Double Issue

Volume 41 Issue 2 Volume 41 Issue 3

Double Issue

63 Note to Readers Fall 2014 65 Sophie Bourgault The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 91 Richard Burrow Fulfillment in As You Like It 123 Alexandru Racu Strauss’s Machiavelli and Dostoyevsky’s Grand Inquisitor

Book Reviews: 163 Steven H. Frankel Leo Strauss and the Crisis of Rationalism: Another Reason, Another Enlightenment by Corine Pelluchon

171 Michael Harding Political Philosophy Cross-Examined: Perennial Challenges to the Philosophic Life by Thomas L. Pangle and J. Harvey Lomax

181 Will Morrisey Locke, Science, and Politics by Steven Forde Spring 2015 201 Jonathan Culp Happy City, Happy Citizens? The Common Good and the Private Good in Plato’s Republic

227 Aryeh Tepper The Problematic Power of Musical Instruments in the Bible 247 Julien Carriere & Ancients and Moderns under the Empire of Circe: 279 Steven Berg Machiavelli’s The Ass, Translation and Commentary 313 Erik S. Root Liberal Education Imperiled: Toward a Resurrection of Reason and Revelation in Higher Education

Book Reviews: 349 Fred Baumann Leo Strauss on Moses Mendelssohn, translated and edited by Martin D. Yaffe 359 Gregory A. McBrayer On the God of the Christians (and on one or two others) by Rémi Brague 367 Rafael Major Shakespeare’s Political Wisdom by Timothy W. Burns

©2015 Interpretation, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of the contents may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publisher. ISSN 0020-9635 Editor-in-Chief Hilail Gildin, Dept. of Philosophy, Queens College Associate Editor-in-Chief Timothy W. Burns, Baylor University Associate Editors Daniel Ian Mark • Geoffrey Sigalet General Editors Charles E. Butterworth • Hilail Gildin General Editors (Late) Howard B. White (d. 1974) • Robert Horwitz (d. 1987) Seth G. Benardete (d. 2001) • Leonard Grey (d. 2009) • Harry V. Jaffa (d. 2015) Consulting Editors Christopher Bruell • David Lowenthal • Harvey C. Mansfield • Ellis Sandoz • Kenneth W. Thompson Consulting Editors (Late) Leo Strauss (d. 1973) • Arnaldo Momigliano (d. 1987) • Michael Oakeshott (d. 1990) • John Hallowell (d. 1992) • Ernest L. Fortin (d. 2002) • Muhsin Mahdi (d. 2007) • Joseph Cropsey (d. 2012) International Editors Terence E. Marshall • Heinrich Meier Editors Wayne Ambler • Marco Andreacchio • Maurice Auerbach • Robert Bartlett • Fred Baumann • Eric Buzzetti • Susan Collins • Patrick Coby • Elizabeth C’de Baca Eastman • Erik Dempsey • Edward J. Erler • Maureen Feder-Marcus • L. Joseph Hebert • Pamela K. Jensen • Ken Masugi • Carol L. McNamara • Will Morrisey • Amy Nendza • Susan Orr • Michael Palmer • Charles T. Rubin • Leslie G. Rubin • Thomas Schneider • Susan Meld Shell • Nicholas Starr • Devin Stauffer • Bradford P. Wilson • Cameron Wybrow • Martin D. Yaffe • Catherine H. Zuckert • Michael P. Zuckert Copy Editor Les Harris Designer Sarah Teutschel Inquiries Interpretation, A Journal of Political Philosophy Department of Political Science Baylor University 1 Bear Place, 97276 Waco, TX 76798 email [email protected] The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 6 5

The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy

Sophie Bourgault University of Ottawa [email protected]

My tongue has been galloping on and obviously I ought to curb it constantly; I must keep a bridle in my mouth and not let myself be carried away by the argument. —Plato, Laws

Is Karl Popper definitely passé in Plato studies? The temptation is great to answer in the affirmative. Certainly, his controversial polemic The Open Society and Its Enemies (where Plato’s name, we will remember, is associated with totalitarianism) has been subject to numerous refutations since the 1950s.1 And yet, the ghost of Popper still seems to haunt North American political science departments—as is suggested by the number of political theorists who still feel the urge to wrangle with him over his account of Plato. For instance, it is partially in order to discredit Popper that Arlene Saxon- house, in a fairly recent article, meticulously analyzes the narrative structure of Plato’s Republic. Based on the ambiguity and multidimensionality of this

1 Karl R. Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, vol. 1 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966). For criticisms and assessments, see R. B. Levinson, In Defense of Plato (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1957); R. Bambrough, ed., Plato, Popper, and Politics: Some Contributions to a Modern Controversy (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1967); R. Maurer, “De l’antiplatonisme politico- philosophique moderne,” in Contre Platon, vol. 2, Renverser le platonisme, ed. M. Dixsaut (Paris: Vrin, 1995); J.-F. Pradeau, Platon, les démocrates et la démocratie (Naples: Bibliopolis, 2005).

structure, Saxonhouse concludes that Plato is—contra Popper—a thinker who is sympathetic to democracy.2 Saxonhouse is certainly not alone in putting forward a “democratic Plato”: Peter Euben, Sara Monoson, Gerald Mara, and Dana Villa have all, each in his or her own unique way, tried to show that Platonic thought can be reconciled in some ways with liberal democracy.3 (In our conclusion, we will seek to reflect on the broader motives driving this scholarship.) Despite great differences in their methods and conclusions, what unites these interpreters is the fact that all seem to attach great significance to theform , rather than to the content, of Plato’s dialogues. For some, it is possible to bracket the overly harsh things Socrates has said about democracy and to infer sympa- thy for democracy from the way philosophy is enacted in Plato’s dialogues. By attaching great importance to form (or style), some of these interpreters believe that Platonic dialogues can serve as a rich model for modern liberal democracy, since Plato’s dialogues are, at least at their best, a model of freedom, equality, and, most importantly, sincerity or frank speech. A certain kinship is drawn, then, between Socrates and discourse ethics, by underscoring the significance given by Socrates and Plato to parrhēsia— that is, to an absolute and courageous sincerity in philosophy (or politics). Literally, “parrhesia” means “all saying” (pan rhēma); it consists in radically frank, sincere speech. As van Raalte sums the matter up, the term was used by the ancient Greeks to refer to either of two things: a sociopolitical condition or a character trait in an individual—for instance, “Athens is a city where there is parrhesia” (democratic ideology was indeed closely tied to the practice of parrhesia), or “this man speaks with parrhesia.”4 But the word “parrhesia” was certainly not always used with a positive connotation: in Plato, Isocrates, and Euripides, for instance, parrhesia is also associated with manipulation, empty chattering, and excessive freedom.5

2 See Arlene W. Saxonhouse, “The Socratic Narrative: A Democratic Reading of Plato’s Dialogues,” Political Theory 37, no. 6 (2009): 747, and Athenian Democracy: Modern Mythmakers and Ancient Theorists (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1996); Sara M. Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Entanglements (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 13–14; Michel Foucault, Le gouvernement de soi et des autres (Paris: Gallimard, 2008), 264–66. 3 Peter Euben, Corrupting Youth: Political Education, Democratic Culture and Political Theory (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997); Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Entanglements; Gerald Mara, Socrates’ Discursive Democracy: Logos and Ergon in Platonic Political Philosophy (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1997); Dana Villa, Socratic Citizenship (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001). 4 Marlein van Raalte, “Socratic Parrhesia and Its Afterlife in Plato’sLaws ,” in Free Speech in Classical Antiquity, ed. I. Sluiter and R. M. Rosen (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 279. 5 For Plato, see Phaedrus 240e; Laws 649b; Republic 557b. Opinions vary regarding the number of The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 6 7

