The Online Library of Liberty

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• Meno.
• Euthyphro.
• Apology.
• Crito.
• Phaedo.
• Gorgias.
• Appendix I.
• Lesser Hippias.
• Alcibiades I.
• Menexenus.
• Appendix II. Alcibiades II. Eryxias.
• Alcibiades II.
• Eryxias.

APPENDIX I.

Appendix I.

It seems impossible to separate by any exact line the genuine writings of Plato from the spurious. The only external evidence to them which is of much value is that of Aristotle; for the Alexandrian catalogues of a century later include manifest forgeries. Even the value of the Aristotelian authority is a good deal impaired by the uncertainty concerning the date and authorship of the writings which are ascribed to him. And several of the citations of Aristotle omit the name of Plato, and some of them omit the name of the dialogue from which they are taken. Prior, however, to the enquiry about the writings of a particular author, general considerations which equally affect all evidence to the genuineness of ancient writings are the following: Shorter works are more likely to have been forged, or to have received an erroneous designation, than longer ones; and some kinds of composition, such as epistles or panegyrical orations, are more liable to suspicion than others; those, again, which have a taste of sophistry in them, or the ring of a later age, or the slighter character of a rhetorical exercise, or in which a motive or some affinity to spurious writings can be detected, or which seem to have originated in a name or statement really occurring in some classical author, are also of doubtful credit; while there is no instance of any ancient writing proved to be a forgery, which combines excellence with length. A really great and original writer would have no object in fathering his works on Plato; and to the forger or imitator, the ‘literary hack’ of Alexandria and Athens, the Gods did not grant originality or genius. Further, in attempting to balance the evidence for and against a Platonic dialogue, we must not forget that the form of the Platonic writing was common to several of his contemporaries. Aeschines, Euclid, Phaedo, Antisthenes, and in the next generation Aristotle, are all said to have composed dialogues; and mistakes of names are very likely to have occurred. Greek literature in the third century before Christ was almost as voluminous as our own, and without the safeguards of regular publication, or printing, or binding, or even of distinct titles. An unknown writing was naturally attributed to a known writer whose works bore the same character; and the name once appended easily obtained authority. A tendency may also be observed to blend the works and opinions of the master with those of his scholars. To a later Platonist, the difference between Plato and his imitators was not so perceptible as to ourselves. The Memorabilia of Xenophon and the Dialogues of Plato are but a part of a considerable Socratic literature which has passed away. And we must consider how we should regard the question of the genuineness of a particular writing, if this lost literature had been preserved to us.

These considerations lead us to adopt the following criteria of genuineness: (1) That is most certainly Plato’s which Aristotle attributes to him by name, which (2) is of considerable length, of (3) great excellence, and also (4) in harmony with the general spirit of the Platonic writings. But the testimony of Aristotle cannot always be distinguished from that of a later age (see above); and has various degrees of importance. Those writings which he cites without mentioning Plato, under their own names, e. g. the Hippias, the Funeral Oration, the Phaedo, etc., have an inferior degree of evidence in their favour. They may have been supposed by him to be the writings of another, although in the case of really great works, e. g. the Phaedo, this is not credible; those again which are quoted but not named, are still more defective in their external credentials. There may be also a possibility that Aristotle was mistaken, or may have confused the master and his scholars in the case of a short writing; but this is inconceivable about a more important work, e. g. the Laws, especially when we remember that he was living at Athens, and a frequenter of the groves of the Academy, during the last twenty years of Plato’s life. Nor must we forget that in all his numerous citations from the Platonic writings he never attributes any passage found in the extant dialogues to any one but Plato. And lastly, we may remark that one or two great writings, such as the Parmenides and the Politicus, which are wholly devoid of Aristotelian (1) credentials may be fairly attributed to Plato, on the ground of (2) length, (3) excellence, and (4) accordance with the general spirit of his writings. Indeed the greater part of the evidence for the genuineness of ancient Greek authors may be summed up under two heads only: (1) excellence; and (2) uniformity of tradition—a kind of evidence, which though in many cases sufficient, is of inferior value.

Proceeding upon these principles we appear to arrive at the conclusion that nineteen-twentieths of all the writings which have ever been ascribed to Plato, are undoubtedly genuine. There is another portion of them, including the Epistles, the Epinomis, the dialogues rejected by the ancients themselves, namely, the Axiochus, De justo, De virtute, Demodocus, Sisyphus, Eryxias, which on grounds, both of internal and external evidence, we are able with equal certainty to reject. But there still remains a small portion of which we are unable to affirm either that they are genuine or spurious. They may have been written in youth, or possibly like the works of some painters, may be partly or wholly the compositions of pupils; or they may have been the writings of some contemporary transferred by accident to the more celebrated name of Plato, or of some Platonist in the next generation who aspired to imitate his master. Not that on grounds either of language or philosophy we should lightly reject them. Some difference of style, or inferiority of execution, or inconsistency of thought, can hardly be considered decisive of their spurious character. For who always does justice to himself, or who writes with equal care at all times? Certainly not Plato, who exhibits the greatest differences in dramatic power, in the formation of sentences, and in the use of words, if his earlier writings are compared with his later ones, say the Protagoras or Phaedrus with the Laws. Or who can be expected to think in the same manner during a period of authoriship extending over above fifty years, in an age of great intellectual activity, as well as of political and literary transition? Certainly not Plato, whose earlier writings are separated from his later ones by as wide an interval of philosophical speculation as that which separates his later writings from Aristotle.

The dialogues which have been translated in the first Appendix, and which appear to have the next claim to genuineness among the Platonic writings, are the Lesser Hippias, the Menexenus or Funeral Oration, the First Alcibiades. Of these, the Lesser Hippias and the Funeral Oration are cited by Aristotle; the first in the Metaphysics, iv. 29, 5, the latter in the Rhetoric, iii. 14, 11. Neither of them are expressly attributed to Plato, but in his citation of both of them he seems to be referring to passages in the extant dialogues. From the mention of ‘Hippias’ in the singular by Aristotle, we may perhaps infer that he was unacquainted with a second dialogue bearing the same name. Moreover, the mere existence of a Greater and Lesser Hippias, and of a First and Second Alcibiades, does to a certain extent throw a doubt upon both of them. Though a very clever and ingenious work, the Lesser Hippias does not appear to contain anything beyond the power of an imitator, who was also a careful student of the earlier Platonic writings, to invent. The motive or leading thought of the dialogue may be detected in Xen. Mem. iv. 2, 21, and there is no similar instance of a ‘motive’ which is taken from Xenophon in an undoubted dialogue of Plato. On the other hand, the upholders of the genuineness of the dialogue will find in the Hippias a true Socratic spirit; they will compare the Ion as being akin both in subject and treatment; they will urge the authority of Aristotle; and they will detect in the treatment of the Sophist, in the satirical reasoning upon Homer, in the reductio ad absurdum of the doctrine that vice is ignorance, traces of a Platonic authorship. In reference to the last point we are doubtful, as in some of the other dialogues, whether the author is asserting or overthrowing the paradox of Socrates, or merely following the argument ‘whither the wind blows.’ That no conclusion is arrived at is also in accordance with the character of the earlier dialogues. The resemblances or imitations of the Gorgias, Protagoras, and Euthydemus, which have been observed in the Hippias, cannot with certainty be adduced on either side of the argument. On the whole, more may be said in favour of the genuineness of the Hippias than against it.

The Menexenus or Funeral Oration is cited by Aristotle, and is interesting as supplying an example of the manner in which the orators praised ‘the Athenians among the Athenians,’ falsifying persons and dates, and casting a veil over the gloomier events of Athenian history. It exhibits an acquaintance with the funeral oration of Thucydides, and was, perhaps, intended to rival that great work. If genuine, the proper place of the Menexenus would be at the end of the Phaedrus. The satirical opening and the concluding words bear a great resemblance to the earlier dialogues; the oration itself is professedly a mimetic work, like the speeches in the Phaedrus, and cannot therefore be tested by a comparison of the other writings of Plato. The funeral oration of Pericles is expressly mentioned in the Phaedrus, and this may have suggested the subject, in the same manner that the Cleitophon appears to be suggested by the slight mention of Cleitophon and his attachment to Thrasymachus in the Republic, cp. 465 A; and the Theages by the mention of Theages in the Apology and Republic; or as the Second Alcibiades seems to be founded upon the text of Xenophon, Mem. i. 3, 1. A similar taste for parody appears not only in the Phaedrus, but in the Protagoras, in the Symposium, and to a certain extent in the Parmenides.

To these two doubtful writings of Plato I have added the First Alcibiades, which, of all the disputed dialogues of Plato, has the greatest merit, and is somewhat longer than any other of them, though not verified by the testimony of Aristotle, and in many respects at variance with the Symposium in the description of the relations of Socrates and Alcibiades. Like the Lesser Hippias and the Menexenus, it is to be compared to the earlier writings of Plato. The motive of the piece may, perhaps, be found in that passage of the Symposium in which Alcibiades describes himself as self-convicted by the words of Socrates (216 B, C). For the disparaging manner in which Schleiermacher has spoken of this dialogue there seems to be no sufficient foundation. At the same time, the lesson imparted is simple, and the irony more transparent than in the undoubted dialogues of Plato. We know, too, that Alcibiades was a favourite thesis, and that at least five or six dialogues bearing this name passed current in antiquity, and are attributed to contemporaries of Socrates and Plato. (1) In the entire absence of real external evidence (for the catalogues of the Alexandrian librarians cannot be regarded as trustworthy); and (2) in the absence of the highest marks either of poetical or philosophical excellence; and (3) considering that we have express testimony to the existence of contemporary writings bearing the name of Alcibiades, we are compelled to suspend our judgment on the genuineness of the extant dialogue.

Neither at this point, nor at any other, do we propose to draw an absolute line of demarcation between genuine and spurious writings of Plato. They fade off imperceptibly from one class to another. There may have been degrees of genuineness in the dialogues themselves, as there are certainly degrees of evidence by which they are supported. The traditions of the oral discourses both of Socrates and Plato may have formed the basis of semi-Platonic writings; some of them may be of the same mixed character which is apparent in Aristotle and Hippocrates, although the form of them is different. But the writings of Plato, unlike the writings of Aristotle, seem never to have been confused with the writings of his disciples: this was probably due to their definite form, and to their inimitable excellence. The three dialogues which we have offered in the Appendix to the criticism of the reader may be partly spurious and partly genuine; they may be altogether spurious;—that is an alternative which must be frankly admitted. Nor can we maintain of some other dialogues, such as the Parmenides, and the Sophist, and Politicus, that no considerable objection can be urged against them, though greatly overbalanced by the weight (chiefly) of internal evidence in their favour. Nor, on the other hand, can we exclude a bare possibility that some dialogues which are usually rejected, such as the Greater Hippias and the Cleitophon, may be genuine. The nature and object of these semi-Platonic writings require more careful study and more comparison of them with one another, and with forged writings in general, than they have yet received, before we can finally decide on their character. We do not consider them all as genuine until they can be proved to be spurious, as is often maintained and still more often implied in this and similar discussions; but should say of some of them, that their genuineness is neither proven nor disproven until further evidence about them can be adduced. And we are as confident that the Epistles are spurious, as that the Republic, the Timaeus, and the Laws are genuine.

On the whole, not a twentieth part of the writings which pass under the name of Plato, if we exclude the works rejected by the ancients themselves and two or three other plausible inventions, can be fairly doubted by those who are willing to allow that a considerable change and growth may have taken place in his philosophy (see above). That twentieth debatable portion scarcely in any degree affects our judgment of Plato, either as a thinker or a writer, and though suggesting some interesting questions to the scholar and critic, is of little importance to the general reader.

LESSER HIPPIAS.

INTRODUCTION.

Lesser Hippias.Introduction.

The Lesser Hippias may be compared with the earlier dialogues of Plato, in which the contrast of Socrates and the Sophists is most strongly exhibited. Hippias, like Protagoras and Gorgias, though civil, is vain and boastful: he knows all things; he can make anything, including his own clothes; he is a manufacturer of poems and declamations, and also of seal-rings, shoes, strigils; his girdle, which he has woven himself, is of a finer than Persian quality. He is a vainer, lighter nature than the two great Sophists (cp. Protag. 314, 337), but of the same character with them, and equally impatient of the short cut-and-thrust method of Socrates, whom he endeavours to draw into a long oration. At last, he gets tired of being defeated at every point by Socrates, and is with difficulty induced to proceed (compare Thrasymachus, Protagoras, Callicles, and others, to whom the same reluctance is ascribed).

Analysis.

363Hippias like Protagoras has common sense on his side, when he argues, citing passages of the Iliad in support of his view, that Homer intended Achilles to be the bravest, Odysseus the wisest of the Greeks. But he is easily overthrown by the superior dialectics of Socrates, who pretends to show that Achilles is not -369true to his word, and that no similar inconsistency is to be found in Odysseus. Hippias replies that Achilles unintentionally, but 370Odysseus intentionally, speaks falsehood. But is it better to do wrong intentionally or unintentionally? Socrates, relying on the analogy of the arts, maintains the former, Hippias the latter of the -372two alternatives. . . . All this is quite conceived in the spirit of Plato, who is very far from making Socrates always argue on the side of truth. The over-reasoning on Homer, which is of course satirical, is also in the spirit of Plato. Poetry turned logic is even more ridiculous than ‘rhetoric turned logic,’ and equally fallacious. There were reasoners in ancient as well as in modern times, who could never receive the natural impression of Homer, or of any other book which they read. The argument of Socrates, in which he picks out the apparent inconsistencies and discrepancies in the speech and actions of Achilles, and the final paradox, ‘that he who is true is also false,’ remind us of the interpretation by Socrates of Simonides in the Protagoras, and of similar reasonings in the first book of the Republic. The discrepancies which Socrates discovers in the words of Achilles are perhaps as great as those discovered by some of the modern separatists of the Homeric poems. . . .

At last, Socrates having caught Hippias in the toils of the 376voluntary and involuntary, is obliged to confess that he is wandering about in the same labyrinth; he makes the reflection on himself which others would make upon him (cp. Protagoras, sub fin.). He does not wonder that he should be in a difficulty, but he wonders at Hippias, and he becomes sensible of the gravity of the situation, when ordinary men like himself can no longer go to the wise and be taught by them.

Introduction.

It may be remarked as bearing on the genuineness of this dialogue: (1) that the manners of the speakers are less subtle and refined than in the other dialogues of Plato; (2) that the sophistry of Socrates is more palpable and unblushing, and also more unmeaning; (3) that many turns of thought and style are found in it which appear also in the other dialogues:—whether resemblances of this kind tell in favour of or against the genuineness of an ancient writing, is an important question which will have to be answered differently in different cases. For that a writer may repeat himself is as true as that a forger may imitate; and Plato elsewhere, either of set purpose or from forgetfulness, is full of repetitions. The parallelisms of the Lesser Hippias, as already remarked, are not of the kind which necessarily imply that the dialogue is the work of a forger. The parallelisms of the Greater Hippias with the other dialogues, and the allusion to the Lesser 285, 286 A, B (where Hippias sketches the programme of his next lecture, and invites Socrates to attend and bring any friends with him who may be competent judges), are more than suspicious:—they are of a very poor sort, such as we cannot suppose to have been due to Plato himself. The Greater Hippias more resembles the Euthydemus than any other dialogue; but is immeasurably inferior to it. The Lesser Hippias seems to have more merit than the Greater, and to be more Platonic in spirit. The character of Hippias is the same in both dialogues, but his vanity and boasting are even more exaggerated in the Greater Hippias. His art of memory is specially mentioned in both. He is an inferior type of the same species as Hippodamus of Miletus (Arist. Pol. II. 8, § 1). Some passages in which the Lesser Hippias may be advantageously compared with the undoubtedly genuine dialogues of Plato are the following:—Less. Hipp. 369 B: cp. Rep. vi. 487 (Socrates’ cunning in argument): ∥ ib. D, E: cp. Laches 188 (Socrates’ feeling about arguments): ∥ 372 B, C: cp. Rep. i. 338 B (Socrates not unthankful): ∥ 373 B: cp. Rep. i. 340 D (Socrates dishonest in argument).

The Lesser Hippias, though inferior to the other dialogues, may be reasonably believed to have been written by Plato, on the ground (1) of considerable excellence; (2) of uniform tradition beginning with Aristotle and his school. That the dialogue falls below the standard of Plato’s other works, or that he has attributed to Socrates an unmeaning paradox (perhaps with the view of showing that he could beat the Sophists at their own weapons; or that he could ‘make the worse appear the better cause’; or merely as a dialectical experiment)—are not sufficient reasons for doubting the genuineness of the work.

LESSER HIPPIAS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.

Eudicus, Socrates, Hippias.

Eudicus.

Socrates, Eudicus, Hippias.

363Why are you silent, Socrates, after the magnificent display which Hippias has been making? Why do you not either refute his words, if he seems to you to have been wrong in any point, or join with us in commending him? There is the more reason why you should speak, because we are now alone, and the audience is confined to those who may fairly claim to take part in a philosophical discussion.

Socrates.

The Iliad of Homer a finer work than the Odyssey, because Achilles, the hero of the poem, is greater than Odysseus.

I should greatly like, Eudicus, to ask Hippias the meaning of what he was saying just now about Homer. I have heard your father, Apemantus, declare that the Iliad of Homer is a finer poem than the Odyssey in the same degree that Achilles was a better man than Odysseus; Odysseus, he would say, is the central figure of the one poem and Achilles of the other. Now, I should like to know, if Hippias has no objection to tell me, what he thinks about these two heroes, and which of them he maintains to be the better; he has already told us in the course of his exhibition many things of various kinds about Homer and divers other poets.

Eud.

I am sure that Hippias will be delighted to answer anything which you would like to ask; tell me, Hippias, if Socrates asks you a question, will you answer him?

Hippias.

Socrates, Hippias.

Indeed, Eudicus, I should be strangely inconsistent if I refused to answer Socrates, when at each Olympic festival, as I went up from my house at Elis to the temple of Olympia, where all the Hellenes were assembled, I continually professed my willingness to perform any of the exhibitions which I had prepared, and to answer any questions which any one had to ask.

Soc.

Truly, Hippias, you are to be congratulated, if at 364every Olympic festival you have such an encouraging opinion of your own wisdom when you go up to the temple. I doubt whether any muscular hero would be so fearless and confident in offering his body to the combat at Olympia, as you are in offering your mind.

Hip.

And with good reason, Socrates; for since the day when I first entered the lists at Olympia I have never found any man who was my superior in anything1 .

Soc.

What an ornament, Hippias, will the reputation of your wisdom be to the city of Elis and to your parents! But to return: what say you of Odysseus and Achilles? Which is the better of the two? and in what particular does either surpass the other? For when you were exhibiting and there was company in the room, though I could not follow you, I did not like to ask what you meant, because a crowd of people were present, and I was afraid that the question might interrupt your exhibition. But now that there are not so many of us, and my friend Eudicus bids me ask, I wish you would tell me what you were saying about these two heroes, so that I may clearly understand; how did you distinguish them?

Hip.

Achilles the bravest, Nestor the wisest, and Odysseus the wiliest of the Greeks at Troy.

