That's an argument ad populum.
— Apollodorus

Have you forgotten your own claims?

Regarding the “noble lie” theory, it is just a theory, typically advanced by those who believe in political propaganda like Strauss and his followers.
— Apollodorus — Fooloso4

@Apollodorus Morosophos’ argument may be “ad populum”, but the “populum” he cites are respected scholars, interpreters and translators. Your argument, however, is purely ad hominem: anyone who thinks Plato believed the rulers ought to lie to the people is an anti-Platonist or Straussian, or pro-tyrannical.

In my view, this captures Plato’s intention much better than translations that insist on indiscriminately using “lie” to make Plato sound like Lenin or Stalin. — Apollodorus

That it makes Plato sound like a tyrant, O Deploradorus, is your own prejudice, not that of the translators. And why you use the term “indiscriminately” is beyond me, since they used a certain discrimination, that the same word be translated in the same way, as their guiding principle. When you allow a translator to translate his text according to some “interpretation”, you cannot know that that interpretation is correct unless you have yourself learned to fluently read the original. Can you say that you have verified the authenticity of the translation you quoted, from your own intimacy with Plato’s Greek? Answer me! Either avow it or deny it.

Let us look at the Wikipedia Article “Noble Lie”. It says:

This is his [Socrates'] noble lie: "a contrivance for one of those falsehoods that come into being in case of need, of which we were just now talking, some noble one...”

Note how the translation abruptly stops after “noble one”. What could the reason for this be? Simply put, the Greek text does not say “noble lie”! — Apollodorus

Here is Godfrey Stallbaum’s explication of this passage:

“‘Tis an oun hemin—‘ Verba sic inter se cohaerent [“these words cohere (intelligibly) in this way”]: tis an oun hemin mechane genoito, pseudomenous (hemas) yennaion ti hen twn pseudwn twn en deonti gignomenwn, wn nun de elegomen, peisai malista men kai autous tous archontas, ei de me, ten allen polin; Quomodo igitur, inquit, fieri poterit, ut unum aliquod honestum mendacium, ex his quae antea dicebamus necessaria esse, mentiri ipsis maxime moderatoribus, aut sin aliter, reliquis civibus persuadeamus? [“In what manner then,” he said, “could it happen, that some one honorable lie, of these which we were saying before were necessary, might be especially told to the rulers themselves, but if not, that we persuade the rest of the citizens?]
Loquitur paullo obscurius propter animi verecundiam, necdum rem ipsam commemorat, quam vult principibus reliquaeque civitati ita persuaderi, ut mendacium aliquod salubre adhibeatur. Patet vero ex his, quae deinceps exponuntur, commentum aliquod fabulosum ei videri excogitandum...[He (Socrates) speaks somewhat obscurely because of the shame in his soul, nor does he yet relate the very thing he wishes the princes and the citizenry to be persuaded of, such that some salubrious lie be applied. But it is clear from what follows that some fabulous contrivance seems to him ought to be thought out...]”

Soon afterwards, Glaucon says, “How like a man hesitant to speak you are,” (Bloom translation), but in reading the Bloom translation, we cannot understand this response, for his translation reads “noble lie” for “gennaion ti”. He should have written instead, “noble thing”. This would have better, and more faithfully to the Greek, conveyed Socrates’ hesitancy.

Nevertheless, O Deploradorus, it is clear from the context that Socrates speaks of a noble lie, even if he says “noble thing”. Stallbaum tells us why. As an analogy, if I were to converse with a female, and the conversation turn to certain intimate details of her peculiar anatomy, I wouldn’t use words like “vagina” and “clitoris”, but rather circumlocutions like “the things up in there,” or, “your privates,” etc.

Your reminder that Socrates is not asking for a different life after death than the one he is having while alive does suggest he does not expect to be wandering around outside the cave of the Republic after his death. — Valentinus

Have some scholars interpreted the metaphor of being led out of the darkness and opinion of the cave into the light of the natural sun as a migration after death into heaven or Hades? I am not familiar with that.

The point of view reminds me of Unomuno in The Tragic Sense of Life where the desire for immortality is continuing to do the groovy things one was doing rather than turn the experience into anything else. — Valentinus

I am not familiar with that work or author, Mr. Valentinus. Is he someone worth reading?

Personally, I prefer to read Socrates (or Plato) on his own terms — Apollodorus

How, dear fellow, can you read Plato, a most subtile and opaque writer, on his own terms, when you cannot even read me, a most crass and transparent one, on mine? Let me remind you, once again, what I said:

...and one of the differences is the way they endured death: Jesus prayed to God to relieve him of the necessity of having to undergo his sacrifice: “Take this cup from me,” he said, “if it be according to your will.” Socrates, on the other hand, though begrudgingly, accepted his fate without appeal to a god for salvation. — Leghorn

Your consideration in reading the above should not be what Socrates’ or Plato’s idea of salvation or swteria or lysis is, but what Leghorn’s is; for it is Leghorn, not Plato, neither Socrates, who said that.

Perhaps adding to your confusion is an ignorance of the story about Jesus, how he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane on the eve of his crucifixion—I don’t know, of course, I’m just speculating. But if this is so, you can find the story in the three synoptic Gospels, Mark 14:26,32-42, Matt. 26:30,36-46, and Luke “22:39-46. To sum up the part that pertains to my statement, Jesus goes apart from his disciples and prays in private to God, asking Him to “take this cup from me” (I paraphrase: each of the three accounts says the same thing in a slightly different way).

Now I suppose that different readers have disagreed as to the meaning of Jesus’ words in these parallel passages, but it is clear to me from the context that he was asking God to deliver him from the necessity of being sentenced to death and having to pay the penalty, of being crucified.

Now, having educated yourself, if indeed you were ignorant about Jesus’ appeal “to God to relieve him of the necessity of having to undergo his sacrifice,” do you still believe that in the rest of my statement, what has to do with Socrates’ attitude toward his own indictment, when I said “salvation” I meant Plato’s notions of salvation or swteria or lysis? From the context of my entire statement, what do you think I meant by

Socrates, on the other hand, though begrudgingly, accepted his fate without appeal to a god for salvation. — Leghorn

?

Socrates does pray to the Gods, does he not? And he believes in “salvation” (soteria) or “release” (lysis) of the soul by God or through righteous conduct (Rep. 621c; Phaedo 67a). — Apollodorus

So since Socrates 1) prays to the gods, and 2) believes in salvation, it follows that he prayed to a god for salvation after his conviction? Is that what you are saying? For what I said, in contrasting him and Jesus, was that the latter did, according to the Gospels, explicitly ask God for deliverance from his fate, while the former never did such a thing in regard to his own.

And anyway (just out of curiosity), if you are not arguing that Socrates is an atheist, what is it that you hope to achieve? — Apollodorus

It is a good thing you are a curious creature, O Apollodorus, for without the faculty of curiosity, how will we ever have a hope of learning anything? I hope you do agree at least with that. You might say, “just out of curiosity”, in order to denigrate that passion, but, as I said, if we are not curious to know anything, how will we ever learn?

As for myself, while reading that passage from the Apology, at 40e-41c, I happened to notice that Socrates kept reminding me that the things he was relating were ambiguously true. Of course this was, however, in the context of a contrast of these things with one other alternative: that death is like an eternal dreamless sleep. Socrates was telling me, it seemed to me, that death is either like this, or like that, giving me no other alternative than these two.

But it must be acknowledged that Socrates was not necessarily speaking to me—some unknown reader in the future—but rather to those who voted for his acquittal. So I must, then, place myself in their place if I am to understand his rhetoric.

Certainly they are disappointed in the verdict, and sympathetic with the condemned man. Maybe some are even outraged. What do such men want to hear from him? Outrages against the verdict? quarrels and carryings-on? Some, perhaps, would have delighted in those things, deeply sympathizing with him.

What they got instead was a reasoned explication of what befalls a man after death, and a proof that no ill can come to him in the life after, whichever way it be. But one possibility is more favorable to Socrates than the other, and gets longer shrift in the dialogue. I mean the possibility that life after death is spent among the dead in Hades. For, if the things that are said are true, when Socrates dies he will be able to conduct an afterlife that is, in his stated opinion, superior to the one he led while alive, while, if the things that are not said are true instead, that death is like an eternal dreamless sleep, then he will only be relieved of evils.