The recent turn to the issue of parrhesia in American Plato scholarship largely is due to a series of lectures given by Michel Foucault at Berkeley in 1983 on the notion of parrhesia (an abridged version of the course offered at the Collège de France on the same theme).6 In these lectures, Foucault painted with broad brush strokes the history of ancient parrhesia, underscoring three key moments: the Periclean moment (where parrhesia for the most part entails the right7 of any citizen to address with frankness an assembly or a jury); the Socratic-Platonic8 moment (where political parrhesia under- goes a crisis, withdraws from the public sphere, and turns toward the soul of the prince or of any individual); and, finally, the Cynical moment (where ethical parrhesia becomes more radical and brutal). Since this essay is primarily concerned with Plato scholarship, we will focus on Socratic-Platonic parrhesia—which is, according to Foucault, to be envisioned primarily as an approach to philosophy rather than an approach to politics.9 What we will see, however, is that various students of Plato have appropriated Foucault’s work on Socratic-Platonic parrhesia in order to put forward a “democratic Plato,” a Plato who is sympathetic to democratic political practice. Indeed, contrary to Foucault (who insisted that Platonic parrhesia is hostile to democracy), Monoson and Saxonhouse believe that this hostility is not completely insur- mountable, and that it is possible to see a subtle endorsement of democratic politics in Plato’s musings on parrhesia. Based on a reading of the Gorgias, this article seeks to show that the char- acterization of Platonic philosophy and politics proposed by scholars such as Foucault, Monoson, Euben, and Saxonhouse, while rich and inspiring, has a few flaws. First, it tends to underestimate the importance of Socrates’s champions of parrhesia in ancient Greece. Robert Wallace insists that these were numerous, whereas D. M. Carter has shown that, aside from Euripides, enthusiastic defenders of parrhesia were rather rare (Carter, “Citizen Attribute, Negative Right: A Conceptual Difference between Ancient and Mod- ern Ideas of Freedom of Speech,” in Free Speech in Classical Antiquity). 6 E.g., Foucault is often cited (or implicitly deployed) in the following: Saxonhouse,Free Speech and Democracy; Elizabeth Markovitz, The Politics of Sincerity: Plato, Frank Speech and Democratic Judg- ment (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008); Sluiter and Rosen, eds., Free Speech in Classical Antiquity; Christina Tarnopolsky, “Platonic Reflections on the Aesthetic Dimensions of Deliberative Democracy,” Political Theory 35, no. 3 (June 2007): 288–312. 7 Foucault is at times more hesitant on this issue, severing the notion of parrhesia from the language of rights (preferring that of virtue and duty instead); elsewhere, however, he does use the word “right.” Compare, for instance, Le gouvernement de soi, 43 and 330. 8 I will use the words “Platonic” and “Socratic” interchangeably in this paper even though I am fully aware of the complex questions of interpretation that this puts aside. I do so because, contrary to a few “democratic Platonists,” Foucault does not posit any clear-cut distinction between Socrates and Plato—he moves quickly between the two. 9 Foucault, Le gouvernement de soi, 299. 6 8 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

irony and “strangeness”—and hence, to overlook the importance of manipulation, silence, and attention in philosophy. Second, some of this literature tends to portray Plato’s thought largely as a question of procedures; it thereby undermines the radicalism of his work. And finally, I want to argue that the celebration of courage and danger nested at the heart of these discussions of parrhesia may carry the risk of turning Platonic philosophy into an excessively Calliclean affair. I will turn mostly (albeit not exclusively) to the Gorgias for three reasons: first, the Gorgias is at the heart of many “democratic” readings of Plato (e.g., Euben, Monoson). Second, Socrates refers to parrhesia six times in the Gorgias; there about twenty references to this notion in the entire Platonic corpus.10 Finally, beyond these specific occurrences of the word, the subject of frank speech—with its complex relation to rhetoric, truth, desires, tyranny, and democracy—is omnipresent in this dialogue. Indeed, everything is here: two pompous orators offering an apology for rhetoric (Polus and Gorgias); a young, aggressive, and radically frank aristocrat who is madly obsessed with political power (Callicles); and, especially, the revealing failure of a conversation that is said to take place between two exemplary parrhēsiastai.

Irony, Silence, and Attention In Fearless Speech and Le courage de la vérité, Foucault offers a list of criteria for treating a particular instance of “truth saying” as parrhesia.11 First, the individual who tells the truth must do it with absolute sincerity. All must be said, regardless of any concern for the demands of civility, conventions, or the sentiments of those who listen: “la parrêsia consiste à dire, sans dis- simulation ni réserve ni clause de style ni ornement rhétorique qui pourrait la chiffrer ou la masquer, la vérité. Le ‘tout-dire’ est à ce moment-là: dire la vérité sans rien en cacher, sans la cacher par quoi que ce soit.”12 Therefore, the true parrhēsiastēs according to Foucault is she who tells everything with

10 This is the number proposed by Monoson Plato’s( Democratic Entanglements, chap. 6) and Foucault (Le gouvernement de soi, 181–90). The explicit mentions are atLaches 178a, 179c, 189a; Gorgias 487a, 487b, 487d, 491e, 492d, 521a; Symposium 222c; Phaedrus 240e; Charmides 156b; Laws 649b–d, 694a–b, 806c–d, 835c; Republic 557b; Seventh Letter 354a. Evidently, there are other dialogues that deal with parrhesia, without mentioning the word—the Apology could be read as a text entirely dedicated to it. 11 These criteria have been taken up by others, such as Monoson and Saxonhouse, in part or entirely. 12 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité (Paris: Gallimard, 2009), 11. In Le gouvernement de soi, Foucault defines “parrhēsia” as follows: “le courage de dire tout ce qu’on pense, en dépit des règles, des lois, des habitudes” (342). The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 6 9 frankness. The second criterion (which is of a piece with the first) is truth: what the individual utters must really be what she holds to be the truth. The speaker must be convinced not only that her words are a faithful description of this truth; she must also be willing to commit herself fully to this truth. “Le parrèsiaste donne son opinion, il dit ce qu’il pense, il signe en quelque sorte lui-même la vérité qu’il énonce, il se lie à cette vérité, et il s’oblige, par conséquent, à elle et par elle.”13 (We will come back below to what is understood here by “truth.”) Before discussing more closely the injunctions of sincerity and truth, let us mention the other main characteristics of parrhesia.14 The speaker must take a risk—the risk of offending the other, the risk of being humiliated by an audience that refuses to listen, even the risk of being killed (the example of Socrates killed by Athens is obviously present in Foucault’s mind). No risk, no parrhesia, affirms Foucault.15 Finally, since parrhesia requires risk taking, the truth teller must necessarily have remarkable courage: indeed, courage is the moral quality that defines the parrhēsiastēs. Now, what is the goal of all this courageous truth-telling according to Foucault? The intention is to help the other take care of his soul and, perhaps, to convince him to live otherwise—be it Plato speaking to Dion, or Socrates trying to persuade Alcibiades, Glaucon, or Callicles. As Foucault argues, the ideal Platonic philosopher/parrhēsiastēs could be seen as the good doctor described by Plato in the Laws (720c–e)—a doctor who is not content with prescription, but rather intends to offer at once diagnosis, persuasion/ dialogue, and a cure.16 And indeed, it seems to be one of Foucault’s intentions—through this “return to Plato”17—to dethrone the modern psychiatrist (or the Christian confessor) and to put, in his place, the parrhēsiastēs, the only one truly capable of caring for souls. But let us return to the first trait of Socratic parrhesia (the other two traits will be discussed in the following sections): its brutal and total sincerity, its disregard for the claims of civility and conventions. For Saxonhouse, it is here that we have one of the strengths of Socratic philosophy: its indifference to

