Machiavelli: “The Discourses on Livy”: Liberty and Conflict

While The Prince is doubtless the most widely read of his works, the Discourses on the Ten Books of Titus Livy perhaps most honestly expresses Machiavelli's personal political beliefs and commitments, in particular, his republican sympathies. The Discourses certainly draw upon the same reservoir of language and concepts that fed The Prince, but the former treatise leads us to draw conclusions quite different from—many scholars have said contradictory to—the latter. In particular, across the two works, Machiavelli consistently and clearly distinguishes between a minimal and a full conception of “political” or “civil” order, and thus constructs a hierarchy of ends within his general account of communal life. A minimal constitutional order is one in which subjects live securely (vivere sicuro), ruled by a strong government which holds in check the aspirations of both nobility and people, but is in turn balanced by other legal and institutional mechanisms. In a fully constitutional regime, however, the goal of the political order is the freedom of the community (vivere libero), created by the active participation of, and contention between, the nobility and the people. As Quentin Skinner (202, 189–212) has argued, liberty forms a value that anchors Machiavelli's political theory and guides his evaluations of the worthiness of different types of regimes. Only in a republic, for which Machiavelli expresses a distinct preference, may this goal be attained.

Machiavelli adopted this position on both pragmatic and principled grounds. During his career as a secretary and diplomat in the Florentine republic, Machiavelli came to acquire vast experience of the inner workings of French government, which became his model for the “secure” (but not free) polity. Although Machiavelli makes relatively little comment about the French monarchy in The Prince, he devotes a great deal of attention to France in the Discourses.

Why would Machiavelli effusively praise (let alone even analyze) a hereditary monarchy in a work supposedly designed to promote the superiority of republics? The answer stems from Machiavelli's aim to contrast the best case scenario of a monarchic regime with the institutions and organization of a republic. Even the most excellent monarchy, in Machiavelli's view, lacks certain salient qualities that are endemic to properly constituted republican government and that make the latter constitution more desirable than the former.

Machiavelli asserts that the greatest virtue of the French kingdom and its king is the dedication to law. “The kingdom of France is moderated more by laws than any other kingdom of which at our time we have knowledge,” Machiavelli declares (Machiavelli 1965, 314, trans. altered). The explanation for this situation Machiavelli refers to the function of the Parlement. “The kingdom of France,” he states, “lives under laws and orders more than any other kingdom. These laws and orders are maintained by Parlements, notably that of Paris: by it they are renewed any time it acts against a prince of the kingdom or in its sentences condemns the king. And up to now it has maintained itself by having been a persistent executor against that nobility” (Machiavelli 1965, 422). These passages of the Discourses seem to suggest that Machiavelli has great admiration for the institutional arrangements that obtain in France. Specifically, the French king and the nobles, whose power is such that they would be able to oppress the populace, are checked by the laws of the realm which are enforced by the independent authority of the Parlement. Thus, opportunities for unbridled tyrannical conduct are largely eliminated, rendering the monarchy temperate and “civil.”

Yet such a regime, no matter how well ordered and law-abiding, remains incompatible with vivere libero. Discussing the ability of a monarch to meet the people's wish for liberty, Machiavelli comments that “as far as the … popular desire of recovering their liberty, the prince, not being able to satisfy them, must examine what the reasons are that make them desire being free” (Machiavelli 1965, 237). He concludes that a few individuals want freedom simply in order to command others; these, he believes, are of sufficiently small number that they can either be eradicated or bought off with honors. By contrast, the vast majority of people confuse liberty with security, imagining that the former is identical to the latter: “But all the others, who are infinite, desire liberty in order to live securely (vivere sicuro)” (Machiavelli 1965, 137). Although the king cannot give such liberty to the masses, he can provide the security that they crave.

    “As for the rest, for whom it is enough to live securely (vivere sicuro), they are easily satisfied by making orders and laws that, along with the power of the king, comprehend everyone's security. And once a prince does this, and the people see that he never breaks such laws, they will shortly begin to live securely (vivere sicuro) and contentedly”(Machiavelli 1965, 237).

Machiavelli then applies this general principle directly to the case of France, remarking that “the people live securely (vivere sicuro) for no other reason than that its kings are bound to infinite laws in which the security of all their people is comprehended” (Machiavelli 1965, 237). The law-abiding character of the French regime ensures security, but that security, while desirable, ought never to be confused with liberty. This is the limit of monarchic rule: even the best kingdom can do no better than to guarantee to its people tranquil and orderly government.

Machiavelli holds that one of the consequences of such vivere sicuro is the disarmament of the people. He comments that regardless of “how great his kingdom is,” the king of France “lives as a tributary” to foreign mercenaries.

    “This all comes from having disarmed his people and having preferred … to enjoy the immediate profit of being able to plunder the people and of avoiding an imaginary rather than a real danger, instead of doing things that would assure them and make their states perpetually happy. This disorder, if it produces some quiet times, is in time the cause of straitened circumstances, damage and irreparable ruin “(Machiavelli 1965, 410).

A state that makes security a priority cannot afford to arm its populace, for fear that the masses will employ their weapons against the nobility (or perhaps the crown). Yet at the same time, such a regime is weakened irredeemably, since it must depend upon foreigners to fight on its behalf. In this sense, any government that takes vivere sicuro as its goal generates a passive and impotent populace as a inescapable result. By definition, such a society can never be free in Machiavelli's sense of vivere libero, and hence is only minimally, rather than completely, political or civil.

Confirmation of this interpretation of the limits of monarchy for Machiavelli may be found in his further discussion of the disarmament of the people, and its effects, in The Art of War. Addressing the question of whether a citizen army is to be preferred to a mercenary one, he insists that the liberty of a state is contingent upon the military preparedness of its subjects. Acknowledging that “the king [of France] has disarmed his people in order to be able to command them more easily,” Machiavelli still concludes “that such a policy is … a defect in that kingdom, for failure to attend to this matter is the one thing that makes her weak” (Machiavelli 1965, 584, 586–587). In his view, whatever benefits may accrue to a state by denying a military role to the people are of less importance than the absence of liberty that necessarily accompanies such disarmament. The problem is not merely that the ruler of a disarmed nation is in thrall to the military prowess of foreigners. More crucially, Machiavelli believes, a weapons-bearing citizen militia remains the ultimate assurance that neither the government nor some usurper will tyrannize the populace. “So Rome was free four hundred years and was armed; Sparta, eight hundred; many other cities have been unarmed and free less than forty years” (Machiavelli 1965, 585). Machiavelli is confident that citizens will always fight for their liberty—against internal as well as external oppressors. Indeed, this is precisely why successive French monarchs have left their people disarmed: they sought to maintain public security and order, which for them meant the elimination of any opportunities for their subjects to wield arms. The French regime, because it seeks security above all else (for the people as well as for their rulers), cannot permit what Machiavelli takes to be a primary means of promoting liberty.

The case of disarmament is an illustration of a larger difference between minimally constitutional systems such as France and fully political communities such as the Roman Republic, namely, the status of the classes within the society. In France, the people are entirely passive and the nobility is largely dependent upon the king, according to Machiavelli's own observations. By contrast, in a fully developed republic such as Rome's, where the actualization of liberty is paramount, both the people and the nobility take an active (and sometimes clashing) role in self-government (McCormick 2011). The liberty of the whole, for Machiavelli, depends upon the liberty of its component parts. In his famous discussion of this subject in the Discourses, he remarks,

    “To me those who condemn the tumults between the Nobles and the Plebs seem to be caviling at the very thing that was the primary cause of Rome's retention of liberty…. And they do not realize that in every republic there are two different dispositions, that of the people and that of the great men, and that all legislation favoring liberty is brought about by their dissension” (Machiavelli 1965, 202–203).