And on what, exactly, is his preference for the former alternative based? His argument seems to be based on the fact that, if he go to Hades and find all of the dead there, their collectivity will be superior to the narrowness of what he experienced as a temporal being on earth. For in the blip of time we are alive on this earth, how many superior contemporaneous beings do you think you might chance upon; whereas, if you are given free rein of heaven itself, where everyone who has ever lived dwells, I suppose you would even meet with about the best souls that could ever be?

But what is more, he will retain there, in the afterlife in Hades, the same eternal power of dialectic he possessed on this corruptible earth, and be able to question the true judges there, the ones so reputed to have been, about justice. I don’t suppose he would say to Palamedes or Aiax anything like, “Hey, the same thing happened to me! Let me tell you about it..,” but would rather question these two, whether their penalties were justified or not.

More than that, he would be able to question personally—in what we call “real time”— the ppl considered the greatest judges of all time, about justice, and decide for himself whether they spoke the truth or a lie. Remember, if you will: Socrates’ concern with justice was not how it personally effected anyone, as a temporal being, with corrupting passions and the sort—but what it was as an idea or form.

Socrates, on the other hand, though begrudgingly, accepted his fate without appeal to a god for salvation.
— Leghorn

I don't think this is entirely accurate.

Socrates does actually pray to the Gods before drinking the hemlock:

But I may and must pray to the Gods that my departure hence be a fortunate one; so I offer this prayer, and may it be granted (Phaedo 117c) — Apollodorus

You quoted my words, and they are before your eyes, and yet you seem not to be able to make out the last two: “for salvation”.

I just don't think your interpretation sounds very convincing. — Apollodorus

Don’t I deserve then to learn from you where exactly it fails to convince? And I am not speaking of the large question, whether Socrates was an atheist, but the small one, whether he would ordinarily be expected to employ all those phrases reminding us that the popular Greek account of the afterlife consists of “things said”. I have been arguing that he would not be so expected. You appear to have given up attempting to refute my evidence. Does that mean we have come to a tacit agreement on that small point?

But "in accordance with things said", it would not be Socrates' departure, but "a sort of change and migration of the soul from the place here to another place.” A soul that would no longer be Socrates'. — Fooloso4

I don’t see, O Morosophos, how it follows that his soul would no longer be Socrates’ after this “change and migration” of it. Do you take that phrase (Apology, 40c) to mean that the soul changes its form or essence after death?

Well, I WAS going to say that your “answer” looks like Straussian hermeneutics to me but I resisted the temptation .... :smile: — Apollodorus

I wouldn’t boast about resisting a temptation which I did not resist. I am scarcely at all familiar with “Straussian hermeneutics,” for I have barely read the man. The interpretation I have presented you with is my own, and I am disappointed that you not only didn’t respond to its particular points, but denigrated it as coming from a source you apparently despise, which isn’t even its source.

I think I have implicitly answered your most pressing question, as to how else one can relate things that are said without using phrases like, “it is said,” or “as they say,” etc. Sometimes things are so obvious that it is otiose to try to explain them. It’s like having to explain a joke.

But let’s try to simplify this. If I lived in 4th century BC Athens, where belief in afterlife was the prevalent position,... — Apollodorus

We don’t have to go back in time at all, O Apollodorus, to find a place like this. We are living in it now. You will not find one media spokesperson, on tv or radio, not one interviewer or interviewee, who doesn’t either agree with or fail to contradict statements like, “I know he is looking down on us now and smiling,” or, “now she is at last happy, reunited with her late husband whom she loved so much,” or, “he is in a better place,” etc.

A well-meaning acquaintance of hers recently told my sister—a staunch liberal and atheist—after the death of her husband, who died after a long debilitating illness, whose loss she yet grieves, that he was in a better place. My sister replied, “Well why don’t you kill yourself and go there and see how good it is!”—needless to say, my sister is in no position where she fears losing either status or a job.

...and wanted to discuss the postmortem possibilities of (1) dreamless sleep (or “nothingness”) and (2) migration of the soul to another place, I would phrase it exactly as Socrates does. Wouldn’t you? — Apollodorus

I only wish I could phrase things exactly as Socrates does, and I suppose many of the greatest philosophers who came after him wished the same thing. I suppose, after I had been convicted of impiety and sentenced to death, I would have crapped my pants and peeed all over myself. I suppose I would have wailed and sniveled and carried on much like an animal.

But if I had composed myself enough to speak to those who voted for my acquittal, I suppose I would have cried out something like this: “Why weren’t there more of you? more of the lenient sort who are not so stricken with fear of transgressing the divine laws? You all know that my only transgression has been asking innocent questions to fellow citizens in public places. I never meant to overturn the laws of the state. I just wanted to find out the truth about things for myself!” In other words, I would have ended up instead complaining to to those who voted for my conviction.

I would not have been the Socrates that Crito found, soundly sleeping on the eve of his execution.

There are many accounts of Socrates, O Apollodorus. I have not even read all of them, much less studied them all. But I have read and somewhat studied some of his interpreters, and that knowledge—or opinion—added to my own, is what I have to work with.

This I am sure of: that Socrates is to philosophy what Jesus is to theology. These are the two chief figures in the tradition of our understanding of things. To these two must we ultimately refer when answering questions about the nature of things. We must compare and contrast, I say, the differences and similarities between their thoughts and lives in order to understand the difference between a life based on reason as opposed to one based on revelation. There are both similarities and differences...

...and one of the differences is the way they endured death: Jesus prayed to God to relieve him of the necessity of having to undergo his sacrifice: “Take this cup from me,” he said, “if it be according to your will.” Socrates, on the other hand, though begrudgingly, accepted his fate without appeal to a god for salvation.

Well, if you ask me, when I relate what is being said, I normally use phrases like "They say that ..." etc. and I know of no other way of putting it in everyday language. "They say that", "as they say", etc. simply indicates that something is being affirmed. It by no means signifies that what is being said is a mere "story". — Apollodorus

Hence my question to you (which I have asked multiple times):

How does one speak of things said without using phrases like “as they say”, “according to things said”, etc.
— Apollodorus — Apollodorus

Well, I DID attempt to answer this question in my previous post, but you obviously either didn’t notice I was answering, or just ignored it. So, I will attempt again, and I think I can respond to both these, your objection and question, in a single demonstration.

Let’s consider again the places in that passage (Apology, 40e-41c) where Socrates reminds us that the things he is relating are “spoken of”. The first is at 40e: “On the other hand, if death is like a journey from here to another place, and if the things that are said are true, that in fact all the dead are there,...” etc. Now, let’s consider if this phrase of Socrates’, “and if the things that are said are true,” is either necessary or expected in the context of this sentence. For I would assume—and correct me if I’m wrong—that if it is neither necessary nor expected, that it must be either extraordinary, or superfluous, or otherwise demanding of our attention.

How are we to answer this question? Well, one way might be to remove the phrase and see if it affects the sentence in any significant way: “On the other hand, if death is like a journey from here to another place,...[and] in fact all the dead are there,...” etc. Here, in order to make the elided sentence work, we have to drop “that” and add “and”—a mere procedural formality, I assume you would agree. Considering this new abbreviated sentence, what can we say about it? Is it now insufficient to convey the original meaning? I have my own opinion; I leave it to you to formulate your own.

Having treated the question of necessity, we still have that of expectedness to deal with: is “and if the things that are said are true” expected in this context? How are we to answer that? The only way to answer this question is to compare the passage at hand to similar passages elsewhere that deal with similar things in the same way—and we have such a passage close at hand, to be precise, at 28c-d, where Socrates speaks of “the demigods who met their end at Troy”. Let me reproduce that passage for our benefit out of West’s translation— a trusty one indeed, for it is an avowedly literal one. Socrates again speaks:

“For according to your speech, those of the demigods who met their end at Troy would be paltry, especially the son of Thetis [Achilles]. Rather than endure anything shameful, he despised danger so much that when his mother (a goddess) spoke to him as he was eager to kill Hector—something like this, as I suppose: ‘Son, if you avenge the murder of your comrade Patroclus and kill Hector, you yourself will die; for straightaway,’ she says, ‘after Hector, your fate is ready at hand.’—he, upon hearing this, belittled death and danger, fearing much more to live as a bad man and not to avenge his friends. ‘Straightaway,’ he says, ‘may I die, after I inflict a penalty on the doer of injustice, so that I do not stay here ridiculous beside the curved ships, a burden on the land.’”

