Here is an article that was published a few years back but I thought I'd share it with you all. Let me know what you think. Questions, comments, or concerns are always welcomed.
ABSTRACT
Beginning the Phaedrus, Socrates greets Phaedrus saying, “Dear Phaedrus, whither and whence?” This essay will unfold the salutation, exposing its power to disclose the erotic phenomena portrayed in the dialogue. Moreover, the erotic soul’s incorporation of future and past, its implementation of memory and prophecy, its agency and passivity, and its relation to these ways of being reveals its ability to know itself. However, the temporality in which the soul reveals itself is neither chronological nor dialectical but ecstatic, characterized as prophetic, for “the soul is somehow prophetic” and Socrates is “a kind of prophet.” The essay delves into the prophetic nature of the soul and its significance in understanding Socratic erotic self-knowledge in the Phaedrus.
WHITHER AND WHENCE WE GO, WHERE WE STOP NOBODY KNOWS: Prophecy, Erōs, and Self-Knowledge in the Phaedrus
But because they are Apollo’s birds, I believe they are prophetic [mantikoi], and since they possess foreknowledge/foresight [proeidotes] of the good which is to be found in the underworld they sing…And I think that I myself am a fellow-servant of theirs, following the same god, Apollo, I have received a gift of prophecy [mantikēn] from our master (Phd. 85b).
I. The Time of Socrates’ Greeting: Greeting Phaedrus, Socrates opens their conversation with a peculiar question, “Dear Phaedrus, whither and whence?” (Phdr. 227a). While this question has been interpreted in numerous ways, by various commentators, they would, I believe, agree that given the dramatic setting, Socrates’ preoccupation with knowing himself, and references to the Delphic oracle, that one can say that the most overt sense of the greeting entails self-knowledge. And while one should not interpret an entire text based on a mere seven word phrase, if we take into account the whole of the dialogue, this greeting unfolds the dialogue in a unique manner.
If, for example, we view the greeting as an inquiry into the whither and whence of oneself in context with a view toward self-knowledge, we can come to understand why Socrates thematizes the soul saying “the soul is somehow prophetic” [mantikon ge ti kai hē psychē] (242c). The theme of prophecy is emphasized in the Phaedrus for a second time, when Socrates emphasizes “I am a prophet” [eimi dē oun mantis] (242c). Accordingly, to know oneself, in the Socratic sense, one must understand the whither and whence of the soul, i.e., to know the soul as prophetic. Throughout the remainder of this essay, I will investigate the prophetic nature of the soul and its significance for understanding the character of Socratic self-knowledge in the Phaedrus.
A traditional prophet, a mantis, is one who is defined by the ability to see not just what is, but what was, is and will be. Consequently, the mantis’ mode of knowledge encompasses the three temporal aspects within “the absolute present, with no before or after, a present that, like memory, incorporates ‘that which has been, that which is, and that which will be’” bringing the whither and whence into a present mnemonic moment. In other words, the traditional mantis has a prior connection to and is recalling to memory an autonomous realm of ‘what is’. In his greeting, then, Socrates asks Phaedrus to know himself prophetically in the sense of recalling his whither and whence, pressing Phaedrus to account for and recollect his past and future in the present moment.
While it is never revealed precisely how the soul possesses the past and future, given Socrates’ thematization of the soul as prophetic in the Socratic sense, there must be a temporality associated with it. The greeting’s peculiarity, then, arises out of its temporal character. Given this, we must ask ourselves, in what way does Plato’s Socrates understand the human-being if it does indeed possess its past and future in its present moment? Consequently, we must clarify the character of the temporality that is associated with knowledge of the soul, and the kind of knowledge that Socrates is attempting to elicit in his greeting. Socrates’ task in the Phaedrus is, at least in part, an attempt to explore these concerns.
Since a traditional prophet has knowledge of an “absolute present,” by characterizing himself as a type of mantis and stating that the soul is somehow prophetic, Socrates is drawing our attention to an investigation of the soul that is not subject to linear temporality. Memory [mnēmosunē] serves to bring past events into an absolute present. To illustrate, in the Palinode it is revealed that one’s whither and whence are the same; after all, the soul has communed, and will again, with the gods, where ‘what is’ both is and was glimpsed. Thus, by means of the soul is able to glimpse ‘what is’. If we take seriously Socrates’ characterization of the soul as somehow prophetic, as a mantis, Socrates’ recollective vision transcends and exceeds human limits, since the vision is marked by a prior connection to ‘what is’. This knowledge of the soul cannot, then, be reduced to mere chronological temporality. If it is true that the soul has glimpsed ta onta in its divine travels, the soul in its remembrances of ‘what is’ cannot simply move through time in a linear fashion; it is ecstatic. This must be the case, for if Socrates believed the soul to possess a chronological linear character, he could not have greeted Phaedrus as he did, for his greeting would be impossible to answer, for Phaedrus would be unable to answer whither and whence he is headed. This inability arises because the present moment of ‘what is’ contains both the past and future in an immediate relation to the entirety of oneself revealed through mnēmosunē, or as illustrated in the Palinode, as anamimnēskein.
