Book Review: Plato: “Protagoras” and “Meno” 291 Robert C. Bartlett, trans., Plato: “Protagoras” and “Meno.” Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2004, 155 pp., $12.50 paper. A NDREA L. KOWALCHUK UNIVERSITY OF DALLAS [email protected] Robert Bartlett’s Plato: “Protagoras” and “Meno” is a significant contribution to Platonic scholarship. His thoughtful translations are literal without being awkward, and consistent regarding words of philosophic importance. Where there are problems with the manuscripts, discrepancies are indicated, and where there are words that can be variously translated, alternatives are supplied. Notes regarding context, background, definitions, people, and history are also helpful without being burdensome. The interpretive essays are terse and brief, yet dense and full of penetrating questions, suggestions, and insights. Even for those who might disagree with Bartlett’s interpretations, these essays are valuable since they constitute a challenge to more generally accepted views of Platonic psychology, morality, and, ultimately, of the Platonic approach to philosophy simply. What emerges most prominently from Bartlett’s treatments of the two dialogues is the careful and consistent focus on the two title characters, in and through which we gain wonderful insight into the moral self-understanding (or lack thereof) of both Protagoras and Meno. Bartlett’s analysis brings to life, respectively, a sophist and a future criminal (and with less emphasis, a future accuser of Socrates in Anytus), by sifting through and illuminating the particular qualities of each character’s moral confusion, which he also shows to be connected with each man’s view of the cosmos. As the source or sources of their respective confusions come to sight, we are led further into the question of the philosopher’s relationship to virtue, and into the unifying question of the two dialogues: whether virtue can be taught—an “apparently epistemolog- ical question [that] is (also) a thoroughly political one” (138). ©2008 Interpretation, Inc. 292 I nterpretation Bartlett identifies the theme of the Protagoras as “the sophist as educator, especially in his difference from the philosopher”(68), and it is this theme that guides his analysis as a whole. On his view, if Socrates’ critique of Protagoras is to be convincing, “it must not merely stymie or embarrass the sophist but also demonstrate the soundness of the standard or goal to which it looks in doing so” (67-68). The task of Bartlett’s essay is significant, and he does not disappoint; even where answers are not always arrived at, lights are thrown ahead. He begins from a consideration of Socrates’ motives for engaging in his conversation with Protagoras and, in so doing, raises and affirms possibilities that, at first sight and from a certain line of interpretation, call into question whether there is indeed any difference between the self- interested sophist and the philosopher. The Socrates who seeks primarily his own advantage, that is, who seeks to learn something from the conversation “in the guise of concern for the moral education of Hippocrates,” a would-be student of Protagoras (69), bears an uncomfortable resemblance to Protagoras himself. Protagoras, who is open about the fact that he teaches but not what he teaches, may not explicitly claim to teach civic virtue, but even so he is willing to let others assume that he does. As Bartlett shows us, however, beginning with Protagoras’ myth (Protagoras, 320c7ff.), he is little concerned with political virtue. He is a teacher of injustice and believes that justice is someone else’s good. Laws compel such justice (or political virtue generally), and belief in the gods reinforces it; but for those who can escape this “habituation to unthinking obedience” (75), a little toughness or endurance in sticking with that which Protagoras’ wisdom reveals is all that is required. The aspiring ruler who seeks to benefit from Protagoras’ teaching would merely have to feign a commitment to justice and the common advantage for the sake of attaining a self-interested end. Bartlett’s presentation of what is common between the two men, then, raises a crucial question: If Socrates too is primarily, even solely concerned with his own advantage, is he also willing to exploit the common good for his own benefit? Taken broadly, this question is of course related to whether or not Socrates corrupts the youth, that is, whether (and in what way) philosophy is in permanent tension with political virtue. Socrates himself puts the question to Protagoras as follows (329c2ff.): Are all of the individual virtues parts of the same whole? In response, Protagoras agrees that the individual virtues are related to the whole of virtue as the nose, ears, and eyes are related to the whole that is the face. He agrees, however, not because he Book Review: Plato: “Protagoras” and “Meno” 293 understands virtue to be a genuine unity, but rather because the image of the face (more