According to Amos, Strauss and Bloom distort both Plato's "attitude toward tradition" and the purpose of Socratic dialectic when they interpret Cephalus as a representative of "ancestral piety." In his Interpretive Essay on the Republic, Bloom writes:
The reverence for age, and hence antiquity, is one of the strongest ties which can bind a civil society together. But in order to carry on a frank discussion about justice, this reverence must be overcome, and the philosopher must take the place of the father at the center of the circle. Socrates must induce Cephalus to leave the scene, because Cephalus is beyond reason, and it would be impious to dispute him.Against this reading of the scene, Amos argues that dialectic, as the highest form of reason, can never be "a calculated rhetorical strategy of exclusion." Exclusion is not even necessary because, in fact, Cephalus "does not identify very closely with anything ancestral." Socrates does not banish Cephalus; indeed, by his own testimony, he is genuinely interested in what Cephalus has to say about "what it is like to be very old." Why, then, does Cephalus leave? If Amos is correct that Socrates puts words (a definition of justice) into Cephalus' mouth, does not that make Bloom's interpretation plausible? I cannot tell whether Amos has completed his thought on that question yet--Socrates' ultimate aim in letting himself appear like a sophist remains unclear to me without the benefit of Bloom's reading. That is, I don't know precisely when Amos moves from the maieutic exposition of the likeness between Socratic and sophistic refutation to his actual interpretation of the scene in Book I. Amos has written, however, that Cephalus is happy to let Polemarchus inherit the argument. This would be part and parcel of the former's long-lasting concern for the well-being of his children. (I have to say I find no evidence of such great concern in the text; but I'm no expert on the historical Cephalus.) If he felt a "creeping horror" at hearing the Socratic refutation, why would he foist that same horror on the son for whom he cares so much?
My own view is probably closer to Bloom's:
I think Cephalus (young and old) always lacked the eros and courage required to participate fully in Socratic dialectic (and in that sense he is "beyond reason"). He may be afraid of death, but he is all too ready to discuss that fear in public as part of his newfound delight in charming speeches. His fear inspires him to take on the lightest of "ancestral" burdens (which are therefore somehow anachronistic and maybe only capable of inspiring a "nostalgic frisson"--my new favorite phrase)--offering sacrifices and leaving an adequate amount of money behind. He scoffs at and condemns the character of those who find old age a heavier burden. Finally, he is unwilling to disturb his comfort by inquiring into the sufficiency of the amends he is making.
A few more points:
1. I don't know what to make of Amos' positive interpretation of Cephalus, especially as it relates to Polemarchus. As mentioned above, Amos does not intend to disguise Cephalus' "complacency" (and, in that context, his objection to Annas' interpretation is even more confusing). I have always assumed that precisely this complacency, this "easygoing refinement" is what allows Cephalus to become uneasy at the direction of the conversation while simultaneously happily allowing his son into its midst. Cephalus' "peace of mind" is at risk only at "the threshold of old age," and then only slightly because (1) he has the money to prevent the necessity of committing unjust acts (and to atone for them if he does) and (2) he "does not think the conversation is anything serious"? Why be concerned for one of those men--his son--of good character and good inheritance whose whole life is ahead of him? Amos writes:
Cephalus admires moderation and justice and thinks both of them more important than money (since money is actually subordinate to virtue); he thinks the most valuable thing his sons could gain from him would be refined moral judgment, together with the means to execute it.I just don't know where this comes from. It seems to me that Cephalus' whole discourse on the primacy of character is an exercise in self-deception.
2. However, I think Amos is right that Bloom's general view of tradition is extremely problematic; but I think Bloom's reading is valuable in spite of his politics and hierarchies. Cephalus has a disordered relation to convention or ancestral piety--"hedging his bets" rather than responding according to ancient man's "pre-commitment to hierophany"--in which the city itself is implicated. Strauss's argument that he appears unconcerned with "present decay" seems accurate. His participation in the sacrifices offers no avenue to renewal.
