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[Expositions 15.1 (2021) 1–24] Expositions (online) ISSN: 1747–5376 

Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways:  
A Gadamerian-Inflected Hermeneutical Interrogation of Socrates as a 
Dialogue Partner 

 

 

CYNTHIA NIELSEN 

University of Dallas 

 

 

Introduction 

Although most readers of Plato’s Symposium find Alcibiades’s speech humorous and delightful to 

read, commentators are divided on how to interpret it. A particular point of contention centers on 

Alcibiades’s critical assessment of Socrates. For example, some interpret the speech through 

Alcibiades’s moral failures and thus, in essence, dismiss his critical remarks about Socrates.1 

Others contend that Alcibiades’s depiction of Socrates is both plausible and offers significant 

insights into Socrates’s philosophical eros.2 This essay aligns with several conclusions of the latter 

group. In particular, it takes seriously Alcibiades’s portrait of Socrates as a satyr whose peculiar 

philosophical eros gives rise to a philosophical practice that simultaneously attracts and repels. 

Despite Alcibiades’s flaws, the accusations that he levels against Socrates reveal tensions in the 

philosopher that are worth interrogating. Alcibiades’s speech, which both condemns and praises 

Socrates, proffers a complex picture of the challenges of the philosophical life and Socrates’s 

particular enactment of that life. The multiple textual clues in the Symposium—for example, Plato’s 

staging of Alcibiades’s speech as truthful and the stark contrast between Alcibiades and 

Apollodorus3—indicate that Alcibiades’s censure of Socrates should be read with critical 

attentiveness and seriousness since the questions it raises are philosophically, not to mention 

ethically, significant. By refusing to allow either Socrates or Alcibiades the last word, Plato’s text 

could be read as inviting his readers to participate in an ongoing interrogation of both figures—

figures whose complexity and (dis)harmony of opposites continue to enchant and offend.  

The notion of not having the last word is a common theme in Hans-Georg Gadamer’s writings. 

For Gadamer, this means, among other things, that to engage in a genuine, reciprocal dialogue, 

one must remain open to the real possibility that one’s position is wrong or perhaps needs 

rethinking. This essay dialectically examines Socrates’s interactions with Alcibiades in the 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  2 

 

Symposium to see whether Socrates himself is, in fact, a good dialogue partner in Gadamer’s sense. 

My strategy is to offer a close reading of relevant passages of the Symposium in order to make 

manifest the dialectical and ethical tensions within the text, especially in the interaction of Socrates 

and Alcibiades. My aim is not to offer a detailed reading of Gadamer’s reading of specific Platonic 

dialogues;4 rather, my aim is to articulate, as it were, a Gadamerian-inspired framework whose 

main structures include genuine dialogical openness to the other, anticipatory listening, risk, a 

willingness to put one’s own views to the test, and an embrace of one’s finitude, and then to show 

how Socrates’s engagement with Alcibiades falls short of what Gadamer throughout his corpus 

emphasizes as hermeneutical virtues. 

 

Alcibiades’s Interrogation of Socrates and Socratic Irony 

Let us begin near the end—namely, with Alcibiades’s abrupt, disruptive, Dionysian entry into the 

festivities even as the participants are still applauding Socrates’s speech so loudly that 

Aristophanes is unable to make himself heard. Apparently, Aristophanes wants to follow up with 

something that Socrates had said about him in his speech. However, Alcibiades’s splashing entry 

with his drunken entourage and a shrieking flute-girl quickly takes center stage. Having been 

carried in by his acquaintances—likely because of his inebriated condition—Alcibiades gathers 

himself and announces that he has come to crown Agathon with a wreath currently atop 

Alcibiades’s handsome head. Agathon invites the latecomer to recline next to him and, as 

Alcibiades makes his way to his seat, his attempt to remove the wreath causes the ribbons and ivy 

to cover his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Consequently, he fails to see that Socrates, who had 

been sitting next to Agathon, has cleared a space for him on the couch. Once the blinders are 

removed and his head turns, Alcibiades realizes that he is sitting next to none other than Socrates! 

The language here reminds us of the prisoners in the cave, who now freed of their bonds, turn to 

see the fire casting shadows on the cave wall and thus begin to become aware of the reality of their 

situation (Republic 515c–e). Their experience is one of pain and a sense of confusion; yet, this 

uncomfortable disorientation opens, at least potentially, the path to liberation. Interestingly, when 

Alcibiades sees the reality or truth symbolized by Socrates’s presence, he does not perceive it as 

liberating, but rather, like the prisoners, as painful and disorienting. For example, he says “[i]t’s 

Socrates! You’ve trapped me again! You always do this to me—all of a sudden you’ll turn up out 

of nowhere where I least expect you!” (Symposium 213c). Even so, Alcibiades does not flee but 



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ultimately engages Socrates head on. Although inebriated and quite the character, Alcibiades is 

willing to be vulnerable with Socrates, openly acknowledging his moral failures and calling out 

Socrates’s inordinate disdain for human things. One could interpret Alcibiades’s critique of 

Socrates, as I hope to make clear, as a failure to embrace his finitude. Socrates’s rejection of 

finitude puts him at odds with Gadamer’s positive emphasis on finitude and its corollary—namely, 

our need for genuine, reciprocal dialogical encounters. 

After a few tense exchanges between Socrates and Alcibiades—with Socrates at times speaking 

indirectly to Alcibiades through Agathon—Alcibiades decides to crown Socrates as well, taking 

back some of the ribbons from the crown with which he gifted Agathon. In spite of his already 

inebriated state, Alcibiades demands that more wine be brought in, of which he quickly puts away 

more than two quarts and offers the same amount to Socrates. However, as he tells the group, the 

wine doesn’t seem to faze Socrates, who drinks with the best but never gets drunk (Symposium 

214a). Of course, Eryximachus, representing Apollo’s attempt to re-gain control, cannot be silent 

in the midst of this Dionysian take-over. Accordingly, he proceeds to censure Alcibiades’s 

excessive drinking and to reestablish the order and propriety of the speeches. Having explained 

that the participants had been offering encomia to the god Eros, Eryximachus invites Alcibiades 

to join in. Alcibiades, however, says that Socrates would react violently if Alcibiades praised 

“anyone else in his presence—even a god!” (Symposium 214d). This charge of impiety provokes 

a response from Socrates. After the two go back and forth, the good doctor intervenes and suggests 

that Alcibiades present a speech in praise of Socrates. Our intoxicated latecomer accepts and 

proclaims emphatically that his account of Socrates will be truthful and urges Socrates to interrupt 

and correct him should he find anything inaccurate (Symposium 215a). Given his state, Alcibiades 

acknowledges that he might confuse the order of events and will speak in something of a stream-

of-consciousness manner. However, he insists that what he will say about Socrates is true; it is 

worth noting that Socrates never interrupts Alcibiades’s speech, which is a significant departure 

from Socrates’s typical eagerness to accept a challenge to pursue truth. 

