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Chapter 1

The Problem of the Young Socrates

Socrates’ “Pre-Socratic” Past

For a long time now, scholars have been preoccupied with the question of Plato’s intellectual development. The well-known fact that the question cannot be answered with certainty, in large part because we lack unambiguous evidence for it from within the Platonic writings themselves or even from ancient sources more generally, has not discouraged scholars from forming, by turns, consensuses and factions in regard to it. Their willingness to pronounce with such confidence on an essentially open and controversial question is surely a testament to the state of the discipline. Despite or because of this, we are reminded of A. E. Taylor’s caution that “a thing is none the more certain because it has been pronounced allgemein bekannt by a chorus of Herren Professoren.”¹ To be sure, Plato himself, whose testimony in this matter should count for something, does not give a single clear indication that his own thought ever developed or changed after he began writing. What he does, on the other hand, is devote a significant portion of his writings to the question of (his)² Socrates’ intellectual development. Socrates’ intellectual development is immediately accessible to every reader through unambiguous evidence found within the dialogues themselves; Plato’s, or what is alleged to be Plato’s, is not. As opposed to the latter, which is necessarily a matter of ingenious conjecture, the former can be recognized and charted by proceeding in the way that Plato, as a writer, must have wanted us to proceed: by closely reading the dialogues he wrote. As it seems, then, in their preoccupation with the question of Plato’s, but not Socrates’, intellectual development, orthodox scholars have turned away without explanation from a question Plato makes much of, toward a question which, in addition to rendering unrecognizable the question he makes much of, his dialogues give no explicit permission or incentive to ask.³ That Plato considered the intellectual development of a thinker of the highest order to be a serious question cannot, therefore, be doubted for a moment. But it is not his own development that Plato’s dialogues explicitly draw our attention to and, by doing so, call upon us to reflect on; it is, rather, to the development of a Socrates become “beautiful and young” (Second Letter 314c2–4).

At his trial, in response to the official charges brought against him by his accusers—approximately, that he does not believe in the gods in whom the city believes, but in other daimonic things, and that he corrupts the young (Apology 24b8–c2; cf. D.L. 2.40)—Socrates brings up slanders or rumors about himself that originated long ago to the effect that he investigates nature and practices rhetoric (18b4–c4, 19b4–c2, 23d2–7). To the official charges brought against him by his accusers he therefore adds these old, unofficial charges or rumors, which he traces back to Aristophanes’ Clouds (18d1–2, 19c3). Socrates thus brings it about at his trial that he is accused not only of what he was in fact accused of but also, among other things, of being a natural scientist. And he then goes on to defend himself, less than satisfactorily, against this rumor-charge. He does not, he claims, possess such a science at present (19c5–6, c9–d1). As for his past, a time when he did perhaps claim as much for himself, he merely asks whether the members of the jury have “ever” heard him at any time conversing about natural science, either much or little (19d4–6). This does not settle the matter; Socrates does not always speak in public (cf. 17c10, 33b7),⁴ and many of the members of the jury were children at the time in question (18b5, c7). On closer inspection, the very argument Socrates uses to challenge the rumor that he is or at least at some point was a natural scientist leaves open and even points to some room in his past when he might have been one. Besides this, Socrates makes it clear that he maintains even now, in his maturity, a certain admiration for natural science (19c6–9, e1–2), an admiration that is qualified, it seems, only by doubts as to its possibility (19c5–6, c9–d1).⁵ The doubts that qualify his admiration are no less telling than the admiration itself. For if Socrates has come to the conclusion that no human being can truly possess natural science (compare 19c5–d1 with 23a5–b4),⁶ and if this conclusion of his is a reasonable or nondogmatic one, must he not have engaged in some way in natural science? And we know for a fact that he did engage in it, and not merely “in some way,” but as a natural scientist himself. For when he is beyond the reach of the Athenians’ indignation, or already in the grip of it, on the day of his execution, Socrates gives an intellectual autobiography in which he openly admits that, contrary to the impression he gave at his trial, he was indeed, as Aristophanes had alleged to begin with, a natural scientist at least in his youth (Phaedo 96a6–100a8).⁷

Eventually, to be sure, Socrates ceased to be one. Turning away from the natural science of his philosophic predecessors, the pre-Socratics, Socrates turned to the examination, in which we see him, in his maturity, almost constantly engaged, of his own and others’ moral-political opinions. This revolution or turn in Socrates’ thought, which Plato unmistakably draws our attention to, has been rendered so unrecognizable by the preoccupation of orthodox scholars with the changes they somehow detect in Plato’s thought that, until rather recently, it did not even have a proper name of its own. And yet if we step back and take a larger view of the matter we see at once that what has come to be called the Socratic turn is not a new discovery at all; it is merely a rediscovery or a return to an older thing that is “allgemein bekannt” by a chorus of great thinkers, a chorus led by Plato himself. For, according to the traditional view, Socrates turned away from natural science, the study of his philosophic predecessors, in order to investigate the human or political things.⁸

