In Chapter
12 of his History of Western Philosophy
entitled ‘Plato’s Theory of Immortality’ Russell brilliantly summarizes Plato’s
Phaedo 77c-95a: ‘The doctrine of
reminiscence being considered established, Cebes says: “about half of what was
required has been proven; to wit, that our souls existed before we were born: –
that the soul will exist after death as well as before birth is that other half
of which the proof is still wanting [77c1-5, this and the following references
are mine].” Socrates accordingly applies himself to this. He says that it
follows from what was said about everything being generated from its opposite,
according to which death must generate life just as much as life generates
death [77c6-d5]. But he adds another argument, which had a longer history in
philosophy: that only what is complex can be dissolved, and that the soul, like
the ideas, is simple and not compounded of parts. What is simple, it is
thought, cannot begin or end or change. Now essences are unchanging: absolute
beauty, for example, is always the same, whereas beautiful things continuously
change. Thus things seen are temporal, but things unseen are eternal. The body
is seen, but the soul is unseen; therefore the soul is to be classified in the
group of things that are eternal. The soul, being eternal, is at home in the
contemplation of the eternal things, that is, essences, but is lost and
confused when, as in sense perception, it contemplates the world of changing
things.’
Follows a
lengthy quotation in Jowett’s translation [in his note on Ch. 11, ‘Socrates’,
Russell notes: ‘In quotations from Plato I have generally used Jowett’s
translation.’ (p. 92)]: ‘The soul, when using the body as an instrument of
perception, that is to say, when using the sight or hearing or some other sense
(for the meaning of perceiving through the body is perceiving through the
senses) … is then dragged by the body into the region of the changeable, and
wanders and is confused; the world spins around her, and she is like a drunkard,
when she touches change [79c2-8] … But when returning into herself she
reflects, then she passes into the other world, the region of purity, and
eternity, and immortality, and unchangeableness, which are her kindred, and
with them she ever lives, when she is by herself, and is not let or hindered;
then she ceases from her erring ways, and being in communion with the
unchanging is unchanging. And this state of the soul is called wisdom [79d1-7].’
Then Russel
resumes his summarizing of what follows: ‘The soul of the true philosopher,
which has, in life been liberated from the thraldom of flesh, will, after
death, depart to the invisible world, to live in bliss in the company of the
gods. But the impure soul, which has loved the body, will become a ghost
haunting the sepulchre, or will enter the body of an animal, such as an ass or
wolf or hawk, according to its character. A man who has been virtuous without
being a philosopher will become a bee or wasp or ant, or some other animal of a
gregarious and social sort. Only the true philosopher goes to heaven when he
dies. “No one who has not studied philosophy and who is not entirely pure at
the time of his departure is allowed to enter the company of the Gods, but the
lover of knowledge only [82b10-c1].” That is why the true votaries of
philosophy abstain from fleshly lusts: not that they fear poverty or disgrace,
but because they “are conscious that the soul was simply fastened or glued to
the body – until philosophy received her, she could only view the real
existence through the bars of a prison, not in and through herself [82d9-e4], …
and by reason of lust had become the principal accomplice in her captivity
[82e6-83a1]”. The philosopher will be temperate because “each pleasure and pain
is a sort of nail which nails and rivets the soul to the body, until she
becomes like the body, and believes that to be true which the body affirms to
be true [83d4-6].”
[There are
discrepancies between the translation quoted by Bertrand Russell and Jowett’s
translation in R. M. Hare & D. A. Russell’s edition of Jowett’s Plato. E.
g. Russell’s Jowett: ‘until philosophy received her’, R. M. Hare & D. A. Russell’s
Jowett: ‘until philosophy took her in hand’. I checked with Jowett’s Plato’s Phaedo in ‘Great Books of the Western
World’, which one of my students donated to me when I was teaching philosophy
at the University of Hawaii in 1969-70; Russell is true to the Jowett he had in
his hands.]
Russell
continues: ‘At this point, Simmias brings up the Pythagorean opinion that the
soul is a harmony, and urges: if the lyre is broken, can the harmony survive?
Socrates replies that the soul is not a harmony, for a harmony is complex, but
the soul is simple. Moreover, he says, the view that the soul is a harmony is
incompatible with its pre-existence, which was proved by the doctrine of
reminiscence; for harmony does not exist before the lyre.’
