistias.” Strauss concludes “Socrates could be useful to Pistias only by praising and recommending him (cf. Mem. III.11.3).” As for Socrates’ grasp of this logos, derived from his being “receptive” to it, see Bonnette 1994, 154n47. 21.  The 3rd edition of The Oxford Encyclopedic English Dictionary defines “eurhythmic” as being “of or in harmonious proportion (esp. of architecture) [eurhythmy harmony of proportions f. L eur(h)ythmia f. Gk eurhuthmia (as in, eu-, rhuthmos proportion, rhythm)].” The word “eurhythmics” thus refers to the “harmony of bodily movement, esp. as developed with music and dance into a system of education.” 22.  On Socrates’ unusual oath, see the discussions at Sym. 4.45, 4.54, 8.12, and 9.1. 23.  Pangle 1996, 24, 31. Pangle concludes his initial consideration of the apparent alliance between Socrates and a man like Hermogenes by observing that “the Symposium reveals, with Xenophon’s characteristic deftness, the manner in which Socrates sought to correct these vices and make of someone like Hermogenes a more convivial and useful member of society.” 24.  Whereas for Socrates, an unusual continence accomplishes a reduction of need, there still remains the necessity of equipment which is supplied by Socrates’ acquisition or hunting of friends: see Mem. II.6. 25.  It is Kallias here who, for the very first time in the dialogue, uses the word that refers to Xenophon’s title. Socrates will use symposion twice (in Section Seven) in his critique of the Syracusan’s performances. 26.  On Antisthenes’ claiming for himself the shepherd’s instrument, see Mem. III.2; see also, Strauss 1972, 59. On the authority of Bowen (1998) 116, commenting on 6.5, the word συριγμόν, used to describe the sound or noise of the shepherd’s pipes, is first recorded here in Xenophon. Bowen also takes the reference here to mean that Antisthenes thinks his “cross-examination will reduce the victim to such a degree of confusion that the onlookers will whistle in derision.” 27.  Hermogenes’ refusal to participate in the exuberance of the symposiasts in the wake of the ironic beauty contest between Socrates and Kritoboulos is as unpleasant as anything which the disputatious Antisthenes would say, if he had in fact been moved to object to Socrates’ ignoble reduction of beauty (cf. 4.40). 28.  Strauss 1972, 168. Both Hermogenes and Antisthenes are juxtaposed with Xenophon: cf. the description of Xenophon, at Strauss 1972, 171, with that of Hermogenes (at 171–172) as well as with that of Antisthenes (at 152, 158, 168). 29.  See Plato, Republic III.396c-e. 30.  Bartlett 1996-b, 188: “. . . the criticisms leveled by the Syracusan are bluntness itself (6.6).” 31. Aristophanes, Clouds 226–227, 245–248, 365–367, 627, 816ff., 1232–1241, 1464ff.; see Bartlett 1996-b, 188. On the Syracusan’s obvious reference to the Clouds, see Bartlett 1996, 161n81 and 188n9. For an extended critique of the mistaken assumption that Aristophanes’ Socrates is a composite portrait of the “typical sophist,” an opinion propounded by Dover (1968) in his introduction to his edition of the play, see Vander Waerdt 1994, 10n32, 55n21, 54–60; West 1984, 30–31. Both Vander Waerdt (1994, 54) and Bowen (1998, 116, commenting on 6.6) speculate that Xenophon and Plato, still young boys when the Clouds was produced for the first and only time during the City Dionysia, just a little over a year before Kallias’ banquet, must have been familiar with the written text as well as the performance and rumors of Aristophanes’ play. In short, the Syracusan’s accusations of Socrates are timely. 32. See Mem. I.1.1–2 and Apo. 10–15; Plato, Apo. 19b-d, 24b-c, and Euthyphro 2c, 3b; Dio. Laert. II.40. See also, Bartlett 1996-b, 189: “However much the pious Hermogenes may frown on Socrates’ playfulness (4.23), he surely would not go so far as to charge him with atheism, and the kinship between Hermogenes and the Syracusan as critics or ‘accusers’ of Socrates in chapter 6 is only superficial.” Bartlett’s note at this point is useful: “Both are in fact accusers only half-seriously. Lykon is the true accuser.” The accusation against Socrates that belongs to Lykon, however, namely, the other charge of corruption, is not specifically addressed in this chapter.



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33.  Strauss 1972, 169. 34. The verb used by Xenophon here to introduce the Syracusan’s speech falls short of the harsh verb used to describe Kritias’ attitude toward Socrates, which is “hate” (μισέω: Mem. I.2.31), but it does recall those who foolishly envy the successes of their own friends (Mem. III.9.8), if not also those whose envy may turn their grudge into an accusation or an assault, especially bearing a harsh grudge against someone on account of their wisdom (Mem. IV.2.33) or their favor in the eyes of the divine (Apo. 14). On enmity and the bearing of grudges even among those devoted to virtue and one’s fellow Athenians, see Mem. II.6.17–20 and III.5.13–17. 35.  The word itself is borrowed from Aristophanes’ Clouds (see 155, 266, 360, 414, 456, 1039), in which a certain “Socrates” is portrayed as a philosopher and teacher whose head, so to speak, is either high up in the air mingling with the Clouds and gazing at “lofty things,” or is, on the contrary, incessantly occupied with trivial investigations of the natural phenomena in the earth. The “school” of this “Socrates” is described by Strepsiades, the father of an erstwhile student enrolled there, as “the Thinkery of wise souls” (ψυχῶν σοφῶν φροντιστήριον: 94, see 142, 181, 1487) and a place wherein he believes dwell “meticulous thinkers who are noble and good” (μεριμνοφροντισταὶ καλοί τε κἀγαθοί: 102). Aristophanes’ word “Thinkery” is an original innovation, derived from the word φροντιστής, “a thinker,” as well as from φροντιζῶ, “to think, consider, give heed to or reflect; or “to worry or be anxious about,” in imitation presumably of the word for the Athenian legal institution that dispensed justice or right (δίκη), the “court of law,” or δικεστήριον. See Hansen 1991, 178–224; West 1984, 119n21. Vander Waerdt (1994, 65) argues that Aristophanes distances his “Socrates” from the kind of students who inhabited the so-called “Thinkery” which he invented in order to critique the activity of certain sophists who studied natural phenomena. 36.  See Strauss 1966. 37.  See Aristophanes, Clouds 169–173, 225–232; cf. 1503, 1506–1507. 38.  See Plato, Apo. 18b-c, 19b-d; see also, Bartlett 1996-b, 188. 39. See Plato, Apo. 24c, 26b-e; cf. Xen. Mem. IV.7.6. Xenophon here foreshadows the defense Socrates will use to rebuke his young accuser at his trial, the “careful” Meletus, for his carelessness. 40.  See Strauss 1972, 168. See also, Vander Waerdt 1994, 53n18; Bartlett 1996-b, 189; Bowen 1998, 116, commenting on 6.7. 41.  See Bartlett 1996-a, 161n82: “Reading ontes with the mss. instead of the conjecture, huontes (‘raining’) accepted by Ollier.” For the manuscript tradition, Bartlett cites Parmentier 1900, 244. 42.  Socrates’ word ψυχρὰ literally means “cold things,” derived from ψύχω, “to blow or cool by blowing,” but metaphorically can also mean “insipid, lifeless, or feeble,” which alludes to the pun in his argument. 43.  See Aristophanes, Clouds 144–153, cf. 154–168, 187–190; see also, Strauss 1972, 168–169. 44.  Philippos also must be considered a potential accuser of Socrates, based on his possible relation to Lykon in the opening scene of Plato’s Symposium, which has Glaucon, the son of Ariston, eagerly desiring to hear more about that party at which Agathon, Socrates, and Alcibiades were present, which he first heard about from his informant, a certain Phoenix, the son of Philippos. Strauss (1959-a, 18) suggests that this Phoenix is the son of the Philippos in Xenophon’s Symposium: “Perhaps the Phoenix here mentioned was also cursed by his father, Philip, for having turned to Socrates.” 45.  The irony of this situation is articulated by Strauss 1972, 169: “Philippos’ taking Socrates’ side is a comic equivalent of the true relation between Aristophanes and Socrates.” Aristophanes in caricaturing “Socrates” benefited him, if indeed this was one cause of Socrates’ turn toward a new method of examining the beings. But on this occasion, whatever benefit he himself may have received as a result of such a caricature of him, Socrates does not wish Philippos to use such means with the Syracusan—perhaps because Socrates agrees with the Syracusan that the comic charges against “Socrates” were justified, but that he is not that man. 46.  Strauss 1972, 168–169; see also, Vander Waerdt 1994, 53n18, 57n27, 68n67; Bartlett 1996-b, 188, who specifically uses the word “envious” to describe the Syracusan. 47.  On Philippos’ envy of Socrates and his confusion regarding this wisdom, see Strauss 1959-a, 18.

9 Digression, Reconciliation, and Restoration

“This they propose for us . . . they would permit us to have mimics and music at our feasts but forbid philosophy; she, forsooth, being very unfit to be wanton with us, and we in a bad condition to be serious.” “But by Dionysos, he was right in forswearing philosophical discourse, if he designed to make such long-winded discourses as would have spoiled all mirth and conversation; but I do not think there is the same reason to forbid philosophy as to take away rhetoric from our feasts. For philosophy is quite of another nature; it is an art of living, and therefore must be admitted into every part of our conversation, into all our gay humors and our pleasures, to regulate and adjust them, to proportion the hours, and to keep them from excess.” “Consider what company is present; for if the greater part of the guests are learned men— as for instance . . . at Callias’ board, men like Socrates, Charmides, Antisthenes, Hermogenes, and the like—we will permit them to philosophize, and to mix Dionysos with the Muses as well as with the Hours, Graces, and Nymphs; for the latter make him wholesome and gentle to the body, and the former make him both pleasant and agreeable to the soul.”1

A SOCRATIC INTERLUDE—XENOPHON CONTRA PLATO A noble and fine symposion, as opposed to a vulgar one, is characterized by expressions of goodwill on the part of the symposiasts, through the tone and topic of their conversations and through the toasts and singing of suitable songs while drinking. This view is articulated by the good physician in Plato’s Symposium, Eryximachus, who is said to be “the best son of the best and most moderate father” and who chastened the newly-arrived symposiarch, Alcibiades, who arrived late in the evening as Dionysios incarnate, by forbidding him to drink without accompaniment of either one, speech or song (213e–214d). Plato’s Alcibiades speaks eloquently and erotically but does not sing. Xenophon’s Socrates, on the other hand, does sing, albeit briefly. The arrival of Plato’s Alcibiades at the symposion interrupts Aristophanes, who was present from the beginning and who is the only symposiast dissatisfied with Socrates’ speech on erōs as a response to his own. Thus, in effect, the unexpected intervention of Alcibiades prevents a greater disturbance from emerging at this point—a quarrel between poetry and philosophy. 253

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While he wishes to come across as a friend and ally of Socrates, the intoxicated Alcibiades nonetheless makes it clear that he considers him to be a rival of his with respect to beauty, if not wisdom. What takes place instead of the quarrel between poetry and philosophy is what appears to be a lesser or more playful disturbance, so to speak, a quarrel between Alcibiades and Socrates, over who is the lover of whom and why. This erotic dispute over who is the lover and who beloved, however, did nothing to preclude Socrates’ accusers at his trial years later from trying to associate the two as closely as possible in the minds of Athenians, because in the absence of his companions, they were eager to punish Socrates for the political sins of Alcibiades and Kritias, to say nothing here of Charmides (see Mem. I.2.9–12). Plato’s Socrates continues to drink and to converse with Agathon and Aristophanes, the tragic and comic poets, long into the night and early morning after the drunken Alcibiades has covertly slipped away; but he never succeeds in bringing an end to the contentious debate over erōs and the power of poetry which his own account and that of Alcibiades had prompted (see 222c–223d). At the end of the symposion when day began to dawn, Socrates, the only symposiast still awake and sober enough to depart, left Agathon’s house for the Lyceum, where he washed and went about his usual affairs. Xenophon’s Socrates, by contrast, proves much more capable at restoring the goodwill or charis of his fellow symposiasts, bringing them around through a song and a speech to an amiable, but not erotic or contentious end to the symposion. In Xenophon’s Symposium, in other words, as opposed to that of Plato, Socrates quells the disturbance that is caused by the Syracusan’s envious imitation of Aristophanes, which had threatened to reopen in debate “the ancient quarrel” between poetry and philosophy embodied in the Clouds. That quarrel had much to do with a difference in how rhetorical modes ought to be deployed in order to protect the speaker from the indignant ire of those who perhaps could not be easily brought to understand how Socratic examinations of the human things could be politically salutary rather than toxic in their effects. Near the end of a long evening at Kallias’ house, Xenophon’s Socrates will depart in the company of some of those who remained, though none of those present were too drunk to ride or walk. We return, then, to the action of Xenophon’s Symposium with attention to the Odyssean, or Socratic, rhetoric that is on display in Sections Seven and Eight of the dialogue: Socrates’ only song and lengthiest speech of the evening.

NOMOS AND LOGOS Antisthenes’ misguided attempt to make use of Philippos’ comic, yet abusive, caricatures to protect Socrates from the blunt questioning of the Syracusan would inadvertently have allied Socrates with his accuser, Aristophanes. Despite the fact that “some of the others were urging on” Philippos to mimic the Syracusan, Xenophon’s Socrates rejects the negotiation of such a vulgar alliance (7.1). Socrates, “at this point,” was also assisted in preventing the intervention of the jester by some “others” whom Xenophon leaves unnamed. If one assumes that Antis­ thenes had persisted in encouraging Philippos, a rift between Socrates and his companion would risk becoming a rivalry of sorts, one which anticipates Antisthenes’ later career as a (so-called) Socratic. Depending on which of the symposiasts actually followed Socrates’ lead in rejecting the call for harsh caricatures, and why, the composition and portrait of a so-called “Socratic circle” in Xenophon’s Symposium becomes further fragmented or distorted.



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In his effort to “stave off the counterattacks” led by Antisthenes on his behalf, Socrates was prevented from articulating an adequate reply to the Syracusan’s Aristophanean accusations,2 the effect of which Socrates himself is well aware. Due to the “tumult” or commotion (θόρυβος) that came into being at this late, or advanced, stage of the symposion, Socrates thought it best, first of all, to quench the uproar and confusion of this new potential convivial misbehavior (παροινία) by means of a traditional sympotic activity, saying: “‘since everyone eagerly desires to speak, now most of all and all at once, shall we sing?’ Straight-away after saying so, he had made a beginning of a song” (7.1).3 Xenophon then reports that all of the symposiasts were thus persuaded to join in singing the song which Socrates had begun (7.2).4 This new beginning quiets the clamor that had erupted as a result of all their spiritedness to speak (pantes epithumoumen legein) and, at the same time, revives the grace (charis) and goodwill most appropriate for a symposium.5 Socrates shows himself, once again, to be eager to foster agreement and harmony, rather than disagreement and discord, among the “gentlemen” gathered together at the house of Kallias (see 2.7, 4.59–60). For not only have the disturbances of both Antisthenes and Hermogenes been quelled but the corrupt judgment of the beauty contest seems to have been entirely forgotten, hence averting the dangers or temptations associated with the victory-prizes. Entrancing the others with his singing, in which he was perhaps more accomplished than his dancing, Socrates here imitates Homer’s Odysseus as a marvelously sober singer (ἀοιδός), yet one whose musical capacity to lead others—in this case, away from drunken behavior (παροινία), licentious speech (παρρησία), and strife (ἔρις), toward polyphonic concord and grace (χάρις)—does not depend on his being literally sober, that is, without wine (ἄοινος).6 Socrates’ lyre, so to speak, rather than his bow, vanquishes the potential strife foreshadowed by the Syracusan’s repetition of Aristophanean accusations. His rhetorical arrows, unlike the quick wit and sharp refutations of Antisthenes, remain sheathed, and his reliance on the Muses allies him with the light and grace of Apollo against a potential outbreak of misbehavior fueled by Dionysian intoxication. Socrates’ concern with rhetoric, in this lyric example, expresses itself through his support of tradition, of what is conventional; not by means of logos, but by singing together the commonly held song of nomos.7 Socrates’ singing answers the quarrel implicit in the Syracusan’s accusations. His adherence to custom or the lawful (νόμος) in this context—without raising the question itself, What is nomos?—is characteristic of his playful gentlemanliness in the Symposium. With a studied nonchalance and gracefulness of his own, Xenophon, too, refrains from identifying the song which Socrates chose to sing; perhaps it was one of those customary Homeric war-tunes known to all of those familiar with battle, or a traditional eucharistic paean in honor of some god (see 2.1, cf. 8.1). Whatever the case may be, the symposiasts “finished” together the song which Socrates had begun singing alone. This evidently musical Socrates of Section Seven has been anticipated in the subtle attention paid by Xenophon to the Socratic rhetoric at work throughout the action of the dialogue as a whole, especially in contrast to the absence of such a rhetorical or Odyssean mode of speaking on the part of his two companions, Antisthenes and Hermogenes, thereby insofar as it is possible “conceals the difference” between ordinary and Socratic gentlemanliness, while at the same time, “intimating their conflict” in a manner suitable to the occasion.8 Once the symposion is brought back around to what is usual or customary, although having abandoned Socrates’ preferred kind of entertainment (see 3.2), the Syracusan makes preparations to bring in another delightful performance for the benefit of the gentlemen; for “a

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ceramic-maker’s wheel was carried in for the dancing girl, upon which she was destined to work wonders (οὗ ἔμελλε θαυματουργήσειν)” (7.2, cf. 2.1–2).9 In order to return to the reply he was prevented from making, Socrates now speaks directly to the Syracusan, in order to persuade him not to proceed in his usual manner with this kind of performance. This speech, together with Socrates’ own traditional song (ἀοιδή as νόμος) as a prologue (πρόλογος) and the Syracusan’s reply as an epilogue (ἐπίλογος), constitutes the shortest chapter of the Symposium. By means of it, Socrates successfully preempts the girl’s performance and, by the end of it, induces the dissenting Syracusan to proclaim himself satisfied—and even more than satisfied—with Socrates’ answer to the serious charges, something which we recall did not happen with Hermogenes in Section Six.10 While the nomos orchestrated by Socrates has proved sufficient to calm the disturbances caused by Antisthenes and some of the others, it is Socrates’ logos that the Syracusan ultimately swears is fine (7.5): “By Zeus, Socrates, you are speaking beautifully or nobly (καλῶς).” But what precisely is beautiful or noble about the speech that Socrates has spoken? In what sense is his logos to be understood as a rhetorical ergon, a deed even more than a speech, and precisely one that the Syracusan sees as καλός?

RECONCILIATION—A NOBLE SPEECH, FINELY SPOKEN By means of timely words “finely spoken” (καλῶς λέγειν), Socrates transforms his speech (λόγον) into a deed (ἔργον).11 Reminding everyone of the first Aristophanean accusation now cited by the Syracusan, Socrates opens his apologia with a kind of confession, before then proceeding on to a less playful defense of his “thoughtfulness” (see 6.6), in terms of his consideration for the well-being and safety of the Syracusan’s beautiful young performers as well as for the reputation of the Syracusan himself. The risk that the young performing girl is willing to take on courageously and skillfully in performing for the gentlemen outweighs the risk of Socrates associating himself with a reputation as one who is constantly thinking and questioning (7.2–3): “Syracusan, I do run the risk, as you say, of being a thinker; for even now I am considering how this boy of yours here and this girl here may pass the time as easily [as possible], while we who gaze upon them may be delighted the most—this very thing I well know that even you wish. It seems to me therefore that tumbling into daggers is a display of daring, which in a symposium is not at all befitting. Moreover, writing and reading while at the same time spinning round on a wheel may perhaps be wondrous in some way, but I cannot understand what pleasure these things furnish. Nor is it more pleasant to contemplate those who are beautiful and in the bloom of youth when they contort their bodies in imitating wheels than [to do so when they are] at rest.”

Socrates balks at any further “display of daring” such as the kind which had previously led him to praise the Syracusan by recommending the performance as proof for his fellow-symposiasts that the education of women and wives, even with respect to manly virtue, was possible (see 2.11–12). Yet now, in Socrates’ view, such daring warrants censure as “not at all befitting . . . a symposium” (συμπόσιον: see 6.5, 7.5, and 9.7). Socrates wonders, in other words, if the Syracusan can accomplish his intended purpose or end (τέλος) for his performances, which is to delight those who behold the “farfetched” wonders that he has prepared for them.12 There are indeed, hints Socrates, more “wondrous strange” things in heaven and earth than he has conceived of in his performances thus far.13 Wonders, in Socrates’ view, even more worthy of contemplation than the ones he has displayed



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already. Besides, judging from the props that have appeared along with the spinning wheel, it seems that what the Syracusan has in mind are certain “wondrous” exploits, or spectacles, that would treat the act of reading and writing in a merely vulgar way. Socrates does not expect this to be particularly pleasing. Similarly, Socrates notes, what pleasures are derived from the contemplation of beauty and youthful bloom at rest are not at all increased or augmented by the contortion of beautiful young bodies into vulgar imitations of objects (cf. 6.9). Socrates, we are given to understand, derives pleasure from gazing upon and contemplating (θεωρεῖν) the beautiful in its prime and by itself, even or especially when the bodies of those who most appear to possess or manifest their beauty can do so being motionless and at rest (see Mem. III.10.1–8, 11.1–3, 11.9–11). This reasoning, however, seems openly to contradict Charmides’ earlier observation that Socrates wished to praise the “dance-teacher” on account of his remark that the Syracusan’s boy, “being beautiful, together with the [dance] forms, nevertheless appears even more beautiful than when he is at rest” (2.15). There was, at the time, a hint of doubt about the sincerity of Socrates’ praise embedded in his reply, which reveals Charmides’ insight to be something of a caricature of Socrates and of what he was thinking; for, instead of reflecting further on whether the young boy really was or merely seemed to be “more beautiful” while dancing than when at rest, Socrates had chosen instead to express “a thought about some other thing” (2.16)—namely, about the usefulness of the Syracusan’s dance-forms and what dancing itself generally might be good or beneficial for (cf. 2.17–19, with 2.16, end), a thought that immediately led to laughter (2.17, beg.) and eventually to ridiculousness (2.21–23). In light of Socrates’ criticism here of the Syracusan’s performances, the irony of Charmides’ remark is clarified: Socrates, in fact, had only “seemed to be like someone praising” the Syracusan (2.15, end).14 But what, then, was Socrates contemplating as he beheld or contemplated the dancing boy and uttered the prelude which Charmides mistook as praise? Arguably, it is the unarticulated thought regarding the young boy’s own beauty in relation to the motions associated with his learned dance-forms, or about the beautiful itself (τὸ καλόν), which Socrates was pleasantly contemplating on his own and subsequently chose to conceal from his interlocutor. But there is no reason to think that whatever caught his attention has simply been forgotten. Socrates himself does not articulate his thought, but it may be that Xenophon’s preface (see 1.8–10, in light of 1.8, beg.) and Socrates’ confession of erotic desire (8.2) might best intimate what Socrates was silently deliberating (see Mem. I.1.19, in light of 1.10 and 1.17). But, can this hidden thought or meaning (3.6) be the reason why the Syracusan concludes Socrates is speaking beautifully or nobly (καλῶς) and gladly consents to alter his prepared performance? The Syracusan’s quick assent to the persuasive speech of Socrates is curious, especially in light of his own initially blunt attack on his rival; nonetheless, it does appear that by the conclusion of this very short exchange the subtle Socratic education of the Syracusan has proven successful as well as serious. Unlike earlier exchanges to which Xenophon appended a comment about the playfulness or seriousness of what was said, it is the Syracusan himself who draws the conclusion and prepares the way for the next scene with his final statement: “But yes, by Zeus, Socrates, you are speaking beautifully, and I myself will lead in things to behold that will delight you all!” (7.5). The Syracusan’s enthusiasm in response to what Socrates has to teach about how to achieve what he intends, even while finding fault with his performance, as much as Socrates’ own willingness to teach it, is a sign of the seriousness with which Socrates takes the Syracusan—and vice versa.15 Their collaboration in the final pair of Sections in the dialogue, while undertaken without explicit instructions or exchange of speeches, will need

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to be studied closely, to see if indeed they do agree—and if so, in what manner and to what extent—on what genuinely constitutes “wonders” that are worthy of contemplation. Passing over, for a moment, the obscure reflections which tactically occupy the middle of this Socratic logos (see Mem. III.1.5–9), we notice the speech ends, fittingly, with an exhortation to the Syracusan that he educate or train his performers in new routines or dance-forms (σχήματα) which are less daring for them and “much more gratifying” (πολὺ ἐπιχαριτώτερον) for gentlemen to behold at a symposion. For example, Socrates proposes (7.5, cf. 2.15): “if they were to dance with the flute forms in which the Graces and the Seasons and the Nymphs were represented, then I suppose that they [being ones beautiful and in the bloom of their youth] would pass the time very much at ease and that the symposium would be very much more gratifying.” With a light touch, Socrates suggests to the Syracusan that he orchestrate new forms for his young boy and girl which, when performed to the musical accompaniment of the flute, would represent instead “the Nymphs” (cf. 5.7 and 4.19), “the Seasons” or “the Hours” (Ὧπαι) and, above all, “the Graces” (Χάριτές).16 Socrates, with a subtle allusion to Homer’s Odysseus,17 thereby turns the tables on the Syracusan by exhorting him to attend in his performances to the higher or loftier things befitting a symposium and a gathering of gentlemen, to say nothing of the highest things, rather than entertainments that are boorish or base (cf. 6.6–7). Upon hearing this, and perhaps also due to his having witnessed the success of Socrates’ prelude, we hear that “the Syracusan is eager to oblige.”18 Persuaded that this Socrates (as opposed to the Aristophanean “Socrates”) was indeed “speaking nobly (καλῶς),” the Syracusan is, in turn, persuaded to reform his entertainment so as to “lead in things to behold” (θεάματα) which will delight both Socrates and the other gentlemen (7.5; cf. 2.2 and 3.2). A final judgment about the extent of the Syracusan’s reformation and the delightfulness of his final performance must be reserved until the dramatic and silent pantomime in Section Nine. However, the Syracusan’s reasons for proclaiming the beauty or nobility of Socrates’ logos here in Section Seven still remains to be seen—that is, if what is said to be beautiful or noble (καλῶς) is not simply to be identified simply with either what is pleasant or gratifying (for the symposiasts) or what is useful or good (for the Syracusan’s youths). Socrates’ speech may, in fact, be beautifully spoken and noble, but this quality really only comes to light when spoken with a certain boldness, separating what is καλός from what is ἀγαθός, and venturing beyond what is fitting for those who are thought to be “gentlemen” (καλοί καὶ ἀγαθοί). We recall that Socrates had earlier been taken to task and “refuted” by Hermogenes, after the beauty agōn of Section Five, for being lacking in appropriate seriousness and being unwilling to separate in speech what is beautiful (καλός) from what is good, useful, or beneficial (ἀγαθός). Now, in order to defend himself against the Aristophanean accusations and answer the Syracusan, Socrates appears willing to commit just such a distinction by speaking of the “wonders” of natural philosophy, or natural science, toward which he turned his mind on occasion. In other words, for the sake of the Syracusan (perhaps for the sake of others present, especially Xenophon himself ),19 Socrates runs the risk of taking seriously, if only for a brief moment, the charges which had been leveled against him by the comic poet in his Clouds.

THAUMATA AND PHYSIOLOGIA Replying now to the Syracusan’s Aristophanean accusations, Socrates tactically represents himself as someone whose thoughtfulness, at times, does extend to considerations of the wonders of nature, that is, inquiries or examinations of natural science. In the middle of his



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logos, or rather his apologia, Socrates critiques the farfetched wonders put on by the Syracusan as entertainment for the symposium, in terms of his own desire “to look at” and reflect upon the “wondrous things” which he “happens upon” every day20 and which are much less trivial or absurd than the Syracusan (or Aristophanes) had harshly implied (7.4–5): For indeed, it is nothing at all exceedingly rare to happen upon wondrous things, if some one has need of this, but it is possible to wonder immediately at what is very near to hand—why in the world the lamp by having a bright flame furnishes light, while bronze, being bright, does not make light, but furnishes in itself other reflections; and how olive oil, being wet, augments the flame, whereas water, which is wet, quenches fire. But even these other things do not promote the same things as wine [which also is wet].

Socrates wonders whether the Syracusan’s “wonders” are as “wondrous” as the kind of questions inspired by observation of that which is naturally present. Although stopping short of articulating the “What is . . .?” questions which might naturally accompany such awe at the “wondrous things” (τό θαυμάσιοι) which are so “very near to hand” (μάλα τὰ παρόντα), Socrates nonetheless presents himself as being someone concerned with the nature of things, and thus with questions appropriate to the study of natural phenomena, or physiologia. For Socrates, it is natural to wonder (θαυμάζειν) at and contemplate (θεωρεῖν) such wonders (θεάματα) of nature. By openly referring to his own so-called “pre-Socratic” study of nature, without reference to the way such studies are useful or good for human beings or for the polis, Socrates runs the risk of deserving his reputation as a “Thinker” who focuses on useless or trivial matters, and hence of alienating conventional gentlemen like Lykon, who seem to be more concerned with human virtue (see 2.4–5), just as Socrates had earlier incurred the displeasure and refutation of a grave and pious gentleman like Hermogenes, on account of his apparent rejection of a nobility in excess of utility (see 5–6.5). Is there not something reckless, therefore, about Socrates’ tacit admission here that his thoughts include considerations of what each of the beings is in and of itself (cf. Mem. IV.6.1), and not simply in relation to other beings, and especially those affairs that belong, above all, to human beings? To be seen as an examiner of inconsequential matters, and someone “woefully lacking in the comprehension of the human things,”21 especially in relation to the highest things, would surely merit reproach and warrant the ridiculous and dangerous reputation Socrates derived from Aristophanes’ parody of him in the Clouds. With his eyes gazing up to the heavens or cast down on earth, the Aristophanean Socrates presented an absurd, comic distortion of the kind of philosopher whose enthusiasm for phys­ iologia led to examinations of the nature of metaphysical and physical matters—that is, the divine things above, and the terrestrial things below, the human or political things. In speaking of his fascination with questions of natural philosophy, does Socrates not admit at least a superficial resemblance to Aristophanes’ caricature of him? Undoubtedly, this resemblance is in some sense genuine and not simply or maliciously contrived, since the dramatic and comic effect of the Clouds depended, in great part, upon the Athenian audience being able to recognize readily the plausible source of the comic poet’s exaggeration or parody.22 But why would Socrates choose to call attention here to this likeness, in Xenophon’s Symposium, once the issue is raised by the Syracusan? Is it necessary, first, to let a likeness or resemblance come forward and be seen, in order to inquire or demonstrate what about that likeness is either true or untrue? Xenophon, in his recollections, usually takes care to distance his Socrates from the kind of activities which would have likened him to the Aristophanean Socrates (see Mem. I.1.16, but

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cf. I.1.9 and 1.11, I.4.1–18, IV 6.1, and the parenthetical admissions at IV.7.3–7). In Section Seven, the stuff of Aristophanean comedy becomes the grist of Socratic irony: the mysterious theological nature of light (6.7), for example, yields to a more scientific account (7.4), even after both of these have been treated ironically (at 5.9).23 The rhetorical context within which Socrates’ remarks occur points up its ironic purpose, for Socrates’ speech would be tantamount to a confession were it not for the fact that, at this point in the evening—rather late in the drinking contest, there is something Odyssean or “fitting” about his reference to and partial defense of such apparently ill-proportioned considerations.24 For it is only at an “advanced stage” of their symposion, and after he has single-handedly quelled the convivial misbehavior (παροινία) of certain others, that Xenophon’s Socrates indulges in a “serious”— though perhaps not to say hubristic—frankness (παρρησία) by speaking of his preoccupation with natural philosophy which Aristophanes had parodied, and thus pointing to “his whole wisdom,” which includes a consideration of natural phenomena that are not beyond the reach of human knowledge but which cannot be “shown without disguise,” except “in fun.”25 The verbal choreography accomplished by his rhetorical performance permits Socrates the luxury of allowing his thoughts to be momentarily glimpsed in this playful speech.26 Xenophon’s Socrates therefore does not treat his own “pre-Socratic” career with the same kind of “apologetic delicacy” as does Plato’s Socrates, who almost goes so far as to deny in the course of his defense against his “first accusers” that he had ever had an Aristophanean past at all, or enthusiastically engaged in the study of nature (see Plato, Apo. 18b–23e).27 The overindulgence of Xenophon’s Socrates on this occasion is not only mitigated by the context of the playful deeds remembered in the Symposium, but also points to or intimates the epochal conversion that Socrates himself experienced when he first began to take seriously the comic accusations of Aristophanes and to turn away from the strict physiologia indicative of his “preSocratic” disposition.28 This epoch or “turn” marked the beginning of Socrates’ mature inquiry into human beings, the human soul and human virtue—the moment when Socrates first compelled Philosophy to come down from the clouds, so to speak, insisting that she become ethically useful and adopt an interest in rhetoric, thereby transforming philosophy into political philosophy.29 The unusual specificity of the dramatic date of Xenophon’s Symposium, set just over a year after the public performance of Aristophanes’ Clouds, invites readers to conclude that at least one purpose of the dialogue is to draw attention, under fitting circumstances, to the “playful” deeds, or deed par excellence, which came to define the Socratic life after his “turn” from natural to political philosophy. To put this another way, in answering the Syracusan’s Aristophanic accusations, Socrates skillfully manages to address the envious Syracusan’s caricature of him as a “pre-Socratic” natural philosopher or indecent “thinker” without transgressing the limitations of the dialogue’s carefully cultivated pleasant conditions.30 On the contrary, it is the playfulness of the dialogue which allows for and conceals the seriousness of Socrates’ pursuit of wisdom, a seriousness which has come to know the necessity for rhetoric, in large part, due to reflection on the Aristophanean caricature of the pre-Socratic Socrates. Socrates thus demonstrates to the Syracusan (and perhaps also thereby to Aristophanes) that he has indeed given considerable thought to the manner in which his concern for the noble things, including “the loftiest things,” on one hand, and his abiding interest in natural science (physiologia) and his continued contemplation of “wonders” (θεάματα), on the other hand, should be presented or performed. As one commentator has put it: “Perhaps the quarrel between [Socrates and the Syracusan] . . . concerns not so much matters of morality as of rhetoric; it may concern above all the proper presentation of their respective ‘wonders’ . . . Socrates in his exchanges



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with the Syracusan shows that he understands the art of ‘performance,’ that is, that he knows, with a view to one’s audience, how best to present ‘wonders’ to be looked upon” and contemplated. By this means, Socrates “proves to be a deft rhetorician; he understands that a song is sometimes more effective than an argument (logos). The Syracusan thus no longer has any ground of complaint.”31 Socrates, therefore, defends himself rhetorically in a way that at his actual trial he refused to do—by confessing that his approach to philosophy had undergone a profound change at that time. Be this as it may, Xenophon, who was not present at Socrates’ trial, reconstructs in the playful setting of his Symposium an account of how such an apologia might have been made. Perhaps the clearest indications of a post-“turn” disposition in the Socrates of Xenophon’s Symposium is the fact that, even in this cameo performance of his Aristophanean pre-Socratic self, Socrates “exercises some restraint,” directing his philosophic gaze and physiological inquiry only toward terrestrial things, and not toward the heavenly or divine things above (see Mem. I.1.11–15, IV.7.4–7).32 Prior to his discovery and use of Odyssean speech, that is, prior to his rhetorical “second sailing,”33 Socrates’ pursuit of wisdom through his constant consideration with his companions of what each of the beings is must indeed have looked to many like the kind of abstracted speculation engaged in by natural philosophers, those foolish “worriers” and “madmen” and “big thinkers” so easily mocked in the vulgar language of popular comedy. But, in Section Seven, under pressure from the Syracusan, Socrates shows himself to be no fool. On account of his Odyssean rhetoric, Socrates comes to light as being a more prudent and sensible of mind (φρόνιμος) than is possible for a merely ridiculous “thinker” (φροντιστής: 6.6). So, Socrates and the Syracusan are reconciled, then, insofar as the Syracusan discovers by questioning him that Socrates is not at all the kind of human being who is witless, imprudent, or thoughtless (ἀφροσύνη) upon whom entertainers such as the Syracusan, and of course Aristophanes or Philippos, depend for their livelihood, the kind of fools for whom they pray to the gods, and in whom they take great pride (4.55). This Socrates, the Socrates of Xenophon’s Symposium, is moderate (σωφροσύνη), and being so, he did not separate or distinguish his moderation from his display of wisdom (σοφία), particularly with respect to his perception of things both beautiful or noble and good (τὰ καλά τε κἀγαθὰ) (Mem. III.9.4). In addition to addressing his concerns, Socrates also educates the Syracusan, by chastening his tendency to allow his performances to descend into mere sophistic flattery,34 or low comedy, and by teaching him how best to achieve his desired end under the given circumstances (see 7.2). Having been persuaded, it seems (cf. Ana. III.1 and Mem. I.3), the Syracusan departs to prepare a performance that he promises befits or complements the beauty and nobility of Socrates’ apologia, one which will enable his young and beautiful boy and girl to perform without taking unnecessary bodily risks, while still being truly pleasing or delightful for gentlemen to behold (7.5–8.1). With the last of the disturbances settled and the contests or trials (ἀγῶνα) of his own rule seemingly brought to an end, the stage is now set for Socrates to make a “new beginning” with his logos (see 8.1: πάλιν αὖ καινοῦ λόγου κατῆρχεν; cf. 7.1: καὶ εὐθὺς τοῦτ᾽ εἰπὼν ᾠδῆς)—one which the whole symposion seems to have been anticipating. But this Socratic logos about erōs will not, of course, be heard by the absent Syracusan—nor will the Syracusan benefit from his account of the power of Eros (Ἔρως) and the division of the erotic attraction that this god inspires in human beings into “heavenly” and “earthly” loves (8.2–11). Even so, being no longer “envious” (φθόνος) of his friend’s success (see Mem. III.9.8), the Syracusan may be considered—if not wise—at least “reasonable” (φρόνιμος) regarding the need for a certain kind of rhetoric, under the circumstances, and hence, upon his return, to be no impediment to

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Socrates’ erotic education of the gentlemen.35 The character of the Syracusan’s performance, however, may fashion—if not a passing accusation or refutation of Socrates’ speech on the nature and power of ἔρως over human beings—at least an attempt to modify but not subvert the Socratic teaching on erotic matters with which the symposion of Kallias (but not of Xenophon) would otherwise have ended.

NOTES 1. Plutarch, Quaestiones Convivales 612E–613C. See Slater 1990, 215: “The bad symposion is indicated by hybris and bia, by Ares and Eris, by the presence of weapons, abuse, and so on, while the good symposion is suggested by Charis, by the Hours and Graces like Eunomia and Euphrosyne, by Apollo and his lyre.” Plutarch, arguably, with his own Septem Sapientium Convivium, sought to revive the “Socratic symposium” (Quaest. conv. 686C-D) more on the model of sympotic conversation presented in Xenophon’s Symposium, with its well-balanced blend of seriousness and playfulness, than that of Plato’s. See Teodorsson 2009. 2.  Bartlett 1996-b, 189; see also, the unusually abrupt beginning to the discussion of Section Seven at Strauss 1972, 169, whose commentary leaps past the question of the musical Socrates into the reply to the Syracusan which Socrates was earlier prevented from making on account of Antisthenes’ intervention. 3.  For detailed discussions of the traditional role of songs as an institutional part of the Greek sympo­ sion, though sometimes mocked as old-fashioned in Old Comedy, see Homer, Ody. VIII.241–369, 469– 543, IX.1–11, XVII.358–360, 385; Pindar, Pythian Ode 1.97; Aristophanes, Clouds 1353–1360, and context. See also, Bremmer 1990, 137–138; Lissarrague 1990, 206; Slater 1990, 215; Bowie 1995, 120. 4.  But cf. Bartlett 1996-a, 162n89, who reads ēsen (“he had sung”) “with the mss. instead of Mosche’s ēsan (“they had sung”).” The translation offered by Todd in the Loeb edition (1923), as well as by Bowen (1998), simply reads ēsan, without further commentary; however, Bowen’s note on the text (p. 24) suggests that although the original (1901) and revised (1921) Loeb edition of Marchant had read ēsen, his text follows that of Thalheim (Teubner series, 1915) and Ollier (Budé library, 1961). 5.  In this context, see the opening epigram to this chapter and Slater 1990, 214, who cites sympotic etiquette discussed in Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1128a; Xen. Cyr. V.2.18; and Plato, Laws 640, 671, 934e. For a variation on the theme of quieting clamor, see the vexation caused by Socrates’ “big-talk” as recollected by Hermogenes’ account in Xenophon’s Apology of Socrates. See Anastaplo 2001, and Pangle 1996, passim. 6.  See Slater 1990, passim, esp. the conclusion at 219: “I interpret, then, the whole of day two [of Odysseus’ sojourn in Scheria] as an illustration of how the charis of song and story triumphs in the ideal symposion over strife, how civilized decency can be achieved through the medium of paidia and laughter; and how Odysseus is shown to be not only the master athlete but also, like Sokrates, the master of sympotic charis, and the exemplar of that humanitas which should be the concern of all who study classical literature.” On the intoxicated sobriety of Socrates, see Strauss 1970/1995, 333. 7.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 189–190, where the distinction between logos and song is noted. Liddell & Scott define ᾠδῆς (from ἀοιδή) as a “song” or an “ode” but also referring to the activity of singing, as well as to that which is sung; νόμος, on the other hand, being derived from νεμεῖν (“to pay due, dwell in, or distribute amongst a given group”), points to that which is assigned or allotted or instituted either by usage, custom, law, or ordinance. It can also mean “a musical mode or strain” as well as simply being a “song” or a “tune.” See Herodotus’ tale of the musical Arion’s song and the dolphin (1.23–24). Not only human beings but also Sirens and Sphinxes, according to Homer and Sophocles, are capable of singing songs, although theirs have typically been sung for the sake of human beings— with significant consequences. 8.  Strauss 1970/1995, 334. 9.  See Fehr 1990, for a discussion of certain kinds of entertainers and entertainment at traditional symposia. Despite the criticisms of Socrates, mentioned in the text below, the kind of performances orchestrated by the Syracusan do not seem to be merely of the usual or vulgar sort, as described by Fehr.