Machiavelli knows that he is adopting an unusual perspective here, since customarily the blame for the collapse of the Roman Republic has been assigned to warring factions that eventually ripped it apart. But Machiavelli holds that precisely the same conflicts generated a “creative tension” that was the source of Roman liberty. For “those very tumults that so many inconsiderately condemn” directly generated the good laws of Rome and the virtuous conduct of its citizens (Machiavelli 1965, 202). Hence, “Enmities between the people and the Senate should, therefore, be looked upon as an inconvenience which it is necessary to put up with in order to arrive at the greatness of Rome” (Machiavelli 1965, 211). Machiavelli thinks that other republican models (such as those adopted by Sparta or Venice) will produce weaker and less successful political systems, ones that are either stagnant or prone to decay when circumstances change.

Popular Liberty and Popular Speech

Machiavelli evinces particular confidence in the capacity of the people to contribute to the promotion of communal liberty. In the Discourses, he ascribes to the masses a quite extensive competence to judge and act for the public good in various settings, explicitly contrasting the “prudence and stability” of ordinary citizens with the unsound discretion of the prince. Simply stated, “A people is more prudent, more stable, and of better judgment than a prince” (Machiavelli 1965, 316). This is not an arbitrary expression of personal preference on Machiavelli's part. He maintains that the people are more concerned about, and more willing to defend, liberty than either princes or nobles (Machiavelli 1965, 204–205). Where the latter tend to confuse their liberty with their ability to dominate and control their fellows, the masses are more concerned with protecting themselves against oppression and consider themselves “free” when they are not abused by the more powerful or threatened with such abuse (Machiavelli 1965, 203). In turn, when they fear the onset of such oppression, ordinary citizens are more inclined to object and to defend the common liberty. Such an active role for the people, while necessary for the maintenance of vital public liberty, is fundamentally antithetical to the hierarchical structure of subordination-and-rule on which monarchic vivere sicuro rests. The preconditions of vivere libero simply do not favor the security that is the aim of constitutional monarchy.

One of the main reasons that security and liberty remain, in the end, incompatible for Machiavelli—and that the latter is to be preferred—may surely be traced to the “rhetorical” character of his republicanism. Machiavelli clearly views speech as the method most appropriate to the resolution of conflict in the republican public sphere; throughout the Discourses, debate is elevated as the best means for the people to determine the wisest course of action and the most qualified leaders. The tradition of classical rhetoric, with which he was evidently familiar, directly associated public speaking with contention: the proper application of speech in the realms of forensic and deliberative genres of rhetoric is an adversarial setting, with each speaker seeking to convince his audience of the validity of his own position and the unworthiness of his opponents'. This theme was taken up, in turn, by late medieval Italian practitioners and theorists of rhetoric, who emphasized that the subject matter of the art was lite (conflict). Thus, Machiavelli's insistence upon contention as a prerequisite of liberty also reflects his rhetorical predilections (Viroli 1998). By contrast, monarchic regimes—even the most secure constitutional monarchies such as France—exclude or limit public discourse, thereby placing themselves at a distinct disadvantage. It is far easier to convince a single ruler to undertake a disastrous or ill-conceived course of action than a multitude of people. The apparent “tumult” induced by the uncertain liberty of public discussion eventually renders more likely a decision conducive to the common good than does the closed conversation of the royal court.

This connects to the claim in the Discourses that the popular elements within the community form the best safeguard of civic liberty as well as the most reliable source of decision-making about the public good. Machiavelli's praise for the role of the people in securing the republic is supported by his confidence in the generally illuminating effects of public speech upon the citizen body. Near the beginning of the first Discourse, he notes that some may object to the extensive freedom enjoyed by the Roman people to assemble, to protest, and to veto laws and policies. But he responds that the Romans were able to

   “ Maintain liberty and order because of the people's ability to discern the common good when it was shown to them. At times when ordinary Roman citizens wrongly supposed that a law or institution was designed to oppress them, they could be persuaded that their beliefs are mistaken … [through] the remedy of assemblies, in which some man of influence gets up and makes a speech showing them how they are deceiving themselves. And as Tully says, the people, although they may be ignorant, can grasp the truth, and yield easily when told what is true by a trustworthy man” (Machiavelli 1965, 203).

The reference to Cicero (one of the few in the Discourses) confirms that Machiavelli has in mind here a key feature of classical republicanism: the competence of the people to respond to and support the words of the gifted orator when he speaks truly about the public welfare.

Machiavelli returns to this theme and treats it more extensively at the end of the first Discourse. In a chapter intended to demonstrate the superiority of popular over princely government, he argues that the people are well ordered, and hence “prudent, stable and grateful,” so long as room is made for public speech and deliberation within the community. Citing the formula vox populi, vox dei, Machiavelli insists that

   “ Public opinion is remarkably accurate in its prognostications…. With regard to its judgment, when two speakers of equal skill are heard advocating different alternatives, very rarely does one find the people failing to adopt the better view or incapable of appreciating the truth of what it hears” (Machiavelli 1965, 316).

Not only are the people competent to discern the best course of action when orators lay out competing plans, but they are in fact better qualified to make decisions, in Machiavelli's view, than are princes. For example, “the people can never be persuaded that it is good to appoint to an office a man of infamous or corrupt habits, whereas a prince may easily and in a vast variety of ways be persuaded to do this” (Machiavelli 1965, 316). Likewise, should the people depart from the law-abiding path, they may readily be convinced to restore order: “For an uncontrolled and tumultuous people can be spoken to by a good man and easily led back into a good way. But no one can speak to a wicked prince, and the only remedy is steel…. To cure the malady of the people words are enough” (Machiavelli 1965, 317). The contrast Machiavelli draws is stark. The republic governed by words and persuasion—in sum, ruled by public speech—is almost sure to realize the common good of its citizens; and even should it err, recourse is always open to further discourse. Non-republican regimes, because they exclude or limit discursive practices, ultimately rest upon coercive domination and can only be corrected by violent means.

Skepticism Philosophy

Skepticism

The Greek word skeptikoi means investigator or examiner. Skepticism is a position of denial. Refuse to rule on the existence of objects. Judgement is suspended, perhaps permanently.

Definition of “Skeptic”

Sextus Empiricus summarizes this philosophy as follow:

“Skepticism is the ability to face to face things that appear as well as those thoughts in any manner whatsoever, in which capacity, because of equal strength there is in objects and opposing arguments we arrive first at the suspension of assent, and after that the peace” Sextus Empiricus

Skeptic Guide

Skepticism is a philosophy based on the criterion of life, experience and phenomenon. The phenomenon, according to the Greeks at the time of Pyrrho, a physical reality that we can feel. E.g. an object emits (or reflects) the light. The eye emits radiation. The meeting of these two flows creates a kind of body, a physical object that constitutes the phenomenon.

The main consequence is that the object is never seen as itself. What we see is a kind of screen, which contains a mask, however, something of the subject (eg, bloodshot eye sees a phenomenon red). The perception is relative. When Plato concludes that we must be wary of the vision and know the ideas, he concludes that Pyrrho can not know at all. Skeptics do not deny the existence of only the appearance of being, of truth. So I can say, not that honey is sweet, but it seems like. We must therefore remain undecided.