Socrates does, however, find fault with the immediacy of the traditional mantis’ craft. In fact, through the elechos, he reveals that the immediacy of ‘what is’ is only apparent. For the Socratic mantis, ‘what is’ is mediated by logos and mnēmosunē. Due to this mediation, that ‘which is’ must, for the Socratic mantis, always appear at a distance and be obscure. This obscurity arises out of an awareness of one’s “distance from Being” as a memory whence one came, an awareness for which I will borrow the term “the ontology of distance.” Such an ontology claims that the distance between the human and ‘what is’ cannot be overcome. It exists only in excess of the human. As a result of the overwhelming distance supposed in the “ontology of distance,” Socratic metaphysics of reflection cannot presuppose an originary unity of consciousness. But neither can it presuppose antinomies because that which is gestured toward by the Socratic mantis exceeds discursive thought. As a result, ‘what is’ cannot be placed within a propositional dichotomy, since there is nothing to which it can be compared.
One must not think the temporality of the soul as dialectical in nature either. The distance that is revealed through the recollective powers of the Socratic mantis cannot be overcome through a rationally deployed protocol, which would induce a desire, in the individual, to become whole, leading to the “disappearance or overcoming of human nature.” The role of mnēmosunē, as will be revealed, is so prominent in Socratic prophecy that the reflection that takes place is not a reflection upon consciousness’s totality, since the memory of ‘what is’ is, as memory, always distant in its presence, escaping totality’s grasp. It is a presencing of non-presence. Nor is that which is being remembered caught in an antinomy, vis-à-vis that which is doing the remembering and that which is remembered, since, paradoxically, it is one and the same entity that is caught within mnēmosunē. Thus, the reflection that the Socratic mantis is engaged in is not the Hegelian reflection of opposites.
Given the temporal state of the soul and the temporality involved in the knowledge of it, I will delve into the claim that the Palinode is, as Griswold writes, a “phenomenology of love,” and will argue in section III that erōs points to an excessive nature of the human being: there is neither a transcendent self from which we are separated, nor is there a Hegelian Absolute in which the finite self and its excess can be resolved. So while the Socratic mantis has insight and a prior connection with ‘what is’, the gap between the human and ‘what is’ cannot, nevertheless, be bridged, it is a power that exceeds and cannot be overcome by the human.
In sum, ‘what is’, or the Forms, is distant from the human-being as such, frustrating all human attempts to understanding it. The frustration into which the Socratic mantis is thrown is epitomized as waylessness [aporia]. Consequently, a prophetic vision is like an utterance from an oracle, coming in the form of a riddle or a dark-saying [ainigma] whose sole purpose it is to reveal the excessively obscure quality of that which the ainigma is concerned. An ainigma must be understood as unsolvable and an excessive sign or portent of ‘what is’. Hence, ‘what is’ defies attempts at mastery and overcoming, and yet, nevertheless or because of this, the Socratic mantis is erotically drawn whither. Just as Socrates lived his life without the discomfort of aporia prior to being confronted with the god’s riddle, Phaedrus, before being asked whither and whence had not adequately taken into account his being. Phaedrus’ way of being comes to be seen as problematic only when he is forced to confront Socrates’ greeting, which will prove impossible to account for according to the economically, use-value based model of erōs that Lysias has drawn out for Phaedrus. Thus, Socrates’ greeting to Phaedrus is an ainigma of sorts, compelling Phaedrus to feel the discomfort of aporia. The salutation posed to Phaedrus is answerable only if his soul exists in excess of itself, having some sort of prior connection to ‘what is’ and yet not fully possessing it, revealing its non-rational errant quality. I will argue, then, that erōs and mantikē, although both cannot be described in terms that are discursive, are nonetheless real and legitimate connections to ‘what is’.
To reveal the nature of the soul in terms of a phenomenology of love, it will be necessary, first, to examine the role that erōs plays in the Phaedrus, characterizing it in terms of a respect for the obscure and not primarily as a drive to overcome the distance it entails to achieve wholeness. Secondly, to help demonstrate that erōs arises out of the ontology of distance, I will explore in some detail what Socrates may have meant by claiming that the soul is in someway prophetic, with regard to anamimnēskein. Then, to help reveal the role of the trope of prophecy in Plato’s corpus, I will make reference to both the Charmides and the Laches, drawing out the prophetic nature of Socratic self-knowledge, since both of these dialogues discuss temporality in light of prophecy. This discussion will flesh out in further detail what the term gignōskein suggests concerning the character of the self and its temporal character.
II. The Illumination of Being: Although the significance of erōs has been universally acknowledged, oftentimes its implication lacks a thorough investigation and explanation. For example, how does erōs arise in the first place? Certainly, erōs is a certain type of desire (Phdr. 237d), but the nature of this desire must be understood. While it is true that erōs is indicative of a lack, does erōs simply arise out of the recognition of a lack and in recognizing this lack, a desire to satiate its emptiness? Does erōs desire to grasp and possess the desired object, as would arise in rational, economic, and use-value model? In asking these questions, I hope to orient the focus of this section with regard to the motivation that lies within the erotic individual.