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10.  Bartlett 1996-b, 190: “If the exchanges between Socrates and Hermogenes highlight a possible difficulty with, or at any rate challenge to, Socrates’ understanding of the world, those between Socrates and the Syracusan would seem to bring out a certain strength or skill on Socrates’ part.” 11.  See Abraham Lincoln’s enigmatic meditation upon Proverbs 25:11 and sense of “the word, fitly spoken,” in his response to Alexander Stephens: “Fragment on the Constitution and Union” (ca. January 1861). 12.  Strauss 1972, 169–170. 13. Shakespeare, Hamlet I.v.185–188. 14.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 189n11, who takes Socrates’ retraction of his earlier compliment to be confirmation of Charmides’ suspicion that Socrates was “more interested in the dance teacher than the dance.” 15.  Strauss 1972, 169. 16.  Socrates swears “By the Graces” in Aristophanes (Clouds 773); see West 1984, 147n138: “Dwelling with the Muses, the Graces were goddesses of song and dance (Hesiod, Theogony 64). Swearing by the Graces was not common.” The comic “Socrates” invokes the divine in this unusual way in response to Strepsiades’ shrewd philosophic solution to a problem—how to make a lawsuit disappear—which Socrates had proposed to his new student as a way of assisting in the discovery and examination of his first thought (757–772). 17. Socrates’ logos ends in a similar way to that of the song of Homer’s Demodokos, the honored bard at the Phaiakian court of Queen Ἀρήτη and King Ἀλκίνοος, for whom he ultimately sings (see Ody. XI.333–361). Demodokos’ singing rouses the hidden hero Odysseus to shed tears and reveal himself for who he really is (Ody. VIII.362 ff.). See Slater 1990, 218: “we should not be surprised to observe that the song finishes with the only mention of the Graces in the Odyssey.” Section Seven associates Socrates with the Homeric poets par excellence, Demodokos and Odysseus, preparing the way for the political education of Kallias’ ἔρως and the epic proportions of Socrates’ story-telling (μυθολογέω) in Section Eight. As for the poetic character of Socrates’ final speech, see Strauss 1972, 172: “His speech will be altogether political, and if it transcends the political, it transcends it not toward philosophy but toward the mythical.” 18.  Strauss 1972, 170. 19.  See Strauss 1972, 178; Bartlett 1996-b, 190n13. 20.  Strauss 1972, 170. 21.  Bartlett 1996-b, 190–191. 22.  See Vander Waerdt 1994, 50n9, 64n59, 57n29–58n31, esp. 5n15: “Socrates was a favored target of comic poets from 423 B.C. on.” See also, esp. Strauss 1958/1996, 140 [= Pangle 1989, 104]: “To speak first of the striking dissimilarity between Aristophanes’ Socrates and the true Socrates, i.e., the Socrates whom we know through Plato and Xenophon, there is Platonic and Xenophontic evidence to the effect that Socrates was not always the Socrates whom these disciples celebrated. . . . It follows that it is not altogether the fault of Aristophanes if he did not present Socrates as the same kind of philosopher as did Plato and Xenophon. Besides, if Socrates had always been the Platonic or Xenophontic Socrates, his selection by Aristophanes for one of his comedies would become hard to understand: Socrates would have been politically in the same camp as Aristophanes. And while a comic poet is perhaps compelled to caricature even his fellow partisans, the caricature must have some correspondence with the man being caricatured. After we have begun to wonder whether there was not perhaps a little bit of fire where there was so much smoke, we go on and begin to wonder whether Aristophanes was after all an accuser, an enemy of Socrates.” 23.  See Vander Waerdt 1994, 53n18. Interestingly, this example of the burnished and burning lamp reminds of the description of ἔρως in human beings, for Socrates’ description of the effect of oil upon flame is very similar to the awakening of the soul caused by erotic attraction. On a possible link between the burnished bronze lamp example here and the pate of the disguised old Odysseus, see the rude conjecture (εἰκασμός) mentioned in conjunction with a fitting episode at the unruly suitors’ banquet (Ody. XVIII.344–356), which is “the antithesis of the ideal” banquet or the opposite of the Phaiakian symposium: Slater 1990, 217. 24.  Socrates’ constant examination of what each of the beings is, that is, the phusis of ta onta, is inseparable from the kind of inquiry that begins with the Socratic or philosophic question, What is

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. . .?, especially with respect to the gods, and leads to accusations and charges of atheism: see Mem. IV.6.1, with Strauss/Pangle 1989, 252: “The root of the matter, however, is that only the Bible teaches divine omnipotence, and the thought of divine omnipotence is absolutely incompatible with Greek philosophy in any form. And I think one can trace that back to the very beginnings of Greek literature— though technically much beyond philosophy—to the passage in the Odyssey (10.302) where Hermes shows Odysseus a certain herb which he could use for protecting himself and his fellows against Circe. Now, in this context, the gods can do everything, the gods are omnipotent, one can say, but it is very interesting what this concept means in this context. Why are the gods omnipotent? Because they know the natures of all things, which means, of course, they are not omnipotent. They know the natures of things which are wholly independent of them, and through that knowledge they are capable of using all things properly.” On the Odyssean rhetoric of Socrates, see Benardete 1991, 196. On the precise fit of well-proportioned or beautiful rhetoric to the needs of an ill- or oddly-proportioned body, such as that of Socrates (Sym. 2.17–19), see Mem. III.10.9–15. 25.  Strauss 1972, 170: “But these things too [i.e., the wonders that are very near at hand], just like the shows which the Syracusan was preparing, go ill together with a drinking party. Socrates does not say that these ‘physiological’ questions are not serious or beyond man’s reach but that they are too serious for a drinking party. Still, he who never speaks of this kind of question in the other Socratic writings of Xenophon, speaks of them in an advanced stage of a drinking party where a greater parrhesia is in order than elsewhere: the ‘physiological’ part of his wisdom, nay, his whole wisdom can be shown without disguise only ‘in fun’; so close is the connection between wisdom and laughter.” 26.  On what can be revealed only in play, or through intimations in speech or writing, see Higgins 1977, 13: “Xenophon, in an intriguing passage [Oik. 8.20], remarks on the beauty of ordered arrangements but points out that what is left untouched around them also contributes to their beauty, like the empty space a circular chorus maintains in its center as it dances. It is this pure and unarticulated region wherein irony dwells, adding another and important dimension to the verbal choreography which shapes it and makes it visible.” 27.  See Vander Waerdt 1994, 5, 49–50n7. 28.  Evidence for Socrates’ pre-Socratic inquiry and his “turn” to political philosophy, which he himself called his “second sailing,” soon after the performance of Aristophanes’ Clouds has been scattered as seeds among the works of his best students: see Xen. Sym. 6.6–8, 7.3–4; Oik. 6.13–17, 11.1–6; Plato, Phaedo 96a–99d; Apology 21b–29c; Aristotle, Metaphysics 987b1–2, cf. 1087b17; De partibus animalium 642a28. For a brief summary of the intellectual autobiography of Socrates with respect to this “turn,” see Vander Waerdt 1994, 49n6, 53n18, 67n67, 74, esp. 79–86; Bartlett 1996-b, 191; Strauss 1958/1996, 140 [= Pangle 1989, 104]: “Plato’s Socrates says on the day of his death (Phaedo 96aff.) that he was concerned with natural philosophy in an amazing way and to an amazing degree when he was young. He does not give any dates, and hence we do not know for how long this preoccupation with natural philosophy lasted—whether it did not last till close to the time at which the Clouds was conceived. As for Xenophon’s Socrates, he was no longer young when he was already notorious as a man who was ‘measuring the air,’ or as a man resembling Aristophanes’ Socrates, and had not yet raised the question to which he seems to have dedicated himself entirely after his break with natural philosophy (Oeconomicus 6.13–17 and 11.1–6; Symposium 6.6–8).” 29.  See, on the authority of Vander Waerdt 1994, 1n1, 48nn1–2, Cicero’s reference to Socrates as the founder of political philosophy in Tusculanae Disputationes 5.10–11 (cf. 3.4.8); Acad. 1.1.3, 1.4.15; de Res publica 3.5; de Oratore 1.4.2; de Officiis 3.9.77. 30.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 190: “. . . although the Syracusan’s objections are apparently moral ones— principally that the studies in which Socrates is engaged are indecent because premised on the denial of the existence of the gods—the Syracusan is strangely unperturbed when Socrates admits that, to repeat, he is indeed a ‘Thinker’ whose concerns include natural science. What seems to be decisive in the eyes of the Syracusan is Socrates’ skillful advice on how best to please those present.” 31.  Bartlett 1996-b, 190–191, continues: “To put this another way, we see in the Symposium both the position and the predicament that led to Hermogenes’ refutation and to Aristophanes’ criticisms on



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the one hand (5)—’Socrates’ abstracting from reflection on the noble things held to be irreducible to utility—and at least intimations of the position that is immune to that criticism on the other—’Socrates’ for whom the noble things so understood (including and above all ‘the loftiest things’) are or have been an object of reflection (6.6–7.5). And going together with this reflection on the loftiest things is a new interest in rhetoric, in the proper presentation of one’s thought or wisdom.” 32.  Strauss 1972, 170. 33.  On the frequent use of this phrase and its counterpart (Socrates’ “first sailing”), see Vander Waert 1994, 49, 51, 64n59–67, 70, 71n76, 81n90. 34.  The Syracusan’s entertainment approaches at times the type of flattery that Plato’s Socrates elsewhere (Gorgias 464b–465e) ascribes to the art of oratory practiced by Gorgias and his pupils; for just as pastry-baking imitates medicine by flattering a person about what is “good” or pleasant for the body, so too the performances of the Syracusan run the risk of being simple flattery of fools: “[Flattery] takes no thought at all of whatever is best; with the lure of what is most pleasant at the moment, it sniffs out folly and hoodwinks it, so that it gives the impression of being most deserving . . . I call this flattery, and I say that such a thing is shameful . . . because it only guesses at what’s pleasant with no consideration for what’s best. And I say that it is not even a technē, but a knack, because it has no logos of the nature of whatever things it applies by which it applies them, so that it’s unable to state the cause of each thing. And I refuse to call anything [which is] alogos [by the name of ] technē.” 35.  See Strauss 1972, 80–81, in reference to Socrates’ examination of envy (at Mem III.9.8): “Envy is defined as pain, not at the misfortunes of friends nor at the good fortune of enemies but at one’s friends’ doing well. The fathers of some of Socrates’ companions envied him because their sons improved in wisdom thanks to him and thus admired him more than they admired their fathers (cf. Education of Cyrus III.1.38–39): they were pained by their sons’ doing well, and their sons were their most natural friends. More precisely, the quest for wisdom is, or should be, the common activity of friends, an activity by which friends increase in virtue ([Mem.] I.6.14). Envy of the friends’ progress in wisdom is therefore a sentiment that cannot arise in a reasonable (phronimos) man. The use of ‘reasonable’ here may remind us of the fact, deliberately left obscure in the preceding discussion, that the wisdom (sophia) spoken of there is in fact reasonableness (phronesis) (cf. IV.8.11). The Socratic denial of the difference between reasonableness and wisdom follows from the denial of the difference between the good and the beautiful or noble things, among the latter the objects of sight standing out (II.2.3).” On the friendship between Socrates and the Syracusan, especially in relation to the question of whether Aristophanes (and therefore the Syracusan) is an accuser and an enemy of Socrates, consider Strauss 1959, 213, who refers to the drunken Alcibiades’ mock surprise on his entry into Plato’s Sym­ posium at finding Socrates reclining beside the victorious and beautiful tragedian Agathon, instead of beside the comic poet Aristophanes: “Socrates comes in as an entire surprise to Alcibiades. But the point made at the end [Plato, Sym. 213b–c] is particularly remarkable. Where would Alcibiades expect to find Socrates? By the comic poet. Socrates prefers the most beautiful youth only to the comic poet. This is five years after Aristophanes wrote the Clouds, his famous ‘attack’ on Socrates, [yet] there is no enmity between them—and we must keep this in mind, for it is of the greatest importance for what follows.” But is this also of “the greatest importance” in Xenophon’s Symposium? Yes, and for the same reason that Alcibiades makes clear in Plato’s Symposium, according to Strauss (1959, 232): “Socrates’ speeches . . . are ridiculous, let us say comical. But if one looks inside they prove to contain most wonderful images of virtue . . . Socrates’ speeches are like comedies. You remember in the beginning, when he came in, [Alcibiades] was surprised that Socrates did not sit with Aristophanes where he belonged. These Socratic speeches show only the inconspicuous, things which gentlemen wouldn’t talk about. That of course is true. Socrates’ philosophy has the character of ascent, which means necessarily from the lowest to the highest, but they ascend.” So, too, we must bear in mind in Xenophon’s Symposium that Socrates’ logos about erōs is a kind of musical comedy which ascends from low to high, insofar as it is “reasonable” to speak of the high among gentlemen.

10 Educating Gentlemen and Moderating Erōs

When someone contradicted Socrates, Socrates brought back the subject matter to its basic presupposition, that is to say, he raised the question, What is? regarding the subject under discussion, and answered with the participation of the contradictor. Thus the contradictor himself came to see the truth clearly. This, we may say, is the higher form of dialectics. But . . . when Socrates discussed something on his own initiative, that is to say, when he talked to people who merely listened, he did not raise the question, What is?, but proceeded through generally accepted opinions, and thus he produced agreement among the listeners to an extraordinary degree. This latter kind of dialectics, which leads to agreement as distinguished from truth, is the most important part of the political art. It is the art Homer ascribes to Odysseus.1

PREPARING FOR THE SOCRATIC SPEECH Making a new beginning in Section Eight with his speech in praise of erotic love (ἔρως), Socrates replaces the Syracusan as the potential teacher of the Symposium, leading or “ruling” the others by means of logos. The contentious issue of intertextuality between Xenophon’s and Plato’s Symposia arises primarily out of a careful consideration of the content of this Section, with focus placed on addressing the question of which work was written first and to what degree the two were intended to be in direct dialogue with one another. A final verdict on this question is beyond reach, and, for the purposes of this study, need not be settled.2 As a means for determining what Socrates himself thought about the nature and power of ἔρως, either as divine being or as an erotic attraction in human beings, cannot be grasped by contrast or comparison with speeches of Socrates in Plato’s Symposium (or other dialogues), but only through a close and careful examination of the rhetorical context and intention of Xenophon’s Socrates in this Symposium. The power of ἔρως and the theme of erotic attraction have been present from the beginning of Xenophon’s recollection of the speeches and deeds on this particular occasion, especially in its relation to the beautiful. Xenophon had noticed “immediately” (εὐθὺς), as the gentlemen reclined on couches and the banquet began, that the sway of Autolykos’ “beauty” (κάλλος), combined with “modesty” (αἰδώς) and “discretion” (σωφροσύνη), reigned in natural authority 267

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(φύσει βασιλικόν) over all those who beheld him—its inspiring effects strikingly stirring both their souls and bodies (1.8–9). Kallias, in particular, was moved by a “moderate love” (σώφρονος ἔρωτος), itself worthy to behold. The charming spell of τὸ καλόν was broken only by a liberating emergence of laughter among the banqueters which released them from the silence of transcendent inspiration. Resuming the banquet, the entertainment prompted Socrates himself to admire the performers in the beautiful bloom of their youth and gestured to the performance of the Syracusan’s dancing girl as evidence of the teachability of virtue (2.6–9), even going so far as to present himself as being eager to learn the Syracusan’s dance-forms (2.16). The subsequent exchange of display-speeches opened various rivalries among the symposiasts, leading to claims about the benefits of the beautiful and a comical beauty contest between Socrates and Kritoboulos, in which the younger companion won a decisive victory over his physiognomicallychallenged rival (3.7, 4.19–20, 5.1–10).3 To the victor go the spoils, and some of the gentlemen urged Kritoboulos to take his prize from the young judges, but Hermogenes’ dour silence dampened the light-hearted atmosphere of the celebration. Socrates, in an effort to stave off a pious seriousness that would have introduced unpleasantness and a form of “convivial misbehavior” (παροινία) into the evening, unsuccessfully sought to chasten his companion (6.1–5). But he instead provoked a debate about refutations and accusations from the Syracusan, who begrudged the distraction from his performances created by these Socratic exchanges. The rivalry that emerged between the Syracusan and Socrates had the potential to spark an ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry, that is, between philosophical inquiries into the “wonders” of nature, and the performative “wonders” associated with the Muses, though Socrates managed in speech to reconcile the two and, thus, restore a sense of goodwill and grace (χάρις) to the symposion (6.6–8, 7.2–5). So much so, Socrates even persuaded the Syracusan, it seemed, to receive instruction from him about how best to accomplish “graceful” performances and render the symposion even “more charming” (ἐπιχαριτώτερον). His agreement to return with wonders to please them all prepared the way for Socrates’ final speech.4 The essential Socratic propaedeutics preceding the logos were not limited to the Syracusan. Hermogenes and Antisthenes, both of whom display graceless logoi,5 also had something to learn from Socrates. If the Syracusan seems ready and willing to be taught, Socrates’ two companions, on the contrary, continue to display a certain reluctance to conform their speeches to what Socrates himself approved; in other words, Hermogenes and Antisthenes prove notably less receptive, even recalcitrant, to Socrates than does the Syracusan, and one wonders whether such companions are to be numbered among Socrates’ “good friends” (cf. Mem. I.2.8 and IV.1.1). For now, the attention of Xenophon shifts in the Symposium from exploring the various rivalries between the symposiasts—from which competing, perhaps incompatible understandings of gentlemanliess (καλοκάγαθία) have emerged—and among the Socratics themselves regarding the benefits of the philosophic life, to an explicit concern with the politically salutary effects of “the beautiful” and of erotic attraction upon those who find themselves enthralled by ἔρως.

SOCRATES ON LOVE—ERŌS AND PHILIA Once the Syracusan withdraws “to prepare himself,”6 and to instruct his performers in their final performance, Socrates begins his final speech of the evening, his final speech in Xeno-



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phon’s Symposium, with an invocation or proem of sorts, explicitly addressing himself and his new logos to all the “men” (ὦ ἄνδρες)7 who are present (8.1–2): So then, men, is it reasonable for us—with a great daimōn being present, one equal in age to the everlasting gods but most youthful in form, and having a greatness that extends over all things but is equivalent to the human soul—that Erōs not be forgotten, especially since we are all fellowworshippers of this god? For I myself cannot speak of a time when I was brought to completion without being in love with someone.

Acknowledging the “men” as “fellow-worshippers” (θιαςῶται)8 of the same daimōn (δαίμων) and god (θεός),9 Socrates recalls and invokes divine Erōs in terms that announce the unusual attributes of this eternally youthful and ubiquitous, but human soul-dwelling deity. According to Socrates, the “form” (μορφή) of Erōs is beautiful in the same sense as those human beings who are said to be in the finest bloom of their youth, while being no less “equal in age” to the other “everlasting” immortal gods. Moreover, this divine intermediary (δαίμων) and god (θεός) has a peculiar relation to the souls of human beings,10 while nonetheless being, through its very presence, powerful “over all things” (8.1). Has the dominion of this daimōn been “present” throughout the entire evening, notwithstanding the move in the Symposium away from the beauty of Autolykos, the Syracusan’s performers in the bloom of youth, and the youthful beautiful Kritoboulos, and toward, in a sense, the ugliness of Socrates, the graceless speeches of Hermogenes and Antisthenes, and the abusive Aristophanean caricatures of the Syracusan? Whatever the status of divine Erōs as ruler of events, Socrates by virtue of his rhetoric has guided the action of the dialogue as a whole toward an open consideration of the powerful presence of this immortal being in their lives. If, indeed, this daimōn has been present from the beginning, then we are forced to consider why, only now, near the end of the evening, does Socrates begin to wonder aloud about what erōs itself is, especially since it is so prominent in the lives of these gentlemen. He himself admits to having always been fulfilled or “brought to completion” (διατελῶ) by “being in love” (ἐρῶν) with someone or something (τινος), just as the others have all themselves been either lovers or beloveds. Socrates, we might say, has had his mind turned all along toward just such a consideration of the dominion or rule exercised by Erōs over the human soul (cf. Oik. 21.10–12). Despite distractions and digressions, Socrates never lost sight of the reflection on “the power of beauty over the human soul and in particular the soul under the sway of erōs” with which the banquet began—neither has Xenophon, his own silence notwithstanding.11 Put simply, neither Xenophon nor his Socrates were overcome or reduced to thoughtlessness by the awe induced within them by the beautiful; they did not demonstrate an immunity from its effects either.12 With the evening drawing to a close and the intoxication supplied by Kallias’ wine slightly waning, the moment may now be ripe for Socrates to progress from silent reflections upon erotic dominion and to take up the issue of the gentleman’s concern or taste for the exercise of the ruling or political art in general. The “end” of the symposion will bring about—perhaps even more so than Socrates anticipates—an apotheosis of ἔρως among the symposiasts themselves. But before this divinity once again reigns openly over them, Socrates reviews the distinctive ways in which erotic longings for the beloved characterize lovers. Socrates now explicitly confesses that he is, indeed, a “lover” (ἐραστής), for, as he says, he cannot recollect a time in which he was fulfilled without by being in love. So too, he judges, have the other symposiasts been fellow-initiates in the ways of Erōs—each in their own way, of course, as lovers and beloveds, but most of all Hermogenes (8.2–3):

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I know that Charmides here has acquired many lovers and that there are some whom he himself has desired; while Kritoboulos, who is still even now a beloved, already desires others. Moreover, Nikeratos too, as I hear, being loved by his wife, loves in return. And as for Hermogenes, who among us does not know that he is melting away with love of gentlemanliness, whatever in the world it may be? Don’t you see how serious are his brows, how steady his eye, how measured his speeches, how gentle his voice, how cheerful his character? And although consulting with the most solemn gods as friends, he does not look down with contempt on us human beings?

This account of the men as lovers begs the question that Socrates, perhaps surprisingly, does not explicitly raise, namely, “What is erōs?” Nor does he choose to begin with an examination of the nature of erōs as a divine being. Rather, he begins with what is customarily said, praising erōs as supra-human and vouching for the presence of erōs in the diverse souls present, including his own. We are thereby put on guard that Socrates is speaking here as Odysseus would, in order to establish agreement or concord, not truth; that is, he speaks rhetorically rather than dialectically. To inquire directly about Erōs as either daimōn or theos would be to speak somewhat shamelessly, submitting what is divine to the limits of human reasoning. Instead, his audience is invited to seek the meaning of erōs as Socrates himself does here, which is to say, through common opinion and observations about the manifestations of erōs evident within ourselves as human beings. Leaving aside Charmides, whose erotic overtures have been subtly contested or countered by Socrates throughout the evening (3.1–2 and 4.8–9), we notice immediately in his erotic account of the other symposiasts’ loves that Socrates also seems to recognize the proud claims of both the beautiful Kritoboulos and the decent Nikeratos (from Section Four), but he continues to be playful with Hermogenes, redefining his all-too-serious and pious claim (also from Section Four) in terms of his passionate desire for kalokagathia, “whatever in the world it may be” (4.49). One could argue that the vivid description of this peculiar devotee of gentlemanliness as “melting away with love” is laden with irony. And yet, Hermogenes—no doubt blushing at this praise of his “serious” countenance, his “measured speeches,” and his congenial manner, not to mention his intimately “consulting with” and making use of “the most solemn gods as friends (φίλοι)”—most likely failed to notice it (cf. 8.12). But however ironic Socrates’ description of his austere companion may be, it seems that Hermogenes is to be numbered no less among the truly erotic among the gentlemen, longing as he does for transcendence through his association with divine friends. In this respect, then, Hermogenes is no different from the others. His friendship with “the most solemn gods” does not preclude him from still being erotic about kalokagathia. Hermogenes passionately yearns for something which he does not already possess, and which his powerful and virtuous “friends,” divine though they be, are apparently unwilling or unable to supply him, though they themselves may also take delight in what he desires (see 4.49). Hermogenes, at least, of all the men present, appears to be the only “lover” who is not “in love” with another human being but longs to be brought to completion—to borrow Socrates’ phrase—by virtue itself.13 A consequence of his love is that Hermogenes may be least of all susceptible to the dangers or temptations of erōs that Socrates had ironically warned against in the context of his playful exchange with Kritoboulos and Charmides, though he himself was hardly worried about such dangers. There is an affinity of sorts, therefore, between Socrates and Hermogenes, by means of which resemblance we can begin to see how Kritoboulos’ erotic nature (to say nothing of Kallias’) is opposed to them both. But this affinity is complicated by Socrates’ continence. The incontinent Kritoboulos can be said to be the opposite of the extraordinarily continent Socrates insofar as Socrates’ erotic soul



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was as far from being head-over-heels in love with beauty as Kritoboulos’ was caught in a virtual state of aporia, being enamored and overpowered by a debilitating desire to behold constantly and even worse, jokes Socrates, to kiss his beautiful beloved (see 4.21–26).14 Although opposites with respect to continence, Socrates and Kritoboulos form an intriguing pair with respect to eroticism, an observation that the enigmatic Charmides could not resist (4.27–28). Confronted by Charmides with this evidence, Socrates made no attempt to dispute the powerful presence of erōs in his soul, especially for his beautiful companion Kritoboulos, who he playfully exiles from his presence out of mock fear and an overabundance of caution. Charmides’ description, however, of the setting and circumstance of their erotic companionship points to the need for a much deeper consideration of Socrates’ erōs in light of his exceptional continence.15 To begin, we must consider the degree to which Socrates speaks in serious admiration of Hermogenes, whose longing for gentlemanliness reveals a profoundly erotic desire. This yearning for transcendence seeks to overcome the fundamental neediness implied in the human condition, our very mortality, the tragic inevitability of which humanity’s deepest hope struggles. Kallias and Antisthenes, under different guises, would deny the power of Eros in the human soul and fall back upon a kind of escapism that finds distraction and solace in mundane pleasures. Socrates, like his follower Hermogenes, admits the erotic longing within the human soul for flight into immortality is an inextricable aspect of our nature and thus refuses the path of sensual Vice followed by Kallias and Antisthenes—as well as the third way implied in the tyrannical political ambitions entertained by young men like Charmides and Alcibiades (or Xenophon). But unlike Hermogenes, Socrates never allows the erotic longing and hope for immortality that animate the soul to blind him from the melancholy truth that our nature culminates ultimately and inescapably in death (Apology 27). Xenophon, in his account of Socrates’ last words, which (as author) he almost exclusively permits the admiring Hermogenes to recount, attests to this crucial difference between the true philosopher and his devoted follower.16 We turn now to the portrait of Socratic erōs in the Symposium.

THE BITE OF ERŌS Although Socrates jests with Charmides about suffering the “bite” of erōs, we must wonder if Socrates also entertains and indulges the same kind of insatiable “sweet hopes” which the erotic Kritoboulos harbors for his beloved Kleinias (4.25). It is unlikely he does, for as we know from Xenophon’s Memorabilia, Socrates is not a lover in the ordinary sense of the word. He confesses his erotic love candidly but demonstrated by his speeches and deeds that he loved for the sake of the souls of the beautiful ones and not for their bodies (Mem. IV.1.2): For while often he would say that he was erotically in love with someone, his longing clearly was not for the bodies of those in their youthful bloom, but for the souls of those who were well-formed by nature with respect to virtue. And he judged those to be good by nature on account of their learning quickly whatever they turned their minds toward, remembering what they had learned, and eagerly desiring all the subjects of learning by means of which one can nobly manage household and polis and completely make good use of human beings and human affairs. For he held that, if these have been so educated, those with such natures would be both happy themselves and nobly manage their own households and also be able to make other human beings and poleis happy as well.

This passage from Xenophon’s recollections about Socratic erōs is the paradigmatic key to unlock the hidden meaning of Socrates’ playfulness in speech, that is, his irony. According

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to the preface which introduces this passage, Xenophon says that “those who passed their time” with Socrates “profited” or received their due no less when Socrates was “being playful” (παίζων) than when he was “being serious” (σπουδάζων) with them (Mem. IV 1.1).17 By saying that he cannot remember a time when he was not in love with someone, Socrates ironically refers to his own erotic attraction not to beautiful bodies but to those whose souls are beautiful or noble on account of being well-formed by nature (εὖ πεφυκότων) with respect to virtue (πρὸς ἀρετὴν). Whatever “sweet hopes” exist in Socrates with respect to those he says that he longs for and desires erotically have much more to do with the good nature of their human souls and their prospects for education to virtue, than with the enjoyment of or indulgence in the kinds of bodily pleasures which cause Kritoboulos to swoon over Kleinias. Socrates is an unusual lover, indeed. Hermogenes, too, is not a lover in the usual sense. This is perhaps one reason why Socrates associates with him. Yet this reason, whatever it may be, is evidently not identical to the reason or reasons that Socrates spends time with Kritoboulos or Charmides. These other two companions of Socrates may better fit the description of “good natures” which Socrates loved than Hermogenes who seems to have more in common with Antisthenes. Still, because he seems to take seriously the connection between Hermogenes’ at times imprudent piety and his manifestly noble erōs for gentlemanliness, Socrates is unwilling to mock Hermogenes in the way that he mocks Antisthenes (see 4.5, 4.64, 8.6, but cf. 2.10, 3.6). Whereas Socrates had supported Kallias’ dubious refutation of Antisthenes (see 4.5), Hermogenes is the only person by whom Xenophon’s Socrates playfully but openly admits being “refuted” (cf. 4.5, with 6.3). The difference between the two men is clearly a matter of Antisthenes’ decidedly unerotic nature. Socrates reserves his sharpest remarks for this Antisthenes, whose affinity for Socrates and for Socrates’ self-sufficient continence is evidently less than noble (cf. 4.38–40), and whose desire therefore is coyly, but not ironically, unrequited by Socrates (8.3–6): “Do you alone, Antisthenes, love no one?” “By the gods,” this one said, “Very much so—you!” Socrates said, joking as one being coy, “Don’t make trouble for me now, in what is near to hand; for as you can see, I am doing other things.” And Antisthenes spoke: “How truly indeed you, you pimp of yourself, are always doing such things! For sometimes you don’t converse with me using the daimonion as an excuse, while other times being in search of someone else.” And Socrates said: “In the presence of the gods, Antisthenes, just don’t thrash me! For the other harshest things from you I can bear, and will continue to do so, in a friendly way. But let us conceal your erōs, since it is not for my soul but for my fine form.”

In playfully pleading for a reprieve from a harsh tongue-lashing, Socrates says that Antisthenes’ refutations are among the “harshest things” and that he endures them in a friendly way (φιλικῶς), presumably for a reason. In this way, Antisthenes seems to be the comic equivalent of Xanthippe in matters of disputation, since the “harshest things” which Socrates endures from him remind us of the earlier exchange between Socrates and Antisthenes regarding the “most difficult” things about her which are nonetheless born for the sake of some utility or endurance (see 2.10 and 4.37). Socrates, nevertheless, wishes to conceal (because he cannot endure?) Antisthenes’ “erotic desire” (ἔρωτα) for Socrates’ “fine form” (εὐμορφίας, cf. 6.4 and



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8.15). Antisthenes’ erōs for Socrates, as we saw in Section Four, appears to be really nothing more than an illicit desire for the “visible” beauty and richness of Socrates’ continent body; his, then, is not a praiseworthy form of erōs but a corruption of Socratic erōs, which longs for the beauty of the soul. In this respect, but not only in this respect (for example, the difference in their prayers comes quickly to mind), Antisthenes is the opposite of Hermogenes, whose remarkably noble aspirations with regard to erōs are furthest of all from the base and ignoble provisions for which Antisthenes all-too-willingly settles because they are so easily had (cf. 4.48–49, with 4.38–40). Even if Antisthenes could distinguish his love for Socrates, which is not simply vulgar, from his unerotic approach to and desire for physical and sexual gratification, his erotic longing still would represent a distortion of Socratic erōs—just as his harsh refutations (like Hermogenes’ extreme austerity) would still be gracelessly inappropriate at this symposion of playful gentlemen. By implication, then, Antisthenes is to be excluded from the other men by Socrates because he is incapable of being the kind of lover who Socrates will soon praise at length. This exclusion perhaps belatedly explains why Socrates had been eager to turn over to Antisthenes the art of the altogether perfect procurer. Content as he is with the self-satisfied pleasure he derives from “love” of Socrates’ “well-formed” body, Antisthenes successfully exercises the art of “gobetween” with respect to Socrates and a certain “gentleman” toward whom Antisthenes had found no attraction, but whom Socrates eagerly desired to meet and from whom he in some way benefited (see 4.63).18 At that time, for the second time, Socrates alluded to the presence and power of erōs in his soul, especially in contradistinction to the cold Antisthenes whose desire for lucre, despite his professed contentment with the meanest provisions, had enabled Socrates to persuade him rather easily to take over the disreputable panderer’s art (4.64). Socrates’ earlier praise of Antisthenes’ usefulness in playing the “go-between” must now be qualified or revised, therefore, in light of the mock coyness which serves to distance Socrates further from this companion of his. For when it comes to satisfying or at least pursuing the erotic desires of his soul, Socrates requires Antisthenes’ help no more than he needs Kallias’ assistance in exercising his body (2.20). Put simply, the gap between Socrates’ needs and theirs is as wide as Socrates’ erotic desire is deep. With respect to erōs and its pursuits, then, Socrates has no real need for Antisthenes or his lucrative political art. Like Kallias before him, and possibly like Charmides, Antisthenes fails to perceive or understand the radically solitary and strictly private character of the Socratic life—and this, despite his moment of lucidity in articulating what Socrates seemed to him right then to be doing, namely, pimping himself (8.5: ὡς σαφῶς μέντοι σὺ μαστροπὲ σαυτοῦ). Socrates, it should go without saying, does not even attempt to refute that charge here. Finally, to understand fully how opposed by nature Hermogenes and Antisthenes are, we must take note of the fact that, although his discussion of erōs would seem to permit it, Socrates says nothing at all in reply to Antisthenes’ passing reference to his daemonic phenomenon, which was apparently very well known.19 Are we to understand from his silence that Socrates does make use of or consult his daimonion on occasion as a means of avoiding conversations about particular interlocutors or topics (cf. Mem I.1.5)? Is the daimonion of Socrates really a kind of pretext for an avoidance of particular topics or interlocutors, as it seems to be when viewed from the perspective of someone like Antisthenes?20 No doubt, this was not the perspective of a man like Hermogenes (4.48; see Apo 4–5 and Mem IV 8.5), someone who serves the gods and practices gentlemanliness “within the limits” of his poverty, and whose firm belief in the providential “gift of Zeus” Socrates “understandably insisted” on supporting and preserving (see Mem. II.10.5, I.1.4; cf. Sym. 2.25).21 It is clear, at any rate, that whereas

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the gods and Socrates both seem pleased by Hermogenes and his “irreproachably” noble erōs for kalokagathia, helping to take care of his needs because he has attention always on nobility rather than utility, there is something about the unerotic Antisthenes which is pleasing neither to Socrates nor, presumably, to the gods.22 With pride in his continence and in his harsh speeches, Antisthenes’ self-satisfied soul seems to harbor no trace whatsoever of the kind of erotic longing and “sweet hopes” which the all-too-serious Hermogenes and beautiful Kritoboulos share in the soul—longings and “hopes” characteristic of erōs which they also seem to share in some way with Socrates himself; which is to say, a desire to be accomplish completion or to be made whole, in the presence of a beloved with whom a “self-forgetting” union holds out the prospect for the transcendence of one’s own neediness and incompleteness, and thus happiness (cf. 4.24, with 4.27; cf. Plato Charmides 155d3–4).23 Whatever its true source or cause, Socrates’ daimonion may at times have intervened in Socrates’ friendships or associations with both Antisthenes and Hermogenes, although it appears not to have forewarned him against the possible dangers posed by his friendship with Kritoboulos or Charmides. There also appears no such intervention when the time comes, now, for Socrates to take up directly in his logos the political education of Kallias and his erotic desire for Autolykos, the son of Lykon, his future accuser. In fact, based on Socrates’ invocation at the beginning, there is reason to suppose that, far from being opposed by his familiar daimonion, an erotic daimōn or theos was present urging Socrates to speak not only “seriously” (8.41), but even “brazenly” (8.24: παρρησιάζεσθαι)—and on account of which Socrates looked for some good or benefit to come, presumably by the favor of the gods.24 Hence, “not being hindered by another god” (8.43: ἄν μὴ θεὸς βλάπτῃ; cf. Mem I 3.5), Socrates forthwith proceeds. As listeners, we bear in mind the limits, already referenced, regarding rhetoric and the nature of one’s interlocutor.25

AN EDUCATION FOR KALLIAS Having “naturally omitted” Lykon in his survey of gentlemen, whose own unerotic love is obviously for his beautiful son (3.12) and is nobly requited by his son’s reverential love in return (3.13), it remains for Socrates to speak only of Kallias as a lover.26 The “bulk” of Socrates’ longest speech in the Symposium is thus devoted to the education of Kallias, whom Socrates has largely neglected (cf. 2.2 and 6.4). In returning to the love Kallias has for Autolykos, which love was most prominently on display at the beginning of the banquet (1.2, 1.12), we should bear in mind that Kallias was said to have another love too, one which he seems to share with Socrates himself (see 4.62 and 1.4; cf. Plato, Gorgias 481d). Socrates, however, now refrains from mentioning at all Kallias’ erotic desire for philosophy, for the sake of which Antisthenes, believing Prodikos to be a wise man, had at least once played the panderer or “go-between” (4.63). His silence regarding Kallias’ professed love of or desire for wisdom, that is, his φιλοσοφία, renders the purpose of his rhetoric “altogether” political.27 The one example cited by Socrates as proof that Antisthenes “also worked very well” the art of pandering which accompanies the procurer’s art suggests this as well. For Prodikos was known to have been sought out by men of political ambition for his art of speech. Is Socrates seriously proposing to take back and exercise himself the art which he had relinquished to Antisthenes, in order to exercise it now—if only briefly—in a manner indicative of the one who is “completely a good procurer” and ought justly be rewarded by his polis (see 4.60)?



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Socrates begins, of course, with what is most obvious to everyone. That Kallias is clearly in love with Autolykos, which “the whole polis knows . . . [and] many strangers as well.” The cause for this, says Socrates, “is that your fathers’ names are renowned and you yourselves shine forth” (8.7). Now, while this report may flatter Lykon and his son, it is surely true of Kallias. As Socrates confirms near the end of his long speech, Kallias’ family was among the best known and most prestigious in the polis, and not only in Athens, but throughout all of Hellas as well. For his is “an ancient family, descended from Erectheus,” whose eldest male was the torch-bearer and priest of the Eleusinian Mysteries and considered one of the “most holy” in the Panathenaia festival, and whose home, he being proxenos, was frequented by the “superior” and hegemonic Spartans (8.39–40).28 Socrates further affirms that Kallias has an equally impressive physical appearance which, like that of his beloved (1.10, 2.6), in fitness and form is among the “most worthy to behold in the polis” (8.40). Socrates’ logos thus begins and ends with fitting praise of Kallias and his rare blend of aristocratic virtues, especially from the perspective of a polis that holds him in such high esteem. But is Kallias genuinely deserving of such praise? If a seriously spoken logos can be trusted, or even taken seriously, considering especially when speaking what is “fitting with a view to drinking” (8.41), it seems that there must be a certain potential in Kallias which warrants admiration by the polis. Socrates also declares that he himself has been an admirer of Kallias’ nature (τὴν σὴν φύσιν) and is so even more now, because he sees the character of his love (ἐρῶντα) for Autolykos (8.8): “I myself always admired your nature, but now much more, since I see you loving someone neither delicate through luxuriousness nor coy through softness, but who displays to all his strength and endurance, manliness and moderation.” Autolykos’ “desiring” (ἐπιθυμεῖν) such virtues is “proof ” (τεκμήριον) of his “nature” as a beloved, as well as of the praiseworthy status of his lover. But the proof of Autolykos’ nature is to be found not only in Kallias’ desire for him, since surely no one, on the occasion of his pankration victory, would dispute that the youth “displays to all” virtues of strength (ῥώμην), endurance (καρτερίαν), and manliness (ἀνδρείαν). How Autolykos makes a display of his “moderation” (σωφροσύνην) in being victorious in such a brutal contest as the pankration is less evident. Socrates may be thinking here of the way Autolykos comports himself in the company of the younger and older men present at the banquet, his lovers as well as his father (see 1.8, 3.13). The ensuing digression, or apparent digression, would seem to clarify this thought. Socrates says, paradoxically, that he does not know if “Aphrodite is one or dual,” that is, if she is one goddess with multiple names, or if she possesses a nature which is split into “Heavenly and Vulgar” (Οὐρανία τε καὶ Πάνδημος); but he does say that he knows human beings often have erected separate altars and temples to both forms of Aphrodite in order to offer sacrifices—those “for the Vulgar being more reckless, for the Heavenly more pure” (8.9). Fellow-worshippers of Vulgar Aphrodite, being “reckless” (ῥᾳδιουργότεραι), presumably wish to receive from her “the loves of the body,” while those who serve Heavenly Aphrodite, being more “restrained” or chaste (ἁγνότεραι) in their sacrifices and desires, yearn for “the loves of the soul, of friendship, and of noble deeds” (8.10). On account of his proper desire for Autolykos, and the gentlemanly “reserve” with which he apparently circumscribes his pursuit of his beloved,29 Socrates holds Kallias to be “even more” admirable because he seems to be one who worships Heavenly Aphrodite (8.10–11): “This I judge (τεκμαίρομαι) by gentlemanliness in your beloved (τῇ τοῦ ἐρωμένου καλοκἀγαθίᾳ), and because I see you bringing his father along in your association with him. Nothing is concealed from the father by the lover who is

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a gentleman (τῷ καλῷ τε κἀγαθῷ ἐραστῇ).” Socrates, in other words, affirms the gentlemanliness of the beloved by means of his actions and by the character of his lover’s association with him. The one who loves as a gentleman, that is, one who is both “noble and good” as a lover, exhibits by his restraint and the transparency of his desire that he possesses kalokagathia, whereas his beloved does so through displays of virtue. If Kallias really is what he appears to be, and if it is not necessary first to know the true nature of Aphrodite, whether single or dual, in order to make judgments about the erotic character and virtue of human beings, then, and only then, can Kallias be said to be “possessed” or inspired by the “more pure” kind of erōs, Heavenly Aphrodite, which, according to Socrates, being so inspired, would make him worthy of admiration and praise.30 But is Kallias what he seems to be? At this point, Socrates’ speech in praise of Erōs and of Kallias is interrupted by the grave, heavy-handed Hermogenes who cannot resist the temptation to throw his support behind Socrates’ serious education of Kallias in gentlemanly erotics. It is a sign of his complete lack of rhetoric and understanding of irony that he does not know when to stay silent.31 Socrates, once again (cf. 4.23–26), has no choice but to make the best use he can of this interruption (8.12): “By Hera,” he said, “Socrates, among other things about you, I admire even now that you are being charitable to Kallias, while at the same time you are teaching him what sort he ought to be.” “Yes, by Zeus!” said Socrates; “but so that he may be delighted more, I wish to bear witness to him that even more superior is the love of the soul to that of the body.”

