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 lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:A Rejoinder to Professors Gosling and Taylor Hedonism is for Socrates the radical view that pleasure is the standard according to which one ought to steer one's life, the view that pleasure represents the proper end of human existence. Hedonism is not for Socrates the weaker view that the good life is also the most pleasant. Were it not for the Protagoras, all would agree, I think, that Socrates does not regard pleasure as the highest goal of human life. Perhaps even Gosling and Taylor would concede that but for the Protagoras no reader of Plato would assign to pleasure a pivotal role in Socratic ethics:/ffdon~ as a standard of rightness or goodness is absent from the Apologyand Crito, and is railed against in the Phaedoand the Gorgias.The Gosling-Taylor project of reading all these dialogues in light of the Protagoras's presumed Socratic endorsement of hedonism, and interpreting them so that they are not incompatible with the Protagoras, drains the hedonism in the Protagoras of its radicality and substitutes--without warrant--the weaker, non-Socratic understanding of hedonism. Gosling and Taylor's accusation that I commit an ignoratioelenchiis one example of this sort of softening of the issue. I argue that Socrates (in the Apology) decides what to fear by appealing to the standard of what is right rather than determining what is right by appealing to the standard of fearfulness, and that it is therefore inaccurate to describe him as courageous through fear. Were the question here the weak one of whether the courageous man in fact chooses what is truly least fearful I could agree with Gosling and Taylor that it is irrelevant to consider the standard to which Socrates appeals in making his choice. Yet both in the Protagorasand in the Phaedo--as well as, I believe, in the Apology---what is at stake ~ the standard, the motivation behind the choice. In the Apology Socrates is not, as Gosling and Taylor claim, "motivated by" fear, even though he specifies what he fears. In order to explain what motivates him to fear and then to avoid what he fears, Socrates turns to the notions of duty and honor. Socrates declares (Apology 29b) that it is not because of fear of death or any other danger that he remains steadfast at his post and refuses to relinquish his duty of examining himelf and others; rather, he will obey his superior, whether God or man, becauseto do otherwise is wrong, wicked, and dishonorable. Indeed, it is since disobedience is wrong, wicked, and dishonorable that Socrates fears it more than death. Socrates thus can hardly be said to "leave inexplicit" the criteria that determine for him what is kak0n, nor does he allow any room for pleasure and pain to emerge as those criteria. As I sought to demonstrate in my paper, the philosopher in the Phaedo is characteristically indifferent to pleasure, pain, and fear. Although no human life can be devoid of intercourse with these, the way in which a philosopher negotiates his dealing with pleasures, pains, and fears is by choosing among them through reference to a higher standard. Regarding Gosling and Taylor's claim that I misrepresent their view on the Phaedo I shall of course defer to them. I direct the reader to pp. 522-23 and n. 18 of my paper, however, to explain what aspects of Gosling and Taylor's discussion prompted my interpretation. [117] 118 JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 98:1 JANUARY 199 o Professors Gosling and Taylor insist that the Phaedo, in denouncing pleasure, concentrates specifically on bodily pleasure. I maintain that at Phaedo 68-69 what is deplored as spurious aret~ is the very goal of maximization of pleasure and minimization of pain and fear. As in the Protagoras, the calculus in the Phaedo has its eye on the bottom line; the type or quality of the pleasure is not a factor. The hedonism in the Protagoras, I firmly contend, is of the very crudest sort. I do not concede that it is enlightened in any sense--not even in Gosling and Taylor's limited sense in which its criterion of goodness is not immediate pleasure...