Part 53

Of old the saying, “Nothing too much,” appeared to be, and really was, well said. For he whose happiness rests with himself, if possible, wholly, and if not, as far as is possible,—who 248 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.’

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 249 duty 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.

[Sidenote: _‘Aspasia must not be told of this speech.’_]

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

[Sidenote: This speech, Socrates, was not composed by Aspasia, but by yourself.]

_Men._ 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.

[Sidenote: _Menexenus promises to keep the secret._]

_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.

FOOTNOTES

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

[63] Thucyd. ii. 35-46.

[64] Reading οὐ κεῖνται, or taking οὐκ before ἀναιρεθέντες with κεῖνται.

APPENDIX II.

[Sidenote: APPENDIX II.]

The two dialogues which are translated in the second appendix are not mentioned by Aristotle, or by any early authority, and have no claim to be ascribed to Plato. They are examples of Platonic dialogues to be assigned probably to the second or third generation after Plato, when his writings were well known at Athens and Alexandria. They exhibit considerable originality, and are remarkable for containing several thoughts of the sort which we suppose to be modern rather than ancient, and which therefore have a peculiar interest for us. The Second Alcibiades shows that the difficulties about prayer which have perplexed Christian theologians were not unknown among the followers of Plato. The Eryxias was doubted by the ancients themselves: yet it may claim the distinction of being, among all Greek or Roman writings, the one which anticipates in the most striking manner the modern science of political economy and gives an abstract form to some of its principal doctrines.

For the translation of these two dialogues I am indebted to my friend and secretary, Mr. Knight.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: _Characteristics, &c._]

That the Dialogue which goes by the name of the Second Alcibiades is a genuine writing of Plato will not be maintained by any modern critic, and was hardly believed by the ancients themselves. The dialectic is poor and weak. There is no power over language, or beauty of style; and there is a certain abruptness and ἀγροικία in the conversation, which is very un-Platonic. The best passage is probably that about the poets, p. 147:—the remark that the poet, who is of a reserved disposition, is uncommonly difficult to understand, and the ridiculous interpretation of Homer, are entirely in the spirit of Plato (cp. Protag. 339 foll.; Ion 534; Apol. 22 D). The characters are ill-drawn. Socrates assumes the ‘superior person’ and preaches too much, while Alcibiades is stupid and heavy-in-hand. There are traces of Stoic influence in the general tone and phraseology of the Dialogue (cp. 138 B, ὅπως μὴ λήσει τις ... κακά: 139 C, ὅτι πᾶς ἄφρων μαίνεται) and the writer seems to have been acquainted with the ‘Laws’ of Plato (cp. Laws 3. 687, 688; 7. 801; 11. 931 B). An incident from the Symposium (213 E) is rather clumsily introduced (151 A), and two somewhat hackneyed quotations (Symp. 174 D, Gorg. 484 E) recur at 140 A and 146 A. The reference to the death of Archelaus as having occurred ‘quite lately’ (141 D) is only a fiction, probably suggested by the Gorgias, 470 D, where the story of Archelaus is told, and a similar phrase occurs,—τὰ γὰρ ἐχθὲς καὶ πρώην γεγονότα ταῦτα, κ.τ.λ. There are several passages which are either corrupt or extremely ill-expressed (see pp. 144, 145, 146, 147, 150). But there is a modern interest in the subject of the dialogue; and it is a good example of a short spurious work, which may be attributed to the second or third century before Christ.

ALCIBIADES II.

_PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE._

SOCRATES and ALCIBIADES.

[Sidenote: _Alcibiades II._]

_Soc._ Are you going, Alcibiades, to offer prayer to Zeus? =Steph.= 138

_Al._ Yes, Socrates, I am.

_Soc._ You seem to be troubled and to cast your eyes on the ground, as though you were thinking about something.

_Al._ Of what do you suppose that I am thinking?

_Soc._ Of the greatest of all things, as I believe. Tell me, do you not suppose that the Gods sometimes partly grant and partly reject the requests which we make in public and private, and favour some persons and not others?