Swearing by Hera, perhaps in imitation of Socrates (4.54), or as a reminder to Kallias of his own earlier tongue-in-cheek rejection of his kind of wealth in favor of Antisthenes’ (4.45), Hermogenes invokes a goddess whose principal attributes and sphere of influence, as the severe sister and wife of Zeus, underscores with divine support the restraint of erōs, and hence of Aphrodite, through the institution of marriage. He overlooks, however, the fact that the jealous Hera might not approve of Kallias’ love for Autolykos any more than she sanctions Zeus’ love for the beautiful Ganymede (see 8.30).32 But he clearly thinks that he and Socrates agree on the nature of gentlemanliness and which of the two is the highest form of erōs, and that Socrates will welcome his support of Kallias’ education.33 Socrates’ reply to Hermogenes is somewhat ambiguous, though. Swearing by Zeus,34 Socrates seems to accept Hermogenes’ interruption, literally coupling his oath with that of Hermogenes, a verbal image of cosmic union and restraint (cf. the pairing of oaths at 4.45). But this pairing, as we shall see, is more consistent with the dramatic performance that follows Socrates’ speech than with this speech itself, for Socrates himself makes no mention at all of the pleasures or virtues of marriage in his praise of Heavenly Aphrodite and the restrained form of erōs. On the contrary, just beyond the middle of his logos, Socrates specifically proclaims that he is “eager” (ἐπιθυμῶ) to “tell mythical tales” (μυθυλογῆσαι), reciting Homeric hymns, as it were, about the extramarital erotic affairs of Zeus, as well as of heroes, in order to “bear witness” to the superiority of the heavenly erōs he is praising to Kallias (see 8.28–31).35 Socrates, too, is a married man, but his praise of the heavenly Aphrodite is limited exclusively to male associations, without mention of wives. It remains to be seen in what sense a married man is also a philosopher; or perhaps, as Nietsche said, the ironic Socrates as a married philosopher belongs only in comedy, because he is a kind of inveterate or “de facto” bachelor, an enigmatic portrait which Xenophon’s Symposium both affirms and denies (cf. 8.2, with 2.10 and 9.7).36 Suffice it say, for now, that what Socrates argues in his speech about the nature of gentlemanly erōs establishes more a critique, or limitation, of traditional Athenian



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(or Greek) pederasty than an outright rejection of the possibility of a conjugal form of erōs consistent with gentlemanliness. With his last words in the dialogue, the unmarried Hermogenes—despite or because of his “melting away” with perfect desire for gentlemanliness—confirms his failure to have penetrated, beyond a glimpse, into the ironic depths of Socratic wisdom. His presence among the companions of Socrates in the Symposium reveals more about what Xenophon understands Socratic rhetoric or irony to accomplish in deed, than what Hermogenes claims to understand from hearing this speech. The “work” that is being done here by Socrates goes beyond showing a pious respect for the gods as providential guarantors of prosperity for gentlemen. Proceeding with his praise of Erōs and the Heavenly Aphrodite, Socrates turns now without further delays or interruptions to completing his “charitable” education of Kallias (χαριζόμενος παιδεύεις) regarding the gentlemanly charms that are associated with erotic desire for the soul rather than the body.

CHARMING GENTLEMEN AS FRIENDS Socrates first distinguishes between philia (φιλία) and erōs (ἔρως), friendly and erotic love. Friendship, as everyone knows, is the only “speech-worthy association” (ἀχιόλογος) because it leaves marks of a “pleasant and voluntary necessity” on the souls of friends. Those “yearning for the body” (τῶν τοῦ σώματος ἐπιθυμούντων), however, often despise the good habits and customs of their beloveds, attraction waning as the bloom of youth in them fades. Friends, too, in addition to loving the soul, sometimes desire the bodily form of their beloveds and suffer a loss of affection for the body over time, yet their affection for one another does not diminish, since “the soul—for so long as time passes—comes to greater prudence” and becomes even “worthier of being loved” (8.13–14). Unlike love of the body, which of necessity reaches “a certain satiety,” love of the soul, “being pure,” is “more insatiable” and always partakes of “Aphrodite’s favors” since among those who are friends “truly even the prayer is fulfilled in which we ask the goddess to bestow her graces upon words and deeds” (8.15). One might ask why Socrates speaks of this circumstance at all, in bearing witness to how “much superior” love of soul is to love of body. If indeed “Socrates seems to hesitate between the praise of a love directed only to the soul of a beloved and the praise of a love that is directed also to his beautiful body,” this can be explained by the fact that Socrates is praising Heavenly Erōs so Kallias, who is obviously in love with the beautiful Autolykos, “may be delighted more” (8.12). In other words, Socrates’ logos about erōs is being delivered with a view to Kallias, and not simply with a view to his own understanding of erotics. Socrates does not speak exclusively in praise of love of soul because, we suspect, he understands that an attraction for the body is already aroused, and so it must be accommodated. By intertwining the two loves, friendly and erotic, Socrates can conclude his logos in praise of the heavenly erōs which inspires the friendly lover with a flourish, promising that such a lover will have his affection and “friendly disposition” (φιλόφρων) requited (8.16): That the loving soul both admires and cares for the beloved as a friend, that is, as a soul blossoming with a liberal form and with a character modest and well-born, and straight-away exercising hegemony (authority and command) over its age-mates, while being at the same time of a friendly disposition—nothing in this argument is lacking. But that it is likely that, by a favored youth, such a lover will be loved reciprocally—this too shall I teach.

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Having delivered his praise of the benefits of friendly love with respect to the lover’s appetites or desires, so to speak, Socrates must also persuade Kallias that the “lover” (ἐραστής) who loves the “beloved” (ἐρώμενος) as a friend and gentleman will not be deprived of the “sweet hopes” which erōs always brings and can be confident his friendly love will be returned. Caught up in a divine frenzy worthy of Plato’s Socrates (see Plato, Phaedrus 244a–257b, 253c; Symposium 207c–212c), we listen as Xenophon’s Socrates, for a brief moment, begins to sprout wings and soar, engendered perhaps by a glimpse of the beautiful itself which is beyond speech, and threatening to breach the rhetorical limits of the Symposium itself (8.17–18): For, first of all, who can hate the one by whom he knows he is believed to be a gentleman (both noble and good), especially when he sees him being more serious about the beautiful things of the youth than about his own pleasure—and when further he trusts that neither due to something done nor due to becoming more misshapen in form because of illness, would the friendship [between them] diminish? And indeed, to those for whom friendly love is shared, how could it not be of necessity that they pleasantly look upon one another, conversing together with the best intentions, trusting and being trusted, and taking thought for one another; rejoicing together at noble actions, becoming vexed together if something unfortunate comes to them; and that they are contentedly brought to completion whenever, being in good health, they associate together, and whenever one should fall ill holding their association together more, and taking care even more when apart than when near? Are not all these things favored by Aphrodite? Through such deeds as these, at any rate—by being simultaneously lovers of their friendship and making use of it, even unto old age—they are mutually brought to their completion.

This passage of near-purple prose represents the “peak” of Xenophon’s Socrates’ praise of erotic love of the friendly or heavenly sort. Socrates repeated mention of being made complete or whole (διατελέω), here at the center of his logos, as well as at its beginning and end (8.2, 8.41, see 4.44), bespeaks a union which perfects the souls of the gentlemanly lovers through a pleasant, useful and liberal companionship that accomplishes and rejoices in “noble affairs” (ἐπὶ ταῖς καλαῖς πράξεσι), supports each other in misfortune, and through such “deeds” (ἔργα) as strengthen their association (συνουσία) brings happiness in every phase of life. Elsewhere in the Socratic writings of Xenophon, of course, this same Socrates can be heard speaking in less exalted terms about erōs (for example, with Kritoboulos or Theodote), discoursing on the benefits that accrue from the erotic activity as a form of hunting and acquiring good friends with an eye to what is useful and good as well as noble. One is led to wonder then, in light of what Socrates recommends in the Memorabilia, whether Socrates here in the Symposium is making use of “certain incantations, which those who understand them chant to make friends for themselves out of whomever they wish,” or, whether he is making use of such “love charms, too, which those who understand them use on whomever they wish to become beloved by them” (Mem. II.6.10, cf. III.11.16–18). By such incantations and love charms, Socrates, like a Siren, sings for Kallias, luring him not to destruction, but into the kind of restraint or moderation which promises to fulfill desire in a manner consistent with virtue and gentlemanliness.37 Upon examination, Socrates continues, one discovers that “nothing harsh” arises from the liberal association of friendly lovers, while for a youth who is loved only on account of his bodily beauty, “there is nothing surprising” in the fact that such a beloved will have contempt for “unholy affairs” and be repelled by the “shameless” lover (8.22). Socrates enumerates seven reasons why this is so (8.19–21), the central one of which is reminiscent of Socrates’ unwillingness to practice the lucrative art that he handed over to the unerotic Antisthenes, for it is



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equivalent to his rejection of the kind of prostitution that would have him hawk his wisdom for money like possessions being sold to buyers in the agora (see Mem. I.6.5). For one who is “fond of the body,” such a commercial or mercenary association is both debased and “illiberal” (ἀνελεύθερος), explains Socrates, for such a lover “grasps at the body” and literally beggars his beloved for undeserved gifts. Such a lover is also “likened to one who rents land,” that is, one who, rather than tending to the beloved as best he can in order to cultivate his beloved and make him “worthy of much,” instead merely is making use of him to “enjoy the profits” of his youthful bloom (8.23–25). Socrates is, he confesses, appalled by such shamelessness and repulsive conduct by a lover who pleads like a beggar for caresses of his beloved, and perhaps even expresses his momentary abhorrence at this violation of gentlemanly erōs with a disgust and vehemenece that is fitting for the occasion.38 Perhaps his indignation ought to be taken ironically, for Socrates himself declares (or rather apologizes), saying that if he speaks “more greedily” (λαμυρώτερον) than he should, the gentlemen should “not be amazed” (μὴ θαυμάζετε), “for the wine is now urging me on,” he admits, “and the erōs (ἔρως) that always dwells within me spurs me on to speak boldly (παρρησιάζεσθαι) regarding that erōs which is its rival” (8.24, cf. 8.41). He thus signals, at least insofar as a thumotic response to such obscene behavior is indicative of an unwillingness even to look upon such actions without feeling a sense of shame, that even he himself has felt the tug of carnal desire, and that his own indwelling higher erōs never ceases having to wrestle at times “against a lower, indwelling physical lust” also within him.39 We are reminded here that the duality of Aphrodite, and the two forms of erōs, has not been established by means of argument but by agreement. It is possible that it is impossible for any human being, even one as continent and philosophic as Socrates, to avoid knowing the temptation of that erōs which is vulgar, over against the ennobling erōs, if indeed the two forms are really one. Be that as it may, Socrates continues his account. Worst of all, among all the contemptible actions of a shameless love, is the reason mentioned last by Socrates, namely, that a wretched and illiberal sort of association violates and blasphemes the very mysteries which are instituted to bind initiates and fellow-worshippers of Heavenly Erōs together (cf. Plato, Sym. 218a–b). For a beloved youth, being together with a man “out of season” who loves only his youthful bloom, cannot “share cheerfully” in the favors of the goddess, as a woman with a man naturally does, but “being sober sees the other intoxicated” by the excesses of the Vulgar Aphrodite. The other, out of his prime and drunk with sexual desire, being possessed by the illiberal form of ἔρως, wholly subverts the proper hierarchy and order of loves, corrupting thereby even that love of the body which is natural (cf. 4.27). The violation of the natural mysteries of Aphrodite shared between male and female lovers, by the illiberal lover of the beloved, points again to that omission from Socrates’ speech which would be a complement to gentlemanly erōs, namely, conjugal erotics.40 Most hateful of all, however, is the man who, in order to gratify his drunken desire for the beloved’s body, would corrupt the soul of the youth by seducing him with persuasion to be reckless and to sacrifice his youthful bloom on the altar of Vulgar Erōs—the very offense that the Syracusan had feared for his youth (4.52–54). But, at the opposite extreme, for the youth who refuses to rule over a lover by vulgarly “offering up his form,” and who wishes instead to hold fast the friendship of his lover by being in all manner a “gentleman” (καλὸς κἀγαθὸς), “it is altogether fitting to take more care for virtue” (8.26). Thus, says Socrates, “the greatest good” (μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν) is attained by the friendly lover who grasps only at “making a good friend out of his favorite youth,” for this one is “himself also compelled to practice virtue.” (8.27) Together, the lover and the beloved who strive for lasting friendship and the mutual

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completion of their souls induce one another to exercise “virtue” (ἀρετή), rendering one another not only “good” (ἀγαθὸν), but also continent and modest, through their heavenly erōs and liberal association. The friendly affection of such lovers is mutual in benefit, both lover and beloved improving in virtue, and reciprocal. In support of his argument that the love of the friendly lover will be willingly and gladly requited by the beloved, and as further evidence that the outcome of their heavenly erōs is “much superior” to that of vulgar erōs, Socrates eagerly tells tales to Kallias about both gods and heroes who “make use much more” of friendship of the soul than of the body (8.28). Implicitly granting that friendship of the soul is not the exclusive form of love which gods and heroes make use of, Socrates summarizes Homeric stories—ones which Nikeratos surely knows well (8.31)—of Zeus and his great love for Ganymede, and of good souls like Herakles and the Dioskouroi, each of whom were rewarded by Zeus with immortality (8.29–30). He further recalls the stories of those half-gods and heroes, such as Achilles, Orestes, and Theseus, who on account of their admiration for and friendly association with their comrades Patroklos, Pyllades, and Peirithous, accomplished in common with them “the greatest and noblest things” (τὰ μέγιστοα καὶ κάλλιστα) (8.31). After teaching all this for the sake of delighting and gratifying Kallias, and bearing witness to the superiority of love of the soul, Socrates wished in addition to make clear that it is on account of friendship and heavenly erōs that noble deeds among mortal men, too, are accomplished (8.32): “What about all the noble deeds of the present (τὰ νῦν καλὰ ἔργα)—would not someone discover these things are accomplished by those willing to toil and run risks for the sake of commendation rather than by those accustomed to prefer pleasure over good repute (εὐκλείας)?” Recalling at this point the erotic argument of Kritoboulos (4.15–16), Socrates introduces a certain Pausanius41 who, “saying amazing things” (θαυμαστὰ λέγων), shamelessly defends an army of “dissolute” lovers and beloveds as being especially eager to fight on account of their bodily passion for one another. Rejecting this argument as irrelevant, since such arrangements are “customary” for Thebans and Eleans, but “reproachful” among Athenians (8.33–34), Socrates cites instead the example of the Lakedaimonions who are truly superior, “having trained themselves” to perform always “the deeds of good men” (τὰ τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἀνδρῶν ἔργα) regardless of whether they fight beside strangers or alongside their beloveds, revering “Shame” not shamelessness as a goddess (8.35). For this reason, Socrates concludes at the end of his speech, these Lakedaimonians should be taken as models by Kallias (who is their proxenos) because they are “superior” (οἱ κράτιστοι) with respect to virtue, and on account of this steadfastness are widely reputed to be “authoritative” (ἡγεμόνες) among Hellenes (8.39).42 Socrates, without hesitation, commends to the symposiasts the example of the well-trained, continent Spartans, as opposed to shameless Thebans and Eleans who, even in times of war, customarily prefer pleasure over good reputation. Athenians, it would seem, fall somewhere between these two extremes, for they hold it to be a matter of reproach for a man to sleep beside his beloved while on campaign, while by custom preferring pleasures which the superior Spartans would find shameful—such as, most notably, enjoying the pleasures of wine and reclining at a symposion. Under the circumstances, Socrates’ alliance with the manly customs of the Lakedaimonions, particularly with respect to their training of erotic desire, is not perceived by his fellow Athenians as problematic; whether they themselves are up to the task, the aristocratic gentlemen at Athens can recognize that Spartans tend to be made of sterner stuff. Having passed in his logos through various muthoi on behalf of heavenly erōs, for the sake of charming Kallias into seeking out friendship with a beloved who is a fellow-lover of virtue and



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of gentlemanliness, Socrates returns with Kallias to the horizon of politics. The epic heroes of the Homeric tales as well as the principal poleis in more recent history are called upon by Socrates as proof of the argument that those who make use of friendship and love of the soul rather than mere desire for the body are the ones truly worthy of admiration.43

MODERATING ERŌS Before he concludes, Socrates brings his speech back around to Kallias’ particular love for Autolykos, and to Athens. For the sake of establishing agreement among them all (ὁμόλογοι: cf. 4.61)44 regarding his argument about the superiority of Heavenly Erōs and friendly love of soul, Socrates invites his audience to a mutual “examination” (ἐπισκοποῖμεν). He asks: To whom would they entrust that which they esteem most in their lives—namely, their possessions, their children, or their “favors” (χάριτας)? To a youth who is a beloved of the Spartans, that is, one whose soul, rather than body, is beloved and sought in a gentlemanly manner; or to a youth who is a beloved of the Thebans or the Eleans, one who corrupted by their illiberal pursuit would recklessly sell his “form”—or anything else in his possession— to such drunken and dissolute lovers? Socrates does not pause for a reply, however; for no one would disagree that even a lover who desires the body would choose rather to entrust his own goods for safekeeping to a beloved who is sought for the virtue of his soul (8.36). With this agreed upon, Socrates returns to Kallias’ love for Autolykos in order to complete the political education of Kallias’ erōs by exhorting him to train himself like the Spartans to worship Shame and Heavenly Aphrodite, and prepare himself always to “hit the mark,” as it were, of gentlemanliness (8.35). Being thoroughly imbued by their rigorous training (ἀγωγή), such true Spartiates—as well as those who follow their ways, according to Socrates—are equals (ὅμοιοι) in virtue.45 Education, then, over time and through discipline, trains gentlemen. But such a course could no longer be of use to a mature man like Kallias, already beyond the age of such training and presumably, in some respects, already set in his ways. An alternative means to accomplish such an end must be found, one more appropriate to the customs of the Athenians. By referring to “agreement” or homologia (ὁμολογία) among those present, Socrates seems to have in mind here the binding moral obligation associated with consent, the foundation of legal contracts among the Athenians.46 Persuading both Kallias and his beloved to adhere in their association to the restraints of a friendship predicated on love of the soul and cultivating gentlemanliness through a consensual understanding of what profit accrues from such an agreement is Socrates’ aim. As parties in this contract, Kallias and Autolykos agree to be bound, even more than they otherwise might be simply by swearing vows or promises, by a formal obligation articulated with their giving of consent. Socrates, of course, knows that the terms of this contract are unenforceable, except through a sense of honor and shame. Socrates draws his logos to a close by bidding Kallias to be thankful to the gods because of the passionate love that he bears for a youth like Autolykos, an honorable desire which the gods themselves have “inspired” in him (8.37–38):47 For you, indeed, Kallias, it seems to me to be a worthy thing to owe gratitude to the gods because they have struck in you a passionate love for Autolykos. For that he is an honor-lover is quite clear, one who for the sake of being victorious in the pankration bears up against many toils and much pain. If he should suppose that he will adorn not only himself and his father but also that

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he will become capable through good-manliness to do well even for his friends and the fatherland by erecting victory-prizes taken from his enemies—and that on account of these things he will be respected by all and known by name, among both Greeks and barbarians, how then can you not suppose that, whosoever he thought a superior fellow-worker in these things, he would treat with the greatest honors?

If the erotic Kallias hopes to be seen as a fitting lover in the eyes of an “honor-lover” (φιλότιμός) like Autolykos, a young man whom Socrates supposes aspires on account of his “good-manliness” or manly virtue (ἀνδραγαθίαν)48 to adorn himself, his family, his friends and fatherland (πατρίδα) with victories and an esteemed reputation among both Greeks and barbarians, then Kallias must become worthy of being a “superior fellow-worker” (συνεργὸν κράτιστον) with respect to all these things—provided that Autolykos himself has begun to consider together with his father with whom he must associate in order to accomplish noble deeds worthy of commendation (cf. 2.5). Whatever defects there may be in his counterargument against Pausanius, Socrates has shown without objection on the part of the other symposiasts that the Spartans and the Athenians are really not rivals, or enemies, but fellow-worshippers of Heavenly Erōs. Both believe not only that love of the soul and friendship is superior to love of the body—among the gods, heroes, and human beings—but also that love of soul is in fact equivalent to love of noble deeds, of the greatest and noblest honors (ταῖς μεγίσταις τιμαῖς).49 Socrates is leading Kallias toward an acceptance of a common bond between the superior and hegemonic Spartans, on the one hand, whose virtue and way of life Kallias as an aristocratic Athenians and as the Spartan proxenos at Athens surely knew and admired. This bond, or agreement, regarding the most important things with respect to virtue is further based on an Athenian foundation of consent, rather than simply in training and discipline, and so is more appropriate for those whose dedication to this understanding of the benefits of erotic gentlemanliness is being encouraged by Socrates. Even more so than his standing as the scion of an ancient and wealthy family, it will be his association with Autolykos that defines Kallias’ place within the political regime. Their association, thus constituted, would forge a way of life or politeia worthy of themselves as honor-lovers and of their polis, whose greatest statesmen—Themistocles, Pericles, and Solon—Socrates now summons in conclusion as witnesses (8.39): So then, if you wish to be pleasing to him, you must examine the kinds of things known by Themistocles such that he became the liberator of Hellas and examine the kinds of things understood by Pericles such that he seemed to his fatherland a superior counselor; you must also consider how in the world Solon, by philosophizing, laid down superior laws for the polis; and you must also search out the kinds of things which the superior Lakedaimonions trained themselves in, such that they are reputed to be leaders-commanders—especially since you are proxenos, and the superior ones are always brought to you.

Kallias’ political success, according to Socrates, is inseparable from the character of his association with Autolykos. The eyes of the Athenians are upon them. Even if the Athenians, as Socrates suggests, are already willing to turn themselves over to Kallias on account of his inherited possession of “the greatest things” (8.40: τὰ μέγιστα; cf. 8.31: τὰ μέγιστα καὶ κάλλιστα, 8.38: τὰ μέγιστα τιμαί), Socrates warns Kallias that if he hopes to acquire Autolykos he must “examine” (σκεπτέον) and consider the highest political examples as examples of the very virtue and way of life that Socrates recommends. To be worthy of Au-



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tolykos, it seems, Kallias must become worthy of being a ruler in Athens. He must “examine” the kinds of knowledge that Themistocles possessed when he made himself the “liberator” of all Hellas, overcoming the invasion of the Persian King; he must “examine” what the great Pericles understood when he made for himself an enduring reputation as the one who seemed the best counselor to his fatherland by advising his fellow Athenians how to become ascendant among the Greeks.50 With this knowledge of Themistocles and this understanding of Pericles, he also must then consider “how in the world” (cf. 8.3), by “philosophizing” (φιλοσοφήσας), Solon himself—the legislator and poet who arguably laid a foundation for democratic Athens through his reforms51—established “superior customs and laws” (νόμους κρατίστους) for his polis, and hence a regime for the Athenians. All this, in addition to Kallias’ own possession of natural virtues and his searching out the ways in which the “superior” Spartans have trained themselves so as to be reputed as the leaders and commanders of Hellas, is required of the gentlemanly lover of the honor-loving Autolykos. In sum, Socrates exhorts Kallias to examine himself and the noble deeds of human beings, such as Themistocles, Pericles and Solon, if he wishes to satisfy the erotic desires of his soul. The erotic patriotism of the Periclean funeral oration, exhorting Athenians to become “lovers” of their polis,52 which was delivered in Kallias’ youth, may have been the model in some sense for Socrates and the rhetoric of his political education of gentlemen on this occasion—reformed and modified as that eroticism must be, of course, by the particular account of restrained and heavenly Erōs here being praised.53 Noble deeds among men—to say nothing of what the gods accomplish, or of the greatest deeds of the semi-divine heroes—noble deeds among men are inseparable, it seems, from examinations and considerations of what is good or useful for a polis. Socrates’ political education of Kallias thus promises to fulfill the “sweet hopes” of erōs not by a gift from Zeus of immortality, or simply by winning the favor of one’s beloved, but through the proper pursuit of honor and glory attained in devoted service to the common good of one’s polis or fatherland.54 One wonders whether this teaching is sufficient, or whether the human desire to be brought to perfection, the longing for such “wholeness” and completion, and the profoundly natural erotic need of human beings for a self-forgetting union do not simply come to know contentment through the exercise of the political art par excellence. Kritoboulos and Hermogenes, for example, not to mention Socrates himself, would hardly agree that such hopes supplied by insatiable erōs can be satisfied by engaging in politics (cf. 4.12–16, 4.23, 8.12, 4.27). From the point of view of Socrates’ praise of heavenly erōs, however, love of the fatherland is inextricably bound to the friendly love of soul, of friendship, and of noble deeds. Kallias’ erotic self-interest, that is, acquiring Autolykos by being a worthy fellow-worker of noble political deeds, is made to seem identical to the interests of the polis. Socrates, in keeping with his principle that not everything needs to be said openly or that it is better at times to remain silent, does not indicate in his speech the possibility that what is good or useful for the polis, “is frequently noble rather than good for the individual” (see Mem. III.5.21–28, but cf. I.1.18 and III.1.1). Put another way, he does not point to the gentleman’s natural desire to distinguish between what is beautiful or noble in itself, on one hand, and what is good or useful either for one’s self, family, polis or fatherland, on the other hand.55 Notwithstanding his silence, Socrates does manage to contrast the non-political erotic desire of gods for human beings, and of heroes for noble deeds, with the hortative example of political gentlemen whose erotic desire for what is beautiful or noble (καλός) is firmly attached to and in fact rooted in what is good or useful (ἀγαθός) for the polis. Socrates has eased

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his listeners into this contradistinction by transforming his praise of erōs into a fundamental concern for virtue, including especially political virtue, and culminating his logos with “praise of the health of one’s own soul.”56 Socrates now puts the finishing touches on his logos with an apologia addressed to all the men as a kind of epilogue, reiterating for them the strictly political context within which his logos has praised heavenly erōs, and the erotic benefits of virtue enjoyed by lovers of friendship (8.41): But if it seems to all of you that I’m speaking more seriously than is fitting with a view to drinking, do not be amazed at this. For of those who are good by nature and who long for virtue in an honor-loving manner I always am and continue to be, together with the polis, a fellow-lover.

Socrates advises his fellow-worshippers of Erōs that, if indeed his logos has been too serious, or rather has been delivered too seriously in their view (cf. 8.17), especially in light of what is fitting on the occasion of a symposion, then he should be forgiven.57 His defense of his own intoxication, in speech at least, is that the very Erōs which he set out to praise is to blame for having so inspired within him an erotic love that he shares with the polis, namely, a love of those who themselves are “good by nature” (ἀγαθῶν φύσει) and who “honorably yearn for virtue” (τῆς ἀρεττῆς φιλοτίμως ἐπιεμένων). That he has been aroused to such rhetorical heights, he says, should not be surprising (μηδὲ θαυμάζετε) because he is “fellow-lover” (συνεραστὴς) of such natures. But his apology must be somehow ironic, if, that is, one takes into consideration the judgment which was pronounced by Socrates himself during his logos—that “he who teaches what ought to be said and done should justly be honored, even as Cheiron and Phoenix were honored by Achilleus” (8.23). Does not Socrates deserve to be “honored” for speaking seriously and for teaching Kallias what ought to be done with respect to erōs? Or rather, is his erotic match-making between Kallias and the polis to be overlooked and dismissed, and Socrates forgiven, because he has been “speaking too seriously” (σπουδαιολῆσαι μᾶλλον) and excessively “with a view to drinking”? If so, then Socrates’ apologia may need to be directed to another audience entirely, since what he has just revealed, to these men at least, is that he himself is a rival with the polis (to say nothing of Kallias) in “always” pursuing the love of the most promising souls.58 While the other men continue to discuss what verdict to bring in when it comes to Socrates’ possible “convivial misbehavior” (παρρησία), Kallias seems to take very seriously what Socrates has said about Erōs, for he immediately solicits Socrates’ services—no doubt with a coy glance at young Autolykos—in procuring the interest of the polis on his behalf (8.42): “Now while the others were discussing (διελέγοντο) what had been said (περὶ τῶν ῥηθέντων), Autolykos was gazing upon (κατεθεᾶτο) Kallias, and Kallias, was glancing toward him.” Kallias, with a playfulness brimming with erotic longing, appeals to Socrates for assistance in being able to learn how to “engage in the political things” (πράττω τὰ πολιτικὰ) and thus prove “always pleasing” (ἀεὶ ἀρεστὸς) to the polis. Whatever else may be said of Kallias, he now seems determined to acquire the polis as a beloved by engaging in “the political things” in a manner which is pleasing to the polis, and also especially to Autolykos (1.12). In soliciting Socrates to take his case, Kallias assumes of course that Socrates already knows and understands, indeed has considered and sought out, those very things that have already been mentioned, which are necessary to possess in order to be held pleasing by the polis. Socrates, in turn, seems to respond enthusiastically to Kallias’ solicitation (8.43):



Educating Gentlemen and Moderating Erōs 285 “Yes, by Zeus!” said Socrates, “that is, if they at least see you, not just seeming to be but really being someone who cares for virtue. For a false reputation is quickly refuted by means of a trial; whereas true good-manliness, unless a god hinders, always when put into practice assists in acquiring a more splendid fame.”

This final oath of Socrates, and final oath of the dialogue, does not simply suffice to constitute his acceptance of Kallias’ proposition, since it is immediately followed by a quiet disclaimer regarding Socrates’ services in light of Kallias’ desire for virtue. It is unlikely, we can presume, that Socrates took Kallias any more seriously here than he did in the scene that preceded the banquet (1.3–6). In other words, it is not likely that Socrates took Kallias to be “earnestly concerned with virtue” since Kallias, while highly reputed for his lineage and beauty, was never among the good natures whom Socrates often playfully said that he loved and whom Xenophon recollected as being pursued by his Socrates.59 Even if Kallias were indeed in earnest, and not “quickly refuted” by a trial of his concern for virtue, there is still a chance that Socrates’ daimonion would intervene and hinder Socrates from acting seriously as a matchmaker between Kallias and the polis. Yet at the end of his seemingly very “serious” logos, Socrates seems willing (and able) to engage in serious deeds—which is to say, political deeds—by exercising, in all seriousness, the art accompanying his avowed procurer’s art, though perhaps for the last time, by pandering or prostituting Kallias in a way that is pleasing to Athens. The “success” of Socrates’ exercise of this procuring art may be judged from Xenophon’s portrait in his Hellenika of Kallias (Hellenika VI.3), or perhaps Charmides, whose erotic nature is closest to that of Kallias (Mem. III.7, Hellenika II.4.1–19). The “seriousness” of the match-making deeds of Socrates, in other words, are questionable, or at least Xenophon himself provides evidence that calls them into question and justifies our disregard of them.60 Such a judgment should already be clear from what has been said above regarding Socrates’ conversation with the sober Syracusan (in Sections Six and Seven), where it was made evident that a greater parrēsia was more in order there than anywhere else. Which is to say, Socrates’ logos in Section Eight is not spoken seriously, but rather is spoken ironically and with a view to the intoxication of Kallias as well as the others.61 Hermogenes’ praise was premature because he misjudged the sober character of Socratic rhetoric. Socrates’ exercise of ta politika through the political education of Kallias (in Section Eight) bears a certain resemblance to his ironic recommendation to the other symposiasts (in Section Two) with respect to the institution of marriage and the education of wives. One commentator argues that this match-making of Socrates, bringing Kallias together with the polis, is a “deed” performed “in fun” and thus lacking in seriousness, although—as we shall see in the final chapter of this study—this may not be “his only deed to speak of.”62 Finally, as we approach an end to Kallias’ banquet, we should not forget that the love of wisdom, or philosophy, which Kallias had professed was his concern at the start of the evening, seems to have been fully forgotten at this point, eclipsed by Socrates’ praise of gentlemanly erōs whose benefits are associated with the honorable rewards given to politically ambition gentlemen—the greatest of whom are said to be Themistocles, Pericles, and Solon. The question of the relation of erōs to philosophy is thus completely obscured in Xenophon’s Symposium by Socrates’ rhetoric about that form of erōs which conforms with gentlemanliness and its relation to, influence on, and rewards from political life. A hint of that other relation between erōs and philosophy may be heard in Socrates’ advice to Kallias with respect to Solon’s exercise of “the political things” (see 8.39: φιλοσοφήσας). Xenophon

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and his Socrates, however, we can imagine, do not for a moment forget that the highest activities and desires of human beings, that is, the activities and desires of the soul beyond any concern for the body, are divided between politics and the philosophy.

NOTES 1.  Strauss 1958/1996, 168–169 [= Pangle 1989, 139]. 2.  See Danzig 2005. For the most recent assessment of this controversy, see Altman 2022. I see no reason to quarrel with Altman’s general conclusions about the relative composition date for the two Symposia, with that of Xenophon preceding and, to some extent, informing that of Plato. At the opposite extreme is Winans (1881, x) whose edition of the Symposium simply omits Section Eight on the grounds that it is “unessential” and introduces “matters not suited to the plan and purpose” of the volume, which was meant to serve as a medium for instruction in ancient Greek language and grammar, without intention of spurring thought, let alone a consideration of the philosophical (not to mention erotic) content. Thesleff (1978) speculates that Xenophon revised the text of his Symposium, especially Socrates’ speech about erōs, in partial response to the appearance of Plato’s Symposium, but this speculation does not warrant assertions of “dependence” by Xenophon’s earlier text upon Plato’s later text: cf. Bowen 1998, Introduction, §15, 118n1, commenting on 8.1. Such scholars base their claims largely on a prejudicial opinion about the superiority of Plato’s prose, without any close consideration of Xenophon’s Socratic rhetoric in composition. For a specific reading of the intertextuality of the two Symposia on the basis of the duality of Aphrodite argued by Socrates here and Plato’s Pausanius (180d–181e), see Pentassuglio 2012. For a proposed “new paradigm” of the relationship between Xenophon and Plato, see Altman 2018. 3.  For a complete study of Socrates’ physiognomy in the portraits of Xenophon and Plato, see Stavru 2018. 4.  Strauss 1972, 170: “When the Syracusan left in order to prepare a graceful show, Socrates started another speech.” 5.  While the Syracusan’s bluntness is akin to Antisthenes’ harsh speech, his Aristophanean accusations bear more in common with the silent accusation of Hermogenes about Socrates’ account of his understanding of the highest things. It remains to be seen if the reformed Syracusan, upon his return and judging from what we see in his last performance, resembles another of Socrates’ companions and lovers. 6.  The translation of this passive verb (συνεκροτεῖτο) is usually “was applauded” but could also be translated in the middle voice as “to practice” or “prepare oneself ” which, according to Bartlett (1996-a, 163n91) matches the Latin translation of the Symposium by Leonclavius (1569) and a recent German translation by G. P. Landmann (1957); cf. Bowen 1998, 118, commenting on 8.1. 7. This familiar address is used here for the first time since Antisthenes’ defense of his “wealth” (4.34). The next and last use of this familiar address belongs to the Syracusan (9.2). No one addresses this gathering of men as “gentlemen”—with the exception of Xenophon (1.1), Strauss in his commentary (1972), and perhaps Kritoboulos (4.10), though Socrates in his last speech treats his fellow symposiasts as if they are, or at least desire to be, thought of as gentlemen (καλοκἄγαθοι) with respect to ἔρως. 8. See Mem. II.1.31; Herodotus 4.79.5; Euripides, Bacchae. See also, Bowen 1998, 119, commenting on 8.1: “Xenophon uses a word particularly associated with worshippers of Bakkhos.” 9.  On the divinity of Erōs, see Plato, Symposium 178a7, cf. 202d13. Xenophon’s Socrates speaks first of the presence of a powerful δαίμων but then fuses his use of this word with θεός (8.1, cf. 8.9–10). 10.  The equivalence of ἔρως and human soul (ψυχή) is difficult to accept or understand. With the manuscripts, Bartlett (1996-a, 165n92) rejects the conjecture proposed by those who read ἱδρουμένου as “enthroned or seated in” the soul, such as Todd in the Loeb edition (1923) and Ollier in the Budé edition (1961). See also, Richards 1902, 294, which suggests “enters into” (εἰσδυόμενου) as an alternative. 11.  Bartlett 1996-b, 176.



