Psychic Representation in Plato’s Phaedrus - Paul Carelli.pdf

apeiron 2015; 48(1): 76–98

Paul Carelli

Psychic Representation in Plato’s Phaedrus Abstract: The three parts of the soul in the Myth of the Chariot are most often understood to correspond to the three parts of the soul in the Republic, with the charioteer representing the rational part of the soul, the white horse the spirited part and the black horse the appetites. Such an interpretation, however, is at odds both with the suggestion at the end of the Republic that the soul is a unity when it is free of the body and with the creation of the human soul in the Timaeus, where the soul receives its spirited and appetitive parts only after embodiment. Further, this interpretation causes problems with the elements of the Myth of the Chariot itself. In this paper I argue that it is better to understand the elements in the Phaedrus myth as representing divisions within rational soul. Keywords: Plato, Phaedrus, soul DOI 10.1515/apeiron-2014-0018

Introduction At least since the time of Plutarch1 it has been a commonplace that the soul represented by the Myth of the Chariot in Plato’s Phaedrus is the tri-partite soul of the Republic, with the charioteer standing for reason, the white horse for the spirited part of the soul, and the black horse for the appetites. This interpretation has had, and still has, wide enough currency to justify considering it the standard view. Interpreters who hold that the dialogues show a development in Plato’s philosophy often consider the Myth of the Chariot under this interpretation to herald a necessary and revolutionary step in Plato’s understanding of the soul.2 There are two aspects to this supposed revolution: the division of the  1 Plutarch, Platonic Questions IX.1. 2 None of the positions I argue for in this paper depend on a developmental view and I take an agnostic stance on the matter of Platonic chronology in general. I reference here Plato’s development simply because this is often a background assumption of those holding a revolu Paul Carelli: University of North Florida – Philosophy & Religious Studies, 1 UNF Drive, Jacksonville, Florida 32233, United States, E-Mail: [email protected]

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immortal, disincarnate soul into parts and the identification of those parts as the appetites and passions. That the disincarnate soul is partitioned at all appears to run counter to dialogues such as the Phaedo where the soul, both with and without the body, seems to be characterized as a simple unity, and Republic X where Socrates suggests that the immortal soul may lack parts when it is separated from the body. On the other hand, the immortal soul is explicitly partitioned in the Timaeus, but there the psychic constituents – the circle of the same and the circle of the different – are wholly intellective in nature, with the appetites and passions explicitly relegated to mortal soul. Given the general consensus among developmentalists that the Timaeus comes later than the Phaedrus in terms of chronology,3 however, understanding the horses as representations of the passions and the appetites presents an interpretive problem for those who view this as a necessary step in Plato’s development since the appetites and passions are not part of the immortal soul in the later dialogue. For interpreters of Plato who see doctrinal consistency across the dialogues, the standard view may not cause specifically chronological concerns, but it will offer a stumbling block to any unified view of Plato’s philosophy. The soul in the so-called Socratic dialogues lacks any irrational motivational forces, as is apparent in Socrates’ claim that no one desires the bad and that any apparent desire for the bad is ultimately due to ignorance, not irrational forces such as pleasure or fear. The Phaedo offers little interpretive problem for the unitarian, since there the passions and appetites are explicitly associated with the body, not the soul. In Book IV of the Republic Socrates identifies a spirited and an appetitive part of the soul, but then in Book X claims the soul displays such psychic variety as a result of its association with the body, making a unified view between this and earlier dialogues a possibility. Similarly, since the Timaeus characterizes the passions and appetites as parts of mortal soul which are separate from the rational, immortal soul and which are needed for the soul’s embodiment, it also lends itself to some kind of doctrinal reconciliation with the ‘Socratic’ position. The Phaedrus under the standard view, however,  tionary view of the Phaedrus. For example, Nussbaum argues that the non-intellectual elements are necessary both as sources for motivational energy and as guides towards understanding (1986 214 ff). Similarly, Bett holds that the appetites and passions in the immortal soul “play an indispensable role” in explaining how the soul transverses the heavens and periodically contemplates the forms, and are no longer things that need to be transcended in order to reach the ideal state (1999 443). Both authors characterize these as improvements over an earlier view. 3 Owen (1953) attempted to overthrown the traditional view that the Timaeus is late, but was rebutted by Cherniss (1957). Though the matter is not settled, most now hold that the Timaeus is late. See, Zeyl (2000 xvi–xx).

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with its explicit attribution of spirit and appetite to the soul before it has been embodied provides a recalcitrant impediment to unitarian interpretations.4 So, for both the developmentalist and the unitarian, the standard view of psychic representation in the Phaedrus is problematic.5 In addition to these external considerations, this view also causes problems internal to the dialogue itself. The standard view, however, has not gone unchallenged. In particular, Hermeias in the fifth, Herrmann in the nineteenth, and Robin in the twentieth century, all sought to interpret the Phaedrus not in terms of the tri-partitioned soul of the Republic, but in terms of the division of the immortal soul in the Timaeus.6 Although I do not follow the details of these interpretations in this paper, I think understanding the soul as presented in the Phaedrus in light of the Timaeus offers several advantages over the standard view. I hope to show this by first indicating various problems that arise with the standard view and then by demonstrating how understanding the soul described there as parallel to the rational soul of the Timaeus avoids these problems. Understood in this way, the psychic representation in the Myth of the Chariot causes neither problems of chronology nor problems of consistency, whether external or internal to the dialogue. Before turning directly to the Phaedrus and Timaeus, however, I want to prepare the ground a little first by looking at what other dialogues have to say about the nature of the disincarnate soul. I do this to forestall a possible objection to my whole enterprise, which might run something like this: Other dialogues, such as the Phaedo and Republic, very clearly posit a simple immortal soul lacking any parts whatsoever. The Phaedrus, then, is revolutionary at least in its portrayal of the soul having parts when separated from the body; why not, then, think it is also revolutionary not only in attributing parts to that soul, but also in its characterization of those parts as appetites and passions? In  4 For example, Rowe, defending a unitarian position, argues that the soul remains essentially rational for Plato throughout the dialogues, but that we “always retain our horses” (2007 141). If these horses represent passions and appetites and the human soul always has them then the description of the soul as essentially rational is misleading and seems to be in conflict with the intellectualist picture of the soul offered by Socrates in the earlier dialogues. 5 It is, of course, possible to take a skeptical position on the prospect of establishing either a clear chronology or doctrinal agreement in the dialogues. Nails (1995), for instance, holds that no consensus on the ordering of Plato’s dialogues has been or is likely to be reached, and that the best way to read the dialogues is not as presenting any coherent set of doctrines but as documents exhibiting “double openendedness” – a refusal to consider as settled the status of either the conclusions or assumptions of philosophical arguments. The legitimacy of a skeptical position, however, depends upon the inability to present a coherent account of Plato’s doctrines; if such a coherent account can be given such skepticism loses its foundation. 6 For a brief mention of these positions see Robinson (1995 122–3).

