Part 4
_Men._ Why, Socrates, even now I am not able to follow you in the attempt to get at one common notion of virtue as of other things.
_Soc._ No wonder; but I will try to get nearer if I can, for you know that all things have a common notion. Suppose now that some one asked you the question which I asked before: Meno, he would say, what is figure? And if you answered ‘roundness,’ he would reply to you, in my way of speaking, by asking whether you would say that roundness is ‘figure’ or ‘a figure;’ and you would answer ‘a figure.’
_Men._ Certainly.
_Soc._ And for this reason—that there are other figures?
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ And if he proceeded to ask, What other figures are there? you would have told him.
[Sidenote: _Illustrations._]
_Men._ I should.
_Soc._ And if he similarly asked what colour is, and you answered whiteness, and the questioner rejoined, Would you say that whiteness is colour or a colour? you would reply, A colour, because there are other colours as well.
_Men._ I should.
_Soc._ And if he had said, Tell me what they are?—you would have told him of other colours which are colours just as much as whiteness.
_Men._ Yes.
[Sidenote: He has a similar difficulty about the nature of Figure.]
_Soc._ And suppose that he were to pursue the matter in my way, he would say: Ever and anon we are landed in particulars, but this is not what I want; tell me then, since you call them by a common name, and say that they are all figures, even when opposed to one another, what is that common nature which you designate as figure—which contains straight as well as round, and is no more one than the other—that would be your mode of speaking?
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ And in speaking thus, you do not mean to say that the round is round any more than straight, or the straight any more straight than round?
_Men._ Certainly not.
_Soc._ You only assert that the round figure is not more a figure than the straight, or the straight than the round?
_Men._ Very true.
_Soc._ To what then do we give the name of figure? Try and answer. Suppose that when a person asked you this question either about figure or colour, you were to reply, Man, I do not understand what you want, or know what you 75 are saying; he would look rather astonished and say: Do you not understand that I am looking for the ‘simile in multis’? And then he might put the question in another form: Meno, he might say, what is that ‘simile in multis’ which you call figure, and which includes not only round and straight figures, but all? Could you not answer that question, Meno? I wish that you would try; the attempt will be good practice with a view to the answer about virtue.
_Men._ I would rather that you should answer, Socrates.
_Soc._ Shall I indulge you?
_Men._ By all means.
[Sidenote: _Definition of colour and figure._]
_Soc._ And then you will tell me about virtue?
_Men._ I will.
_Soc._ Then I must do my best, for there is a prize to be won.
_Men._ Certainly.
[Sidenote: Figure is defined by Socrates to be that which always follows colour.]
_Soc._ Well, I will try and explain to you what figure is. What do you say to this answer?—Figure is the only thing which always follows colour. Will you be satisfied with it, as I am sure that I should be, if you would let me have a similar definition of virtue?
_Men._ But, Socrates, it is such a simple answer.
_Soc._ Why simple?
_Men._ Because, according to you, figure is that which always follows colour.
(_Soc._ Granted).
_Men._ But if a person were to say that he does not know what colour is, any more than what figure is—what sort of answer would you have given him?
_Soc._ I should have told him the truth. And if he were a philosopher of the eristic and antagonistic sort, I should say to him: You have my answer, and if I am wrong, your business is to take up the argument and refute me. But if we were friends, and were talking as you and I are now, I should reply in a milder strain and more in the dialectician’s vein; that is to say, I should not only speak the truth, but I should make use of premisses which the person interrogated would be willing to admit. And this is the way in which I shall endeavour to approach you. You will acknowledge, will you not, that there is such a thing as an end, or termination, or extremity?—all which words I use in the same sense, although I am aware that Prodicus might draw distinctions about them: but still you, I am sure, would speak of a thing as ended or terminated—that is all which I am saying—not anything very difficult.
_Men._ Yes, I should; and I believe that I understand your meaning.
_Soc._ And you would speak of a surface and also of a solid, 76 as for example in geometry.
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ Well then, you are now in a condition to understand my definition of figure. I define figure to be that in which the solid ends; or, more concisely, the limit of solid.
_Men._ And now, Socrates, what is colour?
[Sidenote: _The imperiousness of Meno._]
[Sidenote: And now, what is colour?]
_Soc._ You are outrageous, Meno, in thus plaguing a poor old man to give you an answer, when you will not take the trouble of remembering what is Gorgias’ definition of virtue.
_Men._ When you have told me what I ask, I will tell you, Socrates.
_Soc._ A man who was blindfolded has only to hear you talking, and he would know that you are a fair creature and have still many lovers.
