## 1. Preliminaries



If ethics is widely regarded as the most accessible branch of
philosophy, it is so because many of its presuppositions are,
seemingly, self-evident or trivial truths: All human actions, for
example, serve some end or purpose; whether they are right or wrong
depends on the agent's overall aims. At least for secularists,
the attainment of these overall aims is regarded as a major condition
of the good life. What we regard as a life worth living also depends
on the notion we have of our own nature and of the conditions of its
fulfillment. This, in turn, is determined, at least in part, by the
values and standards of the society we live in. Personal ends and
purposes depend in each case not only on reason, but also on the
individual agents' dispositions (i.e., their ingrained likes and
dislikes, which determine their personal character). The attainment of
these ends can also depend at least in part on external factors, such
as health, material prosperity, social status, and even on good looks
or sheer luck.



Although these presuppositions may seem self-evident, most of the time,
human beings are aware of them only implicitly because they lead
their lives in accordance with pre-established standards and values
that are, under normal circumstances, not objects of reflection. It is
only in times of crisis that a society's traditions and precepts
are challenged by someone like Socrates, who sees the need to disturb
his fellows' complacency. The historical Socrates was, of
course, not the first to question the Greek way of life. Presocratic
philosophers such as Xenophanes, Heraclitus, or Empedocles had been
critics of their times, and the sophists had argued provocatively
that, contrary to the naive view, it is custom and convention,
rather than nature that set the standards for what is deemed right or
wrong, good or bad, in every society. But if other thinkers preceded
Socrates with moral and social criticism, he was certainly the first
to challenge his fellows on an individual basis on the ground that
'the unexamined life is not worth living' (*Ap*.
38a). Whatever position one may take in the controversy concerning the
degree to which Plato's early dialogues are true to the
historical Socrates' discussions, the independent testimony of
Xenophon leaves little doubt that Socrates' cross-examinations
(*elenchos*) provoked the kind of enmity against him that led
to his conviction and execution. In the eyes of conservative
Athenians, Socrates' questioning undermined the traditional
values of their society. As Socrates saw it, the 'virtues'
- which is to say the social skills, attitudes, and
character-traits possessed by most Athenian citizens of his time
- were all too often geared towards their possessors'
wealth, power, and capacities for self-indulgence, to the detriment of
public morality and the community's well-being (see the entry on
 Socrates).



The Socratic legacy prompted Plato to engage in a thorough examination
of the nature of knowledge and reality, an examination that gradually
took him far beyond the scope of the historical Socrates'
discussions. Nevertheless, Plato continued to present most of his
investigations as dialogues between Socrates and some partner or
partners. And Plato preserved the dialogical form even in those of his
late works where Socrates is replaced by a stand-in and where the
didactic nature of the presentations is hard to reconcile with the
pretense of live discussion. But these didactic discourses continue to
combine questions of ethical, political, social, or psychological
importance with metaphysical, methodological, and epistemological
considerations. And it can be hard to assess the extent to which Plato
agrees with the pronouncements of his speakers, whether that speaker
is Socrates or anyone else. Furthermore, the fact that a certain
ethical problem or its solution is not mentioned in a certain dialogue
does not mean that Plato was unaware of it. There is, therefore, no
certainty concerning the question: "What did Plato see and when
did he first see it?" The lack of information about the order in
which Plato wrote his works adds to this difficulty. It stands to
reason, however, that he started with the short dialogues that
question traditional virtues - wisdom, courage, justice,
moderation, piety. It also stands to reason that Plato gradually
widened the scope of his investigations by reflecting not only on the
social and political conditions of morality but also on the logical,
epistemological, and metaphysical presuppositions of a successful
moral theory. These theoretical reflections often take on a life of
their own. Several of Plato's later works address ethical
problems only marginally or not at all. The *Parmenides*, the
*Theaetetus*, and the *Sophist* deal primarily or
exclusively with epistemological and metaphysical problems of a quite
general nature. Nevertheless, as witnessed by the *Philebus*,
the *Statesman*, the *Timaeus*, and the *Laws*,
Plato never lost interest in the question of the conditions of the
good human life.


## 2. The early dialogues: Examining life


### 2.1 The aporetic procedure



The early 'Socratic' dialogues are not concerned with the
question of the good life and its conditions in general but rather
with particular virtues. Socrates explores these virtues through
discussions with persons who are regarded either as representatives
of, or claim to be experts on, that virtue. Socrates'
justification for this procedure is that a paragon or expert must know
the property that characterizes his particular virtue and must,
therefore, be able to give an account or definition of it (cf. Xenophon
*Memorabilia* I, 10; 16). Thus, in the *Euthyphro*,
Socrates discusses piety/holiness with an alleged 'expert'
on religious affairs. In the *Laches*, he discusses courage
with two renowned generals in the Peloponnesian war, Laches and
Nicias. Similarly, in the *Charmides*, Socrates
addresses - somewhat ironically - the nature of moderation
with two of the later Thirty Tyrants, namely with the then very young
Charmides, an alleged model of modesty, and his guardian and
intellectual mentor, Critias. In the *Greater Hippias*, Socrates
raises the question of the nature of the beautiful with a producer of
'beautiful things', the sophist and polymath Hippias. In
the *Protagoras*, Socrates focuses on the question of the unity
of virtue in a discussion with Protagoras, the most famous teacher of
'civic virtues' among the sophists. And in the
*Gorgias*, Socrates discusses the nature of rhetoric and its
relation to virtue with the most prominent teacher of rhetoric among
the sophists. Finally, in the *Meno*, the question of how virtue
as such is acquired is raised by Meno, a disciple of Gorgias and an
ambitious seeker of power, wealth, and fame, who later met a gruesome
death in Persia in the pursuit of those very values.



Socrates' interlocutors are usually, at first, quite confident
about their own competence in the discussion. And such confidence
is not unreasonable. If virtue is a kind of 'skill' or a special
property that enjoys general recognition, its possessor should know
and be able to give an account of that skill or proficiency. As
Socrates' examinations demonstrate, however, such
self-confidence is usually unfounded, and the 'knowledge'
professed by Socrates' partners is revealed to be, at best, an
implicit familiarity. When they are confronted with their inability to
explain the nature of their cherished virtue or expertise, they end up
admitting their ignorance, but often with considerable chagrin or
anger (on the 'Socratic' dialogues, see the entry in
*SEP* *Plato*'*s Shorter Ethical Works* by
Paul Woodruff). Socrates' purpose in conducting these sometimes
cruel-looking games is not just to undermine the false confidence of
his interlocutors but also to pave the way towards general
definitions and standards concerning the virtues. There were no widely
acknowledged standards of definition in Socrates' time, but by
exposing the flaws in his partners' abortive arguments in his
investigations, Socrates contributed significantly to the development
of such standards. The respective flaws vary greatly in kind and
gravity: Socrates shows that enumerations of examples are not
sufficient to capture the nature or essence of the virtue in question.
Definitions that consist in the replacement of the concept in question
with a synonym are open to the same objections as the original
definition. Definitions may be hopelessly vague or miss the mark
entirely, which is to say that they may be either too wide and include
unwanted characteristics or subsets, or too narrow so that they
exclude essential characteristics. Moreover, definitions may be
incomplete because the object in question does not constitute a
unitary phenomenon. If generally accepted 'social
excellences' are not simple conditions, they may be subject to
conflicting convictions. Examples of all these problems are provided
in Plato's early dialogues, where Socrates exposes the exact
nature of the underlying deficiencies with more or less diagnostic
transparency.



Given that the focus in the early dialogues is almost entirely on the
exposure of flaws and inconsistencies, one cannot help wondering
whether Plato himself knew the *answers* to his queries and
had some cards up his sleeve that he chose not to play for the time
being. This would presuppose that Plato had not only a clear notion of
the nature of the different virtues but also a definitive conception
of the good life as such. Since Plato was neither a moral nihilist nor
a sceptic, he cannot have regarded moral perplexity (*aporia*)
as the ultimate end, nor regarded continued mutual examination,
*Socratico more*, as a way of life for everyone. Perplexity, as
is argued in the *Meno*, is just a wholesome intermediary stage
on the way to knowledge (*Me*. 84a-b). But if Plato
assumes that the convictions that survive Socratic questioning will
eventually coalesce into a coherent account of the good life, then he
keeps this expectation to himself. Nor would such optimism seem
warranted, given Socrates' disavowal of knowledge. There is no
guarantee that only false convictions are refuted in a Socratic
cross-examination, while true ones are retained - for promising
suggestions are often as mercilessly discarded as their less promising
brethren. Perhaps Plato counted on his readers' intelligence to
straighten out what is skewed in Socratic refutations, as well as to
detect unfair moves and to supplement what is missing. It is, in
fact, often not difficult to make out problematic or fallacious moves
in Socrates' argument and to correct them, but such corrections
must remain incomplete without sufficient information about
Plato's overall conception of the good life and its moral
presuppositions at that point in time. It is, therefore, a matter of
conjecture whether Plato himself held any positive views while he
composed one aporetic dialogue after the other. He may have regarded
his investigations as experimental stages or have seen each dialogue
as an element in a network of approaches that he hoped to integrate
eventually.