I shall have much pleasure, Socrates, in explaining to you more clearly than I could in public my views about these and also about other heroes. I say that Homer intended Achilles to be the bravest of the men who went to Troy, Nestor the wisest, and Odysseus the wiliest.

Soc.

O rare Hippias, will you be so good as not to laugh, if I find a difficulty in following you, and repeat my questions several times over? Please to answer me kindly and gently.

Hip.

I should be greatly ashamed of myself, Socrates, if I, who teach others and take money of them, could not, when I was asked by you, answer in a civil and agreeable manner.

Soc.

Thank you: the fact is, that I seemed to understand what you meant when you said that the poet intended Achilles to be the bravest of men, and also that he intended Nestor to be the wisest; but when you said that he meant Odysseus to be the wiliest, I must confess that I could not understand what you were saying. Will you tell me, and then I shall perhaps understand you better; has not Homer made Achilles wily?

Hip.

Certainly not, Socrates; he is the most straightforward of mankind, and when Homer introduces them talking with one another in the passage called the Prayers, Achilles is supposed by the poet to say to Odysseus:—

Now, in these verses he clearly indicates the character of the two men; he shows Achilles to be true and simple, and Odysseus to be wily and false; for he supposes Achilles to be addressing Odysseus in these lines.

Soc.

Wily means false:

Now, Hippias, I think that I understand your meaning; when you say that Odysseus is wily, you clearly mean that he is false?

Hip.

Exactly so, Socrates; it is the character of Odysseus, as he is represented by Homer in many passages both of the Iliad and Odyssey.

Soc.

And Homer must be presumed to have meant that the true man is not the same as the false?

Hip.

Of course, Socrates.

Soc.

And is that your own opinion, Hippias?

Hip.

Certainly; how can I have any other?

Soc.

Well, then, as there is no possibility of asking Homer what he meant in these verses of his, let us leave him; but as you show a willingness to take up his cause, and your opinion agrees with what you declare to be his, will you answer on behalf of yourself and him?

Hip.

I will; ask shortly anything which you like.

Soc.

Do you say that the false, like the sick, have no power to do things, or that they have the power to do things?

Hip.

I should say that they have power to do many things, and in particular to deceive mankind.

Soc.

Then, according to you, they are both powerful and wily, are they not?

Hip.

And the false have the power of deceiving mankind; they are prudent and knowing and wise, and have the ability to speak falsely.

Yes.

Soc.

And are they wily, and do they deceive by reason of their simplicity and folly, or by reason of their cunning and a certain sort of prudence?

Hip.

By reason of their cunning and prudence, most certainly.

Soc.

Then they are prudent, I suppose?

Hip.

So they are—very.

Soc.

And if they are prudent, do they know or do they not know what they do?

Hip.

Of course, they know very well; and that is why they do mischief to others.

Soc.

And having this knowledge, are they ignorant, or are they wise?

Hip.

Wise, certainly; at least, in so far as they can deceive.

Soc.

Stop, and let us recall to mind what you are saying; 366are you not saying that the false are powerful and prudent and knowing and wise in those things about which they are false?

Hip.

To be sure.

Soc.

And the true differ from the false—the true and the false are the very opposite of each other?

Hip.

That is my view.

Soc.

Then, according to your view, it would seem that the false are to be ranked in the class of the powerful and wise?

Hip.

Assuredly.

Soc.

And when you say that the false are powerful and wise in so far as they are false, do you mean that they have or have not the power of uttering their falsehoods if they like?

Hip.

I mean to say that they have the power.

Soc.

In a word, then, the false are they who are wise and have the power to speak falsely?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Then a man who has not the power of speaking falsely and is ignorant cannot be false?

Hip.

You are right.

Soc.

And every man has power who does that which he wishes at the time when he wishes. I am not speaking of any special case in which he is prevented by disease or something of that sort, but I am speaking generally, as I might say of you, that you are able to write my name when you like. Would you not call a man able who could do that?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And tell me, Hippias, are you not a skilful calculator and arithmetician?

Hip.

Yes, Socrates, assuredly I am.

Soc.

And if some one were to ask you what is the sum of 3 multiplied by 700, you would tell him the true answer in a moment, if you pleased?

Hip.

Certainly I should.

Soc.

Is not that because you are the wisest and ablest of men in these matters?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And being as you are the wisest and ablest of men in these matters of calculation, are you not also the best?

Hip.

To be sure, Socrates, I am the best.

Soc.

And therefore you would be the most able to tell the truth about these matters, would you not?

Hip.

Yes, I should.

Soc.

They must truly know that about which they falsely speak or they will fall into the error of speaking the truth by mistake.

And could you speak falsehoods about them equally well? I must beg, Hippias, that you will answer me with the same frankness and magnanimity which has hitherto characterized you. If a person were to ask you what is the sum of 3 multiplied by 700, would not you be the best and most consistent teller of a falsehood, having always the power of speaking falsely as you have of speaking truly, about these same matters, if you wanted to tell a falsehood, 367and not to answer truly? Would the ignorant man be better able to tell a falsehood in matters of calculation than you would be, if you chose? Might he not sometimes stumble upon the truth, when he wanted to tell a lie, because he did not know, whereas you who are the wise man, if you wanted to tell a lie would always and consistently lie?

Hip.

Yes; there you are quite right.

Soc.

Does the false man tell lies about other things, but not about number, or when he is making a calculation?

Hip.

To be sure; he would tell as many lies about number as about other things.

Soc.

Then may we further assume, Hippias, that there are men who are false about calculation and number?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Who can they be? For you have already admitted that he who is false must have the ability to be false: you said, as you will remember, that he who is unable to be false will not be false?

Hip.

Yes, I remember; it was so said.

Soc.

And were you not yourself just now shown to be best able to speak falsely about calculation?

Hip.

Yes; that was another thing which was said.

Soc.

And are you not likewise said to speak truly about calculation?

Hip.

Certainly.

Soc.

Then the same person is able to speak both falsely and truly about calculation? And that person is he who is good at calculation—the arithmetician?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Who, then, Hippias, is discovered to be false at calculation? Is he not the good man? For the good man is the able man, and he is the true man.

Hip.

That is evident.

Soc.

Therefore the same man must be true if he is to be truly false, in astronomy, in geometry, and in all the sciences.

Do you not see, then, that the same man is false and also true about the same matters? And the true man is not a whit better than the false; for indeed he is the same with him and not the very opposite, as you were just now imagining.

Hip.

Not in that instance, clearly.

Soc.

Shall we examine other instances?

Hip.

Certainly, if you are disposed.

Soc.

Are you not also skilled in geometry?

Hip.

I am.

Soc.

Well, and does not the same hold in that science also? Is not the same person best able to speak falsely or to speak truly about diagrams; and he is—the geometrician?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

He and no one else is good at it?

Hip.

Yes, he and no one else.

Soc.

Then the good and wise geometer has this double power in the highest degree; and if there be a man who is false about diagrams the good man will be he, for he is able to be false; whereas the bad is unable, and for this reason is not false, as has been admitted.

Hip.

True.

Soc.

Once more—let us examine a third case; that of the astronomer, in whose art, again, you, Hippias, profess to be a still greater proficient than in the preceding—do you not?

Hip.

368Yes, I am.

Soc.

And does not the same hold of astronomy?

Hip.

True, Socrates.

Soc.

And in astronomy, too, if any man be able to speak falsely he will be the good astronomer, but he who is not able will not speak falsely, for he has no knowledge.

Hip.

Clearly not.

Soc.

Then in astronomy also, the same man will be true and false?

Hip.

It would seem so.

Soc.

Socrates compliments Hippias on his skill in engraving gems, in making clothes and shoes and the finest fabrics, in writing poetry and prose of the most varied kind, and on the art of memory which he has invented.

And now, Hippias, consider the question at large about all the sciences, and see whether the same principle does not always hold. I know that in most arts you are the wisest of men, as I have heard you boasting in the agora at the tables of the money-changers, when you were setting forth the great and enviable stores of your wisdom; and you said that upon one occasion, when you went to the Olympic games, all that you had on your person was made by yourself. You began with your ring, which was of your own workmanship, and you said that you could engrave rings; and you had another seal which was also of your own workmanship, and a strigil and an oil flask, which you had made yourself; you said also that you had made the shoes which you had on your feet, and the cloak and the short tunic; but what appeared to us all most extraordinary and a proof of singular art, was the girdle of your tunic, which, you said, was as fine as the most costly Persian fabric, and of your own weaving; moreover, you told us that you had brought with you poems, epic, tragic, and dithyrambic, as well as prose writings of the most various kinds; and you said that your skill was also pre-eminent in the arts which I was just now mentioning, and in the true principles of rhythm and harmony and of orthography; and if I remember rightly, there were a great many other accomplishments in which you excelled. I have forgotten to mention your art of memory, which you regard as your special glory, and I dare say that I have forgotten many other things; but, as I was saying, only look to your own arts—and there are plenty of them—and to those of others; and tell me, having regard to the admissions which you and I have made, whether you discover any department of art or any description of wisdom or cunning, whichever name you use, in which the true and false are different and not the same: tell me, if you can, of any. But 369you cannot.

Hip.

Not without consideration, Socrates.

Soc.

Nor will consideration help you, Hippias, as I believe; but then if I am right, remember what the consequence will be.

Hip.

Yet he who knows and remembers all things can call to mind no instance in which the false is not also true, although he was saying just now that Achilles is true and Odysseus false.

I do not know what you mean, Socrates.

Soc.

I suppose that you are not using your art of memory, doubtless because you think that such an accomplishment is not needed on the present occasion. I will therefore remind you of what you were saying: were you not saying that Achilles was a true man, and Odysseus false and wily?

Hip.

I was.

Soc.

And now do you perceive that the same person has turned out to be false as well as true? If Odysseus is false he is also true, and if Achilles is true he is also false, and so the two men are not opposed to one another, but they are alike.

Hip.

O Socrates, you are always weaving the meshes of an argument, selecting the most difficult point, and fastening upon details instead of grappling with the matter in hand as a whole. Come now, and I will demonstrate to you, if you will allow me, by many satisfactory proofs, that Homer has made Achilles a better man than Odysseus, and a truthful man too; and that he has made the other crafty, and a teller of many untruths, and inferior to Achilles. And then, if you please, you shall make a speech on the other side, in order to prove that Odysseus is the better man; and this may be compared to mine, and then the company will know which of us is the better speaker.

Soc.

Socrates pays Hippias the compliment which he always pays to a wise man, of attending to him. He proves by example that Achilles, the true man, is always uttering falsehoods, Odysseus, the false man, never.

O Hippias, I do not doubt that you are wiser than I am. But I have a way, when anybody else says anything, of giving close attention to him, especially if the speaker appears to me to be a wise man. Having a desire to understand, I question him, and I examine and analyse and put together what he says, in order that I may understand; but if the speaker appears to me to be a poor hand, I do not interrogate him, or trouble myself about him, and you may know by this who they are whom I deem to be wise men, for you will see that when I am talking with a wise man, I am very attentive to what he says; and I ask questions of him, in order that I may learn, and be improved by him. And I could not help remarking while you were speaking, that when you recited the verses in which Achilles, as you argued, attacks Odysseus as a deceiver, that you must be strangely mistaken, because Odysseus, the man of wiles, is never found to tell a lie; but 370Achilles is found to be wily on your own showing. At any rate he speaks falsely; for first he utters these words, which you just now repeated,—

And then he says, a little while afterwards, he will not be persuaded by Odysseus and Agamemnon, neither will he remain at Troy; but, says he,—

And before that, when he was reviling Agamemnon, he said,—

But although on that occasion, in the presence of the whole army, he spoke after this fashion, and on the other occasion to his companions, he appears never to have made any preparation or attempt to draw down the ships, as if he had the least intention of sailing home; so nobly regardless was he of the truth. Now I, Hippias, originally asked you the question, because I was in doubt as to which of the two heroes was intended by the poet to be the best, and because I thought that both of them were the best, and that it would be difficult to decide which was the better of them, not only in respect of truth and falsehood, but of virtue generally, for even in this matter of speaking the truth they are much upon a par.

Hip.

Aye, but the falsehood of Achilles is accidental; that of Odysseus intentional.

There you are wrong, Socrates; for in so far as Achilles speaks falsely, the falsehood is obviously unintentional. He is compelled against his will to remain and rescue the army in their misfortune. But when Odysseus speaks falsely he is voluntarily and intentionally false.

Soc.

You, sweet Hippias, like Odysseus, are a deceiver yourself.

Hip.

Certainly not, Socrates; what makes you say so? 371

Soc.

Because you say that Achilles does not speak falsely from design, when he is not only a deceiver, but besides being a braggart, in Homer’s description of him is so cunning, and so far superior to Odysseus in lying and pretending, that he dares to contradict himself, and Odysseus does not find him out; at any rate he does not appear to say anything to him which would imply that he perceived his falsehood.

Hip.

What do you mean, Socrates?

Soc.

Did you not observe that afterwards, when he is speaking to Odysseus, he says that he will sail away with the early dawn; but to Ajax he tells quite a different story?

Hip.

Where is that?

Soc.

Where he says,—

Now, do you really think, Hippias, that the son of Thetis, who had been the pupil of the sage Cheiron, had such a bad memory, or would have carried the art of lying to such an extent (when he had been assailing liars in the most violent terms only the instant before) as to say to Odysseus that he would sail away, and to Ajax that he would remain, and that he was not rather practising upon the simplicity of Odysseus, whom he regarded as an ancient, and thinking that he would get the better of him by his own cunning and falsehood?

Hip.

No, I do not agree with you, Socrates; but I believe that Achilles is induced to say one thing to Ajax, and another to Odysseus in the innocence of his heart, whereas Odysseus, whether he speaks falsely or truly, speaks always with a purpose.

Soc.

That proves Odysseus to be better than Achilles.

Then Odysseus would appear after all to be better than Achilles?

Hip.

Certainly not, Socrates.

Soc.

Why, were not the voluntary liars only just now shown to be better than the involuntary?

Hip.

And how, Socrates, can those who intentionally err, and voluntarily and designedly commit iniquities, be better 372than those who err and do wrong involuntarily? Surely there is a great excuse to be made for a man telling a falsehood, or doing an injury or any sort of harm to another in ignorance. And the laws are obviously far more severe on those who lie or do evil, voluntarily, than on those who do evil involuntarily.

Soc.

Socrates is convinced of his own ignorance because he never agrees with wise men. But he is willing to learn,Socrates, Hippias, Eudicus.and he desires to be cured by Hippias of his ignorance in as few words as possible.

You see, Hippias, as I have already told you, how pertinacious I am in asking questions of wise men. And I think that this is the only good point about me, for I am full of defects, and always getting wrong in some way or other. My deficiency is proved to me by the fact that when I meet one of you who are famous for wisdom, and to whose wisdom all the Hellenes are witnesses, I am found out to know nothing. For speaking generally, I hardly ever have the same opinion about anything which you have, and what proof of ignorance can be greater than to differ from wise men? But I have one singular good quality, which is my salvation; I am not ashamed to learn, and I ask and enquire, and am very grateful to those who answer me, and never fail to give them my grateful thanks; and when I learn a thing I never deny my teacher, or pretend that the lesson is a discovery of my own; but I praise his wisdom, and proclaim what I have learned from him. And now I cannot agree in what you are saying, but I strongly disagree. Well, I know that this is my own fault, and is a defect in my character, but I will not pretend to be more than I am; and my opinion, Hippias, is the very contrary of what you are saying. For I maintain that those who hurt or injure mankind, and speak falsely and deceive, and err voluntarily, are better far than those who do wrong involuntarily. Sometimes, however, I am of the opposite opinion; for I am all abroad in my ideas about this matter, a condition obviously occasioned by ignorance. And just now I happen to be in a crisis of my disorder at which those who err voluntarily appear to me better than those who err involuntarily. My present state of mind is due to our previous argument, which inclines me to believe that in general those who do wrong involuntarily are worse than those who do wrong voluntarily, and therefore I hope that you will be good to me, and not refuse to heal me; for you will do me a much greater benefit if you cure my soul of ignorance, than you would if you were to cure my body of disease. I must, however, tell you beforehand, that if you 373make a long oration to me you will not cure me, for I shall not be able to follow you; but if you will answer me, as you did just now, you will do me a great deal of good, and I do not think that you will be any the worse yourself. And I have some claim upon you also, O son of Apemantus, for you incited me to converse with Hippias; and now, if Hippias will not answer me, you must entreat him on my behalf.

Eud.

But I do not think, Socrates, that Hippias will require any entreaty of mine; for he has already said that he will refuse to answer no man.—Did you not say so, Hippias?

Hip.

Yes, I did; but then, Eudicus, Socrates is always troublesome in an argument, and appears to be dishonest1 .

Soc.

Excellent Hippias, I do not do so intentionally (if I did, it would show me to be a wise man and a master of wiles, as you would argue), but unintentionally, and therefore you must pardon me; for, as you say, he who is unintentionally dishonest should be pardoned.

Eud.

Yes, Hippias, do as he says; and for our sake, and also that you may not belie your profession, answer whatever Socrates asks you.

Hip.

I will answer, as you request me; and do you ask whatever you like.

Soc.

I am very desirous, Hippias, of examining this question, as to which are the better—those who err voluntarily or involuntarily? And if you will answer me, I think that I can put you in the way of approaching the subject: You would admit, would you not, that there are good runners?

Hip.

Socrates by citation of instances not ‘in pari materia’ proves that it is better to do evil intentionally;

Yes.

Soc.

And there are bad runners?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And he who runs well is a good runner, and he who runs ill is a bad runner?

Hip.

Very true.

Soc.

And he who runs slowly runs ill, and he who runs quickly runs well?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

e. g. in running,

Then in a race, and in running, swiftness is a good, and slowness is an evil quality?

Hip.

To be sure.

Soc.

Which of the two then is a better runner? He who runs slowly voluntarily, or he who runs slowly involuntarily?

Hip.

He who runs slowly voluntarily.

Soc.

And is not running a species of doing?

Hip.

Certainly.

Soc.

And if a species of doing, a species of action?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Then he who runs badly does a bad and dishonourable action in a race?

Hip.

Yes; a bad action, certainly.

Soc.

And he who runs slowly runs badly?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Then the good runner does this bad and disgraceful action voluntarily, and the bad involuntarily?

Hip.

That is to be inferred.

Soc.

Then he who involuntarily does evil actions, is worse in a race than he who does them voluntarily?

Hip.

Yes, in a race.

Soc.

Well; but at a wrestling match—which is the better 374wrestler, he who falls voluntarily or involuntarily?

Hip.

Socrates, Hippias.

He who falls voluntarily, doubtless.

Soc.

in wrestling,

And is it worse or more dishonourable at a wrestling match, to fall, or to throw another?

Hip.

To fall.

Soc.

Then, at a wrestling match, he who voluntarily does base and dishonourable actions is a better wrestler than he who does them involuntarily?

Hip.

That appears to be the truth.

Soc.

And what would you say of any other bodily exercise—is not he who is better made able to do both that which is strong and that which is weak—that which is fair and that which is foul?—so that when he does bad actions with the body, he who is better made does them voluntarily, and he who is worse made does them involuntarily.