At the beginning of his speech Alcibiades says that he will use an image to describe Socrates 

and emphasizes that the image “aims at the truth” (Symposium 215b). The image, or rather images, 

he employs are a Silenus and the satyr Marsyas. As Pierre Hadot observes, “[i]n popular 

imagination, Sileni and satyrs were hybrid demons, half-animal, half-men, who made up the escort 

of Dionysos.”5 Alcibiades’s description of a Silenus focuses on how the exterior or appearance 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  4 

 

differs from what is within. The Silenus was a hollowed-out statue which was split down the 

middle and inside contained miniature statues of the gods (Symposium 215b4). Both the Sileni and 

Marsyas are often depicted or associated with the flute (more precisely, the aulos). Marsyas’s 

musical skills were so extraordinary that he challenged Apollo to a musical match, the consequence 

of which was his being skinned alive.6 By drawing upon these images, Alcibiades highlights 

important parallels between Marsyas and Socrates. Like the hubristic and impudent Marsyas, 

Socrates—despite his regular feigning ignorance—is acutely aware of his extraordinary 

intellectual abilities and is willing to challenge anyone who will engage him. However, Socrates 

doesn’t need a musical instrument to enchant; his enchanting power comes through “words 

alone.”7  

The picture that Alcibiades paints reminds the reader of aspects of Aristophanes’s speech.8 For 

example, Alcibiades emphasizes that the Silenus was split down the middle, which recalls the 

punishment that the original circular humans received after they challenged the gods. Since the 

image of the Silenus points to Socrates, Alcibiades intimates that Socrates too exhibits a type of 

hubris.9 To substantiate Alcibiades’s accusation, one might point to Socrates’s claim to have been 

given a divine calling, which requires him to interrogate and judge the speeches and deeds of his 

fellow citizens. In light of Alcibiades’s particular frustration with Socrates, the charge of hubris 

more likely pertains to Socrates’s disdain of human things and his (true, rather than feigned) sense 

of intellectual superiority over most humans. Stanley Rosen claims that even though both Socrates 

and Alcibiades “are exceptional men,” the only trait they share in common is hubris,”10 and that 

hubris was, in fact, what drew Socrates to Alcibiades. “Socrates’s offer of assistance is not simply 

ironical, but expresses frankly his interest in hybris. Socrates loves in Alcibiades that which he 

shares with him: a kind of madness through which each in his way transcends his 

contemporaries.”11 This hubristic madness, however, is not the same for each man.12 Alcibiades 

wants to rule the world and dominate in all things human. Socrates is unconcerned with the world, 

indifferent, and at times even callous, when it comes to human concerns, emotions, and 

interpersonal relations.  

Given his pleonexia, Alcibiades is open about his desire to be godlike and rule over all 

humankind. His charge against Socrates seems to be that the philosopher’s hubris also shows itself 

in a desire to be like a god, that is, to transcend all things human, which results in neglect, 

dismissal, and disparagement of human relationships, bodily desires, and honor. In other words, 



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Alcibiades’s view of Socrates’s moderation or temperance involves two aspects: (1) moderation 

as (an almost superhuman or perhaps anti-human) strength, and (2) moderation as (subhuman) 

indifference. As one intoxicated by power, Alcibiades sees his failed seduction as a failed 

conquest. He has not been able to overpower the philosopher with one of his chief weapons, viz. 

his good looks. In this sense, Socrates’s moderation and ability to resist Alcibiades is viewed as 

an awe-inspiring strength (or advantage) that he can hardly comprehend. Yet, at the same time, 

Socrates’s utter insensitivity to Alcibiades, coupled with Socrates’s feigned romantic interest, 

point to something strange about Socrates that indicates an unhealthy disdain for human life in this 

world—a life characterized by embodied and emotional needs and desires and that likewise 

requires friendships of genuine reciprocity in order to thrive and flourish.13 Here again, Alcibiades 

challenges Socrates’s peculiar irony. For example, he states that Socrates’s claim to know nothing 

but his own ignorance rings as hollow as the Sileni statues: “He [Socrates] likes to say he’s ignorant 

and knows nothing. Isn’t this just like Silenus?”14 In this same context, Alcibiades draws attention 

to Socrates as a dissimulator when it comes to matters of the heart. That is, even though he plays 

the role of an older, wiser man, seeking young, beautiful boys—in short, the lover (erastês)—

Socrates could care less about their physical beauty. Whether a boy was beautiful, wealthy, or 

famous was of no consequence to Socrates: “He considers all these possessions beneath contempt, 

[…] In public, I tell you, his whole life is one big game—a game of irony” (Symposium 216d8–

216e5). Alcibiades’s accusation can be interpreted as a condemnation of philosophical eros gone 

awry. That is, the philosopher’s erotic quest can become so all-consuming that his or her 

embodiment and significant relationships with others are despised and seen as obstacles to 

overcome. Rather than accepting and embracing his incarnate being, Socrates, as Martha 

Nussbaum observes, “in his ascent towards the form, has become himself, very like a form—hard, 

indivisible, unchanging.”15 Granting Alcibiades’s own problematic way of relating to Socrates, 

several questions remain worth asking. Does Socrates stand against the charge of exhibiting a cold, 

stone-like indifference in his interaction with Alcibiades? Does Socrates not, as Nussbaum puts it, 

engage in a “dissociation of his body”—or even more strongly put—a disparagement of his 

embodiment? Does Socrates have room for human others whom he considers as genuine equals? 

Or is it the case that with those, like Alcibiades, who actually challenge Socrates to examine his 

views and being-in-the-world with others, does Socrates resort to dialogical or sophistic games? 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  6 

 

Lastly, does Socrates, as Gadamer might put it, approach the other expecting to learn something 

and with a willingness to put his own views at risk?  

According to Alcibiades, Socrates’s “game” seems to be to lead young, potential beloveds 

(eromenoi) to believe that he is interested in an amorous relationship, yet his true intentions remain 

(at least for a time) masked. Both the feigned ignorance and romantic overtures are mere 

dissimulating appearances, akin to the “outsides of those statues of Silenus” (Symposium 216d4–

5). So why play such elaborate, even deceptive games? Perhaps Socrates’s ultimate goal is to better 

his younger counterpart. If so, he has no qualms with using misleading, sophistic tactics to achieve 

his ends, which is precisely what Alcibiades is exposing. (To be sure, Alcibiades simultaneously 

exposes his own character flaws.) Socrates’s ploy is to enact a role reversal, wherein the beloved 

becomes the lover who is willing to go to any lengths to win his beloved. Alcibiades attests that 

such a reversal occurred in his case; yet, Socrates refused Alcibiades’s romantic advances, leaving 

the latter humiliated. Despite Alcibiades’s lack of moderation, his interest in Socrates was not 

merely or even primarily with the physical dimension of a romantic relationship.16 He tells us that 

he was also pained as a result of what he learned during his time with Socrates—pain that he 

compares to a snakebite but much worse: “[S]omething much more painful than a snake has bitten 

me in my most sensitive part—I mean my heart, or my soul, or whatever you want to call it, which 

has been struck and bitten by philosophy, whose grip on the young and eager souls is much more 

vicious than a viper’s and makes them do the most amazing things” (Symposium 218a2–7). 

