Word Count: (without footnotes), (with footnotes)

THE MEMORY OF VIRTUE1

ACHIEVING IMMORTALITY THROUGH INSPIRATION IN PLATO’S

SYMPOSIUM

The specter of human immortality is manifest in many of Plato’s writings, appearing

as early as the Apology (28c, 41c-d) and the Crito (54b-d), and as late as Book XII of

the Laws (12.967d). But nowhere is immortality given so much attention, nor as

central a place in Plato’s philosophical projects, than in his Middle Period works,2 so

it is hardly surprising that we find an extensive treatment of the subject of immortality

in Socrates’ own encomium in the Symposium (206e-209e). Eros, Socrates tells u, is

not merely a desire to possess the good, but one that pushes us towards possessing the

good forever (205a, 206a), and because of this eros is necessarily a desire for

immortality (207a). However, it is evident that Socrates’ presentation of immortality

in the Symposium is fundamentally different to those found in other dialogues. This is

not merely because in this work alone Socrates attributes the desire for immortality to

1
All quotes from Plato’s dialogues in this paper are from the respective translations in
in John Cooper, Plato: Complete Works (Hackett, 1997).
2
Besides the Symposium, which is the subject of this paper, each other dialogue of
this period contains extensive discussions of immortality. The Phaedo itself is both
dramatically and philosophically a meditation on immortality, and issues concerning
many facets of immortality are raised throughout. The passages that most explicitly
concern immortality in the Republic are found in Book X at 10.608d-10.611d), and
the “Myth of Er” at the end of the dialogue (10.614b-10.621b). In the Phaedrus
Socrates gives a proof of the immortality of the soul (245c-246a), and a dramatization
of the soul’s journey through the heavens, and its fall to earth occurs makes up the
rest of the opening of his palinode (246e-248e). The soul’s return journey from earth
to the heavens is then the subject of the rest of his speech.

1
eros;3 moreover, the nature of the immortality that Socrates recommends here, and the

means by which he suggests it is achieved, are wholly unique to this work. Where in

other dialogues Plato casts his discussions in terms of the persistence of the soul in

some super-sensible realm, here he offers a picture of lovers achieving immortality by

creating memorials (mnh=mai) that will outlast them.4

Several attempts have been made to account for the peculiarity of Socrates’

account of immortality in the Symposium,5 but I will not undertake such a project in

this paper. Instead, following recent treatments on immortality in the Symposium by

Gabriel Lear6 and Frisbee Sheffield7, my focus here will be on examining Socrates’

presentation of immortality in this dialogue on its own terms – it being an account

that, I believe, is of equal philosophical depth as those found in other of Plato’s

3
The Phaedrus also contains extensive treatments of both immortality and eros, but
nowhere in this dialogue does Socrates suggest that immortality is an object of erotic
desire for lovers.
4
For comments regarding the position Socrates’ takes regarding the separability of
the soul from the body in the Symposium see footnote 13 below.
5
In his article ‘Immortality in Plato’s Symposium’, Classical Review (1950), 43-45,
Reginald Hackforth, for example, accounts for the discrepancy in the presentation of
immortality in the Symposium with that of other dialogues by suggesting that Plato
revised his opinions on immortality after the Phaedo in the Symposium, only to return
to his original position in the Republic and other dialogues. Given that recent Plato
scholarship has moved away from the idea that Plato’s works are clearly separable
into different periods, and concerns regarding the precise dating of dialogues even
within these traditional separations, this interpretation no longer finds much support.
Other commentators, such as R. E. Allen, Plato’s Symposium (New Haven, 1991),
72, W. K. C. Guthrie, A History of Greek Thought Vol IV (Cambridge, 1986), 391,
and J. V. Luce, ‘Immortality in Plato’s Symposium: A Reply’, The Classical Review,
New Series 2.3/4 (1952) 137-141, have offered a different explanation, which is still
often accepted in by many Plato scholars. In this account it is argued that the
discussion of immortality in the Symposium relates specifically to that of embodies
souls in all of their particularity, while other dialogues focus on the indestructibility of
the divine part of the soul, considered in abstraction from its particularity. It should be
noted that those commentators that fall into this later group believe that the account of
immortality in the Symposium is commensurate with those of other dialogues.
6
Gabriel Lear, ‘Permanent Beauty and Becoming Happy in Plato’s Symposium’, in
James Lesher, Debra Nails, and Frisbee Sheffield (edd.), Plato’s Symposium: Issues
in Interpretation and Reception (Cambridge, 2006), 96-123.
7
Frisbee Sheffield, Plato’s Symposium: The Ethics of Desire (Oxford, 2006).

2
works, and one that is perhaps more palatable to a modern philosophical audience.

This examination will take place in three parts: first, I will consider some key

passages in Socrates’ encomium to establish the kind of immortality he recommends

here; second, I will explore how, for Socrates, this immortality is to be achieved; and

finally, I will say a few words about who will be most successful in winning this

immortality for themselves.

