Works; a new and literal version, chiefly from the text of Stallbaum

Bequeathed

to
The University of Toronto Library
by

The late Maurice Hutton,
M.A, LL.D.

Principal of University College
190121928

it

BOHN’S CLASSICAL LIBRARY.

THE WORKS OF PLATO,

LITERALLY TRANSLATED.

US,

‘DEN.

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THE

WORKS OF PLATO.

A NEW AND LITERAL VERSION,

CHIEFLY FROM THE TEXT OF STALLBAUM.

wok i.

CONTAINING

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES,
CRITO, PHADO, GORGIAS, PROTAGORAS, PH EDRUS,
THEAETETUS, EUTHYPHRON, AND LYSIS.

BY HENRY CARY, M.A. 438
WORCESTER COLLEGE, OXFORD. > a ¢ - AN
“4. a5) ae
a ya
LON DON:
HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1854..~- ~

CONTENTS.

Page
BREFACH | <2 : : : x : ance 2
INTRODUCTION TO THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES . d 4 1
THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES R A ‘ 3
InrropucTIon To THE CRITO : “ . ° : F 2280
ORITO OR EE DULY OF A CITIZEN. =. : c Bei!
INTRODUCTION TO THE PHEDO . . ; . a Bee
PHADO OR THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL REAL ATS °
INTRODUCTJON TO THE GORGIAS : . . . . 228
GORGIAS OR ON RHETORIC . é s 4 i 2 te
INTRODUCTION TO THE PROTAGORAS . . : - > Ree 43731

PROTAGORAS OR THE SOPHISTS . . ‘ . ea Deb

INTRODUCTION TO THE PH#DRUS ‘ ° s : eG,
PHADRUS OR ON THE BEAUTIFUL ss F ; OU
INTRODUCTION TO THE THEEZTETUS . A . 3 ‘i = O08
THEATETUS OR ON SCIENCE : . - : - 369
INTRODUCTION TO THE EUTHYPHRON . Ane er . . 2. 200

EUTHYPHRON OR ON HOLINESS . . z : - 458

INTRODUCTION TO THE LysISs : - : : A : SAGE

LYSIS OR ON FRIENDSHIP “ : . . ° Bee 74

TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE.

Tue only version of the entire works of Plato, which
has appeared in the English language, is that published
by Taylor; in which nine of the Dialogues previously
translated by Floyer Sydenham are introduced. Tay-
lor’s portion of the work is far from correct, and
betrays an imperfect knowledge of Greek: that by
Sydenham is much better, and evidently the work of
a scholar, but in many instances, and these chiefly
where difficulties present themselves, he obscures his
author’s meaning by too great amplification. 'Trans-
lations of several detached Dialogues have appeared at
various times, but of those which have fallen into my
hands none appear to me deserving of notice, with the
exception of a little volume containing the Phedrus,
Lysis, and Protagoras, by Mr. J. Wright, of Trinity
College, Cambridge, the production of a promising
scholar.

In the volume now offered to the public, I have
endeavoured to keep as closely to the original as the
idioms of the two languages would allow.

Vill TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE.

In the introduction to cach Dialogue I have con-
tented myself with giving a brief outline of the argu-
ments ; sufficient, I trust, to enable a reader not fami-
liar with the rigid dialectics of Plato to follow the
chain of his reasoning, and catch the points at which
he so frequently diverges from, and again returns to,
the main subject of each Dialogue.

The editions which have been made use of are those
of Bekker, Ast, and Stallbaum, though with very few
exceptions the readings of the latter have been adopted.
The division into sections, according to the London
edition of Bekker, has been retained, because the ar-
rangement is convenient, and it is believed that that
edition is more generally to be met with in this country
than any other.

bs i OF
Oxford, Nov. 28, 1848.

ERRATUM.

Page 428. § 114, 1. 6, for objects, both, read both objects.

INTRODUCTION

LO
THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

Two charges were brought against Socrates, one, that he
did not believe in the gods received by the state, the other, that
he corrupted the Athenian youth by teaching them not to
believe.

Plato, who was present at the trial, probably gives us the
very arguments employed by the accused on that occasion.
Socrates disdained to have recourse to the usual methods
adopted by the popular orators of the day to secure an acquit-
ial; and, having devoted his whole life to the search after and
the inculcation of religious, philosophical, and moral truth,
resolved to bear himself in this extremity in a manner con-

sistent with his established character, and to take his stand on
his own integrity and innocence, utterly uninfluenced by that
imaginary evil, death. From this cause it is that his defence
is so little artificial. In his discussions with others, on what-
ever subject, it was his constant habit to keep his opponents
to the question before them, and he would never suffer them to
evade it, but by a connected series of the most subtle questions
or arguments compelled them to retract any erroneous opinion
they might have advanced: whereas, in defending himself, he
never once fairly grapples with either of the charges brought
against him. With regard to the first accusation, that he did
not believe in the established religion, he neither confesses nor
denies it, but shews that he had in some instances conformed
to the religious customs of his country, and that he did believe
B

9 INTRODUCTION.

in God, so much so indeed that even if they would acquit him
on condition of his abandoning his practice of teaching others,
he could not consent to such terms, but must persevere in ful-
filling the mission on which the Deity had sent him, for that
he feared God rather than man. With reference to the second
charge which he meets first, by his usual method of a brief
but close cross-examination of his accuser Melitus, he brings
him to this dilemma, that he must either charge him with cor-
rupting the youth designedly, which would be absurd, or with
doing so undesignedly, for which he could not be liable to
punishment.

The Defence itself properly ends with the twenty-fourth
section. The second division to the twenty-ninth section re-
lates only to the sentence which ought to be passed on him.
And in the third and concluding part, with a dignity and
fulness of hope worthy even of a Christian, he expresses his
belief that the death to which he is going is only a passage to
a better and a happier life.

AueGo

APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

I xwow not, O Athenians, how far you have been influenced
by my accusers: for my part, in listening to them I almost
forgot myself, so plausible were their arguments: however, so
to speak, they have said nothing true. But of the many false-
hoods which they uttered I wondered at one of them espe-
cially, that in which they said that you ought to be on your
guard lest you should be deceived by me, as being eloquent in
speech. For that they are not ashamed of being forthwith
convicted by me in fact, when I shall shew that I am not by
any means eloquent, this seemed to me the most shameless
thing in them, unless indeed they call him eloquent who speaks
the truth. For, if they mean this, then I would allow that I
am an orator, but not after their fashion: for they, as I affirm,
have said nothing true; but from me you shall hear the whole
truth. Not indeed, Athenians, arguments highly wrought, as
theirs were, with choice phrases and expressions, nor adorned,
but you shall hear a speech uttered without premeditation, in
such words as first present themselves. For I am confident
that what I say will be just, and let none of you expect other-
wise: for surely it would not become my time of life to come
before you like a youth with a got up speech. Above all
things therefore I beg and implore this of you, O Athenians,
if you hear me defending myself in the same language as that
‘1 which I am accustomed to speak both in the forum at the
counters, where many of you have heard me, and elsewhere,
not to be surprised or disturbed on this account. For the case
‘s this: I now for the first time come before a court of justice.
though more than seventy years old; I am therefore utterly @
stranger to the language here. As, then, if I were really a
stranger, you would have pardoned me if I spoke in the lan-
guage and the manner in which I had been educated, so now
Lask this of you as an act of justice, as it appears to ire, fo

4 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

disregard the manner of my speech, for perhaps it may be
somewhat worse, and perhaps better, and to consider this only,
and to give your attention to this, whether I speak what is just
or not; for this is the virtue of a Judge, but of an orator to
speak the truth.

2. First then, O Athenians, I am right in defending myself
against the first false accusations alleged against me, and my
first accusers, and then against the latest accusations, and the
Jatest accusers. For many have been accusers of me to you,
and for many years, who have asserted nothing true, of whom
Tam more afraid than of Anytus and his party, although they
too are formidable ; but those are still more formidable, Athe-
nians, who laying hold of many of you from childhood, have
persuaded you, and accused me of what is not true :-— that
there is one Socrates, a wise man, who occupies himself about
celestial matters, and has explored every thing under the earth,
and makes the worse appear the better reason.” Those, O
Athenians, who have spread abroad this report are my formid-
able accusers: for they who hear them think that such as
search into these things do not believe that there are gods.
In the next place, these accusers are numerous, and have
accused me now for a long time; moreover they said these
things to you at that time of life in which you were most
credulous, when you were boys and some of you youths, and
they accused me altogether in my absence, when there was no
one to defend me. But the most unreasonable thing of all is,
that it is not possible to learn and mention their names, except
that one of them happens to be a comic poet?. Such, however,
as influenced by envy and calumny have persuaded you, and
those who, being themselves persuaded, have persuaded others,
all these are most difficult to deal with ; for it is not possible
to bring any of them forward here, nor to confute any; but it
is altogether necessary, to fight as it were with a shadow, in
making my defence, and to convict when there is no one to
answer. Consider, therefore, as I have said, that my accusers
are twofold, some who have lately accused me, and others long
since, whom I have made mention of; and believe that I ought
to defend myself against these first; for you heard them
accusing me first, and much more than these last.

Well. I must make my defence then, O Athenians, and

4 Aristophanes.

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. K

endeavour in this so short a space of time to remoye from
your minds the calumny which you have long entertained.
I wish, indeed, it might be so, if it were at all better both for
you and me, and that in making my defence I could effect some-
thing more advantageous still: I think however that it will be
difficult, and I am not entirely ignorant what the difficulty is.
Nevertheless let this turn out as may be pleasing to God, I
must obey the law, and make my defence.

3. Let us then repeat from the beginning what the accusa-
tion is from which the calumny against me has arisen, and
relying on which Melitus has preferred this indictment against
me. Well. What then do they who charge me say in their
charge? For it is necessary to read their deposition as of
public accusers. ‘ Socrates acts wickedly, and is criminally
curious in searching into things under the earth, and in the
heavens, and in making the worse appear the better cause, and
in teaching these same things to others.” Such is the accusa-
tion: for such things you have yourselves seen in the comedy
of Aristophanes, one Socrates there carried about, saying that
he walks in the air, and acting many other buffooneries, of
which I understand nothing whatever. Nor do I say this as
disparaging such a science, if there be any one skilled in such
things, only let me not be prosecuted by Melitus on a charge
of this kind; but I say it, O Athenians, because I have no-
thing to do with such matters. And I call upon most of you
as witnesses of this, and require you to inform and tell each
other, as many of you as have ever heard me conversing ; and
there are many such among you. Therefore tell each other, if
any one of you has ever heard me conversing little or much on
such subjects. And from this you will know that other things
also, which the multitude assert of me, are of a similar nature.

4. However not one of these things is true; nor, if you have
heard from any one that I attempt to teach men, and require pay-
ment, is this true. Though this indeed appears to me to be an
honourable thing, if one should be able to instruct men, like
Gorgias the Leontine, Prodicus the Cean, and Hippias the Elean.
For each of these, O Athenians, is able, by going through the
several cities, to persuade the young men, who can attach them-
selves gratuitously to such of their own fellow citizens as they
please, to abandon their fellow citizens and associate with them,
giving them money and thanks besides. There is also another

-

é THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES,

wise man here, a Parian, who I hear is staying in the city. For
I happened to visit a person who spends more money on the
sophists than all others together, I mean Callias, son of Hip-
ponicus. I therefore asked him, for he has two sons, “* Callias,”
I said, “if your two sons were colts or calves, we should have
had to choose a master for them and hire a person who would
make them excel in such qualities as belong to their nature :
and he would have been a Sroom or an agricultural labourer.
But now, since your sons are men, what master do you intend
to choose for them? Who is there skilled in the qualities that
become a man and a citizen? For I suppose you must have
considered this, since you have sons. Is there any one,” I said,
POM Mote os Certainly,” he answered. “ Who is he?” said
I, “ and whence does he come? and on what terms does he
teach?” He replied, ‘*‘ Evenus the Parian, Socrates, for five
mine.” And I deemed Evenus happy, if he really possesses
this art, and teaches so admirably. And I too should think
highly of myself and be very proud, if I possessed this know-
ledge ; but I possess it not, O Athenians.

9. Perhaps, one of you may now object: “But, Socrates,
what have you done then? “Whence have these calumnies
against you arisen? For surely if you had not busied yourself
more than others, such a report and story would never have
got abroad, unless you had done something different from what
most men do. Tell us, therefore, what it is, that we may not

_pass a hasty judgment on you.” He who speaks thus appears

to me to speak justly, and I will endeavour to shew you what
it is that has occasioned me this character and imputation.
Listen then: to some of you perhaps I shall appear to jest, yet
be assured that I shall tell you the whole truth, For 1610)
Athenians, have acquired this character through nothing else
than a certain wisdom. - Of what kind, then, is this wisdom ?
Perhaps it is merely human wisdom. For in this, in truth I
appear to be wise. They probably, whom I just now men-
tioned, possessed a wisdom more than human, otherwise
I know not what to say about it; for I am not acquainted
with it, and whosoever says I'am, speaks falsely and for the
purpose of calumniating me. But, O Athenians, do not cry
out against me, evei though I should seem to you to speak
somewhat arrogantly. For the account which I am going to
give you, is not my own, but I shall refer to an authority whom

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 7

you will deem worthy of credit. For I shall adduce to you the
god at Delphi as a witness of my wisdom, if I have any, and of
what itis. You doybtless know Cherepho: he was my asso-
ciate from youth, and the associate of most of you; he accom-
panied you in your late exile and returned with you. You know,
then, what kind of a man Chierepho was, how earnest in what-
ever be undertook. Having once gone to Delphi, he ventured
to make the following inquiry of the oracle, (and, as I said, O
Athenians, do not cry out.) for he asked if there was any one
wiser than me. The Pythian thereupon answered that there
was not one wiser: and of this, his brother here will give you
proofs, since he himself is dead.
_ 6. Consider then why I mention these things: it is because
‘Tam going to shew you whence the calumny against me arose.
© Hor when IJ heard this, I reasoned thus with myself, What does
* the god mean? What enigma is this? For I am not conscious
to myself that I am wise, either much or little. What then
does he mean by saying that I am the wisest > For assuredly
he does not speak falsely: that he cannot do. And for a long
time, I was in doubt what he meant; afterwards with con-
siderable difficulty I had recourse to the following method of
searching out his meaning. I went to one of those who have
the character of being wise, thinking that there, if any
where, I should confute the oracle, and shew in answer to the
response that This man is wiser than I, though you affirmed
that I was the wisest. Having then examined this man, (for
there is no occasion to mention his name, he was however one
of our great politicians, in examining whom,I felt,as I proceed
to describe, O Athenians,) having fallen into conversation with
him, this man appeared to me to be wise in the opinion of most
other men, and especially in his own opinion, though in fact he
was not so. I thereupon endeavoured to shew him that he
fancied himself to be wise, but really was not. Hence I became
odious both to him, and to many others who were present.
When I left him, I reasoned thus with myself, I am wiser
than this man, for neither of us appear to know any thing
great and good: but he fancies he knows something, although
he knows nothing, whereas I, as I do not know any thing, so I
do not fancy I do., In this trifling particular, then, I appear
to be wiser than him, because I do not fancy I know what I do
not know. After that I went to another who was thought to

8 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

be wiser than the former, and formed the very Same opinion.
Hence I became odious to him and to many others,

7. After this I went to others in turn, perceiving indeed and
grieving and alarmed that I was making myself odious; how-
ever it appeared necessary to regard the oracle of the god as
of the greatest moment, and that in order to discover its mean-
ing, I must go to all who had the reputation of possessing any
knowledge. And by the dog, O Athenians, for I must tell
you the truth, I came to some such conclusion as this: those
who bore the highest reputation appeared to me to be most
deficient, in my researches in obedience to the god, and others
who were considered inferior, more nearly approaching to the
Possession of understanding. But I must relate to you my
wandering, and the labours which I underwent, in order that
the oracle might prove incontrovertible. For after the politi-
cians I went to the poets as well the tragic as the dithyrambic
and others, expecting that here I should in very fact find my-
self more ignorant than them. Taking up, therefore, some of
their poems, which appeared to me most elaborately finished,
I questioned them as to their meaning, that at the same time I
might learn something from them. I am ashamed, O Athe-
nians, to tell you the truth; however it must be told. For, in
a word, almost all who were present could have given a better
account of them than those by whom they had been composed.
I soon discovered this, therefore, with regard to the poets, that
they do not effect their object by wisdom, but by a certain
natural inspiration and under the influence of enthusiasm like
prophets and seers; for these also Say many fine things, but
they understand nothing that they say. The poets appeared
to me to be affected in a similar manner : and at the same time
I perceived that they considered themselves, on account of their
poetry, to be the wisest of men in other things, in which they
were not. I left them, therefore, under the persuasion that [
Was superior to them, in the same way that I was to the poli-
ticians,

8. At last, therefore, I went to the artizans. For I was
conscious to myself that I knew scarcely any thing, but I was
sure that I should find them possessed of much beautiful know-
ledge. And in this I was not deceived; for they knew things
which I did not, and in this respect they were wiser than me.
But, O Athenians, even the best workmen appeared to me te

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. #

have fallen into the same error as the poets: for each, because he
excelled in the practice of his art, thought that he was very wise
in other most important matters, and this mistake of theirs ob-
scured the wisdom that they really possessed. I therefore asked
myself in behalf of the oracle, whether I should prefer to con-
tinue as I am, possessing none either of their wisdom or their
ignorance, or to have both as they have. I answered, therefore,
to myself and to the oracle, that it was better for me to con-
tinue as I am.

9. From this investigation, then, O Athenians, many enmities
have arisen against me, and those the most grievous and severe,
so that many calumnies have sprung from them and amongst
them this appellation of being wise. For those who are from
time to time present think that I am wise in those things, with
respect to which I expose the ignorance of others. The god how-
ever, O Athenians, appears to be really wise, and to mean this by
his oracle, that human wisdom is worth little or nothing; and it
is clear that he did not say this of Socrates, but made use of my
name, putting me forward as an example, as if he had said, that
man is the wisest among you, who, like Socrates, knows that he
is in reality worth nothing with respect to wisdom. Still there-
fore I go about and search and inquire into these things, in
obedience to the god, both among citizens and strangers, if I
think any one of them is wise ; and when he appears to me not
to be so, I take the part of the god, and shew that he is not
wise. And in consequence of this occupation I have no leisure
to attend in any considerable degree to the affairs of the state
or my own; but Iam in the greatest poverty through my devo-
tion to the service of the god.

10. In addition to this, young men, who have much leisure
and belong to the wealthiest families, following me of their own
accord, take great delight in hearing men put to the test, and
often imitate me, and themselves attempt to put others to the
test: and then, I think, they find a great abundance of men
who fancy they know something, although they know little or
nothing. Hence those who are put to the test by them are
angry with me, and not with them, and say that “there is one
Socrates, a most pestilent fellow, who corrupts the youth.”
And when any one asks them by doing or teaching what, they
have nothing to say, for they do not know: but that they may
not seem to be at a loss, they say such things as are ready at

10 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

hand against all philosophers; “that he searches into things in
heaven and things under the earth, that he does not believe
there are gods, and that he makes the worse appear the better
reason.” For they would not, I think, be willing to tell the
truth, that they have been detected in pretending to possess
knowledge, whereas they know nothing. Therefore, I think,
being ambitious and vehement and numerous, and speaking
systematically and persuasively about me, they have filled your
ears, for a long time and diligently calumniating me. [rom
amongst these, Melitus, Anytus, and Lycon, have attacked me;
Melitus being angry on account of the poets, Anytus on account
of the artizans and politicians, and Lycon on account of the
rhetoricians. So that as I said in the beginning, I should
wonder if I were able in so short a time to remove from your
minds a calumny that has prevailed so long. This, O Athe-
nians, is the truth: and I speak it without concealing or dis-
guising any thing from you, much or little ; {though I very well
know that by so doing I shall expose myself to odium. This
however is a proof that I speak the truth, and that this is the
nature of the calumny against me, and that these are its causes,
And if you will investigate the matter, either now or hereafter,
you will find it to be so.

1. With respect then to the charges which my first accusers
have alleged against me, let this be a sufficient apology to you.
To Melitus, that good and patriotic man, as he says, and to my
later accusers, I will next endeavour to give an answer; and
here again, as there are different accusers Jet us take up their
deposition. It is pretty much as follows: “ Socrates,” it says,
“acts unjustly in corrupting the youth, and in not believing in
those gods in whom the city believes, but in other strange
divinities.” Such is the accusation; let us examine each par-
Ucular of it. It says that I act unjustly in corrupting the youth.
But I, O Athenians, say that Melitus acts unjustly, because he
jests on serious subjects, rashly putting men upon trial, under
pretence of being zealous and solicitous about things in which
he never at any time took any concern. But that this is the
case I will endeavour to prove to you.

12. Come then, Melitus, tell me; do you not consider it of
the greatest importance that the youth should be made as vir-
tuous as possible ?

Mel. I do.

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. Le

Socr. Well now, tell the judges who it is that makes them
better, for it is evident that you know, since it concerns you
so much: for, having detected me in corrupting them, as you
say, you have cited me here and accused me; come then, say,
and inform the judges who it is that makes them better. Do
you see, Melitus, that you are silent, and have nothing to say?
But does it not appear to you to be disgraceful and a sufficient
proof of what I say, that you never took any concern about the
matter? But tell me, friend, who makes them better ?

Mel. The laws.

Socr. I do not ask this, most excellent sir, but what man,
who surely must first know this very thing, the laws?

Mel. These, Socrates, the judges.

Socr. How say you, Melitus? Are these able to instruct the
youth, and make them better ?

Mel. Certainly.

Socr. Whether all, or some of them, and others not?

Mel. All.

Socr. You say well, by Juno, and have found a great
abundance of those that confer benefit. But what further?
Can these hearers make them better, or not?

Mel. They too can.

Socr. And what of the senators?

Mel. The senators also.

Socr. But, Melitus, do those who attend the public assemblies
corrupt the younger men? or do they all make them better ?

Me!. They too.

Socr. All the Athenians therefore, as it seems, make them
honourable and good, except me, but I alone corrupt them.
Do you say so?

Mel. I do assert this very thing.

‘ger. FYou charge me with great ill-fortune. But answer
the: does it appear to you to be the same with respect to
horses? do all men make them better, and is there only some
one that spoils them? or does quite the contrary of this take
place? is there some one person who can make them better,
or very few, that is the trainers? but if the generality of
men should meddle with and make use of horses, do they spoil
them? Is not this the case, Melitus, both with respect to horses
and all other animals? It certainly is so, whether you and
Anytus deny it or not. Fr it would be a great good-fortune

12 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

for the youth if only one person corrupted, and the rest bene-
fited them. However, Melitus, you have sufficiently shewn
that you never bestowed any care upon youth ; and you clearly
evince your own negligence, in that you have never paid any
attention to the things with respect to which you accuse me.

13.\Tell us further, Melitus, in the name of Jupiter, whether

—— Naren 6

ISit better to dwell with good or bad citizens? Answer, my
friend: for I ask you nothing difficult. Do not the bad work
some evil to those that are continually near them, but the good
some good ?

Mel, Certainly.

Socr, Is there any one that wishes to be injured rather than
benefited by his associates > Answer, good man: for the law
requires you to answer. Is there any one who wishes to be
injured ?

Mel. No, surely.

Socr. Come then, whether do you accuse me here, as one that
corrupts the youth, and makes them more depraved, designedly
or undesignedly ?

Mel. Designedly, I say.

Socr. What then, Melitus, are you at your time of life so
much wiser than me at my time of life, as to know that the evil
are always working some evil to those that are most near to
them, and the good some good; but I have arrived at such a
pitch of ignorance as not to know, that if I make any one of
my associates depraved, I shall be in danger of receiving some
evil from him, and yet I designedly bring about this so great
evil, as you say? In this I cannot believe you, Melitus, nor
do I think would any other man in the world: but either I do
not corrupt the youth, or if I do corrupt them, I do it unde-
signedly: so that in both cases you speak falsely. But if [
corrupt them undesignedly, for such involuntary offences it is
not usual to accuse one here, but to take one apart and teach
and admonish one. For it is evident that if I am taught, I
shall cease doing what I do undesignedly. But you shunned
me, and were not willing to associate with and instruct me, but
you accuse me here, where it is usual to accuse those who need
punishment, and not instruction.

14. Thus, then, O Athenians, this now is clear that I have
said, that Melitus never paid any attention to these matters,
much or little. However tell us, Melitus, how you say I cor-

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 18

yupt the youth? Is it not evidently, according to the indict-
ment which you have preferred, by teaching them not to be-
lieve in the gods in whom the city believes, but in other strange
deities? Do you not say that by teaching these things, I corrupt
the youth?

Mel. Certainly I do say so.

Socr. By those very gods, therefore, Melitus, of whom the
discussion now is, speak still more clearly both to me and to
these men. For I cannot understand whether you say that I
teach them to believe that there are certain gods, (and in that
case I do believe that there are gods, and am not altogether an
atheist, nor in this respect to blame,) not however those which
the city believes in, but others, and this it is that you accuse
me of, that I introduce others; or do you say outright that I
do not myself believe that there are gods, and that I teach
others the same?

Mel. I say this, that you do not believe in any gods at all.

Socr. O wonderful Melitus, how come you to say this? Do
1 not then like the rest of mankind, believe that the sun and
moon are gods ?

Mel. No, by Jupiter, O judges: for he says that the sun is
a stone, and the moon an earth.

Socr. You fancy that you are accusing Anaxagoras, my dear
Melitus, and thus you put a slight on these men, and suppose
them to beso illiterate, as not to know that the books of Anax-
agoras of Clazoméne are full of such assertions. And the young,
moreover, learn these things from me, which they might pur-
chase for a drachma, at most, in the orchestra, and so ridicule
Socrates, if he pretended they were his own, especially since
they are so absurd? I ask then, by Jupiter, do I appear to you
to believe that there is no god?

Mel. No, by Jupiter, none whatever.

Socr. You say what is incredible, Melitus, and that, as ap-
pears to me, even to yourself. For this man, O Athenians,
appears to me to be very insolent and intemperate, and to have
preferred this indictment through downright insolence, intem-
perance and wantonness. For he seems, as it were, to have
composed an enigma for the purpose of making an experiment.
Whether will Socrates the wise know that I am jesting, and
contradict myself, or shall I deceive him and all who hear
me? For in my opinion he clearly contradicts himself in the

14 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

indictment, as if he should say, Socrates is guilty of wrong in
not believing that there are gods, and in believing that there
are gods. And this, surely, is the act of one who ‘is trifling.

15. Consider with me now, Athenians, in what respect he ap-
pears to me to say so. And do you, Melitus, answer me; and
do ye, as I besought you at the outset, remember not to make
an uproar if I speak after my usual manner,

Is there any man, Melitus, who believes that there are human
affairs, but does not believe that there are men? Let him
answer, judges, and not make so much noise. Is there any
one who does not believe that there are horses, but that there
are things pertaining to horses? or who does not believe that
there are pipers, but that there are things pertaining to pipes?
There is not, O best of men: for since you are not willing to
answer, I say it to you and to all here present. But answer to
this at least: is there any one who believes that there are things
relating to demons, but does not believe that there are demons?

Mel. There is not,

Socr, How obliging you are in having hardly answered,
though compelled by these judges. You assert then that I do
believe and teach things relating to demons, whether they be
new or old; therefore, according to your admission, I do believe
in things relating to demons, and this you have sworn in the
bill of indictment. If then I believe in things relating to
demons, there is surely an absolute necessity that I should
believe that there are demons. Is it not $09 dL 1s. Bord
Suppose you to assent, since you do not answer. But with
respect to demons, do we not allow that they are gods, or the
children of gods? Do you admit this or not?

Mel. Certainly.

Socr, Since then I allow that there are demons as you ad-
mit, if demons are a kind of gods, this is the point in which I
say you speak enigmatically and divert yourself in saying that
I do not allow there are gods, and again that I do allow there
are, since I allow that there are demons? But if demons are
the children of gods, spurious ones, either from nymphs or any
others, of whom they are reported to be, what man can think
that there are sons of gods, and yet that there are not gods?
For it would be just as absurd, as if any one should think that
there are mules the offspring of horses and asses, but should
not think there are horses and asses, However, Melitus, it

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 15

cannot be otherwise than that you have preferred this indict-
ment for the purpose of trying me, or because you were ata
loss what real crime to allege against me: for that you should
persuade any man who has the smallest degree of sense, that
the same person can think that there are things relating to
demons and to gods, and yet that there are neither demons,
nor gods, nor heroes, is utterly impossible.

16. That I am not guilty then, O Athenians, according to
the indictment of Melitus, appears to me not to require a length-
ened defence ; but what I have said is sufficient. And as to
what I said at the beginning, that there is a great enmity to-
wards me among the multitude, be assured it is true. And this
it is which will condemn me, if I am condemned, not Melitus,
nor Anytus, but the calumny and envy of the multitude, which
have already condemned many others, and those good men, and
will I think condemn others also; for there is no danger that it
will stop with me.

Perhaps, however, some one may say, ‘“‘ Are you not ashamed,
Socrates, to have pursued a study, from which you are now in
danger of dying?” To such a person I should answer with
good reason, You do not say well, friend, if you think that a man,
who is even of the least value, ought to take into the account
the risk of life or death, and ought not to consider that alone
when he performs any action, whether he is acting justly or
unjustly, and the part of a good man or bad man. For accord-
ing to your reasoning, all those demi-gods that died at Troy
would be vile characters, as well all the rest as the son of Thetis,
who so far despised danger in comparison of submitting to dis-
grace, that when his mother, who was a goddess, spoke to him,
in his impatience to kill Hector, something to this effect,
as I think », “« My son, if you revenge the death of your friend
Patroclus, and slay Hector, you will yourself die, for,” she
said, “death awaits you immediately after Hectora.. 3 but
he, on hearing this, despised death and danger, and dreading
much more to live as a coward, and not avenge his friends
said ; “ May I die immediately, when I have inflicted punish-
ment on the guilty, that I may not stay here an object of ridi-
cule, by the curved ships, a burden to the ground?” Do you
think that he cared for death and danger? For thus it is,
O Athenians, in truth ; wherever any one has posted himself,

> Tliad, lib. xviii. ver. 94, &c.

16 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

either thinking it to be better, or has been posted by his chiet,
there, as it appears to me, he ought to remain and meet danger,
taking no account either of death or any thing else in compari-
son with disgrace,

17, I then should be acting strangely, O Athenians, if, when
the generals whom you chose to command me assigned me my
post at Potidwa, at Amphipolis, and at Delium, I then remained
where they posted me, like any other person, and encountered
the danger of death, but when the deity as I thought and be-
lieved, assigned it as my duty to pass my life in the study of
philosophy, and in examining myself and others, I should on
that occasion, through fear of death or any thing else whatso-
ever, desert my post. Strange indeed would it be, and then in
truth any one might justly bring me to trial, and accuse me of
not believing in the gods, from disobeying the oracle, fearing
death, and thinking myself to be wise when I am not, For to fear
death, O Athenians, is nothing else than to appear to be wise,
without being so; for it is to appear to know what one does
not know. For no one knows but that death is the greatest of
all goods to man; but men fear it, as if they well knew that it
is the greatest of evils. And how is not this the most repre-
hensible ignorance, to think that one knows what one does not
know? But I, O Athenians, in this perhaps differ from most
men; and if I should say that I am in any thing wiser than
another, it would be in this, that not having a competent know-
ledge of the things in Hades, I also think that I have not such
knowledge. But to act unjustly, and to disobey my superior,
whether God or man, I know is evil and base. I shall never,
therefore, fear or shun things which, for aught I know, may be
good, before evils which I know to be evils. So that even if
you should now dismiss me, not yielding to the instances of
Anytus, who said that either I should not® appear here at all,
or that, if I did appear, it was impossible not to put me to
death, telling you that if I escaped, your sons, studying what
Socrates teaches, would all be utterly corrupted ;) if you should
address me thus, ‘‘ Socrates, we shall not now yield to Anytus,
but dismiss you, on this condition however, that you no longer
persevere in your researches nor study philosophy, and if here-
after you are detected in so doing, you shall die,” —if, as I said,
you should dismiss me on these terms, I should say to you:

e See the Crito, s, 5.

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 17

“OQ Athenians, I honour and love you: but I shall obey God
rather than you; and as long as I breathe and am able, I shall
not cease studying philosophy, and exhorting you and warning
any one of you I may happen to meet, saying as I have been ac-
customed to do: ‘O best of men, seeing you are an Athenian,
of a city the most powerful and most renowned for wisdom and
strength, are you not ashamed of being careful for riches, how
you may acquire them in greatest abundance, and for glory and
honour, but care not nor take any thought for wisdom and
truth, and for your soul, how it may be made most perfect?”
And if any one of you should question my assertion, and affirm
that he does care for these things, I shall not at once let him
go, nor depart, but I shall question him, sift and prove him.
And if he should appear to me not to possess virtue, but to
pretend that he does, I shall reproach him for that he sets the
jeast value on things of the greatest worth, but the highest on
things that are worthless. Thus I shall act to all whom I meet,
both young and old, stranger and citizen, but rather to you my
fellow citizens, because ye are more nearly allied to me. For
be well assured, this the deity commands. And I think that
no greater good has ever befallen you in the city, than my zeal
for the service of the god. For I go about doing nothing else
than persuading you, botb young and old, to take no care
either for the body, or for riches, prior to or so much as for the
soul, how it may be made most perfect, telling you that virtue
does not spring from riches, but riches and all other human
blessings, both private and public, from virtue. If, then, by
saying these things, I corrupt the youth, these things must be
mischievous; but if any one says that I speak other things than
these, he misleads you4, Therefore I must say, O Athenians,
either yield to Anytus or do not, either dismiss me or not, since
I shall not act otherwise, even though I must die many deaths.

18. Murmur not, O Athenians, but continue to attend to my
request, not to murmur at what I say, but to listen, for as I
think, you will derive benefit from listening. For I am going
to say other things to you, at which perhaps you will raise a
clamour; but on no account do so. Be well assured, then, if
‘you put me to death, being such a man as I say I am, you will

4 OdSéy Ad€ye:, literally “ he says nothing: on se trompe, ou |’on vous
: ees 8 ’
impose, Cousin.
Cc

en

18 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

not injure me more than yourselves. For neither will Melitus
nor Anytus harm me; nor have they the power: for I do not

think that it is possible for a better man to be injured by a.

worse. He may perhaps have me condemned to death, or
banished or deprived of civil rights ; and he or others may per-
haps consider these as mighty evils: I however do not consider
them so, but that it is much more so to do what he is now
doing, to endeavour to put a man to death unjustly. Now,
therefore, O Athenians, I am far from making a defence on my
own behalf, as any one might think, but I do so on your behalf,
lest by condemning me you should offend at all with respect to
the gift of the deity to you. For, if you should put me to death,
you will not easily find such another, though it may be ridi-
culous to say so, altogether attached by the deity to this city
as to a powerful and generous horse, somewhat sluggish from
his size, and requiring to be roused by a gad-fly; so the deity
appears to have united me, being such a person as I am, to the
city, that I may rouse you, and persuade and reprove every one
of you, nor ever cease besetting you throughout the whole day.
Such another man, O Athenians, will not easily be found, there-
fore, if you will take my advice, you will spare me. But you,
perhaps, being irritated, like drowsy persons who are roused from
sleep, will strike me, and, yielding to Anytus, will unthinkingly
condemn me to death ; and then you will pass the rest of your
life in sleep, unless the deity, caring for you, should send some
one else to you. But that Iam a person who has been given by
the deity to this city, you may discern from hence; for it is not
like the ordinary conduct of men, that I should have neglected
all my own affairs and suffered my private interest to be neglect-
ed for so many years, and that I should constantly attend to your
concerns, addressing myself to each of you separately, like a
father, or elder brother, persuading you to the pursuit of virtue.
And if I had derived any profit from this course, and had re-
ceived pay for my exhortations, there would have been some
reason for my conduct; but now you see yourselves, that my
accusers, Who have so shamelessly calumniated me in every
thing else, have not had the impudence to charge me with this,
and to bring witnesses to prove that I ever either exacted or
demanded any reward. And I think I produce a sufficient
proof that I speak the truth, namely, my poverty.

19. Perhaps, however, it may appear absurd, that I, going

Sh Tet ee Fs, eed Mcrae

—_—-
x a

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. ig

about, thus advise you in private and make myself busy, but
never venture to present myself in public before your assem-

- blies and give advice to the city. The cause of this is that
which you have often and in many places heard me mention:
because I am moved by a certain divine and spiritual influence,
which also Melitus, through mockery, has set out in the indict-
ment. This began with me from childhood, being a kind of
yoice which, when present, always diverts me from what Tam
about to do, but never urges me on. This it is which opposed.
my meddling in public politics; and it appears to me to have
opposed me very properly. For be well assured, O Athenians,
if I had long since attempted to intermeddle with politics, I
should have perished long ago, and should not have at all bene-
fited you or myself. And be not angry with me for speaking
the truth. For it is not possible that any man should be safe,
who sincerely opposes either you, or any other multitude, and
who prevents many unjust and illegal actions from being com-
mitted in a city; but it is necessary that he who in earnest
contends for justice, if he will be safe for but a short time,
should live privately, and take no part in public affairs.

20. I will give you strong proofs of this, not words, but, what
you value, facts. Hear then what has happened to me, that
you may know that I would not yield to any one contrary to
what is just, through fear of death, at the same time that, by not
yielding, I must perish. I shall tell you what will be displeas-
ing and wearisome®, yet true. For I, O Athenians, never bore
any other magisterial office in the city, but have been a senator :
and our Antiochean tribe happened to supply the Prytanes
when you chose to condemn in a body the ten generals, who
had not taken off those that perished in the sea-fight, in viola-
tion of the law, as you afterwards all thought. At that time
I alone of the Prytanes opposed your doing any thing con-
trary to the laws, and I voted against you; and when the orators
were ready to denounce me, and to carry me before a magis-
trate, and you urged and cheered them on, I thought I ought
rather to meet the danger with law and justice on my side, than
through fear of imprisonment or death to take part with you in
your unjust designs. And this happened while the city was

e But for the authority of Stallbaum, I should have translated Sucavece
“ forensic,” that is, such arguments as an adyocate would use in a court
of justice.

20 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES,

governed by a democracy, But when it became an oligarchy,
the Thirty, having sent for me with four others to the Tholus,
ordered us to bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis, that he
might be put to death; and they gave many similar orders to
many otbers, wishing to involve as many as they could in guilt.
Then however I shewed, not in word but in deed, that I did not
care for death, if the expression be not too rude, in the smallest
degree, but that all my care was to do nothing unjust or unholy.
For that government, strong as it was, did not so overawe me
as to make me commit an unjust action; but when we came
out from the Tholus, the four went to Salamis, and brought
back Leon ; but I went away home. And perhaps for this I
should have been put to death, if that government had not been
speedily broken up. And of this you can have many wit-
nesses,

21. Do you think, then, that I should have survived so many
years, if I had engaged in public affairs, and, acting as becomes
a good man, had aided the cause of justice, and, as I ought,
had deemed this of the highest importance? Far from it, O
Athenians: nor would any other man have done so. But I,
through the whole of my lite, if I have done any thing in public,
shall be found to be a man, and the very same in private, who
has never made a concession to any one cortrary to justice,
neither to any other, nor to any one of these whom my calum-
niators say are my disciples. I however was never the pre-
ceptor of any one; but if any one desired to hear me speaking
and to see me busied about my own mission, whether he were
young or old, I never refused him. Nor do I discourse when
I receive money, and not when I do not receive any, but I allow
both rich and poor alike to question me, and, if any one wishes
it, to answer me and hear what I have to say, And for these,
whether any one proves to be a good man or not, I cannot justly
be responsible, because I never either promised them any in-
struction or taught them at all. But if any one says that he
has ever learnt or heard any thing from me in private, which
all others have not, be well assured that he does not speak the
truth.

22. But why do some delight to spend so long a time with
me? Ye have heard, O Athenians. I have told you the whole
truth, that they delight to hear those closely questioned who
think that they are wise but are not: for this is by no means

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 21

disagreeable. But this duty, as I say, has been enjoined me
by the deity, by oracles, by dreams, and by every mode by
which any other divine decree has ever enjoined any thing to
man to do. These things, O Athenians, are both true, and
easily confuted if not true. For if Iam now corrupting some
of the youths, and have already corrupted others, it were fitting,
surely, that if any of them, having become advanced in life, had
discovered that I gave them bad advice when they were young,
they should now rise up against me, accuse me, and have me
punished ; or if they were themselves unwilling to do this, some
of their kindred, their fathers, or brothers, or other relatives, if
their kinsmen have ever sustained any damage from me, should
now call it to mind. Many of them however are here present,
whom I see: first, Crito, my contemporary and fellow-burgher,
father of this Critobulus; then, Lysanias of Sphettus, father of
this ASschines; again, Antiphon of Cephisus, father of Kpi-
genes; there are those others too, whose brothers maintained
the same intimacy with me, namely, Nicostratus, son of Theos-
dotidus, brother of Theodotus—Theodotus indeed is dead, so
that he could not deprecate his brother’s proceedings, and
Paralus here, son of Demodocus, whose brother was Theages ;
and Adimantus son of Ariston, whose brother is this Plato ;
and Aantodorus, whose brother is this Apollodorus. I could
also mention many others to you, some one of whom certainly
Melitus ought to have adduced in his speech as a witness. If
however he then forgot to do so, let him now adduce them, I
give him leave to do so, and let him say it, if he has any thing
of the kind to allege. But quite contrary to this, you will find,
O Athenians, all ready to assist me, who have corrupted and
injured their relatives, as Melitus and Anytus say. For those
who have been themselves corrupted might perhaps have some
reason for-assisting me; but those who have not been corrupted,
men now advanced in life, their relatives, what other reason
can they have for assisting me, except that right and just one,
that they know that Melitus speaks falsely, and that I speak
the truth.

23. Well then, Athenians; these are pretty much the things

I have to say in my defence, and others perhaps of the same

kind. Perhaps, however, some among you will be indignant

on recollecting his own case, if he, when engaged in a cause

iar less than this, implored and besought the judges with many

22 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

tears, bringing forward his children in order that he might ex-
cite their utmost compassion, and many others of his relatives
and friends, whereas I do none of these things, although I may
appear to be incurring the extremity of danger. Perhaps,
therefore, some one, taking notice of this, may become more
determined against me, and, being enraged at this very con-
duct of mine, may give his vote under the influence of anger.
If then any one of you is thus affected_—I do not however
suppose that there is,—but if there should be, I think I may
reasonably say to him; “I too, O best of men, have relatives;
for to make use of that saying of Homer, I am not sprung from
an oak, nor from a rock, but from men, so that I too, O Athe-
nians, have relatives, and three sons, one now grown up, and
two boys: I shall not however bring any one of them forward
and implore you to acquit me. Why then shall I not do this?
Not from contumacy, O Athenians, nor disrespect towards you.
Whether or not I am undaunted at the prospect of death, is
another question, but out of regard to my own character, and
yours, and that of the whole city, it does not appear to me to
be honourable that I should do any thing of this kind at my
age, and with the reputation I have, whether true or false.
For it is commonly agreed that Socrates in some respects
excels the generality of men. If, then, those among you who
appear to excel either in wisdom, or fortitude, or any other
virtue whatsoever, should act in such a manner as I have often
seen some when they have been brought to trial, it would be
shameful, who appearing indeed to be something, have con-
ducted themselves in a surprising manner, as thinking they
should suffer something dreadful by dying, and as if they
would be immortal if you did not put them to death. Such.
men appear to me to bring disgrace on the city, so that any
stranger might suppose that such of the Athenians as excel in
virtue, and whom they themselves choose in preference to them-
selves for magistracies and other honours, are in no respect
superior to women. For these things, O Athenians, neither
ought we to do who have attained to any height of reputa-
tion, nor, should we do them, ought you to suffer us; but you
should make this manifest, that you will much rather condemn
him who introduces these piteous dramas, and makes the city
ridiculous, than him who quietly awaits your decision. ‘
24. But reputation apart, O Athenians, it does not appear

{

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 23

to me to be right to entreat a judge, or to escape by en-
treaty, but one ought to inform and persuade him. For a
judge does not sit for the purpose of administering justice out
of favour, but that he may judge rightly, and he is sworn not
to shew favour to whom he pleases, but that he will decide ac-
cording to the laws. It is therefore right that neither should
we accustom you, nor should you accustom yourselves to violate
your oaths; for in so doing neither of us would act righteously.
Think not then, O Athenians, that I ought to adopt such a
course towards you as I neither consider honourable, nor just,
nor holy, as well, by Jupiter, on any other occasion, and now
especially when I am accused of impiety by this Melitus, For
clearly, if I should persuade you, and by my entreaties should
put a constraint on you who are bound by an oath, I should
teach you to think that there are no gods, and in reality, while
making my defence, should accuse myself of not believing in
the gods. This, however, 1s far from being the case: for I
believe, O Athenians, as none of my accusers do, and I leave
it to you and to the deity to judge concerning me in such way
as will be best both for me and for you.

[Socrates here concludes his defence, and the votes being
taken, he is declared guilty by a majority of voices. He
thereupon resumes his address. |

—-~95. That I should not be grieved, O Athenians, at what

has happened, namely, that you have condemned me, as well
many other circumstances concur in bringing to pass, and
moreover this, that what has happened has not happened
contrary to my expectation; but I much rather wonder at
the number of votes on either side. For I did not expect
that I should be condemned by so small a number, but by 2
large majority ; but now, as it seems, if only three more votes
had changed sides, I should have been acquitted. As far as
Melitus is concerned, as it appears to me, I have been already
acquitted, and not only have I been acquitted, but it is clear
to every one that had not Anytus and Lycon come forward to
accuse me, he would have been Gned a thousand drachmas, for
not having obtained a fifth part of the votes.

96. The man then awards me the penalty of death. Well.
But what shall J, on my part, O Athenians, award myself? Is
it not clear that it will be such as I deserve? What then is
that? do I deserve to suffer or to pay 2 fine, for that I have

24 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

purposely during my life not remained quiet, but neglecting
what most men seek after, money-making, domestic concerns,
military command, popular oratory, and moreover all the
magistracies, conspiracies and cabals that are met with in the
city, thinking that I was in reality too upright a man to be
safe if I took part in such things, I therefore did not apply
myself to those pursuits, by attending to which I should have
been of no service either to you or to myself; but in order to
confer the greatest benefit on each of you privately, as I affirm,
I thereupon applied myself to that object, endeavouring to per-
suade every one of you, not to take any care of his own affairs,
before he had taken care of himself, in what way he may be-
come the best and wisest, nor of the affairs of the city before
he took care of the city itself; and that he should attend to other
things in the same manner, What treatment then do I deserve,
seeing ] am such a man? Some reward, O Athenians, if at
least I am to be estimated according to my real deserts; and
moreover such a reward as would be suitable to me. What

»then is suitable to a poor man, a benefactor, and who has need
of leisure in order to give you good advice? There is nothing
so suitable, O Athenians, as that such a man should be main-
tained in the Prytaneum, and this much more than if one of
you had been victorious at the Olympic games in a horse race,
or in the two or four-horsed chariot race: for such a one makes
you appear to be happy, but I, to be so: and he does not need
support, but I do. If, therefore, I must award a sentence ac-
cording to my just deserts, I award this, maintenance in the
Prytaneum.

27. Perhaps, however, in speaking to you thus, I appear to
you to speak in the same presumptuous manner as I did re-
specting commiseration and entreaties: but such is not the
case, O Athenians, it is rather this. I am persuaded that I
never designedly injured any man, though I cannot persuade
you of this, for we have conversed with each other but for a
short time. For if there was the same law with you as with
other men, that in capital cases the trial should last not only
one day but many, I think you would be persuaded ; but it is
not easy in a short time to do away with great calumnies.
Being persuaded then that I have injured no one, I am far
from intending to injure myself, and of pronouncing against
myself that I am deserving of punishment, and from awarding

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 25

myself any thing of the kind. Through fear of what? lest I
should suffer that which Melitus awards me, of which I say
I know not whether it be good or evil? instead of this, shall I
choose what I well know to be evil, and award that? Shall I
choose imprisonment? And why should I live in prison, a slave
to the established magistracy, the Eleven? Shall I choose a fine,
and to be imprisoned until I have paid it? But this is the same
as that which I just now mentioned, for I have not money to pay
it. Shall I then award myself exile? For perhaps you would
consent to this award. I should indeed be very fond of iife, O
Athenians, if I were so devoid of reason as not to be able to re-
flect that you, who are my fellow citizens, have been unable to
endure my manner of life and discourses, but they have become
so burdensome and odious to you, that you now seek to be rid
of them: others however will easily bear them: far from it, O
Athenians. A fine life it would be for me at my age to go out
mvandering and driven from city to city, and so to live. For I
well know that, wherever I may go, the youth will listen to me
when I speak, as they do here. And if I repulse them, they
will themselves drive me out, persuading the elders; and if I
do not repulse them, their fathers and kindred will banish me
on their account.

7 28, Perhaps however some one will say, Can you not,
Socrates, when you have gone from us, live a silent and quiet
life? This is the most difficult thing of all to persuade some
of you. For if I say that that would be to disobey the deity,
and that therefore it is impossible for me to live quietly, you
would not believe me, thinking I spoke ironically. If, on the
other hand, I say that this is the greatest good to man, to dis-
course daily on virtue, and other things which you have heard
me discussing, examining both myself and others, but that a
life without investigation is not worth living for, still less would
you believe me if I said this. Such however is the case, as I
affirm, O Athenians, though it is not easy to persuade you. And
at the same time I am not accustomed to think myself deserv-
ing of any ill. If indeed I were rich, I would amerce myself
in such a sum as I should be able to pay; for then I should
have suffered no harm, but now—for I cannot, unless you are
willing to amerce me in such a sum as I am able to pay. But
perhaps I could pay you a mina of silver: in that sum then I
amerce myself, But Plato here, O Athenians, and Crito Crito-

26 Li APOMOG YIOr SOCK ALE.

bulus, and Apollodorus bid me amerce myself in thirty mine,
and they offer to be sureties. I amerce myself then to you in
that sum; and they will be sufficient sureties for the money.

[The judges now proceeded to pass the sentence, and con-
demned Socrates to death; whereupon he continued : |

29. For the sake of no long space of time, O Athenians, you
wil incur the character and reproach at the hands of those
who wish to defame the city, of having put that wise man,
Socrates, to death. For those who wish to defame you: will
assert that I am wise, though I am not. If, then, you had
waited for a short time, this would have happened of its own
accord; for observe my age, that it is far advanced in life, and
near death. But I say this not to you all, but to those only
who have condemned’ me to die. And I say this too to the
same persons. Perhaps you think, O Athenians, that I have
been convicted through the want of argyments, by which I
might have persuaded you, had I thought "t right to do and
say any thing, so that I might escape punishment. Far other-
wise: I have been convicted through want indeed, yet not of
arguments, but of audacity and impudence, and of the incli-
nation to say such things to you as would have been most
agreeable for you to hear, had I lamented and bewailed and
done and said many other things unworthy of me, as I affirm,
but such as you are accustomed to hear from others. But
neither did I then think that I ought, for the sake of avoiding
danger, to do any thing unworthy of a freeman, nor do I now
repent of having so defended myself; but I should much rather
choose to die, having so defended myself, than to live in that way.
For neither in a trial nor in battle, is it right that I or any one
else should employ every possible means whereby he may avoid
death; for in battle it is frequently evident that a man might
escape death by laying down his arms, and throwing himself on
the mercy of his pursuers, And there are many other devices in
every danger, by which to avoid death, if a man dares to do and
say every thing. But this is not difficult,O Athenians, to escape
death, but it is much more difficult to avoid depravity, for it
runs swifter than death. And now I, being slow and aged, am
overtaken by the slower of the two; butmy accusers, being
strong and active, have been overtaken by the swifter, wicked-
ness. And now I depart, condemned by you to death; but
they condemned by truth, as guilty of iniquity and injustice:

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 27

and I abide my sentence and so do they. These things, perhaps,
ought so to be, and I think that they are for the best.

> 30. In the next place, I desire to predict to you who have
condemned me, what will be your fate: for I am now in that
condition in which men most frequently prophecy, namely,
when they are about to die. I say then to you, O Athenians,
who have condemned me to death, that immediately after my
death a punishment will overtake you, far more severe, by
Jupiter, than that which you have inflicted on me. For you
have done this, thinking you should be freed from the necessity
of giving an account of your life. The very contrary however, as I
affirm, will happen to you. Your accusers will be more numerous,
whom I have now restrained, though you did not perceive it; and
they will be more severe, inasmuch as they are younger, and
you will be more indignant. For, if you think that by putting
men to death you will restrain any one from upbraiding you
because you do not live well, you are much mistaken; for this
method of escape is neither possible nor honourable, but that
other is most honourable and most easy, not to put a check
upon others, but for a man to take heed to himself, how he
may be most perfect. Having predicted thus much to those
of you who have condemned me, I take my leave of you.

31. But with you who have voted for my acquittal, I would
gladly hold converse on what has now taken place, while the
magistrates are busy and I am not yet carried to the place
where I must die. Stay with me then, so long, O Athenians,
for nothing hinders our conversing with each other, whilst
we are permitted to do so; for T wish to make known to you,
as being my friends, the meaning of that which has just now
befallen me. To me then, O my judges,—and in calling you
judges I call you rightly,—a strange thing has happened. For
the wonted prophetic voice of my guardian deity, on every
former occasion even in the most trifling affairs opposed me,
if I was about to do any thing wrong; but now, that has be-

- fallen me which ye yourselves behold, and which any one would
think and which is supposed to be the extremity of evil, yet -
neither when I departed from home in the morning did the
warning of the god oppose me, nor when I came up here to
the place of trial, nor in my address when I was about to say
any thing; yet on other occasions it has frequently restrained
me in the midst of speaking. But now, it has never through-

28 THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

out this proceeding opposed me, either in what I did or said.
What then do I suppose to be the cause of this? I will tell
you: what has befallen me appears to be a blessing; and it
is impossible that we think rightly who suppose that death is
anevil. A great proof of this to me is the fact that it is im-
possible but that the accustomed signal should have opposed
me, unless I had been about to meet with some good,

32. Moreover we may hence conclude that there is great
hope that death is a blessing. For to die is one of two things:
for either the dead may be annihilated, and have no sensation
of any thing whatever; or, as it is said, there is a certain
change and passage of the soul from one place to another.
And if it is a privation of all sensation, as it were a sleep
in which the sleeper has no dream, death would be a
wonderful gain. For I think that if any one, having selected
a night, in which he slept so soundly as not to have had a
dream, and having compared this night with all the other
nights and days of his life, should be required on considera-
tion to say how many days and nights he had passed better
and more pleasantly than this night throughout his life, I
think that not only a private person, but even the great king
himself would find them easy to number in comparison with
other days and nights. If, therefore, death is a thing of this
kind, I say it is a gain; for thus all futurity appears to be
nothing more than one night. But if, on the other hand, death
is a removal from hence to another place, and what is said be
true, that all the dead are there, what greater blessing can
there be than this, my judges? For if, on arriving at Hades,
released from these who pretend to be judges, one shall find
those who are true judges, and who are said to judge there,
Minos and Rhadamanthus, Zacus and Triptolemus, and such
others of the demigods as were just during their own life,
would this be a sad removal? At what price would you not
estimate a conference with Orpheus and Muszeus, Hesiod and
Homer? I indeed should be willing to die often, if this be
true. Tor to me the sojourn there would be admirable, when
I should meet with Palamedes, and Ajax son of Telamon, and
any other of the ancients who has died by an unjust sentence.
The comparing my sufferings with theirs would, I think, be no
unpleasing occupation. But the greatest pleasure would be to
spend my time in questioning and examining the people there

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 29

as I have done those here, and discovering who among them is
wise, and who fancies himself to be so but is not. At what
price, my judges, would not any one estimate the opportunity
of questioning him who led that mighty army against Troy, or
Ulysses, or Sisyphus, or ten thousand others, whom one might
mention, both men and women? with whom to converse and
associate, and to question them, would be an inconceivable
happiness. Surely for that the judges there do not condemn
to death; for in other respects those who live there are more
happy than those that are here, and are henceforth immortal,
if at least what is said be true.

33. You, therefore, O my judges, ought to entertain good
hopes with respect to death, and to meditate on this one truth,
that to a good man nothing is evil, neither while living nor
when dead, nor are his concerns neglected by the gods. And
what has befallen me is not the effect of chance; but this is
clear to me, that now to die, and be freed from my cares, is
better for me. On this account the warning in no way turned
me aside; and I bear no resentment towards those who con-
demned me, or against my accusers, although they did not con-
demn and accuse me with this intention, but thinking to injure
me: in this they deserve to be blamed.

Thus much however I beg of them, Punish my sons, when
they grow up, O judges, paining them as I have pained you, if
they appear to you to care for riches or any thing else before
virtue, and if they think themselves to be something when
they are nothing, reproach them as I have done you, for not
attending to what they ought, and for conceiving themselves
to be something when they are worth nothing. If ye do this,
both I and my sons shall have met with just treatment at your
hands,

But it is now time to depart,—for me to die, for you to live.
But which of us is going to a better state is unknown to every
one but God.

INTRODUCTION TO THE CRITO.

Ir has been remarked by Stallbaum that Plato had a two-
fold design in this Dialogue; one, and that the primary one,
to free Socrates from the imputation of having attempted to
corrupt the Athenian youth; the other, to establish the prin-
ciple that under all circumstances it is the duty of a good citi-
zen to obey the laws of his country. These two points, how-
ever, are so closely interwoven with each other, that the gene-
ral principle appears only to be illustrated by the example of
Socrates.

Crito was one of those friends of Socrates who had been
present at his trial and had offered to assist in paying a fine,
had a fine been imposed instead of the sentence of death. He
appears to have frequently visited his friend in prison after his
condemnation, and now, having obtained access to his cell very
early in the morning, finds him composed in a quiet sleep. He
brings intelligence that the ship, the arrival of which would
be the signal for his death on the following day, is expected to
arrive forthwith, and takes occasion to entreat Socrates to
make his escape, the means of which were already prepared.
Socrates thereupon, having promised to follow the advice of
Crito, if after the matter had been fully discussed it should
appear to be right to do so, proposes to consider the duty of a
citizen towards his country, and having established the divine
principle, that it is wrong to return evil for evil, goes on to
shew that the obligations of a citizen to his country are even
more binding than those of a child to its parent or a slave to
his master, and that therefore it is his duty to obey the esta-
blished laws, at whatever cost to himself.

At length Crito admits that he has no answer to make, and
Socrates resolves to submit himself to the will of Providence.

CRITO;

OR

me DUTY OF 4 CITIZEN.

SOCRATES, CRITO.

Soer. Wry have you come at this hour, Crito? Is it not
very early?

Cri. It is.

Socr. About what time ?

vi. Scarce day-break. :
Socr. I wonder how the keeper of the prison came to admit
you.
-* (47, He is familiar with me, Socrates, from my having fre-
quently come hither ; and he is under some obligations to me.

Socr. Have you just now come, or some time since?

Cri. A considerable time since.

Soer. Why then did you not wake me at once, instead of sit-
ting down by me in silence?

Cri. By Jupiter, Socrates, I should not myself like to be so
long awake and in such affliction. But I have been for some
time wondering at you, perceiving how sweetly you slept; and
I purposely did not awake you, that you might pass your time
as pleasantly as possible. And indeed I have often before
throughout your whole life considered you happy in your dis-
position, but far more so in the present calamity, seeing how
easily and meekly you bear it.

Socr. However, Crito, it would be disconsonant for a man at
my time of life to repine because he must needs dic.

Cri. But others, Socrates, at your age have been involved in
similar calamities, yet their age has not hindered their repining
at their present fortune.

Socr. Soit is. But why did you come so early ?

Cri. Bringing sad tidings, Socrates ; not sad to you, as it
appears, but to me and all your friends, sad and heavy : and
_ which I, f think, shall bear worst of all.

32 CORTE:

Socr, What tidings? Has the ship? arrived from Delos, on
the arrival of which I must die?

Cri. It has not yet arrived; but it appears to me that it will
come to-day, from what certain persons report who have come
from Sunium>, and left it there. It is clear, therefore, from
these messengers, that it will come to-day, and consequently it
will be necessary, Socrates, for you to die to-morrow.

2. Socr. But with good fortune, Crito: and if so it please
the gods, so be it. I do not think, however, that it will come
to-day.

Cri. Whence do you form this conjecture ?

Soer. I will tell you. I must die on the day after that on
which the ship arrives,

Cri. So they say® whu have the control of these things.

Socr. I do not think, then, that it will come to-day, but to.
morrow. I conjecture this from a dream which I had this very
night, not long ago; and you seem very opportunely to have
refrained from waking me.

Cri. But what was this dream ?

Socr, A beautiful and majestic woman, clad in white gar-
ments, seemed to approach me, and to call to me and say,
“Socrates, three days hence you will reach fertile Phthia4,”

Cri. What a strange dream, Socrates!

Socr. Very clear, however, as it appears to me, Crito,

3. Cri. Very much so, as it seems. But, my dear Socrates,
even now be persuaded by me, and save yourself. For, if you
die, not only a single calamity will befal me, but besides being
deprived of such a friend as I shall never meet with again, I
shall also appear to many who do not know you and me well,
when I might have saved you, had I been willing to spend my
money, to have neglected to do so. And what character can
be more disgraceful than this to appear to value one’s riches
more than one’s friends? For the generality of men will not be
persuaded that you were unwilling to depart hence, when we
urged you to it.

Socr, But why, my dear Crito, should we care so much for
the opinion of the many? . For the most worthy men, whom

a See the Pheedo, s. 1.

» A promontory at the southern extremity of Attica.
© The Eleven.
@ See Homer’s Iliad, J. ix. v. 363.

CRITO. 33

we ought rather to regard, will think that matters have trans-
pired as they really have.

Cri. Yet you see, Socrates, that it is necessary to attend to
the opinion of the many. For the very circumstances of the
present case shew that the multitude are able to effect not only
the smallest evils, but even the greatest, if any one is calum-
niated to them.

Socr. Would, O Crito, that the multitude could effect the
greatest evils, that they might also effect the greatest good, for
then it would be well. But now they can do neither; for they
can neither make a man wise, nor foolish; but they do what-
ever chances.

4. Crt. So let it be then. But answer me this, Socrates ;
are you not anxious for me and other friends, lest, if you should
escape from hence, informers should give us trouble, as having
secretly carried you off, and so we should be compelled either to
lose all our property, or a very large sum, or to suffer something
else beside this? For, if you fear any thing of the kind, dis-
miss your fears. For we are justified in running this risk to
save you, and, if need be, even a greater than this. But be
persuaded by me, and do not refuse.

Socr. I am anxious about this, Crito, and about many other
things.

Cri. Do not fear this, however; for the sum is not large on
receipt of which certain persons are willing to save you, and
take you hence. In the next place, do you not see how cheap
these informers are, so that there would be no need of a large
sum for them? My fortune is at your service, sufficient, I
think, for the purpose: then if, out of regard to me, you do
not think right to spend my money, these strangers here are
ready to spend theirs. One of them, Simmias the Theban,
has brought with him a sufficient sum for the very purpose.
Cebes, too, is ready, and very many others. So that, as I said,
do not through fears of this kind hesitate to save yourself, nor
let what you said in court give you any trouble, that if you
went from hence you would not know what to do with your-
self. For.in many places, and wherever you go, men will love
you: and if you are disposed to go to Thessaly, I have friends
there who will esteem you very highly, and will ensure your
safety, so that no one in Thessaly will molest you.

5. Moreover, Socrates, you do not appear to me to pursue a

D

3 CRITO.

just course in giving yourself up when you might be saved ;
and you press on the very results with respect to yourselt
which your enemies would press and have pressed in their
anxiety to destroy you. Besides this, too, you appear to me
to betray your own sons, whom, when it is in your power to
rear and educate them, you will abandon, and, as far as you are
concerned, they will meet with such a fate as chance brings
them, and, as is probable, they will meet with such things as
orphans are wont to experience in a state of orphanage. Surely
one ought not to have children, or one should go through the
toil of rearing and instructing them. But you appear to
me to have chosen the most indolent course; (though you
ought to have chosen such a course as a good and brave
man would have done, since you profess to have made virtue
your study through the whole of your life ¢ so that I am
ashamed both for you and for us who are your friends, lest
this whole affair of yours should seem to be the effect of cow-
ardice on our part; your appearing to stand your trial in the
court, since you appeared when it was in your power not to
have done so, the very manner in which the trial was con-
ducted, and this last circumstance, as it were a ridiculous con-
summation of the whole business, your appearing to have es-
caped from us through our indolence and cowardice, who did
not save you, nor did you save yourself, when it was practi-
cable and possible, had we but exerted ourselves a little. Think
of these things, therefore, Socrates, and beware, lest, besides‘the
evil that will result, they be disgraceful both to you and to us ;
advise then with yourself, though indeed there is no longer
time for advising, your resolve should be already made. And
there is but one plan; for in the following night the whole
must be accomplished. , If we delay, it will be impossible and
no longer practicable. “By all means, therefore, Socrates, be
persuaded by me, and on no account refuse.

6. Socr.\My dear Crito, your zeal would be very commendable
were it united with right principle; otherwise, by how much
the more earnest it is, by so much is it the more sad. We
must consider, therefore, whether this plan should be adopted
or not. or I not now only, but always, am a person who will
obey nothing within me but reason, according as it appears to
me on mature deliberation to be best. And the reasons, which
I formerly professed, I cannot now reject, because this misfor-

CRITO. 35

tune has befallen me; but they appear to me in much the same
light, and I respect and honour them as before ; so that if we are
unable to adduce any better at the present time, be assured that
I shall not give in to you, even though the power of the multi-
tude should endeavour to terrify us like children, by threaten-
ing more than it does now, bonds and death, and confiscation of
property. How, therefore, may we consider the matter most
conveniently ? First of all, if we recur to the argument which.
you used about opinions, whether on former occasions it was
rightly resolved or not, that we ought to pay attention to some
opinions, and to others not; or whether, before it was neces-
sary that I should die, it was rightly resolved, but now it has
become clear that it was said idly for argument’s sake, though
in reality it was merely jest and trifling. I desire then, Crito,
to consider, in common with you, whether it will appear to
me in a different light now that I am in this condition, or the
same, and whether we shall! give it up or yield to it. It was
said, I think, on former occasions, by those who were thought
to speak seriously, as I just now observed, that of the opinions
which men entertain‘some should be very highly esteemed
and others not. By the gods, Crito, does not this appear to
you to be well said? For you, in all human probability, are
out of all danger of dying to-morrow, and the present calamity
will not lead your judgment astray. Consider then: does it
not appear to you to have been rightly settled, that we ought
not to respect all the opinions of men, but some we should and
others not? Nor yet the opinions of all men, but of some we
should and of others not? What say you? Is not this rightly
resolved ?

Cra. It is.

Socr. »Therefore, we should respect the good but not the
bad?

Cre. Yes.

Socr.< And are not the good those of the wise, and the bad
those of the foolish ?

Cri. How can it be otherwise ?

7. Socr. Come then, how again were the following points set-
tled? Does a man who practises gymnastic exercises, aid
applies himself to them, pay attention to the praise and cen-
sure and opinion of every one, or of that one man only whe
happens to be a physician or teacher of the exercises?

36 CRITO.

Cri. Of that one only,

Socr. He ought, therefore, to fear the censures and covet
the praises of that one, but not those of the multitude.

Cri. Clearly.

Socr. He ought, therefore, so to practise and exercise him-
self, and to eat and drink, as seems fitting to the one who pre-
sides and knows, rather than to all others together.

Cri. It is so.

Socr, Well, then, if he disobeys the one, and disregards his
opinion and praise, but respects that of the multitude and of
those who know nothing, will he not suffer some evil?

Cri. How should he not?

Socr. But what is this evil? whither does it tend, and on
what part of him that disobeys will it fall ?

Cri. Clearly on his body, for this it ruins.

Socr. You say well. The case is the same too, Crito, with
all other things, not to go through them all. With respect,
then, to things just and unjust, base and honourable, good and
evil, about which we are now consulting, ought we to follow
the opinion of the multitude, and to respect it, or that of one,
if there is any one who understands, whom we ought to reve-
rence and respect rather than all others together? and if we
do not obey him, shall we not corrupt and injure that part of
ourselves which becomes better by justice, but is ruined by
injustice? Or is this nothing?

Cri. I agree with you, Socrates,

8. Socr. Come then, if we destroy that which becomes better
by what is wholesome, but is impaired by what is unwhole-
some, through being persuaded by those who do not under-
stand, can we enjoy life when that is impaired? And this is
the body we are speaking of, is it not?

Oa @

Socr. Can we then enjoy life with a diseased and impaired
body?

Crz. By no means.

Socr. But can we enjoy life when that is impaired which
inj stice ruins, but justice benefits? Or do we think that to
be of less value than the body, whatever part of us it may be,
about which injustice and justice are concerned ?

Cri. By no means,

Socr. But of more value?

CRIULO, 37

Crt. Much more. xe

Socr. We must not, then, my excellent friend, so much re-
gard what the multitude will say of us, but what he will say who
understands the just and unjust; the one, even truth itself.
So that at first you did not set out with a right principle, when
you laid it down that we ought to regard the opinion of the
multitude with respect to things just and honourable and good,
and their contraries. However, some one may say, are not the
multitude able to put us to death?

Cri. This, too, is clear, Socrates; any one might say so.

Socr. You say truly. But, my admirable friend, this prin-
ciple which we have just discussed appears to me to be the
same as it was before®. And consider this moreover, whether
it still holds good with us or not, that we are not to be anxious
about living, but about living well.

Crz. It does hold good.

Socr.t+And does this hold good or not, that to live well and
honourably and justly, are the same thing?

Cri. It does.

9. Socr. From what has been admitted, then, this considera-
tion arises; whether it is just or not, that I should endeavour to
leave this place without the permission of the Athenians. And |
should it appear to be just, we will make the attempt; but if
not, we will give it up; but as to the considerations which you
mention, of an outlay of money, reputation, and the education
of children, beware, Crito, lest such considerations as these in
reality belong to these multitudes, who rashly put one to death,
and would restore one to life, if they could do so, without any
reason at all. *But we, since reason so requires, must consider
nothing else than what we just now mentioned, whether we
shall act justly in paying money and contracting obligations to
those who will lead me hence, as well they who lead me as we
who are led hence, or whether in truth we shall not act un-
justly in doing all these things. And if we should appear in
so doing to be acting unjustly, observe that we must not con-
sider whether from remaining here and continuing quiet we
must needs die, or suffer any thing else, rather than whether
we shall be acting unjustly.

© That is to say, the principle which we had laid down in former dis-

cussions, that no regard is to be had to popular opinion, is still found to
hold good.

38 CRITO.

Cri. You appear to me to speak wisely, Socrates; but see
what we are to do.

Socr. Let us consider the matter together, my friend; and
if you have any thing to object to what I say make good your
objection, and I will yield to you; but if not, cease, my ex-
cellent friend, to urge upon me the same thing so often, that I
ought to depart hence, against the will of the Athenians. For
1 highly esteem your endeavours to persuade me thus to act,
so long as it is not against my will. Consider, then, the be-
ginning of our enquiry, whether it is stated to your entire
satisfaction, and endeavour to answer the question put to you
exactly as you think right.

Crt. I will endeavour to do so.

19, Socr. Say we, then, that we should on no account deli-
berately commit injustice, or may we commit injustice under
certain circumstances, under others not? Orvis it on no ac-
count either good or honourable to commit injustice, as we
have often agreed on former occasions, and as we just now
said? Or have all those our former admissions been dissi-
pated in these few days; and have we, Crito, old men as we
are, been for a long time seriously conversing with each other,
without knowing that we in no respect differ from children?
Or does the case, beyond all question, stand as we then deter-
mined? whether the multitude allow it or not, and whether we
must suffer a more severe or a milder punishment than this,
still is injustice on every account both evil and disgraceful to
him who commits it? Do we admit this, or not?

Cri. We do admit it. y,

Soer, On no account, therefore, ought we to act anjustly. |

Cri. Surely not.

Socr. Neither ought one who is injured to return the injury,
as the multitude think, since it is on no account right to act
unjustly,

Cri. It appears not.

Socr. What then? Is it right to do evil, Crito, or not?

Cri. Surely it is not right, Socrates.

Socr, But what? To do evil in return when one has been
evil-entreated, is that right or not?

Crt. By no means.

Soer. For to do evil to men, differs in no respect from com-
mitting injustice.

<<

CRITO. 39

Cr?. You say truly.

Socr. It is not right, therefore, to return an injury, or to do
evil to any man, however one may have suffered from him.
But take care Crito, that in allowing these things, you do not
allow them ¢ontrary to your opinion. For I know that to some
few only these things both do appear and will appear to be
true. ‘They then to whom these things appear true, and they
to whom they do not, have no sentiment in common, and must
needs despise each other, while they look to each other’s
opinions. Consider well then, whether you coincide and think
with me; and whether we can begin our deliberations from this"
point, that it is never right either to do an injury, or to return
an injury, or when one has been evil-entreated to revenge one’s-
self by doing evil in return; or, do you dissent from and not
coincide in this principle? For so it appears to me both long
since and now; but if you in any respect think otherwise, say
so and inform me. But if you persist in your former opinions,
hear what follows.

Cri. I do persist in them and think with you. Speak on then.

Socr. I say next then, or rather I ask ; whether when a man
has promised to do things that are just, he ought to do them,
or evade his promise?

Cri. He ought to do them.

11. Socr. Observe then what follows. By departing hence
without the leave of the city, are we not doing evil to some,
and that to those to whom we ought least of all to do it, or
not? And do we abide by what we agreed on as being just,
or do we not?

Cyi. Tam unable to answer your question, Socrates: for I
do not understand it.

Socr. Then consider it thus. If while we were preparing
to run away, or by whatever name we should call it, the laws
and commonwealth should come and, presenting themselves
before us, should say: ‘‘ Tell me, Socrates, what do you pur-
pose doing? Do you design any thing else by this proceeding
in which you are engaged, than to destroy us, the laws, and
the whole city as far as you are able? ‘Or do you think it
possible for that city any longer to subsist and not be sub-
verted, in which judgments that are passed have no force, but
are set aside and destroyed by private persons?” What should
we say, Crito, to these and similar remonstrances? For any

40 CRITLO,

one, especially an orator, would have much to say on the vio-
lation of the law, which enjoins that judgments passed shall
be enforced. \Shall we say to them that the city has done us
an injustice and not passed a right sentence? Shall we say
this, or what else ?

Cri.\ This, by Jupiter, Socrates.

12. Socr, What then if the laws should say: ‘Socrates,
was it not agreed between us that you should abide by the
judgments which the city should pronounce?’ And if we
should wonder at their speaking thus, perhaps they would
say, “‘ Wonder not, Socrates, at what we say, but answer,
since you are accustomed to make use of questions and
answers. For come, what charge have you against us and
the city, that you attempt to destroy us? Did we not first
give you being? and) did not your father through us_ take
your mother to wife and beget you? Say then, do you find
fault with those laws amongst us that relate to marriage as
being bad?” I should say, “I do not find fault with them.”
“Do you with those that relate to your nurture when born,
and the education with which you were instructed? Or did
not the laws, ordained on this point, enjoin rightly, in requir-
ing your father to instruct you in music and gymnastic exer-
cises?”” I should say, rightly. Well then: since you were
born, nurtured, and educated through our means, can you say,
first of all that you are not both our offspring and our slave, as >
well you as your ancestors? And if this be so, do you think’
that there are equal rights between us, and whatever we
attempt to do to you, do you think you may justly do to us .
in turn? Or had you(nof) equal rights with your father, or
master, if you happened to have one, so as to return what*
you suffered, neither to retort when found fault with, nor
when stricken to strike again, nor many other things of the
kind; but that with your country and the laws you may do
so; so that if we attempt to destroy you, thinking it to be just,
you also should endeavour as far as you are able, in return to ;
destroy us, the laws, and your country, and in doing this will
you say that you act justly, you who, in reality, make virtue
your chief object? Or are you so wise as not to know that
one’s country is more honourable, venerable and sacred, and
more highly prized both by gods and men possessed of under-
standing, than mother and father, and all other progenitors,

i

CRITO. 41

and that one ought to reverence, submit to, and appease one’s
country,\when angry, rather than one’s father, and either per-
suade it or do what it orders, and to suffer quietly if it bids
one suffer, whether to be beaten, or put in bonds; or if it
sends one out to battle there to be wounded or slain, this
must be done, for justice so requires, and one must not give
way, or retreat, or leave one’s post; but that both in war, and
in a court of justice, and every where, one must do what one’s
city and country enjoins, or persuade it in such manner as
justice allows: but that to offer violence either to one’s mother
or father is not holy, much less to one’s country? What shall
we say to these things, Crito? That the laws speak the truth
or not?

Cri. It seems so to me.

13. Socr. “Consider, then, Socrates,” the laws perhaps

might say, “whether we say truly that in what you are now,
attempting you are attempting to do what is not just towards

us. For we, having given you birth, nurtured, instructed you, |

and having imparted to you and all other citizens all the good
in our power, still proclaim, by giving the power to every
Athenian who pleases, when he has arrived at years of dis-
cretion and become acquainted with the business of the state,
and us, the laws, that any one, who is not satisfied with us,

may take his property and go wherever he pleases. And if}

any one of you wishes to go to a colony, if he is not satisfied |

with us and the city, or to migrate and settle in another
country, none of us, the laws, hinder or forbid him going
whithersoever he pleases, taking with him all his property.
But whoever continues with us after he has seen the manner
in which we administer justice, and in other respects govern
the city, we now say, that he has in fact entered into a com-
pact with us, to do what we order, and we affirm that he who
does not obey is in three respects guilty of injustice, because
he does not obey us who gave him being, and because he does
not obey us who nurtured him, and because, having made a
compact that he would obey us, he neither does so nor does
he persuade us if we do any thing wrongly, though we pro-
pose for his consideration, and do not rigidly command him
to do what we order, but leave him the choice of one cf two
things, either to persuade us, or to do what we require, and
yet he does neither of these.

4

42 CRITO:

14. “ And we say that you, O Socrates, will be subject to
vhese charges if you accomplish your design, and that not
least of the Athenians, but most so of all.” And if I should
ask, for what reason? They would probably justly retort on
me by saying, that among all the Athenians I especially made
this compact with them. For they would say, “ Socrates, we
have strong proof of this, that you were satistied both with us
and the city; for of all the Athenians you especially would
never have dwelt in it, if it had not been especially agreeable
to you. For you never went out of the city to any of the
public spectacles, except once to the Isthmian games, nor any
where else, except on military service, nor have you ever gone
abroad as other men do, nor had you ever had any desite to
become acquainted with any other city or other laws, but we
and our city were sufficient for you; so strongly were you
attached to us, and so far did you consent to submit to our
government, both in other respects and in begetting children in
this city, in consequence of your being satisfied with it. ) More-
over in your very trial, it was in your power to have imposed
on yourself a sentence of exile, if you pleased, and might then
have done, with the consent of the city, what you now attempt
against its consent. Then indeed you boasted yourself as not
being grieved if you must needs die ; but you preferred, as you
said, death to exile. Now, however, you are neither ashamed
of those professions, nor do you revere us, the laws, since
you endeavour to destroy us; and\you act as the vilest slave
would act, by endeavouring to make your escape contrary to
the conventions and the compacts by which you engaged to
submit to our government. First then, therefore, answer us
this, whether we speak the truth or not in affirming that you
agreed to be governed by us in deed though not in word ?”
What shall we say to this, Crito? Can we do otherwise than
assent?

Cri. We must needs do so, Socrates ?

Socr. “ What else, then,” they will say, “are you doing but
violating the conventions and compacts which you made with
us, though you did not enter into them from compulsion or
through deception, or from being compelled to determine in a
short time, but during the space of seventy years, in which you
might have departed if you had been dissatisfied with us, and
the compacts had not appeared to you to be just? You, how-

CLE: 43

ever, neither preferred Lacedwmon nor Crete, which you seve-
ral times said are governed by good laws, nor any other of the
Grecian or barbarian cities; but you have been less out ot
Athens than the lame and the blind, and other maimed per-
sons. So much, it is evident, were you satisfied with the city
and us, the laws, beyond the rest of the Athenians: for who
can be satisfied with a city without laws? But now will you
not abide by your compacts? You will, if you are persuaded
by us, Socrates, and will not make yourself ridiculous by leay-
ing the city.
15. “ For consider, by violating these compacts and offending
against any of them, what good you will do to yourself or your
friends. For that your friends will run the risk of being them-
selves banished, and deprived of the rights of citizenship, or of
forfeiting their property, is pretty clear. And as for yourself, if
you should go to one of the neighbouring cities, either Thebes
or Megara, for both are governed by good laws, you will go
theref Socrates, as an enemy to their polity, and such as have
any regard for their country will look upon you with suspicion,
regarding you as a corrupter of the laws, and you will confirm
the opinion of the judges, so that they will appear to have con-
demned you rightly, for whoso is a corrupter of the laws will
appear in all likelihood to be a corrupter of youths and weak-
minded men. Will you then avoid these well-governed cities,
and the best-ordered men? And should you do so, will it be
worth your while to live? Or will you approach them, and
have the effrontery to converse with them, Socrates, on sub-
jects the same as you did here, that virtue and justice, legal
institutions and laws, should be most highly valued by men?
And do you not think that this conduct of Socrates would be
very indecorous? You must think so, But you will keep
clear of these places, and go to Thessaly, to Crito’s friends, for
there is the greatest disorder and licentiousness, and perhaps
they will gladly hear you relating how drolly you escaped from
prison, clad in some dress or covered with a skin, or in some
other disguise such as fugitives are wont to dress themselves
in, having so changed your usual appearance. And will no
one say that you, though an old man, with but a short time to
live, in all probability, have dared to have such a base desire of
life as to violate the most sacred laws? Perhaps not, should
you not offend any one. But if you should, you will hear,

44 CREO:

Socrates, many things utterly unworthy of you. You will
Jive, too, in a state of abject dependence on all men, and as
their slave. But what will you do in Thessaly besides feast-
ing, as if you had gone to Thessaly to a banquet? And what
will become of those discourses about justice and all other vir-
tues ?—But do you wish to live for the sake of your children,
that you may rear and educate them? What then? Will you
take them to Thessaly, and there rear and educate them, mak-
ing them aliens to their country, that they may owe you this
obligation too? Or if not so, being reared here, will they be
better reared and educated while you are living, though not —
with them? for your friends will take care of them. Whether,
if you go to Thessaly, will they take care of them, but if you
go to Hades will they not take care of them? If, however,
any advantage is to be derived from those that say they are
your friends, we must think they will.

16. *“* Then, O Socrates, be persuaded by us who have nur-
tured you, and do not set a higher value on your children, or
on life, or on any thing else than justice, that, when you arrive
in Hades, you may have all this to say in your defence before
those who have dominion there. For neither here in this life,
if you do what is proposed, does it appear to be better, or more
just, or more holy to yourself, or any of your friends; nor will
it be better for you when you arrive there. /But now you de-
part, if you do depart, unjustly treated, not by us, the laws, but
by men; but should you escape, having thus disgracefully re-
turned injury for injury, and evil for evil, having violated your
own compacts and conventions which you made with us, and
having done evil to those to whom you least of all should have
done it, namely, yourself, your friends, your country, and us,
both we shall be indignant with you as long as you live, and
there our brothers, the laws in Hades, will not receive you fa- |
vourably, knowing that you attempted, as far as you were able,
to destroy us. Let not Crito, then, persuade you to do what
he advises, rather than we.”

17. These things, my dear friend Crito, be assured I seem
to hear, as the votaries of Cybele‘ seem to hear the flutes. And
the sound of these words booms in my ear, and makes me in-
capable of hearing any thing else. Be sure, then, so long as I

* The Corybantes, priests of Cybele, who in their solemn festivals made
such a noise with flutes that the hearers could hear no other sound.

]
ip
v

CHER, 45

retain my present opinions, if you should say any thing con-
trary to these, you will speak in vain. If, however, you think
that you can prevail at all, say on.

Cri. But, Socrates, I have nothing to say.

Socr. Desist, then, Crito, and let us pursue this course,
since this way the deity leads us.

INTRODUCTION TO THE PHADO.

Turis dialogue presents us with an account of the manner
in which Socrates spent the last day of his life, and how he
met his death. The main subject is that of the soul’s immor-
tality, which Socrates takes upon himself to prove with as
much certainty as it is possible for the human mind to arrive
at. The question itself. ‘hoagh none could be better suited to
the occasion, arises simply and naturally from the general con-
versation that precedes it.

When his friends visit him in the morning for the purpose of
spending this his last day with him, they find him sitting up in
bed and rubbing his leg, which had just been freed from bonds.
He remarks on the unaccountable alternation and connexion
between pleasure and pain, and adds that LEsop, had he ob-
served it, would have made a fable from it. This remark
reminds Cebes of Socrates’ having put some of Ausop’s fa-
bles into metre since his imprisonment, and he asks, for the
satisfaction of the poet Evenus, what had.induced him to do
so. Socrates explains his reason, and concludes by bidding
him tell Evenus to follow him as soon as he can. Simmias
expresses his surprise at this message, on which Socrates asks,
“Is not Evenus a philosopher ?” and on the question being
answered in the affirmative, he says, that he or any philoso-
pher would be willing to die, though perhaps he would not
commit violence on himself. This, again, seems a contradic-
tion to Simmias, but Socrates explains it by shewing that our
souls are placed in the body by God, and may not leave it
without His permission. Whereupon Cebes objects, that in
that case foolish men only would wish to die and quit the ser-
vice of the best of masters, to which Simmias agrees. Socra-

nl

i

INTRODUCTION. 47

tes, therefore, proposes to plead his cause before them, and to
shew that there is a great probability that after this life he
shall go into the presence of God and good men, and be happy
in proportion to the purity of his own mind.

He begins? by stating that philosophy itself is nothing else
than a preparation for and meditation on death. Death and
philosophy have this in common: death separates the soul
from the body, philosophy draws off the mind from bodily
things to the contemplation of truth and virtue: for he is not
a true philosopher who is led away by bodily pleasures, since
the senses are the source of ignorance and all evil; the mind,
therefore, is entirely occupied in meditating on death, and
freeing itself as much as possible from the body. How, then,
can such a man be afraid of death? He who grieves at the
approach of death cannot be a true lover of wisdom, but is
a lover of his body. And, indeed, most men are temperate
through intemperance, that is to say, they abstain from some
pleasures that they may the more easily and permanently en-
joy others. They embrace only a shadow of virtue, not virtue
itself, since they estimate the value of all things by the plea-
sures they afford. Whereas the philosopher purifies his mind
from all such things, and pursues virtue and wisdom for their
own sakes. This course Socrates himself had pursued to the
utmost of his ability, with what success he should shortly
know ; and on these grounds he did not repine at leaving his
friends in this world, being persuaded that in another he should
meet with good masters and good friends.

Upon this Cebes® says that he agrees with all else that had .
been said, but cannot help entertaining doubts of what will be-
come of the soul when separated from the body, for the com-
mon opinion is that it is dispersed and vanishes like breath or
smoke, and no longer exists any where. Socrates, therefore,
proposes to enquire into the probability of the case, a fit em-
ployment for him under his present circumstances.

2 § 2139, » § 39, 40.

48 INTRODUCTION.

His first argument® is drawn from the ancient belief preva-
lent amongst men, that souls departing hence exist in Hades,
and are produced again from the dead. If this be true, it
must follow that our souls are there, for they could not be pro-
duced again if they did not exist: and its truth is confirmed
by this, that it is a general law of nature that contraries are
produced from contraries, the greater from the less, strong
from weak, slow from swift, heat from cold, and in lke man-
ner life from death, and vice versi. To explain this more
clearly, he proceeds to shew that what is changed passes from
one state to another, and so undergoes three different states,
first the actual state, then the transition, and thirdly the new
state, as from a state of sleep, by awaking to being awake :
in like manner birth is a transition from a state of death to
life, and dying from life to death, so that the soul, by the act
of dying, only passes to another state ; if it were not so, all
nature would in time become dead, just as if people did not
awake out of sleep all would at last be buried in eternal sleep.
Whence the conclusion is that the souls of men are not anni-
hilated by death.

Cebes* agrees to this reasoning, and adds that he is further
convinced of its truth by calling to mind an argument used
by Socrates on former occasions, that knowledge is nothing
but reminiscence, and if this is so, the soul must have existed
and had knowledge before it became united to the body.

But in case Simmias should not yet be satisfied, Socrates®
proceeds to enlarge on this, his second argument, drawn from
reminiscence. We daily find that we are carried from the
knowledge of one thing to another. Things perceived by the
eyes, ears, and other senses, bring up the thought of other
things: thus the sight of a lyre or a garment reminds us of a
friend, and not only are we thus reminded of sensible objects,
but of things which are comprehended by the mind alone, and
have no sensitive existence. For we have formed in our minds

* § 40-46. 4 § 47, © § 48—57.

INTRODUCTION. 49

an idea of abstract equality, of the beautiful, the just, the good,
in short, of every thing which we Say exists without the aid of
the senses, for we use them only in the perception of individual
things, whence it follows that the mind did not acquire this
knowledge in this life, but must have had it before, and there-
fore the soul must have existed before.

Simmias and Cebes‘ both agree in admitting that Socrates
has proved the pre-existence of the soul, but insist that he has
not shewn it to be immortal, for that nothing hinders but that,
according to the popular opinion, it may be dispersed at the
dissolution of the body. To which Socrates replies, that if
their former admissions are joined to his last argument, the
immortality, as well as the pre-existence of the soul, has been
sufficiently proved. For if it is true that any thing living is
produced from that which is dead, then the soul must exist
after death, otherwise it could not be produced again.

However to remove the apprehension that the soul may be
dispersed by a wind as it were, Socrates proceeds, in his third
arguments, to examine that doubt more thoroughly. What
then is meant by being dispersed but being dissolved into its
parts? In order therefore to a thing being capable of dis-
persion it must be compounded of parts. Now there are two
kinds of things, one compounded, the other simple, the former
kind is subject to change, the latter not, and can be compre-
hended by the mind alone. The one is visible, the other in-
visible; and the soul, which js invisible, when it employs the
bodily senses wanders and is confused, but when it abstracts

is eternal, immortal, and unchangeable. The soul, therefore,
being uncompounded and invisible must be indissoluble, that

Still Simmias and Cebes” are unconvinced. The former
objects, that the soul, according to Socrates? own shewing,
is nothing but a harmony resulting from a combination of the

ay 50250, US Gey: Mey (ees
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50 INTRODUCTION.

parts of the body, and so may perish with the body as the
harmony of a lyre does when the lyre itself is broken. And
Cebes, though he admits that the soul is more durable than the
body, yet objects that it is not therefore of necessity immortal
but may in time wear out, and it is by no means clear that this
is not its last period.

These objections produce a powerful effect on the rest of
the company, but Socrates, undismayed, exhorts them not to
suffer themselves to be deterred from seeking the truth by any
difficulties they may meet with; and then proceeds? to shew,
in a moment, the fallacy of Simmias’ objection. It was before
admitted, he says, that the soul existed before the body, but
harmony is produced after the lyre is formed, so that the two
cases are totally different. And further, there are various
degrees of harmony, but every soul is as much a soul as any
other. But then what will a person who holds this doctrine,
that the soul is harmony, say of virtue and vice in the soul ?
Will he call them another kind of harmony and discord? If so,
he will contradict himself, for it is admitted that one soul is
not more or less a soul than another, and therefore one cannot
be more or less harmonized than another, and one could not
admit of a greater degree of virtue or vice than another; and
indeed a soul, being harmony, could not partake of vice at all,
which is discord.

Socrates, having thus satisfactorily answered the argument
adduced by Simmias, goes on to rebut that of Cebes*, who
objected that the soul might in time wear out. In order to
do this, he relates that when a young man he attempted to
investigate the causes of every thing, why they exist and why
they perish; and in the course of his researches finding the
futility of attributing the existence of things to what are called
natural causes, he resolved on endeavouring to find out the
reasons of things. He therefore assumed that there is 2
certain abstract beauty, and goodness, and magnitude, and

1 § 93—99. ® § 100—112.

INTRODUCTION aps

so of all other things: the truth of which being granted he
thinks he shall be able to prove that the soul is immortal.
This then being conceded by Cebes, Socrates! argues that
every thing that is beautiful is so from partaking of ab-
stract beauty, and great from partaking of magnitude, and
little from partaking of littleness. Now it is impossible he
argues that contraries can exist in the same thing at the
same time, for instance the same thing cannot possess both
snagnitude and littleness, but one will withdraw at the ap-
proach of the other: and not only so, but things which,
though not contrary to each other, yet always contain con-
traries within themselves cannot co-exist; for instance the
number three has no contrary, yet it contains within itself
the idea of odd, which is the contrary to even, and so three
sever can become even; in like manner heat while it is heat
can never admit the idea of its contrary, cold. Now if this
method of reasoning is applied to the soul it will be found to
be immortal ; for life and death are contraries, and never can
co-exist, but wherever the soul is there is life, so that it con-
tains within itself that which is contrary to death, and conse-
quently can never admit of death; therefore it is immortal.
With this he closes his arguments in support of the soul’s
immortality. Cebes owns himself convinced, but Simmias,
though he is unable to make any objection to the soundness of
Socrates’ reasoning, cannot help still entertaining doubts on
the subject. If, however, the soul is immortal, Socrates pro-
ceeds™, great need is there in this life to endeavour to become
as wise and good as possible. For if death were a deliverance
from every thing it would be a great gain for the wicked, but
since the soul appears to be immortal, it must go to the place
suited to its nature. For it is said that each person’s demon
conducts him to a place where he receives sentence according
to his deserts.
He then" draws a fanciful picture of the various regions of
1 § 112—128. ™ § 129—131. * § 1382—145.

52 INTRODUCTION.

the earth, to which the good and the bad will respectively go
after death, and exhorts his friends to use every endeavour to
acquire virtue and wisdom in this life, ‘‘ for,” he adds, ‘the
reward is noble and the hope great.”

Having thus brought his subject to a conclusion, Socrates
proposes to bathe himself, in order not to trouble others to
wash his dead body. Crito thereupon asks if he has any com-
mands to give, and especially how he would be buried, to which
he, with his usual cheerfulness, makes answer, ‘‘ Just as you
please, if only you can catch me,” and then, smiling, he re-
minds them that after death he shall be no longer with them,
and begs the others of the party to be sureties to Crito for his

absence from the body, as they had been before bound for his
presence before his judges.

After he had bathed, and taken leave of his children and the

women of his family, the officer of the Eleven comes in to inti-
mate to him that it is now time to drink the poison. Crito
urges a little delay, as the sun had not yet set, but Socrates
refuses to make himself ridiculous by shewing such a fondness
for life; the man who is to administer the poison is therefore
sent for, and on his holding out the cup, Socrates, neither
trembling nor changing colour or countenance at all, but, as
he was wont, looking stedfastly at the man, asked if he might
make a libation to any one, and being told that no more poison
than enough had been mixed, he simply prayed that his depar-
ture from this to another world might be happy, and then
drank off the poison readily and calmly. His friends, who had
hitherto with difficulty restrained themselves, could no longer
control the outward expressions of grief, to which Socrates
said, ‘‘ What are you doing, my friends? I, for this reason
chiefly, sent away the women, that they might not commit
any folly of this kind. For I have heard that it is fon to die
with good omens. Be quiet, therefore, and bear up.”

When he had walked about for a while his legs began to
grow heavy, so he laid down on his back, and his body, from

INTRODUCTION. 5%

the feet upwards, gradually grew cold and stiff. His last
words were, ‘‘Crito, we owe a cock to Esculapius : pay it,
therefore, and do not neglect it.”

“This,” concludes Pheedo, “was the end of our friend, a
man, as we may say, the best of all his time that we have
known, and moreover, the most wise and just.”

PHADO,

CR

THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.

First Ecnecratrs, PH£po.

THEN SockaTes, APOLLODORUs, CEBES, SIMMIAS, AND CRITO.

Ech, Were you personally present, Phedo, with Socrates
on that day when he drank the poison in prison? or did you
hear an account of it from some one else?

Phed. I was there myself, Echecrates.

Ech, What then did he say before ‘his death? and how did
he die ? for I should be glad to hear: for scarcely any citizen
of Phlius® ever visits Athens now, nor has any stranger for a
long time come from thence, who was able to give us a clear
account of the particulars, except that he died from drinking
poison ; but he was unable to tell us any thing more.

2. Phed. And did you not hear about the trial how it
went off ?

Eich, Yes; some one told me this ; and I wondered, that as it
took place so long ago, he appears to have died long afterwards.
What was the reason of this, Pheedo ?

Phed. An accidental circumstance happened in his favour,
¥checrates : for the poop of the ship which the Athenians send
to Delos, chanced to be crowned on the day before the trial.

Ech, But what is this ship?

Phed. It is the ship, as the Athenians say, in which Theseus
formerly conveyed the fourteen boys and girls to Crete, and
saved both them and himself. They, therefore, made a vow
to Apollo on that occasion, as it is said, that if they were
saved they would every year despatch a solemn embassy to

* Phlius, to which Echecrates belonged, was a town of Sicyonia in
Peloponnesus.

PHAEDO. 55

Delos ; which from that time to the present, they send yearly
to the god. 3. When they begin the preparations for this
solemn embassy, they have a law that the city shall be purified
during this period, and that no public execution shall take place
until the ship has reached Delos, and returned to Athens: and this
occasionally takes a long time, when the winds happen to im-
pede their passage. The commencement of the embassy is
when the priest of Apollo has crowned the poop of the ship.
And this was done, as I said, on the day before the trial: on
this account Socrates had a long interval in prison between the
trial and his death.

4. Ech. And what, Phedo, were the circumstances of his
death? what was said and done? and who of his friends were
with him ? or would not the magistrates allow them to be present,
but did he die destitute of friends?

Phed. By no means; but some, indeed several, were pre-
sent.

Ech. Take the trouble, then, to relate to me all the par-
ticulars as clearly as you can, unless you have any pressing
business.

Phed. 1 am at leisure, and will endeavour to give you a full
account: for to call Socrates to mind, whether speaking my-
self or listening to some one else, is always most delightful
to me.

5. Ech. And indeed, Phedo, you have others to listen to
you who are of the same mind. However, endeavour to relate
every thing as accurately as you can.

Phed. 1 was indeed wonderfully affected by being present,
for I was not impressed with a feeling of pity, like one
present at the death of a friend ; for the man appeared to me
to be happy, Echecrates, both from his manner and discourse,
so fearlessly and nobly did he meet his death: so much so,
that it occurred to me, that in going to Hades he was not going
without a divine destiny, but that when he arrived there he
would be happy, if any one ever was. For this reason I was
entirely uninfluenced by any feeling of pity, as would seem
likely to be the case with one present on so mournful an occa-
sion; nor was I affected by pleasure from being engaged in
philosophical discussions, as was our custom; for our conver-
sation was of that kind. But an altogether unaccountable
fecling possessed me, a kind of unusual mixture compounded

5G PHZDO.

of pleasure and pain together, when I considered that he was
immediately about to die. And all of us who were present
were affected in much the same manner, at one time laughing,
at another weeping, one of us especially, Apollodorus, for you
know the man and his manner.

ich. How should I not ?

6. Phed. He, then, was entirely overcome by these emo-
tions ; and I too was troubled, as well as the others.

Ech. But who were present, Pheedo?

Phed. Of his tellow-countrymen, this Apollodorus was
present, and Critobulus, and his father Crito, moreover Hermo-
genes, Epigenes, schines, and Antisthenes; Ctesippus the
Peanian, Menexenus, and some other of his countrymen were
also there: Plato I think was sick.

Ech, Were any strangers present ?

Phed. Yes: Simmias the Theban, Cebes, and Phedondes:
and from Megara, Euclides and Terpsion.

7. Ech. But what! were not Aristippus and Cleombrotus
present ?

Phed. No: for they were said to be at gina.

Eich. Was any one else there?

Phed. 1 think that these were nearly all who were present.

Lich. Well now: what do you say was the subject of con-
versation ?

Phed. Twill endeavour to relate the whole to you from the
beginning. On the preceding days I and the others were con-
stantly in the habit of visiting Socrates, meeting early in the
morning at the court-house where the trial took place, for it
was near the prison, 8. Here then we waited every day
till the prison was opened, conversing with each other; for it
was not opened very early, but, as soon as it was opened we
went in to Socrates, and usually spent the day with him. On
that occasion however, we met earlier than usual; for on the
preceding day, when we left the prison in the evening, we
heard that the ship had arrived from Delos. We therefore
urged each other to come as early as possible to the accustomed
place ; accordingly we came, and the porter, who used to admit
us, coming out, told us to wait, and not enter until he called
us. ‘For,’ he said, “the Eleven are now freeing Socrates
from his bonds, and announcing to him that he must die to-
day.” Butin no long time he returned, and bade us enter.

the

PHZDO 57

9. When we entered, we found Socrates just freed from
his bonds, and Xantippe, you know her, holding his little boy
and sitting by him. As soon as Xantippe saw us, she wept
aloud and said such things as women usually do on such occa-
sions, as ** Socrates, your friends will now converse with you
for the last time and you with them.” But Socrates, looking
towards Crito, said, ‘* Crito, let some one take her home.”
Upon which some of Crito’s attendants led her away, wailing
and beating herself.

But Socrates sitting up in bed, drew up his leg, and rubbed it
with his hand, and as he rubbed it, said; ‘* What an unaccount-
able thing, my friends, that seems to be, which men call plea-
sure; and how wonderfully is it related towards that which
appears to be its contrary, pain; in that they will not both be
present to a man at the same time, yet, if any one pursues and
attains the one, he is almost always compelled to receive the
other, as if they were both united together from one head.

10. ‘And it seems to me,” he said, “that if ZEsop had ob-
served this he would have made a fable from it, how the deity,
wishing to reconcile these warring principles, when he could not
do so, united their heads together, and from hence whomsoever
the one visits the other attends immediately after; as ap-
pears to be the case with me, since I suffered pain in my
leg before from the chain, but now pleasure seems to have
succeeded.”

Hereupon Cebes, interrupting him, said, “ By Jupiter, So-
crates, you have done well in reminding me: with respect to
the poems which you made, by putting into metre those Fables
of AZsop and the hymn to Apollo, several other persons asked
me, and especially Evenus recently, with what design you
made them after you came here, whereas before you had never
made any. I]. If, therefore, you care at all that I should be
able to answer Evenus, when he asks me again, for I am
sure he will do so, tell me what I must say to him.”

“Tell him the truth then, Cebes,” he replied, “that I did
not make them from a wish to compete with him, or his poems,
for I knew that this would be no easy matter; but that I might
discover the meaning of certain dreams, and discharge my
conscience, if this should happen to be the music which they
have often ordered me to apply myself to. For they were to
the following purport: often in my past life the same dream

58 PHAEDO.

visited me, appearing at different times in different forms, yet
always saying the same thing, ‘ Socrates,’ it said, ‘ apply your-
self to and practise music.’ 12, And I formerly supposed that
it exhorted and encouraged me to continue the pursuit I was
engaged in, as those who cheer on racers, so that the dream
encouraged me to continue the pursuit I was engaged in,
namely, to apply myself to music, since philosophy is the
highest music, and I was devoted to it. But now since my
trial took place, and the festival of the god retarded my death,
it appeared to me that, if by chance the dream so frequently
enjoined me to apply myself to popular music, I ought not to
disobey it but do so, for that it would be safer for me not to
depart hence before I had discharged my conscience by making
some poems in obedience to the dream. Thus, then, I first
of all composed a hymn to the god whose festival was pre-
sent, and after the god, considering that a poet, if he means to
be a poet, ought to make fables and not discourses, and know-
ing that I was not skilled in making fables, I therefore put
into verse those fables of AZsop, which were at hand, and were
known to me, and which first occurred to me.

13. Tell this then to Evenus, Cebes, and bid him farewell,
and, if he is wise, to follow me as soon as he can. But i
depart, as it seems, to-day ; for so the Athenians order.”

To this Simmias said ; ‘“‘ What is this, Socrates, which you
exhort Evenus to do? for I often meet with him; and from
what I know of him, I am pretty certain that he will not at
all be willing to comply with your advice.”

‘“« What then,” said he, ‘‘is not Evenus a philosopher °”

‘To me he seems to be so,” said Simmias.

“* Then he will be willing,” rejoined Socrates, “‘ and so will
every one who worthily engages in this study; perhaps in-
deed he will not commit violence on himself, for that they say
is not allowable.” And as he said this he let down his leg
trom the bed on the ground, and in this posture continued
during the remainder of the discussion.

Cebes then asked him, ‘* What do you mean, Socrates, by say-
ing that it is not lawful to commit violence on one’s-self, but that
2 philosopher should be willing to follow one who is dying ae

14, “ What, Cebes, have not you and Simmias, who have
conversed familiarly with Philolaus? on this subject, heard ?”

» A Pythagorean of Crotona.

PHZDO, 59

‘“ Nothing very clearly, Socrates.”

I however speak only from hearsay; what then I have
heard I have no scruple in telling. And perhaps it is most
becoming for one who is about to travel there, to enquire
and speculate about the journey thither, what kind we think
it is. What else can one do in the interval before sun-
set?”

Why then, Socrates, do they say that it is not allowable to
kill one’s-self? for I, as you asked just now, have heard both
Philolaus, when he lived with us, and several others say that it
was not right to do this; but I never heard any thing clear
upon the subject from any one.”

15, “ Then you should consider it attentively,” said Socrates,
* for perhaps you may hear: probably however, it will appear
wonderful to you, if this alone of all other things is an uni-
versal truth ¢, and it never happens to a man, as is the case in
all other things, that at sometimes and to some persons only it
is better to die than to live ; yet that these men for whom it is
better to die—this probably will appear wonderful to you—
may not without impiety do this good to themselves, but must
await another benefactor.”

16. Then Cebes, gently smiling, said, speaking in his own
dialect 4, “« Jove be witness.”

‘And indeed,” said Socrates, “it would appear to be un-
reasonable, yet still perhaps it has some reason on its side.
The maxim indeed given on this subject in the mystical doc-
trines °, that we men are in a kind of prison, and that we
ought not to free ourselves from it and escape, appears to me
difficult to be understood, and not easy to penetrate. This
however appears to me, Cebes, to be well said, that the gods
take care of us, and that we men are one of their possessions.
Does it not seem so to you?”

“It does,” replied Cebes.

‘*Therefore,”’ said he, “if one of your slaves were to kill him-
self, without your having intimated that you wished him to die,
should you not be angry with him, and should you not punish
him if you could?”

‘* Certainly,” he replied.

- Namely, “that it is better to die than live.”

4 "Irrw Beeotian for tor,
« Of Pythagoras,

60 PHADO.

* Perhaps then in this point of view, it is nct unreasonable
to assert, that a man ought not to kill himself before the deity
lays him under a necessity of doing so, such as that now laid
on me.”

17. ‘This, indeed,” said Cebes, ‘‘ appears to be probable.
But what you said just now, Socrates, that philosophers should
be very willing to die, appears to be an absurdity, if what we
said just now is agreeable to reason, that it is God who takes
care of us, and that we are his property. For that the wisest
men should not be grieved at leaving that service in which
they govern them who are the best of all masters, namely the
gods, is not consistent with reason. For surely he cannot
think that he will take better care of himself when he has be-
come free: but a foolish man might perhaps think thus, that
he should fly from his master, and would not reflect that he
ought not to fly from a good one, but should cling to him as
much as possible, therefore he would fly against all reason :
but a man of sense would desire to be constantly with one
better than himself. Thus, Socrates, the contrary of what
you just now said is likely to be the case; for it becomes the
wise to be grieved at dying, but the foolish to rejoice.”

18. Socrates, on hearing this, appeared to me to be pleased
with the pertinacity of Cebes, and looking towards us, said,
“‘Cebes, you see, always searches out arguments, and is not at
all willing to admit at once any thing one has said.”

Whereupon Simmias replied; ‘‘ But indeed, Socrates, Cebes
appears to me, now, to say something to the purpose: for
with what design should men really wise fly from masters who
are better than themselves, and so readily leave them? And
Cebes appears to me to direct his argument against you, because
you so easily endure to abandon both us, and those good rulers,
as you yourself confess, the gods.”

“You speak justly,” said Socrates, ‘for I think you mean
that I ought to make my defence to this charge, as if I were
in a court of justice.”

‘* Certainly,” replied Simmias.

19. “Come then,” said he, ‘1 will endeavour to defend
myself more successfully before you than before the judges.
For,” he proceeded, ‘‘Simmias and Cebes, if I did not think
that I should go first of all amongst other deities who are
both wise and good, and, next, amongst men who have de-

PHADO. 61

parted this life, better than any here, 1 should be wrong in
not grieving at death: but now be assured, I hope to go
amongst good men, though I would not positively assert it ;
that, however, I shall go amongst gods who are perfectly good
masters, be assured I can positively assert this, if I can any
thing of the kind. So that, on this account, I am not so
much troubled, but I entertain a good hope that something
awaits those who die, and that, as was said long since, it will
be far better for the good than the evil.”

20. ‘‘ What then, Socrates,” said Simmias, ‘‘ would you go
away keeping this persuasion to yourself, or would you impart
it to us? For this good appears to me to be also common to
us; and at the same time it will be an apology for you, if you
can persuade us to believe what you say.”

«‘T will endeavour to do so,” he said. ‘‘ But first let us
attend to Crito here, and see what it is he seems to have for
some time wished to say.”

«What else, Socrates,” said Crito, ‘‘but what he who is to
give you the poison told me some time ago, that I should tell
you to speak as little as possible? For he says that men be-
come too much heated by speaking, and that nothing of this
kind ought to interfere with the poison, and that otherwise,
those who did so were sometimes compelled to drink two or
three times.”

To which Socrates replied, ‘‘ Let him alone, and let him
attend to his own business, and prepare to give it me twice,
or, if occasion requires, even thrice.”

21. ‘I was almost certain what you would say,” answered
Crito, ‘‘ but he has been some time pestering me.”

“Never mind him,” he rejoined.

‘* But now I wish to render an account to you, my judges, of
the reason why a man who has really devoted his life to phi-
losophy, when he is about to die, appears to me, on good
grounds, to have confidence, and to entertain a firm hope that
the greatest good will befal him in the other world, when he
has departed this life. How then this comes to pass, Simmias
and Cebes, I will endeavour to explain.

‘For as many as rightly apply themselves to philosophy
seem to have left all others in ignorance, that they aim at
nothing else than to die and be dead. If this then is true, it
would surely be absurd to be anxious about nothing else than

62 EAD O:

this during their whole life, but, when it arrives, to be grieved
at what they have been long anxious about and aimed at.”

22. Upon this, Simmias, smiling, said, ‘‘ By Jupiter, Socra-
tes, though I am not now at all inclined to smile, you have
made me do so; for I think that the multitude, if they heard
this, would think it was very well said in reference to philoso-
phers, and that our countrymen particularly would agree with
you, that true philosophers do desire death, and that they are
by no means ignorant that they deserve to suffer it.”

‘And indeed, Simmias, they would speak the truth, except
in asserting that they are not ignorant; for they are ignorant
of the sense in which true philosophers desire to die, and in
what sense they deserve death, and what kind of death. But,”
he said, ‘‘let us take leave of them, and speak to one another.
Do we think that death is any thing?”

“Certainly,” replied Simmias.

23. ‘Is it any thing else than the separation of the soul from
the body? and is not this to die, for the body to be apart by
itself separated from the soul, and for the soul to subsist apart
by itself separated from the body? Is death any thing else
than this?”

“No, but this,’ he replied.

“Consider then, my good friend, whether you are of the
same opinion as me; for thus I think we shall understand
better the subject we are considering. Does it appear to you
to be becoming in a philosopher to be anxious about pleasures,
as they are called, such as meats and drinks ?”

‘* By no means, Socrates,” said Simmias.

‘* But what ? about the pleasures of love ?”

“ Not at all.”

24. “What then? does such a man appear to you to
think other bodily indulgences of value? for instance, does he
seem to you to value or despise the possession of magnificent
garments and sandals, and other ornaments of the body, except
so far as necessity compels him to use them ?”

«The true philosopher,’ he answered, ‘‘ appears to me to
despise them.”

“* Does not then,” he continued, “‘ the whole employment of
such a man appear to you to be, not about the body, but to
separate himself from it as much as possible, and be occupied
about his soul ?”

PHADO. 63

iat: COGS.)

‘First of all then, in such matters, does not the philoso-
pher, above all other men, evidently free his soul as much as
he can from communion with the body ?”

‘Tt appears so.”’

25. * And it appears, Simmias, to the generality of men,
that he who takes no pleasure in such things, and who does
not use them, does not deserve to live ; but that he nearly ap-
proaches to death who cares nothing for the pleasures that
subsist through the body.”

*« You speak very truly.”

‘«‘ But what with respect to the acquisition of wisdom, is the
body an impediment or not, if any one takes it with him as a
partner in the search? What I mean is this: Do sight and
hearing convey any truth to men, or are they such as the poets
constantly sing, who say that we neither hear nor see any thing
with accuracy? If however these bodily senses are neither ac-
curate nor clear, much less can the others be so: for they are
all far inferior to these. Do they not seem so to you ?”

‘* Certainly,” he replied.

26. ‘‘ When then,” said he, ‘‘ does the soul light on the
truth? for, when it attempts to consider any thing in conjunc-
tion with the body, it is plain that it is then led astray by it.”

** You say truly.”

“Must it not then be by reasoning, if at all, that any of
the things that really are become known to it ?”