Alcibiades then describes this experience as one of participating “in the madness, the Bacchic 

frenzy of philosophy” (Symposium 218b3–4). 

At some point, Alcibiades had been “bitten by philosophy,” and this apparently happened 

during his time spent in philosophical conversation with Socrates. According to his report, he had 

become so mesmerized by Socrates’s passionate pursuit of wisdom that he broke with convention, 

took up the role of lover (erastês), and attempted, yet failed, to seduce Socrates. Rather than 

dismiss Alcibiades’s account of his botched seduction as merely the confused ramblings of a 

disgruntled, spurned lover—which is not to deny that he is a disgruntled, spurned lover—it is 

worth considering how his account dramatizes his conflicting desires and ultimately derailed him 

from achieving a more integrated life, whether a life of contemplation or practical wisdom. On the 

one hand, he claims that he had come to realize his inability to accomplish his goal by himself; 

thus, he acknowledges his need for Socrates’s help in order to reach his highest potential, of which 



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he says “nothing is more important” (Symposium 218d2–3). On the other, he thinks that he can 

achieve this goal through seducing and possessing Socrates as his “beloved.” Socrates’s response 

to Alcibiades’s overture (which Alcibiades describes as spoken “in that absolutely inimitable 

ironic manner of his” [218d8–9]) is reminiscent of his retort to Agathon, in which the poet 

implored Socrates to sit next to him so that by merely touching the philosopher, he might become 

wise.17 Socrates’s reply intimates that Alcibiades has misunderstood both Socrates’s maieutic role 

and the object of his erotic yet unattainable pursuit, wisdom. That is, Socrates does not have the 

power to make Alcibiades virtuous. For that to occur, Alcibiades’s eros must be re-directed. In his 

rebuff, not only does Socrates suggest that Alcibiades’s proposal is not a fair exchange, but he 

also, and perhaps more importantly and less ironically, draws attention to Alcibiades’s wanting 

more than his “proper share” (Symposium 218e6). Here we have an instance of Alcibiades’s hubris, 

which elsewhere Socrates’s explicitly states is characterized by a desire to have “absolute power” 

and influence over “all mankind.”18 In short, Alcibiades’s speech both expresses and dramatizes 

his various erotic conflictions. His eros for power over others, dramatized in his attempt to 

“conquer” Socrates, ultimately subverts his at least nascent eros to pursue the love of wisdom. 

However, Socrates too exhibits incongruities and tensions that are worth exploring and to which 

we now turn.  

 

Alcibiades’s Self-Awareness, Socrates’s Blindness, and Reading Plato against Socrates 

One could interpret Socrates’s statement that Alcibiades wants more than his proper share as 

Socrates’s reminding Alcibiades of his pleonexia, about which presumably the philosopher had 

warned a young Alcibiades and which at this point in his life has more or less “won the day.” In 

fact, Alcibiades seems to openly acknowledge that Socrates had rightly identified his character 

flaws and that he himself is acutely aware of his misplaced and conflicted desires. “I know 

perfectly well that I can’t prove he’s wrong when he tells me what I should do; yet, the moment I 

leave his side, I go back to my old ways: I cave in to my desire to please the crowd.”19 Here 

Alcibiades describes what Aristotle later identifies as the incontinent person. That is, he knows 

what he ought to do; however, due to his conflicting and competing desires, he chooses what he 

knows will harm him and experiences regret. As he goes on to say, “when I see him [Socrates], I 

feel deeply ashamed, because I am doing nothing about my way of life, though I have already 

agreed with him that I should.”20 Alcibiades’s problem doesn’t appear to be a lack of knowledge 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  8 

 

or inability to follow Socrates’s arguments; rather, he suffers from an unstable character and eros 

gone astray.21 Not only does Alcibiades admit to haven been bitten by philosophy—a bite whose 

truth still has the ability to cause him to feel shame—but also in his exchange with Socrates just 

prior to the former’s speech he indicates his awareness of philosophical topics, which he and 

Socrates likely debated on previous occasions. For example, he says that he will not willingly tell 

a lie, and he emphasizes that he will use images to communicate truth—a subject matter discussed 

at length in the Republic.22 Although inebriated, Alcibiades’s precisely worded commentary shows 

that he knows how to get Socrates’s attention and that he is cognizant of the significance of these 

key, Socratic philosophical themes. Furthermore, the fact that Socrates’s claims made such an 

impression on Alcibiades indicates that he had no trouble following Socrates’s arguments, but 

rather understood precisely their implications and what they meant for his own life. Alcibiades’s 

ability to grasp Socrates’s philosophical claims, affirm their truth, and yet willingly turn away 

from them, may signal Plato’s own questioning of an intellectualist view of ethics.23 Whatever the 

case may be, by his own admission, Alcibiades’s misdirected eros resulted in a neglect of self-care 

and a sense that his life was not worth living.24 

Socrates, of course, is famous for his notion of Socratic ignorance—that is, he is cognizant of 

his own ignorance. However, when Socrates actually engages others in dialogue, he seems fairly 

confident that he does, in fact, know what, for example, justice and beauty are. His elenctic method 

regularly pulls others up short, but one wonders how frequently Socrates himself is pulled up short? 

For all of Alcibiades’s flaws, and there are many, his intellectual acumen combined with his hubris 

and eros results in his being unafraid to challenge and interrogate Socrates, calling out his 

inconsistencies, interpersonal failings, his un-at-homeness with his own bodily existence. 

Concerning the latter, recall that earlier Alcibiades likened Socrates to Marsyas, whose hubris led 

him to challenge the god Apollo to a musical duel, thus resulting in his being skinned alive. As we 

have indicated, Socrates exhibits an uneasy relationship with his body. Perhaps Alcibiades’s 

remark regarding Marsyas’s flaying is meant to highlight Socrates’s desire to transcend his body, 

to be, as it were, free of the flesh that imprisons him.25 As Alcibiades’s account of Socrates’s irony 

and feigned romantic interest in him makes clear, Socrates has no qualms with utilizing “ironic” 

deception to achieve his dialogical goals, so long as he judges the end to be good.  