13 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité, 12; my italics. 14 These two criteria will be discussed in the third part of this essay. 15 Le gouvernement de soi, 56; Le courage de la vérité, 12, 24. 16 Le gouvernement de soi, 212–24. 17 Séverine Mathelin, “Michel Foucault, Le gouvernement de soi et des autres,” Essaim, no. 21 (2008): 183–85. 7 0 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

various traditions and customs. The parrhēsiastēs that was Socrates (“a fully democratic man”)18 and Athenian democracy have in common that both are shameless and seek to overturn the sociopolitical hierarchies that are tied to an unquestioned reverence for history, age, or tradition:19 “It is only when this reverence is dismissed, when a people can say freely what they think that they are able to practice a politics of self-rule.”20 Other readers of Plato have joined Saxonhouse, not only noting the fact that radical frankness characterizes Plato’s dialogues but also arguing that this very trait can enrich our reflections on deliberative democracy. Habermasian avant la lettre, according to Euben,21 Socrates would thus offer us a precious celebration of sincerity in human discussion. But is it entirely convincing to place such a strong emphasis on sincerity in Socratic philosophy? Doesn’t this description threaten to undervalue the importance of irony and of a certain manipulation of discourse in Plato’s dialogues? Indeed, lengthy discussions of Socratic irony are absent from the treatments of parrhesia offered by Monoson and Saxonhouse—perhaps for self-explanatory reasons.22 After all, as Michel Foucault stressed in hisLe gouvernement de soi et des autres, parrhesia could be envisioned as an anti-irony.23 Indeed, for Foucault, there was a certain tension between Socratic irony and parrhesia, but unfortunately, Foucault failed consider this tension at length. Perhaps we should turn to the Gorgias now in order to unpack a bit the complicated relationship between irony and sincerity. As many readers of the Gorgias have noted, the exchanges between Socrates and Gorgias, Polus, and Callicles are dripping with irony and false flattery. For instance, after Gorgias has offered his interlocutors a definition of rhetoric and an inventory of its incredible benefits, Socrates exclaims admiringly that rhetoric does seem to possess supernatural powers (456a). The ironic compliment paid by Socrates bears fruit: Gorgias, encouraged by the turn taken by the conversation and emboldened by Socrates’s praise, is content to carry on the discussion and to

18 Saxonhouse, Free Speech, 123. We will come back to this shortly. 19 That being said, one of Saxonhouse’s goals is to show that neither can completely sever itself from shame (and its “limits”). A healthier limit (i.e., one that is more democratic) than traditional Greek shame is that captured in the concept of aidōs—a kind of “procedural” limit that will, among other things, determine the length of discourses. See Saxonhouse, Free Speech, 180. 20 Ibid., 15. 21 Euben explicitly speaks of Socrates’s “Habermasian voice” in Corrupting Youth, 216. 22 To speak of irony and manipulation sits uncomfortably with sincerity. 23 Foucault, Le gouvernement de soi, 54. Saxonhouse touches on the issue of irony briefly atFree Speech, 126. The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 7 1 reveal his most intimate thoughts. By appealing to Gorgias’s pride, Socrates is trying to lure him into freely joining the camp of those who see being refuted as a beautiful occasion for learning, instead of as a great insult and source of shame. Thus, with the help of a certain deception, Socrates makes Gor- gias commit himself to continuing the conversation before he realizes why he might not want to be a part of it. The ruse is successful: Gorgias claims loudly that he is one of those individuals dedicated to the cause of truth, and hence that he is capable of accepting criticism. While this ruse will not in itself suffice to convert Gorgias to (Platonic) philosophy, Socrates’s subtle manipulation does succeed in delaying and perhaps even in circumscribing Gorgias’s exasperation. Flattery allows Socrates to keep a minimum of good will on the part of Gorgias and thus to have in him an ally when violence later erupts.24 Flattery also plays an important role in the fiery exchanges that follow between Socrates and Callicles (489b, 494c, 492d). But Callicles is not as blind to Socrates’s stratagem as Gorgias: after having been described as the “noblest of men” (521b), Callicles retorts testily that Socrates is slavishly giving in to the demands of flattery. Naturally, the cold response of Callicles fails to convince Socrates to give up on his strategy: the dialogue is peppered with irony until the very end. It reaches a pinnacle when Socrates informs his three interlocutors—after having laid bare the limits of their knowledge— that they are the “wisest of the Greeks of today” (527a). Particularly intense if not outright violent, the exchanges that take place here between Callicles and Socrates have been the object of much discussion. It will suffice for my specific purpose here to note that Foucault and Monoson both derive from these heated exchanges important lessons regarding parrhesia (it is here, after all, that Socrates explicitly identifies parrhesia as one of the prerequisites for philosophy). After having lost Gorgias and Polus as conversation partners, Socrates exclaims that he is quite pleased to have Callicles as his next interlocutor. Socrates remarks that Callicles has all that is needed to engage in a philosophical conversation: “a person who is going to put a soul to an adequate test to see whether it lives rightly or not must have three qualities, all of which you have: knowledge [epistēmē], good will [eunoia], and frankness [parrhēsia]” (487a). Faced with this significant passage, some Plato interpreters have taken Socrates at his word and concluded that Callicles is indeed an individual who is truly capable of parrhesia.25 But it is unconvinc-

24 Later in the dialogue (497b), Gorgias will try to help Socrates convince Callicles of the need to continue the conversation. 25 Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Entanglements, 163. Compare with Josiah Ober, Political Dissent in Democratic Athens (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 203. The position of Foucault is 7 2 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

ing to assume that Socrates is sincere in attributing these three qualities to Callicles. First, Socrates immediately adds, right after his “compliment” to Callicles, another compliment that is more evidently doubtful: Socrates notes that both Callicles and Polus possess knowledge (epistēmē). Yet, at this point in the dialogue, what has been shown is precisely that Gorgias and Polus do not have any of the knowledge they claim to possess. Secondly, what the dialogue beautifully captures in its closing moments is that Callicles does not have good judgment (or knowledge for that matter)—his life is, in Socrates’s estimation, entirely “worthless” (527e). And finally, Plato illustrates very quickly the limits of the “good will” of Callicles by having him adopt a radically threatening and defiant posture towards Socrates. Reassessing the sincerity of this important passage (487a) matters because it forces us to reflect on the causes of the breakdown of the conversation in the Gorgias and, more generally, on what philosophy requires according to Plato (not according to Foucault). As we will see in the third section of this paper, Callicles has what it takes to satisfy the Foucauldian criterion for parrhesia: he is exceedingly courageous,26 daring to admit the inadmissible (his desire to exploit others). What various dramatic elements of the dialogue also reveal is that Callicles is capable of putting into action his thoughts and his words— there is a harmony between his logos (violent and tyrannical) and his ergon (violent and tyrannical). Callicles stands up for the “truth” that he affirms; he is totally sincere and ready to take the risk entailed by his dark conception of justice. Nevertheless, despite all these (parrhesiastic) traits, Callicles embodies a radical challenge to the good functioning of the dialogue and shows that he may not be, after all, the dream interlocutor. What Callicles is missing, I will argue, is sōphrosunē. Indeed, the “problem” with Callicles is not a lack of courage or of sincerity (he exudes both—his tongue is remarkably unbridled), but rather, a radical hedonism and thirst for domination. While it is certainly true that philosophy requires a good dose of sincerity according to Plato, philosophy also seems to tolerate (if not call for) some irony and subtle manipulation. Hence, the injunction of absolute sincerity underscored by Foucault and by some of his heirs may not be wholly appropriate to capture what Plato is trying to convey in his Gorgias. My