I say this passage is similar to the first in that it deals with similar things in the same way as the first passage. The similar things are exactly the ones we’ve been talking about, “the things said,” the popular Athenian accounts of the gods, demigods or afterlife. The similarity in the way they are spoken of is that they are all spoken to either real or hypothetical men of Athens, and for purposes of admonition or instruction.

As to the difference between these two passages then, there is something that strikes me as particularly germane to our debate. Shall I say it? No. I would rather you tell me—if you are able and, especially, if you are willing.

To encourage you, if you answer my implicit question, you will have found my answer to your explicit one, the one you have so often asked of me. In addition, you will have discovered my response to your objection that there is nothing significant about Socrates having stated that such-and-such things are ones said.

but let me ask you, O Apollodorus: as an example of what, exactly, did you give “manner of speech”? That has me confused.
— Leghorn

Example of things other than "reminders". — Apollodorus

Do you mean that Socrates’ frequent—I almost said “reminders”—repetitions of different phrases meaning that what was being said was only spoken of might be characterized by other phrases or words? Instead of “reminders”, might we call them “admonitions”? how about, “accidents”, or “glosses”, or “incidental comments”, or “insignificant utterances”, etc. You can call them a host of things, but if you agree they are there in the text in the frequency in which they are extant, you can’t merely dismiss them without cause.

But you are not answering my question (which I have asked about three or four times): How does one speak of things said without using phrases like “as they say”, “according to things said”, etc. — Apollodorus

Well, you could say something like, “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters,” etc. I suppose you would have to read a long time thence before ever encountering a phrase like, “as they say”, though all these sayings be characterized by that phrase.

we are talking about Socrates’ Theory of Recollection as given in the Meno and repeated in the Phaedo (after the trial and his speech to the jury), not about you and me. — Apollodorus

Well, Mr. Apollodorus, I am certainly interested in what Socrates has to say about all this, but if what he says doesn’t jibe with my experience, I don’t have him around to ask about it. So if you say he tells me that I have a prenatal memory, the only one I have to question is you.

I simply gave “manner of speech” as an example. — Apollodorus

My apologies. I thought you were saying that Socrates’ repetition of phrases meaning that these were “things said” only indicated a certain idiom of speech that could normally be expected in any sort of discourse in the dialogues about a matter that was merely spoken of...but let me ask you, O Apollodorus: as an example of what, exactly, did you give “manner of speech”? That has me confused.

It is said” or “according to things said”, etc., is simply a statement of fact. He does not say “Please remember these are just things said”. — Apollodorus

He essentially says “Please remember that these are just things said,” by repeating so often the different phrases that remind us of it. He is not speaking thusly to everyone who voted for his acquittal; only to those few who notice that, by repetition, he is reminding them of the spuriousness of the traditional tales of the afterlife.

If the soul is immortal and existed before, of course it cannot remember being the current person who did not exist prior to being born. But it may well have prenatal memory of itself as pure nous. It may also have latent memory of Forms, etc. — Apollodorus

Do you have prenatal memory of yourself existing as pure vous? I don’t either, and I’ve never met anyone who did. My earliest memory is of pissing in the kitchen trash can thinking I was in the bathroom.

As for memory of forms (eidwn) before birth, those too must certainly be hidden (latent) from me, for I have none of them. I learned about them, like everyone else I suppose, by growing up trying to understand the world before my eyes, in the first place, and by reading books that I thought might teach me about them, in the second.

How else could he refer to things said than by using the verb legomai? — Apollodorus

That’s exactly my point! Any resemblance to a common “manner of speech” all of those four phrases have would have to be based on the fact they share the verb legesthai, which, as you say, is a necessary ingredient in a phrase asserting that something “is said”. Therefore, these phrases were not mere manners of speech, as you suggested.

He (almost) always starts with the current popular view of a particular topic. — Apollodorus

...and he (almost) always goes beyond it, often contradicting it. How does the fact that he is relating the vulgar view of the Greek afterlife explain why he so frequently reminds his listeners that the things he says are only things said? Do you suppose his audience, the Greek citizens who voted for his acquittal, need such constant reminding? Most likely they didn’t. They made up the more liberal element of the citizenry, the men more likely themselves to question the theological traditions of the regime, to see them as mere myths and to be more tolerant of a questioning Socrates.

But he does not say "death", "dissolution", or "disappearance". If there is dreamless sleep, there must still be someone who sleeps. And someone who sleeps can wake up as explained in the Phaedo. — Apollodorus

But he does say this, as the ultimate sentence in his description of death as “the dreamless sleep” (40e): “For all time appears in this way indeed to be nothing more than one night.” (kai gar oudev pleiwv o pas chronos phainetai outw de einai e mia vuks). In other words, this dreamless night lasts for all time. There is no waking from it. It seems to be but one night precisely because it lasts forever.

And by the very fact that it is in a position to remember not existing in the current form, it demonstrates its previous existence. — Apollodorus

It is not that it remembers not existing, but rather that it doesn’t remember existing. There is a difference. If I remember not eating, I believe I didn’t eat, because I have a memory of not having eaten. If, however, I don’t remember eating, I am in a state of uncertainty: maybe I ate, maybe I didn’t. I need more evidence than my poor memory.

But that extra evidence is easily supplied by reason: everyone knows he was born on a certain day and in a certain year back to which his memory does not even stretch, and he knows that before he was born, he was a sperm and egg on the verge of uniting. How did an immutable nous find its brief temporal home in the chance coincidence of two merely earthly bodies?

However, expressions like "in accordance with the things said" may well be just a manner of speech. — Apollodorus

By “a manner of speech” are you referring to a formulaic expression, like, “Let me be (very, perfectly) clear,” or “At the end of the day,” or “It was (good, useful, helpful, etc.) until it wasn’t,” or “These are not partisan issues,” or any of the other stock phrases that are so popular now? These sorts of phrases have little variability and wide application. Let’s compare Socrates’ phrases in the Apology from 40c through 41c, to see if they resemble these sorts of “manners of speech”, for I have found as many as four of them there that stress the fact that the popular accounts of the afterlife are merely “things said”. I quote them in the order in which they occur:

1) “in accordance with the things said”, (kata ta legomena); 2) “and if the things that are said are true”, (kai [ei] alethe esti ta legomena); 3) “the very ones who are said to give judgement there”, (oiper kai legontai ekei dikazein); 4) “at least if the things that are said are in fact true”, (eiper ge ta legomena alethe estin).

Of these four phrases, three have one word in common, ta legomena (“the things said”), and two of those share the additional words, alethe esti (“are true”). The third numbered phrase, however, is radically different, having in common with ta legomena only the same verb in a different form, legontai (“are said”).

I think this linguistic analysis is sufficient to prove that these phrases of Socrates’ in this passage are not identical mere “manners of speech” or variations of stock formulae. The only thing they have in common is the passive verb legesthai, “to be said”, and even it is in different forms. Add to this the fact that in this relatively short passage, a description of the afterlife, Socrates as many as four times reminds us that these are things only said, implying that they are not necessarily so.

Consider in contrast the passage where he describes the alternative: where there is no afterlife, only a dreamless sleep (40d-e). In that passage he never says anything like, “if these things that are said are indeed true”, as he does repeatedly in his account of the afterlife. Why not? Obviously because no such things are ever said—though they be certainly considered in the secret soul of every private human being.

The most obvious thing to the soul of man is that death marks the end of his life and consciousness. He sees not only all the animals die and rot, but even his own kind. This idea, that he will one day cease to be, is not tolerable for a human being. One of my fellow churchgoers once told me, “Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die to get there”.

But everyone must agree that there was an infinity of time before he was born in which he didn’t exist! Shouldn’t there then be, in correspondence with the afterlife, a “before-life”, in which the eternal soul lived before it was born into its earthly consciousness? Yet we have no memory of this before-life. If something is eternal, doesn’t it exist for ALL time? Does it make sense that there are things that come into being, but don’t pass away? Isn’t it in the nature of things that come into being that they must also pass away? On the other hand, doesn’t it make sense that the things that don’t pass away were always in existence?