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other words, if the particular psychological outlook that Plato puts on display in the Phaedrus is so radically different in one respect from that found in these other dialogues, it seems easier to countenance radical differences in other respects. Consistency on this point across the dialogues, on the other hand, would lend credence to the claim of further consistency.

I The Phaedo seems to offer the toughest obstacle for showing a consistent view on the partitioning of the soul, since the soul’s simplicity appears to be a major premise in one of the central arguments for the soul’s immortality. In the Affinity Argument (78b–80b) Socrates establishes with Cebes two classes of things – those things likely to be scattered and those things unlikely to be scattered – and then shows that the soul belongs to the second class. Mortality is here equated with the ability to be scattered, death being the dispersion of various parts of what was previously whole. In order for something to become scattered, Socrates notes, it would have to have parts, so things that can be scattered are things composed of parts, and things that cannot be scattered are things without parts. He then proposes that those things that are always the same and never change are likely those without parts and the forms fit this description, whereas those things that always change, such as physical particulars, have parts. It is important to note here that Socrates contrasts these two groups in the strongest terms: the forms “remain the same and never in any way admit any change at all” (ὡσαύτως κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχει καὶ οὐδέποτε οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς ἀλλοίωσιν οὐδεμίαν ἐνδέχεται, 78d) and particulars “in relation to themselves and each other never remain the same” (οὔτε αὐτὰ αὑτοῖς οὔτε ἀλλήλοις οὐδέποτε … οὐδαμῶς κατὰ ταὐτά, 78e).7 So in terms of change forms and particulars are complete opposites. Since particulars can be perceived through the senses and forms cannot, Socrates labels the changing class of things ‘visible’ and the unchanging class ‘invisible.’ All that is left is to show is that soul has more affinity with the invisible class than it does with the visible. After a bit of quibbling about the meaning of ‘invisible’ Cebes agrees that the soul is invisible. Socrates does not stop his argument here, however, but goes on to investigate the soul’s relationship to change. Presumably the reason for this move is that no causal connection has been established between invisibility and immortality – the forms have properly been labeled invisible, but it is because they are  7 All translations are my own unless noted otherwise.

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changeless that they do not have parts, and it is because they do not have parts that they cannot be scattered and so are immortal. So, Socrates needs to show that the soul is akin to the changeless in order to allay fears of its mortality. The argument that Socrates makes concludes that the soul can be changeless, but not that the soul is always changeless. As already noted, the forms are completely changeless in every way, and particulars are constantly changing in every way. Strictly speaking the soul belongs to neither of these classes, but instead is that which is capable of either changing or not changing, depending on the method of investigation it uses. When the soul investigates the always changing particulars through the senses of the body it “wanders around and is confused and dizzy, as if intoxicated, insofar as it lays hold of such things” (79c). On the other hand, when the soul investigates the unchanging forms “it stops wandering and it remains the same in regard to those things, insofar as it lays hold of such things” (79d). So, the soul is capable of both changing and remaining the same.8 Since being composite is associated with always changing, and being non-composite is associated with never changing, the soul cannot be placed closer to either category without some further qualification. That qualification comes by making the distinction between what the soul does by itself and what it does through the body. When alone the soul investigates the changeless forms and as long as it does so remains itself unchanged. This is the soul’s natural state, whereas the investigations that it makes through the body are done in unison with something foreign to it, so the fact that the soul changes is not attributable to its own nature. Thus, although the soul can both change and remain the same, it is part of its nature to do the later and it therefore has more affinity to the changeless, invisible forms than to changing visible particulars. Now, for the purposes of this paper, it is unimportant whether or not this argument establishes its conclusion. What does matter is the view of the soul the argument represents. Even if it is granted that the soul is closer to the changeless forms than to particulars, it does not follow that the soul is without parts. All that has been claimed is that things that never “tolerate any change whatever” are non-composites. The soul is something that does tolerate change. Of course, the soul cannot be said to be composite based on what has come before either, because the only things that have been claimed to be composite are particulars that always change in every way, something clearly not true of the soul which is capable of remaining the same. It would seem, then, that since the  8 Bostock observes that the affinity argument “assigns the soul a chameleon-like character – it simply takes on the nature of whatever it is thinking of – and is not much of a ground for saying that it is more like what is unchanging than what is changeable” (1986 119).

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soul is capable of both changing and remaining the same, it would have to be both composite and non-composite. Strictly speaking, of course, this is impossible, but it may be possible for the soul to have some features that composites have that allow it to change and other features that non-composites have that would allow it to remain in the same state. That the soul has parts like those of the body, physical parts capable of complete dissolution, is certainly incompatible with what Socrates claims in the Affinity Argument, but so is the view that the soul is a simple unity lacking any differentiated parts whatsoever. Indeed, the final agreement between Socrates and Cebes is that it is natural for the soul to be “absolutely indissoluble, or nearly so” (ἢ ἐγγύς τι τούτου, 80b – italics mine).9 There is a real possibility, then, that the soul as represented in this argument in some way has parts.10 There is further evidence that Socrates conceives the soul as having parts. In his argument that the soul is not a harmony Socrates asks Simmias, “Does it seem to you that a harmony, or any other composite (συνθέσει), can be in a state other than the state of the elements from which it is composed (συγκέηται)?” (92e–93a). Here Socrates characterizes a harmony as a composite, something formed from elements. He goes on to gain Simmias’ agreement that souls do not admit of degrees; all souls are equally souls. So, if the soul is a harmony, then each soul must be equally harmonious. Excellence, however, is harmony and wickedeness disharmony. On the assumption that souls are harmonies, then, it follows that all souls are completely excellent and no soul is wicked; but this is clearly false. Since the soul can be excellent or wicked, and therefore either harmonious or disharmonious, it follows that the soul cannot itself be a harmony. It also follows, however, that if souls are capable of harmony and if a harmony is type of composite as Socrates has characterized it, then the soul must be composite. So, it seems the soul is not understood by Socrates to be without parts in the Phaedo. This last claim may seem at odds with the bigger picture of the soul offered in the Phaedo because throughout the dialogue Socrates repeatedly associates the appetites and passions with the body, not the soul. For example, in his second refutation of the soul as a harmony Socrates seems to rely on the evidence that the soul rules the appetites and passions, since there are countless examples of “the soul opposing the passions of the body” (94c). Socrates’ point is  9 Gallop points out the grammatical ambiguity of Socrates’ qualification: ‘nearly so’ can refer to the soul’s non-composite nature or to the relative strength of the argument to establish its conclusion (1975 142). In either case, room is left open for the soul to have parts. 10 I make no claim here of the mereological status of these parts. See Shields (2001) for an argument on the compatibility of conceptual parts with the simple soul.

