2. 454 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
wisdom is the area where poetry and philosophy find their common
ground (section 4) because philosophical wisdom abounds in Greek
objective poetry (section 5). We will use Phaedo’s text as a lead, estab-
lish the contradiction between mythologein and apology by dismissing
in the first two sections the alternative readings of Phaedo, and con-
clude our inquiry by offering a solution to the riddle in the last four
sections (6–9) along the line of opposition between philo-sophia and
eroto-sophia.
MYTHOLOGEIN
D ESPITE ITS IRRESISTIBLE DRAMATIC charm, Phaedo is philosophic-
ally troubling because it depicts a Socrates who goes out of his usual way
of noncommitment and tries to secure a conviction at a moment when
he should least do so. His weak arguments and uncharacteristically crude
reasoning fly in the face of his consummate aplomb. On top of the philo-
sophical vulnerability is added a pass Socrates makes to myth and poetry,
hinting a Socratic capitulation to his archrival. Myth and poetry are the-
matic features of Phaedo and they permeate from the beginning to end.
Let’s look at some of the facts before some further comments are made.
1. Socrates composes poetry in his cell by rendering Aesop’s fables into
verse. He relates that his demon has been urging him to “make music
and work at it (mousikyn poiei kai ergazon),” and of how he first
thought of philosophy as music and now begins to suspect that only
the ordinary music, namely, poetry, was meant in the divine message
(Phaedo 60e–61b).2
2. Sending a strange message to Evenus, in which the mortality of the
poet is discussed, Socrates treats Evenus as if the poet is a philosopher.3
Although Evenus might actually be a philosophical poet, Socrates’ mat-
ter-of-fact manner still surprises because of his conception of the anti-
nomy between the two fields.4
3. While mythology means in Greek “telling stories,” Socrates thinks
that it is fitting to tell stories (mythologein) in his final moments, hint-
ing that a philosophical discussion of death is not different from
mythologein (61e).
4. Socrates calls the Bacchic followers (bakchoi) “true philosophers
(pephilosophykotes)” (69d). This is one of the most surprising state-
2
All references refer to Phaedo unless specified otherwise.
3
Socrates asks rhetorically in 61c, “Is not Evenus a philosopher?”
4
In The Republic X 607c–d Socrates seems to question this possibility.
3. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 455
ments in Phaedo, for Bacchic abandonment seems to represent the
opposite end of the contemplative life. This statement is reminiscent
of the speech by an inebriated Alcibiades in Symposium where
Socrates is compared to a Satyr (Symposium 215c).
5. Socrates twice speaks of “to sing charm (epadein)” by a philosopher,
as if philosophy needs spiritual enchantment in order to fulfill its
function of appeasing a fearful mind (77e–78a; 114e). Put together, 3,
4, and 5 amount to saying that philosophy and myth can be on
friendly terms. The mystics are philosophers in Bacchic disguise,
while stories can stand by the side of reason and be an instrument to
philosophy. A philosopher might as well be a spiritual masseur, for
whom myths and charmers are welcome additions to his reasoning.
The above-mentioned five points bring about some troubling impli-
cations that tend to justify the following two readings. First, there seems
to be an ambivalence of identity between a poet or mystic and a philoso-
pher. Evenus the poet and some Bacchanals can be true philosophers,
whereas Socrates metamorphoses into a Satyr and a verse-rendering
poet. This ambiguity of identity threatens to undermine the rivalry
between poetry and philosophy, one of the founding blocks of Socratic
philosophy. The antinomies of eidos and things, of one and many, of
dialectics and imitation, of techne and inspiration, and of measured self-
examination and demonic self-absolution in poetic frenzy, are all based
on or interlocked with the rivalry between philosophy and the myth-telling
poetry. If the formerly rigid line between philosophy and poetry becomes
liquefied we would be at a loss with regard to Socrates’ overall philoso-
phy. If we read Phaedo seriously, the value of Socratic philosophy depre-
ciates, for the former seems to fundamentally contradict the latter. In
order to avoid this conclusion, one might think that Socrates’ reconciling
gesture in Phaedo stems from his typical irony. He means the opposite
when he says that the mystics are true philosophers. His dabbling with
poetry is not sincere. Under this reading, Socrates is a philosopher who
does not forget to jab at his enemies even shortly before his death. Phaedo
would be an ultimate piece of irony, of which the mythic theme is part of
Socrates’ typical playfulness.
Second, Phaedo might also be understood as the capitulation of philos-
ophy. It is conceivable that Socrates might have lost faith in philosophy,
particularly with regard to the issue of immortality. He might be thinking
of reconciling philosophy and myth, only at the cost of the former. This
speculation seems to fit well with Socrates’ farewell touch with Aesop’s
fables and Socrates’ panegyrics of the Bacchi. Compared with the last
interpretation, this reading attributes an honest defeat to the departing
4. 456 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
Socrates. Taken this way, Phaedo would cease to be a philosophical work,
and its protagonists would no longer be philosophers but “true mystics.”
The infirmity of the arguments in the dialogue can therefore be excused
on the reason of being nothing more than bantering among friends. Only
the pauperism of taste would hold a dramatic piece philosophy’s hostage.
IRONY VERSUS APOLOGY
However, neither the irony- nor the capitulation-readings capture a
critical feature of Phaedo: it is a piece of philosophical apology. Phaedo
carries much weight because it poses a serious apologetic stance for phi-
losophy right from the start. Its inquiry into immortality is remarkably
straightforward and intended to defend a fundamental philosophical
quality, namely, to practice death. Because irony implies a lack of direct-
ness in approach, and apology is not capitulation, both interpretations
must be invalid.