If there is a general lesson to be drawn from the many failed accounts
of the virtues by Socrates' different partners, beyond the
particular shortcomings of individual definitions and assertions, it
is that isolated definitions of single virtues, summed up in one
sentence, will not do. The evidence that Plato wanted his readers to
draw this very conclusion already in his early dialogues is somewhat
contradictory, however. He famously pleads for the unity of the
virtues in the *Protagoras* and seems intent to reduce them
all to knowledge. Scholars are, therefore, wont to speak of the
'intellectualistic' character of the so-called
'Socratic ethics' because it leaves no room for other
motivational forces, such as desires and emotions. Socrates'
proof in the *Protagoras* that reason cannot be overcome by the
passions has, from Aristotle on, been treated as a denial of
*akrasia*, of the phenomenon that was later somewhat
misleadingly dubbed as 'weakness of the will'. This
intellectualizing tendency does not tell us, however, what kind of
master-science would fulfill all of the requirements for defining
virtues, nor what its content should be. Moreover, the emphasis on
knowledge does not rule out an awareness on Plato's part of the
importance of other factors, even in his early dialogues. Though Plato
often compares the virtues with technical skills, such as those of a
doctor or a pilot, he may have realized that virtues also involve
emotional attitudes, desires, and preferences but not yet have seen a
clear way to coordinate or combine the rational and the affective
elements that constitute the virtues. In the *Laches*, for
instance, Socrates' partners struggle when they try to define
courage, invoking two different elements. In his attempt to define
courage as 'steadfastness in battle', Laches, one of the
two generals and 'experts' on courage, is faced with the
dilemma that steadfastness seems not to be a satisfactory definition
of courage either in itself or in combination with knowledge
(*La*. 192a-194c). His comrade Nicias, on the other hand,
fails when he tries to identify courage exclusively as a certain type
of knowledge (197e-200a). The investigation of moderation in the
*Charmides*, likewise, points up that there are two disparate
elements commonly associated with that virtue - namely, a
certain calmness of temper on the one hand (*Chrm*.
158e-160d) and self-knowledge on the other (166e-175a). It
is clear that a complex account would be needed to combine these two
disparate features, for moral skills not only presuppose sufficient
'operative' rationality but also require appropriate
evaluative and emotional attitudes towards the ends to be attained and
towards the means to be employed. Such an insight is at least
indicated in Socrates' long and passionate argument in the
*Gorgias* against Polus and Callicles that the just life is
better for the soul of its possessor than the unjust life, an argument
that he fortifies with a mythical depiction of the soul's reward
and punishment after death (523a-527e). But the nature of
justice, and what is required for the proper care of one's soul,
is thereby illuminated only indirectly. For the most part,
Socrates' interrogations focus on the incompatibility of his
interlocutors' selfish aims with their more selfless and noble
tendencies. In his earlier dialogues, Plato may or may not already be
envisaging the kind of solution that he is going to present in the
*Republic* to the problem of the relationship between the
different virtues, with wisdom, the only purely intellectual virtue,
as their basis. Courage, moderation, and justice presuppose a certain
steadfastness of character as well as a harmony of purpose between the
disparate parts of the soul, but their goodness depends entirely on
the intellectual part of the soul, just as the virtue of the citizens
in the just state depends on the wisdom of the philosopher kings
(*R*. 428a-444e). The existence of 'demotic'
virtues of character is thus acknowledged, but they are relegated to
second place (500d; 522a-b).



There are at least some indications that Plato already saw the need
for a holistic conception of the good life when he composed his
'Socratic' dialogues. At the end of the *Laches*,
he lets Nicias founder in his attempt to define courage as the
'knowledge of what is to be feared and what should inspire
confidence'. Nicias is forced to admit that such knowledge
presupposes the knowledge of good and bad *tout court*
(*La*. 199c-e). In a different but related way, Socrates
alludes to a comprehensive knowledge at the end of the
*Charmides*. In his final refutation of Critias'
definition of moderation as 'knowledge of knowledge', he
urges that this type of knowledge is insufficient for the happy life
without the knowledge of good and bad (*Chrm*. 174b-e).
Pointing out what is wrong or missing in particular arguments is a far
cry from a philosophical conception of the ultimate good in human
life. But the fact that Plato insists on the shortcomings of a purely
'technical' conception of virtue suggests that he was at
least facing up to these problems. The discussion of the 'unity
of the virtues' in the *Protagoras* - regardless of
the probably intentionally unsatisfactory structure of its proofs
- confirms that Plato realized that a critique of the
inconsistencies implied in conventional values is insufficient to
justify such a unitary point of view. Nevertheless, the evidence that
Plato already had a unified conception of the good life in mind when
he wrote his earlier dialogues remains, at most, indirect.


### 2.2 The quest for definition



It may be helpful to begin with a consideration of the method of
ethical inquiry that Socrates is portrayed as using in the early
dialogues. A reflection on the meaning of Socrates' quest for
definitions in the early dialogues suggests that Plato cannot have
been blind to the sterility of a purely negative way of argument, or
if he was blind at first, his blindness cannot have lasted long, for
Socrates' quest for definitions has important consequences.
First and foremost, definitions presuppose that there is a definable
object; that is to say, it must have a stable nature. Nothing can be
defined that is of a variable nature. In addition, the object in
question must be a unitary phenomenon, even if its unity may be
complex. If definitions are to provide the basis of knowledge, they
require some kind of essentialism. This presupposition is indeed made
explicit in the *Euthyphro*, where Plato employs, for the first
time, the terminology that will be characteristic of his full-fledged
theory of Forms. In response to Euthyphro's enumeration of
various examples of pious behavior, Socrates demands an account of
*the one* *feature* (*Euthphr*. 5d:
*idea*; 6d: *eidos*; 6e: *paradeigma*) that is
common to all cases of what is holy or pious. Despite this pregnant
terminology, few scholars nowadays hold that the *Euthyphro*
already presupposes transcendent Forms, in a realm of their own
- models that are only incompletely represented by their
representatives under material conditions. The terms *eidos*
and *idea* had preserved their original meaning of
'look' or 'shape' into the classical age, but
they were also often used in the more abstract sense of
'form', 'sort', 'type', or
'kind'. No more than piety or holiness in the abstract
sense seems to be presupposed in the discussion of the
*Euthyphro*. There is, at any rate, no mention of any
separation of a sensible and an intelligible realm, let alone of an
existence of 'the holy itself', as a transcendent
entity.



The passage in the *Euthyphro* where Socrates asks Euthyphro to
identify the *one* feature that is common to all that is holy
or pious makes intelligible, however, the reason why Plato felt
encouraged to develop the conception of transcendent Forms. The
requisite unity and invariance of entities such as 'the
holy', 'the beautiful', 'the just', or
'the equal', necessarily prompts reflections on their
ontological status and on the appropriate means of access to them.
Given that they are the objects of definition and the models of their
ordinary representatives, there is every reason not only to treat them
as real but also to assign to them a higher kind of unity and
perfection. And once this step has been taken, it is only natural to
make certain epistemological adjustments, for access to paradigmatic
entities is not to be expected through ordinary experience but
presupposes some special kind of intellectual insight. It seems, then,
that once Plato had accepted invariant and unitary objects of thought
as the subject of definition, he was predestined to follow the path
that led him to adopt a metaphysics and epistemology of transcendent
Forms. The very fact that mathematics was already an established
science with rigorous standards and unitary and invariant objects
seems to have greatly enhanced Plato's confidence in applying
the same standards in moral philosophy. It led him to search for
models of morality beyond the limits of everyday experience. This, in
turn, explains the development of his theory of recollection and the
postulate of Forms as transcendent, immaterial objects as the basis of
both reality and thought that he refers to in the *Meno* and
that he presents more fully in the *Phaedo*.



We do not know when, precisely, Plato adopted this mode of thought,
but it stands to reason that his contact with the Pythagorean school
on his first voyage to Southern Italy and Sicily around 390 BC played
a major role in that development. Mathematics as a model-science has
several advantages. It deals with unchangeable entities that have
precise definitions. It also makes plausible the claim that the
essence of these entities cannot be comprehended in isolation but only
in a network of interconnections that have to be worked out at the
same time as each particular entity is defined. Thus, to understand
what it is to be a triangle, it is necessary - *inter
alia* - to have a clear notion of the nature of points,
lines, planes, and their interrelations. That Plato was aware of that
fact is indicated in his introduction of the theory of recollection in
the *Meno*, 81d: "As the whole of nature is akin, and the
soul has learned everything, nothing prevents a man, after recalling
one thing only - a process men call learning - discovering
everything else for himself, if he is brave and does not tire of the
search; for searching and learning, are, as a whole, recollection
(*anamnesis*)." The somewhat mystifying claim of an
'overall kinship' is then illuminated by the famous
'mathematical experiment' (*Me*. 82b-85c).
The slave manages, with some pushing and pulling by Socrates, and
thanks to some illustrations drawn in the sand, to double the area of
a given square. In the course of this interrogation, the disciple
gradually discovers the relations between the different lines,
triangles, and squares. That Plato regards these interconnections as
crucial features of knowledge is subsequently confirmed by the
distinction that Socrates draws between knowledge and true belief
(97b-98b). As he argues, true beliefs are unreliable because
they behave like 'the statues of Daedalus that easily run away
as long as they are not tied down'. The requisite 'tying
down' happens (98a) "by giving an account of the reason
why. And that, Meno my friend, is recollection, as we previously
agreed. After they are tied down, in the first place, they become
knowledge, and then they remain in place." This explanation
indicates that, according to Plato, knowledge does not consist in a
mere mental 'gazing' at isolated models but rather in
uncovering the invariant relations and interrelations that constitute
the objects in question.



The complexity underlying Plato's theory of the Forms as it
surfaces in the *Phaedo* is easily overlooked because its
discussion initially suggests that recollection is no more than the
grasping of concepts. Thus, the concept of 'exact equality in
size' is prompted by the perception of more or less
equal-seeming sticks and stones (74a-e). The same condition
applies to the other examples of Forms, 65d-e: "Do we say
that there is such a thing as the Just itself or not? And the
Beautiful, and the Good? [...] I am speaking of all things such
as Tallness, Health, Strength, and in a word, the reality of all other
things, that which each of them essentially is." But Plato does
not employ his newly established metaphysical entities as the basis
for working out a definitive conception of the human soul and the
appropriate way of life in the *Phaedo*. Rather, he confines
himself to warnings against the contamination of the soul by the
senses and their pleasures, and quite generally against corruption by
worldly values. He gives no advice concerning human conduct beyond
the recommendation of a general abstemiousness from worldly
temptations. This seems a rather austere picture of human life, and an
egocentric one, to boot, for nothing is said about relations between
human beings beyond Socrates' exhortations that his friends
should likewise take care of their souls as best they can. It is
unclear whether this otherworldly and ascetic attitude is the sign of
a particularly pessimistic period in Plato's life or whether it
merely reflects the circumstances of the discussion -
Socrates' impending death. But as long as this negative or
otherworldly attitude towards the physical side of human nature
prevails, no interest is to be expected on the part of Plato in nature
as a whole - let alone in the principles of the cosmic order
(but cf. 5.1 below). But it is not only the apparent asceticism that
stands in the way of a wider perspective. Socrates himself seems to
have been quite indifferent to the study of nature. While in the
*Phaedo* Socrates confesses his inability to deal with the
causes of natural processes, the *Apology* contains an
energetic denial of any concern with natural philosophy on
Socrates' side. The accusations that depict him as "a
student of all things in the sky and below the earth" are quite
unfounded (18c); he has never conversed on such issues at all, and the
attribution to him of the Anaxagorean tenet that the sun is a stone
and the moon consists of earth is a sign of his accusers'
recklessness (26d-e). Similarly, in the *Phaedrus*,
Socrates explains his preference for the city and his avoidance of
nature (230d): "Landscapes and trees have nothing to teach me
- only the people in the city can do that." That Plato is
not distorting the facts here is confirmed by the testimony of
Xenophon, who is equally emphatic about Socrates' repudiation of
the study of heavenly phenomena and his concentration on human affairs
(*Memorabilia* I 1.15-16). If Plato later takes a much
more positive attitude towards nature in general, this is a
considerable change of focus. In the *Phaedo*, he quite
deliberately confines his account of the nature of heaven and earth,
with its heavenly order and hellish geography, to the myth about the
soul's afterlife (108d-114c). As he states in conclusion,
this mythical depiction is not to be taken literally but as an
encouragement to heed its moral message and to take care of
one's soul (114d-e). This is as constructive as Plato gets
in his earlier treatment of the principles of ethics.