more subtle and ambiguous: he suggests that Callicles possesses true “parrêsia socratique,” while quickly acknowledging that Socrates’s parrhesia is not exactly that of Callicles (Le gouvernement de soi, 342–43). 26 “Courageous” in the meaning proposed by Foucault, not by Plato. Platonic courage is philosophic and, in my view, quite distinct from Foucauldian courage. The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 7 3 intention here is not to deny the importance of sincerity in political philosophy—an importance underscored repeatedly in the Gorgias (494c, 499c) and most graphically summed up by the last words of the dialogue (527e). What this section has tried to indicate, rather, is that the praise for sincerity that is nested within the concept of parrhesia cannot easily be reconciled with Socratic irony. There is evidently a tension between these two things—and it is a tension that needs to be spelled out at length.27 Let us turn now to another aspect of Platonic philosophy that risks being overshadowed in these discussions of parrhesia. This aspect is, in fact, already neglected by students of Plato: that of silence, of introspection, and of listening. At the heart of the Foucauldian ethics of parrhesia rests an apology for the vocalization of our thoughts—one must speak, one must say it all. While empty and stupid chattering is proscribed (this is correctly stressed), we are nevertheless presented with an invitation to let speech flow out. The tongue of the philosopher/parrhēsiastēs must be free, unbridled.28 Naturally, one must acknowledge that the practice of philosophy cannot take place without recourse to words; and needless to say, Plato’s work would hardly make sense if it were divested of its celebration for the spoken word.29 No conversation, no dialectic. That said, I believe that Plato’s celebration of a “live” logos does not entirely come at the cost of silence and patient, quiet introspection. The silence that interests me here is not the silence of Plato, the author of dialogues who is said to hide behind his characters, never speaking in his own name.30 Rather, the silence that interests me is that of Socrates and that of other characters in Plato’s dialogues—the silence captured by the drama itself or described, in words, by some characters. By “silence,” therefore, I am referring primarily to real silence, the absence of sounds—an absence which, I suggest, cannot be equated with an absence of thought. We have already noted above that Socrates does not say everything; this is the intended consequence both of his philosophical humility and of his pedagogy. Socrates seeks to lead his interlocutors—via irony—to say, feel, or do something. But some of Socrates’s silences could be said to derive from his conviction that there are things that simply ought not to be said, or

27 For a detailed and very insightful discussion of irony and its tension with parrhesia, see Elizabeth Markovitz, The Politics of Sincerity. 28 Saxonhouse emphasizes one concrete “bridle” put on the tongue: the length of speeches. 29 For a famous passage that takes into account this tension, see Phaedrus 275d–276a. 30 A type of silence that has been commented on extensively by Leo Strauss. See, e.g., Leo Strauss, The City and Man (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964), 54–62. 7 4 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

that these things might await a more opportune occasion. In the Lysis, for instance, Plato portrays Socrates struggling with his desire to utter certain harsh truths to the young Hippothales, yet opting to remain silent. After having carefully observed Hippothales, Socrates decides to “bit[e] [his] tongue” (210e) in order to avoid causing an embarrassment that would be futile. The tongue of Socrates is thus not completely (or always) unbridled; neither, we might add, is the tongue of the Athenian stranger in the Laws.31 In the Alcibi- ades (a dialogue that is pivotal for Foucault’s Le Gouvernement de soi et des autres) we see Socrates explain to the ambitious Alcibiades why, for numerous years, he has contented himself with following the young man in silence instead of attempting to strike up a philosophical conversation. He argues that Alcibiades was simply not ready for true listening: talk would have been futile. Socrates implicitly suggests here that his silent and disconcerting presence (106a) was by far preferable to an audible speech—for the latter would have resonated merely into emptiness, instead of into Alcibiades’s soul. If silence has pedagogical utility in that sense, it is equally an ally of reflection. Even though the most popular image we have of Socrates is that of the accused who refuses to cease speaking (Apology), we ought not to forget that Socrates was also capable of silence (and of deriving pleasure from it).32 In fact, it is partially in light of this appreciation for silence that Socrates seems to have acquired a reputation of “strangeness”—that which is most vividly captured in the Symposium. At the beginning of this dialogue, Plato presents us with a Socrates who, despite having an interested youth at his side, opts to let his mind busy itself with inner thoughts, as he walks to Agathon’s house (174d). Plato suggests in this passage that Socrates’s silence is not meaningless, nor can it be envisaged as the result of threats or as the symptom of alienation (as the silences of Polus and Callicles might be).33 Rather, the silence of Socrates is an active one: it is pregnant with meaning and it prepares the philosophical exercise that is about to take place. Socrates not only retreats inwardly as he walks to Agathon’s house, he also consid- ers it necessary to retreat to the neighbor’s porch for a significant amount of time before joining the others. As is indicated by Aristodemus’s words, this behavior of Socrates was apparently a fairly typical one—this tendency to silent introspection is here described as “one of his habits” (175b). And yet,

31 See the epigraph at the beginning of this paper, quoting Laws 701c. 32 See, for instance, Symposium 173c, where Socrates notes the great pleasure he takes in philosophical exchange—even if it only entails listening. 33 Paul Gooch believes that this type of silence was akin to prayer. See Gooch, Reflections on Jesus and Socrates: Word and Silence (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996). The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 7 5 despite its habitual nature, this behavior on the part of Socrates hardly seems to have lost its capacity to shock or indispose others, as the repeated demands of Agathon for Socrates to come in serve to indicate (175c). The “strangeness” of Socrates must have fueled the anxiety Athenians felt about him. After all, as Silvia Montiglio has argued, ancient Athens had only fear and contempt for silence, associating it with servility, conspiracies, bogus citizenship, feminine scheming, or the interruption of the natural course of things.34 No sane individual aspired to be noticed for his or her silence: “like the Homeric hero, the ideal citizen of Athens boasted to excel at deeds and at words, but not at silence. Not even as a listener.”35 It is likely that Socrates was executed because he spoke excessively (and because he spoke with too many oligarchic sympathizers), but it may also be because, sometimes, Socrates spoke too little. His strange meditative manners and his purposeful silence (manifested also in his twofold refusal to take part in politics and to assert any knowledge dogmatically), mixed with his remarkable capacity to lay bare the ignorance of others, were doubtless instrumental in his death. In short, Plato’s thought aims not only at showing us the significance of the spoken word, but also (albeit less centrally) at underscoring the importance of silence, of listening,36 and of introspection in philosophy and living together. The “ethic of parrhesia” coming out of the work of Foucault encour- ages us to brush this aside a little quickly in my view.37 And yet, one could suggest that nothing is more timely (and radical) in Plato than this invitation to silence and active, attentive listening. Indeed, just as in ancient Greece, silence seems to be a source of anxiety among us (witness the way we quickly fill any silence when we work, travel, eat, study, read), and active listening seems to be badly (or rarely) cultivated. To listen, to learn (and to be just), one must pay attention, which requires much self-discipline and quiet devotion, as Simone Weil (a Platonist of the first order) rightly noted.38 Weil understood

34 Silvia Montiglio, Silence in the Land of Logos (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), introduction and 289–91. 35 Ibid., 291; my italics. 36 Tarnopolsky explores some of this in her insightful “Prudes, Perverts, and Tyrants: Plato and the Contemporary Politics of Shame,” Political Theory 32, no. 4 (August 2004): 468–94. 37 But for two important exceptions to this overlooking of silence in Foucault, see Le gouvernement de soi, 26–27 and 217. See also the beginning of History of Sexuality, vol. 1. 38 In various writings, Simone Weil underscores the intimate links between attention, philosophy, and justice: “Le premier devoir de l’école est de développer chez les enfants la faculté d’attention…en leur rappelant sans cesse qu’il leur faut savoir être attentifs pour pouvoir, plus tard, être justes” (Weil, Écrits de Londres et dernières lettres [Paris: Gallimard, 1957], 177). See also Attente de Dieu. 7 6 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

the significance of the Socratic injunction that peppers Plato’s work, namely, to “pay attention.” TheGorgias , like most Platonic dialogues, highlights not only the importance of this injunction but also the great challenge that it poses: Socrates constantly has to bombard his interlocutors with questions in order to keep them active in the conversation (with, sometimes, limited success). “Pay attention,” Socrates tells Laches, “and join me in examining what is being said” (Laches 197e). The answers gathered by Socrates—as obligating and “silent” as they might be sometimes (e.g., Republic, books 2 to 10)—are never insignificant. As commentators like Hans-Georg Gadamer have noted, “silent” or acquiescent responses can sometimes be a meaningful part of philosophical exchange. To conduct a dialogue requires first of all that the partners do not talk at cross purposes. Hence it necessarily has the structure of question and answer. The first condition of the art of conversation is ensur- ing that the other person is with us. We know this only too well from the reiterated “yes” of the interlocutors in the Platonic dialogues. The positive side of this monotony is the inner logic with which the subject matter is developed in the conversation.39 Undoubtedly, Plato’s dialogues confront us with numerous silences of alienation, of shame,40 of anger, and even of indifference (think of the silences of Callicles, Polus, Thrasymachus, or Cephalus). And indeed, not all silences are equal. For instance, through the silence of the young Lysis, Plato seems to be interested in depicting a type of silence that, far from being symptomatic of alienation or of indifference, rather seems to be a sign of a philosophical disposition (Lysis 222a). Indeed, Plato may wish to suggest here that this young man—remarkable for his “close attention” and “fondness for philosophy” (213d)—was touched by Socrates. Philosophy is thus not only a “way of speaking” or an “attitude,” as Fou- cault liked to suggest. While it is clear that Platonic philosophy cannot be thought through without ethos (here is indeed what distinguishes Socrates from sophists, as both Foucault and Gadamer have correctly noted),41 neither

