But Plato, I think, was sick
Symposium , the first Platonic dialogue I came across, surprised me in its readability. The same thing had happened to me, a few years before, with the works of Sophocles. It is amazing enough that these texts have reached us thanks to a precarious chain of transmission; but even more so is that, after so long, we can still access them so easily. It is something that happens to me only with Ancient Greek literature (although not with all of it), especially with the theater, with Plato's dialogues, and also with the Gospels, which are Ancient Greek literature after all. The texts generated in other cultures, such as the Egyptian Book of the Dead , or the Confucian Analects , or the Nordic sagas, may be interesting to me, but I can't read them with this ease. They have the mark of something strange and foreign, even though I find in them the same universal human concerns. With Plato, the opposite happens: sometimes the topics seem boring or absurd, as is in fact the case with Phaedo , but the wonder of reading them is enough to keep me going.
Phaedo has for me many great moments, beyond this central theme, which is that of the immortality of the soul. Most of it takes place during Socrates' last afternoon, when his friends go to visit him in prison. Socrates seems serene, even slightly excited, at the prospect of death. And he talks, of course. He explicitly says that this is going to be a second Apology, but dedicated exclusively to his friends, a private and personal text while the other had been a public plea. He then defends the Platonic worldview - it is a fairly complete exposition - and extends himself on the subject of the soul and its immortality. He proves his arguments absurdly, exercising with his friends the last loving strokes of his maieutic ("ah, dear Cebes, but then you will agree that ..."). The decisive contribution of Platonism to Christian theology has never been clearer to me than in this dialogue. It's a slightly interesting thing, but not more than what I might have learned from reading Wikipedia or Plato for Dummies . What I really find fascinating about Phaedo are the margins of this main text, which I could not have read elsewhere than in the dialogue itself.
Unlike what happens in other dialogues, the title of this one does not refer to the opponent (or the victim) of Socrates' turn, but to his narrator. In the first scene, Phaedo of Elis, who is one of the disciples who was present that last afternoon, meets another philosopher, Echecrates, some time after the execution, and relates to him with prodigious memory all that Socrates said. His story follows, from there, the form of a classic dialogue, although on a couple of occasions Echecrates interrupts Phaedo to marvel at what he tells him. We cannot help but think, at the moment, that it is not just a dialogue within another, because the first scene is also part of a larger text, which would be the dialogue between Plato and ourselves. It is the system of Chinese boxes that we find in The Thousand and One Nights , or in the novels of Juan José Saer, or in infinite other places from then on. It is a procedure that, now that I think about it, also appears profusely in the epic, so of course in the Iliad , although perhaps what makes it unique in Plato's case is that it also seems a reflection of his own philosophical system: from the concrete to the abstract, from the immediate situation to the mere words.
Phaedo begins his story at the moment in which Socrates' friends arrive at the prison. Xanthippe, the philosopher's infamous wife, is there with one of their children, and seeing the friends arrive makes her extremely emotional. "This is the last time you will talk to your friends," she says. Socrates, under his breath, says to one of them "Someone take her away from here." The insertion of this quasi-humorous passage, and above all very human, if perhaps a bit misogynistic, gives an extra relief to the entire dialogue. It is not that the story is only the excuse for the Platonic disquisition; Plato evidently wants to, and on top of it he is able to, make a credible narration of those last moments of Socrates. When I read this passage, and others like it, I at least feel that things could very well have happened like that. Also at the beginning, one of the friends transmits to Socrates a warning from the executioner: not to talk too much, because talking too much seems to “agitate” the condemned, and in the end they have to give them two or three times the indicated dose of hemlock. Socrates, whom we know as one of the great talkers of Western history, laughs and comments they better prepare two or three glasses. The joke, inserted in such a solemn occasion, seems so typical of the Socratic ethos that I also blindly believe it.
Then there are some pathetic moments drawing closer to the end. At one point, Phaedo says that Socrates, as he used to do, was playing with his hair - with Phaedo's hair, right? -, because Greek men were not afraid of this type of physical expression of affection, or of others, and then he says, as if to himself: “maybe you will cut them tomorrow”, alluding to what was at that time a sign of mourning. Later, when the executioner gives him the hemlock (that poison that is famous only thanks to this moment), Socrates watches him as he leaves the room and says that he is a good man, that many nights he would come to chat with him and ask him if needed something. What did Aristotle say? Amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas : “Plato is my friend, but truth is a better friend”. Well, I say: truth is my friend, but Plato is a better friend.