Hip.

Yes, that appears to be true about strength.

Soc.

in the action of the body,

And what do you say about grace, Hippias? Is not he who is better made able to assume evil and disgraceful figures and postures voluntarily, as he who is worse made assumes them involuntarily?

Hip.

True.

Soc.

Then voluntary ungracefulness comes from excellence of the bodily frame, and involuntary from the defect of the bodily frame?

Hip.

True.

Soc.

in singing,

And what would you say of an unmusical voice; would you prefer the voice which is voluntarily or involuntarily out of tune?

Hip.

That which is voluntarily out of tune.

Soc.

The involuntary is the worse of the two?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And would you choose to possess goods or evils?

Hip.

Goods.

Soc.

in the use of the feet,

And would you rather have feet which are voluntarily or involuntarily lame?

Hip.

Feet which are voluntarily lame.

Soc.

But is not lameness a defect or deformity?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And is not blinking a defect in the eyes?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And would you rather always have eyes with which you might voluntarily blink and not see, or with which you might involuntarily blink?

Hip.

eyes,

I would rather have eyes which voluntarily blink.

Soc.

Then in your own case you deem that which voluntarily acts ill, better than that which involuntarily acts ill?

Hip.

Yes, certainly, in cases such as you mention.

Soc.

ears,

And does not the same hold of ears, nostrils, mouth, and of all the senses—those which involuntarily act ill are not to be desired, as being defective; and those which voluntarily act ill are to be desired as being good?

Hip.

I agree.

Soc.

of instruments.

And what would you say of instruments;—which are the better sort of instruments to have to do with?—those with which a man acts ill voluntarily or involuntarily? For example, had a man better have a rudder with which he will steer ill, voluntarily or involuntarily?

Hip.

He had better have a rudder with which he will steer ill voluntarily.

Soc.

And does not the same hold of the bow and the lyre, the flute and all other things?

Hip.

Very true.

Soc.

And would you rather have a horse of such a temper that you may ride him ill voluntarily or involuntarily?

Hip.

It is true also of animals,

375I would rather have a horse which I could ride ill voluntarily.

Soc.

That would be the better horse?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Then with a horse of better temper, vicious actions would be produced voluntarily; and with a horse of bad temper involuntarily?

Hip.

Certainly.

Soc.

And that would be true of a dog, or of any other animal?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

in the practice of archery,

And is it better to possess the mind of an archer who voluntarily or involuntarily misses the mark?

Hip.

Of him who voluntarily misses.

Soc.

This would be the better mind for the purposes of archery?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Then the mind which involuntarily errs is worse than the mind which errs voluntarily?

Hip.

Yes, certainly, in the use of the bow.

Soc.

of medicine,

And what would you say of the art of medicine;—has not the mind which voluntarily works harm to the body, more of the healing art?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Then in the art of medicine the voluntary is better than the involuntary?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Well, and in lute-playing and in flute-playing, and in all arts and sciences, is not that mind the better which voluntarily does what is evil and dishonourable, and goes wrong, and is not the worse that which does so involuntarily?

Hip.

That is evident.

Soc.

in the characters of slaves.

And what would you say of the characters of slaves? Should we not prefer to have those who voluntarily do wrong and make mistakes, and are they not better in their mistakes than those who commit them involuntarily?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And should we not desire to have our own minds in the best state possible?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And will our minds be better if they do wrong and make mistakes voluntarily or involuntarily?

Hip.

Hippias revolts at the conclusion.

O, Socrates, it would be a monstrous thing to say that those who do wrong voluntarily are better than those who do wrong involuntarily!

Soc.

And yet that appears to be the only inference.

Hip.

I do not think so.

Soc.

Socrates recapitulates the argument.

But I imagined, Hippias, that you did. Please to answer once more: Is not justice a power, or knowledge, or both? Must not justice, at all events, be one of these?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

But if justice is a power of the soul, then the soul which has the greater power is also the more just; for that which has the greater power, my good friend, has been proved by us to be the better.

Hip.

Yes, that has been proved.

Soc.

And if justice is knowledge, then the wiser will be the juster soul, and the more ignorant the more unjust?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

But if justice be power as well as knowledge—then will not the soul which has both knowledge and power be the more just, and that which is the more ignorant be the more unjust? Must it not be so?

Hip.

Clearly.

Soc.

And is not the soul which has the greater power and wisdom also better, and better able to do both good and evil in every action?

Hip.

Certainly.

Soc.

376The soul, then, which acts ill, acts voluntarily by power and art—and these either one or both of them are elements of justice?

Hip.

That seems to be true.

Soc.

And to do injustice is to do ill, and not to do injustice is to do well?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

And will not the better and abler soul when it does wrong, do wrong voluntarily, and the bad soul involuntarily?

Hip.

Clearly.

Soc.

And the good man is he who has the good soul, and the bad man is he who has the bad?

Hip.

Yes.

Soc.

Hippias, who has admitted the previous deductions, rebels at the final one. Socrates is himself dissatisfied. What remains if Socrates and a wiser than Socrates are alike in doubt?Socrates,

Then the good man will voluntarily do wrong, and the bad man involuntarily, if the good man is he who has the good soul?

Hip.

Which he certainly has.

Soc.

Then, Hippias, he who voluntarily does wrong and disgraceful things, if there be such a man, will be the good man?

Hip.

There I cannot agree with you.

Soc.

Nor can I agree with myself, Hippias; and yet that seems to be the conclusion which, as far as we can see at present, must follow from our argument. As I was saying before, I am all abroad, and being in perplexity am always changing my opinion. Now, that I or any ordinary man should wander in perplexity is not surprising; but if you wise men also wander, and we cannot come to you and rest from our wandering, the matter begins to be serious both to us and to you.

ALCIBIADES I.

INTRODUCTION.

Alcibiades I.Introduction.

The First Alcibiades is a conversation between Socrates and Alcibiades. Socrates is represented in the character which he attributes to himself in the Apology of a know-nothing who detects the conceit of knowledge in others. The two have met already in the Protagoras and in the Symposium; in the latter dialogue, as in this, the relation between them is that of a lover and his beloved. But the narrative of their loves is told differently in different places; for in the Symposium Alcibiades is depicted as the impassioned but rejected lover; here, as coldly receiving the advances of Socrates, who, for the best of purposes, lies in wait for the aspiring and ambitious youth.

Analysis.

103Alcibiades, who is described as a very young man, is about to enter on public life, having an inordinate opinion of himself, and an extravagant ambition. Socrates, ‘who knows what is in man,’ -106astonishes him by a revelation of his designs. But has he the knowledge which is necessary for carrying them out? He is 107going to persuade the Athenians—about what? Not about any particular art, but about politics—when to fight and when to make peace. Now, men should fight and make peace on just grounds, and therefore the question of justice and injustice must enter into -109peace and war; and he who advises the Athenians must know the difference between them. Does Alcibiades know? If he does, he must either have been taught by some master, or he must have discovered the nature of them himself. If he has had a master, Socrates would like to be informed who he is, that he 110may go and learn of him also. Alcibiades admits that he has never learned. Then has he enquired for himself? He may have, if he was ever aware of a time when he was ignorant. But he never was ignorant; for when he played with other boys at dice, he charged them with cheating, and this implied a knowledge of just and unjust. According to his own explanation, he had learned of the multitude. Why, he asks, should he not learn of them the nature of justice, as he has learned the Greek language of them? To this Socrates answers, that they can teach Greek, but they 111cannot teach justice; for they are agreed about the one, but they are not agreed about the other: and therefore Alcibiades, who 112has admitted that if he knows he must either have learned from a master or have discovered for himself the nature of justice, is convicted out of his own mouth. 113

Alcibiades rejoins, that the Athenians debate not about what is just, but about what is expedient; and he asserts that the two principles of justice and expediency are opposed. Socrates, by a 114series of questions, compels him to admit that the just and the expedient coincide. Alcibiades is thus reduced to the humiliating -117conclusion that he knows nothing of politics, even if, as he says, they are concerned with the expedient.

However, he is no worse than other Athenian statesmen; and he will not need training, for others are as ignorant as he is. He is reminded that he has to contend, not only with his own countrymen, but with their enemies—with the Spartan kings and -120with the great king of Persia; and he can only attain this higher aim of ambition by the assistance of Socrates. Not that Socrates himself professes to have attained the truth, but the questions which he asks bring others to a knowledge of themselves, and this is the first step in the practice of virtue.

The dialogue continues:—We wish to become as good as -124possible. But to be good in what? Alcibiades replies—‘Good in transacting business.’ But what business? ‘The business of the 125most intelligent men at Athens.’ The cobbler is intelligent in shoemaking, and is therefore good in that; he is not intelligent, and therefore not good, in weaving. Is he good in the sense which Alcibiades means, who is also bad? ‘I mean,’ replies Alcibiades, ‘the man who is able to command in the city.’ But to command what—horses or men? and if men, under what circumstances? ‘I mean to say, that he is able to command men living in social and political relations.’ And what is their aim? ‘The better preservation of the city.’ But when is a city better? 126‘When there is unanimity, such as exists between husband and 127wife.’ Then, when husbands and wives perform their own special duties, there can be no unanimity between them; nor can a city be well ordered when each citizen does his own work only. Alcibiades, having stated first that goodness consists in the unanimity of the citizens, and then in each of them doing his own separate work, is brought to the required point of self-contradiction, 128leading him to confess his own ignorance.

But he is not too old to learn, and may still arrive at the truth, 129if he is willing to be cross-examined by Socrates. He must know himself; that is to say, not his body, or the things of the body, but his mind, or truer self. The physician knows the body, and the tradesman knows his own business, but they do not necessarily know themselves. Self-knowledge can be obtained only -132by looking into the mind and virtue of the soul, which is the diviner part of a man, as we see our own image in another’s eye. And if we do not know ourselves, we cannot know what belongs to ourselves or belongs to others, and are unfit to take a part in -134political affairs. Both for the sake of the individual and of the state, we ought to aim at justice and temperance, not at wealth or power. The evil and unjust should have no power,—they should 135be the slaves of better men than themselves. None but the virtuous are deserving of freedom.

And are you, Alcibiades, a freeman? ‘I feel that I am not; but I hope, Socrates, that by your aid I may become free, and from this day forward I will never leave you.’

Introduction.

The Alcibiades has several points of resemblance to the undoubted dialogues of Plato. The process of interrogation is of the same kind with that which Socrates practises upon the youthful Cleinias in the Euthydemus; and he characteristically attributes to Alcibiades the answers which he has elicited from him. The definition of good is narrowed by successive questions, and virtue is shown to be identical with knowledge. Here, as elsewhere, Socrates awakens the consciousness not of sin but of ignorance. Self-humiliation is the first step to knowledge, even of the commonest things. No man knows how ignorant he is, and no man can arrive at virtue and wisdom who has not once in his life, at least, been convicted of error. The process by which the soul is elevated is not unlike that which religious writers describe under the name of ‘conversion,’ if we substitute the sense of ignorance for the consciousness of sin.

In some respects the dialogue differs from any other Platonic composition. The aim is more directly ethical and hortatory; the process by which the antagonist is undermined is simpler than in other Platonic writings, and the conclusion more decided. There is a good deal of humour in the manner in which the pride of Alcibiades, and of the Greeks generally, is supposed to be taken down by the Spartan and Persian queens; and the dialogue has considerable dialectical merit. But we have a difficulty in supposing that the same writer, who has given so profound and complex a notion of the characters both of Alcibiades and Socrates in the Symposium, should have treated them in so thin and superficial a manner in the Alcibiades, or that he would have ascribed to the ironical Socrates the rather unmeaning boast that Alcibiades could not attain the objects of his ambition without his help (105 D foll.); or that he should have imagined that a mighty nature like his could have been reformed by a few not very conclusive words of Socrates. For the arguments by which Alcibiades is reformed are not convincing; the writer of the dialogue, whoever he was, arrives at his idealism by crooked and tortuous paths, in which many pitfalls are concealed. The anachronism of making Alcibiades about twenty years old during the life of his uncle, Pericles, may be noted; and the repetition of the favourite observation, which occurs also in the Laches and Protagoras, that great Athenian statesmen, like Pericles, failed in the education of their sons. There is none of the undoubted dialogues of Plato in which there is so little dramatic verisimilitude.

ALCIBIADES I.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.

Alcibiades, Socrates.

Socrates.

Alcibiades I.Socrates, Alcibiades.The pride of Alcibiades has been too much for his lovers.

103I dare say that you may be surprised to find, O son of Cleinias, that I, who am your first lover, not having spoken to you for many years, when the rest of the world were wearying you with their attentions, am the last of your lovers who still speaks to you. The cause of my silence has been that I was hindered by a power more than human, of which I will some day explain to you the nature; this impediment has now been removed; I therefore here present myself before you, and I greatly hope that no similar hindrance will again occur. Meanwhile, I have observed that your pride has been too much for the pride of your admirers; they were numerous and high-spirited, but they have all run away, overpowered by your superior force of 104character; not one of them remains. And I want you to understand the reason why you have been too much for them. You think that you have no need of them or of any other man, for you have great possessions and lack nothing, beginning with the body, and ending with the soul. In the first place, you say to yourself that you are the fairest and tallest of the citizens, and this every one who has eyes may see to be true; in the second place, that you are among the noblest of them, highly connected both on the father’s and the mother’s side, and sprung from one of the most distinguished families in your own state, which is the greatest in Hellas, and having many friends and kinsmen of the best sort, who can assist you when in need; and there is one potent relative, who is more to you than all the rest, Pericles the son of Xanthippus, whom your father left guardian of you, and of your brother, and who can do as he pleases not only in this city, but in all Hellas, and among many and mighty barbarous nations. Moreover, you are rich; but I must say that you value yourself least of all upon your possessions. And all these things have lifted you up; you have overcome your lovers, and they have acknowledged that you were too much for them. Have you not remarked their absence? And now I know that you wonder why I, unlike the rest of them, have not gone away, and what can be my motive in remaining.

Alcibiades.

Perhaps, Socrates, you are not aware that I was just going to ask you the very same question—What do you want? And what is your motive in annoying me, and always, wherever I am, making a point of coming1 ? I do really wonder what you mean, and should greatly like to know.

Soc.

Then if, as you say, you desire to know, I suppose that you will be willing to hear, and I may consider myself to be speaking to an auditor who will remain, and will not run away?

Al.

Certainly, let me hear.

Soc.

You had better be careful, for I may very likely be as unwilling to end as I have hitherto been to begin.

Al.

Proceed, my good man, and I will listen.

Soc.

Alcibiades a lover, not of pleasure, but of ambition; and he requires the help of Socrates for the accomplishment of his designs.And this is the reason why Socrates has clung to him; he is hoping when Alcibiades has become the ruler of Athens to rule over him.

I will proceed; and, although no lover likes to speak with one who has no feeling of love in him2 , I will make an effort, and tell you what I meant: My love, Alcibiades, which 105I hardly like to confess, would long ago have passed away, as I flatter myself, if I saw you loving your good things, or thinking that you ought to pass life in the enjoyment of them. But I shall reveal other thoughts of yours, which you keep to yourself; whereby you will know that I have always had my eye on you. Suppose that at this moment some God came to you and said: Alcibiades, will you live as you are, or die in an instant if you are forbidden to make any further acquisition?—I verily believe that you would choose death. And I will tell you the hope in which you are at present living: Before many days have elapsed, you think that you will come before the Athenian assembly, and will prove to them that you are more worthy of honour than Pericles, or any other man that ever lived, and having proved this, you will have the greatest power in the state. When you have gained the greatest power among us, you will go on to other Hellenic states, and not only to Hellenes, but to all the barbarians who inhabit the same continent with us. And if the God were then to say to you again: Here in Europe is to be your seat of empire, and you must not cross over into Asia or meddle with Asiatic affairs, I do not believe that you would choose to live upon these terms; but the world, as I may say, must be filled with your power and name—no man less than Cyrus and Xerxes is of any account with you. Such I know to be your hopes—I am not guessing only—and very likely you, who know that I am speaking the truth, will reply, Well, Socrates, but what have my hopes to do with the explanation which you promised of your unwillingness to leave me? And that is what I am now going to tell you, sweet son of Cleinias and Dinomachè. The explanation is, that all these designs of yours cannot be accomplished by you without my help; so great is the power which I believe myself to have over you and your concerns; and this I conceive to be the reason why the God has hitherto forbidden me to converse with you, and I have been long expecting his permission. For, as you hope to prove your own great value to the state, and having proved it, to attain at once to absolute power, so do I indulge a hope that I shall have the supreme power over you, if I am able to prove my own great value to you, and to show you that neither guardian, nor kinsman, nor any one is able to deliver into your hands the power which you desire, but I only, God being my helper. When you were young1 and your hopes were not yet matured, I should have wasted my time, and 106therefore, as I conceive, the God forbade me to converse with you; but now, having his permission, I will speak, for now you will listen to me.

Al.

Alcibiades does not deny the impeachment.

Your silence, Socrates, was always a surprise to me. I never could understand why you followed me about, and now that you have begun to speak again, I am still more amazed. Whether I think all this or not, is a matter about which you seem to have already made up your mind, and therefore my denial will have no effect upon you. But granting, if I must, that you have perfectly divined my purposes, why is your assistance necessary to the attainment of them? Can you tell me why?

Soc.

You want to know whether I can make a long speech, such as you are in the habit of hearing; but that is not my way. I think, however, that I can prove to you the truth of what I am saying, if you will grant me one little favour.

Al.

Yes, if the favour which you mean be not a troublesome one.

Soc.

Will you be troubled at having questions to answer?

Al.

Alcibiades is willing to answer questions.

Not at all.

Soc.

Then please to answer.

Al.

Ask me.

Soc.

Have you not the intention which I attribute to you?

Al.

I will grant anything you like, in the hope of hearing what more you have to say.

Soc.

You do, then, mean, as I was saying, to come forward in a little while in the character of an adviser of the Athenians? And suppose that when you are ascending the bema, I pull you by the sleeve and say, Alcibiades, you are getting up to advise the Athenians—do you know the matter about which they are going to deliberate, better than they?—How would you answer?

Al.

He is going to advise the Athenians about matters which he knows better than they.

I should reply, that I was going to advise them about a matter which I do know better than they.

Soc.

Then you are a good adviser about the things which you know?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And do you know anything but what you have learned of others, or found out yourself?

Al.

That is all.

Soc.

And would you have ever learned or discovered anything, if you had not been willing either to learn of others or to examine yourself?

Al.

I should not.

Soc.

And would you have been willing to learn or to examine what you supposed that you knew?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

Then there was a time when you thought that you did not know what you are now supposed to know?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

But when did he ever learn about these matters?

I think that I know tolerably well the extent of your acquirements; and you must tell me if I forget any of them: according to my recollection, you learned the arts of writing, of playing on the lyre, and of wrestling; the flute you never would learn; this is the sum of your accomplishments, unless there were some which you acquired in secret; and I think that secrecy was hardly possible, as you could not have come out of your door, either by day or night, without my seeing you.

Al.

Yes, that was the whole of my schooling.

