Plato, Socrates, and Love

Methodology: Inner and Outer Frames

This thesis might seem to be a nonstarter: How could the texts of the Symposium and Phaedo speak to Plato's love for Socrates, given that Plato himself, of all the lovers of Socrates, is absent in them? 9 Despite initial appearances, however, we can make consid erable headway toward understanding not only Plato's love for Socrates but also how Pla to thinks Socrates ought to be loved, and so what genuine love for Socrates is like. Of course this argument is based on readings of the dialogues. The phrase "Plato's love for Socrates" is used only as shorthand for what we can understand from the text about its authorial attitude toward the character Socrates; I am certainly not trying to pretend to some sort of psychological insight into the mind of Plato or Socrates, the historical fig ures. That said, I am accepting as historical facts that Plato wrote the dialogues and that his contemporary readers or hearers (if they were read aloud or acted out) knew that he did. We need to keep in mind that the dialogues were not circulated anonymously; Plato was a well-known figure in fourth-century Athens and the founder of a well-known school, the Academy. Thus, despite the fact that Plato the author is "hidden" from us within the dialogues, Plato, the person and author, was not hidden to his contemporaries. The signif icance of this is that it justifies, one might even say demands, our asking what the point is of Plato presenting the dialogues as he does.

To investigate Plato's love of Socrates, the chapter employs a distinction made elsewhere between the "inner" and "outer" frames of the dialogue. 10 The distinction itself is not complex (nor even especially original): the "inner frame" simply refers to the one or more conversations among the interlocutors depicted in the dialogue, while the "outer frame" refers to the relationship between the text and the reader (or hearer). It is important to pay close attention to and think critically about the relationship between the inner and outer frames in the Symposium and Phaedo, in order to reflect on what the outer frame says about Plato's love of Socrates and his view about what would constitute genuine love of him. Although one starting point is that Socrates's presence in every dialogue (except the Laws) is in itself evidence of Plato's love, there are clearly many other lovers and devotees of Socrates: in fact, the two dialogues that are the focus here-the Symposium and Phaedo-depict more than any others Socrates surrounded by large groups of his lovers and disciples. While the Symposium is notorious as a source for investigation into Plato's conception of erōs, the Phaedo, so far as I know, is not discussed in this regard. And yet if our topic is lovers of Socrates, then it ought to be quite interesting to think about, from the perspective of the outer frame, how Plato chooses to depict the circles of Socrates's lovers and what he may be saying about them and the way they conduct them selves with him. After all, as focus on the outer frame reminds one, Plato is the writer of all the speeches in the Symposium, including Alcibiades's, and including the entire narra tion of that most hysterical Socratic, Apollodorus, who is the only character other than Socrates to be part of both the Phaedo (where he does not speak, but only weeps) and the Symposium (where he narrates the entire account, discussed below). In fact, the dramatic date of the outermost inner frame of each dialogue is very similar, most likely taking place a few months on either side of Socrates's execution. 11 Of course the main narra tions of the dialogues take place in very different atmospheres (party vs. prison) and oc cur at different times (416 vs. 399); correspondingly, each dialogue presents lovers and devotees of Socrates from different generations.

Finally, one upshot of this chapter will be to reveal how present Plato turns out to be in these dialogues despite his ubiquitous and notorious absence. Apart from three wellknown references, 12 Plato always remains the absent author behind the text. But, as em phasized above, it was as plain to his contemporaries that Plato was the author of the Phaedo and Symposium as it was that Sophocles composed the Oedipus Rex and Aristo phanes The Clouds. While absence is often thought of as a sort of hiding, perhaps from fear of exposure or shame, or perhaps a self-effacement out of humility or epistemic cau tion, I shall argue that in Plato's case his absence is part of an arrogant and strong-willed self-assertion, particularly in the Symposium and Phaedo, insofar as these two dialogues surround Socrates with his lovers and disciples. By removing himself from these dia logues, Plato distances himself but also puts himself above and beyond the reach of Socrates's other lovers, thereby positioning himself uniquely in his own love for and un derstanding of Socrates.

