Hostname: page-component-74656f9884-rdgjk Total loading time: 0 Render date: 2026-11-07T11:37:19.760Z Has data issue: false hasContentIssue false
  • English
  • Français

THE MEMORY OF VIRTUE: ACHIEVING IMMORTALITY IN PLATO'S SYMPOSIUM1

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  08 November 2013

Anthony Hooper
Anthony Hooper*
Affiliation:
The University of Sydney
*
anthony.hooper@sydney.edu.au
Rights & Permissions [Opens in a new window]

Extract

The prospect of human immortality is manifest in many of Plato's writings, appearing as early as the Apology (28c, 41c–d) and the Crito (54b–d), and as late as Book 12 of the Laws (967d). But nowhere is immortality given so much attention, nor as central a place in Plato's philosophical projects, as in what have traditionally been referred to as his Middle Period works, so it is hardly surprising that we find an extensive treatment of the subject of immortality in Socrates’ own encomium in the Symposium (206e–209e). Eros, Socrates tells us, is not merely a desire to possess the good, but one that pushes us towards possessing the good forever (205a, 206a) and, because of this, eros is necessarily a desire for immortality (207a). However, it is evident that Socrates’ presentation of immortality in the Symposium is fundamentally different from those found in other dialogues. This is not merely because in this work alone Socrates attributes the desire for immortality to eros; rather it is also because the nature of the immortality that Socrates recommends here, and the means by which he suggests it is achieved, are wholly unique to this work. Whereas in other dialogues Plato casts his discussions in terms of the persistence of the soul in some super-sensible realm, here he offers a picture of lovers achieving human immortality by creating memorials (μνῆμαι) that will outlast them.

Information

Type
Research Article
Information
The Classical Quarterly , Volume 63 , Issue 2 , December 2013 , pp. 543 - 557
Copyright
Copyright © The Classical Association 2013 

I

The prospect of human immortality is manifest in many of Plato's writings, appearing as early as the Apology (28c, 41c–d) and the Crito (54b–d), and as late as Book 12 of the Laws (967d). But nowhere is immortality given so much attention, nor as central a place in Plato's philosophical projects, as in what have traditionally been referred to as his Middle Period works,Footnote 2 so it is hardly surprising that we find an extensive treatment of the subject of immortality in Socrates’ own encomium in the Symposium (206e–209e). Eros, Socrates tells us, is not merely a desire to possess the good, but one that pushes us towards possessing the good forever (205a, 206a) and, because of this, eros is necessarily a desire for immortality (207a). However, it is evident that Socrates’ presentation of immortality in the Symposium is fundamentally different from those found in other dialogues. This is not merely because in this work alone Socrates attributes the desire for immortality to eros;Footnote 3 rather it is also because the nature of the immortality that Socrates recommends here, and the means by which he suggests it is achieved, are wholly unique to this work. Whereas in other dialogues Plato casts his discussions in terms of the persistence of the soul in some super-sensible realm, here he offers a picture of lovers achieving human immortality by creating memorials (μνῆμαι) that will outlast them.Footnote 4

Several attempts have been made to account for the peculiarity of Socrates’ account of human immortality in the Symposium,Footnote 5 but I will not undertake such a project in this paper. Instead, following recent treatments of human immortality in the Symposium by Gabriel LearFootnote 6 and Frisbee Sheffield,Footnote 7 my focus here will be on examining Socrates’ presentation of human immortality in this dialogue on its own terms – it being an account that, I believe, is of equal philosophical depth to those found in other of Plato's works, and one that is perhaps more palatable to a modern philosophical audience. This examination will take place in three parts: first, I will consider some key passages in Socrates’ encomium to establish the kind of immortality he recommends here; second, I will explore how, for Socrates, this immortality is to be achieved; and finally, I will say a few words about who will be most successful in winning this immortality for themselves.

II

To begin this examination I wish to consider the examples Socrates lists of those who have achieved human immortality. The first figures named are Alcestis, Achilles and Codrus (208d);Footnote 8 he later adds Homer and Hesiod (208d) and finally Solon and Lycurgus (209d–e) to the list.Footnote 9 Of particular interest to us here are the first group, whom Socrates lists under the label ‘lovers of honour’.Footnote 10 Of such people Socrates says the following:

Do you really think that Alcestis would have died for Admetus … or that Achilles would have died after Patroclus, or that your Codrus would have died so as to preserve the throne for his sons, if they hadn't expected the memory of their virtue – which we still hold in honour – to be immortal?

(Symposium, 208d)

The role that the memory of virtue plays in achieving human immortality will be detailed in the next section, but for now this passage will be useful for what it tells us about the models of immortality that Socrates will shun here, and most illuminating are his comments regarding Alcestis and Achilles.

It is unsurprising that Socrates lists the figure of Euripides’ Alcestis as an example of a person who has achieved human immortality, both because she is a figure with whom he can assume his audience is familiar,Footnote 11 and because Phaedrus has paved the way for her addition by detailing her self-sacrificing actions in his own speech (179b–d). Phaedrus recounts how Alcestis, alone of all people, was willing to die for Admetus, and how for this sacrifice she was delivered from the realm of the dead back to her husband.Footnote 12 As we saw in the above quotation, Socrates also recounts the deeds of Alcestis in his own encomium, but what is notably absent from his account is any reference to the deus ex machina who delivers Alcestis back to life – the element of the story that is of central important to Phaedrus. One could possibly explain away this omission on the grounds that Socrates did not feel this part of the story worth mentioning again, particularly given Phaedrus’ extensive treatment in his own speech of her return from death, but such an explanation seems unlikely given the similar, but more obviously significant, omission by Socrates in the comparable part of the story of Achilles. Phaedrus lays the foundation for Socrates’ addition of Achilles to his list of immortal people, as with Alcestis, since his own encomium also contains a discussion of the immortality Achilles wins for himself (179e–180b). Phaedrus details Achilles’ heroic deeds following the death of his friend Patroclus, and tells how he was rewarded for them with an eternal home in the Isles of the Blest. Socrates has a similar account of Achilles’ deeds in his speech, but again missing from his encomium is any mention of the persistence of Achilles’ soul in the underworld. We could dismiss this omission for the same reason as for the omission to mention Alcestis’ reincarnation – and here with even stronger grounds, given the huge influence of Homer's works in Greek lifeFootnote 13 – were it not for the fact that, by leaving out this part of the story, Socrates misses a prime opportunity to advance a fundamental Platonic point concerning the persistence of disembodied souls in the underworld after death – an assertion found in every other major discussion of immortality in the dialogues.