It has been suggested that the Socratic mantis recognizes that the overwhelming excess of ‘what is’ is distant as such. Consequently, for the Socratic mantis, the proper mode of being characterized by erōs is an aporetic never-ending journey towards that which the individual has a desire. However, one should not expect domination and absolute possession of this object. Within the Phaedrus, there are different characterizations of erōs expressed in the speeches, and one may be tempted to believe that who one chooses to desire makes a subjective autonomous choice. One need only turn to Lysias’ speech, for such a characterization. At 231d-e, Lysias characterizes the lover as being inferior to the non-lover because the lovers are few, while the non-lovers are many. Lysias wishes to demonstrate that the non-lover is able to choose with whom he consorts. And so, he believes himself to be a master of his natural inclinations toward an individual who is deemed useful; and with a view to pragmatic, utilitarian, and self-oriented interests, he chooses one of the many non-beloveds. Consequently, the Lysian non-lover already has in mind a subjectively decided end toward which he directs himself. Likewise, the concealed lover, in Socrates’ first speech, is characterized as a wolf after a lamb (241d), suggesting a stance of dominance. While on the other hand, in the Palinode, the Socratic lover is depicted as perplexed [aporousa] at its condition (251e), and this condition is called erōs (252b). And so, while the concealed lover hunts his prey, attacking it, the Socratic lover is, quite literally, in no such state to hunt, much less dominate the beloved. The Socratic lover is caught unawares, throwing him in aporia. We are told, moreover, it is only in aporia that Socratic erōs can function. As aporousa, the soul of the Socratic lover holds the beloved in awe and reverence, and if the Socratic lover ever did grab hold of his beloved, the fearful awe would be forgotten, undermining his own erōs (251a). If we are to take the Socratic mantis as our model, then, Socratic erōs must be characterized within a paradigm of non-dominance.
If we pay close attention to the language found within the Phaedrus, it will be revealed that Socrates’ understanding of erōs cannot be defined by domination and mastery but of letting the beloved appear, and it is this sudden appearance of the overwhelming illumination of the beloved that causes aporia in the Socratic lover. In this case, erōs has an essentially passive nature. For the eidos of an earthly thing naturally through itself has a brilliance or a luster to it that appears to the lover, and erōs is the response to the illumination of Being, revealing the passive nature of erōs.
As passive, erōs has the character of a response to the sudden emergence of ‘what is’. And as a response, erōs must already have a connection to that to which it responds. Furthermore, it prefigures that which requests its response. This returns us to the temporality to which the Socratic mantis is subject. The Socratic mantis must, in some sense, have knowledge of ‘what is’—or else he would be unable to respond to it, and yet he cannot be in full possession of ‘what is’, since its sudden brilliance triggers mnēmosunē and the aporia that accompanies it. In other words, prophetic temporality indicates a past connection with ‘what is’ but which is lost and must, in a futural act, be remembered and recouped; erōs points toward this recuperation, in the mode of a response. Like the foresight/foreknowledge [proeidon] that the mantis has of ‘what is’ as a type of mnēmosunē containing the past and future in the present moment, erōs too is attached to and responds to ‘what is’ in much the same manner.
Lysias’ erōs, then, is not a responsive erōs. He has a preconceived concept of who the beloved is, and so the Lysian lover is closed to the true appearance of the beloved as it emerges. In contrast to this subjective model of love, the Socratic lover does not force a conception of what is good or beautiful upon the beloved, instead the beauty of the beloved strikes him as an illuminating but blinding light (250b-251a). The object of erōs, according to Socrates, cannot be desired as part of a rationally calculated decision on the lover’s part, but rather the object of erōs reveals itself to be desirable ( 250a-c). Even in his forced speech, Socrates points along these lines. By veiling his erōs, the concealed lover can claim that he embodies sōphrosunē and thus will not be dragged into excess (Phdr. 238a). And yet, note the manner in which Socrates defines erōs in his first speech: Without rational opinion that strives toward the correct path, and toward the enjoyment of beauty and when this desire gains victory, by the force of desires that are like itself toward personal beauty, it takes its name from that force, and is called love [erōs] (Phdr. 238b-c).
Here, Socrates, albeit not as correctly as in the Palinode, ties erōs to the beautiful [to kalon]. The force of erōs is so irresistible that it draws two individuals together against their better judgment and preconceived notions. The Socratic lover, then, under the influence of the erōs, does not choose with whom he falls in love; it is simply a matter of being struck by and responding to to kalon found within the beloved. Erotic striving, then, cannot be a result of a future calculation of how one is to master the beloved, but rather it originates with the vision of beauty as it appears to the Socratic lovers. The beloved’s soul is a conduit that shines forth with its own particular luster [lampros] of ‘what is’. Lamprosis the beauty that lovers have seen brilliantly showing forth [kallos de tot’ ēn idein lampros] of a specific god that the Socratic lover once saw following in the divine train lead by Zeus. In order for erōs to arise, the lover must be completely caught off guard, throwing the lover into a state of aporia, compelling him to gaze awestruck upon the beloved.