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that if the soul opposes the affections of the body, say, in refraining from drinking when thirsty in the interest of health, it cannot be a harmony of those parts, since the parts composing a harmony cannot be in opposition to one another. But, if the appetites and passions are affections of the body, then the only other ‘part’ that the soul may be composed of seems to be reason, so the soul really is a simple unity after all. Beyond involving Socrates in an apparent contradiction – since his claims that harmony is a kind of composite, that excellence is a harmony, and that souls can be possess excellence requires that the soul have parts – this interpretation limits him to only being able to conceive of parts of the soul in the terms laid out in Book IV of the Republic; the possible candidates for parts of the soul must be those parts identified by Socrates in his conversation with Glaucon and Adeimantus, and since two of these, the appetitive and spirited parts, are explicitly associated with the body in the Phaedo, the soul itself must be composed solely of the third, reasoning part.11 If, on the other hand, we charitably grant that Socrates is not contradicting himself in such an obvious way, then from the arguments against the soul as a harmony the view emerges that the disincarnate soul has parts and those parts are neither appetitive nor spirited in nature. Support for the simple soul view may seem to be found in the Republic, though not in Book IV where the soul is divided into parts, but rather in Book X where this division is qualified in an important way. After arguing for the immortality of the soul, Socrates cautions Glaucon against thinking that “the soul in its truest nature is the sort of thing full of variegated colors and dissimilarities discordant with itself” (611a). As it turns out, the model of a tri-partitioned soul that Socrates and his interlocutors have been working with through much of the dialogue only reflects the way the soul appears while it is associated with the body. That association has put the soul in a condition analogous to the sea god Glaucus, whose true nature is hidden by the corrupting influence of the sea. It is only once the soul has been lifted out of the ‘sea’ of its incarnate state that we would “see its true nature, whether it was multiform (πολυειδὴς) or uniform (μονοειδής)” (612a). Whatever the true nature of the soul is, then, it would seem to be something other than the division into rational, spirited, and appetitive parts, since otherwise there would be no sense in Socrates offering this corrective to the psychic analysis already given. But it does not follow that the dis 11 Bostock, borrowing the parts of the soul identified in the Republic to fill in the lacunae in the Phaedo, concludes that Plato does not yet have a clear view of what will become his mature understanding of the soul (1999 423–4). As I hope to show below, borrowing from the Timaeus and the Phaedrus (properly understood) instead of the Republic shows this assessment to be unwarranted.

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incarnate soul cannot have parts at all, and the possibility that it is possessed of more than one part is one that is explicitly left open. Nor can the soul’s simplicity be inferred from the fact that the soul has been shown to be immortal. As in the Phaedo, so here, Socrates excludes not the possibility that the soul has parts, but only that it has parts of a certain sort. In the shorter dialogue, Socrates claims that the soul could not be made of the sort of parts that require something to always be in a state of change, as physical bodies are, since the soul is capable of remaining the same. Here in the Republic, he holds that “it isn’t easy for something to be eternal which is both composed of many parts and not put together in the finest way, as the soul now appeared to us” (611b). The soul when associated with the body appears as something composed of many parts that have not been put together in the finest way and so it would not be easy for this soul to be immortal. Thus, it is likely that the disembodied soul either lacks parts altogether, or has parts that are put together in the finest way. Such well-joined parts may perhaps form a more natural unit or be capable of a higher degree of harmony than the parts of the embodied soul, but however that may be, what seems certain is that these parts are not the parts already identified as the seat of the passions and appetites. This comes out most clearly in Socrates’ proposed program for seeing the true nature of the soul by looking to the soul’s love of wisdom. Each of the three parts of the embodied soul had previously been given special objects of desire in the discussion of different psychic pleasures: the appetitive part is characterized as a lover of money or profit, the spirited part as a lover of honor or victory, and the rational part as philosophical or a lover of learning (581a–b). Clearly, if we are to isolate the soul’s love of wisdom as the marker of its true nature, what we are isolating is the rational part of the soul. Thus, it seems fair to take Socrates’ claim to be that the rational part of the soul represents its true nature. This rational soul, then, when separated from the body will be composed either of a single part, or of parts that differ from one another less than do the parts of the embodied soul. So, despite initial appearances, there is a great deal of consistency between the Phaedo and the Republic on the issue of the soul. Neither dialogue requires the disembodied soul to be without parts: the Republic allows such a soul to have parts, and the Phaedo seems to require it. Further, the views of the soul presented in each dialogue deny that whatever parts the disembodied soul may have correspond to parts identified with the appetites and passions: the Phaedo holding that these latter are actually affects of the body and the Republic that they should be considered parts of the soul only when it is associated with the body. The Timaeus is also in broad agreement with these two dialogues in its presentation of the soul. There, the partitioning of the discarnate soul is not

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84  Paul Carelli merely a matter of possibility or implication, but two parts – the circle of the same and circle of the different – are explicitly described in terms of their composition, function and relationship with one another: the circle of the same being responsible for understanding and knowledge, the circle of the different for true opinions and conviction (37b–c). Both of these parts, then, have rational functions, and no hint of appetites or passions are present within this pre-incarnate soul. The soul that is responsible for the passions and appetites is described as mortal, and only comes into play when the rational soul is embodied (69c–d).12 Thus, there is good reason to believe all three of these dialogues are consistent in presenting or at least allowing that: 1) the disincarnate soul has parts, and 2) the parts that make up the disincarnate soul are not spirited or appetitive in nature. When we turn to the Myth of the Chariot in the Phaedrus we see immediately that it too represents the disincarnate soul as having parts, in this case in the form of a charioteer and two horses. Where the representation of the soul in the Phaedrus conflicts with the other three dialogues is in how it seems to characterize the two horses as the spirited and appetitive parts of the soul. The difference is all the greater because the image of the soul in the Phaedrus is shown before it has had any contact with the body, so if the two horses do indeed represent the lower parts of the soul, there is no way to take them as the result of contamination from the body. The passions and appetites on this view would have to be integral parts of the human soul, thus making the Phaedrus an outlier in an otherwise broadly consistent picture offered by the other dialogues under consideration. As I hope to show in what follows, however, this is not case.