The last
paragraph is a very good summary of Phaedo
84d-86d (Simmias’ objection) and 91c-95a (Socrates’ reply to Simmias); but what
follows is a fudge: ‘Socrates
proceeds to give an account of his own philosophical development, which is very
interesting, but not germane to the main argument. He goes on to expound the
doctrine of ideas, leading to the conclusion “that ideas exist, and that other
things participate in them and derive their names from them” [102b1-2]. At last
he describes the fate of souls after death: the good go to heaven, the bad to
hell, the intermediate to purgatory.’ (B. Russell, op. cit. pp. 139-140.)
***
Russell is
wrong when he says that Socrates’ account of his own philosophical development
is not germane to the main argument; he omitted to mention Cebes’ argument,
which occasioned it. Socrates sums it up as follows: ‘You want to have it
proven to you (axiois epideichthȇnai)
that the soul is imperishable and immortal (hȇmȏn
tȇn psuchȇn anȏlethron te kai athanaton ousan), for otherwise the
philosopher, who meets death confidently in the belief that he will fare better
in the world below than if he had
led another sort of life, must be the dupe of a vain and foolish confidence (ei philosophos anȇr mellȏn apothaneisthai,
tharrȏn te kai hȇgoumenos apothanȏn ekei
[‘there’] eu praxein diapherontȏs ȇ
ei en allȏi biȏi bious eteleuta, mȇ anoȇton te kai ȇlithion tharros tharrȇsei):
and you say that the demonstration of the strength and divinity of the soul,
and of her existence prior to our becoming men, does not of necessity imply her
immortality, but only that she is long-lived, and has known and done much in a
former state of immense duration (to de
apophainein hoti ischuron ti esti hȇ psuchȇ kai theoeides kai ȇn eti proteron,
prin hȇmas anthrȏpous genesthai, ouden kȏluein phȇis panta tauta mȇnuein
athanasian men mȇ, hoti de poluchronion te estin psuchȇ kai ȇn pou proteron amȇchanon
hoson chronon kai ȇidei te kai epratten polla atta). Still she is not on
that account immortal (alla gar ouden ti
mallon ȇn athanaton); and her entrance into the human form may itself be a
form of decease which is the beginning of dissolution (alla kai auto to eis anthrȏpou sȏma elthein archȇ ȇn autȇi olethrou,
hȏsper nosos), and she may be sorely vexed during her earthly life (kai talaipȏroumenȇ te dȇ touton ton bion
zȏiȇ), and sooner or later perish in what is called death (kai teleutȏsa ge en tȏi kaloumenȏi thanatȏi
apolluoito). And whether the soul enters the body once only or many times,
does not, as you say, make any difference in the fears of individuals (diapherein de dȇ phȇis ouden eite hapax eis
sȏma erchetai eite pollakis, pros ge to hekaston hȇmȏn phobeisthai). For
any man who is not devoid of sense must fear (prosȇkei gar phobeisthai, ei mȇ anoȇtos eiȇ), if he has no
knowledge (tȏi mȇ eidoti) and can
give no account of the soul’s immortality (mȇde
echonti logon didonai hȏs athanaton esti).’ (95b9-e1; like Russell, I use
Jowett’s translation, but in R. M. Hare & D. A. Russell’s edition; the text
I brought from Hawaii is too dilapidated, and I cherish it.)
