Plato — Dialogues IV

Contents — 26 sections

1. Section 17
2. Section 18
3. Section 19
4. Section 20
5. Section 21
6. Section 22
7. Section 23
8. Section 24
9. Section 25
10. Section 26
11. Section 27
12. Section 28
13. Section 29
14. Section 30
15. Section 31
16. Section 32
17. Section 33
18. Section 34
19. Section 35
20. Section 36
21. Section 37
22. Section 38
23. Section 39
24. Section 40
25. Section 41
26. Section 42

Section 17

How you, men of Athens, have been affected by my accusers, I do not know; but I, for my part, almost forgot my own identity, so persuasively did they talk; and yet there is hardly a word of truth in what they have said. But I was most amazed by one of the many lies that they told—when they said that you must be on your guard not to be deceived by me, because I was a clever speaker. For I thought it the most shameless part of their conduct that they are not ashamed because they will immediately be convicted by me of falsehood by the evidence of fact, when I show myself to be not in the least a clever speaker, unless indeed they call him a clever speaker who speaks the truth; for if this is what they mean, I would agree that I am an orator—not after their fashion. Now they, as I say, have said little or nothing true; but you shall hear from me nothing but the truth. Not, however, men of Athens, speeches finely tricked out with words and phrases, as theirs are, nor carefully arranged, but you will hear things said at random with the words that happen to occur to me. For I trust that what I say is just; and let none of you expect anything else. For surely it would not be fitting for one of my age to come before you like a youngster making up speeches. And, men of Athens, I urgently beg and beseech you if you hear me making my defence with the same words with which I have been accustomed to speak both in the market place at the bankers tables, where many of you have heard me, and elsewhere, not to be surprised or to make a disturbance on this account. For the fact is that this is the first time I have come before the court, although I am seventy years old; I am therefore an utter foreigner to the manner of speech here.

Section 18

Hence, just as you would, of course, if I were really a foreigner, pardon me if I spoke in that dialect and that manner in which I had been brought up, so now I make this request of you, a fair one, as it seems to me, that you disregard the manner of my speech—for perhaps it might be worse and perhaps better—and observe and pay attention merely to this, whether what I say is just or not; for that is the virtue of a judge, and an orator’s virtue is to speak the truth.First then it is right for me to defend myself against the first false accusations brought against me, and the first accusers, and then against the later accusations and the later accusers. For many accusers have risen up against me before you, who have been speaking for a long time, many years already, and saying nothing true; and I fear them more than Anytus and the rest, though these also are dangerous; but those others are more dangerous, gentlemen, who gained your belief, since they got hold of most of you in childhood, and accused me without any truth, saying, There is a certain Socrates, a wise man, a ponderer over the things in the air and one who has investigated the things beneath the earth and who makes the weaker argument the stronger. These, men of Athens, who have spread abroad this report, are my dangerous enemies. For those who hear them think that men who investigate these matters do not even believe in gods. Besides, these accusers are many and have been making their accusations already for a long time, and moreover they spoke to you at an age at which you would believe them most readily (some of you in youth, most of you in childhood), and the case they prosecuted went utterly by default, since nobody appeared in defence. But the most unreasonable thing of all is this, that it is not even possible to know and speak their names, except when one of them happens to be a writer of comedies. And all those who persuaded you by means of envy and slander—and some also persuaded others because they had been themselves persuaded—all these are most difficult to cope with; for it is not even possible to call any of them up here and cross-question him, but I am compelled in making my defence to fight, as it were, absolutely with shadows and to cross-question when nobody answers. Be kind enough, then, to bear in mind, as I say, that there are two classes of my accusers—one those who have just brought their accusation, the other those who, as I was just saying, brought it long ago, and consider that I must defend myself first against the latter; for you heard them making their charges first and with much greater force than these who made them later.

Section 19

Well, then, I must make a defence, men of Athens, and must try in so short a time to remove from you this prejudice which you have been for so long a time acquiring. Now I wish that this might turn out so, if it is better for you and for me, and that I might succeed with my defence; but I think it is difficult, and I am not at all deceived about its nature. But nevertheless, let this be as is pleasing to God, the law must be obeyed and I must make a defence.Now let us take up from the beginning the question, what the accusation is from which the false prejudice against me has arisen, in which Meletus trusted when he brought this suit against me. What did those who aroused the prejudice say to arouse it? I must, as it were, read their sworn statement as if they were plaintiffs: Socrates is a criminal and a busybody, investigating the things beneath the earth and in the heavens and making the weaker argument stronger and teaching others these same things. Something of that sort it is. For you yourselves saw these things in Aristophanes’ comedy, a Socrates being carried about there, proclaiming that he was treading on air and uttering a vast deal of other nonsense, about which I know nothing, either much or little. And I say this, not to cast dishonor upon such knowledge, if anyone is wise about such matters (may I never have to defend myself against Meletus on so great a charge as that!),—but I, men of Athens, have nothing to do with these things. And I offer as witnesses most of yourselves, and I ask you to inform one another and to tell, all those of you who ever heard me conversing—and there are many such among you—now tell, if anyone ever heard me talking much or little about such matters. And from this you will perceive that such are also the other things that the multitude say about me.But in fact none of these things are true, and if you have heard from anyone that I undertake to teach people and that I make money by it, that is not true either. Although this also seems to me to be a fine thing, if one might be able to teach people, as Gorgias of Leontini and Prodicus of Ceos and Hippias of Elis are.

Section 20

For each of these men, gentlemen, is able to go into any one of the cities and persuade the young men, who can associate for nothing with whomsoever they wish among their own fellow citizens, to give up the association with those men and to associate with them and pay them money and be grateful besides.And there is also another wise man here, a Parian, who I learned was in town; for I happened to meet a man who has spent more on sophists than all the rest, Callias, the son of Hipponicus; so I asked him—for he has two sons—Callias, said I, if your two sons had happened to be two colts or two calves, we should be able to get and hire for them an overseer who would make them excellent in the kind of excellence proper to them; and he would be a horse-trainer or a husbandman; but now, since they are two human beings, whom have you in mind to get as overseer? Who has knowledge of that kind of excellence, that of a man and a citizen? For I think you have looked into the matter, because you have the sons. Is there anyone, said I, or not? Certainly, said he. Who, said I, and where from, and what is his price for his teaching? Evenus, he said, Socrates, from Paros, five minae. And I called Evenus blessed, if he really had this art and taught so reasonably. I myself should be vain and put on airs, if I understood these things; but I do not understand them, men of Athens.Now perhaps someone might rejoin: But, Socrates, what is the trouble about you? Whence have these prejudices against you arisen? For certainly this great report and talk has not arisen while you were doing nothing more out of the way than the rest, unless you were doing something other than most people; so tell us what it is, that we may not act unadvisedly in your case. The man who says this seems to me to be right, and I will try to show you what it is that has brought about my reputation and aroused the prejudice against me. So listen. And perhaps I shall seem to some of you to be joking; be assured, however, I shall speak perfect truth to you.The fact is, men of Athens, that I have acquired this reputation on account of nothing else than a sort of wisdom. What kind of wisdom is this? Just that which is perhaps human wisdom. For perhaps I really am wise in this wisdom; and these men, perhaps, of whom I was just speaking, might be wise in some wisdom greater than human, or I don’t know what to say; for I do not understand it, and whoever says I do, is lying and speaking to arouse prejudice against me. And, men of Athens, do not interrupt me with noise, even if I seem to you to be boasting; for the word which I speak is not mine, but the speaker to whom I shall refer it is a person of weight. For of my wisdom—if it is wisdom at all—and of its nature, I will offer you the god of Delphi as a witness.

Section 21

You know Chaerephon, I fancy. He was my comrade from a youth and the comrade of your democratic party, and shared in the recent exile and came back with you. And you know the kind of man Chaerephon was, how impetuous in whatever he undertook. Well, once he went to Delphi and made so bold as to ask the oracle this question; and, gentlemen, don’t make a disturbance at what I say; for he asked if there were anyone wiser than I. Now the Pythia replied that there was no one wiser. And about these things his brother here will bear you witness, since Chaerephon is dead. But see why I say these things; for I am going to tell you whence the prejudice against me has arisen. For when I heard this, I thought to myself: What in the world does the god mean, and what riddle is he propounding? For I am conscious that I am not wise either much or little. What then does he mean by declaring that I am the wisest? He certainly cannot be lying, for that is not possible for him. And for a long time I was at a loss as to what he meant; then with great reluctance I proceeded to investigate him somewhat as follows.I went to one of those who had a reputation for wisdom, thinking that there, if anywhere, I should prove the utterance wrong and should show the oracle This man is wiser than I, but you said I was wisest. So examining this man—for I need not call him by name, but it was one of the public men with regard to whom I had this kind of experience, men of Athens—and conversing with him, this man seemed to me to seem to be wise to many other people and especially to himself, but not to be so; and then I tried to show him that he thought he was wise, but was not. As a result, I became hateful to him and to many of those present; and so, as I went away, I thought to myself, I am wiser than this man; for neither of us really knows anything fine and good, but this man thinks he knows something when he does not, whereas I, as I do not know anything, do not think I do either. I seem, then, in just this little thing to be wiser than this man at any rate, that what I do not know I do not think I know either. From him I went to another of those who were reputed to be wiser than he, and these same things seemed to me to be true; and there I became hateful both to him and to many others.After this then I went on from one to another, perceiving that I was hated, and grieving and fearing, but nevertheless I thought I must consider the god’s business of the highest importance. So I had to go, investigating the meaning of the oracle, to all those who were reputed to know anything.

Section 22

And by the Dog, men of Athens —for I must speak the truth to you—this, I do declare, was my experience: those who had the most reputation seemed to me to be almost the most deficient, as I investigated at the god’s behest, and others who were of less repute seemed to be superior men in the matter of being sensible. So I must relate to you my wandering as I performed my Herculean labors, so to speak, in order that the oracle might be proved to be irrefutable. For after the public men I went to the poets, those of tragedies, and those of dithyrambs, and the rest, thinking that there I should prove by actual test that I was less learned than they. So, taking up the poems of theirs that seemed to me to have been most carefully elaborated by them, I asked them what they meant, that I might at the same time learn something from them. Now I am ashamed to tell you the truth, gentlemen; but still it must be told. For there was hardly a man present, one might say, who would not speak better than they about the poems they themselves had composed. So again in the case of the poets also I presently recognized this, that what they composed they composed not by wisdom, but by nature and because they were inspired, like the prophets and givers of oracles; for these also say many fine things, but know none of the things they say; it was evident to me that the poets too had experienced something of this same sort. And at the same time I perceived that they, on account of their poetry, thought that they were the wisest of men in other things as well, in which they were not. So I went away from them also thinking that I was superior to them in the same thing in which I excelled the public men.Finally then I went to the hand-workers. For I was conscious that I knew practically nothing, but I knew I should find that they knew many fine things. And in this I was not deceived; they did know what I did not, and in this way they were wiser than I. But, men of Athens, the good artisans also seemed to me to have the same failing as the poets; because of practicing his art well, each one thought he was very wise in the other most important matters, and this folly of theirs obscured that wisdom, so that I asked myself in behalf of the oracle whether I should prefer to be as I am, neither wise in their wisdom nor foolish in their folly, or to be in both respects as they are. I replied then to myself and to the oracle that it was better for me to be as I am.

Section 23

Now from this investigation, men of Athens, many enmities have arisen against me, and such as are most harsh and grievous, so that many prejudices have resulted from them and I am called a wise man. For on each occasion those who are present think I am wise in the matters in which I confute someone else; but the fact is, gentlemen, it is likely that the god is really wise and by his oracle means this: Human wisdom is of little or no value. And it appears that he does not really say this of Socrates, but merely uses my name, and makes me an example, as if he were to say: This one of you, O human beings, is wisest, who, like Socrates, recognizes that he is in truth of no account in respect to wisdom.Therefore I am still even now going about and searching and investigating at the god’s behest anyone, whether citizen or foreigner, who I think is wise; and when he does not seem so to me, I give aid to the god and show that he is not wise. And by reason of this occupation I have no leisure to attend to any of the affairs of the state worth mentioning, or of my own, but am in vast poverty on account of my service to the god.And in addition to these things, the young men who have the most leisure, the sons of the richest men, accompany me of their own accord, find pleasure in hearing people being examined, and often imitate me themselves, and then they undertake to examine others; and then, I fancy, they find a great plenty of people who think they know something, but know little or nothing. As a result, therefore, those who are examined by them are angry with me, instead of being angry with themselves, and say that Socrates is a most abominable person and is corrupting the youth.And when anyone asks them by doing or teaching what? they have nothing to say, but they do not know, and that they may not seem to be at a loss they say these things that are handy to say against all the philosophers, the things in the air and the things beneath the earth and not to believe in the gods and to make the weaker argument the stronger. For they would not, I fancy, care to say the truth, that it is being made very clear that they pretend to know, but know nothing. Since, then, they are jealous of their honor and energetic and numerous and speak concertedly and persuasively about me, they have filled your ears both long ago and now with vehement slanders.

Section 24

From among them Meletus attacked me, and Anytus and Lycon, Meletus angered on account of the poets, and Anytus on account of the artisans and the public men, and Lycon on account of the orators; so that, as I said in the beginning, I should be surprised if I were able to remove this prejudice from you in so short a time when it has grown so great. There you have the truth, men of Athens, and I speak without hiding anything from you, great or small or prevaricating. And yet I know pretty well that I am making myself hated by just that conduct; which is also a proof that I am speaking the truth and that this is the prejudice against me and these are its causes. And whether you investigate this now or hereafter, you will find that it is so.Now so far as the accusations are concerned which my first accusers made against me, this is a sufficient defence before you; but against Meletus, the good and patriotic, as he says, and the later ones, I will try to defend myself next. So once more, as if these were another set of accusers, let us take up in turn their sworn statement. It is about as follows: it states that Socrates is a wrongdoer because he corrupts the youth and does not believe in the gods the state believes in, but in other new spiritual beings.Such is the accusation. But let us examine each point of this accusation. He says I am a wrongdoer because I corrupt the youth. But I, men of Athens, say Meletus is a wrongdoer, because he jokes in earnest, lightly involving people in a lawsuit, pretending to be zealous and concerned about things or which he never cared at all. And that this is so I will try to make plain to you also.Come here, Meletus, tell me: don’t you consider it of great importance that the youth be as good as possible? I do. Come now, tell these gentlemen who makes them better? For it is evident that you know, since you care about it. For you have found the one who corrupts them, as you say, and you bring me before these gentlemen and accuse me; and now, come, tell who makes them better and inform them who he is. Do you see, Meletus, that you are silent and cannot tell? And yet does it not seem to you disgraceful and a sufficient proof of what I say, that you have never cared about it? But tell, my good man, who makes them better? The laws. But that is not what I ask, most excellent one, but what man, who knows in the first place just this very thing, the laws. These men, Socrates, the judges. What are you saying, Meletus? Are these gentlemen able to instruct the youth, and do they make them better? Certainly. All, or some of them and others not? All. Well said, by Hera, and this is a great plenty of helpers you speak of.

Section 25

But how about this? Do these listeners make them better, or not? These also. And how about the senators? The senators also. But, Meletus, those in the assembly, the assemblymen, don’t corrupt the youth, do they? or do they also all make them better? They also. All the Athenians, then, as it seems, make them excellent, except myself, and I alone corrupt them. Is this what you mean? Very decidedly, that is what I mean. You have condemned me to great unhappiness! But answer me; does it seem to you to be so in the case of horses, that those who make them better are all mankind, and he who injures them some one person? Or, quite the opposite of this, that he who is able to make them better is some one person, or very few, the horse-trainers, whereas most people, if they have to do with and use horses, injure them? Is it not so, Meletus, both in the case of horses and in that of all other animals? Certainly it is, whether you and Anytus deny it or agree; for it would be a great state of blessedness in the case of the youth if one alone corrupts them, and the others do them good. But, Meletus, you show clearly enough that you never thought about the youth, and you exhibit plainly your own carelessness, that you have not cared at all for the things about which you hale me into court.But besides, tell us, for heaven’s sake, Meletus, is it better to live among good citizens, or bad? My friend, answer; for I am not asking anything hard. Do not the bad do some evil to those who are with them at any time and the good some good? Certainly. Is there then anyone who prefers to be injured by his associates rather than benefited? Answer, my good man; for the law orders you to answer. Is there anyone who prefers to be injured? Of course not. Come then, do you hale me in here on the ground that I am corrupting the youth and making them worse voluntarily or involuntarily? Voluntarily I say. What then, Meletus? Are you at your age so much wiser than I at my age, that you have recognized that the evil always do some evil to those nearest them, and the good some good; whereas I have reached such a depth of ignorance that I do not even know this, that if I make anyone of my associates bad I am in danger of getting some harm from him, so that I do this great evil voluntarily, as you say?

Section 26

I don’t believe this, Meletus, nor do I think anyone else in the world does! but either I do not corrupt them, or if I corrupt them, I do it involuntarily, so that you are lying in both events. But if I corrupt them involuntarily, for such involuntary errors the law is not to hale people into court, but to take them and instruct and admonish them in private. For it is clear that if I am told about it, I shall stop doing that which I do involuntarily. But you avoided associating with me and instructing me, and were unwilling to do so, but you hale me in here, where it is the law to hale in those who need punishment, not instruction.But enough of this, for, men of Athens, this is clear, as I said, that Meletus never cared much or little for these things. But nevertheless, tell us, how do you say, Meletus, that I corrupt the youth? Or is it evident, according to the indictment you brought, that it is by teaching them not to believe in the gods the state believes in, but in other new spiritual beings? Do you not say that it is by teaching this that I corrupt them? Very decidedly that is what I say. Then, Meletus, for the sake of these very gods about whom our speech now is, speak still more clearly both to me and to these gentlemen. For I am unable to understand whether you say that I teach that there are some gods, and myself then believe that there are some gods, and am not altogether godless and am not a wrongdoer in that way, that these, however, are not the gods whom the state believes in, but others, and this is what you accuse me for, that I believe in others; or you say that I do not myself believe in gods at all and that I teach this unbelief to other people. That is what I say, that you do not believe in gods at all. You amaze me, Meletus! Why do you say this? Do I not even believe that the sun or yet the moon are gods, as the rest of mankind do? No, by Zeus, judges, since he says that the sun is a stone and the moon earth. Do you think you are accusing Anaxagoras, my dear Meletus, and do you so despise these gentlemen and think they are so unversed in letters as not to know, that the books of Anaxagoras the Clazomenian are full of such utterances? And forsooth the youth learn these doctrines from me, which they can buy sometimes (if the price is high) for a drachma in the orchestra and laugh at Socrates, if he pretends they are his own, especially when they are so absurd! But for heaven’s sake, do you think this of me, that I do not believe there is any god? No, by Zeus, you don’t, not in the least. You cannot be believed, Meletus, not even, as it seems to me, by yourself. For this man appears to me, men of Athens, to be very violent and unrestrained, and actually to have brought this indictment in a spirit of violence and unrestraint and rashness.

Section 27

For he seems, as it were, by composing a puzzle to be making a test: Will Socrates, the wise man, recognize that I am joking and contradicting myself, or shall I deceive him and the others who hear me? For he appears to me to contradict himself in his speech, as if he were to say, Socrates is a wrongdoer, because he does not believe in gods, but does believe in gods. And yet this is the conduct of a jester.Join me, then, gentlemen, in examining how he appears to me to say this; and do you, Meletus, answer; and you, gentlemen, as I asked you in the beginning, please bear in mind not to make a disturbance if I conduct my argument in my accustomed manner.Is there any human being who believes that there are things pertaining to human beings, but no human beings? Let him answer, gentlemen, and not make a disturbance in one way or another. Is there anyone who does not believe in horses, but does believe in things pertaining to horses? or who does not believe that flute-players exist, but that things pertaining to flute-players do? There is not, best of men; if you do not wish to answer, I say it to you and these others here. But answer at least the next question. Is there anyone who believes spiritual things exist, but does not believe in spirits? There is not. Thank you for replying reluctantly when forced by these gentlemen. Then you say that I believe in spiritual beings, whether new or old, and teach that belief; but then I believe in spiritual beings at any rate, according to your statement, and you swore to that in your indictment. But if I believe in spiritual beings, it is quite inevitable that I believe also in spirits; is it not so? It is; for I assume that you agree, since you do not answer. But do we not think the spirits are gods or children of gods? Yes, or no? Certainly. Then if I believe in spirits, as you say, if spirits are a kind of gods, that would be the puzzle and joke which I say you are uttering in saying that I, while I do not believe in gods, do believe In gods again, since I believe in spirits; but if, on the other hand, spirits are a kind of bastard children of gods, by nymphs or by any others, whoever their mothers are said to be, what man would believe that there are children of gods, but no gods? It would be just as absurd as if one were to believe that there are children of horses and asses, namely mules, but no horses and asses. But, Meletus, you certainly must have brought this suit either to make a test of us or because you were loss as to what true wrongdoing you could accuse me of; but there is no way for you to persuade any man who has even a little sense that it is possible for the same person to believe in spiritual and divine existences and again for the same person not to believe in spirits or gods or heroes.

Section 28

Well then, men of Athens, that I am not a wrongdoer according to Meletus’s indictment, seems to me not to need much of a defence, but what has been said is enough. But you may be assured that what I said before is true, that great hatred has arisen against me and in the minds of many persons. And this it is which will cause my condemnation, if it is to cause it, not Meletus or Anytus, but the prejudice and dislike of the many. This has condemned many other good men, and I think will do so; and there is no danger that it will stop with me. But perhaps someone might say: Are you then not ashamed, Socrates, of having followed such a pursuit, that you are now in danger of being put to death as a result? But I should make to him a just reply: You do not speak well, Sir, if you think a man in whom there is even a little merit ought to consider danger of life or death, and not rather regard this only, when he does things, whether the things he does are right or wrong and the acts of a good or a bad man. For according to your argument all the demigods would be bad who died at Troy, including the son of Thetis, who so despised danger, in comparison with enduring any disgrace, that when his mother (and she was a goddess) said to him, as he was eager to slay Hector, something like this, I believe, My son, if you avenge the death of your friend Patroclus and kill Hector, you yourself shall die;for straightway, after Hector, is death appointed unto you;he, when he heard this, made light of death and danger, and feared much more to live as a coward and not to avenge his friends, and said, Straightway may I die, after doing vengeance upon the wrongdoer, that I may not stay here, jeered at beside the curved ships, a burden of the earth.. Do you think he considered death and danger? For thus it is, men of Athens, in truth; wherever a man stations himself, thinking it is best to be there, or is stationed by his commander, there he must, as it seems to me, remain and run his risks, considering neither death nor any other thing more than disgrace.So I should have done a terrible thing, if, when the commanders whom you chose to command me stationed me, both at Potidaea and at Amphipolis and at Delium, I remained where they stationed me, like anybody else, and ran the risk of death, but when the god gave me a station, as I believed and understood, with orders to spend my life in philosophy and in examining myself and others, then I were to desert my post through fear of death or anything else whatsoever.

Section 29

It would be a terrible thing, and truly one might then justly hale me into court, on the charge that I do not believe that there are gods, since I disobey the oracle and fear death and think I am wise when I am not. For to fear death, gentlemen, is nothing else than to think one is wise when one is not; for it is thinking one knows what one does not know. For no one knows whether death be not even the greatest of all blessings to man, but they fear it as if they knew that it is the greatest of evils. And is not this the most reprehensible form of ignorance, that of thinking one knows what one does not know? Perhaps, gentlemen, in this matter also I differ from other men in this way, and if I were to say that I am wiser in anything, it would be in this, that not knowing very much about the other world, I do not think I know. But I do know that it is evil and disgraceful to do wrong and to disobey him who is better than I, whether he be god or man. So I shall never fear or avoid those things concerning which I do not know whether they are good or bad rather than those which I know are bad. And therefore, even if you acquit me now and are not convinced by Anytus, who said that either I ought not to have been brought to trial at all, or since was brought to trial, I must certainly be put to death, adding that if I were acquitted your sons would all be utterly ruined by practicing what I teach—if you should say to me in reply to this: Socrates, this time we will not do as Anytus says, but we will let you go, on this condition, however, that you no longer spend your time in this investigation or in philosophy, and if you are caught doing so again you shall die; if you should let me go on this condition which I have mentioned, I should say to you, Men of Athens, I respect and love you, but I shall obey the god rather than you, and while I live and am able to continue, I shall never give up philosophy or stop exhorting you and pointing out the truth to any one of you whom I may meet, saying in my accustomed way: Most excellent man, are you who are a citizen of Athens, the greatest of cities and the most famous for wisdom and power, not ashamed to care for the acquisition of wealth and for reputation and honor, when you neither care nor take thought for wisdom and truth and the perfection of your soul?

Section 30

And if any of you argues the point, and says he does care, I shall not let him go at once, nor shall I go away, but I shall question and examine and cross-examine him, and if I find that he does not possess virtue, but says he does, I shall rebuke him for scorning the things that are of most importance and caring more for what is of less worth. This I shall do to whomever I meet, young and old, foreigner and citizen, but most to the citizens, inasmuch as you are more nearly related to me. For know that the god commands me to do this, and I believe that no greater good ever came to pass in the city than my service to the god. For I go about doing nothing else than urging you, young and old, not to care for your persons or your property more than for the perfection of your souls, or even so much; and I tell you that virtue does not come from money, but from virtue comes money and all other good things to man, both to the individual and to the state. If by saying these things I corrupt the youth, these things must be injurious; but if anyone asserts that I say other things than these, he says what is untrue. Therefore I say to you, men of Athens, either do as Anytus tells you, or not, and either acquit me, or not, knowing that I shall not change my conduct even if I am to die many times over.Do not make a disturbance, men of Athens; continue to do what I asked of you, not to interrupt my speech by disturbances, but to hear me; and I believe you will profit by hearing. Now I am going to say some things to you at which you will perhaps cry out; but do not do so by any means. For know that if you kill me, I being such a man as I say I am, you will not injure me so much as yourselves; for neither Meletus nor Anytus could injure me; that would be impossible, for I believe it is not God’s will that a better man be injured by a worse. He might, however, perhaps kill me or banish me or disfranchise me; and perhaps he thinks he would thus inflict great injuries upon me, and others may think so, but I do not; I think he does himself a much greater injury by doing what he is doing now—killing a man unjustly. And so, men of Athens, I am now making my defence not for my own sake, as one might imagine, but far more for yours, that you may not by condemning me err in your treatment of the gift the God gave you. For if you put me to death, you will not easily find another, who, to use a rather absurd figure, attaches himself to the city as a gadfly to a horse, which, though large and well bred, is sluggish on account of his size and needs to be aroused by stinging. I think the god fastened me upon the city in some such capacity, and I go about arousing, and urging and reproaching each one of you, constantly alighting upon you everywhere the whole day long.

Section 31

Such another is not likely to come to you, gentlemen; but if you take my advice, you will spare me. But you, perhaps, might be angry, like people awakened from a nap, and might slap me, as Anytus advises, and easily kill me; then you would pass the rest of your lives in slumber, unless God, in his care for you, should send someone else to sting you. And that I am, as I say, a kind of gift from the god, you might understand from this; for I have neglected all my own affairs and have been enduring the neglect of my concerns all these years, but I am always busy in your interest, coming to each one of you individually like a father or an elder brother and urging you to care for virtue; now that is not like human conduct. If I derived any profit from this and received pay for these exhortations, there would be some sense in it; but now you yourselves see that my accusers, though they accuse me of everything else in such a shameless way, have not been able to work themselves up to such a pitch of shamelessness as to produce a witness to testify that I ever exacted or asked pay of anyone. For I think I have a sufficient witness that I speak the truth, namely, my poverty.Perhaps it may seem strange that I go about and interfere in other people’s affairs to give this advice in private, but do not venture to come before your assembly and advise the state. But the reason for this, as you have heard me say at many times and places, is that something divine and spiritual comes to me, the very thing which Meletus ridiculed in his indictment. I have had this from my childhood; it is a sort of voice that comes to me, and when it comes it always holds me back from what I am thinking of doing, but never urges me forward. This it is which opposes my engaging in politics. And I think this opposition is a very good thing; for you may be quite sure, men of Athens, that if I had undertaken to go into politics, I should have been put to death long ago and should have done no good to you or to myself. And do not be angry with me for speaking the truth; the fact is that no man will save his life who nobly opposes you or any other populace and prevents many unjust and illegal things from happening in the state. A man who really fights for the right, if he is to preserve his life for even a little while, must be a private citizen, not a public man.

Section 32

I will give you powerful proofs of this not mere words, but what you honor more,—actions. And listen to what happened to me, that you may be convinced that I would never yield to any one, if that was wrong, through fear of death, but would die rather than yield. The tale I am going to tell you is ordinary and commonplace, but true. I, men of Athens, never held any other office in the state, but I was a senator; and it happened that my tribe held the presidency when you wished to judge collectively, not severally, the ten generals who had failed to gather up the slain after the naval battle; this was illegal, as you all agreed afterwards. At that time I was the only one of the prytanes who opposed doing anything contrary to the laws, and although the orators were ready to impeach and arrest me, and though you urged them with shouts to do so, I thought I must run the risk to the end with law and justice on my side, rather than join with you when your wishes were unjust, through fear of imprisonment or death. That was when the democracy still existed; and after the oligarchy was established, the Thirty sent for me with four others to come to the rotunda and ordered us to bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis to be put to death. They gave many such orders to others also, because they wished to implicate as many in their crimes as they could. Then I, however, showed again, by action, not in word only, that I did not care a whit for death if that be not too rude an expression, but that I did care with all my might not to do anything unjust or unholy. For that government, with all its power, did not frighten me into doing anything unjust, but when we came out of the rotunda, the other four went to Salamis and arrested Leon, but I simply went home; and perhaps I should have been put to death for it, if the government had not quickly been put down. Of these facts you can have many witnesses.Do you believe that I could have lived so many years if I had been in public life and had acted as a good man should act, lending my aid to what is just and considering that of the highest importance? Far from it, men of Athens; nor could any other man.

Section 33

But you will find that through all my life, both in public, if I engaged in any public activity, and in private, I have always been the same as now, and have never yielded to any one wrongly, whether it were any other person or any of those who are said by my traducers to be my pupils. But I was never any one’s teacher. If any one, whether young or old, wishes to hear me speaking and pursuing my mission, I have never objected, nor do I converse only when I am paid and not otherwise, but I offer myself alike to rich and poor; I ask questions, and whoever wishes may answer and hear what I say. And whether any of them turns out well or ill, I should not justly be held responsible, since I never promised or gave any instruction to any of them; but if any man says that he ever learned or heard anything privately from me, which all the others did not, be assured that he is lying.But why then do some people love to spend much of their time with me? You have heard the reason, men of Athens; for I told you the whole truth; it is because they like to listen when those are examined who think they are wise and are not so; for it is amusing. But, as I believe, I have been commanded to do this by the God through oracles and dreams and in every way in which any man was ever commanded by divine power to do anything whatsoever. This, Athenians, is true and easily tested. For if I am corrupting some of the young men and have corrupted others, surely some of them who have grown older, if they recognize that I ever gave them any bad advice when they were young, ought now to have come forward to accuse me. Or if they did not wish to do it themselves, some of their relatives—fathers or brothers or other kinsfolk—ought now to tell the facts. And there are many of them present, whom I see; first Crito here, who is of my own age and my own deme and father of Critobulus, who is also present; then there is Lysanias the Sphettian, father of Aeschines, who is here; and also Antiphon of Cephisus, father of Epigenes. Then here are others whose brothers joined in my conversations, Nicostratus, son of Theozotides and brother of Theodotus (now Theodotus is dead, so he could not stop him by entreaties), and Paralus, son of Demodocus; Theages was his brother; and Adimantus, son of Aristo, whose brother is Plato here; and Aeantodorus, whose brother Apollodorus is present.

Section 34

And I can mention to you many others, some one of whom Meletus ought certainly to have produced as a witness in his speech; but if he forgot it then, let him do so now; I yield the floor to him, and let him say, if he has any such testimony. But you will find that the exact opposite is the case, gentlemen, and that they are all ready to aid me, the man who corrupts and injures their relatives, as Meletus and Anytus say. Now those who are themselves corrupted might have some motive in aiding me; but what reason could their relatives have, who are not corrupted and are already older men, unless it be the right and true reason, that they know that Meletus is lying and I am speaking the truth?Well, gentlemen, this, and perhaps more like this, is about all I have to say in my defence. Perhaps some one among you may be offended when he remembers his own conduct, if he, even in a case of less importance than this, begged and besought the judges with many tears, and brought forward his children to arouse compassion, and many other friends and relatives; whereas I will do none of these things, though I am, apparently, in the very greatest danger. Perhaps some one with these thoughts in mind may be harshly disposed toward me and may cast his vote in anger. Now if any one of you is so disposed —I do not believe there is such a person—but if there should be, I think I should be speaking fairly if I said to him, My friend, I too have relatives, for I am, as Homer has it, not born of an oak or a rock,but of human parents, so that I have relatives and, men of Athens, I have three sons, one nearly grown up, and two still children; but nevertheless I shall not bring any of them here and beg you to acquit me. And why shall I not do so? Not because I am stubborn, Athenians, or lack respect for you. Whether I fear death or not is another matter, but for the sake of my good name and yours and that of the whole state, I think it is not right for me to do any of these things in view of my age and my reputation, whether deserved or not; for at any rate the opinion prevails that Socrates is in some way superior to most men.

Section 35

If then those of you who are supposed to be superior either in wisdom or in courage or in any other virtue whatsoever are to behave in such a way, it would be disgraceful. Why, I have often seen men who have some reputation behaving in the strangest manner, when they were on trial, as if they thought they were going to suffer something terrible if they were put to death, just as if they would be immortal if you did not kill them. It seems to me that they are a disgrace to the state and that any stranger might say that those of the Athenians who excel in virtue, men whom they themselves honor with offices and other marks of esteem, are no better than women. Such acts, men of Athens, we who have any reputation at all ought not to commit, and if we commit them you ought not to allow it, but you should make it clear that you will be much more ready to condemn a man who puts before you such pitiable scenes and makes the city ridiculous than one who keeps quiet.But apart from the question of reputation, gentlemen, I think it is not right to implore the judge or to get acquitted by begging; we ought to inform and convince him. For the judge is not here to grant favors in matters of justice, but to give judgement; and his oath binds him not to do favors according to his pleasure, but to judge according to the laws; therefore, we ought not to get you into the habit of breaking your oaths, nor ought you to fall into that habit; for neither of us would be acting piously. Do not, therefore, men of Athens, demand of me that I act before you in a way which I consider neither honorable nor right nor pious, especially when impiety is the very thing for which Meletus here has brought me to trial. For it is plain that if by persuasion and supplication I forced you to break your oaths I should teach you to disbelieve in the existence of the gods and in making my defence should accuse myself of not believing in them. But that is far from the truth; for I do believe in them, men of Athens, more than any of my accusers, and I entrust my case to you and to God to decide it as shall be best for me and for you.

Section 36

I am not grieved, men of Athens, at this vote of condemnation you have cast against me, and that for many reasons, among them the fact that your decision was not a surprise to me. I am much more surprised by the number of votes for and against it; for I did not expect so small a majority, but a large one. Now, it seems, if only thirty votes had been cast the other way, I should have been acquitted. And so, I think, so far as Meletus is concerned, I have even now been acquitted, and not merely acquitted, but anyone can see that, if Anytus and Lycon had not come forward to accuse me, he would have been fined a thousand drachmas for not receiving a fifth part of the votes.And so the man proposes the penalty of death. Well, then, what shall I propose as an alternative? Clearly that which I deserve, shall I not? And what do I deserve to suffer or to pay, because in my life I did not keep quiet, but neglecting what most men care for—money-making and property, and military offices, and public speaking, and the various offices and plots and parties that come up in the state—and thinking that I was really too honorable to engage in those activities and live, refrained from those things by which I should have been of no use to you or to myself, and devoted myself to conferring upon each citizen individually what I regard as the greatest benefit? For I tried to persuade each of you to care for himself and his own perfection in goodness and wisdom rather than for any of his belongings, and for the state itself rather than for its interests, and to follow the same method in his care for other things. What, then, does such a man as I deserve? Some good thing, men of Athens, if I must propose something truly in accordance with my deserts; and the good thing should be such as is fitting for me. Now what is fitting for a poor man who is your benefactor, and who needs leisure to exhort you? There is nothing, men of Athens, so fitting as that such a man be given his meals in the prytaneum. That is much more appropriate for me than for any of you who has won a race at the Olympic games with a pair of horses or a four-in-hand. For he makes you seem to be happy, whereas I make you happy in reality; and he is not at all in need of sustenance, but I am needy.

Section 37

So if I must propose a penalty in accordance with my deserts, I propose maintenance in the prytaneum.Perhaps some of you think that in saying this, as in what I said about lamenting and imploring, I am speaking in a spirit of bravado; but that is not the case. The truth is rather that I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged anyone; but I cannot convince you of this, for we have conversed with each other only a little while. I believe if you had a law, as some other people have, that capital cases should not be decided in one day, but only after several days, you would be convinced; but now it is not easy to rid you of great prejudices in a short time. Since, then, I am convinced that I never wronged any one, I am certainly not going to wrong myself, and to say of myself that I deserve anything bad, and to propose any penalty of that sort for myself. Why should I? Through fear of the penalty that Meletus proposes, about which I say that I do not know whether it is a good thing or an evil? Shall I choose instead of that something which I know to be an evil? What penalty shall I propose? Imprisonment? And why should I live in prison a slave to those who may be in authority? Or shall I propose a fine, with imprisonment until it is paid? But that is the same as what I said just now, for I have no money to pay with. Shall I then propose exile as my penalty? Perhaps you would accept that. I must indeed be possessed by a great love of life if I am so irrational as not to know that if you, who are my fellow citizens, could not endure my conversation and my words, but found them too irksome and disagreeable, so that you are now seeking to be rid of them, others will not be willing to endure them. No, men of Athens, they certainly will not. A fine life I should lead if I went away at my time of life, wandering from city to city and always being driven out! For well I know that wherever I go, the young men will listen to my talk, as they do here; and if I drive them away, they will themselves persuade their elders to drive me out, and if I do not drive them away, their fathers and relatives will drive me out for their sakes.Perhaps someone might say, Socrates, can you not go away from us and live quietly, without talking? Now this is the hardest thing to make some of you believe.

Section 38

For if I say that such conduct would be disobedience to the god and that therefore I cannot keep quiet, you will think I am jesting and will not believe me; and if again I say that to talk every day about virtue and the other things about which you hear me talking and examining myself and others is the greatest good to man, and that the unexamined life is not worth living, you will believe me still less. This is as I say, gentlemen, but it is not easy to convince you. Besides, I am not accustomed to think that I deserve anything bad. If I had money, I would have proposed a fine, as large as I could pay; for that would have done me no harm. But as it is—I have no money, unless you are willing to impose a fine which I could pay. I might perhaps pay a mina of silver. So I propose that penalty; but Plato here, men of Athens, and Crito and Critobulus, and Aristobulus tell me to propose a fine of thirty minas, saying that they are sureties for it. So I propose a fine of that amount, and these men, who are amply sufficient, will be my sureties. It is no long time, men of Athens, which you gain, and for that those who wish to cast a slur upon the state will give you the name and blame of having killed Socrates, a wise man; for, you know, those who wish to revile you will say I am wise, even though I am not. Now if you had waited a little while, what you desire would have come to you of its own accord; for you see how old I am, how far advanced in life and how near death. I say this not to all of you, but to those who voted for my death. And to them also I have something else to say. Perhaps you think, gentlemen, that I have been convicted through lack of such words as would have moved you to acquit me, if I had thought it right to do and say everything to gain an acquittal. Far from it. And yet it is through a lack that I have been convicted, not however a lack of words, but of impudence and shamelessness, and of willingness to say to you such things as you would have liked best to hear. You would have liked to hear me wailing and lamenting and doing and saying many things which are, as I maintain, unworthy of me—such things as you are accustomed to hear from others. But I did not think at the time that I ought, on account of the danger I was in, to do anything unworthy of a free man, nor do I now repent of having made my defence as I did, but I much prefer to die after such a defence than to live after a defence of the other sort.

Section 39

For neither in the court nor in war ought I or any other man to plan to escape death by every possible means. In battles it is often plain that a man might avoid death by throwing down his arms and begging mercy of his pursuers; and there are many other means of escaping death in dangers of various kinds if one is willing to do and say anything. But, gentlemen, it is not hard to escape death; it is much harder to escape wickedness, for that runs faster than death. And now I, since I am slow and old, am caught by the slower runner, and my accusers, who are clever and quick, by the faster, wickedness. And now I shall go away convicted by you and sentenced to death, and they go convicted by truth of villainy and wrong. And I abide by my penalty, and they by theirs. Perhaps these things had to be so, and I think they are well. And now I wish to prophesy to you, O ye who have condemned me; for I am now at the time when men most do prophesy, the time just before death. And I say to you, ye men who have slain me, that punishment will come upon you straight-way after my death, far more grievous in sooth than the punishment of death which you have meted out to me. For now you have done this to me because you hoped that you would be relieved from rendering an account of your lives, but I say that you will find the result far different. Those who will force you to give an account will be more numerous than heretofore; men whom I restrained, though you knew it not; and they will be harsher, inasmuch as they are younger, and you will be more annoyed. For if you think that by putting men to death you will prevent anyone from reproaching you because you do not act as you should, you are mistaken. That mode of escape is neither possible at all nor honorable, but the easiest and most honorable escape is not by suppressing others, but by making yourselves as good as possible. So with this prophecy to you who condemned me I take my leave.But with those who voted for my acquittal I should like to converse about this which has happened, while the authorities are busy and before I go to the place where I must die. Wait with me so long, my friends; for nothing prevents our chatting with each other while there is time.

Section 40

I feel that you are my friends, and I wish to show you the meaning of this which has now happened to me. For, judges—and in calling you judges I give you your right name—a wonderful thing has happened to me. For hitherto the customary prophetic monitor always spoke to me very frequently and opposed me even in very small matters, if I was going to do anything I should not; but now, as you yourselves see, this thing which might be thought, and is generally considered, the greatest of evils has come upon me; but the divine sign did not oppose me either when I left my home in the morning, or when I came here to the court, or at any point of my speech, when I was going to say anything; and yet on other occasions it stopped me at many points in the midst of a speech; but now, in this affair, it has not opposed me in anything I was doing or saying. What then do I suppose is the reason? I will tell you. This which has happened to me is doubtless a good thing, and those of us who think death is an evil must be mistaken. A convincing proof of this been given me; for the accustomed sign would surely have opposed me if I had not been going to meet with something good.Let us consider in another way also how good reason there is to hope that it is a good thing. For the state of death is one of two things: either it is virtually nothingness, so that the dead has no consciousness of anything, or it is, as people say, a change and migration of the soul from this to another place. And if it is unconsciousness, like a sleep in which the sleeper does not even dream, death would be a wonderful gain. For I think if any one were to pick out that night in which he slept a dreamless sleep and, comparing with it the other nights and days of his life, were to say, after due consideration, how many days and nights in his life had passed more pleasantly than that night,—I believe that not only any private person, but even the great King of Persia himself would find that they were few in comparison with the other days and nights. So if such is the nature of death, I count it a gain; for in that case, all time seems to be no longer than one night. But on the other hand, if death is, as it were, a change of habitation from here to some other place, and if what we are told is true, that all the dead are there, what greater blessing could there be, judges?

Section 41

For if a man when he reaches the other world, after leaving behind these who claim to be judges, shall find those who are really judges who are said to sit in judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus and Triptolemus, and all the other demigods who were just men in their lives, would the change of habitation be undesirable? Or again, what would any of you give to meet with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? I am willing to die many times over, if these things are true; for I personally should find the life there wonderful, when I met Palamedes or Ajax, the son of Telamon, or any other men of old who lost their lives through an unjust judgement, and compared my experience with theirs. I think that would not be unpleasant. And the greatest pleasure would be to pass my time in examining and investigating the people there, as I do those here, to find out who among them is wise and who thinks he is when he is not. What price would any of you pay, judges, to examine him who led the great army against Troy, or Odysseus, or Sisyphus, or countless others, both men and women, whom I might mention? To converse and associate with them and examine them would be immeasurable happiness. At any rate, the folk there do not kill people for it; since, if what we are told is true, they are immortal for all future time, besides being happier in other respects than men are here.But you also, judges, must regard death hopefully and must bear in mind this one truth, that no evil can come to a good man either in life or after death, and God does not neglect him. So, too, this which had come to me has not come by chance, but I see plainly that it was better for me to die now and be freed from troubles. That is the reason why the sign never interfered with me, and I am not at all angry with those who condemned me or with my accusers. And yet it was not with that in view that they condemned and accused me, but because they thought to injure me. They deserve blame for that. However, I make this request of them: when my sons grow up, gentlemen, punish them by troubling them as I have troubled you; if they seem to you to care for money or anything else more than for virtue, and if they think they amount to something when they do not, rebuke them as I have rebuked you because they do not care for what they ought, and think they amount to something when they are worth nothing.

Section 42

If you do this, both I and my sons shall have received just treatment from you.But now the time has come to go away. I go to die, and you to live; but which of us goes to the better lot, is known to none but God.

Contents — 12 sections

1. Section 43
2. Section 44
3. Section 45
4. Section 46
5. Section 47
6. Section 48
7. Section 49
8. Section 50
9. Section 51
10. Section 52
11. Section 53
12. Section 54

Section 43

Socrates. Why have you come at this time, Crito? Or isn’t it still early?

Crito. Yes, very early.

Socrates. About what time?

Crito. Just before dawn.

Socrates. I am surprised that the watchman of the prison was willing to let you in.

Crito. He is used to me by this time, Socrates, because I come here so often, and besides I have done something for him.

Socrates. Have you just come, or some time ago?

Crito. Some little time ago.

Socrates. Then why did you not wake me at once, instead of sitting by me in silence?

Crito. No, no, by Zeus, Socrates, I only wish I myself were not so sleepless and sorrowful. But I have been wondering at you for some time, seeing how sweetly you sleep; and I purposely refrained from waking you, that you might pass the time as pleasantly as possible. I have often thought throughout your life hitherto that you were of a happy disposition, and I think so more than ever in this present misfortune, since you bear it so easily and calmly.

Socrates. Well, Crito, it would be absurd if at my age I were disturbed because I must die now.

Crito. Other men as old, Socrates, become involved in similar misfortunes, but their age does not in the least prevent them from being disturbed by their fate.

Socrates. That is true. But why have you come so early?

Crito. To bring news, Socrates, sad news, though apparently not sad to you, but sad and grievous me and all your friends, and to few of them, I think, so grievous as to me.

Socrates. What is this news? Has the ship come from Delos, at the arrival of which I am to die?

Crito. It has not exactly come, but I think it will come today from the reports of some men who have come from Sunium and left it there. Now it is clear from what they say that it will come today, and so tomorrow, Socrates, your life must end.

Socrates. Well, Crito, good luck be with us! If this is the will of the gods, so be it. However, I do not think it will come today.

Section 44

Crito. What is your reason for not thinking so?

Socrates. I will tell you. I must die on the day after the ship comes in, must I not?

Crito. So those say who have charge of these matters.

Socrates. Well, I think it will not come in today, but tomorrow. And my reason for this is a dream which I had a little while ago in the course of this night. And perhaps you let me sleep just at the right time.

Crito. What was the dream?

Socrates. I dreamed that a beautiful, fair woman, clothed in white raiment, came to me and called me and said, Socrates, on the third day thou wouldst come to fertile Phthia.

Crito. A strange dream, Socrates.

Socrates. No, a clear one, at any rate, I think, Crito.

Crito. Too clear, apparently. But, my dear Socrates, even now listen to me and save yourself. Since, if you die, it will be no mere single misfortune to me, but I shall lose a friend such as I can never find again, and besides, many persons who do not know you and me well will think I could have saved you if I had been willing to spend money, but that I would not take the trouble. And yet what reputation could be more disgraceful than that of considering one’s money of more importance than one’s friends? For most people will not believe that we were eager to help you to go away from here, but you refused.

Socrates. But, my dear Crito, why do we care so much for what most people think? For the most reasonable men, whose opinion is more worth considering, will think that things were done as they really will be done.

Crito. But you see it is necessary, Socrates, to care for the opinion of the public, for this very trouble we are in now shows that the public is able to accomplish not by any means the least, but almost the greatest of evils, if one has a bad reputation with it.

Socrates. I only wish, Crito, the people could accomplish the greatest evils, that they might be able to accomplish also the greatest good things. Then all would be well. But now they can do neither of the two; for they are not able to make a man wise or foolish, but they do whatever occurs to them.

Crito. That may well be. But, Socrates, tell me this: you are not considering me and your other friends, are you, fearing that, if you escape, the informers will make trouble for us by saying that we stole you away, and we shall be forced to lose either all our property or a good deal of money, or be punished in some other way besides?

Section 45

Crito.For if you are afraid of anything of that kind, let it go; since it is right for us to run this risk, and even greater risk than this, if necessary, provided we save you. Now please do as I ask.

Socrates. I am considering this, Crito, and many other things.

Crito. Well, do not fear this! for it is not even a large sum of money which we should pay to some men who are willing to save you and get you away from here. Besides, don’t you see how cheap these informers are, and that not much money would be needed to silence them? And you have my money at your command, which is enough, I fancy; and moreover, if because you care for me you think you ought not to spend my money, there are foreigners here willing to spend theirs; and one of them, Simmias of Thebes, has brought for this especial purpose sufficient funds; and Cebes also and very many others are ready. So, as I say, do not give up saving yourself through fear of this. And do not be troubled by what you said in the court, that if you went away you would not know what to do with yourself. For in many other places, wherever you go, they will welcome you; and if you wish to go to Thessaly, I have friends there who will make much of you and will protect you, so that no one in Thessaly shall annoy you. And besides, Socrates, it seems to me the thing you are undertaking to do is not even right—betraying yourself when you might save yourself. And you are eager to bring upon yourself just what your enemies would wish and just what those were eager for who wished to destroy you. And moreover, I think you are abandoning your children, too, for when you might bring them up and educate them, you are going to desert them and go away, and, so far as you are concerned, their fortunes in life will be whatever they happen to meet with, and they will probably meet with such treatment as generally comes to orphans in their destitution. No. Either one ought not to beget children, or one ought to stay by them and bring them up and educate them. But you seem to me to be choosing the laziest way; and you ought to choose as a good and brave man would choose, you who have been saying all your life that you cared for virtue. So I am shamed both for you and for us, your friends, and I am afraid people will think that this whole affair of yours has been conducted with a sort of cowardice on our part—both the fact that the case came before the court, when it might have been avoided, and the way in which the trial itself was carried on, and finally they will think, as the crowning absurdity of the whole affair, that this opportunity has escaped us through some base cowardice on our part, since we did not save you, and you did not save yourself, though it was quite possible if we had been of any use whatever.

Section 46

Crito. Take care, Socrates, that these things be not disgraceful, as well as evil, both to you and to us. Just consider, or rather it is time not to consider any longer, but to have finished considering. And there is just one possible plan; for all this must be done in the coming night. And if we delay it can no longer be done. But I beg you, Socrates, do as I say and don’t refuse.

Socrates. My dear Crito, your eagerness is worth a great deal, if it should prove to be rightly directed; but otherwise, the greater it is, the more hard to bear. So we must examine the question whether we ought to do this or not; for I am not only now but always a man who follows nothing but the reasoning which on consideration seems to me best. Aud I cannot, now that this has happened to us, discard the arguments I used to advance, but they seem to me much the same as ever, and I revere and honor the same ones as before. And unless we can bring forward better ones in our present situation, be assured that I shall not give way to you, not even if the power of the multitude frighten us with even more terrors than at present, as children are frightened with goblins, threatening us with imprisonments and deaths and confiscations of property. Now how could we examine the matter most reasonably? By taking up first what you say about opinions and asking whether we were right when we always used to say that we ought to pay attention to some opinions and not to others? Or were we right before I was condemned to death, whereas it has how been made clear that we were talking merely for the sake of argument and it was really mere play and nonsense? And I wish to investigate, Crito, in common with you, and see whether our former argument seems different to me under our present conditions, or the same, and whether we shall give it up or be guided by it. But it used to be said, I think, by those who thought they were speaking sensibly, just as I was saying now, that of the opinions held by men some ought to be highly esteemed and others not. In God’s name, Crito, do you not think this is correct?

Section 47

Socrates. For you, humanly speaking, are not involved in the necessity of dying tomorrow, and therefore present conditions would not lead your judgment astray. Now say, do you not think we were correct in saying that we ought not to esteem all the opinions of men, but some and not others, and not those of all men, but only of some? What do you think? Is not this true?

Crito. It is.

Socrates. Then we ought to esteem the good opinions and not the bad ones?

Crito. Yes.

Socrates. And the good ones are those of the wise and the bad ones those of the foolish?

Crito. Of course.

Socrates. Come then, what used we to say about this? If a man is an athlete and makes that his business, does he pay attention to every man’s praise and blame and opinion or to those of one man only who is a physician or a trainer?

Crito. To those of one man only.

Socrates. Then he ought to fear the blame and welcome the praise of that one man and not of the multitude.

Crito. Obviously.

Socrates. And he must act and exercise and eat and drink as the one man who is his director and who knows the business thinks best rather than as all the others think.

Crito. That is true.

Socrates. Well then; if he disobeys the one man and disregards his opinion and his praise, but regards words of the many who have no special knowledge, will he not come to harm?

Crito. Of course he will.

Socrates. And what is this harm? In what direction and upon what part of the one who disobeys does it act?

Crito. Evidently upon his body; for that is what it ruins.

Socrates. Right. Then in other matters, not to enumerate them all, in questions of right and wrong and disgraceful and noble and good and bad, which we are now considering, ought we to follow and fear the opinion of the many or that of the one, if there is anyone who knows about them, whom we ought to revere and fear more than all the others? And if we do not follow him, we shall injure and cripple that which we used to say is benefited by the right and is ruined by the wrong. Or is there nothing in this?

Crito. I think it is true, Socrates.

Socrates. Well then, if through yielding to the opinion of the ignorant we ruin that which is benefited by health and injured by disease, is life worth living for us when that is ruined? And that is the body, is it not?

Crito. Yes.

Socrates. Then is life worth living when the body is worthless and ruined?

Crito. Certainly not.

Socrates. But is it worth living when that is ruined which is injured by the wrong and improved by the right? Or do we think that part of us, whatever it is, which is concerned with right and wrong, is less important than the body?

Section 48

Crito. By no means.

Socrates. But more important?

Crito. Much more.

Socrates. Then, most excellent friend, we must not consider at all what the many will say of us, but what he who knows about right and wrong, the one man, and truth herself will say. And so you introduced the discussion wrongly in the first place, when you began by saying we ought to consider the opinion of the multitude about the right and the noble and the good and their opposites. But it might, of course, be said that the multitude can put us to death.

Crito. That is clear, too. It would be said, Socrates.

Socrates. That is true. But, my friend, the argument we have just finished seems to me still much the same as before; and now see whether we still hold to this, or not, that it is not living, but living well which we ought to consider most important.

Crito. We do hold to it.

Socrates. And that living well and living rightly are the same thing, do we hold to that, or not?

Crito. We do.

Socrates. Then we agree that the question is whether it is right for me to try to escape from here without the permission of the Athenians, or not right. And if it appears to be right, let us try it, and if not, let us give it up. But the considerations you suggest, about spending money, and reputation, and bringing up my children, these are really, Crito, the reflections of those who lightly put men to death, and would bring them to life again, if they could, without any sense, I mean the multitude. But we, since our argument so constrains us, must consider only the question we just broached, whether we shall be doing right in giving money and thanks to these men who will help me to escape, and in escaping or aiding the escape ourselves, or shall in truth be doing wrong, if we do all these things. And if it appears that it is wrong for us to do them, it may be that we ought not to consider either whether we must die if we stay here and keep quiet or whether we must endure any thing else whatsoever, but only the question of doing wrong.

Crito. I think what you say is right, Socrates; but think what we should do.

Socrates. Let us, my good friend, investigate in common, and if you can contradict anything I say, do so, and I will yield to your arguments; but if you cannot, my dear friend, stop at once saying the same thing to me over and over, that I ought to go away from here without the consent of the Athenians; for I am anxious to act in this matter with your approval, and not contrary to your wishes. Now see if the beginning of the investigation satisfies you, and try to reply to my questions to the best of your belief.

Section 49

Crito. I will try.

Socrates. Ought we in no way to do wrong intentionally, or should we do wrong in some ways but not in others? Or, as we often agreed in former times, is it never right or honorable to do wrong? Or have all those former conclusions of ours been overturned in these few days, and have we old men, seriously conversing with each other, failed all along to see that we were no better than children? Or is not what we used to say most certainly true, whether the world agree or not? And whether we must endure still more grievous sufferings than these, or lighter ones, is not wrongdoing inevitably an evil and a disgrace to the wrongdoer? Do we believe this or not?

Crito. We do.

Socrates. Then we ought not to do wrong at all.

Crito. Why, no.

Socrates. And we ought not even to requite wrong with wrong, as the world thinks, since we must not do wrong at all.

Crito. Apparently not.

Socrates. Well, Crito, ought one to do evil or not?

Crito. Certainly not, Socrates.

Socrates. Well, then, is it right to requite evil with evil, as the world says it is, or not right?

Crito. Not right, certainly.

Socrates. For doing evil to people is the same thing as wronging them.

Crito. That is true.

Socrates. Then we ought neither to requite wrong with wrong nor to do evil to anyone, no matter what he may have done to us. And be careful, Crito, that you do not, in agreeing to this, agree to something you do not believe; for I know that there are few who believe or ever will believe this. Now those who believe this, and those who do not, have no common ground of discussion, but they must necessarily, in view of their opinions, despise one another. Do you therefore consider very carefully whether you agree and share in this opinion, and let us take as the the starting point of our discussion the assumption that it is never right to do wrong or to requite wrong with wrong, or when we suffer evil to defend ourselves by doing evil in return. Or do you disagree and refuse your assent to this starting point? For I have long held this belief and I hold it yet, but if you have reached any other conclusion, speak and explain it to me. If you still hold to our former opinion, hear the next point.

Crito. I do hold to it and I agree with you; so go on.

Socrates. Now the next thing I say, or rather ask, is this: ought a man to do what he has agreed to do, provided it is right, or may he violate his agreements?

Crito. He ought to do it.

Section 50

Socrates. Then consider whether, if we go away from here without the consent of the state, we are doing harm to the very ones to whom we least ought to do harm, or not, and whether we are abiding by what we agreed was right, or not.

Crito. I cannot answer your question, Socrates, for I do not understand.

Socrates. Consider it in this way. If, as I was on the point of running away (or whatever it should be called), the laws and the commonwealth should come to me and ask, Tell me, Socrates, what have you in mind to do? Are you not intending by this thing you are trying to do, to destroy us, the laws, and the entire state, so far as in you lies? Or do you think that state can exist and not be overturned, in which the decisions reached by the courts have no force but are made invalid and annulled by private persons? What shall we say, Crito, in reply to this question and others of the same kind? For one might say many things, especially if one were an orator, about the destruction of that law which provides that the decisions reached by the courts shall be valid. Or shall we say to them, The state wronged me and did not judge the case rightly? Shall we say that, or what?

Crito. That is what we shall say, by Zeus, Socrates.

Socrates. What then if the laws should say, Socrates, is this the agreement you made with us, or did you agree to abide by the verdicts pronounced by the state? Now if I were surprised by what they said, perhaps they would continue, Don’t be surprised at what we say, Socrates, but answer, since you are in the habit of employing the method of question and answer. Come, what fault do you find with us and the state, that you are trying to destroy us? In the first place, did we not bring you forth? Is it not through us that your father married your mother and begat you? Now tell us, have you any fault to find with those of us who are the laws of marriage? I find no fault, I should say. Or with those that have to do with the nurture of the child after he is born and with his education which you, like others, received? Did those of us who are assigned to these matters not give good directions when we told your father to educate you in music and gymnastics? You did, I should say. Well then, when you were born and nurtured and educated, could you say to begin with that you were not our offspring and our slave, you yourself and your ancestors? And if this is so, do you think right as between you and us rests on a basis of equality, so that whatever we undertake to do to you it is right for you to retaliate?

Section 51

Socrates. There was no such equality of right between you and your father or your master, if you had one, so that whatever treatment you received you might return it, answering them if you were reviled, or striking back if you were struck, and the like; and do you think that it will be proper for you to act so toward your country and the laws, so that if we undertake to destroy you, thinking it is right, you will undertake in return to destroy us laws and your country, so far as you are able, and will say that in doing this you are doing right, you who really care for virtue? Or is your wisdom such that you do not see that your country is more precious and more to be revered and is holier and in higher esteem among the gods and among men of understanding than your mother and your father and all your ancestors, and that you ought to show to her more reverence and obedience and humility when she is angry than to your father, and ought either to convince her by persuasion or to do whatever she commands, and to suffer, if she commands you to suffer, in silence, and if she orders you to be scourged or imprisoned or if she leads you to war to be wounded or slain, her will is to be done, and this is right, and you must not give way or draw back or leave your post, but in war and in court and everywhere, you must do whatever the state, your country, commands, or must show her by persuasion what is really right, but that it is impious to use violence against either your father or your mother, and much more impious to use it against your country? What shall we reply to this, Crito, that the laws speak the truth, or not?

Crito. I think they do.

Socrates. Observe then, Socrates, perhaps the laws would say, that if what we say is true, what you are now undertaking to do to us is not right. For we brought you into the world, nurtured you, and gave a share of all the good things we could to you and all the citizens. Yet we proclaim, by having offered the opportunity to any of the Athenians who wishes to avail himself of it, that anyone who is not pleased with us when he has become a man and has seen the administration of the city and us, the laws, may take his goods and go away wherever he likes. And none of us stands in the way or forbids any of you to take his goods and go away wherever he pleases, if we and the state do not please him, whether it be to an Athenian colony or to a foreign country where he will live as an alien. But we say that whoever of you stays here, seeing how we administer justice and how we govern the state in other respects, has thereby entered into an agreement with us to do what we command; and we say that he who does not obey does threefold wrong, because he disobeys us who are his parents, because he disobeys us who nurtured him, and because after agreeing to obey us he neither obeys us nor convinces us that we are wrong, though we give him the opportunity and do not roughly order him to do what we command, but when we allow him a choice of two things, either to convince us of error or to do our bidding, he does neither of these things.

Section 52

Socrates. We say that you, Socrates, will be exposed to these reproaches, if you do what you have in mind, and you not least of the Athenians but more than most others. If then I should say, How so? perhaps they might retort with justice that I had made this agreement with them more emphatically than most other Athenians. For they would say, Socrates, we have strong evidence that we and the city pleased you; for you would never have stayed in it more than all other Athenians if you had not been better pleased with it than they; you never went out from the city to a festival, or anywhere else, except on military service, and you never made any other journey, as other people do, and you had no wish to know any other city or other laws, but you were contented with us and our city. So strongly did you prefer us and agree to live in accordance with us; and besides, you begat children in the city, showing that it pleased you. And moreover even at your trial you might have offered exile as your penalty, if you wished, and might have done with the state’s consent what you are now undertaking to do without it. But you then put on airs and said you were not disturbed if you must die, and you preferred, as you said, death to exile. And now you are not ashamed to think of those words and you do not respect us, the laws, since you are trying to bring us to naught; and you are doing what the meanest slave would do, since you are trying to run away contrary to the compacts and agreements you made with us that you would live in accordance with us. First then, answer this question, whether we speak the truth or not when we say that you agreed, not in word, but by your acts, to live in accordance with us. What shall we say to this, Crito? Must we not agree that it is true?

Crito. We must, Socrates.

Socrates. Are you then, they would say, not breaking your compacts and agreements with us, though you were not led into them by compulsion or fraud, and were not forced to make up your mind in a short time, but had seventy years, in which you could have gone away, if we did not please you and if you thought the agreements were unfair?

Section 53

Socrates. But you preferred neither Lacedaemon nor Crete, which you are always saying are well governed, nor any other of the Greek states, or of the foreign ones, but you went away from this city less than the lame and the blind and the other cripples. So much more than the other Athenians were you satisfied with the city and evidently therefore with us, its laws; for who would be pleased with a city apart from its laws? And now will you not abide by your agreement? You will if you take our advice, Socrates; and you will not make yourself ridiculous by going away from the city.For consider. By transgressing in this way and committing these errors, what good will you do to yourself or any of your friends? For it is pretty clear that your friends also will be exposed to the risk of banishment and the loss of their homes in the city or of their property. And you yourself, if you go to one of the nearest cities, to Thebes or Megara—for both are well governed—will go as an enemy, Socrates, to their government, and all who care for their own cities will look askance at you, and will consider you a destroyer of the laws, and you will confirm the judges in their opinion, so that they will think their verdict was just. For he who is destroyer of the laws might certainly be regarded as a destroyer of young and thoughtless men. Will you then avoid the well-governed cities and the most civilized men? And if you do this will your life be worth living? Or will you go to them and have the face to carry on—what kind of conversation, Socrates? The same kind you carried on here, saying that virtue and justice and lawful things and the laws are the most precious things to men? And do you not think that the conduct of Socrates would seem most disgraceful? You cannot help thinking so. Or you will keep away from these places and go to Crito’s friends in Thessaly; for there great disorder and lawlessness prevail, and perhaps they would be amused to hear of the ludicrous way in which you ran away from prison by putting on a disguise, a peasant’s leathern cloak or some of the other things in which runaways dress themselves up, and changing your appearance. But will no one say that you, an old man, who had probably but a short time yet to live, clung to life with such shameless greed that you transgressed the highest laws? Perhaps not, if you do not offend anyone; but if you do, Socrates, you will have to listen to many things that would be a disgrace to you. So you will live as an inferior and a slave to everyone. And what will you do except feast in Thessaly, as if you had gone to Thessaly to attend a banquet?