In Phaedo the typically sarcastic and often irritating Socrates is
replaced by a persona who is both candid and vulnerable. The former
acts as a cross-examiner, whereas the latter is a dying friend. Important as
irony is for Socrates, its underrepresentation witnesses to this law of dia-
lectics—irony has little importance if the subject under elenchus is not an
opposing party but Socrates himself. Dialectical self-irony makes as little
sense as self-courtesy. Irony implies a mind free from entanglement, a
rational privilege that Socrates lacks regarding the post-mortem exist-
ence. Not until his very last moments is Socrates fully committed to any
definitive position on an afterlife. His taking a resolution happens some-
where before his last reply to Cebes, when he addresses Cebes’ problem as
“your difficulty,” implying that it is no longer his (96a).5 Instead of being
typically on the offense, Phaedo’s Socrates has to defend his own view
whereas Cebes and Simmias play the normal Socratic role. The relative
passivity of Socrates’ position warns against any significant ironic rendi-
tion of the dialogue.
Just as little irony can be read into Apology when Socrates defends
himself in front of the Athenian public, so one must respect the sober
and candid intimacy of Phaedo when Socrates gives his philosophical
defense of an afterlife. As Apology is Socrates’ legal defense of his choice
on how to live, Phaedo can be deemed as his philosophical plea on how to
die. Being pressed upon his statement that a true philosopher practices
death, Socrates compares his friends’ demand for an explanation to a
5
In Apology 40c–d Socrates talks about the equal possibility of death being an absolute finale and a
transworld migration.
5. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 457
legal subpoena: “[F]or I think you mean that I must defend myself
against this accusation, as if we were in a law court. . . . Well, then, I will
try to make a more convincing defense than I did before the judges”
(63b). According to Socrates, a true philosopher regards death as a bless-
ing and embraces it without fear. A trace of cringe is not just a sign of the
weakness of will but also of the deprivation of a genuine philosophical
nature. For Socrates, to defend the “death practice” is not so much a
defense of a particular philosophical attitude as a defense of philosophy
itself: “Other people are likely not to be aware that those who pursue phi-
losophy aright study nothing but dying and being dead. [When the mul-
titude think that the philosophers desire and deserve death,] they would
be speaking the truth, except in the matter of knowing very well. For they
do not know in what way the real philosophers desire death, nor in what
way they deserve death” (64a–c).
Having put things into this perspective, Socrates raises the stakes of
the ensuing conversation. It is only apparently about the issue of immor-
tality, behind which lies the true question of “what is philosophy?” or
“what is the true spirit of philosophy?” If the nature of philosophy
dictates a belief in the survival of one’s own death (and therefore a belief
in the goodness of death for a good soul), to argue for the belief amounts
to a case study of philosophy itself. If soul evaporates with the decay of
flesh, it would mean a finale for both Socrates and philosophia (for injus-
tice might win over justice). The gravity of the mission is highlighted
with a dramatic twist in the dialogue. The jailer warns Socrates that a
heated philosophical debate would aggravate his final struggle, for a dou-
ble or triple dose of poison is needed for a person with warm blood. The
jailer seems to understand that a philosophically influenced body would
somehow retard the potency of toxins (63e)!
The non-ironic, apologetic nature of Phaedo befits the stature of the
participants of the dialogue, Cebes and Simmias, who both are sophisti-
cated Pythagoreans. The affinity of Socratic views and Pythagoreanism
allows the interlocutors to have a quick start, bypass assumptions that are
necessary for the theme but difficult to defend given the situation (such
as “that death is the separation of the soul from the body” [64c4] and
“that body is a prison [phroura], which offers no access to wisdom [phro-
nesis]’[65b–67d]), and proceed straight to the heart of the issue of the
survival of death. Throughout the dialogue there is a constant display of
the intellectual brilliance of Cebes and Simmias, who sympathize with
Socrates’ conviction but choose to act as the devil’s advocate, a typical
role of Socrates’ but played by him often in a tongue-in-cheek manner.
At the beginning when Socrates advances the claim that suicide is
impermissible notwithstanding the desirability of death because we are
6. 458 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
the chattels (ktemata) of the gods, Cebes questions that if the gods were
our guardians, death would mean separation from them and ought to be
undesirable (62b–63b). After catching the first glimpse of Cebes’ shining
intellect, we see both he and Simmias remain unmoved until Socrates
brings up his third argument. Their counterarguments are simple and
straightforward. Their destructive power is accentuated by the acute
panic felt by the spectators. Socrates’ stroking of Phaedo’s hair and
speaking of keeping a tonsure until the polemic victory is recovered
remains to this day a vivid scene and underscores how much is at stake.
Socrates is defending not just his own belief but the enterprise of philoso-
phy, the virtues of which (such as sophrosune) are in the danger of being
stripped of their significance if fear of death is justifiable. As the apology
for philosophy, Phaedo’s taut tension is belied by the intimacy of friends
and forms an interesting contrast to the commanding ease of Socrates in
the middle of the hostile crowd as shown in his first apology.
FANTASTIC REASON
If we cannot deflect the troubling statements in Phaedo as irony, or
accept Phaedo as a capitulation of philosophy, we are left with a difficult
position to juggle a philosophical apology with Socrates’ panegyrics of
myth and poetry. If philosophy and myth contravene each other, it is
hard to make sense of a defense of the former intermingled with a tribute
paid to the latter. If Socrates’ words are to be taken seriously, there must
be a common ground between philosophy and myth despite their rivalry
such that a eulogy of one does not automatically imply a recrimination
against the other. At first appearance, the middle ground seems unlikely
because of the well-recognized antinomy between myth and philosophy.
After all, while philosophy is a rational enterprise, myth is inherently
irrational. To look for a place where philosophy meets myth seems to be
a request for an irrational reason, or a frenzied sobriety.