Ænésidème develop a series of arguments to show that we can not perceive the essence of things. These are the tropes. For example, the sense organs are not the same depending on the animal species will therefore have different sensations. It can be concluded that the feeling is on the topic (first trope). Depending on the circumstances one man does not necessarily see the same object in the same way. Thus, according to a man is young or old, healthy or sick, in motion or at rest and so on., The sensation will vary. But it also varies by location, the position of the object, its distance (second, third and fourth tropes). Another argument points out that the customs, laws, beliefs vary. All these arguments show that sensible knowledge is relative and should therefore suspend its decision.

New skeptics (Agrippa, Sextus Empiricus) invent a new logic to prevent the soul of dogmatic based on five arguments:

The opinions clash, disagree. Any argument requires proof that, itself, must be proven and so on, so you can never get to the end (infinite regression). Objects are related to each other and any representation relates to a subject. For example, the left is on right, father to son and so on. and thus no universality is possible.

To escape the infinite regress, it must be from an unprovable and all reasoning is based on something unproven (argument of the hypothesis) or fall into the vicious circle in which A is shown by B and B by A (argument of diallel).

Note that Sextus Empiricus, far to reject any science, admits the validity of an experimental astronomy to address agricultural work or talk about how to measure time by the water clock. He criticized, however, uncompromising astrologers considered charlatans.

Morally, the skeptics deny the existence of an absolute good but admit the existence of better lives than others. The wisest course is to follow the customs of the most widespread and to be guided by experience and life.

The skepticism of the past, however, was considered a rule of life for its followers. Their goal was ataraxia, peace of mind, a state of perfect equanimity. Deny contributed appearances there in nothing but reject the dogmatism, though. Find ways to combat dogmatism has remained the central element of philosophical skepticism. Absolute certainty is not necessary, according to the skeptic, either in science or in everyday life. Science can manage very well, even limited to appearances and probabilities. You can find guidelines for daily life without resorting to absolute certainty. We are able to find the principles that lead us to what we want: a happy and peaceful. Many skeptics of the Greco-Roman period advocated a very conservative lifestyle, maintaining that it was better to rely on the nature and customs, including religious customs. They believed that following our natural appetites was generally a good rule of life. However, it seems that the social and political conservatism, while allowing most probably skeptical achieve ataraxia, leads to a false conclusion. Such a position is not a reasonable inference to moral skepticism or sensory. In addition, probabilism advocated by science seems to be sufficient for practical life.

“THE GODS AND THE WORLD” by Roman Philosopher Flavius Sallustius

Sallustius or Sallust was a 4th-century writer, a friend of the Roman Emperor Julian. He wrote the treatise On the Gods and the Cosmos, a kind of catechism of 4th-century Hellenic paganism. Sallustius' work owes much to that of Iamblichus of Chalcis, who synthesized Platonism with Pythagoreanism and theurgy, and also to Julian's own philosophical writings. The treatise is quite concise, and generally free of the lengthy metaphysical theorizing of the more detailed Neoplatonic texts. Its aim is in part "to parry the usual onslaughts of Christian polemic" in the face of Christianity's growing preeminence, and "me[e]t theology with theology"

The first of these is the production of Sallust, a Neo Platonic philosopher, who is considered by Gale as the same Sallust that, according to Suidas, was cotemporary with Proclus, and who appears to have been alive when Simplicius wrote his Commentaries on Epictetus: but though the testimony of Suidas, or rather Damascius, from whose History of Philosophers Suidas derived his account of Sallust, is very decisive as to the existence of a philosopher of this name, yet there are two particulars which, in my opinion, render it very doubtful whether the author of the present treatise is the Sallust mentioned by Suidas. The first is, that the Sallust of Suidas is said to have asserted, “that it was not easy, but rather impossible, for men to philosophize;” an assertion, as Damascius well observes, which is neither true, nor worthy to be uttered, and which is certainly very inconsistent with what the author of the present treatise asserts: for (in Chap. XIII.) he informs us, that his book was composed for that class of mankind whose souls may be considered as neither incurable, nor yet capable of being elevated by philosophy; plainly acknowledging by this, that some men are capable of philosophizing in a proper manner, and thus evidently contradicting the dogma of the Sallust mentioned by Damascius and Suidas. But there is another particular which militates against this opinion, and which is of no less weight than that we have just now mentioned; and this is, the disagreement which is related by Suidas to have taken place between Sallust and Proclus; for the author of the following book, as was obvious to the learned philologist Gale, treads every where in the footsteps of Proclus: not to mention that the Sallust of Suidas, by composing Orations after the manner of the antients, and philosophizing like the Cynics, can hardly be supposed to be that profound philosopher who wrote the ensuing treatise On the Gods and the World.

It is, however, sufficient for our purpose, that the work itself is fortunately preserved entire, whatever uncertainty we may labour under concerning its real author; I say fortunately preserved, for it may be considered as a beautiful epitome of the Platonic philosophy, in which the most important dogmas are delivered with such elegant conciseness, perfect accuracy, and strength of argument, that it is difficult to say to which the treatise is most intituled—our admiration or our praise. I have before observed, that this little work was composed by its author with a view of benefiting a middle class of mankind, whose souls are neither incurable, nor yet capable of ascending through philosophy to the summit of human attainments: but in order to understand this distinction properly, it is necessary to inform the reader, that human souls may be distributed into three ranks; into such as live a life pure and impassive when compared with the multitude; into such as are neither wholly pure nor yet perfectly impure; and into such as are profoundly impure. Souls of the first class, which are consequently the fewest in number, may be called divine souls, heroes and demigods, and when invested with a terrene body, form such men as Pythagoras, Plato, Plotinus, Jamblichus, Proclus, &c., were of old: souls of this kind, not only descend into mortality in consequence of that necessity by which all human souls are at times drawn down to the earth, but for the benevolent purpose of benefiting such as are of an inferior class; they likewise easily recover a remembrance of their pristine state, and, in consequence of this, descend no farther than to the earth. But souls of the middle class, for whom the book of Sallust is designed, in consequence of becoming vitiated and defiled, though not in an incurable degree, are incapable of acquiring in the present life philosophic perfection and purity, and are with great difficulty, and even scarcely able to ascend, after long periods, to the beatific vision of the intelligible world. But souls of the third class, are such as, from their profound impurity, and from having drank immoderately deep of oblivion, may be considered as abiding perpetually in life, as in the dark regions of Tartarus, from which, through having lost all freedom of the will, they can never emerge.

But we may easily collect the propriety of this distribution, by considering, that there must necessarily be two mediums between souls that abide on high with purity, such as the souls of essential heroes, who are perpetual attendants on the gods, and souls that descend with the greatest impurity; and these mediums can be no other than souls that descend indeed, but with purity, and souls that descend, and are partly pure and partly impure.

Plato’s Apology of Socrates

Although in none of Plato’s dialogues is Plato himself a conversational partner or even a witness to a conversation, in the Apology Socrates says that Plato is one of several friends in the audience. In this way Plato lets us know that he was an eyewitness of the trial and therefore in the best possible position to write about it. The other account we have of the trial, that of Xenophon, a contemporary of Socrates, is of a very different character. We know that Xenophon was not present as a live witness. He tells his readers that he is reporting only a portion of Socrates’ speech and that he learned about the trial from Hermogenes, a member of the Socratic circle.