What Cebes
asks for is an enormity: he asks Socrates on his last day, face to face the
approaching death, to overcome his not-knowing, or else, if he can’t do it, he
is to face death as a foolish man, if he is happy to die. No wonder it took
Socrates a long time before he decided to answer: ‘Socrates paused for a long
while (Ho oun Sȏkratȇs suchnon chronon
epischȏn), and seemed to be absorbed in reflection (kai pros heauton ti skepsamenos). At length he said: You are
raising a tremendous question, Cebes (Ou
phaulon pragma, ephȇ, ȏ Kebȇs, zȇteis), involving the whole nature and
cause of coming into being and ceasing to be (holȏs gar dei peri geneseȏs kai phthoras tȇn aitian diapragmateusasthai),
about which, if you like, I will give you my own experience (egȏ oun soi dieimi peri autȏn, ean boulȇi,
ta ge ema pathȇ); and if anything which I say seems helpful to you (epeita an tis soi chrȇsimon phainȇtai hȏn an
legȏ), you may use it to overcome your difficulty (pros tȇn peithȏ peri hȏn dȇ legeis chrȇsȇi).’ (95e7-96a4) … When I
was young, Cebes (egȏ gar, ephȇ, ȏ Kebȇs,
neos ȏn), I had a prodigious desire to know that department of philosophy
which is called the investigation of nature (thaumastȏs hȏs epethumȇsa tautȇs tȇs sophias hȇn dȇ kalousi peri
phuseȏs historian); to know the causes of things, and why a thing is and is
created or destroyed, appeared to me to be a lofty profession (huperȇphanos gar moi edokei einai, eidenai
tas aitias hekastou, dia ti gignetai
hekaston kai dia ti apollutai kai dia ti esti, 96a6-10) … at last I
concluded myself to be utterly and absolutely incapable of these inquiries (teleutȏn houtȏs emautȏi edoxa pros tautȇn
tȇn skepsin aphuȇs einai hȏs ouden chrȇma, 96c1-2) … but I have in my mind some confused notion of a new method,
and can never admit the other (alla tin’
allon tropon [tȇs methodou] autos eikȇi
phurȏ, touton de oudamȇi prosiemai, 97b6-7).’
Before
Socrates returns to his ‘confused notion of a new method’ and clarifies it, he
makes a digression: ‘Then I heard someone reading, as he said, from a book of
Anaxagoras (All’ akousas men pote ek
bibliou tinos, hȏs ephȇ, Anaxagorou anagignȏskontos, kai legontos), that
mind was the disposer and cause of all (hȏs
ara nous estin ho diakosmȏn te kai pantȏn aitios), and I was delighted at
this notion (tautȇi dȇ tȇi aitiai hȇsthȇn
te), which appeared quite admirable (kai
edoxe moi tropon tina eu echein to ton noun einai pantȏn aition), and I
said to myself (kai hȇgȇsamȇn): If
mind is the disposer, mind will dispose all for the best, and put each
particular in the best place (ei touth’
houtȏs echei, ton ge noun kosmounta panta kosmein kai hekaston tithenai tautȇi
hopȇi an beltista echȇi); and I argued that if anyone desired to find out
the cause of the generation or destruction or existence of everything, he must
find out what state of being or doing or suffering was the best for that thing
(ei oun tis bouloito tȇn aitian heurein
peri hekastou hopȇi gignetai ȇ apollutai ȇ esti, touto dein peri autou heurein,
hopȇi beltiston autȏi estin ȇ einai ȇ allo hotioun paschein ȇ poiein), and
therefore a man had only to consider what was best and most desirable both for
the thing itself and for other things (ek
de dȇ tou logou toutou ouden allo skopein prosȇkein anthrȏpȏi kai peri autou
ekeinou [‘both concerning the man himself’] kai peri tȏn allȏn all’ ȇ to ariston kai to beltiston), and then
he must necessarily also know the worse (anankaion
de einai ton auton touton kai to cheiron eidenai), since the same science
comprehends both (tȇn autȇn gar einai
epistȇmȇn peri autȏn). Arguing in this way (tauta dȇ logizomenos), I rejoiced to think that I had found in
Anaxagoras a teacher of the causes of existence such as I desired (hasmenos hȇurȇkenai ȏimȇn didaskalon tȇs
aitias peri tȏn ontȏn kata noun emautȏi, ton Anaxagoran).’ (97b8-d7) … How
high were my hopes, and how quickly were they lost to me (Apo dȇ thaumastȇs elpidos, ȏ hetaire, ȏichomȇn pheromenos)! As I
proceeded [in reading his book] (epeidȇ
proiȏn kai anagignȏskȏn) I found my philosopher altogether forsaking mind (horȏ andra tȏi men nȏi ouden chrȏmenon) and
making no appeal to any other principle of order (oude tinas aitias epaitiȏmenon eis to diakosmein ta pragmata), but
having recourse to air, and ether, and water (aeras de kai aitheras kai hudata
aitiȏmenon), and many other eccentricities (kai alla polla kai atopa). I might compare him to a person who