I think that, for most of us, our mortal lives are tolerable only to the extent we can have hope in the promise of immortality offered by our gods and our religious beliefs in an afterlife. For a few, however, the only hope in happiness down here on this earth (for we can’t bring ourselves to believe that things that come into being can last forever), is to strive to grasp the things that are truly immortal, that is, the things that are eternal, that neither come into being (are born), nor perish (pass away), while we are still alive.

“But I think the vulgar notion of the immortality of soul leads us to consideration of a truer representative of human immortality.”

“What would that representative be, Leghorn?”

“Why, the men who have done great deeds or written great books. Aren’t Shakespeare’s or Plato’s or Milton’s, or many other men and their works said to be immortal?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Well, are they considered immortal for any reason other than that they influenced men’s souls long after their own death?”

“Yes, exactly for that reason.”

“And do you think they could have exerted this influence had they not tapped into the truly eternal things, the things whose consideration both make a man happy in his mortal life, and ensure that he will be remembered long after his death?”

Why would he [Socrates] spend hours in the Phaedo trying to convince people of the immortality of the soul and divine judgement in the after life, if he is an atheist? — Apollodorus

Why would he suggest it is possible that death is like a dreamless sleep in the Apology? I quote from West’s translation at 40c. Socrates speaks:

“Let us also think in the following way how great a hope there is that it [death] is good. Now being dead is either of two things. For either it is like being nothing and the dead man has no perception of anything, or else, in accordance with the things said, it happens to be a sort of change and migration of the soul from the place here to another place.”

There are a couple things that stick out to me in this statement. The first is that Socrates confines the possibilities of what death is to just two things, which correspond to the atheistic and theistic versions: there are no third nor fourth, etc, options available. Why does belief in god(s) require the immortality of soul? Because we wouldn’t believe in them unless we were granted the same immortality they enjoy?

The second thing that impresses my mind is the insertion of the phrase, “...in accordance with the things said...,” for it is just this, the things that are said, that Socrates has been contradicting all his life. At 40d-e he continues...

“And if in fact there is no perception [after death], but it is like a sleep in which the sleeper has no dream at all, death would be a wondrous gain. For I suppose that if someone had to select that night in which he slept so soundly that he did not even dream and had to compare the other nights and days of his own life with that night, and then had to say on consideration how many days and nights in his own life he has lived better and more pleasantly than that night, then I suppose that even the Great King [of Persia] himself, not to mention some private man, would discover that they are easy to count in comparison with the other days and nights. So if death is something like this, I at least say it is a gain. For all time appears in this way indeed to be nothing more than one night.”

What strikes me in this passage is that Socrates favorably compares the one eternal night of perceptionless sleep to—not just the many nights full of dream, and thus perception, we experience while alive, but also to the DAYS, in which we are awake. Even the King of Persia, the popularly considered happiest man, would prefer it! Life is but a nightmare in which you row, row, row your boat—not gently down the stream, but strenuously up against a contrary one. You suffer unhappiness during your waking hours, then have bad dreams while asleep, waking only to repeat the process—who wouldn’t prefer an eternal night of dreamlessness to this?

But Socrates appears to us to have lived a happy life—however much he was harassed by Xanthippe, or prosecuted for impiety, or criticized by Cleitophon, etc. So the above argument, though his own, doesn’t seem to apply to himself. For he is not speaking to himself, but rather to those who voted for his acquittal. He himself, we presume, would want to go on living the blessed life we suppose he lived—yet he chose death. He continues (40e-41c):

“On the other hand, if death is like a journey from here to another place, and if the things that are said are true...,”—cf “in accordance with the things said,” above: he continues to stress that the second alternative, that death is a journey to another place, is something merely spoken of—“that in fact all the dead are there, then what greater good could there be than this, judges? For if one who arrives in Hades, released from those here who claim to be judges, will find those who are judges in truth—the very ones who are said to give judgement there...,”—here again he points out that these things are only reported, not necessarily factual—“Minos and Rhadamanthys, and Aeacus, and Triptolemus, and those of the other demigods who turned out to be just in their own lives—would this journey be a paltry one?”

Suffice it to say that Socrates continues on to list other renowned men he would be more than glad to converse with in Hades. But this one statement, at 41b, sticks out: “And certainly the greatest thing is that I would pass my time examining and searching out among those there—just as I do those here—who among them is wise, and who supposes he is, but is not.” (!) Didn’t he just say he looked forward to finding the true judges there? Now he is saying he will examine them too, just as he did the mortal judges on earth, to see if they are wise, not assuming, as the many do, that they are actually wise!

What daring! What hubris!—to examine the greatest of all time in the afterlife—That is our humble Socrates.

We must declare that this Cosmos has verily come into existence as a Living Creature endowed with soul and reason owing to the providence of God (Tim. 30b)

But these are Timaeus’, not Socrates’ words.

Could it be that Plato became so popular precisely because he was not an atheist and that his views resonated with those of the majority of philosophy students? — Apollodorus

I suspect the reason is more likely this: “But why, then, do some enjoy spending so much time with me? You have heard, men of Athens; I told you the whole truth. It is because they enjoy hearing men examined who suppose they are wise, but are not. For it is not unpleasant.”—Apology 33b-c, West translation.

As it happens, Socrates does use theistic expressions like "by Zeus" (Cratylus 423c; Rep. 345b) and "if God wills" (Phaedo 69d) quite frequently. — Apollodorus

Yes he does, just like we, whether atheists or believers, exclaim, “Oh God!”, or, “Jesus!”, or, “God willing...”, or, “Lordy mercy!”, etc.

Both Plato and Xenophon defend Socrates in a way that he does not defend himself in their accounts of the trial. — Fooloso4

This statement leaves me very perplexed, since we only know Socrates’ defense of himself from Plato’s and Xenophon’s accounts of it.
— Leghorn

Right. That is why I said, in their accounts of the trial. We do not know what he actually said, but we do know that both Plato and Xenophon defended him in their works after their Apologies. — Fooloso4

But your statement is unsubstantiated: since we do not know what Socrates actually said, how can you say that Plato and Xenophon didn’t faithfully portray his defense? Does Plato’s portrayal contradict Xenophon’s?

Socrates in that passage [Apology, 26d-e] attempts to distance himself from that natural philosopher
— Leghorn

He correctly points to Anaxagoras as the source of that claim, but he does not distance himself from it. He neither confirms nor denies. — Fooloso4

O Morosophos, do you assert that distancing yourself from something is the same thing as denying it? Does not Socrates in that passage ridicule Anaxagoras’ notions as so strange that no reasonable person would assign them to him? Is this not distancing himself from Anaxagoras and his ideas?

Nevertheless I agree with you that he doesn’t come out and boldly proclaim that the sun is not a rock, and the moon not earth, and I believe this fact indicates he may have believed something similar to what Anaxagoras taught.

Both Plato and Xenophon defend Socrates in a way that he does not defend himself in their accounts of the trial. — Fooloso4

This statement leaves me very perplexed, since we only know Socrates’ defense of himself from Plato’s and Xenophon’s accounts of it.

In any case, I don't see Socrates taking a huge interest in Anaxagorean materialism, and unlike Anaxagoras, he did not deny the divinity of Sun and Moon. — Apollodorus

So I learn from @Fooloso4 that Socrates neither confirms nor denies the divinity of the sun and moon, and I learn from @Apollodorus that he does not deny that same divinity—seems like you guys have at least half of something in common—unless you, O Morosophos, further agree that Socrates never denied the divinity of Sun and Moon. In which case, y’all would be in total agreement!...

...but I suspect that even if y’all agreed that Socrates neither denied nor confirmed those celestial beings to be gods, you would disagree as to how this fact is to be INTERPRETED...and that is the crux of the problem. I suspect Socrates and Plato wanted it to be that way: ambiguous and open to interpretation.