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12.  See Higgins 1977, 20: “At the end of the party, Kallias walks out with Autolykos to the young victor’s exercises. Socrates follows along, doubtless seeking once again to fall under the effect of Autolykos’ beauty which he felt at the party’s beginning. Not everyone else goes with Socrates, but Xenophon, a guest like the others, could have been among them.” 13.  See Strauss 1972, 171: “They all—Socrates, Charmides, Kritoboulos, Nikeratos, and Hermogenes—are lovers, although not all of them lovers of human beings; Hermogenes is in love with perfect gentlemanship, whatever it may be, as was shown by his whole demeanor, with which we have been made thoroughly familiar through the Symposium; Hermogenes’ love is surely connected with his enjoying the friendship of the most august gods (cf. 4.49).” For reasons that are later made evident, Strauss omits from his list of “all” lovers, in addition to the Syracusan, who is absent, the names Antisthenes and Lykon as well as Autolykos and Kallias. Socrates, of course, will have something to say about the loves of all of them, except Lykon. 14.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 183: “In order to understand Socrates better insofar as he is not a lover ordinarily understood, it may be helpful to sketch the state of soul of his opposite, the lover Critoboulus, who is head over heels in love with a certain Cleinias.” 15.  On philosophical companionship and pedagogical erōs, especially insofar as Socratic education (παιδεία) reshapes traditional education through care of the soul (ἐπιμέλεια τῆς ψυχῆς), see Pentassuglio 2020c. 16.  Pangle 2016, 457–458. 17.  See Plato, Gorgias 481d1–4; cf. Plato, Sym. 216d2–4, 217b7–218d5. 18.  See Strauss 1972, 171: “This is another jocular expression for what [Socrates] had expressed before by handing over his art of procuring to Antisthenes (4.60–61).” But Socrates’ toleration of Antisthenes must be examined also from the point of view of how it benefits Antisthenes. This is clear when the quotation of Strauss above is set beside Strauss’ reading (1972, 165) of the passage from the Symposium which is cited therein, and when that in turn is placed alongside Strauss’ reading (1972, 15–16, 31–32) of the very passages from the Memorabilia there cited. In this way, we begin to see that Antisthenes is a companion of Socrates who is more akin to Alcibiades and Kritias, the kind of men who sought Socrates’ company because they were by nature ambitious, as opposed to the other kind of companions who passed their time with Socrates and were represented by the central figure of Hermogenes, those “true” associates “who were together with Socrates not in order to become political or forensic orators but in order to become perfect gentlemen,” men who “minded their own business” and “led a strictly private life,” but whom Xenophon “did not say were gifted men.” Thus: “The question which is left open in the Memorabilia (I.2.48 and 6.15) is answered in the Symposium.” Antisthenes’ career after the death of Socrates, especially as a founder of a philosophic sect, would seem to warrant the suggestion implied here; namely, that he was one of those companions of Socrates who was politically ambitious and perhaps even gifted by nature, with the additional qualification that Socrates’ attempt to “moderate” such companions met with greater success in the case of the cynical, yet decent Antisthenes, than in the case of the violent Kritias or the tyrannical Charmides. On Antisthenes’ reputation as “the most influential of the Socratics in his own day” and his philosophical legacy, see Vander Waerdt 1994, 3n11, 7; McKirahan 1994, 369–377. 19.  See Xen. Apo. 12–13; Mem I.1.1–5, 1.9, 3.5, IV.3.14, 8.1; cf. Plato, Euthydemus 272e; Euthyphro 3b; Theaetetus 151a; Phaedrus 242b–c; Republic 496c; Apology 27c–e, 31c–d, 33c, 37e; Theages 128d–131a. 20.  See Strauss 1972, 171. 21.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 193–194: “As for the facts to which Hermogenes appeals and that are obviously so powerful to him, namely that the gods have made known to him their extraordinary care for him, Xenophon permits us to wonder whether, in one crucial case at least, the providence Hermogenes attributes to the gods is not due in fact to the calculations of Socrates. . . . However this may be, one can surely say of Hermogenes that, within the limits imposed by his poverty, he practices perfect gentlemanliness and, again within those limits, he serves the gods irreproachably (4.49; cf. Mem. 1.3.3).” 22.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 194: “The nobility that transcends calculations of utility turns out to be supplemented and supported by gods who, in their perfect knowledge and capacity, see to it that the

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goods of each is provided for. Hermogenes assures his well-being with the greatest imaginable security precisely by acting for the sake of what is noble in the spirit of perfect gentlemanliness, or by forgetting considerations of his own well-being. If the gods are pleased by nobility and goodness, it is sensible to be noble and good and hence to please providential gods (see also Mem. 4.3.17).” 23. Bartlett 1996-b, 184–185, 194; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1155b23–26, 1159a10–12, 1166a14–18. 24.  See Plato, Apology 40a–c (West trans.): “For to me, judges—for by calling you judges I would address you correctly—something wondrous has happened. For my customary divination from the daimonion was always very frequently in all former time, opposing me even in quite small matters if I were about to do something incorrectly. . . . But the sign of the god did not oppose me when I left my house this morning. . . . What, then, do I take to be the cause of this? I will tell you. Probably what has occurred to me has turned out to be good. . . . For there is no way that the accustomed sign would not have opposed me unless I were about to do something good.” 25.  Given that, in the speech that is to come, Socrates clearly, if ironically, demonstrates his skill in exercising the art of matchmaking, consider the discussion of Socrates’ rhetorical limits, based on the particular nature of his addressee and the willingness of the divine: see Morrison 1994, 198–203, esp. 201n33. 26.  Socrates’ list of lovers, if indeed Antisthenes and Lykon can both be excluded, numbers only five: Charmides, Kritoboulos, Nikeratos, Hermogenes, and Kallias. If Antisthenes, despite Socrates’ exclusion of him, is added to the list, then Socrates speaks of six lovers altogether. However, there may be reason to speak of a hidden seventh lover: Xenophon. See Strauss 1972, 171: “He thus has shown that all gentlemen present are lovers; he has naturally omitted Lykon, who cares only for his beautiful son. But we must not forget the invisible and inaudible Xenophon, for he too is a lover, in fact he is as much, as his Antisthenes a lover of Socrates but [one] distinguished from the harsh and pedantic Antisthenes by his light-heartedness, grace, and flexibility. It is difficult to believe that his love was not requited.” There is, in this way as well, a kinship between the silent Xenophon and the absent (but reformed) Syracusan whose final performance in Section Nine is most of all characterized by the kind of appropriateness and grace that Socrates had recommended to him in Section Seven. With the addition suggested by Strauss, the list would number seven and would return Hermogenes to his place at the center: Charmides, Kritoboulos, Nikeratos, Hermogenes, Antisthenes, Kallias, and Xenophon or the Syracusan. 27.  See Strauss 1972, 171–172: “His speech will be altogether political, and if it transcends the political, it transcends it not toward philosophy but toward the mythical [or poetry].” Kallias’ twin loves for Autolykos and philosophy, in Xenophon’s Symposium, thus seem to run parallel with the twin loves of Plato’s Socrates for Alcibiades and philosophy. Socrates’ love for Alcibiades is also attested by Aeschines (Alc., fr. 11): see Kahn 1994, 91–92. 28.  On the prestige of Kallias and his family, see the discussion supra; see also, Bowen 1998, 13n48, and Davies 1971, 254–270, both of whom comment that Kallias’ “remarkable family” is “attested through more generations than any other in classical Athens.” 29.  See Bowen 1998, 120, commenting on 8.10, who notices the “remarkable hyperbaton” which literally circumscribes the first line in the quotation given below in the text: “The passion that embraces Kallias verbally embraces the sentence.” Socrates, of course, not Kallias, is the author of this restrained phrase. 30.  There is, of course, a very important difference between being inspired or “possessed” by erōs, on one hand, and being believed to subscribe to or to serve one or the other of the two cults of erōs, on the other. In the former case, recklessness and restraint would depend upon the presence in the human soul of one or the other of two overpowering, yet opposed gods, and would seem to negate all praise of moral virtue, such as would be appropriate in the latter case. See Strauss 1972, 172: “If, as Socrates does not exclude, there is only one Aphrodite, both kinds of eros have one and the same source and a simple opposition of them is not possible.” 31.  See Strauss 1972, 172. 32.  On the relationship between Aphrodite, Zeus, and Hera, who reigns alongside him as queen, see Morford and Lenardon 2003, 110–113: “Zeus is an amorous god [and his] behavior may be depicted as amoral or immoral or merely a joke—the supreme god can stand above conventional standards. At



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other times he will act in harmony with them, and more than once must face the shrewish harangues of his wife, Hera [who] consistently appears as the vehement wife and mother who will punish and avenge the romantic escapades of her husband; she consistently acts with matronly severity, a severe champion of morality and marriage.” On Zeus’ love for Ganymede, who shares the honor with Hebe, the goddess of youthful bloom (the literal meaning of her name), of being the cupbearer of the gods, see Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 5.202–217. 33.  Hermogenes here mirrors the younger Pericles, who also is attuned to Socrates’ use of praise to educate: see Mem. III.5.24. On the indirect consequences of Socrates’ exhortation of this Pericles, see Hellenika I.7. 34.  Socrates has avoided swearing by Zeus for some time (since 5.1, the beginning of the beauty contest), choosing instead to swear in another way (6.4 and 8.6). In general, Socrates’ use of oaths is less frequent in the second half of the dialogue, that is, in the absence of laughter from the symposium (since 4.45, only 8 times; only twice in Sections Five through Seven). 35.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 183: “Socrates’ long speech . . . appears to be critical only of pederasty, [but] one might suppose that Socrates takes a much kindlier view of other manifestations of eros.” See also, Strauss 1972, 174: “Socrates shows then through selected myths that gods and heroes too esteem the friendship of the soul more highly than the enjoyment of the body . . . regarding [Ganymede], Socrates affirms that Zeus carried him up to Olympos on account, not of his body, but of his soul. When speaking of the heroes or half-gods, Socrates mentions only their relations to their male friends—relations free from bodily desire and inspired only by mutual admiration which led to joint action of the greatest grandeur and nobility.” 36.  See Strauss 1972, 178; esp. Strauss 1949/1991, 196: “At this point we get involved in a selfcontradiction. For, if Socrates is the representative par excellence of the philosophic life, the philosopher cannot possibly be satisfied with a group of philosophic friends but has to out to the market place where, as everyone knows, Socrates spent much or most of his time. However, the same Socrates suggested that there is no essential difference between the city and the family, and the thesis of Friedrich Mentz, Socrates nec officiosus maritus nec laudandus paterfamilias (Leipzig 1716) is defensible: Xenophon goes so far as not to count the husband of Xanthippe among the married men (Symposium, in fine).” See Bartlett 1996-b, 183: “Socrates is, after all, a married man . . . yet [he] accounts for his marriage, in a suitably lighthearted way, by explaining its utility. . . . That his marriage is not a union of two lovers is clearly implied at the end of the Symposium. . . . The husband Socrates really belongs among the unmarried men; he is a de facto bachelor.” See also, Bartlett 1996-b, 183n6, citing Friedrich Nietzsche, Genealogy of Morals 3.7, cf. Human, All Too Human §433. 37.  Homer’s Odysseus, having first restrained himself by being bound to the mast, learned charming songs from the Sirens: see Ody. XII.35–200. Socrates’ extraordinary continence may account for his own binding, and hence his self-restraint and immunity to such charms. See Mem. II.1.1 and II.6.11, 6.31. 38.  See Pangle 2020, 141: “This is the sole occasion in the Socratic writings of Xenophon or of Plato where Socrates is depicted as confessing, and not altogether jestingly, that he is propelled and overcome by a tinge of anger or thumos.” On thumos, see Oik. 17.14–15; Plato, Republic 437a–440d. 39.  Pangle 2020, 141. 40.  See Strauss 1972, 174: “We venture to draw this conclusion, which is subject to the qualification touched upon shortly before: love of the soul alone is necessarily love of a male human being for another; if love of the body is joined to love of the soul, man’s love of woman is by far superior to his homosexual love.” 41.  Pausanius appears in Plato’s Symposium where he praises Erōs at great length (180c–185c), but only after he has divided Aphrodite into two (Heavenly and Vulgar), the truth of which duality Xenophon’s Socrates claims here he does not know. Pausanius also speaks in terms of what is customary in the various poleis, but it is Phaedrus who defends the army of dissolute lovers in his speech (178e– 179a). Bowen 1998, 123, commenting on 8.32, assumes Xenophon is borrowing from Plato’s text but makes this mistake because he “was probably not writing with Plato’s Symposium unrolled in front of him.” The dissolute character of Pausanius’ speech, which amazes Socrates, may be more consistent

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with Pausanius’ own intemperance and willingness to unleash lovers from almost all restraints: see Plato, Sym. 176a, 182d–183b. 42.  Bowen 1998, 123, commenting on 8.35: “Pausanius the antiquarian records a statue of Shame about four miles along the road north of Sparta (III 20.10).” 43. See Sappho, Fragment 50 (cited by Konstan 2014, 45): ὁ μὲν γὰρ κάλος ὅσσον ἴδην πέλεται / ὁ δὲ κἄγαθος αὔτικα καὶ κάλος ἔσσεται [he who is κάλος is κάλος just to see, / he who is also good will straightaway also be κάλος]. The “handsome” man appears to be so to all those who merely see him because he is physically attractive (κάλος), but the “good” man—howsoever, or in what manner or respect, such a man is deemed to be “good”—will be “noble” or “fine” as well, and thus attractive (κάλος) in the two senses of the word, physically and morally, as implied in the term “gentleman” (καλοκἄγαθος). 44.  See Bowen 1998, 123, commenting on 8.36, who says this word is first recorded in Xenophon, and that it later flourished but not in the same sense in which Xenophon’s Socrates made use of it. 45.  See Xenophon, Lakedaimonion Constitution 2–5, esp. 2.13–14. See also Strauss 1939. Xenophon’s sons received training in the Spartan ἀγωγή, though their education as Athenian gentlemen was surely brought to completion by their father, who served as Spartan proxenos at Olympos during his exile at their estate in the Peloponnese (Skillous): Xenophon, Anabasis V.3.7–13; Plutarch, Agesilaus 20.2. 46. See e.g., Plato, Sym. 196c, Crito 52d-e; Demosthenes 47.77, 48.54, 56.2; Hypereides 3.13; Isocrates 18.24. See also Carawan 2006; Gagliardi 2015, 375–380. 47.  The reading of Strauss (1972, 175), with a careful reference to inspiration at this point, seems to confirm once again Socrates’ intention not to clarify whether in fact Aphrodite is single or dual; which is to say, to leave ambiguous whether there is an opposition among the gods or among men between what is “heavenly” and what is vulgar. Cf. Bowen 1998, 123, commenting on 8.37, who says the verb used here is common in Homer for when gods put sentiments in human beings (e.g., Iliad III.139 and Odyssey XIX.10). 48.  See Bowen 1998, 124, commenting on 8.38, who rightly observes that andragathia is used by Xenophon only here and at 8.43 but mistakenly assumes that this virtue “is little removed” from kalo­ kagathia. Perhaps this mistake would not have been made if Bowen were more aware of the fact that Xenophon’s Socrates is repeatedly said by Xenophon to be interested in and to lead others by example to kalokagathia, whereas no mention whatsoever is made of his interest in or displays of andreia. 49.  See Strauss 1972, 175: “[Socrates] knows of course that this counterargument is irrelevant as regards the compatibility, so vehemently denied by him, of dissoluteness and bravery, just as he knows that a man may be an adulterer and yet be fit to rule (cf. Memorabilia II.1.15); the superiority of love of the soul to love of the body cannot be established on the plane of manliness and even of political life as a whole. But whatever the Thebans and Eleans may approve of, the Spartans are in full agreement with the Athenians, and the confirmation by Sparta, the hegemonial city par excellence, is obviously decisive.” 50. Regarding one particular disagreement between Socrates and this Pericles, in which Socrates advocates Athenian imitation of barbarian modes, see Mem. III.5.21–28 and Strauss 1972, 68: “By suggesting that the whole territory [of Attika] be defended against enemy incursions Socrates tacitly opposes the whole strategy of the great Pericles (Thucydides I.143.4–5 and II.13.2; cf. Xenophon, Res­ publica Atheniensium 2.16); this is to say nothing of the radical opposition to the older Pericles’ policy that is implied in the silence strictly observed throughout the conversation about the war between the Athenians and the Spartans.” We have already heard echoes of Socrates’ criticisms of Periclean policies in his praise of traditional Spartan training. Strauss identifies numerous other statements of Socrates which oppose the great Pericles (1972, 66–67), going so far as to say, in conversation with Socrates, Xenophon recollected that Pericles’ own son, Pericles, had “tacitly described” the great Periclean age in Athens “as an age of decline.” See Plato, Menexenus. 51.  See the fragments of Solon in Lewis 2006. 52.  Pericles’ Funeral Oration: Thucydides II.34–46, esp. 39.1–41.4, and 43.1 (γιγνομένους ἐραστὰς αὐτῆς). The only occurrence of any word related to “philosophy” in Thucydides occurs at II.40.1 (φιλοσοφοῦμεν), in conjunction with a reference to “love of the beautiful” (φιλοκαλοῦμέν). On Xe-



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nophon’s recollection of Socrates’ conversation with the younger Pericles as a kind of funeral oration, see Parks 2021. 53.  On the dangerous excesses of unrestrained erōs and Athenian imperialism, see Strauss 1964; Bruell 1974; Palmer 1982; Forde 1989, 26—47; Orwin 1994, 15–29. 54.  Mem. III.5.2–17: Socrates, in conversation with the son of Pericles, argues that ideally a mutual friendship governs the relations among the members of the Athenian polis, and when partisan divisions separate them, good leaders prevent stasis and reunite them in agreement so that homonoia once again prevails. See also, Loraux 2006, 246–252. Hermogenes and the younger Pericles share an imprudent idealism: see Parks 2021. 55. Strauss 1972, 167; see also, Bartlett 1996-b, 192: “. . . in the Memorabilia, Socrates advises Pericles the son of the great Pericles on certain practical political measures and urges him to carry them out, for if he does so, ‘it will be noble for you and good for the city’ (3.5.25–28). The service to one’s city, then, is good for the city and noble for the individual; the noble and the good are here separate considerations, just as they are by implication in the very title ‘gentleman’ (literally, ‘noble and good’). As Aristotle says, the gentleman acts for the sake of what is noble, that is, not with a view to some further reward or recompense apart from the beauty of the actions themselves (e.g., Eth. Nic. 1120a23–24).” The outcome of the younger Pericles’ involvement in Athenian political affairs, as Xenophon makes clear elsewhere, is very instructive: Xenophon, Hellenika I.7. See Strauss 1972, 68. On the Arginusae affair, see Gish 2011a; Gish 2012. 56.  Bartlett 1996-b, 182. 57.  Again, cf. Plato, Sym. 218a-b. 58.  See Bartlett 1996-b, 181n4: “. . . one must wonder whether he is not in competition with the city for those most promising souls.” One must wonder, in other words, if the polis has just cause to suspect Socrates rather than honor him. 59.  See Strauss 1972, 176: “[Socrates] does not count Kallias among those who possess good natures in the precise sense (Memorabilia IV.1.2) or who have a soul by nature good (Oeconomicus XI.5–6).” 60.  See Strauss 1972, 176–177. 61.  On the sobriety of Socrates, see Plato, Sym. 214a; cf. Strauss 1972, 167. 62.  Strauss 1972, 177. On the seriousness of speeches over deeds, cf. Plato, Apology 32a5; Republic 473a.

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For it does not seem to me that this good is completely a human thing, but rather is divine— this power to rule over willing subjects: since surely it has only been given to those who in truth have been initiated into the mysteries of moderation.1

THE FINAL JUDGMENT With the conclusion of his logos on erōs, we hear no further from Socrates.2 Having made a new beginning in speech, following his restoration of order through song, Socrates showed the way to Erōs by conducting Kallias and his band of revelers with logos. In the Syracusan’s absence, he transformed himself from elected symposiarchos (3.2) into a kind of unpaid ὀρχηστήρ, the head-priest or dance-master (cf. 2.15, 9.3), who literally and figuratively leads gatherings or associations of initiates and “fellow-worshippers” in the praise and rites of Aphrodite, or Erōs. With the return of the Syracusan, Socrates retreats from his role as the active leader of the chorus into silence, thus silently to observe the culminating act of the Symposium—the epiphany of Dionysos, god of wine and erotic intoxication. His deliberations or thoughts about the potent, yet moderating performance orchestrated by the Syracusan are withheld. We are struck instead by the juxtaposition or coupling of Socratic logos (8.1–9.1, beg.) and Socratic ergon (see 9.7) which frames the final scene. Prior to the arrival of the Syracusan, however, and just as Socrates’ logos in praise of Erōs “came to a close,” the youth Autolykos rose to depart from the symposium—for his usual time “to take his walk through the colonnades,” presumably early in the morning, had come. Lykon rose with his son to depart but turned around at the door and addressed Socrates, saying: “By Hera, Socrates, you seem to me to be a noble and good human being” (9.1). His praise of Socrates seems to reflect Lykon’s judgment of the erōs-taming speech which Socrates has just finished delivering to Kallias and his son. Thus, the final oath in the Symposium is sworn to affirm the proclamation of the gentleman who, years later, would conspire to bring charges against Socrates for corruption of the youth, the only father among his three formal accusers. But, as Xenophon intends to recall here, there was no animosity between the father and Socrates on this particular evening; on the contrary, Lykon commends Socrates for his 293

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improvised political lesson. In his judgment, Socrates seems to be a “noble and good human being” (καλός γε κἀγαθὸς ἄνθρωπος). Remembering their only other exchange in the dialogue (2.3–5), it seems Lykon was testing Socrates when he questioned him about the proper smell of mature men who no longer train in the gymnasium, namely, kalokagathia, and where one lays hold of such an ointment in place of the olive oil which is more appropriate to young men who are free. While no doubt presuming himself to possess gentlemanliness, though not to be a teacher of it (except perhaps by example), Lykon is interested in virtue, in kalokagathia, for the sake of his son. Socrates’ response, borrowed from the traditional poet of symposia, Theognis, had seemed to satisfy Lykon, who encouraged his son to pay attention. Whether or not the silent Autolykos has been paying attention to Socrates himself, or to the conversations over the course of the entire symposium, we cannot say. What we can say is that the Socratic education regarding Erōs, though a logos, or rather, muthos, spoken with a view to Kallias, was heard by Autolykos’ father. With his final words in the Symposium, the one among the symposiasts who seemed most eager to find a teacher of gentlemanliness for his son confirms Socrates’ possession of kalokagathia, that virtue which Lykon’s young son must learn, if he is to become a mature and respectable man. Socrates by this means also justifies his claim to take pride in the art of match-making (3.10: μαστροπεία, 4.56–60: ἀγαθὸς μαστροπὸς, see 8.40).3 In other words, Symposium 8.7–9.1 could be read as a kind of Socratic defense in advance against the corruption charge at his trial, just as Symposium 6.6–7.5 has been interpreted as a kind of Socratic defense against the older charge of impiety stemming from the caricature of Socrates by the comic poet Aristophanes. Xenophon, as the one who is remembering this symposion among many which Socrates attended, has chosen it for recollection because certain “deeds” of gentlemen, even or especially in times of play, are worth recalling. Such a recollection, like those explicitly in his Memorabilia, would serve to refute such charges against Socrates, yet doing so with reference to the gentlemen’s own preference for actions over speeches. In this case, the Socratic deed which defends Socrates—in the eyes of a conventional gentleman like Lykon—is the delivery of a speech befitting in content and in purpose the explicit concerns of gentlemen for the perpetuation of virtue, as they understand it. The ironic nature of the speech is necessarily concealed, even as it is revealed to the judging gentleman, who approves it; its being delivered by Socrates in expressed seriousness as an exhortation to gentlemanliness does not negate its playfulness from the point of view of one who recognizes the inherent limits of such a speech when it comes to its intended audience, or who grasps its insufficiency as an account of virtue simply. But the judgment of Lykon is not absolute. He grants that while Socrates “seems” to him (δοκεῖς μοι) to possess whatever it is that evidently makes a human being “noble and good” (καλός γε κἀγαθὸς)—which is to say, that Socrates is a gentleman (καλοκἄγαθος) of sorts, he nonetheless stops short of affirming Socrates to be an exemplary model of this virtue, even if Lykon is satisfied that he has demonstrated an ability to teach gentlemanliness or virtue in speech. Indeed, his oath, a very unusual one for men,4 seems to betray or hint at a subtle challenge to Socrates’ way of life, one that is consistent with a certain ambiguity in his praise of Socrates. For Lykon makes it a point to refer in his commendation of him to Socrates’ humanity—calling him ἄνθρωπος, “human being”—rather than to his manliness (ἀνδρεία). This subtle expression of slight unease, or something less than complete affirmation, as expressed in his own explicit choice of words is made more evident when we recall that Socrates had just exhorted Kallias, and by indirection Autolykos, to exercise and pursue a genuine reputation in the polis for “true good-manliness” (8.43: ἀληθὴς ἀνδραγαθία). Lykon’s parting remark implies that while Socrates is indeed a noble (kalos) and good (agathos) human being whose speech



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may be worth hearing, but he is not a man of deeds, a real man (ἀνήρ) whose example is worth following.5 Even the otherwise plodding mind of “a man of few words,” as the dialogue clearly reveals Lykon to be, has intuited something about Socrates which prevented him from really being, in Socrates’ own words, “one of those men to whom the name of gentleman is justly applied” (Oik. 6.12).6 Lykon therefore “sensed” that Socrates did not deserve to be called a gentleman, in the usual sense or meaning of that word. In this regard, but not for the same reasons, he implicitly and unknowingly agrees with Xenophon who, in recollecting and passing judgment on the man who is the subject of his Memorabilia, quietly refrains from including manliness, or andreia, in his list of Socrates’ virtues.7 Yet there is a further, graver consequence which may have followed from Lykon’s judgment of Socrates, which is “final” only insofar as it represents his last comment and comes at or near the end of Xenophon’s Symposium. We recall here, as no doubt would Xenophon’s readers, that Nikeratos and Autolykos were murdered during the reign of the Thirty Tyrants, among whom was Charmides. Nikias, the father of Nikeratos, of course, did not himself live to grieve the loss of his son, but Lykon did. Now while Charmides himself was killed before the restoration of democracy at Athens, some of his friends survived. As one of the three accusers of Socrates, it may be inferred that Lykon, whose son was killed by the violent regime led by Kritias and Charmides (among others), must have remembered bitterly that evening years before which he had passed in the company of Charmides as a younger man. During that symposion, Lykon probably remembered Charmides (along with Antisthenes and Hermogenes) had openly acknowledged Socrates as the source of that “wealth” which he boasted having received from Socrates and which he claimed made it possible for him to entertain or pursue his rather tyrannical inclinations. By association, then, Lykon must have deemed Socrates a teacher of tyrants and the proximate, if not immediate cause of his grief; and in the absence of Charmides himself, the bereaved father sought to punish Socrates for the loss of his dear son.8 Unlike the initial and final recollections of his Memorabilia, or his account of Hermogenes’ recollection of the apologia of Socrates, Xenophon’s Symposium presents a defense of his teacher which is worthy of Socrates himself. For the action of the dialogue defends Socrates from the grave charge leveled against him at this trial by Autolykos’ father—namely, that Socrates was guilty of corrupting the youth and especially the sons of aristocratic gentlemen, and hence a threat to the conventional order of the polis. And it does so not only through the eyes of the pious Hermogenes (cf. Apology), or with a view to defending Socrates and the Socratic life, in general, as being just (see Mem. IV.8), but with respect to an audience of conventional gentlemen who honor deeds more than speeches. But, in this peculiar defense of Socrates, which Xenophon offers in the Symposium, a defense that depends upon the recognition that Socratic rhetoric transforms a speech into a deed, we also are provided a glimpse into the Socratic life under explicitly playful conditions, a glimpse or glimpses which were consistent with the lighthearted atmosphere of a drinking party but which, in another setting, would only have seemed to aggravate (rather than ameliorate) the accusation of boasting or “big-talking” (μεγαληγορία) that inevitably attended Xenophon’s defense of Socrates in his (as well as Plato’s) Apology. What is more, as a witness to that occasion, Xenophon also had occasion in his Symposium to convey his own understanding of Socratic rhetoric.

THE FINAL SCENE—ABSENCE AND PRESENCE Once Lykon and his son take their leave of Kallias’ banquet, the absent Syracusan returns with those “things to behold” (θεάματα) which he promised would “please” them all, including his

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critic Socrates, who had found some faults with the appropriateness of his performances thus far. Had father and son remained to witness this final scene, with its vivid manifestation of the kind of private and non-political erotic association earlier omitted, or silently buried (4.59), and obscured or transmuted in Socrates’ logos on gentlemanly erōs, Socrates would have had additional reasons to be rather critical of the Syracusan, whose final performance seems not only to be inappropriate for a youth like Autolykos but also to run counter to the Socratic rhetoric exhorting the virtues of moderation and restraint in erotic affairs among gentlemen. Having led the gentlemen’s chorus in singing the praises of heavenly Erōs, in his all-tooserious speech that admittedly verged on parrhēsia, Socrates now relinquishes his authority as the symposiarch to the Syracusan, whose return to center-stage literally orchestrates the arrival of (or “brings in”)9 the god Dionysos. This performance prepared by the Syracusan is doubly “playful,” both insofar as it emerges as a “play-within-the-play” of the dialogue, and as it poignantly displays the drunkenness and eroticism of Dionysos moderated by his love for his beautiful wife, Ariadne, a mortal renowned for wisdom. The reveling god Dionysos playfully comes to light as a devoted and affectionate husband, a comic (not to say absurd) portrait of this deity. Their marriage of divine and human, mortal and immortal, functions paradoxically10 as a kind of visual rhetoric which is at once playful and serious in that complements, and more precisely carries through to its completion, the image of heavenly or chaste erōs which Socrates had sketched in his serious, yet ironic speech. On the surface, however, it is the more obvious and radical differences in the two performances of Socrates and the Syracusan which seem most striking. Socrates had explicitly praised the friendly love of soul (although not only of soul) between male human beings (8.13–27); between Zeus and certain sons of his with “good souls” whom the god admired and rewarded with immortality, by virtue of his association with them (8.29); between Zeus and a beautiful mortal man whose soul and judgment Zeus and the other gods admired (8.30); and finally, between Homeric heroes who made use of this friendly love to accomplish together the greatest and noblest things (8.31). Socrates rounds out his defense of this superior love of soul by situating the liberal association of friendly lovers within the horizon of the public and political, exhorting Kallias and his intended beloved to pursue with gentlemanliness the kind of noble deeds that such an association inspires and rewards, being as it is honored by family, friends, fatherland, and polis (8.37–41).11 Only in passing did Socrates touch upon the physical love shared by mortal men and women (8.21), or the attraction of a male god to the bodily form of mortal women (8.29). But this form of heteroerotic love, on the other hand, appears vividly as the subject of the dramatic performance explicitly staged by the Syracusan through his youths. The mimetic activity (μίμησις) orchestrated by the Syracusan arouses pleasure in the viewers through its resemblance or likeness to what is real as well as a desire to enjoy for themselves what is so marvelous (θαυμάσιον) and intoxicating (ἔκστασις) to see being performed.12 In their imitation of the physical, or bodily, erotic love of a male god for a mortal woman, the Syracusan’s performers abandon mimetic pretense and proceed to enact the erotic love between male and female human beings which is common, or (in the dichotomistic terms of Socrates’ logos) “vulgar” (8.9). This form of erōs is in some sense political because it serves the polis in a mundane way through its natural generative consequences but falls short of the politically salutary benefits that Socrates associated with the friendly love of gentlemen. This vulgar love is vindicated, in the perspective of the polis, by the legitimating institution of marriage—which is the dramatic context of the Syracusan’s performance. What had been represented as “illicit” in Socrates’ logos, namely, the erotic attraction of bodies for bodies, whether



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that attraction be pursued within the context of homogeneous or heterogeneous associations, is rendered legitimate and politically useful (at least from a demagogic point of view) by the legal status accorded to such unions and their natural issue. New members of the polis by such natural and political means come into being. But there is more to the performance than its embodiment of the political means by which conjugal erōs through the marital institution supplies the polis with new members. For these lovers, who are being performed, are not ordinary human beings. In addition to representing an erotic love between male and female, within the bond of marriage, the performers take on the roles of divinity and humanity. The playfulness between the young boy and girl who, throughout their performance, seem literally to have adopted the personae of “Dionysos” (arguably, the most famous immortal son of Zeus born of a mortal) and “Ariadne” (the weaver, exemplar of prudence). This impression that the performers have become the parts being performed is authenticated by Xenophon’s own accompanying narration of the final scene. For following the Syracusan’s introduction, in which, for the last time in the Symposium, the symposiasts are addressed as “men” (ὦ ἀνδρες), Xenophon calls the girl and boy by the names “Dionysos” and “Ariadne” as he describes for his audience the speechless action of their pantomime (9.2): At this point, first of all, a sort of throne was set down in the house, and then the Syracusan, having entered, said: “Men, Ariadne will enter the chamber belonging to her and Dionysos; after this, Dionysos will be present, having drunk beside the gods he will now come to her, and thereafter they will be playful with one another.”

The otherwise nameless youths take on new identities through their performance, transformed by their mimetic activity into the characters themselves. With this minimal preface, the Syracusan is setting the stage (poetically rather than literally) for the metamorphosis which he is also preparing the gentlemen to witness. In order to view the performance, which Xenophon allows to proceed in silence but cannot allow to be unperceived also by sight, we hear in some detail from the narration what is occurring on stage between Dionysos and Ariadne (9.3–4): After this, Ariadne, ornamented as a young wife, arrived and took her seat upon the throne. With Dionysos not yet having appeared, Bacchic music was played on the flute. From that point on they all admired the dance-teacher. For straight-away Ariadne, hearing this, acted in such a way that all perceived she listened gladly; and though she did not go to meet him, or even stand, it was visibly clear that she could hardly keep still. As Dionysos beheld her, he came dancing toward her as one would do in a most affectionate way, lay across her lap and, embracing her, kissed her, while she, though appearing as one who is modest, even so embraced him affectionately in return.

Xenophon narrates the performance so that readers hearing the description can see for themselves not only what the performers are doing but also how the audience is responding to them. Once the Bacchic music began and Ariadne responded, the men “admired” the Syracusan as “dance-teacher” (τὸν ὁρχηστροδιδάσκαλον). Ariadne’s dancing embodies the exotic “rhythm” (ὁ βακχεῖος ῥυθμός) as well as visibly (δήλη) conveying to the audience her own inward pleasure at listening, for she could hardly restrain her desire. Her look attracted Dionysos and drew him toward her “in a most affectionate way” (φιλικώτατα), and as he “kissed” her, or regarded her with affection (ἐφίλησεν), she too embraced him “affectionately” (φιλικῶς). The emphasis throughout this description is on an erotic attraction spoken of in

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terms of friendly affection (φιλικός). But it is also clear from their amorous embrace that there is clearly a physical or bodily element to their desire, one which moved those observing them too. Ariadne’s convincing performance of her anticipation of Dionysos and her thrill at his arrival, followed by their seductive performance of mutually affectionate embraces, elicit the approval and applause of “the symposiasts gazing on” (οἱ συμπόται ὁρῶντες) who call for more with a cry of “Encore!” (9.4) At this point, says Xenophon, it became perfectly clear to the audience that the performers, the one “beautiful” (καλὸν) and the other “in the bloom of her youth” (ὡραίαν), were not “posing” or pretending to be in love. For when they stood up and embraced, they were “truthfully (ἀληθινῶς) kissing each other.” And the symposiasts, watching, “beheld them all aflutter.” The word now used to describe the symposiasts as they behold the performers in love means to grow new wings, or to be excited and in a state of heightened sensibilities (ἀνεπτερωμένοι). When they heard Dionysos inquiring of her love for him and Ariadne, in turn, vowing that she loved him, “those near at hand” would themselves have sworn that, indeed, “the boy and girl loved one another (φιλεῖσθαι)” (9.5). To the men gazing on, the performance of “Dionysos” and “Ariadne” seems to give away entirely; Xenophon now refers to them once again as youths (τὸν παῖδα καὶ τὴν παῖδα). Immortal and mortal seem to merge indistinguishably within the young man and woman as they fall each into the other’s embrace, “eagerly” enjoying the mutual satisfaction and transcendent pleasure of their awakened erotic desire (9.6): “For they did not seem like ones who had been taught their poses (τὰ σχήματα) but ones longing to put into practice that which for a long time now they were eagerly desiring.” No longer simply being “playful” (see 9.2: παιξοῦνται πρὸς ἀλλήλους), but seriously being lovers, the boy and girl “ceased to pretend” and, insofar as the Syracusan’s performance has enabled or at least permitted them to do what they had been “for a long time . . . eagerly desiring,” they once more became themselves, or more than themselves—if it is indeed true, as Socrates said (8.1), that soul-dwelling erōs mediates or is the bond between the human and the divine.13 As if in a world unto themselves, so to speak, the lovers come to know happiness in their “self-forgetting union,” a completeness derived from the satisfaction or fulfillment of their erotic desire in a transcendent and immortalizing pleasure. But perhaps it is more precise to say that these two young lovers, for now, are “raised up” from the world of everyday life, enjoying the promise of their “sweet hopes” for one another through the possession of an everlasting happiness and kind of completeness which seems to persist as long as they are in each other’s embrace (see 4.25: τινὰς ἐλπίδας γλυκείας; but cf. 4.11–14 and 4.21–22, with 8.21 and 8.29, beg.). The highest aspirations of mortal beings, to overcome their perishing and taste immortality, depend for their fulfillment upon the satisfaction of an erotic attraction itself inspired by the appearance of the beautiful. In the performance of that erōs in its bodily manifestation, the Syracusan’s youths have embodied what Socrates had implied would best be pursued through the moderate affection of a gentlemanliness form of erotic association, one whose culmination is attained in political rather than private affairs. Xenophon does not exclude Socrates from the sensation that swept through those who beheld this erotic performance. But given his immunity to such charms, one wonders if there is not something even more attractive about the nobility of Socrates, who, to a remarkable degree sought to behold certain objects of contemplation—the loftiest beings (6.6–7, 7.1–5)—as good in and of themselves and not simply for what they bring us as human beings.14 The clarity of mind that comes with such an immunity, while perhaps being “useful” for seeing what each of the beings is on its own, would also surely not be “without a beauty or goodness of its own.”15



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Put another way, the most delightful performance or best work of the Syracusan “consists in bringing together men and women or rather husbands and wives,” since Dionysos and Ariadne are not just lovers but joined within the institution of marriage, thus uniting the two forms or halves of human nature which, in ancient times, according to Aristophanes (Plato, Sym. 188e–193e), had been sundered by Zeus.16 Thus the severed halves, male and female, possess an inborn or inherent longing to be brought back together, thereby healing the divine wound of their human nature. But the union of halves through sexual love—that is, the Erōs of Poetry—heals only the human body, and only temporarily. The work of Xenophon’s Socrates, on the other hand, “consists in bringing together” the polis and young men with good souls by nature and with an ambitious love of virtue, presumably for the sake of accomplishing noble deeds in the exercise of the political (τὰ πολιτικὰ: see 8.42). Socrates, being a fellow-lover (συνεραστὴς) with the polis, does not say in what sense he himself is “brought to completion” (διατελέω: 8.2, 8.18, 8.41, 4.44; cf. τέλος: 1.10, 2.2, 2.7, 4.64, 9.7) by his desire to be brought together with these same young men.17 If indeed Erōs is the daemonic mediator between the human and the divine, then Socrates’ erotic desire would seem to be pursuing through love of soul—that is, the Erōs of Philosophy—the satisfaction of that natural and profound human longing for natural unity or wholeness, with its promise of sweet immortality. But in Section Eight, Socrates is speaking with a view to Kallias in an effort to redirect toward the polis this man’s “hopeless erōs for philosophy” and his strong desire for Autolykos; which is to say, Socrates’ rhetoric in the Symposium seems to concur with the Syracusan (and Aristophanes) that the direction of erōs is horizontal rather than vertical.18 The Syracusan complements, then, the Socratic discussion of erōs insofar as he chooses to bring forward into the light the sexual love which Socrates notices merely in passing. Conversely, nowhere in the performance of the final scene orchestrated by the Syracusan is there any hint of the friendly love between men that is public and political, the kind of love Socrates had described at length and commended to Kallias in his speech about Erōs. While he had departed momentarily from the symposion to prepare his performance seeming to be in agreement with Socrates’ reforms of his spectacles, the Syracusan returned with a “wonder” rather different from what Socrates had advised him to do; which is to say, while it is true that “he ceased doing things of which Socrates explicitly disapproved,” and so was influenced by Socrates, the Syracusan did not do exactly what he advised.19 In this regard, the Syracusan shares something with, or is akin to, Xenophon himself (Mem. I.3.9–14; Ana. III.1.4–10); and given Xenophon’s penchant for concealing himself as a man from Syracuse (Hellenika III.1.2), this disagreement with Socrates may represent more of a rivalry within the account of the philosophic life than a quarrel between philosophy and poetry.20 The Syracusan’s performance substituted, in the place of the “gracefully beautiful feminine deities” which Socrates recommended, an erotic and “highly sensuous drama” which poignantly evoked and exalted the “lawful and pious expression” of natural human erōs, in the heterosexual version of that love which Socrates in his speech contemned as the “drunkenness” inspired by the vulgar Aphrodite (see 8.21).21 And its impact on the symposiasts did more than incite laughter, or the kind of noble political ambition which Socrates had praised; instead, his performance urged the men watching toward “the immortalizing sensuality of connubial bliss”—that form of erotic passion which lawfully binds erōs to the oikos and enriches the polis with its issue.22 This challenge to the Socratic logos is heightened by the powerful (perhaps even longlasting) impression that the Syracusan’s performance left upon the speeches and deeds of all (or almost all) of the symposiasts, an impression which brought an end to the symposion

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(9.7): “Finally, when the symposiasts saw that they had embraced one another and were off to the marriage-bed, the ones who were bachelors swore they would marry, while those who had married ascended their horses and rode off to their wives, in order that they might attain these things.” The private and non-political love which rouses and disperses the symposiasts, and which thus conducts the Symposium to its ending, Socrates, it seems, had purposefully neglected in Section Eight, for his speech there was decidedly unerotic in the ordinary sense of the word, both in its delivery and in its effect. Only Socrates, being married, refrains from swearing that he will marry of course, but neither does he ride off—as do the other married men—to obtain the favors of Aphrodite from his wife. His silent resistance to the charms of the Syracusan’s performance is quietly noted by Xenophon.

CONJUGAL EROTICS Is the Syracusan’s challenge evidence of his being a successful rival to Socrates, or does his performance offer a clarifying complement to the Socratic logos? Has the Syracusan, somehow, with his “graceful show” managed to improve upon and render “more fitting” Socrates’ own ironic account of erōs?23 If the Syracusan’s display of (so-called) “vulgar” erōs is really compatible with the heavenly erōs that Socrates had exhorted Kallias and Autolykos to practice toward one another, then he may have sought to augment rather than undermine the politically salutary purpose of the Socratic logos. If not, the Syracusan may yet be excused for his display, in part because he was absent during Socrates’ inspired speech about erōs in Section Eight. Why, then, we may ask, does the Syracusan choose to prepare a performance about erōs at all in response to Socrates’ critique of his work so far? How could the Syracusan have known that Socrates meant to “bring in” on his own a performance on the subject of Aphrodite, whether dual or single? Insofar as the Syracusan is meant to be seen as akin to Xenophon, in what way or ways does Xenophon’s own rhetoric seem to be a complement to or an alternative form of Socratic rhetoric?24 An answer to this last question cannot be had definitively without a complete interpretation of Xenophon’s writings as a whole. As for the Syracusan, at least, let it suffice to say that in their disagreement over how to present “wonders” worthy of reflection in a manner more suited for a gentlemanly symposium, Socrates and the Syracusan nevertheless share in understanding that such presentations must be rhetorical: not everything can or should be said explicitly. In this sense, then, Socrates and the Syracusan share an ironic approach to the representation of wonders, obscuring their wisdom for the sake of maintaining accord from the perspective of their audience.25 So, too, does Xenophon in his use of Socratic rhetoric express his agreement with that approach. But does Xenophon also agree with the implied account of conjugal erotics supplied by his performance (in Section Nine), as a complement—or alternative—to the Socratic logos regarding the heavenly and gentlemanly form of erōs (in Section Eight)? Bringing the two Sections together, or in dialogue, we might wonder whether Xenophon is proposing through his Syracusan’s performance another relation between erōs and virtue, one that approves of a discreet or moderate love of body as well as soul within the confines of a marriage. This possibility would weave together the themes of virtue protreptics, on one hand, displayed in Socrates’ ironic logos in Section Eight, and the marital excellence or aristeia, on the other hand, displayed by the Syracusan’s performers in Section Nine. The rousing portrait of conjugal erotics in the performance, rather than leading to indecent or lustful conduct which Socrates presented as repulsive (8.23–25), is actually reminiscent of the opening scene of the



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banquet when the “beauty” of Autolykos held sway over all who beheld it (see 1.8–10): The power of the beautiful (κάλλος), when combined with moderation (σωφροσύνη) and modesty (ἀιδώς), compelled the admiration of the onlookers, and moderate Erōs (σώφρονος ἔρωτος), thus invoked, “perfected” even those who gazed upon the lover and beloved inspired by this love (τοῖς τετελεσμένοις τούτῳ τῷ θεῷ). Such a scene also occurs when the symposiasts, for whom the Syracusan’s loving youths are the wonders “worthy to behold” (ἀξιοθέατα), themselves are aroused with licit desire for their wives (for those who are married) or to wed (for those who are yet unmarried). If that physical desire also inspires a higher indwelling love for the cultivation of virtue in the souls of lover and beloved as husband and wife, then bodily erōs would not be inconsistent with the benefits of heavenly or friendly love (8.10: ἔρως φιλίας τε καὶ ψυχῆς) exalted by Socrates in his logos. In this case, the impulse of bodily attraction would not be a temptation but a propaedeutic to the mutual pursuit of virtue. Socrates himself, early in the evening’s entertainment, had already suggested to his fellowbanqueters that the virtuous education of women and wives is certainly possible, even if he himself does not attempt such an education with Xanthippe (2.8–12). The idea that the association between lovers and beloveds must remain always non-physical, which is to say, non-sexualized, in order to preserve their virtue, which Socrates argued in his logos, need not be a requirement in the case of the conjugal erotics which aims at marital aristeia, the respective excellence and virtue (ἀρετή) of each in the association. The dangers of physical attraction that threaten to undermine virtue in the homoerotic relations of ἐραστής and ἐρώμενος would be remedied by the moderate love between partners bound together, body and soul, in the heteroerotic association. Just such an association is, not surprisingly perhaps, exactly what is proposed to the young Xenophon by Aspasia, the famous woman of Miletos whose presence and influence among the Athenians was rather extraordinary and who Socrates himself conversed with and recommended to his friends.26 In the dialogue Aspasia, written by the Socratic Aeschines, Socrates introduces Xenophon and his young wife to Aspasia, whose powers of persuasion are deployed in order to convince the young couple to seek virtue.27 Socrates praises Aspasia as a teacher of rhetoric and political advisor to the great Pericles, her lover and the father of her Athenian son, the younger Pericles.28 His keen interest in learning from women as well as men distinguishes Socrates as a lover of wisdom who is eager to be brought into association with anyone from whom he might acquire knowledge and to whom he might introduce his friends (3.3, 4.61–63; Mem. I.6.14, III.11.1; Pl. Sym. 201d–212c). He himself has learned a thing or two from Aspasia, in particular, about match-making and rhetoric (see Mem. II.6.36; Pl. Menex. 235e–236d, 249c). Xenophon, in his Oikonomikos, shows Socrates offering to introduce the recently married Kritoboulos to Aspasia, who, he admits, has knowledge greater than he possesses about the ways a good wife contributes to the overall success of the oikos and thus participates in the art of household management (Oik. 3.12–16).29 In the surviving fragment of Aeschines’ dialogue, Aspasia counsels the young Xenophon and his young wife to cultivate virtue in themselves, in order for each one to become truly worthy of being loved by the other. She even uses a “Socratic” approach to conversation, asking questions and engaging in refutations to prompt her young audience to think, or rather rethink, their views.30 She also seeks to move Xenophon and his wife toward virtue through an appeal to their longing for one another, a method that resembles Socrates’ effort in Section Eight to educate Kallias by appealing to his love for Autolykos. This educating erōs (παιδευτικὸς ἔρως) induces persuasion in the young couple through a sense of shame; each is moved to become even more virtuous, so as to be appealing in the eyes of the other, both

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being lovers of virtue. Mutuality and reciprocity fashion the bond, physical and spiritual, that binds them within a virtuous circle of gentlemanliness. Thus, “love plays the crucial role in promoting moral improvement.”31 This passage from Aeschines’ Aspasia is worth quoting at length: Socrates reveals that Aspasia reasoned thus with Xenophon’s wife and with Xenophon himself. “Please tell me, madam, if your neighbour had a better gold ornament than you have, would you prefer that one or your own?” “That one,” she replied. “Now, if she had dresses and other feminine finery more expensive than you have, would you prefer than one or hers?” “Hers, of course,” she replied. “Well now, if she had a better husband than you have, would you prefer your husband or hers?” At this the young woman blushed. But Aspasia then began to speak to Xenophon. “I wish you would tell me, Xenophon,” she said, “if your neighbour had a better horse than yours, would you prefer yours or his?” “His,” was the answer. “And if he had a better farm than you have, which farm would you prefer to have?” “The better farm, naturally,” he said. “Now, if he had a better wife than you have, would you prefer yours or his?” At this, Xenophon, too, himself was silent.