Indeed, after hearing even Lysias’ speech Socrates proclaims, “How divinely [daimoniōs] given, comrade, so much so that I am struck out of myself” (234d). He states further that this results not from the speech itself, but rather “I was affected because of you Phaedrus, it seemed to me as I gazed upon you, I became aware and recognized [anagignōskōn] that to me, you seemed to shine on account of your speech” (234d). It was not until Socrates gazed upon Phaedrus, who, true to his name—derived from phaō, meaning ‘to shine’, ‘to give light’, ‘radiant’, ‘beaming’—literally ‘brightened up’ [ganusthai] that Socrates became bewitched by the speech. The nature of the speech itself is bewitching not due to what is said but because of the image of Phaedrus’ excitement. Those who have been newly initiated through seeing ‘what is’ [to onta], when they see the god-like face [theoeides prosōpon] (251a), shutter with fear in response to the appearance of the beloved’s face. Consequently, the love and desire Socrates shows for Phaedrus is not entirely due to intellectual stimulation, but rather is based in the physical appearance of Phaedrus.
The enthusiasm with which Phaedrus gives the speech, even though it presents a bastardized version of eros, is able to illuminate, and in so doing (re)awakens [anagignōskein] erōs for the beautiful [to kalon] toward which the speech hints. The prior connection to ‘what is’ in the form of anagignōskein allows for to kalon to appear out of the obfuscation of the world, so that the lovers are literally “struck out of themselves,” seeing the beloved (250a). Due to this condition, true lovers could in no way set a subjective goal for themselves, for they are outside of themselves. Instead, they abide within the divine mysteries of ‘what is’, responding to its illumination. Appearing in the beloved, the to kalon announces itself, such that the beloved becomes the origin of the striving toward to kalon, pointing further to erōs’ responsive characteristic. Keeping with the language of illumination and obscurity, one could say that it is the structure of erōs that allows for the radiance of the eidos, the form, of beauty to shine through the beloved and to be perceived by the lover. The lover and the beloved have already gazed upon beauty, and consequently, it is the experience of erōs that allows those objects in the world to shine more brightly than those objects that do not participate in beauty. In fact, no other quality, neither Justice, sōphrosunē, nor any other eidos (re)awakens desire in the soul except beauty (250b), which alone is a divine dispensation so that it shows forth, discloses, and most reveals [ekphavestaton] and is loved the most ( 250d-e). We must not fail to hear the superlative “ekphanestaton”. Of the images the soul once gazed upon, it is beauty that shines most clearly. Although the soul becomes heavy and comes to earth as a result of some mishap furnished by forgetfulness/obscurity [lēthēs] (248c), the beauty it saw shining in brightness [kallos de tot’ ēn idein lampron] (250b) is not obliterated from its memory—it is merely obscured.
But what significance does the superlative form have and what bearing does the brightness of to kalon give to the whither/whence moment? Socrates underlines the erotic nature of this moment, saying “partaking in madness, the one who is a lover of the beautiful is called a lover” [metechōn tēs manias ho erōn tōn kalōn erastēs kaleitai] (249e). We should note, in emphasizing erōs, Socrates makes mention of madness [mania]. The one who loves to kalon is thought mad by his fellow citizens, and in fact according to Socrates is truly crazed. Mania, at least in the sense that Socrates is describing, is caused by one seeing beauty, reminding one of the true [tou alēthous anamimnēiskomenos] ( 249d). To say that erōs allows to kalon to shine forth, then, is to say that one is crazed by means of both seeing a representation of beauty, and most of all by being reminded of true beauty. To make sense of the claim that one is crazed by being reminded of beauty, we must remember that Socrates links mania with mantikē (244c), since anamimnēskein, according to this interpretation, contains a strange temporality. To be reminded is, in a sense, to be prophetic, since there is already a prior connection to that of which one is being reminded. And it is as a result of the prior connection to ‘what is’ that Socrates is able to say that mania is connected with the noblest of arts, that art which foretells the future [tēi kallistēi technēi ēi to mellon krinetai] (244c).
III. Prophetic Erōs: To gain a full appreciation of the phenomenon of erōs, the focus must now shift slightly. While erōs does possess a passive dimension, it manifests itself actively as well. Erōs, we are told, has a twofold nature. At Symposium 203a-e Erōs’ dual lineage is revealed: Penia, his mother, and his father, Poros. On the one side of the family tree, lies pure receptivity, erōs is the site of how the world strikes us; on his father’s side, the phenomenon of erōs becomes a site from which action originates. Thus erōs is a site of mania, of frenzied action, as well, expressing itself as an active comportment toward being. How does this second aspect of erōs inform our read of the Socratic mantis?