II

To begin this examination I wish to consider the examples Socrates lists of those who

have achieved immortality. The first figures named are Alcestis, Achilles, and Codrus

(208d),8 and later he adds Homer and Hesiod (208d), and finally Solon and Lycurgus

(209d-e) to the list.9 Of particular interest to us here are the first group, whom

Socrates lists under the label “lovers of honour”.10 Of such people Socrates says the

following:

8
The inclusion of Codrus to this list is peculiar, as, unlike for Alcestis and Achilles,
the stories Codrus (or rather, the ones that we have) make no reference to him gaining
immortality for sacrificing himself for the sake of his throne. It is most likely that
Socrates added Codrus’ name here as a sign that he will seek to replace the standard
conception of immortality often believed to be held by these other two figures with
his own conception.
9
At 209d Socrates does mention that “other good poets” have also achieved
immortality in the same way as Homer and Hesiod, but he neither specifies, nor gives
any hints, as to who these figures may be.
10
Apparent from these examples is that death is still very much on the cards for those
who have gained immortality, and this is shown most obviously in the figures of the
first group, for whom death is a central motif in the stories told of each. The tales of
Alcestis and Codrus focus specifically on the hand they took in their own deaths, and,
as Phaedrus points out in his own encomium (179e-180a), death lingered over all of
Achilles’ heroic deeds, as he chose his actions with the full knowledge that they
would lead to his demise. But it is hardly surprising that the Garden of the Hesperides
remains barred here, as nowhere in the dialogues does Socrates ever suggest that
death is anything but imminent for all mortals.

3
 Do you really think that Alcestis would have died for Admetus … or that

Achilles would have died after Patroclus, or that your Codrus would have died

so as to preserve the throne for his sons, if they hadn’t expected the memory

of their virtue – which we still hold in honour – to be immortal? (Symposium,

208d)

The role that the memory of virtue plays in achieving immortality will be detailed in

the next section, but for now this passage will be useful for what it tells us about the

models of immortality that Socrates will shun here, and most illuminating are his

comments regarding Alcestis and Achilles.

It is unsurprising that Socrates lists the figure of Euripides’ Alcestis as an

example of a person who has achieved immortality, both because she is a figure with

whom he can assume his audience is familiar,11 and because Phaedrus has paved the

way for her addition by detailing her self-sacrificing actions in his own speech (179b-

d). Phaedrus recounts how Alcestis, alone of all people, was willing to die for

Admetus, and that for this sacrifice she was delivered from the realm of the dead back

to her husband.12 As we saw in the previous quote, Socrates also recounts the deeds of

Alcestis in his own encomium, but what is notably absent from his account is any

reference to the deus ex machina that delivers Alcestis back to life – the element of

the story that is of central important to Phaedrus. One could possible explain away

this omission on the grounds that Socrates did not feel this part of the story worth

11
Many speakers in the Symposium appear to be intimately aware of Euripides plays.
Eryximachus quotes from Melanippe at 177a, and Agathon uses a line from the (now
lost) play Stheneboea at 196e. And Socrates himself demonstrates his intimate
knowledge of the playwright by reciting a line from Hippolytus during his elenchus
with Agathon that immediately precedes his encomium at 199a.
12
This story differs slightly from the account offered in Euripides’ Alcestis, as in the
play it is Heracles that rescues Alcestis from the clutches of death, while in Phaedrus’
account it is the gods, being so touched by Alcestis’ actions, who deliver her from
Hades.

4
mentioning again, particularly given Phaedrus’ extensive treatment of her return from

death in his own speech, but such an explanation seems unlikely given the similar, but

more obviously significant omission by Socrates in the comparable part of the story of

Achilles. Phaedrus lays the foundation for Socrates’ addition to his list of immortal

people, as for Alcestis, since Phaedrus’ encomium also contains a discussion of the

immortality Achilles wins for himself (179e-180b). Phaedrus details Achilles’ heroic

deeds following the death of his friend Patroclus, and how he was rewarded for them

with an eternal home in the Isle of the Blest. Socrates has a similar account of

Achilles’ deeds in his speech, but again missing from his encomium is any mention of

the persistence of Achilles’ soul in the underworld. We could dismiss this omission

for the same reason as for the omission to mention Alcestis’ reincarnation – and here

with even stronger grounds given the huge influence of Homer’s works in Greek life13

– were it not for the fact that, by leaving out this part of the story, Socrates misses a

prime opportunity to advance a fundamental Platonic point concerning the persistence

of disembodied souls in the underworld after death – an assertion found in every other

major discussion of immortality in the dialogues.

At this point it is important to note that nowhere else in his presentation of

immortality, nor indeed anywhere in the Symposium, does Socrates raise the

possibility that the dead could return to life at some stage, or to the idea that, after

death, the souls persists in some non-spatiotemporal realm. 14 And neither in his

general statements concerning immortality, nor in his comments regarding the other

13
Even though Euripides is the second most frequently referenced figure in the
Symposium, allusions and quotes of Homer occur four times as often in the dialogue.
Homer is referenced at various points by Phaedrus (179b, 179e-180a), Aristophanes
(190b-c, 192d-e), Agathon (195d, 196d), Alcibiades (214b, 218e-219a, 219e, 220c,
221d, 221c), and by Socrates himself (174c, 174d, 206d).
14
In the Symposium Socrates’ comments concerning the soul are restriction the soul
only as an object of erotic attention (210b-c), or as a subject of similar vicissitudes as
the body (207e-208a).

5
figures he lists as having achieved immortality does Socrates suggest that people

engage in any other mode of existence beyond the one they enjoy in this life.15 It

would be reasonable to think, then, that the omissions from the stories of Alcestis and

Achilles are both intentional and significant. In raising these points, however, I am

not advancing the idea, as Reginald Hackforth does,16 that in the Symposium Plato has

come to reject, or at least doubt the idea that the soul is immortal. As R. E. Allen17

and Michael O’Brien18 argue, an omission is not equivalent to a denial. But what I

wish to suggest is that all of this evidence suggests that Socrates is distancing his

present discussion of immortality from those models of immortality that concern the

continuation of one’s sheer existence after death in either this world or the next.

Support for this reading can be found in Socrates’ comments regarding mortal

possession earlier in his encomium.