“Yes,”

‘** And surely the soul then reasons best when none of these
things disturb it, neither hearing, nor sight, nor pain, nor
pleasure of any kind, but it retires as much as possible within
itself, taking leave of the body, and, as far as it can, not com-
municating or being in contact with it, it aims at the discovery
of that which is.”

** Such is the case.”

‘Does not then the soul of the philosopher, in these cases,
despise the body, and flee from it, and seek to retire within it-
self?”

“Tt appears so.”

‘“* But what as to such things as these, Simmias? Do we
say that justice itself is something or nothing ?”

‘We say it is something, by Jupiter.”

64 PHADO.

‘And that beauty and goodness are something ?”’
“ How not ?”

‘‘ Now then have you ever seen any thing of this kind with
your eyes ?”

« By no means,” he replied.

“Did youever lay hold of them by any other bodily sense? but
I speak generally, as of magnitude, health, strength, and, in a
word, of the essence of every thing, that is to say, what each is.
Is then the exact truth of these perceived by means of the body,
or is it thus, whoever amongst us habituates himseif to reflect
most deeply and accurately on each several thing about which
he is considering, he will make the nearest approach to the
knowledge of it r”’

*“ Certainly.”’

28. ‘Would not he, then, do this with the utmost purity,
who should in the highest degree approach each subject by
means of the mere mental faculties, neither employing the sight
in conjunction with the reflective faculty, nor introducing any
other sense together with reasoning ; but who, using pure re-
flection by itself, should attempt to search out each essence
purely by itself, freed as much as possible from the eyes and
ears, and, in a word, from the whole body, as disturbing
the soul, and not suffering it to acquire truth and wisdom,
when it is in communion with it. Is not he the person, Sim-
mias, if any one can, who will arrive at the knowledge of
that which is ?”

29. ‘‘You speak with wonderful truth, Socrates,
Simmias.

“Wherefore,” he said, ‘‘it necessarily follows from all this, that
some such opinion as this should be entertained by genuine philo-
sophers, so that they should speak among themselves as follows :
‘A by-path, as it were, seems to lead us on in our researches
undertaken by reason,’ because as long as we are encumbered with
the body, and our soul is contaminated with such an evil, we can
never fully attain to what we desire ; and this, we say, is truth.
For the body subjects us to innumerabie hindrances on account
of its necessary support, and moreover if any diseases befal us,
they impede us in our search after that which is; and it fills
us with longings, desires, fears, all kinds of fancies, and a
multitude of absurdities, so that, as it is said in real truth, by
reason of the body it is never possible for us to make any ad-

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replied

PHA:DO. 65

vances in wisdom. 30. « For nothing else but the body and its
desires occasion wars, seditions, and contests ; for all wars
amongst us arise on account of our desire to acquire wealth ;
and we are compelled to acquire wealth on account of the
body, being enslaved to its service ; and consequently on all
these accounts we are hindered in the pursuit of philosophy.
But the worst of all is, that if it leaves us any leisure, and we
apply ourselves to the consideration of any subject, it constantly
obtrudes itself in the midst of our researches, and occasions
trouble and disturbance, and confounds us so that we are not
able by reason of it to discern the truth. It has then in reality
been demonstrated to us, that if we are ever to know any
thing purely, we must be separated from the body, and contem-
plate the things themselves by the mere soul. And then, as
it seems, we shall obtain that which we desire, and which we
profess ourselves to be lovers of, wisdom, when we are dead, as
reason shews, but not while we are alive. 31. For if*it

dead; for then the soul will subsist apart by itself, separate
from the body, but not before. And while we live, we shall
thus, as it seems, approach nearest to knowledge, if we hold
no intercourse or communion at all with the body, except
what absolute necessity requires, nor suffer ourselves to be pol-
luted by its nature, but purify ourselves from it, until God
himself shall release us. And thus being pure, and freed from
the folly of body, we shall in all likelihood be with others like
ourselves, and shall of ourselves know the whole real essence,
and that probably is truth ; for it is not allowable for the im-
pure to attain to the pure. Such things, I think, Simmias,
all true lovers of wisdom m ust both think and say to one another.

32. “ If this then,”’ said Socrates, «is true, my friend, there
is great hope for one Who arrives where I am going, there,
if any where, to acquire that in perfection for the sake of which
_ we have taken so much pains during our past life: so that the
journey now appointed me is set out upon with good hope, and

will be so by any other man who thinks that his mind has been
as it were purified,”’.

66 PHADO.

“ Certainly,” said Simmias.

«But does not purification consist in this, as was said ina
former part of our discourse, in separating as much as possible
the soul from the body, and in accustoming it to gather and
collect itself by itself on all sides apart from the body, and to
dwell, as far as it can, both now and hereafter, alone by itself,
delivered as it were from the shackles of the body ?”

“Certainly,” he replied.

33. “Isthis then called death, this deliverance and separa-
tion of the soul from the body ?”

« Assuredly,” he answered.

«But, as we affirmed, those who pursue philosophy rightly,
are especially and alone desirous to deliver it, and this is the
very study of philosophers, the deliverance and separation of
the soul from the body, is it not ?”

“Tt appears so.’

‘Then, as I said at first, would it not be ridiculous for a
man who has endeavoured throughout his life to live as near
as possible to death, then, when death arrives, to grieve?
would not this be ridiculous ?””

‘«« How should it not?”

“In reality then, Simmias,’”” he continued, ‘‘those who
pursue philosophy rightly study to die; and to them of all
men death is least formidable. Judge from this. Since they
altogether hate the body and desire to keep the soul by it-
self, would it not be irrational if, when this comes to pass,
they should be afraid and grieve, and not be glad to go to
that place, where on their arrival they may hope to obtain
that which they longed for throughout life; but they longed
for wisdom; and to be freed from association with that which
they hated? 34. Have many of their own accord wished to
descend into Hades, on account of human objects of affection,
their wives and sons, induced by this very hope of there seeing
and being with those whom they have loved; and shall one
who really loves wisdom, and firmly cherishes this very hope,
that he shall no where else attain it in a manner worthy of
the name, except in Hades, be grieved at dying, and not
gladly go there? We must think that he would gladly go,
mv friend, if he be in truth a philosopher; for he will be
firmly persuaded of this, that he will no where clse but there
attain wisdom in its puritv: and if this be so, would it not be

PHAZDO. 67

very irrational, as I just now said, if such a man were to be
afraid of death ?”

“Very much so, by Jupiter,” he replied.

35. ‘Would not this then,” he resumed, “be a sufficient
proof to you, with respect to a man whom you should see
grieved when about to die, that he was not a lover of wisdom
but 2 lover of his body? and this same person is probably a
lover of riches and a lover of honour, one or both of these.”

“It certainly is as you say,” he replied.

‘Does not then,” he said, “that which is called fortitude,
Simmias, eminently belong to philosophers ?”

‘* By all means,” he answered.

“And temperance also, which even the multitude call
temperance, and which consists in not being carried away
by the passions, but in holding them in contempt, and keep-
ing them in subjection, does not this belong to those only
who most despise the body, and live in. the study of
philosophy ?”

‘ Necessarily so,” he replied.

36. “For,” he continued, “if you will consider the forti-
tude and temperance of others, they will appear to you to be
absurd.”

‘** How so, Socrates ?”

“Do you know,” he said, “that all others consider death
among the great evils?”

“They do indeed,” he answered.

“Then do the brave amongst them endure death, when they
do endure it, through dread of greater evils ?”

a tt is 60.

‘‘ All men, therefore, except philosophers, are brave through
being afraid and fear; though it is absurd that any one should
be brave through fear and cowardice.”

“ Certainly.”

“ But what, are not those amongst them who keep their
passions in subjection, affected in the same way? and are they
not temperate through a kind of intemperance? and although
we may say, perhaps, that this is impossible, nevertheless
the manner in which they ure affected with respect to this
silly temperance resembles this; for, fearing to be deprived
of other pleasures, and desiring them, they abstain from some,
being mastered by others. And though they call intemperance

68 PHADO.

the being governed by pleasures, yet it happens to them that,
by being mastered by some pleasures, they master others ;
and this is similar to what was just now said, that in a certain
manner they become temperate through intemperance.”

«So it seems.”’

37. ‘My dear Simmias, consider that this is not a right
exchange for virtue, to barter pleasures for pleasures, pains
for pains, fear for fear, and the greater for the lesser, like
pieces of money; but that that alone is the right coin, for
which we ought to barter all these things, wisdom; and for
this, and with this every thing is in reality bought and sold,
fortitude, temperance, and justice, and, in a word, true virtue
subsists with wisdom, whether pleasures and fears, and every
thing else of the kind, are present or absent; but when sepa-
rated from wisdom, and changed one for another, consider
whether such virtue is not a mere outline, and in reality
servile, possessing neither soundness nor truth ; but the really
true virtue is a purification from all such things, and tempe-
rance, justice, fortitude, and wisdom itself, are a kind of initi-
atory purification. 38. And those who instituted the mysteries
for us appear to have been by no means contemptible, but in
reality to have intimated long since that whoever shall arrive
in Hades unexpiated and uninitiated shall lie in mud, but he
that arrives there purified and initiated, shall dwell with the
gods. ‘For there are,’ say those who preside at the mysteries,
‘many wand-bearers, but few inspired.’ These last, in my
opinion, are no other than those who have pursued philo-
sophy rightly: that I might be of their number, I have, to
the utmost of my ability, left no means untried, but have
endeavoured to the utmost of my power. But whether I have
endeavoured rightly and have in any respect succeeded, on
arriving there I shall know clearly, if it please God, very
shortly, as it appears to me.

39. “Such then, Simmias and Cebes,” he added, ‘‘is the
defence I make, for that I, on good grounds, do not repine or
grieve at leaving you and my masters here, being persuaded that
there, no less than here, I shall meet with good masters and
friends. But to the multitude this is incredible. If however
I have succeeded better with you in my defence than I did
with the Athenian judges, it is well.”

When Socrates had thus spoken, Cebes, taking up the dis-

PHAZDO. 69

cussion said, ‘‘ Socrates, all the rest:appears to me to be said
rightly, but what you have said respecting the soul will
occasion much incredulity in many from the apprehension that,
when it is separated from the body, it no longer exists any
where, but is destroyed and perishes on the very day in
which a man dies, and that immediately it is separated and
goes out from the body, it is dispersed and vanishes like
breath or smoke, and is no longer any where; since, if it
remained any where united in itself, and freed from those
evils which you have just now enumerated, there would be
an abundant and good hope, Socrates, that what you say is
true. 40. But this probably needs no little persuasion and
proof, that the soul of a man who dies, exists, and possesses
activity and intelligence.”

“You say truly, Cebes,’’ said Socrates, ‘but what shall
we do? Are you willing that we should converse on these
points, whether such is probably, the case or not ?”

“Indeed,” replied Cebes, ‘I should gladly hear your
opinion on these matters.”

“T do not think,” said Socrates, ‘‘ that any one who should
now hear us, even though he were a comic poet, would say
that I am talking idly, or discoursing on subjects that do not
concern me. If you please, then, we will examine into it. Let
us consider it in this point of view, whether the souls of men
who are dead exist in Hades, or not. This is an ancient say-
ing, which we now call to mind, that souls departing hence
exist there, and return hither again, and are produced from the
dead. 41. And if this is so, that the living are produced again
from the dead, can there be any other consequence than
that our souls are there? for surely they could not be pro-
duced again if they did not exist; and this would be a suffi-
cient proof that these things are so, if it should in reality be
evident that the living are produced from no other source than
the dead. But, if this is not the case, there will be need of
other arguments.”’

‘« Certainly,” said Cebes.

‘*You must not, then,” he continued, “‘ consider this only
with respect to men, if you wish to ascertain it with greater
certainty, but also with respect to all animals and plants, and,
in a word, withfrespect to every thing that is subject to gene-
ration, let us see whether they are not all so produced, no

o

70 Bit OO.

otherwise than contraries from contraries, wherever they have
any such quality, as for instance the honourable is contrary to
the base, and the just to the unjust, and so with ten thousand
other things. 42. Let us consider this, then, whether it is
necessary that all things which have a contrary should be
produced from nothing else than their contrary. As for
instance, when any thing becomes greater is it not necessary
that, from being previously smaller, it afterwards became
greater ?”

i ag

“And if it becomes smaller, will it not, from being pre-
viously greater, afterwards become smaller ?”’

“It is so,” he replied.

‘‘And from stronger, weaker? and from slower, swifter ?”

“ Certainly.”

“What then? if any thing becomes worse, must it not be-
come so from better? and if more just, from more unjust ?”

« How should it not?”

“We have then,” he said, ‘‘ sufficiently determined this,
that all things are thus produced, contraries from contraries ?”

** Certainly.”

‘‘ What next? is there also something of this kind in them,
for instance, between all two contraries a mutual twofold pro-
duction, from one to the other, and from that other back again ?
for between a greater thing and a smaller there is increase and
decrease, and do we not accordingly call the one to increase,
the other to decrease ’”

“Yes,” he replied.

43. “And must not to be separated and commingled, to grow
cold and to grow warm, and every thing in the same manner,
even though sometimes we have not names to designate them,
yet in fact be every where thus circumstanced of necessity, as
to be produced from each other, and be subject to a reciprocal
generation ?”

“ Certainly,” he replied.

““What then?” said Socrates, “‘has life any contrary, as
waking has its contrary, sleeping ?”

** Certainly,” he answered.

“What 22

“Death,” he replied.

‘‘ Are not these, then, produced from each other, since they

PHA DO. 7

are contraries, and are not the modes by which they are pro-
duced twofold, intervening between these two ?”

‘“ How should it be otherwise ?”

“T then,” continucd Socrates, “will describe to you one
pair of the contraries which I have just now mentioned, both
what it is and its mode of production ; and do you describe to
me the other. I say that one is to sleep, the other to awake;
and from sleeping awaking is produced, and from awaking
sleeping, and that the modes of their production are the one
to fall asleep, the other to be roused. 44. Have I sufficiently
explained this to you or not ?”

‘* Certainly.”

“To you then,” he said, ‘describe to me, in the same
manner, with respect to life and death? Do you not say that
life is contrary to death?”

og I: (ae

zie (a

‘And that they are produced from each other ?”

“What then, is produced from life ?”

‘“‘ Death,” he replied.

“* What, then,” said he, “is produced from death ?”

‘‘T must needs confess,” he replied, ‘that life is.”

“From the dead, then, O Cebes, living things and living
men, are produced.”

“Tt appears so,” he said.

“Our souls, therefore,” said Socrates, ‘‘ exist in Hades.”

«So it seems,”

“With respect, then, to their mode of production, is not
one of them very clear? for to die surely is clear? is it not?”

* Certainly,” he replied.

“What then shall we do?” he continued; “shall we not
find a corresponding contrary mode of production, or will na-
ture be defective in this? Or must we discover a contrary
mode of production to dying ?”

‘* By all means,” he said.

** What is this?”

“To revive.”

“ Therefore,” he proceeded, ‘if there is such a thing as to
revive, will not this reviving be a mode of production from the
dead to the living ?”

** Certainly.”

=)
tw

PEDO,

“Thus, then, we have agreed, that the living are produced
from the dead, no less than the dead from the living: but, this
being the case, there appears to me sufficient proof that the
souls of the dead must necessarily exist somewhere, from
whence they are again produced.”

45. “It appears to me, Socrates,” he said, ‘that this must
necessarily follow from what has been admitted.”

“See now, O Cebes,” he said, “that we have not agreed
on these things improperly, as it appears to me: for if one
class of things were not constantly given back in the place of
another, revolving as it were in a circle, but generation were
direct from one thing alone into its opposite, and did not turn
round again to the other, or retrace its course, do you know
that all things would at length have the same form, be in the
same state, and cease to be produced ?”

‘* How say you?” he asked.

“Tt is by no means difficult,” he replied, ‘to understand
what I mean; if, for instance, there should be such a thing as
falling asleep, but no reciprocal waking again produced from a
state of sleep, you know that at length all things would shew
the fable of Endymion to be a jest, and it would be thought
nothing at all of, because every thing else would be in the same
state as him, namely, asleep. And if all things were mingled
together, but never separated, that doctrine of Anaxagoras
would soon be verified, ‘all things would be together.’ 46.
Likewise, my dear Cebes, if all things that partake of life
should die, and after they are dead should remain in this
state of death, and not revive again, would it not necessarily
follow that at length all things should be dead, and nothing
alive? for if living beings are produced from other things, and
living beings die, what could prevent their being all ab-
sorbed in death ?”

‘‘Nothing whatever, I think, Socrates,” replied Cebes, ‘‘but
you appear to me to speak the exact truth.”

“For, Cebes,” he continued, ‘‘as it seems to me, such un-
doubtedly is the case, and we have not admitted these things
under a delusion, but it is in reality true that there is a reviv-
ing again, that the living are produced from the dead, that the
souls of the dead exist, and that the condition of the good is
better, and of the evil, worse.”

47. ‘“‘ And indeed,” said Cebes, interrupting him, ‘according

ar

PH/EDO 73

to that doctrine, Socrates, which you are frequently in the habit
of advancing, if it is true, that our learning is nothing else than
reminiscence, according to this it is surely necessary that we
must at some former time have learned what we now remem-
ber. But this is impossible, unless our soul existed somewhere
before it came into this human form; so that from hence also
the soul appears to be something immortal.”

‘“‘ But, Cebes,” said Simmias, interrupting him, ‘ what proofs
are there of these things? remind me of them, for I do not
very well remember them at present.”

48. ‘It is proved,” said Cebes, ‘by one argument, and that
a most beautiful one, that men, when questioned, if one ques-
tions them properly, of themselves describe all things as they
are: however, if they had not innate knowledge and right
reason, they would never be able to do this. Moreover, if one
leads them to diagrams, or any thing else of the kind, it is
then most clearly apparent that this is the case.”

“But if you are not persuaded in this way, Simmias,” said
Socrates, ‘see if you will agree with us on considering the mat-
ter thus. For do you doubt how that which is called learning
is reminiscence ?”

“I do not doubt,” said Simmias, “ but I require this very
thing of which we are speaking, to be reminded; and indeed,
from what Cebes has begun to say, I almost now remember,
and am persuaded; nevertheless, however, I should like to
hear now how you would attempt to prove it.”

“I do it thus,” he replied: ‘‘we admit surely that if any
one be reminded of any thing, he must needs have known that
thing at some time or other before.”

** Certainly,” he said.

49. ‘‘Do we then admit this also, that when knowledge comes
in a certain manner it is reminiscence? But the manner I
mean is this; if any one, upon seeing or hearing, or perceiv-
ing through the medium of any other sense, some particular
thing, should not only know that, but also form an idea of
something else, of which the knowledge is not the same, but
different, should we not justly say, that he remembered that
of which he received the idea ?”

‘* How mean you?”

‘‘ For instance; the knowledge of a man is different from
that of a lyre.”

Ts PHADO.

** How not ?”

‘** Do you not know, then, that lovers when they see a lyre,
or a garment, or any thing else which their favourite is accus-
tomed to use, are thus affected; they both recognise the lyre,
and receive in their minds the form of the person to whom the
lyre belonged? ‘This is reminiscence: just as any one, seeing
Simmias, is often reminded of Cebes, and so in an infinite num-
ber of similar instances.”

«An infinite number indeed, by Jupiter,”’ said Simmias.

‘Ts not then,” he said, ‘‘something of this sort a kind of
reminiscence? especially when one is thus affected with: re-
spect to things which, from lapse of time, and not thinking of
them. one has now forgotten ?”

** Certainly,” he replied.

50. ‘* But what ?” he continued, “‘ does it happen, that when
one sees a painted horse or a painted lyre, one is reminded of a
man, and that when one sees a picture of Simmias one is re-
minded of Cebes!”

** Certainly.”

“And does it not also happen, that on seeing a picture of
Simmias one is reminded of Simmias himself ?”

‘** Tt does indeed,” he replied.

‘* Does it not happen, then, according to all this, that remi-
niscence arises partly from things like, and partly from things
unlike ?”

at does.”

«But when one is reminded by things like, is it not neces-
sarv that one should be thus further affected, so as to perceive
whether, as regards likeness, this falls short or not of the thing
of which one has been reminded ?”

‘It is necessary,” he replied.

‘* Consider, then,” said Socrates, ‘‘if the case is thus. Dowe
allow that there is such a thing as equality? I do not mean of
one log with another, nor one stone with another, nor any thing
else of this kind, but something altogether different from all
these, abstract equality; do we allow that there is any such
thing or not ?”

‘“‘ By Jupiter, we most assuredly do allow it,” replied Sim-
mias.

51. ‘And do we know what it is itself?”

“ Certainly,” he replied.

?

PHADO. 75

** Whence have we derived the knowledge of it? Is it not
from the things we have just now mentioned, and that from
seeing logs, or stones, or other things of the kind, equal, we
have from these formed an idea of that which is different from
these? for does it not appear to you to be different? Con-
sider the matter thus. Do not stones that are equal, and
logs sometimes that are the same, appear at one time equal,
and at another not ?”

“ Certainly.”

“But what ? does abstract equality ever appear to you un-
equal? or equality inequality ?”

‘“‘ Never, Socrates, at any time.”

‘These equal things, then,” he said, ‘and abstract equality,
are not the same?”

‘“‘ By no means, Socrates, as it appears.”

‘“‘ However, from these equal things,” he said, ‘“‘ which are
different from that abstract equality, have you not formed your
idea and derived your knowledge of it ?”

“You speak most truly,” he replied.

“Ts it not, therefore, from its being like or unlike them ?”

“ Certainly.”

‘But it makes no difference,” he said. ‘When, therefore,
on seeing one thing, you form, from the sight of it, the notion
of another, whether like or unlike, this,’ he said, ‘must ne-
cessarily be reminiscence.”

“ Certainly.”

52. ‘‘ What, then, as to this?’ he continued; “are we af-
fected in any such way with regard to logs and the equal things
we have just now spoken of? and do they appear to us to be
equal in the same manner as abstract equality itself is, or do
they fall short in some degree, or not at all, of being such as
equality itself is ?”

‘They fall far short,” he replied.

“Do we admit, then, that when one, on beholding some par-
ticular thing, perceives that it aims, as that which I now see,
at being like something else that exists, but falls short of it,
and cannot become such as that is, but is inferior to it, do we
admit that he who perceives this must necessarily have had a
previous knowledge of that which he says it resembles, though
imperfectly ?””

“Tt is necessary.”

76 PHADO

“What then? are we affected in some such way, or not, with
respect to things equal and abstract equality itself?”

* Assuredly.”

“Tt is necessary, therefore, that we must have known ab-
stract equality before the time when on first seeing equal things,
we perceived that they all aimed at resembling equality, but
failed in doing so.”

** Such is the case.”

53. ‘* Moreover, we admit this too, that we perceived this, and
could not possibly perceive it by any other means than the
sight, or touch, or some other of the senses : for I say the same
of them all.”

“For they are the same, Socrates, so far as our argument is
concerned.”

‘* However, we must perceive by means of the senses, that
all things which come under the senses aim at that abstract
equality, and yet fall short of it: or how shall we say it is >”

“‘ Even so.”

* Before, then, we began to see, and hear, and use our other
senses, we must have had a knowledge of equality itself, what
it is, if we were to refer to it those equal things that come
under the senses, and observe that all such things aim at re-
sembling that, but fall far short of it.”

“This necessarily follows, Socrates, from what has been
already said.”

“ But did we not, as soon as we were born, see and hear, and
possess our other senses ?”

** Certainly.”

“But, we have said, before we possessed these, we must
have had a knowledge of abstract equality ¢

oe vas”

“We must have had it, then, as it seems, before we were
born.”

“Tt seems so.”

o4. “Tf, therefore, having this before we were born, we were
born possessing it, we knew both before we were born, and as
soon as we were born, not only the equal and the greater and
smaller, but all things of the kind; for our present discussion
is not more respecting equality than the beautiful itself, the

good, the just, and the holy, and in one word, respecting —

every thing which we mark with the seal of existence, both in

PHEDO. 77

the questions we ask, and the answers we give. So that we
must necessarily have had a knowledge of all these before we
were born.”

‘Such is the case.”

“And if, having once had it, we did not constantly forget it,
we should always be born with this knowledge, and should
always retain it through life: for to know is this, when one
has got a knowledge of any thing, to retain and not lose it;
for do we not call this oblivion, Simmias, the loss of know-
ledge ?”

* Assuredly, Socrates,” he replied.

oo. “ But if, having had it before we were born, we lose it at
our birth, and afterwards, through exercising the senses about
these things, we recover the knowledge which we once before
possessed, would not that which we call learning be a recovery
of our own knowledge? and in saying that this is to remember
should we not say rightly ?”

** Certainly,”

‘For this appeared to be possible, for one having perceived
any thing, either by seeing or hearing, or employing any other
sense, to form an idea of something different from this, which
he had forgotten, and with which this was connected by being
unlike or like. So that, as I said, one of these two things
must follow, either we are all born with this knowledge, and
we retain it through life, or those whom we say learn after-
wards do nothing else but remember, and this learning will be
reminiscence,”

‘Such certainly is the case, Socrates.”

56. ** Which, then, do you choose, Simmias: that we are
born with knowledge, or that we afterwards remember what
we had formerly known ?”

‘“ At present, Socrates, I am unable to choose ?”’

‘“* But what? are you able to choose in this case, and what
do you think about it? Can a man, who possesses knowledge,
give a reason for the things that he knows, or not?”

‘“ He needs must be able to do so, Socrates,” he replied.

“And do all men appear to you, to be able to give a reason
for the things of which we have just now been speaking?”

“I wish they could,” said Simmias; “but Iam much more
afraid, that at this time to-morrow, there will no longer be any

- one able to do this properly.”

78 PHADO.

‘Do not all men then, Simmias,’”’ he said, “seem to you to
know these things ?”

** By no means.”

“Do they remember, then, what they once learned >”

“Necessarily so.”

“ When c¥d our souls receive this knowledge? not surely,
since we were born into the world.”

‘** Assuredly not.”

* Before then.”

gat (Ss

“ Our souls therefore, Simmias, existed before they were in
a human form, separate from bodies, and possessed intelli-
Bence.”

57. “ Unless, Socrates, we receive this knowledge at our
birth, for this period yet remains.”

“Be it so, my friend. But at what other time do we lose
it? for we are not born with it, as we have just now admitted.
Do we lose it then at the very time in which we receive it?
Or can you mention any other time ?”

“by no means, Socrates: I was not aware that I was say-
ing nothing to the purpose.”

* Does the case then stand thus with us, Simmias,” he pro-
ceeded. “If those things which we are continually talking
about really exist, the beautiful, the good, and every such
essence, and to this we refer all things that come under the
senses, as finding it to have a prior existence, and to be our
own, and if we compare these things to it, it necessarily follows,
that as these exist, so likewise our soul exists even before we
are born; but if these do not exist this discussion will have
been undertaken in vain. Is it not so? and is there not an
equal necessity, both that these things should exist, and our
souls also before we are born, and if not the former neither the
laiter ?”

58. “ Most assuredly, Socrates,’ said Simmias, “there appears
to me to be the same necessity, and the argument admirably
tends to prove that our souls exist before we are born, just as
that essence does which you have now mentioned. Tor I hold
nothing so clear to me as this, that all such things most cer-
tainly exist, as the beautiful, the good, and all the rest that you
just now spoke of; and as far as 1 am concerned the case is
sufficiently demonstrated.”

PH#EDO. 79

“But how does it appear to Cebes,” said Socrates ; “ for it
is necessary to persuade Cebes too.”

‘* He is sufficiently persuaded, I think,” said Simmias, “ al-
thouxh he is the most pertinacious of men in distrusting argu-
ments. YetI think he is sufficiently persuaded of this, that
our soul existed before we were born. But whether when we
are dead, it will still exist, does not appear to me to have been
demonstrated, Socrates,’ he continued, “ but that popular
doubt, which Cebes just now mentioned, still stands in our
way, whether, when a man dies, the soul is not dispersed, and
this is the end of its existence. 59. For what hinders its
being born, and formed from some other source, and existing
before it came into a human body, and yet when it has come,
and is separated from this body, its then also dying itself, and
being destroyed?”

“You say well, Simmias,” said Cebes ; “for it appears that
only one half of what is necessary has been demonstrated,
namely, that ow soul existed before we were born: but it is
necessary to demonstrate further, that when we are dead, it
will exist no less than before we were born, if the demonstration
is to be made complete.”

“This has been even now demonstrated, Simmias and Cebes,”’
said Socrates, “if you will only connect this last argument
with that which we before assented to, that every thing living
is produced from that which is dead. For if the soul exists be.
fore, and it is necessary for it when it enters into life, and is
born, to be produced from nothing else than death, and from
being dead, howis it not necessary for it also to exist after death,
since it must needs be produced again? 60. What you re-
quire then, has been already demonstrated. However, both
you and Simmias appear to me as if you wished to sift this
argument more thoroughly, and to be afraid like children, lest
on the soul’s departure from the body the winds should blow it
away and disperse it, especially if one should happen to die not
in a calm, but in a violent storm.”

Upon this Cebes smiling said, ‘“ Endeavour to teach us bet-
ter, Socrates, as if we were afraid, or rather not as if we were
afraid, though perhaps there is some boy f within us. who has
such a dread. Let us then endeavour to persuade him not to
be afraid of death, as of hobgoblins.”

f Some boyish spirit,

80 PH ADO: ;

“ But you must charm him every day,” said Socrates, “ until
you have quieted his fears.” '

“But whence, Socrates,” he said, ‘‘ can we procure a skilful
charmer for such a case, now that you are about to leave us re

61. “Greece is wide, Cebes,” he replied, “ and in it surely
there are skilful men, there are also many barbarous nations,
all of which you should search through, seeking such a charmer,
sparing neither money nor toil, as there is nothing on which
you can more seasonably spend your money. You should also
seek for him among yourselves; for perhaps you could not
easily find any more competent than yourselves to do this.”

“This shall be done,” said Cebes, “ but, if it is agreeable to
you, let us return to the point from whence we digressed.”

“Tt will be agreeable to me, for how should it not ?”

‘© You say well,” rejoined Cebes.

“We ought then,” said Socrates, “to ask ourselves some
such question as this, to what kind of thing it appertains to be
thus affected, namely to be dispersed, and for what we ought to
fear, lest it should be so affected, and for what not. And
after this, we should consider which of the two the soul is ; and
in the result should either be confident or fearful for our soul.”
_ “© You speak truly,” said he.

62. * Does it not, then, appertain to that which is formed by
composition, and is naturally compounded, to be thus affected,
to be dissolved in the same manner as that in which it was
compounded ; and if there is any thing not compounded, does
it not appertain to this alone, if to any thing, not to be thus
affected ?”

‘It appears to me to be so,” said Cebes,

“Ts it not most probable then that things which are always
the same, and in the same state, are uncompounded, but that
things which are constantly changing, and are never in the
same state, are compounded ?”

“To me it appears so.”

“Let us return then,” he said, ‘* to the subjects on which we
before discoursed. Whether is essence itself, of which we gave
this account that it exists, both in our questions and answers,
always the same, or does it sometimes change? Does equality
itself, the beautiful itself, and each several thing which is, ever
undergo any change, however small? Or does each of them
which exists, being an unmixed essence by itself, continue

Vi

PHA DO. 81

always the same, and in the same state, and never undergo
any variation at all under < any circumstances ?”

“ meee: must of necessity continue the same and in the same
state, Socrates,” said Cebes.

63. “But what shall we say of the many beautiful things,
such as men, horses, garments, or other things of the kind,
whether equal, or beautiful, or of all things synonymous with
them? Do they continue the same, or, quite contrary to the
former, are they never at any time, so to say, the same, either
with respect to themselves or one another?”

‘“‘ These on the other hand,” replied Cebes, “‘ never continue
the same.”

‘These then you can touch, or see, or perceive by the other
senses; but those that continue the same, you cannot appre-
hend in any other way than by the exercise of thought ; for
such things are invisible, and are not seen ?”

‘** You say what is strictly true,” replied Cebes.

64. ‘We may assume then, if you please,” he continued,
“that there are two species of things, the one visible, the other
invisible F”

“We may,” he said.

* And the invisible always continuing the same, but the visi-
ble never the same °”

“This too,” he said, “ we may assume.”

“Come then,” he asked, ‘‘ is there any thing else belonging
to us, than on the one hand body, and on the other soul ?”

‘‘ Nothing else,” he replied.

“To which species, then, Shall we say the body is more
like, and more nearly allied ?’

“Jt as clear to every one,’ he said, “that it is to the
visible.”

‘But what of the soul? Is it visible or invisible ?”

‘It is not visible to men, Socrates,” he replied.

‘“* But we speak of things which are visible or not so to the
nature of men: or to some other nature, think you ?”

*'To that of men.’

« What then shall we say of the soul, that it is visible, or not
| visible? °°

** Not visible.”

“Ts it then invisible >?”

oes...

PHEDO.

nr
wo

“The soul then is more like the invisible than the body, and
the body, the visible ?”

“It must needs be so, Socrates.”

65. * And did we not some time since say this too, that the
soul, when it employs the body to examine any thing, either by
means of the sight or hearing, or any other sense, (for to ex-
amine any thing by means of the body is to do so by the
senses.) is then drawn by the body to things that never continue
the same, and wanders and is confused, and reels as if intoxi-
cated through coming into contact with things of this kind?”

“ Certainly.”

“But when it examines any thing by itself, does it approach
that which is pure, eternal, immortal, and unchangeable, and,
as being allied to it, continue constantly with it, so long as it
subsists by itself, and has the power, and does it cease from its
wandering, and constantly continue the same with respect to
those things, through coming into contact with things of this
kind? and is this affection of the soul called wisdom ?”

“You speak,” he said, ‘tin every respect, well and truly,
Socrates.”

“To which species of the two, then, both from what was
before, and now said, does the soul appear to you to be more
like and more nearly allied ?”

66. ‘ Every one, I think, would allow, Socrates,” he replied,
“even the dullest person, from this method of reasoning that the
soul is in every respect more like that which continues con.
stantly the same, than that which does not so.”

“ But what as to the body ?”

“Tt is more like the other.”

‘Consider it also thus, that, when soul and body are to-
gether, nature enjoins the latter to be subservient and obey,
the former to rule and exercise dominion. And in this way,
which of the two appears to you to be like the divine, and
which the mortal? Does it not appear to you to be natural
that the divine should rule and command, but the mortal obey
and be subservient ?”

‘To me it does so.”

‘‘ Which then, does the soul resemble >”

“Tt is clear, Socrates, that the soul resembles the divine, but
the body, the mortal.”

“ Consider then, Cebes,” said he, “ whether, from all that has

PHADO. 83

been said, these conclusions follow, that the soul is most like
that which is divine, immortal, intelligent, uniform, indissolu-
ble, and which always continues in the same state, but that the
body on the other hand is most like that which is human, mor-
tal, unintelligent, multiform, dissoluble, and which never con-
tinues in the same state. Can we say any thing against this,
my dear Cebes, to shew that it is not so?”

“We cannot.”

67. ‘“* What then? Since these things are so, does it not
appertain to the body to be quickly dissolved, but to the soul,
on the contrary, to be altogether indissoluble, or nearly so ?”

“ How not?”

‘You perceive, however,” he said, “that when a man dies, the
visible part of him, the body, which is exposed to sight, and which
we call a corpse, to which it appertains to be dissolved, to fall
asunder and be dispersed, does not immediately undergo any of
these affections, but remains for a considerable time, and es-
pecially so if any one should die with his body in full vigour,
and at a corresponding age®; for when the body has collapsed
and been embalmed, as those that are embalmed in Egypt,
it remains almost entire for an incredible length of time ; and
some parts of the body, even though it does decay, such as the
bones and nerves, and every thing of that kind, are neverthe-
less, as one may say, immortal. Is it not so?”

pees.

68. ‘Can the soul, then, which is invisible, and which goes
to another place like itself, excellent, pure, and invisible, and
therefore truly called the invisible world®, to the presence of a
good and wise God, (whither if God will, my soul also must
shortly go,) can this soul of ours, I ask, being such and of such
a nature, when separated from the body be immediately dis-
persed and destroyed, as most men assert? Far from it, my
dear Cebes and Simmias. But the case is much rather thus ;
if it is separated in a pure state, taking nothing of the body with
it, as not having willingly communicated with it in the present
life, but having shunned it and gathered itself within itself, as
constantly studying this; but this is nothing else than to pursue

8 That is, at a time of life when tne body is in full vigour.

" In the original there is a play on the words “Acdns and delSns, which
I can only attempt to retain by departing from the usual rendering of the
former word.

34 PHADO.

philosophy aright, and in reality to study how to die easily ;
would not this be to study how to die ?”

‘“‘ Most assuredly.”

“Does not the soul, then, when in this state, depart to that
which resembles itself, the invisible, the divine, immortal, and
wise? and on its arrival there, is it not its lot to be happy, free
from error, ignorance, fears, wild passions, and all the other
evils to which human nature is subject, and, as is said of the
initiated, does it not in truth pass the rest of its time with the
gods? Must we affirm that it is so, Cebes, or otherwise ?”

“So, by Jupiter,” said Cebes.

69. “But, I think, if it departs from the body polluted and
impure, as having constantly held communion with the body,
and having served and loved it, and been bewitched by it,
through desires and pleasures, so as to think that there is
nothing real except what is corporeal, which one can touch
and see, and drink and eat, and employ for sensual purposes ;
but what is dark and invisible to the eyes, which is intellec-
tual and apprehended by philosophy, having been accustomed
to hate, fear, and shun this, do you think that a soul thus
affected can depart from the body by itself, and uncontami-
nated >”

‘*By no means whatever,” he replied.

‘But I think it will be impressed with that which is corpo-
real, which the intercourse and communion of the body, through
constant association and great attention, have made natural
to it.”

“* Certainly.”

** We must think, my dear Cebes, that this is ponderous and
heavy, earthly and visible, by possessing which such a soul is
weighed down, and drawn again into the visible world through
dread of the invisible and of Hades, wandering, as it is said,
amongst monuments and tombs, about which, indeed, certain
shadowy phantoms of souls have been seen, being such images
as those souls produced which have not departed pure from
the body, but which partake of the visible, on which account
also they are visible.”’

«That is probable, Socrates.”

70. ‘‘ Probable indeed, Cebes ; and not that these are the souls
of the good, but of the wicked, which are compelled to wander
about such places, paying the penalty of their former conduct,

—-

PHA DO. 85

which was evil; and they wander about so long, until, through
the desire of the corporeal nature that accompanies them, they
are again united to a body; and they are united, as is proba-
dle, to animals having the same habits as those they have given
themselves up to during life.”

“But what do you say these are, Socrates ?”

‘For instance, those who have given themselves up to glut-
tony, wantonness, and drinking, and have put no restraint on
themselves, will probably be clothed in the form of asses and
brutes of that kind. Do you not think so?”

“You say what is very probable.”

“And that such as have set great value on injustice, tyranny,
and rapine, will be clothed in the species of wolves, hawks,
and kites? Where else can we say such souls go?”

** Without doubt,” said Cebes, “into such as these.”

“Ts it not then evident,” he continued, “as to the rest, whi-
ther cach will go, according to the resemblances of their several
pursuits ?”

71. ‘It is evident,” he replied, ‘how not?”

“ Of these, then,” he said, “are not they the most happy,
and do they not go to the best place, who have practised that
social and civilized virtue, which they call temperance and jus-
tice, and which is produced from habit and exercise, without
philosophy and reflection >”

“In what respect are these the most happy 2”

“Because it is probable that these should again migrate
into a corresponding civilized and peaceable kind of animals,
such as bees perhaps, or wasps, or ants, or even into the
same human species again, and from these become moderate
men,

“Tt is probable.”

“ But it is not lawful for any one, who has not studied philo-
sophy and departed this life perfectly pure, to pass into the
rankef gods, but only for the true lover of wisdom. And on
this ac@Bunt¥ my friends Simmias and Cebes, those who phileso-
phize rightly abstain from all bodily desires, and persevere in
doing so, and do not give themselves up to them, not fearing
the loss of property and poverty, as the generality of men and
the lovers of wealth; nor again dreading disgrace and igno-
miny like those who are lovers of power and honour, do they
then abstain from them.”

&6 PHDO.

‘For it would not become them to do so, Socrates,” says
Cebes.

72. “It would not, by Jupiter,” he rejoined. ‘* Wherefore,
Cebes, they who care at all for their soul, and do not spend
their lives in the culture of their bodies, despising all these,
proceed not in the same way with them, as being ignorant whi-
ther they are going, but being convinced that they ought not
to act contrary to philosophy, but in accordance with the free-
dom and purification she affords, they give themselves up to
her direction, following her wherever she leads.”

‘* How, Socrates ?”

‘*T will tell you,” he replied. ‘‘ The lovers of wisdom know,
that philosophy receiving their soul plainly bound and glued to
the body, and compelled to view things through this, as through
a prison, and not directly by herself, and sunk in utter iguo-
rance, and perceiving too the strength of the prison, that it
arises from desire, so that he that is bound as much as possible
assists in binding himself. 73. I say, then, the lovers of wis-
dom know that philosophy, receiving their soul in this state,
gently exhorts it, and endeavours to free it, by shewing that
the view of things by means of the eyes is full of deception,
as also is that through the ears and the other senses, per-
suading an abandonment of these so far as it is not "abso-
lutely necessary to use them, and advising the soul to be col-
lected and concentrated within itself, and to believe nothing
else but herself, with respect to what she herself understands
of things that have a real subsistence, and to consider nothing
true which she views through the medium of others, and which
differ under different aspects!; for that a thing of this kind is
sensible and visible, but that what she herself perceives is in-
telligible and invisible. The soul of the true philosopher,
therefore, thinking that she ought not to oppose this deliver-
ance, accordingly abstains as much as possible from pleasures
and desires, griefs and fears, considering that when any one
is exceedingly delighted or alarmed, grieved or influenced by
desire, he does not merely suffer ap evil from these things as
one might suppose, such as either being sick or wasting his

i By this I understand him to mean that the soul alone can perceive
the truth, but the senses, as they are different, receive and convey differ-
ent impressions of the same thing; thus the eye receives one impression
of an object, the ear a totally different one.

PHADO. 87

property, through indulging his desires; but that which is the
greatest evil, and the worst of all, this he suffers and is not
conscious of it.”

‘* Bat what is this evil, Socrates >’ said Cebes.

74. “That the soul of every man is compelled to be either
vehemently delighted or grieved about some particular thing,
and at the same time to consider that the thing about which it
is thus strongly affected is most real and most true, though
it is not so. But these are chiefly visible objects; are they
not ?”

* Certainly

“Tn this state of affection, then, is not the soul especially
shackled by the body ?”

“ How so?”

‘Because each pleasure and pain, having a nail as it were,
nails the soul to the body, and fastens it to it, and causes it to
become corporeal, deeming those things to be true whatever
the body asserts to be so. For, in consequence of its forming
the same opinions with the body, and delighting in the same
things, it is compelled, I think, to possess similar manners,
and to be similarly nourished, so that it can never pass into
Hades in a pure state, but must ever depart polluted by the
body, and so quickly falls again into another body, and grows
up as if it were sown, and consequently is deprived of all asso-
ciation with that which is divine, and pure, and uniform.”

“You speak most truly, Socrates,’ said Cebes.

75. “ For these reasons, therefore, Cebes, those who are truly
lovers of wisdom are moderate and resolute, and not for the
reasons that most people say, Do you think as they do?”

“ Assuredly not.”

“ No, truly. But the soul of a philosopher would reason
thus, and would not think that philosophy ought to set it free,
and that when it is freed it should give itself up again to plea-
sures and pains, to bind it down again, and make her work
void, weaving a kind of Penelope’s web the reverse way. On
the contrary, effecting a calm of the passions, and following
the guidance of reason, and being always intent on this, con-
templating that which is true and divine, and not subject to
opinion, and being nourished by it, it thinks that it ought to
live in this manner as long as it does live, and that when it
dies it shall go to a kindred essence, and one like itself, and

88 PH/EDO,

shall be freed from human evils, From such a regimen as
this the soul has no occasion to fear, Simmias and Cebes, while
it strictly attends to these things, lest being torn to pieces at
its departure from the body it should be blown about and dis.
sipated by the winds, and no longer have an existence any
where.”

76. When Socrates had thus spoken, a long silence ensued ;
and Socrates himself was pondering upon what had been said,
as he appeared, and so did most of us: but Cebes and Simmias
Were conversing a little while with each other. At length
Socrates perceiving them, said, “ What think you of what has
been said? does it appear to you to have been proved suffi-
ciently? for many doubts and objections still remain if any one
will examine them thoroughly. If, then, you are considering
some other subject, I have nothing to say; but if you are
doubting about this, do not hesitate both yourselves to speak
and express your opinion, if it appears to you in any respect
that it might have been argued better, and to call me in again
to your assistance, if you think you can be at all benefited by
my help.”

Upon this Simmias said, “ Indeed, Socrates, I will tell you
the truth: for some time each of us, being in doubt, has been
urging and exhorting the other to question you, from a desire
to hear our doubts solved, but we were afraid of giving you
trouble, lest it should be disagreeable to you in your present
circumstances.”

77. But he, upon hearing this, gently smiled, and said,
‘« Bless me, Simmias ; with difficulty indeed, could I persuade
other men that I do not consider my present condition a cala-
mity, since I am not able to persuade even you; but you are
afraid lest I should be more morose now than during the former
part of my life. And, as it seems, I appear to you to be
inferior to swans with respect to divination, who, when they
perceive that they must needs die, though they have been used
to sing before, sing then more than ever, rejoicing that they
are about to depart to that deity whose servants they are. But
men, through their own fear of death, belie the swans too, and
say that, they lamenting their death, sing their last song through
grief, and they do not consider that no bird sings when it is
hungry or cold, or is afflicted with any other pain, not even the
nightingale, or swallow, or the hoopoes, which they say sing

PH/EDO. 89

lamenting through grief. But neither do these birds appear to
me to sing through sorrow, nor yet do swans; but in my
opinion, belonging to Apollo, they are prophetic, and foresecing
the blessings of Hades, they sing and rejoice on that day more
excellently than at any preceding time. 78. But I too con.
sider myself to be a fellow-servant of the swans, and sacred to
the same god, and that I have received the power of divination
from our common master no less than they, and that I do not
depart from this life with less Spirits than they. On this ac.
count, therefore, it is right that you should both speak and ask
whatever you please, as long as the Athenian Eleven permit.”
“You say well,” said Simmias, “and both I will tell you
what are my doubts, and he in turn how far he does not assent

to what has been said. For it appears to me, Socrates, prob-

ably as it does to you with respect to these matters, that to
know them clearly in the present life is either impossible,
or very difficult: on the other hand, however, not to test what
has been said of them in every possible way, so as not to desist
until on examining them in every point of view, one has ex-
hausted every effort, is the part of a very weak man. For we
ought with respect to these things, either to learn from others
how they stand, or to discover them for one’s-self, or, if both
these are impossible, then, taking the best of human reasonings
and that which is the most difficult to be confuted, and em-
barking on this, as one who risks himself on a raft, so to sail
through life, unless one could be carried more safely, and with
less risk, on a surer conveyance or some divine reason. 79. 10
therefore, shall not now be ashamed to question you, since you
bid me do so, nor shall I blame myself hereafter, for not having
now told you what I think; for to me, Socrates, when I con-
sider the matter, both with myself and with Cebes, what has
been said does not appear to have been sufficiently proved.”

Then said Socrates, “ Perhaps, my friend, you have the
truth on your side; but tell me in what respect it was not
sufficiently proved.”

an this.” He answered, “ because any one might use the
same argument with respect to harmony, and a lyre, and its
chords, that harmony is something invisible and incorporeal,
very beautiful and divine, in a well-modulated lyre: but the
lyre and its chords are bodies, and of corporeal form, com-
pounded and earthly, and akin to that which is mortal. When

96 PHADO.

any one, then, has either broken the lyre, or cut or burst the
chords, he might maintain from the same reasoning as yours,
that it is necessary the harmony should still exist and not be
destroyed; for there could be no possibility that the lyre should
subsist any longer when the chords are burst, and that the
chords which are of a mortal nature should subsist, but that
the harmony, which is of the same nature and akin to that
which is divine and immortal, should become extinct, and
perish before that which is mortal; but he might say that the
harmony must needs subsist somewhere, and that the wood and
chords must decay, before it can undergo any change. 80. For I
think, Socrates, that you yourself have arrived at this conclu-
sion, that we consider the soul to be pretty much of this kind,
namely, that our body being compacted and held together by
heat and cold, dryness and moisture, and other such qualities,
our soul is the fusion and harmony of these, when they are well
and duly combined with each other. If then, the soul is a
kind of harmony, it is evident that when our body is unduly
relaxed or strained through diseases and other maladies, the
soul must of necessity immediately perish, although it is most
divine, just as other harmonies which subsist in sounds or in the
various works of artizans, but that the remains of the body of
each person last for a long time, till they are either burnt or
decayed. Consider then what we shall say to this reasoning,
if any one should maintain that the soul being a fusion of the
several qualities in the body, perishes first in that which is
called death.”

81. Socrates, therefore, looking stedfastly at us, as he was
generally accustomed to do, and smiling, said, “ Simmias in-
deed speaks justly. If then, any one of you is more prompt
than I am, why does he not answer? for he seems to have
handled my argument not badly. It appears to me, however,
that before we make our reply we should first hear from Cebes,
what he too objects to our argument, in order that, some time
intervening, we may consider what we shall say, and then when
we have heard them, we may give up to them, if they appear
to speak agreeably to truth, or if not, we may then uphold our
own argument. Come then, Cebes,’’ he continued, ‘ say
what it is that disturbs you, so as to cause your unbelief.”

“I will tell you,” said Cebes; “the argument seems to me
to rest where it was, and to be liable to the same objection that

PHADO. oF

we mentioned before. For, that our soul existed even before
it came into this present form, I do not deny has been very
elegantly, and, if it is not too much to say so, very fully
demonstrated: but that it still exists any where when we are
dead, does not appear to me to have been clearly proved ; nor
do I give in to the objection of Simmias, that the soul is not
stronger and more durable than the body, for it appears to me
to excel very far all things of this kind. 82. ‘Why then,’
reason might say, ‘do you still disbelieve ? for, since you see
that when a man dies his weaker part still exists, does it not
appear to you to be necessary that the more durable part should
still be preserved during this period ?? Consider then, whether
I say any thing to the purpose in reply to this. For I too, as
well as Simmias, as it seems, stand in need of an illustration:
for the argument appears to me to have been put thus, as if any
one should advance this argument about an aged weaver who
had died, that the man has not yet perished, but perhaps still
exists somewhere ; and as a proof, should exhibit the gar-
ment which he wore and had woven himself, that it is entire
and has not perished; and if any one should disbelieve
him he would ask, whether of the two is the more durable,
the species of a man or of a garment, that is constantly
in use aud being worn; then should any one answer, that
the species of man is much more durable, he would think
it demonstrated, that beyond all question the man is pre-
served, since that which is less durable has not perished.
83. But I do not think, Simmias, that this is the case, and
do you consider what I say, for every one must think that he
who argues thus argues foolishly. For this weaver, having
worn and woven many such garments, perished after almost
all of them, but before the last I suppose, and yet it does not
on this account follow any the more that a man is inferior to
or weaker than a garment. And I think the soul might admit
this same illustration with respect to the body, and he who
should say the same things concerning them would appear to
me to speak correctly, that the soul is more durable, but the
body weaker and less durable; for he would say that each
soul wears out many bodies, especially if it lives many years ;
for, if the body wastes and is dissolved while the man still
lives, but the soul continually weaves anew what is worn out,
it must necessarily follow that when the soul is dissolved it
must then have on its last garment, and perish before this

D2 PHAEDO.

alone; but when the soul has perished the body would shew
tne weakness of its nature, and quickly rot and vanish. 84.
So that it is not by any means right to place implicit reliance
on this argument, and to believe that when we die our soul
still exists somewhere. For, if any one should concede to him
who admits even more than you do, and should grant to him
that not only did our soul exist before we were born, but that
even when we die nothing hinders the souls of some of us
from still existing, and continuing to exist hereafter, and from
being often born, and dying again; for so strong is it by na-
ture, that it can hold out against repeated births; if he granted
this, he would not yet concede that it does not exhaust itself in
its many births, and at length perish altogether in some one of
the deaths. But he would say that no one knows this death
and dissolution of the body, which brings destruction to the
soul; for it is impossible for any one of us to perceive it. If
however, this be the case, it follows that every one who is
confident at the approach of death is foolishly confident, unless
he is able to prove that the soul is absolutely immortal and
imperishable : otherwise it necessarily follows that he who
is about to die must be alarmed for his soul, lest in its present
disunion from the body it should entirely perish.”

85. Upon this, all of us who had heard them speaking were
disagreeably affected, as we afterwards mentioned to each
other; because, after we had been fully persuaded by the for-
mer arguments, they seemed to disturb us anew, and to cast
us into a distrust, not only of the arguments already adduced,
but of such as might afterwards be urged, for fear lest we
should not be fit judges of any thing, or lest the things them-
selves should be incredible.

Echec. By the gods, Phedo, I can readily excuse you:
for, while I am now hearing you, it occurs to me to ask my-
self some such question as this, What arguments can we any
longer believe? since the argument which Socrates advanced,
and which was exceedingly credible, has now fallen into dis-
credit. For this argument, that our soul is a kind of harmony,
produces a wonderful impression on me, both now and always,
and in being mentioned, it has reminded me, as it were,
that [ too was formerly of the same opinion: go that I stand
in need again, as if from the very beginning, of some other
argument which may persuade me that the soul of one who
dies does not die with the body. Tell me therefore, by Jupi-

'

PHADO. 93

ter, how Socrates followed up the argument; and whether he
too, as you confess was the case with yourselves, seemed dis-
concerted at all, or not, but calmly maintained his position;
and maintained it sufficiently, or defectively. Relate every
thing to me as accurately as you can.

Phed, Indeed, Echecrates, though I have often admired
Socrates, I was never more delighted than at being with him
on that occasion. That he should be able to say something is
perhaps not at all surprising; but I especially admired this in
him, first of all that he listened to the argument of the young
men so sweetly, affably, and approvingly; in the next place,
that he so quickly perceived how we were affected by their
arguments ; and lastly, that he cured us so well and recalled
us, when we were put to flight as it were and vanquished, and
encouraged us to accompany him, and consider the argument
with him.

Echec. How was that?

Phed. I will tell you: I happened to be sitting at his right
hand, near the bed, upon a low seat, but he himself sat much
higher than I. Stroking my head, then, and laying hold of
the hair that hung on my neck, for he used, often, to play
with my hairs, ‘‘ To-morrow,” he said, ‘‘ perhaps, Phado, you
will cut off these beautiful locks ?”

‘It seems likely, Socrates,” said I.

87. ‘‘ Not if you are persuaded by me.”

‘Why so?” I asked.

‘“‘ To-day,” he replied, “ both I ought to cut off mine and
you yours, if our argument must die, and we are unable to
revive it. And I, if I were you, and the arguments were to
escape me, would take an oath, as the Argives do, not to suf-
fer my bair to grow until I had renewed the contest, and van-
quished the arguments of Simmias and Cebes.”

“ But,” T said, “even Hercules himself is said not to have
been a match for two.”

‘Call upon me, then,” he said, “as your Tolaus, while it is
yet day.”

““T do call on you, then,” I said, “not as Hercules upon
Tolaus, but as Iolaus upon Hercules.”

“Tt will make no difference,” he replied. ‘‘ But first of all

we must beware lest we meet with some mischance.”
** What ?” I asked.

9t PH/ADO.

“That we do not become,” he answered, “‘ haters of reason-
ing as some become haters of men; for no greater evil can
happen to any one than to hate reasoning. 88. But hatred of
reasoning and hatred of mankind both spring from the same
source. For hatred of mankind is produced in us from having
placed too great reliance on some one without sufficient know-
ledge of him, and from having considered him to be a man
altogether true, sincere, and faithful, and then after a little
while finding him depraved and unfaithful, and after him
another. And when a man has often experienced this, and es-
pecially from those whom he considered his most intimate and
best friends, at length, having frequently stumbled, he hates all
men, and thinks that there is no soundness at all in any of
them. Have you not perceived that this happens so ?”

‘« Certainly,” I replied.

“Ts it not a shame?” he said, ‘and is it not evident that
such a one attempts to deal with men, without sufficient
knowledge of human affairs? For if he had dealt with
them with competent knowledge, as the case really is, so he
would have considered that the good and the bad are each
very few in number, and that those between both are most
numerous.”

89. ‘* How say vou?” I asked.

“In the same manner,’’ he replied, ‘‘as with things very
little and very large. Do you think that any thing is more
rare than to find a very large or a very little man, or dog, or
any thing else? and again swift or slow, beautiful or ugly,
white or black? Do you not perceive that of all such things
the extremes are rare and few, but that the intermediate are
abundant and numerous ?”’

“Certainly,” I replied.

“Do you not think, then,” he continued, ‘“‘that if a contest
in wickedness were proposed, even here very few would be
found pre-eminent ?”

“It is probable,” I said.

“It is so,” he said; “but in this respect reasonings do not
resemble men, for I was just now following you as my leader,
but in this they do resemble them, when any one believes in
any argument as true without being skilled in the art of rea-
soning, and then shortly afterwards it appears to him to be
false, at one time being so and at another time not, and so on

PHADO. 95

with one after another*; and especially they who devote
themselves to controversial arguments, you are aware at length
think they have become very wise, and have alone discovered
that there is nothing sound and stable either in things or rea-
sonings, but that all things that exist, as is the case with the
Euripus, are in a constant state of flux and reflux, and never
continue in any one condition for any length of time.”

“You speak perfectly true,” I said.

90. “ Would it not then, Phzedo,”’ he said, ‘* be a sad thing
if, when there is a true and sound reasoning, and such as one
can understand, one should then, through lighting upon such
arguments as appear to be at one time true, and at another
false, not blame one’s-self and one’s own want of skill, but at
length through grief should anxiously transfer the blame from
one’s-self to the arguments, and thereupon pass the rest of
one’s life in hating and reviling arguments, and so be deprived
of the truth and knowledge of things that exist ?”’

“ By Jupiter,” I said, ‘ it would be sad indeed.”

“Tn the first place, then,” he said, “ let us beware of this,
and let us not admit into our souls the notion, that there ap-
pears to be nothing sound in reasoning, but much rather that
we are not yet in a sound condition, and that we ought vigor-
ously and strenuously to endeavour to become sound, you and
the others, on account of your whole future life, but I, on ac-
count of my death, since I am in danger at the present time,
of not behaving as becomes a philosopher, with respect to this
very subject, but as a wrangler like those who are utterly un-
informed. 91, For they, when they dispute about any thing,
care nothing at all for the subject about which the discussion
is, but are anxious about this, that what they have themselves
advanced shall appear true to the persons present. And I seem
to myself on the present occasion to differ from them only in
this respect ; for I shall not be anxious to make what I say
appear true to those who are present, except that may happen

* nal ab6is €repos Kal Erepos, that is, “ with one argument after another.”
Though Cousin translates it et suecessivement tout différent de lui-mane,
and Ast, et rursus alia atque alia, which may be taken in either sense, yet
it appears to me to mean that, when a man repeatedly discovers the fal-
lacy of arguments which he before believed to be true, he distrusts rea-
soning altogether, just as one who meets with friend after friend who
proves unfaithful, becomes a misanthrope.

96 PHADO.

by the way, but that it may appear certainly to be so to myself.
For I thus reason, my dear friend, and observe how inter-
estedly, if what I say be true, it is well to be persuaded of it ;
but if nothing remains to one that is dead, I shall at least
during the interval before death, be less disagreeable to those
present by my lamentations. But this ignorance of mine will
not continue long, for that would be bad, but will shortly be
put an end to. Thus prepared then, Simmias and Cebes,” he
continued, ‘‘I now proceed to my argument. Do you how-
ever, if you will be persuaded by me, pay little attention to So-
crates, but much more to the truth, and if I appear to you to say
any thing true, assent to it, but if not, oppose me with all your
might, taking good care that in my zeal I do not deceive both
myself and you, and like a bee depart leaving my sting behind.”

92. ‘* But let us proceed,” he said; ‘‘first of all, remind me
of what you said, if I should appear to have forgotten it. For
Simmias, as I think, is in doubt and fears lest the soul, though
more divine and beautiful than the body, should perish before
it, as being a species of harmony. But Cebes appeared to me
to grant me this, that the soul is more durable than the body,
but he argued that it is uncertain to every one, whether when
the soul has worn out many bodies, and that repeatedly, it does
not, on leaving the last body, itself also perish, so that this very
thing is death, the destruction of the soul, since the body never
ceases decaying. Are not these the things, Simmias and
Cebes, which we have to enquire into?’

They both agreed that they were.

‘* Whether, then,” he continued, ‘‘do you reject all our
former arguments, or some of them only, and not others : ai

‘* Some we do,” they replied, ‘‘ and others Hot.

‘* What then, he proceeded, “do you say about that argu-
ment, in a we asserted that knowledge is reminiscence,
and that, this being the case, our soul must necessarily have
existed somewhere before it was enclosed in the body °”

93. ‘I, indeed,” replied Cebes, “‘ was both then wonderfully
persuaded by it, ‘and now persist in it, as in no other argu-
ment.’

“And I too,” said Simmias, ‘(am of the same mind, and
should very much wonder if I should ever think otherwise
on that point.”

“Then,” Socrates said, ‘you must needs think otherwise,

PHEDO. U7

my Theban friend, if this opinion holds good, that harmony
is something compounded, and that the soul is a kind of har-
mony that results from the parts compacted together in the
body. For surely you will not allow yourself to say that har-
mony was composed prior to the things from which it required
to be composed. Would you allow this ?”

‘“ By no means Socrates,” he replied.

“Do you perceive then,” he said, “that this results from
what you say, when you assert that the soul existed before it
came into a human form and body, but that it was composed from
things that did not yet exist? For harmony is not such as that
to which you compare it; but first the lyre, and the chords,
and the sounds yet unharmonized, exist, and last of all harmony
is produced, and first perishes. How then will this argu-
ment accord with that >”

‘* Not at all,” said Simmias.

94. “ And yet,” he said, ‘if in any argument, there ought
to be an accordance in one respecting harmony.”

‘' There ought,” said Simmias.

“This of yours however,” he said, ‘is not in accordance.
Consider then, which of these two statements do you prefer,
that knowledge is reminiscence, or the soul harmony ?”

“The former, by far, Socrates,” he replied, ‘for the latter
occurred to me without demonstration, through a certain pro-
bability and speciousness whence most men derive their opi-
nions. But I am well aware that arguments which draw their
demonstrations from probabilities are idle; and unless one is
on one’s guard against them, they are very deceptive, both in
geometry and all other subjects. “But the argument respecting
reminiscence and knowledge may be said to have been demon-
strated by a satisfactory hypothesis. For in this way it was
said that our soul existed before it came into the body, because
the essence that bears the appellation of ‘that which iss. Bek
longs to it. But of this, as I persuade myself, Iam fully and
rightly convinced, It is therefore necessary, as it seems, that
I should neither allow myself nor any one else to maintain
that the soul is harmony.”

__ 95. “ But what, Simmias,” said he, “ if you consider it thus ?
Does it appear to you to appertain to harmony, or to any other
‘composition, to subsist in any other way than the very things

ido of which it is composed ?”
i :
Hl

H

|

98 PEDO:

‘“* By no means.”

“ And indeed, as I think, neither to do any thing, nor suffer
any thing else, besides what they do or suffer.”

He agreed.

“It does not, therefore, appertain to harmony to take the
lead of the things of which it is composed, but to follow them.”

He assented.

“Tt is then far from being the case that harmony is moved
or sends forth sounds contrariwise, or is in any other respect op-
posed to its parts /”

‘Far indeed,” he said.

‘‘ What then? is not every harmony naturally harmony, so
far as it has been made to accord f”

«‘T do not understand you,” he replied.

« Whether,” he said, ‘‘if it should be in a greater degree and
more fully made to accord, supposing that were possible, would
the harmony be greater and more full, but if in a less degree
and less fully, then would it be inferior and less full ?”

‘* Certainly.”

“Ts this then the case with the soul, that, even in the small-
est extent, one soul is more fully and in a greater degree, or
less fully and in a less degree this very thing, a soul, than
another ?”

“In no respect whatever,” he replied.

96. ‘Well then,” he said, ‘‘ by Jupiter, 1s one soul said to
possess intelligence and virtue, and to be good, and another
folly and vice, and to be bad? and is this said with truth?”

‘With truth, certainly.”

‘Of those, then, who maintain, that the soul is harmony,
what will any one say that these things are in the soul, virtue
and vice? Will he call them another kind of harmony and
discord? and say that the one, the good soul, is harmonized,
and, being harmony, contains within itself another harmony,
but that the other is discordant, and does not contain within
itself another harmony ?”

«Tam unable to say,” replied Simmias, ‘“‘ but it is clear that
he who maintains that opinion would say something of the
kind.”

“ But it has been already granted,” said he, ‘‘ that one soul
+s not more or less a soul than another ; and this is an admis-
sion that one harmony is not to a greater degree or more

.

PHADO. 99

fully, or to a less degree or less fully, a harmony, than another :
is it not so?”

*« Certainly.”

‘And that that which is neither more nor less harmony, is
neither more nor less harmonized : is it so?”

ee Cee

** But does that which is neither more nor less harmonized
partake of more or less harmony, or an equal amount ?”

‘** An equal amount.”

97. “A-soul, therefore, since it is not more or less this very
thing, a soul, than another, is not more or less harmonized ?”

‘* Even so.”

‘‘ Such then being its condition, it cannot partake of agreater
degree of discord or harmony ?”

“Certainly not.”

“ And again, such being its condition, can one soul partake
of a greater degree of vice or virtue than another, if vice be
discord, and virtue harmony f”

‘Tt cannot.”

* Or rather, surely, Simmias, according to right reason, no
soul will partake of vice, if it is harmony: for doubtless har-
mony, which is perfectly such, can never partake of discord ?”

“ Certainly not.”

“Neither, therefore, can a soul, which is perfectly a soul,
partake of vice.”

“ How can it, from what has been already said ?”

“From this reasoning, then, all souls of all animals will be
equally good, if at least they are by nature equally this very
thing, souls ?” ;

‘It appears so to me, Socrates,” he said.

‘‘And does it appear to you,” he said, ‘to have been thus
rightly argued, and that the argument would lead to this re-
sult, if the hypothesis were correct, that the soul is harmony ?”*

98. “On no account whatever,” he replied.

“* But what,” said he, ‘of all the things that are in man,
's there any thing else that you say bears rule except the soul,
especially if it be wise ?”

‘I should say not,”

“ Whether by yielding to the passions in the body, or by
opposing them ? — My meaning is this, for instance, when heat
ind thirst are present, by drawing it the contrary way, so as

100 24) 22 90]0,

to hinder it from drinking, and when hunger is present, by
hindering it from eating ; and in ten thousand other instances
we see the soul opposing the desires of the body. Do we not?”

« Certainly.” :

“But have we not before allowed that if the soul were
harmony, it would never utter a sound contrary to the ten-
sion, relaxation, vibration, or any other affection to which its
component parts are subject, but would follow, and never
govern them fr’

We didallowit,” he replied, “for how could we do otherwise ?”

‘What, then, does not the soul now appear to act quite the
contrary, ruling over all the parts, from which any one might
say it subsists, and resisting almost all of them through the
whole of life, and exercising dominion over them in all manner
of ways, punishing some more severely even with pain, both
by gymnastics and medicine, and others more mildly, partly
threatening, and partly admonishing the desires, angers, and
tears, as if, being itself of a different nature, it were convers-
ing with something quite different? 99, Just as Homer has
done in the Odyssey!, where he speaks of Ulysses: ‘ Having
struck his breast, he chid his heart in the following words,
Bear up, my heart; ere this thou hast borne far worse.’ Do
you think that he composed this in the belief that the soul
was harmony, and capable of being led by the passions of the
body, and not rather that it was able to lead and govern
them, as being something much more divine than to be com-
pared with harmony °”

“By Jupiter, Socrates, it appears so to me.”

“Therefore, my excellent friend, it is on no account correct
for us to say that the soul is a kind of harmony ; for as it ap-
pears, we should neither agree with Homer, that divine poet,
nor with ourselves.”

‘Such is the case,” he replied.

‘Be it so, then,” said Socrates, ‘‘ we have already, as it seems,
sufficiently appeased this Theban harmony. But how, Cebes,
and by what arguments shall we appease this Cadmus™ ©”

Tetaibeex: vie

™ Harmony was the wife of Cadmus, the founder of Thebes ; Socrates,
therefore, compares his two Theban friends, Simmias and Cebes, with
them, and says that having overcome Simmias, the advocate of Harmony,
he must now deal with Cebes, who is represented by Cadmus.

NEE EE

PHA:DO. 101

£00, “You appear to me, ” replied Cebes, “ to be likely to
find out; for you have made out this argument against har-
mony wonderfully beyond my expectation. For when Simmias
was saying what his doubts were, I wondered very much whe-
ther any one would be able to answer his reasoning. It there-
fore appeared to me unaccountable that he did not withstand
the very first onset of your argument. I should not, there-
fore, be surprised if the arguments of Cadmus met eh the
same fate.”’

‘* My good friend,” said Socrates, ‘‘do not speak so boast-
fully, lest some envious power should overthrow the argument
that is about to be urged. These things, however, will be
cared for by the deity, but let us, meeting hand to hand, in the
manner of Homer, try whether you say any thing to the pur-
pose. This, then, is the sum of what you enquire: you require
it to be proved that our soul is imperishable and immortal; if
a philosopher that is about to die, full of confidence and hope
that after death he shall be far happier than if he had died
after leading a different kind of life, shall not entertain this con-
fidence foolishly and vainly. 101. But to shew that the soul is
something strong and divine, and that it existed before we men
were born, you say not at all hinders, but that all these things
may evince, not its immortality, but that the soul is durable,
and existed an immense space of time before, and knew and
did many things. But that, for all this, it was not at all the
more immortal, but that its very entrance into the body of a man
was the beginning of its destruction, as if it were a disease,
so that it passes through this life in wretchedness, and at last
perishes in that which is called death. But you say that it is
of no consequence whether it comes into a body once or often,
with respect to our occasion of fear: for it is right he should
be afraid, unless he is foolish, who does not know, and cannot
give a reason to prove, that the soul is immortal. Such, [
} think, Cebes, is the sum of what you say; and I purposely
Tepeat it often, that nothing may escape us, and, if you please,
you may add to or take from it.”

Cebes replied, ‘I do not wish at present either to take from
or add to it; that is what I mean.”

Bs 6102. Socrates, then, having paused for some time, and con-
‘sidered something within himself, said, “‘ You enquire into no
easy matter, Cebes ; for it is absolutely necessary to discuss

102 PH ADO.

the whole question of generation and corruption. If you
please, then, I will relate to you what happened to me with
reference to them; and afterwards, if any thing that I shall
say shall appear to you useful, towards producing conviction
on the subject you are now treating of, make use of it.”

‘““T do indeed wish it,” replied Cebes.

‘Hear my relation then. When I was a young man, Cebes,
I was wonderfully desirous of that wisdom which they call a
history of nature: for it appeared to me to be a very sublime
thing to know the causes of every thing, why each thing is
generated, why it perishes, and why it exists. And I often
tossed myself upwards and downwards, considering first such
things as these, whether when heat and cold have undergone
a certain corruption, as some say, then animals are formed ;
and whether the blood is that by means of which we think, or
air, or fire, or none of these, but that it is the brain that pro-
duces the perceptions of hearing, seeing, and smelling, and that
from these come memory and opinion, and from memory and
opinion, when in a state of rest, in the same way knowledge
is produced? 103. And again considering the corruptions of
these, and the affections incidental to the heavens and the
earth, I at length appeared to myself so unskilful in these
speculations, that nothing could be more so. But I will give
you a sufficient proof of this: for I then became, by these very
speculations, so very blind with respect to things which I knew
clearly before, as it appeared to myself and others, that T un-
learnt even the things which I thought I knew before, both on
many other subjects and also this, why a man grows. For
before I thought this was evident to every one, that it pro-
ceeds from eating and drinking ; for that, when, from the food,
flesh is added to flesh, bone to bone, and so on in the same
proportion, what is proper to them is added to the several
other parts, then the bulk which was small becomes after-
wards large, and thus that a little man becomes a big one.
Such was my opinion at that time: does it appear to you
gorrect

«To me it does,” said Cebes.

104. “Consider this further. I thought that I had formed
a right opinion, when on seeing a tall man standing by a short
one, I judged that he was taller by the head, and in like
manner one horse than another: and still more clearly than

PHADO. 108

this, ten appeared to me to be more than eight, by two being
added to them, and that two cubits are greater than one cubit,
by exceeding it a half.”

‘But now,” said Cebes, ‘‘ what think you of these matters ?”

‘‘ By Jupiter,” said he, ‘I am far from thinking that I know
the cause of these, for that I cannot even persuade myself of
this, when a person has added one to one, whether the one
to which the addition has been made has become two, or
whether that which has been added, and that to which the
addition has been made, have become two by the addition ot
the one to the other. For I wonder, if when each of these
was separate from the other, each was one, and they were not yet
two, but when they have approached nearer each other, this
should be the cause of their becoming two, namely, the union
by which they have been placed nearer one another. 105. Nor
yet, if any person should divide one, am I able to persuade
myself that this, their division, is the cause of its becoming
two. For this cause is the contrary to the former one of their
becoming two; for then it was because they were brought
nearer to each other, and the one was added to the other; ©
but now it is, because one is removed and separated from
the other. Nor do I yet persuade myself, that I know why
one is one, nor, in a word, why any thing else is produced or
perishes, or exists, according to this method of proceeding ;
but I mix up another method of my own at random, for this
I can on no account give in to.

“But having once heard a person reading from a book,
written, as he said, by Anaxagoras, and which said that it
is intelligence that sets in order and is the cause of all things, I
was delighted with this cause, and it appeared to me in a
manner to be well that intelligence should be the cause of
all things, and I considered with myself, if this is so, that
the regulating intelligence orders all things, and disposes each
in such way as will be best for it. 106. If any one, then,
should desire to discover the cause of every thing, in what
way it is produced, or perishes, or exists, he must discover
this respecting it, in what way it is best for it either to exist,
or to suffer, or do any thing else; from this mode of reason-
ing, then, it is proper that a man should consider nothing else,
both with respect to himself and others, than what is most
excellent and best: and it necessarily follows that this same

104 PH ADO.

person must also know that which is worst, for that the
knowledge of both of them is the same. Thus reasoning
with myself, I was delighted to think I had found in Anax-
agoras a preceptor who would instruct me in the causes of
things, agreeably to my own mind, and that he would inform
me, first, whether the earth is flat or round, and when he
had informed me, would moreover explain the cause and
necessity of its being so, arguing on the principle of the
better, and shewing that it is better for it to be such as it
is, and if he should say that it is in the middle, that he would
moreover explain how it is better for it to be in the middle;
and if he should make all this clear to me, I was prepared
no longer to require any other species of cause. 107. I was
in like manner prepared to enquire respecting the sun, and
moon, and the other stars, with respect to their velocities in
reference to each other and their revolutions, and other gon-
ditions, in what way it is better for both to act and be affected
as it does and is. For I never thought that after he had said
that these things were set in order by intelligence, he would
introduce any other cause for them than that it is best for
them to be as they are: hence, I thought, that in assigning
the cause to each of them, and to all in common, he would
explain that which is best for each, and the common good
of all. And I would not have given up my hopes for a good
deal, but having taken up his books with great eagerness, I
read through them as quickly as I could, that I might as
soon as possible know the best, and the worst.

108. ‘‘ From this wonderful hope, however, my friend, I was
speedily thrown down, when, as I advance and read over his
works, I meet with a man who makes no use of intelligence,
nor assigns any causes for the ordering of all things, but
makes the causes to consist of air, ether, and water, and
many other things equally absurd. And he appeared to me
to be very like one who should say, that whatever Socrates
does he does by intelligence, and then, attempting to describe
the causes of each particular action, should say, first of all,
that for this reason I am now sitting here, because my body
is composed of bones and sinews, and that the bones are hard,
and have joints separate from each other, but that the sinews,
being capable of tension and contraction, cover the bones,
together with the flesh and skin which contains them. The

PHEDO. 105

bones, therefore, being suspended in their sockets, the nerves
relaxing and tightening enable me to bend my limbs as |
now do, and from this cause I sit here bent up. 109. And
if again, he should assign other similar causes for my conversing
with you, assigning as causes voice, and air, and hearing, and
ten thousand other things of the kind, omitting to mention
the real causes, that since it appeared better to the Athenians
to condemn me, I therefore thought it better to sit here, and
more just to remain and submit to the punishment which they
have ordered; for, by the dog, I think these sinews and bones |
would have been long ago either in Megara or Beeotia, borne
thither by an opinion of that which is best, if I had not
thought it more just and honourable to submit to whatever
sentence the city might order, than to flee and run stealthily
away. But to call such things causes is too absurd. But if
any one should say that without possessing such things as
bones and sinews, and whatever else I have, I could not do
what I pleased, he would speak the truth; but to say that I
do as I do through them, and that I act thus by intelligence,
and not from the choice of what is best, would be a great
and extreme disregard of reason. 110. For this would be
not to be able to distinguish that the real cause is one thing,
and that another without which a cause could not be a cause :
which indeed the generality of men appear to me to do,
fumbling as it were in the dark, and making use of strange
names, so as to denominate them as the very cause. Where-
fore one encompassing the earth with a vortex from heaven,
makes the earth remain fixed; but another, as if it were a
broad trough, rests it upon the air as its base: but the power
by which these things are now so disposed that they may
be placed in the best manner possible, this they neither en-
quire into, nor do they think that it requires any superhu-
man strength; but they think they will some time or other
find out an Atlas stronger and more immortal than this, and
more capable of containing all things, and in reality, the good,
and that which ought to hold them together and contain them,
they take no account of at all. I then should most gladly
have become the disciple of any one who would teach me of
such a cause, in what way it is. But when I was disappointed
of this, and was neither able to discover it myself, nor to learn
it from another, do you wish, Cebes, that I should shew you io

106 PHZDO

what way I set out upon a second voyage in search of the
cause 2”

111. “I wish it exceedingly,” he replied.

‘“‘It appeared to me then,” said he, “after this, when I was
wearied with considering things that exist, that I ought to be-
ware lest I should suffer in the same way as they do who look
at and examine an eclipse of the sun, for some lose the sight
of their eyes, unless they behold its image in water, or some
similar medium. And I was affected with a similar feeling,
and was afraid lest I should be utterly blinded in my soul
through beholding things with the eyes, and endeavouring to
erasp them by means of the several senses. It seemed to me,
therefore, that I ought to have recourse to reasons, and to con-
sider in them the truth of things. Perhaps, however, this simi-
litude of mine may in some respect be incorrect ; for I do not
altogether admit that he who considers things in their reasons
considers them in their images, more than he does who views
them in their effects. However, I proceeded thus, and on each
occasion laying down the reason, which I deem to be the strong-
est, whatever things appear to me to accord with this I regard
as true, both with respect to the cause and every thing else,
but such as do not accord I regard as not true. 112. But I
wish to explain my meaning to you in a clearer manner; for I
think that you do not yet understand me.”

“No, by Jupiter,” said Cebes, * not well.”

“‘ However,” continued he, ‘I am now saying nothing new,
but what I have always at other times, and in a former part of
this discussion, never ceased to say. I proceed then to at-
tempt to explain to you that species of cause which I have
busied myself about, and return again to those well-known
subjects, and set out from them, laying down as an hypo-
thesis, that there is a certain abstract beauty, and goodness,
and magnitude, and so of all other things; which if you grant
me, and allow that they do exist, I hope that I shall be able
from these to explain the cause to you, and to discover that
the soul is immortal.”

“But,” said Cebes, “since I grant you this, you may draw
your conclusion at once.”

“ But consider,” he said, ‘what follows from thence, and
see if you can agree with me. For it appears to me, that if
there be any thing else beautiful, besides beauty itself, it is

PHADO. 107

not beautiful for any other reason than because it partakes of
that abstract beauty; and I say the same of every thing. Do
you admit such a cause ?”

‘““T do admit it,” he replied.

113, “Ido not yet understand,” he continued, “nor am I
able to conceive, those other wise causes; but if any one
should tell me why any thing is beautiful, either because it has
a blooming florid colour, or figure, or any thing else of the
kind, I dismiss all other reasons, for I am confounded by them
all; but I simply, wholly, and perhaps foolishly, confine my-
self to this, that nothing else causes it to be beautiful, except
either the presence or communication of that abstract beauty,
by whatever means and in whatever way communicated : for I
cannot yet affirm this with certainty, but only that by means
of beauty all beautiful things become beautiful. For this
appears to me the safest answer to give both to myself and
others, and adhering to this, I think that I shall never fall, but
that it is a safe answer both for me and any one else to give,
that by means of beauty beautiful things become beautiful.
Does it not also seem so to you?”

“Tt does,”

“And that by magnitude great things become great, and
greater things, greater; and by littleness less things become
reas |

Pes.”

114. ** You would not then approve of it, if any one said
that one person is greater than another by the head, and that
the less is less by the very same thing, but you would main-
tain that you mean nothing else than that every thing that is
greater than another is greater by nothing else than magni-
tude, and that it is greater on this account, that is on account
of magnitude, and that the less is less by nothing else than
littleness, and on this account less, that is, on account of little-
ness, being afraid, I think, lest some opposite argument should
meet you if you should say that any one is greater and less by
the head; as first, that the greater is greater, and the less less,
by the very same thing; and next, that the greater is greater
by the head, which is small; and that it is monstrous to sup-
pose that any one is great through something small. Should
vou not be afraid of this?”

To which said Cebes, smilingly, ‘ Indeed I should.”

108 PHA DO:

“Should you not, then,” he continued, ‘be afraid to say
that ten is more than eight by two, and for this cause excecds
it, and not by number, and on account of number? and that
two cubits are greater than one cubit by half, and not by mag-
nitude? for the fear is surely the same.”

“ Certainly,” he replied.

115, “ What then? when one has been added to one, would
you not beware of saying that the addition is the cause of its
being two, or division when it has been divided ; and would
you not loudly assert that you know no other way in which
each thing subsists, than by partaking of the peculiar essence
of each of which it partakes, and that in these cases you can
assign no other cause of its becoming two than its partaking of
duality ; and that such things as are to become two must needs
partake of this, and what is to become one, of unity; but these
divisions and additions, and other such subtleties, you would
dismiss, leaving them to be given as answers by persons wiser
than yourself: whereas you, fearing, as it is said, your own
shadow and inexperience, would adhere to this safe hypothesis,
and answer accordingly? But if any one should assail this
hypothesis of yours, would you not dismiss him and refrain
from answering him till you had considered the consequences
resulting from it, whether in your opinion they agree with or
differ from each other? But when it should be necessary for
you to give a reason for it, would you give one in a similar
way, by again laying down another hypothesis, which should
appear the best of higher principles, until you arrived at some-
thing satisfactory, but at the same time you would avoid
making confusion, as disputants do, in treating of the first
principle and the results arising from it, if you really desire
to arrive at the truth of things. 116. For they, perhaps,
make no account at all of this, nor pay any attention to it,
for they are able, through their wisdom, to mingle all things
together, and at the same time please themselves. But you,
if you are a philosopher, would act, I think, as I now de-
scribe.”’

“ You speak most truly,” said Simmias and Cebes together.

Echec. By Jupiter, Phedo, they said so with good reason:
for he appears to me to have explained these things with won-
derful clearness, even to one endued with a small degree of
intelligence.

PHADO. 109

Phed. Certainly, Echecrates, and so it appeared to all who
were present.

Echec. And so it appears to me, who was absent, and now
hear it related. But what was said after this ?

As well as I remember, when these things had been granted
him, and it was allowed that each several idea exists of itself,
and that other things partaking of them receive their denomi-
nation from on he next asked: “If then,” he_ said,
“you admit that these things are so, whether, when you say
that Simmias is greater than Socrates, but less than Pheedo,
do you not then say that magnitude and littleness are both in
Simmias ?”

> bdo.”

117. * And yet,” he said, ‘‘ you must confess that Simmias’s
exceeding Socrates i is not actually true in the manner in which
the words express it; for Simmias does not naturally exceed
Socrates, in that he is Simmias, but in consequence of the
magnitude which he happens to have; nor, again, does he ex-
bid Socrates, because Socrates is Socrates, et evens Socra-
tes possesses littleness 1 in comparison with his magnitude f”

Paie!

“ Nor, again, is Simmias exceeded by Pheedo, because Pheedo
is Phedo, but because Phiedo possesses magnitude i in compari-
son with Simmias’ s littleness ?”

ae 18 SO.”

“ Thus, then, Simmias has the appellation of being both
little and great, being between both, by exceeding the littleness
of one through his own magnitude, and to the other yielding a
magnitude that exceeds his own littleness.” And at the same
time, smiling, he said, ‘I seem to speak with the precision of

a short-hand writer ; however, it is as I say.”

He allowed it.

118. * But I say it for this reason, wishing you to be of the
same opinion as myself. For it appears to me, not only that
magnitude itself is never disposed to be at the same time great
and little, but that magnitude in us never admits the little, nor
is disposed to be exceeded, but one of two things, either to flee
and withdraw when its contrary, the little, approaches it, or
when it has actually come, to perish; but that it is not disposed,
by sustaining and receiving littleness, to be different from what

5 eival T1, literally, ‘is something.”

110 PHAEDO.

it was. Just as I, having received and sustained littleness, and
still continuing the same person that I am, am this same little
person: but that, while it is great, never endures to be little.
And in like manner the little that is in us is not disposed at
any time to become or to be great, nor is any thing else among
contraries, while it continues what it was, at the same time
disposed to become and to be its contrary ; but in this contin-
gency it either departs or perishes.”

119. * It appears so to me,” said Cebes, “in every respect.”

But some one of those present, on hearing this, I do not
clearly remember who he was, said, ‘* By the gods, was not
the very contrary of what is now asserted admitted in the for-
mer part of our discussion, that the greater is produced from
the less, and the less from the greater, and in a word, that the
very production of contraries is from contraries? But now it
appears to me to be asserted that this can never be the case.”

Upon this Socrates, having leant his head forward and lis-
tened, said, ** You have reminded me in a manly way; you do
not, however, perceive the difference between what is now and
what was then asserted. For then it was said, that a contrary
thing is produced from a contrary; but now, that a contrary
can never become contrary to itself, neither that which is in
us, nor that which is in nature. For then, my friend, we spoke
of things that have contraries, calling them by the appellation
of those things; but now we are speaking of those very things,
from the presence of which things so called receive their appel-
lation, and of these very things we say that they are never dis-
posed to admit of production from each other.” 120. And, at
the same time looking at Cebes, “ Has any thing that has been
said, Cebes, disturbed you?”

“Indeed,” said Cebes, “I am not at all so disposed; how-
ever, I by no means say that there are not many things that
disturb me.”

“Then,” he continued, “we have quite agreed to this, that
a contrary can never be contrary to itself.”

‘Most certainly,” he replied.

“ But further,” he said, “consider whether you will agree
with me in this also. Do you call heat and cold any thing >”

ces es Coe

“The same as snow and fire ?”

“ By Jupiter, I do not,”

PHADO. EVE

‘But heat is something different from fire, and cold some-
thing different from snow?”

ye Ba

* But this, I think, is apparent to you, that snow, while it -s
snow, can never, when it has admitted heat, as we said before,
continue to be what it was, snow and hot, but, on the approach
of heat, it must either withdraw or perish?”

** Certainly.

“And again, that fire, when cold approaches it, must
either depart or perish; but that it will never endure, when it
has admitted coldness, to continue what it was, fire and cold?”

121. ‘* You speak truly,” he said,

“It happens then,” he continued, ‘‘ with respect to some of
such things, that not only is the idea itself always thought
worthy of the same appellation, but likewise something else
which is not indeed that idea itself but constantly retains its
form so long as it exists. What I mean will perhaps be clearer
in the following examples. The odd in number must always
possess the name by which we now call it; must it not?

* Certainly.”

‘“* Must it alone of all things, for this I ask, or is there any
thing else, which is not the same as the odd, but yet which we
must always call odd, together with its own name, because it
is so constituted by nature, that it can never be without the
odd? But this I say is the case with the number three, and
many others. For consider with respect to the number three ;
does it not appear to you that it must always be called by its
own name, as well as by that of the odd, which is not the same
as the number three? Yet such is the nature of the number
three, five, and the entire half of number, that though they
are not the same as the odd, yet each of them is always odd.
And again, two and four, and the whole other series of number,
though not the same as the even, are nevertheless each of them
always even: do you admit this or not?

122. “ How should I not?” he replied.

“Observe then,” said he, “what I wish to prove. It is
this, that it appears, not only that these contraries do not
admit each other, but that even such things as are not contrary
to each other, and yet always possess contraries, do not appear
to admit that idea which is contrary to the idea that exists in
themselves, but, when it approaches, perish or depart. Shall

112 PHZEDO

we not allow that the number three would first perish, and
suffer any thing whatever, rather than endure, while it is still
three, to become even?”

‘* Most certainly,” said Cebes.

“And yet,” said he, “the number two is not contrary to
three.”

‘* Surely not.”

“ Not only, then, do ideas that are contrary never allow the
approach of each other, but some other things also do not
allow the approach of contraries.”

‘You say very truly,” he replied.

“Do you wish, then,” he said, “ that, if we are able, we
should define what these things are ?”

** Certainly.”

‘Would they not then, Cebes,” he said, “be such things
as whatever they occupy, compel that thing not only to retain
its own idea, but also that of something which is always a
contrary ?

‘* How do you mean ?”

123. “ As we just now said. For you know surely, that
whatever things the idea of three occupies must of necessity
not only be three, but also odd ?”

* Certainly.”

fo such a thing, then. we assert, that the idea contrary to
that form which constitutes this can never come.”

‘Tt cannot.”

‘* But did the odd make it so?”

eas

‘ And is the contrary to this the idea of the even ?”

nee ¢

* The idea of the even, then, will never come to the three >”

** No surely.”

‘** Three, then, has no part in the even?”

‘** None whatever.”

‘“ The number three is uneven ?”

oe fy

‘What therefore I said should be defined, namely, what
things they are which, though not contrary to some particular
thing, yet do not admit of the contrary itself, as in the present
instance, the number three though not contrary to the even,
does not any the more admit it, for it always brings the con-

AEA) ee 133

trary with it, just as the number two does to the odd, fire
to cold, and many other particulars, consider then, whether
you would thus define, not only that a contrary does not
admit a contrary, but also that that which brings with it a
contrary to that to which it approaches, will never admit the
contrary of that which it brings with it. 124. But call it to
mind again, for it will not be useless to hear it often repeated.
Five will not admit the idea of the even, nor ten, its double,
that of the odd. This double then, though it is itself contrary
to something else°, yet will not admit the idea of the odd; nor
will half as much again, nor other things of the kind, such as
the half and the third part admit the idea of the whole, if you
follow me and agree with me that it is so.”

* I entirely agree with you,” he said, “and follow you.”

‘Tell me again, then,” he said, “from the beginning ; and
do not answer me in the terms in which I put the question,
but in different ones, imitating my example. For I say this
because, besides that safe mode of answering, which I men-
| tioned at first P, from what has now been said, I see another no
less safe one. For if youshould ask me what that is, which if it
be in the body will cause it to be hot, I should not give you
that safe but unlearned answer, that it is heat, but one more

to |

elegant, from what we have just now said, that it is fire: nor,
if vou should ask me what that is, which if it be in the body,
will cause it to be diseased, should I say that it is disease, but
fever ; nor, if you should ask what that is, which if it be in”
number, will cause it to be odd, should I say that it is unevenness,
but unity, and so with other things. But consider whether

you sufficiently understand what I mean?
§ 125. “ Perfectly so,” he replied.

* Answer me then,” he said, ‘“‘ what that is, which when it
is in the body, the body will be alive ?”

“ Soul,” he replied.

“Ts not this, then, always the case ?”

‘* How should it not be >” said he.
oe me the soul, then, always bring life to whatever it occu-
ples ?”
“It does indeed,” he replied.
“Whether, then, is there any thing contrary to life or not?”
‘There is,” he replied,

° That is, to single, ® See § 113.

]
i
i
|
|

114 PHADe, '

<< What?”

*<eath.”’

“The soul, then, will never admit the contrary of that which
it brings with it, as has been already allowed ?”

** Most assuredly,” replied Cebes.

‘What then? how do we denominate that which does not
admit the idea of the even ?”

“ Uneven,” he replied.

“ And that which does not admit the just, nor the musical F”

“ Unmusical,” he said, *‘ and unjust.”

“ Be it so. But what do we call that which does not admit
death ?”

‘‘ Immortal,” he replied.

“Therefore does not the soul admit death 7”

- io;

“Ts the soul, then, immortal?”

‘* Immortal.”

“ Be it so,” he said. “Shall we say then, that this has been
now demonstrated? or how think you ?”

“ Most completely, Socrates.”

“* What then,” said he, ‘“* Cebes, if it were necessary for the
uneven to be imperishable, would the number three be other-
wise than imperishable ©”

** How should it not?”

“Tf, therefore, it were also necessary that what is without
heat should be imperishable, when any one should introduce
heat to snow, would not the snow withdraw itself, safe and
unmelted? For it would not perish; nor yet would it stay
and admit the heat.”

“You say truly,” he replied.

‘‘In like manner, I think, if that which is insusceptible of
cold were imperishable, that when any thing cold approached
the fire, it would neither be extinguished nor perish, but would
depart quite safe.”

‘Of necessity,” he said.

“ Must we not then of necessity,” he continued, “ speak thus
of that which is immortal? if that which is immortal is im-
perishable, it is impossible for the soul to perish, when death
approaches it. For, from what has been said already, it will
not admit death, nor will ever be dead, just as we said that
three will never be even, nor again will the odd, nor will fire

mI
:

a

‘|

PHEDO. 115

be cold, nor yet the heat that is in fire. 127. But some one may
say, what hinders, though the odd can never become even by
the approach of the even, as we have allowed, yet, when the
odd is destroyed, that the even should succeed in its place? We
could not contend with him who should make this objection,
that it is not destroyed; for the uneven is not imperishable ;
since, if this were granted us, we might easily have contended,
that on the approach of the even the odd and the three depart ;
and we might have contended in the same way with respect to
fire, heat, and the rest; might we not?”

** Certainly.”

‘Wherefore, with respect to the immortal, if we have
allowed that it is imperishable, the soul, in addition to its
being immortal, must also be imperishable; if not, there will
be need of other arguments.”

“But there is no need,” he said, “as far as that is concerned ;
for scarcely could any thing not admit of corruption, if that
which is immortal and eternal is liable to it.”

128. “ The deity, indeed, I think,” said Socrates, “and the
idea itself of life, and if any thing else is immortal, must be
allowed by all beings to be incapable of dissolution,”

“ By Jupiter,” he replied, “ by all men indeed, and still more,
as I think, by the gods.”

“Since, then, that which is immortal is also incorruptible,
can the soul, since it is immortal, be any thing else than im-

perishable ?”

“It must of necessity be so.”

‘When, therefore, death approaches a man, the mortal part
of him, as it appears, dies, but the immortal part departs safe
and uncorrupted, having withdrawn itself from death >”

‘« It appears so.”

“The soul, therefore,” he said, « Cebes, is most certainly
immortal and imperishable, and our souls will really exist in
Hades.”

“ Therefore, Socrates,” he said, “I have nothing further to

}} say against this, nor any reason for doubting your arguments.

But if Simmias here or any one else has any thing to say, it
were well for him not to be silent: for I know not to what
other opportunity beyond the present any one can defer it, who
wishes either to speak or hear about these things.”

129. “ But indeed,” said Simmias, “neither have I any
reason to doubt what has been urged; yet from the magni-

116 PH-EDO.

tude of the subject discussed, and from my low opinion of
human weakness, I am compelled still to retain a doubt within
myself with respect to what has been said.”

* Not only so, Simmias,” said Socrates, “but you say this
well, and moreover the first hypotheses, even though they are
credible to you, should nevertheless be examined more care-
fully; and if you should investigate them sufficiently, I think
you will follow my reasoning as far as it is possible for man
todo so; and if this very point becomes clear, you will enquire
no further.”

* You speak truly,” he said.

“But it is right, my friends,” he said, “that we should con-
sider this, that if the soul is immortal, it requires our care not
only for the present time, which we call life, but for all time;
and the danger would now appear to be dreadful, if one should

neglect it. 130. For if death were a deliverance from every.

thing, it would be a great gain for the wicked, when they die,
to be delivered at the same time from the body, and from their
vices together with the soul: but now, since it appears to be
immortal, it can have no other refuge from evils, nor safety,
except by becoming as good and wise as possible. Tor the
soul goes to Hades, possessing nothing else but its discipline
and education, which are said to be of the greatest advantage
or detriment to the dead, on the very beginning of his journey
thither. For thus it is said; that each person’s demon who
was assigned to him while living, when he dies conducts him
to some place, where they that are assembled together must
receive sentence and then proceed to Hades with that guide,
who has been ordered to conduct them from hence thither.
But there having received their deserts, and having remained
the appointed time, another guide brings them back hither
again, after many and long revolutions of time. The journey,
then, is not such as the Telephus of Aischylus describes it.
For he says that a simple path leads to Hades; but it appears
to me to be neither simple nor one: for there would be no
need of guides, nor could any one ever miss the way, if there
were but one. But now it appears to have many divisions
and windings; and this I conjecture from our religious and
funeral rites?. 131. The well-ordered and wise soul, then,

a It is difficult to express the distinction between dca and vouma, the
former word seems to have reference to the souls of the dead, the latter to
their bodies.

PHEDO, 117

both fotlows, and is not ignorant of its present condition: but
that which through passion clings to the body, as I said before,
having longingly fluttered about it for a long time, and about
its visible place’, after vehement resistance and great suffering,
is forcibly and with great difficulty led away by its appointed
demon. And when it arrives at the place where the others
are, impure and having done any such thing as the committal
of unrighteous murders or other similar actions, which are
kindred to these, and are the deeds of kindred souls, every
one shuns it and turns away from it, and will neither be its
fellow-traveller or guide, but it wanders about, oppressed
with every kind of helplessness until certain periods have
elapsed: and when these are completed, it is carried of
necessity to an abode suitable to it; but the soul which has
passed through life with purity and moderation, having ob-
tained the gods for its fellow-travellers and guides, settles
each in the place suited to it. 132. There are indeed many
and wonderful places in the earth, and it is itself neither of
such a kind, nor of such a magnitude, as is supposed by those
who are accustomed to speak of the earth, as I have been per-
suaded by a certain person.”

Whereupon Simmias said, “ How mean you, Socrates? For
I too have heard many things about the earth, not however
those things which have obtained your belief: I would there-
fore gladly hear them.”

“Indeed, Simmias, the art of Glaucus’ does not seem to
me to be required to relate what these things are; that they
are true however, appears to me more than the art of Glaucus
can prove, and besides, I should probably not be able to do it,
and even if I did know how, what remains to me of life,
Simmias, seems insufficient for the length of the subject.
However, the form of the earth, such as I am persuaded it
is, and the different places in it, nothing hinders me from
telling.”

* But that will be enough,” said Simmias.

“Tam persuaded, then,” said he, “in the first place, that,
if the earth is in the middle of the heavens, and is of a spherical
form, it has no need of air, nor of any other similar force, to
prevent it from falling, but that the similarity of the heavens

* Its place of interment.
* A proverb meaning “a matter of great difficulty."’

118 PHADO,

to themselves on every side, and the equilibrium of the earth
itself, are sufficient to support it; for a thing in a state of
equilibrium when placed in the middle of something that
presses it equally on all sides cannot incline more or less on
any side, but being equally affected all around remains ua-
moved, 133. In the first place then,” he said, “I am per-
suaded of this.”

‘“ And very properly so,” said Simmias.

‘Yet further,” said he, “that it is very large, and that we
who inhabit some small portion of it, from the river Phasis to
the pillars of Hercules, dwell about the sea, like ants or frogs
about a marsh, and that many others elsewhere dwell in many
similar places, for that there are every where about the earth
many hollows of various forms and sizes into which there is a
confluence of water, mist, and air; but that the earth itself,
being pure, is situated in the pure heavens, in which are the
stars, and which most persons who are accustomed to speak
about such things call ether; of which these things are the
sediment and are continually flowing into the hollow parts of
the earth. 134. That we are ignorant, then, that we are dwell-
ing in its hollows, and imagine that we inhabit the upper parts
of the earth, just as if any one dwelling in the bottom of the
sea, should think that he dwelt on the sea, and, beholding the
sun and the other stars through the water, should imagine that
the sea was the heavens, but through sloth and weakness should
never have reached the surface of the sea, nor, having emerged
and risen up from the sea to this region, have seen how much
more pure and more beautiful it is than the place where he is,
nor has heard of it from any one else who has seen it. This
then is the very condition in which we are; for, dwelling in
some hollow of the earth, we think that we dwell on the sur-
face of it, and call the air heaven, as if the stars moved through
this, being heaven itself. But this is because by reason of our
weakness and sloth, we are unable to reach to the summit of
the air. Since, if any one could arrive at its summit, or, be-
coming winged, could fly up thither, or emerging from hence,
he would see,—just as with us, fishes emerging from the sea,
behold what is here,—so any one would behold the things there,
and if his nature were able to endure the contemplation, he
would know that that is the true heaven, and the true light,
and the true earth. 135. For this earth and these stones, and

PH ADO: 119

the whole region here, are decayed and corroded, as things
in the sea by the saltness; for nothing of any value grows in
the sea. nor, in a word, does it contain any thing perfect, but
there are caverns and sand, and mud in abundance, and filth,
in whatever parts of the sea there is earth, nor are they at
all worthy to be compared with the beautiful things with us.
But on the other hand, those things in the upper regions of
the earth would appear far more to excel the things with us.
For, if we may tell a beautiful fable, it is well worth hearing,
Simmias, what kind the things are on the earth beneath the
heavens.”

‘Indeed, Socrates,” said Simmias, “we should be very glad
to hear that fable.”

136. ‘First of all then, my friend,” he continued, ‘this
earth, if any one should survey it from above, is said to have
the appearance of balls covered with twelve different pieces of
leather, variegated and distinguished with colours, of which
the colours found here, and which painters use, are as it were
copies. But there the whole earth is composed of such, and
far more brilliant and pure than these; for one part of it is
purple, and of wonderful beauty, part of a golden colour, and
part of white, more white than chalk or snow, and in like man-
ner composed of other colours, and those more in number and
more beautiful than any we have ever beheld. And those very
hollow parts of the earth, though filled with water and air, ex-
hibit a certain species of colour, shining among the variety of
other colours, so that one continually variegated aspect pre-
sents itself to the view. In this earth, being such, all things
that grow, grow in a manner proportioned to its nature, trees,
flowers, and fruits; and again, in like manner, its mountains
and stones possess, in the same proportion, smoothness and
transparency, and more beautiful colours; of which the well-
known stones here that are so highly prized are but fragments,
such as sardin-stones, jaspers, and emeralds, and all of that
kind. But there, there is nothing subsists that is not of this
character, and even more beautiful than these. 137. But the
reason of this is, because the stones there are pure, and not
eaten up and decayed, like those here, by rottenness and salt-
ness, which flow down hither together, and which produce
deformity and disease in the stones and the earth, and in other
things, even animals and plants. But that earth is adorned

12¢ PHADO.

with all these. and moreover with gold and silver, and other
things of the kind: for they are naturally conspicuous, being
numerous and large, and in all parts of the earth; so that to
behold it is a sight for the blessed. There are also many other
animals and men upon it, some dwelling in mid-earth, others
about the air, as we do about the sea, and others in islands
which the air flows round, and which are near the continent :
and in one word, what water and the sea are to us, for our
necessities, the air is to them; and what air is to us, that ether
is tothem. 138. But their seasons are of such a temperament
that they are free from disease, and live for a much longer
time than those here, and surpass us in sight, hearing, and
smelling, and every thing of this kind, as much as air excels
water, and ether air, in purity. Moreover, they have abodes
and temples of the gods, in which gods really dwell, and voices
and oracles, and sensible visions of the gods, and such-like in-
tercourse with them; the sun too, and moon, and stars, are
seen by them such as they really are, and their felicity in other
respects is correspondent with these things.

** And such indeed is the nature of the whole earth, and the
parts about the earth; but there are many places all round
it throughout its cavities, some deeper and more open than
that in which we dwell: but others that are deeper. have a
less chasm than our region, and others are shallower in depth
than it is here and broader. 139. But all these are in many
places perforated one into another under the earth, some with
narrower and some with wider channels, and have passages
through, by which a great quantity of water flows from one
into another, as into basins, and there are immense bulks of
ever-flowing rivers under the earth, both of hot and cold water,
and a great quantity of fire, and mighty rivers of fire, and
many of liquid mire, some purer, and some more miry, as in
Sicily there are rivers of mud that flow before the lava, and
the lava itself, and from these the several places are filled, ac-
cording as the overflow from time to time happens to come to
each of them. But all these move up and down as it were by
a certain oscillation existing in the earth. And this oscillation
proceeds from such natural cause as this: one of the chasms
of the earth is exceedingly large, and perforated through the
entire earth, and is that which Homer speaks of, ‘very far

* liad, lib, viii. v. 14.

a

PHEDO. 121

off, where is the most profound abyss beneath the earth,’
which elsewhere both he and many other poets have called.
Tartarus. For into this chasm all rivers flow together, and
from it flow out again: but they severally derive their charac-
ter from the earth through which they flow. 140. And the
reason why all streams flow out from thence, and flow into it, is
because this liquid has neither bottom nor base. Therefore it
oscillates and fluctuates up and down, and the air and the wind
around it do the same; for they accompany it both when it
rushes to those parts of the earth, and when to these. +» And as
in respiration the flowing breath is continually breathed out
and drawn in, so there the wind oscillating with the liquid,
causes certain vehement and irresistible winds both as it en-
ters and goes out. When, therefore, the water rushing in de-
scends to the place which we call the lower region, it flows
through the earth into the streams there and fills them, just as
men pump up water. But when again it leaves those regions
and rushes hither, it again fills the rivers here, and these, when
filled, flow through channels and through the earth, and having
severally reached the several places to which they are journey-
mg, they make seas, lakes, rivers, and fountains. 141. Then
sinking again from thence beneath the earth, some of them
having gone round longer and more numerous places, and
others round fewer and shorter, they again discharge them-
selves into Tartarus, some much lower than they were drawn
up, others only a little so, but all of them flow in again beneath
the point at which they flowed out. And some issue out di-
rectly opposite the place by which they flow in, others on the
same side: there are also some which having gone round alto-
gether in a circle, folding themselves once or several times
round the earth, like serpents, when they had descended as low
as possible, discharge themselves again: and it is possi le for
them to descend on either side as far as the middle, but not be-
yond ; for in each direction there is an acclivity to the streams
both ways.

‘“ Now there are many other large and various streams, but
among this great number there are four certain streams, of
which the largest, and that which flows most outwardly round
the earth, is called Ocean, but directly opposite this, and flow-
ing in a contrary direction, is Acheron, which flows through
other desert places, and moreover passing under the earth,

122 PHZDO

reaches the Acherusian lake, where the souls of most who die
arrive, and having remained there for certain destined periods,
some longer and some shorter, are again sent forth into the
generations of animals. 142. A third river issues midway
between these, and near its source falls into a vast region,
burning with abundance of fire, and forms a lake larger than
our sea, boiling with water and mud; from hence it proceeds
in a circle, turbulent and muddy, and folding itself round it
reaches both other places and the extremity of the Acherusian
lake, but does not mingle with its water; but folding itself
oftentimes beneath the earth, it discharges itself into the lower
parts of Tartarus. And this is the river which they call Pyri-
phlegethon, whose burning streams emit dissevered fragments
in whatever part of the earth they happen to be. Opposite to
this again the fourth river first falls into a place dreadful and
savage, as it is said, having its whole colour like cyanus®:
this they call Stygian, and the lake, which the river forms by
its discharge, Styx. This river having fallen in here, and re-
ceived awful power in the water, sinking beneath the earth,
proceeds, folding itself round, in an opposite course to Pyri-
phlegethon, and meets it in the Acherusian lake from a con-
trary direction. Neither does the water of this river mingle
with any other, but it too, having gone round in a circle, dis-
charges itself into Tartarus, opposite to Pyriphlegethon. Its
name, as the poets say, is Cocytus.

143. “These things being thus constituted, when the dead
arrive at the place to which their demon leads them severally,
first of all they are judged, as well those who have lived well
and piously, as those who have not. And those who appear
to have passed a middle kind of life, proceeding to Acheron,
and embarking in the vessels they have, on these arrive at the
lake, and there dwell, and when they are purified, and have
suffered punishment for the iniquities they may have commit-
ted, they are set free, and each receives the reward of his good
deeds, according to his deserts: but those who appear to be
incurable, through the magnitude of their offences, either from
having committed many and great sacrileges, or many unjust
and lawless murders, or other similar crimes, these a suitable
destiny hurls into Tartarus, whence they never come forth.

a A metallic substance of a deep blue colour, frequently mentioned by
the earliest Grecian writers, but of which the nature is unknown.

ied 62030108 123

144, But those who appear to have been guilty of curable,
yet great offences, such as those who through anger have
committed any violence against father or mother, and have
lived the remainder of their life in a state of penitence, or they
who have become homicides in a similar manner, these must of
necessity fall into Tartarus, but after they have fallen, and
have been there for a year, the wave casts them forth, the
homicides into Cocytus, but the parricides and: matricides into
Pyriphlegethon: but when, being borne along, they arrive at
the Acherusian lake, there they cry out to and invoke, some
those whom they slew, others those whom they injured, and in-
voking them, they entreat and implore them to suffer them to
go out into the lake, and to receive them, and if they persuade
them, they go out, and are freed from their sufferings, but if
not, they are borne back to Tartarus, and thence again to the
rivers, and they do not cease from suffering this until they
have persuaded those whom they have injured, for this sen-
tence was imposed on them by the judges. 145. But those
who are found to have lived an eminently holy life, these
are they, who, being freed and set at large from these re-
gions in the earth, as from a prison, arrive at the pure abode
above, and dwell on the upper parts of the earth. And among
these, they who have sufficiently purified themselves by phi-
losophy shall live without bodies, throughout all future time,
and shall arrive at habitations yet more beautiful than these,
which it is neither easy to describe, nor at present is there suf-
ficient time for the purpose,

‘But for the sake of these things which we have described,
we should use every endeavour, Simmias, so as to acquire vir-
tue and wisdom in this life; for the reward is noble, and the
hope great.

“To affirm positively, indeed, that these things are exactly
as I have described them, does not become a man of sense;
that however either this, or something of the kind, takes place
with respect to our souls and their habitations—since our soul
is certainly immortal—this appears to me most fitting to be
believed, and worthy the hazard for one who trusts in its
reality ; for the hazard is noble, and it is right to allure our-
selves with such things, as with enchantments; for which rea-
son I have prolonged my story to such a length. 146. On
account cf these things, then, a man ought to be confident

=|

124 PHZDO.

about his soul, who during this life has disregarded all the plea-
sures and ornaments of the body as foreign from his nature,
and who, having thought that they do more harm than good,
has zealously applied himself to the acquirement of know-
ledge, and who having adorned his soul not with a foreign but
its Own proper ornament, temperance, justice, fortitude, free-
dom, and truth, thus waits for his passage to Hades, as one
who is ready to depart whenever destiny shall summon him.
You then,” he continued, ‘“‘Simmias and Cebes, and the rest,
will each of you depart at some future time; but now destiny
summons me, as a tragic writer would say, and it is nearly
time for me to betake myself to the bath; for it appears to
me to be better to drink the poison after I have bathed my-
self, and not to trouble the women with washing my dead
body.”

147. When he had thus spoken, Crito said, “So be it,
Socrates, but what commands have you to give to these or to
me, either respecting your children, or any other matter, in
attending to which we can most oblige you?”

“What I always say, Crito,” he replied, “nothing new;
that by taking care of yourselves you will oblige both me and
mine, and yourselves, whatever you do, though vou should not
now promise it; but if you neglect yourselves, and will not
live as it were in the footsteps of what has been now and for-
merly said, even though you should promise much at present,
and that earnestly, you will do no good at all.”’

“We will endeavour then so to do,” he said; ‘ but how
shall we bury you?”

«Just as you please,” he said, ‘‘if only you can catch me,
and I do not escape from you.’”’ 148. And at the same time
smiling gently, and looking round on us, he said; ‘*T cannot
persuade Crito, my friends, that I am that Socrates who 1s
now conyersing with you, and who methodizes each part of
the discourse ; but he thinks that Iam he whom he will shortly
behold dead, and asks how he should bury me. But that which
I some time since argued at length, that when I have drunk
the poison I shall no longer remain with you, but shall depart
to some happy state of the blessed, this I seem to have urged
to him in vain, though I meant at the same time to console
beth you and myself. Be ye then my sureties to Crito,” he
said, ‘‘in an obligation contrary to that which he made to the

BH ADO, 125

judges; for he undertook that I should remain; but do you
be sureties that, when I die, I shall not remain, but shall de-
part, that Crito may more easily bear it, and when he sees my
body either burnt or buried, may not be afflicted for me, as if
I suffered some dreadful thing, nor say at my interment that
Socrates is laid out, or is carried out, or is buried. 149. For
be well assured,” he said, ‘‘ most excellent Crito, that to speak
improperly is not only culpable as to the thing itself, but like-
wise occasions some injury to our souls, You must have a
good courage then, and say that you bury my body, and bury
it in such a manner as is pleasing to you, and as you think is
most agreeable to our laws.”

