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This chapter, devoted to the pseudo-Platonic Anterastai, is characterized by a complex approach to the claim of inauthenticity for a dialogue. On the one hand, it is advocated that the dialogue advances a new argument against the authenticity based on the dramatic representation of Socrates’ profession of ignorance. On the other hand, the method applied in the chapter contrasts with a widespread attitude, according to which inauthenticity is evaluated concerning the contents of a dialogue. What is remarkable is that the appeal to the dramatic form to state the inauthenticity of the dialogue allows us to maintain that the Anterastai is spurious and that the philosophical perspective of the dialogue can be genuinely Platonic. Indeed, contrary to what is usually believed, the Anterastai are animated by a genuinely Platonic spirit, since they do not reject the engagement in dialectic or sciences, but rather recognize their value – provided that they are correctly practiced. Indeed, against the Aristotelian distinction of forms of rulership, the author of the Anterastai pursues the goal of restoring the Platonic thesis of their unity.
This chapter begins with Plato’s account of stasis during the transition to the democratic soul in Republic Book VIII, illustrating the centrality of transvaluations. It then reassesses Thrasymachus’ famous account of justice in Republic I, showing how a sceptical view of language is central to his case. The chapter then addresses the treatments of language and stasis in Plato’s Statesman and Laws, before finishing with his use of paradiastole as a dialogic device in his Philebus. The chapter shows how varied and important Plato’s reflections on language and stasis were, and how deeply they interacted with fifth-century historiography and rhetoric.
Thucydides' book on the war between the Peloponnesians and the Athenians has generally been considered a historical chronicle. By contrast, Peter Ahrensdorf here makes the case that it is better understood as a work of philosophy, inasmuch as it seeks to understand the permanent truth about human nature. Thucydides, he argues, focuses on this particular war because of its theoretical significance. It presents a clash, not only between military powers, but between two theoretical outlooks – Periclean Athenians' progressive and humanistic understanding of the fundamental character and condition of human beings, and the Spartans' traditional and religious understanding. Ahrensdorf leads us through Thucydides' examination of the case for and against both Athens and Sparta and shows how Thucydides ultimately offers for our consideration an account of himself as an individual who – unlike outstanding characters such as such Alcibiades, the Athenian ambassadors at Sparta and Melos, Diodotus, and Pericles – ascends to a truly independent and genuinely philosophic understanding of the human condition.
In this chapter, Proclus undertakes a line-by-line analysis of Plato’s dialogue Alcibiades with a view to showing the necessity of self-knowledge for happiness. He argues that self-knowledge is transformative since knowing the self is inseparable from knowing the Good that all desire. Proclus further argues that the Socratic dialectic displayed in this dialogue is an expression of the more profound Platonic dialectic expressed in Republic and elsewhere. In this way, he shows that ethics is inseparable from metaphysics and that Plato’s moral realism pervades even this ‘introductory’ dialogue. The relationship between Socrates and Alcibiades is also explored and is shown to mirror the relationship between the divine Intellect and the kosmos.
This chapter evaluates the Life of Aesop as a fictional biography that traces Aesop’s rise from mute slave to celebrated orator, dramatizing a subversive educational trajectory. Through contests with slaveowners and sophists, Aesop acquires the rhetorical authority associated with elite paideia—yet weaponizes elementary techniques like gnome, chreia, and fable to challenge the prestige of rhetorical schooling. Special focus is given to Aesop’s divine acquisition of speech, his parody of the Platonic Phaedrus, and his schooling under the philosopher Xanthus. The chapter argues that the Life inverts the structure of the rhetorical curriculum: whereas fables were taught as preliminary exercises, Aesop reserves them for the height of his intellectual ascent, delivering animal tales before public assemblies as political counsel. In this way, the Life not only reclaims muthos as a legitimate form of public speech but also reimagines "fiction competence" as the true test of education.
Arendt asks, “Is our ability to judge, to tell right from wrong, beautiful from ugly, dependent upon our faculty of thought?” Her answer is yes, and this chapter argues that this thinking–judging connection is central to her moral philosophy. She derives the connection indirectly, by reflecting on three Socratic propositions: that thinking consists in the back and forth of inner dialogue; that it is better to suffer injustice than to commit it; and that wrongdoing leads to inner disharmony. The chapter examines these, and from this examination it reconstructs Arendt’s argument for the thinking–judging connection. The chapter connects Arendt's and Kant's conception of “enlarged thinking” with Adam Smith’s sympathy-based moral theory. It spells out additional implications that Arendt never drew explicitly, and concludes by comparing Arendt’s views with those of Stuart Hampshire, who believes that inner conflict is in fact “the best condition of mankind,” contrary to the Socratic and Aristotelian moral psychology – an important corrective that requires modification to Arendt’s view.
