Rhizomata 2014; 2(2):139–160

David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in
Plato’s Phaedrus
Abstract: The elaborate imagery regarding souls and gods in the Palinode in
Plato’s Phaedrus leads interpreters to view the gods as complex and similar to the
human soul, only with better horses. We try to show that the gods are only made
to appear complex to serve as paradigms for humans. Details of the myth should
instead be viewed as allowing for gods that are simple and not souls at all. And
even human souls are questionably complex under all conditions. Plato’s image
fits with the context of guiding the soul by philosophical rhetorical art and the
task of investigation to determine whether things are simple or complex.

Keywords: soul, paradigm, gods, technology, horses

DOI 10.1515/rhiz-2014-0006

The famous myth recounted in Socrates’ second speech on love is all vision, with no argu-
ment. […] What I shall be suggesting is that the vision is the result of reflection on argu-
ments given elsewhere and is itself an attempt to convey the ultimate point and purpose of
philosophical argument. (Burnyeat 2012, p. 239)

The palinode in Plato’s Phaedrus offers elaborate imagery regarding souls and
gods that clarifies how we are to understand each of these. Following upon an
argument for soul’s immortality based on its being a self-mover (245c3–246a2),
Socrates observes that he ought to speak concerning the form of the soul itself
(περὶ δὲ τῆς ἰδέας αὐτῆς, 246a3–4). Yet he says this would require a lengthy
narration and one suited for a divine speaker, so he will instead speak in a
human way of what the soul is like (ᾧ δὲ ἔοικεν). He thus introduces his chariot
image,

Let us then liken (ἐοικέτω) the soul to the natural union of a team of winged horses and
their charioteer. The gods have horses and charioteers that are themselves all good and
come from good stock besides, while everyone else has a mixture. (246a6–b1)

David Hoinski: Department of Philosophy, West Virginia University, PO Box 6312, Morgantown,
West Virginia 26506, U.S.A. E-mail: [email protected]
Ronald Polansky: Department of Philosophy, Duquesne University, 600 Forbes Ave., Pittsburgh,
PA 15282, U.S.A. E-mail: [email protected]

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140 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

This passage refers to gods along with soul and leads interpreters to view these
gods as complex and similar to the human soul, only with better horses.¹ Sub-
sequently in the dialogue Socrates explains that to provide a true account (ὁ
ἀληθὴς λόγος, 270c10) of the nature of anything, we must first consider whether
it is simple or multiform (ἁπλοῦν ἢ πολυειδές, 270d1).
Does the palinode depict human souls and the gods as simple or complex,
especially since elsewhere Plato indicates the gods are simple and unchanging
(see Republic 380d), and in Timaeus 69c–d the parts of soul besides the rational
part are called mortal (on mortal soul parts, see Karfík 2005)? Moreover, Phaedo
78b–c and Republic 611b–612a suggest that the human soul itself could be simple.
So complexity should be problematic in the case of both gods and human souls.
We first consider the human soul and then turn to the gods and their horses.
Since Socrates offers in his tale what the soul is like, we need not suppose that
a much better account is readily available. Indeed Socrates claims that such
account would be altogether divine (πάντως θείας, 246a4). This accords with
Timaeus 72d4–7 quoted by Bryan (2012), p. 181 and then commented upon,

So in matters concerning the soul, how much of it is mortal and how much divine, where
these parts are and connected to what and why they are situated separately, that the truth
has been told is something we could affirm only via divine confirmation. (Timaeus 72d4–7,
Bryan’s trans.)

Bryan comments:

Although Timaeus can give an account of the nature of the soul, he is unable to affirm its
truth. Only god, he says, could offer the confirmation necessary for certainty.

1 Werner (2012) assumes the gods have (or are) souls without particularly emphasizing this di-
mension of the myth. Yunis (2011), pp. 15, 141 likewise speaks of “divine souls” and “the souls
of the gods.” Rowe (1988), e.g. pp. 177–178 takes the gods as souls and souls as complex. Fer-
rari (1987), p. 130 says, “the difference between the divine and the human soul is one of degree
rather than kind.” Sinaiko (1965), p. 55 states: “the only difference between the human and the
divine soul lies in the character, appearance, and ancestry of one of the horses” and Burnyeat
(2012), p. 244 claims, “the definition of soul as self-mover does not differentiate between human
and divine souls. They are exactly the same in essence and definition.” See also Gerson (1987),
pp. 90–92. Those commenting on Phaedrus in Barney et al. (2012) do not address this issue in
any detail, though Sheffield suggests that “downplaying” tripartition in the Phaedrus deals with
“the worry that the souls of the gods would have to be tripartite in a similar way,” i.e., to human
souls (p. 224). Sheffield correctly notes that this is “at odds with what Plato says elsewhere about
the divine.” Translations are from Cooper and Hutchinson (1997), occasionally slightly modified,
and Burnet (1901) is used for Greek.

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 141

Accounts of the soul therefore inevitably resort to images and likenesses, but none-
theless well-conceived likening may capture much truth about what it depicts.²
Regarding the gods as well, Socrates offers a likeness. Although he has
reasons for maintaining some obscurity, it is our contention that the gods in
this tale are intrinsically simple, whereas Socrates’ likeness of the human soul
emphasizes complexity but allows for the possibility of ultimate simplicity.
Plato has made the gods appear like humans to serve as paradigms for them, yet
the gods as gods also differ significantly from humans. Contrary to what most
interpreters believe, we argue that the gods are not souls at all and that they are
depicted similarly to humans in the myth only so that they may serve as models
for humans to emulate. The gods are in fact different enough from humans that
their lives can be characterized as eternally orderly and contemplative whereas
human life involves struggle and effort both in its embodied and in much of its
disembodied state. On our interpretation Plato has so contrived his “vision” or
imagery that it can lead rather directly to argument going beyond the defense of
human love to a reflection upon its cosmic framework that contributes to human
self-knowledge.³ Talk here of the gods is a colorful, inspiring, and edifying model
of the way humans should comport themselves to the forms, but ultimately the
depicted gods probably differ little from the forms themselves.⁴
We thus to a great extent follow the line of thought Burnyeat (2005) and Bryan
(2012) develop with regard to the Timaeus. Bryan says about Timaeus’ account:

His “likelihood” is the quality possessed by a successful account of a likeness as a like-

ness. Such a likely account must acknowledge and, to some extent, explain the connec-
tion between the likeness and its model, specifically the way the model’s nature influences
that of the likeness. Timaeus’ εἰκώς does not, of itself, imply a lack of truth or certainty. It
is the fact that cosmology’s subject-matter, being a likeness, is created and is therefore in

2 The argument for immortality appealed to self-motion, but how might this be represented ex-
cept by an image with observable movable things?
3 Burnyeat (2012), p. 242 says, “Whereas Socrates’ first speech was presented (whether ironically
or seriously) as the product of external inspiration (235c–d, 237a, 238c–d, 241e), the inspiration
for his second speech is quite seriously thought of as coming from within. Socrates can describe
himself as a seer (mantis) of sorts, because the soul itself is mantikon ti; it has visionary powers
[…] Socrates is inspired to speak about the history of the soul.” Yet of course Socrates attributes
the palinode to Stesichorus (244a2–3), which casts some doubt on Burnyeat’s otherwise interest-
ing insight. Burnyeat further states, “Socrates tells us what the soul resembles. Call this compar-
ison an allegory if you like, but if it is an allegory it is one that claims to be a truthful imaginative
vision of our whole existence both in this world and outside it” (p. 244, our emphasis).
4 That the gods closely resemble the forms fits with Phaedo 78b–84b, where it is claimed that
the soul is more “akin” to invisible forms than to visible bodies. And the depiction of gods in
Republic II 380d1–381c8 makes them quite like the forms.