Why Plato, to say nothing of Socrates himself, was so reluctant to admit or so keen to conceal Socrates’ “pre-Socratic” past and subsequent intellectual development will become clear as we proceed—provisionally, it would seem to have something to do with the fact that natural scientists were or were widely believed to be guilty of atheism, a capital crime (Apology 18b4–c4, 23d2–7, 26d1–9).⁹ But that, if not why, Plato treats the matter delicately is evident enough from a brief survey of its place in the corpus. Of the thirty-five dialogues that have been handed down to us as Platonic, only about three are narrated or reported by someone other than Socrates.¹⁰ And this device does not seem to be “unnecessary elaboration.”¹¹ For these three dialogues, the Phaedo, the Symposium, and the Parmenides, are also the only ones in which we are permitted to see something of the young Socrates.¹² And, as Laurence Lampert says, “[this] cannot be an accident.”¹³ In other words, in the dialogues where we have unequivocal evidence that the impression given by Socrates at his trial, that is, that the rumors about his “pre-Socratic” past were false, was a misleading one, Plato beautifully ensures at the same time, by confining that evidence to the only three dialogues wholly narrated by someone other than Socrates, that it, too, has the character of a rumor.¹⁴ As for which to trust, the rumors (including the Phaedo, the Symposium, and the Parmenides) or Socrates’ repudiation of the rumors (in the Apology), it is not hard to decide. Socrates’ repudiation, if we can even call it that, was strangely open-ended and even suggestive of a certain way the rumors might hold weight,¹⁵ whereas the rumors are conveyed or spread, as it were, by Plato himself. By conveying the truth about Socrates’ past and subsequent development in this way, through rumors, Plato makes an effort to conceal it. But this effort at concealment is so manifest that it also serves to reveal that truth and, at the same time, to reveal that he, together with Socrates, regarded that truth as a “touchy” one.¹⁶

As almost goes without saying, a complete account of Socrates’ turn or intellectual development would require an understanding of the relevant passages of the Phaedo, the Symposium, the Parmenides, and, what is more, the Apology. For our present purposes, however, we may limit our study to the most important of these: Socrates’ intellectual autobiography in the Phaedo. Although the intellectual autobiography is somewhat sparing when it comes to what Socrates learned from his later conversations with Diotima, on one hand, and Parmenides, on the other, it is comprehensive in a way that those narrowly focused (but, within those narrow limits, deeper) exchanges are not—in the end, they have to be understood in light of it. When it comes to what the Apology refers to as Socrates’ “Delphic mission,” the intellectual autobiography barely scratches the surface; it is not just somewhat sparing. But again, in the end, the “Delphic mission” has to be understood in light of Socrates’ intellectual autobiography in the Phaedo, not vice versa. As we will see, the latter makes such a profound contribution to our knowledge of the grounds and character of Socrates’ lifelong scientific enterprise that it may well be the single most important passage in Plato’s dialogues.¹⁷ Still, in concerning ourselves with this passage, as important as it may be in its own right, we cannot forget that it is a part of a larger whole. What is its place, then, in the Phaedo as a whole?

Socrates’ Intellectual Autobiography in Context

The Phaedo takes place on the day Socrates’ death sentence is to be carried out, in the prison where he has been held since being found guilty, at his trial, of the charges brought against him. As the dialogue’s young narrator would have it at any rate, the conversation recounted in it is, as usual, a philosophic one (59a3–5). What it is broadly concerned with is either the problem of death or, more on the face of it, the immortality of the soul. The bulk of the conversation is initiated when Simmias and Cebes, the two youths with whom he chiefly speaks on this occasion, charge Socrates, respectively, with neglecting them, his friends (63a7–9), on one hand, and with neglecting himself (62d8–e7), on the other, by going to his death so willingly. In response to his young friends’ reservations about his justice and wisdom (prudence), Socrates musters a defense or an “apology” on his behalf (63b1–2). Whatever else that apology (63e8–70b5) may accomplish, though, it does not even try to meet the steep condition that Socrates himself stipulates it must meet if it is to be a successful one (63b5–9, 69d7–e4). In the wake of its failure (69e5–70b4), which he immediately admits (70b5), Socrates sets out to meet the condition in question. He sets out, that is, to establish the soul’s immortality. He characterizes his attempt along these lines rather strangely, however, as one that is both an examination and a mythology (compare 61e1–2 with 70b6 and 70c4). Stranger still, he does this despite having made it perfectly clear that, as capable as he is of making speeches or reasoned arguments (logoi), he cannot mythologize (61b5, cf. 108d1–9, 114d1–2)—the philosopher follows reason (84a7–b1, Crito 46b4–6).¹⁸ However these oddities may have to be understood,¹⁹ Socrates’ initial battery of (three: 70c4–72d10, 73c5–76e7, 78b4–80d4) arguments (or myths) pertaining to the immortality of the soul prepares the ground for a “repetition” of his apology (80d5–84b4) that, having been thus prepared, is somewhat more persuasive to his young friends than the original (compare 88c8–d8 as well as 84c1–d3 with 69e5–70b4). It too persuades no one in the long run, however. Simmias and Cebes are moved almost at once to offer up objections (84d4–88b8). As for Socrates himself, immediately after concluding the battery of arguments, even (or precisely) he admits that they have, in the final analysis, been a failure (84c5–8, cf. 85d4–e2, 86d4–e4, 95b5–6).²⁰ And yet, while Socrates was incredulous all along, the same cannot be said for many of those listening, who had indeed, as they believed, been fully persuaded by him (88c1–d8). These poor listeners are not freed from the pleasant spell cast by Socrates’ arguments until Simmias and Cebes offer up their objections (88c8–d8). After rallying them, in consideration of the pain and, what is more, the hostility to reason all too easily incited by the breaking of the spell (89a10–91c6), Socrates disposes in the first place, “somehow” (95a4–6), of Simmias’ objection (91e2–95a6). He then turns to the objection of Cebes. And it is in place of, or as, a reply to Cebes’ objection, that Socrates gives at this point in the conversation his intellectual autobiography. Let us therefore take a somewhat closer look at the circumstances surrounding this event.