Section 54

Socrates. What will become of our conversations about justice and virtue? But perhaps you wish to live for the sake of your children, that you may bring them up and educate them? How so? Will you take them to Thessaly to be brought up and educated, making exiles of them, that you may give them that blessing also? Or perhaps you will not do that, but if they are brought up here while you are living, will they be better brought up and educated if you are not with them than if you were dead? Oh yes! your friends will care for them. Will they care for them if you go away to Thessaly and not if you go away to the dwellings of the dead? If those who say they are your friends are of any use, we must believe they will care for them in both cases alike.Ah, Socrates, be guided by us who tended your infancy. Care neither for your children nor for life nor for anything else more than for the right, that when you come to the home of the dead, you may have all these things to say in your own defence. For clearly if you do this thing it will not be better for you here, or more just or holier, no, nor for any of your friends, and neither will it be better when you reach that other abode. Now, however, you will go away wronged, if you do go away, not by us, the laws, but by men; but if you escape after so disgracefully requiting wrong with wrong and evil with evil, breaking your compacts and agreements with us, and injuring those whom you least ought to injure—yourself, your friends, your country and us—we shall be angry with you while you live, and there our brothers, the laws in Hades’ realm, will not receive you graciously; for they will know that you tried, so far as in you lay, to destroy us. Do not let Crito persuade you to do what he says, but take our advice.Be well assured, my dear friend, Crito, that this is what I seem to hear, as the frenzied dervishes of Cybele seem to hear the flutes, and this sound of these words re-echoes within me and prevents my hearing any other words. And be assured that, so far as I now believe, if you argue against these words you will speak in vain. Nevertheless, if you think you can accomplish anything, speak.

Crito. No, Socrates, I have nothing to say.

Socrates. Then, Crito, let it be; and let us act in this way, since it is in this way that God leads us.

Contents — 15 sections

1. Section 2
2. Section 3
3. Section 4
4. Section 5
5. Section 6
6. Section 7
7. Section 8
8. Section 9
9. Section 10
10. Section 11
11. Section 12
12. Section 13
13. Section 14
14. Section 15
15. Section 16

Section 2

Euthyphro. What strange thing has happened, Socrates, that you have left your accustomed haunts in the Lyceum and are now haunting the portico where the king archon sits? For it cannot be that you have an action before the king, as I have.

Socrates. Our Athenians, Euthyphro, do not call it an action, but an indictment.

Euthyphro. What? Somebody has, it seems, brought an indictment against you; for I don’t accuse you of having brought one against anyone else.

Socrates. Certainly not.

Euthyphro. But someone else against you?

Socrates. Quite so.

Euthyphro. Who is he?

Socrates. I don’t know the man very well myself, Euthyphro, for he seems to be a young and unknown person. His name, however, is Meletus, I believe. And he is of the deme of Pitthus, if you remember any Pitthian Meletus, with long hair and only a little beard, but with a hooked nose.

Euthyphro. I don’t remember him, Socrates. But what sort of an indictment has he brought against you?

Socrates. What sort? No mean one, it seems to me; for the fact that, young as he is, he has apprehended so important a matter reflects no small credit upon him. For he says he knows how the youth are corrupted and who those are who corrupt them. He must be a wise man; who, seeing my lack of wisdom and that I am corrupting his fellows, comes to the State, as a boy runs to his mother, to accuse me. And he seems to me to be the only one of the public men who begins in the right way; for the right way is to take care of the young men first, to make them as good as possible, just as a good husbandman will naturally take care of the young plants first and afterwards of the rest.

Section 3

Socrates. And so Meletus, perhaps, is first clearing away us who corrupt the young plants, as he says; then after this, when he has turned his attention to the older men, he will bring countless most precious blessings upon the State,—at least, that is the natural outcome of the beginning he has made.

Euthyphro. I hope it may be so, Socrates; but I fear the opposite may result. For it seems to me that he begins by injuring the State at its very heart, when he undertakes to harm you. Now tell me, what does he say you do that corrupts the young?

Socrates. Absurd things, my friend, at first hearing. For he says I am a maker of gods; and because I make new gods and do not believe in the old ones, he indicted me for the sake of these old ones, as he says.

Euthyphro. I understand, Socrates; it is because you say the divine monitor keeps coming to you. So he has brought the indictment against you for making innovations in religion, and he is going into court to slander you, knowing that slanders on such subjects are readily accepted by the people. Why, they even laugh at me and say I am crazy when I say anything in the assembly about divine things and foretell the future to them. And yet there is not one of the things I have foretold that is not true; but they are jealous of all such men as you and I are. However, we must not be disturbed, but must come to close quarters with them.

Socrates. My dear Euthyphro, their ridicule is perhaps of no consequence. For the Athenians, I fancy, are not much concerned, if they think a man is clever, provided he does not impart his clever notions to others; but when they think he makes others to be like himself, they are angry with him, either through jealousy, as you say, or for some other reason.

Euthyphro. I don’t much desire to test their sentiments toward me in this matter.

Socrates. No, for perhaps they think that you are reserved and unwilling to impart your wisdom. But I fear that because of my love of men they think that I not only pour myself out copiously to anyone and everyone without payment, but that I would even pay something myself, if anyone would listen to me. Now if, as I was saying just now, they were to laugh at me, as you say they do at you, it would not be at all unpleasant to pass the time in the court with jests and laughter; but if they are in earnest, then only soothsayers like you can tell how this will end.

Euthyphro. Well, Socrates, perhaps it won’t amount to much, and you will bring your case to a satisfactory ending, as I think I shall mine.

Socrates. What is your case, Euthyphro? Are you defending or prosecuting?

Euthyphro. Prosecuting.

Socrates. Whom?

Section 4

Euthyphro. Such a man that they think I am insane because I am prosecuting him.

Socrates. Why? Are you prosecuting one who has wings to fly away with?

Euthyphro. No flying for him at his ripe old age.

Socrates. Who is he?

Euthyphro. My father.

Socrates. Your father, my dear man?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. But what is the charge, and what is the suit about?

Euthyphro. Murder, Socrates.

Socrates. Heracles! Surely, Euthyphro, most people do not know where the right lies; for I fancy it is not everyone who can rightly do what you are doing, but only one who is already very far advanced in wisdom.

Euthyphro. Very far, indeed, Socrates, by Zeus.

Socrates. Is the one who was killed by your father a relative? But of course he was; for you would not bring a charge of murder against him on a stranger’s account.

Euthyphro. It is ridiculous, Socrates, that you think it matters whether the man who was killed was a stranger or a relative, and do not see that the only thing to consider is whether the action of the slayer was justified or not, and that if it was justified one ought to let him alone, and if not, one ought to proceed against him, even if he share one’s hearth and eat at one’s table. For the pollution is the same if you associate knowingly with such a man and do not purify yourself and him by proceeding against him. In this case, the man who was killed was a hired workman of mine, and when we were farming at Naxos, he was working there on our land. Now he got drunk, got angry with one of our house slaves, and butchered him. So my father bound him hand and foot, threw him into a ditch, and sent a man here to Athens to ask the religious adviser what he ought to do. In the meantime he paid no attention to the man as he lay there bound, and neglected him, thinking that he was a murderer and it did not matter if he were to die. And that is just what happened to him. For he died of hunger and cold and his bonds before the messenger came back from the adviser. Now my father and the rest of my relatives are angry with me, because for the sake of this murderer I am prosecuting my father for murder. For they say he did not kill him, and if he had killed him never so much, yet since the dead man was a murderer, I ought not to trouble myself about such a fellow, because it is unholy for a son to prosecute his father for murder. Which shows how little they know what the divine law is in regard to holiness and unholiness.

Socrates. But, in the name of Zeus, Euthyphro, do you think your knowledge about divine laws and holiness and unholiness is so exact that, when the facts are as you say, you are not afraid of doing something unholy yourself in prosecuting your father for murder?

Section 5

Euthyphro. I should be of no use, Socrates, and Euthyphro would be in no way different from other men, if I did not have exact knowledge about all such things.

Socrates. Then the best thing for me, my admirable Euthyphro, is to become your pupil and, before the suit with Meletus comes on, to challenge him and say that I always thought it very important before to know about divine matters and that now, since he says I am doing wrong by acting carelessly and making innovations in matters of religion, I have become your pupil. And Meletus, I should say, if you acknowledge that Euthyphro is wise in such matters, then believe that I also hold correct opinions, and do not bring me to trial; and if you do not acknowledge that, then bring a suit against him, my teacher, rather than against me, and charge him with corrupting the old, namely, his father and me, which he does by teaching me and by correcting and punishing his father. And if he does not do as I ask and does not release me from the indictment or bring it against you in my stead, I could say in the court the same things I said in my challenge to him, could I not?

Euthyphro. By Zeus, Socrates, if he should undertake to indict me, I fancy I should find his weak spot, and it would be much more a question about him in court than about me.

Socrates. And I, my dear friend, perceiving this, wish to become your pupil; for I know that neither this fellow Meletus, nor anyone else, seems to notice you at all, but he has seen through me so sharply and so easily that he has indicted me for impiety. Now in the name of Zeus, tell me what you just now asserted that you knew so well. What do you say is the nature of piety and impiety, both in relation to murder and to other things? Is not holiness always the same with itself in every action and, on the other hand, is not unholiness the opposite of all holiness, always the same with itself and whatever is to be unholy possessing some one characteristic quality?

Euthyphro. Certainly, Socrates.

Socrates. Tell me then, what do you say holiness is, and what unholiness?

Section 6

Euthyphro. Well then, I say that holiness is doing what I am doing now, prosecuting the wrongdoer who commits murder or steals from the temples or does any such thing, whether he be your father, or your mother or anyone else, and not prosecuting him is unholy. And, Socrates, see what a sure proof I offer you,—a proof I have already given to others,—that this is established and right and that we ought not to let him who acts impiously go unpunished, no matter who he may be. Men believe that Zeus is the best and most just of the gods, and they acknowledge that he put his father in bonds because he wickedly devoured his children, and he in turn had mutilated his father for similar reasons; but they are incensed against me because I proceed against my father when he has done wrong, and so they are inconsistent in what they say about the gods and about me.

Socrates. Is not this, Euthyphro, the reason why I am being prosecuted, because when people tell such stories about the gods I find it hard to accept them? And therefore, probably, people will say I am wrong. Now if you, who know so much about such things, accept these tales, I suppose I too must give way. For what am I to say, who confess frankly that I know nothing about them? But tell me, in the name of Zeus, the god of friendship, do you really believe these things happened?

Euthyphro. Yes, and still more wonderful things than these, Socrates, which most people do not know.

Socrates. And so you believe that there was really war between the gods, and fearful enmities and battles and other things of the sort, such as are told of by the poets and represented in varied designs by the great artists in our sacred places and especially on the robe which is carried up to the Acropolis at the great Panathenaea? for this is covered with such representations. Shall we agree that these things are true, Euthyphro?

Euthyphro. Not only these things, Socrates; but, as I said just now, I will, if you like, tell you many other things about the gods, which I am sure will amaze you when you hear them.

Socrates. I dare say. But you can tell me those things at your leisure some other time. At present try to tell more clearly what I asked you just now. For, my friend, you did not give me sufficient information before, when I asked what holiness was, but you told me that this was holy which you are now doing, prosecuting your father for murder.

Euthyphro. Well, what I said was true, Socrates.

Socrates. Perhaps. But, Euthyphro, you say that many other things are holy, do you not?

Euthyphro. Why, so they are.

Socrates. Now call to mind that this is not what I asked you, to tell me one or two of the many holy acts, but to tell the essential aspect, by which all holy acts are holy; for you said that all unholy acts were unholy and all holy ones holy by one aspect. Or don’t you remember?

Euthyphro. I remember.

Socrates. Tell me then what this aspect is, that I may keep my eye fixed upon it and employ it as a model and, if anything you or anyone else does agrees with it, may say that the act is holy, and if not, that it is unholy.

Euthyphro. If you wish me to explain in that way, I will do so.

Socrates. I do wish it.

Section 7

Euthyphro. Well then, what is dear to the gods is holy, and what is not dear to them is unholy.

Socrates. Excellent, Euthyphro, now you have answered as I asked you to answer. However, whether it is true, I am not yet sure; but you will, of course, show that what you say is true.

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. Come then, let us examine our words. The thing and the person that are dear to the gods are holy, and the thing and the person that are hateful to the gods are unholy; and the two are not the same, but the holy and the unholy are the exact opposites of each other. Is not this what we have said?

Euthyphro. Yes, just this.

Socrates. And it seems to be correct?

Euthyphro. I think so, Socrates.

Socrates. Well then, have we said this also, that the gods, Euthyphro, quarrel and disagree with each other, and that there is enmity between them?

Euthyphro. Yes, we have said that.

Socrates. But what things is the disagreement about, which causes enmity and anger? Let us look at it in this way. If you and I were to disagree about number, for instance, which of two numbers were the greater, would the disagreement about these matters make us enemies and make us angry with each other, or should we not quickly settle it by resorting to arithmetic?

Euthyphro. Of course we should.

Socrates. Then, too, if we were to disagree about the relative size of things, we should quickly put an end to the disagreement by measuring?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. And we should, I suppose, come to terms about relative weights by weighing?

Euthyphro. Of course.

Socrates. But about what would a disagreement be, which we could not settle and which would cause us to be enemies and be angry with each other? Perhaps you cannot give an answer offhand; but let me suggest it. Is it not about right and wrong, and noble and disgraceful, and good and bad? Are not these the questions about which you and I and other people become enemies, when we do become enemies, because we differ about them and cannot reach any satisfactory agreement?

Euthyphro. Yes, Socrates, these are the questions about which we should become enemies.

Socrates. And how about the gods, Euthyphro. If they disagree, would they not disagree about these questions?

Euthyphro. Necessarily.

Socrates. Then, my noble Euthyphro, according to what you say, some of the gods too think some things are right or wrong and noble or disgraceful, and good or bad, and others disagree; for they would not quarrel with each other if they did not disagree about these matters. Is that the case?

Euthyphro. You are right.

Socrates. Then the gods in each group love the things which they consider good and right and hate the opposites of these things?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Section 8

Socrates. But you say that the same things are considered right by some of them and wrong by others; and it is because they disagree about these things that they quarrel and wage war with each other. Is not this what you said?

Euthyphro. It is.

Socrates. Then, as it seems, the same things are hated and loved by the gods, and the same things would be dear and hateful to the gods.

Euthyphro. So it seems.

Socrates. And then the same things would be both holy and unholy, Euthyphro, according to this statement.

Euthyphro. I suppose so.

Socrates. Then you did not answer my question, my friend. For I did not ask you what is at once holy and unholy; but, judging from your reply, what is dear to the gods is also hateful to the gods. And so, Euthyphro, it would not be surprising if, in punishing your father as you are doing, you were performing an act that is pleasing to Zeus, but hateful to Cronus and Uranus, and pleasing to Hephaestus, but hateful to Hera, and so forth in respect to the other gods, if any disagree with any other about it.

Euthyphro. But I think, Socrates, that none of the gods disagrees with any other about this, or holds that he who kills anyone wrongfully ought not to pay the penalty.

Socrates. Well, Euthyphro, to return to men, did you ever hear anybody arguing that he who had killed anyone wrongfully, or had done anything else whatever wrongfully, ought not to pay the penalty?

Euthyphro. Why, they are always arguing these points, especially in the law courts. For they do very many wrong things; and then there is nothing they will not do or say, in defending themselves, to avoid the penalty.

Socrates. Yes, but do they acknowledge, Euthyphro, that they have done wrong and, although they acknowledge it, nevertheless say that they ought not to pay the penalty?

Euthyphro. Oh, no, they don’t do that.

Socrates. Then there is something they do not do and say. For they do not, I fancy, dare to say and argue that, if they have really done wrong, they ought not to pay the penalty; but, I think, they say they have not done wrong; do they not?

Euthyphro. You are right.

Socrates. Then they do not argue this point, that the wrongdoer must not pay the penalty; but perhaps they argue about this, who is a wrongdoer, and what he did, and when.

Euthyphro. That is true.

Socrates. Then is not the same thing true of the gods, if they quarrel about right and wrong, as you say, and some say others have done wrong, and some say they have not? For surely, my friend, no one, either of gods or men, has the face to say that he who does wrong ought not to pay the penalty.

Euthyphro. Yes, you are right about this, Socrates, in the main.

Socrates. But I think, Euthyphro, those who dispute, both men and gods, if the gods do dispute, dispute about each separate act. When they differ with one another about any act, some say it was right and others that it was wrong. Is it not so?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Section 9

Socrates. Come now, my dear Euthyphro, inform me, that I may be made wiser, what proof you have that all the gods think that the man lost his life wrongfully, who, when he was a servant, committed murder, was bound by the master of the man he killed, and died as a result of his bonds before the master who had bound him found out from the advisers what he ought to do with him, and that it is right on account of such a man for a son to proceed against his father and accuse him of murder. Come, try to show me clearly about this, that the gods surely believe that this conduct is right; and if you show it to my satisfaction, I will glorify your wisdom as long as I live.

Euthyphro. But perhaps this is no small task, Socrates; though I could show you quite clearly.

Socrates. I understand; it is because you think I am slower to understand than the judges; since it is plain that you will show them that such acts are wrong and that all the gods hate them.

Euthyphro. Quite clearly, Socrates; that is, if they listen to me.

Socrates. They will listen, if they find that you are a good speaker. But this occurred to me while you were talking, and I said to myself: If Euthyphro should prove to me no matter how clearly that all the gods think such a death is wrongful, what have I learned from Euthyphro about the question, what is holiness and what is unholiness? For this act would, as it seems, be hateful to the gods; but we saw just now that holiness and its opposite are not defined in this way; for we saw that what is hateful to the gods is also dear to them; and so I let you off any discussion of this point, Euthyphro. If you like, all the gods may think it wrong and may hate it. But shall we now emend our definition and say that whatever all the gods hate is unholy and whatever they all love is holy, and what some love and others hate is neither or both? Do you wish this now to be our definition of holiness and unholiness?

Euthyphro. What is to hinder, Socrates?

Socrates. Nothing, so far as I am concerned, Euthyphro, but consider your own position, whether by adopting this definition you will most easily teach me what you promised.

Euthyphro. Well, I should say that what all the gods love is holy and, on the other hand, what they all hate is unholy.

Socrates. Then shall we examine this again, Euthyphro, to see if it is correct, or shall we let it go and accept our own statement, and those of others, agreeing that it is so, if anyone merely says that it is? Or ought we to inquire into the correctness of the statement?

Euthyphro. We ought to inquire. However, I think this is now correct.

Section 10

Socrates. We shall soon know more about this, my friend. Just consider this question:—Is that which is holy loved by the gods because it is holy, or is it holy because it is loved by the gods?

Euthyphro. I don’t know what you mean, Socrates.

Socrates. Then I will try to speak more clearly. We speak of being carried and of carrying, of being led and of leading, of being seen and of seeing; and you understand—do you not?—that in all such expressions the two parts differ one from the other in meaning, and how they differ.

Euthyphro. I think I understand.

Socrates. Then, too, we conceive of a thing being loved and of a thing loving, and the two are different?

Euthyphro. Of course.

Socrates. Now tell me, is a thing which is carried a carried thing because one carries it, or for some other reason?

Euthyphro. No, for that reason.

Socrates. And a thing which is led is led because one leads it, and a thing which is seen is so because one sees it?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. Then one does not see it because its a seen thing, but, on the contrary, it is a seen thing because one sees it; and one does not lead it because it is a led thing, but it is a led thing because one leads it; and one does not carry it because it is a carried thing, but it is a carried thing because one carries it. Is it clear, Euthyphro, what I am trying to say? I am trying to say this, that if anything becomes or undergoes, it does not become because it is in a state of becoming, but it is in a state of becoming because it becomes, and it does not undergo because it is a thing which undergoes, but because it undergoes it is a thing which undergoes; or do you not agree to this?

Euthyphro. I agree.

Socrates. Is not that which is beloved a thing which is either becoming or undergoing something?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. And is this case like the former ones: those who love it do not love it because it is a beloved thing, but it is a beloved thing because they love it?

Euthyphro. Obviously.

Socrates. Now what do you say about that which is holy, Euthyphro. It is loved by all the gods, is it not, according to what you said?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. For this reason, because it is holy, or for some other reason?

Euthyphro. No, for this reason.

Socrates. It is loved because it is holy, not holy because it is loved?

Euthyphro. I think so.

Socrates. But that which is dear to the gods is dear to them and beloved by them because they love it.

Euthyphro. Of course.

Socrates. Then that which is dear to the gods and that which is holy are not identical, but differ one from the other.

Euthyphro. How so, Socrates?

Socrates. Because we are agreed that the holy is loved because it is holy and that it is not holy because it is loved; are we not?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. But we are agreed that what is dear to the gods is dear to them because they love it, that is, by reason of this love, not that they love it because it is dear.

Euthyphro. Very true.

Section 11

Socrates. But if that which is dear to the gods and that which is holy were identical, my dear Euthyphro, then if the holy were loved because it is holy, that which is dear to the gods would be loved because it is dear, and if that which is dear to the gods is dear because it is loved, then that which is holy would be holy because it is loved; but now you see that the opposite is the case, showing that the two are different from each other. For the one becomes lovable from the fact that it is loved, whereas the other is loved because it is in itself lovable. And, Euthyphro, it seems that when you were asked what holiness is you were unwilling to make plain its essence, but you mentioned something that has happened to this holiness, namely, that it is loved by the gods. But you did not tell as yet what it really is. So, if you please, do not hide it from me, but begin over again and tell me what holiness is, no matter whether it is loved by the gods or anything else happens it; for we shall not quarrel about that. But tell me frankly, What is holiness, and what is unholiness?

Euthyphro. But, Socrates, I do not know how to say what I mean. For whatever statement we advance, somehow or other it moves about and won’t stay where we put it.

Socrates. Your statements, Euthyphro, are like works of my ancestor Daedalus, and if I were the one who made or advanced them, you might laugh at me and say that on account of my relationship to him my works in words run away and won’t stay where they are put. But now—well, the statements are yours; so some other jest is demanded; for they stay fixed, as you yourself see.

Euthyphro. I think the jest does very well as it is; for I am not the one who makes these statements move about and not stay in the same place, but you are the Daedalus; for they would have stayed, so far as I am concerned.

Socrates. Apparently then, my friend, I am a more clever artist than Daedalus, inasmuch as he made only his own works move, whereas I, as it seems, give motion to the works of others as well as to my own. And the most exquisite thing about my art is that I am clever against my will; for I would rather have my words stay fixed and stable than possess the wisdom of Daedalus and the wealth of Tantalus besides. But enough of this. Since you seem to be indolent, I will aid you myself, so that you may instruct me about holiness. And do not give it up beforehand. Just see whether you do not think that everything that is holy is right.

Euthyphro. I do.

Section 12

Socrates. But is everything that is right also holy? Or is all which is holy right, and not all which is right holy, but part of it holy and part something else?

Euthyphro. I can’t follow you, Socrates.

Socrates. And yet you are as much younger than I as you are wiser; but, as I said, you are indolent on account of your wealth of wisdom. But exert yourself, my friend; for it is not hard to understand what I mean. What I mean is the opposite of what the poet said, who wrote:Zeus the creator, him who made all things, thou wilt not name; for where fear is, there also is reverence. Now I disagree with the poet. Shall I tell you how?

Euthyphro. By all means.

Socrates. It does not seem to me true that where fear is, there also is reverence; for many who fear diseases and poverty and other such things seem to me to fear, but not to reverence at all these things which they fear. Don’t you think so, too?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. But I think that where reverence is, there also is fear; for does not everyone who has a feeling of reverence and shame about any act also dread and fear the reputation for wickedness?

Euthyphro. Yes, he does fear.

Socrates. Then it is not correct to say where fear is, there also is reverence. On the contrary, where reverence is, there also is fear; but reverence is not everywhere where fear is, since, as I think, fear is more comprehensive than reverence; for reverence is a part of fear, just as the odd is a part of number, so that it is not true that where number is, there also is the odd, but that where the odd is, there also is number. Perhaps you follow me now?

Euthyphro. Perfectly.

Socrates. It was something of this sort that I meant before, when I asked whether where the right is, there also is holiness, or where holiness is, there also is the right; but holiness is not everywhere where the right is, for holiness is a part of the right. Do we agree to this, or do you dissent?

Euthyphro. No, I agree; for I think the statement is correct.

Socrates. Now observe the next point. If holiness is a part of the right, we must, apparently, find out what part of the right holiness is. Now if you asked me about one of the things I just mentioned, as, for example, what part of number the even was, and what kind of a number it was I should say, that which is not indivisible by two, but divisible by two; or don’t you agree?

Euthyphro. I agree.

Socrates. Now try in your turn to teach me what part of the right holiness is, that I may tell Meletus not to wrong me any more or bring suits against me for impiety, since I have now been duly instructed by you about what is, and what is not, pious and holy.

Euthyphro. This then is my opinion, Socrates, that the part of the right which has to do with attention to the gods constitutes piety and holiness, and that the remaining part of the right is that which has to do with the service of men.

Section 13

Socrates. I think you are correct, Euthyphro; but there is one little point about which I still want information, for I do not yet understand what you mean by attention. I don’t suppose you mean the same kind of attention to the gods which is paid to other things. We say, for example, that not everyone knows how to attend to horses, but only he who is skilled in horsemanship, do we not?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. Then horsemanship is the art of attending to horses?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. And not everyone knows how to attend to dogs, but only the huntsman?

Euthyphro. That is so.

Socrates. Then the huntsman’s art is the art of attending to dogs?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. And the oxherd’s art is that of attending to oxen?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. And holiness and piety is the art of attending to the gods? Is that what you mean, Euthyphro?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. Now does attention always aim to accomplish the same end? I mean something like this: It aims at some good or benefit to the one to whom it is given, as you see that horses, when attended to by the horseman’s art are benefited and made better; or don’t you think so?

Euthyphro. Yes, I do.

Socrates. And dogs are benefited by the huntsman’s art and oxen by the oxherd’s and everything else in the same way? Or do you think care and attention are ever meant for the injury of that which is cared for?

Euthyphro. No, by Zeus, I do not.

Socrates. But for its benefit?

Euthyphro. Of course.

Socrates. Then holiness, since it is the art of attending to the gods, is a benefit to the gods, and makes them better? And you would agree that when you do a holy or pious act you are making one of the gods better?

Euthyphro. No, by Zeus, not I.

Socrates. Nor do I, Euthyphro, think that is what you meant. Far from it. But I asked what you meant by attention to the gods just because I did not think you meant anything like that.

Euthyphro. You are right, Socrates; that is not what I mean.

Socrates. Well, what kind of attention to the gods is holiness?

Euthyphro. The kind, Socrates, that servants pay to their masters.

Socrates. I understand. It is, you mean, a kind of service to the gods?

Euthyphro. Exactly.

Socrates. Now can you tell me what result the art that serves the physician serves to produce? Is it not health?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. Well then; what is it which the art that serves shipbuilders serves to produce?

Euthyphro. Evidently, Socrates, a ship.

Socrates. And that which serves housebuilders serves to build a house?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. Then tell me, my friend; what would the art which serves the gods serve to accomplish? For it is evident that you know, since you say you know more than any other man about matters which have to do with the gods.

Euthyphro. And what I say is true, Socrates.

Socrates. Then, in the name of Zeus, tell me, what is that glorious result which the gods accomplish by using us as servants?

Section 14

Euthyphro. They accomplish many fine results, Socrates.

Socrates. Yes, and so do generals, my friend; but nevertheless, you could easily tell the chief of them, namely, that they bring about victory in war. Is that not the case?

Euthyphro. Of course.

Socrates. And farmers also, I think, accomplish many fine results; but still the chief result of their work is food from the land?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. But how about the many fine results the gods accomplish? What is the chief result of their work?

Euthyphro. I told you a while ago, Socrates, that it is a long task to learn accurately all about these things. However, I say simply that when one knows how to say and do what is gratifying to the gods, in praying and sacrificing, that is holiness, and such things bring salvation to individual families and to states; and the opposite of what is gratifying to the gods is impious, and that overturns and destroys everything.

Socrates. You might, if you wished, Euthyphro, have answered much more briefly the chief part of my question. But it is plain that you do not care to instruct me. For now, when you were close upon it you turned aside; and if you had answered it, I should already have obtained from you all the instruction I need about holiness. But, as things are, the questioner must follow the one questioned wherever he leads. What do you say the holy, or holiness, is? Do you not say that it is a kind of science of sacrificing and praying?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. And sacrificing is making gifts to the gods and praying is asking from them?

Euthyphro. Exactly, Socrates.

Socrates. Then holiness, according to this definition, would be a science of giving and asking.

Euthyphro. You understand perfectly what I said, Socrates.

Socrates. Yes, my friend, for I am eager for your wisdom, and give my mind to it, so that nothing you say shall fall to the ground. But tell me, what is this service of the gods? Do you say that it consists in asking from them and giving to them?

Euthyphro. Yes.

Socrates. Would not the right way of asking be to ask of them what we need from them?

Euthyphro. What else?

Socrates. And the right way of giving, to present them with what they need from us? For it would not be scientific giving to give anyone what he does not need.

Euthyphro. You are right, Socrates.

Socrates. Then holiness would be an art of barter between gods and men?

Euthyphro. Yes, of barter, if you like to call it so.

Section 15

Socrates. I don’t like to call it so, if it is not true. But tell me, what advantage accrues to the gods from the gifts they get from us? For everybody knows what they give, since we have nothing good which they do not give. But what advantage do they derive from what they get from us? Or have we so much the better of them in our bartering that we get all good things from them and they nothing from us?

Euthyphro. Why you don’t suppose, Socrates, that the gods gain any advantage from what they get from us, do you?

Socrates. Well then, what would those gifts of ours to the gods be?

Euthyphro. What else than honor and praise, and, as I said before, gratitude?

Socrates. Then, Euthyphro, holiness is grateful to the gods, but not advantageous or precious to the gods?

Euthyphro. I think it is precious, above all things.

Socrates. Then again, it seems, holiness is that which is precious to the gods.

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. Then will you be surprised, since you say this, if your words do not remain fixed but walk about, and will you accuse me of being the Daedalus who makes them walk, when you are yourself much more skilful than Daedalus and make them go round in a circle? Or do you not see that our definition has come round to the point from which it started? For you remember, I suppose, that a while ago we found that holiness and what is dear to the gods were not the same, but different from each other; or do you not remember?

Euthyphro. Yes, I remember.

Socrates. Then don’t you see that now you say that what is precious to the gods is holy? And is not this what is dear to the gods?

Euthyphro. Certainly.

Socrates. Then either our agreement a while ago was wrong, or if that was right, we are wrong now.

Euthyphro. So it seems.

Socrates. Then we must begin again at the beginning and ask what holiness is. Since I shall not willingly give up until I learn. And do not scorn me, but by all means apply your mind now to the utmost and tell me the truth; for you know, if anyone does, and like Proteus, you must be held until you speak. For if you had not clear knowledge of holiness and unholiness, you would surely not have undertaken to prosecute your aged father for murder for the sake of a servant. You would have been afraid to risk the anger of the gods, in case your conduct should be wrong, and would have been ashamed in the sight of men. But now I am sure you think you know what is holy and what is not. So tell me, most excellent Euthyphro, and do not conceal your thought.

Euthyphro. Some other time, Socrates. Now I am in a hurry and it is time for me to go.

Section 16

Socrates. Oh my friend, what are you doing? You go away and leave me cast down from the high hope I had that I should learn from you what is holy, and what is not, and should get rid of Meletus’s indictment by showing him that I have been made wise by Euthyphro about divine matters and am no longer through ignorance acting carelessly and making innovations in respect to them, and that I shall live a better life henceforth.

Contents — 24 sections

1. Section 178
2. Section 179
3. Section 180
4. Section 181
5. Section 182
6. Section 183
7. Section 184
8. Section 185
9. Section 186
10. Section 187
11. Section 188
12. Section 189
13. Section 190
14. Section 191
15. Section 192
16. Section 193
17. Section 194
18. Section 195
19. Section 196
20. Section 197
21. Section 198
22. Section 199
23. Section 200
24. Section 201

Section 178

You have seen the performance of the man fighting in armour, Nicias and Laches; but my friend Melesias and I did not tell you at the time our reason for requesting you to come and see it with us. However, we will tell you now; for we think we should speak our minds freely to friends like you. Some people, of course, pour ridicule on such appeals, and when consulted for their advice will not say what they think, but something different, making the inquirer’s wishes their aim, and speaking against their own judgement. But you, we consider, not merely have the necessary discernment but will give us the benefit of it in telling us just what is in your minds and hence we have enlisted your counsel on the question which we are about to lay before you.

Section 179

Now the matter about which I have made all this long preamble is this: we have two sons here, my friend that one, called Thucydides after his grandfather, and I this one; he also is named in the same way, after my father; we call him Aristeides. Well, we have resolved to give them our most constant care, and not—as most fathers do when their boys begin to be young men —let them run loose as their fancy leads them, but begin forthwith taking every possible care of them. Now, knowing that you too have sons, we thought that you above all men must have concerned yourselves with the question of the kind of upbringing that would make the best of them; and if by any chance you have not given your attention to the subject, we would remind you that it ought not to be neglected, and we invite you to join us in arranging some way of taking care of our sons. How we formed this resolve, Nicias and Laches, is worth hearing, even though the story be somewhat long. My friend Melesias and I take our meals together, and our boys share our table. Now, as I said at the beginning of my remarks, we are going to speak quite freely to you. Each of us has many noble deeds of his own father to relate to these young fellows—their numerous achievements both in war and in peace, when they were managing the affairs either of the allies or of this city; but neither of us has any deeds of his own to tell. We cannot help feeling ashamed that our boys should observe this, and we blame our fathers for leaving us to indulge ourselves when we began to be young men, while they looked after other folks’ affairs; and we point the moral of it all to these young people, telling them that if they are careless of themselves and will not take our advice they will win no reputation, but if they take due pains they may very likely come to be worthy of the names they bear. Now they, for their part, say they will do as we bid; so we are now considering what lessons or pursuits will lead them to the highest attainable excellence. Someone directed us to this particular accomplishment of fighting in armor, as being an admirable one for a young man to learn; and he praised that man whose performance you were just watching, and then urged us to go and see him. So we decided that it would be well to go and see the man ourselves, and to take you along with us not merely as companions at the show, but also as counsellors and copartners, if you will be so good, in the matter of looking after our sons.

Section 180

That is the question which we wanted to discuss with you. And we look to you now, on your part, to give us your advice, first as to whether you think this accomplishment should be learnt or not, and then as to any other such art or pursuit that you can recommend for a young man; and also, how you feel inclined as regards our partnership.

For myself, Lysimachus and Melesias, I highly approve of your purpose, and am ready to lend a hand and I may say the same, I think, for Laches here.

Yes, you think truly, Nicias. For that remark which Lysimachus made just now about his father and the father of Melesias was very apposite, in my opinion, not only to them but to us and to all who deal with public affairs: it is practically the rule with them, as he says, to treat their private concerns, whether connected with children or any thing else, in a slighting, careless spirit. You are quite right in saying that, Lysimachus; but to invite us to be your advisers for the education of your boys, and not to invite Socrates here, is to me very strange, when, to begin with, he is of your district, and then he is always spending his time wherever there is any such excellent study or pursuit for young men as you are seeking.

How do you mean, Laches? Has Socrates here given his attention to anything of this sort?

To be sure he has, Lysimachus.

I too might perhaps be in as good a position as Laches to inform you about that; for quite recently he introduced to myself a music-teacher for my son—Damon, pupil of Agathocles, who is not only the most exquisitely skilled of musicians, but in every other way as profitable a companion as you could wish for young men of that age.

It is not possible, Socrates, Nicias, and Laches, for men of my years to continue to know our juniors, because old age makes us spend most of our time at home; but if you, son of Sophroniscus, have any good advice for our friend, who belongs to your own district, you ought to let him have it. And it is only right that you should: for you happen to be our friend through your father he and I were constant companions and friends, and he died without ever having a single difference with me.

Section 181

And a certain recollection comes back to me on hearing what has just been said: for these boys, in talking with each other at home, frequently mention Socrates in terms of high praise; but I have never asked them whether they meant the son of Sophroniscus. Now tell me, my boys, is this the Socrates whose name you have mentioned so often?

To be sure, father, it is he.

On my soul, Socrates, it is good to know that you keep up your father’s name, which was a most honorable one, both on general grounds and particularly because of the intimate relation in which you and we shall equally feel ourselves to be.

Indeed, Lysimachus, he is a person you must not lose hold of; for I have observed him elsewhere too keeping up not merely his father’s but his country’s name. He accompanied me in the retreat from Delium, and I assure you that if the rest had chosen to be like him, our city would be holding up her head and would not then have had such a terrible fall.

Socrates, this is indeed splendid praise which you are now receiving from men whose word is of great weight, and for such conduct as wins their praise. So let me tell you that I rejoice to hear this and to know you have such a good reputation; and you in return must count me as one of your warmest well-wishers. You ought indeed, on your own part, to have visited us before, and treated us on intimate terms, as you have a right to do: now, however, that we have discovered each other, from to-day onwards you must make a point of sharing our thoughts and getting to know us and our young people also, that you and they may in your turn preserve the friendship of our houses. That, however, you will do yourself, and we will remind you of it another time: but what do you say of the matter on which we began to speak? What is your view? Is the accomplishment of fighting in armor a suitable one for our boys to learn or not?

On that matter, Lysimachus, I will do my best to advise you, so far as I can, and also to do all the rest that you so kindly ask. It seems to me, however, most proper that I, being so much younger and less experienced than you and your friends, should first hear what they have to say, and learn of them; and then, if I have anything else to suggest as against their remarks, I might try to explain it and persuade you and them to take my view. Come, Nicias, let one or other of you speak.

There is no difficulty about that, Socrates. For in my opinion this accomplishment is in many ways a useful thing for young men to possess.

Section 182

It is good for them, instead of spending their time on the ordinary things to which young men usually give their hours of leisure, to spend it on this, which not only has the necessary effect of improving their bodily health— since it is as good and strenuous as any physical exercise—but is also a form of exercise which, with riding, is particularly fitting for a free citizen; for only the men trained in the use of these warlike implements can claim to be trained in the contest whereof we are athletes and in the affairs wherein we are called upon to contend. Further, this accomplishment will be of some benefit also in actual battle, when it comes to fighting in line with a number of other men; but its greatest advantage will be felt when the ranks are broken, and you find you must fight man to man, either in pursuing someone who is trying to beat off your attack, or in retreating yourself and beating off the attack of another. Whoever possessed this accomplishment could come to no harm so long as he had but one to deal with, nor yet, perhaps, if he had several; it would give him an advantage in any situation. Moreover, it is a thing which impels one to desire another noble accomplishment; for everyone who has learnt how to fight in armor will desire to learn the accomplishment which comes next, the management of troops; and when he has got that and once taken a pride in his work he will push on to attain the whole art of generalship. It is evident already that all accomplishments and pursuits in the military sphere are both honourable and valuable to a man, either in acquisition or in practice; and this particular one may well be an introduction to them. And we can make this addition—no slight one—to its claims, that this science will make any man individually a great deal bolder and braver in war. Nor let us disdain to mention, even though some may think it a rather slight matter, that it will give him a smarter appearance in the place where a man should look smartest, and where at the same time he will appear more terrible to the enemy because of his smartness. So my opinion is, Lysimachus, as I say, that we ought to teach this skill to our young men, and I have told you my reasons for so thinking. But if Laches has a different view to state, I shall be as glad as anyone to hear it.

Well, Nicias, I am loth to say of any sort of accomplishment that it ought not to be learnt; for it seems good to know all things. And besides, if this skill in arms is an accomplishment, as they say who teach it, and as Nicias terms it, it ought to be learnt; while if it is not an accomplishment, and those who promise to give it are deceiving us, or if it is an accomplishment, but not a very important one, what can be the good of learning it?

Section 183

I speak of it in this way from the following point of view: I conceive that if there were anything in it, it would not have been overlooked by the Lacedaemonians, whose only concern in life is to seek out and practise whatever study or pursuit will give them an advantage over others in war. And if they have overlooked it, at any rate these teachers of it cannot have overlooked the obvious fact that the Lacedaemonians are more intent on such matters than any of the Greeks, and that anybody who won honour among them for this art would amass great riches elsewhere, just as a tragic poet does who has won honor among us. And for this reason he who thinks himself a good writer of tragedy does not tour round with his show in a circuit of the outlying Attic towns, but makes a straight line for this place and exhibits to our people, as one might expect. But I notice that these fighters in armour regard Lacedaemon as holy ground where none may tread, and do not step on it even with the tips of their toes, but circle round it and prefer to exhibit to any other people, especially to those who would themselves admit that they were inferior to many in the arts of war. Furthermore, Lysimachus, I have come across more than a few of these persons in actual operations, and I can see their quality. Indeed, we can estimate it offhand: for, as though it were of set purpose, not one of these experts in arms has ever yet distinguished himself in war. And yet in all the other arts, the men who have made a name are to be found among those who have specially pursued one or other of them; while these persons, apparently, stand out from the rest in this particularly hapless fate of their profession. Why, this man Stesilaus, whom you watched with me in that great crowd as he gave his performance and spoke in those high terms of himself before us, I have watched elsewhere giving a finer entertainment in the form of a very real display that he made against his will. The ship on which he was serving struck a transport vessel, and he was using in the fight a combination of a scythe and a spear—a remarkable weapon that suited so remarkable a man. Well, the story of this fellow’s doings is hardly of enough interest in the main, but you must hear the upshot of his device of a scythe fixed to a spear. As he was fighting, it stuck somehow in the other ship’s rigging, and held fast; so Stesilaus pulled at it in the hope of getting it free, but he could not, and the ships were passing by each other.

Section 184

For the first moments he ran along in his ship holding on to his spear; but as the other ship sheered off from his and drew him after, still holding the spear, he let it slip through his hand until he gripped the butt-end of the shaft. From the crew of the transport there came laughter and clapping at his posture, and when someone aimed a stone at him which hit the deck near his feet, and he let go the spear, the troops on the warship in their turn could no longer restrain their laughter, as they saw the notable scythe-spear dangling from the transport. Now, there may perhaps be something in this art of theirs, as Nicias argues, but at any rate that is my impression of it, in the cases I have met with. Hence, as I said at the beginning, whether it be an accomplishment, and one of but little use, or not an accomplishment, but only supposed and pretended to be such, it is not worth the trouble of learning it. For indeed I hold that if a man who was a coward believed that he possessed it, his only gain would be in rashness, which would make his true nature the more conspicuous; while if he were brave, people would be on the look-out for even the slightest mistake on his part, and he would incur much grievous slander; for the pretension to such skill arouses jealousy, so that unless a man be prodigiously superior to the rest in valor he cannot by any means escape being made a laughing-stock through professing to be so skilled. Such is my opinion, Lysimachus, of the interest taken in this accomplishment; but do as I told you at the beginning; you are not to let our friend Socrates go, but must request him to advise us according to his judgement on the matter in hand.

Well, I ask it of you, Socrates: for indeed our members of council, as it were, seem to me to need someone who will decide between them. Had these two agreed, we should not have required this help so much; but as it is—for Laches, you see, has voted on the opposite side to Nicias—it is as well that we should hear your view and see on which side you cast your vote.

What, Lysimachus? Are you going to join the side which gets the approval of the majority of us?

Why, what can one do, Socrates?

And you too, Melesias, would do the same? Suppose you had a consultation as to what your son’s exercise should be for a coming contest, would you be guided by the majority of us, or by the one who happened to have trained and exercised under a good master?

By the latter, naturally, Socrates.

Would you be guided by him alone rather than the four of us?

Very likely.

Yes, for a question must be decided by knowledge, and not by numbers, if it is to have a right decision.

To be sure.

Section 185

Then in this case also we must first consider, in particular, whether anyone among us has expert skill in the subject of our consultation, or not; and if here is one who has, we must be guided by him, though he be but one, and pass over the rest; while if there is not, we must look for somebody else. Or do you think it a slight matter that you and Lysimachus have now at stake, and not that which is really your greatest possession? For I take it that according as the sons turn out well or the opposite will the whole life of their father’s house be affected, depending for better or worse on their character.

Truly spoken.

So it demands much forethought from us.

Certainly.

How then—to take the case I suggested just now—should we set to work if we wanted to consider which of us was the most expert in regard to a contest? Should we not pick him who had learnt and practised, and had also had good teachers of this particular skill?

I think so.

And even before that, we should ask what was this skill of which we are looking for the teachers?

How do you mean?

Perhaps it will be more easily grasped in this form. I think we have not started with an agreement between us as to what the thing is about which we are consulting, in this question of who among us is an expert and to this end has resorted to teachers, and who not.

Why, Socrates, is it not fighting in armor that we are considering, and whether it is a thing to be learnt by young men or not?

Of course, Nicias; but when someone considers whether a medicine is to be used as an eyesalve or not, do you think that this consultation is about the medicine or about the eyes?

About the eyes.

And when one considers whether a horse is to be bridled or not, and at what time, I presume one takes counsel about the horse, and not about the bridle?

True.

And in a word, when one considers a thing for any purpose, the consulting is in fact about the end one had in view to start with, and not about the means to be used for such end.

Necessarily.

So we must consider our adviser too, and ask ourselves whether he is a skilled expert in the treatment required for the end which is the subject of our consideration.

Certainly.

And we say that our present subject is an accomplishment studied for the sake of young men’s souls?

Yes.

So what we have to consider is whether one of us is skilled in treatment of the soul, and is able to treat it rightly, and which of us has had good teachers.

But I say, Socrates, have you never noticed how some people have become more skilled in certain things without teachers than others with them?

Yes, I have, Laches; people, that is, whom you would not care to trust on their mere statement that they were good practitioners, unless they could put forward some example of their personal skill—some work well carried out— not in one only, but several cases.

Section 186

That is truly spoken.

We also, therefore, Laches and Nicias—since Lysimachus and Melesias have invited us to a consultation on their sons, whose souls they are anxious to have as good as possible—should bring to their notice what teachers we have had, if we say that we have any to mention, who being themselves good to begin with, and having treated the souls of many young people, taught us also in due course and are known to have done so. Or if any of ourselves says he has had no teacher, but has however some works of his own to speak of, and can point out to us what Athenians or strangers, either slaves or freemen, are acknowledged to owe their goodness to him, let him do so. But if there is nothing of the sort to be found amongst us, let us bid them look elsewhere; for we cannot run a risk with our good friends’ children where we may ruin them, and so bring upon us the most grievous of accusations from our nearest and dearest. Now I, Lysimachus and Melesias, am the first to avow that I have had no teacher in this respect; and yet I have longed for such lessons from my youth up. But I have not the means to pay fees to the sophists, who were the only persons that professed to be able to make me a complete gentleman; and to this moment I remain powerless to discover the art myself. But I should not be surprised if Nicias or Laches has discovered or learnt it: for they have more means at their command to enable them to learn from others, and they are also older, and have had time to discover it. Indeed, I regard them as able to educate a man; for they would never declare their minds so freely on pursuits that are beneficial or harmful to a youth unless they felt confident that they had the requisite knowledge. And I have entire confidence in them myself, except that I wondered at their differing from each other. I therefore make this counter-request of you, Lysimachus: just as Laches urged you a moment ago not to release me but to ask me questions, so I now call upon you not to release Laches or Nicias, but to question them in these terms: Socrates says that he has no understanding of the matter, and that he is not competent to decide which of your statements is true; that he has never been either a discoverer or a learner of anything of the sort.

Section 187

But you, Laches and Nicias, are each to tell us who is the cleverest person you have heard on the upbringing of youth; whether you have knowledge of it by learning from someone or by discovering it yourselves; and if you learnt it, who were your teachers respectively, and what other colleagues they had: in order that, if you are not at leisure through the demands of public business, we may go to them and induce them either with gifts or good turns or with both to undertake the care of our and your children together, and so prevent them from turning out knaves and disgracing their ancestors. But if you have made the grand discovery yourselves, give us an instance to show what other persons you have succeeded in changing, by your care of them, from knaves to honest gentlemen. For if you are now going to make your first attempt at educating, you must beware lest you try your experiment, not on a corpus vile, but on your sons and the children of your friends, and you prove to be a mere case, as the proverbial saying has it, of starting pottery on a wine-jar. So tell us what you claim, or do not claim, as your resources and acquirements in this kind. There, Lysimachus, demand that from these good persons, and do not let them off.

To my mind, good sirs, these remarks of Socrates are excellent: but it is for you, Nicias and Laches, to decide for yourselves whether it suits you to be questioned and offer some explanation on such points. For I and Melesias here would certainly be delighted if you would consent to expound in detail all that Socrates puts to you in his questions: as I began by saying at the outset, we invited you to consult with us just because we thought, very naturally, that you had given serious consideration to this kind of thing, especially as your boys, like ours, are almost of an age to be educated. Accordingly, if it is all the same to you, discuss it now by joint inquiry with Socrates, exchanging view’s with him in turn: for it is a particularly good remark of his that we are consulting now about the greatest of all our concerns. Come, see if you consider that this is the proper course to take.

Lysimachus, it looks to me, in very truth, as though you only knew Socrates at second hand— through his father—and had not conversed with him personally except in his childhood, when you may have chanced to meet him among the people of his district, accompanying his father at the temple or at some local gathering. But you have evidently not yet had to do with him since he has reached maturer years.

How are you so sure of that, Nicias?

Section 188

You strike me as not being aware that, whoever comes into close contact with Socrates and has any talk with him face to face, is bound to be drawn round and round by him in the course of the argument—though it may have started at first on a quite different theme—and cannot stop until he is led into giving an account of himself, of the manner in which he now spends his days, and of the kind of life he has lived hitherto; and when once he has been led into that, Socrates will never let him go until he has thoroughly and properly put all his ways to the test. Now I am accustomed to him, and so I know that one is bound to be thus treated by him, and further, that I myself shall certainly get the same treatment also. For I delight, Lysimachus, in conversing with the man, and see no harm in our being reminded of any past or present misdoing: nay, one must needs take more careful thought for the rest of one’s life, if one does not fly from his words but is willing, as Solon said,I grow old learning ever more and more; and zealous to learn as long as one lives, and does not expect to get good sense by the mere arrival of old age. So to me there is nothing unusual, or unpleasant either, in being tried and tested by Socrates; in fact, I knew pretty well all the time that our argument would not be about the boys if Socrates were present, but about ourselves. Let me therefore repeat that there is no objection on my part to holding a debate with Socrates after the fashion that he likes; but you must see how Laches here feels on the matter.

I have but a single mind, Nicias, in regard to discussions, or if you like, a double rather than a single one. For you might think me a lover, and yet also a hater, of discussions: for when I hear a man discussing virtue or any kind of wisdom, one who is truly a man and worthy of his argument, I am exceedingly delighted; I take the speaker and his speech together, and observe how they sort and harmonize with each other. Such a man is exactly what I understand by musical,—he has tuned himself with the fairest harmony, not that of a lyre or other entertaining instrument, but has made a true concord of his own life between his words and his deeds, not in the Ionian, no, nor in the Phrygian nor in the Lydian, but simply in the Dorian mode, which is the sole Hellenic harmony. Such a man makes me rejoice with his utterance, and anyone would judge me then a lover of discussion, so eagerly do I take in what he says: but a man who shows the opposite character gives me pain, and the better he seems to speak, the more I am pained, with the result, in this case, that I am judged a hater of discussion.

Section 189

Now of Socrates’ words I have no experience, but formerly, I fancy, I have made trial of his deeds; and there I found him living up to any fine words however freely spoken. So if he has that gift as well, his wish is mine, and I should be very glad to be cross-examined by such a man, and should not chafe at learning; but I too agree with Solon, while adding just one word to his saying: I should like, as I grow old, to learn more and more, but only from honest folk. Let him concede to me that my teacher is himself good—else I shall dislike my lessons and be judged a dunce—but if you say that my teacher is to be a younger man, or one who so far has no reputation, or anything of that sort, I care not a jot. I therefore invite you, Socrates, both to teach and to refute me as much as you please, and to learn too what I on my part know; such is the position you hold in my eyes since that day on which you came through the same danger with me, and gave a proof of your own valour which is to be expected of anyone who hopes to justify his good name. So say whatever you like, leaving out of account the difference of our ages.

You two, it seems, will give us no bound for complaint on the score of your not being ready to join both in advising and in inquiring.

No, but the matter now rests with us, Socrates; for I venture to count you as one of us. So take my place in inquiring on behalf of the young men make out what it is that we want our friends here to tell us, and be our adviser by discussing it with them. For I find that owing to my age I forget the questions I intend to put, and also the answers I receive; and if the discussion changes in the middle, my memory goes altogether. Do you therefore discuss and elucidate our problem among yourselves; and I will listen, and then with my friend Melesias I will act at once upon whatever may be your decision.

Let us do, Nicias and Laches, as Lysimachus and Melesias bid us. Now the questions that we attempted to consider a while ago—Who have been our teachers in this sort of training? What other persons have we made better?—are perhaps of a kind on which we might well examine ourselves: but I believe this other way of inquiring leads to the same thing, and will probably also start more from the beginning. For if we happen to know of such and such a thing that by being joined to another thing it makes this thing better, and further, if we are able to get the one joined to the other, we obviously know the thing itself on which we might be consulting as to how it might be best and most easily acquired. Now I daresay you do not grasp my meaning. Well, you will grasp it more easily in this way.

Section 190

If we happen to know that sight joined to eyes makes those eyes the better for it, and further if we are able to get it joined to eyes, we obviously know what this faculty of sight is, on which we might be consulting as to how it might be best and most easily acquired. For if we did not know first of all what sight or hearing is, we should hardly prove ourselves consultants or physicians of credit in the matter of eyes or ears, and the best way of acquiring sight or hearing.

Truly spoken, Socrates.

And you know, Laches, at this moment our two friends are inviting us to a consultation as to the way in which virtue may be joined to their sons’ souls, and so make them better?

Yes, indeed,

Then our first requisite is to know what virtue is? For surely, if we had no idea at all what virtue actually is, we could not possibly consult with anyone as to how he might best acquire it?

I certainly think not, Socrates.

Then we say, Laches, that we know what it is.

I suppose we must.

And of that which we know, I presume, we can also say what it is.

To be sure.

Let us not, therefore, my good friend, inquire forthwith about the whole of virtue, since that may well be too much for us; but let us first see ifwe are sufficiently provided with knowledge about some part of it. In all likelihood this will make our inquiry easier.

Yes, let us do as you propose, Socrates.

Then which of the parts of virtue shall we choose? Clearly, I think, that which the art of fighting in armor is supposed to promote; and that, of course, is generally supposed to be courage, is it not?

Yes, it generally is, to be sure.

Then let our first endeavor be, Laches, to say what courage is: after that we can proceed to inquire in what way our young men may obtain it, in so far as it is to be obtained by means of pursuits and studies. Come, try and tell me, as I suggest, what is courage.

On my word, Socrates, that is nothing difficult: anyone who is willing to stay at his post and face the enemy, and does not run away, you may be sure, is courageous.

Rightly spoken, Laches; but I fear I am to blame, by not putting it clearly, for your having answered not the intention of my question, but something else.

What do you mean by that, Socrates?

Section 191

I will explain, so far as I can: let us take that man to be courageous who, as you describe him yourself, stays at his post and fights the enemy.

I, for one, agree to that.

Yes, and I do too. But what of this other kind of man, who fights the enemy while fleeing, and not staying?

How fleeing?

Well, as the Scythians are said to fight, as much fleeing as pursuing; and as you know Homer says in praise of Aeneas’ horses, that they knew how to pursue and to flee in fright full swiftly this way and that way; and he glorifies Aeneas himself for this very knowledge of fright, calling him prompter of fright.

And very properly too, Socrates; for he was speaking of chariots; and so are you speaking of the mode of the Scythian horsemen. That is the way of cavalry fighting but with men-at-arms it is as I state it.

Except, perhaps, Laches, in the case of the Spartans. For they say that at Plataea, when the Spartans came up to the men with wicker shields, they were not willing to stand and fight against these, but fled; when, however, the Persian ranks weree broken, the Spartans kept turning round and fighting like cavalry, and so won that great battle.

What you say is true.

And so this is what I meant just now by sayng that I was to blame for your wrong answer, by putting my question wrongly. For I wanted to have your view not only of brave men-at-arms, but also of courage in cavalry and in the entire warrior class; and of the courageous not only in war but in the perils of the sea, and all who in disease and poverty, or again in public affairs, are courageous; and further, all who are not merely courageous against pain or fear, but doughty fighters against desires and pleasures, whether standing their ground or turning back upon the foe—for I take it, Laches, there are courageous people in all these kinds.

Very much so, Socrates.

Then all these are courageous, only some have acquired courage in pleasures, some in pains, some in desires and some in fears, while others, I conceive, have acquired cowardice in these same things.

To be sure.

What either of them is—that is what I wanted to know. So try again, and tell me first what is this thing, courage, which is the same in all of these cases; or do you still not comprehend my meaning?

Not very well.

Section 192

I mean in this way: suppose, for instance, I were asking you what is quickness, as we find it in running and harping, in speaking and learning, and in many other activities, and as possessed by us practically in any action worth mentioning, whether of arms or legs, or mouth or voice, or mind: or do you not use the word so?

Yes, to be sure.

Well then, suppose someone asked me: Socrates, what do you mean by this thing which in all cases you term quickness? My reply would be: The faculty that gets a great deal done in a little time is what I call quickness, whether in a voice or in a race or in any of the other instances.

Your statement would be quite correct.

So now try and tell me on your part, Laches, about courage in the same way: what faculty is it, the same whether in pleasure or in pain or in any of the things in which we said just now it was to be found, that has been singled out by the name of courage?

Well then, I take it to be a certain endurance of the soul, if I am to speak of the natural quality that appears in them all.

Why, of course we must, if we are each to answer the other’s actual question. Now it appears to me that by no means all endurance, as I conceive it, can appear to you to be courage. And my grounds for thinking so are these: I am almost certain, Laches, that you rank courage among the nobler qualities.

Nay, among the noblest, you may be quite certain.

And endurance joined with wisdom is noble and good?

Very much so.

But what of it when joined with folly? Is it not, on the contrary, hurtful and mischievous?

Yes.

And can you say that such a thing is noble, when it is both mischievous and hurtful?

Not with any justice, Socrates.

Then you will not admit that such an endurance is courage, seeing that it is not noble, whereas courage is a noble quality.

That is true.

So, by your account, wise endurance will be courage.

Apparently.

Now let us see in what it is wise. In all things, whether great or small? For instance, if a man endures in spending money wisely, because he knows that by spending he will gain more, would you call him courageous?

On my word, not I.

Section 193

Or what do you call it in the case of a doctor who, when his son or anyone else is suffering from inflammation of the lungs and begs for something to drink or eat, inflexibly and enduringly refuses?

That is no case of it, in any sense, either.

Well now, when a man endures in war, and is willing to fight, on a wise calculation whereby he knows that others will come to his aid, and that the forces against him will be fewer and feebler than those who are with him, and when he has besides the advantage of position,—would you say of this man, if he endures with such wisdom and preparation, that he, or a man in the opposing army who is willing to stand up against him and endure, is the more courageous?

The man opposed to him, I should say, Socrates.

But yet his endurance is more foolish than that of the first man.

That is true.

So you would say that he who in a cavalry fight endures with a knowledge of horsemanship is less courageous than he who endures without it.

Yes, I think so.

And he who endures with a skill in slinging or shooting or other such art.

To be sure.

And anyone who agrees to descend into a well, and to dive, and to endure in this or other such action, without being an adept in these things, you would say is more courageous than the adepts.

Yes, for what else can one say, Socrates?

Nothing, provided one thinks so.

But I do think it.

And you observe, I suppose, Laches, that persons of this sort are more foolish in their risks and endurances than those who do it with proper skill.

Evidently.

Now, we found before that foolish boldness and endurance are base and hurtful?

Quite so.

But courage was admitted to be something noble.

Yes, it was.

Whereas now, on the contrary, we say that this base thing—foolish endurance—is courage.

Apparently.

Then do you think our statement is correct?

On my word, Socrates, not I.

Hence I presume that, on your showing, you and I, Laches, are not tuned to the Dorian harmony: for our deeds do not accord with our words. By our deeds, most likely, the world might judge us to have our share of courage, but not by our words, I fancy, if they should hear the way we are talking now.

That is very true.

Well now, does it seem right that we should be in such a condition?

Not by any means.

Then do you mind if we accept our statement to a certain point?

To what point do you mean, and what statement?

Section 194

That which enjoins endurance. And, if you please, let us too be steadfast and enduring in our inquiry, so as not to be ridiculed by courage herself for failing to be courageous in our search for her, when we might perchance find after all that this very endurance is courage.

For my part I am ready, Socrates, to continue without faltering; and yet I am unaccustomed to discussions of this sort. But a certain ambitious ardour has got hold of me at hearing what has been said, and I am truly vexed at finding myself unable to express offhand what I think. For I feel that I conceive in thought what courage is, but somehow or other she has given me the slip for the moment, so that I fail to lay hold of her in speech and state what she is.

Well, my dear sir, the good huntsman must follow the hounds and not give up the chase.

Yes, indeed, by all means.

Then do you agree to our inviting Nicias here to join in our hunt? He may be more resourceful than we are.

I agree, of course.

Come now, Nicias, and use what powers you have to assist your friends, who are caught in a storm of argument and are quite perplexed. You see the perplexity of our case; you must now tell us what you think courage is, and so at once set us free from our perplexity and give your own thoughts the stability of speech.

Well, for some time I have been thinking, Socrates, that you two are not defining courage in the right way; for you are not acting upon an admirable remark which I have formerly heard you make.

What is that, Nicias?

I have often heard you say that every man is good in that wherein he is wise, and bad in that wherein he is unlearned.

Well, that is true, Nicias, I must say.

And hence, if the brave man is good, clearly he must be wise.

Do you hear him, Laches?

I do, without understanding very well what he says.

But I think I understand it: our friend appears to me to mean that courage is a kind of wisdom.

What kind of wisdom, Socrates?

Well, will you put that question to your friend here?

I do.

Come now, tell him, Nicias, what kind of wisdom courage may be, by your account. Not that, I presume, of flute-playing.

Not at all.

Nor yet that of harping.

Oh, no.

But what is this knowledge then, or of what?

I must say you question him quite correctly, Socrates, so let him just tell us what he thinks it is.

Section 195

I say, Laches, that it is this—the knowledge of what is to be dreaded or dared, either in war or in anything else.

How strangely he talks, Socrates!

What is it that makes you say that, Laches?

What is it? Why, surely wisdom is distinct from courage.

Well, Nicias denies that.

He does indeed, to be sure: that is where he just babbles.

Then let us instruct and not abuse him.

No, it seems to me, Socrates, that Laches wants to have it proved that I am talking nonsense, because he was proved a moment ago to be in the same case himself.

Quite so, Nicias, and I will try to make it evident. You are talking nonsense: for instance, do not doctors know what is to be dreaded in disease? Or do you suppose that the courageous know this? Or do you call doctors courageous

No, not at all.

Nor, I fancy, farmers either. And yet they, I presume, know what is to be dreaded in farming, and every other skilled worker knows what is to be dreaded and dared in his own craft; but they are none the more courageous for that.

What is Laches saying, in your opinion, Nicias? There does seem to be something in it.

Yes, there is something, only it is not true.

How so?

Because he thinks that doctors know something more, in treating sick persons, than how to tell what is healthy and what diseased. This, I imagine, is all that they know: but to tell whether health itself is to be dreaded by anyone rather than sickness, —do you suppose, Laches, that this is within a doctor’s knowledge? Do you not think that for many it is better that they should never arise from their bed of sickness? Pray tell me, do you say that in every case it is better to live? Is it not often preferable to be dead?

I do think that is so.

And do you think that the same things are to be dreaded by those who were better dead, as by those who had better live?

No, I do not.

Well, do you attribute the judgement of this matter to doctors or to any other skilled worker except him who has knowledge of what is to be dreaded and what is not—the man whom I call courageous?

Do you comprehend his meaning, Laches?

I do: it seems to be the seers whom he calls the courageous: for who else can know for which of us it is better to be alive than dead? And yet, Nicias, do you avow yourself to be a seer, or to be neither a seer nor courageous?

What! Is it now a seer, think you, who has the gift of judging what is to be dreaded and what to be dared?

That is my view: who else could it be?

Section 196

Much rather the man of whom I speak, my dear sir: for the seer’s business is to judge only the signs of what is yet to come—whether a man is to meet with death or disease or loss of property, or victory or defeat in war or some other contest; but what is better among these things for a man to suffer or avoid suffering, can surely be no more for a seer to decide than for anyone else in the world.

