Plato’s Dialogues Of Definition: Causal

And Conceptual Investigations 1st

Edition Justin C. Clark
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/platos-dialogues-of-definition-causal-and-conceptual-i
nvestigations-1st-edition-justin-c-clark/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Reconsidering Causal Powers: Historical and Conceptual

Perspectives Benjamin Hill

https://ebookmass.com/product/reconsidering-causal-powers-
historical-and-conceptual-perspectives-benjamin-hill/

Definition and Dispute: A Defense of Temporal

Externalism 1st Edition Derek Ball

https://ebookmass.com/product/definition-and-dispute-a-defense-
of-temporal-externalism-1st-edition-derek-ball/

Evolution and Development: Conceptual Issues Alan C.

Love

https://ebookmass.com/product/evolution-and-development-
conceptual-issues-alan-c-love/

Wireless Mobility in Organizations: Utilizing Social,

Individual, and Organizational Intelligence 1st Edition
Stephen C. Clark

https://ebookmass.com/product/wireless-mobility-in-organizations-
utilizing-social-individual-and-organizational-intelligence-1st-
edition-stephen-c-clark/
Social Theory and Asian Dialogues 1st ed. Edition
Ananta Kumar Giri

https://ebookmass.com/product/social-theory-and-asian-
dialogues-1st-ed-edition-ananta-kumar-giri/

Articulations of Nature and Politics in Plato and Hegel

1st ed. Edition Vicky Roupa

https://ebookmass.com/product/articulations-of-nature-and-
politics-in-plato-and-hegel-1st-ed-edition-vicky-roupa/

Plato of Athens: A Life in Philosophy 1st Edition Robin

Waterfield

https://ebookmass.com/product/plato-of-athens-a-life-in-
philosophy-1st-edition-robin-waterfield/

Thomas Paine: Britain, America, and France in the Age

of Enlightenment and Revolution J. C. D. Clark

https://ebookmass.com/product/thomas-paine-britain-america-and-
france-in-the-age-of-enlightenment-and-revolution-j-c-d-clark/

Advancing Multicultural Dialogues in Education 1st

Edition Richard Race (Eds.)

https://ebookmass.com/product/advancing-multicultural-dialogues-
in-education-1st-edition-richard-race-eds/
Plato’s Dialogues of
Definition
Causal and Conceptual
Investigations
j us t i n c . c l a r k
Plato’s Dialogues of Definition
 Justin C. Clark

Plato’s Dialogues
of Definition
Causal and Conceptual Investigations
Justin C. Clark
Department of Philosophy
Hamilton College
Clinton, NY, USA

ISBN 978-3-031-07848-4    ISBN 978-3-031-07849-1 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-07849-1

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2022
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now
known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the
publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect
to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made.
The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and
institutional affiliations.

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG.
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
 Acknowledgements

This book was written in many places, as I moved around to various aca-
demic positions. I have been fortunate with friends and colleagues in phi-
losophy along the way. I want to thank the Philosophy Department at the
University of California, Santa Barbara. I am grateful to my mentor Voula
Tsouna, for her willingness to comment on so many drafts and chapters,
for her dedicated instruction, and her genuine love of ancient philosophy.
I am grateful to Tom Holden, another generous mentor, and a steady
source of professional encouragement. A significant portion of this book
was written at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, where I
encountered many gifted interlocutors. Many thanks to Kirk Sanders,
friend and mentor, for several conversations about Plato, and useful feed-
back on material from Euthyphro, Gorgias, and Republic, all of which
helped galvanize the project in its early stages, to Dan Korman for his
guidance and enthusiasm throughout the process, to Shelley Weinberg
and Helga Varden for their friendship and professional support. I am
grateful to my colleagues at Utah State University, especially Charlie
Huenemann and Jason Gilmore for providing feedback on early drafts of
certain chapters. I received help from three additional philosophers at cru-
cial stages in the process. Special thanks to Matt Griffin for helping me
through the weeds of Chaps. 2 and 3, to Daniel Graham for his acute
feedback on material from Chaps. 2 and 4, and for his workshops in
ancient philosophy, which proved an enormous help during my time in
Utah. Similar gratitude is owed to Nicholas D. Smith, an ongoing source
of inspiration as a Socratic scholar, and a profound professional help along
the way. His West Coast Plato Workshop (2020) on the Lysis was

v
vi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

instrumental to the construction of Chap. 7, and his many kind sugges-

tions were an invaluable part of the process.
This project was completed at Hamilton College. I am grateful to
Hamilton for giving me time off to complete the manuscript, to my dear
colleagues in the philosophy department for their continued support, and
to my students. Four chapters are revisions of previously published mate-
rial. I want to thank the following journals for permission to re-use.

Chapter 2: ‘Socratic Inquiry and the ‘What is F?’ Question’ European

Journal of Philosophy, 26 (4),1324–1342 (2019)
Chapter 3: ‘Socrates, the Primary Question, and the Unity of Virtue’
Canadian Journal of Philosophy 45(4), 445–470 (2015)
Chapter 4: “Socrates, the ‘What is F-ness?’ Question, and the Priority of
Definition” Archive Für Geschichte der Philosophie (2021)
Chapter 6: “Knowledge and Temperance in Plato’s Charmides” Pacific
Philosophical Quarterly, 19 (4), 763–789, (2018)

Many years ago, three teachers at the University of Iowa sparked a love
of philosophy, and inspired a fascination with the dialogues of Plato. I am
eternally grateful to Jay Holstein, Professor and J.J. Mallon Teaching
Chair in Judaic Studies, Thomas Williams, Professor of Philosophy and
Catholic Studies, and James Duerlinger, Professor of Philosophy. Last but
not least, this book would not have been possible without the greatest
support of all, the support I receive every day from my wife Rachael, and
my daughter, Nora.
 Contents

1 Introduction  1

2 The Dual-Function Thesis 15

3 Socratic Inquiry and the Unity of the Virtues 51

4 Socratic Epistemology and the Priority of Definition 81

5 Socratic Inquiry and the Aporetic Endings 99

6 Knowledge and Temperance in Plato’s Charmides115

7 L ysis and the Question of Friendship147

8 The Authorship of the Hippias Major173

Bibliography191

Index199

vii
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

If we want to understand Socrates, his unique philosophy, and the remark-

able way of life that landed him in so much trouble that he was eventually
sentenced to death and executed by the Athenian government in 399
BCE, then we must endeavor to understand what Socrates was looking for.
That’s the overarching aim of this book.

1.1   Socrates’ Central Question

This book seeks to advance a new interpretation of the early dialogues of
Plato, focusing primarily on the so-called dialogues of definition. These
works provide insight into Socrates’ unparalleled activity as one of most
influential philosophers in history. The interpretation I advance in the
following pages has developed gradually, over the span of a decade. It
concerns one of the most debated aspects of Socratic philosophy, having
been constructed around the following question: What, precisely, is
Socrates is looking for when he asks his interlocutor to tell him what
something is?
In many early dialogues, Socrates introduces a question of the form
‘What is F?’ He wants to discover what something is, where the specific
thing under investigation is always some important virtue term, or the
name of some ethical value. Socrates is famous for asking such questions:
‘What is courage?’ ‘What is justice?’ ‘What is piety?’ In each case, some

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

Switzerland AG 2022
J. C. Clark, Plato’s Dialogues of Definition,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-07849-1_1
2 J. C. CLARK

specific instance of the ‘What is F?’ question jumpstarts an investigation

typically described, however unhelpfully, as a search for definition. The
‘What is F?’ question sits at the core of these dialogues, simple in its pre-
sentation, yet confounding to scholars. As soon as we isolate the question
for examination across dialogues, an unexpected complexity emerges.
Scholars disagree—by a wide margin—about what, precisely, Socrates is
looking for. It has been proposed, for instance, that Socrates is pursuing
the meaning of F-ness as a linguistic expression, or as a concept (Vlastos
1976; Forster 2006); that he is pursuing a full-blown ethical theory, or
something akin to a first principle of morality (Kraut 1984); that he is
pursuing a psychological account, or an explanation of F-ness as a disposi-
tion in the soul (Penner 1973); or that he is pursuing a metaphysical prop-
erty, perhaps an abstract Form (Allen 1970). I am writing this book,
because the complexity of the ‘What is F?’ question has not yet been fully
sorted out. As long as we are working with an incomplete view of Socrates’
question, and his criteria for a successful answer, our ability to understand
the early dialogues and to interpret what Socrates is doing there, will
remain inadequate. A comprehensive interpretation is therefore needed.
These dialogues are written with an uncanny literary artistry, and infused
with unique pedagogical force. When studied diligently, they can help us
better understand ourselves, and better pursue the good. I believe they are
capable of impacting our character and our lives for the better.
My project has two specific aims. First, I want to offer a new account of
the type of answer Socrates wants in response to the ‘What is F?’ question.
And second, I want to motivate the interpretation that follows from this
account, explaining how it manages to solve interpretive issues in the lit-
erature, how it manages to explain the negative endings of each dialogue,
and how it manages to unearth the positive philosophy of Socrates. Let me
begin by situating the ‘What is F?’ question within the context of the early
dialogues. I will then explain my central thesis, and provide a roadmap for
the chapters that lie ahead.

1.2  The Early Dialogues

In addressing the early dialogues of Plato, I am addressing a family
of shorter ethical dialogues: Apology, Charmides, Crito, Euthydemus,
Euthyphro, Gorgias, Hippias Major, Hippias Minor, Ion, Laches, Lysis,
Meno, Protagoras and Republic I. These dialogues are generally agreed
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

to have been written early in Plato’s career.1 The precise chronology is

debatable, of course. It is also debatable whether Republic I was composed
prior to and somewhat independently of Republic II-X, and whether the
Hippias Major is genuine or spurious. I will address these questions along
the way. But my main justification for treating these works as a ‘family’,
and for interpreting them in light of one another, is more thematic than
chronological. These works exhibit stylistic and structural affinities; they
are bound together by several important themes and principles; and they
are our primary source for understanding the teachings of Socrates. With
regard to the latter, we might wonder whether Plato’s portrait of Socrates
in these dialogues provides an accurate representation of the historical per-
son. We will never know for certain, but we do have it on the authority of
Aristotle that the historical Socrates raised questions of the form ‘What is
F?’ and that he concerned himself with definitions in the domain of ethical
matters. As Aristotle puts it:2

Socrates inquired what is justice and what is courage and what is each of vir-
tue’s parts. And it is understandable that he should have done so. For he
thought the virtues were all forms of knowledge… Eud. Ethics 1216b2-9
Socrates, however, was occupying himself with the moral virtues, having
been the first to search for universal definitions of them… Metaphysics
1078b16-19

I can think of no special reason to doubt Aristotle’s testimony on this

score. Xenophon’s report of Socrates tells the same story.3 For the record,
I tend to consider Plato’s representation of the historical Socrates reason-
ably accurate. But this is not something I wish to establish at present. In
what follows, therefore, I use ‘Socrates’ to refer to the literary character in

1
Scholars are not unanimous as to which dialogues belong on the list, but there is a wide-
spread agreement about the majority of works that belong. For more on this, see Nails
(1995: 58–52).
2
All translations of Aristotle are from Johnathan Barnes (1984).
3
See Mem. 1.1.16: ‘The problems Socrates discussed were, What is godly, what is ungodly;
What is beautiful, what is ugly; What is just, what is unjust; What is prudent, what is madness;
What is courage, what is cowardice; What is a state, what is a statesman; What is government;
and what is a governor;—these and others like them, of which knowledge made a ‘gentle-
man’, in his estimation, while ignorance should involve the reproach of ‘slavishness”.
(Marchant trans.)
4 J. C. CLARK

the early dialogues of Plato, reserving ‘the historical Socrates’ for those
occasions in which I intend to discuss the historical figure.4
The Apology occupies a unique role in my study. As a representation of
the speech purportedly given by the historical Socrates during his trial, the
Apology offers the closest approximation to the historical Socrates. More
importantly for our purposes, however, the Apology contains a clear state-
ment from Socrates concerning the nature of his activity. Socrates describes
his philosophical mission like this: ‘I was always concerned with each of
you, approaching you like a father or an elder brother to persuade you to
care for virtue’ (31b).5 ‘Virtue’ here refers collectively to the various excel-
lences in human character. Five canonical virtues are examined in the early
dialogues—piety, courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom. Socrates also
describes the ‘care for virtue’ as a concern for ‘the very best state of one’s
soul’, as he urges his fellow Athenians to prioritize virtue above the more
common concerns of personal wealth, status, and reputation (30b). This
was Socrates’ chief admonition to everyone he encountered, that they
should care for their souls above all other things. The soul (psyche ̄) is that
by which we live. And, for Socrates, properly caring for the soul requires a
certain kind of knowledge (episte ̄me ̄). Virtue lies in the possession of this
knowledge, which enables the virtuous person to live well (eu prattein)
both in relation to herself and in relation to others. In fact, this is one
major theme unifying our family of dialogues. In the early dialogues of
Plato, Socrates is concerned primarily with questions related to virtue and
happiness.
Five dialogues are constructed around instances of the ‘What is F?’
question, where the value supplied by F is a virtue. The Euthyphro is con-
structed around the question ‘What is piety?’ It depicts Socrates on his

4
I am operating under what Brickhouse and Smith (2010: 13–17) call the ‘Philosophical
Identity Principle’, that Socrates is ‘the same character, with essentially the same philosophi-
cal views, in each of a certain group of dialogues by Plato’. This principle is weaker than the
‘General Historical Identity Thesis’, that Socrates is depicted by Plato in a way that allows us
to form a generally reliable picture (though ‘not absolutely accurate in every detail’) of who
the historical Socrates was, and how he conducted his philosophical activity. I also accept this
stronger thesis, but will not provide a defense here; nothing I argue will depend upon it
being true. For a useful explanation, see Brickhouse and Smith (2010: 11–42), with whom I
am in general agreement. My approach is inspired by Vlastos (1991) as well. The burden of
proof, I believe, lies with those who would reject the General Historical Identity Thesis; not
with those who accept it.
5
All translations of Plato’s texts are my own, adapted from Cooper (1997), unless ascribed
otherwise.
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

way to the courthouse for his indictment, where he falls into conversation
with a priest, a self-proclaimed expert concerning the gods. Similarly, in
the Laches, Socrates investigates courage with two proven war generals.
In the Charmides, he investigates temperance with a promising youth
recognized for temperate behavior. In the Meno, he investigates virtue
with a student of rhetoric who claims to have ‘given many fine speeches
to large audiences’ concerning virtue (80b). In the Republic, he investi-
gates justice with a rhetorician and moral skeptic. These are the dialogues
of definition. There are two additional dialogues that appear to be struc-
tured around a ‘What is F?’ question. The Lysis investigates the nature of
friendship, while the Hippias Major explores the nature of the beautiful
or the fine (kalon). In total, then, seven early dialogues are recognized as
definitional.