It is not surprising, then, that there are significant differences between Plato’s and Xenophon’s accounts of what was said at the trial. (Xenophon, for example, dwells on the troubles of old age from which Socrates is escaping by being condemned to death, whereas Plato barely alludes to Socrates’ age.) Of greater importance is the fact that the two Apologys agree in many details. They agree about what the charges against Socrates were: failing to acknowledge the gods recognized by the city, introducing other new divinities, and corrupting the young. They also agree that Meletus supported his accusation by referring to a divine voice or sign that Socrates claimed as his personal guide; that Socrates acknowledged the guidance of this divine sign in his speech; that part of Socrates’ defense consisted of a cross-examination of Meletus; that Socrates referred to an inquiry made by his friend, Chaerephon, to the Delphic oracle; that the response of the oracle confirmed that a unique status had been conferred upon Socrates by the gods; that, having been found guilty, Socrates refused to propose a punishment that the jury would find acceptable; and that, after the jury voted in favour of the death penalty, he once again addressed the jury and expressed no regrets for his manner of living or the course of his trial. There is no reason to suppose that Xenophon had learned of these aspects of the trial from Plato. His agreement with Plato about these matters assures us that they are not fabrications.

But can we go so far as to say that in Plato’s Apology there is a word-for-word transcription (or something close to it) of the speech Socrates gave in his defense? It would not have been impossible for Plato to have managed such a feat by taking extensive notes, comparing his memory with that of others, and gradually perfecting a rendition that aimed at replicating the original as closely as possible. Unfortunately, there is no way to prove that Plato was striving to achieve this kind and degree of accuracy. Some scholars, in fact, have argued that Plato was engaged in a much different project: his Apology, they have noted, is similar in many respects to the works of contemporary orators and teachers of rhetoric—in particular to a rhetorical exercise, “Defense of Palamades,” by Gorgias—and they infer that in composing the Apology in this fashion Plato was not seeking historical accuracy but instead striving to outdo or to parody the orators for whom he felt disdain. But this hypothesis is just as speculative as the supposition that Plato strove to record as accurately as possible the actual speech of Socrates.

We cannot eliminate the possibility that some parts of the speech Plato wrote were not actually delivered at the trial or were expressed rather differently. Plato’s speech represents his creative attempt to defend Socrates and his way of life and to condemn those who voted to kill him. In fact, Plato’s motives in writing the Apology are likely to have been complex. One of them, no doubt, was to defend and praise Socrates by making use of many of the points Socrates himself had offered in his speech. But, as any reader of the work can see, Plato is at the same time using the trial and death of Socrates to condemn Athens, to call upon his readers to reject the conventional life that Athens would have preferred Socrates to lead, and to choose instead the life of a Socratic philosopher. In the 4th century bce Athens had no norm of accurate reportage or faithful biography, and so Plato would have felt free to shape his material in whatever way suited his multiple aims. Because it was Socrates he wished to praise, he had no choice but to make the Socrates of the Apology close to the original. But he would not have felt bound merely to reproduce, as best he could, the speech that Socrates delivered.

In any event, the historical accuracy of Plato’s Apology should not be the only question on the reader’s mind. Of equal importance is whether Plato’s Socrates really is guilty of the charges brought against him, whether he is a wholly just and admirable person, whether his manner of living is the one that is most worthwhile (or perhaps even the only one that is worthwhile at all, as Socrates insists), and whether there is any reason for a political community to be concerned about the harm such a person might do. Surely the last thing Plato would have wanted his readers to do with the Apology is to ignore its philosophical, religious, and political dimensions in order to concentrate solely on its accuracy as a piece of historical reportage.

Kant and the Perpetual Peace

1- “The Perpetual Peace”: A philosophical pacifist manifesto

The work of Kant Perpetual Peace Project is one of the greatest works of political philosophy and politic science.

Kant starts from the following point: states are either at war or living in a de facto peace, unstable and precarious.

But peace makes not law.

Kant‘s intention is to get out states to their natural state, that is to say a state of conflict, permanent war, of the fittest. Kantian realism, far from smug irenicism that often leads to Kant, is clear: war is natural. But this does not make naturalness provided by legitimate or just or moral.

Kant does not present an immediate program of peace, but they represent a distant, yet achievable. He wants to transform the state of peace in a state of law, juridicialisant relations between states.

2- Kant and the state of political nature:

“The state of peace is not a state of nature, which is rather a state of war, so must the state of peace is established”  (Kant quote)

States are naturally inclined to warmongering. Defense of sovereignty takes precedence over moral issues. They know only the force and hostility, ignoring the law. Secrecy and reasons of state reign supreme in diplomatic relations.

The state of nature means the reports of non-legal states among themselves, in which there is no higher authority to resolve conflicts.

In the same way that individuals leave their natural state through the social contract, states can not be satisfied with this belligerent and must enter into relations with other states.

3- Kant and the federation of states:

The main items donated by Kant for the gradual construction of perpetual peace:

– Civic constitution of each State shall be republican

– The right people must be based on a federalism of free states

– Cosmopolitan law should be limited to conditions of universal hospitality

Kant rejects outright the idea of ​​a world state because it blurs the differences inherent in the cultures and negate the concept of sovereignty. The idea of ​​one people is absurd. Only an association, a federation is possible.

To make possible the association of states, reform within states, by making them adopt a republican constitution. Kant argues that only the republic is the rule of law, because it implies the separation of the legislative and executive branches. If the people are associated with power, he can not want war because they should suffer the consequences. In despotic regime, in which executive and legislative powers are embodied in the person of Prince, the war only depends on the goodwill of the ruler, who may despise the interests of his people. Therefore, peace can be built on the republicanization of the State.

Then may be considered an alliance between sovereign states who work together in peace as dependent on each other. Thus the spirit of commerce takes hold of peoples, which can not coexist with war.

4- Conclusions

The idea of ​​peace is a regulative ideal toward which we must strive. It is built and can not be decreed.

The war thus becomes a subject of veto moral imperative of peace a political reason, a political duty.

“But morally practical reason sets us irresistible veto: There shall be no war, nor that between you and me in a state of nature, nor us as States, which, although ‘ inwardly they are legal state, however, are outside (in their mutual relationship) in a state without laws – because this is not the way everyone should look right. So the question is not whether peace Perpetual is something real or if it is a chimera, and if we are not mistaken in our decision theory, when we assume the first case, but we must act as if the thing that perhaps will not should be, and to establish its founding constitution (perhaps the republicanism of all States together in particular) that seems most able to carry on and end the warfare lacks hello , to which all States without exception, have now led to their domestic preparations, as to their ultimate end. And if our end in terms of its implementation, is still wishful thinking, we are certainly not wrong in admitting maxim to work tirelessly, since it is a duty“

Plato

Plato was born around the year 428 BCE in Athens. His father died while Plato was young, and his mother remarried to Pyrilampes, in whose house Plato would grow up. Plato's birth name was Aristocles, and he gained the nickname Platon, meaning broad, because of his broad build. His family had a history in politics, and Plato was destined to a life in keeping with this history. He studied at a gymnasium owned by Dionysios, and at the palaistra of Ariston of Argos. When he was young he studied music and poetry. According to Aristotle, Plato developed the foundations of his metaphysics and epistemology by studying the doctrines of Cratylus, and the work of Pythagoras and Parmenides. When Plato met Socrates, however, he had met his definitive teacher. As Socrates' disciple, Plato adopted his philosophy and style of debate, and directed his studies toward the question of virtue and the formation of a noble character.