II There are several prima facie reasons for understanding the description of the pre-embodied soul of the Phaedrus to be a close approximation of the description of the tri-partitioned embodied soul of the Republic. In each instance the soul is divided into three parts. In Book IX of the Republic these three parts are likened to a human and two beasts (588c–e), which seems to correspond nicely  12 More precisely, passions and appetites only come into play when immortal souls are in bodies which have to negotiate an external world. The world soul is itself embodied, but does not require either passions or appetites since there is nothing outside of itself with which it needs to deal.

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to the human charioteer and two horses of the Phaedrus myth. Further, the lion and mythological monster seem echoed in the white and black horse respectively. Under this interpretation the white horse represents the spirited part of the soul, just as the lion does; the black horse stands for the appetites so fittingly depicted by the multi-headed beast; while the human charioteer represents reason. The relationships between the three parts in the chariot model also seem to mirror those found in the Republic. The charioteer as the guiding principle of the unit lends credence to understanding it as a representation of reason. Certainly the appetitive part of the soul is the most disordered and in need of reason’s guidance, so that this part of the soul would be represented by an ill-trained horse of bad stock is fitting. When Socrates first divides the soul in Book IV he characterizes the spirited part of the soul as always siding with reason against the appetites, and the white horse certainly does this. In addition, the chariot image also preserves an ambiguity in the Republic between a tri-partitioned soul and a bi-partitioned soul.13 The three parts of the chariot model divide between the human and non-human just as the rational and irrational elements of the soul would be divided. So, the image of the soul as a pair of horses guided by a charioteer seems, by and large, to fit well with what is said of the embodied soul of the Republic. Despite initial appearances, however, there is a fair deal of incongruity between the two depictions of the soul. To begin with, the two animals in the chariot-image are much more similar to each other than are the lion and the beast. In the Republic, the two are completely different creatures, and one is in fact of mythological origin, as Socrates himself states (588c). In the Phaedrus, on the other hand, the two creatures are of the same species and only differ in the stock they come from and their training. It is also important to note that the charioteer and horses form a natural unit, whereas the human, lion, and mythological beast do not form any sort of recognizable unit. Of course, this may simply be a consequence of the different metaphors being used in each case, but that Plato would use a metaphor in the Phaedrus that allows for a greater unity than that allowed by the metaphor in the Republic should not be dismissed out of hand. In Book X of the Republic it is strongly suggested that the disembodied soul has greater unity than the embodied soul and the image of the charioteer and pair of horses serves to show that greater unity. Even if the image of charioteer and horses does attribute greater unity to the pre-embodied soul than that found in the embodied soul, it does not follow that the horses do not represent the passions and appetites; it is still possible  13 See, Penner (1971) for an argument that Plato subscribes to a bi-partite soul in the Republic despite the argument in Book VI.

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that both are found in the pre-embodied soul but in a state that allows closer association with one another. If this were so, the effect the body has on the soul would be the cause of the greater disunity among the parts, since when the body is absent the parts form a more natural unit. This interpretation, however, seems to get things the wrong way around, at least in terms of the Myth of the Chariot, since it is conflict in the soul during its route around the heavens that causes the fall into the body, not the body that causes the conflict in the soul.14 According to Socrates in the Republic, the soul when freed from its association with the body should be in its more natural state and show more what it truly is. Now merely being separate from the body may not in itself be enough to ensure that the soul is in its natural state; the soul must also be freed from the results of such an association. But in the Phaedrus the souls have not yet been in bodies at all, so they cannot exhibit results of any association with the body. Embodiment is the result of psychic conflict, not the cause of it. A defender of the standard view might well be willing to make this concession. After all, the fact that the lower parts of the soul are present before embodiment is supposed to herald a change in Plato’s view, so this additional change could be welcomed. But there are still more changes that would have to be admitted if the standard view is correct, since the very natures of the appetitive and spirited parts are different in important ways if these are the parts the horses are supposed to represent. The appetites, for example, come off much worse in the Phaedrus. In the Myth of the Chariot the black horse is completely bad, whereas the appetites in the Republic are a mixed bag. It is true that the admittedly grotesque image of the multi-headed beast might lead one to think that the appetites are nothing but bad, yet some of the many heads are described as coming from gentle animals, which would imply that at least some appetites would naturally follow reason. Now, since Socrates is here offering a description of the soul while embodied, one could contend that the gentle animal heads spoken of are a result of positive character traits developed in life; all but the most depraved person will have developed some good appetites during a lifetime. The appetitive part of the soul, however, is described as being able to grow and change its heads on its own accord (δυνατοῦ μεταβάλλειν καὶ φύειν ἐξ αὑτοῦ πάντα ταῦτα), which implies that it can do this without the aid of reason or education (588c). So, by its very nature the appetitive part of the soul in the Republic is not wholly bad and can therefore serve a positive role in the soul, just as the artisans of the Kallipolis serve a positive role in the city.  14 This underlines a general problem with understanding the horses to be appetites and passions; as Robin points out, if the soul already has appetites and passions with it, then what exactly is the fall (1908 162)?