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142 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

the realm of Coming-to-be which dictates the relationship of a likely description of that
likeness to the stable truth which describes Being. Thus, just as Coming-to-be represents
Being, albeit in a qualified fashion, so the truths with which one can talk about the realm of
Coming-to-be are qualified and contingent truths related to the stable and permanent truth
of the intelligible realm. (pp. 192–193)

Yet we must recognize that the account of the soul and gods in the Phaedrus,
even if some parts of the soul are mortal, is not especially directed toward any
Coming-to-be since souls and gods are not so clearly created. The Phaedrus devel-
ops likenesses not of a likeness of being but of everlasting soul and gods. While
the ultimate paradigms in the Phaedrus are the forms, Socrates configures his
prominent paradigms or models in the palinode, the gods, to appear to resemble
human souls more nearly than a careful inspection will disclose, so these gods
may be an imaginative rendition of the forms and suitable exemplars for the best
human life and love.

I Human souls in the palinode

Socrates’ image of a charioteer with a team of horses to depict the self-moving
human soul is calculated to appeal to Phaedrus with his penchant for speeches
and myths (see 257a3–6, where Socrates says that he has made the palinode poet-
ical “on account of Phaedrus”). As many scholars have noted, there are literary
precedents (see, e.g., Yunis 2011, p. 138 and Werner 2012, pp. 110–11). The narrator
of Parmenides’ proem travels in a horse-driven chariot. Chariots also figure prom-
inently in Homer and Greek myth (both gods and humans use them in Homer,
e.g., in Iliad V.355–369 Iris drives the wounded Aphrodite back to Olympus in a
chariot), and for chariots in other traditions, see the image of the soul as chariot
in Katha Upanishad 3.3–9. Such literary allusion to this (at the time of the dia-
logue) outmoded vehicle of war will perhaps resonate with Phaedrus (much as
Plato supposes it will with readers), but Plato also makes the familiar motif serve
several novel purposes with respect to our issue of simplicity and complexity.
Socrates’ image includes a homunculus, the charioteer, perhaps essential
for any image that will reach the human level (cf. Republic ix 588b–e), though
hardly unproblematic.⁵ But the chariot image strikingly lacks a warrior, who his-

5 Kamtekar (2012), pp. 82–83 n. 10 neatly summarizes a century and a half of criticism of Pla-
to’s personifying parts of the soul: “if the parts (of the person) were introduced to explain the
behavior of the whole person but themselves behave just like the whole person, their behavior

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 143

torically accompanied a charioteer in warfare. Socrates’ image has the charioteer

unaccompanied to keep this part of the soul – the charioteer represents the intel-
lect or thinking part – undivided.⁶ Yet the image might merely have had a flying
winged human but instead includes multiple animate parts, since the horses are
themselves self-moving beings. The human souls in the palinode thus look on
first inspection to be complex self-movers, the major parts of which have their
own dynamism. This complexity allows for conflict within a single human being
because the parts may display opposing desires. Plato invites viewing the parts
of the soul as “real agents, having something of the completeness and auton-
omy of different kinds of organisms,” as Barney, Brennan, and Brittain (2012),
p. 3 suggest. Whether this is Plato’s ultimate word on the nature of the soul, com-
plexity in the Phaedrus appears quite prominent in the human soul. Socrates of
course denominates it here a συμφύτῳ δυνάμει or a combined power.⁷
Since the image includes horses, the chariot’s motion can derive either from
the horses’ legs or pervasive wings. Wings cause motion when the souls are sup-
posed disembodied and flying rather than when they are traveling embodied on
the ground. Of course winged humans and horses also have literary precedents –
Socrates mentions Pegasus at 229d7 and we recall Icarus (though his wings are
artificial) – but Socrates has the novelty of wings that grow and decline. Devel-
oped wings can power flight through the heavens in the disembodied condition,
but the embodied soul hardly flies, for the wings merely sprout and only when
a person falls in love (251a–252a). The wings grow insufficiently in this life to
empower the ultimate vision, except perhaps for the philosopher (249c; cf. 256d).
Even the philosopher’s soul, however, cannot take full flight, since it too is
“buried in this thing we are carrying around now, which we call a body […] like an
oyster in its shell” (250c). Only the disembodied condition allows a complete set

too stands in need of explanation (indeed the same explanation) as the whole person whose
behavior they were introduced to explain.”
6 There are literary and historical precedents for an unaccompanied charioteer as well. This
may occur in Parmenides’ proem (at least if the maidens only accompany the youth on the part
of the journey we hear about, and perhaps we can suppose the maidens, since there are many,
guide the wise horses without really being in the chariot), the gods in Homer drive chariots unac-
companied (see, e.g., Iliad VIII.41–52), and Egyptian pharaohs were depicted as driving chariots
alone.
7 Ryan (2012), p. 184: “The adjective insists at the outset on the organic unity of a creature of the
imagination that will be, as the myth progresses, in some danger of falling into three parts in the
reader’s mind.” Sheffield (2012), p. 222 says, “it is not clear what Plato is committing himself to in
the Phaedrus,” but suggests viewing soul in the Phaedrus as a complex unity, which it clearly is
at least for a time. What is unclear is whether this complex unity might allow for further division
into a simple unity.