In his Language and Myth Cassirer has much to say about the anti-
nomy between myth and philosophy (in his terms, “theoretical thinking”
versus “mystical thinking”). According to him, theoretical thinking
represents a discursive process in which the diverse, immediate experi-
ences are organized and woven into an expansive and unified system of
thought. In this context, no particular experience stands isolated from
the rest and is instead “stamped with the character of totality.” On the
contrary, mythical thinking bears no such stamp at all. Instead of widen-
ing one experience to a whole system of thought, mythical thinking con-
centrates on a single vision, in which the entire objective world and the
subjective ego are lost. Although the systematic whole is annihilated, the
7. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 459
“sheer immediacy” of the intuitive experiences overwhelms a person’s
existence.6 Cassirer’s analysis fits the general Socratic understanding of
the antithesis between philosophy and myth. The contradistinction of the
two is the divergence of their respective modi operandi: one contem-
plates, and the other is inspired. Although contemplation proceeds in a
gradual and sober manner by analyzing and synthesizing individual
experiences, inspiration dawns without warning, carries the inspired to
the extremes of his emotion, stops time, and sweeps away the horizon
of his being. The reason why Socrates finds the mythic thinking objec-
tionable is at least partly because of its inebriated passivity delineated in
Cassirer’s analysis. It is also because of Socrates’ preference for quiet
and contemplative analysis (and synthesis) that he believes philosophy
is more beneficial to the soul than mythic poetry, the power of which to
intoxicate people is often destructive and harmful (The Republic X
605c–608b).
However, the mythic theme of Phaedo adumbrated in the first section
has little resemblance to what is described as mythic in the above.
Notwithstanding his “newfound” love of the Bacchic, Socrates makes
6
To quote at length, Cassirer writes
The aim of theoretical thinking [ . . . ] is primarily to deliver the contents of sensory or intuitive
experience from the isolation in which they originally occur. It causes these contents to transcend
their narrow limits, combine them with others, compares them, and concatenates them in a definite
order, in an all-inclusive context. It proceeds “discursively,” in that it treats the immediate content
only as a point of departure, from which it can run the whole gamut of impressions in various
directions, until these impressions are fitted together into one unified conception, one closed system.
In this system there are no more isolated points; all its members are reciprocally related, refer to one
another, illumine and explain each other. Thus every separate event is ensnared, as it were, by
invisible threads of thought, that bind it to the whole. The theoretical significance which it receives
lies in the fact that it is stamped with the character of this totality. Mythical thinking, when viewed in
its most elementary forms, bears no such stamp; in fact, the character of intellectual unity is directly
hostile to its spirit. For in this mode, thought does not dispose freely over the data of intuition, in
order to relate and compare them to each other, but is captivated and enthralled by the intuition
which suddenly confronts it. It comes to rest in the immediate experience; the sensible present is so
great that everything else dwindles before it. For a person whose apprehension is under the spell of
this mythico-religious attitude, it is as though the whole world were simply annihilated; the
immediate content, whatever it be, that commands his religious interest so completely fills his
consciousness that nothing else can exist beside and apart from it. The ego is spending all its energy
on this single object, lives in it, loses itself in it. Instead of a widening of intuitive experience, we find
here its extreme limitation; instead of expansion that would lead through greater and greater spheres
of being, we have here an impulse toward concentration; instead of extensive distribution, intensive
compression. This focusing of all forces on a single point is the prerequisite for all mythical thinking
and mythical formulation. When, on the one hand, the entire self is given up to a single impression,
is “possessed” by it and, on the other hand, there is the utmost tension between the subject and its
object, the outer world; when external reality is not merely viewed and contemplated, but overcomes
a man in sheer immediacy, with emotions of fear or hope, terror or wish fulfillment: then the spark
jumps somehow across, the tension finds release, as the subjective excitement becomes objectified,
and confronts the mind as a god or a demon (32–33).
8. 460 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
no attempt to mimic a dithyrambic delivery as he is depicted doing in
Phaedrus.7 Socrates’ temperament in Phaedo is decisively philosophical.
The word “myth” is used there primarily in the context of “mythologein
(story-telling)” and means barely anything more than a fantastic tale.
A fantastic tale is detachable from the frenzied form of a typical poetic
delivery and can be related in a contemplative manner. Cassirer’s analysis
can categorically deny a middle ground between a mythic and philosoph-
ical delivery, but it cannot rule out the possibility of a philosophical tale
(myth), a tale that is fantastic in nature (often coming out false) but
philosophical in delivery. Although this shallow liaison of myth and phi-
losophy is short of being the searched middle ground in question, a more
entrenched effort on the same track might eventually satisfy our need.
Despite the divergence of their paths, philosophy and myth (even in
Cassirer’s sense) could share a common vision and carry the same wis-
dom. According to Jung, a patient of his, who suffered from “psychic
inflation” (paranoid dementia with megalomania) had a magnificent
idea: “[T]he world was his picture-book, the pages of which he could
turn at will. The proof was quite simple: he had only to turn around, and
there was a new page for him to see” (Jung: 89). Jung believes that this is
Schopenhauer’s “world as will and idea” in unadorned, primitive con-
creteness of vision. The difference between a true philosopher and a
demonic mystic is so thin that “a man is a philosopher of genius only
when he succeeds in transmitting the primitive and merely natural vision
into an abstract idea belonging to the common stock of consciousness.
This achievement, and this alone, constitutes his personal value, for
which he may take credit without necessarily succumbing to inflation.
But the sick man’s vision is an impersonal value, a natural growth against
which he is powerless to defend himself, by which he is actually swal-
lowed up and ‘wafted’ clean out of the world” (90).