## 3. The middle dialogues: Justice and other virtues


### 3.1 Human nature and its deficiencies



If Plato went through a period of open-ended experimentation and
tentative suggestions, this stage was definitely over by the time he
wrote the *Republic*, the central work of his middle years.
Because of the *Republic*'s importance, a more detailed
account will be provided here in order to explain the ethical
principles set forth in that work, for these principles are closely
intertwined with Plato's political, psychological, and
metaphysical conceptions. That the work represents a major change in
Plato's thinking is indicated already by the dialogue's
setting. The aporetic controversy about justice in the
*Republic*'s first book is set off quite sharply against
the constructive discussion that ensues in its remaining nine books.
Like the *Gorgias*, the first book presents three interlocutors
who defend, with increasing vigor and contentiousness, their notion of
justice against Socrates' *elenchos*. Of these disputes,
the altercation with the sophist Thrasymachus has received the most
attention because he defends the provocative thesis that natural
justice is the right of the stronger and that conventional justice is,
at best, high-minded foolishness. The counter-arguments employed by
Socrates at the various turns of the discussion will not be presented
here. Though they reduce Thrasymachus to angry silence, they are not
above criticism. Socrates himself expresses dissatisfaction with the
result of this discussion *R*. 354c: "As far as I am
concerned, the result is that I know nothing, for when I don't
know what justice is, I'll hardly know whether it is a kind of
virtue or not, or whether a person who has it is happy or
unhappy." But for once, the speakers' confession of
*aporia* is not the end of the discussion. At the beginning of
the next book, two members of the audience, Plato's brothers
Glaucon and Adeimantus, challenge Socrates: Perhaps Thrasymachus has
defended his case badly, but if Socrates wants to convince his
audience, he must do better than that. The brothers demand a positive
account both of what justice is and of what it does to the soul of its
possessor.



The change of character in the subsequent discussion is remarkable.
Not only are the two brothers not subjected to *elenchos*, they
get ample time to elaborate on their objections (357a-367e).
Though they profess not to be convinced that injustice is better than
justice, they argue that, in the present state of society, injustice
pays - with the gods as well as with humans - as long as
the semblance of respectability is preserved. To prove this claim, the
brothers play devil's advocate by unfolding a scathing picture
of their society's attitude towards justice. As the story of the
Ring of Gyges and its gift of invisibility proves, everyone who does
not have a god-like character will eventually succumb to such a
ring's temptations (359c-360d). Instead of the wolf of
Thrasymachus' account, it is the wily fox who is the paragon of
injustice (365a-d). He will succeed at every level because he knows
how to play the power-game with cunning. The just man, by contrast,
pays no heed to the mere semblance of goodness but rather to its
substance and, therefore, must suffer a Christ-like fate because he
does not comply with the demands of favoritism and blandishment
(361e). Even the gods, as the poets confirm, are on the side of the
successful scoundrel since they can be propitiated by honors and
sacrifices. Given this state of affairs, a logic-chopping argument
that justice is better than injustice is quite insufficient
(367b-e: *logoi*). Instead, Socrates must show what
effect each of them has on the souls of their possessors. As this
critique indicates, Plato, at this point, clearly regards refutation as
an insufficient way of making true converts. Whether he ever had such
confidence in the power of refutation must remain a moot point. But
the *Republic* shows that the time had come for a positive
account of morality and of the good life. If *elenchos* is used
in Plato's later dialogues, it is never again used in the
knock-down fashion of the early dialogues. But in his treatment of
justice, Plato does not directly resort to the theory of Forms.
Instead, he develops a political and psychological model as a solution
to the problem of the nature of justice. That there is also a
metaphysical way to determine the nature of justice is indicated only
briefly and enigmatically when Plato speaks of a 'longer
way' that would also have been possible for him to take (435d;
504b)



A brief sketch of Plato's inquiry into the nature of justice
must suffice here to make intelligible his distinction of justice
from the other kinds of virtue and of their role in the good life (for
a more penetrating analysis, see the entry *Plato*'*s
Ethics and Politics* by Eric Brown). This question is addressed in
a quite circuitous way. Justice is first to be studied in the
'larger text' of the state rather than in the
hard-to-decipher 'small text' of the individual soul. A
study of how a city comes to be will supposedly reveal the origin of
justice and injustice (369a). Its founding principle is - at
least at first - no high-minded concern of humankind, but mutual
economic *need*: "A city comes to be because none of us
is self-sufficient (*autarkes*), but we all need many
things. ... And because people need many things, and because one
person calls on a second out of one need (*chreia*) and on a
third out of a different need, many people gather in a single place to
live together as partners and helpers." The 'need'
is, at least at this point, purely economic. The minimal city is based
on the need for food, clothing, shelter, and for the requisite tools.
It is economic efficiency that dictates the adoption of the principle
of the 'division of functions': It is best if everyone
performs the task s/he is naturally most fit for. This principle
determines not only the structure of the minimal, self-subsistent
state of farmers and craftsmen but also the subsequent division of
the city's inhabitants into three classes in the 'fevered
state' that caters to higher demands, for a more luxurious city
needs protection by a professional army as well as the leadership of a
class of philosopher-kings and -queens. Beyond the claim that the
division of functions is more economical, Plato gives no justification
for this fateful decision that determines the social order in the
state, as well as the nature of the virtues. Human beings are not born
alike but with different abilities that predestine them for different
tasks in a well-ordered state. This leads to Plato's principle:
'one person - one job' (*R*. 370a-c;
423d).



Because the division of functions paves the way for the definition of
justice as 'doing your own thing and not meddling with that of
others' in Book IV (432d-433b), it is necessary to briefly
review the kind of social order Plato has in mind, the psychological
principles he assumes, and the political institutions by which that
order is to be secured, for this explains not only the establishment
of a three-class society and the explanation of the corresponding
structure of the soul but also Plato's theory of education and
the metaphysical underpinnings. That economic needs are the basis of
the political structure does not, of course, mean that they are the
only human needs Plato recognizes. It indicates, however, that the
emphasis here is on the unity and self-sufficiency of a
well-structured city, not on the well-being of the individual
(423c-e; 425c). This focus should be kept in mind when assessing
the 'totalitarianism' and the rigorous cultural
conservatism of the political philosophy of Plato's middle
years.



The need for a professionally trained army leads to the discussion of
education and moral psychology because the preservation of internal
peace and external security presupposes the combination of two quite
different character-traits among the 'guardians'
('the philosophical watchdogs', 375d-376c):
friendliness towards their fellow-citizens and fierceness towards
their enemies. The injunctions concerning the citizens'
education are very detailed because it must combine the right kind of
'muses' (poetry, music, and other fine arts) with the
appropriate physical training in order to develop the right
temperament and attitude in the soldiers (376d-403d). The
organisation and supervision of education is the special task of the
third class, that of the rulers of the city (412b-417b). They
are to be selected through tests of both intelligence and character
from among the soldiers - individuals who are unshakable in
their conviction that their own well-being is intimately tied to that
of the city. To ensure that members of the military and the ruling
class retain the proper attitude towards their civic duties, members
of both classes must lead a communal life without private homes,
families, or property. When Socrates' interlocutors object that
such a life is not apt to make these citizens happy, the topic of
happiness is addressed for the first time, but Socrates quickly
brushes it aside at this point on the ground that the political order
is designed to make the entire city happy, rather than any one
particular group (419a-e).


### 3.2 Virtues of state and soul



The division of functions that leads to the separation of the three
classes for the purpose of achieving the social conditions for justice
concludes the discussion of the social order (427d-434c). The
peculiar manner in which Socrates further develops his explanation of
the nature of justice can best be understood with reference to the
upshot of this discussion. The catalogue of what in later tradition
has been dubbed 'the four cardinal Platonic virtues'
- wisdom, courage, moderation, and justice - is first
presented without comment. Piety, as the text indicates, is
not treated as a virtue; religious practices should, rather,
be left to tradition and to the oracle of Apollo at Delphi on the
ground that: "We have no knowledge of these things"
(427b-c). The definition of justice is to be discovered
by a process of elimination. If there are four virtues in the city,
then justice must be the one that is left over after the other three
have been identified. There is no proof offered that there are
exactly four virtues in a state, nor that they are items that can be
lifted up, singly, for inspection, like objects from a basket.
Instead, Socrates points out the role they play in the maintenance of
the social order. About wisdom (*sophia*) - the only purely
intellectual virtue and the exclusive possession of the rulers - little
more is said at this point than that it is 'good council'
(*euboulia*) in decisions about the internal and external
affairs of the city. Courage (*andreia*) is the soldiers'
specific virtue. Socrates takes some trouble explaining its nature
because it is a mixture of belief (*doxa*) and steadfastness of
character (*soteria*). It is compared to colorfast
wool: Through thick and thin, the guardians must be dyed-in-the-wool
adherents to the laws' decrees about what is to be feared and
what is to be faced with confidence. Moderation
(*sophrosune*) is not an intellectual excellence
either, but rather a combination of belief with a certain disposition
to support order. It is a conviction (*doxa*, 431e) shared by
all classes about who should rule - a conviction based on a
state of 'order' (*kosmos*),
'consonance' (*sumphonia*), and
'harmony' (*harmonia*). The state's third
class, then, has no specific virtue of its own. Finally, the
identification of justice is due to the sudden insight on
Socrates' part that justice is the principle that has been at
work all along in the founding of the model state - namely, that
everyone is to "do their own thing and not meddle with that of
another" (433a).