Soc.

107And are you going to get up in the Athenian assembly, and give them advice about writing?

Al.

No, indeed.

Soc.

Or about the touch of the lyre?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

And they are not in the habit of deliberating about wrestling, in the assembly?

Al.

Hardly.

Soc.

Then what are the deliberations in which you propose to advise them? Surely not about building?

Al.

No.

Soc.

For the builder will advise better than you will about that?

Al.

He will.

Soc.

Nor about divination?

Al.

No.

Soc.

About that again the diviner will advise better than you will?

Al.

True.

Soc.

Whether he be little or great, good or ill-looking, noble or ignoble—makes no difference.

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

A man is a good adviser about anything, not because he has riches, but because he has knowledge?

Al.

Assuredly.

Soc.

Whether their counsellor is rich or poor, is not a matter which will make any difference to the Athenians when they are deliberating about the health of the citizens; they only require that he should be a physician.

Al.

Of course.

Soc.

Then what will be the subject of deliberation about which you will be justified in getting up and advising them?

Al.

About their own concerns, Socrates.

Soc.

You mean about shipbuilding, for example, when the question is what sort of ships they ought to build?

Al.

No, I should not advise them about that.

Soc.

I suppose, because you do not understand shipbuilding:—is that the reason?

Al.

It is.

Soc.

Then about that concerns of theirs will you advise them?

Al.

He will advise them about war and peace, and with whom they had better go to war, and when and how long.

About war, Socrates, or about peace, or about any other concerns of the state.

Soc.

You mean, when they deliberate with whom they ought to make peace, and with whom they ought to go to war, and in what manner?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And they ought to go to war with those against whom it is better to go to war?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And when it is better?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And for as long a time as is better?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

But suppose the Athenians to deliberate with whom they ought to close in wrestling, and whom they should grasp by the hand, would you, or the master of gymnastics, be a better adviser of them?

Al.

Clearly, the master of gymnastics.

Soc.

And can you tell me on what grounds the master of gymnastics would decide, with whom they ought or ought not to close, and when and how? To take an instance: Would he not say that they should wrestle with those against whom it is best to wrestle?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

108And as much as is best?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And at such times as are best?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Again; you sometimes accompany the lyre with the song and dance?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

When it is well to do so?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And as much as is well?

Al.

Just so.

Soc.

And as you speak of an excellence or art of the best in wrestling, and of an excellence in playing the lyre, I wish you would tell me what this latter is;—the excellence of wrestling I call gymnastic, and I want to know what you call the other.

Al.

I do not understand you.

Soc.

Then try to do as I do; for the answer which I gave is universally right, and when I say right, I mean according to rule.

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And was not the art of which I spoke gymnastic?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And I called the excellence in wrestling gymnastic?

Al.

You did.

Soc.

And I was right?

Al.

I think that you were.

Soc.

Alcibiades should learn to argue nicely.

Well, now,—for you should learn to argue prettily—let me ask you in return to tell me, first, what is that art of which playing and singing, and stepping properly in the dance, are parts,—what is the name of the whole? I think that by this time you must be able to tell.

Al.

Indeed I cannot.

Soc.

Then let me put the matter in another way: what do you call the Goddesses who are the patronesses of art?

Al.

The Muses do you mean, Socrates?

Soc.

Yes, I do; and what is the name of the art which is called after them?

Al.

I suppose that you mean music.

Soc.

What is the meaning of ‘the better,’ ‘the more excellent.’

Yes, that is my meaning; and what is the excellence of the art of music, as I told you truly that the excellence of wrestling was gymnastic—what is the excellence of music—to be what?

Al.

To be musical, I suppose.

Soc.

Very good; and now please to tell me what is the excellence of war and peace; as the more musical was the more excellent, or the more gymnastical was the more excellent, tell me, what name do you give to the more excellent in war and peace?

Al.

But I really cannot tell you.

Soc.

The term better, when applied to food, means more wholesome.

But if you were offering advice to another and said to him—This food is better than that, at this time and in this quantity, and he said to you—What do you mean, Alcibiades, by the word ‘better’? you would have no difficulty in replying that you meant ‘more wholesome,’ although you do not profess to be a physician: and when the subject is one of which you profess to have knowledge, and about which you are ready to get up and advise as if you knew, are you not ashamed, when you are asked, not to be able to answer the question? Is it not disgraceful? 109

Al.

Very.

Soc.

Well, then, consider and try to explain what is the meaning of ‘better,’ in the matter of making peace and going to war with those against whom you ought to go to war? To what does the word refer?

Al.

I am thinking, and I cannot tell.

Soc.

But you surely know what are the charges which we bring against one another, when we arrive at the point of making war, and what name we give them?

Al.

Yes, certainly; we say that deceit or violence has been employed, or that we have been defrauded.

Soc.

And how does this happen? Will you tell me how? For there may be a difference in the manner.

Al.

Do you mean by ‘how,’ Socrates, whether we suffered these things justly or unjustly?

Soc.

Exactly.

Al.

There can be no greater difference than between just and unjust.

Soc.

And would you advise the Athenians to go to war with the just or with the unjust?

Al.

That is an awkward question; for certainly, even if a person did intend to go to war with the just, he would not admit that they were just.

Soc.

He would not go to war, because it would be unlawful?

Al.

Neither lawful nor honourable.

Soc.

Then you, too, would address them on principles of justice?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

In going to war or not going to war, the better is the more just.

What, then, is justice but that better, of which I spoke, in going to war or not going to war with those against whom we ought or ought not, and when we ought or ought not to go to war?

Al.

Clearly.

Soc.

But how is this, friend Alcibiades? Have you forgotten that you do not know this, or have you been to the schoolmaster without my knowledge, and has he taught you to discern the just from the unjust? Who is he? I wish you would tell me, that I may go and learn of him—you shall introduce me.

Al.

You are mocking, Socrates.

Soc.

But where did Alcibiades acquire this notion of just and unjust?

No, indeed; I most solemnly declare to you by Zeus, who is the God of our common friendship, and whom I never will forswear, that I am not; tell me, then, who this instructor is, if he exists.

Al.

But, perhaps, he does not exist; may I not have acquired the knowledge of just and unjust in some other way?

Soc.

Yes; if you have discovered them.

Al.

But do you not think that I could discover them?

Soc.

I am sure that you might, if you enquired about them.

Al.

And do you not think that I would enquire?

Soc.

Yes; if you thought that you did not know them.

Al.

And was there not a time when I did so think?

Soc.

Very good; and can you tell me how long it is 110since you thought that you did not know the nature of the just and the unjust? What do you say to a year ago? Were you then in a state of conscious ignorance and enquiry? or did you think that you knew? And please to answer truly, that our discussion may not be in vain.

Al.

Well, I thought that I knew.

Soc.

And two years ago, and three years ago, and four years ago, you knew all the same?

Al.

I did.

Soc.

And more than four years ago you were a child—were you not?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And then I am quite sure that you thought you knew.

Al.

Why are you so sure?

Soc.

He always had them.

Because I often heard you when a child, in your teacher’s house, or elsewhere, playing at dice or some other game with the boys, not hesitating at all about the nature of the just and unjust; but very confident—crying and shouting that one of the boys was a rogue and a cheat, and had been cheating. Is it not true?

Al.

But what was I to do, Socrates, when anybody cheated me?

Soc.

And how can you say, ‘What was I to do’? if at the time you did not know whether you were wronged or not?

Al.

To be sure I knew; I was quite aware that I was being cheated.

Soc.

Then you suppose yourself even when a child to have known the nature of just and unjust?

Al.

Certainly; and I did know then.

Soc.

And when did you discover them—not, surely, at the time when you thought that you knew them?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

And when did you think that you were ignorant—if you consider, you will find that there never was such a time?

Al.

Really, Socrates, I cannot say.

Soc.

Then you did not learn them by discovering them?

Al.

Clearly not.

Soc.

But just before you said that you did not know them by learning; now, if you have neither discovered nor learned them, how and whence do you come to know them?

Al.

I suppose that I was mistaken in saying that I knew them through my own discovery of them; whereas, in truth, I learned them in the same way that other people learn.

Soc.

So you said before, and I must again ask, of whom? Do tell me.

Al.

Of the many.

Soc.

He learned them of the many.

Do you take refuge in them? I cannot say much for your teachers.

Al.

Why, are they not able to teach?

Soc.

They could not teach you how to play at draughts, which you would acknowledge (would you not) to be a much smaller matter than justice?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And can they teach the better who are unable to teach the worse?

Al.

I think that they can; at any rate, they can teach many far better things than to play at draughts.

Soc.

111What things?

Al.

as he learned Greek;—of those who knew it.

Why, for example, I learned to speak Greek of them, and I cannot say who was my teacher, or to whom I am to attribute my knowledge of Greek, if not to those good-for-nothing teachers, as you call them.

Soc.

Why, yes, my friend; and the many are good enough teachers of Greek, and some of their instructions in that line may be justly praised.

Al.

Why is that?

Soc.

Why, because they have the qualities which good teachers ought to have.

Al.

What qualities?

Soc.

Why, you know that knowledge is the first qualification of any teacher?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And if they know, they must agree together and not differ?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And would you say that they knew the things about which they differ?

Al.

No.

Soc.

Then how can they teach them?

Al.

They cannot.

Soc.

Yes: the many can teach things about which they are agreed.

Well, but do you imagine that the many would differ about the nature of wood and stone? are they not agreed if you ask them what they are? and do they not run to fetch the same thing, when they want a piece of wood or a stone? And so in similar cases, which I suspect to be pretty nearly all that you mean by speaking Greek.

Al.

True.

Soc.

These, as we were saying, are matters about which they are agreed with one another and with themselves; both individuals and states use the same words about them; they do not use some one word and some another.

Al.

They do not.

Soc.

Then they may be expected to be good teachers of these things?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And if we want to instruct any one in them, we shall be right in sending him to be taught by our friends the many?

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

But if we wanted further to know not only which are men and which are horses, but which men or horses have powers of running, would the many still be able to inform us?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

And you have a sufficient proof that they do not know these things and are not the best teachers of them, inasmuch as they are never agreed about them?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

But could the many teach things about which they are disagreed?

And suppose that we wanted to know not only what men are like, but what healthy or diseased men are like—would the many be able to teach us?

Al.

They would not.

Soc.

And you would have a proof that they were bad teachers of these matters, if you saw them at variance?

Al.

I should.

Soc.

And one of these things is justice.

Well, but are the many agreed with themselves, or with one another, about the justice or injustice of men and 112things?

Al.

Assuredly not, Socrates.

Soc.

There is no subject about which they are more at variance?

Al.

None.

Soc.

I do not suppose that you ever saw or heard of men quarrelling over the principles of health and disease to such an extent as to go to war and kill one another for the sake of them?

Al.

No, indeed.

Soc.

Did not a question of justice cause the war between the Trojans and Achaeans, and between the Athenians and Lacedaemonians?

But of the quarrels about justice and injustice, even if you have never seen them, you have certainly heard from many people, including Homer; for you have heard of the Iliad and Odyssey?

Al.

To be sure, Socrates.

Soc.

A difference of just and unjust is the argument of those poems?

Al.

True.

Soc.

Which difference caused all the wars and deaths of Trojans and Achaeans, and the deaths of the suitors of Penelope in their quarrel with Odysseus.

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

And when the Athenians and Lacedaemonians and Boeotians fell at Tanagra, and afterwards in the battle of Coronea, at which your father Cleinias met his end, the question was one of justice—this was the sole cause of the battles, and of their deaths.

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

And yet they did not know what they were fighting about?

But can they be said to understand that about which they are quarrelling to the death?

Al.

Clearly not.

Soc.

And yet those whom you thus allow to be ignorant are the teachers to whom you are appealing.

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

But how are you ever likely to know the nature of justice and injustice, about which you are so perplexed, if you have neither learned them of others nor discovered them yourself?

Al.

From what you say, I suppose not.

Soc.

See, again, how inaccurately you speak, Alcibiades!

Al.

In what respect?

Soc.

In saying that I say so.

Al.

Why, did you not say that I know nothing of the just and unjust?

Soc.

No; I did not.

Al.

Did I, then?

Soc.

Yes.

Al.

How was that?

Soc.

Let me explain. Suppose I were to ask you which is the greater number, two or one; you would reply ‘two’?

Al.

I should.

Soc.

And by how much greater?

Al.

By one.

Soc.

Which of us now says that two is more than one?

Al.

I do.

Soc.

Did not I ask, and you answer the question?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then who is speaking? I who put the question, or 113you who answer me?

Al.

I am.

Soc.

The answerer, not the questioner, has been drawing these inferences.

Or suppose that I ask and you tell me the letters which make up the name Socrates, which of us is the speaker?

Al.

I am.

Soc.

Now let us put the case generally: whenever there is a question and answer, who is the speaker,—the questioner or the answerer?

Al.

I should say, Socrates, that the answerer was the speaker.

Soc.

And have I not been the questioner all through?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And you the answerer?

Al.

Just so.

Soc.

Which of us, then, was the speaker?

Al.

The inference is, Socrates, that I was the speaker.

Soc.

Did not some one say that Alcibiades, the fair son of Cleinias, not understanding about just and unjust, but thinking that he did understand, was going to the assembly to advise the Athenians about what he did not know? Was not that said?

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

How can you teach what you do not know?

Then, Alcibiades, the result may be expressed in the language of Euripides. I think that you have heard all this ‘from yourself, and not from me’; nor did I say this, which you erroneously attribute to me, but you yourself, and what you said was very true. For indeed, my dear fellow, the design which you meditate of teaching what you do not know, and have not taken any pains to learn, is downright insanity.

Al.

But the expedient, not the just, is the subject about which men commonly debate.

But, Socrates, I think that the Athenians and the rest of the Hellenes do not often advise as to the more just or unjust; for they see no difficulty in them, and therefore they leave them, and consider which course of action will be most expedient; for there is a difference between justice and expediency. Many persons have done great wrong and profited by their injustice; others have done rightly and come to no good.

Soc.

Well, but granting that the just and the expedient are ever so much opposed, you surely do not imagine that you know what is expedient for mankind, or why a thing is expedient?

Al.

Alcibiades insists that he will not have the old argument over again.

Why not, Socrates?—But I am not going to be asked again from whom I learned, or when I made the discovery.

Soc.

What a way you have! When you make a mistake which might be refuted by a previous argument, you insist on having a new and different refutation; the old argument is a worn out garment which you will no longer put on, but some 114one must produce another which is clean and new. Now I shall disregard this move of yours, and shall ask over again,—Where did you learn and how do you know the nature of the expedient, and who is your teacher? All this I comprehend in a single question, and now you will manifestly be in the old difficulty, and will not be able to show that you know the expedient, either because you learned or because you discovered it yourself. But, as I perceive that you are dainty, and dislike the taste of a stale argument, I will enquire no further into your knowledge of what is expedient or what is not expedient for the Athenian people, and simply request you to say why you do not explain whether justice and expediency are the same or different? And if you like you may examine me as I have examined you, or, if you would rather, you may carry on the discussion by yourself.

Al.

But I am not certain, Socrates, whether I shall be able to discuss the matter with you.

Soc.

Then imagine, my dear fellow, that I am the demus and the ecclesia; for in the ecclesia, too, you will have to persuade men individually.

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And is not the same person able to persuade one individual singly and many individuals of the things which he knows? The grammarian, for example, can persuade one and he can persuade many about letters.

Al.

True.

Soc.

And about number, will not the same person persuade one and persuade many?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And this will be he who knows number, or the arithmetician?

Al.

Quite true.

Soc.

He who can persuade many can persuade one. Alcibiades should therefore be able to persuade Socrates.

And cannot you persuade one man about that of which you can persuade many?

Al.

I suppose so.

Soc.

And that of which you can persuade either is clearly what you know?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And the only difference between one who argues as we are doing, and the orator who is addressing an assembly, is that the one seeks to persuade a number, and the other an individual, of the same things.

Al.

I suppose so.

Soc.

Well, then, since the same person who can persuade a multitude can persuade individuals, try conclusions upon me, and prove to me that the just is not always expedient.

Al.

You take liberties, Socrates.

Soc.

I shall take the liberty of proving to you the opposite of that which you will not prove to me.

Al.

Proceed.

Soc.

Answer my questions—that is all.

Al.

Nay, I should like you to be the speaker.

Soc.

What, do you not wish to be persuaded?

Al.

Certainly I do.

Soc.

And can you be persuaded better than out of your own mouth?

Al.

I think not.

Soc.

Then you shall answer; and if you do not hear the words, that the just is the expedient, coming from your own lips, never believe another man again.

Al.

I won’t; but answer I will, for I do not see how I can come to any harm.

Soc.

A man may do what is expedient and not just, but he cannot do what is honourable and not just and good.

115A true prophecy! Let me begin then by enquiring of you whether you allow that the just is sometimes expedient and sometimes not?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And sometimes honourable and sometimes not?

Al.

What do you mean?

Soc.

I am asking if you ever knew any one who did what was dishonourable and yet just?

Al.

Never.

Soc.

All just things are honourable?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And are honourable things sometimes good and sometimes not good, or are they always good?

Al.

I rather think, Socrates, that some honourable things are evil.

Soc.

And are some dishonourable things good?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

You mean in such a case as the following:—In time of war, men have been wounded or have died in rescuing a companion or kinsman, when others who have neglected the duty of rescuing them have escaped in safety?

Al.

True.

Soc.

And to rescue another under such circumstances is honourable, in respect of the attempt to save those whom we ought to save; and this is courage?

Al.

True.

Soc.

But evil in respect of death and wounds?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And the courage which is shown in the rescue is one thing, and the death another?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

Then the rescue of one’s friends is honourable in one point of view, but evil in another?

Al.

True.

Soc.

And if honourable, then also good: Will you consider now whether I may not be right, for you were acknowledging that the courage which is shown in the rescue is honourable? Now is this courage good or evil? Look at the matter thus: which would you rather choose, good or evil?

Al.

Good.

Soc.

And the greatest goods you would be most ready to choose, and would least like to be deprived of them?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

What would you say of courage? At what price would you be willing to be deprived of courage?

Al.

I would rather die than be a coward.

Soc.

Then you think that cowardice is the worst of evils?

Al.

I do.

Soc.

As bad as death, I suppose?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

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

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And they are what you would most desire to have, and their opposites you would least desire?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Is this because you think life and courage the best, and death and cowardice the worst?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And you would term the rescue of a friend in battle honourable, in as much as courage does a good work?

Al.

I should.

Soc.

But good may contain an element of evil. Good and evil are to be judged of by their consequences.

But evil because of the death which ensues?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Might we not describe their different effects as follows:—You may call either of them evil in respect of the evil which is the result, and good in respect of the good which is the result of either of them? 116

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And they are honourable in so far as they are good, and dishonourable in so far as they are evil?

Al.

True.

Soc.

Then when you say that the rescue of a friend in battle is honourable and yet evil, that is equivalent to saying that the rescue is good and yet evil?

Al.

I believe that you are right, Socrates.

Soc.

Nothing honourable, regarded as honourable, is evil; nor anything base, regarded as base, good.

Al.

Clearly not.

Soc.