Drawn by their attraction to the beautiful or the fine (καλός), and prompted by Aspasia’s questions to see by analogy where their desire naturally leads them, both recognize the dilemma and must fall silent. Their restraint in not speaking what is inappropriate in each other’s presence is noble, but the truth left unsaid that they are embarrassed to admit remains. Aspasia herself releases them from the aporia which she has induced, showing them the way to have what they desire most: Then Aspasia said: “Since both of you have failed to tell me the only thing I wished to hear, I myself will tell you what both of you are thinking; that you, madam, wish to have the best husband, and you, Xenophon, desire above all to have the finest wife. Therefore, unless you can contrive that there be no better man or finer woman on earth, you will certainly be in dire want of that which you consider best, namely, that you be the husband of the very best of wives, and she be wedded to the very best of men.”

Both partners in the marital association must strive to be best or finest, to be ἄριστοι through ἀρετή, that is, by becoming as virtuous as possible; only by being so will they each become worthy of the other’s erotic desire (ἔρως). By appealing to their love for one another, their love of the virtue of the soul rather than the body, Aspasia’s rhetoric urges Xenophon and his wife “to a mutual effort of self-improvement” that warrants their reciprocal erotic affections.32 By this means, awakening in their respective souls a longing to pursue virtue, their marital aristeia achieves through conjugal erotics a state of completion and therewith happiness in one another which Socrates had argued in his logos was the end and reward of heavenly erōs.33 Socrates may not have loved Xanthippe with such erotic desire, but we have here reason to believe that young Xenophon and his wife—just like the performing youths of the Syracusan—did. The divine epiphanic phenomenon of indwelling erōs in the soul appears to be divided, as Socrates says, between spiritual love and carnal love, between heavenly Erōs (οὐράνος ἔρως) and vulgar Erōs (πάνδημος ἔρως). Yet, what seems to us separate and in tension may ultimately be one and, when properly expressed, yearning or striving toward the same end (τέλος): immortality. In the enigmatic view that Socrates presents in his logos, these erotic impulses are at odds, but in the presentation of the Syracusan, they seem united. The desire for body and for soul are manifest in the longing of the two youths, whose performance enacts what is true, and presumably in the young married couple, Xenophon and his wife. The bodily attraction, when wedded to the erotic passion for the soul, becomes a stimulus toward attaining higher ends



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and a strengthening of that elevated and exalting pleasure which is shared between marital partners as virtuous friends as well as mutual lover and beloved.34 If the beauty of Autolykos can engender in Kallias (and not only in Kallias) an erotic epiphany, which Socrates interprets as the highest sort because gentlemanly and modest in nature (1.10: σώφρων ἔρως), then physical attraction need not necessarily be incompatible with love of soul. In fact, the former may be on occasion what sets the latter in motion. The prime inclination, or trajectory, of erotic longing, however, can decline from its highest aspirations toward baser and more vulgar desires, those which are strictly or exclusively bodily. But at least in what Xenophon permits us to see at the beginning of the banquet, as the banqueters fall under the sway of youthful Autolykos’ dominion, corporeal beauty can inspire moderate erōs. Even in the ode to the beautiful Kleinias sung by Kritoboulos, self-restraint or control (ἐγκράτεια) is listed among the virtues that the beauty of the beloved inspires in the lover (4.15), and it is this particular virtue which Socrates considers crucial because it is “the foundation of all virtue” (Mem. I.5.5), as well as “the condition for the acquisition and practice of all virtues.”35 Perhaps then, we can say, physical beauty and the erotic attraction for the body, which it arouses, may also serve as fertile ground for the emergence of love of soul and the longing for virtue, which that ἔρως inspires. A potential combination and conjoining of the two forms of ἔρως in the human being, love of soul or desire for moral beauty and carnal love or desire for corporeal beauty, holds out the prospect of explaining Socrates’ appeal to καλοκἀγαθία near the beginning of his logos. The erotic attraction or passionate desire (ἔρως) aroused by κάλλος derives from bodily attributes and is associated with sexual appeal, whereas καλός inspires admiration through a recognition of the moral worth of non-physical attributes that are praiseworthy and choiceworthy for its own sake.36 The gentlemanliness of the “beloved” (τοῦ ἐρωμένου), as well as his physical beauty (κάλλος), argues Socrates, couples these concepts, thus inspiring in Kallias a desire to be a virtuous and gentlemanly “lover” (τῷ καλῷ τε κἀγαθῷ ἐραστῇ) (8.11), who regards the one he loves not only for his attractive looks but also for his “nobility and goodness of character” (8.17: καλός τε καὶ ἀγαθός, 8.26: καλὸς κἀγαθός). In taking the aspects of this phrase separately, we can infer that the beauty (κάλλος) of the beloved is associated with the form of his body, and not yet transmuted into a quality of character (καλός), whereas goodness (ἀγαθός) belongs most of all to the soul (see Mem. III.8.5). We know that Socrates found himself attracted to the beautiful Kritoboulos (4.27–28), and even the beauty of Kallias’ body (σῶμα) is praised by Socrates as part of his appeal to the polis (8.40). The ideal attribute of “gentlemanliness” then, as Socrates represents it in his logos, may bring the corporeal and the spiritual together in such a way “that, while requiring the presence of moral qualities as a primary condition, nonetheless integrates the beauty of the body as an essential component.”37 This synthesis of corporeal and spiritual loves only occurs when carnal love is sublimated, that is, when a desire for physical beauty is transmuted and elevated though its intertwining with love of soul and the desire for moral beauty. Socrates may see one as leading to the other, when properly directed, and both loves being integrated into one motion that aims at achieving kalokagathia. The threat of course is that carnal desire will dominate and prevent or distort the spiritual form of love; physical beauty plays a helpful role even in the highest form of erōs, but even so it still must always be transcended. The two loves thus imply and modify each other, one as the foundation, the other as the fulfillment, in the Socratic ideal of kalokagathia. If this is so, then the exhortation of Socrates to his audience that they must resist the bodily temptations that threaten to distort love of soul would apply not only to homoerotic associations, but also to heteroerotic unions. A modest and sober restraint in either case is required.

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But perhaps the threat is greater when the attraction is manifest between lover and beloved who share physical attributes. Or at least Socrates seems to perceive that, in the case of Kallias and Autolykos, this is precisely the danger which they must be rallied to resist. But in the Syracusan’s final performance, there is another kind of love on display that embraces the spiritual without also having to let go of the corporeal entirely; that is, a mild but still intoxicating form of erotic insobriety is permitted and even welcomed. This argument in favor of heteroerotic association would not risk the lover having to abandon the beloved as the soul aspires toward the beautiful itself beyond the physical form of the beloved which initially drew the eyes and body of the lover into its orbit (as Diotima’s teaching on erōs, according to Socrates, would have us believe in Plato’s Symposium). In conjugal erotics, the lover and beloved, each adhering to the other, both body and soul, ascend in tandem, enjoying the mutuality of pleasures in heteroerotic association. This marital aristeia, devoted to the mutual pursuit of desire and virtue, has at its foundation and core the stimulating impulse of ἔρως.38 Xenophon’s Socrates insists in his logos on a mutual erotic benefit at every stage in life, with both lover and beloved growing in appreciation of each other as they cultivate and embody virtue in their association in a manner that will respectively ennoble their souls under the impulse of marital aristeia. In a crucial sense, then, Xenophon (like the Syracusan) understands the highest of human erotic relationships to be the love of body and of soul, physical and spiritual, that attends the mutual affection of lover and beloved united in marriage. The division in speech of Erōs into two forms would be healed as the two erotic forces of Aphrodite become one. What is ironic about the speech that Socrates delivers in Section Eight is not that he does not mean what he is saying, or that Kallias and Autolykos are not as noble and good as Socrates makes them out to be, but that even the best education (παιδεία) between masculine ἐραστής and ἐρώμενος, one rooted in mutual desire and affection and prompting both to honorable conduct, cannot attain a transcendence such as is possible between a lover and beloved united through conjugal erotics. The young Xenophon and his wife, like the Syracusan’s performers, stand as potential models in this regard. And we can imagine that, in his regard for his own wife, Xenophon did not choose or look upon his partner in the marital association in the same way that Socrates saw Xanthippe; and that, at the rousing end of the Symposium after viewing the erotic performance of the Syracusan, Xenophon, like Socrates, understands the proper role of erōs in human affairs—but unlike Socrates, would be eager to return home to his beloved wife. Regardless of assumptions (some well-grounded) that women were believed to be inferior to men and incapable of virtue, Socrates at least seems to have transcended the limitations of his times in this respect, indicating in speech and in deed that he viewed women to be equal to men by nature and thought favorably of their prospects for moral improvement. Xenophon’s Socrates especially (to say nothing of Plato’s Socrates here) is open to the insight that human nature is not gendered, even if human bodies are. Thus, the virtues of the soul which Socrates sought to cultivate in himself and in his close companions, and which ennoble human beings through their possession, from his point of view could be equally acquired by women and men. This knowledge would not deny the obvious differences, both natural and conventional, with respect to bodies, and perhaps even in their physical desires and the character of the restraining regimens which might moderate those temptations. It is this Socratic understanding which emerges in the rhetoric of the Syracusan, who orchestrates the performance, and in the rhetoric of Xenophon, who arranges the Symposium. The Syracusan’s performers, like the young Xenophon and his wife in Aeschines’ dialogue, furnish the imagination with a vivid expression of that conjugal erotics which, when properly aroused, is the spur to both virtue



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and friendship. In their ascent through and beyond the physical, which is the ultimate aim and achievement of their mutual erotic impulse, these partners strive through their association and by being together (συνουσία) for marital aristeia, arousing in each other a deeper longing for the possession of those virtues which are in and of themselves the proof of their nobility and beauty of soul. Such intercourse, or association, is compatible with the Socratic understanding of philosophic synousia and the role of pedagogical erōs in benefiting the soul.39 To return to the conclusion of the dialogue: The effect of the Syracusan’s show on the men, married and unmarried alike, was immediate. Of those who stuck around for the final performance “the unmarried ones” vowed themselves to marry (presumably, Kallias, Charmides, Hermogenes, and Antisthenes),40 while “the married ones” mounted their horses and rode straight home to enjoy being together with their wives (presumably, Nikeratos, Kritoboulos, and Philippos).41 As we have indicated, Socrates, however, (and perhaps the Syracusan) appears not to have been affected in the same way as the others by the erotic performance; or at least Socrates is not moved to act like the married men act, or to speak like the unmarried men speak, when the presence of erōs is so palpably at hand. The genuine display of love between this “Dionysos” and his wife “Ariadne”—a couple whose highly unusual marriage the Syracusan has made sure to artfully emphasize by referring to her dress (ὡς νύμφη κεκοσμημένη) and the private intimate setting of her encounter with her husband (θάλαμον)—induces the married men to head straight home to their wives just as Dionysos himself did, according to the Syracusan’s introduction (although the bacchic god is rarely represented as husband rather than as reveler), after a night of drinking. The unmarried men, in turn, were induced to swear that they will bind themselves in marriage to a woman so as to enjoy the erotic pleasures of that association. Nevertheless, the Syracusan’s erotic display fails to stimulate in Socrates an overwhelming desire to race home to enjoy the fruits of his own marriage. In other words, as we have already had occasion to notice elsewhere, Socrates comports himself as a de facto bachelor and we suspect that the explanation for this has something more to do with the ironic nature of his erōs than with the shrewish and most difficult nature of his wife, Xanthippe. Although Socrates undoubtedly “had a certain influence” on the man from Syracuse, the Syracusan appears to have had no influence upon Socrates, that is, no visible influence on his usual way of life. For, according to Xenophon, Socrates “stood firm” in the presence of erōs, holding his ground, so to speak, patiently abiding the arousal and excitement the performance inspired, and displaying by resisting a kind of erotic moderation, even as all the others, or almost all the others, rushed to impassioned speeches and deeds as a result of beholding the Syracusan’s wonders. Xenophon, characteristically, does not say which unmarried men also “stood firm” with Socrates or, of those who did, why they did. We hear instead that those who remained then departed with Socrates to join Autolykos on his walk. Of these, other than Socrates, only Kallias is named, but he of course is still in pursuit of his beloved. What of Socrates? How does his erōs differ from the erotic longing of the other gentlemen at play in Xenophon’s Symposium? Antisthenes’ cutting remark about the character of Xanthippe only scratches the surface of the problem of Socratic erōs. It is not that Socrates is unmoved by the erotic show of Ariadne and Dionysos, or that his longing is dulled by his wife’s nature. Socrates’ erōs aims beyond the home, beyond the love of one’s own conventionally understood; when he does go home, it is only to rest, but he prefers being elsewhere (9.7; see also, Pl. Sym. 223b-d). As with Erōs itself, that daimonic being which mediates and moves between the human and divine realms, the direction of Socratic erōs is emphatically vertical rather than horizontal, and in its service, he appears to be homeless.42

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The last of Socrates’ playful deeds, therefore, leaves the ironic impression that Socrates the philosopher, despite his earlier confession (8.24), is unerotic. Xenophon, for his part, does not say whether he followed in the footsteps of Socrates, who chose to attend Autolykos, perhaps for the sake of falling once more—but not completely—under the sway of the beautiful. Socrates, though a married man, did not go to see his wife like the others (9.7). But it does not follow that Xenophon, if he had been married at the time of this symposion that he says he witnessed (1.1), not to mention later in life when he himself certainly was married and engaged in writing his Symposium, would have followed or imitated Socrates in this respect. We do know that, at other times, he chose to articulate this difference quietly.43 With the close of this erotic performance and ensuing flight of lovers, Xenophon in his simple manner concludes the Symposium (9.7): “This ending, then, of the symposium came to pass.”

SILENCE AND THE ARGUMENT OF THE ACTION To conclude this study, let us recall that Socrates is completely silent in Section Nine. The final speech of Lykon and the final deed of Socrates frame the dramatic performance orchestrated by the Syracusan. So too, does the Syracusan, after setting the stage, so to speak, hold his silence, letting the success of the performance speak for him. Socrates, however, is not moved to comment (as he had been before) on the performers, or their performance, or their teacher. The silence of Socrates and of the Syracusan as well at the end of the dialogue must not be mistaken for absence, any more than Xenophon’s silence throughout the Symposium denies his explicit claim to have been present at the seductive banquet of Kallias (1.1) as “an invisible and inaudible participant who did not partake of food and drink.”44 As just one of the gentlemen at play during the banquet, Socrates in the Symposium reveals himself to be worthy of remembrance on account of his deeds, especially his final “playful” deed, as well as for his playful speeches over the course of the evening (see 1.1, cf. 9.7 with 2.10; cf. 8.42–43 with 4.61–64; and cf. 4.60 with 4.59). But so, too, does Xenophon, like the Syracusan through his performances, reveal himself by means of his Socratic rhetoric.45 There is another veil surrounding the Symposium and concealing Socrates, then, with moderation and rhetoric; namely, the life of Xenophon himself, Socrates’ companion and friend, and an accomplished general, husband, gentleman, writer, and philosopher. Xenophon judged Socrates to be a lover of wisdom, a philosopher (φιλόσοφος)—but one bound in his pursuit of wisdom by reason’s limits; for Xenophon’s Socrates considered wisdom and moderation to be inseparable. Based on this principle, therefore, Socrates exercised, in speech and in deed, a form of moderation which may best be understood as Odyssean or rhetorical. From the time just after Aristophanes’ Clouds, and just before the Socratic conversations recorded in the Oikonomikos and Symposium, Socrates made his famous “turn” away from natural to political (or ethical) philosophy, the kind of philosophizing Xenophon stresses in his Memorabilia (I 1.16) and associates with the division of Socratic speech in two modes, dialectic and rhetoric (IV 6.13–15). In Xenophon’s Symposium, the argument of the action reveals this latter mode, the use of Socratic rhetoric: Socrates as ῥήτορ in playful conversation with gentlemen. His moderate turn to the use of Odyssean speech, or rhetoric, rather than dialectic, is the essential counterpart to the philosophic concept of noetic heterogeneity that governs post-turn Socratic thought. Recognizing the limits of the human, Socratic rhetoric seeks to persuade by producing agreement in listeners by leading arguments safely through the common opinions of human beings—



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the kind of speech characteristic of the good or decent citizen. Xenophon’s rehabilitation of playfulness through his Symposium prepares us to hear this Socratic rhetoric, for example, by prudently concealing beneath its lighthearted surface Socrates’ abiding interest in natural philosophy as well as the inherent tension between the philosophic life and the life of the gentleman, no longer a muted confrontation, such as that recalled by Socrates in the Oikonomikos, but a playful agōn in which careful readers may judge the worth of these rival ways of life. To judge well, however, the reader must always bear in mind the elusive and cautious quality of Xenophon’s Socratic rhetoric. A more complete consideration of the proper relation between the tradition of political philosophy as defined by the Socratic turn and Xenophon’s Socratic rhetoric displayed in the Symposium through remembrance of the Socratic deed par excellence will be the focus of the final chapter in this study. The usefulness of Socrates’ rhetoric, or Socratic speech, on this occasion may be judged from the fact that Lykon, the father of Autolykos, one of Socrates’ three accusers, at the end of an evening passed in the company of Socrates, found no reason to believe that his son might wonder more at such a man than himself, desiring to associate with him at his father’s expense. In other words, by means of his rhetorical mode of speech, Socrates avoided suffering more immediately the tragic fate of Tigranes’ friend and fellow-hunter, who the noble young man proclaimed to be a true “gentleman” (καλοκἄγαθος), but who was nevertheless put to death by the Armenian king and that young man’s father, on the charge of having committed injustice by corrupting his son—a fate the great Cyrus lamented (Cyr. III.1.36–40). Xenophon, too, lamented and mourned the loss of his teacher, Socrates, who, only very late in life and in Xenophon’s absence, would be put on trial and executed by the polis. Xenophon’s Symposium stands witness in Socrates’ defense.

NOTES 1.  Ischomachos, speaking to Socrates, at Xenophon, Oikonomikos 21.10–12. He prefaces this, saying, that if the household manager inspired his servants with a love of honor and competition with one another, thus setting them in motion, then he would have “something of a kingly character. And this is the greatest thing, it seems to me, in every work which is accomplished by human beings . . . though I am not saying, by Zeus, that this can be learned by seeing or listening only once, but I assert that one who will be capable of it needs education, and by nature needs to make a good beginning and, greatest of all, become divine.” See Bellow 2000, 144: “What truly matters has to be revealed, never performed. But only a handful of human beings have the imagination and the qualities of character to live by the true Eros.” 2.  See Strauss 1972, 177, cf. 160. 3.  See Pentassuglio 2016. 4.  For Socrates’s use of the oath, see Sym. 4.54; see also, Mem. I.5.5, III.10.9, 11.5, IV.2.9, 4.8 (the third of five usages is in response to Theodote); cf. Oik. 10.1, 11.19. Kallias’ sarcastic use of this oath, at Sym. 4.45, should be contrasted with his impoverished brother’s serious use of it at 8.12; cf. Cyr. I.4.12, with VIII.4.12. The unusual peculiarity of this oath cannot be forgotten in this context also because it is the last recorded oath of the dialogue, even though the unmarried men are said to swear to marry at the end of the play. 5.  On the distinction between andragathia, andreia, and kalokagathia, see Strauss 1970, 136n17–137, 140, 165–166; cf. Plato, Gorgias 470e10, where Socrates himself extends the usual expression for “gentleman” to a woman. See Benardete 1991, 68n4, and Nichols 1998, n50, who report, in conjunction with this passage in Dodds’ edition of Plato’s Gorgias (Oxford 1953), that this earlier translator comments that he “knows of no other passage where ‘beautiful and good’ is applied to a woman.”

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6.  See Higgins 1977, 18–19: “Socrates’ seriousness and his humor finally come together; and in so doing they cast a spell with their splendid vision, so that Lykon, Autolykos’ father and a man of few words, can say to Socrates. . . . But Lykon was one of those who accused Socrates and obtained his execution. Socrates ultimately fails to convince all who hear him, no matter how persuasive he is. Just as he loses the mock beauty trial to Kritoboulos, so he will lose the real trial for his life.” 7. See Mem. IV.8.11 and I 6.14; cf. I.1.17–18, with Hellenika I.7.15. See also, Strauss 1972, 177: “However pachydermic [Lykon] was, somehow he sensed that Socrates was not a perfect gentleman in the sense in which he understood that expression.” With respect to Socrates’ virtues, see Strauss 1972, 126: “Xenophon concludes the Memorabilia appropriately with a eulogy of Socrates. He enumerates therein Socrates’ virtues, and in the first place the three virtues discussed in IV.3–5 in the order in which they were discussed there . . . courage or manliness is not mentioned among his virtues, either because he was not the kind of man to take unusual risks for the sake of freedom from tyranny (cf. I.2.32–38 with Hiero 5.1) or because he lacked the virtue of the man (aner) which includes surpassing one’s enemies in harming them.” The other three virtues mentioned are: moderation (understood as the opposite of hubris, not intemperance), justice (understood as being eminently law-abiding or being just in deed), and continence (understood as the useful foundation for acquiring virtue, for conversing dialectically, and for wisdom). However, this interpretation of Strauss’ Xenophon must be considered in light of what is said by Strauss just prior (1972, 125) regarding Mem. IV.8.1–11: “If facing death nobly is courage or manliness, Socrates was singularly manly.” 8.  On this interpretation, see Pagano 1994, 8: “In his most serious deed, Charmides chose to join the thirty tyrants who murder two of the guests, Niceratus and Autolycus, and who bring grief to Lycon, the father of Autolycus. Lycon is one of the accusers of Socrates. Xenophon’s Symposium depicts why Lycon joined the accusers. He inferred from his memory of the symposium that Socrates taught Charmides tyranny.” Pagano concludes with a tentative, but “shocking” proposal intended to help explain or understand Socrates’ reason for spending time with Charmides as a companion, if not as a friend (1994, 30–31, 33): “If there is a Socratic economics, it must depart from ordinary economics that evaluates the worth of a thing according to whether it is scarce and good for the buyer. Socrates must try to understand at least how each living thing is good in itself. How is it possible to evaluate an object according to its own good rather than one’s own good? Socrates must not distinguish the good of the living thing from his own good. He thereby is the reverse of the tyrant who makes his private good the universal good . . . Socrates treats each living object as a tyrant and submits himself to that object as though he were erotically attracted to it. . . . He is drawn to potential tyrants, but as soon as they pursue tyranny, he no longer loves them. For his friendship depends on comprehending why he and his circle are at a loss about what justice is. Only if the problem of the good could be decided, as the tyrant pretends, could an adequate definition of justice be provided. It would be the same as wisdom.” 9.  See the rendering of the formal accusation against Socrates: Diogenes Laertius II.40 (Socrates commits injustice by “bringing in other, novel daimonia”); cf. the recollection of that accusation by Plato’s Socrates (Apo. 24b: “believing in . . .”) and by Xenophon himself (Mem. I.1.1: “carrying in . . .”). Each verb conceals within its usual meaning a different form of religious heterodoxy. 10.  Cf. Bowen 1998, 9, where it is simply observed as “a matter of fact” that “the troupe’s mime of a physical and heterosexual passion” in Section Nine is in “unresolved contrast” with Socrates’ speech in Section Eight. 11.  On the concept of ἔρως φιλίας or amor amicitiae, see Pentassuglio 2019a. 12.  See Konstan 2014, 170–171. 13.  Bartlett 1996-b, 185: “Might it be that, at the very moment when the spectators realize that the performers are genuinely in love with one another, or when the performers cease to be the divine “Dionysus” and his beloved “Ariadne” in the eyes of the spectators, they in fact become, or at any rate approach, immortals?” 14.  On the “sweet hopes” furnished by erōs and its satisfaction through such union, see Rosen 2000, xiii: “In the mythical language of the doctrine of Eros, human beings strive for a completeness in the vision of truth that is the philosophical version of the completeness of sexual love. Otherwise stated, sexual love desires the satisfaction of the body, of which the most radical form is the overcoming of personal



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finitude through the act of procreation, whereas the love of the soul can be satisfied only through a vision of the order of the whole of human experience.” See also, Rosen 1973, 470. 15.  Bartlett 1996-b, 196. 16.  Strauss 1972, 178. 17.  Strauss 1972, 178. 18. Regarding Aristophanes’ myth of erōs in Plato’s Symposium, see Rosen 1968, 3–7, 120–158; Benardete 1993-a, 184–188; Bloom 1993, 102–112; Cobb 1993, 1, 63, 67–68, Appendix; and Strauss 1966. See also, Strauss 1958/1996, 150, 157–158 [= Pangle 1989, 116–117]; but cf. the discussion of abstracted thumos, 1958/1996, 189–193 [= Pangle 1989, 163–168]; also cf. Nietzsche’s substitution of will to power for erōs, mentioned at Strauss 1970/1995, 324. Regarding Socrates’ intention with respect to the political education of Kallias’ erōs, see Strauss 1972, 177. 19.  Strauss 1972, 178. 20.  Strauss 1972, 178, 180. See Buzzetti 2014, 116, 227, 301–311; cf. Maclaren 1934. 21.  Pangle 2020, 144. 22.  Pangle 2020, 144. 23.  See Strauss 1972, 170, cf. 177; Higgins 1977, 19: “Finally the Syracusan returns at the Sympo­ sium’s end to put on a more fitting entertainment, a masque of Bacchus and Ariadne, which has the effect of making the married guests leap on their horses to be off to their wives and the nonmarried vow that they will soon wed. The spell of Socrates has been forgotten.” With respect to the peculiar “work” of the Syracusan and of Socrates, see Strauss 1972, 178: “But while the Syracusan exercises his trade without any irony the same cannot be said of Socrates’ pandering.” 24.  As his final comment in his review of Huss 1999, one insightful reader points directly to this question as an unexplored consideration. Tuplin 2003, 59: “Socrates wants something tame and civilized, not excessive gyrations. What the impresario [Syracusan] produces provokes the physical sexual feelings which [Section] 8 denounces. (Whether this contextualizes or undermines Socrates’ message in 8 is another matter.)” 25.  See Pangle 2020, 138: “Socrates and the Syracusan are akin in that they are not in their element among the gentlemen at play, and both need, in greatly differing degree, to obscure their wisdom in such a setting.” 26.  On Aspasia and Socrates: see Plutarch, “Life of Pericles,” 24.3; Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae V.219– 220, XII.533, XIII.569. Lucian, De saltatione 25. See also, Kahn 1994; Glenn 1994; Nails 2002, s.v. “Aspasia”; Pentassuglio 2020a, 2020b, 2020c. To judge from their slanderous remarks about Aspasia, Aeschines and Antisthenes were both somewhat jealous that she attracted Socrates’ attention: Athenaeus XIII.589. 27. Aeschines’ Aspasia appears to have Socrates first recommending Aspasia to Kallias, as a teacher for his sons: Maximus of Tyre 38.4; Pentassuglio 2020b, 4–5. In defense of her qualifications, Socrates shows her skill as a teacher of moral virtue by narrating a conversation she had with young Xenophon and his wife. Cicero preserved this fragment in his De inventione 1.31.51–53 [= SSR VI A 70]; Pentassuglio 2017, § 108, with 472–477; see Kahn 1994, 94–103; Döring 2011, 30–32; Johnson 2019, 158. Cicero had also translated the Oikonomikos: De officiis II.87. An ancient slander hinted that Aeschines used Xanthippe to obtain the dialogues of Socrates which he passed off as his own: Diogenes Laertius II.7.60. 28.  On Aspasia and Pericles: see Plato, Menexenus; see also, Salkever 1993; Robitzsch 2017; Parks 2021. 29.  Socrates’ view of women had an influence on Antisthenes, who often argued that virtue can be taught, and among whose wise sayings was the assertion that “Virtue is the same for women as for men.” Diogenes Laertius VI.1.10–12. Theodoret of Cyrus (Graec. aff. cur. 1.17) and Lucian (Imag. 17) confirm that Socrates did not consider it shameful to learn from women as well as men and held Aspasia in high regard. 30.  On Aspasia as “a female Socrates,” see Kahn 1994, 101; Döring 2011, 31; Pentassuglio 2020b. On the Socratic method in Aeschines’ dialogues, see Pentassuglio 2020a. 31.  Pentassuglio 2018, 372–373; Pentassuglio 2020b, 15. 32.  Kahn 1994, 27.xc 33.  A similar awakening occurs in Aeschines’ dialogue Alcibiades, in which Socrates, “on account of loving” (διὰ τὸ ἐρᾶν), awakens a “desire” (ἐπιθυμία) for virtue in his beautiful young companion,

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Alcibiades. Who is the lover and who the beloved in this erotic association is hard to tell: Plato, Sym. 213b-e, 216a–222a. Plato’s Alcibiades accuses Socrates of seducing him like a Siren (216a-c) with philosophical speeches that lure him in and, through the amazing power of Socrates’ inner beauty (216c-e), leaving his heart in a painful frenzy from the “bite” that his philosophical speeches inflict (218a-b). The Alcibiades fragment survives in Aelius Aristides (De rhetorica 1.61–62, 1.74) and Plutarch (“Life of Alcibiades,” 4.193c-e). Pentassuglio (2020c) discusses the evidence from Aeschines of the Socrates-Alcibiades erotic association. 34.  See Gish 2021a. 35.  Pentassuglio 2013, 312. See Dorion 2004, 102–111. 36.  On the nominative and adjectival forms of this term, see Bourriot 1995, 295–313; Roscalla 2004; Konstan 2014, 31–95, esp. 31, 35, 42–43, 49–50, 61, 62, 64, 74, 78–79, 83–84, 89–90, and 170. 37.  Pentassuglio 2013, 314. The syntactic conjunction of καλός and ἀγαθός may signal moral goodness added to corporeal beauty, whereas their combination through crasis points to the ideal virtue that integrates both in a synthesis. See Bourriot 1995, 306: “on peut dire qu’au total l’expression avec kai ne compte que deux qualités alors que la crase ajoute aux deux adjectifs toute une aura.” 38.  See Pentassuglio 2018, 374, 384. 39.  See, again, the conclusions of Pentassuglio 2020c. 40.  Antisthenes’ vow was very likely ironic, for he doubted whether having an attractive wife is good: “When someone inquired of him what sort of wife to marry, he said, ‘Well, if she’s beautiful, you won’t have her for yourself, and if she’s ugly, you’ll pay dearly for it.’” Diogenes Laertius VI.1.3. 41. Not accidentally, the kind of love which is displayed in the Syracusan’s performance and so moves the symposiasts, namely, the love between husband and wife, arouses Nikeratos, whose affection for his spouse has been explicitly mentioned three times (2.3, 4.8, 8.3). Kritoboulos, despite his erotic infatuation with the beautiful Kleinias (4.12–24), also has a young wife (Oik. 3.12–13); but cf. Nails 2002, 116–119. Their own ages as well as the dates of their marriages to young wives cannot be accurately known. Suffice it to say that prosopographical certainty ought not be sought in the dialogue, for “Xenophon’s Symposium collects an assortment of persons who cannot be fitted together coherently at that date [and on that occasion] under any construction of their lives yet proposed.” Nails 2002, 118. 42.  See Strauss 1959-a, 237, and once again, Strauss 1972, 178: “The Syracusan had no influence on Socrates: while the Syracusan’s final exhibition incited or excited ‘the married ones’ to hurry home to enjoy their wives, the married Socrates stayed behind; he behaved like an inveterate bachelor. His relation to Xanthippe is the comic equivalent of his relation to the city.” This paradoxical or ironic behavior of Socrates leads us to wonder whether he should not be associated with Ariadne’s first lover, Theseus (see Plato, Phaedo), the legendary founder and king of Athens, who wins lovers for himself through persuasion which are useful in accomplishing great deeds only to abandon them without reciprocating their love (see Sym. 8.3–6; Pl. Sym. 214e). Dionysos, the second lover of Ariadne, is moved to pity and marry her as a result of her abandonment by Theseus who not only seduced her with his speeches but also severed and isolated her from her family. No doubt on account of his ungentlemanly behavior (cf. 8.19–21 and 8.25–27, with 8.18), Theseus remains conspicuously absent from Socrates’ commendation of reputable Athenian legislators and political leaders near the end of his last speech in the symposium (8.39). By contrast, we note that even after “having drunk beside the gods,” this divine Dionysos depicted by the Syracusan abandoned his Olympian revelry to return “home” to the eager embraces of his human wife (9.2). 43.  See Higgins 1977, 20: “Not everyone else goes with Socrates [to walk with Autolykos], but Xenophon, a guest like the others, could have been among them. He does not say so, for that is his way. Perhaps he thought the Symposium spoke for him.” 44.  Strauss 1972, 144. See Oik. 1.1, 3.12. See also, the provocative conclusion of Pagano 1994, 33. 45.  Strauss 1972, 178: “As for Xenophon’s choice of a Syracusan as the antagonist of Socrates, I fear that its explanation may depend on the explanation of ‘Themistogenes of Syracuse,’ the author of a book which is indistinguishable from Xenophon’s Anabasis (Hellenica III.1.2).” See Bruell 1994, viii-x; Bruell 1987, 111, cf. n110. See also, Strauss 1972, Appendix.

Conclusion Xenophon’s Socrates and Political Philosophy

“With respect to that which ought not be said,” replied Socrates, “be silent.”1

This final chapter of our study is an explicit examination of Leo Strauss’ commentary on and interpretation of Xenophon’s Symposium. Strauss’ commentary appears as the final section of Xenophon’s Socrates, which was published in 1972 and is the final published volume of Strauss’ interpretation of Xenophon’s Socratic writings as a whole. Strauss’ interpretation of this dialogue in particular must be considered in light of his treatment elsewhere of “the Problem of Socrates,” according to Aristophanes and Plato as well as Xenophon, and therewith in relation to the origins of political philosophy itself.2 This chapter draws our study of the Symposium, which has referred to Strauss’ Xenophon almost exclusively in the notes, to a fitting conclusion.

THE SOCRATIC TURN The tradition of political philosophy traces its origin back to the thought of Socrates, the first philosopher to recognize that human affairs—above all, the political things (τὰ πολιτικά)—are worthy of serious study, and indeed are “of decisive importance for understanding nature as a whole.”3 This Socrates, that is, “the true Socrates,” who had emerged out of the comic portrait of an earlier Socrates depicted in Aristophanes’ Clouds and whose thought had become eminently political, we in turn know only in and through the writings of his students, Xenophon and Plato.4 The Socratic writings of both authors, but especially Xenophon, refute the identification of this true Socrates with that ridiculous image of “a certain Socrates” as a “Thinker” and “idle talker,” characterized by an “amazing lack of phronesis, of practical wisdom or prudence,” one who was unaware of the context within which philosophy takes place, and radically “unpolitical” because utterly lacking in self-knowledge.5 The “turn” in Socratic thought away from philosophic inquiry and investigations of natural phenomena, or natural science, toward political philosophy, which was occasioned by the true Socrates’ reflection on the absurdity of the Aristophanean Socrates, carried philosophy down from the heavens and settled it within its proper political milieu.6

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Having considered both at length, Strauss concluded that, while perhaps at times differing in their portraits of Socrates as much as serious tragedy does from comedy, the Socrates of Xenophon and of Plato are nevertheless identical.7 Why? The earlier Socrates, being “unerotic” and “unaware of the essential difference between philosophy and the polis,” had failed to grasp the character of the political as such. “To this accusation,” however, “Xenophon and Plato give one and the same reply. Socrates is political and erotic.” Both presentations of Socrates, Strauss contends, must be taken “as replies to Aristophanes’s presentation of Socrates,” because in their Socratic writings we discover that Socrates “was eminently political. He was the philosopher of self-knowledge, and therefore of practical wisdom.”8 Xenophon and Plato recognized the postturn Socrates as the true Socrates, the founder of political philosophy, and so depicted him in and through their writings as the political philosopher, the one who first grasped the distinct nature of political affairs and the examination of the human things as the key to understanding the whole. While turning attention to the human things, Socrates also realized the limitations of the pursuit of wisdom and the power of speech, especially with respect to that aspect of human beings which is “recalcitrant to reason and which therefore cannot be persuaded.”9

THE RHETORICAL XENOPHON For Strauss, the Socrates of Xenophon and of Plato are identical; yet he is aware that their respective presentations of Socrates and his way of life in writing substantially appear to differ. Plato’s Socrates, for example, in his formal defense against the accusations against him derived from the Clouds, explicitly names Aristophanes as his accuser and calls on his fellow Athenians to bear witness to the fact that he never conversed with them about “the things under the earth” or “the heavenly things,” instead limiting his study “entirely to the human and political things.”10 Even so, Aristophanes himself appears in the Platonic dialogue, Symposium, and converses with Socrates agreeably. The dialogue finally concludes, according to Strauss, with what appears to be friendly agreement, rather than enmity, between the political philosopher and the comic poet.11 Aristophanes thus comes to light in Plato’s work as an amiable and admiring, yet envious critic of Socrates. Xenophon, in his Symposium, reports Socrates’ urbane replies to another entertainer dependent on popular reputation who, also being envious, repeated the abusive caricature of him by Aristophanes; that conversation, too, concluded in friendly, albeit partial, agreement between Socrates and his critic, the Syracusan.12 So while Aristophanes himself was not present here, or in any other of his Socratic writings, Strauss argues that Xenophon as author nevertheless had the comic poet—and his harsh critique of the unpolitical Socrates—always in mind.13 To understand precisely how these two recollections by Plato and Xenophon of the true Socrates as the political philosopher differ in form,14 and yet are identical in substance, we must see how in Strauss’ view Xenophon keeps Aristophanes (and the grudge his critique engendered) always in mind in his Socratic writings. To do so, he argues, we must attend to the overwhelming sense that there is a comic—or playful—aspect which conceals the seriousness of Xenophon’s Socrates, especially insofar as that seriousness was likely to be perceived by the polis in which he lived his way of life not only as ridiculous but also as a threat:15 Through the use of ridiculous things Socrates is shown by Xenophon to be in harmony with respectability and with the city, and to contribute through his activities to civic or political excellence of the highest order. Xenophon’s Socratic writings, one might dare to say, constitute a reply



Conclusion 313 to Aristophanes’s Clouds on the level of the Clouds, and with a most subtle use of the means of Aristophanes. We could use this observation as a clue to Xenophon’s Socratic writings if we were not wholly averse to paradoxes. Let us rather turn to the most obvious, to the surface, and cling to it as much as we can.

Reflecting on this paradoxical claim that Xenophon’s Socratic writings, unlike those of Plato, are ridiculous,16 we wonder if comedy—which is a kind of playfulness—is the key to understanding his Socrates.17 For the philosopher as such viewed from the perspective of nonphilosophers is “necessarily ridiculous; the meeting of philosophers and non-philosophers is the natural theme of comedy.”18 In this sense Xenophon must be writing comedies. To return then to the surface of Xenophon’s Socratic writings, as Strauss suggests, and to therewith return to “the problem” most obviously found there, which is Socrates himself, we turn with Strauss to the Symposium.19 While the title alone should suffice to make evident to readers the character of its surface, Xenophon in his own name testifies that its explicit theme is playfulness, and that in his judgment “deeds done in times of play” are worth recalling (Sym. 1.1). Yet while his Socratic writings may be subtly Aristophanean in form, Xenophon learned his art of writing not from the comic poet but from his teacher, Socrates. This art of writing, Strauss contends, is founded on an art of public speaking: “Xenophon’s rhetoric is Socratic rhetoric.”20 One word more is required regarding the surface of the Symposium. Strauss observes in his study of “the problem of Socrates”21 and the first volume of his interpretation of Xenophon,22 that a tripartite division of human activity also informs his Socratic writings: “Xenophon divides all activities of men, and hence in particular those of Socrates, into what they say, what they do, and what they think or silently deliberate.”23 This distinction,” Strauss continues, would seem to “underlie the distinction among his three Socratic writings other than the Memorabilia.”24 This division, as Strauss concludes in his “Introduction” (which also serves as the introduction to his second volume), the Oikonomikos is “Xenophon’s Socratic logos or discourse par excellence.”25 A similar statement regarding this tri-partition is made by Strauss in his “study” of Socrates, where it is immediately followed however with two “special remarks” that are “indispensable” to render this division of his work intelligible. The first of these remarks is that the Symposium “deals with deeds not performed in earnest or with seriousness, but playfully.”26 The surface of Xenophon’s Symposium therefore calls our attention not only to the portrait of a playful Socrates therein, but to the playful deeds of gentlemen, including Socrates. Taking seriously a suggestion by Socrates himself in Xenophon’s Memorabilia that deeds can be “more worthy testimony” of thoughts than speeches (Mem. IV.4.10), as well as the judgment of the author at the beginning of his work that playful deeds—especially of Socrates27—are worth remembering, we are invited to see the Symposium as being devoted to presenting the exemplary deed (ἔργον) of Xenophon’s Socrates, but also as Xenophon’s Socratic writing or work par excellence.