Shortly after introducing the specter of immortality in his speech Socrates

launches into a discussion of the nature of mortal possession that is Heraclitean in

tone (207c-208b). Everything that makes up who we are, Socrates tells us, both in

body and soul, is constantly in flux:

15
Even at the end of the lover’s ascent up the Ladder of Love there is strong evidence
to think that the lover is still a living, embodied person here, rather than a
disembodied soul. Consider the following passages:
211d: And there [in the presence of divine beauty] in life ... if anywhere
should a person live his life [biwto/n an0qrw&pw]|.
212a: Do you think it would be a poor life [bi/on] for a human being
[an0qrw&pou] to look there and behold it [divine beauty].
Socrates’ repetition of the terms ‘bi/ov’ and ‘a!nqrwpov’ here suggest that, even at
the top rung of the Ladder, the lover is still a living, embodied human being. Contrast
this with the passage in the Phaedo at 81a-b, where Socrates suggests that the soul
can only exist in the presence of the forms after it has left the body; i.e., only after the
end of his life.
16
Ibid, 44.
17
Ibid, 72.
18
Michael O’Brien, ‘“Becoming Immortal” in Plato’s Symposium’, in Douglas E.
Gerber (edd.), Greek Poetry and Philosophy: Studies in Honour of Leonard
Woodbury (California, 1984), 195.

6
 each living thing … is always being renewed and in other respects passing

away, in his hair and flesh and bones and blood and his entire body. And its

not just in his body, but in his soul, too, for none of his manners, customs,

opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, or fears ever remain the same, but some are

coming to be in him while others are passing away (Symposium, 207d-e).

From this Socrates conclude that, unlike the gods, in whom everything is preserved by

remaining exactly the same, mortals can only be said to preserve anything in any

meaningful senses through reproduction; that is, by replacing that which is passing

away with something that it just like it. For example, a person can justifiably claim to

have a thick head of hair, not because she possesses the exact same hairs throughout

her life, but because, for every hair that falls out, there is another qualitatively similar

one growing to take its place. Significant for our present purposes are Socrates’

comments regarding the mindset with which people approach this process. Because

mortals remain the same through a process of replacement, mortals will care little for

their continuing numerical identity. Where losing a hair for an immortal god would

fundamentally change their identity, it is no crisis for a mortal provided another is

growing. And Socrates extends this point yet further by arguing that, rather than

sentimentally cling to a possession because it is “one’s own”, Socrates suggests that

people will dispose of any of their possessions the moment they recognise that it is

absent of value:

people are even willing to cut off their own arms and legs if they think that

they are diseased. I don’t think an individual takes joy in what belongs to him

personally unless by ‘belonging to me’ he means ‘good’ and by ‘belonging to

another’ he means ‘bad’ (Symposium, 205e).

7
In no uncertain terms Socrates is stating here that the concern for that which is one’s

own has little significance in a person’s life, and it is entirely subordinate to his

concern for the good. Therefore, people, over the course of their lives, will only work

to preserve those parts of themselves that they understand as good, and will allow to

pass away those things that are deficient. As Socrates’ discussion of immortality

follows directly from his comments regarding reproduction (indeed, these comments

form the premises to his picture of immortality here), it is reasonable to assume from

this – and we are given no evidence to the contrary – that people also approach the

problems that death presents with a similar mindset. In the face of death, then, people

will not strive to preserve themselves in all of their particularity – a goal that is often

called “personal immortality”; instead, they will work only to preserve those parts of

themselves they understand as good and valuable, thinking little for the rest.19

To clarify what Socrates is getting at here let us consider the cases of John,

who values his commitment to justice alone among his possessions, and Joan, who

considers supremely valuable her physical prowess. On this reading, these people will

be concerned primarily to preserve these parts of themselves (their justice and fitness

respectively) after they die, as these are the elements of themselves that they have

identified as valuable. Furthermore, they will care little for the continuing existence of

those aspects of themselves they identify as bad, or value-neutral.20 This, I suggest, is

19
In his article, The Makropulos Case: Reflecting on the Tedium of Immortality’ in
Bernard Williams (edd.), Problems of the Self: Philosophical Papers 1965-1972
(Cambridge, 1976), 82-100, Bernard Williams uses the example of Elina Makropulos,
a character from the Karel Čapek play, The Makropulos Case, who has discovered the
means to live forever, to highlight the undesirability of personal immortality.
Williams argues that, without the prospect of death lingering over our lives, a severe
feeling of tedium would attend all of our actions, thus rendering our lives ‘unlivable’
(1976: 95).
20
In the Phaedo there is some evidence that Socrates approached his own death with
a similar mindset. He says to those present: ‘If you will take my advice, you will give
but little thought to Socrates but much more to the truth’ (Phd, 91b). For Socrates,

8
the model of immortality that Socrates advances in the Symposium: not one of

personal immortality, but one that concerns the eternal preservation in the world of

those parts of oneself that one values.

III

For Socrates, the immortality for which mortals strive concerns the preservation in the

world of those parts of themselves that they value. I now wish to outline how he

imagines this immortality is to be achieved. Socrates suggests that people do this

through creating things that are external to them that will outlast them, and depending

on each person’s disposition thee creations will take very different forms. Socrates

divides those who seek immortality through creation into three groups: first, lovers of

bodies, who work to give birth to physical children (208e); second, lovers of honour,

who strive to produce fame for themselves (208c-e); and third, those who are

pregnant in soul, who will create logoi, either in the form of poems, codes of law, or

perhaps even philosophical treatise (209a-e). But at this point things still remain quite

unclear, as it is difficult to see how these creations help these people preserve their

virtue.21 In order to determine their role in the lover’s quest for immortality we will

what is important is not that he lives forever in all of his particularity – i.e., as
“Socrates” –, but that that which he values most in himself, his concern for the truth,
continues on after he dies.
21
Gabriel Lear (Ibid, 108) advances the idea that lovers of honour consider fame to be
of supreme value, and of central importance to their happiness. However, although
this may prima facie seem to be the case for Achilles, who is greatly concerned with
his “kle/ov”, it is difficult to see how this is so for Alcestis and Codrus. In both
Phaedrus’ and Socrates’ recount of the story of Alcestis her main concern is said to be
her love for her husband, and in the case of Codrus, his priority is the preservation of
his throne for his children. Although Socrates does say that each of these figures died
for their loved ones in the expectation that the fame they earn through their self-
sacrifice would ensure their immortality, the most we could conclude from this is that
they value fame in an instrumental way. The same could even be argued in the case of
Achilles. First, it is difficult to determine whether Achilles’ was motivated to action