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144 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

of wings to emerge; the embodied philosopher can, at best, look upward by way
of recollection occasioned by a perception of beauty (see 249d; cf. esp. 278b–c;
cf. Werner 2012, pp. 92–95).
Hence, though wings are the soul’s most important source of motion, the
imagery needs the horses to establish the character of the earthly life of the soul
and to help explain why the disembodied soul may lose its wings and enter into a
mortal body (248d). Even disembodied, the soul’s unruly horse, hard to control,
interferes with the charioteer’s attaining the full vision of the place beyond
heaven. Whereas the gods’ horses are perfectly good and coordinated, the bad
human horse puts the soul in conflict both with itself and others. We might
suppose that only embodied existence leads humans to be competitive, and that
in their disembodied state they would enjoy wisdom contentedly and coopera-
tively. But in Socrates’ myth, souls in the disembodied condition competitively
strive for the full vision of the forms. On account of the unruliness of the horses
and the incompetence of the charioteers, the struggle of each soul to attain this
vision leads to collisions, trampled and destroyed wings (248a–b). Consequently,
the human charioteer periodically fails to observe the forms with resultant total
loss of the wings and the soul’s reincarnation in earthly existence. Then, instead
of being nurtured upon knowledge and truth (247d), the soul feeds upon mere
opinion (248b).
The myth has the disembodied condition affected greatly by the previous life,
much as the embodied condition results to some extent from the previous dis-
embodied one. There may most likely be two sorts of disembodied conditions of
the soul, that in which the soul remains close to earthly desires and that of more
complete separation (see 248e–249b). The disembodied soul beset with earthly
desires links with the life of the many, while the purer condition suits those living
the philosophical life. If philosophers are divinely mad in their human state,
standing apart from human concerns (249c–d), this should apply even more to
the philosopher’s disembodied condition (though then it questionably seems
quirky and madness since all the souls there are striving for vision of the forms).
Socrates’ likeness uses the horses to account for why even disembodied souls
still have difficulties and to make vivid why embodied souls have a hard life.
Especially in light of what we find in those other dialogues mentioned above,
the crucial question is whether the human charioteers ever get away from their
horses to attain a condition of simplicity. We suggest that even if the soul turns
out ultimately to be simple, it still tends to fall into the bodily condition since
leading three consecutive philosophical lives proves exceedingly difficult, and
Socrates has the human charioteer with its own wings that might at some time
fail to lift it sufficiently for any vision of the forms. In favor of the soul’s abiding
unity in complexity, no soul may ever escape the cycle of reincarnation (see 248e–

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 145

249), but merely become fully winged again, enjoying a better life in the heavens
(250b–c), while still having problems due to the presence of bad horses.⁸
The embodied soul of a lover struck by the beauty of the beloved has the
horses engage in more usual pedestrian motion as they draw the chariot toward
what is beloved. The image helps explain the crucial human inability to be indif-
ferent to what appears beautiful, because beauty is a reminder of what Socrates
characterizes as the ultimate object of intellectual erotic desire. Seeing beauti-
ful bodies or hearing beautiful speeches, we humans have a premonition of the
intellect’s previous fascination with beauty itself. The soul sprouts feathers all
over, maddening both charioteer and horses, and compelling the lover to spend
as much time as possible in the presence of his beloved (250d).⁹ Forms besides
Beauty are insufficiently luminous through their earthly instantiations to provoke
such erotic longing:

Justice and self-control (sōphrosunē) do not shine out through their images down here, and
neither do the other objects of the soul’s admiration; the senses are so murky that only a few
people are able to make out, with difficulty, the original of the likenesses they encounter
here. But beauty was radiant to see at that time when the souls, along with the glorious
chorus (we were with Zeus, while others followed other gods), saw that blessed and spec-
tacular vision and were ushered into the mystery that we may rightly call the most blessed
of all. (250b1–c1)

This indicates why humans, though often indifferent to other things, cannot be
indifferent to beauty, since beauty is extraordinarily bright in the region beyond
heaven and its perceptible instantiations can reawaken to the spectacle of beauty
itself (cf. 237d3–5). Vision is our primary access to beauty in this life; we do not
have such easy access to justice, sōphrosunē, and other forms, for these depend
more exclusively upon hearing and understanding and are therefore less easily
accessible.¹⁰

8 Burnyeat (2012), p. 246 says that it is “the soul’s intellectual condition” that “determines the
character of one’s horses,” and regarding a possible perfect beginning of the soul, and how there
would be a fall from this perfect beginning, he denies that Socrates bothers to give an account of
this (247). We suggest that an important theme of the Phaedrus is the proper use of leisure (σχολή,
see 227b8–11 and 229e4–230a1). While the gods easily use theirs perfectly, a human soul, even a
simple and philosophic soul, has difficulty remaining perfectly winged (see 246b7–d5).
9 Ferrari (1992), pp. 265–267 stresses how the charioteer’s seeing the beautiful beloved recalls
the heavenly vision of Beauty, and this profoundly changes the charioteer’s motivation from so-
cial conformity to the divine madness.
10 Greek literature emphasizes how love develops through the eyes (see, e.g., Homeric Hymn
to Aphrodite 97–99, 131–138), and Plato exploits this. No one can fail to be attracted to beauty,

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146 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

The love arising for a beautiful being as an instance of the paradigmatic beauty
itself causes the wings on the charioteer and team of horses to sprout and fosters
the divine erotic madness that Socrates wants to praise and defend.¹¹ Socrates
means to illustrate that the human soul need not desire beauty exclusively, but
attracted by the manifest appearance of beauty, the soul may recall all the beings
it observed in its disembodied state. Though feathers sprout on charioteer and
horses, only the charioteer actively recollects the other forms by way of beauty.¹²
The horses do not share in this recollection, as earlier in the palinode the gods’
horses are not nourished by the vision of the forms, requiring instead ambrosia
and nectar for their sustenance. The “good” human horse motivated by desire of
honor and fear of shame perhaps represents the social part of human nature. The
“bad” horse seeking the pleasures of the body, despite constituting a danger in its
undisciplined state to human happiness, can nevertheless contribute to moving
the soul in its embodied condition toward beauty and thereby the other forms.¹³
Socrates emphasizes that from seeing the beautiful beloved, the wings start
to sprout all over the soul since in the previous disembodied condition the entire
soul had wings (251b). Therefore the disembodied human soul had wings on the
charioteer as well as the horses, so that all these parts of the soul can be in self-mo-
tion. This (along with the aspiration of the philosopher’s divine madness) gives
the clearest evidence from the palinode’s imagery that the soul may ultimately
be simply the charioteer, especially when it becomes completely philosophical.
Yet perhaps this is a pipe dream, given the fact that in contrast to his portrayal
of the gods (see below) Socrates never depicts the human charioteers detaching
from their horses. Indeed, as Rowe (2007), p. 140 observes, “in the Phaedrus myth
we always retain our horses.” Though the simplicity of the human soul is at least
indicated as a possibility inasmuch as the charioteer itself is a winged thing and
hence a self-mover, since the loss of wings explains and characterizes embodi-
ment, it would seem that the charioteer must nearly always be harnessed to his
or her horses.

though only a few develop the philosophical rapture with Beauty itself. Obstacles to being drawn
properly to Beauty itself seem the forgetfulness due to distance from the original vision and bad
behavior, i.e., ignorance and corruption (see 250e1–2).
11 Socrates presents the palinode as praise of erōs, or of the noble, divine, “right-handed” erōs,
as opposed to the base, animalistic, “left-handed” erōs of Socrates’ first speech (265e–266b).
12 Frede (1996), pp. 5–6 emphasizes that reason for the ancients has its own needs and desires,
“reason itself not only has desires, but that the objects of its desires to some extent are fixed, so
that it becomes part of what it is to be endowed with reason to have certain preferences, at how-
ever high a level of generality these might be fixed.” Cf. Frede (2011), p. 21.
13 Cf. Nussbaum (1986), pp. 213–223, Ferrari (1987), pp. 190–203, and Ferrari (1992), pp. 265–267.