_Al._ Certainly.

[Sidenote: The danger of a prayer which is ill-advised.]

_Soc._ Do you not imagine, then, that a man ought to be very careful, lest perchance without knowing it he implore great evils for himself, deeming that he is asking for good, especially if the Gods are in the mood to grant whatever he may request? There is the story of Oedipus, for instance, who prayed that his children might divide their inheritance between them by the sword: he did not, as he might have done, beg that his present evils might be averted, but called down new ones. And was not his prayer accomplished, and did not many and terrible evils thence arise, upon which I need not dilate?

_Al._ Yes, Socrates, but you are speaking of a madman: surely you do not think that any one in his senses would venture to make such a prayer?

_Soc._ Madness, then, you consider to be the opposite of discretion?

_Al._ Of course.

[Sidenote: _Do opposites admit of intermediates?_]

_Soc._ And some men seem to you to be discreet, and others the contrary?

_Al._ They do.

_Soc._ Well, then, let us discuss who these are. We acknowledge that some are discreet, some foolish, and that some are mad?

_Al._ Yes.

_Soc._ And again, there are some who are in health?

_Al._ There are.

_Soc._ While others are ailing?

_Al._ Yes. 139

_Soc._ And they are not the same?

_Al._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ Nor are there any who are in neither state?

_Al._ No.

_Soc._ A man must either be sick or be well?

_Al._ That is my opinion.

[Sidenote: Alcibiades first denies and afterwards admits]

_Soc._ Very good: and do you think the same about discretion and want of discretion?

_Al._ How do you mean?

_Soc._ Do you believe that a man must be either in or out of his senses; or is there some third or intermediate condition, in which he is neither one nor the other?

_Al._ Decidedly not.

_Soc._ He must be either sane or insane?

_Al._ So I suppose.

_Soc._ Did you not acknowledge that madness was the opposite of discretion?

_Al._ Yes.

_Soc._ And that there is no third or middle term between discretion and indiscretion?

_Al._ True.

_Soc._ And there cannot be two opposites to one thing?

_Al._ There cannot.

_Soc._ Then madness and want of sense are the same?

_Al._ That appears to be the case.

[Sidenote: _Some elementary questions of logic._]

_Soc._ We shall be in the right, therefore, Alcibiades, if we say that all who are senseless are mad. For example, if among persons of your own age or older than yourself there are some who are senseless,—as there certainly are,—they are mad. For tell me, by heaven, do you not think that in the city the wise are few, while the foolish, whom you call mad, are many?

_Al._ I do.

[Sidenote: that differences of kind do not exclude differences of degree.]

_Soc._ But how could we live in safety with so many crazy people? Should we not long since have paid the penalty at their hands, and have been struck and beaten and endured every other form of ill-usage which madmen are wont to inflict? Consider, my dear friend: may it not be quite otherwise?

_Al._ Why, Socrates, how is that possible? I must have been mistaken.

_Soc._ So it seems to me. But perhaps we may consider the matter thus:—

_Al._ How?

_Soc._ I will tell you. We think that some are sick; do we not?

_Al._ Yes.

[Sidenote: The sick may have many kinds of sickness; so there are different kinds of want of sense.]

_Soc._ And must every sick person either have the gout, or be in a fever, or suffer from ophthalmia? Or do you believe that a man may labour under some other disease, even although he has none of these complaints? Surely, they are not the only maladies which exist?

_Al._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ And is every kind of ophthalmia a disease?

_Al._ Yes.

_Soc._ And every disease ophthalmia?

_Al._ Surely not. But I scarcely understand what I mean myself.

_Soc._ Perhaps, if you give me your best attention, ‘two of 140 us’ looking together, we may find what we seek.

_Al._ I am attending, Socrates, to the best of my power.

_Soc._ We are agreed, then, that every form of ophthalmia is a disease, but not every disease ophthalmia?

_Al._ We are.