This article argues that scandal functions as a key narrative technology in late ancient Christian historiography. Rather than treating scandal as anecdote or moral failure, ecclesiastical historians use it as a structured way of arranging deviant bodies, contested practices, and moments of exposure to produce claims about Christian truth. Through recurring controversies, this study traces how biblical stories are reworked by authors such as Eusebius, Socrates, Sozomen, and Theodoret to stabilize doctrine, police boundaries, and articulate Christian identity. Across these writers, scandal emerges as a method of historical control, not merely a record of past conflict but a means of containing theological ambiguity and disciplining memory. By foregrounding scandal as a historiographical strategy, this article exposes how Christian histories were crafted through narrative forms that made orthodoxy appear inevitable and deviation unmistakable.
Focusing on Plato’s literary craft and philosophical method, this chapter explores the Republic and especially the Allegory of the Cave to elucidate Plato’s vision of education, truth, and reality. Rather than isolating arguments in abstraction, it emphasizes the dialogical form of Plato’s works and the exemplary character of Socrates as a model of philosophical life. Set against the backdrop of Athenian democratic decline and the execution of Socrates, the chapter interprets the cave allegory as a meditation on the soul’s ascent from illusion to truth – a journey of intellectual habituation requiring ethical transformation. The analysis shows how Plato fused literary beauty with metaphysical depth, presenting philosophy as both a rational and existential undertaking. The chapter further demonstrates how Socratic inquiry – marked by aporia and dialectic – encourages readers to examine their assumptions, seek truth, and reflect on their moral formation. Plato’s theory of Forms is introduced not as a rigid metaphysical doctrine but as part of a broader vision in which education, justice, and contemplation all point toward transcendent reality. In this framing, philosophy becomes a way of life rooted in example, narrative, and spiritual aspiration.
This article reflects on the Socratic model for doing public political philosophy. It concentrates on the dialogue form and considers how this form might be adapted to a very different world than the one Socrates inhabited—one that is demographically diverse and huge, highly mediated, and today, intensely polarized. It suggests as well that philosophers are especially suited to facilitating critiques of current conjunctures and predicaments—their organizing terms, assumptions, and frameworks. They do this best through their skills of questioning.
This chapter discusses the social and professional contexts for the emergence of the Italian humanists as a new cultural “class,” and traces the classical and Christian antecedents of their formation of a substantive discourse on secular vocation.
This chapter investigates instances of personal divination in the ancient Greek world. This includes the use of oracles, omens, forms of technical divination and the occurrence of prophetic dreams in personal matters that do not articulate the concerns of the polis. The chapter explores what personal issues warranted a consultation of the gods, as well as the scope and limits for individuals to use the divinatory system to their advantage. The chapter shows that consultation with the gods about questions of personal concern (about health, travel and questions of everyday life) was not merely available to the upper classes and those in power, but conducted by everyday people, including women, metics and slaves. Throughout, the chapter carefully distinguishes between what we know about actual personal oracle consultations on the one hand, and their representation in works of literature on the other. At the same time, the chapter presents several themes that run through different kinds of evidence and explores what they reveal about the use and abuse of divine knowledge (and the actions it is made to sanction) in the ancient Greek world.
This chapter explores personal religion in some of Plato’s dialogues. First, focusing on the Apology and Euthyphro, it considers Socrates’ daimonic sign and how far Socrates expresses religious attitudes independent from, in line with, or opposed to those foregrounded or sanctioned in Athens. Second, it turns to Plato’s Laws and examines the Stranger’s vision for civic religion in the imagined city of Magnesia and his prohibitions of private worship. Finally, it considers how philosophical inquiry can itself constitute personal religion. Overall, it argues that Plato does not evince a single attitude towards all the phenomena we might classify as personal religion. That the Stranger outlaws some central aspects of personal religion does not mean that he proscribes all others; we should resist the old idea that Socrates would have fallen afoul of Magnesia’s laws. While the Stranger excludes a culture of free speech of which the Socrates of the early dialogues avails himself, Magnesia is not Athens. For Plato, how far expressions of personal religion should be countenanced, regulated, or proscribed by the city turns on the nature of the city in which that question is raised.