Dialogue    ‘What is F?’ Question

Euthyphro    What is piety (eusebeia)?      5 c5-d7

Laches      What is courage (andreia)?     190 d7-e2
Charmides     What is temperance (sōphrosune ̄)?   159 a6-8
̄
Meno      What is virtue (arete)?       72 c6-d1
̄
Republic I     What is justice (dikaiosune)?     331b6-c1
Lysis        What is friendship (philia)?     223 b4-10
Hippias Major   What is the beautiful (kalon)?    286 c-d

In the process of investigating these values, the dialogues of definition also

raise questions about the relation among virtues. The question of how the
virtues are related is taken up more directly in the Protagoras, where
Socrates introduces the thesis of the ‘unity of the virtues’. But this is just
one point of contact between the Protagoras and the dialogues on our list.
The investigation of the Protagoras begins from another question also
featured prominently in the dialogues of definition. This is the question of
how the virtues can be acquired. I call this the acquisition question.
These shared themes are enough to solidify Protagoras as yet another dia-
logue central to my project. I will occasionally bolster my argument with
support from other early works, but my project will focus mainly on
Apology, Euthyphro, Laches, Charmides, Meno, Republic I, Lysis, Hippias
Major, and Protagoras.
6 J. C. CLARK

1.3  The Elenchus
The early dialogues are artistic, dramatic, ironic, playful, and historical.
But most of all, they are philosophical. They showcase Socrates as their
central character, portrayed throughout as philosopher and moral educa-
tor. In each case, Socrates is placed in conversation with a non-­philosopher.
Dramatic details are woven into the fabric of the dialogue around the
conversation, serving to enhance the artistry and enrich the philosophical
content. The dialogue form serves many purposes for Plato. It serves,
among other things, as a suitable platform for displaying the method of his
teacher. The ‘What is F?’ question is the starting point for this controver-
sial philosophical method, commonly referred to as the Socratic elenchus.6
The rules of the elenchus are as follows. There is one designated ques-
tioner, one designated answerer. Socrates shows a willingness to answer,
but typically occupies the role of questioner. After a brief prologue, the
‘What is F?’ question is raised by Socrates, thus launching an investigation
into a topic the interlocutor is supposed to have knowledge about.
Sometimes the interlocutor is a sophist, or a self-proclaimed expert on
matters related to F-ness;7 other times, the interlocutor is merely suspected
of having such knowledge. In either case, Socrates expects the interlocutor
to answer honestly, to say what they actually believe.8 To begin, the inter-
locutor proposes a definition, claiming that ‘F-ness is X’. Sometimes,
Socrates will seek to clarify the definition, in order to undermine the defi-
nition with a counterexample. Other times, Socrates will proceed to secure
agreement to additional claims related to F-ness. When enough of these
6
This is the Latinization of the Greek elenchos, which means ‘refutation’, or sometimes
‘examination’. Socrates admits that he is ‘refuting’ his interlocutor (Charmides 166c-d). But
Socrates rarely describes his own activity in this way. He often describes himself as inquiring,
searching, or investigating (skopō, diaskopō, zte ̄tō, erōtō, sketomai, etc.).
7
In the fifth century BCE, sophistry emerged as a new profession. Sophists were profes-
sional teachers who toured the Greek world offering instruction in return for a fee— instruc-
tion on a wide range of subjects, with particular emphasis on rhetoric, and various techniques
in adversary debate (eristic). They claimed to impart to their students a skill in public speak-
ing and the successful conduct of life. The upper class’s reception of sophistry is character-
ized, by Plato at least, as a symptom of a more general moral lethargy, a pervasive
anti-philosophical set of values. The members of the upper class employ sophists above all for
rhetorical training in order to win the approval of the people. Insofar as they seek political
power through public approval, however, they often ignore the proper role of leadership and
education.
8
See Euthyphro 9d7-8; Crito 49c11-d1; Protagoras 331c4-d1; Republic I 349a4-8; Gorgias
458a1-b1, 495a5-9, 499b-c, 500b5-c1.
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

claims have been secured, Socrates demonstrates that the interlocutor’s

beliefs are inconsistent with the definition they proposed (that F-ness is
X). In this way, the interlocutor is forced to recognize a contradiction in
their belief-set concerning F-ness. Socrates therefore invites them to try
again, by providing another definition. Thus, another round of the elen-
chus begins. Unless, of course, the interlocutor decides they’ve had
enough, which is precisely how each of the dialogues of definition end.
The dialogues of definition share the same basic pattern: Socrates asks
someone to teach him about F-ness by providing an answer to the ‘What
is F?’ question; several definitions are proposed and rejected; the inter-
locutor decides they’ve had enough, and the dialogue ends in a failed search.
The key statements in Socrates’ demonstration often have no authority
apart from the interlocutor’s own endorsement; and Socrates shows no
hesitation in taking aim at the core beliefs of the interlocutor—beliefs that
inform the interlocutor’s way of life. Thus, the procedure concludes with
some uneasiness of the part of the interlocutor, who appears unable to
support their account of what F-ness is; and unable to justify their entire
way of living (Laches 187e-188a).9 The method can appear unfriendly.
Gregory Vlastos writes:

You say A, and [Socrates] shows you that A implies B, and B implies C, and
then he asks ‘But didn’t you say D before? And doesn’t C contradict D?’
And there he leaves you with your shipwrecked argument, without so much
as telling you what part of it, if any, can be salvaged. His tactics seem
unfriendly from the start. Instead of trying to pilot you around the rocks, he
picks one under water a long way ahead where you will never suspect it and
then makes sure you get all the wind you need to run full-sail into it and
smash your keel upon it.10

Of course, the elenchus is meant to reduce an interlocutor to aporia—an

uncomfortable state of intellectual puzzlement. Aporia is experienced
upon realizing that you do not at all understand something you previously
thought you knew well. This can be a painful realization. And yet, Socrates
takes the aporetic result to be beneficial, somewhat like a medical proce-
dure. The elenchus can improve the soul of an interlocutor by bringing
them closer to a ‘distinctly human kind of wisdom’—a knowledge of what
one knows and what one does not know. In other words, the elenchus can
9
See Brickhouse and Smith (1994: 12–14).
10
Vlastos (1995: 9).
8 J. C. CLARK

correct for a harmful tendency in human nature, the tendency of mistak-

enly thinking that one knows things one does not know (Apology 21b-23b).
In addition, the elenchus can prepare an interlocutor for further philoso-
phizing. When properly carried out, it makes an interlocutor feel the
weight of their own ignorance, and causes them to realize their need for
moral knowledge. Whether the method is purely negative, however, or
whether these investigations afford Socrates with positive beliefs of his
own, is subject to debate.

1.4  The Central Thesis

As a result of their aporetic endings, the dialogues of definition are some-
times considered empty of any positive doctrine.11 George Grote gives
expression to the negative reading:

Interpreters sift with microscopic accuracy the negative dialogues of Plato,

in hopes of detecting the ultimate elements of that positive solution which
he is supposed to have lodged therein, and which, when found, may be put
together so as to clear up all the antecedent difficulties…I cannot take this
view of either Socrates or of Plato.12

In the following pages, I take up the view Grote says he cannot take.
Despite their negative endings, I believe the early dialogues contain posi-
tive answers. In order to detect the positive theory of virtue lying below
the surface of these texts, I believe we must recognize something subtle
about the ‘What is F?’ question. We must recognize what I call its ‘dual
function’. This is the central thesis of my project. The ‘What is F?’ ques-
tion serves as a springboard for two distinct types of investigation into
F-ness. In defending the dual-function thesis, I am opposing a main-
stream assumption about the ‘What is F?’ question.
Scholars typically assume that Socrates is looking for a single type of
answer across dialogues. Let’s call this the standard interpretation. The
standard interpretation assumes that Socrates is asking the ‘What is F?’
question univocally across dialogues; in each dialogue where the ‘What is
F?’ question is raised, Socrates is requesting the same type of answer.
There is significant disagreement, of course, as to what type of answer

11
See also, Guthrie (1975) and more recently Wolfsdorf (2008).
12
Grote (1865: 292–299).
 1 INTRODUCTION 9

Socrates is requesting—this disagreement will be one of my major con-

cerns—but there is an underlying assumption too, shared by commenta-
tors nearly across the board. The shared assumption is that Socrates is
pursuing a single type of answer.13 Some have argued that the ‘What is F?’
question is a conceptual question, introducing something like conceptual
analysis and launching a search for the meaning of ‘F’. Others have argued
that the ‘What is F?’ question is a causal question, introducing causal anal-
ysis, and launching a search for a deeper account of how F-ness fits into
the causal network of the world. There are, of course, other interpreta-
tions that fall under the scope of the ‘standard interpretation’ as well. But
these are the two dominant lines, as I see it. And yet, these interpretations
do not fully account for the complexity of the question. They cannot
accommodate the full body of textual evidence. They cannot do so, I
argue, because Socrates is doing both. Socrates is pursuing two types of
answers. The ‘What is F?’ question is expressed differently in different
places, used by Plato’s Socrates to introduce two distinct types of investi-
gations—one conceptual, one causal. If this is correct, then the key to
understanding any dialogue of definition, the key to interpreting what
Socrates is doing there, is to learn how to decipher between these two dis-
tinct investigations. I will offer a way to do that. In the end, I hope to
show that the dual-function thesis (a) resolves interpretive issues in Socratic
scholarship, (b) provides systematic interpretations of the negative end-
ings, (c) generates novel interpretations of the Charmides and Lysis, and
(d) casts further doubt upon the authenticity of the Hippias Major. In the
next section, I provide a roadmap for the journey ahead, so you will know
where the argument is leading.

13
There are a few exceptions. Richard Robinson (1941) argues that there is a duality built
into the ‘What is F?’ question, but the two senses he has in mind are different from mine.
David Charles (2006) argues that there are two distinct inquiries emerging from the ‘What
is virtue?’ question in the Meno. Lastly, although he takes the ‘What is F?’ question to be a
metaphysical question in all cases, David Wolfsdorf (2005) observes some important differ-
ences in the criteria surrounding ‘What is F?’ questions, including the language used to
express those criteria. I take the textual evidence in a different direction, but my project has
benefitted from each of these scholarly contributions.
10 J. C. CLARK

1.5  Chapter Overview
In the next chapter, I provide some useful background information for
understanding the dual-function thesis and the broader interpretive debate
concerning Socratic inquiry. I then introduce the dual-function thesis,
illustrating the distinction, and focusing on relevant passages. Socrates
rarely offers examples of the type of answer he wants in response to his
‘What is F?’ question. But a proper examination of the context surround-
ing the few examples he does provide (Meno 76a; Laches 192a-b) will
reveal that the ‘What is F’ question serves these two functions. In some
dialogues, the ‘What is F?’ question serves as a conceptual question. In
other dialogues, it serves as a causal question. The conceptual investiga-
tion into F-ness can be distinguished from the causal investigation by
identifying the distinct technical vocabularies associated with each investi-
gation. Sometimes, in raising the ‘What is F?’ question, Socrates asks
explicitly about the essence (ousia) of F-ness. Other times, in raising the
‘What is F?’ question, he asks explicitly about the capacity (dunamis) of
F-ness. This strategic framing of the ‘What is F’ question—the consistent
use of two distinct technical vocabularies—indicates that there are two
distinct types of investigations into F-ness. There are other important indi-
cators as well. For example, Socrates employs a substitution requirement
(the requirement that two co-referring expressions should be inter-­
substitutable) to signal the conceptual investigation, and he employs the
acquisition-question as a precursor to the causal investigation.
In Chap. 3, I consider the unity of the virtues. For many years, this
thesis has been a thorn in the side of scholars. The unity thesis presents an
apparently intractable interpretive puzzle.14 Socrates sometimes suggests
that the many virtues are ‘distinct parts of a single whole’ (see Laches

14
This puzzle led me to investigate the ‘What is F?’ question in the first place. Early on, I
had an intuition that Plato’s Socrates was advancing a coherent position concerning the rela-
tion among virtues. As I followed this theme throughout my studies, I became increasing
enamored by the artistry of Plato, and simultaneously intrigued by the philosophy of
Socrates. It seemed to me that Plato, in his artistic brilliance, was weaving certain dialogues
together into a literary whole, in much same way Socrates had bound the virtues together
into a unity within his philosophy. Thus, I grew increasingly eager to explore the artistry, and
to see for myself what Socratic position would come to light there. In particular, it was my
encounters with the work of interpreters like Gregory Vlastos and Terry Penner on this issue
that made me realize the gravity of the ‘What is F?’ question—namely, that in order to under-
stand the early dialogues, and to uncover the Socratic position that lay buried there, I had to
confront the ‘What is F?’ question head-on.
 1 INTRODUCTION 11

190c9-11, Meno 78d-e), other times he suggests that the virtues are all
‘one and the same thing’ (see Protagoras 331b). At face value, these sug-
gestions are logically incompatible. By attributing to Socrates two distinct
levels of investigation, however, we can make sense of Socrates’ remarks.
The dual-function thesis yields an interpretation that corroborates a solu-
tion first articulated by Michael Ferejohn (1982, 1984), and then devel-
oped by Thomas Brickhouse and Nicholas Smith (1997, 2010). My own
solution, though distinct, falls squarely within this family of reconciliation
solutions. On my reading, Socrates is suggesting that the many virtues are
conceptually distinct ‘parts’, even though they refer to a single causal
power (dunamis) in the soul.
Chapter 4 will consider Socrates’ epistemic principle—a principle
known as the ‘priority of definition’. This principle implies that an agent
cannot know any properties or examples of F without knowing first how
to define ‘F’. The priority of definition was famously criticized by Peter
Geach, who called it the ‘Socratic fallacy’. Geach (1966) argued that we
can know ‘heaps of things’ without being able to define our terms in a
precise way. As typically understood, the priority of definition is not only
unintuitive, it presents a problem for Socrates’ approach. Socrates’ own
method appears to make use of properties and examples of F-ness while
pursuing a definition of ‘F’. Thus, there is a palpable tension between
Socrates’ epistemic principle and his philosophical method. By attributing
to Socrates two distinct levels of investigation, however, the priority of
definition divides neatly into two distinct and respectable principles, thus
resolving the tension.
If indeed Socrates has a coherent method and a positive theory, why
then do the dialogues of definition always end in failure? And why does
Socrates continually profess ignorance? In Chap. 5, these questions find
answers from within the present framework. The dual-function thesis
divides the epistemic process of developing moral knowledge into two
separate stages. This adds a level of complexity to Socratic epistemology.
One result is that Socrates has a merely conceptual knowledge (Meno,
100b4-6), since he has ascended to the first epistemological level, but not
the second. Socrates knows which conceptual answers tend to survive phil-
osophical scrutiny, but he is unable to give a complete causal account of
how things fit together. For this reason, he must continue securing his
system of virtue-related beliefs.
The dialogues of definition end in failure for a variety of instructive
reasons related to the epistemological process outlined above. The
12 J. C. CLARK

Euthyphro ends in failure because Euthyphro cannot provide a conceptual

answer concerning piety. The Laches ends in failure because Socrates’
interlocutors fail to distinguish between conceptual and causal answers
concerning courage. The Meno ends in failure because Meno insists upon
conducting a causal investigation, thus bypassing a conceptual investiga-
tion Socrates considers epistemically prior. The Republic ends in failure
because Thrasymachus is unable to deliver a causal answer concerning
justice.
Three dialogues require separate treatment: Charmides, Lysis and
Hippias Major. Chapter 6 concerns the Charmides, which pivots on the
question ‘What is temperance?’ The technical vocabulary that would typi-
cally accompany the ‘What is F?’ question is mostly absent in the Charmides.
The dialogue ends in failure because Socrates never effectively distin-
guishes between the conceptual question and the causal question. Socrates
never clarifies the type of answer he is pursuing. And yet, even despite the
negative ending (175b2-3), the dialogue manages to point readers in a
positive direction by hinting toward the ‘knowledge of good and bad’. In
the end, the dual-function thesis yields a positive new reading of the dia-
logue’s multi-faceted ending.
Chapter 7 concerns the Lysis, which appears to pivot on the question
‘What is a friend (philos)?’ It shares many features with the dialogues of
definition. But the Lysis ends in failure because the inquiry moves in the
wrong direction. Socrates never explicitly asks the ‘What is friendship?’
question. He begins instead from the question of how one becomes a
friend to another. In other words, the Lysis begins with the acquisition
question, and proceeds backward from a causal investigation toward a
conceptual investigation. This is why the dialogue ends in aporia.
Nevertheless, the dual-function thesis is able to yield a positive new inter-
pretation of the dialogue’s ending as well.
The authorship of the Hippias Major is rarely questioned anymore. The
dialogue is centered on the question ‘What is the beautiful?’ As Paul
Woodruff (1982) once declared it, ‘the dust has now settled on the dis-
pute over the dialogue’s authenticity, and little support remains for the
negative side’. Prior to this declaration, however, Hippias Major was sub-
ject to scrutiny from nineteenth century scholars, many of whom argued
that the dialogue is not the genuine work of Plato. The dual-function
thesis provides new evidence against its authenticity. The use of technical
vocabulary surrounding the ‘What is F?’ question is not characteristic of
Plato’s hand.
 1 INTRODUCTION 13