In the Phaedrus, Socrates portrays mania not only as “given as a divine gift” (244a), but says in stark contrast to the earlier speeches “the best things we have come to us through mania” [ta megista tōn agathōm hēmin gignetai dia manias] (ibid). Mania comes in four forms: traditional mantikē (244b-d); katharis, or perhaps better yet a loosening or setting-free [lusis] (244d-e); poiētikē (245a); and lastly, the most noble of them, philosophy (245bff). Although, Socrates privileges philosophy, we must focus on the characteristic common to all forms of mania, ‘givenness’. All forms originate from an excessive ‘beyond’. This ‘beyond’, as was revealed above, is the illumination of Being vis-à-vis the beloved. Even though having originated from a ‘beyond’, one, nevertheless, participates in that excess by being fully engulfed by it.
To illustrate, mania as lysis expresses itself when excessive suffering becomes too much to bear. The enactment of katharis as a setting free allows one to participate in the excessively divine, while, at the same time, setting oneself free from present ills [lusin tōi orthōs manenti te kai kataschomenōi tōn parontōn kakōn heuromenē] (244e). Only in mania, in experiencing excess, can one, in a sudden outlet, release oneself from the excess by participating in the excessiveness of it. Here, one is not only the receptive site for the excess but the source as well. Consequently, one is able to express the excess as fundamentally excessive. For example, Achilles, who is overcome by excessive pain, can only release himself from it by participating in an excessive expression of that pain. Upon seeing Patroclus’ corpse, he “rend his hair with his hands” and “wailed terribly” (Iliad XVIII 27, 35). His anguish is so awful that it exceeds human expression. His terrible wailing is a discourse without discursive content, and as such its significance cannot be understood by the merely human. For his handmaidens can only cry with him, but his goddess mother, Hera, hearing his excessive crying, comes to his aid. Only in the participation in that which exceeds the human, can Achilles truly express his traumatic experience, transcending the human, calling upon the goddess. If, then, philosophical erōs shares in this givenness, one not only passively receives the distress of the illumination of Being, but through its excess one actively participates in the agitation of illumination.
Furthermore, philosophical erōs is described in terms of physical discomfort: the entire soul of the lover is “stung into madness and is caused distress” [oistrai kai odinatai] and is perplexed [aporousa] at its condition (251c-e)—called Erōs (252b)—because the stream of beauty received by the soul through the eyes causes feathers to force their way through the pores of the soul (251b), just as teeth cut the gums when they begin to grow. Since the beloved is the cause both of his irritation and the alleviation of his pain, the lover is driven into mania by the out-of-placeness [atopos] of its suffering. Partaking in mania [menechōn tēs maniasthe lover of the beautiful is called a lover (249e); only in this uncanny, non-discursive, condition do the wings grow, and thus philosophy begins. When the distress caused by the illumination becomes excessive, philosophy as aporia is sparked within the individual. Erōs as mania, therefore, marks not only the human being’s deficiency but also its excess; the human is able to transcend its purely finite being and participate, by means of wings, in the ‘beyond’. Just as Achilles’ wailing cannot be understood by mortal ears because it cannot be understood through discursive thought, so too the actions of the lover are contrary to all laws—he forgets his mother, all of his brothers and comrades (252a), and is understood neither by others nor even by himself.
Perhaps here it would behoove us to remember that, after having sullied himself with poor speeches, Socrates undergoes a katharis in the form of his Palinode so that he may set himself from divine retribution and retain his erotic art [hē erōtikē technē] allowing him sight of to kalon (257a). Consequently in his catharsis, Socrates must take part in the ‘excessive beyond’; he cannot give a discursive account of the experience of erōs. He points to the deficiency of reason to account for such a discourse saying, “in the beginning of this tale [ toude tou mythou]” (253c). He has told a mythos and not a logos concerning the soul. According to Sean Kirkland, [M]yth has its essential character in allowing its subject matter to appear, while simultaneously marking its essential darkness or obscurity. It explicitly presents its subject matter as excessive, but does so precisely in the act of letting that subject matter appear here…Myth is neither fact nor fiction, but is more original than this distinction…it allows that which essentially exceeds human experience and withdraws itself from human understanding to appear to us nonetheless in its withdrawal.
What Socrates has recounted, then, is no less true than a logos, but by characterizing it as a mythos, Socrates emphasizes a rapport with a beyond. A mythos speaks of an unconquerable limitation of one’s rational understanding, in other words, it is concerned with that which is in excess of our propositionally based understanding. What is being recounting in the mythos cannot be reigned in and brought to conform to any sphere of rational knowledge, since it will necessarily exceed this sphere. Socrates must reconcile how to describe an experience that is non-propositional (the excessively beyond), and does so by participating in the excess through excessive speech via a cathartic mythos.