After the initial battery of Socrates’ arguments, it is apparent to Cebes that, whatever else those arguments have achieved, they have not even advanced beyond square one when it comes to establishing the soul’s immortality (compare 86e6–87a1 with 77b1–c6 as well as 69e5–70b4). According to Socrates’ second recapitulation of it (95b5–e4), then, “the sum and substance”²¹ of what Cebes seeks by means of his objection (at 86e6–88b8) is, quite simply, to be shown that the soul is imperishable as well as deathless (95b8–c1). And he seeks this demonstration, as Socrates, going somewhat beyond what Cebes had actually said, suggests, on the assumption that it is something that can be achieved by human beings (compare 95b8–e2 with 88a10–b8). Indeed, Cebes goes so far as to hope that Socrates, in particular, is in possession of the demonstration himself and, moreover, able to impart it to others (95a7–b4; as does Simmias: 63c8–d3). But, having said that, as Socrates’ first recapitulation would have it, the truth about the immortality of the soul is, in Cebes’ view, “unclear to everyone,” including Socrates (91d2–9). Besides going somewhat beyond what Cebes had actually said once again (compare 91d2–9 with 88a10–b8), Socrates’ first recapitulation will eventually part ways with the second on the question of the limits of human knowledge.²² Yet Cebes accepted it, too, as an accurate representation of his objection (91e1)! What is the import of the difference between the two recapitulations and, in the next place, of Cebes’ failure to notice it? Looking back, one sees that Cebes’ original objection had not made it entirely clear whether he views it as possible or impossible for human beings to grasp the truth about the soul’s immortality. And Socrates may have wanted to clear up the ambiguity. Dispensing with the pretense that his recapitulations of the objection are meant to compensate for his own faulty memory (91c7–8ff.), he eventually indicates that they are in fact intended to bring out Cebes’ view as accurately as possible (95e2–4). In the event, if Cebes’ view was not entirely clear to Socrates from the objection alone, his response to Socrates’ recapitulations does serve to clarify it. For Cebes’ failure even to notice the difference between Socrates’ two opposed recapitulations implies that his view is, on the whole, somehow well represented by both of them. He wavers, in other words, between the one position (that it is possible for human beings to grasp the truth about the soul’s immortality) and the other (that it is not); he does not know what the limits of human knowledge are. In this way, the larger question of human knowledge and its limits begins to emerge from the request for knowledge of the soul’s immortality. We are not totally unprepared, therefore, for what happens following Socrates’ second recapitulation of Cebes’ objection.

After silently deliberating for a long time, Socrates says that the demonstration of the soul’s immortality, the demonstration Cebes seeks, presupposes a thoroughgoing study of “the cause concerning generation and corruption as a whole” (compare 95e8–96a1 with 95b8–c1). Knowledge of the immortality of the soul presupposes, that is to say, knowledge of the whole world. And this makes sense, as will become clearer later, since what a part of the whole, for example, the human soul, can do or suffer cannot be fully known until the ultimate cause or causes (of it) are fully known. Socrates’ very first argument (70c4–72d10) had, in keeping with this, addressed the question of immortality in the context of the larger question of the cause of generation and corruption (70d7–e1, 72a11–d3). As promising as this start was, the treatment of the larger question was far from adequate. Accordingly, if his initial battery of arguments for the soul’s immortality did not advance beyond square one, this is perhaps in part because they were not preceded by an adequate treatment of the question that Socrates himself regards as the truly prior one. Now, by way of illustrating what the asking of that prior question really involves, Socrates goes on to give his intellectual autobiography, which is an account of his own experience asking it (95e8–96a3).²³ And so the most obvious, but not the only, reason for the intellectual autobiography’s place in the Phaedo is this: full knowledge of death presupposes full knowledge of the whole.