If philosophical wisdom could be delivered through the direct experi-
ence of a “possessed” man, the desired middle ground between myth and
philosophy may not be too far off after all. Phaedo as a fantastic tale can
be philosophical not only in terms of its manner of delivery but also by
virtue of the message that is delivered. The fact that philosophy and myth
can share their wisdom is deemed by Schiller a decisive factor behind the
vitality of Greek culture. He observes that philosophy and mythic poetry
“could, if need arose, exchange their functions, because each in its own
7
In Phaedrus 263d Socrates acts like a delirious mystic, but even then his dithyrambs are no more
than a sportive jest, whose true philosophical design is given away by the meticulous dialectical
nature of his second dithyramb. Socrates attributes the dialectical propriety of his speech to the
inspirations from the nymphs and Pan.
9. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 461
fashion honored truth.” Schiller could not be more nostalgic about this
Greek possibility of fantastic reason: “Combining fullness of form
with fullness of content, at once philosophic and creative, at the same
time tender and energetic, we see [the Greeks] uniting the youthful-
ness of fantasy with the manliness of reason in a splendid humanity”
(Schiller: 38).
Indeed, Socrates of Phaedo does display both the manliness
(andreion) of reason and the youthfulness of his imagination. If Phaedo
turns out to be a truly philosophical tale (myth), in what sense could it be?
How could it then function at the same time as a philosophical apology?
POETRY, PHILOSOPHY, AND RHETORIC
The duo of Greek poetry and Socratic philosophy can be juxtaposed
with rhetoric and form a trio of competing arts of discourse. According
to Socrates, philosophy and rhetoric resemble each other because of their
shared ambition to be the true art of persuasion and because of their
meticulously planned organization of speech.8 Poetry prides itself on its
ability to influence and possess a reader. If it ever tries to be convincing, it
merely desires to persuade the reader of the reality of what is described
(such as a battle and the emotions of the combatants), instead of the
truth of what is argued for (often a propositional belief). According to
Aristotle, a convincing impossibility is preferable to an unconvincing
possibility for the purpose of poetry (Poetics 1461b10). If a poem has an
organic structure, its superior form is derived from a serendipitous dis-
covery and is more or less an afterthought. In this sense, poetry stands
opposed to both rhetoric and philosophy. Compared to a good poem,
which effortlessly brings to life an immediate and unorganized vision, a
philosophical argument plods through concepts and ideas, crawling on
an upward, narrow, and thorny track of reason in the hope of reaching a
conclusion that is envisioned in the beginning of an argument.
The pain of striving experienced by a rhetorician is not far less than
that of a drudging philosopher. Like philosophy, rhetoric also involves
careful planning and speech regimentation that proceeds in a goal-directed
manner from the start. Although a rhetorician often delivers his speech in a
way that suggests a mystic rapture and inspired spontaneity, what is at
work is at most the passion of the moment, if not simply the skill of acting.
While he can allow himself to be carried by the moment, a good rhetorician
never allows himself to be carried away by the moment. Reason is still there,
8
In Phaedrus 261a ff. Socrates claims that rhetoric is not a true art (techne) of discourse, for its
constructed speech lacks an organic structure.
10. 462 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
lurking behind an ecstatic persona. A superior rhetorician is a superior
performer, who pleases the audience by his uncontrived appearance, but is
directed by a contemplative and teleological mind.
But rhetoric is solitary in one critical aspect, which Socrates regards as
its primal guilt. The sophists are so bent on flattering the audience by
their enchanting speech that they have no respect for the truth and what
is best.9 The utility of livelihood precedes the nobility of truth in the
mind of sophists. They say what the audience loves to hear but not what
it should and often hates to hear. Sophia is the last divine quality to which
the sophists care to swear allegiance. Although they boast to be the wisest
among men, they do not prize wisdom itself but their ability to bend the
truth to whatever direction suits their need. Their wisdom lies in their
subjugation of wisdom and prostituting truth to pander to the crowd.
Throughout Phaedo, instead of “sophia,” Socrates uses the word “phrone-
sis” to denote wisdom. It is conceivable that the word “sophia” is so con-
taminated by its etymological association with “sophist” that Socrates
feels the necessity to sterilize the concept with a more innocent term.
Although poets are demegoros (crowd-pleaser) in the theaters too
(Gorgias 502d), no evidence suggests that Socrates thinks that flattery is
the raison d’être of poetry itself. Not all poems are written for theatrical
performances. Even if the stage is the intended home for a poetic piece,
the priority of poetic integrity is a bulwark against the abuse of the run-
away appetite for theatrical impact. In his inspired and mantic moment,
a poet often catches a glimpse of true reality, which lies beyond the reach
of the humble human intellect. The fact that poetry can speak truth and
contain wisdom finds its aetiological justification in the divine origin of
at least some parts of a poem.10 The privilege of parentage guarantees the
quality of offspring. Socrates describes the way a god inspires a poet as
analogous to the manner a magnet moves iron rings: “This [magnetic]
stone not only pulls those rings, if they’re iron, it also puts power in the
rings . . . In the same way, the Muse makes some people inspired her-
self . . . [N]one of the epic poets, if they’re good, are masters of their
subject; they are inspired, possessed, and that is how they utter all those
beautiful poems” (Ion 533e).
For Socrates, although the poets cannot lay claim to knowledge
because of the lacuna in their understanding of what they say, they do
9
In Gorgias 462c ff. Socrates dismissed rhetoric as a mere “knack,” not true art. It is like pastry
baking (463a) in that it is bent upon gratifying people’s appetites and does not strive to speak the
truth or say what is best (501e–503a).
10
We will maintain in this article an important ambiguity of Plato’s writing. He assumes often that
what the wise say must be true (Phaedrus 260a, Laws 888e, Theaetetus 152b, Euthydemus 280a), but it
is also obvious that he is ambivalent about this assumption.
11. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 463
opine truthfully and insightfully from time to time (Meno 99c–d).