Now, the phenomenological characteristics of the lover’s condition must be addressed, through examining recollection [anaminnēskein]. Anaminnēskein, while grammatically active in form, has a passive connotation in the sense that what is present reminds an individual of a prior connection. So while it is translated oftentimes as ‘to recollect’ perhaps we should heed another translation, ‘to be reminded’. Anaminnēskein presupposes that one has a prior connection to the truth, a connection that is never completely severed from the soul. After all, one cannot be reminded of something with which one has had no previous relationship. And yet, that which one is reminded of must in some manner be absent; I cannot be reminded of a thing while it is there present before me. But in order to be reminded of this piece of knowledge appearing to me, the beauty in an individual, for example, must, in fact, represent that which is has been obscured [lēthē].
Anaminnēskein, then, names not the process of actively searching through one’s index of experiences, but rather, the phenomenon of what occurs when something suddenly appears—announcing its excessiveness—and incites the recognition that this is like something else that one had previously experienced before the soul became embodied. Further resemblance to the mantis is revealed, if one keeps in mind that what one is reminded of is, in a sense, the future, since one is now seeing whither one is headed, yet it is also the past because one always already has a connection to this goal. And so, if one correctly takes Socrates’ greeting as essentially prophetic, one will necessarily understand it as an ainigma, an attempt to recall one’s whither and whence, driving the individual to attempt to give a rational explanation of what the meaning may be, but because of the experience’s inherent non-discursive obscurity the individual is “stung into madness and is caused distress” driving the individual into philosophical mantis. Anaminnēskein, then, points to a type of knowing that is itself obscure and non-discursive, concerned with the excessively human, again suggesting that by nature, the soul exists in excessive of itself, echoing the non-propositional nature of a mythos.
In terms of the phenomenology of anaminnēskein, one connects the beloved to the obscure non-presence of to kalon by means of erōs (253a). It is not the beloved qua beloved that inspires the memory of the gods, but rather the beauty shinning through the godlike face of the beloved. The beloved is an erotic conduit through which the divine glimmers with eroticism. And as such, the relationship to to kalon can only be described through erotic mantikē, as when one tries to qualify the paradoxical nature of the experience of the temporality associated with anaminnēskein. All utterances of and actions performed by a mantis are in the form of an ainigma, since they cannot be discursively understood—and by extension, others cannot fully understand the lover nor is the lover, himself, fully able to understand himself. Anaminnēskein functions in the manner of an active recognition and restoration of that which is no longer present, just as what is uttered in the form an ainigma and what is told in a mythos. Socratic mantikē, as a form of anaminnēskein, is an active response to the excessive flash of ‘what is’. It is a non-discursively grounded attempt to make sense out of being reminded of one’s prior excessive connection to ‘what is’. As a consequence of the obscurity of anaminnēskein, the receptivity of erōs, the Socratic mantis is transformed into an active desire toward ‘what is’, that is to say, toward Beauty.
We are now in a position to gain new appreciation of the odd claim “the soul is somehow prophetic” [mantikon ge ti kai hē psychē]. Let us recall the quotation from the Phaedo opening the present essay: Apollo’s birds are said to be because “they possess foresight/ foreknowledge [proeidotes] of the good which is to be found in the underworld.” Socrates, likewise, claims to have the same gift of prophecy. By this, he must mean that he too possesses proeidon, a foresight/foreknowledge of the underworld, or rather of the fate of the soul. As discussed above, proeidon suggests a fore-having; this is, in fact, the model of all prophecy. One knows the future, but only in obscurity, or rather through philosophical erōs one participates in the excessively human via anaminnēskein. If Socrates means to turn this proeidon upon the soul, as in the case of self-knowledge, this suggests that the soul must exist in excess of itself. The soul cannot be described propositionally. Consequently, self-knowledge, then, can only be described as a form of mantikē. Not only is self-knowledge a proeidon of the soul itself, but it is awakened in the individual when the beauty found in the beloved enters the soul and stirs the discomfort of erōs in the lover.
As such, self-knowledge is nothing other than the anaminnēskein of the whither and whence the individual is headed, e.g., to kalon. Just as erōs is (re)awakened in the individual’s soul when beauty enters it, pointing to a kind of prior connection to beauty, self-knowledge is a (re)awakening of one’s excessive nature via the beloved. The desire for to kalon that drives one into a philosophic mania is now exercised upon the beloved too, so that the excess of the beloved may be seen by the beloved himself, “he sees himself in his lover as in a mirror but is not aware” (255d). In fact, this reflection of himself obscures the immediacy of his view of his self: he is de-centered and distanced from himself, such that the beloved can no longer understand his own condition, and does not even know with whom he is in love. But just as a mirror is essentially empty, so as to allow the phenomena to appear, the lover too is ‘empty’ in the sense of exceeding rational understanding, so that the beloved, through the influence of the lover, is now aporousa at his own condition. What results are two individuals living together in kinship that cannot be expressed by in human communication; two individuals addressed by a greeting that elicits a shared opening to experience the excessively impossible.