Contemporary historians of philosophy almost universally embrace the idea that the young Plato had a close, personal relationship with the historical Socrates. Many refuse to countenance a similar status for Plato’s contemporary, Xenophon. This note takes as its focus a novel argument intended to support the claim that Xenophon was never on intimate terms with Socrates or even privy to reliable information about him. The reply offered here has implications far beyond this apparently narrow focus, however, and points to pervasive biases in Socratic studies generally that remain in sore need of correction.
Modern translators and commentators have uniformly taken the phrase καὶ τιμωμένων ἀντετιμᾶτο in Max. Tyr. Or. 3.2 as a reference to Socrates’ reported proposal of a counter-penalty as depicted in the second speech of Plato’s Apology. This article suggests an alternative interpretation rooted in both the surrounding context of Or. 3 and an analysis of Greek forensic vocabulary and usage. The latter analysis also serves to cast doubt on the claim, common in discussions of Athenian law, that ἀντιτιμᾶσθαι served as the technical term for making a counter-penalty proposal.
John Cooper contends that ancient philosophers shared certain fundamental assumptions about the “motivating power” of truth and knowledge that have been abandoned by post-Renaissance philosophers. Consequently, he claims that those seeking philosophy as a guide to the good life can only find it in the works of ancient philosophers. I challenge that conclusion by arguing that philosophy as a way of life has not disappeared but has evolved. A key indicator of this continuity is the enduring presence of “professional” philosophers who, like their ancient counterparts, remain concerned with what used to be called “the state of one’s soul.”
Chapters 5 and 6 focus on clusters of re-narrated episodes in Cyril’s response to Julian. Chapter 5 is organized by one of Julian’s own categories: the “gifts of the gods” which, he had argued, were given in surpassing quality and quantity to the Hellenic people. This chapter groups Julian’s various iterations of gifts and Cyril’s sprawling responses in three, interrelated categories: exemplary characters, intellectual superiority, and military and political domination. In Cyril’s responses, Minos was no legendary hero but rather imitated the fallen angels’ lust for domination; the Attic language itself (not to mention the convention of writing) derived from proto-Christian sources; and the Jewish people’s turbulent history and the present ascendance of Roman superiority equally reflect the Christian God’s management of the cosmos.
This chapter argues against a dominant reading of the Stoics according to which all appropriate actions (kathēkonta), whether drinking when thirsty or standing firm at a critical juncture in battle, count equally as “duties” (officia). All scholars interpret the Stoic Sage’s perfection to imply that absolutely every token action of the Sage counts as a (morally) perfect action (katorthōma), with the result that there is no category of actions constituted by the morally permissible. Appreciating the significance of the misunderstood Stoic category of “intermediate appropriate actions,” however, makes clear that there are actions that follow nature, but that are simply concerned with pursuing “promoted indifferents.” Thus, it is argued that the Stoic position recognizes a class of permissible actions – even for the Sage, whose perfection consists rather in never acting contrary to virtue. The Stoics are thus much closer to Kant and their Socratic heritage than has been previously recognized.
Kant and the Stoics both rely on a momentous argument, set out in Plato’s dialogues, for the conclusion that nothing is unconditionally good but wisdom, yet they differ on how to interpret it. The Stoics identify this wisdom with the perfection of technical or productive knowledge of nature, and they regard it as the sole good. Kant identifies this wisdom with the perfection of practical knowledge of the good, and, analyzing this knowledge along the hylomorphic lines implicitly suggested in Plato’s argument, he locates wisdom’s unconditional goodness – its morality, or moral goodness – in its agreement not with the object it produces but with its form, morality’s principle. Two contrasting accounts of morality’s relation to perfection thus emerge. The Stoics see perfection in the knowledge of nature as entailing moral goodness, whereas Kant argues that moral goodness is the condition of all other goodness, including that of perfection.
This chapter analyzes the Republic’s theory of the tripartite soul regarding the question of self-rule and autonomy. Only when the soul is in the ideal position of having reason positioned as sovereign ruler can a person be seen as acting autonomously. But it is not clear that when reason rules, it also motivates actions. Christine M. Korsgaard has argued that personal decision-making should be seen as analogous to political decision-making. She conceives of political decisions as a process where requests for action spring from the people, while rulers suffice to say yes or no. This chapter claims that this analysis is inadequate as a theory of how Plato portrays the relationship between the parts of the soul and of decision-making in general, and offers an alterantive interpreation in terms of what is called the Complex Model of Decision-Making.