9
have to look more closely at Socrates’ descriptions of people’s productive activities

here:

208e: Now, some people are pregnant in body, and for this reason turn more to

women and pursue love in that way, providing themselves through childbirth

with immortality and remembrance [mnh/mhn] and happiness, as they think, for

all time to come.

208d: Do you really think that Alcestis would have died for Admetus … or

that Achilles would have died after Patroclus, or that your Codrus would have

died so as to preserve the throne of his sons, if they hadn’t expected the

memory [mnh/mhn] of their virtue – which we still hold to honor – to be

immortal?

209d: Everyone would rather have such children [that is, logoi] than human

ones, and would look up to Homer, Hesiod, and other good poets with envy

and admiration for the offspring they left behind – offspring, which, because

they are immortal themselves, provide their parents with immortal glory and

remembrance [mnh/mhn].

Of immediate interest here is Socrates’ repeated use of the term “mnh/mh”, meaning

either “memory” or “remembrance”. Regardless of whether lovers seek immortality

through the production of children, fame, or logoi, what appears to be important is the

ability of these creations to act as memorials for these people after they die. However,

given that the concern for the good takes priority over what is merely one’s own, it is

by his love of Patroclus, or his desire for kle/ov; and second, the term kle/ov captures
both the concept of “fame” and “glory” simultaneously. Those who value kle/ov
would not be content simply with fame, in the sense purely of ‘making a name for
oneself’ (o0nomastoi\ gene/sqai) – as, perhaps, some modern celebrities do –, unless
this fame was related to their glorious deeds. So even in the case of Achilles it could
be argued that fame is not that which he values primarily.

10
highly doubtful that people would be interested in preserving the memory of

themselves “warts and all”; instead, as we can see from the second passage

particularly, their goal here is to preserve the ‘memory of their virtue’ – an idea

reiterated in his discussion of lovers of souls at 209e.

Several prominent commentators of the Symposium have recognised the

significance of memory in Socrates’ discussion, and have suggested that people attain

immortality precisely because, through their creations, they are remembered as being

virtuous.22 Let us consider some examples to clarify this idea. Alcestis valued her love

for her husband above all other things, and on this reading she achieved immortality

because, through the fame she gained from her actions, she is remembered as a loving

wife. Similarly, Hesiod won immortality through the Theogony and Works and Days,

which are memorials to his piety, and Solon did the same through his system of laws,

which preserve the memory of his justice.

But although I believe that this reading is on the right track, I do not think that

it is yet sufficiently fleshed out to explain the role of remembrances in the

preservation of virtue. We must remember that, in his discussion of mortal possession,

Socrates makes it clear that, if people wish to preserve their virtue throughout their

lives, they must continually reproduce this virtue as time goes on; they cannot merely

produce virtuous deeds in their youth, and rest on their laurels for the remainder of

their life. To preserve one’s charity, for example, one must act charitably consistently

over time; merely performing a single grand act of charity, and then talking about it

until one’s dying day, is insufficient. The problem here is that remembrances and

memorials, by definition, can only provide images (eidola) of what was actual, and

the memories that they conjure up in those present to them are also mere

22
Both Gabriel Lear (Ibid, 109) and Frisbee Sheffield (Ibid, 107) advance this idea,
although the former does so only in the context of lovers of honour.

11
representations of past realities. But, as Socrates says at the very end of his speech,

the goal of the best life is to produce “true virtue”, rather than merely images of it

(212a). Therefore, those who attempt to preserve their virtue through memory alone

will only succeed in preserving an image of their virtue in the world, and not the

virtue itself. For example, although the Theogony may be quite effective at stirring in

its readers memories of Hesiod’s piety, the work itself, and the memorials it conjures,

are only images of the piety that Hesiod actually possessed in life. But, one may

argue, death presents impressive impediments to our reproductive activities, and

conclude from this that, although it is a deficient method of preservation, preserving

images and memories of one’s virtue is the best that one can hope for given the

circumstances. And with Socrates’ silence regarding disembodied existence, there is

little room to hope that people are somehow able to affect the generation of the good

in this world from some super-sensible realm, as the gods interfere with the lives of

mortals from Olympus. But we need not resign ourselves to this deficient form of

preservation, as we should be mindful that, even though death marks the end of our

capacity to act in the world, it does not follow from this that it removes our ability to

affect the world, and in a way that would satisfy Socrates’ account of mortal

preservation. To demonstrate this let us consider an example.

