Roslyn Weiss

Offers an interpretation of Plato's Meno that seeks to illuminate the particularly “therapeutic” philosophy that Socrates practices. It argues that the Meno, rather than constituting a bridge between “Socratic” and “Platonic” dialogues by way of the introduction of distinctively “Platonic” doctrines such as metempsychosis and learning as recollection, the dialogue employs these ideas to urge Meno to take up the life of moral inquiry. Confronting a young man eager for virtue (success), Socrates attempts to focus Meno's attention on the importance of inquiring into the nature of virtue, the nature of the truly excellent human life. Struggling against both Meno's youthful impatience and his overarching desire for power and wealth, Socrates argues for a life in which the virtues – justice, temperance, and piety, in particular – constitute the core of genuine success. To counter Meno's resistance to elenctic investigation, to disarm Meno's challenge to an inquiry conducted by someone who himself lacks knowledge, Socrates fashions the myth of recollection, followed by the demonstration with the slave boy, in order to convince Meno that even such inquiry is of value. Socrates is no believer in the idea that all knowledge is recollected: most knowledge, he thinks, is learned from those who know and from those who can prove that they know. And the demonstration with the slave boy is no demonstration of recollection: what it is is a lesson in geometry, but one artfully disguised as an elenchus through which the slave‐boy presumably “recollects” the solution. When Meno, despite Socrates’ valiant efforts to coax him back to the inquiry into the all‐important question of what virtue is, wishes still to consider only how one gets virtue, Socrates tries his best to benefit Meno by protecting him from harmful beliefs and influences, arguing that virtue comes neither by nature (so Meno may not arrogantly assume he already has it), nor by teaching (so Meno need not seek out further sophistic training), nor spontaneously (so Meno has no reason to associate with such men as Anytus). If virtue comes at all, Socrates contends, it comes by divine dispensation – or at least that is how political success is acquired: whether or not one makes a name for oneself is ultimately a matter of luck. How is real virtue, as opposed to political success, attained? By the hard work of moral inquiry, by examination, and investigation that leads to true and right opinions.

The personified Laws in the Crito who make the case for Socrates' remaining in prison and accepting his execution rather than fleeing at the urging of his friend Crito, speak not, as is generally thought, for Socrates, but represent instead the city of Athens and its laws. The Laws are, indeed, in style and substance, Socrates' adversaries: whereas Socrates defends dialectically the claim of the individual to exercise and follow his own reason, the Laws defend rhetorically the absolute authority of law. Socrates has his own reasons for remaining in prison—escape would involve him and his friends in unsavory and unworthy activities and would violate Socrates' publicly announced agreement to “abide by” his penalty (Ap. 39b)—but Crito cannot accept reasons of this kind. Caring most about helping his friend and not allowing his friends' enemies to win, Crito flouts the law in his willingness to engage in bribery and stealth. Recognizing the utterly unphilosophical nature of his friend, Socrates works to repay Crito's friendship by bringing him up to the level of law‐abidingness, hardly the highest level of morality but at least not the very lowest. The speech of the Laws that Socrates fashions to this end has the same effect on Socrates as Corybantic rites do on those exposed to them; it does not, however, provide a rationally convincing argument.

Socrates has been criticized since the time of Aristotle for having held certain paradoxical ethical doctrines including "Virtue is knowledge," "No one does wrong willingly," and "All the virtues are one," which are thought plainly to contradict human experience. Yet the very notion of "Socratic" paradoxes belies the Socratic profession of ignorance so prominent in precisely those dialogues in which the paradoxes are central. ;The Socratic portrait painted by Plato includes both the Socratic profession of ignorance and its complement, i.e. Socrates' habit of questioning supposed "wise men" regarding their areas of expertise to see if they were really wise and, ostensibly, to be himself enlightened by them. One prime target for Socrates' questioning was the sophists, itinerant teachers of various subjects, including rhetoric and eristic. The Hippias Minor and Protagoras, two of Plato's early, aporetic dialogues, recount the fictional confrontations between Socrates and the sophist Hippias and between Socrates and the sophist Protagoras . ;Both these dialogues contain one or more famous Socratic doctrines plus apparently "immoral" views: The Hippias Minor contains the view that the true man and the false man are the same and that the good man does wrong willingly; the Protagoras contains the view that pleasure is the good. ;Careful analysis of these dialogues reveals that both the "immoral" doctrines and the allegedly Socratic paradoxes they contain are actually views held by the sophistic protagonists of these dialogues or views implied by their views. In particular, the sophistic claim to teach virtue implies "Virtue is knowledge." ;If it is indeed the case that the views expressed in these dialogues are sophistic, then the Platonic portrayal of Socrates as questioner stands firm, Socrates is cleared of the criticisms levelled at him because of his paradoxical views, and the sophists become the proper objects of these criticisms

It is argued that the true definition of justice in Plato’s Republic appears not in Book IV but in Book I, where it is clear that justice is other-oriented or external rather than internal as per Book IV. Indeed, on Book IV’s definition, there is virtually no difference between justice and moderation. Considered here is a single argument between Socrates and Thrasymachus, in which Socrates contends that imperfect injustice is “stronger” than perfect. Rather than producing a just group, the justice between members of a group strengthens the injustice of a group whose external project is already unjust.