At this point it is important to note that nowhere else in his presentation of human immortality, nor anywhere else in the Symposium, does Socrates raise the possibility that the dead could return to life at some stage, or to the idea that, after death, the soul persists in some non-spatiotemporal realm.Footnote 14 And neither in his general statements concerning human immortality, nor in his comments regarding the other figures whom he lists as having achieved immortality does Socrates suggest that people engage in any other mode of existence beyond the one they enjoy in this life.Footnote 15 It would be reasonable to think, then, that the omissions from the stories of Alcestis and Achilles are both intentional and significant. In raising these points, however, I am not advancing the idea, as Hackforth does,Footnote 16 that in the Symposium Plato has come to reject, or at least doubt, the idea that the soul is immortal. As AllenFootnote 17 and O'BrienFootnote 18 argue, an omission is not equivalent to a denial. But what I wish to suggest is that all of this evidence implies that Socrates is distancing his present discussion of human immortality from those models of immortality that concern the continuation of one's sheer existence after death either in this world or the next. Support for this reading can be found in Socrates’ comments regarding mortal possession earlier in his encomium.

Shortly after introducing the prospect of human immortality in his speech Socrates launches into a discussion of the nature of mortal possession that is Heraclitean in tone (207c–208b). Everything that makes up who we are, Socrates tells us, both in body and soul, is constantly in flux:

each living thing … is always being renewed and in other respects passing away, in his hair and flesh and bones and blood and his entire body. And it's not just in his body, but in his soul, too, for none of his manners, customs, opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, or fears ever remain the same, but some are coming to be in him while others are passing away.

(Symposium, 207d–e)

From this Socrates concludes that, unlike the gods, in whom everything is preserved by remaining exactly the same, mortals can only be said to preserve anything in any meaningful sense through reproduction; that is, by replacing that which is passing away with something that it just like it. For example, a person can justifiably claim to have a thick head of hair, not because she possesses the exact same hairs throughout her life, but because, for every hair that falls out, there is another qualitatively similar one growing to take its place. Significant for our present purposes are Socrates’ comments regarding the mindset with which people approach this process. Because mortals remain the same through a process of replacement, mortals will care little for their continuing numerical identity. Where losing a hair for an immortal god would fundamentally change their identity, it is no crisis for a mortal provided that another is growing. And Socrates extends this point yet further by arguing that, rather than sentimentally cling to a possession because it is ‘one's own’, people will dispose of any of their possessions the moment they recognize that it is absent of value:

people are even willing to cut off their own arms and legs if they think that they are diseased. I don't think an individual takes joy in what belongs to him personally unless by ‘belonging to me’ he means ‘good’ and by ‘belonging to another’ he means ‘bad’.

(Symposium, 205e)

In no uncertain terms Socrates is stating here that the concern for that which is one's own has little significance in a person's life, and that it is entirely subordinate to his concern for the good. Therefore, people, over the course of their lives, will only work to preserve those parts of themselves that they understand as good, and will allow to pass away those things that are deficient. As Socrates’ discussion of immortality follows directly from his comments regarding reproduction (indeed, these comments form the premisses to his picture of human immortality here), it is reasonable to assume from this – and we are given no evidence to the contrary – that people also approach the problems that death presents with a similar mindset. In the face of death, then, people will not strive to preserve themselves in all of their particularity – a goal that is often called ‘personal immortality’; instead, they will work only to preserve those parts of themselves they understand as good and valuable, thinking little for the rest.Footnote 19

To clarify what Socrates is getting at here let us consider the cases of John, who among his possessions only values his commitment to justice, and Joan, who considers most valuable her physical prowess. On this reading, these people will be concerned primarily to preserve these parts of themselves (their justice and fitness respectively) after they die, as these are the elements of themselves that they have identified as most valuable. Furthermore, they will care little for the continuing existence of those aspects of themselves they identify as bad, or value-neutral.Footnote 20 This, I suggest, is the model of immortality that Socrates advances in the Symposium: not one of personal immortality, but one that concerns the eternal preservation in the world of those parts of oneself that one values.

III

For Socrates, the immortality for which mortals strive concerns the preservation in the world of those parts of themselves that they value. I now wish to outline how he imagines this human immortality is to be achieved. Socrates suggests that people do this through creating things that are external to them that will outlast them, and depending on each person's disposition these creations will take very different forms. Socrates divides those who seek immortality through creation into three groups: first, lovers of bodies, who work to give birth to physical children (208e); second, lovers of honour, who strive to produce fame for themselves (208c–e); and third, those who are pregnant in soul, who will create logoi, in the form of either poems, codes of law or, perhaps, even philosophical treatises (209a–e). But at this point things still remain quite unclear, as it is difficult to see how these creations help these people preserve their virtue.Footnote 21 In order to determine their role in the lover's quest for human immortality we will have to look more closely at Socrates’ descriptions of people's productive activities here:

Now, some people are pregnant in body, and for this reason turn more to women and pursue love in that way, providing themselves through childbirth with immortality and remembrance [μνήμην] and happiness, as they think, for all time to come.

(208e)

Do you really think that Alcestis would have died for Admetus … or that Achilles would have died after Patroclus, or that your Codrus would have died so as to preserve the throne of his sons, if they hadn't expected the memory [μνήμην] of their virtue – which we still hold to honour – to be immortal?

(208d)

Everyone would rather have such children [that is, logoi] than human ones, and would look up to Homer, Hesiod, and other good poets with envy and admiration for the offspring they left behind – offspring, which, because they are immortal themselves, provide their parents with immortal glory and remembrance [μνήμην].