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In contrast, the black horse of the Phaedrus is described as the opposite of its beautiful and good counterpart (246b), and lacks any positive role to play in the soul. Without the black horse, the souls of mortals would not fall, remaining in their circuits around the heavens. The fall from heaven has sometimes been interpreted in a positive light, as a move by Plato to rehabilitate the appetites,15 but such an interpretation seems implausible when taken in the context of the whole myth. Since the souls of mortals only fall because of the waywardness of the black horse, in order for the black horse to have some positive role some good would have to come to the soul from its fall and return to heaven that it would otherwise lack. But the only apparent change in the soul that goes through such a journey is undergone by the black horse itself. When the soul of the philosopher in love comes into contact within sight of the beloved, the charioteer and white horse already react properly, both filled with the belief that seeking sexual union with the boy is wrong (254b); it is the black horse that needs to be “humbled enough to follow the charioteer’s warnings” (254e). So, it seems only the black horse is changed, becoming tamer as a result of the charioteer’s successful training. It may be tempting to think that the process of having to tame the black horse has somehow benefitted the charioteer; that perhaps the charioteer is better for having struggled against the lustful passion of the black horse. The result of the struggle, however, is for the charioteer and horses to eventually find themselves back on the heavenly circuit, and there is no indication that their chances of a future fall have been lessened in the least by the travails they suffered while embodied; there is no indication that the journey below has placed them in a better position than they would have been in had they not fallen. A similar reply could be made to the objection that according to Socrates the black horse is the cause of the other parts of the soul being lead forward to the boy; it is only after this that the charioteer, now close enough to see the boy’s face, remembers the real nature of Beauty, and so the black horse is the immediate and even necessary cause of the recollection of what is beyond heaven.16 But again, since it is the black horse that was the cause of the fall away from what is beyond heaven, there seems to be no net gain if now that same horse is the catalyst for the return. The soul without a black horse will always be better off than the soul with one because there is nothing good about that  15 See note 2. 16 So argues Belfiore (2006 187–194), following and expanding upon Ferrari (1987 185–203). Both Belfiore and Ferrari deny an exact correspondence between the psychic capacities represented in the chariot myth with the parts of the soul in Republic IV, but both argue that the black horse has a legitimate, positive role to play in the soul.

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horse. Putting aside considerations of how the soul originally fell and focusing solely on the encounter between the soul and the beloved does not place the black horse is any better light. The charioteer and the white horse are described as pulling back from the boy because they are angry at being forced to do something dreadful and unlawful (ὡς δεινὰ καὶ παράνομα ἀναγκαζομένω – 254b), but it does not follow from this that either would lack the motivational force to approach the boy in an inoffensive, lawful manner; an inoffensive, lawful approach would be just as capable of leading to the eventual recollection of Beauty that the charioteer experiences as that effected by the leaping forward of the black horse. The charioteer and white horse, then, are pulling back not from the sight of the beloved, but from the black horse. The black horse is something to be tamed and thereby overcome in order to bring about a good outcome, but it is not essential for such an outcome. The spirited part of the soul would also differ in the Phaedrus if the white horse is its representative. Socrates in the Republic does not characterize the spirited part of the soul as always obedient to reason, but instead says that it never sides with the appetites against reason (440b). This leaves open the possibility that spirit may rebel against reason on its own. The passage from Homer that Socrates quotes (441b) in order to illustrate that the spirited part of the soul is not identical with the calculating part is from the opening scene of Book XX of the Odyssey in which Odysseus successfully prevents his heart from making just such a rebellion; presumably he could have failed at this. Finally, in the human-lion-beast metaphor of Republic IX, Socrates claims that the person who pursues a life of injustice may have the human (rational) part of his soul “dragged to wherever either of the other two lead” (589a) – either the appetites or passions may drag reason around like a slave. In the Phaedrus, however, the white horse is entirely good and always follows the orders of the charioteer (246b; 253d–254a). If this is the case, then this part of the soul is indistinguishable from reason in terms of its actions.17 As a representation of the spirited part of the soul from the Republic this signals a substantial change, but this change is problematic beyond questions of consistency or development in Plato. On its own, it seems implausible in the extreme that the part of the soul that naturally concerns itself with honor cannot go against reason. It certainly seems possible that a person could have all her appetites in order and yet seek honor beyond what a proper functioning reason would permit, as is the case with certain honor-lovers from the Republic. Honor-loving becomes an entirely rational enter 17 So Robinson (1995 117): “Though in the Phaedrus lip-service is paid to tri-partition … in practice [the white horse] cannot be distinguished from the charioteer. Their desires and aims are invariably one and the same …”

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prise, and this rational/irrational bifurcation then has reason and spirit on one side with the appetites on the other, rather than grouping the passions and appetites together against reason, and this realigning is at the price not only of dissonance with other dialogues, but also with common experience. It may be possible to provide a reading of Socrates’ second speech in the Phaedrus that would soften these differences between the tri-partitioned soul of the Republic and the Myth of the Chariot – by appealing to the imprecise nature of myth in general or by altering how literally metaphors are taken one could perhaps temper the obedience of the white horse or the rebelliousness of the black horse to bring them more in line with the spirit and appetites. Such an interpretive move, however, is not without its own dangers to the standard view. In the myth both divine and human souls are described, and the souls of the gods are also represented as consisting of a charioteer and two horses, though for them both horses are beautiful and good; it is due to the goodness of both divine horses that the gods do not go through the wing shedding turmoil that causes the souls of mortals to descend into physical bodies. Now it has seemed problematic to some that the souls of the gods are portrayed with honor-seeking parts of the soul at all, especially since the main role of the spirited part of the soul in the Republic is to help control the appetites, which the souls of the gods entirely lack.18 This would be less of an interpretive puzzle if the role and nature of the white horses in the Phaedrus were very different from the Republic. The problem, then, in loosening the details of the myth to bring the description of the white horse more in line with the spirited part of the soul as described in the Republic is that the closer this description comes to the fallible spirited part of the soul, the more inappropriate such a part becomes for the soul of a god; and the more perfected and purified this part is made to make it more worthy of the gods, the more it loses its resemblance to the spirited part of the soul. There are, then, several reasons to question the standard view that the three parts of the pre-embodied soul in the Phaedrus represent the three parts of the embodied soul of the Republic. Despite some similarities in the two accounts – the number of members, the image of a human leading beasts – there are significant discrepancies, such as the natural unity of parts in the chariot model, the radical degree of the rebelliousness of the black horse and the complete  18 Guthrie (1975 423) suggests a looser interpretation, given that Plato is here writing in mythological terms, which would not read the good horses of the gods as representing the spirited part of the soul, but rather the whole of the divine chariot team as representing nous. The interpretation I give in this paper has the advantage of explaining the roles of the horses for both mortal and divine souls, retaining the relevant distinctions in both without violating the myth itself.