39 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, trans. J. Weinsheimer and D. G. Marshall (New York: Continuum), 360. 40 For an insightful and detailed treatment of shame in the Gorgias, see Christina Tarnopolsky, Prudes, Perverts, and Tyrants: Plato’s “Gorgias” and the Politics of Shame (Princeton: Princeton Uni- versity Press, 2010). 41 E.g., Hans-Georg Gadamer, “Logos and Ergon in Plato’s Lysis,” in Dialogue and Dialectic, trans. P. Christopher Smith (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980), 1–20; Gadamer, The Idea of the Good The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 7 7 can it be thought through without theōria—and the latter sometimes takes place in silence. Indeed, the theoretical disciplines that prepare the individual for dialectic are disciplines that could be described as “quiet” disciplines: arithmetic, geometry, and even harmony. In the Republic, for instance, Socrates mocks those who engage in the science of harmonics with their ears: pretty ridiculous they are. …They talk about something they call a “dense interval” or quartertone—putting their ears to their instruments like someone trying to overhear what the neighbors are saying. And some say that they hear a tone in between and that it is the short- est interval by which they must measure, while others argue that this tone sounds the same as a quarter tone. Both put ears before under- standing. (531a) Also, in the Gorgias (508a), Socrates notes that there is an intimate connec- tion between the sick soul of Callicles (i.e., his incapacity to philosophize) and his lack of interest in geometry. Now, this important theoretical (and silent) dimension of Plato risks being completely forgotten as scholars seek to draw out what is more visible, audible, and democratic in his work: namely, the frank Socrates engaging on the street with anybody willing to listen and to be subjected to his relentless questioning. For Monoson and Foucault, the ideal of parrhesia is seductive partially because of its egalitarian flavor: after all, anybody can claim the title of philosopher-parrhēsiastēs (as long as one has the prerequisites in courage and sincerity, that is). No title or professional certification is required. “Cet autre si nécessaire pour que je puisse dire le vrai sur moi-même, cet autre dans la culture antique peut être un philosophe de profession, mais aussi n’importe qui…ce peut être un ami personnel, ce peut être un amant.”42 And yet, once we look a little closer, it seems that the theoretical route towards earning the title of philosopher is, according to Plato, a much longer and pro- tracted one than Foucault and Monoson account for.43 In short, marrying Socrates and Plato to an apology of tout dire, or putting the emphasis on the necessity of endlessly vocalizing our thoughts, should not make us forget in Platonic-Aristotelian Philosophy, trans. P. Christopher Smith (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986). 42 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité, 7. 43 Moreover, it should be noted that Socrates is quite selective in his choice of interlocutors: even though in the Apology he claims to have had conversations with artisans, we never actually engage with members of the dēmos (as many commentators have noted). Putting aside the brief exchange that Socrates has with Meno’s slave, Plato’s dialogues put on the scene members of Athens’s elite, and this, not because Socrates was particularly admiring of them. His choice of interlocutors more likely rested on the presumption that these individuals were those with the greatest capacity for evil and injustice. 7 8 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

the role played by quiet theoretical study and solitary introspection. Political philosophy (just like politics) is not merely speech, noise, and action; it also calls—at times—for silence, quiet devotion, and attention, three things upon which our capacity for wonder at the world and others rest to some degree (Theaetetus 155d). Indeed, silence can sometimes be significant and rich; it is a part—small but essential—of thoughtful action.44

Opinion, Truth, and Dialectic: Truth as Procedure? What philosophy says always stays the same. —Plato, Gorgias Ce sur quoi je voudrais insister pour finir c’est ceci: …la vérité, ce n’est jamais le même. —Foucault, Le courage de la vérité

In Le courage de la vérité, Foucault proposes a typology of the different modes of “truth telling,” associating with each mode a particular type of truth teller: the prophet, the sage, the technician/teacher, and, finally, the parrhēsiastēs.45 Each ideal-type has a distinct relationship to self and to others, and each figure holds a different kind of truth. For instance, if the sage speaks of Being (i.e., of “l’être du monde et des choses”), the parrhēsiastēs only speaks of ethos—the object of the truth telling here is the way one lives, the manner in which one puts (or not) actions and discourse in harmony.46 Acknowledging that there are in Socrates certain traits of the sage (as well as the basis for a substantive metaphysics that will blossom in the late Platonic dialogues),47 Foucault nevertheless asserts that the son of Sophroniscus is primarily the

44 John Zumbrunnen proposes an argument that partially goes in this direction in his fascinating Silence and Democracy: Athenian Politics in Thucydides’ “History” (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008). 45 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité, 25. 46 “Le parrèsiaste ne révèle pas à son interlocuteur ce qui est. Il lui dévoile ou l’aide à reconnaître ce qu’il est” (ibid., 19; my italics). 47 Indeed, Foucault thinks that there are, in fact, two slightly distinct ways of doing philosophy in Plato: first, there is the “aesthetics of existence” put forward in the early dialogues. Here, philosophy is envisioned as an “épreuve” and an attitude. Second, there is the “metaphysics of the soul” that increasingly gets deployed in the dialogues of maturity. Here, philosophy is envisioned as a body of knowledge and a quest for transcendent truth. The history of philosophy is seen by Foucault as a long struggle between these two types of relationship to the truth. Naturally, Foucault likes to associate his own work with the first. SeeLe courage de la vérité, 118–20. The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 7 9

“parfait parrèsiaste”—one whose sole concern is ethos. The Socrates of the Laches, for instance, “ne parle pas de l’être des choses et de l’ordre du monde, il parle de l’épreuve de l’âme.”48 The practice of philosophy that is Socratic parrhesia is, according to Foucault, a way of being, an attitude—one that could be summarized as an aesthetics of existence.49 Philosophy is about constructing, through this courageous exchange, a beautiful existence for oneself—it is not about tend- ing towards the beautiful or the good.50 It would not be unfair to claim that Foucault seeks to empty Plato’s dialogues (especially the so-called Socratic ones) of anything akin to a quest for transcendence.51 The truth spoken of by Socrates must therefore be reworked, chiseled, before it can become Foucault’s. As is captured quite well by the epigraph to this section, truth is, for Foucault, always particular, always different, always firmly anchored in immanence. Thus, it is hardly suprising to see Foucault describe the truth communicated by Socratic parrhesia with the following words: “la vérité de ce qui est dans la forme singulière des individus et des situations, et non pas la vérité de l’être et de la nature des choses.”52 As Jakub Franěk succinctly puts it in his study of Foucauldian parrhesia, “Parrhesia is a mode of truth saying, not a system of true propositions.”53 Quite similarly, the discussions of parrhesia put forward by Euben and Monoson tend to paint truth as something devoid of a substantive reference to the good or to a quest for unity. For instance, Monoson describes the “type” of truth articulated by a Greek parrhēsiastēs as follows: The truth claim did not entail any assertion of a view’s alignment with an absolute, transcendent standard. Rather, it asserted a specific relation between the speaker and his view. …The main work the truth claim did was to assert the honesty and personal integrity of the speaker and the apparently critical import of his logos—not the certain flawness- ness of the logos itself.54