Plato was in military service from 409 BC to 404 BC. When the Peloponnesian War ended in 404 BC he joined the Athenian oligarchy of the Thirty Tyrants, one of whose leaders was his uncle Charmides. The violence of this group quickly prompted Plato to leave it. In 403 BC, when democracy was restored in Athens, he had hopes of pursuing his original goal of a political career. Socrates' execution in 399 BC had a profound effect on Plato, and was perhaps the final event that would convince him to leave Athenian politics forever.

Plato left Attica along with other friends of Socrates and traveled for the next twelve years. To all accounts it appears that he left Athens with Euclides for Megara, then went to visit Theodorus in Cyrene, moved on to study with the Pythagoreans in Italy, and finally to Egypt. During this period he studied the philosophy of his contemporaries, geometry, geology, astronomy and religion.

After 399 BC Plato began to write extensively. It is still up for debate whether he was writing before Socrates' death, and the order in which he wrote his major texts is also uncertain. However, most scholars agree to divide Plato's major work into three distinct groups. The first of these is known as the Socratic Dialogues because of how close he stays within the text to Socrates' teachings. They were probably written during the years of his travels between 399 and 387 BC. One of the texts in this group called the Apology seems to have been written shortly after Socrates' death. Other texts relegated to this group include the Crito, Laches, Lysis, Charmides, Euthyphro, and Hippias Minor and Major.

Plato returned to Athens in 387 BC and, on land that had once belonged to Academos, he founded a school of learning which he called the Academy. Plato's school is often described at the first European university. Its curriculum offered subjects including astronomy, biology, mathematics, political theory, and philosophy. Plato hoped the Academy would provide a place where thinkers could work toward better government in the Grecian cities. He would preside over the Academy until his death.

The period from 387 to 361 BC is often called Plato's "middle" or transitional period. It is thought that he may have written the Meno, Euthydemus, Menexenus, Cratylus, Repuglic, Phaedrus, Syposium and Phaedo during this time. The major difference between these texts and his earlier works is that he tends toward grander metaphysical themes and begins to establish his own voice in philosophy. Socrates still has a presence, however, sometimes as a fictional character. In the Meno for example Plato writes of the Socratic idea that no one knowingly does wrong, and adds the new doctrine of recollection questioning whether virtue can be taught. In the Phaedo we are introduced to the Platonic doctrine of the Forms, in which Plato makes claims as to the immortality of the human soul. The middle dialogues also reveal Plato's method of hypothesis.

Plato's most influential work, The Republic, is also a part of his middle dialogues. It is a discussion of the virtues of justice, courage, wisdom, and moderation, of the individual and in society. It works with the central question of how to live a good life, asking what an ideal State would be like, and what defines a just individual. These lead to more questions regarding the education of citizens, how government should be formed, the nature of the soul, and the afterlife. The dialogue finishes by reviewing various forms of government and describing the ideal state, where only philosophers are fit to rule. The Republic covers almost every aspect of Plato's thought.

In 367 BC Plato was invited to be the personal tutor to Dionysus II, the new ruler of Syracuse. Plato accepted the invitation, but found on his arrival that the situation was not conducive for philosophy. He continued to teach the young ruler until 365 BC when Syracuse entered into war. Plato returned to Athens, and it was around this time that Plato's famous pupil Aristotle began to study at the Academy. In 361 BC Plato returned to Syracuse in response to a letter from Dion, the uncle and guardian of Dionysus II, begging him to come back. However, finding the situation even more unpleasant than his first visit, he returned to Athens almost as fast as he had come.

Back at the Academy, Plato probably spent the rest of his life writing and conversing. The way he ran the Academy and his ideas of what constitutes an educated individual have been a major influence to education theory. His work has also been influential in the areas of logic and legal philosophy. His beliefs on the importance of mathematics in education has had a lasting influence on the subject, and his insistence on accurate definitions and clear hypotheses formed the foundations for Euclid's system of mathematics.

His final years at the Academy may be the years when he wrote the "Later" dialogues, including the Parmenides, Theatetus, Sophist,Statesmas,Timaeus,Critias,Philebus, and Laws. Socrates has been delegated a minor role in these texts. Plato uses these dialogues to take a closer look at his earlier metaphysical speculations. He discusses art, including dance, music, poetry, architecture and drama, and ethics in regards to immortality, the mind, and Realism. He also works with the philosophy of mathematics, politics and religion, covering such specifics as censorship, atheism, and pantheism. In the area of epistemology he discusses a priori knowledge and Rationalism. In his theory of Forms, Plato suggests that the world of ideas is constant and true, opposing it to the world we perceive through our senses, which is deceptive and changeable.

In 347 Plato died, leaving the Academy to his sister's son Speusippus. The Academy remained a model for institutions of higher learning until it was closed, in 529 CE, by the Emperor Justinian.

Plato’s Dialogues: Phaedrus

Summary

Socrates meets Phaedrus in Athens. Phaedrus has spent the morning listening to Lysias deliver a speech on love, and now he desires to take a walk outside the city. Since Socrates expresses a keen interest in hearing Lysias's speech, Phaedrus manages to lure him out to the countryside. Phaedrus has a copy of Lysias's speech at hand and will read it to Socrates.

Lysias's speech argues that in a pederastic relationship, a boy should give his favors to an old man who is not in love rather than one who is in love. The lover, Lysias claims, is mad, and as such is given to unhealthy tendencies that cannot benefit the boy. The non-lover, on the other hand, will offer the boy a stable and educational friendship.

Phaedrus believes this speech to be excellent, in the sense that it offers an extensive argument for the topic at hand. But Socrates does not share Phaedrus's admiration. He counters Phaedrus's point by suggesting that Lysias was more interested in style than content. Moreover, in terms of content, Socrates claims that he can make a better speech based on ideas borrowed from other writers.

Socrates’ first speech provides a counterpart to Lysias’s argument. Rather than presenting the benefits of the non-lover, Socrates addresses the negative influences of the lover. Love, or eros, is a form of madness in which the inborn desire for beauty overwhelms one’s sense of morality and control. Such madness destroys both the soul and body of the boy and will bring him no benefits. Socrates concludes his speech with this argument.

Phaedrus, however, remains unsatisfied: he had thought that Socrates was about to proceed and present the benefits of the lover. Socrates justifies his conclusion by saying that he was inspired by the Nymphs and did not want to be carried away. But as Socrates sets out to return to Athens, a divine sign appears and warns him against a premature return. Socrates interprets this as a sign that he has offended the gods. He thus sets out to remedy the situation with a second speech on eros.

Socrates' second speech, known as his Great Speech, establishes the overarching importance of eros in life. There are four types of divine madness, derived from Apollo, Dionysus, the Muses, and Aphrodite—the last being eros. In order to understand that love is a divine and beneficial madness, Socrates likens the soul to a chariot with two horses and a charioteer. The greatest good for the soul is to grow wings and fly through the heavens with the gods. If the soul is strong and controls its horses, it catches sight of such true Ideas as Beauty and Self-Knowledge beyond the heavens. The souls of men, however, all have a bad horse and will eventually fall back down to earth. Now, when the soul catches glimpse of a beautiful boy on earth, it is reminded of the vision of Beauty that it saw beyond the heavens. The resulting yearning is eros. The soul that can control such yearning will be granted the philosopher's boon--an early return to heaven after three thousand years instead of ten thousand years.

