How the Equipollence Between Sophistry and Recollection in the Meno Assists
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What You Can Learn from a Pyrrhonist: How the Equipollence between Sophistry and Recollection in the Meno Assists Reader Understanding, rather than Transmitting Epistemic Stability or Preceding Psychological Tranquility Plato’s Meno is so engaging that we tend forget ourselves. We recognize at least two of Socrates’s pupils, Meno and his attendant. And each pupil represents to us a different conception of teaching and learning: Socrates uses a series of somewhat leading questions to get the attendant to recollect (though not describe in exact words) a true belief about the basis of a square with area 8. Here, the attendant learns how to show Socrates the correct diagonal line through a fairly direct and formal process, in which a series of candidate hypotheses are quickly eliminated as unreasonable. In the surrounding discussion with Meno, Socrates also uses a series of questions to enervate his student with the aim of resolving the kind of property virtue would have to be and whether it is teachable. Socrates concludes that “virtue would be neither an inborn quality nor taught, but comes to those who possess it as a gift from the gods which is not accompanied by understanding, unless there is someone among our statesmen who can make another into a statesman” (99e)1 Here, Meno seems to acquire a true belief about virtue through the process of Socratic elenchus, in which one floats a series of propositions, abandoning the ones that generate contradictions and retaining the propositions that do not. The differences between Socrates’s interactions with Meno and his attendant have led some scholars to read the Meno as a dialogue primarily about two different conceptions of teaching and learning. 1 Plato, Meno, trans. G.M. Grube (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1976). 2 Daniel Devereux, for example, suggests that by reading the dialogue as a contrast between Meno’s narrow, “sophistical” conception of teaching, in which information, in the form of a set of propositions, is transferred directly from one person to another,2 and Socrates’s broader, “Socratic” conception of teaching, in which “[l]earning is a process of drawing knowledge from oneself,”3 we can explain why Socrates says he does not teach Meno’s attendant, despite their fruitful question-and-answer session, and why Socrates makes the extreme claim that there is no such thing as teaching. When Socrates says that teaching is impossible and that he does not teach the attendant, he is referring to the sophistical, and not the Socratic, conception of teaching. Socrates says what he does about teaching, so he won’t confuse the particular student with which he is engaged: “If Socrates argued that virtue is teachable, Meno would probably come away with the false opinion that it is teachable in the sophistical sense…. [T]he argument does not establish, and it not intended to establish, that virtue is not teachable simpliciter.”4 On the Socratic conception, according to Devereux, there are two kinds of virtue, “one equivalent to true opinion and the other equivalent to knowledge,” and the latter is teachable, despite the fact that it is possessed by nature.5 The conclusion of the Meno is simply that “virtue cannot be taught in the way that the sophists claim to teach it.”6 In comparing what Socrates says about knowledge and teaching to his remarks about the beauty of his ugly features in Xenophon’s Symposium, Gregory Vlastos suggests 2 Daniel Devereaux, “Nature and Teaching in Plato’s ‘Meno,’ “ Phronesis 23:2 (1978): 125, note 7. 3 Devereux, 119. 4 Devereux, 123. 5 Devereux, 121. 6 Devereux, 123. 3 that Socrates is responsible for a new, unprecedented form of “complex,” as opposed to “simple,” irony: In ‘simple’ irony, what is said is not what is meant. In ‘complex’ irony what is said both is and isn’t what is meant…. Socrates disavowal of teaching should be understood as a complex irony. In the conventional sense, where to ‘teach’ is simply to transfer knowledge from the teacher’s to the learner’s mind, Socrates means what he says: that sort of ‘teaching’ he does not want to do and cannot do. But in the sense which he would give to ‘teaching’ – engaging would-be learners in elenctic argument to make them aware of their own ignorance and give them opportunity to discover for themselves the truth the teacher had held back—on that sense of ‘teaching’ Socrates would want to say he is a teacher, the best of teachers in his time, the only true teacher.7 In the traditional sense of ‘knowledge,’ which implies certainty, Socrates does not think there is even one moral proposition he can know. But when ‘knowledge’ refers to something else—for Vlastos, true belief justified through Socratic elenchus—Socrates can know many propositions.8 At times, it might seem to Plato’s readers that Socrates is not teaching, because there are instances in which his students make mistakes, and Socrates fails to correct them. But Vlastos argues that these instances should not be read as indications that Socrates does not care, that he is not teaching. Rather, these instances tell us that Socrates cares more for something else, namely, “that if you are to come to [knowledge of the truth] at all, it must be by yourself for yourself.” 