The honourable is identified with the good, and the good is the expedient,

Look at the matter yet once more in a further light: he who acts honourably acts well?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And he who acts well is happy?

Al.

Of course.

Soc.

And the happy are those who obtain good?

Al.

True.

Soc.

And they obtain good by acting well and honourably?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then acting well is a good?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And happiness is a good?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then the good and the honourable are again identified.

Al.

Manifestly.

Soc.

Then, if the argument holds, what we find to be honourable we shall also find to be good?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And is the good expedient or not?

Al.

Expedient.

Soc.

Do you remember our admissions about the just?

Al.

Yes; if I am not mistaken, we said that those who acted justly must also act honourably.

Soc.

And the honourable is the good?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And the good is expedient?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

and therefore the just which is the honourable is also the expedient. All this has been proved by Alcibiades himself.

Then, Alcibiades, the just is expedient?

Al.

I should infer so.

Soc.

And all this I prove out of your own mouth, for I ask and you answer?

Al.

I must acknowledge it to be true.

Soc.

And having acknowledged that the just is the same as the expedient, are you not (let me ask) prepared to ridicule any one who, pretending to understand the principles of justice and injustice, gets up to advise the noble Athenians or the ignoble Peparethians, that the just may be the evil?

Al.

Yet he still finds himself in a perplexity,

I solemnly declare, Socrates, that I do not know what I am saying. Verily, I am in a strange state, for when you put questions to me I am of different minds in successive instants.

Soc.

And are you not aware of the nature of this perplexity, my friend?

Al.

Indeed I am not.

Soc.

Do you suppose that if some one were to ask you whether you have two eyes or three, or two hands or four, or anything of that sort, you would then be of different minds in successive instants?

Al.

I begin to distrust myself, but still I do not suppose 117that I should.

Soc.

You would feel no doubt; and for this reason—because you would know?

Al.

I suppose so.

Soc.

And the reason why you involuntarily contradict yourself is clearly that you are ignorant?

Al.

Very likely.

Soc.

and this is because he thinks that he knows, but if he knew that he were ignorant he would be in no perplexity.

And if you are perplexed in answering about just and unjust, honourable and dishonourable, good and evil, expedient and inexpedient, the reason is that you are ignorant of them, and therefore in perplexity. Is not that clear?

Al.

I agree.

Soc.

But is this always the case, and is a man necessarily perplexed about that of which he has no knowledge?

Al.

Certainly he is.

Soc.

And do you know how to ascend into heaven?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

And in this case, too, is your judgment perplexed?

Al.

No.

Soc.

Do you see the reason why, or shall I tell you?

Al.

Tell me.

Soc.

The reason is, that you not only do not know, my friend, but you do not think that you know.

Al.

There again; what do you mean?

Soc.

Ask yourself; are you in any perplexity about things of which you are ignorant? You know, for example, that you know nothing about the preparation of food.

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

And do you think and perplex yourself about the preparation of food: or do you leave that to some one who understands the art?

Al.

The latter.

Soc.

Or if you were on a voyage, would you bewilder yourself by considering whether the rudder is to be drawn inwards or outwards, or do you leave that to the pilot, and do nothing?

Al.

It would be the concern of the pilot.

Soc.

Then you are not perplexed about what you do not know, if you know that you do not know it?

Al.

I imagine not.

Soc.

The people who make mistakes are neither those who know, nor those who do not know, but those who think that they know and do not know.

Do you not see, then, that mistakes in life and practice are likewise to be attributed to the ignorance which has conceit of knowledge?

Al.

Once more, what do you mean?

Soc.

I suppose that we begin to act when we think that we know what we are doing?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

But when people think that they do not know, they entrust their business to others?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And so there is a class of ignorant persons who do not make mistakes in life, because they trust others about things of which they are ignorant?

Al.

True.

Soc.

Who, then, are the persons who make mistakes? They cannot, of course, be those who know?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

But if neither those who know, nor those who know 118that they do not know, make mistakes, there remain those only who do not know and think that they know.

Al.

Yes, only those.

Soc.

Then this is ignorance of the disgraceful sort which is mischievous?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And most mischievous and most disgraceful when having to do with the greatest matters?

Al.

By far.

Soc.

And can there be any matters greater than the just, the honourable, the good, and the expedient?

Al.

There cannot be.

Soc.

And these, as you were saying, are what perplex you?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

But if you are perplexed, then, as the previous argument has shown, you are not only ignorant of the greatest matters, but being ignorant you fancy that you know them?

Al.

I fear that you are right.

Soc.

And you, like other statesmen, rush into politics without being trained. Pericles, alone of them all, associated with the philosophers.

And now see what has happened to you, Alcibiades! I hardly like to speak of your evil case, but as we are alone I will: My good friend, you are wedded to ignorance of the most disgraceful kind, and of this you are convicted, not by me, but out of your own mouth and by your own argument; wherefore also you rush into politics before you are educated. Neither is your case to be deemed singular. For I might say the same of almost all our statesmen, with the exception, perhaps, of your guardian, Pericles.

Al.

Yes, Socrates; and Pericles is said not to have got his wisdom by the light of nature, but to have associated with several of the philosophers; with Pythocleides, for example, and with Anaxagoras, and now in advanced life with Damon, in the hope of gaining wisdom.

Soc.

Very good; but did you ever know a man wise in anything who was unable to impart his particular wisdom? For example, he who taught you letters was not only wise, but he made you and any others whom he liked wise.

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And you, whom he taught, can do the same?

Al.

True.

Soc.

And in like manner the harper and gymnastic-master?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

When a person is enabled to impart knowledge to another, he thereby gives an excellent proof of his own understanding of any matter.

Al.

I agree.

Soc.

Well, and did Pericles make any one wise; did he begin by making his sons wise?

Al.

But, Socrates, if the two sons of Pericles were simpletons, what has that to do with the matter?

Soc.

And even he could not teach his own sons, or your brother Cleinias, nor did any one ever grow wiser in his society.

Well, but did he make your brother, Cleinias, wise?

Al.

Cleinias is a madman; there is no use in talking of him.

Soc.

But if Cleinias is a madman and the two sons of Pericles were simpletons, what reason can be given why he neglects you, and lets you be as you are?

Al.

I believe that I am to blame for not listening to him.

Soc.

But did you ever hear of any other Athenian or foreigner, bond or free, who was deemed to have grown 119wiser in the society of Pericles,—as I might cite Pythodorus, the son of Isolochus, and Callias, the son of Calliades, who have grown wiser in the society of Zeno, for which privilege they have each of them paid him the sum of a hundred minae1 to the increase of their wisdom and fame.

Al.

I certainly never did hear of any one.

Soc.

Well, and in reference to your own case, do you mean to remain as you are, or will you take some pains about yourself?

Al.

But if other statesmen are uneducated, what need has Alcibiades of education?

With your aid, Socrates, I will. And indeed, when I hear you speak, the truth of what you are saying strikes home to me, and I agree with you, for our statesmen, all but a few, do appear to be quite uneducated.

Soc.

What is the inference?

Al.

Why, that if they were educated they would be trained athletes, and he who means to rival them ought to have knowledge and experience when he attacks them; but now, as they have become politicians without any special training, why should I have the trouble of learning and practising? For I know well that by the light of nature I shall get the better of them.

Soc.

The lover is pained at hearing from the lips of Alcibiades so unworthy a sentiment. He should have a higher ambition than this.

My dear friend, what a sentiment! And how unworthy of your noble form and your high estate!

Al.

What do you mean, Socrates; why do you say so?

Soc.

I am grieved when I think of our mutual love.

Al.

At what?

Soc.

At your fancying that the contest on which you are entering is with people here.

Al.

Why, what others are there?

Soc.

Is that a question which a magnanimous soul should ask?

Al.

Do you mean to say that the contest is not with these?

Soc.

And suppose that you were going to steer a ship into action, would you only aim at being the best pilot on board? Would you not, while acknowledging that you must possess this degree of excellence, rather look to your antagonists, and not, as you are now doing, to your fellow combatants? You ought to be so far above these latter, that they will not even dare to be your rivals; and, being regarded by you as inferiors, will do battle for you against the enemy; this is the kind of superiority which you must establish over them, if you mean to accomplish any noble action really worthy of yourself and of the state.

Al.

That would certainly be my aim.

Soc.

Verily, then, you have good reason to be satisfied, if you are better than the soldiers; and you need not, when you are their superior and have your thoughts and actions fixed upon them, look away to the generals of the enemy.

Al.

Of whom are you speaking, Socrates?

Soc.

His rivals should be the Spartan and Persian kings, not any chance persons.

Why, you surely know that our city goes to war 120now and then with the Lacedaemonians and with the great king?

Al.

True enough.

Soc.

And if you meant to be the ruler of this city, would you not be right in considering that the Lacedaemonian and Persian king were your true rivals?

Al.

I believe that you are right.

Soc.

Oh no, my friend, I am quite wrong, and I think that you ought rather to turn your attention to Midias the quail-breeder and others like him, who manage our politics; in whom, as the women would remark, you may still see the slaves’ cut of hair, cropping out in their minds as well as on their pates; and they come with their barbarous lingo to flatter us and not to rule us. To these, I say, you should look, and then you need not trouble yourself about your own fitness to contend in such a noble arena: there is no reason why you should either learn what has to be learned, or practise what has to be practised, and only when thoroughly prepared enter on a political career.

Al.

There, I think, Socrates, that you are right; I do not suppose, however, that the Spartan generals or the great king are really different from anybody else.

Soc.

But, my dear friend, do consider what you are saying.

Al.

What am I to consider?

Soc.

In the first place, will you be more likely to take care of yourself, if you are in a wholesome fear and dread of them, or if you are not?

Al.

Clearly, if I have such a fear of them.

Soc.

And do you think that you will sustain any injury if you take care of yourself?

Al.

No, I shall be greatly benefited.

Soc.

And this is one very important respect in which that notion of yours is bad.

Al.

True.

Soc.

In the next place, consider that what you say is probably false.

Al.

How so?

Soc.

Let me ask you whether better natures are likely to be found in noble races or not in noble races?

Al.

Clearly in noble races.

Soc.

Are not those who are well born and well bred most likely to be perfect in virtue?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

We too have our pride of birth, but how inferior are we to those who are descended from Zeus through a line of kings!

Then let us compare our antecedents with those of the Lacedaemonian and Persian kings; are they inferior to us in descent? Have we not heard that the former are sprung from Heracles, and the latter from Achaemenes, and that the race of Heracles and the race of Achaemenes go back to Perseus, son of Zeus?

Al.

121Why, so does mine go back to Eurysaces, and he to Zeus!

Soc.

The wealth and dignity of the Spartan kings is great, but it is as nothing compared with that of the Persians.The birth of the Persian princes is a world-famous event, and the utmost pains is taken with their education, which is entrusted to great and noble persons.When Alcibiades was born nobody knew or cared, and his education was handed over to a worn-out slave of his guardian’s.The country called the ‘queen’s girdle,’ the ‘queen’s veil,’ and the like.The queen of Persia or of Sparta, if they heard that a youth of twenty, without resources and without education, was going to attack their son or husband, would deem him mad.

And mine, noble Alcibiades, to Daedalus, and he to Hephaestus, son of Zeus. But, for all that, we are far inferior to them. For they are descended ‘from Zeus,’ through a line of kings—either kings of Argos and Lacedaemon, or kings of Persia, a country which the descendants of Achaemenes have always possessed, besides being at various times sovereigns of Asia, as they now are; whereas, we and our fathers were but private persons. How ridiculous would you be thought if you were to make a display of your ancestors and of Salamis the island of Eurysaces, or of Aegina, the habitation of the still more ancient Aeacus, before Artaxerxes, son of Xerxes. You should consider how inferior we are to them both in the derivation of our birth and in other particulars. Did you never observe how great is the property of the Spartan kings? And their wives are under the guardianship of the Ephori, who are public officers and watch over them, in order to preserve as far as possible the purity of the Heracleid blood. Still greater is the difference among the Persians; for no one entertains a suspicion that the father of a prince of Persia can be any one but the king. Such is the awe which invests the person of the queen, that any other guard is needless. And when the heir of the kingdom is born, all the subjects of the king feast; and the day of his birth is for ever afterwards kept as a holiday and time of sacrifice by all Asia; whereas, when you and I were born, Alcibiades, as the comic poet says, the neighbours hardly knew of the important event. After the birth of the royal child, he is tended, not by a good-for-nothing woman-nurse, but by the best of the royal eunuchs, who are charged with the care of him, and especially with the fashioning and right formation of his limbs, in order that he may be as shapely as possible; which being their calling, they are held in great honour. And when the young prince is seven years old he is put upon a horse and taken to the riding-masters, and begins to go out hunting. And at fourteen years of age he is handed over to the royal schoolmasters, as they are termed: these are four chosen men, reputed to be the best among the Persians of a certain age; and one of them is the wisest, another the justest, a third the most temperate, and a fourth the most valiant. The first instructs him in the magianism of Zoroaster, the son of Oromasus, which is the worship of 122the Gods, and teaches him also the duties of his royal office; the second, who is the justest, teaches him always to speak the truth; the third, or most temperate, forbids him to allow any pleasure to be lord over him, that he may be accustomed to be a freeman and king indeed,—lord of himself first, and not a slave; the most valiant trains him to be bold and fearless, telling him that if he fears he is to deem himself a slave; whereas Pericles gave you, Alcibiades, for a tutor Zopyrus the Thracian, a slave of his who was past all other work. I might enlarge on the nurture and education of your rivals, but that would be tedious; and what I have said is a sufficient sample of what remains to be said. I have only to remark, by way of contrast, that no one cares about your birth or nurture or education, or, I may say, about that of any other Athenian, unless he has a lover who looks after him. And if you cast an eye on the wealth, the luxury, the garments with their flowing trains, the anointings with myrrh, the multitudes of attendants, and all the other bravery of the Persians, you will be ashamed when you discern your own inferiority; or if you look at the temperance and orderliness and ease and grace and magnanimity and courage and endurance and love of toil and desire of glory and ambition of the Lacedaemonians—in all these respects you will see that you are but a child in comparison of them. Even in the matter of wealth, if you value yourself upon that, I must reveal to you how you stand; for if you form an estimate of the wealth of the Lacedaemonians, you will see that our possessions fall far short of theirs. For no one here can compete with them either in the extent and fertility of their own and the Messenian territory, or in the number of their slaves, and especially of the Helots, or of their horses, or of the animals which feed on the Messenian pastures. But I have said enough of this: and as to gold and silver, there is more of them in Lacedaemon than in all the rest of Hellas, for during many generations gold has been always flowing in to them from the whole Hellenic world, and often from the barbarian also, and never going 123out, as in the fable of Aesop the fox said to the lion, ‘The prints of the feet of those going in are distinct enough;’ but who ever saw the trace of money going out of Lacedaemon? and therefore you may safely infer that the inhabitants are the richest of the Hellenes in gold and silver, and that their kings are the richest of them, for they have a larger share of these things, and they have also a tribute paid to them which is very considerable. Yet the Spartan wealth, though great in comparison of the wealth of the other Hellenes, is as nothing in comparison of that of the Persians and their kings. Why, I have been informed by a credible person who went up to the king [at Susa], that he passed through a large tract of excellent land, extending for nearly a day’s journey, which the people of the country called the queen’s girdle, and another, which they called her veil; and several other fair and fertile districts, which were reserved for the adornment of the queen, and are named after her several habiliments. Now, I cannot help thinking to myself, What if some one were to go to Amestris, the wife of Xerxes and mother of Artaxerxes, and say to her, There is a certain Dinomachè, whose whole wardrobe is not worth fifty minae—and that will be more than the value—and she has a son who is possessed of a three-hundred acre patch at Erchiae, and he has a mind to go to war with your son—would she not wonder to what this Alcibiades trusts for success in the conflict? ‘He must rely,’ she would say to herself, ‘upon his training and wisdom—these are the things which Hellenes value.’ And if she heard that this Alcibiades who is making the attempt is not as yet twenty years old, and is wholly uneducated, and when his lover tells him that he ought to get education and training first, and then go and fight the king, he refuses, and says that he is well enough as he is, would she not be amazed, and ask, ‘On what, then, does the youth rely?’ And if we replied: He relies on his beauty, and stature, and birth, and mental endowments, she would think that we were mad, Alcibiades, when she compared the advantages which you possess with those of her own people. And I believe that even Lampido, the daughter 124of Leotychides, the wife of Archidamus and mother of Agis, all of whom were kings, would have the same feeling; if, in your present uneducated state, you were to turn your thoughts against her son, she too would be equally astonished. But how disgraceful, that we should not have as high a notion of what is required in us as our enemies’ wives and mothers have of the qualities which are required in their assailants! O my friend, be persuaded by me, and hear the Delphian inscription, ‘Know thyself’—not the men whom you think, but these kings are our rivals, and we can only overcome them by pains and skill. And if you fail in the required qualities, you will fail also in becoming renowned among Hellenes and Barbarians, which you seem to desire more than any other man ever desired anything.

Al.

I entirely believe you; but what are the sort of pains which are required, Socrates,—can you tell me?

Soc.

I too need education; and God, who is my guardian, inspires me with the belief that I shall bring you to honour.

Yes, I can; but we must take counsel together concerning the manner in which both of us may be most improved. For what I am telling you of the necessity of education applies to myself as well as to you; and there is only one point in which I have an advantage over you.

Al.

What is that?

Soc.

I have a guardian who is better and wiser than your guardian, Pericles.

Al.

Who is he, Socrates?

Soc.

God, Alcibiades, who up to this day has not allowed me to converse with you; and he inspires in me the faith that I am especially designed to bring you to honour.

Al.

You are jesting, Socrates.

Soc.

Perhaps; at any rate, I am right in saying that all men greatly need pains and care, and you and I above all men.

Al.

You are not far wrong about me.

Soc.

And certainly not about myself.

Al.

But what can we do?

Soc.

There must be no hesitation or cowardice, my friend.

Al.

That would not become us, Socrates.

Soc.

We must take counsel together, (not about equestrian or naval affairs), but about the things which occupy the minds of wise men.

No, indeed, and we ought to take counsel together: for do we not wish to be as good as possible?

Al.

We do.

Soc.

In what sort of virtue?

Al.

Plainly, in the virtue of good men.

Soc.

Who are good in what?

Al.

Those, clearly, who are good in the management of affairs.

Soc.

What sort of affairs? Equestrian affairs?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

You mean that about them we should have recourse to horsemen?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Well; naval affairs?

Al.

No.

Soc.

You mean that we should have recourse to sailors about them?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then what affairs? And who do them?

Al.

The affairs which occupy Athenian gentlemen. 125

Soc.

And when you speak of gentlemen, do you mean the wise or the unwise?

Al.

The wise.

Soc.

And a man is good in respect of that in which he is wise?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And evil in respect of that in which he is unwise?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

The shoemaker, for example, is wise in respect of the making of shoes?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then he is good in that?

Al.

He is.

Soc.

But in respect of the making of garments he is unwise?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then in that he is bad?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then upon this view of the matter the same man is good and also bad?

Al.

True.

Soc.

But would you say that the good are the same as the bad?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

Then whom do you call the good?