The promise to establish the isomorphic structure of the city and soul
has not been forgotten. After the definition and assignment of the
four virtues to the three classes of the city, the investigation turns
to the role and function of the soul's virtues. The soul is held
to consist of three parts corresponding to the three classes in the
city. The lengthy argument for the tri-partition of the soul into a
rational (*logistikon*), a spirited (*thumoeides*), and
an appetitive (*epithumetikon*) part (434d-441c)
can here be neither reproduced nor subjected to a critical evaluation.
That Plato lets Socrates express reservations concerning the adequacy
of his own procedure, despite his unusually circumspect way of
justifying the division of the soul's faculties, indicates that
he regards it as an important innovation. Indeed, there is no
indication of separate parts of the soul in any of the earlier
dialogues; irrational desires have been attributed there to the
influence of the body. In the *Republic*, by contrast, the soul
itself becomes the source of the appetites and desires. The difference
between the rational and the appetitive part is easily justified
because the opposition between the decrees of reason and the various
kinds of unreasonable desires is familiar to everyone. The existence
of a third, a 'spirited' or courageous part -
different from both reason and appetite - is harder to prove.
But the phenomenon of moral indignation is treated as evidence for a
psychic force that is reducible neither to reason nor to any of the
appetites; it is rather an ally of reason in a well-ordered soul, a
force opposed to the unruly appetites. This concludes the proof that
there are three parts in the soul, corresponding to the three classes
in the city - namely, the rational part representing the wisdom
of the rulers, the spirited part, manifest in the courage of the
soldiers, and the appetitive part that motivates the rest of the
population in its quest for material gain.



The discussion of the division of the soul sets the stage for the
final determination of the contrast between justice and injustice
(441c-445e): There will be justice in the city if the members of all
three classes mind their own business; similarly, in the individual
soul, there will be justice if each part of the soul fulfills its
own function properly. This presupposes that the soul's two
upper parts have been given the right kind of training and education
in order to control the appetitive part. The three other virtues are
then assigned to the respective parts of the soul. Courage is the
excellence of the spirited part, wisdom belongs to the rational part,
and moderation is the consent of all three parts about who should rule
and who should obey. Justice turns out to be the overall unifying
quality of the soul, for the just person not only refrains from
meddling with what is not his externally but also harmonizes the
three parts of the soul internally. While justice is order and
harmony, injustice is its opposite: It is a rebellion of one part of
the city or soul against the others, and it results in the
inappropriate rule of their inferior parts. Justice and injustice in
the soul are, then, analogous to health and illness in the body. This
comparison suffices to bring the investigation to its desired result:
If justice is health and harmony of the soul, then injustice must be
disease and disorder. Hence, it is clear that justice is a good state
of the soul that makes its possessor happy, and injustice is its
opposite. As no one in his right mind would prefer to live with a
ruined body, similarly no one would prefer to live with a diseased soul. In
principle, the discussion of justice has, therefore, reached its
promised goal already at the end of Book IV. Socrates has met
Glaucon's and Adeimantus' challenge to prove that justice
is a good, in and by itself, for the soul of its possessor, and
that it is preferable to injustice.



That the *Republic*'s discussion does not end here but
occupies six more books is due most of all to several loose ends that
need to be tied up. Apart from the fact that reason and order are to
reign supreme, little has been said about the citizens' way of
life. This gap will be filled, at least in part, by the description of
the communal life of the upper classes without private property and
family in Book V. More importantly, nothing has been said about the
rulers and their particular kind of knowledge. This is a crucial point
because, as the definitions of the three 'inferior'
virtues show, their quality is contingent on the rulers' wisdom.
Socrates addresses this problem with the provocative thesis
(473c-d): "Until philosophers rule as kings or those who
are now called kings and leaders genuinely and adequately philosophize
... cities will have no rest from evils, nor will the human
race." This thesis starts the discussion of the
philosophers' knowledge and of their upbringing and education,
which will continue through Books VI and VII. Because they also
introduce the special objects of the philosophers' knowledge,
these books provide the metaphysical underpinning of the entire
conception of the good soul and the good state, for the 'Form of
the Good' turns out to be the ultimate source of all being and
knowledge. A short summary of the upshot of the educational program
must suffice here. The future philosophers, both women and men, are
selected from the group of guardians whose general cultural training
they share. If they combine moral firmness with quickness of mind,
they are subject to a rigorous curriculum of higher learning that will
prepare them for the ascent from the world of the senses to the world
of intelligence and truth, an ascent whose stages are summed up in the
similes of the Sun, the Line, and the Cave (508a-518b). To
achieve this ascent, the students have to undergo, first, a
preparatory schooling of ten years' duration in the
'liberal arts': arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and
theoretical harmonics (518c-531c). Afterwards, they are admitted
to the training in the master-science of 'dialectic', a
science that supposedly enables its possessor to deal in a systematic
way with the objects of real knowledge - the Forms in general
- and with the Form of the Good in particular - the
principle of the goodness of all else (531c-535a). This study is
to last for another five years. Successful candidates are then sent
back into the Cave as administrators of ordinary political life for 15
years. At the age of fifty, the rulers are granted leave to pursue
philosophy, but even that pursuit is interrupted by periods of service
as overseers over the order of the state. This completes, in a
nutshell, the description of the philosopher-kings' and
-queens' education and activities (539d-541b).



Plato's design of an autocratic rule by an aristocracy of the
mind has received a lot of flak. But our assessment of his politics
must here be limited to an assessment of the kind of happiness it supposedly
provides. Regardless of whether or not we find plausible Plato's
assumption of an overall principle of the good as the basis of the
political order, his model state has, at least in theory, the
advantage that it guarantees both internal and external peace. That is
no mean feat in a society where interstate and civil wars were a
constant threat and often enough ended in the destruction of the
entire city. In addition, the division of functions guarantees a high
degree of efficiency if every citizen does what he/she is naturally
suited to do. But what about the citizens' needs beyond those
for security and material goods? Are they to find their life's
fulfillment only in the pursuit of their jobs? Plato seems to think
so when he characterizes each class by its specific kind of desire
and its respective good (581c): The philosophers are lovers of wisdom
(*philosophoi*), the soldiers lovers of honor
(*philotimoi*), and the workers are lovers of material goods
(*philochrematoi*). That human beings find, or at least
try to find, satisfaction in the kinds of goods they cherish is a
point that is further pursued in the depiction of the decay of the
city and its ruling citizens, from the best (the aristocracy of
the mind) down to the worst (the tyranny of lust) in
Books VIII and IX. A discussion of the tenability of this explanation
of political and psychological decadence will not be attempted here.
It is supposed to show that all inferior forms of government of city
and soul are doomed to fail because of the inherent tensions between
the goods that the different citizens aim for.



Some brief comments on Plato's conception of happiness are in
order at this point. He clearly goes on the assumption that human
beings are happy insofar as they achieve the goals they cherish.
Though this notion seems to come close to the 'preference
satisfaction' for all citizens that is nowadays regarded as the
primary aim of every liberal state, Plato's restriction of each
class to *one* type of good must seem objectionable, most
obviously in the case of the citizens of the third class who
supposedly covet nothing but material goods. This
'reductive' view of their human nature militates not only
against present-day intuitions - it should also militate against
Plato's own moral psychology, in that all human souls consist of
three parts - a rational, a spirited, and an appetitive part
- whose health and harmony constitute the soul's and the
state's happiness. Why, then, reduce the third class to
animal-like creatures with low appetites, as suggested by the
comparison of the people to a strong beast that must be placated
(493a-c)? This comparison is echoed later in the comparison of
the soul to a multiform beast, where reason just barely controls the
hydra-like heads of the appetites and manages to do so only thanks to
the aid of a lion-like spirit (588c-590d). Is Plato thereby
giving vent to anti-democratic sentiments, showing contempt for the
rabble, as has often been claimed? He can at least be cleared of the
suspicion that the workers are mere serfs of the upper classes
because he explicitly grants them the free enjoyment of all the
customary goods that he denies to the upper classes (419a):
"Others own land, build fine big houses, acquire furnishings to
go along with them, make their own private sacrifices to the gods,
entertain guests, and also, of course, possess what you were talking
about just now, gold and silver and all the things that are thought to
belong to people who are blessedly happy."
'Appetite' is clearly not confined to food, drink, and
sex. But apart from the granting of material largesse, the members of
the third class are quite neglected in Plato's ideal city.
Apparently, no education is provided for them, for there is no
suggestion that they participate in the guardians' musical and
athletic training, and there is no mention that obedience to the
rulers' commands is not the only source of happiness for the
third class. Plato seems to sidestep his own insight that all human
beings have an immortal soul and have to take care of it as best they
can, as he not only demands in the *Phaedo* but is going to
confirm in a fanciful way in the Myth of Er at the end of
*Republic* Book X.



The lifestyle designated for the upper classes also seems open to
objections. The soldiers' musical and physical training is
strictly regimented; they must take satisfaction in obedience to
the laws for the sake of preserving the city's inner and outer
peace, and in the deeds of valor in war. Theirs is an austere
camp-life; not all of them will be selected for higher education. But
even the philosophers' lives leave a lot to be desired, and not
only because they have to starve their common human appetites and
devote many years to administrative duties back in the
'Cave'. Their intellectual pursuits are also not
altogether enviable, as a closer inspection would show. Not only do
the philosophers have two jobs - in violation of the rule
'one person - one function' - in that they are
responsible for both administrative work and philosophical thought.
They are also not to enjoy open-ended research but are, rather, subject
to a mental training that is explicitly designed to turn their minds
away from the enjoyment of all worldly beauty in order to focus
exclusively on the contemplation of the Forms. This is indicated by
the injunctions concerning the study of astronomy and harmonics
(529a-531d): The students are not to crane their necks to watch
the beauty of the "embroidery in the heavens" but rather
to concern themselves with the ideal motions of ideal moving bodies
in a purely geometrical fashion, and they are not to listen to audible
sounds, but to attend to the mathematics of harmonics. The universe is
not treated as an admirable cosmos - with the explicit purpose of
providing moral and intellectual support to the citizens - in the way
Plato is going to explain in the *Philebus*, the
*Timaeus*, and in the *Laws*. Given these limitations of
the philosophers' mental exercises in the *Republic*, the
claim that their lives are 729 times more pleasant than the
tyrants' (IX 587e) seems like a gross exaggeration, even if they
enjoy the pleasures of being filled with pure and unadulterated truths
while everyone else enjoys only semblances of the really real
(581e-588a).