3. Ranasinghe (one of Rosen's students!), in part following Strauss, reads the Republic as Socrates' attempt to teach Glaucon to moderate his political ambitions (in other words, to know himself and his limits). Such an interpretation can, but need not, accommodate Bloom's view of Cephalus' departure (and Socrates' role in bringing it about): maybe the dialectic of each dialogue is meant to benefit a particular character and maybe Socrates is not a dialectical robot who is never not practicing pure midwifery with every single person he meets (i.e. maybe he too is a human rather than a type). What is the difference between a strategy of exclusion and a strategy of allowing self-exclusion (or at least of revealing the need for it)? The answer hinges on whether the exclusion is just or not--on whether, as Pseudonoma writes, souls can be led to truth "through their properly ordered communion" and not only "qua individual soul." And, in the context of this scene, on whether the departed Cephalus--without suffering through further refutation--could hope to find a place even within a properly ordered communion.
4. Cephalus' departure is a little like one of Mr. Bennet's repeated retreats to his library in Pride and Prejudice. (Bloom harshly criticizes Mr. Bennet in Love and Friendship.) I can almost hear him mutter as he walks away: "I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough."
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I should point out that I haven't read most of the secondary sources that are cited at Philosophy KTL. There is probably all sorts of Cephalus scholarship of which I am totally unaware. I hope not, though. I only have room for one difference-heresy, and mine is The Hector Heresy.
I would say there is an appalling lack of scholarship in the (more celebrated) secondary sources. I recently came across a dissertation by one Silvermintz that is much more thorough than anything I had read before. It may change my mind in some respects, we'll see.
The evidence for Cephalus's care for his sons is as follows:
1. He expresses the ideal of a temperate relationship with wealth (which he believes he has accomplished) in terms of inheritance, as opposed to acquisition and expenditure. There may be some room to ask whether he has worked hard to secure this inheritance for his sons out of pride or out of love for them, but I do not believe there is any reason to question his self-description as someone whose contentment lies principally in being able to benefit his sons after his own death.
In short: Cephalus thinks the mean for management of one's estate is indicated by a model of augmented inheritance, that is, by reference to the good of the future generation.
2. The question about the benefit of wealth only makes sense in the context of the above-mentioned self-description. One has to supply something like, "Cephalus: you think you have done your sons some good by preserving your estate. So you must have experienced some benefit of money that makes it clear to you that this really is a good way to secure some benefit for them." Seems to me the question comes out of left field otherwise, and Cephalus's comparison of himself to his forebears becomes a dead end. I thought and thought till my thinker was sore and this was the only dramatically coherent reason I could think of for both Cephalus's little speech and Socrates's question. Thus, the occasion for the question of justice emerges from Cephalus's vision of himself as a benefactor of his sons, placing a great deal of emphasis on this point.
So (unless we invoke "Socratic irony," which would require some additional justification), Socrates sees Cephalus's moderate attitude towards money (formed in him in part by his having inherited the money, and manifested in his conviction that his first duty with respect to money is to pass it on) as evidence that Cephalus can teach him about something of which he is ignorant: some benefit of money, such as would motivate a man to secure enough of it to bequeath some to his offspring. It happens that he does not succeed in learning about any such benefit from Cephalus. Does that mean that he never really wanted to learn it?
3. At the moment of his departure, Cephalus thinks it is not too bad to describe his son's reception of the argument as a part of his inheritance. Then it is something good, and part of the refined life that Cephalus treasures, rather than a threat to it. (Your interpretation suggests but does not actually articulate a nuance here on which perhaps you might enlighten me further.)
Is 330b-330c and the transition from 330b to 330d the extent of what you're drawing on for this interpretation? I guess I don't disagree with the idea that Cephalus cares for his sons in an ordinary [mean] sort of way. And I guess I also don't disagree that Socrates might be interested in inquiring into the benefit of money. But I don't see what justifies elevating Cephalus' role as a "sort of mean" above the view he subsequently articulates, namely, that for him (as Bloom has it) the "greatest good" of money is "the avoidance of injustice and impiety" (313-314). And I don't see why Socrates can't be drawing out and exposing Cephalus' lack of knowledge of his own character and the character of others (aren't his comments on character and bearing old age in 329d-330a most worthy of refutation). Or at least, I don't understand why that is so far-fetched or why it requires more justification.
With respect to point three, I just don't think it's impossible or even unlikely for Cephalus to both mildly fear a more rigorous argument and think it's good (or, at least, harmless) for his son to take his place. That follows from the fact that his love of speeches has come to him only lately and only to the extent permitted by his "easygoing refinement" (and, as McNeill argues, only to the extent that he is allowed to misinterpret the poets he rather enjoys quoting.)
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