48 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité, 82. With regard to the Gorgias, for instance, Foucault is ready to acknowledge a strong ontological content. See Le gouvernement de soi, 342–44. 49 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité, 150. See also Jakub Franěk, “Philosophical Parrhesia as Aesthetics of Existence,” Continental Philosophy Review 39 (2006): 113–34. 50 Le courage de la vérité, 150–51. 51 As noted above, Foucault does not entirely deny the metaphysical content of the late dialogues. 52 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité, 25; my italics. 53 Franěk, “Philosophical Parrhesia as Aesthetics of Existence,” 130. 54 Monoson, “Frank Speech, Democracy, and Philosophy,” 175. 8 0 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

The word “truth” therefore seems to become almost interchangeable with the term “opinion”—as is repeatedly suggested by Foucault in Fearless Speech and Le gouvernement de soi. For instance, he writes that “the parrhesiastes is not only sincere and says what is his opinion, but his opinion is also the truth.”55 Monoson and Foucault thus both seem to dismiss a little quickly the need to distinguish between opinion and truth. And yet, at the heart of most of Plato’s dialogues rests this important philosophical intuition: one must differentiate opinion from knowledge, belief from science (and it is, in fact, a distinction already formulated in the Gorgias). Even if the “Socratic” dialogues that are of great interest to Foucault do not end with the strong affirmation of a stable truth, one can nevertheless witness in these early dialogues a patient and concerned quest for unity and stability. Philosophy for Plato was not just an “attitude” (pace Foucault), or a way of caring for one’s soul. It was this, but it was also more than this: it con- sisted in an endless theoretical quest for as stable a truth as possible (one that radically differs from the ever-fluctuating object of Callicles’s eros).56 Marlein van Raalte is thus right to define Socratic parrhesia as the “freedom of speech in the service of the truth and the good.”57 Now, one could argue that it is not surprising to see Plato interpreters understating the importance of the good in their comments on parrhesia. After all, as we have noted in the introduction, one of the intentions behind much of this recent work on Plato is to dispute the association of Plato with dogmatism and totalitarianism. In order to do so, many feel that it is necessary to increase the importance of the structure and style of Platonic thought at the expense of its content. By insist- ing on the fact that Plato’s philosophy is largely a matter of sincerity, attitude, and procedure, these interpreters seem to think that it is possible to evacuate the “problem” posed by Plato’s metaphysics or by his virulent attack against democracy. As we noted above, what unites the works of Foucault, Monoson, and Euben is the shared conviction that it is possible to separate the words from the deeds or attitude of Socrates. For instance, Peter Euben writes: the question of whether and how Socrates is a democrat is not only a matter of what is said but of how it is said, not only a question of explicit argumentation but of dialectical “method” and of the dramatic movement of the dialogue. Thus, it would be possible for the way

55 Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Entanglements, 14. Foucault insists repeatedly on the “caractère abso- lument personnel de l’énonciation philosophique” of Plato (Le gouvernement de soi, 256; see also 210). 56 See Gorgias 481d–482c. 57 Van Raalte, “Socratic Parrhesia,” 301. The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 8 1

criticisms of democracy are made—provocatively, frankly, inconsis- tently, ironically, dialectically, polyphonically—to be “democratic,” even as the particular argument was not.58 These lines are revealing: we see here that reconciling Plato with democracy can perhaps only be done by negating the importance of logos to the profit of ergon. My intention here is not to call into question the importance of drama or of the dialogical form to Plato’s work—these are in fact essential. Instead, my goal is to suggest that in our desire to rehabilitate the form, we ought to be careful not to dismiss the significance of the content. Even though the Gorgias is a dialogue overflowing with rich reflections on the nature and challenges of conversation and dialogic procedures (as Euben, Tarnopolsky, and Monoson have all admirably shown), the Gorgias is also a text that puts forth fairly thick moral convictions. For instance, not only does the Gorgias affirm the distinction between opinion and knowledge, and the close con- nection between virtue and wisdom, it also insists on the moral notion that it is always better to suffer injustice than to commit it. It equally insists on the idea that a healthy governing of cities begins with a knowledge and control of the self—what Callicles entirely lacks, as we will see below. In short, the Gorgias is a lot more than a dialogue about the nature of dialogue; it is also a text pregnant with strong ethical and theoretical claims. If we overlook these claims, on what basis are we to judge the utterances made by the philosopher/parrhēsiastēs? How are we to distinguish false parrhesia from true parrhesia—how do we distinguish flattery from philosophy? Few interpreters give us detailed answers to these questions. Monoson acknowledges that for Plato, good parrhesia (i.e., that briefly described in the Laws or in the Laches) necessitates a certain “discrimination and moral seriousness.”59 But on what will this discrimination rest if Platonic thought is envisioned largely as a matter of posture or procedures? How can we distinguish the genuine philosopher from the pompous and self-interested intellectual? How can we distinguish Socrates from Callicles?

“La Vérité dans le Risque de la Violence”: Courage, Hedonism, and Moderation Foucault thought he had found an answer to these questions in the life of Socrates and the history of Athens. Based on a rich analysis of the Laches,

58 Euben, Corrupting Youth, 216. 59 Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Entanglements, 160. See also 165. 8 2 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

Foucault suggests that the Athenians possessed a solid proof of the virtue and authority of the parrhēsiastēs that was Socrates: the harmony between his actions and his words.60 Indeed, it is not the fact that Socrates showed courage on a battlefield that authorized him to speak of courage in front of two military figures in theLaches , but rather the fact that he demonstrated, in his daily life, a concord between “sa manière de dire les choses et sa manière de vivre. La parrêsia socratique comme liberté de dire ce qu’il veut est marquée, authentifiée par le son de la vie de Socrate lui-même.”61 It is therefore the presence of a harmony between discourse (logos) and actions (ergon) that allows one to distinguish the good parrhēsiastēs from the ignorant chatterer or the ambitious demagogue. Foucault insists on the great significance of the fact that Socrates’s soul is tuned in a particular musical mode: in the Laches, we learn that Socrates’s soul is tuned in a Dorian mode (188d). Foucault insists that it is this Dorian mode (a “genuinely Greek” mode, says the Laches) that lends Socrates’s discourse authenticity and legitimacy, and that gives him the right to speak about courage with authority. Laches describes Socrates as follows: Such a man seems to me to be genuinely musical, producing the most beautiful harmony, not on the lyre or some other pleasurable instru- ment, but actually rendering his own life harmonious by fitting his deeds to his words in a truly Dorian mode…in the only harmony that is genuinely Greek. (188d) The reason this particular passage is so dear to Foucault is that the Greeks commonly associated the Dorian mode with the virtue of courage.62 On the basis of this fairly traditional association, Foucault draws an important (if incorrect) conclusion: what Plato is trying to indicate via this explicit reference to the Dorian mode is that the main or most important virtue of the philosopher is courage.63 Now, putting aside the fact that it is Laches (a military man), not Socrates, who suggests that the “genuinely Greek” mode is the Dorian one, there are