A Christian martyr in ancient Rome, because she values her piety above all of

her other possessions, willingly chooses a course of action that she knows will result

in being thrown into the arena. By doing this she gains fame for centuries to come,

and people long remember her as pious because of this. But this is not the only

repercussion of her action. In addition to being remembered as pious, upon hearing of

her deeds she inspires in others a desire to be pious themselves, and moreover to give

birth to pious actions. In this case her fame does not merely result in the preservation

12
of the memory of her virtue, but in the production and reproduction by others of that

same virtue she herself possessed. History is littered with examples of people who

have had great influence on the actions of others long after they themselves have died,

and Socrates himself lists some of the best examples of such people in the ancient

world. Achilles was a hero who inspired many generals, the most prominent being

Alexander the Great, to seek glory for themselves; and Alcestis, for many, is a model

of familiar virtue, whose willingness to die for her partner is an enviable expression of

love. It is this kind of influence, I suggest, that people are hoping to affect when they

create memorials of their virtue in Socrates account, as by inspiring others to produce

and reproduce the same virtues that they themselves valued in life, they will be able to

achieve the preservation, not merely of an image of their virtue, but of this virtue

itself in others long after they have died.

But, one may object, there is something lost in this process, and that is the

specific relationship that I have with my virtue. What I give birth to a virtue in life the

virtue is specifically “mine”, but in the model of immortality advanced here, although

I am the catalyst for the production of this same virtue in others, this virtue will

belong specifically to the person who produced it; it will be “theirs”, and not “mine”.

However, one must remember that, for Socrates, the concern for one’s own is entirely

subordinate to one’s desire for the good. So although it is important to produce virtue

for oneself while alive, given the realities that death presents, that one will no longer

be a subject of anything after death, it would be absurd for people to work to preserve

virtue in themselves after they die. But given that, for Socrates, it is one and the same

thing, justice, for example, that makes all just people just, and the same with any of

the virtues, it should be perfectly satisfactory to work to ensure that this virtue is

instantiated in another person; all that matters is the preservation of the virtue itself in

13
the world. So John should not be concerned specifically with the preservation of

“John’s justice”, nor Joan for “Joan’s fitness”; instead, their aim should be the

preservation of these virtues qua good.

So what sense now does it make, if any, to claim that Hailey, for example,

preserves John’s justice in her own actions? We cannot take this in the strong sense of

saying that she preserves the justice John possessed as it was particularly instantiated

in John, as, necessarily, only John can do this. But we can still meaningfully make the

claim that Hailey preserves John’s justice because she values and performs justice in

the same way John himself did while he was alive. But this is enough to Satisfy

Socrates’ demands regarding mortal preservation, and if John’s memory continually

inspired others towards justice, then John can truly claim immortality in the sense

outlined by Socrates.

IV

Having now established the method by which people seek to preserve the memory of

their virtue, I wish to say a few words about the problems people face in achieving

this immortality. Because Socrates does not consider this issue in the Symposium this

discussion will remain somewhat speculative, however there are certain passages in

the Protagoras and the Phaedrus that may allow us to reconstruct some of Socrates’

opinions on this issue. That there is sufficient evidence in the dialogue to do this is

itself interesting, as it may indicate that the model of immortality that Socrates

advances in the Symposium was not created for purely rhetorical purposes, but one

that follows naturally from various other commitments Plato holds concerning the

transmission of virtue.

14
 Before I turn to the Protagoras and the Phaedrus it will be important to make

a few introductory comments concerning the subject matter of this discussion. In the

previous section I argued that those who seek immortality work to preserve the

memory of their virtue by creating remembrances that will outlast them, and that

Socrates divides such people into three groups by the media through which they hope

to preserve this memory: either through children, fame, or logoi. But although

Socrates labels such people as lovers of bodies, honour, and souls respectively, he

gives us no reason to think that people utilise particular media based on the kind of

virtues that they value.23 Achilles, Alcestis, and Codrus, although they all seek to

preserve the memory of their virtue through fame, clearly value a diverse range of

virtues: glory, familial love, and patriotism in turn (208d). Similarly, in his comments

regarding lovers of souls, although he does make some judgment as to which virtues

are more valuable than others, he does not prescribe which virtues lovers of souls

must value if they are to seek remembrance through logoi; instead, he says that such

people value ‘wisdom and the rest of virtue (th\n a!llhn a0reth/n)’ (Symposium, 209a,

my emphasis) – hardly an exclusive list. So any given medium of remembrance is

capable of preserving the memory of a variety of virtues, and in addition it seems

entirely possible for the same virtue to be preserved in different media. Nestor, for

23
For some commentators, Socrates’ division is indicative of the kinds of virtues that
people find to be supremely valuable. Gabriel Lear, for example, argues that lovers of
bodies, honour, and souls are those who believe physical wellbeing, fame, and
knowledge respectively to be the “central component of their happiness (Ibid, 108).
Lear is forced into such a reading because he believes that remembrance is
specifically the goal for honour lovers, and concludes from this that fame is all that
such people value. Without recourse to claim that children and logoi are means of
preserving memory Lear is compelled to conclude that the production of children is
indicative of a concern for the preservation of brute physical existence, and the
creation of logoi from a concern for knowledge. As I have shown in the previous
section, however, remembrance is the goal of all lovers, and these creations are
merely valued instrumentally as means for the preservation of whatever virtues people
hold to be valuable.

15
example, was able to preserve the memory of his wisdom through his deeds in the

Trojan War, while Parmenides did so through the creation of a philosophical treatise.

Therefore, when we consider who will be most successful at achieving immortality,

we should not focus on what kind of virtues people value, but on the efficacy of their

chosen media at preserving the memory of their virtue. So let us begin with lovers of

bodies.