than gold, Socrates’ other image) permits a distinction among the virtues—between justice, moderation, and piety on the one hand, and wisdom and courage on the other. As Protagoras admits, the courageous man can be unjust and the just man unwise (329e5-6). Protagoras’ qualified agreement as to the unity of virtue raises the question of whether virtue can be understood with recourse to one principle, or even two compatible principles (something like duty and personal fulfillment of desire or wish), and serves to highlight what is perhaps an unresolved multiplicity within virtue itself. When cornered by Socrates and compelled to agree on the near equivalence of justice, piety, moderation, and wisdom, Protagoras relents only so as to avoid affirming the alternative view—that piety is unjust and justice impious. Together, his grudg- ing agreement and the above considerations concerning Protagoras as a teacher of injustice lead Bartlett to reformulate Socrates’ original question regarding the unity of virtue more sharply: Is it possible, as Protagoras seems to believe, that the wise man is as such unjust? This question becomes increasingly complicated by the fact that Socrates already appears no different than a sophist to certain men (314d3). He also shows no moral scruples about using underhanded tactics, evincing as he does all the skills of a clever speaker; nor does he consistently concern himself with harming the business prospects of the sophists (357e2- 9); finally, he denies that political virtue can be taught. From observations like these, Bartlett indicates that political virtue cannot be the standard by which Socrates criticizes Protagoras. Adding still more complexity to the issue is the further fact that Protagoras, who views justice as someone else’s good, subtly charges Socrates with masking a similar opinion (consider 339d7-8 in light of 316d7). As Bartlett interprets it, Protagoras’ appeal to Simonides (338e6- 347a5) is a veiled warning to Socrates to cease his aggressive cross-examination regarding matters the two men agree upon, and Socrates’wooziness is evidence that he has felt and understood the blow. And yet, if Socrates does not differ from the sophist, how is it that Bartlett at the end of his essays can emphasize the compatibility of Socrates’ pursuits with generosity and care? Where Protagoras sees a similarity of thought between himself and Socrates, Bartlett argues, Socrates sees a cru- cial difference. The philosopher’s response to Protagoras, wholly inadequate as it is to serve the ostensible argument, veils nothing short of a returned attack: “the sophist who is concerned with wisdom for the sake of honor and who seeks to gain victory over a wise man is not himself wise because he is inconsis- tent on a matter of fundamental importance” (79). It is this inconsistency or 294 I nterpretation confusion that finally distinguishes Protagoras from Socrates as an educator. Moreover, it is this confusion, Bartlett argues, that prevents Protagoras from seeing the true end of human activities—the end in light of which virtue is virtue (and in light of which Socrates pursues the conversation) and according to which Socrates judges the sophist. Bartlett addresses Protagoras’ confusion about what consti- tutes the true good for man most explicitly in his analysis of Socrates’ abrupt turn to hedonism (351b3ff.). He tentatively suggests that although Protagoras wishes to reject hedonism in the name of noble pursuits, such a rejection is inconsistent with Protagoras’ view that all men who know the good will neces- sarily pursue it. This point, Bartlett argues, is better understood in light of the view of “the wise.” Reminding us that according to the wise,“being deprived of knowledge alone constitutes bad action or faring badly,” Bartlett infers that “acquiring or retaining knowledge alone constitutes good action or faring well” (84). It follows from this view, he notes, that the possession of knowledge is the proper end of human life, and “all that contributes to this end is virtue and all that detracts from it vice” (84). Furthermore, “if knowledge of the most important things comes at the price of our initial and perhaps dearest expectations of the world, it would to that extent be profoundly unpleasant or painful and hence would require some capacity in addition to great intellect not only to grasp it but also to live in accord with it” (84-85). One would thus require some kind of toughness or endurance to pursue the life seen as the distinctly human end. Protagoras’ view, alternatively, holds that men who know the good necessarily pursue it. But if so,“the toughness indicated would be unnecessary,”because knowledge or wisdom would be “a pleasure untainted by pain” (85). If Protagoras is to maintain that knowledge alone is sufficient to guide men aright, Bartlett argues, then he ought to maintain that the good is pleasure, and this he is ultimately compelled to do, though not before he is shown to be thoroughly confused.