Al.

And the wise are those who take counsel for the better order and improvement of the city.

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

Soc.

Not, surely, over horses?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

But over men?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

When they are sick?

Al.

No.

Soc.

Or on a voyage?

Al.

No.

Soc.

Or reaping the harvest?

Al.

No.

Soc.

When they are doing something or nothing?

Al.

When they are doing something, I should say.

Soc.

I wish that you would explain to me what this something is.

Al.

When they are having dealings with one another, and using one another’s services, as we citizens do in our daily life.

Soc.

Illustrations.

Those of whom you speak are ruling over men who are using the services of other men?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Are they ruling over the signal-men who give the time to the rowers?

Al.

No; they are not.

Soc.

That would be the office of the pilot?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

But, perhaps you mean that they rule over flute-players, who lead the singers and use the services of the dancers?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

That would be the business of the teacher of the chorus?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then what is the meaning of being able to rule over men who use other men?

Al.

I mean that they rule over men who have common rights of citizenship, and dealings with one another.

Soc.

And what sort of an art is this? Suppose that I ask you again, as I did just now, What art makes men know how to rule over their fellow-sailors,—how would you answer?

Al.

The art of the pilot.

Soc.

And, if I may recur to another old instance, what art enables them to rule over their fellow-singers?

Al.

The art of the teacher of the chorus, which you were just now mentioning.

Soc.

And what do you call the art of fellow-citizens?

Al.

I should say, good counsel, Socrates.

Soc.

And is the art of the pilot evil counsel?

Al.

No.

Soc.

But good counsel?

Al.

Yes, that is what I should say,—good counsel, of which 126the aim is the preservation of the voyagers.

Soc.

True. And what is the aim of that other good counsel of which you speak?

Al.

The aim is the better order and preservation of the city.

Soc.

And what is that of which the absence or presence improves and preserves the order of the city? Suppose you were to ask me, what is that of which the presence or absence improves or preserves the order of the body? I should reply, the presence of health and the absence of disease. You would say the same?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And if you were to ask me the same question about the eyes, I should reply in the same way, ‘the presence of sight and the absence of blindness;’ or about the ears, I should reply, that they were improved and were in better case, when deafness was absent, and hearing was present in them.

Al.

True.

Soc.

And this improvement is given by friendship and agreement,

And what would you say of a state? What is that by the presence or absence of which the state is improved and better managed and ordered?

Al.

I should say, Socrates:—the presence of friendship and the absence of hatred and division.

Soc.

And do you mean by friendship agreement or disagreement?

Al.

Agreement.

Soc.

What art makes cities agree about numbers?

Al.

Arithmetic.

Soc.

And private individuals?

Al.

The same.

Soc.

And what art makes each individual agree with himself?

Al.

The same.

Soc.

And what art makes each of us agree with himself about the comparative length of the span and of the cubit? Does not the art of measure?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Individuals are agreed with one another about this; and states, equally?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And the same holds of the balance?

Al.

True.

Soc.

But what is the other agreement of which you speak, and about what? what art can give that agreement? And does that which gives it to the state give it also to the individual, so as to make him consistent with himself and with another?

Al.

I should suppose so.

Soc.

But what is the nature of the agreement?—answer, and faint not.

Al.

such as exists between the members of a family, however they may differ in their qualities and accomplishments.

I mean to say that there should be such friendship and agreement as exists between an affectionate father and mother and their son, or between brothers, or between husband and wife.

Soc.

But can a man, Alcibiades, agree with a woman about the spinning of wool, which she understands and he does not?

Al.

No, truly.

Soc.

Nor has he any need, for spinning is a female accomplishment.

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

127And would a woman agree with a man about the science of arms, which she has never learned?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

I suppose that the use of arms would be regarded by you as a male accomplishment?

Al.

It would.

Soc.

Then, upon your view, women and men have two sorts of knowledge?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

Then in their knowledge there is no agreement of women and men?

Al.

There is not.

Soc.

Nor can there be friendship, if friendship is agreement?

Al.

Plainly not.

Soc.

Then women are not loved by men when they do their own work?

Al.

I suppose not.

Soc.

Nor men by women when they do their own work?

Al.

No.

Soc.

If everybody is doing his own business, how can this promote friendship? And yet when individuals are doing each his own work, they are doing what is just.

Nor are states well administered, when individuals do their own work?

Al.

I should rather think, Socrates, that the reverse is the truth1 .

Soc.

What! do you mean to say that states are well administered when friendship is absent, the presence of which, as we were saying, alone secures their good order?

Al.

But I should say that there is friendship among them, for this very reason, that the two parties respectively do their own work.

Soc.

That was not what you were saying before; and what do you mean now by affirming that friendship exists when there is no agreement? How can there be agreement about matters which the one party knows, and of which the other is in ignorance?

Al.

Impossible.

Soc.

And when individuals are doing their own work, are they doing what is just or unjust?

Al.

What is just, certainly.

Soc.

And when individuals do what is just in the state, is there no friendship among them?

Al.

I suppose that there must be, Socrates.

Soc.

Then what do you mean by this friendship or agreement about which we must be wise and discreet in order that we may be good men? I cannot make out where it exists or among whom; according to you, the same persons may sometimes have it, and sometimes not.

Al.

But, indeed, Socrates, I do not know what I am saying; and I have long been, unconsciously to myself, in a most disgraceful state.

Soc.

Nevertheless, cheer up; at fifty, if you had discovered your deficiency, you would have been too old, and the time for taking care of yourself would have passed away, but yours is just the age at which the discovery should be made.

Al.

And what should he do, Socrates, who would make the discovery?

Soc.

The way to clear up difficulties is to answer questions. Alcibiades is willing to have recourse to this method of improvement.

Answer questions, Alcibiades; and that is a process which, by the grace of God, if I may put any faith in my oracle, will be very improving to both of us.

Al.

If I can be improved by answering, I will answer.

Soc.

128And first of all, that we may not peradventure be deceived by appearances, fancying, perhaps, that we are taking care of ourselves when we are not, what is the meaning of a man taking care of himself? and when does he take care? Does he take care of himself when he takes care of what belongs to him?

Al.

I should think so.

Soc.

When does a man take care of his feet? Does he not take care of them when he takes care of that which belongs to his feet?

Al.

I do not understand.

Soc.

Let me take the hand as an illustration; does not a ring belong to the finger, and to the finger only?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And the shoe in like manner to the foot?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And when we take care of our shoes, do we not take care of our feet?

Al.

I do not comprehend, Socrates.

Soc.

But you would admit, Alcibiades, that to take proper care of a thing is a correct expression?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And taking proper care means improving?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And what is the art which improves our shoes?

Al.

Shoemaking.

Soc.

Then by shoemaking we take care of our shoes?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And do we by shoemaking take care of our feet, or by some other art which improves the feet?

Al.

By some other art.

Soc.

And the same art improves the feet which improves the rest of the body?

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

Which is gymnastic?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

Then by gymnastic we take care of our feet, and by shoemaking of that which belongs to our feet?

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

And by gymnastic we take care of our hands, and by the art of graving rings of that which belongs to our hands?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And by gymnastic we take care of the body, and by the art of weaving and the other arts we take care of the things of the body?

Al.

Clearly.

Soc.

It has been shown by examples that a man does not take care of himself, when he only takes care of what belongs to him.

Then the art which takes care of each thing is different from that which takes care of the belongings of each thing?

Al.

True.

Soc.

Then in taking care of what belongs to you, you do not take care of yourself?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

For the art which takes care of our belongings appears not to be the same as that which takes care of ourselves?

Al.

Clearly not.

Soc.

And now let me ask you what is the art with which we take care of ourselves?

Al.

I cannot say.

Soc.

At any rate, thus much has been admitted, that the art is not one which makes any of our possessions, but which makes ourselves better?

Al.

True.

Soc.

But should we ever have known what art makes a shoe better, if we did not know a shoe?

Al.

Impossible.

Soc.

Nor should we know what art makes a ring better, if we did not know a ring?

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

A man must know himself before he can improve himself or know what belongs to him.

And can we ever know what art makes a man better, 129if we do not know what we are ourselves?

Al.

Impossible.

Soc.

And is self-knowledge such an easy thing, and was he to be lightly esteemed who inscribed the text on the temple at Delphi? Or is self-knowledge a difficult thing, which few are able to attain?

Al.

At times I fancy, Socrates, that anybody can know himself; at other times the task appears to be very difficult.

Soc.

But whether easy or difficult, Alcibiades, still there is no other way; knowing what we are, we shall know how to take care of ourselves, and if we are ignorant we shall not know.

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

Well, then, let us see in what way the self-existent can be discovered by us; that will give us a chance of discovering our own existence, which otherwise we can never know.

Al.

You say truly.

Soc.

Come, now, I beseech you, tell me with whom you are conversing?—with whom but with me?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

As I am, with you?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

That is to say, I, Socrates, am talking?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And Alcibiades is my hearer?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And I in talking use words?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And talking and using words have, I suppose, the same meaning?

Al.

To be sure.

Soc.

And the user is not the same as the thing which he uses?

Al.

What do you mean?

Soc.

I will explain; the shoemaker, for example, uses a square tool, and a circular tool, and other tools for cutting?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

But the tool is not the same as the cutter and user of the tool?

Al.

Of course not.

Soc.

And in the same way the instrument of the harper is to be distinguished from the harper himself?

Al.

It is.

Soc.

Now the question which I asked was whether you conceive the user to be always different from that which he uses?

Al.

I do.

Soc.

Then what shall we say of the shoemaker? Does he cut with his tools only or with his hands?

Al.

With his hands as well.

Soc.

He uses his hands too?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And does he use his eyes in cutting leather?

Al.

He does.

Soc.

He is distinct from what he uses; and therefore distinct from his own body.

And we admit that the user is not the same with the things which he uses?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then the shoemaker and the harper are to be distinguished from the hands and feet which they use?

Al.

Clearly.

Soc.

And does not a man use the whole body?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

And that which uses is different from that which is used?

Al.

True.

Soc.

Then a man is not the same as his own body?

Al.

That is the inference.

Soc.

What is he, then?

Al.

I cannot say.

Soc.

Nay, you can say that he is the user of the body.

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And the user of the body is the soul? 130

Al.

Yes, the soul.

Soc.

And the soul rules?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Let me make an assertion which will, I think, be universally admitted.

Al.

But he must be one of three things:—

What is it?

Soc.

That man is one of three things.

Al.

What are they?

Soc.

Soul, body, or both together forming a whole.

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

But did we not say that the actual ruling principle of the body is man?

Al.

Soul, body, or the union of the two. What is the ruling principle in him? Clearly the soul.

Yes, we did.

Soc.

And does the body rule over itself?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

It is subject, as we were saying?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

Then that is not the principle which we are seeking?

Al.

It would seem not.

Soc.

But may we say that the union of the two rules over the body, and consequently that this is man?

Al.

Very likely.

Soc.

The most unlikely of all things; for if one of the members is subject, the two united cannot possibly rule.

Al.

True.

Soc.

But since neither the body, nor the union of the two, is man, either man has no real existence, or the soul is man?

Al.

Just so.

Soc.

Is anything more required to prove that the soul is man?

Al.

Certainly not; the proof is, I think, quite sufficient.

Soc.

There remains a question of absolute existence, which has not been considered by us, or rather is being considered by us when we speak of the soul.

And if the proof, although not perfect, be sufficient, we shall be satisfied;—more precise proof will be supplied when we have discovered that which we were led to omit, from a fear that the enquiry would be too much protracted.

Al.

What was that?

Soc.

What I meant, when I said that absolute existence must be first considered; but now, instead of absolute existence, we have been considering the nature of individual existence, and this may, perhaps, be sufficient; for surely there is nothing which may be called more properly ourselves than the soul?

Al.

There is nothing.

Soc.

You and I are talking soul to soul.

Then we may truly conceive that you and I are conversing with one another, soul to soul?

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

And that is just what I was saying before—that I, Socrates, am not arguing or talking with the face of Alcibiades, but with the real Alcibiades; or in other words, with his soul.

Al.

True.

Soc.

Then he who bids a man know himself, would have him know his soul?

Al.

That appears to be true.

Soc.

But if the soul is the man, he who knows only the arts which concern man does not know himself.

He whose knowledge only extends to the body, 131knows the things of a man, and not the man himself?

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

Then neither the physician regarded as a physician, nor the trainer regarded as a trainer, knows himself?

Al.

He does not.

Soc.

The husbandmen and the other craftsmen are very far from knowing themselves, for they would seem not even to know their own belongings? When regarded in relation to the arts which they practise they are even further removed from self-knowledge, for they only know the belongings of the body, which minister to the body.

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

Then if temperance is the knowledge of self, in respect of his art none of them is temperate?

Al.

I agree.

Soc.

And this is the reason why their arts are accounted vulgar, and are not such as a good man would practise?

Al.

Quite true.

Soc.

Again, he who cherishes his body cherishes not himself, but what belongs to him?

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

But he who cherishes his money, cherishes neither himself nor his belongings, but is in a stage yet further removed from himself?

Al.

I agree.

Soc.

Then the money-maker has really ceased to be occupied with his own concerns?

Al.

True.

Soc.

The lover of the soul is the true lover.

And if any one has fallen in love with the person of Alcibiades, he loves not Alcibiades, but the belongings of Alcibiades?

Al.

True.

Soc.

But he who loves your soul is the true lover?

Al.

That is the necessary inference.

Soc.

The lover of the body goes away when the flower of youth fades?

Al.

True.

Soc.

He only remains and goes not away, so long as the soul of his beloved follows after virtue.

But he who loves the soul goes not away, as long as the soul follows after virtue?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And I am the lover who goes not away, but remains with you, when you are no longer young and the rest are gone?

Al.

Yes, Socrates; and therein you do well, and I hope that you will remain.

Soc.

Then you must try to look your best.

Al.

I will.

Soc.

The fact is, that there is only one lover of Alcibiades the son of Cleinias; there neither is nor ever has been seemingly any other; and he is his darling,—Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus and Phaenarete.

Al.

True.

Soc.

And did you not say, that if I had not spoken first, you were on the point of coming to me, and enquiring why I only remained?

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

And Socrates will never desert Alcibiades so long as he is not spoiled by the Athenian people.

The reason was that I loved you for your own sake, whereas other men love what belongs to you; and your 132beauty, which is not you, is fading away, just as your true self is beginning to bloom. And I will never desert you, if you are not spoiled and deformed by the Athenian people; for the danger which I most fear is that you will become a lover of the people and will be spoiled by them. Many a noble Athenian has been ruined in this way. For the demus of the great-hearted Erechtheus is of a fair countenance, but you should see him naked; wherefore observe the caution which I give you.

Al.

What caution?

Soc.

Practise yourself, sweet friend, in learning what you ought to know, before you enter on politics; and then you will have an antidote which will keep you out of harm’s way.

Al.

Good advice, Socrates, but I wish that you would explain to me in what way I am to take care of myself.

Soc.

Have we not made an advance? for we are at any rate tolerably well agreed as to what we are, and there is no longer any danger, as we once feared, that we might be taking care not of ourselves, but of something which is not ourselves.

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

And the next step will be to take care of the soul, and look to that?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

Leaving the care of our bodies and of our properties to others?

Al.

Very good.

Soc.

He who would take care of himself must first of all know himself.

But how can we have a perfect knowledge of the things of the soul?—For if we know them, then I suppose we shall know ourselves. Can we really be ignorant of the excellent meaning of the Delphian inscription, of which we were just now speaking?

Al.

What have you in your thoughts, Socrates?

Soc.

I will tell you what I suspect to be the meaning and lesson of that inscription. Let me take an illustration from sight, which I imagine to be the only one suitable to my purpose.

Al.

What do you mean?

Soc.

The eye which would see itself must look into the pupil of another, which is the divinest part of the eye, and will then behold itself.

Consider; if some one were to say to the eye, ‘See thyself,’ as you might say to a man, ‘Know thyself,’ what is the nature and meaning of this precept? Would not his meaning be:—That the eye should look at that in which it would see itself?

Al.

Clearly.

Soc.

And what are the objects in looking at which we see ourselves?

Al.

Clearly, Socrates, in looking at mirrors and the like.

Soc.

Very true; and is there not something of the nature of a mirror in our own eyes?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

Did you ever observe that the face of the person looking into the eye of another is reflected as in a mirror; and in the visual organ which is over against him, and which 133is called the pupil, there is a sort of image of the person looking?

Al.

That is quite true.

Soc.

Then the eye, looking at another eye, and at that in the eye which is most perfect, and which is the instrument of vision, will there see itself?

Al.

That is evident.

Soc.

But looking at anything else either in man or in the world, and not to what resembles this, it will not see itself?

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

Then if the eye is to see itself, it must look at the eye, and at that part of the eye where sight which is the virtue of the eye resides?

Al.

True.

Soc.

And the soul which would know herself must look especially at that part of herself in which she resembles the divine.

And if the soul, my dear Alcibiades, is ever to know herself, must she not look at the soul; and especially at that part of the soul in which her virtue resides, and to any other which is like this?

Al.

I agree, Socrates.

Soc.

And do we know of any part of our souls more divine than that which has to do with wisdom and knowledge?

Al.

There is none.

Soc.

Then this is that part of the soul which resembles the divine; and he who looks at this and at the whole class of things divine, will be most likely to know himself?

Al.

Clearly.

Soc.

And self-knowledge we agree to be wisdom?

Al.

True.

Soc.

But if we have no self-knowledge and no wisdom, can we ever know our own good and evil?

Al.

How can we, Socrates?

Soc.

You mean, that if you did not know Alcibiades, there would be no possibility of your knowing that what belonged to Alcibiades was really his?

Al.

It would be quite impossible.

Soc.

He who knows not himself and his belongings, will not know others and their belongings, and therefore he will not know the affairs of states.

Nor should we know that we were the persons to whom anything belonged, if we did not know ourselves?

Al.

How could we?

Soc.

And if we did not know our own belongings, neither should we know the belongings of our belongings?

Al.

Clearly not.

Soc.

Then we were not altogether right in acknowledging just now that a man may know what belongs to him and yet not know himself; nay, rather he cannot even know the belongings of his belongings; for the discernment of the things of self, and of the things which belong to the things of self, appear all to be the business of the same man, and of the same art.

Al.

So much may be supposed.

Soc.

And he who knows not the things which belong to himself, will in like manner be ignorant of the things which belong to others?

Al.

Very true.

Soc.

And if he knows not the affairs of others, he will not know the affairs of states?

Al.

Certainly not.

Soc.

Then such a man can never be a statesman?

Al.

He cannot.

Soc.

Nor an economist?

Al.

He cannot.

Soc.

He will not know what he is doing? 134

Al.

He will not.

Soc.

And will not he who is ignorant fall into error?

Al.

Assuredly.

Soc.

And, if he knows not what he is doing, he will be miserable and will make others miserable.

And if he falls into error will he not fail both in his public and private capacity?

Al.

Yes, indeed.

Soc.

And failing, will he not be miserable?

Al.

Very.

Soc.

And what will become of those for whom he is acting?

Al.

They will be miserable also.

Soc.