Well, I fail to follow him, Socrates, or to see what he is driving at; for he points out that neither a seer nor a doctor nor anybody else is the man he refers to as the courageous, unless perchance he means it is some god. Now it appears to me that Nicias is unwilling to admit honestly that he has no meaning at all, but dodges this way and that in the hope of concealing his own perplexity. Why, you and I could have dodged in the same way just now, if we wished to avoid the appearance of contradicting ourselves. Of course, if we were arguing in a law-court, there would be some reason for so doing; but here, in a meeting like this of ours, why waste time in adorning oneself with empty words?

I agree that it is out of place, Laches: but let us see: perhaps Nicias thinks he does mean something, and is not talking just for the sake of talking. So let us ask him to explain more clearly what is in his mind; and if we find that he means something, we will agree with him; if not, we will instruct him.

Then, Socrates, if you would like to ask him, please do so: I daresay I have done enough asking.

Well, I see no objection, since the question will be on behalf of us both.

Very well, then.

Now tell me, Nicias, or rather, tell us—for Laches and I are sharing the argument between us—do you say that courage is knowledge of what is to be dreaded or dared?

I do.

And that it is not every man that knows it, since neither a doctor nor a seer can know it, and cannot be courageous unless he add this particular knowledge to his own? This was your statement, was it not?

Yes, it was.

And so in fact this is not a thing which, as the proverb says, any pig would know; and thus a pig cannot be courageous.

I think not.

Indeed it is obvious, Nicias, that you at least do not believe that even the Crommyonian sow could have been courageous. I say this not in jest, but because I conceive it is necessary for him who states this theory to refuse courage to any wild beast, or else to admit that a beast like a lion or a leopard or even a boar is so wise as to know what only a few men know because it is so hard to perceive. Why, he who subscribes to your account of courage must needs agree that a lion, a stag, a bull, and a monkey have all an equal share of courage in their nature.

Section 197

Heavens, Socrates, how admirably you argue! Now answer us sincerely, Nicias, and say whether those animals, which we all admit to be courageous, are wiser than we are; or whether you dare, in contradiction of everyone else, describe them as not even courageous.

No, Laches, I do not describe animals, or anything else that from thoughtlessness has no fear of the dreadful, as courageous, but rather as fearless and foolish. Or do you suppose I describe all children as courageous, that have no fear because they are thoughtless? I rather hold that the fearless and the courageous are not the same thing. In my opinion very few people are endowed with courage and forethought, while rashness, boldness, and fearlessness, with no forethought to guide it, are found in a great number of men, women, children, and animals. So you see, the acts that you and most people call courageous, I call rash, and it is the prudent acts which I speak of that are courageous.

Mark you, Socrates, how finely, as he fancies, my friend decks himself out with his words! And how he attempts to deprive of the distinction of courage those whom everyone admits to be courageous!

I am not referring to you, Laches, so do not be fiightened: for I grant that you, and Lamachus also, are wise, since you are courageous, and I say the same of numerous other Athenians.

I will not say what I could say in answer to that, lest you call me a true son of Aexone.

No, say nothing, Laches: for in fact you seem to me to have failed to perceive that he has acquired his wisdom from Damon, our good friend; and Damon constantly associates with Prodicus, who is supposed to be the cleverest of the sophists at distinguishing terms like these.

Yes, for it is more suitable, Socrates, for a sophist to make a show of such refinements than for a man whom the State thinks worthy to govern her.

Indeed it is suitable, I presume, my amiable friend, for a man in the highest seat of government to be gifted with the highest degree of wisdom. But it seems to me that Nicias is worthy of further attention, so that we may learn in what connexion he uses this word courage.

Then attend to him yourself, Socrates.

That is what I propose to do, my good sir: still, you are not to think that I will release you from your due share of the argument. No, you must put your mind to it and join in weighing well what is said.

Well, so be it, if you think that I ought.

Section 198

Indeed I do. Now, Nicias, please go back to the beginning and answer us: you know we started our discussion by considering courage as a part of virtue?

Quite so.

And you joined in this answer,—that it is a part, there being also other parts, which taken all together have received the name of virtue.

Why, of course.

Now, do you mean the same as I do by these? Besides courage, I refer to temperance, justice, and other similar qualities. And you also, do you not?

Certainly I do.

So much for that; thus far we agree: but let us pass on to what is to be dreaded and what to be dared, and make sure that you and we do not take two different views of these. Let me tell you our view of them, and if you do not agree with it, you shall instruct us. We hold that the dreadful are things that cause fear, and the safely ventured are those that do not; and fear is caused not by past or present, but by expected evils: for fear is expectation of coming evil. You are of the same mind with us in this, are you not, Laches?

Yes, entirely so, Socrates.

So there you have our view, Nicias,—that coming evils are to be dreaded, and things not evil, or good things, that are to come are to be safely dared. Would you describe them in this way, or in some other?

I would describe them in this way.

And the knowledge of these things is what you term courage?

Precisely.

There is still a third point on which we must see if you are in agreement with us.

What point is that?

I will tell you. It seems to your friend and me that, to take the various subjects of knowledge, there is not one knowledge of how a thing has happened in the past, another of how things are happening in the present, and another of how a thing that has not yet happened might or will happen most favorably in the future, but it is the same knowledge throughout. For example, in the case of health, it is medicine always and alone that surveys present, past, and future processes alike; and farming is in the same position as regards the productions of the earth.

Section 199

And in matters of war; I am sure you yourselves will bear me out when I say that here generalship makes the best forecasts on the whole, and particularly of future results, and is the mistress rather than the servant of the seer’s art, because it knows better what is happening or about to happen in the operations of war; whence the law ordains that the general shall give orders to the seer, and not the seer to the general. May we say this, Laches?

We may.

Well now, do you agree with us, Nicias, that the same knowledge has comprehension of the same things, whether future, present, or past?

I do, for that is my own opinion, Socrates.

And courage, my good friend, is knowledge of what is to be dreaded and dared, as you say, do you not?

Yes.

And things to be dreaded and things to be dared have been admitted to be either future goods or future evils?

Certainly.

And the same knowledge is concerned with the same things, whether in the future or in any particular stage?

That is so.

Then courage is knowledge not merely of what is to be dreaded and what dared, for it comprehends goods and evils not merely in the future, but also in the present and the past and in any stage, like the other kinds of knowledge.

Apparently.

So the answer that you gave us, Nicias, covers only about a third part of courage; whereas our question was of what courage is as a whole. And now it appears, on your own showing, that courage is knowledge not merely of what is to be dreaded and what dared, but practically a knowledge concerning all goods and evils at every stage; such is your present account of what courage must be. What do you say to this new version, Nicias?

I accept it, Socrates.

Now do you think, my excellent friend, there could be anything wanting to the virtue of a man who knew all good things, and all about their production in the present, the future, and the past, and all about evil things likewise? Do you suppose that such a man could be lacking in temperance, or justice, and holiness, when he alone has the gift of taking due precaution, in his dealings with gods and men, as regards what is to be dreaded and what is not, and of procuring good things, owing to his knowledge of the right behaviour towards them?

I think, Socrates, there is something in what you say.

Hence what you now describe, Nicias, will be not a part but the whole of virtue.

Apparently.

But, you know, we said that courage is one of the parts of virtue.

Yes, we did.

And what we now describe is seen to be different.

So it seems.

Thus we have failed to discover, Nicias, what courage really is.

Evidently.

Section 200

And I, in fact, supposed, my dear Nicias, that you were going to discover it, when you showed such contempt for the answers I made to Socrates: indeed I had very great hopes that the wisdom you derived from Damon would avail you for the discovery.

That is all very fine, Laches; you think you can now make light of the fact that you were yourself shown just now to know nothing about courage; when my turn comes to be shown up in the same light, that is all you care, and now it will not matter to you at all, it seems, if I share your ignorance of things whereof any self-respecting man ought to have knowledge. You really strike me, indeed, as following the average man’s practice of keeping an eye on others rather than on oneself: but I fancy that for the present I have said as much as could be expected on the subject of our discussion, and that later on I must make good any defects in my statement upon it with the help of Damon—whom I know you choose to ridicule, and that without ever having seen the actual Damon—and with others’ help besides. And when I have settled the matter I will enlighten you, in no grudging spirit: for I think you are in very great need of instruction.

You are a man of wisdom, I know, Nicias. But still I advise Lysimachus here and Melesias to dismiss you and me, and to retain our friend Socrates as I said at first, for the education of your boys: were my own sons old enough, I should do the same thing too.

For my part I agree; if Socrates will consent to take charge of these young people, I will seek for no one else. I should be only too glad to entrust him with Niceratus, if he should consent: but when I begin to mention the matter to him, he always recommends other men to me and refuses himself. Just see, Lysimachus, if Socrates will give you a more favorable hearing.

It is only right that he should, Nicias, for indeed I would be willing to do many things for him which I would not do for a great many others. Well, what do you say, Socrates? Will you comply, and lend your endeavours for the highest improvement of these boys?

Why, how strange it would be, Lysimachus, to refuse to lend one’s endeavours for the highest improvement of anybody! Now if in the debates that we have just held I had been found to know what our two friends did not know, it would be right to make a point of inviting me to take up this work: but as it is, we have all got into the same difficulty, so why should one of us be preferred to another?

Section 201

In my own opinion, none of us should; and this being so, perhaps you will allow me to give you a piece of advice. I tell you, gentlemen—and this is confidential—that we ought all alike to seek out the best teacher we can find, first for ourselves—for we need one—and then for our boys, sparing neither expense nor anything else we can do: but to leave ourselves as we now are, this I do not advise. And if anyone makes fun of us for seeing fit to go to school at our time of life, I think we should appeal to Homer, who said that shame is no good mate for a needy man. So let us not mind what anyone may say, but join together in arraging for our own and the boys’ tuition.

I gladly approve of your suggestions, Socrates; and as I am the oldest, so I am the most eager to have lessons with the young ones. Now this is what I ask you to do: come to my house tomorrow at daybreak; be sure not to fail, and then we shall consult on this very matter. For the present, let us break up our meeting.

I will not fail, Lysimachus, to come to you tomorrow, God willing.

Contents — 21 sections

1. Section 203
2. Section 204
3. Section 205
4. Section 206
5. Section 207
6. Section 208
7. Section 209
8. Section 210
9. Section 211
10. Section 212
11. Section 213
12. Section 214
13. Section 215
14. Section 216
15. Section 217
16. Section 218
17. Section 219
18. Section 220
19. Section 221
20. Section 222
21. Section 223

Section 203

I was making my way from the Academy straight to the Lyceum, by the road outside the town wall,—just under the wall; and when I reached the little gate that leads to the spring of Panops, I chanced there upon Hippothales, son of Hieronymus, and Ctesippus of Paeania, and some other youths with them, standing in a group together. Then Hippothales, as he saw me approaching, said: Socrates, whither away, and whence? From the Academy, I replied, on my way straight to the Lyceum. Come over here, he said, straight to us. You will not put in here? But you may as well. Where do you mean? I asked; and what is your company? Here, he said, showing me there, just opposite the wall, a sort of enclosure and a door standing open. We pass our time there, he went on; not only we ourselves, but others besides,—a great many, and handsome.

Section 204

And what, pray, is this place, and what your pastime? A wrestling school, he said, of recent construction; and our pastime chiefly consists of discussions, in which we should be happy to let you have a share. That is very good of you, I said; and who does the teaching there? Your own comrade, he replied, and supporter, Miccus. Upon my word, I said, he is no slight person, but a qualified professor. Then will you please come in with us, he said, so as to see for yourself the company we have there? I should be glad to hear first on what terms I am to enter, and which is the handsome one. Each of us, he replied, has a different fancy, Socrates. Well, and which is yours, Hippothales? Tell me that. At this question he blushed; so I said: Ah, Hippothales, son of Hieronymus, you need not trouble to tell me whether you are in love with somebody or not: for I know you are not only in love, but also far advanced already in your passion. In everything else I may be a poor useless creature, but there is one gift that I have somehow from heaven,—to be able to recognize quickly a lover or a beloved. When he heard this, he blushed much more than ever. Then Ctesippus remarked: Quite charming, the way you blush, Hippothales, and shrink from telling Socrates the name; yet, if he spends but a little time with you, he will find you a regular torment, as he hears you repeat it again and again. He has deafened our ears, I can tell you, Socrates, by cramming them with Lysis: let him be a trifle in liquor, and as likely as not we start out of our sleep fancying we hear the name of Lysis. The descriptions he gives us in conversation, though dreadful enough, are not so very bad: it is when he sets about inundating us with his poems and prose compositions. More dreadful than all, he actually sings about his favorite in an extraordinary voice, which we have the trial of hearing. And now, at a question from you, he blushes! Lysis apparently, I said, is somebody quite young: this I infer from the fact that I did not recognize the name when I heard it. That is because they do not usually call him by his name, he replied; he still goes by his paternal title, as his father is so very well known. You must, I am sure, be anything but ignorant of the boy’s appearance: that alone would be enough to know him by. Let me hear, I said, whose son he is. The eldest son, he replied, of Democrates of Aexone.

Section 205

Ah well, I said, Hippothales, what an altogether noble and gallant love you have discovered there! Now please go on and give me a performance like those that you give your friends here, so that I may know whether you understand what a lover ought to say of his favorite to his face or to others. Do you attach any weight, Socrates, he asked, to anything you have heard this fellow say? Tell me, I said; do you deny being in love with the person he mentions? Not I, he replied; but I do deny that I make poems and compositions on my favorite. He is in a bad way, said Ctesippus; why, he raves like a madman! Then I remarked: Hippothales, I do not want to hear your verses, or any ode that you may have indited to the youth; I only ask for their purport, that I may know your manner of dealing with your favorite. I expect this fellow will tell you, he replied: he has an accurate knowledge and recollection of them, if there is any truth in what he says of my having dinned them so constantly in his ears. Quite so, on my soul, said Ctesippus; and a ridiculous story it is too, Socrates. To be a lover, and to be singularly intent on one’s boy, yet to have nothing particular to tell him that a mere boy could not say, is surely ridiculous: but he only writes and relates things that the whole city sings of, recalling Democrates and the boy’s grandfather Lysis and all his ancestors, with their wealth and the horses they kept, and their victories at Delphi, the Isthmus, and Nemea, with chariot-teams and coursers, and, in addition, even hoarier antiquities than these. Only two days ago he was recounting to us in some poem of his the entertainment of Hercules,—how on account of his kinship with Hercules their forefather welcomed the hero, being himself the offspring of Zeus and of the daughter of their deme’s founder; such old wives’ tales, and many more of the sort, Socrates,—these are the things he tells and trolls, while compelling us to be his audience. When I heard this I said: Oh, you ridiculous Hippothales, do you compose and chant a triumph song on yourself, before you have won your victory? It is not on myself, Socrates, he replied, that I either compose or chant it. You think not, I said. Then what is the truth of it? he asked. Most certainly, I replied, it is you to whom these songs refer.

Section 206

For if you prevail on your favorite, and he is such as you describe, all that you have spoken and sung will be so much glory to you, and a veritable eulogy upon your triumph in having secured such a favorite as that: whereas if he eludes your grasp, the higher the terms of your eulogy of your favorite, the greater will seem to be the charms and virtues you have lost, and you will be ridiculed accordingly. Hence anyone who deals wisely in love-matters, my friend, does not praise his beloved until he prevails, for fear of what the future may have in store for him. And besides, these handsome boys, when so praised and extolled, become full of pride and haughtiness: do you not think so? I do, he said. And then, the haughtier they are, the harder grows the task of capturing them? Yes, apparently. And what do you think of a hunter who should scare away his quarry in hunting and make it harder to catch? Clearly he would be a poor one. And hence to use speech and song, not for charming but for driving wild, would be gross fatuity, would it not? I think so. Then take care, Hippothales, not to make yourself guilty of all these things by your verse-making; and yet I fancy you will not like to allow that a man who damages himself by poetry can be a good poet, so long as he is damaging to himself. On my soul, no, he said; of course it would be most absurd. But this is the very reason, Socrates, why I impart my feelings to you, and ask you for any useful advice you can give as to what conversation or conduct will help to endear one to one’s favorite. That is not an easy thing to tell, I replied; but if you will agree to get him to have a talk with me, I daresay I could show you an example of the conversation you should hold with him, instead of those things that your friends say you speak and sing. There is no difficulty about that, he said. If you will go in with Ctesippus here, and take a seat and talk, I think he will come to you of his own accord; he is singularly fond of listening, Socrates, and besides, they are keeping the Hermaea, so that the youths and boys are all mingled together. So he will come to you but if he does not, Ctesippus is intimate with him, as being a cousin of Menexenus; for Lysis has chosen Menexenus for his particular friend. So let Ctesippus call him if you find that he does not come of himself. That is what I must do, I said. Whereupon I took Ctesippus with me into the wrestling school, and the others came after us. When we got inside, we found that the boys had performed the sacrifice in the place and, as the ceremonial business was now almost over, they were all playing at knuckle-bones and wearing their finest attire. Most of them were playing in the court out-of-doors; but some were at a game of odd-and-even in a corner of the undressing room, with a great lot of knuckle-bones which they drew from little baskets; and there were others standing about them and looking on.

Section 207

Among these was Lysis: he stood among the boys and youths with a garland on his head, a distinguished figure, deserving not merely the name of well-favored, but also of well-made and well-bred. As for us, we went and sat apart on the opposite side—for it was quiet there—and started some talk amongst ourselves. The result was that Lysis ever and anon turned round to observe us, and was obviously eager to join us. For a while, however, he hesitated, being too shy to approach us alone; till Menexenus stepped in for a moment from his game in the court and, on seeing me and Ctesippus, came to take a seat beside us. When Lysis saw him, he came along too and sat down with Menexenus. Then all the others came to us also; and I must add that Hippothales, when he saw a good many of them standing there, stood so as to be screened by them, in a position where he thought Lysis would not catch sight of him, as he feared that he might irritate him; in this way he stood by and listened. Then I, looking at Menexenus, asked him: Son of Demophon, which is the elder of you two? It is a point in dispute between us, he replied. Then you must also be at variance, I said, as to which is the nobler. Yes, to be sure, he said. And moreover, which is the more beautiful, likewise. This made them both laugh. But of course I shall not ask, I said, which of you is the wealthier; for you are friends, are you not? Certainly we are, they replied. And, you know, friends are said to have everything in common, so that here at least there will be no difference between you, if what you say of your friendship is true. They agreed. After that I was proceeding to ask them which was the juster and wiser of the two, when I was interrupted by somebody who came and fetched away Menexenus, saying that the wrestling-master was calling him: I understood that he was taking some part in the rites. So he went off; and then I asked Lysis: I suppose, Lysis, your father and mother are exceedingly fond of you? Yes, to be sure, he replied. Then they would like you to be as happy as possible? Yes, of course. Do you consider that a man is happy when enslaved and restricted from doing everything he desires? Not I, on my word, he said. Then if your father and mother are fond of you, and desire to see you happy, it is perfectly plain that they are anxious to secure your happiness. They must be, of course, he said. Hence they allow you to do what you like, and never scold you, or hinder you from doing what you desire? Yes, they do, Socrates, I assure you: they stop me from doing a great many things.

Section 208

How do you mean? I said: they wish you to be happy, and yet hinder you from doing what you like? But answer me this: suppose you desire to ride in one of your father’s chariots and hold the reins in some race; they will not allow you, but will prevent you? That is so, to be sure, he said; they will not allow me. But whom would they allow? There is a driver, in my father’s pay. What do you say? A hireling, whom they trust rather than you, so that he can do whatever he pleases with the horses; and they pay him besides a salary for doing that! Why, of course, he said. Well, but they trust you with the control of the mule-cart, and if you wanted to take the whip and lash the team, they would let you? Nothing of the sort, he said. Why, I asked, is nobody allowed to lash them? Oh yes, he said, the muleteer. Is he a slave, or free? A slave, he replied. So it seems that they value a slave more highly than you, their son, and entrust him rather than you with their property, and allow him to do what he likes, while preventing you? And now there is one thing more you must tell me. Do they let you control your own self, or will they not trust you in that either? Of course they do not, he replied. But some one controls you? Yes, he said, my tutor here. Is he a slave? Why, certainly; he belongs to us, he said. What a strange thing, I exclaimed; a free man controlled by a slave! But how does this tutor actually exert his control over you? By taking me to school, I suppose, he replied. And your schoolmasters, can it be that they also control you? I should think they do! Then quite a large number of masters and controllers are deliberately set over you by your father. But when you come home to your mother, she surely lets you do what you like, that she may make you happy, either with her wool or her loom, when she is weaving? I take it she does not prevent you from handling her batten, or her comb, or any other of her wool-work implements. At this he laughed and said: I promise you, Socrates, not only does she prevent me, but I should get a beating as well, if I laid hands on them. Good heavens! I said; can it be that you have done your father or mother some wrong? On my word, no, he replied.

Section 209

Well, what reason can they have for so strangely preventing you from being happy and doing what you like? Why do they maintain you all day long in constant servitude to somebody, so that, in a word, you do hardly a single thing that you desire? And thus, it would seem, you get no advantage from all your great possessions— nay, anyone else controls them rather than you—nor from your own person, though so well-born, which is also shepherded and managed by another; while you, Lysis, control nobody, and do nothing that you desire. It is because I am not yet of age, Socrates, he said. That can hardly be the hindrance, son of Democrates, since there is a certain amount, I imagine, that your father and mother entrust to you without waiting until you come of age. For when they want some reading or writing done for them, it is you, I conceive, whom they appoint to do it before any others of the household. Is it not so? Quite so, he replied. And you are free there to choose which letter you shall write first and which second, and you have a like choice in reading. And, I suppose, when you take your lyre, neither your father nor your mother prevents you from tightening or slackening what string you please, or from using your finger or your plectrum at will: or do they prevent you? Oh, no. Then whatever can be the reason, Lysis, why they do not prevent you here, while in the matters we were just mentioning they do? I suppose, he said, because I understand these things, but not those others. Very well, I said, my excellent friend: so it is not your coming of age that your father is waiting for, as the time for entrusting you with everything; but on the day when he considers you to have a better intelligence than himself, he will entrust you with himself and all that is his. Yes, I think so, he said. Very well, I went on, but tell me, does not your neighbor observe the same rule as your father towards you? Do you think he will entrust you with the management of his house, as soon as he considers you to have a better idea of its management than himself, or will he direct it himself? I should say he would entrust it to me. Well then, do you not think that the Athenians will entrust you with their affairs, when they perceive that you have sufficient intelligence? I do. Ah, do let me ask this, I went on: what, pray, of the Great King? Would he allow his eldest son, heir-apparent to the throne of Asia, to put what he chose into the royal stew, or would he prefer us to do it, supposing we came before him and convinced him that we had a better notion than his son of preparing a tasty dish? Clearly he would prefer us, he said. And he would not allow the prince to put in the smallest bit, whereas he would let us have our way even if we wanted to put in salt by the handful. Why, of course.

Section 210

Again, if his son has something the matter with his eyes, would he let him meddle with them himself, if he considered him to be no doctor, or would he prevent him? He would prevent him. But if he supposed us to have medical skill, he would not prevent us, I imagine, even though we wanted to pull the eyes open and sprinkle them with ashes, so long as he believed our judgement to be sound. That is true. So he would entrust us, rather than himself or his son, with all his other affairs besides, wherever he felt we were more skilled than they? Necessarily, he said, Socrates. The case then, my dear Lysis, I said, stands thus: with regard to matters in which we become intelligent, every one will entrust us with them, whether Greeks or foreigners, men or women and in such matters we shall do as we please, and nobody will care to obstruct us. Nay, not only shall we ourselves be free and have control of others in these affairs, but they will also belong to us, since we shall derive advantage from them; whereas in all those for which we have failed to acquire intelligence, so far will anyone be from permitting us to deal with them as we think fit, that everybody will do his utmost to obstruct us— not merely strangers, but father and mother and any more intimate person than they; and we on our part shall be subject to others in such matters, which will be no concern of ours, since we shall draw no advantage from them. Do you agree to this account of the case? I agree. Then will anyone count us his friends or have any affection for us in those matters for which we are useless? Surely not, he said. So now, you see, your father does not love you, nor does anyone love anyone else, so far as one is useless. Apparently not, he said. Then if you can become wise, my boy, everybody will be your friend, every one will be intimate with you, since you will be useful and good; otherwise, no one at all, not your father, nor your mother, nor your intimate connections, will be your friends. Now is it possible, Lysis, to have a high notion of yourself in matters of which you have as yet no notion? Why, how can I? he said. Then if you are in need of a teacher, you have as yet no notion of things? True. Nor can you have a great notion of yourself, if you are still notionless. Upon my word, Socrates, he said, I do not see how I can. On hearing him answer this, I glanced at Hippothales, and nearly made a blunder, for it came into my mind to say: This is the way, Hippothales, in which you should talk to your favorite, humbling and reducing him, instead of puffing him up and spoiling him, as you do now.

Section 211

Well, I noticed that he was in an agony of embarrassment at what we had been saying, and I remembered how, in standing near, he wished to hide himself from Lysis. So I checked myself and withheld this remark. In the meantime, Menexenus came back, and sat down by Lysis in the place he had left on going out. Then Lysis, in a most playful, affectionate manner, unobserved by Menexenus, said softly to me: Socrates, tell Menexenus what you have been saying to me. To which I replied: You shall tell it him yourself, Lysis; for you gave it your closest attention. I did, indeed, he said. Then try, I went on, to recollect it as well as you can, so that you tell him the whole of it clearly: but if you forget any of it, mind that you ask me for it again when next you meet me. I will do so, Socrates, he said, by all means, I assure you. But tell him something else, that I may hear it too, until it is time to go home. Well, I must do so, I said, since it is you who bid me. But be ready to come to my support, in case Menexenus attempts to refute me. You know what a keen disputant he is. Yes, on my word, very keen; that is why I want you to have a talk with him. So that I may make myself ridiculous? I said. No, no, indeed, he replied; I want you to trounce him. How can I? I asked. It is not easy, when the fellow is so formidable—a pupil of Ctesippus. And here—do you not see?—is Ctesippus himself. Take no heed of anyone, Socrates, he said; just go on and have a talk with him. I must comply, I said. Now, as these words passed between us,—What is this feast, said Ctesippus, that you two are having by yourselves, without allowing us a share in your talk? Well, well, I replied, we must give you a share. My friend here fails to understand something that I have been saying, but tells me he thinks Menexenus knows, and he urges me to question him. Why not ask him then? said he. But I am going to, I replied. Now please answer, Menexenus, whatever question I may ask you. There is a certain possession that I have desired from my childhood, as every one does in his own way. One person wants to get possession of horses, another dogs, another money, and another distinctions: of these things I reck little, but for the possession of friends I have quite a passionate longing, and would rather obtain a good friend than the best quail or cock in the world; yes, and rather, I swear, than any horse or dog. I believe, indeed, by the Dog, that rather than all Darius’s gold I would choose to gain a dear comrade—far sooner than I would Darius himself, so fond I am of my comrades.

Section 212

Accordingly, when I see you and Lysis together, I am quite beside myself, and congratulate you on being able, at such an early age, to gain this possession so quickly and easily; since you, Menexenus, have so quickly and surely acquired his friendship, and he likewise yours: whereas I am so far from acquiring such a thing, that I do not even know in what way one person becomes a friend of another, and am constrained to ask you about this very point, in view of your experience. Now tell me: when one person loves another, which of the two becomes friend of the other— the loving of the loved, or the loved of the loving? Or is there no difference? There is none, he replied, in my opinion. How is that? I said; do you mean that both become friends mutually, when there is only one loving the other? Yes, I think so, he replied. But I ask you, is it not possible for one loving not to be loved by him whom he loves? It is. But again, may he not be even hated while loving? This, I imagine, is the sort of thing that lovers do sometimes seem to incur with their favorites: they love them with all their might, yet they feel either that they are not loved in return, or that they are actually hated. Or do you not think this is true? Very true, he replied. Now in such a case, I went on, the one loves and the other is loved? Yes. Which of the two, then, is a friend of the other? Is the loving a friend of the loved, whether in fact he is loved in return or is even hated, or is the loved a friend of the loving? Or again, is neither of them in such a case friend of the other, if both do not love mutually? At any rate, he said, it looks as if this were so. So you see, we now hold a different view from what we held before. At first we said that if one of them loved, both were friends: but now, if both do not love, neither is a friend. It looks like it, he said. So there is no such thing as a friend for the lover who is not loved in return. Apparently not. And so we find no horse-lovers where the horses do not love in return, no quail-lovers, dog-lovers, wine-lovers, or sport-lovers on such terms, nor any lovers of wisdom if she returns not their love. Or does each person love these things, while yet failing to make friends of them, and was it a lying poet who said—Happy to have your children as friends, and your trampling horses,Scent-snuffing hounds, and a host when you travel abroad? I do not think so, he said. But do you think he spoke the truth? Yes.

Section 213

Then the loved object is a friend to the lover, it would seem, Menexenus, alike whether it loves or hates: for instance, new-born children, who have either not begun to love, or already hate, if punished by their mother or their father, are yet at that very moment, and in spite of their hate, especially and pre-eminently friends to their parents. I think, he said, that is the case. Then this argument shows that it is not the lover who is a friend, but the loved. Apparently. And it is the hated who is an enemy, not the hater. Evidently. Then people must often be loved by their enemies, and hated by their friends, and be friends to their enemies and enemies to their friends, if the loved object is a friend rather than the loving agent. And yet it is a gross absurdity, my dear friend—I should say rather, an impossibility—that one should be an enemy to one’s friend and a friend to one’s enemy. You appear to be right there, Socrates, he said. Then if that is impossible, it is the loving that must be a friend of the loved. Evidently. And so the hating, on the other hand, will be an enemy of the hated. Necessarily. Hence in the end we shall find ourselves compelled to agree to the same statement as we made before, that frequently a man is a friend of one who is no friend, and frequently even of an enemy, when he loves one who loves not, or even hates; while frequently a man may be an enemy of one who is no enemy or even a friend, when he hates one who hates not, or even loves. It looks like it, he said. What then are we to make of it, I asked, if neither the loving are to be friends, nor the loved, nor both the loving and loved together? For apart from these, are there any others left for us to cite as becoming friends to one another? For my part, Socrates, he said, I declare I can see no sort of shift. Can it be, Menexenus, I asked, that all through there has been something wrong with our inquiry? I think there has, Socrates, said Lysis, and blushed as soon as he said it; for it struck me that the words escaped him unintentionally, through his closely applying his mind to our talk—as he had noticeably done all the time he was listening. So then, as I wanted to give Menexenus a rest, and was delighted with the other’s taste for philosophy, I took occasion to shift the discussion over to Lysis, and said: Lysis, I think your remark is true, that if we were inquiring correctly we could never have gone so sadly astray.

Section 214

Well, let us follow our present line no further, since our inquiry looks to me a rather hard sort of path: I think we had best make for the point where we turned off, and be guided by the poets; for they are our fathers, as it were, and conductors in wisdom. They, of course, express themselves in no mean sort on the subject of friends, where they happen to be found; even saying that God himself makes them friends by drawing them to each other. The way they put it, I believe, is something like this:Yea, ever like and like together God doth draw, and so brings them acquainted; or have you not come across these verses? Yes, I have, he replied. And you have also come across those writings of eminent sages, which tell us this very thing—that like must needs be always friend to like? I refer, of course, to those who debate or write about nature and the universe. Quite so, he said. Well now, I went on, are they right in what they say? Perhaps, he replied. Perhaps in one half of it, I said; perhaps in even the whole; only we do not comprehend it. We suppose that the nearer a wicked man approaches to a wicked man, and the more he consorts with him, the more hateful he becomes; for he injures him, and we consider it impossible that injurer and injured should be friends. Is it not so? Yes, he answered. On this showing, therefore, half of the saying cannot be true, if the wicked are like one another. Quite so. What I believe they mean is that the good are like one another, and are friends, while the bad—as is also said of them—are never like even their own selves, being so ill-balanced and unsteady; and when a thing is unlike itself and variable it can hardly become like or friend to anything else. You must surely agree to that? I do, he said. Hence I conclude there is a hidden meaning, dear friend, intended by those who say that like is friend to like, namely that the good alone is friend to the good alone, while the bad never enters into true friendship with either good or bad. Do you agree? He nodded assent. So now we can tell what friends are; since our argument discloses that they are any persons who may be good. I quite think so, said he. And I also, said I; and yet there is a point in it that makes me uneasy: so come, in Heaven’s name, let us make out what it is that I suspect. Is like friend to like in so far as he is like, and is such an one useful to his fellow? Let me put it another way: when anything whatever is like anything else, what benefit can it offer, or what harm can it do, to its like, which it could not offer or do to itself?

Section 215

Or what could be done to it that could not be done to it by itself? How can such things be cherished by each other, when they can bring no mutual succor? Is it at all possible? No. And how can that be a friend, which is not cherished? By no means. But, granting that like is not friend to like, the good may still be friend to the good in so far as he is good, not as he is like? Perhaps. But again, will not the good, in so far as he is good, be in that measure sufficient for himself? Yes. And the sufficient has no need of anything, by virtue of his sufficiency. Of course. And if a man has no need of anything he will not cherish anything. Presumably not. And that which does not cherish will not love. I should think not. And one who loves not is no friend. Evidently. So how can we say that the good will be friends to the good at all, when neither in absence do they long for one another—for they are sufficient for themselves even when apart—nor in presence have they need of one another? How can it be contrived that such persons shall value each other highly? By no means, he said. And if they do not set a high value on each other, they cannot be friends. True. Now observe, Lysis, how we are missing the track. Can it be, indeed, that we are deceived in the whole matter? How so? he asked. Once on a time I heard somebody say, and I have just recollected it, that like was most hostile to like, and so were good men to good men; and what is more, he put forward Hesiod as witness, by quoting his words—See potter wroth with potter, bard with bard, Beggar with beggar,and in all other cases it was the same, he said; likest things must needs be filled with envy, contention, and hatred against each other, but the unlikest things with friendship: since the poor man must needs be friendly to the rich, and the weak to the strong, for the sake of assistance, and also the sick man to the doctor; and every ignorant person had to cherish the well-informed, and love him. And then the speaker pursued his theme to this further and more imposing point—that like could not in the slightest degree be friendly to like, but was in just the opposite case: for it was between things most opposed that friendship was chiefly to be found, since everything desired its opposite, not its like. Thus dry desired wet, cold hot, bitter sweet, sharp blunt, empty fullness, full emptiness, and likewise the rest on the same principle:

Section 216

for the opposite was food for its opposite, as the like could have no enjoyment of its like. And I must say, my good friend, his argument seemed a smart one, for he expressed it well. But you, I asked—how does it strike you? It sounds all right, said Menexenus, at least on the moment’s hearing. Then are we to say that the opposite is most friendly to its opposite? Certainly. Well, I exclaimed, is it not monstrous, Menexenus? Why, at once these all-accomplished logic-choppers will delightedly pounce on us and ask whether hatred is not the most opposite thing to friendship. And what answer shall we give them? Shall we not be forced to admit that what they say is true? We shall. So then, they will demand, is a hating thing friend to the friendly thing, or the friendly to the hating? Neither, he replied. But is the just a friend to the unjust, or the temperate to the profligate, or the good to the bad? I do not think that could be so. But yet, I urged, if one thing is friend to another on this principle of opposition, these things too must needs be friends. They must. So neither is like friend to like, nor opposite friend to opposite. It seems not. But there is still this point to consider; for perhaps we are yet more mistaken, and the friendly has really nothing to do with all this: it may rather be something neither good nor bad that will prove after all to be what we call friend of the good. How do you mean? he asked. For the life of me, I said, I cannot tell: the fact is, I am quite dizzy myself with the puzzle of our argument, and am inclined to agree with the ancient proverb that the beautiful is friendly. It certainly resembles something soft and smooth and sleek; that is why, I daresay, it so easily slides and dives right into us, by virtue of those qualities. For I declare that the good is beautiful: do you not agree? I do. Then I will be a diviner for once, and state that what is neither good nor bad is friendly to what is beautiful and good; and what it is that prompts me to this divination, you must now hear. My view is that there are three separate kinds, as it were—the good, the bad, and what is neither good nor bad; and what is yours? Mine is the same, he replied. And that neither is the good friendly to the good, nor the bad to the bad, nor the good to the bad; so much our previous argument already forbids. One view then remains: if anything is friendly to anything, that which is neither good nor bad is friendly to either the good or what is of the same quality as itself. For I presume nothing could be found friendly to the bad. True. Nor, however, can like be friendly to like: this we stated just now, did we not? Yes. So what is neither good nor bad can have no friendship with the same sort of thing as itself. Apparently not.

Section 217

Then only what is neither good nor bad proves to be friendly to the good, and to that only. That must be so, it seems. Then can we rely further on this present statement, my boys, I said, as a sure guide? For instance, we have only to consider a body in health to see that it has no need of doctoring or assistance: it is well enough as it is, and so no one in health is friend to a doctor, on account of his health. You agree? Yes. But the sick man is, I imagine, on account of his disease. Certainly. Now disease is a bad thing, and medicine is beneficial and good. Yes. And a body, of course, taken as body, is neither good nor bad. That is so. But a body is compelled by disease to welcome and love medicine. I think so. Thus what is neither bad nor good becomes a friend of the good because of the presence of evil. So it seems. But clearly this must be before it is itself made evil by the evil which it has; for surely, when once it has been made evil, it can no longer have any desire or love for the good; since we agreed it was impossible for bad to be a friend of good. Yes, impossible. Now observe what I say. Some things are of the same sort as those that are present with them, and some are not. For example, if you chose to dye something a certain color, the substance of the dye is present, I presume, with the thing dyed. Certainly. Then is the thing dyed of the same sort, in point of color, as the substance that is added? I do not understand, he said. Well, try it this way, I went on: suppose some one tinged your golden locks with white lead, would they then be or appear to be white? Yes, they would so appear, he replied. And, in fact, whiteness would be present with them? Yes. But all the same they would not be any the more white as yet; for though whiteness be present, they are not at all white, any more than they are at all black. True. But when, my dear boy, old age has cast that same color upon them, they have then come to be of the same sort as that which is present—white through presence of white. To be sure. So this is the question I have been trying to put to you—whether a thing that has something present with it is to be held of the same sort as that present thing or only when that thing is present in a particular way, but otherwise not? More likely the latter, he said. So that what is neither bad nor good is sometimes, when bad is present, not bad as yet, and such cases have been known to occur. Certainly. When therefore it is not bad as yet, though bad is present, this presence makes it desire good; but the presence which makes it bad deprives it equally of its desire and its love for the good.

Section 218

For it is no longer neither bad nor good, but bad; and we found that bad was no friend to good. No, indeed. And consequently we may say that those who are already wise no longer love wisdom, whether they be gods or men; nor again can those be lovers of wisdom who are in such ignorance as to be bad: for we know that a bad and stupid man is no lover of wisdom. And now there remain those who, while possessing this bad thing, ignorance, are not yet made ignorant or stupid, but are still aware of not knowing the things they do not know. It follows, then, that those who are as yet neither good nor bad are lovers of wisdom, while all who are bad, and all the good, are not: for, as we found in our previous discussion, neither is opposite friend to opposite, nor like to like. You remember, do you not? To be sure we do, they both replied. So now, Lysis and Menexenus, I said, we can count on having discovered what is the friendly and what is not. For we say that, in the soul and the body and everywhere, just that which is neither bad nor good, but has the presence of bad, is thereby friend of the good. To this statement they said that they entirely agreed. And, beyond that, I was myself filled with delight, like a hunter, at the satisfaction of getting hold of what I was hunting; when somehow or other a most unaccountable suspicion came over me that the conclusion to which we had agreed was not true. So at once I exclaimed in vexation: Alack-a-day, Lysis and Menexenus! I fear our new-gotten riches are all a dream. How on earth is that? said Menexenus. I am afraid, I replied, that in our search for friendship we have struck up with arguments that are no better than a set of braggarts. How so? he asked. Just consider a moment, I said. When a man is a friend, is he friend to some one or not? He needs be, he replied. Then is he so for the sake of nothing and because of nothing, or for the sake of something and because of something? For the sake of something, and because of something. Is it a friend—that thing for whose sake he is a friend to his friend—or is it neither friend nor foe? I do not quite follow, he said. Naturally enough, said I; but perhaps you will keep up if we try it another way, and I expect that I too will better understand what I am saying. The sick man, we said just now, is a friend to the doctor; is not that so? Yes. Then is it because of disease, for the sake of health, that he is a friend of the doctor? Yes. And disease is a bad thing? Of course. But what is health? I asked: a good thing, or a bad, or neither?

Section 219

A good thing, he said. And we were saying, I believe, that the body, being neither good nor bad, was a friend of medicine—that is, of a good thing—because of disease—that is, because of a bad thing; and it is for the sake of health that medicine has acquired this friendship, and health is a good thing. You agree? Yes. Is health a friend or not? A friend. And disease is a foe? Certainly. So what is neither bad nor good is a friend to the good because of what is bad and a foe for the sake of what is good and a friend. Apparently. Hence the friend is a friend of its friend for the sake of its friend and because of its foe. So it seems. Very well, I said: since we have reached this point, my boys, let us take good heed not to be deceived. I pass over without remark the fact that the friend has become a friend to the friend, and thus the like becomes a friend to the like, which we said was impossible. There is, however, a further point which we must examine, if we are not to find our present argument a mere deception. Medicine, we say, is a friend for the sake of health. Yes. Then is health a friend also? Certainly. And if it is a friend, it is so for the sake of something. Yes. And that something is a friend, if it is to conform to our previous agreement. Quite so. Then will that something be, on its part also, a friend for the sake of a friend? Yes. Now are we not bound to weary ourselves with going on in this way, unless we can arrive at some first principle which will not keep leading us on from one friend to another, but will reach the one original friend, for whose sake all the other things can be said to be friends? We must. So you see what I am afraid of—that all the other things, which we cited as friends for the sake of that one thing, may be deceiving us like so many phantoms of it, while that original thing may be the veritable friend. For suppose we view the matter thus: when a man highly values a thing, as in the common case of a father who prizes his son above all his possessions, will such a man, for the sake of placing his son before everything, value anything else highly at the same time? For instance, on learning that he had drunk some hemlock, would he value wine highly if he believed it would save his son’s life? Why, of course, he said. And the vessel too which contained the wine? Certainly. Now does he make no distinction in value, at that moment, between a cup of earthenware and his own son, or between three pints of wine and his son?

Section 220

Or may we perhaps state it thus: all such concern is not entertained for the actual things which are applied for the sake of something, but for that something for whose sake all the rest are applied? I know that we often talk of setting great value on gold and silver: but surely we are no nearer the truth of the matter for that; what we rather value above everything is the thing—whatever it may prove to be—for whose sake gold and all the other commodities are applied. May we state it so? By all means. Then shall we not give the same account of a friend? In speaking of all the things that are friends to us for the sake of some other friend, we find ourselves uttering a mere phrase; whereas in reality friend appears to be simply and solely the thing in which all these so-called friendships terminate. So it appears, he said. Then the real friend is a friend for the sake of nothing else that is a friend? True. So we have got rid of this, and it is not for the sake of some friendly thing that the friend is friendly. But now, is the good a friend? I should say so. And further, it is because of the bad that the good is loved ; let me state the case as follows: there are three things of which we have just been speaking—good, bad, and what is neither good nor bad. If but two of these remained after evil had been cleared away, so that it had no contact with anything, whether body or soul or any of the other things that we count neither bad nor good in themselves, would the result be that good would be of no use to us, but would have become quite a useless thing? For if there were nothing left to harm us, we should feel no want of any assistance; and thus we should have to face the fact that it was because of the bad that we felt such a friendly affection for the good, since the good is a cure for the bad, while the bad is an ailment, and if there is no ailment there is no need for a cure. Is not this the nature of the good—to be loved because of the bad by us who are midway between the bad and the good, whereas separately and for its own sake it is of no use? Apparently so, he said. Then our friend, in which all the other things terminated—we called them friends for the sake of some other friend—has no resemblance to these. For they are described as friends for the sake of a friend: but the real friend appears to have quite the opposite character; for we found if to be a friend for the sake of a foe, and if the foe should be removed we have no friend, it seems, any more. I should say not, he assented, to judge by our present argument.

Section 221

Tell me, I beg of you, I went on, if evil is abolished, will it be impossible any longer to feel hunger or thirst or other such conditions? Or will hunger exist, so long as men and animals exist, but without being hurtful? Thirst, too, and all other desires—will these exist without being bad, because the bad will have been abolished? Or is this a ridiculous question—as to what will exist or not exist in such a case? For who can tell? Yet this, at all events, we do know—that, as things are now, it is possible for a man to feel hunger as a hurt, and also to be benefited by it. You agree? Certainly. And so, when a man feels thirst or any other desire of the sort, he may have that desire sometimes with benefit, sometimes with harm, and sometimes with neither? Quite so. Now if evil things are abolished, is there any reason why the things that are not evil should be abolished along with the evil? None. So that those desires which are neither good nor bad will exist even when the bad things are abolished. Apparently. Now is it possible for a man, when he desires and loves, to have no friendly feeling towards that which he desires and loves? I think not. Thus certain things will continue to be friendly, it seems, when evil things are abolished. Yes. It cannot be that, if evil were the cause of a thing being friendly, one thing should be friendly to another when evil is abolished. For when a cause is abolished, that thing can no longer exist, I presume, which had this as its cause. You are right. Now we have agreed that the friend has a friendly feeling for something and because of something; and we supposed, just then, that it was because of evil that what was neither good nor bad loved the good. True. But now, it seems, we make out a different cause of loving and being loved. It seems so. Can it really be then, as we were saying just now, that desire is the cause of friendship, and the desiring thing is a friend to what which it desires, and is so at any time of desiring; while our earlier statement about friends was all mere drivel, like a poem strung out for mere length? It looks like it, he said. But still, I went on, the desiring thing desires that in which it is deficient, does it not? Yes. And the deficient is a friend to that in which it is deficient? I suppose so. And it becomes deficient in that of which it suffers a deprivation. To be sure. So it is one’s own belongings, it seems, that are the objects of love and friendship and desire; so it appears, Menexenus and Lysis. They both agreed. Then if you two are friends to each other by some natural bond you belong to one another. Precisely, they said.

Section 222

And in a case where one person desires another, my boys, or loves him, he would never be desiring or loving or befriending him, unless he somehow belonged to his beloved either in soul, or in some disposition, demeanor or cast of soul. Yes, to be sure, said Menexenus; but Lysis was silent. Very well, said I: what belongs to us by nature has been shown to be something we needs must befriend. It seems so, he said. Then the genuine, not the pretended, lover must needs be befriended by his favorite. To this Lysis and Menexenus gave but a faint nod of assent; while Hippothales, in his delight, turned all manner of colors. So then, with the design of reviewing the argument, I proceeded: If there is any difference between what belongs and what is like, it seems to me, Lysis and Menexenus, that we might give some account of the meaning of friend. But if like and belonging are the same, it is not easy to get rid of our former statement, that the like is useless to the like in so far as they have likeness; and to admit that the useless is friendly would be a gross mistake. So how if we agree now, I said, since our argument has made us quite tipsy, to say that the belonging and the like are two different things? By all means. Then shall we maintain that the good itself belongs to every one, while the bad is alien? Or does the bad belong to the bad, the good to the good, and what is neither good nor bad to what is neither good nor bad? They agreed that the last three pairs belong together. So here again, boys, I said, we have dropped into the very statements regarding friendship which we rejected at first; for now the unjust will be as much a friend of the unjust, and the bad of the bad, as the good of the good. So it seems, he said. And what is more, if we say that the good and the belonging are the same, we cannot avoid making the good a friend only to the good. To be sure. But this again, you know, is a view of which we thought we had disabused ourselves; you remember, do you not? We do. So what more can we do with our argument? Obviously, I think, nothing. I can only ask you, accordingly, like the professional pleaders in the law courts, to perpend the whole of what has been said. If neither the loved nor the loving, nor the like nor the unlike, nor the good nor the belonging, nor all the rest that we have tried in turn—they are so many that I, for one, fail to remember any more—well, if none of these is a friend, I am at a loss for anything further to say.

Section 223

Having thus spoken, I was minded to stir up somebody else among the older people there; when, like spirits from another world, there came upon us the tutors of Menexenus and Lysis: they were bringing along the boys’ brothers, and called out to them the order to go home; for it was getting late. At first we tried, with the help of the group around us, to drive the tutors off; but they took no notice of us at all, and went on angrily calling, as before, in their foreign accent. We decided that they had taken a drop too much at the festival and might be awkward customers; so we gave in to them, and broke up our party. However, just as they were moving off, I remarked: Today, Lysis and Menexenus, we have made ourselves ridiculous—I, an old man, as well as you. For these others will go away and tell how we believe we are friends of one another—for I count myself in with you—but what a friend is, we have not yet succeeded in discovering.

Contents — 24 sections

1. Section 153
2. Section 154
3. Section 155
4. Section 156
5. Section 157
6. Section 158
7. Section 159
8. Section 160
9. Section 161
10. Section 162
11. Section 163
12. Section 164
13. Section 165
14. Section 166
15. Section 167
16. Section 168
17. Section 169
18. Section 170
19. Section 171
20. Section 172
21. Section 173
22. Section 174
23. Section 175
24. Section 176

Section 153

We arrived yesterday evening from the army at Potidaea, and I sought with delight, after an absence of some time, my wonted conversations. Accordingly I went into the wrestling-school of Taureas, opposite the Queen’s shrine, and there I came upon quite a number of people, some of whom were unknown to me, but most of whom I knew. And as soon as they saw me appear thus unexpectedly, they hailed me from a distance on every side; but Chaerephon, like the mad creature that he is, jumped up from their midst and ran to me, and grasping me by the hand— Socrates, he said, how did you survive the battle? (Shortly before we came away there had been a battle at Potidaea, of which the people here had only just had news.) In the state in which you see me, I replied. It has been reported here, you know, said he, that the battle was very severe, and that many of our acquaintance have lost their lives in it. Then the report, I replied, is pretty near the truth. You were present, he asked, at the fighting? I was present. Then sit down here, he said, and give us a full account; for as yet we have had no clear report of it all. And with that he led me to a seat by Critias, son of Callaeschrus. So I sat down there and greeted Critias and the rest, and gave them all the news from the battlefield, in answer to their various questions; each had his inquiry to make. When we had had enough of such matters, I in my turn began to inquire about affairs at home, how philosophy was doing at present, and whether any of the rising young men had distinguished themselves for wisdom or beauty or both.

Section 154

Then Critias, looking towards the door, for he saw some young fellows who were coming in with some railing at each other, and a crowd of people following on behind them, said—Concerning the beauties, Socrates, I expect you will get your knowledge at once: for these who are coming in are in fact forerunners and lovers of the person who is held, for the moment at least, to be the greatest beauty; and he himself, I imagine, must by now be nearly upon us.Who is he, I asked, and whose son? You must know, he replied, but he was not yet grown up when you went away,—Charmides, son of our uncle Glaucon, and my cousin. I do know, to be sure, I said; for he was not to be despised even then, when he was still a child, and now, I suppose, he will be quite a youth by this time. You will know this moment, he said, both how much and to what purpose he has grown. And just as he spoke these words, Charmides entered.Now I, my good friend, am no measurer: I am a mere white line in measuring beautiful people, for almost everyone who has just grown up appears beautiful to me. Nay and this time, moreover, the young man appeared to me a marvel of stature and beauty; and all the rest, to my thinking, were in love with him, such was their astonishment and confusion when he came in, and a number of other lovers were following in his train. On the part of men like us it was not so surprising; but when I came to observe the boys I noticed that none of them, not even the smallest, had eyes for anything else, but that they all gazed at him as if he were a statue. Then Chaerephon called me and said—How does the youth strike you, Socrates? Has he not a fine face? Immensely so, I replied. Yet if he would consent to strip, he said, you would think he had no face, he has such perfect beauty of form. And these words of Chaerephon were repeated by the rest. Then,—By Heracles! I said, what an irresistible person you make him out to be, if he has but one more thing—a little thing—besides. What? said Critias. If in his soul, I replied, he is of good grain. And I should think, Critias, he ought to be, since he is of your house. Ah, he said, he is right fair and good in that way also. Why then, I said, let us strip that very part of him and view it first, instead of his form; for anyhow, at that age, I am sure he is quite ready to have a discussion.

Section 155

Very much so, said Critias; for, I may say, he is in fact a philosopher, and also—as others besides himself consider—quite a poet. That, my dear Critias, I said, is a gift which your family has had a long while back, through your kinship with Solon. But why not call the young man here and show him to me? For surely, even if he were younger still, there could be no discredit in our having a talk with him before you, who are at once his guardian and his cousin. You are quite right he said, and we will call him. Thereupon he said to his attendant,—Boy, call Charmides; tell him I want him to see a doctor about the ailment with which he told me he was troubled yesterday. Then, turning to me,—You know, he has spoken lately of having a headache, said Critias, on getting up in the morning: now why should you not represent to him that you know a cure for headache? Why not? I said: only he must come. Oh, he will be here, he said. And so it was; for he came, and caused much laughter, because each of us who were seated made room for him by pushing hard at his neighbor so as to have him sitting beside himself, until at either end of the seat one had to stand up, and we tumbled the other off sideways; and he came and sat down between me and Critias. But here, my friend, I began to feel perplexed, and my former confidence in looking forward to a quite easy time in talking with him had been knocked out of me. And when, on Critias telling him that it was I who knew the cure, he gave me such a look with his eyes as passes description, and was just about to plunge into a question, and when all the people in the wrestling-school surged round about us on every side—then, ah then, my noble friend, I saw inside his cloak and caught fire, and could possess myself no longer; and I thought none was so wise in love-matters as Cydias, who in speaking of a beautiful boy recommends someone to beware of coming as a fawn before the lion, and being seized as his portion of flesh; for I too felt I had fallen a prey to some such creature. However, when he had asked me if I knew the cure for headache, I somehow contrived to answer that I knew. Then what is it? he asked. So I told him that the thing itself was a certain leaf, but there was a charm to go with the remedy; and if one uttered the charm at the moment of its application, the remedy made one perfectly well; but without the charm there was no efficacy in the leaf.

Section 156

Then I will take down the charm, said he, from you in writing. Do you prefer, I asked, to get my consent first, or to do without it? This made him laugh, and he said: To get your consent, Socrates.Very well, I said; and are you certain of my name? Unless I misjudge, he replied; for there is no little talk of you. among the set of our age, and I remember as a mere child the sight of you in company with Critias here. That is a good thing, I said: for I shall speak more freely to you about the charm, and its real nature; just now I was at a loss for the way to apprise you of its power. For it is of such a nature, Charmides, that it cannot cure the head alone; I daresay you have yourself sometimes heard good doctors say, you know, when a patient comes to them with a pain in his eyes, that it is not possible for them to attempt a cure of his eyes alone, but that it is necessary to treat his head too at the same time, if he is to have his eyes in good order; and so again, that to expect ever to treat the head by itself, apart from the body as a whole, is utter folly. And on this principle they apply their regimen to the whole body, and attempt to treat and heal the part along with the whole; or have you not observed that this is what they say, and is done in fact? Certainly I have, he said. And you consider it well said, and accept the principle? Most assuredly, he said. Then I, on hearing his approval, regained my courage; and little by little I began to muster up my confidence again, and my spirit began to rekindle. So I said,—Such, then, Charmides, is the nature of this charm. I learnt it on campaign over there, from one of the Thracian physicians of Zalmoxis, who are said even to make one immortal. This Thracian said that the Greeks were right in advising as I told you just now: but Zalmoxis, he said, our king, who is a god, says that as you ought not to attempt to cure eyes without head, or head without body, so you should not treat body without soul; and this was the reason why most maladies evaded the physicians of Greece—that they neglected the whole, on which they ought to spend their pains, for if this were out of order it was impossible for the part to be in order.

Section 157

For all that was good and evil, he said, in the body and in man altogether was sprung from the soul, and flowed along from thence as it did from the head into the eyes. Wherefore that part was to be treated first and foremost, if all was to be well with the head and the rest of the body. And the treatment of the soul, so he said, my wonderful friend, is by means of certain charms, and these charms are words of the right sort: by the use of such words is temperance engendered in our souls, and as soon as it is engendered and present we may easily secure health to the head and to the rest of the body also. Now in teaching me the remedy and the charms he remarked,—Let nobody persuade you to treat his head with this remedy, unless he has first submitted his soul for you to treat with the charm. For at present, he said, the cure of mankind is beset with the error of certain doctors who attempt to practise the one method without the other. And he most particularly enjoined on me not to let anyone, however wealthy or noble or handsome, induce me to disobey him. So I, since I have given him my oath, and must obey him, will do as he bids; and if you agree to submit your soul first to the effect of the Thracian charms, according to the stranger’s injunctions, I will apply the remedy to your head: otherwise we shall be at a loss what to do with you, my dear Charmides. Then Critias, when he heard me say this, remarked,—This affection of the head, Socrates, will turn out to be a stroke of luck for the young man, if he is to be compelled on account of his head to improve his understanding also. However, let me tell you, Charmides is considered to excel his comrades not only in appearance, but also in that very thing which you say is produced by your charm: temperance, you say it is, do you not? Certainly, I replied. Then be assured, he said, that he is considered to be far and away the most temperate person now alive, while in every other respect, for a youth of his age, he is second to none. Why, yes, I said, and it is only right, Charmides, that you should excel the rest in all these respects; for I do not suppose there is anyone else here who could readily point to a case of any two Athenian houses uniting together which would be likely to produce handsomer or nobler offspring than those from which you are sprung.

Section 158

For your father’s house, which comes from Critias, son of Dropides, has been celebrated by Anacreon and Solon and many other poets, so that it is famed by tradition among us as preeminent in beauty and virtue and all else that is accounted happiness; and then, your mother’s house is famous in the same way, for of Pyrilampes, your uncle, it is said that no one in all the continent was considered to be his superior in beauty or stature, whenever he came as envoy to the great king or anyone else in Asia, and his house as a whole is no whit inferior to the other. Sprung from such people, it is to be supposed that you would be first in all things. And indeed, as regards your visible form, dear son of Glaucon, I consider that nowhere have you fallen behind any of your ancestors. But if your nature is really rich in temperance and those other things, as our friend here says, blessed is the son, dear Charmides, I exclaimed, that your mother has borne in you! However, the case stands thus: if you already possess temperance, as Critias here declares, and you are sufficiently temperate, then you never had any need of the charms of Zalmoxis or of Abaris the Hyperborean, and might well be given at once the remedy for the head; but if you prove to be still lacking that virtue, we must apply the charm before the remedy. So tell me yourself whether you agree with our friend, and can say that you are already sufficiently provided with temperance, or are deficient in it? At this Charmides blushed and, for one thing, looked more beautiful then ever, for his modesty became his years; and then, too, he answered most ingenuously, saying it was no easy matter at the moment either to admit or to deny the words of the question. For if, he went on, I say I am not temperate, not only is it a strange thing to say against oneself, but I shall at the same time be taxing with untruth both Critias and many others who consider me to be temperate, as he gives out; while if, on the other hand, I say I am, and praise myself, it will probably be found distasteful; so that I cannot see what answer I am to give you. Then I said: Your answer is a natural one, in my opinion, Charmides; and I think, I went on, that we must join in inquiring whether you possess the thing I am asking after, or not, in order that neither you may be forced to say what you do not wish, nor I on my part may recklessly try my hand at medicine. So if it is agreeable to you, I am ready to inquire with you; but, if it is not, to let it alone. Why, nothing, he said, could be more agreeable to me : so far as that goes, therefore, inquire in whatever way you think we had better proceed. Then this is the way, I said, in which I consider that our inquiry into this matter had best be conducted.

Section 159

Now, it is clear that, if you have temperance with you, you can hold an opinion about it. For being in you, I presume it must, in that case, afford some perception from which you can form some opinion of what temperance is, and what kind of thing it is : do you not think so ? I do, he replied. And since you understand the Greek tongue, I said, you can tell me, I suppose, your view of this particular thought of yours? I daresay, he said. Then in order that we may make a guess whether it is in you or not, tell me, I said, what you say of temperance according to your opinion. He at first hung back, and was not at all willing to answer: but presently he said that, to his mind, temperance was doing everything orderly and quietly—walking in the streets, talking, and doing everything else of that kind; and in a word, he said, I think the thing about which you ask may be called quietness. Well, I said, are you right there? They do say, you know, Charmides, that quiet people are temperate : so let us see if there is anything in what they say. Tell me, is not temperance, however, among the honorable things? To be sure, he said. Well, which is most honorable at the writing master’s, to write the same sort of letters quickly or quietly? Quickly.And in reading, to do it quickly or slowly?Quickly. And so, in the same way, to play the lyre quickly, or to wrestle nimbly, is far more honorable than to do it quietly and slowly? Yes. And what of boxing, alone or combined with wrestling? Is it not the same there too? To be sure. And in running and leaping and all activities of the body, are not nimble and quick movements accounted honorable, while sluggish and quiet ones are deemed disgraceful? Apparently. So we find, I said, that in the body, at least, it is not quietness, but the greatest quickness and nimbleness that is most honorable, do we not? Certainly.And temperance was an honorable thing?Yes. Then in the body, at least, it is not quietness but quickness that will be the more temperate thing, since temperance is honorable. So it seems, he said. Well now, I went on; in learning, is facility the more honorable, or difficulty?Facility. And facility in learning, I said, is learning quickly, and difficulty in learning is learning quietly and slowly? Yes. And is it not more honorable to teach another quickly and forcibly, rather than quietly and slowly? Yes. Well now, is it more honorable to be reminded and to remember quietly and slowly, or forcibly and quickly? Forcibly, he replied, and quickly.

Section 160

And is not readiness of mind a sort of nimbleness of the soul, not a quietness? True. And to apprehend what is said, whether at the writing-master’s or the lyre-master’s or anywhere else, not as quietly as possible, but as quickly, is most honorable? Yes. Well, and in the searchings of the soul, and in deliberation, it is not the quietest person, I imagine, or he who deliberates and discovers with difficulty, that is held worthy of praise, but he who does this most easily and quickly. That is so, he said. Then in all, I said, Charmides, that concerns either our soul or our body, actions of quickness and nimbleness are found to be more honorable than those of slowness and quietness? It looks like it, he said. So temperance cannot be a sort of quietness, nor can the temperate life be quiet, by this argument at least; since, being temperate, it must be honorable. For we have these two alternatives: either in no cases, or I should think in very few, can we find that the quiet actions in life are more honorable than the quick and vigorous ones; or at all events, my friend, if of the more honorable actions there are absolutely as many quiet ones as forcible and quick, not even so will temperance be acting quietly any more than acting forcibly and quickly, either in walking or in talking or in any other sphere; nor will the quiet life be more temperate than the unquiet; since in our argument we assumed that temperance is an honorable thing, and have found that quick things are just as honorable as quiet things. Your statement, he said, Socrates, seems to me to be correct. Once more then, I went on, Charmides, attend more closely and look into yourself; reflect on the quality that is given you by the presence of temperance, and what quality it must have to work this effect on you. Take stock of all this and tell me, like a good, brave fellow, what it appears to you to be. He paused a little, and after a quite manly effort of self-examination: Well, I think, he said, that temperance makes men ashamed or bashful, and that temperance is the same as modesty. Well now, I asked, did you not admit a moment ago that temperance is honorable?Certainly I did, he said. And temperate men are also good? Yes.Well, can that be good which does not produce good men? No, indeed. And we conclude that it is not only honorable, but good also.

Section 161

I think so. Well then, I said, are you not convinced that Homer is right in saying— Modesty, no good mate for a needy man? I am, he said. Then it would seem that modesty is not good, and good.Apparently. But temperance is good, if its presence makes men good, and not bad. It certainly seems to me to be as you say. So temperance cannot be modesty, if it is in fact good, while modesty is no more good than evil.Why, I think, he said, Socrates, that is correctly stated; but there is another view of temperance on which I would like to have your opinion. I remembered just now what I once heard someone say, that temperance might be doing one’s own business. I ask you, then, do you think he is right in saying this? You rascal, I said, you have heard it from Critias here, or some other of our wise men! Seemingly, said Critias, from some other; for indeed he did not from me.But what does it matter, Socrates, said Charmides, from whom I heard it? Not at all, I replied; for in any case we have not to consider who said it, but whether it is a true saying or no. Now you speak rightly, he said. Yes, on my word, I said: but I shall be surprised if we can find out how it stands; for it looks like a kind of riddle. Why so? he asked. Because, I replied, presumably the speaker of the words temperance is doing one’s own business did not mean them quite as he spoke them. Or do you consider that the scribe does nothing when he writes or reads? I rather consider that he does something, he replied. And does the scribe, in your opinion, write and read his own name only, and teach you boys to do the same with yours? Or did you write your enemies’ names just as much as your own and your friends’? Just as much. Well, were you meddlesome or intemperate in doing this? Not at all.And you know you were not doing your own business, if writing and reading are doing something. Why, so they are. And indeed medical work, my good friend, and building and weaving and producing anything whatever that is the work of any art, I presume is doing something. Certainly.

