In its introduction this volume promises an examination of a number of issues pertaining to Plato's Apology of Socrates: the relationship of philosophy to democracy and of the individual to the community, the function of rhetoric in politics and philosophy, and how one should use literary form and intertextuality in the interpretation of this work. It covers some of these topics better than others.
In ‘A Shameless Socrates on Trial in Democratic Athens’ A. Saxonhouse argues that in the Apology Socrates uses the freedom that Athenian democracy offers, and in particular the ‘freedom to speak all things’ (p. 17), parrhêsia, but he does so in a shameless way, lacking the fundamental virtue of aidôs that Protagoras extols in Plato's dialogue bearing his name. Her analysis is valuable, not least in that it brings out some of the multiple ways in which the Apology goes beyond being a literary forensic speech and a monologue, incorporating elements from other genres and becoming dialectical through Socrates’ engagement with fictional interlocutors. Nevertheless, her assertion that there is a tension between Socrates’ commitment to the democratic ideal of freedom and his shameless use (or abuse) of it, cannot be substantiated. The problem is that, as D. Frede has forcefully argued, Socrates does not defend universal democratic freedom in the Apology, but only his own freedom to philosophise. Socrates uses the freedom of speech given to him by Athenian democracy, but so does anybody who gives a defence speech. Beyond that, there is absolutely no evidence in the Apology that he champions an egalitarian (among native adult males) concept of freedom. Socrates, by his own admission, spends his life exposing the ignorance of his fellow citizens (as well as foreigners), believes that they ought to leave the moral education of their children to experts and attacks the most fundamental principle of ancient democracy by arguing that there is an authority higher than the Assembly, that is god. Someone who holds these views cannot be interpreted as an admirer of democratic freedom.
Following an intricate and multifaceted analysis, Wiese Tvedt's ‘Philosophy, Democracy, and Poverty’ concludes, correctly, that ‘Plato's Socrates was not a democrat’ (p. 52) and that he was right when he claimed that he had good prudential reasons for not getting involved in Athenian politics. Her argument that Socrates’ lack of interest in money puts him in a privileged position to criticise Athens is also true, but one qualification may be added: democracy feared the dissent of the very rich more than that of the poor. The career of Alcibiades, whose association with Socrates remains one of the key unacknowledged issues of the trial, is a case in hand. Moreover, Socrates’ poverty helps him to dissociate himself from the politically subversive aristocratic youth that he is connected with in the minds of many Athenians. If he did not receive money from them, he was not their teacher, and thus he cannot be held responsible for their political activities.
K. Sampson, in ‘The Temporality of Philosophy in the Apology’, offers an interpretation of how the temporality of Platonic philosophy relates to that of everyday politics, based on the notion of the ‘right timing’, kairos. But whereas there is no question that Socrates does not care about the right timing in Athenian politics, is not philosophical knowledge, based on divine wisdom, eternal rather than temporal in the Apology?
In ‘Plato's Socrates in the Apology: Speaking in Two Voices’ K. Ågotnes examines the conflict between philosophy and ‘political society’. He claims that Plato could not present Socrates as squarely opposing Athenian society (at least not unqualifiedly), because that would make him a threat to society, and that the chasm between philosophy and society cannot ultimately be bridged. On the first point, given the extent of Socrates’ hostility to democratic theory and practice in the Apology, and Plato's contempt for common people throughout his corpus, it makes much more sense to think of the Apology as intended to prove Socrates’ innocence to those already sharing Plato's opinions: committed Athenian democrats will hardly find in this speech evidence that Socrates was their friend. As for the irreconcilability of philosophy and ‘political society’, Ågotnes is correct, but with one caveat: Socrates’ philosophy does not undermine any ‘political society’, but specifically democratic Athens. The requirement for ethical expertise inherent in the horse-training argument, for example, is not directed against any regime, but against democracy, the regime that enfranchises all native adult males without epistemic or other qualifications.
J. Howland's ‘Socrates's Daimonic Ethics: Myth and Heroism in Plato's Apology’ brings to light the multiple analogies between Socrates and Hercules, and argues that Socrates offers himself as an example of the hero who fights the Olympian gods’ moral economy. This is a valid point, but caution is needed: if Socrates attacks Olympian moral values, it is the gods’ values as understood by the ignorant demos, not their real values. There can be no doubt that the Apology upholds divine moral infallibility, since we read in it that it is not permissible for the gods to lie (21b).