Then he who is not wise and good cannot be happy?

Al.

He cannot.

Soc.

The bad, then, are miserable?

Al.

Yes, very.

Soc.

And if so, not he who has riches, but he who has wisdom, is delivered from his misery?

Al.

Clearly.

Soc.

Cities, then, if they are to be happy, do not want walls, or triremes, or docks, or numbers, or size, Alcibiades, without virtue1 ?

Al.

Indeed they do not.

Soc.

And you must give the citizens virtue, if you mean to administer their affairs rightly or nobly?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

He must give the citizens wisdom and justice, and he cannot give what he has not got.

But can a man give that which he has not?

Al.

Impossible.

Soc.

Then you or any one who means to govern and superintend, not only himself and the things of himself, but the state and the things of the state, must in the first place acquire virtue.

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

You have not therefore to obtain power or authority, in order to enable you to do what you wish for yourself and the state, but justice and wisdom.

Al.

Clearly.

Soc.

If he acts wisely and justly he will act according to the will of God.

You and the state, if you act wisely and justly, will act according to the will of God?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

As I was saying before, you will look only at what is bright and divine, and act with a view to them?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

In the mirror of the divine he will see his own good and will act rightly and be happy.

In that mirror you will see and know yourselves and your own good?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And so you will act rightly and well?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

In which case, I will be security for your happiness.

Al.

I accept the security.

Soc.

But if you act unrighteously, your eye will turn to the dark and godless, and being in darkness and ignorance of yourselves, you will probably do deeds of darkness.

Al.

Very possibly.

Soc.

For if a man, my dear Alcibiades, has the power to do what he likes, but has no understanding, what is likely to 135be the result, either to him as an individual or to the state—for example, if he be sick and is able to do what he likes, not having the mind of a physician—having moreover tyrannical power, and no one daring to reprove him, what will happen to him? Will he not be likely to have his constitution ruined?

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

Or again, in a ship, if a man having the power to do what he likes, has no intelligence or skill in navigation, do you see what will happen to him and to his fellow-sailors?

Al.

Yes; I see that they will all perish.

Soc.

And in like manner, in a state, and where there is any power and authority which is wanting in virtue, will not misfortune, in like manner, ensue?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

Not power, but virtue, should be the aim both of individuals and of states: and he only is a freeman who has virtue.

Not tyrannical power, then, my good Alcibiades, should be the aim either of individuals or states, if they would be happy, but virtue.

Al.

That is true.

Soc.

And before they have virtue, to be commanded by a superior is better for men as well as for children1 ?

Al.

That is evident.

Soc.

And that which is better is also nobler?

Al.

True.

Soc.

And what is nobler is more becoming?

Al.

Certainly.

Soc.

Then to the bad man slavery is more becoming, because better?

Al.

True.

Soc.

Then vice is only suited to a slave?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And virtue to a freeman?

Al.

Yes.

Soc.

And, O my friend, is not the condition of a slave to be avoided?

Al.

Certainly, Socrates.

Soc.

And are you now conscious of your own state? And do you know whether you are a freeman or not?

Al.

I think that I am very conscious indeed of my own state.

Soc.

And do you know how to escape out of a state which I do not even like to name to my beauty?

Al.

Yes, I do.

Soc.

How?

Al.

By your help, Socrates.

Soc.

That is not well said, Alcibiades.

Al.

What ought I to have said?

Soc.

By the help of God.

Al.

I agree; and I further say, that our relations are likely to be reversed. From this day forward, I must and will follow you as you have followed me; I will be the disciple, and you shall be my master.

Soc.

O that is rare! My love breeds another love: and so like the stork I shall be cherished by the bird whom I have hatched.

Al.

Strange, but true; and henceforward I shall begin to think about justice.

Soc.

And I hope that you will persist; although I have fears, not because I doubt you; but I see the power of the state, which may be too much for both of us.

MENEXENUS.

INTRODUCTION.

Menexenus.Introduction.

The Menexenus has more the character of a rhetorical exercise than any other of the Platonic works. The writer seems to have wished to emulate Thucydides, and the far slighter work of Lysias. In his rivalry with the latter, to whom in the Phaedrus Plato shows a strong antipathy, he is entirely successful, but he is not equal to Thucydides. The Menexenus, though not without real Hellenic interest, falls very far short of the rugged grandeur and political insight of the great historian. The fiction of the speech having been invented by Aspasia is well sustained, and is in the manner of Plato, notwithstanding the anachronism which puts into her mouth an allusion to the peace of Antalcidas, an event occurring forty years after the date of the supposed oration. But Plato, like Shakespeare, is careless of such anachronisms, which are not supposed to strike the mind of the reader. The effect produced by these grandiloquent orations on Socrates, who does not recover after having heard one of them for three days and more, is truly Platonic.

Such discourses, if we may form a judgment from the three which are extant (for the so-called Funeral Oration of Demosthenes is a bad and spurious imitation of Thucydides and Lysias), conformed to a regular type. They began with Gods and ancestors, and the legendary history of Athens, to which succeeded an almost equally fictitious account of later times. The Persian war usually formed the centre of the narrative; in the age of Isocrates and Demosthenes the Athenians were still living on the glories of Marathon and Salamis. The Menexenus veils in panegyric the weak places of Athenian history. The war of Athens and Boeotia is a war of liberation; the Athenians gave back the Spartans taken at Sphacteria out of kindness—indeed, the only fault of the city was too great kindness to their enemies, who were more honoured than the friends of others (cp. Thucyd. ii. 41, which seems to contain the germ of the idea); we democrats are the aristocracy of virtue, and the like. These are the platitudes and falsehoods in which history is disguised. The taking of Athens is hardly mentioned.

The author of the Menexenus, whether Plato or not, is evidently intending to ridicule the practice, and at the same time to show that he can beat the rhetoricians in their own line, as in the Phaedrus he may be supposed to offer an example of what Lysias might have said, and of how much better he might have written in his own style. The orators had recourse to their favourite loci communes, one of which, as we find in Lysias, was the shortness of the time allowed them for preparation. But Socrates points out that they had them always ready for delivery, and that there was no difficulty in improvising any number of such orations. To praise the Athenians among the Athenians was easy,—to praise them among the Lacedaemonians would have been a much more difficult task. Socrates himself has turned rhetorician, having learned of a woman, Aspasia, the mistress of Pericles; and any one whose teachers had been far inferior to his own—say, one who had learned from Antiphon the Rhamnusian—would be quite equal to the task of praising men to themselves. When we remember that Antiphon is described by Thucydides as the best pleader of his day, the satire on him and on the whole tribe of rhetoricians is transparent.

The ironical assumption of Socrates, that he must be a good orator because he had learnt of Aspasia, is not coarse, as Schleiermacher supposes, but is rather to be regarded as fanciful. Nor can we say that the offer of Socrates to dance naked out of love for Menexenus, is any more un-Platonic than the threat of physical force which Phaedrus uses towards Socrates (286 C). Nor is there any real vulgarity in the fear which Socrates expresses that he will get a beating from his mistress, Aspasia: this is the natural exaggeration of what might be expected from an imperious woman. Socrates is not to be taken seriously in all that he says, and Plato, both in the Symposium and elsewhere, is not slow to admit a sort of Aristophanic humour. How a great original genius like Plato might or might not have written, what was his conception of humour, or what limits he would have prescribed to himself, if any, in drawing the picture of the Silenus Socrates, are problems which no critical instinct can determine.

On the other hand, the dialogue has several Platonic traits, whether original or imitated may be uncertain. Socrates, when he departs from his character of a ‘know nothing’ and delivers a speech, generally pretends that what he is speaking is not his own composition. Thus in the Cratylus he is run away with (410 E); in the Phaedrus he has heard somebody say something (235 C)—is inspired by the genius loci (238 D); in the Symposium he derives his wisdom from Diotima of Mantinea, and the like. But he does not impose on Menexenus by his dissimulation. Without violating the character of Socrates, Plato, who knows so well how to give a hint, or some one writing in his name, intimates clearly enough that the speech in the Menexenus like that in the Phaedrus is to be attributed to Socrates. The address of the dead to the living at the end of the oration may also be compared to the numerous addresses of the same kind which occur in Plato, in whom the dramatic element is always tending to prevail over the rhetorical. The remark has been often made, that in the Funeral Oration of Thucydides there is no allusion to the existence of the dead. But in the Menexenus a future state is clearly, although not strongly, asserted.

Whether the Menexenus is a genuine writing of Plato, or an imitation only, remains uncertain. In either case, the thoughts are partly borrowed from the Funeral Oration of Thucydides; and the fact that they are so, is not in favour of the genuineness of the work. Internal evidence seems to leave the question of authorship in doubt. There are merits and there are defects which might lead to either conclusion. The form of the greater part of the work makes the enquiry difficult; the introduction and the finale certainly wear the look either of Plato or of an extremely skilful imitator. The excellence of the forgery may be fairly adduced as an argument that it is not a forgery at all. In this uncertainty the express testimony of Aristotle, who quotes, in the Rhetoric1 , the well-known words, ‘It is easy to praise the Athenians among the Athenians,’ from the Funeral Oration, may perhaps turn the balance in its favour. It must be remembered also that the work was famous in antiquity, and is included in the Alexandrian catalogues of Platonic writings.

MENEXENUS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.

Socrates and Menexenus.

Socrates.

Menexenus.Socrates, Menexenus.

234Whence come you, Menexenus? Are you from the Agora?

Menexenus.

Yes, Socrates; I have been at the Council.

Soc.

And what might you be doing at the Council? And yet I need hardly ask, for I see that you, believing yourself to have arrived at the end of education and of philosophy, and to have had enough of them, are mounting upwards to things higher still, and, though rather young for the post, are intending to govern us elder men, like the rest of your family, which has always provided some one who kindly took care of us.

Men.

Yes, Socrates, I shall be ready to hold office, if you allow and advise that I should, but not if you think otherwise. I went to the council chamber because I heard that the Council was about to choose some one who was to speak over the dead. For you know that there is to be a public funeral?

Soc.

Yes, I know. And whom did they choose?

Men.

No one; they delayed the election until to-morrow, but I believe that either Archinus or Dion will be chosen.

Soc.

The gain of dying in battle.The effect upon Socrates of panegyrical oratory.

O Menexenus! death in battle is certainly in many respects a noble thing. The dead man gets a fine and costly funeral, although he may have been poor, and an elaborate speech is made over him by a wise man who has long ago prepared what he has to say, although he who is praised may not have been good for much. The speakers praise him for what he has done and for what he has not done—that is the beauty of them—and they steal away our souls with their embellished words; in every conceivable form they praise 235the city; and they praise those who died in war, and all our ancestors who went before us; and they praise ourselves also who are still alive, until I feel quite elevated by their laudations, and I stand listening to their words, Menexenus, and become enchanted by them, and all in a moment I imagine myself to have become a greater and nobler and finer man than I was before. And if, as often happens, there are any foreigners who accompany me to the speech, I become suddenly conscious of having a sort of triumph over them, and they seem to experience a corresponding feeling of admiration at me, and at the greatness of the city, which appears to them, when they are under the influence of the speaker, more wonderful than ever. This consciousness of dignity lasts me more than three days, and not until the fourth or fifth day do I come to my senses and know where I am; in the meantime I have been living in the Islands of the Blest. Such is the art of our rhetoricians, and in such manner does the sound of their words keep ringing in my ears.

Men.

Socrates always making fun of the rhetoricians.

You are always making fun of the rhetoricians, Socrates; this time, however, I am inclined to think that the speaker who is chosen will not have much to say, for he has been called upon to speak at a moment’s notice, and he will be compelled almost to improvise.

Soc.

But why, my friend, should he not have plenty to say? Every rhetorician has speeches ready made; nor is there any difficulty in improvising that sort of stuff. Had the orator to praise Athenians among Peloponnesians, or Peloponnesians among Athenians, he must be a good rhetorician who could succeed and gain credit. But there is no difficulty in a man’s winning applause when he is contending for fame among the persons whom he is praising.

Men.

Do you think not, Socrates?

Soc.

Certainly ‘not.’

Men.

Could Socrates himself make a funeral oration?

Do you think that you could speak yourself if there should be a necessity, and if the Council were to choose you?

Soc.

That I should be able to speak is no great wonder, Menexenus, considering that I have an excellent mistress in the art of rhetoric,—she who has made so many good speakers, and one who was the best among all the Hellenes—Pericles, the son of Xanthippus.

Men.

And who is she? I suppose that you mean Aspasia.

Soc.

Yes; for he is a pupil of Aspasia.

Yes, I do; and besides her I had Connus, the son of 236Metrobius, as a master, and he was my master in music, as she was in rhetoric. No wonder that a man who has received such an education should be a finished speaker; even the pupil of very inferior masters, say, for example, one who had learned music of Lamprus, and rhetoric of Antiphon the Rhamnusian, might make a figure if he were to praise the Athenians among the Athenians.

Men.

And what would you be able to say if you had to speak?

Soc.

The funeral oration composed by Aspasia.

Of my own wit, most likely nothing; but yesterday I heard Aspasia composing a funeral oration about these very dead. For she had been told, as you were saying, that the Athenians were going to choose a speaker, and she repeated to me the sort of speech which he should deliver, partly improvising and partly from previous thought, putting together fragments of the funeral oration which Pericles spoke, but which, as I believe, she composed.

Men.

And can you remember what Aspasia said?

Soc.

I ought to be able, for she taught me, and she was ready to strike me because I was always forgetting.

Men.

Then why will you not rehearse what she said?

Soc.

Because I am afraid that my mistress may be angry with me if I publish her speech.

Men.

Nay, Socrates, let us have the speech, whether Aspasia’s or any one else’s, no matter. I hope that you will oblige me.

Soc.

But I am afraid that you will laugh at me if I continue the games of youth in old age.

Men.

Far otherwise, Socrates; let us by all means have the speech.

Soc.

Truly I have such a disposition to oblige you, that if you bid me dance naked I should not like to refuse, since we are alone. Listen then: If I remember rightly, she began as follows, with the mention of the dead1 :—

Socrates.

There is a tribute of deeds and of words. The departed have already had the first, when going forth on their destined journey they were attended on their way by the state and by their friends; the tribute of words remains to be given to them, as is meet and by law ordained. For noble words are a memorial and a crown of noble actions, which are given to the doers of them by the hearers. A word is needed which will duly praise the dead and gently admonish the living, exhorting the brethren and descendants of the departed to imitate their virtue, and consoling their fathers and mothers and the survivors, if any, who may chance to be alive of the 237previous generation. What sort of a word will this be, and how shall we rightly begin the praises of these brave men? In their life they rejoiced their own friends with their valour, and their death they gave in exchange for the salvation of the living. And I think that we should praise them in the order in which nature made them good, for they were good because they were sprung from good fathers. Wherefore let us first of all praise the goodness of their birth; secondly, their nurture and education; and then let us set forth how noble their actions were, and how worthy of the education which they had received.

The departed were the children of the soil;

And first as to their birth. Their ancestors were not strangers, nor are these their descendants sojourners only, whose fathers have come from another country; but they are the children of the soil, dwelling and living in their own land. And the country which brought them up is not like other countries, a stepmother to her children, but their own true mother; she bore them and nourished them and received them, and in her bosom they now repose. It is meet and right, therefore, that we should begin by praising the land which is their mother, and that will be a way of praising their noble birth.

and their country is dear to the Gods, who contended for the possession of her.She first brought forth man, and proved her true motherhood by providing food for her own offspring.The Gods were the rulers of primitive men, and gave them arts.

The country is worthy to be praised, not only by us, but by all mankind; first, and above all, as being dear to the Gods. This is proved by the strife and contention of the Gods respecting her. And ought not the country which the Gods praise to be praised by all mankind? The second praise which may be fairly claimed by her, is that at the time when the whole earth was sending forth and creating diverse animals, tame and wild, she our mother was free and pure from savage monsters, and out of all animals selected and brought forth man, who is superior to the rest in understanding, and alone has justice and religion. And a great proof that she brought forth the common ancestors of us and of the departed, is that she provided the means of support for her offspring. For as a woman proves her motherhood by giving milk to her young ones (and she who has no fountain of milk is not a mother), so did this our land prove that she was the mother of men, for in those days she alone and first of all brought forth wheat and barley for human 238food, which is the best and noblest sustenance for man, whom she regarded as her true offspring. And these are truer proofs of motherhood in a country than in a woman, for the woman in her conception and generation is but the imitation of the earth, and not the earth of the woman. And of the fruit of the earth she gave a plenteous supply, not only to her own, but to others also; and afterwards she made the olive to spring up to be a boon to her children, and to help them in their toils. And when she had herself nursed them and brought them up to manhood, she gave them Gods to be their rulers and teachers, whose names are well known, and need not now be repeated. They are the Gods who first ordered our lives, and instructed us in the arts for the supply of our daily needs, and taught us the acquisition and use of arms for the defence of the country.

We have a good government, which is sometimes called a democracy, but is really an aristocracy, for the best rule with the consent of the many.The principle of our government is equality; the only superiority is that of virtue and wisdom.

Thus born into the world and thus educated, the ancestors of the departed lived and made themselves a government, which I ought briefly to commemorate. For government is the nurture of man, and the government of good men is good, and of bad men bad. And I must show that our ancestors were trained under a good government, and for this reason they were good, and our contemporaries are also good, among whom our departed friends are to be reckoned. Then as now, and indeed always, from that time to this, speaking generally, our government was an aristocracy—a form of government which receives various names, according to the fancies of men, and is sometimes called democracy, but is really an aristocracy or government of the best which has the approval of the many. For kings we have always had, first hereditary and then elected, and authority is mostly in the hands of the people, who dispense offices and power to those who appear to be most deserving of them. Neither is a man rejected from weakness or poverty or obscurity of origin, nor honoured by reason of the opposite, as in other states, but there is one principle—he who appears to be wise and good is a governor and ruler. The basis of this our government is equality of birth; for other states are made up of all sorts and unequal conditions of men, and therefore their governments are unequal; there are tyrannies and there are oligarchies, in which the one party are slaves and the others masters. But we and our citizens are brethren, the children all of one 239mother, and we do not think it right to be one another’s masters or servants; but the natural equality of birth compels us to seek for legal equality, and to recognize no superiority except in the reputation of virtue and wisdom.

The greatness of Persia.Yet at Marathon the army of Darius was overcome by the Athenians almost single-handed.The men of Marathon should have the first place: those who followed in the war were their disciples, except the men who defeated the Persians at Salamis and first made proof of them at sea: these have the second place.And the third place is to be assigned to those who fought at Plataea.Eurymedon; Cyprus; Egypt.