Here it is worth asking, What are Socrates’s dialogical goals? Taking our cue from both the 

Apology (36b) and Alcibiades’s speech, Socrates engaged in his philosophical midwifery in order 



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to “generate” genuine thinking and a concern for self-care, both of which are, for most 

philosophers, indeed good ends. Unlike, for example, the tyrant’s use of deception to satisfy his 

desires and attain his objectives, Socrates uses irony and sophistic tactics to bring about positive 

ends—namely, the moral and intellectual betterment of his dialogue partner. Yet, as Alcibiades’s 

example indicates, there is no guarantee that the result will be positive.26 Genuine risk, as Gadamer 

reminds us, is characteristic of true dialogue. To be open to the other and to engage in anticipatory 

listening is to put oneself and one’s beliefs at risk; it is to be vulnerable and willing to admit one’s 

failings and misguided views. We often encounter Socrates’s dialogue partners, including 

Alcibiades, openly admitting their logical inconsistencies and more importantly, given our present 

aims, their failure to live an ethically consistent life of personal and interpersonal flourishing. 

Granting that Socrates speaks about his ignorance, do we see him, especially in the Symposium, 

dialogically interact with others such that he genuinely puts himself and his views at risk? I am 

inclined to answer in the negative.  

When Socrates’s maieutic activity does its work, it often produces a crisis in his interlocutor; 

this was certainly the case with Alcibiades. Here we return to Socrates’s dissimulating irony, which 

Hadot discusses at length. Drawing on the work of Otto Apelt, Hadot writes, “Socrates splits 

himself into two, so that there are two Socrates: the Socrates who knows in advance how the 

discussion is going to end, and the Socrates who travels the entire dialectical path along with his 

interlocutor.”27 As the two go back and forth, Socrates eventually gets his dialogue partner to admit 

that his position is flawed or even contradictory. What his interlocutor thought he knew or 

understood prior to his dialogue is now revealed as unfounded and his former value-system and 

way of life is called into question. Here, too, the interlocutor is split in half: “there is the 

interlocutor as he was before his conversation with Socrates, and there is the interlocutor, who, in 

the course of their constant mutual accord, has identified himself with Socrates, and who 

henceforth will never be the same.”28 We see what Hadot calls Socrates’s “ironic self-deprecation” 

in his feigning to be interested in learning something from his conversation partner. But isn’t 

Socrates’s feigning a kind of intentional distance or detachment, which prevents him from, to use 

Hadot’s language, truly identifying with his interlocutor or entering wholly into his discourse?29 

Reminiscent of Aristophanes’s account of the halved humans seeking but never quite finding 

unity and wholeness, Socrates’s divided interlocutor is pained by his lack and must confront the 

source of his pain. A case in point is Alcibiades’s description of his own experience of self-



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  10 

 

splitting, which, unfortunately for him, ends in doubt and despair. Alcibiades tells us that 

Socrates’s words so upset him that he came to see his life as worthless and was ashamed both of 

his lack of self-care and his succumbing to his desires to please the crowd.30 But do we ever see 

Socrates pained by his lack or doubt? Could one say that split or division in Socrates, to put it 

provocatively, is between his word (speech)—the claim of Socratic ignorance—and his deeds—

how he actually conducts himself in his dialogical engagements with others?  

One of the chief claims of this essay is that Alcibiades is not the only conflicted human being 

in this dialogue, but that Socrates as well has his own incongruities, tensions, and shortcomings. 

Here we recall Diotima’s portrayal of Eros as a conflicted being, possessing traits from both 

parents. Like his mother, Penia, he is poor, tough, physically unattractive, and “always dwelling 

with neediness.” Like his father, Poros, he is “always weaving devices, desirous of practical 

wisdom and inventive, philosophizing through all his life, a skilled magician, druggist, sophist” 

(Symposium 203d–e).31 The in-between, ambiguous character of Eros exhibits clear associations 

with Socrates and openly includes the descriptor “sophist.” Is Plato inviting us to interrogate 

Socrates’s silenic ways? Again turning to Hadot, rather than a “harmonious figure combining 

divine and human characteristics in delicate nuances,” we find the character Socrates to be 

“ambiguous, troubling, and strangely disconcerting.”32 Our investigation has shown that Socrates 

has no qualms employing dissimulating, sophistic tactics in his interactions with others so long as 

he judges such strategies fitting, just, or for the ultimate good of his interlocutor.33 But what if 

Socrates’s misguided, extreme disdain for human things results in a skewed way of seeing the 

world and others, an inability to delight in the beauty of the particular for its own sake, not to 

mention his detached, emotionally cold way of relating to and with others that presumes to know, 

despite feigning ignorance, what is best for his dialogue partners? With these questions in mind, 

is it fair to say that Socrates’s dialogical interactions—at least to some degree—could be likened 

to performative noble lies, which, like Eros, combine incongruous elements that both attract and 

repel? Rather than raise doubts about the trustworthiness of Alcibiades’s portrayal of Socrates, 

Plato has taken pains to legitimate his claims, thus encouraging his readers to puzzle through 

them.34 For example, being inebriated, any restraint that Alcibiades might employ is no longer 

operative. Unlike the sycophantic Apollodorus of the opening dialogue, in the final dialogue, 

Alcibiades, though full of wine, offers both a cogent self-assessment of his own shortcomings and 

a persuasive critical evaluation of Socrates. Having once been a disciple(beloved)-in-training who 



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spent significant time with Socrates, Alcibiades has both the nearness and distance required to 

offer both praise and criticism of Socrates.35 Lastly, as previously mentioned, Socrates does not 

question or refute the veracity of Alcibiades’s exposé of Socrates’s behavior and way of life. Given 

his typical agonistic dialogical engagement when such challenges are issued, Socrates’s silence is 

telling.  

 

Socrates and Eros as Lack and Atopos 

Before closing our discussion of the Symposium and turning more directly to discuss my 

Gadamerian critique of Socrates, I want to highlight Alciabides’s description of Socrates as atopos. 

As we will see, there are many aspects and meanings associated with Socrates and placelessness. 

One meaning, which Hadot offers, is that Socrates does not fit any of the established and celebrated 

human types. That is, he is neither a noble, courageous warrior like Achilles, nor a clever statesman 

like Nestor.36 Socrates has no place within this schema; thus, he is a-topos and more like the not-

human or even the monstrous—the Sileni.37 To explore additional dimensions of Socrates as 

atopos, let us turn to Socrates’s conjured mouthpiece, Diotima.38 In Diotima’s retelling of the myth 

of Eros, we have a presentation of Eros that emphasizes both its lack or poverty (Penia) and its 

wealth (Poros)—that is, the wholeness, even if fleeting, it provides when one experiences it. Love 

as essential lack is always on the move, ever dissatisfied with its momentary or partial satisfaction. 