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 147

Along with the living parts, horses, and charioteer, the palinode imagery
suggests a chariot with other artifacts that introduce the role of art and technol-
ogy in producing motion. There is dispute, however, about the chariot. Griswold
(1986), p. 93 observes that “not only is a chariot not a natural being (unlike the
charioteer, wings, and horses), it is not actually mentioned in the myth,” and he
suggests that artifacts do not figure elsewhere in the myth (p. 262; cf. de Vries
1969, p. 126). Griswold’s interpretation seems questionable in this regard, since
both the chariot and artifacts are in fact mentioned. At 246e it is said that Zeus
“drives his winged chariot” (ἐλαύνων πτηνὸν ἅρμα), and slightly later, at 247b1–2,
Socrates speaks of “the chariots of the gods” (τὰ […] θεῶν ὀχήματα). While harma
according to LSJ s.v. I 2, 3 can mean a chariot or its car, the chariot and horses, or
merely the horses, Socrates’ reference to “the gods’ chariots” (ὀχήματα) in 247b
should remove any doubt about the presence of chariots in the palinode. LSJ
has only “that which bears” or “chariot” or “vessel” for ὄχημα. Hence, though
passages such as 246a and 253c–d emphasize that there are three parts of soul
and do not mention a chariot, Socrates’ image includes a chariot that calls for
explanation. Artifacts associated with chariots also figure in Socrates’ account. A
whip and spurs (μάστιγι μετὰ κέντρων) are explicitly mentioned in 253e and reins
(τὰς ἡνίας) and bit (τοῦ χαλινοῦ) in 254c. Thus Socrates’ image uses artifacts, and
these artifacts play a role in the palinode inasmuch as the unruly horse “barely
yields to horsewhip and goad combined,” and the charioteer must pull the reins
so hard that “the bit […] bloodies (the) foul-speaking tongue and jaws” of the
unruly one (254b–e).
Artifacts and hence technologies enter into the myth regarding education of
the soul, for the best part of the soul must use such artifacts to guide and disci-
pline the other parts.¹⁴ We agree therefore with Griswold (1986), p. 262 when he
says that, “If the chariot were part of the soul, it would be a very important part
with a crucial function to play.” The artifacts in the palinode connect the imagery
here to the discussion of the art of rhetoric in the second half of the Phaedrus, pro-
viding a hitherto unnoticed link between the two halves of the dialogue. For Plato
technologies such as speaking and writing play a crucial role in human life, and
the artifacts of the palinode are analogous with such technologies. The charioteer
uses the artifacts to direct the horses, much as effective speakers and writers use
their art to move souls, their own and others’. The whole Phaedrus dialogue is
about what moves or leads the soul (ψυχαγωγία, 261a8; cf. 271c10), and Socrates

14 Below we cast doubt on the gods having any motion at all. Hence it is important that Socrates
has artifacts in connection with the human soul, but regarding the gods, the gods’ chariots in
247b1–2 are no part of the gods themselves.

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148 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

argues that the proper use of rhetoric, like the appropriate governing of the soul’s
chariot, leads to the greatest possible happiness for human beings (276c–277a).
The cosmic setting for love in the palinode thus provides a significant incentive
for the true rhetoric discussed in the dialogue’s second half.
The Phaedrus dialogue begins with Socrates uncharacteristically venturing
outside the walls of the town with Phaedrus, a pedestrian version of the soul’s
attempted flight to the outer edge of heaven as depicted in the palinode. Plato
intends this parallel of the embodied and rather featherless condition with the
disembodied and feathered heavenly state of soul: our lives as human beings,
philosophical or non-philosophical, parallel the possible kinds of existence we
may have on the other side when disembodied. The analogy reinforces the Pla-
tonic trope, most famously set out in the Republic’s allegory of the cave, that
pursuit of truth requires a departure from wonted ways and a shift of perspective.
The image of the chariots struggling in heaven for vision is also, however, an alle-
gory of the antagonistic aspect of the human condition symbolized by the bad
horse that wants to go down toward the pleasures of the body. If the philosopher
aspires to dwell forever with the forms, attainment would require a simple state
of the soul, the feathered charioteer on its own.
Yet Burnyeat (2012), p. 249 urges that in the Phaedrus, “the whole three-part
composite is immortal.” He opposes Guthrie (1975), pp. 422–425 and Vlastos (1975)
that allow a possible simple state of the soul when “after 10,000 years every soul
regains its wings so as to escape from the cycle of rebirth and return to the place
from whence it came (248e).” Burnyeat protests that such a solution involves two
premises:

(1) The prospect of eventual return and regrowing of wings is Plato’s version of the old
promise (familiar from the Thurii tablets) that man can become god; (2) the imagery of the
divine soul as a complex of charioteer and horses is not serious, because the horses are
both good. Given these two premises, it can then be argued that the soul’s final assimilation
to god would be a restoration of its original simplicity. I accept (1) […] but (2) seems to me
high-handed violence to a central feature of the myth. Within the myth all soul is irreducibly
complex.

Our argument for the possible simplicity of the condition of the soul depends on
neither of the premises referred to by Burnyeat. The human charioteer is feath-
ered and hence capable of self-motion, and so questionably in need of any horses,
especially in a philosopher’s disembodied condition. Why should a human soul
that has a homunculus capable of wings also always need different sorts of living
beings, that is, horses? The reason in the Phaedrus is that Socrates aims mainly to
depict human soul in its usual condition. On grounds different from Burnyeat’s,
we agree with him that Socrates’ myth tends to the conclusion that human soul

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 149

is generally complex, and that the human never becomes a god. (Indeed Burn-
yeat’s endorsement of premise 1 above is questionable, since in the palinode fully
winged human souls are nonetheless depicted with bad horses, suggesting that
the recovery of wings alone does not translate humans to the blessed life of the
gods.) Yet, we intend to show without “high-handed violence to a central feature
of the myth” that Socrates is not so definitely committed to complex gods having
good horses as intrinsic features, which Burnyeat takes to support his interpreta-
tion regarding the human soul.