In one of his famous and later transcribed talks, his talk dedicated to immortality, Borges comments on Phaedo , and observes the famous phrase: Plato, I think, was sick . I don't know if Borges really read the dialogue, because he attributes the finding to Max Brod, who as far as I know wrote a novel – which I wasn’t able to find - whose protagonist is a boy who is obsessed with this Platonic dialogue. Not a curious choice for Brod, who today is known above all as the friend who did not burn Franz Kafka's texts: one of these refractory figures in the history of literature, built in the shadow of an admired and more talented other, like James Boswell, or Bioy Casares, or Stanislau Joyce, or -in his beginnings- Plato himself. By evoking the phrase, Borges also gives it a typically Borgian inflection, turns it into Platón, creo, estaba enfermo . He says that it is the only time that Plato is mentioned in his own dialogues, and I know that Borges would have liked it to be so (me too), but this mention is only one of three: the other two times, Plato is mentioned in the Apology , as one of those present at the trial of Socrates, and also as one of the friends willing to pay the 3,000 denarii bail. After considering the classical interpretation of this curious self-insertion, Borges concludes that the philosophical reasons are secondary and that "Plato felt the insurmountable literary beauty" of declaring himself absent from the very situation he is narrating.
However, let us return to the classical interpretation, which is to suppose that the author of the dialogue meant something with this absence. Phaedo, to begin with, is very sure of Plato's absence that afternoon, but nevertheless seems to doubt his reasons. He was sick, I think. So, should we think that Plato alleged a flu so as not to say goodbye to his friend and teacher? The fact of his absence, whether it is true or not, and in this way, makes me think that he already wants to express a distance between the two - at least a philosophical distancing. The Socrates of the Apology and that of Phaedo are considerably different. In the first dialogue, for example, Socrates declares that he is not afraid of death, because in the event that the afterlife exists, he trusts the gods, and, if it does not exist, then there’s nothing to fear. In the Phaedo , he deals with demonstrating the immortality of the soul, with a certainty that he had not found before. It is a distance first of all temporary: Socrates spent only a few months in prison until he was executed, but years passed between Plato writing the Apology , perhaps the first of his texts, and the Phaedo. , which belongs to its intermediate period. The Plato, I think, was sick , as opposed to his presence pointed out twice in the Apology , tells us that Plato did not want this dialogue to be taken literally, as a truthful account of the facts. It is even possible that he was present, but Socrates did not say what he attributes to him. The exposition on the soul is already purely Platonic philosophy, and the character of Socrates is more its enunciator than the stinging Athenian (the “gadfly”) of the first dialogues.
It is a transformation that makes me think a little about the origins of Christianity. The historical Jesus that we can intuit in the early Gospels does not look very much like the idealized, refined version of Jesus that Paul and the Gospel of John give us. The parallels with Socrates are many, to the point that it seems to me that this story, like Platonism, paved the way for Christ. We have the unjust accusation of the teacher, the trial, and above all the sentence that seems inexplicable, especially because it is meekly accepted by the condemned, as if he knows something that no one else knows. The disciples will spend centuries arguing about that acceptance, trying to make sense of it. And they will reach similar conclusions, although Socratism has not become a religion. It was close to do so, though. If we have the Apology as a public plea, then there is the Phaedo as a private dialogue and for friends, that is, initiates, who receive a revelation that is not within reach. of all. It is a more selective Gnostic writing, the beginning of a mystery religion. Plato also could not understand Socrates' final meekness, and had to invent this dialogue to give him a justification: only if he had believed in the immortality of the soul he was justified in allowing himself to be killed so easily, just as the certainty of the resurrection could explain the sacrifice of Jesus. We don't really know what Socrates' trial meant, nor did Plato, but the conviction that there is something muddled and intense in that story, something to be understood, to be resolved, makes it so important. I am not interested in Phaedo as a metaphysical text, but as a testimony of this obsession. Which is to say: as literature.