References
Allen, R.E. 1970. Plato’s Euthyphro and the Earlier Theory of Forms. New York:
Humanity Press.
Barnes, J. 1984. The Complete Works of Aristotle. Vol. 1 and 2. Princeton
University Press.
Brickhouse, T.C., and N.D. Smith. 1994. Plato’s Socrates. Oxford University Press.
———. 1997. Socrates and the Unity of Virtues. The Journal of Ethics 4: 311–324.
———. 2010. Socratic Moral Psychology. New York: Cambridge University Press.
Charles, D. 2006. Types of Definition in Meno. In Remembering Socrates, ed.
L. Judson and V. Karasmanis. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Cooper, J.M. 1997. Plato’s Complete Works. Indianapolis: Hackett.
Ferejohn, Michael. 1982. The Unity of Virtue and the Objects of Socratic Inquiry.
Journal of the History of Philosophy 20 (1): 1–21.
———. 1984. Socratic Virtue as Parts of Itself. Philosophy and Phenomenological
Research. 44 (3): 377–388.
Forster, M. 2006. Socrates’ Demand for Definition. Oxford Studies in Ancient
Philosophy 31: 1–47.
Geach, P. 1966. Plato’s Euthyphro. Monist 50 (3): 369–382.
Grote, G. 1865. Plato and Other Companions of Sokrates (1st ed.; 1988, 3rd ed.).
London: Murray.
Guthrie, W.K.C. 1975. History of Greek Philosophy, Vol. 4: Plato: The Man and his
Dialogues: Earlier Period. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Kraut, R. 1984. Socrates and the State. Princeton University Press.
Nails, D. 1995. Agora, Academy, and the Conduct of Philosophy. Kluwer Academic
Publishing.
Penner, T. 1973. The Unity of Virtue. Philosophical Review 80 (1): 35–68.
Robinson, Richard. 1941. Plato’s Method of Dialectic. Philosophical Review
50 (5): 542.
Vlastos, G. 1976. What Did Socrates Understand by His What Is F? Question? In
Platonic Studies, ed. G. Vlastos. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
———. 1991. Socrates, Ironist and Moral Philosopher. Ithaca: Cornell
University Press.
———. 1995. In Studies in Greek Philosophy, ed. D. Graham, vol. 2. Princeton:
Princeton University Press.
Wolfsdorf, David. 2005. ΔΥΝΑΜΙΣ in Laches. Pheonix 9 (3/4): 324–347.
———. 2008. Trials of Reason. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Woodruff, P. 1982. Plato: ‘Hippias Major’. Indianapolis: Hackett.
 CHAPTER 2

The Dual-Function Thesis

2.1   Definition and the ‘What is F?’ Question

Understanding the ‘What is F?’ question is crucial to understanding
Socrates as a philosopher. But there is a cloud of confusion surrounding
the ‘What is F?’ question. It is not entirely clear what Socrates wants in
terms of an answer. A variety of interpretations have been proposed. The
most immediate answer, of course, is that Socrates is looking for defini-
tions. In keeping with Aristotle’s characterization, therefore, we might
proceed to describe the object of Socratic inquiry in terms of definition.
Unfortunately, this characterization is problematic for a few reasons. First,
describing the ‘What is F?’ question as a request for definition is uninfor-
mative. It pushes the question back, without answering it. We still need to
determine what constitutes an adequate definition, or what type of defini-
tion Socrates is looking for. Socrates may be looking for a nominal defini-
tion, for instance, or he may be looking for a real definition, etc.1 Thus,
even if Socrates is looking for a definition, it will be necessary to examine
the character of Socratic definition. Second, the word ‘definition’ is itself
rather anachronistic. Socrates never uses the technical term Aristotle
would eventually coin for definition, horismos; and he uses the related
terms horos and horizein very infrequently. For this reason, we have limited
justification for regarding the objects of Socratic inquiry as definitions.

1
For a useful exchange, see Charles (2006) and Fine (2010).

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 15

Switzerland AG 2022
J. C. Clark, Plato’s Dialogues of Definition,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-07849-1_2
16 J. C. CLARK

There is perhaps a more serious danger lurking here, however. For by

characterizing Socrates’ central activity as a search for definitions, we also
run the risk of reading contemporary notions of definition into a text
where they don’t belong.2 This is a tendency we should take care to avoid.
Thus, understanding Socrates’ question as a request for definition can
turn out to be either uninformative, or misleading. Fortunately, however,
we can reach an understanding of Socrates’ central question, and his crite-
ria for a successful answer, without drawing any firm conclusions about
whether such answers amount to ‘definitions’ (in any technical or familiar
sense of that term). For ease of exposition, I will occasionally refer to the
objects of Socratic inquiry as ‘definitions’. However, in doing so, I take
this characterization to be unfinished, something in need of further
specification.

2.2   Kraut’s Theoretical Interpretation

Another possible answer is that Socrates is requesting a full-blown ethical
theory with his ‘What is F?’ question. Richard Kraut (1984) contends that
Socrates is looking for a theory of right action. Thus, he compares Socrates’
activity in the early dialogues to what ethical theorists like Kant and Mill
are trying to do in raising a question like ‘What is justice?’ Kant and Mill
are striving for a theory of right and wrong, trying to discover a first prin-
ciple of morality. On this interpretation, Socrates is pursuing a principle
stating in concise terms what it is about an action that makes it right or
wrong. Julia Annas, in discussing Republic I, strikes a similar chord:

‘What [Socrates] is doing is investigating what justice is; and this is a com-
prehensible task, one undertaken in books like Rawls’s A Theory of Justice,
but one not usefully described as giving a definition of justice’.3

Kraut agrees. In raising the ‘What is F?’ question, Socrates is not looking
for a definition. He is looking instead for a moral principle. After all,
according to Kraut, one could give, if one wanted to ‘the fundamental
kernel of Rawl’s theory in a fairly short statement…[and] similarly for
Utilitarianism’.4 On this reading, then, Socrates is looking for an answer

2
For a useful discussion of this, see Benson (2013).
3
Annas (1981: 23).
4
Kraut (1984: 282).
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 17

resembling the principle of utility, or perhaps the two principles afforded

by Rawls in A Theory of Justice.
Needless to say, this is a radically different interpretation. And it results
in a radically different reading of the early dialogues. My own interpreta-
tion of the ‘What is F?’ question falls somewhere in between. I do not
think Socrates is looking for a full-blown ethical theory. But I agree that
Socrates is doing something more theoretically robust than merely search-
ing for definitions. On my view, Socrates is pursuing, among other things,
a deep psychological explanation of the virtuous person, including their
unique capacity for virtuous action. Kraut addresses this possibility as
follows:

Of course, [Socrates] differs from Kant and Mill, since he believes that
knowledge of the correct ethical theory will by itself motivate virtuous
action: that is why Socrates’ search for an ethical theory is at the same time
a search for a virtuous person’s motive-force.

Kraut appeals to Socrates’ intellectualist position. ‘Socratic Intellectualism’

refers to Socrates’ position with regard to both motivation and virtue. In
the case of motivation, Socrates holds that every agent seeks to pursue the
human good (eu prattein), and to avoid the bad. There is disagreement
over how, precisely, to interpret this thesis. It can be understood (most
plausibly) to mean that every agent wants what is really good for them.5 In
any case, Socrates holds that anyone who has the opportunity to do what
they believe to be best will always do it. This is referred to as Socrates’
motivational intellectualism. To subscribe to motivational
intellectualism is to deny the possibility of akrasia, or the phenomenon of
acting against one’s better judgment. Socrates denies the possibility of
akrasia in the Protagoras. For Socrates, all deliberate actions are the result
of an agent’s beliefs about what’s best for them (at the moment of action).
Thus, all moral error is the result of an agent’s mistaken beliefs (about
what’s best). But there is another side to Socrates’ intellectualism. To

5
This is the interpretation of Penner and Rowe (1994: 1–25), that one cannot desire bad
things, even when one takes them to be good. The real good is always the object of one’s
desire. Thus, whenever an agent has a false belief about what is best for them, they do not
(strictly speaking) desire to perform the action they perform as a result of their mistaken
belief. On the other side of the debate is Gerasimos Santas (1979), who holds instead that,
for Socrates, bad things are sometimes desired by those who think they are good, even
though the bad things are never the intended objects of their desires.
18 J. C. CLARK

subscribe to intellectualism is also to accept that ‘doing what is best’

requires true belief or knowledge. For Socrates, the virtues are stable dis-
positions to do what’s best; and only knowledge has the requisite stability.
Thus, the virtues amount to a certain kind of knowledge. This is referred
to as Socrates’ virtue intellectualism.
In one sense, Kraut reasons correctly. Given Socrates’ intellectualist
position, knowing the correct moral theory would guarantee right action.
But this observation (while strictly true) is beside the point. After all, we
are trying to determine what kind of answer Socrates is pursuing with his
‘What is F?’ question. And we must recognize, first of all, that there is a
significant difference between pursuing a theory of right action, and pur-
suing an account of virtue in the psychē. As possible objects of Socratic
inquiry, these are two rather distinct items. In the early dialogues, Socrates
compares human virtue to the sort of knowledge involved in a craft.
Technē is typically rendered ‘craft’, or ‘art’. But the word also carries con-
notations of ‘skill’ or ‘expertise’. The virtuous person is different from
others, because the virtuous person has a unique skill or expertise. Now, it
is one thing to request an over-arching principle capturing the features of
right action; it is quite another thing to request a psychological account of
the capacity internal to an expert. So, which of these objects is Socrates
requesting from his interlocutor? I contend it is primarily the latter. Kraut
contends it is primarily the former (though there is also a sense in which it
is both simultaneously, for Kraut, since the capacity internal to an expert is
nothing more than an intellectual grasp of the correct moral theory).
Although I disagree with Kraut’s reading, an interesting overlap will
emerge between my interpretation and his. Thus, as we proceed, it will be
necessary for me to specify where I agree with the ‘theoretical’ reading,
and where I disagree.

2.3  Allen’s Metaphysical Interpretation

Before moving on to the dual-function interpretation, there is one addi-
tional rival worth placing on the radar. In keeping with the theory of
Forms found in later dialogues like Phaedo, Republic II-X, and Parmenides,
R.E. Allen (1970) contends that the ‘What is F?’ question is always a
request for the metaphysical Form of F-ness. According to Allen,

[Socrates] supposes that the Form may be used as a standard, by which to

judge what things are holy and what things are not (6e); that is an essence,
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 19

by which or in virtue of which holy things are holy (6d); and that it is
capable of real or essential definition (11a, 12c-d). These assumptions con-
stitute a theory of Forms… Logically, Forms play a regulative role in dialec-
tic: as antecedents of ‘it’ in the question ‘What is it?’ they determine the
kinds of answer which are acceptable, and more importantly, unacceptable,
in Socrates’ search for definition…Metaphysically, Forms affect the career of
the world: they are the real natures of things, and the world is what it is
because they are what they are.6

For Allen, in asking the ‘What is F?’ question, Socrates is pursuing a state-
ment that captures the metaphysical Form of F-ness. These ontologically
independent entities are the real objects of Socratic inquiry, even in the
early dialogues. My reasons for rejecting the metaphysical interpretation
will surface as I examine specific passages. But allow me to highlight one
reason here. Aristotle draws a contrast between Socrates’ pursuit of defini-
tions, which issues from the ‘What is F?’ question, and Plato’s metaphysi-
cal theory of Forms, which ‘gave them a separate existence’.

When Socrates was occupying himself with the excellences of character, and
in connection with them became the first to raise the problem of universal
definition….[he] did not make the universals or the definitions exist apart;
they however [those who follow Plato], gave them separate existence, and
this was the kind of thing they called Forms. Metaphysics, XIII, 1078b, 18.

And again, moments later:

Socrates gave the impulse to this theory [of Forms], as we said in our earlier
discussion, by reason of his definitions, but he did not separate universals
from individuals; and in this he thought rightly, in not separating them.
Metaphysics, XIII, 1086b, 2

We should take Aristotle’s testimony into account where we can. Allen’s

interpretation of the ‘What is F?’ question does not cohere with Aristotle’s
report so well. His metaphysical interpretation leaves no room for the
contrast drawn above, since he Platonizes Socrates’ search for definitions.
Of course, Aristotle’s testimony is somewhat inconclusive. The early dia-
logues are written by Plato. Thus, we might conclude, as Allen does, that
the view being assembled throughout the early dialogues is strictly

6
Allen (1970: 67–68).
20 J. C. CLARK

Platonic—in these dialogues, we are dealing with Plato’s Socrates, not the
historical figure Aristotle describes. It seems, therefore, that any decisive
evidence against the metaphysical reading will have to come from the early
dialogues themselves. In subsequent chapters, I find occasion to discuss
textual evidence that Socrates is not pursuing metaphysically distinct
Forms. I also explain how the search for definitions in the early dialogues
can be understood as ‘giving the impulse’ to Plato’s later theory. As it hap-
pens, then, the interpretation I defend is mildly developmentalist. On my
view, the early dialogues embody a Socratic position; later dialogues
embody a recognizably Platonic system, which includes the theory of
Forms.7 For those inclined toward a more Unitarian view of the Platonic
corpus, this should not be a deal-breaker. My interpretation will include
an account of how the search for definition effectively paves the way for
various positions in later Platonic thought.