Section 162

Well then, I went on, do you think a state would be well conducted under a law which enjoined that everyone should weave and scour his own coat, and make his own shoes, and his own flask and scraper, and everything else on the same principle of not touching the affairs of others but performing and doing his own for himself? I think not, he replied. But still, I said, a state whose conduct is temperate will be well conducted. Of course, he said. Then doing one’s own business in that sense and in that way will not be temperance.Apparently not. So that person was riddling, it seems, just as I said a moment ago, when he said that doing one’s own business is temperance. For I take it he was not such a fool as all that: or was it some idiot that you heard saying this, Charmides? Far from it, he replied, for indeed he seemed to be very wise. Then it is perfectly certain, in my opinion, that he propounded it as a riddle, in view of the difficulty of understanding what doing one’s own business can mean. I daresay, he said. Well, what can it mean, this doing one’s own business? Can you tell me? I do not know, upon my word, he replied: but I daresay it may be that not even he who said it knew in the least what he meant. And as he said this he gave a sly laugh and glanced at Critias. Now Critias for some time had been plainly burning with anxiety to distinguish himself in the eyes of Charmides and the company, and having with difficulty restrained himself heretofore, he now could do so no longer; for I believe that what I had supposed was perfectly true—that Charmides had heard this answer about temperance from Critias. And so Charmides, wishing him to make answer instead of himself, sought to stir him up in particular, and pointed out that he himself had been refuted; but Critias rebelled against it, and seemed to me to have got angry with him, as a poet does with an actor who mishandles his verses on the stage: so he looked hard at him and said: Do you really suppose, Charmides, that if you do not know what can have been the meaning of the man who said that temperance was doing one’s own business, he did not know either? Why, my excellent Critias, I said, no wonder if our friend, at his age, cannot understand; but you, I should think, may be expected to know, in view of your years and your studies. So if you concede that temperance is what he says, and you accept the statement, for my part I would greatly prefer to have you as partner in the inquiry as to whether this saying is true or not.Well, I quite concede it, he said, and accept it.That is good, then, I said. Now tell me, do you also concede what I was asking just now—that all craftsmen make something? I do. And do you consider that they make their own things only, or those of others also?

Section 163

Those of others also. And are they temperate in not making their own things only?Yes: what reason is there against it? he said.None for me, I replied; but there may be for him who, after assuming that temperance is doing one’s own business, proceeds to say there is no reason against those also who do others’ business being temperate. And have I, pray, he said, admitted that those who do others’ business are temperate? Or was my admission of those who make things? Tell me, I said, do you not call making and doing the same? No indeed, he replied, nor working and making the same either: this I learnt from Hesiod, who said, Work is no reproach. Now, do you suppose that if he had given the names of working and doing to such works as you were mentioning just now, he would have said there was no reproach in shoe-making or pickle-selling or serving the stews? It is not to be thought, Socrates; he rather held, I conceive, that making was different from doing and working, and that while a thing made might be a reproach if it had no connection with the honorable, work could never be a reproach. For things honorably and usefully made he called works, and such makings he called workings and doings; and we must suppose that it was only such things as these that he called our proper concerns, but all that was harmful, the concerns of others. So that we must conclude that Hesiod, and anyone else of good sense, calls him temperate who does his own business. Ah, Critias, I said, you had hardly begun, when I grasped the purport of your speech—that you called one’s proper and one’s own things good, and that the makings of the good you called doings; for in fact I have heard Prodicus drawing innumerable distinctions between names. Well, I will allow you any application of a name that you please; only make clear to what thing it is that you attach such-and-such a name. So begin now over again, and define more plainly. Do you say that this doing or making, or whatever is the term you prefer, of good things, is temperance? I do, he replied. Then not he who does evil, but he who does good, is temperate? And do not you, my excellent friend, he said, think so? Leave that aside, I said; for we have not to consider yet what I think, but what you say now. Well, all the same, I say, he replied, that he who does evil instead of good is not temperate, whereas he who does good instead of evil is temperate : for I give you the doing of good things is temperance as my plain definition.

Section 164

And there is no reason, I daresay, why your statement should not be right; but still I wonder, I went on, whether you judge that temperate men are ignorant of their temperance. No, I do not, he said. A little while ago, I said, were you not saying that there was no reason why craftsmen should not be temperate in making others’ things as well? Yes, I was, he said, but what of it ? Nothing; only tell me whether you think that a doctor, in making someone healthy, makes a helpful result both for himself and for the person whom he cures. I do. And he who does this does his duty? Yes. Is not he who does his duty temperate? Indeed he is. Well, and must the doctor know when his medicine will be helpful, and when not? And must every craftsman know when he is likely to be benefited by the work he does, and when not?Probably not. Then sometimes, I went on, the doctor may have done what is helpful or harmful without knowing the effect of his own action; and yet, in doing what was helpful, by your statement, he has done temperately. Or did you not state that? I did. Then it would seem that in doing what is helpful he may sometimes do temperately and be temperate, but be ignorant of his own temperance? But that, he said, Socrates, could never be: if you think this in any way a necessary inference from my previous admissions, I would rather withdraw some of them, and not be ashamed to say my statements were wrong, than concede at any time that a man who is ignorant of himself is temperate. For I would almost say that this very thing, self-knowledge, is temperance, and I am at one with him who put up the inscription of those words at Delphi. For the purpose of that inscription on the temple, as it seems to me, is to serve as the god’s salutation to those who enter it, instead of Hail!—this is a wrong form of greeting, and they should rather exhort one another with the words, Be temperate! And thus the god addresses those who are entering his temple in a mode which differs from that of men; such was the intention of the dedicator of the inscription in putting it up, I believe; and that he says to each man who enters, in reality, Be temperate !

Section 165

But he says it in a rather riddling fashion, as a prophet would; for Know thyself! and Be temperate! are the same, as the inscription and I declare, though one is likely enough to think them different—an error into which I consider the dedicators of the later inscriptions fell when they put up Nothing overmuch and A pledge, and thereupon perdition. For they supposed that Know thyself! was a piece of advice, and not the god’s salutation of those who were entering; and so, in order that their dedications too might equally give pieces of useful advice, they wrote these words and dedicated them. Now my object in saying all this, Socrates, is to abandon to you all the previous argument— for, though perhaps it was you who were more in the right, or perhaps it was I, yet nothing at all certain emerged from our statements—and to proceed instead to satisfy you of this truth, if you do not admit it, that temperance is knowing oneself. Why, Critias, I said, you treat me as though I professed to know the things on which I ask questions, and needed only the will to agree with you. But the fact of the matter is rather that I join you in the inquiry, each time that a proposition is made, because I myself do not know; I wish therefore to consider first, before I tell you whether I agree or not. Now, give me a moment to consider. Consider then, he said. Yes, and I am considering, I said. For if temperance is knowing anything, obviously it must be a kind of science, and a science of something, must it not? It is, he replied, and of itself. And medicine, I said, is a science of health? Certainly. Then if you should ask me, I said, wherein medicine, as a science of health, is useful to us, and what it produces, I should say it is of very great benefit, since it produces health; an excellent result, if you allow so much. I allow it.And so, if you should ask me what result I take to be produced by building, as the builder’s science, I should say houses; and it would be the same with the other arts. Now it is for you, in your turn, to find an answer to a question regarding temperance—since you say it is a science of self, Critias—and to tell me what excellent result it produces for us, as science of self, and what it does that is worthy of its name. Come now, tell me. But, Socrates, he said, you are not inquiring rightly. For in its nature it is not like the other sciences, any more than any of them is like any other; whereas you are making your inquiry as though they were alike.

Section 166

For tell me, he said, what result is there of the arts of reckoning and geometry, in the way that a house is of building, or a coat of weaving, or other products of the sort that one might point to in various arts? Well, can you, for your part, point to any such product in those two cases? You cannot. To this I replied: What you say is true; but I can point out to you what is the peculiar subject of each of these sciences, distinct in each case from the science itself. Thus reckoning, I suppose, is concerned with the even and the odd in their numerical relations to themselves and to one another, is it not?Certainly, he said. And you grant that the odd and the even are different from the actual art of reckoning? Of course. And once more, weighing is concerned with the heavier and the lighter weight; but the heavy and the light are different from the actual art of weighing: you agree? I do. Then tell me, what is that of which temperance is the science, differing from temperance itself? There you are, Socrates, he said: you push your investigation up to the real question at issue—in what temperance differs from all the other sciences—but you then proceed to seek some resemblance between it and them; whereas there is no such thing, for while all the rest of the sciences have something other than themselves as their subject, this one alone is a science of the other sciences and of its own self. And of this you are far from being unconscious, since in fact, as I believe, you are doing the very thing you denied you were doing just now: for you are attempting to refute me, without troubling to follow the subject of our discussion. How can you think, I said, if my main effort is to refute you, that I do it with any other motive than that which would impel me to investigate the meaning of my own words—from a fear of carelessly supposing, at any moment, that I knew something while I knew it not? And so it is now: that is what I am doing, I tell you. I am examining the argument mainly for my own sake, but also, perhaps, for that of my other intimates. Or do you not think it is for the common good, almost, of all men, that the truth about everything there is should be discovered? Yes indeed, he replied, I do, Socrates. Then take heart, I said, my admirable friend, and answer the question put to you as you deem the case to be, without caring a jot whether it is Critias or Socrates who is being refuted: give the argument itself your attention, and observe what will become of it under the test of refutation. Well, he said, I will do so; for I think there is a good deal in what you say. Then tell me, I said, what you mean in regard to temperance. Why, I mean, he said, that it alone of all the sciences is the science both of itself and of the other sciences.So then, I said, it will be the science of the lack of science also, besides being the science of science? Certainly, he replied.

Section 167

Then only the temperate person will know himself, and be able to discern what he really knows and does not know, and have the power of judging what other people likewise know and think they know, in cases where they do know, and again, what they think they know, without knowing it; everyone else will be unable. And so this is being temperate, or temperance, and knowing oneself—that one should know what one knows and what one does not know. Is that what you mean? It is, he replied. Once more then, I said, as our third offering to the Saviour, let us consider afresh, in the first place, whether such a thing as this is possible or not—to know that one knows, and does not know, what one knows and what one does not know; and secondly, if this is perfectly possible, what benefit we get by knowing it. We must indeed consider, he said. Come then, I said, Critias, consider if you can show yourself any more resourceful than I am; for I am at a loss. Shall I explain to you in what way? By all means, he replied. Well, I said, what all this comes to, if your last statement was correct, is merely that there is one science which is precisely a science of itself and of the other sciences, and moreover is a science of the lack of science at the same time. Certainly. Then mark what a strange statement it is that we are attempting to make, my friend: for if you will consider it as applied to other cases, you will surely see—so I believe—its impossibility. How so? In what cases? In the following: ask yourself if you think there is a sort of vision which is not the vision of things that we see in the ordinary way, but a vision of itself and of the other sorts of vision, and of the lack of vision likewise; which, while being vision, sees no color, but only itself and the other sorts of vision. Do you think there is any such? Upon my word, I do not. And what do you say to a sort of hearing which hears not a single sound, but hears itself and the other sorts of hearing and lack of hearing? I reject that also. Then take all the senses together as a whole, and consider if you think there is any sense of the senses and of itself, but insensible of any of the things of which the other senses are sensible. I do not. Now, do you think there is any desire which is the desire, not of any pleasure, but of itself and of the other desires ? No, indeed.Nor, again, is there a wish, I imagine, that wishes no good, but wishes itself and the other wishes. Quite so; there is not. And would you say there is any love of such a sort that it is actually a love of no beauty, but of itself and of the other loves? Not I, he replied.

Section 168

And have you ever observed any fear which fears itself and the other fears, but has no fear of a single dreadful thing? No, I have not, he replied. Or an opinion which is an opinion of opinions and of itself, but without any opinion such as the other opinions have? By no means. But it is apparently a science of this kind that we are assuming—one that is a science of no branch of study, but a science of itself and of the other sciences. So we are. And it is a strange thing, if it really exists? For we should not affirm as yet that it does not exist, but should still consider whether it does exist. You are right. Well now, this science is a science of something, that is, it has a certain faculty whereby it can be a science of something, has it not? Certainly. For, you know, we say the greater has a certain faculty whereby it can be greater than something? Quite so. That is, than something smaller, if it is to be greater. Necessarily. So if we could find a greater which is greater than other greater things, and than itself, but not greater than the things beside which the others are greater, I take it there can be no doubt that it would be in the situation of being, if greater than itself, at the same time smaller than itself, would it not? Most inevitably, Socrates, he said. Or again, if there is a double of other doubles and of itself, both it and the others must of course be halves, if it is to be their double; for, you know, a double cannot be of anything else than its half. True. And what is more than itself will also be less, and the heavier will be lighter, and the older younger, and so on with everything else: whatever has its own faculty applied to itself will have also the natural quality to which its faculty was applicable, will it not? For instance, hearing is, as we say, just a hearing of sound, is it not?Yes. So if it is to hear itself, it will hear a sound of its own; for it would not hear otherwise. Most inevitably. And sight, I suppose, my excellent friend, if it is to see itself, must needs have a color; for sight can never see what is colorless. No more it can. Then do you perceive, Critias, in the various cases we have propounded, how some of them strike us as absolutely impossible, while others raise serious doubts as to the faculty of the thing being ever applicable to itself? For with magnitudes, numbers, and the like it is absolutely impossible, is it not? Certainly.

Section 169

But again, with hearing and sight, or in the further bases of motion moving itself and heat burning itself, and all other actions of the sort, the fact must appear incredible to some, but perhaps not to others. So what we want, my friend, is some great man who will determine to our satisfaction in every respect whether there is nothing in nature so constituted as to have its own faculty applicable to itself, and not only some other object, or whether there are some such, and others not such; and whether, again, if there are things that have such relation to themselves, they include a science which we assert to be temperance. For my part, I distrust my own competence to determine these questions, and hence I am neither able to affirm whether it is possible that there should be a science of science, nor willing, let it be ever so true, to acknowledge this to be temperance until I have made out whether such a thing as this would benefit us or not. For, you see, I have a presentiment that temperance is something beneficial and good; and you, therefore, son of Callaeschrus—since you lay it down that temperance is this very science of science, and moreover of the lack of science—shall first indicate the possibility, as I put it just now, and then the benefit added to the possibility, of such a thing; and perhaps you will then satisfy me that your definition of temperance is correct. Now when Critias heard this and saw me in a difficulty, he seemed to me—just as the sight of someone yawning opposite causes people to be affected in the same way—to be compelled by the sense of my difficulty to be caught in a difficulty himself. And so, since he usually contrived to distinguish himself, he was too ashamed to bring himself to admit to me before the company that he was unable to determine the questions with which I challenged him, and he made a very indistinct reply in order to conceal his difficulty. Then I, to forward the discussion, remarked: Well, if you prefer, Critias, let us concede for the moment that there may possibly be a science of science : some other time we shall consider whether such is the fact or not. Come then; suppose it is perfectly possible: how is one helped thereby to know what one knows and does not know? For this, you are aware, we said was the meaning of self-knowledge and temperance, did we not? Certainly, he said; and it must surely follow, Socrates; for if a man has a science which knows itself, he will be similar himself to that which he has. For instance, he who has swiftness will be swift, he who has beauty will be beautiful, and he who has knowledge will know; and when he has knowledge that is of itself, he will then, surely, be in the position of knowing himself. I do not dispute, I said, that when a man has that which knows itself he will know himself; but having that, how is he bound to know what he knows and what he does not know?

Section 170

Because, Socrates, the two things are the same. I daresay, I said; but I am afraid I am still my old self: I still do not see how knowing what one knows and does not know is the same as the other.How do you mean? he asked. In this way, I replied: will a science of science, if such exists, be able to do more than determine that one of two things is science, and the other is not science? No, only that. Now, is science or lack of science of health the same as science or lack of science of justice? By no means. For the one, I suppose, is medicine, and the other politics, while the thing in question is merely science. Yes, to be sure. And if a man has no added knowledge of health and justice, but knows only science, as having science of that alone, he will probably know that he has a certain piece of scientific knowledge about himself and about other people, will he not? Yes. But how will this science help him to know what he knows? For of course he knows health by means of medicine, not temperance, and harmony by means of music, not temperance, and building by means of the builder’s art, not temperance; and so it will be in every case, will it not? Apparently. And how will temperance, supposing it is only a science of sciences, help him to know that he knows health, or that he knows building? By no means. Then he who is ignorant of all this will not know what he knows, but only that he knows. So it seems. Then being temperate, or temperance, will not be this knowledge of what one knows or does not know, but, it would seem, merely knowing that one knows or does not know. It looks like it. Then such a person will also be unable to examine another man’s claim to some knowledge, and make out whether he knows or does not know what he says he knows: he will merely know, it would seem, that he has a certain knowledge; but of what it is, temperance will not cause him to know.Apparently not. So he will be able to distinguish neither the man who pretends to be a doctor, but is none, from the man who really is one, nor any other man who has knowledge from him who has none. But let us consider it another way: if the temperate man or anybody else would discriminate between the true doctor and the false, he will go to work thus, will he not? He will surely not talk to him about medicine; for, as we were saying, the doctor understands nothing else but health and disease. Is not that so? Yes, it is. But about science he knows nothing, for that, you know, we assigned to temperance alone. Yes.

Section 171

So the medical man knows nothing about medicine either, since medicine is, of course, a science. True. Then the temperate man will know, indeed, that the doctor has a certain science; but when he has to put its nature to the proof, must he not consider what its subjects are? Is not each science marked out, not merely as a science, but as a particular one, by the particular subjects it has? It is, to be sure. And medicine is marked out as different from the other sciences by being a science of health and disease. Yes. And so anyone who wishes to inquire into medicine must make those things, whatever they may be, with which it is concerned, the matter of his inquiry; not those foreign things, I presume, with which it is not? No, indeed. Then he who conducts his inquiry aright will consider the doctor, as a medical man, in connection with cases of health and disease. So it seems. And will inquire whether, in what is said or done in such cases, his words are truly spoken, and his acts rightly done? He must. Well now, could anyone follow up either of these points without the medical art? No, indeed. Nobody at all, it would seem, but a doctor; and so not the temperate man either: for he would have to be a doctor, in addition to his temperance.That is so. Then inevitably, if temperance is only a science of science and of lack of science, it will be equally unable to distinguish a doctor who knows the business of his art from one who does not know but pretends or thinks he does, and any other person who has knowledge of anything at all: one will only distinguish one’s fellow-artist, as craftsmen usually can. Apparently, he said. Then what benefit, I asked, Critias, can we still look for from temperance, if it is like that? For if, as we began by assuming, the temperate man knew what he knew and what he did not know, and that he knows the one and does not know the other, and if he were able to observe this same condition in bother man, it would be vastly to our benefit, we agree, to be temperate; since we should pass all our lives, both we who had temperance and all the rest who were governed by us, without error. For neither should we ourselves attempt to do what we did not know, instead of finding out those who knew and placing the matter in their hands, nor should we permit others under our governance to do anything but what they were likely to do aright; and they would do that when they had knowledge of it; and so it would be that a house which was ordered, or a state which was administered, as temperance bade, and everything else that was ruled by temperance, could not but be well ordered;

Section 172

for with error abolished, and rightness leading, in their every action men would be bound to do honorably and well under such conditions, and those who did well would be happy. Did we not so speak of temperance, I said, Critias, when we remarked how great a boon it was to know what one knows and what one does not know? To be sure we did, he replied. Whereas now, I went on, you see that nowhere can any such science be found. I see, he said. Then may we say, I asked, that there is this good point in the knowledge of knowledge and of lack of knowledge, which we now find to be what temperance is, that he who has it will not only learn more easily whatever he learns, but will perceive everything more plainly, since besides the particular things that he learns he will behold the science; and hence he will probe more surely the state of other men respecting the things which he has learnt himself, while those who probe without such knowledge will do it more feebly and poorly? Are these, my friend, the kind of advantages that we shall gain from temperance? But are we really looking at something greater, and requiring it to be something greater than it really is? Probably, he replied, that is so. I daresay, I said; and I daresay also our inquiry has been worthless. And this I conclude, because I observe certain strange facts about temperance, if it is anything like that. For suppose, if you please, we concede that there may possibly be a science of science, and let us grant, and not withdraw, our original proposition that temperance is the knowledge of what one knows and does not know; granting all this, let us still more thoroughly inquire whether on these terms it will be of any profit to us. For our suggestion just now, that temperance of that sort, as our guide in ordering house or state, must be a great boon, was not, to my thinking, Critias, a proper admission.How so? he asked. Because, I replied, we too tightly admitted that it would be a great boon to mankind if each of us should do what he knows, but should place what he did not know in the hands of others who had the knowledge. Well, was that, he asked, not a proper admission?Not to my mind, I answered. In very truth, your words are strange! he said, Socrates. Yes, by the Dog, I said, and they strike me too in the same way; and it was in view of this, just now, that I spoke of strange results that I noticed, and said I feared we were not inquiring rightly.

Section 173

For in truth, let temperance be ever so much what we say it is, I see nothing to show what good effect it has on us. How so? he asked: tell us, in order that we on our side may know what you mean.I expect, I said, I am talking nonsense: but still one is bound to consider what occurs to one, and not idly ignore it, if one has even a little concern for oneself. And you are quite right, he said. Hear then, I said, my dream, whether it has come through horn or through ivory. Suppose that temperance were such as we now define her, and that she had entire control of us: must it not be that every act would be done according to the sciences, and no one professing to be a pilot when he was not would deceive us, nor would a doctor, nor a general, nor anyone else pretending to know something he did not know, go undetected; and would not these conditions result in our having greater bodily health than we have now, safety in perils of the sea and war, and skilful workmanship in all our utensils, our clothes, our shoes, nay, everything about us, and various things besides, because we should be employing genuine craftsmen? And if you liked, we might concede that prophecy, as the knowledge of what is to be, and temperance directing her, will deter the charlatans, and establish the true prophets as our prognosticators. Thus equipped, the human race would indeed act and live according to knowledge, I grant you (for temperance, on the watch, would not suffer ignorance to foist herself in and take a hand in our labors), but that by acting according to knowledge we should do well and be happy—this is a point which as yet we are unable to make out, my dear Critias. But still, he replied, you will have some difficulty in finding any other fulfillment of welfare if you reject the rule of knowledge. Then inform me further, I said, on one more little matter. Of what is this knowledge? Do you mean of shoe-making? Good heavens, not I! Well, of working in brass? By no means. Well, in wool, or in wood, or in something else of that sort? No, indeed.Then we no longer hold, I said, to the statement that he who lives according to knowledge is happy; for these workers, though they live according to knowledge, are not acknowledged by you to be happy: you rather delimit the happy man, it seems to me, as one who lives according to knowledge about certain things.

Section 174

And I daresay you are referring to my instance of a moment ago, the man who knows all that is to come, the prophet. Do you refer to him or to someone else? Yes, I refer to him, he said, and someone else too. Whom? I asked. Is it the sort of person who might know, besides what is to be, both everything that has been and now is, and might be ignorant of nothing? Let us suppose such a man exists: you are not going to tell me, I am sure, of anyone alive who is yet more knowing than he. No, indeed. Then there is still one more thing I would fain know: which of the sciences is it that makes him happy? Or does he owe it to all of them alike? By no means to all alike, he replied. But to which sort most? One that gives him knowledge of what thing, present, past or future? Is it that by which he knows draught-playing? Draught-playing indeed! he replied.Well, reckoning? By no means. Well, health? More likely, he said. And that science to which I refer as the most likely, I went on, gives him knowledge of what? Of good, he replied, and of evil. Vile creature! I said, you have all this time been dragging me round and round, while concealing the fact that the life according to knowledge does not make us do well and be happy, not even if it be knowledge of all the other knowledges together, but only if it is of this single one concerning good and evil. For, Critias, if you choose to take away this science from the whole number of them, will medicine any the less give us health, or shoemaking give us shoes, or weaving provide clothes, or will the pilot’s art any the less prevent the loss of life at sea, or the general’s in war? None the less, he replied. But, my dear Critias, to have any of these things well and beneficially done will be out of our reach if that science is lacking. That is true. And that science, it seems, is not temperance, but one whose business is to benefit us; for it is not a science of sciences and lack of sciences, but of good and evil: so that if this is beneficial, temperance must be something else to us. But why, he asked, should not it be beneficial? For if temperance is above all a science of the sciences, and presides too over the other sciences, surely she will govern this science of the good, and so benefit us. And give us health also? I asked: will she, and not medicine, do this? And will the several works of the other arts be hers, and not the particular works of each art? Have we not constantly protested that she is only knowledge of knowledge and of lack of knowledge, and of nothing else? Is not that so? Apparently it is. Then she will not be a producer of health? No, indeed.

Section 175

For health, we said, belongs to another art, did we not? We did. Nor of benefit, my good friend; for this work, again, we assigned to another art just now, did we not? Certainly. Then how will temperance be beneficial, if it produces no benefit? By no means, Socrates, as it seems. So do you see, Critias, how all the time I had good reason for my fear, and fair ground for the reproach I made against myself, that my inquiry regarding temperance was worthless? For I cannot think that what is admitted to be the noblest thing in the world would have appeared to us useless if I had been of any use for making a good search. But now, you see, we are worsted every way, and cannot discover what thing it can possibly be to which the lawgiver gave this name, temperance. And yet we have conceded many points which were not deducible from our argument. For you know we conceded that there was a science of science, when the argument was against it and would not agree; and we further conceded that this science could know the works also of the other sciences, when the argument was against this too, in order to make out that the temperate man had a knowledge of what he knew and did not know, so as to know that he knew the one and did not know the other. And we made this concession in a really magnificent manner, without considering the impossibility of a man knowing, in some sort of way, things that he does not know at all; for our admission says that he knows that he does not know them; and yet, in my opinion, there can be nothing more irrational than this. Nevertheless, although it has found us so simple-minded and tractable, the inquiry remains quite incapable of discovering the truth, but has utterly flouted it by most impudently showing us the inutility of that which we had been ever so long assuming, by our joint admissions and fictions, to be the meaning of temperance. Now, so far as I am concerned, I am not particularly distressed: but for your sake, I said, Charmides, I am seriously distressed to think that you, with your goodly form and most temperate soul besides, are to have no profit or advantage from the presence of that temperance in all your life. And I am still more distressed about the charm which I learnt from the Thracian, that I should have spent so much pains on a lesson which has had such a worthless effect. Now I really do not think that this can be the case, but rather that I am a poor hand at inquiring; for temperance I hold to be a great good, and you to be highly blessed, if you actually have it.

Section 176

See now whether you have it, and are in no need of the charm; for if it is yours, I should rather advise you to regard me as a babbler who is unable to argue out any subject of inquiry whatsoever, and yourself as advancing in happiness as you advance in temperance. Then Charmides said: Why, upon my word, Socrates, I do not know at all whether I have it or have it not. For how can I know, when even you two are unable to discover what this thing is?—so you say, but of this you do not at all convince me—and I quite believe, Socrates, that I do need the charm, and for my part I have no objection to being charmed by you every day of my life, until you say I have had enough of the treatment. Very well, said Critias: now, Charmides, if you do this, it will be a proof to me of your temperance—if you submit to be charmed by Socrates and do not forsake him through thick and thin. Count on me to follow, he said, and not forsake him; for it would ill become me to disobey you, my guardian, and refuse to do your bidding. Well now, he said, I bid you. Then I will do as you say, he replied, and will start this very day. There, there, I said, what are you two plotting to do? Nothing, replied Charmides; we have made our plot. So you will use force, I said, before even allowing me to make my affidavit? You must expect me to use force, he replied, since he gives me the command: take counsel, therefore, on your side, as to what you will do But that leaves no room, I said, for counsel; for if once you set about doing anything and use force, no man alive will be able to withstand you. Then do not you, he said, withstand me. Then I will not withstand you, I replied.

Contents — 33 sections

1. Section 103
2. Section 104
3. Section 105
4. Section 106
5. Section 107
6. Section 108
7. Section 109
8. Section 110
9. Section 111
10. Section 112
11. Section 113
12. Section 114
13. Section 115
14. Section 116
15. Section 117
16. Section 118
17. Section 119
18. Section 120
19. Section 121
20. Section 122
21. Section 123
22. Section 124
23. Section 125
24. Section 126
25. Section 127
26. Section 128
27. Section 129
28. Section 130
29. Section 131
30. Section 132
31. Section 133
32. Section 134
33. Section 135

Section 103

Soc. Son of Cleinias, I think it must surprise you that I, the first of all your lovers, am the only one of them who has not given up his suit and thrown you over, and whereas they have all pestered you with their conversation I have not spoken one word to you for so many years. The cause of this has been nothing human, but a certain spiritual opposition, of whose power you shall be informed at some later time. However, it now opposes me no longer, so I have accordingly come to you; and I am in good hopes that it will not oppose me again in the future. Now I have been observing you all this time, and have formed a pretty good notion of your behavior to your lovers: for although they were many and high-spirited, everyone of them has found your spirit too strong for him and has run away.

Section 104

Soc. Let me explain the reason of your spirit being too much for them. You say you have no need of any man in any matter; for your resources are so great, beginning with the body and ending with the soul, that you lack nothing. You think, in the first place, that you are foremost in beauty and stature—and you are not mistaken in this, as is plain for all to see—and in the second place, that you are of the most gallant family in your city, the greatest city in Greece, and that there you have, through your father, very many of the best people as your friends and kinsmen, who would assist you in case of need, and other connections also, through your mother, who are not a whit inferior to these, nor fewer. And you reckon upon a stronger power than all those that I have mentioned, in Pericles, son of Xanthippus, whom your father left as guardian of you and your brother when he died, and who is able to do whatever he likes not only in this city but all over Greece and among many great nations of the barbarians. And I will add besides the wealth of your house: but on this, I observe, you presume least of all. Well, you puff yourself up on all these advantages, and have overcome your lovers, while they in their inferiority have yielded to your might, and all this has not escaped you; so I am very sure that you wonder what on earth I mean by not getting rid of my passion, and what can be my hope in remaining when the rest have fled.

Alc. Perhaps also, Socrates, you are not aware that you have only just anticipated me. For I, in fact, had the intention of coming and asking you first that very same question—what is your aim and expectation in bothering me by making a particular point of always turning up wherever I may be. For I really do wonder what can be your object, and should be very glad if you would tell me.

Soc. Then you will listen to me, presumably, with keen attention if, as you say, you long to know what I mean, and I have in you a listener who will stay to hear me out.

Alc. Why, to be sure: only speak.

Soc. Look to it, then; for it would be no wonder if I should make as much difficulty about stopping as I have made about starting.

Alc. My good sir, speak; for I will listen.

Section 105

Soc. Speak I must, I suppose. Now, although it is hard for a lover to parley with a man who does not yield to lovers, I must make bold nevertheless to put my meaning into words. For if I saw you, Alcibiades, content with the things I set forth just now, and minded to pass your life in enjoying them, I should long ago have put away my love, so at least I persuade myself: but as it is, I shall propound to your face quite another set of your thoughts, whereby you will understand that I have had you continually before my mind. For I believe, if some god should ask you: Alcibiades, do you prefer to live with your present possessions, or to die immediately if you are not to have the chance of acquiring greater things? I believe you would choose to die. But let me tell you what I imagine must be the present hope of your life. You think that if you come shortly before the Athenian Assembly—which you expect to occur in a very few days—you will stand forth and prove to the people that you are more worthy of honor than either Pericles or anyone else who has ever existed, and that having proved this you will have the greatest power in the state; and that if you are the greatest here, you will be the same among all the other Greeks, and not only Greeks, but all the barbarians who inhabit the same continent with us. And if that same god should say to you again, that you are to hold sway here in Europe, but are not to be allowed to cross over into Asia and to interfere with the affairs of that region, I believe you would be equally loth to live on those sole conditions either—if you are not to fill, one may say, the whole world with your name and your power; and I fancy that, except Cyrus and Xerxes, you think there has never existed a single man who was of any account. So then that this is your hope, I know well enough; I am not merely guessing. And I daresay you will reply, since you know that what I say is true: Well, Socrates, and what has that to do with your point? I am going to tell you, dear son of Cleinias and Deinomache. Without me it is impossible for all those designs of yours to be crowned with achievement; so great is the power I conceive myself to have over your affairs and over you, and it is for this very reason, I believe, that the god has so long prevented me from talking with you, and I was waiting to see when he would allow me. For as you have hopes of proving yourself in public to be invaluable to the state and, having proved it, of winning forthwith unlimited power, so do I hope to win supreme power over you by proving that I am invaluable to you, and that neither guardian nor kinsman nor anyone else is competent to transmit to you the power that you long for except me, with the god’s help, however. In your younger days, to be sure, before you had built such high hopes, the god, as I believe, prevented me from talking with you, in order that I might not waste my words: but now he has set me on; for now you will listen to me.

Section 106

Alc. You seem to me far more extraordinary, Socrates, now that you have begun to speak, than before, when you followed me about in silence; though even then you looked strange enough. Well, as to my intending all this or not, you have apparently made your decision, and any denial of mine will not avail me to persuade you. Very good: but supposing I have intended ever so much what you say, how are you the sole means through which I can hope to attain it? Can you tell me?

Soc. Are you asking whether I can make a long speech, such as you are used to hearing? No, my gift is not of that sort. But I fancy I could prove to you that the case is so, if you will consent to do me just one little service.

Alc. Why, if you mean a service that is not troublesome, I consent.

Soc. Do you consider it troublesome to answer questions put to you?

Alc. No, I do not.

Soc. Then answer.

Alc. Ask.

Soc. Well, you have the intentions which I say you have, I suppose?

Alc. Be it so, if you like, in order that I may know what you will say next.

Soc. Now then: you intend, as I say, to come forward as adviser to the Athenians in no great space of time; well, suppose I were to take hold of you as you were about to ascend the platform, and were to ask you: Alcibiades, on what subject do the Athenians propose to take advice, that you should stand up to advise them? Is it something about which you have better knowledge than they? What would be your reply?

Alc. I should say, I suppose, it was something about which I knew better than they.

Soc. Then you are a good adviser on things about which you actually know.

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. And you know only the things you have learnt from others or discovered yourself?

Alc. What could I know besides?

Soc. And can it be that you would ever have learnt or discovered anything without being willing either to learn it or to inquire into it yourself?

Alc. No.

Soc. Well then, would you have been willing to inquire into or learn what you thought you knew?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. So there was a time when you did not think that you knew what you now actually know.

Alc. There must have been.

Soc. Well, but I know pretty nearly the things that you have learnt: tell me if anything has escaped me. You learnt, if I recollect, writing and harping and wrestling; as for fluting, you refused to learn it. These are the things that you know, unless perhaps there is something you have been learning unobserved by me; and this you were not, I believe, if you so much as stepped out of doors either by night or by day.

Alc. No, I have taken no other lessons than those.

Section 107

Soc. Then tell me, will it be when the Athenians are taking advice how they are to do their writing correctly that you are to stand up and advise them?

Alc. Upon my word, not I.

Soc. Well, about strokes on the lyre?

Alc. Not at all.

Soc. Nor in fact are they accustomed to deliberate on throws in wrestling either at the Assembly.

Alc. No, to be sure.

Soc. Then what will be the subject of the advice? For I presume it will not be about building.

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. For a builder will give better advice than you in that matter.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Nor yet will it be about divination?

Alc. No.

Soc. For there again a diviner will serve better than you.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Whether he be short or tall, handsome or ugly, nay, noble or ignoble.

Alc. Of course.

Soc. For on each subject the advice comes from one who knows, not one who has riches.

Alc. Of course.

Soc. And whether their mentor be poor or rich will make no difference to the Athenians when they deliberate for the health of the citizens; all that they require of their counsellor is that he be a physician.

Alc. Naturally.

Soc. Then what will they have under consideration if you are to be right in standing up, when you do so, as their counsellor?

Alc. Their own affairs, Socrates.

Soc. Do you mean with regard to shipbuilding, and the question as to what sort of ships they ought to get built?

Alc. No, I do not, Socrates.

Soc. Because, I imagine, you do not understand shipbuilding. Is that, and that alone, the reason?

Alc. That is just the reason.

Soc. Well, on what sort of affairs of their own do you mean that they will be deliberating?

Alc. On war, Socrates, or on peace, or on any other of the state’s affairs.

Soc. Do you mean that they will be deliberating with whom they ought to make peace, and on whom they ought to make war, and in what manner?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And on whom it is better to do so, ought they not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And at such time as it is better?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. And for so long as they had better?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Now if the Athenians should deliberate with whom they should wrestle close, and with whom only at arm’s length, and in what manner, would you or the wrestling-master be the better adviser?

Alc. The wrestling-master, I presume.

Soc. And can you tell me what the wrestling-master would have in view when he advised as to the persons with whom they ought or ought not to wrestle close, and when and in what manner? What I mean is something like this: ought they not to wrestle close with those with whom it is better to do so?

Alc. Yes.

Section 108

Soc. And so far as is better, too?

Alc. So far.

Soc. And at such time also as is better?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. But again, when one sings, one has sometimes to accompany the song with harping and stepping?

Alc. Yes, one has.

Soc. And at such time as is better?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And so far as is better?

Alc. I agree.

Soc. Well now, since you applied the term better to the two cases of harping for accompaniment of a song and close wrestling, what do you call the better in the case of harping, to correspond with what in the case of wrestling I call gymnastic? What do you call the other?

Alc. I do not understand.

Soc. Well, try to copy me: for my answer gave you, I think, what is correct in every instance; and that is correct, I presume, which proceeds by rule of the art, is it not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And was not the art here gymnastic?

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. And I said that the better in the case of wrestling was gymnastic.

Alc. You did.

Soc. And I was quite fair?

Alc. I think so.

Soc. Come then, in your turn—for it would befit you also, I fancy, to argue fairly —tell me, first, what is the art which includes harping and singing and treading the measure correctly? What is it called as a whole? You cannot yet tell me?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Well, try another way: who are the goddesses that foster the art?

Alc. The Muses, you mean, Socrates?

Soc. I do. Now, just think, and say by what name the art is called after them.

Alc. Music, I suppose you mean.

Soc. Yes, I do. And what is that which proceeds correctly by its rule? As in the other case I was correct in mentioning to you gymnastic as that which goes by the art, so I ask you, accordingly, what you say in this case. What manner of proceeding is required?

Alc. A musical one, I suppose.

Soc. You are right. Come then, what is it that you term better, in respect of what is better in waging war and being at peace? Just as in our other instances you said that the better implied the more musical and again, in the parallel case, the more gymnastical, try now if you can tell me what is the better in this case.

Alc. But I am quite unable.

Section 109

Soc. But surely that is disgraceful; for if you should speak to somebody as his adviser on food, and say that one sort was better than another, at this time and in this quantity, and he then asked you—What do you mean by the better, Alcibiades?—in a matter like that you could tell him you meant the more wholesome, although you do not set up to be a physician; yet in a case where you set up to have knowledge and are ready to stand up and advise as though you knew, are you not ashamed to be unable, as appears, to answer a question upon it? Does it not seem disgraceful?

Alc. Very.

Soc. Then consider and do your best to tell me the connection of better in being at peace or at war with those to whom we ought to be so disposed.

Alc. Well, I am considering, but I fail to perceive it.

Soc. But you must know what treatment it is that we allege against each other when we enter upon a war, and what name we give it when we do so?

Alc. I do: we say we are victims of deceit or violence or spoliation.

Soc. Enough: how do we suffer each of these things? Try and tell me what difference there is between one way and another.

Alc. Do you mean by that, Socrates, whether it is in a just way or an unjust way?

Soc. Precisely.

Alc. Why, there you have all the difference in the world.

Soc. Well then, on which sort are you going to advise the Athenians to make war—those who are acting unjustly, or those who are doing what is just?

Alc. That is a hard question: for even if someone decides that he must go to war with those who are doing what is just, he would not admit that they were doing so.

Soc. For that would not be lawful, I suppose?

Alc. No, indeed; nor is it considered honorable either.

Soc. So you too will appeal to these things in making your speeches?

Alc. Necessarily.

Soc. Then must not that better about which I was asking in reference to making or not making war, on those on whom we ought to or not, and when we ought to or not, be simply and solely the juster?

Alc. Apparently it is.

Soc. How now, friend Alcibiades? Have you overlooked your own ignorance of this matter, or have I overlooked your learning it and taking lessons of a master who taught you to distinguish the more just and the more unjust? And who is he? Inform me in my turn, in order that you may introduce me to him as another pupil.

Alc. You are joking, Socrates.

Soc. No, I swear by our common God of Friendship, whose name I would by no means take in vain. Come, if you can, tell me who the man is.

Alc. But what if I cannot? Do you think I could not know about what is just and unjust in any other way?

Soc. Yes, you might, supposing you discovered it.

Alc. But do you not think I might discover it?

Soc. Yes, quite so, if you inquired.

Alc. And do you not think I might inquire?

Soc. I do, if you thought you did not know.

Alc. And was there not a time when I held that view?

Section 110

Soc. Well spoken. Then can you tell me at what time it was that you thought you did not know what is just and unjust? Pray, was it a year ago that you were inquiring, and thought you did not know? Or did you think you knew? Please answer truly, that our debates may not be futile.

Alc. Well, I thought I knew.

Soc. And two years, and three years, and four years back, were you not of the same mind?

Alc. I was.

Soc. But, you see, before that time you were a child, were you not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. So I know well enough that then you thought you knew.

Alc. How do you know it so well?

Soc. Many a time I heard you, when as a child you were dicing or playing some other game at your teacher’s or elsewhere, instead of showing hesitation about what was just and unjust, speak in very loud and confident tones about one or other of your playmates, saying he was a rascal and a cheat who played unfairly. Is not this a true account?

Alc. But what was I to do, Socrates, when somebody cheated me?

Soc. Yet if you were ignorant then whether you were being unfairly treated or not, how can you ask—What are you to do?

Alc. Well, but on my word, I was not ignorant: no, I clearly understood that I was being wronged.

Soc. So you thought you knew, even as a child, it seems, what was just and unjust.

Alc. I did; and I knew too.

Soc. At what sort of time did you discover it? For surely it was not while you thought you knew.

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Then when did you think you were ignorant? Consider; I believe you will fail to find such a time.

Alc. Upon my word, Socrates, I really cannot say.

Soc. So you do not know it by discovery.

Alc. Not at all, apparently.

Soc. But you said just now that you did not know it by learning either; and if you neither discovered nor learnt it, how do you come to know it, and whence?

Alc. Well, perhaps that answer I gave you was not correct, that I knew it by my own discovery.

Soc. Then how was it done?

Alc. I learnt it, I suppose, in the same way as everyone else.

Soc. Back we come to the same argument. From whom? Please tell me.

Alc. From the many.

Soc. They are no very serious teachers with whom you take refuge, if you ascribe it to the many!

Alc. Why, are they not competent to teach?

Soc. Not how to play, or not to play, draughts; and yet that, I imagine, is a slight matter compared with justice. What? Do you not think so?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then if they are unable to teach the slighter, can they teach the more serious matter?

Alc. I think so: at any rate, there are many other things that they are able to teach, more serious than draughts.

Soc. What sort of things?

Section 111

Alc. For instance, it was from them that I learnt to speak Greek, and I could not say who was my teacher, but can only ascribe it to the same people who, you say, are not serious teachers.

Soc. Ah, gallant sir, the many may be good teachers of that, and they can justly be praised for their teaching of such subjects.

Alc. And why?

Soc. Because in those subjects they have the equipment proper to good teachers.

Alc. What do you mean by that?

Soc. You know that those who are going to teach anything should first know it themselves, do you not?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. And that those who know should agree with each other and not differ?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. But if they differ upon anything, will you say that they know it?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Then how can they be teachers of it?

Alc. By no means.

Soc. Well now, do you find that the many differ about the nature of stone or wood? If you ask one of them, do they not agree on the same answer, and make for the same things when they want to get a piece of stone or wood? It is just the same, too, with everything of the sort: for I am pretty nearly right in understanding you to mean just this by knowing how to speak Greek, am I not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And on these matters, as we stated, they not only agree with each other and with themselves in private, but states also use in public the same terms about them to each other, without any dispute?

Alc. They do.

Soc. Then naturally they will be good teachers of these matters.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And if we should wish to provide anyone with knowledge of them, we should be right in sending him to be taught by the many that you speak of?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. But what if we wished to know not only what men were like or what horses were like, but which of them were good runners or not? Would the many still suffice to teach us this?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. And you have ample proof that they do not know this, and are not proficient teachers of it, in their not agreeing about it at all with themselves?

Alc. I have.

Soc. And what if we wished to know not only what men were like, but what healthy or diseased men were like? Would the many suffice to teach us?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. And you would have proof of their being bad teachers of that, if you saw them differing about it?

Alc. I should.

Section 112

Soc. Well then, do you now find that the many agree with themselves or each other about just and unjust men or things?

Alc. Far from it, on my word, Socrates.

Soc. In fact, they differ most especially on these points?

Alc. Very much so.

Soc. And I suppose you never yet saw or heard of people differing so sharply on questions of health or the opposite as to fight and kill one another in battle because of them.

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. But on questions of justice or injustice I am sure you have; and if you have not seen them, at any rate you have heard of them from many people, especially Homer. For you have heard the Odyssey and the Iliad?

Alc. I certainly have, I suppose, Socrates.

Soc. And these poems are about a difference of just and unjust

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And from this difference arose the fights and deaths of the Achaeans, and of the Trojans as well, and of the suitors of Penelope in their strife with Odysseus.

Alc. That is true.

Soc. And I imagine that when the Athenians and Spartans and Boeotians lost their men at Tanagra, and later at Coronea, among whom your own father perished, the difference that caused their deaths and fights was solely on a question of just and unjust, was it not?

Alc. That is true.

Soc. Then are we to say that these people understand those questions, on which they differ so sharply that they are led by their mutual disputes to take these extreme measures against each other?

Alc. Apparently not.

Soc. And you refer me to teachers of that sort, whom you admit yourself to be without knowledge?

Alc. It seems I do.

Soc. Then how is it likely that you should know what is just and unjust, when you are so bewildered about these matters and are shown to have neither learnt them from anyone nor discovered them for yourself?.

Alc. By what you say, it is not likely.

Soc. There again, Alcibiades, do you see how unfairly you speak?

Alc. In what ?

Soc. In stating that I say so.

Alc. Why, do you not say that l do not know about the just and unjust?

Soc. Not at all.

Alc. Well, do I say it?

Soc. Yes.

Alc. How, pray ?

Soc. I will show you, in the following way. If I ask you which is the greater number, one or two, you will answer two?

Alc. Yes, I shall.

Soc. How much greater?

Alc. By one.

Soc. Then which of us says that two are one more than one?

Alc. I.

Soc. And I was asking, and you were answering?

Alc. Yes.

Section 113

Soc. Then is it I, the questioner, or you the answerer, that are found to be speaking about these things?

Alc. I.

Soc. And what if I ask what are the letters in Socrates, and you tell me? Which will be the speaker?

Alc. I.

Soc. Come then, tell me, as a principle, when we have question and answer, which is the speaker—the questioner, or the answerer?

Alc. The answerer, I should say, Socrates.

Soc. And throughout the argument so far, I was the questioner?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And you the answerer?

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. Well then, which of us has spoken what has been said?

Alc. Apparently, Socrates, from what we have admitted, it was I.

Soc. And it was said that Alcibiades, the fair son of Cleinias, did not know about just and unjust, but thought he did, and intended to go to the Assembly as adviser to the Athenians on what he knows nothing about; is not that so?

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. Then, to quote Euripides, the result is, Alcibiades, that you may be said to have heard it from yourself, not me, and it is not I who say it, but you, and you tax me with it in vain. And indeed what you say is quite true. For it is a mad scheme this, that you meditate, my excellent friend—of teaching things that you do not know, since you have taken no care to learn them.

Alc. I think, Socrates, that the Athenians and the rest of the Greeks rarely deliberate as to which is the more just or unjust course: for they regard questions of this sort as obvious; and so they pass them over and consider which course will prove more expedient in the result. For the just and the expedient, I take it, are not the same, but many people have profited by great wrongs that they have committed, whilst others, I imagine, have had no advantage from doing what was right.

Soc. What then? Granting that the just and the expedient are in fact as different as they can be, you surely do not still suppose you know what is expedient for mankind, and why it is so?

Alc. Well, what is the obstacle, Socrates,—unless you are going to ask me again from whom I learnt it, or how I discovered it for myself?

Section 114

Soc. What a way of going on! If your answer is incorrect, and a previous argument can be used to prove it so, you claim to be told something new, and a different line of proof, as though the previous one were like a poor worn-out coat which you refuse to wear any longer; you must be provided instead with something clean and unsoiled in the way of evidence. But I shall ignore your sallies in debate, and shall none the less ask you once more, where you learnt your knowledge of what is expedient, and who is your teacher, asking in one question all the things I asked before; and now you will clearly find yourself in the same plight, and will be unable to prove that you know the expedient either through discovery or through learning. But as you are dainty, and would dislike a repeated taste of the same argument, I pass over this question of whether you know or do not know what is expedient for the Athenians: but why have you not made it clear whether the just and the expedient are the same or different? If you like, question me as I did you, or if you prefer, argue out the matter in your own way.

Alc. But I am not sure I should be able, Socrates, to set it forth to you.

Soc. Well, my good sir, imagine I am the people in Assembly; even there, you know, you will have to persuade each man singly, will you not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And the same man may well persuade one person singly, and many together, about things that he knows, just as the schoolmaster, I suppose, persuades either one or many about letters?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And again, will not the same man persuade either one or many about number?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And this will be the man who knows—the arithmetician?

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. And you too can persuade a single man about things of which you can persuade many?

Alc. Presumably.

Soc. And these are clearly things that you know.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And the only difference between the orator speaking before the people and one who speaks in a conversation like ours is that the former persuades men in a number together of the same things, and the latter persuades them one at a time?

Alc. It looks like it.

Soc. Come now, since we see that the same man may persuade either many or one, try your unpracticed hand on me, and endeavor to show that the just is sometimes not expedient.

Alc. You are insolent, Socrates!

Soc. This time, at any rate, I am going to have the insolence to persuade you of the opposite of that which you decline to prove to me.

Alc. Speak, then.

Soc. Just answer my questions.

Alc. No, you yourself must be the speaker.

Soc. What? Do you not wish above all things to be persuaded?

Alc. By all means, to be sure.

Soc. And you would best be persuaded if you should say the case is so?

Alc. I agree.

Soc. Then answer; and if you do not hear your own self say that the just is expedient, put no trust in the words of anyone again.

Alc. I will not: but I may as well answer; for I do not think I shall come to any harm.

Section 115

Soc. You are quite a prophet! Now tell me, do you consider some just things to be expedient, and others not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And again, some noble, and some not?

Alc. What do you mean by that question?

Soc. I would ask whether anyone ever seemed to you to be doing what was base and yet just.

Alc. Never.

Soc. Well, are all just things noble?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And what of noble things, in their turn? Are they all good, or some only, while others are not?

Alc. In my opinion, Socrates, some noble things are evil.

Soc. And some base things are good?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Do you mean as in one of the many cases where men have gone to rescue a comrade or kinsman in battle, and have been either wounded or killed, while those who did not go to the rescue, as duty bade, have got off safe and sound?

Alc. Precisely.

Soc. And such a rescue you call noble, in respect of the endeavor to save those whom it was one’s duty to save; and this is courage, is it not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. But you call it evil, in respect of the deaths and wounds?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And is not the courage one thing, and the death another?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. Then it is not in the same respect that rescuing one’s friends is noble and evil?

Alc. Apparently not.

Soc. Then see if, inasmuch as it is noble, it is also good; for in the present case you were admitting that the rescue was noble in respect of its courage: now consider this very thing, courage, and say whether it is good or bad. Consider it in this way: which would you choose to have, good things or evil?

Alc. Good.

Soc. And most of all, the greatest goods, and of such things you would least allow yourself to be deprived?

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. Then what do you say of courage? At what price would you allow yourself to be deprived of it?

Alc. I would give up life itself if I had to be a coward.

Soc. Then you regard cowardice as the uttermost evil.

Alc. I do.

Soc. On a par with death, it seems.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And life and courage are the extreme opposites of death and cowardice?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And you would most desire to have the former, and least the latter?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Is that because you think the former best, and the latter worst?

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. So you reckon courage among the best things, and death among the worst.

Alc. I do.

Soc. Then the rescue of one’s friends in battle, inasmuch as it is noble in respect of the working of good by courage, you have termed noble?

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. But evil, in respect of the working of evil by death?

Alc. Yes.

Section 116

Soc. So we may fairly describe each of these workings as follows: as you call either of them evil because of the evil it produces, so you must call it good because of the good it produces.

Alc. I believe that is so.

Soc. And again, are they noble inasmuch as they are good, and base inasmuch as they are evil?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then in saying that the rescue of one’s friends in battle is noble and yet evil, you mean just the same as if you called the rescue good, but evil.

Alc. I believe what you say is true, Socrates.

Soc. So nothing noble, in so far as it is noble, is evil, and nothing base, in so far as it is base, is good.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. Now then, consider it again in this way: whoever does nobly, does well too, does he not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And are not those who do well happy?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. And they are happy because of the acquisition of good things?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. And they acquire these by doing well and nobly?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. So doing well is good?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. And welfare is noble?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Hence we have seen again that noble and good are the same thing.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. Then whatever we find to be noble we shall find also to be good, by this argument at least.

Alc. We must.

Soc. Well then, are good things expedient or not?

Alc. Expedient.

Soc. And do you remember what our admissions were about just things?

Alc. I think we said that those who do just things must do noble things.

Soc. And that those who do noble things must do good things?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And that good things are expedient?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Hence just things, Alcibiades, are expedient.

Alc. So it seems.

Soc. Well now, are not you the speaker of all this, and I the questioner?

Alc. I seem to be, apparently.

Soc. So if anyone stands up to advise either the Athenians or the Peparethians, imagining that he understands what is just and unjust, and says that just things are sometimes evil, could you do other than laugh him to scorn, since you actually say yourself that just and expedient are the same?

Alc. But by Heaven, Socrates, I do not even know what I am saying, I feel altogether in such a strange state! For from moment to moment I change my view under your questioning.

Soc. And are you unaware, my friend, what this feeling is?

Alc. I am, quite.

Soc. Well, do you suppose that if someone should ask you whether you have two eyes or three, two hands or four, or anything else of that sort, you would answer differently from moment to moment, or always the same thing?

Section 117

Alc. I begin to have misgivings about myself, but still I think I should make the same answer.

Soc. And the reason would be, because you know?

Alc. I think so.

Soc. Then if you involuntarily give contradictory answers, clearly it must be about things of which you are ignorant.

Alc. Very likely.

Soc. And you say you are bewildered in answering about just and unjust, noble and base, evil and good, expedient and inexpedient? Now, is it not obvious that your bewilderment is caused by your ignorance of these things?

Alc. I agree.

Soc. Then is it the case that when a man does not know a thing he must needs be bewildered in spirit regarding that thing?

Alc. Yes, of course.

Soc. Well now, do you know in what way you can ascend to heaven?

Alc. On my word, not I.

Soc. Is that too a kind of question about which your judgement is bewildered?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Do you know the reason, or shall I state it?

Alc. State it.

Soc. It is, my friend, that while not knowing the matter you do not suppose that you know it.

Alc. Here again, how do you mean?

Soc. Do your share, in seeing for yourself. Are you bewildered about the kind of thing that you do not know and are aware of not knowing? For instance, you know, I suppose, that you do not know about the preparation of a tasty dish?

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. Then do you think for yourself how you are to prepare it, and get bewildered, or do you entrust it to the person who knows?

Alc. I do the latter.

Soc. And what if you should be on a ship at sea? Would you think whether the tiller should be moved inwards or outwards, and in your ignorance bewilder yourself, or would you entrust it to the helmsman, and be quiet?

Alc. I would leave it to him.

Soc. So you are not bewildered about what you do not know, so long as you know that you do not know?

Alc. It seems I am not,

Soc. Then do you note that mistakes in action also are due to this ignorance of thinking one knows when one does not?

Alc. Here again, how do you mean?

Soc. We set about acting, I suppose, when we think we know what we are doing?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. But when people think they do not know, I suppose they hand it over to others?

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. And so that kind of ignorant person makes no mistakes in life, because they entrust such matters to others?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Who then are those who make mistakes? For, I take it, they cannot be those who know.

Alc. No, indeed.

Section 118

Soc. But since it is neither those who know, nor those of the ignorant who know that they do not know, the only people left, I think, are those who do not know, but think that they do?

Alc. Yes, only those.

Soc. Then this ignorance is a cause of evils, and is the discreditable sort of stupidity?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And when it is about the greatest matters, it is most injurious and base?

Alc. By far.

Soc. Well then, can you mention any greater things than the just, the noble, the good, and the expedient?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. And it is about these, you say, that you are bewildered?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. But if you are bewildered, is it not clear from what has gone before that you are not only ignorant of the greatest things, but while not knowing them you think that you do?

Alc. I am afraid so.

Soc. Alack then, Alcibiades, for the plight you are in! I shrink indeed from giving it a name, but still, as we are alone, let me speak out. You are wedded to stupidity, my fine friend, of the vilest kind; you are impeached of this by your own words, out of your own mouth; and this, it seems, is why you dash into politics before you have been educated. And you are not alone in this plight, but you share it with most of those who manage our city’s affairs, except just a few, and perhaps your guardian, Pericles.

Alc. Yes, you know, Socrates, they say he did not get his wisdom independently, but consorted with many wise men, such as Pythocleides and Anaxagoras ; and now, old as he is, he still confers with Damon for that very purpose.

Soc. Well, but did you ever find a man who was wise in anything and yet unable to make another man wise in the same things as himself? For instance, the man who taught you letters was wise himself, and also made you wise, and anyone else he wished to, did he not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And you too, who learnt from him, will be able to make another man wise?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And the same holds of the harper and the trainer?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. For, I presume, it is a fine proof of one’s knowing anything that one knows, when one is able to point to another man whom one has made to know it.

Alc. I agree.

Soc. Well then, can you tell me whom Pericles made wise? One of his sons, to begin with?

Alc. But what if the two sons of Pericles were simpletons, Socrates?

Soc. Well, Cleinias, your brother.

Alc. But why should you mention Cleinias, a madman?

Soc. Well, if Cleinias is mad and the two sons of Pericles were simpletons, what reason are we to assign, in your case, for his allowing you to be in your present condition?

Alc. I believe I am myself to blame for not attending to him.

Section 119

Soc. But tell me of any other Athenian or foreigner, slave or freeman, who is accounted to have become wiser through converse with Pericles; as I can tell you that Pythodorus son of Isolochus, and Callias, son of Calliades, became through that of Zeno ; each of them has paid Zeno a hundred minae, and has become both wise and distinguished.

Alc. Well, upon my word, I cannot.

Soc. Very good: then what is your intention regarding yourself? Will you remain as you are, or take some trouble?

Alc. We must put our heads together, Socrates. And indeed, as soon as you speak, I take the point and agree. For the men who manage the city’s affairs, apart from a few, do strike me as uneducated.

Soc. Then what does that mean?

Alc. That if they were educated, I suppose anyone who undertook to contend against them would have to get some knowledge and practice first, as he would for a match with athletes: but now, seeing that these men have gone in for politics as amateurs, what need is there for me to practise and have the trouble of learning? For I am sure that my natural powers alone will give me an easy victory over them.

Soc. Ho, ho, my good sir, what a thing to say! How unworthy of your looks and your other advantages!

Alc. What is your meaning now, Socrates? What is the connection?

Soc. I am grieved for you, and for my love.

Alc. Why, pray?

Soc. That you should expect your contest to be with the men we have here.

Alc. Well, but with whom is it to be?

Soc. Is that a worthy question to be asked by a man who considers himself high-spirited?

Alc. How do you mean? Is not my contest with these men?

Soc. Well, suppose you were intending to steer a warship into action, would you be content to be the best hand among the crew at steering or, while regarding this skill as a necessary qualification, would you keep your eye on your actual opponents in the fight, and not, as now, on your fellow-fighters? These, I conceive, you ought so far to surpass that they would not feel fit to be your opponents, but only to be your despised fellow-fighters against the enemy, if you mean really to make your mark with some noble action that will be worthy both of yourself and of the city.

Alc. Why, I do mean to.

Soc. So you think it quite fitting for you to be satisfied if you are better than the soldiers, but neglect to keep your eye on the enemy’s leaders with a view to showing yourself better than they are, or to plan and practise against them!

Section 120

Alc. Of whom are you speaking now, Socrates?

Soc. Do you not know that our city makes war occasionally on the Spartans and on the Great King?

Alc. That is true.

Soc. And if you are minded to be the head of our state, you would be right in thinking that your contest is with the kings of Sparta and of Persia?

Alc. That sounds like the truth.

Soc. No, my good friend; you ought rather to keep your eye on Meidias the quail-filliper and others of his sort—who undertake to manage the city’s affairs, while they still have the slavish hair (as the women would say) showing in their minds through their lack of culture, and have not yet got rid of it; who, moreover, have come with their outlandish speech to flatter the state, not to rule it—to these, I tell you, should your eyes be turned; and then you can disregard yourself, and need neither learn what is to be learnt for the great contest in which you are to be engaged, nor practise what requires practice, and so ensure that you are perfectly prepared before entering upon a political career.

Alc. Why, Socrates, I believe you are right; though I think neither the Spartan generals nor the Persian king are at all different from other people.

Soc. But, my excellent friend, consider what this notion of yours means.

Alc. In regard to what?

Soc. First of all, do you think you would take more pains over yourself if you feared them and thought them terrible, or if you did not?

Alc. Clearly, if I thought them terrible.

Soc. And do you think you will come to any harm by taking pains over yourself?

Alc. By no means; rather that I shall get much benefit.

Soc. And on this single count that notion of yours is so much to the bad.

Alc. True.

Soc. Then, in the second place, observe the probability that it is false.

Alc. How so?

Soc. Is it probable that noble races should produce better natures, or not?

Alc. Clearly, noble races would.

Soc. And will not the well-born, provided they are well brought up, probably be perfected in virtue?

Alc. That must be so.

Soc. Then let us consider, by comparing our lot with theirs, whether the Spartan and Persian kings appear to be of inferior birth. Do we not know that the former are descendants of Hercules and the latter of Achaemenes, and that the line of Hercules and the line of Achaemenes go back to Perseus, son of Zeus?

Section 121

Alc. Yes, and mine, Socrates, to Eurysaces, and that of Eurysaces to Zeus!

Soc. Yes, and mine, noble Alcibiades, to Daedalus, and Daedalus to Hephaestus, son of Zeus! But take the lines of those people, going back from them: you have a succession of kings reaching to Zeus—on the one hand, kings of Argos and Sparta; on the other, of Persia, which they have always ruled, and frequently Asia also, as at present; whereas we are private persons ourselves, and so were our fathers. And then, suppose that you had to make what show you could of your ancestors, and of Salamis as the native land of Eurysaces, or of Aegina as the home of the yet earlier Aeacus, to impress Artaxerxes, son of Xerxes, how you must expect to be laughed at! Why, I am afraid we are quite outdone by those persons in pride of birth and upbringing altogether. Or have you not observed how great are the advantages of the Spartan kings, and how their wives are kept under statutory ward of the ephors, in order that every possible precaution may be taken against the king being born of any but the Heracleidae? And the Persian king so far surpasses us that no one has a suspicion that he could have been born of anybody but the king before him; and hence the king’s wife has nothing to guard her except fear. When the eldest son, the heir to the throne, is born, first of all the king’s subjects who are in his palace have a feast, and then for ever after on that date the whole of Asia celebrates the king’s birthday with sacrifice and feasting: but when we are born, as the comic poet says, even the neighbors barely notice it, Alcibiades. After that comes the nurture of the child, not at the hands of a woman-nurse of little worth, but of the most highly approved eunuchs in the king’s service, who are charged with the whole tendance of the new-born child, and especially with the business of making him as handsome as possible by moulding his limbs into a correct shape; and while doing this they are in high honor. When the boys are seven years old they are given horses and have riding lessons, and they begin to follow the chase. And when the boy reaches fourteen years he is taken over by the royal tutors, as they call them there: these are four men chosen as the most highly esteemed among the Persians of mature age, namely, the wisest one, the justest one, the most temperate one, and the bravest one.