_Men._ Why do you think so?
_Soc._ Why, because you always speak in imperatives: like all beauties when they are in their prime, you are tyrannical; and also, as I suspect, you have found out that I have a weakness for the fair, and therefore to humour you I must answer.
_Men._ Please do.
_Soc._ Would you like me to answer you after the manner of Gorgias, which is familiar to you?
_Men._ I should like nothing better.
[Sidenote: Meno, Gorgias, and Empedocles are all agreed that colour is an effluence of existence, proportioned to certain passages.]
_Soc._ Do not he and you and Empedocles say that there are certain effluences of existence?
_Men._ Certainly.
_Soc._ And passages into which and through which the effluences pass?
_Men._ Exactly.
_Soc._ And some of the effluences fit into the passages, and some of them are too small or too large?
_Men._ True.
_Soc._ And there is such a thing as sight?
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ And now, as Pindar says, ‘read my meaning:’—colour is an effluence of form, commensurate with sight, and palpable to sense.
_Men._ That, Socrates, appears to me to be an admirable answer.
[Sidenote: _The definition of virtue._]
_Soc._ Why, yes, because it happens to be one which you have been in the habit of hearing: and your wit will have discovered, I suspect, that you may explain in the same way the nature of sound and smell, and of many other similar phenomena.
_Men._ Quite true.
_Soc._ The answer, Meno, was in the orthodox solemn vein, and therefore was more acceptable to you than the other answer about figure.
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ And yet, O son of Alexidemus, I cannot help thinking that the other was the better; and I am sure that you would be of the same opinion, if you would only stay and be initiated, and were not compelled, as you said yesterday, to go away before the mysteries.
_Men._ But I will stay, Socrates, if you will give me many such answers. 77
[Sidenote: Virtue, according to Meno, is the desire of the honourable and the good. His definition is analysed by Socrates.]
_Soc._ Well then, for my own sake as well as for yours, I will do my very best; but I am afraid that I shall not be able to give you very many as good: and now, in your turn, you are to fulfil your promise, and tell me what virtue is in the universal; and do not make a singular into a plural, as the facetious say of those who break a thing, but deliver virtue to me whole and sound, and not broken into a number of pieces: I have given you the pattern.
_Men._ Well then, Socrates, virtue, as I take it, is when he, who desires the honourable, is able to provide it for himself; so the poet says, and I say too—
‘Virtue is the desire of things honourable and the power of attaining them.’
_Soc._ And does he who desires the honourable also desire the good?
_Men._ Certainly.
_Soc._ Then are there some who desire the evil and others who desire the good? Do not all men, my dear sir, desire good?
_Men._ I think not.
_Soc._ There are some who desire evil?
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ Do you mean that they think the evils which they desire, to be good; or do they know that they are evil and yet desire them?
[Sidenote: _The desire of good and evil._]
_Men._ Both, I think.
_Soc._ And do you really imagine, Meno, that a man knows evils to be evils and desires them notwithstanding?
_Men._ Certainly I do.
_Soc._ And desire is of possession?
_Men._ Yes, of possession.
[Sidenote: Men desire evil, but not what they think to be evil.]
_Soc._ And does he think that the evils will do good to him who possesses them, or does he know that they will do him harm?
_Men._ There are some who think that the evils will do them good, and others who know that they will do them harm.
_Soc._ And, in your opinion, do those who think that they will do them good know that they are evils?
_Men._ Certainly not.
_Soc._ Is it not obvious that those who are ignorant of their nature do not desire them; but they desire what they suppose to be goods although they are really evils; and if they are mistaken and suppose the evils to be goods they really desire goods?
_Men._ Yes, in that case.
_Soc._ Well, and do those who, as you say, desire evils, and think that evils are hurtful to the possessor of them, know that they will be hurt by them?
_Men._ They must know it.
_Soc._ And must they not suppose that those who are hurt 78 are miserable in proportion to the hurt which is inflicted upon them?
_Men._ How can it be otherwise?
_Soc._ But are not the miserable ill-fated?
_Men._ Yes, indeed.
_Soc._ And does any one desire to be miserable and ill-fated?
_Men._ I should say not, Socrates.
_Soc._ But if there is no one who desires to be miserable, there is no one, Meno, who desires evil; for what is misery but the desire and possession of evil?
_Men._ That appears to be the truth, Socrates, and I admit that nobody desires evil.
_Soc._ And yet, were you not saying just now that virtue is the desire and power of attaining good?
_Men._ Yes, I did say so.
[Sidenote: _The self-contradiction of Meno._]
[Sidenote: The desire of good is really common to all of them.]
