Socrates in Love

by Armand D'Angour

  In any case, given his philosophical lifestyle, Socrates can hardly have fulfilled either his paternal duties or his marital ones with exemplary diligence or enthusiasm. If Socrates had, as seems likely, married Myrto much earlier in his life after she had been widowed in an earlier marriage (many Athenian husbands died young in battle) and had his two older children with her, that might explain the impression of her being a ‘poor older widow’ who later shared his home. In that case, she may have overlapped with Xanthippe, since a story derived from Aristoxenus tells of the two women quarrelling with each other and stopping only to scold Socrates, who was laughing throughout.15 In due course Xanthippe became Socrates’ sole partner, perhaps after Myrto had died, and bore his youngest son Lamprocles.16 But whether Socrates young or old was married to Myrto, we are told nothing of his feelings towards her.

  There’s also the matter of the elephant (or one might say elephant man) in the room: while Plato and Xenophon write with fondness and admiration for Socrates, both give emphatic witness that the man they knew was far from handsome. In keeping with their descriptions, many surviving sculptures and pictorial images from ancient times give the impression that Socrates was at best physically unprepossessing and at worst downright ugly. Ancient busts depict him with a turned-up nose, wide-spaced eyes, and unkempt hair around a bald dome. Other representations add a squat stature, barrel chest, and pot belly. While these are not images to which, rightly or wrongly, romantic attraction or desire are readily imputed, the fact that someone of such an unpromising physical appearance might indeed create strong bonds of affection and might even, thanks to his charisma and possession of great inward beauty, have strong erotic appeal is the very paradox expounded with brilliance and energy by the famously good-looking Alcibiades in the Symposium. It will not, however, persuade many readers that the image of the middle-aged or older Socrates as a lover in the most straightforward sense of the word has much to commend it. We need to look back to his younger years for a more plausible scenario to emerge.

  An Athenian man portrayed even by his admiring pupils as lusty and ‘full of Eros’, who could claim according to Plato that he was seized by ‘bestial desire’ at a glimpse of the young man Charmides’ naked torso, and who was described by one of his own disciples, Phaedo, as ‘addicted to women’, is likely to have experienced in his younger days amorous relationships with partners of both sexes.17 The silence of witnesses to Socrates’ earlier life such as Aristophanes with regard to his supposedly ugly features also suggests that Socrates was not always known for being physically unattractive in the way he is later depicted. In late middle age, even formerly active and conspicuously athletic men begin to look jowly, lose hair and muscle tone, and put on weight around the midriff. King Henry VIII, for instance, was famously good-looking and athletic in his youth, but after being wounded in a joust in his forties became less active and increasingly corpulent. In imagining the younger Socrates, we need not be overly persuaded by the image of the ‘ugly lover’ presented by Plato and Xenophon.

  A fourth-century BC orator proposes what may have been a typical Athenian view of sexual liaisons: ‘We have sex-workers (hetairai) for pleasure, concubines for the daily care of our bodies, and wives for the production of legitimate children.’18 A late source reports that Socrates was inclined to be unrestrained in his sexual behaviour as a young man, before he followed the more sober path of intellectual study.19 The strong probability is that, even prior to his marriage to Myrto and long before his liaison with Xanthippe, the highly-sexed Socrates enjoyed numerous affairs and dalliances. Some of his youthful entanglements are bound to have been with people of similar age and background to his own.

  To find an occasion for Socrates to have been ‘in love’, then, we should look to accounts of his youth or early manhood, when he was, according to both direct and indirect evidence, a keen dancer, a fit soldier, and an active womaniser. There we might discover someone with whom the young Socrates, in a manner appropriate to the social circumstances of his time and place, might have been ‘in love’. We might find that he even experienced the kind of love affair that set him on the path of thinking in original ways about love itself, as well as other key aspects of human life and conduct with which he was preoccupied in his later life.

  Given the aim of his biographers to show that Socrates was unfairly put to death, their so-called ‘apologetic’ purpose, Socrates’ story is often told effectively in reverse, starting with his trial and death before proceeding, if one proceeds at all, to the earlier years.20 The existing, if far less ample, evidence that they and other sources provide for the first decades of his life is rarely examined in detail. Significantly, however, one of the earliest datable events in Socrates’ life as presented by Plato describes a moment of action rather than thought.