After Socrates concludes his Great Speech, the dialogue transitions to a discussion of rhetoric and writing. Phaedrus has been influenced by the sophistic view of rhetoric, which states that persuasion trumps truth in the art of rhetoric. Socrates challenges this argument by demonstrating the harmful influences of speaking without knowing the truth. Rhetoric, in fact, directs the soul. As such, the rhetorician must understand the souls of different audiences and speak accordingly. Such understanding cannot be gleaned from books on rhetoric. True rhetoric involves dialectic, which involves collecting and dividing knowledge of a subject in a natural way. This art of dialectic can can only be acquired by philosophizing systematically about the nature of life and of the soul. According to Socrates, then, the true art of speaking is reserved for philosophers.

The last topic of discussion between Socrates and Lysias addresses the technology of writing. Socrates tells the myth of the god Theuth, who discovered writing and transmitted it to the Egyptians. When Theuth presented writing to King Thamus of Egypt, he heralded it as a device that would increase wisdom and memory. But Thamus replied that writing would increase forgetfulness rather than memory. For instead of internalizing and understanding things, students would rely on writing to remind themselves of various matters. Moreover, students would be exposed to many ideas without their properly being thought. On a related note, Socrates criticizes writing essentially because it is not speech: it cannot discern between audiences and cannot respond to questions or criticism. The philosopher, then, would only use dialectic writing—and even then, only for his own amusement.

After reaffirming the importance of philosophy to both spoken and written discourse, Phaedrus and Socrates set out on the path back to the city.

Themes

The Polis

Socrates is a man of the city, or the polis, whether or not he agrees with its regime. Because he derives great pleasure from conversing with the citizens of Athens, he has no reason to set foot beyond the city walls. In the Phaedrus, however, Phaedrus manages to lure Socrates out to the countryside, where Socrates appears entirely out of place. Outside of the polis, nymphs and gods possess Socrates and inspire him to deliver two speeches. The setting thus plays an important role in the dialogue and may serve to demonstrate the characteristics of a particular type of madness (see “Madness” below).

Myths

At the beginning of the dialogue, Socrates evokes the possibility of demythologizing the myth of Boreas and Oreithuia. Given enough time, he claims, one presumably could retell the events covered in the myth with natural and logical explanations. Nevertheles, myths in their metaphoric aspects prove useful to Socrates. Throughout the Phaedrus, Socrates refers to—and even invents—various myths for the sake of his argument. Perhaps Socrates’ uncharacteristic respect for myths and traditional theology can be attributed to the setting outside the polis. Beyond noting the narrative influence of the gods and the nymphs, however, we should ponder the role that myths play in the dialogue. Does Socrates’ reliance on myths undermine or support his philosophic speculations?

The Platonic Soul

Socrates likens the souls of men and gods to chariots led by two winged horses. The gods possess horses of entirely good breed and are thus able to fly in heaven eternally. The souls of men, however, are all burdened by the combination of a good and a bad horse: inevitably, they are dragged down to earth. Once on earth, all souls must wait ten thousand years before growing back their wings—except for the philosophers, who can sprout wings and return to heaven in three thousand years. The human soul plays a crucial role in the Phaedrus because it is linked to both eros and rhetoric; can these things keep both horses, or at least one or the other, under control? Taking a correct approach to eros and rhetoric qualifies a soul as philosophic, and such a soul is consequently granted the summum bonum of an early return to heaven.

Analysis of Socrates' First Speech: 237b-241d

Socrates invokes the Muses at the beginning of his speech. The speech tells the story of a boy or youth who had many male lovers. One of these men persuaded the boy that “he was not in love, though he loved the lad no less than others” (237b). The man made a speech to convince the boy to give his favors to the non-lover rather than the lover.

The speaker begins by noting the importance of understanding the “true nature of a particular subject"—for otherwise the inquiry will end up in conflict and confusion (237c). In the case of the boy and the non-lover, the speaker asserts that they must first define love and its effects. Love is a kind of desire. Yet men who are not in love also desire the beautiful. To distinguish a man who is in love from a man who is not, then, one must realize the two principles that rule men: the “inborn desire for pleasures” and the “acquired judgment that pursues what is best” (237d). When the former is in control, the state is called “outrageousness” (hubris). When the latter takes command, the state is called “being in your right mind” (sophrosune) (237e-238a). “Outrageousness” has several names, among them the desire for food (gluttony) and the desire for drink. But the desire that is the most powerful—the one that has led to this very speech—is the desire to “take pleasure in beauty”: eros (238c).

At this point, Socrates breaks off his speech and notes that he is “in the grip of something divine” (238c). He attributes his peculiar flow of words to Socrates’ physical location:

There’s something really divine about this place, so don’t be surprised if I’m quite taken by the Nymphs’ madness as I go on with the speech. I’m on the edge of speaking in dithyrambs as it is. (238c-d)

Socrates resigns himself to the divine force and continues his speech.

The speaker next asks rhetorically, “What benefit or harm is likely to come from the lover or the non-lover to the boy who gives him favors?” (238e). Since the lover is driven by outrageous desire, he will surely seek what is most pleasurable in his boyfriend. Such a “sick man” takes pleasure in the weaker rather than the stronger, so the boy will necessarily be weaker—or the man will try to make him weaker. By the same token, the man will delight in the boy’s mental defects rather than his strengths, and the man’s jealousy will steer the boy away from positive influences. Such a man will serve no use as mentor or friend, since he will retard rather than develop the boy’s intellectual development. As for the boy’s physical development, the same can be said: the man will prefer a soft, unmanly boy to one over whom he can wield total control. Furthermore, the man will also prefer a boy lacking family and possessions, so that he can continue to “pluc[k] the sweet fruit” from the powerless and dependent boy (240a).

The lover thus becomes basically an obsessive and controlling lecher whose company is entirely vile and distasteful. In this sense, the lover is worse than a flatterer or mistress—who at least bring some immediate pleasure. And while the lover’s love itself is “harmful and disgusting,” the love will also eventually fade (240e). Afterwards, the boy will be forced to chase after his undelivered rewards, angry that he has given favors to a lover rather than a non-lover. The lover has been “harmful to his property, harmful to his physical fitness, and absolutely devastating to the cultivation of his soul, which truly is ... the most valuable thing to gods and men” (241c). The speaker concludes: “Do wolves love lambs? That’s how lovers befriend a boy!” (241d). Socrates thus concludes his first speech, stating that Phaedrus will have to “accept this as the end of the speech” (241d).

Analysis

Socrates’ first speech provides a counterpart to Lysias’s argument. Rather than presenting the benefits of the non-lover, Socrates addresses the negative influences of the lover. Eros can be a form of madness in which the inborn desire for beauty overwhelms one’s sense of morality and control in pursuing what is best (i.e., hubris overwhelms sophrosune). Such madness destroys both the soul and body of the boy and will bring him no benefits. Note that in general, hubris could overwhelm sophrosune with regard to anything that a person desires as beautiful.

Socrates does not go on to argue the merits of the non-lover, since such an argument would put him in Lysias’s position as seducer. Readers at this point should want to know more about how the desire for the good, or even the desire for the beautiful, differs from the outrageous eros of the lover. But Socrates has engaged in competition with Lysias as an orator rather than as a philosopher. As Nehamas and Woodruff note, Socrates “produces a counter-epideictic speech and makes an implicit claim to have beaten the orator at his own game.” This makes for a “peculiar situation, since Lysias is one of the great orators of the time, while Socrates officially disavows any knowledge of rhetoric” (xviii).