Before plunging into the details, let me provide very briefly a more concrete sense of the particulars of the argument. Each dialogue depicts and generates an attitude in the read er/hearer-erotic frustration in the Symposium and mournful anxiety in the Phaedo-that stands in marked contrast to the philosophically enlightened positions argued for in each dialogue, which instead generate satisfaction, knowledge, self-sufficiency, and happiness. The frustration and anxiety of Socrates's depicted lovers, as well as of Plato's readers, are generated by their failure to love Socrates correctly and to understand what loving him correctly would be like. Plato, by writing the dialogues, shows that he is neither frus trated nor grieving. Plato displays his own love for Socrates by transforming Socrates in to a philosophical ideal and by demonstrating his, Plato's, own enactment of that ideal by placing the philosophical views he, Plato, takes to be true (or at least worthy of serious philosophical attention) 13 into the mouth of the character Socrates. En route, of course, he paints a loving portrait and memorial to Socrates the idiosyncratic individual.

The Symposium and Frustration: The

Reader's Desire to Know

In Diotima's story, Eros, the child of Poros, son of Metis and Penia, "always lives together with need " (203d3). Erotic need, as well as the associated erotic frustration when that need goes unfilled, are themes in the dialogue, considered from the perspective of both PRINTED FROM OXFORD HANDBOOKS ONLINE (www.oxfordhandbooks.com). © Oxford University Press, 2018. All Rights Reserved. Under the terms of the licence agreement, an individual user may print out a PDF of a single chapter of a title in Oxford Handbooks Online for personal use (for details see Privacy Policy and Legal Notice).

Subscriber: OUP-Reference Gratis Access; date: 15 June 2019 the inner and the outer frames. At its most sensible, basic level, erotic frustration is sexu al frustration, as Alcibiades vividly describes in one of the most notorious depictions of sexual frustration in western literature (217e-219e). In its more Platonic incarnation, erotic frustration occurs when one cannot get the knowledge and wisdom one seeks and wants.

From the perspective of the outer frame, the reader's frustration begins with her desire to know and understand exactly what was said and done at this fantastic dinner party. Scholars have not missed the baroque and particularly complex opening of the Sympo sium. 14 We readers "witness" a fourth-hand, fifth-telling account of the heart of the dia logue, namely Diotima's speech: *All three of these numberings-level of telling, number of times, and relative re centness-are relative to the oldest, most inner conversation, that of Socrates and Diotima. Relative to the symposium itself, of course, we must "subtract" one level.

Add to this that the "fifth telling" occurs sometime between 406 and 400 (with most scholars preferring a later date), while the dramatic date of the symposium itself is fixed at 416; Diotima's alleged discussion with Socrates is thus presented as even earlier. 15 So there is about 10-to 15-year lapse between the event and the present narration of it.

To make matters worse, right before the speeches begin, Apollodorus tells his interlocu tor that Aristodemus could not remember everything that was said and that he, Apol lodorus, cannot remember everything that Aristodemus told him (178a). But, Apollodorus says, "what he [Aristodemus] remembered best, and the people who seemed to me to say PRINTED FROM OXFORD HANDBOOKS ONLINE (www.oxfordhandbooks.com). © Oxford University Press, 2018. All Rights Reserved. Under the terms of the licence agreement, an individual user may print out a PDF of a single chapter of a title in Oxford Handbooks Online for personal use (for details see Privacy Policy and Legal Notice).

Subscriber: OUP-Reference Gratis Access; date: 15 June 2019 something worth remembering-I'll tell you the speech each of these gave" (178a3-4, Rowe trans.). There is initially one potential check on these faulty memories, but ulti mately it disturbs more than it assures. At 173b3-6, Apollodorus says that he went over "some parts (ἔνια)" of Aristodemus's account with Socrates and that Socrates agreed that they were as Aristodemus said. The language makes clear however that Socrates does not himself relate any part of the story to Apollodorus independently; he just confirms that it was as "that guy (ἐκεῖνος)" related. But we readers, if not the businessman being ad dressed, would very much like to know which parts, exactly, were verified. Was it the philosophically crucial account of Diotima, Socrates's refutation of Agathon, Alcibiades's entrance and speech? There is no subsequent hint. We only know that Aristodemus could not remember "some other speeches" that took place between Phaedrus's and Pausanias's (180c; cf. 200d) and that he was too sleepy at the very end to follow Socrates's argument with Agathon and Aristophanes that authors ought to be able to write both comedy and tragedy (223d).