When he had said thus he rose, and went into a chamber to
bathe, and Crito followed him, but he directed us to wait for
him. We waited, therefore, conversing among ourselves about
what had been said, and considering it again, and sometimes
speaking about our calamity, how severe it would be to us,
sincerely thinking that, like those who are deprived of a father,
we should pass the rest of our life as orphans. When he had
bathed, and his children were brought to him, for he had two
little sons and one grown up, and the women belonging to his
family were come, having conversed with them in the presence
of Crito, and given them such injunctions as he wished, he
directed the women and children to go away, and then returned
to us. And it was now near sun-set; for he spent a consider-
able time within. 150, But when he came from bathing he
sat down, and did not speak much afterwards; then the officer
of the Eleven came in, and standing near him, said, “‘ Socrates,
I shail not have to find that fault with you that I do with
others, that they are angry with me, and curse me, when, by
order of the archons, I bid them drink the poison. But you,
on all other occasions during the time you have been here, I
have found to be the most noble, meek, and excellent man of
all that ever came into this place: and, therefore, [am now
well convinced that you will not be angry with me, for you
know who are to blame, but with them. Now, then, for you
know what I came to announce to you, farewell, and endeavour
to bear what is inevitable as easily as possible.” And at the
same time, bursting into tears, he turned away and withdrew.

151. And Socrates, looking after him, said, ‘‘ And thou, too,
farewell, we will do as you direct.” At the same time turning

126 PHADO.

to us, he said, ‘* How courteous the man is; during the whole
time I have been here he has visited me, and conversed with
me sometimes, and proved the worthiest of men ; and now how
generously he weeps for me. But come, Crito, let us obey
him, and let some one bring the poison, if it is ready pounded,
but if not, let the man pound it.”

Then Crito said, ‘But I think, Socrates, that the sun is
still on the mountains, and has not yet set. Besides, I know
that others have drunk the poison very late, after it had been
announced to them, and have supped and drunk freely, and
some even have enjoyed the objects of their love. Do not
hasten then, for there is yet time.”

Upon this Socrates replied, “‘ These men whom you mention,
Crito, do these things with good reason, for they think they
shall gain by so doing, and | too with good reason shall not
do so; for I think I shall gain nothing by drinking a little
later, except to become ridiculous to myself, in being so fond
of life, and sparing of it when none any longer remains. Go
then,” he said, ‘‘ obey, and do not resist.’

152. Crito having heard this, nodded to the boy that stood
near. And the boy having gone out, and staid for some time,
came, bringing with him the man that was to administer the
poison, who brought it ready pounded in a cup. And Socrates,
on seeing the man, said, ‘ Well, my good friend, as you are
skilled in these matters, what must J do?”

“Nothing else,” he replied, ‘than when you have drunk
it walk about, until there is a heaviness in your legs, then lie
down; thus it will do its purpose.” And at the same time
he held out the cup to Socrates. And he having received it
very cheerfully, Echecrates, neither trembling, nor changing
at all in colour or countenance, but, as he was wont, looking
stedfastly at the man, said, “ What say you of this potion,
with respect to making a libation to any one, is it lawful or
not ?”

‘We only pound so much, Socrates,” he said, ‘‘as we think
sufficient to drink.”

“T understand you,” he said, “ but it is certainly both law-
ful and right to pray to the gods, that my departure hence
thither may be happy; which therefore I pray, and so may it
be.” And as he said this he drank it off readily and calmly.
Thus far, most of us were with difficulty able to restrain our-

PHADO. 127

selves from weeping, but when we saw him drinking, and hav-
ing finished the draught, we could do so no longer; but in
spite of myself the tears came in full torrent, so that, covering
my face, I wept for myself, for I did not weep for him, but for
my own fortune, in being deprived of such a friend, But Crito,
even before me, when he could not restrain his tears, had risen
up. 154. But Apollodorus even before this had not ceased
weeping, and then bursting into an agony of grief, weeping
and lamenting, he pierced the heart of every one present, ex-
cept Socrates himself. But he ‘said, ‘‘ What are you doing,
my admirable friends? I indeed, for this reason chiefly, sent
away the women, that they might not commit any folly of this
kind. For I have heard that it is right to die with good omens.
Be quiet, therefore, and bear up.”’

When we heard this we were ashamed, and restrained our
tears. But he, having walked about, when he said that his
legs were growing heavy, laid down on his back; for the man
so directed him. And at the same time he who gave him the
poison, taking hold of him, after a short interval examined his
feet and legs; and then having pressed his foot hard, he asked
if he felt it: he said that he did not. And after this he pressed
his thighs; and thus going higher, he shewed us that he was
growing cold and stiff. Then Socrates touched himself, and
said, that when the poison reached his heart he should then
depart. 155. But now the parts around the lower belly were
almost cold; when uncovering himself, for he had been covered
over, he said, and they were his last words, ‘‘ Crito, we owe
a cock to Aisculapius; pay it, therefore, and do not neglect
it

“It shall be done,” said Crito, ‘‘ but consider whether you
have any thing else to say.”

To this question he gave no reply; but shortly after he gave
a convulsive movement, and the man covered him, and his eyes
were fixed; and Crito, perceiving it, closed his mouth and
eyes.

This, Echecrates, was the end of our friend, a man, as we
may say, the best of all of his time that we have known, and
moreover, the most wise. and just.

INTRODUCTION TO THE GORGIAS.

Catiictes and Polus, two friends of Gorgias, the famous
orator of Leontium in Sicily, happening to meet with Socrates
and Cherephon, tell the former that he has sustained a great
Joss in not having been just now present when Gorgias was
exhibiting his art. Cherephon admits that the fault is his,
but adds that as Gorgias is his friend he can easily persuade
him to exhibit to them either then, or at a future time. They
accordingly, all four, adjourn to the house of Callicles, where
Gorgias is staying. When arrived there, Cherephon, at the
suggestion of Socrates, proposes to question Gorgias as to the
art he professes ; but Polus, his pupil, somewhat impertinently
offers to answer for him, on the ground that Gorgias is fatigued.
Cherephon therefore asks, what is the art in which Gorgias
is skilled, and what he ought to be called? To which Polus
answers, ‘‘ the finest of the arts.’ Socrates, not satisfied with
this, as being no answer at all, begs Gorgias himself to answer.
He says, that rhetoric is the art he professes, and that he is a
rhetorician, and able to make others rhetoricians’,

Socrates, having got Gorgias to promise that he would answer
briefly, proceeds to ask him about what rhetoric is employed,
and of what it is the science. Gorgias says, ‘‘ of words,” but
Socrates shews, that other arts, in various degrees, make use
of words, and that some, such as arithmetic and geometry, are
altogether conversant with words; he therefore requests him
to distinguish between these arts and rhetoric, and to explain
about what particular thing these words are employed. Gor-
gias confidently answers, about ‘the greatest of all human
concerns and the best.” But the physician, the teacher of
gymnastics, the money-getter, in short all men, would say that
the end which their own art aims at is the best; what then is

= § 1—7.

.

INTRODUCTION, 129

this good which you say is the greatest good to men? Gorgias
answers, that it is the power of persuading by words. But
Socrates objects that other arts do the same, for that every one
who teaches any thing persuades what he teaches; you must
therefore say of what kind of persuasion, and on what subject
rhetoric is the art. It is that which is produced in courts of
justice, and other public assemblies, and relates to matters that
are just and unjust. But here again Socrates makes Gorgias
admit, that there are two kinds of persuasion, one that pro-
duces belief without knowledge, the other that produces know-
ledge ; which of these two then does rhetoric produce? doubt-
less the former. But supposing the question is about the
choice of physicians or shipwrights, or the building of walls, or
the construction of ports or docks, will a rhetorician be con-
sulted, or a person skilled in these several matters? Here
Gorgias answers that on these and all other subjects a rhe-
torician will speak more persuasively than any other artist
whatever: but it is his duty to use his art justly ; though if
he uses it unjustly, he and not his teacher is to blame»,
Socrates, here, perceiving an inconsistency in Gorgias’ state-
ment, after deprecating his being offended at the course the dis-
cussion might take, asks whether by saying that a rhetorician
} can speak more persuasively to the multitude on any art, than
a person skilled in that art, he does not mean the ignorant by
the multitude; and, that being admitted, whether it does not
follow that one who is ignorant will be more capable of per-
suading the ignorant, than one who possesses knowledge? Gor-
gias allows this to be the case. Is the case, then, the same
with respect to what is just and unjust, base and honourable,
good and evil? Can a rhetorician persuade the multitude on
these subjects, himself being ignorant of them, or must he
know them before he learns rhetoric, or will the teacher of
rhetoric instruct him in these ? Gorgias professes that if a
pupil does not know these things he would learn them from

| bg es,
t K

150 INTRODUCTION.

him. But surely he who has learnt carpentering is a car-
penter, music a musician, medicine a physician; does it not
follow then, that he who has learnt justice, must be just, and
wish to do just actions? Gorgias admits this too: and yet he
had just now allowed that a rhetorician might make an unjust
use of his art, and said, that in that case, the teacher ought not
to be blamed, but the person who acts unjustly ought to be
punished®.

At this point Polus takes up the discussion, and having
elected to ask questions, instead of answering them, begins by
asking Socrates what kind of art he considers rhetoric to be.
Socrates answers that he does not think it is any art at all, but a
kind of skill, employed for procuring gratification and pleasure ‘
in other words, a species of flattery, of which there are many —
divisions. Polus asks what division it is. ‘‘ Rhetoric, in my
opinion,”’ says Socrates, ‘is a semblance of a division of the
political art,”’ and as such is base. This answer, however, is
not intelligible either to Gorgias or Polus ; at the request of the
former, therefore, Socrates explains himself more clearly“.

As there are two kinds of subject matter, he says, namely,
soul and body, so there are two arts, that which relates to the
soul is political; the other, relating to the body, he is not able
to describe by one name, but there are two divisions oy aan es
gymnastics and medicine, In the political art legislation cor-
responds to gymnastics, and the judicial art to medicine. But
flattery, perceiving that these four take the best possible care
of the soul and body respectively, has divided itself fourfold,
and feigns itself to be what it pretends, not really caring for
what is best, but seducing ignorance by means of pleasure.
Thus cookery puts on the garb of medicine, and pretends that —
it knows the aliment best for the body; and again, personal
decoration feigns itself to be gymnastics. Then, he adds, what
personal decoration is to gymnastics, that is sophistry to legis- «
lation, and what cookery is to medicine, that is rhetoric to jus- |

2 79-37 d § 38—43.

INTRODUCTION. 131

tice; and so being proximate to each other, sophists and rhe-
toricians are confounded with legislators and judges®.

Are good rhetoricians, then, asks Polus, to be esteemed as
vile flatterers in cities? Socrates replies that they appear to
him to be of no estimation at all. But have they not the
greatest power in cities? Not, if to have power is a good
to him who possesses it. For what is it to have power ? is it
to do what one wishes, or what appears to one to be best?
Polus admits that it is not good for a person devoid of under-
standing to do what appears to him to be best. He must
therefore prove that rhetoricians possess understanding, other-
wise, since to have power is a good, they cannot do what they
wish. Polus, however, is unable to distinguish between doing
what one wishes and doing what appears to be best, and there-
fore agrees to change positions with Socrates, and to answer
instead of asking questions!,

Socrates, then, asks, do men wish what they do for the sake
of the thing itself, or for some other end? for instance, do
men take medicine because they wish to take it, or in order to
health? Again, do men incur the perils of the sea because
they wish to be in peril, or for the sake of riches ? Clearly the

| latter, in both and all similar cases. Now some thing's, such
/— as wisdom, health, and riches, are good, but their contraries

evil; but whatever we do, we do for the sake of that which is
good. So that if we kill or banish a person, if it is good to do

#} so, we wish it, and do what we wish ; but if it is really evil,
} though it appears to us to be good, we do not what we wish.
if Polus sees the force of Socrates’ argument, and can only ob-
tf ject to it that Socrates himself would like to do what he
| pleased, and would envy another whom he saw slaying, or
t} spoiling, or imprisoning whom he pleased. But Socrates
| resolutely denies this, and insists that if he must necessarily

either act unjustly or suffer unjustly, he should choose the

sf latter; for that it is better to suffer than to commit injustice’.

© § 4447, £ § 4850. & § olay,

132 INTRODUCTION.

Polus imagines that even a child could confute such a posi-
tion as this; and in order to do so mentions instances of men
whom all have accounted happy, though they were unjust,
especially that of Archelaus, king of Macedonia. But Socrates
denies that any one who acts unjustly can be happy; and fur-
ther than this, he contends that a person who acts unjustly,
and does not suffer punishment, is more miserable than one
who meets with punishment for his injustice. To prove this
he argues that it is more base to commit injustice than to
suffer it, and if more base it must also be worse ; Polus admits
the premise, but denies the conclusion. Socrates, therefore,
endeavours to make his opponent admit this also by the fol-
lowing arguments. Beautiful things are esteemed beautiful,
either on account of their usefulness, or the pleasure they oc-
casion, or both; and in like manner base things are deemed
base on account of the pain or evil they occasion, or both; so
that when of two things one is more beautiful than the other,
it is so because it excels in pleasure or utility, or both; and
when of two things one is more base, it must be because it
exceeds in pain or evil. But Polus has already admitted that
it is more base to commit injustice than to suffer it; it must |
therefore be so because it exceeds in pain or evil, or both.
But to commit injustice does not exceed the suffering it, in
pain; it remains, therefore, that it must exceed it in evil:
consequently it must be worse, for whatever exceeds another
thing in evil must necessarily be worse},

Having established his point thus far he now goes on to
prove that it is the greatest of evils for one who has com-
mitted injustice not to be punished. To suffer punishment
and to be justly chastised, are one and the same thing. But
all just things are beautiful. Moreover wherever there is an
agent there must also be a patient; and the patient suffers
what the agent does; so that if the agent punishes justly the
patient also suffers justly. But it has been just admitted that

h § 58—69.

INTRODUCTION. , 133

all just things are beautiful; and it was proved before that all
beautiful things are good, either because they are pleasant or
useful; whence it follows that he who is punished suffers that
which is good, and is benefited in being freed from the greatest
evil, which is depravity in the soul. From all this it is evident
that rhetoric can be of no use whatever: for it is generally
employed for the purpose of excusing injustice, and screening
men from the punishment they deserve, which on the contrary
they ought rather to court than to shuni.

Polus having been thus completely silenced, Callicles takes
’ | up the argument and begins by asking whether Socrates is
really in earnest. Finding that he is so, he blames Polus for
having granted that it is more base to commit injustice than
“ | to suffer it; for that there is a difference between nature and
law, which Socrates perceiving, confounded that which is more
base by nature with that which is so by law, and so made that
which is more base by law appear to be more so by nature:
ul | whereas by nature it is more base to suffer injustice than to
"} commit it. For the weak and the many make laws with a
view to their own advantage, but nature herself avows that
it is just that the better should have more than the worse,
-and the more powerful than the weaker. Callicles then pro-
ceeds to inveigh against philosophy and philosophers, and
when he has done, Socrates, after having indulged in a vein
of pleasant irony at his expense, returns to the subject, and
-asks what he means by the superior, the better, and the
stronger, whether they are the same or different. Callicles
says they are the same. Socrates objects, that if that is the
case the many being stronger are also the better, and so, in-
} asmuch as they make the laws, law and nature are not con-
trary to each other. Callicles therefore is compelled to change
his ground, and next says that by the better and superior he
;tit} means the more wise: and at last he says that they are those
that who are skilled and courageous in administering the affairs of

pent

Ys 70--50:

134 INTRODUCTION.

a city. He adds that it is just that the governors should have
more than the coverned. Socrates, hereupon, asks whether
they ought not to govern themselves also and be temperate,
which elicits from Callicles the shameless avowal that a man
should have as large desires as he can, and indulge them with-
out restraint *.

Socrates having in vain endeavoured to persuade Callicles to
change his opinion by two similitudes of a perforated cask, and
a full and an empty one, to which he compares the soul, pro-
ceeds to combat his assertion that a happy life consists in
having and indulging as large desires as possible. If happiness
consists in being hungry and eating, thirsty and drinking, it
must follow that to be scabby and itch and scratch one’s self is
to live happily. Callicles is forced to admit that this is to live
pleasantly, and then if pleasantly, happily; and at length is
driven to assert that the pleasant and the good are the same.
In order to confute this opinion, Socrates leads him to main-
tain that science and courage differ from each other and from
the good; and then by a series of most subtle questions, too
minute to be abbreviated, forces him to this absurd conclusion,
that if the pleasant and the good are the same, a bad man, in-
asmuch as he oftentimes receives more pleasure than a good
man, must be accounted better than a good one}.

Callicles to evade this absurdity is compelled to admit that
some pleasures are better than others. From this concession
Socrates shews that the end of all human actions is the good
and not the pleasant; for that so far is it from being the case
that we do any thing merely for the sake of pleasure, that we
pursue pleasure itself for the sake of the good™.

Having established this point, Socrates brings back the dis-
cussion to the original subject, and proposes to enquire whether
it is better to live in such a manner as Callicles advises, namely
to devote one’s self to public business and to study rhetoric, or
in such a manner as philosophy persuades. He recurs there-

* § 81—105. \ § 104—117. m § 118—119.

INTRODUCTION. 135

fore to his own former arguments, in which he stated that as
there are certain skills, not arts, employed for the gratification
of the body, so there are other corresponding ones made use
of to please the soul, such as flute-playing, harp-playing,
dithyrambic and even tragic poetry ; now take from these last
melody, rhythm and measure, and what else remains but
words, that is to say a kind of flattery addressed to the multi-
tude? And is not popular rhetoric similar? Callicles answers
that there is a difference to be observed in this respect, for that
some do, as Socrates has observed, speak only in order to please,
but that others look to the interest of the citizens. «That is
enough,” says Socrates. At all events one part of rhetoric is
flattery, and when has an instance of that which is honourable,
which strives to speak what is best, whether it be pleasant or
unpleasant to the hearers, ever been seen? Callicles instances
Themistocles, Cimon, Miltiades and Pericles, but Socrates will
by no means admit that any of these really endeavoured to
make the people better. But before this, Callicles, being hard
pressed in argument, breaks off the discussion, and Socrates,
at the request of Gorgias, carries it on by himself, and shews
at length and with great force and perspicuity the advantages
of a virtuous and well regulated life ; and in conclusion he de-
scribes the future judgment when each man will give account
of himself in another world, and be rewarded or punished ac-
cording as he has lived a good or a bad life.

GORGIAS,

OR,
ON RHETORIC.

Catuictss, Socrates, CHZEREPHON, Goraias, AND Pouuvs.

Cal. Tury say, Socrates, that we should thus take part in
war and battle®.

Socr. Have we then, as the saying is, come after the feast,
and are we too late?

Cal. And a very elegant feast. For Gorgias has just now
exhibited many fine things to us.

Socr. Cherephon here, Callicles, is the cause of this, by
having compelled us to waste our time in the forum.

Cher. It’s of no consequence, Socrates; for I will also find
a remedy; for Gorgias is my friend, so that he will exhibit to
us now, if you please, or, if you prefer it, at some future time.

2. Cal, What, Cherephon? is Socrates desirous of hearing
Gorgias ?

Cher. We are come for this very purpose.

Cal. Whenever you please, then, come to my house ; Gorgias
lodges with me, and will exhibit to you.

Socr. You say well, Callicles. But would he be inclined
to converse with us? For I wish to learn from him what is
the power of his art, and what it is that he professes and
teaches: the rest of the exhibition, as you say, he may make
at some other time.

Cal. There is nothing like asking him, Socrates: for this is
one part of his exhibition: he just now bade all that were in
the house ask what question they pleased, and promised to
answer every thing.

a That is, come too late, and so take no part at all.

>» Or, “you are very obliging.”

GORGIAS. 137

3. Socr. You say well in truth. Ask him, Cherephon.

Cher, What shall I ask him ?

Socr. What he is.

Cher. How mean you?

- Socr. Just as, if he happened to be a maker of shoes, he
would surely answer you, that he is a shoemaker. Do you not
understand what I mean?

Cher. 1 understand, and will ask him. Tell me, Gorgias,
does Callicles here say truly that you promised to answer what-
ever any one should ask you?

Gorg. Truly, Cherephon: for I just now made that very
promise: and I affirm that for many years no one has asked
me any thing new.

Cher. Without doubt, then, you will answer easily, Gorgias.

Gorg. You may make trial of that, Chaerephon.

Pol. By Jupiter, Cherephon, if you please, make trial of me:
for Gorgias appears to me to be fatigued; as he has just now
been speaking a great deal.

4, Cher. What, Polus, do you think you can answer better
than Gorgias?

Pol. What matters that, if I answer well enough for you?

Cher. Not at all: since you wish it then, answer.

Pol, Ask.

Cher. I ask then, If Gorgias happened to be skilled in the
same art as his brother Herodicus is skilled, what name should
we rightly give him? Would it not be the same as his
brother ?

Pol, Certainly.

Cher. In calling him a physician, then, we should speak
correctly ?

Pol. Yes.

Cher. But if he were skilled in the same art as Aristophon,
son of Aglaophon, or his brother, what should we properly
call him ?

Pol, Evidently, a painter.

Cher. But now, since he is skilled in a certain art, what
can we properly call him?

5. Pol. Cherephon, there are many arts among men by
experience experimentally discovered: for experience causes
our life to proceed according to art, but inexperience accord-
ing to chance. Of each of these different persons partake of

138 GORGIAS.

different arts, in different manners; but the best of the best;
in the number of whom is Gorgias here, who possesses the
finest of the arts.

Socr. Polus appears, Gorgias, to be very well prepared for
speaking: but he does not do what he promised Chie-
rephon.

Gorg. How so, Socrates ?

Socr. He does not appear to me to answer the question that
was asked.

6. Gorg. Do you then, if you please, ask him.

Socr. No, but if yourself would be willing to answer me, I
would much rather ask you. For it is evident to me that
Polus, from what he has said, has studied more what is called
rhetoric, than conversation.

Pol. Why so, Socrates ?

Socr. Because, Polus, when Cherephon asked you in what
art Gorgias was skilled, you praised his art, as if some one
had blamed it, but you did not say what the art itself is.

Pol. Did I not answer, that it was the finest of all arts?

Socr. Certainly. But no one asked you what was the quality
of the art of Gorgias, but what it was, and by what name we
ought to call Gorgias; just as Cherephon proposed the former
questions to you, and you answered him well and in few words.
Now, therefore, tell me in the same manner, what art Gorgias
professes, and what we ought to call him. Or rather, Gorgias,
do you tell us yourself what we ought to call you as skilled in
what art.

Gorg. In rhetoric, Socrates.

7. Socr. Ought we, then, to call you a rhetorician?

Gorg. And a good one, Socrates, if you wish to call me, as
Homer says, what “I boast myself to be.”

Socr. But I do wish.

Gorg. Call me so, then.

Socr. Shall we say too that you are able to make others
rhetoricians ?

Gorg. I profess this not only here but elsewhere.

Socr. Are you willing then, Gorgias, to continue, aS we are
now doing, partly to ask questions and partly to answer, and
to defer to some other occasion that prolixity of speech, such
as Polus just now began with? But do not belie what you
promised, but be willing to answer each question briefly.

GORGIAS. 139

Gorg. There are some answers, Socrates, which must neces-
sarily be made at length: however, I will endeavour to make
them as short as possible. For this is one of the things which
I profess, that no one can say the same things in fewer words
than me.

8. Socr. There is need of this now, Gorgias; give me there-
fore a specimen of this very thing, conciseness of speech, and
of prolixity at some other time.

Gorg. Iwill do so; and you will admit that you never heard
any one speak more concisely.

Socr, Well then, since you say that you are skilled in the
art of rhetoric, and that you can teach another this art, tell me
about what is rhetoric employed? just as the art of weaving is
employed in the making of garments, is it not so?

Gorg. It is.

Socr. And is not music also employed in the composing of
melodies?

Gorg. Yes.

Socr. By Juno, Gorgias, I admire your answers, for you
answer as briefly as possible.

Gorg. I think, Socrates, that I do this well enough,

9. Socr. You say well. Come then, answer me thus re-
specting rhetoric, of what is it the science >

Gorg. Of words.

Socr. What kind of words, Gorgias? Are they such as
inform the sick by what kind of diet they may become well ?

Gorg. No.

Socr. Rhetoric, then, is not concerned with all kinds of
words ?

Gorg. Certainly not.

Socr. Yet it makes men able to speak ?

Gorg. Yes.

Socr, And does it not enable men to think on the same
things on which it enables them to speak ?

Gorg. Without doubt.

Socr. Does not, then, the medicinal art, of which we just
now spoke, make men able to think and speak about the sick >

Gorg. Necessarily so.

Socr. The medicinal art, then, as it appears, is conversant
with words?

Gorg. Yes.

140 GORGIAS.

Socr. And those that concern diseases ?

Gorg. Just so.

Socr. And is not the gymnastic art also conversant with
words that relate to the good and bad habit of bodies?

Gorg. Certainly.

10. ‘Soer. And it is the same with other arts, Gorgias: each
of them is conversant with those words that are employed about
that particular thing of which each is the art.

Gorg. It appears so.

Socr. Why, then, do you not call other arts rhetorical, as
being conversant with words, since you call that rhetoric which
is employed about words?

Gorg. Because, Socrates, almost the whole® science of other
arts is conversant with manual operations and such-like ac-
tions; in rhetoric, however, there is no such manual operation,
but all its activity and efficiency is by means of words. For
this reason, I consider that the art of rhetoric is conversant
with words, herein speaking correctly, as I affirm.

Socr. Do I understand what kind of art you wish to call it?
but I shail soon comprehend it more clearly, However, answer
me. We have arts, have we not?

Gorg. Yes.

11. Socr. Of all the arts, some, I think, consist principally
in workmanship, and stand in need of but few words, and
others of none at all, but their work may be accomplished in
silence, as painting, statuary, and many others. With such
arts, you appear to me to say rhetoric has nothing to do? is it
not so?

Gorg. You apprehend my meaning perfectly, Socrates.

Socr. On the other hand, there are other arts which accom-
plish all by means of words, and require no work at all, or
very little, such as theoretical and practical arithmetic, geo-
metry, the game of dice, and many other arts; some of which
require almost as many words as actions, and most of them
more, so that altogether their whole activity and efficiency is
by means of words. You appear to me to say that rhetoric is
among arts of this kind.

12. Gorg. You say truly.

c The expression &s &mos eimeiy qualifies the word waca, “almost the
whole,”’ or ‘‘ the whole, so to speak.’

4 dpBuntiKh means the theory, Aoyiorixh the practice of arithmetic.

GORGIAS. 141

Socr. However, I do not think you mean to call any one of
these rhetoric, although in the expression you used you so
said, that rhetoric has its efficiency by means of words; and
any who wished to catch at your words might reply, Do you
say then, Gorgias, that arithmetic is rhetoric? But I do not
think that you call either arithmetic or geometry rhetoric.

Gorg. You think rightly, Socrates, and apprehend my mean-
ing correctly.

Socr. Come then, complete the answer to my question.
Since rhetoric is one of those arts which make great use of
words, and there are others of the same kind, endeavour to tell
me in reference to what rhetoric has its efficiency in words,
15, Just as if any one should ask me respecting any of the
arts which I but now mentioned: Socrates, what is the arith-
metical art? I should say to him, as you did just now, That it
is one of the arts that have their efficiency in words. And if
he should further ask me, In reference to what? I should
answer, In reference to the knowledge of even and odd, how
many there may be of each. But if again he should ask
me, What do you mean by the art of computation? I should
answer, that this also is one of those arts whose whole effici-
ency consists in words. And if he should further ask me, In
reference to what? I should answer, as they do who draw up
motions in the assemblies of the people, That in other respects
computation is the same as arithmetic, for it has reference to
the same object, that is to say, the even and the odd; but it
differs in this respect, that computation considers what rela-
tion even and odd have to themselves and to each other in
regard to quantity. 14. And if any one should ask me about
astronomy, and after I had said that its whole efficiency con-
sists in words, should say, But Socrates, to what do words
employed about astronomy refer? I should answer, That they
are employed about the course of the stars, and of the sun and
the moon, how they are related to each other with respect to
velocity,

Gorg. And you would answer rightly, Socrates.

Socr. Now then do you answer, Gorgias. For rhetoric is
one of those arts which accomplish and effect every thing by
means of words: is it not so?

Gorg. It is so.

Secr, Tell me then in reference to what? what is the par-

142 GORGIAS.

ticular thing about which these words are, which rhetoric
uses?

Gorg. The greatest of all human concerns, Socrates, and
the best.

Soer. But, Gorgias, what you say is questionable, and by
no means clear. For I think you must have heard at ban-
quets men singing that song in which the singers enumerate
that the best thing is health, the second beauty, and the third,
as the author of the song says, riches gained without fraud.

Gorg. I have heard it; but with what object do you men-
met this?

15. Socr. Because the artificers of those things which the
author of the song has commended, namely, the physician, the
master of gymnastics, and the money- getter, will forthwith
present themselves, and the physician will say: Socrates, Gor-
gias deceives you. For his art is not employed about. the
greatest good to men, but mine is. If, then, I should ask him,
Who are you that say this? he would probably answer, I am
a phy sician. What then do you say? that the object of your
art is the greatest good? How can it be otherwise, Socrates,
he would probably say, since its object is health? and what
greater good can men have than health? And if after him
again the master of gymnastics should say, I too should won-
der, Socrates, if Gorgias could shew you any greater good
from his art than I can from mine, I should again say to him,
And who are you, Sir, and what is your employment? A master
of gymnastics, he would say, and my employment is to make
men beautiful and strong in their bodies. 16. After the mas-
ter of gymnastics, the money-getter would say, as I imagine,
despising all others, Consider, a beg, Socrates, whether there
is any greater good than riches, either with Gorgias, or any
one else? I sould thereupon say to him, What, nna are you
the artificer of this good? He would say, lam. Who are you
then? A money-getter. What then? Do you consider riches
to be the greatest good to men? I shall say. Assuredly, he
will answer. However, Gorgias here contends that his art is
the cause of greater good than yours. It is clear then that
after this he would ask, And what is this good? let Gorgias
answer. Come then, Gorgias, suppose that you are asked by
them and by me, and answer, What is this, which you say is
the greatest good to men, and of which you are the artificer ?

ll

GORGIAS. 143

Gorg. That which is in reality, Socrates, the greatest
good, and is at the same time the cause of liberty to men,
and of their being able to rule over others in their several
cities.

Socr. What then do you say it is?

Gorg. I say it is the power of persuading by words judges
in a court of justice, senators in the senate-house, and the
hearers in a public assembly, and in every other convention of
a political nature. Moreover, by this power you will make the
physician your slave, and the master of gymnastics your slave,
and the money-getter will be found to have gained money, not
for himself, but for another, for you who are able to speak,
and persuade the multitude.

Socr. At length you appear to me, Gorgias, to have shewn
as nearly as possible what kind of art you consider rhetoric to
be; and if I understand you rightly, you say that rhetoric is
the artificer of persuasion, and that its whole employment and
the sum of it terminates in this. Can you say that rhetoric
has any further power than that of producing persuasion in the
minds of the hearers?

Gorg. By no means, Socrates; but you appear to me to
have defined it sufficiently. For that is the sum of it.

18. Socr. Listen then, Gorgias. Be assured that I, as I
persuade myself, if there is any one, who in conversing with
another, wishes to know the very thing about which the con-
versation is, be assured, I say, that I am such a person; and I
think that you are too.

Gorg. What then, Socrates?

Socr. I will now tell you. The persuasion which you speak
of as resulting from rhetoric, what it is, and with what particu-
lars it is conversant, be assured I do not clearly understand,
not but that I have a suspicion of what I suppose you mean,
and about wha: it is employed: yet I will not the less ask you
what persuasion you mean results from rhetoric, and with what
particulars it is conversant. Why then do I who have a sus-
picion ask you, and not rather myself speak? Not on your
account, but on account of the discussion, that it may proceed
in such a manner as to make the subject of the discussion
most clear to us. 19. For consider whether I seem to you
right in putting the question to you: just as if I should ask
you what kind of a painter is Zeuxis? if you were to tell me

144 GORGIAS.

that he paints animals, might I not justly enquire of you, what
kind of animals he paints? is it not Bare

Gorg. Certainly. *

Socr, And would it not be for this reason, because there are
also other painters who paint many other animals?

Gorg. Yes.

Socr. But if no one else but Zeuxis painted them, you would
have answered properly.

Gorg. Assuredly.

Socr. Come then, with respect to rhetoric, tell me, whether
it appears to you that rhetoric alone produces persuasion, or do
other arts produce it likewise? My meaning is this: Does
he who teaches any thing persuade what he teaches, or not?

Gorg. He does certainly persuade, Socrates.

Socr, Again, if we speak of the same arts of which we just
now made mention, does not arithmetic teach us such things
as relate té number? and does not an arithmetician the same ?

Gorg. Certainly.

20. ‘Soer. Does it not also persuade ?

Gorg. Yes.

Socr. Arithmetic, then, is an artificer of persuasion.

Gorg. It appears so.

Socr. If, then, any one should ask us, What persuasion it
produces, and with respect to what? we should answer, That
which teaches about the quantity of even and odd. In like
manner we may shew, that all the other arts of which we spoke
just now, produce persuasion, and what kind of persuasion, and
with respect to what: is it not so?

Gorg. Yes.

Socr. Rhetoric then, is not alone an artificer of persuasion.

Gorg. You say truly.

Socr. Since then, it does not alone produce this effect, but
other arts do the same, we may justly, as in the case of the
painter, next enquire of the speaker; of what kind of persua-
sion, and of persuasion on what subject rhetoric is the art?
Does it not appear to you that this question may fairly be
asked?

e I have ventured to read 4 of for kal mov, for which my only excuse
is that the usual reading cannot be rendered intelligibly, and that the

alteration I have ventured to import is an expression very commonly
used by Socrates on similar occasions.

GORGIAS. 145

Gorg. It does.

Socr. Answer then, Gorgias, since this appears to you to be
the case.

21. Gorg. I speak then, Socrates, of that persuasion which
is produced in courts of justice, and in other public assemblies,
as I just now mentioned, and with respect to matters that are
just and unjust.

Socr. I suspected, Gorgias, that you meant that persuasion,
and on such matters. But do not be surprised if I shortly ask
you a question that may appear to be evident, but which I shall
notwithstanding repeat, for, as I before observed, I ask it for the
sake of carrying on the discussion in an orderly manner, and
not on your account, but that we may not be in the habit of
catching up each other’s words on suspicion; but do you finish
what you have to say according to your own plan, just as you
please.

Gorg. You appear to me to act rightly, Socrates.

Socr. Come then, let us examine this too. Do you admit
that to learn is any thing?

Gorg. I do admit it.

Socr. Again? to believe?

Gorg. I do.

Socr. Whether, therefore, does it appear to you, that to
learn and to believe, and learning and belief are the same, or
different ?

Gorg. I think, Socrates, that they are different.

22. Socr. You think rightly ; and you may know from this;
if any one should ask you, Is there, Gorgias, a false and true
belief? I think you would say there is.

Gorg. I should.

Socr. Well then, is there a false and true science?

Gorg. Certainly not.

Socr. It is clear, therefore, that they (belief and science) are
not the same.

Gorg. You say truly.

Socr. Yet both those who learn are persuaded, and those who
believe.

Gorg. Such is the case.

Socr. Are you willing, therefore, that we lay down two kinds
of persuasion, one that produces belief without knowledge, but
the other science ?

u

146 GORGIAS.

Gorg. Certainly.

Socr. Which kind of persuasion, then, does rhetoric pro-
duce in courts of justice and other public assemblies, re-
specting what is just and unjust? is it that from which belief
springs without knowledge, or that from which knowledge
arises ?

Gorg. It is evident, Socrates, that it is that from which
belief springs. Fal

Socr. Rhetoric then, as it seems, Gorgias, is the artificer of a
persuasion which produces belief, and not of that which teaches
respecting the just and unjust.

Gorg. It is so.

Soer. A rhetorician, therefore, does not profess to teach courts
of justice and other public assemblies, respecting things just
and unjust, but only to produce belief. For surely he could
not teach so great a multitude in a short time things of such
great importance.

Gorg. Certainly not.

23. ‘Socr, Come then, let us see now what we ought to say
of rhetoric. For I, indeed, am not yet able to understand what
I should say. When an assembly is held in a city, for the
choice of physicians, or shipwrights, or any other kind of arti-
ficer, is it not the case that the rhetorician will refrain from
giving his advice? for it is evident that, in each election, the
most skilful artist ought to be chosen. Nor will he be con-
sulted when the question is respecting the building of walls,
or the construction of ports or docks, but architects only.
Nor, again, when a deliberation occurs respecting the choice
of generals, or the marshalling an army against enemies, or
the occupation of posts,—but on such occasions those who
are skilled in military affairs will give advice, and not rheto-
ricians. What do you say, Gorgias, on such points? For
since you say that you are a rhetorician, and are able to make
others rhetoricians, it is proper to enquire of you what are
the things about which your art is concerned. And consider
that I am labouring for your benefit. For, perhaps, some one
who is now within the house may wish to become your disciple ;
for I perceive some, nay several, who probably are ashamed to
question you. 24. In being questioned, therefore, by me, con-
sider yourself to be questioned by them, What would be the
consequence to us, Gorgias, if we should put ourselves under

GORGIAS. 147

your instructions? On what subjects shall we be able to give
advice to the city? Whether about the just only and the un-
just; or on those subjects of which Socrates just now made
mention? Endeavour to answer them.

Gorg. I will endeavour, Socrates, to develope clearly the
whole power of rhetoric: for you have admirably led the
way. You doubtless know that these docks and walls of the
Athenians, and the structure of the ports, were made partly
on the advice of Themistocles, and partly on that of Pericles,
but not of artificers.

Socr. This is told of Themistocles, Gorgias: and I myself
heard Pericles when he gave us his advice respecting the
middle wall f.

Gorg. And when there is an election of any such persons as
you mentioned, Socrates, you see that the rhetoricians are the
persons who give advice, and whose opinion prevails in such
matters.

25. Socr. It is because I wonder at this, Gorgias, that I
have been for some time asking you, what is the power of
rhetoric. For when I consider it in this manner, it appears
to me almost divine in its magnitude.

Gorg. If you knew all, Socrates, that it comprehends under
itself almost all powers! And I will give you a strong proof of

.. this. Jor I have often, ere now, gone with my brother and

other physicians to various sick persons, who would neither
drink their medicine, nor suffer themselves to be cut or cau-
terized by the physician, and when the physician was unable
to persuade them, I have done so by no other art than rhetoric.
I say too, that if a rhetorician and a physician should go to any
city you please, and it were necessary to contend by argument
in a general assembly, or any other convention, which should
be chosen, a rhetorician or a physician, the physician would be
held in no account, but he that has the power of speaking
would be chosen, if he pleased. 26. And if he should con-
tend with any other artist whatever, the rhetorician would
persuade that he himself should be chosen in preference to
any one else. For there is no subject on which a rhetorician
will not speak to the multitude more persuasively than any
other artist whatever, Such, then, and so great is the power

f The wall which connected the southern extremities of the long walls
and the Phaleric wall.

118 GORGIAS.

of this art. It is right however, Socrates, to use rhetoric in
the same way as any other exercise employed in contests:
for it is not right to use other exercises against all men alike ;
nor, because any one has learnt pugilism, and the pancratium,
and to fight with arms, so as to be superior both to friends and
enemies, is it therefore proper to strike, or pierce, or slay
one’s friends. 27. Nor, by Jupiter, if some one who, by hav-
ing frequented the palestra, has made his body robust, and
become a pugilist, should afterwards strike his father or
mother, or any other of his relatives or friends, would. it on
that account be proper to hate, and expel from cities, the
training masters and those who teach how to fight with arms.
For they instructed their pupils in these exercises, in order
that they might make a proper use of them against enemies,
and those that do wrong, for self-defence, and not for attack ;
but they contrariwise, use their strength and skill improperly.
The teachers, therefore, are not wicked, nor is their art either
to be blamed, or for this reason wicked, but they, I think, who
do not use it properly. 28. The same may be said of rhetoric.
For a rhetorician is able to speak against all men, and on every
subject; so that he can best persuade the multitude, in a word,
on whatever subject he pleases: but he ought not any the
more on this account to detract from the reputation of phy-
sicians, because he is able to do it, nor of other artificers; but
he should use rhetoric justly, as well as other exercises. In
my opinion, however, if any one having become a rhetorician
abuses this power and art, it is not proper to hate the teacher
and expel him from cities, for he imparted the knowledge of it
for just purposes, but the other makes a contrary use of it. . It
is just, therefore, to hate, banish, and slay him who does not
make a right use of it, but not the teacher.

29. Socr. 1 think, Gorgias, that you as well as I, have been
present at many discussions, and that you have observed this
in them, that it is not easy for men, on whatever subject they
undertake to converse, having propounded their ideas to each
other, both learning themselves and teaching one another, then
to put an end to the conference; but if they have a contro-
versy about any thing, and one says that the other does not
speak correctly or clearly, they are indignant, and each thinks
that the other is speaking out of envy, from a love of conten-
uuon, and not seeking what was proposed in the discussion:

GORGIAS. 149

and some, at length’, depart in a most disgraceful manner,
having" reviled each other, and spoken and heard such
things that even the bystanders are vexed at themselves for
having deigned to listen to such men. 30. But why do I say
this? Because you now appear to me to say what does not
follow from, or accord with, what you first said respecting
rhetoric. I am afraid, therefore, to proceed with my refuta-
tion, lest you should suppose that I do not speak with zeal for
the subject, that it may be made clear, but out of opposition
to you. If, then, you are of that class of men to which I be-
long, I should gladly question you: but if not, I would forbéar
to do so. But to what class of men do I belong? To those who
are willingly refuted, if they say any thing that is not true, and
who willingly refute if any one says any thing that is not true;
and who are not less pleased to be refuted than to refute. For
I consider the former to be the greater good, inasmuch as it is
a greater good one’s-self to be delivered from the greatest evil
than to deliver another. For I think no evil so great to man
as false opinion on the subjects we are now discussing. If,
then, you say that you are such a man, let us continue our
discussion; [31.] but if you think we ought to desist, let us
give it up, and put an end to the argument.

Gorg. But indeed, Socrates, I profess myself to be such a
man as you describe. Perhaps, however, it is right to attend
to the wishes of the company who are present. For, some time
since, before you came, I explained many things to the present
company : and now, perhaps, we shall protract it too far if we con-
tinue the discussion. We must, therefore, respect their wishes
lest we detain any of them, who have something else to do.

Cher, You yourselves, Gorgias and Socrates, hear the noise
these men make, from their anxiety to hear, if you say any
thing. For my part, may I never have so much business, as
to be obliged to leave such a discussion and so conducted, from
having any thing else more important to do.

32. Cal. By the gods, Cherephon, and I too, though I have
been present at many conferences, know not whether I have
ever been so delighted as now; so that you will gratify me

much, should you even be willing to continue the discussion
throughout the whole day.

® Ficinus, I think, correctly translates reAeuravres, tandem.
* Literally “ being reviled.”

150 GORGIAS.

Socr. There is no obstacle on my side, Callicles, if only
Gorgias is willing.

Gorg. After this, Socrates, it would be shameful in me not to
be willing, especially as I myself announced that any one might
ask what he pleased. But, if it is agreeable to the company,
continue the discussion, and ask any question you please.

Soer. Hear then, Gorgias, what I wonder at in what you
said. For, perhaps, you spoke correctly, and T did not rightly
apprehend you. You say that you can make any one a rheto-
rician, who is willing to be instructed by you?

Gorg. Yes.

Soer. So that he can speak persuasively on any subject to
the multitude, not. teaching, but persuading ?

Gorg. Exactly so.

Socr. You said too, that a rhetorician is able to speak more
persuasively than a physician, on the subject of health,

Gorg. I did say so, at least to a multitude.

Socr. Does not, then, this expression “to a multitude” mean
to the ignorant? for, surely, among the well-informed he will
not be better able to persuade than the physician.

Gorg. You say truly.

33. Socr. If then he shall be better able to persuade than
the physician, he is better able to persuade than one who
possesses knowledge ?

Gorg. Certainly.

Socr. Although he is not a physician ? is it not so?

Gorg. Yes.

Socr. But he who is not a physician must, surely, be un-
skilled in those things in which a physician is skilled.

Gorg. Clearly so.

Socr, He. therefore, who is ignorant will be more capable
than one who possesses knowledge of persuading the ignorant,
since a rhetorician is better able to persuade than a physician, ~
Is this the result, or something else ?

Gorg, That is the result in this instance.

Socr. The case therefore is the same as concerns a rhetori-
cian and rhetoric with respect to all other arts: I mean, there
is no need for it to know the subjects themselves, how they are
circumstanced, but only to discover some means of persuasion,
So as to appear to the ignorant to know more than those who
possess knowledge.

GORGIAS, 151

Gorg. Is it not a great advantage, Socrates, without having
other arts, but this one only, to be in no respect inferior to
artificers ?

3t. Socr. Whether from this being the case, a rhetorician
's inferior, or not inferior to others, we will presently consider,
if our argument requires it, But first let us consider this:
Whether a rhetorician is in the same condition with reference
to the just and the unjust, the base and the honourable, the
good and the evil, as he is with reference to health, and other
things with which other arts are concerned; I mean, that he
does not know them, what is good, or what is evil, what is
honourable or what is base, what is just, or what is unjust,
but is able to devise some means of persuasion respecting them,
so that, though he is ignorant, he appears to the ignorant to
know more than one who possesses knowledge ; or is it neces.
sary that he should know these, and is it requisite that he who
is about to learn rhetoric should have acquired these things
before he comes to you; if not, will you, who are a teacher
of rhetoric, teach him who comes to you none of these things
(for it is not your province), but make him appear to the
multitude to know these things, though he does not know
them, and to seem to be a good man when he is not so? or
shall ‘you be unable to teach him rhetoric at all, unless he
knows beforehand the truth respecting these things? Whac
is the case in this respect, Gorgias? And, by Jupiter, as you
just now promised, unfold the whole power of rhetoric.

39. Gorg, I think, Socrates, that any one, if he did not know,
would learn these things from me.

Soer, Stay; for you say well. If then you make any one
a rhetorician, it is necessary that he should know what is just
and unjust, either before, or afterwards from your instructions,

Gorg. Certainly.

Socr. What then? Is he who has learnt carpentering, a
carpenter, or not?

Gorg. He is.

Socr. And is not he who has learnt music, a musician >

Gorg. Yes.

Socr. And he who has learnt medicine, a physician? And
so, in the same way, with regard to other things, is not he
who has learnt any particular art such a person as each science
respectively makes its proficient ?

162 GORGIAS.

Gorg. Certainly.

Socr. By the same reason, then, does it not follow, that he
who has learnt just things is just ?

Gorg. Assuredly.

Socr. And he who is just surely performs just actions.

Gorg. Yes.

Socr. Is it not, therefore, necessary! that the just man
should wish to do just actions?

Gorg. It appears so.

Socr. The just man, therefore, will never wish to act un-
justly.

Gorg. Necessarily.

Socr. And it follows from the argument that the rhetori-
cian should be just ?

Gorg. Yes.

Socr. A rhetorician, therefore, will never wish to act un-
justly ?

Gorg. It appears not.

36. Socr. Do you remember that you said a little before
that we ought not to accuse the trainers of youth, nor expel
them from cities, if a pugilist does not make a good use of the
pugilistic art, and acts unjustly? And so, likewise, if a rhe-
torician make an unjust use of rhetoric, that we should not
accuse the teacher, nor expel him from the city, but the per-
son who acts unjustly, and does not make a proper use of rhe-
toric? Were these things said, or not?

Gorg. They were said.

‘Socr. But now this very same rhetorician appears incapable
of ever acting unjustly. Is it not so?

Gorg. It appears so.

Socr. And it was said, Gorgias, at the commencement of
our discussion, that rhetoric is conversant with words, not
those respecting the even and the odd, but those respecting
the just and the unjust. Was it not so?

37. Gorg. It was.

Socr. When, therefore, you spoke thus, I supposed that rhe-

i Odxody avdynn [Tov pyropiKdy Sikasoy elvar] Tov [Se] dixasoy Bovireo-
at dikaa mpdtrew. I concur with Ast and others in thinking that the

words inserted in brackets have been interpolated, and have therefore
omitted them in the translation. Their insertion would break the chain

of the argument.

GORGIAS. 153

toric could never be an unjust thing, since it always discourses
concerning justice. But when you said shortly afterwards that
a rhetorician might use rhetoric unjustly, then, wondering,
and thinking that the two statements did not accord, I made
that remark, that if you should think it a gain to be confuted,
as I do, it was worth while to continue the discussion, but if
not, to give it up. Afterwards, however, when we were in-
vestigating the matter, you see yourself that it is again allowed
to be impossible for a rhetorician to make an unjust use of
rhetoric, and to be willing to act unjustly. How the case
really stands, by the dog, Gorgias, requires no little discussion
to examine it thoroughly.

38. Pol. What then, Socrates? Have you really such an
opinion of rhetoric as you now say? or do you not think
that Gorgias was ashamed not to acknowledge that the rheto-
rician knows what is just, beautiful, and good, and that, if any
one should come to him ignorant of these things, he himself
would teach them? Then perhaps from this admission some
inconsistency in his arguments followed; the very thing which
you love, yourself leading the way to such questions. Tor who
do vou think will deny that he knows what is just, and can
teach it to others? To lead the discussion to such matters is a
piece of great rusticity.

Socr. Most excellent Polus! we get ourselves friends and
sons, for this express purpose, that when we, through being
advanced in years, fall into error, you that are younger, being
with us, may correct our life both in.deeds and words. If,
then, Gorgias and I have fallen into any error in our argu-
ments, do you who are present correct us: you ought to do-
so. And I wish that if any of the things that have been
granted appear to you to have been improperly granted, you
would retract whatever you please, only I beg you beware of
one thing.

Pol. What is that?

39. Socr. That you would restrain that prolixity of speech
which at first you attempted to employ.

Pol. What? shall I not be allowed to speak as much as I
please?

Socr. You would indeed be very badly treated, my excel-
lent friend, if, having come to Athens, where of all Greece there
is the greatest liberty of speech, you alone should here be de-

154 GORGIAS.

prived of this liberty. But set this against it: if you speak in
a prolix manner, and will not answer a question put to you,
should not I be badly treated, if I am not allowed to go away
and not listen to you? But if you feel any interest in the dis-
cussion that has taken place, and wish to correct it, as I just
now said, retract whatever you please, and questioning and
being questioned in turn, as Gorgias and I did, confute and be
confuted. For you profess, surely, to know the same things as
Gorgias ; is it not so?

Pol. I do.

Socr. Will not you, then, also bid any one ask you what
question he pleases, as knowing how to answer him.

Pol. Assuredly.

Socr. Then do whichever of these you please, ask or answer.

40. Pol. I will do so; and do you answer me, Socrates.
Since Gorgias appears to you to be in doubt respecting rheto-
ric, what do you say it is?

Socr. Do you ask me what kind of art I say it is?

Pols 1 die,

Socr. To tell you the truth, Polus, it does not appear to me
to be an art at all.

Pol. What, then, does rhetoric appear to you to be?

Socr. A thing which you say produced art, in the treatise
which I lately read.

Pol. What do you say this is?

Socr. A certain skill.

Pol. Does rhetoric, then, appear to vou to be skill?

Socr. To me it does, unless you say otherwise.

Pol. Of what is it the skill ?

Socr. Of procuring a certain gratification and pleasure.

Pol. Does not rhetoric, then, appear to vou to be a beauti-
ful thing, since it is able to gratify mankind f

Socr. What, Polus? Have you already heard from me what
I say it is, that you afterwards ask me, if it does not appear to
me to be beautiful?

Pol. Did I not hear you say that it is a certain skill?

Socr. Since, then, you prize giving pleasure, are you willing
to give me a little pleasure?

Pol, 1 am.

41. Soer. Ask me, then, what kind of art cookery appears
to me to be.

GORGIAS. 155

Pol. i do ask you; what kind of an art is cookery ?

Socr. None at all, Polus.

Pol. What is it? say.

Socr. I say, then, it is a certain skill.

Pol. Of what? say.

Socr. I say, of procuring gratification and pleasure, Polus.

Pol. Are cookery and rhetoric the same thing?

Socr. By no means, but a part of the same study.

Pol. Of what study are you speaking?

Socr. I fear it would be too rude to speak the truth, for I
hesitate to speak on account of Gorgias, lest he should think
that I ridicule his profession. But I know not whether this is
the rhetoric which Gorgias studies: for it was not at all clear
from our late discussion what his opinion is. But what I call
rhetoric is a part of a certain thing which does not rank among
things beautiful.

Gorg. Of what thing, Socrates? say, without fear of offend-
ing me.

Socr. It appears to me, then, Gorgias, to be a certain study,
that does not belong to art, but to a soul that is sagacious
and manly, and naturally powerful in its intercourse with men.
The sum of it I call flattery. 42. Of this study there appears
to me to be many other divisions, and one of them is that of
cookery; which, indeed, appears to be an art, but, as I main-
tain, is not an art, but skill and practice. I also call rhetoric
a division of this, and personal decoration, and sophistry, these
four divisions relating to four particulars. If, therefore, Polus
wishes to enquire, let him enquire, for he has not yet heard
what division of flattery I assert rhetoric to be: but he did not
observe that I had not yet finished my answer, nevertheless he
asks me, if I do not think that it is beautiful. But I shall not
answer him, whether I think rhetoric is beautiful or base, till
I have first answered what it is. For that would not be right,
Polus. If then you wish to enquire, ask me what division of
flattery I assert rhetoric to be.

Pol. I ask, then, and do you answer, what division it is.

Socr. Will you understand me when I answer? For rhetoric,
in my opinion, is a semblance of a division of the political art.

Pol. What then? Do you say that it is beautiful, or base?

Socr. Base, I say; for I call evil things base: since I must
answer you, as now knowing what I mean.

156 GORGIAS.

43. Gorg. By Jupiter, Socrates, but I do not myself under-
stand what vou mean.

Socr. Very likely, Gorgias: for I have not yet spoken
clearly. But Polus here is young and hasty.

Gorg. But leave him alone; and tell me in what way you
say that rhetoric is a semblance of a division of the political
art.

Socr. I will endeavour to tell you what rhetoric appears to
me to be. And if it is not such as I describe it, Polus here
will confute me. Do you not call body something, and soul
something ?

Gorg. How not?

Socr. Do you not, then, think that there is a certain good
habit of each of these?

Gorg. I do.

Socr. What then? an apparent good habit, which is not
really so? for instance, to explain my meaning, many appear
to have a good constitution of body, whom no one but a phy-
sician, and a teacher in gymnastics, could easily perceive not
to have a good constitution.

Gorg. You say truly.

Socr. I say that there is something of this kind both in the
body and in the soul, which causes the body and the soul to
appear to be in a good condition, when they are any thing
but so.

44. Gorg. Such is the case.

Socr. Come now, if I can, I will explain to you more clearly
what I mean. As there are two subject matters, I say there
are two arts: and that which relates to the soul I call politi-
cal, but that which relates to the body I am not able to de-
scribe to you off-hand by one name ; but of the culture of the
body, which is one, I say there are two divisions, one gymnas-
tics, the other medicine. But in the political art I lay down
legislation, as corresponding to gymnastics, and the judicial
to medicine. Now these respectively communicate with each
other, as being concerned about the same subject, medicine
with gymnastics, and the judicial art with legislation; yet they
in some respect differ from each other. These then being four,
and always taking the best possible care, the former of the
body, and the latter of the soul, flattery perceiving this, 1
do not say knowing, but sagaciously guessing it, and having

re OD wT s

\ GORGIAS. 157

divided itself fourfold, and having stealthily put on the garb of
each cf these divisions, feigns itself to be that which it has put
on; and it is not in the least concerned for what is best; but
by means of that which is most pleasant, captivates and seduces
ignorance, so as to appear to be of great value. 45. Cookery,
therefore, puts on the garb of medicine, and pretends that it
knows the aliment best for the body. So that if a cook anda
physician had to contend before boys, or before men as foolish
as boys, which of the two was acquainted with good and bad
aliments, the physician or the cook, the physician would die of
hunger. This, then, I call flattery; and I say that a thing of
this kind is base, Polus, (for I say this to you,) because it looks
to what is agreeable without regard to what is best; and I
affirm that it is not an art, but skill, because it has no know-
ledge of the things which it employs, what they severally are

in their nature, so that it is unable to tell the use of each. But

T do not call that an art which is a thing without reason. If
you are doubtful about these things, I am willing to give you
a reason for them. The flattery, then, pertaining to cookery,
as I have said, is concealed under medicine; and in the same
manner, under gymnastics, personal decoration, which is mis-
chievous, deceitful, ignoble, and illiberal, deceiving by means
of gestures and colours, by smoothness and outward appear-
ance; so as to make men put on an adventitious beauty, and
neglect that which is their own, and is acquired by gymnas-
tics. 46. That I may not, then, be prolix, I wish to tell you,
after the manner of geometricians, (for perhaps you can now
follow me,) that what personal decoration is to gymnastics, that
is cookery to medicine: or rather thus, that what personal
decoration is to gymnastics, that is sophistry to legislation,
and that what cookery is to medicine, that is rhetoric to jus-
tice. As I have said, they are thus different in their nature :
but as they are proximate to each other*, sophists and rhetori-
cians are confounded with legislators and judges, and are em-
ployed about the same things, and know not what to make
of themselves, nor other men of them. For, if the soul did
not preside over the body, but the body over itself, and cook-
ery and medicine were not examined into and distinguished by

« Bekker omits the words cogioral kat phropes, and Ast suggests Sicac-

zat for copioral, in either of which cases the addition of the words i2
italics would be unnecessary.

158 GORGIAS.

the soul, but the body itself decided, estimating things by its
own gratifications, that tenet of Anaxagoras would prevail ex-
tensively, friend Polus, (for you surely are acquainted with it,)
that is, all things would be confounded together, things medi-
cinal, and healthy, and pertaining to cookery, being undistin-
guished from each other. 47. You have heard, therefore,
what I consider rhetoric to be, corresponding to cookery in
the soul, as that in the body. Perhaps, however, I have acted
absurdly, in that, though I do not allow you to make a long
speech, I myself have extended mine to a great length. But
I deserve to be pardoned: for when I spoke briefly you did
not understand me, nor were you able to make use of the an-
swer that I gave you, but required an explanation. If, there.
fore, when you answer, I in my turn shall not know what to
make of it, do you also prolong your discourse : but, if I do
know, suffer me to do so; for that is fair. And now, if you
can make any use of this answer, do so.

Pol. What do you say, then? Does rhetoric appear to you
to be flattery ?

Socr. I said, indeed, that it was a division of flattery. But
do not you remember, Polus, though so young? What will
you do by and by?

Pol. Does it seem to you, then, that good rhetoricians are
to be esteemed as vile flatterers in cities ?

Socr. Do you ask this as a question, or are you beginning
an argument?

Pol. Task a question.

48. Socr. They appear to me to be of no estimation at all.

Pol. How to be of no estimation? Have they not the
greatest power in cities?

Socr. Not, if you mean that to have power is a good to
him who possesses it.

Pol. But I do say so.

Socr. In that case, rhetoricians appear to me to possess the
least power of all men in cities.

Pol. But what? do they not, like tyrants, slay whomever
they please, and deprive of their property, and banish from
cities whomever they think fit F

Socr. By the dog, Polus, 1 am doubtful with respect to each
of the things you say, whether you assert these things your-
self, and declare your own opinion, or ask me.

GORGIAS. 159

Pol. I ask you,

Socr. Be it so, my friend. Then you ask me two questions
at once.

Pol. How two?

Socr. Did you not just now say, that rhetoricians, like ty-
rants, slay whomever they please, and deprive them of their
property, and banish from cities whomever they think fit ?

Pol, I did.
49. Socr. I say, then, that these are two questions, and I
will give you an answer to both, For I affirm, Polus, that
rhetoricians and tyrants have very little power in cities, as [
just now said: for they do scarcely any thing that they wish,

though they do what to them appears to be best.

Pol. Is not this, then, to possess great power ?

Socr. It is not, at least as Polus says.

Pol. I say not? On the contrary, I say it is.

Socr. By Jupiter, not you. For you said that to have great
power is a good to him who possesses it.

Pol. And I repeat it.

Socr. Do you think, then, it is a good for any one to do
what appears to him to be best, when he is void of understand-
ing? And do you call this to possess great power ?

50. Pol. Not I.

Socr. Prove, therefore, that rhetoricians are Possessed of
understanding, and that rhetoric js an art, and not flattery, if
you mean to confute me. But, if you will leave me uncon-
futed, rhetoricians and tyrants, who do in cities whatever they
please, will derive no good from thence. Power is, aS you say,
good ; but to do, without understanding, whatever one pleases,
you yourself admit is an evil. Is it not Xo ?

Pol. I do.

Socr. How then can rhetoricians or tyrants have great power
in cities, unless Socrates is persuaded by Polus to admit that
they do what they wish?

Pol. What a strange man!

Soer. I deny that they do what they wish: but contute me.

Pol. Did you not just now admit that they do what appears
to them to be best?

Socr. And T now admit it.

Pol. They do, therefore, what they wish,
Socr. J deny ity

160 GORGIAS.

Pol. But they do what appears best to them?

Socr. I grant it.

Pol. You speak absurdly and monstrously, Socrates.

Socr. Do not accuse me, most excellent Polus, that I may
address you in your own style; but, if you have any other
question to ask me, shew that I am deceived; if not, do you
answer me.

Pol. I am willing to answer, in order that I may know what
you mean.

Socr. Whether, then, do men appear to you to wish the
thing that they do from time to time, or that for the sake of
which they do the thing that they do? As for instance, do those
who drink medicine from physicians appear to you to wish the
thing that they do, viz., to drink the medicine, and suffer pain,
or do they wish to be well, for the sake of which they drink
the medicine ?

Pol. It is clear they wish to be well, for the sake of which
they drink the medicine.

Socr. In like manner those who sail on the sea, and those
who carry on any other commercial business, do not wish the
thing that they do from time to time: for who wishes to sail
and to encounter danger, and to be harassed with business ;
but the object for whicn they sail is to acquire riches; for
they sail for the sake of riches.

Pol. Certainly.

Socr. Is it not so then in all cases? whosoever does any
thing for the sake of some thing else, does not wish the thing
that he does, but that for the sake of which he does it.

Pol. Yes.

52. Socr. Is there any thing in the world, then, that is not
either good or evil, or between these, neither good nor evil ?

Pol. It must needs be so, Socrates.

Socr. Do you not admit then, that wisdom, and health, and
riches, and other things of the same kind, are good, but their
contraries evil?

Pol. I do.

Socr. By the things that are neither good nor evil do you
not mean such as sometimes partake of good, sometimes of
evil, and sometimes of neither, as to sit, to walk, to run, and
to sail, and again, stones, wood, and other things of the same
kind? Are not these the things that you mean? Or do you
call certain other things neither good nor evil?

VS =

t

GORGIAS. 161

Pol. No, but these.

Socr. Whether, therefore, do men, when they do these inter-
mediate things, do them for the sake of the good, or the good
for the sake of the intermediate.

Pol. The intermediate, surely, for the sake of the good.

Socr. Pursuing the good, therefore, we both walk when we
walk, thinking it better, and, on the contrary, we stand when
we stand, for the sake of the same thing, viz., the good. Is
it not so?

Pol. Yes.

53. Socr, Do we not, therefore, if we slay any one, slay,
or banish, or deprive him of his possessions, thinking that it
is better for us to do so than not?

Pol, Certainly.

Soci. They, therefore, who do these things do them all for
the sake of good.

Pol. J allow it.

Socr, Are we not agreed, then, that we do not wish those
things which we do for the sake of something else, but that
for the sake of which we do them?

Pol. By all means.

Socr. We do not, then, wish simply to slay, or banish from
cities, or deprive any one of his possessions; but if these things
are useful we wish to do them, but if they are hurtful we do
not wish to do them. For we wish, as you admit, things that
are good, but we do not wish such as are neither good nor evil,
nor such as are evil. Is it not so? Do I seem to you, Polus,
to speak the truth, or not? Why do you not answer?

Pol, You speak the truth.

Socr. Since then we are agreed on these things, if any one
slays, banishes from a city, or deprives another of his posses
sions, whether he is a tyrant or a rhetorician, thinking that
it is better for him so to do, though it is really worse, he
surely does what seems fit to him: is it not so?

Pol. Yes.

Socr. Does he, then, do what he wishes, if these things are
really evil? Why do you not answer?

Pol. He does not appear to me to do what he wishes.

04. Socr. Is it possible, then, that such a man can have
great power in the supposed city, if, according to your admis-
sion, to have great power is a good?

M

162 GORGIAS.

Pol. It is not possible.

Socr. I spoke truly, then, when I said that it is possible for
a man to do what he pleases in a city, and yet not have great
power, nor do what he wishes.

Pol. As if, Socrates, you yourself would not like to be
allowed to do what you please in a city, rather than not,
and would not be envious when you saw any one either slay-
ing whom he pleased, or taking away his possessions, or putting
him in bonds.

Soer. Do you mean justly or unjustly ?

Pol. Whichever he should do, is he not in either case to
be envied ?

Soer. Good words, I pray you, Polus.

Pol. But why?

Socr. Because it is not right, either to envy those that are
not to be envied, or the wretched; but to pity them.

Pol. What say you? Does such appear to you to be the
case with the men of whom I am speaking ?

55. Soer. How can it be otherwise?

Pol. Does he, then, who slays whom he pleases, slaying
him justly, appear to you to be wretched, and an object
of pity ?

‘Soer, Not at all; nor indeed is he to be envied.

Pol. Did you not say just now that he was wretched ?

Socr. I said, my friend, that he is wretched who slays an-
other unjustly, and more than that, to be pitied ; but that he
who slays another justly is not *o be envied.

Pol. He surely who dies unjustly is to be pitied, and is
wretched.

Soer. Less so, Polus, than he who slays him ; and less than
he who dies justly ?

Pol. How so, Socrates?

Soer. Thus; because to act unjustly is the greatest of evils.

Pol. But is this really the greatest of evils? Is it not a
greater evil to suffer unjustly ?

Socr. By no means.

Pol. Had you, then, rather suffer unjustly than act un-
justly °

Socr. I should wish neither of these : but if I must neces-
sarily either act unjustly or suffer unjustly, I should choose
rather to suffer unjustly than to act unjustly.

re

be

neces
choos’

GORGIAS. 168

Pol. Would you not, then, consent to be a tyrant ?

Socr. I would not, if by being a tyrant you mean the same
that I do.

Pol. I mean by it what I just now said, to have the power
to do in a city whatever one pleases; to slay and banish, and
do every thing according to one’s own pleasure.

56. Socr. My excellent friend, attend to what I say, and
confute me if you can. If, when the forum is full, I should
take a dagger under my arm, and say to you, Polus, a certain
wonderful power and tyranny has just now fallen to my lot:
for, if it seems fit to me that any one of these men whom
you see ought immediately to die, he shall die; and if it
seems fit to me that any one of them ought to have his head
broken, he shall immediately have it broken; or if that his
garment should be torn to pieces, it shall be torn to pieces: so
great is the power I possess in the city. And if, on your dis-
believing me, I should shew you the dagger, perhaps, on see-
ing it, you would say: According to this, Socrates, all men
may have great power, since any house that you please might
be burnt in this way, and even the dock-yards of the Athe-
nians, and the triremes, and all the shipping, as well public as
private. But surely this is not to possess great power, to do
whatever one pleases: do you think so?

Pol. Certainly not in this way.

Socr. Can you tell me, then, why you blame a power of this
kind?

Pol. I can.

Socr. Why then? tell me.

Pol. Because it must needs be that one who acts thus should
be punished.

Socr. But is not the being punished an evil?

Pol. Certainly.

o7. Socr. Therefore, my excellent friend, to have great
power appears to you to be, when advantage attends one’s
doing what one pleases, and then it is a good; and this, as it
seems, is to have great power; but if not, it is an evil, and to
have little power. Let us consider this too. Are we not
agreed that it is sometimes better to do the things which we
just now spoke of, to slay, to banish men, and deprive them of
their property, and sometimes not?

Pol, Certainly.

164 GORGIAS.

Socr. This, then, as it seems, is agreed on both by you and me?

Pol, Yes,

Socr. When, then, do you say it is better to do these things?
Tell me what limit you establish ?

Pol. Do you, Socrates, answer this question.

Soer. I say, then, Polus, since it is more agreeable to you to
hear it from me, when any one does these things justly, it is
better, but when unjustly, it is worse.

Pol. Forsooth, it is difficult to confute you, Socrates! but
could not even a child convince you that you do not speak the
truth?

Socr. I should be very much obliged to the child, and equally
so to you, if you can confute me, and free me from my extra-
vagances. But be not weary in obliging a man who is your
friend, but confute me.

58. Pol. However, Socrates, there is no need to confute you
by ancient examples. For things that have recently happened
are sufficient to confute you, and to prove that many men who
have acted unjustly are happy.

Socr, What are these?

Pol. Do you not see, for instance, this Archelaus, son of
Perdiccas, ruler of Macedonia?

Socr. If not, at all events I hear of him.

Pol. Does he appear to you to be happy or miserable ?

Soer. 1 do not know, Polus: for I have never yet had any
intercourse with him.

Pol. What then? if you had intercourse with him, should
you know? And do you not know otherwise, from the cir-
cumstances of the case, that he is happy?

Socr. By Jupiter, certainly not.

Pol. It is evident then, Socrates, you will say, that you do
not even know whether the great king is happy?

Socr. And I should say the truth. For I do not know what
his state is with regard to enlightenment and justice.

Pol. What? Does all happiness consist in this?

Socr. In my opinion, Polus. For I say that an honest and
good man or woman is happy ; but an unjust and wicked one
is miserable.

Pol, This Archelaus, then, is miserable, according to your
account ?

Scer. At least, my friend, if he is unjust.

your

GORGIAS. 165

59. Pol. But how can he be otherwise than unjust, who had
no right to the empire which he now possesses, as he was born
of a woman who was the slave of Alcetas, brother of Perdiccas,
and according to justice was the slave of Alcetas, and, if he
had wished to do what is just, would have served Alcetas as a
slave, and would have been happy, according to your account >
whereas now he has become wonderfully miserable, since he
has committed the greatest injustice. For, first of all, having
sent for this his master and uncle, as if he would restore the
government which Perdiccas had taken from him, and having
entertained and intoxicated both him and his son Alexander,
his own cousin, and nearly his equal in age, he forced them
into a carriage, and having carried them off by night, had
their throats cut and made away with them both. And after
he had committed these wrongs, he was not aware that he had
become most miserable, and did not repent, but shortly after-
wards, he did not wish to become happy by nurturing his legi-
timate brother, the son of Perdiccas, a child about seven years
of age, to whom the government of right belonged, and by
restoring it to him; but having thrown him into a well, and
suffocated him, he told his mother Cleopatra that he had fallen
in in pursuing a goose, and so met with his death. 60. Where-
fore since he has committed the greatest wrongs of all in Mace-
donia, he is the most miserable of all the Macedonians, and
not the most happy. And perhaps there are some among the
Athenians, beginning with you, who would rather be any other
of the Macedonians than Archelaus.

Socr. At the beginning of our conference, Polus, I praised
you, because you appeared to me to be well instructed in rhe-
toric, though you had neglected the art of dialectics. And
now, what else is this reasoning, by which even a child could
confute me, and I, as you suppose, am now confuted by this
reasoning of yours, when I said that a man who acts unjustly
is not happy? How so, my friend? For I do not grant you
any one of the things you assert.

Pol. Because you are not willing to do so; though it ap-
pears to you as I say,

Socr. My excellent friend, you attempt to confute me rheto-
rically, like those who think they confute their adversaries in
courts of justice. For there some fancy they confute others
when they produce many reputable witnesses in favour of what

166 GORGIAS.

they say, whereas the adverse party produces some one only,
or none at all. 61. But this mode of confutation is worth
nothing with reference to truth. For sometimes a man may
be borne down by the false testimony of many witnesses who
seem to be somewhat. And now, with respect to what you
say, almost all the Athenians and strangers will agree with
you, and if you wish to produce witnesses against me to prove
that I do not speak the truth, there will testify for you, if you
wish it, Nicias, son of Niceratus, and his brothers with him,
who gaye the tripods that stand in a row in the temple of Bac-
chus; or again, if you wish it, Aristocrates, son of Scellius,
who gave that beautiful offering in the temple of Pythian
Apollo; or if you wish it, the whole house of Pericles, or any
other family, that you may think proper to choose out of this
city. But I, who am but one, do not agree with you. For
you do not convince me by arguments, but producing many
false witnesses against me, you endeavour to eject me from my
substance and the truth. But I, unless I shall be able to ad-
duce you, who are one, as a witness agreeing with what I say,
shall think that I have accomplished nothing worthy of men-
tion with respect to the subject of our discussion ; nor shall I
think that you have done so, unless I, being one, alone testify
for you, and you dismiss all those others. 62. This, then, is
one mode of refutation, as you and many others think: but
‘there is also another mode, which, on the contrary, I adopt.
“ Let us, therefore, compare them with each other, and consider
whether they differ at all from one another. For the matters
about which we differ are by no means trifling; but they are
indeed such as to know which is most honourable, and not to
know most disgraceful, for the sum of them is to know, or to
be ignorant, who is happy, and who is not. For instance, in
the first place, with respect to the subject of our present dis-
cussion, you think it possible that a man may be happy who
cts unjustly and is unjust; since you think that Archelaus,
though unjust, is happy. Must we not suppose that such is
your opinion ?

Pol. Certainly.

Socr. But I say it is impossible. On this one point, then,
we differ. Be it so. But will he who acts unjustly be happy
if he meet with justice and is punished ?

Pol. By no means, for in that case he would be most miserable.

GORGIAS. 167

Socr. If, therefore, he who acts unjustly does not meet with
the punishment he deserves, according to your account he will
be happy.

Pol. So I say.

63. Socr. But, according to my opinion; Polus, he whe
acts unjustly, and is unjust, is in every way miserable ; though
more miserable if he does not suffer punishment, and does not
mect with chastisement for his unjust actions; but less miser-
able if he suffers punishment, and meets with his just deserts
both from gods and men.

Pol. You attempt, Socrates, to advance strange para-
doxes.

Socr. Yet I shall endeavour, my friend, to make you say
the same things as I do: for I consider you as a friend. Now,
then, the things about which we differ are these: and do you
also consider. I said in a former part of our discussion, that
to commit an injustice is worse than to suffer one.

Pol. Just so.

Socr. But you say it is worse to suffer an injustice.

Pol. -Y es.

Socr. And I said that they who act unjustly are miserable,
and was confuted by you.

Pol. You were so, by Jupiter.

Socr, At least as you think, Polus.

Pol. And I probably thought the truth.

Socr. But you, on the contrary, said that they who act un-
justly are happy, if they do not suffer punishment.

Pol. Certainly.
Socr. But I say that they are most miserable; and that
they who suffer punishment are less so. Do you wish to re-

fute this also?

64. But this is more difficult to refute than the former,
Socrates.

Socr. By no means, Polus, but it is impossible; for truth
can never be refuted.

Pol. How say you? If a man should be detected acting
unjustly, as in attempting to compass absolute power, and
being detected should be put to the torture, be mutilated, and
have his eyes burnt out, and after having himself suffered
many other great and various torments, and having moreover
seen his children and wife suffer the same, should at last be

168 GORGIAS.

crucified, or covered with pitch and burnt, will he be more
happy, than if, having escaped punishment, he should become
a tyrant, and ruling in the city, should pass through life doing
whatever he pleases, being envied, and accounted happy, both
by citizens and strangers? Do you say that it is impossible to
refute these things ?

Socr. You are now trying to terrify me, noble Polus, and
do not refute me; but just now you adduced witnesses. How-
ever, remind me of a trifling circumstance; did you say, if a
person should attempt unjustly to compass absolute power ?

Pol, I did.

Socr. In that case, neither of them will ever be happier than
the other, neither he who has unjustly acquired absolute power,
nor he who has been punished. For, of two miserable per-
sons, one cannot be happier than the other; but he is more
miserable who escapes punishment and acquires absolute
power. 65. What is this, Polus? do you laugh? Is this
another species of refutation, when any one asserts any thing,
to laugh at him, and not refute him ?

Pol, Do you not think you are already refuted, Socrates,
when you say such things as no man in the world would
assert? for ask any one of these.

Socr. Polus, I am not among the number of politicians :
and last year, happening to be chosen a senator, since my
tribe held the presidency and it was necessary for me to col-
lect the votes, I occasioned laughter, because I did not know
how to collect them. Do not, then, require me to collect the
votes of those who are present. But if you have no better
mode of refutation than this, as I just now said, give the ques-
tion up to me in my turn, and make trial of that mode of refu-
tation which I think ought to be adopted. For I know how
to procure one witness of what I say, that is, the person with
whom I am discoursing, but I let alone the multitude; and I
know how to take the vote of one person, but I do not even
discourse with the multitude. Consider, then, whether you
are willing in your turn to give me an opportunity of refuting
by answering the questions I shall put to you. For I think,
‘that you and I, and other men, are of opinion, that to commit
‘injustice is worse than to suffer it; and not to be punished,
than to be punished.

66. Pol. But I, on the contrary, think that neither myself

GORGIAS. 169

nor any other man is of this opinion. For would you rather
suffer injustice than commit it ?

Socr. Yes, and you, and all other men.

Pol. Yar from it; neither would you, nor I, nor any other
man.

Socr. Will you not answer, then?

Pol, By all means. For I am anxious to know what you
will say.

Socr. Tell me then, that you may know, as if I asked you
from the beginning: whether does it appear to you, Polus,
worse to commit an injustice or to suffer one?

Pol. To suffer one, in my opinion.

Socr. What then? whether is it more base to commit an
injustice or to suffer one? Answer me.

Pol. To commit an injustice.

Socr. Is it not, therefore, worse, since it is more base?

Pol. By no means.

Socr. I understand. You do not think, as it seems, that
the beautiful and the good, and the evil and the base, are the.
same ?

Pol. Certainly not.

Socr. But what do you say to this? Beautiful things in
general, such as bodies, colours, forms, sounds, and pursuits,
do you call them severally beautiful, without reference to any
thing else? As, for instance, first of all, with respect to beau-
tiful bodies, do you not say that they are beautiful, on account
of their usefulness, in reference to the particular thing for
which each is useful, or on account of some pleasure, if in
being seen they give delight to the beholders? Have you any
thing else besides this to say respecting beauty of body?

Pol. I have not.

67. Socr. Do you not, then, denominate all other things in
the same manner beautiful, such as forms and colours, either
on account of some pleasure, or utility, or both?

ol. 1 do;

Socr. And is not the case the same as to sounds, and every
thing that relates to music?

Pol. Yes.

Socr. And moreover, with respect to laws and pursuits, they
surely are beautiful, for no other reason except that they are
either useful, or pleasant, or both?

170 GORGIAS,

Pol. So it appears to me.

Socr. And is it not the same with the beauty of the sciences ?

Pol. Certainly. And now, Socrates, you define beautifully,
in defining the beautiful by pleasure and good.

Socr. Must not, therefore, the base be defined by the con-
trary, by pain and evil?

Pol, Necessarily so.

Socr. When, therefore, of two beautiful things, one is more
beautiful than the other, it is more beautiful because it excels
in one or both of these, either in pleasure, or utility, or both.

Pol. Certainly.

Socr. And when of two things one is more base than the
other, it must be more base because it exceeds in pain or evil:
is not this necessarily so?

Pol. Yes.

68. Socr. Come then; what did we say just now respecting
committing injustice and suffering it? Did you not say that
to suffer injustice is more evil, but to commit it, more base ?

Pol. I did say so.

Socr, Therefore, since it is more base to commit injustice
than to suffer it, it must be more base because it is more pain-
ful and exceeds in pain, or evil, or both. Is not this also
necessary ?

Pol. How can it be otherwise ?

Socr. First, then, let us consider whether to commit injus-
tice exceeds in pain the suffering it; and whether they who
commit injustice feel greater pain than they who suffer it.

Pol. This is by no means the case, Socrates.

Socr. It does not, then, exceed in pain?

Pol. By no means.

Socr. Therefore, if it does not exceed in pain, it will no
longer exceed in both.

Pol. It appears not.

Socr. It remains, therefore, that it exceeds in the other.

Pol. Yes.

Socr. In the evil.

Pol. So it seems.

Socr. Since, therefore, to commit injustice exceeds in evil,
it must be more evil than to suffer injustice.

Pol, Evidently so.

69. Socr. Was it not admitted by men in general, and by

GORGIAS. al

you to me formerly, that it is more base to commit injustice
than to suffer it?

Pol. Yes,

Socr. Now, however, it appears to be worse.

Pol. So it seems.

Socr. Would you, then, rather choose that which is worse
and more base, than that which is less go? Do not hesitate
to answer, Polus, (for you will not be injured by so doing,)
but answer, giving yourself up generously to the discussion
as to a physician; and either admit or deny the question I
ask.

Pol. Then I should not rather choose it, Socrates.

Socr. Would any other man in the world ?

Pol. To me it appears not, according to what has been said.

Soer. I therefore said truly, that neither you, nor I, nor any
other man in the world, would rather choose to commit in-
justice than to suffer it; for it is worse to do So.

Pol. So it appears.

Socr. You see then, Polus, that my mode of proof when
compared with your mode of proof, does not at all resemble
it; but all others agree with you, except myself. For my

and testifying for me ; and I, having asked your opinion only,
disregard that of others, Let this then be settled between us,
And next, let us proceed to consider that which we doubted

you thought, or whether it is not a greater evil not to be
punished, as I thought. -And let us consider it thus: To
suffer punishment and to be justly chastised, when one has
committed injustice, do you not call the same thing?

Pol. I do.

Soer. Can you say, then, that all just things are not beautiful,
so far as they are just? When you have well considered,
answer me,

fol Kt appears to me that they are, Socrates.

Socr. Consider this also: When a man does any thing,
must there not necessarily be something which js passive to
him as an agent?

Pol. It appears go to me,

Socr. And does not the patient suffer what the agent does,

ype GORGIAS.

and just such a thing as the agent does? I mean in this way:
If any one strikes, is it not necessary that something should be
struck ?

Pol. Jt is necessary.

Socr. And if the striker strikes hard or swiftly, must not the
thing struck be stricken accordingly ?

Pot, Xen:

Soer. That which is struck, then, undergoes a passion cor-
responding to that which the striker does.

Pol. Certainly.

71. Socr. In like manner, if any one burns, is it not neces-
sary that something should be burnt?

Pol. How can it be otherwise?

Socr. And if he burns vehemently or painfully, that which
is burnt must be burnt according as the burner burns ?

Pol. Certainly.

Socr. So, if any one cuts any thing, is not the reasoning the
same? for something is cut.

Pol, Yes.

Socr. And if the cut is large or deep, or painful, that which
is cut is cut with such a cut as the cutter cuts.

Pol. It appears so.

Soer. In a word, then, see if you grant what I just now said
respecting every thing, viz., that according as the agent does,
so the patient suffers.

Pol. I do grant it.

Socr. These things, then, being agreed on, whether is the
being punished, to suffer, or to do something ?

Pol. Necessarily, Socrates, it is to suffer. :

Socr. Must it not, therefore, be by some agent ¢

Pol. Undoubtedly: by him who chastises.

Socr. But does not he who chastises rightly, chastise
justly ?

Pot. 28,

Soer. Doing what is just, or not?

Pol. What is just.

Socr. Then, does not he who is chastised, when he is
deservedly punished, suffer justly ?

Pol. It appears so.

Socr. But what is just has been acknowledged to be
beautiful.

GORGTAS. 178

Pol, Certainly.

Socr. Of these, then, the one does, and the other, he that is
chastised, suffers that which is beautiful.

Pol. Yes.

Socr. And if beautiful, then good; for that which is beauti-
Jul is either pleasant or useful.

Pol, Necessarily so.

Socr. He therefore who is punished suffers that which is
good,

Pol. So it seems.

72. Socr. He is therefore benefited.

Poe Tee:

Socr. Is it with such a benefit as I suppose? Does he be-
come better as to his soul, since he i is chastised justly ?

Pol. That is probable.

Socr. He, therefore, who is punished is ieced from a vice of
the soul.

Fol. Yes,

Socr. Is he not freed, then, from the greatest evil? Con-
sider the matter thus: in the condition of a man’s property
do you perceive any other evil than poverty?

Pol. No other than poverty.

Socr. Well, in the constitution of the body? would you say
that weakness, disease, deformity, and the like, are evils?

Pol. 1 should,

Socr. Do you not think, too, that there is a certain depra-
vity in the soul?

Pol. How otherwise?

Socr. Do you not then call this injustice, ignorance, coward-
ice, and the like?

Pol. Certainly.

Soer. Have you not said, then, that of tee three, property,
body, and soul, there are three "corresponding evils, poverty,
disease, injustice ?

Pol. Yes.

Socr. Then which of these evils is the most base? Is it not
injustice, and, in a word, the depravity of the soul?

Pol. By far.

Socr. But, if it is most base, then is it not also the
worst ?

Pol. Wow mean you, Socrates?

174 GORGIAS

73. Socr. Thus. In every case, that which is most base is
so because, from what has been before admitted, it occasions
the greatest pain, or harm, or both.

Pol. By all means.

Soer. But injustice and the whole depravity of the soul,
have been just now admitted by us to be most base.

Pol. They have been so admitted.

Socr. Is it not, therefore, the most troublesome and most
base of these depravities, because it exceeds either in trouble-
someness or hurtfulness, or both?

Pol, Necessarily so.

Socr. Is then the being unjust, intemperate, cowardly, and
ignorant, more painful than to be poor and diseased ?

Pol. It does not appear so to me, Socrates, from what has
been said.

Soer. The depravity of the soul, then, is the most base of
all, because it exceeds the others by some extraordinarily
great harm and wonderful evil, since, according to your argu-
ment, it is not exceeded in painfulness.

Pol. So it appears.

Soer, But, surely, that which exceeds in the greatest harm-
fulness must be the greatest evil of all?

Pol. Yes.

Soer. Then injustice, intemperance, and the other depravi-
ties of the soul, are the greatest evils of all.

Pol. So it appears.

74. Socr. What art, then, frees from poverty? Is it not
that of money-making ?

Pal. “Yes:

Soer. What, from disease? Is it not the medicinal ?

Pol. Necessarily so.

Socr. What, from depravity and injustice? If in this way
you cannot readily answer, consider it thus: whither, and to
whom, do we take those that are diseased in body?

Pol. To physicians, Socrates.

Soer. Whether those who act unjustly, and are intemperate ?

Pol. Do you mean, to the judges ?

Sver. Is it not, then, that they may be punished ?

Pol, I grant it.

Soer. Do not then those who chastise rightly chastise by
employing a certain justice ?

GORGIAS. 175

Pol. Clearly.

Socr. The art of money-making, therefore, frees from poverty,
medicine from disease, and justice from intemperance and in-.
justice.

Pol. So it appears.

Socr. Which of these, therefore, is the most beautiful ?

Pol. Of what are you speaking?

Socr. The art of money-making, medicine, and justice.

Pol. Justice, Socrates, is far superior.

Socr. Does it not, then, produce the greatest pleasure, or
utility, or both, since it is the most beautiful ?

Pol. Yes.

75. Socr. Is it, then, pleasant to be under the care of a
physician? and do they who are under such charge rejoice?

Pol. It does not appear so to me.

Secr. But it is useful. Is it not?

Pol. Yes.

Socr. For they are freed from a great evil; so that it is
advantageous to endure pain and be restored to health.

Pol. How can it be otherwise ?

Socr, Would the man then, thus be most happy with respect
to his body who is under the care of a physician, or who is not
diseased at all?

Pol. Clearly he that is not diseased.

Socr, For this is not happiness, as it seems, the being freed
from evil; but the never possessing it at all.

Pol. It is so.

Socr. But what? Of two men that have evil, either in body
or soul, which is the more miserable, he that is under the care of
a physician, and is freed from the evil, or he that is not under
the care of a physician, and retains the evil?

Pol. It appears to me, he that is not under the care of a
physician.

Socr. And is not punishment the being freed from the
greatest evil, depravity ?

Pol. It is.

Socr. For justice produces a sound mind, makes men more
just, and becomes the medicine of depravity ?

Pol. Yes.

76. Socr. He, then, is most happy who has no vice in his
soul, since this is proved to be the greatest of evils.

176 GORGIAS.

Pol. It is evident.

Socr. The second, surely, is he who is freed from it.

Pol, So it seems.

Socr. But this is he who is admonished, reproved, and
punished.

Pol. Yes.

Socr. He, therefore, lives worst, who is afflicted with in-
justice, and is not freed from it.

Pol. It appears so.

Socr. Is not, then, he one who, having committed the
greatest injustice, and employing the greatest injustice, con-
trives that he may be neither admonished, nor chastised, nor
punished, as you said was the case with Archelaus, and other
tyrants, rhetoricians, and powerful men?

Pol, So it seems,

Socr. For these, my excellent friend, have managed much
the same as one who being afflicted with the worst diseases
should contrive not to have his bodily maladies corrected or
subjected to medical treatment, fearing, as if he were a child, to
be burnt and cut, because these operations are painful. Does
it not appear so to you?

Pol. It does.

Socr. Being ignorant, as it seems, of what health is, and a
good habit of the body. 77. Now from what we have just
agreed on, Polus, those who flee from punishment appear to
do something of this kind; they look to the pain attending it,
~but are blind to its utility, and are ignorant how much more
miserable than an unhealthy body it is to dwell with an un-
healthy soul, that is corrupt, unjust, and impious. Whence
they do every thing that they may not be punished, nor freed
from the greatest evil, procuring for themselves riches and
friends, and the power of speaking as persuasively as possible.
But if we have agreed on what is true, Polus, do you perceive
what consequences result from our discourse ? do you wish that
we should draw the conclusions from them ? -

Pol. I do, unless you think otherwise.

Socr. Does it not follow that injustice and to act Haruka is
the greatest evil?

Pol. It appears so.

Socr, And to suffer punishment was proved to be a means
of freedom from this evil.

i

GORGIAS. 177

Pol. It appears to be so.

Socr. But not to suffer punishment is a continuance of the
evil.

Po Lex

Socr. To act unjustly, therefore, is the second of evils in
magnitude; but to act unjustly and not to suffer punishment
is the greatest and chief of all evils.

Pol. So it seems.

78. Socr. Was not this the point, my friend, with respect
to which we differed, you considering Archelaus happy, for
that having committed the greatest injustice he suffers no
punishment; but I on the contrary thinking, that whether
Archelaus, or any other man whatever, is not punished when
he commits injustice, he must needs be far more wretched than
all other men, and that he who commits injustice is ever more
wretched than he who suffers it, and he that is not punished
than he that is. Are not these the things that I said?

Pol. Yes,

Socr, And has it not been demonstrated that they were said
truly ?

Pol. It appears so.

Socr. Well then, if these things are true, Polus, what is
the great utility of rhetoric? For, from what has been now
agreed on, every one ought especially to beware of acting
unjustly, for that, ¢f he does so act, he will sustain great evil.
Is it not so?

Pol. Certainly.

Socr. And if a man has committed injustice, either himself,
or any one else for whom he has regard, he ought of his own
accord to betake himself thither, where as soon as possible he
will be punished, to a judge as to a physician, taking every
pains lest the disease of injustice becoming inveterate should
render the soul corrupt and incurable; or what must we say,
Polus, if our former admissions are to stand? Do not these
things necessarily harmonize with the former in this, but in no
other way?

79. Pol. For what else can we say, Socrates?

Socr, For the purpose, then, ef excusing injustice, our own,
or that of our parents, or friends, or children, or country, when
it acts unjustly, rhetoric is of no use to us at all, Polus, unless
“on the contrary, any one supposes that he ought especially to

N

178 GORGIAS.

accuse himself, and afterwards his relatives, and any other of
his friends, who may have acted unjustly, and not conceal the
crime, but bring it to light, in order that he may be punished,
and restored to health; moreover, that he should compel both
himself and the others to lay aside fear, and with his eyes shut,
and in a manly way, deliver himself up, as toa physician, to
be cut and cauterised, pursuing the good and the beautiful,
without paying any regard to what is painful; if he has com-
mitted a wrong worthy of stripes, delivering himself up to be
beaten, if of bonds, to be bound, if of a fine, to pay it, if of exile,
to be banished, if of death, to die, being himself the first ac-
cuser of himself, and others his relatives, not sparing either
himself or them, but employing rhetoric for this very purpose,
that, the crimes being exposed, they may be freed from the
greatest of evils, injustice. Shall we say thus, Polus, or not f

80. Pol. These things appear to me, Socrates, to be absurd ;
but it must be admitted, they accord with what was before said.

Socr. Must not, therefore, either our former conclusions be
done away with, or these results necessarily follow?

Pol. Yes; such is the case.

Socr. Contrariwise, if it is requisite to do ill to any one,
whether to an enemy, or any other person, provided only that
he is not himself injured by his enemy; for this is to be
guarded against; but if an enemy injures another, we should
endeavour by all possible means, both by actions and words,
that he may not be punished, nor brought before a judge: but,
if he is brought before him, we should contrive so that our
enemy may escape, and not suffer punishment: and if he has
robbed us of a great quantity of gold, that he should not re-
store it, but should retain it and spend it on himself and his
associates unjustly and impiously ; and if he has committed
an injustice worthy of death, we should contrive that he may
not die, if possible never, but that he may be immortal in de-
pravity, or if this cannot be, that he may live in this state for
‘as long a period as possible. 81. For such purposes, Polus,
rhetoric appears to me to be useful, since to him who coes not
intend to act unjustly, its utility docs not appear to me to be
great, if indeed it is of any utility at all, as in the former part
of our discussion it appeared in no respect to be.

Cal. Tell me, Cherephon, does Socrates say these things
seriously, or is he jesting ?

GORGIAS. 179

Cher. He appears to me, Callicles, to speak most seriously ;
but there is nothing like asking him himself.

Cal. You are right, by the gods, and I desire to do it,
Tell me, Socrates, whether we must say that you are now
speaking seriously, or jesting? For, if you are speaking se-
riously, and if what you say is true, is not our human life alto-
gether subverted, and are not all our actions, as it seems, con-
trary to what they ought to be?

Socr. If there were not a certain passion, Callicles, common
to men, to some, one, to others, another, but each of us had a
peculiar passion different from others, it would not be easy for
one to make known one’s own affection to another. 82. I
speak thus because I perceive that you and I are now affected
in the same manner ; for, being two, we each of us love two
things: I, Alcibiades, son of Clinias, and philosophy, you, the
Demus* of the Athenians, and the son of Pyrilampes. Now I
continually perceive that you, eloquent as you are, are unable to
contradict the objects of your love, in whatever they may say,
and in whatever manner they may assert a thing takes place,
but you are changed by them upwards and downwards. For, in
the assembly, if, when you say any thing, the Athenian people
say that it is not so, you, changing your opinion, say what they
wish; and you are affected in the same manner towards that beau-
tiful youth, the son of Pyrilampes ; for you cannot bring yourself
to oppose the wishes and discourses of the objects of your love :
so that, if any one, when from time to time you say what you do
to please them, should wonder at its absurdity, perhaps you
would say to him, if you wished to speak the truth, that unless
Some one shall cause the objects of your love to desist from
such discourses, neither can you desist from saying what you
do. Think, therefore, that you need to hear the like from
me; and do not wonder that I speak thus, but cause philoso-
phy, my favourite, to desist from speaking so. For, my dear
friend, she always says what you now hear from me, and is
much less fickle than my other loves. 83. For the son of

* That is, “the people of Athens.” It is necessary to retain the origi-
nal Word bévause of the play on the word Demus, which was the name of
the son of Pyrilampes, a person distinguished for his personal beauty.
Socrates means to insinuate that while he loves the inward beauty of
Alcibiades and philosophy, Callicles loves the external beauty of the
people and Demus son of Pyrilampes.

180 GORGIAS

Clinias, here, says different things at different times; but phi-
losophy always the same. And she says the things that you
now wonder at; and you have just heard what she said.
Either, therefore, confute her, as to what I just now said, and
prove that to act unjustly, and when one has acted unjustly
not to suffer punishment, is not the worst of all evils; or, if
you suffer this to remain unconfuted, then, by the dog, the
deity of the Egyptians, Callicles will not agree with you, but
will differ from you, Callicles, through the "waiele of his life.
However, I think, my excellent friend, that it would be better for
me that my lyre should be out of tune and discordant, and the
choir of which I might be the leader, and that most men should
not agree with me, but oppose what I say, rather than that I,
being one, should be discordant with and contradict myself.
Cal. You seem to me, Socrates, to act the boaster in your
discourses, as being in truth a mob-orator: and now you thus
declaim, since Polus has met with the same treatment as he
objected Gorgias met with from you. 84. For he said that
Gorgias, when asked by you, whether if one shduld come to
him, wishing to learn rhetoric without being acquainted with
justice, Gorgias would teach him, was ashamed, and said that
he would teach him, on account of the custom among men,
because they would be displeased if any one were to refuse:
and that from this admission Gorgias was compelled to contra-
dict himself, and you were delighted with this very circum-
stance; for which he then ridiculed you, as it appeared to me,
very properly. And now he himself has in turn been treated
the very same way; I, however, in this particular, do not com-
mend Polus, because he has conceded to you, that to commit
injustice is more base than to suffer it. For, from this admis-
sion, he being entangled by you in the discussion, has been
brought to a check, because he was ashamed to say what he
thought. For you in reality, Socrates, while you profess to be
in search of truth, lead to such vulgar and popular things as
these which are not beautiful by nature, but by law. For
these are, for the most part, contrary to each other, nature
and law. 85. If any one, therefore, is ashamed, and dares
not sav what he thinks, he is compelled to contradict himself.
And you, having perceived this subtle distinction, deal unfairly
in the discussion ; for, if any one speaks of any thing accord-
ing to law, you cunningly ask him about it according to na-

a

GORGIAS, 18%

eure, and if he speaks of things according to nature, you ask
him about them according to law; as just now in the present
discussion, respecting committing injustice and suffering it,
when Polus spoke of that which is more base according tc
nature, you followed up the law as if it were according to na-
ture. For, by nature, every thing is more base which is alsc
worse, as to suffer injustice, but by law to commit it. For to
submit to injustice is not the condition of a man, but of a
slave, to whom it is better to die than to live, since, being in-
jured and disgraced, he is unable to defend himself or any one
else for whom he has regard. But I think, those who make
the laws are the weak and the many: they, therefore, make
laws with a view to themselves and their own advantage, and
with the same view they bestow praise and impute blame ; and
to terrify such men as are stronger, and who are able to ac-
quire more, that they may not acquire more than themselves,
they say that it is base and unjust to obtain a superiority, and
that to endeavour to acquire more than others is to commit
injdstice. 86, For they are content, I think, if they, being
weaker, have an equal portion. For this reason, therefore, by

law it is said to be unjust and base to endeavour to possess

more than the many, and they call this committing an injus-
tice. But nature herself, I think, evinces, on the contrary,
that it is just that the better should have more than the worse,
and the more powerful than the weaker. And it is evident
in many instances that it is so, both in other animals, and in
whole cities and races of men, that the just is so settled that
the superior should rule over the inferior, and possess more
than they. For, with what justice did Xerxes make war upon
Greece, or his father on the Scythians? or ten thousand other
instances which one might adduce? But I think they do these
things according to natural justice, and, by Jupiter, according
to the law of nature; not, perhaps, according to that law which
we have framed, taking the best and strongest amongst us
from their youth, like lions, we tame them by incantations and
juggleries, telling them that it is right to preserve equality,
and that this is the beautiful and the just. S87). But.) thing
if there should be a man found with sufficient natura! power,
having shaken off all these trammels, and broken through, and
abandoned, and trampled under foot our written ordinances,
and quackeries, and incantations, and laws contrary to nature,

182 GORGIAS.

he, from being our slave, would rise up and prove himself our
master; and then natural justice would shine forth, Pindar, too,
appears to me to have declared what I now assert, in the ode
in which he says that “ law is the king of all, both mortals and
immortals; and,” he adds, ‘‘ he with most powerful hand makes
use of might, calling it right ; and this I infer from the deeds
of Hercules, since he drove away the oxen of Geryon unbought.”
He speaks pretty much in this manner ; for I do not remember
the ode by heart. He says, then, that Hercules drove away
the oxen of Geryon, without having either bought them, or
received them as a gift, as if this were naturally just, that both
oxen, and all other possessions, when the property of the worse
and inferior, belong to the better and superior. Such, then, is
the truth; and you will know that it is so, if, dismissing phi-
losophy, you betake yourself to greater things. 85. For
philosophy, Socrates, is an elegant thing, if one handles » it
moderately in youth; but if one dwells upon it longer than aA
becoming, it is the ruin of men. For if a man should have
excellent abilities, and should study philosophy beyond the
period of youth, he must necessarily become unskilled in all
things in which he ought to be skilled, who desires to be a
worthy, good, and distinguished man. For such men are un-
skilled in the laws of the city, and in those arguments which
any one must use, who is conversant with the business trans-
actions of men, both privately and publicly: they are likewise
altogether unskilled in human pleasures and desires, and, in
short, in the manners of men. When, therefore, they engage
in any private or public business, they make themselves ridi-
culous, just as, I think, politicians are ridiculous when they
meddle with your disputations and arguments. For that say-
ing of Euripides! is verified: ‘‘ Every one shines in this, and
to this applies himself, consuming the greater part of the day
in whatever he most excels.” But that wherein a man is weak
he avoids, and abuses it, and praises the other through self-
love, thinking thereby to praise himself: but I think the most
correct way is to partake of both. 89. Of philosophy, indeed,
so far as is requisite for education, it is well to partake, nor 1s
it any disgrace for one who is young to study philosophy : but
when a man who has reached an advanced age, still studies

1 From the Antiope of Euripides. ‘See Valckenaer. Diatrib. in Eurip.
Reliquias, p. 76.

GORGIAS. 183

philosophy, Socrates, the thing becomes ridiculous : and [|
have very much the same feeling towards those who study
philosophy, as to those who stammer and sport. For when [
see a child whom it still becomes to talk thus stammering and
sporting, I am delighted, and his conduct appears to me to be
graceful and liberal, and suited to the age of a child. But
when I hear a little boy talking with precision, it seems a dis-
agreeable thing to me, and offends my ears, and appears to be
somewhat servile. When, however, one hears a man stam-
mering, or sees him sporting, it appears to be ridiculous, un-
manly, and worthy of stripes. Now I have this same feeling
towards those who study philosophy. For, when I see philo-
sophy ina young man, I am delighted, and it appears to me
becoming, and J consider such a man to be of a liberal mind ,
but if he does not study philosophy, I consider him liberal,
and one who will never think himself worthy of any noble or
generous action. When, however, I see a man advanced in
years still studying philosophy, and not having abandoned it,
such a man, Socrates, appears to me to be deserving of stripes.
90. For, as I just now said, such a man, even though he has
excellent abilities, must needs become unmanly, by avoiding
the public places of the city, and the forum, in which, as the
poet™ says, men acquire celebrity, and by concealing himself
from the public view, he passes the remainder of his life with
three or four boys, whispering in a corner, but never utters
any thing liberal, great, and becoming. But I, Socrates, am
very friendly disposed towards you; and J seem to have the
same feeling as Zethus towards Amphion in Euripides, whom
I just now mentioned ; for it occurs to me to say to you the
same that he said to his brother: that you neglect, Socrates,
what you ought to attend to, and strive to adorn the nature of
a soul thus generous by a certain juvenile form; nor in deli-
berations of justice are you able to advance an argument cor-
rectly, nor lay hold of what is probable and persuasive, nor
can you suggest vigorous advice for others. 91. How-
ever, my dear Socrates, (and do not be angry with me, for
I speak out of good-will to you,) does it not appear to you
to be base to be in the state in which I think you are, and
others who continually make too great advances in philosophy ?
For now, if any one should arrest you, or any other of the
™ Homer, Iliad, ix. 441,

‘184 GORGIAS.

same character, and should take you to prison, asserting that
you had acted unjustly, when you had not, vou are aware you
would not know what to do for yourself; but you would lose
your head and gape, and not have any thing to say; and when
you went into a court of justice, having met with a very vile
and despicable accuser, you would die, if he chose to charge
you capitally. And indeed, Socrates, how can this be wise, if
any art mecting with a man of good natural ability renders
him worse, and neither able to assist himself, nor preserve
either himself or any one else from the greatest dangers, but
suffers him to be plundered of all his substance by enemies, ©
und to live in the city utterly without honour? Such a man,
(if I may speak somewhat rudely,) one may slap on the face
with impunity. 92. But, my friend, be persuaded by me, and
give up confuting, cultivate harmony of conduct, and employ
yourself in what will give you a reputation for wisdom, leaving
to others these graceful subtleties, whether it is proper to call
them frivolities, or fooleries, ‘‘ by which you will come to dwell
in an empty house: and emulate, not men who are able to
confute these trifling things, but those who have wealth, re-
nown, and many other goods, ;

Socr. If I happened to have a golden soul, Callicles, do
you not think I should gladly find one of the best of those
stones by which they test gold, to which applying it, if it
should allow that my soul was well cultivated, I should then
know for a certainty that I was in a good state, and that I had
no further need of any other test ?

Cal. Why do you ask this, Socrates ?

Socr. I will now tell you. I think that in meeting with you,
I have met with this good fortune.

Cal. Why so?

Socr. I well know, that if you agree with me in those things
which my soul entertains, such things are the very truth. For
I perceive that he who intends to examine sufficiently respect-
ing his soul whether it lives uprightly or not, ought to possess
three qualities, all which you do possess, viz., science, benevo-
lence, and freedom of speech. 93. For I meet with many who
are not able to test me, through not being wise as you are;
but others are wise, indeed, but are not willing to speak the
truth to me, because they are not concerned about me as you
are. Thus these two strangers, Gorgias and Polus, are indeed

ae GORGIAS. 185

wise, and my friends, but they are deficient in freedom of
speech, and are more bashful than is proper. For how should
it be otherwise? since they have reached such a pitch of bash-
fulness that through shamefacedness each of them dares to
contradict himself before many persons, and this on the most
important subjects. You however possess all these qualities,
which the others have not. For you are both well instructed,
as many of the Athenians will affirm, and are well-disposed to-
wards me. What proof do Iuse? I know, Callicles, that you
four have studied wisdom together, you, Tisander the Aphid-
nan, Andron son of Androtion, and Nausicydes the Cholar-
gean; and I once heard you deliberating how far wisdom
ought to be cultivated, and I know that this opinion prevailed
among you, that you should not endeavour to study. philosophy
with great accuracy; but you advised each other to be cautious,
lest, by becoming more wise than is proper, you should destroy
yourselves without perceiving it. 94. Since, then, I hear you
giving me the very same advice that you gave to your most
intimate friends, it is to me a sufficient proof that you are really
well-disposed towards me. Moreover, that you are able to
speak boldly and not be ashamed, both yourself say, and the
speech which you just now made, evinces. The case is evi-
dently this, with reference to our present discussion; if you
shall agree with me in any thing, in our argument, that point
will have been sufficiently examined by you and me, and it will
be no longer necessary to put it to another test. For you
would never have assented to it, either through deficiency of
wisdom, or excess of bashfulness. Nor, again, would you have
assented in order to deceive me: for you are my friend, as you
have yourself said. In reality, therefore, your and my assent
will have reached the perfect truth. But the most beautiful
consideration of all, Callicles, with respect to the things about
which you have reproved me, is that, viz., what kind of person
aman ought to be, what he ought to study, and how far, both
when he is advanced in life and when he is young. For, with
respect to myself, if I do any thing in my life not rightly, be
assured that I do not err willingly, but through my own igno-
rance. 95, Do you, therefore, as you have begun to advise
me, not desist, but shew me clearly what it is that I ought to
study, and in what way I may accomplish it. “And if you find
me now assenting to you, but in time to come not doing the

186 GORGTAS,

things to which I have assented, then consider me as utterly
stupid, and thenceforth give me no more advice, as being a
man altogether worthless. But repeat it to me again from
the beginning, how say you and Pindar is the ¢ase with natural
justice? is it that the superior should take by force from the
inferior, and that the better should rule over the worse, and
that the more excellent should have more than the depraved ?
Do you say that the just is any thing else than this? or do I
remember rightly ?

Cal. These things I said then, and I say now.

Socr. But do you call the same person better and superior ?
For I was not able at the time to understand you, what you
meant: whether do you call the stronger superior, and must
the weaker submit to the stronger; as you seemed to me to
intimate when you said, that great cities attack little ones by
natural justice, because they are superior and stronger; as if
the superior, the stronger, and the better, were the same; or
is it possible to be better, and at the same time inferior and
weaker, and to be superior, but more depraved? or is there
the same definition of the better and the superior? Define this
clearly for me, are the superior, the better, and the stronger,
the same, or different ?

Cal. 'Then I tell you clearly, that they are the same.

96. Socr. Are not, then, the many by nature superior to
one? since they establish laws for the one, as you just now
said?

Cal. How can it be otherwise ?

Socr. The laws, then, of the many are those of such as are
superior ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Therefore, of the better? For, according to your ac-
count, the superior are far better.

Cal. Yes.

Socr. Are not, then, their laws by nature beautiful, since
they are superior?

Cal. I admit it.

Socr. Now do not the many think thus, as you just now
said, that it is just to possess the equal, and that it is more
base to injure than to be injured? Is this so, or not? And
take care that you are not detected here in being shamefaced.
Do the many think or not that to possess the equal, but not

GORGIAS. 187

more, is just? and that it is more base to injure than to be
injured? Do not refuse me an answer to this, Callicles, in
order that, if you agree with me, I may be confirmed in my
opinion by you, seeing that a man competent to decide has
agreed with me.

97. Cal. The many, then, do think thus.

Socr, Not therefore by law only, but by nature also, it is
more base to injure than to be injured, and just to possess the
equal. So that you appear not to have spoken the truth before,
nor to accuse me rightly, in saying that law and nature are
contrary to each other, and that I, knowing this, deal unfairly
in the discussion, if any one speaks according to nature, by
leading him to law, and if any one speaks according to law,
by leading him to nature.

Cal. This man will not cease trifling. Tell me, Socrates,
are you not ashamed, at your age, to catch at words, and, if
any one makes a mistake in an expression to consider it an .
unexpected gain? For, do you think that by the superior I
mean any thing else than the better? Did I not tell you long
since, that I consider the better and the superior to be the
same? Do you suppose I mean, that if a crowd of slaves, and
all sorts of men of no worth, except perhaps for bodily strength,
should meet together, that what they should say” would be legal
institutions ?

Socr. Be it so, most wise Callicles: is that your meaning ?

Cal. Certainly.

98. Socr. But I, Sir, long since suspected that you meant
some such thing by the superior; and therefore I repeat the
question, desiring to understand clearly what you do mean;
for you surely do not think that two are better than one, nor
that your slaves are better than you because they are stronger
than you. Tell me then from the beginning whom you mean
by the better, since you do not mean the stronger. And, my
admirable friend, teach me in the outset in a milder manner,
that I may not leave you.

Cal. You are bantering, Socrates.

Socr. By Zethus, no, Callicles, in whose name you just now
bantered me a good deal. But come, tell me who do you mean
are the better?

2 obtot peo, aita Tadra elva: véua; as if abta Taira preceded & &
goow. See Stallbaum.

188 GORGIAS.

‘al. I mean the more excellent.

Socr. You see, then, that you yourself speak words, but
explain nothing. Will you not tell me whether by the better
and superior you mean the more wise, or some others ?

Cal. But, by Jupiter, I mean these, certainly.

99. Socr. Often, therefore, according to your account, one
wise man is superior to ten thousand that are not wise; and
it is right that he should govern, and they be governed, and
that the governor should have more than the governed. For
you appear to me to wish to say this (and I do not catch at
expressions), if one man is superior to ten thousand.

Cal. That is what I mean. For I think this is just by
nature, that the better and the more wise should both govern
and have more than the worthless.

Socr. Stop there. What then do you now say? If we were
in the same place, as we now are, many men together, and had.
in common, abundance of meat and drink, and were men of
various descriptions, some strong, others weak, and one of us
being a physician should happen to be more wise respecting
these things, and should be (as is likely) stronger than some,
and weaker than others, will it not follow iar. this man who
is wiser than we are, will be better and superior with respect
to these things?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Should he, therefore, have more of these meats than
we, because he is better? Or, because he is chief, ought he
not to distribute the whole, but, in consuming and using them
for his own body, not take more than others, under pain of
injury to himself, but should have more than some, and less
than others; and if he should happen to be the weakest of all,
though the best, he must have least of all, Callicles? Is it not
so, my friend?

100. Cal. You speak of meats and drinks, and physicians,
and such trifles; but I do not speak of these.

Socr. W hether, then, do you say that the more wise is
better? Grant or deny.

Cal. I do.

Socr. And do you not say that the better ought to ae
more ¢

Cal. Not of meats and drinks.

Socr. I understand. But perhaps of clothes, and the most

GORGIAS. 189

skilful weaver should have the largest garment, and go about
most abundantly and beautifully clad.

Cal. What garments do you mean?

Soer. And with respect to shoes, it is clear that he who is
more skilled and best, should have more than others; the
shoemaker, perhaps, ought to walk about with the largest and
greatest number of shoes.

Cal. What shoes? Are you still trifling?

Socr. But if you do not mean such things, perhaps you do
the following: for instance, that a husbandman, wise and
skilled in the cultivation of land, should perhaps have more
seeds than others, and use as much as possible on his own
land.

101. Cal. How constantly you repeat the same things,
Socrates.

Socr, Not only so, Callicles, but on the same subject.

Cal. By the gods, you never cease talking about shoe-
makers, fullers, cooks, and physicians, as if our discourse were
about them.

