Plato's Black Mark

Plato's interests were diverse, but perhaps the one he is best remembered for is his longstanding political utopianism: his longest and most-read dialogues concern the state and how carefully-crafted laws might improve its citizenry. Plato's great rival, Diogenes the Cynic, instead taught the opposite: that one should withdraw from not only politics but all cultural norms, adhering to no laws but Nature's.

Plato never involved himself in Athens' politics—perhaps unsurprisingly, Plato's wish for a "philosopher king" didn't fly in a democracy—but later in life he became involved in the politics of Syracuse. Syracuse was one of the jewels of the Hellenic world, rivaling Athens in size, wealth, and beauty—but, notably, was ruled by a tyrant, Dionysius I.

Dionysius had heard of the great fame of Plato and invited him to Sicily: Plato, noble-born and always happy to feast with kings, agreed. It seems the two did not hit it off, however: Plato kinda sorta insinuated that, without virtue, Dionysius would never become a true king; and, of course, the king kinda sorta answered that, without a head, Plato would never become an old dotard. As it happened, though, the king's brother-in-law, Dion, had taken a liking to Plato and managed to stay the execution. Plato was instead sold into slavery, but a friend happened to be at the auction and bought Plato for a small fortune and sent him back to Athens.

Not long after this, Diogenes, sniffing about, came upon a pensive-looking Plato in an upscale restaurant. "Oh, Plato," he barked, "you don't seem to be enjoying yourself. After dining in Sicily, are Athenian olives not good enough for you?" (By "Athenian olives," Diogenes was apparently referring to Athens' home-grown democracy.) Plato didn't catch Diogenes' meaning, so he motioned to the plate and said, "You're welcome to have some." To drive his point home, Diogenes stuffed the whole plateful in his mouth. Plato exclaimed, "I said some, Diogenes, not all!" but the rascally dog merely winked and wandered off.

This wasn't the end of Plato's political involvement in Syracuse, however. Dionysius died and his son, Dionysius II, took the throne, but he was as much a tyrant as his father, and moreover dissolute and incompetant. Dion remained an advisor, and, as I said, had taken a liking to Plato; he invited him back to Syracuse in order to teach his nephew and hopefully moderate his behavior. Plato did so, but his proposals to rewrite the city's laws made Dionysius suspicious of his uncle's motives: he imprisoned Plato and sent Dion into exile. In retaliation, Dion formed an army and conquered Sicily. He freed Plato and sent him home, but proved to be no better of a ruler than Dionysius was—in fact, he was soon assassinated and the throne was usurped by Callippus, another of Plato's disciples.

Back in Athens, Diogenes had scavenged some wild vegetables to make a coarse supper of, and was washing them in a public fountain, when Plato came by and said to him, "You know, Diogenes, if you made friends of the rich, instead of enemies, you wouldn't need to wash vegetables." Diogenes answered him, "Yes, Plato, but if you had been washing vegetables, you wouldn't have languished in prison."

Eventually, Dionysius regained his throne. Plato sailed a third time to Syracuse, hoping to make some amends and moderate the tyrant's renewed cruelty, but he returned home disappointed. And for all his hopes and idealism, what had he accomplished? Twenty years of chaos for the poor men and women of Sicily.

In the weeks that followed, as Plato pondered all of this, a letter arrived for him from Corinth. Plato glanced at the address, which read, "Diogenes to Plato the Sage." Plato sighed; thought, "I didn't know dogs could write;" and opened the letter.

It read, simply, "I told you so."

Plato and Diogenes

Socrates had a vast number of students, but two of them stood head and shoulders above the rest. Plato was the son of two of Athens' most noble families, and taught in a purpose-built school on land sacred to Athena which he inherited. While the school was technically open to anyone, in practice it was a society of aristocrats. Antisthenes was only half-Athenian, since his mother was from Phrygia. For his own part, he took this in stride, saying that the mother of the gods (Cybele) was from Phrygia, too. Because he wasn't a full citizen, he couldn't own land in Athens; as such, he took to teaching in the temple of Heracles, which was a public gymnasium called Cynosarges. Again, while he would gladly teach anyone, in practice his students were drawn from the lower classes. Both men carried on their great teacher's legacy, but in very different ways: Plato emphasized his contemplative, epistemological side; Antisthenes his active, ethical side. Plato's school became known as the Academy, and he remains the most famous person associated with it. Antisthenes and his followers became known as the Cynics, after the gymnasium; but his student, Diogenes, took the name to heart and became so celebrated that the name became synonymous with his own. Many stories are told about Plato and Diogenes because of their diametrically opposed visions for living well. I've already told a couple of them, here are a few others.

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True to his wealthy upbringing, Plato was fond of luxury. Diogenes, on the other hand, eschewed all possessions, following Socrates when he said that "the gods need nothing, so the one who is most like them is the one whose needs are fewest." After years of experimentation, he had settled on a cloak and staff, a coarse imitation of Heracles' lion skin and club.

An admirer of Plato's had given him a fine cape, and he wore it as he showed some guests around town. Diogenes spotted them in a marketplace, and tore the cloak off of Plato, and stomped it into the dirty street. "Thus I trample on the empty pride of Plato!" he shouted, to the laughter of those around.

Plato answered him patiently, "Yes, Diogenes, and how proud you are of it."

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Plato and his students, in working out his Theory of Forms, would spend a lot of time trying to determine how many categories it takes to distinguish one type of sensible thing from another, in an effort to see if one can determine just how many Forms were needed to explain the things we see in the world. After much refinement, Plato finally settled upon a definition of man that required only three categories: "Man is an animal which has two legs and is featherless." He was much praised for the definition.

This didn't sit well with Diogenes, who considered it a pointless waste of time. He took a chicken, plucked it, and brought it to the Academy, shouting, "Behold, Plato, I have found your man for you!"

Plato quietly revised his definition to include "...and has broad, flat nails."

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Usually, Diogenes was in desperate want of food, but he would nonetheless use this as a tool of criticism. Once, he asked Plato for a fig, received an entire amphora of them, and said, "Why should I expect otherwise from Plato, who would use a thousand words when a few would do?"

Plato was wise to this, though. On another occasion, with great solemnity, Diogenes offered Plato a fig. Plato figured that Diogenes expected him to refuse it and had a witticism prepared, so he said, "Thank you, I will take your fig, and your joke, too."