began by maintaining generally that mind is the cause of the actions of Socrates
(kai moi edoxe homoiotaton peponthenai
hȏsper an ei tis legȏn hoti Sȏkratȇs panta hosa prattei nȏi prattei), but
who, when he endeavoured to explain the causes of my several actions in detail
(k’apeita epicheirȇsas legein tas aitias
hekastȏn hȏn prattȏ), went on to show that I sit here because my body is
made up of bones and muscles (legoi
prȏton men hoti dia tauta nun enthade kathȇmai, hoti sunkeitai mou to sȏma ex
ostȏn kai neurȏn); and the bones, as he would say, are hard and have joints
which divide them (kai ta men osta estin
sterea kai diaphuas echei chȏris ap’ allȇlȏn), and the muscles are elastic
(ta de neura hoia epiteinesthai kai
aniesthai), and they cover the bones (periampechonta
ta osta), which have also a covering or environment of flesh and skin which
contains them (meta tȏn sarkȏn kai
dermatos ho sunechei auta); and as the bones swing in their sockets (aiȏroumenȏn oun tȏn ostȏn en tais autȏn
sumbolais), through the contraction or relaxation of the muscles (chalȏnta kai sunteinonta ta neura) I am
able to bend my limbs (kamptesthai pou
hoion t’ einai eme nun ta melȇ), and this is why I am sitting here in a
curved posture (kai dia tautȇn tȇn aitian
sunkamphtheis enthade kathȇmai) – that is what he would say; and he would
have a similar explanation of my talking to you (kai au peri tou dialegesthai humin heteras toiautas aitias legoi),
which he would attribute to sound, and air, and hearing, and he would assign
ten thousand causes of the same sort (phȏnas
te kai aeras kai akoas kai alla muria toiauta aitiȏmenos), forgetting to
mention the true cause (amelȇsas tas hȏs
alȇthȏs aitias legein), which is (hoti),
that the Athenians have thought it better to condemn me (epeidȇ Athȇnaiois edoxe beltion einai emou katapsȇphisasthai), and
accordingly (dia tauta dȇ) I thought
it better and more right to remain here and undergo my sentence (kai emoi beltion au dedoktai enthade
kathȇsthai, kai dikaioteron paramenonta hupechein tȇn dikȇn hȇn an keleusȏsin);
for I strongly suspect that these muscles and bones of mine would long ago have
been in Megara or Bootia (epei nȇ ton
kuna, hȏs egȏ’mai, palai an tauta ta neura kai ta osta ȇ peri Megara ȇ Boiȏtous
ȇn), borne there by their own idea of what was best (hupo doxȇs pheromena tou
beltistou ‘born by the opinion
of what is best’), if I did not think it more right (ei mȇ dikaioteron ȏimȇn) and honourable (kai kallion einai) to endure any penalty ordered by the state,
instead of running away into exile (pro
tou pheugein te kai apodidraskein hupechein tȇi polei tȇn dikȇn hȇntin’ an
tattȇi).’ (98b7-99a4)
Socrates
goes on to say: ‘That it is really the good and the right which holds and binds
things together (kai hȏs alȇthȏs to
agathon kai deon sundein te kai sunechein), they never reflect (ouden oiontai). Such then is the
principle of causation which I would fain learn if anyone would teach me (egȏ men oun tȇs toiautȇs aitias hopȇi pote
echei mathȇtȇs hotououn hȇdist’ an genoimȇn). But as I have failed either
to discover it myself, or to learn it of anyone else (epeidȇ de tautȇs esterȇthȇn kai out’ autos heurein oute par’ allou
mathein hoios te egenomȇn), I will exhibit to you, if you like, the method
I have followed as the second best mode
of inquiring into the cause (ton deuteron ploun epi tȇn tȇs aitias zȇtȇsin hȇi
pepragmateumai boulei soi, ephȇ, epideixin poiȇsȏmai, ȏ Kebȇs).’ (99c5-d2)
***
Burnet in
his note ad loc. says: ‘the paroemiographers [collectors of proverbs] say this
expression is used epi tȏn asphalȏs ti
prattontȏn, kathoson hoi diamartontes kata ton proteron ploun asphalȏs paraskeuazontai ton deuteron
[‘concerning those who do something safely, in so far as they did something
wrong during their earlier journey (voyage, sailing) and prepare for a safe
second one’]. According to this, the reference would be rather to a less
adventurous than to a ‘second best course’. See, however, Eustathius in Od. p. 1453, 20 deuteros plous legetai hote apotuchȏn tis ouriou kȏpais pleȇi kata
Pausanian [‘second voyage is said about those who takes to the oars in the
absence of wind, according to Pausanias’]. … In any case, Socrates does not
believe for a moment that the method he is about to describe is a pis aller or “makeshift”. The phrase is
ironical like eikȇi phurȏ (Jowett’s
‘some confused notion’, 97b7).’