Although philosophers strive to be divine and pursue an arduous
route to the starry heaven, poets are sometimes elevated to the realm
of truth with a single pull of a favoring god. The fact that a poet can
effortlessly obtain the prize that is hard pursued by a philosopher does
not automatically lessen the value of a philosophical enterprise,
according to Socrates. An inspiration escapes as fast as it arrives,
whereas the ownership of knowledge is stable and safe. The passive
nature of mantic vision leaves a poet at the mercy of a fickle and alien
force, arousing in him uncontrollable emotion and frenzy. The quiet
and lasting happiness can be harvested only through philosophy, as
Socrates argues throughout his life. He speaks of knowledge as like a
rope that can tie down an otherwise mobile statue of Daedalus.
Acquiring the statue itself is not worth much. To tie it down and keep
it anchored to safety is where philosophical knowledge is found supe-
rior to mere true opinions.11
The fact that Socrates calls poets liars in The Republic does not con-
travene the statement that poets and philosophers can share truth and
wisdom and are mutually opposed to sophists, whose constant con-
founding truth and falsehood and perverted sense of wisdom reveal an
identity that is neither poetic nor philosophical but resembles both (a
sophist can fake a poetic trance, but claims to share the philosophical
quality of non-passivity and self-mastery). Unlike a sophist, a true poet is
not a word-monger, nor a designing salesman of falsehood. If a poet is
wrong, his mistake reflects more the fallibility of human experience than
the lapse of moral integrity.
With regard to Socrates’ charge that the poets are liars, we must bear
two things in mind. First, lying does not carry the same stigma in Socratic
ethics as it does in Christian morals. Socrates observes that paideia as a
matter of fact always starts with tales of falsehood such as children’s
fables (The Republic 377a). According to him, the ruler of a city must
sometimes hide the truth from the malleable youth and tell noble lies for
the benefit of the state (378a, 389c). What can be bad about lies is not
because all lies are bad but because some lies are badly told. Bad lies are
bad because they have bad social consequences.
Second, the poets under bombardment of Socrates in The Republic
are specifically epic poets such as Homer and Hesiod. Relating fantastic
tales about gods and afterlife, a subject forever barred to human access in
11
In Meno 97e–98a Socrates says, “To acquire an untied work of Daedalus is not worth much, like
acquiring a runaway slave, for it does not remain, but it is worth much if tied down, for his works are
beautiful.”
12. 464 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
Socrates’ opinion, is the occupational hazard of the epic poets. Socrates
once adumbrates Homer’s (1924) (1974) work as follows:
Doesn’t he [Homer] mainly go through tales of war, and of how people
deal with each other in society—good people and bad, ordinary folks
and craftsmen? And of the gods, how they deal with each other and with
men? And doesn’t he recount what happens in heaven and in hell, and tell
of the births of gods and heroes? Those are the subjects of Homer’s poetry-
making, aren’t they? (Ion 531c–d, italics added).
When a man tells stories about what is in principle a dark subject such as
that of gods and afterlife, the substitutability of his vision does not imply
the availability of truth. Unless there are empirical measures to separate a
divine inspiration from a mere human vision, every myth might turn out
to be “a lie,” namely, untrue.12 With regard to many of the embarrassing
biographical details of the gods, Socrates chooses either to ax them with
censorship or simply to replace them with better lies. When truth is
beyond reach, the social consequence becomes the sole arbiter between
what is right and wrong and what is acceptable and unacceptable.
The measures of censorship and tactical modification preferred by
Socrates with regard to the “what” (content) of poetry can be compared
to his proposal in dealing with the “how” of poetry.13 Although the ques-
tionable content of a poem can be edited, the real ill of poetry is felt by
Socrates as in its narrative device, that is, imitation.
Socrates’ displeasure with the method of imitation not only has to do with
his epistemological recrimination against imitation as a copy of a copy
(as concealment of truth) but also is deeply rooted in his political advo-
cacy for a highly fragmented and compartmentalized civic life that
demands the order and discipline of something like boot camp. Imitation
violates the principle of labor distribution which functions as a law that
safeguards the social stability by barring a cobbler from entering the field
of cookery and such similar transgressions. Rampant imitation abets
career mobility among the citizens and will eventually lead the social
economy into shambles (The Republic 394e–395a). The general malady
spread by the virus of imitation is mirrored by the process of putrefaction
at the personal level. Imitation can recreate a false reality that is often
excessively exciting because of its sensuousness and emotive palpability.
Imitative discourses as used in indirect speeches can animate a personality
that easily settles down into “the habits and nature in the body, the
12
Socrates uses the two terms, “untrue” and “lying,” loosely.
13
For Socrates’ distinction of the “what” and “how” of poetry, see The Republic 394c–d.
13. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 465
speech and the thought” of a person, rendering him particularly vulnerable
to the pernicious influence of a disgraceful character (359d). If imitation
is inevitable, only the good should be imitated. Otherwise, imitation
must be replaced with plain narration (direct speech) (394c–396e).
OBJECTIVE POETRY
Given the nature of Greek poetry (primarily epic and dramatic
poetry, both of which overlap with tragedy14) and its ideological proxim-
ity to Greek speculative philosophy, it is understandable that Socrates’
dissatisfaction with poetry points more toward its extraneous factors
such as the social and personal consequence or the narrative device of a
poem than its intuited vision. Greek poetry epitomizes the primal condi-
tion of human living,15 the inconstancy of fortune,16 and the mostly
impersonal mortal struggle between many good men.17 With its eyes
focusing on the lessons of life, poetry is not intended to be as servile to
facts as history is, although stories such as the Iliad and Aeschylus’s The
Persians relate events as if they were real. Sophocles claims that he draws
men as they ought to be rather than as they are (Aristotle: 1460b34).