Socr. Will you not tell me, then, with respect to what
things a person should be superior and more wise, who having
more than others, justly has more? Will you neither permit
me to suggest, nor say yourself?

Cal, But I have said some time since. First. by the supe-
rior I do not mean shoemakers, or cooks, but those who are
skilled in the affairs of a city, in what way they can be well
administered, and not only skilled, but also brave, able to ac-
complish what they have conceived, and who do not fail
through effeminacy of soul.

Socr. Do you see, most excellent Callicles, that you do not
make the same objection to me that Ido to you? For you.
allege that I always say the same things, and blame me for it;
and I, on the contrary, complain of you, that you never say the
same things on the same subjects; but at one time you defined
the better and the superior to be the stronger, and at another
time the more wise: and now again you come with something
else ; and certain persons that are braver are said by you to be
the superior and better. But, my friend, tell me once for all,
whom you call the better and superior, and in reference to
what:

102. Cal. I have already said that they are such as are

190 GORGIAS.

wise and brave, with respect to the affairs of a city. For it
belongs to them to govern cities, and it is just that they should
have more than others, the governors than the governed.

Socr. But what? my friend, as governing themselves, or
being governed =

Cal. What mean you?

Socr. I mean that each person governs himself. Is there no
occasion for this, that a man should govern himself, but only
others?

Cal, What. do you mean by governing himself?

Socr. Nothing uncommon ; but as men frequently say, that
a man is temperate, and master of himself, controlling the plea-
sures and desires that are within himself.

Cal. How ridiculous you are! By the temperate you mean
the foolish.

Socr. How otherwise = There is no one but would know
that that is my meaning®.

Cal. Most assuredly, Socrates; since how can a man be
happy who is a slave to any one? But this it is which is
beautiful, and just according to nature, and which I now freely
tell you, namely, that a man who lives rightly should suffer his
desires to be as great as possible, and should not restrain
them; but should be able, when they are at their height, to
minister to them by his courage and prudence, and satisfy
each desire as it springs up. 103. This, however, I think, is
not possible for the generality of men ; wherefore they blame
such persons through shame, to conceal their own impotency,
and say that intemperance is base; as I said before, enslaving
men of a better nature, and themselves not being able to satisfy
their own pleasures, they praise temperance and justice, on
account of their own effeminacy. For to those whom it has
befallen from the first either to be the sons of kings, or who
are able by nature to procure for themselves a government, or
tyranny, oF dynasty, what can be more disgraceful and base
than temperance ? who, when it is in their power to enjoy the
good things of this life, and no one hinders them, impose @
master on themselves, the law, discourse, and censure of the
multitude? Or how should they be otherwise than miserable

© Lhave followed Stallbaum’s reading, ovdels Baris ode by yvoln, bre

ofrw Aeyw. Socrates grants his opponent’s erroneous inference, that so
he may be led on to a still greater absurdity.

GORGIAS. 19i

through the beauty of justice and temperance, while they im-
part no more to their friends than to their enemies, and this
though they have supreme power in their own city? Thus,
then, it stands with the truth, Socrates, which you say you are
in search of: luxury, intemperance, and liberty, if they have
the proper aids, these are virtue and felicity ; but all those other
fine things, those compacts contrary to nature, are extravagau-
cies of men, and of no value.

104. Socr. Not at all ignobly, Callicles, have you expressed
your opinions, speaking freely; for you now plainly say what
others think, indeed, but are unwilling to say. I beg of you,
therefore, on no account to relax, in order that it may really
become evident how we ought to live. Come tell me: do you
say that our desires ought not to be checked, if one intends to
be such as one ought, and that, suffering them to be as great
as possible, one ought to provide for their satisfaction from
every possible source, and that this constitutes virtue >

Cal. I do say so.

Socr. They, therefore, who need nothing, are not rightly
said to be happy.

Cal. For thus stones and the dead would be most happy.

Socr. But, indeed, even as you say, life is grievous. For in
truth I should not wonder if Euripides speaks the truth when
he says: “ Who knows whether to live is not death, and to
die, life?” And we, perhaps, are really dead; as I have heard
from one of the wise, that we are now dead, and that the body
is our sepulchre, and that the part of the soul in which the de-
sires are is of such a nature that it can be persuaded different
ways, and change upwards and downwards; and this, some
skilful man, perhaps a Sicilian, or Italian, turning into a fable,
by a slight change of the word?, called a cask, from its being
credulous and easily persuaded, but the foolish he called unin-
itiated. He further compared that part of the soul of the un-
initiated in which the desires are, namely, its intemperate and
unclosed part, to a pierced cask, on account of its insatiable
greediness. 105, This man, too, quite contrary to you,
Callicles, shews that of those in Hades (meaning thereby

the invisible world) the most miserable must be the unin-

? The English language does not enable a translator to preserve the

play on the words m@avby and miGov, nor the equivoque in duuirous,
which means “leaky,” as well as “ uninitiated.”

192 GORGIAS,

itiated, and that they carry water to a perforated cask by a simi-
jarly perforated sieve. The sieve, as he who spoke to me said,
is the soul. But he likened the soul of the foolish to a sieve,
as being perforated and not able to retain any thing, through
incredulity and forgetfulness. This probably is somewhat ab-
surd, nevertheless it shews that by proof of which I wish, if
by any means I can, to persuade you to change your opinion,
and to prefer to an insatiable and intemperate life one that is
well regulated, and that is satisfied and contented with the
things that are from time to time present. But do I per-
suade you at all, and do you change your opinion, and admit
that the moderate are more happy than the intemperate? or
have I produced no impression, and though I tell you many
such fables, will you not be any the more disposed to change
your opinion?

Cal. In this you have spoken more truly, Socrates.

106. Socr, Come, then, I will mention to you another simi-
litude from the same school as the preceding. For consider
whether you would speak thus of each kind of life, the tem-
perate and the intemperate, as if two men had each many
casks; and that those of one were sound and full, one of wine,
another of honey, a third of milk, and many others of other
things; that the fountains of each were rare and difficult to be
obtained, and could only be procured by many and severe
toils; the one, then, having filled his casks, pours no more
into them, nor is at all concerned about them, but on this
score is at ease; that the fountains of the other, as of the
former one, are possible to be procured, though with difficulty,
that his vessels are perforated and defective, and he com-
pelled, both night and day, to fill them, or suffer the most ex-
treme pain. When such is the life of each, do you say that of
the intemperate is more happy than that of the moderate man?
Do I persuade you at all, by relating these things, to grant
that a moderate life is better than an intemperate one, or do I
not persuade you?

Cal. You do not persuade me, Socrates. For he that has
filled his casks has no longer any pleasure: but this is, what I
just now mentioned, to live like a stone, when he has filled
them, neither rejoicing any more nor grieving: but a pleasant
life consists in as much flowing in as possible.

107. Socr. Is it not, therefore, necessary, if much flows in,

‘

GORGIAS. 193

that much also should go out, and that there should be certain
large holes for its flowing out?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. You speak now of the life of a sea-lark4, and not of a
corpse, or a stone. But tell me, do you mean such a thing as
being hungry, and, when hungry, eating?

Cal. I do.

Socr, And of being thirsty, and, when thirsty, drinking ?

Cal, I do mean that, and that he who has all other desires,
and, having the power to do so, satisfies them, lives a joyful
and happy life.

Socr. Well done, my excellent friend! Proceed as you have
begun, and take care not to be ashamed. But it is right, too,
as it seems, that neither should I be ashamed. And first of
all, tell me if, when a man, who is scabby and itches, is able to
scratch himself without stint, and passes his lite in scratching
himself, this is to live happily ?

Cal. How absurd you are, Socrates, and a mere babbler.

Socr. Hence it is, Callicles, that I have astonished Polus
and Gorgias, and made them ashamed. You, however, will
not be astonished nor ashamed, for you are courageous: but
only answer me.

108. Cal. I say, then, that he who scratches himself lives
pleasantly.

Socr, Therefore, if pleasantly, also happily ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Will this be the case if he only itches in his head, or
must I ask you still further? Consider, Callicles, what answer
you would give, if any one asks you respecting all the parts of
the body in succession. And to take that which is the chief of
all, is not the life of catamites dreadful, base, and wretched >
Will you dare to call them happy, if they have what they
desire, without stint?

Cal. Are you not ashamed, Socrates, to lead the discussion
to such subjects?

Socr. Do I lead it hither, noble Sir, or does he who asserts
thus broadly, that such as rejoice, in whatever Way they re-
joice, are happy, and does not distinguish between pleasures,

4 Xapaipis, a bird which Aristotle tells us (Hist. GAOT Tuts, cle)

“appears in the night and runs off in the day.’ See note to Cary’s
Birds of Aristophanes, act i. se, 4,

oO

194 GORGIAS.

what are good and what are bad? But tell me further still,
whether do you say that the pleasant and the good are the
same: or that there is something pleasant which is not good =

Cal. In order that my argument may not contradict itself, if
I should say they are different, I say that they are the same.

109. Socr. You subvert your former statements, Callicles,
and no longer search for the truth with me properly, if you
speak contrary to your real opinion.

Cal. And you do the same, Socrates.

Soer. Neither, then, do I act rightly, if I do so, nor do you.
But, good Sir, consider whether to rejoice in any way be not
good. For it is clear that many base consequences, which
were just now hinted at, will follow, if this should be the case,
and many others besides.

Cal. As you think, at least, Socrates.

Socr. Do you in reality, Callicles, persist in your assertion ?

Cal. 1 do.

Soer. Shall we then enter on the discussion, as if you were
in earnest?

Cal. Most certainly.

Soer. Come, then, since you are of that opinion, explain this
tome. Do you call science any thing?

Cal, I do.

Socr. And did you not just now say, that there is a certain
courage joined with science >

Cal. I did say so.

Socr. Did you speak of these two, as if courage was differ-
ent from science =

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. But what? Are pleasure and science the same, ?r
different ? ;

Cal. Different, surely, most wise friend.

Socr. Is courage,also different from pleasure ?

Cal. Undoubtedly.

110. Socr. Come, then, let us retain these things in our
memory ; that Callicles of Acharn2 said that the pleasant and ~
the good are the same; but that science and courage are dif-
ferent both from each other and the good. as

Cal. But Socrates of Alopecia does not agree to this; does
he agree? : :

Soer. He does not agree: and I think neither will Callicles

%

GORGIAS. 195

when he has rightly examined himself. For tell me, do you
not think that those who fare well are affected in a manner
quite contrary to those who fare ill?

Cal. I do.

Socr. If these, therefore, are contrary to each other, is it not
necessary that the case should be the same with them as it is
with health and disease? For, surely, a man is not at the
same time well and diseased, nor at the same time separated
from health and disease.

Cal. How say you?

Socr. For instance, take any part of the body you please,
and consider. Has not a man sometimes a disease in the eyes,
which is called ophthalmia ?

Cal. Undoubtedly.

Socr. And his eyes, surely, are not at the same time well ?

Cal. Certainly not.

Socr, But what? When he is freed from the ophthalmia,
does he then also lose the health of his eyes, and, in a word,
is he at the same time freed from both?

Cal. By no means.

Socr. For that, I think, would be wonderful and absurd.
Would it not?

Cal. Assuredly.

111. Soer. But I think he, alternately, receives one, and
loses the other.

Cal. I admit it.

Socr. And will it not be the same with regard to strength
and weakness ?

peal. Yes.

Soer, And swiftness and slowness?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. And with respect to things good and happiness, and
their contraries, things evil and wretchedness, does he receive
and part from each of these alternately ?

Cal. Most assuredly,

Socr. If, therefore, we should find certain things which

_4& man at the same time parts from and possesses, it is clear
that these would not be both good and evil. Do we agree to

this? Consider well and answer me.
Cal. I agree entirely.
Socr, Let us then recur to what was before agreed on.

196 GORGIAS.

Did you say that to be hungry is pleasant, or painful? I mean
the very fact of being hungry.

Cal. I said it was painful: though to eat when hungry is
pleasant.

Socr, I understand you: but to be hungry of itself is
painful; is it not so?

Cal. I admit it.

Socr. And also to be thirsty ?

Cal. Assuredly.

112. Socr. Whether, then, shall I ask you any more ques-
tions? Or do you allow that all want and desire is painful ?

Cal. I allow it; so do not ask.

Socr. Be itso. And do you not say that for a man to
drink when he is thirsty is pleasant ?

Cal. I do.

Socr. In the instance then of which you are speaking, to be
thirsty is, doubtless, painful ?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. But to drink is the satisfying of a want, and a
pleasure ?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. Therefore as to drinking you say that the man re-
joices?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. But as to being thirsty ?

Cal. I say—

Socr. That he suffers pain?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. Do you perceive then what follows? that you say he
who is in pain at the same time rejoices, when you say that
he who is thirsty drinks. And does not this happen at the
same place and time, with respect either to the soul or body,
whichever you please? For I think there is no difference. Is
this so, or not?

Cal. It is.

Socr. You admitted, however, that it was impossible for one”
who fares well at the same time to fare ill.

Cal. I allow it. :

Socr, But you have granted that it is possible for one who
is in pain to rejoice.

Ca/, It appears so.

GORGIAS. 197

Socr. To rejoice, therefore, is not to fare well, nor to be in
pain, ill: so that the pleasant is different from the good?

Cal. I know not what subtleties you are using, Socrates.

113. Socr. You know, though you pretend not, Callicles.

Cal. Proceed still further, trifling as you are, that you may
know how wise you are who take upon yourself to admonish
me.

Socr, Does not each of us at the same time-cease to be
thirsty, and to receive pleasure from drinking?

Cal. I do not know what you mean.

Gory. Say not so, Callicles; but answer for our sakes, that
the discussion may be brought to a conclusion.

Cal. But this is always the way with Socrates, Gorgias, he
asks trifling questions, and things that are of no consequence,
and then refutes them.

Gory. But what difference does that make to you? That
is no concern at all of yours: but suffer Socrates to argue in
whatever way he pleases.

Cal. Ask, then, these trifling and petty questions, since
Gorgias thinks proper.

Socr. You are happy, Callicles, in that you have been
initiated in the great mysteries before you were in the small:
but I thought that was not allowed. Answer me, then, from
the point where you left off, does not each of us at the same
time cease to be thirsty, and to receive pleasure ?

Cal. I admit it.

Socr. And does not one cease to be hungry and to feel
other desires and pleasures at the same time ?

Cal. Such is the case.

Socr. Does one not, then, at the same time cease to feel
both pains and pleasures ?

Cal. Yes,

114. Socr, However one does not at the same time cease to
experience good and evil, as you admitted; but now do you
not admit it?

Cal. Ido. But what then?
~ Socr. It follows, my friend, that good things are not the same
with such as are pleasant, nor evil things with such as are
painful. For, from these one ceases at the same time, but not
from ,those, because they are different. How, therefore, can
pleasant things be the same with such as are good, or painful

>

198 GORGTAS.

things with such as are evil? But, if you please, consider it in
this way: for I think that you are not even thus agreed with
yourself. Consider then. Do you not call the good good,
from the presence of good things, just as you call those
beautiful to whom beauty is present ?

Cal. I do.

Socr. But what? Do you call foolish men and cowards
good men? For you did not just now; but you said the
brave and prudent were so. Do you not call these good ?

Cal, Certainly.

Socr. But what? Have you ever seen a boy without under-
standing, rejoicing?

Cal. I have.

Socr. And have you not also seen a man without under-
standing, rejoicing ?

Cal. I think I have. But to what purpose is this?

Socr. Nothing: answer however.

Cal. I have seen it.

Socr. But what? have you seen a man endued with intellect
grieving and rejoicing ?

Cal. I have.

115. Socr. But which rejoice and grieve the more; the
wise, or the foolish ?

Cal. I think there is not much difference.

Socr. That is enough. In war have you ever seen a
coward ?

Cal. Most assuredly.

Socr. What then? On the departure of the enemy which
appeared to you to rejoice the more, the cowards or the
brave ?

Cal. Both appeared to me to rejoice more: or, if not. in
nearly the same degree.

Socr. It is of no consequence. Cowards, then, also rejoice ?

Cal. Very much so.

Socr. And the foolish, as it seems ?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. But, when the enemy approaches, do cowards only
grieve ? or do the brave also?

Cal. Both.

Socr. In an equal degree ?

Cal. Cowards perhaps more,

GORGIAS. 199

Socr, But, when the enemy departs, do they not rejoice
more?

Cal. Perhaps so.

Socr. Do not, therefore, as you say, the foolish and the
wise, cowards and the brave, similarly grieve and rejoice,
much in the same degree, but cowards more than the
brave?

val. { admit it.

Socr. The wise however and the brave are good, but
cowards and the foolish bad ?

Cal. Yes,

Socr. The good and the bad, therefore, rejoice and grieve
equally ?

Cal. I admit it.

116. Soer. Are, then, the good and the bad, good and bad
im an equal degree? or are the bad yet more good and bad ?

Cal. By Jupiter, I do not know what you mean,

Socr. Do you not know that you said the good are good,
through the presence of good things, and the bad through
the presence of evil things? And that pleasures are good
things, and pains evil ?

Cal. I did.

Socr. Are not, therefore, good things, viz., pleasures, pre-
sent with those that rejoice, if they do rejoice ?

Cal. Undoubtedly.

Socr. And since good things are present are not they who
rejoice good?

Cal. Yes.

Socr, But what? Are not evil things, viz., pains, present
with those that suffer pain ?

Cal. They are present.

Socr. But do you not say that the bad are bad, through the
presence of evil things? Or do you say so no longer ?

Cal. I do.

Socr. Those, therefore, that rejoice, are good; but those
that suffer pain are bad ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. And those that are more so, more, but those that are
less so, less? and those that are equally so, equally ?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. Do vou not Say, then, that the wise and the foolish,

200 GORGIAS.

cowards and the brave, rejoice and grieve in an equal degree,
or cowards even more ?

Cal. I do.

117. Socr. Now in common with me, draw the inferences
that result from these admissions. For, they say, it is beautiful
to repeat and consider beautiful things twice, and even thrice.
We say, that the prudent and brave man is good; do we not?

Cal. Yee,

Socr. But that the foolish man and a coward is bad?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Again, that he who rejoices is good? .

Cal. Yes.

Socr. And that he who suffers pain is bad?

Cal. Necessarily so.

Socr. And that the good and the bad suffer pain and rejoice
equally, but perhaps the bad more?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. Therefore, the bad man becomes equally bad and
good, with the good man, or even more good? Do not these
results follow, as well as the former ones, if one says that the
pleasant and the good are the same? Are not these con-
sequences necessary, Callicles ?

Cal. I have been long listening to you, Socrates, and making
concessions, considering with myself that if any one grants you
any thing, even in jest, you seize it eagerly as boys do. And
can you suppose that I or any other person in the world does
not believe that some pleasures are better, and others worse ?

118. Socr. Ho, Ho! Callicles, how cunning you are! You
treat me as a child, now asserting that these things are in this
manner, and now in another manner; trying to deceive me.
Though, at the outset, I did not think that 1 should be pur-
posely deceived by you, because you are my friend. But now
I have been mistaken, and as it seems, must needs, according
to the old proverb, make geod use of what I have, and receive
what you give me. What you now say, as it appears, is this,
that some pleasures are good, others bad; is it not so?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. And are not the profitable gocd, and the noxious bad?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. And those which effect a certain good, are profitable,
but those which effect a certain evil, bad?

GORGIAS: 201

Cal. I admit it.

Socr. Do you not speak then of such as the following; ag
for instance, with respect to the body, those pleasures whick
we just now mentioned of eating and drinking; and if some
of these produce in the body health or strength, or some other
bodily excellences, are they not good, but those that produce
the contraries of these, evil ?

Cal. Certainly.

Soer. And are not pains, in like manner, some beneficial,
others injurious ?

Cal. Undoubtedly. :

Socr, Ought we not, therefore, both to choose and to exer-
cise ourselves in such pleasures and pains as are beneficial ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. But not such as are injurious ?

Cal. That is evident.

119. Socr. For, if you remember, it was agreed between us,
Polus and me, that all things should be done for the sake of
what is good. And do you agree with us in thinking, that
the good is the end of all actions, and that all other things
ought to be done for its sake, but not it for the sake of other
things? Do you accord with us and make up the third?

Cai. I do.

Socr. We ought, then, to do both all other things and such
as are pleasant, for the sake of things good, but not good
things for the sake of such as are pleasant ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Is every man, therefore, able to choose among plea-
sant things such as are good, and such as are evil? or is
there need of a person skilled in each case ?

Cal, Of a person skilled,

Socr, Let us then again call to mind what I said to Polus
and Gorgias. I said, if you remember, that there are cer-
tain occupations which regard pleasure, and are occupied in
this alone, but are ignorant of the better and the worse: but
that there are others that know both what is good and what is
evil. And I have placed among those which have pleasure for
their object, cookery, as a skill relating to the body, but not an
art; and among those that have the good for their object I
placed the medicinal art. 120. And by the god of friendship,
Callicles, think not that you ought to jest with me, nor give

202 GORGIAS.

apy answer that may occur to you contrary to your opinion,
nor receive what I say as if I were in jest. For you see that
our discourse is on a subject, than which there is none that a
man endued even with the smallest understanding would take
more pains about, namely in what way we ought to live, whe-
ther in such a way as that to which you exhort me, engaging
in such employments of a man, as speaking among the people,
cultivating rhetoric, and applying oneself to political affairs, in
the manner which you now do; or whether we should devote
ourselves to a philosophic life, and im what the latter differs
from the former. Perhaps, then, it is best, as I just now
attempted, to make a distinction; and when we have dis-
tinguished and agreed with each other, that these are two
kinds of life, then to consider in what they differ from each
other, and which of them ought to be pursued. Perhaps,
however, you do not yet understand what I mean.

121. Cal. I do not, indeed.

Socr. I will explain it to you more clearly. Since we have
agreed, you and I, that there is something good, and some-
thing pleasant, and that the pleasant is different from the good,
and that there is a certain study and preparation for the
acquirement of each of them, one being a search after the
pleasant, and the other after the good—however, first of all,
grant me this, or not; do you grant it?

Cal. I do.

Socr. Come then, concede to me also what I said to these
men, if at the time I appeared to you to speak the truth. I said
that cookery does not appear to me to be an art, but a skill ;
and that medicine is an art; for I said that medicine considers
the nature of that which it cures, and the cause of the things
that it does, and is able to give an account of each of these:
but that the other, being concerned about pleasure, to which
its whole attention is dirécted, proceeds to it without any art
at all, neither considering the nature nor the cause of pleasure,
altogether without reason, and in a word incapable of giving
any account of itself, a mere practice and skill, only preserving
the memory of that which usually takes place, by which also
it supplies pleasures. 122. First of all, then, consider whether
these things appear to you to have been sufficiently established,
and that there are also certain other corresponding studies re-
lating to the soul, of which some follow rules of art, and re-

GORGIAS. 203

gard what is best for the soul; but others that neglect this,
and consider only, as in the former case, the pleasure of the
soul, in what way it may be procured; but paying no atten-
tion to which pleasure is better or worse, hor caring for any
thing else than gratification only, whether it be better or
worse. For my part, Callicles, there appear to me to be such
studies ; and I say that such a thing is flattery, as well in rela.
tion to the body as the soul, and to any thing else the pleasure
of which one sedulously attends to, without paying any regard
to the better and the worse. But do you entertain the same
opinion as we do respecting these things, or do you gainsay it ?

Cal. No, but I yield this point in order that our discussion
may be brought to a close, and that I may gratify Gorgias here,

Socr. Does this take place with respect to one soul, but not
with respect to two and several >

Cal. No; but it takes place with respect to two and several.

Socr. Is it not, then, possible to gratify a number of souls
collected together, without considering at all what is best ?

123. Cal. I think so.

Socr. Can you tell me, then, what those studies are which
produce this effect? Or rather, if you please, on my asking,
whichever appears to you to be one of these, say so, and which
not, deny it. And first of all, let us consider flute-playing,
Does it not appear to you to be such a thing, Callicles, as pur-
sues only our pleasure, but regards nothing else >

Cal. It appears so.

Soer, And is it not the case with all such studies, as for
instance, harp-playing in the public games ?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. And what as to the representation of choruses and
dithyrambic poetry? does it not appear to you to be of the
same kind? Do you think that Cinesias son of Meles cares
at all to express himself in such a way that his hearers may
become better? or rather what will gratify the crowd of spec-
tators ?

Cal. The latter is clearly the case, Socrates, with respect to
Cinesias,

Socr. But what as to his father Meles? Did he appear to
you to play on the harp, looking to that which is best? or
did not he look to what was most pleasant? For in singing
he offended the audience. Consider, however; does not all

204 GORGIAS,

harp-playing and dithyrambic poetry appear to you to have
been invented for the sake of pleasure?

Cal. It does.

124, Socr. But what of that venerable and wonderful ante
tragic poetry, at what does it aim? Do its endeavour and aim
appear to you to be only to gratify the spectators? or does
it strive, if any thing should be pleasing and grateful to them,
but mischievous, to avoid saying this, but if it happens to be
unpleasant and beneficial, to say and sing this, whether it gra-
tifies the spectators or not? In which of these two ways do
you think tragic poetry is framed?

Cal, This is clear, Socrates, that it rather aims at pleasure,
and the gratification of the spectators.

Socr. Did we not just now say, Callicles, that a thing of
this kind is flattery ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Come then, if any one should take from all poetry,
melody, rhythm, and measure, would any thing else than words
remain ?

Cal. Necessarily so.

Socr. Are not these words, then, addressed to a great mul-
titude, and to the people?

Cal, I admit it.

Socr. Poetry, therefore, is a kind of popular speaking.

Cal. It appears so.

Socr. Therefore it must be a rhetorical method of popular
speaking: for do not poets appear to you to employ rhetoric
in the theatres ?

Cal. They do.

125. Socr. Now, therefore, we have found a certain rhetoric
among the>people, consisting at the same time of boys and
women and men, slaves and free-men, of which we do not alto-
gether approve ; for we have called it flattery.

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Well then. But as to the rhetoric addressed to the
Athenian people, and the people in other cities consisting of
free-men, what shall we say as to that? Do the rhetoricians
appear to you always to speak with a view to what is best,
aiming at this, that the citizens may be made as good as possi-
ble by their discourses? or do they, too, endeavour to gratify
the citizens, and neglecting the public interest for the sake of

GORGIAS. 205

their own private advantage, do they treat the people as chil-
dren, trying only to gratify them, without being in the least
concerned whether they shall become better or worse by these
means ?

Cal. This is not a simple question that you ask me. For
there are some who, looking to the interest of the citizens, say
what they do; but others are such as you describe.

126. Socr. That is enough. For, if this also is twofold,
one part of it will be flattery, and a base popular speaking, but
the other will be honourable, namely, that which endeavours
to make the souls cf the citizens as good as possible, and
strives to speak what is best, whether it be pleasant or unplea-
sant to the hearers. But you have never yet seen this kind of
rhetoric. Or, if you can mention any one of the rhetoricians
who is of this stamp, why do you not tell me who he is?

Cal. But, by Jupiter, I cannot instance to you any of the
rhetoricians of the present day.

Socr. But what? Can you instance any one of the ancients
through whose means the Athenians have become better, after
he had begun to harangue them, when previously they had
been worse? For I know not who such a one is.

Cal. What? Have you not heard that Themistocles was a
good man, and Cimon and Miltiades, and Pericles, who died
lately, whom you have also heard?

Socr. If that is true virtue, Callicles, which you before men-
tioned as such, namely, for a man to gratify both his own de-
sires and those of others. But if this is not the case, but, as
we were afterwards compelled to confess, those desires which,
when satisfied, make a man better, ought to be indulged, but
those which make him worse, not so, and if there is a certain
art in this, can you say that any one of these was a man of this
kind?

Cal. I know not what to say.

127. Socr. But if you seek well, you will find out. Let us
however, consider, and see quietly if any one of these was
such. For come, is it not true that a good man, who says
what he says with a view to the best, does not speak at ran-
dom, but looking to some end? just as all other artists, look-
ing each to his own work, does not take at random and em-
ploy what he employs in his work, but so that the subject he
is at work upon may have a certain form: for instance, if you

206 GORGIAS.

will look at painters, architects, shipwrights, and any other
artists you please, you will see that each places whatever he em-
ploys in a certain order, and compels one thing to adapt itself
to and harmonize with another, until the whole workmanship
is compacted together with order and regularity. And more-
over, those other artificers, whom we just now mentioned, who
are employed about the body, teachers of gymnastics, and phy-
sicians, adorn the body in a way, and dispose it in an orderly
manner. Do we allow that this is so or not?

Cal. Let it be so. -

128. Socr. A house, then, that has acquired order and re-
gularity will be a good house, but when disorder, a bad one.

Cal. 1 admit it.

Socr. And a ship in like manner ?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. And do we not say the same with respect to our bodies ?

Cat. Certainly.

Socr. But what as to the soul? when in a state of disorder
will it be in a good condition, or when it is in a state of order
and regularity ?

Cal. From what has been said, it is necessary to grant that
the latter must be the case.

Socr, What, then, in the body, is the name of that which
results from order and regularity ?

Cal. You probably mean health and strength.

Socr. I do. But what, again, is the name of that which
subsists in the soul from order and regularity? Endeavour to
discover and mention it, as you did the name of the former.

Cal. Why do not you say what it is yourself, Socrates ?

Socr. If it pleases you better, I will. But do you, if I seem
to you to speak well, assent, if not, confute, and do not spare
me. ‘To me, then, it appears that the name belonging to the
orderly disposition of the body is the healthful, from which
health springs, and every other excellence of the body. Is it
so, or not?

Cal. It is.

Socr, But the name belonging to the orderly and regular
disposition of the soul is the legitimate and law; whence men
become obedient to law and orderly ; but these are justice and
temperance. Do you admit this or not?

Cal. Be it so.

acai PO ct Sa oe a ee EA

GORGIAS. 207

129. Socr. Will not, then, that good rhetorician who follows
the rules of art, looking to these things, address the arguments
he uses and all his actions to souls, and if he should bestow a
gift, will he not bestow it, and, if he should take any thing
away, will he not take it away with the same end, always di-
recting his attention to this, that justice may be produced in
the souls of his fellow-citizens, and injustice banished; that
temperance may be produced in them, and intemperance
banished; and, in short, that every virtue may be planted in
them, but vice driven out. Do you grant this, or not?

Cal. I do grant it.

Socr. For where is the utility, Callicles, in giving a body
diseased, and ill-disposed, abundance of the most agreeable
food or drink, or any thing else, which will not be more pro-
fitable to it than the contrary, but, according to right reason,
even less? Is this so?

Cal. Be it so.

Socr. For I think it is of no advantage for a man to live
with a miserable state of body; for thus it would be necessary
for him to live miserably: is it not so?

Cal. Yes.

Socr, And do not physicians generally allow a man in
health to satisfy his desires, as, for instance, when hungry to
eat as much as he pleases, or when thirsty to drink, but when
ill, they scarcely ever allow him to satisfy himself with what
he desires? Do you grant this too?

al, 1 do,

_180. Socr. And should not the same method, my excellent
friend, be adopted with respect to the soul? So long as it is
depraved, as being without understanding, intemperate, unjust
and unholy, one ought to restrain it from the indulgence of its
desires, and not permit it to do any thing except what will
render it better? Do you admit this or not?

Cal. I do.

Socr. For-this surely is better for the soul itself.

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. And is not to restrain any one from what he desires
to punish him?

Cal. Yes.

_ Socr. To be punished, therefore, is better for the soul than
intemperance, as you just now thought.

208 GORGIAS,

Cal. I don’t know what you mean, Socrates: ask some one
else.

Socr, This man will not submit to be benefited and to suffer
the very thing of which we are speaking, viz., punishment,

Cal. I don’t at all heed what you say; I only answered you
thus far for the sake of Gorgias.

131. Soer. Be it so. What shall we do then? Shall we
break off the discussion in the midst?

Cal. You shall determine.

Socr, But they say it is not right to leave even fables in the
midst, but a head should be placed on them, that they may not
wander without a head. Answer, therefore, to what remains,
that our discussion may have a head to it.

Cal. How importunate you are, Socrates! But, if you will
be persuaded by me, you will give up this discussion, or carry
it on with some one else.

Socr. Who else is willing? for we must not leave the dis-
cussion unfinished,

Cal. Cannot you go through with it yourself, either speak-
ing by yourself or answering yourself ?

Socr. That the saying of Epicharmus may be verified in me,
““what two men said before, I alone am able to say.” = Bat it
appears to be very necessary. If, however. we shall do so,
I think we ought all of us to strive heartily that we may
understand what is true and what false with respect to the
subject we are treating of: for it is for the common interest of
all that this should become clear, 132. I will, therefore, go
through the matter under discussion, as it appears to me to
be: but, if I shall seem to any of you to grant myself what is
not true, he must take me up and confute me. For I do not
say what I say as knowing it, but I am enquiring in common
with you, so that, if he who disputes with me should appear to
say any thing to the purpose, I shall be the first to give in to
him, I say this, however, in case you think the discussion
ought to be finished; but if you do not wish it, let us give it
up and depart.

Gorg. But it appears to me, Socrates, that we should not
depart yet, but that you should pursue the argument: and it
is evident that the others think so. And I, for my part, wish
to hear you go through the remainder of the subject.

Socr, But indeed, Gorgias, I would gladly have continued

RD PORTS lt SET

GORGIAS. 20%

to carry on the discussion with Callicles here, until I had given
him back the saving of Amphion for that of Zethus™: but
since vou are not willing, Callicles, to finish the discussion
with me, yet listen to me at least, and take me up if I appear
to you to say any thing incorrectly. And if you shall confute
me, I shall not be angry with you, as you are with me, but
you shall be recorded by me as my greatest benefactor.

Cal. Speak then yourself, my good friend, and finish the
argument,

133. Socr. Hear me then repeating the argument from the
beginning. Are the pleasant and the good the same? The
are not the same, as J and Callicles have agreed. But whether
is the pleasant to be done for the sake of the good, or the
good for the sake of the pleasant? The pleasant for the sake
of the good. But is the pleasant that, with which when pre-
sent we are pleased? and the good that, by which when pre-
sent we are good? Certainly. Now we are good, both our-
selves and all other things that are good, when a certain

virtue is present? To me this appears to be necessary, Cal-
“licles. But the virtue of each thing, whether instrument, or
body, or soul, and moreover of every animal, does not reach
a high pitch of perfection by chance, but by order, and recti-
tude, and the art that is attributed to each of them. Is this
sof Tadmit it. The virtue, then, of every thing is regulated
and adorned by order? I should say so. A certain order,
then, proper to each, becoming inherent in each, makes each
thing good? It appears soto me. The soul, therefore, that
has its own order, is better than that which is without order?
Necessarily so. That, however, which has order is orderly ?
How should it not? And that which is orderly is temperate ?
Most necessarily. 134. A temperate soul, then, is good? I
am not able to say any thing against this, my dear Callicles ;
but do you, if you can do so, inform me,

Cal. Proceed, my good friend.

Socr. I say, then, that if a temperate soul is good, that which
is affected contrariwise to the temperate is base: and this
surely is the foolish and intemperate ? Certainly. Moreover,
a temperate man would act becomingly both towards gods and
towards men? for he would not be temperate if he acted
_ unbecomingly? It must needs be so. Moreover, by acting
* See before, § 90.

DD

210 GORGES S.

becomingly towards men he would act justly, and towards the
gods piously; but it is necessary that he who acts justly and
piously should be just and pious? It must be so. It is more-
over necessary that he should be brave ? for it is not the part
of a temperate man either to pursue or avoid what is not
becoming, but to pursue and avoid those things and men,
pleasures and pains, which he ought, and to endure patiently
wherever he ought. 135. So that it is absolutely necessary,
Callicles, that the temperate man, as we have described him,
being just, brave, and pious, should be a perfectly good man,
and that a good man should do whatever he does well and
honourably, and that he who does well should be blessed and
happy, but that the wicked, who does ill, should be wretched :
but this latter would be directly contrary to the temperate
man, namely, the intemperate, whom you praised. I, there-
fore, thus lay down these things, and affirm that they are true.
But if they are true, as it seems, he who wishes to be happy
must pursue and practise temperance, and must avoid intem-
perance, every one of us with all his might, and must endea-
vour hever to stand in need of punishment, but if he does need
it, either he or any of his family, whether it be the case of a
private person, or a city, justice must be administered, and
punishment inflicted, if he is to be happy. This appears to me
to be the mark to which we ought to look for the guidance of
our life, and referring all private and public actions to this
point, that justice and temperance may be ever present with
him who will be blessed, and to act accordingly, not suffering
his desires to be intemperate, nor endeavouring to satisfy them,
which is an irremediable evil, causing a man to live like a rob-
ber. For such an one could neither be dear to any other
man, nor to God; for it is impossible there can be any commu-
nion between them; and where there is no communion there
can be no friendship. 136. The sages* too, say, Callicles,
that heaven and earth, gods and men, are held together by com-
munion, friendship, order, temperance, and justice, and for this
reason, my friend, they call this universe, ordert, and not dis-
order or intemperance. You, however, appear to me not to
attend to these things, and this though you are wise ; but it
has escaped your observation that geometrical equality has

s The Pythagoreans, especially Empedocles.
t Kéouos, “ order,” signifying also ‘the world.”

GORGIAS. 20)

great power both among gods and among men; on the con
trary you think that every one should strive to get more than
others ; for you neglect geometry. Well then; either this
argument of mine must be confuted, and it must be shewn that
the happy are not happy from the possession of justice and
temperance, and the wretched, wretched from vice; or, if the
argument is true, we must consider what are its results. Now,
Callicles, all those things before mentioned, with respect to
which you asked me if I was speaking in earnest, result from
it, to the effect that a man should accuse himself, his son, and
his friend, if he committed any injustice, and should employ
rhetoric for this purpose. And what you thought Polus granted _
through shame was therefore true, that by how much it is
more base to do an injury than to be injured, by so much is it
worse: and that he who would be a good orator ought to be
just and skilled in the knowledge of things just ; which, again,
Polus said Gorgias acknowledged through shame.

137. This then being the case, let us consider what it is
that you find fault with in me, and whether you are right or
‘not in saying that I can neither assist myself, nor any of my
friends or domestics, nor save myself from the greatest dangers,
but that I am in the power of any one who chooses, like men
marked with infamy, if he pleases, according to that petulant
expression of yours, to strike me on the face, or to take away
my property, or expel me from the city, or, worst of all, to
kill me, and that to be thus circumstanced, is the most dis-
graceful of all things, according to your opinion. But mine
is this, it has indeed been often mentioned, yet nothing pre-
vents its being again repeated; I deny, Callicles, that to be
struck in the face unjustly is most disgraceful, or for my body
or purse to be cut, but that to strike unjustly and to cut me
and mine, is both more disgraceful and worse, and that to rob,
enslave, break open a house, and, in short, to injure in any
respect me and mine, is both more disgraceful and worse for
him who does the injury than for me who am injured. 138.
These things, that were proved to be thus in the former part
of our discussion, as I affirm, are held and bound (though it
is somewhat rude to say so) in reasons of iron and ada-
mant, as would really appear to be the case, so that unless "
you or some one stronger than you can break them, it is
not possible that any one who says otherwise than as I now

212 GORGIAS.

say can speak correctly ; for my statement is always the same,
that I know not how these things are, but that of all the per-
sons with whom I have ever conversed, as now with you, no
one, who says otherwise, can avoid being ridiculous. I there-
fore again assert that these things are so. But if this is the
case, and injustice is the greatest of evils to him that commits
it, and if, great as this evil is, it is still a greater, if possible,
for one who acts unjustly not to be punished, what kind of help
will that be; which, if a man cannot procure for himself, he
would be really ridiculous? will it not be that which would
avert from us the greatest harm? But there is an absolute
necessity that this should be most disgraceful, for a man not
to be able to assist either himself, or his friends and domestics,
next to that, an inability to avoid the second evil, and the third,
an inability to avoid the third evil, and so on with the rest, in
proportion to the magnitude of each evil, so is it beautiful to
be able to avoid each of them, and disgraceful not to be able.
Is the case thus or otherwise, Callicles ?

Cal. No otherwise.

139. Socr. Of these two things then, the doing injustice
and receiving an injury, we say that to do injustice is a greater
evil, but to receive an injury a less one. By recourse to what
means, then, could a man so assist himself as to have both
these advantages, that of not doing mjustice, and that of not
receiving an injury? Is it by power, or will? I mean thus:
whether, if a man wishes not to be injured, will he not be in-
jured, or, if he has acquired the power of not being injured, will
he not be injured ?

Cal. It is clear that he will not, if he has acquired the power.

Socr. But what with respect to doing injustice? Whether,
if any one wishes not to do injustice, is this sufficient, (for in
that case he will not do it,) or, besides this, is it requisite to
acquire a certain power and art, so that, unless he has learned
and practised them, he will do injustice? Come then, answer
me this question, Callicles; whether do Polus and I appear to
you to have been compelled, rightly or not, to make that ad-
mission in the former part of our discussion, when we admitted
that no one willingly commits injustice, but that all who do
commit it do so unwillingly ?

Cal. Let that point be granted, Socrates, in order that you
may bring the argument to a conclusion.

oe

GORGIAS. 213

Socr. For this purpose, then, as it appears, we must acquire
a certain power and art, in order that we may not commit in-
justice.

Cai. Certainly.

140. Socr. What then is the art by means of which a man
will receive no injury at all, or scarcely any >” Consider, if it
appears to you the same as it does to me. For to me it
appears thus; either that he ought to govern in a city or
even have absolute power, or be a friend of the existing
government.

Cal. Do you observe, Socrates, how ready I am to praise
you, if you say any thing well? This you appear to me to
have said remarkably well.

Socr. Consider also, whether I appear to you to say this
well. Each person seems to me for the most part to be a
friend to each, according as the ancient sages say “like to .
like :’’ does it not seem so to you?

Cal. It does.

Socr. Wherever, therefore, a savage and uneducated tyrant
governs, if there should be any one in the city much better
than him, would not the tyrant fear him, and never be able to
be cordially his friend ?

Cal. Such is the case.

Socr. Nor yet, if any one should be much worse than the
tyrant, would he become his friend; for the tyrant would
despise him, nor ever feel any affection for him as a friend.

Cal. This also is true.

141. Socr. It remains, therefore, that he alone would be a
friend, worthy of notice, to such a man, who, having a similar
disposition, should blame and praise the same things, and be
willing to be governed by and submit to his sway. Such a
person will have great influence in this city, and no one will
injure him with impunity. Is it not so?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. If, therefore, any young man in this city should con-
sider within himself, “‘ How could I obtain influence, and be
injured by no one?” this, as it seems, must be his method, he
must from his very youth accustom himself to rejoice and
grieve at the same things as the despot, and contrive to make
himself as like him as possible. Is it not so?

Cal. Yes.

214 GORGIAS.

Socr. Will not he, then, have managed so as not to be in-
Jured, and to have great power in that city, according to your
argument ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Will he also manage not to commit injustice? or far
from it, since he will be like the governor, who is unjust, and
will have great influence with him? I think, for my part, that
quite contrariwise he will contrive so as to be able to commit
the greatest injustice and not to be punished for it. Will he
not?

Cal. It appears so.

Socr. Will not, then, the greatest evil befal him, in conse-
quence of being depraved in his soul, and tainted through imi-
tation of the despot and his influence with him >

142. Cal. I know not, Socrates, how you always turn the
arguments upside down. Do you not know, that he who
imitates can kill him who does not imitate the despot if he
pleases, and deprive him of his property ?

Socr. I do know it, good Callicles, unless I am deaf, since I
have just now heard it often both from you and Polus, and
from almost every one else in the city. But do you in your
turn listen to me: he will kill him if he pleases, but a depraved
man, one who is upright and good.

Cal, And is not this a thing to be indignant at ?

Socr. Not to a man of sense, as our argument proves. Do
you think that a man should aim at this; to live as long as
possible, and should study those arts which always preserve us
from dangers, as rhetoric which you bid me study, and which
saves us in courts of justice ?

Cal. I do, by Jupiter, and therein I advise you well.

148. Socr. What then, my excellent friend, does the science
of swimming too appear to you to be very fine?

Cal. No, by Jupiter.

Socr. And yet this too saves men from death, when they fall
into such a danger as requires this science, But if this appears
to you to be mean, I will mention to you one more important
than this, namely that of piloting a ship, which not only saves
lives, but also bodies and property from extreme danger, just
as rhetoric does. And this art is moderate and modest, and
does not brag and strut as if it accomplished something won-
derful, but when it has accomplished the same thing as the

GORGIAS. 215

forensic art, if it has brought us safe here from A%gina, it de-
mands, I think, two oboli, and if from Egypt or the Pontus,
for so great a benefit in having brought safe what I now men-
tion, ourselves and children, our property and wives, and in
having landed them in port, it usually demands two drachms,
and the man who possesses this art, and accomplishes these
things, when he has disembarked, walks by the sea and his
ship, with a modest gait. 144. For he knows, I think, how
to reason with himself, that it is uncertain whom of his pas-
sengers he has benefited by not allowing them to be drowned,
and whom he has injured, knowing that he has not put them
ashore in any respect better than they were when they went on
board, either as to their souls or bodies. He therefore reasons
with himself, that if one who is afflicted in his body with severe
and incurable diseases should happen not to be drowned, such
aman is indeed miserable for having escaped death, and has
received no benefit from him; but if any one labours under
many and incurable diseases in that which is more precious
than the body, his soul, such a one ought" not to live, nor
would he benefit him, if he saved him from the sea, or from a
court of justice, or from any other danger, for he knows that it
is not better for a depraved man to live, because he must needs
live badly. For this reason, it is not usual for a pilot to boast,
although he saves our lives; nor, my admirable friend, is it
usual for an engineer who is sometimes able to save, no less
than a general of an army, not to mention a pilot or any other
person; for sometimes he saves whole cities. Does it not
appear to you that he is fit to be compared with a forensic
orator? though, if he chose to speak, Callicles, as you do, ex-
tolling his own art, he would overwhelm you with words,
urging and exhorting you to the fitness of your becoming an
engineer, for that other things are of no consequence ; and he
would have enough to say. 145, You, however, would never-
theless despise him and his art, and, by way of reproach would
call him an engineer, and would neither give your daughter to
his son, nor accept his daughter for your son. Though, if
from the reasons for which you praise your own art, on what
just pretext do you despise the engineer, and the others whom
T have just now mentioned? I know that you would say you

_* The negative particle here expressed, is in the original at the begin-
ning of the paragraph, Aoyiera: odv, 81 odk. See Stallbaum’s lucid note,

216 GORGIAS.

are better, and of a better family. But if that which is better
is not what I say it is, but if excellence consists in this, for a
man to save himself and his property, whatever kind of man.
he may be, then your contempt for the engineer and the phy-
sician, and for whatever other arts are pursued for the purpose
of preservation, is ridiculous.

But, my good friend, consider whether that which is noble
and good is not something else than to save and be saved;
and whether that principle, that one should live as long as one
can, is not to be given up by one who is truly a man, and life
not too fondly loved, but that leaving these things to the care
of the deity, and believing the women, who say that no man
can avoid his fate, one should consider this, by what means one
may pass the remainder of one’s life in the best possible
manner, whether by conforming one’s-sclf to the government
under which one dwells. 146. And in that case whether it is
right that you should resemble as much as possible the Athe-
nian people, if you wish to be dear to them, and to have great
influence in their city? Consider whether this is advantageous
to you and to me, lest, my admirable friend, we should suffer
what they say the Thessalian* witches did, who drew down
the moon, and our choice of this power in the city should be
attended with the loss of what is dearest to us. If, however,
you think that any man in the world can teach you any such
art, as will cause you to have great power in this city, while
you are unlike the character of the people, whether for the
better or the worse, as appears to me, Callicles, you are not
rightly advised. For you must not only be an imitator of, but
like them in your natural disposition, if you mean to do any
thing effectual towards gaining the friendship of the Athenian
people, and, by Jupiter, you must towards that of the son of
Pyrilampes. Whoever, therefore, shall make you most like
them, will make you a politician and an orator, such as you
desire to be. For all men are delighted with arguments suited
to their own dispositions, but are angry with such as are
strange to them; unless you, my dear friend, have any thing
to say to the contrary. 147. Have we any objection to make
to this, Callicles >

Cal. I do not know how it is, Socrates, you appear to me to.

They are said to have lost the use of their eyes and feet.

GORGIAS, 217

speak well. Yet that which happens to most happens to me;
Tam not quite persuaded by you.

Socr. For the love of the people, Callicles, dwelling in your
soul, resists me; but perhaps, if we should often and more
fully examine into these same. matters, you would be persuaded.
Remember, then, that we said there were two methods for the
cultivation of each, both the body and the soul, and that one
had reference to pleasure, but the other to that which is best,
not by gratifying, but opposing the inclinations. Js not this
what we before settled ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. The one, then, that looks to pleasure is ignoble, and
nothing else than flattery ; is it not?

Cal. Be it so, if you please. é
Socr. But the other endeavours that that which we cultivat
may be made as excellent as possible, whether it be the body

or the soul ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. Must we then so endeavour to cultivate the city and the
citizens, that. we may make the citizens themselves as good as
possible? For without this, as we discovered before, it is of no
advantage to confer any other benefit upon them, unless the
mind of those who are about to receive either great riches,
or dominion or any other power, be upright and good. Shall
we lay this down, as being so?

Cal. Certainly, if it is more agreeable to you.

148. Socr. If, therefore, Callicles, when setting about some
public works, we were to exhort one another to works of archi-
tecture, as to very large buildings of walls, or docks or tem-
ples, would it be necessary that we should consider and ex-
amine ourselves, first, whether we are skilled or not in the art

of architecture, and from whom we learnt it? Would this be
necessary or not ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr, Then, secondly, we should consider this, whether we
have ever constructed any private building, either for any one
of our friends, or for ourselves, and whether this building is
beautiful or ugly. And if on examination we found that our
masters had been good and famous, and that we have con-
structed, in conjunction with our masters, many and_ beautiful
buildings, and many privately by ourselves, after we had left

218 GORGIAS.

our masters, in that case it would become men of sense to un-
dertake public works: but if we were not able to shew that
we had a master, nor any building at all, or many and those of
no account, it world surely in that case be foolish to attempt
public works, and to exhort one another to undertake them.
Shall we admit that this is well said, or not?

Cal. Certainly.

149. Soer, And is not this the case with all other things,
and if, attempting to serve the public in the capacity of phy-
sicians, we should exhort each other, as if we were skilful phy-
sicians, should not you and I examine each other thus: By the
gods, in what state is Socrates with respect to bodily health ?
Has any other person, whether slave or freeman, been cured by
Socrates of any disease? And I too, I think, should make
similar enquiries about you. ‘And if we did not find that any
one, whether stranger or citizen, man or woman, had been im-
proved in health by our means, by Jupiter, Callicles, would it
not be truly ridiculous, that men should come to such a pitch
of folly, as before they had practised much in private, as best
they could, and had succeeded in many cases, and thoroughly
exercised the art, to attempt to learn the potter’s art in making
a pitcher, as the proverb goes, and attempt to serve the public
in the capacity of physician, and exhort others to do the same ?
Does it not appear to you that it would be foolish to act
thus ?

Cal. It does.

150. Socr. But now, O best of men, since you have your-
self just now begun to busy yourself in affairs of state, and you
exhort and reprove me because I do not busy myself about
them, should we not examine each other; Come then, whom of
the citizens has Callicles yet made better? Is there any one —
who, being before depraved, unjust, intemperate, and foolish,
has become upright and good through Callicles, whether stranger
or citizen, slave or free-man? Tell me, Callicles, if any one
should ask you these questions, what will you say? Who will
you say has been made better by associating with you? Are
you ashamed to answer, whether you have done any such
work while you were in a private capacity, before you at-
tempted to interfere in public affairs?

Cal. You are cavilling, Socrates.

Socr. I do not ask you from a desire to cavil, but really wish-

GORGIAS. Ang

ing to know in what way you think public affairs ought to be con-
ducted by us; whether on undertaking the management of
affairs of state we ought to attend to any thing else than how
we may become as good citizens as possible. Have we not
already often admitted that a politician ought to do this Have
we admitted it or not? Answer. We have admitted it; I
will answer for you. 151. If, then, a good man ought to en-
deavour to procure this for his city, now call to mind and say
with respect-to those men whom you a little before mentioned,
whether they still appear to you to have been good citizens,
Pericles, Cimon, Miltiades and Themistocles.

Cal. To me they do.

Socr. If, therefore, they were good citizens, it is evident
that each of them made their fellow-citizens better instead of
worse. Did they so, or not?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. When Pericles, therefore, began to speak in public,
were the Athenians worse than when he addressed them for
the last time ?

Cal. Perhaps so.

Socr. There is no ‘perhaps’ in the case, my good friend,
but this is a necessary consequence from what has been ad-
mitted, if he really was a good citizen.

Cal. But what then?

Socr. Nothing. But tell me this moreover, whether the
Athenians are supposed to have become better through Pericles,
or quite the contrary, to have been corrupted by him, For so
I hear, that Pericles made the Athenians idle, cowardly, talka-
tive and avaricious, having been the first to give them pay.

Cal. You hear this, Socrates, from those whose ears have
been bruised.

152. Socr. However, I no longer hearthis, but I know well and
so do you, that Pericles at first bore a high character, and that
the Athenians passed no ignominious sentence upon him, when
they were worse, but when by his means they had become
upright and good, towards the close of the life of Pericles, they
condemned him for peculation, and were on the point of sen-
tencing him to death, clearly as being a bad citizen.

Cal. What then? Was Pericles on this account a bad man?

y The Spartans; see the Protagoras, § 80.

220 GORGIAS.

Socr. Such an one, indeed, would be thought a bad manager
of asses, horses, and oxen, if having received them, neither
kicking, nor butting, nor biting, he should make them do all
these things through vice. Does not every trainer of any ani-
mal whatever appear to you to be a bad one, who, having re-
ceived it gentle, has made it more vicious than he received it?
Does he appear so, or not?

Cal. Certainly, that I may gratify you.

Socr. Gratify me, then, by answering this too, whether man
is of the class of animals, or not?

Cal. How should he not be?

Socr. Had not Pericles, then, the care of men?

Cal. Yes.

153. Soer. What then? Ought they not, as we just now
admitted, to have become more just, instead of more unjust,
under his management, if he who took charge of them was a
good politician ?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. And are not the just gentle, as Homer? says? What
say you? Is it not so?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. However, he made them more savage than he re-
ceived them, and this against himself, which he would least of
all have wished.

Cal. Do you wish that I should agree with you?

Socr. If I seem to you to speak the truth.

Cal. Be it so, then.

Socr. If, then, he made them more savage, he must have
made them more unjust, and worse ?

Cal. Be it so.

Socr. According to this reasoning, then, Pericles was not a
good politician ?

Cal. Not, as you say.

Socr. By Jupiter, nor as you say either, from what you
have admitted. But, again, tell me with respect to Cimon.
Did not they whom he took care of pass a sentence of ostra-
cism upon him, in order that they might not hear his voice for
ten years? And did they not do the very same to Themisto-
cles, and beside punish him with exile? And did they not
sentence Miltiades, the conqueror at Marathon, to be thrown

z Odyss. vil. 120.

GORGIAS. 221

into the Barathrum, and but for the Prytanis, would he not
have been thrown into it? These, however, if they had been
good men, as you say, would never have suffered these things.
154. Good drivers, surely, do not at first keep themselves
from falling from their cars, but, when they have trained their
horses, and have themselves become better drivers, then fall
off. This is never the case, either in driving, or in any other
employment. Does it appear so to you?

Cal. To me it does not.

Socr. Our former statements, then, as it appears, are true,
that we do not know any man who has been a good politician
in this city. You admit that you know of none at present,
but you say that formerly there were some, and you have
selected these men: but these have appeared to be much the
same as those of the present day, so that, if they were orators,
they did not make use of the true rhetoric, for in that case
they would not have fallen, nor yet did they employ flattery.

Cal. However, Socrates, it is far from being the case, that
any one of the present day will ever do such deeds as were
done by any one of those,

Socr, Neither, my excellent friend, do I ‘blame these men,
as servants of the city, but they appear to me to have been
more efficient than those of the present day, and better able to
procure for the city what it desired. But in changing and
repressing their desires, by persuading and compelling them
to such a course as would make the citizens become better,
they scarcely differed at all from those of the present day ; yet
that is the only duty of a good citizen. But, with respect to
providing ships, walls, and docks, and many other such things,
I agree with you, that they were more able than the men of
our day. 155. You and I, however, act ridiculously in our
discussion. For during the whole time that we have been
conversing we have not ceased to go round and round the
same subject, and to misunderstand each what the other says.
I think that you have often admitted and acknowledged that
there is a twofold method of treatment, both with respect to
the body and with respect to the soul: and that the. one is
ministerial, by which we are enabled to procure food, if our
bodies are hungry, drink, if they are thirsty, and if they are
cold, garments, coverlids, shoes, and all other things which
the body stands in need of. And I purposely speak to you

22 GORGIAS.

through these images, in order that you may understand
me more easily. For when any one supplies these things,
being cither a retail tradesman or a merchant, or a manufac-
turer of any of them, a baker, a cook, a weaver, a shoemaker,
or tanner, it is not at all surprising that such a person should
appear, both to himself and others, to be concerned in the care
of the body, that is, to all who are ignorant that, besides all
these, there is a gymnastic and medicinal art, to which the
care of the body really belongs, and whose duty it is to rule ©
over all these arts, and to use their respective productions,
through knowing what meats or drinks are good and bad
for the health of the body, whereas all those others are igno-
rant of this; for which reason all those other arts are servile,
ministerial, and base, as regards the management of the body,
but the gymnastic art and medicine are justly the mistresses of
these. 156. That the case is the same with respect to the soul,
you, at one time, appeared to me to have understood, and ad-
mitted it as if you knew what I meant ; but shortly afterwards
you went on to say that there have been good and upright men
in this city, and when I asked you who they were, you appeared
to me to adduce men very similar with respect to politics, as
if, on my asking with respect to gymnastics, who have been or
are good managers of the body, you had very seriously said
to me, Thearion the baker, Mithecus, who wrote on Sicilian
cookery, and Sarambus the tavern-keeper, and that they take
wonderful care of the body, the first making admirable bread,
the second, made-dishes, and the third, wine. Perhaps, then,
you would be angry if I said to you, My friend, you know
nothing about gymnastics ; you tell me of men who are minis-
ters and purveyors to desires, but who do not understand any
thing great and good respecting them, and who, it may so hap-
pen, having filled men’s bodies, and made them gross, and having
been praised by them, end by ruining their old flesh. These
men, on the other hand, through their ignorance, will not
blame those who have pampered their appetites, as being the ~
causes of their diseases, and of the loss of their old flesh, but
they who may happen to have been with them, and to have
given them some advice, when, after a long time, repletion,
having been indulged in without any regard to health, comes
bringing disease with it, these they will accuse and blame, and
do them some mischief if they can, but those others, who are

GORGIAS. 223

the causes of their maladies, they will extol. 157. And now
you, Callicles, act in very much the same way; you extol men
who have pampered the Athenians by satiating their desires,
and who they say have made the city great; and they do not
perceive that it is swollen, and unsound through means of
those ancient politicians: for, without considering temperance
and justice, they have filled the city with harbours and docks,
and walls and tributes, and such trifles. When, therefore, the
crisis of their weakness comes, they will blame the advisers
who are then present, but will extol Themistocles, Cimon, and
Pericles, who were the causes of the mischief: and you perhaps,
unless you are on your guard, and my friend Alcibiades, they
will seize, when they have lost what they had before in ad-
dition to what they have acquired, although you are not the
causes of the mischief, but perhaps accomplices. 158. More-
over, I both now see a very foolish thing happening, and I hear
of it with respect to men of former times. For I perceive that
when a city punishes any of its politicians as guilty of wrong,
they are angry, and complain bitterly that they are treated
shamefully; and having done the city many good services,
they are then unjustly ruined by it, as they allege. But the
whole is a falsehood. For no president of a city can ever be
unjustly ruined by the very city over which he presides. For
the case seems to be the same with such as profess themselves
to be politicians, as it is with the sophists. For the sophists,
though wise in other things, commit this absurdity ; whereas
they affirm that they are teachers of virtue, they often accuse
their disciples of acting unjustly towards them, by defrauding
them of their wages, and not making other requitals for the
benefits they have received from them. But what can be more
unreasonable than such language as this, that men who have
become good and just, who have been freed from injustice by
their teacher, and have acquired justice, should yet act unjustly
from that very quality which they have not? Does not this,
my friend, appear to you to be absurd? Of a truth, Callicles,
you have compelled me to make a speech by your unwillingness
to answer me.

159. Cal. But should you not be able to speak unless some
one answered you ¢

Socr. It seems as if I could: for now I have carried my dis-
course to a great length, seeing that you will not answer me.

224 GORGIAS.

But my good friend, tell me, by Jupiter, the guardian of
friendship, does it not appear to you unreasonable, that a man
who says he has made another person good, should blame that
person, because having been made good through his means,
and being so, he has afterwards become bad ?

Cal. ‘To me it appears so.

Socr. Do you not, then, hear those speak in this manner who
profess to instruct men in virtue ?

Cal. Ido. But what can you say of men of no worth ?

Socr. What then can you say of those, who, while they pro-
fess to preside over the city, and to take care that it shall be
as good as possible, then accuse it, when it so happens, as
being very bad? Do you think that these differ at all from
the former? My good man, a sophist and an orator are the
same thing, or nearly so, and very like, as I said to Polusa,
But you, through ignorance, think that rhetoric is something
exceedingly beautiful, and despise the other. But, in truth,
the sophist’s art is as much more beautiful than rhetoric, as
the legislative is than the judicial, and the gymnastic art than
medicine. 160. But I for my part think that public speakers
and sophists alone ought not to complain of the very thing
that they teach, as being mischievous to themselves, or’ that
im the very same charge they should at the same time accuse
themselves for not haying at all benefited those whom they
profess to have benefited. Is it not so?

Cal. Certainly.

Socr. And surely to impart a benefit without a stipulated
reward, as is probable, is proper for these men only, if they
assert what is true. For one who has received any other
kind of benefit, as, for instance, who has acquired swiftness
of foot through the instructions of a teacher of gymnastics,
perhaps might deprive him of his gratuity, if the teacher of
gymnastics had left it to him, without having made an agree-
ment for a fixed price, that he should be paid the money as
nearly as possible at the same time that he imparted his skill
to him. For men, I think, do not act unjustly through slow-
ness, but through injustice. Do they not?

Cal ek,

Socr, If, therefore, any one should take away this, I mean
injustice, there would be no danger of his ever being treated

® See § 46.

aa

GORGIAS 225

unjustly, but he alone might safely impart this benefit, if in
truth he is able to make men good. Is it not so?

Cal. I admit it.

161. Socr. For this reason then, as it appears, it is not at
all disgraceful to take money’ for giving advice about other
things, as, for instance, about architecture, or other arts.

Cal. So it appears.

Socr. But with respect to this study, by what means a man
may become as good as possible, and may best govern his own
family or a city, it is reckoned disgraceful to withhold advice,
except one should give him money, Is it not so?

Cal. Yes.

Socr. For it is evident that this is the reason that this alone
of all benefits makes the person who has received it desirous
of requiting it; so that it appears to be a good sign, if he who
has imparted this benefit shall be recompensed in return; but
otherwise not. Is this so?

Cal. It is,

Socr. To which method, then, of taking care of the city do you
advise me? explain to me; whether to that of thwarting the
Athenians, in order that they may become as good as possible,
as if I were a physician, or to that by which I should serve
them, and curry favour with them. Tell me the truth, Cal-
licles. For, as you begun to speak freely to me, it is right
you should continue to say what you think, And now speak
well and nobly.
~Cal. I say, then, that I advise you to serve them.

162. Socr. You advise me, therefore, most noble Sir, to
employ flattery.

Cal. Unless you prefer calling him a Mysian®, Socrates ; for
if you will do so— :

Socr. Do not repeat what you have often said, that any
one who pleases will kill me, lest I too should say again, that
a bad man would slay a good one; nor that he will take away
_ my property, if I have any, lest I too should say again, that
after he has taken it away he will not be able to make any
use of it, but as he has unjustly taken it from me, so having
got it, he will make an unjust use of it; and if unjustly, basely ;
and if basely, wickedly.

Cal. How confident you seem to me to be, Socrates, that you

> A name of the utmost contempt.
Q

226 GORGIAS

will never suffer any of these things, as being one who lives
out of harm’s way, and who can never be brought before a
court of justice by a man, perhaps, utterly depraved and vile!

Socr. I should indeed be foolish, Callicles, if I did not
think that any one in this city might suffer any thing that
might happen. This however I well know, that if I should
zo before a court of justice, and be exposed to any of the
dangers you mention, he who takes me thither will be a bad
man. For no good man would accuse one who has not com-
mitted injustice. And it would not be at all wonderful, if I
should be condemned to death. Do you wish I should tell
you why I expect this? ‘

Cal. By all means.

163. Socr. I think that I, in conjunction with a few Athe-
nians, (that I may not say alone.) apply myself to the true
political art, and alone of those of the present day perform the
dutics of a citizen. Since, then, in the conversations which I
enter into from time to time, I do not speak for the purpose
of conciliating popular favour, but with a view to that which
is best, and not to that which is most agreeable, and as I am
not willing to do those fine things that you advise, I shall not |
have any thing to say in a court of justice. And the same
illustration occurs to me that I mentioned to Polus. For I
should be judged as a physician would be judged by children,
with a cook for his accuser. For consider what defence such
a man would make when taken before them, if one should
accuse him as follows: ‘O boys, this man has done you a great
deal of mischief, and destroys both you and even the youngest
of you, for, by cutting, cauterizing, weakening and choking
you, he reduces you to great straits, giving you the bitterest
draughts, and compelling you to hunger and thirst; not as I
do who feed you with many sweet and various dainties.’ What
do you think a physician when brought to such an extremity
would have to say? If he should say the truth, ‘I did all these
things, boys, for your health,’ what a clamour do you think
such judges would raise against him? Would it not be loud?

Cal. Probably ; one must think so, at least.

164. Socr. Do you not think, then, that he would be alto-
ether at a loss what to say?

Cal. Certainly.

Soer. And I know that I should be treated just in the same

: GORGIAS. 227.
way, if I came before a court of justice. For I should not be
able to mention any pleasures which I had procured for them,
which they consider as benefits and advantages ; but I neither
envy those who procure them, nor those for whom they are
procured. And if any one should say that T corrupt younger
men, by causing them to doubt, or that I revile the elder men,
by speaking bitter words, either privately or publicly, I should
not_be able to say the truth, that “I say and do all these things
justly, and for your advantage, judges, and nothing else.’”” So
that I should probably suffer whatever might happen.

Cal. Does a man, then, appear to you, Socrates, to be well
off in a city who is thus circumstanced, and is unable to help
hitaeeli?.-"

165. Socr. If there is that in him, Callicles, which you have
often allowed, namely, if he can assist himself, by neither hay-
ing said or done any thing unjust towards men or towards
gods. For this aid has often been acknowledged by us to be
the best that a man can have for himself. If, therefore, any
one could convict me of being unable to afford this assistance
either to myself or another, I should be ashamed, whether con-

-victed before many or few, or alone by myself, and if I should
be put to death for this inability I should be deeply grieved :
but if I should die through want of flattering rhetoric, I well
know that you would behold me meeting death cheerfully.
For death itself no one fears, who is not altogether irrational
and cowardly, but he does fear to commit injustice; for to go
to Hades with a soul full of crimes is the worst of all evils.
But, if you please, I will tell you a story to shew that such is
the case.

Cal. Since you haye brought the rest to a conclusion, bring
this to a conclusion also.

166. Socr. Hear then, as they say, a very beautiful tale,
which you will consider a fable, as I think, but I a tale; for
what I am about to tell you, I tell you as being true. As
Homer says°*, then, Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto, divided the
government among themselves, after they had received it from
their father. This law, then, respecting men was in existence
in the time of Saturn, and always was, and still is, established
among the gods, that a man who has passed through life justly
and piously when he dies should go to the isles of the blessed,

coliiad, xv. 187

228 GORGIAS.

and dwell in all perfect happiness free from evil, but that he
who has lived unjustly and impiously should go to a prison cf
punishment and justice, which they call Tartarus. During the
reign of Saturn, and even recently when Jupiter held the
government, there were living judges of the living, who passed
sentence on the very day on which any one was about to die.
In consequence of this sentences were awarded badly. Pluto,
therefore, and the guardians of the blessed isles, went to Ju-
piter, and informed him that men came to them who did not
deserve either sentence. 167. Jupiter, therefore, said, I will
prevent this in future. For now sentences are badly awarded,
because those that are Judged are judged clothed, for they are
judged while living. Many, therefore, he continued, whose
souls are depraved are invested with beautiful bodies, nobi-
lity of birth, and riches, and when the judgment takes place,
many witnesses come in their behalf, to testify that they have
lived justly. Hence the judges are awed by these things, and
moreover, they too pass sentence when clothed, for their minds
are veiled with eyes and ears, and the whole body. - All these
things, then, are obstacles to them, as well their own clothing
as that of those that are judged. First of all, then, they must
no longer be allowed to know beforehand the time of their
death: for at present they do know it beforehand. Prome-
theus, therefore, has orders to deprive them of this power:
next they must be judged divested of all these things; for
they must be judged after they are dead: the judge too must
be naked and dead, and examine with his soul the soul of each
immediately after death, destitute of all his kindred, and leav-
ing all that ornament on the earth, in order that the judgment
may be just. 168. Now I had observed these things before
you, and accordingly have appointed my sons as judges, two
from Asia, Minos and Rhadamanthus, and one from Europe,
fEacus. These, then, when they are dead, shall judge in the
meadow, at the three roads, of which two lead one to the isles
of the blessed, the other to Tartarus. And Rhadamanthus
shall judge those from Asia, and AZacus those from Europe.
But to Minos I will give the prerogative of deciding in case
any doubt occurs to the two others, in order that the judg-
ment respecting the path men are to take may be as just as
possible.

These are the things, Callicles, which I have heard, and be-

rg

GORGIAS. 229

lieve to be true: and from these statements I infer the follow-
ing results. Death, as it appears to me, is nothing else than the
separation of two things, the soul and the body, from each other.
But when they are. separated from each other, each of them
possesses pretty much the same habit that the man had when
alive, the body its own nature, culture and affections, all
distinct. 169. So that if any one’s body, while living, was
large by nature, or food, or both, his corpse when he is dead
is also large; and if corpulent, his corpse is corpulent when he
is dead; and so with respect to other things. And if again he
took pains to make his hair grow long, his corpse also has long
hair. Again, if any one has been well whipped, and while
living had scars in his body, the vestiges of blows, either from
scourges or other wounds, his dead body also is seen to retain
the same marks. And if the limbs of any one were broken or
distorted while he lived, these same defects are distinct when
he is dead. In a word, of whatever character any one has made
his body to be while living, such will it distinctly be, entirely
or for the most part, for a certain time after he is dead. The
same thing too, Callicles, appears to me to happen with re-
spect to the soul; all things are distinctly manifest in the soul
after it is divested of body, as well its natural disposition, as
the affections which the man has acquired in his soul, from his
various pursuits. 170. When, therefore, they come to the
judge, those from Asia to Rhadamanthus, Rhadamanthus,
having made them stand before him, examines the soul of
each, not knowing whose it is, but often meeting with the
soul of the great king, or of some other king or potentate, he
sees nothing sound in the soul, but finds it thoroughly marked
with scourges and full of scars, through perjuries and injustice,
which the actions of each has imprinted on his soul, and he
finds all things distorted through falsehood and arrogance, and
nothing upright, in consequence of its having been nurtured
without truth; he also sees the soul full of disproportion and
baseness through power, luxury, wantonness and intemperate
conduct. On seeing it he forthwith sends it ignominiously to
prison, where on its arrival it will undergo the punishment it
deserves. But it is proper that every one who is punished, if
he is rightly punished by another, should either become better,
and be benefited by it, or should be an example to others, that
they, beholding his sufferings, may be made better through

230 GORGIAS,

fear. 171. But those that are benefited, at the same time that
they suffer punishment both from gods and men, are such ag
have been guilty of curable offencés; their benefit however
both here and in Hades, accrues to them through means of pain
and torments ; for it is not possible to be freed from injustice
in any other way. But those who have committed the most
extreme injustice, and have become incurable through such
crimes, serve as examples tp others, and these are not bene-
fited at all, as being incurable, but others are benefited by be-
holding them suffering for ever the greatest, most bitter, and
most dreadful punishments for their sins, being suspended in
the prison of Hades altogether as examples, a spectacle and
warning to the unjust men who are constantly arriving. Of
these, I say, Archelaus will be one, if Polus says true, and
every other tyrant that resembles him. I think too, that the
most of these examples will consist of tyrants, kings, and
potentates, and such as have governed the affairs of cities; for
these through their power commit the greatest and most im-
pious crimes. 172. Homer4 also bears witness to this; for he
makes those to be kings and potentates, who are punished for
ever in Hades, Tantalus, Sisyphus and Titvus; but Thersites, or
any other private man who was depraved, no one has repre-
sented as suffering great punishments as if incurable ; for I think
it was not in his power to commit them; on which account he
was more happy than those who had the power. But, Calli-
cles, the most wicked men are amongst the powerful; nothing
however hinders but that good men may be found amongst
them ; and when they are found they deserve the highest admi-
ration: for it is a difficult thing, Callicles, and deserves high
praise, when one who has great power of acting unjustly, passes
through life justly. There are however a few men of this kind;
for they have existed both here and elsewhere, and I think
there will be hereafter good and upright men, endued with the
virtue of administering justly whatever is committed to their
charge. There has been one who is very celebrated among all
the Greeks, Aristides, son of Lysimachus. But, my excellent
friend, the generality of potentates prove wicked. 173. As I
said, then, when Rhadamanthus has got any such person in his
power, he knows nothing else about him, neither who he is,
nor who are his parents, but only that he is wicked; and on
d Odyss. xi. 575, &c.

-

GORGIAS. 231

discerning this, he sends him away to Tartarus, signifying at
the same time whether he ‘appears to be curable or incurable ;
but he arriving thither suffers according to his deserts. Some-
times, Rhadamanthus beholding another soul that has passed
through life piously and wi truth, whether it be of some
private man, or any other, but I say, Callicles, especially of a
philosopher, who has attended to his own affairs, and has not
made himself very busy during life, he is delighted, and sends
it to the isles of the blessed. AZacus too, does the very same
things. And each of them passes sentence, holding a rod in
his hand. But Minos sits apart looking on, and is the only
one that has a golden sceptre, as the Ulysses of Homer ® says
he saw him; “bearing a golden sceptre, and administering
justice to the dead.” I therefore, Callicles, am persuaded by
these accounts, and consider how I may exhibit my soul before
the judge in the most healthy condition. Wherefore, disre-
garding the honours that most men value, and looking to the
truth, I shall endeavour in reality to live as virtuously as I
can, and when I die, to die so, 174, And I invite all other
men, to the utmost of my power, and you too I in turn
inyite to this life and this contest, which I affirm surpasses
all contests here, and I upbraid you because you will not be
able to assist yourself, when you will have to undergo the
senteace and judgment which I have just now mentioned ;
but when you shall come before the judge, the son of Aigina,
and when he shall seize you and bring you before his tribunal,
you will there gape and become dizzy, no less than I should
here, and perhaps some one will strike you ignominiously on
the face, and treat you with every species of contumely.
Perhaps, however, these things appear to you to be like an
old woman's fable, and you accordingly despise them. And it
would not be at all wonderful that we should despise them, if
on investigation we could find any thing better and more true
than them. But now you sce that you three, who are the
wisest of the Greeks of this day, you, Polus, and Gorgias, are
unable to prove that we ought to live any other life than such
as appears to be advantageous hereafter, but among so many
arguments, while others have been refuted, this alone remains
unshaken, that we ought to beware of committing injustice
rather than of being injured, and that above all a man ought to
€ Odyss. xi. 568.

232 GORGIAS.

study not to appear good, but to be so, both privately and
publicly: and that if any one is in any respect wicked, he
should be punished, and that this is the next good to the being
just, to become so‘, and to submit to the punishment one
deserves ; and that all flattery, whether of one’s-self or others,
whether of few or many, must be avoided; and that rhetoric,
and every other action, is always to be employed with a view
to what is just.

175. Be persuaded by me then, and follow me to that place,
by going to which you will be happy, both living and after you
are dead, as your own argument proves. And suffer any one
to despise you as senseless, and to treat you with contumely,
if he pleases, and by Jupiter, do you cheerfully let him strike
that ignominious blow ; for you will suffer nothing dreadful, if
you are in reality upright and good, and devoted to the practice
of virtue. And when we have thus exercised ourselves in
common, we will then, if it should appear desirable, apply our-
selves to politics, or we will deliberate on whatever we. shall
think desirable, being better qualified to deliberate than we now
are. For it is disgraceful, being in the condition in which we
appear to be at present, to pride ourselves, like youths, as if
we were something, who yet never retain the same opinion on
the same subjects, and these of the greatest moment; to sucha
pitch of ignorance have we reached! Let us use as our guide,
then, the reasoning that has now been made clear to us, which
teaches us, that this is the best mode of life, to live and
to die in the exercise of justice and the other virtues. This,
then, let us follow, and invite others to do the same, not that,
to which you confidently invited me: for it is of no value,
Callicles,

£ Td yiyvecOa Kat KoraCduevoy diddévar Siknv, Stallbaum translates to
become just by undergoing the punishment one deserves ;”” I cannot ex-
tract this meaning from the passage.

sd

INTRODUCTION TO THE PROTAGORAS.

Ix this dialogue Socrates relates to a friend, whose name
is not given, a discussion which he had just had with Pro-
tagoras the sophist, of Abdera.

Hippocrates, a young Athenian, had roused Socrates very
early in the morning and entreated him to accompany him
on a visit to Protagoras, who was then at Athens staying at
the house of Callias, and whose pupil he was anxious to be-
come. On arriving there, they find the sophist attended by

a crowd of admirers, and moreover Hippias of Elis and Pro-

dicus of Ceos, surrounded by their respective followers?.

After Socrates had made known the object of his visit to
Protagoras, Callias proposes that the whole party should sit
down and listen to the conversation. When all are seated,
Socrates repeats to Protagoras, that Hippocrates is desirous
of becoming his pupil, and wishes to know what advantage
he may expect to derive from associating with him. Pro-
tagoras tells him that from the very first day of their inter-
course he will become a better man than he was before, and
will daily make further progress. But, asks Socrates, in what
will he become better, and in what make further progress?
In the management of his domestic and public affairs, that is
to say, in the political art. To this Socrates objects that the
general opinion is that political virtue cannot be taught, and
that, whereas with respect to arts and sciences it was usual
only to consult persons who had made them their study and
were skilled in them, in affairs of state every one, of what-
ever condition, was at liberty to give his opinion; he there-
fore begs Protagoras to prove that virtue can be taught. To
this end Protagoras relates a fable in which he explains how
the capacity of becoming virtuous was imparted by Jupiter to

iy > § 19—29.

23+ INTRODUCTION.

mankind; and then argues that as men are punished for in-
justice, impiety, and the like, it follows that they must think
that these virtues ought to be possessed and may be acquired
by all men, for that they would not punish them for a mere
defect of mind any more than of body, if it were natural and
not attributable to the fault of the individual®.

Socrates having complimented him on his eloquence, ac-
cording to his usual method, begs that he will answer his
questions briefly; and then expresses his surprise at having
heard Protagoras speak of justice, temperance, holiness, and
the like, as if they were collectively virtue. He therefore
wishes to know whether virtue is one thing, and justice, tem-
perance and holiness, parts of it, or whether they are all names
of one and the same thing. Protagoras answers that virtue
is one thing, and these several qualities parts of it. Are they
then parts like the parts of a face, the mouth, nose, eyes, and
ears, or like the parts of gold, which do not differ from each
other? Like the former. In that case holiness and justice
must be different from each other, which, as Protagoras is at
length compelled, though unwillingly, to admit, is absurd 4,

Again, each several thing has only one contrary; for in-
stance, strength is contrary to weakness, swiftness to slowness,
ugliness to beauty, evil to good; in the same way each virtue
must have its contrary. This being granted, Protagoras is
Jed to admit that folly is contrary to temperance, and also to
wisdom; but in that case wisdom and temperance cannot be dif-
ferent from each other, as was before stated, but must be one and
the same thing. A similar course of enquiry is instituted by
Socrates, in order to shew that justice and prudence likewise
are one and the same, but the impatience of Protagoras at
finding himself driven to repeated admissions which contradict
the theory with which he set out, interrupts the discussion ; at
length, however, the breach is repaired by the interference of
the company, and it is agreed that each shall question the

© § 30—39. € 40—56.

INTRODUCTION 235,

other in turn. Protagoras begins by getting Socrates to allow
that an ode of Simonides is beautiful, but that it cannot be
beautiful if the poet contradicts himself. He then shews that
in one part of the ode it is said “that to become a good man is
difficult,” and in another part, ‘that he is not pleased with the
saying of Pittacus, where he says that it is difficult to continue
to be good.” Socrates, however, justifies the opinion he had
expressed by a minute and subtle examination of the object
the poet had in view in composing the odee,

Having concluded his criticism of the ode, Socrates is anx-
ious to bring back the discussion to the original subject, and
having with difficulty prevailed on Protagoras to consent to
this, repeats the question with which they set out, which was
to this effect: whether wisdom, temperance, courage, justice,
and holiness are five parts of virtue, differing from each other.
as the parts of the face do? Protagoras answers that they all
are parts of virtue, four of them very like each other, but the
fifth, courage, very different from all the rest. But this dis-
tinction Socrates overthrows as follows: you admit that the
courageous are daring; but they who, like divers, are bold in
a matter in which they are skilled are commended as coura-
geous, whereas they who are unskilled and yet bold are not
courageous but mad; so that according to this reasoning’ wis-
dom and courage are the same. Protagoras, however, tries to
avoid this conclusion by saying that Socrates has mis-stated his
former admission, for that he allowed only that the courageous
are bold, not that the bold are courageous. But Socrates,
with a view more certainly to convict his opponent of error,
changes his ground, and asks whether all pleasant things are
good, and all painful things evil ? Protagoras is in doubt what
answer to give; Socrates, therefore, shews that pleasure is in
itself a good, but that men mistake as to what things are plea-
sant; for knowledge alone ought to govern man, and if a man
knows good and evil he will never be overcome by any thing

© § 5790.

236 INTRODUCTION

so as to do any thing else but what knowledge bids him. Yet
there are some who say that they are overcome by pleasure or
pain; but what is it to be overcome by pleasure? nothing else
than to choose present pleasure which will result in greater
evil; in other words, to embrace a ercater evil rather than a
greater good; they, therefore, who are overcome by pleasure
are so from ignorancef,

Having established this, Socrates recurs to the statement of
Protagoras, that courage differs from the other parts of virtue,
because the most unholy, most unjust, most intemperate, and
most ignorant men, are sometimes most courageous. It is
admitted that no one willingly exposes himself to things that
he believes to be evil; a brave man, therefore, incurs dangers
which he knows to be honourable and good, and therefore
pleasant, and is influenced by no base fear, nor inspired with
base confidence ; but the coward, on the contrary, is influenced
by base fear and inspired by base confidence; he errs, there-
fore, through ignorance and want of knowledge, whence it fol-
lows that courage is contained in knowledge. The result of
the whole is that virtue, since it consists in knowledge, can be
taught, and so it turns out that Socrates, who began by main-
taining that it could not be taught, has been arguing all along
that it can, and Protagoras, who asserted that it could be
taught, has been arguing that it cannot.

Oi 116,

PROTAGORAS,

OR
THE SOPHISTS,

A Frisap, Socrates, Hippocrates, Proracoras, ALCIBIADES,
CauiAs, CriTIAs, Propicus, anp Hrepias.

fr. WueEnce come you, Socrates? can there be any doubt
but that it is from a chase after the beauty of Alcibiades ? and
to me, indeed, when I saw him lately, the man appeared still
beautiful, though between ourselves, Socrates, he is a man and
is now getting a pretty thick beard.

Socr. But what of that? Do you not approve of Homer,
then, who says, that the most graceful age is that of a youth
with his first beard, which is now the age of Alcibiades >

Fr, What have we to do with that now? Do you come
from him? And how is the youth disposed towards you?

Socr, Very well, I think, and not least so to-day; for he has
said many things in my favour, assisting me, and indeed I have
Just now come from him, However, I have something strange
to tell you: for though he was present I paid no attention to
him, and even frequently forgot him.

2. Fr. But what great affair can have happened between
you and him? for surely you have not met with any one else
more beautiful, in this city at least ?

Socr. By far.

Fr. What say you? A citizen, or a stranger?

Socr. A stranger.

Fr, From whence ?

Socr. From Abdera.

Fr. And did this stranger appear to you so beautiful that
you thought him more beautiful than the son of Clinias 2

Socr. But how, my dear friend, can the wisest be thought
otherwise than more beautiful ?

SaO dysse 279;

238 PROTAGORAS., —

#y, Have you come then, Socrates, from meeting one of our
wise men?

Soer. Yes, and from the wisest of the present day, if you
think Protagoras is the wisest.

Fy, Wa! What say you? Is Protagoras here ?

Soc. And has been, these three days.

fy, And are you just now come from his company ?

Socr, I have, and from a very long conversation with him.

3. Fr. Why then should you not relate this conversation
to us, unless something hinders you, having made this boy
rise up, and seating yourself in his place?

Socr. Certainly ; and I shall be obliged to you if you will
listen to me.

Fy. And we to you, if you will tell us.

Socr. The obligation will be mutual. Listen then. This
morning, while it was yet dark, Hippocrates, son of Apollodo-
rus and brother of Phason, knocked very hard at my gate with
his stick, and as soon as it was opened to him he came in, in
great haste, and calling out with a loud voice, said, ** Socrates,
are you awake or asleep?” And I, knowing his voice, said,
‘* Hippocrates is here: do you bring any news?”

“None,” he replied, “ but what is good.”

“ You say well,” said I, “ but what is it? and why have you
come so early?”

‘Protagoras is come,” said he, standing by my side.

4, ‘He came the day before yesterday,” said I, “‘and have
you only just heard of it?”

“By the gods,” he replied, “only yesterday evening,” and
at the same time feeling about my bed, he sat down at my feet,
and said, ‘ Yesterday evening, very late, on my return from
the village of GEnoe, for my slave Satyrus ran away, and I was
purposing to tell you that I was going in pursuit of him, but
something else put it out of my head; but when I had re-
turned, and we had supped, and were going to bed, then my
brother told me that Protagoras was arrived, and my first
thought was to come immediately to you, but afterwards it
appeared to me too late at night. As soon, however, as sleep
had refreshed me after my fatigue, I immediately arose and
came here.” ;

5. And I, knowing his earnestness and excitability, said,
“ What is this to you? Does Protagoras do you any harm?”

PROTAGORAS. 239

And he, laughing, said, “ By the gods, Socrates, he does,
because he alone is Wise, and does not make me 0.”

“ But, by Jupiter,” said I, “if you give him money and per-
suade him, he will make you wise too.”

* Would that, O Jupiter and ye gods,” he said, “it de-
pended on that, for I would spare nothing of my own or of my
friend’s property either, and I have now come to you for this
Very purpose, that you may speak to him in my behalf. For
besides that I am too young, I have never yet seen Protagoras
or heard him speak, for I was but a boy when he came here
before. However, Socrates, all men praise him, and say that he is
the wisest man to speak. But why do we not go to him that we
may find him within? He is staying, as I have heard, with
Callias son of Hipponicus. Let us go then.”

6. I said tohim: “ We will not go there yet my friend, it is
too early ; but let us rise up and go into our court, and spend
the time there walking about, until it is light ; then we will go.
For Protagoras stays mostly within; therefore cheer up, we
shall probably find him at home.”

After this we rose and walked about the court, and I in order
to try the strength of Hippocrates, examined and questioned
him; “ Tell me,” said I, “ Hippocrates, you are now purposing
to go to Protagoras, and to pay him money as a fee for teach-
ing you something ; to what kind of person do you think you
are going, and what do you expect to become? Just as if you
thought of going to your own namesake, Hippocrates of Cos,
one of the Asclepiads, and were to pay him money as a fee for
teaching you, if any one asked you, * Tell me, Hippocrates, you
are about to pay a fee to Hippocrates, in what capacity ? what
should you answer ?”

“I should say,” he replied, “in that of a physician.”

“And what do you expect to become?” “ A physician,”
said he.

“ But if you thought of going to Polycletus the Argive, or
Phidias the Athenian, and were to pay them a fee for teaching
you, if any one asked you, ‘ In what capacity do you intend to
pay this money to Polycletus and Phidias > what should you
answer ?”

“T should say, in that of statuaries.”

‘© And what do you expect to’ become yourself >”

“ Clearly, a statuary.”

240 PROTAGORAS.

“Be it so,” said I. “ But we are now going, you and I, to
Protagoras, and we are prepared to pay him money as a fee for
teaching you, if our money is sufficient for the purpose, and
we can persuade him by it; but if not, we mean to borrow
from our friends. If, then, some one seeing us thus earnestly
bent on this, should ask; ‘Tell me, Socrates and Hippocrates,
in what capacity do you intend to pay money to Protagoras ?
what answer should we give him? What other name do we
hear given to Protagoras, as that of statuary is given to Phi-
dias, and that of poet to Homer? What name of this kind do
we hear given to Protagoras ?”

‘They call him a sophist, Socrates,” he replied.

** As to a sophist, then, we are going to pay him money ?”

** Assuredly.”

8. “If, then, any one should ask you this further question,
‘What do you expect to become yourself by going to Prota-
goras ?’”

Upon which he said, blushing, (for the day was now begin-
ning to dawn, so that I could see him,) “If this case is at all
like the former, it is evident that I expect to become a sophist.”’

“But, by the gods,” said I, “should you not be ashamed to
shew yourself as a sophist before the Greeks ?”

“By Jupiter, I should, Socrates, if I must say what I think.”

“Do you suppose, then, Hippocrates, that the instruction of
Protagoras will not be of this kind, but such as you received
from a grammarian, a musician, or a teacher of gymnastics ?
for you were not instructed in each of these for the sake of the
art, meaning to become a professor yourself, but by way of
accomplishment, as is proper for a private person and a free-
man.”

* Just so,” he said, “such rather appears to me to be the
instruction given by Protagoras ?”

“Do you know, then,” said I, “what you are about to do,
or does it escape you?”

“ About what ?”

“That you are about to entrust your soul to the care of a
man, who, as you admit, is a sophist; and yet I should wonder
if you know what a sophist is. Though, if you are ignorant
of this, neither do you know to what you are confiding your
soul, whether to a good or a bad thing.”

“ But I think I know,” he said.

PROTAGORAS. 241

“Tell me, then, what you think a sophist is.”

“T think,” said he, “as the name imports, that he is one
learned in wisdom.”

“This, however,” I replied, “may be said of painters and
architects, that they too are learned in wisdom. And if any
one should ask us in what wisdom painters are learned, we
should surely say to him, in that which relates to the produc-
tion of pictures, and so on with respect to the rest. But if
any one should ask this question, ‘In what wisdom is a sophist
learned?’ what answer should we give him? of what produc-
tion is he a master ?”

‘** What else should we say he is, Socrates, but a master of
the art that makes men able speakers ?”

10. “ Perhaps,” said I, ‘we should say truly, yet not suffi-
ciently. For this answer requires from us another question,
about what a sophist makes men able speakers; just as
the musician, surely, makes a man speak ably on the subject
in which he is learned, on music. Is it not so?”

= Les,”

“Well; on what subject, then, does a sophist make a man
an able speaker? clearly on that in which he is learned ?”

“* Apparently.”

“What then is that in which the sophist is both’ learned
himself and makes his pupil learned ?”

“By Jupiter,” he replied, ‘I am unable to tell you.”

11. After this I said, ‘“‘ What then? are you aware to what
danger you are going to expose your soul? if you had occa-
sion to entrust your body to some one, on the risk of its be-
coming healthy or diseased, should you not consider very care-
fully whether you ought to entrust it or not, and would you
not summon your friends and relations to a consultation, and
deliberate many days? But that which you esteem far more
than the body, your soul, and on which your all depends,
either to fare well or ill, according as it becomes healthy or
diseased, concerning this do you neither communicate with
your father nor your brother, nor with any of us your
friends, whether or not you should commit your soul to this
stranger who has arrived here, but having heard of his arri-
val yesterday evening, as you say, do you come before day-
break, and take no thought or advice on the matter, whether
it is proper or not to entrust yourself to him, but are ready to

R

242 PROTAGORAS.

spend both your own and your friends’ property, as having
already resolved that you must in any event associate with
Protagoras, whom you neither know, as you admit, nor have
ever spoken to; but you call him a sophist, though what a
sophist is, to whom you are about to entrust yourself, you are
evidently ignorant 2”

12. ‘And he having heard me, replied, “* It seems so, Socrates,
from what you say.” . ;

“Is not a sophist, then, Hippocrates, a kind of merchant or
retailer of commodities by which the soul is nourished? To
me, at least, he appears to be so.”’

“ But by what is the soul nourished, Socrates?”

“ By learning,” I replied, “ But we must take care, my
friend, that the sophist does not deceive us by praising what
he sells, as those others do with respect to nutriment for the
body, the merchant and the retailer. For neither do they
themselves know which of the commodities in which they
traffic are good or bad for the body, though they praise all
that they sell, nor do those who buy from them, unless one
happens to be a professor of gymnastics or a physician. In
like manner, those who hawk about learning through cities,
and who sell and retail it to every one that desires it, praise
all that they sell, though perhaps some of these too, my ex-
cellent friend, may be ignorant which of the things they sell
is good or bad for the soul; and this also may be the case
with those that buy from them, unless some one happen to be
skilled in the medicine of the soul. 13. If then you happen
to know which of these is good or bad, you may safely buy
learning from Protagoras or any one else; but if not, beware
my good friend, that you do not hazard and imperil that which
is most precious. For there is much greater danger in the
purchase of learning than in that of food. For when one has
purchased meat and drink from a retailer or merchant one may
take them away in different vessels, and, before receiving them
into one’s body by eating or drinking, one may set them down
at home, and calling in some person who understands the mat-
ter, consult him as to what may be eaten and drunk, and what
not, and how much and when; so that in this purchase there
is no great danger. But it is not possible to carry away
learning in a different vessel; but it is necessary, When one
has paid the price, having received instruction in the soul itself

PROTAGORAS, 243

and learnt it, to depart either injured or benefited. 14. Let
us therefore consider these things with persons older than we
are: for we are too young to decide on a matter of such im.
portance. Now however, since we have made up our minds,
let us go and hear the man, and after we have heard him, let
us communicate with others. For not only is Protagoras there,
but Hippias of Elis, and I think also Prodicus of Ceos, and
inany other wise men.”

This resolution taken, we set out. When we arrived at the
front door, we stopped and discussed a question that had fallen
out between us on the way; in order therefore that it might
not be left unfinished, but that we night bring it to a conclu-
sion and then enter the house, we stood at the front door talk-
ing together until we had agreed with each other. 15. Now
it appears to me that the porter, who was a eunuch, overheard
us, and he seems from the number of sophists to be out of
humour with all who come to the house. For when we had
knocked at the door, he having opened it and seeing us, said,
“Ha, more sophists: he is not at leisure.” And at the same
time with both his hands, he slammed to the door with all his
might. Thereupon we knocked again, and he answering with
the door shut, said, “Sirs, did not you hear me say that he is
not at leisure?” “ But, my good friend,” said I, “ we are not
come to Callias, nor are we sophists; cheer up then: for we
are come wanting to see Protagoras: so announce us.” At
length, with difficulty the fellow opened the door to us.
16. When we entered, we found Protagoras walking up and
down in the portico, and in a line with him, there walked
on one side Callias son of Hipponicus, and his brother by
the mother’s side, Paralus son of Pericles, and Charmi-
des son of Glaucon, and on the other side Xanthippus, the
other son of Pericles, and Philippides son of Philomelus, and
Antimerus of Mende, who is the most famous of ‘all the
pupils of Protagoras, and who is learning professionally, mean-
ing to become a sophist himself. Behind these there followed
others who listened to what was said, the greater part appeared
to be strangers, whom Protagoras brings with him from the
several cities through which he passes, bewitching them by his
voice like Orpheus, and they follow his voice, bewitched. Some
of our countrymen also were in the band. 17. I was particularly
pleased in observing this band, how well they took care never

244 PROTAGORAS.

to be in the way of Protagoras by getting before him, but when-
ever he and those with him turned round, these listeners, in a
good and regular manner, opened to the right and left, and
wheeling round, always ranged themselves behind him in
admirable order.

“ After him I perceived,” as Homer” says, Hippias of Elis
sitting on a high seat in the opposite side of the portico, and
round him on benches sat Eryximachus, son of Acumenus,
Pheedrus of Myrrhine, Andron son of Androtion, and some
strangers partly his fellow citizens and others. They appeared
to be asking Hippias questions on physics and astronomy ;
but he, sitting on a high seat, gave answers to each of
them and resolved their questions. 18. ‘ Moreover I saw
Tantalus¢;” for Prodicus of Ceos had lately arrived, but he was
in a building which Hipponicus had before used as a store-
room, but now, owing to the multitude of guests, Callias had
emptied it and turned it into a lodging for strangers. Now
Prodicus was still in bed wrapt up in a great number of skins
and bed-clothes, as it appeared; and there were seated near
him on sofas Pausanias of Ceramis, and with Pausanias a youth,
quite a lad, as I thought of an excellent disposition, and of a
very beautiful form. I thought I heard them call him Agathon,
and I should not wonder if he was Pausanias’s favourite. This
lad then was there, and the two Adimantuses, the one the son
of Cepis, and the other of Leucolophides, and some others.
But I was not able to learn from the outside what they were
talking about, although I was exceedingly anxious to hear Pro-
dicus; for he appears to me to be a very wise, nay a divine
man, but owing to the harshness of his voice a kind of humming
in the room made what he said indistinct.

19. We had just entered, and immediately after us there
came in Alcibiades, the beautiful as you say, and as I am per-
suaded he is, and Critias, son of Calleeschrus.

After we had entered, then, and waited a little while and
observed what was going on, we went up to Protagoras, and I
said, “‘ Protagoras, I and Hippocrates here have come to see
you.”

“Do you wish to speak with me alone,” he said, “or in the
presence of the rest?”

“To us,” I replied, “it makes no difference, but when you

> Odyss. xi. 601. ¢ Homer Odyss. xi. 582,

PROTAGORAS. 245

have heard on what account we have come, you can determine
yourself.”

“‘ What is it then,” said he, “ that you are come for ?”

** Hippocrates here is a native of this country, son of Apollo-
dorus, of a great and wealthy family ; in natural ability he seems
to be a match for the youth of his age; and he appears to me
to be desirous of becoming a person of note in the city; and he
thinks that he shall most readily become so, if he associates
with you. Do you then determine, whether we ought to con-
verse apart with you on this subject, or in the presence of
others.”

20. ‘“‘You very properly take precautions on my behalf,
Socrates,” he replied. ‘For a stranger who visits powerful
cities, and persuades the most distinguished of the youth in
them to quit the society of others, both kindred and not kin-
dred, both old and young, and associate with him, in the ex-
pectation of being improved by his society, ought in doing this
to be very cautious, for things of this kind are attended with
no slight jealousies and enmities, and even plots. For my
part, I say that the art of a sophist is ancient, but the men
who professed it in ancient times, fearing the odium attached
to it, sought to conceal it, and veiled it over, some under the
garb of poetry, as Homer, Hesiod, and Simonides, and others
under that of the mysteries and prophecies, such as Orpheus
and Muszus, and their followers, and some I perceive have
veiled it under the gymnastic art, as Iccus of Tarentum, and
one of the present day who is a sophist, inferior to none, He-
rodicus of Selymbria, who was originally of Megara. But
your own Agathocles, who was a great sophist, concealed it
under the garb of music, as did Pythoclides of Ceos, and many
others. 21. All these, as I say, through fear of jealousies,
employed these arts as veils. I, however, in this respect, do
not agree with any of them; for I think that they did not by
any means effect the object they wished; for they did not es-
cape the observation of men of authority in the cities, on whose
account they had recourse to these disguises, for the multitude
perceive scarcely any thing at all, but whatever the former
give out, that they sing. Now to try to escape and not to be
able to do so, but to be detected, both shews great folly in the
attempt, and necessarily makes men much more hostile: for
they think that such a man is moreover an impostor, 22. I

246 PROTAGORAS.

therefore have taken a path quite contrary to them, and I ac-
knowledge that I am a sophist and teach men, and I think
that this precaution is better than the other, to confess rather
than to deny: I have also planned other precautions besides
this ; so that by God’s help I have suffered no harm through con-
fessing that I am a sophist; though I have exercised this art
now many years; for my age is very great, and there is not
one amongst you all whose father I am not old enough to be.
So that it will be by far the most agreeable to me, if you are
willing, to discuss this matter in the presence of all who are in
the house.”

I then, for I suspected that he wished to shew and make a
display of himself before Prodicus and Hippias, that we had
come as his admirers—23. ‘‘ Why then,” said J, ‘‘do we not
summon Prodicus and Hippias, and their party, to listen to
net

« By all means,” said Protagoras.

Callias therefore said, ‘‘ Would you wish us to prepare seats,
that you may sit down and converse?’’ It was agreed that
this should be done. And we all of us, in great delight, as
being about to listen to wise men, laid hold of the stools, and
benches, and couches, and placed them in order near Hippias ;
for the stools were there already ; meanwhile Callias and Alci-
biades brought Prodicus and his party with them, having made
him get out of bed.

When, therefore, we were all seated, ‘‘ Now Socrates,” said
Protagoras, “since they are all here, you may repeat what you
just now mentioned to me respecting this youth.”

24. And I said, ‘* My commencement, Protagoras, is the
same as it was just now, namely, with what design we came to
you. Hippocrates here is very desirous of your socicty, and
says he shall be glad to hear what advantage he may expect to
derive from associating with you. Such is our errand.”

Thereupon Protagoras said in reply, “ Young man, the ad-
vantage which you will derive from associating with me is this,
that on the very day of your being with me you will go home
a better man than you were before, and the same on the second
day, and on each succeeding day you will make some further
progress.”

25. And IJ, on hearing this, said, “ Protagoras, this is nothing
wonderful that you say, but very natural, since you too, old

,

PROTAGORAS. 247

and wise as you are, would become better, if any one should
teach you what you do not happen to know. But that is not
what we require, but just as if Hippocrates here should on the
instant change his mind, and desire to associate with the youth
who has lately arrived, Zeuxippus of Heraclea, and coming to
him as he now does to you, should be told by him the very
same things that he has been by you, that by associating with
him he would every day become better, and make further pro-
gress; if he should further ask him, ‘ In what do you mean I
shall become better, and in what make further progress ?’
Zeuxippus would answer him, ‘In the art of painting.’ And
if he were to attach himself to Orthagoras of Thebes, and
being told by him the very same things that he has been by
you, should further ask him in what he would daily become
better by associating with him, he would reply, ‘In flute-play-
ing.’ In like manner do you also reply to the youth, and to
me who ask for him: Hippocrates here, by associating with
Protagoras, on the very day in which he associates will go
home a better man, and on each succeeding day will in like
manner make further progress; in what Protagoras, and with
respect to what ?”

26. Protagoras, on hearing me thus speak, said, “ You put the
question fairly, Socrates, and I delight in answering those who
put their questions well. For Hippocrates, if he comes to me,
will not be treated as he would be treated if he were to attach
himself to any other of the sophists. For others injure youth;
for when they have shewn an aversion to the arts they drag them
back again and force them to study the arts by teaching them
arithmetic, astronomy, geometry, and music; and at the same
time he looked aside at Hippias: but if he comes to me, he
will not learn anything else than that for which he came. The
instruction that he will receive is this, the method of consult-
ing well about his domestic affairs, in what way he may best
govern his own house, and with respect to public affairs, how
he may be best able to act and speak on affairs of state.”

27. “Do I follow your meaning >” I replied, “ for you appear
to me to mean the political art, and to promise to make men
good citizens.”

“That,” said he, * Socrates, is the very profession that I do
make.”

What an admirable skill you possess,” said I, “ if you really

7

248 PROTAGORAS,

do possess it; for I will say nothing else to you but what I
think. For I imagined, Protagoras, that this could not be
taught, yet since you say so, I know not how to disbelieve you.
It is right, however, that I should tell you why I think it can-
not be taught, nor acquired by men from men. For J, as well
as the other Greeks, say that the Athenians are wise. I see,
then, when we are met in the assembly, and when it is neces-
sary for the city to settle any thing respecting architecture,
that the architects are sent for and consulted about the build-
ings, and when respecting ship-building, ship-builders ; and so
with all other things which they think can be taught and
learnt. But should any one else, whom they think is not an
artist, attempt to give them advice, even though he may be
very honourable, and rich and noble, they pay no more atten-
tion to him on this account, but laugh at him and make an
uproar, until either he of his own accord desists from speaking,
through being hooted down, or the archers drag him away or
remove him by order of the prytanes. 28. Thus they proceed
with respect to matters which they think pertain to art. But
when it is necessary to consult on any matter which relates to
the government of the city, any one rises up and gives his
advice on such subjects, whether he be a builder, a brazier, a
shoemaker, a merchant, a ship’s captain, rich, poor, noble or
ignoble, and no one objects to them, as to the others, that with-
out having received any instruction, or had any preceptor, they
yet attempt to give advice ; for it is clear that they think this
cannot be taught. And not only are the public in general of
this opinion, but privately, the wisest and best of our citizens
are unable to impart to others the excellence which they
possess: for Pericles, the father of these youths, as far as de-
pended on masters, had them educated liberally and well; but
in those things in which he is wise, he neither instructs them
himself, nor entrusts them to any one else to be instructed ;
but they, roaming about, feed as it were without restraint, if
by chance they may of themselves light on virtue. 29. If you
will too, this very same Pericles, being guardian to Clinias the
younger brother of this Alcibiades, and fearing lest he might
be corrupted by Alcibiades, separated him from him and sent
him to be educated by Ariphron; however, before six months
had elapsed, Ariphron, being unable to do any thing with him,
returned him to Pericles. I could also mention very many

PROTAGORAS. 249

others to you, who being good themselves, have never made
any one else better, either of their own kindred or others. I
therefore, Protagoras, looking to these things, think that virtue
cannot be taught. When, however, I hear you saying what
you do, I waver, and am of opinion that there is something in
what you say, because I think that you are a man of great ex-
perience, and that you have learnt many things and discovered
some yourself. If, therefore, you can prove to us, more
clearly, that virtue can be taught, do not grudge doing so, but
prove it.”

“Indeed, Socrates,’ he said, “I shall not grudge it. But
whether shall I prove it by relating a fable to you, as an older
to younger men, or shall I discuss it by way of argument ?”

Thereupon many of those who sat with him, answered,
that he might explain it in any way he pleased. “It appears
to me, then,” said he, ‘“‘ more agreeable to relate a fable to
you.

30. “ There was once a time, when gods were, but mortal
races were not. But when also their destined time of creation
came, the gods fashioned them within the earth, composing
them. of earth and fire, and such things as are mingled with
fire and earth. And when they were about to bring them into
light, they commanded Prometheus and Epimetheus to adorn
them and to distribute to each such faculties as were proper
for them. But Epimetheus besought Prometheus that he
might make this distribution. ‘And,’ he said, ‘ when I have
made it, do you examine it.’. Having thus persuaded him, he
made the distribution. But in his distribution, to some he
assigned strength without swiftness, and the weaker he adorned
with swiftness; some he armed, but giving to others an un-
armed nature, he devised some other faculty for their security :
for to such of them as he clad with littleness, he assigned wings
to fly with, or a subterranean abode ; but such as he increased
in magnitude he preserved by this very means; and thus he
made the distribution, equalizing all things; he adapted these
contrivances taking care that no race should be destroyed.

31. ** When he had supplied them with the means of avoiding
mutual destruction, he contrived means to defend them against
the seasons, by clothing them with thick hairs and solid skins,
sufficient to keep off cold and capable of averting heat, and
so that, when they went to rest, these very things might serve

250 PROTAGORAS.

each of them as his proper and natural bed; and under their
feet he furnished some with hoofs, and some with hairs and
solid and bloodless skins. After that he provided different food
for different animals, for some, herbs from the earth, for others,
the fruit of trees, for others, roots; and to some he gave the
flesh of other animals as food: and to these he attached the
property of producing few offspring, but to those that are con-
sumed by them, fecundity, providing for the preservation of the
race. However, as Epimetheus was not very wise, he igno-
rantly exhausted all the faculties at his disposal on irrational
animals. 32. The human race, therefore, still remained to him
unadorned, and he was in doubt what to do. While he is
doubting, Prometheus comes to examine the distribution, and
sees other animals provided with every thing suitable for them,
but man naked and unshod, unbedded and unarmed. But
now the destined day was at hand, on which it was necessary
that man should go forth from earth to light. Prometheus,
therefore, being in doubt what safety he can find for man,
steals the artificial wisdom of Vulcan and Minerva, together
with fire, for it was impossible that it could be acquired or
used by any one without fire, and accordingly he presents it
to man, 33. Thus, then, man became possessed of the wisdom
pertaining to life, he had not, however, political wisdom ; for
that was with Jupiter; and Prometheus was no longer per-
mitted to enter the citadel, the habitation of Jupiter ; moreover
the guards of Jupiter were terrible; but he secretly enters the
common abode of Minerva and Vulcan, in which they practised
their arts, and having stolen the fiery art of Vulcan, and the
other that belonged to Minerva, he gives them to man, and
from this man derives the means of sustenance, but afterwards,
as it is said, through Epimetheus, punishment for the theft
overtook Prometheus.

34, “ When, therefore, man had become partaker of a divine
condition, first of all through this relationship to deity, he alone
of all animals acknowledged gods, and set about building altars
and statues of gods: next, by art, he soon articulated sounds
~ and words, and devised houses and garments, and shoes and
beds, and food from the earth. Thus provided however, at
first men lived dispersed; for cities were not : wherefore they
were destroyed by wild beasts, through being every where
weaker than them; and the mechanical art was indeed sufii-

PROTAGORAS, 261

cient aid for their support, but was inadequate to the war with
wild beasts; for they did not yet possess the political art, of
which the military is a part. They sought therefore to collect
themselves together, and to preserve themselves by building
cities. When, however, they were thus collected, they injured
one another, from not possessing the political art; so. that,
being again dispersed, they were destroyed. 35. Jupiter,
therefore, fearing for our race, lest it should entirely perish,
sends Hermes to carry shame and justice to men, that they
might be ornaments of cities, and bonds to cement friendship.
Hermes, therefore, asked Jupiter in what manner he was to
give shame and justice to men. ‘Whether, as the arts have
been distributed, so shall I distribute these also? for they have
been distributed thus: one man who possesses the medicinal
art is sufficient for many not skilled in it, and so with other
craftsmen. Shall I thus dispense shame and justice among’
men, or distribute them to all?’ ‘To all,’ said Jupiter, ‘and
let all partake of them: for there would be no cities, if a few only
were to partake of them, as of other arts. Moreover enact a
law in my name, that whosoever is unable to partake of shame
and justice shall be put to death as a pest of a city.’

36. “Thus, then, Socrates, and for these reasons, as well
others as the Athenians, when a question arises about excel-
lence in building, or any other mechanical art, think that few
only should give their advice; and if any one, who is not of
the number of the few, should offer to give advice, they do
not allow him, as you say; and properly, as I say: but when
they proceed to a consultation respecting political excellence,
which ought to depend entirely on justice and temperance,
they very properly allow every man to speak, because it is the
duty of every one to partake of this excellence, otherwise there
can be no cities. This, Socrates, is the cause of this fact.

37. “And that you may not think that you are deceived,
when you are told that in reality all men are of opinion that
every one partakes of justice, and of the other political excel-
lences, take this additional proof. For in other kinds of ex-
cellence, as you say, if any one asserts that he is a good flute-
player, or skilled in any other art, of which he is ignorant,
they either ridicule him, or are indignant, and his friends go
to him and admonish him as a madman: but in justice and
other political virtues, even though they know of any man that

252 PROTAGORAS.

he is unjust, yet if he himself tells the truth of himself in the
presence of many persons, what in the other case they con-
sidered prudence, to speak the truth, in this case they consider
madness; and they say that all men ought to say they are
just, whether they are so or not, or that he is mad who does
not lay claim to justice, because it is necessary that every one
should, in some respect, partake of it, or no longer be a
man.

38. ‘“T say these things to shew that they very properly per-
mit every man to give advice concerning this virtue, because
they think that every one partakes of it. But that men think
that it exists not naturally or spontaneously, but that it is
taught and acquired by study, by whomsoever it is acquired,
this I will in the next place endeavour to shew. For whatever
evils men think others respectively have by nature or fortune
no one is angry with, nor admonishes, or teaches, or punishes
the possessors of them, in order to make them otherwise than
they are, but pity them. For instance, who would be so fool-
ish as to attempt to do any of these things to the deformed, or
the little, or the weak? For they know, I think, that these
things, such as are beautiful and the contraries, happen to men
by nature and fortune : but such advantages as they think re-
sult to men from study, practice, and instruction, if any one
does not possess them but their contrary evils, for these things
anger, and punishment, and admonition, are had recourse to:
of these one is injustice, and so is impiety, and in short, every
thing that is contrary to political virtue. Here, then, every
man is angry with and admonishes every other, clearly because
he thinks it may be acquired by study and instruction. 39,
For if you will consider, Socrates, of what avail it is to punish
those who act unjustly, this very thing will teach you that men
think virtue is to be acquired. Jor no one punishes those who
act unjustly, merely attending to this and for this reason, that
any one has so acted, unless it be one who like a brute avenges
himself irrationally; but he who endeavours to punish with
reason, does not exact vengeance for the sake of past offence,
(for what has been done he cannot make undone,) but for the
sake of the future, that neither this man himself, nor any other
who sees him punished, may again act unjustly. And he who
entertains such a thought must think that virtue may be taught ;
he punishes certainly for the sake of deterring from wicked-

PROTAGORAS. 258

ness. 40 All, therefore, have this opinion who inflict punish-
ment, either privately or publicly. Now all other men, and
especially the Athenians, your fellow-citizens, inflict punishment
on and correct those who they think act unjustly ; so that, ac-
cording to this reasoning, the Athenians also are among the
number of those who think tnat virtue may be acquired and
taught. That your fellow-citizens, therefore, very properly
allow a brazier and a shoemaker to give advice in political
affairs, and that they think that virtue may be taught and ac-
quired, has been sufficiently demonstrated to you, Socrates, at
least as it appears to me.