Hackforth
notes: ‘We should not regard it as ironical here: relatively to a discovery of
the sort of cause which he had hoped to find worked out by Anaxagoras that
which he is going to describe is second best; if there were also a suggestion
that it is second-best relatively to the method of physicians (which I do not
believe), that no doubt would be ironical.’ (Hackforth, Plato’s Phaedo, Cambrige University Press, 1955, p. 127, n. 5)
So let us
see how Socrates describes it: ‘Well, here is what I mean (All’ hȏde legȏ); it is
nothing new (ouden kainon, 100b1),
but what I have constantly spoken of both in the talk we have been having and
at other times too (all’ haper aei te
allote kai en tȏi parelȇluthoti logȏi ouden pepaumai legȏn). I am going to
attempt a formal account of the sort of cause that I have been concerned with (erchomai dȇ epicheirȏn soi epideixasthai tȇs
aitias to eidos ho pepragmateumai), and I shall go back to my well-worn theme (kai eimi palin ep’ ekeina ta poluthrulȇta) and make it my
starting-point (kai archomai ap’ ekeinȏn);
that is, I shall assume the existence of a beautiful that is in and by itself (hupothemenos einai ti kalon auto kath’ hauto),
and a good (kai agathon), and a great
(kai mega), and so on with the rest
of them (kai t’alla panta); and if
you grant me them (ha ei moi didȏs te)
and admit their existence (kai sunchȏreis
einai tauta), I hope (elpizȏ)
they will make it possible for me to discover and expound to you the cause of
the soul’s immortality (soi ek toutȏn tȇn
aitian epideixein kai aneurȇsein hȏs athanaton psychȇ).’ (100b1-9) … It
appears to me (phainetai gar moi)
that if anything else is beautiful (ei ti
estin allo kalon) besides the beautiful itself (plȇn auto to kalon) the sole reason for its being so is that it
participates in that beautiful (oude di’
hen allo kalon einai ȇ dioti metechei ekeinou tou kalou); and I assert that
the same principle applies in all cases (kai
panta dȇ houtȏ legȏ, 100c4-6). … It
follows that I can no longer understand nor recognize those other learned
causes which they speak of (Ou toinun eti
manthanȏ oude dunamai tas allas aitias tas sophas tautas gignȏskein); if
anyone tells me (all’ ean tis moi legȇi)
that the reason why such-and-such a thing is beautiful (di’ hoti kalon estin hotioun) is that it has a bright colour (ȇ chrȏma euanthes echon) or a certain
shape (ȇ schȇma) or something of that
kind (ȇ allo hotioun tȏn toioutȏn), I
take no notice of it all (ta men alla
chairein eȏ), for I find it all confusing, (tarattomai gar en tois allois pasi) save for one fact, which in my
simple, naїve and maybe foolish fashion I hug close (touto de haplȏs kai atechnȏs kai isȏs euȇthȏs echȏ par’ emautȏi):
namely that what makes a thing beautiful is nothing other than the presence or
communion of that beautiful itself (hoti
ouk allo ti poiei auto kalon ȇ hȇ ekeinou tou kalou eite parousia eite koinȏnia
eite hopȇi dȇ kai hopȏs prosgenomenȇ) – if indeed these are the right terms
to express how it comes to be there: for I won’t go so far as to dogmatize
about that, but merely affirm that all beautiful things are beautiful because
of the beautiful itself (ou gar eti touto
diischurizomai, all’ hoti tȏi kalȏi panta ta kala kala). That seems to me the safest answer for me to give
whether to myself or to another (touto
gar moi dokei asphalestaton einai
kai emautȏi apokrinasthai kai allȏi); if I hold fast to that (kai toutou echomenos) I feel I am not
likely to come to grief (hȇgoumai ou pote
pesein); yes, the safe course is
to tell myself or anybody else that beautiful things are beautiful because of
the beautiful itself (all’ asphales einai kai emoi kai hotȏioun
allȏi apokrinasthai hoti tȏi kalȏi ta kala kala).’(100c9-e3, tr. R.