For all the advances that the *Republic* represents in certain
respects, Plato's ideal city must seem to us far from ideal. The
system resembles a well-oiled machine where everyone has their
economic niche and function, but its machine-like character must seem
repellent to us, given that no deviations are permitted from the
prescribed pattern. If innovations are forbidden, no room is left for
creativity and personal development. Plato seems to presuppose that
the fulfillment of a person's function is sufficient to secure
her happiness, or at least that is suggested by the
'functional' argument that defeats Thrasymachus
(352d-354a). It states that every object, animal, and person has
a specific function or work (*ergon*). If it performs its
function well, it does well: For a living thing, 'doing
well' means 'living well' and living well is
tantamount to 'living happily'. Though Socrates'
refutation of Thrasymachus is found wanting as a proof of
justice's superiority, the *ergon*-argument is nowhere
revoked. On the contrary, it is affirmed by the principle of
'one person - one job' that is the very basis of
Plato's ideal city. But the confinement of everyone's
activities to just *one* kind of work seems rather a narrow one
in the case of the citizens of the third class, given that they are
not permitted to engage in politics, even if it may be economically
most efficient. These features suffice to make the ideal life in
Plato's city unattractive to us, not to speak of certain other
features that have not been explored here, such as the communal life
envisaged for the upper classes and the assignment of sexual
partnerships by a lottery that is rigged for the purposes of eugenics.
But the feature that must strike us as strangest about Plato's
depiction of his citizens' lives is that he does not acknowledge
the *one* factor that could throw a more favorable light on the
life of the third class, the life of tailors, carpenters, doctors,
architects, sailors, i.e., that they will take pride and joy in their
own work and in what they produce, given that they each in their own
way make valuable contributions to the community's well-being,
without which the city could not function. Plato does not seem to
acknowledge this when he addresses them, rather ungraciously, as
'money-lovers', indicating that he regards material gain
as the only motivating factor in their lives.



Have these deficiencies escaped Plato's notice? Justified as
this critique must seem, it should be pointed out that Plato is
clearly not concerned with the conditions that would make his city
attractive to all citizens. His aim is rather more limited: He wants
to present a *model* and work out its essential features.
The same explanation applies to his depiction of the city's and
its citizens' decay in Books VIII and IX. Contrary to certain
critics' assumptions, Plato is not there trying to predict and
explain the course of history. Rather, he wants to explain the
generation and decay typical of each political system and the
psychopathology of its leaders. Plato finds the basis of both in the
specific values - be they honor, money, freedom, or lust -
that are embedded in the constitutions of the different types of
state. It is unlikely that Plato presupposes that there are, in reality,
pure representatives of these types, though some historical states may
have been better representatives of those types than others. But the
question remains whether he had a notion of the fact that his
black-and-white picture of civic life in the model-state disregards
the claim of individuals to have their own aims and ends and not to
be treated like automata, with no thoughts and wishes of their own.
Though the *Republic* contains some suggestions that would
mitigate this bleak picture, for the sake of balancing this picture, it
is more fruitful to look at other works of Plato's middle period
that concentrate on and prioritize the conditions of the
*individual* soul rather than focus on the demands of the
community. These works are the *Symposium* and the
*Phaedrus*, for though each dialogue should be studied as a
unity of its own, it is also necessary to treat the different
dialogues as part of a wider picture.


### 3.3 The desire for self-perfection



The *Symposium* and the *Phaedrus* are two dialogues
that focus on the individual soul and pay no attention to communal
life at all. Instead, they concentrate on self-preservation,
self-improvement, and self-completion. The *Symposium* is often
treated as a dialogue that predates the *Republic*, most of all
because it mentions neither the immortality nor the tripartition of
the soul. But its dramatic staging - the praise of Eros by a
company of symposiasts - is not germane to the otherworldly and
ascetic tendencies of the *Gorgias* and the *Phaedo*. In
addition, Plato has good reasons for leaving aside a discussion of the
soul's separability from the body in the *Symposium* (a
feature it shares with the much later *Philebus*). He aims to
show in the *Symposium* that love is an incentive, not only for all humans but
for all other living beings as well. Contrary to all previous
speakers, Socrates denies that Eros is a god because the gods are in
a state of perfection. Love, by contrast, is a desire by needy
creatures (*endeeis*) for the beautiful and the good
(199c-201c). Socrates thereby corrects the previous
speakers' confusion of love itself with the beloved object. This
important insight is presented not as Socrates' own but as the
upshot of a 'lecture on the nature of love by the wise priestess
Diotima' (201d-212b): Eros is a powerful demon, a being
between (*metaxu*) what is mortal and what is immortal, an ever
needy hunter of the beautiful. Human beings share that demonic
condition, for they are neither good nor bad but desire the good and
the beautiful, the possession of which would constitute happiness for
them. Because all people want happiness, they pursue the good as well
as they can (205a-206b). In each case, they desire the particular
kinds of objects that they hope will fulfill their needs. Such
fulfillment is not a passive possession; it is, rather, the
appropriation of the objects of love that are deemed to be essential
in the struggle for self-preservation, self-completion, and
self-fulfillment (207d): "For among animals the principle is the
same as with us, and mortal nature seeks so far as possible to live
forever and be immortal. And this is possible in one way only: by
reproduction, because it leaves behind a new young one in place of the
old." There is, then, a constant need for self-restoration and
self-improvement by procreation in the quest for an 'earthly
immortality' manifest in all living things (206e *et
pass*.). This need is explained by Diotima with an impressive
depiction of the constant flux that all organisms undergo, which, in the
case of human beings, not only affects their physical constitution but
their moral and intellectual condition as well. Without constant
replenishment, none of them even stays the same over time
(207c-208b).



In the case of human beings, these needs express themselves in
different ways. The search for 'self-eternalization' may
result in, or even be fulfilled by, the production of biological
children or of so-called 'children of the mind' (e.g.,
works of art), or even by the creation of order in the city that is
then guided by the virtues of justice and moderation (209a-e).
Diotima's lecture is finally crowned by a depiction of the
famous *scala amoris* - the explanation of the refinement
and sublimation that a person experiences when recognizing higher and
higher kinds of beauty (210a-212a). Starting with the love of
one beautiful body, the individual gradually learns to appreciate not
only all physical beauty but also the beauty of the mind, and in the
end, she gets a glimpse of the supreme kind of beauty; namely, the
vision of the Form of the Beautiful itself - a beauty that is
neither relative, nor changeable, nor a matter of degree.



Because beauty of the higher kind is tied to virtue and is attained
by the comprehension of what is common in laws and public
institutions, it is clear that Plato does not have purely aesthetic
values in mind but the principles of good order that are ultimately
tied to the Form of the Beautiful/Good. The difference between the
*Republic*'s and the *Symposium*'s accounts
lies in the fact that the *scala amoris* treats physical beauty
as an incentive to the higher and better, an incentive that, in
principle, affects every human being. There is no talk of a painful
liberation from the bonds of the senses or of a turn-around of the
entire soul that is reserved only for the better educated. Brief as
the *Symposium*'s explanation of happiness is, it shows
three things: First, all human beings aim for their own
self-preservation and -perfection. Second, this drive finds its
expression in the products of their work, in creativity. Third, their
respective activities are instigated by each person's own
particular desire for the beautiful. There is no indication that
individuals must act as part of a community. Though the communitarian
aspect of the good and beautiful comes to the fore in the high praise
of the products of the legendary legislators (209e-210a), the
ultimate assent to the Beautiful itself is up to the individual. That
message of the *Symposium* is not unique in Plato's
works. The *Lysis* shares its basic assumption concerning the
intermediary state of human nature between good and bad, and it
regards *need* (*endeia*) as the basis of friendship.
Due to the aporetic character of that dialogue, its lesson remains
somewhat obscure, but it is obvious enough that it shares the
*Symposium's* general anthropological
presuppositions.



The idea that *eros* is the incentive to sublimation and
self-completion is further pursued in the *Phaedrus*. Although
the close relationship between the two dialogues is generally
acknowledged, the *Phaedrus* is commonly regarded as a much
later work. Not only does it accept the *Republic's*
psychological doctrine of a tri-partite soul, it also advocates the
immortality of the soul - doctrines that are conspicuously
absent in the *Symposium*. But this difference seems due to a
difference in *perspective* rather than to a change of mind.
The discussion in the *Symposium* is deliberately confined to
the conditions of self-immortalization *in* this life, while
the *Phaedrus* takes the discussion *beyond* the
confines of this life. If it shares the *Republic's*
doctrine of a division of the soul into three parts, it does so for
reasons of its own: The three parts of the soul in the
*Phaedrus* are not supposed to justify the separation of people
into three classes. They explain, rather, the different routes taken
by individuals in their search for beauty and their levels of success.
If the *Phaedrus* goes beyond the *Symposium*, it does
so in order to show how the enchantment by beauty can be combined with
an element of Plato's philosophy that seems quite alien to the
notions of self-improvement and sublimation through the love of
beauty. That element is abruptly identified as *dialectic*, the
systematic method of collection and division that is characteristic of
Plato's later work. At first sight, it might seem that the
dialogue's topic, Eros, is hardly the right tie to keep together
the dialogue's two disparate parts - i.e., the highly
poetical depiction of the enchantment by beauty and the ensuing
heavenly voyage to a hyperouraneous place, and Plato's
subsequent, quite pedestrian, methodological explanations of the
presuppositions of rhetoric (249b-c). But although the coherence
of the *Phaedrus* cannot be argued for in full here, the notion
that the *Phaedrus* is disjointed does not do justice to the
dialogue's careful composition and overall aim.