41, ‘ There still, however, remains a doubt which you enter-
tain respecting those good men, why, in the world they have
their sons instructed in such things as.depend on masters, and
make them wise, but in the virtue which they themselves pos-
sess do not make them better than others. With respect to
this, then, Socrates, I shall no longer speak to you in fable, but
argument. For consider the matter thus, Whether is there
some one thing or not, of which it is necessary all the citizens
should partake, if a city isto be? for in this or inno other way,
the doubt which you entertain is solved. For if there is, and
if this one thing is neither the art of a builder, nor of a brazier,
nor of a potter, but is justice, and temperance, and holiness,
and in a word I call it by one name, the virtue of a man; if
this be the thing, of which all must partake, and with which
every man if he wishes to learn or do any thing else, must learn
or do it, but not without this, or if one who does not partake
of it must be taught and punished, whether boy, or man, or
woman, till through being punished he becomes better, and he
who is not obedient, when punished or taught, is to be banished
from cities, or put to death as incurable; if this is the case,
and if, notwithstanding this, good men teach their children
other things, but not this, consider what strange people those
good men are: 42. for we have shewn that they think it may
be taught, both privately and publicly. But since it may be
taught, and acquired by study, do they teach their children
other things, for which death is not imposed as a penalty, if
they do not know them; but where the penalty of death or
exile is imposed on their children, if they are not instructed
or exercised in virtue, and besides death, the confiscation of
their property, and in short the ruin of their families, do you

254 PROTAGORAS.

think that they do not teach them these things nor. bestow their
whole care upon them? We must think they do, Socrates.

“ Beginning from childhood they both teach and admonish
them as long as they live. For as soon as any one understands
what is said, nurse, mother, pedagogue, and the father himself,
vie with each other in this, how the boy may become as good
as possible; in every word and deed teaching and pointing out
to him that this is just, and that unjust, this is honourable and
that base, this is holy and that unholy, and this you must do
and that you must not do, And if the boy obeys willingly, it
is well; but if not, like a tree twisted and bent they make him
straight by threats and blows. 43, After this they send him
to masters, and give them much more strict injunctions to
attend to the children’s morals than to their reading and
music: and the masters do attend to this, and when the
boys haye learnt their letters, and are able to understand
what is written, as before words spoken, they place before
them on their benches to read, and compel them to learn by
heart the compositions of good poets, in which there are
many admonitions, and many details, and praises, and enco-
miums, of good men of former times, in order that the boy
may imitate them through emulation, and strive to become
such himself. Again, the “music-masters, in the same way,
pay attention to sobriety of behaviour, and take care that the
boys commit no evil: besides this, when they have learnt to
play on the harp, they teach them the compositions of other
good poets, and those lyric, setting them to music, and they
compel rhythm and harmony to become familiar to the boys’
souls, in order that they may become more gentle, and being
themselves more rhythmical and harmonious, they may be able
both to speak and act; for the whole life of man requires
rhythm and harmony. 44. Moreover, besides this, they send
them to a teacher of gymnastics, that having their bodies in a
better state, they may be subservient to their well-regulated
mind, and not be compelled to cowardice, through bodily in-
firmity, either in war or other actions. And these things they
do who are most able; but the richest are the most able, and
their sons beginning to frequent masters at the earliest time of
life leave them the latest. And when they are set freefrom mas-
ters, the state still further compels them to learn the laws, and
to live by them as a pattern, that they may not act at random

PROTAGORAS. 255

after their own inclinations, but exactly as writing masters
having ruled lines with a pen for those boys who have not yet
learnt to write well, so give them the copy-book, and compel
them to write according to the direction of the lines, so the
state having prescribed laws which were the inventions of good
and ancient legislators, compels them both to govern and be .
governed according to these, but whoso transgresses them, it
punishes ; and the name given to this chastisement, both among
you, and in many other places, is correction, since punishment
corrects. 45. So great therefore being the attention paid to
virtue, privately and publicly, do you wonder and doubt, Socrates,
whether virtue may be taught? There is no need, however, to
wonder, but much more if it could not be taught.

“Why then are there many bad sons of good fathers ? Learn
again the reason of this; for it is not at all wonderful, if what
I have before said is true, that, if a state is to subsist, no one
must be unskilled in this thing, virtue. For if what I say is
the case, (and it assuredly is), consider the matter by selecting
any other study and subject of instruction whatever. 46. For
instance, suppose that a city could not subsist unless we were
all of us flute-players, each according to his capacity, and sup-
pose every one should teach his neighbour, both privately and
publicly, and should chide any one who did not play well, and
should not grudge doing this, as now no one grudges a knowledge
of what is just and legal, or conceals it, as is the case in other
arts, /or mutual justice and virtue are, I think, advantageous to
us; and for this reason every one most willingly tells and
teaches others what is just and legal. If then in the same
way, in flute-playing, we had a perfectly willing and ungrudging
disposition to teach each other, do you think, Socrates,” said
he, “that the sons of good flute-players would become good
players, rather than the sons of bad ones? I indeed think not;
but the man’s son who happened to have the best natural
talent for flute-playing, would rise to distinction; and the
man’s son who had no such natural talent, would be undis-
tinguished; and the son of a good flute-player would often
turn out a bad one, and the son of a bad one would often turn
out a good one. However, all would be sufficiently good flute-
players, compared with those who are untaught, and who know
nothing of flute-playing. 47. In like manner think that the
man who appears to you to be the most unjust of those who

256 PROTAGORAS.

are trained in the laws, and among civilized men, 1s just and
a proficient in justice, when compared with men, who have
neither instruction nor courts of justice, nor laws, nor any
necessity that constantly compels them to attend to virtue,
but may be considered as savages, such as those whom the
poet Pherecrates represented last year, at the Lenzan festival.
Assuredly, if you should chance to be thrown among such
men as the misanthropes in that play, you would rejoice if
you met with a Eurybates and a Phrynondas‘, and you would
deplore with regret the depravity of the men here. But now
you are fastidious, Socrates, because all are teachers of virtue
as far as they are severally able, though no one appears to you
to be so. Again, if you were to enquire for a teacher of the
Greek language, not one would be found: nor, I think, if you
were to enquire for one who could instruct the sons of our arti-
ficers in the very art which they have learnt from their father,
so far as the father and the father’s friends who follow the
same art are able to teach it, if, I say, you were to enquire for
one who could instruct them, I think, Socrates, that a teacher
would not easily be found for them, but for those who are
utterly unskilled, a teacher would easily be found, and so with
respect to virtue and every thing else. 48. But if there is
any one who excels us even but a little in advancing others in
the road to virtue, we ought to be content. Of these, then,
I think I am one, and that far above other men I know certain
things by which a man will be made upright and good, and
that worth the remuneration which I demand, and even more,
as also my pupils think. Therefore I adopt the following
method in my demand for remuneration; when any one has
learnt from me, if he is willing, he pays the sum that I de-
mand; but if not, having gone to a temple and sworn how
much my instructions are worth, he pays that sum.

“Thus much, Socrates,” he continued, “I have said by way
of fable and argument, to prove that virtue may be taught, and
that the Athenians are of that opinion, and that it is not at all
wonderful that the sons of good fathers should turn out bad, or
of bad fathers, good, since even the sons of Polycletus, who are
of the same age with Paralus and Xanthippus here, are nothing
compared with their father, and so with respect to the sons of
other artists; these youths, however, do not yet deserve to be

¢ Two men whose profligacy made their names proverbial.

7
=

)e

Oe we ieee

PROTAGORAS. 257

jamed in this respect; for we have still hopes in them, as
they are young.”

49, Protagoras having made such and so long a display,
veased speaking ; and I, having continued for a long time en-
shanted. still looked at him, expecting that he would say some-
hing more, and desiring to hear him. But when I perceived
chat he had in reality ceased, I with difficulty collected myself,
ind looking towards Hippocrates, said, “O son of Apollodorus,
iow thankful Iam to you for having urged me to come hither ;
‘or I esteem it a great privilege to have heard what I have
reard from Protagoras; for before this, I thought it was no
auman care by which good men become good, but now I am
persuaded that it is. However, I feel a slight difficulty, which,
doubtless, Protagoras will easily explain, since he has explained
so. much. For if any one should converse with any one of the
popular orators on these subjects, he would perhaps hear simi-
lar arguments, as from Pericles, for instance, or some other
able speaker; but if he should ask them any further questions,
like books they are unable either to give an answer or to ask
any question themselves. And if one should put any trifling
question to them respecting what has been said, as brass when
struck sounds for a long time, and prolongs its sound, unless
some one lays hold of it, so these orators, when asked some
rifling question, answer in a speech drawn out to a great
length. 50. But Protagoras here is able to make long and
beautiful speeches, as the fact proves, and is also able, when
asked a question, to answer briefly, and when questioning, to
wait and receive the answer, which are qualities possessed but
by afew. Now then, Protagoras, I need a trifle only, so that
T shall have all I want if you will answer me this. You say
that virtue may be taught; and I, if I could be persuaded by
any man, should be persuaded by you. But, what I wondered
at your saying, satisfy my mind as to that. For you said that
Jupiter sent justice and shame to men; and afterwards, in
many parts of your discourse, justice, temperance, holiness,
aud all qualities of that kind, were spoken of by you, as if they
were collectively one thing, virtue. Therefore explain this
accurately to me, whether virtue is one thing, and justice, tem-
perance, and holiness, parts of it; or whether these that I have
now mentioned are all names of one and the same thing. This
is what I still want to know.”

258 PROTAGORAS.

51. “But it is easy,” said he, “ Socrates, to answer this
question, that the qualities about which you ask are parts of
virtue, which is one thing.”

“ Whether,” said I, * are they parts like the parts of a face,
the mouth, nose, eyes, and ears: or like the parts of gold,
which in no respect differ from each other and from th? whole,
except in magnitude and littleness 7

“ Like the former, it appears to me Socrates, as the parts of
the face are to the whole face.”

“Whether, then,” said I, “do men possess these parts of
virtue, some one and others another part? or is it necessary
that he who has received one should have all?”

“By no means,’ he replied, “since many men are brave,
but unjust, and again just, but not wise.”

“Are these, then, parts of virtue,” said I, “ wisdom and
courage ?”

“Most assuredly,” he replied, “ and wisdom is chief of all
the parts.”

“And is every one of them,” said I, “ different from every
other ?”

© ea

“ And has each of them its proper function, like the parts of
the face? For instance, an eye ‘s not like the ears, nor is its
function the same; nor is any one of the others like any other,
either as to its function, or in any other respect. Thus, then,
with the parts of virtue, is not any one like any other, either
in itself, or in its function? Is it not clear that such is the
case, since it resembles our example ?”

“ Such is the case, Socrates,” he replied.

52. Then I said, * Therefore none of the other parts of vir-
tue are like science, or like justice, or like courage, or like
temperance, or like holiness.”

“No,” he said.

“Come then,” said I, “let us examine together what the
character of each of them is. And first of all, thus; is justice
a thing, or not a thing? to me it appears to be a thing; but
what does it appear to you to be?”

“To me also it appears to be a thing,” he replied.

“What then? If some one were to ask you and me, ‘ Pro-
tagoras and Socrates, tell me with respect to this very thing
which you have just now named, justice, whether is it in itself

PROTAGORAS, 259

just or unjust?’ I should answer him that it is just: but what
decision would you give? the same as mine, or different 2”

“The same,” he replied.

“* Justice, then, is precisely similar to being just,’ I should
say in answer to one who asked the question. And would not
you, too?”

“ Yes,” he said.

“Tf, then, after this, he should ask us, ‘Do you not also say that
holiness is something?’ we should reply, I think that we do?”

*“* Yes,” he said.

“* Do you not say that this too is a thing? should we say
it is, or not?”

He allowed that we should say it is.

“* But whether do you say that this very thing is of such a
nature as to be unholy, or holy?’ I for my part,” I said, “ should
be indignant at the question, and should say, ‘ Speak properly,
my good sir, for scarcely could any thing else be holy, if’ holi-
ness itself be not holy.’ But what should you say? should not
you give the same answer ?”

“ Certainly,” he said.

“Tf, then, after this, he should ask us, and say, ‘ What then
did you mean a little while ago? Or did I not hear you aright ?
For you appeared to me to say that the parts of virtue are so
disposed to each other, that no one of them resembles any other;’
I, for my part should reply, ‘ In other respects you heard aright,
but in thinking that I too said this, you were mistaken; for
Protagoras gave this answer, and I put the question.’ If then
he should say, ‘ Does he speak the truth, Protagoras; do you
Say that no one part of virtue is like any other of its parts? Is
this your assertion ? what answer would you give him ?”

“TI must needs admit it, Socrates,” he replied.

“ After admitting this, Protagoras, what answer should we
give him, if he further asked us, ‘Is not holiness then of such
a nature as to be a just thing, nor justice such as to be a holy
thing, but such as to be not holy ; and holiness such as to be
not just, but unjust, and the former unholy ?? What answer
should we give him? JI, for myself, should say both that justice
is holy, and holiness just. And for you, if you would permit
me, I should make the very same answer, that justice is the
same with holiness, or very like it, and that justice bears the
nearest possible resemblance to holiness, auld holiness to justice.

260 PROTAGORAS,

But consider whether you would forbid me to give this answer,
or does it seem so to you also f”

“It does not altogether appear to me, Socrates,” he said,
“to be so absolutely true, that I can grant that justice is holy,
and holiness just ; but there appears to me to be a difference
betiveen them. However what matters that >” he continued :
“if you wish it, let it be admitted between us that justice is
holy. and holiness just.”

55. * Not so,” I replied, “ for I do not require to examine
into an ‘If you wish it, and ‘If you think so,’ but into what
I think and what you think ; but in saying ‘ what I think and
what you think, Imean this, I am of opinion that our argument
will be best discussed if we put it out of the question alto-
gether.”

“© Well then,” he said, “justice has some resemblance to holt-
ness, for every thing resembles every other thing in some re-
spect, for white in some sort resembles black, and hard, soft,
and so with respect to other things which appear to be most
contrary to each other; and the things which we just now said
have different functions, and are not the one like the other, as
the parts of the face do in a certain respect resemble each
other; so that in this way you could prove this, if you pleased,
that all things are similar to each other ; yet it is not right to
call things that have a certain similarity, similar, nor things
that have a certain dissimilarity, dissimilar, though the simila-
rity is very trifling.”

56. And I, wondering, said to him, “ Do you think then that
the just and the holy are so related to each other, that they
have but a trifling similarity to one another ?”

“ Not quite so,” he said, “* nor on the other hand do I con-
sider them in the same way as you appear to me to do.”

“ However,” said I, “since you appear to me to be vexed at
this, we will dismiss it, and consider this of the other things
that you said. Do you call folly any thing ©”

He admitted he did.

“ And is not wisdom the direct contrary to this thing?”

“Tt appears so to me,” he replied.

« But when men act rightly and profitably, do they then ap-
pear to you to act temperately ©, in so acting, or the contrary f°”

e Cousin has well remarked that cwppoowvn, which Socrates opposes
to &ppoctvn, means both temperance and prudence. We, as well as the

PROTAGORAS. 261

“To act temperately,” he replied.

-“ And are they not temperate by temperance ?”

“* Necessarily so.”

- © Do not they, then, who act wrongly, act foolishly, and are
they not intemperate in so acting ?”

‘**T agree with you,” he said.

“Acting foolishly, then, is the contrary to acting tem-
perately.”

He said it was.

‘Are not, therefore, things which are done foolishly, done
through folly, and things done temperately through temper-
ance?

He agreed.

“Tf then any thing is done through strength, is it not done
strongly, and if through weakness, weakly ?”

“It appears so.”

“ And if any thing is done with swiftness, swiftly, and if
with slowness, slowly ”

He said it was.

* And if any thing is done in the same manner, is it not done
by the same means, and if in a contrary manner by the con-
trary means?”

He granted it.

57. ‘Come then,” I said, “is there any thing beautiful ?”

He admitted there was.

“Ts any thing contrary to this except the ugly ?”

“ There is not.”

“ But what? Is there any thing good ?”

‘* There is.”

“ And is any thing contrary to this except evil?”

Pere ts 1Ot,7,

French, have no single word that expresses both ideas at once. I have
therefore, in imitation of Cousin, adopted the word temperance throughout
this part of the dialogue, for otherwise the dilemma to which Socrates
brings his antagonist would be lost sight of, for he now compels him to
admit that temperance and wisdom which he before distinguished from each
other, are identical. Mr. Wright, in his scholar-like version of this dia-
logue, has used the word discretion throughout, but it appears to me scarce
worthy to be exalted into a virtue that is the twin-sister of wisdom. Fur-
ther on, as will be noticed, I have also followed Cousin in translating
cwdposivyn prudence.
£ I have followed Stalibaum’s reading, who omits ef and émpatrov.

262 PROTAGORAS.

** What? is there any thing high in voice ?”

He said there is.

* And is any thing contrary to this except the low >”

‘* There is not,” he said.

‘* Therefore,”’said I, “ to each several contrary there is only
one contrary, and not many.”

He granted it.

“Come then,” said I, “let us reckon up our admissions,
We have admitted that one thing only is contrary to one, but
not more ?”

‘* We have.”

‘“‘ And that what is done contrariwise, is done by contra-
ries ?”

He assented.

‘“ We admitted also that what is done foolishly is done con-
trariwise to that which is done temperately ?”

He assented.

‘And that what is done temperately is done by temperance,
and what foolishly, by folly ?”

He agreed.

‘If therefore it is done contrariwise, must it not be done by
a contrary ?”

ge & Vad

‘And the one is done by temperance, and the other by
folly ?”’

ree.

** Contrariwise ?”’

“ Certainly.”

‘‘ Through contraries therefore ?”

“It appears so.”

‘‘ Folly therefore is contrary to temperance ?””

‘So it appears.”

‘“Do you remember, however, that we before admitted that
folly is contrary to wisdom ?”

He allowed it.

‘* And that one thing only is contrary to one ?”

evant i}.

58. ‘“ Which, then, of these positions must we retract, Pro-
tagoras? That which says, that one thing only is contrary to
cne, or that in which it was asserted, that wisdom is different
from temperance, but that each is a part of virtue, acd that

PROTAGORAS. 263

besides being different, both they and their functions are
dissimilar, in the same manner as the parts of the face?
Which of these, then, must we retract? for these two posi-
tions taken together are not set down in a very musical
manner; for they neither accord, nor harmonize with each
other. For how can they accord, since it is necessary that one
thing only should be contrary to one, but not to more, but wis-
dom and temperance are found to be contrary to folly, which is
one. Is it so, Protagoras,” I asked, “ or otherwise ?”

He admitted that it was so, though very unwillingly.

“Must not, then, temperance and wisdom be one and the
same thing? Before, moreover, justice and holiness were
found to be nearly the same. 59. Come, however,” said I,
“« Protagoras, let us not be disheartened, but examine the rest.
Does a man who acts unjustly, appear to you to be prudent®,
because he acts unjustly °°” .

‘‘¥ should be ashamed, Socrates,’’ he said, ‘‘ to acknowledge
this, though many men do say so.”

‘Whether, then, shall I address my argument to them,” I
asked, “‘or to you?”

“Tf you please,” said he, “ discuss this statement first, the
statement of the many.”

‘“‘ But it makes no difference to me, if only you will answer,
whether these things appear so to you or not: for I am most
anxious to sift the statement itself, though it may possibly
happen, that both I who question, and you who answer, may
ourselves be sifted.”

At first, then, Protagoras began to give himself airs, for he
objected that the subject was difficult ; afterwards however, he
agreed to answer.

60. ‘Come then,” said I, ‘‘ answer me from the beginning.
Do persons who act unjustly, appear to you to be prudent ?”

* Be it so,” he replied.

‘* And by being prudent, do you mean thinking rightly ?”

He assented.

“ And by thinking rightly that they are well advised when
they act unjustly ?”

* As was before observed, it is now necessary for the thread of the argu-
ment to use the word prudent instead of temperate, but the reader must
bear in mind that in the original the two ideas are expressed by one
word.

264 RROTAGOR AS

“Be it so,”’ said he.

“Is this the case,” I asked, “ if they fare well in acting un-
justly, or if they fare ill ?”

“Tf they fare well.”

‘Do you say then that certain things are good ?”

1 oo.

‘Are those things good, then,” I asked, ‘‘ which are advan-
tageous to men ?”

“By Jupiter,” said he, “and some things though they are
not advantageous to men I call good.”

61. Protagoras now appeared to me to be ruffled and an-
noyed, and to be set against answering any more: when, there-
fore, I saw him in this state, I was cautious, and asked him
gently : ‘‘ Whether,” said I, “ Protagoras, do you mean things
that are advantageous to no man, or things that are advan-
tageous in no respect whatever ? and do you call such things
good ?”

‘““By no means,” said he; ‘ but I know many things which
are useless to men, meats and drinks, and drugs, and ten thou-
sand other things, and some things that are advastageous ; and
some things that are neither the one nor the other to men, but
are to horses, and some to oxen only, and others to dogs,
others again to neither of these, but to trees, and others that
are good for the roots of trees, but pernicious to their buds,
for instance, dung is good when applied to the roots of all
plants, but if you were to put it on their branches and young
shoots, it destroys the whole. Oil too is very injurious to all
plants, and is most destructive to the hairs of all animals
except man, but it is of service to the hairs of man, and to the
rest of his body. 62. So various and diversified a thing is
good, that this very thing is good for the external parts of the
human body, but most pernicious to the inward parts. And on
this account all physicians forbid the sick to use oil, except only
a very small quantity in what they are going to eat, just suf-
ficient to overcome the disagreeable smell of the food and
seasoning.” .

Protagoras having said this, those that were present loudly
applauded him, for that he spoke well. And I said, “ Prota-
goras, I happen to be a forgetful sort of man, and if any one
rakes me a long speech, I forget what the discussion is about.
As, therefore, if I happened to be deaf, you would have thought

PROTAGORAS. 265

it necessary, if you were about to converse with me, to speak
louder than you do to others, so now, since you have met with
a forgetful person, curtail your answers for me, and make
them briefer, if I am to follow you.”

‘How do you bid me answer briefly? Must I answer you,”
said he, ‘‘ more briefly than is requisite ?”

‘«‘ By no means,” I replied.

“ But at such length as is requisite?” he asked.

“‘' Yes,” said I.

«Whether, then, must I answer at such length as I think
requisite, or as you?”

63. “I have heard,” I replied, ‘‘ that you are both yourself
able, and can teach others to make a long speech on the same
subject if you please, so as never to be in want of words, and
again to speak so briefly, that no one can express himself in
fewer words than you. If, therefore, you mean to converse
with me, use the other method with me, that of brevity.”

«‘ Socrates,” said he, “ [ have ere this entered into discussion
with many men, and if I had done what you bid me, that is,
had conversed as my antagonist bade me converse, I should
not have appeared to excel any one, nor would the name of
Protagoras have been celebrated in Greece.”

64. Then I (for I perceived that he was not pleased with
his former answers, and that he would not willingly carry on
the conversation by answering my questions) thinking that I
had no longer any business to be present at the conference,
said, ‘‘ Protagoras, I am not anxious to continue our confer-
ence contrary to your wish; but whenever you are willing to
converse in such a manner that I can follow you, I will then
converse with you. For you, as is reported of you, and as you
admit yourself, are able to carry on a conference both with
prolixity and brevity; for you are wise; but I am unable to
follow these long speeches; though I wish that I could. But
it was fitting, that you, who are capable of doing both, should
yield to me, in order that the conference might continue: now
however, since you are not willing and I have business to
attend to, and am unable to stay while you are extending your
speeches to a great length (for I have somewhere to go to), L
will take my departure; though otherwise perhaps I might
have listened to these things with pleasure.”

65. And as I spoke thus, I rose to depart. And as I was

266 PROTAGORAS,

rising, Callias takes hold of me with his right hand, and with
his left seized my cloak, and said, ‘We shall not let vou go,
Socrates ; for if you go away, our conversation will no longer
be the same. I beseech you, therefore, stay with us; for there
is no one I would more gladly hear than you and Protagoras
conversing together ; therefore oblige us all.”

To this I said—I already stood up ready to go—“ Son of
Hipponicus, I always admire your love of wisdom ; but I now
both praise and love it; so that I should wish to gratify you,
if you asked me what was possible. But now it is as if you
should ask me to keep up with Crison of Himera, a runner in
his prime, or to run a race and keep up with one of the long-
distance runners or day-couriers; I should say to you, that I
wish much more than you do that I could keep pace with these
runners, but I cannot. but if vou wish to see me and Crison
running together, you must request him to slacken his pace ;
for I am not able to run swiftly, but he is able to run slowly.
So if you desire to hear me and Protagoras, you must request
him to continue to answer as he did at first, briefly and to the
question. But if not, what kind of conversation will arise? T
for my part thought that it is one thing to converse together,
and another to harangue.”

66. ‘« But you see, Socrates,” said he, “« Protagoras appears
to ask what is just, in requiring that he may be allowed to
converse as he pleases, and you as you please.”

Alcibiades, thereupon, taking up the discourse, said, ‘* You
do not speak fairly, Callias; for Socrates here admits that he
has not the faculty of making long speeches, and yields to
Protagoras, but in the power of conversing, and knowing how
to give and receive a reason, I should wonder if he yielded to
any man. If then, Protagoras confesses that he is inferior to
Socrates in conversing, that is enough for Socrates; but if he
pretends to rival him, let him carry on the conversation by
question and answer, not making a long speech in answer to
each question, evading the argument and not choosing to give a
reason, but prolonging his speech until most of the hearers for-
get what the question was about. For as for Socrates, I will
be his surety that he will not forget, notwithstanding he jests
and says he is forgetful. To me, therefore, Socrates appears
to make the fairer proposition ; for it is right that every one
should declare his own opinion.”

PROTAGORAS. 267

67. After Alcibiades, it was Critias, I think, who said,
‘« Prodicus and Hippias, Callias appears to me to be very much
on the side of Protagoras; but Alcibiades is always fond of
contention, to whatever he applies himself. We, however,
ought not to contend with each other, either for Socrates or
Protagoras, but we should join in requesting them both not to
break up the conference in the middle.”

When he had spoken thus, Prodicus » said, ‘“‘ You seem to me
to say well, Critias: for it is right that those who are present
at discussions of this kind should be common, but not equal
hearers of both speakers. For it is not the same thing: for it is
requisite to hear both in common, but not to give equal atten-
tion to each of them, but to the wiser more, and to the less
learned less. 68. I too, Protagoras and Socrates, beg of you
to make concessions to each other, and to argue with one
another, but not to wrangle; for friends argue with friends out
of good will, but adversaries and enemies wrangle with one
another. And thus the conference will be most admirably
conducted. For you, the speakers, will thus be highly ap-
proved, not praised, by us the hearers; for approbation is felt
in the mind of the hearers, and is without deception; but
praise is bestowed in words, by persons often who speak un-
truly, contrary to their real opinion; again, we, the hearers,
shall thus be highly delighted, not pleased, for delight takes
place when one learns something and acquires wisdom in one’s
mind, but pleasure when one eats something, or experiences
some other agreeable sensation in one’s body.”

69. When Prodicus had thus spoken, many of those that
were present approved of what he said. But after Prodicus,
Hippias the wise spoke: ‘“ My friends who are here present,”
said he, ‘I regard you all as kinsmen, relatives, and fellow-citi-
zens by nature, though not by law; for like is by nature akin to
like, but law being a tyrant over men, compels many things to
be done contrary to nature. It were disgraceful, then, for us
to know the nature of things, to be the wisest of the Greeks,
and in this very character to have met together in the city of
Greece, which is the very prytaneum of wisdom, and in the
noblest and wealthiest house in this city, and then to exhibit

h Tt will be observed that Prodicus’s method, of drawing nice distinc-

tions between words nearly resembling each other in meaning, is here
ridiculed.

+ 268 PROTAGORAS.

nothing worthy of this high rank, but like the lowest of men to
disagree with each other. 70. I therefore both entreat and ad-
yise you, Protagoras and Socrates, to come to terms under our
authority, who as arbitrators will bring you to an agreement;
and neither do you, Socrates, require that exact form of dia-
logue, which is so very concise, unless it is agreeable to Pro-
tagoras, but relax somewhat and give the reins to your dis-
course, that it may appear to us with more majesty and grace ;
nor on the other hand, do you, Protagoras, stretching every
rope, and carrying all sail, scud to an ocean of words out of
sight of land, but both of you keep a middle course. Do thus
then, and be persuaded by me to choose a moderator, president,
and prytanis, who will oblige you to keep within moderate
bounds on either side.”

This pleased those that were present, and all approved, and
Callias said that he would not let me go, and they urged me
to choose a president. 71. I said therefore, ‘that it would be
a shame to choose an umpire for our arguments; for if the
person chosen should be our inferior, it would not be right that
the inferior should preside over his superiors, nor if he should
be equal, would this be right; for one that is equal will act
the same as we do, so that the choice will be superfluous.
But you will choose some one better than we are; in reality I
think it impossible for you to choose any one wiser than Pro-
tagoras here: but if you should choose one in no respect
superior, though you shall affirm that he is, this also will be a
disgrace to him, to have a president chosen for him, as if he
were a common person : for as to myself it makes no difference.
I am willing, then, to act as follows, that our conference and
conversation may continue, which you so earnestly desire: if
Protagoras is not willing to answer, let him ask questions, and
I will answer; and at the same time I will endeavour to shew
him, how I say one who answers ought to answer. But when
I have answered all the questions that he chooses to ask, let
him in his turn, in like manner, reply to me. If, however, he
should not appear disposed to answer the exact question put
to him, both you and I will join in intreating of him, as you
now do of me, not to destroy the conversation. And for this
purpose there is no occasion for one president to be appointed,
but you will ali be presidents in common.”

72. It appeared to all that this was what ought to be done.

PROTAGORAS. 269

And though Protagoras was not very willing to comply, yet he
was compelled to consent to ask questions, and when he had
asked enough in his turn to reply to my questions with brevity.
He began therefore pretty nearly as follows:

“T think,” said he, ** Socrates, that the most important part
of a man’s education consists in being skilled in poetical com-
position ; that is, to be able to understand what has been said by
the poets, both what has been correctly composed and what
incorrectly, and to know how to distinguish and to give a
reason when asked about them. And now the question shall
be on the very subject about which you and I have been con-
versing, virtue, but it shall be transferred to poetry. For
Simonides somewhere says to Scopas, son of Creon the Thes-
salian, ‘That to become a good man is truly difficult, square as
to his hands and feet and mind, fashioned without fault.’ Do
you know the ode, or shall I repeat the whole to you?”

73. I said, “There is no necessity, for I know it, and have
studied the ode with great attention.”

“You say well,’ he then observed, ‘‘ Whether, does it ap-
pear to you to have been composed beautifully and correctly
or not?”

“Certainly,” said I, ‘‘ both beautifully and correctly.”

‘“‘ But does it appear to you to have been composed beauti-
fully if the poet contradicts himself ?”

“* Not beautifully,” I replied.

‘‘ Consider it, then, more attentively,” said he.

‘But my good friend, I have examined it sufficiently.”

“You know, then,” said he, “ that in the course of the ode
he says somewhere, ‘That saying of Pittacus does not please
me, though uttered by a wise man, wherein he says, it is
difficult to continue to be good.’ Do you observe, that the
same person makes both this and the former remark ?”

‘“‘T know it,” I replied.

“Does it appear to you then,” said he, ‘‘ that the one agrees
with the other ?”

“It appears so to me.” And at the same time I was afraid
lest there should be something in what he said. ‘‘ But,” said I,
‘does not it appear so to you?”

‘‘How can he who made both these assertions agree with
himself, who first of all laid it down in his own person, that it
is truly difficult to become a good man, and a little further

270 PROTAGORAS.

on this person forgets himself and blames Pittacus for saying
the same thing that he had said himself, ‘that it is difficult to
be good,’ and asserts that he cannot approve of his saying the
very same thing as himself. Surely in blaming a man who
says the same things as himself, it is clear that he blames him-
self, so that in the former or the latter place he does not speak
correctly.”

74. In saying this he elicited applause and praise from many
of the hearers. And J, at first, as if I had been hit by a skilful
boxer, was blinded, and made giddy, by his saying this, and by
the applause of the others; but afterwards, to tell you the truth,
that 1 might have time to consider what the poet meant, I
turned to Prodicus, and calling out to him, said, “ Prodicus,
Simonides was your fellow-citizen; you are bound to assist the
man. 1 seem then, to call upon you, in the same manner as
Homer! says Scamander, when assailed by Achilles, called
upon Simois, saying, ‘ Dear brother, let us unite to repel the
prowess of this man.” So I call upon you, let not Protagoras
overthrow Simonides, For the defence of Simonides requires
that exquisite skill of yours, by which you distinguish between
to will and to desire, as not being the same, and by which you
Just now established many and beautiful distinctions. And now
consider, whether your opinion agrees with mine: for Si-
monides does not appear to me to contradict himself. But do
you, Prodicus, first declare your opinion. Does it appear to
you that to become and to be are the same or different ?”

“Different by Jupiter,” said Prodicus.

75. ‘ Has not Simonides himself then,” said I, “in the first
passage, declared his own opinion, that it is in truth difficult to
become a good man ?”

“You say truly,’’ replied Prodicus.

** But he blames Pittacus,” I continued, “not as Protagoras
thinks, for saying the same thing that he had said, but some-
thing different. For Pittacus does not say that this is the
difficulty, to become a good man, as Simonides does, but this,
to be so; but Protagoras, as Prodicus here says, to be and to
become are not the same; and if to be and to become are not
the same, Simonides does not contradict himself. And perhaps
Prodicus here, and many others, may say with Hesiod*, ‘that
it is difficult to become good; for that the gods have placed

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PROTAGORAS. 271

sweat before virtue; but when any one has reached its summit.
it is then casy to acquire, though before it was difficult’”’

76. Prodicus, on hearing this, commended me; but Pro-
tagoras said, ‘‘ Your defence, Socrates, is more erroneous than
the passage which you defend.”

And I said, ‘‘ Then I have done ill, as it seems, Protagoras,
and I am an absurd physician; in attempting to cure, I make
the disease worse.”

«So it is however,” he said.

“ But how?” I asked.

‘Great must have been the poet’s ignorance,”’ he replied,
‘if he asserts that virtue is so easy a thing to be acquired,
whereas it is the most difficult of all, as all men think.”

77. And I said, ‘ By Jupiter, Prodicus here is very op-
portunely present at our discussion. For the wisdom of Pro-
dicus appears, O Protagoras, to have been of old divine, whether
it began with Simonides, or is even still more ancient. But you,
who are skilled in many other things, appear to be unskilled in
this, and not skilled in it as Iam, from being the disciple of
this Prodicus. And now you appear to me not to be aware
that Simonides probably did not understand this word ‘ diffi-
cult,’ in the same sense as you understand it; but as with the
word devds, (terrible and clever,) Prodicus here is continually
taking me to task, when in praising you, or any one else, I say,
that Protagoras is a wise and terrible man, he asks if I am
not ashamed of calling good things terrible, for what is terrible,
he says, is evil; hence no one ever speaks of terrible riches,
or terrible peace, or terrible health, but every one says terrible
disease, and terrible war, and terrible poverty, since whatever
is terrible is evil. Perhaps, therefore, the Ceans and Simonides
understand by the word difficult either that which is bad, or
something else that you are not aware of. 78. Let us then
ask Prodicus; for it is right to enquire of him the mean-
ing of words used by Simonides; what, Prodicus, does Simo-
nides mean by the word difficult >”

‘vile’ he replied,

“Tor this reason, then,” I continued, “ Prodicus, he blames
Pittacus for saying that it is difficult to be good, as if he had
heard him say that it is evil to be good.”

** But what else but this, Socrates,” he asked, “do you think
Simonides meant and found fault with in Pittacus, that he did

272 PROTAGORAS.

not know how to distinguish terms rightly, as being a Lesbian,
and educated in a barbarous dialect ?”’

“Do you hear Prodicus,” said I, “ Protagoras? And have
you any objection to make to this?”

Thereupon Protagoras said, 79. “ This is far from being the
case, Prodicus; for I am very sure that Simonides meant by
the word difficult the same that we all do, not what is evil,
but that which is not easy, but is accomplished by much toil.”

“And I too think, Protagoras,”’ I said, “that Simonides
meant this, and that Prodicus here knows he did, but he is
jesting, and is willing to try whether you are able to maintain
your own assertion, For that Simonides does not by the
word difficult mean evil, is strongly confirmed by the expres-
sion immediately after this; for he says, that ‘God alone pos-
sesses this privilege,’ not surely meaning that it is evil to be
good; then he adds that God alone possesses this, and he at-
tributes this privilege to God alone; for in that case Prodicus
would call Simonides a profligate, and by no means a Cean.
But I am willing to tell you what appears to me to have been
the design of Simonides in this ode, if you think proper to
make trial of my poetical skill, as you call it; or if you prefer
it, I will listen to you.”

80. Protagoras, therefore, hearing me speak thus, said, “ If
you please, Socrates ;” but Prodicus, Hippias, and the rest,
urged me very much.

‘I will endeavour, then,” said I, “to explain to you what I
think of this ode. Philosophy is most ancient and most pre-
valent in Crete and Lacedemon of all Greece, and sophists
are more numerous there than any where else. They deny it,
however, and pretend to be ignorant, in order that they may
not be discovered to surpass the rest of the Greeks in wisdom,
like those sophists whom Protagoras mentioned, but that they
may appear to excel in fighting and courage, thinking that, if
it were known in what they excel, all men would engage in the
same pursuit. But now, concealing this, they deceive those who
affect Spartan manners in other cities, for some, in imitation
of them, have their ears bruised, and bind their arms with
the thongs of the cestus, and devote themselves to gymnastic
exercises, and wear short garments, as if in these things the
Lacedemonians excelled the other Greeks. But the Lacede-
monians, now that they wish to converse without restraint with

See an ee eer een

PROTAGORAS, 273

the sophists among them, and are wearied with conversing
with them in secret, expelling these imitators of Spartan man-
ners, and any other stranger that is living in their country,
converse with the sophists unknown to all strangers; and
they do not suffer any of their young men to go out to other
cities, as neither do the Cretans, lest they should unlearn what
they have taught them. 81, And in these cities there are not
only men that pride themselves on their learning, but women
also. And you may know, that in this I speak truly, and that
the Lacedemonians are admirably instructed in philosophy
and the art of speaking, from the following circumstance :
for if any one wishes to conyerse with the meanest of the
Lacedsemonians, he will find him, for the most part, apparently
an ordinary person in conversation, but afterwards, when a pro-
per opportunity presents itself, he sends forth, like a skilful
lancer, a notable saying, brief and pointed, so that he who con-
_ verses with him will appear to be nothing better than a boy. Ac-
cordingly some persons, both of the present day and of former
times, have observed this very thing, that to imitate Spartan
manners consists much more in studying philosophy, than de-
voting one’s-self to gymnastie exercises, since they know that to
be able to utter such sayings is a proof of a highly educated
man. 82. Among these were Thales of Miletus, Pittacus of
Mitylene, Bias of Priene, our own Solon, Cleobulus of Lindus,
Myson of Chene, and the seventh among them was reckoned
the Lacedemonian Chilo. These all were emulators, lovers,
and disciples of the Lacedeemonian education, and any one may
discover that their wisdom was of this kind, brief and memor-
able sayings uttered by each of them. These men also, having
met together, consecrated the first-fruits of their wisdom to
Apollo in the temple at Delphi, inscribing those sentences which
all men have in their mouths: ‘Know thyself,’ and ‘ Nothing
in extremes.’

‘* But why do I mention these things ? To shew that this was
the mode of philosophy among the ancients, a certain laconic
brevity of diction. Amongst the rest this particular saying of
Pittacus was noised abroad, being extolled by the wise men:
“It is difficult to be good,’ Simonides, therefore, as being am-
bitious of a reputation for wisdom, knew that if he could over-
throw this saying, as if it were a famous wrestler, and could
master it, he himself would become famous amongst the men of

us

274 PROTAGORAS

his own time. In opposition to this sentence, therefore, and
with this object, designing to put it down, he composed the whole
of this ode, as it appears to me.

83. “Let all of us, however, examine it together, to see
whether what I say is true. For the very commencement of
the ode would appear to be insane, if, wishing to say that it is
difficult to become a good man, he had afterwards inserted the
particle ‘indeed.’ For this appears to have been inserted for
no purpose whatever, unless we suppose that Simonides is speak-
ing as if he were quarrelling with the saying of Pittacus ; and
that when Pittacus says, that ‘it is difficult to be good,’ he,
disputing this, says, * Not so,’ but it is indeed difficult, Pittacus,
to become good in very truth; not ‘ truly good.’ For he does
not use the word truly in this way, as if some men were truly
good, and others good indeed, but not truly so, for this would
have been silly, and not worthy of Simonides ; but it is neces-
sary to transpose the word ‘ truly’ in the ode, understanding
the saying of Pittacus somewhat as follows, as if we were to
make Pittacus himself speak, and Simonides answer, saying,
“O men, it is difficult to be good,’ but the latter answers, ° Pit-
tacus, your assertion is not true: for not to be, but to become
indeed a good man, square as to one’s hands and feet, and
mind, fashioned without blame, is truly difficult.’ Thus it ap-
pears that the particle * indeed’ is inserted with good reason,
and that the word ‘truly’ is rightly placed at the end. And all
that follows bears witness to this, that such is the meaning.
84. Many things might be said to prove with respect to each
several passage in this ode, that it is well composed ; for it is
very elegant and elaborate; but it would be too long to go
through the whole of it in this way. Let us then consider its
whole outline and design, which is nothing else than a refuta-
tion of the saying of Pittacus throughout the ode. For
he says shortly after this, proceeding as if he would say, to be-
come a good man is truly difficult, it is possible however for a
certain time: but having become to continue in this condition,
and to be a good man, as you say, Pittacus, is impossible and
more than human, but God alone possesses this privilege ;
‘but it cannot be that a man should be otherwise than evil,
whomsoever irresistible calamity prostrates.’ 85. Whom, then,
does irresistible calamity prostrate in the command of a ship?
Clearly not a private person, for the private person is always

a

ee ed

8

PROTAGORAS. 275

prostrate ; as therefore no one can throw down a man who is
lying on the ground, but sometimes one may throw down one
who is standing upright, so as to make him lie on the ground,
but not one already lying there, so an irresistible calamity may
sometimes prostrate a skilful man, but never one who is always
unskilful; and a violent storm bursting on a pilot may make
his skill of no avail, and a bad season befalling a farmer may
make his skill of no avail, and the same with a physician: for it
befals a good man to become evil, as is also testified by an-
other poet, who says, ‘A good man is sometimes evil, and some-
times good:’ but it does not befal the evil to become so, but
he must needs always be so. So that when an irresistible
calamity prostrates a skilful, wise, and good man, it is not pos-
sibie for him not to be evil; but you say, Pittacus, that it is
difficult to be good; but the difficulty is to become good,
though it is possible, but impossible to be so. 86. ‘ For every
man who fares well is good, but evil if he fares ill.’ What then

‘is faring well with respect to literature? and what makes a

man good in literature? Clearly the being instructed in it.
What faring well makes a good physician? Clearly the being
instructed in the art of curing the sick. ‘And evil if he fares
ill.” Who then would become an evil physician? Clearly he
to whom it happens first to be a physician, and then a good
physician ; for he may become an evil physician. But we who
are ignorant of the medical art, can never by faring ill become
either physicians, or builders, or any thing else of the kind ;
but whoever cannot become a physician by faring ill, clearly
cannot become an evil physician. Thus also a good man may
sometime or other become evil, either from length of time, or
labour, or disease, or some other accident, for this alone is a
faring ill, to be deprived of knowledge, but the evil man can
never become evil, for he is always so; but if he is to become
evil, it is necessary for him first to become good. So that this
part of the ode tends to this, that it is not possible to bea good
man, So as to continue good; but that it is possible to become
good, and for the same person to become evil: ‘ and they are
for the longest time best whom the gods love.’

87. “ All these things therefore are said against Pittacus,
and the following parts of the ode shew this still more clearly.
For he says, ‘ Wherefore I shall never, searching for that which
cannot be, throw away a portion of my life on an empty im-

oe

276 PROTAGORAS.

practicable hope. searching for an all-blameless man among
us who feed on the fruits of the wide earth, When I have
found one, I will inform you;’ he adds. So vehemently, and
through the whole of the ode, does he attack the saying of Pit-
tacus. ‘ But I praise and willingly love all who do nothing —
base; but with necessity not even gods contend.’ Andthisis —
spoken against that same saying. For Simonides was not so
ill informed as to say that he praised those who did no evil
willingly, as if there were some who did eyil willingly. For I
am pretty much of this opinion, that no wise man thinks that
any man errs willingly, nor willingly commits base and evil
actions, but they well know that all those who do base and evil
things, do them unwillingly. 88. Moreover Simonides does
not say, that he praises those who do not willingly do evil, but
he uses this word ‘ willingly’ of himself. For he thought that
a good and upright man is frequently compelled to love and
praise a certain person; for instance, it often happens to a man
to have a perverse mother or father, or country, or something
else of the kind. Now depraved men, when any such thing
happens to them, are as it were glad to see it, and blaming make
known and divulge the depravity of their parents or country,
that when they neglect them, men may not accuse or reproach
them for their neglect, so that they blame them still more than
they deserve, and add voluntary to necessary enmity. But the
good conceal the faults and compel themselves to praise, and
if they are angry with their parents or country from having been
injured by them, they pacify themselves and become reconciled, _
compelling themselves to love and praise their own connections, —
And I think Simonides also himself frequently considered it
right to praise and extol a tyrant, or some one else of the kind, ©
not willingly, but by compulsion. 89. This, too, he says to }
Pittacus; I, Pittacus, do not blame you on this account, because _
T am fond of blaming ; for ‘ it is enough for me if a man is not
evil or too helpless, a sane man, acquainted with justice i

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benefits the state; I will not censure him, for I am not a lover
of censure; for the race of fools is infinite ;’ so that he who
delights in blaming may satiate himself in censuring them.
‘All things are beautiful with which base things are not
mingled.’ His meaning in this, is not as if he had said, all
things are white with which black is not mingled, for this.
would be in many ways ridiculous, but that he himself admits —

PROTAGORAS. 277

of a mean, so as not to blame it. ‘And I do not seek,’ he
adds, ‘an all-blameless man, among us who feed on the fruits
of the wide earth; when I have found him, I will inform you.’
For this reason, therefore, I shall praise no one, but it is enough
for me if a man be moderate, and does no evil, for I ‘love and
praise all.’ Here too he uses the language of the Mityleneans,
as speaking to Pittacus, ‘I praise and love all willingly,’ (here
it is necessary after ‘ willingly’ to distinguish in the pronunci-
ation,) ‘who do nothing base,’ but there are some whom I
praise and love unwillingly. Thee therefore, Pittacus, if thou
hadst spoken with moderate reason and truth, I should never
have blamed, but now, since you lie excessively and in matters
of the greatest moment, while you think you are speaking the
truth, for this reason I blame you. 90. Such appears to me,
Prodicus and Protagoras,” said I, “to have been the design of
Simonides in the composition of this ode.”

Upon this Hippias said, ‘‘ You seem to me, Socrates, to
have given a good explanation of this ode, and I too,” he
added, ‘‘ have some pretty good remarks to make on it, which
I will communicate to you, if you please.”

“Do so, Hippias,”’ said Alcibiades, ‘but at another time;
but now it is right to carry out the agreement which Prota-
goras and Socrates made with each other, and, if Protagoras
wishes to ask any more questions, for Socrates to answer, but
if he wishes to answer Socrates, then for the latter to ask
questions.” ,

91. Then I said, “I leave it to Protagoras to choose which-
ever is more agreeable to him ; but if he is willing, let us have
done with odes and poems, but I would gladly, Protagoras,
examine with you and come to a conclusion on the subject
about which I first questioned you. For a discussion about
poetry appears to me very like the festivities of mean and un-
educated men; for they, through not being able to converse
with one another over their cups, with their own voices and
their own words, in consequence of deficiency of education,
enhance the pay of female flute-plavers, and hiring at a great
price the foreign voices of flutes, converse with each other
through their voices. But when worthy, good, and well.
educated men meet together at a banquet you will see neither
flute-playing women, nor dancing-girls, nor harpists, but you
will find that they are able to converse with themselves, with-

276 PROTAGORAS.

practicable hope, searching for an all-blameless man among
us who feed on the fruits of the wide earth. When I have
found one, I will inform you;’ he adds, So vehemently, and
through the whole of the ode, does he attack the saying of Pit-
tacus. ‘ But I praise and willingly love all who do nothing
base; but with necessity not even gods contend.’ And this is
spoken against that same saying. For Simonides was not so
ill informed as to say that he praised those who did no evil
willingly, as if there were some who did evil willingly. For I
am pretty much of this opinion, that no wise man thinks that
any man errs willingly, nor willingly commits base and evil
actions, but they well know that all those who do base and evil
things, do them unwillingly. 88, Moreover Simonides does
not say, that he praises those who do not willingly do evil, but
he uses this word ‘ willingly’ of himself. For he thought that
a good and upright man is frequently compelled to love and
praise a certain person ; for instance, it often happens to a man
to have a perverse mother or father, or country, or something
else of the kind. Now depraved men, when any such thing
happens to them, are as it were glad to see it, and blaming make
known and divulge the depravity of their parents or country,
that when they neglect them, men may not accuse or reproach
them for their neglect, so that they blame them still more than
they deserve, and add voluntary to necessary enmity. But the
good conceal the faults and compel themselves to praise, and
if they are angry with their parents or country from having been
injured by them, they pacify themselves and become reconciled,
compelling themselves to love and praise their own connections.
And I think Simonides also himself frequently considered it
right to praise and extol a tyrant, or some one else of the kind,
not willingly, but by compulsion, 89. This, too, he says to
Pittacus; I, Pittacus, do not blame you on this account, because
I am fond of blaming ; for ‘it is enough for me if a man is not
evil or too helpless, a sane man, acquainted with justice that
benefits the state; I will not censure him, for I am not a lover
of censure; for the race of fools is infinite ;’ so that he who
delights in blaming may satiate himself in censuring them.
‘All things are beautiful with which base things are not

mingled.’ His meaning in this, is not as if he had said, all ©
things are white with which black is not mingled, for this.
would be in many ways ridiculous, but that he himself admits —

ERS

PROTAGORAS. 277

of a mean, so as not to blame it. ‘And I do not seek,’ he
adds, ‘an all-blameless man, among us who feed on the fruits
of the wide earth; when I have found him, I will inform you.’
For this reason, therefore, I shall praise no one, but it is enough
for me if a man be moderate, and does no evil, for I ‘love and
praise all.’ Here too he uses the language of the Mityleneans,
as speaking to Pittacus, ‘I praise and love all willingly,’ (here
it is necessary after ‘ willingly’ to distinguish in the pronunci-
ation,) ‘who do nothing base,’ but there are some whom I
praise and love unwillingly. Thee therefore, Pittacus, if thou
hadst spoken with moderate reason and truth, I should never
have blamed, but now, since you lie excessively and in matters
of the greatest moment, while you think you are speaking the
truth, for this reason I blame you. 90. Such appears to me,
Prodicus and Protagoras,” said I, “to have been the design of
Simonides in the composition of this ode.”

Upon this Hippias said, ‘‘ You seem to me, Socrates, to
have given a good explanation of this ode, and I too,” he
added, ‘have some pretty good remarks to make on it, which
I will communicate to you, if you please.”

‘Do so, Hippias,” said Alcibiades, ‘‘ but at another time;
but now it is right to carry out the agreement which Prota-
goras and Socrates made with each other, and, if Protagoras
wishes to ask any more questions, for Socrates to answer, but
if he wishes to answer Socrates, then for the latter to ask
questions.” ,

91. Then I said, “I leave it to Protagoras to choose which-
ever is more agreeable to him ; but if he is willing, let us have
done with odes and poems, but I would gladly, Protagoras,
examine with you and come to a conclusion on the subject
about which I first questioned you. For a discussion about
poetry appears to me very like the festivities of mean and un-
educated men; for they, through not being able to converse
with one another over their cups, with their own voices and
their own words, in consequence of deficiency of education,
enhance the pay of female flute-players, and hiring at a great
price the foreign voices of flutes, converse with each other
through their voices. But when worthy, good, and well-
educated men meet together at a banquet you will see neither
flute-playing women, nor dancing-girls, nor harpists, but you
will find that they are able to converse with themselves, with-

278 PROTAGORAS.

out these trifles and pastimes, by means of their own voices,
both speaking and listening to each other in turn, in good
order, even though they have drunk a great deal of wine. 92.
In like manner, such meetings as the present, when they are
composed of such men as most of us profess ourselves to be,
have no need of foreign voices, or of poets, of whom it is not
possible to ask the meaning of what they say, and most of
those who introduce them in their arguments say that the
poet means some one thing and some another, disputing about
a matter which they can never determine. But they dismiss
such topics of conversation as these, and converse with each
other through their own resources, and in their discussions
receive and give proof of each other’s capacity. It appears to
me, that you and I ought rather to imitate such persons as
these, and setting aside the poets should discourse with each
other, from our own resources, and receive proof of the truth
and of ourselves. And if you still wish to question me, I am
ready to offer myself to answer you; but if you do not wish it,
do you offer yourself to me, so that we may bring to a conclu-
sion the subject that we broke off in the middle.”

93. On my saying these and other things of the same kind,
Protagoras did not distinctly declare which of the two he
would do. Alcibiades, therefore, looking to Callias, said,
«Callias, does Protagoras appear to you to act rightly now, in
not being willing to declare whether he will answer or not ?
For to me he does not. But let him either continue the con-
versation, or say that he is not willing to continue it, that we
may know this from him, and that Socrates may converse with
some one else, or whoever else wishes to do so with some
other.”

And Protagoras, being ashamed, as it seemed to me, when
Alcibiades spoke thus and Callias and nearly all who were
present entreated him, was with great difficulty prevailed on
to renew the conversation and bade me question him, for that
he would answer.

94, I then said to him, “Protagoras, think not that [
converse with you with any other design, than to examine
thoroughly into things about which I am continually in doubt.
For I think that Homer! speaks very much to the purpose,
when he says, ‘When two come together, one apprehends

1 Tliad x. 224.

isiitiebleiacinemneeteeee

PROTAGORAS. 2g

before the other.’ For all of us men are thus more prompt in
every deed, and word, and thought, but when any one ap-
prehends alone ™, he immediately goes about and searches for
some one to whom he may communicate it, and with whom he
may establish it, until he finds him. So I too, for this reason,
am better pleased to converse with you than with any one else,
thinking that you are best able to investigate both other sub-
jects which a good man is likely to examine into, and especially
virtue. For who else can do it but you? Since you not only
think yourself to be a good and worthy man, as some others
also are virtuous, but are not able to make others so; you
however are both good yourself, and are able to make others
good, and you have such confidence in yourself, that while
others conceal this art, you openly proclaim yourself to all the
Greeks designating vourself a sophist, publishing yourself as a
professor of erudition and virtue, and you are the first that has
thought fit to receive pay for this. 95. How then, is it not
right to call upon you to the examination of these matters,
and to question and communicate with you respecting them ?
It cannot be otherwise. Now therefore I am desirous that
the questions which I first asked you on these subjects, should,
from the commencement, be partly called to mind by you, and
partly to consider them with you. The question, I think, was
this ; whether these, wisdom, temperance, courage, justice, and
holiness, which are five names, belong to one thing, or whether
a certain peculiar essence is attached to each of these names,
and each thing has its own function, and no one of them is the
same as any other? You said, then, that these were not names
belonging to one thing, but that each of these names was
applied to a distinct thing, and that all these are parts of virtue,
not in the same manner as the parts of gold are similar to each
other, and to the whole of which they are parts, but just as
the parts of the face are dissimilar to the whole of which they
are parts, and to each other, each possessing its peculiar
function. If these things still appear to you as they did then,
say so; if otherwise, explain the difference, since I shall not
think you in any way accountable, if you happen to speak
differently ; for I should not wonder if you said these things
before for the purpose of trying me.”

96. “ But I,” he said, “ tell you, Socrates, that all these are

meldidd sx. 295)

282 PROTAGORAS.

“But what, if he should die after having passed his life
pleasantly, would he not in that case appear to you to have
lived well ?”

“To me he would,” said he.

“To live pleasantly, then, is a good, but unpleasantly an
evil thing.”

“Yes,” he said, “if he has lived taking pleasure in honest
things.”

“What then, Protagoras, do you, like the multitude, call
some pleasant things evil, and some painful things good? I
mean, as far as they are pleasant are they not so far good, un-
less something else results from them? And again, in the
same way with regard to things painful; are they not evil so
far as they are painful?”

“J know not, Socrates,” he replied, “whether I should
answer you as absolutely as you ask me, that pleasant things
are all good, and painful things all evil; but it appears to me,
not only with reference to the present answer, but also with
reference to all the rest of my life, to be more safe to answer,
that there are some pleasant things which are not good, and
again, that there are some painful things which are not evil,
and there are some which are a third sort, and which are
neither the one nor the other, neither good or evil.”

102. ‘But do you not call those things pleasant,” I said,
“which partake of pleasure, or occasion pleasure ?”

“Certainly,” said he.

“] ask this, then, whether they are not good, so far as they
are pleasant, meaning to ask whether pleasure itself is not a
good thing.”

“As you frequently say, Socrates,” he. replied, ‘‘ we must
examine this, and if the examination shall'appear to be con-
nected with our subject, and the same thing shall appear to be
both pleasant and good, we must grant it; but if not, we must
controvert it.”

“ Whether, then,” said I, ‘do you wish to take the lead in
the examination, or shall I?”

“You ought to take the lead,” he replied, “ for you began
the discussion.”

103. “ Do you think, then,” said I, “ that it will become clear
to us in the following manner? just as if any one, examining a
man from his form either with reference to his health, or any other

PROTAGORAS. 283

operations of his body, on beholding his face and hands, should
say, Come, strip, and shew me your breast and back, that I may
examine you more closely ; so I require something of the kind
in reference to the present enquiry; perceiving that you are so
affected as you say you are, with reference to the good and the
pleasant, I have need to say some such thing as this, Come,
Protagoras, lay your mind open to me on this point, how are
you affected with respect to knowledge? Does it appear to
you as it does to most men, or otherwise? Most men think of
knowledge in some such way as this; that it is not a strong,
nor a guiding, nor a governing thing; nor do they conceive of
it as being any thing of the kind; but though knowledge is
often found in a man, they do not think that knowledge go-
verns him, but something else, at one time passion, at another
pleasure, at another pain, sometimes love, and frequently fear,
absolutely forming their conceptions of knowledge, as of a
slave dragged about by all the rest. Is such your opinion of it,
or do you think that knowledge is a noble thing, and able to
govern man, and that if a man knows good and evil he can
never be overcome by any thing, so as to do any thing else
than what knowledge bids him, and that wisdom is sufficient
to protect mankind ?”

104. “It appears to me,” he replied, “as you say, Socrates:
and moreover, if for any man, it would be disgraceful for me
not to assert that wisdom and knowledge are the most power-
ful of all human things.”

“You say well and with truth,’ I replied. “You are
aware, however, that most men do not believe you and me,
but say that many who know what is best are unwilling to do
it, when it is in their power, but do other things. And all of
whom I have asked what is the cause of this, have replied, that
being overcome by pleasure, or mastered by pain, or some one
of the things which I have just now mentioned, those who do
these things are led to do them.”

“J think, Socrates,” he remarked, “that men say many
other things incorrectly.”

‘Come then, join me in endeavouring to persuade men, and
to teach them what that affection of theirs is which they call
being overcome by pleasures, and on that account not doing
what is best, though they know it. For, perhaps, on our say-
ing, ‘ You do not speak correctly, my friends, but are deceived,’

¢

284 PROTAGORAS.

they would ask us, ‘Protagoras and Socrates, if this affection
is not the being overcome by pleasure, what is it then, and
what do you say it is, tell us?”

‘But why, Socrates, need we consider the opinion of the
generality of men, who say any thing that occurs to them ?”

105. “IT think,” said I, “that this will be of some service to
us towards discovering with respect to courage how it is re-
lated to the other parts of virtue. If, therefore, you are will-
ing to abide by what we just now agreed on, that I should
take the lead, follow me where I think the matter will become
exceedingly clear; but if you had rather not, I will dismiss it,
if you please.”

“You say rightly,” he replied; “ finish then, as you have
begun.”

* Again, then,” said I, “if they were to ask us, ‘ What do
you say this is, which we call being overcome by pleasures ?’
I, for my part, should answer them as follows: ‘ Hear then,
for Protagoras and I will endeavour to tell you. Do you not say,

friends, that this happens to you under the following circum-

stances? for instance, being often mastered by meats and
drinks, and the delights of love, which are pleasant things,
though you know that they are baneful, yet do you not indulge
in them?’ They would say that such is the case. 106. You
and I should then ask them again, ‘In what respect do you
say that they are baneful? Is it because they afford pleasure,
and each of them is pleasant, for the moment? or because they
occasion diseases for the future, and make way for poverty,
and many other things of the kind? or if they make way for
none of these things for the future, but only occasion a man to
rejoice, are they nevertheless evil, because they make a man
rejoice in any way whatever?’ Can we suppose, Protagoras,
that they will give any other answer than that they are not
evil from the momentary pleasure which they produce, but on
account of the after results, diseases and other things ?”

‘I think,” said Protagoras, “that the many would answer thus.’

*“* Do they not, then, by occasioning diseases, occasion pain,
and by occasioning poverty, occasion pain?’ They would ad-
mit this, I think.”

Protagoras assented.

107. “* Does it not appear to you then, my friends, as Pro-
tagoras and I say, that these things are evil, for no other rea-

,

PROTAGORAS, 285

son than because they end in pain, and deprive you of other
pleasures?’ Would they admit this ?”

We both assented.

“Tf again, we should reverse the question, ‘In saying,
friends, that good things are painful, do you not mean such
things as gymnastic exercises, military service, and treatment
of diseases by physicians, by cautery, the knife, physic, and
starving, that these things are good, but painful?’ They would
say they did.”

He assented.

““* Whether, then, do you call them good, because, at the
moment, they give extreme pain and torture; or because after-
wards health results from them, and a good habit of body, and
the safety of cities, and dominion over others, and wealth?
They would say, I think, because of the latter.”

He assented.

108. ‘** But are these things good for any other reason than
because they end in pleasures, and deliverance from and pre-
vention of pains? or can you mention any other end, to which
you look when you call them good, except pleasures and pains ?’
They would say not, I think.”

“T think so too,” said Protagoras,

“*D)o you not, then, pursue pleasure as being good, and
avoid pain as evil?”

He assented.

“«This, then, you esteem to be evil, pain, and pleasure,
good, since you say that enjoyment itself is then evil when it
deprives of greater pleasures than those it brings with it, or
when it makes way for pains greater than the pleasures con-
tained in it: for if you call enjoyment itself evil on any other
account, and looking to any other end, you would be able to
tell us; but you cannot.’ ”

‘“Nor do I think they can,” said Protagoras.

109. *“ Again, is not the case precisely the same with re-
spect to pain itself? do you not then call pain itself a good,
when it delivers from greater pains than those contained in it,
or makes way for pleasures greater than the pains? for if you
look to any other end than to that which I mention, when you
call pain itself a good, you can tell us; but you cannot.”

“ You speak truly,” said Protagoras.

“ Again, therefore,” said I, “if you should ask me, my

286 PROTAGORAS,

friends, ‘ Why in the world do you speak so much and so fre-
quently about this,’ ‘Pardon me,’ I should say. For, in the
first place, it is not easy to prove what this is which you call
being overcome by pleasures; and, in the next place, the
whole proof depends on this. But even now you are at liberty
to retract, if you are able to say that good is any thing else
than pleasure, or evil any thing else than pain; or is it enough
for you to pass your life pleasantly without pain? If it is
enough, and you cannot mention any thing else that is good or
evil, which does not end in these, hear what follows: 110. for
Isay toyou, that if this be the case, the assertion is ridiculous,
when you say that frequently, a man who knows that evil
things are evil, nevertheless does them, when it is in his power
not to do them, in consequence of being led away and over-
powered by pleasures ; and again, when you say that a man
who knows what is good, is not willing to do it in consequence
of immediate pleasures, by which he is overcome. lor it
will be manifest that these things are ridiculous, if we do not
make use of many names, such as pleasant and painful, good
and evil, but, since these things appear to be two, call them
also by two names, first, good and evil, next, pleasant and
painful. Having settled this, let us say, that a man knowing
evil to be evil, nevertheless does it. If, then, any one should
ask us, ‘why ? we shall answer, ‘ because he is overcome.’
‘By what?’ he will ask us. But we are no longer at liberty
to say, ‘ by pleasure ;’ for it has assumed another name instead
of pleasure, namely, good. We must, however, answer him,
and say, ‘because he is overcome.’ ‘By what?’ he will ask.
‘ By good,’ we shall answer, by Jupiter. 111. Now if he who
questions should happen to be somewhat insolent, he will
laugh at us and say, ‘ A ridiculous thing is this you mention,
if a man does evil, knowing that it is evil, when he ought not
to do it, because he is overcome by good.’ ‘Is it,’ he will ask,
‘because the good is not worthy to overcome the evil in you,
or because it is worthy?’ We shall clearly say in answer, that
it is because it is not worthy; for otherwise he would not err
whom we say is overcome by pleasures. But perhaps he will
ask, ‘in what respect are good things unworthy to overcome
the evil, or evil to overcome the good? Is it in any other
respect than that the one is greater and the other less? or that
the one is more, and the other fewer in number?’ We shall

‘]
t
4
‘

PROTAGORAS. 287

not be able to say any thing else than this. ‘It is clear then,’ he
will say, * that by being overcome you mean to receive greater
evil instead of less good.’ And thus much for this part of the
question,

‘Let us now change the names, and again apply the words
pleasant and painful to these same things, and let us say, that a
man does things, we before called them evil, but let us now
call them painful, knowing that they are painful, being over-
come by pleasant things, clearly such as are unworthy to pre-
vail. And what other value is there of pleasure in comparison
with pain, except that of excess or defect in one or the other >
that is, of their being greater or less, more or fewer in number,
stronger or weaker than one another. 112. For if any one
should say, ‘ But Socrates, immediate pleasure is very different
from future pleasure or pain,’ ‘ Is it,’ I should ask, ‘in any
thing else than in pleasure and pain?’ for it cannot differ in
any thing else. But like a man expert at weighing, having
put together the pleasant things, and having put together the
painful, and having placed those which are near, and those
which are remote, in the scales, say which are the more numer-
ous. For if you weigh pleasures with pleasures, the greater
and more numerous are always to be chosen, and if pains with
pains, the less and the fewer in number. But if you weigh
pleasures with pains, if the pains are exceeded by the pleasures,
whether those that are near by those that are remote, or those
that are remote by those that are near, the same course must
be pursued, in whichever the excess is; but if the pleasures
are exceeded by the pains, it must not be pursued. ‘Can these
things be settled in any other way, my friends,’ I should ask ?
113. I know that they could not mention any other.”

It seemed so to him likewise.

‘* Since then, this is the case, I shall say ‘ Answer me this, do
the same magnitudes appear to your sight greater when near,
and less when at a distance, or not? They will say they do.
‘And things bulky, and things numerous, in like manner? and
are not equal sounds greater when near, but less when at
a distance?’ They would say they are. If then, our well-
being consisted in this, in making and choosing great masses,
but in avoiding and not making little ones, what means of
safety should we seem to have in life? Would it be the art of
mensuration, or the faculty of judging by appearances? or

—

288 PROTAGORAS:

would the latter lead us into error, and often cause us to vary
in our choice of the same thing, now choosing one and now
another, and to repent both in our actions and our selections
of things great and little, but would the art of mensuration do
away with this outward show, and making manifest the truth,
cause the soul to be at ease, abiding in the truth, and preserve
our life ?? Would the men upon this admit that the art of men-
suration preserves us, or some other art eo

114. “ The art of mensuration,” he admitted.

“But what, if the safety of our life consisted in the choice of
even and odd, when more ought properly to be chosen, and
when less, each with reference to itself, or one with reference
to the other, whether they might be near or distant, what, in
this case, would preserve our life ? Would it not be a science ?
and would it not be one of mensuration, since it is an art of ex-
cess and defect? But since it has relation to even and odd,
can it be any other than arithmetic? Would the men grant
us this, or not >”

It appeared also to Protagoras that they would.

““* Be it so, my friends; but since the safety of our life has
appeared to consist in the right choice of pleasure and pain,
and of more and fewer, greater and smaller, more distant and
nearer; does it not first of all appear to be an art of mensura-
tion, since itis a consideration of excess and defect and equality
of these with respect to each other?’ ‘ Necessarily so,’ * But
since it has todo with mensuration, it must of necessity be an
art and a science.’ 115, They will assent to this. What then
this art and science may be, we will consider hereafter ; but
that it is a science is sufficient for the proof of that which Pro-
tagoras and I had to make good in answer to the question you
asked us. You asked, if you remember, when we agreed with
each other that nothing is more powerful than knowledge, but
that it always gets the mastery, wherever it may be, both of
pleasure and every thing else; but you said that pleasure often
gets the mastery, even of a man possessed of knowledge, and
when we did not agree with you, you thereupon asked us,
Protagoras and Socrates, if this affection is not the being over-
come by pleasure, what is it then, and what do you say it is?
tell us.’ 116. If, then, we had immediately said to you, that
it is ignorance, you would have laughed at us. But now if you
laugh at us, you willalso laugh at yourselves. For you have ad-

PROTAGORAS. 289

mitted that they err through want of knowledge, who err in
the choice of pleasures and pains; but these are things good
and evil; and not only through want of knowledge, but as you
afterwards further admitted, a knowledge of mensuration, Now
an crroneous action done without knowledge, as you must your-
selves know, is done through ignorance: so that to be over-
come by pleasure is the greatest ignorance ; of which Protago-
ras here says he is a physician, and so do Prodicus and Hippias.
But you, because you think it is something else than ignorance,
neither go yourselves, nor send your children to the teachers
of these things, the sophists, as if this knowledge could not
be taught, but by saving your money, and not giving it to these
men, you fare badly, both in private and public. 117. Such
is the answer we should give to the many. But I ask you,
Hippias and Prodicus, as well as Protagoras, for let the conver-
sation be common to you all, whether I appear to you to speak
the truth, or to speak falsely f”

What had been said appeared to all to be eminently true.

“ You admit, then,” said I, “ that the pleasant is good, but the
painful evil. But I deprecate Prodicus’s verbal distinctions :
for whether you call it pleasant, or delightful, or enjoyable, or
trom whatever derivation or in whatever way you please to
denominate such things, most excellent Prodicus, use your
own word and answer what I wish.”

118. Prodicus, therefore, laughing, agreed with me, as did the
others.

But what, my friends,” I continued, “ do you say to this?
All actions that tend to this, that we may live without pain and
pleasantly, are they not beautiful? and is not a beautiful action
good and profitable 7”

They agreed.

“If then,” I said, “the pleasant is good, no one who either
knows or thinks that other things are better than what he is
doing, and that they are possible, still continues to do the same,
when it is in his power to do the better; nor is to be over-
come by one’s-self any thing else than ignorance, nor to be
master of one’s-self any thing else than wisdom.”

All agreed to this.

“What then? Do you say that ignorance is a thing of this
kind, to have a false opinion, and to be deceived about mattcrs
of great importance °”

U

299 PROTAGORAS.

To this, likewise, all agreed.

“Ts it not the case then,” I said, ‘ that no one willingly
sets about things evil, or things which he thinks are evil, nor
is this, as it seems, in the nature of man willingly to engage in
things which he thinks are evil, instead of such as are good ;
and when of two evils he is compelled to choose one, no one will
choose the greater, when it is in his power to choose the less.”

119. All these things were assented to by us all.

* What then,” said I, ‘do you call dread and fear some-
thing? and the same that I do, (I address myself to you, Pro-
dicus,) I mean by it a certain expectation of evil, whether you
eall it fear or dread.”

It appeared to Protagoras and Hippias that dread and fear
were of this nature, but to Prodicus that dread was, but fear not.

“ But,’ said I, “it is of no consequence, Prodicus ; but this
is: if what we before said is true, will any man deliberately
engage in things which he dreads, when it is in his power to
engage in things which he does not dread? or is not this im-
possible from our former admissions? for it has been admitted
that what he dreads he considers to be evil; and what he con-
siders to be evil, no one either engages in or willingly receives.”

These things, likewise, were agreed to by all.

120. “ These points, then, being established,” J cade Pio
dicus and Hippias, let Protagoras here defend himself and
shew us how his first answer is correct, no, not quite the first,
for he then said, that there being five parts of virtue, no one
of them was like any other, but that each had a peculiar func-
tion of its own. I do not however mean this, but what he
said afterwards. For afterwards he said, that four of them
very much resembled each other, but that one was altogether
different from the rest, namely courage. And he said I should
know it by the following proof. * You will find men, Socrates,
who are most unholy, most unjust, most intemperate, and most
ignorant, who are yet most courageous; by which you will
know that courage differs much from the other parts of virtue.’
And I indeed, at the moment, was very much astonished at the
answer, and I have been still more so since I have discussed
these things with you. I therefore asked him if he meant
that courageous men are bold? He said he did, and ready to
rush headlong. 121. Do you remember, Protagoras,” said I,
“that you gave this answer?”

SeeeGuinaidiccuaies

al

PROTAGORAS. 297

He admitted it.

“Come then,” said I, “tell us on what you say the coura-
geous are ready to rush headlong? Is it on the same things as
cowards ?”

He said not.

“On different things, therefore.”

e Vea he replied.

“But whether do cowards attempt things which they can
venture on with confidence, but the courageous on such as are
dreadful ?”

“Tt is said so, Socrates, by the generality of men.”

“You say truly,” I replied. “Ido not, however, ask this:
but on what do you say courageous men are ready to rush
headlong, on dreadful things, thinking that they are dreadful,
or on such as are not dreadful?”

* But this,” he said, “in the arguments which you just now
used, was shewn to be impossible.”

“And in this,” I replied, “you say truly. So that if this
point was proved correctly, no one attempts things which he
considers to be dreadful, since to be overcome by one’s-self was
found to be ignorance.”

He admitted it.

*“ All men, however, attempt things in which they have con-

} fidence, both the cowardly and the courageous, and thus both
} the cowardly and the courageous attempt the same things.”

122. * But indeed, Socrates,” said he, “the things which
the cowardly and the courageous attempt are quite conti ary to

feach other; for instance, the latter are willing to engage in

war, but the former are unwilling.”

“Whether,” said I, “is it honourable to engage in it, or base?”’

“Honourable,” he replied.

“Tf, therefore, it is honourable, have we not already ad-
mitted that it is good, for we have admitted that all honourable
actions are good.”

* You say truly, and I am always of this opinion.”

“Right,” said I. “But which of the two do you say are

funwilling to engage in war, though it is honourable and
# good?”

‘* Cowards,” he replied.

“It therefore,” said I, “ it be honourable and good, is it not
also pleasant ?”

292 PROTAGORAS.

‘That has been granted,” he said.

“Are the cowardly, then, unwilling to attempt what they
know to be more honourable and better, and more plea-
sant 2”

But,” said he, “if we admitted this, we should destroy our
former admissions.”

123. * But what with respect to the brave man? Does he
not engage in what is more honourable, better, and more
pleasant?”

“It is necessary,” said he, ‘‘to admit that he does.”

“On the whole, then, is it not the case, that the courageous,
when they are afraid, have no base fear, nor are they inspired
with base confidence.”

“True,” said he.

“But if not base, are they not honourable >”

He assented.

* And if honourable, also good r”

ees."

“And are not the cowardly, and the bold, and the mad, on
the contrary, influenced by base fears, and inspired with base
confidence ?”

He admitted that they are.

“And are they bold in what is base and evil, through any
thing else than ignorance and want of knowledge ?”

“So it is,” he replied.

“What then? Do you call this, through which cowards are
cowardly, cowardice or courage r”

“* Cowardice,” said he.

“But have not cowards appeared to be what they are,
through not knowing what is dreadful *”

Certainly,” said he.

« They are cowardly then, through this want of knowledge?

He admnitted it.

“But that through which they are cowardly, you have ad-
mitted is cowardice ?”

He assented,

“Must not, then, the not knowing what is dreadful, and not
dreadful, be cowardice ?”

He nodded assent.

“ However,” said I, “ courage is contrary to cowardice.”

He said it was.

9

PROTAGORAS. 293

“Ts not then the knowledge of what is dreadful, and no
dreadful, contrary to a want of knowledge of these things >”

And here he still nodded assent.

* But is not the want of knowing these things cowardice ?”

He, here, with great difficulty, nodded assent.

“Ts not the knowledge therefore, of what is dreadful, and
not dreadful, courage, being contrary to a want of knowledge
of these things ?”

124. Here he would no longer nod assent, but was silent.

So I said, “ Why, Protagoras, do you neither admit nor deny
what I ask ?”

‘** Do you conclude the subject,” he said.

“‘T have only one more question to ask you,” said I, ‘‘ whe-
ther some men still appear to you as at first, to be most igno-
rant, and yet most courageous.”

* You seem to be very anxious, Socrates, that I should be
the person to answer. I will therefore indulge you, and I say,
that from what has been granted, it appears to me to be im-
possible.”

“T ask all these questions,” said I, “on no other account,
than because I wish to examine how the case stands with re-
spect to things pertaining to virtue, and what virtue itself is.
For I know that when this is discovered, that other will be
clearly ascertained, about which you and I have both of us held
so long a discussion, I maintaining that virtue cannot be taught,
but you that it can. 125. And the present issue of our dis-
cussion appears to me, as if it were a man, to accuse and laugh
at us, and if it had a voice, it would say, Absurd men ye are,
Socrates and Protagoras; you, who at the outset maintained
that virtue cannot be taught, are now contending in opposition
to yourself, and endeavouring to shew that all things are know-
ledge, as justice, temperance, and courage, according to which
method of proceeding it will certainly appear that virtue may
be taught. For if virtue were any thing else than knowledge,
as Protagoras endeavours to maintain, it clearly could not be

_ taught; but now, if it shall appear to be altogether knowledge,

as you contend, Socrates, it will be wonderful if it cannot be
taught. Protagoras on the other hand, who at first insisted
that it could be taught, now seems to contend for the con-
trary, that it may appear to be almost any thing else rather
than knowledge; and so can on no account be taught. 126. I

294 PROTAGORAS

therefore, Protagoras, seeing all these things terribly confused,
this way and that, am exceedingly anxious that they should
be made clear, and should wish, now we have discussed these
things, to proceed to enquire what virtue is, and to examine
again respecting it, whether it can be taught, or not, lest by
chance that Epimetheus of yours should treacherously deceive
us in our enquiry, just as he neglected us in the distribution
which he made, as you say. Now in the fable, Prometheus
pleased me more than Epimetheus, and making use of him,
and looking forward with forethought to my whole life, I
diligently attend to all these matters; and if you are willing,
as I said at the beginning, I would most gladly join with you
in examining them thoroughly.”

To this Protagoras said, “I, Socrates, praise your zeal, and
your method of unfolding arguments. For I am not in other
respects, I think, a bad man, and least of all men envious:
indeed I have often said of you to many, that I admire you
more than all whom I am in the habit of meeting, and far
above those of your own age: and I add, that I should not
wonder if you were to rank among men renowned for wisdom.
And these matters we will further discuss hereafter, when you
please ; but it is now time for me to attend to other business.”

“Tt is right so to do,” I replied, * if you think fit. ForlI
too ought long since to have gone where I had to go, but I
staid to oblige the beautiful Callias.”

Having said and heard these things, we departed.

gee.

INTRODUCTION TO THE PHASDRUS.

Prxprus, whom we have already* met with among the fol-
lowers of the sophist Hippias, happening to meet with Socrates,
tells him that he has just left the orator Lysias, who had writ-
ten and recited a speech on the subject of love, in which he
argued that a youth ought rather to shew favour to one who
is not in love than to one who is. Socrates, who pretends to
be very anxious to hear the speech, begs Phzedrus to repeat it
from memory as well as he is able, for he cannot doubt but
that he has learnt it by heart, so great is his admiration for its
author. Phzedrus affects shyness, though in reality desirous of
practising himself on Socrates: at length, however, Socrates
discovers that he has a copy of it under his cloak, so they pro-
ceed on their walk, talking by the way, till they reach a plane-
tree on the banks of the Ilissus, outside the walls of Athens,
under whose ample shade they lie down”.

Pheedrus reads the speech, which in addition to the faults of
obscurity, inconclusiveness, and tautology, takes a very low
and sensual view of the passion of love®. When it is ended,
Phedrus asks Socrates what he thinks of it, and whether it is
not a wonderful composition, especially as to the language.
Socrates at first praises it ironically, but on being pressed by
Phedrus points out some of its faults, and says that even
Lysias himself could not be satisfied with it, and that many
others have both spoken and written finer things on the same
subject, with which at that very instant his breast is full. Phe-
drus catches at this, and insists on Socrates repeating these fine
things, promising that if he says any thing that excels the speech
of Lysias he will erect his statue in gold in Olympiad.

As it is the present design of Socrates to take the same low
view of love that Lysias had done, he determines to speak with

# see the Brotagoras, §-1 7, eT
© § 11—21. 4 § 22—27.

296 INTRODUCTION.

his face covered, that he may not falter through shame. He
begins by a definition of love, which he represents to be desire
hurried on to the pleasure derived from personal beauty; and
then he goes on to shew, with great perspicuity, how a person
under the influence of such a passion must needs be anxious
that the beloved object should not excel himself or be admired
by others. Then with regard to the body, he will wish to
make it effeminate, and be anxious that his beloved should be
as much as possible dependent on him; and at length he will
become unfaithful, forget all his former vows and promises,
and leave his favourite despised and destitute, who will suffer
most of all in this, that he has been debarred from cultivating
his soul, than which, he adds, there neither is nor ever will be
any thing more precious in the sight of gods and men’°.
Pheedrus expects that Socrates will not only shew the dis-
advantages of granting favours to a lover, but also go on to
point out the advantages of granting them to one who is not in
love. This, however, he refuses to do; and then, conscience-
stricken for that he has been guilty of an offence against the
deity of Love in speaking of him in so impious a manner, he
determines on making his recantation, by uttering a speech
which shall describe that deity in his true character. He be-
gins by condemning his former assertion that favour ought
rather to be shewn to one who is not in love than to a lover, be-
cause the latter is mad and the former in his sober senses. For,
he argues, it is not universally true that madness is an evil, so
far from it, that the greatest blessings spring from madness,
for even prophetic inspiration is a species of madness and de-
rives its very name from it. And love is one of many kinds of
madness, and as such the source of the greatest happiness to
man. To prove this, he says, it is necessary to examine into
the nature of the soul, both human and divine. The soul,
then, is immortal, because it contains the principle of motion
within itself (a subtle argument which it may be observed was

e § 28—40.

INTRODUCTION. 297

not adduced in the Phedo, where the soul’s immortality was
the immediate point under discussion.) Still, to-explain what
the soul is would require a divine and lengthened exposition ;
he rnust therefore content himself with saying what it is like.
He therefore compares the soul to a pair of winged steeds and
a charioteer. The horses and charioteers of the gods are all
good, but all others are mixed. While the soul is perfect and
winged it soars aloft, but when it loses its wings it is borne
downward and becomes united with a body in which it takes
up its abode, and the two united are called mortal. He then
describes how Jupiter goes first, driving a winged chariot, and
is followed by a host of gods and demons distributed into
eleven divisions: in their flight they reach the external regions
of heaven, and behold truth, justice, temperance, science, in
their essences. Other inferior souls endeavour to follow and
imitate them; few, however, can do so: those that get a
glimpse of any of the true essences are free from harm till the
next revolution, but those that are unable to do so are weighed
down and lose their wings, and become implanted in earthly
natures of various orders, and then, according to their conduct
in this condition, are either restored to their former state or
still further degraded. The mind of the philosopher, however,
is alone furnished with wings, because his memory dwells on
that which is divine.

This then is the madness above spoken of, when one, behold-
ing beauty in this lower world, is reminded of the true, and
looking upwards to it despises things below and is deemed to
be affected with madness. But he who has become corrupted
is not easily carried hence to beauty itself, nor does he reve-
rence it when he beholds it, but looks upon it with carnal
sensuality ; whereas he, who has not been so far corrupted,
when he beholds the imitation of beauty here, reverences it
as a god, and, but for the imputation of madness, would
sacrifice to it. Then his wings begin to swell again and en-

§ 40—62.

298 INTRODUCTION

deavour to burst forth anew; but when separated from the
beautiful object the soul becomes parched and the passages
through which the wings shoot forth become closed. Thus
alternately tormented with agony and joy, it becomes frantic
and runs about trying to see the possessor of the beauty. This
affection men call love. Now when a follower of Jupiter is
thus seized, he is better able to bear the burden of the winged
god: for sucha one seeks one who resembles Jupiter to be
the object of his love; and when he has found him, he en-
deavours to make him like his own god§.

As each soul was before divided into three parts, two having
the form of horses, and the third that of a charioteer, so that
division must still be maintained. When therefore the cha-
rioteer beholds the love-inspiring sight, the obedient horse is
easily restrained, but the other compels them to hurry to the
favourite, and longs to indulge in the delights of love. But
the charioteer, on approaching him, is carried back to absolute
beauty, and being awe-struck falls backward and throws the
horses on their haunches. When by being repeatedly checked
in this way the vicious horse has laid aside his insolence, he
becomes humbled and the soul of the lover follows his favourite
with reverence and awe. And the beloved being worshipped
by one who does not feign the passion but who really feels it, re-
quites the affection of his worshipper, and in turn longs for the
lover in the same manner that he is longed for, possessing
love’s image, love returned. If then the better parts of their
mind prevail so as to lead to a well-regulated life and philo-
sophy, they pass their life in bliss and concord, and when they
depart this life, they become winged and win one of the three
truly Olympic contests, a greater good than which neither
human prudence nor divine madness can bestow on man. If
however, they have adopted a coarser: and less philosophic
mode of life, but still honourable, in the end they find the
body without wings indeed, yet making an effort to become

4 Ge 78,

INTRODUCTION. 299

winged and so carry off no trifling prize of impassioned
madness ".

When Socrates had ended his recantation to Love, Pheedrus
expresses great admiration of his speech; and adds that he
doubts whether Lysias will ever venture to write speeches
again, But Socrates shews him that such an expectation is
altogether groundless; and after a charming little episode on
the origin of grasshoppers, proposes to consider in what a
correct mode of speaking and writing consistsi,

The first essential is that the speaker should know the truth
of the subject on which he is about to speak. And though it
is commonly said that an orator need not know what is really
just, but only what will appear so to the multitude, yet Socrates
with great force destroys this fallacy, and shews that such
rhetoric is not an art but an inartistic trick; for a genuine
art of speaking neither does nor can exist without laying hold
of truth. Rhetoric must be an art that leads the soul by
means of argument. Now in courts of justice and popular
assemblies men succeed by making things appear similar to
each other so far as they are capable of being made appear
so; and deception will more frequently occur in things that
nearly resemble each other, so that a person who means to
persuade or deceive another must be able to distinguish ac-
curately the similarity and dissimilarity of things, and so lead
his hearer by means of resemblances. Taking this as his
principle, Socrates proceeds to shew that the speech of Lysias
is altogether inartistic, for that he ought first of all to have
defined Love and divided it into its different species and shewn
of which class he was going to speak, whereas he begins where
he should have ended, and throughout speaks at random with-
out any definite design. He then proceeds to comment on his
own two speeches. In one he argued that favour ought to
be shewn to one that is in love, in the other to a person that
is not in “ove. In one he said that love was a kind of divine

5 7384. i § 85—91.

500 INTRODUCTION.

madness, and then diyiding this madness into four parts he
shewed that the madness of Love is the best. In these speeches,
then, are scen the two methods of arguing correctly, definition
and division, the former of which contemplates many things
under one aspect and brings them together under one general
idea, the latter separates that gencral idea into species *.

Socrates then ridicules the rules of rhetoric laid down by
many of the sophists, and having passed a high eulogium on
Pericles, shews that a perfect orator must know the real nature
of the things to which he will have to apply his speeches, and
that is the soul; for as the power of speech consists in leading
the soul, he must know how many kinds of soul there are, and
by what arguments each kind is most easily persuaded!

From speaking he proceeds to writing, and tells a pleasant
story of the invention of letters, and remarks that the evil of
writing is, that, like painting, if you ask it a question it cannot
answer; and when once written it is tossed from hand to hand,
as well among those who understand it as those who do not.
But there is another kind of discourse far more excellent, which
is written in the learner’s mind, and knows when to speak and
when to be silent. The conclusion of the whole is that a speaker
should be acquainted with the true nature of each subject on
which he speaks or writes, be able to define, and divide things
into their species until he reaches the indivisible, and to inves-
tigate the nature of the soul and apply his discourses to each
soul according to its capacity.

Then, with a message, in accordance with these principles, to
Lysias, and a high encomium on Isocrates, who promised to be
led by a diviner impulse to holier and higher things, he con-
cludes by praying that Pan would grant him to be beautiful in
the inner man, and that all outward things might be at peace
with those within. That he may deem the wise man rich: and
may have such a portion of gold as none but a prudent man
can bear or employ.

Syne oe 6 eto tee.

hh

PHADRUS.

SocraTEs. PHAEDRUS.

Socr. My dear Pheedrus, whither are you going, and from
whence come you?

Phe. From Lysias, son of Cephalus, Socrates; but I am
going for a walk outside the walls; for I have spent a long
time there, sitting from very early in the morning; but in
obedience to your and my friend Acumenus, I take my walks
in the open roads; for he says that they are more refreshing
than those in the course.

Socr. He says rightly, my friend: Lysias then, as it seems,
was in the city?

Phe. Yes, with Epicrates in the Morychian house here,
near the Olympium.

Soer. What was your employment there? Without doubt
Lysias feasted you with speeches?

Phe. You shall hear, if you have Icisure to go on with me
and listen.

Soer. What then? do you not think that, according to
Pindar®, I should consider it a matter above all want and
leisure, to listen to the conversation between you and Lysias ?

Phe. Proceed then.

Socr. Do you begin your story.

2, Phe. And indeed, Socrates, the subject is suited to you.
For the question, in which we spent our time, I know not
how, was amatory. For Lysias had written a speech in which
he described a beautiful youth as being. courted, but not by a
lover; and on this very point he argued with great subtilty ;
for he maintains that favour ought to be shewn to one who is
not in love, rather than to one who is in love.

Socr. Generous man ! I wish he had written that favour should
be shewn toa poor man rather than a rich one, anc to an old than

Se lethme i. 2s

502 PHAEDRUS.

a young, and so on with respect to such things as happen to me

and the most of us; for then his discourses would be charming

and of general usefulness. I, for my part, am so very desirous

to hear his speech, that even if you prolong your walk to

Megara, and, after Herodicus, when you have reached the

wall, turn back again, I shall on no account lag behind
ou.

3. Pha. How say you, most excellent Socrates? Do you
think, that what Lysias, the most able writer of the day, com-
posed at his leisure \in a long space of time, I who am but a
novice could repeat from memory in a manner worthy of him?
Far from it; though I would rather be able to do so than be
the possessor of a large sum of gold.

Soer. Phedrus, if I know not Phedrus, I have also forgotten
myself; but neither of these is the case; for I know well that
on hearing Lysias’s speech he not only heard it once, but urged
him to read it repeatedly, and he readily complied; neither
was this sufficient for Phedrus, but at length having got hold
of the book, he examined the parts he liked best; and having
done this, sitting from very early in the morning, he was
fatigued and went out fora walk, as I believe, by the dog, having
learnt the whole speech by heart, if it is not a very long one.
And he was going outside the walls, that he might con it over,
and, meeting with one who has a desire for hearing speeches,
was delighted at seeing him approach, because he would have
one to share his enthusiasm, and bade him accompany him
‘1 his walk. But when that lover of speeches begged him to
recite it, he affected shyness, as if he did not wish to repeat it,
though at length he would have compelled one to listen to it
even though one was not willing to do so. Do you then,
Phiedrus, entreat him to do now what he will soon do at all
events.

Phe. It is, in truth, far best for me to repeat it as well as I
can; for I see you are determined not to let me go, until I
have delivered it some how or another.

Soer. You think perfectly right.

Pha. I will do it then; but in truth, Socrates, I have by no
means learnt the words of this oration by heart, though the
general outline of all the several parts, in which he said the
claims of one who is in love and one who is not differ from each
other, I can go through summarily and in order, beginning
from the first.

PHADRUS. 305

0. Socr. But shew me first, my dear friend, what you have
got there in your left hand, under your cloak ; for I suspect
that you have got the speech itself: and if this is the case,
think thus of me, that I love you very much, but that, when
Lysias is present, I have by no means made up my mind to
lend myself to you to practise upon. Come then, shew it me.

Phe. Stop, you have dashed down the hope I had, Socrates,
of practising upon you. But where do you wish we should
sit down and read?

\Socr. Let us turn down here, and go near the llissus, then
we will sit down quietly, wherever you please.

Phe. Very seasonably, as it appears, I happen to be without
shoes, for you are always so. It will be easiest for us then to
walk by the shallow stream, wetting our feet, and it will not
be unpleasant, especially at this season of the year, and this
time of the day.

Socr, Lead on then, and at the same time look out for a
place where we may sit down.

6. Phe. Do you see that lofty plane-tree ?

Socr. How should I not.

Phe. There, there is both shade and a gentle breeze, and
grass to sit down upon, or, if we prefer it, to lie down on.

Socr. Lead on, then.

Phe. But tell me, Socrates, is not Boreas reported to have
carried off Orithya from somewhere about. this part of the
Tlissus ?

Socr. So it is said.

Phe, Must it not have been from this spot? for the water
hereabouts appears beautiful, clear and transparent, and well
suited for damsels to sport about.

Soer. No, but lower down, as much as two or three stadia,
where we cross over to the temple of the Huntress, and where
there is, on the very spot, a kind of altar sacred to Boreas.

Phe. \ never noticed it. But tell me, by Jupiter, Socrates,
do you believe that this fabulous account is true ?

7. Socr. If I disbelieved it, as the wise do, I should not be
guilty of any absurdity: then having recourse to subtleties, I
should say that a blast of Boreas threw her down from the
neighbouring cliffs, as she was sporting with Pharmacea, and
that having thus met her death she was said to have been
carried off by Boreas, or from Mars’ hill; for there is also another

304 A Deb DBE BES.

report that she was carried off from thence and not from this
spot. But I, for my part, Phiedrus, consider such things as
pretty enough, but as the province of a very curious, pains-
taking, and not very happy man, and for no other reason than
this, that after this he must set us right as to the form of the
Hippocentaurs, and then as to that of the Chimera ; besides
there pours in upon him a crowd of similar monsters, Gorgons
and Pegasuses, and other monstrous creatures, incredible in
number and absurdity, which if any one were to disbelieve and
endeavour to reconcile each with probability, employing for
this purpose a kind of vulgar cleverness, he will stand in need
of abundant leisure. 8. But I have not leisure at all for such
matters; and the cause of it, my friend, is this; I am uot Sel
able, according to the Delphic precept. to know myself. But
it appears to me to be ridiculous,|while I am. still ignorant of
this to busy myself about matters that do not concern me.
Wherefore dismissing these matters, and receiving the popular
opinion respecting them, as I just now said, I do not enquire
about them, but about myself, whether I happen to be a beast,
With more folds and more furious than Typhon, or whether I
am a more mild and simple animal, naturally partaking of a
certain divine and modest condition. But, my friend, to in-
terrupt our conversation, is not this the tree to which you were
leading me?

Phe. This is the very one.

Y. Soer. By Juno, a beautiful retreat. For this plane-tree
is very wide-spreading and lofty, and the height and shadiness
of this agnus castus are very beautiful, and as it is now at the
perfection of its flowering, it makes the spot as fragrant as
possible. Moreover, a most agreeable fountain flows under the
plane-tree, of very cold water, to judge from its effect on the
foot. It appears from these images and statues to be sacred
to certain nymphs, and to Achelous. Observe again the
freshness of the spot how charming and very delightful it is,
and how summer-like and shrill it sounds from the choir of
grasshoppers. But the most delightful of all is the grass,
which with its gentle slope is naturally adapted to give an
easy support to the head, as one reclines. So that, my dear
Pheedrus, you make an admirable stranger's guide.

10, Phe. And you, my wonderful friend, appear to be a most
surprising being: for as you say, you are just like a stranger

PHADRUS. 309

who is being shewn the sights, and not a native of the place.
This comes from your never quitting the city, or going beyond
the boundaries, nor do you seem to me ever to go outside the
walls,

Soer. Pardon me, my excellent friend; for I am a lover of
learning: now the fields and trees ne not teach me any
thing, but men in the city do. You, however, appear to me
to have discovered a charm to entice me out. For as those,
who, by shaking leaves or some fruit before them, lead their
hungry flocks, so do you, by holding out written speeches
before me, seem as if you could lead me about all Attica, and
wherever else you please. But now, for the present, since I
am come here, I am resolved to Jay me down, and do you in
whateyer posture you think you can read most conveniently,
take this and read.

Phe. Listen then. 11. ‘ You are well acquainted with the
sind of my affairs, and I think you have heard that it would

e for our advantage if this took place. And I claim, not for
re reason to failli in my request, because I do not happen to
be one of your lovers: for they repent of the benefits they
have conferred, as soon as their desires cease; but the others
have no time at which it is convenient for them to repent;
since not from necessity, but voluntarily, they confer benefits
according to their ability, so as but to consult their own in-
terests. Besides, lovers consider what of their affairs they
have managed badly by reason of their love, and what benefits
they have conferred, and adding thereto what labour they have
undergone, they think that they have long since conferred suf-
ficient favours on the objects of their love. But those who do
not love have no pretence to make of the neglect of their own
affairs on this score, nor can they take into account the labours
they have undergone, nor make differences with their friends a
pretext : so that, ail such evils being removed, nothing remains
for them but to do cheerfully whatever they think “they will
gratify them by doing. 12. ‘Besides, if for this reason it is
right to make much of those who love, because they say they
are most devotedly attached to those whom they love, and are
always ready, both in words and deeds, to incur the enmity of
others, so that they can but gratify the objects of their love, it
is easy to discover “whether they speak the truth, because those
whom they afterwards fall in love with they will prize more

x

306 PHADRUS.

highly than the former, and it is evident that if the latter require
it, they will behave ill to the former. And how is it reasonable
to lavish such a treasure» on one afflicted with such a calamity,
as no experienced person would ever attempt to avert ? for they
themselves confess that they are rather diseased than in their
right minds, and that they know that they are out of their senses,
but are unable to control themselves. How therefore, when
they recover their senses, can they think that those things were
right about which they were so anxious when in that state of
mind? 13. Moreover, if you should choose the best from
among your lovers, your choice must be made from a few; but
if from among all others the one most suited to you, from
many: so that there is much more hope that among the many
there is one worthy of your affection. If, therefore, you re-
spect the established usages of mankind, and are afraid lest,
when men discover it, it should be a disgrace to vou, it is pro-
bable that lovers, thinking |that they are envied by others in
the same way that they envy each other, should be so elated
as to talk, and, out of ambition, publish to the world that
they have not bestowed their labour in vain; but that such as
are not in love, having a control over themselves, should pre-
fer what is best to celebrity amongst men. 14. Besides, it
must needs happen that many should hear of and see lovers
following the objects of their affection, and doing this sedu-
lously, so that when they are seen conversing with one another
men think that they are together on account of desire already
indulged or about to be so: but they do not attempt to blame
those who do not love, on account of their familiarity, being
aware that it is necessary to converse with some one, either on
account of friendship or some other pleasure. 15. Moreover,
if you have experienced uneasiness from the consideration that
it is difficult for friendship to last, but that when a difference
takes place under other circumstances a common calamity
happens to both; but that when you have lavished what you
prize most highly great injury would befal you, you would
with good reason be more afraid of those who love. For
there are many things that grieve them, and they think that
every thing is done to their detriment. Wherefore they pro-
hibit the objects of their love from associating with others,

fearing those who possess wealth, lest they should get the ©

> ‘Youth.

PHADRUS, 307

better of them by means of their riches, and the well-educated,
lest they should surpass them in intelligence ; and they are
apprehensive of the influence of every one who possesses any
other advantage. By persuading you, then, to keep aloof from
such as these, they cause you to be destitute of friends. if,
therefore, regarding your own interest, you pursue a wiser
course than they recommend, you are sure to quarrel with
them. 16. But such as are not in love, but have obtained the
accomplishment of their wishes through merit, will not envy
your associating with others, but will rather hate those who
will not associate with you, thinking that you are despised by
them, and are benefited by those who associate with you. So
that there is much more reason to hope that friendship will be
produced between these by this means, than enmity. More-
over, most lovers conceive a desire for the person before they
know their habits or are acquainted with their own qualities, so
that it is uncertain whether they will still wish to be their
friends when their desire has ceased ;} but with those who are
not in love, and who have done this, aving been friends with
each other before, it is not probable that acts of kindness will
make their friendship less, but that they will be left as monu-
ments of future services. 17. Besides, it will tend to your
improvement if you are persuaded by me rather than by a
lover. For they, contrary to your best interests, praise all
that you say and do, partly fearing lest they should offend you,
partly being themselves depraved in their judgment, through
desire, for love shews itself in such things: it makes the un-
successful consider as distressing things which occasion no
pain to others, and compels the successful to praise things
which are not worthy the name of pleasures; so that it is
much more proper to pity than envy those that are loved.
18. But if you will be persuaded by me, first of all I will asso-
ciate with you, not attending to present pleasure, but future
advantage, not overcome by love, but controlling myself, not
conceiving violent enmities for trifling offences, but slowly in-
dulging slight anger for great offences, pardoning involuntary
faults, and endeavouring to divert you from such as are volun-
tary; for these are the marks of a friendship that will endure
for a long time, If, however, it has occurred to you that it is
not possible for affection to be strong unless one is in love,
you should consider that in that case we should not be very

305 ‘TAs Divs

fond of our children or our fathers and mothers, nor acquire
faithful friends, who have become such not from desire of this
kind, but from other useful qualities. 19. Moreover, if it is
r cht to gratify those most who most need it, it is right also
oe: respect to ese to benefit, not the best men, ie the
most needy ; for, being delivered from the greatest evils, t they
will feel the deepest gratitude towards us. And besides this,
in private entertainments it will not be proper to invite our
friends, but mendicants and those who are in need of a hearty
meal; for these will greet and follow us, and will come to our
aie and be highly “delighted, and feel the utmost gratitude,
and pray for many ‘Dlessings upon us. 20. But surely i as
one to gratify those not wie are exceedingly needy, but who
are best able to repay a kindness, nor A ito who eee only,
but those who deserve this favour ; ;| nor such as will enjoy the
bloom of your vouth, but who, when vou are old, will share
their own fortune ein you; nor those who, when thev have
effected their object, will boast of it to others, but who, out of
modesty, will be silent towards all men; ear those who are
devoted to you for a short time, but who will be greatly at-
tached to you throughout life; nor who, when their ee Nas
ceased, will seek a pretext for quarrellyyg, but who, when your
bloom is gone, will then exhibit their own excellence. 21. Do
you, then, remember what I have said, and consider this, that
friends admonish lovers that their course of life is a bad one,
but no one ever yet found fault with those who are not in love,
as if, on that account, they consulted ill for their own interests.
Perhaps, however, you may ask me whether I advise you to
gratify all. who are not in love. But I think that not even a
lover would exhort you to be thus affected towards all your
lovers: for neither if one considers the matter reasonably i 18
such a course deserving of equal gratitude, nor if you wished
it, is it equally possible to keep it secret from others; but it is
requisite that no harm should result from the Hace ; onthe
contrary, advantage to both. I, for my part, think that enough
has been said, but if you require any thing more, under the
impression that it has been omitted, question me:

22. What do you think of the speech, Socrates? Does it
not appear to you to be wonderfully composed in other re-
spects, and especially as to the language ?

Socr. Divinely indeed, my friend, so much so that I am

[ aol

PHA/DRUS. 309

amazed. And I had this feeling through you, Phedrus, by
looking at you, for you appeared to me to be enraptured with
the speech while you were reading it. For supposing you to
understand such matters better than I do, I followed you, and,
in following you, I felt the same enthusiasm with you, my in-
spired friend.

Phe. Well; do you think proper to jest in this manner?

Socr. Do I appear to you to jest, and not to be in earnest ?

Phe. Don't, Socrates! But tell me truly, by Jupiter the god
of friendship, do you think that any other man in Greece could
speak more ably and fully than this on the same subject ?

23. Socr. But what? ought the speech to be praised by you
and me for this reason, that its composer has said what he ought,
and not only because every word is clear, and rounded, and
accurately polished off? For, if it ought, it may be granted
for your sake, since it escaped me by reason of my nothing-
ness :| for I attended only to its rhetoric, but this I did not
think that even Lysias himself would think sufficient. And to
me, indeed, it seemed, Pheedrus, unless you say otherwise, that
he has repeated the same things twice and thrice, as if he had
not the faculty of saying much on the same subject, or perhaps
he did not care about this. Moreover he appeared to me to
make a wanton display of his ability to express these things in
different ways, and both ways most elegantly.

24. Phe. You say nothing tothe purpose, Socrates : for the
speech has this very merit in the highest degree. For he has
omitted nothing belonging to his subject, which was worthy to
be mentioned: so that, beyond what has been said by him, no
one could ever say more things or of greater weight.

Socr. On this point I am no longer able to agree with you ;
for the ancicnt and wise, both men and women, who have
spoken and written on this subject, would confute me, if I were
to admit this out of compliment to you.

Phe. Who are they? and where have you heard better
things than these?

Socr. I am unable to say on the moment; but I am sure
that I have heard them from some one or other, either from the
beautiful Sappho, or the wise Anacreon, or some other writer.
Whence do I form this conjecture? some how or other, my
divine friend, my breast is full, and I feel that I could say other
things in addition to those and not inferior to them, That I

310 PHEDRUS.

understand none of them of myself, I am well aware, being
conscious of my ignorance. It remains then, I think, that I
must have filled myself, like a vessel, by means of hearing, from
some foreign source; but owing to my stupidity I have for-
gotten even this, both how and from whom I heard it.

25, Phe. You have told me excellent news, my noble friend.
For though you cannot tell me from whom and how you heard
it, even if I bid you, yet do the very thing that you say ; promise
that you will say other things better and not less in quality
than those contained in the book, without making use of any
thing in it. And I promise you, after the manner of’ the nine
Archons, that I will dedicate at Delphi, a golden statue as large
as life, not only of myself, but also of you.

Socr. You are very kind, Phiedrus, and really worth your
weight in gold, if you suppose I mean that Lysias was en-
tirely wrong, and that it is possible to say something alto-
gether different from what he has said; for I do not think
that this could happen even to the poorest writer. 2p. bop
instance with respect to the subject in hand; do you think
that any one who was maintaining that favours ought to be
shewn to one who is not in love rather than to one who is, if
he neglected to extol the prudence of the former\and to blame
the folly of the latter, these being obvious points, could have
any thing else to say? But I think that such points are to be
allowed and granted to a speaker, and that of such things not
the invention but the method of handling is to be praised, but
of things which are obvious, and which are not difficult to dis-
cover, the invention as well as the method of handling.

Phe. I grant what you say; for you appear to me to have
spoken fairly. I will therefore do thus ; I will allow you to sup-
pose that one who is in love is more diseased than one who is
not, but for the rest if you say other things more fully and of
greater weight than Lysias, you shall stand in Olympia, of
solid gold, near the offering of the Cypselide.

97, Socr. You are quite serious, Phidrus, because in teas-
ing you I have attacked your favourite, and you think that I
shall really attempt to say something more skilfully wrought
than his wisdom has produced.

Phe. For that matter, my friend, you have given me as
good a hold on you; for you must speak, at all events, as well
as you are able. And take care that we are not compelled to

PHADRUS. 311

have recourse to that troublesome method of comedians, of
retorting upon one another, and do not compel me to say‘,
“If I, Socrates! know not Socrates, I have also forgotten
myself,” and, “he longed to speak, but affected shyness.” But
make up your mind that we shall not leave this spot before you
have given utterance to what you said you have in your breast.
Por we two are by ourselves, in a lonely place, and Iam both
Stronger and younger; from all this understand what I mean,
and on no account prefer speaking by compulsion rather than
willingly,

28. Socr. But, my excellent Phedrus, it would be ridiculous
in me, who am but a novice in comparison with an experienced
author, to attempt to speak extempore on the same subject.

Phe. Do you know how the case stands? Let me have no
more of your airs; for I have that to say which will force you
to speak,

Socr, On no account say it then.

Phe, Nay, but I will say it. And what I have to say is an
oath, Por I swear to you, by whom, by what god? shall it be
by this plane-tree ? that unless you make a speech to me before
this very tree, I will never again either shew or repeat to you
another speech by any one whomsoeyer,

Socr. Ah, wicked one! how well have you found out how
to compel a lover of speeches to do whatever you bid him.

Phe. Why then do you hesitate ?

Socr. I shall not any longer, since you have sworn this oath,
For how should I ever be able to debar myself of such a feast ? |

Phe. Begin then. sie

Socr. Do you know then, what I mean to do?

Phe, About what?

Socr. I shall speak with my face covered, that I may run
through my speech as quickly as possible, and that I may not,
by looking at you, be put out through shame.

Phe. Do but speak; and as to the rest, do as you please,

29. Socr. Come then, ye Muses, whether from the charac-
ter of your song, ye are called tuneful4, or whether ye derive
this appellation from the musical race of the Ligyans, assist
me in the tale which this best of men compels me to relate,

© See before, § 3 and 4,
¢ There is here a play on the words Aye “tuneful,” and Avytov
“Ligyans,”’ which cannot be retained in an English version.

312 PHADRUS.

that so his friend, who heretofore appeared to him to be wise,
may now appear still more so.

There was once a boy, or rather a youth, of exceeding
beauty ; and he had very many lovers. One of them was a
cunning fellow; who though he was no less in love than the
rest, persuaded the boy that he was not in love. And once,
as he was courting him, he endeavoured to persuade him that
favour ought to be shewn to one who was not in love, in pre-
ference to one who was. And he spoke as follows.

On every subject, my boy, there is one method of beginning,
for those who mean to deliberate well; they must know what
the thing is about which the deliberation is to be, or else of
necessity go altogether astray. But it has escaped the notice
of most men that they do not know the essence of each several
thing. As if they did know, then, they do not agree with
each other at the outset of the enquiry, and as they proceed
they pay the probable penalty, for they agree neither with
themselves nor with each other. Let not you and IJ, then, fall
into the error which we condemn in others, but since the ques-
tion proposed to us is, whether we ought rather to enter into
a friendship with one who is in love or not, having by mutua!
agreement settled on a definition of love, what it is, and what
power it has, and looking back and referring to this, let us
prosecute our enquiry whether it occasions advantage or detri-
ment. 30. That love, then, is a kind of desire, is clear to
every one; and we know that they who are not in love, desire
beautiful things. How then shall we distinguish a lover from
one who is not in love? Here it is necessary to observe, that
in each of us there are two ruling and leading principles, which
we follow wherever they lead, one being an innate desire of
pleasures, the other an acquired opinion, which aims at what
is most excellent. These sometimes agree in us, and some-
times are at variance; and sometimes one gets the upper hand.
at other times the other. When opinion therefore with the
aid of reason leads to that which is best, and gets the upper
hand, we give the name of temperance to this power ;} but
when desire drags us irrationally to pleasures and rules within
us, this ruling power takes the name of excess. But excess
has many names; for it has many limbs and many forms.
31. And of these principles whichever happens to get the
predominance gives its own designation to the person whe

}

he

PHADRUS. 315

possesses it, and that neither honourable nor worth acquir-
ing. For instance with respect to food, desire that gets the
better of the highest reason, and of the other desires, will be
called gluttony, and will cause the person who possesses it to
be called by the same name ; again with respect to drinking,
when it has usurped dominion, by leading its possessor in this
direction, it is clear what designation it will acquire : and with
respect to other things akin to these, and the names of kindred
desires, it is manifest how they ought to be called, according
as each for the time being happens to be dominant. Why al]
this has been said is already pretty evident, but every thing
becomes in a manner more clear by being mentioned than if
not mentioned. 32. For desire without reason having got
the upper hand of opinion that tends to what is right, and
being driven towards the pleasure derived from beauty, and
being strongly impelled by its kindred desires to corporeal
beauty, receives its name from this very strength and is called
love’. But, my dear Phedrus, do I appear to_you, as I do

to myself, to be moved by some divine influence ?

Pi. Assuredly, Socrates, an unusual fluency has got posses-
sion of you.