“Hence poetry is something more philosophic and of graver import than
history, since its statements are of the nature rather of universals,
whereas those of history are singulars” (Aristotle: 1451b5–8). The over-
flowing philosophical wisdom in Greek poetry allows Plato to quote
Homer, Hesiod, and others freely without appearing vain, stilted or
overly ornate. Philosophy and poetry can find common language because
of their shared Weltanschauung, insatiable curiosity toward the unknown
(death and afterlife), and Hellenic awareness of the insignificance of
human conation and emotion.18 The tripartite liaison of philosophy and
poetry consists in the flowing reciprocity of their respective metaphysics,
self-reflectivity, and unrestrained but still sober imagination.
In order to understand the nature of Greek poetry, we might com-
pare it to its modern counterpart. If there is any universal feature of
14
In his Poetics 1462a15 Aristotle claims that tragedy has everything that the epic has.
15
Hesiod: “[Human] lot will be a blend of good and evil” (179). Sophocles: “[Life] is battered
from all sides, like a cape facing north, in storms buffeted by the winds” (1239–1241).
16
“Do not call any man happy until he is dead.” This well-known aphorism is attributed to Solon.
17
Homer lets Achilles console Priam after having killed Hector, Priam’s son: “This is the way the
gods ordained the destiny of men, to bear such burdens in our lives, while they feel no affliction”
(Iliad XXIV, 522–551).
18
Homer: “Tears heal nothing, drying so stiff and cold” (Iliad XXIV, 524). Plato describes human
emotions as counteracting cords pulling us to all directions: “[T]hese inward affections of ours, like
sinews or cords, drag us along and, being opposed to each other, pull us against the other to opposite
actions” (Laws bk I, 644d8–645a2).
14. 466 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
modern poetry,19 it is its strong subjectivity and intense expressiveness.
With the arm of science grabbing almost every piece of land in the natural
world, a modern poet retreats to the last sanctity of his plowing field
which is believed by him to be forever safe from scientific exploration. It
is the inner feeling and private well-being that collect a poet’s attention.
He finds himself alienated in a foreign homeland from which no escape is
possible. The only refuge where he could shelter himself is his own
threadbare but emotionally mottled existence. He does not understand,
nor desires to understand, the cold, unresponsive, and mechanical real-
ity, and it does not understand him either. In his intense moment of
expressiveness, a modern poet murmurs to himself first. To find an audi-
ence is always a genuine surprise. Poetry in the modern era is a secret
shared by a privileged few, an apparitional boiling storm encased in a
dark and impenetrable vase, separated from and enhanced by the indif-
ferent and uneventful externality. There is an acute scientific awareness
in the mind of a modern poet. He no longer talks to the moon as he used
to do, for he understands that as a reflecting solidity of dirt. He knows
that the world is not his, and it does not need to hear his voice. He
becomes his world, and his poem is but his defiant response to the objec-
tive silence of the infinite sand and rock.
However, the hostility and gaping hole between the inner and outer,
the private and public, the human and natural, feeling and existence, the
emotive and rational, the free and mechanistic, understanding and imag-
ination, mythology and science, and the subjective and objective are
nowhere to be found in Greek poetry. Acting like a naturalist, a Greek
poet casts his eyes outward to the world, mesmerized by nature’s androg-
ynous capriciousness, and fixated on its avalanching events and catastro-
phes. But he does not really see an absolute reality. The kaleidoscopic
universe is as fluid to him as water is to Thales or fire to Heraclitus.
Rather than like a modern poet who sees a world in his confined self, a
Greek poet is confronted with his magnified alter ego in the objective
cosmos. He finds himself superimposed onto it, and his objective
description reports a subjective experience. He sees the ground move and
hears the forest talk. Nature animates everyone with wonder and terror.
The rolling hills and expansive oceans are the eternal playground for the
gods. Roaring thunder and blinding lightning are fraught with the anger
and fits of Zeus. The vine creepers are entangled with the ambivalent
spirit of joy and sorrow. Everything is stamped with vitalistic sound and
19
The period of modern poetry should be understood in this article as starting from the late
nineteenth and the early twentieth century. Figures such as T. S Eliot, Gide, Joyce, Pound, Virginia
Woolf, and Rilke are our representative voices.
15. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 467
fury. Although the reality is experienced in the varied temperaments of
the gods, those heavenly creatures are in essence the fabulous psychic
projections of the earthlings. Their collective unconscious blossoms into
a dazzling array of flowery myths.
Contrary to the guarded idiosyncrasy of a modern poet, the myths
related in Greek poems are but the distorted reenactment of communal
episodes, both real and fantastic. Everyone knows the secret and agrees to
the same judgment. According to Aristotle, if poetic descriptions are
neither true nor of the things as they ought to be, they must represent the
prevalent “opinion” (Poetics 1460b36). The ponos (suffering) of life is
concretized as Heracles’ labors. The battle of the Titans restages the pri-
mal struggle of each growing child. Oedipus loves Jocasta. The ambiva-
lence of love and hate, male and female, heaven and earth, and life and
death is epitomized in the singular figure of suffering Dionysus. Sparagmos
(tearing from limb to limb) is rebirth. Sexual union culminates in the
violence of the Maenads. Everything that is poetic is cosmic. Everything
cosmic is also psychic. Intuitive poetry articulates public experience. Sub-
jective expressions are found in objective verses. The gods, nature, people,
animals, and plants are all unified into an overweening phantasmagoria—
gods are nature clad in human forms; boundaries of existence are con-
stantly violated because of the unceasing mutual metamorphoses.
How close is this poetic vision to Cassirer’s theoretical thinking! After
all Greek poetry can be called “theoretical” as long as the word is
divorced from its usual meaning of speculative thinking. In its mantic
revelation Greek poetry abounds in spontaneous wisdom. Weltanscha-
uung is not yet under the monopoly of philosophy; poetry also speaks the
language of dike (justice) and moira (fate). Life is philosophized as the
alternating themes of kleos (accolade of war) and xenia (hospitality).