II The gods in the palinode

If the chariot image serves well for illustrating the soul, especially its divine erotic
madness, this is already much of the explanation for portraying the gods similarly.
Gods that do not significantly appear to resemble humans serve poorly as para-
digms for human likening (cf. Rowe 1998, p. 174). A paradeigma (παράδειγμα) can
be either a superior original that other things imitate, or an instance or example of
a kind that assists the learner to grasp the being (cf. Republic 472b–e; Statesman
283c–284d). A Platonic form or any original imitated in a different medium, as a
human may be depicted in a painting, is a paradigm as superior original, while
any member of a class is an example or instance of the class. Whereas the gods as
depicted by Homer and other poets are modeled on human beings without obvi-
ously being paradigms or standards for them to imitate, the account of the gods
in the palinode harmonizes with Plato’s project of rehabilitating the Olympian
deities (as in Republic ii and iii), making them suitable paradigms for humans,
and explaining features humans display, even while the gods they follow do not
themselves have these features.
Conceiving gods anthropomorphically may be appealing, but Socrates indi-
cates it is a dubious procedure when he says,

Such a combination [of body and soul] cannot be immortal, not on any reasonable account.
In fact we fashion it (πλάττομεν) based neither on observation nor on adequate reasoning,
that a god is an immortal living thing which has a body and a soul, and that these are bound
together by nature for all time – but of course we must let this be as it may please the gods,
and speak accordingly. (246c–d)

We ought not, then, to conceive the gods as any composition of soul and body,
and so overly close to humans, though Socrates has the gods as paradigms of
human souls. How exactly do these gods serve as standards for humans?
Even if for Socrates the Homeric gods are hardly the best gods or highest beings,
in view of Phaedrus’ skepticism toward religion earlier in the dialogue (see 229c,

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150 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

and recall his historical involvement in the profanation of the Mysteries scandal),
Socrates must do what he can to rehabilitate the Olympian deities through making
them worthy paradigms. The Olympian gods will then resemble our souls in
having horses, only much better, in fact unqualifiedly good.¹⁵ In Socrates’ story,
divine charioteers effortlessly attain the rim of heaven where they contemplate
the forms, whereas human souls aiming to follow the gods do so only through
great effort.
Each god other than Hestia leads a procession around the heavens, with
Zeus most prominent. Eleven Olympian gods have the disembodied human souls
in their procession. The followers of each god will in the embodied condition
possess qualities of character traditionally attributed to the god they follow and
seek similar persons to love (see 252c–253a). Socrates uses the gods as paradigms
for both human intellect and character, which accounts for “why some people
love others more or less” (Ficino 2008, pp. 44–45; see Phaedrus 252c–253c).
Though all the gods in Socrates’ tale are good and without desire, their followers
somehow take on characters of various sorts.¹⁶ For instance, the followers of Ares
are capable of murderous behavior if they believe themselves wronged by their
beloved (252c), and earlier Socrates proposed that in some version of the story
Boreas had raped Orithuia on the Hill of Ares (229d). In the palinode Zeus clearly
serves Socrates as the paradigm for philosophers (250b, 252e).
The gods set out leisurely and triumphantly for the outermost heaven. Once
there they feast as at a banquet (πρὸς δαῖτα καὶ ἐπὶ θοίνην, 247a), but a banquet
only figuratively speaking since they merely contemplate the true beings.¹⁷ After

15 Socrates leaves unclear how many horses the gods use. Szaif unpublished observes that Burn-
yeat (2012), p. 244 n.7 never really refutes the argument of Hackforth (1952), p. 69 that the gods
may use four-horse teams. Szaif points out that συνωρίς in 246b1 refers to a two-horse team,
whereas ζεῦγος used in 246a7 is not so restricted (in Apology 36d ζεῦγος must refer to a four-
horse team). This detail that the gods may use four-horse teams, as depicted in Greek art, helps
the case that the gods can be rather different in kind from human souls, and the denial in 246c–d
that the gods are compositions of soul and body may also suggest that they have neither body
nor soul.
16 As Erōs is traditionally a god not in love that causes love in humans and Aristotle’s god is an
unmoved mover, Socrates has characterless gods leading to various characters in humans. Can
such gods without desire be souls?
17 The depiction of the journey through heaven and looking out beyond it reverses the Greek
theater (see Nehamas and Woodruff 1995, p. 32 n. 72). Rather than looking down to the dramatic
spectacle within the theater, the gods and bodiless souls climb up the theater to its outer edge
and look out away from the theater as they circuit the theater. Socrates and Phaedrus, having
gone outside the town wall in their walk in the country, have analogously readied themselves to
look out to realities.

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 151

the full circuit of the outermost sphere, the gods return home. This revolution
suggests their enjoyment of complete contemplation of the forms. At home the
gods stable their horses and supply them ambrosia and nectar (247e), which
shows that the divine charioteers can detach from their horses. Whereas Olym-
pian deities for Homer and Hesiod delight in eating ambrosia and drinking nectar
that sustain their immortality (references in Homer abound, see also Hesiod, The-
ogony 639–642), Socrates’ Olympian charioteers feed only their horses nectar and
ambrosia. In Socrates’ version the gods themselves do not need anything analo-
gous to human food for nourishment, only their horses do.¹⁸ The gods use horses
with permanent wings that do not grow, decline, suffer damage, or fall off, as do
the wings of the human souls. The orderliness of the gods’ work and recreation is
perhaps suitable to divine beings that serve as exemplars of a well-guided human
life. Socrates represents the life of the gods as recognizably like ours. They travel
in the heavens doing their assigned tasks and thus exercising their supervision of
all within the heavens (see 246e4–247a7). Periodically they break from their tasks
to have their banquet. Following their “feast,” they return home and stable their
horses. Thus when Socrates says emphatically in 248a1 that he has related the
life of the gods (καὶ οὗτος μὲν θεῶν βίος), which consists in doing tasks, feasting,
and being at home, he intends for it strongly to recall what humans do. Since the
gods’ feast consists in contemplation of the forms, the paradigm of the divine life
indicates that the true fulfillment of human nature is philosophic activity that
nevertheless requires support by other functions (eating, sleeping, housework,
etc.).
Significantly in the case of the gods, only the gods’ horses have wings, for
Socrates never attributes wings to the divine charioteer.¹⁹ Since the divine char-
ioteers do not have wings, they are doubtfully in any motion on their own at all,
and so horse imagery is introduced to permit motion for the gods. As Rowe (1998),
p. 177 suggests, the gods “seem to need horses only to pull their chariots,” and
Socrates hardly describes the gods in any motion without their horses, except
incidentally the motions inherent in stabling and feeding them. If the gods can

18 Rowe (1988), p. 180 says, “Already in Homer the horses of the gods are distinguished from
those of men by having ‘ambrosial’ fodder thrown to them (Iliad V.368–9); now they can have
ambrosia itself, and nectar, since their charioteers have no need of them.” Aristotle Metaphysics
Β.4 1000a5–22 mocks Hesiod and the other theological poets for thus making supposedly ever-
lasting beings dependent in this way. Sallis (1996), p. 145 points out that the gods’ horses do not
gain nourishment from the sight of the forms, “indicated by the fact that (the horses) need to be
fed by the charioteer after the return home.”
19 In 246e Zeus drives a winged chariot (πτηνὸν ἅρμα), and as indicated above, harma can refer
to the chariot car, the chariot and horses, or merely the horses.