2.4  Causal and Conceptual Analysis

It is now time to develop the dual-function thesis. The central thesis of
this book is based upon two leading interpretations of the ‘What is F?’
question. These interpretations were brought into opposition by means of
a scholarly exchange between Gregory Vlastos and Terry Penner. Nobody
did more to reveal the complexity of Socrates’ central question than these
two commentators in the 1970s. The nature of their exchange can be
expressed in the following way. In asking the ‘What is F?’ question, it is
not entirely clear whether Socrates is asking a conceptual question (about
the meaning of a virtue term ‘F’), or a causal question (about what goes
on in the psychē of the virtuous person). In contemporary ethics, the dis-
tinction between causal analysis and conceptual analysis is often chal-
lenged. But the relevance of this distinction can be recognized in other
areas of philosophy. It has been observed, for instance, that ‘the [causal]
question of what perception is, what goes on when someone perceives
something, is not adequately answered by finding out what words like
“see” and “hear” mean… or by analyzing, however fully and accurately,
any established concept of perception’.8 The same observation can be

7
For a defense of the separation between Socratic and Platonic dialogues, see Penner (1992).
8
This is how J.L. Mackie (1977: 19–20) explains the relevance of the distinction between
conceptual and factual analysis. What Mackie refers to as factual analysis, I will refer to as
‘causal’ analysis.
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 21

made more clearly with regard to colors. For instance, John Locke
describes colors as ‘secondary qualities’. As they occur in material things,
colors consist in ‘patterns of arrangement and movement of minute par-
ticles on the surfaces of objects, which make them, as we would now say,
reflect light of some frequencies better than others, and so enable these
objects to produce colour sensations in us, but colours as we see them do
not literally belong to the surfaces of material things’.9 Locke provides an
account of how colors fit into the causal network of the world—an account
that cannot be established by analyzing color concepts, or investigating
meanings.
The distinction between causal and conceptual analysis appears to moti-
vate various disagreements about Socrates and his ‘What is F?’ question.
Michael Forster (2006) has argued that, in raising the ‘What is F?’ ques-
tion, Socrates wants a simple statement of meaning. He is pursuing an
‘informative synonym’, a statement anyone must know ‘in order to under-
stand the definienda’.10 On this view, the ‘What is F?’ question is a concep-
tual question—a request for conceptual analysis, which prompts an
investigation into the meaning (as opposed to the reference) of ‘F’. Let us
call this the conceptual interpretation. Michael Forster joins Gregory
Vlastos (1972) in defending the conceptual interpretation against Terry
Penner (1973).11 According to Penner,

…that question is not a request for the meaning of the word …, but rather
a request for a psychological account (explanation) of what it is in men’s
psychēs that makes them brave. For the ‘What is F?’ question is often put {by
Socrates} as ‘What is that single thing by virtue of which (with or by which)
the many F things are F?’; and I will be arguing that that too is a causal or
explanatory question rather than an epistemological or semantic one.12

For Penner, the ‘What is F?’ question is a causal question—a request for a
more scientific explanation of how virtues fit into the causal network of
the world. In raising the ‘What is F?’ question, Socrates wants a causal
account of what goes on in the psychē of the virtuous person.13 This type

9
Ibid., p. 20.
10
See Forster (2006: 1–47).
11
The conceptual interpretation is also defended by Cross (1965: 27–29).
12
Penner (1973: 56–57).
13
See Penner (1973: 41, 45, 56–57). For another proponent of the casual interpretation,
see Bluck (1951).
22 J. C. CLARK

of account will involve facts about the inner ‘motive-force’, or psychologi-

cal capacity that causes a person to act virtuously. I will call this the causal
interpretation.
Perhaps the key distinction can be illuminated further with a few exam-
ples. Penner explains the distinction using a pair of historical examples.
According to Penner, if we want to understand what precisely Socrates is
getting at in asking the question ‘What is bravery?’ we should think of
Sigmund Freud asking ‘Well, what is hysteria, really?’ rather than Gilbert
Ryle asking ‘Well, what is a feeling, really?’14 This is a helpful comparison.
During Freud’s scientific analysis of hysteria as a psychological phenome-
non, he explains the character of his investigation as follows:

A chance observation has led us, over a number of years, to investigate a

great variety of different forms and symptoms of hysteria, with a view to
discovering their precipitating cause—or the event which provoked the first
occurrence, often many years earlier, of the phenomenon in question.15

On the causal interpretation, the ‘What is F?’ question prompts an inves-

tigation of this kind. Socrates is trying to determine the ‘symptoms’ of
virtue in the psychē. He wants to catalogue the associated behaviors, to
discover its precipitating causes, its tendencies, and so forth. Meanwhile,
the conceptual interpretation understands the ‘What is F?’ question as
prompting an investigation of a different kind. In The Concept of Mind,
Gilbert Ryle describes his examination of various mental phenomena by
stating that he will analyze ‘certain of the concepts of emotion and feeling’.
During an analysis of such concepts, he explains ‘that the word “emotion”
is used to designate at least three or four different kinds of things, which
[he calls] “inclinations” (or “motives”), “moods,” “agitations” (or “com-
motions”) and “feelings”’. One of the primary aims of this investigation is
to clear up what he calls ‘a great verbal muddle… associated with a great
logical muddle’.16 On the conceptual interpretation, therefore, the ‘What
is F?’ question prompts an investigation of this kind.

14
Penner (1973: 86–87).
15
Breuer and Freud (2004: 2).
16
Ryle (1949: 83–85), my emphasis.
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 23

2.5  A Neutral Example

Before delving into Socrates’ own examples, allow me to illustrate the
central distinction using a more generic example—one neither philosophi-
cal, nor psychological. This example is meant to be neutral. It is not a
Socratic example. For purposes of illustration, then, let us consider the
question ‘What is a clock?’ The question admits of both types of answers,
conceptual and causal. A conceptual answer would provide a simple state-
ment of meaning, explaining that a clock is ‘a device for measuring time,
which indicates hours and minutes’, a statement anyone must know in
order to understand the word ‘clock’. This answer provides the general
conditions any object must fulfill to qualify as a referent of the word
‘clock’. According to the conceptual interpretation, Socrates is pursuing
an answer of this kind.
Meanwhile, a causal answer would provide a more detailed account of
the causal mechanism, explaining that a clock is ‘a device for measuring
time, where a battery-powered circuit makes quartz crystal (in the shape of a
tuning fork) oscillate at about 30,000 times per second; the circuit detects the
oscillations and turns them into electric pulses (one per second), which pro-
vides power to the gears that sweep hands around a clock-face’. This state-
ment explains how a quartz clock, in particular, fits into the causal network
of the world. According to the causal interpretation, Socrates is pursuing
an answer of this kind. The example has limitations, of course. There are
many different kinds of clocks (not just quartz clocks). A different answer
might be required in the case of some other kind of clock. In this example,
moreover, it may be impossible to give a causal answer that would cover
all clocks, which is something Socrates would seem to prefer in the case of
virtue.17 Still, the example is intended to assist our understanding of the
basic distinction between causal and conceptual answers, I think it does as
much. Without further ado, then, let us turn our attention to the exam-
ples provided by Socrates himself. I wish to demonstrate that the examples
of adequate answers provided by Socrates verify that he is looking for
answers of both kinds.

17
Socrates, it seems, would prefer the more general answer covering all cases of virtue,
though he also admits that he may not be able to provide many answers of this kind. See
Meno 76d-77b.
24 J. C. CLARK

2.6  Examples from Socrates

We might be tempted to reject the causal interpretation of the ‘What is F?’
question, because it does not harmonize well with Socrates’ most promi-
nent examples of adequate answers. One such example is found in the
Meno (76a), where Socrates raises the question ‘What is figure?’ and offers
the model-answer that figure is ‘the limit of a solid’. The other example
comes from the Laches (192a-b), where Socrates provides a model-answer
to the question ‘What is quickness?’ saying that quickness is ‘the faculty
that gets a great deal done in a short time’.18 The striking thing about
both examples, according to Vlastos and Forster, is that ‘they are not at all
substantively explanatory, scientifically abstruse, or complex in the way envis-
aged by the [causal] interpretation’ (Forster 2006: 23). On the contrary,
these answers ‘fit nicely all contexts in which a Greek speaker would use
the word to designate the property’ (Vlastos 1976: 414–15)—they explain
the meaning of the word in simple terms to anyone in need of such an
explanation. In this way, our examples from Meno and Laches have been
taken to support the conceptual interpretation over the causal interpreta-
tion, establishing that Socrates is concerned primarily with conceptual
analysis.
Unfortunately, however, commentators on both sides of the debate
have paid inadequate attention to the contexts surrounding our examples
from the Meno and Laches. This unfortunate fact has led to a number of
oversimplified views about the ‘What is F?’ question, and (consequently
also) about the philosophical activity of a monumental figure in the his-
tory of philosophy. A proper examination of their surrounding contexts
will reveal that Socrates does indeed want a simple statement of meaning.
In some cases, at least, the ‘What is F?’ question is a conceptual question,
a request for a simple statement of meaning. This is particularly true of the
Euthyphro and the first section of the Meno (from 70–75). In other cases,
however, the ‘What is F?’ question is a causal question, which means that
Socrates wants a more scientific, causal account of what goes on in the
psychē of the virtuous person (what ‘motive-force’ causes a person to act
virtuously). Such an account would describe the psychological processes,
mechanisms, and capacities involved in virtuous action. This is true of the
18
Another example is given in the Theaetetus, where Socrates gives a simple answer to the
question ‘What is Mud?’ The question appears to give rise to conceptual analysis. However,
I will not discuss this example here, or the Theaetetus generally, simply because it doesn’t
belong to the same family of early dialogues.
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 25

Protagoras and the Laches. In what follows, therefore, I argue that the
‘What is F?’ question serves these two separate functions. The key to
understanding any dialogue of definition is to determine which question
(conceptual or causal) Socrates is asking. I propose a way to do just that.
The conceptual investigation can be distinguished from the causal investi-
gation by identifying the distinct technical vocabularies associated with
each type of investigation. I believe Plato was aware of the distinction; he
chose to have his character Socrates use separate vocabularies consistently
and strategically, as a way to signal the two distinct investigations into
virtue. In addition, he employs the acquisition-question as a clear precur-
sor to the causal investigation, just as he employs a ‘substitution require-
ment’ in the context of the conceptual investigation. These additional
indicators also help us decipher between causal and conceptual investiga-
tions. Table 2.1 illustrates the two respective branches of the dual-­
function thesis.
I will begin with the example(s) put forward in the Meno. The Meno is
a complex dialogue, which happens to exhibit both types of investigation.
In the following section, I establish that the ‘What is F?’ question is a con-
ceptual question in the Meno and Euthyphro. I then examine the Meno and
the Protagoras, in order to establish that the ‘What is F?’ question is some-
times a causal question.

2.7  The Conceptual Investigation

My present aim is to establish that Socrates is sometimes pursuing a con-
ceptual answer, and therefore conducting conceptual analysis (in the man-
ner Gilbert Ryle, for example). In the Meno, Socrates raises the question
‘What is virtue?’ (71d4). I want to suggest that he is looking for a

Table 2.1
What is F?

Conceptual Investigation Causal Investigation

Answer Type: statement of the meaning of F-ness account of how F-ness fits into causal network
Key Vocabulary: ousia, eidos, paradeigma dunamis, pragma, pephuke
Key Indicators: Substitution Requirement Acquisition Question
Key Dialogues: Euthyphro, Meno (70-79) Protagoras, Laches, Meno (80-100)
26 J. C. CLARK

conceptual answer. After a few unimpressive attempts, Socrates clarifies

the question at hand by providing a series of examples. These model-­
examples are meant to afford insight into the type of answer Socrates wants
in response to the ‘What is F?’ question. One example is endorsed by
Socrates; a different example is endorsed by Meno.19 For our purposes,
then, let us restrict our attention to these two examples. The first example
answers the question ‘What is figure?’ The second answers the question
‘What is color?’

A1 Figure (schēma) is the limit of a solid. (76a5)

A2 Color is an effluence from shapes which is commensurate with sight and
perceptible. (76d5)

The first answer, A1, is endorsed by Socrates (76e), who indicates that it
is somehow better (beltiōn) than the second answer, A2. Proponents of the
conceptual interpretation tend to focus (almost exclusively) on the first
example. By all appearances, A1 is a conceptual answer about the meaning
of figure (schēma). This example lacks the scientific or mechanistic com-
plexity of a causal account. Of course, the same cannot be said for A2,
which is endorsed by Meno. Thus, both types of answers—conceptual and
causal—find endorsement in the dialogue. But let us begin by discussing
Socrates’ endorsement of A1.20
Socrates’ preferred example is a conceptual answer concerning figure
(schēma). Not only does A1 have the appearance of a simple statement of
meaning, there is additional evidence throughout the dialogue that
Socrates is conducting conceptual analysis. When Meno fails in his first
attempt to provide a satisfactory answer about virtue, Socrates explains

19
One previous example, namely, that ‘figure (schema)̄ is that which, alone of the things
that are, always accompanies color’ (75b10) is rejected by both Socrates and Meno.
Commentators often draw a connection between this answer and Euthyphro’s answer that
piety is ‘what all the gods love’. I discuss Euthyphro’s answer below. In the Euthyphro,
Socrates considers the answer to be a step in the right direction, but rejects it as a mere pathos.
20
Some readers may question whether A1 is a simple statement of the meaning. As a
default, I have been translating the Greek term sche ̄ma as ‘figure’. It is usually rendered ‘fig-
ure’ or ‘shape’, yet these traditional renderings give rise to difficulties. For example, ‘shape’
can be understood either two-dimensionally or three-dimensionally. I am in agreement with
Dominic Scott, who has made a convincing case for translating schema ̄ in this context as
‘surface’. Once we accept this plausible yet non-traditional translation for schema,̄ it becomes
evident that A1 is a simple statement of meaning. See Scott (2006: 5–45). See also Forster
(2006: 27).
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 27

what exactly he wants in terms of an answer. Socrates wants a statement

that satisfies the following criteria: the statement must pick out all and
only those things virtuous (73d), the statement must serve as a standard
(paradeigma) by which to judge whether an action is virtuous (72c), and
it must make clear the essence (ousia) of virtue (72b-c).21 Regarding the
essence, Socrates says the following:

M1 But Meno, to follow up on the image of swarms, suppose I should ask

what the essence (ousia) of the bee is, what it is (ho ti pot’ esti)? … so likewise
with the virtues, however many and various they may be, they all have one
common form (eidos) whereby they are virtues.22 (Meno 72a-c)

The criteria described above mirrors the investigation of the Euthyphro.

When Euthyphro provides his first answer to the question ‘What is piety?’
saying that piety (to hosion) is ‘what [he is] doing now’, prosecuting his
father for murder, Socrates responds in a very similar way:

E1 …this is not what I asked you, to tell me one or two of the many pious
acts, but to tell the form (to eidos), by which all pious things are pious …give
me what this form is that I may keep my eye fixed upon it and employ it as
a model (paradeigmati), if anything you or anyone else does agrees with it,
may say that the act is pious, and if not, that it is impious. (Euthyphro 6e)

Socrates is asking for the form (eidos) common to all pious things. He is
pursuing the distinctive feature of both pious acts and pious persons (7a).23
Euthyphro nearly succeeds with his third attempt—he claims that piety is
‘what all the gods love’. This brief statement appears to capture all and
only instances of pious acts and pious persons. It is neither too broad nor
too narrow. For this reason, Euthyphro’s attempt cannot be rejected by
counterexample, as so many answers to the ‘What is F?’ question are. It is
rejected for the following reason instead:

21
The second criterion requires that an answer serve as a model, or paradeigma, for deter-
mining whether an action is virtuous. Kraut’s (1984) interpretation of the ‘What is F?’ ques-
tion is based primarily on this criterion.
22
Translations of the Meno and Euthyphro are my own, adapted from G.A. Grube in
Cooper (1997).
23
In the Euthyphro, an emphasis is placed on pious acts, since Socrates is evaluating
Euthyphro’s action of prosecuting his own father.
28 J. C. CLARK

E2 Euthyphro, it seems that when you were asked what piety is you were
unwilling to make clear its essence (ousian dēlōsai), but you mentioned
something that has happened to (pathos) this piety, namely, that it is loved
by the gods. What it is, you have not said. (Euthyphro 11a-b)

Thus, the vocabulary used to describe the investigation into piety is the
same as the vocabulary used in the Meno. In both dialogues, an answer to
the ‘What is F?’ question should make clear the essence (ousia) of F-ness.
But we should wonder what exactly Socrates means by requesting the
essence of F-ness. For starters, the search for essence (ousia) appears to be
part of Socrates’ search for a definition. At 9c8-d5, Socrates reveals that he
is looking for a definition of some sort, saying ‘… we saw just now that
piety and its opposite are not defined (ou horismena) in this way…?’ The
verb horizō (or horizesthai) serves as a convenient verb of definition—to
mark out the boundaries of a word or concept.24 This happens to be one
of the few places in which Socrates employs definitional vocabulary. In one
way or another, then, the distinction in E2 is meant to provide important
information concerning the features of an adequate definition. In what
follows, I want to argue that Socrates is pursuing a nominal or conceptual
essence in these dialogues.
As we have seen, Euthyphro’s answer satisfies the condition of exten-
sional equivalence. Socrates appears to concede that all and only pious
things are loved by the gods at 9c-d.25 In traditional logic, however, we
distinguish between the extension and the intension of a term. The ‘exten-
sion’ indicates the set of objects picked out by the term, whereas the
‘intension’ indicates the internal description under which it picks them
out. By requesting the essence (ousia) in E2, Socrates is requesting some-
thing like the intension of ‘piety’.26 It is the distinction between pathos and