That one desires is both indicative of one’s poverty and the condition for the possibility of 

movement beyond the “place” of one’s present contentment in the hope of achieving greater 

wholeness, satisfaction, or fulfillment; however, the attainment of this temporary “wealth” leads 

one back to poverty. Thus, Diotima’s myth suggests that a constant return to poverty (Penia) from 

wealth (Poros) is inevitable. As many commentators observe—Hadot included—Eros and 

Socrates share several common features. Like Eros, Socrates is not beautiful—that is, he lacks 

physical beauty. However, does he possess “inner beauty”? If we focus on the structural similarity 

just mentioned—the ongoing dialectic of poverty and wealth—one does not get the impression 

that Socrates would describe this all-too-human condition as beautiful. In other words, poverty 

continually haunts Socrates even if it serves as the dialectical “engine,” moving him ever beyond 

his present place (topos) but never granting rest or repose. Both Eros and Socrates are, it seems, 

a-topos, lacking a place of rest; they are, in a word, homeless. And yet this not having, this lack, 

this being place-less is, ironically, potentially generative and burgeoning with possibilities. But 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  12 

 

again Eros, as Socrates’s mouthpiece Diotima states explicitly, is not beautiful, nor is Socrates. 

Just as Socrates portrays the neediness and painful reality of Eros against its, as we might say 

today, romanticized appearances, Alcibiades offers us a realistic picture of Socrates (or at least a 

fuller, more human portrayal of Socrates)—namely, one that includes his ugliness and failings as 

well as what makes him so appealing.  

Socrates has Diotima state that Eros inherits cleverness from his father Poros (Symposium 

203d). As mentioned earlier, I follow Nehamas’s and Woodruff’s claim that Diotima is Socrates’s 

mouthpiece who was created specifically for this dialogue. Here we have perhaps additional 

support for this view. Would it not be more accurate to say that Penia (Poverty) shows cleverness 

and ingenuity in her ensnaring of Poros? Poverty herself—apart from any co-mingling with 

Poros—is resourceful. This is not an endorsement of Penia’s actions, but rather it draws attention 

to the fact that the traits attributed to Penia and Poros are not as clear-cut as Socrates via Diotima 

claims. Moreover, if Diotima had her own voice and were a genuinely subversive figure in the all-

male dialogue, would she not highlight Penia’s cleverness, boldness, and ability to be resourceful 

(cf. Symposium 203d)?  

Eros instigates, as does Socrates; both are always on the way but never “there” since both are 

atopos. Both beckon and even seduce others to themselves and yet pull back, hide, or otherwise 

allude such that fulfillment and, as a result, wholeness can never be fully achieved. Socrates’s 

silenic ways, we might say with a nod to Hadot, consist in pointing beyond himself, signaling an 

opening of possibilities—as Hadot observes, the etymology of Poros is a “means of access or a 

‘way out.’”39 Socrates, as we have seen, uses sophistry and seduction and his, all-too-often, stilted 

and one-sided dialogues do not sit well with the reciprocity that Gadamer emphasizes as a 

requirement for genuine, transformative dialogue. Socrates’s coldness and statue-like response to 

his interlocutor’s emotional needs hinders dialogical effectiveness. This is especially the case with 

a dialogue partner like Alcibiades, who is not afraid to take Socrates to task. The potential for 

Socrates to be transformed, challenged, and shown his shortcomings is heightened with these types 

of dialogue partners. Yet Socrates’s engagement with Alcibiades in the Symposium falls short of 

what Gadamer outlines as genuine hermeneutical experience.  

 

 

 



13  Nielsen 

  

Socrates’s Use of Sophistry 

Perhaps an aspect of Socrates’s constant critique of the poets—especially in the Republic—is 

motivated by an unacknowledged similarity between the two. That is, like the poet, the philosopher 

employs linguistic creative ingenuity to communicate in imaginative and rhetorically compelling 

ways. But could we not make a similar claim about the sophist? That is, does the sophist not also 

play with language in creative, innovative ways to serve his or her end of persuading others? As 

Sarah Kofman observes, sophistic discourses are those which create a disorienting effect “by 

weaving together contradictory theses” which serve as traps for his interlocutors.40 The sophist, 

too, is characterized by metis, a cunning intelligence employed for self-serving ends. The Platonic 

dialogues, no doubt, criticize the sophist’s deceptive discourses and unethical practices. A Platonic 

critical characterization of the sophist might be summarized as follows: a sophist is one who uses 

cunning intelligence for the purpose of self-serving persuasion of others at the expense of truth 

and lacks concern for the good of others and the community. Yet Socrates engages in at least some 

of these sophistic strategies; however, so the caveat goes, he does so in an ironic and, therefore, 

ethically acceptable key. Should we let Socrates off the hook so easily? Socrates’s use of sophistry, 

even if he believes it a necessary yet unpleasant means to a good end, leaves the reader uneasy and 

at times disappointed and disheartened. For example, consider the figure of Diotima. In the 

Symposium, Socrates describes Diotima as speaking “in the manner of a perfect sophist” (208c2). 

This is itself a doubly ironic claim given that Diotima is a fictional character, whom Socrates is at 

pains to present as if she were a real, historical figure, and one who taught Socrates everything he 

knows about the art of love (Symposium 201d5). Diotima, however, is Socrates’s fictitious 

mouthpiece, employed for his own dialogical purposes. Consequently, any hope that a woman 

might truly have a voice in the dialogue, or that Socrates is here engaging in a countercultural, 

subversive move is shattered, since the character Diotima is simply Socrates himself speaking 

through the mask of Diotima. This act of ventriloquism does not negate tout court Diotima’s 

contributions to the dialogue. As Gadamer would quickly point out, the meanings of a text always 

exceed the author’s intentions. But it does call for a critical reading of Diotima’s conclusions, 

especially those that seem all too convenient for Socrates’s aims.  

It is worth asking: Do sophistic means (or tactics) justify the end (the betterment of his 

interlocutors)? Is this model of philosophical dialogical something in the neighborhood of a noble 

lie inflected through ironic stratagems? As the case of Alcibiades testifies, such tactics can also 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  14 

 

lead to a dizzying despair similar to that produced by genuinely sophistic discourses.41 My claim 

is not that Socrates is a straight up sophist (as defined above), but rather that he, too, is human, “on 

the way” and riddled with shortcomings, although his devotees too often respond to him as if he 

were divine. By including Alcibiades’s critique of Socrates in the Symposium, the text invites us 

to interrogate the philosopher’s life, to see whether his words and dialogical deeds cohere. In doing 

so, we find that Socrates is indeed, as Alcibiades claims, a complex, silenic figure, who 

simultaneously repels and attracts. In the opening dialogue, we find Socrates standing alone, 

motionless on a neighbor’s porch, unresponsive to the call of the other. What at first seems a rather 

odd, yet insignificant scene now burgeons with significance. Is Socrates the best dialogue partner? 