  In the Symposium, various participants including the physician Eryximachus, Aristophanes, and Agathon give their own discourses on Eros. One of the speakers, Pausanias, argues that Love involves a preparedness to give one’s life for the person one loves. After Socrates gives his account of Diotima’s views, events take an unexpected turn: Socrates’ friend and admirer Alcibiades bursts into the gathering. Seeing that Socrates is present, Alcibiades launches into an impassioned speech of praise – not of Love, but of Socrates. Although his speech describes and honours attributes of Socrates rather than of Eros, given the terms of the dialogue Plato’s aim appears to be none other than to present Socrates, through Alcibiades’ eyes, as being the very impersonation of Love.

  In the course of Alcibiades’ speech, after a vivid commendation of Socrates’ fortitude in enduring harsh conditions on military service, we learn of his extraordinary rescue of Alcibiades himself during a battle that took place in 432 BC. The saving of Alcibiades’ life in battle is the most dramatic and active moment in Socrates’ life recorded by Plato.

  Some readers have accordingly conjectured that the experience of nearly losing his beloved friend in battle constituted a significant turning-point in Socrates’ life and thought.21 In fact, Plato’s account of the successful rescue gives no grounds for such an assumption. Rather, the Symposium shows that the thirty-seven year old Socrates was already long identified as an unconventional thinker uninterested in amatory, material, or reputational success. Any notion of a ‘battlefield conversion’ from the life of soldiery to that of philosophising is belied by testimony to Socrates’ continued participation in military campaigns for years thereafter. The episode provides, however, a useful place to start the investigation of the historical Socrates, and a vantage-point from which we may work both backwards and forwards to discover the fuller story of the philosopher’s life and loves, and above all of the true reasons for his turn to philosophy – the momentous journey of his soul.

  2

  Socrates the Warrior

  Rescue at Potidaea

  It took around an hour for the Athenian troops to take up their positions, arraying themselves across the fields adjoining the walled city of Potidaea to face the enemy troops drawn up for battle against them. The hoplites – fully armed foot soldiers – were drawn up in tight formation, holding their spears in their right hands. Their round shields were strapped to their left arms, ready to provide protection from swords and flying missiles for themselves and fellow-soldiers alike. The combined force of some three thousand men was distributed across the flat plain.

  At the command of the general Callias son of Calliades, a trumpet sounded and pipers struck up a raucous strain to accompany their rhythmical advance towards the enemy’s lines. The hoplites’ breath rose in clouds of steam into the chill air. Practised fighters though they were, veterans of several battles in the course of this campaign alone, few can have failed to feel a tremor of fear at the prospect of the coming battle.

  Socrates, stationed on the forward left wing of the central section, marched in time to the pipers’ rhythm. His face was expressionless, but every sense was alert. If it was his destiny to die, so be it, but he did
not feel that that time was at hand. More concerning to him was the attitude of his protégé Alcibiades, whom he could see from the corner of his eye on the right flank. Straining forward, full of pride and excitement, and borne up by the admiration of his fellow-soldiers, the young man was excessively eager for battle and glory. He must hold the line, Socrates had insisted often enough. It was his first campaign, but it must not be his last. Lithe and fearless as Alcibiades was, he had a duty to his comrades and to the many who loved him not to expose himself and his fellow-soldiers to danger.

  At Callias’s command the troops on the right wing increased their pace to a run as they neared the enemy front line. As they came within ten yards, emitting raucous yells and shouts, they thrust their spears forward with deadly intent: the clatter of hundreds of spears mingled with the hubbub. Some instantly met their mark in human flesh, and a chorus of shouts and shrieks arose. With a huge crash, the troops slammed into the opposing line of shields, just as the shields of the Athenians’ own front line on the left wing took the brunt of the enemy’s charge. Within seconds, the Athenian hoplites in the vanguard had sunk their metal-clad bodies deep into the enemy line. A bone-chilling crashing and clattering arose as the soldiers, screaming with fear and war-lust, thrust forward with brutal force, using their short swords to clear their path through the scrum of the opposing defenders.