IV. Conclusion: In this section, an explicit discussion of the knowledge of the soul, understood through the aegis of gignōskein, and how it manifests phenomenologically will be given. To address this issue it be must asked, how does prophetic temporality of the soul complicate self-knowledge? A digression into the Charmides and the Laches is necessary to give full attention to this topic. This detour will also reveal a consistency throughout the Platonic corpus of the Socratic trope of the inability to know oneself as an immutable object, emphasizing all the more what Socrates, in the Phaedrus, meant when he stated that the soul is somewhat prophetic. It must still be asked, given that the soul is characterized by ecstatic temporality, why is prophecy the proper mode of the soul’s self-knowledge? Through the exploration of this question, we can begin to make sense of why Socrates has a difficult time explaining the exact nature of the soul in relation to self-knowledge throughout the dialogues. One reason for the obscure answers may be due to Socrates’ reluctance to say that there is an epistēmē, a discursive account, of the soul. This suggests that there is no eternal and immutable idea of the soul. The soul is, then, in its very being forever changing and an essentially obscure entity of inquiry.
That the Greeks originally thought that there is no epistēmē of the soul is suggested by the Delphic inscription, gnōthi s’hauton. Given this advice, one can reason that gignōskein, and not epistamai is the most proper mode by which the soul is revealed. The Delphic inscription, “gnōthi s’hauton,” contains the imperative mood of gignōskō, which, due to the ending “skō,” is in the inceptive case and has the connotation of a perpetual action, as in a coming-to-know. The continuous act associated with gignōskein contrasts with the static know-how that defines epistēmē. Furthermore, ‘coming-to-know’ already indicates a kind of self-ignorance; there must be an obscurity that is related to a knowledge of the soul that is in a progressive state of coming-to-be. And since this ‘coming-to-know’ is linked with prophetic mnēmosunē, gignōskein entails a re-cognition of that which one has already experienced. Moreover, as a ‘coming-to-know’, gignōskō emphasizes that the idea that the soul is indeed in motion (Phdr. 245c ff.); to know oneself, then, is to know that one is a kinetic-being.
The kinetic character of one’s being can be understood as an ontological movement (Phdr. 245c ff.) and not purely in physical terms if the above discussions of anamimnēskein and of the ‘ontology of distance’ are brought to the fore. The soul can never come to itself fully manifest. The Delphic inscription, although in the imperative mood, is not so much a command to know oneself in a self-reflexive manner similar to a res cogitans, but rather is a greeting, perhaps much like Socrates’ greeting to Phaedrus. One is met with the hail “gnōthi s’hauton”: one must come-to-know the soul as something always already obscure and through the excessive demand of this prophetic greeting, one is reminded of the soul’s journey whither and whence. The role of the Delphic oracle and prophecy also play a role in other dialogues; in particular, in the Charmides and the Laches. Through examining these dialogues prophecy’s aporetic nature, and thus the soul’s aporetic nature can be revealed as a Platonic trope throughout the dialogues.
In the Charmides, Critias suggests that sōphrosunē and self-knowledge are the same; thus, we should be enticed to ask, what is their relationship? In what way, then, does sōphrosunē suggest self-knowledge? Aristotle’s etymology of sōphrosunē, whether it is true or not, provides the most insight. He writes that the term is given to those who are able to sōizousan tēn phonēsin (NE 1140b 12)—so that being sōphrōn, a wise human-being, one can save [sōzein] one’s phronēsis. Special attention should be given to the preservation aspect of Aristotle’s definition. Preservation suggests a holding back of oneself, a reflection on one’s actions and assertions. Sōphrosunē, then, is the human-excellence of restraining oneself with respect to what is prudent. To be sōphrōn is to recognize one’s place in the world by acknowledging one’s aporetic distance to ‘what is’. In fact, Edward G. Ballard, in his book Socratic Ignorance, claims that sōphrosunē should best be translated as “wholeness of soul” or “integrity.” This certainly seems to be the case, if we keep in mind that “wholeness of soul” and “integrity” must be understood in terms of ‘coming-to-know’. Consequently, “wholeness of soul” and “integrity” should be understood along the lines of knowing that the soul is not-yet complete. Part of understanding the soul as a whole, then, is to understand that it contains a ‘not-yet’ quality.