(209d)

Of immediate interest here is Socrates’ repeated use of the term μνήμη, meaning either ‘memory’ or ‘remembrance’. Regardless of whether lovers seek immortality through the production of children, fame or logoi, what appears to be important is the ability of these creations to act as memorials for these people after they die. However, given that the concern for the good takes priority over what is merely one's own, it is highly doubtful that people would be interested in preserving the memory of themselves ‘warts and all’; instead, as we can see from the second passage particularly, their goal here is to preserve the ‘memory of their virtue’ – an idea reiterated in his discussion of lovers of souls at 209e.

Several prominent commentators on the Symposium have recognized the significance of memory in Socrates’ discussion and have suggested that people attain immortality precisely because, through their creations, they are remembered as being virtuous.Footnote 22 Let us consider some examples to clarify this idea. Alcestis valued her love for her husband above all other things and, on this reading, she achieved immortality because, through the fame she gained from her actions, she is remembered as a loving wife. Similarly, Hesiod won immortality through the Theogony and Works and Days, which are memorials to his piety, and Solon did the same through his system of laws, which preserve the memory of his justice.

But although I believe that this reading is on the right track, I do not think that it is yet sufficiently fleshed out to explain the role of remembrances in the preservation of virtue. We must remember that, in his discussion of mortal possession, Socrates makes it clear that, if people wish to preserve their virtue throughout their lives, they must continually reproduce this virtue as time goes on; they cannot merely produce virtuous deeds in their youth, and rest on their laurels for the remainder of their life. To preserve one's charity, for example, one must act charitably consistently over time; merely performing a single grand act of charity, and then talking about it until one's dying day, is insufficient. The problem here is that remembrances and memorials can by definition only provide images (eidola) of what was actual, and the memories that they conjure up in those present to them are also mere representations of past realities. But, as Socrates says at the very end of his speech, the goal of the best life is to produce ‘true virtue’, rather than merely images of it (212a). Therefore, those who attempt to preserve their virtue through memory alone will only succeed in preserving an image of their virtue in the world, and not the virtue itself. For example, although the Theogony may be quite effective at stirring in its readers memories of Hesiod's piety, the work itself, and the memories it conjures, are only images of the piety that Hesiod actually possessed in life. But one might argue that death presents impressive impediments to our reproductive activities, and conclude from this that, although it is a deficient method of preservation, preserving images and memories of one's virtue is the best that one can hope for, given the circumstances. And with Socrates’ silence regarding disembodied existence, there is little room to hope that people are somehow able to effect the generation of the good in this world from some super-sensible realm, as the gods interfere with the lives of mortals from Olympus. But we need not resign ourselves to this deficient form of preservation, as we should be mindful that, even though death marks the end of our capacity to act in the world, it does not follow from this that it removes our ability to affect the world, and in a way that would satisfy Socrates’ account of mortal preservation. To demonstrate this, let us consider an example.

A Christian martyr in ancient Rome, because she values her piety above all of her other possessions, willingly chooses a course of action that she knows will result in her being thrown into the arena. By doing this she gains fame for centuries to come, and people long remember her as pious because of this. But this is not the only repercussion of her action. In addition to being remembered as pious, she inspires in others, upon hearing of her deeds, a desire to be pious themselves, and moreover to give birth to pious actions. In this case her fame does not merely result in the preservation of the memory of her virtue but in the production and reproduction by others of that same virtue that she herself possessed. History is replete with examples of people who have had great influence on the actions of others long after they themselves have died, and Socrates himself lists some of the best examples of such people in the ancient world. Achilles was a hero who inspired many generals, the most prominent being Alexander the Great, to seek glory for themselves; and Alcestis, for many, is a model of familial virtue, whose willingness to die for her partner is an enviable expression of love. It is this kind of influence, I suggest, that people are hoping to effect when they create memorials of their virtue in Socrates’ account, as they will be able, by inspiring others to produce and reproduce the same virtues that they themselves valued in life, to achieve in others long after they have died the preservation not merely of an image of their virtue but of this virtue itself.

But, one may object, there is something lost in this process, and that is the specific relationship that I have with my virtue. When I give birth to a virtue in life the virtue is specifically ‘mine’, but in the model of human immortality advanced here, although I am the catalyst for the production of this same virtue in others, this virtue will belong specifically to the person who produced it; it will be ‘theirs’, and not ‘mine’. However, one must remember that, for Socrates, the concern for one's own virtue is entirely subordinate to one's desire for the good. So although it is important to produce virtue for oneself while alive, given the reality that death presents – that one will no longer be a subject of anything after death – it would be absurd for people to work to preserve virtue in themselves after they die. But given that for Socrates, to take justice as an example, it is one and the same thing that makes all just people just, likewise with any of the virtues, it should be perfectly satisfactory to work to ensure that this virtue is instantiated in another person; all that matters is the preservation of the virtue itself in the world. So John should not be concerned specifically with the preservation of ‘John's justice’, nor Joan for ‘Joan's fitness’; instead, their aim should be the preservation of these virtues qua good.

So what sense, if any, does it now make to claim that Hailey, for example, preserves John's justice in her own actions? We cannot take this in the strong sense of saying that she preserves the justice that John possessed as it was particularly instantiated in John because, necessarily, only John can do this. But we can still meaningfully make the claim that Hailey preserves John's justice because she values and performs justice in the same way that John himself did while he was alive. But this is enough to satisfy Socrates’ demands regarding mortal preservation, and if John's memory continually inspires others towards justice, then John can truly claim human immortality in the sense outlined by Socrates.

IV

Having now established the method by which people seek to preserve the memory of their virtue, I wish to say a few words about the problems people face in achieving this immortality. Because Socrates does not consider this issue in the Symposium, this discussion will remain somewhat speculative; there are, however, certain passages in the Protagoras and the Phaedrus that may allow us to reconstruct some of Socrates’ opinions on this issue. That there is sufficient evidence in the dialogue to do this is itself interesting, as it may indicate that the model of immortality that Socrates advances in the Symposium was not created for purely rhetorical purposes, but is one that follows naturally from various other commitments Plato holds concerning the transmission of virtue.