Rhetoric, its purpose and value, is, in fact, the dialogue's topic
right from the start. The misuse of rhetoric is exemplified by the
speech attributed to the orator Lysias, a somewhat contrived plea to
favor a non-lover rather than a lover. Socrates' retort points
up Lysias' presuppositions: that love is a kind of sickness, an
irrational craving for the pleasures of the body; that a lover tries
to dominate and enslave the beloved physically, materially and
mentally; and, most importantly, that the lover tries to deprive the
beloved of philosophy. Once restored to his senses, the lover will shun
his former beloved and break all his promises. This one-sided view of
Eros is corrected in Socrates' second speech: Eros, properly
understood, is not a diseased state of mind but a kind of
'divine madness' (*theia mania*). To explain the
nature of this madness, Socrates employs the comparison of the
tripartite soul to a charioteer with a pair of winged horses, an
obedient white one and an unruly black one. The crucial difference
between the *Phaedrus*' tripartition and that in the
*Republic* lies in this: Instead of a long and arduous
liberation through education, the *Phaedrus* envisages a
liberation through the uplifting force of love, a love that is -
just as it is in the *Symposium* - instigated by physical
beauty. That is what first makes the soul grow wings and soar in the
pursuit of a corresponding deity, to the point where it will attain
godlike insights. The best-conditioned souls - those where the
charioteer has full control over his horses - get a glimpse of
true being, including the nature of the virtues and of the good
(247c-e). Depending on the quality of each soul, the quality of
the beauty pursued will also determine the cycle of reincarnations
that is in store for each soul after death (248c-249c).


### 3.4 The quest for method



What is remarkable in the *Phaedrus*' depiction of the
uplifting effect of beauty is not only its exuberant tone and imagery,
which goes far beyond the *Symposium's* unadorned
*scala amoris*, but also its intricate interweaving of mythical
and philosophical elements. For, in the midst of his fanciful depiction
of the different fates that are in store for different kinds of souls,
Plato specifies, in quite technical terms, that the capacity "to
understand speech in terms of general Forms, proceeding to bring many
perceptions together into a reasoned unity" (249b-c:
*synienai kat*' *eidos legomenon, ...eis hen
logismoi synairoumenon*), is the condition for the
reincarnation of individual souls as human beings. It is this capacity
for abstract thought that he then calls "recollection of what
the soul saw when it was travelling with god, when it disregarded the
things we now call real and lifted up its head to what is truly real
instead." The heavenly adventure now seems to amount to no more
than the employment of the dialectical method that Socrates is going
to describe, without further mythical camouflage, in the
dialogue's second part. The ability to work out a taxonomy,
establishing the unity in a given subject-matter and dividing it up
according to its natural kinds, is the art that characterizes the
'scientific rhetorician' (265d-266b). Socrates
professes the greatest veneration for such a master: "If I
believe that someone is capable of discerning a single thing that is
also by nature capable of encompassing many, I follow 'straight
behind, in his tracks, as if he were a god'." So the
heavenly voyage has a quite down-to-earth counterpart in the
dialectical method - a method that Plato regards as a
'gift of the gods', as he is going to confirm in the
*Philebus* (16c). At the same time, Plato's esteem for
taxonomy explains the inner unity of the *Phaedrus*'
seemingly incongruous two parts as two sides of one coin, and it also
shows why Plato no longer treats the sensory as a mere distraction and
disturbance of the mind. Instead, the properly conditioned
souls' sensory impressions are its first incentives to seek the
higher and better.



What concept of happiness is suggested by this 'divinely
inspired' view of human life? Individuals do not, here, find
their fulfillment in peaceful interactions in a harmonious community.
Instead, life is spent in the perennial pursuit of the higher and
better. But, in that task, the individual is not alone; she shares it
with kindred spirits. The message of both the *Symposium* and
the *Phaedrus* is, therefore, two-pronged. On the one hand, there
is no permanent attainment of happiness as a stable state of
completion in this life. In the ups and downs of life (and of the
afterlife), humans are in constant need of beauty as an incentive to
aim for self-perfection. Humans are neither god-like nor wise; at
best, they are god-lovers and philosophers, demonic hunters for truth
and goodness. To know is not to have, and to have once is not to have
forever. In the *Symposium*, Diotima states in no uncertain
terms that humans have a perennial need to replenish what they
constantly lose, both in body and soul, because they are mortal and
changeable creatures, and the *Phaedrus* confirms the need for
continued efforts because the heavenly voyage is not a one-time
affair. On the other hand, there is also the message conveyed that the
pursuit of the good and the beautiful is not a lonely enterprise. As
indicated in the *Symposium* and further elaborated in the
*Phaedrus*, love for a beautiful human being is an incentive to
search for a higher form of life, a sacred joint journey of two
friends in communion (255a-256e). The need for, and also the
possibility of, constant self-repletion and -perfection is a motive
that will reappear in the ethical thought of Plato's late works,
a motif he sometimes presents as the maxim that humans should aim at
the 'likening of oneself to god' (*homoiosis
theoi* in *Theaetetus* 176b; *Timaeus*
90c).



Sober philosophers have a tendency to ignore such visionary talk as a
kind of *Schwarmerei* that lacks the substance to be worth
serious thought. That Plato, appearances notwithstanding, is not
indulging in a god-besotted *reverie* in the
*Phaedrus* is indicated by his interweaving of the mythical
depiction in the dialogue's first part with his specification
and exploration of the dialectical method in the later part
(259e-279c), where Socrates attempts to determine the requirements of
'scientific rhetoric' (259e-279c). Artful speaking,
as well as artful deception, presupposes knowledge of the truth,
especially where the identity of the phenomena is difficult to grasp,
because similarities can be misleading. This applies in particular to
concepts like the good and the just, as witnessed by the wide
disagreement about their nature (263a-c). The development of the
'sharp eye' that is needed to assign each object to the
right class is the aim of Plato's method of collection and
division, a method on which he expounds at some length in the
*Phaedrus*. He discusses the care that is needed in order to
"see together things that are scattered about everywhere, and to
collect them into one kind (*mia idea*)", as well as
"to cut the unity up again according to its species along its
natural joints, and to try not to splinter any part, as a bad butcher
might do (265d-e)." That this method is supposed to serve
an overall ethical purpose is confirmed by the fact that rhetoric
based on truth must reflect the speaker's knowledge not only of
the different types of souls and the types of speech that fit them
(271d) but also of the truth about just and good things (272d).



That dialectic is geared to this end is somewhat obscured in the
subsequent discussion in the *Phaedrus*. First of all, Plato
turns away from this issue in his long depiction of the iniquities of
contemporary rhetoricians when he contrasts their efforts with that
of the scientific rhetorician. And Plato continues this excursion with
a discussion of speaking and writing, culminating in his famous
'critique of writing'. Second, although Plato makes ample
use of the method of collection and division in later dialogues such
as the *Sophist* and the *Statesman*, he seems to pay
little heed there to problems of ethics, with the exception of the
*Philebus*. But the aptness of the dialectical method in
discerning the nature of the good has already been emphasized in the
*Republic* (534b-c): "Unless someone can
distinguish in an account the Form of the Good from everything else,
can survive all refutation as if in battle... you will say that he
does not know the good itself or any other good." Brief as these
remarks are, they show that the application of dialectic is of central
importance to the understanding and pursuit of the good. That the good
is nowhere subjected to such treatment must be due to the enormity of
the task involved in undertaking a systematic identification of all
that is good and in working out the criteria of distinction. Although
it is unclear whether Plato in the *Republic* had already
refined the dialectical method in the systematic way indicated in the
*Phaedrus*, the hints contained about a 'longer
way' (435d; 504b) to determine the nature of justice and that of
the other virtues suggest that the development of a systematic method
of collection and division was at least 'in the works'. As
a closer look at the much later *Philebus* will show, the
determination of what is good about each kind of thing presupposes
more than a classification by collection and division: the internal
structure of each kind of entity has also to be determined. Knowledge
is not confined to the comprehension of the objects' being,
identity, difference and other interrelations that exist in a given
field. It also presupposes the knowledge of what constitutes the
objects' internal unity and complexity. It would, of course, be
rather presumptuous to claim that Plato had not seen the need to
investigate the ontological 'anatomy', as well as the
taxonomy, of the Forms from early on. But as the late dialogues show,
it took him quite some effort to develop the requisite conceptual
tools for such analyses.



Before we turn to the late dialogues, a final review is in order of
the kind of *good life* that Plato envisages in the dialogues
under discussion here. In the *Symposium*, the emphasis is on
the individual's creative work, which involves others at least
as catalysts in one's efforts to attain self-perpetuation and
self-perfection. The quality of life attainable by each person
differs depending on the kind of 'work' each individual
is able to produce. This is what the *scala amoris* is all
about. In the *Phaedrus*, the emphasis is on the 'joint
venture' of two kindred souls. True friends will get to the
highest point of self-fulfillment through the joint insights that they
attain. Just as in the *Symposium*, the philosophical life is
deemed the best. But then, this preference is found everywhere in
Plato, and it is not unique to him: All ancient philosophers regard
their own occupation as the true fulfillment of human nature -
as they saw it. If there are differences between them, they concern
the kinds of study and occupation that they deemed appropriate for the
philosopher. The more individualistic view of happiness espoused in
the *Symposium* and in the *Phaedrus* need, however, not
be seen as a later stage in Plato's development than the
*Republic's* communitarian conception. They may present
complementary, rather than rival, points of view, and no fixed
chronology need be assumed in order to accommodate both.