Taking her bearings from Socrates’ remark in Apology that “I always do your business, going to each of you privately, as a father or an older brother might do, persuading you to care for virtue”, Weiss argues that Socrates’ relationship with Alcibiades exemplifies Socrates’ freedom to care. Freedom to care means, in large part, freedom from the desires that might lead a teacher to sexually exploit his student. As Alcibiades testifies, Socrates exhibits the kind of self-control that is an absolutely necessary condition for being genuinely able to help others toward virtue.

This paper is an attempt so to construe the arguments of the Hippias Minor as to remove the justification for regarding it as unworthy of Plato either because of its alleged fallaciousness and Sophistic mode of argument or because of its alleged immorality. It focuses, therefore, only on the arguments and their conclusions, steering clear of the dialogue's dramatic and literary aspects. Whereas I do not wish to deny the importance of these aspects to a proper understanding of the dialogue – on the contrary, in a dialogue so heavily laden with irony and caricature, these aspects are necessarily more significant than they are in other dialogues – I do think there is something to be gained from concentrating on the arguments themselves. Although there can be little doubt that Socrates is up to something in the Hippias Minor, the task of determining just what he is up to can only be simplified by clarifying the arguments first.The Hippias Minor has traditionally been thought to contain two independent arguments, each having its own paradoxical conclusion. The first argument begins, it is said, when Hippias characterizes the two Homeric heroes Achilles and Odysseus as the true man and the false man respectively. Through its discovery that both the false man and the true man have δύναμις, it results in the paradox that the false man and the true are identical. The second argument, on this view, leaves the subject of ⋯ ⋯ληθ⋯ς and ⋯ ψευδ⋯ς and compares instead all sorts of agents in intentional and unintentional action. Finding that the intentional agent is in every case better than the unintentional, the argument concludes that the intentional evil-doer is also better than the unintentional. Viewing the dialogue as thus containing two distinct topics treated in two self-sufficient arguments is perhaps not the best way to understand it.

In his critique of Anselm’s ontological argument for God’s existence, William Rowe introduces the concepts of “magico” and “magican” — defining “magicos” as magicians that do not exist, and “magicans” as magicians that do exist — to help diagnose what may have gone wrong in Anselm’s argument. As I made my way through Rowe’s intriguing article, I found myself waiting for “Godo” — and for “Godan.” I expected Rowe to invoke these counterparts to his “magico” and “magican” — a non-existing God to correspond to his non-existing magician, and an existing God to correspond to his existing magician — to complete his argument. Alas, like Vladimir and Estragon, I waited in vain: neither Godo — nor Godan — ever appeared. In what follows I shall argue that their inclusion in Rowe’s argument would have settled the matter against Anselm far more decisively than do Rowe’s forays into the murky waters of question-begging.

In_ The Socratic Paradox and Its Enemies_, Roslyn Weiss argues that the Socratic paradoxes—no one does wrong willingly, virtue is knowledge, and all the virtues are one—are best understood as Socrates’ way of combating sophistic views: that no one is willingly _just_, those who are just and temperate are ignorant fools, and only some virtues (courage and wisdom) but not others (justice, temperance, and piety) are marks of true excellence. _ In Weiss’s view, the paradoxes express Socrates’ belief that wrongdoing fails to yield the happiness that all people want; it is therefore the unjust and immoderate who are the fools. The paradoxes thus emerge as Socrates’ means of championing the cause of justice in the face of those who would impugn it. Her fresh approach—ranging over six of Plato’s dialogues—is sure to spark debate in philosophy, classics, and political theory. _ _ _“Regardless of whether one agrees or disagrees with Weiss, it would be hard not to admire her extraordinarily penetrating analysis of the many overlapping and interweaving arguments running through the dialogues.”—Daniel B. Gallagher, _Classical Outlook _ __ “Many scholars of Socratic philosophy... will wish they had written Weiss's book, or at least will wish that they had long ago read it.”—Douglas V. Henry, _Review of Politics_.

In Guide 2.32 Maimonides notes that just as there are three opinions concerning prophecy , so are there three opinions concerning cosmogony. Scholars have tended to assume that Maimonides, despite what he says, must have seen some more important correspondence between the two sets of opinions than their number. I argue that although for Maimonides what the two sets of opinions have in common is indeed their number, what he wishes to direct the careful reader's attention to is that the number of opinions in both cases is actually two rather than three