To justify the quality of his speech, Socrates evokes the divine forces of the Nymphs, saying that they have possessed him with speech. As he breaks off mid-speech, he claims to be “on the edge of speaking in dithyrambs” (238d). A dithyramb was originally a choral poem sung in the worship of Dionysus or Bacchus—the god of fertility and wine, who often inspires madness. In The Birth of Tragedy, the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche described Dionysian forces of madness as antithetical to the Socratic or Apollonian embodiment of reason. In what light, then, should we see or trust Socrates’ putatively divinely-inspired speech?

The question has inspired much debate in Phaedrus scholarship. As Graeme Nicholson notes, some have seen in Socrates’ speech a “real concern for the welfare, especially the moral welfare, of the boy,” whereas others have seen Socrates as “repressing his own eros, and, owing to self-hate, painting eros in ugly colors” (120-1). It is also important to remember that we owe this depiction of Socrates to Plato. At this point, as at so many other points throughout the Phaedrus, the reader is invited to consider why Plato introduces such ambiguities and thematic layers in the dialogue.

Analysis of Socrates' Recantation: 241d-243e

Phaedrus objects to the abrupt conclusion of Socrates’ speech, having thought that Socrates was about to explore the merits of the non-lover. Socrates explains, however, that he stopped in order to prevent himself from getting too carried away. He says to Phaedrus: “Don’t you realize that the Nymphs to whom you so cleverly exposed me will take complete possession of me?” (241e). It should suffice to say that every disadvantage of the lover has its corresponding advantage in the non-lover. Socrates fears that his speech may become excessively “epic,” so he sets out to cross the river on the path back to Athens.

Phaedrus holds Socrates back, suggesting that it would be better to wait for the noontime heat to pass. Abruptly, Socrates praises Phaedrus’s speechmaking abilities and declares that Phaedrus has inspired to him to produce a second speech after all. As he was about to cross the river, Socrates explains, he saw a “familiar divine sign” (his daimonion): “whenever it occurs, [it] holds me back from something I was about to do” (242c). The sign has made Socrates understand that he has committed an offense against the gods. Both his own speech and Lysias’s speech were “foolish, and close to being impious” (242d).

Love, after all, is Aphrodite’s son—one of the gods. And “if Love is a god or something divine ... he can’t be bad in any way” (242e). Socrates must therefore correct his previous speech, in which he vilified love. He explains that he will use an “ancient rite of purification”: when Stesichorus was blinded for speaking ill of Helen, he composed a poem to retract his earlier statement (i.e., a Palinode). So too will Socrates compose a Palinode to Love. He will wash out the bitterness of the previous speech (for if it were to be heard by a noble man in love, it would make Socrates seem vulgar and ignorant). All of this is music to the ears of Phaedrus, who is eager to hear a second speech and promises to make Lysias compose a speech on the same subject.

Analysis

Socrates, it turns out, has proved to be a skillful rhetorician. Having completed a speech favoring the non-lover, Socrates now will retract his earlier statement and turn to argue the exact opposite. The nymphs and their divine madness play not only a vital but a deeply ambiguous role in Socrates’ speeches: at first, they inspire Socrates to argue skillfully against the lover; now, they will help him deliver his second speech on the importance of eros, which seems to favor the lover.

The reader might have expected that Socrates was going to give his second speech on the merits of the non-lover, but he is going to correct his first speech instead. This leads us to think about whether the initial division between lover and non-lover was fair after all. Would not it be best for someone to desire and pursue the good—and also to be in love with it? Something seems inadequate in the non-lover who holds himself back. Maybe there are two kinds of lovers: one for which eros is outrageous and damaging, and one for which eros is not outrageous but suited to its object.

While the appearance of Socrates’ daemon is fitting to the setting of the countryside—where Socrates finds himself apolis and entirely out of place—the dialogue offers no particular reason for its mysterious warning. Maybe Phaedrus is the kind of person who would draw damaging conclusions from a speech against love, so love must be re-mythologized in a way that will help Phaedrus make good decisions. Perhaps this is why Socrates draws on the story of Stesichorus in order to “purify” himself in the correct manner. Myths are useful, and while one may find it best to reject a particular myth as untrue on its face, for various reasons it may not be worth one’s time to do.

Analysis of Socrates’ Second Speech: 244a-257b

The second speech begins by denying that there was any truth in the preceding speeches. The only reason a boy should prefer the non-lover over the lover is if madness were “bad, pure and simple”; “but in fact the best of things have come from madness, when it is given as a gift of the god” (244a). There are several kinds of such divine madness:

(1) The madness that accompanies the work of the prophetesses of Delphi and the priestesses of Dodona, or prophets in general. (The speaker conflates the two similar but unrelated words for "madness" and "prophecy"—manike and mantike.) This madness guides entire cities as well as individuals.

(2) The madness that consoles or provides relief to those in hardship, which can occur in the form of prophecies, prayers, mystic rites, and consequent purification.

(3) The madness from the Muses, which awakens the soul to “a Bacchic frenzy of songs and poetry” (245a).

(4) Love is the fourth kind of madness, which will be discussed at length.

The speaker sets out to prove that love is a beneficial and divine madness. This proof requires an understanding of the soul, both human and divine. “Every soul is immortal”: the soul is a “self-mover” and thus is incapable of being destroyed or started-up; it has neither birth nor death (245c). As for the structure of the soul, to describe what it actually is would be a divine task—but it is possible to describe what it is like. The soul is like “the natural union of a team of winged horses and their charioteer” (246a). While the horses and charioteers of the gods are all of good breed, men possess a mixture: if goodness graces one horse, than the opposite will plague the other, making it painful to drive the chariot.

So long as the soul’s wings are in good condition, it will be able to fly through heaven. But a soul without wings will come down to earth and acquire an earthly body, thus forming together a “living thing, or animal, and has the designation ‘mortal’” (246c). (The speaker thus rejects the view that gods are immortal beings made of body and soul.) The soul’s wings are nourished by “beauty, wisdom, goodness, and everything of that sort,” which lift it high up in heaven; “but foulness and ugliness make the wings shrink and disappear” (246e).

A great procession of chariots flies through heaven, led by Zeus and followed by other gods and spirits. There are many wonderful sights and places in heaven. The banquet in heaven, however, takes place on a steep hill. While the gods’ chariots can climb the hill easily, the other chariots struggle with the weight of the bad horse. Once at the top, the gods stand on the ridge and gaze at what lies beyond heaven. Of this “place beyond heaven,” the speaker will attempt to “speak the truth”:

What is in this place is without color and without shape and without solidity, a being that really is what it is, the subject of all true knowledge, visible only to intelligence, the soul’s steersman. (247c-d)

Beyond heaven, in other words, lies the Reality of such transcendent forms as Justice, Self-control, Knowledge, and Beauty.

Those souls who are closest to the gods will also have a view of reality, though made imperfect by the distraction of the horses. Many souls, however, will never make it to the top. After great pains, they will fall back down “without having seen reality, uninitiated,” leaving them only with their own opinions (248b).

All souls yearn to stand on the plain of reality and truth. The grass that grows there is the “right food for the best part of the soul”; it “nourishes soul’s wings” (248c). Moreover, the souls that manage to glimpse reality will remain unharmed until the next circuit, whereas other souls will fall down to earth.

The souls will take different forms in their first incarnations: (1) philosophers, or lovers of beauty, or cultivated men; (2) kings or commanders; (3) statesmen, household managers, or financiers; (4) trainers or doctors; (5) prophets or priests; (6) poets or other representational artists; (7) manual laborers or farmers; (8) sophists or demagogues; (9) tyrants. Leading one’s life with justice will improve one’s fate within this hierarchy. But a life of injustice will lead to punishment. Each soul must live out a ten-thousand-year cycle, except for those who practice philosophy, whose cycle is three thousand years. In addition, the soul lives through thousand-year cycles on earth, at the end of which the soul will be able to choose its new kind of life based on its experiences and recollections.