But we have no signs of Socrates' piety. We have the stories of Plato and Xenophon who wrote in light of the trial and prosecution of Socrates.. — Fooloso4

What signs of Socrates’ piety would you accept as proof then of his belief or disbelief in god? confession from his own lips? But those lips have been silenced for millennia...well, only literally: we have the “stories” of Plato and Xenophon about him—which may be better than having him in praesentia before us, as I’ve been told—for I doubt that either Socrates confessed his atheism to Plato or Xenophon, his most prized pupils, or that they asked him whether he believed in god or not.

There was good reason to portray Socrates as pious in both the conventional and an unconventional way. — Fooloso4

The only way I’m familiar with from the dialogues of Plato is the latter...unless you mean the descriptions of him praying to the goddess, etc. I wonder: did he ever exclaim, as did his many interlocutors, in any of the dialogues, “by Zeus!”, or, “by Hera!”, or any of the other stock exclamatory theistic formulae? That would be an interesting topic of research.

It is not without significance that Plato brings Anaxagoras into the trial. It is not just Socrates but philosophy that is on trial. — Fooloso4

But, if I recall correctly, Socrates in that passage attempts to distance himself from that natural philosopher, saying that Anaxagoras’ works can be so cheaply bought that the young can purchase them and learn these ideas without having to bother Socrates to learn them, “especially since they are so strange” that he would never espouse them.

But this passage is fraught with irony. Firstly, Socrates never charged anyone a fee for his audience (though a “tip” might have been accepted) and therefore, to learn these ideas might have been even cheaper through him. Secondly, the charge Socrates brings of “strangeness” to Anaxagoras’ ideas is ironic, since so many of his own ideas are strange.

However, my comment referred to Socrates being taken to court for "making new Gods" and "not believing in the old ones" which seems different from "atheism" in the sense of "believing that there is no God" — Apollodorus

Those were the two formal charges. But Meletus goes further: at 26c-d (Thomas G. West’s translation), Socrates asks him:

“...Or do you assert that I myself do not believe in gods at all and that I teach this to others?”

[MELETUS] This is what I say, that you do not believe in gods at all.

[SOCRATES] Wondrous Meletus, why do you say this? Do I not even believe, then, that sun and moon are gods, as other human beings do?

[MELETUS] No, by Zeus, judges, since he declares that the sun is stone and the moon is earth.


Socrates then goes on to make fun of Meletus, “as if he were to say, ‘Socrates does injustice by not believing in gods, but believing in gods’”, for Meletus’ formal indictment was (24b), “Socrates does injustice by corrupting the young, and by not believing in the gods in whom the city believes, but in other daimonia that are novel.”

The issue is how do we reconcile Socrates' "making new Gods", "believing in new spiritual beings", and the various instances in the dialogues where he appears to be praying and/or worshiping some deity, with the view that he was an "atheist"? — Apollodorus

It is a difficult question, requiring intimate familiarity—which I do not possess—with not only Plato’s works, not only Xenophon’s in addition, but also the greatest interpretations of Socrates down through the tradition. It would also require the ability to interpret Socrates’ life through those works:

When reading Plato the problem of concealment stands together with the problem of interpretation. Someone lacking the ability to interpret is not even aware that there is anything concealed. They are content with what they see and may even vehemently deny that there is another [way of seeing these things] other than the plainly stated claims that they accept as true. — Fooloso4

It would be easy for a modern educated liberal student of him to be unable to believe that Socrates actually believed in gods— and it would be difficult for a theist not to be heartened by Socrates’ prayers and worship. To the former I would point out all these signs of Socrates’ piety; to the latter, I would point out that we cannot know what is really going on in the mind of a man who prays silently.

The charge against Socrates was (1) politically motivated and (2) it was not that he was an atheist but that he disrespected the Athenian Gods and introduced "new deities". — Apollodorus

I reread the Apology not long ago, and if I remember correctly, during his trial, Socrates WAS charged with atheism...some of you who can retrieve the passage more quickly than I can at this late hour might help me out here.

As far as “politically motivated” goes, are you referring to “corrupting the youth”, the formal charge, or to something different? As far as I know, corrupting the youth in this context is really the same thing as teaching gods different from those of the city.

On the one hand, with justice understood as minding your own business, the just city protects the self-interests of the philosopher. — Fooloso4

The city doesn’t protect the interests of the philosopher, whether it be just or unjust. Leaving aside the latter, even in Plato’s Republic, the ideal and just city, the philosophers are not allowed freedom as private men, “minding their own business” to pursue “the things under the earth and in the heavens”, but must be dragged back into the darkness of the cave to rule a merely temporal entity. Does that sound to you like a true philosopher’s business?

On the other, although the city may be hostile to philosophy, the philosopher is not hostile to the city. — Fooloso4

The city is hostile to the philosopher precisely because the philosopher is hostile to the city—not in the way of ordinary lawbreakers, but implicitly, by calling the city’s dearest beliefs into question.

It is characteristic of modern thought that there must be a solution to every problem. Socrates and Plato knew much better: there are inherent problems we can ameliorate—but never eradicate...and some of these are imbedded in the nature of mankind. One of these is the tension b/w the philosopher and civil society: you can accommodate, but never entirely reconcile the two.

The response to this tension is what characterizes and explains the history of Western philosophy. The difference b/w ancient and modern philosophy is the difference b/w persuading aristocrats to accept philosophy, and forcing rulers to so do, and what made this difference was the advent of what we now call technology: modern philosophy, armed with the new practical science that not only explains all natural phenomena, but, more importantly, uses that knowledge to benefit mankind at large, could appeal to the hoi polloi above the heads of the nobles and tyrants and force the latter to leave science alone to pursue its objects in peace—

—except now an entirely different relationship b/w philosopher and civil society had come into being: the philosopher was a benefactor of mankind—just as he is in Plato’s Republic: as ruler! In The Republic he is forced to rule; in the modern dispensation, he chooses to. Swift’s Flying Island is conceived of, and nuclear weapons fall into the hands of both Roosevelt and Khrushchev...

...there was a time when an Archimedes, out of disdain for their practicality, destroyed the manuscripts of his that described the engines of war he fashioned in Syracuse to repel the invading Roman army. This was proof of his disinterested philosophical nature. Now, as I suppose, a scientist’s papers would receive short shrift unless they benefitted man through potential application of technology. This fact, I say, compromises the purity of the philosopher’s natural quest, what he was born to do: is he a benefactor of mankind, or a seeker of the truth? Are these two separate goals reconcilable?

I don't think Socrates is hiding anything or avoiding persecution when he explains why he won't go into exile: — Valentinus

He is certainly not avoiding persecution by not going into exile, which would have been a way of avoiding it. But can we say Socrates is not hiding something? Consider to whom he speaks here, Crito, the sort of man devoted to his country and its laws, certainly not a philosopher:

What shall we reply to this, Crito, that the laws speak the truth, or not? — Plato, Crito, 51a, translated by Harold North Fowler

To such a one he cannot say, “Look, I love to question young men about their notions of justice and courage and moderation and the like—I’ve been doing it all my life, and it has been all I lived to do. But I’ve lived here in Athens all my life, and I’m an old man now, on the threshold of Hades: what great addition of my peculiar pleasure to a long life lived so pleasurably could I expect to get in exile?

“On the other hand, by displaying devotion to my country and its laws, I might gain favor in the eyes of posterity, and my life might be immortalized in the writings of one of my disciples, as Achilles’ was in Homer’s, thereby bestowing on me the only true immortality a man can have: the sort he can’t enjoy—and perhaps even helping philosophy survive by making it more palatable to aristocratic youth, the sort most likely to influence the regime’s opinions.”

Socrates knows full well that the laws don’t speak the truth!—but this appeal will work with a man like Crito.

The view of the city during attempts to persuade her of "what is really right" is different from attempts to see the city as itself. — Valentinus

But it was Socrates’ direct experience of Athens being wrong that undoubtedly taught him first-hand about the irrationality of the polis. I refer to the putting to death of the generals after the naval battle at Arginusae. Socrates’ vote was the only one in the council acquitting the generals. He alone, free of the theocratic terror that gripped the other councilmen, realized that more lives would have been lost by attempting to recover the bodies, that it is sometimes impractical to assuage the gods...

...more importantly he learned that, according to the polis, you must always assuage the gods.

Correction: change my “former” and “latter” for each other.