Socr. Listen to me then in silence. For in truth tlie place
appears to be divine. If, therefore, in the progress of my
speech I should be frequently entranced by the genius of the
spot, you must not be surprized. For what I utter now is
not very far removed from dithyrambics.

Phe. You say most truly.

33. Socr. Of this, however, you are the cause. But hear
the rest ; for perhaps the attack of the trance may be averted :
though this will be the care of the deity, but let us again direct
our discourse to the boy.

Well then, my excellent boy, what that is, about which we
are to deliberate, has been declared and defined. Keeping
this in view, then, let us proceed to consider what advantage
or detriment will probably accrue from one who is in love and
one who is not, to him that shews favour to them.

He that is ruled by desire and is a slave to pleasure, must
necessarily, I think, endeavour to make the object of his love

e I have followed Stallbaum in omitting the words éppwmevws and ViKT}-

caca, but still fear that I have failed to convey the full meaning of this
difficult and corrupt passage.

314 PHAEDRUS.

as agreeable to himself as possible. But to one diseased every
thing is pleasant that does not oppose his wishes; but that
which is superior and equal is hateful to him. A lover there-
fore will never willingly allow his favourite to be either superior
to or on an equality with himself, but is always endeavouring
to make him inferior and more deficient. An ignorant person
is inferior to a wise one, a coward to a brave one, one who is
unable to speak to a rhetorician, a dull to a clever one. 34.
Since so many evils, and even more than these, are engendered
or naturally exist in the mind of the beloved object, the lover
must of necessity rejoice at the existence of the one sort and
endeavour to introduce the others, or be deprived of immediate
pleasure. He must therefore needs be envious, and by debar-
ring his favourite from much other and that profitable society,
whence he might become most manly, he is the occasion of
great harm, and of the greatest by debarring him of that
by means of which he would become most wise ; and this is
divine philosophy, from which a lover must needs keep his
favourite at a distance, through the fear of being despised ;
and must so manage every thing else, that he may be ignorant
of every thing, and look to the lover for every thing, thus being
most agreeable to him, but most detrimental to himself. As
concerns the mind, then, a man that is in love is in no respect
a profitable guardian and companion.

But as to the habit and care of the body, what it will be and
how he will attend to it, of which a man has become the lord,
who is compelled to pursue the pleasant in preference to the
good, is next to be considered. 35, He will be seen pursuing
some delicate and not hardy youth, not reared in the open air
but under the shade of mingled trees, a stranger to manly toil,
and dry sweats, but no stranger to a delicate and effeminate
mode of life, adorned with foreign colours and ornaments,
through want of such as are natural, and studious of all such
other things as accompany these: what they are, is clear, and
it is not worth while to enter into further detail; but having
summed them up under one head, we will proceed to another
part of our subject. Such a body both in battle and other
great emergencies, enemies will look upon with.confidence, but
friends and lovers themselves will fear for. This, however, as
sufficiently evident, may be dismissed. 36. In the next place
we must declare what advantage or what detriment, with

PHA DRUS. 315

respect to our possessions, the society and guardianship of one
in love will occasion. But this indeed is manifest to every
one, and especially to a lover, that he would desire above all
things that the object of his love should be bereft of his
dearest, fondest, and holiest treasures: for he would have him
gladly deprived of father and mother, kindred and friends,
thinking that they are an hindrance to, and blamers of the
sweetest{intercourse with him. Moreover if he has abundance
of gold, or any other property, he will think that he cannot be
so easily caught, nor when caught easily managed. Where-
fore it must of necessity happen that a lover should grudge his
favourite possession of abundance, and should rejoice at its
loss. Further still, a lover will wish his favourite to continue
as long as possible without a wife, without child, and without
home, from a desire to enjoy his own delights for as long a
time as possible. 37. There are, indeed, other evils besides
these, but some deity has mingled present pleasure with most
of them: with a flatterer, for instance, a dreadful beast and
great bane, nature has nevertheless mingled a kind of pleasure
that is by no means inelegant. And some one perhaps may
blame a mistress as detrimental, and many other similar crea-
tures and pursuits, which for the day, however, afford the
greatest enjoyment; but to a favourite, a lover besides being
detrimental, is the most disagreeable of all for daily intercourse.
For the ancient proverb says, that equal delights in equal; I
suppose, because an equality of age leading to equal pleasures
produces friendship by similarity of tastes. But still the in-
tercourse even of these brings satiety: and moreover, neces-
sity is said to be irksome to every one in every thing ; and this
in addition to their dissimilarity is especially the case with a
lover towards his favourite. 38. For an old man who associ-
ates with a young one, does not willingly leave him, either by
day or night, but is driven on by necessity and frenzy, which
leads him on by constantly giving him pleasure, through seeing,
hearing, touching, and by every sense feeling the presence of
the beloved object, so that he would with pleasure cling con-
stantly to him: but by giving what solace or what pleasures to
the object of his love, can he prevent him during an intercourse
of equal duration, from feeling the utmost disgust, while he
sees a face old and no longer inits bloom, with the other things
that accompany it, which are unpleasant even to hear spoken

316 PHZEDRUS,

of, much more so to have actually to do with from an ever.
pressing necessity ; when he has too to keep a suspicious watch
over himself at all times and in all company, and has to listen
to unreasonable and extravagant praises, and reproaches as
well, which when the lover is sober are intolerable, and when he
is drunk, are not only intolerable but disgraceful from the
loathsome and undisgnised freedom of his language. 39. Thus
he that is in love is detrimental and disgusting, but when he
ceases to love, he is thenceforth unfaithful towards him who by
many promises and with many oaths and entreaties he could
hardly prevail on at that time! to endure his troublesome fami-
liarity in the hope of advantage. But now, when payment
ought to be made, having received within himself another
ruler and master, reason and prudence, instead of love and
madness, he has become another man unknown to his favourite.
He then demands a return for former favours, reminding him of
What was done and said, as if he was talking to the same
person ; but the other through shame, dares neither say that
he has become another man, nor is he able to adhere to the
oaths and promises of the former insensate reign, now that he
has got possession of his senses and has become prudent, fear-
ing lest, by doing the same things as before, he should become
like what he was, and the same thing again. 40. Hence he
becomes a runaway, and of necessity a defrauder, who was
before a lover, and the shell being turned, he changes from
pursuit to flight; but the other is forced to pursue him with
indignation and curses, having been ignorant from the very
beginning that he ought never to have granted fayours to one
that is in love and of necessity out of his senses, but much
rather to one who is not in love, and in his right mind ; other.
Wise he must necessarily give himself up to one that is unfaith-
ful, morose, envious, disgusting, detrimental to his property,
detrimental to his bodily habit, but far more detrimental to the
cultivation of his soul, than which in truth there neither is nor
ever will be any thing more precious in the sight of gods and
men. It is right, therefore, my boy, to reflect on these things,
and to know that the attachment of a lover is not united with

f In allusion to a game among children, in which a shell, white on one
side and black on the other, was thrown up into the air, and according as
either side fell vppermost, one set of playmates ran off and the other
pursued, or vice versa.

Pe ADRs, 317

good will, but like food for the sake of repletion, “as wolves
Jove a lamb, so lovers love a boy.”

This is it, Phedrus; you must not expect to hear me say
another word, but must let my speech end here.

41. Phe. But I thought it was only in the middle, and that
:t would say as much about one who is not in love, that he
ought rather to be favoured, mentioning in turn what advan-
tages he has. Why then, Socrates, do you stop short now ?

ocr, Did you not observe, my excellent friend, that I was
now uttering epics, and no longer dithyrambics, and this while
giving expression to blame? If then I should begin to praise
the other, what do vou think would become of me? Do you
not know that I shall be thrown into an exstacy by the
Nymphs, to whom you have purposely exposed me? I say
then, in one word, that whatever vices I have attributed to the
one, to the other the contrary advantages belong. What need
then is there for a long speech? for enough has been said
about both. Thus the story will be treated as it ought to be
treated : I will, therefore, cross over the riverjand go home,

‘before Tam compelled by you to do something more difficult.

42. Phe. Not yet, Socrates, before the heat has passed
away. Do you not see that it is now nearly high-noon, as it
is called? Let us, then, remain here, and converse together
about what has been said, and as soon as it grows cool, we
will go home.

Socr. You are a strange man for speeches, Phaedrus, and
really wonderful. For I think that of all the speeches made
during your life-time no one has been the occasion of more
being made than yourself, whether by speaking them yourself,
or in some way or other compelling others. I except Simmias
of Thebes; but you far surpass all the rest. And now again
you appear to me to be the occasion of another speech being
made,

Phe. You do not announce war indeed. But how and
what speech is this?

43. Socr. When I was about to cross the river, my good
friend, the divine and wonted signal was given me, (it always
deters me from what I am about to do,) and I seemed to hear
a voice from this very spot, which would not suffer me to
depart before I had purified myself, as if I had committed
some offence against the deity. Now I am a prophet, though

ols PHA DRUS.

not a very good one, but like bad writers, am good enough for
my own purposes. Accordingly, I clearly perceive my offence :
for, my friend, the soul is in some measure prophetic ; and
mine troubled me some time since as I was delivering the
speech, and some how I was cast down, as Ibycus says, for
fear I should offend the gods, and gain honour from men in
exchange. But now I perceive my offence.

Phe, What do you say it is?

Socr, A dreadful, dreadful speech, Phadrus, you both
brought here yourself, and compelled me to utter.

Phe, How so?

Socr. Foolish, and in some sort impious: and can any thing
be more dreadful than this ?

44. Phe. Nothing, if you say truly.

Socr. What then? Do you not think that Love is son of
Venus, and a god ?

Phe. So it is said. '

Socr. Yet not by Lysias, nor by that speech of yours which
was uttered through my mouth when bewitched by you. But
if Love be, as indeed he is, a god, or something divine, he can-
not be in any respect evil; yet both our late speeches spoke of
him as such. In this therefore they committed an offence
against Love, besides their silliness was very amusing, in that
they said nothing sound or true, yet they prided themselves as
if they were something,| because they might perhaps impose on
some simpletons and gain their approbation. It is necessary,
therefore, my friend, that I should purify myself. But there is
an ancient purification for those who offend in matters relating
to mythology, which Homer was not acquainted with, but
Stesichorus was. For, being deprived of sight for defaming
Helen, he was not ignorant like Homer, but as a friend of the
Muses, knew the cause, and immediately composed the follow-
ing lines: ‘ This tale is not true, thou didst not go on board
the well-benched ships, nor reach the towers of Trove. thus
having composed this entire recantation as it is called, he im-
mediately recovered his sight. I however, will be wiser than
them in this respect ; for before I suffer any harm for defaming
Love, I will endeavour to present him my recantation, with my
head bare, and not, as before, covered through shame.

45. Phe. There is nothing, Socrates, that you could say to
me more agreeable than this.

PHEDRUS. 319

Socr. For, my good Phedrus, you must be sensible how
shameiessly both our speeches were composed, as well mine as
that which was read trom the book. For, if any generous
man, and of mild disposition, who is either now in love with,
or has formerly been enamoured of another like himself, had
happened to hear us say that lovers contract violent enmities
for trifling causes, and are envious of, and detrimental to, their
favourites, can you suppose that he would do otherwise than
think he was listening to men brought up among sailors, and
who had never witnessed an ingenuous love, and would be far
from assenting to the censures we cast upon Love?

Phe. Probably he would, by Jupiter, Socrates.

Socr. Out of respect to him, then, and fear of Love himself,
I am anxious to wash out as it were the brackish taste by a
sweet speech, And I advise Lysias, too, to write as soon as
possible, that it is proper, under similar circumstances, to fa-
vour a lover rather than one who is not in love.

46. Phe. You may be well assured that this will be done ;
for, when you have spoken in praise of the lover, Lysias must
needs be compelled by me to write another speech on the same
subject.

Socr. This I believe, while you continue the man you are.

Phe. Speak then with confidence.

Socr. But where is my boy, to whom I spoke? -that he may
hear this too, and may not, from not hearing it, hastily grant
favours to one who is not in love.

Phe. Here he is always very near to you, whenever you
want him,

Socr. Understand then, my beautiful boy, that the former
speech; was that of Phedrus, son of Pythocles, a man of Myrr-
hinus; but that which I am now about to deliver is the speech
of Stesichorus, son of Euphemus, of Himera. It must begin
thus:

“ The assertion is not true which declares that when a lover
is present favour ought rather to be shewn to one who is not
in love, because the one is mad and the other in his sober
senses. 47. For if it were universally true that madness is
evil, the assertion would be correct. But now the greatest
blessings we have spring from madness, when granted by di-
vine bounty. For the prophetess at Delphi, and the priest-
esses at Dodona, have, when mad, done many and noble ser-

320 PHAIDR US,

Vices for Greece, both Privately and publicly, but in their sober
Senses, little oy nothing, And if we were to speak of the Sybil

nd others. who, employing prophetic inspiration, have cor.
rectly predicted many things to many persons Tespecting the
future, we Should be too prolix jn relating what is known to
every one. 48. This, however, deserves to be adduced by way
of testimony, that such of the ancients as Save names to things
did not Consider madness as disgraceful oy a cause of reproach
for they would not have attached this very name to that most
noble art by which the future is discerned, and have called ita
mad art; but Considering jt noble when jt happens by the di.
vine decree, they gaye it this mete > “but ‘the naga of the pre.
Sent day, by ignorantly inserting the letter 7, have called it the
Prophetic arte. Since also With respect to the investigation of
the future by people in their Senses, which is made by means
of birds and other signs, inasmuch as men by means of reflec.
tion, furnished themselves by human thought with intelligence
and information, they gave’ it the name of Prognostication bh,
Which the moderns, by using the emphatic long 6, now call
augury. “But how much more perfect and valuable, then, pro.
Phecy is than agury, one name than the other, and one effect
than the other, by so much did the ancients testify that mad_
Ness is more noble than Sound sense, that which comes from
God than that Which proceeds from men, 49, Moreover, toy
those dire diseases and afflictions, which continued jn some
families in Consequence of ancient crimes committed by some
or other of them, madness springing up and prophesying to
those to Whom it was Proper, discovered a remedy, fleeing foy
refuge to prayers and Services of the gods, whence obtaining
purifications and atoning rites, it made him who Possessed jt
sound, both fo: the present and the future. by discovering to
him, who was rightly mad and Possessed, a release trom present
evils. | There ig a third Possession and madness Proceeding
from the Muses, which Seizing upon a tender and chaste soul,
and rousing and inspiring it to the Composition of odes and

& Itis impossible, in an English Version, to retain Plato’s explanation
of the progressive application of kindred Words ; if the unlearned reader
«an decypher the following Greek letters he May possibly understand our
author's meaning; vavig is madness, Hauikh, the mad art, Marrixh, the pro-~
Phetic art,

oneriKh, Prognostication, Olwnorinh, augury,

PHEDRUS. 321

other species of poetry, by adorning the countless deeds of an-
tiquity, instructs posterity. But he who without the madness
ot the Muses approaches the gates of poesy under the persua-
sion that by means of art he can become an efficient poet, both
himself fails in his purpose, and his poetry, being that of a sane
man, is thrown into the shade by the poetry of such as are mad.

50. So great and even more noble effects of madness pro-
ceeding from the gods I am able to mention to you. Let us
not, therefore, be afraid of this, nor let any argument disturb
and frighten us so as to persuade us that we ought to prefer a
sane man as our friend in preference to one who is under the
influence of a divine impulse; but let him carry all the victory
when he was shewn this in addition, that love is sent by the
gods for no benefit to the lover and the beloved. But we, on
the other hand, must prove that such madness is given by the
gods, for the purpose of producing the highest happiness. Now
the proof will be incredible to the subtle, but credible to the
wise. It is necessary, therefore, first of all to understand the
truth with respect to the nature of the soul both divine and
human, by observing its affections and operations. 51, This
then is the beginning of the demonstration.

Every soul is immortal: for whatever is continually moved is
immortal; but that which moves another and is moved by an-
other, when it ceases to move, ceases to live. Therefore that
only which moves itself, since it does not quit itself, never
ceases to be moved, but is also the source and beginning of motion
to all other things that are moved. But a beginning is uncre-
ate: for every thing that is created must necessarily be created
from a beginning, but a beginning itself from nothing whatever ;
for if a beginning were created from any thing, it would not be
a beginning. 52, Since then it is uncreate it must also of
necessity be indestructible; for should a beginning perish, it
could neither itself be ever created from any thing, nor any thing
else from it, since all things must be created from a beginning.
Thus then the beginning of motion is that which moves itself:
and this can neither perish nor be created, or all heaven and all
creation must collapse and come to a stand-still, and never
again have any means whereby it may be moved and created.
53, Since then it appears that that which is moved by itself is
immortal, no one will be ashamed to say that this is the very
essence and true notion of soul. For every body which is

26

322 PHEDRUS.

moved from Without, is soulless, but that which is moyed from
within of itself, possesses a soul, since this is the very nature of
soul. But if this be the case, that there is nothing else whieh
moves itself except soul, soul must necessarily be both uncreate
and immortal. This then may suffice for its immortality,

But respecting its idea we must speak as follows: what it
is, would in every way require a divine and lengthened exposi-
tion to tell, but what it is like, a human and a shorter one: in
this way then we will describe it. 54. Let it then be likened
to the combined power of a pair of Winged steeds and a
charioteer. Now the horses and charioteers of the gods are all
both good themselves and of good extraction, but all others are
mixed. In the first place, then, our ruling power drives a pair
of steeds, in the next place, of these horses it has one that is
beautiful and noble, and of similar extraction, but the other is
of opposite extraction, and opposite character; our driving
therefore js necessarily difficult and troublesome. But we
must endeavour to explain in what respect an animal is called
mortal.or immortal, AJ] soul takes care of all that is without
soul, and goes about all heaven, appearing at different times in
different forms. 55, While it is perfect, then, and Winged, it
soars aloft and governs the universe: but when it has lost its
Wings it is borne downward, until it meets with something
solid, in which having taken up its abode, by assuming an
earthly body, which appears to move itself by means of its own
power, the whole together is called an animal, soul and body
compounded, and takes the appellation of mortal. But the
immortal derives its name from no deduction of reasoning, but
as we neither see, nor sulliciently understand God, we repre.
sent him as an immortal animal possessed of soul, and pos.
sessed of body, and these united together throughout all time,
Let these things, however, so be and be described as God
pleases. But let us now discover the cause of the loss of the
wings, why they fall off from the soul, It is something of the
following kind:

56. The natural power of a wing, is to carry up heavy sub-
stances by raising them aloft to the regions where the race of
the gods dwells; and of the parts connected with the body, it
probably partakes most largely of that which is divine. But
that which is divine is beautifal, Wise, good, and every thing of
‘hat kind. By these then the wings of the soul are chiefly

~—

~

PRaOAUS, 523

nourished and increased. but by what is base and vile, and
other similar contraries, it falls to decay and perishes. Now

the mighty chief in heaven, Jupiter, goes first, driving a winged

chariot, ordering and taking care of all things; and there
follows him a host of gods and demons, distributed into eleven
divisions; for Vesta remains alone in the dwelling of the gods:
but of the others all that have been assigned a station as chief
gods in the number of the twelve, lead in the order to which
they have been severally appointed. 57. But there are many
delightful sights and paths within heaven among which the
race of the blessed gods move, each performing his own proper
work ; and whoso has both will and power accompanies them;
for envy stands aloof from the heavenly choir. But when they
proceed to a banquet and feast, they now ascend by an up-hill
path to the highest arch of heaven: and the chariots of the
gods, which from being equally poised are obedient to the
rein, move easily, but all others with difficulty ; for the horse
that partakes of vice weighs them down, leaning and pressing
heavily towards the earth, if he happens not to have been well
trained by his charioteer. Here then the severest toil and trial
is laid upon the soul. For those that are called immortal,

when they reach the Summit, proceeding outside, stand on the “

back of heaven, and while they are stationed here, its revolu-
tion carries them round, and they behold the external regions
of heaven. 58. But the region above heaven no poet here has
ever yet sung of, nor ever will sing of, as it deserves. It is,
however, as follows: for surely I may venture to speak the
truth, especially as my subject is truth. For essence, that
really exists, colourless, formless and intangible, is visible only
to intelligence that guides the soul, and around it the family of
true science have this for their abode. As then the mind of
deity is nourished by intelligence and pure science, so the mind
of every soul that is about to receive what properly belongs to
it, when it sees after a long time that which is, is delighted,
and by contemplating the truth, is nourished and thrives, until
the revolution of heaven brings it round again to the same
point. And during this circuit it beholds justice herself, it
beholds temperance, it beholds science, not that to which
creation is annexed, nor that which is different in different
things of those which we call real, but that which js science in
What really is. And in like manner, having beheld all other

324 PHADRUS

things that really are, and having feasted on them, it again
enters into the interior of heaven, and returns home. 59. And
on its return, the charioteer haying taken his horses to the
manger, sets ambrosia before them, and afterwards gives them
nectar to drink. And this is the life of the gods.

But, with respect to other souls,! that which best follows
and imitates a god, raises the head of its charioteer to the
outer region, and is carried round with the rest in the revolu-
tion, yet is confused by its horses, and scarcely able to behold
real existences; but another at one time rises, at another sinks,
and owing to the violence of the horses, partly sees, and partly
hot. ‘The rest follow, all eager for the upper region, but being
unable to reach it they are carried round sunk beneath the
surface, trampling on and striking against each other, in en-
deavouring to get one before another, Hence the tumult, and
struggling, and sweating is extreme; and here through the
fault of the charioteers many are maimed, and many break
many of their feathers; and all of them having undergone
much toil depart without having succeeded in getting a view
of that which is, and after their departure they make use of
the food of mere opinion. 60, And this is the reason for the
great anxiety to behold the fie! of truth, where it is; the pro-
per pasture for the best part of the soul happens to be in the ,
meadow there, and it is the nature of the wing by which the
soul is borne aloft, to be nourished by it; and this is a law of
Adrastia', that whatever soul, in accompanying a deity, has
beheld any of the true essences, it shall be free from harm
until the next revolution, and if it can always accomplish this,
it shall be always free from harm: but whenever from inability
to keep up it has not seen any of them, and from meeting with
some misfortune, has been filled with oblivion and vice, and
so weighed down, and from being weighed down has lost its
wings, and fallen to the earth, then there is a law that this
soul should not be implanted in any brutal nature in its first
generation, but that the soul which has seen most, should
enter into the germ of a man who will become a philosopher
or a lover of the beautiful, or a votary of the Muses and Love ;
but that the second should enter into the form of a constitu-
tional king, or a warrior and commander, the third into that of
a statesman, or economist, or merchant, the fourth into one

* That is, ‘an inevitable law.”

PHADRUS. 323

who loves the toil of gymnastic exercises, or who will be em-
ployed in healing the body, the fifth will have a prophetic life
or one connected with the mysteries, to the sixth the poetic
life or some other of those employed in imitation will be best
adapted, to the seventh a mechanical or agricultural life, to the
eighth the life of a sophist or mob-courtier, to the ninth that
of a tyrant. 61. But among all these, whosoever passes his
life justly afterwards obtains a better lot, but who unjustly, a
worse one. For to the same place, whence each soul comes,
it does not return till the expiration of ten thousand years ; for
it does not recover its wings for so long a period, except it is
the soul of a sincere lover of wisdom, or of one who has made
philosophy his favourite’, But these in the third period of a
thousand years, if they have chosen this life thrice in succes-
sion, thereupon depart, with their wings restored in the three
thousandth year, But the others, when they have ended their :
first life, are brought to trial; and being sentenced, some go
to places of punishment beneath the earth and there suffer for /
their sins, but others, being borne upwards by their sentence
*9 some region in heaven, pass their time in a manner worthy
of the life they have lived in human form. But in the thousandth
year, both kinds coming back again for the allotment and choice
of their second life, choose that which they severally please.
And here a human soul passes into the life of a beast, and from
a beast he who was once a man passes again into a man. 62.
For the soul which has never seen the truth, cannot come into
this form : for it is necessary that a man should understand ac-
cording to a generic form, as it is called, which proceeding from
many perceptions is by reasoning combined into one. And
this is a recollection of those things which our soul formerly
saw when journeying with deity, despising the things which we
now say are, and looking up to that which really is. Where-
fore, with justice, the mind of the philosopher is alone furnished
with wings; for, to the best of his power, his memory dwells
on those things, by the contemplation of which even deity is
divine. But a man who makes a right use of such memorials
as these, by constantly perfecting himself in perfect mysteries,
alone becomes truly perfect. And by keeping aloof from human
pursuits, and dwelling on that which is divine, he is found fault

k . : > ¢
madepacTHsavros meta pirocodlas. So in the Gorgias (§ 82) So-
erates calls “ philosophy his favourite,” rhv dirocodlay, Ta Cua madiKd.

’

/ seeing beauty in this lower world
) g& beauty

ae

826 PHEDRUS

with by the multitude as out of his s

enses, but it escapes the

notice of the multitude that he is inspired.

63. To this then comes our whole
fourth kind of madness, on account of

begins to recover his wings, and, having recovered them, longs

to soar aloft, but being unable to do
bird, and despising things below, is de
madness, Our argument comes to t]

it, looks upwards like a
emed to be affected with
us then, that this is the

best of all enthusiams, and of the best origin, both for him
who possesses and for him who partakes of it, and that he who
loves beautiful objects, by having a share of this madness, is
called a lover, For, as we have mentioned, every soul of man

has, from its very nature, beheld real

existences, or it would

not have entered into this human form {for it is not easy for

every one to call to mind former things
for those who then had but a brief y

from the present, neither
lew of the things there,

nor for those who after their fall hither, were so unfortunate as

to be turned aside by evil association

S to injustice, and so to

have forgotten the sacred things they formerly beheld, Few

therefore are left who have sufficien

t memory. But these,

when they see any resemblance of the things there, are amazed
and no longer masters of themselves, and they know not what

this affection is, because they do not

thoroughly perceive it.

64. Now of Justice and temperance and whatever else souls
deem precious, there is no brightness in the resemblances here,

but by means of dull instruments wi
on approaching the images, are able to

th difficulty a few only,
discern the character oi

that which is represented. But beauty was then splendid to
look on, when with that happy choir, we in company with

Jupiter, and others with some other o

f the gods, beheld that

the pure light, perfect,

simple, calm, and blessed visions, being ourselves pure, and as

yet unmasked with this which we now
call the body, fettered to it hike an oyst
65. Let this much be said out of

carry about with us and
er to its shell,
regard to memory, on

account of which, from a longing for former things, I have now

DOD Ol Sty Fe @ ta 2 i Bs -
de EE MOD CRSE 32

spoken at greater length than I ought. But with respect to |

beauty, as we observed, she both shone among things there,
and on our coming hither we found her, through the clearest
of our senses, shining most clearly. For sight is the keenest
of sur bodily senses, though wisdom is not seen by it. For
vehement would be the love she would inspire, if she came
before our srght and shewed us any such clear image of herself,
and so would all other loveable things; but now beauty only
has this privilege of being most manifest and most lovély.
66. He, then, who has not been recently initiated, or who has
hecome corrupted, is not speedily carried hence thither to
beauty itself, by beholding here that which takes its name from
it. So that he does not reverence it when he beholds it, but,
giving himself up to pleasure, like a beast he attempts to
mount it and to have intercourse with it, and in his wanton
advances|he is neither afraid nor ashamed of this unnatural
pursuit of pleasure. But he who has been recently initiated,
and who formerly beheld many things, when he sees a god-
like countenance, or some bodily form that presents a good
imitation of beauty, at first shudders and some of the former

terrors come over him, then as he looks stedfastly at it, he

~

reverences it as a god, and if he did not dread the imputation
of excessive madness, he would sacrifice to his favourite, as to
a statue ora god. 67. But after he has beheld it, as commonly
happens, after shuddering, a change, a sweating and unusual
heat comes over him. For having received the emanation of
beauty through his eyes, he has become heated, so that the

wings that are natural to him are refreshed ; and by his being

heated, the parts where they grow are softened, which having
been long closed up through hardness prevented them from
shooting out. But when this nutriment flows in, the quill of
the wing begins to swell, and makes an effort to burst from
the root, beneath the whole form of the soul ; for of old it was
all winged. In this state, then, the whole boils and throbs
violently, and as is the case with infants cutting their teeth,
when they are just growing out there is a pricking and sore-
ness of the gums, in the same way the soul is affected of one
who is beginning to put forth his wings,‘it boils and is sore,
and itches as it puts them forth. 68. When, therefore, by
beholding the beauty of a boy, and receiving particles that

proceed and flow from thence, which are for that reason called

nd &

328 PHEEDRUS.

desire, it becomes refreshed and heated; it is relieved from
pain and filled with joy : but when it is separated and becomes
parched, the orifices of the passages through which the wing
shoots forth, become closed through drought and shut up the
germ of the wing. But it being shut in together with desire,
leaping like throbbing veins, strikes against each passage that
is shut against it, so that the whole soul, being pricked all
round, is frantic and in agony; but again retaining the
memory of the beautiful one, it is filled with joy. 69. And
from both these mingled together, it is tormented by the
strangeness of the affection, and not knowing what to do be-
comes frenzied, and being in this frantic state it can neither
sleep at night, nor remain quiet by day, but runs about with
longing wherever it may hope to see the possessor of the
beauty. And on beholding him and drawing in fresh supplies
of desire, it loosens the parts that were closed up, and recover-
ing breath has a respite from stings and throes, and again for
the present enjoys this most exquisite pleasure. | Wherefore, it
never willingly leaves him, nor values any one more than the
beautiful one, but forgets mothers and brothers and friends all
alike, and if its substance is wasting through neglect, it reckons
that as of no consequence, and despising all customs and de-
corums in which it formerly prided itself, it is ready to be a
slave and to lie down wherever any one will allow it as near as
possible to the object of its longing. For in addition to its
reverence for the possessor of beauty, it has found that he is
the only physician for its severest troubles.

70. Now this affection, my beautiful boy, you I mean to
whom I am speaking, men call love, but when you hear what
the gods designate it, you will probably laugh, on account of
your youth. Some Homerics, I think, adduce out of their
secret poems two verses on love, of which the second is very
insolent, and not altogether delicate: they sing as follows :
“Him mortals indeed call winged Eros, but immortals Pteros
(Flyer) for his flighty nature !.”

These verses then, you are at liberty to believe, or not ; how-
ever, this assuredly is the cause and the condition of lovers.
71. Now when one of the attendants upon Jupiter is seized, he
is able to bear with greater firmness the burden of the wing-

1 IT must own mysclf indebted to Mr. Wright's version of this dialogue
for this happy translation of these two lines.

PHEDRUS. 329

named god; but such as are in the service of Mars and went
round heaven with him, when they are caught by Love, and
think that they are at all injured by the object of their love, are
blood-thirsty, and ready to immolate both themselves and their
favourite. And so with respect to each several god, whose
choir each followed, he spends his life in honouring and imitat-
ing him to the best of his power, so long as he remains free
from corruption, and is living here his first generation; and in
this way he associates with and behaves to his beloved and all
others, 72. Every one, therefore, chooses his love out of the
objects of beauty according to his own taste, and, as if he
were a god to him, he fashions and adorns him like a statue, as
if for the purpose of reverencing him and celebrating orgies in
his honour. They then that are followers of Jupiter seek for
some one who resembles Jupiter in his soul, to be the object of
his love. They therefore consider whether he is by nature a
lover of wisdom, and fitted to command; and when, on finding
one, they have become enamoured of him, they do every thing in
their power to make him such. If, then, they have not already
entered upon this study, they now set about it, and learn it
from whatever source they can, and themselves pursue it; and
by endeavouring to discover of themselves the nature of their
own deity, they succeed by being compelled to look stedfastly on
their god, and when they grasp him with their memory, being
inspired by him, they receive from him their manners and pur-
suits, as far it is possible for man to participate of deity.
73. And considering the object of their love as the cause of
all this, they love him still more, and if they have drawn their
inspiration from Jupiter, like the Bacchana!s, they pour it
into the soul of their beloved, and make him as much as possi-
ble resemble their own god. But such as attended Juno seek
after a royal favourite, and when they have found one, they act
towards him in precisely the same manner. And such as at-
tended Apollo, and each of the other gods, following the exam-
ple of their several deities, desire that their favourite may have
a corresponding character, and when they have gained such an
one, both by imitation on their own part, and by persuading
and alluring their favourite, they lead him to the peculiar pur-
suit and character of that god; not, indeed, by employing envy
or illiberal severity towards their favourite, but endeavouring
by every means in their power to lead him to a perfect resem-

330 PHEDRUS.

blance of themselves and their god, they act accordingly,
74, /A zeal, then, on the part of those who truly love, and an
initiation, as I call it, if they succeed in what they desire, so
beautiful and blessed, falls to the lot of the beloved one at the
hands of him that is maddened by love, if only he be won. But
he that is won, is won in the following manner,

As in the beginning of this account ] divided each soul into
three parts, two of them having the form of horses, and the
third that of a charioteer, so let us still maintain that division:
but of the horses, one, we said, was good and the other not:
what however is the virtue of the good one, or the vice of the
bad one, we have not yet explained, but must now declare.
That one of them, then, which is in the nobler condition, is in
form erect, finely-moulded, high-necked, hook-nosed, white-
coloured, black-eyed, a lover of honour, with temperance and
modesty, and a companion of true glory, without the whip is
driven by word of command and voice only: the other, on the
other hand, is crooked, thick set, clumsily put together, strong-
necked, short-throated, flat-faced, black-coloured, gray-eyed,
hot-blooded, a companion of insolence and swaggering, shagg
about the ears, deaf, scarcely obedient to whip and spur toge-
ther. 75. When. therefore, the charioteer beholds the love-
inspiring sight, his whole soul becoming heated by sensation,
he is filled with irritation and the stings of desireJthe horse that
is obedient to the charioteer, then as ever, overpowered by shame
restrains himself from leaping on the beloved object: but the
other, no longer heeds either the whip or the spurs of the
charioteer, but bounding forward is carried violently along,
and giving every kind of trouble to his yoke-fellow ‘and the
charioteer, compels them to hurry to the favourite, and to in-
dulge in the delights of love, They at first resist from indig-
nation at being compelled to such a dreadful and lawless
course: but at length, when there is no end to the evil, they
go on as they are led, having submitted and consented to do what
they are ordered ; and now they come up to him and behold
the gleaming countenance of the favourite. 76. But the memory
of the charioteer when he beholds him is carried back to the
nature of absolute beauty, and again sees her together with
temperance standing on a chaste pedestal. And, on beholding,
it™ shudders, and awe-struck falls down backward, and at the

m “Tt,” memory.

PHEDRUS. 331

same time is compelled to draw back the reins so violently, as
to throw both the horses on their haunches, the one indeed
willingly, from his not resisting, but the insolent one very
much against his will. When they have withdrawn to some
distance, the former through shame and amazement drenches
the whole soul with sweat, but the other, having got rid of the
pain which he suffered from the bit and the fall, when he has
scarcely recovered his breath, bursts out into passionate revil-
ings, vehemently reproaches the charioteer and his yoke-fellow,
for having abandoned their station and compact from cowardice
and effeminacy. And again compelling them against their
wills to approach, he with difficulty yields to their entreaties
to defer it toa future time. 77. But when the time agreed on
comes, reminding them who pretend to forget it, plunging,
heighing, and dragging forward, he compels them again to
approach the favourite for the same purpose. And when they
are near, bending down his head and extending his spear, he
champs the bit and drags them on with wantonness. But
the charioteer being affected as before, though more strongly,
as if le were falling back from the starting rope, pulls back
the bit with still greater violence from the teeth of the insolent
horse, and covers his railing tongue and jaws with blood, and
forcing his legs and haunches to the ground, tortures him with
pain. 78. But when by being often treated in the same way,
the vicious horse has laid aside his insolence, being humbled
he henceforth follows the directions of the charioteer, and when
he beholds the beautiful object, he swoons through fear. So
that it comes to pass, that thenceforth the soul of the lover
follows its favourite with reverence and awe.| Since then he is
worshipped with all observance as if he were a god, not by a
lover who feigns the passion, but who really feels it, and since
he is by nature inclined to friendship, he directs his affection

to accord with that of his worshipper, even though in past ~

times he may have been misled. by his associates or some
others, who told him that it was disgraceful to allow a lover to
approach him, and he may for this reason have rejected his
lover, yet in process of time his age and destiny induce him to
admit his lover to familiarity. 79. For. surely it was never
decreed by fate, that the evil should be a friend to the evil, or
the good not a friend to the good. When, therefore, he has
admitted him and accepted his conversation and society, the

332 PHZDRUS.,

benevolence of the lover being brought into close contact
astonishes the beloved, when he perceives that all his other
friends and relatives together exhibited no friendship at all to-
wards him in comparison with his inspired friend. But when
he has spent some time in doing this, and has approached
so near as to come in contact in the gymnastic schools and
other places of social intercourse, then the fountain of that
stream to which Jupiter, when in love with Ganymede, gave
the name of desire, streaming in great abundance upon the
lover, partly sinks into him, and partly flows out from him
when he is full. And as a wind or any sound rebounding
from smooth and hard substances, is borne back again to the
place from whence it proceeded, so this stream of beauty,
flowing back again to the beautiful one through the eyes, by
which way it naturally enters the soul, and having returned
thither and fledged itself anew, refreshes the outlets of the
feathers, and moves him to put forth wings, and in turn fills
the soul of the beloved one with love. 80. Accordingly he is
in love, but with whom he knows not; neither is he aware
nor is he able to tell what has happened to him, but like a person
who has caught a disease in the eyes from another, he is unable
to assign the cause, and is not aware that he beholds himself in
his lover, as in a mirror. And when the lover is present, he
' is freed from pain in the same way as the lover is; but, when
he is absent, he in turn longs for him in the same manner that
he is longed for, possessing love’s image, love returned; but he
calls it and considers it to be not love but friendship. And he
desires, in the same way as the lover, though more feebly, to
see, to touch, to kiss, to he down with him; and, as is probable,
he soon afterwards does all this, 81. In this lying down
together, then, the unbridled horse of the lover has something
to say to its charioteer, and begs to be allowed some small en- _
joyment in recompence for his many toils] but the same horse oA
of the favourite has nothing to say, but swelling with love \/
and in doubt, embraces the lover, and kisses him as he would
kiss a very dear friend, and when they are laid down together,
he is unable to refuse, as far as in his power, to gratify his _
lover in whatever he requires. But his yoke-fellow, together ©
with the charioteer, resists this familiarity with shame and rea- -
son. If, then, the better parts of their mind have prevailed
so as to lead them to a well-regulated mode of living and phi-

PHEDRUS. 333

losophy, they pass their life here in bliss and concord, having ob-
tained the mastery over themselves, and being orderly, through
having brought into subjection that part of the soul in which vice
was engendered, and having set free that in which was virtue :
and when they depart this life, becoming winged and light, they
have been victorious in one of the three truly Olympic con-
tests, a greater good than which neither human prudence nor
divine madness can possibly bestow on man. 82. If, however,
they have adopted a coarser and less philosophic mode of liv-
ing, yet still honourable, but perhaps in a fit of drunkenness
or some other thoughtless moment, their two unbridled beasts
finding their souls unguarded, and bringing them together to
one place, have made and consummated that choice which
most men deem blissful; and having once consummated it
they continue to practise it for the future, though rarely, in
that they are doing what is not approved by their whole mind.
These too, then, pass their life dear to each other, but less so
than the others, both during the period of love and after it,
thinking that they have both given to and received from each
other the strongest pledges, which it were impious to vio-
late, and so at any time become alienated. 83. But in the
end, without wings indeed, yet making an effort to become
winged, they quit the body, so as to carry off no trifling prize
of impassioned madness: for there is a law that those who
have already set out in the heavenward path should never
again enter on darkness and the paths beneath the earth, but
that, passing a splendid life, they should be happy walking
with each other, and that, for their love’s sake, whenever they
become winged, they should be winged together.

These so great and divine things, my boy, will the affection
of a lover confer on you. But the familiarity of one who is
not in love, being mingled with mortal prudence, and dispens-
ing mortal and niggardly gifts, generating in the beloved soul
an illiberality which is praised by the multitude as virtue, will
cause it to be tossed, about the earth and beneath the earth for
nine thousand years, devoid of intelligence. 84. To thee, be-
loved Love, this recantation, the most beautiful and the best,
according to my ability, is presented and duly paid, both in
other respects and by certain poetical phrases, of necessity,
adorned for the sake of Phedrus. But do thou, pardoning my
former speech, and graciously accepting this, propitiously and

bok PiLEDRUS.

benignly, neither take from me the art of love which thou hast
given me, nor maim it in thy wrath, but grant that even more
than now I may be honoured by the beautiful. And if, In our
- former speech, Phedrus and I have said any thing offensive to
thee, blaming Lysias as the author of the speech, make him
/desist from such speeches in ft.ture, and convert him to philo-
Sophy, as his brother Poemarchus has been converted, so that
this lover of his may no longer remain neutral as now, but
may wholly devote his life to love, in conjunction with philo-
sophic discourses,

Phe. J join with you in praying, Socrates, that if this is better
for us, so it may be. 85. But I have been long wondering at
your speech, how much more beautiful you have made it than
the former one; so that I am afraid that Lysias will appear to
me but poor, even if he should be willing to produce another in
Opposition to it. Tor only the other day, my admirable friend,
one of our public men, as he was attacking him, upbraided
him with this very thing, and throughout the whole of his at-
tack called him a writer of speeches. Perhaps, therefore, for
ambition’s sake he will refrain from writing any more.

Socr. The opinion you express, my youth, is ridiculous ;
and you very much mistake your friend, if you imagine him to
be so easily frightened, Perhaps, too, you think that his assail-
ant really meant what he said.

86. Phe. He seemed to do so, Socrates ; and you are doubt-
Jess yourself aware, that the most powerful and considerable
men in a city are ashamed to write speeches, and to leave their
own compositions behind them, through fear of the opinion of
posterity, lest they should be called sophists,

Socr. It has escaped your notice, Pheedrus, that the proverb
“a sweet bend” is derived from that long bend in the Nile:
and as well as the bend, it escapes your notice, that these pub-
lic men who think most highly of themselves are most fond of
writing speeches, and of leaving their compositions behind
them ; and moreover, whenever they write a speech, they so
love its supporters, that they prefix their names who on each
occasion commend them.

87. Phe. How do you mean? for I don’t understand you.

Socr. Don’t you understand, thatlat the beginning of a states-

man’s writing, the name of its supporter is written first.
Phe. How?

PHEDRUS, 335

Socr. “ Approved,” I think the writing itself says, “ by the
council, or the people, or both,” and he who proposed it, speak-
ing very pompously of and extolling himself, namely the com-
poser, after this makes a speech so as to display his own wisdom
to his supporters, sometimes making a very long composition.
Does this appear to you to be any thing else than a written
speech?

Phe. It does not to me.

88. Socr. If, then, it happens to be approved, the composer
goes home from the theatre delighted. But if it should be rubbed
out, and he debarred from writing speeches, and from the dig-
nity of an author, both he and his friends take it greatly to
heart.

Phe. Just so.

Soer. It is clear, then, that they do not despise this practice,
but admire it exceedingly.

Phe. Certainly.

Socr, What then, when an orator or a king has proved
himself competent to assume the power of a Lycurgus, or a
Solon, or a Darius, and to become immortal as a speech-writer
in a state, docs he not deem himself godlike, while he is yet
alive, and do not posterity think the very same of his writings?

Phe. Just so.

89. Socr. Do you think then that any person of this sort,
however ill-disposed he may be towards Lysias, would upbraid
him merely because he is a writer ?

Phe. It does not seem probable from what you say; for in
that case, as it appears, he would upbraid his own passion.

Socr, This, then, must be clear to every one, that the mere
writing of speeches is not disgraceful.

Phe. Why should it be?

Socr. But this I think now is disgraceful, not to express
and write them well, but shamefully and ill.

Phe. Clearly so,

Socr, What then is the method of writing well or ill? Have
we not occasion, Pheedrus, to enquire about this from Lysias
or some one else, who has at some time or other written or
means to write, either a political or private composition, in
metre as a poet, or without metre as a prose-writer ?

Phe. Do you ask, if we have occasion? For what purpose
in the world should any one live, but for the sake of pleasures

336 PHZDRUS

of this kind? Not, surely, for those which cannot even be
enjoyed unless they are preceded by pain, which is the case
with nearly all the pleasures connected with the body; on
which account they are justly called servile.

90. Socr. We have leisure, however, as it seems: and more-
over the grasshoppers, while, as is their wont in the heat of the
day, they are singing over our heads|and talking with one ano-
ther, appear to me to be looking down upon us. If, then,
they should see us too, like most men, not conversing at mid-
day, but falling asleep and lulled by them, through indolence
of mind, they would justly laugh us to scorn, thinking that
some slaves or other had come to them in this retreat, in
order like sheep to take a mid-day sleep by the side of the
fountain, But if they see us conversing, and sailing by them,
as if they were Syrens unenchanted, the boon which they have
from the gods to confer upon men, they will perhaps out of
admiration bestow upon us.

Pha. But what is this that they have? For I happen not
to have heard of it, as it seems.

Socr. Yet it is not proper that a lover of the Muses should
not have heard of things of this kind. It is said, then, that
these grasshoppers were men before the Muses were born;
but that when the Muses were born, and song appeared, some
of the men of that time were so overcome by pleasure, that
through singing they neglected to eat and drink, until they
died unawares. 91. From these the race of grasshoppers
afterwards sprung, having received this boon from the Muses,
that they should need no nourishment from the time of their
birth, but should continue singing without food and without
drink till they died, and that after that they should go to the
Muses and inform them who of those here honoured each of
them. Therefore by informing Terpsichore of those who
honour her in the dance they make them dearer to her; and
Erato they inform of her votaries in love; and so all the rest in
a similar manner, according to the kind of honour belonging to
each. But the eldest, Calliope, and next to her Urania, they
tell of those who pass their lives in philosophy, and honour
their music; and these most of all the Muses, being conver-
sant with heaven, and discourse both divine and human, pour
forth the most beautiful strains. For many reasons, therefore,
we should converse and not sleep at mid-day.

ca a i ee

PHAEDRUS. 337

Phe. We should converse, indeed.

Socr. Therefore, as we lately proposed to consider, we should
enquire in what consists a correct method of speaking and
writing, and in what not.

Phe, Evidently.

92. Socr, Is it not, then, essential, in order to a good and
beautiful speech being made, that the mind of the speaker
should know the truth of the subject on which he is about to
speak ?

Phe. 1 have heard say on this subject, my dear Socrates, |
that it is not necessary|for one who purposes to be an orator to 2
learn what is really just, but what would appear so to the mul-
titude, who will have to judge; nor what is-really good or
beautiful, but what will appear so: for that persuasion pro-
ceeds from these, and not from truth.

Socr. We ought not to reject a saying", which wise men
utter, but should consider whether they say any thing worth
attending to. Wherefore we must not pass by what you have
now said,

93. Phe. You are right.

Socr, Let us then consider it as follows.

Phe. How?

Socr. Suppose I should persuade you to purchase a horse
for the purpose of repelling enemies, but both of us should be
ignorant what a horse is, suppose, however, I did happen to
know this much, that Phedrus believes a horse to be that
tame animal which has the longest ears.

Phe. YVhat would be ridiculous indeed, Socrates.

Socr. Wait a moment: if I should earnestly persuade you,
by composing a speech in praise of the ass, calling him a horse,
and asserting that it is well worth while to purchase this beast
both for domestic purposes and for military service, that he is
useful to fight from, and able to carry baggage, and serviceable
in many other respects.

Phe. This, now, would be perfectly ridiculous.

Socr. But is it not better that a friend should be ridiculous,
than dangerous and mischievous ?

Pha. Clearly so.

94, Socr. When an orator, therefore, who is ignorant of
good and evil, having found a city that is likewise so, en-

® An expression taken from Homer, Iliad, iii. 65.

7

338 PH-EDRUS.

deavours to persuade it, not by celebrating the praises of an

ass’s shadow®, as if it were a horse, but of evil, as if it were

good, and having studied the opinions of the multitude should

persuade them to do evil instead of good, what kind of fruit do

you suppose rhetoric will afterwards reap from such a sowing?
he. By no means a good one.

Socr. But have we not, my good friend, reviled the art of
speaking more roughly than is proper ? for she may, perhaps,
say: “ Why, sirs, do you talk so foolishly ? For J] compel no
one who is ignorant of" the truth to learn how to speak: but if
my advice is worth any thing, when he has acquired that, he
then has recourse to me. This, then, I insist on, that without
me one who knows the truth will not for all that be able to
persuade by art.”

Phe. Will she not speak justly, in asserting this ?

95. Socr. I admit it, at least if the arguments that assail
her testify that she is an art. For I think I have heard some
arguments coming up and insisting that she lies and is not an
art, but an inartistic trick. But a genuine art of speaking,
says the Spartan, without laying hold of truth, neither exists,
nor ever can exist hereafter,

Phe. We must have these arguments, Socrates; so bring
them forward and examine What they say, and in what manner.

Socr. Come hither then, ye noble creatures, and persuade
Phedrus with the beautiful children, that, unless he has suf.
ficiently studied philosophy, he will never be competent to
speak on any subject whatever, Let Pheedrus answer then.

Phe. Put your questions,

Socr. Must not then rhetoric in general be an art that leads
the soul by means of argument, not only in courts of justice,
and other public assemblies, but also in private, equally with
respect to trivial and important matters ? and is its right use
at all more valued when employed about grave than about
trifling things? What have you heard said about this?

96. Phe. By Jupiter, nothing at all of this kind; but it is
for the, most ‘part spoken and written according to art in
judicial trials, and it is spoken also in popular assemblies ; but
I have never heard any thing further,

Soer. What, have you heard only of the rhetorical arts of

' ; : ee
° A proverb meaning “a thing of no value.” See Suidas dvov oxrd.

i So Nw Anan pg

PHEDRUS. 339

Nestor and Ulysses, which they composed during their leisure
in Ilium, and have you never heard of those by Palamedes?

Phe. And, by Jupiter, I have not even heard of those by
Nestor, unless you make Gorgias a Nestor, or Thrasymachus
and Theodorus a Ulysses.

Socr. Perhaps Ido. But let us pass over these ; do you
say however; in courts of justice what do adversaries do? do
they not contradict each other? or what shall we say?

Phe. That very thing.

Socr. And respecting the just and unjust ?

Phe. Yes.

Socr, Will not he, then, who accomplishes this by art, make
the same thing appear to the same persons, at one time just,
and, when he pleases, unjust ?

Phe. How not?

Socr, And in a popular assembly the same things seem to
the state at one time good, and at another the contrary?

Phe. Just so.

97. Socr. And do we not know that the Eleatic Palamedes P
spoke by art in such a manner that the same things appeared
to his hearers similar and dissimilar, one snd many, at rest
and in motion ?

Phe. Assuredly.

Socr. The art, then, of arguing on both sides has not only to
do with courts of justice and popular assemblies, but as it
seems, it must be one and the same art, if it is an art, with
respect to all subjects of discourse, by which a man is able to
make all things appear similar to each other so far as they are
capable of being made appear so, and to drag them to light,
when another attempts to make them appear similar and con-
ceals his attempt.

Phe. What mean you by this?

Socr. I think it will be evident if we enquire as follows :
Does deception more frequently occur in things that differ
much or little ‘|

Phe. In things that differ little. 6

Socr. But by changing your position gradually, you will
more easily escape detection in going to the opposite side, than
by doing so rapidly.

? By Palamedes, as the Scholiast observes, he means Zeno of Elea, the
friend of Parmenides.

540 PH/EDRUS.
98. Phe. How not?

Socr. It is necessary, then, that he who means to deceive
another, but not be deceived himself, should be able to dis-
tinguish with accuracy the similarity and dissimilarity of things.

Phe. It is indeed necessary.

Soer. Will he be able, then, if ignorant of the truth of each
particular thing, to discern the smaller or greater similarity of
the thing of which he is ignorant, in other things ?

Phe. \mpossible.

Socr. It is clear, therefore, that in the case of those who
have formed opinions contrary to the truth and are deceived,
this error has found its way in by means of certain resemblances.

99. Phe. It doubtlessly does happen so.

Socr. Is it possible, then, that one, who is ignorant of what
is the nature of each particular thing, should have sufficient
art to bring over any one by degrees by leading him through
means of resemblances, from each several truth to its opposite,
or himself to escape from being so led?

Phe. Never.

Socr. He therefore, my friend, who does not know the
truth, but hunts after opinions, will, as it appears, produce but
a ridiculous and inartistic art of speaking.

Phe. It seems so.

Socr. Are you willing, then, in the speech of Lysias, which
you have with you, and in those which I delivered, to look for
instances of what I assert is inartistic and artistic ?

Phe. 1 should like it of all things; for now we are speak-
ing in a bald sort of way, for want of sufficient examples.

100. Soer. And, indeed, by some lucky chance, as it seems,
two speeches have been made which furnish examples, of how
one who is acquainted with the truth, while he is jesting in
his arguments, can lead his hearers astray. And for my part,
Phedrus, I attribute that to the deities of the spot. Perhaps,
also, the interpreters of the Muses, the songsters over head,
have inspired us with this gift; for I at least have no part in
any art of speaking.

Pha. Be it as you say, only make your meaning clear.

Socr, Come then, read out to me the beginning of Lysias’s
speech,

100. Phe. “ You are well acquainted with the state of my
affairs, and I think you have heard that it would be for our

PHEDRUS. 341

advantage if this took place. And I claim, not for this reason
to fail in my request, because I do not happen to be one of
your lovers: for they repent”—

Socr. Stop. We are to say, then, in oF he errs, and acts
inartistically : :| are we not?

Pha. Yes.

Socr. Now is it not plain to every one, that in some things
of this kind we are agreed, on others at variance ?

Phe. 1 think I understand what you mean; but explain
yourself still more clearly.

Socr. When any one pronounces the word iron or silver, do
we not all understand the same thing?

Phe. Assuredly.

Socr. But what when any one pronounces the word just, or
zood? are we not carried different ways, and do we not differ
both with one another and with ourselves?

Phe. Certainly.

Socr. In some things, therefore, we agree, in others not.

Phe. Just so.

Socr. In which class of things, then, are we more easily
deceived ? and in which of the two has rhetoric greater power?

Phe. Clearly in that in which we are easily led astray.

102. Soer. He, therefore, who means to pursue the art of
rhetoric, ought first of all to have distinguished these methodi-
cally, and to have discovered a certain character of each species,
both of that in which the generality of men must necessarily
be led astray, and of that in which that is not the case.

Phe. He who has attained to this, Socrates, will have
devised a noble classification of species.

Socr. Then, I think, when he comes to each particular case,
he ought not to be at a loss, but should perceive quickly to
which of the two classes the subject, on which he is going to
speak, belongs.

Phe. How not?

Socr. What then with respect to Love ? shall we S that he
belongs to things doubtful, or to such as are not so?

Phe. Lo things doubtful, surely; otherwise do you think
he would have allowed you to say what you just now said
about him, that he is both a mischief to the beloved and the
lover, and again, that he is the greatest of blessings ?

Socr. You speak admirably. But tell me this too, for from

$42 PHEDRUS,

being carried away by enthusiasm, I do not quite remember
whether I defined love at the beginning of my speech.

Phe. By Jupiter you did, and with wonderful accuracy.

103. Socr. Alas; how much more artistic in speech-making
do you say the nymphs of Acheloiis and Pan son of Mercury
are than Lysias son of Cephalus!) Or am I Wrong, and did
Lysias too, in the beginning of his love-speech, compel us to
conceive of Love, as some one particular thing, which he wished
it to be, and then complete all the rest of his speech in accord-
ance with this? Are you willing that we should read over
again the beginning of his speech ?

Phee. If you wish it ; though what you seek is not there,

Socr, Read, however, that I may hear him in person.

104. Phe. “You are well acquainted with the state of my
affairs, and I think you have heard, that it would be for our
advantage if this took place. And I claim, not fol thi reason
to fail in my request, because I do not happen to be one of
your lovers: for they repent of the benefits they have conferred.
as soon as their desires cease,”

Socr. He seems to be far indeed from doing what we arc
seeking for, since in making his speech he attempts to swim
0! Sade with his face uppermost, not setting out from the
beg nning, but from the end, and he begins with what the lover
would say to his favourite at the close of his speech. Have I
said nothing to the: purpose, Phedrus, my dear friend ?

Phe. It is indeed, Socrates, the end of the subject about
which he is speaking,

105, Scer. But what as to the rest? do not the other parts
of the speech appear to have been put together at random ?
or does it appear that what is said in the second place ought
from any necessity to have been placed second, or any thing
else that he said? For it seems to me, who however know
nothing about the matter, that the writer has without any
scruple said whatever came uppermost, But do you know of
any rule in speech-writing, in conformity to which he disposed
his sentences in the order he has done one after another ?

Phe. You are pleasant, in supposing that I am able to see
through his compositions so accurately,

Socr, But this at least:I think you will allow, that every
speech ought to be put together like a living creature, with a
body of its Own, so as to be neither without head, nor without

\

PH/EDRUS. 343

feet, but to have both a middle and extremities, described pro-
portionately to each other and to the whole.

106. Phe. How not? |

Socr. Consider, then, your friend’s speech, whether it is so
or otherwise ; and you will find that it is in no respect different
from the epigram which some say is inscribed on the tomb of
Midas the Phrygian.

Pha. What is it, and what is there remarkable in it?

Socr. It is as follows ;

‘‘ J am a maiden of brass and I lie on Midas’s sepulchre,
So long as water flows and tall trees flourish,
Remaining here on the,tomb of Midas,

I will tell all passers by, that Midas is buried here.”

“That it makes no difference which line is put first or last, you
must perceive, I think.

Phe. You are jesting at our speech, Socrates. .

107. Socr. That you may not be angry, then, we will have
done with this ; (though it appears to me to contain very many
examples, which any one might examine with advantage, so
long as he does not at all attempt to imitate them ;) and let us
proceed to the two other speeches; for there was something in
them, I think, fit to be looked into by those who wish to ex-
amine into the subject of speeches.

Fhe. What do you mean?

Soer. They were in a manner opposed to each other. For
one said that favour ought to be shewn to a person that is in
love, the other to a person that is not in love.

Phe. And this, most strenuously.

Soer. I thought you were going to say, with truth, madly.
However, this is the very thing I was seeking for. For we
said that love was a kind of madness, did we not?

Phe. Vex,

Socr. But there are two kinds of madness, one arising from
human diseases, the other from an inspired deviation from
established customs.

Phe. Certainly.

108. Socr. But dividing the divine mania of the four deities
into four parts, and assigning prophetic inspiration to Apollo,
mystic to Bacchus, poetic to the Muses, and the fourth to Venus
and Love, we said that the madness of Love is the best,

344 PH COR

and I know not how representing the passion of love, pro-
bably lighting on some truth and perhaps carried off elsewhere,
we compounded a speech not altogether improbable, and
sang a kind of mythical hymn, in a seemly and devotional
manner, in honour of my lord and thine, Phiedrus, Love, the
guardian of beautiful boys.

Phe. And one by no means unpleasant to me to hear.

Socr. Let us endeavour to find out, then, from the speech
itself, how it was able to pass from censure to praise,

Phe. What mean you by this?

109. Socr. To me it appears that in all other respects we
have really been jesting; but as regards the two methods4 that
are seen in these casually uttered speeches, if any one could
apprehend their power by art, it would be by no means an
unwelcome circumstance.

Phe. What methods are these ?

Socr, The one is to see under one aspect and to bring ta-
gether under one general idea, many things scattered in various
places, that, by defining each, a person may make it clear what
the subject is that he wishes to discuss, as just now with re-
spect to love, its nature being defined, whether it was well or
ill described; at all events for that reason my speech was
able to attain perspicuity and consistency.

Phe. And what is the other method you speak of, So-
crates ?

110. Socr. The being able, on the other hand, to separate
that general idea into species, by joints, as nature points out,
and not to attempt to break any part, after the manner of an un-
skilful cook; but as, just now, my two speeches comprehended
mental derangement under one common class.; But as from one
body there spring two sets of members bearing the same name,
one called the left the other the right, so my speeches having
considered mental derangement as naturally one class in us,
then the speech that had to divide the left part, did not leave
off dividing this again until having found in its members a kind
of left-handed love, it reviled it deservedly: but the other
taking us to the right hand side of madness, and having found
a kind of love bearing the same name as the former, but
divine, brought it to light and commended it as the cause of
the greatest blessings to us.

a The two methods are “definition” and “division,” afterwards explained.

PHEDRUS. 345

111. Phe. You speak most truly.

Socr. For my part, Phedrus, I am not only myself a lover
of these divisions and generalisations, in order that I may be
able both to speak and think; but if I perceive any one else
able to comprehend the one and the many, as they are in
nature, him ‘I follow behind as in the footsteps of a god.”

3ut whether I designate those who are able to do this, rightly
or not, God knows, however I have hitherto called them dialec-
ticians. But now, tell me by what name ought we to call those
who take lessons from you and Lysias? is this that art of
speaking, by the use of which Thrasymachus and others have
become able speakers themselves, and make others so who are
willing to bring presents to them, as to kings?

Phe. They are indeed royal men, yet not skilled in the
particulars about which you enquire. However you appear to
me to call this method rightly, in calling it dialectical; but the
rhetorical appears to me still to escape us.

112. Socr. How say you? A fine thing indeed that must be,
which is destitute of this and yet can be apprehended by art.
It must on no account be neglected by you and me; but we
must consider what is the remaining part of rhetoric.

Phe. There are indeed very many things, Socrates, which
you will find in the books written on the art of speaking.

Socr. You have reminded me very opportunely, The ex-
ordiurn, I think, must first be spoken at the beginning of the
speech. You mean these, do you not? the refinements of
the art?

Phe. Yes.

Socr, And secondly a kind of narration, and evidence to
support it; thirdly, proofs; fourthly, probabilities ; and I think
that a famous Byzantian tricker-out of speeches mentions con-
firmation and after-confirmation.

Phe. Do you mean the excellent Theodorus ?

Socr. I do. He says, too, that refutation and jafter-refuta-
tion must be employed both in accusation and defence. And
must we not adduce the most illustrious Parian, Evenus, who
first discovered subordinate intimations and bye-praises? and
some say that he put into metre bye-censures, to assist the
memory: for he is a wise man. 113. But shall we suffer
Tisias and Gorgias to sleep, who found out that probabilitics

™ See Homer’s Odyssey, v. 193.

546 PHEDRUS.

were more to be valued than truths, and who by force of words
make small things appear great, and great things small, and
new things old, and the contrary new, and who discovered a
concise method of speaking and an infinite prolixity on all sub-
jects? When Prodicus once heard me tell this, he laughed,
and said that he alone had discovered what speeches are
required by art; that we require them neither long nor short,
but of a moderate length.

Phe. Most wisely, Prodicus.

Socr. But do we not mention Hippias? for I think our
Elean friend was of the same opinion with him.

Phe. Why not?

114. Socr. But how shall we describe Polus’s new-fangled
method of speaking, as his reduplication of words, his sen-
tences, his similitudes, and the words which Licymnius made
him a present of, in order to produce a graceful diction.

Phe. Put was not the system of Protagoras, Socrates, some-
thing of this kind?

Socr. His was a correctness of diction, my boy, and many
other fine things besides, but in the art of dragging in speeches
to excite commiseration for old age and poverty, the Chalce-
donian hero appears to me to have carried off the palm. He
was moreover a powerful man to rouse the anger of the multi-
tude, and again, when enraged, to soothe them by enchantment, °
as he used to say; he was most skilful in raising and removing
calumnies, on any ground whatever. But all seem to agree in
the same opinion with respect to the conclusion of speeches, to
which some have given the name of recapitulation, others a
different name.

Phe. You mean the summarily reminding the hearers, at
the conclusion, of the several things that have been said,

115. Socr. I mean that, and now consider if you have any
thing else to say about the art of speaking.

Phe. Only some trifling things, and not worth mentioning.

Socr. Let us pass over trifles; and rather examine these
things|in the clear light, and see what influence they have in
art, and on what occasion.

Phe. A very powerful influence, Socrates, at least in assem-
blies of the people.

Socr. They have indeed. But, my admirable friend, do you
also observe whether their web does not appear to you to be
very wide as it does to me.

PHADRUS. 347

Phe. Explain what you mean.

Socr. Vell me then: If any one should go to your friend
Eryximachus, or his father Acumenus, and should say, “I
know how to apply such things to the body, as will make it
warm or cold, as I please, and if I think proper, I can produce
vomitings, and again purgings, and many other things of the
kind, and as I know these things I consider myself a physician,
and that I can make any one else so, to whom I impart the
knowledge of these particulars :” what do you think they would
say on hearing this ?

Phe. What else, but ask him if he knew besides to what per-
sons, and when, and how far, he ought to do each of these things ?

116. Socr. If then, he should say, ‘‘ Not in the least; but I
expect that he who should learn these things from me, would
be able to do what you ask °”

Phe. He would say, I think, that the man is mad; and that,
having heard from some book or other, or having met with
certain drugs, he fancies that he has become a physician, though
he knows nothing at all about the art.

Socr. But what if any one were to go to Sophocles and
Euripides, and tell them, that he knew how to make very long
speeches on a trifling subject, and very short ones on a great
subject, and whenever he pleased, piteous and contrariwise, ter-
rible and threatening speeches, and other things of the kind,
and that by teaching these he thought he could impart the
power of writing tragedy?

117. Phe. They too, I think, Socrates, would laugh, if any
one should suppose that tragedy was any thing else than the
composition of all these, so disposed as to be consistent with
each other and the whole.

Socr. But, I think, they would not upbraid him rudely, but
as a musician, who happened to meet with a man who believes
himself to be skilled in harmony, because he knows how to
make the highest and lowest note, would not harshly say to him,
** Miserable fellow, you are stark mad ;’’ but, being a musician,
he would speak more mildly ; “‘ My excellent man, it is indeed
necessary for one who means to be skilled in harmony, to know
these things, but at the same time there is nothing to hinder a
person from possessing the knowledge you have without his
understanding harmony in the least; for you know what is
necessary to be learnt before harmony, but not harmony itself.”

548 PHEDRUS,

Phe. Most correctly, |

118. Socr, In like manner, Sophocles might reply to the
person who displayed his learning to them, that he knew the
things before tragedy, but not tragedy itself; and Acume-
nus, that the medical pretender knew things before medicine,
but not medicine itself.

Phe. Most assuredly,

Socr. But what must we think the sweet-voiced Adrastus,
or even Pericles would do, if they were to hear of the beautiful
contrivances which we have just now enumerated, the short
sentences and similitudes, and all the rest, which when we went
through them, we said must be examined by the clear light,
whether they, as you and I did, would rudely make some ill-
mannered remark against those who had written and who teach
such things as if they constituted the art of rhetoric, or, as
being wiser than we are, would they not reprove us, saying, 119,
‘“ Pheedrus and Socrates, you ought not to be angry with, but
rather to excuse those who, through being ignorant of dialectics,
are unable to define what rhetoric is, and who, in consequence
of this ignorance, Possessing the things necessary to be learnt
Preparatory to the art, think that they have discovered rhetoric
itself, and, suppose that by teaching these things to others, they
can teach them rhetoric in perfection; but how each of them
is to be used persuasively, and the whole combined together,
this, as being of no consequence in the world, they think their
pupils ought to acquire for themselves in composing their
speeches,”

Phe. Such indeed, Socrates, appears to be the case with the
art which these men teach and write about as rhetoric; and
you seem to me to have spoken the truth: but how and from
whence can one acquire the art of true rhetoric and per-
suasion?

120. Socr. The ability, Phedrus, to become a perfect pro-
ficient, probably, or rather necessarily, depends on the same
things as in other cases : for, if you naturally possess rhetorical
abilities, you will be a distinguished orator by adding science
and practice; but in whichever of these you are deficient, in
that respect you will he imperfect. But so far as it is an art,
its method, I think, will not be found in the way that Lysias
and Thrasymachus are proceeding,

Phe. In what Way then?

PHA RUS, 549

Sver. Pericles, my excellent friend, appears, with good rea-
son, to have been the most perfect of all men in rhetoric.

Phe. How so?

Socr. All the great arts require a ists he speculative re-
search into the law of nature: for that loftiness of thought
and perfect mastery over every subject seems to be derived
from some such source as this; which Pericles possessed in
addition to a great natural genius. For meeting, I think, with
Anaxagoras, who was a person of this kind, and being filled
with speculative research, and having arrived at the nature of
intelligence and want of intelligence, about which Anaxagoras
made that long discourse, he drew from thence to the art of
speaking whatever could contribute to its advantage.

121. Phe. What mean you by this?

Socr. The method of the art of rhetoric is, in a manner, the
same as that of medicine.

Phe. How so?

Socr. In both it is requisite that nature should be thoroughly
investigated, the nature of the body in the one, and the soul in
the other, if you mean not only by practice and experience, but
by art, to give health and strength to the former by applying
medicine and diet, and to impart such persuasion as you please
and virtue to the latter, by means of speeches and legitimate
employments.

Phe. This indeed seems probable, Socrates.

Socr. But do you think it possible rightly to understand the
nature of the soul, without understanding the nature of the
universe ?

Phe. If we are to believe Hippocrates, of the family of
fEsculapius, we cannot understand even the nature of body
without this method.

Socr. For he says well, my friend. But it is necessary, in
addition to the authority of Hippocrates, to examine our argu-
ment, and consider whether it is consistent.

Phe. TV agree,

122. Soer, Consider, then, with respect to nature, what Hip-
pocrates and true reason say. Is it not thus necessary to exa-
mine into the nature of any thing? In the first place, whether
that is simple or manifold about which we are desirous, both
ourselves to be skilled, and to be able to make others so; and,
in the next place, if it be simple, to examine the power it

Re ie

Bs 20

550 PHEDRUS,

naturally possesses of acting on each particular thing, or of
being acted upon by each particular thing? And if it possesses
several species, having enumerated these, as in the case of the
one, ought we not to consider this in each of them, what active
and passive power they naturally have ?

Phe. It seems so, Socrates,

123. Socr. The method, then, that neglected these, would
resemble the walk of a blind man. He however who proceeds
by art, ought on no account to be compared either to a blind
or a deaf man; but it is clear that whosoever teaches another
speaking by art, should accurately shew the real nature of the
things to which he will have to apply his speeches; and this
surely is the soul.

Phe. How not? ;

Socr. His whole endeavour, therefore, must be directed} to
this; for in this he attempts to produce persuasion. 1 it
not so?

Phe. Yes,

Socr. It is clear, therefore, that Thrasymachus, and any one
else who seriously endeavours to teach the art of rhetoric, will in
the first place describe with all possible accuracy, and make it be
seen whether the soul is naturally one and similar, or, like the
form of the body, composed of different elements; for this we
say is to make known nature.

Phe. Most assuredly,

Soer. And, in the second place, in what respect it naturally
acts or is acted upon by any thing,

124. Phe. How not?

Socr. In the third place, having set in order the different
kinds of speech and of soul, and the different manners in which
these are affected, he will go through the several causes, adapt-
ing each to each, and teaching what kind of soul is necessarily
persuaded, and what not persuaded, by particular kinds of
speech, and for what reason.

Phe. It will assuredly be best done in this Way, as it seems,

Socr. Never then, my dear friend, will any thing that is
otherwise explained or spoken, be spoken or written by art,
either in any other case or in this. But the modern writers
on the art of speech-making, whom you yourself have heard,
are dissemblers, and conceal the very admirable knowledge they
have of the soul. Until, then, they both speak and write ac-

PHEDRUS. 351

cording to this method, let us never be persuaded that they
write artistically.

Phe. What method is this?

Socr. It is not easy to mention the very words themselves ;
but how it is proper to write, ifa man means to be as artistic
as he possibly can, I am willing to tell you.

Phe. Tell me then.

125, Socr, Since the power of speech is that of leading the
soul, it is necessary that he who means to be an orator should
know how many kinds of soul there are: but they are so many,
and of such and such kinds; whence some men are of this
character and some of that character. These then being thus
divided, there are again so many kinds of speech, each of a
certain character. Now men of such a character are for this
particular reason easily persuaded by certain speeches, and
persons of a different character are for these reasons with
difficulty persuaded. It is necessary, therefore, that he, after
having sufficiently understood all this, when he afterwards per-
ceives these very things taking place in actions, and being done,
should be able to follow them rapidly by perception, otherwise
he will know nothing more than the very things which he
formerly heard from his preceptor. 126. But when he is suffi-
ciently competent to say, what kind of person is persuaded by
what kind of speeches, and is able, when he sees him before him,
to point out to himself that this is the et See this the nature
for which those speeches were formerly made now actually
present before me, and to which these particular speeches are
to be addressed, in order to persuade him to these particular
things,—when he has acquired all this, and has learnt more-
over the proper seasons for speaking and being silent, and
again has made himself master of the seasonable and un-
seasonable occasions for brevity, plaintiveness, and vehemence,
and all the other several kinds of speech which he has learnt,
then his art will be beautifully and perfectly accomplished, but
not before. But whoever is deficient in any of these parti-
culars, either in speaking, or teaching, or writing, and yet
asserts that he speaks by art, is overcome by the person who
will not be persuaded. 127. ‘* What then,” perhaps the writer
on rhetoric will say, “does it appear to you, Phzdrus and
Socrates, that the art of speaking, as it is called, must be ob-
tained in this or some other way ?”

IY 9

3o2 PHASDRUS,

Phe. It is impossible, Socrates, that it should be obtained
in any other way; though it seems to be a work of no small
labour.

Socr. You say truly. And on this account we ought to
turn over all speeches again and again, and consider whether
any easier and shorter way to it can be found, in order that
we may not in vain go by a long and rough one, when we
might have taken a short and smooth one. If, therefore, you
have heard of any thing that will assist us, from Lysias or any
one else, endeavour to call it to mind, and tell it me.

Phe. If the endeavour were enough I should be able to do
so, but just at present I cannot.

128. Socr. Are you willing, then, that I should repeat to
you a statement which I heard from persons who take an
interest in such matters.

Phe. How not?

Socr. It is said, however, Phedrus, to be right to state even
the wolf’s case.

Phe, And do you do so.

Socr. They say, then, that there is no occasion to treat
these matters so solemnly, nor to carry them back so far, by
such long windings. For as we said in the beginning of our
discussion, there isno need at all for one who wishes to become
a competent orator to have any thing to do with the truth re-
specting actions just or good, or men who are such, either by
nature or education. For that in courts of justice no attention
whatever is paid to the truth of these things, but only to what
is plausible, and that it is probability to which one who wishes
to speak by art ought to apply himself. And that sometimes
even facts that have actually happened must not be stated,
unless they are probable, but probabilities both in accusation
and defence: and, in short, that a speaker should pursue the
probable, and pay no regard at all to truth. | For that when
this method is observed throughout the whole speech, it con-
stitutes the perfection of the art.

129. Phe. You have described the very things, Socrates,
which they say who profess to be skilled in speech-making ;
and I remember that we touched briefly upon this in a former
part of our discussion ; but this appears to be matter of the
utmost consequence to those who study these things.

Socr. However you have thoroughly fumbled Tisias himself.

PHEDRUS. 353

Let Tisias then tell us this, whether he means any thing else
by the probable than that which accords with the opinion of the
multitude,

Phe. What else can it be?

Socr, Having made, then, as it seems, this wise and artistic
discovery, he has written, that if a weak but brave man should
be brought to trial for having knocked down a strong and
cowardly one, and for having robbed him of his clothes or any
thing else, then that neither of them ought to speak the truth,
but the coward should say that he was not knocked down by
the brave man alone, and the latter should prove this, that
they were alone, and then urge this; ‘‘ How could a man like
me ever attack a man like him?” But the other will not
admit his own cowardice, but, in attempting to tell some other
falsehood, will perhaps supply his adversary with the means of
refuting him. And in other cases, such things as these are
said according to art. Is it not so, Pheedrus?

130. Phe. How not?

Socr, Wonderfully clever seems to have been the inventor
of this abstruse art, whether Tisias or whoever else he was,
and by whatever name he delights to be called. But, my friend,
shall we say to him or not?

Phe. What?

Socr, Tisias, long since before your arrival, we happened to
say, that this probability of yours derives its influence with the
multitude from its resemblance to truth ; and we just now con-
cluded that in all cases he knows best how to discover resem-
blances who is best acquainted with the truth. So that, if you
have any thing else to say about the art of speaking, we will
listen to you; but if not, we shall hold to the conclusions we
have lately come to, that unless a man has reckoned up the
different natures of those who will have to hear him, and is
able to divide things themselves into species, and to compre-
hend the several particulars under one general idea, he will
never be skilled in the art of speaking so far as it is possible
for a man to be so. 131. But this he can never acquire with-
out great labour, which a wise man ought not to bestow for the
purpose of speaking and acting amongst men, but that he may
be able to speak such things as are acceptable to the gods, and
act acceptably to them, to the utmost of his power. For, as
wiser men than we say, Tisias, a man of understanding ought

Aa

354 PHEDRUWS.

2.74 not to make it his principal study to gratify his fellow-servants, i
except by the way, but good masters and of good extraction,
If therefore the circuit be long, wonder not; 132. for it is to
be undertaken for the sake of great ends, not such as you think.
And even these, as our argument proves, if any one is willing,
will be best attained by those means.

Phe. This appears to me, Socrates, to be very finely said, if
only a man could attain to it.

Socr. But when one is attempting noble things, it is surely
noble also to suffer whatever it may befal us to suffer.

Phe. Assuredly,

Socr. As regards, then, the art and want of art in speaking,
let this suffice,

133. Phe. How should it not?

Socr. But as regards elegance and inelegance in writing, in
what way it may be done well, and in what way inelegantly,
remains to be considered. Does it not?

Phe. Yes.

Socr. Do you know, then, how you may best please God
with regard to speeches, both acting and speaking ?

Phe. Not at all. Do you?

Socr. I can tell a story I have heard of the ancients, its truth
they know. But if we ourselves could discover this, do you
think we should any longer pay any regard to the opinions of
men?

Phe. Your question is ridiculous; but relate what you say
you have heard,

134. Socr, I have heard then, that at Naucratis, in Egypt,
there was one of the ancient gods of that country, to whom was
consecrated the bird, which they call Ibis; but the name of the
deity himself was Theuth, That he was the first to invent num-
bers and arithmetic, and geometry and astronomy, and moreover
draughts and dice, and especially letters, at the time when
Thamus was king of all Egypt, and dwelt in the great city of
the upper region which the Greeks call Egyptian Thebes, but

sthe god they call Ammon ; to him Theuth went and shewed
him his arts, and told him that they ought to be distributed
amongst the rest of the Egyptians, “Thamus asked him what
was the use of each, and as he explained it, according as he
appeared to say well or ill, he either blamed or praised them.
135. Now Thamus is reported to have said many things to

PHADRUS. 355

Theuth respecting each art, both for and against it, which it
would be tedious to relate. But when they came to the letters,
“This knowledge, O king,” said Theuth, “will make the
Egyptians wiser, and better able to remember; for it has been
invented as a medicine for memory and wisdom.” But he
replied, * Most ingenious Theuth, one person is able to give birth
to art, another to judge of what amount of detriment or advan-
tage it will be to those who are to use it| and now you, as being
the father of letters, out of fondness have attributed to them
just the contrary effect to that which they will have. For this
invention will produce forgetfulness in the minds of those who
learn it through the neglect of memory, for that through trust-
ing to writing, they will remember outwardly by means of
foreign marks, and not inwardly by means of their own facul-
ties. So that you have not discovered a medicine for memory,
but for recollection. And you are providing for your disciples
the appearance and not the reality of wisdom. For hearing
many things through your means without instruction, they will
appear to know a great deal, although they are for the most
part ignorant, and will become troublesome associates, through
thinking themselves wise instead of being so.”

136. Phe. Socrates, you easily make Egyptian and any
other country’s tales you please. :

Socr. But, my friend, those who dwell in the temple of
Dodonean Jupiter said that the first prophetic words issued
from an oak. It was sufficient for the men of those days,
seeing they were not wise like you moderns, in their simplicity,
to listen to an oak and a stone, if only they spoke the truth :
and does it make any difference to you, forsooth, who the
speaker is, and to what country he belongs? For you do not
consider that only, whether the case is so or otherwise.

Phe. You have very properly reproved me; and the case
with regard to letters appears to me just as the Theban says.

137. Socr. He therefore, who thinks to leave an art in
writing, and again, he who receives it, as if something clear and.
solid would result from the writing, must be full of simplicity,
and in reality ignorant of the prophecy of Ammon, since he
thinks that written words are of further value than to remind
one who already knows the subject of which the writings treat.

Pha. Most correct.

Socr. For writing, indeed, Pheedrus, has this inconvenience,

276

356 PH DRUs,

and truly resembles painting. For its productions stand ov-
as if they were alive, but, if you ask them any question, they
observe a solemn silence. And so it is with written dis-
courses; you would think that they spoke as though they
possessed some wisdom, but if you ask them about any thing
they say, from a desire to understand it, they give only one
and the self-same answer. And when it is once written, every
discourse is tossed about every where, equally among those
who understand it, and among those whom it in no wise con-
cerns, and it knows not to whom it ought to speak, and to
whom not. And when it is ill-treated and unjustly reviled, it
always needs its father to help it ; for, of itself, it can neither
defend nor help itself.

138. Phe. This, too, you have said most correctly.

Socr, But what? shall we consider another} discourse, this
one’s legitimate brother, in what manner it is produced, and
how far better and more powerful it naturally is than this?

Phe. What is that, and how do you say it is produced ?

Socr. That which is written with science in the learner’s
soul, which is able to defend itself, and knows before whom it
ought to speak and be silent.

Phe. You mean the discourse of a man endued with know-
ledge that has life and soul, of which the written may be justly
called an image.

Socr. Assuredly. But tell me this. Would an intelligent
husbandman, who has seeds that he cares for and which he
wishes to be fruitful, seriously sow them in summer-time in the
gardens of Adonis, and rejoice at seeing them growing up
beautifully within eight days, or would he do this, if he did it
at all, for the sake of sport or pastime; but the seed which he
treats seriously, availing himself of the husbandman’s skill and
sowing it in its proper soil, would he be content that what he
has sown shall come to maturity in the eighth month?

139. Phe. Just so, Socrates, he would do the one seriously,
and the other, as you say, for amusement.

Soer. But shall we say that he who possesses a knowledge
of what is just, beautiful and good, shews less intelligence than
a husbandman in the management of his own seeds?

Phe. By no means.

Socr. He will not, then, seriously write them in water, sow-
ing them with ink by means of a pen, with words that are

PHEDRUS. 357

unable to defend themselves by speech, and unable adequately
to teach the truth.

Phe. In all probability he will not.

Socr. Surely not. But, as it seems, he will sow and write,
when he does write, in the gardens of letters for the sake of
diversion, treasuring up memoranda for himself, when he comes
to the forgetfulness of old age, and for all who are going on the
same track, and he will be delighted at seeing them in their
tender growth, and while other men pursue other diversions,
refreshing themselves with banquets, and other pleasures akin
to these, he, as it appears, instead of these, will pass his time
in the diversions I have mentioned.

140. Phe. You speak of a very noble in comparison of a
mean diversion, Socrates, when a man is able to divert himself
with discourses, telling stories about justice and the other
things you mention.

Socr. It is so indeed, my dear Phedrus. But, in my opinion,
a far more noble employment results from this, when a man
availing himself of dialectic art, on meeting with a congenial
soul, plants and sows scientific discourses which are able to aid
both themselves and him that planted them,|}and are not un-
fruitful but contain seed within themselves, from whence others
springing up in other minds are able to make this seed im-
mortal, and make their possessor happy as far as it is possible
for man to be so.

Phe. This that you mention is far more noble.

Socr. Now then, Phedrus, since this is agreed on, we are
able to determine our former questions.

Phe. What are they?

Socr. Those which, in our desire to consider them, led us to
the present point: namely, that we might examine into the
reproach cast on Lysias for writing speeches, and then speeches
themselves, which are written by art or without art. Now
that which is artistic and that which is not appears to me to
have been tolerably well explained.

141. Phe. It appears so. But remind me of it again, in
what way.

Socr. Before a man knows the truth of each subject on
which he speaks or writes, and is able to define the whole of a
thing, and when he has defined it again knows how to divide
it into species until he comes to the indivisible; and in like

368 PHDRUS.

manner, having distinguished the nature of the soul, and having
found out what kind of speech is adapted to the nature of each,
he so disposes and adorns his speech, applying to a soul of
varied powers speeches that are various and all-harmonious,
and simple ones to a simple soul, before this is done, he will
not be able to manage speech with art, as far as it might be
done, either for the purpose of teaching or persuading, as the
whole of our former argument has proved.

Phe. This is exactly how it appeared.

142. Soer, But what as to its being honourable or disgrace-
ful to speak and write speeches, and under what circumstances
it may be called a reproach or not, has not what we have said
a little before sufficed to prove ?

Phe. What was that?

Socr. That if either Lysias, or any one else, has ever writ-
ten, or shall hereafter write, privately or publicly, writing a
state document in proposing a law, and thinks that there is in
it great stability and clearness, this is a reproach to the writer,
whether any one says so or not. For to be utterly ignorant of
what is just and unjust, evil and good, cannot be otherwise
than truly disgraceful, though the whole mass of mankind
should unite in its praise.

143. Phe. Certainly not.

Socr. But he who thinks that in a written discourse, on
whatever subject, there must necessarily be much that is sport-
ive, and that no discourse, in prose or verse, deserving of much
study, has ever been written or spoken, as those declamations
used to be spoken without discrimination and_ instructive
method, for the sake of persuasion, but that in truth the best
of them were for the purpose of reminding those who al-
ready know, but that only in discourses taught and spoken for
the sake of instruction, and really written in the soul about
things just, and beautifal, and good, there is found what is
clear and perfect and worthy of study; and that such dis-
courses ought to be called as it were their author’s legitimate
offspring ; first of all that which is in himself, if it is there by
his own invention, then any children or brothers of the former
that have at the same time worthily sprung up in the souls of
others; whoever thinks thus and dismisses all others, that
man, Phedrus, appears to be such a one as you and IJ should
pray that we might become.

PHAEDRUS. 359

144. Phe. I, for my part, entirely wish and pray for what

you mention.
"Soc. Be we then content with having thus far amused
ourselves with the subject of speeches ; and do you go and
tell Lysias that we, having descended to the fountain of the
nymphs, have heard words which charged us to tell Lysias
and any one else who composes speeches, and Homer and any
one else who is in the habit of composing poety, epic or lyric’,
and thirdly, Solon and whosoever commits political discourses
to writing under the name of laws, if they composed their works
knowing how the truth stands, and able to defend them when
brought to account for what they have written, and being
themselves capable by speaking to shew that their writings are
poor, then they ought not to be named from these works, but
from those to which they have seriously applied themselves.

145. Phe. What name, then, do you assign them ?

Socr. To call them wise, Phedrus, appears to me to be a
great matter, and proper for God alone; but lovers of wisdom,
or some such name, would suit them better, and be in better
taste.

Pha. And it would be nothing out of the way.

Socer. Him, therefore, who has nothing more valuable than
what he has written, by turning it upwards and downwards for
a long time, patching and clipping it bit by bit, may you not
justly designate a poet, or a compiler of speeches, or a writer
of laws?

Phe. How not?

Socr. Tell this, then, to your friend.

Phe. But you? what will you do? For we must not pass
over your friend.

Soer, Whom do you mean?

146. Pha. The beautiful Isocrates. What news will you
take him, Socrates? what shall we say he is?

Socr. Isocrates is still young, Phedrus; but what I pro-
phesy|of him I am willing to say.

Phe. What?

Socr. He appears to me to have better natural endowments
than to be compared with the speeches of Lysias, and more-
over to be endued with a nobler disposition, so that it would
not be at all wonderful if, as he advances in age, he should in

S Wiahy } ev @5H, without music or with.

860 PH-EDRUS,

this very pursuit of Speech-making, to which he is now apply-
ing himself, surpass all who have ever attempted speeches, as
if they were boys, and besides, if he should not be content
with this, that a more divine impulse may lead him to greater
things ; for, my friend, there is a natural love of Wisdom in
the mind of the man. This message, then, I will take from

the gods of this Spot to Isocrates my favourite, and do you

147, Phe. This shall be done. But let us depart, since the
heat has become less oppressive,
Socr, Ought we not to §0 after we have prayed to these

rhe: Tew not?
Socr, O beloved Pan, and all ye other gods of this place,
grant me to become beautiful in the inner man, and that what-

May I deem the wise man rich, and may I have such a portion
of gold as none but a prudent man can either bear or employ,
0 we need any thing else, Phedrus? for myself I haye
prayed enough,
Phe. Make the Same prayer for me, too; for the posses-
sions of friends are common,
ocr, Let us depart,

INTRODUCTION TO THE THEATETUS.

TuEoporvs, a famous geometrician of Cyrene and a follower
of Protagoras, is represented to have met Socrates at Athens,
and to have been asked by him whether among his pupils there
were any who promised to become eminent. Theodorus parti-
cularizes one above all the rest, who, while he is speaking, is
seen approaching. His name is Theetetus. Socrates, having
heard him so highly spoken of by Theodorus, at once opens
upon the subject which he wishes to discuss, and asks What
science is. Theetetus, in answer, enumerates several parti-
cular sciences, but is soon led to understand that the question
is not, how many sciences there are, but what science itself is ,
and by an instance in point shews that he does so. Still he
doubts his own ability to answer the question proposed, but is
at length induced to make the attempt by Socrates pleasantly
describing himself as inheriting his own mother’s skill in mid-
wifery, by which he is able to bring to the birth and deliver the
mental conceptions of those whose soulsare pregnant with ideas®.

Theetetus, then, first of all says that science is nothing
else than perception. This, Socrates observes, is the opinion
of Protagoras, differently expressed; for he said, that man
is the measure of all things, in other words that all things
are such as they appear to each person. In order to examine
the truth of this doctrine Socrates begins by stating it more
fully. Protagoras asserts that nothing exists of itself, nor can
any thing be designated by any quality, for what we call great
will, in reference to something else, be also small, and what we
call heavy, light, and so on, so that nothing ever exists but is
always becoming. Consequently all things spring from motion,
and the relation that they bear to each other. Thus, with re-
spect to colour, it does not actually exist, it is neither in the

a § 1-390)

362 INTRODUCTION

object seen nor in the eye itself, but results from the applica-
tion of the €ye to the object, and SO is the intermediate pro-
duction of both. Again if you compare six with four they ap-
pear to be half as many again, but if with twelve, only the half,

which all] things depend is this, That the universe js nothing
but motion, of Which there are two species, the one active,
the other passive, by the union of which that which js per-
ceivable and perception itself consist. Thus when the eve
and a Corresponding object, meeting together, produce white-
ness and its connate perception, the ye sees, and becomes
not vision, but a Seeing eye, and the object itself becomes not
whiteness but white: so that nothing is essentially one, but js
always being produced by Something else, and therefore the
word “ being” must be entirely done away with Bae Besa
may be objected that the Perceptions produced in persons who
dream, or are diseased or mad, are utterly false, and so far
are the things that appear to them from existing, that none of
them have any real existence at all; how then can it be said
that perception js Science, and that things which appear to
answer ts, that the things which appear are most certainly
true to the percipient ; just as if wine appears bitter to a
sick person, to him It is certainly bitter; and again with re-
gard to dreams, there IS NO certain way of distinguishing a

ject perceived does exist in relation to the percipient and to
him is true, so that he has a scientific knowledge of what he
perceives”,

INTRODUCTION. 363

goras’s theory. If what he says is true, a pig or any other
creature that possesses perception will be the measure of all
things, as well as a man, and man himself will be equal in
wisdom to the gods. To which Protagoras is supposed to
answer, that the gods are not to be brought into the question at
all, for that it does not appear whether they exist or not, and
as to brute creatures, it would be strange if every man did not
excel them in wisdom, and besides no argument deduced from
them can be conclusive but rests only on probability, which
cannot be allowed in a discussion respecting science. Well
then, when we hear barbarians speak, whose language we have
not learnt, are we to say that we both hear and know what
they say? to which the answer is, that we both hear and know
the sounds, but not the meaning of the words. Again it is
objected, if perception is science, a person may remember a
thing and not know it, for instance he may obtain a knowledge
of a thing by seeing it, and then shut his eyes, in that case he
remembers it, but does not see it, but inasmuch as sight is per-
ception and perception knowledge, he cannot know it, because
he does not see it, and yet he remembers it; which is absurd.
But Protagoras will not admit this conclusion, but will say
that memory is very different from perception, and that the
things which we appear to remember are not the same as those
that we formerly perceived. Still, though all things are as they
appear to each person, it must be admitted that there is such a
thing as wisdom and a wise man, and he is wise who changes
the aspect of objects to another, and causes things that appear
and are evil to any one, to appear and be good; just as a
physician by means of medicine changes the habit of the body
from bad to good°.

Thus far Socrates had carried on the discussion with Thes-
tetus, adducing the answers which Protagoras himself would
have given to the objections brought against his theory, but
expressing no opinion of his own. He now persuades Theodo-

9°47 65.

364 INTRODUCTION.

rus to advocate the cause of Protagoras, and himself under-
takes to refute it. Protagoras, then, maintains that what ap-
pears to each person exists to him to whom it appears ; now
all men think themselves in some respects wiser than others,
and others wiser than themselves, so that all admit that there
is wisdom and ignorance among themselves. Now is not Wis-
dom true opinion, and ignorance false opinion? If so, some
men form false opinions, and yet that could not be if man is
the measure of all things. Again, according to his doctrine,
the same thing will be both true and false ; for instance, Pro-
tagoras’s own theory will be true to himself, but false to al!
who do not agree with him, and by how many more they are
to whom it does not appear to be true than those to whom it
does so appear, by so much the more it is not than it is: and
so in admitting that the opinion of those who differ from him
is true he admits that his own opinion is false. Moreover, in
political matters Protagoras will admit that things honourable
and base, just and unjust, are such to each city as each city
considers them; but he will allow that one counsellor excels
another, and that all laws are not equally expedient, though
the city that enacts them thinks them so4.

The mention of political matters leads Socrates to interrupt
the course of the argument, and to contrast the life of a poli-
tician with that of a philosopher, in which he shews how far
more exalted are the views of the latter than of the former.
The digression, however, has this connexion with the subject
in hand, that it exposes the utter worthlessness of political ex-
pediency, which depends on appearances only, and vindicates
the aspirations of philosophers, who devote themselves to the
contemplation of wisdom and true virtue ®.

To return, then, to the original subject. Those who main-
tain that whatever appears to each person exists to him to
whom it appears, persist that what a city enacts as appearing
just to itself is just to that city as long as it continues in force :

4 § 66—75. e 6 76287.

INTRODUCTION. 365

a

but in enacting laws the real object is to make them as advan-
tageous to itself as possible, but what is advantageous regards
also the future, for laws are enacted that they may be advan-
tageous for the future. But if man is the measure of all things,
he must also contain within himself the criterion of things
about to happen; yet it will be admitted, in a variety of in-
stances that are adduced, that a person who is skilled is better
able to judge of the future than one who is unskilled: and Pro-
tagoras himself can judge beforehand better than any private
person what arguments are likely to be available in a court of
justice, so that not every man, but the wise man only, is the
true measure of things‘.

This part of the argument being brought to a close, Socrates
next proposes to consider the essence that is said to consist in
motion, a doctrine which the followers of Heraclitus were then
advocating very strenuously. Now there are two species of
motion, removal and change; the former is when a thing
passes from one place to another, the latter a change of qua-
lity, as when a thing becomes black from white, or hard from
soft; and all things must undergo both kinds of motion, other-
wise the same thing would be both in motion and at rest at
the same time, and in that case it would not be more correct
to say that all things are in motion than that they are at rest.
Since then every thing must be continually undergoing a pro-
cess of change at the same time that it is in motion, there can
be nothing fixed and certain, so that perception cannot be
science, for, as all things are in motion, perception itself, which
results from the relation between the object and the percipient,
must be in a constant state of motion and change’.

Thestetus now resumes the argument, and though it would
seem that Protagoras’s doctrine had been already sufficiently
refuted, vet Socrates resolves to try it by one more test. Each
sense has its peculiar perception, and such things as are per-
ceived by one faculty cannot be perceived by another; for
instance, what is perceived by hearing cannot be perceived by

oie € § 9] —100.

366 INTRODUCTION.

sight, and what is perceived by sight cannot be perceived

hearing; yet we can form a notion of them both together, an:

observe what properties they have in common, and how the
differ: this, however, is not done by the senses, but by th’
soul itself, for children as soon as they are born are able t

perceive by the bodily organs, but only arrive, with much
labour and difficulty, at the power of comparing things with
each other, and so obtain a knowledge of them, whence again
it follows that perception and science are not the same”.

The first definition of science attempted by Theztetus being
thus overthrown, Socrates again asks him, What science is.
To which he answers that it appears to be true judgment.
Socrates however thinks proper first to enquire whether there
is such a thing as false judgment. People, he says, must either
know or not know things about which they form judgments.
Now false judgments are formed, when a person thinks that
things which he does not know are certain other things that
he does- not know, or when he thinks that things which he
does know are other things that he does know, or that things
which he does not know are things that he does know. But
none of these things can happen, therefore it is not possible to
form false judgments. Again if existence is put for knowledge
a similar train of reasoning leads to the same conclusion. A
third method of forming false judgments may be when any
one says that any real object is another real object, changing
one for the other in his thoughts. But in that case he must
think of both of them or one only; if the former he would
contradict himself; if the latter he cannot judge that the one
is the other, for he thinks of one only, so that neither in this
way can false judgment be formed. There still remains an-
other mode in which false judgments may be formed. Suppose
that we have in our souls a waxen tablet of various qualities in
different persons: on this tablet are impressed the images of
our perceptions and thoughts, and whatever is so impressed we
remember and know so long as the image remains. But by ex~

bh 5401107.

INTRODUCTION. 367

mining every possible mode by which perception in the senses
ind impressions in the mind can be varied and inter-changed,
t will be found that false judgment takes place where either
‘he perception or the impression is imperfect and indistinct ',
Socrates, however, is not satisfied with this conclusion, that
false judgment proceeds from the conjunction of perception
with thought, and shews that the mind alone by itself may err,
for instance a man may think that seven and five make eleven,
though he knows they make twelve; so that there must be
either no false judgment at all, or it is possible for a person
not to know what he knows. Theetetus is unable to choose
between these alternatives. Socrates therefore proposes to
abandon their present course of argument and at once to enquire
what it is to know. Some people say it _is to have science,
Socrates prefers saying it is to possess science; for having
differs from possessing in that what we have, we use, but what
we possess, we use or not as we please. Suppose the soul
then to be a kind of aviary containing all sorts of birds, and
let the birds stand for sciences ; now all the sciences that are
shut up in this aviary a man may be said to possess, but when
he has occasion to use any particular science, he may by mis-
take take one instead of another, thus when he thinks that eleven
is twelve he takes the science of eleven instead of that of twelve,
and so judges falsely ; but when he takes that which he en-
deavours to take, he judges truly. Still another even worse
inconvenience appears to Socrates to follow from this ; for it is
absurd to suppose that a person who has the science of any
thing should at the same time be ignorant of that thing ; and
if that can be, nothing hinders but that ignorance when present
should make us know something. So that after all they have
only come round again to the point from whence they started
and have still to enquire what science is. Theztetus persists
im answering that it is true judgment. But Socrates shews
that this cannot be the case ; for that judges, who listen to the
arguments of lawyers, form true judgments without science,

i § 108—125,

368 INTRODUCTION.

whence it follows that true judgment and science are not the
same k,

Thezetetus, pressed by this objection, attempts a third defi-
nition of science, and says it is true judgment in conjunction
with reason. But then, observes Socrates, how are we to dis-
tinguish the things that can be known from those that cannot ?
For instance, elements cannot be defined, but things composed
of them can be defined. Again, elements can be perceived but
not known, for he who cannot give an explanation of a thing
cannot know it, but things compounded of them, because they
can be defined, can also be known. Theetetus agrees to this;
but Socrates is not satisfied with the statement, that the ele-
ments are unknown, but the nature of things compounded of
them known. He illustrates his objection by an examination
of the component parts of a syllable, and shews that if a whole
is known its parts must also be known ; if, then, letters are the
elements of a syllable, being also the parts of it, they must also
be known as well as the syllable’.

But in order to ascertain the accuracy of Theetetus’s last
definition of science, it is necessary to determine the meaning
of the word Jogos. First of all, then, it may mean the express-
ing one’s thoughts by means of words, but in that case there
will be no difference between true judgment and _ science.
Secondly, it may mean the being able to describe a thing by
its elements; but this has been already answered in consider-
ing the elements of syllables. Lastly, it may mean definition ;
but it is absurd to say that science is true judgment joined to
definition, for definition can only be of that which a person
already knows, so that this would be to say that science is true
judgment joined to science™.

At this point the argument is broken off, without having
been brought to any satisfactory conclusion. But Socrates

requests that they may meet again the following day and con-
tinue the discussion.

k § 126—138) 1 § 139—149. m § 149—157.

THEATETUS,

OR
ON SCIENCE.

First Evciives, AND TERPSION,
Tien Socrates, THEODORUS, AND THEETETUS.

#uc, ARE you just now, Terpsion, or long since come from
the country?

Ler. A considerable time since, and I have been seeking for
you in the forum, and wondered that I could not find you.

Euc. I was not in the city.

Ter. Where then?

Euc. As I was going down to the port, I met with Thee-
tetus, who was being carried from the camp at Corinth to
Athens.

Ter, Alive or dead?

Euc. Alive, though scarcely so; for he is in a bad state
from several wounds, though he suffers more from the disease
that is prevalent in the army.

Ter. Is it dysentery ?

Euc. Yes.

Ter. What a man you speak of as being in danger!

Euc. An honourable and good man, Terpsion, and I just
now heard some persons highly extolling his conduct in
the battle.

Ter. Nor is that surprising, but it would be much more
wonderful if he had not behaved so. But why did he not stop
here at Megara?

uc. He was hastening home; although I begged and
advised him, yet he would not. And after I had attended him
on his journey, on my return hither I recollected, and was
filled with admiration of Socrates, who often spoke pro-

Bb

370 Tee TEs:

phetically about other things, and especially about him. 2. For
if I remember rightly, a little before his death, he met with
Theetetus who was then a youth, and being in company and
discoursing with him, he very much admired his natural dis-
position. And when I went to Athens, he related to me the
conversation he had had with him, which was very well worth
hearing, and he said that he must necessarily distinguish
himself, if he lived to a mature age.

Ter, And he spoke truly as it seems. But what was the
conversation ? are you able to relate it ?

Luc. No, by Jupiter, not by heart; but as soon as I re-
turned home, I made notes of it, and afterwards at my leisure
calling it to mind I wrote it down, and as often as I came to
Athens, I asked Socrates to repeat what I did not remember,
and, on my return hither, corrected it; so that I have nearly
the whole conversation written out.

3. Ler. True: I have heard you say so before, and though
I always meant to beg you to shew it me, I have hitherto
delayed doing so. But what should hinder us from now going
through it? For I am in great need of rest, having just
come from the country.

uc. I too accompanied Theetetus as far as Erinion, so that
I should not be at all sorry to rest myself. Let us go, then,
and while we rest the boy shall read to us.

Ter. You say well.

Euc. This then is the book, Terpsion. But I wrote the
conversation thus, not as if Socrates related it to me, as he did,
but as if he was conversing with the persons with whom he
said he did converse. But these, he said, were Theodorus the
geometrician, and Theetetus. 4. In order, then, that phrases
interposed in the discourse might not give us trouble in the
writing, when Socrates spoke of himself, as “I said,” or
‘* Thereupon I replied,” and again when he spoke of the per-
son who gave the answer, “ He assented,” or ‘“‘ He denied,”
for this reason I have introduced Socrates himself as convers-
ing with them, and have done away with all such expressions.

Ter, And that is not at all improper, Euclides.

Luc. Here then, boy, take the book and read.

Socr. If I took more interest in the people at Cyrene, Theo--
dorus, I should enquire of you what is going on there, and of

THEETETUS. 87]

the people, whether there are any young men there who
devote their attention to geometry, or any other liberal
study. But now, for I love them less than these, I am more
anxious to know who of our young men promise to become
eminent. For J myself examine into this as far as I am able,
and enquire of others, with whom I see the young men willingly
associating, But no small number attach themselves to you,
and justly; for you deserve it, both in other respects, and on
account of your geometry. If, therefore, you have met with
any one worth mentioning, I should be glad to be informed
of it.

3. Theo. And indeed, Socrates, it is very well worth while
both for me to tell and you to hear, what a youth I have met
with among your fellow-citizens, And if he were beautiful, I
should be very much afraid to mention him, lest I should appear
to any one to be enamoured with him; but now, and don’t
be angry with me, he is not handsome, for he resembles you in
the flatness of his nose and the prominence of his eyes: but
he has these in a less degree than you. You see I speak with-
out reserve. Be assured then, that of all I ever met with, and
I have been in company with very many, I never yet knew
one of such an admirable disposition. For a man to be apt to
learn, as it is at all times difficult, and at the same time re-
markably mild, and added to this brave beyond compare, I,
for my part, thought could never happen, nor do I see any who
are so. But those who are acute, as this one, sagacious, and
of a good memory, are for the most part easily roused to anger,
and are hurried violently along like ships without ballast, and
are naturally rather furious than brave; on the other hand
those who are more sedate commonly set about their studies
more sluggishly and are forgetful. 6. But he so calmly,
steadily, and effectually applies himself to his studies and in-
vestigations, with so much gentleness, like oil flowing noise-
ae that one wonders how one at his age can manage to do
this.

Socr. You bring good news. But whose son is he of our
citizens ?

Theo. 1 have heard the name, but do not remember it.
However he is the middle one of those who are now approach-
ing. For both he and these who are some of his companions
were just now anointing themselves in the outer course; and

Sy AUCH Oso M Osu OS

now they appear to me to be coming here after having anointed
themselves, Observe, however, if you know him.

Socr. I do know him. He is the son of Euphronius of
Sunium, who, my friend, was just such a man as you describe
the son to be, and who was otherwise a person of considera-
tion, and besides left behind him a very large fortune.

7. Theo. Theetetus is his name, Socrates. But I think his
guardians have squandered his fortune. However notwith-
standing this, he is wonderfully liberal with his money,
Socrates.

Socr. You describe a noble man. Bid him come here, and
sit down by us.

Theo. I will. Theztetus, come hither to Socrates.

Socr, By all means come, Theetetus, that I may look at
myself, and see what sort of a face I have. For Theodorus
says Iam like you. But if we had each of usa lyre, and he
should say that they were modulated alike, should we be-
lieve him at once, or consider first whether he speaks as a
musician ?

Thee. We should consider that first.

Socr. Should we not, then, on finding that he was so, believe
him, but, if he was ignorant of music, disbelieve him?

Thea. True.

Socr. Now, then, I think, if we care at all about the re-
semblance of our faces, we should consider whether he speaks
as a painter, or not.

Thee. It appears so to me.

Socr. Is Theodorus a painter then ?

Thee. Not that I know of.

Socr. And is he not a geometrician either >

Thee. Most assuredly he is, Socrates.

8. Socr. Is he also an astronomer, a reasoner, and a musi-
cian, and acquainted with all such things as are requisite for a
good education?

Thee. He appears so to me.

Soer. If, then, he says that we resemble each other in some
part of our body, praising or blaming it, it is not very well
worth while to pay any attention to him.

Thee, Perhaps not. —

Socr. But what if he should praise the soul of either of us
for virtue or wisdom? would it not be worth while for the one

THEMTETUS. 373

who heard him to take pains to examine him that was praised,
and for the latter to discover himself willingly ?

Thee. Certainly, Socrates.

Socr. It is time then, my dear Theetetus, for you to dis-
cover yourself, and for me to examine you; for be assured that
Theodorus, though he has ere now praised many both strangers
and citizens to me, has never praised any one so much as he
praised you just now.

Thee. May it be well, Socrates ; but beware that he did not
speak in jest. re

Socr. That is not Theodorus’s habit. But do not retract
what you have granted, under the pretence that he spoke in
jest, lest he should be compelled to bear witness. For no one
assuredly will accuse him of giving false evidence. Therefore
adhere firmly to your agreement.

Thee. It is proper to do so, if you think fit.

9. Socr. Tell me, then; Do you learn geometry from Theo-
dorus ?

Thee. I do,

Socr. And, likewise, astronomy, and harmony, and rea-
soning.

Thee. I endeavour to do so.

Socr. I too, my boy, endeavour to learn both from him and
from others who I think understand any thing of these matters.
However, though I am tolerably well informed in other sub-
jects, yet I am in doubt about a trifle which I wish to consider
with you, and these here present. Tell me, then, is not to
learn to become wiser in that which one learns?

Thee. How otherwise ?

Socr. And by wisdom, I think, the wise are wise.

Thee. Yes.

Socr. But does this differ at all from science ?

Thee. What?

Socr. Wisdom. Are not men wise in things of which they
have a scientific knowledge ?

Thee. How not?

Socr. Then are wisdom and science the same?

Thea. Yes.

10. Socr, This, then, is the thing that I doubt about, and I
am not able to determine satisfactorily by myself what science
is. Can we then explain it? What do you say? Which of us

374 THEATETUS.

shall speak first? But he that mistakes, and as often as any
one mistakes, shall sit as an ass, as the boys say when thev
play at ball; but whoever shall get the better without making
a mistake shall be our king, and shall order any question he
pleases to be answered. Why are you silent? Am I rude at
all, Theodorus, from my love of talking, and in my anxiety to
bring about a conversation amongst us, and of making us all
friends, and sociable with one another ?

Theo. Such a thing, Socrates, cannot by any means be rude,
but bid one of these young men answer you. For I am unac-
customed to this kind of conversation, and am not of an age to
accustom myself to it; whereas it is suitable to them, and they
will benefit by it much more; for, in truth, youth can derive
benefit from every thing. As you begun, therefore, do not let
Theztetus off, but question him.

11. Socr. You hear, Theztetus, what Theodorus says, whom,
I think, you will neither be willing to disobey, nor is it right
for a young man not to submit to a wise man, when he com-
mands him in matters of this kind. Tell me, therefore, frankly
and ingenuously, what does science appear to you to be?

Thee. I must then, Socrates, since you bid me. And if I
make any mistake you will assuredly correct me.

Socr. Certainly, if we are able.

Thee. It appears to me, then, that sciences are such things
as one may learn from Theodorus, geometry, and the others
which you just now enumerated; and again, the shoemaker’s
art, and those of other artizans, all and each of these are
nothing else but science.

Socr. Nobly and munificently, my friend, when asked for
one thing you give many, and various things instead of the
single one.

Thee, What mean you by this, Socrates ?

Socr. Perhaps nothing: but I will tell you what I think.
When you speak of the shoemaker’s art, do you mean any
thing else than the science of making shoes ?

Thee. Nothing.

12. Socr, But what of the carpenter's art? Do you mean
any thing else than the science of making implements in wood?

Thee. Still nothing else.

Socr. In both, then, do you not define that of which each is
the science ?

THE/ETETUS. 375

Thee. Yes.

Socr. But the question asked, Theztetus, was not this, of
what things there is science, nor how many sciences there are ;
for we did not enquire, with a view to enumerate them, but to
know what science itself is. Do I say nothing to the purpose ?

Thee. You speak very correctly.

Socr. Consider this too. If any one should ask us about
any mean and obvious thing, as, for instance, clay, what it is,
if we were to answer him, there is the potters’ clay, the oven-
builders’ clay, and the brick-makers’ clay, should we not be
ridiculous ?

Thee. Probably.

Socr, In the first place, we should be ridiculous for thinking
that he who asks the question can understand from our answer,
when we say Clay, adding, image-makers, or any other arti-
zans whatever. Do you think that any one can understand
the name of a thing when he does not know what that thing
is ?

Thea. By no means.

13. Socr. Neither does he understand the science of shoes
who does not know what science is ?

Thee. He does not.

Socr. He then does not understand what 1s the art of shoe-

“making, or any other art, who is ignorant of what science is ?

Thee. It is so.

Socr. It is, therefore, a ridiculous answer for one to give
who is asked what science is, when he answers the name of
some art. For he answers, of what there is a science, though
this is not what he was asked.

Thea. It seems so.

Socr. In the next place, when he might have answered
plainly and briefly he goes round an endless way. As for in-
stance to the question about clay, it is a plain and simple answer
to give, that clay is earth mixed with moisture, without men-
tioning what use is made of it.

Thee. It appears easy now, in this way, Socrates; for you
appear to ask just such a question as lately occurred to me
when we were conversing together, I and your namesake here,
Socrates.

Socr. What was that, Theetetus ?

14. Thee. Theodorus here was describing to us something

376 THEZETETUS.

about powers, with respect to magnitudes of three and five feet,
shewing that they are not commensurate in length to a magni-
tude of one foot, and thus proceeding through every number as
far as to a magnitude of seventeen feet; at this he stopped.
Since then powers appeared to be infinite in multitude, some-
thing of the following kind occurred to us, to endeavour to
comprehend them in one name, by which we might denominate
all these powers.

Socr. And did you discover any thing of the kind ?

Thee. 1 think we did. But do you also consider.

Socr. Say on.

Thea. We divided all number into two classes ; then eom-
paring that in which the factors® are the same to a square
figure, we called it square and equilateral.

Socr. Very well.

Thee. But the intermediate numbers, such as three and five,
and every one in which the factors are not the same, but a
greater number is multiplied by a less, or a less by a greater,
so that a greater and a lesser side always enclose them, we
compared to an oblong figure, and called them oblong numbers.

Socr. Admirable. But what next?

Thee. Such lines as square an equilateral and plane number,
we detined to be length, and such as square an oblong number,
powers, as not being commensurate with them in length, but
with the planes which they produce. And the case is the same
with solids.