There is a great variety of interpretations in the literature as to how producing

children helps lovers of bodies achieve immortality,24 and although we no know that

they do so through helping a person preserve the memory of their virtue, the exact

way that children do this remains somewhat obscure. In light of what we have learnt I

believe that Frisbee Sheffield’s interpretation is most reasonable: that children

preserve the memory of virtue through continuing on a person’s family name.25 To

unpack this idea let us take the example of Cornelius Smith, a lover of bodies who

seeks immortality for his temperance Smith has children knowing (or at least hoping)

that when people come into contact with his progeny, or hear of his family name in

conversation, they will remember temperate old Cornelius, and from this memory be

inspired to become temperate themselves. But how reliable is this as a method of

24
Another prominent interpretation of why lovers of bodies seek to generate children
is advanced by R. E. Allen (Ibid, 73) and M. Dyson, ‘Immortality and Procreation in
Plato’s Symposium’ Antichthon 20 (1986), 68-9, who argue that they do so because
their aim is, not personal immortality, but the immortality of the human species.
There is one point in the dialogues where such a view is explicitly advanced. At Laws
4.721b-c the Athenian justifies his law that all men and women of a certain age must
wed and begin producing children, as it is only through childbirth that mortals gain
immortality. The Athenian’s discussion here is quite reminiscent of mortal possession
in the Symposium, as here he argues that humans achieve immortality through leaving
behind later generations to replace the ones that are dying away. However, there are
two important differences between this discussion of immortality and the one in the
Symposium: first, here no reference is made to either memory or remembrances; and
second, the Athenian makes no reference to the other two methods of achieving
immortality in the Symposium, i.e., through gaining fame or producing logoi.
25
Ibid, 107.

16
preserving the memory of virtue? As Sheffield argues, insofar as his children flourish,

and take after their ancestor, Cornelius may be quite successful at inspiring others for

generations to come. But, as Socrates cautions Protagoras in the Protagoras, one

cannot always be assured that children will assume the virtues of their parents.

Socrates here suggests that virtue may not be a teachable thing, and as evidence he

raises the example of Pericles’ children, who failed to live up to their father’s

reputation in matters of state (319d-320b). And even Protagoras, who assumes the

opposite view, and argues that virtue is teachable, suggests in response that, although

education may help to ensure the children will emulate the virtue of their parents (and

other notable citizens), some children simply lack by nature the disposition to be

virtuous (328c-d). There is the possibility, then, that one (or several) of Cornelius’

descendants may fail to be temperate, and perhaps be so intemperate as to besmirch

his family name, so that, upon hearing of the Smiths, one may be reminded for their

depravity, rather than Cornelius’ temperance. So unless one can ensure that one’s

descendants will be virtuous, preserving the memory of one’s virtue through having

children is unreliable.

There are few dynasties that manage to retain their good name for more than a

few generations, so perhaps the chosen medium of lovers of honour, fame, will be

superior for preserving the memory of virtue. Prima facie this seems likely, as, when

prodded, most of us would be able to list dozens of individuals – warriors and

pacifists, lovers and explorers – whose actions have brought them renown for

centuries, if not millennia, after their deaths. But although heroes are frequently a

topic of discussion for Socrates, both in the Symposium and other dialogues,26 and

26
See especially the Hippias Minor, a discussion of lying with continual reference to
Odysseus.

17
despite the fact that Socrates is often shown conversing with lovers of honour,27

comments regarding fame and reputation in the dialogues are scarce, and none

explicitly concern the efficacy of fame as a means of preserving the memory of virtue.

Because of this there is little we can say about Socrates’ possible opinions concerning

the relative success of lovers of honour in achieving immortality, but perhaps we can

glean one point, somewhat indirectly, from Socrates’ list of famous honour lovers.

Although Socrates would have been quite aware of the deeds of each of the figures he

lists as lovers of honour, we moderns are really only familiar with Achilles and

Alcestis. Although we know something of Codrus through various sources,28 only the

fame of the first two has truly stood the test of time. What Codrus lacks is the

consideration of a great poet. Achilles’ and Alcestis’ fame lingers because of Homer’s

powerful portrait of the former in the Iliad and Euripides’ dramatization of the latter

in his Alcestis. Similarly, we remember Abelard and Heloise through their letters to

each other, the voyages of Marco Polo from his writings of his travels, and the deeds

of Belisarius from the likes of Edward Gibbon. Here we have encountered an

impressive problem for those who wish to preserve the memory of their virtue

through fame: with few exceptions, even the fame of the most glorious war hero or

the most passionate lover can only be preserved for any significant length of time

27
The two most obvious examples of those whom Plato would label lovers of honour
would be Laches and Nicias, two famous Athenian generals who served during the
Peloponnesian War, whose discussion with Socrates concerning the nature of andreia,
or “manliness” is dramatized in the Laches. The other most prominent figure who
ought to be added to this list is Critias, the future leader of the Thirty Tyrants after the
fall of Athens, whose opinions on courage are cross-examined by Socrates in the
Charmides. Critias’ concern for honour is shown clearly in Xenophon’s Hellenica,
where he denounces Theramenes for lacking concern for honour and friendship (Book
II, iv.33). Alcibiades, however, is perhaps the most memorable figure. But although
he is a colourful character in the Protagoras and the Symposium, besides from the
most likely spurious Alcibiades I and II, Socrates never engages in an extensive
elenchus with Alcibiades.
28
The story of Codrus is most notably preserved in the speech ‘Against Leocrates’ by
the logographer Lycurgus of Athens.

18
with the aid of poetry, history, or writing of many kinds – that is, through logoi. So

unless one is a skilled creator of logoi, or at least the muse of another writer, then

severe problems also attend the preservation of the memory of one’s virtue through

fame.