Before I turn to the Protagoras and the Phaedrus it will be important to make a few introductory comments concerning the subject matter of this discussion. In the previous section I argued that those who seek immortality work to preserve the memory of their virtue by creating remembrances that will outlast them, and that Socrates divides such people into three groups according to the media through which they hope to preserve this memory: either through children, fame or logoi. But although Socrates labels such people as lovers of bodies, honour and souls respectively, he gives us no reason to think that people utilize particular media based on the kind of virtues that they value.Footnote 23 Achilles, Alcestis and Codrus, although they all seek to preserve the memory of their virtue through fame, clearly value a diverse range of virtues: glory, familial love and patriotism in turn (208d). Similarly, in his comments regarding lovers of souls, although he does make some judgement as to which virtues are more valuable than others, he does not prescribe which virtues lovers of souls must value if they are to seek remembrance through logoi; instead, he says that such people value ‘wisdom and the rest of virtue (τὴν ἄλλην ἀρετήν)’ (Symp. 209a, my emphasis) – hardly an exclusive list. So any given medium of remembrance is capable of preserving the memory of a variety of virtues, and in addition it seems entirely possible for the same virtue to be preserved in different media. Nestor, for example, was able to preserve the memory of his wisdom through his deeds in the Trojan War, while Parmenides did so through the creation of a philosophical treatise. Therefore, when we consider who will be most successful at achieving immortality, we should not focus on what kind of virtues people value, but on the efficacy of their chosen media at preserving the memory of their virtue. So let us begin with lovers of bodies.

In the literature there are many different views concerning how producing children helps lovers of bodies achieve immortality,Footnote 24 and although we now know that they do so through helping a person preserve the memory of their virtue, the exact way that children do this remains somewhat obscure. In light of what we have learnt I believe that Frisbee Sheffield's interpretation is most reasonable: that children preserve the memory of virtue through continuing on a person's family name.Footnote 25 To unpack this idea, let us take the example of Cornelius Smith, a lover of bodies who seeks immortality for his temperance. Smith has children knowing (or at least hoping) that, when people come into contact with his progeny or hear of his family name in conversation, they will remember temperate old Cornelius and be inspired by this memory to become temperate themselves. But how reliable is this as a method of preserving the memory of virtue? As Sheffield argues, in so far as his children flourish and take after their ancestor, Cornelius may be quite successful at inspiring others for generations to come. But, as Socrates cautions Protagoras in the Protagoras, one cannot always be assured that children will assume the virtues of their parents. Socrates here suggests that virtue may not be a teachable thing, and as evidence he raises the example of Pericles’ children, who failed to live up to their father's reputation in matters of state (319d–320b). And even Protagoras, who assumes the opposite view and argues that virtue is teachable, suggests in response that, although education may help to ensure that children will emulate the virtue of their parents (and other notable citizens), some children simply lack by nature the disposition to be virtuous (328c–d). There is the possibility, then, that one (or several) of Cornelius’ descendants may fail to be temperate, and perhaps be so intemperate as to besmirch his family name so that, upon hearing of the Smiths, one might be reminded of their depravity rather than Cornelius’ temperance. So unless one can ensure that one's descendants will be virtuous, preserving the memory of one's virtue through having children is unreliable.

There are not many dynasties that manage to retain their good name for more than a few generations, so perhaps the chosen medium of lovers of honour – fame – will be superior for preserving the memory of virtue. Prima facie this seems likely as, when prodded, most of us would be able to list dozens of individuals – warriors and pacifists, lovers and explorers – whose exploits have brought them renown for centuries, if not millennia, after their deaths. But although heroes are frequently a topic of discussion for Socrates, both in the Symposium and in other dialogues,Footnote 26 and despite the fact that Socrates is often shown conversing with lovers of honour,Footnote 27 the matter of the efficacy of fame as a means of preserving the memory of virtue is never raised. From the evidence in the text one point is pressing: at several places in the dialogues Socrates is openly critical of those who pursue fame, and in the Symposium Alcibiades recounts in his own encomium (216a–b) Socrates’ distaste for the famous general's need for notoriety among the mob.Footnote 28 Here Alcibiades’ desire for fame is closely linked to his hubris, a connection that is also found in the Republic concerning one of Socrates’ own examples of a lover in the Symposium, Achilles. In Republic Book 3 Socrates criticizes the ‘best of the Achaeans’ (at least, as portrayed by Homer) for his arrogance (ὑπερϕανία) towards gods and humans (390c5). In these cases, at least, Socrates seems to believe that the memory of the vices of these individuals may overshadow that of their virtue.

Whether Socrates believes that this hubris necessarily attends lovers of honour is open to debate, but given that nowhere in the dialogues does Socrates or any of his interlocutors portray Alcestis or Codrus – his two other examples of lovers of honour in the Symposium – as anything but models of virtue, we should at least entertain the possibility that fame is a reasonable medium for some individuals to preserve the memory of their virtue. But what impediments face such people in their endeavour for human immortality? Here our task becomes much more difficult, as there is little evidence in the dialogue to bring to bear on this issue. But perhaps we can glean one point, somewhat indirectly, from Socrates’ list of famous lovers of honour. Although Socrates and his audience would have been quite aware of the deeds of each of the figures listed as lovers of honour, we moderns are really only familiar with Achilles and Alcestis. Although we know something of Codrus through various sources,Footnote 29 only the fame of the first two has truly stood the test of time. What Codrus lacks is the consideration of a great poet. The fame of Achilles and Alcestis lingers because of Homer's powerful portrait of the former in the Iliad and Euripides’ dramatization of the latter in his Alcestis. Similarly, we remember Abelard and Heloise through their letters to each other, the voyages of Marco Polo from his writings about his travels, and the deeds of Belisarius from the likes of Edward Gibbon. Here we have encountered an impressive problem for those who wish to preserve the memory of their virtue through fame: with few exceptions, even the fame of the most glorious war hero or the most passionate lover can only be preserved for any significant length of time with the aid of poetry, history or writing of many kinds – that is, through logoi. So unless one is a skilled creator of logoi, or at least the muse of another writer, then severe problems also attend the preservation of the memory of one's virtue through fame.