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Soc. The first of these teaches him the magian lore of Zoroaster, son of Horomazes; and that is the worship of the gods: he teaches him also what pertains to a king. The justest teaches him to be truthful all his life long; the most temperate, not to be mastered by even a single pleasure, in order that he may be accustomed to be a free man and a veritable king, who is the master first of all that is in him, not the slave; while the bravest trains him to be fearless and undaunted, telling him that to be daunted is to be enslaved. But you, Alcibiades, had a tutor set over you by Pericles from amongst his servants,who was old as to be the most useless of them, Zopyrus the Thracian. I might describe to you at length the nurture and education of your competitors, were it not too much of a task; and besides, what I have said suffices to show the rest that follows thereon. But about your birth, Alcibiades, or nurture or education, or about those of any other Athenian, one may say that nobody cares, unless it be some lover whom you chance to have. And again, if you chose to glance at the wealth, the luxury, the robes with sweeping trains, the anointings with myrrh, the attendant troops of menials, and all the other refinements of the Persians, you would be ashamed at your own case, on perceiving its inferiority to theirs. Should you choose, again, to look at the temperance and orderliness, the facility and placidity, the magnanimity and discipline, the courage and endurance, and the toil-loving, success-loving, honor-loving spirit of the Spartans, you would count yourself but a child in all these things. If again you regard wealth, and think yourself something in that way, I must not keep silence on this point either, if you are to realize where you stand. For in this respect you have only to look at the wealth of the Spartans, and you will perceive that our riches here are far inferior to theirs. Think of all the land that they have both in their own and in the Messenian country: not one of our estates could compete with theirs in extent and excellence, nor again in ownership of slaves, and especially of those of the helot class, nor yet of horses, nor of all the flocks and herds that graze in Messene. However, I pass over all these things: but there is more gold and silver privately held in Lacedaemon than in the whole of Greece; for during many generations treasure has been passing in to them from every part of Greece, and often from the barbarians also, but not passing out to anyone; and just as in the fable of Aesop, where the fox remarked to the lion on the direction of the footmarks, the traces of the money going into Lacedaemon are clear enough, but nowhere are any to be seen of it coming out;

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Soc. so that one can be pretty sure that those people are the richest of the Greeks in gold and silver, and that among themselves the richest is the king; for the largest and most numerous receipts of the kind are those of the kings, and besides there is the levy of the royal tribute in no slight amount, which the Spartans pay to their kings. Now, the Spartan fortunes, though great compared with the wealth of other Greeks, are nought beside that of the Persians and their king. For I myself was once told by a trustworthy person, who had been up to their court, that he traversed a very large tract of excellent land, nearly a day’s journey, which the inhabitants called the girdle of the king’s wife, and another which was similarly called her veil; and many other fine and fertile regions reserved for the adornment of the consort; and each of these regions was named after some part of her apparel. So I imagine, if someone should say to the king’s mother Amestris, who was wife of Xerxes, The son of Deinomache intends to challenge your son; the mother’s dresses are worth perhaps fifty minae at the outside, while the son has under three hundred acres at Erchiae, she would wonder to what on earth this Alcibiades could be trusting, that he proposed to contend against Artaxerxes; and I expect she would remark—The only possible things that the man can be trusting to for his enterprise are industry and wisdom; for these are the only things of any account among the Greeks. Whereas if she were informed that this Alcibiades who is actually making such an attempt is, in the first place, as yet barely twenty years old, and secondly, altogether uneducated; and further, that when his lover tells him that he must first learn, and take pains over himself, and practise, before he enters on a contest with the king, he refuses, and says he will do very well as he is; I expect she would ask in surprise, On what, then, can the youngster rely? And if we told her, On beauty, stature, birth, wealth, and mental gifts, she would conclude we were mad, Alcibiades, when she compared the advantages of her own people in all these respects.

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Soc. And I imagine that even Lampido, daughter of Leotychides and wife of Archidamus and mother of Agis, who have all been kings, would wonder in the same way, when she compared her people’s resources, at your intention of having a contest with her son despite your bad upbringing. And yet, does it not strike you as disgraceful that our enemies’ wives should have a better idea of the qualities that we need for an attempt against them than we have ourselves? Ah, my remarkable friend, listen to me and the Delphic motto, Know thyself; for these people are our competitors, not those whom you think; and there is nothing that will give us ascendancy over them save only pains and skill. If you are found wanting in these, you will be found wanting also in achievement of renown among Greeks and barbarians both; and of this I observe you to be more enamored than anyone else ever was of anything.

Alc. Well then, what are the pains that I must take, Socrates? Can you enlighten me? For I must say your words are remarkably like the truth.

Soc. Yes, I can: but we must put our heads together, you know, as to the way in which we can improve ourselves to the utmost. For observe that when I speak of the need of being educated I am not referring only to you, apart from myself; since my case is identical with yours except in one point.

Alc. What is that ?

Soc. My guardian is better and wiser than your one, Pericles.

Alc. Who is he, Socrates?

Soc. God, Alcibiades, who until this day would not let me converse with you; and trusting in him I say that through no other man but me will you attain to eminence.

Alc. You are jesting, Socrates.

Soc. Perhaps; I am right, however, in saying that we need to take pains—all men rather badly, but we two very badly indeed.

Alc. As to me, you are not wrong.

Soc. Nor, I fear, as to myself either.

Alc. Then what can we do?

Soc. There must be no crying off or skulking, my good friend.

Alc. No, for that would indeed be unseemly, Socrates.

Soc. It would; so let us consider in common. Now tell me: we say, do we not, that we wish to be as good as possible?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. In what excellence?

Alc. Clearly that which is the aim of good men.

Soc. Good in what?

Alc. Clearly, good in the management of affairs.

Soc. What sort of affairs? Horsemanship?

Alc. No, no.

Soc. Because we should apply to horsemen?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Well, seamanship, do you mean?

Alc. No.

Soc. Because we should apply to seamen?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Well, what sort of thing? The business of what men?

Alc. Of Athenian gentlemen.

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Soc. Do you mean by gentlemen the intelligent or the unintelligent?

Alc. The intelligent.

Soc. And everyone is good in that wherein he is intelligent?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And bad wherein he is unintelligent?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. Then is the shoemaker intelligent in the making of foot-gear?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. So he is good in that article?

Alc. Good.

Soc. Well now, is not the shoemaker unintelligent in the making of clothes?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. So he is bad in that?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then, on this showing, the same man is both bad and good.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. Well, can you say that good men are also bad?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. But whoever do you mean by the good?

Alc. I mean those who are able to rule in the city.

Soc. Not, I presume, over horses?

Alc. No, no.

Soc. But over men?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. When they are sick?

Alc. No.

Soc. Or at sea?

Alc. I say, no.

Soc. Or harvesting?

Alc. No.

Soc. Doing nothing, or doing something?

Alc. Doing something, I say.

Soc. Doing what? Try and let me know.

Alc. Well, men who do business with each other and make use of one another, as is our way of life in our cities.

Soc. Then you speak of ruling over men who make use of men?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Over boatswains who make use of rowers?

Alc. No, no.

Soc. Because that is the pilot’s distinction?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Well, do you mean ruling over men who are flute-players, and who lead the singing and make use of dancers?

Alc. No, no.

Soc. Because, again, that is the chorus-teacher’s function?

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. But whatever do you mean by being able to rule over men who make use of men?

Alc. I mean ruling over men in the city who share in it as fellow-citizens, and do business with each other.

Soc. Well, what art is this? Suppose I should ask you over again, as I did just now, what art makes men know how to rule over fellow-sailors?

Alc. The pilot’s.

Soc. And what knowledge—to repeat what was said a moment ago—makes them rule over their fellow-singers?

Alc. That which you just mentioned, the chorus-teacher’s.

Soc. Well now, what do you call the knowledge of one’s fellow-citizens?

Alc. Good counsel, I should say, Socrates.

Soc. Well, and is the pilot’s knowledge evil counsel?

Alc. No, no.

Soc. Rather good counsel?

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Alc. So I should think, for the preservation of his passengers.

Soc. Quite right. And now, for what is the good counsel of which you speak?

Alc. For the better management and preservation of the city.

Soc. And what is it that becomes present or absent when we get this better management and preservation? If, for example, you should ask me, What is it that becomes present or absent when the body is better managed and preserved?—I should reply, Health becomes present, and disease absent. Do not you think so too?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And if, again, you asked me, What becomes present in a better condition of the eyes?—I should answer in just the same way, Sight becomes present, and blindness absent. So, in the case of the ears, deafness is caused to be absent, and hearing to be present, when they are improved and getting better treatment.

Alc. Correct.

Soc. Well then, what is it that becomes present or absent when a state is improved and has better treatment and management?

Alc. To my mind, Socrates, friendship with one another will be there, while hatred and faction will be absent.

Soc. Now, by friendship do you mean agreement or disagreement?

Alc. Agreement.

Soc. And what art is it that causes states to agree about numbers?

Alc. Arithmetic.

Soc. And what of individuals? Is it not the same art?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And it makes each single person agree with himself?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And what art makes each of us agree with himself as to which is the longer, a span or a cubit? Is it not mensuration?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. And it makes both individuals and states agree with each other?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And what about the balance? Is it not the same here too?

Alc. It is.

Soc. Then what is that agreement of which you speak, and about what? And what art secures it? And is it the same in an individual as in a state, when one agrees with oneself and with another?

Alc. Most likely.

Soc. Well, what is it? Do not flag in your answers, but do your best to tell me.

Alc. I suppose I mean the friendship and agreement that you find when a father and mother love their son, and between brother and brother, and husband and wife.

Soc. Then do you suppose, Alcibiades, that a husband can possibly agree with his wife about woolwork, when he does not understand it, and she does?

Alc. Oh, no.

Soc. Nor has he any need, since that is a woman’s pursuit.

Alc. Yes.

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Soc. Or again, could a woman agree with a man about soldiering, when she has not learnt it?

Alc. Oh, no.

Soc. Because, I expect you will say again, that is a man’s affair.

Alc. I would.

Soc. Then, by your account, there are some pursuits belonging to women, and some to men?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. So in these, at any rate, there is no agreement between men and women.

Alc. No.

Soc. And hence no friendship either, if, as we said, friendship is agreement.

Alc. Apparently not.

Soc. So women are not loved by men, in so far as they do their own work.

Alc. It seems not.

Soc. Nor are men by women, in so far as they do theirs.

Alc. No.

Soc. And states, therefore, are not well ordered in so far as each person does his own business?

Alc. I think they are, Socrates.

Soc. How can you say that? Without the presence of friendship, which we say must be there if states are well ordered, as otherwise they are not?

Alc. But it seems to me that friendship arises among them just on that account—that each of the two parties does its own business.

Soc. It was not so a moment since: but now, what do you mean this time? Does friendship arise where there is no agreement? And is it possible that agreement should arise where some know about the business, but others do not?

Alc. Impossible.

Soc. And are they doing what is just or unjust, when each man does his own business?

Alc. What is just, of course.

Soc. And when the citizens do what is just in the city, does not friendship arise among them?

Alc. Again I think that must be so, Socrates.

Soc. Then whatever do you mean by that friendship or agreement about which we must be wise and well-advised in order that we may be good men? For I am unable to learn either what it is, or in whom; since it appears that the same persons sometimes have it, and sometimes not, by your account.

Alc. Well, by Heaven, Socrates, I do not even know what I mean myself, and I fear that for some time past I have lived unawares in a disgraceful condition.

Soc. But you must take heart. For had you perceived your plight at fifty, it would be hard for you to take pains with yourself; whereas here you are at the time of life when one ought to perceive it.

Alc. Then what should one do on perceiving it, Socrates?

Soc. Answer the questions asked, Alcibiades: only do that, and with Heaven’s favor—if we are to put any trust in my divination—you and I shall both be in better case.

Alc. That shall be, so far as my answering can avail.

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Soc. Come then, what is taking pains over oneself— for we may perchance be taking, unawares, no pains over ourselves, though we think we are—and when does a man actually do it? Does he take pains over himself at the same time as over his own things?

Alc. I at least believe so.

Soc. Well now, when does a man take pains over his feet? Is it when he takes pains over what belongs to his feet?

Alc. I do not understand.

Soc. Is there anything you can name as belonging to the hand? For instance, does a ring belong to any other part of a man but the finger?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. And so the shoe also belongs to the foot, in the same way?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And likewise clothes and coverlets belong to the whole body?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Now when we take pains over our shoes, we take pains over our feet?

Alc. I do not quite understand, Socrates.

Soc. Well, but, Alcibiades, you speak of taking proper pains over this or that matter, do you not?

Alc. I do.

Soc. And do you call it proper pains when someone makes a thing better?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then what art makes shoes better?

Alc. Shoe-making.

Soc. So by shoe-making we take pains over our shoes?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And over our foot too by shoe-making? Or by that art whereby we make feet better?

Alc. By that art.

Soc. And is it not the same one for making our feet as for making the whole body better?

Alc. I think so.

Soc. And is not that gymnastic?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. So by gymnastic we take pains over our foot, but by shoe-making over what belongs to our foot?

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. And by gymnastic over our hands, but by ring-engraving over what belongs to the hand?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And by gymnastic over the body, but by weaving and the rest over what belongs to the body?

Alc. Absolutely so.

Soc. Then for taking pains over a thing itself and over what belongs to it we use different arts.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. So when you take pains over your belongings you are not taking pains over yourself.

Alc. Not at all.

Soc. For the arts, it seems, that one used for taking pains over oneself and over one’s belongings would not be the same.

Alc. Apparently not.

Soc. Come then, whatever kind of art can we use for taking pains over ourselves?

Alc. I cannot say.

Soc. Well, so much at least has been admitted, that it is not one which would help us to make a single one of our possessions better, but one which would help to make ourselves so?

Alc. That is true.

Soc. Now, should we ever have known what art makes a shoe better, if we had not known a shoe?

Alc. Impossible.

Soc. Nor could we know what art makes rings better, if we had no cognizance of a ring.

Alc. True.

Soc. Well then, could we ever know what art makes the man himself better, if we were ignorant of what we are ourselves?

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Alc. Impossible.

Soc. Well, and is it an easy thing to know oneself, and was it a mere scamp who inscribed these words on the temple at Delphi; or is it a hard thing, and not a task for anybody?

Alc. I have often thought, Socrates, that it was for anybody; but often, too, that it was very hard.

Soc. But, Alcibiades, whether it is easy or not, here is the fact for us all the same: if we have that knowledge, we are like to know what pains to take over ourselves; but if we have it not, we never can.

Alc. That is so.

Soc. Come then, in what way can the same-in-itself be discovered? For thus we may discover what we are ourselves; whereas if we remain in ignorance of it we must surely fail.

Alc. Rightly spoken.

Soc. Steady, then, in Heaven’s name! To whom are you talking now? To me, are you not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And I in turn to you ?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then the talker is Socrates?

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. And the hearer, Alcibiades?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And Socrates uses speech in talking?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. And you call talking and using speech the same thing, I suppose.

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. But the user and the thing he uses are different, are they not?

Alc. How do you mean?

Soc. For instance, I suppose a shoemaker uses a round tool, and a square one, and others, when he cuts.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And the cutter and user is quite different from what he uses in cutting?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. And in the same way what the harper uses in harping will be different from the harper himself?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Well then, that is what I was asking just now—whether the user and what he uses are always, in your opinion, two different things.

Alc. They are.

Soc. Then what are we to say of the shoemaker? Does he cut with his tools only, or with his hands as well?

Alc. With his hands as well.

Soc. So he uses these also?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Does he use his eyes, too, in his shoe-making?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And we admit that the user and what he uses are different things?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then the shoemaker and the harper are different from the hands and eyes that they use for their work?

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. And man uses his whole body too?

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. And we said that the user and what he uses are different?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. So man is different from his own body?

Alc. It seems so.

Soc. Then whatever is man?

Alc. I cannot say.

Soc. Oh, but you can—that he is the user of the body.

Alc. Yes.

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Soc. And the user of it must be the soul?

Alc. It must.

Soc. And ruler?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Now, here is a remark from which no one, I think, can dissent.

Alc. What is it?

Soc. That man must be one of three things.

Alc. What things?

Soc. Soul, body, or both together as one whole.

Alc. Very well.

Soc. But yet we have admitted that what actually rules the body is man?

Alc. We have.

Soc. And does the body rule itself?

Alc. By no means.

Soc. Because we have said that it is ruled.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then that cannot be what we are seeking.

Alc. It seems not.

Soc. Well then, does the combination of the two rule the body, so that we are to regard this as man?

Alc. Perhaps it is.

Soc. The unlikeliest thing in the world: for if one of the two does not share in the rule, it is quite inconceivable that the combination of the two can be ruling.

Alc. You are right.

Soc. But since neither the body nor the combination of the two is man, we are reduced, I suppose, to this: either man is nothing at all, or if something, he turns out to be nothing else than soul.

Alc. Precisely so.

Soc. Well, do you require some yet clearer proof that the soul is man?

Alc. No, I assure you: I think it is amply proved.

Soc. And if it is tolerably, though not exactly, we are content; exact knowledge will be ours later, when we have discovered the thing that we passed over just now because it would involve much consideration.

Alc. What is that?

Soc. The point suggested in that remark a moment ago, that we should first consider the same-in-itself; but so far, instead of the same, we have been considering what each single thing is in itself. And perhaps we shall be satisfied with that: for surely we cannot say that anything has more absolute possession of ourselves than the soul.

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. And it is proper to take the view that you and I are conversing with each other, while we make use of words, by intercourse of soul with soul?

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. Well, that is just what we suggested a little while ago—that Socrates, in using words to talk with Alcibiades, is holding speech, not with your face, it would seem, but with Alcibiades—that is, with his soul.

Alc. I believe so.

Soc. Then he who enjoins a knowledge of oneself bids us become acquainted with the soul.

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Alc. So it seems.

Soc. And anyone who gets to know something belonging to the body knows the things that are his, but not himself.

Alc. That is so.

Soc. Then no physician, in so far as he is a physician, knows himself, nor does any trainer, in so far as he is a trainer.

Alc. It seems not.

Soc. And farmers, and craftsmen generally, are far from knowing themselves. For these people, it would seem, do not even know their own things, but only things still more remote than their own things, in respect of the arts which they follow; since they know but the things of the body, with which it is tended.

Alc. That is true.

Soc. So if knowing oneself is temperance, none of these people is temperate in respect of his art.

Alc. None, I agree.

Soc. And that is why these arts are held to be sordid, and no acquirements for a good man.

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. Then once again, whoever tends his body tends his own things, but not himself?

Alc. It looks rather like it.

Soc. But whoever tends his money tends neither himself nor his own things, but only things yet more remote than his own things?

Alc. I agree.

Soc. So that the money-maker has ceased to do his own business.

Alc. Correct.

Soc. And if anyone is found to be a lover of Alcibiades’ body, he has fallen in love, not with Alcibiades, but with something belonging to Alcibiades?

Alc. That is true.

Soc. Your lover is rather he who loves your soul?

Alc. He must be, apparently, by our argument.

Soc. And he who loves your body quits you, and is gone, as soon as its bloom is over?

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. Whereas he who loves your soul will not quit you so long as it makes for what is better?

Alc. So it seems.

Soc. And I am he who does not quit you, but remains with you when your body’s prime is over, and the rest have departed.

Alc. Yes, and I am glad of it, Socrates, and hope you will not go.

Soc. Then you must endeavor to be as handsome as you can.

Alc. Well, I shall endeavor.

Soc. You see how you stand: Alcibiades, the son of Cleinias, it seems, neither had nor has any lover except one only, and that a cherished one, Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus and Phaenarete.

Alc. True.

Soc. And you said that I only just anticipated you in coming to you, for otherwise you would have come to me first for the purpose of inquiring why I am the only one who does not leave you?

Alc. Yes, that was so.

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Soc. Then the reason was that I was the only lover of you, whereas the rest were lovers of what is yours; and that is losing its charm, while you are beginning to bloom. So now, if you are not blighted and deformed by the Athenian people, I shall never forsake you. For my chiefest fear is of your being blighted by becoming a lover of the people, since many a good Athenian has come to that ere now. For fair of face is the people of great-hearted Erechtheus; but you should get a view of it stripped: so take the precaution that I recommend.

Alc. What is it?

Soc. Exercise yourself first, my wonderful friend, in learning what you ought to know before entering on politics; you must wait till you have learnt, in order that you may be armed with an antidote and so come to no harm.

Alc. Your advice seems to me good, Socrates; but try to explain in what way we can take pains over ourselves.

Soc. Well, we have made one step in advance; for there is a pretty fair agreement now as to what we are, whereas we were afraid we might fail of this and take pains, without knowing it, over something other than ourselves.

Alc. That is so.

Soc. And the next step, we see, is to take care of the soul, and look to that.

Alc. Clearly.

Soc. While handing over to others the care of our bodies and our coffers.

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. Then how shall we obtain the most certain knowledge of it? For if we know that, it seems we shall know ourselves also. In Heaven’s name, do we fail to comprehend the wise words of the Delphic inscription, which we mentioned just now?

Alc. With what intent do you say that, Socrates?

Soc. I will tell you what I suspect to be the real advice which the inscription gives us. I rather think there are not many illustrations of it to be found, but only in the case of sight.

Alc. What do you mean by that?

Soc. Consider in your turn: suppose that, instead of speaking to a man, it said to the eye of one of us, as a piece of advice See thyself, how should we apprehend the meaning of the admonition? Would it not be, that the eye should look at that by looking at which it would see itself?

Alc. Clearly.

Soc. Then let us think what object there is anywhere, by looking at which we can see both it and ourselves.

Alc. Why, clearly, Socrates, mirrors and things of that sort.

Soc. Quite right. And there is also something of that sort in the eye that we see with?

Alc. To be sure.

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Soc. And have you observed that the face of the person who looks into another’s eye is shown in the optic confronting him, as in a mirror, and we call this the pupil, for in a sort it is an image of the person looking?

Alc. That is true.

Soc. Then an eye viewing another eye, and looking at the most perfect part of it, the thing wherewith it sees, will thus see itself.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. But if it looks at any other thing in man or at anything in nature but what resembles this, it will not see itself.

Alc. That is true.

Soc. Then if an eye is to see itself, it must look at an eye, and at that region of the eye in which the virtue of an eye is found to occur; and this, I presume, is sight.

Alc. That is so.

Soc. And if the soul too, my dear Alcibiades, is to know herself, she must surely look at a soul, and especially at that region of it in which occurs the virtue of a soul—wisdom, and at any other part of a soul which resembles this?

Alc. I agree, Socrates.

Soc. And can we find any part of the soul that we can call more divine than this, which is the seat of knowledge and thought?

Alc. We cannot.

Soc. Then this part of her resembles God, and whoever looks at this, and comes to know all that is divine, will gain thereby the best knowledge of himself.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. And self-knowledge we admitted to be temperance.

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. So if we have no knowledge of ourselves and no temperance, shall we be able to know our own belongings, good or evil?

Alc. How can that be, Socrates?

Soc. For I expect it seems impossible to you that without knowing Alcibiades you should know that the belongings of Alcibiades are in fact his.

Alc. Impossible indeed, upon my word.

Soc. Nor could we know that our belongings are ours if we did not even know ourselves?

Alc. How could we?

Soc. And so, if we did not so much as know our belongings, we could not know the belongings of our belongings either?

Alc. Apparently not.

Soc. Then we were not quite correct in admitting just now that there are people who, without knowing themselves, know their belongings, while others know their belongings’ belongings. For it seems to be the function of one man and one art to discern all three— himself, his belongings, and the belongings of his belongings.

Alc. It looks like it.

Soc. And anyone who is ignorant of his belongings will be similarly ignorant, I suppose, of the belongings of others.

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. And if ignorant of others’ affairs, he will be ignorant also of the affairs of states.

Alc. He must be.

Soc. Then such a man can never be a statesman.

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. No, nor an economist either.

Section 134

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Nor will he know what he is doing.

Alc. No, I agree.

Soc. And will not he who does not know make mistakes?

Alc. To be sure.

Soc. And when he makes mistakes, will he not do ill both in private and in public?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. And doing ill he will be wretched?

Alc. Yes, very.

Soc. And what of those for whom he is doing so?

Alc. They will be wretched also.

Soc. Then it is impossible to be happy if one is not temperate and good.

Alc. Impossible.

Soc. So it is the bad men who are wretched.

Alc. Yes, very.

Soc. And hence it is not he who has made himself rich that is relieved of wretchedness, but he who has made himself temperate.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. So it is not walls or warships or arsenals that cities need, Alcibiades, if they are to be happy, nor numbers, nor size, without virtue.

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. And if you are to manage the city’s affairs properly and honorably, you must impart virtue to the citizens.

Alc. Of course.

Soc. But could one possibly impart a thing that one had not?

Alc. How, indeed?

Soc. Then you or anyone else who is to be governor and curator, not merely of himself and his belongings in private, but of the state and its affairs, must first acquire virtue himself.

Alc. That is true.

Soc. Hence it is not licence or authority for doing what one pleases that you have to secure to yourself or the state, but justice and temperance.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. For you and the state, if you act justly and temperately, will act so as to please God.

Alc. Naturally.

Soc. And, as we were saying in what went before, you will act with your eyes turned on what is divine and bright.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. Well, and looking thereon you will behold and know both yourselves and your good.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And so you will act aright and well?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Well now, if you act in this way, I am ready to warrant that you must be happy.

Alc. And I can rely on your warranty.

Soc. But if you act unjustly, with your eyes on the godless and dark, the probability is that your acts will resemble these through your ignorance of yourselves.

Alc. That is probable.

Section 135

Soc. For if a man, my dear Alcibiades, is at liberty to do what he pleases, but is lacking in mind, what is the probable result to him personally, or to the state as well? For instance, if he is sick and at liberty to do what he pleases—without a medical mind, but with a despot’s power which prevents anyone from even reproving him—what will be the result? Will not his health, in all likelihood, be shattered?

Alc. That is true.

Soc. Again, in a ship, if a man were at liberty to do what he chose, but were devoid of mind and excellence in navigation, do you perceive what must happen to him and his fellow-sailors?

Alc. I do: they must all perish.

Soc. And in just the same way, if a state, or any office or authority, is lacking in excellence or virtue, it will be overtaken by failure?

Alc. It must.

Soc. Then it is not despotic power, my admirable Alcibiades, that you ought to secure either to yourself or to the state, if you would be happy, but virtue.

Alc. That is true.

Soc. And before getting virtue, to be governed by a superior is better than to govern, for a man as well as a child.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. And the better is also nobler?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And the nobler more becoming?

Alc. Of course.

Soc. Then it becomes a bad man to be a slave, since it is better.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. So vice is a thing that becomes a slave.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. And virtue becomes a free man.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And we should shun, my good friend, all slavishness?

Alc. Most certainly, Socrates.

Soc. And do you now perceive how you stand? Are you on the side of the free, or not?

Alc. I think I perceive only too clearly.

Soc. Then do you know how you may escape from the condition in which you now find yourself? Let us not give it a name, where a handsome person is concerned!

Alc. I do.

Soc. How?

Alc. If it be your wish, Socrates.

Soc. That is not well said, Alcibiades.

Alc. Well, what should I say?

Soc. If it be God’s will.

Alc. Then I say it. And yet I say this besides, that we are like to make a change in our parts, Socrates, so that I shall have yours and you mine. For from this day onward it must be the case that I am your attendant, and you have me always in attendance on you.

Soc. Ah, generous friend! So my love will be just like a stork; for after hatching a winged love in you it is to be cherished in return by its nestling.

Alc. Well, that is the position, and I shall begin here and now to take pains over justice.

Soc. I should like to think you will continue to do so; yet I am apprehensive, not from any distrust of your nature, but in view of the might of the state, lest it overcome both me and you.

Contents — 14 sections

1. Section 138
2. Section 139
3. Section 140
4. Section 141
5. Section 142
6. Section 143
7. Section 144
8. Section 145
9. Section 146
10. Section 147
11. Section 148
12. Section 149
13. Section 150
14. Section 151

Section 138

Soc. Alcibiades, are you on your way to offer a prayer to the god?

Alc. I am, certainly, Socrates.

Soc. You seem, let me say, to have a gloomy look, and to keep your eyes on the ground, as though you were pondering something.

Alc. And what might one ponder, Socrates?

Soc. The greatest of questions, Alcibiades, as I believe. For tell me, in Heaven’s name, do you not think that the gods sometimes grant in part, but in part refuse, what we ask of them in our private and public prayers, and gratify some people, but not others?

Alc. I do, certainly.

Soc. Then you would agree that one should take great precautions against falling unawares into the error of praying for great evils in the belief that they are good, while the gods happen to be disposed to grant freely what one is praying for? Just as Oedipus, they say, suddenly prayed that his sons might divide their patrimony with the sword: it was open to him to pray that his present evils might by some means be averted, but he invoked others in addition to those which he had already. Wherefore not only were those words of his accomplished, but many other dread results therefrom, which I think there is no need to recount in detail.

Alc. But you have instanced a madman, Socrates: why, do you suppose that anyone could bring himself, while he was in a sound state, to utter such a prayer?

Soc. Do you regard madness as the opposite of wisdom?

Alc. Certainly I do.

Soc. And there are some men whom you regard as unwise, and others as wise?

Alc. Why, yes.

Soc. Come then, let us consider who these people are. We have admitted that some are unwise, some wise, and others mad.

Alc. Yes, we have.

Soc. And again, there are some in sound health?

Alc. There are.

Soc. And others also who are in ill-health?

Section 139

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. And they are not the same?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. And are there any others besides, who are found to be in neither state?

Alc. No, to be sure.

Soc. For a human being must needs be either sick or not sick.

Alc. I agree.

Soc. Well then, do you hold the same view about wisdom and unwisdom?

Alc. How do you mean?

Soc. Tell me, do you think it is only possible to be either wise or unwise, or is there some third condition between these, which makes a man neither wise nor unwise?

Alc. No, there is not.

Soc. So he must needs be in one or the other of these two conditions.

Alc. I agree.

Soc. And you remember that you admitted that madness is the opposite of wisdom?

Alc. I do.

Soc. And further, that there is no third condition between these, which makes a man neither wise nor unwise?

Alc. Yes, I admitted that.

Soc. Well now, can there possibly be two opposites of one thing?

Alc. By no means.

Soc. Then it looks as though unwisdom and madness were the same.

Alc. Yes, apparently.

Soc. So we shall be right, Alcibiades, in saying that all unwise persons are mad; for example, such of your contemporaries as happen to be unwise—some such there are—and of your elders, even: for tell me, in Heaven’s name, do you not think that in our city the wise people are but few, whereas the majority are unwise, and these you call mad?

Alc. I do.

Soc. Well, do you suppose we could safely live with so many madmen as our fellow-citizens, and should not long ago have paid the penalty for it in knocks and blows at their hands, and all the usual proceedings of madmen? Consider now, my wonderful friend, whether the case is not quite different?

Alc. Well, it must be, Socrates. For it looks as though it were not as I thought.

Soc. And I think so too. But there is another way of regarding it.

Alc. I wonder what way you mean.

Soc. Well, I will tell you. We conceive there are some who are sick, do we not?

Alc. We do, to be sure.

Soc. And do you believe that a sick man must necessarily have the gout, or a fever, or ophthalmia? Do you not think that, although he may be afflicted in none of these ways, he may be suffering from some other disease? For surely there are many of them: these are not the only ones.

Alc. I agree.

Soc. And is every ophthalmia, in your opinion, a disease?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And is every disease also ophthalmia?

Alc. No, I should think not: still, I am in doubt as to my meaning.

Section 140

Soc. Well, if you will attend to me, two together will be searching, and so mayhap we shall find what we seek.

Alc. Nay, but I am attending, Socrates, to the best of my power.

Soc. Then we have admitted that while every ophthalmia is a disease, every disease, on the other hand, is not ophthalmia?

Alc. We have.

Soc. And our admission seems to me quite right. For everyone in a fever is sick, but yet not everyone who is sick has a fever or the gout or ophthalmia, I take it; though everything of the sort is a disease, but differs—to quote those whom we call doctors— in its manifestation. For they are not all alike, nor of like effect, but each works according to its own faculty, and yet all are diseases. In the same way, we conceive of some men as artisans, do we not?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. That is, cobblers and carpenters and statuaries and a host of others, whom we need not mention in particular; but any way, they have their several departments of craft, and all of them are craftsmen; yet they are not all carpenters or cobblers or statuaries, though these taken together are craftsmen.

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. In the same way, then, have men divided unwisdom also among them, and those who have the largest share of it we call mad, and those who have a little less, dolts and idiots; though people who prefer to use the mildest language term them sometimes romantic, sometimes simpleminded, or again innocent, inexperienced, or obtuse; and many another name will you find if you look for more. But all these things are unwisdom, though they differ, as we observed that one art or one disease differs from another. Or how does it strike you?

Alc. That is my view.

Soc. Then let us turn at this point and retrace our steps. For we said, you know, at the beginning that we must consider who the unwise can be, and who the wise: for we had admitted that there are such persons, had we not?

Alc. Yes, we have admitted it.

Soc. Then you conceive those to be wise who know what one ought to do and say?

Alc. I do.

Soc. And which are the unwise? Those who know neither of these things?

Alc. The same.

Soc. And those who know neither of these things will say and do unawares what one ought not?

Alc. Apparently.

Section 141

Soc. Well, just such a person, as I was saying, Alcibiades, was Oedipus; and even in our time you will find many who do the same, not in a fit of anger, as he was: they think they pray not for something evil, but for something good. He neither prayed for that, nor thought he did, but there are others who are in the opposite case. For I imagine that if the god to whom you are now going should appear to you and first ask you, before you made any prayer, whether you would be content to become sovereign of the Athenian state and, on your accounting this as something poor and unimportant, should add and of all the Greeks also; and if he saw you were still unsatisfied unless he promised you besides the mastery of all Europe, and should not merely promise you that, but on the self-same day a recognition by all men, if you so desired, of Alcibiades, son of Cleinias, as their sovereign—I imagine you would actually depart in a transport of delight, as having secured the greatest of goods.

Alc. So would anybody else, I imagine, Socrates, at such a stroke of luck!

Soc. But still you would not wish to sacrifice your life even for the territory and sovereignty of all the Greeks and barbarians together.

Alc. I should think not. How could I, without a prospect of making any use of them?

Soc. And what if you had a prospect of making an evil and injurious use of them? Not in this case either?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. So you see it is not safe either to accept casually what one is given, or to pray for one’s own advancement, if one is going to be injured in consequence, or deprived of one’s life altogether. Yet we could tell of many ere now who, having desired sovereignty, and endeavored to secure it, with the idea of working for their good, have lost their lives by plots which their sovereignty has provoked. And I expect you are not unacquainted with certain events of a day or two ago, when Archelaus, the monarch of Macedonia, was slain by his favorite, who was as much in love with the monarchy as Archelaus was with him, and who killed his lover with the expectation of being not only the monarch, but also a happy man: but after holding the monarchy for three or four days he was plotted against by others in his turn, and perished.

Section 142

Soc. You have only to look at some of our own citizens—and these are examples that we know, not by hearsay, but by personal observation—who in their time have desired to hold military command and have obtained it, and see how some to this very day are exiles from our city, while others have lost their lives. And even those who are deemed to be faring best have not only gone through many dangers and terrors in holding their command, but on returning home have continued to be as sorely besieged by informers as they were by the enemy, so that some of them wished to heaven that they had been anything but commanders rather than have held such appointments. Of course, if these dangers and toils were conducive to our advantage, there would be some reason for them; but the case is quite the contrary. And you will find it is just the same in regard to children: some people have been known to pray that they might have them, and when they have got them have fallen into the greatest disasters and pains. For some have had children that were utterly bad, and have spent their whole lives in repining; while others, though they had good ones, were bereft of them by disasters that overtook them, and thus were cast into as great misfortune as the others, and wished that no children at all had been born to them. But nevertheless, with all this plain evidence, and a great deal more of a similar kind, before men’s eyes, it is rare to find anyone who has either declined what was offered to him or, when he was likely to gain something by prayer, refrained from praying. Most men would not decline the offer of either a monarchy or a generalship or any of the various other things which bring with them harm rather than benefit, but would even pray to be granted them in cases where they were lacking: but after a little while they often change their tune, and retract all their former prayers. I question therefore if men are not really wrong in blaming the gods as the authors of their ills, when they themselves by their own presumption—or unwisdom, shall we say?— have gotten them more than destined sorrows. It would seem, at any rate, Alcibiades, that one old poet had some wisdom; for I conceive it was because he had some foolish friends, whom he saw working and praying for things that were not for their advantage, though supposed to be by them, that he made a common prayer on behalf of them all, in terms something like these: King Zeus, give unto us what is good, whether we pray or pray not; But what is grievous, even if we pray for it, do thou avert.

Section 143

Soc. So then, to my mind the poet spoke well and soundly; but if you have thought of an answer to his words, do not be silent.

Alc. It is difficult, Socrates, to gainsay what has been well spoken: one thing, however, I do observe —how many evils are caused to men by ignorance, when, as it seems, we are beguiled by her not only into doing, but—worst of all—into praying to be granted the greatest evils. Now that is a thing that no one would suppose of himself; each of us would rather suppose he was competent to pray for his own greatest good, not his greatest evil. Why, that would seem, in truth, more like some sort of curse than a prayer!

Soc. But perhaps, my excellent friend, some person who is wiser than either you or I may say we are wrong to be so free with our abuse of ignorance, unless we can add that it is ignorance of certain things, and is a good to certain persons in certain conditions, as to those others it is an evil.

Alc. How do you mean? Can there be anything of which it is better for anybody, in any condition whatsoever, to be ignorant than cognizant?

Soc. I believe so; and do not you?

Alc. No, indeed, upon my word.

Soc. But surely I shall not have to tax you with an inclination to commit such an act against your own mother as Orestes and Alcmaeon, and any others who have followed their example, are said to have committed against theirs.

Alc. No unlucky words, in Heaven’s name, Socrates!

Soc. Why, it is not the person who says, Alcibiades, that you would not like to be guilty of such an act, whom you should bid avoid unlucky words, but much rather him who might say the contrary; since the act seems to you so very dreadful as to be unfit even for such casual mention. But do you think that Orestes, if he had had all his wits about him and had known what was best for him to do, would have brought himself to commit any act of the sort?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Nor would anyone else, I imagine.

Alc. No.

Soc. Then it seems that ignorance of what is best, and to be ignorant of the best, is a bad thing.

Alc. I agree.

Soc. And not only for the person himself, but for everyone else?

Alc. Yes.

Section 144

Soc. Then let us consider this further case. Suppose it should quite suddenly occur to your mind that you had better take a dagger and go to the door of Pericles, your own guardian and friend, and ask if he were at home, with the design of killing just him and no one else, and his servants said he was at home: now, I do not say you would be inclined to do any such thing, but I suppose, if you are under the impression which at some moment may well be present, surely, to the mind of a man who is ignorant of the best—that what is really the worst is best at some moment—or do you not agree?

Alc. Quite so.

Soc. Well then, if you went indoors and saw Pericles himself, but did not know him, and thought he was somebody else, would you still venture to kill him?

Alc. No, upon my word, I should think not.

Soc. For your man was, I presume, not anyone you met, but that particular person whom you wished to kill?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And although you might make a number of attempts, if you always failed to know Pericles when you were about to commit the act, you would never attack him.

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Well now, do you suppose that Orestes would ever have attacked his mother if he had similarly failed to know her?

Alc. I do not think he would.

Soc. For presumably he, too, had no intention of killing the first woman he met, or anybody else’s mother, but only his own.

Alc. That is so.

Soc. Then to be ignorant in such matters is better for those who are so disposed and have formed such resolves.

Alc. Apparently.

Soc. So you see that ignorance of certain things is for certain persons in certain states a good, not an evil, as you supposed just now.

Alc. It seems to be.

Soc. Then if you care to consider the sequel of this, I daresay it will surprise you.

Alc. What may that be, Socrates?

Soc. I mean that, generally speaking, it rather looks as though the possession of the sciences as a whole, if it does not include possession of the science of the best, will in a few instances help, but in most will harm, the owner. Consider it this way: must it not be the case, in your opinion, that when we are about to do or say anything, we first suppose that we know, or do really know, the thing we so confidently intend to say or do?

Alc. I think so.

Section 145

Soc. Well, take the orators, for example: they either know, or think they know, how to advise us on various occasions—some about war and peace, and others about building walls or fitting up harbors; and in a word, whatever the city does to another city or within herself, all comes about by the advice of the orators.

Alc. That is true.

Soc. Then observe the consequence.

Alc. If I am able.

Soc. Why, surely you call men either wise or unwise?

Alc. I do.

Soc. And the many unwise, and the few wise?

Alc. Precisely.

Soc. And in either case you name them in reference to something?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then do you call a man wise who knows how to give advice, without knowing whether and when it is better to act upon it?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Nor, I conceive, a man who knows what war is in itself, without knowing when or for how long a time it is better to make war?

Alc. Agreed.

Soc. Nor, again, a man who knows how to kill another, or seize his property, or make him an exile from his native land, without knowing when or to whom it is better so to behave?

Alc. No, to be sure.

Soc. Then it is a man who knows something of this sort, and is assisted by knowledge of what is best,—and this is surely the same as knowledge of the useful, is it not?

Alc. Yes.

Soc. And we shall call him wise, and a competent adviser both of the city and of his own self; but a man not so qualified we shall call the opposite of these. How do you think?

Alc. I agree.

Soc. And what of a man who knows how to ride or shoot, or else to box or wrestle or contend in any other sport, or do anything that we know by rule of art? What do you call him who knows what is better done by rule of that particular art? Do you not say that he who goes by the rules of riding is a good rider?

Alc. I do.

Soc. And the rules of boxing, I suppose, make a good boxer, and those of flute-playing a good flute-player, and so, on the same lines, I presume, with the rest; or is there any difference?

Alc. No, it is as you say.

Soc. Then do you think it inevitable that he who has some knowledge about these things should also be a wise man, or shall we say he comes far short of it?

Alc. Far short of it, I declare.

Soc. Then what sort of state do you suppose it would be, where the people were good bowmen and flute-players, together with athletes and artists in general, and mingled with these the men whom we have just mentioned as knowing war in itself and slaughter in itself, and orator-windbags too with their political bluster, but all of them lacked this knowledge of the best, and none knew when or upon whom it was better to employ their respective arts?

Section 146

Alc. A paltry one, I should call it, Socrates.

Soc. Yes, you would, I expect, when you saw each one of them vying with the other and assigning the largest part in the conduct of the state to thatWherein himself is found most excellent, I mean, what is done best by rule of his particular art—while he is entirely off the track of what is best for the state and for himself, because, I conceive, he has put his trust in opinion apart from intelligence. In these circumstances, should we not be right in saying that such a state is one great mass of turmoil and lawlessness?

Alc. We should, upon my word.

Soc. And we took it to be necessary that we should first think we know, or really know, anything that we confidently intend either to do or to say?

Alc. We did.

Soc. And if a man does what he knows or thinks he knows, and is assisted by knowing how to make it beneficial, we shall find him profitable both to the city and to himself?

Alc. Certainly.

Soc. But if, I suppose, he does the contrary, he will not be so either to the city or to himself?

Alc. No, indeed.

Soc. Well then, do you still take the same view now as before, or do you think differently?

Alc. No, I take the same view.

Soc. And you said you called the many unwise, and the few wise?

Alc. I did.

Soc. So now we repeat our statement that the many have missed getting the best because in most cases, I conceive, they have put their trust in opinion apart from intelligence.

Alc. Yes.

Soc. Then it is an advantage to the many neither to know nor to think they know anything, if they are going to be specially eager to do what they know or think they know, but are likely on the whole, in doing it, to be injured rather than benefited.

Alc. That is very true.

Soc. So you see that when I said it looked as though the possession of the sciences as a whole, where it did not include the science of the best, in a few cases helped, but in most harmed the owner, I was evidently right in very truth, was I not?

Alc. Though I did not then, I think so now, Socrates.

Section 147

Soc. Hence the state or soul that is to live aright must hold fast to this knowledge, exactly as a sick man does to a doctor, or as he who would voyage safely does to a pilot. For without this, the more briskly it is wafted by fortune either to the acquisition of wealth or to bodily strength or aught else of the sort, the greater will be the mistakes in which these things, it would seem, must needs involve it. And he who has acquired the so-called mastery of learning and arts, but is destitute of this knowledge and impelled by this or that one among those others, is sure to meet with much rough weather, as he truly deserves; since, I imagine, he must continue without a pilot on the high seas, and has only the brief span of his life in which to run his course. So that his case aptly fits the saying of the poet, in which he complains of somebody or other that Full many crafts he knew: but stillHe knew them all so very ill.

Alc. Why, how on earth is the poet’s saying apposite, Socrates? For to my mind it has nothing to do with the point.

Soc. It is very much to the point: but he, good sir, like almost every other poet, speaks in riddles. For poetry as a whole is by nature inclined to riddling, and it is not every man who can apprehend it. And furthermore, besides having this natural tendency, when it gets hold of a grudging person who wishes not to show forth to us his own wisdom but to conceal it as much as possible, we find it an extraordinarily difficult matter to make out whatever this or that one of them may mean. For surely you do not suppose that Homer, divinest and wisest of poets, did not know it was impossible to know ill; for it is he who says of Margites that he knew many things, but knew them all ill: but it is a riddle, I think, in which he has made ill stand for evil, and knew for to know. So if we put it together, letting the meter go, indeed, but grasping his meaning, we get this: Full many crafts he knew, but it was evil for him to know them all. Then clearly, if it was evil for him to know many things, he was in fact a paltry fellow, assuming we are to believe what we have previously argued.

Alc. But I think we may, Socrates: at least, if I cannot believe those arguments of ours, I shall find it hard to trust any others.

Soc. And you are right in so thinking.

Alc. I repeat that I think so.

Section 148

Soc. But come now, in Heaven’s name—for I suppose you see how great and strange is our perplexity, in which you, as it seems to me, have your share; for you change about from this side to that without settling down for a moment, but as soon as you are firmly convinced of a thing you seem to slip out of it again and cease to hold the same view—well, if the god to whom you are going should even now appear to you and ask before you uttered any prayer, whether you would be content to obtain one of those things which were mentioned at the beginning, or whether he should leave you to pray as you were, how do you suppose you would make the best of your chance—by accepting his offer, or by praying for something on your own account?

Alc. Well, by the gods, I could not answer your question, Socrates, offhand. Why, I take it to be a fatuous request, when it is really a case for great caution lest one pray unawares for what is evil while thinking it to be one’s good, and then after a little while, as you were saying, one change one’s tune and retract all one’s former prayers.

Soc. And did not the poet whom I quoted at the beginning of our discussion know more than we, when he bade us pray for the averting of what is grievous, even though we pray for it?

Alc. I think so.

Soc. Then it is their admiration of this poet, Alcibiades, or perhaps the result of their own study, that causes the Spartans to offer a similar prayer whether the occasion be private or public—that the gods will give them for their own benefit the beautiful as well as the good: more than this no one can ever hear them pray for. The consequence is that to the present time they have been just as fortunate as any other people; and if it has befallen them to be not invariably fortunate, it was anyhow not owing to their prayer. It rests with the gods, I conceive, to give us either what we may pray for or the reverse. And I would like to give you an account of something else, which I once heard from some of my seniors. A quarrel having arisen between the Athenians and the Spartans, it befell our city to be always unsuccessful in every battle by land and sea, and she could never win a victory. So the Athenians, in their annoyance at this result, and at a loss for some means of finding a deliverance from the trouble they were in, took counsel together and decided that the best thing they could do was to send and inquire of Ammon ; and moreover, to ask also for what reason the gods granted victory to the Spartans rather than to themselves: for we—such was the message—offer up to them more and finer sacrifices than any of the Greeks, and have adorned their temples with votive emblems as no other people have done, and presented to the gods the costliest and stateliest processions year by year, and spent more money thus than all the rest of the Greeks together.

Section 149

Soc. But the Spartans have never taken any such pains, and indeed are so neglectful in their behavior to the gods, that they make a practice of sacrificing defective victims, and generally are very much behind us in the honors that they pay, though the wealth they possess is quite equal to that of our city. When they had so spoken, and added the question, what they should do in order to find a deliverance from the trouble they were in, the prophet’s only answer — evidently it was all that the god allowed—was to call them to him and say: Thus saith Ammon to the Athenians: I would rather have the reverent reserve of the Spartans than all the ritual of the Greeks. So much he said, and not a word further. Now by reverent reserve I suppose the god could only mean their prayer, since in fact it differs greatly from those that are generally offered. For the Greeks in general either lead up bulls with gilded horns, or else present the gods with votive emblems, and pray for any odd thing, whether it be good or bad: so when the gods hear their irreverent speech they reject all these costly processions and sacrifices. Whereas I think we ought to be very cautious, and fully consider what is to be said and what is not. And in Homer too you will find other tales of a similar sort. For he relates how the Trojans, in making their bivouac, Sacrificed to the immortals perfect hecatombs, and how the winds bore the sweet savour from the plain into heaven: But the blessed gods partook not of it, nor would have it, For deep was their hate against holy Ilium, And Priam, and the folk of Priam of the good ashen spear. So it was nothing to their purpose to sacrifice and pay tribute of gifts in vain, when they were hated by the gods. For it is not, I imagine, the way of the gods to be seduced with gifts, like a base insurer. And indeed it is but silly talk of ours, if we claim to surpass the Spartans on this score. For it would be a strange thing if the gods had regard to our gifts and sacrifices instead of our souls, and the piety and justice that may be found in any of us.

Section 150

Soc. Far rather at these, I believe, do they look than at those costly processions and sacrifices which are offered, it well may be, by individual and state, year in, year out, though they may have offended greatly against the gods, or as greatly against their neighbors. But the gods are not to be won by bribes, and so they despise all these things, as Ammon and the holy prophet say. Certainly it would seem that justice and wisdom are held in especial honor both by the gods and by men of intelligence; and wise and just are they alone who know what acts and words to use towards gods and men. But I should like now to hear what may be your opinion on the subject.

Alc. Why, Socrates, it in no wise differs from yours and the god’s; for indeed it would not be fitting for me to record my vote against the god.

Soc. And you remember you professed to be in great perplexity lest you should pray unawares for evil, while supposing it to be good?

Alc. I do.

Soc. You see, then, how unsafe it is for you to approach the god with your prayers, for it may chance that when he hears your irreverent speech he will reject your sacrifice altogether, and you may perhaps be accorded some other bad thing as well. In my opinion, therefore, it is best to hold your peace: for I expect you will not consent to use the Spartan’s prayer, you have such a romantic spirit—to give it the fairest of folly’s names. It is necessary, therefore, to bide one’s time until one can learn how one should behave towards gods and men.

Alc. Well, when will that time arrive, Socrates, and who is to be my instructor? For I feel I should very much like to see who the man is,

Soc. It is he who is concerned about you. But I think, as Homer relates how Athena removed the mist from the eyes of Diomede,That be might well discern both god and man, so you too must first have the mist removed which now enwraps your soul, and then you will be ready to receive the means whereby you will discern both evil and good. For at present I do not think you could do so.

Alc. Let him remove the mist or whatever else he likes to call it: for I am prepared to obey every one of his commands, without shirking, whoever the man may be, so long as I am to be the better for them.

Section 151

Soc. I tell you, he on his part is prodigiously anxious to help you.

Alc. Then I think it best to defer the sacrifice also till the time comes.

Soc. And you are quite right: for that is safer than running so serious a risk.

Alc. But how say you, Socrates? Look now, I will crown you with this garland, as I consider you have given me such good advice; and to the gods we shall offer both garlands and all the other customary things when I see that day has come. And come it will ere long, if they are willing.

Soc. Well, I accept this gift; and anything else besides, that you may give me, I shall be only too happy to accept. And as Euripides has made Creon say when he sees Teiresias wearing his wreaths, and hears that he has obtained them, on account of his art, as first-fruits of the spoils of war: As omen good I take thy victor’s wreaths;For in the waves we labour, as you know,— so do I take this opinion of yours as a good omen. For I consider I am no less wave-tossed than Creon, and would like to come off victorious over your lovers.

Contents — 24 sections

1. Section 281
2. Section 282
3. Section 283
4. Section 284
5. Section 285
6. Section 286
7. Section 287
8. Section 288
9. Section 289
10. Section 290
11. Section 291
12. Section 292
13. Section 293
14. Section 294
15. Section 295
16. Section 296
17. Section 297
18. Section 298
19. Section 299
20. Section 300
21. Section 301
22. Section 302
23. Section 303
24. Section 304

Section 281

Hippias, beautiful and wise, what a long time it is since you have put in at the port of Athens!

I am too busy, Socrates. For whenever Elis needs to have any business transacted with any of the states, she always comes to me first of her citizens and chooses me as envoy, thinking that I am the ablest judge and messenger of the words that are spoken by the several states. So I have often gone as envoy to other states, but most often and concerning the most numerous and important matters to Lacedaemon. For that reason, then, since you ask me, I do not often come to this neighborhood.

That’s what it is, Hippias, to be a truly wise and perfect man! For you are both in your private capacity able to earn much money from the young and to confer upon them still greater benefits than you receive, and in public affairs you are able to benefit your own state, as a man must who is to be not despised but held in high repute among the many. And yet, Hippias, what in the world is the reason why those men of old whose names are called great in respect to wisdom—Pittacus, and Bias, and the Milesian Thales with his followers and also the later ones, down to Anaxagoras, are all, or most of them, found to refrain from affairs of state?

What else do you suppose, Socrates, than that they were not able to compass by their wisdom both public and private matters?

Then for Heaven’s sake, just as the other arts have progressed, and the ancients are of no account in comparison with the artisans of today, shall we say that your art also has progressed and those of the ancients who were concerned with wisdom are of no account in comparison with you?

Yes, you are quite right.

Section 282

Then, Hippias, if Bias were to come to life again now, he would be a laughing-stock in comparison with you, just as the sculptors say that Daedalus, if he were to be born now and were to create such works as those from which he got his reputation, would be ridiculous.

That, Socrates, is exactly as you say. I, however, am in the habit of praising the ancients and our predecessors rather than the men of the present day, and more greatly, as a precaution against the envy of the living and through fear of the wrath of those who are dead.

Yours, Hippias, is a most excellent way, at any rate, of speaking about them and of thinking, it seems to me and I can bear you witness that you speak the truth, and that your art really has progressed in the direction of ability to carry on public together with private affairs. For this man Gorgias, the sophist from Leontini, came here from home in the public capacity of envoy, as being best able of all the citizens of Leontini to attend to the interests of the community, and it was the general opinion that he spoke excellently in the public assembly, and in his private capacity, by giving exhibitions and associating with the young, he earned and received a great deal of money from this city; or, if you like, our friend here, Prodicus, often went to other places in a public capacity, and the last time, just lately, when he came here in a public capacity from Ceos, he gained great reputation by his speaking before the Council, and in his private capacity, by giving exhibitions and associating with the young, he received a marvellous sum of money; but none of those ancients ever thought fit to exact the money as payment for his wisdom or to give exhibitions among people of various places; so simple-minded were they, and so unconscious of the fact that money is of the greatest value. But either of these two has earned more money from his wisdom than any artisan from his art. And even before these Protagoras did so.

Why, Socrates, you know nothing of the beauties of this. For if you were to know how much money I have made, you would be amazed. I won’t mention the rest, but once, when I went to Sicily, although Protagoras was staying there and had a great reputation and was the older, I, who was much younger, made in a very short time more than one hundred and fifty minas, and in one very small place, Inycus, more than twenty minas; and when I came home, I took this and gave it to my father, so that he and the other citizens were overwhelmed with amazement. And I pretty well think I have made more money than any other two sophists together.

Section 283

That’s a fine thing you say, Hippias, and strong testimony to your wisdom and that of the men of today and to their great superiority to the ancients. For the earlier sophists of the school of Anaxagoras must have been very ignorant to judge from what is said, according to your view; for they say that what happened to Anaxagoras was the opposite of what happens to you; for though much money was left him, he neglected it and lost it all so senseless was his wisdom. And they tell similar tales about others among the ancients. So this seems to me fine testimony that you adduce for the wisdom of the men of today as compared with the earlier men, and many people agree with me that the wise man must be wise for himself especially ; and the test of this is, who makes the most money. Well, so much for that. But tell me this: at which of the cities that you go to did you make the most money? Or are we to take it that it was at Lacedaemon, where your visits have been most frequent?

No, by Zeus, it was not, Socrates.

What’s that you say? But did you make least there?

Why, I never made anything at all.

That is a prodigious marvel that you tell, Hippias; and say now: is not your wisdom such as to make those who are in contact with it and learn it, better men in respect to virtue?

Yes, much better, Socrates.

But you were able to make the sons of the Inycenes better, and had no power to improve the sons of the Spartans?

That is far from true.

Well, then, the Siceliotes desire to become better, and the Lacedaemonians do not?

No certainly, Socrates, the Lacedaemonians also desire it.

Then it was for lack of money that they avoided intercourse with you?

Not at all, since they have plenty of money.

What, then, could be the reason, that when they desired it and had money, and you had power to confer upon them the greatest benefits, they did not send you away loaded with money? But I see; perhaps the Lacedaemonians might educate their own children better than you? Shall we state it so, and do you agree?

Not in the least.

Then were you not able to persuade the young men at Lacedaemon that they would make more progress towards virtue by associating with you than with their own people, or were you powerless to persuade their fathers that they ought rather to hand them over to you than to care for them themselves, if they are at all concerned for their sons? For surely they did not begrudge it to their children to become as good as possible.

I do not think they begrudged it.

But certainly Lacedaemon is well governed.

Section 284

Of course it is.

And in well-governed states virtue is most highly honored.

Certainly.

And you know best of all men how to transmit that to another.

Much best, Socrates.

Well, he who knows best how to transmit horsemanship would be most honored in Thessaly of all parts of Greece and would receive most money—and anywhere else where horsemanship is a serious interest, would he not?

Very likely.

Then will not he who is able to transmit the doctrines that are of most value for the acquisition of virtue be most highly honored in Lacedaemon and make most money, if he so wishes, and in any other of the Greek states that is well governed? But do you, my friend, think he will fare better in Sicily and at Inycus? Are we to believe that, Hippias? For if you tell us to do so, we must believe it.

Yes, for it is not the inherited usage of the Lacedaemonians to change their laws or to educate their children differently from what is customary.

What? For the Lacedaemonians is it the hereditary usage not to act rightly, but to commit errors?

I wouldn’t say so, Socrates.

Would they, then, not act rightly in educating the young men better, but not in educating them worse?

Yes, they would; but it is not lawful for them to give them a foreign education; for you may be sure that if anybody had ever received money there in payment for education, I should have received by far the most; they certainly enjoy hearing me and they applaud me; but, as I say, it is not the law.

But, Hippias, do you say that law is an injury to the state, or a benefit?

It is made, I think, with benefit in view, but sometimes, if the law is badly made, it is injurious.

Well, then, is it not true that those who make the law make it as the greatest good to the state, and that without this it is impossible to enjoy good government?

What you say is true.

Then, when those who make the laws miss the good, they have missed the lawful and the law; or what do you say?

Speaking accurately, Socrates, that is true; however, men are not accustomed to think so.

The men who know, Hippias, or those who do not know?

The many.

Are these, the many, those who know the truth?

Certainly not.

But surely those who know, think that in truth for all men that which is more beneficial is more lawful than that which is less beneficial; or do you not agree?

Yes, I agree that they think it is so in truth.

Well, it actually is as those who know think it is, is it not?

Certainly.

Section 285

But or the Lacedaemonians, as you say, it is more beneficial to be educated in your education, which is foreign, than in the local education.

Yes, and what I say is true.

And do you say this also, Hippias, that beneficial things are more lawful?

Yes, I said so.

Then, according to what you say, it is more lawful for the sons of the Lacedaemonians to be educated by Hippias and less lawful for them to be educated by their fathers, if in reality they will be more benefited by you.

But certainly they will be benefited, Socrates.

Then the Lacedaemonians in not giving you money and entrusting their sons to you , act contrary to law.

I agree to that; for you seem to be making your argument in my favour, and there is no need of my opposing it.

Then my friends, we find that the Lacedaemonians are law-breakers, and that too in the most important affairs—they who are regarded as the most law-abiding of men. But then, for Heaven’s sake, Hippias, what sort of discourses are those for which they applaud you and which they enjoy hearing? Or are they evidently those which you understand most admirably, those about the stars and the phenomena of the heavens?

Not in the least; they won’t even endure those.

But they enjoy hearing about geometry?

Not at all, since one might say that many of them do not even know how to count.

Then they are far from enduring a lecture by you on the processes of thought.

Far from it indeed, by Zeus.

Well, then, those matters which you of all men know best how to discuss, concerning the value of letters and syllables and rhythms and harmonies?

Harmonies indeed, my good fellow, and letters!

But then what are the things about which they like to listen to you and which they applaud? Tell me yourself, for I cannot discover them.

They are very fond of hearing about the genealogies of heroes and men, Socrates, and the foundations of cities in ancient times and, in short, about antiquity in general, so that for their sake I have been obliged to learn all that sort of thing by heart and practise it thoroughly.

By Zeus, Hippias, it is lucky for you that the Lacedaemonians do not enjoy hearing one recite the list of our archons from Solon’s time; if they did, you would have trouble in learning it by heart.

How so, Socrates? After hearing them once, I can remember fifty names.

Section 286

True, but I did not understand that you possess the science of memory; and so I understand that the Lacedaemonians naturally enjoy you as one who knows many things, and they make use of you as children make use of old women, to tell stories agreeably.

And by Zeus, Socrates, I have just lately gained reputation there by telling about noble or beautiful pursuits, recounting what those of a young man should be. For I have a very beautiful discourse composed about them, well arranged in its words and also in other respects. And the plan of the discourse, and its beginning, is something like this: After the fall of Troy, the story goes that Neoptolemus asked Nestor what the noble and beautiful pursuits were, by following which a young man would become most famous; so after that we have Nestor speaking and suggesting to him very many lawful and most beautiful pursuits. That discourse, then, I delivered there and intend to deliver here the day after tomorrow in Pheidostratus’s schoolroom, with many other things worth hearing; for Eudicus, the son of Apemantus, asked me to do so. Now be sure to be there yourself and to bring others who are able to judge of discourses that they hear.

Well, that shall be done, God willing, Hippias. Now, however, give me a brief answer to a question about your discourse, for you reminded me of the beautiful just at the right moment. For recently, my most excellent friend, as I was finding fault with some things in certain speeches as ugly and praising other things as beautiful, a man threw me into confusion by questioning me very insolently somewhat after this fashion: How, if you please, do you know, Socrates, said he, what sort of things are beautiful and ugly? For, come now, could you tell me what the beautiful is? And I, being of no account, was at a loss and could not answer him properly; and so, as I was going away from the company, I was angry with myself and reproached myself, and threatened that the first time I met one of you wise men, I would hear and learn and practise and then go back to the man who questioned me to renew the wordy strife. So now, as I say, you have come at the right moment; just teach me satisfactorily what the absolute beautiful is, and try in replying to speak as accurately as possible, that I may not be confuted a second time and be made ridiculous again. For you doubtless know clearly, and this would doubtless be but a small example of your wide learning.

Yes, surely, by Zeus, a small one, Socrates, and, I may say, of no value.

Then I shall learn it easily, and nobody will confute me any more.

Section 287

Nobody, surely; for in that case my profession would be worthless and ordinary.

That is good, by Hera, Hippias, if we are to worst the fellow. But may I without hindering you imitate him, and when you answer, take exception to what you say, in order that you may give me as much practice as possible? For I am more or less experienced in taking exceptions. So, if it is all the same to you, I wish to take exceptions, that I may learn more vigorously.

Oh yes, take exceptions. For, as I said just now, the question is no great matter, but I could teach you to answer much harder ones than this, so that nobody in the world could confute you.

Oh how good that is! But come, since you tell me to do so, now let me try to play that man’s part, so far as possible, and ask you questions. For if you were to deliver for him this discourse that you mention, the one about beautiful pursuits, when he had heard it, after you had stopped speaking, the very first thing he would ask about would be the beautiful; for he has that sort of habit, and he would say, Stranger from Elis, is it not by justice that the just are just? So answer, Hippias, as though he were asking the question.

I shall answer that it is by justice.

Then this—I mean justice—is something?

Certainly.

Then, too, by wisdom the wise are wise and by the good all things are good, are they not?

Of course.

And justice, wisdom, and so forth are something; for the just, wise, and so forth would not be such by them, if they were not something.

To be sure, they are something.

Then are not all beautiful things beautiful by the beautiful?

Yes, by the beautiful.

By the beautiful, which is something?

Yes, for what alternative is there?

Tell me, then, stranger, he will say, what is this, the beautiful?

Well, Socrates, does he who asks this question want to find out anything else than what is beautiful?

I do not think that is what he wants to find out, but what the beautiful is.

And what difference is there between the two?

Do you think there is none?

Yes, for there is no difference.

Well, surely it is plain that you know best; but still, my good friend, consider; for he asked you, not what is beautiful, but what the beautiful is.

I understand, my good friend, and I will answer and tell him what the beautiful is, and I shall never be confuted. For be assured, Socrates, if I must speak the truth, a beautiful maiden is beautiful.

Section 288

Beautifully answered, Hippias, by the dog, and notably! Then if I give this answer, I shall have answered the question that was asked, and shall have answered it correctly, and shall never be confuted?

Yes, for how could you, Socrates, be confuted, when you say what everybody thinks, and when all who hear it will bear witness that what you say is correct?

Very well; certainly. Come, then, Hippias, let me rehearse to myself what you say. The man will question me in some such fashion as this: Come Socrates, answer me. All these things which you say are beautiful, if the absolute beautiful is anything, would be beautiful? And I shall say that if a beautiful maiden is beautiful, there is something by reason of which these things would be beautiful.

Do you think, then, that he will still attempt to refute you and to show that what you say is not beautiful, or, if he does attempt it, that he will not be ridiculous?

That he will attempt it, my admirable friend, I am sure but whether the attempt will make him ridiculous, the event will show. However, I should like to tell you what he will ask.

Do so.

How charming you are, Socrates! he will say. But is not a beautiful mare beautiful, which even the god praised in his oracle? What shall we say, Hippias? Shall we not say that the mare is beautiful, I mean the beautiful mare? For how could we dare to deny that the beautiful thing is beautiful?

Quite true, Socrates for what the god said is quite correct, too; for very beautiful mares are bred in our country.

Very well, he will say, and how about a beautiful lyre? Is it not beautiful? Shall we agree, Hippias?

Yes.

After this, then, the man will ask, I am sure, judging by his character: You most excellent man, how about a beautiful pot? Is it, then, not beautiful?

Socrates, who is the fellow? What an uncultivated person, who has the face to mention such worthless things in a dignified discussion!