## 4. The late dialogues: Ethics and Cosmology


### 4.1 Harmony and cosmic goodness



Most modern readers of Plato tend to ignore the significance of
Plato's late dialogues for his ethical views, for late dialogues
such as the *Timaeus* appear to concentrate on nature and
metaphysics -- and, for the most part, drop questions such as the
nature of the virtues and the moral psychology of the soul. This
appears to be a shift in emphasis since nature and natural things are
not among the objects that concern Plato in his earlier and middle
philosophical investigations. Thus, in the *Republic*, he
dismisses the study of the visible heaven from the curriculum of
higher learning, along with the study of audible music. But, such
generalizations about Plato's intentions may be misleading. What
he denigrates is not the study of the heavenly order as such or that
of harmonics; it is, rather, the extent to which humans must necessarily
rely on their eyes and ears in those concerns. Students of philosophy
are, rather, encouraged to work out the true intelligible order
underlying the visible heaven and audible music. Not only that: The
ascent out of the Cave does include recognition of objects outside,
especially "the things in the sky" (*R.*
516a-b). If Plato is critical of natural science, it is because
of its empirical approach. This echoes the *Phaedo*'s
complaint that one ruins one's eyes by looking directly at
things, most of all at the sun (*Phdo*. 99d-e), while
ignoring the 'binding force' of the good. But what kind of
'binding force' does Plato attribute to 'the
Good'? His reticence about this concept, despite its centrality
in his metaphysics and ethics, is largely responsible for the
obscurity of his concept of happiness and of what it is to lead a good
life. The philosophers' knowledge supposedly provides a solid
basis for the good life of the entire community, as well as for that
of the - perhaps uncomprehending - majority, because all
benefit from the good order of the state. But what is 'the
Good' that is responsible for the goodness of all other things?
A lot of ink has been spilt over the following passage in
*Republic* book VI, 509b: "Not only do the objects of
knowledge owe their being *known* to the Good, but their
*being* (*ousia*) is also due to it, although the Good
is not being, but beyond it (*epekeina*) in rank and
power." The analogy with the sun's maintenance of all that
is alive suggests that the Good is the intelligent inner principle
that determines the nature of every object that is capable of
goodness, in the sense that these objects fulfill their respective
functions in the appropriate way. Plato does not attempt to state how
such a principle of goodness works in all things in the
*Republic*, nor does he indicate whether he has in mind a
unifying principle in a strong sense. That he is indeed thinking of an
internal 'binding force' for all kinds of things is
indicated, however, in Book X, in his elucidation of the ontological
differences that exist, respectively, between the Forms as the
products of a divine maker, their earthly copies, and the imitation of
these copies by an artist (*R*. 596a ff.). According to Plato,
in each case, it is the *use* or *function* that
determines what it is to be good (601d): "Aren't the
virtue or excellence, the beauty and correctness of each manufactured
item, living creature, and action related to nothing but the use
(*chreia*) for which each is made or naturally adapted?"
Given that Plato does not limit this account to tools or instruments
but explicitly includes living things and human actions, he seems to
have a specific criterion in mind for what constitutes each
thing's excellence. But what determines the 'use' of
a human being, and to what extent can there be a common principle that
accounts for all good things? In the *Republic*, this question
is answered only indirectly through the isomorphism of the just state
and the just soul, based on a harmonious internal order. The postulate
of such an orderly structure is not explicitly extended beyond the
state and the soul. In the later dialogues, by contrast, the Good
clearly operates on a cosmic scale. That such is Plato's view
comes to the fore in his excursus on the philosopher's nature in
the *Theaetetus* (173c-177c). Contrary to Socrates'
denial in the *Apology*, Socrates in the *Theaetetus*
affirms that the philosopher is to pursue both "what lies below
the earth and the heights above the heaven" (173e):
"tracking down by every path the entire nature of each whole
among the things that are." And Socrates also concerns himself
there with the question of "What is man? What actions and
passions properly belong to human nature and distinguish it from all
other beings?" In that connection, he compares the discovery of
truth with 'likening oneself to God' (*homoiosis
theoi*) and indicates that there is a unitary principle of
goodness. The ability to achieve this superhuman state depends on
one's readiness to engage in strenuous philosophical discourse
(177b).



If, in the *Republic*, the goodness of the individual soul is
explained in terms of its being a smaller copy of a harmonious
society, in the *Timaeus*, Plato goes for an even larger model.
The universe and its soul now supply the 'large text' for
deciphering the nature of the human soul. The structure of the
world-soul is replicated in the nature of the human soul. That there
is, nevertheless, a close affinity between the *Republic* and
the cosmological project that Plato means to pursue in the
*Timaeus* and its intended sequel is clearly indicated in the
preface to the *Timaeus*. The tale of the origin of the
universe, including human nature, is presented as the first step
towards fulfilling Socrates' wish to see his own best city
'in action' (*Ti*. 19b-c). From antiquity on,
this introduction has created the impression that the *Timaeus*
is the direct continuation of the *Republic*, an impression
that explains its juxtaposition in the *Corpus Platonicum*.
Strong indications speak, however, for a much later date of the
*Timaeus*. If Plato establishes a link between these two works,
his intent is to compare as well as to contrast. The continuity
consists solely in the fact that Socrates reaffirms his adherence to
his ideal city's order - at least in principle
(*Ti*. 17c-19b). It is this order that Critias promises
to illustrate by a narration of the tale of two cities, of the war
between pre-historic Athens, a city that exemplifies the ideal order,
and Atlantis, a powerful tyrannical superpower (*Ti*.
20d-26e). However, Plato never completed this project: The
*Critias* breaks off after some 15 Stephanus-pages, in
mid-sentence, and the third dialogue in the series,
*Hermocrates*, whatever was to have been its content, was never
written at all. So, the story of Socrates' ideal city *in
action* and of the life of its citizens remains untold. All we
have is Plato's cosmic model for such a state and the soul of
its inhabitants (on Plato's cosmology, see the entry
*Plato's Timaeus* by Donald Zeyl and Barbara Sattler in
*SEP*).



A crucial difference between the philosophical approach in the
*Republic* and that in the *Timaeus* lies in the fact
that, in the latter dialogue, Plato concerns himself with the structure
of the visible heaven as a model for the human soul and also with the
material conditions of human physiology. What is confined to mythology
in Plato's earlier works is here worked out - though not
without a *caveat* to the effect that Plato is merely offering
a *likely story* rather than a scientific explanation of the
structure of the universe, of the human soul, and of human physiology.
Plato's choice of presenting his explanation of the order of the
universe as a story of creation by a so-called demiurge or
'divine workman' is certainly no accident. It can be
understood as a kind of 'retractation' of his deprecatory
depiction of the divine workman's heavenly embroidery in
*Republic* VII 528e-530d, where such a product is depreciated
because of its inferiority to a model conceivable in theory. To be
sure, the *Timaeus* presupposes the Forms as the divine
workman's unchanging models, and he resorts to mathematical
principles to explain the cosmic order (27d-29d; 30c-31b),
but the focus is almost exclusively on the construction of the visible
heavens. Plato now seems to have convinced himself that in order to
explain the nature of a living being, it is necessary to show what
factors constitute such a live organism.



This intention explains certain peculiarities of the *Timaeus*
that make the dialogue hard to penetrate, for it falls into three
rather disparate parts. The first part describes the structure of the
world-soul and its replication in the human soul in a way that
combines the general principles with those of mathematics and
harmonics and illustrates it with fantastic imagery (29d-47e).
The second part consists of a rather meticulous account of the
elementary corporeal constituents of nature, which are supposedly
formed out of geometrically constructed atoms (47e-69a). The
third part combines elements from the first and second parts in a
lengthy explanation of human physiology and psychology
(69b-92c). The first, cosmological, part of the *Timaeus*
greatly taxes one's ability to relate the notion of a divinely
created world-soul to the motions of the visible heavens because
Plato offers only the barest hints concerning the intelligible,
mathematical, and harmonic structure that is to explain these motions.
By contrast, the explanations in the second and third parts are hard to
follow because of Plato's quite unique concern with the
structure and the dynamics of the basic elements of the physical world
in general and with that of human physiology in particular.



But why does Plato burden himself and his readers with such a complex
machinery, and what does this heavenly instrument have to do with
ethics? Since the human soul is formed out of the same ingredients as
the world soul (albeit of a less pure kind) and displays the same
structure (41d-e), Plato is clearly not just concerned with the
order of the universe but with that of the human soul as well. He
attributes to it the possession of the kinds of concepts that are
necessary for the understanding of the nature of all things, both
eternal and temporal. The soul's ingredients are here limited to
the purely general concepts and to mathematical proportions. There is
no reference to a theory of recollection of the nature of all things.
Rather, Plato is concerned to ascertain that the soul has all the
tools for dealing with all objects: (1) the most important concepts
necessary for the identification and the differentiations in the way
required for dialectical procedure; (2) the numbers and proportions
needed to understand numerical relations and harmonic structures of
all sorts; (3) the capacity of the soul to perform and comprehend
harmoniously coordinated motions. This, it seems, is all the soul
needs and all it gets so that it can perform its various tasks. The
unusual depiction of the soul's elements and composition makes
it hard, at first, to penetrate to the rationale of its construction,
and it must remain an open question to what extent Plato expects his
model to be taken in a literal rather than in a figurative sense. His
overall message should be clear, however: The soul *is* a
harmoniously structured entity that can, in principle, function
forever, and it also *comprehends* the corresponding structures
of other entities and, therefore, has access to all that is good and
harmonious. This last point has consequences for his ethical thought
that are not developed in the *Timaeus* itself, but that can be
detected in some of the other late dialogues.


### 4.2 Measure for Measure



Plato's concern with 'right measure' in a sense that
is relevant for ethics is, of course, not confined to his late work.
It shows up rather early. Already in the *Gorgias*, Socrates
blames Callicles for the undisciplined state of his soul and
attributes it to his neglect of geometry (508a): "You've
failed to notice that proportionate equality (*geometrike
isotes*) has great power among both gods and men." But
it is unclear whether this expression is to be taken in a more than
metaphorical sense; it is, at any rate, not repeated anywhere else in
Plato's earlier work. There is also no indication that Plato
takes seriously the idea of a 'quantification' of the
nature of the virtues in his middle dialogues. If mathematics looms
large, then, it is as a model science on account of its exactness, the
stability of its objects, and their accessibility to reason. A
systematic exploration of the notion that measure and proportion are
the fundamental conditions of goodness is confined to the late
dialogues. Apart from the *Timaeus*' emphasis on a
precise cosmic and mental order, there is a crucial passage in the
*Statesman* (283d-285c), where the Eleatic Stranger
distinguishes two kinds of 'art of measurement'. The first
kind is the ordinary measuring of quantities relative to each other
('the great and small'). The second kind has a normative
component: It is concerned with the determination of 'due
measure' (*to metrion*). The latter is treated with great
concern, for the Eleatic Stranger claims that it is the basis of all
expertise, including statesmanship, the very art that is the subject
of that dialogue (284a-b): "It is by preserving measure in
this way that they produce all the good and fine things they do
produce." His point is that all good productions and all
processes of generation that come to a good end presuppose
'right measure', while arbitrary quantities ('the
more and less') have no such results. The Eleatic Stranger
therefore suggests a separation of the simple arts of measuring from
the arts concerned with due measure (284e): "Positing as one
part all those sorts of expertise that measure the numbers, lengths,
depths, breadths and speeds of things in relation to what is opposed
to them, and as the other, all those that measure in relation to what
is in due measure (*to metrion*), what is fitting (*to
prepon*), the right moment (*to kairion*), what is as it
ought to be (*to deon*) - everything that is removed from
the extremes to the middle (*meson*)." This distinction
finds no application in the *Statesman* itself, except that due
measure must be presupposed in the final definition of the statesman
as a 'kingly weaver', weaving together the fabric of the
state by combining the aggressive and the moderate temperaments in the
population so as to produce a harmonious citizenry (305e- 311c).
But no mathematic procedure is specified as the condition of such a
'mixing together of the citizens' characters' in due
measure.