The final group we have to consider is the lovers of souls; those who attempt to preserve the memory of their virtue through the production of logoi. Of all of the media that people use to secure immortality, discussions of logoi are by far the most frequent in the dialogues, which are littered with passages that concern the quality and utility of different kinds of logoi,Footnote 30 and for a variety of purposes. Throughout the dialogues there are two kinds of logoi that receive particular attention, poetry and argumentation, and we are given important insights into the efficacy of each for inspiring people to act virtuously. However, because of the considerable attention that has been given to Socrates’ critiques of poetry and particularly to his attacks in Book 10 of the Republic, where he censures the poets for nourishing a more tyrannical and less virtuous character,Footnote 31 my focus here will be on those who seek to inspire others to produce virtue through argumentation – philosophers.

Philosophers speak directly to their audience's rational souls, so, unlike the poets, who attempt to inspire virtue in others through providing images of virtuous characters performing noble deeds (or ignoble individuals meeting deservedly disastrous ends), these people attempt to educate their audience in what is virtuous and instil in them a rational desire to produce the virtues that they have now learnt to be valuable. In order to uncover the possible problems philosophers face in achieving human immortality it will be illuminating to look to Socrates’ meditation on writing and speechesFootnote 32 in the second half of the Phaedrus, as these are the kinds of argumentation that can reach the widest possible audience and are the longest enduring, with the potential to communicate to people for millennia to come.Footnote 33 Socrates’ discussion here touches on many issues, but the passage that will be most relevant for our present purpose is his examination of the aptness of written works for education (247b–277c),Footnote 34 which contains his most vehement attacks on writing.

Socrates begins this discussion with a story that has come to be called the ‘Myth of Theuth’, in which he describes how the god Theuth, having invented the art of writing, recommends it to the Pharaoh Thamus as a tool for educating the people of Egypt. But Thamus spurns his gift because he believes that it would actually impede the education of his people: ‘you will make them seem to know much’, he says, ‘while for the most part they know nothing’ (Phaedrus, 275a–b). Cryptically, he suggests that writing only has a role in ‘reminding’, and never in helping people to ‘remember’. After the conclusion of the myth Socrates expands on this remark. The problem with writing, he tells us, is that it speaks to all different kinds of people indiscriminately, regardless of their level of understanding, but when a reader asks something of it, it remains silent (275d–e). Even here Socrates’ discussion remains somewhat esoteric, but his criticism seems to amount to the following: the written work is insensitive to whether what it has to say is lost on its readers, who may be confused about a key term, be unable to follow every step of the argument, or perhaps be confused about the basic premises of the work. However, readers are not able to elicit any extra information from a written work in order to help them overcome these problems should they need it. But Socrates’ main concern is that readers do not often appreciate that they may have missed the subtleties of a written work and so, having read a piece, they may come to believe that they are now knowledgeable in the subject matter of the work, even though they may find themselves incapable of holding their new beliefs in the face of even the most basic questioning. The problem here is that, believing themselves wise, such people will feel no desire to inquire into these matters any more because, as we learn in the Symposium, it is only those who appreciate that they are at an intermediary point between ignorance and wisdom who desire to develop their understanding (Symp. 204a). From this Socrates concludes that no one ought to write down anything with the hope of pouring knowledge into another person, as one fills a jug with wine.Footnote 35 Writing, he argues, is most useful for reminding people of what they already know, but which may not be presently to mind (Phdr. 276d); in itself it is not a reliable tool for education. Socrates awards this honour to conversation – and specifically dialecticFootnote 36 – because it overcomes each of the problems of writing that I listed above and can consistently instil in others a desire for knowledge. Unlike a writer, a dialectician, because she is present to her audience, can be sensitive to her audience's level of understanding and so can adjust the tenor and content of the discussion appropriately. And furthermore, whenever people become lost and express a desire for clarification, she can provide them with any extra information they may need. But most important for Socrates is the fact that a dialectician is able to test her partners’ understanding of a particular topic through question and answer, and reduce them to aporia, a state from which they will be able to appreciate the limits of their knowledge, and from there (hopefully) feel a desire to develop their understanding. Knowledge for Socrates only comes to those who actively seek it out for themselves, so it is important that any logos ‘produce a seed from which more discourse grows in the characters of others’ (Phdr. 276e–277a).

Writing, then, appears only to be of limited use to philosophers in their quest for immortality, as their goal is not simply to provide reminders for those who already have knowledge of virtue (although this is an important role), but to impart knowledge to those who are ignorant, so as to inspire as large a group as possible to produce virtue. However, if education only takes place in dialectic, then it seems that the only logoi that philosophers ought to produce are conversations with others. But philosophers, then, would only have a limited window of opportunity to impart knowledge to others before death silences them forever. However, as we learnt above, even though death ends one's ability to act in the world, it does not follow that one will no longer be able to affect the world. So although philosophers may not be able to converse with others post mortem, they may be able to inspire these people to engage in dialectic with each other on the topic of virtue long after they have died. In the Symposium we are given explicit evidence of Socrates himself doing just this in the speech of Alcibiades, who claims that Socrates attempted to instil in him ‘the Bacchic frenzy of philosophy’ (Symp. 218b). Indeed, the majority of Plato's dialogues detail Socrates’ attempts at implanting in a whole variety of people a desire to develop their knowledge of a number of topics such as courage, piety, and even knowledge itself. By planting this seed in others, philosophers can ensure that such people will desire to learn about these matters for themselves and seek out conversation with others regarding matters of virtue. Here they can then test the limits of their knowledge and work to overcome any deficiencies that they uncover. And, having developed their knowledge of virtue, such people will then work to produce virtue for themselves.Footnote 37