This elaborate distancing from the account, with its accompanying serious doubts about the accuracy of what we hear, generates substantial challenges and frustrations for the reader. Everyone who hears Diotima's speech, in both the inner and outer frames, grasps that it is the philosophical center of the dialogue. As she is about to embark on the "high er mysteries," she warns Socrates that he may not be able to follow her but suggests that he try the best he can to understand, for now she is going to explain the ultimate goals and deeds of love (210a, 210e): "the purpose of these rites, which is the final and greatest mystery" (210a). If Socrates may not be able to follow, it surely must be intense stuff. What could titillate our philosophical erōs more than this? We want the details of the as cent, we desperately want to understand exactly what the steps are and how they workas the abundant scholarship attests. 16 A definitive account, however, continually eludes us: for one thing, the account of the steps of the ascent from 210a to 210e does not even match the simple recap in 211c-d just a Stephanus page later. For example, the step of loving souls, between loving bodies and loving customs or practices, is completely omit ted in the latter description. Why? An oversight in only one Stephanus page? Or is this one of the parts that Aristodemus or Apollodorus misremembered or forgot, or neglected to verify with Socrates?

Moreover, if the "higher mysteries" are too difficult for Socrates to follow, what are the chances that the forgetful Aristodemus or Apollodorus-not the most intellectually sophis ticated figures in the dialogues-are relating it to us correctly? We are stymied right at the most important part of the dialogue. From the perspective of the outer frame, then, we can appreciate that just as the text creates the desire to know precisely how the as cent works, at the same time it thwarts and frustrates that desire. Within the inner frame, Alcibiades's entrance, of course, is what prevents further discussion or elaboration of Socrates's (Diotima's) account. Aristophanes is even trying to respond to Socrates's ac count of his own speech when Alcibiades and his retinue burst in (212c). Given Socrates's own questioning of Agathon, it is reasonable to think that those present might have ques tioned Socrates further about the account. But further discussion is impossible, for of course Alcibiades, his drunkenness aside, has not even heard it. So readers are left frus PRINTED FROM OXFORD HANDBOOKS ONLINE (www.oxfordhandbooks.com). © Oxford University Press, 2018. All Rights Reserved. Under the terms of the licence agreement, an individual user may print out a PDF of a single chapter of a title in Oxford Handbooks Online for personal use (for details see Privacy Policy and Legal Notice).

Subscriber: OUP-Reference Gratis Access; date: 15 June 2019 trated in their desire to learn further details and are forced instead to listen to a story by Alcibiades of erotic frustration of a different, if related, sort (insofar as Alcibiades too wants Socrates's wisdom).

Socrates at the Symposium and in the Symposium

Readers are frustrated too in their desire to know Socrates. Who is the Socrates of the Symposium? 17 This section argues that Plato depicts Socrates in three different ways within the dialogue.

Socrates as Eros

It has escaped few that Diotima's description of Eros-needy, barefoot, "far from beauti ful and delicate," seeking wisdom, a philosopher, a daimonion, between god and humanfits a very familiar Platonic portrait of Socrates. 18 In the first place, he is always poor, and far from being delicate and beautiful (ἁπαλός τε καὶ καλός) (as most people think he is). 19 Instead, he is tough and shriveled and shoeless and homeless, always lying on the dirt without a bed, sleep ing at people's door-steps and in roadsides under the sky, having his mother's na ture, always living with need. But on his father's side he is a schemer after the beautiful and the good; he is brave, ready for action (ἴτης), and intense, an awe some hunter, always weaving snares, resourceful in pursuit of intelligence, a lover of wisdom through all his life, a genius with enchantments, potions, and clever pleadings. He is by nature neither mortal nor immortal [ … ] Love is never com pletely without resources nor is he ever rich. He is in between wisdom and igno rance as well. In fact, you see, none of the gods loves wisdom or wants to become wise-for they are wise-and no one else who is wise already loves wisdom; on the other hand, no one who is ignorant will love wisdom either or want to become wise. For what's especially difficult about being ignorant is that you are content with yourself, even though you're neither beautiful and good nor intelligent (καλὸν κἀγαθὸν μηδὲ φρόνιμον). If you don't think you need anything, of course you won't want what you don't think you need. (203c6-204a7; Nehamas and Woodruff, modified) Apollodorus early on refers to the obsessed Aristodemus as "one of the worst cases of the time" and describes him as always going about barefoot, in imitation of Socrates (173b3). Alcibiades will later call Socrates daimonios (219c1), as though between mortal and im mortal, and also describe him as barefoot even on a winter campaign (220b5). The discus sion of the genuine lover of wisdom is a succinct characterization of the elenctic project as carried out by Socrates in the so-called early dialogues, where he takes someone un aware of his own ignorance, and so content, and at least attempts to show him that he does not know what he thinks knows (e.g., Euthyphro or Meno). It fits as well with Socrates's own self-characterization as not knowing and his search for someone wiser than himself in the Apology (19c, 20c, 21b-23b).