_Soc._ But if this be affirmed, then the desire of good is common to all, and one man is no better than another in that respect?
_Men._ True.
_Soc._ And if one man is not better than another in desiring good, he must be better in the power of attaining it?
_Men._ Exactly.
[Sidenote: Virtue is the power of attaining good with justice.]
_Soc._ Then, according to your definition, virtue would appear to be the power of attaining good?
_Men._ I entirely approve, Socrates, of the manner in which you now view this matter.
_Soc._ Then let us see whether what you say is true from another point of view; for very likely you may be right:—You affirm virtue to be the power of attaining goods?
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ And the goods which you mean are such as health and wealth and the possession of gold and silver, and having office and honour in the state—those are what you would call goods?
_Men._ Yes, I should include all those.
_Soc._ Then, according to Meno, who is the hereditary friend of the great king, virtue is the power of getting silver and gold; and would you add that they must be gained piously, justly, or do you deem this to be of no consequence? And is any mode of acquisition, even if unjust or dishonest, equally to be deemed virtue?
_Men._ Not virtue, Socrates, but vice.
_Soc._ Then justice or temperance or holiness, or some other part of virtue, as would appear, must accompany the acquisition, and without them the mere acquisition of good will not be virtue.
_Men._ Why, how can there be virtue without these?
_Soc._ And the non-acquisition of gold and silver in a dishonest manner for oneself or another, or in other words the want of them, may be equally virtue?
_Men._ True.
_Soc._ Then the acquisition of such goods is no more virtue than the non-acquisition and want of them, but whatever is accompanied by justice or honesty is virtue, and whatever is devoid of justice is vice. 79
[Sidenote: _The whole cannot be defined by a part._]
[Sidenote: But this definition repeats the thing defined:—virtue = the power of attaining good with a part of virtue.]
_Men._ It cannot be otherwise, in my judgment.
_Soc._ And were we not saying just now that justice, temperance, and the like, were each of them a part of virtue?
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ And so, Meno, this is the way in which you mock me.
_Men._ Why do you say that, Socrates?
_Soc._ Why, because I asked you to deliver virtue into my hands whole and unbroken, and I gave you a pattern according to which you were to frame your answer; and you have forgotten already, and tell me that virtue is the power of attaining good justly, or with justice; and justice you acknowledge to be a part of virtue.
_Men._ Yes.
_Soc._ Then it follows from your own admissions, that virtue is doing what you do with a part of virtue; for justice and the like are said by you to be parts of virtue.
[Sidenote: But if we do not know the nature of virtue as a whole, how can we know what a part of virtue is?]
_Men._ What of that?
_Soc._ What of that! Why, did not I ask you to tell me the nature of virtue as a whole? And you are very far from telling me this; but declare every action to be virtue which is done with a part of virtue; as though you had told me and I must already know the whole of virtue, and this too when frittered away into little pieces. And, therefore, my dear Meno, I fear that I must begin again and repeat the same question: What is virtue? for otherwise, I can only say, that every action done with a part of virtue is virtue; what else is the meaning of saying that every action done with justice is virtue? Ought I not to ask the question over again; for can any one who does not know virtue know a part of virtue?
_Men._ No; I do not say that he can.
_Soc._ Do you remember how, in the example of figure, we rejected any answer given in terms which were as yet unexplained or unadmitted?
_Men._ Yes, Socrates; and we were quite right in doing so.
_Soc._ But then, my friend, do not suppose that we can explain to any one the nature of virtue as a whole through some unexplained portion of virtue, or anything at all in that fashion; we should only have to ask over again the old question, What is virtue? Am I not right?
_Men._ I believe that you are.
_Soc._ Then begin again, and answer me, What, according to you and your friend Gorgias, is the definition of virtue?
[Sidenote: _The torpedo’s shock._]
[Sidenote: Meno compares Socrates to a torpedo whose touch has taken away his sense and speech.]
_Men._ O Socrates, I used to be told, before I knew you, that you were always doubting yourself and making others doubt; 80 and now you are casting your spells over me, and I am simply getting bewitched and enchanted, and am at my wits’ end. And if I may venture to make a jest upon you, you seem to me both in your appearance and in your power over others to be very like the flat torpedo fish, who torpifies those who come near him and touch him, as you have now torpified me, I think. For my soul and my tongue are really torpid, and I do not know how to answer you; and though I have been delivered of an infinite variety of speeches about virtue before now, and to many persons—and very good ones they were, as I thought—at this moment I cannot even say what virtue is. And I think that you are very wise in not voyaging and going away from home, for if you did in other places as you do in Athens, you would be cast into prison as a magician.