But here philosophers appear to be at a significant disadvantage with respect to achieving human immortality when compared to lovers of bodies and honour. Where family names and fame are capable of preserving the memory of virtue in the minds of a large number of individuals, the philosopher seems only able to influence a select number of friends and associates, as she needs to be immediately present to plant the seeds of philosophy in others. But although we have seen that dialectic is superior to writing as a form of education, could writing aid the philosopher here, at least in some respect? If so, then perhaps it would be a useful tool for philosophers in their quest for immortality, as it does have the ability to reach a wider audience than any conversation. Keeping in mind Socrates’ criticisms in the Phaedrus, for writing to have a place in education it must: i) not attempt to pour knowledge into its readers and ii) it must point the reader towards dialectic, as only there can people truly develop their knowledge. Such a work, then, would aim at providing only an introduction to a particular topic and, moreover, it must also signal to its readers that it is of limited use. That is, it must instil in its readers a desire for knowledge but undermine its own authority as a source of knowledge and point them towards the only method by which they can effectively develop their understanding – dialectic.Footnote 38

Unfortunately, a detailed discussion of the role of writing in philosophical education in Plato would require far more time than could possibly be spent here, but I do wish to conclude this paper with the suggestion that Plato's dialogues themselves could be read as performing just this function. Each dialogue dramatizes discussions, usually between Socrates and other parties, in which the interlocutors either attempt to discover the nature of a particular virtue or consider topics that bear importantly on the development of a virtuous character – such as the nature of knowledge or the soul, or the problems of poetry and rhetoric. But nowhere in the dialogues are we ever given a comprehensive account of these topics, although we are constantly reminded of the importance of having knowledge of these issues if we wish to produce the truly good life for ourselves, and that real knowledge of these issues can only come through philosophical discussions. But so effective have these dialogues been at this task that they have inspired thousands of individuals throughout history to become philosophers and to explore these topics in greater detail. And this is true no more so than today, two millennia after Plato's death. One could therefore argue that Plato, more than almost any other figure in the history of Western thought, has a right to claim that he has achieved the human immortality Socrates describes in the Symposium.

Footnotes

1

All quotations from Plato's dialogues in this paper are from their respective translations in John Cooper, Plato: Complete Works (Indianapolis and Cambridge, 1997).

References

2 Besides the Symposium, which is the subject of this paper, each other dialogue that is commonly included in this period contains extensive discussions of immortality. The Phaedo itself is both dramatically and philosophically a meditation on immortality, and issues concerning many facets of immortality are raised throughout. The passages that most explicitly concern immortality in the Republic are found in Book 10 (608d–611d) and the ‘Myth of Er’ at the end of the dialogue (614b–621b). In the Phaedrus Socrates gives a proof of the immortality of the soul (245c–246a), and a dramatization of the soul's journey through the heavens and its fall to earth makes up the rest of the opening of his palinode (246e–248e). The soul's return journey from earth to the heavens is then the subject of the rest of his speech.

3 The Phaedrus also contains extensive treatments of both immortality and eros, but nowhere in this dialogue does Socrates suggest that immortality is an object of erotic desire for lovers.

4 For comments regarding the position Socrates takes regarding the separability of the soul from the body in the Symposium, see n. 14 below.

5 e.g. Hackforth, R., in his article ‘Immortality in Plato's Symposium’, CR 64 (1950), 43–5Google Scholar, accounts for the discrepancy in the presentation of immortality in the Symposium with that of other dialogues by suggesting that Plato revised his opinions on immortality after the Phaedo in the Symposium, only to return to his original position in the Republic and other dialogues. Given that recent Plato scholarship has moved away both from the idea that Plato's works are clearly separable into different periods and from concerns regarding the precise dating of dialogues even within those traditionally separate periods, this interpretation no longer finds much support. Other commentators, such as R.E. Allen, Plato's Symposium (New Haven, 1991), 72, Guthrie, W.K.C., A History of Greek Philosophy, vol. IV (Cambridge, 1986), 391Google Scholar and Luce, J.V., ‘Immortality in Plato's Symposium: a reply’, CR 66 (1952), 137–41Google Scholar, have offered a different explanation, which is still often accepted by many Plato scholars. In this account it is argued that the discussion of immortality in the Symposium relates specifically to that of embodied souls in all of their particularity, while other dialogues focus on the indestructibility of the divine part of the soul, considered in abstraction from its particularity. It should be noted that those commentators that fall into this later group believe that the account of immortality in the Symposium is commensurate with those of other dialogues.

6 Lear, G., ‘Permanent beauty and becoming happy in Plato's Symposium’, in Lesher, J., Nails, D. and Sheffield, F. (edd.), Plato's Symposium: Issues in Interpretation and Reception (Cambridge, 2006), 96–123Google Scholar.

7 Sheffield, F., Plato's Symposium: The Ethics of Desire (Oxford, 2006)CrossRefGoogle Scholar.

8 The inclusion of Codrus in this list is peculiar, as the stories of Codrus (or rather, the ones that we have), unlike those of Alcestis and Achilles, make no reference to his gaining immortality for sacrificing himself for the sake of his throne. It is most likely that Socrates added Codrus’ name here as a sign that he will seek to replace with his own conception the standard conception of immortality often believed to be held by these other two figures.

9 At 209d Socrates does mention that ‘other good poets’ have also achieved immortality in the same way as Homer and Hesiod, but he neither specifies nor gives any hints as to who these figures might be.

10 It is apparent from these examples that death is still very much on the cards for those who have gained immortality, and this is shown most obviously in the figures of the first group, for whom death is a central motif in the stories told of each. The tales of Alcestis and Codrus focus specifically on the hand they took in their own deaths and, as Phaedrus points out in his own encomium (179e–180a), death lingered over all Achilles’ heroic deeds, as he chose his actions with the full knowledge that they would lead to his demise. But it is hardly surprising that the Garden of the Hesperides remains barred here, as nowhere in the dialogues does Socrates suggest that death is anything but imminent for all mortals.