Socrates as a Beauty

What is striking, however, is not just how well it fits the Socrates of other dialogues and of the interlocutors' descriptions, but also how the barefoot, unattractive, searching-forwisdom Socrates fails to fit the Socrates of the Symposium. Readers learn that on this oc casion Socrates is neither barefoot nor "far from beautiful and delicate": he is bathed and dressed up in "fine sandals" (τὰς βλαύτας ὑποδεδεμένον) (174a3-4). Aristodemus asks where he is going, given that he has made himself "so beautiful (οὕτω καλὸς)" (174a5). Socrates replies that he is on his way to Agathon's: "so that's why I've beautified myself, so that I am a beautiful man to a beautiful man" (ταῦτα δὴ ἐκαλλωπισάμην, ἵνα καλὸς παρὰ καλὸν ἴω) (174a8-9).

From the perspective of the outer frame, why does Plato bother having Socrates dress up and claim that he is making himself beautiful? 20 It could be just for comedic effect, but it is difficult to accept this given the overwhelming importance of "the beautiful" in the dia logue to come. It is not as though Aristodemus says simply that Socrates looks nice, and Socrates thanks him. There is instead a detailed discussion of Socrates's new appearance as kalos and Aristodemus's desire for an explanation of it. According to Diotima's ac count, if Socrates is (at least now, on this occasion) beautiful, then he cannot be Eros, but would instead be the object of Eros. She says:

On the basis of what you say, I conclude that you thought Love was being loved, rather than being a lover. I think that's why Love struck you as beautiful in every way (πάγκαλος): because the lovable [what deserves to be loved] is what is really beautiful and graceful and perfect and highly blessed. (204c1-5, Nehamas/ Woodruff, modified)

In the deliberate attention that the text gives to Socrates's beautification, 21 readers are invited in hindsight to think about Socrates in light of Diotima's account. According to what are sometimes called "the lower mysteries," those who are pregnant in soul give birth in the presence of beauty to logoi "about virtue-the qualities a virtuous man should have and the customary activities in which he should engage" (209c, Nehamas and Woodruff). If there ever were a crowd assembled who would count as pregnant in soul, this cast of characters would be it. 22 Although the speechifying this evening is allegedly triggered by overdrinking on the previous evening (176a-e), it seems clearly to be an in sufficient explanation, for Aristophanes and Agathon both end the evening at dawn, hav ing drunk once again prodigious amounts. Rather, the relevant difference seems to be the presence of the beautiful (and beautified) Socrates (besides Aristodemus, he is the only newcomer before Alcibiades and his retinue arrive), in front of whom the others, drunk or sober, are moved to "give birth" to their own logoi. The speeches of the Symposium thus become an illustration of the very account of love given within it, with "pregnant" men giving forth logoi in the presence of beauty (i.e., Socrates). From the perspective of the PRINTED FROM OXFORD HANDBOOKS ONLINE (www.oxfordhandbooks.com). © Oxford University Press, 2018. All Rights Reserved. Under the terms of the licence agreement, an individual user may print out a PDF of a single chapter of a title in Oxford Handbooks Online for personal use (for details see Privacy Policy and Legal Notice).

Subscriber: OUP-Reference Gratis Access; date: 15 June 2019 outer frame, it is Plato who produces the logos that is the Symposium itself, and this too was presumably inspired by the "presence" of the beautiful Socrates-despite its novel philosophical content (I will come back to this point.).