That’s the kind of person he is, Hippias, not elegant, but vulgar, thinking of nothing but the truth. But nevertheless the man must be answered, and I will declare my opinion beforehand: if the pot were made by a good potter, were smooth and round and well fired, as are some of the two-handled pots, those that hold six choes, very beautiful ones— if that were the kind of pot he asked about, we must agree that it is beautiful; for how could we say that being beautiful it is not beautiful?

We could not at all, Socrates.

Then, he will say, a beautiful pot also is beautiful, is it not? Answer.

Well, Socrates, it is like this, I think. This utensil, when well wrought, is beautiful, but absolutely considered it does not deserve to be regarded as beautiful in comparison with a mare and a maiden and all the beautiful things.

Section 289

Very well I understand, Hippias, that the proper reply to him who asks these questions is this: Sir, you are not aware that the saying of Heracleitus is good, that Ôthe most beautiful of monkeys is ugly compared with the race of man,Õ and the most beautiful of pots is ugly compared with the race of maidens, as Hippias the wise man says. Is it not so, Hippias?

Certainly, Socrates; you replied rightly.

Listen then. For I am sure that after this he will say: Yes, but, Socrates, if we compare maidens with gods, will not the same thing happen to them that happened to pots when compared with maidens? Will not the most beautiful maiden appear ugly? Or does not Heracleitus, whom you cite, mean just this, that the wisest of men, if compared with a god, will appear a monkey, both in wisdom and in beauty and in everything else? Shall we agree, Hippias, that the most beautiful maiden is ugly if compared with the gods?

Yes, for who would deny that, Socrates?

If, then, we agree to that, he will laugh and say: Socrates, do you remember the question you were asked? I do, I shall say, the question was what the absolute beautiful is. Then, he will say, when you were asked for the beautiful, do you give as your reply what is, as you yourself say, no more beautiful than ugly? So it seems, I shall say; or what do you, my friend, advise me to say?

That is what I advise; for, of course, in saying that the human race is not beautiful in comparison with gods, you will be speaking the truth.

But if I had asked you, he will say, in the beginning what is beautiful and ugly, if you had replied as you now do, would you not have replied correctly? But do you still think that the absolute beautiful, by the addition of which all other things are adorned and made to appear beautiful, when its form is added to any of them—do you think that is a maiden or a mare or a lyre?

Well, certainly, Socrates, if that is what he is looking for, nothing is easier than to answer and tell him what the beautiful is, by which all other things are adorned and by the addition of which they are made to appear beautiful. So the fellow is very simple-minded and knows nothing about beautiful possessions. For if you reply to him: This that you ask about, the beautiful, is nothing else but gold, he will be thrown into confusion and will not attempt to confute you. For we all know, I fancy, that wherever this is added, even what before appears ugly will appear beautiful when adorned with gold.

You don’t know the man, Hippias, what a wretch he is, and how certain not to accept anything easily.

Section 290

What of that, then, Socrates? For he must perforce accept what is correct, or if he does not accept it, be ridiculous.

This reply, my most excellent friend, he not only will certainly not accept, but he will even jeer at me grossly and will say: You lunatic, do you think Pheidias is a bad craftsman? And I shall say, Not in the least.

And you will be right, Socrates.

Yes, to be sure. Consequently when I agree that Pheidias is a good craftsman, Well, then, he will say, do you imagine that Pheidias did not know this beautiful that you speak of? Why do you ask that? I shall say. Because, he will say, he did not make the eyes of his Athena of gold, nor the rest of her face, nor her hands and feet, if, that is, they were sure to appear most beautiful provided only they were made of gold, but he made them of ivory; evidently he made this mistake through ignorance, not knowing that it is gold which makes everything beautiful to which it is added. When he says that, what reply shall we make to him, Hippias?

That is easy; for we shall say that Pheidias did right; for ivory, I think, is beautiful.

Why, then, he will say, did he not make the middle parts of the eyes also of ivory, but of stone, procuring stone as similar as possible to the ivory? Or is beautiful stone also beautiful? Shall we say that it is, Hippias?

Surely we shall say so, that is, where it is appropriate.

But ugly when not appropriate? Shall I agree, or not?

Agree, that is, when it is not appropriate.

What then? Do not gold and ivory, he will say, when they are appropriate, make things beautiful, and when they are not appropriate, ugly? Shall we deny that, or agree that what he says is correct?

We shall agree to this, at any rate, that whatever is appropriate to any particular thing makes that thing beautiful.

Well, then, he will say, when some one has boiled the pot of which we were speaking just now, the beautiful one, full of beautiful soup, is a golden ladle appropriate to it, or one made of fig wood?

Heracles! What a fellow this is that you speak of! Won’t you tell me who he is?

You would not know him if I should tell you his name.

But even now I know that he is an ignoramus.

Section 291

He is a great nuisance, Hippias but yet, what shall we say? Which of the two ladles shall we say is appropriate to the soup and the pot? Is it not evidently the one of fig wood? For it is likely to make the soup smell better, and besides, my friend, it would not break the pot, thereby spilling the soup, putting out the fire, and making those who are to be entertained go without their splendid soup; whereas the golden ladle would do all those things, so that it seems to me that we must say that the wooden ladle is more appropriate than the golden one, unless you disagree.

No, for it is more appropriate, Socrates; however, I, for my part, would not talk with the fellow when he asks such questions.

Quite right, my friend; for it would not be appropriate for you to be filled up with such words, you who are so beautifully clad, so beautifully shod, and so famous for your wisdom among all the Greeks; but for me it doesn’t matter if I do associate with the fellow; so instruct me and for my sake answer him. For if the wooden one is more appropriate than the golden one, the fellow will say, would it not be more beautiful, since you agreed, Socrates, that the appropriate is more beautiful than that which is not appropriate? Shall we not agree, Hippias, that the wooden one is more beautiful than the golden?

Do you wish me to tell you, Socrates, what definition of the beautiful will enable you to free yourself from long discussion?

Certainly; but not until after you have told me which of the two ladles I just spoke of I shall reply is appropriate and more beautiful.

Well, if you like, reply to him that it is the one made of fig wood.

Now, then, say what you were just now going to say. For by this reply, if I say that the beautiful is gold, it seems to me that gold will be shown to be no more beautiful than fig wood; but what do you now, once more, say that the beautiful is?

I will tell you; for you seem to me to be seeking to reply that the beautiful is something of such sort that it will never appear ugly anywhere to anybody.

Certainly, Hippias; now you understand beautifully.

Listen, then; for, mind you, if anyone has anything to say against this, you may say I know nothing at all.

Then for Heaven’s sake, speak as quickly as you can.

I say, then, that for every man and everywhere it is most beautiful to be rich and healthy, and honored by the Greeks, to reach old age, and, after providing a beautiful funeral for his deceased parents, to be beautifully and splendidly buried by his own offspring.

Bravo, bravo, Hippias! You have spoken in a way that is wonderful and great and worthy of you; and now, by Hera, I thank you, because you are kindly coming to my assistance to the best of your ability. But our shots are not hitting the man; no, he will laugh at us now more than ever, be sure of that.

Section 292

A wretched laugh, Socrates; for when he has nothing to say to this, but laughs, he will be laughing at himself and will himself be laughed at by those present.

Perhaps that is so perhaps, however, after this reply, he will, I foresee, be likely to do more than laugh at me.

Why do you say that, pray?

Because, if he happens to have a stick, unless I get away in a hurry, he will try to fetch me a good one.

What? Is the fellow some sort of master of yours, and if he does that, will he not be arrested and have to pay for it? Or does your city disregard justice and allow the citizens to beat one another unjustly?

Oh no that is not allowed at all.

Then he will have to pay a penalty for beating you unjustly.

I do not think so, Hippias. No, if I were to make that reply, the beating would be just, I think.

Then I think so, too, Socrates, since that is your own belief.

Shall I, then, not tell you why it is my own belief that the beating would be just, if I made that reply? Or will you also beat me without trial? Or will you listen to what I have to say?

It would be shocking if I would not listen; but what have you to say?

I will tell you, imitating him in the same way as a while ago, that I may not use to you such harsh and uncouth words as he uses to me. For you may be sure, Tell me, Socrates, he will say, do you think it would be unjust if you got a beating for singing such a long dithyramb so unmusically and so far from the question? How so? I shall say. How so? he will say; are you not able to remember that I asked for the absolute beautiful, by which everything to which it is added has the property of being beautiful, both stone and stick and man and god and every act and every acquisition of knowledge? For what I am asking is this, man: what is absolute beauty? and I cannot make you hear what I say any more than if you were a stone sitting beside me, and a millstone at that, having neither ears nor brain. Would you, then, not be angry, Hippias,if I should be frightened and should reply in this way? Well, but Hippias said that this was the beautiful; and yet I asked him, just as you asked me, what is beautiful to all and always. What do you say? Will you not be angry if I say that?

I know very well, Socrates, that this which I said was beautiful is beautiful to all and will seem so.

And will it be so, too he will say for the beautiful is always beautiful, is it not?

Certainly.

Then was it so, too? he will say.

It was so, too.

Section 293

And, he will say, did the stranger from Elis say also that for Achilles it was beautiful to be buried later than his parents, and for his grandfather Aeacus, and all the others who were born of gods, and for the gods themselves?

What’s that? Confound it! These questions of the fellow’s are not even respectful to religion.

Well, then, when another asks the question, perhaps it is not quite disrespectful to religion to say that these things are so?

Perhaps.

Perhaps, then, you are the man, he will say, who says that it is beautiful for every one and always to be buried by one’s offspring, and to bury one’s parents; or was not Heracles included in ’every one,’ he and all those whom we just now mentioned?

But I did not say it was so for the gods.

Nor for the heroes either, apparently.

Not those who were children of gods.

But those who were not?

Certainly.

Then again, according to your statement, among the heroes it is terrible and impious and disgraceful for Tantalus and Dardanus and Zethus, but beautiful for Pelops and the others who were born as he was?

I think so.

You think, then, what you did not say just now, that to bury one’s parents and be buried by one’s offspring is sometimes and for some persons disgraceful; and it is still more impossible, as it seems, for this to become and to be beautiful for all, so that the same thing has happened to this as to the things we mentioned before, the maiden and the pot, in a still more ridiculous way than to them; it is beautiful for some and not beautiful for others. And you are not able yet, even today, Socrates, he will say, to answer what is asked about the beautiful, namely what it is. With these words and the like he will rebuke me, if I reply to him in this way. For the most part, Hippias, he talks with me in some such way as that but sometimes, as if in pity for my inexperience and lack of training, he himself volunteers a question, and asks whether I think the beautiful is so and so or whatever else it is which happens to be the subject of our questions and our discussion.

What do you mean by that, Socrates?

I will tell you. Oh, my dear Socrates, he says, stop making replies of this sort and in this way—for they are too silly and easy to refute; but see if something like this does not seem to you to be beautiful, which we got hold of just now in our reply, when we said that gold was beautiful for those things for which it was appropriate, but not for those for which it was not, and that all the other things were beautiful to which this quality pertains; so examine this very thing, the appropriate, and see if it is perchance the beautiful. Now I am accustomed to agree to such things every time for I don’t know what to say; but now does it seem to you that the appropriate is the beautiful?

Yes, certainly, Socrates.

Let us consider, lest we make a mistake somehow.

Yes, we must consider.

Section 294

See, then; do we say that the appropriate is that which, when it is added, makes each of those things to which it is added appear beautiful, or which makes them be beautiful, or neither of these?

I think so.

Which?

That which makes them appear beautiful; as when a man takes clothes or shoes that fit, even if he be ridiculous, he appears more beautiful.

Then if the appropriate makes him appear more beautiful than he is, the appropriate would be a sort of deceit in respect to the beautiful, and would not be that which we are looking for, would it, Hippias? For we were rather looking for that by which all beautiful things are beautiful—like that by which all great things are great, that is, excess; for it is by this that all great things are great; for even if they do not appear great, but exceed, they are of necessity great; so, then, we say, what would the beautiful be, by which all things are beautiful, whether they appear so or not? For it could not be the appropriate, since that, by your statement, makes things appear more beautiful than they are, but does not let them appear such as they are. But we must try to say what that is which makes things be beautiful, as I said just now, whether they appear so or not; for that is what we are looking for, since we are looking for the beautiful.

But the appropriate, Socrates, makes things both be and appear beautiful by its presence.

Is it impossible, then, for things which are really beautiful not to appear to be beautiful, at any rate when that is present which makes them appear so?

It is impossible.

Shall we, then, agree to this, Hippias, that all things which are really beautiful, both uses and pursuits, are always believed to be beautiful by all, and appear so to them, or, quite the contrary, that people are ignorant about them, and that there is more strife and contention about them than about anything else, both in private between individuals and in public between states?

The latter rather, Socrates; that people are ignorant about them.

They would not be so, if the appearance of beauty were added to them; and it would be added, if the appropriate were beautiful and made things not only to be beautiful, but also to appear so. So that the appropriate, if it is that which makes things be beautiful, would be the beautiful which we are looking for, but would not be that which makes things appear beautiful; but if, on the other hand, the appropriate is that which makes things appear beautiful, it would not be the beautiful for which we are looking. For that makes things be beautiful, but the same element could not make things both appear and be beautiful, nor could it make them both appear and be anything else whatsoever. Let us choose, then, whether we think that the appropriate is that which makes things appear or be beautiful.

That which makes them appear so, in my opinion, Socrates.

Whew! Our perception of what the beautiful is has fled away and gone, Hippias, since the appropriate has been found to be something other than the beautiful.

Yes, by Zeus, Socrates, and to me that is very queer.

Section 295

However, my friend, let us not yet give it up, for I still have hopes that what the beautiful is will be made clear.

Certainly, to be sure, Socrates, for it is not hard to find. Now I know that if I should go away into solitude and meditate alone by myself, I could tell it to you with the most perfect accuracy.

Ah, don’t boast, Hippias. You see how much trouble it has caused us already; I’m afraid it may get angry and run away more than ever. And yet that is nonsense; for you, I think, will easily find it when you go away by yourself. But for Heaven’s sake, find it in my presence, or, if you please, join me, as you are now doing, in looking for it. And if we find it, that will be splendid, but if we do not, I shall, I suppose, accept my lot, and you will go away and find it easily. And if we find it now, I shall certainly not be a nuisance to you by asking what that was which you found by yourself; but now once more see if this is in your opinion the beautiful : I say, then, that it is—but consider, paying close attention to me, that I may not talk nonsense—for I say, then, whatever is useful shall be for us beautiful. But I said it with this reason for my thought; beautiful eyes, we say, are not such as seem to be so, which are unable to see, but those which are able and useful for seeing. Is that right?

Yes.

Then, too, in the same way we say that the whole body is beautiful, part of it for running, part for wrestling; and again all the animals, a beautiful horse or cock or quail and all utensils and land vehicles, and on the sea freight-ships and ships of war; and all instruments in music and in the other arts, and, if you like, customs and laws also—pretty well all these we call beautiful in the same way looking at each of them—how it is formed by nature, how it is wrought, how it has been enacted—the useful we call beautiful, and beautiful in the way in which it is useful, and for the purpose for which it is useful, and at the time when it is useful; and that which is in all these aspects useless we say is ugly. Now is not this your opinion also, Hippias?

It is.Soc, Then are we right in saying that the useful rather than everything else is beautiful?

We are right, surely, Socrates.

Now that which has power to accomplish anything is useful for that for which it has power, but that which is powerless is useless, is it not?

Certainly.

Power, then, is beautiful, and want of power is disgraceful or ugly.

Section 296

Decidedly. Now other things, Socrates, testify for us that this is so, but especially political affairs; for in political affairs and in one’s own state to be powerful is the most beautiful of all things, but to be powerless is the most disgraceful of all.

Good! Then, for Heaven’s sake, Hippias, is wisdom also for this reason the most beautiful of all things and ignorance the most disgraceful of all things?

Well, what do you suppose, Socrates?

Just keep quiet, my dear friend; I am so afraid and wondering what in the world we are saying again.

What are you afraid of again, Socrates, since now your discussion has gone ahead most beautifully?

I wish that might be the case; but consider this point with me: could a person do what he did not know how and was utterly powerless to do?

By no means; for how could he do what he was powerless to do?

Then those who commit errors and accomplish and do bad things involuntarily, if they were powerless to do those things, would not do them?

Evidently not.

But yet it is by power that those are powerful who are powerful for surely it is not by powerlessness.

Certainly not.

And all who do, have power to do what they do?

Yes.

Men do many more bad things than good, from childhood up, and commit many errors involuntarily.

That is true.

Well, then, this power and these useful things, which are useful for accomplishing something bad—shall we say that they are beautiful, or far from it?

Far from it, in my opinion, Socrates.

Then, Hippias, the powerful and the useful are not, as it seems, our beautiful.

They are, Socrates, if they are powerful and useful for good.

Then that assertion, that the powerful and useful are beautiful without qualification, is gone; but was this, Hippias, what our soul wished to say, that the useful and the powerful for doing something good is the beautiful?

Yes, in my opinion.

But surely this is beneficial; or is it not?

Certainly.

So by this argument the beautiful persons and beautiful customs and all that we mentioned just now are beautiful because they are beneficial.

Evidently.

Then the beneficial seems to us to be the beautiful, Hippias.

Yes, certainly, Socrates.

But the beneficial is that which creates good.

Yes, it is.

But that which creates is nothing else than the cause; am I right?

It is so.

Section 297

Then the beautiful is the cause of the good.

Yes, it is.

But surely, Hippias, the cause and that of which the cause is the cause are different; for the cause could not well be the cause of the cause. But look at it in this way was not the cause seen to be creating?

Yes, certainly.

By that which creates, then, only that is created which comes into being, but not that which creates. Is not that true?

That is true.

The cause, then, is not the cause of the cause, but of that which comes into being through it.

Certainly.

If, then, the beautiful is the cause of good, the good would come into being through the beautiful; and this is why we are eager for wisdom and all the other beautiful things, because their offspring, the good, is worthy of eagerness, and, from what we are finding, it looks as if the beautiful were a sort of father of the good.

Certainly for what you say is well said, Socrates.

Then is this well said, too, that the father is not the son, and the son not father?

To be sure it is well said.

And neither is the cause that which comes into being, nor is that which comes into being the cause.

True.

By Zeus, my good friend, then neither is the beautiful good, nor the good beautiful; or does it seem to you possible, after what has been said?

No, by Zeus, it does not appear so to me.

Does it please us, and should we be willing to say that the beautiful is not good, and the good not beautiful?

No, by Zeus, it does not please me at all.

Right, by Zeus, Hippias! And it pleases me least of all the things we have said.

Yes, that is likely.

Then there is a good chance that the statement that the beneficial and the useful and the powerful to create something good are beautiful, is not, as it appeared to be, the most beautiful of of statements, but, if that be possible, is even more ridiculous than those first ones in which we thought the maiden was the beautiful, and each of the various other things we spoke of before.

That is likely.

And Hippias, I no longer know where to turn; I am at a loss; but have you anything to say?

Not at the moment, but, as I said just now, I am sure I shall find it after meditation.

Section 298

But it seems to me that I am so eager to know that I cannot wait for you while you delay; for I believe I have just now found a way out. Just see; how would it help us towards our goal if we were to say that that is beautiful which makes us feel joy; I do not mean all pleasures, but that which makes us feel joy through hearing and sight? For surely beautiful human beings, Hippias, and all decorations and paintings and works of sculpture which are beautiful, delight us when we see them; and beautiful sounds and music in general and speeches and stories do the same thing, so that if we were to reply to that impudent fellow, My excellent man, the beautiful is that which is pleasing through hearing and sight, don’t you think that we should put a stop to his impudence?

To me, at any rate, Socrates, it seems that the nature of the beautiful is now well stated.

But what then? Shall we say, Hippias, that beautiful customs and laws are beautiful because they are pleasing through hearing and sight, or that they have some other form of beauty?

Perhaps, Socrates, these things might slip past the man unnoticed.

No, by dog, Hippias—not past the man before whom I should be most ashamed of talking nonsense and pretending that I was talking sense when I was not.

What man is that?

Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, who would no more permit me to say these things carelessly without investigation than to say that I know what I do not know.

But certainly I also, now that you have mentioned it, think that this about the laws is something different.

Not too fast, Hippias; for very likely we have fallen into the same perplexity about the beautiful in which we were a while ago, although we think we have found another way out.

What do you mean by that, Socrates?

I will tell you what presents itself to me, if perhaps there may be some sense in it. For perhaps these matters of laws and customs might be shown to be not outside of the perception which we have through hearing and sight; but let us stick to the statement that that which is pleasing through the senses is beautiful, without interjecting the matter of the laws. But if this man of whom I speak, or anyone else whosoever, should ask us: Hippias and Socrates, did you make the distinction that in the category of the pleasing that which is pleasing in the way you mention is beautiful, whereas you say that that which is pleasing according to the other senses —those concerned with food and drink and sexual love and all such things—is not beautiful? Or do you say that such things are not even pleasing and that there is no pleasure at all in them, nor in anything else except sight and hearing? What shall we say, Hippias?

Certainly, by all means, Socrates, we shall say that there are very great pleasures in the other things also.

Section 299

Why, then, he will say, if they are pleasures no less than the others, do you take from them this designation and deprive them of being beautiful? Because, we shall say, everybody would laugh at us if we should say that eating is not pleasant but is beautiful, and that a pleasant odor is not pleasant but is beautiful; and as to the act of sexual love, we should all, no doubt, contend that it is most pleasant, but that one must, if he perform it, do it so that no one else shall see, because it is most repulsive to see. If we say this, Hippias, I too understand, he will perhaps say, that you have all along been ashamed to say that these pleasures are beautiful, because they do not seem so to people; but that is not what I asked, what seems to most people to be beautiful, but what is so. We shall, then, I fancy, say, as we suggested, We say that that part of the pleasant which comes by sight and hearing is beautiful. Do you think the statement is of any use, Hippias, or shall we say something else?

Inevitably, in view of what has been said, Socrates, we must say just that.

Excellent! he will say. Then if that which is pleasant through sight and hearing is beautiful, that among pleasant things which does not happen to be of that sort would evidently not be beautiful? Shall we agree?

Yes.

Is, then, that which is pleasant through sight, he will say, pleasant through sight and hearing, or is that which is pleasant through hearing pleasant through hearing and sight? No, we shall say, that which is pleasant through each of these would not in the least be pleasant through both—for that is what you appear to us to mean—but we said that either of these pleasant things would be beautiful alone by itself, and both together. Is not that the reply we shall make?

Certainly.

Does, then, he will say, any pleasant thing whatsoever differ from any pleasant thing whatsoever by this, by being pleasant? I ask not whether any pleasure is greater or smaller or more or less, but whether it differs by just this very thing, by the fact that one of the pleasures is a pleasure and the other is not a pleasure. We do not think so. Do we?

No, we do not.

Is it not, then, he will say, for some other reason than because they are pleasures that you chose these pleasures out from the other pleasures —it was because you saw some quality in both, since they have something different from the others, in view of which you say that they are beautiful? For the reason why that which is pleasant through sight is beautiful, is not, I imagine, because it is through sight; for if that were the cause of its being beautiful, the other pleasure, that through hearing, would not be beautiful; it certainly is not pleasure through sight. Shall we say What you say is true?

Yes, we shall.

Section 300

Nor, again, is the pleasure through hearing beautiful for the reason that it is through hearing; for in that case, again, the pleasure through sight would not be beautiful; it certainly is not pleasure through hearing. Shall we say, Hippias, that the man who says that speaks the truth?

Yes, he speaks the truth.

But yet both are beautiful, as you say. We do say that, do we not?

We do.

They have, then, something identical which makes them to be beautiful, this common quality which pertains to both of them in common and to each individually; for otherwise they would not both collectively and each individually be beautiful. Answer me, as if you were answering him.

I answer, and I think it is as you say.

If, then, these pleasures are both affected in any way collectively, but each individually is not so affected, it is not by this affection that they would be beautiful.

And how could that be, Socrates, when neither of them individually is affected by some affection or other, that then both are affected by that affection by which neither is affected?

You think it cannot be?

I should have to be very inexperienced both in the nature of these things and in the language of our present discussion.

Very pretty, Hippias. But there is a chance that I think I see a case of that kind which you say is impossible, but do not really see it.

There’s no chance about it, Socrates, but you quite purposely see wrongly.

And certainly many such cases appear before my mind, but I mistrust them because they do not appear to you, a man who has made more money by wisdom than anyone now living, but to me who never made any money at all; and the thought disturbs me that you are playing with me and purposely deceiving me, they appear to me in such numbers and with such force.

Nobody, Socrates, will know better than you whether I am playing with you or not, if you proceed to tell these things that appear to you; for it will be apparent to you that you are talking nonsense. For you will never find that you and I are both affected by an affection by which neither of us is affected.

What are you saying, Hippias? Perhaps you are talking sense, and I fail to understand; but let me tell more clearly what I wish to say. For it appears to me that it is possible for us both to be so affected as to be something which I am not so affected as to be, and which I am not and you are not either; and again for neither of us to be so affected as to be other things which we both are.

Section 301

Your reply, Socrates, seems to involve miracles again even greater than those of your previous reply. For consider: if we are both just, would not each of us be just also, and if each is unjust, would not both again also be unjust, or if both are healthy, each of us also? Or if each of us were to be tired or wounded or struck or affected in any other way whatsoever, should we not both of us be affected in the same way? Then, too, if we were to be golden or of silver or of ivory, or, if you please, noble or wise or honored or old or young or whatever else you like of all that flesh is heir to, is it not quite inevitable that each of us be that also?

Absolutely.

But you see, Socrates, you do not consider the entirety of things, nor do they with whom you are in the habit of conversing, but you all test the beautiful and each individual entity by taking them separately and cutting them to pieces. For this reason you fail to observe that embodiments of reality are by nature so great and undivided. And now you have failed to observe to such a degree that you think there is some affection or reality which pertains to both of these together, but not to each individually, or again to each, but not to both; so unreasoning and undiscerning and foolish and unreflecting is your state of mind.

Human affairs, Hippias, are not what a man wishes, but what he can, as the proverb goes which people are constantly citing; but you are always aiding us with admonitions. For now too, until we were admonished by you of our foolish state of mind—shall I continue to speak and make you a still further exhibition of our thoughts on the subject, or shall I not speak?

You will speak to one who knows, Socrates, for I know the state of mind of all who are concerned with discussions; but nevertheless, if you prefer, speak.

Well, I do prefer. For we, my friend, were so stupid, before you spoke, as to have an opinion concerning you and me, that each of us was one, but that we were not both that which each of us was—for we are not one, but two —so foolish were we. But now we have been taught by you that if we are both two, then each of us is inevitably two, and if each is one, then both are inevitably one; for it is impossible, by the continuous doctrine of reality according to Hippias, that it be otherwise, but what we both are, that each is, and what each is, both are. So now I have been convinced by you, and I hold this position. But first, Hippias, refresh my memory: Are you and I one, or are you two and I two?

What do you mean, Socrates?

Section 302

Just what I say; for I am afraid to speak plainly to you, because you are vexed with me, when you think you are talking sensibly; however, tell me further: Is not each of us one and affected in such a way as to be one?

Certainly.

Then each of us, if one, would be an odd number; or do you not consider one an odd number?

I do.

Then are we both an odd number, being two?

That could not be, Socrates.

But we are both an even number, are we not?

Certainly.

Then because we are both even, is each of us on that account even?

No, surely not.

Then it is not absolutely inevitable, as you said just now, that what both are, each is, and what each is, both are.

Not things of this sort, but such as I mentioned before.

That suffices, Hippias; for even this is welcome, since it appears that some things are so and some are not so. For I said, if you remember the beginning of this discussion, that pleasure through sight and through hearing were beautiful, not by that by which each of them was so affected as to be beautiful, but not both, nor both but not each, but by that by which both and each were so affected, because you conceded that both and each were beautiful. For this reason I thought that if both are beautiful they must be beautiful by that essence which belongs to both, but not by that which is lacking in each; and I still think so. But tell me, as in the beginning: If pleasure through sight and pleasure through hearing are both and each beautiful, does not that which makes them beautiful belong to both and to each?

Certainly.

Is it, then, for this reason, because each is a pleasure and both are pleasures, that they would be beautiful? Or would all other pleasures be for this reason no less beautiful than they? For we saw, if you remember, that they were no less pleasures.

Yes,I remember.

But for this reason, because these pleasures were through sight and hearing, it was said that they are beautiful.

Yes, that is what was said.

See if what I say is true. For it was said, if my memory serves me, that this pleasant was beautiful, not all pleasant, but that which is through sight and hearing.

True.

Now this quality belongs to both, but not to each, does it not? For surely each of them, as was said before, is not through both senses, but both are through both, and each is not. Is that true?

It is.

Section 303

Then it is not by that which does not belong to each that each of them is beautiful; for both does not belong to each; so that it is possible, according to our hypothesis, to say that they both are beautiful, but not to say that each is so; or what shall we say? Is that not inevitable?

It appears so.

Shall we say, then, that both are beautiful, but that each is not?

What is to prevent?

This seems to me, my friend, to prevent, that there were some attributes thus belonging to individual things, which belonged, we thought, to each, if they belonged to both, and to both, if they belonged to each—I mean all those attributes which you specified. Am I right?

Yes.

But those again which I specified did not; and among those were precisely each and both. Is that so?

It is.

To which group, then, Hippias, does the beautiful seem to you to belong? To the group of those that you mentioned? If I am strong and you also, are we both collectively strong, and if I am just and you also, are we both collectively just, and if both collectively, then each individually so, too, if I am beautiful and you also, are we both collectively beautiful, and if both collectively, then each individually? Or is there nothing to prevent this, as in the case that when given things are both collectively even, they may perhaps individually be odd, or perhaps even, and again, when things are individually irrational quantities they may perhaps both collectively be rational, or perhaps irrational, and countless other cases which, you know, I said appeared before my mind? To which group do you assign the beautiful? Or have you the same view about it as I? For to me it seems great foolishness that we collectively are beautiful, but each of us is not so, or that each of us is so, but both are not, or anything else of that sort. Do you choose in this way, as I do, or in some other way?

In this way, Socrates.

You choose well, Hippias, that we may be free from the need of further search; for if the beautiful is in this group, that which is pleasing through sight and hearing would no longer be the beautiful. For the expression through sight and hearing makes both collectively beautiful, but not each individually; and this was impossible, as you and I agree.

Yes, we agree.

It is, then, impossible that the pleasant through sight and hearing be the beautiful, since in becoming beautiful it offers an impossibility.

That is true.

Then tell us again, he will say, from the beginning, since you failed this time; what do you say that this ’beautiful,’ belonging to both the pleasures, is, on account of which you honored them before the rest and called them beautiful? It seems to me, Hippias, inevitable that we say that these are the most harmless and the best of pleasures, both of them collectively and each of them individually; or have you anything else to suggest, by which they excel the rest?

Not at all; for really they are the best.

This, then, he will say, you say is the beautiful, beneficial pleasure? It seems that we do, I shall say; and you?

I also.

Section 304

Well, then, he will say, beneficial is that which creates the good, but that which creates and that which is created were just now seen to be different, and our argument has come round to the earlier argument, has it not? For neither could the good be beautiful nor the beautiful good, if each of them is different from the other. Absolutely true, we shall say, if we are reasonable; for it is inadmissible to disagree with him who says what is right.

But now, Socrates, what do you think all this amounts to? It is mere scrapings and shavings of discourse, as I said a while ago, divided into bits; but that other ability is beautiful and of great worth, the ability to produce a discourse well and beautifully in a court of law or a council-house or before any other public body before which the discourse may be delivered, to convince the audience and to carry off, not the smallest, but the greatest of prizes, the salvation of oneself, one’s property, and one’s friends. For these things, therefore, one must strive, renouncing these petty arguments, that one may not, by busying oneself, as at present, with mere talk and nonsense, appear to be a fool.

My dear Hippias, you are blessed because you know the things a man ought to practise, and have, as you say, practised them satisfactorily. But I, as it seems, am possessed by some accursed fortune, so that I am always wandering and perplexed, and, exhibiting my perplexity to you wise men, am in turn reviled by you in speech whenever I exhibit it. For you say of me, what you are now saying, that I busy myself with silly little matters of no account; but when in turn I am convinced by you and say what you say, that it is by far the best thing to be able to produce a discourse well and beautifully and gain one’s end in a court of law or in any other assemblage, I am called everything that is bad by some other men here and especially by that man who is continually refuting me; for he is a very near relative of mine and lives in the same house. So whenever I go home to my own house, and he hears me saying these things, he asks me if I am not ashamed that I have the face to talk about beautiful practices, when it is so plainly shown, to my confusion, that I do not even know what the beautiful itself is. And yet how are you to know, he will say, either who produced a discourse, or anything else whatsoever, beautifully, or not, when you are ignorant of the beautiful? And when you are in such a condition, do you think it is better for you to be alive than dead? So it has come about, as I say, that I am abused and reviled by you and by him. But perhaps it is necessary to endure all this, for it is quite reasonable that I might be benefited by it. So I think, Hippias, that I have been benefited by conversation with both of you; for I think I know the meaning of the proverb beautiful things are difficult.

Contents — 14 sections

1. Section 363
2. Section 364
3. Section 365
4. Section 366
5. Section 367
6. Section 368
7. Section 369
8. Section 370
9. Section 371
10. Section 372
11. Section 373
12. Section 374
13. Section 375
14. Section 376

Section 363

Why, then, are you silent, Socrates, when Hippias has been delivering such a fine display? Why do you not join us in praising some part of his speech, or else, if he seems to you to have been wrong in any point, refute him—especially now that we who might best claim to have a share in philosophical discussion have been left to ourselves?

Indeed, Eudicus, there are some points in what Hippias was just now saying of Homer, about which I should like to question him. For I used to hear your father Apemantus say that Homer’s Iliad was a finer poem than the Odyssey, and just as much finer as Achilles was finer than Odysseus for he said that one of these poems was made with Odysseus; the other with Achilles as its subject. So that is a point about which, if it is agreeable to Hippias, I should like to ask—what he thinks about these two men, which of them he says is the better; for he has told us in his exhibition many other things of sorts about Homer and other poets.

It is plain enough that Hippias will not object answering if you ask him a question. Oh, Hippias, if Socrates asks you a question, will you answer? or what will you do?

Why, Eudicus, it would be strange conduct on my part, if I, who always go up to Olympia to the festival of the Greeks from my home at Elis, and entering the sacred precinct, offer to speak on anything that anyone chooses of those subjects which I prepared for exhibition, and to answer any questions that anyone asks—should now avoid being questioned by Socrates.

Section 364

You are in a state of blessedness, Hippias, if at every Olympiad you come to the sanctuary with fair hopes concerning your soul and its wisdom; and I should be surprised if any of the physical athletes when he goes to that same place to take part in the contests, has such fearless confidence in his body as you have in your intellect.

Naturally, Socrates, I am in this state: for since I began to contend at the Olympic games, I never yet met anyone better than myself in anything.

That is splendid, Hippias! Your reputation will be a monument of wisdom for the city of Elis and your parents. But now what do you say about Achilles and Odysseus? Which do you say is the better and in what respect? For when there were many of us in the room, and you were making your exhibition, I could not keep up with what you were saying: for I hesitated to ask questions, because there was a great crowd in the room, also for fear of hindering your exhibition by doing so; but now, since we are fewer and Eudicus here urges me to question you, speak and tell us clearly what you said about these two men; how did you distinguish them?

Why I am glad, Socrates, to explain to you still more clearly what I say about these and others also. For I say that Homer made Achilles the bravest man of those who went to Troy, and Nestor the wisest, and Odysseus the wiliest.

Oh dear, Hippias! Would you do me the favour not to laugh at me if I find it hard to understand what you say, and keep asking questions over and over? Please try to answer me gently and courteously.

Of course; for it would be a disgrace, Socrates, if I, who teach others good manners and charge them money for it, should not myself, when questioned by you, be considerate and reply gently.

That is excellent. For when you said that the poet made Achilles the bravest of men, and Nestor the wisest, I thought I understood what you meant; but when you said that he made Odysseus the wiliest, to tell you the truth, I do not in the least know what you mean by that. Now tell me, and perhaps it may result in my understanding better. Has not Homer made Achilles wily?

Section 365

Not at all, Socrates; he made him most simple; for in The Prayers, when he depicts them talking with one another, he makes Achilles say to Odysseus: Zeus-born son of Laertes, wily Odysseus, I must speak out the word without refraining, as I shall act and think will be accomplished . For hateful to me as the gates of Hades is he who hides one thing in his heart and says another. But I shall speak that which shall be accomplished.In these lines he makes plain the character of each of the men, that Achilles is true and simple, and Odysseus wily and false for he represents Achilles as saying these lines to Odysseus.

Now at last, Hippias, I think I understand what you mean; you mean that the wily man is false, apparently.

Certainly, Socrates; for Homer represents Odysseus as that sort of a man in many passages of both Iliad and Odyssey.

Homer, then, as it seems, thought that a true man was one man and a false man another, but not the same.

Of course he did, Socrates.

And do you think so yourself, Hippias?

Most assuredly; for it would be strange if I did not.

Then let us drop Homer, since it is impossible to ask him what he meant when he made those verses; but since you come forward to take up his cause, and agree in this which you say is his meaning, do you answer for Homer and yourself in common.

Very well; ask briefly whatever you like.

Do you say that the false are, like the sick, without power to do anything, or that they have power to do something?

I say that they have great power to do many things, and especially to deceive people.

They are, then, powerful, according to you, and wily, are they not?

Yes.

But are they wily and deceivers by reason of simplicity and folly, or by reason of shrewdness and a sort of intelligence?

By shrewdness, most assuredly, and intelligence.

They are intelligent, then, as it seems.

Yes, by Zeus, too much so.

And being intelligent, do they know what they are doing, or do they not know?

Yes, they know very well; that is why they do harm.

And knowing these things which they know, are they ignorant, or wise?

Section 366

Wise, surely, in just this, deception.

Stop. Let us recall what you say. You say that the false are powerful and intelligent, and knowing and wise in those things in which they are false?

Yes, I do.

And that the true and the false are different and complete opposites of one another?

I do.

Well, then, the false are among the powerful and the wise, according to your statement.

Certainly.

And when you say that the false are powerful and wise for falsehood, do you mean that they have power to utter falsehoods if they like, or that they are powerless in respect to the falsehoods which they utter?

That they have power.

In short, then, the false are those who are wise and powerful in uttering falsehoods.

Yes.

A man, then, who has not the power to utter falsehoods and is ignorant would not be false.

That is true.

Well, but every man has power who does what he wishes at the time when he wishes; I am not speaking of one who is prevented by disease or that sort of thing, but as I might say of you that you have power to write my name when you wish or do you not say that a man has power who is in such a condition?

Yes, I do.

Tell me, then, Hippias, are you not skillful in arithmetical calculations?

Most assuredly, Socrates.

Then if some one were to ask you what the product of three times seven hundred is, you could, if you wished, tell him the truth about that more quickly and better than anyone else?

Certainly.

Because you are the most powerful and wisest of men in these matters?

Yes.

Are you, then, merely wisest and most powerful, or are you also best in those matters in which you are most powerful and wisest, namely calculations?

Best also, to be sure, Socrates.

Then you would have the greatest power to tell the truth about these things, would you not?

I think so.

Section 367

But what of falsehoods about these same things? And please answer this with the same splendid frankness as my previous questions, Hippias. If some one were to ask you how much three times seven hundred is, would you have the most power to tell falsehoods and always uniformly to say false things about these matters, if you wished to tell falsehoods and never to reply truly; or would he who is ignorant of calculations have more power to tell falsehoods than you, if you wished to do so? Or would the ignorant man often, when he wished to tell falsehoods, involuntarily tell the truth, if it so happened, because he did not know, whereas you, the wise man, if you wished to tell falsehoods, would tell them always and uniformly?

Yes, it is as you say.

Is the false man, then, false about other things, but not about number, and would he not tell falsehoods when dealing with number?

He is false about number also, by Zeus.

Shall we, then, assume this also, that there is such a person as a man who is false about calculation and number?

Yes.

Now who would that man be? Must he not, as you just now agreed, have power to tell falsehoods, if he is to be false? For it was said by you, if you recollect, that he who has not the power to tell falsehoods would never be false.

Yes, I recollect, that was said.

And just now you were found to have most power to tell falsehoods about calculations, were you not?

Yes, that also was said.

Have you, then, also most power to tell the truth about calculations?

Certainly.

Then the same man has most power to speak both falsehood and truth about calculations; and this man is the one who is good in respect to them, namely the calculator.

Yes.

Who, then, becomes false in respect to calculation, Hippias, other than the good man? For the same man is also powerful and he is also true.

So it appears.

You see, then, that the same man is both false and true in respect to these matters, and the true is in no wise better than the false? For he is indeed the same man, and the two are not utter opposites, as you thought just now.

Apparently not, at least in this field.

Shall we, then, investigate elsewhere?

If you like.

Well, then, are you expert in geometry also?

I am.

Well, has not the same man most power to speak falsehood and truth about geometry, namely the geometrician?

Yes.

In respect to that, then, is any other good than he?

No, no other.

The good and wise geometrician, then, has the most power in both respects, has he not? And if anyone is false in respect to diagrams, it would be this man, the good geometrician? For he has the power, and the bad one was powerless, to speak falsehood; so that he who has no power to speak falsehood would not become false, as has been agreed.

That is true.

Section 368

Let us, then, investigate also the third man, the astronomer, whose art you think you know even better than those of the previous ones; do you not, Hippias?

Yes.

Are not the same things true in astronomy also?

Probably, Socrates.

Then in astronomy also, if anyone is false, the good astronomer will be false, he who has power to speak falsehood. For he who has not power will not for he is ignorant.

So it appears.

The same man, then, in astronomy will be true and false.

So it seems.

Come now, Hippias, consider generally in this way concerning all the sciences, whether this is the case, or not. Certainly you are the wisest of men in the greatest number of arts, as I once heard you boast, recounting your great and enviable wisdom in the market-place at the tables of the moneychangers. You said that once, when you went to Olympia, everything you had on your person was your own work; first the ring—for you began with that— which you had was your own work, showing that you knew how to engrave rings, and another seal was your work, and a strigil and an oil-flask were your works; then you said that you yourself had made the sandals you had on, and had woven your cloak and tunic; and, what seemed to every one most unusual and proof of the most wisdom, was when you said that the girdle you wore about your tunic was like the Persian girdles of the costliest kind, and that you had made it yourself. And in addition you said that you brought with you poems, both epics and tragedies and dithyrambs, and many writings of all sorts composed in prose; and that you were there excelling all others in knowledge of the arts of which I was speaking just now, and of the correctness of rhythms and harmonies and letters, and many other things besides, as I seem to remember; and yet I forgot your art of memory, as it seems, in which you think you are most brilliant; and I fancy I have forgotten a great many other things. But, as I say, look both at your own arts—and there are plenty of them—and at those of others, and tell me if you find, in accordance with the agreements you and I have reached, any point where one man is true and another false, where they are separate and not the same. Look for this in any branch whatsoever of wisdom or shrewdness or whatever you choose to call it; but you will not find it, my friend, for it does not exist; just tell me.

Section 369

But I cannot, Socrates, at least, not now offhand.

And you never will be able to tell me, I fancy; but if what I say is true, Hippias, you remember what results from our argument.

I do not at all understand what you mean, Socrates.

No, for perhaps you are not using your art of memory; for you evidently think it is not necessary; but I will remind you. Do you remember that you said that Achilles was true and Odysseus was false and wily?

Yes.

Do you now, then, perceive that the same man has been found to be false and true, so that if Odysseus was false, he becomes also true, and if Achilles was true, he becomes also false, and the two men are not different from one another, nor opposites, but alike?

Socrates, you are always making intricate arguments of this sort, and, picking out the most difficult part of the argument, you stick to it in detail, and you do not discuss the whole subject with which the argument deals; for now, if you like, I will prove to you by satisfactory argument based on many pieces of evidence, that Homer made Achilles better than Odysseus and free from falsehood, and Odysseus crafty and a teller of many falsehoods and inferior to Achilles. And, if you like, do you oppose argument to argument, maintaining that the other is better; and these gentlemen here will determine which of us speaks better.

Hippias, I do not doubt that you are wiser than I; but it is always my custom to pay attention when anyone is speaking, especially when the speaker seems to me to be wise; and because I desire to learn what he means, I question him thoroughly and examine and compare the things he says, in order that I may learn. But if the speaker seems to me to be worthless, I neither ask questions nor care what he says. And by this you will recognize whom I regard as wise; for you will find me persistently asking such a man questions about what he says, in order that I may profit by learning something.

Section 370

And so now I noticed when you were speaking, that in the lines which you repeated just now to show that Achilles speaks to Odysseus as to a deceiver, it seems to me very strange, if what you say is true, that Odysseus the wily is nowhere found to have spoken falsely, but Achilles is found to be a wily sort of person, according to your argument; at any rate, he speaks falsely. For he begins by speaking these lines which you just quoted: For hateful to me as the gates of Hades is he who hides one thing in his heart and says another, and a little later says that he would not be persuaded by Odysseus and Agamemnon and would not stay at Troy at all, but,—Tomorrow, after sacrificing to Zeus and all the gods, (he says), I will load my ships well and drag them into the sea; then you shall see, if you like and if it interests you, early in the morning my ships sailing the fishy Hellespont and my men eagerly rowing in them; and if the glorious Earthshaker should grant me a fair voyage, on the third day I should come to fertile Phthia.And even before that, when he was reviling Agamemnon, he said:And now I shall go to Phthia, since it is far better to go home with my beaked ships, and I do not intend to stay here without honor, and heap up wealth and riches for you.After he has said these things, at one time in the presence of the whole army and at another before his own comrades, he is nowhere found to have either prepared or attempted to drag down his ships to sail home, but he shows quite superb disregard of truthspeaking. Now I, Hippias, asked my question in the first place because I was perplexed as to which of the two men is represented as better by the poet, and because I thought both were very good, and it was hard to decide which was better, both in regard to falsehood and truth and to virtue in general; for both are similar in this matter.

That is because you do not look at it aright, Socrates. For the falsehoods that Achilles utters, he utters evidently not by design, but against his will, since he is forced by the misfortune of the army to remain and give assistance; but Odysseus utters his falsehoods voluntarily and by design.

You are deceiving me, beloved Hippias, and are yourself imitating Odysseus.

Section 371

Not at all, Socrates. What do you mean and to what do you refer?

That you say Achilles did not speak falsely by design, he who was not only a deceiver, but was also such a cheat and plotter, as Homer has represented him, that he is seen to be so much more clever than Odysseus in deceiving him unnoticed without difficulty, that he dared to contradict himself in his presence, and Odysseus did not notice it; at any rate Odysseus does not appear to have said anything to him which indicates that he noticed his falsehood.

What is this that you say, Socrates?

Don’t you know that after he said to Odysseus that he was going to sail away at daybreak, in speaking to Ajax he does not repeat that he is going to sail away, but says something different?

Where, pray?

Where he says:For I shall not be mindful of bloody war until warlike Priam’s son, the glorious Hector, shall reach the tents and ships of the Myrmidons through slaughter of Argives and shall burn the ships with fire. But at my tent and my black ship I think Hector, though eager for battle, will come to a halt. Now, Hippias, do you think the son of Thetis and pupil of the most wise Cheiron was so forgetful, that, although a little earlier he had reviled deceivers in the most extreme terms, he himself immediately said to Odysseus that he was going to sail away and to Ajax that he was going to stay, and was not acting by design and in the belief that Odysseus was behind the times and that he himself would get the better of him in just this matter of contrivance and falsehood?

No, I do not agree, Socrates; but in this case also Achilles was induced by the goodness of his heart to say to Ajax something different from what he had said to Odysseus; whereas Odysseus, when he speaks the truth always speaks with design, and when he speaks falsehood likewise.

Then Odysseus, as it seems, is better than Achilles.

Not in the least, Socrates.

How is that? Were not those who utter falsehoods voluntarily found to be better than those who do so involuntarily?

Section 372

And how, Socrates, could those who voluntarily do wrong and voluntarily and designedly do harm be better than those who do so involuntarily? And there seems to be good reason to forgive a man who unwittingly does wrong or speaks falsehood or does any other evil. And the laws surely are much more severe towards those who do evil and tell falsehoods voluntarily, than towards those who do so involuntarily.

Do you see, Hippias, that I speak the truth when I say that I am persistent in questioning wise men? And this is probably the only good thing about me, as I am otherwise quite worthless; for I am all wrong about facts, and do not know the truth about them. And it is to me sufficient proof of the truth of this, that when I come into contact with one of you who are famous for wisdom, and to whose wisdom all the Greeks bear witness, I am found to know nothing; for there is hardly a single thing about which you and I have the same opinion; and yet what greater proof of ignorance is there than when one disagrees with a wise man? But I have this one remarkable good quality, which is my salvation; for I am not afraid to learn, but I inquire and ask questions and am very grateful to him who answers, and I never failed in gratitude to anyone; for when I have learned anything I have never denied it, pretending that the information was a discovery of my own; but I praise the wisdom of him who instructed me and proclaim what I learned from him. And so now I do not agree with what you say, but disagree very strongly; and I know very well that this is my own fault, because I am the sort of man I am—not to give myself any greater title. For my opinion, Hippias, is the exact opposite of what you say; I think that those who injure people and do wrong and speak falsehood and cheat and err voluntarily, not involuntarily, are better than those who do so involuntarily. Sometimes, however, the opposite of this seems to me to be the case, and I am all astray about these matters, evidently because I am ignorant; but now at the present moment a sort of paroxysm of my disease has come upon me, and those who err in respect to anything voluntarily appear to me better than those who err involuntarily. And I lay the blame for my present condition upon our previous argument, which causes those who do any of these things involuntarily to appear to me at this moment worse than those who do them voluntarily.

Section 373

So please do me a favour and do not refuse to cure my soul; for you will be doing me much more good if you cure my soul of ignorance, than if you were to cure my body of disease. Now if you choose to deliver a long speech, I tell you beforehand that you would not cure me—for I could not follow you—but if you are willing to answer me, as you did just now, you will do me a great deal of good, and I think you yourself will not be injured, either. And I might fairly call upon you also, son of Apemantus, for help; for you stirred me up to converse with Hippias; so now, if Hippias is unwilling to answer me, ask him in my behalf to do so.

Well, Socrates, I imagine Hippias will need no asking from us; for that is not what he announced; he announced that he would not avoid the questioning of any man. How is that, Hippias? Is not that what you said?

Yes, I did; but Socrates, Eudicus, always makes confusion in arguments, and seems to want to make trouble.

Most excellent Hippias, I do not do these voluntarily at all—for then I should be wise and clever, according to you—but involuntarily, so forgive me; for you say, too, that he who does evil involuntarily ought to be forgiven.

And do not refuse, Hippias; but for our sake, and also because of your previous announcements, answer any questions Socrates asks you.

Well, I will answer since you request it. Ask whatever questions you like.

I certainly have a great desire, Hippias, to investigate what we are just at present talking about, namely which are better, those who err voluntarily or those who err involuntarily. Now I think the best way to go at the investigation is this. Just answer. Do you call some one a good runner?

I do.

And a bad one?

Yes.

Now, he who runs well is a good runner, and he who runs badly a bad one; is it not so?

Yes.

Then does not he who runs slowly run badly, and he who runs fast run well?

Yes.

In a race, then, and in running, rapidity is a good thing, and slowness an evil.

Why, of course.

Which, then, is the better runner, he who runs slowly voluntarily or he who does so involuntarily?

He who does it voluntarily.

Well, then, is not running doing something?

Yes, it is doing.

And if doing, is it not also performing some act?

Yes.

Then he who runs badly performs a bad and disgraceful act in a race?

Yes, a bad act of course.

But he runs badly who runs slowly?

Yes.

Then the good runner performs this bad and disgraceful act voluntarily, and the bad runner involuntarily?

So it seems.

Section 374

In running, then, he who does bad acts involuntarily is worse than he who does them voluntarily?

Yes, in running.

And how is it in wrestling? Which is the better wrestler, he who is thrown voluntarily, or involuntarily?

He who is thrown voluntarily, as it seems.

But is it worse and more disgraceful in a wrestling match to be thrown or to throw one’s opponent?

To be thrown.

In wrestling also, then, he who performs bad and disgraceful acts voluntarily is a better wrestler than he who performs them involuntarily.

So it seems.

And how is it in every other bodily exercise? Is not he who is the better man in respect to his body able to perform both kinds of acts, the strong and the weak, the disgraceful and the fine, so that whenever he performs bad acts of a bodily kind, he who is the better man in respect to his body does them voluntarily, but he who is worse does them involuntarily?

That seems to be the case in matters of strength also.

And how about grace, Hippias? Does not the better body take ugly and bad postures voluntarily, and the worse body involuntarily? Or what is your opinion?

That is my opinion.

Then ungracefulness when voluntary is associated with excellence of the body, but when involuntary with faultiness.

Apparently.

And what do you say about the voice? Which do you say is the better? That which sings out of tune voluntarily, or involuntarily?

That which does it voluntarily.

And that which does it involuntarily is the worse?

Yes.

Would you choose to possess good or bad things?

Good ones.

Would you, then, choose to possess feet that limp voluntarily, or involuntarily?

Voluntarily.

But is not a limp faultiness and ungracefulness of the feet?

Yes.

Well, is not dimness of sight faultiness of the eyes?

Yes.

Which eyes, then, would you choose to possess and live with? Those with which one would see dimly and incorrectly voluntarily, or involuntarily?

Those with which one would do so voluntarily.

Those parts, then, of yourself which voluntarily act badly you consider better than those which do so involuntarily?

Yes; that is, in matters of that sort.

Well, then, one statement embraces all alike, such as ears and nose and mouth and all the senses —that those which act badly involuntarily are undesirable because they are bad, and those which do so voluntarily are desirable because they are good.

I think so.

Well now, which instruments are better to have to do with, those with which a man does bad work voluntarily, or involuntarily? For instance, is a rudder better with which a man will involuntarily steer badly, or one with which he will do so voluntarily?

One with which he will do so voluntarily.

And is not the same true of a bow and a lyre and flutes and all the rest?

Section 375

Quite true.

Well now, would you choose to possess a horse of such spirit that you would ride him badly voluntarily, or involuntarily?

Voluntarily.

Then that spirit is better.

Yes.

Then with the horse of better spirit one would do voluntarily the bad acts of that spirit, but with the one of worse spirit involuntarily?

Certainly.

And is not that true of a dog, and all other animals?

Yes.

Well now, then, in the case of an archer is it better to possess the mind which voluntarily misses the mark, or that which does so involuntarily?

That which does so voluntarily.

Then that is the better mind for the purpose of archery?

Yes.

Is, then, the mind also which errs involuntarily worse than that which errs voluntarily?

Yes, in the case of archery.

And how is it in the art of medicine? Is not the mind which does harm to the patients’ bodies voluntarily the more scientific?

Yes.

In this art, then, this mind is better than the other.

It is better.

Well now, the more musical, whether with lyre or with flute, and in everything else that concerns all the other arts and sciences—is not that mind better which voluntarily does bad and disgraceful things and commits errors, whereas that which does so involuntarily is worse?

Apparently.

And surely we should prefer to possess slaves of such minds that they voluntarily commit errors and do mischief, rather than such as do so involuntarily; we should think them better fitted for their duties.

Yes.

Well now, should we not wish to possess our own mind in the best possible condition?

Yes.

Will it, then, be better if it does evil and errs voluntarily, or involuntarily?

But it would be a terrible thing, Socrates, if those who do wrong voluntarily are to be better than those who do so involuntarily.

But surely they appear, at least, to be so, from what has been said.

Not to me.

I thought, Hippias, they appeared to be so to you also. But now once more answer me: Is not justice either a sort of power or knowledge, or both? Or must not justice inevitably be one or other of these?

Yes.

Then injustice is a power of the soul, the more powerful soul is the more just, is it not? For we found, my friend, that such a soul was better.

Yes, we did.

And what if it be knowledge? Is not the wiser soul more just, and the more ignorant more unjust?

Yes.

And what if it be both? Is not the soul which has both, power and knowledge, more just, and the more ignorant more unjust? Is that not inevitably the case?

It appears to be.

Section 376

This more powerful and wiser soul, then, was found to be better and to have more power to do both good and disgraceful acts in every kind of action was it not?

Yes.

Whenever, then, it does disgraceful acts, it does them voluntarily, by reason of power and art; and these, either one or both of them, are attributes of justice.

So it seems.

And doing injustice is doing evil acts, and not doing injustice is doing good acts.

Yes.

Will not, then, the more powerful and better soul, when it does injustice, do it voluntarily, and the bad soul involuntarily?

Apparently.

Is not, then, a good man he who has a good soul, and a bad man he who has a bad one?

Yes.

It is, then, in the nature of the good man to do injustice voluntarily, and of the bad man to do it involuntarily, that is, if the good man has a good soul.

But surely he has.

Then he who voluntarily errs and does disgraceful and unjust acts, Hippias, if there be such a man, would be no other than the good man.

I cannot agree with you, Socrates, in that.

Nor I with myself, Hippias; but that appears at the moment to be the inevitable result of our argument; however, as I was saying all along, in respect to these matters I go astray, up and down, and never hold the same opinion; and that I, or any other ordinary man, go astray is not surprising; but if you wise men likewise go astray, that is a terrible thing for us also, if even when we have come to you we are not to cease from our straying.

Contents — 13 sections

1. Section 530
2. Section 531
3. Section 532
4. Section 533
5. Section 534
6. Section 535
7. Section 536
8. Section 537
9. Section 538
10. Section 539
11. Section 540
12. Section 541
13. Section 542

Section 530

Welcome, Ion. Where have you come from now, to pay us this visit? From your home in Ephesus?

No, no, Socrates; from Epidaurus and the festival there of Asclepius.

Do you mean to say that the Epidaurians honor the god with a contest of rhapsodes also?

Certainly, and of music in general.

Why then, you were competing in some contest, were you? And how went your competition?

We carried off the first prize, Socrates.

Well done: so now, mind that we win too at the Panathenaea.

Why, so we shall, God willing.

I must say I have often envied you rhapsodes, Ion, for your art: for besides that it is fitting to your art that your person should be adorned and that you should look as handsome as possible, the necessity of being conversant with a number of good poets, and especially with Homer, the best and divinest poet of all, and of apprehending his thought and not merely learning off his words, is a matter for envy; since a man can never be a good rhapsode without understanding what the poet says. For the rhapsode ought to make himself an interpreter of the poet’s thought to his audience; and to do this properly without knowing what the poet means is impossible. So one cannot but envy all this.

What you say is true, Socrates: I at any rate have found this the most laborious part of my art; and I consider I speak about Homer better than anybody, for neither Metrodorus of Lampsacus, nor Stesimbrotus of Thasos, nor Glaucon, nor any one that the world has ever seen, had so many and such fine comments to offer on Homer as I have.

That is good news, Ion; for obviously you will not grudge me an exhibition of them.

And indeed it is worth hearing, Socrates, how well I have embellished Homer; so that I think I deserve to be crowned with a golden crown by the Homeridae.

Section 531

Yes, and I must find myself leisure some time to listen to you; but for the moment, please answer this little question: are you skilled in Homer only, or in Hesiod and Archilochus as well?

No, no, only in Homer; for that seems to me quite enough.

And is there anything on which Homer and Hesiod both say the same?

Yes, I think there are many such cases.

Then in those cases would you expound better what Homer says than what Hesiod says?

I should do it equally well in those cases, Socrates, where they say the same.

But what of those where they do not say the same? For example, about the seer’s art, on which both Homer and Hesiod say something.

Quite so.

Well then, would you, or one of the good seers, expound better what these two poets say, not only alike but differently, about the seer’s art?

One of the seers.

And if you were a seer, would you not, with an ability to expound what they say in agreement, know also how to expound the points on which they differ?

Of course.

Then how is it that you are skilled in Homer, and not in Hesiod or the other poets? Does Homer speak of any other than the very things that all the other poets speak of? Has he not described war for the most part, and the mutual intercourse of men, good and bad, lay and professional, and the ways of the gods in their intercourse with each other and with men, and happenings in the heavens and in the underworld, and origins of gods and heroes? Are not these the subjects of Homer’s poetry?

What you say is true, Socrates.

And what of the other poets? Do they not treat of the same things?

Yes; but, Socrates, not on Homer’s level.

What, in a worse way?

Far worse.

And Homer in a better?

Better indeed, I assure you.

Well now, Ion, dear soul; when several people are talking about number, and one of them speaks better than the rest, I suppose there is some one who will distinguish the good speaker?

I agree.

And will this some one be the same as he who can distinguish the bad speakers, or different?

The same, I suppose.

And he will be the man who has the art of numeration?

Yes.

And again, when several are talking about what kinds of foods are wholesome, and one of them speaks better than the rest, will it be for two different persons to distinguish the superiority of the best speaker and the inferiority of a worse one, or for the same?

Obviously, I should say, for the same.

Who is he? What is his name?

A doctor.

Section 532

And so we may state, in general terms, that the same person will always distinguish, given the same subject and several persons talking about it, both who speaks well and who badly: otherwise, if he is not going to distinguish the bad speaker, clearly he will not distinguish the good one either, where the subject is the same.

That is so.

And the same man is found to be skilled in both?

Yes.

And you say that Homer and the other poets, among whom are Hesiod and Archilochus, all speak about the same things, only not similarly; but the one does it well, and the rest worse?

Yes, and what I say is true.

And since you distinguish the good speaker, you could distinguish also the inferiority of the worse speakers.

So it would seem.

Then, my excellent friend, we shall not be wrong in saying that our Ion is equally skilled in Homer and in the other poets, seeing that you yourself admit that the same man will be a competent judge of all who speak on the same things, and that practically all the poets treat of the same things.

Then what can be the reason, Socrates, why I pay no attention when somebody discusses any other poet, and am unable to offer any remark at all of any value, but simply drop into a doze, whereas if anyone mentions something connected with Homer I wake up at once and attend and have plenty to say?

That is not difficult to guess, my good friend; anyone can see that you are unable to speak on Homer with art and knowledge. For if you could do it with art, you could speak on all the other poets as well; since there is an art of poetry, I take it, as a whole, is there not?

Yes.

And when one has acquired any other art whatever as a whole, the same principle of inquiry holds through all the arts? Do you require some explanation from me, Ion, of what I mean by this?

Yes, upon my word, Socrates, I do; for I enjoy listening to you wise men.

I only wish you were right there, Ion: but surely it is you rhapsodes and actors, and the men whose poems you chant, who are wise; whereas I speak but the plain truth, as a simple layman might. For in regard to this question I asked you just now, observe what a trifling commonplace it was that I uttered—a thing that any man might know—namely, that when one has acquired a whole art the inquiry is the same. Let us just think it out thus: there is an art of painting as a whole?

Yes.

And there are and have been many painters, good and bad?

Certainly.

Section 533

Now have you ever found anybody who is skilled in pointing out the successes and failures among the works of Polygnotus son of Aglaophon, but unable to do so with the works of the other painters; and who, when the works of the other painters are exhibited, drops into a doze, and is at a loss, and has no remark to offer; but when he has to pronounce upon Polygnotus or any other painter you please, and on that one only, wakes up and attends and has plenty to say?

No, on my honor, I certainly have not.

Or again, in sculpture, have you ever found anyone who is skilled in expounding the successes of Daedalus son of Metion, or Epeius son of Panopeus, or Theodorus of Samos, or any other single sculptor, but in face of the works of the other sculptors is at a loss and dozes, having nothing to say?

No, on my honor, I have not found such a man as that either.

But further, I expect you have also failed to find one in fluting or harping or minstrelsy or rhapsodizing who is skilled in expounding the art of Olympus or Thamyras, or Orpheus, or Phemius, the rhapsode of Ithaca, but is at a loss and has no remark to offer on the successes or failures in rhapsody of Ion of Ephesus.

I cannot gainsay you on that, Socrates: but of one thing I am conscious in myself—that I excel all men in speaking on Homer and have plenty to say, and everyone else says that I do it well; but on the others I am not a good speaker. Yet now, observe what that means.

I do observe it, Ion, and I am going to point out to you what I take it to mean. For, as I was saying just now, this is not an art in you, whereby you speak well on Homer, but a divine power, which moves you like that in the stone which Euripides named a magnet, but most people call Heraclea stone. For this stone not only attracts iron rings, but also imparts to them a power whereby they in turn are able to do the very same thing as the stone, and attract other rings; so that sometimes there is formed quite a long chain of bits of iron and rings, suspended one from another; and they all depend for this power on that one stone. In the same manner also the Muse inspires men herself, and then by means of these inspired persons the inspiration spreads to others, and holds them in a connected chain.