_Soc._ You are a rogue, Meno, and had all but caught me.
_Men._ What do you mean, Socrates?
_Soc._ I can tell why you made a simile about me.
_Men._ Why?
[Sidenote: Socrates is the cause of dulness in others because he is himself dull.]
_Soc._ In order that I might make another simile about you. For I know that all pretty young gentlemen like to have pretty similes made about them—as well they may—but I shall not return the compliment. As to my being a torpedo, if the torpedo is torpid as well as the cause of torpidity in others, then indeed I am a torpedo, but not otherwise; for I perplex others, not because I am clear, but because I am utterly perplexed myself. And now I know not what virtue is, and you seem to be in the same case, although you did once perhaps know before you touched me. However, I have no objection to join with you in the enquiry.
_Men._ And how will you enquire, Socrates, into that which you do not know? What will you put forth as the subject of enquiry? And if you find what you want, how will you ever know that this is the thing which you did not know?
[Sidenote: _Pindar and the poets._]
[Sidenote: How can you enquire about what you do not know, and if you know why should you enquire?]
_Soc._ I know, Meno, what you mean; but just see what a tiresome dispute you are introducing. You argue that a man cannot enquire either about that which he knows, or about that which he does not know; for if he knows, he has no need to enquire; and if not, he cannot; for he does not know the very subject about which he is to enquire[5].
_Men._ Well, Socrates, and is not the argument sound? 81
_Soc._ I think not.
_Men._ Why not?
_Soc._ I will tell you why: I have heard from certain wise men and women who spoke of things divine that—
_Men._ What did they say?
_Soc._ They spoke of a glorious truth, as I conceive.
_Men._ What was it? and who were they?
[Sidenote: The ancient poets tell us that the soul of man is immortal and has a recollection of all that she has ever known in former states of being.]
_Soc._ Some of them were priests and priestesses, who had studied how they might be able to give a reason of their profession: there have been poets also, who spoke of these things by inspiration, like Pindar, and many others who were inspired. And they say—mark, now, and see whether their words are true—they say that the soul of man is immortal, and at one time has an end, which is termed dying, and at another time is born again, but is never destroyed. And the moral is, that a man ought to live always in perfect holiness. ‘_For in the ninth year Persephone sends the souls of those from whom she has received the penalty of ancient crime back again from beneath into the light of the sun above, and these are they who become noble kings and mighty men and great in wisdom and are called saintly heroes in after ages[6]._’ The soul, then, as being immortal, and having been born again many times, and having seen all things that exist, whether in this world or in the world below, has knowledge of them all; and it is no wonder that she should be able to call to remembrance all that she ever knew about virtue, and about everything; for as all nature is akin, and the soul has learned all things, there is no difficulty in her eliciting or as men say learning, out of a single recollection all the rest, if a man is strenuous and does not faint; for all enquiry and all learning is but recollection. And therefore we ought not to listen to this sophistical argument about the impossibility of enquiry: for it will make us idle, and is sweet only to the sluggard; but the other saying will make us active and inquisitive. In that confiding, I will gladly enquire with you into the nature of virtue.
[Sidenote: _The crucial experiment._]
_Men._ Yes, Socrates; but what do you mean by saying that we do not learn, and that what we call learning is only a process of recollection? Can you teach me how this is?
_Soc._ I told you, Meno, just now that you were a rogue, and now you ask whether I can teach you, when I am saying that there is no teaching, but only recollection; and thus you 82 imagine that you will involve me in a contradiction.
_Men._ Indeed, Socrates, I protest that I had no such intention. I only asked the question from habit; but if you can prove to me that what you say is true, I wish that you would.
[Sidenote: A Greek slave is introduced, from whom certain mathematical conclusions which he has never learned are elicited by Socrates.]
_Soc._ It will be no easy matter, but I will try to please you to the utmost of my power. Suppose that you call one of your numerous attendants, that I may demonstrate on him.
_Men._ Certainly. Come hither, boy.
_Soc._ He is Greek, and speaks Greek, does he not?
_Men._ Yes, indeed; he was born in the house.
_Soc._ Attend now to the questions which I ask him, and observe whether he learns of me or only remembers.
_Men._ I will.
_Soc._ Tell me, boy, do you know that a figure like this is a square?
_Boy._ I do.
_Soc._ And you know that a square figure has these four lines equal?
_Boy._ Certainly.
_Soc._ And these lines which I have drawn through the middle of the square are also equal?
_Boy._ Yes.
_Soc._ A square may be of any size?
_Boy._ Certainly.