_Soc._ And so far we seem to be right. For every one who suffers from a fever is sick; but the sick, I conceive, do not all have fever or gout or ophthalmia, although each of these is a disease, which, according to those whom we call physicians, may require a different treatment. They are not all alike, nor do they produce the same result, but each has its own effect, and yet they are all diseases. May we not take an illustration from the artizans?

[Sidenote: _Illustrations of genera and species._]

_Al._ Certainly.

_Soc._ There are cobblers and carpenters and sculptors and others of all sorts and kinds, whom we need not stop to enumerate. All have their distinct employments and all are workmen, although they are not all of them cobblers or carpenters or sculptors.

_Al._ No, indeed.

_Soc._ And in like manner men differ in regard to want of sense. Those who are most out of their wits we call ‘madmen,’ while we term those who are less far gone ‘stupid’ or ‘idiotic,’ or, if we prefer gentler language, describe them as ‘romantic’ or ‘simple-minded,’ or, again, as ‘innocent’ or ‘inexperienced’ or ‘foolish.’ You may even find other names, if you seek for them; but by all of them lack of sense is intended. They only differ as one art appeared to us to differ from another or one disease from another. Or what is your opinion?

_Al._ I agree with you.

_Soc._ Then let us return to the point at which we digressed. We said at first that we should have to consider who were the wise and who the foolish. For we acknowledged that there are these two classes? Did we not?

_Al._ To be sure.

_Soc._ And you regard those as sensible who know what ought to be done or said?

_Al._ Yes.

_Soc._ The senseless are those who do not know this?

_Al._ True.

_Soc._ The latter will say or do what they ought not without their own knowledge?

_Al._ Exactly.

[Sidenote: Men often, like Oedipus, pray unadvisedly.]

[Sidenote: _The desire for good is sometimes really evil._]

_Soc._ Oedipus, as I was saying, Alcibiades, was a person of 141 this sort. And even now-a-days you will find many who [have offered inauspicious prayers], although, unlike him, they were not in anger nor thought that they were asking evil. He neither sought, nor supposed that he sought for good, but others have had quite the contrary notion. I believe that if the God whom you are about to consult should appear to you, and, in anticipation of your request, enquired whether you would be contented to become tyrant of Athens, and if this seemed in your eyes a small and mean thing, should add to it the dominion of all Hellas; and seeing that even then you would not be satisfied unless you were ruler of the whole of Europe, should promise, not only that, but, if you so desired, should proclaim to all mankind in one and the same day that Alcibiades, son of Cleinias, was tyrant:—in such a case, I imagine, you would depart full of joy, as one who had obtained the greatest of goods.

_Al._ And not only I, Socrates, but any one else who should meet with such luck.

_Soc._ Yet you would not accept the dominion and lordship of all the Hellenes and all the barbarians in exchange for your life?

_Al._ Certainly not: for then what use could I make of them?

_Soc._ And would you accept them if you were likely to use them to a bad and mischievous end?

_Al._ I would not.

[Sidenote: Archelaus and his beloved.]

[Sidenote: Men never refuse the goods of fortune, however great the evils which may attend them.]

[Sidenote: _The blindness of humanity._]