15. Socr, Excellently done, my boys; so that Theodorus
appears to me not lable to the charge of having given false
testimony.

Thee. However, Socrates, I shall not be able to answer your
question about science, as I did that about length and power :
though you appear to me to seek something of the same kind.
So that Theodorus again appears to be a false witness.

Socr. How so? If, praising you for running, he should say
that he never met with any youth who ran so swift, and after-
wards you should be defeated in running by a man who is full
grown and very swift, do you think he would have praised you
with less truth >

2 The literal translation instead of ‘‘ in which the factors are the same,”

is ‘which is able to become equally equal,’ by which is meant a number
multiplied by itself.

THEATETUS. She

Thee. I do not.

Socr. But with respect to science, as I just now spoke of it.
do you think it is a trifling matter to find out what it is, anc
not in every way difficult ?

Thea. By Jupiter, I think it difficult in the extreme.

16. Socr. Have confidence, then, in yourself, and think that
Theodorus spoke to the purpose, and endeavour by all possible
means to comprehend the notion both of other things, and also
of science, what it is.

Thee. As far as endeavour goes, Socrates, it shall be found
out.

Socr. Come then: for you began very well just now;
endeavour, in imitation of your answer about powers, as you
comprised those, which are many, under one general idea, so
likewise to designate many sciences by one notion.

Thee. Be assured, Socrates, I have often attempted to ex-
amine this, on hearing the questions that are propounded by
you; but I can neither persuade myself that I can say any -
thing satisfactory, nor can I hear any one else answering in the
_manner you require, though still I do not desist from the
attempt.

17. Socr. You are in labour, my dear Theetetus, not be-
cause you are empty, but pregnant.

Thee. 1 know not, Socrates; however I tell you how the
case stands with me.

Socr. What, absurd youth, have you not heard that I am
sor of the very noble and awful midwife Phenarete ?

Thee. J have heard so.

Soer. And have you also heard that I study the same art ?

Thee. By no means.

Socr. Be assured, however, that it is so: but do not betray
me to others. For they are not aware, my friend, that I pos-
sess this art? but they, since they are ignorant of it, do not say
this of me, but that I am a most absurd man, and make me:
doubt. Have you not heard this?

Thee. {1 have.

Socr. Shall I tell you the reason of it ?

Thee. By all means.

Socr. Consider, then, every thing that relates to midwives.
and you will more easily understand what I mean. For you
doubtless know, that not one of them delivers others, while she

378 THEZXTETUS.

herself can conceive and bring forth, but those who can no
longer bring forth.

Thee. Certainly.

18. Socr. But they say that Diana is the cause of this, be-
cause being herself a virgin she has the charge of child-births,
Now to barren women she has not given the power of be-
coming midwives, because human nature is too weak to under-
take an art in things of which it has had no experience, but
she has imposed that office on those who from their age are
incapable of bearing children, doing honour to the resemblance
of herself.

Thee. That is reasonable.

Socr, And is not this also reasonable and necessary, that
who are pregnant and who are not should be better known by
midwives than by others ?

Thee. Certainly.

Socr, Moreover, midwives by applying drugs and using en-
chantments, are able both to excite and, if they please, to alle-
viate the pangs, and to deliver those that bring forth with
difficulty, and if the child appears to be abortive, they produce
a miscarriage.

Thee. It is so.

Socr. Have you not also heard this of them, that they are
most skilful match-makers, as being perfectly competent to
distinguish what kind of woman ought to be united to what
kind of man, in order to produce the finest children >

Thee. 1 did not altogether know that.

19. Socr. Be assured, then, that they pride themselves more
in this than in cutting the navel-string, For consider; do
you think it belongs to the same or a different art to cultivate
and gather in the fruits of the earth, and again to know in
what soil what plant or seed ought to be sown?

Thee. No, but to the same art.

Socr. But with respect to women, my friend, do you think
that there is one art of that kind”, and another of gathering in
the fruit?

Thee. It is not reasonable to suppose so.

Socr, It is not. But by reason of the illegitimate and ill-
assorted unions of men and women, to which the name of pan-
dering has been given, midwives out of regard to their own

® That is, of choosing the soil.

THEAETETUS. 379

dignity avoid match-making also, fearing lest by this they
should incur the other imputation, since it doubtless belongs to
real midwives only to make marriages properly.

Thee. It appears so.

Socr. Such then is the office of midwives, but less important
than my task. For it does not happen to women, sometimes
to bring forth images, and sometimes realities, which cannot
be easily discriminated ; for, if it did happen, it would be the
greatest and noblest work for midwives to distinguish that
which is true and that which is not; do you not think so?

Thee. I do.

20. Socr. But in my art of midwifery all other things are
the same as in theirs; but it differs in this, that it delivers
men and not women, and that it attends to their souls bring-
ing forth and not their bodies. But the most important thing in
my art is, that it is able to test in every possible way whether
the mind of a young man is bringing forth an image and a
cheat, or what is genuine and true: for the case is the same
with me as with midwives; I am barren of wisdom, and as to
what many have reproached me with, that I question others,
but give no answer myself on any subject, because I have no
wisdom, they reproach me truly. But the cause of this is as
follows: the deity compels me to act the part of a midwife,
but forbids me to bring forth myself. I am not, therefore,
myself at all wise, and I have no such discovery as is the off-
spring of my own mind; but those who associate with me at
first appear, some of them, exceedingly ignorant, but all, as
our intimacy continues, to whom the deity grants that privi-
lege, make a wonderful proficiency, as is evident both to them-
selves and others; and this is clear, that they make this pro-
ficiency without ever learning any thing from me, but from
their own resources finding and becoming possessed of many
beautiful things ; of the midwife’s office, however, the deity
and I are the cause. 21. But it is evident from this: many,
from not knowing this, and deeming themselves to be the
cause, but despising me, either of themselves or through the
persuasion of others, have left me sooner than was proper, and
after they have left me have miscarried for the future, in con-
sequence of their depraved associations, and badly nurturing
what they have been delivered of through me, they have de-
stroyed it, setting a higher value on cheats and images than on

380 THE/ETETUS.

that which is true, they have at last appeared to be ignorant
both to themselves amd others. One of these was Aristides
son of Lysimachus, and many others, with some of whom,
when they again come to me, begging to renew their inter-
course with me, and doing every thing in their power to ob-
tain it, the demon that attends me prevents me from associ-
ating, but with others it allows me, and these again make
considerable proficiency. And they that associate with me are
in this respect affected in the same way as women who bring
forth; they suffer pangs, and are filled with anxieties, to a far
greater degree than the women are. But their pangs my art
is able both to excite and appease. And these are affected in
this way. 22. But sometimes, Theetetus, there are some who
do not appear to me to be at all pregnant, and I, knowing that
they do not need my assistance, very kindly sue others for
them, and with the aid of the deity, conjecture well enough,
from associating with whom they will derive benefit. Of these
I have handed many over to Prodicus, and many to other wise
and divine men. I have dwelt long on this, my excellent
friend, for this reason, because I suspect, as you also think
yourself, that you are in pain from being pregnant with some-
thing inwardly. Deal with me, then, as son of a midwife, and
as myself skilled in midwifery, and endeavour to answer the
questions I put to you to the best of your ability. And if, on
examining any thing that vou say, I shall consider it to be an
image and not true, and should thereupon remove it and throw
it away, do not be angry with me, like women who are deli-
vered for the first time are for their children: for many, my
admirable friend, have ere this been so affected towards me as
to be actually ready to bite me, when I take away any trifle
from them, and they do not think that I do this with a good
design, in that they are very far from knowing that no deity
designs ill to men, and that neither do I do any thing of this
kind through ill-will, but because it is by no means allowable
for me to give way to falsehood and conceal the truth. 23.
Again, therefore, from the beginning, Theztetus, endeavour to
tell me what science is; but never sav that you are unable to
do so; for if God wills and you strive manfully you will be
able.

Thee. Indeed, Socrates, when you are thus urgent, it would
be disgraceful for one not to endeavour to the utmost of one’s

THE/ETETUS. e8l

power to sav what one is able. He, then, that knows any
thing appears to me to perceive what he knows, and, as it now
seems, science is nothing else than perception.

Socr. Well and nobly said, my boy; for it is right thus to
declare one’s opinion. But come, Jet us consider this toge-
ther, whether it is solid or emptv. Science, vou say, is per-
ception ?

Thee. Yes.

Socr. You appear, indeed, to have given no mean definition
of science, but that which Protagoras has given; but he said
the same thing in a different manner. For he says that man
is the measure of all things, of the existence of those that ex-
ist, and of the non-existence of those that do not exist. You
have doubtless read this ?

Thea. I have read it, and that often.

24. Socr. Does he not say pretty much, that such as every
thing appears to me, such it is to me, and as it appears to you,
such it is to you, but you and I are men?

Thee. He does indeed say so.

-‘Socr. It is probable however that a wise man does not trifle;
let us, therefore, follow him. Does it not sometimes happen |
that when the same wind blows, one of us is cold, and another
not, and one slightly, but another exceedingly ?

Thee. Assuredly.

Socr. Whether, then, shall we say, that the wind at that
time is in itself cold or not cold? or shall we believe Prota-
goras, that it is cold to him that is cold, but not to him that is
not?

Thee. It seems so.

Socr. Does it not, then, appear so to both of them ?

Thee. Yes.

Socr, But to appear is the same as to be perceived?

Thee. \t is.

Socr, Appearance then and perception are the same in
things hot, and every thing of that kind; for such as every
one perceives things to be, such also they seem to be to every
one.

Thea. It seems so.

Socr, Perception, therefore, has always reference to that
which really is, and is free from falsehood, as being science.

Thea. \t appears so.

382 THEATETUS.

23. Socr. By the graces, then, was not Protagoras a very
wise man, and did he express himself thus enigmatically to us,
the general rabble, but speak the truth to his disciples in
secret ?

Thee. What mean you by this, Socrates?

Socr. I will tell you, and that no mean account ; he asserts,
that no one thing exists of itself, nor can you correctly desig-
nate any thing by any quality, but if you call it great, it will
appear small, and if heavy, light, and so with every thing else ;
as if nothing was one thing, or any thing, or possessed of any
quality : but as if all things which we say exist, become so
from impulse, motion, and admixture with each other, thereby
designating them incorrectly ; for nothing ever is, but is always
becoming. And in this all the wise men in succession, except
Parmenides, agreed, namely, Protagoras, Heraclitus, and Empe-
docles, and of the poets, those who rank highest in each kind
of poetry, in comedy Epicharmus, and in tragedy Homer ;
for in saying that ¢ “ Oceanus is father of the gods, and Tethys
mother,” he asserts that all things are produced by flux and
motion. Does he not seem to say so?

Thee. 'To me he does.

26. Socr. Who then can contend with such an army, with
Homer for its leader, and not be ridiculous?

Thee. It is not easy, Socrates.

Socr. It is not, indeed, Theetetus. For this is a strong
proof in favour of their argument, that motion gives the appear-
ance of existence and of generation, but repose of non-exist-
ence and decay ; for heat and fire, which engenders and sup-
ports other things, is itself engendered by impulse and friction,
but this is motion. Are not these the origin of fire’

Thee. Surely they are.

Socr. And moreover the race of animals springs from the
same causes.

Thea. How not?

Socr. But what? Does not the habit of the body perish by
rest and inaction, but is it not for the most part preserved by
exercise and motion ?

Thea. Yes. ;

Socr. But does not the habit of the soul acquire and retain
learning and become better by study and practice, which are

¢ Thad; xiv: 201;

THEATETUS. 383

motions, but by rest, which is want of practice and ignorance,
it neither learns any thing, and forgets what it has learnt?

Thea. Assuredly.

27. Socr. Motion, therefore, is good both for the soul and
the body; but rest, the contrary.

Thee. It seems so.

Socr. Shall I add further, with respect to stillness of the air,
and calms and things of that kind, that rest corrupts and de-
stroys, but the contrary preserves. And besides this shall I
put the finishing stroke tomy argument by compelling you to
admit, that by the golden chain Homer meant nothing else than
the sun, and intimated that as long as the universe and the sun
are moved, all things exist, and are preserved, both amongst gods
and amongst men; but if they were to stand still, as it were
bound, all things would be destroyed, and, as the saying is,
turned upside down,

Thee. He appears to me too, Socrates, to intimate what you
say.
Socr. Then put the argument thus, my excellent friend:
first. with respect to the eyes, suppose that what you call white |
colour is not any thing different, external to your eyes, nor in
your eyes ; nor can you assign it any place ; for then it would
have a fixed position, and would continue, and not be liable to
production,

28. Thee. But how?

Socr. Let us follow our late principle, and lay it down that
there is nothing which is of itself one thing; and thus black
and white, and every other colour, will appear to us to be pro-
duced by the application of the eyes to a corresponding move-
ment, and each thing that we say is colour, will neither be that
which is applied, nor that to which it is applied, but some inter-
mediate production peculiar to each. Would you positively
maintain, that what each colour appears to you, such it also
appears to a dog, and every other animal ?

Thee. Not I, by Jupiter.

Socr. But what? Does any thing appear similar to another
man and to you? are you positive about this, or rather that it
does not appear the same even to you, because you are never
identical with yourself ?

Thee. The latter seems to me to be the case rather than the
former.

384 THEATETUS.

Socr. If, therefore, that which we measure by comparison,
or which we touch, were great, or white, or warm, it would
never, by coming in contact with any thing else, become differ-
ent, for it would not be in any respect changed. But if that
which measures or touches were some one of these things, it
could not, in consequence of something else approaching it or
being affected in any way, become any thing else, because it
would not itself be in any respect affected. 29. For now, my
friend, we are in a manner compelled to assert things altoge-
gether wonderful and ridiculous, as Protagoras would acknow-
ledge, and every one who supports his opinions.

Thee. How and what do you mean?

Socr. Take a trifling example, and you will understand all
that I wish. Six dice for instance, if you should put four by
them, we say are more than the four and half as many again,
but if twelve we say they are fewer, and the half; nor would it
be allowable to say otherwise. Would you allow it?

Thea. Not I, indeed.

Soer. What then? If Protagoras or any one else should
ask, ‘‘ Theetetus, is it possible for any thing to become greater
or more otherwise than by being increased? What would you
answer ?

Thee. If, Socrates, I should answer what appears to me to
be the case with reference to the present question, I should
say that it is not possible; but if with reference to the former
question, to avoid contradicting myself, I should say that it is
possible.

Socr. By Juno, well and divinely said, my friend. But, as
it seems, if you should answer that it is possible, something
like that saying of Euripides will happen; for the tongue will
be blameless, but the mind not blameless 4,

Thee. 'True.

30. Socr. If, therefore, you and I were skilful and wise,
after we had thoroughly examined our minds, we should then,
out of mere wantonness, make trial of each other’s strength, and
engaging in such a contest after the manner of the sophists,
should mutually parry argument with argument: but now, as
being novices, we shall desire first of all, to examine what the
things themselves are which we have in our minds, whether
tbey accord with each other, or not at all.

4 See Eurip. Hippol. 1. 612.

Fol «ee ee

THEATETUS. 385

Thee. I should certainly desire this.
Socr. And so do I. But since this is the case, shall we not
quietly, seeing we have abundance of leisure, again consider,
not feeling any annoyance, but really examining ourselves, in
order to see what those appearances in us are. And on con-
sidering them, we shall say in the first place, I think, that no-
thing ever becomes greater or less, either in bulk, or number,
as long as it continues equal to itself. Is it not so?
Thee. Yes.
31. Socr, And, in the second place, that a thing to which
»othing is either added and from which nothing is taken away,
will neither be ever increased or diminished, but always be
equal,
Thee. Just so.
Socr, And shall we not say, in the third place, that it is im-
possible for a thing which did not before exist, to exist after-
wards, without it has been produced and is produced.
Thee. It seems so, indeed.
Socr. These three admissions, I think, contend with each
other in our soul, when we speak about dice, or when we say that
I, being of the size I am, having neither increased, nor suffered
diminution in the space of a year, am now larger than you, who
are a young man, but afterwards less, though my bulk has not
been diminished, but yours has been increased. For I am after-
wards, what T was not before, without haying been made so.
32. For it is impossible for a thing to have been made, with-
out being made, and having lost nothing of my bulk, I cannot
have been made less. And the case is the same with ten
thousand other things with reference to ten thousand others, if
we admit this. You doubtless follow ine, Thevtetus ; for you
appear to me not to be a novice in things of this kind.
Thee. By the gods, Socrates, I wonder extremely what
these things can be, and, truly, sometimes when I look at
them, I become dizzy.
Socr. Theodorus, my friend, appears not to have formed an
erroneous estimate of your disposition; for wonder is very
much the affection of a philosopher ; for there is no other be-
ginning of philosophy than this, and he who said that Iris was
the daughter of Thaumas®, seems not to have described her
genealogy badly. But do you understand now, why these
© Hesiod, Theos. 1.780. Thauma signifies ‘“ wonder.”

oc

386 THEATETUS.

things are so, from what we say Protagoras maintains, oY
not yet?

Thee. 1 don't think I do yet.

33. Soer. Shall you not, then, be obliged to me, if I assist
you in searching out the true, but concealed opinion of a man,

or rather of men of celebrity ?

Theee. How should I not be, and indeed exceedingly obliged
to ‘you?

Soer. Look round, then, and see that no profane pegson
hears us. But they are so who think that nothing else exists
except what they can grasp with their hands, but do not admit
that actions, and productions, and whatever is invisible, are to
be reckoned in the number of things that exist.

Thee. Indeed, Socrates, you speak of hard and obstinate
men.

Soer. For they are very ignorant f, my boy. But there are
others far more refined than these, whose mysteries I am about
to reveal to you. Their principle, on which all the things, that
we have just now mentioned, depend, is this: That the universe
is motion, and nothing else besides, but that there are two
species of motion, each infinite in amount, and that one has an
active, the other a passive power. 34, That from the inter-
course and friction of these with one another are formed pro-
ductions infinite in number, but of two kinds, one that is per-
ceivable, the other perception, which always coincides and is
engendered together with that which is perceivable. Now to
the perceptions we give the following names, seeing, hearing,
smelling, cold and heat, and moreover pleasures, pains, desires,
and fears are SO called, and there are ‘nnumerable others which
have no name, and vast multitudes that have been named :
again there is a class of perceivable things akin to each of
these, all kinds of colours to all kinds of vision, and in like
manner voices to hearing, and other perceivable things are pro-
duced corresponding to the other perceptions. What then is
the meaning of this discourse, Thetetus, in reference to the
former? Do you understand what it is?

Thee. Not very well, Socrates.

Socr. But observe if by any means it can be brought to a ©
conclusion. For it means to say that all these things are, aS j
we said, moved, and that there is swiftness and slowness in

f Literally ‘‘unmusical.”

THEATETUS. 387

their motion. 35. Whatever then is slow is moved in the
same place and towards things near it, and so produces, and
the things which are produced are accordingly slower; and on
the contrary, whatever is swift moves towards things at a dis-
tance, and so produces, and the things which are produced are
accordingly swifter, for they are impelled, and their motion
consists in impulse. When, therefore, the eye and any of the
things that correspond to it meet together and produce white-
ness, and the perception connate to this, which would never
have been produced had each of them approached something
else, then they being in the meanwhile impelled, that is to say,
sight from the eyes, and whiteness from that which together
with it generates colour, the eye becomes filled with vision,
and then sees, and becomes not vision, but a seeing eye; but
that which together with it generates colour is filled with
whiteness, and becomes not whiteness, but white, whether it is
wood or stone, or whatever may happen to be tinted with
a colour of this kind. 36. And so with the rest, hard and
warm, and every thing, we must in the same manner conceive
that none of these is any thing of itself, as we have observed
before that all things and of all kinds are produced by their
intercourse with each other, from motion, for, as they say, we
cannot cletermine positively with regard to any one thing, that
that which is active really exists, nor again that which is pas-
sive; for neither is the active any thing before it meets with
the passive, nor the passive before it meets with the active; and
that which, meeting with any thing, is active, when it falls
upon something else, is found to be passive. 37. So that it
results from all this, as we said at the beginning, that nothing
is essentially one, but is always being produced by something,
and the word “being” must be entirely done away with,
although we have already been compelled by custom and igno-
rance to use it frequently ; but, as the sages Say, we ought not
to allow any thing, either of any other, or of me, or this, or
that, or any other name which designates permanency, but that
according to nature, things ought to be said to be produced and
made, to perish and be changed: s0, if any one asserts per-
manency of any thing, he who does so may easily be confuted,
Thus then we ought to speak of things individually, and of
many collectively, to which collection are given the names of
man, stone, animal, and each several species. Do not these

588 THEATETUS,

things, Theetetus, appear pleasant to you, and have you not
found them agreeable to your taste ?

Thee. I don’t know, Socrates: for I can't make you out;
whether you are giving your own opinions or are trying me.

38. Socr. You do not remember, my friend, that I neither
know nor claim as my own any of these things, but that I am
barren of them, but [act the midwife towards you, and for this
purpose I enchant you, and put before you the opinions of the
several wise men, that you may taste them, until I bring your

is)
own opinion to light: but when it is brought forth, I will then

examine whether it shall prove to be empty or productive. Be
therefore confident and bold, and answer in an honest and
manly way, what you think of the questions I put to you.

Thee. Ask then.

Socr. Tell me then again, whether it is your opinion that the
good, and the beautiful, and every thing that we just now men-
tioned, have an actual existence or are constantly being produced?

Thee. To me indeed, when I hear you thus explaining the
matter, it is wonderful how far you appear to have reason on
your side, and I think that your statements must be admitted.

39. Socr. Let us not, then, omit what remains of it. But it
remains that we should speak of dreams, diseases, and, besides
other things, of madness; and whatever else is called error of
hearing or seeing, or of any other perception. For you know,
without doubt, that in all’ these cases the doctrine which we
have just now described, is considered to be completely con-
futed, since the sensations produced in these instances are
utterly false, and so far are the things that appear to each per-
son from existing, that quite contrariwise none of the things
that appear have any real existence.

Thee. You speak most truly, Socrates.

Socr. What argument, then, remains for him, who asserts
that perception is science, and that things which appear to
every one are to that person what they appear to be?

Thee. I am afraid to say, Socrates, that I have no answer
to give, because you just now blamed me for having said so:
but in truth I cannot controvert the fact, that those who are
mad or dreaming, form false opinions, since some of the former
think they are gods, and the latter that they are winged and
fancy that they are flying in their sleep.

40, Socr. Do you not know, then, the controversy that is

22 i@ bys DBM oM el aise 389

raised on these points, especially about dreaming and being
awake ?

Thee. What is that?

Socr. That which I think you have often heard, when people
ask, what proof one could give, if any one should ask us now
at the present moment, whether we are asleep, and all our
thoughts are dreams, or whether we are awake, and really con-
versing with each other.

Thee. And indeed, Socrates, it is difficult to say what proof
one ought to give: for in both states all things in a manner
correspond with each other. For, with respect to our present
conversation, nothing hinders our fancying that we converse
with each other in a dream: and when in sleep we fancy we
are telling our dreams, the similarity of one with the other is
surprising’,

Socr. You see, then, that it is not difficult to raise a con-
troversy, since it is even controverted whether a state is that
of being awake or dreaming; moreover since the time during
which we sleep is equal to that when we are awake, in each of
these states our soul persists that the opinions that are present
for the time are most certainly true, so that for an equal space
of time we say that these are real, and for an equal space
that those are, and we are equally positive for each of them.

Thee. Most assuredly.

41. Socr. May not, then, the same argument be used with
respect to diseases and madness, except with regard to time,
that it is not equal.

Thee. Right.

Socr, What then? Shall truth be defined by length and
brevity of time?

Thee. That, indeed, would be ridiculous in many ways.

Socr. Have you, then, any other clear mark by which you
can shew which of these opinions is true ?

Thee. 1 think not.

Socr. Hear, therefore, from me, what will be said about
these things by those who maintain that appearances are
always real to the person to whom they appear. They will
question you thus, I think: “ Theetetus, can a thing which is
totally different from another, have the same power as that

& Of conversations when awake, and of fancied conversations in
dreams.

390 THEATETUS.

other >” And we are not to suppose that the thing we ask
about is partly the same, and partly different, but altogether
different.

Thee. It is impossible that it should possess any thing the
same, either in power, oF in any other respect, since it is
entirely different.

42. Socr. Must we not, then, necessarily confess, that a
thing of this kind is dissimilar ?

Thee. \t seems so to me.

Soer. If, therefore, any thing happens to become similar or
dissimilar to any thing, whether to itself or to another, so far
as it becomes similar we shall say it is the same, but, so far
as dissimilar, different.

Thee. Necessarily so.

Socr. Have we not said before, that there are many, and in-
deed innumerable things, which are active, and likewise passive ?

Thee. Yes.

Soer. And moreover, that one thing commingled first. with
one thing and then with another, will produce not the same,
but different things.

Thee. Certainly.

Socr. Let us speak, then, of you and me and other things in
the same manner, of Socrates in health, and again of Socrates
ill. Whether shall we say that the latter is similar to the
former or dissimilar 5

Thee. By Socrates ill, do you mean the whole of the latter
opposed to the whole of the former, Socrates in health ?

Soer. You understand me perfectly ; that is the very thing
T mean.

Thee. Dissimilar, surely.

43. Socr. And is it not different inasmuch as it is dis-
similar ?

Thea. Necessarily so.

Soer. And should you not speak in the same way of Socrates
asleep, and in the several states we Just now described ?

Thea. 1 should.

Soer. But will not each of those things whose nature it is
to make any thing something else, when it lights upon Socrates
in health, treat me as one thing, and when ill, as a different
thing ?

Thee. How should it not?

THEATETUS. 391

Socr. And shall we not produce different things in each
case, both I the patient, and that the agent ?

Thee. How not?

Socr, Now when I drink wine, being in health, it appears
to me pleasant and sweet.

Thea. Yes.

Soer. For, from what has been already granted, the agent
and the patient produce sweetness and perception, both being
put in motion together ; and the perception proceeding from the
patient causes the tongue to perceive, but the sweetness pro-
ceeding from the wine and set in motion about it, causes the
wine both to be and to appear sweet to a healthy tongue.

44. Thee. Certainly, what was granted before comes to
this.

Socr. But when it lights on me, being il, first of all does
not a different thing in reality light on one who is not the
same person? for it approaches one who is dissimilar.

Thee. Yes.

Socr. But Socrates in this state, and the wine drunk, again
generate different things, with regard to the tongue a percep-
tion of bitterness, and with regard to the wine bitterness pro-
duced and set in motion, and that, indeed, not bitterness, but
bitter, and me not perception, but perceiving.

Thee. Exactly so.

Socr, Therefore I shall never become any thing else while I
perceive thus; for a different perception of a different thing
causes the percipient to be changed and different: nor will
that, which thus affects me, by coming in contact with another,
though it produces the same effect, ever become such as it was
to me: for by generating a different thing from a different
thing it will become changed.

Thee. Such is the case.

Socr. Neither, then, shall I become such by myself, nor will
it become such by itself}.

Thee, Certainly not.

Soer, But it is necessary that I, when I become percipient,
should become so in relation to something : for it is impossible
to become percipient, and yet percipient of nothing : and it is
likewise necessary, when any thing becomes sweet or bitter, or

” That is to say, the relation between agent and patient is so close that
neither can be what it is, under that particular aspect, without the other.

*

392 THEATETUS.

any thing of the kind, that it should become so in relation to
some one; for it is impossible for a thing to become sweet,
and yet sweet to no one,

Thee. Assuredly.

45. Socr. It remains, I think, that wei, if we are, should be,
er if we are produced, should be produced, by relation to each
other; since necessity unites our existence together, and unites
it to no other thing, nor even to ourselves. It remains, there-
fore, that we are united to each other. So that, if any one
says that any thing exists, he must say that it exists for some-
thing, or of something, or in relation to something, and in like
manner of any thing said to be produced: but he must not
say, nor must he allow any one else to say, that any thing ex-
ists or is produced of itself, as the argument we have deduced
clearly proves.

Thee. Assuredly, Socrates.

Socr. Since, then, that which affects me is relative to me
and not to another, do not I perceive it, and another not per-
ceive it?

Thee. How not?

Socr. My perception, therefore, is true to me; for it always
belongs to my existence. And I, according to Protagoras, am
a judge of things that exist in relation to me, that they do ex-
ist, and of things that do not so exist, that they do not exist.

Thee. It seems so.

46. Socr. How then, since I am not deceived and do not
falter in my mind about things that exist or are produced, can
I fail to have a scientific knowledge of things which I per-
ceive?

Thee. It cannot fail to be so.

Socr. It was, therefore, very finely said by vou, that science
is nothing else than perception; and all come to the same re-
sult, the doctrine of Homer and Heraclitus and all that tribe,
that all things are in motion like streams, and that of the very
wise Protagoras, that man is the measure of all things, and
that of Theetetus, that, if this is the case, perception must be
science. fs it not so, Theetetus? Shall we say that this is
your new-born infant as it were, delivered by my midwifery?
How say you?

Thee. It is necessary to say so, Socrates.

1 “We,” that is, the agent and patient.

THEATETUS, 593

47. Socr. This, then, as it appears, we have with much dif-
ficulty produced, whatever it may turn out to be. But after the
birth, we must, in truth, perform the ceremony of running)
round in argument, and consider whether, without our per-
ceiving it, that which is produced is not unworthy of being
reared, but empty and false. Do you think that we ought
by all means to rear your offspring, and not expose it? and
will you endure to see it refuted, and not be very much offended
if any one should take it away from you, as having been deli-
vered for the first time ?

Theo. Theeetetus will endure this, Socrates, for he is not at
all morose. But, by the gods, say whether it is not so. :

Socr. You are really very fond of discussion, Theodorus, and
pleasant, in thinking that I am a sack full of arguments, and
that I can easily pick one out and prove that these things are
not so. But you do not observe how the case stands, that no
argument proceeds from me, but always from the person who
is conversing with me, and that I know nothing but a very
little, just enough to apprehend and examine moderately well
an argument advanced by another who is wise. And now I
will endeavour to do this from him, without saying any thing
of myself.

48. Theo. You say well, Socrates ; then do so.

Socr. Do you know, Theodorus, what I wonder at in your
friend Protagoras ?

Theo. What ?

Socr. In other respects I thought what he said was very
acceptable, that what appears to each person, really exists, but
I wondered at the beginning of his essay, that he did not say
at the commencement of his book on Truth that a pig or a
cynocephalus or some other more monstrous creature that pos-
sesses perception, is the measure of all things, in order that he
might begin by speaking grandly and very contemptuously to
us, shewing that we indeed admire him as if he were a god,
for his wisdom, whereas with respect to understanding, he is
no better than a tadpole, let alone any other man. What are
we to say, Theodorus? 49, For if that opinion which is formed
from perception will be true to each person, and no one will be

j On the fifth day after the birth of a child the midwives, having puri-
fied their hands, ran with it round the hearth, so Socrates proposes that
the bantling of Theetetus should run the gauntlet of discussion.

394 THEETETUS,

able to decide better on the way in which another is affected,
nor one more competent to examine the opinion of another,
whether it is true or false, but, as we have often said, each
person by himself alone will form opinions for himself, and all
these are right and true, why in the world, my friend, shouid
Protagoras be so wise as to be thought justly worthy to teach
others for high pay, while we are more ignorant and must have
recourse to him, though each person is to himself the measure
of his own wisdom ? How can we avoid saying that Protagoras
speaks thus out of joke? As to myself and my art of mid.
wifery, I say nothing of the ridicule we should be exposed to,
and I think, so would the whole study of reasoning ; for will it
not be great and signal vanity to examine and endeavour to
confute the fancies and opinions of others, each person's being
true, if the Truth of Protagoras is true, and he has not uttered
his oracles in sport from the Sanctuary of his book ?

90. Theo. Socrates. he is my friend, as you just now said;
I cannot, therefore, allow Protagoras to be confuted by my
concessions, nor yet can J oppose you contrary to my own
opinion, Again, therefore, take Theetetus ; for he certainly
appears to have listened to you just now very attentively,

Socr. If you went to Lacedemon, Theodorus, to the wrest.
ling grounds, and Were to see others naked, some of them
mean, should you hesitate to strip yourself and shew your own
form in turn?

Theo. Why do you think I should not, at least if they would
permit me and be persuaded by me? as J think I shall now
persuade you to allow me to be a spectator, and not drag me to
the gymnasium, now that my limbs are stiff, but for you to
wrestle with one who is younger and more supple,

O1¢ Seer Bat if this ts agreeable to you, Theodorus, it ig
not disagreeable to me, as the vulgar saying goes. I must
have recourse again, therefore, to the wise Theetetus. Tel]

discovered ‘yourself to be not inferior in wisdom to any man
or god? or do you think that the measure of Protagoras has
less to do with gods than men?

Thee. Not I, by Jupiter: and ] very much wonder at your
question. For when we discussed in what manner they said,
that what appears to each person is true to him to whom it

THEATETUS., 595

appears, it seemed to me to be well said, but now the very
contrary has speedily occurred to me.

Socr. For you are young, my dear boy, and quickly give ear
to and are persuaded by plausible speeches. For to these
things Protagoras or some one on his behalf would say:
“Noble boys and old men, you here sit and converse together,
dragging gods into the question, of whom, whether they exist
or not, I do not think proper either to speak or write, and
what the multitude hear and admit, this you assert, as if it
were strange if every man did not excel any beast whatever in
wisdom, but you do not adduce any proof, or conclusive argu-
ment, but have recourse to likelihood, which if Theodorus or
any other geometrician were to employ in geometry, he would
be deemed unworthy of notice.” 52. Do you, therefore, and
Theodorus, consider, whether on such matters you will admit
of arguments deduced from probability and likelihood.

Thee. But, Socrates, neither would you nor we say that this
is right.

Socr. We must therefore consider it in another way, as it
appears, according to what you and Theodorus says.

Thee. In another way, certainly.

Socr. Let us, then, consider it thus, whether science and per-
ception are the same or different: for to this surely our whole
discourse tends, and for the sake of this we have mooted these
many absurd points; have we not?

Thee. Assuredly.

Socr. Shall we allow then that whatever we perceive by
sight or hearing, this we at the same time know? for instance,
before we have learnt the language of barbarians, whether shall
we deny: that we hear them when they speak, or that we both
hear and know what they say? And again, when unacquainted
with letters, on looking at them, whether shall we insist that
we do not see, or know them, though we do see them?

53, Thee. Whichever of them, Socrates, we see and hear,
we shall say that we know, for that of the latter we see and
know the form and colour, and of the former, that we both hear
and know the sharpness and flatness of the sounds; but that
what grammarians and interpreters teach about them, we
neither perceive by sight or hearing, nor know.

Socr, Admirable, Theetetus, and it is not worth while to dis-
pute with you about these things, in order that you may make

396 THEA TETUS.

a greater proficiency. But observe also this other difficulty
that stands in our way, and consider how we can repel it.

Thee. What is that ?

Socr. This: if any one should ask, whether it is possible for
a person who still possesses and retains the memory of a thing
which he once knew, at the very time when he remembers mt
not to know the very thing that he remembers. But I am
becoming prolix, as it seems, through a wish to ask whether a
person who has learnt any thing and remembers it, does not
know it.

Thea. Wow should he not, Socrates? for, otherwise, what
you say would be a prodigy.

Socr. Am I then trifling? Consider. 54. Do you not then
say that to see is to perceive, and that sight is perception =

Thee. I do.

Soer. Has not he, then, who sees any thing, obtained a scien-
tific knowledge of that which he sees, according to our late
argument ?

Thea. Yes.

Soer. What then? do you not say that memory is some-
thing ?

Thea. Yes.

Socr. Whether of nothing or something ?

Thee. Of something, surely.

Socr. Is it not, then, of the things which he learns and per-
ceives, of some such things as these ?

Thea. What else?

Socr. And what a person sees, does he not sometimes re- |

member?

Thee. He does remember. ,

Socr. When he shuts his eyes too > or, when he does this,
does he forget?

Thee. It would be strange to say that, Socrates.

Socr. We must say it though, if we would keep to our former
argument, otherwise it is gone.

Thee. And I suspect So, by Jupiter, though I do not clearly
understand it ; but tell me how.

55. Socr. Thus. We say that a person who sees has ob-

tained a scientific knowledge of that which he sees; for sight —

and perception and science are allowed to be the same.
Thee. Certainly.

THEATETUS. 307

Socr. But he who sees, and has obtained a scientific know-
ledge of that which he sees, if he shuts his eyes, remembers it
indeed, but does not see it. Is it not so?

Thee. Yes.

Soer. But to say that he does not see is as much as to say
he does not know, since to see is the same thing as to know.

Thea. True.

Socr. It follows, therefore, that a person who still remembers
a thing of which he had a scientific knowledge, does not know
it, because he does not see it; which we have said would be
a prodigy, if it happened.

Thee. You say most truly.

Soer. An impossibility, then, appears to result, if any one
should say that science and perception are the same.

Thee. It seems so.

Soer. Each, then, must be confessed to be different.

Thee. So it seems.

56. Socr. What then is science ? must again, as it appears,
be enquired from the beginning. What however shall we do,
Theetetus ?

Fhea. About what?

Socr. We appear to me, like a dunghill cock, to have jumped
from our argument and begun to crow, before we have gained
the victory.

Thea. How so?

Socr. Like disputants we seem to have come to an agree-
ment about the allowed meaning of words, and, having got the
better thus far in the discussion, to be content, and though we
say we are not wranglers but lovers of wisdom, we do the same
as those shrewd men.

Thee. 1 do not yet understand what you mean.

Socr. But I will endeavour to explain what I mean on this
point. We enquired whether a person who has learnt and
remembers any thing, does not know it, and having shewn that
a person who has seen a thing and then shut his eyes, remem-
bers it, but does not see it, we proved that he does not know it
and remembers it at the same time; but that this is impossible.
And so the Protagorean fable is destroyed, and yours at the
same time of science and perception, that they are the same.

57. Thee, It appears so.

Socr. It would not be so, my friend, I think, if the father of

*

598 THEZTETUS,

the other fable were alive, but he would defend it stoutly : but
now, as it is an orphan, we have insulted it. For not even the
guardians, whom Protagoras left, are willing to assist it, in the
number of whom is Theodorus here. We ourselves, however,
for justice sake, will venture to assist it,

Theo. It is not I, Socrates, but rather Callias son of Hippo-
nicus who is guardian of his doctrine ; for I very quickly turn
aside from mere disputations to geometry. Nevertheless, J]
shall be obliged to you if you will assist him,

Socr. You say well, Theodorus. Observe, then, what
assistance | give. For any one would make more strange
admissions than those just now, if he did not attend carefully
to the meaning of words, in what way we are generally accus-
tomed to employ them in affirming and denying. Shall I tell
you or Theetetus, in what Way ?

Theo. Tell us both together, but let the younger answer.
For if he makes a mistake, it will be less disgraceful.

58. Soer. Tam going to propose then a very strange ques-
tion ; it is, I think. something of this kind: Is it possible that
he who knows any thing should not know the thing that he
knows?

Theo. What shall we answer, Theztetus >

Thee. Impossible without doubt, I think.

Socr. Not So, if you maintain that to see is to know. For
how will you deal With this inexplicable question, as the say-
ing is, you will be caught in a well, if an imperturbable Oppo-
nent should ask you, closing one of your eyes with his hand,
whether you see his dress with the closed eye ?

Thee. I should say, I think, Not with this, but I do With the
other.

Socr. Would you not, therefore, see, and not see the same
thing at the same time ?

Thee. In some respects,

Soer. I do not require this, he wil] Say, nor did I ask in
what respect, but whether, what you know, this you also do
not know. But now what you do not See, you are found to
See: and you have already admitted, that to see js to know,
and not to see, not to know. Infer then, what conclusion fol-
lows from this,

Thee. I infer the very contrary to what I supposed.

59. Socr. But perhaps, my admirable youth, many things of

THEATETUS. 599

this kind would happen to you, if any one should further ask
you whether it is possible to know sharply and dully, and near,
but not at a distance, intensely and slightly as well, and ten
thousand other questions, which a cunning mercenary light-
umed combatant would put to you in discussion, when you
asserted science and perception to be the same, attacking the
hearing, smelling, and such other channels of perception, and
he would confute you, keeping you to it and not letting you off,
until through admiration of his exquisite wisdom you are com-
pletely caught in his toils, from whence, after he had conquered
and bound you, he would at length set you free on payment of
such a ransom as you and he could agree on. What argument,
should you probably say, would Protagoras adduce in support
of his own opinions? Shall we endeavour to say?

Thee. By all means.

60. Socr. He will, then, both say all that we have said in
his defence, and besides, I think, he will come to the encounter,
despising us and saying; ‘“* This fine fellow Socrates, because
a boy, when asked by him, whether it were possible for the
same person to remember the same thing, and at the same time
not to know it, was frightened, and being frightened, answered
in the negative, through being unable to look on to results, has
made me appear ridiculous by his arguments. But, most
stupid Socrates, the case is thus, when you examine any of my
opinions by questioning, if he to whom the questions are put
gives the same answers that I should give and is proved wrong,
Iam confuted, but if he gives different answers, then he that
is questioned 7s confuted. Tor, to the point, do you think that
any one would grant you, that memory is present to any one,
of the things by which he has been affected, as if memory were
such an affection as he then experienced, though now he ex-
periences it no longer? Far from it. Do you think, again,
that he would hesitate to allow, that it is possible for the same
person to know and not to know the same thing? or if he
should be afraid to say this, do you think he would ever grant
that a person who has become changed is the same as he was
before he was changed ? but rather that he is one person, and
not several, and those infinite in number, since change is con-
stantly going on, for we must beware of catching at one
another's words. 61. But my good sir,” he will say, “ attack
my system in a more generous spirit, confute what I say, if you

460 LHEATETUS

can, and shew that we have not perceptions peculiar to each of
us, or that, if they are peculiar, it does not follow that what
appears to any one becomes, or if we must use the word exist-
ence, exists to him alone to whom it appears. But when you
speak of pigs and cynocephali, you not only act like a pig your-
self, but you persuade those that hear you to treat my writings
in the same way, herein not doing well. For I affirm that the
truth is, as I have written; for that each of us is the measure
both of things that do and do not exist ; though there is an in-
finite difference between one man and another, in this very cir-
cumstance, that they are and appear different to one person
from what they are and do to another. And I am far from
denying that there is such a thing as wisdom and a wise man,
but I call that man wise, who, changing the aspect of objects
to any of us, to whom they appear and are evil, causes them to
appear and to be gocd. 62. But do not, again, follow out my
arguments, attending to the words only, but thus in a still clearer
manner understand what I mean. For call to mind what was
said in a former part of the discussion, that to a sick man what
he eats appears and is bitter, but to a man in health it is
and appears the contrary. But there is no need to make either
of them wiser than the other; for that is not possible ; nor
must we allege that the sick man is ignorant, because he is of
a different opinion, and that he who is in health is wise, be-
cause he thinks differently ; but we must endeavour to make
him change over to the other side; for the other habit is bet-
ter. In like manner, in education, we should endeavour to
make a man change from one habit to a better. But the phy-
sician effects a change by medicines, and the sophist by argu-
ments. 63, For no one ever makes one who entertains false
opinions, afterwards entertain true ones; for it is not possible
for a man to have an opinion on things that do not exist, or on
any others than those by which he is affected, and these are
always true. And I think that a man, who from a depraved
habit of soul forms opinions corresponding to it, a good habit
causes to form different opinions of the same character, but
these appearances some people, through ignorance, call true,
but I say that some things are better than others, but not at all
more true. Moreover, my dear Socrates, I am far from calling
the wise, frogs, but as regards bodies, I call them physicians,
and as regards plants, husbandmen. For I say that these last

ee fee 6 bie

THEATETUS. 401

produce in plants, when they are at all diseased, instead of
depraved perceptions, good and wholesome perceptions and
truths, and that wise and good orators cause good instead of
depraved things to appear to be just to states. For what-
ever things appear just and honourable to each city, these are
so to that city, so long as it thinks them so; but a wise
man, instead of the several depraved things that they have,
makes good things to be and to appear. 64. By the same
reason a sophist, who is thus able to instruct his pupils, is wise,
and deserves large pay from those whom he instructs. And
thus some are wiser than others, and yet no one entertains false
opinions, and you must admit, whether you will or not, that
you are the measure of things; for this principle is maintained
throughout, if then you are able to controvert this from the
beginning, do so, by answering it in a consecutive speech, or if
you had rather by questioning, do it by questioning ; for neither
is this to be avoided, but most of all pursued by a man of sense.
However do it thus; don’t act unfairly in your questions. For
it is a great inconsistency for one who pretends to be a lover of
virtue, to persevere in doing nothing else but act unfairly in
argument. But it is to act unfairly in a matter of this kind,
when a man does not make a difference between disputation
and discussion, and ‘in the former jests and leads into error as
far as he can, but in the latter speaks seriously, and sets the
person with whom he is conversing right, pointing out to him
those errors only into which he has been led by himself and his
former conversations. 65. If, then, you act thus, those who con-
verse with you will have to blame themselves for their own con-
fasion and perplexity, but not you, and they will follow and love
you, but hate themselves, and fly from themselves to philosophy,
that, becoming different, they may be changed from what they
formerly were: but if you act the contrary to this, as most
men do, the very contrary will befal you, and you will make
those who associate with you, instead of being philosophers,
hate this pursuit, when they are more advanced in life. If,
then, you will be persuaded by me, as I said before, applying
yourself to it not hostilely or pugnaciously, but in a favourable
spirit, you will truly consider what I have said, in maintaining
that all things are moved, and that whatever appears to every
one, also exists, both to an individual and a city ; and from
hence you will further consider, whether science and perception

pd

402 THEATETUS,

are the same or different, and you will not, as just now, depart
from the usual meaning of words and names, which most men
forcing wherever it suits them, occasion one another all kinds
of perplexity.” 66. These things, Theodorus, I have advanced
by way of assistance to your friend, according to my ability,
trifling from trifling means; but, if he were alive, he would
defend his own opinions in a more noble manner,

Theo. You are joking, Socrates: for you have defended the
man very vigorously,

Socr. You say well, my friend. But tell me: did you ob-
serve that Protagoras said just now and reproached us, that in
arguing with a boy, we took advantage of the boy’s fear to op-
pose his principles, and giving it the contemptuous name of
cavilling, and vaunting his measure of all things, he exhorted
us to be serious in examining his doctrine >

Theo. How should I not have observed it, Socrates ?

Socr. What then? Do you require us to obey him?

Theo. By all means.

Socr. Do you see, then, that all these, except you, are boys?
If then we are to obey him, it is requisite that you and I,
questioning and answering each other, should be serious in
examining his doctrine, that he may not have this to object to
us that we have discussed this question again jesting with
youths.

67. Theo. But what? Would not Theetetus follow this
investigation much better than many who have long beards ?

Socr. But not better than you, Theodorus. Do not, there-
fore, think that I ought in every way to defend your deceased
friend, but you not at all. But come, my good sir, follow me
a little, just so far as to enable us to see whether it is right that
you should be the measure of diagrams, or whether all men
equally with you are sufficient for themselves in astronomy,
and the other things in which you have the reputation of
excelling,

Theo. It is not easy, Socrates, for one who is sitting by you,
to refuse to answer you. But I was just now trifling when
I said that you would permit me not to strip myself, and that
you would not compel me like the Laced:emonians. But you
appear to me to resemble Sciron* rather. For the Lacede-

* A noted robber between Megara and Corinth, who used to throw all
travellers whom he feil in with into the sea. He was slain by Theseus.

THEATETUS. 403

monians bid us either depart or strip; but you seem to me to
act rather like Antzus', for you do not let any one go who
approaches you until you have compelled him to strip and
wrestle with you in argument.

G8. Socr. You have found out an admirable comparison for
my disease, Theodorus, though I am stronger than they were ;
for an innumerable multitude of Herculeses and Theseuses,
who were powerful in argument, have met with me and beaten
me heartily, but I do not desist any the more, such a strange
passion for this kind of exercise has got possession of me. Do -
not you, therefore, refuse to have a fall with me, and to benefit
yourself and me at the same time.

Theo. I hold out no longer, but lead me wherever you
please: I must needs submit to the destiny that you weave for
me, and be confuted. However I shall not be able to give
myself up to you further than vou proposed.

Socr. So far will be sufficient. And I beg of you observe
this very closely, that we do not, unawares, get into a puerile
mode of talking, and so let any one reproach us again for that.
Theo. 1 will endeavour, as far as I can.

69. Socr. First of all, then, let us impugn the argument
which we did before, and see whether we correctly or incor-
rectly find fault with and reprobate the assertion, that every
one is sufficient to himself with respect to wisdom. Now Pro-
tagoras has conceded to us that some men excel others with
respect to better or worse, and those too who are wise: has
he not?

Theo. Yes.

Socr. 1f he then being present in person had agreed to this,
and we in assisting him had not made this concession in his
behalf, there would be no need to recur to it in order to con-
firm it; but now, perhaps, some one may consider us incom-
petent to assent on his behalf, wherefore it will be better to
come to a more clear understanding on this point; for it
makes no small difference whether it is so or otherwise.

Theo. You say truly.

Socr. Not from others, then, but from his own statements,
ve may in very few words get his assent.

1 Anteus dwelt in a cave in Lybia, and compelled all strangers who

ame by to wrestle with him. He met with his match in Hercules, and
vas slain.

404 NS Ody200 BOs MCSE

70. Theo. How so?

Socr. Thus. Does he not say that what appears to each
person exists to him to whom it appears ?

Theo. He does say so.

Socr. Now, Protagoras, we speak the opinions of a man, or
rather of all men, and say that there is no one who does not
think himself in some respects wiser than others, and in other
respects others wiser than himself, and in the greatest dangers,
when men are in peril, in wars, or diseases, or storms at sea,
they behave towards those who have power in each several
case as towards gods, looking up to them as their saviours,
though they excel them in nothing else than in knowledge ;
and the whole world is almost full of men seeking for masters
and governors of themselves and other animals and works, and
again of men who think themselves competent to teach and
competent to rule. And in all these cases what else shall we
say, than that men themselves think that there is wisdom and
ignorance among themselves ?

Theo. Nothing else.

Socr. Do they not, then, think that wisdom is true opinion,
and ignorance false opinion ?

Theo. How should they not?

71. Socr. How then, Protagoras, shall we deal with the
assertion? Whether shall we say that men always form true
opinions, or sometimes true and sometimes false ? For in either
way the result is that they do not always form true opinions,
but both true and false. For consider, Theodorus, whether
any one of the followers of Protagoras, or you yourself, would
contend that no one thinks that there is another who is igno-
rant, and forms false opinions.

Theo. That is incredible, Socrates.

Socr. Yet the assertion, that man is the measure of all
things, of necessity comes to this?

Theo. How so?

Socr. When you have determined any thing within your- —
self, and make known your opinion to me on any point, then, —
according to his statement, your opinion must be true to you; _
but may not the rest become judges of your judgment, or must —
we determine that you always form true opinions? Will not
myriads, who form contrary opinions to yours, continually op- 1
pose you, deeming that you judge and think falsely ? es

THEATETUS. 406

Theo. By Jupiter, Socrates, there are myriads, as Homer
says, who give me a vast deal of trouble.

72. Socr. What then? Will you allow us to say that you
then form opinions that are true to yourself, but false to innu-
merable others ?

Theo. This seems to me necessary, from the assertion.

Socr. But what with respect to Protagoras himself? If
neither he thought that man is the measure of all things, nor
the multitude, as indeed they do not, does it not necessarily
follow that this truth which he has described exists to no
one? But if he himself thought so, but the multitude do not
agree with him, you must be aware that, in the first place, by
how many more they are to whom it does not appear so, than
those to whom it does so appear, by so much the more it is
not than it is?

Theo. Necessarily so, since, according to each several opi-
nion, it will be or will not be.

Socr. In the next place, this is very pleasant; for he, with
respect to his own opinion, admits, that the opinion of those
who differ from him, in that they think he is in error, is true,
since he allows that all men form opinions of things that
exist.

Theo. Certainly.

Socr. Must he not, therefore, admit that his own opinion is
false, if he allows that the opinion of those who think he is in
error is true? i

Theo. Necessarily so.

Socr. The others however do not admit that they are in
error ?

Theo. Surely not.

73. Socr. He however, from what he has written, allows
that this opinion also is true.

Theo. It appears so.

Socr. It will therefore be controverted by all men, Prota-
goras not excepted, or rather will be allowed by him, that
when he admits to one who differs from him, that he forms a
true opinion, then even Protagoras himself will admit that
neither a dog, nor any man whatever, is the measure of a thing
that he has not learnt. Is it not so?

Theo. It is.

Socr. Therefore, since this is controverted by ali men, Pro-

406 THEXTETUS,

tagoras’s truth will not be true to anv one, neither to any one
else, nor to himself. :

Theo. We run down my friend too severely, Socrates,

Socr, But, moreover, my friend, it is uncertain whether we
have not also exceeded the bounds of Propriety. For it js
probable that he being older is wiser than we are: and if he
should suddenly rise up as far as his neck, having reproved me
much for trifling, as js probable, and vou for assenting, he

then, shall we now Say that any one will grant this, that one
man is wiser than another, and another also more ignorant ?

Soer. Shall we Say too that our argument holds good as we

sily woman, boy and brute, is competent to cure itself by
knowing what is wholesome for itself, but that here, if any
where, one excels another >

and unholy, as each city thinks right to enact laws for itself,
are in truth such to each city, and yet that in these things one
individual is not at all wiser than another, nor one city than
another ; but in enacting what is expedient for itself or not ex-
pedient, here again, if any where, he will allow that one coun.
sellor excels another, and the opinion of one city that of an-
other with regard to truth; nor will he by any means venture
to affirm, that the laws which a city enacts, thinking them to
be expedient for itself, must certainly be so, But here in the
matter I am speaking about, with respect to what is just and

when it so appears, and so long as it appears. And those who
do not altogether hold the doctrine of Protagoras, deal with

THEETETUS. 407

philosophy in some such manner as this. But one topic of
conversation, Theodorus, springs from another, a greater from
a less,

76. Theo. Have we not leisure, Socrates ?

Socr. We appear to have. And I have often at other times
observed, my excellent friend, and especially now, with what
good reason those who have spent much time in philosophical
studies, are found to be ridiculous orators when they enter
courts of justice.

Theo. What mean you by this ?

Socr. They that have been from their youth in courts of
justice, and places of that kind, when compared with those
who have been nurtured in philosophy and such-like studies,
appear to have been educated like slaves compared with free-
men,

Theo. In what respect ?

Soc. In this, that these, as you said, have always leisure,
and converse in peace at their leisure, just as we now
are taking up our third topic in succession, so they too, if
any question occurs to them that pleases them better than
the one in hand, as is the case with us, are not at all con-
cerned whether they speak at length or briefly, if they can
but arrive at the truth. But the others always speak in a
hurry, for the running water presses them on, nor are they
allowed to speak on whatever subject they wish, but their
opponent stands by them with this instrument of compulsion™,
and the record (which they call the pleadings) read aloud, out
of which they must not travel; and their speeches are always
about a fellow slave before the master who is seated holding
the scales of justice in his hand, their contests too, are never
unrestrained, but are always to the point before them, and
oftentimes it is a race for life. 77. So that, from all these
causes they become vehement and keen, knowing how to
flatter the master by words, and to conciliate him by actions,
being mean and not upright in soul. For slavery from child-
hood has taken away their growth, and rectitude, and freedom,

m T have followed Stallbaum in giving this meaning to avdyxn. See
his note on this passage. I have perhaps taken a liberty in translating
avTwuoclay in the next line “ pleadings,’ but I know of no other word
that will convey our author’s meaning to an English reader, and in the
passage before us technicality is unnecessary.

408 THE TETUS.

compelling them to do crooked actions, by exposing their yet
tender souls to great dangers and fears, which not being able
to bear up against with justice and truth, they immediately
have recourse to lying and injuring one another, and become
so bent and distorted, that they pass from youth to manhood
without having any solidity in their minds, but have become
clever and wise, as they think. Such then are these, Theo-
dorus. But are you willing that I should describe the men
of our band, or that, passing them by, we should return again
to our subject, lest we abuse too much our hberty and powers
of digression, which we just now spoke of.

73. Theo. By no means, Socrates, but describe them. For
you observed very well, that we who are members of this band,
are not the servants of topics of discussion, but they are our
servants as it were, and each of them must wait for its com-
pletion until we think proper. For neither does a judge nor a
spectator preside over us, to rebuke and keep us in order, as 1s
the case with the poets.

Socr. Let us speak then, as we ought, since it is agreeable
to you, about the chiefs; for why should any one speak of
those who spend their time in philosophy to but little pur-

ose? These then from early youth do not know the way to
the forum, nor where the law-court, or senate house, or any
other public place of assemblage in the city is situated ; and they
neither see nor hear laws or decrees, proclaimed or written.
And canvassing of partisans for magistracies, and meetings,
and banquets, and revelry with flute-players, they never think
of even ina dream. Whether any one in @ city is well or ill
born, or what evil has befallen any one from his ancestors,
whether men or women, is as little known to him as how
many measures of water there are in the sea, as the saying 1s.
79, And he does not know that he is ignorant of all this; for
he does not keep aloof from them for yanity’s sake, but in
reality his body only is situated and dwells in the city, but
his mind, considering all these things as trifling and of no con-
sequence, holds them in contempt, and is borne every where.
according to the expression of Pindar, measuring things be-
neath the earth and upon its surface, contemplating the stars
in heaven above, and searching thoroughly into the entire
nature of every thing in the universe, and not stooping te
any thing that is near.

THEXTETUS 409

Theo. What mean you by this, Socrates ?

Socr. Just, Theodorus, as a smart and witty Thracian
servant-girl is related to have joked Thales, when, contem-
plating the stars and looking upwards, he fell into a well, that
he was anxious to know what was going on in heaven, but
forgot to notice what was before him, and at his feet. 80.
The same joke is applicable to all who devote themselves to
philosophy; for, in reality, such a one is ignorant about his
near neighbour, not only what he is doing but almost whether
he is a man or some other animal. But what man is, and
what such a nature ought to do or suffer beyond others, he
enquires and takes pains to investigate. You understand me
surely, Theodorus ; do you not?

Theo. 1 do: and you say truly.

Socr. Therefore, my friend, a man of this kind dealing pri-
vately with each person, or publicly, as I said at the outset, when
he is compelled, in a court of justice or any where else, to speak
about things at his feet and before his view, affords laughter not
only to Thracian damsels, but to the rest of the crowd, by fall-
ing into wells and all kinds of perplexities through inexperience,
and his strange awkwardness gives him a character of stupidity.
81. For when he is reviled he has nothing personal to retort
against any one, as he does not know any evil of any one from
not having troubled himself about such matters; therefore, not
having any thing to say, he appears to be ridiculous: and
when he hears others praise and boast of themselves, being
seen to laugh not feignedly but really he is considered to be a
simpleton, For when encomiums are passed on a tyrant or
king, he thinks that he hears a herdsman, a swineherd for
instance, or a shepherd, ora cowkeeper pronounced happy for
milking abundantly : but he thinks that they feed and milk an
animal that is more hard to manage and more cunning than the
others do; and that such a one must necessarily, from their
occupations, be not at all less rustic and uneducated than
herdsmen, being shut up within walls as in a mountain pen.
But when he hears that any one who possesses ten thousand
acres of land or even more, is possessed of vast property, it
appears to him very trifling, as he has been accustomed to
survey the whole earth. 82. And when they extol nobility of
birth, accounting any one noble from being able to shew
seven rich ancestors, he thinks that this praise proceeds from

410 THETETUS

men of dull minds, and who look at trifles, being unable
through want of education to look at the succession of ages and
compute that every man has had innumerable myriads of
grandsires and ancestors, amongst whom there must have been
an innumerable multitude of rich and_ poor, kings and slaves,
barbarians and Greeks; but when they pride themselves in a
catalogue of five-and-twenty ancestors, and refer their origin to
Hercules son of Amphitryon, it appears to him absurd from its
littleness: and he laughs at their being unable to compute
and so rid themselves of the vaunting of a silly mind, that the
five-and-twenticth ancestor from Amphitryon and the fiftieth
from him was such as fortune happened to make him. In all
these things, therefore, such a man is ridiculed by the multi.
tude, partly from bearing himself haughtily, as it seems, and
partly from not knowing what is at his feet, and being on all
occasions embarrassed.

Theo. You Say exactly what takes place, Socrates,

83. Socr. But when he is able, my friend, to draw any one
upwards, and any one is willing to leave those questions, of
“ What injury do I do your? cor! Whar injury do you do
me?” for the consideration of justice and injustice themselves,
what each of them is, and in What respect they differ from all
other things, or from each other, or the inquiry, Whether a
king is happy. and again, he who possesses abundance of gold,
for the consideration of royalty and human happiness and
misery in general; what they both are, and in what Way it is
proper for the nature of man to seek the one and shun the
other,—when, therefore, it is requisite for that little-minded,
sharp, and pettifogging fellow to give an account of all these
things, he then shews the opposite side of the picture ; becoming
dizzy through being suspended aloft and looking so high up,
from want of use, and becoming stupified, and perplexed, and
stammering, he does not, indeed, afford laughter to the Thra-
clan damsels or any other uneducated person, (for they do not
perceive any thing,) but to all who have been brought up
otherwise than as slaves, 84. This, then, is the character of each
of them, Theodorus, the one, that of him who is truly brought
up in liberty and leisure, whom you call a philosopher, to whom
it is no disgrace to be thought simple and to be good for
nothing, when he has to attend to servile offices, for instance,
that he does not know how to pack and tie up luggage, or

sai
‘ia bed

i an a a — 7

a

THEATETUS. 411

season viands or make flattering speeches; the other, that of
him who is able to perform all such offices dexterously and
quickly, but knows not how to gather up his cloak with his
right hand like a well-bred person, nor perceiving harmony of
language to celebrate the life of gods and happy men such as
it really is.

Theo. If, Socrates, you could persuade all men of what you
say, as you have me, there would be more peace and less evil
among men,

Socr. But it is not possible, Theodorus, that evil should be
destroyed ; for it is necessary that there should be always
something contrary to good; nor can it be seated among the
gods, but of necessity moves round this mortal nature and this
region. Wherefore we ought to endeavour to fly hence thither
as quickly as possible. But this flight consists in resembling
God as much as possible, and this resemblance is the becoming
just and holy with wisdom. 85. But, my excellent friend, it
is not very easy to persuade men, that not for the reasons for
which most men say we ought to flee from vice and pursue
virtue, ought we to study the one and not the other, namely,
that a man may not seem to be vicious, but may seem to be
good; for these are, as the saying is, the drivellings of old
women, as it appears to me. But let us describe the truth as
follows. God is never in any respect unjust, but as just as
possible, and there is not any thing that resembles him more
than the man amongst us who has likewise become as just as
possible. And on this depends the true excellence of a man,
and his nothingness and worthlessness. For the knowledge of
this is wisdom and true virtue, but the not knowing it is mani-
fest ignorance and vice, but all other seeming excellencies and
wisdoms, when they are found in political government, are ab-
ject, but in arts sordid. It is therefore by far the best not to
allow him who acts unjustly, and who speaks or acts impi-
ously, to excel by reason of his wickedness ; for they delight
in this reproach, and think they hear that they are not value-
less, mere burdens on the earth, but men such as they ought
to be who will be safe in a city. The truth, therefore, must be
spoken, that they are so much the more what they think they
are not, from not thinking that they are such. For they are
ignorant of the punishment of injustice, of which they ought
to be least of all ignorant: for it does not consist in what they

412 THEATETUS.

imagine, stripes and death, which they sometimes suffer who do
not commit injustice, but in that which it is impossible to avoid.

86. Theo. What do you mean ?

Socr, Since, my friend, there are two models in the nature
of things, one divine and most happy, the other ungodly and
most miserable, they, not perceiving that this is the case,
through stupidity and extreme folly, unknown to themselves
become similar to the one by unjust actions, and dissimilar to
the other. Wherefore they are punished, by leading a life
suited to that to which they are assimilated. But if we should
tell them, that unless they abandon this excellence, that place
which is free from all evil will not receive them when dead,
but here they will always lead a life resembling themselves,
and there will associate with evil, these things, as being alto-
gether shrewd and crafty, they will listen to as the extrava-
gances of foolish men.

87. Theo. Assuredly, Socrates.

Socr, I know it, my friend. One thing, however, happens
to them; it is, that if they have to give and listen to reasons
privately respecting the things that they blame, and if they are
willing to persevere manfully for a length of time, and not fly
like cowards, then at length, my excellent friend, they are
very absurdly displeased with themselves for what they have
said, and that rhetoric of theirs becomes somehow so weak
that they appear to be no better than boys. However, let us
quit this subject, since what we have been saying was only a
digression; if we do not, more topics constantly flowing in
will shut out the subject with which we began. Let us, then,
return to our former subject, if it is agreeable to you.

Theo. Such things, Socrates, are not at all unpleasing to me
to hear; for it is easier for one of my age to follow them; if
you please, however, let us return to our subject. .

Socr. If I mistake not, then, we were at that part of our
discussion in which we said that those who maintain motion —

to be essence, and that whatever appears to each person exists 7 |

also to him to whom it appears, would in other things persist, |
and especially with regard to justice, that on every account
what a city enacts as appearing just to itself, this also is just |

to the city that enacts it, so long as it continues in force: but 7
that with respect to what is good, no one is so hardy as to 7 |

venture to contend that whatever things a city has enacted, 7

THE/AETETUS, 413

thinking that they are advantageous to itself, are also advan-
tageous so long as they continue in force, except one should
speak only of the name: but this would be a mere mockery
on such a subject as we are speaking on; would it not?

Theo. Certainly.

88. Socr, Let him not, then, speak of the name, but of the
thing designated by it.

Theo. Just so.

Socr. But the thing that the name designates is doubtless
that which the city aims at in enacting laws, and enacts all
laws, as far as it thinks and is able, to be as advantageous
to itself as possible. Does it look to any thing else in enact-
ing laws?

Theo. By no means,

Socr. Does it, then, always accomplish its purpose, or is
every city often mistaken?

Lheo. I think it is often mistaken. —

Socr. Still more then would every one allow this very thing,
if the question should be asked with reference to the whole
genus, to which the advantageous belongs: but surely it re-
gards also the future; for, when we enact laws, we enact them
that they may be advantageous for the time to come; and this
we should correctly call the future.

Theo, Certainly,

89. Socr. Come then, let us thus question Protagoras, or some
one else who holds the same opinions with him, Man, as you
say, Protagoras, is the measure of all things, white, heavy,
light, and every thing of that kind: for, as he contains the
criterion of them within himself, in thinking they are such as
he feels them to be, he thinks what is true to himself, and
really is? Is it not so?

Theo, It is.

Socr. Shall we also say, Protagoras, that he contains within
himself the criterion of things about to happen, and that such
things as he thinks will happen, do become such to him who
thinks so? For instance, with regard to heat, when any parti-
cular person thinks that he shall catch a fever, and that this
kind of heat will happen to him, and another, a physician, thinks
differently, according to the opinion of which of the two shall
we say will the result prove? or will it be according to the
opinion of both of them, and to the physician will he be neither
hot nor feverish, but to himself both ?

414 THEETETUS.

Theo. That, indeed, would be ridiculous.

Soer. And I think the opinion of the husbandman, and not
that of the harper. respecting the future sweetness or rough-
ness of wine, would prevail.

Theo. How not?

Soer. Nor again would a teacher of gymmastics form a
better opinion than a musician respecting what will be in-
harmonious and harmonious, and what will afterwards appear
to the teacher of gymnastics himself to be harmonious.

Theo. By no means.

90. Soer. Therefore also, when a banquet is prepared, the
judgment of one who, not being skilled in cookery is about to
feast on it, is less sound than that of the cook, respecting the
pleasure that will ensue. For we are not arguing at all about
that which now is or has been pleasant to each person, but
about that which will hereafter both appear and be so. whe-
ther every one is the best judge for himself? Could not you,
Protagoras, judge beforehand better than any private person
what arguments are likely to be available for us in a court
of justice ?

Theo. Indeed, Socrates, in this he himself professes to excel
all men by far.

Socr. By Jupiter, he does, my friend; otherwise no one
would pay him large sums for his instructions, if he had not
persuaded his pupils that no prophet or other person would be
able to judge better than he could for himself, as to what in
future would both be and appear to be.

Theo. Most true.

Socr. But do not legislation and the useful regard the future,
aud would not every one acknowledge, that a city, in enacting
laws. of necessity often misses that which is most useful >

Theo. Assuredly.

91. Socr. We have, therefore, rightly urged against your
master, that he must needs confess, that one man is wiser
than another, and that such a one is the true measure, but
that there is no necessity at all for me who am ignorant, to
become a measure, as the argument advanced on his behalf
just now compelled me to be, whether I would or not.

Theo. In that way, Socrates, his argument appears to me
to be effectually refuted, and it was also refuted by this, that he
makes the opinions of others sound; and these were found to
consider his arguments as by no means to be true.

4
a id lin racemes Sie

THEAETETUS. 415

Socr. Jn many other ways, too, Theodorus, this may be de-
monstrated, that not every opinion of every man is true. But,
with respect to the manner in which each person is affected,
whence perceptions and corresponding opinions are produced,
it is more difficult to demonstrate that they are not true. But
perhaps I should say, it is quite impossible: for probably they
cannot be refuted, and those who say that they are certain and
sciences, may possibly say the truth, and in that case Theetetus
here did not speak amiss in asserting that perception and
science are the same. 92. Let us, then, approach nearer to it,
as the argument advanced in behalf of Protagoras enjoined us,
and examine this essence, that is said to consist in motion”, by
knocking it, and see whether it sounds whole or cracked. For
the contest about it is neither mean nor among a few,

Theo. It is very far from being mean, but is spreading very
much throughout Ionia. For the partisans of Heraclitus advo-
cate this doctrine very strenuously.

Socr. Therefore, my dear Theodorus, we should the rather
examine it from the beginning, as they propound it.

Theo. Assuredly. For, Socrates, with respect to these
Heraclitian, or, as you say, Homeric, and even older doctrines,
it is no more possible to converse about them with the people of
Ephesus who pretend to be acquainted with them, than with
persons who are raving mad. For, just as their written doc-
trines, they are truly in constant motion, but to keep to an
argument and a question, and quietly to answer and ask in turn,
is less in their power than any thing; or rather the power of
rest in these men is infinitely less than nothing. But if you
ask any one of them a question, they draw out, as from a quiver,
certain dark enigmatical words, and shoot them off, and if you
wish to get from him a reason for what he has said, you will
be forthwith stricken with another newly coined word, but will
never come to any conclusion with any one of them; nor do
they with one another, but they take very good care not to
allow any thing to be fixed, either in their discourse, or in their
souls, thinking, as it appears to me, that this very thing is
stationary®; and they make constant war upon it, and as far as
they are able, expel it from every where.

93. Socer. Perhaps, Theodorus, you have seen these men

n See § 87.
© And so opposed to their doctrine of constant motion.

416 THEETETUS.

contending, but have never been in their company when peace-
able, for they are no friends of yours. But I think they say
such things when at leisure, to their disciples, whom they wish
to render like themselves.

Theo. What disciples, my good friend? Amongst such
men, one is not the disciple of another, but they spring up
spontaneously, from whatever place each of them happens to
he seized with a trenzy, and each thinks that the other knows
nothing. From these, therefore, as I was just now saying,
you will never get a reason either willingly or unwillingly :
but we must take the matter up as if it were a problem and
examine it ourselves.

Soer. You say right. But have we not received this problem
from the ancients, who by the aid of poetry concealed it from
the multitude, that Ocean and Tethys, the origin of all things,
are streams, and that nothing is at rest, and from the moderns,
as being wise, who have declared openly, so that even cobblers
on hearing them learn wisdom, and give up their foolish opi-
nion, that some things are at rest and others in motion, and
learning that all things are in motion, they pay great respect
to their teachers. 94. But I had almost forgotten, Theodorus,
that others have declared the very contrary to this, that “ that
which is called the universe is immoveable,” and every thing
else that the followers of Melissus and Parmenides maintain in
opposition to all this, as, that all things are one, and that this
-< at rest in itself, and has no place in which it can be moved.
What then shall we do with all these people, my friend? For
advancing by little and little, we have unawares fallen between
both of them, and if we do not defend ourselves and escape, We
ghall be punished like those who in the wrestling grounds play
on the line, who, when they are caught by both parties, are
dragged in contrary directions. It appears therefore to me,
that we should first of all consider those with whom we set out,
the advocates of perpetual motion, and, if they shall prove to
speak to the purpose, We will join with them, and endeavour to
escape from the others; but if those who say that the universe
is at rest appear to speak more truly, we will on the other
hand fly to them from those who move even things immoveable.
05, And if both shall be found to speak nothing right, we shall
be ridiculous for thinking that we, mean as we are, can say any
thing to the purpose, alter we have condemned men of great

THEAZTETUS. 417

antiquity and wisdom. Consider therefore, Theodorus, whether
it is for our interest to venture on so great a danger.

Theo. It would be unpardonable, Socrates, not thoroughly
to examine what each of these men say.

Soer, We must examine it, since you are so anxious to do
so. It appears to me then, that the first thing to be done in
an enquiry about motion, is to find out what they mean by
saying that all things are in motion. I mean this: whether
they say that there is one species of motion, or, as it appears
to me, two. Nor should it appear to me only, but do you
also join with me, that we may both fall into the same error,
if we must err. Tell me, therefore, do you call it being in
motion, when a thing passes from one place to another, or is
turned round in the same place ?

Theo. I do.

96. Socr. Let this, therefore, be one species. But when it
remains in the same place, and grows old, and either becomes
black from white or hard from soft, or undergoes any other
change, is it not right to say that this is another species of
motion ?

Theo. It appears so to me.

Soer. It must be so: I say, then, that there are these two
species of motion, change and removal.

Theo. You say right.

Socr. Having, therefore, made this distinction, let us now
address ourselves to those who say that all things are in motion,
and ask them: Whether do you say that every thing under-
goes both kinds of motion, and is both removed and changed,
or that one thing is moved both ways, and another only in
one way ?

Theo. By Jupiter, I know not what to answer; but I think
they would say, both ways.

Socr. Otherwise, mry friend, the same things would appear to
them to be both in motion and at rest, and it would not be at
all more correct to say that all things are in motion, than that
they are at rest.

Theo. You speak most truly.

Socr. Since, therefore, it is necessary that every thing
should be in motion, and that the absence of motion should be
in nothing, all things must always be moved with every kind
of motion.

Ee

418 THEETETUS,

97. Theo. Necessarily so,

Soer. Consider this, then, I beg: did we not say that they
explain the generation of heat. or whiteness, or any thing else
pretty much in this manner, that each of them is impelled,
together with perception, between the agent and the patient,
and that the patient becomes affected by perception, but is not

yet perception itself, and that the agent becomes affected bya
certain quality, but is not quality itself? Perhaps, however,
quality may appear to you to be a strange word, and you may
not understand it when used jn this collective sense. Hear
me, then, explain it in detail. For the agent becomes neither
heat nor whiteness, but hot and white, and so with respect to
other things. For you surely remember that we sad before P,
that no one thing exists of itself, neither that which is an agent
nor that which is a patient, but that, from the meeting together
of each with the other, perceptions and objects of perception
being produced cause the one to be of a certain quality, and
the other percipient.

98. Theo. I recollect. How should T not,

Socr, Let us then dismiss the rest of their system, whether
they speak this way or that way; and let us keep to that
point alone which concerns our discussion and ask, Are all
things in motion and in a state of flux, as you say? Is it
not so?

Theo. Yes.

Socr. And by both those kinds of motion which we have
distinguished, removal and change ?

Theo. Undoubtedly ; if they are to be perfectly moved,

Socr. If, therefore, they were only removed, but not changed,
we should surely be able to say what kind of things are re.
moved. Must we not say so?

Theo. Just so.

Socr. But since not even this continues in the same state,
namely that that which flows continues to flow white, but. it
changes so that there is also a flux of this very thing, white-
ness, and a transition into another colour, in order that it may
not be found continuing in the same state, will it ever be pos-
sible to call any thing a colour, so as to designate it correctly ?

Theo. How is it possible, Socrates? or any thing else of the
kind, since, while we are speaking about it, it is constantly
escaping, as being in a state of flux?

P ¢ 929

tHe LT US, 419

Socr. But what shall we say of any kind of perception, for
instance of seeing or hearing? Does it ever continue in the
State of secing or hearing?

Theo. It ought not, since all things are in motion.

99. Socr. We must not affirm then, that any one sees rather
than not sees, or has any other perception rather than not, since
all things are in constant motion.

Theo. Surely not.

Socr. Yet perception is science, as Theetetus and J said,

Theo. That is the case.

Socr, On being asked, therefore, what science is, we an-
swered, that it is not at all science rather than not science.

Lheo, You appear to have done so.

Socr. A fine correction of our answer it would be, if we
endeavour to prove that all things are in motion, in order that
our former answer ny eppearccorreet.. “But ¢hissaeite seems,
is the result, if all things are in motion, every answer on what-
ever subject it may be given, will be equally correct, whether
we say that a thing is so or is not so, or, if you will, becomes
so, that we may not fix them by a definite expression,

Theo. You say rightly.

Socr. Except, Theodorus, that I said “so and not so.” But we
ought not to use this word “ so,” for in this Way it will no longer
be in motion; nor again must we use the expression “ not so,”
for neither does this xpress motion ; but they who maintain
this doctrine must find out some other term, since at present
they have not words suited to their hypothesis, except perhaps,
this, “not in any manner.” This would suit them best, as
having an indefinite meaning,

Theo. ‘This manner of speaking would indeed be most proper
for them.

100. Socr. We have done then w
nor can we by any means concede to him, that any man is the
measure of all things, except he is wise: nor can we concede
to him that science is perception, at least according to the

doctrine that all things are in motion; unless Thertetus here
says otherwise.

Theo. You say admirably well
things are brought to a conclusi
have done with answering accor
our discussion about the doctrin

ith your friend, Theodorus,

, Socrates; for since these
on, it is right that I too should
ding to our agreement, now that
e of Protagoras has come to end,

420 LE el aS:

Thea. Not so, Theodorus, until you and Socrates have dis-
cussed the doctrine of those who say that the universe is at
rest, as you just now proposed to do.

Theo. Do you who are so young, Theetetus, teach old men
to act unjustly, by violating their compacts. But prepare to
give account to Socrates of what remains to be discussed,

Thee. If he wishes it, though I should be very glad to hear
you on the subject I mentioned,

Theo. You are challenging riders to a race in challenging
Socrates to a discussion. Ask therefore and you will hear.

Socr. But I think, Theodorus, I shall not comply with the
request of Theztetus.

Theo. Why not comply ?

101. Socr. Though I am ashamed of examining with too
much freedom Melissus and others, who say that the universe is
one and immoveable, yet I am less ashamed to do so with respect
to them than Parmenides alone. For Parmenides appears to
me, that I may use the words of Homer 4, “ both venerable and
formidable.” For I was acquainted with him when I was very
young and he was very old, and he appeared to me to possess
a depth of wisdom altogether extraordinary. I am _ afraid,
therefore, that we should not understand his words, and that
we should be much less able to discover the meaning of what
he said, and above all, I fear lest with respect to the main subject
of our discussion, science, what it is, should be left uncon-
sidered by reason of the digressions that will rush across us, if
we listen to them. Besides, the question which we have now
raised is of immense extent, and if one should consider it only
by the way, it would be treated unworthily, but if as it deserves,
the discussion, being extended to too great length, will put out
of sight the subject of science. But neither of these things
ought to happen; but we ought to endeavour, by the mid-
wife’s art, to deliver Theztetus of his conceptions respecting
science.

Thee. It is proper to do so, if you think well.

102. Socr. Again, therefore, Thezetetus, consider this with
respect to what has been said. You answered that perception
is science; did you not.

Thee. Yes,

@ Iliad, iii, 172,

THE-ETETUS, 421

Socr. If then any one should ask you, with what a man sees
things white and black, and with what he hears sounds sharp
and flat, you would say, I think, with the eyes and ears,

Thee. 1 should.

Socr. The free use of names and words and without exces-
sive precision, is for the most part not unbecoming a person of
education, but rather the contrary to this is illiberal, though
sometimes it is necessary ; as in the present case it is neces-
sary to find fault with. your answer, so far as it is not correct,
For consider, which answer is more correct, that it is the eyes
with which we see or by which we see, and the ears with which
we hear, or by which we hear?

hee. By which we receive each perception, it seems to me,
Socrates, rather than with which.

Socr, For surely it would be strange, my boy, if many senses
Were seated in us, as in wooden horses, and they did not all
tend to one certain form, whether it is soul, or whatever it js
proper to call it, with which, by means of these as instruments,
we perceive all objects of perception.

Thece. The case appears to me to be rather in this way than
in that.

103. Socr. But why do I require so much accuracy from
you on this point? For this reason, that we may discover
whether by some one and the same part in us we, by means of
the eyes, attain to things white and black, and again other
things by means of the other senses, and whether, when ques-
tioned, you will be able to refer all such things to the bodily
organs. But perhaps it will be better that you should say this
by answering my questions, than that I should take all this
trouble for you. Tell me, then; the things by which you per-
ceive things hot and dry, and light and sweet, do you refer each
of them to the body, or to any thing else?

Thee. To nothing else,

Socr. Are you also willing to allow, that such things as you
perceive by means of one faculty it is impossible for you to
perceive by means of another, for instance, that what you per-
ceive by means of hearing you cannot perceive by meaus of
sight, and what you perceive by means of sight, you cannot
perceive by means of hearing ?

Lhee. How should I not be willing to allow it?

Socr. If, then, you form a notion of them both together, you

422 THEETETUS.

cannot receive this perception of both together by means of one
organ or the other.

Thee. Surely not.

104. Soer. Now with respect to sound and colour, is not
this the very first notion that you have of them both, that they
both exist.

Thee. It is.

Socr. Is it not also, that each is different from the other, and
the same with itself?

Thee. Wow not?

Socr. And that both are two, but each one?

Thea. And this also.

Socr. Are you not also able to consider whether they are
like or unlike each other?

Thee. Probably.

Socr. By means of what, then, do you acquire all these
notions about them? For it is not possible by means either of
hearing or sight to apprehend that which is common between
them, Moreover, this too is a proof of what we say. For, if
it were possible to examine respecting them both, whether they
are salt or not, you know you would be able to say with what
you would make this examination, and this proves to be
neither sight nor hearing, but something else.

Thee. How not, and that the faculty of taste by means of
the tongue?

Soer. You say well. But in what does the faculty consist
which shews you that which ‘s common to all things, and to
these two, to which you give the name of existence and non-
existence, and those other names about which we were just
now asking? what organs will you attribute to all these, by
means of which our perceptive faculty perceives these several
things?

103. Thee. You speak of existence and non-existence, simi-
litude and dissimilitude, identity and difference, and moreover
of unity and other numbers: and it is evident that you ask
about the even and odd and whatever else depends on them,
by which of the organs of the body we perceive these things
in our soul.

Sver. You follow me exceedingly well, and these, Thestetus,
are the very things about which [ ask.

Thea. But by Jupiter, Socrates, | know not what to say,

Tee DE EUS: 425

except that it seems to me that there is no organ at all
peculiar to these things as there is to the others, but the
soul of itself appears to me to examine that which is com-
mon in all things.

Socr. You are beautiful, Theetetus, and not ugly, as Theo-
dorus said; for he who speaks beautifully is beautiful and good.
But, besides being beautiful, you have done well in having re-
leased me from a very long discussion, if it appears to you that
the soul beholds some things by itself, and others by the
faculties of the body. For this was the very thing that
seemed to me, and I wished it might likewise seem so to you.

Thea. And indeed it does appear so to me.

106. Socr. To which of the two classes, then, do you re-
fer existence? For this especially attaches to all things.

Thee. 1 refer it to those things which the soul of itself
reaches after.

Socr. Is it the same with similarity and dissimilarity, identity
and difference?

Thee. Yes.

Socr. What then? with the beautiful and the ugly, good
and evil?

Thee. It appears to me that the soul especially considers
the essence of these in reference to each other, comparing
within itself things past and present with the future.

Socr, Stay: will it not perceive the hardness of that which
is hard by the touch, and the softness of that which is soft in
like manner?

Thee,’ Yes.

Socr. But their essence, both what they are, and their opposi-
tion to each other, and the nature of this opposition, the soul
itself, examining them repeatedly and comparing them with
each other, endeavours to determine for us.

Thee. Certainly.

Socr, Are not, then, both men and beasts by nature able
to perceive as soon as they are born those things that pass by
means of the bodily organs to the soul, but comparisons of
these with reference to their essence and use they arrive at with
difficulty, and after a long time, by means of much labour and
study, if ever they do arrive at it?

Thee. Most assuredly.

Socr, For is it possible to apprehend the truth of that of
which we cannot apprehend the existence ?

424 THEJETETUS.

Thee. Impossible.
107. Socr. But can any one possess a scientific knowledge
of a thing, of which he cannot apprehend the truth?

Thee. How can he, Socrates ?

Socr. There 1s, therefore, no science in sensations, but in
reasoning on them; for in this way, as it seems, it 18 pos-
sible to touch upon essence and truth, put in that way Im-
possible.

Thee. It appears S0-

Soer. Can you, therefore, call that and this the same, when
there is so great a difference between them!

Thee. \t would not be right to do so.

Socr. What name, then, do you give to that, to sight, hear-
ing, smelling, tasting, being hot, and being cold!

Thee. Perceiving ; for what other name can be given?

Socr. Do you, therefore, call the whole of this perception ?

Thea. Necessarily $0.

Socr. To which, as We said, it does not appertain to touch
upon truth, for it does not ever touch upon essence.

Thee. Certainly not.

Socr. Nor, therefore, upon science ?

Thee. No.

‘ocr. Perception, therefore, and _ science, Theetetus, can
never be the same ?

Thee. It appears not, Socrates.

108. Socr. And now it has been made perfectly clear that
science is something different from perception. But we did
not commence this conversation with this view, that we might
find out what science is not, but what ‘tis. However, we have
advanced so far as not to seek it at all in perception, but in that
name, whatever it is, Which the soul possesses when it em-
ploys stself about things that exist.

Thea. But this, I think, Socrates, is called, to judge.

Soer. You think rightly, my friend. And now consider
again from the beginning, having obliterated all that has been
said before, if you see at all more clearly, now that you have
come to this point. And tell me again what science 1s.

Thee. \t is impossible, Socrates, to say that it is every
judgment, because there is also false judgment. But it ap-
pears that true judgment is science, and let this be my answer.
For if, as we proceed, it shall not appear to be so, as it does at
present, we will endeavour to say something else.

TATE DUS, 425

109. Socr. Thus, then, Theetetus, you must speak more
promptly, and not, as at first, hesitate to answer. For if we
do so, one of two things will happen; we shall either find
that which we are in search of, or we shall in a less degree
think that we know what we do not know at all; though this
would be no despicable reward. Now, then, what do you
say? Since there are two species of judgment, one true, and
the other false, do you define science to be true judgment ?

Thee. | do; for this at present appears to me to be the
case.

Socr, Is it, then, worth while again to resume the discus-
sion respecting judgment ?

Thee, What do you mean?

Socr. Somehow this matter troubles me just now, and has
often done so at other times, so that I have had great doubt
with respect to myself and others, from not being able to say
what this affection in us is, and in what way it is produced.

Thea. What affection ?

ocr. This, that any one forms false judgments; and I even
now still consider and am in doubt whether we shall let this
alone, or examine it in a different manner than we did just
now.

Thee. How not, Socrates? at least if it appears necessary
to be done in some way or other? For you and Theodorus
just now remarked, not badly, respecting leisure, that there is
no urgency in matters of this kind.

110. Socr, You have reminded me very properly. For per-
haps it will not be foreign to our purpose in a manner to
retrace our steps. Jor it is better to finish a little well than
much insufficiently.

Thee. Why not?

Socr. How then? what do we say? do we not affirm that
sometimes judgments are false? or that one of us forms false
judgments and another true ones, as if this was naturally the
case?

Thea. We doubtless do affirm this.

Socr. Does not this happen to us with regard to things in
general and each particular, that we either know it or do not
know it ¢ For learning and forgetting, as being between these,
I pass by for the present, for now they have nothing to de
with our discussion.

4:26 THEAETETUS.

Thee. However, Socrates, there is no other alternative with
respect to each particular, except knowing or not knowing it,

Socr. Then, is it not necessuy, that he who judges should
judge either what he does know, or does not know?

Thee. It is necessary.

Socr. But that a person who knows should not know the
same thing, or that he who does not know it should know it, is
impossible.

Thea. How not?

Socr. Does not he, then, who forms a false judgment about
what he knows, think that these are not the same, but different
from what he knows, and thus while he knows both, he is at
the same time ignorant of both?

Thee, But this is impossible, Socrates.

111. Socr. Does he, then, think that things which he does
not know are certain other things that he does not know, and
is it possible for one who -knows neither Theatetus nor
Socrates, to imagine that Socrates is Theetetus, or Thetetus
Socrates ?

Thee. Wow could that be?

Socr. Neither, surely, does any one think that the things
which he knows are the same as those that he does not know,
nor again that the things which he does not know, are the
same ag those that he does know.

Thee. For that would be monstrous.

Socr. How then can any one form false judgments: For it
is impossible to form judgments in any other way than this,
since we either know or do not know all things, and in these
it appears to be by no means possible to form false judgments.

Thea. Most true.

Socr. Ought we, then, to consider the object of our enquiry,
not by proceeding according to knowing and not knowing, but
according to being and not being ?

Thea. How do you mean?

Socr. Whether it is not universally true, that he who thinks
things that are not, with respect to any thing whatever, must
unavoidably form a false judgment, however intelligent he may
be in other respects.

Thee. That is reasonable, Socrates. :

Socr. How then? what shall we say, Thestetus, if any one
should ask us, ‘Is it possible for any one to do what you say,

(Ushoys oy MOAR ORy 427

and can any man think that which is not, whether respecting
any real object or abstract essence >’ And we, it seems, shall
say to this, “ When he who thinks does not think what is
true.” What else can we say?

Thee. Nothing else.

112. Soer, Does a thing of this kind happen also in other
cases ?

Thee. Of what kind?

Socr, Ifa person sees something, and yet sees nothing.

Thee. But how can that be?

Socr, But if he sees some one thing, he sees something that
exists; and do you think that one thing is ever among things
that do not exist?

Thee. I do not.

Socr, He, therefore, who sees some one thing sees that
which exists.

Thea. It appears so.

Socr. And, therefore, he who hears something, both hears
some one thing, and hears that which exists.

‘Thee. Yes.

Socr. And doubtless he who touches both touches some one
thing, and that which exists, since it is one thing?

Thea. And this too.

Soe. Does not he then who judges, judge some one thing ?

Thee, Of necessity.

Socr, And does not he who judges some one thing, judge
something that exists?

Thee. 1 grant it.

Socr, He therefore who judges what does not exist, judges
nothing,

Thee. It appears not.

Socr, But he who judges nothing, does not judge at all.

Thee. That is evident, as it seems.

Socr. It is impossible, therefore, to judge that which is not,
either with respect to real objects or abstract essences.

Thee. It appears not. —

Socr. To form false judgments, therefore, is different from
judging things that do not exist.

Thee. \t seems to be different.

Socr. Neither then in this way nor in the way we considered
a little before, is false judgment formed in us,

428 THEETETUS.

Thee. On no account.
113. Socr. Do we then give that name to what takes place
as follows.

Thea. How?

Socr. We say that a mistaken judgment is a false judgment,
when any one says that any real object +s another real object,
changing one for the other in his thoughts. For thus he al-
ways judges that which exists, but one thing instead of another,
and erring in that which he was considering, he may be justly
said to form a false judgment.

Thee. Younow appeak to me to have spoken most correctly :
for, when any one forms a judgment that a thing is ugly in-
stead of beautiful, or beautiful instead of ugly, then he truly
forms a false judgment.

Soer. It is evident, Thertetus, that you esteem me lightly
and have no fear of me.

Thea. How so?

Socr. I do not seem to yous I imagine, likely to lay hold of
your “ truly false,” by asking whether it is possible for swift to
take place slowly or light heavily, or any other contrary, not
according to its own nature, but according to the nature of
its contrary, contrariwise to itself. ‘This, however, J dismiss,
that your confidence may not be in vain. But are you satisfied,
as you say, that to form false judgments is to form mistaken
judgments ?

Thea. am.

114. Soer. It is possible, then, according to your opinion,
for one thing to be comprehended in the mind as another, and
not as it is.

Thea. \t is possible.

Socr. When, therefore, any one’s mind does this, is it not
necessary that it should think about objects, both, or one of
them?

Thee. Quite necessary.

Soer. Hither together or in turns ¢

Thea. Very well.

Soer. But by thinking do you mean the same that I do?

Thee. What do you mean by it?

Socr. The discourse which the soul holds with itself about
the objects that st considers. 1 explain this to you as a person
who does not know what he says. For the soul, when it thinks,

THEATETUS. 429

appears to me to do nothing else than discourse with itself,
asking itself questions and answering them, affirming and deny-
ing; but when it has decided, whether it has come to its de-
cision more slowly or more rapidly, and now asserts and does
not doubt, this we call judgment. So that to form a judgment
I call to speak, and judgment a sentence spoken, not indeed to
another person nor with the voice but in silence to itself. But
what do you call it ?

Thee. The same.

Socr, When any one, therefore, forms a judgment that one
thing is another, he says to himself, as it seems, that one thing
is another.

115. Thee. How not?

Socr. Recollect, then, whether you have ever said to your-
self, that the beautiful is certainly ugly, or the unjust, just, or
even, chief of all, consider whether you have ever attempted to
persuade yourself, that one thing is certainly another, or, quite
contrariwise, whether you have ever ventured even in sleep to
say to yourself, that undoubtedly odd is even, or any thing else
of the kind.

Thee. You say truly.

Soer. But do you think that any one else in his senses or
even mad would venture to say seriously to himself, being him-
self persuaded, that an ox must needs be a horse, or two one ?

Thee. Not I, by Jupiter.

Socr. If, therefore, to speak to one’s-self is to form judgments,
no one, who speaks and forms judgments of both objects, and
touches upon both with his soul, would say and judge that one
is another. You must therefore give up what you said about
the other. For I assert this, that no one thinks that the ugly
is beautiful, or any thing else of the kind.

Thee. | give it up then, Socrates, and it appears to me as
you say.

Socr. It is impossible, then, for one who forms judgments
about both, to think that the one is the other.

Thea. It seems so.

116. Socr. He, however, who judges one thing only, but the
other in no respect, will never judge that the one is the other.

Thee. You say truly: for he would be compelled to touch
upon that also of which he does not judge.

Socr. It is not possible then for a person who judges either

430 THEETLTUS.

both or one of the two, to judge that one is the other: so that
if any one should define false judgment to be the judgment of
one thing instead of another, he would say nothing to the pur-
pose; for neither in this way, nor in those before mentioned,
does it appear that false judgment pertains to us.

Thee. It seems not.

Socr. However, Theetetus, if this should appear not to be
so, we shall be compelled to admit many absurdities.

Thee. What are they?

Socr. I will not tell you, until I have endeavoured to con-
sider the matter in every point of view: for I should be
ashamed for both of us, if. while we are in the difficulty we are,
we should be compelled to admit what I now say. But if we
discover the object of our search and become free, then we
will speak of others, as subject to this, being ourselves placed
beyond the reach of ridicule: but if we shall continue still in-
volved in difficulties, we must humble ourselves, I imagine,
and give ourselves up to discussion, like those who are sea-
sick, to be trampled on and treated as it pleases. Hear, then,
how I still find a way out of our enquiry.

117. Thea. Only speak.

Socr. I shall deny that we made a correct admission, when
we admitted that it is impossible for a person to judge that
what he knows is what he does not know and be thus de-
ceived ; but in some respect it is possible.

Thea. Do you mean that which I suspected at the time
when we said this, might be the case, that sometimes I know-
ing Socrates, and seeing another person at a distance whom I
do not know, have thought it was Socrates, whom I do know?
For what you mention happens in a case of this kind.

Soer. Are we not, then, driven from that position, because it
made us, while we know, not know the things that we do know ?

Thea. Certainly.

Socr. Let us not, then, make our assumption in this way
but as follows; and perhaps it will in some respect succeed for
us, and perhaps it will oppose us. For we are in a condition
in which it is necessary to examine our whole argument in
every point of view. Consider, therefore, whether I say any
thing to the purpose. Is it possible for a person who did not
know something before, afterwards to learn it?

Thee. It is indeed.

a:

THEATETUS. 401

Soer, And can he not also learn another thing after another ?

118. Thee. Why not?

Socr. Suppose, then, I beg, for the sake of argument, that
we have in our souls a waxen tablet, in one larger, in an-
other smaller, in one of purer wax, in another of impurer, in
some of harder, and in others again of softer, but in some of
a moderate quality.

Thee. I do suppose it.

Socr. Let us say, then, that this is a gift of Mnemosyne the
mother of the Muses; and that, whatever we wish to remember
of things that we have seen, or heard, or have ourselves thought
of, we impress in this, by placing it under our perceptions and
thoughts, as if we were taking off the impressions from rings:
and that whatever is imprinted, this we remember and know,
as long as its image remains; but when it is effaced, or can be
no longer imprinted, we forget and do not know it.

Thee. Be it so.

Soer, When, therefore, a person knows these things and
considers any of the things that he sees or hears, consider
whether in this way he can judge falsely ?

Thee. In what way?

Socr. By thinking With respect to what he knows, that they
are at one time the things that he knows, and at nate: the
things that he does not ‘know. For in a former part of our
discussion we made an improper admission in admitting that
this was impossible.

119. Thee. But how do you mean now?

Socr. We must speak thus on this subject, defining it from
the beginning: It is impossible that he who knows any thing,
and has a remembrance of it in his soul, but does not actually
perceive it, can think that it is some other thing that he knows,
of which he has the impression, though he does not perceive
it: and again, it is impossible that any one can think that what
he knows is that which he does not know, and of which he
has not the seal: or that what he does not know is that which
he does not know: or that what he does not know is that
which he does know: or think that what he perceives is some
other thing that he perceives: or that what he perceives is
something that he does not perceive: or that what he does not
perceive is some other thing that he does not perceive: or that
what he does not perceive is something that he does perccive,

432 THEXTETUS.

And again it is still more impossible, if that can be, that a

person should think that what he knows and perceives, and of

which he has an impression by means of perception, is some-
thing else that he knows and _ perceives, and of which in like
manner he has an impression by means of perception. And it
is impossible that what he knows and perceives, and of which
he has a correct remembrance, he can think is something else
that he knows: or that what he knows and perceives, and in
like manner retains in his remembrance, is something else that
he perceives: or again, that what he neither knows nor per-
ceives is something else that he neither knows nor perceives:
or that what he neither knows nor perceives is something else
that he does not know; or that what he neither knows nor
perceives is something else that he does not perceive. In all
these cases it is utterly impossible for any one to judge falsely.
It remains, therefore, that it must take place, if anywhere, in
the following cases.

120. Thee. In what cases? perhaps I shall understand you
better from them ; for at present I do not follow you.

Soer. In things which a person knows, he may think that
they are different from the things that he knows and perceives ;
or from those which he does not know, but perceives; or that
the things which he knows and perceives are some of the
things which he likewise knows and perceives.

Thee. Now I am left much further behind than I was.

Socr. Listen again, then, as follows: I, knowing Theodorus,
and remembering within myself what kind of a person he is,
and in like manner, Theetetus, do I not sometimes see them,
and sometimes not, and sometimes touch them, and sometimes
not, and hear or perceive them by some other sense, but some-
times have I no perception of you at all, yet nevertheless do I
remember you, and know you within myself?

Thee. Certainly.

Socr. Understand this, then, the first of the things that I
wish to prove, that it is possible for a man not to perceive
what he knows, and that it is possible for him to perceive it.

Thee. True.

Soer, And does it not often happen that a man does not per-
ceive what he does not know, and often that he perceives it
only ?

Thea, This also is true.

5 it

|

THEATETUS. 433

121. Consider then, whether you can now follow me better.
Socrates knows Theodorus and Thetetus, but he sees neither
of them, nor has he any other perception respecting them, now
he can never form this judgment within himself, that Thee-
tetus is Theodorus? Do I say any thing to the purpose or
not ?

Thee. Yes, quite true.

Socr. This then was the first of the cases that I mentioned.

Thee. It was.

Socr. But the second was this, that I knowing one of you,
but not knowing the other, and perceiving neither, should
never think that he whom I know is the person whom I do
not know.

Thee. Right.

Socr. The third was this, that I neither knowing nor per-
ceiving either of them, should not think that he whom I do
not know is some other person of those whom I do not know:
and consider that you again hear in succession all the instances
before put, in which I shall never form a false judgment re-
specting you and Theodorus, neither while knowing nor igno-
rant of you both, nor while knowing one, and not the other;
and in the same way with regard to perceptions, if you follow
me.

Thee. I do follow you.

122. Socr. It remains, therefore, that I may form a false judg-
ment in this case, when knowing you and Theodorus, and hay-
ing the impression of both of you in that waxen tablet made by
a seal ring as it were, seeing you both from a distance and not
sufficiently distinguishing you, I endeavour, by attributing the
peculiar impression of each to his peculiar aspect, applying it
so as to adapt it to its own form in order that I may recognise
it, then failing in this, and changing them like those that put
their shoes on the wrong feet, I fit the aspect of each to the
impression of the other, as happens in looking into mirrors,
where the sight passes from the right to the left, so I fall into
the same error; then mistaken opinion and false judgment take
place.

Thee. What happens with regard to judgment, Socrates,
seems wonderfully like what you describe.

Socr. Still further, when, knowing both of you, in addition
to knowing I perceive one, but not the other, I have a know-

Ff

434 THEETETUS.

ledge of the other not according to perception, which I thus
described before, but you did not then understand me.

Thea. 1 did not.

123. Socr. I said this however, that a person who knows
and perceives one and has a knowledge of him according to
perception, will never think that he is some other person
whom he knows and perceives, and of whom he has a know-
ledge according to perception. Was not this what I said =

Thea. Yes.

Socr. There remained then the case that was just now
mentioned, in which we said that false judgment takes place,
when a person knowing you both and seeing you both, or
having some other perception of you both, has not the im-
pression of each according to the perception of each, but,
like an unskilful archer, shoots beside the mark and misses,
this then is called a falsehood,

Thea. And very properly so.

Socr. When, therefore, perception is present to one of the
impressions, and not to the other, and the one applies the im-
pression of the absent perception to that which is present, in
this case the mind is altogether deceived: and, in a word, with
respect to things that a person has neither known nor ever per-
ceived, it is not possible, as it seems, either to be deceived, or
to form a false judgment, if there is any soundness in what we
now say : but with respect to things that we know and perceive,
‘n these very things judgment is conversant and turns round,
becoming both false and true, by collecting together in a direct
and straight line the copies and marks proper to each, it is
true, but sideways and obliquely, false.

124. Thee. Is it not well described, Socrates ?

Socr. You will say so still more, when you hear what
follows. For to judge truly is beautiful. but to be deceived
is base.

Thee. How not?

Soer. They say, then, that these things proceed from hence.
When the wax in any one’s soul is deep, abundant, smooth, and
properly moulded, objects entering by means of the percep-
tions and impressing themselves on this heart" of the soul, as

A play on the words xéap or Kip and khpos, Which cannot be retained
in an English version.

THEATELUS, 435
Homer calls it, obscurely intimating its resemblance to wax,
then pure and sufficiently deep impressions being made in
these, become lasting, and such men are first of all easily
taught, next have retentive memories, and lastly do not change
the impressions of the perceptions, but form true judgments ;
for, as these impressions are clear, and in a wide space, they
quickly distribute to their proper images each of the things
that are called beings: and such men are called wise. Does
it not appear so to you?

Thee, Entirely so,

125, Soer. When, therefore, any one’s heart is covered with
hair, which the very wise poet has celebrated, or when it is
muddy, and not of pure wax, or very soft, or hard, those in whom
it is soft are easily taught, but are forgetful, and those in whom
it is hard, the contrary ; but those who have it hairy and rough,
and stony or full of earth or mixed mud, have indistinct im-
pressions ; they are also indistinct in those that are hard, for
there is no depth in them; they are likewise indistinct in those
that are soft, for by being confused they soon become obscure ;
but’ if, in addition to all this, they fall one upon another by
reason of narrowness of space, if any one’s soul is little, they
are still more indistinct than the others. All these, therefore,
are such as form false judgments. For when they see, or
hear, or think about any thing, not being able at once to
attribute each object to its impression, they are slow, and
attributing different objects to different impressions, they for
the most part see wrongly, and hear wrongly, and think
wrongly; and these are said to be deceived in objects and
ignorant.

Thee. You speak as correctly as man can do, Socrates.

126. Socr. Shall we say, then, that there are false judg-
ments in us?

Thee. By all means.

Socr. And true judgments also?

Thee. And true.

Soer. Do we, then, consider it to have been sufficiently
established that these two judgments do without doubt
exist ?

Thee. Most assuredly,

Socr. A talkative man, Theztetus, appears to be really
troublesome and disagreeable,

436 THEAETETUS,

Thee. How so? Why do you say this?

Socr. Because I am angry at thy own ignorance, and, in
truth, talkativeness, For what other name can any one give
it when a man drags the conversation upwards and downwards,
and cannot be persuaded through his dulness, and is with dif.
culty torn from each several topic ?

Thee. But why are you angry ?

Socr. I am not only angry, but I am afraid that I should
not know what to answer, if any one should ask me, “ Socrates,
have you found that false judgment is neither in the percep-
tions compared with each other, nor in the thoughts, but in
the conjunction of perception with thought?” IT think [ shall
say, I have, priding myself as if we had made a very fine dis-
covery.

127. Thee. What has just now been proved appears to me,
Socrates, to be by no means despicable.

Soer. Do you therefore assert, he will say, that we can never
Suppose that a man whom we think of only, but do not see, is
a horse, which we neither See nor touch, but think of only,
and do not perceive in any other way? I believe I should say,
that I do assert this.

Thee. And rightly.

Socr. What then? he will say, according to this mode of
reasoning, can the number eleven, which one thinks of only,
ever be supposed to be twelve, which also one thinks of only ?
Come then, do you answer?

Thee. 1 should answer, that a person seeing or touching
might suppose that eleven are twelve, but that he would never
think thus respecting numbers which he embraces only in
thought.

Socr. What then? do you suppose that any one has ever
Proposed to consider within himself of five and seven, I do not
mean seven and five men, or any thing else of the kind, but

sidered these very things, speaking to himself and asking how Y
many they are, and answered, one that he Supposes they are —
eleven, and another that they are twelve, or do all men say

and suppose that they are twelve ?

128. Thee. No, by Jupiter, but many suppose that they are .

THEZTETUS. 437

eleven. And if a person considers about a greater number, he
is still more mistaken; for I suppose that you rather speak
about every number.

Socr. You suppose rightly, but consider whether any thing
else ever happens than this, that he supposes that the number
twelve impressed in his soul is eleven ?

Thee, It seems so.

Socr. Does it not then come back to our former statements ?
For he who is in this condition supposes that what he knows is
something else that he also knows, which we said was impos-
sible, and from which very circumstance we demonstrated that
there is no such thing as false judgment, in order that the
same person might not be compelled to know and not to know
the same thing at the same time. yi

Thee. Most true.

Socr. Therefore we must shew that false judgment is some-.
thing else than an interchange of mind with perception. For,
if this were so, we could never be deceived in the thoughts-
themselves: but now there is either no such thing as false
judgment, or it is possible for a person not to know what he-
knows: and which of these two do you choose?

Thee. You offer me a difficult choice, Socrates.

Socr. Our argument however appears as if it would not
allow both these to take place: though (for we must venture
on every thing), what if we shculd determine to lay aside all
shame ?

Thee. How?

Socr. By taking upon ourselves to declare what it is to
know.

Thee. But why would this be shameless ?

129. Socr. You do not scem to consider that the whole of
our discussion from the beginning has been an investigation
respecting science, as if we did not know what it is,

Thee. I do consider it.

Socr. Does it not, then, appear ‘o be a shameless thing, to
explain what it is to know, when we are ignorant of what
science is? But, Thetetus, our conversation has been all along
full of defects. Tor we have over and over again used the
expressions, We know, and We do not know, We have a
scientific knowledge, and We have not a scientific knowledge,
as if we both of us understood something about it, whereas we
are still ignorant of what science is. But if you please, we

438 THEA TETUS.

will still at the present moment use the terms, to be ignorant,
and to understand, as ‘f we could properly use them, though
we are destitute of science.

ee Sak ow willwyou conven; Socrates, if you abstain
from the use of these expressions ?

Socr. Not at all, while I am whats ole however I were
contentious, or if a person of that kind were now present, he
would say that I must abstain from them, and would
strongly object to what I say. But as we are poor creatures,
do you wish I should venture to say what it is to know? For
it appears to me that it would be worth while to do so.

Thee. Venture then, by Jupiter; for you will be readily
pardoned for not abstaining from these expressions.

130. Soer. Have you heard, then, what they now say it is
to know ?

Thea. Perhaps £9 5 but at present I do not remember.

Socr. They say, I believe, that it is to have science.

Thea. True.

Soer. Let us, then, change it a little, and say that it is to
possess science.

Thee. But in what will you say this differs from that?

Socr. Perhaps in nothing: but whether it seems to differ or
not, listen and examine with me.

Thee. X will, if I am able.

Socr. To possess, therefore, does not appear to me to be the
same as to have: for instance, if any one having bought a
garment, and having it in his power, should not wear it, we
should not say that he has it, but that he possesses it.

Thee. And very properly.

Socr. See then whether it is possible thus to possess science
without having it; just as if any one having caught some wild
birds, as doves or any others, and having constructed a dove-
cote at home, should feed them; we should probably say that

in some respects he always has them, because he possesses _

them: should we not?

Thea. Yes.

Soer. But in another respect we should say that he has
none of them, but that he has acquired a power over them,
since he has brought them under his control, in an enclosure
of his own, SO aS to take and have them when he pleases, by

catching whichever he wishes, and again of letting them g° +

and this he is at liberty to do as often as he thinks fit.

}
d
‘
:

5
:
4

7 thet

cesses

hs
thea
osut

ses,

THEATETUS., 439

Thee. Such is the case.

IS], Socr, Again, therefore, as in a former part of our dis-
cussion we constructed I know not what kind of waxen fig-
ment in the soul, so now let us make in each soul a kind of
aviary of all sorts of birds, some being in flocks, apart from
others, and others few together, and others alone, flying
amongst all the rest wherever it may chance.

Thee. Suppose it to be made: but what next?

Socr, While we are children, we must say, that this recep-.
tacle is empty, and instead of birds we must understand
sciences ; whatever science, then, one has become possessed of
and shut up in this enclosure, one must say that he has learnt
or discovered the thing of which this is the science, and that
this is to know.

Thee. Be it so.

Socr, Again, therefore, when any one wishes to catch any
one of these sciences, and, when he has taken it, to have it, and
again to let it go, consider what words he requires, whether
the same as before, when he possessed them, or different ones.
But from what follows you will more clearly understand what
Imean. Do you call arithmetic an art?

Thee. Yes.

132. Socr, Suppose this to be a catching of the sciences of
every even and odd number.

Thee. 1 do suppose it.

Socr. By this art, then, I think, he has the sciences of

numbers under his control, and, if he pleases, transfers them to
others.

Thea. Yes.

Socr, And we say that he who transfers them teaches, and
that he who receives them learns, but that having them, by
possessing them in thagaviary, he knows them, :

Thee. Certainly.

Socr, Attend now to what follows. Does not he who is a

perfect arithmetician know all numbers? for the sciences of all
numbers are in his soul,

Thee. How not?

Socr. Does not then such a person sometimes calculate
gither something within himself, or something else that, is
external, that is capable of being calculated.

Thee. Undoubtedly.

440 THEETETUS.

Socr. But to calculate we shall say is nothing else than to
examine what is the quantity of any number.

Thee. Just so.

Socr. What therefore he knows, he appears to examine, a5
‘f he did not know, though we admitted that he knows all
number. You surely hear such questions as these.

Thee. 1 do.

133. Socr. We, therefore, carrying on our comparison with
the possession and catching of doves, will say that this catching
«5 of two kinds, one before possessing for the sake of possess-
ing, the other when one has already obtained possession, for
the purpose of taking and having in the hands what was
already possessed. So with respect to the things of which a
person has already acquired the science by learning, and which
he knew, he may learn these same things again, and recover
and retain the science of each, which he formerly possessed,
but had not ready in his mind.

Thee, True.

Socr. On this account, I just now asked, what words it is
proper to use in speaking of these things, when an arithmeti-
cian sets about calculating, or a grammarian reading any thing.
Shall we say that knowing such a subject he again applies
himself to learn from himself what he knows ?

Thee. This would be absurd, Socrates.

Soer. Shall we say, then, that he is going to read or calcu-
late what he does not know, though we have granted him that
he knows all letters and all numbers?

Thee. This too would be unreasonable.

134. Socr. Will you, then, that we say, that we care nothing
at all about words, in what way any one chooses to employ the
words knowing and learning, but, since we have settled that it
is one thing to possess a science, and another to have it, we
maintain that it is impossible for a person not to possess what
he does possess, SO that it never happens that any one does not
know what he knows, though it is possible for him to form a
false judgment respecting it? For it is possible for him not to
have the science of this particular thing, but another instead of
it, when hunting after some one of the sciences that he pos-
sesses as they are flying about, he may by mistake take one
instead of another; accordingly when he thinks that eleven is
twelve, he takes the science of eleven instead of that of twelve,

THEATETUS. 441

as it were taking a pigeon that he possessed instead of a
dove.