The final group we have to consider is the lovers of souls; those who attempt

to preserve the memory of their virtue through the production of logoi. Of all of the

media that people use to secure immortality, discussions of logoi are by far the most

frequent in the dialogues, which are littered with passages that concern the quality and

utility of different kinds of logoi,29 and for a variety of purposes. Throughout the

dialogues there are two kinds of logoi that receive particular attention, poetry and

argumentation, and we are given important insights into the efficacy of each for

inspiring people to act virtuously. However, because of the considerable attention that

has been given to Socrates’ critiques of poetry, and particularly on his attacks in Book

X of the Republic, where he censures the poets for nourishing a more tyrannical, and

less virtuous character,30 my focus here will be on those who seek to inspire others to

produce virtue through argumentation – philosophers.

29
I am including poetry here as a kind of logoi because in the Republic, and the Ion
particularly, Plato’s focus is on the opinions asserted by poets, and their basis for
doing so, rather than the aesthetic features of their creations.
30
Earlier in the Republic Socrates acknowledges the powerful ability of poetry to
influence people’s behaviour, and even suggests that it has the potential to inspire
people to act virtuously, provided that the content of the poetry is noble (Book II), and
that it meets certain formal requirements (Book III). However, in Book X Socrates all
but banishes the poets from the city once again, as he here argues that, because poetry
appeals to people’s appetitive soul, it is a great cause of psychic dissonance, which
confounds its audience’s ability to judge what is true:
So we were right not to admit him into a city that is to be well-governed, for
he arouses, nourished, and strengthens this part of the soul and so destroys the
rational one, in just the way that someone destroys the better sort of citizens
when he strengthens the vicious ones and surrenders the city to them.
Similarly, we’ll say that an imitative poet puts a bad constitution in the soul of
each individual by making images that are far removed from the truth by
gratifying the irrational part, which cannot distinguish the large and the small

19
 Philosophers speak directly to their audience’s rational souls, so, unlike the

poets, who attempt to inspire virtue in others through providing images of virtuous

characters performing noble deeds (or ignoble individuals meeting deservedly

disastrous ends), these people attempt to educate their audience in what is virtuous,

and instill in them a rational desire to produce the virtues that thy have now learnt to

be valuable. In order to uncover the possible problems philosophers face in achieving

immortality it will be illuminating to look to Socrates’ meditation on writing and

speeches31 in the second half of the Phaedrus, as these are the kinds of argumentation

that can reach the widest possible audience, and are the longest enduring, with the

potential to communicate to people for millennia to come.32 Socrates’ discussion here

touches on many issues, but the passage that will be most relevant for our present

purpose is his examination of the aptness of written works (247b-277c),33 which

contains his most vehement attacks on writing.

Socrates begins this discussion with a story that has come to be called the

“Myth of Theuth”, in which he describes how the god Theuth, having invented the art

of writing, recommends it to the Pharaoh, Thamus, as a tool for educating the people

of Egypt. But Thamus spurns his gift because he believes that it would actually

but believes that the same things are large at one time and small at another
(Republic 10.605b-c).
31
I will refer to both of these activities together as “writing”, as speeches will be
relevant to our present discussion only insofar as they are written down, and therefore
accessible to future generations.
32
Interestingly, Socrates claims in the Phaedrus that, through speeches and writing,
people are able to attain immortality (258c), though whether this is a direct allusion to
his discussion of immortality in the Symposium is difficult to tell. Certainly the kind
of immortality that could be yielded from oratory would be far more akin to that
raised in the Symposium than the one for which Socrates offers a proof at the
beginning of his second speech on eros (245c-e).
33
Although questions of a logos’s truth and organic structure – the topics of the first
two parts of Socrates discussion of writing here – may well be relevant to it’s ability
to inspire others to be virtuous, examination of these matters are beyond the scope of
this paper, and must be left for another time.

20
impeded the education of his people: ‘you will make them seem to know much’, he

says, ‘while for the most part they know nothing’ (Phaedrus, 275a-b). Cryptically, he

suggests that writing only has a role in “reminding”, and never in helping people to

“remember”. After the conclusion of the myth Socrates expands on this remark. The

problem with writing, he tells us, is that it speaks to all different kinds of people

indiscriminately, regardless of their level of understanding, but when a reader asks

something of it, it remains silent (275d-e). Even here Socrates discussion remains

somewhat esoteric, but his criticism seems to account to the following: The written

work is insensitive to whether what it has to say is lost on its readers, who may be

confused about a key term, be unable to follow every step of the argument, or perhaps

be confused about the basic premises of the work. However, the reader is not able to

elicit any extra information from a written work in order to help them overcome these

problems should they need it. But Socrates’ main concern is that readers do not often

appreciate that they may have missed the subtleties of a written work, and so, having

read a piece, they may come to believe that they are now knowledgeable in the

subject matter of the work, even though they may find themselves incapable of

holding their new beliefs in the face of even the most basic questioning. The problem

here is that, believing themselves wise, such people will feel no desire to inquire into

these matters any more, because, as we learn in the Symposium, it is only those who

appreciate that they are at an intermediary point between ignorance and wisdom who

desire to develop their understanding (Symposium, 204a). From this Socrates

concludes that no one ought to write down anything with the hope of pouring

knowledge into another person, as one fills a jug with wine.34 Writing, he argues, is

34
Socrates here is most likely taking aim at those sophists who attempt to use
speeches as a way to impart rigorous, systematic, and coherent pieces of thought to
their audience. In the dialogues the figure who engages in this activity most avowedly

21
most useful for reminding people of what they already know, but which may not be

presently to mind (Phaedrus, 276d); it in itself is not a reliable tool for education.