Does he, as Gadamer requires, listen to the other expecting that that other has something to teach 

him? In order to answer these questions, we must examine Gadamer’s analysis of different types 

of hermeneutical engagement and consider whether Socrates attains what Gadamer identifies as 

the highest type of hermeneutical engagement or experience or whether he falls short.  

 

A Gadamerian Refiguring and Critique of Socrates’s Atopos 

As we have seen, Socrates contends that Eros is not beautiful, since Eros is essentially lack and 

thus is always seeking to possess what it does not have. A Gadamerian refiguring of Socrates’s 

description, which in fact opens a new and fruitful site for dialogical encounter, claims that the 

movement of Eros seeks what it does not have, yet it does not aim to possess the other but rather 

to learn from the other. Here again the emphasis is on mutual and reciprocal engagement in which 

both dialogue partners put their views at risk and both open themselves to new ways of thinking 

and being. All too often Socrates’s stilted dialogical exchanges feel more like monologues, 

wherein Socrates baits his interlocutor having already decided that his position is deficient or that 

the interlocutor fits a specific type—e.g., the thumos-driven Statesman. If Socrates has already 

concluded what kind of “soul” his interlocutor possesses and what his interlocutor needs in order 

to stay the proper course, will he not ask skewed questions and expect, in advance, certain answers? 

If so, what we have is not a dialogue but something closer to a monologue. Perhaps a more accurate 

description of these types of interactions is to characterize them as asymmetrical dialogues such 

as one finds in conversations among parents and their children. Clearly, these types of dialogical 

engagements are not without value and can be extremely beneficial, rewarding, and even life-

changing depending upon the situation and the quality of the relationship. However, because of 



15  Nielsen 

  

the asymmetrical power and/or knowledge differential, these dialogical engagements fall short of 

what Gadamer considers to be the highest type of hermeneutical experience (Erfahrung). In Truth 

and Method Gadamer sketches three types of hermeneutical experience that have analogues in 

three types of I/Thou encounters. Importantly, in an I/Thou relationship, the “Thou is not an object” 

but rather “relates itself to us.”42 The problem with the first type of experience Gadamer describes 

is that it ultimately remains detached and uninvolved with its subject-matter, which is similar to 

an I/Thou relationship in which the Thou is approached as an object of study and is in the end 

instrumentalized. Gadamer’s example of this type of I/Thou interaction is when one “tries to 

discover typical behavior in one’s fellowmen and can make predictions about others on the basis 

of experience. We call this a knowledge of human nature. We understand the other person in the 

same way that we understand any other typical event in our experiential field—i.e., he is 

predictable. His behavior is as much a means to our end as any other means.”43 The corresponding 

hermeneutical experience is “naïve faith” and reliance upon certain methods (the elenchus for 

Socrates?) and procedure-following which results in treating the subject-matter as an object and 

comporting oneself toward it in a distant, detached, “uninvolved way.”44 In context, Gadamer has 

in view the methods employed in the social sciences. However, one can apply the insight to 

Socrates, since he is frequently considered an astute “reader” of personality types, who interacts 

with his dialogue partners in accord with his evaluation of whether they are ruled by appetite, 

spiritedness, or are budding philosophers. Again, approaching the other or the subject matter in 

this way has its place in certain circumstances or as a point of departure; yet, on Gadamer’s view 

it falls short of the highest sort of reciprocal dialogical engagement.  

What about the second I/Thou experience and its analogue in hermeneutical experience? Here 

we have a step up from the previous type in that the Thou is not treated as an object but is 

acknowledged as a person; however, a genuine concern for the other’s good is missing and the 

interactions are agonistic because mutual recognition has not been achieved to the degree that 

allows for hearing the other as other and the other of oneself. As Gadamer explains, “[t]o every 

claim there is a counterclaim. This is why it is possible for each of the partners in the relationship 

reflectively to outdo the other. One claims to know the other’s claim from his point of view and 

even to understand the other better than the other understands himself.”45 Gadamer goes on to say 

when one purports to know the other in this way “one robs his claims of their legitimacy. […] The 

claim to understand the other person in advance functions to keep the other person’s claim at a 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  16 

 

distance. We are familiar with this from the teacher-pupil relationship.”46 Does Socrates embody 

this type of I/Thou relationship with some, most, or even all of his dialogue partners? For example, 

in the Republic does he engage with Glaucon or Adeimantus expecting that they have something 

valuable and insightful to say? Or does he expect that their answers will be inadequate, having 

already classified them as certain character-types who are in need of his instruction?  

Finally, we arrive at what Gadamer identifies as the highest type of hermeneutical experience 

and its I/Thou analogue. Of the latter, Gadamer says the following:  

 

In human relations the important thing is, as we have seen, to experience the Thou 

truly as Thou—i.e., not to overlook his claim but to let him really say something to 

us. Here is where openness belongs. But ultimately this openness does not exist 

only for the person who speaks; rather, anyone who listens is fundamentally open. 

Without such openness to one another there is no genuine human bond. Belonging 

together always also means being able to listen to one another.47 

 

Gadamer adds that such openness does not mean that one slavishly capitulates to what the other 

says, nor when understanding takes place does it mean that we now, as we might put it today, “get” 

the other person, as this would be to deny the other’s alterity. Instead, “[o]penness to another 

includes therefore the recognition that I must accept something within myself that is against 

myself, even if there were no one else, who would raise it against me.”48 Putting these two passages 

together, we see that openness to the other is an acknowledgment that I belong to the other and the 

other belongs to me; however, hermeneutical openness does more than simply acknowledge this 

belongingness; it moves toward the other in an ongoing intentional act of anticipatory listening. 

Having also acknowledged my finitude and limitedness, I approach the other with the expectation 

that my own prejudgments may be wrong—i.e., that which is “within myself that is against 

myself”—and am willing to have, as difficult and even painful as it might be, my views corrected. 