60 Compare the analysis of Franěk, who insists on the fact that there cannot be a proof of a standard of judgment (“Philosophical Parrhesia,” 130). 61 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité, 138. 62 See M. L. West, Ancient Greek Music (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992); Andrew Barker, ed., Greek Musical Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984); Jacques Chailley, La musique grecque antique (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1979); F. A. Gevaert, Histoire et théorie de la musique de l’antiquité (Hildesheim: Olms, 1965). 63 Foucault, Fearless Speech, 100. The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 8 3 many good reasons not to exaggerate the significance of this passage. First, in the Republic (where the Dorian mode is also associated with courage and military ardor), Plato insists on the fact that a good musical education shall not limit itself to the Dorian mode. Indeed, this mode should be moderated by appealing to the Phrygian mode, which imitates a peaceful, self-controlled, and free individual (Rep. 399b–c). The Phrygian mode is associated not only with tranquility but, more significantly for us here, with voluntary action (freedom) and something akin to philosophy. Indeed, the Phrygian mode will imitate the human being engaged in persuasion—either that taking place through teaching or through exhortation (399b). If Foucault likes to associate the highest experience of liberty and of thought with the virtue of courage,64 Plato saw rather close links between the virtue of moderation, philosophy, and liberty (understood here as the rule of reason over one’s unnecessary passions). These intimate links are affirmed not only in the Republic (403a, 411c), but also in the Laws, in various passages where the Athenian stranger mentions good judgment and sōphrosunē in the same breath.65 As the mag- isterial study of Helen North has indicated, Plato overturned a long tradition when he ascribed to sōphrosunē a superior status to andreia.66 There is an additional reason why one should not exaggerate the significance of the passage of the Laches where the chief virtue of the philosopher seems to be courage. As is suggested in the Statesman (and the Laws),67 a good city would certainly not be composed solely of courageous citizens. On the contrary, a wise statesman will know how to weave together a fine blend of moderate citizens and courageous ones (311a). The healthy soul itself should consist of a measured combination of sōphrosunē and andreia—as we are repeatedly told in the Republic. An individual who is excessively daring will simply be unable to do philosophy (Rep. 411c–d). In short, philosophy is not principally (or solely) a matter of courage, as Foucault sometimes seems to suggest; contemplation cannot take place without self-control and self- knowledge, according to Plato. This is, in my view, one of the greatest lessons of the Gorgias and it is one that is almost completely overlooked by Foucault and his heirs.

64 E.g., Le gouvernement de soi, 64. 65 E.g., Laws 693c, 689d, 712a. 66 Helen North, Sophrosyne: Self-Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek Literature (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1966). Needless to say, not all commentators of Plato would embrace this reading. 67 E.g., Laws 773a–e. 8 4 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

Before returning to the Gorgias, let us recall briefly what the connections between parrhesia and courage are according to Foucault (and according to some of his readers). For Foucault, parrhesia necessitates courage because it is a mode of truth telling that inevitably raises a risk for the speaker. Indeed, we have here the two last and most important characteristics of the parrhēsiastēs: risk taking and courage.68 Contrary to the teacher or the sage, the parrhēsiastēs is always in a dangerous position: Il faut pour qu’il y ait parrêsia que, en disant la vérité, on ouvre, on ins- taure et on affronte le risque de blesser l’autre, de l’irriter, de le mettre en colère et de susciter de sa part un certain nombre de conduites qui peut aller jusqu’à la plus extrême violence. C’est donc la vérité, dans le risque de la violence.69 In the absence of injury, insult, or humiliation, there is no “true” philosophy according to Foucault. Thus, parrhesiastic philosophy is about guts; it is an unpleasant activity that often ends with a victory of violence.70 Largely following in the foot- steps of Foucault, Monoson argues that Platonic philosophy can be described as something that is “personally daring, dangerous, and courageous for the speaker; as performing an unpleasant but ultimately beneficial service for the polis by subjecting beliefs to rigorous criticism.”71 We will reflect, in our conclusion, on the desirability of characterizing philosophy (or politics, for that matter) primarily in that way. But for now, let us turn to the Gorgias in order to assess the claim made by Foucault that what primarily defines the philosopher is courage and risk taking. As we noted above, Callicles seems to possess many of the traits of the “good parrhēsiastēs” (as defined by Foucault and Monoson). First, he dares to speak with a brutal sincerity. Moreover, he defends with ardor the primacy of courage—not only when he describes the true statesman primarily with reference to courage, but also when he claims that an excess of philosophy will lead to cowardice (485d–e, 491c, 492a–b). Finally, Callicles courageously stands by (almost all)72 his positions, and he seems to be ready to put his defini-

68 Foucault, Le gouvernement de soi, 56. 69 Foucault, Le courage de la vérité, 12; my italics. 70 Foucault, Le gouvernement de soi, 55. Cf. 217, where Foucault acknowledges that the violence of the philosopher (and of his interlocutors) cannot go too far. 71 Monoson, Plato’s Democratic Entanglements, 164. 72 He will show some resistance when Socrates turns his words into praise for the life of the catamite. The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 8 5 tion of justice into action.73 Just like Thrasymachus in the Republic, Callicles demonstrates—in words and deeds—a violent courage and an erotics of risk (note the great admiration they share for great and brave “thieves,” those capable of immense acts of injustice).74 (Is it revealing that Foucault consid- ers Callicles to be a totally ordinary and respectable man, describing him as “un jeune homme à la fois bien, convenable et en somme tout à fait normal”?75) Despite all his predisposition to the courageous defense of his truth, Cal- licles will not be able to participate for long in the dialectical exchange that takes place—he will not even be able to open himself up to the possibility that his way of living and his conception of justice might be toxic for his soul or for a city. Towards the end of the Gorgias, Socrates identifies what prevents Callicles from giving in to philosophy: his immense desire for power (513c). According to Socrates, Callicles loves the dēmos excessively—which is obviously not meant to suggest that Callicles wants to improve the lot of the masses but rather (as is suggested by Callicles’s definition of justice) precisely the contrary. Callicles loves excessively and loves badly. The good life, in his view, is that characterized by immoderation and the courageous and endless satisfaction of desires—particularly that for power. As he explains to Socrates: [This] is what’s admirable and just by nature—and I’ll say it to you now with all frankness—that the man who’ll live correctly ought to allow his own appetites to get as large as possible and not restrain them. And when they are as large as possible, he ought to be competent to devote himself to them by virtue of his bravery and intelligence, and to fill them with whatever he may have an appetite for at the time. (491e–492a) Now, this seems to be largely what is at the heart of the failure in the Gorgias: Callicles has no sōphrosunē—no control of his desires nor knowledge of the self.76 In the Gorgias, moderation is described as a mastery of the self, “ruling the pleasures and appetites within oneself” (491d–e). Callicles is incapable of this governing of the self (and hence, he is incapable of governing others).

73 Justice is when the courageous and intelligent rule over their inferiors and possess a lot more than them (Gorgias 490a). 74 Injustice here as meant by Plato and not by Callicles. Obviously, there are significant differences between Callicles’s and Thrasymachus’s conceptions of justice, differences we cannot address here. 75 Foucault, Le gouvernement de soi, 339: “il n’y a rien d’extraordinaire dans le projet de Calliclès.” 76 What Platonic sōphrosunē calls for is not only a mastery of our unnecessary desires, but also a knowledge of the self. Indeed, sōphrosunē has both a cognitive and an ethical dimension. See Walter T. Schmid, “Socratic Moderation and Self-Knowledge,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 21, no. 3 (July 1983): 339–48; North, Sophrosyne; Adriaan Rademaker, Sophrosyne and the Rhetoric of Self- Restraint (Leiden: Brill, 2005). 8 6 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

After all, Callicles is hardly capable of putting any semblance of order in the anarchy of his desires (nor is he interested in that); he insists that moderation is, in fact, a moral quality appropriate for “stupid” people (491e). Callicles has failed to wage the most noble and courageous battle of all—that which consists in resisting one’s acquisitiveness.77 Callicles is thus essentially drunk, intoxicated by his desires for riches78 and power. Quite significantly for my purposes here, Callicles embodies precisely what characterizes bad parrhesia (and democracy) according to Plato: drunkenness and intemperance. In the Laws (within the context of a discussion that seeks to legitimate the usage of symposiums in the learning of sōphrosunē), the Athenian stranger acknowledges the challenge posed by alcohol for self-control. Under the influence of wine, each speaks without restraint and entertains illusions of grandeur: “Everyone is taken out of himself and has a splendid time; the exuberance of his conversation is matched only by his reluctance to listen to his companions, and he thinks himself entitled to run their lives as well as his own” (671b; my italics). As many have noted, this description of the drunk soul is remarkably similar to that of the democratic soul offered in theRepublic (557b).79 The close links between the drunk (immoderate) soul and bad (immoderate) parrhesia highlight the key role to be played by sōphrosunē for achieving good parrhesia (the Athenian stranger will indeed welcome it into the good city). For philosophy to be something other than empty chatter or tyrannical domination of others, the individuals that participate in it must be moderate. To put it somewhat bluntly: no sōphrosunē, no parrhesia. The political importance of the moderate soul is fairly evident: the tyrannical soul (emblematic of immoderation) will be the one that has the most catastrophic impact on the city. As such, it seems problematic for Foucault to insist that Socratic parrhesia in the Gorgias is completely dissociated from the