Given Socrates’ method of investigating ethical terms, sōphrosunē can be understood as self-restraint in regard to making assertions. This is particularly clear given the manner in which Socrates ends his discussion of sōphrosunē with young Charmides and Critias. Socrates, after the long and exhausting search for ‘what is’, says of himself “all’ eme phaulon einai zētētēn” (Chrm. 175e). His ‘worthlessness’, perhaps, arises out of his recognition that he must remain in aporia with regard to ‘what is’, never making any assertions that can be taken as the ground upon which another assertion could be made. So, Socrates ironically calls himself worthless because he has not arrived at the discursive account of self-knowledge for which Critias hope. Socrates asks, “If sōphrosunē is knowing [gignōskein], clearly it is scientific knowledge [epistēmē. Or not?” (Chrm. 165c); to which Critias answers in the affirmative, equating sōphrosunē with epistēmē. And when asked what it is an epistēmē of, Critias exclaims of oneself [heautou]. Establishing epistēmē as his model of knowing, Critias hopes to make sōphrosunē an all encompassing science of science [epistēmē epistēmēs]. In so doing, he desires to close the gap between himself and sōphrosunē. As a science of sciences, sōphrosunē would be a type of self-knowledge that would allow an individual to discern what he knows and what he does not know (Chrm. 167a), in a sense it would be to know all things, past, present, and future. If sōphrosunē is epistēmē, once one learned all that there is not know, one would, then, no longer be in need of sōphrosunē. Next, Socrates asks the very practical question of what benefit this kind of knowledge would be (Chrm. 169b). Unable to provide an answer that is not subject to contradiction, Socrates brings to Critias’ attention that his definition of sōphrosunē allows disparate appearances of it to arise. Socrates exploits this, forcing Critias to feel aporia. And having failed to give a definition of what sōphrosunē is, Critias, of his own accord, marks his own distance to sōphrosunē. In response to the disturbing feeling of aporia, Critias does admit that if there is a connection between gnōthi s’auton and sōphrosunē, Apollo must have uttered it in “a most riddling manner, as a prophet might” [aingmatōdesteron de dē hōs mantis] (Chrm.164e). But Critias demonstrates his lack of understanding the meaning of what he says, since he hopes to solve the riddle by using epistēmē, ignoring all together the prophetic temporality of the soul.
Moreover, in the Phaedrus, Socrates saves epistēmē for Beings, again suggesting that there is no idea of the soul as such, since the Beings are illustrated as immutable and stable. If there is no idea of the soul, there can be no comprehensive propositional knowledge of it, “hence self-knowledge is not, in principle, perfectible.” And I suggest that it is not perfectible, precisely because of the temporality that the soul qua prophetic possesses. When one correctly reflects upon the present state of one’s soul, i.e., with sōphrosunē, one recognizes the unfinished future quality that the soul possesses and toward which one is erotically drawn. In keeping in line with the Delphic oracle, one must gignōskein the soul instead of epistamai, or rather in the terms of this paper, one must come-to-know the soul as something already obscure to inquiry.
A very similar discussion takes place in the Laches during Socrates’ examination of what andreia is. Nicias, Laches, and Socrates are forced to admit that what they are discussing is not a part of virtue, i.e., andreia, but rather sumpasa aretē (La. 199e). What is common to the discussions in both the Laches and the Charmides that the particular discussion turns out to be an argument of the whole of ‘what is’, a discussion of the past, present, and future (La. 198d, 199a, 199d; Chrm. 174b). The temporality of knowing virtue as a whole is described in both dialogues as knowledge of good and evil. And in particular, in the Laches, this knowledge is described as the knowledge of the correct behavior peri theous kai peri anthrōpous (La. 199d)—suggesting a recognition of one’s correct relation to the world and the divine. Where Laches and Nicias, and especially Critias, make their mistakes is unreflectively and uncritically presupposing that they can substitute any particular piece of andreia or sōphrosunē for the whole of ‘what is’. As a result, they betray the obscurity of ‘what is’, believing that they have captured the whole in the particular. They become blind to the obscurity that confronts them. Certainly, even here, we must hear the call of self-knowledge in the background. One can only have the correct disposition toward the whole of virtue, if one sees and acknowledges the obscurity between oneself and ‘what is’. This is the mistake of the Lysian non-lover. He believes that his particular beloved can be taken for the whole of beauty itself; he does not understand that his beloved is a mere image of ‘what is’. The rational lover takes his beloved to be a self-sufficient real substantiation of Beauty itself.
Socratic prophecy “is not prophetic in the sense of foretelling this or that event but rather in the sense that it tells the destiny of the soul as such. More precisely, it foretells the destiny of the human soul by, first of all, recollecting the beginning of man’s present condition.” What the beginning of the human’s present condition is, is not explicitly spelled out in the subsequent passages, but we may be able to surmise that the human’s present condition is being separate from ‘what is’. The aporetic moment arrives when Socrates’ elegchos undermines his interlocutors’ arguments, showing them that what they declared as being a propositionally discreet entity is in fact part of a greater whole, of which they will not or cannot discuss fully. This recognition is, as was shown above, a recollecting in the sense that while one has a prior connection to ‘what is’, the connection is mediated and obscure. This type of recognition may be what dialogues like the Charmides, the Laches, the Phaedrus are attempting to instill in the reader. The Socratic mantis, then, is actively driven to close the distance between himself and ‘what is’ due to the excess or breakdown of discursive thought. The erotic experience the beloved cannot be understood by propositional, discursive thought; it is inadequate to account for this experience. Hence, if erōs is to be accounted for and placed within the Platonic oeuvre, we must begin by understanding what it means for the soul to be prophetic and why this characterization of soul is explored in an erotic dialogue. Bibliography Ballard, Edward G., Socratic Ignorance (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1965).
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