Thee. It is reasonable to suppose so.

Socr. But when he takes that which he endeavours to take,
then he is not deceived, and judges truly: and thus we will
say that talse and true judgment subsist, and none of the things
which occasioned difficulty before wili any longer stand in our
way. Perhaps you agree with me, or what will you do?

Thee. Agree with you.

135. Socr. We are freed then, from the dilemma of a man’s
not knowing what he knows: for it never happens that we do
not possess what we do possess, whether we are deceived re-
specting any thing or not. However, another much worse
inconvenience appears to me to present itself.

Thee. What is that?

Socr. If the interchange of sciences can ever become false
judgment.

Thee, But how ?

‘Socr. In the first place, that having the science of any thing
one should be ignorant of that thing, not through ignorance,
but through the science of the thing itself, and in the next
place, that one should judge this thing to be another thing
and another thing this, how is it not a great piece of
absurdity, that when science is present the soul should know
nothing, but be ignorant of all things? For, from this mode
of reasoning, nothing hinders but that ignorance when present
should make us know something, and blindness should make
us see, if science will ever make a man ignorant.

Thee. Perhaps, Socrates, we have done wrong in making
sciences only take the place of the birds, and we ought to have
supposed that various kinds of ignorance were flying about in
the soul with them, and that the sportsman at one time taking
science, and at another time ignorance, with respect to the
same thing, judges falsely through ignorance, but truly through
science.

136. Socr. It is not by any means easy, Theetetus, to for-
bear praising you: however, examine again what you have
just said. For suppose it to be as you say. He who takes
ignorance, will judge falsely you say; is it not so?

Thee. Yes. |

Socr. Yet surely he will not think that he judges falsely.

442 THEATETUS.

Thea. How should he ?

Socr. But truly, and he will fancy that he knows the things

about which he is deceived.

Thea. Assuredly.

Socr. He will therefore judge that by sporting he has taken
science, and not ignorance.

Thee. Clearly.

Socr. Having therefore made a long circuit, we have come
back again to our first doubt. For that critic will laugh at us
and say, “ Can any one, my excellent friends, who knows both,
science as well as ignorance, think that what he knows is some
other thing that he knows? or, knowing neither of them, can
judge that what he does not know, is some other thing that he
does not know? or, knowing one, and not the other, can he
suppose that what he knows is what he does not know, or what
he does not know is what he does know? Will you tell me
again, that there are sciences of sciences and ignorances, which
their possessor having enclosed in some other ridiculous aviaries,
or waxen figments, knows as long as he possesses them, though
he has them not ready in his soul? And will you be thus
compelled to revolve perpetually round the same circle, with-
out making any progress ?” What answer shall we give to
this, The:etetus ?

137. Thee. By Jupiter, Socrates, I have no notion what
ought to be said.

Socr. Does not the argument, then, my boy, reprove us
very properly, and shew that we did wrong in searching for
false judgment before science, and neglecting that ? But it is
impossible to know this until we have sufficiently discovered
what science is.

Thee. It is necessary, Socrates, at present to think as you

2
S

ay.
"Socr. Again therefore, what shall one say from the begin-
ning about science? For we surely must not give it up yet.
Thee. By no means, unless you refuse to persevere.
Socr. Tell me, then, how can we best speak concerning
science so as not to contradict ourselves.
Thee. As we attempted to do before, Socrates, for I know
of no other plan.
Socr. What is that ?
Thee. That true judgment is science. For to judge truly is

THEATETUS. 443

surely free from error, and whatever results from it is beautiful
and good.

Socr. He who acted as guide in fording a river, Theetetus,
said that it would shew its own depth; so if we go on in our
enquiries, perhaps the impediment that we meet with will shew
us what we are in search of, but if we stop nothing will be
clear.

Lhee. You say well; let us go on then and examine it.

138. Socr. This then requires but a brief examination, for
one whole art shews that it is not science.

Thee. How so? and what art is it?

Socr, That which belongs to those who are most renowned
for wisdom, whom they call orators and lawyers. For they, in
fact, persuade, not by teaching, but by making men form such
judgments as they please. Do you think that there are any
teachers so clever as, when persons have not been present
while others were robbed of their money, or treated with some
other violence, to be able, while a little water is running, to
teach those persons sufficiently of the truth of what took
place ?

Thee. I by no means think so, but that they can persuade.

Socr, But do you not say that to persuade is to make a per-
son form a judgment ?

Thee. How otherwise ?

Socr, When, therefore, judges are justly persuaded about
things which can only be known by seeing and in no other way,
then judging these things from hearsay, do they not, when
they form a true opinion, judge without science, being per-
suaded properly, since they decide correctly ?

Thee. Assuredly.

139. Socr. But, my friend, if true judgment and science are
the same, a perfect judge could never form a correct judgment
without science; but now each appears to be different from
the other.

Thee. I had forgotten, Socrates, what I heard some one say,
but now [remember it: he said that true judgment in con-
junction with reason is science, but that without reason it is
out of the pale of science, and that things for which a rea-
son cannot be given cannot be known; these were his very
words ; and that things for which a reason can be given are
known.

444 THEATETUS.

Soc. You speak admirably well. But how do you distin-
guish the things that can be known from those that cannot ?
tell me, for perhaps you and I have heard the same thing.

Thee. 1 know not whether I can explain it; but I could
follow another person describing it, I think.

Socr. Hear, then, a dream for a dream. For T too seem to
myself to have heard some people say, that the first elements,
as it were, from which we and all other things are composed,
cannot be explained by reason; for that each several element
by itself can only be named, but that nothing else can be pre-
dicated of it, neither that it exists nor does not exist; for that
this would be to attribute to it existence or non-existence,
whereas nothing ought to be added to it, if one means to speak
of the thing itself only ; neither must we add to it the term
the, or that, or each, or only, or this, or many others of the
came kind; for these are constantly varying and are applied to
all things, and are different from the things to which they are
added. 140. But we ought, if it were possible, to speak of
the thing itself, and, if it has a definition peculiar to itself,
to speak of it without the addition of any thing else. Now,
however, it is impossible for any of the first elements to be
explained by a definition, for it does not admit of any thing
else than being named, for it has only a name; but the things
that have been composed from these, as they are complex, so
their names, when connected together, constitute a definition ;
for a connection of names is the essence of definition. Thus
the elements themselves cannot be defined or known, but only
perceived, but things compounded of them can be both known
and defined, and apprehended by true judgment. When, there-
fore, any one forms a true judgment of any thing, without ex-
planation, his soul indeed perceives the truth respecting it, but
does not know it, for he who is not able to give and receive an
explanation of a thing must be ignorant of that thing, but when
he adds an explanation to it then he is capable of knowing all
these things, and may be perfect in science. Is it thus that
you have heard the dream, or in some other way ?

Thee. \n this way precisely.

141. Socr. Are you willing then that we should settle 1
thus, that science is true judgment in conjunction with reason :

Thee. Exactly so.

Socr. Have we, then, Theetetus, thus on this very day dis-

;
i
|
|:
i

THEATETLUS, 445

covered what of old so many sages sought for and grew old
before they found it?

Thee. For my part, Socrates, it appears to me that what
has been now stated is well said.

Socr. And it is reasonable that this very thing should be the
case; for what science could there be without reason and right

judgment? However one of the things that were stated dis-

pleases me.

Thee. Which is that ?

Socr. That which seems to be very forcibly said, that the
elements are unknown, but that the natures of things com-
pounded of them are known.

Thee. Is not that right ?

Socr. We must see. For we have as sureties for this doc-
trine the examples which he used who said all these things.

Thea. What are they?

Socr. The elements of letters and syllables: do you think
that he who said what we have mentioned had any thing else
in view when he said it ?

Thee. No, but these.

142. Socr. Let us, then, apply ourselves to these and examine
them, or rather ourselves, whether we learnt letters in this way,
or not. First of all then do syllables admit of a definition, but
are the elements undefinable ?

Thee. Probably.

Socr. It certainly appears so to me, too. If, then, any one
should ask thus respecting the first syllable of the word So-
crates, ‘ Thezetetus, tell me, what is So?” what would you
answer ?

Thee, That it is S and a.

Socr, Have you not, then, this definition of the syllable?

Thee. I have.

Socr. Come then, in the same way give me the definition of
the letter S.

Thee. But how can any one speak of the elements of an ele-
ment? For S, Socrates, is a consonant, only a sound, as of
the tongue hissing; again the letter B has neither voice nor
sound, nor have most of the elements. So that it is very right
to say that they are undefinable, since the most distinct among
them, to the number of seven, have only a sound, but do not
admit of any definition.

446 THEJETETUS

Socr. Thus far, then, my friend, we have determined rightly
with respect to science.

Thea. We appear to have done so.

143. Soer, What then? have we shewn rightly that the ele-
ment cannot be known, but that the syllable can?

Thea. \t is probable.

Socr. Come then, do we say that a syllable is both the ele-
ments, and, if there are more than two, all of them, or some
one form resulting from their conjunction ?

Thee. Ail, we appear to me to Say.

Socr. Observe, then, with respect to the two letters S and
o; both of them together form the first syllable of my name,
does not then he who knows this syllable know both of them ?

Thee. How should he not =

Soer. He knows, therefore, S and o.

Thee. Yes.

Socr. But what? is he ignorant of each of them, and know-
ing neither, does he know both?

Thee. That would be strange and absurd, Socrates.

Socr. However, if it is necessary to know each, in order
that he may know both, it is quite necessary for a person who
is ever to know a syllable to know the elements first, and thus
our former statement will escape Us and be off.

Thee. And very suddenly too.

Socr. For we did not guard it well. For, perhaps, we ought
to suppose that a syllable does not consist of the elements, but
of some one species resulting from them, which has a form
peculiar to itself, different from the elements.

Thee. Certainly ; and perhaps the case is rather in this way
than in the other.

144, Socr. We must examine it, and not s0 unmanftully
abandon a weighty and venerable statement.

Thee, We ought not, indeed.

Socr. Let it be then as we just now said ; let the syllable
be one form resulting from the several elements, connecte
together, as well vn letters as in all other things.

~ ‘Thea. Just so.

Socr. It must, therefore, have no parts.

Thee. Why not?

Soer. Because where there are parts, the whole must neces-
sarily be the same as all the parts: or do you say that a whole

,

THEATETUS. 447

resulting from parts is one certain species different from all the
parts?
Thee. ¥ do.

Socr. Whether do you call all and the whole the same, or
each different from the other?

Thee. T cannot say any thing for certain, but since you bid
me answer boldly, I venture to say that they are different.

Socr. Your boldness, Theetetus, is right; but whether your
answer is so, must be considered,

Thee. It must indeed.

Socr. Does not the whole, then, differ from all, according to
your present statement ?

Thee. Yes.

145. Socr, But what, is there any difference between all the
parts, and the all? for instance when we say one, two, three,
four, five, six, or twice three, or thrice two, or four and two, or
three and two and one, or five and one, whether in all these
cases do we say the same thing, or that which is different ?

* Thee. The same thing,

Soer. Do we say any thing else than six ?

Thee. Nothing.

Socr, And in each mode of speaking did we not mention all
the parts of six?

Thee. Yes.

Socr, Again, therefore, when we say all the parts do we say
nothing ?

Thee. We necessarily do say something.

Socr, Do we say any thing else than six?

Thee. Nothing.

Socr. In all things, then, that consist of number, do we not
call the all and all the parts the same thing?

Thee. It appears so,

Socr. Thus then let us speak of them; the number of an
acre and an acre are the same ; is it not so?

Thee. Yes.

Socr. And the number of a stadium in like manner ?

Thee. Yes.

» Socr, And moreover the number of an army, and an army,
and in like manner with respect to all other things of the kind }
For all number is all that which each of them is.

Thee. Yes.

448 THEETETUS.

Soer. But is the number of each of them any thing else than
its parts ?

Thee. Nothing.

*Soer. Such things, then, as have parts must consist of parts ?

Thee. \t appears so.

Soer. But it is admitted that all the parts are the all, since
all number is the all.

Thee. Just so.

Socr. The whole, therefore, does not consist of parts; for it
wvould be all, if it were all the parts.

Thee. It seems not.

Socr. But is a part a part of any thing else than a whole >

Thee. Yes, of the all.

146. Soer. You fight manfully, Theetetus. But is not this
very all, the all when nothing is wanting to it?

Thea. Necessarily 80.

Socr. And will not the whole be this very same thing when
nothing is wanting to it? but when any thing is wanting, it is
neither the whole, nor all, each becoming the same thing from
the same cause?

Thee. It appears to me now, that the whole and the all in
no respect differ from each other.

Socr. Did we not say, that where there are parts, the whole
and the all will be all the parts ?

Thee. Certainly.

Soer. Again, therefore, to return to what I just now attempted
to prove, if a syllable is not the elements, does it not necessarily
follow that it has not elements as parts of itself, or that, if
st is the same with them, it must be equally known with them ?

Thee. Just so.

Socr. In order that this might not follow, did we not sup-
pose it to be different from them ?

Thea. Yes.

Socr. What then? if the elements are not parts of a syl-
lable, can you mention any other things that are parts of a
syllable, and yet not its elements ?

"147. Thee. By no means ; for if, Socrates, I should admit
that it has parts, it would surely be ridiculous to reject the
elements and search for other things.

Soer. From what you now say, therefore, Thetetus, @
syllable must certainly be some one indivisible form.

THEATETUS. 449

Thee. So it seems.

Socr. Do you remember then, my friend, tnat we admitted a
littie before, and thought it was well said, that there cannot
be a definition of first elements, of which other things are com-
posed, because each considered by itself is uncompounded, and
neither can the term “ being” be correctly attributed to it nor
the term “ this,” because these things would be said as different
and foreign to it, and indeed this very cause makes it undefin-
able and unknown.

Thea. I do remember.

Socr. Is there any other cause, then, than this of its being
simple and indivisible? I for my part see no other,

Thee. There does not appear to be any.

Socr. Does not the syllable, then, fall under the same class
as the elements, since it has not parts, and is one form?

Thee. Assuredly.

148. Socr, If, therefore, a syllable is many elements, and a
whole, and these are its parts, syllables and elements may be
equally known and defined, since all the parts have been
found to be the same as the whole.

Thee. By all means.

Socr. But if it is one and indivisible, a syllable equally as
an element must be undefinable and unknown; for the same
cause will make them alike.

Thee. I cannot say otherwise.

Socr. We must not, therefore, allow this, if any one should
say, that a syllable is known and definable, but an element the
contrary.

Thee. We must not, if we admit this reasoning.

Socr. What then? should you pay any more attention to
one who should assert the contrary of what you are conscious
happened to yourself in learning your letters?

Thee. What is that ?

Socr, That in learning you did nothing else than endeavour
to distinguish the elements both by sight and hearing, each
separated by itself, in order that their position when pronounced
or written, might not confuse you.

Thee. You say most truly,

Socr, And at your music-master’s was learning perfectly
any thing else than the being able to follow each note, and

os

450 THEZETETUS.

distinguish to what chord it belonged, which every one would
allow is called the elements of music.

Thee. Nothing else.

149. Socr. It, therefore, we may conjecture from the ele-
ments and syllables in which we are skilled, to others, we shall
say that the class of elements are capable of a much more
clear and distinct knowledge than that of syllables, in order to
our acquiring each study m perfection 5 and if any one should
say that a syllable is known, but that an element is by nature
unknown, we shall think that he is jesting either intentionally
or unintentionally.

Thee. Most assuredly.

Socr. Moreover, other proofs of this might still be found,
as it appears to me; but let us not lose sight of the question
before us by considering them, that is to say. what is meant by
the statement, that reason united to true judgment is the most
perfect science.

Thee. This, then, we must consider.

Socr. Come then, what is the signification of the word
logos’: for it appears to me to mean one of three things.

Thee. What are they ?

Socr. The first would be to make one’s thought clear by the
voice, through the means of verbs and nouns, impressing one’s
judgment on what flows from the mouth, as it were on a
mirror, or water ; does not logos appear to you to be something
of this kind?

Thee. It does: and we say that he who does this speaks.

150. Socr. Every one, therefore, is able to do this more
quickly or slowly, that is, can shew what he thinks about
every thing, unless he is altogether dumb or deaf, and thus
all who form right judgments on any matter, will be found to
do so in conjunction with Jogos, and right judgment will never
subsist without science.

Thea. True.

Socr. We must not, therefore, too readily condemn him
as having spoken nothing to the purpose, who asserted that
science is that which we are now examining. For perhaps he

s As no one English word will express the three different meanings
contained in the word Adyos, I have thought it better to retain the original
word throughout this part of the argument.

THEATETUS. 451

who said it did not mean that, but that a person, when asked
what each thing is, should be able to give an answer to the
questioner by means of each thing’s element.

Lhee. For instance, how do you mean, Socrates ?

Socr. As Hesiod for instance says of a chariot, that it is
made of a hundred pieces of wood, which I, for my part, could
not enumerate, neither do I think could you, but we should be
contented, if when asked what a chariot is, we could say
wheels, axle, frame, rails, and yoke.

lol. Thee. Certainly.

Socr. But he probably would think us ridiculous, just as if
we, when asked concerning your name and having answered
syllable by syllable, thereby judging and saying correctly what
we do say, should think ourselves grammarians, and that
we know and speak grammatically the definition of the name of
Theetetus; whereas it is not possible to say any thing scien-
tifically, before one has given a complete account of each
thing by means of its elements, together with true judgment,
as was observed before, if I mistake not.

Thee. It was observed,

Socr. So, too, we have a correct judgment respecting a
chariot, but he who is able to describe its nature by means of
those hundred pieces, by adding this, both adds logos to true
Judgment, and instead of forming a mere judgment becomes an
artist and knowing in the nature of a chariot, in that he gives
a complete account of the whole, by means of its elements,
Thee. Does not this appear to you, Socrates, to be well
said ?

Socr. If it appears to you, my friend, and you allow that the
description of each thing by its element is logos, and that that

made by syllables, or even larger parts is devoid of logos, tell
me, that we may examine it,

Thee. 1 certainly do allow it.

Socr, Whether do you think that any one has a scientific
knowledge of any thing, when the same thing appears to him
at one time to belong to the same thing and at another to a
different thing, or when he forms at one time one judgment
and at another a different Judgment about the same thing ?

Thee. By Jupiter, not'T.

152. Soer. Have you forgotten then, that in learning your
letters at first both you and others did this >

452 THEATETUS.

Thea. Do you mean that we thought that at one time one
letter, and at another time another, belonged to the same
syllable, and that we placed the same letter at one time to its
proper syllable, and at another time to another ?

Socr. I do mean that.

Thee. By Jupiter, I do not forget, nor do I think that they
have knowledge who are in this condition.

Socr, What then? when a person at that time of life writing
the name Theztetus, thinks that he ought to write and does
write Th and e, and again attempting to write Theodorus,
thinks that he ought to write and does write T and ¢, shall we
say that he knows the first syllable of your names?

Thee. We have just now admitted, that a person in this
condition does not yet know.

Socr. Does any thing, then, hinder the same person from
being in this condition with respect to the second, third, and
fourth syllable ?

Thea. Nothing.

153. Socr. Will he not then have the description by means
of the elements, and write Theetetus with correct judgment,
when he writes it in its proper order?

Thee. Clearly.

Socr. Will he not still be void of science, though he judges
correctly, as we said?

rece, | YBa,

Socr. And yet he has logos together with correct judgment ;
for he wrote it knowing the order of the elements, which we
allowed to be logos.

Thee. True.

Socr. There is, therefore, my friend, correct judgment ac-
companied with Zogos which must not yet be called science.

The«. It seems so.

Socr. We have been enriched then, as it appears, in a dream,
in thinking that we possess the truest definition of science: or
shall we not condemn it yet? For perhaps some one may not
define ogos in this manner, but may consider it to be the remain-
ing species of the three, one of which we said would be adopted
by him who defined science to be correct judgment accom-
panied with logos.

Thee. You have rightly reminded me; for there is still one
left, For the first was an image of the thought as it were ex-

tr

THEATETUS. 453

pressed by the voice: and that just now mentioned was a pro-
ceeding to the whole by means of the elements: but what do
you say the third is?

Socr. That which most men would say it is, the being able
to mention some mark by which the object of enquiry differs
from all other things.

Thee. Can you give me a logos of any thing by way of
example ?

154. Socr. For instance, if you please, with respect to the
sun, I think it would be sufficient for you to admit, that it is
the most luminous of the heavenly bodies that move round the
earth.

Thee, Certainly.

Socr. Observe then why this was said. It is that which we
just now mentioned, that when you find the difference of each
thing, by which it differs from all others, you will find, as some
say, the Jogos; but as long as you lay hold of some common
quality, you will have the Jogos of those things to which this
common quality belongs.

Thee. Y understand; and it appears to me very proper to
call such a thing logos.

Socr. He, therefore, who together with correct judgment
respecting any thing whatever can find out its difference from
all other things, will have arrived at the knowledge of that of
which he before only formed a judgment.

Thee, We say it certainly is so.

Socr. Now, however, Theztetus, since I] have come near
what has been said, as if it were a picture in perspective, I find
that I do not understand it in the least, but while I stood at a
distance it appeared to me to have some meaning.

155. Thee. How is this?

Socr. I will tell you, if I can. If, when I have a correct
judgment respecting you, I likewise find your Jogos, then I
know you, but if not, I only form a judgment.

Thee. Yes.

Socr. But logos was the explanation of your difference.

Thea. It was.

Socr. When, therefore, I formed a judgment only, is it not
true that I reached by my thought none of those things by
which you differ from others ?

Thee. \t seems that you did not.

454 THE-ETETUS.

Socr. I, therefore, thought of some common qualities, none
of which belong to you more than to any one else.

Thea. Necessarily so. = |”

Socr. Come, then, by Jupiter, how in such a case did I form
a judgment of you rather than of any one else ? For suppose
me to be thinking that this is Thecetetus, who is a man, and
has nose, eyes, a mouth, and so on with each several member.
Will this thought cause me to think of Theetetus rather than
of Theodorus, or, as the saying 1s, the last of the Mysians ?

Thee. How should it?

156. Socr. But if I not only think of one who has nose and
eyes, but also of one who has a snub nose and prominent eyes,
shall I in that case think of you rather than of myself, or any
other persons of that description ?

Thea. Not at all.

Socr. But I think I shall not form the image of Theete-
tus in my mind, until his snubbiness shall have impressed on
me and ieft with me some mark different from all other in-
stances of snubbiness that I have seen, and so with respect to
the other parts of which you are made up; which, if I should
meet you to-morrow, would recal you to my mind, and make
me form a correct judgment respecting you.

Thee. Most true.

Socr. Right judgment, therefore, respecting each object has
to do with difference.

Thea. \t appears so.

Socr. What then will become of adding logos to correct
judgment? For if it means that we should moreover form a
judgment of the manner in which any thing differs from others,
the injunction will be very ridiculous.

Thea. How so?

Soer. It bids us add a right judgment of the manner in
which things differ from others, when we have a right judg-
ment of the manner in which they differ from others. And
thus the turning round of a scytala, or a pestle, or any other
proverb of the kind, would be nothing compared with this in-
junction, though it might more properly be called the advice
of a blind man ; for to bid us add those things that we already
have, in order that we may learn what we already have formed
judgments about, seems remarkably suited to one who is ute
terly blind.

AP Names sat

BUIBYPERON: 459:

mother, to accuse me of corrupting those of the same age with
himself, And he appears to me to be the only one of our
statesmen who knows how to govern rightly; for it is right
first of all to pay attention to the young, that they may be-
come as virtuous as possible, just as it is proper for a good
husbandman first of all to pay attention to the young plants,
and afterwards the others: so Melitus probably first purges
us who corrupt the blossoms of youth, as he says; then aiter
this it is clear that by paying attention to the older men, he
will be the cause of very many and great blessings to the city,
as may be expected to happen from one who makes such a
beginning.

2. Euth. I wish it were so, Socrates; but I dread lest the
contrary should happen. For, in reality, he appears to me, in
attempting to injure you, to begin by assailing the city from
the hearth. But tell me, by doing what does he say that you
corrupt the youth?

Socr. Absurd even to hear mentioned, my admirable friend:
for he says that Iam a maker of gods, and, as if I made new
gods and did not believe in the ancient ones, he has indicted
me on their account, as he says.

Euth. 1 understand, Socrates, it is because you say that a
demon constantly attends you. As if, then, you introduced
innovations in religion he has preferred this indictment against
you, and he comes to accuse you before the court, knowing
that such charges are readily entertained by the multitude.
And me too, when I say any thing in the public assembly,
concerning divine things, and predict to them what is going to
happen, they ridicule as mad; and although nothing that I
have predicted has not turned out to be true, yet they envy
all such men as we are. However we ought not to heed them,
but pursue our own course.

3. Soer. But, my dear Euthyphron, to be laughed at is per-
haps of no consequence. For the Athenians, as it appears to
me, do not care very much whether they think a man is clever,
so long as he does not communicate his wisdom ; but, when
they think a man makes others so, they are angry, either
through envy, as you say, or from some other cause.

Euth. With respect to that matter, how they are affected
towards me I am not very anxious to try.

Socr. For perhaps you seem to shew yourself but rarely, and

460 EUTHYPHRON.

to be unwilling to impart your wisdom ; but T am afraid that,
from my love of mankind, I appear to them to tell every man
too freely whatever 1 know, not only without pay, but even
gladly offering myself, if any one is willing to listen to me. If
then, as I just now said, they were going to laugh at me, as
you say they do at you, there would be nothing unpleasant in
passing some time in a court of justice, jesting and laughing ;
but if they are in earnest, how this affair may terminate is un-
known, except to you prophets.

Euth. Perhaps, however, it will be of no consequence, So-
crates, but you will conduct your cause to your mind, as I
think I shall mine.

4, Socr. Have you too a cause, Euthyphron? Do you de-
fend it. or prosecute ?

Euth, 1 prosecute.

Socr. Whom?

Euth. One, in prosecuting whom, I seem to be mad.

Socr. What then? do you prosecute some one that can fly ?

Euth. He is very far from being able to fly, for he happens
to be very old.

Socr. Who is he?

Euth. My father.

Soer. Your father, my excellent friend ?

Euth. Certainly.

Socr. But what is the charge, and what is the trial about ?

Euth. Murder, Socrates.

. Socr. By Hercules! Surely, Euthyphron, the generality of
men are ignorant how this can ever be right. For I do not
think any common person could do this properly, but he must
be very far advanced in wisdom. @.2-

Euth. Far indeed, by upiter, Socrates.

Socr. Is it any one of Your Telations who has been killed by
your father? It must be so; for surely you would not prose-
cute him for the murder of a stranger.

Euth. Ridiculous, Socrates, to think that it makes any dif-
ference whether the person killed is a stranger or a relation,
and that we ought not to consider this only, whether he killed
him justly or not, and, if justly, let nim go, but if not, prosecute
him, even though the murderer should live at the same hearth
and the same table with you. For the pollution is equal, if you
knowingly associate with such a one, and do not purify both

EUTHYPHRON. 461

yourself and him by bringing him to justice. However, the
deceased was a dependant of our’s, and when we were farming
at Naxos, he worked there for us, for hire. This man, then,
having drunk too much wine and being in a passion with one
of our slaves, slew him. My father, therefore, having bound
his hands and feet, and thrown him into a pit, sends a man here
to enquire of the interpreter of religious matters, what he ought
to do with him ; and in the mean time he neglected the prisoner,
and took no care of him as being a murderer, aud as if it was
of no consequence if he died; which did happen. For he died
from hunger, cold, and the chains, before the messenger re-
turned from the interpreter. For this reason my father and all
my relatives are angry with me, because I, for the sake of a
murderer, accuse my father of murder, who, as they say, did
not kill him, and even if he had killed him, as the deceased was
a murderer, they say that I ought not to concern myself about
such a man; for that it is impious for a son to prosecute his

father for murder ; little knowing, Socrates, what the divine

rule is with respect to holiness and impiety.

Soer. But, by Jupiter, Euthyphron, do you think you have
such an accurate knowledge of divine things, how they are cir-
cumstanced, with respect both to things holy and impious,
that those things having been done as you say, you are not
afraid, in bringing your father to trial, lest you should commit
an impious action?

Euth. Y should be a sorry person, Socrates, nor would
Euthyphron in any respect excel the generality of men, if I did
not know all such things accurately.

3. Socr. Admirable Euthyphron, it will be a most excellent
thing for me to become your disciple, and, before Melitus’s
indictment comes on for hearing, to object this very thing to
him, saying, that I hitherto deemed it of the utmost conse-
quence to be acquainted with divine things, and that now,
since he says I am guilty of acting rashly, and introducing
innovations with respect to divine things, I have become your
disciple. If then, I should say, Melitus, you admit that Euthy-
phron is wise in such matters and thinks rightly, suppose that I
do so too, and do not bring me to trial; but if otherwise, call
him, the teacher, to account before you do me, as one who
corrupts the elders, both me and his father, me by teaching
me, and him by admonishing and punishing him: and if he is

462 WUT Y PRON,

not persuaded by me and does not let me off the trial, or
indict you instead of me, it will be necessary to say these
very things in the court, which I have already objected to
him,

Luth. By Jupiter, Socrates, if he should attempt to indict
me, I should find, I think, his weak side, and we should
much sooner haye a discussion in the court about him than
about me.

Socr. And I, my dear friend, knowing this, am anxious to
become your disciple, being persuaded that some others and
this Melitus do not appear even to sce you, though he
has so very keenly and easily seen through me, as to indict
me for impiety. 6. Now therefore, by Jupiter, tell me what
you just now asserted you know so well; what do you say is
piety and impiety, both with respect to murder and other
things? Is not holiness itself the same with itself in every
action, and again, is not impiety, which is contrary to all holi-
ness, in every case similar to itself, and has not every thing
that is impious some one character with respect to impiety ?

Yuth. Most assuredly, Socrates.

Socr. Tell me, then, what you say holiness is, and what
impiety ?

Huth. I say, then, that that is holy which I am now doing,
to prosecute any one who acts unjustly either with respect to
murder or sacrilege, or who commits any similar offence,
whether he be one’s father or mother, or whoever else he may
be, but not to prosecute him is impious. For observe, Socrates,
what a great proof I will give you that the law is so, as I have
also said to others, shewing that it is rightly done, when one
does not spare one who acts impiously, whoever he may be.
Tor all men believe that Jupiter is the best and most just of
the gods, and yet they admit that he put his own father in
chains, because he unjustly swallowed his children, and again,
that he mutilated his father for other similar reasons, but they
are indignant with me, because I prosecute my father for
having acted unjustly, and thus these men contradict them-
selves with respect to the gods and me.

Socr, Is this the reason then, Euthyphron, for which I am
defendant in this indictment, because when any one says things
of this kind respecting the gods, I admit them with difficulty ?
on which account, as it seems, some one will say that I am

UAL EEL RON, 468

guilty. Now, therefore, if these things appear so to you like-
wise, who are well versed in such matters, we must of neces-
sity, as it seems, agree with you. For what else can we say,
who acknowledge that we know nothing about these things?
But teli me, by Jupiter, who presides over friendship, do you
think that these things did really happen so?

Euth. And things still more wonderful than these, Socrates,
which the multitude are unacquainted with,

Socr. Do you then think that there is in reality war among
the gods one with another, and fierce enmities and battles, and
many other things of the kind such as are related by the poets,
and with representations of which by good painters both other
sacred places have been decorated, and moreover in the great
Panathenaic festival a veil full of such representations is car-
ried into the Acropolis. Must we say that these things are
true, Euthyphron ?

uth. Not these only, Socrates; but, as I just now said, I
can, if you please, relate to you many other things respecting
‘divine affairs, which I am sure you will be astonished to hear.

7. Socr, I should not wonder; but you shall relate these
things to me hereafter, at our leisure. Now, however, endea-
vour to explain to me more clearly what I just now asked vou.
Fo; you have not yet, my friend, sufficiently answered my
question as to holiness what it is, but you have told me that
what you are now doing is holy, prosecuting your father for
murder.

Huth. And I said the truth, Socrates.

Socr. Perhaps so. But, Euthyphron, you may also say that
many other things are holy.

Luth. For such is the case,

Socr. Do you remember, then, that I did not beg this of
you, to teach me some one or two from among many holy
things, but the particular character itself by which all holy
things are holy? For you surely said that unholy things are
unholy, and holy things holy, from one character: do you not
remember ?

Euth. I do.

Socr. Teach me, then, this very character, what it is, in
order that looking to it, and using it as a model, I may say
that such a thing of all that you or any one else does is holy,
and that what is not such is not holy.

464 HO iy PiaRON:

Euth. But if you wish it, Socrates, I will also tell you this.

Socr. 1 do indeed wish it.

Euth. That, then, which is pleasing to the gods is holy, and
that which is not pleasing to them is impious ?

Socr. Admirably, Euthyphron, you have answered just as |
begged you to answer. Whether truly, however, I do not yet
know, but you will doubtless convince me that what you say is
true.

Euth, Certainly.

8. Socr. Come then, let us consider what we say. A thing
that is pleasing to the gods, and a man who is pleasing to the
gods, are holy; but a thing that is hateful to the gods, anda
man that is hateful to the gods, are impious; but the holy is
not the same with the unholy, but most contrary to it: is it
not so?

Euth. Assuredly.

Socr. And this appears to have been well said.

Euth. I think so, Socrates; for it has been said.

Socr. And that the gods quarrel, Euthyphron, and are at
variance with each other, and that there are enmities amongst
them one towards another: has not this also been said ?

Euth, It has.

Socr, But, my excellent friend, variance about what occa-
sions enmity and anger? Let us consider it thus. If you and
I differed about numbers, which of two was the greater, would
a difference on this point make us enemies and angry with
each other, or having recourse to computation, should we soon
be freed from such dissension ?

Euth, Certainly.

Socr. And if we differed about the greater and the less,
by having recourse to measuring should we not soon put an
end to our difference ?

Euth. Such is the case.

Socr. And by having recourse to weighing, as I think, we
should be able to decide respecting the heavier and the lighter ?

Euth, How not?

Soer, About what then disagreeing and in what being un-
able to come to a decision, do we become enemies to, and
angry with, each other? Perhaps you cannot readily answer,
but consider when I say whether they are these, the just and
the unjust, the beautiful and the base, the good and the evil.

ai]

EUTHYPHRON. 465

Are not these the things about which disagreeing, and not being
able to arrive at a satisfactory decision respecting them, we
become enemies to each other when we do become so, both
you and J, and all other men?

Euth. This, indeed, is difference itself, Socrates, and it is
about these things.

Soer, But what? If the gods, Euthyphron, differ at all,
must they not differ about these very things?

Huth, Most necessarily.

Socr. According to your account, then, noble Euthyphron,
different gods think different things just, and beautiful and
base, and good and evil. For surely they could not quarrel
with each other if they did not differ about these things; is it
not so?

Kuth. You say rightly.

Socr. Do they not severally, then, love the things which
they consider beautiful and good and just, and hate their con-
traries ?

Euth., Certainly.

Socr, And these same things, as you admit, some consider
to be just, and others unjust; disputing about which they
quarrel and make war on each other; is it not so?

Huth. Just so.

Socr. The same things, therefore, as it seems, are both hated
and loved by the gods, and these are both hateful to the gods
and pleasing to the gods.

Euth. It seems so.

Socr. From this reasoning also the same things must be
holy and unholy, Euthyphron ?

Euth. It appears so.

9. Socr. You have not, therefore, answered my question,
my admirable friend: for I did not ask you this, what is at
the same time both holy and impious; but what is pleasing to
the gods is also hateful to the gods, as it seems. So that, Eu-
thyphron, in punishing your father, as you are now doing, it is
not at all wonderful if in doing this you do what is pleasing to
Jupiter, but odious to Saturn and Heaven, and what is pleas-
ing to Vulcan, but odious to Juno; and if any other of the
gods differs from another on this point, to them also in like
manner.

uth. But I think, Socrates, that no one of the gods will

Hh

466 EUTHYPHRON,

differ from another about this, and say that he ought not to be
punished who has slain any one unjustly,

Socr. But what? Haye you ever heard any man doubting,
Euthyphron, whether he who has slain another unjustly, or has
committed any other injustice, ought to be punished ?

Euth. They never cease doubting about these things, both
elsewhere and in courts of justice. For they who commit very
many acts of injustice say and do every thing in their power to
escape punishment.

Socr. Do they also confess, Euthyphron, that they have
acted unjustly, and confessing, do they nevertheless say that
they ought not to be punished ?

Futh. They by no means say this.

Socr. They do not, therefore, do and say every thing in
their power. For I think they dare not say nor doubt this,
that if they act unjustly they ought to suffer punishment; but,
I think, they deny that they have acted unjustly : is it not so?

Luth. You say truly.

Socr. They do not, therefore, doubt this, whether he who
acts unjustly ought to be punished ; but this, perhaps, they
doubt, who has acted unjustly, and by doing what, and when,

Euth. You say truly.

Socr. Do not, then, the very same things happen to the
gods if they quarrel about things just and unjust, according to
your statement, and do not some say that they act unjustly to-
wards each other, and others again deny it? For surely, my
admirable friend, no one, either of gods or men, dare maintain
this, that he who acts unjustly ought not to suffer punishment.

uth. Yes, and what you say is true, Socrates, at least in
general.

Socr. But they who doubt, Euthyphron, doubt, I think,
about each particular that has been done, both men and gods,
if the gods do doubt: and when they differ about any action,
Some say that it has been done justly, and others unjustly : is
it not so> :

Luth, Certainly.

10. Socr. Come then, my dear Euthyphron, teach me too,
that Imay become wiser, what proof you have that all the gods
think he died unjustly, who serving for wages and having com-
mitted homicide, and being put in chains by the master of the
deceased, died in his fetters before he that put him in chains

EUTHYPHRON. 467

received an answer respecting him from the interpreters, as to
What he ought to do; and that for such a cause it is right for
a Son to prosecute and demand judgment against his father.
Come, endeavour to make it clear to me, with respect to this,
that all the gods without exception consider this action to be
right. And if you make this sufficiently clear, I will never
cease extolling you for your wisdom.

Huth. But perhaps this is no trifling matter, Socrates :
though I could prove it to you very plainly.

Socr. I understand you; I appear to you to be more dull of
apprehension than the judges; for it is evident that you will
prove to them that it was unjust, and that all the gods hate
such actions,

Huth. Very plainly, Socrates, if only they will hear what I
have to say.

Il. Socr. But they will hear you, if only you shall appear to
speak well. However, while you were speaking, I made this
reflexion, and considered within myself: if Euthyphron should
certainly convince me that all the gods think such a death to
be unjust, what more shall I have learnt from Kuthyphron as
to what is holy, and what impious? For this action, as it
seems, would be hateful to the gods. Yet what was lately de-
fined has not appeared from this, namely what is holy, and
what not: for that which is hateful to some gods appeared also
to be pleasing to others. So that I grant you this, Euthyphron,
and if you please let all the gods think it unjust, and let them
all hate it. Shall we, then, make this correction in the defini-

tion, and say, that what all the gods hate is impious, and what

they love is holy ; but that what some love, and others hate, is
neither, or both? Are you willing that we should give this

definition of the holy and the impious ?

Euth. What hinders, Socrates ?

Socr. Nothing hinders me, Euthyphron; but do you, for
your part, consider whether, assuming this, you can thus easily
teach me what you promised ?

Euth. But I should say that the holy is that which all the
gods loye, and the contrary, the impious, that which all the
gods hate.

Socr. Shall we examine this, then, Euthyphron, whether it
ig well said? or shall we let it pass, and thus concede both to
ourselves and others, that if any one only says that any thing is

468 y EUTHYPHRON.

so, we shall allow that it is? or must we examine what the
speaker says?

Luth, We must examine it: for my part, however, I think
that this is now well said.

12. Socr, We shall soon, my good friend, know this more
clearly. For consider it in this way : Is the holy loved by the
gods because it is holy ; or is it holy, because it is loved 2

uth, Y don’t understand what you mean, Socrates.

Socr. I will endeavour, then, to express myself more clearly,
We say that a thing is carried, and carries ; that it is led, and
leads; that it is seen, and sees: and you understand that all
things of this kind are different from each other, and in what
they differ ?

uth. For my part, I seem to understand it.

Socr, Is not, then, that which is beloved one thing, and that
which loves different from it ?

Euth. How not?

Socr. Tell me, then, is that which is carried, carried because
one carries it, or for some other reason ?

Euth, No, but for this.

Socr. And that which is led, because one leads it, and that
which is seen, because one sees it 2

Luth, Certainly.

Socr. One does not therefore see a thing because it is seen,
but on the contrary it is seen because one sees it: nor does one
lead a thing because it is led, but it is led because one leads it:
nor does one carry a thing because it is carried, but it is car-
ried because one carries it. Is my meaning clear, then, Euthy-
phron? I mean this, that if one does any thing, or suffers any
thing, one does it not because it is done ; but it is done because
one does it; nor does one suffer any thing because it is suf-
fered, but it is suffered because one suffers: do you not admit
this to be the case?

. Huth. I do.

Socr. Is not, then, the being loved, something either done
or suffered by some one?

Euth. Certainly.

Socr. And is not the case the same with this as with all the
former instances; those who love it do not love it because it is
loved, but it is loved, because they love it?

Euth. Necessarily so.

neers

EUTHYPHRON, 469

Soer, What then do we say respecting holiness, Euthy-
phron? Do not all the gods love it according to your state-
ment ?

Huth. Yes.

Socr, Is it for this reason, because it is holy, or for some
other reason?

Huth. No, but for this.

Socr, They love it then because it is holy, but it is not holy
because they love it.

Euth. It seems so.

Socr. Therefore because the gods love it it is beloved, and
that which is pleasing to the gods is pleasing to them.

uth. How not?

Soer. That which is pleasing to the gods, therefore, is not
holy, Euthyphron, nor is that holy which is pleasing to the
gods, as you say, but one is different from the other.

Euth. How so, Socrates =
" Socr. Because we agree that what is holy is therefore loved
because it is holy, and that it is not holy because they love it ;
is it not so?

Euth. Yes.

Socr, But that which is pleasing to the gods because the
gods love it, is from the very circumstance of their loving it
pleasing to them; but they do not love it because it is pleasing
to them.

uth, You say truly.

Socr, But, my dear Euthyphron, if the being pleasing to the
gods and being holy were the same thing, since that which is
holy is loved because it is holy, that which is pleasing to the
gods would also be loved because it is pleasing to them; and
if that which is pleasing to the gods were pleasing to them
because they love it, that which is holy would also be holy
because they love it. Now, however, you see that they are
contrary, as being altogether different from each other. For
the one is such as is loved because they love it, but the other
is loved because it is of such a character that it ought to be
loved. And you appear, Euthyphron, when asked what holi-
ness is, not to have been willing to make known to me its
essence, but to have mentioned an affection to which this same
holiness is subject, namely the being loved by all the gods;
but what it is, you have not yet told me. If therefore it is

466 EUTHYPHRON.

differ from another about this, and say that he ought not to be
punished who has slain any one unjustly.

Roar, Bubmnei: otlayg you ee" heard any man doubting,
Euthyphron, whether he who has slain another unjustly, or has
committed any other injustice, ought to be punished ?

Euth. They never cease doubting about these things, both
elsewhere and in courts of justice. For they who commit very
many acts of injustice say and do every thing in their power to
escape punishment.

Socr. Do they also confess, Euthyphron, that they have
acted unjustly, and confessing, do they nevertheless say that
they ought not to be punished ?

Euth. They by no means say this.

Socr. They do not, therefore, do and say every thing in
their power. For I think they dare not say nor doubt this,
that if they act unjustly they ought to suffer punishment ; but,
I think, they deny that they have acted unjustly : is it not sot

Euth. You say truly.

Socr. They do not, therefore, doubt this, whether he who
acts unjustly ought to be punished ; but this, perhaps, they
doubt, who has acted unjustly, and by doing what, and when.

Euth. You say truly.

Socr. Do not, then, the very same things happen to the
gods if they quarrel about things just and unjust, according to
your statement, and do not some say that they act unjustly to-
wards each other, and others again deny it? For surely, my
admirable friend, no one, either of gods or men, dare maintain
this, that he who acts unjustly ought not to suffer punishment.

Euth. Yes, and what you say is true, Socrates, at least in
general.

Soer. But they who doubt, Euthyphron, doubt, I think,
about each particular that has been done, both men and gods,
if the gods do doubt: and when they differ about any action,
some say that it has been done justly, and others unjustly: is
it not so? ;

Euth. Certainly.

10. Socr. Come then, my dear Euthyphron, teach me too,
that [may become wiser, what proof you have that all the gods
think he died unjustly, who serving for wages and having com-
mitted homicide, and being put in chains by the master of the
deceased, died in his fetters before he that put him in chains

RSET

EUTHYPHRON, 467

received an answer respecting him from the interpreters, as to
what he ought to do; and that for such a cause it is right for
@ Son to prosecute and demand judgment against his father.
Come, endeavour to make it clear to me, with respect to this,
that all the gods without exception consider this action to be
right. And if you make this sufficiently clear, I will never
cease extolling you for your wisdom.

Euth. But perhaps this is no trifling matter, Socrates ;
though I could prove it to you very plainly.

Socr. I understand you; I appear to you to be more dull of
apprehension than the judges; for it is evident that you will
prove to them that it was unjust, and that all the gods hate
such actions,

Euth. Very plainly, Socrates, if only they will hear what I
have to say.

11. Socr. But they will hear you, if only you shall appear to
speak well. However, while you were speaking, I made this
reflexion, and considered within myself: if Kuthyphron should
certainly convince me that all the gods think such a death to
be unjust, what more shall I have learnt from Kuthyphron as
to what is holy, and what impious? For this action, as it
seems, would be hateful to the gods. Yet what was lately de-
fined has not appeared from this, namely what is holy, and
what not: for that which is hateful to some gods appeared alse
to be pleasing to others. So that I grant you this, Euthyphron,
and if you please let all the gods think it unjust, and let them
all hate it. Shall we, then, make this correction in the defini-

tion, and say, that what all the gods hate is impious, and what

they love is holy ; but that what some love, and others hate, is
neither, or both? Are you willing that we should give this

definition of the holy and the impious ?

Euth. What hinders, Socrates 2

Socr. Nothing hinders me, Euthyphron; but do you, for
your part, consider whether, assuming this, you can thus easily
teach me what you promised ?

uth. But I should say that the holy is that which all the
gods love, and the contrary, the impious, that which all the
gods hate.

Socr. Shall we examine this, then, Euthyphron, whether it
is well said? or shall we let it pass, and thus concede both to
ourselves and others, that if any one only says that any thing is

468 : EUTHYPHRON.

so, we shall allow that it is? or must we examine what the
speaker says?

Euth. We must examine it: for my part, however, I think
that this is now well said.

12. Soer, We shall soon, my good friend, know this more
clearly. For consider it in this way : Is the holy loved by the
gods because it is holy ; or is it holy, because it is loved ?

Euth, 1 don’t understand what you mean, Socrates.

Socr. I will endeavour, then, to express myself more clearly,
We say that a thing is carried, and carries ; that it is led, and
leads; that it is seen, and sees: and you understand that all
things of this kind are different from each other, and in what
they differ ?

Luth. For my part, I seem to understand it.

Socr, Is not, then, that which is beloved one thing, and that
which loves different from it ?

Euth, How not?

Socr. Tell me, then, is that which is carried, carried because
one carries it, or for some other reason ?

Euth. No, but for this.

Socr, And that which is led, because one leads it, and that
which is seen, because one sees it ?

Euth, Certainly.

Socr. One does not therefore see a thing because it is seen,
but on the contrary it is seen because one sees it: nor does one
lead a thing because it is led, but it is led because one leads it:
nor does one carry a thing because it is carried, but it is car-
ried because one carries it. Is my meaning clear, then, Euthy-
phron? I mean this, that if one does any thing, or suffers any
thing, one does it not because itis done; but it is done because
one does it; nor does one suffer any thing because it is suf-
fered, but it is suffered because one suffers: do you not admit
this to be the case?

, uth. I do.

Socr. Is not, then, the being loved, something either done
or suffered by some one?

Euth, Certainly.

Socr. And is not the case the same with this as with all the
former instances; those who love it do not love it because it is
loved, but it is loved, because they love it?

uth. Necessarily so.

ree ana naneange

ne

EUTHYPHRON. 469

Socr. What then do we say respecting holiness, Euthy-
phron? Do not all the gods love it according to your state-
ment?

Euth. Yes.

Socr, Is it for this reason, because it is holy, or for some
other reason?

Euth. No, but for this.

Socr, They love it then because it is holy, but it is not holy
because they love it.

Huth. It seems so.

Socr, Therefore because the gods love it it is beloved, and
that which is pleasing to the gods is pleasing to them.

uth. How not?

Socr. That which is pleasing to the gods, therefore, is not
holy, Euthyphron, nor is that holy which is pleasing to the
gods, as you say, but one is different from the other.

_ Luth. How so, Socrates ?

Socr. Because we agree that what is holy is therefore loved
because it is holy, and that it is not holy because they love it ;
is it not so?

Euth. Yes.

Socr, But that which is pleasing to the gods because the
gods love it, is from the very circumstance of their loving it
pleasing to them; but they do not love it because it is pleasing
to them. ;

Huth. You say truly.

Socr. But, my dear Euthyphron, if the being pleasing to the
gods and being holy were the same thing, since that which is
holy is loved because it is holy, that which is pleasing to the
gods would also be loved because it is pleasing to them; and
if that which is pleasing to the gods were pleasing to them
because they love it, that which is holy would also be holy
because they love it. Now, however, you see that they are
contrary, as being altogether different from each other. For
the one is such as is loved because they love it, but the other
is loved because it is of such a character that it ought to be
loved. And you appear, Euthyphron, when asked what holi-
ness is, not to have been willing to make known to me its
essence, but to have mentioned an affection to which this same
holiness is subject, namely the being loved by all the gods;
but what it is, you have not yet told me. If therefore it is

470 EUTHYPHRON.

agreeable to you, do not conceal it from me, but again say
from the beginning what holiness is, whether it is loved by
the gods, or is subject to any other affection: for we shall not
differ about this. But tell me frankly what the holy is and
what the impious.

Euth. But, Socrates, 1 know not how to tell you what I
think. For whatever we put forward some how constantly
moves from its position, and will not remain where we have
placed it.

Socr. What you have advanced, Euthyphron, appears fo
resemble the statues of my ancestor Dedalus. And if I had
said and laid down these things, you would probably have joked
me, for that owing to my relationship to him, my works, by
way of discussion, escape, and will not remain where one places
them. But now, for the hypotheses are yours, there is need
of some other raillery. For they will not remain with you, as
you too perceive yourself.

Euth. But it appears to me, Socrates, that what has been
said needs pretty much the same raillery. For I am_not the
person who causes them to shift about in this way and not re-
main in the same place, but you appear to me to be the
Dedalus. For as far as J am concerned, they would have re-
mained as they were.

Socr. I appear, then, my friend, to have become much more
skilful than him in my art, in that he only made his own works
moveable, but I besides my own, as it seems, make those of
others so. And this, moreover, is the most wonderful thing in
my art, that I am skilful against any will, For I should wish
that my reasonings should remain and be immovably fixed,
rather than have the riches of Tantalus, in addition to the
skill of Dedalus. But enough of this. 13. Since, however,
you appear to be too nice, I will assist you to shew how
you may teach me respecting holiness, and not be tired be-
fore you have done. For see, whether it does not appear to
you to be necessary that every thing that is holy should be
just. D

Euth. To me it does.

Soer. Is, then, every thing that is just also holy, or is every
thing that is holy just, but not every thing that is just holy,
but partly holy, and partly something else ?

Euth. 1 do not follow your questions, Socrates.

EUTHYPHRON. 471

Soer. And yet you are younger no less than wiser than I
am; but, as I said, you are too delicate through abundance of
wisdom. However, my blessed friend, exert yourself; for it
is not difficult to understand what I mean. For I mean the
contrary to what the poet said, who wrote, ‘“‘ You are un-
willing to mention Jove the creator who made this universe:
for where fear is there is also shame.”” I, however, differ from
this poet. Shall I tell you in what respect ?

Huth. By all means.

Socr. It does not appear to me, that where fear is there is
also shame. For there appear to me to be many who fearing
diseases, poverty, and many other things of the kind, fear in-
deed but are by no means ashamed of what they fear. Does
it not appear so to you?

Euth. Certainly.

Socr. But wherever shame is, there is also fear: for is
there any one who is ashamed of and blushes at any thing,
that is not afraid of and does not fear the reputation of
baseness ?

Einth, Assuredly he does fear it.

Socr. It is not right, therefore, to say, that where fear is,
there also is shame, but where shame is, there also is fear ; not
however, wherever there is fear, there is also shame. For I think
that fear is more extensive than shame; for shame is a part
of fear, as the odd is a part of number, so that it does not
follow that wherever number is, there also is the odd, but
wherever the odd is, there also is number. Do you follow me
now;

Huth. Perfectly.

Socr. I asked you, then, about a thing of this kind above,
whether where the just is, there also is the holy, or where the
holy is, there also is the just, but wherever the just is, there is
not always the holy: for the holy is a part of the just. Shall
we say thus, or does it seem to you otherwise ?

uth. No, but thus. For you appear to me to speak cor-
rectly. ;

14. Socr. Observe then what follows. If the holy is a part
of the just, it is necessary, as it seems, that we should find out |
what part of the just the holy is. If then you were to ask me
about some of the things before mentioned, for instance, what
part of number the even is, and what number it is, I should

472 EUTHYPHRON.

say that it is not scalenc, but isoscelest. Does it not appear
so to you?

Euth. It does.

Socr. Do you, then, also endeavour in like manner to teach
me what part of the just the holy is, that I may tell Melitus no
longer to treat me unjustly nor indict me for impiety, since I
have now sufficiently learnt from you what things are pious
and holy, and what not.

Euth. That part of justice then, Socrates, appears to me to
be pious and holy, which is concerned about our care for the
gods ; but that which is concerned about our care for mankind
is the remaining part of justice.

15. Socr. You appear to me, Euthyphron, to speak well ;
but I still require a trifle further. For I do not yet understand.
what care you mean. For you surely do not mean such care
is to be had for the gods as is employed about other things.
For we say, for instance, not every one knows how to take
care of horses, but a groom ; do we not?

Euth. Certainly.

Socr. For surely the groom’s business is the taking care of
horses.

Euth, Yes.

Socr. Nor does every one know how to take care of dogs,
but a huntsman.

Euth. Just so.

Socr. For the huntsman’s business is the taking care of dogs.

Euth. Yes.

Soer. And the herdsman’s of cattle.

Euth, Certainly,

Soer. But holiness and piety of the gods, Euthyphron ; do
you say so?

Euth. I do.

Soer. All care, therefore, aims at the same thing, that is to
say, it is for some good and advantage of that which is taken
care of, as you see that horses, taken care of by one skilled in
the groom’s business, are benefited and become better : do they
not seem so to you?

Euth. They do.

Socr. Dogs also are benefited by one skilled in the hunts-
man’s business, and oxen by that of the herdsman, and all

t That is, it can be divided into equal parts, which the odd cannot.

EUTHYPHRON. 472

other things in like manner: do you think that the care is

employed for the injury of that which is taken care of?

Euth. Not I, by Jupiter.

Socr. But for its advantage ?

Huth, How should it not?

Socr. Is holiness, therefore, since it is a care for the gods,
an advantage to the gods, and does it make the gods better >
And would you admit this, that when you do any thing holy,
you make some one of the gods better?

Euth. Not I, by Jupiter.

Socr. Nor do I think, Euthyphron, that you mean this; I
am far from doing so: but for this reason I asked you what
care for the gods you mean, not thinking that you mean such
as this.

Euth, And rightly, Socrates; for I do not mean such as
this.

_ Socr. Be it so: but what care for the gods will holiness be >
Euth. That, Socrates, which slaves take of their masters.
Socr. I understand: it will be a kind of service, as it seems,

paid to the gods.

Fruth, Certainly.

16. Soer. Can you then tell me, to the performance of what
the service of physicians is subservient ? Do you not think it
is to health ? -

Euth. I do.

Socr. But what? to the performance of what work is the
service of shipwrights subservient ?

uth. Clearly, Socrates, to that of a ship.

Socr. And that of architects, to houses >

Euth. Yes.

Socr. ‘Tell me, then, my excellent friend; to the performance
of what work will the service of the gods be subservient? For
it is clear that you know, since you say that you have a know-
ledge of divine things beyond that of other men.

uth, And I say truly, Socrates.

Socr. Tell me then, by Jupiter, what is that very beautiful
work which the gods effect, by employing us as servants.

Huth, They are many and beautiful, Socrates.

Socr. So do generals, my friend; though you could easily
tell the principal of them, that they effect victory in war ; is it
not so?

474 EUTHYPHRON.

Euth. How should I not?

Socr. Husbandmen too, J think, effect many and beautiful
things; but the principal thing they effect is the production of
food from the earth.

Euth. Certainly.

Socr. What then? of the many and beautiful things which
the gods effect, what is the principal ?

Euth. 1 told you just now, Socrates, that it is a difficult mat-
ter to learn all these things accurately ; this however I tell you
simply, that if any one knows how to speak and do things
grateful to the gods, by praying and sacrificing, these things
are holy, and such things preserve both private houses and
the general weal of cities ; but the contraries to things accept-
able to them are impious, which also subvert and ruin all things.

17. Soer. You might, if you had pleased, Euthyphron, have
told me the principal of what I asked in fewer words. But it
is clear that you are not willing to teach me. For now when
you were just upon the point of doing so, you turned aside ;
whereas if you had answered, I should by this time have suflici-
ently learnt from you what holiness is. But now (for it is
necessary that he who asks questions should follow the person
questioned wherever he may lead) what again do you say is
the holy, and holiness? Do you not say it is a knowledge
of sacrificing and praying i

Euth. 1 do.

Socr. Is not to sacrifice to offer gifts to the gods, and to pray
to beg something of the gods?

Euth. Assuredly, Socrates.

Soer. From this statement st follows that holiness must be
a knowledge of begging from and giving to the gods.

t=)
Euth. You quite understand what I mean, Socrates.

Socr. For I am very anxious, my friend, to obtain your
wisdom, and I apply my mind to it: so that what you say will
not fall to the ground. But tell me what this service of the
gods is? Do you say it is to beg of them and to give to them?

Euth. 1 do.

18. Socr. Must we not then, therefore, to beg rightly, beg
those things of them which we need from them?

Euth. What else?

Socr. And again to give rightly must we give them in return
such things as they stand in need of from us? For surely

EUTHYPHRON. 475

it would not be suitable to offer those gifts to any one which
he does not need.

Euth. You say truly, Socrates.

Socr. Holiness, therefore, Euthyphron, will be a kind of
traffic between gods and men.

Euth. A kind of traffic, if it pleases you to call it so.

Socr. But it is not at all pleasing to me, unless it happens
to be true. Tell me therefore, what advantage the gods derive
from the gifts which they receive from us? For the advantage
arising from what they give is clear to every one; for we have
no good at all which they do not impart? but how are they
benefited by what they receive from us? Do we get so much
the advantage over them in this traffic, that we receive all good
things from them, but they nothing from us ?

Futh. But do you think, Socrates, that the gods are bene-
fited by what they receive from us?

_ Socr. What is the use then, Euthyphron, of all our gifts to
the gods? '

Euth. What else do you think except honour and reverence,
and, as I just now mentioned, gratitude ?

Soer. Holiness then, Euthyphron, is that which is grateful,
but not profitable or dear to the gods.

Euth. 1 for my part think it is of all things most dear to
them.

Socr. This then again is, as it seems, holiness, that which is
dear to the gods.

Euth. Most certainly.

19. Socr. Can you wonder then, when you say this, that
your statements do not remain fixed, but move about, and can
you accuse me as being the Dedalus that makes them move
about, when you yourself are far more skilful than Dedalus,
and make them go round in a circle? Do you not perceive
that our discussion, turning round, comes to the same point?
For you surely remember that in a former part of our discus-
sion that which is holy and that which is acceptable to the
gods appeared to us not to be the same, but different from
each other: do you not remember ?

Huth. I do.

Socr. Now, then, do you not perceive that you say that holi-
ness is that which is dear to the gods? But is this any thing
else than that which is acceptable to the gods? is it not so?

476 EUTHYPHRON.

Luth. Certainly.

Socr, Either, therefore, we did not then admit that properly,
or, if we did, our present statement is not correct ?

uth. It seems so.

Socr. From the beginning, therefore, we must consider
again what holiness is; for I shall not willingly run away like
a coward, until I have learnt it. Do not then despise me, but
by all means apply your mind earnestly to it and tell me the
truth. For you know it, if any man does; and I cannot let
you go like Proteus, until you have told me. For if you had
not known clearly both what is holy and what is impious, it is
not possible that you could ever have attempted, for the sake
of a hireling, to prosecute your aged father for murder; but
you would have feared both to incur the anger of the gods, in
case you should not act rightly in this matter, and would have
been ashamed in the sight of men. But now I am sure that
you think you clearly know both what is holy and what is not.
Tell me, therefore, most excellent Euthyphron, and do not
conceal from me what you believe it to be?

Huth. At some other opportunity then, Socrates: for now I
am in haste to go somewhere, and it is time for me to depart.

Socr, What are you about, my friend? By going away you
deprive me of the great hope I entertained that by learning
from you what things are holy and what not, I might get rid
of Melitus’s indictment, by shewing him that I had now become
skilled in divine things by the aid of Euthyphron, and that I
no longer through ignorance speak rashly, or introduce innova-
tions respecting them, and that therefore I should lead a better
life for the future.

INTRODUCTION TO THE LYSIS.

As Socrates was one day going from the Academy to the
Lyceum he met with Hippothales, Ctesippus, and other youths,
who were on that day celebrating the Hermzan festival in a
newly-erected paleestra hard by. They invite him to come in
and join their conversation; he promises to do so on condition
that they will first tell him who is the beauty among them.
Hippothales, to whom he first puts the question, shews, by his

embarrassment, that he is himself far gone in love; and on
being taxed with it by Socrates blushes still more, whereupon
Ctesippus says that he is constantly overwhelming them with
his poems and speeches on his favourite Lysis. Socrates, on
hearing this, begs Hippothales to inform him how a lover ought
to speak of or address his favourite. Hippothales, though he
does not deny his being in love, does deny that he makes
verses or speeches; but Ctesippus shews that he is constantly
giving utterance to the most extravagant praises of his fa-
vourite and his family; on which Socrates remarks that he
should not celebrate his victory before it is won ; for that it is
not wise to praise the object of one’s affection before a return
of affection on his part is secured, and moreover such as are
beautiful when highly praised are apt to become arrogant, and
so are more difficult to be won. Hippothales takes these sug-
gestions in good part, and begs Socrates to advise him how to
address his favourite so as to win his affection, which Socrates
readily promises to do if they will give him an opportunity of
conversing with Lysis. To this end they all enter the pale-
stra, and almost as soon as Socrates, Ctesippus, Menexenus
and others had seated themselves ‘down in a quiet corner,
Lysis, who is very fond of listening to conversations, comes
and takes his seat next his friend Menexenus, while Hippo-

thales is concealed in the back-ground out of sight of his
favourite *.

* § 1—10,

47S INTRODUCTION.

Socrates begins by addressing a few words to the latter, but
on Menexenus being called out by the master of the palsstra,
he turns to Lysis, and asks him whether his parents do not
love him very much. On Lysis replying that they certainly do,
Socrates shews him that though, since they love him, they must
needs wish to make him as happy 2s possible, yet they are
so far from letting him do whatever he pleases, that they put
him under the government of others, even of slaves, and this
not on account of his youth, but because he has not yet ac-
quired sufficient experience and knowledge to be entrusted
with the government of himself; but that whenever he is wise
enough, not only his father, but all others, will entrust him
with the management of themselves and their affairs.

At this point of the conversation Menexenus returned and
resumed his seat near Lysis, who begs of Socrates to say over
again to Menexenus what he had been saying to him; but
Socrates desires him to tell it himself on some future occasion,
and for the present engages to converse on some other subject
with Menexenus. Having observed, therefore, the friendship
that subsisted between Lysis and Menexenus, he asks the lat-
ter, when any one loves another, which of the two becomes @
friend of the other, the lover or the beloved? Menexenus re-
plies that there is no difference. But Socrates shews that it
frequently happens that a lover is not only not loved in turn,
but is even hated. In that case, then, which is the friend?
Menexenus is forced to admit that unless both love neither
can be a friend to the other. But here Socrates interposes
this difficulty; he remarks that men often love horses, dogs,
and other things which cannot love in turn ; and the poet, as
Menexenus admits, speaks truly who says, “ Happy the man
who has hoys for his friends and horses and dogs,” so that the
beloved now appears to be a friend of the lover, and not the
lover of the beloved; and by the same reasoning he who is
hated is an enemy, and not he who hates, whence the absurd

»g 10—18.

INTRODUCTION. 479

conclusion follows that people are beloved by their enemies
and hated by their friends. This, however, is impossible ;
therefore the reverse must be the case, and the lover must be
a friend of the beloved. “If, then, neither those who love are
to be friends, nor those who are loved, nor yet those who both
love and are loved,” who are to be called friends? Lysis in-
terposes with the remark that they do not appear to him to
have conducted their enquiries aright; so Socrates avails him-
self of the opportunity thus offered him, and directs his dis-
course to Lysis®¢.

“The poets say,” he observes, that “God ever conducts like
to like,” and the wisest among men say the same, “that like
must ever needs be friendly to like.” Lysis agrees to this. But,
objects Socrates, only half of this appears to be true, for the
more wicked men are the more hostile are they to each other ;
so that it appears that the good man only is a friend to the
good man only, but that the bad man never arrives at true
friendship. But here again a new doubt is started.

The like can derive no benefit from the like ; how, there-
fore, can they be held in regard by each other? and how can
that which is not held in regard be a friend? In like manner,
the good man is sufficient for himself; but he who is sufficient
needs nothing, and so will not regard any thing, and therefore
not love. So that from this it appears, that not even the good
will be friends to each other 4,

Socrates then remarks, that he once heard some one say that
like is most hostile to like, and the good to the good; and ge-
nerally that things most like each other are most full of envy,
strife and hatred, but such as are most unlike are most dis-
posed to friendship, just as the dry desires the moist, the cold
heat, and soon. Menexenus admits the truth of this, and of
its consequence, that the contrary is most friendly to its con-
trary. But again Socrates drives him to this absurd conclu-
sion, that since enmity is most contrary to friendship, therefore

© § 18—24. a § 2497,

480 INTRODUCTION.

an enemy must be a friend to a friend, or a friend a friend to
an enemy ®,

Since it appears, then, that neither is the like friendly to
the like, nor the contrary to the contrary, Socrates next pro-
poses to enquire whether that which is neither good nor evil
can be the friend of the good. According to an ancient pro-
verb, the beautiful is friendly, and the good is beautiful, whence
he would conclude that that which is neither good nor evil is
friendly to the beautiful and the good. There are three several
classes of things, he says, the good, the evil, and that which is

neither good nor evil. It has already been proved that the
good is not friendly to the good, nor the evil to the evil, nor
yet the good to the evil, nor the evil to the good; it remains,
therefore, that that which is neither good nor evil must be
friendly to the good. But a little further discussion leads to
the more narrow conclusion, that that which is neither evil nor
good is friendly to the good, on account of the presence of
evil!

Both Lysis and Menexenus agree to this conclusion; but
Socrates soon raises new difficulties, and shews the fallacious-
ness of their former reasoning. <A friend, he says, is a friend
to some one, and for the sake of something, and on account of
something; for a rich man is a friend to a physician on ac-
count of disease, which is an evil, and for the sake of health,
which is a good, so that that which is friendly is a friend for
the sake of a friend, on account of an enemy. By proceeding
in this way, he argues, we shall at length arrive at some prin-
ciple, which will not have to be referred to another friend, but
will arrive at the first friend, for the sake of which all other
things are friends, and which is friendly for its own sake.
Now it has already appeared that we are friendly to that which
is good, and that we love the good on account of evil; if,
therefore, evil were to be done away with the good would be
of no use to us, and we should not love it. In this, too, his

© § 2720. f § 2933,

INTRODUCTION. 481

young friends are willing to acquiesce, but Socrates dispels
this delusion also, and shews that evil cannot be the cause of
love, since if evil were done away with the desires would still
remain, which in reality are the causes of friendship; for that
which desires desires what it stands in need of, and that which
stands in need is friendly to that of which it stands in need:
and so love, desire, and friendship respect that which, in a
manner, belongs to a man; but then evil belongs to evil and
good to good, consequently they will each severally be friendly
to their fellow, and the evil will be no less a friend to the evil
than the good to the good; but both these positions have
already been shewn to be erroneous, and so no positive solu-
tion of the question proposed is arrived at8.

& § 34—43,

LYSIS,

OR

ON FRIENDSHIP.

Ps

SocRATES, HiproTHALeEs, CTESIPPUS, MENEXENUS, AND iuysts.

ix

é

I was going from the Academy straight to the Lyceum on
the road outside the wall close to the wall itself, but when
reached the little gate, where is the fountain of the Panops, I
there met with Hippothales son of Hieronymus, Ctesippus the
Pieanian, and other young men with them standing together
in a group. And Hippothales seeing me approach said,
« Socrates, Whither are you going, and whence come you -

« Prom the Academy,” I replied, * and am going straight to
the Lyceum.”

« Hither, then,” said he, “ straight to us. Won't you come
here? it is worth while.”

“ Where do you cnaon, Sa and whom do you mean
by ‘you’ ?”

“Hither,” he replied, shewing me an enclosure opposite
the wall and an opel gate, “there we are passing away OUT
time, we and a good many other fine fellows.”

« And what is this, and what your occupation 2”

ae. palestra,” he said, “ lately built ; our occupation con-
sists chiefly in conversation, which we would gladly share with
you.”

« You do well,” aia lL. aoe ee teaches there =”

“ Your friend and encomiast,” said he, ‘ Miccus.”

weet Jupiter,” a ee eee person, but an apt
sophist.”

“Will you follow us then,” said he, “ that you may see those
that are there >”

2, “J should be glad to hear this first, and on that condition
I enter, who is the beauty °”

«To some of us,” said he, “ Socrates, one appears 80, to
some, another.”

s But who appears so to yous Hippothales > Tell me this.’

eee f=

ee. ee

ie

LYSIS. 488

Then he blushed at the question. And I said, “ Hippothales,
son of Hieronymus, you need no longer tell me this, whether
you are in love with any one or not: for I know that you are
not only in love, but are already pretty far gone in love. I,
for my part, am in other matters poor and useless, but this
somehow has been given me by the deity, to be able quickly to
discern both a lover, and one that is beloved.”

On hearing this, he blushed still more. Whereupon Ctesip-
pus said, “ It is a fine thing in you to blush, Hippothales, and
hesitate to tell Socrates the name, though if he were to stay
here with you even for a short time he would be tired to death
with hearing you frequently telling it. 3. He has certainly
deafened our ears, Socrates, and filled them with the name of
Lysis: and if he is somewhat tipsy, it is easy for us, even when
we awake out of sleep, to fancy that we hear the name of Lysis,
And what he tells of him in his ordinary talk, though weari-
some, is not so very much so; but when he attempts to over-
whelm us with his poems and set-speeches! and what is still
more wearisome than these, is that he sings about his favourite
with a wonderful voice, which we must endure to listen to.
But now when questioned by you, he blushes.”

“This Lysis, then,” said I, “is a youth, as it seems. I con-
jecture this, because on hearing the name I did not know it.”

«They don’t often call him by his own name,” said he, “ but
he still goes by his father’s name, because his father is so very
well known. For I am very sure, that you are far from being
unacquainted with the form of the youth; for he may be suf-
ficiently known from this only.”

4. “ Tell me then,” said I, “* whose son he is.”

“The eldest son of Democrates, of Aixone,” he replied.

“Well done, Hippothales,” said I, “what a noble and in
every way admirable love is this you have met with! Come
then, display to me what you display to these also, that I may
discover whether you know what a lover ought to say about
his favourite, either to himself or to others.”

“Do you really put any weight, Socrates,” said he, ‘on any
thing that he says?”

* Do you deny,” said I, “ that you are in love with the per-
son whom he speaks of ?” ,

“‘T do not,” said he, ‘“ but I do deny that I make verses on
my favourite or compose speeches.”

484 LYSIS.

“ He is not in his right senses,” said Ctesippus, ‘‘ but is de-
lirious and mad.”

Upon this I said, “ Hippothales, I do not wish to hear your
verses, nor any song that you may have made on the youth,
but their meaning, that I may know in what way you behave
towards your favourite.”

“He doubtless will tell you,” said he, “for he knows and
remembers it well, since, as he says, he has been stunned by
constantly hearing it from me.”

5. “By the gods.” said Ctesippus, “ assuredly I do; and
ridiculous it is too, Socrates. For that being a lover, and de-
yoting himself to the youth beyond all others, he should have
nothing of his own to say, that even a boy might not say, how
can it be otherwise than ridiculous? For what the whole city
resounds with about Democrates and Lysis the boy’s grand-
father, and all his ancestors, their wealth, their breed of horses,
and their victories in the Pythian, Isthmian, and Nemean
games, with four horses and with one, these things he puts into
poems and speeches, and besides these, things still more ab-
surd: for he lately described to us in a poem, the entertain-
ment of Hercules, how an ancestor of theirs received Hercules
on account of his relationship to him, being himself sprung
from Jupiter and the daughter of the founder of his borough,
such things as old women sing, and many others of the same
kind, Socrates. 6. These are the things that he speaks of and
sings and compels us to listen to.”

Upon hearing this, I said, ‘« O ridiculous Hippothales, before
you have gained the victory do you compose and sing an en-
comium on yourself ?”

“ But I neither compose nor sing on myself, Socrates.”

“You do not think so,” I replied.

“ How is that?” said he.

“These songs,” said I, “ most of all relate to you. For if
you gain your favourite being such as you describe, what you
have said and sung will be an honour to you, and in reality an
encomium on yourself as victorious in having won such a
favourite. But if he should escape you, by how much greater
the encomiums are which you uttered on your favourite, by so
much the more ridiculous will you appear in being deprived of
greater blessings. Whoever therefore, my friend, is skilled in
matters of love, does not praise bis beloved before he has caught

LYSIS. 485

him, fearing how the event will turn out. Moreover such as
are beautiful when any one praises and extols them, are filled
with pride and arrogance. Do you not think so?”

*“* I do,” he replied.

7. “ And by how much the more arrogant they are, are they
not more difficult to be caught ?”

‘That is probable at least.”

‘* What sort of huntsman, then, would he appear to you to
be, who in hunting should scare away his prey, and make it
more difficult to be caught ?”

** Without doubt, a bad one.”

“ And by speeches and songs not to soothe but exasperate,
shews a great want of skill; does it not ?”

“‘ It appears so to me.”

“Consider then, Hippothales, whether you will not expose
yourself to all these charges by your poetry. Though I think
you would not be willing to allow that a man who harms him-
self by his poetry can be a good poet, in that he harms
himself.”

“No, by Jupiter,” said he, “for that would be a great piece
of folly. But on this very account, Socrates, I communicate
the matter to you, and if you have any thing else to suggest,
advise me, by saying what or by doing what one may win the
affections of one’s favourite.”

“Jt is not easy to say,” I replied: “ but if you will make
Lysis himself converse with me, I could perhaps shew you what
you ought to say to him, instead of the things which your
friends allege that you say and sing.” ‘

8. * There is no difficulty in that,” he replied. ‘ For if youwill
enter with Ctesippus here, and sit down and converse, I think
that he will join you of his own accord, for he is exceedingly
fond of listening, Socrates, and moreover, as they are celebrat-
ing the Hermiea, young men and boys are all mixed up toge-
ther. He will therefore join you: but if not, he is intimate
with Ctesippus, through his cousin Menexenus; for Mene-
xenus is his most particular friend. Let him call him, there-
fore, if he does not join you of his own accord.”

“ This,” said I, ‘we must do.” And at the same time,
laying hold of Ctesippus, I entered the palestra, and the others
came after us, ;

On entering there, we found that the boys had finished their

$86 LYSIS.

sacrifices, and, the ceremonies being now nearly ended, play-
ing at dice, and all full dressed. 9. Many of them were
playing in the court outside, but some in a corner of the
dressing-room were playing at odd and even with a great
number of dice which they drew out of certain little baskets.
Others stood round these, looking on; and among them was
Lysis, and he stood in the midst of the boys and youths,
crowned, and surpassing them in form, so as not only to
deserve to be called beautiful, but beautiful and noble. Then
we withdrawing to the opposite side sat down, (for it was
quiet there,) and entered into conversation with each other.
Lysis, thereupon, turning round, frequently looked at us, and
was evidently anxious to come to us; but for some time he
hesitated, and was averse to approach alone. Then, Menexenus
comes in, in the midst of his game from the court, and as soon
as he saw me and Ctesippus, came and seated himself by us.
10. Lysis, therefore, seeing him, followed, and sat down by
the side of Menexenus. Others likewise came up, and more-
over Hippothales, when he saw a good many standing round,
concealing himself behind them, took up a position where he
thought Lysis could not see him, fearing lest he should give
him offence, and in this position he listened to our discourse.
And I, looking towards Menexenus, said, ‘Son of Demophon,
which of you is the elder aes

«We are in doubt,” he replied.

“Should you not also contend which of you is the mor
noble >” said I.

“ Certainly,” said he.

« And in like manner, which of you is the more beautiful >”

Hereupon they both laughed. * However,” said I, “I will
not ask which of you is the more rich, for you are friends 5
are you not ?”

“Certainly,” they replied.

« Now the property of friends is said to be common, S0 that
in this respect there will be no difference between you if
what you say about friendship is true.” ,

They assented.

After this, I was purposing to ask, which of them was
the more just and the more wise; but in the meanwhile some
one came and made Menexenus get up, saying that the master
of the paleestra called him; for he appeared to me to be one

Ie

Ie

ISLS. 487

concerned in the sacrifices. He therefore left us ; and I ques-
tioned Lysis: 11. ** Doubtless,” said I, ‘Lysis, your father
and mother love you very much 7”

* Certainly,” he replied.

* Would they not, then, wish you to be as happy as possible?”

‘“* How not ?”

‘Does a man appear to you to be happy who is a slave, and
who is not permitted to do any thing he desires ?”

“ By Jupiter, no,” said he.

“Tf, therefore, your father and mother love you and wish
that you may be happy, this is quite evident, that they en-
deayour to make you happy °”

‘* How should they not?” said he.

“ Do they, therefore, permit you to do what you please, and
in no respect find fault with you or hinder you from doing
whatever you desire ?”

. * By Jupiter, Socrates,” said he, “ they do indeed hinder me
in very many things.”

‘How say you?” I asked, “ wishing you to be happy do
they hinder you from doing whatever you please? Answer
me thus: If you should desire to mount on one of your father’s
chariots, and to take the reins when a race is to be run, would
he not allow you, but hinder you?”

“ By Jupiter,” said he, “ he would not allow me.”

“Whom would he then ?”

«There is a charioteer who receives pay from my father.”

12. “How say you? Do they suffer a hired servant rather
than you to do what he pleases with the horses, and moreover
pay him money for so doing ?”

““ Why not?” said he.

‘But I suppose they suffer you to drive the pair of mules
and, if you wish to take the whip and beat them, they would
allow you.”

‘** Why allow me?” said he.

‘“‘ But what ?” said I, ‘is no one allowed to beat them

‘* Certainly,” said he, “‘ the mule-driver.”

**Ts he a slave, or free ?”

* A slave,” he replied.

‘They think more of a slave then, as it seems, than of you,
their son, and commit their property to him rather than to
you, and allow him to do what he pleases, but you they hinder.

5
599
:

488 . LYSIS.

Tell me this too. Do they allow you to govern yourself; or
do they not even suffer this Fr” *

«How should they suffer it >” he said.

« Who then governs you?”

« My pedagogue here,” said he.

“Js he a slave?”

« How should he be otherwise f ours though,” said he.

“Jt is shameful, surely,” said I, “ that a freeman should be
governed by a slave. And by doing what does this pedagogue
govern you?”

«“ Of course,” said he, “he conducts me to my masters.”

« And do they too govern you, the masters ?

“ Assuredly.”

13. “Your father, then, voluntarily sets over you many
rulers and governors. But when you return home to your
mother, does she allow you to do whatever you please, that you
may be happy as far as she is concerned, either with her wool
or her Joom when she is spinning? She surely does not hinder
you from touching the comb or the shuttle, or any other of
her spinning instruments.”

Whereupon, he laughing replied, “ By Jupiter, Socrates, she
not only hinders me, but I should be beaten too if I touched
them.”

“ By Hercules,” said I, “ have you in any way injured your.
father or your mother ?”

« By Jupiter, not 1,” he said,

“For what reason, then, do they so shamefully hinder you
from being happy and doing what you please, and bring you up
throughout the whole day in subjection to some one, and in a
word let you do scarcely any thing that you wish? So that, as it
seems, neither have you any advantage from such great riches,
put any one manages them rather than you, nor from your
person, which is so noble, but this too another tends and takes
care of: but you, Lysis, neither govern any thing, nor do any
thing that you wish.”

14. “For I am not yet old enough, Socrates,” said he.

“That should not hinder you, son of Democrates : since
thus far, I think, both your father and mother permit you and
do not wait till you are old enough: for when they wish any
thing to be read to or written for them, they appoint you, I
think, first of all in the house to this office ; do they not?”

LYSIS. 489

“ Certainly,” said he.

“ Are you allowed then, in this case, to write whichever
letter you please first, and which second, and are you allowed
to read in like manner? And when you take the lyre, I
think, neither your father nor your mother hinder you from
tightening and loosening any string you please, and from
twanging and striking them with the quill; do they hinder
you?”

‘By no means.”

“ What then can be the cause, Lysis, that in these cases
they do not hinder you, but do hinder you in those that we just
now mentioned ?”

“ Because, I think,” said he, “I know the one, but not the
other.”

15. “Be it so,” said I, “my excellent youth; your father,
then, is not waiting for your being old enough to entrust every
thing to you, but on the very day that he shall think you are
wiser than he is, he will entrust to you both himself and his
property ?”

“J think he will,” said he.

“ Be it so,” said I, “ what then? Will not your neighbour
follow the same rule as your father respecting you? Do you
think he will entrust you with the management of his household
when he thinks you are wiser than himself with respect to
_ household-management, or will he preside over it himself?”

“] think he will entrust it to me.”

“But what? do you think the Athenians will entrust their
affairs to you, when they perceive that you are wise enough ?”

tL do.”

“By Jupiter,” said I, ‘what then as to the great king?
Would he suffer his eldest son, who will succeed to the govern-
ment of Asia, when his meat is being cooked, to throw into
the sauce whatever he pleases, rather than us, if we should go
to him and shew that we are more skilled in the preparation of
dishes than his son?”

“Us, clearly,” he replied.

16. “And he would not allow him to throw any thing in,
however trifling, but us he would allow, even if we wished to
throw in salt by the handful.”

PcHow etc”

«But what if his son should be diseased in his eyes, would

4.90 Tole:

he allow him to touch his own eyes, not considering him a
physician, or would he hinder him ?”

“< Te would hinder him.”

But if he supposed we were good physicians, even if we
wished to open his eyes and sprinkle them with ashes, I think
he would not hinder us, considering we judged rightly.”

«You say true.”

« Would he not entrust every thing else to us rather than to
himself or his son, with respect to which we appeared to him
to be wiser than either of them ?”

«Necessarily so, Socrates,” he replied.

«This, then, is the case,” said I, ‘my dear Lysis, all per-
sons, both Greeks and barbarians, men and women, will en-
trust us with those things with respect to which we are found
to be wise, and we shall do in them whatever we please, nor
will any one purposely hinder us, but we shall both be free
ourselves in these matters, and governors over others, and
these things will be our own, for we shall derive benefit from
them. 17. But those things about which we have no know-
ledge no one will suffer us to do as we think proper, but all
men will hinder us as much as they are able, not only strangers,
but even our own father and mother, and any one else who is
more nearly related to us than them, and in these matters we
ourselves shall be subject to others, and they will be strange to
us, for we shall derive no benefit from them. Do you admit
that this is the case ?”’

1 OO,

«: Shall we, then, be friends to any one, and will any one
love us in those things in which we are of no use f”’

«No, surely,” said he.

«Now, then, neither does your father love you, nor does
any one else love another person, in $0 far as he is useless ?”’

“Jt appears not,” he said.

“Tf, then, you become wise, my boy, all men will be your
friends, and all men will be attached to you, for you will be
useful and good. But if not, neither will any one else, nor
your father be a friend to you, nor your mother, nor any of
your kindred. Is it possible, then, Lysis, that any one can
deem himself wise in those things of which as yet he has no
knowledge at all?”

« How can he?” said he.

LYSIS. 491

“ If, then, vou require a teacher, you are not yet wise ?”

18, des

“ Neither, then, are you very wise, if you are still unwise ae

“ By Jupiter,” said he, “Socrates, I do not think that I
can be.” :

Then I, upon hearing this, looked at Hippothales, and al-
most committed a blunder, for it occurred to me to say, “Thus,
Hippothales, we ought to converse with favourites, humbling
and checking them, and not, as you do, puffing them up and
filling them with vanity.” However, perceiving him anxious
and disturbed at what was said, I recollected that, although he
was standing near, he wished to escape the observation of Ly-
sis: I therefore recovered myself, and restrained my speech.

At this moment Menexenus came again, and sat down by
Lysis, whence he had risen before. Lysis, then, in a very
boyish and affectionate manner, unobserved by Menexenus,
talking to me a little while, said, “ Socrates, say over again to
Menexenus what you have been saying to me.”

And I replied, “ Do you tell it him, Lysis, for vou paid very
great attention.” :

“<T certainly did,” he replied.

“Endeavour, then,” said I, ‘‘ to remember it as well as vou
can, that you may tell him all clearly; but if you forget any
thing, ask me again the first time you meet me.”

19, “I will most certainly do so, Socrates,” said he, ‘‘ be well
assured. But say something else to him, that I too may hear,
until it is time for me to go home.”

«T must do so,” said I, ‘since you bid me; but take care
that you assist me, if Menexenus should attempt to confute
me. Do you not know that he is fond of disputing ?”

“ By Jupiter,” said he, “very much so ; and for this reason
I wish you to converse with him.”

«That I may make myself ridiculous ?” said I.

“No, by Jupiter,” said he, “but that you may punish him.”

«How so,” said I, ‘that’s not an easy matter, for the man
is clever, a disciple of Ctesippus. And besides, he is here in
person, do not you see Ctesippus ?”

«Don’t concern yourself about that, Socrates,” said he,
“but come, converse with him.”

«We must converse, then,” I replied.

While we were speaking thus to each other, Ctesippus said,

492 kes

“What are you two feasting on by yourselves, without letting
us share in the conversation ?”’

«But indeed,” said I, “ you shall have a share, for Lysis
here does not understand something that I have said, but says
he thinks Menexenus knows it, and bids me ask him.”

20, “Why then,” said he, “ do you not ask him?”

« But I will ask him,” I replied. ‘‘ Answer me, then, Menex-
enus, what I shall ask you; for from my childhood I happen
to have had a desire for a certain thing, as another person may
have of something else: for one desires to possess horses,
another dogs, another gold, and another honours ; but I, for
my part, am indifferent about these things, but have a fond
desire for the possession of friends, and I had rather have a
good friend than the best quail or cock in the world; and, by
Jupiter, than the best horse or dog, and I think, by the dog,
that I should much rather prefer the possession of an intimate,
than the gold of Darius, or even than Darius himself, so fond
am I of intimate friends. Seeing you, therefore, and Lysis, I was
amazed, and pronounced you happy, because, young as you are,
you have been able so quickly and easily to acquire this posses-
sion, and you have so quickly and sincerely acquired him for
your friend, and again he you. But T am so far from making
this acquisition, that I do not even know in what way one man
becomes the friend of another; but I wish to ask this very
thing of you, as being an experienced person. 21. Tell me,
then, when any one loves another, which of the two becomes
a friend, the lover of the beloved, or the beloved of the lover?
or is there no difference °”’

“Tt appears to me,” said he, “ that there is no difference.”

“ How say your” I replied, “ Do both then become friends
of each other, if one alone loves the other es

“ To me it appears so,” said he.

« But what? Is it not possible for one who loves not to be
loved in turn by the object of his love >”

wee econ

“But what? is it not possible, then, for one who loves ever
to be hated? as lovers surely sometimes seem to be treated
by their favourites : for though they love most ardently, some
of them think that they are not loved in turn, and some even
that they are hated. Does not this appear to you to be true ?”

“ Quite true,” said he.

LYSIS. 493

‘In such a case, then,” said J, ‘“‘does one love, and is the
other loved >”

a Te,

““ Which then of these is the friend of the other? the lover
of the beloved, whether he is loved in turn, or even if he is
hated, or the beloved of the lover? or again, in such a case, is
neither the friend of neither, unless both love each other ?”

‘* It seems indeed to be so.”

22. “ Now, then, it appears to us otherwise than it ap-
peared before. For then if one loved, both appeared to be
friends ; but now, unless both love neither is a friend.”

“Tt appears so,” said he.

“ Nothing, therefore, is a friend to that which loves unless it
Joves in turn.”

“Tt seems not.”

“Neither, then, are they friends of horses, whom horses do
not love in turn, nor friends of quails, nor again friends of dogs,
and friends of wine, and friends of gymnastics, and of wisdom,
unless wisdom loves them in turn: or do they severally love
these things although they are not friends, and does the poet
speak falsely who says, ‘ Happy the man who has boys for his
friends, and solid-hoofed horses, and hunting dogs, and a
foreign guest ?’”

‘“‘ Tt does not seem so to me,” he replied.

“But does he appear to you to speak the truth ?”

ees.

“The beloved, then, is a friend to that which loves, as it
seems, Menexenus, whether it loves or whether it hates ; just
as children newly born, who partly do not yet love, and partly
even hate, when they are punished by their mother or their
father, nevertheless, at the very time when they hate, are in the
highest degree beloved by their parents.

“It appears to me,” said he, “ that this is the case.”

23. ‘“ The lover, therefore, from this reasoning, is not the
friend, but the beloved.”

“Tt seems so.”

« And he who is hated, therefore, is an enemy, but not he
who hates.”

‘So it appears.”

“‘ Many, therefore, are beloved by their enemies and hated
by their friends ; and are friends to their enemies, but enemies

494 LYSIS.

to their friends, if the beloved is a friend, and not the lover

Though it is very absurd, my dear friend, or rather, I think, im-

possible, to be an enemy to a friend, and a friend to an enemy.
~ You seem to speak truly, Socrates,” said he.

“Tf, therefore, this is impossible, the lover will be a friend
of the beloved.”

« So it appears.”

« Again, therefore, that which hates must be the enemy of
that which is hated.”

“ Necessarily so.”

« Therefore, the result will be that we must of necessity ad-
mit the very things that we did before, that a man is often a
friend of that which is not a friend, and often even of that which
is an enemy, when either any one loves that which does not
love, or even loves that which hates, and is often an enemy of
that which is not an enemy, OF is even a friend, when either
any one loves that which does not hate, or even hates that
which loves.”

“ Tt appears 80,” said he.

«© What shall we do, then,” said I, “ if neither those who love
are to be friends, nor those who are loved, nor yet those who
both love and are loved? Shall we say that some others be-
sides these become friends to each other ?”

“By Jupiter, Socrates,” said he, “I don’t well know what
answer to make.”

24. “ Have we not, then, Menexenus,’ etal Gee conducted
our enquiries altogether right isa

“To me it appears not, Socrates,” said Lysis ; and as he
said this he blushed: for his remark appeared to me to escape
from him involuntarily through his earnest attention to the
conversation: and he was plainly most attentive while he was
listening.

I then, wishing that Menexenus should cease speaking, and
being delighted with the other’s love of wisdom, accordingly
turned round and directed my discourse to Lysis, and said,
« Lysis, you seem to me to say truly, that if we had conducted
our enquiries properly, we should never have wandered in this
manner. But let us proceed no longer in this way, (for the
investigation appears to me to be difficult as if it were a road,)
but it seems to me that we should proceed by the road to
which we turned aside, and conduct our enquiries after the

LYSIS. 495

poets; for they are to us, as it were, fathers of wisdom and
guides. They speak however, I imagine, so as not to give a
mean account of such as happen to be friends, but they say
that God himself makes them friends, by conducting them to
each other. They express themselves as I think somehow
as follows: ‘ God ever conducts like to like4,’ and makes them
known ; have you not met with this verse ?”

‘*T have,” said he.

25. ‘‘ Have you not met, too, with the writings of the wisest
of men that say the very same things, that like must ever
needs be friendly to like? But these are they who discourse
and write about nature and the universe.”

* You say truly,” he replied.

“Whether, then,” said I, ‘‘ do they say well?”

** Perhaps so,”’ said he.

*‘ Perhaps,” said I, ‘the half is true, and perhaps the whole,
but we do not understand it: for the wicked man, by how
much nearer he approaches, and is more intimate with a wicked
man, seems to us to become so much the more hostile to him;
for he injures him; but, surely, it is impossible for those who
injure and are injured to be friends: is it not so?”

PY és, Werephed.

“Thus, then, the half of this saying will not be true, since
the wicked are like each other ?”

“You say true.”

** But they seem to me to say that the good are like each
other and friends, but that the bad, as it is said of them, are
never alike even to themselves, but are inconstant and unsta-
ble. But that which is unlike and at variance with itself, can
scarcely be like or friendly to another; does it not seem so to
you too?”

«To me it does,”’ said he.

26. ‘They intimate this, then, my friend, as it seems to me,
when they say that like is friendly to like, that the good man
only is a friend to the good man only, but that the bad man
never arrives at true friendship, either with a good or a bad
man: does it seem so to you also?”

He nodded assent.

«“We have now discovered, then, who are friends, fur our
argument shews that it must be those who are good.”

4 Homer, Odyss. xvii. 218.

496 LYSIS.

“Tt certainly seems so,” said he.

‘‘And I think so too,” said I, ‘‘ Nevertheless, I find some
difficulty in it. Come then, by Jupiter, let us see what it is [
suspect. The like, in so far as he is like, is a friend to the lke,
and such an one is useful to such an one: or rather thus: can
any thing that is like confer any benefit on or do any harm to
any thing that is like, which it cannot also do to itself; or suf-
fer any thing which it cannot also suffer from itself? But how
can such things be held in regard by each other when they are
unable to afford any assistance to each other? is it possible ?”

“It is not possible.”

‘€ But how can that which is not held in regard be a friend ?”

“In no way.”

“The like, then, is not a friend to the like: but will the
good be a friend to the good, so far as he is good, and not so
far as he is like?”

“* Perhaps so.”

27. “* But what? Will not the good man, so far as he is
good, be sufficient for himself?”

wee <M

‘But he who is sufficient stands in need of nothing, so far
as sufficiency is concerned ?”

‘“‘ How can it be otherwise ?”

‘And he who stands in need of nothing will not regard any
thing ?”

“He will not.”

“But he who does not feel a regard cannot love ?”’

‘Surely not.”

“‘ How, then, will the good be in any respect friends to the
good, who neither when absent regret each other, for they are
sufficient for themselves when apart, nor when present stand in
need of each other? By what contrivance can such persons
value each other very highly >”

“ By none at all,’’ said he.

“But they will not be friends who do not value each other
very highly >?”

ire

“Observe then, Lysis, how we are deceived. Are we, then,
' deceived in the whole ?”

“How so?” said he.
‘I once heard a person say, and I just now call it to

ate

ather

thea,

itt

LYSIS. 497

mind, that like is most hostile to like, and the good to the
good. And moreover, he adduced Hesiod» as a witness, say-
ing that ‘ potter is angry with potter, bard with bard, and beg-
gar with beggar.’ And so, he said, with regard to all other
things, that as a matter of absolute necessity, things most like
each other are most full of envy, strife, and hatred ; but such
as are most unlike, of friendship; 28. for that the poor man is
compelled to be a friend to the rich, and the weak to the
strong, for the sake of assistance, and the sick man to the phy-
sician ; and that every one who is ignorant must regard and
love him that has knowledge. Moreover, he carried on the
subject in a more lofty style, saying that the like is so far from
being friendly to the like, that the very contrary to this takes
place. For that the most contrary is in the highest degree
friendly to the most contrary; for every thing desires its con-
trary, and not its like. Thus the dry desires the moist, the
cold heat, the bitter sweet, the sharp blunt, the empty fulness,
and the full emptiness; and all other things in the same way.
For the contrary is food to the contrary, but the like can de-
rive no enjoyment from the like. And indeed, my friend, he
who said this seemed to be an accomplished man, for he spoke
well. But how does he seem to you to speak?” I asked.

29. ‘* Well,” replied Menexenus, “as it seems on first hear-
ing.”

“Shall we say, then, that the contrary is most friendly to

_ the contrary ee

“ Certainly.”

“ Be it so,’ said I, “‘ but is it not monstrous, Menexenus,
and will not those perfectly wise men, the disputants, imme-
diately spring upon us exultingly, and ask, if friendship is not
most contrary to enmity? What answer shall we give them?
Must we not of necessity admit that they say truly >”

“« Of necessity.”

““«Well then,’ they will ask, ‘is an enemy a friend to a
friend, or is a friend a friend to an enemy?’ ”

‘« Neither the one nor the other,” he replied.

“ But is the just a friend to the unjust, or the temperate to
the intemperate, or the good to the bad >”

“Tt does not appear to me to be so.”

“ However,” said I, “if one thing is a friend to another by

ta pret Din v..20:
Kk

498 *. LYSIS.

€
reason of contrariety, these things must also of necessity be
friendly ?” :

** Of necessity,”

** Neither, therefore, is the like friendly to the like, nor the
Contrary to the contrary ?”

“It appears not.”

‘Further, let us consider this, whether it still more escapes
our observation, that a friend is in reality none of these, but
that what is neither good nor evil may sometimes become the
triend of the good.”

‘* How mean you?” said he.

“ By Jupiter,” said 11 ton't know; for I am in reality
myself dizzy with the perplexity of the argument. It appears,
however, according to the ancient proverb, that the beautiful is
friendly, 30. It certainly resembles something soft, smooth,
and plump; on which account perhaps it slips away from us
and escapes us, because it is a thing of this kind. For I say
that the good is beautiful - do you not think so 2”

+ Anas

“I say, therefore, prophetically, that that which is neither
good nor evil is friendly to the beautiful and the good. But
hear why I thus prophesy. There appear to me to be as it
Were three several classes, one good, a second evil, a third
neither good nor eyil. What think you?”

“It seems so to me also,”’ said he.

“ Now that the good is friendly to the good, or the evil to
the evil, or the Sood to the evil, our former argument does not
allow us to say. It remains therefore, if any thing is friendly
to any thing, that that which is neither good nor evil, must be
friendly either to the good, or to that which is such as itself;
for nothing surely can become friendly to the evil,”

galls a
“ Neither is like friendly to like, we just now said: did we
not ?”

ra ae

“Therefore to that which is neither good nor evil, that
which resembles it will not be friendly ?”

“It appears not,”

“The result then is, that that which is neither good nor
evil alone becomes friendly to the good alone >”

“ Necessarily so, as it seems,”

LYSIS. 499

Si. ‘* Well then, my boys,” said I, “does what is now said
lead us in the right direction? Surely if we will consider, a
healthy body has no need of the medicinal art, or of any assist-
ance ; for it is sufficient for itself; so that no healthy person
is a friend to a physician on account of health; is it not so >”

** No one.”

‘But the sick man I think is, on account of disease 2”

“ How not?”

“ But disease is an evil, and the medicinal art beneficial and
good,”

nae a:

“ But a body surely, so far as it is body, is neither good
nor evil.”

** Just so.”

“ But a body is compelled, on account of disease, to embrace
and love the medicinal art.”

“Tt seems so to me.”

* That, therefore, which is neither evil nor good, becomes
friendly to the good, on account of the presence of evil.”

“So it seems.”

“ But it is evident that it becomes so, prior to its becoming
evil through the evil which it contains ; for when it has once
become evil, it will no longer desire the good, and be friendly
to it: for we have said that it is impossible for the evil to be
friendly to the good.”

“It is impossible.”

“ Consider, then, what I say. For I say that some things are
themselves such as that which is present with them, and some
not. Thus, if any one wishes to dye any thing with any colour,

» ,the colour that is dyed in is surely present in the thing that is
dyed.”

“ Certainly.”

32. “Is then, that which is dyed, afterwards, the same as
to colour, as that which is on it?”

“I don’t understand you,” he replied.

““But thus,” said I, “If any one should dye your hairs,
which are yellow, with white lead, would they then be white,
or appear so ?”

“They would appear so,” he replied.

“ Though whiteness would be present with them,”

mawes,””

500 LYSIS.

““ And yet your hairs would not be at all the more white, but
though whiteness is present, they are neither white nor black.”

arne.;

“ But when, my friend, old age has brought this colour on
them, then they become such as that which is present with
them, white by the presence of white.”

** How can it be otherwise ?”

“ This then I now ask, if a thing be present in any thing,
will that which contains it be such as that which is present
with it, or if it be present after a certain manner, will it be
such, but otherwise not ?”

‘Thus, rather,” he replied.

“That then which is neither evil nor good, sometimes when
evil is present, is not yet evil, but sometimes it has already
become such.”

Certainly.”

“ When, therefore, it is not yet evil, though evil be present,
this very presence of evil makes it desirous of good, but this
presence which makes it evil, deprives it at the same time of
the desire and friendship for the good. 33. For it is now no
longer neither evil nor good, but evil; evil however we saw, is
not friendly to good.”

? Its Bot

“On this account we must say, that those who are already
wise no longer love wisdom, whether they are gods or men ;
nor again do they love wisdom who have so much ignorance,
as to be evil: for no evil and foolish person loves wisdom.
They therefore are left, who possess indeed this evil, ignorance,
but are not yet thereby stupid or foolish, but still think that they
do not know the things that they do not know. Wherefore
they who are not yet either good or evil are lovers of wisdom ;
but such as are evil do not love wisdom, nor do the good: for
we have seen in a former part of our discussion, that neither
is the contrary friendly to the contrary, nor the like to the like:
do you not remember this ?”

“ Certainly,” they both replied.

“ Now then,” said I, ‘ Lysis and Menexenus, we have cer-
tainly discovered what it is that is friendly and what not. For
we say, that with respect to the soul, and with respect to the
body, and every thing else, that which is neither evil nor good,
is friendly to the good on account of the presence of evil.”

LYSIS. 501

34. They quite admitted and agreed that such was the case.

And I for my part was rejoicing exceedingly, like any hunter,
in having just caught the prey that I was in chase of. And
then, I know not from what quarter, a most strange suspicion
came into my mind, that what we had assented to was not
true, And immediately being distressed, I said, ** Alas, Lysis
and Menexenus, we seem to have grown rich in a dream.”

* Why so?” said Menexenus.

“Tam afraid,’ I replied, “ that as if with braggart men, we
have fallen in with some such false reasonings respecting a
friend.”

“* How so?” he asked.

“Tet us consider it thus,” said I; ‘ whether is he who is a
friend, a friend to some one or not?”

. * Necessarily so,” said he.

‘‘ Whether, therefore, for the sake of nothing, and on account
of nothing, or for the sake of something, and on account of
something ?”

“for the sake of something and on account of something.”

“Whether is that thing friendly for the sake of which a
friend is a friend to a friend, or is it neither friendly nor
hostile ?”

“ I do not quite follow you,” said he.

“ Probably,” said I. ‘ But thus perhaps you will be able
to follow me; and I think that I too shall better understand
what Isay. The sick man, we just now said, is a friend to

’ the physician ; is it not so?”

oe ag

“Is he not, then, a friend to the physician on account of
disease, for the sake of health?”

Yes,”

“ But disease is an evil 2”

PHow nots

“ But what is health?” said; “is it good orevil, or neither >”

“ Good,” said he.

35. “ We stated, then, as it seems, that the body, which is
neither good, nor evil, on account of disease, that is on account
of evil, is friendly to the medicinal art: but the medicinal
art is a good; and the medicinal art acquires the friendship
for the sake of health ; and health is good: is it not?”

ah Go

502 LYSIS.

-- But is health a friend, or not a friend?”

«A friend.”

“ And is disease an enemy og

“ Certainly.”

“That then which is neither evil nor good, on account of
what is evil and an enemy, is a friend to the good, for the sake
of what is good and a friend.”

“Tt appears ee ie

“ The friendly therefore is a friend for the sake of the friend,
on account of that which is an enemy.”

“So it seems.”

«Well then,” said I, “ since we have reached this point, my
boys, let us pay every attention that we be not deceived. For
that a friend becomes a friend to a friend, and that like be-
comes a friend to like, which we said is impossible, I give up.
However let us consider this, that what is now asserted may
not deceive us. The medicinal art, we say, 18 4 friend for the
sake of health ?”

Tea

“Ts not, then, health also a friend e

‘« Certainly.”

36. ‘If, then, it is a friend, it must be so for the sake of
something ?”’

KNes” ;

“ And indeed of something friendly, if we will keep to our
former admission :”

« Certainly.”

«Will not, therefore, that again be a friend, for the sake of
something friendly ?”

salle 2 vee

“Must we not, then, necessarily be tired out with going on
thus, and arrive at some principle, which will not have to be
referred to another friend, but will arrive at that which is the
first friend, for the sake of which we say that all other things
are friendly ?”

«« Necessarily so.”

‘‘ This, then, is what I say, we must take care that all those

other things which we said were friendly for the sake of that,
do not, as being certain images of it, deceive us, but that that
may be the first which is truly a friend. For let us consider
it thus. If any one values any thing very highly, as, for in-

LYSIS. 508

stance, sometimes a father prizes a son above all other things,
will not such an one, because he esteems his son above every
thing, also value something else very highly? For instance, if
he were to hear that he had drunk hemlock, would he not
value wine very highly, if he thought this would save his
Sor

‘* How should he not?” said he.

37. “And the vessel too that contained the wine ?”’

” Cen

‘* Will he then set the same value on an earthenware cup as
he does upon his son, or three measures of wine as on his son ?
or is the case thus? all such anxiety is employed not about
those things that are procured for the sake of something else,
but about that for the sake of which all such things are pro-
cured: for although we often say that we value gold and silver
very highly, yet we may observe that the truth is not at all the
more thus; but what we value so very highly is that, whatever
it may prove to be, for the sake of which gold and all other
provisions are procured. Shall we not say so?”

“ Certainly.”

“« May not the same thing also be said of a friend? for what-
ever things we say are friendly to us, for the sake of some
friendly thing, we appear to describe by a name that belongs
to another, but that very thing seems in reality to be friendly
in which all those so-called friendships terminate ?”

«This seems to be the case,” said he.

‘That, then, which is in reality friendly is not friendly for
the sake of any other friendly thing ?”

Lidl Wy vs (or

«This, then, is settled, that what is friendly is not friendly
for the sake of any other friendly thing. Is the good, then,
friendly ?”

«It seems so to me.”

38. “Is the good, then, loved on account of evil, and is the
case thus? If of the three things which we just now men-
tioned, good, evil, and that which is neither good nor evil, two
only were to be left, but evil were to depart altogether, and
not come in contact with any thing, either with body, or soul,
or any other of the things which we say in themselves are nei-
ther evil nor good, in that case would not good be of no use
to us, but become useless? For if there were nothing to hurt

504 LYSIS.

us any more, we should stand in need of no assistance what-
ever. And thus it would then become evident that we had a
regard for and loved the good on account of evil, since good is
a medicine for evil, but evil is a disease. But when there is
no disease, there is no need of medicine. Is this, then, the
nature of good, and is it loved on account of evil, by us who
are placed between evil and good, and is it of no use itself, for
the sake of itself?”

“Such seems to be the case,”’ he replied.

“That which is friendly, therefore, to us, is that in which
terminate all other things, which we said are friendly for the
sake of some other friendly thing, but in no respect resembles
them? 39. For these are called friendly for the sake of a
friendly thing ; but that which is in reality friendly appears to
be of a nature quite contrary to this; for we have found it to
be friendly for the sake of that which is hostile: but if that
which is hostile should depart, it would no longer, as it seems,
be friendly to us.”

“ Tt seems to me that it would not,” said he, ‘‘ according to
what is now said.”

«Whether, by Jupiter,” said I, ‘if evil were to be de-
stroyed, would there no longer be any hunger or thirst, or any
thing else of the kind? or would there be hunger, if men and
other animals existed, yet not so as to be hurtful ? and thirst,
and other desires, yet not be evil, since evil is destroyed? or
is the question ridiculous, what would then be the case or
not be the case? for who knows? This, however, we know,
that at present it is possible to be harmed by being hungry,
and it is also possible to be benefited ; is it not so?”

« Certainly.”

«Therefore it is possible that one who thirsts, or is affected
by any other similar desire, may sometimes be affected by it
beneficially, and sometimes harmfully, and sometimes nei-
ther?”

« Assuredly.”

“Tf, therefore, evil were destroyed, must things that are not
evil be destroyed together with the evil?”

Not al als, ;

“There will be, then, such desires as are neither good nor
evil, even if evils were destroyed >”

“Tt appears so.”

LYSIS. 505

40. ‘Is it, then, possible, that one who desires and is fond of
any thing, should not love that which he desires and is fond
OL:

“Tt does not appear so to me.’

“When evils, then, are ome ed, here will remain, as it
seems, certain friendly things ?”

“Yes.”

“Not so; at least if evil were the cause of any thing being
friendly, for, when that is destroyed, one thing could not be
friendly to another: for when the cause is destroyed, it is
surely impossible that that of which it was the cause should
any longer exist ?”

“You say rightly.”

“Did we not admit that the friendly loved something, and
en account of something, and did we not then think that,
on account of evil, that which is neither good nor evil loved
the good >”

P aruey”

“* But now, as it seems, there appears to be some other cause
of loving and being loved ?”

‘* So it seems.”

‘“‘ Whether, then, in reality, as we just now said, is desire
the cause of friendship, and is that which desires friendly to
that which it desires, and at the time when it desires, but is
what we before said was friendly mere trifling, like a poem*
heedlessly composed ?”

“It seems so,”’ said he,

““ However,” [I said, “that which desires desires that which
it stands in need of; does it not >”

ee Yes. 29

‘And is that which stands in need friendly to that of which
it stands in need ?”

“It seems so to me.”

“ And it stands in need of that which is taken from it?”

41. ‘** How should it not?”

“ As it seems, then, love, friendship, and desire, respect that
which belongs to a man; so it appears, Menexenus and

Lysis?”

> I have adopted Ast’s suggestion of parny for paxpev. Stallbaum
would retain both, and read uarpoy parny.

506 LYSIS.

They both assented.

“Tf, therefore, you two are friends to each other, you must,
in a manner, by nature belong to each other a

« Assuredly,” they both replied.

“Tf, then,” said I, “any one desires or is fond of another.
my boys, he could never desire, or be fond of or bea friend,
unless he, in a manner, belonged to the object of his love,
either as to his soul, or as to some habit of the soul, or dispo-
sition, or form?”

“Certainly.” said Menexenus, but Lysis was silent.

“ Well, then,” said I, “ito proved necessary for us to
love that which by nature belongs to us?”

“Tt seems so,” said he.

“Jt is necessary, then, for a genuine, and not pretended
lover, to be beloved by his favourite >”

To this Lysis and Menexenus scarcely nodded assent, but
Hippothales, through delight, exhibited all sorts of colours. And
I, being willing to examine the matter, said, * Tf there is any

difference between that which belongs to us and that which is ,

like, we shall be able to say, as it seems to me, Lysis and
Menexenus, respecting @ friend, what he is, but if the like and

that which belongs are the same, it is not easy to get rid o1

our former conclusion, that the like is useless to the like, as
regards similitude ; but to admit that what is useless can be
friendly is absurd. 42, Are you willing, then,” I added,
“ since we are, as it were, intoxicated by the discussion, that
we should grant and affirm that that which belongs is different
from that which is like ?”

“ Certainly.”

“ Whether, then, shall we admit that good belongs to every
thing, but that evil is foreign? or that evil belongs to evil, good
to good, and that which is neither good nor evil, to that which
is neither good nor evil?”

They both said, that so it appeared to them, that each be-
longs to each.

«+ Again, therefore,” said I, “my boys, we have fallen upon

those conclusions which we at first rejected respecting friend-
ship. For the unjust will be no less a friend to the unjust,
and the evil to the evil, than the good to the good.”

So it seems,” he said.

“ But what? if we should say that the good and that which

LYSIS. 507

belongs are the same, will not the good only be a friend to the
good =”

“ Certainly.”

‘But in this too we thought we had confuted ourselves; do
you not remember ?”

“We do remember.”

“Tn what way, then, can we still_d
it not clear, in no way at all? equire, then, like skilful
pleaders in the law courts, to su. /up all that has been said ;
for if neither those that are loved, or those that love, nor the
like, nor the unlike, nor the good, nor those that belong to us,
nor any others that we have described, (for I do not remember
them any further, on account of their number,) but if no one of
these is a friend, I have nothing more to say.”

43. When I had said this, I purposed to stir up some one of
the older men; but just then, like evil spirits, the peedagogues
of Lysis and Menexenus approaching us, having hold of their
brothers by their hand, called to them, and bade them go
home, for it was already late. At first, then, both we and the
bystanders drove them away; but when they paid no attention
to us, but murmured in their barbarous dialect, and desisted
not from calling them, and seemed to us, from having drunk
too much at the Hermezan festival, to be difficult to manage,
we yielded to them, and dissolved the conference. However,
as they were just going away, I said, Lysis and Menexenus,
we have made ourselves ridiculous, both I, an old man, and
you; for those who are now leaving us will say, that we think
ourselves to be each other’s friends, (for I reckon myself among
you,) but that we have not yet been able to discover what a
friend is.

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