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obedience of the white horse. There is some evidence for the standard view, however, that I have so far left unmentioned: the way the parts of the soul are described once it has been embodied. When Socrates relates how the lover is captured by the beloved he describes the white horse as “a lover of honor along with moderation and modesty” (253d). Honor is the special object of the spirited part of the soul in the Republic, so this would seem to be strong evidence that the white horse is meant to represent spirit in the human soul. The black horse, in turn, is described as trying to make the other parts of the soul “approach the boy and propose the pleasures of sex” (254a). Since sex (along with food and drink) is the usual example given of what the appetitive part of the soul seeks, it is natural to understand the black horse as representing the appetites. There are certainly problems with this interpretation – self-control is mentioned as the excellence displayed by the white horse, the common excellence of the soul, and no mention is made of courage, the specific excellence of the spirited part of the soul – yet the description of this encounter seems to conform to the broad outline of what one would expect given the description of the parts of the soul in the Republic. Given this conformity between the two accounts it may seem that the standard view is the most sensible, if imperfect, interpretation of the parts of the soul as described in the Phaedrus. As I will attempt to show in what follows, however, a better interpretation is possible.

III The previous section outlined several problems arising from the identification of the parts of the soul in the Phaedrus with those in the Republic. For someone unfamiliar with the tradition that stands behind the standard view, such problems might be expected, since the latter dialogue describes parts of the soul that result from its association with the body, whereas the former describes a soul prior to any contact with the body. As has already been pointed out, whether or not the disincarnate soul has parts remains undetermined in the Republic, but in the Timaeus not only is the disincarnate soul represented as having parts, those parts the circle of the same and the circle of the different – are described in some detail.19 Rather than asking, then, if the partitioned pre-em 19 One could argue that the world soul described in the Timaeus is embodied, since the world body is described first, but Timaeus makes clear that the order of his exposition is the opposite of the order of the creation of body and soul (34b–c), so the world soul is created first and then embodied.

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bodied soul of the Phaedrus is the same as or close to the partitioned embodied soul of the Republic, I want to ask whether it is better to take the partitioned pre-embodied soul of the Phaedrus to represent the same parts as the partitioned pre-embodied soul of the Timaeus. Beyond the initial plausibility that since each dialogue describes a partitioned pre-embodied soul there might be important similarities between them, putting the question this way already hints at some advantages a well-supported affirmative answer to this question would have. If the horses turn out not to represent the passions and appetites then neither the hyper-obedience of the white horse nor the thorough corruption of the black horse are interpretative stumbling blocks, nor is any explanation needed as to why the gods would have a spirited part of the soul, or why any disincarnate soul would need appetites or passions. In order to demonstrate the compatibility of the accounts of the soul in each of these dialogues, it will be helpful to indicate the function of the respective psychic parts in the Myth of the Chariot. The first thing to notice is that functionally the soul is bifurcated – it is the role of the charioteer to lead the team of horses and the role of the horses to be led. Despite the very different natures of the two horses they are both supposed to do the same thing, namely, follow the commands of the charioteer. The black horse fulfills its function very poorly, but it does not have a function different from that of the white horse. There should be no initial objection to the connection between the Phaedrus and the Timaeus, then, based solely on the fact that the disincarnate soul has three parts in the former and only two in the latter.20 Giving and obeying commands is a rather thin description of the function of the parts of the disincarnate soul, however, and more needs to be said about what purposes the charioteer and horses respectively serve. It is tempting to understand the horses as functioning to lift the charioteer aloft, allowing him to rise to the ridge of heaven where he can then gaze upon the forms. This is consonant with the view that the appetites and passions are introduced in the Phaedrus as necessary motivational forces in the soul. There are, however, at least two problems with such a view. The first involves the mechanics of the myth, namely that the whole soul is winged, not just the horses. The initial mention of the simile is usually translated something like the following: “Let us then liken the soul to the natural union of a team of winged horses and their charioteer”  20 Hermeias argues for a connection between the ingredients that go into constructing the two circles of the soul in the Timaeus and the soul in the Phaedrus, with Being corresponding with the charioteer, the Same with the white horse, and the Different with the black horse (Commentary on the Phaedrus 126). Since the functions of the two horses are not distinct I do see this as a fruitful parallel to pursue.

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92  Paul Carelli (ἐοικέτω δὴ συμφύτῳ δυνάμει ὑποπτέρου ζεύγους τε καὶ ἡνιόχου, 246a).21 The adjective translated as “winged” (ὑποπτέρου), however, can be taken either with “team of horses” (ζεύγους) or with “team of horses and their charioteer” (ζεύγους τε καὶ ἡνιόχου). A translation that preserves the ambiguity of the Greek would be something closer to: “Let us then liken the soul to the natural union of a winged pair of horses and charioteer.” That the charioteer himself has wings along with the horses is, then, in accord with a grammatically permissible understanding of this initial description. This reading is supported by the descriptions of the soul Socrates offers throughout the Myth of the Chariot – he consistently refers to the soul itself, not just the horses, as winged, and when describing the regrowth of the soul’s feathers explicitly states that this regrowth happens “under every part of the soul – for long ago the whole soul was winged” (ὑπὸ πᾶν τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς εἶδος: πᾶσα γὰρ ἦν τὸ πάλαι πτερωτή, 251b). So, according to the mechanics of the myth, the horses do not have the specific function of lifting the soul up; this is something the soul as a whole accomplishes. The second problem for the view that the horses represent needed motivational force for the soul is that such a view imports an anachronistic understanding of reason into Plato’s thought. Supposing that the charioteer represents reason, the appetites and passions represented by the horses would be needed to provide motivation only if reason itself lacked motivation, but understanding reason in this way attributes a Humean sort of view of rationality to Socrates’ account. For Hume (and others) reason merely calculates the means to a given end, but it does not itself choose that end, this latter function belonging to the passions. But in Plato reason always has a desire for the good (though in the Phaedrus, as in other dialogues, the beautiful plays surrogate for the good). For example, when the charioteer looks on the beautiful boy with whom he is in love, he himself experiences the goading of desire without the aid of either of the horses (253e). The horses themselves also feel desire in the presence of beauty, but this desire adds nothing positive to the experience of the charioteer – the white horse is obedient and so merely duplicates the charioteer’s desire and the desire the black horse manifests actually needs to be opposed in order for the charioteer to fulfill his own. So it would seem that desiderative motivation is not what the horses provide to the charioteer. If, then, it is not the function of the horses to lift the charioteer up to the heavens, it is difficult to see what purpose they could serve. It seems this diffi 21 This is Nehamas and Woodruff’s translation as found in Cooper 1997.