XENOPHON’S SYMPOSIUM Xenophon’s dialogue Symposium is arguably his most charming work.28 If “Xenophon’s Socratic logos or discourse par excellence” is the Oikonomikos, in which Socrates practices the art of rhetoric in a conversation with a serious gentleman for the sake of education in dialectics,29 then this playful Socratic work stands apart for its portrait of what Socrates did as well as

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said. The distinctive charm of Xenophon’s Symposium, which by its title points to a quarrel with Plato over how best to present Socrates, derives not only from the subtle comic wit displayed by the author in all of his writings, but also from the especially playful presentation of Socrates at leisure and ease here among a gathering of conventional Athenian gentlemen. This presentation is starkly at odds with the infamous one sketched by Aristophanes, and famous one by Plato, of a Socrates who irritates and infuriates his interlocutors by interrogating their unexamined opinions as a gadfly and gift of the gods to his polis, Athens. It was Socrates’ prudence and moderation, on the other hand, expressed in his playful deeds on this occasion, which particularly impressed Xenophon and which he wanted to recollect for the sake of his own Socratic education. Strauss thus opens his commentary on the Symposium in Xenophon’s Socrates—the third and final section of the second volume of his interpretation of Xenophon’s Socratic writings—with a subtle reference to Socratic moderation, understood here as the playfulness exhibited by both Xenophon and his Socrates. “The fact that at the beginning Socrates comes to sight as only one of many gentlemen engaged in playful deeds, slightly conceals the fact that the work depicts above all the playful deeds of Socrates,” who “proves to be the central character” of the action.30 In the context of Xenophon’s Socratic writings, the Symposium thus “reveals itself as devoted not merely to Socrates’ playful deeds but simply to his deeds,” for while all deeds of Xenophon’s Socrates can be considered playful—“his deed, as distinguished from his speech and his thought, is nothing but playful”—here we see Socrates’ deed par excellence.31 Socrates practiced an art of public speaking in Xenophon’s account that made it possible for him to blend together almost imperceptibly into the convivial company of gentlemen. If the Socratic deed par excellence is a playful one amid other gentlemen, we may begin to wonder how this Socratic writing focused on that deed reveals Socratic thought. Xenophon tells us that Socrates taught moderation as the rhetorical prolegomena to his examination of the political things (Mem. IV.3.1). But his method of educating his companions to moderation often eschewed direct exhortation, relying instead on the argument discernible from his actions; for “he taught moderation by revealing himself . . . as a perfect gentleman.”32 This education failed to impress itself upon some of Socrates’ associates, apparently, for not all of them learned—or if indeed they learned, they did not later remember—what he taught in this way. Since moderation is acquired more by practice than by learning, Strauss explains, the original experience that they had of conversing with Socrates or of observing his manner of conversing with others may have aroused in his interlocutors (or in his listeners) a certain desire for moderation, which, however, was for various reasons subsequently “forgotten by not being acted upon.”33 To judge from what Xenophon remembered of Socrates on this occasion, when he came to sight as indistinguishable from other gentlemen, we infer the meaning of the claim that (his) Socrates never separated his pursuit of wisdom from moderation (Mem. III.9.4)—a claim that Strauss often reiterates.34

SOCRATIC MODERATION AND WISDOM In his Symposium, unlike Plato’s, Xenophon has his Socrates discuss the defining virtue of a gentleman—perfect gentlemanliness (καλοκἀγαθία), being “noble and good” (καλοκἀγαθός) at once—and from whom, or as a result of what way of life, this virtue can be acquired. Midway through the dialogue, however, the conversation turns from a focus upon gentlemanliness to the beautiful itself, and finally culminates in a compelling Socratic speech on the power



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of erōs over human beings and its usefulness to the polis. In contrast to the vivid images of immoderate erōs in Plato’s Symposium, a moderate form of erōs emerges in Xenophon’s Sym­ posium, a form that Socrates contends can unite loving friends in honorable service to each other and to their polis. This moderate form of erotic desire (σώφρων ἔρως) is opposed to the private erotic longings that Aristophanes caricatures in Plato’s Symposium, longings that indirectly or directly (as in the case of Alcibiades) subvert the devotion of individual citizens to the ends of political life. To put this another way, while Plato’s Symposium is characterized by a potentially dangerous erotic excess, embodied in the appearance (and sudden disappearance) of the intoxicated and the intoxicating Alcibiades, an excess that seems to implicate Socrates as his close companion, Socrates’ guiding influence on the course of the conversation in Xenophon’s Symposium is at once moderate and moderating. Socrates, “availing himself of his natural ascendancy” in speaking, turned attention to beauty and love, and did so in a way that demonstrated his moderation, but without entirely obscuring his characteristic pursuit of wisdom—the momentary revelation of which he concealed with laughter. This deed would seem to be why Strauss, in one of his few enigmatic one-sentence paragraphs, deems these to be the three themes of Xenophon’s Symposium: “‘beauty and love,’ ‘laughter,’ and ‘wisdom.’”35 Moderation itself appears to come to light at the beginning of the banquet in the modest demeanor of a beautiful youth, Autolykos (Sym. 1.8–11). Socratic moderation, on the other hand, is most evident near the end. There, Socrates delivers his encomium to moderate erōs (8.7–41)—a speech which is, according to Strauss, “altogether political” insofar as it seeks to unite those “who are good by nature and long for virtue ambitiously” with care of the polis, and which also serves in a deeper sense as Xenophon’s moderate rebuttal to the “transpolitical” Diotima speech delivered by Socrates in Plato’s Symposium.36 Xenophon’s Socrates, Strauss points out, acts as a “matchmaker” between Kallias, his erotically lascivious host,37 and the polis. But he “exercises” this notorious, yet seemingly political art only ironically, of course; for the “disreputable art” of political procuring is thoroughly laughable, above all when boasted of by Socrates (Sym. 3.10).38 He thus demonstrates that his boast is warranted. Socrates is no mere boaster, then, and his irony permitted him to deny possessing other qualities which were otherwise held in high repute, such as his wisdom.39 With respect to Socrates’ procuring speech, delivered to Kallias and the other gentlemen present only when they are deep in their wine-cups, Strauss concludes: “This is precisely his deed performed in fun which is his only deed to speak of.” Socrates’ final speech, therefore, which is itself highly ironic, is the most playful Socratic deed of the Symposium.40 But the most obvious example of Socratic moderation in deed comes after the conclusion of the banquet, when all the married gentlemen present hurried home to their wives, aroused by the Syracusan’s amorous production—all, that is, except Socrates who joined the unmarried men in walking with Autolykos and his father, Lykon (Sym. 9.2–7). Socrates thereby demonstrates by this moderate deed what he had sought to teach through his political speech about moderate erōs. But only in an ironic way; thus Strauss concludes in the penultimate sentence of his commentary that Socrates “behaved like an inveterate bachelor” since his “relation to Xanthippe is the comic equivalent of his relation to the city.”41 Nevertheless, the scene immediately following Socrates’ apparently political speech gives the last word to the older gentleman present, Lykon, who first had inquired about the virtue of gentlemanliness (2.4) and now praises the philosopher Socrates as a “person” who seems “both noble and good” (καλός κἀγαθὸς, 9.1; cf. Oik. 6.12). It would appear that Lykon has no quarrel at all with Socrates. But this conclusion is of course enigmatic, since the gentleman (and father) who is here praising Socrates as a gentleman is himself the Athenian citizen who two decades later

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(according to Plato: Apo. 23e, 36a) would be one of Socrates’ three official accusers at his trial, though Lykon’s reasons for bringing charges against Socrates are not stated. Xenophon does not mention Lykon in his accounts of Socrates’ trial. Within the limits of this symposium, far from being considered a threat to the authority of conventional gentlemen, Socrates appears to be one gentleman among many. As I have argued in the last chapter, Socratic rhetoric in the Symposium, taken as a deed, defends Socrates’ justice.42 But is this political speech to be understood as the playful deed of Socrates that Xenophon has in mind as worth remembering? Of the speeches and deeds—playful or otherwise—in this charming banquet, there are a few, Strauss obliquely argues, that reveal the wisdom of Socrates, a wisdom known to Xenophon but which he abstains from articulating or celebrating explicitly in his writings. One moment is the playful speech by means of which Socrates induces laughter in all those present. In admiring the beauty and grace of the young boy performing dances, Socrates expresses a desire “to learn forms (ta schemata)” taught to the boy by his teacher, the Syracusan. When the skeptical teacher asked him “what use” he would make of them, implicitly pointing to the ungraceful physique of the older man, Socrates replied: “I’ll dance, by Zeus!” (Sym. 2.16–17). In an apparent paraphrase of the text, Strauss writes: “When he said this, all laughed.” But he goes on to note that “the fact that all laughed does not prove that all laughed for the right reason.” We are encouraged to think that “the right reason” might have something to do neither with the absurdity of the thought that would contrast the awkward uglier body of Socrates with the supple and graceful body of the dancing boy, nor with the comic image of Socrates contorting his body into dance forms, but rather with its ironic similitude to the kind of solitary private Socratic activity that would entice a young man like Charmides (or Xenophon) to want to learn from and imitate Socrates as precisely as possible (Sym. 2.17–19; see Diogenes Laertius II.56).43 Charmides (and Xenophon, who was also present: 1.1) laughed with “all” the rest at Socrates’ playful yet serious remark, but certainly for a different reason. Socrates, who (we are told by Xenophon) had put on a “solemn face” in reply to their laughter, did not himself laugh.44 As for an even more impressively playful deed, though not necessarily done by Socrates, we turn to that deed in Xenophon’s Symposium that may be said to be the most playful moment in the entire work—if, that is, playfulness in this comedy is judged in terms of the laughter which was induced in all of the symposiasts, including Socrates. This moment of laughter, we are told by Xenophon, happened once and only once at this banquet. Such a “playful deed” would mark the peak of conviviality in the dialogue, and therewith the closest point of amiable rather than hostile contact between the two ways of life that are fundamentally in tension in the dialogue; namely, the way of life of the gentleman and the way of life of Socrates, which in itself may yet in some sense be associated with perfect gentlemanliness. The friction we might expect between the philosopher and serious gentlemen—as is evident in Aristophanes and Plato—is not allowed by Xenophon to surface or disturb the urbanity of his Symposium. The proximity of the two ways of life here unexpectedly and ironically generated more light than heat. This peak represents the high point of the dialogue, provided that a nod is given to the limiting circumstances within which Xenophon has chosen to depict this unusually playful moment.

SOCRATES’ PHILOSOPHIC INSIGHT AND ORIENTATION But before turning to this playful peak in the dialogue, let us pause once again to consider Xenophon’s Socratic rhetoric. A study of the argument of the action within Xenophon’s



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Socratic writings reveals that Xenophon, like Socrates, weaves together speech and deed in a manner best described as “Odyssean.”45 Xenophon, as a young Athenian, observed Socrates sufficiently well to acquire an understanding of the reasons why he proceeded in speech as cautiously as he did. Once the active life yielded to remembrance and contemplation, Xenophon exercised in writing the public art of Socratic rhetoric he had observed. Approaching the Symposium through Strauss’ tripartite division of Xenophon’s Socratic writings, we discover perhaps the example in all of his works of how the rhetorical character of Socratic speech is to be understood as a deed, which in turn has been translated by Xenophon into a manner of writing. Insofar as Strauss, too, imitated the style of Xenophon the task of revealing Strauss’ interpretation of Xenophon and his Socrates becomes inextricably woven into an interpretation of the Symposium itself.46 Socratic rhetoric is the inevitable consequence in deed of what Socrates himself describes as his “turn” away from the natural philosophy or natural science, dominated by the preSocratic effort to discover a unifying principle that explains the whole, on the one hand, and the sophistic pursuit of rhetoric as power, on the other. His turn toward examinations of “the human things,” while it does not preclude inquiries into nature (φυσιολογία), as implied in Socrates’ illuminating but brief exchange with the Syracusan (Sym. 7.4–10; see Mem. I.1.11–13, IV.7.4–7, cf. I.1.16), compels Socrates to situate his studies in a way that both acknowledges essential distinctions and restrains rhetoric; distinguishing the human from the divine, for example, or as Strauss remarks, separating “terrestrial things . . . from heavenly or divine ones.”47 In other words, Socratic rhetoric necessarily attends the second sailing of philosophy. But even in this rhetorical mode, Socrates “never ceased considering what each of the beings is,” whether together with his companions, or “silently” to himself “in the midst of his companions” (Mem. IV.6.1). Here at the “peak” of the fourth book of his “recollections,” Strauss argues, “Xenophon points to the center of Socrates’ life—a center of which he does not speak owing to the limitations he has imposed on himself especially in the Memorabilia.”48 To articulate the extent of Socrates’ inquiries into “the beings” (τὰ ὄντα) would defeat the purpose of that work: “The Socrates of the bulk of the Memorabilia is phronimos but not sophos: the concealment of Socrates’ sophia is the defense of Socrates.”49 The Socrates of the Memorabilia appears as a law-abiding Athenian, thus demonstrating his justice because his deeds are constituted by a “safe” conduct in his manner of speaking. “The Odyssean kind of dialectics is characteristic of the good citizen,” observes Strauss, “but the good citizen . . . is not the same as a wise man doing the work peculiar to the wise man. It makes sense to call the Odyssean dialectics [exercised by Socrates and Xenophon] rhetoric.”50 Bearing this orientation in mind, we are able to see how Xenophon’s Socrates transcends the Socrates of Xenophon’s Memorabilia. In that work, Socrates’ consideration of what each of the beings is regards, for the most part, only the human things. Hence at the beginning Xenophon characterized Socrates’ conversations as limited to gentlemanly concerns: what is piety, nobility, justice, moderation, courage, a polis, and ruling, “as well as about the other things, knowledge of which he believed makes one a gentleman” (Mem. I.1.16). According to Xenophon, this turn in Socrates’ inquiries focuses on human beings, and hence the human soul, against the background of his natural examinations, leading to sustained reflection on “the human things” and especially the limitations of being human, since it would be a kind of “madness” to neglect such limits and to seek the kind of definitive knowledge of the whole that could be possessed—if at all—only by the gods (Mem. I.1.6–15). But this “turn” or reorientation further suggests, by calling attention to the human things as eminently worthy of consideration, among the manifold beings available to inquiry within the whole, that knowledge of “what each of the beings

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is” within that whole,51 ultimately depends upon recognizing the essential heterogeneity of the beings that are and that can be known by human beings. This principle of “noetic heterogeneity” is the governing insight of Xenophon’s Socrates, as well as Plato’s, according to Strauss. Xenophon’s Socrates “never ceased considering” as well as separating out and dividing things in speech, according to their “tribes” or kinds (Mem. I.4.13; IV.5.12, 6.1; cf. Oik. 9.6–7). But his examination of the intelligible natures of things (“what each of the beings is”) was circumscribed by moderation—that is, by a “sane and sober” inquiry into human affairs, above all political affairs, as distinguished from “all beings strictly understood.” Unlike all preceding philosophers, who neglect the human things as such, Socrates “sees the core of the whole, or of nature, in noetic heterogeneity . . . [that is,] essential heterogeneity. It is for this reason that Socrates founded political science,” or political philosophy, the study of the human things as a discrete class within the whole. For Xenophon, Socrates’ insight into the character of the whole as consisting of distinct, intelligible classes or kinds “permits one to let things be what they are,” thus vindicating “the natural origins of philosophy in everyday life” by reflecting upon the “what is” questions, beginning with—but not exhausted by—the examinations regarding the human things, knowledge of which seems to constitute perfect gentlemanliness. With this rebirth of “common sense,” Socrates, according to Strauss, considered his discovery of essential noetic heterogeneity and his turn to the human things to be “a return from madness to sanity or sobriety, or, to use the Greek term, sophrosynê,” which Strauss translates “as moderation.”52 After his turn, Socrates altered his pursuit of wisdom not only in speech—by examining what others (that is, sophists and philosophers before Socrates) had previously neglected or taken for granted, but also in deed, adopting a moderate or sane art of conversation with human beings, the resulting conversations themselves being predicated on distinguishing in thought the human soul as a kind distinct from all other beings. Strauss indicates in his commentary, by his constant attention to the character or nature of each of Socrates’ interlocutors, that the turn occasioned by the discovery of the principle of noetic heterogeneity guided not only his mode of examining all the beings but also his manner of conversing in accordance with the diversity of individual souls within that kind (Mem. IV.6.1). Socrates thus spoke moderately both in public and in private, as the Symposium makes clear, limiting his conversations (if not his examinations) according to the nature of his particular interlocutor as well as by the human, or political, things. “The human or political things,” Strauss insists, “are indeed the clue to all things, to the whole of nature, since they are the link or bond between the highest and the lowest.”53 For Socrates (and Xenophon), “the transpolitical life is higher in dignity than the political life,” and yet the claims of the polis and of political life, including those salutary opinions connected with politics as the horizon for examining the human questions, must be treated with due respect. (Xenophon thus refrains from having his Socrates raise or participate in examining the question “What is law?”)54 This is the essence of Socratic moderation. To deny the political things their due in the pursuit of wisdom would be a peculiar form of madness, and “Socrates, Xenophon says, did not separate from each other wisdom and moderation.” Although the political is indeed not the highest, it is nonetheless for Socrates “first” and “most urgent,” according to Strauss, because—like continence to virtue—it is “the foundation, the indispensable condition.” Socratic philosophy is political philosophy, in that the “human or political things and their corollaries are the form in which the highest things first come to sight,” and thus is required insofar as it reveals as well as conceals and protects “the inner sanctum of philosophy” itself.55



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The decisive Socratic turn, with its critical foregrounding of the human things, obscures the question of whether or how Socrates returned to his “preoccupation” with the study of natural phenomena.56 But the discovery of the essential intelligibility and place of the human, above all political, things within the order of the whole does not preclude transpolitical, natural, and theological investigations. For to say that Socrates conversed “always” about human things, that is, “by raising the ‘what is’ questions regarding them,” is not to say that he spoke or thought only about this class of beings. Examining such questions as “What is noble, and what is base?” or “What is a city, and what is a political man?” inevitably leads to other inquiries, such as “What is a human being?” and “What is mind or soul?”—questions that certainly point beyond themselves to considerations of the relation between human beings and the (other) kinds of beings manifest in the whole; and perhaps even further to a consideration of how these questions stand in relation to “the still more fundamental” yet immoderate question about the nature of the divine (quid sit deus) that neither Xenophon nor his Socrates are ever presented as raising in speech.57 What is absent or passed over in silence, however, is not simply forgotten, especially that which is held dear.58 As Strauss observes (commenting on Mem. IV.6.1), “Xenophon no longer says as he had said near the beginning of the work (I.1.16) that Socrates raised the ‘what is’ questions regarding the human things only.”59 Despite the fact that Xenophon provides precious few examples in his writings of Socrates considering the beings “according to their kinds,” his silence regarding what Socrates did or said (or thought) in private (cf. I.6.14) does not deny the possibility that Socrates thought and conversed about “the nature of all things” with some of his companions; Xenophon only stipulates that Socrates did not converse about all the beings “in the way most of the others did” (I.1.11). This stipulation suggests, according to Strauss, that Socratic thought is, or rather remains, characterized by a “constant preoccupation” with “what is” simply, that is, “with the essence of all things.” The inquiries that constitute this “chief preoccupation” would be, in the decisive sense, the “peak” of Xenophon’s presentation of Socrates. Xenophon however only “points to that peak . . . he does not supply it. The peak is missing.”60 By constructing his arguments so as to point toward a peak without presenting it, Xenophon refrains from writing merely vulgar comedy; he insists on recognizing and preserving in his writing the integrity of the high by not attempting to make what is high visible only from the perspective, or in the light, of what is low: “the very meaning of the high,” in Strauss’ reading of Xenophon’s rhetoric, “is that it is not reducible to or explicable in terms of the low.”61 “This formula,” Strauss asserts, “can be applied to Xenophon’s Socratic writings as a whole. The highest does not become visible or audible, but it can be divined. The unsaid is more important than what is said.”62 Socratic rhetoric, particularly in pursuit of knowledge about perfect gentlemanliness, can be seen at work in Socrates’ playful deeds and speeches in Xenophon’s Symposium, as well as in the composition of the dialogue itself. The rhetorical principle governing the Symposium, like the post-turn activity of Socrates, is animated by an awareness of the unique character of the human soul within the natural order of the whole, and by the necessary consequence in speech and in deed (if not also in thought) of the fundamental insight that had occasioned Socrates’ turn itself. This consequence is articulated by Xenophon, when considering the virtues that he had named as the topics of Socrates’ inquiries into the human things: that wisdom, and the pursuit of wisdom, must not be separated from the exercise of moderation (Mem. III.9.4). Reading the Socratic writings of Xenophon, unlike those of Plato, we do not see Socrates made to appear as young and beautiful. Xenophon presents Socrates in a rhetorical manner

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that will hardly persuade most readers to fall in love with the Socratic life of philosophy. The rhetoric of Xenophon instead creates for us a portrait of Socrates composed of discreet episodes, it seems, which, taken together, form the circumscribing line of a Euclidean circle always anchored by its attachment to a hidden center. The words and deeds of his Socrates are thus rendered intelligible and beautiful by a perspective, or principle, which itself must remain unseen and unstated. This rhetorical strategy imbues Xenophon’s writing, patterned on his Socrates’ way of speaking, with a sober prudence. With this as an introduction to the author’s Socratic rhetoric, we turn now to discover what we can learn from the visible center of Xenophon’s Symposium, namely, the most playful deed in the dialogue.

THE MUTUAL LAUGHTER OF GENTLEMEN AND PHILOSOPHER Xenophon in his Symposium reveals Socrates at ease conversing privately and playfully with certain companions and other gentlemen. Enlivened by wine, music, and a convivial setting, the conversations recorded in the Symposium range across several Socratic themes—from beauty and wisdom, to perfect gentlemanliness and erōs. While it is animated throughout by a playful agōn between the representatives of philosophy and the gentlemen present, the expected tension between the philosophic life and that of conventional gentlemen is not openly presented here by Xenophon, just as it does not appear in the conversation with Ischomachos in the Oikonomikos. One of the ways Socrates prudently conceals this rivalry or contest is by seeking to moderate his fellow symposiasts and by finding common ground between representatives of both ways of life. Laughter, which Strauss suggests is the central theme of the dialogue, is one manifestation of an apparent agreement or harmony between philosophy and gentlemanliness (Sym. 1.16, 2.17, 3.10). But the most playful moment in the banquet is the spontaneous outburst of laughter by all of the symposiasts that occurs at the center of the Symposium. In reply to Antisthenes’ proud speech in defense of his poverty, which he has interpreted as a kind of wealth derived from associating with Socrates (4.34–44), and which Strauss notes is “the central speech in the chapter,” Kallias, their host, swears a paradoxical oath—his fifth and last, but the central oath of the Symposium, which also marks the beginning of the second half of the dialogue.63 With his oath, Kallias calls attention to the sophistic inversion of the weaker into the stronger speech that Charmides and Antisthenes appear to have accomplished in their defense speeches regarding their respective interpretation of poverty as a kind of wealth—interpretations both have attributed to (their close association with) Socrates (4.45). The Aristophanean portrait of Socrates as a sophist and a teacher of sophistic rhetoric is suggested. As a wealthy gentleman who has paid more money to sophists than any other Athenian (Pl. Apo. 20a), Kallias recognizes a sophistic art of rhetoric. As Strauss says: “Kallias is not impressed by [Antisthenes’] reasoning but refutes his would-be refuter, whom he apostrophizes as ‘sophist.’”64 In reply to Antisthenes, Kallias feigns envy and swearing by Hera pretends to be convinced, promising to relinquish his own wealth in favor of the wealth advocated by the self-proclaimed Socratics. With his proposed exchange of traditional for Socratic wealth—“and the most exquisite possession that goes with it, namely, leisure”—Kallias implicitly denies the premise of his earlier argument (that need is what leads to injustice) and explicitly rejects the self-sacrificing aspect of his own boast to use his kind of wealth to help others escape necessity, for he now claims to want to be poor, like Socrates, so that he can be free from the demands of conventional justice. Since we have reasons to doubt even his initial



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claim to use wealth to benefit others and to do justice, Kallias’ ironic remark only reveals the truth he previously concealed, that Kallias is much less concerned with justice than with having a tyrannical license to do whatever he wants. Strauss argues here that this exchange makes clear that all the gentlemen present in the Symposium are not gentlemen in the same sense, just as “Xenophon makes clear in the central chapter of the Oeconomicus” where the contrast of the philosopher and an outstanding gentleman is made explicit. But such an open confrontation is “most unsuitable” in the setting of the Symposium.65 Whether or not any of the other symposiasts take seriously his renunciation of pride in his conventional wealth, Kallias’ intervention, as Strauss remarks, nonetheless “enables” Nikeratos, another Athenian gentleman present, who had expressed pride in his knowledge of Homer, to be bold in offering a playful defense, or justification, of gentlemen and their traditional wealth.66 Nikeratos offers that defense, strikingly, with reference to what he has learned or claims to have learned from Homer, in contrast to what Antisthenes and Charmides claimed to have learned from Socrates (4.45): “But by Zeus,” said Niceratus, “don’t be envious [of their wealth]; I at least am going to come near him as one who borrows this ‘being in need of nothing,’ for having learned from Homer how to count. . . . I never cease eagerly desiring the most wealth; because of these things perhaps to some I also seem to be a lover-of-the-most-possessions.”

Xenophon remarks: “At this, everyone burst out laughing, believing that he had said the things that are (τὰ ὄντα).” Nikeratos’ playful, self-deprecating rebuke of Kallias, for his feigned envy of the self-professed Socratics, serves as a comic apologia on behalf of gentlemanly wealth and Homeric poetry. But it is an ironically playful-serious moment. In an improvised moment of wit, he has disclosed the deleterious effect of an Homeric education which produces in gentlemen an all-consuming desire to acquire, a defect which may in fact have nothing at all to do with Homer. The “hidden meaning” (3.6: ὑπόνοια) of the Homeric verses recited from memory by a slightly intoxicated Nikeratos may have eluded his grasp as well as that of his fellow symposiasts. On the acquisitiveness of such men, Strauss elaborates: Nikeratos had “learned from Homer to count his gifts exactly; he quotes the verses from the Iliad in which Agamemnon enumerated exactly the lavish gifts with which he was willing to appease Achilles’ wrath; he has learned from Homer to count, to count money exactly, and thus perhaps to be rather too fond of money.” In its proper context, Agamemnon’s lines fall flat of course because Achilles there indignantly rejects the kind of conventional wealth later sought by Athenian gentlemen.67 Xenophon, in a characteristically brief editorial remark, reports that “everyone” laughed at this playful statement by Nikeratos, a joke sufficiently self-deprecating as not to come across too obviously as what it really is—a quiet rebuke of the indigence of Antisthenes and Charmides as unmanly and ungentlemanly. Whether or not he had intended to inspire complete laughter, this is the only time the banqueters laugh in this chapter. Nikeratos therefore shares with Socrates the distinction of inspiring laughter among all of the gentlemen at the Sympo­ sium; or, to put it more provocatively, insofar as he is also laughing at himself, Nikeratos alone has the honor of saying something that makes everyone laugh, including Socrates—this is the only occasion in a banquet memorable for its deeds when we know that indeed “everyone” was made to laugh. But why did Socrates join the Socratics and the gentlemen in laughing? Ironically, on the two prior occasions of general laughter, both of which he himself inspired, Socrates, we are told by Xenophon, maintained his composure and refused to join in the laughter. Even as

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everyone else burst out laughing (2.17), Socrates put on a serious look. When he moves the symposiasts to laughter again with his ridiculous statement that he takes great pride in an art of procuring (3.10), Socrates takes care to attend his remark with a very solemn look. Here we notice a slight hint of disapproval on the part of some, for Xenophon refrains from explicitly attesting that “everyone” laughed. He merely reports that “they laughed at him”—but the silence of Autolykos and Lykon may be inferred from the bawdy character of the joke. When Socrates begins to defend this art of procuring in terms of its usefulness in acquiring money, Lykon quickly intervenes to change the topic by turning the attention of the symposiasts to the other foolish one among them who makes his living simply from causing laughter (3.10–11). However this may be with Lykon and his son, we can hardly include Socrates among those who reportedly laughed. If we return to the one time Socrates joined in the convivial laughter, we wonder: Why? Does he laugh for the reason stated by Xenophon—namely, the sudden and comic revelation by the unsuspecting Nikeratos of what is (τὰ ὄντα)? And if so, which, if any, of the others, including Xenophon (who claims to be present), are laughing for the same reason as Socrates— that is, for “the right reason”? While he speaks playfully, Xenophon’s Socrates rarely laughs: “for only the second time in all of Xenophon’s Socratic writings, where he has caused us to laugh more than a few times, Socrates laughed,”68 but only once are we explicitly told that he did so. “It is true that Xenophon does not say here [in Sym.] explicitly that Socrates laughed, as he does in the Apology of Socrates (28), but Socrates belongs to the ‘all’ who laughed, does he not?” Strauss continues to expand the point: “Socrates never laughs in the Oeconomicus or in the Memorabilia, although he jests there not infrequently, not to say always.” The last four words attest to the Aristophanean mode adopted in part by Xenophon.69 In this, the most playful of all his writings, Xenophon is neither explicitly calling attention to the rare fact of Socratic laughter, nor concealing it. On that sole occasion when Socrates is explicitly said to have laughed (an occasion which is reported by Xenophon secondhand, since he was absent at the time from Athens), the circumstances must be understood from a conventional perspective to be the least playful setting of his Socratic works. The paradox of Socratic laughter in the face of death is compounded by the fact that it arises out of the failure of his most enthusiastic companions to understand that, for those whom the life of philosophy has prepared for death, to be condemned to die by a polis is not tragic. A dim-witted youth’s lament on this occasion, that Socrates is being “unjustly” (rather than “justly”) executed, is, as Strauss wittily notes in commenting upon Nikeratos in the Symposium, a rather “touching manifestation of silliness” that induced Socrates to laugh.70 Seeing how rare Socratic laughter is in Xenophon, we are all the more eager to learn what causes it here. Xenophon reports that the laughter was stimulated by the (unexpected) revelation of “the things that are” through Nikeratos’ remark about Homer. We doubt all those who laughed understood “what is” in the same way, or laughed for the same reason as Socrates. One meaning of ta onta suggests that, for those gentlemen who are present at least, the words would translate as “property” or “possessions” (Sym. 4.14, 4.47).71 What is laughable for Socrates may come to light only once Nikeratos’ speech is seen as a kind of revelatory deed: the acquisitive gentleman is unwittingly playing the role of a “self-worked philosopher” (Sym. 1.5), stumbling in speech on an articulation of what is (cf. 2.19). Even though his speech unintentionally grasps the truth with respect to his kind (conventional gentlemen), it is not likely recognized as such by Nikeratos or the other gentlemen present, who laugh at the obviously absurd thought that a “most possessions-loving” gentleman would renounce his property (and his beloved poet) to pursue Socratic wealth. The fundamental disagreement between the



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philosopher and traditional gentlemen has been for a moment glimpsed here in the underlying thought or hidden meaning (3.6) conveyed by a playful, yet serious logos that simultaneously reveals and conceals.72 With respect to the real cause of Socrates’ laughter at this point, Strauss himself poses a sequence of five provocative questions: Did [Socrates] laugh about the suggestion that Homer is a teacher of thrift? Or did he laugh about the notion that Homer is a teacher of counting? (Cf. Plato, Republic 522d). Or about the notion that his teaching is diametrically opposed to Homer’s? Or did he laugh about the hidden thought (hyponoia) underlying the counting of a multiple of seven which is the sum of four numbers only one of which (‘seven tripods that have not yet been on fire’) is seven? Are the beings numbers?

The central question of the five proposed makes more explicit the underlying or hidden meaning, pointing to the opposition between the “teaching” of Socrates as “diametrically opposed” to that of Homer, followed by a hint of what that teaching might be by wondering if Socrates had in fact laughed “about the hidden thought (hyponoia) underlying the counting” which arguably has been learned by Nikeratos from Homer.73 If the notion of a “teaching” implies an education, we might further wonder if the Socratic, or philosophic, education associated with Socrates’ teaching must be understood as “diametrically opposed” to the traditional gentleman’s education.74 The failure of the gentlemen present to discern this radical opposition in Nikeratos’ remark can be attributed not only to its esoteric concealment but to the fact that coded discourse in Homeric poetry proved to be a common means of speaking differently to diverse audiences.75 Regarding the disjuncture of explicit form (Socratic laughter) and implicit content (the cause or causes of laughter), consider Socrates’ argument in Plato’s Ion. In a chance encounter with Ion the Ephesian, fresh from his victory in the “contests” (ἀγῶνα) of the rhapsodes at the festival in Epidaurus and now passing through Athens to compete during the Panathenaiac games, the Platonic Socrates ironically claims that he envies the rhapsodes, who dress up in fancy robes and “look as fine as possible” to stand in place of the fine poets whose poetry they recite—“Homer above all, the best and divinest.”76 Socrates has in mind the text of the Homeric epics learned by rote and recited by the rhapsodes, who, he insists, must also understand and interpret the poems in order not to mindlessly (μὴ γιγνώσκοντα) mimic the words whose “meaning” (τὴν διάνοιαν) entirely escapes them. Such performances accurately imitate the aesthetic experience of poetry—the harmony and rhythm, the sounds and sensations— but often, implies Socrates, without any apprehension of the substance and meaning of the words themselves. Rhapsodes wear the “pretty face” of the poets as decorated vessels of their verses but often lack the understanding that would render them truly beautiful and worthy of admiration in the eyes of Socrates, not merely ornamentations and false blooms.77 The young gentlemen whose wealthy fathers hire rhapsodes to teach them with their “art” how to recite lines of poetry, especially Homer, without also teaching them to interpret their lines are thus twice removed from being genuinely good. No matter how much of Homer or Hesiod or Simonides they memorize, these young gentlemen betray their ignorance if they merely acquire a treasury of well-wrought phrases without also grasping their meaning, the hidden thoughts which make the lines worth remembering in the first place. Of course, whatever Socrates may think of the insatiable acquisitiveness of gentlemen or the education to acquisitiveness by their poet (Homer as the teacher of pleonexia to tyrants), his reasons for laughing are obscured or concealed by the general laughter of the others. And yet, his laughter—far from being agreement (ὁμόνοια) with the gentlemen and non-gentlemen

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present—corresponds to an indictment by the philosopher both of the apparent lesson learned from Homer by those who profess to be gentlemen, and of the grave insufficiency in the gentleman’s grasp of “what is,” that is, of what properly speaking constitutes genuine “property” for human beings, not to mention τὰ ὄντα. If knowledge of the beings (the-things-that-are, or what is) is reduced to knowledge of numbers assigned to material objects, as is the implied cause of Socrates’ laughter at Nikeratos’ remark, according to Strauss, then it would seem all possessions for human beings can be accumulated and counted in the manner of Homer. Insofar as conventional gentlemen rest secure in this view of wealth and the sufficiency of their way of life, they share in the “madness” of certain natural philosophers who seemed unaware of their insufficient understanding of the whole. As a result, they expect, as the sophists did, to derive benefits (material possessions) from knowledge as merely an instrumental good. Such gentlemen assume an intelligibility or order of the whole that remains unexamined and their approach to the whole must be contrasted with that of Socrates, who, according to Xenophon, holds that, for true wealth to be had by human beings, it suffices “to understand in what way each of the beings of this sort comes to be” rather than make use of knowledge to acquire more (see Mem. I.1.15–16, cf. 2.10, 3.10, 4.56–61, 7.2–3, cf. 2.16–19, 8.12). Even if this critique, or something like it, is what Socrates had in mind when he laughed along with the others at Nikeratos’ tongue-in-cheek rejection of his Homeric education regarding property (τά ὄντα, taken as οὐσία) as deficient, the seemingly harmonious convivial setting is not disturbed by it. Strauss then, after a provocative consideration of the causes of Socratic laughter, subtly takes note of the hidden tension in this moment, as well as the need to move past it rather quickly: “What is perhaps equally remarkable as that all laughed at this point is that none laughs any more in the rest of the Symposium; any further laughter would be anticlimactic.” Thus, in the waning playfulness of the symposium what follows in the dialogue “is characterized by the greatest seriousness compatible with the circumstances.” Once the general laughter subsides, the peak of playful contact between the philosopher and gentlemen—in which an underlying tension between them is also revealed—has passed. Strauss’ transition captures the turn in the dialogue’s tone: “The debauch of general laughter—of the laughter in which Socrates had joined—calls for redress.” It is for this reason that Xenophon (the unnamed “someone” at 4.46) redirects attention away from Nikeratos and his inadvertent revelation of “what is” (τὰ ὄντα), toward “the serious, very serious Hermogenes,” whose love of gentlemanliness (8.3) returns the dialogue explicitly to the (potentially) common ground shared by the conventional gentlemen and those who practice philosophy.78 Gentlemanliness, or the longing for both “the beautiful or the noble and the good” (καλοκἀγαθός), again comes to light as a desire shared by all those present at the symposium, in one way or another. However, essential to the Socratic conception of perfect gentlemanliness (as Hermogenes’ speech suggests and Socrates does not deny) must always be “knowledge of things other than the human things.”79 The kind of examination which may lead to such knowledge may be here suggested by the strictly private, seemingly “mad” dancing of Xenophon’s Socrates. In harmony with the laughter of the other gentlemen, Socrates’ laughter in the Symposium passes almost unnoticed—as do his reasons for laughing. Socrates offers no comment on what Nikeratos has said and it goes without saying that no one is moved to ask Socrates why he laughed, since “everyone” was laughing all at once. Earlier in the symposium certain Socratic reasons had been revealed by challenges raised to his speeches by Charmides, Antisthenes, and Hermogenes, as well as by Kallias and Lykon. But here, on the sole occasion of his joining the others in laughter, Socrates’ reasons for doing so, his silent deliberations, must remain unknown to the other gentlemen and Socratics who were present—with perhaps one exception.



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Xenophon, in his art of writing, quietly calls our attention to this rare laughter and thus bids us wonder, as Strauss himself does in his commentary, about the hidden thought of Socrates. As the Symposium begins its descent from the playful to the serious following this missing peak, which is pointed to but not made explicit by Xenophon as author, we become all the more attentive to the underlying tension in the dialogue. We recall here what Strauss had said about Xenophon’s art of writing in his earlier lectures on Socrates—but which he now leaves unsaid: “The highest does not become visible or audible, but it can be divined. The unsaid is more important than what is said. For the reader this means that he must be extremely attentive, or extremely careful.”80 Strauss’ commentary demonstrates that a close reading of Xenophon’s Symposium is sage advice.