Section 534

For all the good epic poets utter all those fine poems not from art, but as inspired and possessed, and the good lyric poets likewise; just as the Corybantian worshippers do not dance when in their senses, so the lyric poets do not indite those fine songs in their senses, but when they have started on the melody and rhythm they begin to be frantic, and it is under possession—as the bacchants are possessed, and not in their senses, when they draw honey and milk from the rivers—that the soul of the lyric poets does the same thing, by their own report. For the poets tell us, I believe, that the songs they bring us are the sweets they cull from honey-dropping founts in certain gardens and glades of the Muses—like the bees, and winging the air as these do. And what they tell is true. For a poet is a light and winged and sacred thing, and is unable ever to indite until he has been inspired and put out of his senses, and his mind is no longer in him: every man, whilst he retains possession of that, is powerless to indite a verse or chant an oracle. Seeing then that it is not by art that they compose and utter so many fine things about the deeds of men— as you do about Homer—but by a divine dispensation, each is able only to compose that to which the Muse has stirred him, this man dithyrambs, another laudatory odes, another dance-songs, another epic or else iambic verse; but each is at fault in any other kind. For not by art do they utter these things, but by divine influence; since, if they had fully learnt by art to speak on one kind of theme, they would know how to speak on all. And for this reason God takes away the mind of these men and uses them as his ministers, just as he does soothsayers and godly seers, in order that we who hear them may know that it is not they who utter these words of great price, when they are out of their wits, but that it is God himself who speaks and addresses us through them. A convincing proof of what I say is the case of Tynnichus, the Chalcidian, who had never composed a single poem in his life that could deserve any mention, and then produced the paean which is in everyone’s mouth, almost the finest song we have, simply—as he says himself—an invention of the Muses. For the god, as it seems to me, intended him to be a sign to us that we should not waver or doubt that these fine poems are not human or the work of men, but divine and the work of gods; and that the poets are merely the interpreters of the gods, according as each is possessed by one of the heavenly powers. To show this forth, the god of set purpose sang the finest of songs through the meanest of poets: or do you not think my statement true, Ion?

Section 535

Yes, upon my word, I do: for you somehow touch my soul with your words, Socrates, and I believe it is by divine dispensation that good poets interpret to us these utterances of the gods.

And you rhapsodes, for your part, interpret the utterances of the poets?

Again your words are true.

And so you act as interpreters of interpreters?

Precisely.

Stop now and tell me, Ion, without reserve what I may choose to ask you: when you give a good recitation and specially thrill your audience, either with the lay of Odysseus leaping forth on to the threshold, revealing himself to the suitors and pouring out the arrows before his feet, or of Achilles dashing at Hector, or some part of the sad story of Andromache or of Hecuba, or of Priam, are you then in your senses, or are you carried out of yourself, and does your soul in an ecstasy suppose herself to be among the scenes you are describing, whether they be in Ithaca, or in Troy, or as the poems may chance to place them?

How vivid to me, Socrates, is this part of your proof! For I will tell you without reserve: when I relate a tale of woe, my eyes are filled with tears; and when it is of fear or awe, my hair stands on end with terror, and my heart leaps.

Well now, are we to say, Ion, that such a person is in his senses at that moment,—when in all the adornment of elegant attire and golden crowns he weeps at sacrifice or festival, having been despoiled of none of his finery; or shows fear as he stands before more than twenty thousand friendly people, none of whom is stripping or injuring him?

No, on my word, not at all, Socrates, to tell the strict truth.

And are you aware that you rhapsodes produce these same effects on most of the spectators also?

Yes, very fully aware: for I look down upon them from the platform and see them at such moments crying and turning awestruck eyes upon me and yielding to the amazement of my tale. For I have to pay the closest attention to them; since, if I set them crying, I shall laugh myself because of the money I take, but if they laugh, I myself shall cry because of the money I lose.

Section 536

And are you aware that your spectator is the last of the rings which I spoke of as receiving from each other the power transmitted from the Heraclean lodestone? You, the rhapsode and actor, are the middle ring; the poet himself is the first; but it is the god who through the whole series draws the souls of men whithersoever he pleases, making the power of one depend on the other. And, just as from the magnet, there is a mighty chain of choric performers and masters and under-masters suspended by side-connections from the rings that hang down from the Muse. One poet is suspended from one Muse, another from another: the word we use for it is possessed, but it is much the same thing, for he is held. And from these first rings—the poets—are suspended various others, which are thus inspired, some by Orpheus and others by Musaeus ; but the majority are possessed and held by Homer. Of whom you, Ion, are one, and are possessed by Homer; and so, when anyone recites the work of another poet, you go to sleep and are at a loss what to say; but when some one utters a strain of your poet, you wake up at once, and your soul dances, and you have plenty to say: for it is not by art or knowledge about Homer that you say what you say, but by divine dispensation and possession; just as the Corybantian worshippers are keenly sensible of that strain alone which belongs to the god whose possession is on them, and have plenty of gestures and phrases for that tune, but do not heed any other. And so you, Ion, when the subject of Homer is mentioned, have plenty to say, but nothing on any of the others. And when you ask me the reason why you can speak at large on Homer but not on the rest, I tell you it is because your skill in praising Homer comes not by art, but by divine dispensation.

Well spoken, I grant you, Socrates; but still I shall be surprised if you can speak well enough to convince me that I am possessed and mad when I praise Homer. Nor can I think you would believe it of me yourself, if you heard me speaking about him.

I declare I am quite willing to hear you, but not until you have first answered me this: on what thing in Homer’s story do you speak well? Not on all of them, I presume.

I assure you, Socrates, on all without a single exception.

Not, of course, including those things of which you have in fact no knowledge, but which Homer tells.

And what sort of things are they, which Homer tells, but of which I have no knowledge?

Section 537

Why, does not Homer speak a good deal about arts, in a good many places? For instance, about chariot-driving: if I can recall the lines, I will quote them to you.

No, I will recite them, for I can remember.

Tell me then what Nestor says to his son Antilochus, advising him to be careful about the turning-post in the horse-race in honor of Patroclus.

Bend thyself in the polished car slightly to the left of them; and call to the right-hand horse and goad him on, while your hand slackens his reins. And at the post let your left-hand horse swerve close, so that the nave of the well-wrought wheel may seem to come up to the edge of the stone, which yet avoid to touch.

Enough. Now, Ion, will a doctor or a charioteer be the better judge whether Homer speaks correctly or not in these lines?

A charioteer, of course.

Because he has this art, or for some other reason?

No, because it is his art.

And to every art has been apportioned by God a power of knowing a particular business? For I take it that what we know by the art of piloting we cannot also know by that of medicine.

No, to be sure.

And what we know by medicine, we cannot by carpentry also?

No, indeed.

And this rule holds for all the arts, that what we know by one of them we cannot know by another? But before you answer that, just tell me this: do you agree that one art is of one sort, and another of another?

Yes.

Do you argue this as I do, and call one art different from another when one is a knowledge of one kind of thing, and another a knowledge of another kind?

Yes.

Since, I suppose, if it were a knowledge of the same things—how could we say that one was different from another, when both could give us the same knowledge? Just as I know that there are five of these fingers, and you equally know the same fact about them; and if I should ask you whether both you and I know this same fact by the same art of numeration, or by different arts, you would reply, I presume, that it was by the same?

Yes.

Section 538

Then tell me now, what I was just going to ask you, whether you think this rule holds for all the arts—that by the same art we must know the same things, and by a different art things that are not the same; but if the art is other, the things we know by it must be different also.

I think it is so, Socrates.

Then he who has not a particular art will be incapable of knowing aright the words or works of that art?

True.

Then will you or a charioteer be the better judge of whether Homer speaks well or not in the lines that you quoted?

A charioteer.

Because, I suppose, you are a rhapsode and not a charioteer.

Yes.

And the rhapsode’s art is different from the charioteer’s?

Yes.

Then if it is different, it is also a knowledge of different things.

Yes.

Now, what of the passage where Homer tells how Hecamede, Nestor’s concubine, gives the wounded Machaon a posset? His words are something like this: Of Pramneian wine it was, and therein she grated cheese of goat’s milk with a grater of bronze; and thereby an onion as a relish for drink. Is it for the doctor’s or the rhapsode’s art to discern aright whether Homer speaks correctly here or not?

For the doctor’s.

Well now, when Homer says: And she passed to the bottom like a plummet which, set on a horn 977) supports Aristotle’s view that the horn acted as a sheath to protect the line from being bitten through by the fish. are we to say it is for the fisherman’s or for the rhapsode’s art to decide what he means by this, and whether it is rightly or wrongly spoken?

Clearly, Socrates, for the fisherman’s art.

Then please observe: suppose you were questioning me and should ask: Since therefore, Socrates, you find it is for these several arts to appraise the passages of Homer that belong to each, be so good as to make out those also that are for the seer and the seer’s art, and show me the sort of passages that come under his ability to distinguish whether they are well or ill done; observe how easily and truly I shall answer you. For he has many passages, both in the , as for instance the words of Theoclymenus, the seer of the line of Melampus, to the suitors:

Section 539

Hapless men, what bane is this afflicts you? Your heads and faces and limbs below are shrouded in night, and wailing is enkindled, and cheeks are wet with tears: of ghosts the porch is full, and the court full of them also, hastening hell-wards ’neath the gloom: and the sun is perished out of heaven, and an evil mist is spread abroad; and there are many passages in the Iliad also, as in the fight at the rampart, where he says: For as they were eager to pass over, a bird had crossed them, an eagle of lofty flight, pressing the host at the left hand, and bearing a blood-red monster of a snake, alive and still struggling; nor had it yet unlearnt the lust of battle. For bending back it smote its captor on the breast by the neck, and the bird in the bitterness of pain cast it away to the ground, and dropped it down in the midst of the throng; and then with a cry flew off on the wafting winds. This passage, and others of the sort, are those that I should say the seer has to examine and judge.

And you speak the truth, Socrates.

And so do you, Ion, in saying that. Now you must do as I did, and in return for my picking out and the Iliad the kinds of passage that belong severally to the seer, the doctor, and the fisherman, you have now to pick out for me—since you are so much more versed in Homer than I—the kinds which belong to the rhapsode, Ion, and the rhapsode’s art, and which he should be able to consider and distinguish beyond the rest of mankind.

What I say, Socrates, is—all passages.

Surely you do not say all, Ion! Can you be so forgetful? And yet forgetfulness would ill become a rhapsode.

Section 540

Why, how am I forgetting?

Do you not remember that you said that the art of the rhapsode was different from that of the charioteer?

I remember.

And you also admitted that, being different, it would know different things?

Yes.

Then by your own account the rhapsode’s art cannot know everything, nor the rhapsode either.

Let us say, everything except those instances, Socrates.

By those instances you imply the subjects of practically all the other arts. Well, as he does not know all of them, which kinds will he know?

Those things, I imagine, that it befits a man to say, and the sort of thing that a woman should say; the sort for a slave and the sort for a freeman; and the sort for a subject or for a ruler.

Do you mean that the rhapsode will know better than the pilot what sort of thing a ruler of a storm-tossed vessel at sea should say?

No, the pilot knows better in that case.

Well, will the rhapsode know better than the doctor what sort of thing a ruler of a sick man should say?

Not in that case either.

But he will know the sort for a slave, you say?

Yes.

For instance, if the slave is a cowherd, you say the rhapsode will know what the other should say to pacify his cows when they get fierce, but the cowherd will not?

That is not so.

Well, the sort of thing that a woman ought to say—a spinning-woman—about the working of wool?

No.

But he will know what a man should say, when he is a general exhorting his men?

Yes, that sort of thing the rhapsode will know.

Well, but is the art of the rhapsode the art of the general?

I, at any rate, should know what a general ought to say.

Yes, since I daresay you are good at generalship also, Ion. For in fact, if you happened to have skill in horsemanship as well as in the lyre, you would know when horses were well or ill managed: but if I asked you, By which art is it, Ion, that you know that horses are being well managed, by your skill as a horseman, or as a player of the lyre? what would your answer be?

I should say, by my skill as a horseman.

And if again you were distinguishing the good lyre-players, you would admit that you distinguished by your skill in the lyre, and not by your skill as a horseman.

Yes.

And when you judge of military matters, do you judge as having skill in generalship, or as a good rhapsode?

To my mind, there is no difference.

Section 541

What, no difference, do you say? Do you mean that the art of the rhapsode and the general is one, not two?

It is one, to my mind.

So that anyone who is a good rhapsode is also, in fact, a good general?

Certainly, Socrates.

And again, anyone who happens to be a good general is also a good rhapsode.

No there I do not agree.

But still you agree that anyone who is a good rhapsode is also a good general?

To be sure.

And you are the best rhapsode in Greece?

Far the best, Socrates.

Are you also, Ion, the best general in Greece?

Be sure of it, Socrates and that I owe to my study of Homer.

Then how, in Heaven’s name, can it be, Ion, that you, who are both the best general and the best rhapsode in Greece, go about performing as a rhapsode to the Greeks, but not as a general? Or do you suppose that the Greeks feel a great need of a rhapsode in the glory of his golden crown, but of a general none at all?

It is because my city, Socrates, is under the rule and generalship of your people, and is not in want of a general; whilst you and Sparta would not choose me as a general, since you think you manage well enough for yourselves.

My excellent Ion, you are acquainted with Apollodorus of Cyzicus, are you not?

What might he be?

A man whom the Athenians have often chosen as their general, though a foreigner; and Phanosthenes of Andros, and Heracleides of Clazomenae, whom my city invests with the high command and other offices although they are foreigners, because they have proved themselves to be competent. And will she not choose Ion of Ephesus as her general, and honor him, if he shows himself competent? Why, you Ephesians are by origin Athenians, are you not, and Ephesus is inferior to no city? But in fact, Ion, if you are right in saying it is by art and knowledge that you are able to praise Homer, you are playing me false: you have professed to me that you know any amount of fine things about Homer, and you promise to display them; but you are only deceiving me, and so far from displaying the subjects of your skill, you decline even to tell me what they are, for all my entreaties.

Section 542

You are a perfect Proteus in the way you take on every kind of shape, twisting about this way and that, until at last you elude my grasp in the guise of a general, so as to avoid displaying your skill in Homeric lore. Now if you are an artist and, as I was saying just now, you only promised me a display about Homer to deceive me, you are playing me false; whilst if you are no artist, but speak fully and finely about Homer, as I said you did, without any knowledge but by a divine dispensation which causes you to be possessed by the poet, you play quite fair. Choose therefore which of the two you prefer us to call you, dishonest or divine.

The difference is great, Socrates; for it is far nobler to be called divine.

Then you may count on this nobler title in our minds, Ion, of being a divine and not an artistic praiser of Homer.

Contents — 16 sections

1. Section 234
2. Section 235
3. Section 236
4. Section 237
5. Section 238
6. Section 239
7. Section 240
8. Section 241
9. Section 242
10. Section 243
11. Section 244
12. Section 245
13. Section 246
14. Section 247
15. Section 248
16. Section 249

Section 234

From the agora, Menexenus, or where from?

From the agora, Socrates, and the Council Chamber.

And what was it took you specially to the Council Chamber? But of course it was because you deem yourself to be at the end of your education and philosophic studies, and being sufficiently versed, as you think, in these, you are minded to turn to graver matters; and you at your age, my marvellous youth, are attempting to govern us older men, lest your house should ever fail in providing us with a succession of managers.

Certainly if you, Socrates, allow and counsel me to govern, I shall do so gladly; but otherwise not. This time, however, I went to the Council Chamber because I had learnt that the Council was going to select someone to make an oration over the dead; for you know that they propose to arrange for funeral rites.

Yes, I do. And whom did they select?

Nobody: they postponed it till tomorrow. I fancy, however, that Archinus will be selected, or Dion.

Section 235

In truth, Menexenus, to fall in battle seems to be a splendid thing in many ways. For a man obtains a splendid and magnificent funeral even though at his death he be but a poor man; and though he be but a worthless fellow, he wins praise, and that by the mouth of accomplished men who do not praise at random, but in speeches prepared long beforehand. And they praise in such splendid fashion, that, what with their ascribing to each one both what he has and what he has not, and the variety and splendor of their diction, they bewitch our souls; and they eulogize the State in every possible fashion, and they praise those who died in the war and all our ancestors of former times and ourselves who are living still; so that I myself, Menexenus, when thus praised by them feel mightily ennobled, and every time I listen fascinated I am exalted and imagine myself to have become all at once taller and nobler and more handsome. And as I am generally accompanied by some strangers, who listen along with me, I become in their eyes also all at once more majestic; for they also manifestly share in my feelings with regard both to me and to the rest of our City, believing it to be more marvellous than before, owing to the persuasive eloquence of the speaker. And this majestic feeling remains with me for over three days: so persistently does the speech and voice of the orator ring in my ears that it is scarcely on the fourth or fifth day that I recover myself and remember that I really am here on earth, whereas till then I almost imagined myself to be living in the Islands of the Blessed,—so expert are our orators.

You are always deriding the orators, Socrates. And truly I think that this time the selected speaker will not be too well prepared; for the selection is being made without warning, so that the speaker will probably be driven to improvise his speech.

Why so, my good sir? Each one of these men has speeches ready made; and what is more, it is in no wise difficult to improvise such things. For if it were a question of eulogizing Athenians before an audience of Peloponnesians, or Peloponnesians before Athenians, there would indeed be need of a good orator to win credence and credit; but when a man makes his effort in the presence of the very men whom he is praising, it is no difficult matter to win credit as a fine speaker.

You think not, Socrates?

Yes, by Zeus, I certainly do.

And do you think that you yourself would be able to make the speech, if required and if the Council were to select you?

That I should be able to make the speech would be nothing wonderful, Menexenus; for she who is my instructor is by no means weak in the art of rhetoric; on the contrary, she has turned out many fine orators, and amongst them one who surpassed all other Greeks, Pericles, the son of Xanthippus.

Who is she? But you mean Aspasia, no doubt.

Section 236

I do and; also Connus the son of Metrobius; for these are my two instructors, the one in music, the other in rhetoric. So it is not surprising that a man who is trained like me should be clever at speaking. But even a man less well taught than I, who had learnt his music from Lamprus and his rhetoric from Antiphon the Rhamnusian, —even such a one, I say, could none the less win credit by praising Athenians before an Athenian audience.

What, then, would you have to say, if you were required to speak?

Nothing, perhaps, myself of my own invention; but I was listening only yesterday to Aspasia going through a funeral speech for these very people. For she had heard the report you mention, that the Athenians are going to select the speaker; and thereupon she rehearsed to me the speech in the form it should take, extemporizing in part, while other parts of it she had previously prepared, as I imagine, at the time when she was composing the funeral oration which Pericles delivered; and from this she patched together sundry fragments.

Could you repeat from memory that speech of Aspasia?

Yes, if I am not mistaken; for I learnt it, to be sure, from her as she went along, and I nearly got a flogging whenever I forgot.

Why don’t you repeat it then?

But possibly my teacher will be vexed with me if I publish abroad her speech.

Never fear, Socrates; only tell it and you will gratify me exceedingly, whether it is Aspasia’s that you wish to deliver or anyone else’s; only say on.

But you will probably laugh me to scorn if I, at my age, seem to you to be playing like a child.

Not at all, Socrates; but by all means say on.

Nay, then, I must surely gratify; you for indeed I would almost gratify you if you were to bid me strip and dance, now that we two are alone. Listen then. In her speech, I believe, she began by making mention of the dead men themselves in this wise: In respect of deeds, these men have received at our hands what is due unto them, endowed wherewith they travel their predestined road; for they have been escorted forth in solemn procession publicly by the City and privately by their kinsfolk. But in respect of words, the honor that remains still due to these heroes the law enjoins us, and it is right, to pay in full. For it is by means of speech finely spoken that deeds nobly done gain for their doers from the hearers the meed of memory and renown. And the speech required is one which will adequately eulogize the dead and give kindly exhortation to the living, appealing to their children and their brethren to copy the virtues of these heroes, and to their fathers and mothers and any still surviving ancestors offering consolation.

Section 237

Where then could we discover a speech like that? Or how could we rightly commence our laudation of these valiant men, who in their lifetime delighted their friends by their virtue, and purchased the safety of the living by their deaths? We ought, in my judgement, to adopt the natural order in our praise, even as the men themselves were natural in their virtue. And virtuous they were because they were sprung from men of virtue. Firstly, then, let us eulogize their nobility of birth, and secondly their nurture and training: thereafter we shall exhibit the character of their exploits, how nobly and worthily they wrought them. Now as regards nobility of birth, their first claim thereto is this—that the forefathers of these men were not of immigrant stock, nor were these their sons declared by their origin to be strangers in the land sprung from immigrants, but natives sprung from the soil living and dwelling in their own true fatherland; and nurtured also by no stepmother, like other folk, but by that mother-country wherein they dwelt, which bare them and reared them and now at their death receives them again to rest in their own abodes. Most meet it is that first we should celebrate that Mother herself; for by so doing we shall also celebrate therewith the noble birth of these heroes. Our country is deserving of praise, not only from us but from all men, on many grounds, but first and foremost because she is god-beloved. The strife of the gods who contended over her and their judgement testify to the truth of our statement. And how should not she whom the gods praised deserve to be praised by all mankind? And a second just ground of praise would be this,—that during that period in which the whole earth was putting forth and producing animals of every kind, wild and tame, our country showed herself barren and void of wild animals, but chose for herself and gave birth to man, who surpasses all other animals in intelligence and alone of animals regards justice and the gods. And we have a signal proof of this statement in that this land of ours has given birth to the forefathers both of these men and of ourselves. For every creature that brings forth possesses a suitable supply of nourishment for its offspring; and by this test it is manifest also whether a woman be truly a mother or no, if she possesses no founts of nourishment for her child.

Section 238

Now our land, which is also our mother, furnishes to the full this proof of her having brought forth men; for, of all the lands that then existed, she was the first and the only one to produce human nourishment, namely the grain of wheat and barley, whereby the race of mankind is most richly and well nourished, inasmuch as she herself was the true mother of this creature. And proofs such as this one ought to accept more readily on behalf of a country than on behalf of a woman; for it is not the country that imitates the woman in the matter of conception and birth, but the woman the country. But this her produce of grain she did not begrudge to the rest of men, but dispensed it to them also. And after it she brought to birth for her children the olive, sore labor’s balm. And when she had nurtured and reared them up to man’s estate, she introduced gods to be their governors and tutors; the names of whom it behoves us to pass over in this discourse, since we know them; and they set in order our mode of life, not only in respect of daily business, by instructing us before all others in the arts, but also in respect of the guardianship of our country, by teaching us how to acquire and handle arms. Such being the manner of their birth and of their education, the ancestors of these men framed for themselves and lived under a civic polity which it is right for us briefly to describe. For a polity is a thing which nurtures men, good men when it is noble, bad men when it is base. It is necessary, then, to demonstrate that the polity wherein our forefathers were nurtured was a noble one, such as caused goodness not only in them but also in their descendants of the present age, amongst whom we number these men who are fallen. For it is the same polity which existed then and exists now, under which polity we are living now and have been living ever since that age with hardly a break. One man calls it democracy, another man, according to his fancy, gives it some other name; but it is, in very truth, an aristocracy backed by popular approbation. Kings we always have ; but these are at one time hereditary, at another selected by vote. And while the most part of civic affairs are in the control of the populace, they hand over the posts of government and the power to those who from time to time are deemed to be the best men; and no man is debarred by his weakness or poverty or by the obscurity of his parentage, or promoted because of the opposite qualities, as is the case in other States. On the contrary, the one principle of selection is this: the man that is deemed to be wise or good rules and governs. And the cause of this our polity lies in our equality of birth.

Section 239

For whereas all other States are composed of a heterogeneous collection of all sorts of people, so that their polities also are heterogeneous, tyrannies as well as oligarchies, some of them regarding one another as slaves, others as masters; we and our people, on the contrary, being all born of one mother, claim to be neither the slaves of one another nor the masters; rather does our natural birth-equality drive us to seek lawfully legal equality, and to yield to one another in no respect save in reputation for virtue and understanding. Wherefore the forefathers of these men and of us, and these men themselves, having been reared up thus in complete freedom, and being nobly born, achieved before all men many noble deeds both individual and national, deeming it their duty to fight in the cause of freedom alike with Greeks on behalf of Greeks and with barbarians on behalf of the whole of Greece. The story of how they repulsed Eumolpus and the Amazons, and still earlier invaders, when they marched upon our country, and how they defended the Argives against the Cadmeians and the Heracleidae against the Argives, is a story which our time is too short to relate as it deserves, and already their valor has been adequately celebrated in song by poets who have made it known throughout the world; consequently, if we should attempt to magnify the same achievements in plain prose, we should probably find ourselves outmatched. These exploits, therefore, for these reasons I judge that we should pass over, seeing also that they have their due meed of praise; but those exploits for which as yet no poet has received worthy renown for worthy cause, and which lie still buried in oblivion, I ought, as I think, to celebrate, not only praising them myself but providing material also for others to build up into odes and other forms of poetry in a manner worthy of the doers of those deeds. And of the deeds whereof I speak the first were these: The Persians were in command of Asia, and were enslaving Europe, when they came in contact with the children of this land, our own parents, of whom it is right and proper that we should make mention first and celebrate their valor. But if we are to celebrate it fitly, in order to visualize it we must place ourselves, in thought, at that epoch when the whole of Asia was already in bondage to the third of the Persian kings. Cyrus, the first of these kings, had by his own spirited action set free his fellow-countrymen, the Persians, and not only enslaved the Medes, their masters, but also gained command of the rest of Asia, as far as to Egypt.

Section 240

His son ruled over Egypt and as much of Libya as he could traverse; while the third king, Darius, extended his empire by land as far as to the Scythians, and by his navy controlled the sea and the islands, so that none so much as thought of disputing his sway. Thus the minds of all men were enslaved; so many were the mighty and warlike nations which had fallen under the yoke of the Persian Empire. Then Darius, accusing us and the Eretrians of having plotted against Sardis, dispatched fifty myriads of men in transports and warships, together with three hundred ships of war, and Datis as their commander; and him the king ordered to bring back the Eretrians and Athenians in captivity, if he wished to keep his own head. He then sailed to Eretria against men who were amongst the most famous warriors in Greece at that time, and by no means few in number; them he overpowered within three days, and lest any should escape he made a thorough search of the whole of their country and his method was this. His soldiers marched to the limits of Eretria and posted themselves at intervals from sea to sea; then they joined hands and passed through the whole of the country, in order that they might be able to report to the king that not a man had escaped out of their hands. With the same design they sailed off from Eretria to Marathon, supposing that they would have an easy task in leading the Athenians captive under the same yoke of bondage as the Eretrians. And while these actions were being accomplished in part, and in part attempted, not one of the Greeks lent aid to the Eretrians nor yet to the Athenians, save only the Lacedaemonians (and they arrived on the day after the battle); all the rest were terrorstricken, and, hugging their present security, made no move. It is by realizing this position of affairs that we can appreciate what manner of men those were, in point of valor, who awaited the onset of the barbarians’ power, chastised all Asia’s insolent pride, and were the first to rear trophies of victory over the barbarians; whereby they pointed the way to the others and taught them to know that the Persian power was not invincible, since there is no multitude of men or money but courage conquers it. I, therefore, affirm that those men were the begetters not merely of our bodies but of our freedom also, and the freedom of all the dwellers in this continent; for it was the example of that exploit of theirs which fired the Greeks with courage to risk the later battles in the cause of salvation, learning their lesson from the men of Marathon.

Section 241

To them, therefore, we award in this our speech the first prize for valor, and the second to those who fought and won the sea-fights off Salamis and at Artemisium. And truly concerning these men also one might have much to relate, regarding the manner of onsets they endured both by land and sea, and how they repelled them; but the achievement I shall mention is that which was, in my judgement, the noblest that they performed, in that it followed up the achievement of the men of Marathon. For whereas the men of Marathon had only proved to the Greeks thus much,—that it was possible to repel the barbarians by land though few against many, yet the prospect in a sea-fight remained still doubtful, and the Persians still retained the reputation of being invincible by sea, in virtue of their numbers and their wealth, their naval skill and strength. For this, then, the men who fought those sea-fights merit our praise, that they delivered the Greeks from the second of their fears, and put an end to the terrors inspired by multitudes of ships and men. So it came about, by the action of both—the soldiers who fought at Marathon and the sailors who fought at Salamis—, that the rest of the Greeks were trained and accustomed to have no fear of the barbarians, neither by land, as our soldiers taught them, nor yet, as our sailors taught them, by sea. The exploit at Plataea I put third both in order and in merit of those which secured the salvation of Greece; and in this exploit, at last, the Lacedaemonians cooperated with the Athenians. By the action of all these men the greatest and most formidable danger was warded off, and because of this their valor we pronounce their eulogy now, as our successors will in the time to come. But, in the period that followed, many cities of the Greeks were still in league with the barbarian, and of the king himself it was reported that he was purposing to renew his attempt against the Greeks. Wherefore it is right that we should make mention also of those men who put the finishing touch to the work of salvation executed by their predecessors by sweeping away the whole of the barbarian power and driving it clean off the seas. These were the men who fought the sea-fight at the Eurymedon, the men who served in the expedition against Cyprus, the men who voyaged to Egypt and to many another quarter, —men whom we ought to hold in memory and render them thanks, seeing that they put the king in fear and caused him to give his whole mind to his own safety in place of plotting the destruction of Greece.

Section 242

Now this war was endured to the end by all our citizens who warred against the barbarians in defence of all the other Greek-speaking peoples as well as themselves. But when peace was secured and our city was held in honor, there followed the usual consequence which the successful suffer at the hands of men; for it was assailed by jealousy first, and after jealousy by envy; and thereby our city was plunged against its will into war with the Greeks. Thereupon, when war had broken out, they encountered the Lacedaemonians at Tanagra while fighting in defence of the liberties of the Boeotians; and though the battle itself was indecisive, it was decided by the subsequent result. For whereas the enemy retired and made off, deserting those whom they had come to assist, our men won a victory after a two days’ battle at Oenophyta, and rightfully restored those who were wrongfully exiled. These were the first of our men who, after the Persian war and now helping Greeks against Greeks in the cause of freedom, proved themselves men of valor and delivered those whom they were aiding; and they were the first to be honored by the State and laid to rest in this tomb. Later on, when there was widespread war, and all the Greeks had marched against us and ravaged our country, most evilly requiting our city, and our men had defeated them by sea and had captured their Lacedaemonian leaders in Sphagia, although they had it in their power to destroy them, yet they spared their lives and gave them back and made peace, since they deemed that against their fellow Greeks it was right to wage war only up to the point of victory, and not to wreck the whole Greek community for the sake of a city’s private grudge, but to wage war to the death against the barbarians. It is meet, indeed, that we should praise these men who were warriors in this war and now lie here, inasmuch as they demonstrated that if any contended that in the former war, against the barbarians, others were superior to the Athenians, their contention was false. This they now proved by their triumph in the war when the Greeks were at feud, and by their conquest of those who were the leaders of the rest of Greece, when, alone by themselves, they defeated that city by whose allied aid they had formerly defeated the barbarians.

Section 243

This peace was followed by a third war, as formidable as it was unexpected, wherein many brave men lost their lives and now lie here. Many of these reared up numerous trophies of victory in Sicily, fighting for the freedom of Leontini, to succour which city, and to honor their pledges, they sailed to those regions; but inasmuch as our city was in a helpless, situation and unable to reinforce them owing to the length of the voyage, fortune was against them and they renounced their design; yet for their prudence and their valor they have received more praise from their foes of the opposite army than the rest of men am their friends. Many others of them fought in the sea-fights in the Hellespont, where in one single day they captured all the enemy’s ships, besides winning many other engagements. But what I have termed the formidable and unexpected character of the war lay in this, that the rest of the Greeks had arrived at such a pitch of jealousy towards this city that they even brought themselves to solicit privately the aid of their deadliest foe, the very king whom they had publicly expelled with our assistance, inviting a barbarian as their ally against Greeks; and dared to range against our city the united forces of all the Greeks and barbarians. And then it was that the strength and valor of our State shone out conspicuously. For when men fancied that she was already reduced by war, with her ships cut off at Mytilene, her citizens sent sixty ships to the rescue, manning the ships themselves and proving themselves disputably to be men of valor by conquering their foes and setting free their friends; albeit they met with undeserved misfortune, and were not recovered from the sea to find their burial here. And for these reasons it behoves us to have them in remembrance and to praise them always; for it was owing to their valor that we were conquerors not only in the sea-fight on that day but in all the rest of the war; and it was due to them that men formed the conviction regarding our city (and it was a true conviction) that she could never be warred down, not even by all the world. And in truth it was by our own dissensions that we were brought down and not by the hands of other men; for by them we are still to this day undefeated, and it is we ourselves who have both defeated and been defeated by ourselves. After these happenings, when we were at peace and amity with other States, our civil war at home was waged in such a way that—if men are fated to engage in civil strife—there is no man but would pray for his own State that its sickness might resemble ours.

Section 244

So kindly and so friendly was the way in which the citizens from the Peiraeus and from the city consorted with one another, and also—beyond men’s hopes—with the other Greeks; and such moderation did they show in their settlement of the war against the men at Eleusis. And the cause of all these actions was nothing else than that genuine kinship which produces, not in word only but in deed, a firm friendship founded on community of race. And of those who fell in this war also it is meet to make mention and to reconcile them by such means as we can under present conditions,—by prayer, that is, and by sacrifice,—praying for them to those that have them in their keeping, seeing that we ourselves also have been reconciled. For it was not through wickedness that they set upon one another, nor yet through hatred, but through misfortune. And to this we ourselves, who now live, can testify; for we who are of the same stock as they grant forgiveness to one another both for what we have done and what we have suffered. After this, when peace was completely re-established, the city remained quiet, granting forgiveness to the barbarians for the vigorous defence they had offered when she had done them injury, but feeling aggrieved with the Greeks at the thought of the return they had made for the benefits she had done them, in that they joined themselves to the barbarians, and stripped her of those ships which had once been the means of their own salvation, and demolished her walls as a recompense for our saving their walls from ruin. Our city, therefore, resolved that never again would she succour Greeks when in danger of enslavement either by one another or at the hands of barbarians; and in this mind she abode. Such then being our policy, the Lacedaemonians supposed that we, the champions of liberty, were laid low, and that it was now open to them to enslave the rest, and this they proceeded to do. But why should I prolong the story? For what followed next is no tale of ancient history about men of long ago. Nay, we ourselves know how the Argives, the Boeotians and the Corinthians—the leading States of Greece—came to need our city, being stricken with terror, and how even the Persian king himself—most marvellous fact of all—was reduced to such a state of distress that eventually he could hope for salvation from no other quarter save this city of ours which he had been so eager to destroy. And in truth, if one desired to frame a just accusation against the city, the only true accusation one could bring would be this,—that she has always been compassionate to excess and the handmaid of the weak.

Section 245

And in fact, on that occasion, she proved unable to harden her heart and adhere firmly to her resolved policy of refusing to assist any in danger of enslavement against those who wronged them; on the contrary she gave way and lent assistance. The Greeks she aided herself and rescued them from slavery, so that they remained free until such time as they enslaved each other once more; but to the King she could not bring herself to lend official aid for fear of disgracing the trophies of Marathon, Salamis and Plataea, but she permitted exiles only and volunteers to assist him, and thereby, beyond a doubt, she saved him. Having, then, restored her walls and rebuilt her navy, she entered upon the war, since war was forced upon her, and in defence of the Persians warred against the Lacedaemonians. But the King, becoming afraid of our city when he saw that the Lacedaemonians were desisting from the naval struggle, wished to desert us; so he demanded the surrender of the Greeks in the Continent, whom the Lacedaemonians had formerly given over to him, as the price of his continuing his alliance with us and the other allies, thinking that we would refuse and thus furnish him with a pretext for his desertion. Now in the case of the rest of his allies he was mistaken; for they all— including the Corinthians, Argives, Boeotians, and the rest—consented to hand them over to him, making a sworn agreement that if he would supply them with money they would hand over the Greeks in the Continent ; but we, and we alone, could not bring ourselves either to hand them over or to join in the agreement. So firmly-rooted and so sound is the noble and liberal character of our city, and endowed also with such a hatred of the barbarian, because we are pure-blooded Greeks, unadulterated by barbarian stock. For there cohabit with us none of the type of Pelops, or Cadmus, or Aegyptus or Danaus, and numerous others of the kind, who are naturally barbarians though nominally Greeks; but our people are pure Greeks and not a barbarian blend; whence it comes that our city is imbued with a whole-hearted hatred of alien races. None the less, we were isolated once again because of our refusal to perform the dishonorable and unholy act of surrendering Greeks to barbarians. And thus we found ourselves in the same position which had previously led to our military overthrow; but, by the help of God, we brought the war to a more favorable conclusion than on that occasion. For we still retained our ships, our walls, and our own colonies, when we ceased from the war,—so welcome to our enemies also was its cessation.

Section 246

Yet truly in this war also we suffered the loss of valiant men,—the men who had difficult ground to cope with at Corinth and treachery at Lechaeum ; valiant, too, were the men who rescued the King and drove the Lacedaemonians off the seas. These men I recall to your memory, and you it becomes to join in praising and celebrating men such as these. And now we have related many of the noble deeds done by the men who are lying here, and by all the others who have died in defence of their city; yet far more numerous and more noble are those that remain unmentioned; for many days and nights would not suffice were one to relate them all in full. Wherefore it is right that every man, bearing these men in mind, should exhort these men’s children, just as in time of war, not to fall out of rank with their fathers nor to give way to cowardice and beat a retreat. And I myself for my own part, o ye children of valiant men, am now exhorting you and in the future, wheresoever I shall encounter any of you, I shall continue to remind you and admonish you to be zealous to show yourselves supremely valiant. But on this occasion it is my duty to record the message which your fathers, at the time when they were about to risk their lives, enjoined us, in case any ill befell them, to give to those who survived them. I will repeat to you both the words which I heard from their lips and those which they would now desire to say to you, if they had the power, judging from what they actually said on that occasion. You must, however, imagine that you are hearing from their own lips the message which I shall deliver. This, then, is what they said: O children, that ye are born of valiant sires is clearly shown by the facts now before you: we, who might have ignobly lived choose rather to die nobly, before we bring you and those after you to disgrace, and before we bring shame upon our own fathers and all our earlier forebears, since we deem that life is unworthy to be lived for the man who brings shame upon his own, and that such an one has no friend amongst gods or man, either here on earth, or under the earth when he is dead. Wherefore ye must bear in mind our words, and whatsoever else ye practice ye must practice it in union with valor, being well assured that when divorced from this all possessions and pursuits are base and ignoble. For neither does wealth bring honor to its possessor if combined with cowardice—for such an one is rich for another rather than for himself,—nor do beauty and strength appear comely, but rather uncomely, when they are attached to one that is cowardly and base, since they make their possessor more conspicuous and show up his cowardice;

Section 247

and every form of knowledge when sundered from justice and the rest of virtue is seen to be plain roguery rather than wisdom. For these reasons do ye make it your endeavor, first and last and always, in every way to show all zeal that ye may exceed, if possible, both us and those who went before us in renown; but if not, be ye well assured that if we vanquish you in virtue our victory brings us shame, whereas, if we are defeated, our defeat brings happiness. And most of all would we be the vanquished, you the victors, if ye are careful in your conduct not to trade upon the glory of your ancestors nor yet to squander it, believing that for a man who holds himself of some account there is nothing more shameful than to find himself held in honor not for his own sake but because of the glory of his ancestors. In the honors which belong to their parents, the children truly possess a noble and splendid treasure; but to use up one’s treasure, whether of wealth or of honor, and bequeath none to one’s children, is the base and unmanly act of one who lacks all wealth and distinctions of his own. And if ye practise these precepts ye will come unto us as friends unto friends whensoever the appointed doom shall convey you hither; but if ye neglect them and play the coward, ye will be welcomed graciously by none. Let such, then, be the words we address to our children. Those of us who have fathers or mothers must counsel them always to bear their calamity—if so be that such has befallen them—as cheerfully as possible, and not join in their lamentations; for in sooth they will need no further cause of grief; the present misfortune will provide grief in plenty. Rather should we mollify and assuage their sorrow by reminding them that in the greatest matters the gods have already hearkened unto their prayers. For they prayed not that their sons should become immortal, but valiant and renowned; and these, which are the greatest of boons, they obtained. But that all things should turn out thus according to his mind, in respect of his own life, is for a mortal man no easy matter. Moreover, by bearing their calamities thus bravely they will clearly show that they are in truth the fathers of brave sons and of a like bravery themselves; whereas if they give way they will afford grounds for suspecting either that they are no fathers of ours or that we have been falsely belauded. But neither of these should they allow; rather should they belaud us most by their actions, showing themselves plainly to be in very truth the manly fathers of us men. That ancient saying, Nothing overmuch is judged to be a noble saying; and in truth it is well said.

Section 248

For that man is best prepared for life who makes all that concerns his welfare depend upon himself, or nearly so, instead of hanging his hopes on other men, whereby with their rise or fall his own fortunes also inevitably sway up or down: he it is that is temperate, he it is that is courageous and wise he it is that, when gaining or losing riches or children, will best exemplify the proverb; for, because he puts his trust in himself, he will neither be seen rejoicing nor yet grieving overmuch. Of such a character we request our friends to be, and desire them to appear, even as we now display ourselves as such, being neither aggrieved nor alarmed overmuch if so be that at this present crisis we must die. We beseech both fathers and mothers to pass the rest of their lives holding to this same conviction, and to be well assured that it is not by mourning and lamenting us that they will gratify us most; nay, if the dead have any perception of the living, it is thus that they would gratify us least, by debasing themselves and bearing their sorrows with a heavy heart; whereas by a light-hearted and temperate demeanor they would gratify us most. As for our own fortunes, they have already reached that climax which is the noblest of all for mortal men; wherefore it is more fitting to magnify than to mourn them. But to our wives and children let them give care and nurture and devote their mind to them; for thus they will best forget their ill fortune and live a life that is nobler and truer and more pleasing in our eyes. Let this, then, suffice as our message to our kinsfolk. To the City we would add an exhortation that on our behalf they care for our parents and our sons, bestowing on the latter an orderly training, and on the former the fitting nurture of old age; and, as it is, we are well assured that even without our exhortation the city will bestow upon them ample care. Such is the message, o ye children and parents of the fallen, which they enjoined upon us to deliver, and which I, with all the earnestness in my power, have now delivered; and I myself, on their behalf, entreat the children to imitate their fathers, and the parents to have no fear for themselves, seeing that we, both privately and publicly, will give nurture to your age and bestow care upon you, wheresoever one of us meets with one of you.

Section 249

And as regards the care bestowed by the City, of your own selves ye know well that she has made laws regarding both the children and the begetters of those who have fallen in the war, to ensure their care; and that the highest authority in the State is instructed to watch over them beyond all other citizens, that the fathers and mothers of these men may suffer no wrong. And the City herself helps in the bringing up of their children, endeavoring to render them as little conscious as possible of their orphaned condition; while they are yet children she stands towards them as a father, and when they arrive at man’s estate she presents them with full military equipment and sends them back to their own place, thereby exhibiting and putting them in mind of their fathers’ profession by bestowing on each of them the instruments of his father prowess, while at the same time desiring that he should be auspiciously equipped with arms on commencing his journey to his ancestral hearth, there to rule with power. Nor does the City ever omit to pay honor to the dead heroes themselves, seeing that she herself year by year performs publicly, on behalf of all, those customary rites which are privately performed for each; and moreover, she institutes contests in athletics and horse-racing and music of every kind. And thus, in simple fact, she stands towards the fallen in the position of son and heir, towards the sons in that of father, and towards the parents of the dead in that of guardian, thus exercising towards all all manner of care throughout all time. Laying which to heart it behoves you to bear your sorrow with the greater calm; for thus will ye best content both the dead and the living, and tend and be tended with the greatest ease. And now that you and all the rest have already made public lamentation for the dead as the law ordains, go you your ways. There, Menexenus, you have the oration of Aspasia, the Milesian.

And by Zeus, Socrates, Aspasia, by your account, deserves to be congratulated if she is really capable of composing a speech like that, woman though she is.

Nay, then, if you are incredulous, come along with me and listen to a speech from her own lips.

I have met with Aspasia many a time, Socrates, and I know well what she is like.

Well, then, don’t you admire her, and are you not grateful to her now for her oration?

Yes, I am exceedingly grateful, Socrates, for the oration to her or to him—whoever it was that repeated it to you; and what is more, I owe many other debts of gratitude to him that repeated it.

That will be fine! Only be careful not to give me away, so that I may report to you later on many other fine political speeches of hers.

Have no fear: I won’t give you away; only do you report them.

Well, it shall be done.

Contents — 20 sections

1. Section 973
2. Section 974
3. Section 975
4. Section 976
5. Section 977
6. Section 978
7. Section 979
8. Section 980
9. Section 981
10. Section 982
11. Section 983
12. Section 984
13. Section 985
14. Section 986
15. Section 987
16. Section 988
17. Section 989
18. Section 990
19. Section 991
20. Section 992

Section 973

True to our agreement, good sir, we have come all three—you and I and Megillus here—to consider in what terms we ought to describe that part of understanding which we say produces, when it so intends, the most excellent disposition of the human being for wisdom which is possible for man. For we claim that we have described all the other matters connected with law-giving; but the most important thing for us to discover and state—what it is that mortal man should learn in order to be wise—this we have neither stated nor discovered. Let us, however, now try to make good this defect: else we shall practically leave incomplete the quest on which we all set out, with the purpose of making our subject clear from beginning to end.

My dear Cleinias, you are quite right, yet I think you are about to hear a strange statement; and, in a sense, one that is not so strange either. For many on becoming acquainted with life have the same account to give—that the human race will not be blessed or happy. So follow me now and apprehend if you conceive me, as well as them, to be giving a proper account of this matter. I say it is impossible for men to be blessed and happy, except a few; that is, so long as we are living: I limit it to that. But one may rightly hope to attain after death all the things for whose sake one may strive both in life to live as nobly as one can and in death to find a noble end. What I say is no subtle doctrine, but a thing that all of us, Greeks and foreigners alike, in some way perceive—that from the beginning existence is difficult for every live creature: first, partaking of the state of things conceived, then again, being born, and further, being reared and educated—all these processes involve a vast amount of toil, we all agree.

Section 974

And our time must be a short one, I do not say in the reckoning of the wretched, but on any supposition of what is tolerable. It does seem to give just a breathing-space about the middle of human life: yet swiftly old age is upon us, and must make any of us loth ever to live our life again, when one reckons over the life one has lived—unless one happens to be a bundle of childish notions. And what, pray, is my evidence for this? It is that such is the nature of the matter now under inquiry in our discussion. We are inquiring, you know, in what way we shall become wise, presuming that each of us has this power in some sort or other: but it evades and escapes us as soon as we attempt any knowledge of reputed arts or knowledges or any of the ordinary sciences, as we suppose them to be; for none of them is worthy to be called by the title of the wisdom that pertains to these human affairs. Yet the soul firmly believes and divines that in some fashion she has it, but what it is that she has, or when, or how, she is quite unable to discover. Is not this a fair picture of our puzzle about wisdom and the inquiry that we have to make—a greater one than any of us could expect who are found able to examine ourselves and others intelligently and consistently by every kind and manner of argument? Is the case not so, or shall we agree that so it is?

We shall probably agree with you on that, my good sir, in the hope which in time you will surely give us of forming hereafter the truest opinion on these matters.

Then first we must go through the other sciences, which are reputed as such, but do not render him wise who acquires and possesses them; in order that, having put them out of the way, we may try to bring forward those that we require, and having brought them forward, to learn them. First, therefore, let us observe that while the sciences which are first needs of the human race are about the most necessary and truly the first, yet he who acquires a knowledge of them, though in the beginning he may have been regarded as wise in some sort, is now not reputed wise at all, but rather incurs reproach by the knowledge he has got.

Section 975

Now we must mention what they are, and that almost everyone who makes it his aim to be thought likely to prove himself in the end as good a man as possible avoids them, in order to gain the acquirements of understanding and study. So first let us take the practice among animate beings of eating each other, which, as the story goes, has made us refrain entirely from some, while it has settled us in the lawful eating of others. May the men of old time be gracious to us, as they are: for we must take our leave of whatever men were the first of those we were just mentioning ; but at any rate the making of barley-meal and flour, with the sustenance thereof, is noble and good indeed, yet it is never like to produce a perfectly wise man. For this very name of making must produce an irksomeness in the actual things that are made. Nor can it well be husbandry of land in general: for it is not by art but by a natural gift from Heaven, it seems, that we all have the earth put into our hands. Nor again is it the fabrication of dwellings and building in general, nor the production of all sorts of appliances—smiths’ work, and the supply of carpenters’, moulders’, plaiters’, and, in fine, all kinds of implements; for this is of advantage to the public, but is not accounted for virtue. Nor again the whole practice of hunting, which although grown extensive and a matter of skilled art, gives no return of magnificence with its wisdom. Nor surely can it be divination or interpretation as a whole; for these only know what is said, but have not learnt whether it be true. And now that we see that the acquisition of necessaries is achieved by means of art, but that no such art makes any man wise, there may be some diversion remaining after this—imitative for the most part, but in no way serious. For they imitate with many instruments, and with many imitative acts, not altogether seemly, of their very bodies, in performances both of speech and of every Muse, and in those whereof painting is mother, and whereby many and most various designs are elaborated in many sorts, moist and dry; and though a man ply his craft in these with the greatest zeal, in nothing is he rendered wise by imitation. And when all these have been performed, there may yet remain assistance, in countless forms and countless cases: the greatest and most useful is called warfare, the art of generalship; most glorified in time of need, requiring most good fortune, and assigned rather to a natural valor than to wisdom.

Section 976

And that which they call medicine is likewise, of course, an assistance in almost every case towards things of which animal nature is deprived by seasons of untimely cold and heat and all such visitations. But none of these is of high repute for the truest wisdom: for they are borne along by opinion, as inaccurate matter of conjecture. We may, I suppose, speak of pilots and sailors alike as giving assistance: yet you shall not report, to appease us, a single wise man from amongst them all; for a man cannot know the wrath or amity of the wind, a desirable thing for all piloting. Nor again all those who say they can give assistance in law suits by their powers of speech, men who by memory and exercise of opinion pay attention to human character, but are far astray from the truth of what is really just. There still remains, as a claimant to the name of wisdom, a certain strange power, which most people would call a natural gift rather than wisdom, appearing when one perceives someone learning this or that lesson with ease, or remembering a great many things securely; or when one recalls what is suitable to each person, what should properly be done, and does it quickly. Some people will describe all this as nature, others as wisdom, and others as a natural readiness of mind: but no sensible person will ever call a man really wise for any of these gifts. But surely there must be found some science, the possession of which will cause the wisdom of him who is really wise and not wise merely in men’s opinion. Well, let us see: for in this laborious discussion we are trying our hardest to find some other science, apart from those we have mentioned, which can really and reasonably be termed wisdom; such an acquirement as will not make one a mean and witless drudge, but will enable one to be a wise and good citizen, at once a just ruler and subject of his city, and decorous. So let us examine this one first, and see what single science it is of those that we now have which, by removing itself or being absent from human nature, must render mankind the most thoughtless and senseless of creatures. Well, there is no great difficulty in making that out. For if there is one more than another, so to speak, which will do this, it is the science which gave number to the whole race of mortals; and I believe God rather than some chance gave it to us, and so preserves us.

Section 977

And I must explain who it is that I believe to be God, though he be a strange one, and somehow not strange either: for why should we not believe the cause of all the good things that are ours to have been the cause also of what is far the greatest, understanding? And who is it that I magnify with the name of God, Megillus and Cleinias? Merely Heaven, which it is most our duty to honor and pray to especially, as do all other spirits and gods. That it has been the cause of all the other good things we have, we shall all admit; that it likewise gave us number we do really say, and that it will give us this hereafter, if we will but follow its lead. For if one enters on the right theory about it, whether one be pleased to call it World-order or Olympus or Heaven—let one call it this or that, but follow where, in bespangling itself and turning the stars that it contains, it produces all their courses and the seasons and food for all. And thence, accordingly, we have understanding in general, we may say, and therewith all number, and all other good things: but the greatest of these is when, after receiving its gift of numbers, one has covered the whole circuit. Moreover, let us turn back some little way in our discussion and recall how entirely right we were in conceiving that if we should deprive human nature of number we should never attain to any understanding. For then the soul of that creature which could not tell things would never any more be able, one may say, to attain virtue in general; and the creature that did not know two and three, or odd or even, and was completely ignorant of number, could never clearly tell of things about which it had only acquired sensations and memories. From the attainment of ordinary virtue— courage and temperance—it is certainly not debarred: but if a man is deprived of true telling he can never become wise, and he who has not the acquirement of wisdom—the greatest part of virtue as a whole—can no more achieve the perfect goodness which may make him happy. Thus it is absolutely necessary to postulate number; and why this is necessary can be shown by a still fuller argument than any that has been advanced. But here is one that will be particularly correct—that of the properties of the other arts, which we recounted just now in granting the existence of all the arts, not a single one can remain, but all of them are utterly defective, when once you remove numeration.

Section 978

And one may judge, perhaps, for brevity’s sake how the human race needs number, by glancing at the arts—and yet that too is a great matter—but if you note the divinity of birth, and its mortality, in which awe of the divine must be acknowledged, and real number, it is not anybody who can tell how great is the power which we owe to the accompaniment of number as a whole—for it is clear that everything in music needs a distinct numeration of movement and notes—and above all, how it is the cause of all good things; and that it is the cause of no evil thing is a point that must be well understood, as it may be quickly enough. Nay, the motion that we may call unreasoned and unordered, lacking shape and rhythm and harmony, and everything that has a share of some evil, is deficient in number altogether; and in this light must the matter be regarded by him who means to end his life in happiness. And no one who does not know the just, the good, the honorable and all the rest of such qualities, with a hold on true opinion, will number them off so as fully to persuade both himself and his neighbor. Now let us go on to inquire into the actual question of how we learnt to count in numbers. Tell me, whence have we got the conception of one and two, a natural gift that we have from the All to enable us to conceive of their existence? Then again, many other living creatures are not endowed by nature even to the actual point of being able to learn from their father to count; whereas in us, in the first place, God implanted this very conception, so that we might be equal to comprehending it when shown to us, and in the second place, he showed it and shows it. Among such things, what one more singularly beautiful can a man behold than the world of day? Then he comes to the province of night, and views it; and there quite another sight lies before him. And so the heaven, revolving these very objects for many nights and many days, never ceases to teach men one and two, until even the most unintelligent have learnt sufficiently to number; for that there are also three and four and many, each of us must further conceive on seeing those objects. And God made one thing that he wrought from them, the moon, which shows herself at one time larger, at another smaller, and runs her course, showing ever a new shape, until fifteen days and nights are passed: this is her circuit, if one chooses to sum her orbit, as one and entire, in one ; so that, we may say, even the least intelligent creature must learn it, among those on whom God has bestowed the natural gift of being able to learn.

Section 979

Within certain limits, and in certain cases, every creature so enabled has been made fully apt for numeration,— when it considers any unit in itself. But as to reckoning number generally in the relations of things to each other, I think that God, if not for a greater reason, to this end interposed, as we mentioned, the waxing and waning of the moon, and arranged the months to make up the year, and all things began to comprehend number in relation to number by a happy fortune. Hence it is that we have fruits and the teeming of the earth, so that there may be food for all creatures, with no inordinate or immoderate occurrences of winds and rains: but if in spite of this something does occur in an evil way, we ought not to charge it upon the divine but upon the human nature, for not disposing our own lives aright. Now in our inquiry about laws, you know we decided that all other things that are best for men are easy to discover, and that everyone may become competent both to understand and to perform what he is told, if he discovers what is that which is likely to profit him, and what is not profitable: well, we decided, and we are still of the same mind, that all other studies are not very difficult, but that this of learning in what way we should become good men is one of the utmost difficulty. Everything else, again, that is good, as they say, is both possible and not difficult to acquire, and the amount of property that is wanted or not wanted, and the kind of body that is wanted or not: everyone agrees that a good soul is wanted, and agrees, moreover, as to the manner of its goodness, that for this again it must be just and temperate and brave; but whereas everyone says it must be wise, no one any longer agrees at all with anyone else, in most cases—we have just now explained—as to what its wisdom should be. So now we are discovering, besides all those former kinds, a wisdom of no mean worth for this very purpose of showing how he is wise who has learnt the things that we have explained. And if he is wise who has knowledge of these things and is good at them, we must now take account of him.

Good sir, how properly you said that you are undertaking to express great thoughts on great subjects!

Yes, for they are not small, Cleinias: but what is more difficult is to show that they are entirely and in every sense true.

Very much so, good sir: but still, do not weary of the task of stating your views.

I will not, and therefore you two must not weary either of listening to me.

Agreed: I give you my word for us both.

Section 980

Thank you. To begin with, then, we must necessarily state first, it would seem best of all, in a single word, if we are able so to put it—what is that which we suppose to be wisdom; but if we are utterly unable to do this, we must say in the second place what and how many kinds of it there are that a man must have acquired, if he is to be wise according to our story.

Pray speak on.

And as to the next step, it will be no offence in the lawgiver that he speaks finer things than have been previously said about the gods, and uses higher terms of portrayal, making as it were a noble sport and honoring the gods, with high tribute of his hymns and affluence throughout the period of his own life.

Well spoken, indeed, good sir. Yes, may you have this consummation of your laws, after making fine sport in praising the gods and having passed a purer life, to find thereby the best and fairest end!

Then how, Cleinias, do we state it? Do we honor the gods, think you, to the utmost with our hymns, praying that we may be moved to speak the fairest and best things about them? Do you state it so, or how?

Nay, absolutely so. Now, my excellent friend, pray to the gods with confidence, and utter the fine specimen of a speech that you are moved to make about the gods and goddesses.

It shall be done, if the god himself will be our guide. Do but join in my prayer.

Speak what follows next.

It is necessary, then, it seems, that I should first portray in better terms, according to our previous statement, the generation of gods and of living creatures, which has been ill portrayed by those before us; I must resume the statement which I have attempted in speaking against the impious, declaring that there are gods who have a care for all things, small and greater, and who are well-nigh inexorable in what relates to the justice of things: that is, if you remember, Cleinias; for you did take memoranda besides, and indeed what then was spoken was very true. And the most important part of it was that every soul was senior to each body : do you remember? Or in any case, surely, this must be so? For that which is better and more ancient and more godlike is credibly so in comparison with the young, the junior, and the less emancipated; and altogether, a thing governing is senior to a thing governed, and the driver every way senior to the driven. So much, then, let us conclude—that soul is senior to body;

Section 981

and if this is the case, what came first in that which first was born will more credibly seem almost to have been original. So let us take it that the beginning of the beginning is more august in state, and that we are most correctly entering upon wisdom in the greatest matters relating to the generation of the gods.

Let this be so, as far as we can state it.

Come then, shall we say that a living creature is most truly described by its nature, as a case of one combination of soul and body so uniting as to beget one shape?

Correct.

And such a thing is most justly called a living creature?

Yes.

On the most likely account there are to be reckoned five solid bodies, from which one might fashion things fairest and best; but all the rest of creation has a single shape, for there is nothing that could come to be without a body and never possessing any color at all, except only that really most divine creature, the soul. And this alone, one may say, has the business of fashioning and manufacturing, whereas the body, as we call it, has that of being fashioned and produced and seen. But the other—let us repeat it, for not once only be it said—has to be invisible even to the inquiring, and merely thought, if he has got a share of memory and reckoning by both odd and even variations. The bodies, then, being five, we must name them as fire, water, and thirdly air, earth fourth, and ether fifth; and by predominance of these are each of the many varieties of creatures perfected. We should learn this by single instances in the following way. Let us take as earthy our first single element—all men, all things that have many feet or none, and those that move along and that stay still, held in place by roots; but we must conceive its unity thus, though all these things are the outcome of all kinds, yet for the most part it is of earth and of solid nature. And another kind of creature we must regard as second in birth as well as one that can be seen: for its greatest part is of fire, though it has some earth and air, and has slight portions of all the others also, wherefore we must say that all sorts of creatures are born of them, and things seen, and here again we must conceive the heavenly kinds of creatures, which altogether, we must agree, have been born as the divine race of stars, endowed with the fairest body as also with the happiest and best soul. One or other of two lots we may very well, in our judgement, assign to them: for each of them is either imperishable and immortal, and by all necessity wholly divine, or has a certain longevity sufficient for the life of each, such that nothing could ever require a longer one.

Section 982

Let us therefore first observe that, as we state it, such creatures are of two sorts—for let us state it again—both visible, the one of fire, as would appear, entirely, and the other of earth; and the earthy is in disorder, whereas that of fire has its motion in perfect order. Now that which has motion in disorder we should regard as unintelligent, acting like the animal creatures about us for the most part; but that which has an orderly and heavenly progress must be taken as strongly evincing its intelligence. For in passing on and acting and being acted upon always in the same respects and manner it must provide sufficient evidence of its intelligent life. The necessity of a soul that has acquired mind will prove itself by far the greatest of all necessities; for it makes laws as ruler, not as ruled: but this inalterable thing, when the soul has taken the best counsel in accord with the best mind, comes out as the perfect thing in truth and in accord with mind, and not even adamant could ever prove stronger than it or more inalterable; but in fact the three Fates have it in hold, and keep watch that what has been decided by each of the gods with the best counsel shall be perfect. And men ought to have found proof of the stars and the whole of that travelling system being possessed of mind in the fact that they always do the same things because they do what has been decided long ago for an incalculable time, not deciding differently this way and that, and doing sometimes one thing, sometimes another, in wanderings and changes of circuit. Most of us have thought just the opposite—that because they do the same things in the same way they have no soul: the multitude followed the lead of the unintelligent so far as to suppose that, whereas humanity was intelligent and living because it moved about, divinity was unintelligent because it abode in the same courses. But if man had sided with the fairer and better and friendly part, he might have concluded that he ought to regard as intelligent—and for this very reason—that which acts always in the same respects, in the same way, and for the same reasons; and that this is the nature of the stars, fairest to see, and passing along, dancing the fairest and most magnificent of all dances in the world, they make good the needs of all living creatures.

Section 983

And now, to see how justly we speak of their living spirit, let us first consider their great size. For they are not actually those small things that they appear to be, but each of them is immense in its bulk; we should do well to believe this, because there are ample proofs of such a conclusion. For we can rightly consider the whole of the sun as larger than the whole of the earth, and all the travelling stars are of amazing size. Let us conclude then whether it can possibly be that any natural force revolves this great mass that is now being revolved, continually and at the same time. God, then, I say, will be the cause, and never in any other way is it possible. For never can a thing get living spirit by any other means than by the act of God, as we have explained; and when God is able to do this, he has found it a perfectly easy matter, firstly that all body and all mass should be made a living creature, and secondly to move it in the course he considers best. So now I trust we may make one true statement about all these things: it cannot be that earth and heaven and all the stars and all the masses they comprise, without soul attached to each or resident in each, should pass along as they do, so exactly to every year and month and day, and that all the things that happen should happen for the good of us all. And according as man is a meaner creature, he should show himself, not a babbler, but a speaker of clear sense. If, then, anyone shall speak of onrushes or natural forces or the like as in a sort the causes of bodies, he will say nothing clear: but we must firmly recall what we have said, and see whether our statement is reasonable or is utterly at fault—namely, in the first place, that existence is of two kinds, the one soul, and the other body, and that many things are in either, though all are different from each other and those of the one kind from those of the other, and that there is no other third thing common to any of them; but soul differs from body. Intelligent, of course, we shall hold it to be, and the other unintelligent; the one governs, the other is governed; and the one is cause of all things, while the other is incapable of causing any of its experiences: so that to assert that the heavenly bodies have come into existence through anything else, and are not the offspring, as we have said, of soul and body, is great folly and unreason. However, if our statements on all such existences are to prevail, and the whole order of them is to be convincingly shown to be divine by their origin, we must certainly class them as one or the other of two things:

Section 984

either we must in all correctness glorify them as actual gods, or suppose them to be images produced as likenesses of the gods, creations of the gods themselves. For they are the work of no mindless or inconsiderable beings but, as we have said, we must class them as one or other of these things; and, if classed as the latter, we must honor them far above all images: for never will fairer or more generally-known images be found among all mankind, none established in more various places, more pre-eminent in purity, majesty, and life altogether, than in the way in which their existence is altogether fashioned. Well then, for the present let us attempt so much in treating of the gods, as to try—after observing the two living creatures visible to us, of which we call one immortal, and the other, all earthy, a mortal creation—to tell of the three middle things of the five, which come most evidently, according to the probable opinion, between those two. For let us consider ether as coming next after fire, and let us hold that soul fashions from it live creatures with their faculties, as it does creatures from the other kinds of element, each being for the most part of that one nature, but in its lesser parts derived from the other elements for the sake of connection. After ether, there is fashioned by soul another kind of creature from air, and the third kind from water; and by having produced all these it is likely that soul filled the whole heaven with creatures, having made use of all the elements so far as it could, and all the creatures having been made participators in life; but the second, third, fourth, and fifth kinds, which took their first origin from what are manifest gods, end finally in us men. Now the gods—Zeus and Hera and all the rest—each man must regard in what light he pleases, though according to the same law, and must take this account as reliable. But as our visible gods, greatest and most honorable and having keenest vision every way, we must count first the order of the stars and all else that we perceive existing with them; and after these, and next below these, the divine spirits, and air-born race, holding the third and middle situation, cause of interpretation, which we must surely honor with prayers for the sake of an auspicious journey across.