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152 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

release their horses from the chariot and stable them, this clearly shows that
the horses are not parts of the divine beings but are only added for making the
journey to the outer heaven effortless. For purposes of the tale, and having them
live a life recognizably like the human, the deities use horses quite unlike them-
selves. While this trope of divine horses and easy motion enhances the paradig-
matic character of the gods for human beings, the Olympians are simply and
solely their charioteer.
Commentators have long wondered about Hestia, who always stays close
to home (247a), and we take this feature of the tale to support our thesis that
the gods are ultimately simple, and even stationary (i.e., only accidentally in
motion).²⁰ The house of the gods, as a Greek sort of house, should never be com-
pletely unattended, and the goddess of the hearth, Hestia, attends admira-
bly. We never hear whether she has horses, but since she does not travel,
most probably she does not have them. Because Hestia can always be without
horses, and the other gods periodically release theirs, the horses are not parts
of the gods but are only brought in for putting the gods into a procession that
can effortlessly travel through the heavens and depicting them as paradigms for
humans.²¹
If the gods are merely the divine charioteers, and in the case of Hestia the
goddess herself, the initial comparison of the soul with the gods, which we quote
once again, seems ambiguous:

20 Hestia’s etymology in Cratylus 401b–d links the name with being, perhaps suggesting that
the goddess has her fill of being without needing to venture away from the gods’ home. Another
more obvious etymology links Hestia with feasting, a key metaphor of the Phaedrus. Near the
dialogue’s beginning, Socrates surmises that Lysias has feasted (εἱστία) Phaedrus with speeches
(227b). Probably Hestia stationed home is, in some sense, a feast unto herself. Yet de Vries (1969),
p. 131 says unconvincingly, “why is Hestia the only one who is deprived of the blissful view which
the other gods are to enjoy? This again compels us to take the sentence in a not too serious
way.” Hackforth (1952), p. 73 claims, “What of the distinction of Hestia from the other eleven?
Its purpose, I should say, is simply to bring more vividly before the mind’s eye the picture of
the starry heaven revolving round a fixed central body, the earth.” This assumes the identifica-
tion of Hestia with the earth (cf. Euripides fr. 944) or possibly with the central fire of the Pytha-
goreans.
21 The gods explicitly mentioned in the palinode are Hestia, Zeus, Ares, Apollo, and Hera, i.e.,
there are female Olympians in addition to Hestia, so there is good reason either to view women as
chariot souls in the divine procession rather than staying home like Hestia, or to deny that souls
are at all sexed. Hestia, not leaving the house and without horses, is not said to have followers or
any corresponding human type.

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 153

Let us then liken the soul to the natural union of a team of winged horses and their chariot-
eer. The gods have horses and charioteers that are themselves all good and come from good
stock besides, while everyone else has a mixture. (246a–b)
ἐοικέτω δὴ συμφύτῳ δυνάμει ὑποπτέρου ζεύγους τε καὶ ἡνιόχου. θεῶν μὲν οὖν ἵπποι τε καὶ
ἡνίοχοι πάντες αὐτοί τε ἀγαθοὶ καὶ ἐξ ἀγαθῶν, τὸ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων μέμεικται.

Socrates may make it sound as if the gods are also souls that are multipartite with
completely good components, but he does not actually say that the gods are or
have souls. Previously in 245c2–4 Socrates said, “Now we must first understand
the truth about the nature of the soul, divine or human, by examining what it
does and what is done to it” (δεῖ οὖν πρῶτον ψυχῆς φύσεως πέρι θείας τε καὶ
ἀνθρωπίνης ἰδοντα πάθη τε καὶ ἔργα τἀληθὲς νοῆσαι). This passage also leaves it
ambiguous whether gods like humans have souls or not and which divine beings
might be at issue. The real question here concerns not the gods but the nature of
soul itself, and at this juncture in the dialogue Socrates leaves it an open whether
soul itself can be divine as well as human.
Gods, as represented in the palinode, might seem to be souls because all
soul is self-motion and all soul is immortal (245c5). While this almost necessarily
means that soul itself is divine, Socrates never really states that the gods them-
selves are souls, and there is good reason for his silence on this topic. Since the
gods release their horses and chariot, and Hestia likely has neither, Socrates sug-
gests that we ought to view the gods as exclusively their charioteers. There are
also good reasons not to consider the divine charioteers as souls. Soul is iden-
tified earlier in the palinode with the principle of change, and Plato here in the
Phaedrus and everywhere indicates that the gods are changeless. In Socrates’
story, since the gods’ charioteer lacks wings, the gods are not actually self-mov-
ers or really in any motion at all. Neither do the gods display desire and character.
The divine charioteers are therefore not souls, and the distinction between the
changing and the unchanging is preserved. We even suggest that Hestia better
represents motionless gods – gods as the eternal charioteers – than the view of
the gods in their chariot procession, which is principally intended to serve as a
paradigm for human efforts.
Rowe (1998), p. 178 insists, however, that “Rather than having souls, they [the
gods] are souls.” He argues that the gods must be soul: “they are also unmistak-
ably the souls which move the heavenly bodies […] why else should they spend
their time traveling and ‘turning’ (247a5) through the heavens – and indeed what
other role could there be for pure souls moving through the upper air? Again, it
is hard to see how on any other basis each god could have his own specific role.”
Yet even if the gods are in charge of keeping heaven and the rest in motion, this
need not mean that the gods themselves are in motion, or in motion due to them-
selves. We suspect that Rowe and other commentators (e.g., Slaveva-Griffin 2003,

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154 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

pp. 243–244) have too readily assimilated what Socrates says about souls with
what he says about the gods, as our further textual exegesis should verify.²²
A telling passage has Socrates saying this of soul,

All soul looks after all that lacks a soul (ψυχὴ πᾶσα παντὸς ἐπιμελεῖται τοῦ ἀψύχου), and
patrols all of heaven, taking different shapes at different times (πάντα δὲ οὐρανὸν περιπολεῖ,
ἄλλοτ᾿ ἐν ἄλλοις εἴδεσι γιγνομένη). So long as its wings are in perfect condition it flies high,
and the entire universe is its dominion (πάντα τὸν κόσμον διοικεῖ); but a soul that sheds its
wings wanders until it lights on something solid, where it settles and takes on an earthly
body, which then, owing to the power of this soul, seems to move itself. (246b6–c4)