In ‘Socrates's Telling of the Truth: a Reading of the Apology 17a1–35d9’ G. Rørstadbotten points out how Socrates uses rhetorical topoi in order to prove that he is a good, law-abiding citizen, and offers some genuinely interesting new material on the subject. Nevertheless, this is only half the story. Whereas Socrates uses these devices, he also antagonises the jury, a jury that he himself identifies with the democratic demos (21a). For example, Socrates clearly utilises a rhetorical commonplace when he emphasises his obedience as a soldier; but what about his statement that he will obey the god rather than the demos, his self-detrimental readiness not only to question the authority of the democratic majority but to declare openly that, if asked to stop philosophising, he will not subject himself to it? If Socrates paints a portrait of himself as law-abiding in some passages, it is only to destroy it in others. In the end, T.C. Brickhouse and N.D. Smith's suggestion of a defendant who wants to be acquitted but will not in any way conceal his unconventional beliefs is probably the best we can do in explaining this, the fundamental paradox of the Apology.
H. Fossheim's ‘The Character of Socrates in Plato's Apology: an Aristotelian Analysis’ offers a novel and intriguing perspective: how would Socrates’ character, as presented in this work, fare under the standards provided by Aristotle's analysis of specific virtues in the Nicomachean Ethics? Fossheim chooses, somewhat arbitrarily, four such virtues, truthfulness, practical wisdom, openhandedness and greatness of soul, and shows that the Socrates of the Apology hardly exemplifies any of them – at least in a complete or unqualified manner. This is an interesting approach, because it departs from the all too common sanctification of Socrates and recognises the complexity of his character in the Apology.
In ‘Socrates’ Failure: Language and Lies in Plato's Apology’ Pettersson revisits the paradox that jumps out in front of every student who reads the opening paragraph of the Apology. Socrates emphatically asserts that he is not a clever speaker, but speaking is, of course, the one thing he is famous for and that gets him in trouble in the first place. Pettersson states, intriguingly, that ‘Socrates is lying, but only insofar as he is telling the truth’ (p. 138) and that Plato ‘makes Socrates identify the general truthfulness-problem of politico-forensic rhetoric so as to be able to contrast this to the discursive ideals of the Socratic elenchus’ (p. 139). Nevertheless, the fact that speech-making in democratic fora is not an appropriate avenue to philosophical truth for Plato does not mean that his Socrates must be understood as thinking that nothing can be said in a forensic speech that might make people better. A simpler explanation, which accounts for the many rhetorical commonplaces of the work, has already been mentioned. Socrates wants to be acquitted (and save his judges from the hamartêma of convicting an innocent person); so he uses rhetorical topoi. But he will not hide his actual beliefs, even if they compromise this goal.
E. Irrera, in ‘Self-Images of Socrates: Respect for Tradition and Critical Examination in Plato's Apology’, addresses a wider version of the same problem, the apparent contradiction between the humble Socrates who claims to know nothing and the boastful one who openly antagonises the jury and speaks with what Xenophon calls megalêgoria. She argues that Socrates does not present himself as the only person possessing human wisdom, because any individual pursuing truth in a certain way will achieve this wisdom. But although this possibility is allowed by the text, the fact that Socrates never (in a whole lifetime) finds anybody else who has anthrôpinê sophia indicates that he understands the latter as exceptionally rare. For this reason, the jurors are fully justified to take Socrates’ presentation of the oracle's pronouncement as an expression of arrogance.
In ‘Socrates's Mission’, a thoughtful and neatly argued chapter, P. Woodruff proposes that the paradox of Socrates’ conviction that he is virtuous despite not knowing how to teach virtue to others can be resolved, if we take Socrates to think of his mission as being to ‘set an example of self-questioning that ordinary Athenians can apply to themselves’ (p. 187). Woodruff also argues that Socrates respects his mission, which he takes to be assigned to him by the god, and recognises the human limitations of his knowledge. This is a plausible reading of the Apology, as well as other early dialogues that are cited by Woodruff, and, in an interesting way, it demonstrates another aspect of Socrates’ limitations: if this analysis is correct, Socrates asks his jurors to take his claim about his divine mission on faith. Moreover, if his refusal to get involved in democratic politics is to be justified on the basis of Socrates’ recognition of ‘his human limitations’ (p. 189), one may infer that only (almost) super-human beings can exercise political rule, and a connection to the philosopher-rulers of the Republic is implied here.
Haraldsen's ‘The Philosophical Force of Negativity: Elenchos and Socratic Conversation in Plato's Apology’ convincingly makes two important points: that Socrates’ use of elenchos and its cognates in the Apology does not appear to describe a method that aims at dispelling an interlocutor's false beliefs and that the work does not support the thesis of a strongly intellectualist Socrates. She then concludes that the value of Socratic interrogation lies in its negativity, which may become the beginning of a more positive intellectual process leading to an ethical life.
Although the educated reader will not find in this volume a reason to radically rethink either philosophy or rhetoric in the Apology, many of its papers offer useful insights into Plato's representation of Socrates’ speech. In this sense, the volume can be regarded as a useful addition to the literature.