24
Having emended the definition so that piety is ‘what all the gods love’, Plato puts the
verb of definition back into Socrates’ mouth: ‘Do you wish this now to be our definition
(he ̄min hōristhai)…’ When referring to these boundaries, Plato occasionally uses the term
horos. Aristotle would later coin his own technical term for definition, horismos, from these
words, and he does so in a way that links the notion of essence to that of definition. As
Aristotle explains, ‘a definition (horismos) is an account (logos) that signifies an essence
(ousia)’. See Topics 102a1.
25
Socrates implicitly concedes co-extension at 9c2-d5 and 11b1-5.
26
It may be helpful here to borrow an example from Quine, as some commentators do.
According to Quine, even if all and only those creatures with a heart are creatures with a
kidney, it still does not follow, and is indeed false to suppose that ‘creature with a kidney’
means the same thing as, or defines ‘creature with a heart’. Allen (1970: 50–55).
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 29

ousia that allows Socrates to move beyond extensional equivalence, in order

to pursue the intensional content, or meaning of ‘F’. Euthyphro’s answer
fails to ‘make clear the essence (ousia)’ of piety. And it fails precisely
because it does not satisfy the criterion of intensional equivalence.27
My suggestion, therefore, is that Socrates is requesting an intensionally
equivalent expression when he requests the ousia of F-ness. But more pre-
cision is required here. In searching for the essence of ‘F’, I suggest that
Socrates is searching for what we would (nowadays) call the primary
intension of ‘F’. The primary intension aims to provide the general condi-
tions that must be met for something to qualify as a referent of ‘F’, whereas
the secondary intension aims to provide a deeper analysis of what consti-
tutes F in the actual world. In contemporary philosophy, both primary
and secondary intensions are considered viable candidates for the ‘mean-
ing’ of a concept. But the primary intension is what Socrates wants here.
For Socrates conducts his search for essence (ousia) as an a priori investi-
gation into the meaning of ‘F’.28 Unlike secondary intensions, primary
intensions will be independent of empirical factors. Take the concept of
‘water’, for example. The primary intension of ‘water’ will be ‘the domi-
nant clear, drinkable liquid in our environment’ or something similar.

27
In this respect, I am in agreement with Kahn (1996: 175). Speaking of E2, he says Plato
‘draws a line between the condition of extensional equivalence, which Euthyphro’s definition
satisfies, and the criterion of intensional content or ‘meaning’, which it does not. And Plato’s
notion of intensional content is made quite precise in the argument by which Euthyphro is
refuted’. We should not be surprised if the Platonic Socrates differs from Aristotle on the
nature of essences (ousiai). Essences for Aristotle are things in the natural world. By request-
ing the essence, I am suggesting Socrates is seeking something more like a nominal essence.
Thus, the present interpretation constitutes a departure from Woodruff (1976), who takes
Socrates to (always) be searching for real definitions or essences.
28
My claim is that Socratic ‘definitions’ state the meaning of the term ‘F’ by providing an
intensionally equivalent expression, or an informative synonym. Sameness in ‘meaning’ here
appears to involve sameness in cognitive significance, but it is worth noting that Socrates may
not have had a fully developed theory of meaning either. As Forster observes, we must also
keep in mind that ‘concepts of meaning and understanding vary subtly from period to
period, culture to culture, and even individual to individual’. Forster (2006, footnote 63).
Forster points out that Socrates might not have possessed the concept of meaning that we
possess, especially considering that (for Socrates) the statement of meaning must capture the
so-called ‘form’ of ‘F’. Unlike Forster, I doubt that Plato (as author of the Euthyphro) has any
metaphysics of meaning in mind. Plato’s Socrates requires that a definition describe the eidos,
but it does not appear to me that Socrates is using eidos in the technical way suggestive of the
metaphysical theory of Forms we find in later works. Thus, I will not be describing this as a
metaphysical search.
30 J. C. CLARK

Notice that the primary intension does not tell us what the chemical make-
­up of water is. It remains neutral on the question of whether the dominant
clear, drinkable liquid in our environment turns out to be H2O, or some-
thing else entirely. The primary intension therefore specifies how the refer-
ence of ‘water’ will depend on the way certain (scientific) details turn out
(with regard to that liquid) in the actual world. But the primary intension
does not itself depend on those details.29
Of course, the primary intension of a concept may involve some degree
of deference to a linguistic community. To some extent, my concept ‘F’
might pick out what those around me call F’s. For this reason, it is plau-
sible that competent speakers will have some initial grasp, at least, of the
primary intension. But the initial grasp will be imperfect. After all, the
general conditions that must be met for something to qualify as F will
often be extremely vague, especially at the edges of a concept. Thus, the
primary intension of ‘F’ will not always be obvious, nor easily discovered
upon reflection. Discovering the primary intension of ‘F’ may require a
great deal of reflection; and one’s immediate answer might be incorrect.
The remainder of this section seeks to achieve greater precision about
what Socrates is looking for when he requests the essence of F-ness. A word
of warning seems appropriate: this section, along with the next (Sects. 2.7
and 2.8), will require an extra dose patience. In these sections, I introduce
a series of technical distinctions necessary for understanding the central
arguments of the Euthyphro. Some of them have been relegated to end-
notes; but others remain crucial to the dual-function interpretation mov-
ing forward. These two sections aim to establish that (for Plato’s Socrates)
the primary intension of ‘F’ is integral to making clear the essence (ousia)
of ‘F’. In both Euthyphro and Meno, where Socrates is pursuing the essence
of F-ness, the object of Socratic inquiry is a primary intension. In the
Euthyphro, E2 teaches us that Socrates is pursuing an expression of just
this kind. To be more precise, however, a primary intension can also be
described as an informative synonym—a synonym articulated by means
of words, each of which signifies a concept other than that being defined
(Forster 2006: 27). Socrates provides a useful example in the Laches. He
defines ‘fear’ as ‘the expectation of future evil’ (198b 6-8). This would
qualify as an informative synonym.30 An answer of this kind can be con-
trasted with an expression like ‘dread’, which (although synonymous)

29
For further discussion, see David Chalmers (1996: 11–71).
30
Incidentally, this definition is given in the Protagoras as well (358d).
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 31

would not be informative in the relevant sense.31 This explains why the
synonym ‘holy’ (eusebes) is never given as definition of ‘piety’—although
synonymous, it is uninformative.
I am suggesting, therefore, that Socrates is pursuing an informative
synonym when he requests the essence (ousia) of F-ness. By framing the
‘What is F?’ question as a request for the essence of F, Socrates is conduct-
ing conceptual analysis. This hypothesis draws support from the argument
by which Euthyphro is refuted. The upshot of the argument is that
Euthyphro’s definition does not explain what makes something an instance
of ‘piety’. When Socrates asks whether pious things are loved by the gods
because they are pious, or whether pious things are pious because they are
loved by the gods, Euthyphro replies that it is precisely because pious
things are pious that the gods love them. Or, to put Euthyphro’s answer
another way, the gods love pious things because they are pious. Socrates
then represents Euthyphro’s definition with the adjectival form, theophiles,
‘god-beloved’ (the pious is what is god-beloved). At this point, Euthyphro’s
definition of piety runs into a substitution failure. It turns out that substi-
tuting ‘god-beloved’ for ‘pious’ changes the truth-value of Euthyphro’s
previous admission. For although it is true that the gods love pious things
precisely because they are pious, it is not true that the gods love god-­
beloved things precisely because they are god-beloved. If ‘pious’ and ‘god-­
beloved’ were the same (tauton), says Socrates, these two terms would be
mutually substitutable, salva veritate (without change in truth value).
Both Socrates and Euthyphro accept the ‘substitution requirement’.
At present, I wish to establish that the substitution requirement is an indi-
cator that Socrates is conducting a conceptual investigation. The substitu-
tion requirement resembles Leibniz’s principle that two co-referring
expressions will survive substitution (salva veritate) in any context. As
Peter Geach (1966) points out, however, this principle holds good only for
extensional contexts, not for non-extensional contexts. A non-­extensional
context is a context in which the extension is not all that matters in deter-
mining truth value. The ‘because’ in Euthyphro’s admission renders the

31
It is important to note in passing that ‘informative’ here introduces a certain kind of
asymmetry. Take any two intensionally equivalent expressions A and B. If A defines B, it will
not be the case that B defines A. Although ‘unmarried adult male’ might serve as an adequate
definition for ‘bachelor’, since it is informative in the relevant way, ‘bachelor’ will not serve
as an adequate definition for ‘unmarried adult male’. Note also that not every ‘F’ will admit
of a causal analysis. With the present example of ‘bachelor’, it is not clear what a causal analy-
sis would consist in. That being said, however, Socrates does think causal and conceptual
analysis can both be applied to the virtues.
32 J. C. CLARK

context non-extensional. According to Euthyphro, a thing x is loved by the

gods because it is pious. It is natural to read this ‘because’ as the ‘because’ of
reasons, or rational-basis.32 In other words, the ‘because’ here introduces
the agent’s reason (or rationale) for holding some attitude (the attitude of
love). Once we accept this, however, it becomes clear that an extensionally
equivalent expression will not survive substitution (salva veritate). For the
rationale on the basis of which the gods love something will depend upon
the concept under which the gods are thinking of it. The argument requires,
therefore, that the terms substituted are intensionally equivalent.33

32
I am therefore in agreement with the majority of commentators who hold that this is the
‘because’ of reasons or rational basis. See Evans (2012: 17); Geach (1966: 379–80); Cohen
(1971: 16–7,173–5); Thom (1978: 68).
33
Geach (1966) illustrates this point using the following pair of statements:

(i) ‘I hit him because he was the man who had just hit me’, and
(ii) ‘I hit him because he was my father’.

Imagine the following (unfortunate) scenario: The man who just hit Sam happens to be
Sam’s father. As we shall see, in this scenario, a substitution of the two extensionally equiva-
lent expressions (‘the man who just hit Sam’ and ‘Sam’s father’) cannot be allowed. For
suppose that the very reason Sam had for hitting some person, was simply the fact that (i) ‘he
was the man who had just hit me’. It certainly does not follow from this that Sam also struck
the person because he was Sam’s father, (ii). The fact that the person happened to be Sam’s
father might not have registered in Sam’s rationale at all (as, for instance, if Sam did not real-
ize the man was his father). Or again, the fact might have registered to Sam as a defeasible
reason against striking him. In either case, it is clear from Geach’s example that a substitution
of extensionally equivalent terms cannot be allowed in such a context. Importantly, however,
the substitution of intensionally equivalent terms can be allowed. And the same holds for our
context in the Euthyphro. Consider the following pair:

(iii) ‘The gods love x because x is pious’, and

(iv) ‘The gods love x because x is god-beloved’.

Socrates concedes that the terms ‘pious’ and ‘god-beloved’ are extensionally equivalent.
And yet, a substitution cannot be allowed unless the expressions are intensionally equivalent,
which they are not. As in the previous case, the rationale on the basis of which the gods love
something x will depend upon the concept under which the gods are thinking of x. Thus, the
inference from (iii) to (iv) is not a safe inference. As it turns out, the substitution requirement
is acceptable only if the expressions involved are intensionally equivalent. By employing the
substitution requirement, therefore, Socrates appears to be looking for an intensionally
equivalent expression—an informative synonym.
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 33

Notice that if we accept the causal interpretation of the ‘What is F?’

question here, the substitution requirement presents a serious problem for
the argument.34 Meanwhile, the argument becomes plausible if we accept
a conceptual interpretation. Once we interpret the ‘What is piety?’ ques-
tion as a request for an informative synonym, it becomes reasonable for
Socrates to expect the answer to survive substitution (salva veritate).35
Philosophically speaking, in other words, the substitution requirement is

34
If we were to accept the causal interpretation of the ‘What is F?’ question in the
Euthyphro, the substitution requirement would be very poorly placed, presenting a major
problem for the argument. Allow me to illustrate. Suppose, for example, that a causal answer
to the question ‘What is water?’ is that ‘water is H2O’—this provides the chemical make-up
of water, where hydrogen bonding causes its many unique properties. Now suppose Thales
understands the term ‘water’ by grasping the primary intension, a simple statement of mean-
ing. Thus, he thinks of water as ‘the dominant clear drinkable liquid in our environment’.
Finally, suppose Thales believes that the world is made of water. In this case, we cannot infer
that Thales also believes that the world is made of H2O, since these two extensionally equiva-
lent expressions (‘water’ and ‘H2O’) are not mutually substitutable salva veritate. Once
again, the present context happens to be non-extensional. The statement ‘Thales believes the
world is made of H2O’ is concept-sensitive (since it concerns Thales’ beliefs). The truth value
of this statement will therefore depend upon the concept under which Thales is thinking of
water. As we know, however, Thales could not have been thinking of water as H2O. The
chemical make-up of water had not yet been discovered in Thales’ time.
Here’s another example. Suppose now that a causal answer to the question ‘What is the
sound of the middle C?’ happens to be ‘that which oscillates at 260 Hz’. Suppose also that the
gods love the sound of the middle C, because it’s the sound of the middle C. It cannot be
safely inferred from this that the gods love the sound of the middle C because it oscillates at
260 Hz. These extensionally equivalent expressions are not mutually substitutable salva veri-
tate. Once again, the ‘because’ of rational-basis renders the context non-extensional. Thus,
the truth-value of the statement ‘the gods love the sound the sound of the middle C because
it oscillates at 260 Hz’ will depend upon the concept under which the gods are loving that
sound. In fact, even if the gods know the sound of the middle C happens to oscillate at 260
Hz, that cognitive association might not explain why the gods harbor an attitude of love
toward the sound. As Matthew Evans (2012: 17–19) points out, ‘they might love it under
the qualitative concept, and not under the quantitative concept’. This is meant to show that
the causal interpretation does not fit with the context of the Euthyphro.
35
Suppose a conceptual answer to the question ‘What is a clock?’ is that a clock is ‘a device
for measuring time which indicates hours and minutes’ (an informative synonym). Now sup-
pose the gods love the clock on the wall because it is a clock. In this case, it is acceptable to
infer that the gods love the clock on the wall because it is a device for measuring time which
indicates hours and minutes. Intensionally equivalent expressions, in this context, will survive
substitution (salva veritate). For a more detailed defense of this, see Forster (2006), esp.
footnote 69.
34 J. C. CLARK

appropriate in the context of a conceptual investigation. Socrates is looking

for a simple statement of meaning.