Socrates opinion about the gods is concealed because of his concern for the city and philosophy. — Fooloso4

I would amend this statement by striking from it the consecutive words, “the city and”. Socrates considered philosophy the highest way of life, and natural; he did not, however, consider the city natural, nor did he believe there was any natural consonance between the philosopher and the city. Indeed the city and the philosopher are natural enemies; the latter founded on convention, the former born to dissolve that convention in order to get at the truth.

The reason Socrates conceals his true beliefs about the gods is because he wishes to avoid persecution by the city. This is the source of his irony. He wants that his hearers believe he believes as they do, while subtly expressing doubt through his questioning, to elicit those of his audience who might rise above the conventional opinion of the citizenry.

@Ciceronianus Vide supra.

Btw, weren’t you previously known by the cognomen, “The White”? Why, if I may inquire, did you drop it?

Another possibility is that, since he urged one to cut off his right hand if it offend him, Jesus was being literal in suggesting that one castrate himself...

...except for the fact that I suspect it likely impossible to castrate yourself!...perhaps only a surgeon could clear this up.

I always think of Tertullian relating the incident where a group of Christians went to the house of a Roman official (I forget the rank of the official) demanding that he have them killed when I remember this comment by the Emperor. — Ciceronianus

Yes, Christians, especially early ones, could be irrational fanatics (as a zealous adherent to any religion can be).

For example, I remember reading somewhere that, based on Matt. 19:1-12, some early Christians surgically neutered themselves, misinterpreting the crucial twelfth verse:

“For there are eunuchs which were so born from their mother’s womb: and there are eunuchs, which were made eunuchs by men: and there are eunuchs, which made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven’s sake.”

Now, just previously in this passage, Jesus had condemned divorce almost categorically, and had widened the concept of adultery so broadly, that his disciples exclaimed it wasn’t worth getting married at all if a man was thusly to become chained forever to an unendurable wife.

From this context I think we can interpret the twelfth verse: the eunuchs born from their mother’s womb are the homosexuals; those eunuchs made so by men are the traditional ones, to which we customarily apply the term “eunuch”, whose testicles have been removed; and “those which make themselves eunuchs” are not those who cut their own balls off, but rather men, though naturally inclined toward women, nevertheless, for some greater cause, resist coitus with them.

And we must ask of Jesus why a man cannot satisfy both needs simultaneously: those of his body and those of his soul. I think he would reply that love of a woman leads to marriage and children, and that these things beget lowly common cares that contend with the rare and lofty ones of the soul, perhaps eventually overtaking and burying them. Only look at Jesus’ own life: he didn’t marry, begat no children, and constantly consorted with a small group of men whom he tried to teach, and whom he exhorted to a higher life of the spirit which required the practice of most austere discipline.

But find multiple modern translations of the same original work and see by how much they differ! — tim wood

.

Yes, they differ widely, which is why you can’t trust them. But since sometimes you have no choice, it is best to rely on a good one, which must at least be literal. As you say,

Literal over literate, again pretty much agreed - maybe footnotes as needed. — tim wood

A good literal translation will have frequent footnotes to explain its deficiencies in certain passages. For example, the one drawback of the Vulgate in its translation of Greek words of the root porn-, is its translation of porne, which it regularly renders as “meretrix”, thusly disguising its affinity with the Roman family of words identified by the root forn-. Whenever this sort of thing occurs, a good Vulgate translation would annotate an explanation of this fact for the benefit of the Greek-less reader.

And to be sure, sometimes what works in another language is awful in English, so literate is not altogether ruled out. — tim wood

Well, a translation must be literate in the sense of understandable. If the translation is so literal that it is incomprehensible, then literalness has been taken too far.

Nevertheless, I think the translator—having warned the reader that his is a literal translation, and that it may therefore be somewhat clunky and idiosyncratic—might expect him to make the extra effort necessary to read it...

I was reading today some encomiums of Shakespeare by poets of his day. One of them, by a certain L. Digges, begins thusly:


“To the Memory of the deceased Author, Master W. Shakespeare.

Shake-speare, at length thy pious fellows give / The world thy works; thy works, by which outlive / Thy tomb thy name must:...”


Digges violently shifts the regular order of English parts of speech in this verse—but context clears it all up for the reader willing to make the effort, who after thinking hard enough, realizes that what is meant is, “...thy works, by which thy name must outlive thy tomb.” Undoubtedly Digges, like all learned men of that day, was familiar with Latin verse and prose, to whose idioms he adapted his verse for metrical reasons...

And this is English, our native language! Sometimes we must as though translate our own language when it is so old that it has become like a foreign one. If we must sometimes do this for our native language, how hard could it be to decipher a literal translation of a foreign one?

Finally, let me offer what I think is perhaps the greatest virtue of a translation: that it most encourage the reader to learn the original. I think the best translation reminds its reader at every sentence that he is not reading the original; that that original lies, like a palimpsest, right behind his words.

Then perhaps if Simone Biles had killed herself rather than participate in events she thought she'd fail in, you'd find her less disappointing. — Ciceronianus

Of course not, dear man! I simply wanted to show a side of gladiatorial combat that contrasts with your characterization of professional gladiators who could sometimes be like our “superstars of sports”.
The gladiators Seneca chose to exemplify courage were of the lowliest sort: those captured in war and forced to fight—most likely to the death.

The ancient philosophers, who were, of course, writing for aristocratic readers, had often to remind them of the knowledge of mere craftsmen, or the virtues of slaves; to broaden the perspective of those men into the larger sphere of humanity who tended to consider a man to be only a nobleman. Jesus does a similar sort of thing in the Gospels by contrasting a poor widow with the wealthy Jews casting their money into Jerusalem’s coffers, or comparing an harlot to the judges who would stone her.

In these examples Seneca was illustrating, of course, the stoic doctrine,

Fit via vi;

that a human being may choose to exit an unbearable life at any moment by killing himself, and that this the ultimate proof of freedom. This is not a modern sentiment, though suicide be as prevalent now as ever.

Biles herself, if I remember correctly, confessed to having had suicidal thoughts, and she made this confession in order to impress upon the public how burdensome her stellar athletic career had been—what a toll it had taken on her psyche. “You don’t know what we go through”, she said...

...well, it became too much for her. She didn’t commit suicide, but she withdrew from competition—and I wonder if what she said was true: that we don’t know what elite athletes go through. Maybe the pressure they experience is similar to that of a common working Joe who has divorced and lost custody of the kids and has to pay child support and suffers PTSD from his service and deals with a bickering girlfriend and ex-in-laws...etc, etc: in other words, the sort most likely to commit suicide.

Gladiatorial contests were admired and lauded by many as examples of martial skill and courage in the face of death and injury as well. — Ciceronianus the White

This reminded me of a couple examples Seneca gave in his Moral Letter 70:

Nuper in ludo bestiariorum unus e Germanis, cum ad matutina spectacula pararetur, secessit ad exonerandum corpus—nullum aliud illi dabatur sine custode secretum; ibi lignum id quod ad emundanda obscena adhaerente spongia positum est totum in gulam farsit et interclusis faucibus spiritum elisit. Hoc fuit morti contumeliam facere. Ita prorsus, parum munde at parum decenter.

“Recently at a game of gladiators fighting wild beasts, one of the Germans, while being prepped for the morning shows, withdrew to relieve himself—no other privacy would be given him without a guard present; there he stuffed the entire sponge-mop, which had been left to clean up excrement, into his throat, and by cutting off his breath, strangled himself. This was to insult death, and what’s more, not very cleanly and not very decently.” Again,

Cum adveheretur nuper inter custodias quidam ad matutinam spectaculum missus, tamquam somno premente nutaret, caput usque eo demisit donec radiis insereret, et tamdiu se in sedili suo tenuit donec cervicem circumactu rotae frangeret; eodem vehiculo quo ad poenam ferebatur effugit.

“When recently a certain gladiator sent to the morning show was being conveyed thither under guard, as though nodding off in sleep, he dropped his head so low as to insert it into the spokes of the chariot, and held himself fast in his seat until he broke his neck from the rotation of the wheel; he escaped his sentence by means of the same vehicle which conveyed him to it.”

This I, and Seneca, offer as rare examples of “courage in the face of death”.