11 Many speakers in the Symposium appear to be intimately aware of Euripides’ plays. Eryximachus quotes from Melanippe at 177a, and Agathon uses a line from the (now lost) play Sthenoboea at 196e. And Socrates himself demonstrates his intimate knowledge of the playwright by reciting a line from Hippolytus during the elenchus with Agathon that immediately precedes his encomium at 199a.

12 This story differs slightly from the account offered in Euripides’ Alcestis, as in the play it is Heracles that rescues Alcestis from the clutches of death, while in Phaedrus’ account it is the gods who, being so touched by Alcestis’ actions, deliver her from Hades.

13 Even though Euripides is the second most frequently referenced figure in the Symposium, allusions to and quotations from Homer occur four times as often in this dialogue. Homer is referenced at various points by Phaedrus (179b, 179e–180a), Aristophanes (190b–c, 192d–e), Agathon (195d, 196d), Alcibiades (214b, 218e–219a, 219e, 220c, 221d, 221c) and Socrates himself (174c, 174d, 206d).

14 In the Symposium Socrates’ comments concerning the soul are restricted to those which deal with it as an object of erotic attention (210b–c), or as a subject of vicissitudes similar to those of the body (207e–208a).

15 Even at the end of the lover's ascent up the Ladder of Love there is strong evidence to think that the lover is still a living, embodied person here, rather than a disembodied soul. Consider the following passages: ‘And there [in the presence of divine beauty] in life … if anywhere should a person live his life [βιωτὸν ἀνθρώπῳ]’ (211d); ‘Do you think it would be a poor life [βίον] for a human being [ἀνθρώπου] to look there and behold it [divine beauty]?’ (212a). Socrates’ repetition of the terms βίος and ἄνθρωπος here suggest that, even at the top rung of the Ladder, the lover is still a living, embodied human being. Contrast this with the passage in the Phaedo at 81a–b, where Socrates suggests that the soul can only exist in the presence of the Forms after it has left the body, i.e. only after the end of his life.

16 Hackforth (n.5), 44.

17 Allen (n.5), 72.

18 O'Brien, M., ‘“Becoming immortal” in Plato's Symposium’, in Gerber, D.E. (ed.), Greek Poetry and Philosophy: Studies in Honour of Leonard Woodbury (Chico, CA, 1984), 195Google Scholar.

19 Williams, Bernard, in his article ‘The Makropulos Case: reflecting on the tedium of immortality’, in id., Problems of the Self: Philosophical Papers 1965–1972 (Cambridge, 1976), 82–100Google Scholar, uses the example of Elina Makropulos, a character from the Karel Čapek play, The Makropulos Case, who has discovered the means to live forever, to highlight the undesirability of personal immortality. Williams argues that, without the prospect of death lingering over our lives, a severe feeling of tedium would attend all of our actions, thus rendering our lives ‘unlivable’ (p. 95).

20 In the Phaedo there is some evidence that Socrates approached his own death with a similar mindset. He says to those present: ‘If you will take my advice, you will give but little thought to Socrates but much more to the truth’ (Phd. 91b). For Socrates, what is important is not that he lives for ever in all of his particularity – i.e. as ‘Socrates’ – but that what he values most in himself, his concern for the truth, continues on after he dies.

21 Lear (n.6), 108 advances the idea that lovers of honour consider fame to be of supreme value and of central importance to their happiness. However, although this may prima facie seem to be the case for Achilles, who is greatly concerned with his κλέος, it is difficult to see how this is so for Alcestis and Codrus. In both Phaedrus’ and Socrates’ recounting of the story of Alcestis her main concern is said to be her love for her husband, while in the case of Codrus, his priority is the preservation of his throne for his children. Although Socrates does say that each of these figures died for their loved ones in the expectation that the fame they earned through their self-sacrifice would ensure their immortality, the most we could conclude from this is that they value fame in an instrumental way. The same could even be argued in the case of Achilles. First, it is difficult to determine whether Achilles was motivated to action by his love of Patroclus, or his desire for κλέος; and second, the term κλέος captures both the concept of ‘fame’ and ‘glory’ simultaneously. Those who value κλέος would not be content simply with fame, in the sense purely of ‘making a name for oneself’ (ὀνομαστοὶ γενέσθαι) – as, perhaps, some modern celebrities do, unless this fame was related to their glorious deeds. So even in the case of Achilles it could be argued that fame is not that which he values primarily.

22 Both Lear (n.6), 109 and Sheffield (n.7), 107 advance this idea, although the former does so only in the context of lovers of honour.

23 For some commentators, Socrates’ division is indicative of the kinds of virtues that people find to be supremely valuable. Lear (n.6), 108, for example, argues that lovers of bodies, honour and souls are those who believe physical well-being, fame and knowledge respectively to be the ‘central component of their happiness’. He is forced into such a reading because he believes that remembrance is specifically the goal for lovers of honour, and concludes from this that fame is all that such people value. Without recourse to the claim that children and logoi are means of preserving memory, Lear is compelled to conclude that the production of children is indicative of a concern for the preservation of brute physical existence, while the creation of logoi indicates a concern for knowledge. As I have shown in the previous section, however, remembrance is the goal of all lovers, and these creations are merely valued instrumentally as means for the preservation of whatever virtues people hold to be valuable.

24 Another prominent interpretation of why lovers of bodies seek to generate children is advanced by Allen (n. 5), 73 and Dyson, M., ‘Immortality and procreation in Plato's Symposium’, Antichthon 20 (1986), 68–9CrossRefGoogle Scholar, who argue that they do so because their aim is not personal immortality, but the immortality of the human species. There is one point in the dialogues where such a view is explicitly advanced. At Laws 721b–c the Athenian justifies his law that all men and women of a certain age must wed and begin producing children, as it is only through childbirth that mortals gain immortality. The Athenian's discussion here is quite reminiscent of mortal possession in the Symposium, as here he argues that humans achieve immortality through leaving behind later generations to replace the ones that are dying away. However, there are two important differences between this discussion of immortality and the one in the Symposium: first, no reference is made here to either memory or remembrances; and second, the Athenian makes no reference to the other two methods of achieving immortality in the Symposium, i.e. through gaining fame or producing logoi.