The reason the philosopher’s soul is able to grow wings in three thousand years is because it stays closest to the reality beyond heaven. The philosopher stands closer to the divine than other humans. This brings us to fourth kind of madness: “that which someone shows when he sees the beauty we have down here and is reminded of true beauty” (249d). This is the best kind of madness—the madness of love that possess a man when he sees a beautiful boy. Of course, only a few souls remember reality well enough for such madness to be triggered by earthly things. To those souls, however, the radiance of beauty can be perceived vaguely, even on earth. By contrast, less radiant forms like justice, self-control, and wisdom do not shine out.

The vision of Beauty on earth evokes a fear for the divine, followed by a deep reverence. When a man perceives a truly beautiful boy, he feels a chill and then begins to sweat. The stream of beauty flows into his eyes, warming him up and feeding his soul’s wings. The soul experiences an “aching and itching” sensation akin to that which a child feels at the first growth of teeth—a sensation that is soothed by the flow of joyful beauty (251c). In the absence of the boy, the aching and itching return as a throbbing pain; but the memory of the boy allows the soul to recover its joy.

This mixture of pain and joy is love. Love enslaves the soul and makes it forget everything else because “in addition to its reverence for one who has such beauty, the soul has discovered that the boy is the only doctor for all that terrible pain” (252a-b).

The way the soul acts on earth—including its relation to the boy—depends entirely on the god with which it traveled in heaven. An attendant of Zeus, for example, will “be able to bear the burden of this feathered force [i.e., love] with dignity” (252c). But one of Ares, the god of war, might act more belligerently and mistreat the boy as well as others. The souls who will most likely be able to consummate their relations with boys are the followers of Zeus, Hera, or Apollo—those who “show no envy, no mean-spirited lack of generosity” and who “make every effort to draw [the boy] into being totally like themselves and the god to whom they are devoted” (253b). This path to capturing a boy relates back to the structure of the soul.

As previously noted, the soul is composed of thee parts: two horses and a charioteer. The horse on the right side is the better, nobler one, who is a “lover of honor with modesty and self-control” (253d). The horse on the left is uglier and wilder, “companion to wild boasts and indecency” (253e). At the sight of beauty, the right horse retains a sense of shame and does not move, while the left horse leaps forward in an attempt to jump on the boy. As for the charioteer, he yanks back the reins in fear when he recalls the reality of Beauty standing next to Self-control. A struggle thus arises between the three elements, at the end of which the bad horse is tamed and the lover’s soul finally “follows its boy in reverence” or awe (254e).

As for the boy, he may initially resist the lover. But he eventually allows the man to spend time with him since good naturally associates with good. And as he spends time with the man, the boy realizes that the friendship with a man inspired by a god exceeds all other friendships in his life. Eventually, the boy also begins to feel the effect of desire flowing through him. He thus “has a mirror image of love in him” and acts on the desires “to see, touch, kiss, and lie down with [the man]” (255e).

Meanwhile, the bad horse begins to pull against the charioteer’s reins again. If the man and boy practice modesty and self-control, they will follow the path of philosophy and grow wings after death. And “there is no greater good than this that either human self-control or divine madness can offer a man” (256b). But if the man and boy let the bad horse slip out of control, they may consummate their relationship, albeit sparingly. In this case their souls will remain wingless after death—but nonetheless will not slip further down, since they will have begun the journey upwards by trying to sprout wings. In both cases, then, a lover’s friendship brings a boy divine benefits. A non-lover’s companionship, on the other hand, only brings a boy “cheap, human dividends” (256e). Thus Socrates concludes his speech and palinode.

Analysis

Socrates’ second speech, also known as his Great Speech, overshadows the previous two speeches in style, length, and content. Although it is decidedly uncharacteristic of Socrates to speak so imaginatively at such great length, many of the most important Socratic (or Platonic) ideas derive from the Great Speech. As a paean to eros, the speech can be broken down roughly into three parts: (1) the importance of madness; (2) a picture of the immortal soul’s life and structure; (3) an exploration of platonic love.

(1) Both Lysias and Socrates thus far have posited the corruptive and evil nature of madness. In the Great Speech, however, Socrates paints a more complex picture of madness. To be sure, it has negative influences; “but in fact the best things we have come from madness, when it is given as a gift of the god” (244c). The four types of madness are later classified as gifts from Apollo, Dionysus, the Muses, and finally Aphrodite. Socrates suggests, then, that logic and reason (logos) are not sufficient for the highest modes of human life. As Graeme Nicholson notes, for example, “the barren intellectualism of Lysias’s address, devoid of. . . all forms of eros, would signify the deviant situation in which the soul as a whole was overshadowed by, subordinated to, logos” (197). Socrates himself gives us a converse example: outside of his usual intellectual confines of Athens, the Nymphs and gods inspire him to deliver his Great Speech.

(2) The importance of madness reappears in the structure of the immortal soul as a primordial, nonrational drive. Here the deference to straight logic yields to a simile: the soul is like a chariot with two horses. All gods and men have the same structure of the soul. But whereas the gods possess perfect internal harmony, men must struggle to subordinate a wild, dark horse. This dark horse represents the nonrational and impulsive side of man, which is opposed diametrically to the rationality and self-control that the good horse represents. Both in heaven and on earth, man must constantly struggle to dominate his dark side. Note that the soul’s director, or charioteer, somehow must act both on and with rationality—and more. While this toil is eternal—since the soul is immortal—the reward is also great.

In the famous allegory of the cave in Book VII of the Republic, Plato evokes a world of perfect Ideas, or Forms, that reside in a realm higher than that of man. The Phaedrus paints a similar picture. When the soul grows wings and travels through heaven, its ultimate reward is to see what lies beyond it: true Knowledge, true Justice, true Self-Control, and so on. These are the perfect Forms that life on earth can only attempt to imitate. Souls that are lucky enough—or practice enough control over the dark horse—will be able to climb high enough in heaven to catch sight of such Forms. According to Socrates, this upward voyage brings the human soul its greatest reward.

(3) Eros, then, involves seeing beauty on earth and recalling the true Beauty seen in heaven. As such, the madness of eros itself represents an essentially positive force. The real danger of eros resides in the dark horse as it rushes impulsively towards the vision of beauty—specifically, a beautiful boy. Many souls will give in to such impulses and consummate their relationships with sexual pleasure. But the truly noble soul will be able to reign in such impulses with modesty and self-control. Such a soul belongs to a philosopher, who will be rewarded by a return to heaven after three thousand years instead of ten thousand. And “there is no greater good than this that either human self-control or divine madness can offer a man” (256b).

The popular notion of a “Platonic relationship” derives from the above discussion in the Phaedrus. The phrase is often used to indicate a romantic relationship devoid of sexual intimacy. Socrates’s definition of a good pederastic relationship, however, does not exclude such intimacy on an absolute basis. So long as the man and boy treat each other respectfully and thoughtfully, occasional, controlled sexual pleasures may well be acceptable to the soul. Both parties simply must know their own limits and keep the soul’s dark horse under tight harness. Again, this relationship is a symbol of all such loves. As the inscriptions on the stone at Delphi remind Socrates: “Know thyself” and “Nothing in excess.”