The moral of the story, however, is that you can translate, but that does not mean you get from the translation what was originally meant. — tim wood

I agree with this. Translation is always inferior to reading the original, and thinking in the original as you read it; with which, from what you’ve said, I would guess you agree.

Where I’m not sure we agree concerns the possibility of translation. I believe it is not only possible, but even salutary—when prospective readers cannot be expected to know the original. This is particularly true in philosophy...

St. Thomas Aquinas, as I understand, was a very good interpreter of Aristotle, but he did not read Greek. He relied instead on William of Moerbeke’s literal Latin translations, which are so literal that they have been in some cases used to correct our extant Greek manuscripts!—for Moerbeke had access to manuscripts, more ancient than ours, which have since been lost.

This I learned from Allan Bloom, a disciple of Leo Strauss, the man who almost single-handedly revived the study of Platonic philosophy in the last century. He also inspired a generation or two of American students who set their minds to translating the philosophical classics literally into English, on the assumption that, since the learning of languages had lost favor among Americans, those inclined to philosophy might profit from good English translations. Products of this inspiration include Bloom’s translations of The Republic and Emile, Harvey Mansfield’s of The Prince and Democracy in America, and numerous ones by many others of the Platonic dialogues and of Xenophon; and these are only the ones I am familiar with from a quarter century ago. Many more may have been published since then.

I believe literal translation is generally superior to any other looser sort for two reasons. Firstly, it often preserves the affinities of the roots of the words in the original, which can be of great importance in interpreting philosophic texts. Porneia is universally translated fornicatio in the Vulgate; porneuo, fornicor; pornos, either fornicarius or fornicator.

Secondly, if whenever I read “fornicatio” in my Vulgate Bible I can be sure that “porneia” is behind it, I can follow the different instances of it in the different passages, comparing and contrasting its various shades of meaning in various contexts. By contrast, consider the suggested English translations for porneia in the Analytical Greek Lexicon of the New Testament: they range from “fornication” to “whoredom” throughout the Gospels; from “concubinage” (Jno. 8.41) to “adultery” in Matthew; to “incest” at 1Co. 5.1; to “lewdness” or “uncleanness” at Ro. 1.29; to “idolatry” in Revelation. In every one of these passages, the underlying Greek word is porneia, and the corresponding Vulgate term is fornicatio. In an English translation of the New Testament inspired by The Analytical Greek Lexicon, this very important fact would be invisible, and no comparison of that single word in various contexts possible.

So I remind myself that I do not know what και really means, or how an ancient Greek's mind worked while reading. — tim wood

Latin btw has the same idiom as the Greek. “Et...et” is equivalent to “both...and”, but I feel you go to far in assuming that since you don’t feel the first kai to be “both” that you therefore can’t understand how a Greek reader’s mind worked. With enough practice, the reader begins to discern clues from the context that a second kai is coming, and finally no longer needs to mechanically translate “both...and” in his mind as he reads. In fact, in my experience reading Latin, I have found that the Roman idioms begin to creep unawares into my English composition...a salutary sign for one striving to immerse himself in another culture.

Btw, how are you able to write Greek letters here? Through an app?

No one thought FDR's polio was shameful — Hanover

It was kept from the public. It’s not that no one knew of it, it’s that it was not brought to the forefront, was little spoken of, and ignored.

I’m sure at the time of his election his disability was considered an impediment. What if he ran for office in our times? How do you think it would be dealt with now? It certainly wouldn’t be concealed or ignored. It would be brought out, spoken about publicly. It would be something he had bravely overcome, just as Biden overcame the tragedies in his family. These things are no longer hush-hush. Ppl in the public eye now regularly reveal their struggles with mental and physical problems, addictions and diseases. These things (for anyone who has lived long enough to know) were kept secret in the older days.

“In many cases, what American spirituality avoids is the bodily reality of human existence. Too much of American spirituality assumes that “spirit,” a concept originating in Greek thought and Pauline Christianity, is the opposite of “body.” Spirit — we are told — is good, pure and eternal. Body is bad, corrupt and ephemeral.”

This quote from your first link just doesn’t ring true to my experience. I attend a fundamentalist Baptist church every Sunday morning. The prayer list is gone over. Who do you think are on it, those suffering from existential crises about the fate of their souls? Of course not! It is those who are suffering from physical maladies—cancer, gout, heart conditions, injuries, etc, etc. The American churchgoer may give a lot of lip-service to spiritual salvation, but he loves God primarily because He has the power to heal his body.

And even St. Paul promised us a heavenly BODY to house our heavenly spirit. But the abstraction of soul from body is firmly seated in the ancient philosophic tradition, and is reflected in Jesus’ teachings. Jesus, as much as did Plato or Seneca, taught us to forget our bodies and be concerned solely with our souls.

Why do you wish to sort through history's garbage can of bad ideas and put them back in use? — Hanover

That is not my method, Mr. Hanover. Whenever I read an old book, I try to think like the author did, see the world from his point of view...

...I once corresponded with a man who believed learning from the Bible or Aristotle, etc, was “picking and choosing from the tradition” what seemed to be true, and moving on. He thought this was learning or education. What it is is actually just choosing what conforms to your already conceived belief, and ignoring what tests it, what challenges it. Who nowadays is not egalitarian, for example? According to my correspondent’s method, when reading the Gospels or the Dialogues of Plato, I should simply ignore the obvious passages where the author expresses a patently illiberal view. If I fail to do this, if I take Plato or Jesus too seriously, I might just become the next tyrant or cult-leader.

if claiming a sprained ankle resulted in public ridicule, you would expect athletes to conceal that reason, but if one person came forward and admitted they were withdrawing for having a sprained ankle, that person might be looked upon as heroic for refusing to conceal it and just admitting she had that problem. — Hanover

In high school, my brother, #1 on the tennis team, cut his finger badly, nicking a tendon, and faced Coach before the next match, who said he had to play anyway, despite his injury. He could hold the racquet despite his bandaged finger, couldn’t he? couldn’t he make shots? You must play!...said Coach...he refused to play, we lost the match, and Coach never forgave him.

In the old days ppl with health problems tended to conceal them. Only consider FDR in his wheelchair, carefully hidden behind the podium. Why did they do this? The fact that they did so proves they thought it shameful, like having sex or going to the toilet, or getting a divorce...all things that are no longer considered shameful...

Man once considered himself as a divine soul trapped in a corrupt body. Now he makes no such distinction: he is all body. Even his soul is just a manifestation of his corporeal brain, no different than any other organ in his body, and whose maladies are understood similarly, treatable by drugs and therapy.

But the mental health defense was a strategic way to take a much needed break and to recover, so as to be better able to compete in the final competitions. She could have said "I need to sit this one out, and save my energy for the final performance", but this would be bad for her PR, and I'm not sure it's even allowed by Olympic standards. — baker

She actually forewent the individual all-around, the team all-around, and every other individual event except for the balance beam, where she won a disappointing bronze.

The same sort of thing happened to Osaka after she dropped out of the French Open (because she thought it oppressive to be required to give pressers there): she either forewent or lost in Wimbledon afterwards, and lost in the Olympic 3rd-round to some unheralded player.

Once you forget about striving for greatness in favor of some social cause, you lose your momentum.

You yourself note above that the meaning of soul has shifted even in a few years. — tim wood

Actually, I noted that the word “soul” had been replaced by that of “self” to describe the part of man that is not body.

When I was a child, attending Baptist church, I learned that the soul is that immaterial part of me that flies off to heaven after my body dies. What relation it had to me as a living being, I was unaware of. When I grew up and began reading good old literature, I learned that the soul is really the immaterial part of a human being (anthropou, hominis) that describes the mixture of passions and reason that constitute his living consciousness.

Soul is a usual and facile English translation of the Greek word psyche, and not an accurate translation. — tim wood

So how would YOU translate it?

I see online that the word "car" first appears in the 14th century, coming from Latin. Do you think you know what it means? — tim wood

Well, in that century it certainly didn’t mean the same as automobile (“something moving of its own accord”, a mixture of Greek “autos” and Latin “mobilis”, which was coined to describe carriages motivated by either steam power, or internal combustion of petroleum gases). In the 14th century it must have meant some sort of vehicle moving on wheels and drawn by horse..., but what sort exactly I couldn’t say...