Here Socrates speaks of all soul. Although he suggests that when fully winged it
has some dominion in all of the heaven, caring particularly for what is soulless,
he speaks decisively of soul as changeable and winged. Now if all the soul that
exists is thus changeable and capable of entering into mortal bodies, it cannot
include the gods. The gods’ charioteers are changeless and lack wings, for only
the horses (and maybe the car), which are not parts of the gods, have wings. Hence
significant differences emerge between the gods of the palinode and the soul.
These differences – especially regarding the question of responsibility for
other beings – become even clearer subsequently when Socrates, speaking of the
gods, says,

Now Zeus, the great commander in heaven, drives his winged chariot first in the pro-
cession, looking after everything and putting all things in order (διακοσμῶν πάντα καὶ
ἐπιμελούμενος). Following him is an army of gods and spirits arranged in eleven sections.
(246e4–247a1)

Here the gods care for all things rather than merely the lifeless things (and possi-
bly tame animals?) for which souls care (in 246b). The contrast in scope of care is
therefore stark. The gods care for the structure of the heaven and for all ensouled
beings, especially humans, consistent with Socrates’ presentation of the various
gods as “leaders” of different human types.
Possibly a case for viewing the gods as souls could come from the lines where
Socrates says,

22 We think it plausible to link the eleven gods in procession with the heavens and Hestia with
the earth. Yet Socrates (or Plato) leaves unclear whether these Olympian gods are strictly reduced
to being the movers of the stars. In 246c–d Socrates rejects having gods as composite bodily
beings. Section III below explains Socrates’ resistance to offering straightforward naturalistic
accounts of divine things, as viewing the Olympian deities closely with the heavenly bodies risks
doing.

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 155

Now that is the life of the gods. As for the other souls, one that follows a god most closely
(καὶ οὗτος μὲν θεῶν βίος· αἱ δὲ ἄλλαι ψυχαί, ἡ μὲν ἄριστα θεῳ ἑπομένη), making itself most
like that god, raises the head of its charioteer up to the place outside and is carried around
in the circular motion with the others. (248a1–4)

It may look as if reference to “the other souls” indicates that the gods are souls
as well. But Smyth (1956), § 1272 observes, “ἄλλος, and ἕτερος (rarely), may be
used attributively with a substantive, which is to be regarded as an appositive. In
this sense they may be rendered besides, moreover, as well: οἵ ἄλλοι Ἀθηναῖοι the
Athenians as well (the others, i.e. the Athenians).” So we believe that this passage
in the Phaedrus, using the μέν/δέ construction, should be translated: “And this,
on the one hand, is the life of the gods, and on the other hand, the others, i.e.,
souls, …”. That Socrates should keep the gods apart from souls corresponds well
with 253c–d where he recalls the opening of his account and states, “Remem-
ber how we divided each soul (ψυχὴν ἑκάστην) in three at the beginning of our
story – two parts in the form of horses and the third in that of a charioteer”
(253c7–d1). Of course the gods themselves are not thus divided, since horses are
not intrinsic to them, so it is each soul and only soul that can be divided into
parts.
Another possibly bothersome passage is 247b6, where Socrates makes a
seemingly unaccountable reference to the gods as souls and appears to say that
the souls of gods are called immortal: αἱ μὲν γὰρ ἀθάνατοι καλούμεναι. Although
it is not expressly stated, the definite article here (αἱ) looks toward souls. Rowe
(2005), p. 79 n. 100 remarks that “those souls that are called immortal” are the
gods, but he also recognizes, as does Waterfield (2002), pp. 88–89, that Socrates’
way of speaking here is problematic and in need of qualification. As Rowe pro-
ceeds to point out, “all souls, as we have been told, are immortal, but we call the
gods ‘the immortals’ and they are pure souls.” The problem is that all soul, or
every soul, is immortal, and yet “common parlance” attributes immortality only
to the gods (the phrase comes from Waterfield). Appeal to customary usage gets
into difficulties, for earlier in the palinode we saw Socrates remark that the cus-
tomary view reflects an untenable belief that the gods are immortal composites
of soul and body (246c–d). It would thus be strange if Socrates now has custom-
ary belief holding that gods are immortal souls, period. Why then does Socrates
adopt this perplexing way of speaking? Our claim that the gods are not souls
might appear to founder on this passage. Yet if we translate this passage “the
so-called immortal souls” (αἱ μὲν γὰρ ἀθάνατοι καλούμεναι), since καλούμεναι
can govern the whole phrase αἱ…ἀθάνατοι, this translation fits the prior argu-
ment that contends every soul is immortal. Socrates then indicates by the quali-
fying adjective that the conception of gods as souls is unsupportable, and his use
of καλούμεναι allows him to distance himself from the whole phrase. Our reading

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156 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

accords with the requirement that all soul be immortal and with the many indica-
tions that the divine charioteers are not in fact souls.
If the divine charioteers do not have feathers or wings – and so cannot be
self-movers – but only their horses and maybe chariots do, this means that the
gods themselves neither are nor have souls as intrinsic parts. In 247d1–2 when
Socrates states, “Now a god’s dianoia is nourished by intelligence and pure
knowledge” (ἅτ᾿ οὖν θεοῦ διάνοια νῷ τε καὶ ἐπιστήμῃ ἀκηράτῳ τρεφομένη), the
context is the gods as our paradigms in the quest for contemplation of the forms.
The gods thus resemble philosophers most of all, but unencumbered by the limi-
tations, the needs and desires, that characterize even the best-disciplined human
souls. The gods eternally feast on the vision of the forms without ever being in
any state of need. Socrates here speaks rather anthropomorphically about the
gods as feeding, but he has to be very hesitant since he has just denied that he can
go beyond telling what even the soul is like, since “to describe what the soul actu-
ally is would require a very long account” and would be “a task for a god in every
way” (246a, our emphasis; cf. Timaeus 72d4–7 quoted above with the comment
of Bryan 2012, p. 181). So we should especially doubt human nature’s capacity
for understanding the essence of the gods. Socrates carefully avoids saying that
God is mind (νοῦς) or what a god is; he rather speaks more obscurely about a
god’s dianoia as feeding on intelligence (νῷ) and pure knowledge. The gods,
forever illumined by vision of the forms – which would best apply to them if they
just are the forms – are then perfect paradigms for humans aspiring to wisdom.
When Socrates speaks of the dianoia of the philosopher (249c4–5), this dianoia
is feathered, unlike the gods’, and it has limited power to remain in vision of the
forms.
The function of the gods as paradigms is consistent with Socrates’ descrip-
tion of key ways in which the gods are different. For, if these gods were just the
same as humans, Socrates’ account would fall into the trap that he himself identi-
fies at 246c–d of completely anthropomorphizing the gods. A distinction between
gods and humans coheres with Socrates’ respect for the gods’ exalted status and
the difficulty of human life. Connecting horses with gods as well as souls, though
possibly misleading, is crucial for explicating what motivates erotic madness and
why it is divine. This depiction celebrates the erotic desire of our intellectual part
as something akin to the divine, and thereby serves the stated purpose of defend-
ing erōs in the palinode (245b7–c2). The gods’ lives, imaginatively conceived as
involving some motion, thus model the best way of human living, an orderly life
that controls baser desires and allows for the greatest possible nourishment of
the intellectual part. And even if Socrates suggests that humans might escape the
horses altogether and be (ultimately) something like the divine charioteer alone,
the wings on the human charioteer continue to mark a difference between human