Similarly, in the highest type of hermeneutical experience, one allows the other—whether a text, 

tradition, or work of art to “say something.”49 This type of experience, having on multiple 

occasions experienced its lack and limitations, is committed to staying open to the other’s claims 

to truth. In short, for Gadamer, “hermeneutical consciousness culminates not in methodological 

sureness of itself, but in the same readiness for experience that distinguishes the experienced man 



17  Nielsen 

  

from the man captivated by dogma.”50 It should be clear that the kind of experience (Erfahrung) 

that Gadamer has in mind is not reducible to one’s private, subjective, momentary experience 

(Erlebnis) of this or that; rather, experience is something accumulated over time through various 

practices and engagements with others. One who is experienced (erfahren) is, for Gadamer, one 

who has through various experiences (Erlebnisse) been made aware of her “finitude and 

limitedness.”51 One could argue that Socrates is, indeed, aware of his finitude and limitedness, but 

one does not get the impression that he has accepted it, much less embraced it. Alcibiades’s 

criticisms of Socrates, as I have tried to argue, bring this lack of acceptance into sharp relief.  

In a section of Truth and Method entitled “The Model of Platonic Dialogue,” Gadamer 

highlights Socrates’s claim to know that he does not know. As Gadamer explains, this statement 

sums up “the famous Socratic docta ignoranta,” which “opens up the way to the true superiority 

of questions.”52 However, a question that I want to pose to both Gadamer and Plato’s Socrates is 

whether simply knowing that one does not know is enough. Or is it rather, appealing to Gadamer 

against Gadamer, that one must approach the subject-matter or the other (if one is engaging with 

a human dialogue partner) not only knowing that one does not know or that one’s knowledge is 

only partial but also and perhaps most importantly deciding to listen to and really hear the other as 

other and believing—making a leap of faith—that the other might have something to teach me. As 

Gadamer would be the first to point out, such hermeneutical openness and anticipatory listening 

does not mean that we must first rid ourselves of our biases and pre-judgments, many of which we 

are not even aware. Rather, it means that when unfounded and distorting biases and pre-judgments 

surface in and through our dialogical engagements with others, we follow the truth of the subject-

matter at hand, allowing it to lead us, to expand and, when appropriate, to correct our views.  

In his discussion of the logical structure of openness vis-à-vis the Platonic dialogues, Gadamer 

stresses the priority of the question—namely, how difficult it is to ask good questions, questions 

that disclose and bring the subject-matter into the open. Regarding Plato, Gadamer states that he 

offers us “a profound recognition of the priority of the question in all knowledge and discourse 

that really reveals something of an object. Discourse that is intended to reveal something requires 

that thing to be broken open by the question.”53 The type of dialectic that makes possible genuine 

and potentially transformative dialogue is one saturated with questions that bring the subject-

matter “into the open. The openness that is in question consists in the fact that the answer is not 

settled.”54 A question that is properly posed both grants this openness but at the same time also 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  18 

 

provides a limiting horizon. Such horizons permit one’s prejudgments about a specific subject-

matter to surface so that they can be recognized and tested. Thus, a rightly posed question both 

breaks open the subject-matter and simultaneously properly limits the horizon of the discussion 

thus allowing interlocutors’ prejudices to be put in play and challenged. Given Socrates’s often 

skewed questions and his failure to achieve what Gadamer outlines as both the highest 

hermeneutical experience and the highest I/Thou engagement, Socrates—and especially so in his 

interaction with Alcibiades in the Symposium—does not approach the other in openness or in a 

mode of anticipatory listening. 

 

Concluding Remarks 

Having peeled back Socrates’s masks, I conclude that Plato’s Socrates is on many occasions not 

the ideal dialogue partner. Even so, the reading that I have offered intimates that Plato himself 

recognized the possibility of philosophical Eros going awry—that is, a longing for escape from 

this world that fails to appreciate and be attuned to the beauty, profundity, and fragility of human 

relationships and emotional connections. If this the case, then Plato is willing to risk and to expose 

the dangers or pitfalls of a certain kind of philosophical life. Along these lines, I have argued that 

in the Symposium Plato does not allow Socrates, as it were, the “last word” as the series of speeches 

do not end after Diotima’s (i.e., Socrates’s speech).55 Such risk and openness to subject the 

philosopher’s life and way of being-in-the-world with others to the test resonate with the 

hermeneutical virtues that Gadamer extols and open up the possibility of genuine hermeneutical 

experience. If so, it seems that Plato, in refraining from offering a “last word” and opening up a 

space for the ongoing critique of philosophical practices and the philosophical life, is a better 

dialogue partner than Plato’s Socrates. 

 

 

Notes 

1. See, for example, Nightingale, Genres in Dialogue, esp. chapter 3. According to 

Nightingale, “[s]ince Alcibiades’s character distorts his perceptions, we must be especially 

wary when he claims to reveal the ‘inner’ Socrates” (123). See also Nichols, “Philosophy 

and Empire: On Socrates and Alcibiades in Plato's Symposium.” 



19  Nielsen 

  

2. See, for example, Metcalf, “The Trial of Socrates in Plato’s Symposium.” See also Rosen, 

Plato’s Symposium, esp. chapter 8. Although Metcalf’s and Rosen’s analyses of 

Alcibiades’s speech share important overlaps, Rosen’s commentary on Alcibiades paints 

the latter in a more negative light. Contra Rosen, this essay argues that Alcibiades has at 

least tasted the fruit of a contemplative life, which makes his fall even more tragic. 

3. See Halperin, “Plato and the Erotics of Narrativity,” for a fascinating study of 

Apollodorus’s dramatic role in the Symposium. 

4. It is worth noting that although Gadamer wrote extensively on Plato, to my knowledge he 

does not offer an extended study of Plato’s Symposium. Rather, one encounters passing 

references to specific passages of the Symposium such as his mention of Aristophanes’s 

myth in his essay “The Relevance of the Beautiful” (see, for example, 31–32). 

5. Hadot, “The Figure of Socrates,” in Philosophy as a Way of Life 148. 

6. See, for example, Plato, Symposium 65 n.101 (Nehamas and Woodruff trans.) Nehamas 

and Woodruff note that satyrs possessed inordinate sexual appetites. As Rosen observes, 

Alcibiades need not focus on every characteristic of satyrs to communicate his point. 

Alcibiades makes clear that the analogous features of Socrates and satyrs (and Sileni) that 

he will discuss are the following: (1) the opposition between their exterior qualities or 

behaviors and what is concealed within, and (2) their ability to enchant and “conquer.” See 

also Rosen, Plato’s Symposium 296.  

7. Plato, Symposium 215d1. 

8. Rosen contends that Alcibiades, not Socrates, “is another instance of the hybristic circle-

men, who imitate completeness by a harmony of opposites” (Plato’s Symposium 280). My 

claim is that both Socrates and Alcibiades are hubristic and exhibit tensions within 

themselves that manifest in their actions.  

9. In fact, both Agathon (at Symposium 175e7) and Alcibiades (at 215b10) explicitly call 

Socrates hybristês.  