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culty is due, at least in part, to the assumption that there is a stark and fundamental difference between the charioteer and the horses, which in turn is a consequence of viewing the Phaedrus as a work making a revolutionary revision to Platonic psychology. Since reason is already represented in the Republic as a human being, so the story would go, and since reason is the true soul, i.e. the soul that survives death, then the myth in the Phaedrus seems to be adding something distinct to reason, since the human being is now joined by a pair of horses. These horses, then, must serve some purpose that previously the human being was unable to perform alone; their addition would be frivolous otherwise. Whereas previously Plato thought that immortal soul was entirely rational, he later realized that spirited and appetitive psychic aspects were essential and so added these to his representation of the immortal soul. If these assumptions are set aside, however, and rather than viewing the Myth of the Chariot as offering a revision of the view in the Republic, we instead view it as offering a more elaborate description of what is only hinted at there, then a different picture emerges. The other dialogues discussed in this paper all agree that the disincarnate soul is the rational soul and all either require or allow this rational soul to have parts. So, since the charioteer and horses stand for the disincarnate soul, it seems reasonable to take the charioteer and horses together as representing that rational soul. The question then becomes why represent the rational soul as a winged charioteer and a team of winged horses and what different rational functions, if any, these different parts represent. Shortly after introducing the soul simile, Socrates states that “All soul takes care of everything lacking soul, and transverses all of heaven” (246b). He had already identified soul as a self-mover that is “the spring and source of motion in every other thing that moves” (245c). Representing the soul, then, as a charioteer and horses seems fit – the soul would have to traverse a vast area in order to look after everything that moves and chariots are just to sorts of things that are used to transverse vast areas. In addition to the soul’s horizontal movement is a vertical movement upwards, made possible because the charioteer and horses are winged. This vertical movement, however, is not unrelated to the horizontal scope of the soul’s rule, but the latter depends upon the former, since “being in perfect condition and winged it travels through the air and administers the entire universe” (246b–c). It is only when the soul sheds its wings that it settles down “taking on an earthly body.” In the myth, then, it is the attainment of altitude that allows the soul to rule over the whole universe and a loss of altitude that narrows the soul’s rule, ultimately limiting that rule to the scope of a single body. But what is it about this altitude that allows or enables to the soul to have dominion over everything? The details of Socrates’ description of what the soul experiences at the top of heaven are not always consis-

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tent,22 but at least three points seem clear. First, at the topmost part of heaven the charioteer, and only the charioteer, can look upon “the stock of true knowledge” (247c). Second, this “true knowledge” is knowledge of what “really is what it is” and is contrasted with the knowledge “that comes to be, and becomes somehow different as it is with the different things that we now call real” (247d–e). Third, the wings of the whole soul are somehow nourished by this “true knowledge” (247e; 248b–c). The object of all true knowledge is evidently the forms. The phrase “true knowledge” is a redundancy in English, but the point Socrates is trying to make is clear enough: There is a difference between what people consider to be knowledge and what actually counts as knowledge. What is often considered knowledge, the “knowledge that is close to change,” seems to describe what is called opinion in other dialogues, and even here, the souls that fail to see the reality above heaven are said to go away and feed on opinion (248b). If, then, knowledge is only possible concerning what is above heaven (the forms), and concerning what is below heaven only opinion is possible, then knowledge and opinion have separate domains. Since only the charioteer is able to see the forms above the ridge of heaven, knowledge is the specific function of the charioteer. The horses, on the other hand, are unable to attain knowledge and are limited to opinion. This fits well with the horizontal and vertical aspects of the soul’s movements. The chariot is able to cover a large area in part because of the horses whose specific function seems to be to range over the whole of the physical world. This physical world, what in the Republic is called the intermediate between “that which is not and that which purely is” (479d), serves as the object of the power of opinion. The horses, then, represent the soul’s power to opine, the power that regards the physical world and how things in that world seem. In order to have an all-encompassing perspective on this world that takes everything into account, however, the chariot also needs to fly high. It is able to do this because of its wings, which are nourished by a vision of what is, something only the charioteer can achieve. So, the charioteer represents the soul’s power to know what is, the power that looks to the highest reality, the forms. The functions of these parts of the disincarnate soul of the Phaedrus correspond to the functions of the parts of the disincarnate soul of the Timaeus. After Timaeus has described the composition of the world soul as the circle of the  22 For example, the whole soul is said to be winged, and the sights beyond heaven are what nourishes these wings, yet the horses are said to be given nectar and ambrosia when stabled after their flight, and the best part of the soul – the human charioteer – is said to feed on grass in the pasture where truth stands (247e–248c).

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same and the circle of the different he describes how the Demiurge fashioned the visible world inside of the soul, with the soul covering the corporeal “all around on the outside” (36e). Since the circle of the different has been assigned the inner movement of the soul while outer movement is assigned to the circle of the same, the former regards what is within the sphere of the soul – the visible corporeal world; while the latter regards what is outside the sphere of the soul – the invisible forms. The soul is subsequently able to give two different types of account depending on what it comes into contact with: . . . whenever it happens that [the account] concerns something perceptible and the circle of the different, going straight, proclaims it to the whole of its soul, firm and true opinions and beliefs come about; and again, whenever [the account] concerns something intelligible and the circle of the same, being well-rounded, declares it, necessarily understanding and knowledge result. (37b–c)

So, just as the charioteer looks beyond the ridge of heaven at the forms, the circle of the same turns beyond the corporeal and comes in contact with the forms; and just as the horses range all over heavens above the corporeal world below, the circle of the different turns within and comes in contact with the perceptible. In both cases the soul remains unified. When the circle of the different forms an opinion its proclamation is described as happening throughout the whole soul and it seems reasonable to take the proclamations of the circle of the same to also be made to the whole soul. Likewise, the charioteer and horses all travel together. There is still a disparity in the number of parts of each soul, however, that needs to be addressed. The disincarnate soul is divided into two parts in the Timaeus and into three parts in the Phaedrus. Although the natural divide between the human charioteer on one side and the horses on the other mitigates somewhat this disparity, it does not explain why there needs to be two horses, especially two horses of such different character as those found in mortal souls. The answer, I suggest, lies in the connection between the psychic function the horses are meant to represent and the nature of the domain this function is set over, which also finds a parallel in the Timaeus. The circle of the same is the only part of the soul that the Demiurge “permitted to be undivided (ἄσχιστον)” whereas the circle of the different he “divided (σχίσας) in six places” producing seven parts (36d). The undivided nature of the circle of the same corresponds to the indivisibility of the objects about which that part of the soul produces understanding and knowledge, namely the intelligible forms. The divided nature of the circle of the different, on the other hand, corresponds to the divisible nature of the perceptible objects about which that part of the soul produces opinions. Although the horses are not seven in number, the fact that the part of