Hackforth)
***
The
‘beautiful itself’ as ‘the cause’ within the framework of Socrates’ life-long philosophic activities –
ever since his failed attempt to fix his ‘Forms’ ontologically as a challenge
to Parmenides’ ‘all is one’, when in his youth he met Zeno and the aging
Parmenides, for which see ‘Plato’s defence of the Forms in the Parmenides’ on my website – is just a
notional cause. This is why he can say that ‘the safe course is to tell myself or anybody else that beautiful
things are beautiful because of the beautiful’. That this is so becomes
apparent when Socrates comes to the point of overcoming ‘the safe course’ by a
new safe course, derived from the first one by giving the Forms real causal
function: ‘The course of our argument has led me to discern a different kind of
safety from that which I mentioned
originally (legȏ dȇ par hȇn to prȏton
elegon apokrisin, tȇn asphalȇ
ekeinȇn, ek tȏn nun legomenȏn allȇn horȏn asphaleian).
Thus, if you were to ask me (ei gar eroio
me) what must come to be present in a thing’s body to make it hot (hȏi an ti en tȏi sȏmati engenȇtai thermon
estai), I should not give you that safe,
stupid answer “heat” (ou tȇn asphalȇ
soi erȏ apokrisin ekeinȇn tȇn amathȇ
[not ‘stupid’, but ‘unlearned’, ‘unsophisticated’], hoti hȏi an thermotȇs), but a cleverer one now at my disposal (alla
kompsoteran ek tȏn nun), namely
“fire” (hoti hȏi an pur).’ (105b6-c2,
tr. Hackforth)
Hackforth’s
‘now at my disposal’ stands for ek tȏn
nun, which means ‘from those now’, i.e. ‘from those things we have now
discussed’. So let me give a relevant piece of what was discussed. Socrates:
‘Do you speak of “hot” and “cold” (thermon
ti kaleis kai psuchron)?’ – Cebes: ‘I do (Egȏge).’ – Soc. ‘Meaning by them the same as “snow” and “fire” (All’ hoper chiona kai pur)?’ – Ceb. ‘Why
no, of course not (Ma Di’ ouk egȏge).’
– Soc. ‘That is to say, the hot is different from fire (All’ heteron ti puros to thermon), and the cold from snow (kai heteron ti chionos to psuchron).’ –
C. ‘Yes (Nai).’ – S. But I think you
would agree (Alla tode g’ oimai dokei soi)
that what starts as snow (chiona g’ ousan)
cannot ever, as we were saying just now, admit the hot and still be what it was
(dexamenȇn to thermon, hȏsper en tois
prosthen elegomen, eti esesthai hoper ȇn): still be snow and also hot (chiona kai thermon); on the approach of
the hot (alla prosiontos tou thermou)
it will either withdraw or perish (ȇ
hupekchȏrȇsein autȏi ȇ apoleisthai).’ – C. ‘Quite so (Panu ge).’ – S. ‘Again fire (Kai
to pur ge au), when the cold approaches it (prosiontos tou psuchrou), will either get out of its way (ȇ hupexienai) or perish (ȇ apoleisthai); it will never bring
itself to admit coldness (ou mentoi pote
tolmȇsein dexamenon tȇn psuchrotȇta) and still be what it was (eti
einai hoper ȇn), still be fire and also cold (pur kai psuchron).’ (103c11-d12, tr. Hackforth)
***
Aristotle
says in Metaphysics A: ‘In the Phaedo the case is stated this way –
that the Forms are causes both of being and of becoming (en de tȏi Phaidȏni houtȏ legetai, hȏs kai tou einai kai tou gignesthai
aitia ta eidȇ estin, 991b3-4, tr. W. D. Ross.’ In De Generatione et Corruptione (On
Coming-to-be and Passing-away) Aristotle says: ‘But some people have
thought the nature of the “forms” was enough to account for coming-to-be (all’ hoi men hikanȇn ȏiȇthȇsan aitian einai
pros to gignesthai tȇn tȏn eidȏn phusin). Socrates, for instance, did so in
the Phaedo (hȏsper ho en Phaidȏni Sȏkratȇs); for he (kai gar ekeinos), after finding fault with the other philosophers for having made no pronouncement on the
subject (epitimȇsas tois allois hȏs ouden eirȇkasi), lays it down