This reminds me of what I read today in the preface of Henry Adam’s autobiography, published in 1907:

“As educator, Jean Jacques [Rousseau] was, in one respect, easily first; he erected a monument of warning against the Ego. Since his time, and largely thanks to him, the Ego had steadily tended to efface itself, and, for purposes of model, to become a manikin on which the toilet of education is draped in order to show the fit or misfit of the clothes...”

Now, when I read this, though I was drawn up to take notice, I certainly didn't conceive of education as a latrine hanging on a manikin; for I was well aware of the origins of the word toilet, and we still have the word toiletry to remind us of that origin...

“...The object of study is the garment, not the figure. The tailor adapts the manikin as well as the clothes to his patron’s wants. The tailor’s object, in this volume, is to fit young men, in universities or elsewhere, to to be men of the world, equipped for any emergency...”

Here again I was drawn back—but my familiarity with the Latin tongue helped me through: I knew from the context that emergency here did not mean, as it universally does now, the same thing as alarum, so that it must mean anything that emerges, that comes out of the sea of things that might test our mettle.

the kind of athletic contests favored by the Greeks lost favor with the Romans, certainly by Cicero's time, and were replaced in popularity by the ludi, games put on for the entertainment of the people. — Ciceronianus the White

I was referring to the contests instituted by Aeneas in Sicily (Aeneid, book 5) in honor of the dead Anchises. In the galley race, after Sergestus boldly attempts to go to the inside of Mnestheus as they round the turning point—a rocky crag in the sea—he founders on it, breaking his prow and oars on the rocks. Mnestheus, steering clear, races for the port, and after the sole boat left to catch: that of Cloanthus. As Vergil describes it,

hi proprium decus et partum indignantur honorem
ni teneant, vitamque volunt pro laude pacisci;

(Lines 229 and 230) “They [Cloanthus’ sailors] consider it a disgrace unless they hold the glory for their own, and the honor as acquired, and are willing to pawn their lives for the praise [that comes from victory];”—my translation—

...willing to pawn, pledge, give in exchange, however you wish to translate it, their very lives for honor and glory. That is the spirit of sailors willing to shipwreck and ruin their boat and perhaps find themselves floating in a dangerous and turbulent sea—if only they can be victorious.

This Vergilian galley race was inspired by the chariot race in the 23rd book of the Iliad, where Eumelos, after running far ahead of Diomedes, suffers the misfortune of smashing his yoke,

“...and Eumelos / himself was sent spinning out beside the wheel of the chariot / so that his elbows were all torn, and his mouth, and his nostrils, / and his forehead was lacerated about the brows, and his eyes / filled with tears, and the springing voice was held fast within him.” (lines 393-397, Lattimore translation).

These men were not slavish mercenary gladiators, but free heroic souls, willing to suffer great harm and danger in order to be the best. Homer and Vergil describe their striving for glory, and their suffering of defeat, as examples to the men of their day of heroism, courage, and what must be risked in order to achieve the honor of victory.

"Which is the Greek word for soul"? Are you kidding? Please make clear how that could be, the Greek word being at least 1600 years older and certainly much older than that. And relying on translations of Greek words to establish meaning is a mug's game. The first task is to figure out just what the Greek word means, and that not-so-easy, or not easy at all. — tim wood

I had to look up “mug” in my Webster’s, for I was unfamiliar with its use in this context, and I discovered the British force of “someone easily deceived”, which is perhaps the force you gave it.

What I am not deceived about, I think, is that the various languages down through the philosophical tradition have attempted to translate the key terms of philosophy faithfully into their own languages. The most famous example is probably Cicero’s Latin terms to express those of earlier Greek philosophy. The assumption was that everybody was talking about the same things, just in different terms. Within this tradition, Greek psyche was translated animus by a Roman, and soul by an Englishman.

From what you said I would guess that you have been influenced by Heidegger (consciously or unconsciously), who believed that language is “the house of being”, and who thought that Cicero’s Latin terms could never convey the essence of Plato or Aristotle’s Greek ones.

And speaking of changes in societal standards, I don't know what you mean when you say the soul was recently renamed the "self" and the passions "emotions," as if that is a modern day occurrence. The ancient Greeks spoke of the self and the emotions. Are you arguing that Biles is just part of this "modern" movement that started thousands of years ago? — Hanover

This movement began after the Enlightenment, which marked a radical break with the ancients. Sure, there is a word for “self” in Greek, just as their is in Latin, and all the other languages, but they are purely grammatical: pronouns referring to other nouns in a sentence. The “self” as a psychological term was introduced by the early Enlighteners as a substitute for the ancient concept of the “soul” as the immaterial part of man, and picked up later by Freud and his intellectual progeny.

A change in language almost always indicates a change in thought.

For example, before the gay-rights movement, ppl who were attracted to the same sex were called “homosexual”—a clinical description which, however, became offensive when opponents of the movement were heard so frequently denouncing “those homosexuals” in the media. The term “gay” then began to be used and stuck, and we scarcely ever hear the term “homosexual” anymore, and this is the change in language that I say resulted from a change in meaning: a homosexual is now someone who has sexual relations with someone of the same sex (a bad thing); a gay person is someone who does the same thing, but is not ashamed of it, makes it public, and is supported by the majority of that public in his or her desire to have equal rights. In other words, “homosexual” is an obsolete clinical term, “gay” a current political/social one, and the replacement for the former. The change in thought represented by this change in language is that sexual relations between those of the same sex ought to be accepted by society, not condemned.

As far as “emotion” is concerned, it comes to us from Latin via the French, but when a Roman conveyed this concept he said “adfectus”, and when a Greek did, he said “pathos”. A speaker of English in olden days said “passion”; a contemporary one says “emotion”, and I suggest this change in language marks a similar change in our conception: the old “passions” were conceived as things within us that cause us to act irrationally, and need to be controlled by reason; the new “emotions” are not so easily ruled. They are impressive in their force and demand their own rights. At best you can compromise with them; you cannot control them...

...and this gets at the root of the problem of current athletes opting to withdraw from competition: the traditional athlete attempted to master his fear, was ashamed of it, and therefore concealed it in order to achieve excellence; the current one is ambiguous: should he risk so much in competition to win outdated honors when he can withdraw and win new ones, ones stamped with the approval of the vast majority of his audience and peers?

I think Simone Biles wants to be considered the greatest athlete—what athlete wouldn’t? And she overcame a lot of adversity to get where she is. Athletes are generally praised for overcoming adversity and misfortune. Now you can cite that same misfortune and adversity as legitimate reason for not competing. You can have it both ways: if you overcome to compete, you are lauded; if you don’t overcome, and refuse to compete, you are equally praised. It is a win-win situation...

...of course you have to first get to the point where you are considered a great athlete before you can enjoy this no-fail situation—and you can’t get THERE unless you overcome every obstacle...even the mental ones.

I am not saying she is brave to withdraw, merely pragmatic. — Book273

And part of this pragmatism is, in my opinion, knowing that she will be universally accepted as a brave advocate of the currently popular mental health movement.

If I say Claire is an accomplished swimmer is that not enough? — Book273

No, it is not. Everyone knows males are more athletically capable than females. That is a genetic difference. Do you think females ought to be pitted against males in athletic competition? Who do you think would win in that case?

Psychotherapy is a specialty. Some psychotherapists are psychologists, if they have a degree in psychology. But some psychiatrists are psychotherapists too, and no psychiatrist has a degree in psychology, unless he or she got one incidentally. And some nurses and social workers. And in the case of all these, none are psychotherapists without additional work. Licensing and what you can legally call yourself differs in different places, but insurance companies pay the degrees. — tim wood

Despite all this talk of licensing and degrees and legalities and insurances, what do all these terms, psychiatry, psychology, and psychotherapy have in common? Is it not the term psyche, which is the Greek word for soul? If we parsed these out, psychology is “knowledge of the soul”, and psychotherapy is “healing of the soul”. Wouldn’t you expect that he who has knowledge of the soul would also be the one who knows—if anyone does—how to heal it?

@tim wood

If I’m wrong about one thing, I must be wrong in everything?

No matter, if true then nothing else you write can be worth reading. — tim wood

How does this follow?