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The Unknown Socrates: Translations, With Introductions and Notes, of Four Important Documents in the Late Antique Reception of Socrates the Athenian by Bernhard Huss
Socrates (469-399 bc) is one of history's most enigmatic and intriguing figures. He is often considered the father of Western philosophy, yet the four most famous accounts we have of him present a contradictory, confusing picture. Just who was Socrates? Was he Plato's brilliant philosopher, at times confounding and infuriating, morally serious and yet ironic; the ever-worldly man, sometime mystic, and uncommon martyr? Or did Plato conflate Socrates' views with his own startling genius, as Aristotle suggests? Was Socrates instead the less impressive, more mundane man whose commonsense impressed the laconic Xenophon? Or could Socrates have been the charlatan, the long-winded phony of Aristophanes' Clouds?The Socratic works included in this volume add intriguing dimensions to the portrait of Socrates. Diogenes Laertius' Life of Socrates emphasizes the philosopher's deep ethical nature and his extraordinary personality; Libanius' Apology of Socrates is based on sources now lost to us; Maximus of Tyre's Whether Socrates Did the Right Thing When He Did Not Defend Himself makes the startling claim (against Plato and Xenophon) that Socrates never actually spoke at his own trial; from Apuleius' On the God of Socrates we hear at length of Socrates' infamous the "divine sign" only mentioned elsewhere. In short, these four texts add new wrinkles to the already enigmatic historical figure of Socrates.Special FeaturesThe Unknown Socrates will appeal to philosophers and historians alike, as well as to those interested in the history of ideas. This edition includes A general introduction An introduction to each of the four ancient authors and their works An English translation of each of the texts, with selective notes The original Latin or Greek text of each work A selected bibliography for each work
- GenresPhilosophy
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September 17, 2023
We know Socrates the icon, from the “Socratic” dialogues of Plato and from Xenophon’s Apology. But those accounts don’t tell us all that much about his actual life, what kind of person he was on a day to day level. He lives larger than life in those accounts.
Well . . . these writings won’t really fill that gap. The four writings date from the second through fourth centuries AD. But it isn’t really the distance in time that renders them iconic accounts. Socrates just IS an icon. The book’s editors write, “Even before drinking the hemlock in 399 BC, Socrates had begun the transformation from man to idea.”
In the book’s Introduction the editors assimilate the accounting of Socrates’ life to that of Jesus. The status of accounts of Jesus’s “real life” is far more complicated than that of Socrates’ life, but the point has some validity. Socrates is on the short list of iconic figures, people we harken to as representations of ideals, where the sharp corners of facts may justifiably get rounded away for the sake of holding an ideal up to learn from and maybe to emulate.
Of the four writings, Diogenes’ Life of Socrates comes closest to a depiction of Socrates’ ordinary life. Diogenes emphasizes Socrates’ modesty, his disdain for wealth, his valor in battle, his humility, and his physical as well as moral prowess. He tells us that Socrates was married twice (possibly at the same time), Xanthippe being the better known of the two. He had a son by Xanthippe, Lamprocles. And with his second wife, Myrto, by whom he had two children, Sophroniscus and Menexenus.
Diogenes also emphasizes Socrates’ philosophical attention to the here and now of ordinary life, as opposed to the theories of the cosmos espoused by other thinkers before him and contemporary with him. Socrates is, among other things, the first philosopher to turn his thought solely to questions of ethics and virtue.
Libanius Apology is the longest writing here, and it focuses, like many or most accounts, on Socrates’ trial. Libanius presents a hypothetical defense of Socrates, in place of Socrates’ own decision not to offer a defense against the charges of impiety toward the gods and corruption of the young.
Libanius adds to Xenophon’s account of why the charges were brought against Socrates. It has always seemed that the specific charges were just the vehicles chosen to carry a broader offensive against Socrates.
Socrates was certainly guilty of questioning and exposing those who made claims to knowledge and who wielded power in Athenian life. He applied careful reasoning in the form of questions to undermine those claims to knowledge and to justice.
He taught very little in the way of doctrine or theory — in a strong sense, he was an anti-theorist, something more familiar in much later philosophical times. Typical “cross-examinations” (Libanius’ term) involved asking a seemingly simple question to expose flaws or unexamined consequences of his target’s beliefs and doctrines.
To the Athenian powers, sophists and politicians, he was a pest. A major pain in the behind. And a dangerous one. He undermined the authority of those who wielded it.