Poetry anthropomorphizes abstract ideas and enlivens understanding
with imagination. Almost every philosophical term has its poetic origin.
Objective poetry is the natural cradle for metaphysics and cosmology.
PHRONESIS AND SOPHROSUNE
Having digressed so much into the general dynamics between poetry
and philosophy, we are now in a position to summarize the true nature
of their rivalry in Socratic philosophy. Poetry quarrels with philosophy
not because it stands at the opposite end of philosophical wisdom but
because we find wrapped in Homeric allegories almost everything philos-
ophy can offer. The natural philosophy and moral conviction at the core
of poetic sophia or phronesis closely parallel the thematic orientation of
any ancient philosophical system.
16. 468 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
However, when it comes to the issue of educating the youth, the
approaches of poetry and philosophy remain distinct. Imitative poetry
wins the people through manipulating their desires and instincts,
whereas rational deliberation is the weapon of philosophy. Because there
is no shortage of poetic wisdom, and a dearth of truth even in philosophy
(Socrates claims that he knows nothing), the decisive assault against
poetry from Socrates’ point of view must lie in his accusation that poetry
makes people unseemly. Both epic and dramatic poetry are fond of depict-
ing heroes and heroines in their wild and uncontrolled swings of emo-
tions, and in their state of being driven mercilessly by exaggerated
adversities of life. Actions of intemperance are not shunned but glorified
on stage. According to Socrates, if the harrowing stories of human strug-
gle have to be told, narration is preferable to imitation because the
former method distances the audience from the characters, leaving room
for quiet thinking and urging a gentlemanly detachment in people’s
behavior.
Throughout Phaedo sophrosune (temperance, self-control, or restraint)
and andreia (manliness, bravery or, courage) are the two philosophical
virtues that are consistently mentioned. Socrates observes:
“[I]s not that which is called courage especially characteristic of philoso-
phers? And self-restraint—that which is commonly called self-restraint,
which consists in not being excited by the passions and in being superior
to them and acting in a seemly way—is not that characteristic of those
alone who despise the body and pass their lives in philosophy?” (68c5,
see also 83e–84a).
Because andreia is clearly no more than a particular instance of temper-
ance in which the control of excessive fear constitutes the theme of self-
restraint, sophrosune must be the definitive quality of a person who leads
a philosophical life. The dividing line between philosophy and poetry
must be drawn along the practical line of temperance. Although poetry
brews incontinence, the distinctive value of philosophy consists in its
formative significance for the cultivation of sophrosune.
There is a philosophical difference implied in the meaning of phrone-
sis and sophrosune. Although phronesis is largely indifferent to the diver-
gence between inspiration and rational knowledge, philosophical
sophrosune tips the balance toward the end of reason. To be rational (not
emotional) and to follow the reason (not passion) is the gist of philo-
sophical spirit. What is exceptional about a contemplative inquiry lies in
the fact that, even at a place where poetry and philosophy are hardly
distinguishable, philosophy establishes as knowledge through dialectical
17. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 469
and autonomous analyses what is in poetry a short-lived inspiration.
Philosophers shall have no fear, and trust reason. Temperance is where
wisdom meets life and the two become inseparable.
PHILO-SOPHIA AND EROTO-SOPHIA
The fact that the privilege of a contemplative life is now defined in terms
of sophrosune as opposed to phronesis is conducive to our understanding why
Socrates calls Evenus and the Bacchic followers “true philosophers” notwith-
standing their rivalry. The distance between the mantic vision of a poet and
philosophical wisdom is not as unabridgable as what it is in the case between
sophia and sophists. Looking back on our initial predicament with regard to
the nature of the rivalry between myth and philosophy, we definitely have
made some progress. However, the puzzle of Phaedo, as discussed in section
1, remains unresolved. The apparent strain between the undeniable mystic
disposition of Socrates throughout the dialogue and his apologetic stance
toward philosophy still demands explanation. After all, if sophrosune is the
defining quality of being philosophic and rational, it should be irrelevant in
Phaedo. The existence of an afterlife as the sole issue under inquiry is unfor-
tunately exactly where reason cannot be followed at all. In the dialogue death
is admitted as the realm of the unknown. How could reason be relied upon
in an area where reason itself professes perfect ignorance?
In order to find an answer to this difficult question, we must search
for a deeper meaning of sophrosune than what we have revealed in the
above. Fortunately, what we need is not difficult to find. Both Simmias
and Socrates have stated clearly what a true philosopher would do in the
case of rational incapacitation. Due to the importance of Simmias’s com-
ments for our solution to the dilemma between mythologein and apology,
they deserve a lengthy quotation:
Simmias: I think, Socrates, as perhaps you do yourself, that it is either
impossible or very difficult to acquire knowledge about these matters
[regarding the afterlife] in this life. And yet he is a weakling who does not
test in every way what is said about them and persevere until he is worn
out by studying them on every side. For he must do one of two things;
either he must learn or discover the truth about these matters, or if that is
impossible, he must take whatever human doctrine is best and hardest to
disprove and, embarking upon it as upon a raft, sail upon it through life in
the midst of dangers, unless he can sail upon some stronger vessel, some
divine revelation, and make his voyage more safely and securely. (85c–d)
Simmias’s comments on the struggle of reason reveal the true meaning
of philosophy and can be assumed as Socrates’ opinion as well. Simmias
18. 470 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
says that while a person should entrust reason to carry him as far as pos-
sible, he should use his dispositional faith (as opposed to dogmatic and
propositional faith) or a conviction that is compatible with rationality
although unsupported by reason to carry reason when it fails him.