Socrates awards this honour to conversation – and specifically dialectic35 –, as it

overcome each of the problems of writing that I listed before, and can consistently

instill in others a desire for knowledge. Unlike for writing, a dialectician, because she

is present to her audience, is sensitive to her audience’s level of understanding, and so

can adjust the tenor and content of the discussion appropriately. And furthermore,

whenever people become lost, and express a desire for clarification, she can provide

them with any extra information they may need. But most important for Socrates is

that a dialectician is able to test her partners’ understanding of a particular topic

through question and answer, and reduce them to aporia, a state from which they will

be able to appreciate the limits of their knowledge, and from there (hopefully) feel a

desire to develop their understanding. Knowledge, for Socrates, only comes to those

who actively seek it out for themselves, so it is important that any logos ‘produce a

seed from which more discourse grows in the characters of others’ (Phaedrus, 276e-

277a).

Writing, then, appears only to be of limited use to philosophers in their quest

for immortality, as their goal is not simply to provide reminders for those who already

have knowledge of virtue (although this is an important role), but to impart

knowledge to those who are ignorant, so as to inspire as large a group as possible to

produce virtue. However, if education only takes place in dialectic, then it seems that

is Protagoras (as dramatized in the Protagoras), who believes that merely hearing one
of his speeches is sufficient for making people wise in the subjects of which he talks
(318a-b) – a belief shared by many of his supporters (310d).
35
I am using the term “dialectic” here, not in the technical sense Socrates advances in
the Phaedrus, and more completely in the Sophist and the Statesman, but merely as an
intercourse between different parties with the intention of testing the other’s views,
and yielding a more complete account on a certain topic.

22
the only logoi that philosophers ought to produce are conversations with others. But

philosophers, then, would only have a limited window of opportunity to impart others

with knowledge before death silences them forever. However, as we learnt above,

even though death ends one’s ability to act in the world, it does not follow that one

will no longer be able to affect the world. So although philosophers may not be able

to converse with others post-mortem, they may be able to inspire these people to

engage in dialectic on the topic of virtue with each other long after they have died.

We are given explicit evidence of Socrates himself doing just this in the Symposium

in the speech of Alcibiades, who claims that Socrates attempted to instill in him ‘the

Bacchic frenzy of philosophy’ (Symposium, 218b). Indeed, the dialogues details

Socrates’ attempts at implanting in a whole variety of people a desire to develop their

knowledge of a number of topics, such as courage, piety, and even knowledge itself.

By planting this seed in others, philosophers can ensure that such people will desire to

learn about these matters for themselves, and seek out conversation with others

regarding matters of virtue. Here they can then test the limits of their knowledge, and

work to overcome any deficiencies that they uncover. And, having developed their

knowledge of virtue, such people will then work to produce virtue for themselves.36

But here philosophers appear to be at a significant disadvantage in respect to

achieving immortality when compared to lovers of bodies and honour. Where family

names and fame are capable of preserving the memory of virtue in the minds of a

36
It should be noted that this procedure did not always yield the desired results for
Socrates. Although Socrates may have been successful at planting the seed of
philosophy in figures such as Crito, Adeimantus, and Apollodorus, with others, such
as Callicles in the Gorgias, and Thrasymachus in the Republic, rejected Socrates’
efforts our of hand. But perhaps the most tragic, for Socrates, are those in whom the
seed was sewn, but never came to flower, such as Critias and Charmides (from the
Charmides), who went on to be member of the Thirty Tyrants, and, most prominently,
Alcibiades, Socrates’ lover, who, despite Socrates’ tireless efforts, rejected
philosophy for the pursuit of glory – a path that ultimately led to his ignoble demise.

23
large number of individuals, the philosopher seems only able to influence a select

number of friends and associates, as she needs to be immediately present to plant the

seeds of philosophy in others. But although we have seen that dialectic is superior to

writing as a form of education, could writing aid the philosopher here in at least some

respect? If so then perhaps it would be a useful tool for philosophers in their quest for

immortality, as it does have the ability to reach a wider audience than any

conversation. Keeping in mind Socrates’ criticisms in the Phaedrus, for writing to

have a place in education it must: i) not attempt to pour knowledge into its readers;

and ii) it must point the reader towards dialectic, as only there can people truly

develop their knowledge. Such a work, then, would aim at providing only an

introduction to a particular topic, and, moreover, it must also signal to its readers that

it is of limited use. That is, it must instill in its readers a desire for knowledge, but

undermine its own authority as a source of knowledge, and point them towards the

only method by which they can effectively develop their understanding: in dialectic.37

Unfortunately, a detailed discussion of the role of writing in philosophical

education in Plato would require far more time than could possibly be spent here, but

I do wish to conclude this paper with the suggestion that Plato’s dialogues themselves

could be read as performing just this function. Each dialogue dramatizes discussions,

usually between Socrates and other parties, in which the interlocutors either attempt to

discover the nature of a particular virtue, or they consider topics that bear important

on the development of a virtuous character – such as the nature of knowledge or the

soul, or the problems of poetry and rhetoric. But nowhere in the dialogues are we ever

37
In the past two decades much work has been done on Platonic myth, and some
commentators have suggested that myths fulfill just this function. See especially Janet
Smith’s article, ‘Plato’s Use of Myth in the Education of Philosophic Man’ Phoenix
40.1 (1986), 20-34, and Eugenio Benitez’s paper, ‘Philosophy, Myth and Plato’s
Two-Worlds View’ The European Legacy 12.2 (2007), 225-242.

24
given a comprehensive account of these topics, although we are constantly reminded

of the importance of having knowledge of these issues if we wish to produce the truly

good life for ourselves, and that real knowledge of these issues can only come through

philosophical discussions. But so effective have these dialogues been at this task that

they have inspired thousands of individuals throughout history to become

philosophers, and to explore these topics in greater detail. And this is true no more so

than today, two millennia after Plato’s death. One could argue, therefore, that Plato,

more than almost any other figure in the history of Western thought, has a right to

claim that he has achieved the immortality Socrates described in the Symposium.

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26