25 Sheffield (n. 7), 107.

26 See especially the Hippias Minor, a discussion of lying, with continual reference to Odysseus.

27 The two most obvious examples of those whom Plato would label lovers of honour would be Laches and Nicias, two famous Athenian generals who served during the Peloponnesian War, whose discussion with Socrates concerning the nature of andreia (‘manliness’) is dramatized in the Laches. The other most prominent figure who ought to be added to this list is Critias, the future leader of the Thirty Tyrants after the fall of Athens, whose opinions on courage are cross-examined by Socrates in the Charmides. Critias’ concern for honour is shown clearly in Xenophon's Hellenica, where he denounces Theramenes for lacking concern for honour and friendship (Xen. Hell. 2.4.33). Alcibiades, however, is perhaps the most memorable figure. But although he is a colourful character in the Protagoras and the Symposium, not to mention the (most likely spurious) Alcibiades I and II, Socrates never engages in an extensive elenchus with Alcibiades.

28 Alcibiades’ longing for fame is also dramatically described in the Alcibiades I (see previous note), where Socrates claims that the then young Alcibiades is already desperate for his name and influence to ‘saturate all mankind’ (105c3–4).

29 The story of Codrus is most notably preserved in the speech Against Leocrates by the logographer Lycurgus of Athens.

30 I am including poetry here in the category of logoi because in the Republic, and particularly in the Ion, Plato's focus is on the opinions asserted by poets, and the basis for these assertions, rather than the aesthetic features of their creations.

31 Earlier in the Republic Socrates acknowledges the powerful ability of poetry to influence people's behaviour, and even suggests that it has the potential to inspire people to act virtuously, provided that the content of the poetry is noble (Book 2), and that it meets certain formal requirements (Book 3). However, in Book 10 Socrates all but banishes the poets from the city once again, as he here argues that, because poetry appeals to people's appetitive soul, it is a great cause of psychic dissonance, which confounds its audience's ability to judge what is true: ‘So we were right not to admit him into a city that is to be well governed, for he arouses, nourishes and strengthens this part of the soul and so destroys the rational one, in just the way that someone destroys the better sort of citizens when he strengthens the vicious ones and surrenders the city to them. Similarly, we'll say that an imitative poet puts a bad constitution in the soul of each individual by making images that are far removed from the truth by gratifying the irrational part, which cannot distinguish the large and the small but believes that the same things are large at one time and small at another (Resp. 605b–c).

32 I will refer to both of these activities together as ‘writing’, as speeches will be relevant to our present discussion only in so far as they are written down and are therefore accessible to future generations.

33 Interestingly, Socrates claims in the Phaedrus that, through speeches and writing, people are able to attain immortality (258c), though whether this is a direct allusion to his discussion of immortality in the Symposium is difficult to tell. Certainly the kind of immortality that could be yielded from oratory would be far more akin to that raised in the Symposium than the one for which Socrates offers a proof at the beginning of his second speech on eros (245c–e).

34 Although questions of the truth and organic structure of a logos – the topics of the first two parts of Socrates discussion of writing here – may well be relevant to its ability to inspire others to be virtuous, examination of these matters is beyond the scope of this paper, and must be left for another time.

35 In the Symposium Socrates seems to attribute this position to pederastic models of education, in which a lover is expected to impart knowledge to a passive and receptive beloved (see Brisson, L., ‘Agathon, Pausanias, and Diotima in Plato's Symposium: Paiderastia and Philosophia’, in Lesher, J. et al. [edd.], Plato's Symposium: Issues in Interpretation and Reception [Cambridge, MA, 2006], 229–51Google Scholar) – an institutional arrangement Socrates attempts to transform into one which is more equal and dyadic in his palinode in the Phaedrus. In other dialogues Socrates also levels this criticism at the sophists, who attempt to use speeches as a way to communicate rigorous, systematic and coherent pieces of thought to their audience. In the dialogues the figure who engages in this activity most avowedly is Protagoras (as dramatized in the Protagoras), who believes that merely hearing one of his speeches is sufficient to make people wise in the subjects of which he talks (318a–b) – a belief shared by many of his supporters (310d). Another sophist who seems to hold such a position regarding education is Thrasymachus who, in Republic Book 1, after several abortive attempts to convince Socrates of the view that justice is the good of the stronger, offers to ‘take [the] argument and pour it into [Socrates’] very soul’ (εἰς τὴν ψυχὴν ϕέρων ἐνθῶ τὸν λόγον, Resp. 345b).

36 I am using the term ‘dialectic’ here, not in the technical sense Socrates advances in the Phaedrus and more completely in the Sophist and the Statesman, but merely as an intercourse between different parties with the intention of testing each other's views and yielding a more complete account of a certain topic.

37 It should be noted that this procedure did not always yield the desired results for Socrates. Although Socrates may have been successful at planting the seed of philosophy in figures such as Crito, Adeimantus and Apollodorus, others, such as Callicles in the Gorgias and Thrasymachus in the Republic, rejected Socrates’ efforts out of hand. But perhaps the most tragic, for Socrates, are those in whom the seed was sown but never came to flower, such as Critias and Charmides (from the Charmides), who went on to be members of the Thirty Tyrants, and most prominently Alcibiades, Socrates’ lover who, despite Socrates’ tireless efforts, rejected philosophy for the pursuit of glory – a path that ultimately led to his ignoble demise.

38 In the past two decades much work has been done on Platonic myth and some commentators have suggested that myths fulfil just this function. See especially Smith, J., ‘Plato's use of myth in the education of philosophic man’, Phoenix 40.1 (1986), 20–34CrossRefGoogle Scholar and Benitez, E., ‘Philosophy, myth and Plato's two-worlds view’, The European Legacy 12.2 (2007), 225–42CrossRefGoogle Scholar.