2.8  The Other Substitution

Before we get ahead of ourselves, however, let us examine the remainder
of Socrates’ argument in the Euthyphro. Socrates actually performs substi-
tutions on two separate statements:

(a) x is loved by the gods because x is pious

(b) x is god-beloved because x is loved by (all) the gods

I have chosen to focus on (a), since the context in (a) is so clearly non-­
extensional. But something should be said about (b). After all, the
‘because’ in statement (b) cannot be read as the ‘because’ of rational
basis. For this reason, it might appear that Socrates is equivocating on
‘because’. Such equivocation would pose a problem for Socrates’ argu-
ment. Upon closer inspection, however, the equivocation dissolves. For
the ‘because’ in statement (b) is the ‘because’ of conceptual ground. In
other words, the ‘because’ in statement (b) has the force of introducing
logically necessary and sufficient conditions for using the expression, or
applying the concept, or calling something ‘god-beloved’. Thus, state-
ment (b) can be interpreted as follows: ‘a logically necessary and suffi-
cient condition for applying the term “god-beloved” to a thing x is that x
is loved by all the gods’. This statement is true. The term ‘god-beloved’
does apply to a thing x whenever x is loved by all the gods. Notice that
the conditions provided in this statement are informative—the definiens
amounts to an informative synonym. It can be used to instruct someone
in the use of the expression ‘god-beloved’. This is precisely the kind of
answer Socrates is pursuing. However, the substitution in this case fails.
When ‘pious’ is substituted for ‘god-beloved’ we get a different definien-
dum, and the substitution results in the following claim: ‘a logically nec-
essary and sufficient condition for applying the term “pious” to a thing is
that it is loved by all the gods’. This statement is rejected by Socrates and
Euthyphro, thus confirming that ‘god-beloved’ and ‘pious’ are not
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 35

intensionally equivalent (tauton). Substituting ‘pious’ for ‘god-beloved’

changes the truth-value of the sentence. In this way, the conceptual
interpretation can explain the substitution failure in (b).36
On my reading, therefore, statement (a) involves the ‘because’ of ratio-
nal basis, while statement (b) involves a ‘because’ of conceptual ground.
And so, it appears equivocation is a problem for Socrates’ argument.
However, on closer analysis, the equivocation dissolves. Allow me to
explain the dissolution.
As we have seen, the ‘because’ in statement (a) provides the rationale
on the basis of which the gods love something x. Like any rationale, this
rationale will depend on the concept under which the subject (the gods)
are thinking of x. According to statement (a), the gods are thinking of x as
falling under the concept ‘pious’. This is precisely the concept under which
they are loving it.37 But there is more to the story of (a) than meets the
eye. There is an implicit assumption. On this assumption, the gods are
infallible in their ability to identify something as ‘pious’.38 Once the ‘infal-
libility assumption’ is made explicit, the apparent equivocation dissolves.
For such infallibility (on the part of the gods) entails a knowledge of the
primary intension (the logically necessary and sufficient conditions for
applying the concept ‘pious’). In this context, then, the ‘because’ of ratio-
nal basis will imply a grasp of the conceptual ground. Both (a) and (b)
entail conceptual grounding.
This is a welcome result. Socrates accepts the substitution requirement
in the context of both (a) and (b). Once we recognize that both (a) and (b)
involve the conceptual ground, it stands to reason that Socrates is

36
A similar reading is defended by Cohen (1971), with whom I am largely in agreement.
There is perhaps one point of disagreement, however. For I would add to Cohen’s reading
that the definitions being sought are not symmetrical. See n.38.
37
This makes the present context different from the example of the middle C above, since
we are informed as to which concept earns the god’s love.
38
This point is made convincingly by Judson (2010: 41).
36 J. C. CLARK

conducting a conceptual investigation.39 More specifically, by introducing

the requirement of an essence (ousia) in the Euthyphro, Socrates is request-
ing an informative synonym.40
Recall that the investigation in the Meno (70–75) is described in the
same way. In the Meno, M1, Socrates is requesting the essence (ousia) of

39
Most commentators resist reading the ‘because’ in statement (b) in terms of material cau-
sation. Causation requires two temporally distinct facts A and B, one which precedes the other.
Yet the examples Socrates uses to illustrate the force of ‘because’ in statement (b) involve pas-
sive and active voices in such statements as ‘X is in the state of being carried because there is
something carrying X’, etc. These statements are best understood as involving two different
descriptions of a single fact, rather than two temporally distinct facts. Alternatively, we might
read the ‘because’ in statement (b) as a ‘because’ of metaphysical-­explanation. On this view,
Socrates is pursuing the property picked out by ‘pious’, in order to compare it to the property
picked out by ‘god-beloved’. If this were the case, statement (b) would imply that the posses-
sion of the property (god-beloved) by an object is metaphysically grounded in the fact that the
gods are loving it. This interpretation of (b) is acceptable (though it may result in an exten-
sional context). That being said, however, Socrates also expects the answer to survive substitu-
tion in the context of statement (a). And this statement will be difficult for the metaphysical
interpretation to explain. Sharvy (1972) suggests that Socrates is pursuing something like an
Aristotelian formal cause. In doing so, Sharvy abandons the ‘because’ of rational basis in state-
ment (a) supporting a ‘because’ of formal causation instead. On this reading of (a), a thing’s
being ‘pious’ is thought to provide the formal cause of its being loved by the gods. This solves
the problem of equivocation, but produces a relatively unintuitive reading of (a) in comparison
with that of rational basis. Still, Sharvy’s position helps explain the force behind the ‘because’
in (b). I am sympathetic to Sharvy’s explanation. I read ‘because’ similarly, since I contend that
Socrates is pursuing an informative synonym, and this results in an asymmetry. Thus, not only
does the ‘because’ of conceptual ground provide the reason why a thing x actually counts as a
genuine instance of ‘pious’ or ‘god-loved’, but the ‘because’ also provides an analysis of the
definiendum. This is enough to explain the force of ‘because’ in (b). It has roughly the same
force as Sharvy’s reading. Yet Sharvy’s reading of (a) is less than optimal. It is worth noting that
Judson (2010) retains the ‘because’ of rational basis in (a), but abandons substitutivity. I think
it’s clear Socrates is employing a substitution requirement in the argument. Yet I am also struck
by how close some metaphysical-explanation readings come to my own view of the matter.
Judson (2010: 49) and Sharvy (1972: 125) themselves recognize the close relationship
between their metaphysical interpretations and Cohen’s conceptual reading. In the end, there
is not very much space between some versions of the metaphysical interpretation and the con-
ceptual reading advanced here.
40
One additional observation should support the fact that Socrates is raising a conceptual
question here. Eventually, Euthyphro answers (13b5-7) that piety is ‘that which provides a
kind of service to the gods’, though he is unable to identify the result of this ‘service’. When
Euthyphro gives up, Socrates claims that Euthyphro was ‘on the very brink’ of providing a
satisfactory answer (14c1). This attempt fits the profile of an informative synonym best; it
does not have the mechanistic complexity of a causal explanation. See Taylor (1982:
110–113).
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 37

virtue. It is fitting, therefore, that Socrates’ investigation in the Meno cul-

minates in the endorsement of A1—an answer that fits the profile of an
informative synonym, a simple statement of meaning. Upon offering A1,
Socrates tells Meno ‘now you can comprehend from this what I mean by
figure (schēma o legō)’. Thus, the Euthyphro and the Meno speak decisively
in favor of the conceptual interpretation. In asking for the essence of
F-ness, Socrates is pursuing a simple statement of meaning.
Proponents of the causal interpretation tend to minimize the impor-
tance of the Euthyphro and Meno. Penner (1973: 84–5), for example, sug-
gests that the Euthyphro and Meno represent a Platonic shift, ‘a transition
to the demotic virtues’, so that Socrates is no longer investigating virtues
that require knowledge. But Penner’s suggestion has the ring of an ad hoc
conjecture once we observe that these two dialogues do not support his
causal interpretation. At the same time, these passages cannot settle the
entire debate on their own, and commentators on both sides of the debate
have failed to notice that A2, the example favored by Meno, provides
direct support for the causal interpretation. In the next section, therefore,
I wish to establish that the ‘What is F?’ question is sometimes a request for
a causal answer.

2.9   Meno’s Preference for Causal Answers

Let us now turn our attention to the second example A2. This example is
equally instructive for our purposes. A2 states that color is ‘an effluence
from shapes which is commensurate with sight and perceptible’. Although
Socrates is reluctant (in the Meno) to pursue a causal answer of this kind,
Meno finds A2 completely satisfactory (76d). The second example falls
within the framework of a scientific theory—A2 is based on Empedocles’
causal theory of vision, a theory concerning the capacity (dunamis) of
sight. Empedocles taught that material objects give off effluences or films,
which are situated in various ways to our sense organs. It is evident that
Meno’s preferred example is a causal account of color (in much the same
way Locke’s account is). A2 answers a question about how color fits into
the causal network of the world. Socrates never rejects the second exam-
ple. When Meno exclaims that A2 is ‘excellently put!’ Socrates says (quite
simply) that the first example A1 is better (beltiōn), and that Meno would
prefer the first example too, if he would remain long enough to hear about
it. But Meno makes it perfectly clear that he will not wait around (77a),
38 J. C. CLARK

saying ‘I would stay, Socrates, if you would tell me many such answers’.
Meno wants a causal account of virtue. And he wants it now.
In his commentary, Michael Forster (2006: 24) notes correctly that
Socrates goes out of his way to contrast A2 unfavorably with A1. But he
is wrong to assert that Socrates ‘makes fun’ of A2, and equally wrong to
suggest that Socrates is ‘not at all impressed by “high-falutin” answers’ of
this kind. The text does not support Forster’s position on A2. Let us
examine Socrates’ response:

It is a theatrical answer (tragikē) so it pleases you, Meno, more than that

about figure … [I]t is not better (beltiōn), Son of Alexidemus, but I am
convinced that the other [A1] is, and I think you would agree, if you did not
have to go away before the mysteries as you told me yesterday, but could
remain and be initiated. (Meno 76e2-8)

Prior to this, the second example was said to be given ‘in the manner of
Gorgias’.41 It is described as ‘theatrical’ (tragikē).42 This is not a ringing
endorsement. By describing A2 in this way, Socrates is claiming that such
answers are the preference of Sophists, who want to make a showy display
of their sophistication to the public. A causal answer is much more likely
to impress a lay audience than a simple statement of meaning. But despite
any criticisms Socrates might have for the Sophists and their predilection
for lofty answers, Socrates does include the A2-type answer among possi-
ble answers to his ‘What is F?’ question. And a close examination will
reveal that Socrates is far from ‘making fun’ of the causal answer in A2.

I shall certainly not be lacking in eagerness (prothumias) to tell you such

things, both for your sake and my own (kai sou eneka kai emautou), but I
may not be able to tell you many. (Meno 77a)

Socrates proclaims his eagerness (prothumias) to give causal answers, both

for Meno’s sake and for his own sake (eneka kai emautou). This response
41
Since Meno was a pupil of Gorgias, Socrates assumes that answering in the manner of
Gorgias will be more familiar, and therefore more agreeable, to his interlocutor. Incidentally,
Gorgias had also learnt his science from Empedocles.
42
In this context, tragike ̄ likely means something like ‘theatrical’ or ‘high-flown’, referring
us to Meno’s predilection for the fancy, ornamental, or lofty definition. This appears to mark
a criticism of the sophistical intention to impress an audience by means of one’s definition,
rather than a direct criticism of A2 itself. This type of definition may still have some value
when used in the right way.
 2 THE DUAL-FUNCTION THESIS 39

is significant. Surely, Socrates would not be eager to give such answers,

unless he saw considerable value in giving them. And so, Socrates does
value causal answers to the ‘What is F?’ question. Socrates simply does not
consider himself equipped to give such answers. On the contrary, he says
that he will not be able to give very many answers of this kind.
Along these lines, Forster (2006: 25) claims that Socrates never attempts
to provide a causal explanation of virtue in the early dialogues. It is not
until the virtues are defined in terms of the tripartite model of the psychē
in the Republic (428 a-444b) that Plato finally puts a causal account of
virtue into Socrates’ mouth. But this is incorrect. In the Protagoras,
Socrates pursues a causal account of virtue when he provides a description
of virtue as ‘the craft (technē) of measuring goods and bads, which renders
the power of appearance ineffective, and allows the soul to remain in
truth’. There can be no doubt that this goes beyond a mere statement of
meaning. It is a causal account of virtue (in the manner of A2) if there
ever was one. This account offers a psychological explanation of the
‘motive-force’ that causes an agent to act virtuously. And so, not only does
Socrates value causal answers, he attempts to construct one of his own in
the Protagoras. In order to understand Meno’s preference for an A2-type
answer, therefore, it will be useful to examine Socrates’ investigation in the
Protagoras. As we shall see, the Protagoras proves especially instructive in
this regard.

2.10  The Causal Investigation

The original question posed by Socrates in the Protagoras is whether or
not virtue is the sort of thing that can be taught, or how it can be acquired.
This is the acquisition-question. In the Protagoras, the acquisition-­
question generates a discussion about how the individual virtues are
related. Currently, my aim is to establish the acquisition question as an
indicator of the causal investigation. Let us focus, therefore, on the techni-
cal vocabulary used by Socrates during the investigation of Protagoras.
When Protagoras claims that the virtues are parts of a single whole (329
d3-6), it prompts a follow-up question from Socrates:

Does each of [the virtues] also have its own specific capacity (dunamis)?
With the parts of a face, for example, the eye is not like the ears, nor is its
capacity (dunamis) the same. And with the other parts, none is like any
other, either in its capacity or in any other way. Is that how it is with the
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
adornantur[431].» Ces décorations ont dû être faites sur le passage
de Clovis; or, entre l'évêché et le baptistère, il n'y avait pas de place
suffisante pour qu'un cortège pût se déployer; on n'avait qu'un faible
espace à franchir, et l'on ne rencontrait sur son chemin ni ces rues,
ni ces églises qui avaient pris une si brillante parure. Au contraire, si
l'on admet que le roi des Francs, avec sa suite, est parti de son
palais, de la domus regia de la porte Basée, en suivant, pour gagner
la cathédrale, la grande rue qui conduisait jusqu'au centre de la cité,
alors tout s'explique, la cérémonie s'accomplit d'une façon très
naturelle, la procession peut être admise et n'est plus l'objet
d'aucune discussion[432].
[427] «Eundi via ad baptisterium a domo regia præparatur, velisque atque cortinis
depictis ex utraque parte prætenditur et desuper adumbratur. Plateæ sternuntur et
ecclesiæ componuntur... Sicque, præcedentibus sacrosanctis evangeliis et
crucibus, cum ymnis et canticis spiritalibus atque letaniis, sanctorumque
nominibus acclamatis, sanctus pontifex, manum tenens regis, a domo regia pergit
ad baptisterium, subsequente regina et populo.» Ch. iv, 62, AA. SS. Boll., octobre,
t. i, p. 146. Flodoard n'a fait que copier ce passage, Hist., l. i, ch. xiii.
[428] Notice sur le Baptême de Clovis, par M. le chanoine Cerf (1891), p. 6 et suiv.
[429] H. Schrörs, Hinkmar Erzbischof von Reims, p. 448.
[430] Pour ce qui concerne le récit de la cérémonie; quant au lieu de la résidence
de Clovis et à l'oratoire de Saint-Pierre, il paraît, comme nous l'avons dit, s'inspirer
de traditions locales.
[431] Hist. Francorum, l. ii, ch. xxxi.
[432] Le P. Jubaru, l. cit., p. 316-317.
Nous avons attribué plus haut à l'église de la porte Basée, et non à
la chapelle du palais, le legs fait dans le grand testament de saint
Remi «ecclesiæ Sancti Petri infra urbem.» C'est à elle aussi que
nous assignons le legs de trois sous d'or fait au septième siècle par
l'évêque Sonnace «ad basilicam Sancti Petri in civitate[433],» et le
don de l'évêque Landon à l'église «Sancti Petri ad cortem[434].»
Cette cortis est bien incontestablement la curtis dominica nommée
dans le grand testament.
[433] Flodoard, Hist., l. ii, ch. v, Mon. Germ., t. xiii, p. 454.
[434] Ibid., l. ii, ch. vi, Mon. Germ., t. xiii, p. 455.—L'évêque Sonnace, mourut le 20
octobre 631, et Landon le 14 mars 649.
Il faut aussi sans doute identifier avec cette église l'«ecclesia Sancti
Petri quæ est infra muros urbis Remensis» de la Vie de sainte
Clotilde[435]. Peut-être cependant, à la date assez tardive où écrivait
l'auteur de cette vie, s'était-il déjà produit avec l'église Saint-Pierre-
le-Vieil une confusion que nous verrons prendre corps à une époque
plus avancée du moyen âge.
[435] Mon. Germ., Scriptores rerum merovingicarum, t. ii; Rec. des hist. de la
France, t. iii, p. 401.
La multiplicité des églises et des chapelles consacrées à saint
Pierre, qui existaient jadis à Reims, en rend souvent la distinction
très difficile. Ainsi, quand l'auteur de la Vita sancti Gildardi,
composée vers le dixième siècle et récemment mise en lumière par
les Bollandistes[436], parle de la «basilica Sancti Petri quæ nunc
dicitur ad palatium», nous ne saurions dire au juste quel édifice il a
en vue. En raison de la date de ce texte, nous inclinons à croire qu'il
s'agit ici de la chapelle du palais de l'archevêché.
[436] Analecta Boll., t. viii, p. 397.
A la fin de la période carolingienne, il s'est produit une opinion qui
voulait associer au récit du baptême de Clovis le souvenir d'une
ancienne église dédiée à saint Pierre. Elle n'a aucune valeur
traditionnelle et est née d'une méprise qui s'est manifestée
postérieurement à Hincmar. Ni Grégoire de Tours ni Hincmar ne
laissent supposer que Clovis ait été baptisé dans une basilique de
Saint-Pierre. Hincmar nous représente seulement, ainsi que nous
l'avons vu, Clovis, à la veille de son baptême, conférant avec saint
Remi dans l'«oratorium Sancti Petri», contigu à ses appartements.
Ce passage a été la source de toute l'erreur. On a retenu
vaguement, un peu plus tard, ce nom de saint Pierre; on en a
exagéré la portée, et l'on en a fait à tort l'application au lieu du
baptême de Clovis. Et l'auteur de la Vie de sainte Clotilde, par
exemple, est venu nous dire que la pieuse reine avait une grande
prédilection pour l'église de Saint-Pierre, parce que son époux y
avait reçu la grâce du baptême: «Hanc itaque ecclesiam cunctis
diebus quibus advixit, multum dilexit et excoluit, pro eo quod vel
suus rex Ludovicus in ea sancti baptismatis gratiam accepit[437].» Il
se fait ici évidemment l'écho, non d'une tradition sérieuse, mais
d'une conjecture erronée. Au reste, cette Vie de sainte Clotilde n'est
qu'une compilation sans caractère original, rédigée vers le dixième
siècle[438]. Un autre ouvrage, qui est à peu près du même temps et
n'a pas plus d'autorité au point de vue historique, la Vie de saint
Gildard, semble placer aussi la cérémonie du baptême dans la
«basilica Sancti Petri[439].» On aurait tort d'attribuer quelque
importance à ces deux textes; ils ne prouvent rien, sinon qu'il s'était
produit sur ce point, au dixième siècle, une croyance absolument
fausse.
[437] Ibid.
[438] B. Krusch, Script. rerum merov., t. II, p. 341.
[439] «... In civitatem Remorum venientes, in basilica Sancti Petri, quæ nunc
dicitur ad palatium, missas celebraverunt, et ea quæ Dei sunt agentes, beatus
Remedius regem baptizavit, et de sacro fonte illum beatus Medardus suscepit.»
Analecta Boll., t. VIII, p. 397.
L'idée du baptême de Clovis dans l'église de Saint-Pierre une fois
admise, il s'est formé,—et cela dès le moyen âge,—un courant
d'opinion en faveur de l'église paroissiale de Saint-Pierre-le-Vieil. Un
chanoine de Reims, du dix-septième siècle, Pierre Cocquault, dans
un vaste recueil historique dont le manuscrit est aujourd'hui
conservé à la bibliothèque de cette ville, nous révèle à ce sujet un
détail assez curieux. En l'année 1486, les paroissiens de Saint-
Pierre-le-Vieil faisaient courir le bruit que Clovis avait été baptisé
dans leur église. «Le 22 novembre, ajoute notre chroniqueur, leur fut
imposé silence comme estant chose non véritable, car Clovis fut
baptisé à l'église de Reims.» Et il fait observer, en s'appuyant sur le
vocable de saint Pierre, conservé de son temps à la chapelle basse
de l'archevêché, que l'oratorium Sancti Petri, indiqué par Hincmar,
était dans le palais de l'évêque et à proximité de l'église
cathédrale[440].
[440] «Les parrochians de l'église de Saint Pierre le Vielle de Reims faissoient
courir un bruict contre toutes apparences de vérité, que la Sainte Ampoule avoit
esté aultrefois en ceste paroisse, et que Clovis, premier roy de France chrestien, y
avoit esté baptissé et coronné roy de France. Le 22 novembre leur fut imposé
silence comme estant chose non véritable, car Clovis fut baptissé à l'église de
Reims, et en ce lieu la Sainte Ampoule y fut apportée à saint Remy.» Chronique
de Pierre Cocquault, t. IV, fol. 75 vº.
Ainsi tout ce que l'on a dit de Saint-Pierre-le-Vieil, à propos du
baptême de Clovis, est inexact, et l'on doit, en la question, mettre
cette église complètement à l'écart. Nous ignorons, du reste,
entièrement son origine et le temps de sa fondation. L'épithète de
Vieil (Sancti Petri Veteris) lui a été appliquée de bonne heure: on la
trouve dès le douzième siècle[441]; mais la vieillesse d'un monument
est une chose relative, et l'on se tromperait peut-être en assignant à
notre église une date trop reculée. En tout cas, nous ne voyons dans
Flodoard aucune mention qui puisse lui être rattachée avec
certitude. Les plus anciens documents qui la concernent ne nous
permettent pas de remonter au delà du douzième siècle. En 1172,
on y établit une confrérie, dite de Saint-Pierre-aux-Clercs, dont les
titres originaux furent brûlés en 1330, dans un grand incendie qui
consuma plusieurs maisons de la ville[442]. Par suite de cet
événement, la série des pièces comprenant l'ancien chartrier de
l'église Saint-Pierre ne s'ouvre plus qu'au quatorzième siècle, et
encore les pièces de cette dernière date sont-elles rares, car ce
fonds, tel qu'il existe maintenant aux archives de Reims, offre bien
des lacunes. Les matériaux dont nous disposons sont donc
insuffisants pour reconstituer toute l'histoire de cette paroisse, et
surtout pour éclaircir le mystère de son origine.
[441] Ordinaire de l'église de Reims du douzième siècle, Ul. Chevalier,
Bibliothèque liturgique, t. VII, p. 298-299; cf. une charte du 4 février 1259, citée
dans Varin, Archives administratives de Reims, t. I, p. 788.
[442] Archives de Reims, fonds de la paroisse Saint-Pierre, Inventaire des titres et
papiers de la confrérie du Saint-Nom-de-Jésus et de Saint-Pierre-aux-Clercs,
1724, p. 9 à 11.