  The ensuing mêlée would have seemed interminable to those in the thick of it. In fact the fighting as a whole lasted for little over an hour. By that time the Athenian line had effectively encircled the enemy forces, so that the hoplites on the extreme right wing were gradually able to wheel inward and attack the posterior ranks of their opponents. They retained their close formation with iron discipline, creating a virtually impregnable front as they worked forward, slashing and killing everyone in their path.

  The temptation to break the line is strongest when the enemy start to turn and run. At that moment a surge of victorious savagery takes hold of the successful attackers. They forget strict orders and long-practised martial discipline. As the Potidaeans on the weaker flank turned and ran for their lives before the Athenian onslaught, a gap opened up in front of Alcibiades. Socrates gasped with horror as he saw his young friend darting forward out of the safety of his line to pursue the fleeing defenders. ‘Alcibiades, back!’ he roared, but to no avail. The young man, having tasted the joy of battle, was running forward with single-minded ferocity, bent on cutting down a swathe of fleeing opponents.

  Towards the middle of the line, where the Corinthian allies of the Potidaeans were fighting under their general Aristeus, a shout arose from the Athenian ranks. Callias had been cut down by an enemy sword, and had fallen, blood gushing from his neck. There was an instant response of retaliatory violence as the Athenian hoplites re-formed and resumed their attack. Socrates was still concentrating on Alcibiades, who had become detached from his platoon and was oblivious to the danger. ‘Alcibiades, go back!’ he shouted again in desperation. But it was too late. He watched in horror as an enemy soldier rushed at his friend and struck him from above. Alcibiades buckled for a second, but quickly rose back up. Turning on his right foot in a well-practised pyrrhichē-dance manoeuvre he sliced at and felled his attacker. Other Potidaeans were now turning, scenting a quick triumph against the vaingloriously unsupported fighter. A spear-butt crashed down on to Alcibiades’ helmet, and he disappeared into the crush.

  ‘Hold the line, Socrates,’ yelled Laches to his right, seeing Socrates flinch and turn towards where Alcibiades had disappeared. Socrates hesitated, looking around to try to assess the situation. His line was now advancing victoriously, and circling gradually leftwards as the hoplites conscientiously sought to shield their comrades. Soon they would have advanced out of range of the area where Alcibiades must be lying dead or wounded.

  ‘I’m going to get Alcibiades,’ he shouted. ‘Close up the line behind me.’ ‘Leave him be,’ barked Laches. ‘Stay in the line!’ Socrates pursed his lips in perplexity and scanned the waves of retreating Potidaeans. There was no sign of Alcibiades. ‘Go now!’ commanded a stern voice inside Socrates’ head, so loud that it could have been Laches shouting directly into his ear. Socrates hesitated no longer. Abandoning his own line, to the alarmed shouts of his fellow-soldiers, he manoeuvred his body through the crush and clamour ahead of him, brandishing his sword threateningly and thrusting foes aside with his shield.

  Alcibiades was lying semiconscious on the ground, his head and armour begrimed with earth and blood. The blow that had felled him had saved him from sustaining a mortal wound at the hands of an enemy soldier. Socrates propped him up against his knees, all the while looking from side to side to ward off a possible enemy attack, but fortunately no one was paying any attention to them. Spotting his friend’s sword lying on the ground, he swept it up and wedged it under an arm. Alcibiades’ handsomely decorated shield was still strapped to the fallen fighter’s left arm.1 Placing it in front of the young man’s chest, Socrates knelt and grasped Alcibiades’ torso between his shield-arm and chest. He slowly rose up, lifting the limp figure bodily off the ground. Keeping both shields in front of him, he glared ferociously from side to side as he backed slowly towards the Athenian lines. Alcibiades was safe, and would live to fight another day, with his own sword and shield intact.2

  The historical background

  The result of the brief but intense battle was 150 Athenian hoplites killed, including Callias, and dozens wounded. The Potidaeans and their allies counted twice that number of dead. In the days and months that followed, the noble young Alcibiades, son of Cleinias and ward of Pericles, would be praised and officially rewarded for his boldness and courage on the field. He had made his mark as a heroic fighter in his first battle. Socrates, who may have been uncomfortably conscious of having endangered his comrades to save his friend, joined in the praises of the young man, and refused to take any credit for his own actions.