77 See Gorgias 526d. For a rich analysis of greed (in Plato and in ancient philosophers more generally), see Ryan Balot, Greed and Injustice in Classical Athens (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001). 78 Even though Callicles is clearly a wealthy man, it is revealing that he is keen on telling Socrates that one of the benefits of rhetoric is to allow an individual to keep his riches. For some information on the life of Callicles (largely an object of speculation) see Debra Nails, The People of Plato (India- napolis: Hackett, 2002), 75–76; or the excellent introduction to the Gorgias provided by Monique Canto-Sperber (Paris: Flammarion, 2010). 79 Pradeau, Platon, les démocrates et la démocratie, esp. chap. 3. See also Marie-Pierre Noël, “Vin, ivresse et démocratie chez Platon,” in Vin et santé en Grèce ancienne, ed. J. Jouanna and L. Villard (Athens: École française d’Athènes, 2002). The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 8 7 political problem.80 Indeed, this dialogue could rather be seen as an attack on the immoderate soul and immoderate politics: the politics of imperial Ath- ens (which invests its energies in walls and ships instead of education: 515e, 517c, 519); that of tyrannical regimes (468c); and that pursued by individuals drunk with greed (507c–509b).81 The end of the dialogue is explicit: what Athens, its rulers, and its would-be philosophers need is not only courage, but also moderation (518e–519a). This virtue calls for not only a certain renunciation (i.e., discriminate and decreased material consumption), but also, as Foucault has himself noted, a patient and regular discipline.82 This askēsis certainly seems to have ascetic overtones, but it does not exclude the enjoyment of sensuous desires. The radical hedonism of Callicles is harshly attacked in the Gorgias but Plato’s oeuvre also has a hedonism to propose in turn.83 At the heart of this reflective and moderate hedonism stands the figure of Socrates, a model of self-control—as is demonstrated by his remarkable capacity to remain sober at banquets, chaste at orgies, and serene in the face of insults. Put differently (and to say the obvious): Socrates is not Callicles—nor is he Thrasymachus. But by elevating excessively the virtue of courage (and by completely overlooking the importance of moderation to true Platonic courage), we could end up confounding Socrates with these two famous characters. Apart from the fact that it is not entirely faithful to Plato’s dialogues, a constant reference to “le risque dans la violence” is problematic because it gives (unintentionally perhaps) a certain legitimacy to violence and injury, since these come to be seen as “proofs” of our critical-thinking skills.84 Moreover, by affirming that philosophy necessarily entails a risk to be worthy of its name, we implicitly suggest that it is reasonable for someone engaged in a serious dialogue to be wary of the other. If philosophy is to be defined primarily through a reference to risk and pain (instead of friendship and pleasure), distrust will likely constitute a great part of what it is about and trust will become a hallmark of the absence of critical thought.

80 Foucault, Le gouvernement do soi, 190. 81 Moreover, Plato underlines the fact that it is rulers who should especially show a solid sōphrosunē (491d)—more than “the stupid” that Callicles mentioned (491d). 82 E.g. Foucault, Le gouvernement de soi, 249–50. 83 René Lefebvre, Platon philosophe du plaisir (Paris: L’harmattan, 2007). 84 Recall that only he who risks harvesting a violent reaction on the part of the other is a true parrhēsiastēs—a true philosopher. 8 8 Interpretation Volume 41 / Issue 2

And yet, do not many of Plato’s dialogues underscore the importance of trust and friendship (philia), not only for philosophy but also for all desirable human exchange? In the Laws, for instance, the Athenian stranger suggests that there is a close link between friendship and good parrhesia.85 Indeed, we learn here that the latter cannot take place where there is great mistrust. Moreover, many dialogues present us with a Socrates who carefully builds the relationship of trust that he hopes to establish with his young interlocutors— think of the young Charmides, Lysis, Menexenus, Glaucon, or Adeimantus. Obviously, Socrates’s eros is not always successful (the disastrous failure with Polus, for instance, is all too obvious). Nevertheless, the Socrates of Plato seems to care immensely about building a “community of views”—and this, by manipulating discourse, using flattery, appealing to the imagination and to sentiment via myths and allegories,86 and, often, by appealing to common experiences. In the Gorgias for instance, Socrates notes that Callicles and himself share one highly significant passion (one that will allow conversation to begin): that of love (481c–d). Obviously, the rest of the dialogue will show us that Callicles’s love is all but healthy, but it is revealing that it is by appealing to a shared experience that Socrates tries to attract Callicles’s sick soul.

A Progressive Platonism? The immediate aim of this essay was to offer friendly correctives to recent readings of Plato by underscoring the fact that these underestimate the significance of irony, of attentive silence and moderation in Platonic thought, and also by pointing out that these interpretations risk transforming Pla- tonic philosophy into something excessively procedural and Calliclean. To avoid any misunderstanding: my intention is not to deny the importance of the virtue of courage for philosophy (or for democratic politics for that matter). Rather, I wish to remind readers that this virtue of courage was only desirable, according to Plato, if it tended towards truth and the good and if it was informed by self-control and self-knowledge. Foucauldian courage does not rest on a quest for truth or on a conception of the good, and it need not be tied to a concept of moderation. As was noted in the introduction to this paper, the admitted goal of some of these democratic Platonists is to demolish for good the Popperian

85 Laws 694b. This passage is underscored by Foucault. 86 For a rich analysis, see Luc Brisson, Platon, les mots et les mythes (Paris: La découverte, 1994). The Unbridled Tongue: Plato, Parrhesia, and Philosophy 8 9 accusation that Plato is an enemy of democracy. But there is also a more immediate political or ideological goal. To varying degrees, we find in the work of John Wallach, Peter Euben, Sara Monoson, and Arlene Saxonhouse a desire to put some distance between Plato, on one hand, and American neoconservatism and the Right, on the other. For instance, Euben admits that his analysis seeks to overturn the “anti-democratic conservative” readings of Socrates and thus, to allow for a “liberal or radical” reappropriation of Plato.87 Monoson also claims that her democratic reading of Plato aims at criticizing “the use to which the ‘authority’ of Plato has been put by late twentieth-century conservative critics of democracy in the United States.”88 And while Saxonhouse’s Free Speech and Democracy puts forth a fairly gen- erous and rich treatment of Strauss, Saxonhouse has recently published an article that explicitly seeks to challenge the conservative interpretation that the author seems to associate with Leo Strauss (or at least with some of his students).89 Thus, Monoson, Saxonhouse, and Euben propose to reread Plato in a way that makes the philosopher more amenable to a progressive type of politics. But I have suggested that using the Foucauldian analysis of parrhesia (and more significantly, to apply what Foucault had to say about ethical or philosophical parrhesia to politics) might not be the most convincing or effective strategy. As I noted above, I am not convinced that one can successfully derive a democratic Platonic politics by playing up the form over the content of Plato’s dialogues. Plato was no lover of democracy and it is precisely for his radical criticisms of that regime that we should, again and always, attend to his work. If critics of American conservatism want to enlist Plato’s authority in order to enrich their progressive political project (something with which I am highly sympathetic), they might want to turn, instead, to what Plato had to say about greed, poverty, oligarchic regimes, and the neglect of education.

87 J. Peter Euben, “Democracy and Political Theory: A Reading of Plato’sGorgias ,” in Athenian Politi- cal Thought and the Reconstruction of American Democracy, ed. Euben, John Wallach, and Josiah Ober (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994), 199. 88 Monoson, “Frank Speech, Democracy and Philosophy,” 173. 89 Saxonhouse, “Socratic Narrative,” 732–33.