And so their and our fathers, and these, too, our brethren, being nobly born and having been brought up in all freedom, did both in their public and private capacity many noble deeds famous over the whole world. They were the deeds of men who thought that they ought to fight both against Hellenes for the sake of Hellenes on behalf of freedom, and against barbarians in the common interest of Hellas. Time would fail me to tell of their defence of their country against the invasion of Eumolpus and the Amazons, or of their defence of the Argives against the Cadmeians, or of the Heracleids against the Argives; besides, the poets have already declared in song to all mankind their glory, and therefore any commemoration of their deeds in prose which we might attempt would hold a second place. They already have their reward, and I say no more of them; but there are other worthy deeds of which no poet has worthily sung, and which are still wooing the poet’s muse. Of these I am bound to make honourable mention, and shall invoke others to sing of them also in lyric and other strains, in a manner becoming the actors. And first I will tell how the Persians, lords of Asia, were enslaving Europe, and how the children of this land, who were our fathers, held them back. Of these I will speak first, and praise their valour, as is meet and fitting. He who would rightly estimate them should place himself in thought at that time, when the whole of Asia was subject to the third king of Persia. The first king, Cyrus, by his valour freed the Persians, who were his countrymen, and subjected the Medes, who were their lords, and he ruled over the rest of Asia, as far as Egypt; and after him came his son, who ruled all the accessible part of Egypt and Libya; the third king was Darius, who extended the land boundaries of the empire to 240Scythia, and with his fleet held the sea and the islands. None presumed to be his equal; the minds of all men were enthralled by him—so many and mighty and warlike nations had the power of Persia subdued. Now Darius had a quarrel against us and the Eretrians, because, as he said, we had conspired against Sardis, and he sent 500,000 men in transports and vessels of war, and 300 ships, and Datis as commander, telling him to bring the Eretrians and Athenians to the king, if he wished to keep his head on his shoulders. He sailed against the Eretrians, who were reputed to be amongst the noblest and most warlike of the Hellenes of that day, and they were numerous, but he conquered them all in three days; and when he had conquered them, in order that no one might escape, he searched the whole country after this manner: his soldiers, coming to the borders of Eretria and spreading from sea to sea, joined hands and passed through the whole country, in order that they might be able to tell the king that no one had escaped them. And from Eretria they went to Marathon with a like intention, expecting to bind the Athenians in the same yoke of necessity in which they had bound the Eretrians. Having effected one-half of their purpose, they were in the act of attempting the other, and none of the Hellenes dared to assist either the Eretrians or the Athenians, except the Lacedaemonians, and they arrived a day too late for the battle; but the rest were panic-stricken and kept quiet, too happy in having escaped for a time. He who has present to his mind that conflict will know what manner of men they were who received the onset of the barbarians at Marathon, and chastened the pride of the whole of Asia, and by the victory which they gained over the barbarians first taught other men that the power of the Persians was not invincible, but that hosts of men and the multitude of riches alike yield to valour. And I assert that those men are the fathers not only of ourselves, but of our liberties and of the liberties of all who are on the continent, for that was the action to which the Hellenes looked back when they ventured to fight for their own safety in the battles which ensued: they became disciples of the men of Marathon. To them, therefore, I assign in my speech the first place, and the second to those 241who fought and conquered in the sea fights at Salamis and Artemisium; for of them, too, one might have many things to say—of the assaults which they endured by sea and land, and how they repelled them. I will mention only that act of theirs which appears to me to be the noblest, and which followed that of Marathon and came nearest to it; for the men of Marathon only showed the Hellenes that it was possible to ward off the barbarians by land, the many by the few; but there was no proof that they could be defeated by ships, and at sea the Persians retained the reputation of being invincible in numbers and wealth and skill and strength. This is the glory of the men who fought at sea, that they dispelled the second terror which had hitherto possessed the Hellenes, and so made the fear of numbers, whether of ships or men, to cease among them. And so the soldiers of Marathon and the sailors of Salamis became the schoolmasters of Hellas; the one teaching and habituating the Hellenes not to fear the barbarians at sea, and the others not to fear them by land. Third in order, for the number and valour of the combatants, and third in the salvation of Hellas, I place the battle of Plataea. And now the Lacedaemonians as well as the Athenians took part in the struggle; they were all united in this greatest and most terrible conflict of all; wherefore their virtues will be celebrated in times to come, as they are now celebrated by us. But at a later period many Hellenic tribes were still on the side of the barbarians, and there was a report that the great king was going to make a new attempt upon the Hellenes, and therefore justice requires that we should also make mention of those who crowned the previous work of our salvation, and drove and purged away all barbarians from the sea. These were the men who fought by sea at the river Eurymedon, and who went on the expedition to Cyprus, and who sailed to Egypt and divers other places; and they should be gratefully remembered by us, because they compelled the king in fear for himself to look to his own safety instead of plotting the destruction of Hellas.

Tanagra; Oenophyta.Sphacteria.The Sicilian expedition.Cyzicus.Hellas betrayed to the Persian.Arginusae.The taking of the city is obscurely intimated.The great reconciliation of kindred.Change in the relation of the Athenians (1) to the other Hellenes; (2) to the Persian king.

242And so the war against the barbarians was fought out to the end by the whole city on their own behalf, and on behalf of their countrymen. There was peace, and our city was held in honour; and then, as prosperity makes men jealous, there succeeded a jealousy of her, and jealousy begat envy, and so she became engaged against her will in a war with the Hellenes. On the breaking out of war, our citizens met the Lacedaemonians at Tanagra, and fought for the freedom of the Boeotians; the issue was doubtful, and was decided by the engagement which followed. For when the Lacedaemonians had gone on their way, leaving the Boeotians, whom they were aiding, on the third day after the battle of Tanagra, our countrymen conquered at Oenophyta, and righteously restored those who had been unrighteously exiled. And they were the first after the Persian war who fought on behalf of liberty in aid of Hellenes against Hellenes; they were brave men, and freed those whom they aided, and were the first too who were honourably interred in this sepulchre by the state. Afterwards there was a mighty war, in which all the Hellenes joined, and devastated our country, which was very ungrateful of them; and our countrymen, after defeating them in a naval engagement and taking their leaders, the Spartans, at Sphagia, when they might have destroyed them, spared their lives, and gave them back, and made peace, considering that they should war with their fellow-countrymen only until they gained a victory over them, and not because of the private anger of the state destroy the common interest of Hellas; but that with barbarians they should war to the death. Worthy of praise are they also who waged this war, and are here interred; for they proved, if any one doubted the superior prowess of the Athenians in the former war with the barbarians, that their doubts had no foundation—showing by their victory in the civil war with Hellas, in which they subdued the other chief state of the Hellenes, that they could conquer single-handed those with whom they had been allied in the war against the barbarians. After the peace there followed a third war, which was of a terrible and desperate nature, and in this many brave men who are here interred lost their lives—many of them had won victories in Sicily, whither they had gone over the seas 243to fight for the liberties of the Leontines, to whom they were bound by oaths; but, owing to the distance, the city was unable to help them, and they lost heart and came to misfortune, their very enemies and opponents winning more renown for valour and temperance than the friends of others. Many also fell in naval engagements at the Hellespont, after having in one day taken all the ships of the enemy, and defeated them in other naval engagements. And what I call the terrible and desperate nature of the war, is that the other Hellenes, in their extreme animosity towards the city, should have entered into negotiations with their bitterest enemy, the king of Persia, whom they, together with us, had expelled;—him, without us, they again brought back, barbarian against Hellenes, and all the hosts, both of Hellenes and barbarians, were united against Athens. And then shone forth the power and valour of our city. Her enemies had supposed that she was exhausted by the war, and our ships were blockaded at Mitylene. But the citizens themselves embarked, and came to the rescue with sixty other ships, and their valour was confessed of all men, for they conquered their enemies and delivered their friends. And yet by some evil fortune they were left to perish at sea, and therefore are1 not interred here. Ever to be remembered and honoured are they, for by their valour not only that sea-fight was won for us, but the entire war was decided by them, and through them the city gained the reputation of being invincible, even though attacked by all mankind. And that reputation was a true one, for the defeat which came upon us was our own doing. We were never conquered by others, and to this day we are still unconquered by them; but we were our own conquerors, and received defeat at our own hands. Afterwards there was quiet and peace abroad, but there sprang up war at home; and, if men are destined to have civil war, no one could have desired that his city should take the disorder in a milder form. How joyful and natural was the reconciliation of those who came from the Piraeus and those who came from the city; with what moderation did they order the war against the tyrants in Eleusis, and in a manner how unlike what the other 244Hellenes expected! And the reason of this gentleness was the veritable tie of blood, which created among them a friendship as of kinsmen, faithful not in word only, but in deed. And we ought also to remember those who then fell by one another’s hands, and on such occasions as these to reconcile them with sacrifices and prayers, praying to those who have power over them, that they may be reconciled even as we are reconciled. For they did not attack one another out of malice or enmity, but they were unfortunate. And that such was the fact we ourselves are witnesses, who are of the same race with them, and have mutually received and granted forgiveness of what we have done and suffered. After this there was perfect peace, and the city had rest; and her feeling was that she forgave the barbarians, who had severely suffered at her hands and severely retaliated, but that she was indignant at the ingratitude of the Hellenes, when she remembered how they had received good from her and returned evil, having made common cause with the barbarians, depriving her of the ships which had once been their salvation, and dismantling our walls, which had preserved their own from falling. She thought that she would no longer defend the Hellenes, when enslaved either by one another or by the barbarians, and did accordingly. This was our feeling, while the Lacedaemonians were thinking that we who were the champions of liberty had fallen, and that their business was to subject the remaining Hellenes. And why should I say more? for the events of which I am speaking happened not long ago and we can all of us remember how the chief peoples of Hellas, Argives and Boeotians and Corinthians, came to feel the need of us, and, what is the greatest miracle of all, the Persian king himself was driven to such extremity as to come round to the opinion, that from this city, of which he was the destroyer, and from no other, his salvation would proceed.

And if a person desired to bring a deserved accusation against our city, he would find only one charge which he could justly urge—that she was too compassionate and too favourable to the weaker side. And in this instance she was not able to hold out or keep her resolution of refusing aid to 245her injurers when they were being enslaved, but she was softened, and did in fact send out aid, and delivered the Hellenes from slavery, and they were free until they afterwards enslaved themselves. Whereas, to the great king she refused to give the assistance of the state, for she could not forget the trophies of Marathon and Salamis and Plataea; but she allowed exiles and volunteers to assist him, and they were his salvation. And she herself, when she was compelled, entered into the war, and built walls and ships, and fought with the Lacedaemonians on behalf of the Parians. Now the king fearing this city and wanting to stand aloof, when he saw the Lacedaemonians growing weary of the war at sea, asked of us, as the price of his alliance with us and the other allies, to give up the Hellenes in Asia, whom the Lacedaemonians had previously handed over to him, he thinking that we should refuse, and that then he might have a pretence for withdrawing from us. About the other allies he was mistaken, for the Corinthians and Argives and Boeotians, and the other states, were quite willing to let them go, and swore and covenanted, that, if he would pay them money, they would make over to him the Hellenes of the continent, and we alone refused to give them up and swear. Such was the natural nobility of this city, so sound and healthy was the spirit of freedom among us, and the instinctive dislike of the barbarian, because we are pure Hellenes, having no admixture of barbarism in us. For we are not like many others, descendants of Pelops or Cadmus or Egyptus or Danaus, who are by nature barbarians, and yet pass for Hellenes, and dwell in the midst of us; but we are pure Hellenes, uncontaminated by any foreign element, and therefore the hatred of the foreigner has passed unadulterated into the life-blood of the city. And so, notwithstanding our noble sentiments, we were again isolated, because we were unwilling to be guilty of the base and unholy act of giving up Hellenes to barbarians. And we were in the same case as when we were subdued before; but, by the favour of Heaven, we managed better, for we ended the war without the loss of our ships or walls or colonies; the enemy was only too glad to be quit of us. Yet in this war we lost many brave men, such as were those who fell owing to the ruggedness of the ground at the battle of Corinth, or by treason at Lechaeum. Brave men, too; were those who delivered the Persian king, and drove the Lacedaemonians 246from the sea. I remind you of them, and you must celebrate them together with me, and do honour to their memories.

Such were the actions of the men who are here interred, and of others who have died on behalf of their country; many and glorious things I have spoken of them, and there are yet many more and more glorious things remaining to be told—many days and nights would not suffice to tell of them. Let them not be forgotten, and let every man remind their descendants that they also are soldiers who must not desert the ranks of their ancestors, or from cowardice fall behind. Even as I exhort you this day, and in all future time, whenever I meet with any of you, shall continue to remind and exhort you, O ye sons of heroes, that you strive to be the bravest of men. And I think that I ought now to repeat what your fathers desired to have said to you who are their survivors, when they went out to battle, in case anything happened to them. I will tell you what I heard them say, and what, if they had only speech, they would fain be saying, judging from what they then said. And you must imagine that you hear them saying what I now repeat to you:—

‘Sons, the event proves that your fathers were brave men; for we might have lived dishonourably, but have preferred to die honourably rather than bring you and your children into disgrace, and rather than dishonour our own fathers and forefathers; considering that life is not life to one who is a dishonour to his race, and that to such a one neither men nor Gods are friendly, either while he is on the earth or after death in the world below. Remember our words, then, and whatever is your aim let virtue be the condition of the attainment of your aim, and know that without this all possessions and pursuits are dishonourable and evil. For neither does wealth bring honour to the owner, if he be a coward; of such a one the wealth belongs to another, and not to himself. Nor does beauty and strength of body, when dwelling in a base and cowardly man, appear comely, but the reverse of comely, making the possessor more conspicuous, and manifesting forth his cowardice. And all knowledge, when separated from justice and virtue, is seen to be cunning and not wisdom; wherefore make this your first and last and constant and all-absorbing aim, to exceed, 247if possible, not only us but all your ancestors in virtue; and know that to excel you in virtue only brings us shame, but that to be excelled by you is a source of happiness to us. And we shall most likely be defeated, and you will most likely be victors in the contest, if you learn so to order your lives as not to abuse or waste the reputation of your ancestors, knowing that to a man who has any self-respect, nothing is more dishonourable than to be honoured, not for his own sake, but on account of the reputation of his ancestors. The honour of parents is a fair and noble treasure to their posterity, but to have the use of a treasure of wealth and honour, and to leave none to your successors, because you have neither money nor reputation of your own, is alike base and dishonourable. And if you follow our precepts you will be received by us as friends, when the hour of destiny brings you hither; but if you neglect our words and are disgraced in your lives, no one will welcome or receive you. This is the message which is to be delivered to our children.

‘Some of us have fathers and mothers still living, and we would urge them, if, as is likely, we shall die, to bear the calamity as lightly as possible, and not to condole with one another; for they have sorrows enough, and will not need any one to stir them up. While we gently heal their wounds, let us remind them that the Gods have heard the chief part of their prayers; for they prayed, not that their children might live for ever, but that they might be brave and renowned. And this, which is the greatest good, they have attained. A mortal man cannot expect to have everything in his own life turning out according to his will; and they, if they bear their misfortunes bravely, will be truly deemed brave fathers of the brave. But if they give way to their sorrows, either they will be suspected of not being our parents, or we of not being such as our panegyrists declare. Let not either of the two alternatives happen, but rather let them be our chief and true panegyrists, who show in their lives that they are true men, and had men for their sons. Of old the saying, “Nothing too much,” appeared to be, and really was, well said. For he whose happiness rests with 248himself, if possible, wholly, and if not, as far as is possible,—who is not hanging in suspense on other men, or changing with the vicissitude of their fortune,—has his life ordered for the best. He is the temperate and valiant and wise; and when his riches come and go, when his children are given and taken away, he will remember the proverb—“Neither rejoicing overmuch nor grieving overmuch,” for he relies upon himself. And such we would have our parents to be—that is our word and wish, and as such we now offer ourselves, neither lamenting overmuch, nor fearing overmuch, if we are to die at this time. And we entreat our fathers and mothers to retain these feelings throughout their future life, and to be assured that they will not please us by sorrowing and lamenting over us. But, if the dead have any knowledge of the living, they will displease us most by making themselves miserable and by taking their misfortunes too much to heart, and they will please us best if they bear their loss lightly and temperately. For our life will have the noblest end which is vouchsafed to man, and should be glorified rather than lamented. And if they will direct their minds to the care and nurture of our wives and children, they will soonest forget their misfortunes, and live in a better and nobler way, and be dearer to us.

‘This is all that we have to say to our families: and to the state we would say—Take care of our parents and of our sons: let her worthily cherish the old age of our parents, and bring up our sons in the right way. But we know that she will of her own accord take care of them, and does not need any exhortation of ours.’

Socrates, Menexenus.

This, O ye children and parents of the dead, is the message which they bid us deliver to you, and which I do deliver with the utmost seriousness. And in their name I beseech you, the children, to imitate your fathers, and you, parents, to be of good cheer about yourselves; for we will nourish your age, and take care of you both publicly and privately in any place in which one of us may meet one of you who are the parents of the dead. And the care of you which the city shows, you know yourselves; for she has made provision by law concerning the parents and children of those who die in war; the highest authority is specially entrusted with the 249duty of watching over them above all other citizens, and they will see that your fathers and mothers have no wrong done to them. The city herself shares in the education of the children, desiring as far as it is possible that their orphanhood may not be felt by them; while they are children she is a parent to them, and when they have arrived at man’s estate she sends them to their several duties, in full armour clad; and bringing freshly to their minds the ways of their fathers, she places in their hands the instruments of their fathers’ virtues; for the sake of the omen, she would have them from the first begin to rule over their own houses arrayed in the strength and arms of their fathers. And as for the dead, she never ceases honouring them, celebrating in common for all rites which become the property of each; and in addition to this, holding gymnastic and equestrian contests, and musical festivals of every sort. She is to the dead in the place of a son and heir, and to their sons in the place of a father, and to their parents and elder kindred in the place of a guardian—ever and always caring for them. Considering this, you ought to bear your calamity the more gently; for thus you will be most endeared to the dead and to the living, and your sorrows will heal and be healed. And now do you and all, having lamented the dead in common according to the law, go your ways.

You have heard, Menexenus, the oration of Aspasia the Milesian.

Men.

This speech, Socrates, was not composed by Aspasia, but by yourself.

Truly, Socrates, I marvel that Aspasia, who is only a woman, should be able to compose such a speech; she must be a rare one.

Soc.

Well, if you are incredulous, you may come with me and hear her.

Men.

I have often met Aspasia, Socrates, and know what she is like.

Soc.

Well, and do you not admire her, and are you not grateful for her speech?

Men.

Yes, Socrates, I am very grateful to her or to him who told you, and still more to you who have told me.

Soc.

Very good. But you must take care not to tell of me, and then at some future time I will repeat to you many other excellent political speeches of hers.

Men.

Fear not; only let me hear them, and I will keep the secret.

Soc.

Then I will keep my promise.

[1 ]Cp. Gorgias 448 A.

[1 ]Cp. Gorgias 499, 505; Rep. vi. 487.

[1 ]Cp. Symp. 213 C.

[2 ]Cp. Symp. 217 E ff.

[1 ]Cp. Symp. 181 E.

[1 ]About £406.

[1 ]Cp. Rep. i. 332 foll.

[1 ]Cp. Arist. Pol. vii. 1. § 5.

[1 ]Cp. Arist. Pol. i. 5. § 7.

[1 ]i. 9, 30; iii. 14, 11.

[1 ]Thucyd. ii. 35–46.

[1 ]Reading οὐ κεɩ̂νται, or taking οὐκ before ἀναιρεθέντες with κεɩ̂νται.