Section 985

We must say of either of these two creatures—that which is of ether and, next to it, of air—that it is not entirely plain to sight: when it is near by, it is not made manifest to us; but partaking of extraordinary intelligence, as belonging to an order which is quick to learn and strong in memory, we may say that they understand the whole of our thoughts, and show extraordinary kindness to anyone of us who is a good man and true, and hate him who is utterly evil, as one who already partakes of suffering. For we know that God, who has the privilege of the divine portion, is remote from these affections of pain and pleasure, but has a share of intelligence and knowledge in every sphere; and the heaven being filled full of live creatures, they interpret all men and all things both to one another and to the most exalted gods, because the middle creatures move both to earth and to the whole of heaven with a lightly rushing motion. The kind which is of water, the fifth, we shall be right in representing as a semi-divine product of that element, and it is at one time seen, but at another is concealed through becoming obscure, presenting a marvel in the dimness of vision. So these five being really existent creatures, wherever any of us came upon them, either happening upon them in the dream-world of sleep, or by something spoken to persons listening in health, or equally in sickness, through ominous utterances and prophecies, or again when they have arrived at the end of life opinions that occur to us both in private and in public, whence many sanctities of many beings have arisen, and others shall arise—in regard to all these the lawgiver who possesses even the slightest degree of mind will never dare by innovations to turn his city to a divine worship which is lacking in certainty. Nor indeed will he put a stop to sacrifices on which the ancestral custom has pronounced, when he knows nothing at all of the matter, just as it is not possible for mortal nature to know about such things. And of the gods who are really manifest to us the same statement must surely hold—that those men are most evil who have not courage to tell and make manifest to us that these are likewise gods, but without any frenzied rites, or any tribute of the honors that are their due. But as things are, we have a strange conjunction of proceedings:

Section 986

for it is as though one of us should see the sun or moon being born and all of us looking on, and should utter no word through some impotence of speech, and should not also at the same time be zealous, so far as in him lay, when they lacked their share of honor, to bring them in all evidence to an honored place, and cause festivals and sacrifices to be offered to them, and apportion to each a reserved space of time for the greater or lesser length of its year, as may happen: would it not be agreed both by himself and by another who observed it that he would justly be described as an evil man?

To be sure he would, my good sir; nay, most evil.

Well then, this, my dear Cleinias, is what, you may take it, has evidently happened to me now.

How do you mean?

You know that there are eight powers of those contained in the whole heaven which are cognate to each other: these I have observed, and it is no great achievement; for it is easy enough for anybody. Three of them are that of the sun, for one, that of the moon for another, and a third that of the stars which we mentioned a little while ago; and there are five others besides. Now in regard to all these and those beings who either have their own motion in these, or are borne in vehicles so as to make their progress thus, let none of us all ever idly suppose that some of them are gods, while others are not, or that some are genuine, while others are of a certain kind which it is not permissible to any of us even to express; but let us all declare and say that they are all cognate and have cognate lots, and let us render them due honor, not by giving to one a year, to another a month; but to none of them let us appoint either a certain lot or a certain time in which it travels through its particular orbit, completing the system which the divinest reason of all appointed to be visible. This first the man who is blest admires, and then he feels a passion for understanding so much as is possible for mortal nature, believing that thus he will best and most happily pass through life, and at the end of his days will arrive at regions meet for virtue; and having been truly and really initiated, and won his individual intelligence, and become for the rest of time a spectator of what is fairest, so far as sight can go, in this state he continues. And now after this it remains for us to say how many and who these beings are: for we shall never be found to have spoken falsely. Thus far, at least, I asseverate with certainty: I say, once more, that there are eight of them, and that while three of the eight have been told, five yet remain. The fourth in motion and transit together, and the fifth, are almost equal to the sun in speed, and on the whole are neither slower nor swifter. These being three, must be so regarded by him who has sufficient mind. So let us speak of them as powers of the sun and of Lucifer, and of a third, such that we cannot express it in a name because it is not known; and he is to blame for this who first beheld these things, since he was a foreigner:

Section 987

for it was an ancient custom that nurtured those who first remarked these things owing to the fairness of the summer season which Egypt and Syria amply possess, so that they constantly beheld the whole mass, one may say, of stars revealed to their sight, since they had got then, continually without obstruction of clouds and rains in the sky; whence they have emerged in every direction and in ours likewise, after having been examined for thousands of years, nay, for an infinite time. And therefore we should not hesitate to include them in the scope of our laws; for to have divine things lacking honor, while other things are honored, is clearly a sign of witlessness; and as to their having got no names, the cause of it should be stated as we have done. For indeed they have received titles of gods: thus, that Lucifer, or Hesperus (which is the same), should almost belong to Aphrodite, is reasonable, and quite befitting a Syrian lawgiver ; and that that which follows the same course as the sun and this together should almost belong to Hermes. Let us also note three motions of bodies travelling to the right with the moon and the sun. One must be mentioned, the eighth, which we may especially address as the world-order, and which travels in opposition to the whole company of the others, not impelling them, as might appear to mankind in the scant knowledge that they have of these matters. But we are bound to state, and do state, so much as adequate knowledge tells us. For real wisdom shows herself in some such way as this to him who has got even a little share of right and divine meditation. And now there remain three stars, of which one is distinguished from the others by its slowness, and some speak of it under the title of Saturn; the next after it in slowness is to be cited as Jupiter; and the next after this, as Mars, which has the ruddiest hue of all. Nothing in all this is hard to understand when someone expresses it; but it is through learning, as we declare, that one must believe it. But there is one point which every Greek should bear in mind—that of all Greeks we have a situation which is about the most favorable to human excellence. The praiseworthy thing in it that we have to mention is that it may be taken as midway between a wintry and a summery climate; and our climate, being inferior in its summer to that in the region over there, as we said, has been so much later in imparting the cognizance of these cosmic deities. And let us note that whatever Greeks acquire from foreigners is finally turned by them into something nobler;

Section 988

and moreover the same thing must be borne in mind regarding our present statements—that although it is hard to discover everything of this kind beyond dispute, there is hope, both strong and noble, that a really nobler and juster respect than is in the combined repute and worship which came from foreigners will be paid to all these gods by the Greeks, who have the benefit of their various education, their prophecies from Delphi, and the whole system of worship under their laws. And let none of the Greeks ever be apprehensive that being mortals we should never have dealings with divine affairs; they should rather be of the quite opposite opinion, that the divine is never either unintelligent or in any ignorance of human nature, but knows that if it teaches us we shall follow its guidance and learn what is taught us. That it so teaches us, and that we learn number and numeration, it knows of course: for it would be most utterly unintelligent if it were ignorant of this; since it would truly, as the saying is, be ignorant of itself, vexed with that which was able to learn, instead of whole-heartedly rejoicing with one who became good by God’s help. And indeed there is much good reason to suppose that formerly, when men had their first conceptions of how the gods came to exist and with what qualities, and whence, and to what kind of actions they proceeded, they were spoken of in a manner not approved or welcomed by the wise, nor were even the views of those who came later, among whom the greatest dignity was given to fire and water and the other elements, while the wonderful soul was accounted inferior; and higher and more honored with them was a motion assigned to the body for moving itself by heat and chills and everything of that kind, instead of that which the soul had for moving both the body and itself. But now that we account it no marvel that the soul, once it is in the body, should stir and move about this and itself, neither does our soul on any reckoning mistrust her power of moving about any weight. And therefore, since we now claim that, as the soul is cause of the whole, and all good things are causes of like things, while on the other hand evil things are causes of other things like them, it is no marvel that soul should be cause of all motion and stirring—that the motion and stirring towards the good are the function of the best soul, and those to the opposite are the opposite —it must be that good things have conquered and conquer things that are not their like.

Section 989

All this we have stated in accordance with justice, which wreaks vengeance on the impious: but now, as regards the matter under examination, it is not possible for us to disbelieve that we must deem the good man to be wise; and let us see if we may perhaps be able, either by education or by art, to perceive this wisdom which we have all this while been seeking; for if we fall behind the just in failing to know it, our condition will be that of ignorant persons. Such, then, seems our case to me, and I must say so: for I have sought this wisdom high and low, and so far as it has been revealed to me I will try to render it plain to you. Now the fact that the greatest part of virtue is not properly practiced is the cause of our condition, as is just now indicated—it seems clear to me—by what has been said. For let no one ever persuade us that there is a greater part of virtue, for the race of mortals, than piety; and I must say it is owing to the greatest stupidity that this has not appeared in the best natures. And the best are they which can only become so with the greatest difficulty, and the benefit is greatest if they do become so: for a soul that admits of slowness and the opposite inclination moderately and gently will be good-tempered ; and if it admires courage, and is easily persuaded to temperance, and, most important of all, is enabled by these natural gifts to learn and has a good memory, it will be able to rejoice most fully in these very things, so as to be a lover of learning. For these things are not easily engendered, but when once they are begotten, and receive due nourishment and education, they will be able to restrain the greater number of men, even the worse among us, in the most correct way by our every thought, every action, and every word about the gods, in due manner and due season, as regards both sacrifices and purifications in matters concerning gods and men alike, so that we are contriving no life of pretence, but truly honoring virtue, which indeed is the most important of all business for the whole state. That section of us, then, we say is naturally the most competent, and supremely able to learn the best and noblest lessons that it may be taught: but it cannot get this teaching either, unless God gives his guidance. If, however, it should be so taught, but should fail in some way to do accordingly, it were better for it not to learn. Nevertheless it follows of necessity from our present statements, that I agree that the nature which is of this kind, and the best, should learn certain things. Let us try, then, to set forth in our statement what things these are, and of what kind, and how one should learn—so far as our ability permits both me the speaker and those who are able to hearken— in what manner one will learn the proper reverence of the gods.

Section 990

It is, indeed, a rather strange thing to hear; but the name that we, at any rate, give it—one that people would never approve, from inexperience in the matter—is astronomy; people are ignorant that he who is truly an astronomer must be wisest, not he who is an astronomer in the sense understood by Hesiod and all the rest of such writers, the sort of man who has studied settings and risings; but the man who has studied the seven out of the eight orbits, each travelling over its own circuit in such a manner as could not ever be easily observed by any ordinary nature, that did not partake of a marvellous nature. As to this, we have now told, and shall tell, as we profess, by what means and in what manner it ought to be learnt; and first let us make the following statement. The moon travels through its orbit very swiftly, bringing first the month and full-moon; and in the second place we must remark the sun, with his turning motion through the whole of his orbit, and with him his satellites. But to avoid repeating again and again the same things on the same subjects in our discussion, the other courses of these bodies that we have previously described are not easily understood: we must rather prepare our faculties, such as they may possibly be, for these matters; and so one must teach the pupil many things beforehand, and continually strive hard to habituate him in childhood and youth. And therefore there will be need of studies: the most important and first is of numbers in themselves; not of those which are corporeal, but of the whole origin of the odd and the even, and the greatness of their influence on the nature of reality. When he has learnt these things, there comes next after these what they call by the very ridiculous name of geometry, when it proves to be a manifest likening of numbers not like one another by nature in respect of the province of planes; and this will be clearly seen by him who is able to understand it to be a marvel not of human, but of divine origin. And then, after that, the numbers thrice increased and like to the solid nature, and those again which have been made unlike, he likens by another art, namely, that which its adepts called stereometry; and a divine and marvellous thing it is to those who envisage it and reflect, how the whole of nature is impressed with species and class according to each analogy, as power and its opposite continually turn upon the double.

Section 991

Thus the first analogy is of the double in point of number, passing from one to two in order of counting, and that which is according to power is double; that which passes to the solid and tangible is likewise again double, having proceeded from one to eight; but that of the double has a mean, as much more than the less as it is less than the greater, while its other mean exceeds and is exceeded by the same portion of the extremes themselves. Between six and twelve comes the whole-and-a-half (9 = 6 + 3) and whole-and-a-third (8 = 6 + 2): turning between these very two, to one side or the other, this power (9) assigned to men an accordant and proportioned use for the purpose of rhythm and harmony in their pastimes, and has been assigned to the blessed dance of the Muses. In this way then let all these things come to pass, and so let them be. But as to their crowning point, we must go to divine generation and therewith the fairest and divinest nature of visible things, so far as God granted the vision of it to men; a vision that none of us may ever boast of having received at his leisure without the conditions here laid down. And besides these requirements, one must refer the particular thing to its generic form in our various discussions, questioning and disproving what has been wrongly stated; for it is rightly found to be altogether the finest and first of tests for the use of men, while any that pretend to be tests, without being so, are the vainest of all labors. And further, we must mark the exactness of time, how exactly it completes all the processes of the heavens, in order that he who is convinced of the truth of the statement which has been made—that the soul is at once older and more divine than the body—might believe it a most admirable and satisfactory saying that all things are full of gods, and that we have never been disregarded in the least through any forgetfulness or neglect in our superiors. And our view about all such matters must be that, if one conceives of each of them aright, it turns out a great boon to him who receives it in a proper way; but failing this, he had better always call it God. The way is this— for it is necessary to explain it thus far: every diagram, and system of number, and every combination of harmony, and the agreement of the revolution of the stars must be made manifest as one through all to him who learns in the proper way, and will be made manifest if, as we say, a man learns aright by keeping his gaze on unity;

Section 992

for it will be manifest to us, as we reflect, that there is one bond naturally uniting all these things: but if one goes about it in some other way, one must call it Fortune, as we also put it. For never, without these lessons, will any nature be happy in our cities: no, this is the way, this the nurture, these the studies, whether difficult or easy, this the path to pursue: to neglect the gods is not permissible, when it has been made manifest that the fame of them, stated in proper terms, hits the mark. And the man who has acquired all these things in this manner is he whom I account the most truly wisest: of him I also assert, both in jest and in earnest, that when one of his like completes his allotted span at death, I would say if he still be dead, he will not partake any more of the various sensations then as he does now, but having alone partaken of a single lot and having become one out of many, will be happy and at the same time most wise and blessed, whether one has a blessed life in continents or in islands; and that such a man will partake always of the like fortune, and whether his life is spent in a public or in a private practice of these studies he will get the same treatment, in just the same manner, from the gods. And what we said at the beginning, and stands now also unchanged as a really true statement, that it is not possible for men to be completely blessed and happy, except a few, has been correctly spoken. For as many as are divine and temperate also, and partakers of virtue as a whole in their nature, and have acquired besides all that pertains to blessed study—and this we have explained—are the only persons by whom all the spiritual gifts are fully obtained and held. Those then who have thus worked through all these tasks we speak of privately, and publicly establish by law, as the men to whom, when they have attained the fullness of seniority, the highest offices should be entrusted, while the rest should follow their lead, giving praise to all gods and goddesses; and we should most rightly invite the Nocturnal Council to this wisdom, when we have duly distinguished and approved all its members.

Contents — 11 sections

1. Section 121
2. Section 122
3. Section 123
4. Section 124
5. Section 125
6. Section 126
7. Section 127
8. Section 128
9. Section 129
10. Section 130
11. Section 131

Section 121

Dem. Socrates, I was wanting to have some private talk with you, if you had time to spare; even if there is some demand, which is not particularly important, on your time, do spare some, nevertheless, for me.

Soc. Why, in any case I happen to have time to spare, and for you, moreover, I have plenty. Well, you are free to say whatever you wish.

Dem. Then do you mind if we step aside here from the street into the portico of Zeus the Liberator ?

Soc. As you think best.

Dem. Let us go, then. Socrates, it would seem that all growths follow the same course, both those that grow from the earth, and the animals, including man. In regard to the plants, as you know, we who cultivate the earth find it the easiest part of our work to make all our preparations that are needed before planting, and to do the planting itself; but when the plant begins to grow, thenceforward we have a great deal of difficult and vexatious business in tending the new growth. Such, it seems, is also the case in regard to men: I take my own concerns as evidence for judging of the rest. For indeed I have found the planting, or the procreation—whichever one ought to call it—of this son of mine the easiest thing in the world; but his upbringing has been vexatious and a constant source of alarm, so great are my fears for him. Among the many instances that I could mention, the desire which occupies him at the moment is a thing that especially alarms me: for it is not an ill-bred desire, but a dangerous one, since here we have him, Socrates, as he says, desiring to become wise. My opinion is that some of his fellow-townsmen, about his own age, who pay visits to the city, excite him with accounts of certain discussions they have heard there; and in his envy of these he has long been pestering me with the demand that I should take due thought for his needs, and pay fees to some sophist or other who will make him wise. Now I do not mind so much about the fees, but I believe he is running into no slight danger where he is hastening.

Section 122

Dem. I did for a time restrain him with good advice; but since I am no longer able to do so, I believe my best course is to comply with his request, in order that he may not resort, perchance, behind my back to somebody who will corrupt him. So I have come now on this very business of placing this youth with one of these sophists, or purveyors of wisdom, as they are held to be. It is a happy chance, therefore, that has thrown you in our way, as I should be particularly glad, with this plan of action in my mind, to ask your advice. Come, if you have any advice to give on what you have heard from me, you not only may, but should, give it.

Soc. Well, you know, Demodocus, they do say that advice is a holy thing. And so, if ever it is to be accounted holy, it must be in this instance, in which you now seek it. For there is no more divine matter on which a mortal could take counsel than the education either of himself or of his relations. Now, first of all, let you and me come to an agreement as to what we suppose that this thing can be, on which we are taking counsel; for it may happen that I conceive it to be one thing, and you another, and then when we have proceeded some little way in our conference, we may perceive how ridiculous we are, I the adviser and you the advised, in having no common ground in our notions.

Dem. Why, I think you are right there, Socrates, and we should do as you suggest.

Soc. Yes, I am right, but yet not entirely, because I have a slight change to make. For it occurs to me that this youngster may not be desiring the thing that we suppose him to desire, but something else, and there again we may be still more absurdly taking counsel on some other thing. Hence our most proper course, it seems to me, is to begin with the youth himself, and inquire of him what it actually is that he desires.

Dem. It does rather look, in fact, as though our best way would be thus, as you suggest.

Soc. Then tell me, what is the young person’s goodly name: how are we to address him?

Dem. Theages is his name, Socrates.

Soc. Goodly is the name, Demodocus, and holy-sounding, that you have bestowed on your son. Tell me, then, Theages, do you say you desire to become wise, and do you require your father here to find out a school of some man who is qualified to make you wise?

The. Yes.

Soc. And which sort of man do you call wise, those who have knowledge of such and such a thing, whatever it may be, or those who have not?

The. Those who have knowledge, I say.

Soc. Well now, has not your father taught and educated you in the subjects which form the education of everyone else here—all the sons of noble and honorable fathers—in letters, I mean, and harping and wrestling and the other sorts of contest?

The. Yes, he has.

Section 123

Soc. And you think you are still lacking in some knowledge which it behoves your father to provide for you?

The. I do

Soc. What knowledge is it? Tell us on our side, that we may oblige you.

The. He knows it, as well as I, Socrates, since I have often told him; only he says this to you of set purpose, making as if he did not know what I desire. For he assails me too with other statements of the same sort, and refuses to place me with any instructor.

Soc. Well, what you said to him before was spoken, as it were, without witnesses; but now you shall take me as a witness, and declare before me what is this wisdom that you desire. Come now; suppose you desired the wisdom whereby men steer a ship, and I happened to put this further question to you: Theages, what wisdom is it that you lack, when you blame your father for refusing to place you with people who would enable you to become wise? What answer would you have given me? What wisdom would you name? The steersman’s art, would you not?

The. Yes.

Soc. And if a desire to be wise in the wisdom whereby they steer chariots led you to blame your father, and I asked what wisdom this was, what would you name in reply? The charioteer’s art, would you not?

The. Yes.

Soc. And is that which you happen to be desiring now a nameless one, or has it a name?

The. I should say it has a name.

Soc. Now do you know it, though not its name, or do you know its name as well?

The. I know its name as well.

Soc. Then what is it? Tell me.

The. What other name, Socrates, can one give it but wisdom?

Soc. And the driver’s art too is wisdom? Or do you think it is ignorance?

The. I do not.

Soc. You call it wisdom?

The. Yes.

Soc. What use do we make of it? Is it not the art whereby we know how to govern a team of horses?

The. Yes.

Soc. And the steersman’s art too is wisdom?

The. I think so.

Soc. Is not this the art whereby we know how to govern ships?

The. Yes, it is.

Soc. And the wisdom that you so desire, what is it? That whereby we know how to govern whom?

The. To govern men, I imagine.

Soc. Sick men, do you mean?

The. Oh, no.

Soc. For that is medicine, is it not?

The. Yes.

Soc. Well, that whereby we know how to govern the singers in a chorus?

The. No.

Soc. For that is music?

The. To be sure.

Soc. Well, that whereby we know how to govern men in gymnastic training?

The. No.

Soc. For that is gymnastics?

The. Yes.

Soc. Well, to govern people who do what? Endeavor your best to speak, as I did to you at the beginning.

Section 124

The. To govern the people in the city, I imagine.

Soc. And are the sick people also in the city?

The. Yes, but I mean not these only, but all the rest who are in the city besides.

Soc. Do I understand what art it is that you mean? For you strike me as meaning, not that whereby we know how to govern reapers and harvesters and planters and sowers and threshers, for it is the farmer’s art whereby we govern these, is it not?

The. Yes.

Soc. Nor, I suppose, do you mean that whereby we know how to govern sawyers and borers and planers and turners, as a class together; for is not that carpentry?

The. Yes.

Soc. But perhaps it is that whereby we govern, not only all these, but farmers themselves also, and carpenters, and all craftsmen and ordinary people, whether men or women: that, perhaps, is the wisdom you mean.

The. That, Socrates, is what I have been intending to mean all the time.

Soc. Then can you tell me whether Aegisthus, who slew Agamemnon in Argos, governed all these people that you mean craftsmen and ordinary people, both men and women, or some other persons?

The. No, just those.

Soc. Well now, did not Peleus, son of Aeacus, govern these same people in Phthia?

The. Yes.

Soc. And have you ever heard of Periander, son of Cypselus, and how he governed at Corinth?

The. I have.

Soc. Did he not govern these same people in his city?

The. Yes.

Soc. Or again, do you not consider that Archelaus, son of Perdiccas, who governed recently in Macedonia, governed these same people?

The. I do.

Soc. And who do you think were governed by Hippias, son of Peisistratus, who governed in this city? Were they not these people ?

The. To be sure they were.

Soc. Now, can you tell me what appellation is given to Bacis and Sibyl and our native Amphilytus?

The. Why, soothsayers, of course, Socrates.

Soc. That is correct. But try to answer me in that way regarding those others—Hippias and Periander: what appellation is given them on account of their government?

The. Despots, I suppose; it must be that.

Soc. And when a man desires to govern the whole of the people in his city, he desires the same government as those did—despotism, and to be a despot?

The. Apparently.

Soc. And it is this that you say you desire?

The. It seems so, from what I have said.

Section 125

Soc. You scoundrel! So you were desiring to govern us, all the time that you were blaming your father for not sending you to some seminary of despots! And you, Demodocus, are you not ashamed of having known all the time what he is desiring, and though you could have sent him where you would have made him an expert in the wisdom which he desires, actually grudging it to him and refusing to send him? But now, look here, as he has declared against you in my presence, shall you and I consult together on the question of whose school we shall send him to, and whose classes will help him to become a wise despot?

Dem. Yes, in faith, Socrates, let us certainly consult, as I feel this is a matter on which no slight counsel is needed.

Soc. By and by, my good sir. Let us first cross-examine him thoroughly.

Dem. Examine him then.

Soc. Well now, what if we called in Euripides to our aid, Theages? For you know Euripides says:Despots are wise by converse with the wise. Now, if someone should ask Euripides: Euripides, in what are these men wise, by whose converse you say that despots are wise? I mean, suppose he had said:Farmers are wise by converse with the wise,and we had asked him,—Wise in what?—what answer would he have given us? Surely none other than,—In farming.

The. That, and none other.

Soc. Or again, if he had said:Piemen are wise by converse with the wise,and we had asked him, Wise in what?—what answer would he have given us? He would have said,—In the pie-making business,—would he not?

The. Yes.

Soc. Or again, if he had saidWrestlers are wise by converse with the wise,and we had asked him, Wise in what?—would he not reply,—In wrestling?

The. Yes.

Soc. But as he said:Despots are wise by converse with the wise, and we ask him,—In what do you mean that the latter are wise, Euripides?—what will he reply? What sort of subjects will he mention here?

The. Why, upon my word, I for my part do not know.

Soc. Well, do you mind if I tell you?

The. If you do not mind.

Soc. They are the same subjects that Anacreon said Callicrite understood; or do you not know the ode?

The. I do.

Soc. Well then, do you desire to partake in some instruction of that sort from any man who is a fellow-craftsman of Callicrite, daughter of Cyane, and knows all about despotism as she did, according to the poet, in order that you may become a despot over us and our city?

The. You are joking all this time, Socrates, and making fun of me.

Soc. Why, do you not say that you desire that wisdom which will enable you to govern all the citizens? And in doing that, will you be anything else but a despot ?

Section 126

The. I should indeed pray, I imagine, that I might become a despot, if possible, over all men, and failing that, over as many as might be; so would you, I imagine, and everybody else besides: nay, even more, I daresay, that I might become a god; but I did not say I desired that.

Soc. Well, what on earth then is it that you do desire? Do you not say you desire to govern the citizens?

The. Yes, but not by force, or as despots do, but with their consent, as is done by all the other men of importance in the state.

Soc. Do you mean, as by Themistocles and Pericles and Cimon, and by all those who have shown themselves able statesmen?

The. Yes, in good earnest, I mean those people.

Soc. Then what if you chanced to desire to become wise in horsemanship? To whom would you have had to resort before expecting to be a clever horseman? To whom else but the horse-masters?

The. To none else, I am sure.

Soc. And moreover, you would go to the actual men who are clever at the business, and who have horses and constantly use them in great numbers, both their own and other people’s?

The. Obviously I should.

Soc. And what if you wished to become wise in javelin-throwing? Would you not expect to get this wisdom by having resorted to those javelin-masters who have javelins and who constantly use javelins, both other people’s and their own, in great numbers?

The. I think so.

Soc. Then pray tell me, since it is your wish to become wise in state-matters, do you expect to get your wisdom by resorting to any other persons than those statesmen, who not only have their own ability in state-matters, but have constant dealings with other cities besides their own, by their intercourse alike with Greek cities and with foreign peoples? Or do you think to get wisdom in their business by resorting to any other persons than these particular men?

The. Well, Socrates, I have heard of the argument that you are said to put forward—that the sons of those statesmen are no better men than the sons of shoemakers ; and in my opinion your words are very true, from what I am able to gather. Hence I should be an utter fool if I supposed that any of these men would impart his wisdom to me when he never was of any use to his own son, as he would have been, if he were able to be of use in this matter to anyone at all in the world.

Soc. Then which way, most excellent sir, would you turn if, when you came to have a son, he should trouble you in the same manner, and tell you he desired to become a good painter, and should blame you, his father, for refusing to spend money on him for that very purpose, but at the same time should disregard the practitioners of that very thing, the painters, and decline to learn from them? Or the flute-players, when he wished to become a flute-player, or the harp-players? Would you know what to do with him, and where else you should send him if he refused to learn from these?

The. Upon my word, I should not.

Section 127

Soc. And do you now, when you are behaving in just the same way to your father, feel surprised and blame him for being at a loss what to do with you and where to send you? Why, we are ready to place you with any well-bred Athenian statesman you may choose, who will train you free of charge ; and so not only will you be at no expense of money, but will gain far greater commendation amongst the mass of men than if you studied with anyone else.

The. But then, Socrates, are not you too one of our well-bred gentlemen? Indeed, if you will agree to instruct me, I am content and seek no other.

Soc. What do you mean by that, Theages?

Dem. Nay, Socrates, there is nothing amiss in what he says, and you will oblige me at the same time; for I should count it the greatest possible stroke of luck if he should welcome your instruction and you also should consent to instruct him. Nay, indeed, I am quite ashamed to say how keenly I wish it; but I entreat you both—you, to consent to teach Theages, and you, to seek the teaching of no one else than Socrates; you will thus relieve me of a harassing load of anxiety. For just now I am sorely afraid of his falling in with some other person who is likely to corrupt him.

The. Have no more fears for me now, father, so long as you are able to persuade him to receive me as his pupil.

Dem. Very rightly spoken. Socrates, from now onward we must address ourselves to you; for I am ready, in short, to place both myself and all that I hold dearest of what is mine in your hands—whatever you may require, absolutely—if you will open your arms to Theages here, and do him any service that you can.

Soc. Demodocus, your zeal is no wonder to me, if you suppose that I especially could be of use to him; for I know of nothing for which a sensible man could be more zealous than for his own son’s utmost improvement. But how you came to form this opinion, that I would be better able to be of use to your son in his aim of becoming a good citizen than you would yourself, and how he came to suppose that I rather than yourself would be of use to him—this does fill me with wonder. For you, in the first place, are my elder, and further, you have held in your time many of the highest offices in Athens, and are respected by the people of Anagyrus above all your fellow-townsmen, and by the whole state as much as any man, whereas neither of you can notice anything like this about me.

Section 128

Soc. And moreover, if Theages here does despise the instruction of our statesmen, and is looking for some other persons who profess to be able to educate young people, we have here Prodicus of Ceos, Gorgias of Leontini, Polus of Acragas, and many more, who are so wise that they go to our cities and persuade the noblest and wealthiest of our young men—who have the choice of learning from any citizen they choose, free of charge—they persuade them to abandon that instruction and learn from them, with a deposit, besides, of a large sum of money as their fee, and to feel thankful in addition. Some of these persons might naturally have been chosen both by your son and by yourself, in preference to me; for I have no knowledge of those fair and beatific subjects of study: I only wish that I had. But what I always say, you know, is that I am in the position of knowing practically nothing except one little subject, that of love-matters. In this subject, however, I claim to be skilled above anybody who has ever lived or is now living in the world.

The. Do you see, father? Socrates does not seem to me to be at all willing now to spend his time on me; for there is readiness enough on my part, if he is willing. But he is only jesting in what he has just told us. For I know of some of my equals in age, and some a little older, who were of no account before they learnt from him, but after beginning to learn from him have in a very short time proved themselves superior to all whose inferiors they were before.

Soc. And do you know what the meaning of it is, son of Demodocus?

The. Yes, on my soul, I do—that, if it be your pleasure, I too shall be able to become such as those others are.

Soc. No, good sir, the meaning of it escapes you; but I will tell it you. There is something spiritual which, by a divine dispensation, has accompanied me from my childhood up. It is a voice that, when it occurs, always indicates to me a prohibition of something I may be about to do, but never urges me on to anything; and if one of my friends consults me and the voice occurs, the same thing happens: it prohibits, and does not allow him to act. And I will produce witnesses to convince you of these facts. You know our Charmides here, who has grown so handsome, the son of Glaucon: he once happened to be consulting me on his intention of training for the Nemean races, and he had no sooner begun to say that he intended to train than the voice occurred, and I tried to prevent him, saying—Just as you were speaking my spirit-voice has occurred: no, you must not train. Perhaps, said he, it indicates to you that I shall not win; but even if I am not to win, at any rate the exercise I shall get in the meantime will do me good.

Section 129

Soc. So saying, he went and trained; and so you may as well inquire of him as to the results he got from his training. Or if you like, ask Cleitomachus, brother of Timarchus, what Timarchus said to him when he was going straight to the prison to meet his death, he and Euathlus the racing runner, who had harbored Timarchus as a fugitive; for he will tell you that the words he spoke to him were these:

The. What?

Soc. Cleitomachus, he said, I tell you I am going to my death now, because I would not take Socrates’ advice. Now, why on earth did Timarchus say that? I will tell you. When Timarchus and Philemon, son of Philemonides, got up from the wine-party to kill Nicias, son of Heroscamandrus, those two alone had knowledge of the plot; and Timarchus, as he got up, said to me: What say you, Socrates? Go on drinking, all of you; I have to get up and go somewhere, but I will join you a little later, if I get the chance. Then occurred that voice of mine, and I said to him: No, no, do not get up; for my accustomed spiritual sign has occurred to me. So he stopped. Then after an interval of time he again started to go, and said: Well, I am going, Socrates. Again the voice occurred, and so again I constrained him to stop. The third time, wishing to give me the slip, he got up without saying another word to me; he gave me the slip by watching until my attention was turned elsewhere. Thus it was that he went right off and committed the deed which was the cause of his going then to his death. And hence it was that he spoke those words to his brother which I quoted to you just now, that he was going to his death because he had not taken my advice. And moreover, in regard to the Sicilian business, many will tell you what I said about the destruction of the army. As to bygones, you may hear from those who know: but there is an opportunity now of testing the worth of what the sign says. For as the handsome Sannio was setting out on campaign, the sign occurred to me, and he has gone now with Thrasyllus on an expedition bound for Ephesus and Ionia. I accordingly expect him to be either killed or brought very near it, and I have great fears for our force as a whole. Now I have told you all this, because this spiritual power that attends me also exerts itself to the full in my intercourse with those who spend their time with me. To many, indeed, it is adverse, and it is not possible for these to get any good by conversing with me, and I am therefore unable to spend my time in conversing with them. And there are many with whom it does not prohibit my intercourse, yet the intercourse does them no good. But those who are assisted in their intercourse by that spiritual power are the persons whom you have noticed; for they make rapid progress there and then.

Section 130

Soc. And of these, again, who make progress some find the benefit both solid and enduring; while there are many who, for as long a time as they are with me, make wonderful progress, but when they are parted from me relapse, and are no different from anybody else. This once befell Aristeides, son of Lysimachus, son of Aristeides. For by conversing with me he had made immense progress in a little time; and then he had to go on an expedition, and he went and sailed away. On his return he found that Thucydides, son of Melesias, son of Thucydides, had been conversing with me. Now Thucydides, the day before, had quarrelled with me over some arguments we had had. So when Aristeides saw me, after greeting me and talking of other affairs, he said: But Thucydides, I hear, Socrates, is somewhat on his dignity with you, and is annoyed as though he were somebody. Yes, that is so, I replied. Well, but does he not know, he said, what a sad slave he was, before he associated with you? It seems not, I replied, upon my soul. But indeed I myself also, he said, am in a ridiculous position, Socrates. How exactly? I asked. Because, he replied, before I sailed away, I was able to discuss things with anybody, and show myself inferior to none in argument, so that I even sought out the debates of the most accomplished people: but now, on the contrary, I shun them, wherever I notice there is anyone of education, so ashamed I am of my own ineptitude. Tell me, I said, did this power forsake you of a sudden, or little by little? Little by little, he replied. And when it was present with you, I asked, was it present through your having learnt something from me, or in some other way? I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what is incredible, upon my soul, yet true. For I never yet learnt anything from you, as you know yourself: but I made progress, whenever I was with you, if I was merely in the same house, without being in the same room, but more progress, when I was in the same room. And it seemed to me to be much more when I was in the same room and looked at you as you were speaking, than when I turned my eyes elsewhere: but my progress was far the greatest and most marked whenever I sat beside you and held and touched you. Now, however, he said, that condition has all oozed away.Such then, Theages, is the intercourse you would have with me: if God so wills, you will make very great and rapid progress, but otherwise, you will not. Consider, therefore, if it is not safer for you to be educated by one of those persons who have command themselves of the benefit which they bestow on mankind, rather than follow the course on which you may chance with me.

Section 131

The. Well then, I decide, Socrates, that our plan shall be to make trial of that spiritual sign by associating with each other. Thus, if it leaves us free, that will be best of all; if it does not, it will be time then for us to consider, at the moment, what we shall do—whether we shall associate with someone else, or try to conciliate the divine sign itself that occurs to you with prayers and sacrifices and anything else that the seers may indicate.

Dem. In view of this, Socrates, say no more in opposition to the lad; for Theages is right in what he says.

Soc. Well, if you consider that this is what we ought to do, let us do it.

Contents — 8 sections

1. Section 132
2. Section 133
3. Section 134
4. Section 135
5. Section 136
6. Section 137
7. Section 138
8. Section 139

Section 132

I entered the grammar school of the teacher Dionysius, and saw there the young men who are accounted the most comely in form and of distinguished family, and their lovers. Now it chanced that two of the young people were disputing, but about what, I did not clearly overhear: it appeared, however, that they were disputing either about Anaxagoras or about Oenopides; at any rate, they appeared to be drawing circles, and they were imitating certain inclinations with their arms, bending to it and taking it most earnestly. Then I—for I was sitting beside the lover of one of the pair—nudged him with my elbow and asked him what on earth the two youngsters were so earnest about, and I said: Is it then something great and fine, in which they are so earnestly immersed?

Great and fine, indeed! he replied: why, these fellows are prating about the heavenly bodies, and babbling philosophy. Then I, surprised at his answer, said: Young man, do you consider philosophizing to be shameful? Else, why do you speak so sharply?

Then the other youth—for he chanced to be sitting near him, as his rival in love—when he heard my question and his rival’s answer, said: You do yourself no good, Socrates, by pressing this fellow with a further question, as to whether he considers philosophizing to be shameful. Do you not know that he has spent the whole of his life in practising the neckhold, and stuffing himself, and sleeping? So why did you suppose he would make any other reply than that philosophy is shameful? Now this one of the two lovers had spent his time on humane studies, whereas the other, whom he was abusing, had spent his on athletics. So I decided that I had best relinquish the other, whom I had been questioning, since he did not even himself set up to be experienced in words, but only in deeds; and that I should interrogate the one who set up to be wiser, in order that so far as I was able I might get some benefit from him. I said therefore: I addressed my question to both in common; but if you think you could answer more creditably than he, I put the same question to you as I did to him: do you consider philosophizing to be honorable or not?

Section 133

Then the two striplings, overhearing us speak somewhat like this, were silent, and ceasing from their own contention they became listeners to ours. What their lovers’ sensations were, I do not know, but I myself, at any rate, was staggered; for every time I am staggered by handsome young people. It seemed to me, however, that my young friend too was in as great a flutter as myself; but nevertheless he answered me in a most ambitious spirit: Why, of course, Socrates, he said, if I should ever consider philosophizing to be shameful, I should not account myself so much as a man, nor anyone else either who was disposed to think so. Here he pointed to his rival lover, and spoke with a loud voice, in order that his favorite might hear every word.

Then I remarked: So philosophizing seems to you to be honorable?

Quite so, he said.

Well now, I said; does it seem to you possible to know whether anything is honorable or shameful without knowing what it is fundamentally?

No, he said. Then do you know, I went on, what philosophizing is?

Certainly I do, said he.

Then what is it? I asked.

Why, just what Solon called it; you know it was Solon who said:And ever, as I older grow, I learn yet more and more;—and I agree with him that a man who intends to philosophize should in this way be ever learning something or other, whether he be younger or older, in order that he may learn as many things as possible in his life. Now at first I felt there was something in his reply, but then, on second thoughts, I asked him whether he considered philosophy to be much learning. To which he answered: Certainly.

And do you consider philosophy to be merely honorable, I asked, or good as well?

Good as well, he said: very much so.

Then do you observe this as peculiar to philosophy, or do you find it similarly in everything else? For example, do you consider the love of athletics to be not merely honorable, but good as well, or do you not?

Whereupon he, most slily, gave a double answer: To him my statement must be neither; but to you, Socrates, I acknowledge it to be both honorable and good: for I consider this the right view.

Then I asked him: Well now, in athletics, do you consider that much exercise is love of athletics?

To which he replied: Certainly, just as in philosophizing I consider much learning to be philosophy.

Then I said: And do you then consider that the lovers of athletics desire anything else than that which will cause them to be in good bodily condition?

Only that, he replied.

And does much exercise, I asked, cause them to be in good bodily condition?

Section 134

Yes, for how, he replied, could one be in good bodily condition through little exercise?

Here I felt it was time to stir up the lover of athletics, in order that he might give me the support of his athletic experience; so I proceeded to ask him: And you then, pray, why are you silent, excellent sir, while your friend here is speaking thus? Do you agree that men are in good bodily condition through much exercise, or is it rather through moderate exercise?

For my part, Socrates, he said, I thought even a pig— as the saying is—would have known that moderate exercise causes them to be in good bodily condition, so why should not a fellow who is sleepless and unfed, with unchafed neck and slender, care-worn frame! And when he had said this the boys were delighted and laughed their approval, while the other lover blushed.

Then I said to him: Well, do you now concede that it is neither much, nor little, but moderate exercise that causes men to be in good bodily condition? Or do you bid defiance to the two of us on this point? To which he answered: Against him I should be only too glad to fight it out, and I am certain I should prove able to support the theory I have put forward, even had I put forward a weaker one; for he is naught. But with you I do not aim at winning an unscrupulous success; and so I admit that not a great but a moderate amount of athletics causes good condition in men.

And what of food? Moderate or much? I asked.

The same applied to food, he admitted. Then I went on and tried to compel him also to admit that everything else connected with the body when most beneficial, was the moderate thing, not the much or the little; and he admitted that it was the moderate thing.

And now, I said, as regards the soul; are moderate or immoderate things beneficial, as adjuncts of it?

Moderate things, he replied.

And are studies among the adjuncts of the soul?

He admitted they were.

So among these also it is the moderate that are beneficial, and not the much?

He agreed.

Then whom should we be justified in asking what sort of exercise or food is moderate for the body?

The three of us agreed that it must be a doctor or a trainer. And whom should we ask about the moderate measure in the sowing of seed?

In that matter, we agreed, it must be a farmer.

And whom should we be justified in asking as to the moderate degree and kind, in regard to the sowing and planting of studies in the soul?

Section 135

At this point we all began to be full of perplexity; then I, mocking at them, asked: Do you mind, since we are in perplexity, if we ask these boys here? or perhaps we are ashamed, as Homer said the suitors were, and do not think it fit there should be someone else who will string the bow?

Then, as it seemed to me that they were losing their zeal for the argument, I tried to pursue the inquiry in another way, and said: But what, as nearly as we can guess, are the kinds of learning which the philosopher should learn, since he is not to learn all things or many things? At this the wiser one interjected: The finest and most suitable kinds of learning are those which will bring him the most reputation for philosophy; and he will get most reputation if he appears well versed in all the arts, or if not in all, in as many of them, and those the most considerable, as he can, by learning so much of them as befits a free man to learn, that is, what belongs to the understanding rather than the handiwork of each.

Well now, do you mean, I asked, in the same way as in carpentry? For there, you know, you can buy a carpenter for five or six minae, but a first-rate architect cannot be got for even ten thousand drachmae; few such, indeed, could be found throughout the whole of Greece. Is it something of this sort that you mean? When he heard me say this, he admitted that something like this was what he himself meant.

I next asked him if it was not impossible for the same person to learn in this way merely two of the arts, not to speak of many or the principal ones; to which he replied: Do not conceive me, Socrates, to be stating that the philosopher must have accurate knowledge of each of the arts, like the actual adept in any of them; I mean only so far as may be expected of a free and educated man: that is, he should be able to follow the explanations of the craftsman more readily than the rest of the company, and to contribute an opinion of his own which will make him appear the cleverest and most accomplished of the company who may at any time be present at some verbal or practical exposition of the arts.

Then, as I was still unsettled in my mind as to the drift of his words, I asked him: Do I quite grasp the sort of man whom you mean by the philosopher? For you seem to me to mean someone like the all-round athletes in contest with the runners or the wrestlers: the former yield, you know, to the latter in their particular exercises, and are their inferiors in these, but are superior to the usual sort of athletes and beat them.

Section 136

I daresay it may be something of this sort that you would suggest as the effect produced by philosophy on those who make it their pursuit: they yield to those who are first-rate in an understanding of the arts, but in taking the second place they surpass the rest; and in this way the man who has studied philosophy comes just next to the top in everything. That is the kind of person whom you appear to me to indicate.

You are quite right, it seems to me, Socrates, he said, in your conception of the philosopher’s position, with your comparison of him to the all-round athlete. For it is precisely his nature not to be enslaved to any business, or to work out anything exactly, so as to let his application to that one matter make him deficient in the rest, as the craftsmen do, but to have a moderate contact with all of them.

Well, after this answer I was eager to know clearly what he meant, so I inquired of him whether he conceived of good men as useful or useless.

Useful, I should say, Socrates, he replied.

Then if good men are useful, are wicked men useless?

He agreed that they were.

Again, do you consider that philosophers are useful persons or not? He agreed that they were useful; nay, more, that he considered they were most useful of all.

Come now, let us make out, if what you say is true, where these second-best men are also useful to us: for clearly the philosopher is inferior to any particular adept in the arts.

He agreed.

Well now, I went on, if you yourself, or one of your friends for whom you feel great concern, should have fallen sick, would you fetch that second-best man into the house with a view to obtaining health, or would you summon a doctor? For my part, I should have both, he replied.

Please do not say both, I said, but which of the two you would prefer and also summon first.

No one, he replied,would make any question but that the doctor should be preferred and also summoned first.

And again, if you were in a ship that was making rough weather, to which would you rather entrust yourself and yours, the pilot or the philosopher?

I should choose the pilot.

And so it will be in everything else: so long as there is some craftsman, the philosopher will not be useful?

Apparently, he replied. So now we find that the philosopher is a useless person? For I suppose we always have craftsmen; and we have agreed that good men are useful, and bad ones useless.

He was obliged to agree to this.

Then what follows? Am I to ask you, or will it be too ill-mannered?

Ask whatever you please.

Section 137

Well, my aim, I said, is merely to recall our agreements upon what has been stated. The matter stands somewhat like this. We agreed that philosophy is an honorable thing, and that philosophers are good; and that good men are useful, and wicked men useless: but then again we agreed that philosophers, so long as we have craftsmen, are useless, and that we always do have craftsmen. Has not all this been agreed?

Yes, to be sure, he replied.

Then we agreed, it seems, by your account—if philosophizing means having knowledge of the arts in the way you describe—that philosophers are wicked and useless so long as there are arts among mankind. But I expect they are not so really, my friend, and that philosophizing is not just having a concernment in the arts or spending one’s life in meddlesome stooping and prying and accumulation of learning, but something else; because I imagined that this life was actually a disgrace, and that people who concerned themselves with the arts were called sordid. But we shall know more definitely whether this statement of mine is true, if you will answer me this: What men know how to punish horses rightly? Is it those who make them into the best horses, or some other men?

Those who make them into the best horses.

Or again, is it not the men who know how to make dogs into the best dogs that know also how to punish them rightly?

Yes.

Then it is the same art that makes them into the best dogs and punishes them rightly?

It appears so to me, he replied.

Again, is the art that makes them into the best ones and punishes them rightly the same as that which knows the good and the bad ones, or is it some other?

The same, he said.

Then in the case of men also will you be prepared to agree that the art which makes them into the best men is that which punishes them rightly and distinguishes the good and the bad ones?

Certainly, he said.

And that which does this to one, does it also to many, and that which does it to many, does it also to one?

Yes.

And so it is also with horses and everything else?

I agree.

Then what is the knowledge which rightly punishes the licentious and law-breaking people in our cities? Is it not judicature?

Yes.

And is it any other art than this that you call justice?

No, only this. And that whereby they punish rightly is that whereby they know the good and bad people?

It is.

And whoever knows one will know many also?

Yes.

And whoever does not know many will not know one?

I agree.

Then if one were a horse, and did not know the good and wicked horses, would one not know which sort one was oneself?

I think not.

And if one were an ox and did not know the wicked and good oxen, would one not know which sort one was oneself?

That is so, he said.

And so it would be, if one were a dog?

He agreed.

Section 138

Well now, when one is a man, and does not know the good and bad men, one surely cannot know whether one is good or wicked oneself, since one is a man also oneself?

He granted this.

And is not knowing oneself being temperate, or not being temperate?

Not being temperate.

So knowing oneself is being temperate?

I agree, he said.

So this is the message, it seems, of the Delphic inscription—that one is to practise temperance and justice.

It seems so.

And it is by this same art that we know also how to punish rightly?

Yes.

Then that whereby we know how to punish rightly is justice, and that whereby we know how to distinguish our own and others’ quality is temperance?

It seems so, he said.

Then justice and temperance are the same thing?

Apparently.

And further, it is thus, you know, that cities are well ordered—when the wrongdoers pay the penalty.

That is true, he said.

Hence this is also statecraft.

He concurred.

Again, when one man governs a city rightly, is he not called a despot and king?

I agree.

And he governs by a kingly and despotic art?

That is so.

And these arts are the same as the former?

Apparently. Again, when a man singly governs a house aright, what is he called? Is he not a house-manager and master?

Yes.

Then would he also govern his house well by justice, or by some other art?

By justice.

Hence they are all the same, it seems,—king, despot, statesman, house-manager, master, and the temperate man and the just man; and it is all one art,—the kingly, the despotic, the statesman’s, the master’s, the house-manager’s, and justice and temperance.

It is so, apparently, he said. Then, if it is disgraceful in the philosopher to be unable, when a doctor speaks about the sick, either to follow his remarks or to contribute anything of his own to what is being said or done, and to be in the same case when any other of the craftsmen speaks, is it not disgraceful that he should be unable, when it is a judge or a king or some other of the persons whom we have just instanced, either to follow their words or contribute anything to their business?

It must indeed be disgraceful, Socrates, to have nothing to contribute to subjects of such great importance! Are we then to say, I asked, that in these matters also he is to be an all-round athlete, a second-rate man, taking the second place in all the subjects of this art—he, the philosopher—and is to be useless so long as there is one of these persons; or that, first of all, he is to entrust his own house to nobody else and is not to take the second place in it, but is himself to judge and punish rightly, if his house is to be well managed?

He granted me that it must be so.

Section 139

Secondly, I presume, whether his friends entrust him with an arbitration, or the state charges him to determine or judge any matter, it is disgraceful for him, my good friend, in such cases, to be found in the second or third place, and not to lead?

I agree.

Hence we see, my excellent sir, that philosophizing is very far from being much learning and that affair of busying oneself with the arts.

On my saying this the cultivated youth was silent, feeling ashamed for what he had said before, while the unlearned one said it was as I stated; and the rest of the company praised the argument.

Contents — 9 sections

1. Section 313
2. Section 314
3. Section 315
4. Section 316
5. Section 317
6. Section 318
7. Section 319
8. Section 320
9. Section 321

Section 313

Tell me, what is law?

To what kind of law does your question refer?

What! Is there any difference between law and law, in this particular point of being law? For just consider what is the actual question I am putting to you. It is as though I had asked, what is gold: if you had asked me in the same manner, to what kind of gold I refer, I think your question would have been incorrect. For I presume there is no difference between gold and gold, or between stone and stone, in point of being gold or stone; and so neither does law differ at all from law, I suppose, but they are all the same thing. For each of them is law alike, not one more so, and another less. That is the particular point of my question—what is law as a whole? So if you are ready, tell me.

Well, what else should law be, Socrates, but things loyally accepted?

And so speech, you think, is the things that are spoken, or sight the things seen, or hearing the things heard? Or is speech something distinct from the things spoken, sight something distinct from the things seen, and hearing something distinct from the things heard; and so law is something distinct from things loyally accepted? Is this so, or what is your view?

I find it now to be something distinct.

Then law is not things loyally accepted.

I think not.

Section 314

Now what can law be? Let us consider it in this way. Suppose someone had asked us about what was stated just now: Since you say it is by sight that things seen are seen, what is this sight whereby they are seen? Our answer to him would have been: That sensation which shows objects by means of the eyes. And if he had asked us again: Well then, since it is by hearing that things heard are heard, what is hearing? Our answer to him would have been: That sensation which shows us sounds by means of the ears. In the same way then, suppose he should also ask us: Since it is by law that loyally accepted things are so accepted, what is this law whereby they are so accepted? Is it some sensation or showing, as when things learnt are learnt by knowledge showing them, or some discovery, as when things discovered are discovered—for instance, the causes of health and sickness by medicine, or the designs of the gods, as the prophets say, by prophecy; for art is surely our discovery of things, is it not?

Certainly.

Then what thing especially of this sort shall we surmise law to be?

Our resolutions and decrees, I imagine: for how else can one describe law? So that apparently the whole thing, law, as you put it in your question, is a city’s resolution.

State opinion, it seems, is what you call law.

I do.

And perhaps you are right: but I fancy we shall get a better knowledge in this way. You call some men wise?

I do.

And the wise are wise by wisdom?

Yes.

And again, the just are just by justice?

Certainly.

And so the law-abiding are law-abiding by law?

Yes.

And the lawless are lawless by lawlessness?

Yes.

And the law-abiding are just?

Yes.

And the lawless are unjust?

Unjust.

And justice and law are most noble?

That is so.

And injustice and lawlessness most base?

Yes.

And the former preserve cities and everything else, while the latter destroy and overturn them?

Yes.

Hence we must regard law as something noble, and seek after it as a good.

Undeniably.

And we said that law is a city’s resolution?

So we did.

Well now, are not some resolutions good, and others evil?

Yes, to be sure.

And, you know, law was not evil.

No, indeed.

So it is not right to reply, in that simple fashion, that law is a city’s resolution.

I agree that it is not.

An evil resolution, you see, cannot properly be a law.

No, to be sure.

But still, I am quite clear myself that law is some sort of opinion; and since it is not evil opinion, is it not manifest by this time that it is good opinion, granting that law is opinion?

Yes.

But what is good opinion? Is it not true opinion?

Section 315

Yes.

And true opinion is discovery of reality?

Yes, it is.

So law tends to be discovery of reality.

Then how is it, Socrates, if law is discovery of reality, that we do not use always the same laws on the same matters, if we have thus got realities discovered?

Law tends none the less to be discovery of reality: but men, who do not use always the same laws, as we observe, are not always able to discover what the law is intent on—reality. For come now, let us see if from this point onward we can get it clear whether we use always the same laws or different ones at different times, and whether we all use the same, or some of us use some, and others others.

Why, that, Socrates, is no difficult matter to determine—that the same men do not use always the same laws, and also that different men use different ones. With us, for instance, human sacrifice is not legal, but unholy, whereas the Carthaginians perform it as a thing they account holy and legal, and that too when some of them sacrifice even their own sons to Cronos, as I daresay you yourself have heard. And not merely is it foreign peoples who use different laws from ours, but our neighbors in Lycaea and the descendants of Athamas —you know their sacrifices, Greeks though they be. And as to ourselves too, you know, of course, from what you have heard yourself, the kind of laws we formerly used in regard to our dead, when we slaughtered sacred victims before the funeral procession, and engaged urn-women to collect the bones from the ashes. Then again, a yet earlier generation used to bury the dead where they were, in the house: but we do none of these things. One might give thousands of other instances; for there is ample means of proving that neither we copy ourselves nor mankind each other always in laws and customs.

And it is no wonder, my excellent friend, if what you say is correct, and I have overlooked it. But if you continue to express your views after your own fashion in lengthy speeches, and I speak likewise, we shall never come to any agreement, in my opinion: but if we study the matter jointly, we may perhaps concur. Well now, if you like, hold a joint inquiry with me by asking me questions; or if you prefer, by answering them.

Why, I am willing, Socrates, to answer anything you like.

Come then, do you consider just things to be unjust and unjust things just, or just things to be just and unjust things unjust?

Section 316

I consider just things to be just, and unjust things unjust.

And are they so considered among all men elsewhere as they are here?

Yes.

And among the Persians also?

Among the Persians also.

Always, I presume?

Always.

Are things that weigh more considered heavier here, and things that weigh less lighter, or the contrary?

No, those that weigh more are considered heavier, and those that weigh less lighter.

And is it so in Carthage also, and in Lycaea?

Yes.

Noble things, it would seem, are everywhere considered noble, and base things base; not base things noble or noble things base.

That is so.

And thus, as a universal rule, realities, and not unrealities, are accepted as real, both among us and among all other men.

I agree.

Then whoever fails to attain reality, fails to attain accepted law.

In your present way of putting it, Socrates, the same things appear to be accepted as lawful both by us and by the rest of the world, always: but when I reflect that we are continually changing our laws in all sorts of ways, I cannot bring myself to assent.

Perhaps it is because you do not reflect that when we change our pieces at draughts they are the same pieces. But look at it, as I do, in this way. Have you in your time come across a treatise on healing the sick?

I have.

Then do you know to what art such a treatise belongs?

I do: medicine.

And you give the name of doctors to those who have knowledge of these matters?

Yes.

Then do those who have knowledge accept the same views on the same things, or do they accept different views?

The same, in my opinion.

Do Greeks only accept the same views as Greeks on what they know, or do foreigners also agree on these matters, both among themselves and with Greeks?

It is quite inevitable, I should say, that those who know should agree in accepting the same views, whether Greeks or foreigners.

Well answered. And do they so always?

Yes, it is so always.

And do doctors on their part, in their treatises on health, write what they accept as real?

Yes.

Then these treatises of the doctors are medical, and medical laws.

Medical, to be sure.

And are agricultural treatises likewise agricultural laws?

Yes.

And whose are the treatises and accepted rules about garden-work?

Gardeners’.

So these are our gardening laws.

Yes.

Of people who know how to control gardens?

Certainly.

And it is the gardeners who know.

Yes.

And whose are the treatises and accepted rules about the confection of tasty dishes?

Cooks’.

Then there are laws of cookery?

Of cookery.

Section 317

Of people who know, it would seem, how to control the confection of tasty dishes?

Yes.

And it is the cooks, they say, who know?

Yes, it is they who know.

Very well; and now, whose are the treatises and accepted rules about the government of a state? Of the people who know how to control states, are they not?

I agree.

And is it anyone else than statesmen and royal persons who know?

It is they, to be sure.

Then what people call laws are treatises of state,— writings of kings and good men.

That is true.

And must it not be that those who know will not write differently at different times on the same matters?

They will not.

Nor will they ever change one set of accepted rules for another in respect of the same matters.

No, indeed.

So if we see some persons anywhere doing this, shall we say that those who do so have knowledge, or have none?

That they have no knowledge.

And again, whatever is right, we shall say is lawful for each person, whether in medicine or in cookery or in gardening?

Yes.

And whatever is not right we shall decline to call lawful?

We shall decline.

Then it becomes unlawful.

It must.

And again, in writings about what is just and unjust, and generally about the government of a state and the proper way of governing it, that which is right is the king’s law, but not so that which is not right, though it seems to be law to those who do not know; for it is unlawful.

Yes.

Then we rightly admitted that law is discovery of reality.

So it appears.

Now let us observe this further point about it. Who has knowledge of distributing seed over land?

A farmer.

And does he distribute the suitable seed to each sort of land?

Yes.

Then the farmer is a good apportioner of it, and his laws and distributions are right in this matter?

Yes.

And who is a good apportioner of notes struck for a tune, skilled in distributing suitable notes, and who is it whose laws are right here?

The flute-player and the harp-player.

Then he who is the best lawyer in these matters is the best flute-player.

Yes.

And who is most skilled in distributing food to human bodies? Is it not he who assigns suitable food?

Yes.

Then his distributions and laws are best, and whoever is the best lawyer in this matter is also the best apportioner.

Certainly.

Who is he?

Section 318

A trainer.

He is the best man to pasture the human herd of the body?

Yes.

And who is the best man to pasture a flock of sheep? What is his name?

A shepherd.

Then the shepherd’s laws are best for sheep.

Yes.

And the herdsman’s for oxen.

Yes.

And whose laws are best for the souls of men? The king’s, are they not? Say if you agree.

I do.

Then you are quite right. Now can you tell me who, in former times, has proved himself a good lawgiver in regard to the laws of flute-playing? Perhaps you cannot think of him: would you like me to remind you?

Do by all means.

Then is it Marsyas, by tradition, and his beloved Olympus, the Phrygian?

That is true.

And their flute-tunes also are most divine, and alone stir and make manifest those who are in need of the gods; and to this day they only remain, as being divine.

That is so.

And who by tradition has shown himself a good lawgiver among the ancient kings, so that to this day his ordinances remain, as being divine?

I cannot think.

Do you not know which of the Greeks use the most ancient laws?

Do you mean the Spartans, and Lycurgus the lawgiver?

Why, that is a matter, I daresay, of less than three hundred years ago, or but a little more. But whence is it that the best of those ordinances come? Do you know?

From Crete, so they say.

Then the people there use the most ancient laws in Greece?

Yes.

Then do you know who were their good kings? Minos and Rhadamanthus, the sons of Zeus and Europa; those laws were theirs.

Rhadamanthus, they do say, Socrates, was a just man; but Minos was a savage sort of person, harsh and unjust.

Your tale, my excellent friend, is a fiction of Attic tragedy.

What! Is not this the tradition about Minos?

Not in Homer and Hesiod; and yet they are more to be believed than all the tragedians together, from whom you heard your tale.

Well, and what, pray, is their tale about Minos?

Section 319

I will tell you, in order that you may not share the impiety of the multitude: for there cannot conceivably be anything more impious or more to be guarded against than being mistaken in word and deed with regard to the gods, and after them, with regard to divine men; you must take very great precaution, whenever you are about to blame or praise a man, so as not to speak incorrectly. For this reason you must learn to distinguish honest and dishonest men: for God feels resentment when one blames a man who is like himself, or praises a man who is the opposite; and the former is the good man. For you must not suppose that while stocks and stones and birds and snakes are sacred, men are not; nay, the good man is the most sacred of all these things, and the wicked man is the most defiled. So if I now proceed to relate how Minos is eulogized by Homer and Hesiod, my purpose is to prevent you, a man sprung from a man, from making a mistake in regard to a hero who was the son of Zeus. For Homer, in telling of Crete that there were in it many men and ninety cities, says: And amongst them is the mighty city of Cnossos, where Minos was king, having colloquy with mighty Zeus in the ninth year. Now here in Homer we have a eulogy of Minos, briefly expressed, such as the poet never composed for a single one of the heroes. For that Zeus is a sophist, and that sophistry is a highly honorable art, he makes plain in many other places, and particularly here. For he says that Minos consorted and discoursed with Zeus in the ninth year, and went regularly to be educated by Zeus as though he were a sophist. And the fact that Homer assigned this privilege of having been educated by Zeus to no one among the heroes but Minos makes this a marvellous piece of praise. And in the Ghost-raising in the Odyssey he has described Minos as judging with a golden scepter in his hand, but not Rhadamanthus: Rhadamanthus he has neither described here as judging nor anywhere as consorting with Zeus; wherefore I say that Minos above all persons has been eulogized by Homer. For to have been the son of Zeus, and to have been the only one who was educated by Zeus, is praise unsurpassable. For the meaning of the verse— he was king having colloquy with mighty Zeus in the ninth year” — is that Minos was a disciple of Zeus. For colloquies are discourses, and he who has colloquy is a disciple by means of discourse. So every ninth year Minos repaired to the cave of Zeus, to learn some things, and to show his knowledge of others that he had learnt from Zeus in the preceding nine years.

Section 320

Some there are who suppose that he who has colloquy is a cup-companion and fellow-jester of Zeus: but one may take the following as a proof that they who suppose so are babblers. For of all the many nations of men, both Greek and foreign, the only people who refrain from drinking-bouts and the jesting that occurs where there is wine, are the Cretans, and after them the Spartans, who learnt it from the Cretans. In Crete it is one of their laws which Minos ordained that they are not to drink with each other to intoxication. And yet it is evident that the things he thought honorable were what he ordained as lawful for his people as well. For surely Minos did not, like an inferior person, think one thing and do another, different from what he thought: no, this intercourse, as I say, was held by means of discussion for education in virtue. Wherefore he ordained for his people these very laws, which have made Crete happy through the length of time, and Sparta happy also, since she began to use them; for they are divine. Rhadamanthus was a good man indeed, for he had been educated by Minos; he had, however, been educated, not in the whole of the kingly art, but in one subsidiary to the kingly, enough for presiding in law courts; so that he was spoken of as a good judge. For Minos used him as guardian of the law in the city, and Talos as the same for the rest of Crete. For Talos thrice a year made a round of the villages, guarding the laws in them, by holding their laws inscribed on brazen tablets, which gave him his name of brazen. And what Hesiod also has said of Minos is akin to this. For after mentioning him by name he remarks— Who was most kingly of mortal kings, and lorded it over more neighboring folk than any, holding the scepter of Zeus: therewith it was that he ruled the cities as king. And by the scepter of Zeus he means nothing else than the education that he had of Zeus, whereby he directed Crete.

Then how has it ever come about, Socrates, that this report is spread abroad of Minos, as an uneducated and harsh-tempered person?

Section 321

Because of something that will make both you, if you are wise, my excellent friend, and everybody else who cares to have a good reputation, beware of ever quarreling with any man of a poetic turn. For poets have great influence over opinion, according as they create it in the minds of men by either commending or vilifying. And this was the mistake that Minos made, in waging war on this city of ours, which besides all its various culture has poets of every kind, and especially those who write tragedy. Now tragedy is a thing of ancient standing here; it did not begin, as people suppose, from Thespis or from Phrynicus, but if you will reflect, you will find it is a very ancient invention of our city. Tragedy is the most popularly delightful and soul-enthralling branch of poetry: in it, accordingly, we get Minos on the rack of verse,, and thus avenge ourselves for that tribute which he compelled us to pay This, then, was the mistake that Minos made—his quarrel with us—and hence it is that, as you said in your question, he has fallen more and more into evil repute. For that he was a good and law-abiding person, as we stated in what went before—a good apportioner—is most convincingly shown by the fact the his laws are unshaken, since they were made by one who discovered aright the truth of reality in regard to the management of a state.

In my opinion, Socrates, your statement is a probable one.

Then if what I say is true, do you consider that the Cretan people of Minos and Rhadamanthus use the most ancient laws?

I do.

So these have shown themselves the best lawgivers among men of ancient times— apportioners and shepherds of men; just as Homer called the good general a shepherd of the folk.

Quite so, indeed.

Come then, in good friendship’s name: if someone should ask us what it is that the good lawgiver and apportioner for the body distributes to it when he makes it better, we should say, if we were to make a correct and brief answer, that it was food and labor; the former to strengthen, and the latter to exercise and brace it.

And we should be right.

And if he then proceeded to ask us—And what might that be which the good lawgiver and apportioner distributes to the soul to make it better?—what would be our answer if we would avoid being ashamed of ourselves and our years?

This time I am unable to say.

But indeed it is shameful for the soul of either of us to be found ignorant of those things within it on which its good and abject states depend, while it has studied those that pertain to the body and rest.