Socrates the Enlightened

There is also a third characterization of Socrates in the Symposium, which further dis tances him from Diotima's description of Eros as a seeker after wisdom. As the group is settling on the topic of praising love, Socrates says, "How could I vote 'No,' I who deny that I know anything other than erotic matters (ὃς οὐδέν φημι ἄλλο ἐπίστασθαι ἢ τὰ ἐρωτικά)?" (177d7-8). As one who understands erotics, Socrates is neither Eros the Needy nor Socrates the beloved, but a third Socrates: One who has achieved wisdom, and so, in theory at least, could lead others. 23 The first piece of evidence for this enlightened Socrates comes early on, when Socrates lags behind Aristodemus on the way to the party, "applying his mind somehow to himself (ἑαυτῷ πως προσέχοντα τὸν νοῦν)" (174d5). Translators gloss this in a number of ways, 24 but the language may suggest, oddly, that he is applying his thinking to himself. 25 Applying one's mind to oneself sounds a lot like contemplation, contemplation of one's own understanding. Socrates remains on the neighbor's porch, unmoving. He will not en ter Agathon's house even after a slave reports that he has called him in. Agathon labels this behavior "strange" (atopon) (175a10), foreshadowing (and confirming) Alcibiades's later description of Socrates's atopia (221d2). Agathon insists that Socrates be brought in, but Aristodemus objects, saying that this is a habit of Socrates and that he ought to be left alone (175a-b). Despite Agathon wanting to call again for him "many times" (pollakis), Socrates finally enters on his own midway through the meal. Agathon then says:

Come here and recline beside me, Socrates, so that I too by touching you can get the piece of wisdom (ἵνα καὶ τοῦ σοφοῦ ἁπτόμενός σου ἀπολαύσω), which came to you on the porch. For it is clear that you found it and that you have it; for you would not have come away before [you got it] (δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι ηὗρες αὐτὸ καὶ ἔχεις· οὐ γὰρ ἂν προαπέστης). (175c7-d2)

Socrates of course denies that wisdom can be passed on simply through contact, but then imagines that if it were the case, he would then be the beneficiary of Agathon's "abun dant" (pollē) and "fine" (kalē) wisdom (175e2), compared with his own "base" (phaulē) and "disputable" (amphisbētēsimos) kind. 26 Nevertheless, Socrates is depicted as having achieved something and he does not deny achieving the wisdom Agathon attributes to him. This incident also confirms Alcibiades's own reference to Socrates's similar experi ence while on campaign in Potidaea (220c-d), and thus corroborates Alcibiades's claim. If Socrates is not contemplating-and in a self-sufficient way, so unlike the question-and-an swer, dialectical Socrates readers are accustomed to 27 And there in life, Socrates, my friend, [ … ] there if anywhere should a person live his life, beholding that Beauty. If you once see that, it won't occur to you to mea sure beauty by gold or clothing or beautiful boys and youths-who, if you see them now, strike you out of your senses, and make you, you and many others, eager to look at the boys [you love] and be with them forever (ὁρῶντες τὰ παιδικὰ καὶ συνόντες ἀεὶ αὐτοῖς), if there were any way to do that, forgetting food and drink, everything but looking at them and being with them (ἀλλὰ θεᾶσθαι μόνον καὶ συνεῖναι). But how would it be, in our view, if someone got to see the Beautiful it self, absolute, pure, unmixed, not polluted by human flesh or colors or any other great nonsense of mortality, but if he could see the divine Beauty itself in its one form? Do you think, she said, it would be a poor life for a human being to look there (ἐκεῖσε βλέποντος) and to behold it by that which he ought, and to be with it (καὶ ἐκεῖνο ᾧ δεῖ θεωμένου καὶ συνόντος αὐτῷ)? (211d1-212a2, Nehamas/

Woodruff, modified)