Anytus, Socrates’ chief accuser in Libanius’ Apology, may have felt personal insult from Socrates. He had walked into the path of Socrates’ philosophical sword, and Socrates may have used the craft Anytus was training his son to follow (a tanner of hides) as an example in making a not altogether complimentary point.
Outside the accounts here, Xenophon fills in some detail, that Socrates predicted a less than honorable life for Anytus’ son.
Anytus wasn’t happy.
The third work here is Maximus of Tyre’s Whether Socrates Did the Right Thing When He Did Not Defend Himself. Maximus echoes Socrates’ own ironic responses to his indictment and verdict. Socrates, as told by Libanius and others, took a calm, peaceful, acceptance of death with an acceptance of the verdict, as if to say what else would such judges say? Maximus is more blunt in assessing the Athenian jury as lacking the standing to judge Socrates and that, therefore, defending himself before such a jury would have been pointless. In the end, it is Athens’ guilt and Athens’ loss, not Socrates’.
The final writing is Apuleius’ On the God of Socrates. Apuleius was a second century Platonist, and this writing is largely an exposition of a Platonic worldview. He depicts the relative domains of gods and humans, separated by a gulf of difference and disconnection. The gods are emotionless and unconcerned directly with the affairs of humans. Humans cannot be heard in their prayers and offerings by the gods, without the mediation of “daemones,” messengers or “couriers” who carry gifts from the gods to humans and prayers and offerings from humans to the gods.
This category of daemones provides a theoretical place for the “daemon” of Socrates, cited in Plato’s account of Socrates, as a kind of voice that speaks to Socrates, advising at points of judgment, much like a voice of conscience, but in this case, given Apuleius’ cosmos, carrying messages from the gods.
I can’t judge how well Apuleius’ depiction of the daemones accords with Socrates’ understanding of the gods and their relationship to humans. We don’t have a lot to go on for that. I’d rather take Apuleius to be filling a gap with a plausible if speculative account of Socrates’ daemon. I’m also unsure how common the understanding of the daemones that Apuleius lays out was among Athenians or how consistent it may be with their religious practices. Interesting though.
The most solid impressions we get from these writings is of a Socrates who brings a rigor of reasoning to bear on beliefs and conceits of knowledge in Athenian culture. He’s not just a pest, and he’s not just a “rabble-rouser” — he brings a new, stronger standard by which to assess belief, theory, and claims to power.
And that standard is distinctly philosophical. He questions the chain of reasoning that lead or could lead to his opponent’s position. He doesn’t simply disagree or oppose one position with another. He questions as someone seeking to understand, enforcing rigor of thought, and finding his opponent’s position lacking.
Close reasoning of that sort is to be found in the works of pre-Socratic philosophers but it doesn’t rise to the level of method as it does in what we have of Socrates’ thought. That, along with his moral courage, is what makes Socrates an icon.
The works here add to that story, helping us to refine what is so often (at least to my mind) misunderstood as “Socratic method.” Properly understood, Socrates’ method (and what got him into so much trouble) consisted in careful questioning of the reasoning and assumptions that would hold a position (a theoretical claim, an everyday moral belief, a justification of an action) together.
In Socrates’ hands, that method was a destructive force. We could say that it clears the way for more rigorous and more clear thinking about ethical questions. But what if it is only destructive? Then it is a method of humility, of openness, and of questioning and deciding without knowing. What if that is just is our situation?
Well . . . these writings won’t really fill that gap. The four writings date from the second through fourth centuries AD. But it isn’t really the distance in time that renders them iconic accounts. Socrates just IS an icon. The book’s editors write, “Even before drinking the hemlock in 399 BC, Socrates had begun the transformation from man to idea.”
In the book’s Introduction the editors assimilate the accounting of Socrates’ life to that of Jesus. The status of accounts of Jesus’s “real life” is far more complicated than that of Socrates’ life, but the point has some validity. Socrates is on the short list of iconic figures, people we harken to as representations of ideals, where the sharp corners of facts may justifiably get rounded away for the sake of holding an ideal up to learn from and maybe to emulate.
Of the four writings, Diogenes’ Life of Socrates comes closest to a depiction of Socrates’ ordinary life. Diogenes emphasizes Socrates’ modesty, his disdain for wealth, his valor in battle, his humility, and his physical as well as moral prowess. He tells us that Socrates was married twice (possibly at the same time), Xanthippe being the better known of the two. He had a son by Xanthippe, Lamprocles. And with his second wife, Myrto, by whom he had two children, Sophroniscus and Menexenus.
Diogenes also emphasizes Socrates’ philosophical attention to the here and now of ordinary life, as opposed to the theories of the cosmos espoused by other thinkers before him and contemporary with him. Socrates is, among other things, the first philosopher to turn his thought solely to questions of ethics and virtue.