While stroking Phaedo’s hair, Socrates echoes Simmias by making an
even longer observation, the length of which renders it too cumbersome
to be quoted here (89d–91c). He compares arguments (logoi) to men
(anthropoi). Just as the majority of men are of an imperfect nature, most
arguments are fallible. This understanding of rational limitation is the
crucial ground for love of reason, for an unrealistic attitude toward the
potency of rationality will always lead to disappointment. A misanthrope
hates mankind not because there are only few good men but because his
knowledge of human nature is seriously flawed. Just as true friendship
among men tolerates flaws and occasional breaches of confidence, a gen-
uine lover of logos will not desert and berate reason when it leaves him
exposed in the darkness of the unknown.
This is the apology for philosophy, only conducted with suaveness for
a dramatic effect! Philo-sophia is not eroto-sophia. Objectual overestima-
tion (the character of Eros) is prone to the danger of misologism (hate of
reason). A true philosopher is a friend (phila) of sophia, trusting her even
when she fails her friend. As such, philosophia stands at the mid-point
between irrationalism (misologism) and skepticism. Irrationalism rejects
reason in toto because of a disappointed wish or when a love affair turns
sour. Although irrationalism is decisively hostile to reason, a skeptic is a
weakling who has not grown out of his infantile state of overdependence.
Skepticism is derived from an erotic submission to reason too. A skeptic
paralysis can be brought when reason does not deliver a desired answer.
In contrast, a philosopher would not let the failure of reason discourage
and frustrate him. He will take a decisive resolution regarding the desti-
nation that reason points to but cannot reach. When a friend is in trou-
ble, to go out and help the friend is the duty of each loyal and genuine
companion.
When no arguments can establish the survival of the soul beyond
death, Socrates demonstrates his adamant loyalty toward reason by char-
acterizing himself as a fair partisan, meaning that he is deeply committed
to his view and at the same time aware of its relative value. Although still
conscious of the uncertainty about the prospect of death, he hints that he
is determined to believe in what is most conducive to a rational way of
living or dying in this case (91b). He states specifically that the true moti-
vation behind his discussion with Cebes and Simmias of the issue of the
afterlife is not to persuade them of his thesis (which is impossible given
the nature of the question) but to “make myself believe it” (91b).
19. Zhu: Myth and Philosophy 471
WHERE MYTH CAN ASSIST PHILOSOPHY
The revelation that sophrosune means not only to trust and follow
reason when she succeeds but also to carry and support her when she fails
finally sheds light on the hard-sought middle ground between myth and
philosophy: philo-sophia includes the willingness to commit oneself to a
temperance-inducing myth. If a myth helps to solidify a rationally incon-
clusive thesis, a dispositional faith in the truth of the myth reflects the
ultimate spirit of philosophy because the belief is instrumental to the
overcoming of fear. Socrates seems to foreshadow James’s will to believe:
it is not just that reason is compatible with the faith in immortality but
that we have a rational obligation to take a live, forced, and momentous
option, namely, the belief in the goodness of the death of a good soul.
It is also the qualification that a philosophical myth has to be sophro-
sune-inducing that explains why Socrates chooses to relate a different
myth than what is already available in the eleventh chapter of The Odys-
sey. Socrates shuns Homer’s terrifying description of Hades, for Achilles’
notorious lament “I should choose, so I might live on earth, to serve as
the hireling of another, of some portionless man whose livelihood was
but small, rather than to be lord over all the dead that have perished”
only instigates fear of death and contradicts the spirit of sophrosune (The
Odyssey XI, 487–491). Socrates chooses to claim that the wicked soul will
be punished and the good will be rewarded with justice (107c–108d).
IS PHAEDO A SUCCESSFUL PIECE OF PHILOSOPHY?
It is undeniable that the four arguments in Phaedo are mostly weak
and curious. Each argument can be knocked down without too much
difficulty. What is curious about the arguments lies primarily in the fact
that they are not conducted with the typical rigor of the dialectical analy-
sis and synthesis. Instead, hefty assumptions and questionable analogies
dominate the argumentative part of the dialogue. A noticeable example
has to do with the key concept of soul. Socrates adopts the traditional
views that interpret the soul respectively as “shaded existence,” “the
memory-principle,” and “the life-principle,”20 but does not offer any
clarification with regard to the relation between the three meanings. The
most troubling thing happens in the third argument when he contradicts
his former view by claiming that the soul is uniform and indissoluble
(80b). If the soul is complex and has a tripartite structure as he argues
20
For “shaded-existence,” see the myth 107c ff. and the first argument 70a–72e; for “the memory-
principle,” see the second argument 72e–77b; for “the life-principle,” see the fourth argument 96a–107a.
20. 472 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
beautifully in Phaedrus and The Republic, the soul cannot be uniform and
should be dissoluble (Phaedrus 246a ff., The Republic IV 440b).
Despite all these argumentative problems, we would be missing the
point if we dismiss Phaedo as a poor and unsuccessful philosophical
attempt. Socrates never pretends that he is conducting a conclusive
rational inquiry into the issue of death. If Socrates is trying to per-
suade anyone, he himself is the first person on the list! Because the
dialectical analysis is destined to be inconclusive, there is no point in
proceeding in the usual way of conceptual division and categorization.
Sympathetic assumptions are made not to cheat the result but for the
purpose of displaying a possibility if certain things were given (such as
the thesis that death is the separation of body and soul and the truth
of the recollection theory). Most significantly, all the four arguments
are nothing but part of the game of mythologein, as opposed to rigor-
ous reasoning. It is true that Phaedo is not a usual philosophical piece.
It is more a piece of dramatic myth. But exactly because of its sophro-
sune-inducing nature, the mythologein constitutes the best apology for
philosophy.
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