SOCRATIC RHETORIC AND THE PHILOSOPHIC LIFE Xenophon, in the opening line of his Symposium, expresses his intention to make evident why the playful deeds of gentlemen are worth remembering. Socrates appears in this dialogue as almost indistinguishable from the other gentlemen who are present. But we know from his other writings—both Socratic and “non-Socratic”—that Xenophon held Socrates in the highest esteem. The radical contrast between Socrates and conventional gentlemen, according to Strauss, comes to sight in Xenophon’s Oikonomikos. But the difference is also subtly present in the Symposium. The charming yet elusive character of the work, and of Xenophon’s writing, may be judged from the fact that the most outward sign of agreement between Socrates and the other gentlemen—a moment of shared laughter—implies even as it restrains the harsh indictment of the unexamined life of the conventional gentleman from the perspective of philosophy. Socrates’ laughter on this occasion is deeply ironic, just as his deeds are playful. The underlying thoughts or reasons that induced his laughter remain unspoken. Here as elsewhere in his writings, Xenophon conceals the wisdom of the philosopher by pointing in a moderate way toward that very wisdom, and thus to the superiority of the Socratic life. In other words, Xenophon as author hides his high esteem for Socrates out in the open but in such a manner as to prevent both Xenophon and his Socrates from being maligned by those who do not know philosophy and would take offense at the judgment in favor of philosophy over the life of the conventional gentleman. Strauss therefore insists that as we read the Symposium “we must not forget the invisible and inaudible Xenophon, for he too is a lover . . . of Socrates.”81 Xenophon’s Socrates then does not seem, after all, to be central to the Symposium since the philosophic way of life he embodies emerges only in a liminal way. Yet as author Xenophon manages over the course of the dialogue both to draw distinctions between Socrates himself and those who appear to live as caricatures of philosophy, on one hand, and to make philosophy and gentlemanliness appear compatible, on the other hand. In this regard Socrates’ persuasive speech before the gentleman Lykon seems to reconcile the two rival ways of life. But this speech occurs near the end of the work when the action of the dialogue has already passed its peak and the wine has been flowing among the banqueters for some time. But this ostensible reconciliation occurs only after Xenophon has contrived to have the inherent tension between these rival ways of life, and their diverse representatives, brought to our attention in the dialogue. As the banquet proceeds late into the evening, the Symposium declines into various forms of convivial misbehavior, and a “greater seriousness” threatens to taint the setting and speeches of the banqueters. In particular, an abrupt and abusive remark by the sober Syracusan, the

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teacher of the performing boy and girl whom Socrates earlier had playfully invited to teach him as well, now envious of the lack of attention paid to his performers, disrupts the playful setting. Imitating some accusations derived from Aristophanes’ Clouds, that Socrates allegedly is “a thinker of the things aloft” and “measures a flea’s jump in terms of a flea’s feet,” the Syracusan appears to be rebuking Socrates with his charges—to which Socrates, surprisingly, confesses.82 Strauss pauses to note Socrates’ admission of intellectual audacity: “He grants him that he indeed runs the risk of being, as the Syracusan says, a thinker,” whom the comic poet had mocked for his inquiry into physiological “wonders” of nature; that is, the examinations of natural phenomena conducted by the “pre-Socratic” Socrates. In his reply, Socrates “wonders” not at the basis of the charges, but whether the aim of the Syracusan to please those for whom he performs can be achieved by the “farfetched wonders” that he teaches his young students to perform. Strauss, in his commentary, emphasizes the philosophic tone of Socrates’ advice to the serious Syracusan: “if someone wants to look at wonders, he has only to wonder at what is right at hand.” Socrates elaborates on his observation by referring the Syracusan’s attention to a consideration of certain natural wonders, while reminding him that a playful symposium is an ill-suited setting to display such inquiries. It is worth noting that “Socrates does not say that these ‘physiological’ questions are not serious or beyond man’s reach,” comments Strauss, “but that they are too serious for a drinking party.”83 Socrates, nonetheless, in his elaboration of his thought would seem to have violated his own advice. His momentary digression on the wonderful, yet seemingly contradictory properties of liquids, like olive oil and water, as well as the reflective but not illuminating quality of bronze (Sym. 7.4), draws aside the veil to give us a glimpse of the kind of examinations that would seem a serious and significant aspect of his concern with the intelligible beings. Socrates’ immoderate philosophizing here could be taken as tantamount to a confession, were it not for the facts that he restricts his physiological questions here to a consideration of terrestrial wonders and that he then returns immediately to the salutary properties of wine and dancing, intoxication and the beautiful (7.5, see 2.24–26, with 2.1–2, 2.8–9, and 2.15–19, but cf. 3.1–2). Above all, Socrates’ digression is paradoxically fitting. His bold, perhaps brazen reference to this kind of philosophical inquiry, just at this moment in the Symposium, seems ironically justified. For it is precisely here, with the playfulness of the banquet enlivened by wine-drinking and the tempers of the gentlemen subdued by the waning hours of night, that such an audacious speech could be overlooked or dismissed as harmless by those present (and awake: cf. Plato, Sym. 223b-d), especially intoxicated gentlemen who may (or may not) be listening. Socrates’ audacity in speech thus can be excused in a way as being prompted by his drinking wine, despite his reputation for extraordinary continence. More importantly, according to Strauss it is only here in the Symposium, perhaps in all of Xenophon’s Socratic writings, that such an acknowledgement of the extent of Socrates’ philosophizing would be appropriate; for “he who never speaks of this kind of question in the other Socratic writings of Xenophon, speaks of them in an advanced stage of a drinking party where a greater parrhêsia is in order than elsewhere.” Socrates’ thought, then, argues Strauss, “nay, his whole wisdom can be shown without disguise only ‘in fun’; so close is the connection between wisdom and laughter.” Xenophon’s Socrates, in other words, indulges his desire to speak seriously about and thus partly to disclose the radical nature of his pursuit of knowledge according to distinct kinds of beings, including his examinations in natural philosophy, which must constitute a significant portion of what has remained his “constant preoccupation,” namely, his concern— which has never ceased, according to Xenophon—with examining “what is” (τὰ ὄντα). In this subtle and charming way, the “bashful” Xenophon points to the hidden peak of Socratic



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thought, allowing us to glimpse, if only for a moment, the kind of philosophic activity that partly constitutes the Socratic life, which otherwise could not have been shown unconcealed without ironic playfulness.84 The Syracusan, too, it must be said, seems satisfied with the fittingness of Socrates’ rhetoric (8.1). On this reading of the Symposium, which Strauss’ commentary on the dialogue presents and which represents Xenophon’s Socrates’ rhetoric as his deed par excellence, it also should go without saying that the one banqueter and intimate to whom this confession and apologia are addressed is none other than the mysterious Syracusan whom Strauss—in his last enigmatic one-sentence paragraph, which concludes his commentary on Xenophon’s Symposium— intimates is none other than Xenophon himself, the finest student of Socrates, who alone may be his rival in rhetoric, if not also in wisdom.85 This intimation is confirmed, if not fully disclosed, by reflection upon the final pages of Xenophon’s Socrates—the brief “Appendix” on the life and “fatherland” of Xenophon that concludes, in perhaps the best way possible under such playful circumstances, Strauss’ interpretation of Xenophon’s Socratic writings as a whole.86 When the Socratic writings are taken together with his other major works, Xenophon subtly convey to readers that he alone among all those who followed Socrates did not merely imitate his teacher, but patterned himself “precisely” upon his way of life, and, by being in his company, even or especially when Socrates was being playful (Mem. IV.1.1, Sym. 1.1), learned how to become a gentleman (Mem. I.2.18, I.6.14, IV.7.1, IV.8.11).87 With reference to this serious proposition, therefore, we fittingly end our study of the Symposium and Xenophon’s Socratic rhetoric.

NOTES 1. Xenophon, Symposium 6.10. On the silence of Socrates and a crucial difference between Xenophon and Plato in interpreting that silence, see Nietzsche, Note from 1885: “The magic of Socrates was this: that he had one soul, and behind that another, and behind that another. Xenophon lay down to sleep in Socrates’ foremost soul; Plato in the second, and then again in the third—only here Plato lay down to sleep with his own second soul.” See Porter 2000, 87. A version of this chapter originally appeared as Gish 2015. 2.  On Strauss and “the Problem” of Socrates, see Gish forthcoming. 3.  Strauss 1958/1996, 158. 4.  Strauss 1958/1996, 140, 158, 164. 5. Xen. Symposium 6.6–10; Plato, Apology 18b-d, 19c; Strauss 1958/1996, 154, 157, 158, 164, 193. 6. Xen. Oikonomikos 11.1–7; Cicero, Tusculan Disputations V.4. 7.  See Bruell 1998, xvii: “Strauss’ summary orientation implies—what his books also show—that despite these and other differences of presentation . . . Xenophon’s Socrates is identical to the Socrates of the Platonic dialogues.” 8.  Strauss 1958/1996, 193, 164. 9.  Strauss 1958/1996, 162–163, 186. 10. Pl. Apo. 19b-d. Strauss 1970/1998, 164. 11. Plato, Symposium 223b-d. Strauss 1958/1996, 140–141. 12. Xen. Sym. 6.6–10, 7.2–5, cf. 9.2–7. Strauss 1972, 168–170. On the Syracusan’s identity, see Strauss 1972, 178, 179–180; see also Bruell 1998, xiv-xv. 13.  Strauss 1958/1996, 160–161; see Meier 2006, 27. Xenophon omits direct reference to old accusations against the ridiculous Aristophanean Socrates in his three accounts of Socrates’ reply to his accusers at his trial: Mem. I.1–2 and IV.8; Apology of Socrates to the Jury. In one account he associates one of the two accusations leveled against Socrates by Aristophanes (that he was a teacher of an art

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of rhetoric as well as of natural science) with the “most violent” Kritias, who “bore it in mind against him” and slandered him before the demos (Mem. I.2.31). This is the only mention in Xenophon’s Memorabilia of the Greek word ἀπομνημονεύω, “to recollect,” from which the work’s title is derived. According to Strauss (1972/1998, 3), this suffices to establish that Xenophon’s critique of his Socrates is ironic: “To use this passage for the interpretation of the title is to begin with the height of absurdity, and we all are beginners.” 14.  While their Socrates is identical in the crucial respects, Xenophon’s and Plato’s presentations of Socrates, as well as their respective relation to him, differ. See Strauss 1983, 128: “Surely, Xenophon (does not equal Plato) presents himself in his difference from Socrates.” On the ironic character of that difference, consider Strauss 1972/1998, 20–21, 171. See also, Bruell 2000, 2. 15.  Strauss 1958/1996, 161. 16.  Cf. Plato, Hippias Major 288b, 290a, in which Socrates assumes the voice of “a certain human being” who creates “perplexity” in others and is accused of being “ridiculous” and laughable. 17.  Strauss 1958/1996, 144: “While the tension between the ridiculous and the serious is essential to the Aristophanean comedy, the peculiar greatness of that comedy consists in its being the total comedy or in the fact that in that comedy the comical is all persuasive: the serious itself appears only in the guise of the ridiculous. This must be intelligently understood.” 18.  Strauss 1958/1996, 142. 19.  Strauss 1958/1996, 13: “The problem inherent in the surface of things, and only in the surface of things, is the heart of things.” 20.  Strauss 1958/1996, 160. 21.  Strauss 1958/1996, 138. 22.  Strauss 1972, Preface, Editor’s Note. Xenophon’s Socratic Discourse (1970) is Strauss’ interpretation of the Oikonomikos, “the most misunderstood of Xenophon’s Socratic writings” yet “the most revealing,” because the central chapter of that work “directly contrasted” Socrates with one who was held to be “a perfect gentleman.” In his first volume of commentary Strauss reveals “the profound difference” between Socrates and “the perfect gentleman,” and why “Socrates is not a perfect gentleman” and does not even “wish to become a perfect gentleman himself.” In his subsequent volume, Xenophon’s Socrates (1972), Strauss completes his interpretation of the way Socrates spoke and acted in such a manner that rendered him almost indistinguishable to and from certain other gentlemen. See Strauss 1970, 159. 23.  This summary is derived from two passages: Mem. I.1.19 and Ana. V.6.28. 24.  Strauss 1970, 86. See Bruell 1998, xvi-xvii. 25.  Strauss 1970, Introduction; Bruell 1998, xi. 26.  Strauss 1958/1996, 166; Strauss 1963, 8. Strauss revises or rewrites his first indispensable remark into a parenthetical aside in the later “complete” interpretation, quietly indicating the way his manner of writing is identical to Xenophon’s and how he intends to be read. The second special remark regards the Memorabilia, which is not “simply” about Socrates since its purpose “as a whole is to prove Socrates’ justice, both legal and translegal.” Strauss 1958/1996, 163, 165–166. 27.  Xenophon’s “most memorable experience was the deeds and speeches of Socrates.” Strauss 1970, 84–85. According to Xenophon, Socrates benefited those who spent time with him as much when he was playful as when he was serious (Mem. IV.1.1). 28.  Bruell 2000, 3, 15. See Strauss 1966a, Lecture 15, 2–3. 29.  Strauss 1970, 86, 147–150; Strauss 1972, 158. See Strauss 1983, 17–19. 30.  Strauss 1972, 143. 31.  Strauss 1972, 144. 32.  Strauss 1972, 12. 33.  Strauss 1972, 13. 34.  Strauss 1958/1996, 164, 177; Strauss 1972, 7, 78–79. See Bruell 1998, xiii. 35.  Strauss 1958/1996, 145, cf. 144 and 178 (the first and last of four such enigmatic sentences). 36.  Pangle 2010, 140, 150. 37.  Strauss presents the case against the debauched Kallias elsewhere (1970, 157–158). See also Xenophon, Hellenika VI.3; Nails 2002, s.v. Kallias III.



Conclusion 329

38.  Strauss 1972, 176–177, 151, and 160: “The ironical is a kind of the ridiculous.” 39.  See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics IV.7, 1127b23–27. 40.  Strauss 1958/1996, 151, 180: “Irony means primarily dissimulation. . . . The superior man who is aware of his superiority . . . conceals his superiority. But if his superiority consists in wisdom, his noble dissimulation must consist in concealing his wisdom, . . . presenting himself as less wise than he is.” 41.  Strauss 1972, 178. 42.  What the young and politically impetuous Plato failed to accomplish in Xenophon’s absence, when he sought to ascend and speak (see Diogenes Laertius II.41: τοὺς δὲ δικαστὰς ἐκβοῆσαι, Κατάβα, κατάβα . . .), Xenophon did not have the opportunity to attempt being absent from Athens because ascendant elsewhere (see Anabasis III.1.2–47). See the final note to this chapter. 43.  Strauss 1972, 147–148. Pangle 2010, 142–143. 44.  Nor did Socrates laugh, Strauss suggests (1972, 148–149), together with the other men at the puerile parody by the envious fool, Philippos (Sym. 2.21–23). 45.  Mem. IV.6.13–15; Strauss 1972, 164. 46.  Rosen 1973, 470. 47.  Strauss 1972, 170. 48.  Strauss 1972, 116–117, alternative manuscript reading. 49.  Strauss 1972, 120, see 106. 50.  Strauss 1972, 122–123. 51.  As opposed to knowledge of what the sophists call “cosmos” (see Mem. I.1.11: “. . . how it is, and which necessities are responsible for the coming to be of each of the heavenly things”). 52.  Strauss 1958/1996, 170–172, 163, see Strauss 1959, 28; see also supra, p. xvii. 53.  Strauss 1958/1996, 164. 54.  Strauss 1972, 14–15; cf. Mem. I.2.39–47. 55.  Strauss 1958/1996, 177, 163–164. 56.  Strauss 1958/1996, 140. 57.  Strauss 1972, 8; see Strauss 1975/1983, 122. 58.  Strauss 1972, 73–74, 171, 92, 93. 59.  Strauss 1972, 117. 60.  Strauss 1972, 170–171. 61.  Pangle 2006, 93–94. 62.  Strauss 1958/1996, 170. The paragraph that concludes Strauss’ discussion of the missing peak advising readers to be “extremely attentive” is immediately followed by the paragraph in which Strauss suddenly shifts attention to the “most important” of all the passages “in which Xenophon subtly alludes to Socrates’ chief preoccupation,” his “constant” consideration of what each of the beings is. See Strauss 1966a, Lecture 15, 3–5 (on “Xenophon’s deliberate avoidance of heights”). 63.  The central sections (4.41–42) occur in Antisthenes’ speech. Strauss 1972, 158. 64.  Strauss 1972, 152. 65.  Strauss 1972, 156–158. 66.  Strauss 1972, 159. 67.  Strauss 1972, 159. See Homer, Iliad IX.122–123, cf. IX.264–265. On references to the Homeric epics in the Symposium, see Pentassuglio 2019b. 68.  Bruell 1994, xxii; see Strauss 1970, 191n6: “In the Memorabilia only one case occurs in which Socrates is said to have made people laugh (IV.2.5); in the Oeconomicus, Socrates himself notes three cases of this kind (II.9, VII.3, XVII.10).” On Socratic jesting, in relation to Symposium, see Mem. I.3.8– 13 (Xenophon, the beautiful) and III.11.15–16 (Socrates, having a partner). Plato’s Socrates laughed only once, in the face of the death that his companions feared (Phaedo 84d, 115c). Xenophon and Plato agree that Socrates prefers laughter (comedy) to weeping (tragedy). Plato indulged his taste for tragedy; Xenophon did not. Bruell 1987, 92. 69.  Strauss 1963, 109–110; Strauss 1972, 139–140, 159, 162. 70.  Strauss 1972, 162. Nikeratos’ remark, while another kind of silliness, is for him tragic; see Nails 2002, s.v. Niceratus II. See also, Xen. Hellenika II 3.56, and Higgins 1977, 12–13.

330

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71.  See Xen. Oik. 2.3; Bartlett 1996, 44n5: “Every instance of ‘property’ in the text is ta onta.” 72.  See Kass 1999, 191: “It seems that there are possibilities embedded in the noble that those who pursue and supply the noble may not see.” 73.  Strauss 1972, 159–160. See Mem. III.7.6; Oik. 8.17–10.1, esp. 9.2–7, where a “tribe” of seven is taken as the underlying ordering principle of the “teaching” of Ischomachos: Strauss 1970, 146–152. Strauss’ final question (“Are the beings numbers?”)—in moderately keeping with the near silence of Xenophon’s sober Socrates—passes almost unnoticed. Consistent with the silence of Xenophon’s Socrates regarding such a worrisome question as whether the beings are numbers, it should be noticed that the final question in Strauss’ list of five does not belong to Socrates per se, but rather to Strauss himself insofar as Strauss interprets Socrates’ silent reasons for laughing about the gentleman’s insatiable acquisitiveness. 74.  See Pagano 1994, 27–31, which, following Strauss’ guidance as well, shows that Socrates’ laughter has much to do with the ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy but is also a point of contact between the gentleman and the philosopher with respect to counting and erōs: “All count to find the being behind the things counted. All have eros for wholeness. The gentlemen are driven to act by their eros to make the wholeness of beauty appear in themselves. Socrates is driven by his eros to make being discernible to his thought.” Gentlemen sense what Socrates knows—“that their attempts are laughable and laudable.” 75.  See Loraux 2006, 22. 76. Plato, Ion 530a-c. See Porter 2010, 92–94. 77. Plato, Republic X 601b6. See Porter 2010, 85–86. 78.  Strauss 1972, 160. 79.  Bruell 1987, 108–109. Hermogenes seems of central importance to Socrates’ portrait in Xenophon’s Socratic writings (see Apo. 2–28, Sym. 1.3, Mem. I.2.48). Hermogenes here argues that “the gods” whom he claims are his intimate friends are in full possession of τὰ ὄντα. For reasons of his own Socrates here pronounces the gods too to be lovers of perfect gentlemanliness; together these speeches Xenophon concludes were “in this way . . . seriously spoken” (4.49). 80.  Strauss 1958/1996, 170. 81.  Strauss 1972, 171. 82.  Strauss 1972, 168–169; see Bruell 1987, 108. 83.  Strauss 1972, 169. 84.  Strauss 1972, 170. Plato’s Socrates once acknowledges this preoccupation to his companions, but only in the private setting of his prison on the last day of his life in Athens: see Plato, Phaedo 96a–100c. 85.  Strauss 1972, 178. See also, Bruell 1987, 111–114; Danzig 2017, 150; Johnson 2019, 168: “Xenophon admired no one more than Socrates, yet led a life that in many ways differed as much as can be imagined from the life led by his master. Xenophon chose to leave Socrates an Athens to seek adventure with Cyrus, but found that he brought Socrates along with him, one way or another.” 86.  Strauss 1972, 179–180; see Strauss 1975/1983, the published title for which is deceptive (“anab­ asis” referring as equally to the author as to his work). See also Bruell 1984, 99–100; Bruell 1987, passim. 87.  See the Epigrams to this study, with Diogenes Laertius II.48 and 56: “The story goes that Xenophon the Athenian, son of Gryllus, a modest and extremely handsome man, met Socrates in a narrow passage, and that, when he barred his way with his staff, inquired of the young man where every type of sustenance was to be had; and upon receiving this reply, asked another question: ‘Where do human beings become noble and good (ποῦ δὲ καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ γίνονται ἄνθρωποι)? Xenophon being at a loss (ἀπορήσαντος) to reply, Socrates said to him, ‘Come then, follow me and learn (ἕπου τοίνυν καὶ μάνθανε).’ From then on, Xenophon was a listener (disciple).” “Xenophon indeed was a good man (ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς) . . . and he emulated Socrates precisely (Σωκράτην ζηλώσας ἀκριβῶς).”

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General Index

Achilles, 12, 80n10, 25n48, 77n43, 77n45, 114n68, 164, 166, 197n35, 203n88, 280, 321 accusations, 215–17, 237–47, 253–62; against Socrates, 40, 49n21, 111n45, 140, 160, 176, 184, 222, 238–40, 244–47, 249n17, 250n31, 254–62, 263n24, 268, 286n5, 295, 308n9, 312, 326 accusers of Socrates. See Anytus, Aristophanes, Lykon, Meletus, the Syracusan Adeimantus, 125 Aeschines, xxxi n1, 19n16, 54n52, 110n43, 154n78, 309n30. Works of: Aspasia, 149n44, 301–2, 304, 309nn26–27 Alcibiades, xxxi n3, 288n27, 309n33 Aeschylus, 77n41, 144n8 Agamemnon, 77n43, 77n45, 164–5, 197n33, 203n88, 321 Agathon, 40, 51n37, 58, 60, 125, 230n33, 251n44, 254, 265n35 Agesilaus, 59. See also Xenophon’s Agesilaus Aglaitadas, 51n34 Alcibiades, 10–11, 16, 22n32, 22n38, 29n66, 40–42, 46n3, 51nn36–37, 52nn43–44, 53n48, 58, 60, 75n15, 88, 111n50, 114n64, 125–27, 149n47, 175–76, 196n26, 197n30, 226, 228n12, 231n41, 232n46, 233n55, 233n58, 234n69, 251n44, 253–54, 265n35, 271, 287n18, 288n27, 310n22, 315; son of, 149n43, 219, 224.



See also Aeschines’ Alcibiades, Plato’s Alcibiades, Plato’s Symposium Alexander the Great, 21n23 Alkinoos, 18n10, 77n43, 78n52 Altman, William, x, 51n35, 52n42, 286n2 Ambler, Wayne, x, 17n5, 19n19, 21n23, 114n67, 152n61, 195n15, 195n17, 196n24, 197n36, 201n59, 230n36 ascent (ἀναβάσις), 51n41, 60, 330n86. See also descent, Xenophon’s Anabasis Anastaplo, George, xi, xxiii n23, xxiv n24, xxvi n39, 18n10, 26n52, 27n56, 54n53, 197n31, 262n5 Andocides, 42, 47n4, 48n11, 53n46, 53n51, 54n52, 111n45,116n80 Antiphon, 19n45, 176, 193, 208n138 Antisthenes, 34, 287n18; and the art of pimping, 191–93; as a Socratic, 34, 94; asceticism of, 175–76; critic of Socrates, 93–96; cynicism of, defense speech of, 171–74 display speech of, 136; imitator of Socrates, 171–74; love for Socrates, 272; refuted by Kallias, 162, 320; refuter of Kallias, 129–31; refuter of Nikeratos, 164–65; refuter of Philippos, 245–47, 254; Socratic refutation of, 225; tyrannical inclinations of, 172–73 Anytus, 110n45 345

346

General Index

Aphrodite, 125–28, 145n10, 145n19, 173, 220, 224, 277–79, 286n2, 288n30, 288n32, 289n41, 290, 293, 300, 304; Heavenly Aphrodite, 75n22, 145n19, 261, 274–86; Vulgar Aphrodite, 274–86, 299. See also erōs apologia 123–24, 125, 141, 152n67, 158–59, 163, 167, 168, 171, 174, 178–82, 186, 187-192; of Socrates, 210–12, 225, 256–62, 284, 295, 321; Xenophon’s Symposium as, xx, 32, 327; See also defense speeches, Xenophon’s Apology Apollo, 12, 19n, 18, 70, 72, 87, 106n4, 118n104, 123, 144n8, 223–24, 228n12, 255, 262n1; Apollinian principle of reason, 125, 144n8. See also Delphic Oracle, Dionysus, Dionysiac principle of intoxication archē (rule, or origin), 60–64, 67, 106n5, 182–83 Ariadne, 295–305, 308n13, 309n23, 310n42 Ares, 12, 262n1 Arete, 18n10, 78n52 Arginusae, 48n11, 291n55 Aristippos, 19nn17–18, 114n64, 161, 176, 196n24, 199n51, 203n81, 213, 233n54 aristocracy, Athenian, 13, 23, 47n4, 53n50, 137, 152n60, 248n9, 280, 282, 295 aristocratic institutions, 13, 26n53, 26n55, 27, 30n71, 88, 113n59, 158, 160, 211, 275 Aristodemus, 19n17, 114n64, 154n3 Aristogeiton, 20n23, 23n41. See also Tyrannicides Aristophanes, xiii–xiv, 22n38, 51n37, 91, 103, 229n23, 314; caricature and accusations of Socrates by, 111n45, 240, 244–46, 249n17, 254, 258–61, 263n22, 264n31, 265n35, 294, 299, 311–12, 327n13; in Plato’s Symposium, 117n96, 253–54, 299, 309n18, 312–13, 315. Works of: Birds, 115n80, 229n23; Clouds, 20, 27n57, 35–36, 47n3, 49n21, 51n38, 61, 113n59, 144n7, 194n7, 195n15, 208n35, 306, 312–13, 326; Ecclesiazusai, 203n87; Frogs, 48n11;

Knights, 22n38, 47n7; Lysistrata, 108n23; Thesmophoriazusae, 151n54 Aristotle, xiii, xv, xxii n8, 49n18, 134; on gentlemen, 249n18, 291n55; on intellectual virtues, 109n34; on laughter, 77n41, 134; on Socrates’ “second sailing,” 264n28. Works of: Metaphysics, 113n56; Nicomachean Ethics, xxi n1, xxvi n37, 49n14, 55n60, 76n30, 77n41, 110n34, 203n79; Physics, 148n39; Poetics, xxiv n30, 49n15; Politics, 26n52, 201n59; Rhetoric, 47n6, 146n23, 234n63 arrogance. See boasting, hubris asceticism, 173–75, 243–44 Aspasia, 149n43, 301–2, 309nn26–30. See also Aeschines’ Aspasia atheism/impiety, 19n17, 173, 182, 202n70; charges of, 110n45, 205n97, 237, 244–45, 250n32, 263n24, 294; associated with natural philosophy, 229n20, 244–46, 263n24. See also piety, Hermogenes Athena, 12, 23n42, 24, 25n46, 42, 184, 227n7, 230n33 Athenaeus, 144n6, 309n26 Athens/Athenians, xxv n33, 5–13, 20n23, 21n29, 23nn41–43, 24n46, 30n71, 41–46, 47n7, 48n12, 55n63, 60, 90, 96, 115n75, 124– 26, 144n5, 280, 314, 322; democratic regime of, 169, 283, 295; empire of, 199n46; sophists and, 196n24; tyranny and, 199n49; youth of, 216, 226. See also democracy, Peloponnesian War Austen, Jane, 310n34 Autolykos, 3, 12–15, 27nn56–57, 29n68, 32–34, 75n17, 86–89, 102, 140–43, 153n69, 201n56; beauty of, 15, 38, 40–41, 50n31, 60–68, 72–73, 80–81, 107n16, 116n83, 140, 183, 206n117, 267, 269, 300–306; guest of honor, 32–33; death of, 16, 169–70, 295; departure of, 293–95;



General Index 347 education of, 88–89; and Kallias, 126, 132, 218–19, 274–77, 281–85, 299; pankration victor, 13–15; only speech in the Symposium, 140–41; virtues of, 15, 153n68, 315. See also Eupolis’ Autolykos

banausic arts, or craftsmanship, 80, 130–31, 146n25, 233n54, 242, 249n20. See also Hephaistos banquet. See symposium Bartlett, Robert, xi n4, 27n57, 78n59, 109n29, 110nn37–40, 111n46, 115n80, 145n13, 145n19, 151n59, 154 n77, 154n79, 194n8, 204n93, 205n102, 207n128, 227n4, 234n62, 234n64, 249nn18–19, 250n32, 264nn30–31, 287nn21–22, 289nn35–36, 291n58 beautiful, fine, or noble (καλός), xix, 7, 34, 49n17, 88, 97, 158, 182, 191, 210, 213, 227n3, 227n9, 228n16, 234n63, 256, 258, 283–84, 290n43, 302–3; the Beautiful (τὸ καλόν), xxi, 14, 34, 40, 49n18, 51n35, 58, 61–65, 71–73, 76n27, 81–82, 93, 97, 100, 105, 107n13, 116n83, 136, 149n43, 158, 183–85, 191, 206nn116–19, 209–26, 228n14, 228n16, 229n31, 231n41, 238, 244, 247n8, 257, 265n35, 267–74, 278, 290n52, 298, 301–6, 314–15, 329n68, 324–26; physical beauty, or attractiveness (κάλλος), 61, 170, 184, 210–11, 213, 224, 227n3, 227n9, 228n19, 267, 303. See also gentlemanliness beauty, 14–15, 31, 83, 96, 105, 107n13, 254– 61, 303–8; and philosophy, 31, 98, 100, 103, 185, 212– 15; cause of erōs, 60–64, 73; compelling presence of, 40–41, 60–64, 68, 72–73, 107n16, 182–85; of Autolykos, 15, 50n31, 60–68, 80–81, 140, 267, 301; of Charmides, 125–26; of Kritoboulos, 72, 135–36, 149n43, 182– 85; of Socrates, 38, 41, 157–58, 209–26, 238– 39, 243–44; of speeches, 127–128

beauty contest, xxi, 5, 12–13, 15, 55n62, 94, 143, 184–85, 206n118, 209–26, 227n1, 227nn7–9, 268 boasting, or “big-talking” (μεγαληγορία), 9–10, 21n49, 49, 89–90, 129–141, 143, 148n40, 150, 157–65, 168–85, 192, 193, 193n4, 202n70, 205n104, 210-11, 214–15, 218, 224, 240–41, 249n19, 262, 295, 315, 320; boaster (ἀλαζών), 49n21, 134, 157–58, 202n70, 315. See also hubris, Socrates body, 86, 91, 97; effect of wine on, 58; beauty of, 31, 63, 97–98, 213–14; desires and pleasures of, 80–82, 86, 91, 100, 308n14; discipline and fitness of, 14, 58, 97–100, 133, 220–21, 226, 273, 316; neediness of, 29n64, 71–73, 80, 265n34; love of, 185, 275–82, 289n40, 299–305; proportions of, 241–43; virtues of, 102–6, 107n17, 115n77. See also conjugal erotics, contest of beauty, dancing, feminine virtue, kalon, pankration, Vulgar Aphrodite Bonnette, Amy, xi n4, 49n16, 203n87, 250n20 bribery, 37, 54n51, 229n26 Bruell, Christopher, x, xxiii n16, xxiii nn19–20, xxvi n40, 49n19, 54n55, 76n23, 114n65, 117n93, 195n12, 232n53, 233nn55–56, 233n59, 234n64, 291n53, 327n7 Burckhardt, Jacob, 17n7, 18n10, 55n57, 113n57, 202n71, 229n20 Burkert, Walter, 5, 18n8, 22n37, 23n40, 24n43, 24n45, 30n71, 55n57, 118n104, 144n6, 144n8 Buzzetti, Eric, x, xxiii n19, 74n12, 202n72, 233n54, 309n20 Callicles, 50n30. See also sophists/sophistry Castiglione, Baldassare, 31, 46n1, 209, 227n1 Cephalus, 42, 48n10 Cervantes, Miguel de, 93, 152n67, 231n43 Chaerephon, 19n18. See also Delphic oracle Charmides, 34, 198n44; as a Socratic, 34, 94; cousin of Kritias, 16, 295;

348

General Index

critic of Socrates, 163, 223–26; death of, 16, 295; defense speech of, 167–71; display speech of, 136–37; eroticism of, 60, 100, 102, 125–28, 145nn19–20, 166–71, 186–87, 223–26, 268–71; imitator of Socrates, 96–101, 167–68; political aspirations of, 125–27, 168–71, 199–200nn50–52; tyrannical inclinations of, 168–71; uncle of Plato, 125–26. See also Kritias, Plato’s Charmides, tyrants/ tyranny Chrysilla, 42, 53n47, 54n55 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, xiii–xiv, xxi n1, xxii nn8–9, 264n29, 309n27, 327n6 Circe, 82–83 comedy, 56n69, 57, 66, 68, 71–73, 87–88, 140, 152n67, 216, 238, 261, 262n3, 265, 276, 312–13, 316, 319, 329n68; comic poets as accusers, 22n38, 36, 97, 220, 260–61, 231n44, 247n6, 328n17; Kritoboulos and, 77n39; limitations of, 51n35; synthesis of tragedy and, 16. See also Aristophanes, laughter, Philippos conjugal erotics, 300–307. See also erōs contest, or competition (ἀγών), 11–13, 15–16, 18n10, 23n42, 24–26nn45–51, 29n69, 30n71, 37–38, 74n10, 81, 96–97, 105, 128–43, 159, 182, 184–85, 209–12, 214–16, 226, 258–307; between gentlemen and philosophers, xviii– xx, 31–38, 316, 320–25; divine personification of, 12 continence, or self-control (ἐγκράτεια), 19n17, 26n51, 44, 63, 76n25, 104, 130, 132, 144n7, 147n26, 149n43, 163, 173–76, 182–85, 196n26, 197n33, 203n80, 206n117, 215, 218–22, 226, 230n39, 232nn50–51, 233n56, 233n59, 250n24, 270–74, 289n37, 303, 308n7, 318, 326 corruption, 170, 208n131, 293; charges of, 174–76, 237; marital, 43, 65; of erōs, 185, 273; of judges, 215, 217, 226, 239; of virtue, 26n55, 91; of youth, 138, 205n97, 215–16, 293

courage, or manliness (ἀνδρεία), 75n17, 95–96, 99, 103, 112n52, 130, 147n26, 167, 175, 184, 275, 290n49, 294–95, 308n7 craftsmen, as accusers of Socrates, 110n45. See also Anytus, banausic arts/craftsmanship Croesus, 21n29 custom, or law (νόμος), cynicism, 93, 113nn56–57, 114n61, 140, 162, 175, 197n38, 244, 287n18 Cyrus the Great, 4, 51n34, 53n47, 59, 74n11, 76nn26–29, 81, 107n11, 107n13, 108n22, 151n58, 195n12, 204n94, 233n59, 307; representative of the ruler par excellence, 76n27 Cyrus the Younger, 4, 59, 74n12, 76n26, 107n11, 154n78, 199n51, 220, 330n85 daimōn, 6, 269–70, 274 daimonion, of Socrates, 8, 182, 202n70, 206n109, 221, 232n51, 272–74, 285, 288n24, 305, 308n9 dancing and dance-forms, 5, 12, 15, 24n45, 24n49, 29n69, 79–80, 92–106, 111n50, 112n54, 114n62, 115n77, 116n83, 117nn90–91, 117n97, 118–19nn103–5, 123, 127, 131, 144n6, 167, 186–87, 200n52, 250n12, 256–58, 263n24, 263n16, 264n26, 268, 293, 297, 316, 326. See also Socrates, the Syracusan Danzig, Gabriel, x, 51n35, 56n70, 286n2, 330n85 Daumier, Honoré, 166n85 deeds (ἔργα), xiii, xvii, xxv n33, 3–7, 9, 12–15, 32, 62–63, 66, 70, 73, 124–25, 131, 161, 164, 181, 190, 267, 299, 305, 316; graceful deeds, 277; noble deeds of gentlemen, 275, 280–86, 296, 299; playful deeds of gentlemen, xix, 11, 15, 18n14, 30n71, 32–34, 39, 43, 46, 50n29, 82, 86, 105, 107n17, 111n46, 142, 145n13, 177, 194n6, 240, 260, 294–95, 313, 321, 325; serious deeds of gentlemen, xviii–xix, 9, 16, 21n24, 32, 124, 126; Socratic deeds, xv, xvii–xviii, xx–xx1, 37–38, 41, 50n28, 101, 106, 142, 158, 178, 190, 193, 196n24, 222, 233n56, 271, 306, 314, 317–20, 328n27; speeches as deeds, 159, 23–26, 291n62; violent deeds of tyrants, 170, 172



General Index 349

defense speeches, 158–59, 159–63 (Kallias), 163–67 (Nikeratos), 167–71, (Charmides), 171–74 (Antisthenes), 178– 82 (Hermogenes), 182–85 (Kritoboulos), 186 (Philippos), 187–88 (Socrates), 216– 17 (the Syracusan) Delium, 10 Delphic Oracle, 18n10, 19n18, 36, 54n57, 109n33, 126, 144n6, 144n8, 163, 220 Demeter, 42–43, 53n50. See also Eleusinian Mysteries, Persephone demagoguery, 22n38, 110n45, 116n80, 297 Demodokos, 78n52, 263n17 Demosthenes, 10, 22n38 descent (κατάβασις), 51n41, 60. See also ascent desire. See Aphrodite, erōs, longing dialectic. See Socratic rhetoric Diodorus, 19n17, 205n102 Diodorus Siculus, 53n50 Diogenes Laertius, xxi n3, xxiii n22, 52n41, 110n45, 308n9, 309n27, 309n29, 310n40, 316, 329n42, 330n87 Dionysia, 124, 144n5, 199n46, 247n6, 250n31 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, xv–xvi Dionysos, 44, 47n7, 58, 71, 78n50, 103, 118n104, 123–25, 228n12, 253, 293– 305, 308n13, 310n42; as principle of intoxication, 123–25, 144nn3–8 discipline, 25n48, 29n64, 63, 93, 103, 133, 173, 175, 221, 281–82; lack of, 19n17, 203n81 display speeches, 128–29, 147n29, 154n76, 128–31 (Kallias), 131–35 (Nikeratos), 135–36 (Kritoboulos), 136 (Antisthenes), 136–137 (Charmides), 137–39 (Socrates), 138–40 (Philippos), 142–43 (Hermogenes) divination, 179, 205n101, 288n24 Dorion, Louis-André, x, xxii n12, 46n2, 310n35 drunkenness, 57–59, 123–25. See also wine education (παιδεία), xxv n34; to continence, 197n33; of Cyrus, 4, 76n23, 76n27; of Dionysos, 228n12; erotic, 55n66, 261–62, 294, 300–306, of Herakles, 19n18, 161, 181;



Homeric, 133–35, 165–67, 177, 198n41, 321–25; of Kallias, 136, 145n19, 166, 198n43; physical, 25n48, 250n21; political, xix, xxiv n26, 263n17, 274–86, 309n18; pseudo-Socratic, 36, 164–65, 246; Socratic, xvii-xx, xxiv n25, xxvi n38, 37, 50n24, 76n25, 105, 125–26, 151n59, 154n74, 174, 188–91, 196n24, 202n74, 217–18, 221–23, 240–43, 287n15, 313– 14, 325–27; sophistic, 197n30; Spartan, 28n64, 115n76; of the Syracusan, 257; Symposium as, xxv n34; traditional, 52n44, 54n53, 89, 99, 132, 142, 149, 163, 197n30, 290n45; to virtue, 82, 89–95, 111n50, 132, 136, 139, 142, 161, 221–23, 271–72, 274–86; to wisdom, 141–42, 153n73; of women and wives, 53n47, 54n55, 55n66, 96, 113n59, 114n62, 114n65, 115n76, 167–68, 195n20, 256, 285, 300–306 elenchos, or refutation, 94, 114n61, 160–62, 169, 175, 195n17, 200n55, 246 Eleusinian Mysteries, 43, 47n4, 47n6, 53n46, 53nn50–51, 111n45, 275, 279 encomium, 4, 13, 144n2, 227n7, 315 endurance, 25n48, 68, 94, 196n26, 229n29, 272, 275 envy, 66, 77n33, 137, 177–78, 204n89, 207n123, 229n30, 244–46, 251n34, 251n47, 265n35, 320–21. See also jealousy erōs, xxi, 60–64, 72–73, 78n59, 80, passim; aroused by the beautiful, 60–64, 268; the “bite” of, 223–26, 271–74; divine personification of, 40; heavenly, 75n22, 274–86; in marriage, 300–307; moderate, 60–64, 72; “sweet hopes” of, 271–74, 277–81, 308n4; vulgar, 274–86. See also Aphrodite, Plato’s Symposium Eupolis, 27n57, 48n11 Euripides, 27n57. Works of: Andromache, 115n76; Bacchae, 144n3, 144n5;

350

General Index

Cyclops, 228n12; Frogs, 5; Helen, 227n7; Phoenician Women, 148n36, 286n8 Euthyphro, 247n6. See also Plato’s Euthyphro Euthydemus, 19n17, 50n25, 76n25, 114n64, 147n31, 196n24, 197nn34–35, 199n51, 228n17, 240. See also Plato’s Euthydemus exercise. See dancing exile, from Athens, 10; of Alcibiades, 53n48, 60, 67; of Andocides, 54n51; of Charmides, 16; of Kritoboulos (from Socrates), 149n53, 220, 224, 271; of Xenophon, 41, 59, 290n45 expertise. See knowledge farming, 107n17, 146n25, 148n41, 151nn58– 59, 195n20; gentleman-farmer, xxv n35, 10bn28, 194n12. See also Ischomachos, Xenophon’s Oikonomikos fathers, 13–14, 32–34, 36, 60–61, 89–94, 132– 35, 140–42, 163–67, 197n30, 230n35, 247n6, 275–76, 290n45, 293–95, 323; alienation of, 33, 91, 148n41, 154n78, 203n84, 216–18, 229n30, 251n35, 251n44, 265n35, 307, 308n6, 315. See also accusers of Socrates, Krito, Lykon, Nikias fatherland (πατρίς), 18n12, 167–69, 181, 199n51, 282–84, 296, 327 festival. See Panathenaia fools/foolishness, 67–68, 102–4, 123–25, 133, 140, 186, 201n61, 216, 219–20, 231nn43–44, 244–47, 251n34, 260–61, 265n34, 321–22, 329n44. See also comedy, rhapsodes freedom, xviii–xix, 10, 15, 20n23, 44, 85, 111n46, 115n78, 193, 202n71, 308n7 friends/friendship, v, x–xi, xxiv n23, 5, 57–59, 64, 74n2, 74n5, 75n22, 125, 127, 130, 149n43, 203n88; acquisition of, 19n17, 149n43, 153n73, 230n40, 250n24, 278; Aristotle on, 109n34; between lovers, 300–306; political, 192, 277–86, 291n45, 296, 315;



of the gods, 154n77, 173, 179–82, 205n104, 243–44, 270m 330n79; of Socrates, 37, 49n19, 50n25, 54n55, 60, 135, 148n41, 190–91, 193, 223–24, 230n35, 246, 268, 274, 289n36, 301; Socrates on, 113n57, 149n43, 153n73, 196n24, 265n35; Socratic, 114n61, 114n63, 166, 193, 208n138, 224–26, 230n40, 234nn60–61, 250n24; of Xenophon and Socrates, v, 219–21, 325–27

Ganymede, 70–73, 276, 280, 288n32, 289n35 gentlemanliness (καλοκἀγαθία), xviii-xx, 4, 11, 15, 83–91, 178–82, passim gentlemen (καλόι κἀγαθόι), 7, 15, 39, 49, 54, 127–28, 182, 191–92, 245, 279, 310n37; acquisitiveness of, 151n59, 203n88 Gish, Dustin, xxii n6, xxii nn8–10, xxiii nn14–15, 49n22, 50n30, 52n48, 74n7, 74n12, 110n43, 144n2, 147n27, 195n19, 208n131, 291n55, 310n34, 327nn1–2 Glaucon, 19n17, 41, 48n12, 125–6, 198n44, 233n54, 251n44 glory, 23n43, 27n56, 28n64, 283. See contest gods/goddesses, 6, 12–13, 18n8, 20n23, 23–24nn42–43, 42–43, 48n14, 51n38, 53–54nn50–51, 54n57, 57–58, 62, 67, 83, 87, 123, 134, 153n73, 163, 213–15, 229n20, 238–40, 245, 280, 283–84, 330n79; banquet of the Olympian, 64–73; friendship of, 178–82, 202n69, 205n104, 224, 243, 247n5, 249nn18–19, 270, 273–74, 287n13, 287nn21–22; god-like laughter, 58, 65, 68, 72–73, 79; inspiration of, 261–62, 268–71, 281–82; unorthodox view of, 110n45, 113n56, 118n99, 173, 202n70, 244–47, 263n24, 264n30; Socrates as gift of, 314; wine as gift of, 6, 57–59, 104–5, 124. See also Aphrodite, Apollo, Ares, Athena, Dionysos, oaths, Erōs, Hephaistos, Hera, Zeus good (ἀγαθός), 7, 15, 53n47, 82, 152n67, 153n71, 179, 191, 215, 225–26, 258–61, 283–84, 290n43, 303, 310n37; the Good itself (τὸ ἀγαθόν), 49n18, 51n35, 191, 265n35;