Libanius Apology is the longest writing here, and it focuses, like many or most accounts, on Socrates’ trial. Libanius presents a hypothetical defense of Socrates, in place of Socrates’ own decision not to offer a defense against the charges of impiety toward the gods and corruption of the young.
Libanius adds to Xenophon’s account of why the charges were brought against Socrates. It has always seemed that the specific charges were just the vehicles chosen to carry a broader offensive against Socrates.
Socrates was certainly guilty of questioning and exposing those who made claims to knowledge and who wielded power in Athenian life. He applied careful reasoning in the form of questions to undermine those claims to knowledge and to justice.
He taught very little in the way of doctrine or theory — in a strong sense, he was an anti-theorist, something more familiar in much later philosophical times. Typical “cross-examinations” (Libanius’ term) involved asking a seemingly simple question to expose flaws or unexamined consequences of his target’s beliefs and doctrines.
To the Athenian powers, sophists and politicians, he was a pest. A major pain in the behind. And a dangerous one. He undermined the authority of those who wielded it.
Anytus, Socrates’ chief accuser in Libanius’ Apology, may have felt personal insult from Socrates. He had walked into the path of Socrates’ philosophical sword, and Socrates may have used the craft Anytus was training his son to follow (a tanner of hides) as an example in making a not altogether complimentary point.
Outside the accounts here, Xenophon fills in some detail, that Socrates predicted a less than honorable life for Anytus’ son.
Anytus wasn’t happy.
The third work here is Maximus of Tyre’s Whether Socrates Did the Right Thing When He Did Not Defend Himself. Maximus echoes Socrates’ own ironic responses to his indictment and verdict. Socrates, as told by Libanius and others, took a calm, peaceful, acceptance of death with an acceptance of the verdict, as if to say what else would such judges say? Maximus is more blunt in assessing the Athenian jury as lacking the standing to judge Socrates and that, therefore, defending himself before such a jury would have been pointless. In the end, it is Athens’ guilt and Athens’ loss, not Socrates’.
The final writing is Apuleius’ On the God of Socrates. Apuleius was a second century Platonist, and this writing is largely an exposition of a Platonic worldview. He depicts the relative domains of gods and humans, separated by a gulf of difference and disconnection. The gods are emotionless and unconcerned directly with the affairs of humans. Humans cannot be heard in their prayers and offerings by the gods, without the mediation of “daemones,” messengers or “couriers” who carry gifts from the gods to humans and prayers and offerings from humans to the gods.
This category of daemones provides a theoretical place for the “daemon” of Socrates, cited in Plato’s account of Socrates, as a kind of voice that speaks to Socrates, advising at points of judgment, much like a voice of conscience, but in this case, given Apuleius’ cosmos, carrying messages from the gods.
I can’t judge how well Apuleius’ depiction of the daemones accords with Socrates’ understanding of the gods and their relationship to humans. We don’t have a lot to go on for that. I’d rather take Apuleius to be filling a gap with a plausible if speculative account of Socrates’ daemon. I’m also unsure how common the understanding of the daemones that Apuleius lays out was among Athenians or how consistent it may be with their religious practices. Interesting though.
The most solid impressions we get from these writings is of a Socrates who brings a rigor of reasoning to bear on beliefs and conceits of knowledge in Athenian culture. He’s not just a pest, and he’s not just a “rabble-rouser” — he brings a new, stronger standard by which to assess belief, theory, and claims to power.
And that standard is distinctly philosophical. He questions the chain of reasoning that lead or could lead to his opponent’s position. He doesn’t simply disagree or oppose one position with another. He questions as someone seeking to understand, enforcing rigor of thought, and finding his opponent’s position lacking.
Close reasoning of that sort is to be found in the works of pre-Socratic philosophers but it doesn’t rise to the level of method as it does in what we have of Socrates’ thought. That, along with his moral courage, is what makes Socrates an icon.
The works here add to that story, helping us to refine what is so often (at least to my mind) misunderstood as “Socratic method.” Properly understood, Socrates’ method (and what got him into so much trouble) consisted in careful questioning of the reasoning and assumptions that would hold a position (a theoretical claim, an everyday moral belief, a justification of an action) together.
In Socrates’ hands, that method was a destructive force. We could say that it clears the way for more rigorous and more clear thinking about ethical questions. But what if it is only destructive? Then it is a method of humility, of openness, and of questioning and deciding without knowing. What if that is just is our situation?
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