(hupotithetai)
that some of the things which exist are “forms” (hoti esti tȏn ontȏn ta men eidȇ) and others “partakers in the
forms” (ta de methektika tȏn eidȏn),
and that each thing is said to exist in virtue of the “form” (kai hoti einai men legetai hekaston kata to
eidos) and to come-to-be in virtue of its participation in the “form” (gignesthai de kata tȇn metalȇpsin) and
to pass-away because of its rejection of it (kai phtheiresthai kata tȇn apobolȇn). Hence he thinks that, if this
is true, the “forms” are necessarily
the causes of both coming-to-be and passing-away (hȏst’ ei tauta alȇthȇ, ta eidȇ oietai ex anankȇs aitia einai kai
geneseȏs kai phthoras).’ (335b9-17, tr. E. S. Forster) – Forster translates
Aristotle’s hȏs ouden eirȇkasi ‘for
having made no pronouncement’, which is wrong; Socrates in the Phaedo speaks at length about foolish
pronouncements of other philosophers concerning the causes of things. H. H.
Joachim translates better: ‘Thus Socrates in the Phaedo blames everybody else for having given no explanation.’ – If someone were speaking a whole
day, yet what he said made no sense, the Greeks would say: ‘he said nothing’ (ouden eirȇke).
***
In the Parmenides Socrates introduces the Forms
as follows: ‘But tell me, Zeno (tode de
moi eipe), do you not further think that there is an idea of likeness in itself
(ou nomizeis einai auto kath’ hauto eidos
ti homoiotȇtos), and another idea of unlikeness, which is the opposite of
likeness (kai tȏi toioutȏi au allo ti enantion,
ho esti anomoion), and that in these two (toutoin de duoin ontoin), you and I and all other things (kai eme kai se kai t’alla) to which we
apply the term many (ha dȇ polla kaloumen),
participate (metalambanein) – things
which participate in likeness (kai ta men
tȇs homoiotȇtos metalambanonta) become in that degree and manner like (homoia gignesthai tautȇi te kai kata
tosouton hoson an metalambanȇi); and so far as they participate in
unlikeness become in that degree unlike (ta
de tȇs anomoiotȇtos anomoia), or both like and unlike in the degree in
which they participate in both (ta de
amphoterȏn amphotera)?’ (128e6-129a6)
Then Parmenides
asks Socrates: ‘And would you make an idea of man apart from us and from all
other human creatures, or fire and water (Ti
d’, anthrȏpou eidos chȏris hȇmȏn kai tȏn hoioi hȇmeis esmen pantȏn, auto ti
eidos anthrȏpou ȇ puros ȇ kai hudatos)?’ – Socrates: ‘I am often undecided,
Parmenides, as to whether I ought to include them or not (En aporiai pollakis dȇ, ȏ Parmenidȇ, peri autȏn gegona, potera chrȇ
phanai hȏsper peri ekeinȏn ȇ allȏs).’ (130c1-4) … Parmenides: ‘That is
because you are still young (Neos gar ei
eti); the time will come, if I am not mistaken, when philosophy will have a
firmer grasp of you (kai oupȏ sou
anteilȇptai philosophia hȏs eti antilȇpsetai kat’ emȇn doxan), and then you
will not despise even the meanest things (hote
ouden autȏn atimaseis, 130e1-3, tr. Jowett ).’
In the Phaedo Socrates fulfilled Parmenides’
prophesy, pushed aside his quibbles concerning the Forms – just as Plato did in
the Parmenides (see ‘Plato’s defence
of the Forms in the Parmenides’ on my
website) – and envisaged the Forms as true causes.
The more I
think about it, the more likely it seems to me that when Plato returned to
Athens from his second Sicilian voyage, with Dionysius’ promise that he would
invite him back and his own promise that he would return, the first dialogue he
wrote for his students in the Academy – who were to do without him after he
left – was the Phaedo, followed by
the Parmenides.
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