The lover's fantasy is simply "to gaze and be with" beautiful boys-forgetting food and drink and doing nothing else. The analogy then works by suggesting that if one wants to do nothing but gaze at and be with beautiful boys, just imagine how satisfying and selfsufficient simply gazing at and being with the Form of Beauty would be. As a (potential) contemplator of the Forms, Socrates is transformed, becoming more like the Forms: un changing, impervious, self-sufficient, in need of nothing, and so on. 29 In fact this passage describes quite accurately what Socrates is actually like prior to entering Agathon's house: he forgets food (he arrives halfway through dinner), forgets drink, and of course forgets the beautiful Agathon, for whom he has made himself beautiful; 30 all of these are put on hold for the sake of his contemplation. 31 In his speech, Alcibiades too depicts this third Socrates: wise, enlightened, impervious to the things that effect ordinary people, such as cold, hunger, exhaustion, drunkenness, and so forth (220a-b). Alcibiades's own account is, unbeknownst to him, confirmed (as has been noted) by the action in the dialogue itself. He declares (or, perhaps better, threat ens) that he will tell the whole truth about Socrates (214e); the confirmation of many fea tures of his account within the dialogue, however, shows that he is not simply drunkenly and fancifully exaggerating Socrates's abilities because of his love. Everyone already knows that Socrates can drink or not-it makes no difference to him (as mentioned early on at 176c). His imperviousness to alcohol and lack of sleep is displayed again at the very end of the dialogue, when Socrates leaves the passed-out Aristophanes and Agathon at dawn, gets up and goes about his day as usual, only going to bed the next evening; the same behavior Alcibiades's describes after Socrates's all-night episode of contemplation (220c-d). And of course, Socrates notoriously displays remarkable temperance: an admit ted lover of beautiful men, he remains unmoved by Alcibiades climbing into his bed and embracing him. Through this depiction of Socrates as sage, Plato kindles from the outer frame the erotic desire of the reader to gain Socrates's wisdom (just as for Agathon and Alcibiades in the inner frame) simply by "touching" him. Plato then frustrates his readers, just as Socrates frustrates Alcibiades. 32 On the assumption, however, that the philosophi cal doctrines are Plato's own, Plato himself experiences no similar frustration: indeed, the Symposium is itself the manifestation of his philosophical activity and, at the same time, his love of Socrates.

Inner and Outer Frames in the Phaedo

Early in the Phaedo Socrates defends the claim that anyone who is a genuine philosopher welcomes death; indeed, the proper practice of philosophy is a practice for death ("any one you see who is vexed that he is going to die is not a philosopher but a lover of the body," 68b8-c1). Just as the Symposium itself exemplifies many aspects of its central ac counts, not only Diotima's but also Alcibiades's, so too does the account in the Phaedo get dramatized within the Phaedo, which heightens the tension with respect to the outer frame. Hanging over the Phaedo is a general concern about how Socrates's disciples (and, from the outer frame, Plato's readers) are to go on after the death of their master, and in particular how they are to go on philosophizing. This problem has more severe ramifica tions than its intellectual cast may make it first appear. Socrates argues that philosophy is a purification ritual that is necessary for the possibility of avoiding a grim postmortem fate and for instead joining the "company of the gods" (cf. 69c-d). Proper philosophizing consists in noetic grasp of the Forms. But, as Simmias remarks in a passage discussed further in what follows, by tomorrow there will be no one left who can give an account of such things (76b). No wonder everyone weeps at the end of the dialogue. As Phaedo says, they weep in large part for themselves at being deprived of "such a friend," who is also "like a father" (cf. 116a; 117c). But applying the philosophical account of the Phaedo to the drama, Socrates is much more than a father or friend; he is, quite literally, the key to their salvation. Without him, there may be no prospect of true philosophizing and without philosophy there is no prospect of salvation: whoever arrives in Hades unpurified and uninitiated (i.e., without practicing philosophy) shall not dwell with the gods but "wallow in the muck (ἐν βορβόρῳ κείσεται)" (69c6). While this worry extends to Socrates's com panions, from the perspective of the inner frame it explicitly does not extend to Socrates, for he says: "it's to be among them [i.e., those who have practiced philosophy correctly] that I myself have striven, in every way I could, neglecting nothing during my life within my power" (69d3-4, Gallop trans.).

Moreover, from the perspective of the outer frame, while the reader ought perhaps to worry about herself, apparently she need not worry about Plato, for, as the reader sees in the many arguments that follow-concerning the Forms, their role as aitiai, consideration of kinds of aitiai, essential versus nonessential properties of a thing, and consideration of change quite generally-Plato is certainly engaged in doing philosophy. Through the writ ing of the Phaedo and the philosophical issues it addresses, Plato makes it plain that he has gone on to do philosophy and to occupy himself with philosophy and truth, transform ing and moving beyond the sensible character Socrates (as he did in the Symposium).