General Index 351



the good citizen, 190, 306–7, 317; the good man, 132, 233n55, 330n87; the good match-maker, 294; the good natures, 189–90, 272, 285; the good procurer, 188, 191; the good symposium, xxvn34, 4–7, 50n34, 79–80, 104, 105, 118n102, 253–56, 259– 62, 262n1, 262n6, 268–69, 299–300; understood as the useful, 94, 97–105, 151n59, 185, 192, 214–17, 225–26, 229n31, 238, 257, 291n55, 307, 308n8. See also gentlemanliness Gorgias, 22n38, 35, 45, 49n23, 52n44. See also Plato’s Gorgias, sophists/sophistry gratitude, x–xi, xxiv n24, 61, 97, 161, 183 greediness, or arrogance (πλεονεξία), 53n51, 176–78, 208n138, 323 grace, or good will (χάρις), xxiii n17, 40, 50n34, 59, 67, 70–71, 74n11, 78n52, 83, 114n63, 150n50, 194n5, 194n10, 243, 245, 247, 247n6, 253–5, 258, 262n1, 262n6, 263nn16–17, 268, 286n4, 288n26, 299–300, 316; lack of, 74nn8–10, 238–40, 246, 268–69, 273 the Graces, 78n52, 253, 258, 262n1, 263nn16– 17. See also grace Gryllus, 330n87 gymnastics. See dancing Hades, 41–44, 53–54n50–51, 54n57, 65, 81, 148n33, 229n29, 232n51 happiness, xxvi n37, 21–22, 49n18, 78n59, 113, 161, 164, 181, 186 Harmodius, 20n23, 23n41. See also Tyrannicides Hephaistos, 59, 69–73, 78nn47–55 Hera, 69–73, 78n50, 87, 176, 199n47, 203n87, 207n123, 227n7, 229nn28–29, 276 Herakles, 12, 29n66, 19n18, 64, 76n30, 87, 109n33, 161, 181, 207n123, 229nn28–29 Hermes, 65, 232n51, 247n5, 264n24 Hermogenes, 34, 149n46; as a Socratic, 34, 94; austerity of, 238–40; critic of Socrates, 238–40; defense speech of, 178–82; display speech of, 142–143; friendship with the gods, 178–82, 205n102; ironically praised by Socrates, 268–69;



and Kallias, 247n9, 276; key to Xenophon’s Socratic writings, 205n97, 249n18; love of gentlemanliness, 268–71; rebuke of Socrates, 217–19, 223 Herodotus, xxiv n27, xxv n33, 20n23, 21n29, 23n41, 76n27, 76n30, 77n38, 108n26, 115n75, 115n78, 262n7, 286n8 Hesiod, 78n52, 109n34, 263n16 hidden thoughts or meanings (ὑπόνοια), 133–35, 138, 142, 148n34, 148nn39–40, 154n75, 158–59, 164–65, 177, 179, 186, 193, 209, 214–15, 222, 257, 271, 320–25; in Homer, 163–67, 176–78; as wisdom, 142, 148n40, 325–27. See also philosophy Hiero, 169, 200nn52–54. See also Xenophon’s Hiero Higgins, William, x, xi n3, xxii n6, xxiv n38, xxvi n40, 56n70, 110n44, 112n55, 113n58, 114n63, 145n16, 147nn27–28, 193n5, 194nn7–10, 200n53, 201n58, 202n70, 203n58, 204n94, 205n99, 208n138, 227n4, 227n6, 233n57, 264n26, 287n12, 308n6, 309n23, 310n43, 329n70 Hipparete, 46n3 Hipparchus, 20n23, 23n41 Hippias the sophist, 19, 49n23, 52n44, 90, 153n72, 162–63, 171, 176, 192–93, 196nn24–25, 199n51, 208n138. See also Plato’s Hippias Major Hippias the tyrant, 20n23, 23n41 Hipponikos, 32, 42, 46–47nn3–4, 149n46, 178 Hobden, Fiona, x, xi n9, xxv n34, 17n7, 18n12, 26n53 Homer, xvi–xviii, xxivn30, 25n49, 43, 50n24, 54n57, 57, 68–73, 77n45, 88, 106n1, 108n18, 132–35, 148n35, 158, 163–67, 177–81, 189–90, 197nn37–38, 203n88, 207n129, 222, 228n19, 255, 262n7, 267, 276, 280–81, 296, 321–24 Works of: Iliad, xxiv n24, 53n50, 77n43, 163–67, 172, 193n33, 203n88, 227n7, 230n33, 329n67, 321–24; Odyssey, 18n8, 50n34, 53n50, 74n9, 77n43, 83, 106n4, 108n26, 118n99, 153n73, 204n93, 229n29, 230n33, 247n5, 262n3, 289n37. See also Achilles, Odysseus

352

General Index

honor, 228n16; love of, 11, 16, 126, 158, 173–74, 177, 281–84. See also gentlemen household management (οἰκονομική). See Ischomachos, Xenophon’s Oikonomikos hubris (ὕβρις), 9, 10, 50n34, 51n37, 57–59, 144n5, 171, 224, 233n58, 260, 308n7. See also boasting humor. See irony, laughter hunting, 4, 25n48, 149n43, 250n24, 278, 307 husbandry. See farming intertextuality, x, 42, 267, 286n2 irony, 157–58, 193nn4–5, 329n40; comic, 67–68, 251n45; dramatic, 43, 54n54, 257; playful, 213–14, 270–72; Socratic, x, 43, 80–81, 157–58, 221–23, 238, 259–60, 270–72, 277, 315, 329n40; tragic, 19n16, 91, 170; in Xenophon’s writing, 204n94, 264n26. See also laughter, playfulness Ischomachos, xxv n33, 7–8, 19n19, 20nn21–24, 39–40, 42–43, 50n33, 53nn47–48, 54n55, 55nn65–66, 94–96, 108n22, 109n33, 113n59, 114n65, 148n41, 149n44, 151n58, 152n64, 160–65, 185, 194nn10–12, 195n15, 195n20, 196n24, 197n36, 320, 330n73 Isocrates, 148n36, 290n46 jealousy, 216, 229n28, 276, 309n26. See also envy Johnson, David, x, xi n9, 309n27, 330n85 justice, 7, 19n17, 42–43, 51n38, 52n43, 53n51, 55n63, 66, 74n10, 110n36, 130–31, 139, 147n26, 150n51, 151n59, 157–58, 160–63, 165, 167, 171–73, 179, 181–85, 188, 190, 194nn11–12, 196n21, 196n24, 199n50, 203n79, 204n94, 207n126, 209–10, 215–16, 225, 232n47, 232n51, 237–39, 251n35, 307, 308nn7–9, 316– 17, 320–21, 328n26 Kallias, 13–15, 32–33, 46–47nn3–6, 285; claim to justice, 159–63; defense speech of, 159–63; display speech of, 128–31, 135; as Hades, 41–44, 81; ironic praise of Socrates, 34–36, 39–41;



notorious reputation of, 16, 33–34, 41–44; political aspirations of, 274–75, 281–86; preoccupation with the body, 79–82; refuter of Antisthenes, 161–62; rival of Socrates, 36–38, 46, 82–85, 103–4, 137; seeming virtue of, 65–67, 82–85, 102; shamelessness of, 41–44, 53n51; as Spartan proxenos, 48n11, 275–82, 290n45; sophistic education of, 35–36, 38–39, 162–63; as sophistical student par excellence, 35–36; tyrannical inclinations of, 176–78 kalokagathia. See gentlemanliness kalos. See beautiful kingship, or the art of royal rule (βασιλική), 61–62, 69, 76n23, 164–65, 183–84. See also Xenophon’s Cyropaedia kisses/kissing, 25n49, 149n43, 166, 182, 184, 210–11, 214, 218–20, 224, 230n37, 231n41, 233n56, 237, 271, 297–98 Kleinias, 149n43, 183, 200n55, 206n116, 207n125, 211–12, 217–18, 227n11, 230n33, 231n41, 238, 271–72, 303, 310n41 Kleon, 10, 23n38 knowledge (ἐπιστήμη), 43, 98–99, 126–29, 148n40; claims to possession of, 131–39, 147n29, 150n55, 160–65; foreknowledge, 179–80, 287n22; of gentlemanliness, 317–19; of how to associate with human beings, 94; of household management, xxv n35, 58n43, 96, 151n59, 194n12; of justice, 160, 290; of nature (φύσις), 82–83, 104, 118n99, 232nn51–52; of political things, xxiv n26, 119n105, 282– 83, 317; of ruling, 76n23, 76n26, 96, 115n78, 201n56, 282–83; of virtue, 54n53, 89, 91–92, 111n50; of what is good, 225–26; of the whole, 119n105, 147n31, 232n52, 317–18, 324–26; as recollection, 133, 194n6; Socratic, 90, 113n59, 151n58, 157, 223–26, 301, 311–12, 314–20, 325–27. See also philosophy, self-knowledge, wisdom Konstan, David, 227n3, 227n7, 227n9, 228n16, 234n63, 290n43, 308n12, 310n36



General Index 353

Kritias, 16, 60, 88, 111n50, 117n92, 125–6, 145n17, 147n28, 149n47, 152n60, 175, 196n26, 198n44, 200nn55–57, 204n94, 226, 233n55, 251n34, 254, 287n18, 295, 328n13. See also Charmides, tyrants/tyranny Krito, xxv n35, 19n17, 148n41. See also Plato’s Crito Kritoboulos, 16, 148n41; as a Socratic, 34; beauty of, 149n43, 135–36, 182–85; beauty contest with Socrates, 16, 209–36; display speech of, 135–36; defense speech of, 182–85; erotic nature of, 217–18, 268–71; god-like laughter, 67–73; love for Kleinias, 269–72 laughter, 33–34, 50n34, 56n69, 58–59, 64–73, 74nn10–11, 78nn56–57, 79–81, 97–99, 101–104, 105, 116nn86–87, 117n97, 123–24, 134–35, 137–38, 140, 142–43, 152n64, 152n67, 163, 176–79, 182, 186, 198nn42–43, 204–5nn89–95, 205n99, 246, 257, 264n25, 268, 289n34, 299, 315–16, 320–26, 329n68, 330n74. See also irony liberality, 62–66, 84–86, 173, 175, 183. See also slavishness Lincoln, Abraham, 263n11 logos (λόγος), xvi-xvii, xxv n35, 82, 114n69, 132, 139, 178, 181, 226, 254–56, 322–23; as fitting speech, 241–43, 249n20; as pharmakon, 144n2, 230n33; as unmusical speech, 239–40; Socratic, 95, 115n72, 189, 210–17, 258–61, 262n7, 263n17, 267–69, 274–86, 293– 96, 300–306 longing, 74n3; erotic, 78n59, 80–81, 124, 175, 206n117, 211, 218, 226, 248n18, 269, 271–74, 283–84, 299, 301–6, 315; for gentlemanliness, 240, 249n18, 270–71, 324; for the noble, xix, 274–86; nostalgia, 166; “sweet hopes” of, 180, 218, 271–74, 278, 283, 298, 308n14. See also erōs love. See erōs, philia

Lykon, 33, 88–89; accuser of Socrates, 33; Autolykos’ proud father, 140–41; conventional gentleman, 85–86, 138–39, 154n74; departure of, 293–95; praise of Socrates, 293–95 Lysander, 53n47, 170, 199n49, 201n56 Lysias, 116n80, 199n44 Machiavelli, Niccolò, xiv, xxii n9, xxiv n26, 172, 202nn67–68, 203n79, 203n85, 205n106 marriage, 42–43, 46n3, 53n47, 78n52, 82–85, 93–96, 113n59, 166–67, 276–77, 285, 289n36, 296–306, 309n23, 310nn41–42, 315. See also conjugal erotics, Xanthippe maieutic art, or midwifery, 109n30. See also pimping, procuring Menexenus, 200n55. See also Plato’s Menexenus Meletus, 110n45, 251n39 Michelangelo, xxiii n17 moderation (σωφροσύνη), 6, 15, 19n17, 40, 42, 44, 61–63, 88, 100, 104, 110n36, 111n50, 118n99, 125–26, 130, 134, 147n26, 208n138, 261, 267, 275, 278, 293, 296, 301, 305–6, 308n7, 314, 317; lack of, 61, 166, 171, 182; Socratic, 112n52, 190, 209–234, 314–16, 318; wine and, 57–59, 123–25; wisdom and, xvii, xxiv n25, 190, 314, 319; in writing, xxiii n16 monarchy. See kingship Morrison, Donald, x, xi n6, 200n55, 288n25 Munn, Mark, xxiv n27, 21n23, 22nn29–30, 22n34, 22n38, 27n55, 46n3, 53n48, 110n42, 116n80, 145n14, 198n38 Muses, 70, 72, 80, 82–83, 123, 223, 240, 253, 255, 263n16, 268 Nadon, Christopher, x, xi n7, 17n5 Nails, Debra, 309n26, 310n41, 328n37, 329n70 natural philosophy, 258–60, 264n28, 307, 317, 326. See also atheism/impiety, knowledge, philosophy, Socrates Nee, Laurence, v, x–xi, xi n8, xxiv n24 Nestor, 77n43, 164, 197n35, 203n88

354

General Index

Nietzsche, Friedrich, xxi n1, xxii n10, 5, 24n45, 50n26, 118nn103–4, 208n131, 289n36, 309n18, 327n1 Nikias, 9–10, 16, 23n38, 33, 47n7, 197n30, 199n46, 295 Nikeratos, 16, 47n7; conventional gentleman, 33–34; death of, 16; defense speech of, 163–67; display speech of, 131–35; Homeric education of, 131–35, 163–67; ironic rebuke of gentlemen, 176–78, 321; refuted by Antisthenes, 93 noetic heterogeneity, 191, 232n52, 306–7, 317–20 oaths, 86–88, 109n32; central oath of Symposium, 320; “By Apollo,” 87, 223; “By the Gods,” 109n33, 218, 272, 317; “By the Graces,” 263n16; “By Hera,” 86, 109n33, 176, 186, 216, 241– 42, 276, 288n32, 293; “By Herakles,” 109n33, 186, 215, 219–20; “By Zeus,” 67, 80, 82, 86–88, 89, 98, 101, 103, 109n31, 109n33, 116n81, 130, 137, 140, 141, 146n24, 160, 162, 177, 180, 188, 192, 199n47, 213, 215, 216, 219, 241, 245, 256, 257, 276, 280, 285, 289n34, 316, 321; “In the presence of the Gods,” 87, 239, 272 Odysseus, 18n10, 50n34, 51n41, 68, 73, 74nn9–10, 77n37, 77nn40–45, 78n52, 82–83, 94, 104, 106n1, 114n68, 118n99, 164, 189, 203n88, 222, 230n33, 231n42, 232nn51–52, 247n5, 255, 258, 262n6, 263n17, 264n24, 267, 270, 289n37 Odyssean rhetoric, xvii n24, 49n22, 131, 154n74, 188–91, 204n93, 207n129, 212, 217, 221–23, 240–43, 254, 260–61, 264n24, 306–7, 316–320; as the political virtue par excellence, 242–43, 283 oligarchy, 16, 56n68, 115n80, 126, 145n17, 169–70, 199n44, 199n49, 200n52 olive oil, 24–25, 83–91, 104, 108n27, 115n77, 127, 259, 294, 326 Olympus, 68–73, 78n50 Olympic Games, 18n10, 24n46, 28n61. See also pankration omens, 153n73, 179–80

oracles. See Delphic Oracle, divination outrageous speech or conduct (παρρησία), xxi, 44, 55n59, 57–59, 70, 247n6, 255, 260, 274, 279, 284, 326 paean, 13, 79, 106n4, 108n18, 108n22, 118n104, 144n8, 255 paideia. See education Panathenaia, 3, 9–13, 15, 20n23, 22–24nn38– 46, 25n49, 26n54, 29n69, 31, 32, 55n61, 144n5, 165, 184, 197n37, 206n118, 275, 323 pandaring. See procuring Pangle, Thomas, x, xi n7, 47nn4–5, 49n18, 111n47, 114n67, 114n69, 117n92, 149n47, 152n63, 194n12, 195n19, 202n70, 203n84, 205n97, 205n103, 206n108, 207n128, 208n132, 234n70, 248n9, 249nn18–19, 250n23, 262n5, 289nn38–39, 309nn21–22, 309n25, 328n36, 329n43, 329n61 pankration, 3, 6–7, 12–15, 24n44, 25n48, 26n54, 27–28nn59–61, 28–29nn64–68, 31, 32, 63, 75n17, 81, 89, 116n83, 201n56, 210, 275, 281 Panthea, 76n27, 107n13, 233n59 Peiraieus, 41–44, 48n12, 51n41, 52n43, 81, 107n15, 108n22, 126, 145n17, 169, 199n49, 202n75 Peisistratids, 20n23, 23n41, 25n49, 197n38 Pentassuglio, Francesca, x, xi n10, 75n21, 202n74, 286n2, 287n15, 307n3, 308n11, 309nn26–27, 309nn30–31, 310n33, 310n35, 310nn37–39, 329n67 Peloponnesian Wars, 5, 9–11, 16, 26n50, 47n7, 53n48, 115n75, 149n46, 198n38, 199n48 performances, ix, xxi; absurd, 102–4, 117n97; athletic, 26n54; comic-tragic, 59, 68–73, 139, 238, 245–46; dancing, 127–28; dramatic, 5, 11, 15–16, 22n38, 25n49, 27n57, 124, 248n13; erotic, 293–305, 308n13, 310n14; of gentlemen at play, 18n14; musical, 15–16, 92–96, 127–28, 239–40; rhetorical, 92; Socratic, 96–101, 117nn89–91, 315; by the Syracusan and his wonders, xx–xxi, 13, 79–83, 106n7, 111n50, 115n77, 118n103, 132, 186–87, 190, 216,



General Index 355

255–62, 262n9, 268–69, 293–305, 316, 323–26 perfume, 82–88, 91, 102, 107n11, 108nn21–22, 108n27, 153n70 Pericles, 5, 10, 282–83, 285, 290n50; and Aspasia, 149n43, 301, 309n28; Funeral Oration, 20n23, 22n31, 146n23, 290n52 Pericles the Younger, 19n17, 289n33, 290n52, 291nn54–55, 301 Persephone, 42–43, 53n50. See also Demeter, Eleusinian Mysteries persuasion. See rhetoric Phaedo, 178 Phaedrus, 289 Phainarete, 229n21 Pheidippides, 49n21, 61 philia (friendly love), 268–71, 277–86. See also erōs Philippos, 64–68; accuser of Socrates, 251nn44–45; bodily needs of, 66–67, 72–73; rival of Socrates, 96–97, 101–4, 105, 138–39; display speech of, 138–40; defense speech of, 186 philosophy (φιλοσοφία), xxiii n19, 34–36, 50n25, 56n68, 192, 274, passim; opposed to sophistry, 44–46, 89–91; as purification of soul, 34–36; as pursuit of knowledge of What Is, 119n105, 176–78, 204n93, 263n24; as pursuit of self-knowledge, 36–38; as pursuit of wisdom through speeches, 129, 141–43, 314–20. See also natural philosophy, political philosophy, Socrates, Xenophon piety, 19n17, 55n63, 61, 140, 143, 149n47, 150n48, 178–82, 190, 192, 197n30, 203n80, 205n97, 214, 218, 230n39, 240–43, 247n6, 272, 317. See also atheism/impiety, Hermogenes pimping, the art of (προαγωγεία), 109n30, 137– 39, 145n13, 151n55, 158, 191–93, 273. See also midwifing, procuring playfulness. See laughter Plato, x, xi n1, xiii–xvii, 49n18, 50n25, 51n35, 51–52nn41–44, 60, 110n45, 125–26, 198n44, 226, 233n54, 250n31, 263n22, 311–14, 327n1, 328n14, 329n42, 329n68.



Works of: Alcibiades, xxi, 54n55, 231n41; Apology of Socrates, xxv n33, xxvi n39, 8, 53n44, 89–90, 110n44, 148n41, 149n44, 154n78, 237, 288n24; Charmides, 125, 170; Crito, 54n57, 148n41, 169, 290n46; Euthydemus, 148n41, 206n119, 231n41; Euthyphro, 110n45, 229n28, 247n6, 250n32, 287n19; Gorgias, 5, 26n51, 47n7, 50n3; Hippias Major, 229n28, 328n16; Ion, 147n32, 330n76; Laws, 25n48, 115n78, 117n91, 123–24, 144n1, 144nn3­–4, 200n52, 262n5; Laches, 111n49, 234n65; Menexenus, xxv n35, 22n31, 290n50, 309n28; Meno, 109n34, 111n45, 111n49, 133, 229n28, 239; Phaedo, 8, 9, 49n15, 49n20, 54n57, 76n30, 106n4, 112n55, 115n71, 117n87, 133, 145n11, 148n41, 150n47, 201n58, 264n28; Phaedrus, 20n20, 54n55, 55n59, 118n99, 148n39, 152n62, 153n73, 278; Protagoras, 42, 49n23, 52n44, 55n60, 115n78, 125, 231; Republic, xxiii n23, 19n15, 22n38, 41–42, 48n10, 48n12, 49n17, 50n32, 51– 52nn41–43, 125, 148n41, 233n54, 323; Statesman, 115n78; Symposium, 18n14, 40–41, 50n32, 51n37, 52n43, 58–60, 78n59, 125–26, 139,230n33, 251n44, 253–54, 264n35, 267, 286n2, 289n41, 304, 309n18, 314–15; Theaetetus, 106n5, 133, 228n12, 287n19 pleasure. See erōs, longing Plutarch, 46n3, 47n4, 106n2, 152n66, 170, 197n30, 199n44, 201n56, 248n12, 262n1, 290n45, 309n26, 309n33 poetry. See Homer, Theognis Polemarchus, 19n15, 48n10, 48n12 polis, xiii, xviii–xx, xxv n34, 7, 9–12, 41–42, 60, 90–91, 94–95, 130, 164, 168–70, 184, 188, 192, 226, 273–86, 294–99, 307, 312, 322; concord as the highest end of, 189;

356

General Index



Socrates as gadfly of, 314–15, 322; the political art (politikē), 119n105, 188–91, 207n129, 267, 283, 285 political philosophy, xxv n35, xxvi n40, 13–14, 17–18, 240, 260, 307, 311–27; Socrates as founder of, 264n29. See also natural philosophy, philosophy, Socrates, Xenophon Poseidon, 12, 23n42, 25n46, 77n40 poverty, 47n6, 64–67, 72, 114n61, 136–39, 150n51, 162, 167–75, 178–82, 195n18, 198n44, 199n47, 200nn52–53, 201n61, 202n64, 202n75, 240, 273, 287n21, 320; of the Socratics, 135–37; Socratic, 159–60, 169–70, 175–77, 205n97, 320 praise. See encomium pride. See display speeches procuring, or match-making (μαστροπεία), 137, 159n43151n54, 153n72, 158, 187–88, 191–93, 209, 225, 273n4, 284–85, 287n18, 294, 301, 315, 322. See also midwifing, pimping Prodicus, 19n18, 35–36, 49n23, 161 Protagoras, 35, 45, 52n44, 54n56, 90, 125–26, 193 prudence, or practical intelligence (φρόνησις), xiv, 111n50, 265n35, 277, 297, 311–12, 314, 320; in writing, xvii, xxiii n16, xxiii n20, xxiii n23. See also philosophy quarrel, xxi, 38, 69, 73, 208n138, 244, 255, 260, 314, 315; between poetry and philosophy, 244, 253–54, 268, 299, 330n7 Raphael, xxiii n17 religion. See divination, gods/goddesses, piety rhapsodes, 132–33, 147n31, 165, 248n13, 323. See fools/foolishness rhetoric, xiv, xxii n8, 38–39, 202n62, 208n131, passim. See also Gorgias, Odysseus, Socrates, Xenophon rule. See archē sacrifices, 24n44, 45n77, 153n73, 178–181, 205n107, 275. See also friendship of the gods

“second sailing” of the Symposium, 64–68, 73, 82. See also Socrates’ “second sailing” self-knowledge, 36–38, 54n55, 249n17, 311–312 self-sufficiency, or self-rule (αὐτάρχεια), 67–73, 97–99, 100–103, 139, 150n51, 161, 173– 74, 176, 192, 226, 272–73, 249n18; lack of, 65–67, 71–72 sexuality. See erōs Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, Third Earl of, xv–xvi, xxiii nn13–14 Shakespeare, William, 74n9, 77n36, 94, 107n9, 112n53, 113n60, 146n25, 231n43, 248n13, 263n13 shame (αἰδώς), xvi, xxiv n25, 14, 53n47, 53n51, 78n55, 61, 126, 217, 267, 279–81, 301. See also honor, Kallias shameful (αἰσχρόν), 65–66, 78n55, 127, 146n23, 158, 175, 195n18, 265n34, 280, 309n29 Sicilian expedition, 10–11, 16, 21n29, 22n32, 47n7, 60, 75n17 Simonides, 153n69, 169, 200nn52–54, 323 Skillous, Xenophon’s estate at, 59, 290n45 slavishness, 56n68, 85–86, 89, 134, 168, 145n20, 153n70, 167, 206n115 Socrates, xiii–xvi, passim; accused of natural philosophy, 231n44, 250n31, 251n35, 251n45, 264n28; defense speech of, 187–88; display speech of, 137–38; as the “gadfly” of the Athenians, 41, 94, 314; as a gentleman, 44–46, 85–86, 78n61, 106; as a “noble and good human being” (καλός γε κἀγαθὸς ἄνθρωπος), 293–94, 315; ironic agreement with Kallias, 129, 162; ironic rebuke of Kritoboulos, 211–12; ironic silence of, 39–41, 80, 160, 174; quarrel with Kallias, 36–40, 43–44, 79–85; marriage of, 93–95; on moderation in drinking wine, 6, 104–6, 284; on moderation in pursuit of the beautiful, 209–36; on moderation in pursuit of wisdom, 36–38, 225–26, 314–20, 325–27; Odyssean endurance of, 93–95, 104; Odyssean rhetoric of, 188–91, 254–58, 267; Platonic portrait of, xiii–xviii, 89–91, 110– 11nn44–45;







General Index 357 the “Problem” of, 311; rebuke of Antisthenes, 93–96, 162–63, 191– 93, 246–47, 272–73; rebuke of Charmides, 123–25; rebuke of Hermogenes, 238–40; rebuke of Xenophon, 218–20, 231nn42–44; reflection on the Syracusan’s wondrous performances, 79–82, 91–95; representative of the philosophic life par excellence, 289n36; reputation as “the Thinker,” xxi, 23n38, 49n21, 195n15, 244–47, 251n35, 256– 61, 264n30, 311, 326; reputation for “big-talking,” 202n70, 249n19, 295, 311; rival of Kritoboulos in beauty, 184–85, 209– 36; rival of Philippos in causing laughter, 96–97, 101–4, 105, 138–39; “second sailing” of, 258–62, 264n28; as Silenus, 41, 212–15, 225, 228n12, 229n21; Socratic dancing, 96–101, 105–6, 109n30, 116n82, 116nn85–86, 117n89, 117n95, 128, 142, 151n54, 223, 229n27, 249n19, 255, 324; Socratic deed par excellence, 190, 226, 260, 307, 313–15, 327; Socratic discourse par excellence, 51n39, 76n25, 190, 313; Socratic economics, 45–46; Socratic education of gentlemen, 261–62, 274–86; Socratic irony, x, 157–58, 193n5, 212, 221– 26, 240, 259–61; Socratic laughter, 33, 116n87, 176–78, 204– 5nn94–95, 330n74; Socratic philosophy, 38–39, 194n8, 222–23, 318; Socratic question, 91–95, 142; Socratic rhetoric, xiv-xviii, xxi, 32, 38–39, 49n22, 154n74, 188–91, 194n7, 207nn127–29, 221–23, 233n56, 240–43, 254–58, 267–86, 286n2, 295, 296, 300, 306–7, 313, 316–20, 325–27; the Socratic “turn,” xvii, 190–91, 240, 258– 62, 264n28, 306–7, 309, 311–12, 319; the Socratic way of life, xiv, 157–93, 221–26, 325–27. See also boasting, dancing, enkrateia, irony, philosophy

Sokratikoi Logoi, 19n16, 147n27 Solon, 21n29, 167, 198n44, 282–83, 285, 290n51 sophists/sophistry, 5, 17n19, 22n38, 31–46, 47n4, 49nn22–23, 52n44, 63, 80, 82–85, 89–91, 125–26, 144n2, 161–63, 176, 193, 226, 230n33, 244, 250n31, 250n35, 261, 317–20; sophistic rhetoric, 38–39, 320–21 songs/singing, xxv, 5–6, 27n56, 50n34, 52n78, 79, 106nn3–4, 117n90, 239, 248n16, 253–56, 261, 262nn3–7, 263nn16–17, 289n37, 293 soul (ψύχη), 31, 52n43, 57–58, 71–72, 317–19; affect of beauty on, 60–64, 73, 78n59, 107n16, 116n83, 183, 211–12, 218–26, 267–86; affect of wine on, 57–58, 104–6, 108n22, 123–24; as the greatest possession of all, 153n73; beauty of, 209–36; desires of, 80–86; hidden, 40–41; knowledge of, 119n105, 157; love of, 296–306; philosophy as care of, 287n15, 301; pleasures of, 253; purified, 34–36, 43–45, 46n1, 49n15; strength of, 68, 73; virtues of, 160–61, 172, 190, 241; wealth of, 172–78, 192 Sparta/Spartans, 4–5, 9–11, 14–16, 21n29, 22nn31–32, 22n38, 28n64, 31, 43, 46n3, 53n48, 59, 60, 75n14, 96, 115n76, 115n80, 146n25, 152n60, 169, 199n44, 199n49, 201n56, 275, 280–83, 290n45, 290nn49–50 speeches (λόγοι). See defense speeches, display speeches Strauss, Leo, xvi, xxv n35, 44–46, 78n61, 311– 30, 310n45, passim Strepsiades, 36, 49n21, 113n59, 231n44, 245, 251n35, 263n16 symposium, or banquet (συμπόσιον), 4–6, 13– 15, 57–60, 68–73, 105, 146n21, passim the Syracusan, 79, 106n2, 112n52 accuser of Socrates, 244–47, 251n35; defense speech of, 92; performances of, 15–16, 92–96, 295–300; praise of Socrates, 256–58; rival of Socrates, 215–17;

358

General Index

teacher of Socrates, 97–101, 139; wonders of, 79–82, 258–60. See also Xenophon

Tantalos, 51n34, 58–59 teaching. See education Thebes/Thebans, 124, 144n5, 280–81, 290n49 Themistocles, 282–83, 285 Themistogenes of Syracuse, 299, 310n45 Theodote, 19n17, 76n27, 107n13, 224, 233n59, 278, 307n4 Theognis, 88–92, 109n34, 110n36, 111n50, 294 Theramenes, 152n60, 204n94 Theseus, 11, 29n66, 74n10, 146n25, 280, 310n42 “the Thinker” (φροντιστής) and “the Thinkery” (φροντιστήριον), xxi, 23n38, 49n21, 195n15, 251n35, 256–61, 264n30, 311, 326. See also Aristophanes’ Clouds, Socrates Thucydides, xvi, xxi n4, xxiiin17, xxiiin21, xxv n33, 5, 9–11, 20n23, 21–22nn29–35, 26n50, 290nn50–52 Tigranes, 307 Tissaphernes, 57, 59, 74nn12–13 toil, 50n24, 161, 168, 172, 183, 207n123, 280–82 tragedy, 10, 16, 49n15, 51n35, 65, 68, 72–73, 152n67, 170, 216, 312, 329n68 Tuplin, Christopher, x, 309n24 tyranny, 4, 15, 22n30, 45–46, 55n63, 56n69, 75n14, 85, 143, 161, 168, 203n85; inclination to, 159–82, 185, 199–200nn50– 55, 203n81, 207n121, 271, 321, 323; rule of erōs as, 63–64; Thirty Tyrants, 16, 47n7, 60, 126, 198n44, 199n49, 295, 308n8; Tyrannicides, 20n23, 23n41. See also Xenophon’s Hiero usefulness/utility. See good Vandercook, Maren, v, x–xi, 300–306 violence, xxvi, 15, 26n52, 50n34, 71, 145n17, 170, 197n35, 247n6 virtue, or excellence (ἀρετή), xx, 12, 25n48; conventional claims to, 131–32; marital, 295–306; playful discussion of, 72–86; Socratic exhortation to, 274–86; teachability of, 91–96, 111n50.



See also courage, gentlemanliness, education, justice, moderation, wisdom

wine/wine-drinking, 6, 57–60, 103–6, 123–25, 125–8 wisdom (σοφία), 35–46, 49n22, 128–43, 325–27; contest of, 73, 81–82, 128–41, 171, 185; as the greatest good, 142; hidden, 40–41, 51n36, 226; as knowledge of What Is, 176–78, 320–25. See also philosophy wonders, worthy to behold or of contemplation, 79–83, 92–93, 200, 103, 106n5, 115n77, 124, 255–61, 264n25, 268, 299–301, 305, 326 Xanthippe, 92–95, 99–101, 113nn57–59, 114nn69–70, 184, 214, 272, 289n36, 300–306, 309n27, 310n42, 315 Xenophon, xiii–xxi, 3–9, 327, 330n87, passim; and the art of writing, xv–xvi, xx, 3–9, 31, 41, 325–27; and conjugal erotics, 300–307; disguised as beggar in his writings, xxiii n16; editorial comments of, 95, 106n5, 115n72, 174–75, 182, 185, 187–88, 321; erotic nature of, 74n12, 218–21, 300–307; greatness of, xxiii n18; missing peak in, 126, 223, 233n54, 325, 329n62; the philosopher, xv; and Plato, 311–13, 327n1; reception of, ix–x, xiv–xvi; recollections of Socrates, 7–9, 38–41, 46, 312–13; references to philosophy in the writings of, 50n25; reflections on the beautiful, 60–64; reflections on Socratic erōs, 271–74; refuted by Socrates, 218–21; the Rhētor, xvi–xviii; rhetorical defense of Socrates, 293–95, 300, 325–27; silence of, 64, 194n6, 269, 306–7; and Socrates, 219–21, 232nn46–47, 310n45; Socratic rhetoric of, xvi–xviii, 9, 221–23, 226, 306–7, passim; sons of, 290n45; Symposium as Socratic rhetoric par excellence, 313–14, 327; as the Syracusan, 310n45, 325–27.



General Index 359 Works of: Agesilaus, 3, 4, 17n4, 75n14; Anabasis (Ascent of Cyrus), ix, x, xxiv n26, 3, 4, 9, 18n12, 22n36, 57–59, 74n1, 74n12, 75n14, 109n33, 152n67, 154n78, 199–200n51, 201n56, 219– 21, 232nn46–47, 247n6, 290n45, 310n45, 329n42; Apologia (Apology of Socrates to the Jury), ix-x, xxiv n24, xxv n33, xxvi n40, 3–9, 19n18, 21n27, 32, 51n39, 52n44, 109n33, 110n44, 152n67, 154n78, 173, 178, 190, 195n15, 202n70, 204n90, 240, 249n19, 262n5, 264n28, 271, 287n19, 295, 322, 327n13; Cyropaedia (Education of Cyrus), ix, x, 3, 18n12, 50n34, 59, 74n11, 75n14, 75n20, 76n23, 76nn27–29, 78n56, 107n11, 108n23, 109n33, 111n48, 113n58, 116n87, 144n2, 192, 202n71, 203n84, 204n94, 229n28, 230n33, 233n59, 262n5, 307, 307n4; Hellenika, ix, x, xxv n33, 3, 9, 21n24, 21nn26–27, 22n32, 47n4, 47n7, 48n11, 53n48, 54n55, 109n33, 111n48, 145n13–17, 149n46, 152n60, 170, 194n10, 196n28, 199n49, 201n56, 204n94, 285, 289n33, 291n55, 299, 308n7, 328n37, 329n70; Hiero, x, 3, 4, 17n4, 55n63, 75n14, 113n58, 169, 200nn52–54, 308n7; Hipparchikos, 3, 4, 49n16, 113n58, 154n74; Kynēgetikos, 3, 4, 144n2; Memorabilia, v, ix, x, xv, xx, xxi n1, xxii n8, xxiv nn24–25, xxvi n40, 3–9, 21n27, 32, 43, 51n39, 88, 106n1, 109n31, 113n57, 116n87, 126, 147n26, 148n41, 149n43, 149n47,

152n64, 161–64, 170–71, 173–76, 188–91, 193, 194n7, 196nn23–24, 197nn33–34, 203n80, 204n90, 204n94, 205n102, 205n107, 207n126, 208n138, 213–26, 228n14, 228n17, 229n31, 230n40, 231n41, 232n47, 233nn54–56, 234n64, 241, 249n18, 271–72, 278, 287n18, 290n49, 291n55, 291n59, 294–95, 306, 308n7, 313, 317, 322, 327n13, 328n26, 329n68; Oikonomikos, ix, xx, 3–9, 21n24, 21n27, 32-33, 39, 50n33, 51n39, 55n58, 109n31, 109n33, 112n52, 146n25, 148n41, 151n58, 160, 162, 169–71, 183, 190–91, 195n15, 195n20, 196n24, 204n94, 208nn134–135, 301, 306–7, 307n1, 309n27, 313–14, 320, 325, 327n6, 328n22; Peri Hippikēs, 3, 113n58; Politeia Athenaion (Constitution of the Athenians), 3, 23n39, 25n49, 26n52, 116n80, 152n60, 195n18, 198n38; Politeia Lakedaimonian (Constitution of the Lakedaimonians), 3, 115n76, 290n45; Poroi, 3, 47n3, 47n7, 50n25, 111n48, 153n73, 199n44 Xenophon’s Symposium, xvi, 3–6, 313–14, passim; as agōn, 15–16; audience of, 31–32; familiar addresses in, 112n52; oaths in, 86–88; peak of, 176–78; as Xenophon’s Socratic work par excellence, 313–15 Zarathustra, 118n103 Zeus, 8, 12, 20nn22–23, 54n57, 59, 69–73, 78n50, 87, 204n88, 213, 218, 276, 280, 283, 288n32, 289n35, 296, 299 See also oaths

Glossary of Greek Words

ἀναβάσις ἀγών ἀγαθός τὸ ἀγαθόν αἰδώς ἀλαζών ἀνάγκη ἀνδρεία ἀπολογία ἀρχή ἀρετή αὐτάρχεια βασιλική δαιμόνιον δίκη ἐγκράτεια ἐπιστήμη ἔργα ἔρως κάλλος καλός τὸ καλόν καλός κἀγαθός καλοκἀγαθία κατάβασις λόγος μαστροπεία νόμος τὸ ὄντα παιδεία

anabasis agōn agathos to agathon aidōs alazōn anagkē andreia apologia archē aretē autarkeia basilikē daimonion dikē enkrateia epistēmē erga erōs kallos kalos to kalon kalos k’agathos kalokagathia katabasis logos mastropeia nomos to onta paideia

ascent contest, or competition good, or useful the Good itself shame boaster necessity courage, or manliness apology, or defense speech rule, or origin virtue, or excellence self-sufficiency, or self-rule kingship, or the art of kingly rule divine power or being justice continence, or self-control knowledge deeds eros physical beauty, or attractiveness beautiful, fine, or noble the Beautiful gentleman gentlemanliness descent account, speech procuring, or match-making custom, or law Being itself, or What Is education 361

362 παρρησία πόλις προαγωγεία συμπόσιον τὰ σχήματα σωφροσύνη τέλος τυραννία ὕβρις ὑπόνοια φάρμακον φιλία φιλοφροσύνη φιλοσοφία φρόνησις φροντιστής

Glossary of Greek Words

parrēsia polis proagōgeia symposion ta schemata sōphrosunē telos tyrrania hubris hyponoia pharmakon filia philophrosunē philosophia phronēsis phrontistēs

outspokenness, or outrageous speech political community, or city pimping symposium, or banquet gestures, or dance forms moderation end, or purpose tyranny violent conduct hidden thought or meanings drug friendly love, or friendship friendliness or affection philosophy prudence, or practical intelligence the Thinker

About the Author

Dustin Gish is associate professor in The Honors College at the University of Houston, where he teaches advanced seminars in the history of political thought as well as the College’s Great Books course for Honors students, “The Human Situation: Antiquity and Modernity.” He received his doctoral degree from the interdisciplinary Institute of Philosophic Studies at the University of Dallas (Ph.D. in Politics) in 2004. He also holds master’s degrees in politics and liberal education from, respectively, the University of Dallas and the Graduate Institute of St. John’s College (Santa Fe). His undergraduate degrees are in political science, philosophy, and history from the University of Oklahoma. Dr. Gish is the co-author of Thomas Jefferson and the Science of Republican Government: A Political Biography of “Notes on the State of Virginia” (Cambridge University Press, 2017) and the contributing co-editor of Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Xenophon (forthcoming, 2023), Rival Visions: How Jefferson and His Contemporaries Defined the Early American Republic (University of Virginia Press, 2021), The Quest for Excellence (University Press of America, 2016), Shakespeare and the Body Politic (Lexington Books, 2013), “Resistance to Tyrants, Obedi­ ence to God”: Reason, Religion, and Republicanism at the American Founding (Lexington Books, 2013), Souls With Longing: Representations of Honor and Love in Shakespeare (Lexington Books, 2011), and The Political Thought of Xenophon (2009). He has also authored more than twenty book chapters, journal articles, and review essays on Classical political philosophy, American political thought, politics and literature, and visual rhetoric.

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