  The rescue of the young Alcibiades during the battle at Potidaea is the earliest moment at which Socrates is introduced by Plato, with vivid physicality, onto the stage of history. The philosopher was in his late thirties. He was already a tough and seasoned soldier when he participated, together with his companion-in-arms the young Alcibiades, who was undertaking his first spell of duty on the battlefield, in the campaign initiated by Athens’ leader Pericles to pacify the rebellious city of Potidaea in northern Greece.

  The Athenian military expedition launched in 432 BC was conducted in the cold, sometimes freezing, expanses of the Thraceward region. The thrust of the expedition was to subdue Potidaea, the city on the westward side of the three-pronged Chalcidice peninsula far to the north; but the campaign was to turn into a dismal, long drawn-out affair, involving a series of indecisive battles, lasting nearly three years. The action was later seen as a prelude to the Peloponnesian War, the great conflict that began in 431 BC and continued off and on until 404 BC, fought between, on the one side, the Athenians and their allies, and on the other the city-states of Sparta and Corinth and their allies in the Peloponnese.

  Our knowledge of the Peloponnesian War and its causes is almost entirely dependent on the History written by an Athenian general in exile, Thucydides son of Olorus. While Thucydides makes no mention of Socrates in his history, Pericles and Alcibiades loom large. Thucydides must have known of Socrates as well, and in some places his writing has been thought to reflect Socrates’ intellectual influence.3 He would have been well aware that Socrates had fought as a hoplite, a heavily-armed infantryman, in many of the actions he describes.

  Just as in modern times the origins of the Second World War can be traced to the unsatisfactory aftermath of the First, the Peloponnesian War had its roots in the aftermath of a previous great conflict, the Greco-Persian wars of 490 and 480–479 BC. After the retreat of the Persian invaders following their defeat at the Battle of Plataea in 479, the Athenians assumed the leadership of a defensive alliance of Greek states against any future incursion by Persia. The
alliance was formally established on the island of Delos, and has thence been called (by modern scholars) the Delian League. As members of the League, scores of city-states throughout Greece such as Potidaea paid an annual tax, called in Greek phoros, or ‘tribute’, either in coin, ships, or troops.

  The gold, silver, and precious objects that poured in as a result were initially stored in the treasury on Delos; but some twenty-five years later, in 454 BC, the treasury was moved to Athens at the behest of Athens’ leader Pericles, allegedly to keep it from falling into Persian hands. Athens benefited visibly from these funds, which were used to pay for, among other things, the magnificent building programme on the Acropolis that Pericles instigated around 450 BC.4

  Why were the Athenians fighting in 432 BC in northern Greece, some four hundred miles from their own city? Their target was Potidaea which, like many other Greek cities in the alliance, had become increasingly resentful of the economic burden imposed by Athens. The city of Potidaea retained friendly links with its founding city Corinth, and the local ruler Perdiccas of Macedon, who was concerned about Athens’ wider designs on the region, may have been inciting it to secede from its alliance with Athens. City-states that sought to withdraw from the League were treated as enemies by the Athenians, and in a number of cases they were brutally punished by force of arms. Potidaea was to become the latest victim of Athens’ increasingly oppressive imperial domination.

  The Road to War

  The city of Potidaea had been founded in the late seventh century BC by a group of settlers from Corinth in the Peloponnese (the broad peninsula that comprises the southernmost section of Greece). It had been named in honour of the sea-god Poseidon, in Corinthian dialect Poteidan, whence came the town’s name Poteidaia. In the standard if potentially misleading term used by historians, it was a ‘colony’ of Corinth (‘satellite’ is a preferable translation of the Greek apoikia, literally ‘home away from home’). Somewhat surprisingly, given its membership of the Delian League, it was still overseen in the fifth century by magistrates sent out annually from the mother-city Corinth – a situation that Athens was to raise as a point of contention in 432 BC.