Nous savons qu'on a parlé aussi d'une prétendue fondation, faite par
saint Remi en l'église Saint-Pierre-le-Vieil; mais c'est une simple
conjecture, sans aucun fondement, ainsi que Marlot l'a fort bien vu
en son histoire de Reims: «On tient, dit-il, que cette église servit
autrefois d'un monastère où saint Remy logea quarante vefves, dont
il est parlé en la vie de saint Thierry, et qu'elle devint paroisse,
lorsque ces vefves furent transférées à Sainte-Agnès; mais... Floard
ne dit rien de tout cela[443].» Flodoard, effectivement, garde sur ce
point un silence complet, et la Vie de saint Thierry ne dit rien non
plus qui autorise cette supposition. Nous sommes encore en
présence d'une de ces fausses légendes dont on a encombré les
histoires locales, et qu'il appartient à la critique d'éliminer.
[443] Histoire de la ville, cité et université de Reims, t. I, p. 689.
Pour en revenir à Clovis, il est certain qu'aucune église de Saint-
Pierre n'a été témoin de son baptême, et que les traditions
invoquées en faveur de cette opinion n'ont rien d'historique. Ainsi
s'écroulent par la base toutes les raisons accumulées pour
démontrer que la cérémonie a eu lieu dans un baptistère situé près
de l'ancienne cathédrale, dédiée aux Apôtres, et devenue plus tard
l'église Saint-Symphorien[444]. Cette opinion s'appuie surtout sur les
passages précédemment cités des Vies de saint Gildard et de sainte
Clotilde; c'est là un étai bien fragile, sur lequel on ne peut se reposer
en sécurité. On pourrait observer au surplus que le vocable des
Apôtres n'est pas tout à fait identique au vocable de saint Pierre;
mais à quoi bon, puisqu'il ne doit plus être question ici de saint
Pierre lui-même?
[444] Voy. la notice de M. le chanoine Cerf sur le Baptême de Clovis, p. 16 et suiv.
Clovis n'a pas été baptisé davantage dans l'église de Saint-Martin de
Reims, ainsi que l'a supposé Adrien de Valois[445], pour expliquer
une allusion de la lettre de saint Nizier, dont nous avons parlé plus
haut, et d'après laquelle Clovis, décidé à embrasser la foi
chrétienne, se serait rendu «ad limina domini Martini[446]». Cette
expression ne peut assurément désigner autre chose que la
basilique de Saint-Martin de Tours, qui reçut, en effet, une visite
solennelle du roi des Francs[447].
[445] AA. SS. Boll., octobre, t. I, p. 82. Cf. Krusch, Zwei Heiligenleben des Jonas
von Susa, p. 443.
[446] Voy. ci-dessus.
[447] En l'année 508, au retour de sa campagne contre les Visigoths, Grégoire de
Tours, Hist. Francorum, l. II, chap. xxxvii et xxxviii.
Ainsi ces diverses solutions doivent être écartées, et Clovis, suivant
toute vraisemblance, a reçu le baptême dans un baptistère attenant
à la cathédrale qui existait de son temps, à celle que saint Nicaise
avait bâtie en l'honneur de la sainte Vierge[448]. Il n'y avait alors sans
doute à Reims, comme dans les autres villes épiscopales, qu'un seul
baptistère, où l'évêque administrait le sacrement à des époques
déterminées[449]. C'est bien là le templum baptisterii, désigné par
Grégoire de Tours dans son récit de la conversion de Clovis[450].
Toutes les présomptions sont en faveur de cette assertion; pour la
combattre, il faudrait avoir des preuves, or on n'en découvre nulle
part.
[448] Il ne serait pas impossible, à la rigueur, que l'on ait conservé alors un
baptistère dépendant de la cathédrale antérieure, celle qui était dédiée aux
Apôtres; mais il était plus naturel qu'en construisant une nouvelle cathédrale, au
commencement du cinquième siècle, on lui eût annexé un nouveau baptistère.
[449] Martigny, Dict. des antiquités chrétiennes, p. 74.
[450] Hist. Francorum, t. II, chap. xxxi.
Du reste, cette opinion avait déjà cours au neuvième siècle, Louis le
Pieux, dans un diplôme donné à l'archevêque Ebbon, entre les
années 817 et 825[451], pour lui permettre d'employer les pierres des
murs de Reims à la reconstruction de la cathédrale, rappelle que
Clovis, son prédécesseur, a été dans cette église régénéré par le
baptême[452]. Nous n'insistons pas, bien entendu, sur un
témoignage aussi tardif, et nous ne lui attribuons aucune force
probante; nous nous bornons à reconnaître que, malgré les
divergences qui allaient bientôt se manifester, la vérité historique
avait dès lors reçu une sorte de consécration officielle.
[451] Telle est la date assignée par Sickel, Acta Karolin., II, p. 150 et 330.
[452] «... Metropolis urbis sancta mater nostra ecclesia, in honore sanctæ
semperque virginis ac [Dei] genitricis Mariæ consecrata,... in qua, auctore Deo et
cooperante sancto Remigio, gens nostra Francorum, cum æquivoco nostro rege
ejusdem gentis, sacri fontis baptismate ablui... promeruit.» Flodoard, Hist., l. II,
chap. xix, Mon. Germ., t. XIII, p. 469.
Il nous reste à rechercher en quel endroit au juste s'élevait le
baptistère. Deux textes peuvent nous fournir quelques indices à ce
sujet. On lit dans une continuation de la chronique de Flodoard que
l'archevêque Adalbéron fit détruire, en l'année 976, un ouvrage muni
d'arcades, qui était voisin des portes de l'église de Notre-Dame de
Reims, et près duquel se trouvait un autel dédié au Saint Sauveur, et
des fonts d'un admirable travail: «Destruxit Adalbero arcuatum opus
quod erat secus valvas ecclesiæ Sanctæ Mariæ Remensis, supra
quod altare Sancti Salvatoris habebatur, et fontes miro opere erant
positi.» Ce passage semble bien s'appliquer à un baptistère primitif,
construction isolée, située en dehors et à proximité de l'entrée de
l'église, et telle a été l'interprétation adoptée par Marlot[453]. Mais
Richer, en rapportant le même fait dans sa chronique, se sert de
termes assez obscurs, qui viennent compliquer un peu la question. Il
nous parle d'arcades élevées qui s'avançaient depuis l'entrée
jusqu'au quart environ de la basilique entière, et que l'archevêque fit
démolir pour donner à celle-ci plus d'ampleur: «Fornices qui ab
ecclesiæ introitu per quartam pene totius basilicæ partem eminenti
structura distendebantur, penitus diruit. Unde et ampliori receptaculo
et digniore scemate tota ecclesia decorata est[454].» On pourrait
croire, en lisant ces lignes, qu'il s'agit d'une construction intérieure
qui encombrait l'église, d'une tribune peut-être, ainsi que le pensait
Jules Quicherat[455]. A vrai dire, on ne se représente guère ce que
pouvait être une semblable disposition, et l'explication est en somme
peu satisfaisante. Le P. Jubaru, dans l'article déjà cité[456], émet à ce
sujet d'autres vues qui nous semblent fort justes, et qui concilient
très bien les données fournies par nos deux chroniqueurs. Nous
croyons qu'il a eu le mérite de découvrir la vraie solution du
problème.
[453] Metr. Remens. hist., t. I, p. 160.
[454] L. III, ch. xxii.
[455] Mélanges d'archéologie, moyen âge, p. 133.
[456] P. 301 à 310.
La cathédrale bâtie par saint Nicaise, celle qu'a vue Clovis, avait des
dimensions restreintes dont on peut se faire aujourd'hui encore une
idée assez exacte. On a conjecturé non sans raison que l'autel, situé
dans l'abside, devait être à la place qu'occupe maintenant le maître-
autel de la cathédrale actuelle[457]. La tradition a gardé aussi un
souvenir précis de l'endroit où s'ouvrait la porte de la basilique.
C'était là, sur le seuil même, que saint Nicaise avait été massacré
par les Vandales, et le lieu de son martyre était resté l'objet d'une
vénération non interrompue à travers les âges. Ce lieu correspond à
la sixième travée de notre cathédrale à partir du portail; au treizième
siècle, il était indiqué par un petit monument commémoratif; une
dalle de marbre le désigne de nos jours à la piété des fidèles. Le P.
Jubaru pense que la basilique primitive, suivant l'usage du temps,
était précédée d'un atrium, parvis carré entouré de portiques; au
milieu de ce parvis ou sur l'un des côtés s'élevait l'édicule du
baptistère[458]. D'après lui, l'église reconstruite par Ebbon et
achevée par Hincmar au neuvième siècle, aurait été prolongée vers
le chœur, mais la façade n'aurait pas changé de place, et l'atrium
ancien, ainsi que le baptistère, aurait été respecté. Leur destruction
a été l'œuvre d'Adalbéron; l'arcuatum opus, l'ouvrage garni
d'arcades qu'il démolit, doit s'entendre des galeries cintrées du
portique qui régnait autour du parvis. Avec ce portique, il supprima le
baptistère qui renfermait l'autel du Saint Sauveur et les fonts, sans
doute richement décorés de marbres et de mosaïques, dont on
admirait le beau travail. La préposition supra, employée ici par le
continuateur de Flodoard, n'a pas évidemment son sens habituel; on
ne comprend pas comment l'autel et les fonts auraient pu être
superposés à l'arcuatum opus. Supra, dans le latin du moyen âge,
indique souvent la juxtaposition, le voisinage immédiat; c'est ainsi
qu'on doit l'interpréter dans notre texte; il exprime la contiguïté du
baptistère aux arcades de l'atrium[459].
[457] Tourneur, Description historique et archéologique de N.-D. de Reims (1889),
p. 94.
[458] P. 304 et 308. C'est la disposition qu'a conservée jusqu'à nos jours l'antique
basilique de Parenzo en Istrie.
[459] P. 308.
Ces arcades, Adalbéron les sacrifia pour augmenter de ce côté la
nef de la cathédrale et la rendre plus imposante,—«ampliori
receptaculo decorata.» Elles commençaient alors près de l'entrée de
l'église, et se développaient sur le quart environ de la longueur totale
de la basilique, c'est-à-dire en y comprenant le parvis. Telles
devaient être, en effet, à peu près les dimensions de cet atrium.
Ainsi s'explique le texte de Richer qui devient plus intelligible, si on
en fait l'application, non pas uniquement au vaisseau intérieur de
l'église, mais en même temps à la place close qui la précédait au
dehors.
De l'hypothèse que nous venons d'exposer à la suite du P. Jubaru, il
résulte que l'emplacement de l'ancien atrium de l'église
contemporaine de Clovis peut être représenté dans la cathédrale
actuelle par une surface carrée qui s'étendrait au milieu de la nef, à
partir de la dalle qui rappelle le martyre de saint Nicaise. C'est dans
cet espace restreint, mais en un point indéterminé, que s'élevait le
baptistère de Clovis. On connaît donc, à quelques mètres près, ce
lieu mémorable, auquel s'attachent de si grands souvenirs. Peut-on
espérer encore davantage et compter sur une découverte imprévue
ou sur d'heureuses fouilles qui nous montreraient les substructions
du vénérable édifice? Le sol de la cathédrale a été si remanié que
nous n'osons prédire cette joie aux archéologues de l'avenir.
L. Demaison.
TABLE DES NOMS PROPRES
 CITÉS DANS LE SECOND VOLUME
A
Abbon, abbé de Fleury-sur-Loire, 242.
Abra, fille de saint Hilaire de Poitiers, 75.
Abraham, patriarche, 163.
Abraham (saint), abbé à Clermont-Ferrand, 46.
Adalbéron, archevêque de Reims, 311, 312, 313.
Adelfius (saint), évêque de Poitiers, 161.
Adour (l'), fleuve, 82.
Ægidius (le comte), général romain, 29, 30, 31.
Aétius, général romain, 2, 5, 29.
Afrique, 52, 53, 221, v. aussi Vandales.
Agaune, v. Saint-Maurice-en-Valais.
Agde, 54, 83, 84, 102, 135, 138.
Agen, 83.
Ahun, v. Idunum.
Aimoin, chroniqueur, 216 n., 241, 242, 243, 283.
Aire, 83, 139.
Aisne (l'), rivière, 290, 291.
Aix-en-Provence, 42.
Ajax, émissaire arien, 41.
Alamans (les), 3, 6, 122, 198, 201, 235, 268, 272, 273, 278, 280,
281, 291.
Alaric II, roi des Visigoths, 19, 21, 25, 48, 50, 54, 61, 62, 64, 66, 71,
72, 73, 75, 76, 77, 78, 87 n., 99, 105, 113, 181, 192, 208, 258, 273,
279.
Albi, 53.
Albigeois (l'), 85.
Alboflède, sœur de Clovis, 202, 272.
Alboïn, roi des Lombards, 277.
Alcimus Ecdicius Avitus, v. Avitus (saint), évêque de Vienne.
Alcuin, 290, n.
Allemagne, 2, 120.
Alpaïde, fille de Louis le Pieux, 303.
Alpes (les), 36, 87, 98, 108, 109.
Alpes Cottiennes (les), 112.
Amalaric, roi des Visigoths, 77, 86, 113 (où on a imprimé par erreur
Amalaric II), 208.
Amales (la famille des), 109, 116.
Amand (saint), 181, n., 183, n.
Amboise, 58, 70.
Amiens, 140, 242.
Ammien Marcellin, 74.
Ampsivariens (les), 121.
Anastase II, pape, 275.
Anastase, empereur romain, 59, 61, 93, 94, 107, n.
Andély, 206.
Angers, 235, 236.
Angoulême, 82, 86, n., 88, 90, 95, 238.
Annales Burgondes, 236.
Annales d'Angers, 235.
Antée, 227.
Anthémius, empereur romain, 31.
Antonin le Pieux, empereur romain, 27.
Apollinaire, comte de Clermont-Ferrand, 78, 238.
Apt, 110.
Aptonius (saint), évêque d'Angoulême, 89.
Apulie (l'), 106.
Aquitaine (l'), 25, 30, 40, 47, 49, 51, 52, 53, 56, 58, 60, 69, 74, 82,
95, 97, 98, 116, 117, 128, 132, 136, 162, 166, 178, 179, 180, 182,
183, 191, 194, 205, 227, 235, 238, 255, 272.
Aquitaine (la première), 136.
Aquitaine (la deuxième), 28.
Aquitaine (les deux), 100, 132.
Aquitains (les), 47, 53, 96, 97.
Arcachon, 83, n.
Arcadius, patricien d'Auvergne, 209, 210, 211, n.
Aredius, conseiller du roi Gondebaud, 17, 19, 248.
Arius, hérésiarque, 41.
Arles, 6, 27, 29, 35, 36, 51, 54, 99, 100, 101, 102, 108, 109, 110,
111, 113, 114, 133, 135, 136, 137.
Arlésiens (les), 104, 112.
Arnoul (saint), de Tours, 156, 244.
Arras, 140, 176.
Arvandus, ancien préfet du prétoire, 6.
Arvernes (les), 35, 238, v. aussi Clermontois.
Ataulf, roi des Visigoths, 37.
Athanase (saint), évêque d'Alexandrie, 176.
Atlantique (l'), 84, 85.
Attigny, 291, n.
Attila, roi des Huns, 3, 29, 63.
Auch, 39, 43, 45, 83, 139, 164, 169, 180.
Aurélien, conseiller légendaire de Clovis, 156.
Ausone, 26, 27.
Austrasie (l'), 205.
Auvergne (l'), 6, 32, 34, 35, 39, 44, 46, 70, 85, 88, 205, 208.
Auxerre, 22, 24, 159, 206, 248, 249.
Auzance (l'), rivière, 72, 73.
Avignon, 7, 16, 17, 18, 25, 110, 113, 115, 236, 288.
Avitus (saint), évêque de Clermont-Ferrand, 234.
Avitus de Micy (saint), abbé, 211.
Avitus, empereur romain, 29, 32, 210.
Avitus (saint), évêque de Vienne en Dauphiné, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 19,
22, 48, 51, 67, 69, 135, 203, 273, 278, 280, 282.
Aymeri de Peyrac, abbé de Moissac, 181, 183, n., 203.
B
Baralle, abbaye, 176, 178, 179.
Barcelone, 87, n., 115, 208.
Basée (la porte), à Reims, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306.
Balther, hagiographe, 254.
Basile, évêque d'Aix-en-Provence, 42.
Basine, mère de Clovis, 200.
Bataves (l'Ile des), 121.
Bathilde, reine des Francs, 201, 206, 207.
Bayonne, 82.
Bazas, 83, 139.
Beaucaire, 99, 103, 104, 105.
Beauvais, 140.
Beda le Vénérable, chroniqueur anglo-saxon, 263.
Bégon, gendre de Louis le Pieux, 303, 304.
Bélisaire, général romain, 81, n.
Belgique (la première), 140.
Belgique (la seconde), 140, 173, 224.
Bénarn, 83, 84, 139, cf. Lescar.
Berry (le), 31.
Bertold, moine de Micy, 261.
Besançon, 7.
Bethléem (Sainte-Marie de), abbaye en Gâtinais, 186, 187.
Bièvre (la), rivière, 196.
Blodesindus, abbé de Blois, 246.
Blois, v. saint Dié.
Boèce, philosophe romain, 199.
Boivre (la), rivière, 74.
Bonaparte (la rue), à Paris, 192.
Bonneuil, 192.
Bordeaux, 27, 28, 36, 37, 45, 51, 52, 74, 82, 85, 88, 98, 116, 128,
136, 137, 141, 152.
Bordelais (le), 83, 95.
Boulogne-sur-Mer, 140.
Bourges, 88, 259, 260.
Bourgogne (la), 15, 186, 205, 207.
Bretons (les), 31.
Brice, évêque de Nantes, 170.
Brioude, 46.
Brotonne (la forêt de), 212.
Bructères (les), 121.
Brunehaut, reine des Francs, 209.
Buch, 139.
Bucianum, 174.
Buchonie (la), forêt, 123, 124, 125, 128.
Burgondes (les), 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 21, 22, 24, 25, 31, 32,
36, 41, 52, 56, 59, 60, 62, 69, 70, 80, 87, 98, 100, 101, 102, 105,
107, 109, 110, 111, 114, 115, 142, 221, 248.
Burgondie, 2, 5, 7, 12, 16, 22, 25, 42, 69, 85, 88, 207, 236.
Byzance, 5, 8, 58, 60, 61, 63, 106, 107, 109, 199.
Byzantins (les), 59, 107.
C
Camargue (Ile de la), 100.
Cambrai, 140, 176, 177, 178, 235.
Campine (la), 227.
Camulogène, roi des Parisii, 192.
Carcassonne, 81 n., 84 n., 99, 114.
Carthage, 52, 81 n.
Cassiodore, ministre de Théodoric-le-Grand, 272.
Caudebec, 212.
Cavaillon, 110.
Celsus, Gallo-Romain du vie siècle, 159.
Célestin, irlandais, 265, 266.
Céneret (le camp de), 73, 75, 76.
Cervon, abbaye, 248.
Césaire (saint), évêque d'Arles, 51, 52, 101, 102, 103, 104, 111, 114,
133, 135, 136, 137, 138, 244, 245.
Césarie (sainte), sœur de saint Césaire d'Arles, 102, 244.
Césars (les), 116.
Cévennes (les), 88.
Châlons-sur-Marne, 140.
Chalon-sur-Saône, 52.
Chararic, roi franc, 118.
Charbonnière (la forêt), 156, 271.
Charlemagne, 83, 130, 170, n., 179, 198, 203, 245, 271.
Charles le Chauve, roi de France, 246.
Charles le Simple, roi de France, 170, n.
Charles Martel, duc des Francs, 301.
Charroux, abbaye, 303, n.
Chartres, 246, 259, 283.
Château-Landon, 266, 267.
Châtellerault, 72.
Chattes (les), 121.
Chavigny, 172.
Chelles, abbaye, 192.
Childebert Ier, roi des Francs, 157, n., 192, 205, 208, 209, 210, 212.
Childéric Ier, 129, 157, 202, 221, 235, 242, 250.
Chilpéric, roi des Burgondes, 5, 13, 14.
Chlodéric, roi des Ripuaires, 69, 77, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128.
Choisy, 196.
Chroniques de Saint-Denis (les), 242.
Cité (la) de Paris, 209.
Clain (le), rivière, 72, 73, 74.
Claudius, prêtre gallo-romain, 159, 160.
Clermont-Ferrand, 6, 9, 31, 33, 35, 74, 86, 138, n., 234.
Clermontois (les), 238.
Clichy, 192.
Clodion, roi des Francs, 157, 226, 242.
Clodoald ou Cloud, prince mérovingien, 207, 211.
Clodomir, roi des Francs, 205, 207, 209, 210, 211.
Clotaire Ier, roi des Francs, 157, n., 170, n., 205, 209, 210, 212, 213,
256, 284.
Clotilde (sainte), reine des Francs, 13, 14, 25, 129, 164, 167, 180,
186, 194, 196, 201, 202, 205, 206, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 237,
238, 245, 257, 277, 279, 281, 291, 294, n., 306, 307, 308, 310.
Clotilde, fille de Clovis, 208.
Clotsinde, femme du roi Alboïn, 277, 278, 280.
Clovis, 1, 2, 10, 11, 14, 15, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 43, 49,
50, 53, 55, 56, 57, 58, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73,
75, 77, 78, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 88, 89, 90, 92, 93, 94, 95, 97, 105,
115, 116, 118, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 130, 131,
132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 138, n., 139, 151, 152, 153, 155, 156, 157,
159, 160, 162, 164, 166, 167, 170, 171, 173, 175, 176, 178, 179,
180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 191, 192, 194,
195, 196, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 208, 212, 213,
214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 224, 226, 229, 230, 233,
234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 241, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247,
249, 255, 256, 257, 258, 260, 261, 262, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269,
270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283,
284, 287, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 297, 299, 305, 306, 307,
308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 314.
Clovis II, 170 n., 181 n., 242.
Cocy, 173.
Coffin (saint), 186.
Cologne, 43, 69, 77, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 130,
140, 235.
Comminges, v. Saint-Bertrand de Comminges.
Conques (abbaye Sainte-Foi de), 179.
Constance Chlore, empereur romain, 192.
Constantin le Grand, empereur romain, 74, 100, 138, n., 143.
Constantinople, 59, 67, 106.
Continuatio Prosperi Havniensis, 282.
Corniche (la), 108.
Côte-d'or (la), 187.
Cottiennes (les Alpes), v. Alpes.
Couserans, 83, 139.
Cousin (le), rivière, 22, n., 248.
Crocus, évêque de Nîmes, 45.
Cure (la), rivière, 22, 24, 58, 248.
Cyprien, évêque de Toulon, 244.
Cyprien, évêque de Bordeaux, 136, 137, 141, 152.
D
Dani, v. Normands.
Dauphiné (le), 147.
Dax, 83, 139.
De Gestis regum Francorum, v. Aimoin.
Déols, 31.
Diane, déesse, 194.
Dié (saint), solitaire de Blois, 246.
Dijon, 7, 15, 16.
Dioclétien, empereur romain, 52, 247.
Dispargum, 227.
Dodilon, évêque de Cambrai, 177.
Dorat (le), abbaye, 183.
Durance (la), rivière, 36, 98, 108, 110, 112, 115.
E
Eauze, 45, 83, 139.
Ebbon, archevêque de Reims, 295, 311, 313.
Ecdicius, fils de l'empereur Avitus, 32, 33, 34, 35, 40, 78 n.
Ecdicius, v. Avitus (saint), de Vienne.
Edwin, roi de Northumbrie, 200.
Église franque (l'), 153, 223.
Eleuthère (saint), évêque de Tournai, 164, 246, 247.
Emma ou Emmia, prétendue fille de Clovis, 205 n.
Eonius, évêque d'Arles, 111.
Epaone, 135, 138 n.
Epineuil, 192.
Epiphane (saint), évêque de Pavie, 133.
Epitome, v. Frédégaire.