9 In learning, the student must always bear the burden—that is, must do the cognitive work—of understanding. Vlastos explains, “[I]n almost everything we say we put a burden of interpretation on the hearer. When we speak a sentence, we do not add a gloss on how it should be read. We could not thus relieve the hearer of that burden, for that would be an endless business: 7 Gregory Vlastos “ Socratic Irony,” The Classical Quarterly, 37 (1987): 86-87. 8 Vlastos, 86. 9 Vlastos, 95. 4 each gloss would raise the same problem and there would ne have to be gloss upon gloss ad infinitum.”10 Both Devereux and Vlastos distinguish a more rote sense of teaching, in which students blindly adopt their teachers’ true propositions, from a more mysterious one, in which students grow their own latent beliefs into knowledge, under the guidance of an expert teacher. So their work raises the question of what exactly happens in the latter case: Is understanding a state a student must achieve, or is it an activity? If a state, what kind of state? If an activity, what constraints regulate its performance? In order for a student to achieve the state or participate in the activity, what role must the teacher play? If the teacher must explain, in order to generate understanding, are her explanations a special kind of justification, or is explanation importantly different than justification? This paper agrees with M.F. Burnyeat11 that the Meno is about explanation and understanding, rather than about justification and knowledge, but disagrees with Jonathan Barnes’s12 and Lee Frankin’s13 overly epistemic accounts of understanding. Understanding is not knowing the reason why, but participating in an interpretive, modeling activity. In understanding, we undergo a cognitive transformation that involves the recognition of local constraints. Before we understand, we can’t even approach the question at hand, or begin an inquiry, because we have no sense of the options open to us. Once we have some sense of what the question is asking, more specifically, of the local alternatives available to 10 Vlastos, 95. 11 M.F. Burnyeat, “Socrates and the Jury: Paradoxes in Plato’s Distinction between Knowledge and True Belief,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volumes 54(1980): 173-191. 12 Jonathan Barnes, “Socrates and the Jury: Paradoxes in Plato’s Distinction between Knowledge and True Belief,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volumes 54(1980): 193-206. 13 Lee Franklin, “The Structure of Dialectic in the ‘Meno,’ Phronesis 46:4 (2001): 413-439. 5 us, the contrast class of possibilities, we can start to pursue our investigations. Thus, understanding is not an endpoint, a finish line we cross when we finally possess a store of correct answers or true propositions. Understanding is what gets us into the race. Instead of reading the Meno as a dialogue in which the theory of Recollection offers some kind of solution to the Problem of the Criterion (79c), we should read the Meno against the background of Michael Williams’s account of the role the Problem of the Criterion plays in Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism. Most theorists view the Problem of the Criterion out of context and in isolation. But Williams reads the Problem in its appropriate context, as one of two equipollent options, the other being the dogmatism of the epistemologist who attempts to propose theories of truth and knowledge. In the Meno, when Socrates worries about our ability to recognize the instances of virtue without knowing its definition or criterion, we should experience this devastating problem along with the dogmatic theory of Recollection, instead of viewing the latter anachronistically as a transcendental solution to the former, as a regulative myth that makes it possible for us to be better, braver and less idle (86c).14 Once we see Plato’s early version of the Problem of the Criterion and the theory of Recollection side by side, as equipollent, we can see how the Meno transforms its third student—the reader—by helping her to understand a very deep question. Through the contrast between the intractable skepticism generated by high standards of scrutiny, on the one hand, and the divine accident that makes possible Recollection, on the other, Plato helps his readers grasp the question: “Should we languish, in epistemic safety, or attempt to develop, under epistemic risk?” A correct answer to this question would be a product (in particular, a proposition with special qualities).