The importance of 'measure' in a seemingly literal sense
is made explicit; however, in the *Philebus*, the dialogue that
is concerned with the question of whether pleasure or knowledge is the
state of mind that constitutes happiness. In that dialogue, number
(*arithmos*), limit (*peras*), and measure
(*metron*) play a crucial role at various points of the
discussion, and the *Philebus* is also the dialogue where Plato
requires that numerical precision must be observed in the application
of the 'divine gift' of the dialectical procedure of
collection and division (16c-17a). The dialectician must know
precisely how many species and subspecies a certain genus contains;
otherwise, he has no claim to any kind of expertise. Despite this
emphasis on precision and on the need to determine the numerical
'limit' in every science, Socrates does not provide the
envisaged kind of collection and division of pleasure and knowledge.
He avoids that task with the pretense that he suddenly remembers that
neither of the two contenders suffices in itself for the happy life
and that a mixture of the two is preferable. To explain the nature of
this mixture, Socrates introduces a fourfold division of all beings
(23c-27c), a division that uses the categories of
'limit' and 'measure' in a different way than
the one suggested earlier for the 'divine method of
dialectic'. Limit now concerns the objects' internal
structure. As Socrates states, all beings belong in one of four
classes - namely (1) limit (*peras*), (2) the unlimited
(*apeiron*), (3) the mixture (*meixis*) of limit and the
unlimited, or (4) the cause (*aitia*) of such a mixture. As the
subsequent explications concerning the four classes show, the
unlimited comprises all those things that have no exact measure or
grade in themselves, such as what is hotter and colder, faster and
slower. Although at first the examples are confined to relative terms,
the class of the unlimited is then extended to things like hot and
cold, dry and moist, fast and slow, and even heat and frost, i.e., to
all that has no fixed limit or degree. Mixture takes place when such
qualities take on a definite quantity (*poson*) or due measure
(*metrion*) that puts a definite limit on their variety. That
only measured entities qualify as mixtures is not only suggested by
the examples Socrates refers to (health, strength, beauty, music, and
the seasons) but by his assertion, later in the dialogue, that a
mixture without due measure or proportion does not deserve its name
(64d-e): "it will necessarily corrupt its ingredients and
most of all itself. For there would be no blending in such cases at
all but only an unconnected medley, the ruin of whatever happens to be
contained in it." The upshot of this discussion is that all
stable entities represent a harmonious equilibrium of their otherwise
limitless ingredients. Since indeterminate elements usually turn up in
pairs of opposites, the right limit in each case must be the right
proportion necessary for their balance. In the case of health, there
will be the right balance between the hot and the cold, the dry and
the moist. The cause of the proper proportion for each mixture turns
out to be *reason*; it is the only member of the fourth class.
As Socrates indicates, divine reason is the ultimate source of all
that is good and harmonious in the universe, while human reason
constitutes order down here (26e-27c; 28a-30e).



The adoption of this fourfold ontology allows Socrates to assign
pleasure and knowledge to two of the four classes of being: Pleasure
turns out to be unlimited because it admits of the 'more and
less'. Reason, by contrast, belongs to the fourth class, to the
causes of good mixtures. On the basis of this classification, Socrates
provides the criteria for a critical assessment of the different kinds
of pleasure and knowledge (31b-59d) and presents happiness as a
mixture of all kinds of knowledge with true and pure kinds of pleasure
(59d-64b). In a final 'ranking of goods', measure and due
proportion, unsurprisingly, get the first rank among the possessions
of the soul, things in proper proportion come in second, reason is
ranked third, the arts and sciences obtain fourth place, whereas the
true and pure pleasures get fifth and last place on the scale of goods
(64c-67b). If Plato in the *Philebus* is more favorably
disposed towards a hedonist stance than in some of his earlier works,
he is so only to a quite limited degree: He regards pleasure as a
necessary ingredient in human life because both the physical and the
psychic equilibria that constitute human nature are unstable. In a
sense that recalls the *Symposium*, Plato presupposes that
there is always some *deficiency* or *lack* that needs
supplementation. Because the range of such 'supplements'
includes learning and the pursuit of the virtues, there are some
pleasures that are rightly cherished. But even they are deemed goods
only insofar as they are a compensation for human imperfection.



Given the importance of 'measure', there is the question
of how serious Plato is about such a 'mathematization' of
his principles, quite generally. Though harmony and order have been
treated as important principles in Plato's metaphysics and
ethics from early on, in his late dialogues, he seems to envisage right
measure in a literal sense. This explains his confidence that even
physical entities can attain a relatively stable state. As he suggests
both in the *Timaeus* and in the *Philebus*, not
everything is in a constant flux. On the contrary, those things that
possess the measures that are right for their type are stable entities
and can be the objects of 'firm and true beliefs and
convictions' (*Ti*. 37b-c). This applies not only
to the nature of the visible universe but also to the human body and
mind. Plato seems to have felt encouraged to embrace such theories by
the advances of astronomy and harmonics in his own lifetime so that
he postulates 'due proportion' in an arithmetical sense as
the cause of all harmony and stability.



Plato's confidence seems to have extended not only to the
physical but also to the moral state of human nature. That assumption
is confirmed not only by the emphasis on right mixture in the
*Philebus* but also by the discussion in the *Laws*
about how the laws are to achieve peace in the state and harmony in
the souls of the citizens. Plato no longer treats the emotions as a
menace to the virtues; rather, he assigns to the legislators the task
of providing for an adequate balance of pleasure and pain by
habituating the citizens in the right way (632a-643a). This
balance, through *paideia*, is crucial for maintaining a truly
liberal soul (I 636e): "Pleasure and pain flow like two springs
released by nature. If a man draws the right amount from the right
spring at the right time, he lives a happy life." Suffice it to
note that the comments concerning the right measure of pleasure and
pain form the preface to the entire project. That there is a
considerable re-evaluation of the emotions in the *Laws*,
compared to that in the *Republic*, is confirmed by the fact
that, according to *Laws* II, education is supposed to provide
the citizens with the right habituation (*ethos*)
concerning the measure of pleasure and pain. The function assigned,
there, to the right measure of pleasure and pain in the
citizens' sentimental education clearly anticipates the
Aristotelian conception of the moral virtues as the right mean between
excess and deficiency (II 653b-c): "Virtue is this general
concord of reason and emotion. But there is one element you could
isolate in any account you give, and this is the correct formation of
our feelings of pleasure and pain, which makes us hate what we ought
to hate from first to last, and love what we ought to love." The
confidence expressed in the *Laws* in the power of due measure
culminates in the famous maxim that God (rather than Protagoras'
Man) is the measure of all things (IV 716c-d): "In our
view, it is God who is preeminently the 'measure of all
things', much more so than any man, as they say. So if you want
to recommend yourself to someone of this character, you must do your
level best to make your own character reflect his, and on this
principle the moderate man is God's friend, being like him,
whereas the immoderate and unjust man is not like him and is his
enemy; and the same reasoning applies to the other vices too."
But because Plato, like Aristotle after him, carefully refrains from
any kind of specifications of concrete right measures, we should treat
the 'arithmetic' of the good life with a pinch of salt.
That individuals differ in their internal and external conditions is
as clear to Plato as it is to Aristotle. This does not shake
Plato's faith in the *Laws* that right habituation
through the right kind of education, most of all in the arts, will
provide the necessary inner equilibrium in the soul of the good
citizen.



Are Plato's views of human nature and the human good more
sympathetic to democratic standards in his last works? If we look at
the requirements in the *Timaeus* concerning the good state of
the human soul in 'orderly circles', Plato seems to remain
as demanding and elitist as ever. But he no longer puts so much
emphasis on the distance between the best and the ordinary. As he
remarks in the *Statesman*, statesmen don't stick out
from the rest of humankind in mind and body like the queen-bees do in
the hive (301d-e). Further, even the best of the souls of human beings
are far inferior to the world-soul, because, in the case of human souls,
their 'incorporation' means disorder that subsides only
gradually (*Ti*. 42e-44c). That this applies to all human
beings suggests that Plato has become more democratic in the sense
that he regards the 'human herd' as a more uniform flock
than he did in his earlier days. He retains the conviction, however,
that a well-ordered soul is the prerequisite of the good life and that
human beings stand in need not only of a careful moral education but
also of a well-regulated life. Whether a life in Plato's
nomocracy would better please modern minds than a life ruled by
philosopher-kings is a question that would require a careful perusal
of that enormous compendium of regulations and laws, which makes the
task of reading and understanding the *Laws* very hard work.
But that compendium is at the same time a valuable sourcebook for all
those interested in Plato's late moral thought (for a more
detailed evaluation of the *Laws*, see the entry *Plato on
Utopia* in *SEP* by Chris Bobonich and Katherine
Meadows).


## Glossary


* account: *logos*
* appetitive part: *epithumetikon*
* art: *techne*
* being: *ousia*
* cause: *aitia*
* consonance: *sumphonia*
* courage: *andreia*
* difference: *heteron*
* education: *paideia*
* enthusiasm: *enthusiasmos*
* excellence: *arete*
* form: *eidos, idea*
* function: *ergon*
* habit: *ethos*
* happiness: *eudaimonia*
* harmony: *harmonia*
* kind: *eidos, idea*
* justice: *dikaiosune*
* likening to god: *homoiosis theo*
* limit: *peras*
* look: *idea*
* love: *eros*
* madness, divine: *theia mania*
* measure: *metron*; *metrion*
* mixture: *meixis*
* model: *paradeigma*
* moderation: *sophrosune*
* need: *endeia*; *chreia*
* number: *arithmos*
* order: *kosmos*
* perplexity: *aporia*
* quantity: *poson*
* rational part: *logistikon*
* reason: *nous*
* reasoning: *logos*
* recollection: *anamnesis*
* refutation: *elenchos*
* sameness: *tauton*
* self-mastery: *egkrateia*
* self-sufficiency: *autarkeia*
* soul: *psuche*
* sort: *eidos, idea*
* spirited part: *thumoeides*
* steadfastness: *soteria*
* unlimited: *apeiron*
* virtue: *arete*
* weakness of the will: *akrasia*
* wisdom: *sophia*