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 157

and divine charioteers. The human soul always seems to require some straining
in its eternal motion.
We have accounted for the horses of gods and humans in the palinode. The
horses allow a depiction of divine lives, modeling how humans may seek to live,
though with great effort. The image with horses suggests upon close inspection
that the horses in the case of the gods are quite expendable, and even in the case
of humans dubiously part of our higher, truer nature.

III The truth of tales

Early in the dialogue, Phaedrus asked if the place where they are walking along
the Ilisus is where Boreas was reputed to have carried away Orithuia (229b). He
wants to know if Socrates believes that the story is true. Socrates surmises that
Phaedrus expects him as an intellectual like Phaedrus himself to scoff at the old
tales. Socrates relates how others might attempt to naturalize the tale, but he pro-
tests that he does not have time thus to attempt to account for all the traditional
tales and figures in them, such as Hippocentaurs, Chimeras, and so on. He says,

But I have no leisure for such things; and the reason, my friend, is this. I am still unable,
as the Delphic inscription orders, to know myself (γνῶναι ἐμαυτόν); and it really seems to
me ridiculous to look into other things before I have understood that. This is why I do not
concern myself with them. I accept what is generally believed, and, as I was just saying, I
look not into them but into my own self: Am I a beast more complicated and savage than
Typhon, or am I a tamer, simpler animal with a share in a divine and gentle nature? (229e4–
230a6)

Socrates refrains from debunking at least some old stories by giving them natu-
ralistic accounts, which he believes contributes little to human self-knowledge.
He is too concerned to know about his own soul, and for him human self-knowl-
edge cannot be only mundanely naturalistic (cf. Phaedo 98a–d, where Socrates
attempts to distinguish between true causes and merely enabling ones). When
Phaedrus remarked that Socrates seems out of place in the country, Socrates
responded beautifully by saying, “Forgive me, my friend. I am devoted to learn-
ing (φιλομαθὴς γάρ εἰμι); landscapes and trees have nothing to teach me – only
the people in the city can do that (οἱ δ’ ἐν τῷ ἄστει ἄνθρωποι)” (230d3–5). What
Socrates indicates by this statement is his belief that we human beings learn
about the most important things for us to know from each other, through speak-
ing and writing, philosophically considered. Thus the art of rhetoric, insofar as
it is an art, is indispensible to the leading of human souls (ψυχαγωγία), our own
included, where the goal is to live the best life possible for our kind and espe-

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158 David Hoinski and Ronald Polansky

cially insofar as this depends on a certain knowledge. If we are right, his general
depiction of the gods in the Phaedrus fits with the effort to know the human soul
by designing paradigmatic gods that do not appear too distant from conventional
conceptions. This allows his story to be illuminating and accords with the true art
of rhetoric.
Socrates attempts to teach Phaedrus about himself and humankind through
the palinode, a kind of myth. Rather than debunking particular old stories,
Socrates fashions the gods and mythical figures as suitable models for human
beings. The gods in the myth serve well universally, whether taken more straight-
forwardly as in motion or viewed more discerningly and simply without horses
and motion, as we have indicated. The advantages of employing such myths are
thus numerous. Stories with images are memorable; they can enchant all sorts of
youths and adults depicting what may go beyond conclusive argument; and they
have a temporal structure making them a good vehicle for representing human
life (cf. Lane 1998, p. 115).²³ Introducing divine horses for gods and more trou-
blesome horses for human souls, Socrates can teach Phaedrus something about
his own divine madness and restore dignity to love. And quite appropriately, the
imagery of the palinode accounts for Socrates’ doubt about whether he is ulti-
mately a simple or complex being (230a).
The use of horses, chariot, and charioteer helps Socrates plant the image
of the philosophical life in Phaedrus’ soul (see 276b). If Socrates cannot make
Olympians the most fully perfect gods, they suffice as paradigms for humans, and
they are as good as Olympian deities at all resembling their epic depictions can
be.²⁴ That the gods as represented in the palinode do not have horses as intrin-

23 Plato’s awareness of the advantages of mythical discourse does not, of course, preclude criti-
cism on his part of this mode of speech. Plato’s stance regarding traditional myths and the mean-
ing of his own use of myths at various junctures in the dialogues raise questions that continue to
be debated by scholars. Brisson (1998), pp. 9–10 provides a useful account of some of the main
features of Plato’s critique of muthos. Plato’s use of and ambivalence toward myth is a central
topic in Werner (2012).
24 In Timaeus 40d–e it is said about the Olympian deities, “As for the other spiritual beings
[daimones], it is beyond our task to know and speak of how they came to be. We should accept
on faith the assertions of those figures of the past who claimed to be offspring of gods. They
must surely have been well informed about their own ancestors. So we cannot avoid believing
the children of gods, even though their accounts lack plausible or compelling proofs. Rather, we
should follow custom and believe them, on the ground that what they claim to be reporting are
matters of their own concern. Accordingly, let us accept their account of how these gods came to
be and state what it is” (our emphasis). This hardly gives unqualified endorsement of Olympians,
at least as depicted by the poets, as the highest gods. Yet Socrates’ Olympians, on our interpreta-
tion, not only eternally contemplate the forms but can turn into them.

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 The Gods’ Horses and Tripartite Souls in Plato’s Phaedrus 159

sic parts of themselves, while human souls have wings everywhere including
the charioteer, suggests that humans might resemble the gods in being merely
the charioteer, yet still there is only resemblance. In fact, the gods and human
souls differ in kind. For the purposes of the palinode, the human soul is tripartite
during all or most of its disembodied state to explain its conflicting aspirations
and fall into the body. Both prior to this speech and after it Socrates raises the
possibility of the human soul’s true simplicity (see 230a and 270d–271a). And the
palinode perhaps has the soul after many lives just maybe escaping reincarna-
tion and attaining a horseless condition. If the palinode is primarily image and
vision, it definitely invites and supports argumentation regarding its implications
for understanding gods and soul. At the same time it also invites reflection upon
the use of likenesses and philosophical rhetoric.²⁵

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