The Historicity of the Phaedo

Turning to the Phaedo makes considering the historicity of the dialogues urgent for an in vestigation into Plato's love of Socrates in a way so far ignored. Contemporary scholars agree that in the Phaedo and Symposium Plato puts his own views into the mouth of the character Socrates. No commentator in almost the last seventy years (so far as I know) has worried about the ramifications of such a position for the interpretation of the Phaedo in particular. Here is where the historiography of the historicity of the Phaedo becomes fascinatingly relevant. I suspect that the now universal rejection of the historicity of the Phaedo, adamantly supported by no less superb Plato scholars than John Burnet and A. E. Taylor in the first half of the twentieth century, inadvertently causes the perspective of the outer frame to be largely buried as a topic for serious critical attention.

Let us turn to the passage in the Phaedo from the Recollection Argument that exemplifies the issue in question:

"If a man knows things, can he give an account of what he knows or not?" "He must certainly be able to do so, Socrates," he [Simmias] said. "And does it seem to you that everyone can give an account about the things we were just discussing [i.e., the Forms]?" "I would indeed wish it were so!" said Simmias, "But I am rather much more afraid that by this time tomorrow there will no longer be any human being who can do this worthily (ἀξίως)." (76b5-12).

It can seem perfectly plain what this aside means within the context of the dialogue: to morrow Socrates will be dead, and he is the only human being who can give an adequate account of the Forms. In 1911, however, John Burnet, defending the view that the Phaedo accurately portrays pretty much what the historical Socrates actually said during his final hours, comments as follows: "It seems to me that, if Plato originated the theory, he could not possibly have put this statement into the mouth of Simmias." 33 R. Hackforth in 1952, one of the chief debunkers of Burnet's belief in the historical accuracy of the Phaedo, re sponds: "But Simmias is speaking within the framework of the whole dialogue, and con formably to its assumptions. Throughout the dialogues Socrates is the exponent of a theo ry of Forms, and there is nothing unnatural in Simmias's present remark that he is unri valled at expounding and applying it." 34 We can understand what Hackforth means: "con formably to its assumptions" means "from within the perspective of the inner frame." Within the fictional narrative of the dialogue, Socrates is the expounder of the Theory of Forms and will be dead tomorrow; thus there is "nothing unnatural" in Simmias's remark. From the perspective of the outer frame, however, if we deny that this is what Socrates actually said, then the claim is obviously, painfully false. For if the transcendent Forms are Plato's own theory and simply put into the mouth of Socrates the character, as every one now holds, then there obviously will be someone who can give an account of the While we need not agree with Burnet that the only resolution of this oddness is to ascribe historical accuracy to the Phaedo, the subsequent tradition of rejecting the Burnet posi tion and with it the idea that there is anything "unnatural" going on-Plato puts his own views in the mouth of Socrates, end of story-misses a profound aspect of the meaning of Simmias's remark. What has Burnet upset is how unbelievably outrageous this move is on Plato's part, if we deny that this is what the historical Socrates actually said. For Plato is taking this most moving, historical, and sad moment of his beloved teacher's and master's life and entirely (or at least, largely) fictionalizing what he actually said, which, as Burnet emphasizes, Plato was in a position to know, and inserting in its place his own philosophical views. It is one thing, perhaps, to compose a dialogue like the Symposium, whose main action allegedly takes place when Plato is about ten (as any reader would know) and then, after the epistemological hedging of the nested sets of retellings of re memberings (as discussed above), to insert some Platonic views into the mouth of Socrates-and even then only at one further remove, through the device of "Diotima." But it is quite another matter to insert your own philosophical theories into the mouth of your teacher, depicted as surrounded by his weeping disciples, on the very day of his execu tion. Burnet writes:

Whatever Plato may or may not have done in other dialogues-and I say nothing here about that-I cannot bring myself to believe that he falsified the story of his master's last hours on earth by using him as a mere mouthpiece for novel doc trines of his own. That would have been an offence against good taste and an out rage on all natural piety; for if Plato did this thing, he must have done it deliber ately. There can be no question here of unconscious development; he must have known quite well whether Socrates held these doctrines or not. I confess that I should regard the Phaedo as little better than a heartless mystification if half the things commonly believed it about it were true. 35

To put it more bluntly, Burnet is asking, "How could Plato do this to the man he loved?" And so, Burnet sweeps the possibility away by taking refuge in the idea, which we all now acknowledge to be unsupportable, that what the Phaedo reports is actually what Socrates (basically) did say on his final day in prison. The contemporary universal scholarly rejec tion of the historicity of the Phaedo does not adequately come to grips, however, with Burnet's worry about the outrageous effrontery of the resulting position.