10. Rosen, Plato’s Symposium 281. 

11. Rosen, Plato’s Symposium 282. 

12. Rosen, for example, distinguishes between a purely human madness and a divine madness. 

On his view, the former characterizes Alcibiades, the latter Socrates. See Plato’s 

Symposium chapter 8. 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  20 

 

13. For similar remarks concerning Socrates’s insensitivity and contempt for bodily desires 

and the human condition, see Bruns, Hermeneutics Ancient and Modern 44.  

14. Plato, Symposium 216d3–4; see also Rosen, Plato’s Symposium chapter 8. Rosen highlights 

Alcibiades’s critique of Socrates’s feigned ignorance and (human) eros: “Socrates is 

neither the one nor the other (216d2–5). His temperance is a scorn for human things and 

so for ‘us’ mortals as well (216d7–e4)” (Plato’s Symposium 301). See also Nussbaum’s 

comments on the “stone of Socratic virtue” (The Fragility of Goodness 195). 

15. Nussbaum, The Fragility of Goodness 195. 

16. Rosen, for example, cites favorably Plutarch’s claim that “Alcibiades’s lovers appealed to 

his love of glory and reputation rather than to his sensuality” (Plato’s Symposium 280). 

17. It was precisely here that Agathon called Socrates hybristês. See Symposium 175e8. 

18. Plato, Alcibiades I 105b7–c4, 559 (Complete Works, ed. Cooper). 

19. Plato, Symposium 216b3–6. 

20. Ibid., 216b7–9. 

21. As Martha Nussbaum observes, “[e]nergy and intellectual power had made him 

[Alcibiades] one of the best commanders and strategists Athens had known, one of the 

most skillful orators ever to enchant her people” (The Fragility of Goodness 165). 

22. See, for example, 214e8–9–215a1–3: “for as far as my will goes, I shall not lie. Now if in 

reminiscing [anamimneskomenos] I speak of one thing and then another, don’t be 

surprised; for it is not at all easy for me in the condition I am in to enumerate fluently and 

consecutively your strangeness [atopia] (Benardete trans., 45) and 215a5–7. See also, 

Corrigan and Glazov-Corrigan 170–71. 

23. Whether this is the case or not, Aristotle’s development of the categories of continence and 

incontinence indicate that a more nuanced view is needed. 

24. See, for example, Symposium 216a1–216c5. 

25. This insight was suggested by an anonymous reviewer.  

26. See also Rosen, who says rather provocatively that given the doubt that Socrates’s 

engagements with Alcibiades produced, one can consider Socrates “with some justice as 

the corrupter of Alcibiades. The initial enchantment of contact with Socrates produces 

confusion and self-doubt, but not virtue” (Plato’s Symposium 290).  

27. Hadot, “The Figure of Socrates,” in Philosophy as a Way of Life 153; emphasis added. 



21  Nielsen 

  

28. Ibid.,154. 

29. Ibid. 

30. See, for example, Symposium 216a–c. On Alcibiades’s shame and the impact of Socrates’s 

logoi, see also, Metcalf, “The Trial of Socrates in Plato’s Symposium.” That Alcibiades 

still experiences shame in Socrates’s presence—a presence that stands for the “bite of 

philosophy”—suggests that he understands (rather than lacks understanding or knowledge 

of) his character flaws.  

31. Benardete trans., 33–34. In a subsequent section, I claim that Socrates’s/Diotima’s 

description of the traits of Penia and Poros is not as clear-cut as he/she suggests. 

32. Hadot, “The Figure of Socrates,” in Philosophy as a Way of Life 147–48.  

33. See also Kofman, “Beyond Aporia?” Kofman highlights the genealogical connections 

between the philosopher and metis and contends that the philosopher’s metis “is at least as 

cunning as that of the sophist” (11).  

34. See also, Metcalf, “The Trial of Socrates in Plato’s Symposium.” 

35. See also Rosen, who makes a similar point. “Alcibiades is our best witness concerning the 

nature of Socrates, better than Apollodorus and Aristodemus, whose discipleship makes 

them suspect as accurate observers of the elusive ironist” (Plato’s Symposium 290). 

36. Hadot, “The Figure of Socrates,” in Philosophy as a Way of Life 158.  

37. Ibid. 

38. As Nehamas and Woodruff observe in n.77, Diotima’s reference to [Aristophanes’s] 

speech [at 206e5] makes it hard to believe that Socrates is reporting a conversation he 

actually had with a woman named Diotima and lends credence to the hypothesis that 

Diotima is a character Socrates dreamed up for this occasion” (Symposium 52.) 

39. Hadot, “The Figure of Socrates,” in Philosophy as a Way of Life 162. 

40. Kofman, “Beyond Aporia?”15.  

41. However, on my account, it is also the case that Alcibiades grasped the truth and 

implications of Socrates’s claims regarding the former’s life and nonetheless chose 

otherwise.  

42. Gadamer, Truth and Method 358. 

43. Ibid. 

44. See ibid., 358–59. 



Alcibiades on Socrates’s Silenic Ways  22 

 

45. Ibid., 359. 

46. Ibid., 360. 

47. Ibid. 

48. My translation. The German reads: “Offenheit für den anderen schließt also die 

Anerkennung ein, daß ich in mir etwas gegen mich gelten lassen muß, auch wenn es keinen 

anderen gäbe, der es gegen mich geltend machte” (Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode 367). 

49. Gadamer, Truth and Method 361. 

50. Ibid., 362. 

51. Ibid. 

52. Ibid. 

53. Ibid., 363. 

54. Ibid. 

55. Granted, the dialogue ends with a scene in which Socrates flirts with Agathon for the 

seemingly sole purpose of annoying Alcibiades, who from this point on is absent from the 

festivities. Most of the guests have either passed out or have excused themselves and gone 

home. The three remaining central figures are Socrates, Agathon, and Aristophanes. Once 

again Dionysian revelry is in full swing and our poets and philosopher take turns imbibing 

from a large cup filled with wine. Again, Socrates drinks excessively, out-drinking both 

Agathon and Aristophanes, and yet does not become drunk. Moreover, we are told that 

Socrates was “trying to prove to them that authors should be able to write both comedy and 

tragedy” and that “[h]e was just about to clinch the argument,” but his drunken interlocutors 

were not able to follow his reasoning and eventually fell asleep, Aristophanes nodding off 

first and then Agathon (Symposium 223d). What is the significance of Socrates’s walking 

away with only his sycophantic disciple Aristodemus following him and then resuming his 

daily activities as if overdrinking and lack of sleep do not faze him? Given what I have 

argued, whatever it means it does not give Socrates the “last word” but rather reemphasizes 

his otherwordliness, his disparagement of the body, and his inability or refusal to enter into 

a dialogue with Alcibiades, which comes across as even more callous given Alcibiades’s 

feelings for Socrates.  

 

 



23  Nielsen 

  

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