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the soul they represent is divided and in contrast to the unity of the other part matches well what is found in the Timaeus. In the case of the souls of the gods, then, it is not that the two horses have functions separate from one another – each horse attending to a separate aspect of perceptible objects, for example – but instead it is their very plurality which corresponds to the multifaceted, scattered nature of things that come to be. This recalls the point made above about the relationship between objects and the powers of the soul found in the Phaedo. Since the soul is able to investigate both changing and composite perceptible objects and unchanging, non-composite reality, it must in some sense be changeable and composite, while in another sense changeless and not composite. Of course, since the disincarnate soul has parts it is composite taken as a whole, but one of these parts of the soul is itself composite and characterized by its diversity of number, while the other is in itself non-composite and characterized by its singularity. This parallel between divisibility and unity among the doxastic and noetic parts of the soul in both dialogues explains why there are multiple horses and works well with the souls of gods, but it does not explain why the horses of human souls are so different from one another. Under the standard view the different horses of the human soul represent different psychic desires – one appetitive, one spirited – and so their difference, though in degree problematic for the reasons given above, is understandable. If the horses, as a pair, represent a single doxastic power of the soul, then why is there such a stark difference in their character? And if this difference is in some way necessary for the doxastic function in human souls, then why are the horses of the gods identical to one another? It is important to note that the difference between divine and human soul in the Phaedrus is not limited to the fact that human souls have a black horse, since the crippling of souls and the breaking of wings is explicitly tied to the badness of the charioteers (οὗ δὴ κακίᾳ ἡνιόχων πολλαὶ μὲν χωλεύονται, 248b). Thus, the difference between the images of divine and mortal soul is not limited to the black horse of the human soul, but is instead manifest by a certain deficiency in both halves of what I am characterizing as the bifurcated rational soul – the unruliness of one of the horses and the incompetence of the charioteer. Human soul, then, when compared to the divine, falls short both in the imperfection of its ability to form true opinions about the perceptible world, as well as the imperfection of its ability to know the forms. It will be fruitful, therefore, to look in the Timaeus for something corresponding to the imperfection of the entire soul as presented in the Phaedrus. The disparity between the rational capacities of the human and the divine is a theme found throughout Plato and the Timaeus is no exception. When the demiurge turns to make the souls of mortal

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beings, he proceeds to put in his mixing bowl “the leftovers from before, mixing them in somewhat the same way, though these were no longer pure and uniform, but were a second and third grade of purity” (41d). Human souls are composed of the same sorts of ingredients as both the world soul and the souls of the gods, and are mixed in the same sort of way, but the quality of those ingredients is impure. So too, the human soul in the Phaedrus is an impure version of divine soul. The souls of the gods represent ideals in which beliefs about the corporeal world are always in harmony with knowledge of the forms – for the gods things always seem to be the way they are. In mortal soul, the black horse represents not a function of the soul separate from that represented by the white horse, but the same function performed poorly; that tendency in humans to form false opinions about the world they inhabit, opinions that are in conflict with the way things are. It is this tendency along with our inability to clearly understand the forms that is represented by the unruliness of one of the horses and the relative incompetency of the charioteer.

Conclusion Given the problems with the standard view of psychic representation in the Phaedrus, such a view should be abandoned and instead the charioteer and horses should be taken to represent the parts of the rational, disembodied soul. More than solving several problems internal to the dialogue, this interpretation offers a more consistent picture of the soul across several dialogues. This is a greater level of consistency than is often granted Plato, but absent strong evidence to the contrary, consistency should carry more weight than contradiction. Acknowledgements: I would like to thank my colleagues – Bryan Bannon, Aaron Creller, Erinn Gilson, Jon Matheson, and Sarah Mattice – for many helpful comments and questions, George Rudebusch for several useful suggestions, an anonymous reader at Apeiron for identifying weak spots in need of shoring up, and Alison Bruey for her constant support. I would like to especially thank my dissertation director, David Bradshaw, who was the catalyst for my initial investigation into the representation of the soul in the Phaedrus. Any weaknesses in the view presented here are, of course, attributable to me alone.

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Works Cited Belfiore, Elizabeth. 2006. “Dancing with the Gods: The Myth of the Chariot in Plato’s Phaedrus.” The American Journal of Philology, Vol. 127, No. 2: 185–217. Bett, Richard. 1999. “Immortality and the Nature of the Soul in the Phaedrus” 425–49 In Fine, ed. 1999. Bostock, David. 1986. Plato’s Phaedo. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bostock, David. 1999. “The Soul and Immortality in Plato’s Phaedo” 404–424 In Fine, ed. 1999. Cherniss, H. F. 1957. “The Relation of the Timaeus to Plato’s Later Dialogues.” The American Journal of Philology, 78 (3): 225–266. Cooper, John M, ed. 1997. Plato: Complete Works. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing. Ferrari, G. R. F. 1987. Listening to The Cicadas. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fine, Gail, ed. 1999. Plato 2: Ethics, Politics, Religion, and the Soul. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gallop, David. 1975. Plato: Phaedo. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Guthrie, W. C. K. 1975. A History of Greek Philosophy. Vol. IV. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nails, Debra. 1995. Agora, Academy, and the Conduct of Philosophy. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Nussbaum, Martha C. 1986. The Fragility of Goodness. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Owen, G. E. L. 1953. “The Place of Timaeus in Plato’s Dialogues” The Classical Quarterly (New Series), 3 (1–2): 79–95. Penner, T. 1971. “Thought and Desire in Plato” 96–118 in Vlastos, ed. 1971. Robin, L. 1908. La Théorie platonicienne de l’amour. Paris: Librairies Felix Alcan et Guillaumin Reunies. Robinson, T. M. 1995. Plato’s Psychology, 2nd Edition. Toronto: University of Toronto. Rowe, Christopher. 2007 Plato and the Art of Philosophical Writing. Cambridge: CUP. Shields, Christopher. 2001 “Simple Souls” 137–156 in Wagner, ed. 2001. Vlastos, G., ed. 1971. Plato II. New York: Anchor Books. Wagner, Ellen, ed. 2001. Essays on Plato’s Psychology. Oxford: Lexington Books. Zeyl, Donald J., trans. 2000. Plato: Timaeus. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co.

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