_Soc._ You see that it is not safe for a man either rashly to accept whatever is offered him, or himself to request a thing, if he is likely to suffer thereby or immediately to lose his life. And yet we could tell of many who, having long desired and diligently laboured to obtain a tyranny, thinking that thus they would procure an advantage, have nevertheless fallen victims to designing enemies. You must have heard of what happened only the other day, how Archelaus of Macedonia was slain by his beloved[65], whose love for the tyranny was not less than that of Archelaus for him. The tyrannicide expected by his crime to become tyrant and afterwards to have a happy life; but when he had held the tyranny three or four days, he was in his turn conspired against and slain. Or look at certain of our own citizens,—and of their actions we have been not hearers, but eyewitnesses,—who have desired to obtain military command: of those who have gained their object, some are even to this day 142 exiles from the city, while others have lost their lives. And even they who seem to have fared best, have not only gone through many perils and terrors during their office, but after their return home they have been beset by informers worse than they once were by their foes, insomuch that several of them have wished that they had remained in a private station rather than have had the glories of command. If, indeed, such perils and terrors were of profit to the commonwealth, there would be reason in undergoing them; but the very contrary is the case. Again, you will find persons who have prayed for offspring, and when their prayers were heard, have fallen into the greatest pains and sufferings. For some have begotten children who were utterly bad, and have therefore passed all their days in misery, while the parents of good children have undergone the misfortune of losing them, and have been so little happier than the others that they would have preferred never to have had children rather than to have had them and lost them. And yet, although these and the like examples are manifest and known of all, it is rare to find any one who has refused what has been offered him, or, if he were likely to gain aught by prayer, has refrained from making his petition. The mass of mankind would not decline to accept a tyranny, or the command of an army, or any of the numerous things which cause more harm than good: but rather, if they had them not, would have prayed to obtain them. And often in a short space of time they change their tone, and wish their old prayers unsaid. Wherefore also I suspect that men are entirely wrong when they blame the gods as the authors of the ills which befall them[66]: ‘their own presumption,’ or folly (whichever is the right word)—

‘Has brought these unmeasured woes upon them[67].’

He must have been a wise poet, Alcibiades, who, seeing as I believe, his friends foolishly praying for and doing things which would not really profit them, offered up a common prayer in behalf of them all:—

‘King Zeus, grant us good whether prayed for or unsought by us; 143 But that which we ask amiss, do thou avert[68].’

[Sidenote: _Some ignorance is better than some knowledge._]

In my opinion, I say, the poet spoke both well and prudently; but if you have anything to say in answer to him, speak out.

_Al._ It is difficult, Socrates, to oppose what has been well said. And I perceive how many are the ills of which ignorance is the cause, since, as would appear, through ignorance we not only do, but what is worse, pray for the greatest evils. No man would imagine that he would do so; he would rather suppose that he was quite capable of praying for what was best: to call down evil seems more like a curse than a prayer.

_Soc._ But perhaps, my good friend, some one who is wiser than either you or I will say that we have no right to blame ignorance thus rashly, unless we can add what ignorance we mean and of what, and also to whom and how it is respectively a good or an evil?

_Al._ How do you mean? Can ignorance possibly be better than knowledge for any person in any conceivable case?

_Soc._ So I believe:—you do not think so?

_Al._ Certainly not.

[Sidenote: Orestes and Alcmaeon.]

_Soc._ And yet surely I may not suppose that you would ever wish to act towards your mother as they say that Orestes and Alcmaeon and others have done towards their parent.

_Al._ Good words, Socrates, prithee.

[Sidenote: Ignorance of the best is bad: ignorance of the bad good.]

_Soc._ You ought not to bid him use auspicious words, who says that you would not be willing to commit so horrible a deed, but rather him who affirms the contrary, if the act appear to you unfit even to be mentioned. Or do you think that Orestes, had he been in his senses and knew what was best for him to do, would ever have dared to venture on such a crime?

_Al._ Certainly not.

_Soc._ Nor would any one else, I fancy?

_Al._ No.

_Soc._ That ignorance is bad then, it would appear, which is of the best and does not know what is best?

_Al._ So I think, at least.

_Soc._ And both to the person who is ignorant and everybody else?

[Sidenote: _Cases in which ignorance may be an advantage._]

_Al._ Yes.

_Soc._ Let us take another case. Suppose that you were suddenly to get into your head that it would be a good thing 144 to kill Pericles, your kinsman and guardian, and were to seize a sword and, going to the doors of his house, were to enquire if he were at home, meaning to slay only him and no one else:—the servants reply, ‘Yes’: (Mind, I do not mean that you would really do such a thing; but there is nothing, you think, to prevent a man who is ignorant of the best, having occasionally the whim that what is worst is best?

_Al._ No.)

[Sidenote: A man might be prevented from committing murder by ignorance of the person whom he was going to murder.]

_Soc._—If, then, you went indoors, and seeing him, did not know him, but thought that he was some one else, would you venture to slay him?